Oma had just started walking back home when their watch face lit up with a chime. 

They glanced at it. It was the only expensive thing they owned, and currently it displayed a small map. A red beacon blinked up at them from the outskirts. 

Someone was in their territory. 

It was time to go find out who. 

No one had tried to enter their land in quite a while, and they were rather excited to drive someone from it again. Re-establishing their claim always felt good. Besides, the odds that it would be a hard fight were incredibly small. 

They worked their way towards the border, glancing at the beacon every once in a while, but it didn’t seem the intruder had really moved, and Oma knew their lands like the back of their hand, so they didn’t need to use it much. 

They were close enough to the source of the blinking beacon now that they could hear rustling. They clicked the map off, lightening their footsteps, rolling their feet softly down, sinking into the earth beneath them, making themself as quiet as possible. They crept around the ring of trees. They knew the clearing well, and silently scaled the tree that would give them the best view. 

Oma peered down into the clearing. 

There was a boy there. Oma couldn’t see his face well from here, but he had blond hair and was dressed well – much better than Oma themself. He must have been upperfolk, but that didn’t make sense. What was a boy like that doing all the way out here, crouched low to the ground, studying a plant near the base of a nearby tree? 

Oma waited silently as the boy slowly worked his way around the clearing, inspecting plant after plant, apparently looking for something in particular, until he got a little too close to the tree Oma was in for their tastes. 

They pushed themself from the branches, dropping to the ground in front of the boy, landing lightly. 

The boy shrieked and stumbled back. 

Oma grinned. 

The boy was staring up at them with wide, terrified eyes, which was satisfying. His ears were pointed, he was thin and long-limbed but not gangly, and the cuffs of his obviously expensive shirt were stained from poking around in the dirt. He was far too pretty and well-bred to be out here. 

Not when creatures like Oma lurked in the woods. 

“Holy – ” the boy exclaimed, fumbling backwards into the tree behind him. 

Oma’s grin sharpened, advancing on him. He had never pinned someone so easily. Poor boy, so out of his depth. Oma was much taller and much bigger than this boy, and they found themself studying the little Calmaran as though he were a fresh catch. 

“What are you doing?” the Calmaran boy demanded, sounding angry, and though he still looked scared, Oma frowned, confused. “I’m not a deserter. Get away from me.” He waved a hand dismissively at Oma. “Go on. Shoo.” 

Oma tilted their head and stepped closer, noting the way his eyes widened, hands coming up in front of him as though that could somehow protect him. Still, he kept up the appearance of bravado, which was weirdly impressive. 

“Can’t you talk?” the boy scoffed. “Jeez. Maybe you could tell me where this plant is.” He showed Oma a page in his notebook. His hands were trembling, but… still. Admirable, keeping some appearance of calm. “Recognize it?” he asked, tapping a sketch. 

Oma blinked. They couldn’t help looking at the sketch, a shockingly detailed drawing of a species of flower. Oma did recognize it, but the boy was searching in entirely the wrong place. 

“Hello?” 

“If I show you these,” Oma said slowly, “will you leave.” 

The boy carefully put the notebook away. “Yes.” 

Oma nodded. It wasn’t as fun if they couldn’t scare someone off easily, but this strange little Calmaran boy seemed so determined. They weren’t going to get any satisfaction from this. Might as well not bother. 

They started off into the forest. 

“W-wait!” the boy called, scrambling to follow. “Where are we going?” 

Oma didn’t reply, rolling their eyes at the way he tramped through the underbrush, every step practically a thunderclap. 

“Hello?” the boy asked again, finally catching up to Oma, practically jogging to keep up with their long strides. “Jeez, at least tell me your name!” 

Oma stopped walking. They turned, and just looked at him. 

The Calmaran boy blinked up at them. “Should I go first?” he asked. “My name is Benedict Emerson Dashwood.” 

Oma frowned. Dashwood. There was a whole county named after that family. This boy was very, very wealthy. What the hell was he doing all the way out here? He couldn’t seriously have come all this way for a plant. 

“Your turn,” Benedict Emerson Dashwood declared, waving one delicate hand. Oma could crush his fingers with no effort at all. “Come on, then.” 

Oma grit their teeth. “Oma.” 

Benedict Emerson Dashwood looked at them. “Oma…?” he prompted. 

Oma turned away from him and began to walk again. Benedict Emerson Dashwood. What an absurd amount of names. They didn’t have time to be calling him all those. From now on he got one name, just like Oma did. 

“Wait – okay, I’m sorry,” Emerson said hastily, scrambling after them again. “You only – you have one name, that’s fine.” He glanced around, still following Oma blindly. What a strange boy. Didn’t he know that Oma could kill him? He really had no street smarts at all. Why on earth was he following a stranger through the woods in search of a plant? “Do you, um, live… out here?” he asked tentatively, and Oma rolled their eyes at the way he shuddered. 

“Yes,” Oma said simply. 

Emerson nodded jerkily. “Right. Sounds, um, sounds lovely.” 

Oma didn’t reply. They were almost to the clearing where they had last seen the flower the boy was looking for. 

“What do you do out here?” Emerson asked. “How old are you? Do you live alone?” 

Oma huffed. “I am showing you the plant. You are leaving.” 

“Okay,” Emerson said quietly, sounding a bit hurt. He had no reason to be hurt. He had no reason to care what Oma thought. They didn’t know each other. That was stupid. “Well… I’m out here because I’m a botanist.” He said this very proudly. Oma didn’t know what the hell that was. It sounded fake. “I turned twenty last spring! It was quite the party, I’m sure even you heard all about it.” 

Oma grunted an acknowledgement. They had, in fact, heard about the party at the Dashwood estate. Nearly everyone with money in the county had been invited. Oma, of course, didn’t have money. They didn’t care what happened with the higher-ups of either sides of the war. Oma didn’t concern themself with such matters. It was a waste of time. They were just trying to survive, keep their territory, and live a relatively peaceful life. 

…hm. 

This boy had money. 

Not a boy, really, if he was twenty. He was a man, just a foolish one. 

Benedict Emerson Dashwood. 

Oma shook their head to themself, dismissing the idea. They had already set the bargain to be that Benedict Emerson Dashwood would leave their territory once shown the plant. They couldn’t change it now, charge the young man for the flower. 

Oma led Emerson into a clearing, pointing to a small cluster of the flower around the base of a tree. 

“Oh!” the man exclaimed, rushing over. “Thank you!” he said happily, turning his attention fully to the plant. 

Oma nodded. 

They weren’t sure exactly what to do, now. They didn’t really trust the man to leave their territory on his own. So they settled down on a log, perched on it, legs tucked up under themself, watching the young man. 

Eventually Emerson finished with whatever he was doing, botanist stuff, they supposed, and turned back to them. “Oh, you’re still here,” he said, blinking at them, looking surprised. 

Oma just stared back. 

“Look!” Emerson said, holding out one of the flowers for Oma to see more closely. “It’s a red anemone. Isn’t it pretty?” 

 Oma said nothing, just blinking owlishly at Emerson. 

“…right,” the man said slowly, sounding a bit disappointed. “You have to make sure I leave.” He sighed, slinging his satchel back over his shoulder. “Lead the way, then.” 

Emerson was silent for the rest of the journey back to the border. 

“Goodbye, Oma,” he said once he had left the treeline, waving brightly. “Maybe I’ll see you again?” 

“I hope not,” Oma said curtly. “Leave, Benedict Emerson Dashwood.” 

They turned and disappeared back into the forest, not stopping to see the man’s wounded expression.   

◉          ◉

Benedict lay in his bed, propped up on his elbows, pencil between his teeth. 

The sketch wasn’t exactly as he’d hoped, but it wasn’t bad. He hadn’t exactly been focused on the Nirayon’s face, more their teeth and massive form. 

Oma. 

What an odd name. 

Fitting, he supposed, for such an odd creature. 

They had been so rude, and yet had showed him the plant he’d wanted with no real consequence. He didn’t understand them. 

He also didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop thinking about them. 

It was because of their natural rivalry, he decided. He and Oma both carried themselves with an air of importance, both wanted to be regarded as the most powerful in the room. True, Oma was… considerably larger than Benedict. And that silent-and-brooding act was pretty good. And they seemed eerily familiar with the forest. But that didn’t mean Benedict had no power! Benedict was good at getting what he wanted. And he hadn’t given Oma what they wanted most – him to back down. Benedict was stubborn. 

It was a natural rivalry. 

Benedict studied his sketch of Oma, absently tracing the side of their face with his fingertip. 

He had to prove his superiority. Which meant he had to go out into the woods again.