Tangwystal's turn for a story

This actually takes place before all the previous stories, back at the beginning of the Quest to the East. Before everything went to hell for us.

Camp had been established for the night and the scent of roasting rabbit and vegetables spread through the clearing. Coriander and Creelan sat together as always, talking quietly as they shared the cooking duties for the evening. Ligia hummed softly to Tala as she skinned another rabbit and fed the raw meat to the leopard. Others moved around the camp, preparing bed rolls, checking equipment, deciding the watches; all the activities of a party settling in after a long day’s travel.

Tangwystal sat cross-legged under a tree carefully polishing her sword. Suddenly she spoke into the empty air. “What do you want to do when we get to Ginnison’s castle?”

“You mean, if we get to Ginnison’s castle.” The gloomy voice came out of the branches of the tree overhead.

“When.” She repeated firmly. “What shall we do then?”

“Go home!” The disembodied voice was adamant.

“I was thinking of seeing what’s on to the east. Cathay, the Mongol lands, that sort of thing. What do you think?”

There was a rustling in the leaves overhead and Oberon’s small figure appeared. He hung upside down from a branch, his scowling face nose to nose with Tang. “I think that’s the worst idea you’ve ever had. And you’ve had some real stinkers.”

She grinned at him and resumed working on her sword. “How come you don’t just go home, then. You lose a bet or something?” She glanced up at him. “Maybe you annoyed Eddileg once too often?”

His eyes narrowed. By unspoken agreement neither of them had ever mentioned the Fair Folk or their ruler. The party had been riding through Briton when Oberon had simply shown up one morning and started traveling with them. Most quickly realized that he wasn’t the orphaned boy he claimed to be but only Tang had actually recognized him from the beginning. She accepted him without question, even after it became clear he was traveling with her, specifically. Who was she to question one of the Fair Folk’s reasons?

“How come you don’t just go home?” he repeated her question back to her. “What are you doing wandering around the back side of nowhere? Prydain too small for the likes of you?”

That was an unfair shot, and he knew it. Her homeland and her heritage were a source of enormous pride for Tangwystal, so much so that in a less good-natured person it would be obnoxious chauvinism. He expected a flair of temper and got it—she thumped him on the end of his pointed little nose. With a screech he shot back up into the tree.

A moment later a colossal, hairy black spider dropped slowly out of the tree on a single thread of web and stopped directly in front of her face, jaws clacking, legs waving. Serenely, Tang held her sword at arm’s length and sited along the edge, examining it for nicks or flaws. The spider chittered. She gave her sword a final loving wipe, then a flourish before returning it to the sheath. With a pop the spider exploded into hundreds of tiny spiderettes that showered Tangwystal. She carefully selected a another rag and began oiling her scabbard. The tiny spiders began to grow, scuttling in and among her hair and clothes. Several feet away Maask scrambled to her feet and fled, a hand pressed to her mouth.

“Blood and bones!” Careen spat “Will you just do something, Tang? He’s putting me off my supper!”

Laughing, Tangwystal jumped up and pulled Oberon out of the branches overhead. “Come on, you little troll. I’ll help you gather the firewood.”

“That’s right decent of you, you great lumbering cow, seein’ as it’s your turn.” They walked out of the camp together, their voices drifting back to the others.

“You can get rid of the spiders now, Pox.”

“What spiders?”