Layer 23: An Eventful Evening

Fiona heard the rustle of leaves above her and then she felt herself being shifted by the tree as it pulled her dangling form closer to its face. Its mouth seemed to enlarge as it drew her nearer, and for a moment Fiona was terrified it was going to take a bite out of her, if not swallow her whole, plump ogress or not. She again tried to struggle, but her arms remained held fast as she was unable gain leverage, and her mouth and nose remained sealed by the thick twigs twining around them.

The shifting ended when Fiona was within a couple of feet of the tree’s face. The hard eyes glared at her for a moment, and then it spoke, its voice rough and rumbling.

“That…hurt!” it said.

Fiona wanted to scream. Not only in fear, but also because her lungs were on the verge of bursting; the gasp of breath she had drawn in could no longer sustain her. She tried to scream – but the tree’s grasp was still too tight, and her mouth and nose remained sealed. There was only one place for the air to go – it blew through her ear canals and reverberated out of her earstalks. The result was a resounding trumpeting that resembled the sound of a war-horn calling troops to battle.

“Oh, good grief, stop that racket!” the tree said, wincing in irritation as two other branches dropped and covered knotholes on either side of its trunk parallel to its face, which Fiona assumed were its ears. At the same time, fortunately, it also dropped the branch that was holding her mouth and nose closed.

Fiona huffed and puffed sweet swamp air uncontrollably for a few seconds, and eventually caught her breath enough to wheeze out, “You’re…alive!”

“Of course I’m alive!” it responded gruffly. “All trees are alive! That is, we are until you so-call sentient animals decide you need a nice fire or decide to build a domicile! Insensitive louts, the lot of you! You’re all the same! Ogres and humans and trolls!”

“Oh my!” Fiona said. “I never realized…but you’re different! You’re actually talking and…” she struggled in its grasp again… “Moving.”

Branches shifted as it made what she perceived as a shrug. “Most trees are ambulatorily challenged. That doesn’t give you the right to pick things off of them. How would you like to have someone come along and pick something off of you? Like this—” it suddenly reached down with a branch, adroitly grabbed a strand of Fiona’s hair between two twigs, and jerked it out.

“Ouch! Hey, that hurt!” she said, her own irritation rising.

“That’s just what I said,” the tree responded smugly.

“Well…okay…you’ve got a point,” Fiona conceded reluctantly. “But…ogres are different! Groyl and Moyre – they’ve built their home within a tree! You see? Ogres have learned to…become one with nature…to adapt!” She forced a smile, and decided to leave off the part about the room addition and the outhouse and especially the wooden mud shower contraption, made mostly from chopped and sawed lumber, doubting it would help her case.

“Oh, I’m familiar with Groyl and Moyre,” the tree said with a smirk.

“Oh, you…are?” Fiona said, her smile faltering.

“They don’t strike me as the nature-loving type,” it said.

“I’ll strike yeh all right!” Groyl’s gruff voice suddenly sounded from a few yards behind her. “If yeh don’t let Fiona go!”

Fiona looked back over her shoulder to see Groyl striding toward them, holding the torch she had discarded, now re-lit. She felt relief and hope flood over her.

“Oh. How heroic,” the tree said sarcastically. “This belongs to you, then?”

“She does!” Groyl stated, his expression hard as he stared at the tree. Then he paused and looked at Fiona. She smiled at him appreciably. His expression softened, and a flicker of a smile passed his own face for a moment. But then he looked back at the tree and his expression hardened again. “Let her go, Crabapple, or I’ll tear yeh limb from limb! Either that…” Groyl waved the torch threateningly “…or I’ll bake yeh!”

“Oh, please,” the tree said, unimpressed. “Don’t get your kilt in a twist. Here—” the branches let go of Fiona and she tumbled to the ground with a little surprised squeal “—now take your daughter and go.”

“I’m not his daughter,” Fiona muttered, getting up with as much dignity as possible and rubbing one formerly bound wrist. Then she turned and looked up at Groyl, who was now standing before her. She smiled sheepishly and added, “I should be so lucky.” Groyl’s face broke into a grin.

“Whatever,” the tree said. “Tell your…whatever…to pick off someone her own species.”

“Ah, grow a pair,” Groyl retorted. “Or whatever it is yeh use to—”

But Fiona reached up with one hand and laid her fingers against Groyl’s lips to shush him. When he looked down questioningly at her she removed her hand and then turned to face the tree. “‘Crabapple’, was it?” she asked, her tone neutral.

If a tree could look suspicious, Crabapple did. “Yeah,” it said warily. “What of it?”

To Crabapple and Groyl’s surprise, Fiona curtseyed deeply. “My apologies, sir,” she said in a refined voice. “I am a relative stranger here, and I knew not my trespass. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

Crabapple stared at Fiona dumbly for a moment. Then it uttered, “Huh!” and crossed four of its limbs. “Well, would you look at that? Groyl, you could learn some manners off this lad.”

“Lass,” Groyl and Fiona corrected it together. She looked back at Groyl as she rose and they shared another smile.

“Oh good grief,” Crabapple said, and rolled its eyes. Then it added, with grudging contriteness, “Well, anyway apology accepted.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Fiona said to it, curtseying slightly again.

“And…um…ah…” Crabapple continued uneasily “…I…I’m sorry I grabbed you like that. I…well, maybe I…overreacted.”

“That’s understandable,” Fiona said. “As you…illustrated, I wouldn’t appreciate strangers wandering up and picking things off of me, either.”

A brief smile flickered at the corners of Crabapple’s mouth.

Fiona nodded to it, but when she began to turn away Crabapple said, “Hey, wait a sec. Um, kid, if you’re still hungry…” then one branch reached toward one of the apples hanging off of another, and Crabapple’s face seemed to twist in anticipation of pain as its twigs awkwardly began to take hold of the apple as if preparing to pluck it.

“No! Don’t!” Groyl said, rushing forward. “Don’t bother! Here...” he reached down and picked up two of the apples lying on the ground. Handing one to Fiona, he said, “The ones on the ground are better anyway.”

“Really?” Fiona frowned as she took the apple – noting how half of it had turned brown and was squishy in her hand. “I was taught you should pick them off the tree and not off the ground.”

“Ah,” he said. “But that was back when you were a hum—” Groyl checked himself when Fiona’s eyes grew wide and she gestured with them clandestinely toward Crabapple.

“—ourous little kid doing the opposite of thing your folks taught yeh,” Groyl concluded.

“Um, okay,” Fiona said, unsure how smoothly that deception went. “So we just—”

“Try it,” Groyl said.

Fiona looked at the apple for a few seconds more, and then shrugged. Considering the things she had eaten during the past few weeks…

She took a bite. The rotting part of the apple dissolved instantly in her mouth. And it…

It tasted quite good, actually.

She chewed the part of the apple that was still solid, and got a bit of a surprise. “Oh!” she said, swallowing. “I think I bit into a worm!”

“Great! That’s good luck!” Groyl beamed. “And a nice little bit of ‘pop’ to accent the rest!” He then tossed the whole apple that he still held into his mouth.

“But the core!” Fiona said.

“Nice and crunchy!” he said somewhat indistinctly as he chewed. Then he swallowed hard and said, “Try it.”

Fiona looked at the rest of the apple in her hand for a moment, sighed, and then shoved the remainder into her mouth. Groyl was right, the core was nicely crunchy. And she thought she must be especially lucky for a change, because it felt and tasted like she chewed through another worm. Once she had swallowed, she turned back to Crabapple. “Your fruits are quite tasty,” she complimented.

“Why, thanks,” Crabapple said, its gruff manner mellowing a bit more. “I appreciate that.”

“With your leave, we may be over another time to gather a bushel,” she said.

Crabapple actually smiled. “I have no problem with that, sir.”

“Ma’am,” Groyl corrected.

Still looking at Fiona, Crabapple said, “Whatever” and flicked a twig dismissively toward Groyl. “I was talking to it.”

“To her,” Groyl corrected.

“Whatever,” Crabapple repeated.

Groyl sighed in exasperation, then said to Fiona, “C’mon, it’s getting late, let’s be heading home.” He then started walking back into the woods.

Fiona said, “Goodnight” to Crabapple, and then started following Groyl.

“Goodnight!” Crabapple called after her. “Sleep tight! Don’t let the termites bite!”

After they had walked a ways through the tulgey woods and were out of earshot (or what Fiona assumed was earshot; who knew with trees?) she said, “Thank you for saving me…again.”

“Ah, I didn’t save yeh from anything,” Groyl said dismissively. “Crabapple wouldn’tve hurt yeh. His bark is worse—”

“Please don’t say it!” Fiona stopped him. “It’s too painfully obvious.”

“Very well,” Groyl agreed. “I’ll spare yeh that PUNishment.”

Fiona groaned and Groyl grinned slyly.

“Still,” she said, “it would be nice if I could save you sometime.”

Groyl chuckled. “Okay, maybe next time I’m beset by a gang of pesky villagers I’ll call yeh to come chase ‘em away like yeh did that lot t’night. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Oh, you’re quite welcome. But…how did you know I did that?”

“Lass, it’s my home, and I’ve been around a while, I can read the signs. Oh, speaking of calling yeh, was it you that made that sound?”

“What sound?”

“That sound like a foghorn.”

“Oh, that. Actually it was me. Here, let me show you.” Fiona stopped and took a deep breath while Groyl halted as well and watched her. Then she held her nose and blew out her ears, repeating the trumpeting sound from earlier.

“Ha!” Groyl chuckled. “I didn’t know we could do that!”

Fiona shrugged shyly and smiled. “Glad I was able to show you something new.”

“See?” Groyl said, resuming his trudge with Fiona falling back into step behind him. “You’re teaching me new things about ogres.”

“Happy to oblige,” she said. Then she stopped smartly, her ears pricking to attention instinctively as she looked to her right. “Wait,” she said. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Groyl asked, also stopping and looking down at her.

“That sound,” she said. “A sort of low…I don’t know, burbling sound.”

“Really?” he said. “I didn’t hear anything. But they say youngsters can hear some things older folk can’t…” He squinted and looked in the direction Fiona was looking. He held the torch forward. All they could see were groups of trees. “You must be hearing things,” he said, then smiled. “Your ears are prob’ly still ringing from that little foghorn stunt.”

Fiona chuckled. “Maybe,” she conceded. Groyl started moving forward again. Fiona paused a bit longer, glancing again suspiciously toward her right before again falling in behind him.

“Speaking of those villagers,” Groyl said, apparently already dismissing her concern, “when yeh chased ‘em away, did yeh enjoy it?”

Fiona’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yes, actually,” she conceded. “It was…well, fun. I thought maybe it was the drink, but—”

“Nah, it’s natural for ogres,” he said. “I thought yeh might find an encounter…well, exhilarating, once yeh were healthy enough to stand up to ‘em. Yeh did surprise me, though, when yeh apologized to ol’ Crabapple back there. We ogres tend to let our tempers get the best of us, and I know you’ve got a temper.”

“Who, me?” she asked innocently.

Groyl paused again and looked back at her doubtfully.

“Okay, maybe a bit of a temper,” she conceded with a wry grin and slight blush. “But when I realized the situation, since he’s a denizen of your…well, neighborhood, I thought it would be wise to cultivate his good graces. I mean, it’s better to have an ally on your doorstep than somebody with a grudge.”

Groyl continued looking at her, his expression changing to surprise. “That’s actually…quite wise,” he said admiringly. “It’s just not…”

“Very ogre-like?” Fiona suggested. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s my human side. Or all my training and reading on the diplomatic expectations of royal leaders. Since I’ve been trying to open myself up to figuring out whomever…or whatever I am…I don’t know. I do enjoy so many of the…ogre-eske experiences you and Moyre have been showing me. But other times I just wish I was back in my room in my parents’ castle, pampering and grooming my cat and tying pink bows around his neck. At times I feel like…like a mass of contradictions in a dress.”

Groyl laughed. “That’s not being an ogre or not,” he said. “That’s called being female.”

“Oh, right,” she said, laughing herself. “Speaking from your wide experience with females, I assume?”

“Naah,” he conceded. “Moyre’s wide enough for me.” He started to turn back in the direction of their home, but then looked back at her. “Um, you know what I mean.”

Fiona began to laugh, but then she noticed some movement high up in the branches of one of the tumtum trees behind her companion. Suddenly a lithe, ten-foot long reptilian creature, resembling a small thin dragon but colored dark purple and with eyes of fame, leapt out of the treetop and started zooming down directly toward Groyl, bat-like wings directing its flight, its claws outstretched and jaws open.

“Look out!” the ogress cried, but before Groyl could react Fiona quickly took a step forward and then sprang into the air with all the strength her ograrian muscles could produce. She flew just over Groyl’s shoulder as she swung one leg forward, and at the pinnacle of her leap she struck the descending creature hard in the mouth with her foot as she shouted, “Hi-yah!” There was a sharp cracking sound at the impact and both she and the beast tumbled to the ground. Fiona rolled and was back on her feet momentarily – she wobbled just a bit, some of the effects of the earlier drink still with her – but she shook it off and took a fighting stance. The dazed, gangly, serpentine creature took to its four feet more awkwardly. It issued forth a burbling sound as it then reached up with one paw and rubbed its bleeding mouth. Looking down at the ground, it saw several of its teeth lying there. Its eyes grew wide, and when it looked up to see the sneering ogress fear showed in them. The burbling was replaced by a pathetic whimpering; it then quickly tucked its wings against its back, turned and sped away, whiffling back through the undergrowth of the tulgey wood.

Fiona watched it go, and once satisfied the danger had passed, relaxed and stood at ease. Letting out a deep breath, she turned to look up at Groyl. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He looked down at her for a moment, his expression almost incredulous. “Oh, aye,” he said. “That was some move. Where’d yeh get those fighting skills from?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, it just seemed natural,” she said, continuing to stare warily into the wood where the creature had vanished. “What was that thing?”

“Jabberwock,” he said.

“Jabber—what?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Jabberwock.”

“Jabberwock?” Fiona repeated, brow furrowing.

“Aye. You’ve not heard of ‘em, then?”

“No,” she said, and then chuckled. “Sounds like a nickname that’d fit one or two of the more talkative princesses I knew as a kid.”

Groyl chuckled too, and then said, “They’re really rare in these parts, but sometimes they wander in from a neighboring county. Them and those loud-beaked jubjub birds and frumious Bandersnatches.”

Fiona looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “‘Fruminous’?” she repeated, dubious.

“Aye, fruminous.”

“Now you’re just making up words.”

He shrugged. “I can’t be held responsible for the deficiencies in your vocabulary,” he said with feigned haughtiness.

She smirked.

Groyl smiled at her reaction, but his smile faded as he looked down at her feet. “Oh-oh,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?” she said, and looked down. Indeed, the side of the foot Fiona had kicked the Jabberwock with was bleeding. She tried to lift it up to get a closer look, but she began to lose her balance and had to put it down again as she wobbled for a moment in place. “I guess I’m still feeling the effects of those drinks,” she said. “I suppose it’s a wonder I was able to fight like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Groyl said. “I’ve heard some people fight better when they’re a little drunk. Anyway, have a seat, let me take a look.”

Fiona sat down on the damp ground. Groyl knelt before her and took her foot in one hand as he brought the torch closer with the other to see better. “Well, looks like one of its teeth is stuck in the side of your foot.”

“What?” Fiona said, aghast…and suddenly a little ill. “But…I didn’t even feel it!”

Groyl shrugged. “That happens sometimes, when you’re in the heat of battle. You know, one time after chasing off a bunch of bandits it turned out I had taken an arrow in my butt and didn’t even notice it ‘til a little while later when Moyre pointed it out.”

“An arrow…in your butt?” Fiona said, started to laugh, and bit her lip to stop herself.

Groyl looked at her crossly. “It wasn’t funny,” he said, frowning.

“No, of course not,” Fiona agreed – then let out an involuntary little snicker before having to cover her mouth with one hand to suppress it.

Groyl grinned despite himself. “Anyway,” he said, laying the torch on the ground beside them and then reaching down with one hand and carefully taking hold of the part of the broken tooth outside the wound, “she eventually pulled it out. That’s when I felt it…” with a jerk he pulled the tooth out of her foot.

“Ow!” Fiona gasped.

“…like that,” Groyl concluded.

“Thanks for the warning,” she said sarcastically.

“You’re welcome,” he replied innocently.

“I didn’t mean it like th—”

“I know what yeh meant,” he said, holding up the three-inch section of tooth and examining it. “Would it’ve hurt less if I’d warned yeh?”

“Well…no…I guess not…”

“There yeh go, then,” he said as he then examined and gently probed her wound. “Looks like I got it all” he said.

A terrible thought came to Fiona’s mind. “Those things aren’t…poisonous are they?”

“Na’ah,” he said. “Just sneaky and painful buggers if they get the jump on yeh. Which reminds me,” he stared straight at her and said in all seriousness, “Thank yeh for jumping in like that…literally. It could have messed me up bad.”

Fiona smiled, grateful for the compliment. “Well, as I said earlier, with all you’ve done for me, I did want to save you sometime.”

“Aye, yeh did. Tell me, do all your wishes come true so quick and dramatic-like?”

“Ha!” Fiona said mirthlessly. “Hardly. I wished for more years than I’d like to remember that some brave knight would come and rescue me from that castle.”

“Maybe you were wishing for the wrong thing,” Groyl mused.

“What the heck does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Groyl said, shrugging. “What do I know, anyway? I’m just a big, stupid, ugly ogre.”

“Oh, stop that,” she said, and reflexively kicked him with her wounded foot. “Ouch!” she said, grimacing at the pain.

“You might not wanna do that for a while,” Groyl said matter-of-factly as he took the torch and started examining the ground around them.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Gathering souvenirs,” he said as he meticulously picked up the broken Jabberwock teeth and dropped them into an inner vest pocket.

“Why on earth are you doing that?”

“You’ll see.”

“Agh!” she said in frustration. “You say that a lot, did you know that?”

“Hadn’t noticed,” he said dismissively.

Fiona looked back at the woods again. “Shouldn’t we be getting out of here before that…thing comes back?”

“It won’t,” he said, holding up the last tooth. “’Wocks are nothing without their choppers.” He dropped the tooth into his pocket, then stood and stretched. “You’re right, though. Let’s be getting home.” He reached down and offered his hand. “Up yeh go,” he said.

Fiona took his hand and he helped her to her feet. “Foot feel well enough to walk?” he asked, although it sounded more like a statement.

Fiona looked down at her foot. “Yes, I think s—”

“Let’s go then,” Groyl said. Fiona looked back up to see that he’d already started trudging back toward their home. She gave an irritated sigh and fell into step behind, limping only slightly.

“Moyre!” Groyl called, pushing open their door as he led Fiona inside. “I found her. And yeh wouldn’t believe—”

Fiona literally ran into Groyl’s back and gave a little yelp, he had stopped short so suddenly. “Hey!” she said, looked up at him, but he had frozen like a statue. Frowning, she followed his fixed gaze to where Moyre was stilling at the table, her posture slumped. There was a bottle of ograrian ale sitting on the table before her, and a mug clutched in her hand. She looked over at Groyl and Fiona, but she seemed to have trouble focusing on either of them.

“Did’che, now?” she said, slurring her words slightly. “She take off after those villagers?”

“Aye,” Groyl said taughtly, all mirth gone from his voice. “She chased ‘em away, like we thought.”

“Like you thought,” Moyre said. “I was wondering if she decided to rejoin her own people.”

“They’re not my people,” Fiona said, stepping forward until she had covered half the distance between them.

“Oh, you’re right,” Moyre said, letting go of the mug and briefly and awkwardly lifting her arms a foot or so in a gesture of mock surrender. “They’re too poor t’be ‘your people’. I forget you royals place a premium on that type of thing.”

Fiona felt stung. “I’ve been her weeks now, Moyre,” she said. “Don’t you know me better than that?”

“I thought maybe I did,” Moyre said, taking the bottle and re-filling her mug, spilling a little on the table where she couldn’t hold it quite steady. “But I guess maybe my judgment was clouded, seeing how I was so busy trying to turn yeh into a – how was it yeh put it – a ‘monster in a mudhole’?”

Fiona winced and blushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice small and contrite. “I didn’t mean—”

“Sure yeh did,” Moyre said, waving her mug toward Fiona in a mock toast, splashing a bit over the side. “This stuff’s better’n truth serum!”

“Be kind, Moyre,” Groyl said, stepping forward beside Fiona and placing a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “The lass had too much drink. As I think you have now, too.”

“Oo, but that’s another thing she was right about, and I was wrong,” Moyre said. “We didn’t have nearly enough. And don’t act so haughty. You drink, too.”

“In moderation,” Groyl said sternly.

“Fine,” Moyre said. “You have a seat and moderate. Me and Fiona –” Moyre pushed out the chair beside her with her foot – “we’ll sit her and drink.”

“Moyre, we’re all covered in dried mud,” Groyl said. “Let’s just put the bottle away and go out and wash off—”

Groyl began to step forward but Fiona placed a hand on his chest. “It’s okay,” she said meekly, looking up at him. “I think she needs to get this out of her system.”

Groyl looked down at Fiona, and then over at his wife, who was draining the mug. There was pain in Groyl’s eyes. “Fine,” he said resignedly. “But…I can’t stay here. Moyre, I’m going to our bedroom. We’ll wash off in the morn. When you’re ready, come t’bed.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Moyre said, picking up the bottle and pouring what was left of it into her mug. “Oh, and Fiona, be a dear and bring us a new bottle off the shelf, will yeh? This one seems to’ve had a leak.”

Groyl moaned, bowed his head, and slogged off toward their bedroom. Fiona sighed, picked a new bottle of ale off the shelf, and brought it over to the table along with a mug for herself. She sat the bottle and mug down and then sat on the chair beside Moyre. Moyre took hold of the bottle and filled Fiona’s mug and then topped off her own. Moyre then held the mug up to Fiona. “Here’s to honesty in relationships,” Moyre said.

“Moyre, I didn’t mean—” Fiona began.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Moyre said, nodding toward Fiona’s mug. “Or don’t yeh believe in that type of thing?”

Fiona sighed, picked up the mug, and tapped it on Moyre’s. Moyre then gave Fiona an acknowledging nod, brought the mug to her lips, and drank deeply. Fiona sighed, lifted her own mug and drained perhaps a third of it. She was starting to lower it but suddenly Moyre’s hand was on the bottom of the mug, pushing it back up. “Now, now,” Moyre said. “True ogres don’t sip, they drink.”

Caught off guard, Fiona found she couldn’t counter the inebriated ogress’s surprise or strength. The remainder of the burning liquid slid down her throat, what didn’t dribble down he corners of her mouth.

“Good!” Moyre said. “That’s how it’s done!”

“Are you crazy?” Fiona said angrily, setting her mug down and wiping her mouth as she felt a new buzz rushing to her head.

“Aye,” Moyre said as she filled Fiona’s mug back up. “I’m crazy. Crazy for thinking a silk purse like you might actually, deep down, be a sow’s ear like me.”

Fiona’s anger faded. “Don’t talk about yourself that way,” Fiona said, but Moyre had already lifted her mug to her mouth and was draining it. Fiona looked down at her own mug and sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really, really sorry for what I said. It was stupid and I really didn’t mean it. I—” not knowing what else to say, Fiona lifted her own mug and drank half of it down. The extra buzz felt good just then.

“And you’re right,” Moyre said, plopping her mug down on the table. “I’m not your mother. Maybe when you arrived here, being about the age my child would’ve been, I let myself think…well, it doesn’t matter. I thought wrong. I’m nobody’s mother. Never have been. And…never will be.”

Moyre bowed her head and began to sob then. Fiona sat her mug down. “Moyre…” Fiona began, concerned at the older ogress’s sudden distress. “I didn’t mean what I said like that. It wasn’t you. I was bitter about my mother. About how she abandoned me. I…” but Moyre continued to sob. Fiona reached over and sat one hand on hers. “I wish she had been more like you.”

“Like me?” Moyre said, looking up at Fiona and stifling her sobs. “Maybe I’m more like her than yeh think. I saw yeh, the way yeh acted, and thought that there was someone inside yeh who was…like us. And I tried to change yeh.”

“But that’s just it,” Fiona said. “You looked inside me. You haven’t been trying to change me, Moyre. You’ve never voiced disapproval in the un-ogre ways I’ve acted – well, except maybe as a joke here and there, but never seriously, never in a way that…that hurt me, or shamed me. Yes, you’ve seen inside me, and recognized a side of me that was already there, not one that you tried to implant. You’ve nurtured me, encouraged me to be who I am without shame, and supported me as I’ve tried to figure myself out. Isn’t that a big part of what being a mother should be about?” Fiona reached over with her other hand and took Moyre’s hand in both of hers and held it firmly as her blue eyes locked with Moyre’s brown ones. “I’m so, so sorry that you lost your own child all those years ago. That’s truly tragic, for with parents like you and Groyl I’m sure that she or he would have grown into a very special person.”

A smile flickered at the corners of Moyre’s mouth. “Thank ye, lass,” she said. “That’s kind of yeh to say. That means…more than you could know. And…don’t be so hard on your own mum. I’m sure she was just trying to do what she thought was for your own good.”

“Huh,” Fiona harrumphed, her own mood darkening. “I used to tell myself that. Over and over. I thought I believed it.”

“Believe it,” Moyre said, letting go of the mug and bringing her hand over so that both of her hands were now clasped with both of Fiona’s. “Mothers…mothers try their best, but they make mistakes. Actually, I can sympathize with your mum to some extent.”

“You?” Fiona said, cocking an eyebrow skeptically.

“Oh, aye,” Moyre said. “I don’t expect yeh t’understand. But we ogres have a tradition where, when our young reach a certain stage of maturity, we need to let ‘em go out on their own…and I suppose that can seem like abandonment, too. But the idea’s not to let ‘em get too attached to their folks’ apron strings, cause to survive in the long run in this world where we’re hated ogres need to…well, it’s hard t’explain to someone not reared in the culture and mindset. Just like your mum’s culture and mindset drove her to do what she thought was best for you. In a perfect world, things would be different. But the world…and none of us…are perfect, Fiona. If living with ogres has taught yeh anything, it should’ve taught yeh that.”

“That’s true,” Fiona said. “I used to believe that once the spell was broken, I’d fall in love with my rescuer and we’d live a perfect life, just like the fairy tales taught. But I’ve leaned how silly all that was. When you and Groyl took me in and welcomed me into your home…that was such an unexpected kindness. You’ve been unselfish and caring, and watching the two of you together…well, you’ve shown me what True Love looks like. It’s been a privilege and an honor to be part of your life, and I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done, from saving my life to showing me what makes life worth living. No, none of us are perfect, especially not me. But all things considered…you two are perfect enough for me.”

Moyre smiled fully, and a tear born of a kinder emotion dripped from one eye. “Fiona, darling,” she said, “I’d be proud to have yeh as a daughter.”

“No more proud than I to be your daughter,” Fiona said.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and then both leaned toward each other and they embraced tightly, and both began to weep. They had jostled the table when they leaned, and knocked the bottle of ale onto its side, where its contents poured onto the table. Neither ogress cared.