The Beast Within

Ambrosia: Chapter Five

I could not guess at how long I lived in the cottage, for it seemed to last the span of both days and years.

True to her word, Ambrosia joined me in looking for my sister, and used her wisdom and magic to aid in our search. She spoke every language known to the world, including that of animals and trees, and conversed with them often to gain information.

"The badger I met today hasn't seen a girl who matches Credence's description," she told me, "but the trees are whispering about a child with gray eyes who was born from noble blood. She's been seen with a wolf—"

"A wolf?"

"A man like you who shifts between human and animal."

"But Credence doesn't have noble blood."

"Hm. Perhaps it is a metaphor. The trees are fond of them. There were a few of them who were angry with her. Something about striking down their hero. They say her mother—your mother—was a powerful witch, though they can't agree on whether she was kind or wicked."

"Ma wasn't wicked. She was gentle with everything."

"Hm. Do you have magic?"

"I...no."

"Well, at any rate, one thing the trees can agree on is that the girl and the man disappeared into a cloud of purple. And several of the trees' brothers and sisters went with them. And there the trail goes cold, I'm afraid."

It took me a full day to recall an important piece of information.

"Ambrosia!" I exclaimed suddenly, startling the woman from her sweeping. "I just remembered! I've been to a place where the air is purple!"

"You have? Wonderful!"

"No, not wonderful at all. It was an enormous prison built into a white tree."

Ambrosia's excitement drained with the color in her face.

"The Collector?" she asked.

It had been a long time since I heard the name, but it still made me shiver.

"You know of it?" I asked. 

"All who live in the woods are familiar with that monster."

"Then you know the danger Credence is in."

She nodded. "There is good news in this though. A purple area of the woods will be much easier to spot."

Ambrosia never lost hope or suggested our search may be pointless, but joined me in earnest for countless hours wandering through the trees. My wolf helped too, using its keen hearing to listen for whispers and its sharp eyes to spot a hint of purple. On a few occasions, after Ambrosia retired to bed, I would venture into the night to resume looking. Once, I offered her my vial of tears, explaining it had magic that might prove useful, but after sniffing the contents Ambrosia shook her head and told me to keep it, for it had no use beyond protecting its wearer with a thin shield.

"It won't be effective against most things," she told me, "but it will keep smaller threats like foxes and spiders at bay if they mean you harm."

We settled into a peaceful routine, with our mornings dedicated to the search, afternoons dedicated to chores, and evenings dedicated to conversation and leisure. It became common occurrence for me to shift into a wolf after dinner and curl up near Ambrosia by the fire. She would stroke its fur and regale stories from her life, and the wolf would ask questions. It was through these fireside talks that the wolf's language was enhanced, until it was able to communicate in complete sentences. Ambrosia often complimented it for being an eloquent speaker, which made the wolf beam with pride.