Dear Baby Brother

by Daydreaminganewworld

Summary:

It is time the Lamb returns to the land of the Old Faith and continue their quest of bringing peace to the fallen Bishops souls. Narinder isn’t sure he’s ready to face his other siblings yet, but he’ll give it a try. Shamura is just happy to have their baby bug back, and Leshy is fucking confused.

Chapter 1

The light was barely starting to crest over the old, mossy walls of the temple. The highest tips of the tallest structures were highlighted, standing out on the blue grays of the rest of the untouched grounds. The Lamb took a deep breath, trying to slow their racing heart as they watched the waking world. The view from the steps out really was the best. 

The head leaning against their shoulder finally moved away, the Lamb instantly missed the weight, and a kiss was pressed to their muzzle. “Be safe,” Narinder murmured, disuse making his voice croak. 

The Lamb smiled at him before signing, “When aren’t I?” His narrowed eyes answered them, and they chuckled. 

“Just… promise to bring him back in one piece, alright?” Narinder’s eyes drifted down, his expression pinching. The Lamb gently butted his head with theirs, drawing back his attention. 

“I promise. We’ll be back before you know it. Darkwood is pretty easy going, especially compared to Silk Cradle.” 

The Lamb stood, their crown shifting into a black mass, slithering down into their grip before lengthening into a wicked double bladed ax. 

“Don’t have too crazy a party while I’m gone! And be sure to give ‘Mura my love!” The Lamb waved goodbye as they began to move out of the safety of the stone walls enclosing their cozy commune. Narinder watched them go, eyes brimming with worry, until he and the temple vanished from sight, swallowed up by the encroaching foliage guarding the temple. 

The waiting statue of the Red Crown stood in the center of the portal grounds, only one of the open gateways currently occupied. “Finally seeing to your duties, Infant God?” 

Billy’s voice was indescribable, echoing in their head louder than any of the Bishops when they puppeted the Lamb’s body before. However, Their voice struggled with the words, an accent the Lamb never heard of thickly tinged the booming voice. Hearing them always made the Lamb nervous. Unfortunately, ever since their first brush with death, their sense of self preservation instincts had become unrecognizably warped. 

“Well, since somebody here isn’t exactly the world’s best teacher, I had to take things a bit slowly with Shamura. Wouldn’t want to set loose an angry god on my flock, you know how it is.” The Lamb shot a sharp grin at the peering eyes blinking down at them from the shifting void that was Billy’s face. The being’s white robes fluttered with an unperceivable breeze. 

“Your duty is yours to keep, Infant God, no matter the consequences that may follow,” was all the merchant replied. 

The Lamb huffed. “Well it’d be great to know what these consequences pertained, so that I could at least try and prepare for them.” 

The rubble on the steps Billy stood shuddered. “I am not here to hold your hand, little god. You alone will fix what you’ve recklessly tarnished, and prove yourself capable of the usurped mantle you bear. I am here only to bear witness.” 

The Lamb rolled their eyes. If only they could let Narinder loose on this jerk. “Yeah, yeah, you’re doing great work, oh dear mentor of mine.” They bowed deep and low, exaggerating their posturing to properly accentuate their mockery. The eyes of the void unnervingly trained on them narrowed, but they said no more, and so the Lamb took their leave. 

They approached the moss riddled stone arch holding the green swirling portal of Darkwood, and stepped through. Their stomach lurched as their form was transported, vertigo swirling their brain. The quiet, well kept grassy clearing disappeared behind them, and was replaced by towering old pines and statues caught mid-wail that leered down at the sudden intruder. Strange calls and rustles filled the air, and they could feel hundreds of eyes on them the moment they appeared. Their gaze was drawn to the strange statue erected in front of them, once depicting the mighty worm Bishop of the woods. Rather than being defaced by a red cross showing his defeat, it now instead showed a bizarre visage of Leshy with a half decayed face and sharp teeth nearly biting off the bandages that once covered his eyes. 

Seemed Shamura’s rotting form wasn’t exclusive to them here in Purgatory. 

As the Lamb began to make their way forward, the statue began to rumble, and the surrounding bushes and grass shivered with it. The forest silenced, snapping to attention. A familiar icy grip tightened around the Lamb’s throat, and their hooves left the ground. They were unable to say a word as their body was dragged toward the decrepit statue, moving as a marionette with an invisible puppeteer. 

A growling chitter drowned out the now silent air, a heavy, angry presence made themselves known. 

“Little Lamb, I feel you there. Darkwood has not forgotten me yet.” 

A pause filled by a rattling wheeze, and the grip on the Lamb’s neck tightened. 

“I can still… Find you… in my woods…” 

The Lamb dropped, barely able to catch themself when they landed. The sky grew red, a furious haze began to thicken the air, and black portals began to burst up through the ground like untreated boils. Ravenous growls of bushworms and heretics alike began to fill the air, and the Lamb quickly righted themself, barely able to dodge the biting worm that tried to take off their head. The crown flushed their body with power, their ax glimmering in the light of the magic that began to manifest in their hooves. Their chosen demonic companions were summoned with a flash of red magic, and Fornax went to work, making sure to catch as many as they could in their blast. 

Annoyance pricked the Lamb’s wool. Of course this wouldn’t be easy. Choosing their target, they leapt forward, swinging the ax down. 

---

“ Bond forged by the spilling of blood… I know you hear me, God of Death. Ignoble Lamb… finish what you’ve begun. ” 

Blood, anger, swirling death, pain, pain, 

Pain-

“Shamura?” 

They blinked out of their haze. Their dreams have been straining, making sleep difficult and leaving their mind adrift from exhaustion. They shook off the half memory and continued filling Narinder’s cup with their newest tea blend. 

“Ignore me, brother. You know how I get when I’m tired, yes, tired, tired.” 

Narinder eyed them, gaging if they were telling him the truth. They set the teapot down on the hot pad they and the Lamb knitted together, and sat down, ready to return to the previous topic. “Now tell me what worries you so, dear. You’ve been pacing for hours.”

The change of topic made him sigh, his teeth glinting as aggravation twitched his lips. “I’m fine. I don’t know what Tyr was talking about when he spoke to you.” 

“Oh please. You wear your heart on your sleeve now. You know, the Lamb hasn’t even been gone that long. What, two days? Yes, yes, two days seems right. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.” 

He ran his claw around the lip of his mug, letting the rising steam heat his fingertip until it stung. “It’s… a very important mission they’re on. Of course I worry.” 

“I think Lamb has more than proven to you that they can handle important missions. You needn’t fret, no, no, no need to fret. They’ll be back and you’ll feel foolish for getting your tail in such a twist.” Shamura nodded, certain. Narinder’s ear flicked, and said tail knocked against the chair legs as it began to twitch with annoyance. 

“You’re such a great help, Mura. You always know just what to say to make me feel better,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

Shamura blew a cooling breath over their tea before trying a sip. Seemed Almer’s eucalyptus recommendation was worth something after all. “I’m afraid you’ve worn out my patience by being so temperamental since their departure, brother. If you want me to coddle you, then help me weed my flower box. Then we can talk.” 

Narinder grumbled about their scolding tone, something about how he wasn’t an unruly kit anymore, before taking a swig of his own drink. 

“Honestly, what could be so important about this mission anyways? We’re not low on any seeds or food, so why all the fuss?” Shamura asked, casting him a suspicious look. They knew there was something Narinder wasn’t telling them, but they honestly weren’t sure what it was. Their current migraine had lasted for over a week, and so they were in no mood to try and drag it out of him. 

He set his cup down, and glanced out the window, hoping it would bring him the answers he needed. “It’s… something important to me. But… I fear how it’ll turn out. Sometimes I wish I had your gift of clairvoyance, maybe then I wouldn’t be hounded by these what ifs,” he rested his head in his hand, eyes growing distant with a scowl. 

Shamura hummed thoughtfully, fingers tapping out a half familiar rhythm on their mug. “Well. I can understand why you would think that,” they admitted, reaching out and patting Narinder’s hand sympathetically. “Unfortunately, I fear you’d find my clairvoyance would only raise more questions than answers, and even knowing what is to come doesn’t mean you’d accept it.” They smiled sadly as they gestured to him, and he understood what they meant. Their smile brightened, though, as they raised a finger. “However, I think I know just the cure in helping you get out of your own mind for a while!” 

Narinder glanced back with narrowed eyes. He could already guess at their ‘cure’. “You want me to weed your flower box.” 

“To busy your hands is to busy your mind! It’s the best cure-all.” They nodded to themselves, pleased by their own answer. 

With a groan, he pushed his chair away from the table with a protesting screech. “Fine! But only because you keep pestering me about it.” 

He yanked his work gloves off his belt and tied his veil in place and started for the door. A sun hat was plopped on his head as Shamura joined him, beaming brightly down at him. “You truly are such a dear to your poor old sibling, Nari! I don’t know what I’d do without your help,” they noted, mandibles twitching in bemusement at the sour look he returned. 

The flower box in question wasn’t in a horrendous state, the manicured flowers were still standing proud and strong. But it’d obviously been forgotten for a moment, with a few spiky invaders popping up here and there between the plump blooms. He set to work, tackling the chore with ferocity, while Shamura sat beside him, thoughtfully sipping their tea as they watched the distant meandering activity of their fellow cultists. 

He once hated to admit it, but Narinder relished working with plants and helping them grow. When the Lamb first set him up to work in the fields, he spat long strings of curses for hours, glowered and snarled at any and all that dared near him, and continuously grumbled of the indignities that’d befallen him, but he still did it. 

He hated the idea of being treated as infirm, deigned a charity case of the Lamb’s that allowed him to continue to live. To be given work meant he was at least on par with the rest of their playthings, and that he had not sunk as low as he feared in his downfall. 

Eventually, he grew strong, an improvement than when he first emerged from his imprisonment weaker than a newborn kit. He had to admit, he preferred this form of recovery. Carefully nestling seeds into tilled soil and tending to their simple needs reminded him of days long past, far beyond the twisting trails of Darkwood, a secret garden deep in a now long abandoned temple, filled with red blooms larger than his hands, the pride and joy of it’s sole caretaker. Once they both saw it as their home away from home. He had no idea if Leshy ever went back after his imprisonment though…

The satisfaction he hid at seeing his work flourish was something he kept to himself, pointless as it was when he had gifted the Lamb with telepathy long ago. It was a refreshing change of pace, one he’d long settled into and relished nowadays. Many things had changed since his reintroduction to cultivation, his view on the Lamb and their mercy, his place in the world without his godhood, but the plants never changed. They grew, they were harvested, they passed, and the cycle went on. 

Narinder’s shoulders began to relax, the tension along his spine disappearing. Only occasionally stopping to finish his drink that Shamura had brought out with them, he lost himself to the rhythm of digging under the base of the weeds, gathering all of its stray roots so not one was left behind, and tugging it out before depositing it beside the box, to be gathered after and tossed into a mulch box. An easy repetition, letting his mind grow blank and tranquil. 

“So, how do you feel now?” 

He hated how Shamura was always right. He let out an even toned grunt, trying to ignore the smug look his eldest sibling hid behind their tea. 

“I’m glad. I can give you more tasks to do later on if you need a distraction again,” they continued, draining the last of their mug. 

Narinder sighed, plucking the final weed from the box. He sat back, brushing the clinging dirt from his gloves. “Is this why you’re so determined for things to do these days? Got something on your mind?” he asked, half jesting. 

Shamura chuckled. “Of course, brother. I am what one would call an overthinker. I fear I may have passed that trait off to all of you, now that I think about it.” 

Narinder huffed a laugh, before losing himself in thought once more. Despite his protests, the work did help his mind settle. He may as well ask the question that’d been plaguing him lately, and say he was growing reminiscent of the past if they asked about it. “Shamura?” 

“Hm?” 

He hesitated for only a moment, biting back that clawing dread that told him to forget it, run away and never broach the topic. “Why did you entrust Leshy to Heket and I’s care?” 

They blinked, the only sign that Narinder’s question caught them off guard. “What..?” 

“It’s just… I know you were busy, but surely Kallamar could have? I mean, he helped you rear us after all, surely he could’ve taken care of Leshy as well-” 

“Narinder.” Their voice was gentle, albeit shaky. He understood why, neither of them dared broach the topic of the others. 

“Leshy… well, it was as you said, I was too busy to give him the full attention he deserved, which I regret, deeply. However, you and Heket, well, I saw you both were just as capable as Kallamar, and he did as well. I asked him, in fact, what his thoughts were on letting you two apprentice Leshy, and he agreed with me that it would do you three good. Raising you and Heket brought the two of us closer, let us trust one another more, and I thought it would do the same for you. We all needed to trust each other. After all, a star cannot be without its five points,” they explained. 

Narinder eyed them, ear flicking. “So… you wanted me and Heket to get along.” 

“Partly, yes, but… I also wanted Leshy to have someone to trust. I knew there were going to be times when he could not reach me when he needed someone, times where I could not lend him my own strength like I did all of you before. I trusted you would be there for him, that you’d care for him. I was quite proud of you three, actually. Had he the time, I no doubt Leshy would’ve made a name for himself just as formidable as us all.” Shamura smiled fondly at the memory, bittersweet as it was now. 

Narinder stewed on their answer, looking off to the horizon as he did. “Do you regret that choice? After what happened?” 

“No.” Their answer was simple, but there was no hint of hesitance. They laid a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Narinder, you were a gentle, loving brother to Leshy. I knew you would be the perfect candidate to help care for him. Nothing could change that, and what happened between us was not your fault alone.” 

Shamura’s words were met with a shocked look, and they smiled sadly. “I know the part I played in our family’s downfall, brother, and I am terribly sorry for that.” 

“I’m not sure if the others would agree with you about that,” Narinder murmured, glancing away, remorseful. 

They pressed a gentle kiss to his head. “Please don’t doubt the good you did just because of the bad, brother. I know Leshy loved you, even after you were gone. Just as you still love him now. Were he here, and had time, I’m sure he’d tell you the same.” 

“You think that? Truly?” 

“Yes. When he comes back, I’m sure you’ll both work things out, as we had. Mortality tends to make you rethink resentment, after all.” 

“Thank you, Shamura,” Narinder squeezed their hand, grateful for the reassurance. Even when he was being purposefully obtuse, they knew what to say. Finally he stood, groaning as his tendons stretched against the sudden activity. “I’d better get these to the compost bins before I forget,” he began to gather up the plucked weeds, careful not to leave a single leaf behind. 

“Alright. Do come see me again if you need, Brother. I’ll always have time for you,” they shot him a meaningful look, and Narinder’s lip twitched upwards. 

“I know.” 

As he made his way down to the compost bins, Narinder noticed a familiar red form, and his eyebrow rose as he noted the strangely blank look on Valefar’s face. “Vale? Spend too much time in the sun?” he asked, gently nudging the bagworm’s shoulder when he approached them. 

Slowly, his unfocused eyes trailed over to Narinder, and slowly blinked.
“Hm..? Oh, hey. It’s bossman. How goes… goes…” He trailed off, eyes sliding away from Narinder to an invisible point in space, their mind no doubt following. 

Narinder carefully eyed him. Valefar tended to be easy going, and perhaps a bit of a shroom head at times, but even this was excessive. 

“Go to the healing bay, Valefar. We wouldn’t want the Lamb to come home and find you dead on the ground from heatstroke.” 

Slowly Valefar shook his head. “I… I’m fine. Just, not all here right now, you know?” Suddenly he winced, and rubbed his furred hand over his head. “They weren’t kidding about being a priest for life, huh? Guess I didn’t know what all I was signing up for…” 

Narinder realized what he meant, and felt a sympathetic pang. Valefar had been kind to him ever since the beginning, showing him the ropes when others kept their distance with nasty glares, feelings still fresh from the stunt he pulled not even a week before. Valefar, however, would only joke about the incident if it was ever brought up, elbowing Narinder with a gleam in his eyes as if they were old friends sharing a story about a prank gone wrong. He never shared a harsh word with Narinder, even when he was acting especially abrasively. Though, seeing his friendship with the priest Barbados, it seemed Valefar had experience with such temperament. He would share meals with him, lend a listening ear, and provide a calming atmosphere when the rest of the temple was growing too loud, too overwhelming. He was probably one of the few people Narinder would willingly admit he saw as a friend. 

So to see him like this, ripped between life and purgatory, an experience not even Narinder knew, it upset him. He awkwardly patted Valefar’s arm, regaining the bushworm’s attention. “...Take it easy for the day, Vale. You and the others. I imagine this will pass once the Lamb returns.” 

Valefar’s face twisted, he clearly wanted to argue, strange considering what a layabout he usually was, but then another wince quivered his body, and he let out a pained breath. 

“Yup, yeah, okay. You got it, bossman. Least, until Leader gets back. I’m telling Barbatos to chew you out if she says something though,” he added with a halfhearted smirk, before slowly trotting back to huts. His silky tail dragged behind him on the cobblestone path. 

“You do that,” Narinder watched him go for a moment, to make sure he wouldn’t collapse the second he turned his back, before eventually continuing on his way to the compost bins. For as much as he was dreading what the Lamb’s return would bring, he had to hope for the worms’ sake they would be back soon. 

---

Blood trailed down their axe, dark rivulets that were visible only when the light caught them. Their hooves tread heavily, sluggish from the overexertion spread out over the past few days. Leave it to the Bishops to make their own resurrections such a pain in the ass. 

There was a rustle of leaves behind them, and Hathor glided out of the foliage to their side. Their presence filled the Lamb with renewed vigor, making them sigh in relief. “I dunno what I’d do without you guys, you know that?” they patted the demon’s head. Hathor remained impassive as ever. 

The duo entered another empty clearing, Fornax shortly joining them, when the Lamb spotted a promising sight. “Hello…” 

They made their way to the cobblestone path cutting through the thick swath of trees and statues. Lined by bone studded columns, stained with dark brown spots from past battles. Through the thick trees they could see the tall, foreboding walls of a temple. They’d already gone through three smaller ones, and this one radiated energy that made their wool stand on end. 

The Lamb took a deep breath. They couldn’t make a mistake here, not unless they wanted to go through Darkwood all over again. Heart pounding with nerves, they started forward down the path, into the entrance to Leshy’s temple. The red door blocking the passage to the inner sanctum stood over them, foreboding as always, until its seal flashed and gave a loud crack, splitting it to pieces that crumbled away. With a gong, the door slid down, permitting the Lamb entry. 

A familiar scene awaited them. An endlessly high stone room, no ceiling in sight, instead the stretching walls vanishing into the shadow high above them. Two rings of heretic cultists kneeled around the hulking figure of their Bishop, ignoring the piles of bones around them and the dripping ichor-like sludge falling from the maw of Leshy’s half-rotted skull. 

A rattling wheeze filled the room, Leshy’s head twitching to and fro as he struggled to focus, but when the Lamb stepped into the room, his head snapped to attention, bandaged gaze focused solely on the intruder. 

“Lamb.” He gurgled, body trembling. 

The heretics around him stood, five pulling their daggers from their robes. 

“Time to put an end to this… frivolous masquerade… time to put an end…” He shuddered, and the cultists plunged their daggers into their chests. Their blood spilled onto the floor, filling the carved out pentagram indentation like before, and Leshy began to rise, the fervor from his downed followers rushing to fill his form. 

“End… this…”

His form exploded out into a roaring, decayed beast a thousand times the Lamb’s size, letting loose an earth rumbling roar. The Lamb dodged the oncoming blood mixed spittle, charging forward to attack. Fornax shot past them, bursting on Leshy’s head on impact, making him yowl, mismatched eyes welling shut from pain. 

One, two, three times the Lamb struck at the worm’s body. The ground rumbled, and they somersaulted back, avoiding the wave of spikes that burst through the cobblestone in a devastating tsunami. Leshy screeched, shaking out a shower of acidic poison, making the lamb roll even further away to avoid the projectiles. Their fleece hissed, steaming from where the droplets managed to land before they could escape. 

Leshy dived, burrowing through the ground towards them, and the Lamb led him on chase, trying to avoid the oncoming spikes he sent up in his wake. When he arose, he was met with a facefull of black, burning ichor. He screeched furiously, writhing to shake off the poison eating at his dwindling flesh. Unfortunately, the Lamb was right behind their magical attack, axe slicing wildly. Trying to fend them off, he blindly slammed into the ground, his gaping jaws scooping up whatever it caught into endless rows of razor sharp teeth. The Lamb bounced away, and with careful precision, sent their axe flying back in their stead. It sliced into him once, then boomeranged back with yet another whack before landing in the Lamb’s grip. 

With a furious roar, Leshy shook his leafy pelt, and seeds launched out, sprouting into spitting bush worms the second they touched ground. The Lamb weaved around the biting beasts, trying to bring down their numbers as well as get more hits in on Leshy, twirling into a dangerous dance. 

And on the battle raged, Leshy growing more and more frenzied as the Lamb whittled away at his endurance, his withered leafy pelt growing slick with ichorous blood. More and more minions were summoned, more vicious than the last, leaving the Lamb feeling like minced meat. Leshy even managed to knock the Lamb back, the tip of his tail cracking their skull. They caught themself before they could crash into the wall, gravel scattering from their hooves as they skid back. 

Their vision was swimming now, their brain trapped in a tightening vice. They shook their head, trying to reorient their stumbling hooves. ‘Almost there, just a little more,’ They promised, before throwing themself back into the frenzy, axe madly slashing from side to side as they waded through the endless waves of bushworms. 

Once more they threw their axe, once more it pounded into Leshy, the blade sticking deep into his ebony-white skull. He let out a gurgling wail, head rearing back as his jaw dropped open to reveal the endless void within him, red eyes glowing deep within the back of his gullet. 

This was it. The Lamb leapt forward, hooves wrapping tight around the axe handle. They stared deep into the endless green gaze of the phantom Crown of Chaos, making certain the bishop could see them. 

“In the name of Death,” their own crown growled, voice low from exhaustion. They forced the axe deeper in, bone splintering. Their wool was stained black and red by the spurts of blood escaping around the blade. Leshy’s scream was cut off when the Lamb ripped it back out. 

“I set you free!” 

Down it went one final time, cleaving his skull in twain. 

For a moment, time froze. In that moment, the bubble of purgatory popped, fading away until it was nothing more than a distant, hate filled memory. 

Leshy’s body trembled, his mouth opened in a soundless cry, until a last spasm shook the entire temple, and he rapidly shrank down. The Lamb tumbled after him, barely able to catch themselves before they hit the floor. 

Glancing up, they watched as the mighty Bishop Leshy crumbled, his form collapsing in on itself until he was the same size as them. He was covered in scrapes and open wounds from the fight, but he was no longer a rotting corpse. He was whole now, his face tightly bandaged just the same as when he was a bishop. 

A low whine began to spill out from him, no doubt overwhelmed by the sudden rush of change, and he curled up into the fetal position, head pressed to the stone below.He hugged himself tightly until his arms shook, as if he’d fall apart if he let go. 

Slowly, the Lamb approached. Leshy flinched at the sound of their steps, but gave no further acknowledgement to their presence. The axe weighed heavily in their hand. It would be so easy, a simple swipe, and poof. He wouldn’t bother anyone ever again. He would be nothing but a bad dream lost in the process of waking up.  

But then came the memory of Narinder, knelt before the pedestal of the Green Crown, gently cradling a bunch of camellias as if they were a bundled child, eyes staring off in that haunted look that made the Lamb sick as they recognized his grief. They blinked the vision away and shuddered. Their axe dematerialized and reappeared on their head as the crown. They would not fall to the same path as their murderers. 

They lifted their now empty hand over Leshy’s form. Their eyes glowed, a portal opened up under them, and Leshy gave a yelp before disappearing from sight. The crusade was over. 

Gathering their rewarded vials of Gods’ tears, the Lamb readjusted their singed fleece with an exhausted sigh. Their back was tender, no doubt from when a worm slammed into them earlier, their vision still dotted with black spots that made their stomach churn dangerously. It felt like their skull itself was bruised. Hathor appeared at their side once more, giving one last shot of rejuvenation. It would be enough to get them back home. Hopefully. 

The Lamb gave a final look to the temple. It was unnervingly quiet, the shadows pressing in. Empty of its god, the Lamb felt even less welcomed than before. It was time to go home, before the woods took matters into its own hands. 

…

Teleporting into the Temple of Death relieved the Lamb of the weight that followed them ever since Darkwood. Seemed nothing major had happened in their absence, not a fire in sight, and they were grateful. It was dark, but the sun would rise soon, too soon to rest before they'd need to give the morning sermon. Hopefully no big trouble would occur today, especially with how much they felt like ground meat in a skin suit. 

They trundled down the stairs, trying not collapse as they went, and made their way to the effigy carved in their honor. The golden halo arched around it glowed heavy with devotion, long overdue for harvest. The Lamb summoned its power to themself, and a bit more life flowed through their veins, the love of the Flock flooding their body. 

Next they stepped closer to the summoning ring, and already the light was flashing. A distant screech grew louder until a green body launched out of the portal. 

Leshy scrabbled, gasping in shock. His chest heaved, head whipping back and forth. "I... I cannot see! Where is my crown!?" Pure panic was fueling him, making him seem more like a feral beast than a person. Though for him that line was already quite thin. 

The Lamb stayed back, trying not to overwhelm him. That didn’t seem to matter, though, as suddenly Leshy’s head snapped to them, his covered gaze locking on. "Lamb! Damned Lamb! I know you are there, I smell you." Leshy staggered to his feet, almost instantly tumbling back down. He shivered, flexing his claws and carving deep gouges into the stones of the summoning circle beneath. "What... has become of us?" 

“Easy now, no one is here to hurt you,” the Lamb’s crown spoke gently, knowing the futility of signing at the moment. Leshy would no doubt bite their hooves off if they tried to finger spell into his hands. 

Leshy barked a harsh, chittering laugh. “Too late for that, foul creature! I may not have my powers at the moment, but I am no mindless idiot drone! My suffering, all that I went through, it was your fault, I just know it! For what purpose have you brought me back? To taunt me further? Grant an even worse punishment than my previous endless death? Pointless, I will not grant you any satisfaction, damned beast , so slit my throat right here and now, Lamb, and be done with it!” 

He startled when the cresting sunrise suddenly hit him. The sun had been steadily climbing the sky as the two hashed their confrontation, waking the world with it. A familiar sight to the Lamb, bringing with it a sense of deja vu. 

Distantly, birds sang, alerting one another to the break of dawn. The wind shivered through the trees, and their leaves hushed it reproachfully. The crickets gave their final farewells before they vanished from the oncoming light. 

Leshy’s head cocked at the flush of noise, the tension in his shoulders easing, if only slightly. The breeze gently greeted him as it did the trees, and the foliage covering his body chittered back, the branch horns sticking from his skull swaying. He almost seemed awestruck. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Leshy,” the lamb murmured gently, not daring to break the peaceful spell that’d fallen over them. 

The Flock was rising, and already they were noticing the Lamb’s return, and their new guest. Many kept their distance, remembering Shamura’s violent arrival, while others cautiously moved closer, eyes burning with curiosity. Some seemed even hopeful, recognition burning in their eyes as they took in the new arrival. 

Leshy clenched his hands, his shoulders rising tensely once more. New sounds and scents were flooding his senses, they were no longer alone, and yet still no aggression was being taken against him. He didn’t understand. “What is the meaning of this, Lamb-?” 

“Leshy?” 

The worm stiffened, and the Lamb saw over his head a now frozen Shamura, the gathering crowd quickly parting for them. The spider stared down at him with wide, glossy eyes, hands rising to cover their mouth in shock. 

With slow, jerky movements, Leshy cocked his head, turning towards the source of the call, and his voice eked out, weak and almost a whimper. “Shamura..?” 

Without a moment’s hesitation they surged forward, and Leshy was scooped up by red and purple. Cool silk fabric fluttered around his body and clinging, tight purple claws yanked him close into a secure hold. Shamura failed to hold back their sobs, holding onto Leshy like he’d disappear forever. For a moment the worm lay dazed in their arms, but slowly, as if waking from a dream, his arms slithered around them as well, and he burrowed deeper into their grip, his leaves trembling even harder. 

“Leshy, Leshy, my Leshy, oh my dear Leshy, you’re here, you’re here, please tell me you’re real, please don’t let this be a cruel vision,” Shamura gasped between their keens, hands running through his coat desperately, eyes almost completely covered by the spider silk spilling from their tear ducts. 

“‘M here, ‘m here, Shamura, I-I swear it, I’m here,” Leshy spoke numbly, his claws digging into Shamura’s robes as tightly as theirs into his ragged shirt. 

“My Leshy, my sweet little worm, oh my sweet, sweet little bug, you’re back, blessed be whatever force there is, you’re back home.” Shamura was almost incomprehensible in their sobs. It seemed it would be a good while until they would be ready to let the worm go, and Leshy seemed to feel the same. 

Despite all their aches and bone deep weariness, seeing this reunion made the drawn out journey worth it to the Lamb. Even if it was a pain in the ass, it was nice to see the siblings reunited. 

They turned, ready to go call for morning sermon, but froze. Narinder stood far behind them, silently emerged from his private hut some time ago. His eyes were intently focused on the two reunited ex-bishops, and the Lamb could see his paws trembling under his robe sleeves. The look on his face broke their resolve. 

“I call a Holy Day today. No more work until tomorrow. Get some rest everyone,” their crown boomed, with no argument. With shaking legs, they approached Narinder. He didn’t seem to notice them at first, until they carefully pried his fingers open, and slipped their hooves in between. 

Only then did Narinder blink out of his daze and look at them. “You look awful,” he murmured. His voice barely managed to remain steady. 

The Lamb huffed, giving him an exhausted smile. “You get to knead my back tonight. No buts.” 

Narinder studied them, his burning gaze stripping back their soul, as they always did. He carefully pressed his head to theirs, and the Lamb’s eyes fluttered shut. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than at your side, my Lamb.” 

“Thank you…”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Leshy settles in, and gives cooking a try. Narinder has no idea how to face his baby brother that he had killed.

There was a point once when Leshy didn’t understand the phrase ‘stumbling in the dark’. During his days as a young burrower, the darkness had been his constant companion. He had no issue with his lack of vision, he had his other senses. He welcomed the peace darkness brought, in fact, and saw it as an old friend. 

But now, here he was. Brought back to life after what was supposed to be his permanent end, fruitlessly reliving purgatory until time itself unraveled and everything started anew. Now the air filled his lungs once more, he could feel his bandages digging into his leaves, and the boundless power that once filled his chest was but a forgotten memory, leaving only an aching chasm in its place. He walked the earth again, moving forward with time rather than being ignored by it, and he was currently in the cult built by his murderer. 

He finally got what it meant to stumble in the dark. It wasn’t about being blind. 

It’d been a few days since he’d been freed from Purgatory. Shamura had tended to his injuries, and helped him find his way around the temple grounds. They were looking into setting him up with his own space, their current hut was just a bit small for the two of them. 

Every morning, they woke him up to help him redress his injured eyes, chattering about their old priests that they’d run into, and the job they seemed to have picked up in their stay. A part of Leshy couldn’t help but wonder if his chosen priests were around. It’d been a while, and he was half expecting they were long dead at this point, but he couldn’t help but hope he’d have the same luck they did.

Shamura’s voice was gentle, their fingers precise as they unwound the bandages dressing Leshy’s eyes. He didn’t say much as they rambled, he was busy squeezing the cushion they sat him on, memorizing every lumpy seam of his sweater pressing tight against his leaves, the only remnant of his previous life. 

He felt the pressure on his head give way eventually. Blobs of light flickered, the remaining dregs of his vision. Shamura tutted, something about their eyesight getting worse with time. They gently gripped his chin, tilting his head to thoroughly examine the old wounds. 

“It does not seem any worse than before, thankfully. You’ll need to change your bandages everyday now, lest infection sets in.” He didn't bother to remind them that they’d had this talk when he first arrived, and multiple times after. Sometimes they’d even freeze in the middle of their task with a gasp, as if the thought had somehow slipped their mind this long, and they’d rush him to a seat with bandages in hand before another second passed. He was getting used to their memory quirks again, just as they were. 

Something hot pressed into his face, blocking his vision, and the pain that was usually a dull ache in his empty eye sockets flared up, escaping from his throat as a hiss before he could choke it back. Shamura murmured apologies and squeezed his shoulder, but continued to dab at his wounds. The steaming water dripped down his leaves, eventually soaking into his collar. 

Soon they were satisfied, and a cool, round pot was pressed into his hands. Leshy automatically felt along it until he found the open top and dug his claws into the slick gel inside. Gathering a handful, he slathered it over his face. He didn’t bother with the excess left coating his leaves. 

Shamura, neat and orderly incarnate, said nothing. They simply dabbed away the salve that wasn’t neatly tucked under the fresh gauze Leshy wrapped around his head. They did, however, start picking at some of the stray leaves jutting from his coat. “You might be due for a trimming, brother. Bit uneven, yes, yes…” 

He couldn’t understand how they stayed so calm, settled so easily into this domestic life, when every nerve in his being was currently alight, burning with the urge to scream . This all has to be some kind of a joke, some sick twisted game of the Lamb’s. But Shamura doesn’t joke like this. They reassured him this was mercy, a true second chance. But they were in the middle of their enemies’ temple, their stench filling every nook and cranny. Even Shamura was tainted by it, it settled around them like the unfamiliar wool and silk robes draped over their shoulders. He wished he could rip it all away, free his sibling so they smelled like before, the dust, old paper, incense and the barest hint of hot iron that always haunted them. 

“Are you alright, brother? You seem lost in thought.” 

Shamura’s hand gripped his, and Leshy focused on the sensation, trying to ignore the buzzing electricity racing under his skin. But it refused, instead the sensation was slowly pooling up inside of him, rising higher and higher, threatening to burst if he didn’t do something. Ignoring it wasn’t working, he needed a distraction, an outlet. He made a decision. 

“I want to look around on my own today.” 

There was something on the temple grounds he needed to see. Ever since he arrived, he smelt it. That familiar musk of overturned soil, fertilizer mixed with wet dirt and clay, and the perfume aroma of his forest’s red jewel. It wouldn’t be the same, nothing could touch the harmonious frenzy of his woods, but he could at least pretend for a moment. 

Shamura paused at his abrupt announcement, the only sign that he caught them off guard. “Are you sure?” 

He nodded. “If I have to be here for a while, I might as well figure out the lay of the land for myself. No offense, but I hate having to be guided around like a bumbling pet.” He spat out the last part, his tail lashing with frustration. It hit something, sending it toppling over with a clatter. He winced, but Shamura patted his head before he could apologize. 

“I understand. You can join me for lunch later if you wish, I’m sure Allocer would be delighted to see you again. They asked about you recently, actually. Yes, curious about how you’re adjusting.” 

Leshy stood, buzzing with an excitement he hadn’t felt for a good while. “Thank you. I’ll be careful,” he added quickly. 

Shamura chuckled, gentle and fond. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, dear.” 

Leshy rushed out the door, unable to stand another minute in place. Instantly he felt his leaves turn to the sun, drinking in its glow. He hasn’t been able to get enough of it, gluttonously soaked in its rays whenever he could, like a cactus in a desert greedily soaking up a newfound source of water. The sunlight of purgatory was unfulfilling, artificial, and left him starved in its loss. The lamb’s little temple may be a pathetic imitation of its forebear, but at least it was an imitation in reality. 

The path under Leshy’s feet was uneven, but smooth to the touch, worn over by hundreds of feet over who knows how long. The grass and clover that would’ve easily peeked through was long stamped away. His fingers brushed over lampposts, some entwined with long strings of ivy, others fuzzy with moss. So far, he was eight lampposts away from Shamura’s hut. No major landmarks yet, so he made sure to mark the lampposts with his sharpened claws to remember which ones they were in the future. It was quiet, the majority of the convents still dawdling around the temple, desperate to catch a glance from their oh-so-beloved lamb. With the blissful silence, he could almost hear the forest outside of the temple. Distant calls, movement treading carefully through the undergrowth, all a temporary balm to the itch agonizing his soul. 

Still, part of Leshy wanted to burrow into the dirt, race along right beneath the surface just under the path as fast he could manage, just to see how far he could fling the stones, maybe break a few windows if his aim was lucky. But he resisted the urge. He could already feel the disappointment that’d radiate off Shamura if he gave in to such a childish whim. 

Shamura… His relationship with them was never as clear as he’d like. He knew his standing with Heket and Kallamar, they expected his best, and pushed him to stride past his boundaries. Heket protected him, as a big sister would, snarling whenever he did something particularly stupid, but always ready to fish him out of trouble the minute he was too far out of his depth. Kallamar was far more hands off, happy to let him learn the hard way, but still indulged him from time to time, when he wasn’t stuck in his own head. Taking him to the darkest depths of Anchordeep, and showing him new secrets and riches with the dramatic flourish he always carried himself with. There was never a guessing game when it came to them. But Shamura was an entirely different story. 

There were two versions of Shamura he knew, the one before and the one after the incident . Before, he never saw them much, and when he did he was determined to earn their respect, show them just how far he’d come from the little grub they found. He’d catch their eye a few times, and a hopeful flutter would alight in his chest. There were times when they’d seek him out, though far and few as they were, and they’d travel his temples of Darkwood, silence reigning as their loudest companion. Shamura’s eyes scrutinized every little detail and speck of their surroundings, while he nervously awaited at their side for their verdict. But it never came. Eventually they’d bid him farewell, they were needed elsewhere, and they were gone, with nothing but a hollow ache to take up their absence, and him wondering just what exactly he did wrong. 

Then the incident occurred, and if Leshy ever wanted to see Shamura, he had to go to them, with permission from Heket or Kallamar. Any conversation they had was stilted, confused, cycling the same topics over and over again as Shamura struggled to keep track of themselves. Leshy’s crown would gaze into their unfocused eyes, that piercing look that stripped him of everything long gone. They’d never turn to him, never spoke to him, just mumbled intricate verses at him that he could hardly understand, and shame crawled along his spine. 

He failed them, this wouldn’t have happened if he’d been stronger, had seen what was coming. He didn’t deserve his title, he was a sham, a miserable excuse of a god. 

But now… Now they were entirely different person yet again, the god he once knew before now just a memory. Now he was around them almost throughout the entire day, they gave him all of their attention, their words spoken as freely as a creek flowed. They gave him affection, treated him fondly no matter what mistake he inevitably had to have made, and made sure his every need was met. It stirred up memories, memories of a time before that he could hardly remember, swaddled in warmth, gently plucked from the earth and pulled into loving arms with a hushed voice soothing his confused mind overwhelmed with the crown. 

He didn’t know what to make of it, couldn’t understand it. Surely they should be disappointed in him? Surely they knew what a waste of potential he was? This was his fault, after all. He failed in his duty, the heretic won, and now they were here, trapped in the lamb’s grasp, all of them now cursed to live a mortal life once more and scrape by whatever they could until their bodies gave out, until the lamb’s whims dug up their corpses and set them to play their games once again. 

“Hey, shrubhead!” 

He startled out of his thoughts, the foul stench of one of the lamb’s followers clogging his thoughts as they approached him. 

“You know how to cook?” The follower asked, voice harsh with impatience. 

Leshy’s fingers twitched at their impertinence, longing to show this beast their place. Instead he lowered his head, voice growling as deep as he could make it go, “What’s it to you?” 

Something was shoved into his hands, a hat plopped in his head and Leshy was being shoved up to a radiating heat, his olfactories assaulted with thousands of different meals past. 

“I am not waiting another second for that damn possum to come relieve me. If he ever shows up, you can let him take the lunch shift. Until then, kitchen duty’s yours. Praise the Lamb.” 

“Wh- But I-!” 

Any argument he could think of died in his throat, and the stranger huffed. 

“Just follow the recipes. And don’t go trying anything cute, unless you want the leader to send your head rolling.” Then they were gone, and Leshy was left alone, claws curled tight around the wooden handle of his new tool. 

His head whipped around, panicked. What would the others think if they caught him here, dishing slop like a lowly follower?! They’d, well they’d-! 

But… the others weren’t around, were they? Heket and Kallamar were still gone, their souls somewhere in Purgatory, and Shamura… Shamura did work as well, Leshy had sat next to them while they explained their weaving process to him as they fingers skittered about the taut strings with musically out of tune plucks, working the loom as easily as breathing. It made sense, then, that he’d be put to task as well since he was making no move to leave, for the time being. 

He turned his head curiously, trying to get a handle of this new environment. He was in a kitchen open to the temple, that was certain. Fresh ingredients were placed in hefty baskets to his left, the grill to his right filled with scorching coals tempered to the perfect temperature for cooking. An open faced oven was behind him, a heavy cauldron hung inside, freshly cleaned of the morning’s breakfast, now awaiting its next brew. 

Carefully Leshy reached out, past the baskets, and found a counter with a well worn book set on a stand with its pages open, surrounded by a mortar and pestle and a cool wooden kettle that sloshed when his hand knocked into it. Perhaps this job was especially dehydrating, considering the multiple sources of scorching heat surrounding the workspace. 

Leshy dragged the book closer, opening it up to a random page and running his finger down the stained paper. His tail lashed as he realized the futility of the attempt, there was no way to decipher the notes on here, not only could he barely feel out the curving bumps of its words, but it was written in some semi literate moron’s chicken scratch that might as well have been the terrified footprints of a wild squirrel. He shoved it away with a growl, just as he heard footsteps approaching, and that familiar stink flooded him. 

“ Oh, Leshy? What are you doing here?” 

His claws raked down the surface of the counter before he turned towards their voice. “Dumb Lamb, what’s it look like I’m doing? I suppose your followers care not for punctuality, as I’ve been forced to take their place here.” 

“Ah, yeah, Julantre fell ill, I was just coming back from the healing bay. I’m surprised you were volunteered, I thought you’d be with Shamura right now.” 

Leshy turned his head away with a sniff. “I am not bound to their hip like a pupa, I am capable of finding my own way around.” 

The Lamb’s voice remained infuriatingly placid. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to imply such a thing. What I mean is, I’m surprised that you’re willing to help out, is all.” 

“Well it’s only fair I earn my keep, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want your precious flock to think you were favoring us, would we? It’s what you had Shamura do, after all,” Leshy’s voice took on a nauseatingly sweet tone that dripped with venom. The Lamb didn’t seem to take notice of his bait. 

“Oh, no! Mura’s just a workaholic. Thankfully the others make sure they pace themselves. But, yeah, if you think you’re up for it, I’m sure we can keep you busy. Just don’t go too crazy, I don’t want to face Shamura if you overdo it.” 

Leshy decided he did not like the overfamiliar way the lamb spoke of his sibling. 

“Pah! Off with you, Little Lamb! I’ve got work to do!” 

Leshy turned to the ingredients and grabbed an armload of pumpkins that he sent tumbling into the empty stew pot, slamming the lid down on top. 

The lamb still lingered, unease halting their step. “Uh… do you… know what you’re doing?” 

Leshy, currently up to his elbow digging around in a burlap bag of assorted spices, snarled. “Of course I do! Do I look like an idiot?! Begone, and let me be!” 

“Oh-kay… Didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll, uh, let you get to it.” They slowly backed away, and Leshy’s leaves settled when their presence faded. Finally he could focus. 

Once more he opened the cauldron, reaching inside and skewering through the unyielding shells of the pumpkins with his claws, before tossing the spices over them and closing up the lid once more. A familiar steam began to hiss out of the pot, reminding him of a long distant past, when he was smaller. 

Those evenings spent sitting on a counter, swinging his feet back and forth, watching Heket as she moved about her kitchen with grace, complaining about the nonsense she had to deal with that day. Her attention never wavered, going from the roiling pots to the simmering meats to the spice racks and back without stutter. Leshy was held rapt as he watched her dance, stomach rumbling unnecessarily as the air filled with a heavenly aroma. Chuckling, Heket would hold a spoonful out for him to try, and ever the aspirant, he’d suggest something that could be added, unnecessary as it was. She’d indulge him, and would go on to tell him of the thousands of recipes she collected over time, how she tinkered and experimented to make her own, making the world of life’s daily bread her own. He held those moments close to his heart, and liked to think he learned something from it. 

Leaving the pumpkins to tenderize, Leshy looked through the baskets once more. There was salmon, some cuts of some kind of meat. Maybe he could make something of this… 

Something landed on his finger. He froze. He could hear its wings brushing delicately against each other, the near silent clicks of its joints as it adjusted itself. He hadn’t been near a butterfly in ages. Something so tender was quick to be snapped up in the Darkwoods, he could only remember one place where they’d actually frequent, the one safe haven in the endlessly shifting chaos. He was overjoyed they picked his gardens, they were fun to watch, fun to chase, and made for a pleasant occasional snack if he was feeling a bit overzealous. A childish joy, unbecoming of a God. 

And yet he wasn’t the only one that loved them. They were a shared memory, like his evenings with Heket. Quiet afternoons spent tending to the voracious blooms, digging his hands into warm soil before another set placed the seed inside the divot he made, to be buried and watered, blanketed in a protective layer of mulch, where they’d sprout their roots deep. The other would sigh, impatient that the sprout yet refused to spring from the earth the instant it was sowed, and for once he got to be the patient one, telling the other to give the little seed time, it would grow when it was ready. All good things came with time. 

“ When did you get to be so wise, Leshy ?” He’d smile that smile reserved for Leshy and Leshy alone, his to keep, in his secret garden with his secret butterflies, untouched by the expectations that lay waiting for them outside. 

Suddenly, as if sensing the turning thoughts, the little butterfly took off again, leaving as quickly as it arrived. His finger twitched, missing its weight. Then he shook his head. 

Focus! Do not dwell on him! He’d done such a good job until now, ignoring such memories, even when he could smell that heretic around every corner. He wouldn’t waste a single thought on that past, not ever again. Just like he promised himself. 

Leshy reached into the basket with a renewed vigor, drawing out the cuts of meat he discovered. It would take longer to prep, seeing as they were tougher cuts. They’d probably be done grilling by the time the pumpkins were ready to be mashed. 

He slapped it onto the counter, and gave it a thorough pounding, a bit more forceful than necessary, but he didn’t have to admit it. Then onto the grill, where the meat immediately started sizzling the second it touched down. The juices dripping out began to hiss and spit, threatening to burn him if he wasn’t careful. He sprinkled more spices over it, and perfection. He turned to scoop up the spatula he set down. 

“Praise the Lamb that smells divine!” Someone gasped behind him. 

Leshy whirled back around, holding out his spatula defensively. 

“Gods, I’m starving , when is lunch gonna be served?” The voice continued, ignoring the three tined tool currently pointed at them. 

He cleared his throat, quickly straightening his spine again. “It’ll be done when it’s done,” he replied stiffly, leaving no room for argument. He hoped that would be the end of it, the lamb’s pet would take off and he’d be left in peace, but no. The damned fool stayed in their spot, no doubt their eyes burning a hole in the meat he was cooking. 

His branches twitched. He wanted to bite off their face, scream until their eardrums imploded and maybe chuck them into whatever river they crawled out of so he wouldn’t have to smell that muddy musk wafting off them anymore, but he didn’t. It would be unseemly to lose his temper at his ‘fellow cultist’. Instead, he growled under his breath, and opted to ignore them, and wait for the meat to finish cooking. It wasn’t so hard, even if he could hear them drooling. They didn’t attempt to bother him any further, so he could just let his mind drift. 

The tiles in the kitchen were more even here than the paths, he could feel the intricate lines indicating a beautiful mosaic rested beneath his feet. He couldn’t help but ponder the point of such frivolities. It was a kitchen floor, where food would get dropped on it, muddy feet would trek over it, everyday wear and tear would no doubt tarnish its looks. What was the point? 

Wait… was that another set of footsteps? 

“Ooh! That looks delicious!” Their voice was soft, but Leshy could smell the sweat coming off them. And dirt, just a trace, perhaps they just washed it off, but he could smell it. A farmer, perhaps?

Leshy would’ve squinted at them if he had the eyes to do it. Was this a thing? Was this the real reasoning behind the open concept kitchen? So the food could be gawked over while the chefs prepared them? Heket wouldn’t stand for such nonsense. 

Leshy huffed an amused breath as he finally flipped the meat over to its untouched side. He could already imagine her audience running away in terror as she tried to add them to her meal. He pressed against the meat, ensuring it got a good char. She would scuff him over the head if he forgot. 

“Looks done, hey, how about serving that up, yeah?” Distantly he heard the second uninvited guest speaking, but something brushed against his leaves, gaining his attention once more. 

The butterfly was back. Leshy couldn’t help himself, his head traced its flight path by him, a quiet trance falling over him. Where was it going? Maybe he could follow. It couldn’t hurt, just this once, couldn’t he indulge himself? The past was in the past, there was no more expectations of him. Right? 

Wait…

“-you even doing?! Pick the damn thing up before there’s nothing salvageable left you stupid worm, who put you in charge of this?!” 

Someone was screaming at him, a stream of curses that just didn’t seem to end. How did they hold so much air in their lungs? But more importantly, heat was flaring up in his face and acrid smoke clogging his senses, shit, it was a fire ! 

Leshy let out a garbled yelp, using his spatula to beat out the fire before it overtook the grill, flecks of juice and charred meat began to splatter, burning what it touched, but thankfully he put the fire out, no more impending disaster. 

Chest heaving, Leshy trained his head down at his ruined work, the aftertaste of the smoke threatening to choke his throat. Just like the butterfly’s garden, it was now an unrecognizable mess. 

His first observer let out a restrained breath, and began to stomp away. “Waste of a steak,” they grumbled, and Leshy could feel their ire towards him rolling off in waves. 

He didn’t care, he told himself. Staring down at his mistake, what was supposed to be a grand meal made in Heket’s honor, wasted… it didn’t matter. He didn’t care, not for a second. 

…Waste of a god. What good can you do?

“Um, hey.” 

Leshy stiffened. The other one hadn’t left yet. 

“Sorry about him, he’s… eh, he’s kind of an ass.” 

Suddenly a familiar scent was held up, a scent that always overtook his entire being. “Don’t worry about it, yeah? Everyone makes mistakes, even ex-gods!” The stranger’s voice was chipper, light as a butterfly wing. “See ya, good luck with lunch!” 

They walked away, and the camellia bloom felt light in his hands. He hadn’t expected any of the Lamb’s followers to be friendly. Or to have good taste, either. The camellia was always a decent gift, even if this one was puny. 

His stomach eagerly churned at the intoxicating aroma currently in his grasp, but perhaps they could be confused for butterflies. Either way, Leshy knew the cure. 

Sharp teeth that could rend flesh from bone in an instant were revealed, and the camellia, older than his reign, was torn apart in his maw. So stubborn, not a single herbicide could hope to touch it, yet so delicate, easily shredded in seconds flat. He reveled in its contradictory nature. 

“Seems you’ve been having fun.” 

Leshy paused, petal fragments fluttering from his chin. 

“So, pumpkin soup?” The lamb continued, that stupid smug smile present in their unbothered voice. 

“How much did you see?” He asked, uncharacteristically quiet. 

The lamb ignored his question, stepping closer to open up the cauldron, their bell jingling as they peeked in. “His name’s Firyn, by the way. He’s new as well, actually. Maybe you two have more in common,” they said instead. 

Leshy was tempted to bare his teeth at them, but resisted the urge. For the moment. Instead he spat back at them, with as much venom as he could muster, “I don’t need your help, Lamb.” 

There was a pregnant pause. He could feel the lamb’s gaze on him, unwavering, unyielding . He wasn’t about to give them what they wanted, though. He would play nice, follow along with Shamura, but if they thought he was going to become yet another of their mindless sycophants... 

Then the lamb spoke, suppressing a laugh, affection in their voice, for as much as they tried to hide it.  “You’re a lot like your brother, you know? It’s almost uncanny.” 

The turbulent rage burning in Leshy’s guts was doused, the wind knocked from his lungs. When he was able to speak again, he had to congratulate himself for keeping his tone in check. “Kallamar would be rather distraught to hear you make such a comparison.” 

It seemed the lamb finally gained the perception to notice the icy edge of his tone. “Ah… yes, well… good thing he didn’t.” 

He brushed past the Lamb. The pumpkins were ready, and would need to be mashed for the soup. He began to pluck them out, one at a time, setting them by the mortar to cool for a moment. His face was mangled enough, he didn’t need to add second degree burns from steam to top it off. 

“I’m a bit curious, why does a bishop like you know how to cook?” 

He snorted. It seemed the damn beast never knew when to quit in the face of social fumbles. “Do you know how?” He shot back. 

“Well yes, but I was a vessel for a god then when I was first tending to my flock. Didn’t really start with the powers I have now.” 

“And I wasn’t born a god. I earned my power, as all the Bishops of the Old Faith did.” 

The Lamb paused. “But… I thought… The One Who Waits called it his birthright-“ 

He’d roll his eyes if he could. Of course he’d call it that. “And he was a pompous ass. You should know, you served him.” 

Then, to Leshy’s shock, the lamb cackled, a full belly laugh, he could hear it echo through their chest. “Yeah! Yeah, you got me there!” Their voice was still bright with mirth as they continued. “But still, you strike me as someone who likes their meal… raw.” 

Leshy picked up a knife and began to slice into the pumpkin shells, their heat warming his fingertips. “Well… I do… but Heket seemed to like it, so I gave it a try,” he finally admitted, piling the slices into the mortar. 

“Ah, so Heket taught you? That makes sense.” 

It was hard to be mindful of his answers with his hands busy, and maybe that was the lamb’s plan. He had to admit, it wasn’t a half bad attempt at manipulation. But he wasn’t going to make it easy, if he could help it. 

“And what of your new status, Lamb? How goes your journey wielding the power of death? Seeing as your cult is still such a quaint size, I’m guessing you haven’t yet taken up your old benefactor’s plan of making the world yours to command.” 

The Lamb hummed thoughtfully, and the pestle was suddenly placed in Leshy’s grasp. “I guess you could say I’m not as interested as he was, being the only god left and an inevitable one at that. And to be honest?” They leaned in close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t want to see the amount of outhouses I’d have to clean to keep up with a cult that big.” 

Leshy paused in his grinding to focus all of his attention on the lamb. They were serious, not a hint of irony in their tone. This creature that defied death itself could rule the world, gain unending control, force any and all to bow at their hooves, and the only thing stopping them was latrine duty. He almost laughed in disbelief. Almost. 

“So you can beat up five gods, but you can’t convince someone else to clean an outhouse.” 

“Think you could?” They countered, and… maybe they had a point. 

“There’s a reason I dealt mainly with worms and beasts,” he sniffed, and the lamb chuckled again.  

“Mm, you might’ve been onto something there.” 

Leshy suddenly realized something. The Lamb was futzing with the cauldron behind him, sprinkling onions and garlic into the stock they pulled out of somewhere. They managed to lower his guard enough to worm their way in. What was the point of giving their followers such duties if they were just going to butt in on them anyways? What an infuriating beast. 

Well, it didn’t matter now. He finished the pumpkins, and they could be added to the stock. The purée dropped in with a delectable sounding plop, and Leshy could finally wash his hands of this disastrous attempt. 

“I’d say we make a good team, huh?” The Lamb asked. 

He ignored them, placing the lid back on the cauldron with a low thunk. “If one of your followers comes crying, saying that I poisoned the food, you’ll know they’re lying,” he said instead, plucking off the chef’s hat and tossing it over his shoulder. 

“Of course,” came their ever neutral response, and Leshy left the kitchen, refusing to further acknowledge their presence. 

Not even a week had passed since his arrival, yet already he was being pushed into the cult’s fold, treated as if his time outside the temple was now but a distant memory. Had these fools no sense, no self preservation? Or perhaps they hoped to brainwash him quickly, stuff him full of reasons not to seek their demise before such thoughts even had the chance to bloom. He wasn’t sure if either answer perfectly slotted into place as he’d like. He put it behind him, no use dwelling on mortal nonsense. He had somewhere he wanted to be. 

The damp musk of the soil guided him, as familiar as his own. He marked the way along, so he could return, mentally mapping all the hodgepodge landmarks he came across as well. 

Through a stony arch, a hole in the temple walls esconsing the area? It seemed no others were around, thankfully, and he was free to let his guard down. The ground grew twisted and difficult to navigate. He felt at home. 

Soon, the scent was verging on overwhelming. His feet sunk into the rich earth, he could feel the tender care received radiating from the plants around him, and his hand reached out, brushing against a thorny stalk. His claws ran along its winding branches, until they caught a silky bloom that easily filled his hands. Its petals were thick and plush, gently bowing under the weight of his fingertips when he pressed against it. It wasn’t the same as the blooms of his woods, it’s wild nature that stretched beyond the reach of the crowns was tamped down, domesticated, an offshoot of the wild plants that sprout freely beyond this temple. But he could feel a trace of its ancient blood surging through the stems, somehow older than the very earth it sprang from. The rising itch gnawing at his insides dampened, the camellias perfume soothing like a mother’s touch. 

He wasn’t sure who tended to this garden, it wasn’t any of the mortals the Lamb kept. He doubted they’d let any of their precious flock wander the safety of the walls. Not to mention bringing out the hidden nature of the camellias was no earthly knowledge. Only when he laid his claim on his crown and godly ichor ran through his veins did the blooms share their secrets with him, only then was he deemed a true child of the forest. Such knowledge he kept hidden from his followers, they didn’t deserve such revered secrets, only his fellow crown bearers did he see fit to let in. The camellias were powerful, so long as they were in the right hands. 

He had no doubt the Lamb had hardly more than a surface level understanding of their use, and he was half tempted to taunt them with this fact. But there was still no explanation for how these flowers were flourishing here, so far from home. Except for, perhaps… 

Leshy growled, shoving himself away. 

The only bright spot in this lamb’s damned commune, and still it was tainted . He was lucky, he supposed, that he didn’t run into their gardener, or that his stench didn’t hang over the place, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. 

Best to just forget it existed, no good would come retreading those paths. 

He quickly departed. Shamura would be wondering where he was by now, and he’d hate to disappoint them by running late. 

No matter how far he went, though, the camellias haunted his steps. A constant whisper over his shoulder, calling him back. Like butterflies that kept returning to the garden. 

---

Watching him go was difficult. Part of him demanded he go after Leshy. Give up the ruse, face the inevitable as he always had. But he knew asking him to stay would only be harder. 

Narinder let out a sigh. He’d never felt like such a sniveling coward. He could face Shamura so easily only because he knew he had a chance to reason with them. With Leshy, he knew all that awaited was what he was owed, and so he hid himself away, tending after the ghosts of his memories. Pathetic. 

“There you are!” 

He watched as Shamura caught up with Leshy’s fleeing form, embracing him as easily as breathing. For a moment Leshy froze at their open affection, but then immediately melted into their embrace. He envied his older sibling, how easily they embraced this chance for new beginnings, but then, he supposed they didn’t become the god of war by being a coward. 

Distantly, they caught his gaze. Their brow furrowed, and he knew what they were thinking. But he just couldn’t get himself to do it. He turned away, shame clinging to his pelt. Shamura ushered Leshy off to the kitchens for lunch. 

Seeing as he was in no mood for socializing, Narinder decided it was best to go where he knew no one would be at the moment. The temple was meant to be a haven from turbulent thoughts, as he’d been reminded often. 

The heavy door wailed as he pushed it open. No matter how much the Lamb futzed with it, it always regained its complaining creak. Some thought it was a charming addition, the one single imperfection among the crisp architecture and manicured decorations. Perhaps that was why it thought it was welcome to return. 

It was as he thought, the inner sanctum was empty, not a soul in sight. They all were breaking for noon. He let the door bounce shut behind him, his claws clacking against the polished hardwood floor. The air was warm, nearly stifling, thick from candles and incense. The air glowed an unearthly red as the stained glass peered down at him, its eyes judging the intricacies of his soul as always. 

He walked past them, the ruminant effigies and the offertory they guarded, and stepped onto the stage that was the Lamb’s. He ran a claw over the stone top of the podium. He could almost believe electricity pulsed within it, with how much power poured out of the Lamb during rituals. He wondered just how many sermons were performed here. 

“Been a minute since I’ve had to worry about insurrection from you,” the Lamb’s crown called, their figure leaned behind him in the steeple doorway. 

“And it’ll be longer still,” Narinder replied, eyes still focused on the podium under his paw pads. 

They joined him at the altar, switching to sign. “Not hungry?” 

He traced a claw along a divot in the stone, mind reeling. They’d seen him at his lowest, and he them. They would not judge him. Yet still his pride held his words back. 

How often had it cost him everything? 

With a growl he slammed his paw into the podium and whirled on the Lamb, scaring the hell out of them from the sudden disruption. 

“Order me to face Leshy.” 

The Lamb stared at him as if he’d grown a fourth eye. “I’m not doing that.” 

He buried his face in his hands. “You have too. I can’t do this if I have the choice, I’m a sniveling bastard of a coward, and so can’t do it!” His skin suddenly began to sting when his grip tightened. 

“Easy there, love.” They pried his paws away, pressing careful lips to gather up the pinpricks of blood that was drawn. 

He was losing the fight against the weariness that penetrated his bones. “I can’t face him. I look at him, and all I can think of is how he’ll push me away the second I approach him. And he’s not wrong to, after everything I’d done for him, and then to try and rip it away, like it all meant nothing!” He squeezed his eyes shut, shame burning his soul. 

“He was my responsibility,” he whispered, remembering the day Shamura showed him and Heket the young bagworm. His eyes gazed up at them, wary, ever watching. They took him as their own, molded him into an unstoppable force, loved him with every fiber of their beings combined, and he gave them everything he could as thanks. “And I tried to kill him.” 

The Lamb brushed his tears away. “I know.” 

It was getting harder to speak as his airway squeezed tighter. “I cannot even hold any true anger with him like I did the others. All I can think is how I failed him. What right do I have to ask for another chance?” 

“One that he is owed. This isn’t just about you, Nari. This hurt you hold is shared with him. He needs relief just as much as you do. To hide is to hold this forevermore festering. It must go, either with forgiveness or rejection. You owe it to you both.” They held him close, as if he could be trusted, hiding him away from the rest of the world. He could almost forget in their arms, he could almost find peace. 

With a shaking breath, he pulled away. They studied him, those dark brown eyes looking for something he wasn’t sure of, but they must have found it, for they smiled. 

“You know, I can see a lot of you in him. He acts a lot like you did when you first came here. He’s like a hybrid of you and Heket,” they noted. 

He paused at their comparison, his heart shuddering. “He was always like that. I suppose all we did was encourage it further.” 

Their eyes began to gleam, their smile grew sly. “First Leshy, then your attendants, I’m starting to think you gravitate towards parenthood.” 

“I wouldn’t say that’s a good thing, seeing where my rearing ended them up.” His lips curled into a bitter smile, and the lamb clicked their tongue. 

“Come on now. Enough moping. All five of you messed up, as we’ve long established. But now you have the chance to make up for it. Don’t waste it on pouting and being all ‘Woe is me, all that I touch ends in misery’!” They put a hoof to their forehead and leaned back with a faked sob that rasped through their ruined throat. 

His whiskers twitched at their dig, though their words rang true. He knew this. If only he could convince himself to follow. 

The Lamb’s hooves gripped his paws. “Listen, let’s make it easier for you. I may have discovered that Leshy gets a bit more reasonable when he’s doing something. I can work that to your favor, but only if you actually take the chance. Okay?” 

He shot them a look, and they only smiled sedately. “Firstly, I don’t need you to make it ‘easier’ for me. Secondly… It’s been a moment since you needed to use manipulation.” 

They winked. “Never hurts to practice for real future challenges, right?” 

Narinder closed his eyes, before giving a nod. “Very well. I will see it through properly.” 

“Good. I’m pretty sure Shamura is gonna bang your heads together if you keep your avoidance up for much longer anyways.” 

He grimaced. He did not want to stir up their wrath… He supposed he had no choice then, and could only hope this worked out in his favor. Hope, when it failed him so many times before. Oh how the fates loved to see him suffer.

Notes:

FUCK ok so this is looking to be a three parter, next chapter will have Leshy and Nari talking, promise. It got to be too just so much, and it’s been so long I decided to say fuck it, this is gonna be two chapters and y’all can read it while I work on the last one. Enjoy lil bastard Leshy and some references to a certain video and cat 😌
Find me on tumblr @daydreaming-jessi

Chapter 3

Summary:

Leshy is pushed to help on the farm, meets up with some familiar faces, and finally faces his brother and himself.

“Good morning!” 

The Lamb’s voice was far too chipper considering the time, Leshy decided. He didn’t even have his sweater on yet. He was still shedding the detritus that built up in his sleep, it was that early. 

“Ah, Lamb, to what do we owe the pleasure? Tea?” 

He shot a half aborted glare at Shamura for allowing them in, and offering them the opportunity to stay. 

“Mm, yes. I think I need that,” they agreed, fabric rustling as they settled at the table. 

He did his best to ignore them, focusing on the heated water dripping through his fingertips as he continued to wash his eyes. 

“You seem a bit… disheveled. Did you go somewhere last night?” Shamura asked, setting down another filled mug with a clink. 

“Aha, you could say that. I had to do a little supply run last night, the seeds have been running a little low.” More rustling, Leshy hated how his hearing perked curiously at their vagueness. 

“Mm, yes, I’ve heard the cauliflower is being tricky,” Shamura noted, and the Lamb let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I swear it’s doing it on purpose, first the frost, then the cabbage looper infestation, now it’s throwing a fit because the weather is getting too warm. At this rate we won’t even have any cauliflower this year,” they complained, and Leshy couldn’t help but snort. 

“Enjoying my troubles, Leshy?” The lamb asked, and he innocently shrugged. 

“I didn’t say anything, I’m just sitting here. Tending to my ravaged eyes.” He dabbed delicately at said eye sockets for emphasis. Another loose leaf fluttered off his coat and into the hand basin below. 

“Leshy, don’t you know a bit about crucifers? You helped Kallamar when his followers were struggling.” 

He inclined his head to Shamura. “I might know something.” 

The lamb clapped their hooves together. “Really? Oh, but I wouldn’t want to bother you. They’re quite stubborn, you know? I mean, even our best farmers couldn’t figure it out, so I’m not sure if you-“ 

Leshy hated the unspoken challenge in their tone. He could only imagine the sorry state of the Lamb’s farm. He didn’t want to help them. But if they thought he couldn’t do it, well. 

“I’ll take a look and see if I can’t save your little plots. Be warned, you may find my methods uncouth.” He shot them a sharp grin, his pearly white teeth emerging from his leaves. 

“I mean, we already fertilize the farm with dead bodies. Can’t get much more uncouth than that, can you?” the Lamb hummed, unbothered. Leshy was already regretting his pity. 

Shamura clasped their hands, chittering. “Ah, Leshy! How wonderful! I’m sure you’ll love the work, you’ve been getting so restless as of late! I will miss your company, but I no doubt you’ll enjoy yourself.” They ruffled his head, the pride rolling off them in waved. Leshy felt his skin heat up at their gushing, and was glad for his protective layers of leaves that hid his heated skin from sight. 

“Glad to have your help! I’ll be at the farm when you’re ready to take a look.” The Lamb got up, their drink long finished, and headed off. Shamura saw them out, leaving Leshy to stew. 

Did he not get enough of the Lamb from his forced cooking shift? Bastard really was determined to get him to bow under their command like their other little pets. He supposed they didn’t succeed five other gods by giving up. Still, didn’t mean he had to like it. 

He got up with an annoyed hiss, and went to put on his clothes proper. He’d just take a look, point out the obvious flaws in the Lamb’s work, and then he’d go. He had no reason to stick around, he wasn’t going to debase himself by being a farmer . What a downgrade that’d be. 

…He wondered if he’d run into that cultist with the soft voice again. That wouldn't be too bad.

…

Shamura insisted on walking him to the farms. He didn’t know why, but they seemed quite happy walking along with him, impassively silent as ever. With no heavy weight of expectation hanging round his neck, it could almost be described as pleasant for him as well.  

“Ah, here we are. Seems busy already,” they noted, coming to a stop. Leshy had already long noticed the pungent hit of fertilizer growing stronger as they got closer to the farms. Now it was mixed with the sour stench of working bodies, the air filled with the clatters of tools and idle chatter. 

His tail lashed. He could already feel how packed in the dirt was under his feet, how it bonded suffocatingly close to the roots of the plants. Seemed they were trying to make up for this by feeding the crops ample amounts of fertilizer, and while it was a healthy mix of compost, it was basically slapping a bandage onto a gaping head injury. 

“Shoddy work?” Humor colored Shamura’s tone, and he sniffed indignantly. 

“It’s a miracle the lamb got anything worthwhile to grow this long.” 

“I suppose they might have helped it with harvest rituals.” 

“Pah!” He shook his head. “Look how far relying on such a crutch has gotten them. Asking their enemy for aid in their time of need!” 

They only hummed, crossing their arms behind their back. “Haven’t been to this part of the temple grounds often, though I see a few familiar faces. They’re kind folk, I’ve no doubt you trust them if you need any extra hands.” 

They paused, and their mandibles chittered in surprise. “Oh. I do believe I just spotted Amdusias, they must have returned from their mission recently.” 

Leshy’s neck nearly cracked from how hard his head snapped towards them in surprise. “Amdusias?!”

“LESHY!!” 

He was fortunate not to have anything important in his hands when he was bowled over by the sudden torpedo of leaves. 

“You’re alive! You’re here! We missed you so much, but you’re back now!” He was sure Amdusias’ enthusiasm was gonna choke him to death once again, but he didn’t care. He was too busy laughing, squeezing them back just as tightly. 

“You! Fucking traitorous bastard, you abandoned me!” He cackled, scrubbing Amdusias’ coat, squeezing their cheeks as their scent flooded him. Tainted as it was by the lamb, he missed it. 

“What else was I supposed to do? Leader beat me fair and square, just like you did!” They finally sat back and Leshy could breathe. 

He remembered Amdusias all too well. His followers begged him to take care of the wild bagworm rampaging their villages, and when he found the beast, they had the audacity to challenge him to a fight, as if they were equal opponents. He easily bested them, but they left him thrashed. He found a kindred spirit in them, it only made sense that he made them his priest. He had hoped the lamb had no chance against them, or any of his priests for that matter, but the damned beast loved to prove him wrong. Losing them fueled his anger, and began to blind him from acting tactically, no doubt hastening his downfall. 

If Amdusias was still kicking around, though, then surely he wasn’t the only one. Leshy knew he should be furious with his lost priests, make them regret ever abandoning him and the Old Faith. But honestly? He was happy to see them alive and well. It’d be a tragedy if their life had been wasted, as he previously feared. 

Of course, that didn’t mean they would get away with it scott free. 

“Still.” He grabbed Amdusias’ head, and crashed it into his with a loud crack . They crumpled with a yelp, the sharp toothed growths on their head sputtering out acid that made his leaves sizzle. 

“I yield, I yield!” They wheezed, rubbing the growths with a wince. “Eesh, I forgot how thick your skull is.” 

“Greetings, Amdusias,” Shamura finally spoke up, and the bagworm started at their voice. 

“Oh, Shamura! Sorry, Barbatos told us not to intrude on you two,” they bowed their head apologetically, but Shamura waved it off. 

“I’m just here to see him off, actually. I’m sure Leshy has had enough of my company by now, no doubt he’d love to reacquaint himself with you all again, yes,” they replied, patting his shoulder. 

Amdusias chittered giddily, their glee rolling off them in waves as they snatched his hand. “Oh, oh! You’re helping the farm? Yes! Come on, then! I’ll bring him back before dinner, promise!” they called back to Shamura, dragging him off. They waved goodbye before the two vanished. 

“The others are gonna be so happy to see you, I still can’t believe you’re here! Barbatos got married, and tried to hide it from everyone, but Valefar always knows what’s up, and she started to think he was some kind of enemy spy because of it, actually tried to convince the leader to lock him up in the stocks! Luckily Agares stopped her, but those two still butt heads over it! OH! Agares is here too, he’s gonna be so relieved you’re ok!” 

It was almost overwhelming, the deluge of information, but Leshy was used to that. By the time they reached the others, his head was beginning to pound from headbutting Amdusias, though, and he was glad for the pause. 

“Well look who it is. Been a while since we’ve seen your twiggy branches,” Valefar drawled. 

“Leshy!” He was tackled by Agares before he could retort, their horns digging into the side of his head while they hugged him. “Thank goodness, I was beyond worried you’d be too stubborn for your own good,” they sighed, and Leshy huffed, puffing up his coat. 

“I mean, I had to put up a bit of a fight. I have some pride after all.” 

“Of course, of course. As much pride as the rest of us have,” Valefar agreed, making Amdusias giggle. 

Leshy crossed his arms, tail smacking the ground. “Well at least I didn’t throw up the white flag at the first turn of the fight. I swear you put up a bigger fuss with me than the little lamb!” 

“Hey, we followed through with our duties, fighting your cause even in death. Which, by the way, thanks for the warning. I did not enjoy finding myself split between two places like that,” Valefar sniffed before flicking one of Leshy’s branches. 

He paused, thinking back to Purgatory. There had been others souls in there with him, hadn’t there? Shattered fragments, unlike him, but they were trapped just as he was. He chittered, uneasy. “It… it wasn’t ever actually supposed to happen.” 

Agares patted his back. “Oh ease up on him. He’s not the one that designed those vows in the first place. Unless you want to go complaining to Shamura themselves.” 

Valefar stiffened, and Amdusias jeered at his instant reaction. 

“Anyways, that all doesn’t matter now. What matters is you’re alive again! A bit powerless, perhaps, but alive! I could see Shamura coming around to Leader, but I’m super proud that you did too!” Agares continued, shaking Leshy’s shoulder. 

He hissed at such an accusation. “There is no ‘coming around’ going on here! I’m only putting up with the lamb until they bring back Heket and Kallamar, and then we’re out of here!” 

“You won’t stay?” Amdusias had no right to sound so heartbroken, Leshy wondered if he may have cracked their skull a bit too hard. 

“The hell would I stay for?! So that damn beast can gloat over me for the rest of my miserable life?! They’re lucky I’m being so cooperative.” 

He did not like the knowing looks he knew the three were exchanging. “Yes, of course, you’re here on the farm with no obligation whatsoever. And I most certainly did not see you helping out at all with kitchen duty a couple days ago, just another twiggy headed little scrub brush.” The urge to slam Valefar into the dirt like he always did when the other got a little too smart with him was rising to dangerous heights. 

“Oh that’s why that lunch was so good that day! Man I miss when Heket was around. Her feasts were always the best,” Amdusias sighed wistfully, and Agares hummed their agreement. 

“Look, I’m playing nice . As Shamura is. It’d do us no good to break off our only chance to get the others back. Seeing how they’re the god of death these days, we have a fair shot of actually getting it done, now,” Leshy hurried on, more than willing to let the matter rest. 

“Speaking of gods of death, here comes the dear Shepard now,” Valefar noted, though Leshy already felt the Lamb’s stink clogging his receptors long before they were close. 

“Good morning you four!” 

“Good morning, Leader,” Valefar, Agares and Amdusias spoke in unison, while Leshy kept his mouth wisely shut, and his arms crossed. Wouldn’t want to let his itchy claws get any ideas. 

“Leader, did you manage to get those cauliflower seeds yesterday?” Valefar asked. 

“It wasn’t easy, but I think you’ll be able to work with this, yeah?” A pouch that stung of saltwater was pulled out, and Agares purred. 

“Oh that’s more than enough, thank you so much, Leader! We promise we’ll get these properly sorted out this time.” 

“I know you’ll all do your best. Seeing how rotten our luck’s been lately, though, I thought you guys wouldn’t mind a little extra help, though it seems you’ve already run into him.” 

He could feel the Lamb’s bright smile focus on him, and his claws dug in deeper, almost scraping his flesh hidden deep under his foliage. 

“You don’t say,” Valefar grinned, and Leshy regarded him scathingly. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll show him the ropes around here. You three go ahead and focus on the sowing for the time being, alright?” 

“Of course, Leader.” 

“Bye Leshy! We’ll go meet up with Barbatos later!” Amdusias promised, squishing Leshy into a hug one last time. He hesitantly squeezed them back, a bit surprised at how easily they shared their affection in front of the Lamb. Wasn’t it some sort of taboo to show love for your previous god in front of your current one? 

The thought didn’t seem to cross any of them. Valefar ruffled his head affectionately as well, and even Agares patted his back before the three headed off. Leaving him alone, with them. 

He briefly considered what the Lamb could be thinking. Were they perhaps jealous? Enraged? 

“N’aw. Must be good to see them again. I know they’re happy to see you.” Not even a hint of anger in their voice. Either the lamb was a damn good actor, or an utter moron. Either worked, honestly. 

“Show me the plots, already, Lamb. I’ve already figured out most of what’s wrong with your work.” 

“Oh?” Their bell clanged softly as they tilted their head. “So soon?” 

“Any grub worth their salt can tell you’ve overworked this land. It’s more packed in sand than the half decent loam it used to be at this point,” Leshy tapped the dusty topsoil with his foot, grit crunching under his weight. 

The lamb sighed, clucking their tongue. “I was afraid of that. I’d heard stories about rotating crops, different methods of irrigation that prevented erosion, but I just never had the time to really look further into it. I had to make everyone work with what we had to keep up with the people, even if we all knew better.” 

Leshy snorted. He supposed it’s what they get for not having someone like Heket always on their case to prepare for the future in the present. “Everyone says that. It’s only a matter of time, either you work better or you starve. Your choice, Lamb.” 

“Well let’s see if we can’t start working better now. It’s never too late to stop bad habits.” 

Until you’re dead, of course, he thought, but maybe that didn’t matter much to the lamb either. Who knows how much they learned from their predecessor. 

“Most of the farming supplies can be found in these barns, there’s plenty of seeds in the silos down the way, and I’m sure you can find the fertilizer without much help,” the lamb explained, shifting open a heavy door that grumbled at their disturbance. The scent of dry hay was heavy inside, the warm air trapped within eagerly rushing out through the opening to mingle with the cooler morning air. Soon it’d be hard to tell the difference as the noon sun prowled ever closer, stripping away the chill bite still lingering. 

Leshy took a few steps in, branches twitching as he took in the large space. The walls were covered with worn tools, stacks of drying grass were pushed to the back, the creaking wooden floors rough from years of abuse under his feet. He was lucky he didn’t get any splinters the second he stepped in here. 

“Good to know,” he hummed, then promptly turned to walk back out. The lamb had already shown him the field causing trouble. 

“Wha- hold on!” A hoof hooked onto his shirt sleeve, and Leshy growled at the uninvited touch. 

“ You asked me to assist you , Lamb. I’ve no patience to cater to your traditional mindset, nor any wish to either. I save your dying lands my way, and you stay out of it.” 

“Yes, you’re unorthodox, I get it. But maybe try to keep a mind for safety, your own at the very least.” The lamb plopped a sun hat on his head, minding his branches with its straw brim. What is it with these people and putting hats on him? “I worked very hard to bring you back to life, after all. I’d rather not see it wasted on something as dumb as heatstroke.” 

“Oh apologies for my disrespect of your monumentous effort, Lamb.” 

“Apology accepted.” 

He wouldn’t admit that their cheek almost got a laugh out of him. 

“Don’t forget to break for water every half hour, and don’t bite off the heads of anyone that brings you some, it’s their job, not misplaced pity, I promise. I run a cult, not a slave camp, after all.” 

“There’s not a difference.” 

They ignored his retort. “Any injuries, and you go straight to the healing bay. We have plenty of bone meal, don’t need you adding to it. Break for lunch at noon bell, and work ends at dinner. That should be it, if you have any other questions later, there should be a foreman nearby that can help you. Now you’re free to go.” 

Leshy gave them a drawn out bow. “Thank you, oh benevolent executioner. I never would’ve thought to take such consideration of my own wellbeing.” He then straightened up, and turned on his heel. “Goodbye.” 

The lamb didn’t stop him again. 

Honestly, he wasn’t an idiot. Maybe someone old enough like Shamura had spent enough time as an untouchable crown wielding god to forget mortality, but he was well aware of how pitifully fragile his body was once again. He felt it every waking second to his very core, the ticking passage of time as he ever hurtled through his lifespan. 

He reached the field, and set his hands on his hips. This brought back memories. Countless times he’d been called forth, begged upon to revive land thought long past saving. They thought him a divine blessing, thus why they started worshipping him before he was found by the others. It wasn’t his preferred area of work, he adored the endless twisting madness of Chaos his crown was built upon, but as a worm, he was better connected to the earth and its needs better than most witless fools. 

Feeling the revitalizing wave of power begin to wash through him, Leshy crouched down, readying his form, and leapt forward. The soil greedily enveloped him, his claws swiping through the unending layers of earth as easy as water. He felt cocooned, swaddled in a warm blanket by a fire, the pulsing echoes of life surrounding him engulfed his entire being. He was just another night crawler passing through, no more, no less. 

He could almost feel the relief rippling through the soil as he gave it back its depleted essentials. The gritty walls he pummeled through loosened, gaining a damp quality that made his leaves preen. Now this was good growing soil. He could only hope the Lamb wouldn’t waste it. 

While he was here, he might as well tunnel out the irrigation furrows. He had no desire to actually help the Lamb, but he wouldn’t stand any tarnish to his reputation due to sloppiness. It’d be up to the Lamb to properly utilize the design, at the end of the day, but any failures with that couldn’t be pinned on him. 

Besides, it was nice to finally let loose after days of obedience. 

The dirt scattered in his wake showered the fields around. Miniature valleys and hills began to form. He made sure the divots were properly excavated, neatly surrounding the peaks that’d soon home the seeds and sprouts to come.

He may have lost some focus, exploding out of the earth with a roar and flipping through the air before diving back in. So he was having a bit of fun. No one was here to stop him. He made deeper dips, trying for higher jumps and longer air time. 

As focused as he was on his impromptu game, however, he noticed the tremors of footsteps approaching him. He put his game on pause, lest the intruder see him in such an undignified state. Still high on adrenaline, he popped his head out of the earth, branches quivering as he focused on the intruder. 

And then his stomach dropped. “You…” 

Narinder ignored Leshy’s hiss, setting down a heavy sack as he surveyed the work done so far. “You’ve gotten faster,” he hummed, nudging the rich soil under his paws. “I remember when fields like this would take you days.” 

He hardly shifted when Leshy exploded out of the ground and into his face, bared teeth snarling inches away from flesh. “What the hells do you want?” 

The bastard sighed, wearily, shoulder’s sagging as if he were endowed with the weight of the world. “Nothing, brother. I’m just here to plant the seeds.” 

Leshy retreated, tail lashing. How can he so easily say that word? It didn’t even pain him, not even a flinch! It was unfair, did the lamb plan this? That puny little meddler had to be behind this, no doubt hounding him with some sick form of retribution. His claws curled into the soil, tendons creaking from the aching fury his bones quivered with. “ Don’t call me that.” 

A pause, he could feel those eyes on him. Red as iron rich blood dripping from claws and emptied eye sockets, burning through the held up mask of grandeur Leshy hid his mortal coil beneath, writhing with agony. Ever watching, ever aware of the ticking clock waiting inside every living body. “Okay.” He continued on like Leshy wasn’t even there, burning with hate. He opened up his sack, mealy with the scent of stored seeds. He moved with an ease that spoke of muscles long used to such grunt work. Since when?

A sneer itched under Leshy's leaves. “I would’ve thought the Lamb’s precious pet would be above such menial labor, rather he would be preserved with priesthood.” 

He still kept working, ever duteous. “I wouldn’t have accepted such a piteous role after my usurpal, especially after a thousand years kept from the living world. I yearned for the natural, and so I sought it. Habits formed, and I saw no reason to break them, so here I am.” 

Leshy crossed his arms, almost hugging himself. “What a quaint downgrade you've accepted, then.” But he was being ignored once more. He twitched, impatient. He didn’t have to be here, his work was finished. What could possibly compel him to stay? But no matter how he interrogated his thoughts, no movement followed. His shoulder blades were even starting to pinch from the tense posture he was stuck in. 

“Are you just going to stand there the entire time?” Seemed Narinder noticed as well. 

“What’s it to you?” 

“If you want something to do, you can spread the mulch.” 

A new sack was offered, along with a rake. Leshy made no move to take them. “Is that an order?” 

“It wasn’t an invitation to argue.” 

“I don’t recall you having authority here, aren’t you yet another little follower of your little ‘vessel’  now?” 

Finally, he got a rise out of him as Narinder growled, even his split tail began to twitch! “Must we keep dogging each other like this, Leshy? Indulging in petty insults and toothless taunts?” 

How bitter such a triumph has become, how it itched at the back of his throat like ash. Leshy hated it, but he wouldn’t change it. It was what was deserved. He turned his head away, branches obscuring his face. “I do what I please. I need not your permission, nor anyone’s for that matter.” 

“No, I suppose you never did before.” Why did he get to sound so fond ? There was no catch in his voice, it came as easily as breathing. 

Leshy could feel circulation to his hands starting to get cut off as their grip on his arms squeezed ever tighter. He snatched the offered sack and stalked away, more than happy to take the excuse to put distance between them.

The mulch sharply dug into the back of his receptors, ripe with decay. The now bulging sack weighed heavy in his arms. The wood of the rake was smoothed from years of use, but still put pressure on his claws as he worked the mulch into a protective layer over the seeds. It was hard work, the passing minutes growing longer as he went, and the sun’s glare was starting to take its toll. But he refused to break. He refused to show weakness in front of his company. Not even when his leaves began to wilt, or his steps began to stumble, or his aching grip on the rake grew slick. He kept at it, ignoring everything else. 

“Leshy.” 

He would not continue to engage in this self flagellation. 

“Leshy.” 

His grip tightened on the rake, making the wood crackle. Damned thing, why didn’t it have any sort of grip? 

“Leshy I can see from here you’re going to pass out from heat exhaustion. Take the damn water already.” 

Finally he broke his concentration, whirling on Narinder, always looming over him no matter their status. “I can take care of my own needs! I am not incapable!” 

“I don’t think you incapable, I just wanted to make sure you-” 

He didn’t care what excuse Narinder had, he couldn't take this bizarre act anymore. “What right do you think you have, anyways, fiddling with my life anymore?! After what you did to me, to everyone!” 

Narinder tensed, and Leshy hoped for a fight, something to unleash the rising swell of adrenaline, but was quickly faced with disappointment. “I know you’re upset.” That infuriatingly pacifying tone was going to drive him mad. He didn’t want to hear it, he couldn’t. He needed Narinder angry, as angry as he was feeling right now, to match the raging storm clouding his thoughts. 

“Upset?! Ha! You ruined everything! We could’ve had it all, this world was ours and ours alone, there were no other gods left to challenge us, but you-! You had to be so selfish! And now, what, you think you can come waltzing back in? Lord over how you sank us all lower than we’ve ever been? What a sick, twisted mind game this is! Well done, brother, you’ve done it! You’ve really shown us the ultimate waiting game! The true power of Death! And now the Old Faith is no more, and everything we’ve worked for is gone, reduced to nothing but crumbling ruins! And the real kicker is you got sunk right along with the rest of us, as Shamura said! All that power you strived for lost to your little vessel who we must now bow to like all the rest of the miserable mortals trapped under their thumb! What a useless fucking joke this all was, all that suffering and for nothing!” 

He could hardly breathe through the cloying emotions, the ever ringing pang of yearning echoing through that made him want to fall to his knees and beg whatever forces worked time to just… take it all back. Rewind the clock, return him to before, before the chains, the blood, the betrayal, anywhere but here, faced with this conflicting anger that tore him apart. 

Why, why did this have to hurt so much still? 

It didn’t help that his eye sockets were scorching with pain, the salt of his rising tears burned . His bandages were getting damp, and now they chafed against his flesh, and great. His trembling knees couldn’t hold him up anymore, leaving him no choice but to sink down to the earth, claws scoring deep trenches in the soil underneath his palms. His breathing was growing shallow, his throat tightening with every passing second. What perfect timing. 

“I’m sorry, Leshy.” A hand was nearing him, and Leshy smacked it away. 

“Don’t touch me!” His voice was edging on hysterical as his lungs began crying out for air. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep my distance. Just, focus on breathing.” 

His voice was so soft, just like when he was a pupae. It made Leshy want to laugh and scream all at the same time. Still he played the part of the caring older brother. Like nothing changed.

“Why can’t I just hate you?! You ruined everything, you made us lock you up! It’s your fault! You made us do it! So why can’t I just hate you and be done with it?!” Leshy clawed at his chest, filled with an ache that threatened to collapse his ribs if it grew any bigger. How he wished he could tear out his heart, withered and beating a dying love, claws a mess of viscera and rage. Just as Narinder did, before turning on them with those same claws. He made it seem so easy. 

But now he wasn’t doing it.

Silence stretched, Narinder continued to hover. Leshy could hear the bones in his jaw clench, as he struggled to think of what to say. Finally he settled down properly next to Leshy, leaning back before speaking, wry and tired. “Hatred is never as simple as we want it to be.” 

“It should be! What point is there to keep dragging it out?!” Leshy felt more and more like the petulant child he struggled so hard to leave behind. Even now he couldn’t escape old habits, no matter how much they hurt. 

Narinder chuckled, bitter and soft. “I don’t really know. I don’t think anyone does.” 

Leshy took a shuddering breath, finally filling his lungs to the point of bursting. His bandages were rapidly cooling, as the air whisked away the fire of his tears. With a growl, he snatched it off, tossing the useless cloth. It landed on the dirt with a wet thud. The sting of his eye socket did not lesson, but at least it wasn’t being tenfolded by the scraping gauze anymore. He knew Narinder was watching still, eyes tracing after every move he made. He just couldn’t keep up the energy to care anymore. His outburst had drained what little he had left. 

“I know I hurt you.” 

Leshy scoffed. 

“But I truly do not wish any more harm to you, Leshy, that I promise.” 

His claws dug into his robes, threatening the integrity of the carefully stitched threads. “This isn’t fair.” 

“Explain.” 

“You!” He waved a hand in Narinder’s direction. “You’re so-! Calm and-and you just act like this doesn’t matter! Like nothing even happened! You’re just here and it’s like nothing changed! Like…” He swallowed the ball of emotions growing in his throat, the guilt he was trying so long to kill with bitter anger coming back with a vengeance. “Like there was no betrayal…” 

Narinder pinned him in place with his stare, before heaving a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid you will not receive my fury anymore, I’ve long come to terms with the hand we all dealt in our downfall. I no longer hold you all in bitter contempt for my imprisonment, not when I know I had just as much a hand in it. I now know we were destined to destroy ourselves, as none of us accepted the fallacy of our godhoods.” 

“The fallacy?” Leshy’s tail twitched warily, his guard rising as he prepared for whatever nonsense was about to spill from Narinder’s mouth. 

“Everything ends. Even ourselves. We can prolong the inevitable for as long as we want, come up with as many clever tricks and loopholes that can extend our stay, but it always comes. I could not accept such a simple answer, that death was irreversible, and none of us accepted the idea that our reign could be revoked. I tried to reverse death, you four tried to stop the end of the Old Faith. Always we were fighting back against the truth, and by doing so we ensured our downfall. Not even I could fully accept such an idea, even when I made it my new identity. But not even the wielder of Death is promised refuge from the end.” 

Leshy sat stunned. It was a lot to digest, and a part of him didn’t even want to accept it. It wailed, gnashed its teeth, raged at the mere idea of such acceptance. For so long, Leshy just wanted to lay blame solely on Narinder, to clean his hands of this guilt constantly gnawing away at the back of his mind. But he couldn’t, the doubt just kept crawling back in, no matter the reasoning, and Narinder so succinctly explained why. 

“You’re not wrong to feel both anger and guilt, you know. No one can blame you for what you feel, not even yourself. We were family, we were each other’s only confidants in a world that cared for nothing. We bound ourselves together, and made an empire dedicated to it. Such ties can not be so easily thrown away. Even in the depths of my rage, my heart still ached for your company. For so long I was disgusted by it. I tried so hard to drown it out, all of the memories and soft moments, to tear them apart and piece them into a twisted reminder of the hypocrisy of your love. But I just… couldn’t.” 

Leshy felt his breath catch, and slowly he turned towards Narinder. “...Really?” 

“Truly. I watched you grow up, I could never forget such an honor. I could never forget the love we shared, tainted as it’d become.” Narinder paused, considering his words carefully. “If you wish for me to never be in your company again, I will respect it. I will never bother you again. I just want you to know that, if you would be willing, I’d like to try anew. Not as gods, the Bishops of the Old Faith, the bearers of the Crowns, but… as ourselves. I would not expect you to accept me into your heart like nothing had happened, neither of us could, but I would still like to share my time with you. However long that would be.” 

Distantly, deep in the soil, Leshy could hear the burrowing insects at work, slowly reclaiming the refreshed land as their own. And if he really focused, he could hear the gentle breeze of a butterfly’s wings. 

He didn’t face Narinder, he focused on the buzz of tiny life swarming about them, but Leshy slowly spoke again. “I… would not be opposed. I’m not going to fawn after your approval or such nonsense!” He added quickly, snapping back to Narinder with a growl.

“Of course.” 

“But… it wouldn’t be so terrible, I guess. Seeing as we’re all stuck here until the Lamb brings Kallamar and Heket back, at least.” 

“It’d make Shamura happy too,” Narinder added, his tone gaining a smile. Leshy huffed, he could already imagine what they’d think of their resolution. He was no idiot, he’d long smelled Narinder’s scent on them and in the hut. 

“Yeah. Yeah it would. And they deserve it, after all they’ve done for us.” He shifted his knees closer to his chest and rested his chin on them. It’d been a long morning. His leaves were drying up from transpiration, and his head was swimming.  

“Aren’t there supposed to be water carriers around pestering us?” He tilted his head for any signs of other cultists. 

Narinder pushed something across the ground in reach of Leshy’s claw tips, water sloshing from the movement. He picked up the offered water cup and doused himself with it. Relief bloomed instantaneously, his leaves peeking up from their wilting state. He let out a sigh of relief, despite his now soaked robes. 

“Seeing how far we’ve gotten with the cauliflower, I’d say we’ve earned our meal. The others can finish the rest of the field,” Narinder stood and stretched, his spine cracking into place with a muttered complaint. 

Leshy couldn’t help but snicker. “Jeez, mortality’s treated you rough. You sound like an old man already.” 

“I’d watch yourself, your followers have been here far longer than I, and I know they would have something to say about your arrogance.” 

He offered Leshy a hand. After a moment of thought, he accepted it. “But first we probably should see that you get a new bandage. Hardly a soul here with decent constitution,” he added snidely, and Leshy snickered when he pictured the reaction his scars would elicit. None of their fellow cultists would have survived a day within the inner sanctums of the Old Faith. 

“Couldn’t handle your face peeling trick, could they?” 

Narinder instantly grew smug. “It’s a good tool to put the annoying ones in their place.” 

For the first time in a thousand years, Leshy decided not to curb the fond warmth that blossomed in his chest. Perhaps he was being naive, but he always did love to let chaos unfold as it liked. He might as well see how this turned out. “Duly noted.”

Notes:

AAAAAA. What a PAIN. I had typed up a huge chunk of this chapter, kept getting stuck, read through it a bunch, got some help on trying to finish it, and decided after all of that, I wanted to do the story a different way, and had to scrap it all. I might turn it into a different story now that I finally FINISHED THIS, because it was good and it's a lot to let go to waste just because I went a different direction!
But now we finally have the chaos worm gang AND Leshy and Narinder agreeing to try again on the whole brothers thing. Idk if this fic might have felt a little ooc, but I kind of see Narinder as a really caring person to kiddos, he raised Aym and Baal after all, and they adore him, so since Leshy is the youngest of the bishops I couldn't help but think that he and Nari were close too, and Leshy really does speak fondly of nari in game, comes across as a little brother that still admired his big bro, even after everything that happened. They definitely won't be as close as before, but they'll maybe start to let their guards down around one another, fall back into teasing each other once more. Also, I decided that when they were young, Nari def sang this to Leshy, it's too fitting aaaaagh.
Find me on tumblr @daydreaming-jessi and feel free to send me any questions or stuff, I'm dying for the new upcoming cotl update and eager to just talk characters and stuff

Notes:

Paaaart one is done! Still working on the next part, I’ll try to finish it soon, but for now, Leshy has joined the battle!! Hopefully he’ll follow Shamura’s lead in dealing with the cult, and perhaps next chapter we’ll have him face a certain kitty >:3
Until next update, you can find me on tumblr @daydreaming-jessi

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Tangled Webs Make for Poor Destinies
• Part 7 of The Lamb and its Flock