It was the alluring scent of a bubbling stew that beckoned Altan away from unconscious. Groaning unintelligible words, he tossed his head weakly. He hadn't remembered going to take a nap before supper, but now that he caught a whiff of whatever his mom was making, his stomach growled it's demands and urged him to get up. However, it was the excruciating stab of pain that exploded in Altans jaw when he rubbed it that dragged him back into harsh reality. Memories of what had happened flooded into his mind and his heart rate spiked. Jolting upright despite a thousand screaming muscles, Altan looked at his surroundings.
        A single open room with a front door and an entrance to another room. A wooden pot suspended over a low bed of flames. A black fur rug. A crate. A large woodcutters axe. Altan squinted. No, that wasn't a woodcutters axe. It looked like a battleaxe. Why was there a battleaxe? His heart dropped. Where was his stuff? Altan shifted to the edge of the makeshift bed he was seated on, searching for his belongings.
       "Your strange glowing rectangular device and parchments will not do you any good here. Nor will that tiny knife."
        Altans head snapped towards the voice and there he saw Griffin, leaning against the doorframe that led into the other room. He had changed into simple patchwork clothes and his face was discoloured where Altan had bashed his skull against him. A slight frown adorned his features and Altan glared, fists clutching the scratchy blanket beneath him.
       "What do you want from me, freak? Where am I? Answer me!"
        Griffin ignored Altans demands and simply walked over to the pot of stew, producing a ladle and stirring it before scooping it into a crude wooden bowl. Altan's temper flared and he stood, opening his mouth to shout more protests.
       "Sit down." Griffin snapped, stalking over to Altan. "It is apparent you haven't the faintest idea of what is going on here, and if you want any sort of answer out of me, you are going to shut your mouth and co-operate. Am I understood?"
         Griffins entitled attitude thoroughly ticked Altan off, but as time wore on he became increasingly perturbed by his situation so he forced back the threats dancing on his tongue. Besides, even the simple act of talking hurt his throbbing jaw, so for the sake of his own comfort he decided to listen. Not because Griffin had told him to. Griffin placed the bowl of stew beside Altan along with a carved spoon. Altan stared at it with untrusting eyes, attempting to discern just exactly what the dark stew had in it.
        "Eat," Griffin insisted firmly, "I'm not trying to poison you. If I wished to kill you, I would have hours ago when you were still unconscious."
        Begrudgingly Altan spooned some of the stew Griffin had made into his mouth. It was simple, made with some sort of mushrooms, root, and meat, though he couldn't distinguish what, and he was secretly thankful that the food was soft. It was actually really good, but Altan made an effort not to show it. He ate in uncomfortable silence, watching Griffin like a hawk for a few painstaking minutes before Griffin sighed and began to talk.
"I am going not going to sugar coat this. You followed me through a portal into a different realm called Arcrose. That was your first mistake. Your second mistake was attacking me and breaking the one item I needed in order to send you back. Now you have an injured jaw, you are stuck here, and neither of us are content."
Altan coughed and sputtered on his stew, wiping chunks off his face with his sleeve, "What? How stupid do you think I am? That's impossible,"
He sneered.
"This is not a jest."
        Their eyes locked, and Altan searched desperately for some sort of indication that Griffin was lying. But he didn't have to. There was something  about the way he said it, the tone of his voice, that left no room for question. Panic settled in quick as he recalled the little glass vial he stepped on. Stew splattered across the floor as Altan sprang to his feet, brain spiralling.
"Can't you just like, get another one? Get another-another whatever that was?!" He demanded, grabbing at the air in frustration.
Griffin eyed him steadily, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "No," he said evenly, "I was not even the one to catch it in the first place. It takes years of training or influence to accomplish."
"Catch? Catch what? Maybe you're just a coward." Altan accused, reasoning it couldn't be that hard to catch something so small. As far as he could tell, it had just been the wings of some sort of dragonfly. "I bet you I could do it."
"Do you even understand what I am referencing?" Griffin seethed, his patience hissing out past his teeth. "Do you understand so little? You came here through a fairy circle. One of the sole entities who are able to traverse realms freely. It is possible to harness this power and travel between realms but to do that you need to acquire a pair of fairy wings. Not only is this an incredible difficult feat to accomplish, but the wings must be given willingly, as to relinquish a fairy of her wings is to strip her of her power and beauty. Even then, the magical energy and ability required to successfully complete the spell is nearly impossible, especially if magical barriers are set up to prevent such actions."
          Altans eyes hardened and he jabbed a finger into Griffins chest, pushing him back. "Oh yea, magic boy? Then how come you can do it?" He looked Griffin up and down, "You don't look like all that to me."
         "That is none of your business." Griffin snarled, bristling.
With a scoff Altan shoved past Griffin, storming out of the door. This was all too much for him. But if catching a... if catching a fairy is what it would take for Altan to get out of this crazy place, then that's what he would do. Part of his brain insisted this must all be a bad dream, or that he was high off his rocker and this was all fake. Faeries weren't real. Magic wasn't real-just sleight of hand, some special effects, nothing more. There was no such thing as other realms.
"But here I am, looking for... a fairy." He mumbled, coming to a stop in front of the fairy circle or whatever Griffin had called it. He blinked, staring awkwardly down at the fungi. "This is stupid."
Altan sat down outside of the-now-completely normal looking mushrooms with a huff. By now the sun had sunk low into the sky, draping long shadows over the land, seeing the sky ablaze with yellows and oranges and pinks. And he waited. If this was a fairy circle, one would come by eventually, right? He just had to sit really still, and wait. And then when one came by he'd... well, he'd figure that out when the time came. Crossing his arms, Altan got as comfy as he could, eyes glued to the fairy circle. Somewhere inside himself panic was bubbling quietly, the child of confusion and despair. He suppressed it, locking it in a dark cabinet in the depths of his mind, refusing to let such a pathetic emotion exist any longer.
Time crawled at an agonizingly slow pace as he sat there, staring blankly at the mushrooms. Failure was not an option; he had to get a fairy, whatever it took. But as the sun fizzled out behind the horizon, and the cold began to seep past his clothes, encasing him in an icy grasp, his determination wavered. It became increasingly more apparent to him as he sat amongst the looming trees that he did not want to be here. The only light he could see anymore was the dim flickering of fire spilling out through tiny cracks in Griffins cabin. The moon was hidden behind drifting clouds. If faeries were real, what other weird things could be out here? Growing up he always accepted faeries and ghosts and zombies to be made up. Fairy tales. His lips pressed into a thin line. And now...
Somewhere within the tree line a twig snapped, and Altan's heart leapt into his throat. He locked onto the shadowy outline of the bolder in the clearing and he nimbly dove behind it, breathing shallow and quiet as his eyes scanned the ranks of dark trees in front of him. His nerves were shot and he was about to make a dash for the relative safety of Griffins cabin when suddenly a group of two... three... four figures emerged from the forest. Clad in dark clothing and long billowing cloaks, they definitely looked human. At least, humanoid. Griffin had seemed to imply he wasn't human, which Altan still wanted to interrogate him about, so he figured these people might not be either. The fact that they were sneaking up to Griffins cabin hinted at the nature of their intentions, but Altan didn't know what they planned to do. However, his eyes widened as he saw small flames come to life, concealed underneath their cloaks. One figure extended a torch and held the dancing flames to the dry weeds on the ground.
      They were going to burn his cabin down.