He missed Natia.

A faint pout played across his lips as he watched his mama and papa argue. The doll in his hands felt lifeless. It's knitted head laid against its chest, the strings holding it on having frayed at some point during their trip over the mountains. He knew he should show it to Mama, but she was busy. She had to focus on the siren. He would just have to be careful. Once they got to the other side there'd probably be a town. She could fix it for him then.

Usually, regardless of its condition, the doll was enough to entertain him for hours. He would meld the frayed yarn figure in front of him with the pictures that played out in his mind of things that had happened, and things that had yet to come.

But, now, the images kept slipping away as the memory of the monster sending Natia flying interrupted his game. His chest hurt. When the rocks fell, they were blocked off from looking for her and Heron. Ian had disappeared, too. He wasn't supposed to hear, but Papa told Mama that Ian had gone after them before the monster made everything fall.

He shuddered as his mind provided the image of Ian crushed beneath the rocks.

When he slept, he'd have to look for them. Mama would be mad, but it was okay. He wasn't bad often, so once would be fine. He'd make sure Natia and the others weren't cold, then he'd be good for... forever. That would be enough, right?

Mama shouted something he didn't understand. Papa mumbled. They must have been talking about the bad man again. They always talked with weird words when it was about him.

He wasn't supposed to know about the bad man. Mama didn't tell him until he saw him in his dreams. She said not to be upset, and that he'd never meet him. He wasn't sure she was right. But, she seemed scared about it, so he said okay.

Mama angry walked away, and after telling him to stay in the tent, Papa followed her. For a moment, he listened. He was only supposed to be bad when he went to sleep that night, so leaving the tent would be against his rule. But, the longer he stared at the doll, the more bored he got. Plus, the tent flap had pretty, glowing lavender threads floating through it. Twisting and tying around them were red ones, too. He hadn't seen that before.

His parents didn't like when he saw threads. They said it was okay, and asked him questions, but he could tell it was a lie. Mama only pinched her lips real tight when she was worried. And she did it every time he saw the threads, like when she told him the color was lavender, not purple. That was important to remember, she said. It was probably because of the gods thing.

He stood up, and reached real high to touch the intertwined threads that floated towards him. They greeted him, twisting around his wrist with familiar warmth. It felt like the dragonfly man.

'It shouldn't be possible,' the dragonfly man's voice told him. 'But you should go to her. I feel fate twisted into your choice.' There was a pause. 'They've hurt too many for this to fail here, young one.'

He nodded, and could feel happiness pulse through the threads. 'Don't tell your mother. It's another secret, okay?'

The dragonfly man always said that. Mama told him to never keep secrets, but it felt important to listen to the dragonfly man. Perhaps he wasn't a good boy. That made three rules he was breaking today.

The lavender strings disappeared, but the red ones remained. He followed them outside, then paused to see if anyone was watching. Sometimes Papa could tell when he wasn't going to listen, and would ask one of the others to keep an eye on him. At first, the coast looked clear, but then the familiar, white-threaded color of his uncle appeared in the corner of his vision.

"I believe he said to stay in the tent," his uncle mused.

He hesitated, then pointed at the strings. If he talked, the others would hear him. His uncle understood, though. He always did.

"Something's calling you?"

He nodded. Uncle hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "If it's dangerous, I'm getting your father."

He grinned, then carefully continued through the camp. He was super good at being a sneak. Papa had taught him. It wasn't supposed to do it unless bad guys were around, or if he really needed a cookie, but making the rule breaking count four didn't seem that bad at this point.

The red threads grew as they drew closer to her tent. They curled around him, warming and warning. Something important was happening here. He paused with his hand on the flap. Maybe the dragonfly man was wrong. Mama was always the one who did the important magic. He was too little. Mama said he wouldn't be big enough until he was seven. He was pretty sure that was forever away.

A pained noise floated through the flap, and it cut at his hesitation. The dragonfly man said only he could do this, and the dragonfly man was always right. And if he told Mama, she wouldn't let him help. He wasn't supposed to go near infected people.

Oh. Five rules was pretty bad, huh?

He crept into the tent. Thankfully, no one seemed to be inside. Perhaps that was the dragonfly man's influence, as he didn't think she was supposed to be alone. Mama said they had to watch her. They were scared she was going to get cold. People did that when they died.

He couldn't see her, at first. All that was visible was the threads surrounding her.

Forest green strangled by midnight blue. Bits of gold and red were mixed in, but weaker, and fading. The red was sinking into the ground, listless. The midnight blue twisted into the forest green, unraveling the threads, and intertwining with the loosed strings. He didn't usually see so many colors surrounding one person. It was a bit scary.

He was brave, though, so he walked across the tent. His uncle trailing him helped a bit. He put a finger to his lips, and waved his uncle closer.

"Mama and Papa have to stay out. Okay?"

His uncle hesitated, running his hand through his hair, then sighed. "Fine. But only as it feels safe. If anything is off, I won't hesitate. Understood?"

He nodded, then turned back to where she laid. He blinked a few times to clear the threads from the air, focusing on the now that everyone else saw. She looked like one of the Wolves, when they would get hurt by bad people. Her olive skin was sullen, sweat coating her brow. Her eyes were closed, which was good. He didn't think he could help if she was looking at him. It would be too heavy.

Uncle made a surprised noise when he reached out to pull down her blanket. The bandages covering her body slowly shifted from snow white on one side of her body, to the dull red-brown of bloodied cloth on the other. For a moment, he could only stare.

If Mama couldn't fix that, how could he?

He closed his eyes and shook his head to try and throw off the bad thoughts. The dragonfly man told him he could. That's all that mattered.

When he opened his eyes again, the threads were back. This close to her, he realized that there were no red, gold, or green threads around the wounds. Only midnight blue. That was... bad, right?

Only people like Natia and Alake were supposed to have that color. It tickled a memory in the back of his mind, from the last time someone had gotten infected. There'd been blue, then, too. Only it'd been intertwined with the white of death.

'You can't heal nightmare poisoning. I'm sorry, honey. There isn't anything I can do for him.'

Impulsively, he reached for the blue strings. A gasp escaped him as they stung his hands. He bit his lip as the pain grew hotter. It felt like that time he almost fell into the campfire. But, if his uncle heard, he'd stop him.

He didn't want to see another person die.

It was enough to see them in dreams. Mama got quiet when he first asked her about that. About the people who went cold, and still when he closed his eyes. After, she talked to him about how sometimes things happened, and bodies no longer worked. That was when Uncle would collect them and take them back to Shinnah, so that they could rest before Doroi would introduce them to their new mommies and daddies.

He didn't think Uncle wanted to take this person, though. He'd seen him looking upset when Mama and Papa talked about it. So, that meant if he could do something, he should, that way her body didn't stop.

So, he focused.

When healing someone, you sent magic into them. He'd only done little things, like cuts or bruises, but this was probably similar, right? Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tugged at where his own, amber glow rested. No, not amber, gold. Mama said he always had to be careful to call it gold, even if it wasn't. That way people would think it was. Most people weren't as worried about colors as Mama, so they would probably believe him.

Regardless, it was amber that flowed from his fingers, infecting the blue threads in his hands.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

Threads didn't change colors. They could disappear, be cut, or overtaken. Strangled into nothing. But, they didn't change.

Maybe that was good. He was doing something impossible, after all.

He nudged his magic. It crept along, changing the color and sinking into the siren's chest. She tensed, a cry escaping her.

"Abiel!"

He ignored his Uncle, letting his magic slowly overtake the midnight blue. The red threads around him grew restless, rising to join the green and gold. The gold curled around him, comforting, encouraging.

The tent burst open within seconds of him finishing.

"My gods," his mama whispered. "The poison... it's gone."

Papa caught him as he fell backwards. But, even as his magic retreated, curling back into him with the warmth of healing, he smiled. Aran wouldn't have to take her.

The smile fell as he curled against his Papa's chest. That dream rose in his thoughts, reminding him of another person being strangled by midnight blue.

It was too bad the rocks had blocked them off. He would've liked to do the impossible for her, too.