'Snap, Crackle, Pup' (Silas)

[Alternate Text: An image of red and blue fireworks lighting up the pitch black night sky; there are also faint sparklers of gold too. 'Snap, Crackle, Pup!' acts as the title in a mostly blue font that has a lens flare effect as if it's reflecting the red and gold from the surrounding light show.]

Another percussive pop sounds followed by fainter sizzling noises that you can both see and hear as the firework fades. Soft bands of sparkling golden light diffuse, burning out in the night sky while the flashier emeralds and blues linger. You're moving far too quickly to be certain of the shape, but it seemed star-like. It's one of many you've spotted through the trees.

What's beautiful for some is terrifying for others.

"Marigold!" you call to her. "Come here, girl!"

Becca remains quiet, still keeping a look out for the lost dog even if her head tends to be angled towards the ground, steadily avoiding eye contact. You know it's not her fault. This founder's holiday would only be familiar to citizens of Fernweh, so how was she supposed to know today would be any different? That most of the townsfolk feel the need to loudly celebrate it with flashy displays or dangerous gunfire; the light is supposed to remain bright until dawn.

You whistle softly, trying to appeal to Marigold while you continue to trudge through the forest that weaves itself through most neighborhoods. It's nothing like the deep woods, yet still dense in some places with ravines and hidey-holes for animals. The urbanization has created slivers of greenery that are deeper once you step into them and realize man couldn't cut it entirely back.

A beautiful display of violet arcs through the air followed by a kamikaze of hues; colors battle each other, burning away from the inside. It's all too loud when you're standing beneath it. They are directing the fireworks at the woods, which is stupid, but maybe that's viewed as safer than their homes? It's horrible for you, the gang, and poor Marigold; essentially, driving you all away.

"I much preferred the individual pyres," Reese mutters, voice-laced with static. "This is more economical, I suppose… Accessible to all."

"Reese, that isn't helpful," you reply with a quick sigh into your walkie talkie. "Where are you?"

"I'm on Elm Street now."

Becca's head snaps in your direction following Reese's answer. "Is that really its name…?"

"We have a lot of trees here; it's just a harmless coincidence," you reassure her. At least she's willing to look at you again after sprinting back to the B&B with leash-burned palms from how determined Marigold was to break away and run. The noise caught them both off-guard. You offer her a slight smile. "There's a parallel with the scary nightmares, but that would be really unoriginal, if you think—"

"…[Name]."

Silas's tone when he chooses to say your name disperses the rest of your commentary about Fernweh's horrors. While his tone always seems to contain an enviable amount of collected calm that's become soothing to you, there was something different to it. It's enough to make your steps slow down. He seemed a bit apprehensive, voice faintly catching at the start.

"Silas?" you prompt him.

"What is the problem?"

Reese asks what you don't quite yet know how to voice despite immediately picking up on it, possibly due to their years of friendship.

"I found Mari, but Reese and Becca should get a bath ready for her at the house, and I need"—Silas's voice wavers ever so slightly—"you to help me with her, okay? I'm talking to [Name]."

"I can hear that," Reese knowingly remarks. "Very well."

It feels that way to more than just you based on how Becca's eyes flick between you and the walkie talkie's receiver. She looks a little less guilt-stricken now. "If you go back to the road and take a right, you'll be on Elm," you explain.

"Just because you left out 'street' doesn't change its name," Becca half-heartedly retorts, knowing you far too well. "Be careful, okay?"

You share one last look with your friend before she begins to pick her way back through the forest. Her flashlight beam becomes dimmer and dimmer until you're alone with only yours and the intermittent light show above; they've moved onto the high-budget ones. You just saw a dragon, possibly a snake, writhe among the stars before it fades away, only leaving an afterimage when you blink your eyes. "Silas?"

"You were on Willow Wellspring, right? Just keep walking ahead; I'll keep my light flashing."

His instructions are concise and clear in a way that would make James proud, if the detective wasn't busy managing tonight's illegal gunfire.

But it wasn't how Silas typically sounds…

It's a little too clipped without his usual soothing register that makes it easier to drift to sleep when he offers to read with you before bed. Really, it's reading to you, but you'll pretend to focus on your own novel before he eventually feels how your glances have turned lingering. He never caves; instead, making you a space among his blankets and pillows and letting you make the choice to come closer.

How he sounds now would keep you awake…

If Silas wanted to share what was wrong with the group, he would have. You have to repeat that a couple of times to yourself when about to press the 'talk' button on the walkie talkie as you hurry to reach him. The trees have grown more clustered, branches and leaves helping to blot out the fireworks dotting the sky, even muffling the noise to a lackluster degree. It's not enough.

Shouldn't there be a curfew? A time limit?

They can't celebrate this all night.

You're so intent on getting to Silas, you miss the arm that reaches out from the side until it easily hooks around your middle. He must have seen your rapid approach. This isn't the one-armed hug you wish it was, not when you can feel how tense he is while holding you back with a wiry strength most would overlook. His other hand rests lightly on your back to steady you from the sudden loss of built-up momentum, but you're definitely unmoving now, and yet Silas stays just as close. You immediately search his expression, needing to check that he's okay after that call.

His neutrality falters under your gentle scrutiny.

It ebbs away, a frown tugging at his lips, before he looks past you to remain collected—to maintain some emotional distance despite how his arm is wrapped around your waist. It's a confusing contrast, but he might need this composure. It isn't anything against you; it's for himself. You remain in his secure hold, accepting both it and him without any pressure for more right now.

He's trying to remain calm.

"They had to clear out the forest once," Silas murmurs, sticking to the facts. "Bears and other predators that could mess with the property values. I can't get to her—I tried. She backed up from me, and now—" He reluctantly releases you, hand skimming along your back in a silent request for you to stay by his side. "Now, I'm scared for Mari… I couldn't let Becca come."

You soon see why when he pointedly angles the flashlight beam to a man-made shape amidst the leaves. Its jagged teeth peek out, ready to latch on with a crushing force and never let go despite the speckles of rust on the steel. The bear trap appears to smile under the newfound attention, mouth parted. A soft woof  diverts your focus in a split second to Marigold who is hiding in a tree's hollowed out root system. You can only see her eyes faintly glinting in the light before she pokes her head out, instantly recognizing you.

"…Hey, Marigold," you greet her.

She remains silent, but intently watches you, daring to inch a paw out and then another one.

"Stop, just wait a second there…"

'Stop' might be a word she's heard before. It's hard to keep the alarm from creeping into your voice. She is in a tree that's in front of a field of old leaves that could have traps all around. Was it just dumb luck the first time she dashed through, or are there only a few spread around?

"I have a few sticks to test the ground. I'll make a path, but you have to keep her mostly calm."

His plan is mockingly punctuated by a firecracker. Silas's care for Marigold has definitely infiltrated his logical analysis of the problem; he's ready to wade into the clearing, but still on edge at the thought of her getting hurt. You can see it in how he observes her with some of the compassion many would say is well-hidden if unable to have the opportunity to understand him.

"Okay," you agree, exhaling quietly. "Take it slow."

He offers a quick nod while gathering up a bundle of longer sticks. They're all about the length of his arm, so he'll have to stoop to the ground for this test. You're torn between him and Marigold, needing to keep an eye on both. "Marigold, stay," you instruct her. "Good."

While Marigold stays put, Silas leaves your side after briefly resting a comforting hand on your shoulder that you almost latched onto.

"Yes, good puppy!"

The distance is closing between them, yet each careful step feels like a gamble with you on the sidelines. Silas's statuesque height has become bowed while he inspects the ground, braided strands of hair slipping past his shoulders in a partial curtain that doesn't mask his intense look of concentration. His stylishly messy bun has come partly undone during the search. You wish you could do something to encourage—

CRUNCH.

Apparently, a bear trap doesn't simply 'trap'; it mercilessly pulverizes because the stick has been snapped, too thin to give the trap much satisfaction. The metal screech of the springs engaging rings in your ears. Silas jerks back along with Marigold who whimpers before trying to haul herself out from the hole that's possibly viewed as unsafe after that jarring noise.

"No, stay right there. Marigold, no!"

She listens to you. You hate taking that firm tone with her, but she has to listen or else…

"Silas, are you oka—?"

"Not really," he interjects. "Focus on her, please."

Silas sounds a little breathless despite his blunt honesty, so you decide not to push it when he was less than a foot away from losing his foot. He picks his way across the ground with renewed care. It felt like you were holding your breath before; now, you're scarcely breathing at all as you watch him with an open concern he can't see.

Finally, Silas reaches Marigold, who perks up when she sees him even if she's cowering. He's patient with her, taking a moment to talk to her in a soft voice you can barely hear from so far away before he scoops her up. She isn't a little dog; your eyes widen slightly at the sight, but you know Silas is stubborn. He'll make it back while cradling a goldador who's largely dead weight.

He follows the path he created by disturbing the leaves to reveal dirt. You use your flashlight to guide him back to safe, trap-free land—back to you, an unexpected lighthouse. With each step closer Silas takes, you feel the vise around your chest start to ease as your nerves settle down.

Three.

Two.

One.

You surge forward once you know it's safe to do so, hugging both him and Marigold. It's a fierce, almost desperate, embrace that even the dog seems to sense since she nuzzles you for mutual comfort. Silas's hands are full of pale-gold fluff and doggie muscle, but he responds in kind, leaning into your arms and even going so far as to rest his head gently against yours. He's already bending slightly, partially bowed, due to Marigold's weight; however, he manages to rest his forehead against yours. It's enough to steal your breath for a different reason. Silas's eyes appear a richer, deep brown in this LED lighting, although now you're almost certain they're closed.

You're both bracing on each other, taking a moment after all of the compounded stress.

The fireworks fall away along with the forest.

"We're together and safe," you reassure him.

"We're safe because we're together," Silas gingerly amends your words. "Thank you."

He wasn't only calling to you earlier on the walkie talkie; he was reaching out for support.