Chapter Text
Since Punz was a little kid, he had always found comfort in his religion.
He had always had comfort in the community as a whole. Praying together, eating together in the great pavilion, playing with the other kits, and generally just fitting in. This had been the case until Punz had turned six.
Until the Navitas festival had rolled around.
The Navitas was a week-long festival, in which the entire city would gather at the center of the forest clearing to see the pods bloom. Each family had a specific tree that had carried out their lineage since the beginning and they would pray each year to the goddess of fertility for new offspring. Punz’s family hadn’t been fortunate enough to have another pod grow for 6 suns—until this year. The pod was small and a plain purple color, but it looked healthy and that was enough for his family. Punz had heard of other families rejecting their kits because of the patterns or size of the pod. No one wanted a “scrunt” in their lineage. But Punz’s family didn’t mind that. Punz had always prided his family for being open-minded; they didn’t care for perfect looks or for special skills, as long as the kit was happy and healthy they were loving towards it.
Punz had stood outside each day of Navitas to watch the single pod on the family tree. He wanted to be the first to see the bloom-kit when they arrived. However, it was now almost sunset on the 7th day and the pod still hadn’t shown any signs of blooming; the entire family was beginning to get discouraged. Not Punz, though, he knew his sibling was still in there. They just needed a little more time.
“Oh those poor Ashbinders.” He hears one elder elf whisper to another, not sounding sorry at all. “They never really had the best of luck, did they?”
Another nods in false sympathy. “Six years of waiting only to get a wilted-born. They must’ve angered Fecunda somehow.”
Punz’s mother scowled at the two, letting them know she didn’t appreciate their false pity. She turned back to her still hopeful son with a soft expression on her face.
“Fillous,” her voice is soft and sad and Punz gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry, but—”
She gets cuts off by sounds of quiet ruffling coming from the bud.
“Manet look!” Punz points to shifting bud. The petals slowly start to open and his mother goes to grab a blanket for the kit. Punz slowly climbs his way over the roots to see the newly opened blossom. He tiptoes carefully as he peeks over a petal to stare at the bloom-kit. The baby had shining purple eyes which stared up at him with curiosity. Punz stared back in wonder. He turned back in time to see his mother with a blanket heading towards them. She picked up the bloom-kit with her hands and carefully wiped off the pollen with a small towel before swaddling up the baby in the blanket.
Punz tugged on his mother’s robe. “Manet he’s purple! His eyes are purple!”
“Yes my precious fillous. Purple is a dignified color. This baby will bring honor to our family.”
From the moment Purpled was born, Punz has always been his favorite person. He would stick to Punz like a shadow. Everywhere you see one brother, chances are you’ll see the other. The other kits would tease Purpled for never wanting to play without his brother around, but their teasing would fall on deaf ears since Purpled wasn’t interested in any of their words. His brother was his best and only friend.
From the moment Purpled had bloomed, Punz had already known his baby brother was different from the rest of the kits. More special somehow. He thought it was cool, but his parents had expressed their worries.
"He's not very social is he?" Lady Ashbinder had whispered to her husband one day. They were watching their son from afar as he rejected the advances of the ofter kits to play with them.
"He's a late bloomer." Lord Ashbinders merely chided, settling the worries of his fretting wife. "You'll see. He'll outgrow this phase of his."
Purpled did not outgrow said phase. Instead becoming more antisocial and keeping to himself more and more. Rumors of the house of Ashbinders having a "thorn" in their family tree speculated. Elder elves would shake their heads in pity at the thought, while the younger would viciously gossip about it finding sick delight in the potential misfortune.
One particular fellow, a friend of Punz's father, Lord Venrieth, seemed to find the situation a particular sort of interesting.
He'd come over and give too big, wide smiles that showed his teeth and he would say every time without fail, "Dear friend, if I had a boy like yours I wouldn't have bothered praying to Fecunda." Then, Lord Ashbinder would just laugh, something too pained to be merry, and would excuse his friend each time.
Punz hated him.
It seemed that his mother shared his sentiment. She would never smile when Lord Venereith was around. Furthermore, she would always make Purpled stay in his room whenever he was in their house. Though she never really let her distaste for the patriarch show in front of husband, she had no qualms against showing it to the man himself. She'd often confront him about it when they were alone. One such occasion Punz and Purpled managed to stumble into them mid-quarrel. They hid behind a large standing grandfather clock in the hall, as they eavesdropped on the two adults.
"-have you no shame!?" Lady Ashbinder spoke, voice spitting vitriol and contempt. "You come into my house! Disrespect me and my husband-"
"I assure you, fair lady. I meant no disrespect." Lord Venereith replied, thinly veiled amusement slipping into his voice. "I only meant to offer my condolences."
"You are a deceitful and flagitious rampallian with the audacity to dishonor my house with your overt dishonesty. Condolences? I know you have many languages that spew from your fissilingual lips but this one is by far the most clear bullshit I have ever heard."
Lord Venereith smiles in a way that feels all too condescending, as if he was talking to a petulant kit. "What a scandalous word coming from a mouth such as yours. No wonder it seems Fecunda would have probably cursed you with a thorn as you have soured from your youth."
Before the matriarch could retort, her husband returns to the room and escorts Venereith to the courtyards. The two picking up a conversation about the upcoming harvest. Lady Ashbinder gives them a bitter look before gracefully walking down the opposite hallway.
The brothers slip away to their rooms before their mother could take notice of them.
"Punz?"
Punz looks down at his little brother. His head is lowered and Punz can't tell what he's thinking for once. "Yes, little sprout?"
"What is a thorn?" The question is clear and the implications behind it are even clearer.
Punz’s face hardens as he looks onto his little brother, "You're not a thorn."
"I only asked what is one?" Purpled's eyes are too smart for a child of only 5 suns. He knows his brother is avoiding the question.
Punz doesn’t give an answer. Not then.
When Purpled had just turned 6 suns, it was hard to ignore it anymore.
He was different from all the other kits. He wasn’t as social, he wasn’t as fast, and he questioned everything all the time.
The last one was especially troubling. Punz had never seen another soul as inquisitive as his little brother. His questions ranged from everything from ‘why is the sky blue’ ’ to ‘why do we never leave the city’. Sometimes his questions even made Punz question himself. But he didn’t see it as particularly dangerous.
Unfortunately not everyone agreed.
“He is a menace.” Purpled’s teacher spoke, barely hiding the venom in his voice as he spoke to the council. “No respect for rules or traditions! He has all the students up in a frenzy with his incessant questions!”
”Have a talk with his parents again, this behavior cannot be allowed to continue.” A high council member speaks, gazing down at the teacher.
“And if it does?”
“The child will be eligible for the games in a few years time.”
The teacher steps back for a second, not expecting the sudden harshness. Then he nods, bows, and exits the pavilion.
The elder on the edge seat sighs, his beard not nearly as long as his fellow members, indicating his many, though still fewer, suns. “A harsh punishment for such a young child.”
The elder in the second to the middle seat turns to reply to him, “A necessary weaning. We can’t have weakness, lest we be no better than our wildflower cousins in the North.”
“Yes, but the games? It seems barbaric.” The young elder reasons.
“It is tradition. The impure must be dealt with to ensure the success of our people.”
The two continue back and forth, the rest of the members joining in and voicing their opinions. The table is loud and disorderly, everything the council is not supposed to be.
“Silence.” whispers the elder in the middle, and the table goes silent. Seated in the middle, is a frail, withering elf with a beard as long as he is old. His eyes sparkle with wisdom and cruelness. Something gained with his many suns. He continues slowly, with his voice hushed with age, “We will prune out the thorns from the bush.”
The council stays quiet as they wait for him to continue.
“In honor of Fortuna’s gold and traditions of old, we live to upkeep the status and wellbeing of the elves of Pureborough.”
“For the good of the elves of Pureborough,” the rest of the elders repeat slowly and all is quiet again. The chant reverbs around the pavilion before dissipating into the silence.