Trouse lays on his back as his comrades sleep, mulling over his newfound magical powers, while attempting to fall asleep at the same time. Why could he, a doub, do magic? And had he really met an actual bonny? Weren’t they supposed to be extremely joyful creatures, not solemn and eerie?

It had been a week since he had possibly saved Nearth by preventing the tablet from crushing the bonny lily, and since then, the group had halted in the swamps for a few days to allow Seehea to build a container to protect the bonny lily. A slight rustle draws Trouse’s attention to a nearby weeping willow, and he quickly sits up. The pure black bonny sits beside the tree, watching Trouse intently, and Trouse rises to his feet.

The bonny seems much more joyful this time as she prances along, and Trouse follows behind, not bothering to grab his crossbow. The bonny leads Trouse through a maze of poisoned water and small islands. She stops at a giant, smooth, black stone jutting out of the ground, and then swiftly scales it.

“Why did you show me how to do magic?” Trouse calls from the bottom of the rock up to the bonny, who looks down at him, and says, without moving her mouth,

“You do not have claws.”

“Well, no, I’m a doub. We don’t usually have claws.” Trouse says, and the bonny unsheathes her claws.

They glint in the moonlight as she stretches her leg down for Trouse to admire her claws, and Trouse nods awkwardly,

“They’re uh, very nice,” he says unsurely, and the bonny pulls its leg back up.

“You should have claws.”

“Why?” Trouse inquires, but the bonny again ignores his question.

“Make some.”

“How?”

The bonny purrs slightly, its purr sounding like a chortle, and an orange cloud forms around the base of the rock.

“What are you doing?” Trouse asks, stepping away from the cloud, and the bonny purrs,

“Making claws.”

“Why?” Trouse asks but receives no answer.

 He stands silently in the moonlight, until the cloud slowly disperses, revealing a pair of fuzzy, black gauntlets laying in a small opening carved into the rock. The bonny watches Trouse expectantly, and he hesitantly steps forward. He takes the gauntlets and slips them on. Trouse clenches his hands, and large, black claws, made from the stone, sharp and deadly, slide out of the top. He unclenches his hands, and the claws retract back into the gauntlets.

“Try them on that tree.” The bonny mentors, and Trouse turns to look at a small willow tree.

He leaps at it and extends his claws. He then rakes his claws across the tree, and lands on the other side of the tree. The small tree groans and falls behind him.

“Very good. You would pull off hot pink hair well,” the bonny chuckles, and Trouse raises his eyebrows as he stares at the bonny.

Then his eyes widen in realization, and he exclaims,

“My potion! How did you-“ He begins, but is cut off as his eyes open.

The sun rises off in the east, and Trouse sits up. He looks down at his hands, and finds them equipped with the black gauntlets. A smile slips onto his face, and he turns to look at Erve, where he’d stored his potion in her saddle.

“Hot pink hair, huh?”