Clove was not alone when I stepped into the training grounds. Fern was nowhere to be seen, but she must have been there already because I saw two dryads who eyed me with what could only be described as pity.
Their pity was frustrating. Still, their presence reassured me, even if only a little.
"See? He didn't run away." Clove's voice resounded, and I looked up to see him scowl at a group of young fae. There were all kinds of fae in the Eserian Grove, but most of the young ones belonged to the Forest Folk and the Flower Fairies. Clove was a unique case among them. He stuck out like a black sheep among a herd of Whitefaer Sheep.
It was just like Fern said.
The young men and women near Clove shrank away as his dark eyes drifted across the group. Only when he turned to the adults was he able to meet their faces without anyone ducking away. That, too, matched Fern's words.
"Why would I run?" I asked, trying to sound confident yet not cocky. "Do I have a reason to run?"
