Fifi found that running and sobbing makes for slow progress. First no Ice cream, Then getting caught, then evicted, and now running through the woods with Mac in pursuit. She couldn't look at him again, not after catching her. It wasn't right. His hands were for making, not catching.
Fifi looked back to see if Mac had followed her into the forest. She couldn't see him, but heard a distant crunching on the gravel. Fifi tried becoming semi-invisible again, but it didn't work. The trees or something in them had seen her. She looked around for a place to hide. If Fifi could get out of sight for a moment she could make the spell work and make her escape.
The moon shone silver on the double ruts of the overgrown drive. Rabbit trails opened onto the drive at intervals. Or maybe they were elf trails. She hoped there weren't elves. They were untrustworthy at best, and violent if they caught you in their forest. Fifi ran down the drive, looking for a leaf pile or gopher hole. She tried to keep to the edge of the drive, out of the moonlight but also not in the bushy trees that encroached on the gravel.
An arrow passed in front of her nose. Then a second struck her thigh. Another penetrated her apron and sunk into her chest. Fifi had no time to react, only scream. She stumbled from the pain and fell face down.
---
Mac jogged down the driveway, crunching the gravel. He would catch up with the little boggart and give her the screwdriver. Maybe he could catch her and make her answer more questions.
The little scream from up ahead alerted Mac to danger. She probably got cornered by a coyote. Mac picked up his pace. He didn't want her dead, just not causing problems. He passed into the trees and rounded one of the switchbacks.
A silvery white figure about three feet tall stood over a dark shape. It raised a little spear in preparation to kill. The victim turned its head and Mac recognized Fifinella's pointed ears and matted hair.
Mac felt more than saw some more shadowy figures off the trail. It was an ambush, and he was running right into the middle of it. Mac reached Fifi before he was able to slow down. He pushed the silvery woman away, picked up the bleeding green Fifinella, then sprinted back toward home.
Mac reached the relatively better lit porch and assessed his wounded boggart. Her pupils were big, like a frightened cat. She was shivering and making a few little choking noises, like she wanted to cry out but hadn't inhaled enough to do so. A few broken arrow shafts stuck out at angles. None were fatal, but would be if they weren't treated and cleaned.
Mac carried her inside, cradled in one arm while he rummaged in one of his boxes for his medical kit. He found the dirty canvas kit, then continued to the kitchen. There he laid Fifinella on the counter. Mac dumped the contents of the kit onto the counter beside her. There were a few bandages, medical scissors, gauze, and some expired alcohol wipes in beat up wrappers. Instead of using the wipes, Mac opened the fridge and brought out a partial bottle of vodka.
The arrow piercing Fifinella's apron and chest looked to be the most serious. Mac cut the small arrow off short. Then he removed her apron by cutting the straps and lifting it off. The arrow stuck out above Fifinella's right breast. It wasn't much bigger around than a grill skewer and had made a neat puncture, without tearing. Her skin was less dirty where the apron had been.
He gave her body a quick once over. Another arrow shaft stuck out from her right thigh, near her hip. Her hips were remarkably curvy for somebody so petite. A bit of curly hair between her fat thighs concealed a well-formed camel toe.
Returning his gaze to Fifinella's face, Mac told her "you will be OK." He really wasn't sure. Filthy people could be one infected wound from death or have immunity to every microbe on earth. He offered her a finger and told her "hold my hand." She took it in one of her little hands. Mac noticed that her fingers seemed overly long for somebody her size, and she had short claws rather than fingernails.
He prepared a bit of paper towel with some vodka and held it near her chest wound. He carefully pulled on the arrow shaft. It came out easily, followed by dark red blood. Mac pressed on it with the alcohol wipe to stop the bleeding. Fifinella winced and gripped tighter when the alcohol soaked paper towel touched the wound. Her breathing was shallow. He hoped she wouldn't go into shock.
Examining the arrow, Mac found it had no head, just a wooden point with some barbs carved into it. He hoped the second would be as easy. It was not. The arrow sunk deep into naked flesh without having to pass through leather first. When Mac pulled, Fifinella yelped and clawed at him. Mac wrapped a bath towel around his arm and offered it to her.
"Hold on," he told Fifinella. She shook her head, refusing the towel wrapped arm. Instead, she gripped his hand and dug her claws in as Mac worked the arrow out. He blotted the blood with another paper towel soaked in vodka. Every time he touched the wound she winced and dug her little claws farther into Mac's hand, leaving him with a few tiny punctures.
---
Fifi could feel that Mac cared even though the vodka stung. It was the same magic he used when he made the boombox into a house. This was so much different from the interrogation earlier. Instead of draining her, he seemed to fill her with a warm strong energy. Fifi had almost forgotten what it was like to be touched by somebody who cared about her. She looked into Mac's face. He was intent on treating her punctured thigh. She hoped his care for her meant he would keep her around.
---
Mac washed his hands with soap after tending to the boggart. She would have to stay until her wounds healed, then she could go...where? If other little people didn't like her then she was in danger no matter where she went.
"Can you sit up?" he asked Fifinella.
"I think so," she said and sat up, moving the injured leg slowly.
