Poisonous Fox

I drifted off in Kate’s arms, saddened at Larissen’s enslavement, grieving for Kissen’s fate, worried for my own future, and reminded of something vague and distant. It was not a state to elicit restful sleep.

It was then, of no surprise, that I was plagued by dreams. Or of one, in particular. The dream itself contained several salient and notable traits, that I could hang on to, and that the rest of the scene appeared built around. But the details were blurred, as though viewing through a hallucinogenic fog.

But I recalled enough to know that this was no simple nightmare.

I had been young. Too young. It verged on the edge of what a child could remember. It was my first clue. The second, I was in a vehicle, I think, a sedan? That was a detail blurred. In the front seats were two adults, a male and a female, and they were gorgeous and happy and yet their faces were a mystery.

How could an unseen face be beautiful? I wondered, but knew that thoughts were non-linear at the best of times.

And then there was a jarring sound. A screech. A lurch. A bang. Another bang.

Smoke. Flames. Coughing.

Hands pulling me free, strange hands, not from the couple in the front seat.

And then I was carried, similar to how Kate carried me currently, but then, in the dream at least, I was leaving the beautiful couple behind in a fiery wreck.

Looking up at my savior’s face left me chilled.

The dream faded, as all dreams do.

I tried to hold on to what I could, feeling certain that it was a key to a memory. But that memory slipped through my fingers, leaving a residue of despair upon my proverbial hands. Yet still, it was a clue, and more than I had before. Who was the woman that had carried me, and why had that car burned? Who had been in the vehicle, and why did I feel a sense of hopeless longing towards them?

The fragments of memory left me with more questions than I had started with, and soon, those questions too faded.

When I awoke, It was to the sound of a stern scolding.

“What were you thinking?!” Muleater said in a tone that bordered on shouting. I blinked my eyes open, or tried to. Gunk had crusted over my eyelids. I reached up with my hands to rub them. Only one hand, my right hand, arrived. My left hand never did. My left arm felt too light. My left arm burned and itched and–

Oh. I remembered.

I calmed myself down. Panicking would fail me. Logical assessments would serve me.

I finished rubbing the gunk out from my eyes, using my right hand, my only hand.

Finally, I blinked my eyes open.

Meanwhile, Muleater had continued her reprimands, never actually pausing to let Kate have a word in edgewise.

“I had no idea where you went. Think about it. If you got into trouble, which you did, I couldn’t be there to help. Gods take it!” She swore, then tried regulating her breathing with limited success. “If you never came back? What would I tell your mother? We’d never know either; we’d never find your body here. You want that? You want your mother having a gods-loving funeral? Even Ken was worried! And don’t get me started about your lover boy.”

“Uncle Ken would–” Kate tried to get in, but Muleater spoke over the top.

“-just tell me, was it worth it? Were these beastborn worth it?”

“If you’d just let me explain–”

“-I don’t want an explanation,” Muleater snarled. “I want you to understand the gravity of our situation. I know you have trouble giving the attention this is due, but I need you to listen to me very carefully: your mother left you in my charge. We are in the Wastes. Our supplies are limited; there are wyrkwik or worse hounding us. So please, tell me, why did you go chasing off after her? Alone!” Muleater pointed at me. Kate had rested me against a stone at some point while I was resting, and she was now gripping her sword hilt with white knuckles.

“I was recovering assets.” Kate’s voice was tight, and could have been an attempt at dispassionate, but there was enough fury leaking through that she was only partially successful. “And I succeeded! I also returned with intel.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation. There was pacing. A sigh and a mumble, “intel she says… is that what she calls that?” Meanwhile, someone stroked my head, behind the ears, and it felt nice, soothing, relaxing… it carried me away from the throbbing inflamed pain.

“...There’s no getting through that skull of yours is there,” Muleater said, now sounding somewhat sad. “When we get back home, I think your mother and I might have a chat with your swordmaster.”

Kate crossed her arms, still unimpressed by the threat. “Are we done then?”

Muleater sighed, almost deflating. “Yes, I suppose we have to be. Everyone grab your things, we’re moving out.”

“And the kunbeorn?”

“You brought them back on your own, so you can figure them out on your own. That includes feeding, walking–attending them… or putting them down. You choose. Maybe a few consequences will help.”

It was dehumanizing, but then, these people never considered myself or the Kaiva to be human. Muleater was talking about us like we were pets. And perhaps, to them, that was what we were. If I were hale, I would have protested. Strongly. And likely by stealing supplies and absconding into the night.

But I was not hale.

Kate grumbled, but picked up a leash that had been attached to Larissen’s collar, and gently picked me up in a bridal carry. I kept silent, though I did not appreciate being treated like luggage.

However, if the alternative was walking with my injury, I knew which was worse.