TIMING: During the Surge LOCATION: Worm Row PARTIES: Cairn Woods (@cairnivore) and Riley Takeda (@foxtakeda) SUMMARY: After being promise bound to stay inside, Cairn heads over to Riley's place where the two spend the next two nights together with Zuko. What begins as a shared uncertainty settles into a quiet understanding between the two.
Riley sent the address. That was all it took. Cairn was on her feet, didn’t even think to log out—just grabbed her bag from the floor and headed out. The words sat heavy and absolute in her chest, “stay inside”. And now, she knew what inside was. Riley’s place. She pulled the folded map of the town from her coat, her thumb tracing the main streets she was already growing familiar with. Cold air brushed past her face, but once she figured out the way, she slipped the map back into her pocket.
The door is open. Cairn recalled the phrase and took it literally. So when she finally arrived, she reached for the knob and pushed the door open. Cairn paused only for a moment, long enough to register that this mattered. This was inside. As something brushed past her leg, she glanced down in time to see the cat push the door farther open. It slipped inside and Cairn followed, letting the door gently shut behind them.
This was the stray cat Riley had been talking about. It moved through the house with its tail high, as if this were merely an extension of its territory. It gave Cairn a brief look as she stepped farther in, then padded deeper into the room. Cairn followed. She watched as the cat leapt onto the back of the couch and curled neatly into itself. After a moment, Cairn sat too, mirroring its shape without realizing it—shoulders drawn in, hands resting uselessly in her lap. Cairn watched the room, then the door, feeling the tightness in her chest loosen just enough to let her breathe. She was inside. And that was enough.
—
Plenty of things made Riley antsy: law enforcement, enclosed spaces, storms, ominous warnings of ‘blackouts’ with no further explanation. They were staring out the window, thumbnail half-chewed as they tried to comprehend what the hell was going on. All of their instincts felt like they were dialed up to twelve, not even sure what they should expect from this. Twice already, they had caught their teeth and nails elongating into their natural fox shape. Zuko hadn’t been in his normal spot when they had checked earlier, and while they were keeping the window open for him, there was a knot in their chest at not having him inside yet.
Unable to sit still any longer, Riley began to channel some of the manic energy into cleaning their apartment. While they weren’t certain if Cairn would take their offer seriously, Riley didn’t want her walking into a mess, and it gave them an excuse to move around. They gathered up some of the open files they had been working on and shut down their laptop because they were pretty sure the courthouse was not going to be in session today. Disappearing into the second bedroom/office with an armful of things, they missed the front door opening.
When they emerged, they nearly ended up throwing their phone at the wall in their surprise at seeing Cairn and Zuko sitting calmly on the couch as though they had always been there. Eyes flared gold-green, and Riley shut them tightly in the next moment, turning sharply to hide them from their guest. “Fuck, shit, I’m-” One of their fangs sliced against their lip and Riley made a high-pitched yelp that sounded distinctly fox-like. After twenty seconds, they no longer feel like they are on the verge of shifting, but they are disconcerted by how much effort it took. “S-sorry. Cairn?” they asked as they stepped further into the living room. Zuko meowed loudly in response, as though offended that he was being ignored. “Yeah yeah, I saw you too, buddy,” they murmured as they scratched under his chin before turning their attention back to the younger woman. “I’m glad you came. Can you just do me a quick favor and take your shoes off by the door? I’ll grab you a pair of slippers. You hungry?”
—
Cairn watched the alarm that shot through the other’s body—her own remained still and planted on the couch. She noted the subtle… changes in Riley, primarily the eyes, although maybe it was the light being caught in them. She scanned the room, tracking shadows and sunbeams not ready to draw any conclusions just yet. That yelp, though, did sound like something Cairn had heard in the woods before. It’s pitch, similar to that of a red fox, but she didn’t know humans could vocalize that way.
At Riley’s request, Cairn looked to the door and then back to them, not fully understanding. A glance down at the slippers on Riley’s feet clicked it all into place. She stood and walked over, unlacing her boots at the door. Near the door, a cluster of shoes suggested where hers should go. Before removing them, she fished out the small knife tucked inside, then unwrapped the cord around her ankle and retrieved the flint bundled in her sock. Finally, she pulled out a bundle of fishhooks and set her boots aside. The worn leather stood out sharply against the other footwear.
When she met Riley’s glance, Cairn remembered there had been a question at the end of their request—hunger. She paused, checking in with herself. Hunger had always just been something she managed. She nodded once. “Yes,” she answered, then before Riley could move or offer something, she knelt down and opened her satchel, laying out the small things she carried—dried fish, nuts, and a few strands of roots—enough, if handled carefully. “This is what I have,” she answered quickly, already counting for division. “We can share. I don’t need much.” After a beat, softer and quieter like it explained it all, she added, “I can go two days without eating.”
The cat jumped down, padding over to the provisions, sniffing a strip of dried fish before taking it. Cairn watched, brows furrowing, then softening—of course, she’d have to account for the cat too. —
Riley set out a pair of fuzzy slippers from the closet by the door for Cairn to use, and they paused as she began to pull out an assortment of makeshift tools and items from the boots. They had gotten a sense during their conversation that Cairn wasn’t overly socialized and Riley had to wonder why that was the case. She wasn’t feral or aggressive, and already they could tell that she was capable of taking care of herself in a way that most people her age couldn’t. Even as they opened their mouth to offer something to eat, she was already unwrapping a bundle of rations, clearly foraged from the woods.
Zuko chirped and jumped down to claim a piece of dried fish for himself, and Riley shooed him away with a sharp exhale. “Hey, come on, at least ask first,” they complained but the cat was already gone with his prize. “Sorry,” they mumbled, embarrassed by the cat’s actions. “Um, these look good, but you hold onto it, okay? I’ve got plenty to spare and if the power goes out, I won’t be able to eat it all anyways. That way we don’t waste anything, and you can save that for emergencies.” Already, Riley knew that they would be sending Cairn off with whatever non-perishables they could spare once all was said and done.
Beckoning Cairn back towards the main living area in the apartment, Riley gestured for her to sit down again while they started to rummage through their shelves. “Um, okay I think I probably have some stuff for sandwiches? I’ve got some ham and cheese, or you can do peanut butter and jelly if you like the classics.” Returning to the kitchen table with an armful of ingredients for Cairn to pick out, they also bring a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “What made you change your mind, if I can ask?”
—
Slipping her feet into the fuzzy slippers made her freeze. The soft material pressed against her socks in a way that was… different—warm. Strange. Yet pleasant. Cairn flexed her feet inside experimentally, watching how the fibers gave under pressure. Not uncomfortable. Also not slippery as the name said. She shifted her weight in them, then allowed herself a soft exhale. Her feet were warm. She was inside. That was enough.
Cairn watched as Riley declined her foraged goods, murmuring that she had plenty to spare and it should be saved for emergencies in the case they ran out of food. She nodded once, letting the words settle. Plenty… That was a pattern she noticed—Vic, Hazel, now Riley. Everyone seemed to have more than enough, while Cairn always had to measure, ration and prepare herself for gaps. There was no offense taken as she hardly knew any “customs” when it came to accepting offered food, but it was a pattern she was noticing and it made her curious what it meant.
As she put it away, Cairn glanced up at Riley entering the room with an armful of items. Her eyes scanned each one, uncertain and mildly overwhelmed. Her eyes briefly drifted over at the cat, then back to Riley. “I… wanted to be inside.” Cairn was hesitant at first. Cassius had warned her that if it sounded too good to be true then it likely was. Yet, since coming into town she had encountered more warmth than she ever knew existed. After speaking with Jade and Regan, how they urged her to stay inside… something just clicked and she wanted nothing more than to be inside. “Why did you offer?” Cairn asked as she grabbed an item on the table, taking it closer to inspect it.
Her eyes dropped to the label—Peanut Butter. She knew peanuts. She had tasted butter. Cairn unscrewed the lid and got hit with a rich, nutty smell that made her mouth water. She tipped the jar toward her, studying the surface, the scooped marks left behind. Her gaze flicked to her own hands, the thought of fitting one inside seeming unlikely. She looked back at Riley. “This… counts as plenty?” She asked, quietly—seeking permission and wanting clarity on what else should be rationed and what was plenty. ___
Cairn’s behavior was not unlike Zuko’s when Riley had first encountered the cat, but at least she wasn’t hissing and clawing at them either. There was a cautiousness to her that was actually kind of refreshing to them. While Cairn might not be socialized, she was careful and that seemed to mean more in a town like Wicked’s Rest. Unfamiliar with the concept of slippers, but trusting enough to end up in a stranger’s apartment and accept help. While Riley had no ill intentions toward Cairn, a part of them is glad that she kept her wits about her, to question things that didn’t quite add up.
They slowly start to build their own sandwich, layering peanut butter and strawberry preserves on a few slices of bread, and moving slowly enough so Cairn could mimic their actions if needed. Focusing on the task at hand was easier than thinking about what must be going on outside. Darkness was already beginning to settle over them, and a layer of something that sat uncomfortably on Riley’s shoulders. The tightness in their chest loosens as they focus back on Cairn, who is so capable yet so wide-eyed at the very concept of peanut butter. Why did they offer? “I have the room,” Riley responded with a shrug, though that’s hardly a reason. A tiny two-bedroom apartment would be fine for the two of them and Zuko for any length of time, but it wasn’t a McMansion either. “And things can get… worrisome around here.” And maybe the idea of riding this out by themself wasn’t all that appealing either, but they don’t want to put that weight on Cairn.
“Everything’s plenty,” they reassured her again. “I’ve got more in the cupboards if you want something else, but while you’re here, you don’t need to worry too much about rationing, okay?” Riley kept their voice neutral and inviting, drawing on the way they often spoke with rattled witnesses or young children who had been touched by destruction and violence. “I probably have too much food for one person anyways, so you’d be doing me a favor by helping me not waste anything.” They stuck the knife they were using into the jar of peanut butter and nudged it into her direction.
“Use as much as you want. When the weather’s gross like this, nothing’s better than getting cozy and comfortable.” With that, Riley took a bite out of the sandwich, partially to prove that nothing was poisoned, but also to get themself to stop talking so damn much.
___
Cairn’s eyes were drawn to what Riley was doing with the peanut butter and preserves. She could smell the berry in them, causing a slight pang in her stomach from hunger. As she glanced over at the sliced bread, her curiosity got the best of her and she reached over, grabbing two slices of bread as Riley had. Her grip, unintentionally, had been a bit rougher than when Riley handled them. Indents of her fingers ruined the bread, but Cairn didn’t pay any mind to that. Which layer had Riley spread first? Did that even matter? She was so focused, she almost didn’t catch what Riley had spoken aloud.
Worrisome. That was why the offer had been made. Cairn had grown aware of how Wicked’s Rest was—the woods she called home for years had their own rules that she learned. But she took the oddities in the town as one would take the weather or terrain. She simply adjusted her sense of the place, marked it, and remembered. Places had their own rules and you had to learn them, trust them. What didn’t make sense… what caught and held onto her, was the rest of it. The idea that someone had looked ahead and thought of her.
The realization landed heavy in her chest, tightening—not in fear, but responsibility. The knife clattered as it hit the table. “I don’t…” she started, picking it back up again, finishing her final swipe of peanut butter. The bread had torn as Cairn got used to the gentle hand needed to spread the butter with pieces of peanuts in it. That wasn’t what mattered at the moment. “I don’t stay in places very long.” Yet it had been a year and she found herself not wanting to go back deep into the woods and not see another person ever again. But if she stayed… if things went wrong, she would be part of the problem. She always was. “I can leave if it becomes a problem.” Not because I want to, she could have said. I just don’t know how to be someone else’s responsibility. Again.
Cairn took a bite and paused. Cozy and comfort? The bread compressed easily, sticking briefly to the roof of her mouth. Sweet followed soon after—then the richness of the peanut butter. She had half a mind to stop eating and put it away for later. There was a flash of instinct before she looked back to Riley, noticing they weren’t saving theirs. She reminded herself—no rationing. She took another bite, chewing faster than before, no longer stopping to taste, but to feed. Then, it hit her. The peanut butter. The bread. It stuck. Her brows raised, the first sign that something was happening. She looked at Riley then her eyes flicked to the water bottle. She’d seen those. Just twist the cap right? She gripped the bottle, twisting it with fingers sticky with jelly and tilted her head back as she drank from the bottle. It washed the mush down with some effort and she put the bottle down with a sharp intake of breath, meeting Riley’s eyes.
A beat passed, then a gurgle from Cairn’s throat broke the silence. ___
Riley didn’t say a word as Cairn manhandled the bread. A semi-squashed sandwich didn’t change the nutrition profile of it, and honestly that’s what they were most worried about. While they knew people had been subsisting off of the land for millennia, if she was also worried about rationing, then logic dictated that maybe she might not be getting all of the nutrients she needed? Unsure whether that was even their business to be concerned with, they continued to eat their sandwich without trying to make it obvious they were watching her.
The clatter of the knife on the table made them start briefly, underscored by the howling of the wind (and maybe other things) outside. The prickle that sat at the base of their skull flared until Riley tamped it back down again. The cut on their lip had mostly stopped bleeding by now, but they pressed their tongue to the wound as a good reminder of how delicate their control was. They hadn’t been expecting this as part of the blackout. The only blessing was that Riley knew their fox form would be more wary of Cairn than the other way around (or so they hoped).
Rather than try to make contingencies for something that might never happen, Riley shook her head with a genuine smile. “You don’t need to leave unless you want to,” they reassured her again. “You’re the furthest thing from a problem.” Zuko took that moment to make his reappearance after his former act of thievery, and he leapt gracefully onto the table next to Riley’s plate, beelining straight for the half-eaten sandwich. Snatching him quickly before he could get away with more cat crimes, their eyes widened in alarm as Cairn’s large bite of her own sandwich seemed to get stuck in her throat. Shit, they didn’t think about warning her, but the younger woman’s instincts seemed to kick in as she reached for the water bottle that they had brought to the table.
“Sorry, I–” This was why Riley was not good at looking after another living creature. “I should have told you that it’s kinda… sticky,” they mumbled sheepishly. That would be an understatement. “I have some milk too, which might help more than water? But listen, make sure you chew. I’m not going to take it away and Zuko here won’t either. Right?” They directed the last question to the cat that had settled comfortably in their arms. Instinctively, their fingers brushed through his fur and combed out any tangles and knots that they came across. His warm weight made it easier to distract themself from the anxiety that was steadily rising inside them. Animal and human instincts combined and they worried at their lip, splitting it open again yet somehow comforted by the taste of iron on their tongue. They wished they had been able to get more information before everything happened. “Your fam–… no one’s out looking for you in all this?”
___
While the way the sandwich stuck to the roof of her mouth was unpleasant… the taste wasn’t. After she washed that bite down, she took another—mildly listening to Riley reminding her to chew. Cairn was chewing, but something about the taste made her want to chew as little as possible so she could swallow the bite faster. The way the cat reached for the food was predictable, an animal would just take in a shared space. There was no asking in it, no hesitation. There was only certainty that food existed, and within reach. As the cat was grabbed in time, its ears briefly flattening out of instinct, Cairn felt a familiar tightening in her chest—a brace for consequence.
Yet none came.
Instead, the cat settled on Riley’s lap, as if their warmth and comfort trumped an animal's instinct to feed itself. Cairn watched the exchange in silence, tracking the order of it. The correction. The reassurance. The way the cat wasn’t just pushed away, wasn’t made to leave for doing something wrong. Nothing had been taken from it in return. Not space, not warmth, not safety. Her grip tightened slightly on what remained of her sandwich. She didn’t look at the cat again, just back down to her sandwich. Cairn adjusted her understanding of the room. And, quietly, without really meaning to, she stayed.
Riley’s question hung as Cairn’s mind ran over shapes and names—Jenny, Hazel… fleeting, incomplete. Looking for her implied Cairn’s presence had a shape that was noticed when left behind, that it was being tracked, measured. There were people she talked to, people she… noticed, but that wasn’t the same as scanning in the dark for familiar outlines, counting hours, worrying. “No.” Flat. Like a fact she’d been carrying. Her parent did. Would have. Couldn’t anymore. They were gone. And with it, the knowledge of someone out there looking for her shape. “Not like that.” Cairn had been taught her whole life how to move quietly, to watch and adjust. Blend in. Somehow, she’d ended up doing the same thing here. Present, but invisible. Noticed in the same way one notices a fox frequenting its hunting grounds, but Cairn wasn’t sure she was noticed in the way one notices a stray cat returning to its feeding place.
Before Cairn could say or think any further a sound outside made her muscles coil, ready for action. Not a vehicle, but it rumbled the apartment as it passed. She turned toward the windows, but was uncertain of its source. Was it a large animal running outside? She looked back to Riley as if to visually confirm that she wasn’t the only one who had noticed it. Before heading over here, Cairn had to admit that the air felt… odd. Charged, like it did when the woods grew silent, when she heard faint rustling in the distance in the middle of the night with no light source. Cairn rose without a word, moving toward a window. She was careful of Riley’s things, unfamiliar with the layout, her steps slower than usual—slow enough to be intercepted before she reached the window. —
Cairn’s reaction went largely unnoticed by Riley, who was focused more on Zuko’s purring and trying not to seem like they were staring too hard at their guest. They remembered those early years, wandering from town to town and living off of whatever they could scrounge up from the land or earn through odd jobs. But doing that in the 1960s was more viable than it was today, at least in their opinion. Back then, people might have given Riley a strange look, but so long as they were polite, they didn’t get into much trouble. In comparison, everyone was so suspicious these days, not willing to trust anyone or risk being played as a fool.
Riley wasn’t expecting Cairn to have a different answer, but their heart sank all the same when she confirmed it. She seemed so young, and the world had only gotten crueler to those it thought it could take advantage of. There were more questions on the tip of their tongue, but instead, the lawyer just reached around the dozing cat in their arms to pick up their sandwich. “You do pretty okay for being on your own,” they said finally. Not pity, or empty praise, but a quiet admiration from someone who knew how hard it could be.
It was a nice moment that was broken by a discordant sound outside, and Zuko immediately dug his claws into Riley’s forearm as he sprang out of her lap. The skittering of claws was the only sound as he disappeared into one of the closets in the apartment. The reminder that there was a reason they had invited Cairn into the safety of their home in the first place. Meeting her eyes, Riley also stood up and crossed to the other side of the room, where the light switch was. Before she could pull back the curtain, the lawyer turned off the light and plunged the room into darkness. That way, when she peered outside, she wouldn’t be illuminated by shitty fluorescent lighting.
They cursed under their breath, wishing that they had the ability to see like a fox in their human form, but that was one of the abilities they had yet to unlock. Instead, they tried not to trip over any pieces of furniture as Riley joined Cairn at the window to see if they could see anything. If they strained their ears, they thought they could hear screaming in the distance, but it was faint enough that they could maybe believe it was just the wind. A flash of movement out of the corner of their eye had them staring hard at the alley across the street but whatever they thought they had seen was gone now, though it still left an uncomfortable tightness in their chest. “Hey… let’s… get away from there,” they murmured finally, pulling the curtain shut tightly.
After making sure all of the curtains were closed, Riley turned on the lamp in the living room, giving the room a softer illumination than the ceiling lights. Zuko had come creeping back out of the bedroom and they snorted at how aloof he pretended to be. “It’s getting pretty late. Why don’t I grab something for you to sleep in and you can take my bed? I’ve got some work to do, so I can take the couch out here.” In truth, Riley didn’t think they would be able to sleep until this oppressive energy lifted, but that didn’t mean Cairn needed to stay up with them.
—
The darkness startled Cairn for a moment, unaware that Riley had been the one to turn them off. She faltered, bumping into something—she wasn’t sure what but she caught her footing. Then, her eyes adjusted. She grabbed the curtain, pushing it aside to peer into the street outside. Nothing. Empty. Cairn hadn’t been familiar with this part of town so maybe it didn’t receive the traffic the rest of the town did. Her eyes caught something, a reflection of light but by the time her eyes turned, nothing was there. Riley’s words took her back into the apartment and she took a step back, letting them close the curtain.
The return of the light was appreciated and Cairn took in what Riley had said, uncertain what was wrong with her current clothing that she couldn’t sleep in them. Cairn had slept in them for a long time, but reasoned that it may be something similar to the slippers situation. Cairn glanced down at her feet then back to Riley. “Okay.” She allowed herself to be handed off clothing and shown to the room. It was… warm. Lived in. Cairn was unsure to step further in, worried to entrust the space she was given. Maybe she should leave. But then it echoed in her mind. Inside. Two days. Or until inside isn’t safe anymore.
The clothes felt strange on her body, the material was too light—Cairn was used to the weight of her layers. As she lifted the shirt to smell, her nose was overwhelmed with unfamiliar scents, nothing like the smell of her clothing, the smell of herself. She grabbed her jacket and put it on, its weight settling against her shoulders, bringing them down. As she got into the bed, she worried about the softness of it. She sprang up immediately, worried it would consume her. She tested it once more, pushing a hand in, and felt it sink too much for her liking and resorted to laying on the floor.
Sleep was something that never came to Cairn easily. She’d close her eyes, lay motionless, but it was hard to say she truly knew rest. In this case she didn’t know how long she had remained motionless, trying to get used to the different smells and sounds (or lack thereof) than the woods. She even began to settle at the various noises Riley made in the other room. Footsteps, she assumed, were the main source of the sounds. Then—a heavy thump. Cairn sat up and turned her head, unable to figure out the sound. Too heavy to belong to Riley’s footsteps. A jump? A fall?
Standing, she decided to look. A glance at the clock showed it was well past late. Cairn eased the door open, careful of her footing as she stepped out. “Riley,” she called, gentle, soft enough not to carry throughout the place, but enough to reach them if they were close. The living room came into view, and something in it made her shift her weight. Her hand went to her side and found nothing. Oh. Right. Not her usual pants. Still, the instinctive reach was enough movement to be noticed—whatever came next would have to be careful. ___
Cairn didn’t protest when Riley handed over a well-worn t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and when the bedroom door shut behind her, there was a moment of relief that washed over them. Not because they didn’t want Cairn in their space, but because there were so many questions they didn’t know how to ask or answer, and they could also feel the thread on their control rapidly unraveling. The thought crossed their mind to go outside and brave the darkness, to find out more answers to what was keeping them trapped like this.
More than once, fox parts made an appearance as they grappled with keeping their human form. It was a fight unlike what Riley was used to. Zuko mewled anxiously, alternating between pressing a nervous paw on their thigh and watching from a safe distance. He had seen and was familiar with their fox form, the usual way they slept curled up against each other, but his animal instincts seemed warier in this moment, where the tug of war between their human and fox brain was drawn out.
If they didn’t have someone in the other room, Riley would have shifted ages ago. The fox wouldn’t like being trapped in the apartment, but without opposable thumbs, it would have to deal. But they also don’t remember the last time a human had seen their fox form. Cairn wasn’t stupid. If she emerged to find a two-tailed fox and no Riley, it wouldn’t be that hard of a jump in logic, especially if she was a hunter. A chill suddenly rocked through their body as the thought hit her like a boulder. Alone really young, capable of handling herself in extreme weather and harsh conditions, clearly not someone who spent a lot of time in society. They had heard of nomad hunter clans, and a breath caught in their chest. What if she was a ranger?
It was the final straw that broke through their razor-thin grip on their control, and in a puff of smoke, Riley’s fox leapt onto the back of the couch, tails high and taut with tension. Black pupils were narrowed into a slit against hazel-green irises. Their gray coat was speckled with patches of sandy-colored fur, and sharp fangs glinted in the low light as it slowly took in the room around it. A black and white cat chirped at them from its position on top of a bookshelf, and their eyes fixated onto it, trying to determine whether it was prey or not.
Leaping from the furniture to the floor with a loud thump, the fox approached the bookshelf to look for another moment before deciding that it wasn’t hungry enough to instigate a chase. Instead, it began to explore the room it was in, prowling around its circumference and pausing to sniff at the occasional item. Everything was familiar enough that it kept them calm, but the sound of a stranger’s voice sent them into high alert once more.
A fox was a small mammal. Its fangs and claws were sharp enough to slice through an attacker’s flesh, but their greatest asset was speed. Foxes survived by not getting caught in the first place, and they had already failed at step one. Peering around the corner of the sofa, Riley’s fox crouched low to the ground as thought it might help them hide better. It should pounce, to maintain the element of surprise that was crucial in these moments, but the figure who emerged was young. Even in fox form, Riley could recognize that Cairn didn’t mean to harm them.
Instead, the fox let out a low chittering sound, emerging briefly from the shadows before darting away to hide once more. It did this twice more, getting closer to the human with each endeavor, but not quite close enough to grab. With a bark, it jumped towards the front door and pressed its nose against it before scratching at it a few times and looking up at Cairn with a mournful look. It wanted out.
___
At the movement, Cairn tensed, unable to see clearly in the dark—only a small dark shape skimming along the floor, nails scraping against the ground. Was that Riley’s stray cat? She squinted, remembering the lamp Riley had turned on earlier. Moving carefully, she followed the sound, ears tracking the scratches. As long as it kept scratching at something, she knew it wasn’t coming for her. She reached the lamp and fumbled with it, fingers awkward and uncertain. Cairn had little experience with lights of any kind. She heard a soft meow and turned toward it, her fingers finally finding the switch.
The light washed over the room and she caught the white fur of the cat. She felt her shoulders drop, but then the scratching and yipping returned. Cairn looked over at the door, just to see a fox at the door. How did it get inside? And where was Riley? “Riley?” Cairn called out, a little louder now that she realized the only intrusion was an animal. She walked toward the kitchen, toward the bathroom Riley had shown her earlier, believing they were out of view somewhere in the apartment. Cairn misjudged the table’s edge and caught it with her foot. The thump was sharp, followed by the scrape of furniture on the floor—loud enough to startle the cat. And if it startled the cat then…
Cairn’s head snapped toward the sound of nails skittering across the floor, the animal likely darting for cover. She swallowed the sting in her foot, keeping the pain silent. If Riley were nearby, they would have heard it. Where were they? Outside seemed unlikely, not after how they’d spoken of it. Cairn ducked low, trying to figure out where the fox had run off to. Its dark coat melted easily into the shadows, slipping beyond the reach of the lamp’s light. As she shifted sideways, careful and slow, a rumble passed outside the window—like before, only heavier this time, as though a train were rolling by. Cairn crouched even lower, instinct tugging her down, making herself smaller despite curtains drawn tight over the windows. __
When the light flickered on, the fox blinked as it tried to orient itself within the room. Another spike of adrenaline surged through them, but the human didn’t try to trap them further. She moved away instead, looking around for someone? Who? I’m here. The fox yipped impatiently, even as she disappeared around the corner. Riley moved to follow after them after a moment, taking two quick steps in the same direction before a loud sound made them jump, sending them scrambling under the kitchen table. It provided coverage without trapping them, and the creature pressed its belly low to the floor. It wanted to go outside. Outside had always been safer, anywhere they could run free. It could run and run and take them far away from this oppressive feeling that sank into its fur.
Sharp eyes narrowed in the darkness, watching as the human’s form emerged, low to the ground just like it was. Watching carefully, the fox froze when her eyes locked with its amber gaze. It instinctively bared its fangs, but otherwise remained still on the linoleum. It had been seen, and it didn’t want to attack. It didn’t feel like the human was a threat, but Riley knew that even humans could be capable of great harm. One tail flicked nervously behind them while the other tucked tightly around the fox’s body.
Riley wasn’t used to feeling out of control like this. Their consciousness flickered between the fox’s instincts and the human’s thoughts, a discordant match up that left them on edge. Staring more intently at the human, a name came to mind. Cairn. Tilting its head, the fox continued to watch for a few more seconds before it crept out from under the table. Light on its feet so it could spring away at any second, but there was a feeling of trust spurring the shifter onwards, until it paused just out of arm’s reach of the young woman.
__
The fox was fast, clearly nervous and Cairn felt that her height was probably making it worse. Her eyes scanned the ground until she saw it. Underneath the table. They met eyes and Cairn noticed the color, the same color that appeared on Riley when she caught them off guard. “Riley…?” Cairn questioned as she lowered herself, eventually getting to rest on her knees against the couch. As the fox came out from under the table, that was when Cairn noticed the multiple tails.
Definitely not like the foxes she’d encountered in the woods before. Though, maybe like them, it came close in search of food. Cairn slowly reached into her jacket and pulled out the bundle wrapped in cloth. Once she was certain she wouldn’t startle it, she let it open, revealing the contents—minus a sliver of fish the cat had already claimed. Up close, she studied the fox. Its coat was a mix of silvery gray, flecked with patches of a tan color. She’d never been this close to a fox before.
Her pama had taught her how to read the wild animals they encountered in the woods—how to respect them, but don’t surprise them. And don’t expect loyalty or recognition. Yet, this one wasn’t fully wild was it? She had seen their human form. Riley. And now they were a fox. Cautious and attentive, but not fleeing. She lifted her hand, but the fox didn’t flee and she was sure the motion was noticed. Slowly, Cairn rested her hand behind the fox’s ears, like how she saw Riley had done with the cat. The fur was soft under her fingers, and more importantly, the fox—Riley—was warm and still. ___
When Cairn said their name, the fox responded with a short yip. They knew she was smart and the recognition eased some of the nerves thrumming just underneath the fur. It could smell something, the same familiar scent that clung to the rest of the apartment was nestled in the clothes the human was wearing, but there was something more on top of that. Their eyes glittered in anticipation as Cairn reached into her pocket and pulled out a wrapped bundle, and then it was set down in between them like a peace offering.
Its focus shifted from Cairn, to her hand, to the cloth that now lay open in her palm. Instincts were screaming at them not to get too close, but the tantalizing lure of the food was hard to ignore. Inching forward, Riley nosed at the bundle, forgoing the berries and roots and claiming a small piece of fish for itself. It wasn’t hungry, it noted belatedly, but food was food and who knew when the next meal would arrive.
Riley nibbled at the fish cautiously, sniffing around the edges. Out of the periphery of their vision, they flinched briefly as a hand raised, but relaxed again when it moved with a slow, steady purpose. Too slow to mean harm so the fox remained still, if wary. The feeling of fingers in their fur was foreign, the first person to do so since their mother’s nightly ritual of brushing through their fur. There was no attempt to grab or pull at Riley, so finally, they resumed snacking on the piece of fish that Cairn had let them have and let out a low contented grumble. Despite being inside, they no longer felt trapped by the walls.
___
Cairn made sure to keep her movements slow and deliberate, partly because she didn't want to hurt Riley and also because this was her first time petting a wild animal. She recalled the way Riley’s hand moved over the cat—across its back, fingers sinking lightly into the fur without grabbing. She followed that memory now, letting herself stroke along the fox's spine, stopping short of the tails. That, she knew better than to touch.
The fur was so warm beneath her palm, the fox solid and real in a way that eased the tightness in Cairn’s chest. Riley didn’t tense, didn’t pull away, so Cairn continued until they did. Gradually, she let herself sink further down beside the couch, her back resting against it. Her shoulders slouched as the tension bled out of her, her once careful alertness fading to something softer. Her hand moved, slow and rhythmic until her breathing matched the rise and fall beneath her fingers. Cairn finally felt safe enough to close her eyes—even when she felt another warm presence come up beside her.
By morning, Riley was still a fox, though unlike the ones Cairn had known in the woods. They understood in ways most foxes didn’t. Strange sounds were heard outside throughout the day and while it made the energy bristle in the apartment, it would pass eventually. Given that all Cairn knew how to make were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, she’d make a few for them to eat throughout the day. It took time, more patience than words, but they eventually found a way to understand each other.
At some point in the evening, Riley shifted back and it seemed like the entire area slowly settled into something like quiet. They even stopped hearing noises outside. When it was time to sleep, Cairn waited—long enough to be sure the sounds had quieted down, long enough to know she wouldn’t be noticed leaving. She slipped out of the apartment without a word, the door closing softly behind her. The cat was close behind and they paused at the same time, sharing a brief look, a silent understanding exchanged. Then the cat turned back one direction and Cairn went the other, each returning to the paths they knew best.
