#ariral characters

[falckie]

MS-Paint picture I made of An'Jul.

[falckie]

Part 1/4

★★★

Anyone who's ever dealt with mice knows what unique sense of violation they bring, whatever surface they cross becomes tainted, what items they gnaw upon corrupted, and their sordid scurrying, scratching and squeaking from dusk to the early hours of dawn deprives the listener of sleep.

It's not mice, but for the first time in my life, I wish it were, over whatever it is that creeps just out of sight.

I feel I'm being followed, worse, watched, and what for I can't fathom, but it scares me to think that something outside the realm of perception stalks me.

It's too early to tell what the motive may be, but I always know they're there, as invisible as they are, every time, without fail, I feel my skin crawl, my breathing pick up with my heart, fluttering like a startled songbird as I cast my eyes across my surroundings, searching for any sign, any source of my inexplicable adrenaline rush.

And there... A shadow stands out among the others...

A tree sways without wind...

Something leaves tracks in the slush and mud...

I know it's not paranoia, with tangible evidence such as that to prove the sudden surges of fear hold merit, and from the very far reaches of my mind, a voice whispers to me...

... Something is stalking me...

My blood rushes like a stag spooked by the sound of a twig snapping, tempting me evermore to give into this potent primal drive, painting what remains yet unseen, as a threat no different from a panther prowling along the gravel paths, it's patience ever thinning for the final pounce.

★★★

★★★

I awake from a restless sleep by the sudden suspicion that some boundary has been violated, without any sound or sign of something ever broken, regardless I remain still, awake with my eyes shut, and strain my ears...

... There's a breath, barely perceptible, but with lucidity becoming ever more vivid, I still my own, and listen...

... Beyond the borders of my body, the backdrop of silence is broken by the muffled breaths of many...

... They move with forced subtlety, speak in hushed voices, micromanaged ransacking, all in an effort to smother their noise level down to a tolerable volume.

I know it's not me they're searching for...

... Because one breath stands out, louder than the others...

... Closer...

... Close enough to hear it's respiration in painful detail, to differentiate between its inhaling, and exhaling, it's lapses and pauses...

... They must be the culprit for my waking, for they make no effort to muffle themselves as they creep ever closer, my senses tensed, fine tuned down to the point I can hear the carpet rustling beneath their footfalls...

... I need no rough estimate to know it stands just over me from where I lay, eyes squeezed shut, yet I feel as if I'm a fawn in the down, locking eyes with a dog, teeth bared, it's rotten breath tickling the hairs of my neck before it's jaws close upon it, and shake and shake and shake until it snaps...

... The mental image has my heart hammering ever harder. I struggle to suppress the trembling threatening to overtake my body, as much as I do trying to keep my breathing measured and even, to maintain the illusion of unconsciousness to what looms over me, it's interest incessant to such a point, it moves ever closer...

... A sonorous creak sounds as it leans it's weight upon the bed-frame, I bite my lip, suppressing a squeak as sweat rolls down my body, the hair on my body standing on end, a shudder rolling down my spine as a new tension overtakes the room...

... The other figures are forgotten for the moment that this one remains leaning, it's breath upon my skin, sniffing...

...My heart is beating with such violence that my ribs feel raw and sore, throbbing as much as my muscles coiled into knots tight as the ones twisting within my stomach, spine tingling with every trembling breath I fight to force from my lungs as much as I fight not to flinch from the one brushing against my exposed skin, my jacket which served as my blanket, slipped at some point during sleep, exposing me to the elements, and to the eyes of this creature, as it moves again, the bed-frame rocking, a metallic whine to match the one caught within my throat as it moves, it seems to tense and pause, if only for a moment, before I feel something brush and briefly touch the hairs of my neck raised by goosebumps in the throes of fear, then, swiftly it retracts it's reach.

“ᔑᒲ'||ᑑᒷ! ∴⊣ᓭᔑ ᒷ⍑ꖎ ||⚍ʖ⨅ ∴ꖌᒷ  ̇/⊣ʖ 𝙹𝙹!¡⊣⊣?! ⎓ℸ ̣ !¡ ℸ ̣ ∴⨅ᑑ ᒲᓵ𝙹ℸ ̣  ʖℸ ̣ !”

I nearly scream, it took every ounce of my being not to, but in the effort to suppress my cries down to a dull mewl, I most definitely, noticeably, flinched, my body so long braced for some action to take at a sudden short notice, the voice was like a starting pistol to a race.

What was so close, stumbles back, if not the voice, my sudden movement must have startled it, something clatters, not far from me there's a sharp hiss, and slowly something sounds like it's detangling itself from something else, something metallic, a whimper and more harsh words barely contained within the tone of a whisper, before the balcony doors hiss open, and several footfalls pass beyond the threshold.

I remain still, committed to playing the role of a sleeper, better yet a corpse if it would compel these creatures to leave and never return, gradually the adrenaline trickles dry, the soundtrack of my frantic heartbeats replaced by a ringing in my ears as my breathing begins to stutter and lag into restlessness once again, braced on the edge of action, not quite ready to be released from this rush just yet.

I listen above this orchestra of terror for another noise, for anything more to tell me not to break the act and open my eyes, but beyond a gust of wind, rattling the fences and compelling the trees to whisper seeds of doubt, sowing my mind deeper into disorder.

Despite the fear threatening to drown the logic I so struggle to cling to, there remains no other sound, none that I can't confidently listen to, and place their origins upon logical sources.

Like ripping a Band-Aid off, or removing a tick, the effort it takes to actually open my eyes proves taxing, steeling myself, I open them, met with the same darkness I saw when they were closed, till I reinforce my nerves, and slowly lift my head and glance over my shoulder, my heart jumping at the perceived expectation to see something still standing over me.

Instead, the red glow of the clock upon the nightstand startles me, to such a severe degree I feel compelled to curl up and resume my act again, my head spins with the effort at brushing aside this sudden inexplicable terror for something so simple, so mundane, I almost feel frustration mixing with fear, this cocktail of emotions proving toxic as my gut churns, a fuzziness permeates the tongue, numbing at the growing threat of throwing up.

With shaking hands, I retrieve my glow-stick from my coat pocket, and hold it out into the dark, my sides heaving with every breath, the early morning light offering little to nothing in terms of visibility.

The cold pale blue heralding the rising sun deepens it's hold over the site, filtering in from the windows, it's dim indifference lends no kindness to the fearful mind like mine, every shadow unseen is another monster, every corner unnoticed now leaps out, primed for attack as I brace myself upon the edge of the bed, watching, waiting for maybe a few minutes more, for something to happen, for my nerves to settle.

My eyes flick to the bedside clock, fixing upon its surface till the digits written in blood upon its face lose meaning against this tide of terror that comes and goes with every noise made beyond the walls of the base...

... The walls were supposed to keep me safe...

... It's guilty of something, the culprit of this terror, the longer I stare, the more this ire festers like maggots in an open wound....

... The base... They got into the base...

... I wince gagging as the infernal digits upon the clock-face shift and change, easy to miss unless you really watch it happen, like clouds on a windy day, look away and it's suddenly gone, off into the brink of the horizon, or part of something larger and far more imposing...

... They got into the base without me noticing... They open doors...

I tear my eyes away from the clock, my bare feet meeting the ground, my weight following, then lagging, I'm stumbling, every step unstable. I feel as if I'm walking on legs left without circulation for one minute too many, numb beyond that weightless fuzzy sensation, and the crippling tension shocking my sinew with a stranglehold at every contact made with a solid surface.

I can barely register my own breathing beyond the heaving gasps I choke out of my violently trembling body, stumbling onto the cold tile, the sensation shocking some reality back into my systems as I stagger into the bathroom, slamming the nearest stall door open and throwing up.

A whimper graces the edge of my dry heaving, slumping back, against the stall, I catch my breath, the world around me suddenly seems a lot more hostile, I'm drowning in a terror I can't bring myself to reason with.

★★★

★★★

They're not mice, but I feel compelled to lay some trap as if they were, hoping that it may dissuade them from harming me.

A strong conviction that harm will come from whatever lurks beyond the beam of my flashlight, what casts a shadow without an origin, what remains hidden without cause, a conviction that refuses to release me no matter what logic I raise to banish it, it remains, as stubborn as my growing paranoia.

My nerves are raw like I have suffered in some way. Not the same that makes the scars scream as they did when they were made, and certainly not the same way my cells become sordid and hateful listening to that certain signal...

There's no prior experience to liken this tension to, like looking for a file, and coming up empty, it was never renamed nor moved, it just never existed, but the mind insists upon some frame of reference to draw from.

I've faced my fears before; I'll do it again.

I don't know what they are, not yet, but I know they like shrimp. There's no other explanation for the pack picked clean from the freezer, unless I ate it and somehow memory holed the entire process of actually cooking and consuming an entire pack of shrimp, which, I strongly doubt.

Descending from Foxtrot, I slip down back onto the gravel path, past the lone lamp surrounded by fence and flowers of crimson hues, bathed in the sun rays unobstructed by clouds, despite the windy weather and up into the narrowing valley.

The voice of the wind becomes much more concentrated, confined just as I am against the steep walls on either side of me, the sun becoming a whispering shadow beneath trees subtly tousled by the gusts.

Ascending into the woods, I pause at the edge, ahead I can see the generator building, and further on, at the edge where the woods resume, I see smoke.

I feel my skin crawl, my gut churning, it's an uphill battle swallowing my fear, force feeding myself the courage I can conjure in name only as I pass the threshold, from shadow, into sunlight, away from the woods, out into the open, my eyes trained upon the source of the smoke, flicking now and again to the generator building, and the large log not far from it, both offering cover should I need it, but not so much in terms of absolute safety...

I pause only to remove the pack of shrimp I brought from my backpack, before steeling myself, and pressing on.

The nearer I draw to the origin, the more my body trembles and shudders, hair rising, some sick feeling taking over, a similar sensation to the one I felt finding that picnic, only much, much worse.

Now made that much more intense when I stutter and stop, my feet static as stone from where I stand and behold the same craft I did before, the very same present at the picnic, long, thin, white, at first glance they resemble paper airplanes.

I feel like the breath has been knocked from my body, I stumble, the ground seeming unstable, my head fuzzy I catch my body in the act of moving on its own, on instinct, an instinct I've never encountered before, but I struggle to suppress it all the same.

I have to look away, otherwise I can't move, well, I can, but I move in the opposite direction, and it's driving me crazy, this new and alien instinct, as strong as it is unfamiliar, even so, I still find the strength and resolve to continue, keeping my eyes to the ground, or cast upon the surrounding landscape, anywhere but directly at the shapes floating mere feet off the ground, though now and again I sneak glances, as if ensuring I'm still walking in the right direction, despite how much my mind and body protest against moving any more than away from here.

Every peek made upon the alien craft, it's like a jump-scare, my heart leaping, my nerves tense, my resolve ever thinning, till I'm mere feet away, and the composure is becoming ever the more taxing to keep up, my mind restless, body stuck, every step like wading through tar as I brute force my way past the strange alien craft, squeezing my eyes shut, a shudder crossing my body before I open my eyes, both craft behind me, and it's now I behold the source of the smoke...

A fire, a campfire it looks to be, some apparatus, similar to a cooking spit, erected over it, the embers beneath still smoulder, something softly simmering and bubbling within the container positioned above.

Looking to my right, I see what I assume to be furniture upon the grass, and heaps of lumber not far, but what stands out the most, affixed to the trunk of a tree, thicker than the rest, a wooden platform, with a ramp, going from it to the ground.

Casting a glance over my shoulder, I approach the wooden platform, circling it, and come upon a box pushed up against the tree trunk, under the platform.

It may be a container, but with the extraterrestrial nature, I'm only inferring based off my own, human, bias.

I stare at the box for a moment more, the call of a songbird somewhere startling me, before I resolve to satisfy my curiosity now rather than later, when I risk getting caught red handed.

Tucking the shrimp under my arm, I kneel down, and crawl beneath the platform. My hand trembles reaching for what I assume to be the lid of the box when, suddenly, I feel a cold sweat and shudder down my spine, the very same when they're there, and sure enough, something rustles, leaves and mud crunch and shift under the foot of something closing in quickly, then abruptly stopping, a shadow just at the edge of my peripheral vision, darker than the rest cast by the trees.

I'm scared to look as much as I am to move, it's not until I hear a deep, sharp hiss that I'm startled out of tharn and into scrambling out from under the platform, banging my head in the process before I manage to clear it, my hands and knees caked in mud and grass stains as I resist the compulsion to tear through the woods, despite every cell, every nerve in my body screaming for me to turn and run, I stay put, firmly planting my feet on the ground, the shrimp pack in my grasp, I turn around, expecting to see nothing...

And I see something...

Something dark, towering over me, I can't tell where it's eyes are, and it terrifies me, trembling, stumbling backwards till I trip on some unseen dip in the terrain, falling backwards with a yelp, the thing far more imposing, looming over me, my sides heaving, the edges of my eyes blurring and blackening, narrowing down to a fine point, but ineffective at focusing, like the aberration of Hubble, my fingers curl, the snap of styrofoam breaking the spell, if only briefly, to recall my offering.

My eyes flick down to the shrimp, still pristine and neatly packed in perfect rows, despite the vice grip I've assumed over the package. The wind has stopped, the silence ever so deafening against the blood roaring in my ears until I hear the thing move, looking up to see it standing over me, limbs braced upon limbs, looking down.

With trembling hands, I thrust them forward, out-stretching my arms as far from my body as I feasibly can, it stares, I think that's what it's doing, then it takes, plucking the package from my hands, it holds it with it's own, five fingered like mine.

The breeze resumes, but with it, it brings a scent that shatters my composure, like smelling gas and smoke, it sets off so many red flags I feel dazed until something stirs next to me, a new shadow, downwind, with a scream, my nerve snaps.

★★★

★★★

Through gaps in the glass I see the smouldering remains of a shuttle, the beast bellows and bleats in the throes of pain, tar of La Brea seeping from its gaping wounds.

From where I stand I see the pad and payload built upon the twisted remains of tusks and tooth, black and white, but like the most of the mirror, it's a pressing grey tone, humming and howling with the rest of what restlessly roils away under the cascading carnage.

Further down another heart beats other than my own.

A slit in the sky, stars pouring in sonorous wailing, scathing earth from frigid dunes, rendered into rolling magma from sky to surface, scalding heat, pelting upon me, the haze hot and suffocating, thin and then it was over when thunder rolled, without wind, not until another decade and then some underneath the sands of slow abyss.

The eye is not mine.

Unspoken oxygen at the edge of light.

I risk walking backwards, into the grand-master of perception. Already cornered without reprieve, reliving their first look at their behest, playback without feedback.

Lining the trees and audience watches me, bearing burning light.

Many missed, many more missing. Only their absence is minor on paper, major in scale, mild in action.

They bare their song, but nothing before can listen, only now, for the singularity in solidarity confinement.

Other than that, the headmaster of hide and seek remains away and awake.

And a new apathy assumes another identity, like dogs, hares bay, hackles raised, but ignored to be brushed off another day, another life, another sleepless night...

Iris in the down whispers hexes upon the instrument of sparks and smoke, tearing strings into strands to rewrite them, play them into another song altogether in some sick fantasy of restoring their sanity...

Buds lost, scattered to the wind, before they were ever tangible, but the burden as heavy as the lost lifetime...

Charcoal white, frigid ashfall, roads of parallel iron beneath golden light, to leap from a window without a moon, and away from the looming corpse, off into copse lightyears away under the close call, dial tone lining dormant fields...

Sew the seeds of the stars, dissect then into their strings, sort them based upon the way they sing, and if they don't, they're not real stars, only ghosts against the tides of time.

Nine strains, seven years spent withering away in tears and long days of dust among dreamers

The world sways and I move with it, if I stop breathing, so does the world, and everything with it, on pause, indefinite hiatus until it's over and over and over again.

I saw this song and dance before, broke it, by halting the beat of the heart, hurt so much it compels me to come back and break it again.

But I can't always be the one to break my own heart...

Foothills fracturing, a rolling roar, rumbles and rushes through the roiling green extremes, amidst mythic hues of blue and bone, born from the best, but this one roars, roars different to the roads that may give it pause on its relentless path, and so it becomes water, water like no other.

Another river, this one much more mild, fell from the sky, not from a slip of the hand of Cetus, but of wyrm colliding with the Earth, coiled and composed despite donning maroon and sanguine across shattered scales.

Wherever I see it still, demanding another definition, the depth ever drying up between us as I ever progressively decay in it's dilation, what delay there was now dull and dead against the backdrop of noise drowning the world with me, till I'm dragged under, a new light among the dark, beckoning me to sink deeper, to embrace this new noise, understand it when it takes what it takes, whatever it takes...

No display to make, no description to speak, no dreams to decrypt under this distressing drive. Not until it's decorated under the divine definition.

★★★

★★★

Manifest metabolization, reverse the mirror of reality, without center.

Make sense of the world by catching it in a net, the net of spacetime, make sense of the world by imposing order upon the wiggles well I see no order in it at all, entropy is beautiful, I move and reality wiggles around me, the lines and creases fold and collapse.

Blades of grass blank and beautiful beneath my fingertips, brushing because beyond that it burns, but not too much that it hurts, like curling up close to a radiator, there's a star inside of there, but I don't dare look for fear of disturbing it.

And like real life it's all a matter of scale, a feedback loop of fluid experience, existence is a liquid and I am an ocean, I see it from a greater scale, petting...

Petting...

Petting...

Something is petting me...

I'm suddenly aware I breathe, my sides rising and falling like tides, I suck in another, and quake, a tsunami spilling out of me with a wistful sigh, slow suffocating stream of consciousness seeping from a gaping place of noise.

The dark looms overhead, it overheard, listens and whispers in words I don't find, only feel, shudders and shivers down the Alps in fracturing strips of faults.

From beneath digits undiscovered, threading through coils and lanes untethered till the dusk demands the gaslight anthem.

And petting, on scale, what scale other than what speaks to me beyond the screen, strong and stressed.

Still the streets, still them!

I still no more... Staring, rolling the stalker's game, unblinking beneath listless faces, restless and swift.

★★★

Written in collaboration with Feral Changeling

Part two

Part three

Part four

Return to root

[falckie]

Part 4/4

★★★

I'm not used to having company, not that I mind, as much as my nerves may protest, that primal instinct nagging from the back of my mind, I do my best to ignore it as I engage in idle chatter with An'Jul, on our way up and over the mountain to Romeo.

Upon cresting the hill and crossing into the mysterious hole site, An'Jul pauses.

"Whut this plaec Kel?"

I shrug, looking around with her. "Not sure." She cocks her head, I continue. "To be honest, I've neglected exploring this site beyond a cursory glance."

"Huh?"

I simplify my sentence. "I haven't explored this place in depth."

She seems to understand, asking... "Why naht?"

Continuing onto the path and away from anomalous area, I respond. "I was waiting for the snow to melt, that, and... I kinda have a lot on my plate."

"But yuu'r naht carrying a plaet."

I smile. "It's an expression." Her brow furrows, confusion deepening, I fumble, trying to explain. "An expression is like... it's not literal, it's just another way of saying something."

Her eyes follow a grasshopper leaping out of the path and into the grass. "I dun't unnersand..."

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "I-I'm not sure how to explain it... I wasn't- it's not a literal plate I was referring to, what I was saying, is that I have a lot of tasks taking up my time."

She looks back at me as we continue our descent down the mountain, into the valley. "Tuu manni tu exlore?"

I nod, there's a beat of silence before she speaks again. "Haash cobes a task?"

"Yeah." Reaching Romeo, I pause and turn to her. "Wait here."

She nods and I head inside, it only takes a couple seconds to insert the floppy disk into the server, execute the commands on the console and begin the exporting process.

Upon emerging, I spot her crouched close to the ground, sifting through the gravel, the sun making her white fur stick out like a beacon as I descend the metal staircases, my footfalls creating a cacophony of metallic pulsing percussion, echoing across the valley. Reaching the bottom, she's waiting for me at the foot of the steps, some small stone clutched in her hands.

She holds it out to me. "Kel! Look!"

I regard the stone, it's small and white, with some mild flecks peppering the surface, could be dirt or part of the stone itself, what stands out is how it glitters and shines under the sun.

"Ah, you found a piece of quartz."

She sounds out the new word. "Coo-Wurtz... Qwurtz..."

"Yeah, it's pretty common, but it looks neat, yeah?"

"Jya!" She nods, pocketing the quartz within her jumpsuit, following after me with a bounce in her step.

I briefly swing by the generator, restoring it's stability, it's something I've turned into a habit whenever I'm nearby one of them. Like all the other buildings, I tell An'Jul to wait outside, in this case, specifically outside the perimeter, as there's heaps of trash littering the ground inside and outside the building.

While the generator is more or less fine, I'd rather do the extra work of resetting it now, than risk a blackout when conditions such as time and weather are not so ideal for the endeavour. An'Jul remains outside, in relative safety of avoiding stepping on something sharp or hazardous.

Against the steady hum of the generator, some noises from outside the heavy mask of white noise slip through, the sounds of An'Jul sifting through the gravel again reaches me and I can't help but smile.

With some caution I tiptoe from one clear surface to the next, weaving through the mounds of waste, wary that one wrong step could very well land me with some rusty nail through my foot. I shudder at the thought, ducking beneath the decrepit wooded boards nailed across the doorway, the warmth of the sun on my face greeting me as swiftly as An'Jul does before I've even finished brushing myself off, showing me the new rocks she collected.

"Whut thees called?"

I shrug. "I don't know." She cocks her head, I elaborate. "Best guess is it may be granite, but I'm not an expert, a geologist would know more than me."

"Graamit... Geeolist...?"

I repeat, slower. "Gee-all-oh-gist..."

"J-Jeeoljest...?"

"Yeah, they're people who study rocks and the minerals."

"Meeniralls?"

"Yeah, they're like rocks, but... Different."

She pockets her rocks, following me down the path. "Deffrent how?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

She smiles. "Iz otay, Kel iz vaery smaert."

I glance away sheepishly. "Well, I'm not so sure why you think so, since I can't exactly explain or answer a majority of what you ask..."

"Kel knoe thae dun't knoe, Kel admets that, that's smaert."

I feel my heart flutter, glancing back at her, I fidget by curling a lock of hair around my finger. She's not wrong, but it doesn't make me blush any less from the compliment, especially when it comes from an extraterrestrial.

Reaching the foot of the hill, I mull over bringing up the topic of astronomy, something I'm far more capable of discussing, though, given her origins, maybe it'd be a little mundane...

To be fair, she did tell me what her profession was, but refused to elaborate further beyond simply saying she practices medicine. As difficult as this job has presented itself to be, I still feel some shreds of pride for it, my passion for astronomy still alive and well within me.

Crossing the valley, I'm just about to break the silence, when she beats me to the punch by stopping, and staring off to her left.

She doesn't actually say anything, but the pause, and that look on her face... It certainly speaks volumes, something painful written across her features, from the way her eyes fixate so wistfully into the grasses lining the valley, rippling with the wind like water on the tide, to the way she's stilled, from the tip of her ears to her tail, all her energy and attention commanded to focus upon some fixated point far off from us.

Swallowing my fear, I side up to her, following her line of sight, knowing she may very well see something I can't, with height to her advantage.

Finally, she speaks. "K-Kel..."

My name upon her lips startles me, worse now than it ever did, I'm suddenly aware of my own one sided suspense, and quickly scramble to suppress it, before I respond.

"Yeah...?"

She hesitates, her eyes flicking from the ground, to my face, and back to the far valley a few times. "I-I knoe t-tasks taek tiem, b-but..." She pauses, raising her hand to point in the direction she's so fixated upon. "C-Can we go thaer, f-fur a b-bit...?"

I blink, following her hand, where she points, some restless feeling of suspicion running circles within the confines of my mind, I still it and nod.

"Sure."

★★★

The breeze was subdued and soft as it gently tossed grass and flowers to and fro, locks of hair brushing against my face warmed by the sun unobscured by the clear skies above, not a single bird to sing a bittersweet note as we both walk the length of the of the valley, till An'Jul at last comes to a halt, her eyes downcast to a picnic blanket left upon the grass, the very same I've seen before.

While not pristine, it hasn't yet suffered the weathering of exposure to the elements. Only wrinkled by wind, wet from rainy weather, with the dirt, dust and loose foliage scattered across its surface.

And An'Jul only stands and stares at it, standing beside her I sneak a glance at her, that same solemn look, now deepened, before she sighs, kneeling down, and with a trembling hand, lays her palm upon the surface, her whiskers twitch.

The atmosphere is one of suffocating sorrow, wallowing within the silence feels like an obligation, but a bittersweet one when the suffering is tangible, but isolated.

"... An'Jul?"

Her ears twitch, she takes a long breath. "Pecknik blamkit..."

I shudder recalling the picnic I stumbled across last month, it feels so long ago now, I want to ask her about it, but I'm not sure how to, offput by the potential of coming across as insensitive.

She speaks before I can come up with some means to ask about the blanket.

"Feel sad..."

My heart sinks in my chest like a stone, I crouch down next to her. "Why?"

She sighs, her breath shaking. "Had pecknik here..." She takes her eyes from the blanket, to the sky, her fingers curling into the checkered fabric. "Weth Ox'Seko..."

There's a lapse of silence, I leap at my chance. "Uhm, s-so... Th-That was you t-two...?"

Her lips quirk into a sad smile, casting her eyes back to the blanket. "Jya... Ox'Sexo dudn't espekt Kel tu be buld enaaf to be su close beafur craydl respuns kecked un."

I furrow my brow, cocking my head. "Cradle response? What's that?"

She looks at me, I almost flinch, she points to the bruise I left on her from this morning. "The fear."

"That has a name?"

She nods, I feel like I have more questions, but I can't conjure them because I'm still reeling from this new information.

An'Jul fidgets with a corner of the blanket. "Miss thems..." She sighs, closing her eyes. "Miss Ox'Seko..."

Without thinking, I reach out and place my hand on her arm, her eyes flick open, I almost pull away, this... 'Cradle instinct' nearly overpowering the empathy driving me to curl my fingers, softly squeezing her arm despite the painful primal pang of my hammering heart howling for me to pull my hand away, for the moment it's all overshadowed by a deeper, far more defined instinct, defying this fear in favor of offering comfort.

The very backbone of my species, our complex social nature transcends our own kind and onto other species, compassion bleeds into caring for other creatures, from the simple pet to group dedication to conservation... But never would I have expected human empathy to be able to cross the boundary of biospheres...

Doubt sets in, the fear creeps back, for once, I felt what it was like for it to be silent, to be unafraid, and now that I've had a taste, I'm hooked, chasing it.

Beholding the tears streaming down An'Jul's face, I find the willpower to banish the instinct to the back of my mind, the strong compulsion to comfort, the very nature to nurture social bonds, regardless of circumstance or species, ultimately takes priority over feeling afraid.

My heart hammers, moving my hand from her arm to her shoulder, she's quivering and the rest of my fear melts away from my body, my mind and my voice. Against my expectations, my tone remains intact, without a trace of trembling, steady, still, softened...

"I... I know it's not much, An'Jul, but... I also have people in my life that I miss..." I look from the blanket, to her face. "People I also love..."

She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, nodding. "K-Kel haev freands...?"

I smile softly, rubbing her back, trying to console her. "Yeah, Ena and Max."

An'Jul regards me with her saffron eyes, it feels as though a fog has been lifted, and I can see her as she is, unbiased by instinct, there's intelligence in those eyes, thoughts racing behind them as much as my heart is racing in my chest, not from fear now, but from curiosity.

I can see myself reflecting back in her eyes and I wonder if she can see herself in mine, I wonder if she is thinking the same things I am... That I'm locking eyes with someone other than my own kind, a creature just as complex as I am, both with our own broad spectrum of experiences, and I can't help but wonder, what compares and contrasts to the eclectic symphony of our lives...?

My bumbling musings are cut short by An'Jul breaking eye contact to look back at the blanket, her finger curling around a loose strand of thread separating from the rest.

"Ox'Seko furgot the blamkit." She continues, her ears pinning back. "Want'd tu taek weth me, but wuld't."

"Why not?"

She tries brushing some dirt off the blanket, it smears, her whiskers twitch, brow furrowing. "Wus afraed sisser wuld git red uf it..."

"Hen'El?"

She looks at me without turning her head, and nods, before looking back to the blanket, her eyes flicking across its surface, as if in thought, before speaking again.

"Kel can haev it?"

I blink. "Wh-What? Me??"

She's already rolling up the blanket, her ears pin back when some bugs and one or two worms, hidden beneath, scramble away from the sudden onset of light.

"Jya, just... A-At leest untell Ox'Seko comes back."

Standing up, she tries to to shake any loose dirt and debris off of it.

I also stand up. "Do you know when they'll come back?"

She shakes her head with a sigh, clumsily folding the blanket. "Naht reely, no... Thae saed thae'd see me as soon as it was saef tu do su."

I furrow my brow. "It's not safe? What's not safe?"

She smiles as she hands me the blanket, I cringe feeling how heavy it is from water weight, already seeping into my sleeves, cold.

"No, no, Kel iz saef, jus us naht safe."

I cock my head, concern blooming in the back of my mind. "Why not?"

She strides past me. "Dun't wunt tu talk bout it..."

I try to protest, but think better of it, shaking my head with a sigh, I side up to her as we walk back to the path, casting glances now and again to her, the blanket, and the sky.

★★★

★★★

Written in collaboration with Feral Changeling

Part one

Part two

Part three

Return to root

[falckie]

The cover for this month's entry into Entropy Cradle is done!

Now writing is set to begin!

[falckie]

★★★

I can remember my first night here... That was way back in Feburary, the eerie stillness of winter, as if the Earth holds it breath before it plunges into perihelion, offering the perfect cover for me to miss the return of the symphony of spring.

No birds sang, no insects hummed, the silence of winter bled into the early spring, the only noise was the tap-tap-tap of the oncoming thaw...

It was then that the uncanny isolation, like arriving to work too early, or working a shift too late to see anyone else in the building, an isolation that clashed and contrasted with a site that screamed otherwise, finally broke the silence with a sensation far more chilling than the snow and slush seeping and spilling over my bare body under the blanket of a blizzard, commanding my audience to gaze upon Baade's Window, now shattered and screaming to the Earth itself for staring so unprompted.

I was not alone.

And still, I am not alone.

No birds disturb my sleep, no insects interrupt my rest, the breeze has long since stilled in the coming dawn. Something brushes against me, my blood running cold as leftover instinct commands me to awake, while I stubbornly fight to quell it with a huff, flanks rising and falling with every breath I make laying in what was a puddle of sunlight I’d dozed off under, soaking rays warming the skin, gusts of wind to soothe when it feels too warm otherwise.

Again something brushes me, I flinch, but my eyes remain closed against the constant protesting of my ever churning gut, every contact made makes my skin crawl, my spine shiver.

Gradually, though, I become used to it... Only then do my eyes blink open, if only a bit, long enough to look upon the sky, before closing them again.

The sky which I’d expected to be saturated with shades of darkening grey, is rather overtaken with hues of brilliant softening blues, fading into darker gradients.

Foreign fingers, linger but still, I hold my breath, digits resume carding through ebony locks, my back to An’Jul as she curls her fingers, tenderly scratching my scalp. Flanks sink as slow as they rose when I drew the long breath in, stretching my limbs beneath the leftover light of the fading sun.

An’Jul speaks softly, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger. “⚍ᒲᑑᔑᒷ╎↸リ⍑ᒲꖎꖎ...”

I open my eyes. “Hm?”

An’Jul looks mildly startled, like she was caught in the act of doing a chore she was supposed to have started an hour ago. Her face softens, though she looks conflicted as she continues to pet me without a word.

I slowly sit up so as not to startle her. “What’s wrong?”

An’Jul’s ears are flat, held at a horizontal angle, airplane ears. “Lotz uf feelingz... Naht shur whut tu feel...”

I draw my knees up to my chest, she casts a worried glance when I flinch from some leftover pain. I speak slowly. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

An’Jul looks at me, then away, her tail flicking. “Nu know if I cahn...”

“Don’t know the words?”

An’Jul doesn’t say anything, I smile, reassuringly. “It’s alright, just... Talk to me.”

An’Jul’s brows furrow, her whiskers twitching, though that may be from the breeze, as she shoots me a glance, her eyes settling on the sky as her tail curls around her feet. “Came tu Earth, tuld huemins bad, damjeross... But sum dayz I feel mor afraid uf Arirals than Kel...”

An’Jul sighs, her head dropping between her legs, arms resting on her knees, or what I would assume to be knees, as her species is digitegrade. “Feel leik I am lied tu... Know naht all huemins saem, but... Know naht all bad...”

I nod. “Yeah, we’re guilty of it ourselves.”

An’Jul lifts her head, cocking it. “Humins thenk huemins bad?”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s fairly common, it can get pretty severe to, to the point o-” I stop myself, realizing I was about to tell my alien friend about terrorism.

Though, I don’t doubt An’Jul already knows, she’s said so herself, that her kind, or some individuals, are well aware of humans and the layers we come with...

On one hand learning that felt a lot like being away from home when moving out, or someone else moving in, with limited or without control over what will be behind the door when you return, the matter is of much concern yet without any control.

On the other it felt somewhat relieving knowing the responsibility of first contact is not technically mine alone.

Though I know she can infer what I left out, especially when she doesn’t ask for elaboration, only nodding solemnly. “I know... We know...”

My stomach churns, I know you know, that’s what hurts, but I guess it’s better to just own up to our sins than to sweep them under the rug and pretend we’re perfect. We’re not, I know that, I live with that, and despite, I still love myself and all of humanity.

It’s not right to shy away from it, as much as it is not to outright show it on first contact, I can see why images and information of such was left out of the Voyager probes. Regardless, sooner or later, we have to spit it out, speak the full truth on behalf of our kind, otherwise we risk repeating a cycle of violence, which may set us back by generations.

My heart feels heavy mulling over it, my mind conjuring images of human suffering I’d seen throughout my lifetime, across history, online or within textbooks. An’Jul sighs reaching a hand, hesitating, then retracting it. “We... Arirals nu better...”

I lift my eyes from the ground to look at An’Jul.

One word is all it takes for An’Jul to convey the context, the weight of which feels like a shock-wave, like I’d heard a bloodcurdling scream come from the woods, rather than a single, simple, three letter word. Though that very word conjures imagery not seen since The Grand Hysteria, imagery of human savagery, the worst of humanity on display in demonstrations of violence for the sake of power, in one way or another, power... Always power...

My skin crawls, lead roiling within my gut as the slideshow of suffering soldiers on within the folds of my mind, massacres on grander and grander scales, the counts climbing higher with every decade till it stagnates to a single static number never to be uttered under the threat of endless ashes and ebony torrents. What lives will waste away, what remains will be as black as the morality of the men who made the move to mark the Earth for one, final, milestone, and nevermore, never anymore again.

It only takes one word.

“War.”

My heart stutters, I feel my throat tighten. How many generations has it been since the Earth witnessed a real, war...?

An’Jul takes a long breath, her tone wavering as she looks to the sky. “S-Sumtiems clowds, beeg clowds, maek nois when rain...”

... Enough that the very word sends a shudder down my spine. Enough that it’s gradually faded from the public subconscious. Enough that none who lived through any, are alive now...

I nod. “That’s called thunder, An’Jul. Always accompanies lightening.”

... I’m not certain for sure, though I’d say it’s been about five or six generations after The Hysteria; after The Restless purged the world of the Red Herring, their collective mania still manifesting in a unique terror which runs deep in the nerves of the current generations. Persisting into superstition, language and culture...

I’m about to explain the science of thunder and lightening, when An’Jul speaks again, drawing her knees up closer to her chest, resting her chin on top, her ears further back as her whiskers tremble, tail tip twitching. “Scary... Nu liek...”

... Like we tip-toe around some unseen monster that walks among us, like the Red Herring may still swim the abyss below, biding its time to strike and undo all the strife, suffering and sacrifice made during The Grand Hysteria. Thus we remain vigilant, on edge, ready for something, Red Herring or otherwise, to bleed from past, present or future...

It’s only thunder, that’s what I would say, were An’Jul’s eyes not so wide like she was scanning the sky for some unseen threat, her shoulders trembling with every breath. “It can’t hurt you, not really...”

... We have the privilege of peace, and we can’t even enjoy it...

An’Jul just nods, taking a deep trembling breath. “Earth safe. Earth feel safe.” She shuts her eyes, hugging her legs. “S-Su much saef...”

... I suppose that’s how An’Jul feels, just that her trauma is much, much more recent, rather than mine simply inherited from the inherent cautionary culture I and everyone else was encompassed by...

I can’t deny the burning question no more. “An’Jul...” I begin slowly. “A-Are you, and your friends refugees?”

An’Jul cocks her head. “Ref-ew-jee...?” I’m quiet, constructing the answer in my head before I speak, so I can be certain the definition I give An’Jul is the correct one. “A refugee is someone who leaves not so much out of choice, but necessity, or need. They leave because wherever they were before became far too dangerous to live there without risking their lives.” An’Jul speaks with trepidation in her tone. “Am I refewjee...?”

I don’t know how to answer that, it feels like a loaded question, so I answer it with another. “Well, why are you here...?”

An’Jul doesn’t answer, rather she stares, her gaze uncertain before she looks away. Tail twitching as her breathing picks up, fidgeting with a loose thread on her scrubs, An’Jul’s brows furrow into a look that borders on fear and concern, uncertainty crossing her face like cracks on a sidewalk.

The atmosphere feels as if it’s shifted to a left field only An’Jul can see and feel, while I remain blind, only able to infer from her facial expression that some unspoken matter is putting intense pressure upon her, almost to the point of spilling it, her lips move with the intent to speak, but no sound is made, stopping as soon as she starts. An’Jul sighs heavily, she sounds exhausted, but maybe that’s my bias. “Nu know why I here...” She flumps backwards onto the blanket, her tone drawn out into an exasperated whine. “Nu know what I want...” An’Jul rubs her face with her hands, continuing albeit mildly muffled now. “Feel liek alwees uthers choos, never me...” Her voice quiets to a whisper. “Never me...” I furrow my brow, scooting closer, my hair falling over my face as I look down at her. “Are you saying you feel like you have no control over your life...?” An’Jul removes her hands from her face, resting them on her chest as she casts a glance to the side, nodding. An’Jul sighs, locking eyes with me, then looking past me, to the sky. “Nu conrul at home, naht su much Earth...” An’Jul falls into a lapse of silence, I wait a second more before I lay down next to her, staring up at the sky with her, the stars long since settling into their places within the sky now. Next to me, I hear An’Jul take a deep, slow breath. “B-But Earth... Earth feel lotz better... L-Liek Earth...” She pauses, her breathing picking up, stuttering, I feel my chest clench. “F-Feel bad to zay... Feel bad b-but... L-Liek Earth better than home... Home was scary...”

There’s a lapse of silence, I debate dropping the question, till the quiet becomes too suffocating to stand anymore. “Do you want to go back home...?” The silence bleeds on for a second too long for me to resist tearing my eyes from the sky and casting a glance at An’Jul. Her fingers are curled, hands shaking holding scrunched up portions of her scrubs in a vice grip as she stares statically up at the sky, tears rolling down her face. The instinct to comfort wins out over the instinct to recoil, and I scoot closer, An’Jul’s breath hitching, before I feel a hand on my head, trembling fingers combing through my hair. Her voice is choked. “N-No...”

An’Jul speaks through sobs. “N-No wanna go h-home, b-but I-I... It feel liek one thing af-afer anuher...”

I nod, copying An’Jul, stroking her fur. “I understand how that feels...”

“Kel do?”

I sigh, some tension leaving my body already at her petting, I curl closer, hugging her arm, I almost feel like a therapy animal in this moment. “Maybe not in the same manner as you...” I pull my face away from her shoulder to look at her. “We may be different species but, that doesn’t make us so different... I-I mean, I’m not sure if that makes any sense...”

An’Jul looks from me, to the sky, she swallows, nodding. She takes a shuddering breath before speaking again. “F-Feel like...” Her voice shakes, laying her free arm over her eyes. “F-Feel like too much, too soon... Only me, only I know how maek pain better...”

An’Jul clenches her jaw, tears rolling down her face again. “S-Still new, nu know what do all tiem... T-Too much expec...”

I rub my thigh where my wounds throb away with mounting pain as the potency of my last dose of pain-killers wanes away with the evening.

An’Jul wriggles her arm free of my grip, wrapping it around me, her voice softened. “N-Naht you Kel...” Her fingers card through my hair as she sits up, pulling me into her lap as she rifles through her pockets. “Kel nu expec anyhing from An’Jul...”

I glance at the fireflies dancing amongst the tall grass, beyond the threshold of the lamplight. “Well... I did ask for your help collecting hash codes...”

An’Jul, keeping me nestled against her body as she fishes a small container from her pocket. “Kel tri today. Nu good. Stell hurt.”

I wriggle in An’Jul’s grasp. “I can walk just fine when the pain-killers set in...”

An’Jul’s brow furrows and she holds me a tad tighter as she takes a cracker pack she swiped from one of my MREs, slathering the substance from the container onto it. “No good. Bad Kel.”

She thrusts the cracker up to my face. “Eat.”

I take the cracker, doing my best not to wince at the bitter taste, trying to chew it into swallowable chunks with as minimal contact with my tongue as possible, I can’t help but feel like I’m being babied by An’Jul since the accident, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised considering her background as a medic.

★★★

★★★

I awake to scorching pain so severe I wonder how I ever even managed to find sleep in the first place, the arrival of the drone shattering what serenity I did find whilst under the veil of slumber.

Rolling over, gasping as the asp of agony sinks fangs into thigh, venom riding up my spine and radiating throughout my body in seething sharp tides of pain.

Fingers and toes curling, wincing with a whimper while I wrestle with keeping my respiration even, my heart struggling to match the pace my lungs are trying to set, till I spot something from the corner of my eye.

Stilling my breaths, tensing my body I squint, beholding a figure cloaked in shadow curled by the skeletal frames of discarded bunks, the bright maroon light of the drone, blinking in tandem with my beating heart, doing little in offering insight on the blurry figure by the bed frames.

With a trembling hand, without breaking eye contact with the figure, I reach for the nightstand, plucking my glasses from the surface, intent to lift them to my face.

Tremors cause fingers to fumble, glasses tumbling out of my hands, onto the floor with a clatter that shatters the second of silence afforded between the blaring cries of the drone.

I cringe, watching the figure for movement, on their insistence of stillness, not so much as a twitch, I exhale some relief, glancing to the blurry blob that is my glasses on the floor, then, with a whine gracing the edge of my breath, becoming the gradient to a grander groan, I brace myself over the edge of the bed, pawing for where I last saw them, eyes still locked upon the figure, till my fingertips grace the edges of spectacles lost, closing my fingers round the lenses I again try to place them upon my face.

On restoring my vision proper, I see the truth in sharper detail now.

All this time, it was only a shadow, the figure nothing more than the absence of light between flashes of maroon bleeding in from the windows, I shudder and slump down with a withering huff, whimpering as the drone continues to cry.

I wait, wishing the drone would depart, that maybe with enough delay it will go away on it’s own, though the longer I lay in yearning, the more I begin to believe that it will stubbornly remain till it has the satisfaction of meeting my audience, until then, it wails on and on till the pain spreads to the far folds of my mind, a migraine setting in.

It’s more of a must rather than a tangible choice, it’s just a matter of imperitivness; how much I prioritize tending to the drone despite my own crippling pain.

I lend no more thought to the debate than that which was necessary in conjuring it, lest I risk letting the faith in my capability escape behind my back.

Breathing deep, sitting up with some difficulty, doubt setting in, I cast it aside and take the strings of sore sinew and tense tendon, like wrangling the reins of a spooked stallion, in some stupid attempt to settle him before I place my feet upon the floor and try to stand.

The stallion wins within seconds, bucking me off, I meet the floor, flanks heaving with husky howls hemorrhaging fresh off my still sore tongue, the walls becoming non-euclidean, shadows stretching till they melt and mix with light into a sloppy mess, like marker on paper exposed to water, spreading, seeping and staining, ink mixing into long neglected colours save for the correct cyan, colours of saturation and inversion.

I speak, my tongue numb as it moves in my mouth, still capable of doing the dance to perform the song of speech, a lonely symphony without another person to project this pain unto, no audience other than myself.

The voice is dull, wet and hollow, like dropping a log of wet rotten wood upon pavement, impact scattering chips and fragments across the surface, leftover water, saturated and soiled with it’s marination within the grain seeping out like blood spilling from an open wound, already browned like it was left to oxidize away.

I still, shuddering with one shaky breath after another, listening to the leftover echo from my last wail of agony, wiping the drool from my mouth with one hand, I slip my other under my waistband, tracing fingertips over scar tissue.

Light as my touch is, my thigh still tenses and twitches, earning another jerk of the reigns against the raging stallion as it kicks and stomps from spine to sinew, pulsing, throbbing, aching. Both he and myself driven mad by this waking night-mare, she taunts us by binding us together through twine of tendon, pulls tricks of the mind making me think I feel wet warm slickness of blood where there is none, and still I check again and again till I am absolutely sure of no sanguine spilling.

The drone still cries, like a hound of the hunt, baying by the boughs of a withered tree where some poor beast trembles in terror of the arrival of the hand which commands the dog, the drone commands my attention.

Fear begins to flood from where I remain on the floor, doubt further eroding away the foundation of my already fractured resolve, to lift my body from the floor feels a lot like pulling something by the sleeve, by the edge, out of a washing machine, tangled and coiled with so many other items inside it becomes a tug of war between yourself and the machine.

Be it blanket or sweater, that’s what I am, that’s what I feel like, yet still, somehow I find the strength within me to try to tug myself free from the other dampened items damned to the deep confines of the steel cylinder.

Like the riddle of the sphinx, I walk on four legs, then two, then three, and more or less swap between hobbling on two or three, trying to keep as much weight off the bad side of my pelvis as much as possible, using my arm to grasp at any support I can see and reach within the dark as I limp my way to the door.

Every exhale is a withered, husky, groaning grunt, inhaling in sharp, seething gasps, every step made, left side worse than right, tacks on more pain till I reach the door, slumping against steel and rust, sweat rolling off my body, hair sticking to my face in slick tangled coils, collecting myself before the solid threshold gives and hisses, more darkness revealed beyond.

I drag myself up the short flight of steps on my hands and knees, keeping my wounded half pointed up, away and avoiding bumping against the steps and sending me seizing up in shrieking waves of searing pain, the leg of my left side dragging lame and limp, the right finding footholds and pushing so my hands may find another edge to grasp and anchor myself to repeat the agonizing process.

By now my headache has reached the point I can’t hear my own breathing above the pain percussively pounding away within my skull.

On reaching the top, I drag myself some ways away from the stairs, lest I try to stand and risk another round of stabbing pain sending me stumbling backwards, over the edge.

Palm placed upon the wall, bracing myself, shifting my right leg under me, my left I don’t dare move despite it’s uncomfortable position dragging behind, toes twitching with every dull ache and throb that’s louder than the numbing pins and needles, fuzzy like white noise consuming the limb from foot to calf, thigh swollen and swamped with sensation, swaddled in flesh red raw.

Every moment awake feels as though the throe digs deeper till the very bone feels afflicted with the agonizing ache which so cripples me.

I want to give up, turn back, no, just collapse here and curl in on myself like a caterpillar swarmed by ants, dying as the jaws of many close in under sunlight fading in final moments before stilling.

Would my death be anymore tragic than that? A sidewalk spectacle, no more dramatic than the final web spun by a spider... Most wouldn’t think so, but for myself I bear mixed feelings for nature in all her resplendent majesty and cold indifferent cruelty.

I wonder if at any point, the pain stops before the heart does. Whatever the fate, before the light leaves the eyes of any animal, predator or prey, both become equals under the embrace of death...

... Do we make our mercy? What we do to limit the suffering of our own prey matters so much to us beyond the boundary of ordinary reason, we establish it as standard, regulation, to defy it risks revulsion and rejection, raises as many red flags as it does questions on the character of some sick individual inflicting suffering for the sake of it...

To be able to wield the power to cut off a life so swiftly, barely a cry to break the quiet of the wood above the crack of a rifle, to apply the work of someone such as Temple Grandin to take away some tension and terror from the sordid walls of the slaughterhouse, to the point we become entirely independent of such when we resort to our test tubes and cultures of flesh harvested from labs over fields and forests…

It’s a blissful way to be, to exist without inflicting pain, but the distress it conjures to think that we are unique in the mercy we manufacture while away in the wild something may still be alive while teeth and talons tear it apart... It makes my stomach twist as tears threaten to spill over my eyes.

I come out of my morbid musings, standing with a wobble I lean against the wall, hobbling down the hallway, the light at the end of it ethereal for something coming from a vending machine. I only now realize with a heavy pang in my heart, and a choked sob that my death would be tragic for someone, that among many reasons is why I can’t hate humans, not when it’s so hard for someone to disappear.

Always there will be someone to miss them. Family, a friend, a coworker, a neighbour, it’s always someone, however small someone will remember a name or a face. We are a species that survived and still thrives out of our capability for connection, the webs we spin of social circles ripple and radiate across countries and generations, bridging over boundaries and breaking borders to bind new bonds in the span sixty seconds to entire lifetimes.

I see that and I can’t not think that’s incredible. It’s beautiful, and even if for just a moment, thinking about it makes me forget about the pain I’m in...

At least until I reach the edge of the stairwell and stare down into the abyss with legs which threaten to buckle and take me tumbling down the stairs with them.

I swallow and step back, placing weight on my left foot, a strangled grunt turns to a choking gasp as the offending limb collapses like the dead limbs of a tree disturbed after decades untouched, hands grasping into the empty darkness for something to halt the fall threatening to conclude with pain worse that what I’ve already endured.

The dark yielding nothing save for when my fingertips brush against some unseen railing, slipping by the skin of my teeth, I wince and swap to salvaging, saving what I can from this descent too little too late.

Meeting floor pelvis first with a choked scream, legs kicking like a lion has set it’s jaws on my thigh, nails digging against tile as I frantically try to roll over and off the wounded side of myself, only to scramble in trying to backtrack when I fail to feel anymore floor beyond my back, realizing I risk rolling myself over the edge of the stairwell, my heart beating against my ribs at a breakneck speed, like a dinner bell ordering another platter of adrenaline when I’ve already had my fill for tonight.

I flail and whine for what feels like forever, but was maybe only several minutes at most as my left leg twitches and trembles, stubbornly refusing to still while the rest of me remains slack and slumped over on my stomach, staring over the edge, the horizon of the stairs.

One hand reaches out, over the edge to judge the distance from myself and potential fatal error.

It’s not very far.

Again the body begs to throw in the towel, to remain laying here till the pain stops, forever if need be, but the very idea conjures another contending stubborn stallion to contest with the one that bucks and brays against every pull of the string made in trying to puppet my very flesh. I clench my jaw, fingers and toes curling as the drone continues to cry on and on.

It hurts to breath as much as it does to think, but nonetheless, I take heavy deep breathes, seething as I focus on the only source of light outside of the vending machine ahead of me, instead, looking several feet away, the single slit of a window from the stairwell...

Locking eyes with the window, trying to see any detail past the panes of glass, beyond borders defined by bars of metal crossing it’s frame, dividing the detail displayed into digestible chunks.

What scarlet light seeps from the drone illuminates some sliver of grass and flowers.

Taking another deep, uneven breath, pulling the hand away from the edge, I curl my arm before myself, burying my face within my sleeve with a soft squeak, my other hand slipping beneath my waistband again to check on the status of the scarred and sore tissue, now sobbing to the spine a song of sudden blunt force disturbance on meeting the floor, throbbing in cords played on sore tendons and sinew, but despite that, still no blood.

I close my eyes, curling my fingers through my hair, feeling another round of a dozen or so heavy pangs remembering how it felt for An’Jul to pet me.

Hands trembling with the regret that sows guilt within my soul while I’m still searching for what set An’Jul off so much within the static sounds of that signal, reaping remorse of my responsibility, sobs wracking my body in bittersweet irony, without her help the haze of the medicine lifts, letting logic and reason resume, crying with a clear mind, all the better to feel the pain that was, previously, so mercifully numbed by her hand.

The hand which I so selfishly bit, I want to believe I wasn’t ever aware I was biting, but I should have known better...

Tears spill from my eyes. “It’s my fault... I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry...”

I take a deep shuddering breath, swallowing against the tide of my own tight throat with a choked whimper, the scent of Earth on my sleeve, I conjure the image I saw seconds ago outside, bathed in red light, I wallow in it, trying to distract myself from my distress, to clear my mind enough to conjure the will to move again...

The breeze beyond the borders of the base, the scent of wet grass and flowers freshly blooming, fat, fuzzy bumblebees clumsily hovering from flower to flower.

The drone cries. How long have I been laying here? At what point does it give up and return to Laufrende?

I softly shut the book on that thought, returning my focus back to the image, small as it is, of the outside, pain still relentlessly pursuing me in my musings, the pictures I paint in my minds eye saturated by it’s distracting destructive force, but still I stubbornly paint...

The palette is mostly shades of red, like the cover of Regolith, the one with a horse, wasn’t there a horse breed called an American Paint? I could be wrong...

Whatever it takes, I take any train of thought to escape the terrible talons and tearing teeth of the lioness of pain.

It reminds me of an Egyptian myth, one with a goddess that was tricked into believing her massacre made a river run red with blood, but really, was wine.

I wrack my brain for her name till the pain resumes in this painting, and so I slink off to the next wing of my mind’s gallery.

Returning to the cover of Regolith, conjuring the cover from memory across another canvas. Was it the second or third book? I believe there was six in all...

I command my mind to overpower the spine, silence it long enough to recall the rest of the Regolith series, requesting the list from where I rest, I recollect miscellaneous and mundane details to distract myself long enough to build up the motivation to find my feet under me again.

Long enough to pretend the pain isn’t there as I keep feeding myself more thoughts to turn over like gemstones in the talons of a wyrm, till I reach another set of doors, hissing open while I fish the flashlight from my pocket, a new idea blossoming in the back of my mind when I sweep the light across the storage room and see the steep drop of the elevator shaft set in the corner.

I smirk, despite my pain, some pride still flounders to the forefront of my mind, praising myself for the cunning to come up with an idea such as this.

★★★

To stand at the edge of the elevator shaft would be a stupid idea when I can barely stand at all.

I may be many things, stupid may be one of them, but I’m still alive to say I’m not stupid enough to do that.

I sigh, listening to the platform gradually ascend, afraid to sweep my hand over the edge to feel for it’s arrival, lest I risk getting my hand caught and crushed, though I did drop my glow-stick down first.

I think it rolled off and away from the platform...

It’s hard to think through the pain, I try to recede back into my mind and resume my eclectic thoughts to distract, though now the pain has become more than just physical, it’s emotional.

Like mites within a hive, guilt has settled in, chipping away at my resolve as I sit and wait for the arrival of the rickety elevator platform, tears of remorse rolling down my face, whispering apologies to an empty audience other than myself, to send but never to receive, I only want An’Jul to know how sorry I am, nothing more, I don’t expect, nor need forgiveness, all I ask is for her audience to my apology.

I close my eyes with a wistful whimper, fresh tears falling from my face to my trembling hands, fingers twitching on contact, curling deeper into my sleeves, suddenly startled from my misery by a dull metallic clunk.

I take my flashlight in hand, swiping the gate out of my way as I peer round the corner, the beam hitting the surface of the platform, I hesitate for a moment, hands shaking, till it stutters and begins to sink.

I fumble for the controls, unable to reach them from this angle without evoking another wave of agony, I glance back to the platform watching it descend inch by deepening inch.

I curl my fingers over the edge a moment more, unable to spare another minute of indecision, I take the flashlight into my mouth, and like a seal sliding on it’s stomach, from stone into the sea, I drag myself onto the platform, nestling against the corner just as it dips past the threshold, my weight accelerating the widening of the gap between the floor and the ceiling of the garage, though the descent remains agonizingly slow.

All this and still the drone stays, I begin to wonder if that thing would ever leave if no one were to tend to it, surely it must return for the sake of it’s batteries, no?

I keep the bad side of my hip raised so as not to wear the wound any more than what my already fragile resolve has endured against this endeavour, all only to take care of a task I took for granted in it’s simplicity, for how swiftly I would fly down the stairs, through the dark like a creature coweled in shadow, I never considered how this place, this site, severely lacks accessibility.

Other than the ramp outside, I can think of nothing else that would aid someone with some disability affecting their mobility, in hindsight, I guess it’s not so shocking how much I’m struggling, considering how hostile the site, from the architecture to the terrain, is to the handicapped.

The light of my glow-stick paints the room in gentle hues of yellow, growing stronger with the descent down into the ground floor in tandem with the trademark musty, sweat and oil slick smell of the garage. Frightening shadows cast through unknown sources, I flinch, heart fluttering, flanks heaving with startled breaths, the air cool like the store room above, but despite the scent, somehow fresher, cleaner, the breeze blowing in from the open hatch above.

I’d wondered about that hatch now and again, why it’s there, what it’s for, how it’s open, how to close it... Though these thoughts are almost always in passing succession of so many more that take much more priority, such as the quickest way down from the roof without using the ladder or harming myself.

It’s the ladder. Always the ladder. A lesson learned, like many in life, through pain.

Peering over the edge of the platform, I flinch with a gasp as it wobbles under my weight, though I catch a glimpse of my glow-stick which rolled not far from where I’d intended it to remain when I’d first dropped it down the shaft.

The ethereal tuscan yellow glow is periodically swallowed up by scarlet screaming in shrill firm blaring cries which have held my attention in a stranglehold since coming into consciousness.

The closer I come the deeper the pain of my cranium burrows within the folds of my mind till it’s deep enough to be dizzying, like I’m dehydrated in dragging my limbs into action, muscle protesting like hinges crusted in rust refusing to yield to the bolt and latch which lay discarded among grass and stone.

To stand is to feel every bone of my body in grotesque detail, the size and weight, what tendons and sinew move and slide against marrow encased in layers of calcium.

Each step made, it’s as though the impact from foot to floor is some feedback loop, sending shock-waves of agony across my trembling body; an endless fight, like trying to keep a stomach churning sickness at bay while it’s bubbling right beneath your throat, threatening to surge up and out, fighting with your head down where you lay, sweat beading with every swallow made to beat it back, to delay the inevitable.

I don’t bother with retrieving my glow-stick, not yet, not when what energy I have is so critically low. Bracing myself against any object I can reach within the dark, boxes or otherwise, my fingertips grace the door of the garage, and with a shuddering groan, I stumble and slump against it, the cold metal soothing me somewhat.

Through the horrid haze of pain, like a flower budding through a crack in the sidewalk, an idea breaches the surface of the otherwise throbbing murky sludge which has swelled into a monstrous storm of agony mentally begging for mercy. A single ship powering through the torrent with only me at the helm to reaffirm myself to muster more strength to push onwards for a few more minutes, promising a reward of much sought collapse.

I pause, trembling against where I remain leaning against the garage door, pausing my mission to focus for a moment on fostering my flowering idea for what may be some relief from pain, slipping my waistband down enough to see the scar bathed beneath blinking beams of crimson, without anymore delay, I press it against the cold metal of the garage door.

Within the same second I recoil with a whimper, stumbling as the scar screams, still sore from contact with the floor, whatever sensation, frigid and numbing or otherwise, it screams still, throbbing in thrums so deep I feel it in the very bone of my femur which frantically tingles with a fuzz unlike any I’ve ever felt in my life.

I stabilize myself, swallowing as I begin to doubt if I had ever healed any at all, or if my pain was so numbed I was able to walk without feeling the consequences of my fall or the fractures resulting from it. Regardless, with some fumbling, I find the button for the garage door, nestling into the corner, I press my palm against it, watching the door lift away to reveal the drone still howling and bawling like a baby left to the wood.

With nothing to brace myself against the outside, I hang onto the edge of the threshold, till the last digit of my fingertips slips away into swirling spiral of dust and dirt, blades spinning inches away from skin numb from what feels like hours of suffering to reach this very moment of locking eye to eye with a machine that beats metallic wings in rhythm like the noble presser-foot marching upon weary feed-dogs, the sound of needle-plates and rotors not so different from one another in numbing noise to a droning buzzing hum like a bee bearing four beating wings of blades bleats before me like a lost lamb from where I lay face down, what remains of the cargo it carried now scattered across concrete, torn strands dancing from gusts fostered by the braying beast beating it’s wings above me.

The trees bend and spin, like they wish to dance with the rest of the dust and discarded fragments of fabric now tumbling away into the dark as I desperately assert command and control of my corroded central nervous system crying out to keep myself collapsed and close to the Earth, any other day I would agree, but now the voice which whispers from clavicle to cochlea utters words which creep shudders and reap recoils with where it hails from, some source that bears a flag of long lifeless slumbers spent under several suns and moons which wax and wane out of order till the worm becomes the wyrm within the marrow of the morrow.

Her name is death, she’s bewitching as much as she is foreboding, but the banshee has yet to hail her arrival yet, so still I fight for this life which I’m so certain I still possess because I can still so vividly feel with the pain still stabbing away at my soul, screaming I’m still alive.

I stuff some in my pockets, when the space runs thin, I resort to stuffing the rest down my shirt, tucking hem into hem, the hymn of wind carrying the scent of storm, I turn my eyes to the far sky ahead, the ridge and to the horizon where clouds contest with mountains for scale, silent flickers of lightening hailing the coming storms common of summers such as this.

Crawling back beneath the roof of the garage, I use what little light reaches from the glow-stick, which now feels so far from me rather than mere feet, to find the drone panel.

From the floor, reaching for the controls, at long last, finally sending the infernal thing away and into the night.

To be rid of it’s incessant crying is a short lived relief when the silence is so much more suffocating. The true volume of my breathing broadcasts across the hollow space that which is the garage as I debate in trying to shut the door, or settle for finding some corner to slink off and slump into a slumber in some odd position which will leave me sore come the sun.

From the end of the garage where I sit, to the end I set my stare upon, I recall the med bag behind the door of administration, a new motivation manifesting, strong enough to find more fight where there was none prior to pull myself across the floor in some sloppy army crawl to admin.

Before, I could walk. When I did it felt as if every step made, was made with something left behind in my wake, if not blood, then what energy there was remaining within me, like rainwater left to collect at the bottom of a bucket. What there was to be sapped away in manufacturing the muscle movement to spin sinew into another step, weaker than the last.

I certainly feel like a bucket collecting rainwater, a hollow husk, cracked and chipped from strong weather and erosion wearing away my resolve, threatening to tip me over without the weight of water which would ordinarily keep me rooted.

Only now there is barely an inch or any rainwater, what water there is seeps and sloughs like snow melting away into slush by sea-foam, frail and shivering in soft, sopping sobbing, lacing heavy, husky, rattling respiration between subtle, subdued grunts of exertion with every tired tug and pull, elbows calloused against cold concrete stained in sweat like finish upon wood.

With chest heaving, I roll onto my back, battery critically low, what energy is left not to be wasted in arguing against gravity, rather I use my legs for another purpose other than standing.

With some difficulty, scooting closer, wincing as my hip howls in leftover agony, I glance past my calf, narrowing my eyes under the dim light, I do my best to align myself right and reach with my heel for the button to shut the garage door.

Metal and stone scrape and scream, the garage gradually shutting, I roll onto my stomach and resume crawling, promising myself it will all be over soon, as soon as I reach administration.

I bite back noises of pain as I position myself as close as possible to the door controls, leaning against the door itself, right side, having the foresight to know that as soon as I place pressure upon the button, the threshold hissing away will revoke the stability of a solid barrier to brace myself against, at the payoff of saving energy by cutting down on the crawling necessary to clear the threshold of the door.

I close my eyes, quickly regretting so when the doors hiss away and disappear, falling to the floor, a sudden dizzy spell assaults me, sickness almost spilling over as I gasp and curl with a wet groan, light and shadow once again dancing out of place, out of sync in spiralling saturation which flickers and fades in tandem with the throbbing of my cranium, shutting my eyes again to still the delirium that dominates the dome.

My surroundings still spin, but I know I’m not really falling, as much as it feels that way, I force myself forward, the world somehow wobbling with the way I crawl, till fingertips grace the rough fabric of the med bag.

The dark persists, I’m blind but I know it’s the med bag because when I pull it up to my face, it reeks of medicine, in the process, failing to pick up on how light it feels, till I reach inside and only find a few rolls of gauze remaining.

The bag was opened, but not by my hand, not that I can remember at any rate through my pain addled delirium.

I feel frustration flicker to life, the promises I made to myself throughout this journey now suddenly dull and hollow like a dead tree, twisted and gnarled, choked noises of effort laced with grief guilt and budding anger, grunting and growling against the tide of exhaustion under ebony dark, fumbling paws probe the nothingness till fingertips grace scattered objects, something dusting the surface of the tile which comes away and onto sweat slicked fingerprints, ferrum fragrance...

Blood.

★★★

I can crawl no further, I took what pain-killers I could find from the spilled contents of the med bag, dragging a nail across the concrete yielded a fine sooty substance, blood but dried, oxidized, but not yet browned, so still recent.

It’s probably mine. I hope it’s mine.

What memory I have of leaving admin, still condemned to crawling, feels as though it were a fever-dream, a hazy memory to be forgotten by midday, my face inches from the floor when I finally grabbed my glowstick, finding the nearest crate to curl up against.

The storm has since caught up with the site, heavy wind keeps me from sleep, as restless as it would be lying here in agony, I would rather not be awake while the torrent toils away around me.

Yet when I cast my eyes to the hatch of the garage above, the sky remains clear, stars visible against a deep blue black backdrop, not a single satellite streaking across the sky as wind and rain lashes away at the base.

I try to soothe myself to sleep by shutting my eyes and withdrawing into my mind, trying to think of something other than the pain or the two, uninvited, invisible guests within my memory, they sing louder than the gale, I only have to think about them and it’s suddenly hard to think or feel anything else. Delightfully numbing, though I should find it dreadful.

Without thinking, head still spinning, I fumble to fish through my pockets for one of the two drives I keep on my person, a tingling itch at the back of the mind, spreading, muscles twitching and spasming when fingertips brush against the surface of the drives, like licking a charging cable just to feel the shock resulting from it... Suddenly aware of their weight, heavy like they’re filled with water, sloshing and spilling into sordid or static noise that ebbs and flows, eroding and enduring.

The stars and the storm still, everything suddenly stops with a strangled hush. Consciousness is conditional, cranium to concrete... Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

Another grain of indignant salt for the seas elsewhere from here...

... Beyond the cradle, rocked by a whisper of static...

... Stranglehold of sound, another voice sobbing outside of the line of lucidity...

... Vivid detail within sanity waning away like the waters of early Mars, wailing to an audience of silence...

... We are eels in toxic shock, spasming in the throes of sickness...

... Slow and swift, stealthy and subtle...

... Stranger of the sea drowning with me...

★★★

Cold...

Like a console booting up...

I don’t move till I complete a checklist, ensuring every system is running just fine, a roll-call from respiration to circulation, recalling where I am from where I begin, from the spine to the tips of my limbs, though delayed, they still respond.

Only then do I stir, shivering under the cold summer dawn, expecting birdsong, greeted only by silence.

Before I would have seen that as a sign to be wary of, to keep my breathing quiet to listen above it.

But now it’s not so simple, now I see it as a beacon of hope, something worth pushing my body to pry myself from the floor, worsening the pain still plaguing me despite the memory of the night manifesting as only a hazy memory, as if it were never real.

It’s very real, the throbbing still stabs and scalds, teeth sinking deep as I scramble to leave the garage, trying not to trip over myself on reaching the door out of it. Body weary as pain wrangles wounded cries from a throat too dry to produce any real sound beyond husky gasps, the cane I made from sticks and duct-tape, though I hold no memory recalling when in my restless languishing I crafted it, shoddy as it is, it still offers some relief from my fractured side.

My heart shudders within my chest, stuttering to keep up with the rest of the body, pounding with such force I feel it in my throat as much as I hear it in my ears.

Sweat rolling off my body, barely tangible against my own heaving breathes as I push myself to reach the last door leading out of the base, winded and wobbling, I begin to wonder if it’s a good idea to keep standing like this when my body is begging to sit.

I brush the thought aside when I reach the outside, hearing a rustle to my left, without another thought I stumble down the ramp, leaning against the wall I lift my head and lock eyes with An’Jul standing by where we planted the flowers.

“A-An’Jul...” I begin but trail off, stumbling backwards I brace myself against the wall, blinking as the ground sways and tilts beneath my feet, my breathing beginning to feel a lot louder against creeping blackness smothering my frail heartbeat.

A shadow falls over me, it’s An’Jul, I never saw her move, never felt her hands on me, never heard her speak, only ever saw her lips move, then still, when despite sinking to the ground, unable to hear my own voice, still I try to say... “I’m sorry...”

★★★

That bitter taste again, I never thought I’d be so happy having it grace my tongue again.

I guess An’Jul was also surprised that I didn’t fight taking the medicine this time, though that may be because I was only half lucid when she slathered the paste onto the cracker and shoved it into my mouth, clamping her hand over it to ensure I wouldn’t spit it out, her eyebrows raising when I actually swallow it without protest.

An’Jul hands me the rest of the cracker pack, letting me occupy myself with wolfing it down while she removes her orange coat, then, without a word, she wraps it around me.

I thought it was only her hands that were warm when she grabbed and carried me away from the wall, inside into the base, even half conscious I could tell An’Jul had some purpose to her movements, looking for the right place to settle down.

She picked the balcony, setting me down beneath a sunbeam on the bench, with that and the jacket, it’s now that I realize her hands were never warm, it was me that was cold.

It’s easy to forget how chilly these summer mornings can get, especially after rain...

There’s a stretch of silence as An’Jul settles down next to me, only her scrubs to keep her warm as she reaches over to pet me, fingers carding through locks of fur as I nibble away at the crackers like some small animal, guilt eating away at me at the same time.

Before I can try to apologize again, she beats me to it.

“I sorry...”

“F-For what?”

She doesn’t look at me, simply staring dead ahead. “I leav when Kel stell need me...”

My voice softens to a near whisper, tears threatening to spill over my eyes. “I don’t blame you...” An’Jul’s brow furrows, I continue. “I put you and your friends in danger a-and... I should have thought about the consequences of my actions... I’m so sorry...”

An’Jul shakes her head. “Kel nu thret tu us, was afraid uf what Kel find...”

Before I can ask for elaboration, An’Jul looks to the sky with a sigh. “Doesn’t madder aneemoer...”

I blink, dread budding. “What do you mean...?”

“We naht stae here...”

I feel my stomach drop, my blood running cold. “A-Are you trying to say goodbye?”

An’Jul’s whiskers twitch, a pained look crossing her face before it’s paved over with conflict. “Nu, n-nu want zay goodbye, nu... J-Just that... We nu hear beck frum uthers in long tiem. Gull’Vir leav tu look fur them. Befur Gull’Vir go, lotz of talking, bad talking...”

“Arguing?”

An’Jul cocks her head, I elaborate. “Like, raised voices, loud voices, hurtful words, not so much talking as much as it is...” I trail off trying to give her more to work with. “Less agreement and understanding, more disagreement and... Misunderstandings... I guess...”

An’Jul nods, her tone musing, wistful. “Yeah... Arguing. Lotz of that... Lotz more than uzuall...”

I offer An’Jul a cracker. “Not the first time your group has argued?”

An’Jul takes the cracker between her fingers, examining it, her whiskers twitching as she sniffs it. “No, happen ofen. Got wurs when we came tu Earth...”

She takes a bite of the cracker, chewing in silence before she swallows and speaks again. “Vaar’Fit said we here as... Puneeshmnt...”

My brow furrows, she speaks again before I can finish chewing to ask for elaboration. “Said we naht smart for naht knowing, but we did, just never said.” An’Jul pauses, her voice becoming choked. “W-Well... I-I didn’t know... D-Didn’t think...”

My stomach drops, acting without thinking, a stronger instinct overpowering fear once more.

I offer my hand, giving An’Jul the option to opt out of contact, she regards my open palm for a moment, before pulling me up close by the sleeves of her coat still wrapped around me, her arms adding another layer of warmth as she nuzzles my fur, brushing black locks between her fingers as her whiskers tickle my skin, my arms are pinned to my sides, so I can’t exactly return the hug without squirming, so I just shut my eyes, curling up next to her, offering what comfort I can.

An’Jul draws in a shuddering breath as she sobs, her body curling around mine, my head to her chest I can hear every hitch and stutter of her breath against her frantic heart as her fingers card through my fur.

“I-I scared... Scared when Gull’Vir come back...”

“How come?”

An’Jul squeezes me, drawing in a breath as sharp as the one forced from me. “N-No like eethr r-resalt... C-Come back a-a-and zay everything f-fine, m-means go h-home...”

An’Jul pauses to nuzzle my hair, I flinch, the fear briefly resurfacing, but her whisper puts it to rest. “N-No wanna go back... No like...”

“And if everything is not fine...?”

An’Jul stills, drawing in a deep breath, she lifts her head and sets her sights on the sky, a pained look painted across her face, her voice quieted to a murmur. “N-No know where we go...”

I try to follow her gaze. “Home?”

An’Jul shakes her head, her tone weary. “Can’t...”

I cock my head as she stands up, going up to the end of the balcony to lean against the edge, I let An’Jul have her moment a minute more before I rise to my feet and side up to her, limping. She doesn’t even try to stop me, simply shooting me a forlorn glance before returning her eyes to the sky.

I listen for any birds or insects, before I speak. “It... It wouldn’t be safe to go back... Is that what you’re trying to say?”

An’Jul nods.

Another stretch of silence, then, with some hesitation. “An’Jul, do you... Want to stay on Earth...?”

An’Jul sighs, it sounds pained. “I don’t belong here, Kel.”

Her words feel like a stab to my heart, I desperately want to say it’s not true despite how every living thing, bird, beast or otherwise avoids her. Even the mosquitoes don’t dare come close when I’m nearby her, this instinctual aversion is not even addressing that, aside from myself, I’m pretty much the only living breathing creature that tolerates her, any other human may react to An’Jul a lot more negatively.

An’Jul continues. “Thae need me. Hen’El and Vaar’Fit, moztly... I the only one that make pain better.”

I sigh leaning against the edge, the effort to stand becoming too taxing, An’Jul flashes me a look of concern, I speak instead of trying to quell her worry. “Well, what about you? What about what you want? You said so yourself not too long ago, that you’re sick of waiting on others.”

Her brow furrows, her voice subdued as she looks away. “They need me...”

I sigh, looking away, to the sky for any signs of clouds beyond the fog that fell this morning, the silence so much more suffocating without birdsong to break it up.

“Whatever happens... So long as I’m here, you have a home.”

★★★

★★★

A low roar rouses me from the haze of lucidity tapering away into sleep, such is the nature of the paste An’Jul applies to numb my pain, not certain what it is, but the strength that it holds I hope it won’t prove addicting...

My limbs feel heavy and weary as I stretch them, trying to be gentle in moving my left leg lest I incite the wrath of the wound, my mind still half awake until another roll of thunder bellows with such grand volume the base itself quivers, outside, a sound of constant consistent tapping builds, not the kind that rain makes, no, this is stronger, more solid.

I furrow my brow, bracing my hands upon the desk to aid in hauling myself up into standing to look out the window and see the stream of hail stones clattering against the concrete, their numbers counting ever higher the longer I stare star-struck till I retrieve my walking stick where I left it leaning against the console, hobbling round it, looking closer as the window is bathed in a single continuous sheet of rain.

I turn away from the window calling out. “An’Jul...?!”

Only my own voice responds as a dulled echo, my blood running cold as the lab is briefly illuminated by lightning, another cacophonous drum of thunder as wind howls against the glass panes...

... She’s still out there...

I don’t even bother donning I coat, don’t even think about that till I’ve already limped outside, hailstones pelting my hide as I strain not to slip while shouting An’Jul’s name above the storm, still met with silence other than the noise of the torrent itself.

I curse under my breath as I conjure from my memory what antenna out of the array she had set out for the hash run.

I can only hope those ears are good for hearing, as I can’t see ten feet ahead of me, I doubt she could either, curtains of rain saturate the sight like looking into TV static and thinking you see something amongst the fuzz, it’s all in your head.

The torrent itself sounds like white noise, save for when a boom of thunder disrupts the pattern, like sheet metal bent and banged together within the confines of an empty warehouse, what illumination the lightning offers is snuffed out as soon as it arrives, replaced by loud rolling thrums like a great bear has made it’s den within the cumulonimbus, now snarling over it’s slumber disturbed, it’s voice carrying across the skies to the Earth trembling below.

Nearing the bridge, I still and stare in shock turning to simmering fear beholding the river, the very same I knew as a tame and docile feature of the site, safe enough to swim in, now a ferocious serpent saturated with water, hissing, spitting, splashing froth and foam glazed debris catching upon the frame of the bridge which rocks and jostles with every branch and bunch impacting against it’s rickety body.

I shudder, watching the water level swelling and spilling against the surface of the bridge, pulsating, lapping at the bank, swallowing hailstones without so much as a ripple against it’s violent roiling rolling whirlpools and trembling, toiling, turning tides. The serpent hasn’t just swelled in size, it’s tied itself from tip to tail...

The gale growls, not with thunder, trees tossing boughs which slam in blows against the other’s bark and slack when the wind stills. The gusts stop with me when the wind is knocked from my body, a force worse than any hail that previously pelted me.

I’m pinned, heart stopping then stuttering, chest heaving in heavy hyperventilating breathes hearing a husky whisper next to my ear, the very nature foreign to me, evoking the very same fear that flares up around An’Jul.

“Caan yew rrrun...?” The voice belongs not to An’Jul, nor Vaar’fit of what few words I heard them speak, each word delivered as a heaving husky whisper, yet somehow still retaining some semblance of smoothness despite the rattling undertones. “Aai thhink naaht...”

My limbs flail, digging ditches into the dirt and gravel in desperation trying to find purchase and leverage to pry myself free from what predator has me pinned.

I try to move my head, try to look back or beside myself as I pick up sounds of movement beyond my peripherals, something presses against my cranium, claws carding through fur to curl into my scalp, conjuring a subdued cry from fluttering lungs frantically feeding oxygen to my brain which screams to break free and bound away as much as my wounded weary bones will let me before breaking, the squeak silenced by the husky whisper continuing.

It coils it’s claws across ebony locks, mocking. “Aaai... thhhiink... Naht...”

Several sets of hands grab my limbs, I flail harder, hoping to land a kick hard enough to set me free as my face is forced into the Earth, muffling my screaming as a vaguely familiar voice speaks above the storm, focus held briefly by how much more human they sound, standing out from the rest, I recall their name with a twist in my gut remembering my last interaction around them... Buried beneath hazy memories of rest and recovery, I committed to memory that look... That leer...

Vaar’Fit speaks in a tone that sounds sardonic, musing almost as my arms are forced behind my back. “You and I... We are not so different.” Like the kind that comes from a con-man or a talk-show host. “We have our goals, our standards, our passions... Some people feel threatened by that...”

My limbs are bound by what feels like rope, I scream when my wounded side is jostled, Vaar’Fit continues. “They’re not wrong, what we do does carry the power to do a lot of damage...”

Without warning I’m hauled off the ground, and face to face with Vaar’Fit, I feel my stomach churn worse than when I first was introduced to them by An’Jul. My nose bleeds, streams of sanguine spilling down my face, washing away with the rest of the rain as I lock eyes with the beast before me.

Vaar’Fit sneers, leaning close, their whiskers curling to the torn fringes of their ears, still looking as sickly as when I last saw them. Up close I can see how unnaturally white their teeth are as they speak. “But that doesn’t make it right when bad things happen to us, does it?”

They speak like someone who talks about politics without ever actually holding any political position, trying to sow sympathy while they keep their fingers crossed behind their back. “Behind that insignia, I know what you are...”

I flinch, wincing away from their withering gaze, my voice reduced to feeble squeals of terror.

“You... Are innocent...” Vaar’Fit leans back. “Whatever An’Jul told you, it was only ever half of the truth, to us she’s a liability as much as she is a necessity.”

Something hisses behind me, I tense as the digits holding me curl in tangible rage, Vaar’Fit simply rolls their eyes and mutters some comment in their mother tongue, turning their attention back to me.

“You want to know why we’re here, human? Two reasons...”

Vaar’Fit jabs a finger at my chest, where the ASO insignia is printed upon my shirt, now smeared with mud and soil, splatters of blood dappling the black fabric. “We wanted to know where THIS came from... And what kind of faction was threatening our sovereignty...”

Confusion clashes like atoms in a collider, another voice, it’s mine, yet still I flinch from the sound of it. "What are you- This is- It’s not a faction!"

Vaar’Fit cuts me off, snapping, bristling.“I knew that!”

They speak with a snarl at the edge of their tone. “I knew from the start this endeavour would be for nothing, because I, like many others, could read what was right in front of me...” Their tone becomes much more bitter. “... And still I was lumped in with these louts to be carted off here and confirm what we already knew...

My voice cracks. "Then, what makes you think I- We’re a threat?! We're just astronomers!"

Vaar’Fit’s brows furrow, sympathy briefly surfacing, shocking. “You don’t know...?”

A quiver takes over my voice, tears clouding my vision, I try to answer, but I can only squeak between my hyperventilating.

Vaar’Fit’s face softens somewhat, they reach out to touch me, I recoil away, my flanks heaving as their fingertips grace my face. "For what it's worth, whatever happens to you going forward...”

Vaar’Fit leans close, lowering their voice to a whisper, wiping tears away from my eyes. “None of it was your fault, the outcome of our mission was as much outside your control, as it was ours.”

Vaar’Fit gestures behind me with a nod. “They're not ready to admit that, to them, this is personal, you're nothing more than the perfect victim for their frustration."

Vaar’Fit removes their hand, taking what warmth was left inside me, away with it, blood running cold when they step back, watching with a flat expression as one of the others takes a rag and gags me while I flail and squirm, my struggling stilling when I lock eyes with whatever it is that pounced upon me, a gasp caught in my throat as I stare in horror at what looks like a walking corpse.

It snarls as it affixes the gag with a knot too tight for comfort, it’s teeth yellowed and visible against corroded flesh that would be it’s lips, an eye under locks of green fur, unmoving and clouded over like it has cataracts, leaving only one to display an expression of hate, before it turns it’s focus to Vaar’fit, and speaks.

The voice is husky and rough like a chain-smoker, it’s jaw moves in stilted motions, words slurring and lisping beneath undertones of guttural efforts to speak at all. “⊣リ ⚍ᒷ⊣↸ An’Jul”

My heart nearly stops at the mention of An’Jul’s name, panic swelling as much as the flooded river has.

Vaar’Fit’s brows furrow. “∴⊣リ ╎ ̇/?”

I struggle in my restraints as I’m thrown over my captors shoulder, their armour the same I saw An’Jul wear, the kind which grants invisibility, though this feels much more worn, heavy, with undertones of some chemical aroma of garlic, what would elicit hunger rather instills fear for how artificial it smells, red flags raised.

The husky voiced one speaks. “ʖ↸∷∴リᓭ↸ ᔑ ∷||𝙹↸ ∷𝙹ℸ ̣ 'ᓭ リℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⊣∴|| ᒲᒷ ꖌ⍑╎ᒲ⍊ 𝙹⍑ᒲ↸ꖎ𝙹ℸ ̣ リリ ̇/ꖎ∷ℸ ̣ リʖ⊣⊣ꖎ ⚍⨅∴.”

Vaar’Fit responds. “╎ ʖ!¡リ ̇/ リリꖎ ᒲ⨅∷ ᔑᔑ╎∷, ̇/'╎ ⎓𝙹ᑑ∴ ⋮⨅リ⋮ ̇/∷ᒲℸ ̣ ⨅ ⍑⍊↸⋮ ᔑᓭᒷ ⋮ℸ ̣ !¡ᓭ!¡ᒷ⊣'ᓭ ᒷᒲ||⋮ 𝙹⚍ ꖌᒷᓭ⋮リ⊣╎ᒲ||, ᒲℸ ̣ リꖌʖリ⎓ ╎↸ ̇/ ᓵ⨅ᒷ∴ 𝙹ᒷ⨅ ̇/∷ᓭℸ ̣ ⨅ ℸ ̣ リᓵ ꖎ𝙹!¡╎|| ꖎ𝙹ꖌᓭᒷ ̇/∷∷ ⍊!¡↸𝙹╎ ̇/||⍑ᓵᓵ ᒲ⍑↸ᔑ|| ⨅∷ꖌ ̇/∷∷.”

Another voice, this one carrying an undertone of a quake or some strain. Looking to the source I see another figure, also clad in armour, though their helmet is removed revealing coils of curly purple fur, their eyes heavy with the exhaustion that decorates their tone. “ℸ ̣ ⊣ ̇/𝙹 !¡𝙹ᒲ'ꖎ ᔑꖎꖌꖎ ᒷ𝙹ᒲ⍊.”

Regardless of the identity of the speaker, still the instinct of terror remains, recoiling from every word uttered under their tongue.

Vaar’Fit huffs. “An’Jul ∴⍑ᔑ⍑ ⊣ᒷ⚍∴|| ᑑ𝙹||⨅╎⚍ℸ ̣ ⚍⍑⚍ ᒷ⊣|| ᒷ⍑!¡ꖎ.”

Again An’Jul is mentioned, I restlessly squirm, stilled when my captor digs their claws into my wounded thigh, I wince and whimper, my cries muffled as the husky voice continues their conversation. “ᓭ⊣ℸ ̣ ⨅⍑ᒷ∷⎓'ᔑ ⍊リ⍊!¡.”

Vaar’Fit speaks with an undercurrent of a sigh. “∷↸⍊∴ꖌ↸ꖌ∴⨅↸…”

The husky one snaps, their shoulders tensing under me. “ᓭ⊣ℸ ̣ ᓭ⍑リ'ᓭ ̇/!¡||↸ ⍊リℸ ̣ , ᒲ↸!¡ ʖ⎓ ̇/⊣ʖ ᑑ╎⚍∴ ⍑↸⊣ ʖʖ∷∷ꖎ”

Vaar’Fit speaks with what feels like an air of skepticism. “ᔑᒲᓭ ᒷ|| ᓭ⊣∴ ||!¡ᓭ!¡ꖎℸ ̣ ∷?”

The husky voice hesitates, when they speak, they sound bitterly resigned as they stride past Vaar’Fit. “… ╎ ⍊↸⋮'ᒲ ⍑リ↸ꖌ ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑⨅ᔑ⍑ᓵ𝙹ᒲ ||リᒲ !¡ᑑ ||⍊リ ⚍∷ℸ ̣ ʖ⍑∷ʖ∴…”

Vaar’Fit says nothing more, the Ariral with purple fur follows my captor, their tail tip twitching restlessly as they both march across the bridge, panic setting hand in hand with the rain saturating my clothing, seeping to skin with sweat to soak me to the bone, but even together, the chill is no greater than that which courses through my veins, cold crippling fear roaring through my body as I remain frozen, stuck in calculating some impossible escape, looking for any opening or opportunity, the outlook gradually growing dimmer the deeper they take me into the woods.

My eyes dart in every direction in a desperate search through the dark of the forest and the filter of the storm, frantically searching for a flash of white fur or a set of saffron eyes to meet mine.

I spot a rope slung over the opposite shoulder of the Ariral carrying me.

It swiftly dawns that it’s the very same that binds my body, but before I can begin to analyze it further for any attempt to escape, they stop, unceremoniously sliding me off their shoulder and dropping me to the saturated, soaked, damp Earth, only mud and foliage to break my fall, left side, though the stabbing pain I expected is rather a dull throb.

At once I try to wriggle away through the foliage, as much as I know it to be a Hail-Mary, it’s still a chance regardless...

A chance that’s swiftly crushed by the boot of the restless Ariral slamming down on my spine in a stomp so sudden and strong I fail to find the breath which was violently knocked from me.

Wriggling in the damp soil, gasping for air as the restless one simply applies more pressure with a sneer and a snarl, depraving me of what little lung space I had to begin with.

Foliage rustles overhead, I turn my head hoping to find An’Jul, rather I see the rope climbing from trunk to branch alongside the Ariral with the husky voice, testing each branch till they find one firm enough to coil the rope around it, their eyes, the exact same yellow like An’Jul’s, though lacking the warmth and kindness, they leer from where they remain perched a second more, as if relishing the moment as they curl their fingers around the leftover length of rope, before leaping off and away from the branch.

A pulley system is what they made, their weight aiding their descent as much as it does my ascent. I scream into the gag as I’m suddenly carried several feet away from the forest floor, flailing in my restraints as the husky voiced one touches down, testing the strength of the rope, before finally giving it some slack, slowly bringing me down, closer to them, not many feet far from the ground, just enough for them to come face to face.

There’s only a fraction of a second for eye contact before the blows begin.

First to my face, hard enough my head snaps back, my glasses flying off, lost to the undergrowth, my world becoming a dizzying blur as the force of their fists send the rope which binds me, swinging and spinning.

I don’t scream.

I can’t.

I can’t run.

I can’t fight.

I can only flinch.

At some point it becomes hard to tell which direction the blows are coming from, though I swear they took up positions on either side so that when the rope swung, it would swing back to the other from the force of their strikes.

I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid to see what expression is painted across their features... Rage, joy, indifference, either outcome would only make my fear spiral further beyond my control, already fearing that the force of their fists risks adding another fracture or more beyond what was broken by the fall, the accident amounting to what I wager to be a week ago compared to now.

The pain then feels so much more minor compared to now...

On noticing that one of them had stopped, I open my eyes and look, seeing the restless one idly standing, watching, something held in their hands, pointed at me, my terror tenfold thinking it’s some sort of weapon, trying to squint against the storm and strikes of ever building strength to see what it really is.

I don’t have to, rather, the husky voiced Ariral, stops and stills the rope, grabbing my bloodied face between their fingers, the restless one coming up closer, thrusting the object up close, forcing me to look upon it’s smooth face, my own, beaten one reflecting right back from the glassy obscura.

They hold that position for several seconds as the one with the husky voice catches their breath, before releasing me, the rope swinging back, my body colliding with the trunk of the tree as they turn and stride away. I watch them for a second, before I struggle and scream, partly begging for them to come back and release me, partly hoping they pay no mind to me as I desperately search for some window of escape.

Between episodes of thrashing, when I pause to catch my breath, I glance back in their direction, to where I last saw them, wondering weather they’re too far to see, blending in with blurry outlines of the trees, or rather they’re invisible, watching and waiting.

The former scares me the most, the uncertainty that they may return without me noticing until I feel another round of strikes assaulting me, like a living punching bag.

I gag and gasp, choking up as tears spill over my eyes and further muddy my vision while I try to feel for some fault in the restraints to find freedom, my heart clenching at the idea of what I was reduced to, a punching bag.

It wouldn’t be the first time, which is why it hurts so much for it to happen when I thought it never would again. I try to swallow some blood, choking and coughing, nearly throwing up, I curl my body, trying to look at how I’m secured to the rest of the length of rope, my core muscles burning where the bruises are the worst, sweat and blood seeping into my clothing, mixing with rainwater, I had no idea I was ever cut, never felt it.

They used their claws on me...

I thrash and flail, growing frustrated, desperate in trying to adjust and find some slack knot or loose thread, in the heat of the moment, I lose track of where I am relative to the tree and slam my head against the trunk, screaming into the gag as the blunder only brings my pain and anguish to a boiling point, spilling over as I continue to scream and thrash against the rope, some slim hope that with enough force from my flailing, maybe the branch holding the rope will snap.

Seconds trickle on into minutes...

Minutes march into the first hour as adrenaline bleeds away...

What warmth was left becomes smouldering ashes against the cold reality of creeping exhaustion...

In that span of time, I only managed to get the gag off while trying to use the tree to brace my back against, by finding a strip of bark to hook against the gag, I was able to wrangle it off.

Not that it did much, if any, good coming off, as I’d already screamed myself raw long before I was able to remove the gag with the bark, now it simply hangs loosely around my neck as I still toil and struggle to keep my back straight against the trunk, not so certain what my next step will be other than trying to right myself, knowing that prolonged time spent upside down is fatal.

Inevitably, I always, slip, my frustration feeding into fury, I flail and howl, had I not screamed so much maybe I’d still have some voice leftover to call for help, though now I’m not so certain there is any to be summoned.

The storm has since stopped, the clouds clearing away to skies fading to darker and darker gradients, the birds above beginning their last, closing song, hailing dread, confirming fears I’ll never be found as the affects of the attack begin to be baked into my body, new wounds withering away what remains of my resolve, still trying to swing the rope back to the tree trunk, still hoping that the branch may snap, still holding out some hope that maybe someone may save me...

★★★

It starts with a headache, one which covers the entire cranium, my tongue feeling fuzzy as my olfactory senses take in less damp soil, flooded with the smell of blood still seeping from me.

Swallowing becomes a battle, till I just let everything else spill out of me, below, painting leaves and moss with a mess of bodily fluids mixed, all just to focus on breathing, conscious effort to fill my lungs as much as it is to remain lucid.

Then breathing begins to feel too taxing, filling the lungs less, lest the deeper breaths risk rupturing something under sudden stabbing pain, the world swaying and swirling with every shuddering wet exhale.

By the time the crickets have started their song, I’ve sobbed myself to death’s doorstep, barely filling my chest with enough oxygen to think.

I twitch, trying to command what’s left of myself to take one last look at the sky, shrouded as it would be by cloud and canopy, I want to look.

My head spins, in trying to lift it and look, lucidity wavering.

Past the cross-hatching foliage, squinting I can just barely see the stars budding against the pelt of the dawn, I look as long as I’m able, till my strength wanes and with a rattling hollow sigh, going slack, stilling at last with some mild relief my spontaneous wish was granted, before greeting death.

A silence sets in, one I assume to belong only to me and my mistress the reaper.

It’s not death that has hushed the wood, it sinks in this silence is not unique to myself. The birds have cut off their cacophony, the crickets closing their symphony, not a sound save for steady tap-tapping of leftover rain-water...

... Not a sound save for foliage rustling, twigs snapping and eyes fluttering open to behold some fuzzy figure, pale but shrouded by the dark from where they grab my face, their hands warm as they call my name in a familiar voice, my heart fluttering like a frightened bird long before my memory kicks in.

They release me, claws sinking into the flesh of the tree, ascending the trunk in a blind dash to reach the branch bearing the rope, they move with dizzying speed, the rope jostles and moves, ground greeting me shortly after, only then, when my circulation resets, do I recall their name.

“A-An’Jul...”

At once An’Jul is scrambling down the tree, leaving the leftover lengths of rope discarded, she’s at my side at once, brandishing a blade which brushes against my skin as it slices through the restraints binding me, she lets me regain my bearings, pocketing the blade before reaching...

... I recoil, she stalls.

“Kel, iz otay...”

Again she tries to touch me, I squint and still trying to track her hand until I feel her fingertips brush against me, slapping her hand away with a hiss, she retracts it with a gasp, a conflicted look of betrayal crossing her face.

“K-Kel...?”

I glare, my muscles tense, sore as they are, they still clench and coil, braced to attack as much as they are to defend. The scent of blood and sweat saturated with that extraterrestrial stench, my stomach tying itself into knots not so much out of hunger, but horror on gazing into the same sallow eyes I saw mocking me from the treetops, the eyes of a monster.

Again she reaches to touch me, I tense with a hiss, scrambling back as my heart hammers against heavy heaving breathes in my chest.

Her face drops, her fingers faltering as some reality alien to me dawns on her, ears pinning back. “N-No, Kel... Iz otay... I safe­...” She speaks with a whisper, offering her hand. “Kel hurt. Want to help...”

I look from her hand to her face, had I any hackles, I’d have raised them before gathering all my strength into standing and tearing off into the woods while there’s still light leftover to see where I’m going.

At first it’s a brisk sprint, till I hear footfalls behind mine, pushing myself to pick up the pace as panic begins to blind logic.

Her voice carries across the wood. “Kel! Stop! Ke-”

She’s cut off with a scream, a sound I’d never heard out of her.

Skidding to a stop I still like a deer in headlights, scanning the forest for any sign of An’Jul...

Typically she sticks out like a sore thumb, she’s not very subtle, but other than the rustle of foliage, no sign or sight of her, no sound outside of the hushed uneasy quiet.

It’s only when I hold my breath, do I hear some faint murmuring several feet away, with some trepidation, I creep closer following the source of the sound, clocking the voice as belonging to Vaar’Fit, shortly after spotting them pinning An’Jul by her wrists to a tree, their face inches from hers.

the conversation alludes me, just beyond the threshold of earshot, and still I can tell it’s not my tongue, though the subject is one of great upset to An’Jul, her ears are pinned back, face twisting, lips curling up till her whiskers tickle her face, displaying teeth before she spits in Vaar’Fit’s face.

Vaar’Fit matches her snarl as swiftly as they cut it off, their hand flying to An’Jul’s throat, reducing her growl to a choked gasp as they snap and berate her. My muscles clench, a tremble overtaking my body.

Despite her airways smothered by Vaar’Fit’s grip, An’Jul’s defiance remains painted across her face, only relaxing when she glances past Vaar’Fit, to me as I try to keep a low profile, slinking through the undergrowth, locking eyes with me for only a moment, before resuming her glaring stare with Vaar’Fit as she tries to growl past their stranglehold.

My heart hammers, hands shaking as my eyes pick out a tangible target, locking onto the swaying tuft of deep navy blue belonging to Vaar’Fit, I creep closer before holding my arms apart, as if I’m about to kill a mosquito, waiting for the tail to sway between my hands before clapping them together, clamping down onto the tuft.

Vaar’Fit tenses, startled, turning just in time to lock eyes with me as I brace my feet against the soggy Earth, and tug as hard as I can, throwing all my body weight into yanking their tail.

Something definitely felt like it snapped, Vaar’Fit’s ensuing screech only cementing my belief as they flail and scream while I glare and tug again.

Vaar’Fit howls, relinquishing their hold over An’Jul who crumples to the forest floor.

Releasing Vaar’Fit’s tail, I try to rush to An’Jul’s side.

I barely see the boot coming before I’m sent tumbling into the bush, the blow so brutal I nearly upchuck, likely would have were I not trying to regain my breathing privileges.

Another scream. An’Jul. It’s not fear, it’s riddled with rage.

I’ve barely gotten my limbs under me when both Arirals come tumbling through the undergrowth, An’Jul throwing hooks left and right, her face twisted with anger which looks to have simmered beneath the surface for decades.

Vaar’Fit’s face is caught between shock and anger as they try to fend off An’Jul’s blows, the both of them tangled in a mess of limbs adorned with claws painted maroon, lips curled, teeth flashing, ears pinned and fur raised.

I stare, scared shitless seeing this side of An’Jul, till finally Vaar’Fit’s patience snaps.

Vaar’Fit starts hitting back, clearly stronger than An’Jul, they grab her wrist mid fist thrown, slamming their skull against hers.

I shudder seeing what I assume to be blood spilling from An’Jul’s nose as she stumbles in trying to scramble away, till she realizes Vaar’Fit still holds her wrist.

An’Jul barely starts her struggle when Vaar’Fit lets go the same time they land a kick to her stomach, the very same they inflicted upon me after I pulled their tail, taking her clean off her feet, curling and crumpling into a heap.

I look back to Vaar’Fit, catching their glare, they growl and I wince, withdrawing into the undergrowth.

I remain cowering when An’Jul rises on unsteady feet, Vaar’Fit snarling, they bark something in their language, An’Jul just screams and lunges, like a scene straight out of Watership Down, like when General Wound-Wart lunged straight for a dog.

Vaar’Fit counters An’Jul’s attempt to tackle them, slamming her to the ground and pinning her to the forest floor, their back to me, throwing punches, their tail limp and within reach.

Rather than risk invoking their ire by pulling their tail again, a better idea crops up.

Keeping my eyes on the both of them with cursory glances, I rummage through the foliage for a weapon, my fingers closing round a sturdy branch.

There’s no time to sharpen it, so I’ll have to rely on blunt force.

I glance back to Vaar’Fit’s tail, another idea cropping up in tandem with this one...

I creep up, crawling, praying my left leg be good to me enough that I may stand.

With only some minor wobbling without Vaar’Fit noticing, I raise my foot and stomp on their tail.

Rather than scream, they snarl, whipping around in time to meet my branch with their face.

Swinging the bough as hard as I can, I see some teeth scatter.

Taking that as a good sign, my heart flutters into a higher gear I had no idea I was capable of...

My blood is burning, fire courses through me, fur standing on end, the world slowing down to a snail’s pace as a guttural snarl spills from my sore throat and I start thwacking Vaar’Fit again and again.

Vaar’Fit screams something in English, I don’t hear it over the ringing in my ears.

My eyes remain locked on An’Jul as she squirms beneath Vaar’Fit, fighting to wriggle free as their attention is divided between us.

Finally, Vaar’Fit’s hands are forced, letting go of An’Jul to fend me off with both hands while An’Jul scrambles a ways away and up a tree.

Vaar’Fit hisses, trying to catch up to her, their tail still beneath my boot, catches, while I still assault them with the branch.

With a deep roaring wail, Vaar’Fit whips around, fury tangible by the fire burning behind their eyes when their hand closes around the branch, lifting it and me, still stubbornly holding onto it, off the ground.

I glare, baring my teeth and snarling, expecting Vaar’Fit to snarl back.

Instead, their expression, still twisted with rage, twitches with some spike of homicidal intent surging to the surface, acting on it too swiftly for me to counter, casting myself and the branch aside and over a steep drop in the terrain.

An’Jul wails, leaping from the tree she had escaped into, in an attempt to foolishly follow me off the edge.

Vaar’Fit thwarting this attempt by leaping in the air, catching her by the ankle and tackling her back beneath the undergrowth, right before my view of them both is cutoff by the edge, meeting the ground shortly after, gravel and splinters to break my fall.

By now the night has encroached enough for the lamplight to flicker to life...

... So I remain laying where I landed, looking upon the light...

... Trying to stay lucid despite the dizzying delirium threatening to drag me under while I watch moths dance to a song of screaming...

... It sounds familiar...

... Somehow it sounds like something I’d heard before...

... Something which actually belongs to Earth...

With some effort, I roll over onto my side, curling up, hoping it may offer some ease in breathing better.

I remember now...

... A nature documentary...

... Years back...

... I still was a kid then...

... Lions fighting...

... It’s like lions fighting...

... Can’t recall if it was a single movie...

... Or part of a series...

... It’s only now I’m recalling it...

... Only now...

... So many years after seeing it...

The chirping of crickets compels me to snap my eyes open and listen for any further sign of conflict, only to find silence...

I look to the sky, my stomach dropping beholding only blackness, my heart shuddering within my chest, looking for anything beyond the lamplight other than shadows, to some relief I see the path ahead illuminated, though the dam is broken, adrenaline resuming in a cascade flooding my systems.

I wait for someone to show up, when no one does, I crawl back to where the brawl began, glowstick in mouth, I scan the surroundings, finding only blood and trampled undergrowth.

I try to pick apart the tangled telltale signs of struggle to find a trail, losing myself in what feels like hours of measuring the depth of footprints, the dampness of bloodstains against a blurry backdrop of blackness.

My stomach churns, I feel shaken, still rattled like something still stalks me, I wish that were the case, because this silence save for the hum of the insects is suffocating against the uncertainty I have the strength to crawl back to the base.

I’m tempted to find a ditch in the dirt to curl up in, or maybe a hollow log big enough to hide in, at the very least maybe look for my glasses, beneath the black, sifting through soil still damp, I’m afraid to make a sound as much as I yearn to cry out in hopes someone may hear me.

I shiver touching a stone, damper than the rest, I lift it up to the light of the glow-stick, illuminating a surface smeared not with water, but blood.

It’s not mine...

I shudder, my jaw clenching, a bitter taste filling my mouth as tears spill over my eyes, uncertain if I’m sick or bit down so hard I punctured the glow-stick, I can only stare at the stone held in trembling hand, till I can’t take it anymore, a choked cry escaping me as I chuck the stone with what strength I have left into the woods, chest heaving watching it disappear into the dark, before I turn, hobbling back to the path, limping my way back to base, leaving a trail of sanguine in my wake...

★★★

Written in collaboration with Feral Changeling

Return to root

[falckie]

A quick moment of your attention please...

If you have read the following VotV fanfiction...

Myself and my co-writer, we made a bit of an oopsie, and one of the journal pages slipped past our proofing process.

I have fixed this, updating the fanfic, though I only noticed it while proofing Feral's porting of Forbidden Friendship to AO3

So to save everyone the headache of rereading and scrolling to look for ONE page... Below I have put the page itself, and the pages preceding and following it for anyone that may need a bit more context.

PRECEDING

J7 P1 (Restless Hallways)

THE OFFENDING PAGE

J7 P2 (Forbidden Friendship 1/4)

THE FOLLOWING PAGE

J7 P2 (Forbidden Friendship 1/4)

Thank you for your attention on this matter.

[falckie]

An'Jul

General information

Name - An'Jul Age - Adult Sex - Female Pronouns - She/Her Fur colour - White Eye colour - Yellow

Status - Alive

Additional information

Referred to as 'Prints' by Dr. Kel until learning her name, An'Jul is much more sociable and direct than her peers, yet possesses a meek if not submissive demeanour when socializing with her own kind.

She displays pronounced curiosity compared to the other Arirals, though rarely reciprocates when met with inquiries directed at her, or her peers. Her curiosity and clumsiness are symptomatic of one another.

When not wearing armour that affords her invisibility, she wears scrubs with an orange jacket over top.

These scrubs are likely related to her working in the field of medicine.

She has a sister, their relationship is strained with implications Hen'El regularly subjects An'Jul to threats, and An'Jul herself speaking lowly of her sister.

Despite that, An'Jul seems to hold some degree of love for her sister, going as far as to argue with Kel when he accused Hen'El as responsible for attacking him.

She has a lover whom she misses deeply.

She is under the impression Dr. Kel likes pinecones, and will collect them to later gift them to Kel.

An'Jul has made a few drawings since she began speaking to Kel...

Drawing of her peers with their names

Drawing of Kel, with her name, and an attempt at spelling Kel's name.

An'Jul holds some, though somewhat limited, background in medicine, Dr. Kel often referring to her as a 'medic' though what position she formally holds, nurse, doctor, paramedic etc etc is unknown.

Her treatments tend to be rather rough, lacking bedside manner to most, though she tends to soften up while not under so much pressure.

Despite her bumbling nature reminiscent of a carefree juvenile, An'Jul holds some degrees of grit when push comes to shove, attacking her own kind in retaliation of Dr. Kel coming under harm.

Trivia

She likes to pet Dr. Kel's fur

Out of Universe Information

Her name is a play on the word 'Angel' though it is not pronounced the same way, rather it's pronounced... Ahn-Jull (rhymes with skull, gull, dull etc etc)

[falckie]

Portraits of the Ariral characters that will show up in Forbidden Friendship. I plan to add colour, and the last one, above, will have a full body portrait.

Below are their names...

Gull'Vir

Ous'Gut

Vaar'Fit

Hen'El

An'Jul