✦ TAGS: 18+・slow burn・cheek kisses・sick animals
✦ WORD COUNT: 1.9k
✦ AUTHOR'S NOTE: links to the masterlist and other chapters will be added as the story updates 🩶
・✦・masterlist || i.・ii.・iii.・iv.・✦・
The hexwolves greet you a few days later, just as the Zookeeper predicted.
It’s early, the gravelwyrms are already rumbling their morning complaints, and the color-shifting creature pulsing a rapid amber that you’ve begun to think means hurry up. You’re on your way to the eastern feeding run when the enclosure gate opens, by neither your hand nor the Zookeeper’s, and the hexwolves file out one by one onto the path in front of you. Six of them, ranging in size from large dog to small pony, their oil-slick coats catching the morning light in shifting blues and greens, and, occasionally, a startling violet.
They don’t rush. They stop a few feet away and regard you with golden eyes, and you give them a polite nod, holding your hand out, palm up. The eldest—the pony-sized one—steps forward and presses her warm nose to your outstretched hand.
“Hello,” you coo.
Her tail flicks once, slowly. The others follow her lead, approaching in twos and threes, and within minutes you’re standing in the middle of six hexwolves conducting a thorough investigation of your pockets, your bootlaces, and the cuffs of your jacket. You laugh helplessly, drawing the Zookeeper out onto the path.
“They like you,” he laughs.
“They’re eating my jacket.”
“They like your jacket, then,” he amends. “High praise. They ignored the last volunteer the whole time he was here.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Four years.”
You glance at him, and he looks back with a tender smile. The eldest hexwolf sits on your foot, tail swishing across the back of your leg.
You name her Hycanith, and she barks, bumping her head against your thigh before the name has finished leaving your lips.
—
Six days later, Hyacinth falls ill.
You notice it before the Zookeeper, which surprises you. He notices everything, and misses nothing; you’re not sure how it works, but you know he has some connection to the sanctuary allowing it to become an extension of his attention.
Maybe it’s because you’ve been spending your afternoons in the hexwolf enclosure, sitting in the grass while they play around you. You know enough to catch the difference between Hyacinth’s normal midday nap and when she’s keeping purposely still during her playful prowling.
This isn’t either of those. She’s lying apart from the pack, all six legs tucked in with the oily colors of her coats muted to near black. She doesn’t perk up, even when you offer her favorite treats.
You find the Zookeeper in the main building, at the long workbench that runs the length of the ground floor, working with his odd mix of alchemical veterinary equipment. He looks up as soon as you step through the door, smile stopping halfway when he notices your face. You don’t get a word out before he’s setting down his tools and reaching for his coat.
“Which one,” he says.
“Hyacinth.”
The deep ridge of his brow furrows. “How long?”
“I don’t know. She ate a little around lunch, but she’s been sluggish all day.”
He nods once, coat on, and heads for the door. You follow silently, neither of you wasting time on reassurances.
—
Hyacinth lets him examine her with no fuss, a sure sign that something is definitely wrong.
She knows him—they all know him, some of them for their whole lives—but she always nips at his fingers when he tries to pet her. This time she lays with her head in his lap, eyes half-closed, while he examines her. Careful hands move over her in odd patterns as he mutters words to himself in a language you don’t know.
You sit at her other side with a hand on her neck, feeling the rise and fall of her slowed breaths.
“Her secondary hearts,” the Zookeeper speaks up. “Hexwolves have three, and it seems her third is running slow.”
“Is that—”
“It happens, especially during the colder months. Something about the sanctuary passing through the northern planes,” he sighs. He keeps his hands on her, a steady pressure where her second and third hearts must be. “She’ll need a few days' rest and a specific tincture.”
“So…she’ll be alright?”
“Yes.” He gives a comforting smile, running a soothing hand up Hyacinth’s side. He stops just shy of yours, his filed claws skimming over your fingertips. “She’ll be alright.”
“Thank goodness,” you exhale in relief, letting your hand inch forward to slip your fingers between his. “What do you need me to do?”
—
The tincture takes two hours to prepare.
You follow his instructions—half-spoken, half-demonstrated—at his workbench. The Zookeeper is a better teacher than he believes himself to be, clear in his direction and willing to repeat anything you need. You grind the dried herbs and scales he passes you, and maintain the phoenix ashes in the burner.
You always forget how easy the work is during your off months. It isn’t just the work, either. Everything seems to become easier around him. You talk freely between instructions, telling him about the months between your visits, your life, your neighbor’s cat that sneaks onto your porch in the afternoons. He listens fully, never once interrupting, and offering little comments in the empty spaces.
“I kept thinking about the eggs,” you tell him. “Whether anything had changed with them.”
“I thought the same,” he says, playfully nudging your arm with his elbow. “I’ve found myself thinking of them more than I used to.”
“Do you think this visit is different?”
“I think…” He takes a moment to consider, claws tapping over the wooden workbench. “I think the sanctuary thinks so.”
“The fourth enclosure?”
“Still being built.”
You glance at him, taking in the broad, fluffy lines of his profile. “What do you think it’s for?”
He gives you a one-sided smirk, shrugging half-heartedly. “I have a theory, but I’m not ready to share it yet.”
“Mm, how convenient.” You roll your eyes, turning back to spark another phoenix feather in the burner.
“I know,” he winks.
“I could just wait you out, y’know?”
“Yes, you’re very patient when you want to be.”
“Only with you,” you laugh. It’s true, and you’re almost surprised at how easily the confession slips out.
“I know,” he says, softer this time, smile fonder when he looks over at you.
When the tincture is finished you carry it back to the hexwolf enclosure, and Hyacinth will only drink it from your hands. You’re not sure what that means, but the Zookeeper watches you with a fondness that makes your heart stutter in your chest.
—
He’s the one to suggest watching her through the night, offering carefully to take the first shift. “You don’t have to stay,” he says, “I don’t need as much sleep, so I can watch—”
“I’m staying,” you tell him firmly, leaving no room for argument.
“I figured,” he huffs. “At least let me take first watch.”
You sleep in the chair beside Hyacinth’s nest. It’s not comfortable, but two of the younger hexwolves press themselves against your legs to keep you warm. Through the enclosure’s high window you can see the lantern foxes drifting in slow patterns. Distantly, you can hear the gravelwyrms nightly rumbling. At some point in the night, you’re vaguely aware of the Zookeeper draping a blanket over you, tucking it around your shoulders to keep it from falling.
You wake sometime later to find him sitting across the enclosure, Hyacinth curled beside him. Her breathing seems steady, her coat already a little brighter, even in the dark.
You watch him for a while without him knowing—or without him acknowledging it—letting yourself fully wake before you sit up and stretch.
“Go sleep,” you yawn quietly, “I have her.”
“You sure?” he yawns, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.
“I’m sure. Go.”
He rises, careful to not disturb Hyacinth, and crosses the enclosure. He stops beside your chair, and rests a hand on your cheek when you crane your neck to look up at him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs with a tired smile. He catches himself quickly, clearing his throat to clumsily add, “For staying.”
“She’s my girl,” you shrug, leaning your cheek into his palm. “Obviously I’m staying.”
He nods once, letting his hand linger for a few moments longer before he goes.
You sit with Hyacinth for the early morning hours, keeping a tender hand on her side to feel the strengthening of her breaths.
—
Hyacinth is eating again just a few days later.
The rest of the sanctuary is already up and awake—the bog pups keen for the Zookeeper to appear at their fence, glints of morning light from the mirror moths’ wings bouncing through the sanctuary. You’re in the hexwolf enclosure with their morning feed when Hyacinth takes a deep stretch and stands on all six legs. She trots over to her bowl and eats with a more than healthy appetite.
Your shoulders drop, body sagging in relief as you catch another exhale behind you.
“There she is,” the Zookeeper says.
You turn, finding him leaning against the gate post with his arms folded, watching Hyacinth. “You were so worried.”
“I’ve known her since she was born. I’m allowed to worry,” he scoffs, keeping his eyes on Hyacinth.
“How long ago was that?” you tease, making your way over to him.
His shoulders tense slightly before relaxing, casting you a sidelong glance. “What if I said it a hundred and twelve years ago?”
Hyacinth digs into her food without a care, tail wagging happily.
“She looks good for her age,” you laugh.
“Hexwolves are long-lived… Most of the sanctuary’s residents are.”
“Including you?”
“Longer,” he shrugs. This isn’t new to you, nothing about this place really is anymore. “It matters less than it used to.”
“Oh?”
“Time passes differently when you have something to look forward to returning to.” He says it so simply, not shying away when you turn to him.
Minutes pass in easy silence, both of you leaning against the gate as you watch Hyacinth finish eating her food. She noses at one of the other bowls, taking a sneaky bite of her siblings’ food before trotting away.
The Zookeeper’s eyes follow her, and you take your chance, leaning over to place a kiss on his cheek.
“Thanks for letting me watch her,” you say softly, “and for staying with me.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he sighs, inclining his head to rest atop yours. Parts of his mane tickle your cheek, but you don’t move an inch.
“I know,” you say. “I wanted to.”
Hyacinth makes her way back over, dropping her full hundred and twelve year old weight against your legs with a tired huff. You let her settle before resting a hand over her head, stroking through her silky fur. The morning light seeps into the enclosure, and neither you nor the Zookeeper nor Hyacinth move, pressed comfortably against each other for longer than you should allow yourselves, and not long enough, still.
—
That evening, the Zookeeper makes dinner. You sit across from him at the kitchen table, the conversation moving through everything and nothing. At some point, he refills your glass without being asked, and you catch his hand as he sets the bottle down. You don’t quite hold his hand, more rest your fingers along the back of it.
He looks at your hand, then at you.
You let go, but you don’t look away, and neither does he. The kitchen is warm, the sanctuary buzzing around you, and, somewhere outside, Hyacinth barks three times. The corner of the Zookeeper’s mouth slides up into a knowing smile, one of his ears flicking against his head.
“She’s bossing the younger ones around,” he chuckles.
“As she should.”
You hold his gaze for a beat longer, and his half-smile turns into something far more genuine.
Then you both look away, and the evening continues.
