Chapter Text
You linger behind your party, trailing after them by a few feet. You debate if you should wander again, it’s nice going off the path sometimes. If you’re lucky, you can hunt or forage something that can be used for dinner later. Hopefully hunt, you miss the way rabbit meat feels when you tear it apart with your fangs, but you all still have some bird meat you caught yesterday.
(Scratch…scratch…scratch…)
…Or maybe not, you could always just keep following, listen to the voices of the party (your party?)
You’re…
Not quite sure how to interact with them, but you don’t know how interact with people in general. You’ve been following them for weeks now, since the Housemaiden Mirabelle invited you to join her. You figured it was something to do that would keep you occupied for a while, and you had no reason to say no.
They’re going to kill the King after all, and the least you can do is help. It’s your fault that Vaugarde is freezing in time, your fault your blood has turned to ice and the aching in your bones is so much worse than before. Your fault that there’s a hole where your heart should be and the biting tearing clawing thing inside you grew to fill it.
(You want to tear the King apart. Stars, you want nothing more than to tear out that monsters heart and trap it in a cage of iron, and maybe you would if you were still alone. But you’re not alone, you’re with a party now. Your party? A party who has real flesh and blood flowing through their veins and can feel, unlike You. They would go for a quick death rather than the agonizing one that monster deserves, would kill him with mercy rather than tearing his chest open, rather than gutting him and letting his entrails spray across an abandoned shrine. You want to help your(??) party with their quest, though, so a quick death it will be. It’s the least you can do to support Mirabelle after she invited you to join her. You can’t exactly find the Orbs on your own, not like this.)
You’re grateful that they’ve let you stay this long, and welcomed you back every time you’ve wandered off while travelling or in towns. You spent so long just drifting behind, barely listening to them, just following along like a lost pup.
You’re still not used to feeling…real? Not used to the feeling of being here, listening to conversations, participating in conversations, instead of letting yourself fall into your mind as you followed your(your.) party. You’re still not sure why they always welcome you back, but it’s nice. It’s…nice to have people to return to. Real people, who beating hearts that keep them alive rather than an empty chest and a star-shaped scar.
…You wonder if you should be calling them friends? Does travelling with other people make you friends? Maybe?
You’re still not sure what the definition of friends is. Maybe you’ll ask, but you don’t know if it would be okay to ask something like that.
(There is a scratching in your mind. It’s stronger than it used to be, stronger than it was before a hole was torn through your chest and you froze. Though not stronger by much with so much of It in the King’s chokehold. It’s easy to ignore. Easy to pull away, if you wanted, but you don’t. How strange! How…new.)
(You’re still so very…disconnected from the rest of It, despite how much You’re closer to It, closer to that scratching, howling, weeping thing made of stars and sorrow, but most of It is still being crushed by the King. You’re not sure if it is a good thing or not, to be closer to It, closer with the rest of You, but you feel…almost like you could start being a person now. Less like you’re a ghost drifting through the woods. The scratching keeps you awake, now, instead of something to fall asleep to and dream of things You destroyed.)
(It’s…comforting, in a way. Comforting on how it traces old scars in your skull, running down the same paths over and over and over again. You feel a little more human, even though that’s not what you are. You’ve always been good at pretending.)
(Scratch scratch scratch)
Your party is talking, you should probably pay attention. Mirabelle is talking about…a book series, you think. She’s talking with the Fighter Isabeau, and the Researcher Odile is writing something as she walks. Is Odile also listening? Is she writing down what Mirabelle is saying?
You should start paying more attention to what they’re saying in general. You can do that now, follow a conversation without falling away into your mind halfway through, you can respond to them without guessing what they were talking about. It’s such a novel thing, the ability to pay attention, hear other people. It feels like something is pulling you towards the party, pulling you towards listening, talking, you’ve even found yourself…smiling at a joke Isabeau made the other day. (Not that he saw, but you did. You buried your face into your cloak before anyone saw you.)
(Scratch scratch scratch)
You follow this need to listen to them like a well-trained dog follows its master, like a hound that has no need for collar or leash because it stays by its owners side. You’ve learned you like listening to other people talk, you like being able to follow conversations, and they respond positively to when you add in a sentence or two, so…what reason is there not to listen? It makes you feel like a person.
(Scratch scratch scratch)
You’re pretty sure It’s trying to get your attention about something, with how It’s claws dig into your skull and threaten to tear at your brain and rip out what little memories you’ve gained drifting along. You’re not sure what It wants to tell you about, maybe another Sadness? It’s usually more insistent than this when there’s danger, and there’s no Orb in this area either. No oppressive presence or ice in your lungs, and the thing in your chest is quiet as it gnaws on your ribs.
You should probably focus on whatever It’s bothering you about, since it seems to insist that it’s more important than Mirabelle’s books. You close your eyes, reaching out slowly, gently, into the rest of It, and listen.
There are bugs in this area, chittering little things that scurry underneath leaves and dig through the ground. The birds in the air go piou piou and there are two squirrels chasing each other up a tree. There is a trio of wolves stalking a lone deer, and a flock of crows watching them, waiting for scraps. The wind rustles the leaves of trees and bushes, and carries the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing to your ears.
. . .
The breathing is ragged, it is a torn, wheezing thing like a rabbit thats been chased to exhaustion. The footsteps thump on the ground like a starved lynx stumbling through the undergrowth, and you know, you know, you know, as the wind carries their scent to you, that they are bleeding. You…
You take off before you realize what you are sensing, what It is showing to You. There is shouting behind you. You ignore it.
The Universe parts for you. Leaves and branches bend away from you during your hunt for that wheezing-bleeding-lost pup that stumbles through the woods with no one to look after it. The squirrels hide in their tree and the crows caw and a wolf in the distance raises it’s head and howls as the hunt begins.
You skid to a stop among the trees.
There is a child in front of you. They are bruised and battered and there are cuts on their legs and too-big boots and a too-big hat on their head. They look at your with cloudy eyes and dried tearstreaks down their cheeks.
They stumbled forward, and you rush forward to catch them.
Stars.
(Scratchscratchscratch)
You fall to your knees as you catch them, cradling them to your hollow chest. It feels like your skin is lit on fire with the way you wrap yourself around them, the thing that replaced your heart is hissing snarling HOWLING but you pull your lost pup closer anyway.
(Scratchscratchscratch)
(Shut up.)
Figure something out. What do people do when someone is injured? Tonics. You have tonics, right? They’re the best thing that works on you, you have a few you think- is that safe right now? You don’t know if there’s any dirt in their cuts and you’re pretty sure that’s a bad thing. The Housemaiden’s Craft cleans that up but tonics don’t- something else maybe?
You look at your pup- their breathing is raspy and you don’t think they’ve had water in a while. You have water. You can give them that.
You ignore the burning on your skin where you hold onto your pup, and dig around your cloak until you pull out your waterskin. You adjust your grip on your pup’s grasp and do not think about how strange it is to feel like there’s fire licking at your skin and seeping into your muscles rather than the freezing cold that runs through your veins.
You are speaking to them, reciting a hymn of comfort and protection to…something, you think. You do not know the language you are speaking in, but that doesn’t matter right now. Nothing else matters in this moment. Your pup needs help.
You goad them into drinking, they drink far less than you would like before pulling away and curling into your stomach with a keening whine.
…
Blinding stars. You need- you need to get them back to your party- your pup is small and thin, you have the strength to carry them. Just get them to safety.
“Siffrin!” The Housemaiden’s voice rings through the forest, “Is everything okay?? You ran off so quickly and- OH CHANGE?”
You look up. The party is there, the Housemaiden and Fighter in front with the Researcher catching up.
The Housemaiden looks horrified, her hands are clasped over her mouth and she’s staring at your lost pup with wide eyes. The Housemaiden’s hands are shaking a bit, you’re reminded of a deer you once saw when travelling at night. It froze up in the light of the lantern you were carrying, and did nothing but stare at you before bolting.
You chased after it, then. You were still hungry after you caught it, and you didn’t bother with more deer afterward. Not even the hunt can satiate the hunger you hold.
The Fighter isn’t much better off, his hands raised up a bit and shocked expression on his face. It looks different than his usual shocked expressions, more genuine than the clearly crafted and overdramatic shock he usually does. Like acting in a play.
The Researcher arrives, breathing heavy with an irritated expression, “Just what are you children-” and then stops as she takes in the sight of you and your lost pup with little reaction besides widening her eyes and clutching her book a little tighter.
You wonder what this must look like from their perspective. You ran off without a second thought, it must have been alarming enough for them to follow…and they find you cradling a child. An injured child. You wonder if this is what panic feels like- it feels like something is trying to break through your ribcage, your tail lashes behind you and you can’t fully bit back the snarl as you tighten your grip just a little more on your pup.
Your eyes feel like they’re burning, burning like your arms, your chest, your legs, but the burning in your eyes is…different. It feels like something is digging it’s claws into your tear ducts and threatening to rip them out.
It’s so strange to feel like you’re burning. You can’t tell if you prefer it to the freezing. What’s better, you wonder, to burn at the stake or be cast out into a frozen sea and drown?
“Mirabelle,” the Researcher speaks, “They’re injured.”
“Oh!!” The Housemaiden- Mirabelle her name is Mirabelle you need to remember that she’s a PERSON- startles and goes quickly over. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from growling at her. You’re fine. Your pup is not.
The Rese- Odile is saying something about setting up camp. You hear Isabeau agree, but you don’t care enough.
You watch Mirabelle as she hovers over your lost pup, bringing her hands forward. You watch her gentle-kind-warm Craft wash over your pup. You feel them relax in your grip but they do not pull away. You watch them, watch their eyes loosen a little more, and their breathing steady. The end of your tail is wrapped around their leg.
You…nod at Mirabelle. It’s the best thanks you can give right now. The thing that’s made it’s home where your heart should be is howling.
“Siffrin, Mirabelle,” You look up at Odile. She’s not holding her book, for once, “It’s best we move them to somewhere more comfortable.” She motions to…a sleeping bag that’s been set out. It’s the largest one you have and it has a striped pattern like what Isabeau wears often, so it must be Isabeau’s.
That makes sense. You’re days away from the nearest town, and your lost pup needs any comfort they can get.
You look down at them, scoop them up, and carry them over to the sleeping bag.
(Your skin is burning. It hurts, it hurts, but it’s a new kind of hurt so you take what you can get. It’s better than freezing, better than your ribcage shattering and the pieces of your spine scattered across a forest floor.)
You lay them down, their hands are gripping onto your cloak so you crouch down next to them and try to pry them off of you.
Your pup whimpers.
(scratch…scratch…scratch…)
You can’t help but agree, you sit down on the sleeping bag and pull their head into your lap.
Your pup relaxes.
…
This is your life now. Stars this is your life now. You can’t move until they wake up.
There’s still fire eating away at your skin. It is fighting with the cold cold cold in your veins. You wonder if the heat and the cold will merge, if you’ll know what warmth feels like if they do. The thing that lives under your skin is burrowing itself deeper into your bones in attempt to escape the flames.
“Sif…?” Isabeau is talking, “They seem pretty attached to you, but if you’re comfortable, we can try switching places? They might just need a person to hold onto but you don’t have to be that person if you don’t want to!”
You snarl, just before remembering that people aren’t supposed to do that, and shake your head.
This is your pup now. Isabeau is fine, he’s strong and reliable and can keep going even when injured. It’s fascinating, and you trust Isabeau in combat, but that howling, gnawing, hateful thing inside if you doesn’t trust Isabeau and you agree with it with a heart that’s trapped inside a cage.
(Scratch scratch scratch)
You don’t know the name of the emotion Isabeau is showing.
“...Alright, Sif…” he backs away, and you look down at your pup.
…You wonder how long they’ve been alone. You wonder if there’s others around, if they have a pack. You wonder if there’s Sadnesses around, you’ll have to be quick to alert your party to them.
You close your eyes, and listen once more.
Once more, bugs skitter through leaves and dirt, hiding from each other, hunting each other, somewhere a bird swoops down and swallows a ladybug whole. Somewhere a lizard flicks out it’s tongue and the carapace of a beetle snaps under it’s jaws. A trio of wolves tears through the flesh of a deer that wandered too far from home, and the crows fly above. Occasionally one dips down, ripping off a piece of meat before shooting back up into the sky before it, too, became food. The wind carries the scent of leaves, and grass, and the campfire your party is setting up. You don’t bother to ask why they’re setting up a campfire.
You stay with your pup, and think about forest fires. You once read somewhere in a book that some forests depend on fires, that there’s trees whose seeds will only spread when there’s enough heat. That sometimes, a fire is the only way a forest can grow.
. . .
(Scratch…scratch…scratch)
You don’t know how long you sit like that. No Sadnesses come anywhere near you, despite the way they’re attracted to You. You wonder if It is keeping them away.
Your pup stirs as you hear sizzling and smell poultry and vegetables cooking. You open your eyes and look down.
Your pup stares back at you with an exhausted expression.
Your eyes are burning again.