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I know a lot has been said about Brasil FurFest and it’s deal with Converse, but the following it directly from Brasil FurFest and 100% official. This year, Converse is doing a campaign about groups of people having fun in different ways around the globe (the campaign is still ongoing, featuring dancers, basketball teams, motorcycle […]

Some new DLC for the game Armello and I kinda wish this was a movie. "Join the insidious band of scaled heroes in their journey to reclaim their birthright, Armello's throne. The Dragon Clan, Armello's second Clan DLC, features four new playable Heroes, a brand new Dragon-exclusive Quest system, a complete Dragon Clan Novella, Dragon Dice, six new Signets, and a new Amulet!"
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This episode the group takes on two topics. First, should books include more inner art? What about your cover? How much of your book should be visual and is it helpful?

Secondly, we discuss stories that take too long getting to the point and talk about ways to make your story get to the point.

Ep 82 – Get On With It - This episode the group takes on two topics. First, should books include more inner art? What about your cover? How much of your book should be visual and is it helpful? Secondly, we discuss stories that take too long getting to the point and talk about...

Ever wanted to be a goose and irritate the hell out of everybody? ...I didn't before but now I do! Coming soon to Nintendo Switch and Steam.        
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Today we have a short trailer for the 3D animation conference  Animago [1] in Munich Germany this coming November. I do love the style and design here.     [1] https://www.animago.com/#
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And caught up for you all. Join the crew together to talk and yammer the night away Episode 69 - Sharking sharks

The crew returns again to talk the news and hopefully entertain ya all! Episode 68 - Shark puns are hard

The crew is getting caught up and letting you all enjoy our sultry voices once more! Episode 67 - Sharking up into your ears

A bit of a backlog to get posted up, here they all come. Thanks for all your patience! Episode 66 - Shark keeping his nose to the grindstone

A bit of a backlog to get posted up, here they all come. Thanks for all your patience! Episode 65 - The Shark keeps going!

A bit of a backlog to get posted up, here they all come. Thanks for all your patience! Episode 64 - Catching the shark up

Here’s more from Animation World Network: “Channel 4, Lupus Films, and HarperCollins have announced the voice cast for their upcoming animated film, The Tiger Who Came to Tea… Based on the classic children’s book by Judith Kerr OBE, the half-hour film will bring the vivid images and irresistible story of this classic picture book to life.  Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock, Avengers: Infinity Wars), Tamsin Greig,  David Oyelowo, David Walliams, and Paul Whitehouse will portray the characters of Daddy, Mummy, Tiger, Narrator and Milkman respectively, while seven-year-old newcomer Clara Ross will make her TV debut as Sophie. Published by HarperCollins Children’s Books and produced by Lupus Films, The Tiger Who Came to Tea tells the story of what happens when the doorbell rings as Sophie and her Mummy are sitting down to tea in the kitchen. Confronted with an unexpected guest – a big, furry, stripy tiger – they invite him inside where he proceeds to eat everything in sight before making a timely exit, just before Daddy gets home. Inspired by the author’s daughter, The Tiger Who Came to Tea was first published in 1968 and has sold over 5 million copies. Lupus Films’ distinctive, hand-drawn animated style will bring the story to life, introducing the characters to a whole new audience. Channel 4 will broadcast the one-off half-hour special this Christmas.” Now we’ll see if it becomes available in North America after it airs in the UK.

image c. 2019 Lupus Films

《瀕臨絕種野生動植物國際貿易公約》（CITES）27日於瑞士日內瓦做出一個重要決定， 非洲的野生大象將不得再被捕捉出口到動物園！

在一次激烈辯論之後。“日內瓦瀕危野生動植物種國際貿易公約”（CITES）成員國批准了修訂後的擬議案文，其中包括禁運令的一些例外情況。

國際人道主義協會指出，自2012年以來，辛巴威已經捕捉且出口超過100隻幼非洲象到中國的動物園

Humane Society International 非洲象 (攝自法新社)

國際人道協會（Humane Society International）非洲野生動物主管奧黛麗.德爾辛克（Audrey Delink）指出， 這是CITES對非洲大象的重大決定； 這不只是保育問題，更攸關著動物福祉。

投票結果 全案以87票贊成、29票反對、25票棄權，確定通過。除了可能因新案通過，導致他們無法透過大象交易，換取急用現金的辛巴威和波札那以外；美國和歐盟也投下了反對票。

最初的CITES投票是限制野生非洲野生大象的貿易，以保護其自然棲息地，基本上結束了捕獲大象並將它們送往世界各地的動物園和娛樂場所的命運。

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/aug/27/near-total-ban-imposed-on-sending-wild-african-elephants-to-zoos
https://www.arabnews.com/node/1546246/offbeat
https://pets.ettoday.net/news/1523841
https://news.pts.org.tw/article/443975

這次我們合作的對象在獸圈中是一位知名的實況主，且據說打從還在母親肚子裡就開始不停的打電動，這位知名的實況主名字就叫做綠豆腐！話不多說，馬上進入訪談吧！

問題1：請問豆腐對於自己和獸圈的看法是什麼呢?

我自己毫無懸念的就是一個獸控肥宅。

至於獸圈是個很難定義的範圍，單純覺得獸人很帥氣很可愛的人，對獸人有性慾望的人，毛裝的扮演者與支持者，喜愛動物的人，更進一步去貼近大自然的人。
很多人認為獸圈是這些團體的聯集，也有很多人認為是交集，但這也不是誰說了就能算數的事情，我想只要找到一群志同道合的夥伴窩在一起，也不去影響或迫害他人就行了吧。

問題2： 請問在聊聊窩的直播之前，豆腐會做怎樣相關的準備呢?

有時生活裡的一些有趣小事我會記錄下來，或是整理最近社會重大議題的延伸資料。
雖然現在聊聊窩只剩我自己一個人，不過也是難得可以休息的日子，大多還是放空腦袋和觀眾瞎扯淡而已啦。

問題3：豆腐每天直播的遊戲的挑選原則是什麼呢？

首要的先決條件當然是我自己有興趣，會想要遊玩的遊戲。
再來則是觀眾對於這款遊戲的期待熱度，還有適不適合直播，過程是否過於冷靜或者冗長，最後則是份量時數的長短，還有在哪個時段直播以維持整體行事曆的比例。
雖然要考慮的事情很多但還是常常想玩就玩啦～

問題4：請豆腐分享進入獸圈的小故事?

最早是因為喜歡迪士尼的動畫電影「獅子王」，而在高中時期加入一個名為「獅迷閒聊天堂」的論壇，並且認識了不少同好。
其後逐漸延伸交友範圍，也接觸到了所謂「獸」的文化，歷經眾多世代交替與社交平台的興衰就到現在這樣了。

問題5：為什麼會想要以豆腐做為自己的名字?

這又要說到好久好久以前，
小時候我在課本上看到一個數學家的名字叫做「魯道夫」(Ludorff)，
編註: 魯道夫·范·科伊倫， 荷蘭數學家 ，精準計算圓周率到小數點後35位
雖然感覺莫名的帥氣但又覺得直接抄來用不太好，
就自己調換一下位置造出「道魯夫」(Dorluff)這個新單詞，後來大家道魯夫道魯夫叫久了就縮減成豆腐了。

真的和惡靈古堡沒有關係不要再問了。

問題6：讓你最為印象深刻的是什麼遊戲?

老實說不知道是接觸過太多遊戲還是記憶力衰退，許多回憶都被淡化或美化，要我舉出一個「最」深刻的遊戲還真的是說不出來。

日文五十音一個都看不懂的時候就抱著厚厚攻略本和同學搶著要決定
《Final Fantasy III》中戰鬥的指令，為了玩和朋友借來的《失落的封印》
把顏色密碼表給背下來，玩《天堂》存了好幾個星期的錢才買到的法師套裝只因為上個廁所就噴裝被撿走，第一次摸到類比搖桿連《薩爾達傳說 時之笛》一座獨木橋對面的5塊錢都拿不到，也因為《尼爾》那毫無救贖的劇情和記錄檔而落淚。 太多了，所以我還是選擇《人生 Online》吧XD

薩爾達傳說 時之笛 (取自維基百科)

問題7：開實況的動機是?

一開始是因為我在巴哈姆特電玩資訊站所製作的電視節目「超級電玩瘋」，擔任遊戲介紹講稿的撰寫特約，而後節目順應潮流經歷各種轉型，包括我在內的特約們開始幕後轉幕前，直接參與影片錄製與網路直播的節目內容。
有可能是做出興趣了，一方面是覺得自己這輩子大概也只會打電動了，便從2014年12月10日開始經營自己的「豆腐實況窩」，希望能闖出一點名堂來。

問題8：從小就對遊戲很在行嗎?

這個問題就真的是問對了，打從我還在娘胎裡的時候，我的母親大人就已經在玩紅白機的《大金剛》和《瑪利歐兄弟》，我出生之後繼續抱著我玩《超級瑪利歐兄弟》和《俄羅斯方塊》，直到我接手那台紅白機，可以說是一套完整的學齡前教育，難怪我現在只會打電動。

Donkey Kong (取自https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9MU7G68rTQ)

問題9：實況時網友也會經常問你各式各樣的問題嗎?

問到爆。
先不論實況的遊戲內容，舉凡起手式身高體重年齡星座血型八字，國文英文數學歷史地理公民社會物理化學生物，朋友相關感情相關家庭相關工作相關，18歲以下才能聽的和18歲以上才能聽的通通都有人問過。
我覺得比起答案，大家更像在追求一種被認同與共享的感覺吧。

問題10：請說出3個壞習慣?

咬指甲，拖延症，懶。

問題11：請說出3個討厭的東西?

三色豆裡的青豆，三色豆裡的玉米，三色豆裡的紅蘿蔔。

問題12：準時開台的堅持會影響到自己的其他時間嗎?

當然會有影響啦，畢竟人一天也就24小時還要吃飯睡覺打東東，再扣掉事前準備直播內容和雜務的時間，剩下真的沒有很多，偶爾才能撥空陪陪伴侶和朋友，就算出門也常常得趕在晚上之前回家，很像每天都有一條死線擺在那一樣。
不過固定時段直播最大的用意還是讓觀眾養成收看的習慣，融入他們的日常生活，讓大家變成沒有豆腐就活不下去的身體(笑。
雖然不少人建議我減少事前準備的時間，因為還是有很多觀眾喜歡看到實況主初見的反應，我也有在根據遊戲的類型進行這部份的嘗試與調整，但我始終認為事前準備能讓我對流程有更好的掌控，避免掉令人煩躁的卡關狀況，提供更多的補充資訊，絕對是利大於弊，這也是我對觀眾以及對自己負責的方式。

問題13：對於將來有什麼計畫?

本人剛在今年6月份與Facebook簽訂合約成為合作創作者，帶著觀眾們進行了一次大遷徙，目前正過著與時數和業績奮戰的日子，眼下的目標是希望自己和觀眾們都能熟悉新環境，盡早安定下來。
而將來的發展方向則是繼續深耕獸圈這塊市場，除了經營Discord群組聚集人流之外，也積極與獸圈內其他團隊洽談異業合作並參與活動，爭取曝光度。
當然也特別感謝獸時報能給予我這次訪談的機會，還有容忍我拖了這麼久的稿QQ

問題14：曾經有遇到過什麼挫折嗎?

這個實況台一路走來風風雨雨經歷許多變革，從最一開始小伙伴們陪我打電動，到分離出單純聊天的聊聊窩，接著成員增加，最後只剩我自己一個人。
現在還是會有觀眾和我說他們很懷念以前的聊窩，在當時大家的反應確實很不錯，帶動了觀眾人數的成長，那同時也是開始將工作重心轉移至實況的時期。
然而求好心切的我，明明經濟能力無法支付薪資或是替他們添購器材，卻還是開始以老闆或上司的態度對待自己的朋友，每到星期三就要盯緊大家的出席狀況，言行舉止，還有話題有不有趣，也曾經因此大吵一架，老實說那段時間壓力很大，很不快樂，對自己很失望卻也不知從何改善。
後來小伙伴們為了面對自己的人生課題陸續離開，時至今日，回頭想想那可能是段我最接近挫敗與放棄的時光。

問題15：是如何面對他人批評的言論的?

其實我的好勝心還挺強的，面對不實或是有漏洞的批評，我會去找出各種證據打臉對方，要戰便來。
但同時我的自卑心也很強，要是真的被指謫出錯誤或不良行為，又會軟爛上好一陣子才慢慢改善。
不過總之先鞏固好自己專業的部份，這樣說話才能穩住立場，也別忘記你不可能討好所有的人，Be yourself。

問題16：那麼在訪談最後有什麼想要跟豆腐窩的觀眾們說呢?

給所有過去、現在、還有未來的豆腐窩觀眾們，雖然這麼說既官腔又老套，但是沒有你們就沒有我，謝謝各位，期許大家在豆腐窩這個保護傘底下開心玩鬧之餘，也不要忘記日日成長，每一天都成為一個更好的人，往後也請多多指教！

Welcome to Issue 4 of Zooscape!

In furry fiction, some animals are the staples, and others are the spice.  Doing a round-up of stories in our first year, for instance, Zooscape has published four times as many cat stories as, say, elephant or octopus stories.  People like cats, so there are a lot of stories about them.  Fewer people seem to feel compelled to write stories about, oh, manta rays or sentient piñatas.

In this issue, the staple is foxes and wolves, and the spice is turtles and insects.  Wolves who are out of their element; foxes who are on journeys.  Turtles who carry entire worlds on their backs; and insects who discover that even their own society contains different cultures inside of it.

* * *

The Carnivore Queen by Alexandra Faye Carcich

The Cosmic Woes of Finnigan Turtle by Hannah Montine

Charnel House by Ville Meriläinen

The Farmer and the Potter by Amy Hammack Turner

Saga of the Knapaleith by Allison Thai

* * *

When you’ve finished your own journey through these stories, may they keep you sated until our next issue.  If you’d like our issues to be released more often, consider supporting our Patreon. Any money we receive goes directly to the authors.  And, as always, if you enjoy our stories, please share them far and wide!

by Allison Thai

“Clouds above growled, roiled, and gathered into an angry black mass over the great hill half a moon’s journey from the den. Smoke spewed from the top of the hill, and Hvita’s nose stung from its stench.”

For the first time in her life, Hvita stokked for no vaeli in her dreams. She didn’t dream at all. Instead something jumped at her—little paws that batted her fur.

“Aunt Hvita, Aunt Hvita,” her sister’s kits called. “Wake up, wake up.”

Hvita flattened her ears, but she could still hear the yapping chorus. “Let this poor fox have her sleep,” she groaned. “If Ylirr is not up yet, I won’t be either.”

The kits slouched on her belly and tail. “We can’t wait,” they whined. “We want to learn the stokk now.”

Hvita shook off the kits as she rose. “Very well, all right. I heard you the first time.”

The kits untangled themselves from her and scrambled out of the den. Somehow all their yapping hadn’t disturbed their mother from her slumber. Deeper in the den, against the wall of scored dirt, Elin remained curled around her newest litter. Hvita crept out to let her sister sleep. The smallest kits, born just days ago, needed milk and warmth of their mother. Their older siblings, the first litter, needed somebeast to teach them the stokk. That somebeast had to be Hvita.

Fresh snow crunched under her paws as she poked her head from the lip of the den. Ylirr’s sole bright eye had not opened fully in the sky. Pale, grey clouds hooded his vision, so that he appeared as sleepy as Hvita. She parted her jaws to yawn, and the morning chill made her fangs ache. Ahead of her, the kits seemed to pay no heed to the cold as they rolled around in the snow and wrestled each other.

“That’s enough, now,” Hvita said. “Any more and all that ruckus will send the vaeli deeper into their burrows.” A hush quickly set into the kits. Hvita flicked her tail upward. “Come. I know a good spot from here.”

Winter still kept a firm grip on the plains. Hvita could not yet feel shoots of grass beneath her paws, let alone see them. Elin had her second litter before the welcome of spring. She could not afford to leave the den to stokk or make merrk. Those duties rested upon Hvita’s back, and she would bear them until winter relaxed its icy hold. Hvita turned away from the kits and lifted her tail to make merrk. Some of the kits followed her example as they aimed their scent and spray at the snow. No fox could question who owned this space now. Hvita led the kits away from where snow clumped in hills, feeling with her paws for flat yet soft patches.

“Use your ears,” she told her nieces and nephews. “Do you hear the vaeli shuffling around beneath us?”

The kits cocked their ears forward and scrunched up their snouts. Finally the oldest one, Njall, shook his head. “I might have heard something. I’m not sure.”

“Use your noses now. Can you smell them?”

The kits lowered their snouts over the snow, then straightened up in dismay. “No smell of vaeli.” A few pawed at noses gone numb.

“You are right not to sense much of the vaeli, if at all, with your ears and nose. Of course, we can’t see them from up here, as well.”

The youngest kit plopped her rump down. “How are we supposed to stokk if we can’t see, smell, or hear the vaeli?”

Hvita had to chuckle at the befuddled little faces. “How much had your mother told you about Kaila?” She would be away to stokk or make merrk when Elin told stories to the kits, who now took turns answering.

“She’s the mother of all foxes.”

“She mated with Ylirr.”

“She’s among us, in the ice and in the snow.”

Hvita nodded. “You’re all right. Because Kaila is the ice and snow, because she is so cold, only she didn’t mind the heat and flames from Ylirr. Kaila bore countless litters for him. As their children, we were given her face, legs, tail, and white coats for the winter, and we were given the warmth of Ylirr.”

“What does this have to do with stokk?” a kit asked.

“We can stokk because Kaila and Ylirr made us that way,” Hvita replied. “Outside we can be white as winter, but inside our hearts beat with warmth like the eye of Ylirr. Think of the cold snow hiding the flesh and blood of vaeli within. Aren’t they the same? Even the most quiet vaeli with no scent and out of our sight can’t help but be warm with life.” Hvita swept her tongue over her lips. “Until we catch them, that is.”

The kits twitched the ends of their bushy tails in anticipation. “So, we have to find the vaeli by feeling their heat?”

“Yes. That’s what it means to stokk.” Hvita crouched until the fur on her chest brushed on tiny crystals of ice. She had hunted for her large family enough times to feel for the small pulses of warmth amid the cold. She trained her gaze on where she could best dive in to snag those bundles of warmth between her teeth. Somewhere soft, not too packed and hard, so she wouldn’t break her snout. “Watch my tail when I’m in the air,” she murmured to the kits. “I let it guide me.”

The kits sat very still, ogling at her. A push of her hind legs sent Hvita up in a graceful arc, then a little twist of her tail angled her course over the vaeli trying to scurry off. She thrust her face and front paws into the snow, her claws digging into short brown fur. Hvita squirmed out of the hole she had made from her stokk, wrenching her head up to crush the vaeli’s small body and life between her teeth. She tossed the caught vaeli to the kits, who dug eagerly into their breakfast, then they lifted their bloodied snouts at Hvita.

“Can we try the stokk now?”

“Not yet,” the vixen replied. “I’ll show you one more time.” She turned back to the hunting grounds, only to find the stretch of ice and snow in flames. She yelped in terror. Waves of heat seared into the back of her eyes and the roots of her fur. Clouds above growled, roiled, and gathered into an angry black mass over the great hill half a moon’s journey from the den. Smoke spewed from the top of the hill, and Hvita’s nose stung from its stench.

“Aunt Hvita? What’s wrong?”

She could barely hear the kits over the rumbling earth and roaring fire. Something else spewed from the hill, something bright and orange like man’s fire, but spraying and flowing down like water. How could that be? This fire-water carved a scorching river through the land, melting any rock and ice in its way. It came straight for Hvita. She turned tail and bolted down snow untouched by the flames.

“Run,” she cried to the kits. “Run as fast as you can.” She dared not look back. She could feel the fire-water just below her tail. Whining between pants, she skidded on the snow and flung herself into the den.

“Great Ylirr,” Elin exclaimed. “What are you—“

“Elin, get back! We need to hide. The fire-water’s coming.”

“Fire-water? There’s just ice and snow outside, Hvita.”

“I-It can’t be.”

“Take a look. Don’t you feel the cold? The kits and I are shaking in our fur as we speak.”

At Elin’s insistence, Hvita cracked her eyes open and peeked over her paws. Ylirr shone his sole eye through a pale grey sky. The chill, not heat, ruffled Hvita’s coat. No smoke, no flames, most of all, no fire-water in sight. Just ice and snow beyond the den, as Elin had said. The second litter, short-haired and blind, huddled around their mother’s legs. Hvita’s shouts had rudely roused them, and now they squeaked and whined piteously. The older kits dashed into the den.

“Aunt Hvita, why did we have to run? What are we running from?”

“There was smoke and fire everywhere. The great hill came alive and it was angry.”

The kits exchanged quick, puzzled looks among each other, making Hvita feel foolish. “We didn’t see anything like that.”

Elin lashed her tail. “What game are you playing at, Hvita? You’re not a kit anymore.”

“I’m not playing.” Hvita hunched her shoulders. “I know what I saw. I swear by Ylirr above and Dautha below.”

Elin uttered something between a growl and a groan. “You’re supposed to be out there teaching the kits to stokk, not running back in here playing pretend.”

“I showed them once,” Hvita said in her own defense. “I was going to show it to them again when, well…”

Elin flattened her ears. “I don’t want to hear any more of it. There is no smoke and there is no fire-water.”

Hvita saw no use in changing her sister’s mind. She had no proof.

Elin’s sharp tone softened into a plea. “I need your help, Hvita. The kits no longer have a father. They have to learn from you now. I can’t teach them the stokk while the newest litter still needs me by their side.”

Hvita lowered her snout. “I know. I’m sorry.”

When Elin was heavy with kits, her mate Atli was trapped by men and taken away to be worn on their shoulders. Hvita stepped in to help Elin care for the growing family.

Elin brushed her nose against Hvita’s neck. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done already. I thank Ylirr and Kaila every day that you stayed. You could have gone away to find a mate and raise kits. You could have been like most vixens.”

Hvita nosed at the spot below her sister’s ear. “You and I know that I am not like most vixens.” Hvita never nurtured a desire to start her own family. It was never there in the first place. Atli’s disappearance gave her even less reason to leave now. Besides, she had come to treat Elin’s kits as her own. Kaila may have brought enough kits to fill the land, but two litters were plenty enough for Hvita to keep track of and look after. The first needed to master the stokk before spring. A fox who could not stokk was no fox at all. Kits who could properly do the stokk were deemed good enough to hunt on their own, and more importantly, bring back vaeli for their smaller yet growing siblings.

Hvita safely assumed she was forgiven. She ruffled her coat from nape to tail and ventured back outside. No wonder she did not dream last night. The fire she had felt and seen had to be part of a walking dream. Yes, that had to be the reason. How else could she explain it? Hvita spent the day until Ylirr-down watching the kits’ attempts to stokk and making suggestions to improve their technique. This went by without further incident, to her relief. Nothing burst form the top of the great hill. Maybe there was no such thing as fire-water, after all.

When darkness closed over Ylirr’s eye, Hvita ushered the kits back into the den and laid down to sleep. Satisfied with a full belly and kits learning quickly, Hvita expected pleasant dreams. Instead she felt something cold prod her flank, and heard her name whispered in the dark.

“Elin?” Hvita asked.

“I am not Elin,” came the whispered reply.

“Who’s there?” Hvita opened her eyes, and a shiver ran down her back. Standing over her, peering at her through wide, unblinking black orbs for eyes, was a gaunt blue vixen. Not the blue of a cloudless sky, but the blue of deep water with no bottom or telling of what lurked underneath. Bones defined this vixen’s silhouette more than fur. Knobs of spine ran down her back. A cage of ribs took the place of a belly filled with vaeli. Hvita had never seen this vixen before, but like all foxes who were told stories, she knew about the mother of death.

“Dautha.” Hvita shuddered. “Am I dead?”

“No. Ylirr’s warmth is still inside you.”

“Then why have you come for me?”

“To warn you.”

“Warn me of what?”

“Of smoke and fire that flows like water. Of death and destruction.” Dautha’s voice crept into the den like a breeze whistling over dry bones, yet Hvita flattened her ears as if the blue vixen roared into her face.

“That’s what I saw earlier today. It’s real, then?”

“Yes, but not yet. I had shown you what is yet to come.”

Hvita dug her claws into the earth. “It will come, no matter what?”

“Kaila cannot protect anybeast from such overwhelming heat. Even Ylirr can do nothing to stop it from happening. Fire cannot stop fire.”

“Then all we can do is wait and die.” Hvita shut her eyes at the terrible thought. “Why warn me of this? Isn’t this what you want?”

Dautha tilted her head. “You have heard wrongly of me. I do not want living beasts to die. I especially do not want foxes to die. I only come for you when it is time for you to give up Ylirr’s warmth, and I dug out a den where the dead can stay.”

Deep, deep into the earth, beyond even the bottom of the sea, Dautha kept the largest den any fox could only dream of. The den had to be very big, because the dead couldn’t come back to the land of the living. Atli must be somewhere down there. Hvita’s mother and father, too.

“The coming disaster will lead to many lives being lost,” Dautha went on. “So many that my den would not have enough room for them all.”

Hvita couldn’t believe her ears. “Impossible,” she breathed. “How can your den be too small now?”

“I am only one fox, Hvita. Digging out a den to the size it is now took me many, many moons since the dawn of time. Two moons will not be enough time for me to make more room for all who will perish when the land goes bjarr.”

The land itself, consumed in rage, in only two moons? Even with the glimpse she was given, Hvita couldn’t imagine such a thing.

“You have been warned,” Dautha said, “so you must warn others. Tell as many foxes as you can about the land-bjarr.” She turned away. “Leave at Ylirr-rise.”

Hvita’s mind spun from so many questions that it struggled to process commands. “Leave that soon? But Dautha—“

“I must go. There are foxes who’ve lost their warmth and need an escort down to my den.” The blue vixen stalked toward the snow, then returned her starless gaze to Hvita. “The land-bjarr in two moons. Do not forget.” The mother of death melted into the dark before Hvita could make any promises.

Dread creeped into the young vixen in spasms and shivers, because she had to tell Elin.

When Ylirr’s eye peeked over the horizon, the kits didn’t have to ambush Hvita. She had already been wide awake all night.

“Teach us some more,” they yapped.

She hated to step on their wagging tails. “I’m sorry, little ones, but I have to speak with your mother.”

Some of the kits bounded past her to tug on Elin’s tail and ears. “Wake up, wake up, Mother. Aunt Hvita needs to tell you something.”

Hope flickered in Hvita like a tiny flame. Surely Dautha had visited Elin as well, and showed her the coming land-bjarr, too.

Elin stirred and sniffed at her second litter, then murmured, “What is it, Hvita?”

“Listen. Dautha came to me in my dreams. She said that in two moons, the land will go bjarr. She showed me how it would happen.” Eagle’s talons squeezed Hvita’s chest. “The fire-water is coming.”

Elin bristled. “Again with the fire-water?”

“Dautha herself left me with a warning, so it must be real.”

“If it’s true, what should we do about it?” Elin retorted.

“She said that I should leave. We should all leave.”

“And go where?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Elin’s mingled scorn and incredulity made Hvita’s ears pull back and her nape prickle.

“I’ll admit that I don’t have all the answers, but I know enough to say that we can’t stay in the den.”

“By Ylirr, do you actually have any idea of what you’re saying?” Elin slapped her tail against the dirt. “It’s like telling baby birds to fly before they can flap their wings, and not tell them where to fly next. My newest litter can’t even see or walk yet. We can’t just leave this den to make a new one. Danger is everywhere outside. There are eagles, the cold, men and their traps, and teeth they can hold and throw at us. Think of the kits, Hvita. Don’t be so strange and selfish.”

“I’m worried about us all,” Hvita cried. “How can that be strange, or selfish?”

Elin narrowed her eyes. “I shouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re a vixen with no kits.”

Hvita should’ve ducked that stab. Still, it struck and she flinched. “Please, Elin, we’ll die if we stay.” Worse, they would have nowhere to go after that.

By her hindlegs, the older kits whimpered and shied away.

“We’re going to die?”

“Do we really have to leave?”

“Enough,” Elin barked. “Nobeast is going to die, and nobeast is leaving.” She rasped her tongue over the squirming, crying second litter. “Thank you, Hvita. It’s only Ylirr-rise, and already you’ve managed to frighten all of my kits.”

“I’m sorry, Elin,” Hvita murmured. “I really am.” She wished that Dautha picked another fox to warn, but wishing got nobeast nowhere. Wishing couldn’t catch vaeli or dig out dens. Hvita would have to make things happen with her own four paws. She gritted her teeth and looked away from any faces. “I’m leaving.”

“You can’t be serious,” Elin growled. “You want to abandon us?”

So many protests at that ridiculous accusation filled Hvita’s throat that she couldn’t say anything at all. She took off, stopped at a mound of snow three stokks away and tore it apart with her claws. She snarled at the cold, unfeeling ground. “Bloody merrk!”

“Mother told us that’s not a nice thing to say, Aunt Hvita.”

The little voices behind her, so innocent rather than scolding, smoothed the furrow along the top of her snout. Hvita laid down on the snow to cool her churning hot blood. “I’m sorry. All I want is your mother to believe me.”

“We believe you.”

Hvita’s ears perked. “Do you, now?”

The kits curled their tails. “We know you can’t be joking, Aunt Hvita. We’ve never seen you look so scared before.”

“That fire-water…I don’t wish for you all to see something so terrible.”

“Will you still leave us?”

Her gut twisted. “I must, even if I don’t want to. If Dautha showed the land-bjarr only to me, then I have to let the others know.”

The kits brushed their faces against Hvita’s chest and shoulders. “We understand. We’ll work hard to stokk while you’re gone.” Njall stood as tall and straight as he could, and the solemnity he exuded didn’t match his small, round face. “We’ll look after our mother, and our little brothers and sisters.”

Hvita licked the tops of their heads and nipped at their ears. “I’m so proud of you all. Your father would be, too. I’ll come back here, I promise. Tell your mother for me.” She knew that Elin would be too furious to listen. Hvita went alone to where she had marked the land between her family’s and the unknown. She had lived all her life in a den passed down by foxes before her. Her father’s father, his father’s father, and so on. Never before had she ventured beyond its borders. The plains seemed to stretch on, with no end in sight, as vast as she felt small. Still, she put one paw forward, then another, until she stepped past her merrk. She would be a roaming fox, but not for long. She promised that she would be back. Returning soon meant that she had to move quickly. Hvita broke into a headlong run, going for as long as she could until she had to rest and hunt for vaeli. Once she finished her meal, Hvita wiped her bloody muzzle on snow and lifted it to sniff for merrk made by other foxes. After several deep breaths, she caught wind of a den she could reach by next Ylirr-high. Encouraged by the scent of foxes nearby, she resumed running, and stopped just before the merrk sprayed on the ground. Still, the tod who had left it ran up to her snarling. He was closely flanked by three kits.

“I’m not here to fight,” Hvita said. “I just want to talk.”

“That’s what all roaming foxes say,” the tod sneered. “Once we turn our backs, you’d slink in to steal our vaeli, or try to claim our land.” By his strut and the swell of his chest, it was clear that he was the leith, the leader.

“I’m not here to steal or claim anything. If I wanted to, I would’ve put in effort to hide from you.” Hvita tried to keep calm and patient. “Please, listen to me. I have an important message from—“ She darted back from a swipe of the leith’s claws.

“You must be up to something,” he said. “My sons and I don’t want trouble around here. Get out.”

The kits curled their lips and flashed their teeth at her. The kits themselves were almost tods, growing into tods too soon, with shredded ears and old claw marks across their faces and bellies.

Hvita saw no use in reasoning with foxes who spent their whole lives picking fights. Without another word, she retreated.

They didn’t give chase, and the leith said to his kits, “There’s no honor or gain in fighting a fleeing vixen.”

Hvita ran until she was out of breath and shivering. How many other foxes would treat her that way? Those four hadn’t even let her finish. She glanced at the sky. She would have to dig out her own den before Ylirr-down. Winding ridges, like raised scars in the land, made for good shelter from the ice and wind. Hvita dug out enough dirt to fit herself through, and she sank in, nursing her sore, throbbing paws.

Had she been wrong all along to leave Elin’s den? Back there, she could be much warmer, safer, and closer to her family. Hvita sank into a troubled sleep, and though she had run farther away from the great hill, it loomed over her as if she had never left home. A burst of fire-water from its top drowned out her scream. Her white fur turned black from a rain of ashes, and her burned flesh gave off a gagging stench. Suddenly, silence. No more fire and smoke. Only darkness. From the dark, like a fog, Dautha appeared between the slits of Hvita’s eyelids.

“Do not forget,” the blue vixen snapped.

That startled Hvita. Before, Dautha never rose her voice above the ruffle of a breeze. Hvita’s surprise quickly gave way to anger. “Why am I the only one who can see the land go bjarr? Why can’t you just show and tell everybeast so they would all know?”

“Everybeast is born with two eyes, and usually dies with two,” Dautha replied. “Very few are born with a third eye.”

Hvita blinked many times, blinking with just two eyes, as far as she could tell. “Am I one of the very few? I have this third eye?”

“That is why you can see what is yet to come. I could show you what will happen, because you have that rare gift.”

“You showed me how we will die in two moons. Can you show me how we can be saved?”

“I deal with all matters concerning death. I can only see and show what will kill you, not what will save you.” Dautha closed her eyes. “That path is closed to me.”

Hvita gritted her teeth. “Load of good that does for us.”

“You must find the answer for yourself.”

“Not even my own family cared to hear the news. Why bother with warning others?” Hvita thought of that tod and his kits, all covered in old wounds. “Of course I want my family to be safe, but why should I care if the rest die?”

Dautha pulled her ears back, silent for some time. Finally she murmured, “You have not seen the walking dead.”

“The dead never walk. We’ve never passed down such stories.” Hvita was unsure of herself, despite what she said.

“That tale is lost among your kind. A long time ago, before you were born and before men set paw on this land, Vaeleith sought to steal Ylirr’s remaining eye. After stealing the first, that glutton could not resist another prize. Vaeleith tried to sneak up on Ylirr under the cover of clouds, and leapt up high in the sky to grab it. Ylirr knew that Vaeleith would come. He was quick enough to pull back from Vaeleith’s paws, but not quick enough to pull back from the claws. Ylirr suffered a wound to his remaining eye, a wound that left him unable to see and warm the land. Darkness fell and Ylirr flew into a terrible fury. He sent down solvirrk to slay Vaeleith, but because he could not see, the solvirrk ran through innocent foxes instead. He thought he was aiming for Vaeleith, who was weaving this way and that to flee, but he sent many foxes to their deaths.”

Hvita shuddered. Like all foxes, she feared the sight and sound of solvirrk: Ylirr’s teeth that snapped down from sky to earth faster and harder than the teeth of any beast. Solvirrk was a sign of Ylirr’s wrath, and often came with rain. Whenever she heard it crack or saw it flash, she offered up an apology to Ylirr in case she had done something to displease him. As frightening as solvirrk could be, it would come down on nothing in particular. The ground, usually, maybe a tree, but never any one beast. To hear Dautha testifying otherwise terrified Hvita.

Dautha went on: “Ylirr had killed so many foxes in so short of a time that I could not escort all of them to my den at once. I could only take in some and refuse the others. Those who could not join me wandered without a resting place. They tried to return to their bodies, which had been burned black by solvirrk. So the dead walked, aimlessly and mindlessly, on decayed legs that fell apart and with heads bent like their necks had snapped. They did not know friend from foe, nor eat vaeli for sustenance, but they tore at each other and littered the land with needlessly slaughtered vaeli.” The blue vixen squeezed her eyes shut, as if in pain. “To this day I regret turning away the foxes who had to suffer like that. As soon as I widened my den, I brought them in to rest. Ylirr recovered from his wound and could see once more, green things grew again, the survivors mated among each other and multiplied, but few remembered seeing the dead walk. That became forgotten.”

Vaeleith was already a hated figure among the foxes, but hearing that made Hvita despise that prince of chaos and mischief even more.

“You want me to save as many as I can, so the dead won’t walk again.”

“It won’t be Vaeleith’s fault this time. The land-bjarr will do more harm than Ylirr’s solvirrk. More lives are in danger, so more will need to be saved.”

A wave of dread heaved in Hvita’s belly. Couldn’t Dautha offer more than omens and bad news?

“I won’t go back home, and I won’t forget.”

Dautha stepped back. “Very well. I trust that you can help me. Help your kind.”

Hvita woke up with tight-jawed determination to carry on. She may have never seen the dead walk, but she was certain that she never wanted to see bjarr again. The only time she had seen it was in her father, whose mouth frothed, eyes filmed red with blood, and claws gouged out the flesh of men that attacked her family. Her father fought bravely and ferociously, but bjarr didn’t last forever. When it left him, he was weak and helpless as a kit when the wounded men still managed to haul him, his mate, and litter away. The men hadn’t seen Hvita and Elin, who hid and shivered under mounds of snow. Kits who watched their family being snatched away to get skinned made for close sisters. Hvita and Elin had sworn to protect each other since that day.

“I’m still keeping my oath, Elin,” Hvita muttered to herself. “This is how I’m going to protect you.”

Since roaming from one makeshift den to another, Hvita buried any merrk she had to pass. She didn’t want to give other foxes any impression that she was interested in challenges or claims for territory. Fortunately, more often than not, others were curious about news she had to share when she did her best to look and sound harmless.

“Come with me, and we can find new homes far away from the great hill, where the fire-water can’t reach us,” she would tell them. “I’m not saying that I should be your new leith. I only ask that we travel together.” That was the best solution she could offer.

Unfortunately, nobeast was interested in following her. Nobeast could imagine this land covered in ice and snow to be engulfed in flames in merely two moons. Rejection after rejection fatigued her. Every day her strides became slower and her paws heavier. Her ears drooped and her tail dragged on the ground. On one Ylirr-high, she was sure that a couple of new mates burdened with no kits would want to come along, but they declined. As Hvita bit back a growl of frustration and turned away, the vixen said, “Strange, just this Ylirr-rise a roaming tod came up to us saying the same thing.”

That made Hvita whirl around. “The same thing? You mean the land-bjarr?”

“Yes,” the tod said. “His eyes were wide and rolling about, and he struck up a tune and rhymed words while he skipped. A bit mad, I think.”

“Never mind that. Where did he go? Where can I find him?” Hvita pressed.

The vixen flicked her tail to the east. “He headed for that hill over there, where the dandelions would grow when spring comes.”

Hvita took off down the direction the vixen had indicated. Soon singing reached her ears, and as she neared the hill, she noticed a tod wandering around with his eyes fixed to the sky. He didn’t seem to care where he treaded, and he sang to nobeast in particular. He sang to himself, apparently. She had to call out for him to notice.

“Hello there,” he called back. “Would you like to be part of my song?”

Hvita didn’t give the tod a chance to sing. “The land-bjarr, I heard that you know about it.”

“More than know. I’ve seen it.”

“Me too,” Hvita exclaimed. Another third eye. Finally, a fox who understood the grave danger to come. Or did he? This tod seemed much too happy.

“I am Orrn, the storyteller,” he sang, “with no mate, kits, or den to call my own, but that doesn’t matter.” Then he said, “And you are?”

“Hvita. My family and I live in a den close to the great hill.”

“Ah, close to the site of calamity. Where, then, is your family?”

“My sister still has to care for her kits, who are too small and helpless to move out.”

“Hmm, yes, good enough reason for her to stay. No wonder you’ve gone astray.”

“I’ll come back for them,” Hvita insisted. “After I do what Dautha has asked of me, that is.” She lashed her tail. “None of that is going well, I’m afraid.”

“Nothing good for my troubles, too. At least there’s you.”

“Well, I’m the only fox to believe you so far, because Dautha had also warned me about the land-bjarr.” The unintentional rhyming of her words perked Orrn’s ears, but she was in no mood to be merry. “Why don’t we travel together?” she asked. “If we’re together, maybe our warning can sound more believable. Maybe we can find more with the third eye like us.”

Orrn’s gaze drifted back to the sky, then his eyes twinkled at her. “A sound suggestion. In greater numbers, our warning will be harder to question.” Next to her, he kept pace with a light trot. He rolled and turned over words and phrases on his tongue, like chewing on meat too good to swallow. He was like a babbling brook, and only kept quiet to stokk for vaeli. Even in his sleep, he mumbled and twitched his paws. Besides talking too much, and talking more to himself than to her, Orrn made good company. With him, hunting and digging out dens took only half of the work. He might be chatty, but he wasn’t lazy. Since meeting Orrn, she would see him in her dreams, perhaps because they both had the third eye.

“Surely you haven’t always been alone,” she said to him. “You must’ve had a family before.”

“I was only a few moons old when my mother and father got sick,” he replied. “The sickness spread to my brother and sisters, so I ran away. I had been taught just enough about the stokk to hunt for myself. I thought it would be for a bit, until the sickness left. After a few days I came back to the den, only to find that Dautha had come for them first.”

Hvita brushed her tail over his flank. “I’m sorry.”

“I only feel sorry that I should feel sad when I’m not,” he murmured. “It was so long ago. Since my family left for Dautha’s den, I’ve become a wanderer.”

Sharing a den with her sister for almost her entire life, Hvita couldn’t imagine walking in his paws. “Do you ever get lonely?”

“Not anymore. Stories keep me company.”

“What stories do you like to tell?”

“Ones filled with fun and adventure. The ones about Vaeleith.”

“Vaeleith?” Hvita wrinkled her snout. “He’s a scoundrel and a nuisance. I think you may be the only fox to ever like him.”

That made Orrn’s chest swell. “I can take pride in that, I suppose. Well, I think he’s clever and interesting. Ylirr, Kaila, Dautha…may they forgive me, but they are always doing the same old thing—protecting the land, watching over the foxes, keeping order, and all that—so their stories are not very entertaining.”

“Stories are not supposed to entertain,” Hvita said. “They teach. We tell stories to kits so they can learn to be good tods and vixens.” Honestly, she wasn’t too fond of stories about Kaila. Apparently Hvita failed to be a proper vixen if she wasn’t churning out litter after litter for the rest of her life. She didn’t admit this to Orrn, but maybe he could sense that she didn’t really believe what she was telling him.

“Not all stories can be like that.” Then Orrn snorted. “Besides, who do I have to teach when I’m wandering about? I have no kits. I tell myself stories so I don’t get bored. Anyway, as for Vaeleith, he does whatever he wants. He’s not like the others, shouldered with some weighty, solemn duty to fulfill. He just likes to stir up trouble without a care in the world. He did at least one good thing, you know. He gave us the moon.”

“Stole Ylirr’s eye, more like,” Hvita quipped.

“Not good for Ylirr, I’ll admit, but with the moon, our nights are bit less cold and our days a bit less hot.”

From her makeshift den, Hvita peered up at the moon, Ylirr’s dimmed, pale eye that blinked ever so slowly in the darkness. At its widest, she could see tooth marks puckering the globe of that eye, evidence of Vaeleith’s successful theft.

Despite traveling together, Hvita and Orrn continued to have no luck with convincing others to heed the warning. A young tod joined them at first, but only to get away from his family. Within mere days he grew homesick, scared of unfamiliar land, and he slunk back to his den.

“He left for the wrong reason,” Hvita said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t last with us.”

“We’ll keep trying. Let’s visit dens along the coast,” Orrn suggested.

The foxes tread with care down steep banks that made their pads prick or slip under gravel. Salt from the sea made Hvita’s nose ache and tongue heavy. Gulls and puffins wheeled high above them, diving down only to snatch fish from the sea. Birds had their own stokk, it seemed. Much more difficult. At least there was ground beneath the snow. Hvita looked at the waves beating on the shore, and shuddered. Foxes who lived near the sea offered the same denial as the ones who lived inland. They cared even less since their dens were farther away from the great hill.

As Hvita dragged her pads along the sand behind Orrn, her ears shot up. “Do you hear that?”

“Yes, by the cliffs.”

She should mind her own business, but the strange cries got the best of her curiosity. Hvita kept low to the ground as she made her way to the source of the cries. This time Orrn trailed behind her. A flock of crows brewed like a tiny storm cloud ahead. Either something below them was dead, or nearly dead. Hvita crept closer, and could better hear the cries that put any ambiguity to flight.

A puffin waddled on the sand and screamed at the crows above it. “Auk! Not dead! Go away!” It beat one wing furiously as it screamed, while the other wing hung limply. “Not dead! Go away!” The crows cawed in defiance. The puffin waddled in place to turn where it stood, uttering a great deal of “auks.”

“Look at its beak, Hvita,” Orrn hissed. “Half of it’s broken.”

“Its wing, too.”

“It won’t keep the crows off its tail forever, poor fellow.”

The puffin talked strangely. Its color and scent were different from the other puffins. Maybe it flew in from far away. Hvita wanted to speak with the injured puffin, but she couldn’t do that with the crows harassing it. She leapt out of hiding and snarled at the flock, startling them. Orrn joined her and bared his teeth. Crows weren’t going to pick a fight with a pair of healthy, angry foxes.

The puffin puffed up its white breast, squawking at Hvita and Orrn. “You want eat me too? I fight you too. I put holes in fox heads, auk!”

Hvita took care not to get close to the jagged beak. “We don’t want to eat you. We just want to talk.”

“Auk! I not believe you. Foxes always sneaky.”

Orrn lowered his voice close to Hvita’s ear. “I know just the thing to earn that bird’s trust. I bet it can’t catch fish with that broken beak. It must be hungry.”

“How can we catch fish? We can’t fly and stokk like the birds.”

Fish strayed into the shore with every beat of the waves. Orrn showed Hvita how to grab them. She didn’t like how the cold water splashed and lapped at her belly. Worse, the fish felt slimy and scaly, and she tried not to gag. She and Orrn brought back mouthfuls of slim, silver fish, which the puffin gulped down. Half of its large grey and orange bill had chipped off, so that its tongue showed like a worm without dirt to hide in. The puffin tipped its face to the sky to slide fish down its throat.

“There, do you trust us now?” Hvita asked.

The puffin’s feathers, once ruffled, laid flat now. With amusement and surprise, it said, “Foxes speak true. Not always sneaky.”

“That’s right. Who are you, and where are you from?”

“My name Bris, like soft wind. I hatch in Long-Land.”

“Long-Land? Is that what you call this place?” Orrn asked.

“No, no, auk!” Bris gestured with its unbroken wing. “Across sea, east. Many days from here. Most time live on sea. Sometime come to this land, or Long-Land. Rocks good for nests and eggs.”

Hvita thought of how much more birds like Bris could see with wings than beasts with only paws. “If you’ve flown here before, you must know how big the land is from up there.”

“Yes. This land not so big, auk.”

“It’s not?” Orrn was puzzled.

“Water all around this land, so land small and round like nest,” Bris said. “That why my kind call this land Nest-Land, auk.”

“Is it really that small? How can foxes leave the land, if there’s the sea all around?”

“Why foxes want leave?”

Hvita tried to tell Bris about the land-bjarr.

The puffin bobbed its head. “I know great hill. Very big. If fire-water come from great hill, it cover all Nest-Land. Foxes not fly, not swim. Foxes stay and die in Nest-Land when fire-water come.”

“That can’t be it.” Hvita squeezed her eyes shut. “There has to be a way out of here.” Foxes had given names to many things, but the land wasn’t one of them. It was simply called the land, because most foxes didn’t know much else beyond their own dens. Even Orrn, a wandering fox for most of his life, couldn’t claim to explore every edge of the land, and certainly didn’t have wings to know that the land wasn’t so big, after all.

“No way off Nest-Land for foxes,” Bris said matter-of-factly. Then, mournfully, “No way off for me too, if wing not get better in two moons, auk!”

Hvita turned her back to Bris, walked away to sink her rump, then her belly, into the sand, and covered her snout with both paws. “We’re doomed. We’re all just stuck here. It’s no use trying to stop our fate.”

Orrn padded up to her, keeping his chin raised. “Don’t make such a big merrk all over things, Hvita. We’ll find a way.”

“If you have any brilliant ideas, I’d like to hear them,” she snapped. “I don’t know how you can be skipping and singing when we’re all going to die in two moons.”

Orrn’s voice dipped to a whisper. “Because if we survive, I know that will make the greatest story that foxes would ever hear.”

“Nobeast will be around to hear it.”

“Yes, there will.”

“You say these things, yet you have no proof for any of it.”

“You’re talking like the foxes who don’t believe us. I believe that all is not lost. I don’t have anything to show for it, but you just have to believe in me, Hvita.”

Orrn didn’t rhyme his words when he was being adamant and serious. Hvita was too weary to argue further. She only remarked under her breath, “If only we could be smart like men…” Her gaze wandered to the sea as she said this, then she sat up. “Dautha said that long ago, no men lived here. They don’t have wings or fins, but they must have come over somehow.”

“They came on knapa,” Orrn said.

“What? Impossible.” Knapa were deathly afraid of water. They would not set a hoof in, even without carrying men on their backs.

“You’ve only lived inland. You’re thinking of the knapa that men use to run on land. I’m thinking of the knapa that carry them across the sea.”

That stirred up Hvita’s curiosity, like a paw thrust into a stagnant pool. “I want to see this other knapa. I want to know how men use it.”

Orrn hunched his shoulders. “That would be too dangerous. I’ve only seen it once from a cliff, but this kind of knapa can carry many, many men on its back, and all the men on it carry sharp things in their paws. This knapa has no hooves to trample you, but you can’t just walk right up to it. Men will kill you as soon as they see you.”

“I won’t be that stupid,” Hvita retorted. “Of course I’d watch from a distance. Let’s go to where you last watched men on this sea-knapa, Orrn.”

“That place isn’t safe anymore. Men dug a new den there.”

“Then Bris might know a safer place.” Hvita padded back to where the puffin still sat gulping down the remains of her and Orrn’s catch. “Bris, you must know these cliffs better than we do. Could you show us the best place to safely watch the men come on their sea-knapa?”

Bris tilted its head this way and that. “I not know what sea-knapa mean, auk, but I know good place. Men no see or hurt you from there.”

“Good. We’ll head for their nearest den at Ylirr-rise.”

Tired from their journey along the coast, and needing the puffin’s guidance the next day, Hvita and Orrn decided to spend the night with Bris by the cliffs. They took shelter under jutting ridges to escape the buffeting wind. Bris waddled around trying to gather twigs, but when its broken beak hampered its attempts, the foxes helped; then the puffin awkwardly settled into its crude nest.

“I say, Bris, whatever happened to that beak of yours?” Orrn asked.

“Storm last night,” Bris replied. “Boom, boom, lots of boom.”

“Solvirrk,” Hvita said. “We heard it too.”

“I not get hurt from booms. I fly in much rain, much wind, that I not see well. I fly into cliff. Hit beak hard on rock, auk! I fall down. Left wing break when I hit ground.”

“That sounds awfully painful,” Orrn said.

“Hurt lots, auk! After that I no fly, no eat, almost die. But you save me. I follow good foxes now.”

Not that the puffin had much choice with that broken beak and wing. Hvita would prefer to sleep now, but Orrn was more interested in striking up conversation with their new acquaintance. “I’ve always wondered: what gods do you puffins follow?”

“Gods? I not understand.”

“You don’t know what gods are? Well, they rule and watch over us. Most of them, anyway. We foxes follow the god of light, the goddess of ice and snow, and the goddess of death. There’s a god of mischief, but we’re not supposed to follow his example.”

“Oh. My kind not have gods.”

The foxes exchanged a perplexed look. “What do you believe, then?” Orrn asked.

“World like big egg. World hatch in big boom.” Bris emphasized the phenomenon with a sweep of its right wing. “All things spill out: light, water, wind, land, birds, beasts, and men. All things part of egg and hatch from egg. No gods.”

“I…I see,” Orrn said, though it was clear to Hvita that he couldn’t see much sense in that. “Well, if you don’t have stories about gods, you must have lots of stories about the lands you’ve seen.”

Sleepiness fled Hvita’s thoughts as talk of many lands beyond this one perked her ears. Bris had flown to places where trees grew high and plenty, foxes were red rather than white, brown, or blue, and menleith ruled from vast dens made of stone.

Then Bris said, “Tell me about fox gods. You have funny stories? I like funny, auk!”

Orrn’s ears perked, and he sang, “Just the thing for this gloomy weather. I’ll tell you a tale that’ll tickle your feathers.” The storytelling fox flicked a stern gaze between Bris and Hvita, to make sure they would listen closely and not interrupt. “This is how Vaeleith earned his name: as the prince of mischief, even as a kit being born, he had given his mother so much trouble that she would not name him. He was the smallest in his litter, easily overlooked by his bigger, stronger brothers and sisters. He always tried hard to get attention, and found that the only times anybeast would notice him were when he caused trouble. He often disobeyed his mother, or picked a fight with his siblings, then said that they started it. His family could no longer stand his antics, so they kicked him out of the den. That only made him want to stir up bigger trouble. While he wandered about the land, he picked up many tricks, like walking on water without falling through, and making beasts see or smell something that isn’t really there. He wanted to make a name for himself, and do something so ridiculous and nefarious that all foxes would curse him and remember him for it. He thought about pulling the ultimate trick: to make all vaeli disappear.”

“What vaeli mean?” Bris squawked, and Orrn’s ears pulled back.

“Don’t break a story’s rhythm, Bris. I suppose a puffin’s not expected to know that, so it’s all right for now. Vaeli are little brown beasts that burrow underground, what foxes like to eat. Anyway…Vaeleith, before he was named Vaeleith of course, knew that vaeli weren’t too smart. He knew that they loved chewing on grass. He walked on the sea, beneath tall cliffs, and wherever his paws touched, the sea of water seemed to turn into a sea of grass. To the vaeli, it looked and smelled an awful lot like the real thing. That made all the vaeli in the land jump out of their burrows, and jump right off the cliffs! Foxes who were hunting, and even foxes staying in their dens, wondered what on Kaila was happening. All the vaeli they could have caught and eaten—throwing themselves straight into the sea! There, under the sight of every fox in the land, the troublemaker pronounced himself the vaelileith: the ‘leader of vaeli,’ the one who misled the vaeli with a trick. Even now, since that day, that prince of mischief is forever remembered as Vaeleith.”

Bris uttered a string of “auks” and flapped its uninjured wing. “Very funny,” it finally said. “Vaeli drop like me, but into sea, plop plop plop. Vaeleith most sneaky fox!”

“He certainly is. He’d be happy to hear that.” Then Orrn yawned. “One story is enough for the night. I suppose we need lots of rest for the journey at Ylirr-rise.”

Bris bobbed its head. “Lots climb on cliff.”

Once Ylirr peeked his eye over the edge of the sea, Hvita, Orrn, and Bris stirred awake. Orrn used his snout to lift Bris onto Hvita’s back. She would have to carry the flightless puffin while it showed the way. Bris’s directions led them along crags and ridges carved into the cliffs. The foxes had narrow footholds, and as they climbed higher, Hvita tried not to look down. They pressed themselves against the flat rock, and the occasional flurry of salty, chilly wind threatened to blow them off. The foxes clung on to their difficult path, because Bris insisted that walking this way would steer them out of sight from men that roamed on the flat snow. Despite the puffin’s assurance that they were safe, Hvita felt vulnerable. Her and Orrn’s fluffy white coats did not blend well at all with the rocks.

“Nesting grounds have not much birds and eggs now,” Bris added. “No mothers attack foxes.”

“That’s a relief,” Orrn remarked. “I’m not climbing all the way up here just to get pushed off by birds that think we want their eggs.” He didn’t sing a word as soon as they started the climb. His legs trembled with every step. Foxes found comfort and homes in the ground. They didn’t envy the birds and their wings at all. Foxes were up in the air only to stokk. Anything longer and higher than that was not natural.

Hvita, however, didn’t share Orrn’s nervousness. Every pawstep along the cliff sent thrills up her legs. When they could climb no farther and higher, she fell under the illusion of being set free from earth, which would soon go bjarr beneath her paws. Still perched between her shoulders, Bris gestured with its wing.

“Look down there. Lots men, lots sea-knapa.”

Orrn wasn’t so keen on peering over the rocky edge, especially after claiming to see the sea-knapa once, but Hvita craned her neck forward. Just as she seemed to regain her breath, the sight below stole it.

From this high, men teemed, swarmed, and crawled like insects around their dens. Hvita couldn’t understand why men liked to build dens so close to each other. No fox would be happy with that little space. Her interest, however, wasn’t in their dens. Her gaze was fixed on where land and sea met, where knapa carried men to and from the water. Like Orrn had said, these knapa didn’t sink. Their backs were curved, hollow, and long, so many men rather than one could fit in at once. The heads of these knapa almost looked like the heads of knapa that ate and ran on grass: long-necked, long-faced, but with sharp teeth. Hvita couldn’t make sense of the thing on its back. The thing always moved, ruffling under the wind, either bloating or sagging. This knapa might not have hooves, but it had what seemed to be many legs that the men pushed and pulled on. That made the knapa walk on water, Hvita realized. Some knapa slowed to a stop on the shore, but didn’t follow the men that jumped off. Other knapa glided away toward the horizon. These knapa must be used only for the sea, not for land. That was why men needed another kind of knapa to move fast on snow and grass.

“By Ylirr above and Dautha below” was all Hvita could say.

“You got your view.” Orrn shivered. “Can we get off this cliff now?”

“There is a way off this land, after all,” Hvita muttered. She turned to Orrn. “As kits, we were always taught not to be a bad fox like Vaeleith, but this time we have to think and act like him.”

“What do you mean, Hvita?”

“I see only one way to escape death by fire-water. We must get as many foxes as we can into the sea. Into the knapa.” Orrn’s ears shot up and his eyes widened, but before he could comment, Hvita went on: “We can’t make our own knapa. There’s not enough time, and we’re not smart like men to know how. We need to steal one of theirs.”

“A trick to surpass even Vaeleith’s,” Orrn said.

“Steal knapa?” Bris cried. “How only two foxes do that? Many men move just one knapa. Two foxes not enough.”

The puffin had a point, but Hvita held onto the idea.

Again with Bris’s help, Hvita and Orrn turned to climb back the way they came. The way down proved much harder. Hvita had no choice but to see how high they had climbed. She wanted to shut her eyes, but she needed to know where to put her paws, or she would plummet to her death like the tricked vaeli. Vaeleith must have made up very convincing grass for vaeli to toss themselves off of cliffs like this. Though the waves lapping on the shore masked most sounds, Hvita could feel her belly rumbling. She and Orrn needed to hunt soon. They had to catch fish for Bris as well. The foxes quieted the growls from their bellies as soon as they reached firm ground. Hvita was sure that she’d never get used to the taste and feel of fish. Still, she forced herself to swallow them down.

As she hunched over to cough up fish bones lodged in her throat, a call from above made her freeze. Not a cry from an injured puffin this time, but a call very much like a fox’s.

“Vaeli! Vaeli!”

The call sounded and echoed past the banks, which seemed much easier to climb over after the cliffs.

Orrn cocked his head. “Who could that be?”

Hvita rose to her paws. “I’m going to see who that is. Wait here.” She followed the call to a thicket of birch. Odd…vaeli liked to burrow in the snowy plains, where tree roots wouldn’t get in their way. Why would somebeast say that vaeli were here? Still, Hvita pressed on. She passed by felled trees, then ducked behind one. Just beyond her hiding spot, a young man attacked a tree with a strange sort of tooth. The teeth she had seen were long and straight. This one was short and curved, like a sliver of the moon, biting into the wood with every swing of the young man’s paws. Suddenly he stopped, put down his curved tooth, and bent over the snow panting. After he caught his breath, he tipped his head back and called out “Vaeli! Vaeli!”

A man sounding like a fox. How could that be? Hvita was so startled that she yipped. The young man whirled around. Most of his naked skin and sparse yellow fur was wrapped under the furs of other beasts. Her eyes met his, both wide and unblinking. Her breath plumed out light and shallow on her nose. The young man, never breaking his gaze away, sank to his knees and softly said, “What snow vaeli. Where Ylirr kit den.”

Hvita couldn’t make sense of that jumble of words. She had never been by a man this close. Not since men had taken away most of her family. She didn’t know what to do, or whether he would attack her instead of the tree. Did he lay traps in the woods? Could what he was saying be a trap itself, to lure her in, because she thought she had heard another fox? If that was true, he had succeeded.

At that, she bolted from him. She weaved through the birch and hurtled down the bank.

“Hvita, what happened?” Orrn cried. “Were you attacked?”

“No, but I might’ve been, if I hadn’t been quick.”

Next to Orrn, Bris flapped its wing. “What almost attack you?”

Once Hvita calmed her panting, she said, “A man. In the woods, there’s a man who can call out like a fox.”

“By Ylirr,” Orrn breathed. “That’s impossible. Men and foxes have always never understood each other.”

“That might be changing.” The thought sent a chill down Hvita’s spine. “I was so sure that I heard another fox, until I saw the man right in front of me.”

Bris stamped down a webbed foot. “All men dangerous, but that man very dangerous. Stay by cliffs. More safe here than woods.”

Part of Hvita wanted to agree. They should stay out of sight until they were sure that men would no longer be nearby. Another part of her wanted to look more into how the knapa on water could be moved and used, but that would have to wait. The foxes and puffin returned to their prior resting spot. Merely hiding behind cracks in the cliffs did not feel like enough protection for Hvita, but this was the best they could manage. From Ylirr-high to Ylirr-down, Hvita thought hard about what to do next. Then, despite the weight of salt in the air, a terrible scent burst through to make her fur stand on end. It was the scent of many dead things, stifling the cramped space. Only one beast carried that kind of smell. Men.

Orrn stiffened beside Hvita, and even Bris puffed up its feathers. Hvita cursed her negligence and stupidity. They should’ve covered their tracks. Men stood too tall to use their noses for the ground, but they came up with other ways to hunt. An unspoken rule coursed among the three: don’t make a sound. Heavy footfalls crunched on the sand and gravel. At the cracks in the cliff, a man’s feet swung into view. Hvita uttered a silent prayer to Ylirr and Kaila. If she, Orrn, and Bris sat very still, especially since it sounded like the man didn’t bring a rowf to sniff them out, they had hope of fooling the man into thinking that they weren’t there.

But men weren’t so easily fooled. The man bent down, with paws and knees on the ground. Three pairs of eyes from inside met the one outside. The same young man from the woods. Hvita split the air with an explosive bark. Orrn flashed his teeth and Bris let out bursts of “auks!” The man flinched but didn’t leave. He crawled on his hands and knees now, and squeezed through the cracks. Hvita’s fur tingled and bristled all over, and instincts howled at her to run, but she had nowhere to go. The man blocked their only way of escape. Once he squeezed his whole long body through, he held up his paws. Hvita, Orrn, and Bris edged back into the farthest wall. The man was so tall that he had to stay on his knees.

“Vaeli,” he said.

“Go away,” Hvita snarled. “You’re a liar.”

“Liar?” He perfectly imitated the last word she uttered.

“Yes. Liar. There’s no vaeli here.”

Or did he mean them as vaeli? His food? The man pawed at his side and drew out a tooth as long and straight as his arm. Cold fear washed over Hvita’s hot anger. She couldn’t die here. She hadn’t finished doing what Dautha told her to do. Her snarl ended in a strangled whine. The young man didn’t swing down his tooth at them. Instead he turned to the side, exposing the crack, and threw out his tooth. It hit with a faint clatter on the gravel. Confusion slackened the knots and tension in Hvita’s legs. Orrn mirrored her reaction. Why wouldn’t the man use his tooth? That was like Bris breaking its own beak on purpose. It didn’t make sense.

Once more the man raised his paws. Sat on his tailless bottom and crossed his legs. Like Hvita, Orrn, and Bris, he was defenseless. Rummaging through his coat again, he held out a pawful of fish. “Vaeli.” He wasn’t lying, after all. Hvita didn’t know that he had fish. The stench of those dead furs he wore overwhelmed everything else. No fish were claimed from his hand, so he tossed them at the feet of the two foxes and the puffin.

Bris, who enjoyed fish the most, couldn’t resist. The fish was gone in a blink of the eye.

“Don’t take bait from the enemy,” Hvita hissed at the gleeful puffin. “That’s what he wants. Weren’t you saying just earlier today that this man was very dangerous?”

“Very dangerous with tooth,” Bris replied. “No more tooth, not dangerous now.”

“He could always go out to retrieve it.” Orrn’s eyes darted nervously between the young man and the fish at his paws.

Hvita didn’t even look at her fish. She watched for what the man would do. Nothing was stopping him, but he made no move to grab his tooth. Without it, he had nothing else worth noting to be harmful. The teeth in his mouth were small and flat, like the nails on his paws. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in hurting them. Hvita couldn’t understand the man’s mangled fox-speech, let alone his own speech. Perhaps he tried to talk in another way.

“No harm?” Hvita asked.

“No harm,” the man replied. He held up his paws, and for a moment Hvita wondered why he kept doing that, then she thought that perhaps this was his way of saying that he didn’t carry any long, sharp teeth. “No harm,” he said, firmly this time.

Hvita wouldn’t believe him in a heartbeat. She still didn’t know what he wanted with her, Orrn, and Bris. Her fur flattened somewhat and she pulled down her lips to hide her teeth. The young man tossed them some more fish, which Bris alone ended up eating. When he ran out, he rested his back on the rock wall across from the foxes and the puffin. His shoulders sagged and his eyes drooped shut.

Orrn cocked his head. “He wants to sleep here?”

“We should take turns to watch him,” Hvita said. “If we all let our guard down, that would be the best time for him to attack us.” Under her vigilant gaze, the man didn’t stir or budge. When weariness crept over her, she asked Orrn to take over. She curled in her tail, but not quite over her face, and kept her eyes on the man for as long as she could before succumbing to sleep.

Hvita found herself back on the snowy plains. No more sand that got stuck in her fur, or gravel that stabbed at her pads. She was home. Hvita called for the kits, but none of them ran out to meet her. Instead the great hill rumbled, sending quakes through the snow and her paws. No, no, not again. Hvita ran and pulled back her ears, but the great hill still terrified her with its heated roar. Fire-water spewed from the top and seared down into the snow with an angry hiss. Hvita skidded to a stop at the edge of a cliff. Far below her, a lone knapa drifted on the sea, carrying one man. Behind her, fire and smoke engulfed all signs of home and life as she knew it. Just one word crossed her mind.

Jump!

Like the tricked vaeli, Hvita hurtled off the cliff, just before hot rocks crashed where she once stood. She fell and fell, straight for the sea-knapa, bracing for the bone-breaking impact, but the man had seen her fall and reached out to catch her with his paws.

Hvita jolted awake. So did the young man. Her fur stood on end, while his furless skin was wet and clammy. What she had seen in her dream…had he seen that, too? He crawled out of the crack, but didn’t pick up his tooth.

“What just happened?” Orrn asked.

“I’m not sure.” Hvita rose and shook herself, then padded out to dunk her face into cold seawater. The man was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he went back to his den, wherever that was. Hvita gave the tooth on the ground a wide berth on her way back to Orrn and Bris, and tried to explain the events of last night.

Of course the puffin didn’t know what to make of it, but Orrn said, “That man must have the third eye like you and me, Hvita.”

She didn’t question his musing. He had stayed awake to watch the man, so he hadn’t followed her into the dream. The young man returned to the cliffs at Ylirr-down, this time on a small sea-knapa. The top of his body tipped back and forth as he pulled the knapa’s legs through the water. Hvita blinked hard to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming.

“That’s the same knapa I saw in my dream,” she told Orrn. Instinct barked at her to hide behind the crack in the cliff, but curiosity compelled her to watch how the man moved the knapa under his control. One end of the knapa slid onto the shore. The man didn’t try to do the same for the other end. Instead he jumped out, waded from the shallows, and tied the knapa to the shore with long brown whiskers. Hvita’s nape prickled. This knapa wasn’t so big. Maybe she and Orrn could steal it when the man was away. To her dismay, after Ylirr-down the man climbed back on the knapa to sleep in it. Under the cover of darkness, Hvita crept closer to the knapa. It smelled of both the woods and the sea, more of the latter. Her nose almost brushed over whorls and rings on the knapa. It was made of dead trees, she realized. She had seen how men cut trees with their curved teeth, but she didn’t understand how they smoothed it down and put it together. Facing such a large, dead thing made her shy away in disgust and slink back to the cliffs.

“Why man bring sea-knapa here?” Bris asked.

“Why do men do anything?” Hvita slumped onto the sand. “We can only guess.” It seemed tempting, with the knapa right here, but the more she thought about her plan to steal the knapa, the more foolish it sounded. She looked down at her paws. Even if she and Orrn could bite off the brown whiskers to free the knapa, they didn’t have paws like men to hold the legs.

“Keep taking turns to watch the entrance,” she told Orrn and Bris. “He may try to come in again.” That was all she knew what to do at the moment. She tried to think, but as weariness stole over her, she sent down another prayer to Dautha to be spared of seeing the fire-water again. Hvita’s eyes drooped shut, then she opened them again to find Bris gone and Orrn beside her. The puffin was keeping watch. The two foxes emerged from the crack in the cliff and blinked under Ylirr’s light. Breathing deeply only drew in sea salt, not smoke, into Hvita’s chest. That would change within a moon. She wasn’t fooled, and she didn’t forget. The knapa was still at rest on the shore, its legs tucked away and waves lapping at its sides made of dead, smooth trees. Hvita and Orrn crept up to it on soundless paws. Despite her disgust, Hvita couldn’t help admiring this proof of men’s ingenuity and power. Because of these knapa, no stretch of sea or land could stop men from going wherever they pleased. Hvita wished that her kind could have the same freedom.

“Do you like it?”

The voice behind the foxes made them jump. It was the young man, who held up his paws.

“Don’t run away. I’m not going to hurt you. No sword, see?”

Hvita could understand him perfectly.

Orrn couldn’t help but ask, “What is a sword?”

“That long, sharp thing I tossed into the sand, that’s a sword. I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

Hvita stumbled back. “You understand us, too.” While that frightened her, the man made little upward jerks of his paws as his speech picked up pace.

“I don’t know how this is happening, but thank the gods for it! Since I was a boy, I liked to imitate the calls of other animals. I would cry like the gulls and bark like you. I think I’m getting better at it. What do you think, fox?”

“My name is not fox,” she said mildly. “It’s Hvita, and this is Orrn.”

“My apologies. I’m Ivar.”

“Well, Ivar, I think you talk like a day-old kit.”

His broad shoulders sagged. “Oh. I thought I might’ve sounded like a real fox.”

“You sound convincing with one word at a time, I’ll give you that. But as soon as you string words together, you make no sense at all.”

“Is that so?” Ivar clapped his paws together and uttered strange barks. “I babble like a baby, huh?” Then the corners of his lips sank back into a grim straight line, and he said softly, “You saw it too, didn’t you? All that smoke and fire?”

“The land-bjarr, we call it,” Orrn said.

“That’s why I’m sailing away on this boat I built.” Ivar jabbed part of his paw at the knapa. “It can sail fine along the shore, but it’s not done yet. Not ready for open water. I practically live in the woods to chop and gather wood so I can finish building.”

“Why is your knapa—your boat—so small?” Hvita asked. “I’ve seen how many men can fit in at once.”

Ivar shook his head. “No one else believes me. No one wants to move out of their nice, new homes and pastures after sailing all the way here. Everyone in my village thinks I’m mad, even when I tell them that I was warned by a god.”

Hvita stiffened and bit back a yip. The terrible vision, the struggle to convince others…she and Orrn shared them with Ivar. “A god also visited us,” she said. “That’s how I know that you’re not spouting nonsense.”

Ivar made that strange bark, a short, wry-sounding one this time. “I never thought that the first and only ones to believe me would be a pair of foxes.”

Bitterness welled within Hvita’s throat like rotten meat. “At least you have a way out. My kind are doomed to die here because we can’t think like men, or fly like birds, or swim like fish.”

Ivar’s eyes twinkled. “You can come with me. There’s room.”

Hvita was so startled by the notion that she snapped out of the shared dream. Orrn must have felt the same, as he jerked from his sleep and exchanged wide-eyed worry with her.

“What should we do about that, Hvita?”

“Not trust him, of course.”

Hvita curled her tail tighter around her legs. Nothing good came out of company with men. Either beasts died at men’s paws to be eaten, or were tamed to obey and submit. Hvita refused to be lured into another trap.

Ivar climbed out of his little, unfinished knapa, and Hvita slunk out of the crack before he could think to trap her inside. Orrn and Bris followed her instinct, though the puffin waddled out squawking in pain from its useless left wing. Ivar took no more steps forward and stayed by the head of his knapa. Under his riveted gaze, Hvita flattened her ears and curled her lip at him. If the man was going back and forth from the shore to the woods, while he was away, she and Orrn could steal the knapa then. They didn’t need help from a man.

Ivar tried to talk to them, but could only utter the word he imitated best: vaeli. Hvita and Orrn kept their distance, then flinched when Ivar pulled out his curved tooth. He talked some more, frantically this time, jabbing with his free paw between the curved tooth and the woods, but Hvita’s fur continued to prickle. Finally Ivar’s paw fell to the side and he let out a huff. He stalked away from them, to cut more wood for the knapa, Hvita realized.

“This is our chance,” she whispered to Orrn. “As soon as he’s out of our sight, let’s make away with the knapa.”

When Ivar disappeared over the bank, the foxes jumped to gnawing at the brown whiskers holding the knapa still. Hvita’s jaws ached, but with enough bites she and Orrn were able to snap off the whiskers. They planted their paws into the gravel and sand and strained their backs as they pushed the knapa farther into the water. They hopped onto it, and when the knapa rocked under their weight, a wave of weak-legged sickness hit Hvita and made her stumble. Bris fell off her shoulders and hit the back of the knapa with an indignant “auk!” Orrn yelped and dug his claws into the wood.

“Riding on water feels awful. How do men put up with this?”

Hvita gritted her teeth and swallowed back the fear and nausea. “We’ll have to bear it, too. See the legs? You take one and I’ll take the other.” Even as she remembered how men tugged on the legs to move the knapa, she and Orrn could not even grip the legs properly to lower them into the water. Neither their jaws nor paws found purchase on the long, heavy limbs.

“It’s no use,” Orrn panted.

“Knapa move,” Bris cried. “Move with waves.”

The puffin was right—even without the legs, the sea ebbed and flowed beneath them so that the knapa bucked and swayed with it. They were moving, all right, but not where they chose to go. They were at the sea’s mercy. Suddenly Hvita yearned for firm ground beneath her paws.

Panic soared from her chest and lodged into her throat. “We’re too far from the shore. We’re stuck on here.”

Orrn’s groan was cut off by dry heaves. Bris tried to get off the knapa by flying. Instead, only its webbed feet stuck up in the air as the puffin fell backwards. Hvita shut her eyes, overwhelmed by the awful swaying sickness. This knapa that they could ride but not control held them captive. Ivar didn’t lead them into a trap. She did.

A man’s shout made Hvita look up. Ivar, who came down the bank, dropped the wood he was holding and ran to the shore. The freezing water made him gasp, but he plodded on as fast as he could until the water reached his chest. He grabbed on to the neck of the knapa and pulled to bring it, as well as the two foxes and one puffin on it, back to shore. Hvita, Orrn, and Bris had nowhere to run, and the man had every reason to kill the beasts that dared to steal his knapa. She braced for the swing and fatal bite of his curved tooth. Instead she felt his paws around her. She stiffened, too shocked to fight back, as Ivar lifted her from the knapa and lowered her onto the ground. He did the same for Orrn and Bris. Violent shivers racked Ivar’s body as he struggled to tie down the knapa with new brown whiskers. His lips turned blue and his naked skin took on the color of dead fish. He curled up against the knapa the way foxes curled up against the cold, his jaws clenched and arms wrapped tight about him in a useless attempt to fight the shivering.

Pity surprised and compelled Hvita to pad up to the young man and bump her nose against the hard coat for his feet.

“What are you doing?” Orrn asked.

“He needs shelter from the wind, or he’ll die here,” she replied. “He’ll be warmer behind the cliffs. We need him to follow us in there.”

Orrn joined Hvita in tugging at the fur lining Ivar’s feet-coat. It took them several tries to rouse him and for him to understand. He staggered after them as they headed for the crack in the rocks. Once inside, Ivar collapsed into the sand. His coat came in many parts. With as much strength as he could muster, he wrenched off the soaked coat covering his legs and tossed them outside with the long tooth. The water must have made him quite numb, since he didn’t grimace at the gravel and sand against his bare bottom. Hvita pressed herself against his exposed left leg, while Orrn did the same for the right. Bris waddled over to settle on Ivar’s feet. The young man still shivered, though not as much. Fatigue and sleep dropped like a great stone on beasts and man alike.

When Hvita cracked open her eyes again, she was back on the knapa. So was Orrn. This time, Ivar was with them. He sat across from the foxes on one end, holding a knapa leg in each paw. Hvita expected the wave of sickness to return, but as Ivar pulled on the legs in a slow, sweeping way that dipped his paws up and down, the knapa glided on the water with barely a sway.

“What were you doing on the boat?” Ivar asked. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with it, then I came back and found a pair of foxes and a puffin trying to sail a boat on their own.” That made the corners of his lips curl up, but Hvita lowered her head.

“We tried to steal your knapa. We were fools to try.”

“Well, I’m just glad you three didn’t tip over and drown.”

“Why do you care about what happens to us?” Orrn asked.

“Without you, I’d be alone again.” Ivar stopped moving the legs. He stared beyond the foxes with a pained look on his face. “I would’ve been the only one to get out of that.”

Hvita and Orrn looked over their shoulders, and Hvita’s heart wrenched. The land behind them was burnt and mangled beyond recognition, reeking with death and the wake of destruction. No green thing grew or river flowed. The only whiteness on that colossal pile of ash were the bones of foxes, the remains of Elin, Njall, and the kits who were robbed of the chance at full lives.

Hvita shuddered and whimpered. “Has it happened already? Are we too late?”

“No,” Ivar said, “we’re only seeing what will come.”

Orrn curled his tail around his legs, and his hushed voice barely rose above the waves. “I don’t mind being alone, but not like this.”

“I can’t leave my family to that.” Hvita looked back at Ivar—more precisely, saw no more options other than to rely on the man’s control of his knapa. “Does your offer still stand? Can we trust you to take us to safety?”

“I swear by Odin Allfather, who bestowed his wisdom to me with the warning, that you can trust me and I won’t hurt you.”

Hvita didn’t know the value of an oath to this Odin. “Swear by our gods, too, by Ylirr above and Dautha below.”

Ivar repeated his promise, this time by the gods Hvita and Orrn knew, then said, “I will stay here by the cliffs to finish the boat while you get your family.”

“I don’t doubt that you’ll finish the knapa.” Hvita clenched her jaw. “The challenge will be convincing my sister to come. Our parents and siblings were taken away by men.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ivar murmured, though it was no fault of his.

“She would rather die than climb on something made by a man, but she has kits to worry about. I have to make her see that this is the only way to save them.”

Ivar’s eyes widened. “Please do. I wouldn’t want any poor kits to die.”

His reaction puzzled Hvita. She had thought that men only relished in and excelled at killing things. It comforted her somewhat that Ivar was the odd exception, and the only hope from a fate worse than death.

Ivar’s shivering subsided by Ylirr-rise, and Hvita streaked out of the cliffs to return home. Worry brewed within her like the dark clouds wafting from the great hill. The air began to taste bitter, which made her eat and sleep little. Instincts screamed at her to head the other way, but thoughts of her sister, nieces, and nephews waiting pushed her on. Hvita panicked when she couldn’t find the den entrance, but after much sniffing and digging, found that it had been caved in with snow. Hvita pushed and squeezed through the narrowed entrance. Startled yips greeted her, and she squinted at the dark.

“Elin, are you there?”

“Hvita, is that you?” Her sister edged forward, much leaner than before, with kits no longer attached to her teats. “Have you really come back?”

Hvita nipped at Elin’s ear. “I promised that I would.”

The first litter, now older and bigger, streamed past their mother to brush against Hvita’s shoulders and sides. The second litter remained behind Elin, shy and uncertain, because they had been too small to see and know their aunt.

“How you’ve all grown,” Hvita exclaimed. “You look more like tods and vixens than kits now. Where’s Njall? I don’t see him.”

Elin’s ears and tail drooped. “He’s with Dautha now.”

“No,” Hvita breathed.

“When the great hill began to smoke, we could not walk outside without coughing and struggling to breathe. I covered up most of the den and made the kits stay inside. Njall insisted on going out to stokk vaeli for us. He kept us fed, but too much of the bad air killed him.”

Hvita lowered her snout to the earth, praying that Dautha had room in her den for the firstborn kit who bravely strived to take his father’s place by looking after the family.

Elin trembled from head to tail. “I keep us in here, as far away from the bad air as much as possible. That’s all I can do.”

“You can’t stay here. Something worse is coming.”

“The fire-water, I know. I didn’t believe you before, but I do now.”

“I know a way out of this, Elin. You and the kits follow me to the shore, and there will be a man that can take us away from here on a sea-knapa.”

Elin flattened her ears. “The fire-water I can finally believe, but now you’re asking too much of me, Hvita. How can a man help us? You know as much as I do that they only kill and control—“

“I used to believe that too, but I was wrong.” Hvita dug her claws into the dirt. “We don’t have time to argue. Soon the land will go bjarr, destroying more than what men could possibly achieve. You told me to think of the kits, Elin. I ask that you do the same. Think of them now. Will you let them die in here, or let them get on the only thing that can save them?”

Elin hunched her shoulders and bared her teeth, but did not spring at Hvita. Instead she turned to the kits and said, “Follow Aunt Hvita. Run hard and don’t look back. First litter helps carry the second if they get tired or too slow.”

The foxes burst out of the den, with Hvita ahead as the leith. The second litter was now old enough to run, and they did their best to keep up with their older siblings. Hvita kept her gaze ahead, but could smell more smoke pluming out of the great hill now. She coughed and gagged, but fear and urgency spurred her on. A surge of heat forced her to look back.

“Great Ylirr,” she choked out.

Amid the billowing pillars of smoke, fire-water burst from the great hill and draped its fiery claws down the peak. No more dreams, now. The land-bjarr had truly begun. Hvita didn’t think she could run any faster, but terror surprised her. Older kits used their teeth to sweep up the younger kits by their necks. Collective chaos ensued. Vaeli burst out of the snow and birds formed a raucous swarm in the sky. Some foxes fled their dens, while others stayed inside in a futile effort to shut out the noise and fumes.

“Follow us,” Hvita cried out to foxes who could hear. “The fire-water can’t follow where we’re going.”

A few heeded her call, including the scarred tod and his kits, and the vixen who had told Hvita about Orrn. Wide-eyed and frothing at the mouth, they did not stop to raise any questions or objections. Hvita sighted Orrn at the crest of the bank, and as her tiring family scrabbled up the slope, he slid down to push the kits along.

“Not much farther now,” he told them. “The knapa’s just by the water.”

Ivar perched at the far end of his knapa, holding onto legs partly dipped into the water, and ready to pull off the shore. Hvita couldn’t understand his shouts, but it was obvious by his pale skin and wide eyes that he urged them to hurry. Next to him, Bris lost many a black feather while jumping in place and waving its uninjured wing.

“Lots foxes, auk!”

“Orrn and I will make sure they won’t hurt you,” Hvita said around a mouthful of kit’s neck fur. “Really, Bris, you should be worrying more about the fire-water.”

Elin, upon seeing Ivar this close, curled up her lip and growled at him. Hvita brushed her tail over her sister’s flank. “You need to trust him.”

Tension bulged under Elin’s taut legs. “I haven’t seen a man this close since we were kits.”

“He swore by Ylirr and Dautha that he won’t hurt us. If you can’t trust that, then trust me.”

Elin looked back at the great hill, then at Hvita, and the fur on her nape laid flat. “I can do that.”

Hvita, Elin, and Orrn stood on their hind paws and hauled the kits one by one over the edge of the knapa. They were the last to jump in. Ivar jerked the sea-knapa to life with a great heave of its legs. Foxes yelped and clung to the belly of the knapa. The kits clustered around Elin and buried their snouts into her fur. It was as if Ylirr’s eye was snapped up in the jaws of an angry, dying land. More fire-water burst open with such force that the top of the great hill came apart and rained down fiery chunks. Some of them sailed as far as the shore, striking the water and sinking through it with a hiss. Ivar swept the legs harder and faster, then set them aside to tug on brown whiskers tied to the ruffling thing sticking straight out of the knapa. He tugged them in such a way that the thing puffed out from the wind, driving the knapa farther into the sea. As he did this he had to stand, and the knapa tipped this way and that under his shifting weight. Foxes shied away from his feet and huddled at the edges. One of Elin’s kits clung too far over the edge. Before Elin could pull him down with her teeth, a tip of the knapa sent the kit into the sea.

Hvita and Elin’s cries startled Ivar from busying over the ruffling thing. He knelt down, reached over the knapa’s edge, and with one paw grabbed the kit by his neck. Elin snatched him from the young man and rasped her tongue over her soaked, whimpering kit.

“Huddle at the middle,” Hvita called out to the foxes. “Get away from the edge. Hold on to each other.”

The land itself trembled, sending spasms through the sea, which slapped bigger waves against the knapa. Foxes laid flat on their bellies and curled up against each other so tightly that Hvita could feel Elin and Orrn’s blood pulse against her sides. She didn’t have to look up to feel the heat and smell the ashes. She flattened her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the roaring and rumbling of the great hill. Hvita thought of her father, how he had raged and fought, and had Ylirr’s light burning in his very eyes. Bjarr was a terrible sight to behold, but it couldn’t last forever. The light would have to fade. Hvita kept her eyes shut for what seemed like moons, and finally, the painful rending of the earth subsided. A great cloud of ash plumed far beyond the confines of land, unfurling over the waves, and descended upon Ivar’s sea-knapa. The foxes coughed and shut their eyes.

“I’m scared,” one of Elin’s kits squeaked.

More kits raised up whimpers of assent. Orrn brushed his tail over their heads. “Fear not, little ones. Dautha will not come for you today. You are part of the greatest story you will grow up to tell your children, and for their children to tell their children.” He kept his voice low and level, and all around Hvita, she felt the foxes’ shivering and whines quiet down as the storytelling fox carried on. “We are like the vaeli who jumped into the sea, only we weren’t tricked by Vaeleith. No, we are saved, led not to our deaths, but on to a knapa that carried us to safety, all thanks to the heroic fox Hvita and the kind man Ivar. They are our leaders on knapa. The knapaleith.”

Hvita kept her eyes shut, so ashes wouldn’t sting them, though she heard the kits stir with excitement now.

“Knapaleith,” they murmured among themselves. “Our aunt Hvita, the knapaleith.”

The young vixen nudged Orrn’s ribs. “You give me too much credit. You love that Vaeleith story and tell it so much that I couldn’t help borrowing the idea. I couldn’t have done this without you, Orrn. Consider yourself a knapaleith, too.”

Orrn curled his tail. “Well, if you insist.”

The knapa glided without aim through the thick ashes. Orrn continued to tell stories to keep the kits calm and occupied. After he went through legends of the gods, he delved into detail of all the adventures that he and Hvita had. After a stretch of enraptured silence, Elin broke it by saying, “If I hadn’t known any better, I thought you had made all that up.”

“I never make up stories,” Orrn said. “They’re meant to tell the truth.”

There came a loud flutter as Bris attempted to fly. Hvita heard no clumsy thud. Instead she heard a triumphant “auk” as the puffin rose above the knapa.

“Open eyes safe now,” Bris squawked. “Look at Nest-Land, auk!”

Hvita dared to blink open red eyes.

Foxes lifted their heads from the flat, hard belly of the knapa, and amid the fading ash, the charred remains of the land slowly blinked into view. The fire-water had swept over all the ice and snow from Kaila, turning winter into something much harsher than summer. None of the men had believed Ivar and went with him, so they must have burned and perished with their dens. Then she thought of the foxes who stayed behind, the ones she and Orrn couldn’t save. Were they down with Dautha now? Was there room for them? Just as the questions crossed her mind, Hvita spotted the shadow of a vixen that walked on water like Vaeleith.

“Dautha,” Orrn murmured. He could see her, too. None of the other foxes heard or saw the goddess of death climb onto the knapa on weightless, silent paws.

Under those unblinking dark eyes, Hvita shrank back. “We couldn’t save all the foxes. We’ve failed you.”

“It is impossible to save everybeast,” Dautha said. “That would be an impossible thing to ask of you both. You would rather not think of these things, but there is a time when everybeast must die. That time comes for some sooner than others.” She padded up to Hvita and touched noses with hers. “Do not worry about the lives lost. There is room for them in my den.” She flicked her blue tail at Elin and the kits. “As for those who made the choice to leave…well, their time to be with me has not yet come. For now, they will be with you.”

Hvita looked back at the surviving foxes, at the lone surviving man who held the knapa’s legs still over the edges and slumped over his knees. All of them sharing the space of a small sea-knapa, with no room for foxes to flee, and the man having no desire to use or hurt them in any way…it made the most unusual sight that she or even any of the gods would see in moons. Would the land that Bris called Nest-Land ever heal from its burns? Would they have to move elsewhere, to the land in the east that Bris called Long-Land, perhaps? Either way, how long would they have to eat and sleep at sea? How long did foxes and a man have to live like this, until they had to part ways and return to their roles as the hunted and the hunters? Hvita’s gaze met Orrn’s, then Ivar’s, and all these questions melted down into a single one that she asked aloud, “What’s going to happen to us?”

Dautha did not answer. Not in words. Instead, she turned her muzzle toward the destroyed land, prompting Hvita, Orrn, and Ivar to see what she showed them through their third eye.

Before their third eyes, Ylirr’s eye roved all along the sky, rising and dipping to show the great leap forward into time. The great hill faded into a dull, quiet stillness, while the land blossomed into all shades of green, plains of moss, grass, and growth broken only by the majestic prow of rocks. Men drew back into the land in droves, on bigger and faster sea-knapa. Some knapa even came in from the sky, like giant birds, carrying more men than Hvita could think possible. There was so much to take in that she did not know where to focus.

“Look there,” Dautha murmured.

Hvita followed her gaze to the shore, where the passage of time grinded to a pause. A young woman knelt on the sand and held something with  a long, black nose in her paws. With one paw she held the thing over her face, and with the other twisted the nose. She aimed the thing at the cliffs, then at the sea, where she lowered the long black nose in astonishment. Her wide blue eyes mirrored Ivar’s. And like Ivar’s, her long yellow fur peeked from the tiny coat covering her head. Ivar sat on the sea-knapa as the only surviving man from the bjarr-stricken land, but in the glimpse of what was yet to come, perhaps he wouldn’t be alone forever. Men came back to the land after it went bjarr, and Ivar would find a mate among them, and his blood would someday course through this woman staring back at him.

A fox skittered down the steep bank, catching the attention of everyone and everybeast present in the third eye moment. Even from here, Hvita could catch a trace of Elin’s scent on that fox. Her blood would keep running, as well, through this young tod. The woman sucked in a sharp breath and aimed the long, black nose at the fox. Hvita bristled, but the fox trotted up showing no signs of fear at all. Somehow this tod knew that he would not be harmed by the strange nose or the woman. He even nibbled at the hard, smooth end of the nose, making the woman bark and her eyes crinkle.

Elin’s descendent and Ivar’s descendent were playing.

The sight, the splendid truth of what would come after everybeast on the sea-knapa was long dead, was more than enough to answer Hvita’s question.

Men and foxes would do more than survive. They would thrive.

 

* * *

About the Author

A Catholic Vietnamese-American hailing from Houston, Texas, Allison Thai got her first taste in stories from true accounts of how her parents fled from communism as Vietnam War refugees. She attended the SFF writing workshops Viable Paradise in 2017 and Taos Toolbox in 2019. You can find her huddled in the Twitter den she dug out for herself: @ThaiSibir.

by Amy Hammack Turner

“The tantalizing pheromones come from the biggest male potter.  His mind is as unknown and as enchanting as his chemical scent.”

No male pheromones have ever affected the farmer so strongly.  At the entrance to a side corridor, she stops in her tracks, antennae waving, oblivious to the press of eager workers behind her.  Though she is still young, she has mated many times, and knows how to sort out the signals of age, health, and ancestry.  All of those signs beckon strongly, joined by something mysterious.  She turns and follows the tantalizing scent.

The narrow passageway opens into a wider space.  The echoes of her clicking mandibles show her a chamber bigger than any she has entered before.  The clicks bounce from the walls in randomized patterns.  The scents coming to her antennae from all directions reveal that this is caused by pots of various sizes and shapes stacked along the edges of the chamber.  She smells and mindsenses potters at work in the middle of the chamber.  Here in an open space containing only a few individuals, single minds broadcast more strongly than usual, with the collective mind of the community fading to a background hum.  In the foreground, the potters focus on their work, mixing extractions from their thoraxes with soil to form malleable clay, shaping the clay with their forelegs and mandibles.

The tantalizing pheromones come from the biggest male potter.  His mind is as unknown and as enchanting as his chemical scent.  As she approaches, he stops work, and comes to meet her.  Since she is a farmer, he expects that she has come for pots, and begins to lead her towards the ones that are ready.  Then the pheromones that she emits make her desire clear, and his strengthen in response.  To her surprise, they do not mate immediately.  Instead, he leads her away from the pots, into a small side chamber.

The pleasure of the mating is bright and intense, as if a ray of sunshine has penetrated deep into the nest to find the couple.  Afterwards, she dozes, completely satisfied.  The big potter returns to his work, but she lingers and falls into a deep sleep.  When she wakes, the male rests pressed against her and her time-sense tells her that it is morning already, almost time to go out with her crew.  The male stirs and offers her food from pots in the chamber.  They feast on sweet fruits and chewy dried flesh, foods that are occasional treats in the farmers’ usual diet of grain.

She has never been apart from her crew all night, but none of them seem to notice when she joins them in the main corridor.  They go out together into the welcoming morning sun, as they have so many times.  She always feels a shiver of anticipation as she leaves the dark, quiet safety of the nest, with its layers of familiar smells, and ventures into the expansive outdoors, with its barrage of images, scents and sounds from all directions, and the danger of predators.

Yesterday, it was too stormy for farming.  Today the cloudless blue sky shines bright and new, full of promise.  She joins the usual work, one of hundreds of bodies weaving familiar patterns as they pull weeds from the fields and make piles that will compost into fertilizer. Soldiers stand sentinel. Early in the year, the grain has not grown tall enough to hide them from the hungry winged killers.  A new enthusiasm colors her customary caution.  Without knowing the reason, she keeps memories of the potter hidden behind the thoughts that are open to the crew and to the community, thoughts that build their collective knowledge of their home and their work.

That evening, her tired limbs find their way home not to her crew’s sleeping gallery, but to the potters’ workshop.  The big male seems less surprised to see her than she is to have returned.  The chamber that they shared the night before has nobody’s scent but his and hers.  That is the way of the potters, she learns later, to sleep and eat one or two to a chamber.  She counts six sleeping chambers along the perimeter of the workshop—the number of her legs, the highest she can count.  Every morning, going back to the fields, she crosses the scent paths that potters have made from their chambers to their workstations and to the galleries leading to food and water stores in a lower chamber, and to defecation chambers yet lower.

As time goes on, the farmer and the potter share memories of their days apart.  She shows him the bright greens of the fields and forest, the flowers with their gay ultraviolet patterns, the joyful dances of the stream, the wind, and the ever-changing clouds.  From his mind, she experiences the hypnotic rhythm of building pots, the companionship of workers together for many seasons, the satisfaction of watching the supply of pots grow, of trading them for the finest offerings of the farmers and hunters.  He shows her how, many seasons ago, potters lined chambers with their waterproof clay, and nestmakers dug tunnels to divert rainwater to those deep chambers.  She already knew about the stores of water, but not the details of their construction.

She wonders briefly if it makes any difference that she no longer eats or sleeps with the crew.  No, the crew is too big, too fluid, to pay attention to individuals.  New workers from the nursery constantly join, replacing those who were eaten in the fields or on the trails.  She is one of hundreds, unnoticed in presence or in absence.  If she stayed with the potters all day, the larger community would not notice.  But she could not do that.  She is a farmer.  She had experienced the tight comfort of her crew’s sleeping gallery as part of being a farmer, but now finds that she can sleep with the potters without being a potter.

When she arrives one evening, the potter leads her to a different chamber.  A very old male lies on the ground, weak legs unable to support him.  He will die soon, and the nestmakers will carry him out to a refuse pile.  She shudders when the big potter puts his mouth on the old one’s mouth and feeds him digested food, as the nursery workers feed larvae.  She was a nursery worker before she grew large enough to be a farmer, and it disturbs her to sense an old one fed like a larva.  She moves uneasily around the room, not knowing if anything is expected of her.  One middle leg brushes against a shallow pot positioned under the abdomen of the old one.  Like a larva, he needs to have his excrement collected and carried away.  The thought of being too weak to walk even as far as the defecation chambers disgusts her.

After the old one has eaten, they go to their own chamber for their own meal and to mate.  Later, she notices that other scent trails lead to the old one’s chamber.  This is something that potters do, feed their old ones, carry away their excrement.  She does not want to do it.  She left that behind when she left the nursery to become a farmer.  But the potter does not expect her to help, only to go with him from time to time.

Like his body, the old male’s mind is weak.  She senses memories of long seasons of potting, of a female who once slept in this chamber with him, and is surprised that he smells content to lie in his chamber, remembering.  There are no memories of the sky, of the outside world.   Only farmers, hunters, soldiers, and pioneering nestmakers dare to leave the nest.

She remembers the time before she became a farmer, when she worked the nursery.  The sweet scent of the freshly laid eggs tickles her mind, and her mouth recalls the delicious taste of the eggs that the nursery workers ate in order to regurgitate them to the newest grubs.  They also ate food brought by farmers and hunters, which they used to feed the older larvae, knowing that recently they had been limbless, helpless grubs.  The food they regurgitated into mindlessly gaping mouths would transform the larvae into working members of the community.

She knows that soon it will be time to lay her eggs in the nursery chamber.  Probably many will survive uneaten, because a large group left recently to build a new nest, and more workers will be needed in this nest.  It feels pleasant to imagine her eggs among the others, as pleasant as eating, sleeping, mating and working.

One evening, the big potter leads her into a chamber she has never entered before.  She smells two others, a male and a female, and then, coming from a deeper part of the chamber, something completely unexpected, the scent of four newly hatched larvae.  Confused, she backs out, retreats to her chamber.  The big potter follows, his mind pushing urgently into hers.  He knows that it is almost time for her to lay her eggs, and expects her to lay them here.  He has enlarged the chamber.

Her mind scurries from thought to thought as if pursued by a winged killer.  She realizes that the potters feed their own legless, squirming larvae, as they feed their helpless old ones.  They must carry away the grubs’ stinking excrement to the defecation chambers.  Full-grown community members do the work that belongs to the newly metamorphosed, those not yet old enough to do more skilled work.

Again, the big potter’s mind pushes into hers.  Yes, he wants her to lay her eggs here.  They will feed most of the thousands of eggs to the few larvae they allow to hatch.  After the hatching, she will stay with the grubs in this little chamber, because grubs need to eat many times a day.  The male will help with the feeding.  They will all be here together.  His projections of this future are filled with pleasure, but she is afraid.  It isn’t right.  She isn’t a potter; she can’t stay underground all day.  She needs to work under the sun, needs to be surrounded by her crew’s mind, part of the community mind.

She listens for the community now, but hears only a distant hum, overridden by the male’s powerful thoughts, the quieter but ever-present minds of the other potters that have become as familiar as her own.  Suddenly, this seems wrong too, this intimate knowledge of other individuals.  How has she lived with it so long?  How has she stayed away from the comfortable anonymity of the farmers’ foodstores, of her crew’s sleeping gallery?

She has been drunk on the pheromones of this big male, but now she is sober, sober and uncomfortable.  She does not belong here.

She bolts for the opening of the chamber, pushing the big male out of her mind.  She scurries down the corridors, back to her crew’s sleeping gallery.  Will they accept her?  Yes, her pheromones identify her as one of the crew, nothing more is needed.  They cannot sense her sordid history, as long as she keeps more acceptable thoughts uppermost in her mind.

She will go out to the fields in the morning.  Soon, perhaps tomorrow evening, she will lay her eggs in the nursery.  Later, she will mate with others that she meets in the galleries, others outside of her crew.  She will mate with each male only once.  Her offspring will be farmers, soldiers, hunters and nestmakers, while the potters raise their own young in their unnatural chambers. Perhaps she will be eaten soon, snatched away from a trail or a field by a winged or legged killer.  Perhaps she will live for many seasons, but wake one morning too weak to work, die and be carried out to a refuse pile.  Until then, she will be guided by the familiar, comforting community mind, and not listen to the mind of any individual, however strong it may be.

In the seasons that follow, she thinks from time to time about the potter.  The memory tastes like the sweet fruit that they shared, smells like pots drying in the warm air of the vast potters’ workshop.  She imagines him in his dark chamber with another female, feeding wriggling grubs, carrying away pots of smelly waste.  She wonders if he thinks of her, if he remembers her mind’s view of shining fields under the bright sun.

 

* * *

About the Author

Amy Hammack Turner retired last year after thirty-eight years as a cataloger at Duke University Libraries.  She lives near Hillsborough, NC with her husband David, their dog Sasha, seven chickens, seven turtles, and countless bees.

by Ville Meriläinen

“How could someone who’d gained the trust of two wild beasts through the virtue of her kindness have caused a calamity this vast?”

The wasteland opened before us, cold and bleak like we’d stepped inside a predator’s eye. Blue Girl sat on Huntress’ back, shoulders drooping, the hem of her dress ripped at the knees. She’d be fine tomorrow. Until then, the wolf would gladly ease her burden.

Blue Girl had a smile to cut glass and enough heartache to kill a man, but we liked each other well enough and were useful to one another, so we journeyed together. Huntress and I cared for little else but staying alive. She had lost her cubs when escaping the fire that took her mountain, and now wandered the earth looking for them. My reason was more selfish: I simply enjoyed living, even when there was nothing to live for. Blue Girl helped by letting us eat her arms before we lay to sleep, knowing the flesh would regrow by the morning. In return, I had promised to bring her to Charnel House, the one place where she might find the end of her own search: Blue Girl wanted to die.

“I see nothing but burnt earth for days to come,” Huntress said. Our paws raised clouds of dust and ash with every step, but to the omnipresent smell of smoke clung an undernote of a coming storm from the clouds at horizon’s edge. “Are you sure this is the way?”

“Positive,” I replied. “I can feel it in my bones.”

Huntress hummed, a growl deep in her throat that never failed to make me uneasy. The great wolf was a kind creature, but murder remained etched deep in the grooves of her face.

“I think I can walk now,” Blue Girl said. Her voice was hollow, legs crusted with dry blood. She’d cut them coming down the mountain and bled so much I’d fretted a rock would give her the surcease we could not.

“You stay where you are,” Huntress said. “Maybe you can walk, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

“Won’t you carry me as well?” I said. “I could sit on her lap. I’m far smaller than she.”

Huntress returned a sideways leer. “Careful, fox. If you’re so lazy, I could carry you with my teeth.”

I bared mine into a grin, though her comment nearly coaxed a whimper out of me. “I thought it a sensible suggestion. Your stride is longer than mine, and swifter without me slowing you down.”

“Were that a problem, I’d sooner leave you behind.”

“Now, now. How would you find Charnel House without me?”

“I’m not convinced we’ll find it with you. You might as well be making us run in circles to keep getting fed.”

“Don’t be wicked, Huntress,” Blue Girl said.

“She’s only teasing, dear. We’ve grown inseparable, she and I.”

Huntress snorted at that. “I’m more attached to her than to you. We’ll part ways at the House as agreed.”

“Don’t be wicked,” Blue Girl said, more firmly. “Promise me you won’t abandon him when I’m gone.”

“I’ve not given up on my cubs, girl. I doubt he wants to join my search once he has no feeding hand to bite.”

Huntress glanced at me, as though expecting a remark, but I saw no reason to antagonize her. She was certain the cubs lived, could feel their closeness in her marrow the same way a murmur in my own pulled me towards the demise the girl yearned for.

It was ironic that, out of the three of us, I was the one drawn to Charnel House. I would have been thrilled to be deathless like Blue Girl, but she wanted nothing more than to escape. Huntress and I had found her after she jumped off a cliff so high she’d been a dot atop it. She came down like a falling star with a tail of silk, but got up from the crater as though she’d only tripped.

She spoke in her sleep sometimes, blaming herself for the way the world was, but that was an absurd notion to entertain. How could someone who’d gained the trust of two wild beasts through the virtue of her kindness have caused a calamity this vast?

I gave the girl a look from the corner of my eye. She met it with a wan smile, cutting through fur for a pluck at my heartstrings. I refused to believe she was guilty for the way the world was, but the child had seen something that had broken the spirit within an unbreakable body. When she smiled, none of the defeat lacing her bearing showed.

Wind drove along the drifts of ash around us, and as we climbed a mound, I noticed the broken ribcage of a small beast poking out of it. For a moment, I felt sorry for Huntress—I was sure her cubs were gone, starved by now even if they’d somehow lived through the end of the world. I caught her glimpsing at the bones as well, and set my gaze ahead when our eyes met and I saw the bared pain in them.

“Fox,” said Blue Girl, interrupting my musing. “Would you tell me more about Charnel House?”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to hear you speak. It’s too quiet.”

“Hmm. Have I told you how grand and beautiful it is?”

“You have.”

“What about the lands surrounding it?”

Blue Girl tapped her lip in thought. “You say there’s still grass and that the milk on the leaves makes you forget your worries.”

“Then what of the people who used to live there?”

“They were as grand and beautiful as the house, but turned it into a home to death, and now only an old crow dwells there.”

I smacked my mouth. “Sounds like you know as much as my stories do.”

“Oh.” She fell quiet for a minute, then asked, “Would you like to play a game?”

“Are you after my name again?” I chuckled. It was a difficult sound to produce, but it made her smile a little brighter. “Go on, then.”

“Is it… Redtail?”

“No.”

“Whitepaw?”

“No.”

“Firefur?”

“You’ve tried that.”

“Nuisance?” offered Huntress. She earned only a flat stare for it.

Blue Girl went on to fill the silence with her guesses, but I rejected them all. Truth was I didn’t have a name, never knew I was supposed to until I met her. With only the three of us, ‘fox’ was just as good, but I had decided to claim she’d guessed correctly once she landed on one that sounded nice in my ears. I thought she’d done the same; we’d started calling her Blue Girl because she was a girl and her dress was blue, but Huntress had told me it wasn’t a proper name.

I suppose I understood some of her desire to learn mine, as names seemed to have power of which I hadn’t known either. It was only after we named her that we learned to understand her, though we had walked together for some time by then.

“One of these days,” she huffed, after her tone reached the peak of vexation, “I’m going to learn it, you know.”

“I’m sure you will,” I said with a chuckle. Annoyance lingered on her features, turning the ensuing smile impish.

We came to the bank of a dry river. A stream still ran through the bottom, but if we went down, the sides would be too steep to climb back up. Even so, Huntress leapt off the ledge without hesitation, padded to the stream and lapped from it with such vigor she might’ve been trying to drain it altogether. I hopped after her, and once we’d drunk, looked around for a way out.

“Should we spend the night here?” Blue Girl suggested. “I’m tired and you could drink as much as you want.”

Huntress said, “A sound plan. I’m parched.”

“Well then,” I said with a yawn, “make us a fire, dear. I can do with some shuteye.”

She headed off to gather scattered pieces of wood. The wood was charred, violently splintered; the wasteland’s birth had created a storm unlike any before, and fire and lightning had decimated the lush forests once ruling the lowlands. Everywhere we went, we found nothing but grey earth, as though it had been sucked dry to the last drops of life. We had passed no other beasts on our way, only skeletons so fragile they turned to dust when we tried to gnaw on them.

Left to her own devices, a somber air soon overcame Blue Girl. Huntress noted it as well and went to join her, tattling about this and that to pull her out of her thoughts. I sat on my haunches, watching them pick up and pile the wood.

Once she was warm, Blue Girl would let us eat. I wasn’t hungry enough for it not to sicken me, and so I watched them in brooding silence. What did it say about us, helping her towards a fate neither felt she deserved, using her body as sustenance on the way? Yes, the limbs would regrow—but that only meant we fed on her pain.

These thoughts passed as the flame grew and drowsiness settled in, as they did every night. I was a firm believer in one’s own freedom, and so it was not my place to deny her any choice concerning herself. Huntress felt much the same. Besides, we could do nothing but follow her: finding no one else meant we had none to rely on but each other, and the wolf’s kindness wasn’t limitless.

Thus, in order to help each other for another day, we ripped the flesh of Blue Girl’s arms until she passed out, and when they were picked clean, nestled against her in an effort to balance the suffering we inflicted with affection.

I woke up to raindrops pummeling my nose. Blue Girl was still asleep, mended hands folded under her head. I stretched out of the nook of her bent knees, jowls shaking with a yawn. Huntress was gone. Blue Girl was easily upset if we weren’t here when she woke up, so the wolf often used the early hours for scouting and returned at dawn. I suspected she’d left to look for a way up.

I returned to Blue Girl after drinking. The rain had washed her feet; the dress had mended with the skin, dampened from periwinkle to a deeper shade. She shuddered when I lay beside her.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, still asleep. “I have mothered ruin.”

I reared my head for a look at her. Poor dear. She was too young to have mothered anything, much less anything this awful.

She might’ve cried in her sleep, or maybe it was rain. I didn’t dare lick her face for the risk of waking her, and so I only nuzzled against her throat for some more rest. It was always strange to be so close to her; her body looked as soft as a child’s was meant to be, but her meat was sinewy and her stomach taut with muscle. She pulled me closer and cradled me in her arms until I dozed off.

My dream took me to Charnel House. Mist hung over pale grassland, where the house sat amidst a copse of skeletal trees. I had overstated its beauty. Maybe it had been a place of splendor in the past, but now it was like its lone inhabitant, scraggly and diseased, so far as a house could look diseased. Cracks ran over windows like cataracts in the crow’s eyes, pillars were chipped and thin like his legs, murals on the walls had faded as his feathers had lost their luster. It was where dead things went to die, so the story said, so why not Blue Girl?

“Hello. Are you bringing a visitor?” cawed the crow when I approached. He perched atop the open door. It was too dark to see what was inside.

The crow’s familiar tone seemed odd, but, being fully aware I was dreaming, I decided to pay no mind to little lapses in logic. “I don’t think I should.”

“Your task is only to guide her here. She will decide whether to enter or not.”

“She is misguided.”

“That, ultimately, is irrelevant,” said the crow. He swooped down onto the porch and pointed his wing towards the dark house. “This is where she belongs. This is where she’ll be happy. You know this.”

“Do I?”

The crow nodded. “You only don’t know you do. You would if you knew her name.”

“Do you?”

“I know all names.”

I cocked my head at that. “Do you know mine?”

“Of course.”

“Ha. You don’t even know I don’t have one.”

I thought I read a grin in the way the crow’s beak parted. “You think yourself clever, my friend, but every creature has a name. Come to Charnel House and I will tell you. You may then enter as well, should you wish to follow her.”

I awoke then, startled by the crow’s horrid offer. The dream faded as I blinked in light and shuddered away its memory.

“Good morning,” said Blue Girl. She had propped her head against a restored arm and scratched the nape of my neck. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“I dreamt of Charnel House.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Neither, I think.”

She moved to scratching behind my ear when I fell into silent thoughts. “Is something the matter?”

I let her pet me for a moment. “Blue Girl,” I said, pausing when she found the good spot. She hummed to spur me on. “If you go inside Charnel House, you will die.”

She smiled. “I think you’ve mentioned that, yes.”

“I won’t come with you.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I need you to know that.”

Her brow furled, though she still smiled. “What on earth has come over you, silly?”

“I don’t want you to go inside alone.”

“Everyone goes to death alone, fox.”

“But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t have to go at all.”

“Oh, fox,” she said, sighing as she stood. “Not this again. Won’t you come find Huntress instead? With that, at least, you can help me.”

“Is she not back yet?” I said with surprise. It was unusual for the wolf to stay away for this long.

“She left just before you awoke,” Blue Girl said. “She found a way up, but that was awhile ago. We should catch up.”

Blue Girl and I jolted when a howl reached us. She faced me with fright. “That must’ve been her. Come! She may need us.”

We hurried down the ravine, Huntress’ howls growing more panicked as Blue Girl started running out of breath. The bottom turned muddier and muddier until we found the wolf—neck deep in it. The wall had crumbled; rocks formed a path gradually submerging as it reached her.

“Help me,” she whimpered. “I tried to climb up, but the wall couldn’t carry my weight. A stone pushed me in and my foot is stuck beneath it.”

I dashed for her, but stopped when she cried, “Be careful! There’s a pit. My feet reach the bottom, but it’s too deep for you.”

“Can’t you push the rock aside?”

“I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re too far for us to reach,” Blue Girl said, face twisted with worry. She picked up a stick, poked the ground until she found a way around the pit and held the stick out for the wolf. “Here. Maybe I can pull you out with—”

The stick crunched and broke when Huntress bit for hold. Blue Girl raised the splintered end and frowned before tossing it away. She hemmed, felt the mud with her foot, then reached out her arm. “Bite down. I have a good foothold here.”

“You’ll break like the twig.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

Huntress hesitated. I had no wisdom to offer save for, “It’ll grow back.”

The wolf said, “It is one thing to hurt you to live, but I don’t want to do so for nothing.”

“Do you think you’ll never sink?” replied the girl.

Huntress gave a whimper before parting her jaws. Blue Girl cried out when they closed on her forearm, groaned as she gritted her teeth and leaned back. She held herself up with her free arm as her feet sought the hold hidden under mud. Blood spurted onto Huntress’ nose, but the girl persevered. Her wail rose into a scream until Huntress let go and Blue Girl tumbled backwards.

“Why did you—?” she shrieked, cutting herself off when Huntress climbed up and shook mud off her fur. She limped to Blue Girl, rear leg twisted, and licked the row of puncture wounds on the girl’s arm

“Thank you,” said the wolf.

Blue Girl smiled through tears. The smile wilted when she faced me, and I realized horror must’ve shown on my features. “What’s wrong, fox?”

“You’ve said nothing when you let us eat. I thought you were used to the pain.”

She pressed her lips together, averted her eyes, and shook her head.

Huntress looked away from her, at me. “How far to Charnel House?”

“Three days.”

“I can go without eating for three days.”

“You don’t have to,” Blue Girl said. “It’s fine, really—”

“I will do you no more harm, girl,” growled Huntress, “and I’ve half a mind to turn around, carry you to the mountains and raise you as my own, away from this awful place.”

“And what would that solve?” I said. I did my best not to cower when she swung towards me. “You’d leave one wasteland for another, and sooner or later you’d hunger again. All you’d do would be to prolong her suffering, making a home above the valley of cinders where you keep the last living creature as your pet and prey.”

Her growl deepened. “Are you saying you accept her resignation now?”

“It’s not our place to decide her fate, Huntress.”

“No,” she admitted, after a long, long spell of consideration. “But it is my choice not to eat her. I will not be used for penance any longer.”

“Nor will I,” I said, and faced Blue Girl. “And I stand by what I said before. You’ve a good heart.”

Blue Girl bowed her head, placed her healthy hand on the side of Huntress’ neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”

We were able to climb up over the pile of rocks Huntress’ fall had made. Her injury did nothing to our pace. She’d already had to slow down for us to keep up—now she merely had to do so a little less.

* * *

The wasteland turned from an even plain into an uphill climb. On the plateaus we found more skeletons, human instead of animal, as though a necropolis had been unearthed. The ground was soft, once fertile, perhaps, and I wondered if they’d been field hands who’d worked the lands around Charnel House.

Every time we passed such boneyards, Blue Girl kept her gaze fixed on the overcast and allowed Huntress to carry her. The wolf never complained for the added weight on her leg wound, just as Blue Girl tried to hide the wounds on her heart from us.

On the third morning, we found the first signs of life since our journey began. Grass grew thick on the slopes, wet with dew.

“Don’t touch it,” I said, when Blue Girl fell behind to inspect the pearls of milk gathering on the leaves. “It’ll take away the pain in your arm, but also everything else. We’re almost there.”

Charnel House waited atop the final climb, where the land leveled and the grass grew taller. The cooling evening raised the milk into mist, making even Huntress complain of feeling lightheaded. It was cold here; the chill of death wafted from the house like  exhalations from the netherworld.

“Girl, I don’t want you going nearer,” Huntress growled. Her fur bristled. “You don’t belong here. Turn away.”

“Please,” I tried. The mist numbed my thoughts, making my feet pad on by their own accord. “She’s right. I’ve made a grave mistake. I never should’ve brought you here.”

“But I see it now,” Blue Girl said, voice drowsy. “It’s beautiful.”

I saw it too, the shimmery gloss appearing on the house’s surface, how it seemed to radiate in the glow of a waning sun. Even I felt an attraction to the place, so much greater than before. The gentle hold in my bones hummed a gentler invitation, asking me to cross the threshold.

“Please don’t go,” I whimpered. “You are a kind creature, sorely needed in this world. If you went, there might be no one else left but Huntress and I. Neither of us have half the heart you do.”

“But, fox,” said Blue Girl. “I made the world this way. I don’t deserve to dwell in it. Don’t want to—”

“You cannot have!” I snapped, steeling my mind to dash to her and step in her way. “My dear girl, why do you say these things? Why do you not see how sweet you are? We are beasts—had we been alone, I would have abandoned Huntress to drown in the mud. And she? If we had stayed together this long by the two of us, nothing I could’ve said would’ve deterred her from eating me. Is this not true?”

“It is,” Huntress said. “You have tamed us, girl, made us caring by caring for us. If you wish to step inside, it is your right, but I will not bid a fond farewell. I will grieve for a life thrown to waste.”

“You don’t understand,” Blue Girl said, with chilling patience. “This is my share. Remember me as a fool if you must, but move out of my way.”

“A fool is the last thing I’ll remember,” I said.

The girl did not reply, only stepped past.

“Ah, hello,” said the crow sitting atop the open door. “How good to see you, at long last. Come in.”

“Thank you,” said Blue Girl. She turned, folding her hands over her front. Warmth pulsed in my breast, and I feared her smile had cut so deep if I spat the grass would turn red. “Fond or not, I bid goodbye, my friends—”

“Not you, silly chit,” said the crow. He swooped down and hobbled past her to Huntress. “Come, come. It’s time to go.”

Dumbfounded, Huntress stared the crow down. “I’m going nowhere. It’s the girl you want.”

“She?” The crow darted a look at Blue Girl. “She couldn’t come in if she wanted. She’s alive.”

“So am I.”

“How could you be, when the forest burned around you?”

“I survived.”

“How?”

“I…” Horror flashed on her face, then fury settled in. In a snarl, she said, “Step back, crow. I will not be tricked. I must find my cubs.”

“You did, Nastasha. You found them in your den, where their charred bones rest with yours.”

A pang boiled the blood Blue Girl’s smile had freed. My chest was afire, as was Huntress’—afire and worse, by her look. She turned to me with an expression of desperation, and I met it with some of my own. “Her name is Huntress,” I said, words rolling off an unfeeling tongue.

“‘Huntress’ is no name. It is a title.”

The wolf whispered, “Nastasha.”

I whispered, “Nastasha.”

“That is her name,” said the crow, “and now she remembers.”

Nastasha took in a deep breath she released as a long, wailing howl. Her fur seemed to give off mist. To my shock, I realized it was smoke.

“My friends,” she said, voice frail and ethereal. “I do remember. I must go. I don’t belong here.” She came to us, gave Blue Girl’s face a lick. “My cubs were gone—but they hadn’t moved. I found them slain when I brought them food. When the fire came, I could not bring myself to leave them.”

“I’m so sorry,” Blue Girl said, scratching the wolf’s jaw.

Nastasha came to me, prodded my nose with hers. “You guided me here.”

The crow studied us with an amused twinkle in its eye. It hadn’t spoken of Blue Girl in my dream. That blasted fiend had told me I was leading the wolf to her doom, and I’d been too much of a fool to understand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She looked long at me, until I thought a smile appeared in her lupine features. “I forgive you.”

“It’s time to go,” said the crow. Nastasha nodded and padded towards the open door, stopping at the porch to face us for the last time. Her fur had burned off by then, skin melting, bone showing. She did not make it all the way inside; a gust of wind blew her ashes into the darkness.

When she was gone, the murmur within my marrow calmed. The pull, however, forced my legs into motion, and it took effort to force them rigid and keep myself standing in place. Blue Girl still regarded the empty space Nastasha had left, but the crow noticed my struggle and said, “Your duty is done. You can go as well.”

This drew a gasp from Blue Girl and made her wheel about. “Not you, too?” she sniffled.

“Dear girl, no one loves being alive as much as I,” I said, with a scolding look at the crow.

“You remember why you had to guide her, yes?” said the crow.

“That does not mean I belong here.”

“No,” the crow admitted with a nod, “but—”

“Stop.”

He cocked his head.

“Are you about to tell me my name?”

The crow nodded again, and I went to the weeping Blue Girl. She knelt to rub my ear, brushed her nose with the side of her palm.

“Would you like to guess first?” I said.

“Is it…” Her voice came out creaky. She cleared her throat and furled her brow. “Huntress’ name was Nastasha.”

“It was.”

“Then yours might be something closer to mine than one from a fairytale, too.”

“It might.”

“Is it… Phillip?”

“It is not.”

“Is it Henry?”

“One more try.”

She sucked on her lip, brows knitted, inspecting me as though trying to see it hidden somewhere on my face. “Is it Ichabod?”

The tiniest grunt fled a chest gone perfectly rigid. I was flushed with memories, how I had tried to plead the wolf to spare me—because, with a full stomach, I was unable to escape her.

I forced on a smile, straining muscles that weren’t meant to move in such a way. “See? I knew you’d guess it eventually.”

“Ichabod,” she whispered, wiping her eye. “Ichabod, Ichabod, Ichabod.”

I licked her fingers before facing the crow. “Do I have to go? She would be all alone.”

“You’ve atoned,” he said. “It’s your choice, but you know you don’t belong here.”

“Atoned?” said Blue Girl.

“We are beasts,” I answered, “and beasts are cruel to one another.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

“Why are you so quick to believe the best of us, when you don’t see the good in yourself?”

She licked her lower lip, straightened herself. “Crow,” she said. “When I named him in my thoughts, I could hear him speak. When I learned his true name, I saw the bite marks on his throat. If he knew mine, could he see me as I do?”

The crow nodded. Unease tickled my neck, as though a wraith petted me where Blue Girl had a minute ago.

“Dear Ichabod,” she said, sitting on her knees. “My name is not Blue Girl. It is Evelyn.”

Between blinks, Blue Girl grew from a sweet little creature into a woman so beautiful I thought her radiance might blind me. I gasped for breath, unable to move my gaze from this sun with a hand resting on my ear. Her voice had deepened, each phrase flowing like a song.

“Charnel House was my home,” Evelyn said, “before we befouled it, my family and I, with our desire to become everlasting. We ate the shine of the sun and turned into a pale remembrance of itself. We drained the earth of verve to enhance our own. We stole the lives of creatures to stretch mortality into eternity. And I, I am the worst of us all.”

“Why?” I said, though I didn’t want to hear the answer. I wanted to hear her voice again, heart aching from being deprived of it for only a pause.

“I am a kinslayer,” she said, calmly, as though stating any mundane fact. “My family became the death of a planet, but I became the Death of Deaths and took from them their shine and verve and long lives to reach true immortality. When I left to enjoy my newfound godhood, I learned its price. In my desperation to find something still alive, I wandered so far I could no longer find my way home.” She closed her eyes, shuddered a sigh. “I lost my way for countless lifetimes, but wherever I went, I found nothing but ruin. Sometimes, I came across animals who had survived—though I now suspect they all were like you and Nastasha, tied too closely to this world for me to devour. After I had let them eat, I woke up alone. None of them were as devoted to living for the sake of living as you, I reckon.”

She trailed off into a hum, scratching the good spot. Her touch sent shivers through my body. “I thought I’d have to live alone until I met you,” she went on, quieter. “I’m glad we did meet, though neither of us got what we wanted. It seems that, in the end, I stole what was dearest even from you.”

“I don’t believe you. You are my friend. If you had the powers you claim, you would have used them for good.”

“If you were a cruel beast,” she said, and her smile eviscerated me in a way it hadn’t come close to before, “why do you cling onto the good in me?”

“I couldn’t go to my demise knowing you, too, were a wicked creature.”

Her hum turned inquisitive. “Ichabod, I’ve confessed to you because I want you to go to your demise without burdens.”

I pricked my ears at that.

“I sought to die here because I was weak and lonely, and afraid you’d leave me like all the rest,” she went on. “Now that I know I cannot do that, I have something else in mind. I will walk the earth and return everything I took. I will give away my shine so that stars may glow at night. I will let rivers run wild and unrestrained. And,” she tapped my nose, “I will make sure every forest I raise has a fox as its little prince.”

“You can do that?” I said with surprise. “Do you promise?”

She hugged me tight. “It will be difficult, but I swear it on this good heart of mine.”

“Then,” I said once she let go, “I think it is time I left.”

“Goodbye, Ichabod. I won’t forget you.”

“Goodbye, Evelyn. I’ll try not to forget you.”

I padded towards the house, no longer frightened. At the porch, a ghost of uncertainty crossed my thoughts, and I paused for one last look at her. “Please turn away. I don’t want you to see me change.”

“Won’t you feel lonely, with no one to see you go?”

“Everyone goes to death alone, Evelyn.”

Evelyn bowed her head with a mirthless laugh. “Of course.” She spun, and when the crow glanced at her, I dashed into the shadow a pillar cast. After a minute, she asked, “Ichabod?”

They couldn’t see me hiding, and the crow said, “He’s gone.”

Evelyn turned, gazing up at the house. “Good. I don’t want him to see me, either.” She lowered her gaze, looked towards the entrance for so long I thought she had spotted me, but then asked, “What did he atone for?”

“I don’t know,” said the crow. “He did something that caused the wolf to resist you, something that bound her soul here, and theirs together. It left them half-eaten; you took their lives, but left their bodies walking. Every creature yearns to find where they belong, but she was too distracted by the grief of her last moments to find her way here, and he could not be free until she was.”

Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself and looked at her feet. When she raised her head back towards me, even from a distance, I saw her tears.

“Did you truly not notice your companions were spectres?” the crow went on.

She brushed her face and hardened her expression before turning. “Don’t be snide. Your eye was always sharper than mine. It was the one thing I couldn’t take from you.”

“Mm. I will go as well, now everyone is accounted for.”

My heart sunk when she replied, “I think that’s for the best. No creature should have to walk this earth anymore.”

“But you will. If you went through that door, nothing would happen. Death herself can’t die.”

She sighed. “I feared as much, but my feet are tired. I think I’ve earned some rest.”

“I see,” the crow said, sweeping a look at the house and the plains. “For what it’s worth, I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Evelyn.”

“Goodbye, Tristan. Bring my love to mother and father.”

The crow hobbled away from her. When his claw touched the threshold, I witnessed him shed his feathers and turn into an old, withered man. As he stepped inside, he grew younger, handsomer, until he faded into the darkness.

Evelyn had sat down to inspect a blade of grass she’d plucked. “Please, don’t,” I whimpered to myself when her lips parted. She did not hear me; the bead of milk rolled off the leaf to touch the tip of her tongue. She began to hum softly, plucked another and drank its milk. A dull iron cloud took away the luster of her eyes.

Head hanging, I approached the door.  Evelyn’s only lie was one of kindness, and it made her prior honesty regarding her vileness hurt all the more. She had taken what was most precious from me, but it was not my life. I had lost both my friends.

As the shadows sheltered me, I began to feel lighter, at peace with all the deeds I had come to feel shame for when I learned kindness from Huntress and Blue Girl. I wondered if Huntress’ forgiveness was for unwittingly tricking her into coming here, or if she knew I had killed her cubs. It wasn’t an act of evil, only self-preservation. I was hungry, and thought to kill them young so they wouldn’t grow to hunt me.

At the precipice between this world and the next, I stopped to listen to Evelyn’s humming. I heard no beauty in her voice anymore. It had turned into breathy, discordant notes, and ceased altogether when I walked into Charnel House, where dead things went to die.

 

* * *

Originally published in The Death of All Things

About the Author

Ville Meriläinen is a Finnish university student and award-winning author of speculative fiction. His short fiction has appeared in various venues online and in print, including Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, Pseudopod, and Abyss & Apex. His musical fantasy novel, Ghost Notes, is available on Amazon.com.

by Hannah Montine

“Every decade or so, Turtles visited the Vault of Souls to acquire Soul Seeds for a new generation.”

Finnigan wanted the weight of a world on his back. It was his right, his responsibility, his entire reason for existence as a Cosmic Turtle. Why couldn’t Grandfather Bumi understand that?

“I do understand, Finn,” Grandfather said. Being several billions of years old, his intuition into the thoughts of others was all but omniscient. “Nonetheless, you are young and growing still. A world is a tremendous weight to place on a young turtle’s back. We would not want you to crack under the pressure of Soul Seeds planted too soon.”

Hmph, thought Finnigan. Was not a world a tremendous weight to place on an old turtle’s back? And yet Grandfather swam swift and strong through the eternal sea of stars, carrying a world of shining skyscrapers. Tiny aircrafts driven by tinier mecha-humanoids trafficked that skyscraper world.

Finnigan wanted that with every fiber of flesh and shell: to safeguard fragile lives, to whisper wisdom into their dreams, and skirt them safely around the fathomless depths of black holes.

Hadn’t he already proven he could cultivate an acceptable habitat, even if the flora was limited to various shades of, erm, pink? If Grandfather had his way, Finnigan would be ancient before he was granted permission to spawn even a bunny. He didn’t want to be old and wrinkled with only a bunny to show for his efforts.

Grandfather chuckled a deep, rolling chuckle. “Be patient, Finn, be patient. Worlds are not built in a day.”

Finn didn’t have time for patience. He wanted a world of his own, and a world of his own he would have, so there.

* * *

Every decade or so, Turtles visited the Vault of Souls to acquire Soul Seeds for a new generation.

When the time came, Finn zoomed alongside Grandfather. “Let me fetch your new Seeds this time, Grandfather.”

“Now, Finn. Securing Soul Seeds is a tremendous responsibility—”

“Yes, yes, I know. How better am I to learn?”

Thoughtful silence fell. Something twinkled in Grandfather’s eyes. Stardust, maybe. “How better indeed.”

The interior of Finn’s sunset-pink shell tingled with excitement. But he mustn’t get ahead of himself. He mustn’t think about his brilliant idea, because if Grandfather heard—

Swim, don’t think.

Although Grandfather needed only four thousand souls, Finn swam to the Vault Keeper, an ancient turtle with a neck two times too long, and requested, “Four thousand and one, please.”

The Vault Keeper squinted at him. “No odd numbered requests permitted. Thank you.”

“What? There is no such rule.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“See here, young hatchling, you are Bumi’s grandturtle, and Bumi only ever procures four thousand seeds. Thus, four thousand and one is an odd number.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.” Finn slapped his fins against his shell. Old turtles and their rules. What could he say to move things along? Oh yes! “Grandfather needs extra because one of his clankers short circuited, you see. It started shrieking “Incinerate!” and blasting its fellows to smithereens. It was a horrible business. He doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Oh? Really?” The Vault Keeper’s squint turned suspicious.

Finnigan scrunched his neck to make himself as small and innocent as possible.

Finally, the Vault Keeper unlocked the tremendous vault atop her shell and measured out four thousand and one seeds. She scooped them into a bag and finned them over with a stern glare. Fin peeked between drawstrings. Each seed was tiny, warm, and pulsing with its own inner light.

“Do remind Bumi he has only a year to return any damaged seeds for recycling,” said the Vault Keeper. “Next!”

Inside, Finnigan cackled with glee. He executed a tailspin, shedding stardust from his fins. His great idea was working!

* * *

Planting a new generation required concentration. So much concentration that Finnigan encouraged Grandfather to shut his ancient eyes and allow the currents of time and space to carry him along while he attended to details.

“I’ll wake you if the universe combusts or something,” Finnigan promised.

“And are you expecting a combustion of some sort?”

“Um, no.” He thought hard about the opposite of combustibles. “I only thought you would enjoy the shut eye.”

“Such touching concern for my old eyes. I’ve never known you to be so considerate, Finn.” Grandfather smiled the smile of an old dodderer who knew far too much.

Finnigan fought the itch to shrivel into his shell like a hatchling. Instead, he stretched his neck long and proud. “What dutiful grandturtle doesn’t concern himself over his grandfather?”

Grandfather hummed thoughtfully, and with one last stroke of his time-etched fins, shut his eyes and drifted.

Finnigan counted ten heartbeats before breathing a sigh of relief.

On my own at last, he thought. Time to cultivate a habitat and dust off the soul recipes.

He turned his mind inwards, seeking the creative core that beat at the heart of all Cosmic Turtles. First, he must cultivate an atmosphere within a protective dome. The dome swelled bubble-like from his shell, glistening with faint rainbow light. Next came a turquoise sky and frothy pink clouds.

Pink, why was it always pink?

Taking a deep mental breath, Finnigan exhaled a honey scented breeze into the dome, making clouds tumble. He woke fields of silver-blue grass. Trees sprouted: trunks ivory, fluffy pastel leaves dancing in the wind.

Pastel? Fluffy? Pah. He’d sort it later.

Finnigan hacked out riverbeds and squeezed cyan raindrops from the clouds. Air, water, food, blah, blah, blah. These things were but empty trappings without the real prize.

At last, the Soul Seed.

He rolled his seed between his forefins, reveling in the faint thump thump of life within. How to begin? Some turtles nurtured their humanoids from seedling to sentient flesh over a tedious length of years. Others flung their seedlings to life with a dramatic boom.

Finnigan did love a good boom, but Grandfather was far from deaf. Quietly, he retrieved an ancient scroll from the depths of his shell. He unrolled it, skimming various recipes he’d collected over the years.

Domestic Bunny. Every young turtle owned this most basic of recipes. Boooring. He skimmed on. Murderous Mosquito, Stripey Tiger. Aha! Creative Humanoid.

Ten seeds a piece! Surely humanoids were not that complex. Ugh, he had only one seed. Maybe a bunny was the only-

Wait. Whoever said he had to use just one recipe when a dab of Cosmic Strength Goop could fuse two species into something new?

Invigorated by his brilliance, Finnigan conjured ingredients from both recipes and got to work. In went Humanoid Figure, a Quart of Inquisitiveness, followed by Cuddly Cotton Tail, Twitchable Nose, and Essence of Hop. For color he added a splash of Liquid Rainbow, because a common gray bunny-humanoid would look very queer amidst the predominant pink of his habitat.

Between his fins, the seed floated like a tiny planet, ingredients swirling around before fusing with bright pops of light. Soon it spun too fast to follow.

Wait till Grandfather sees this, thought Finnigan with a snicker. As soon as the seed sprouted, he’d show Grandfather exactly how ready he was to be a proper Cosmic Turtle.

Gently, he planted his seedling in a lush little garden, and watched, and waited.

* * *

Three galaxies later, Finnigan was tired of waiting. How long did it take soul seeds to sprout? Grandfather’s new generation had popped into existence twenty stars ago!

He debated the risk of swimming within eavesdropping range of Grandfather for about two seconds before zooming to catch up.

“Ah, Finn. How is your flora pigmentation problem coming along?”

“Still pink.” Finnigan had explained his new habitat away as an experiment to improve color variation. “Grandfather, how do you make your seeds grow so fast?”

Stroke, stroke, languid stroke went Grandfather’s fins. His eyes slipped closed and he hummed beneath his breath.

Why was Grandfather falling asleep again? He just woke up!

“I am not sleeping, Finn. I am listening.”

“No, you aren’t. I asked you a question.”

“Yes, but did you wait for an answer?” One of Grandfather’s dark eyes opened. “Every seed is unique. Some require sunlight. Some require cold. You must listen attentively in order to interpret their wants and needs from dreams.”

“Isn’t there a faster way to make seeds grow faster?” Finnigan huffed. But then a magnificent idea struck. “Wait. You do more than listen through dreams. You communicate through dreams. You could command a seedling to grow faster!”

Grandfather gave a thunderous laugh. The skyscrapers in his dome shuddered. Tiny sirens shrieked, “Warning, warning, earthquake!”

“What’s so funny?” Finnigan smacked his fins together. His idea wasn’t silly.

“You must understand, Finn: commands never go quite as we Turtles expect. Dreamspeak is a wibbly wobbly business. Your intention suffers much from interpretation, which is why gentle nudges are best.”

Gentle nudges my tail, thought Finnigan. Grandfather was simply jealous of his genius.

Again, Grandfather laughed, and the little sirens wailed, “Warning, warning, aftershock!”

* * *

Every chance he got, Finnigan shouted, “Grow, grow, grow!” into the haze of his seedling’s dreams. Every time he did, a new bunny aspect sprouted.

First came a pair of mottled rainbow bunny ears. They swiveled. They twitched. They kept beat as Finnigan hummed a tune of encouragement. Next, a nose popped through the topsoil, followed by a furry head. Mostly bunny, but with a humanoid’s forward-set eyes.

Finnigan cheered.

The bunny twitched its nose, wiggled its shoulders, and lurched halfway out. Pausing, chest heaving, it plopped its chin on a pillow of flowers, and then seemed to realize those flowers belonged in its mouth.

“No snacking yet. You’re almost done!” Finnigan said.

Wiggle, wiggle, lurch, lurch. Harder and harder the bunny clamored. Finally, it burst forth, showering dirt and clumps of grass.

“Woohoo!” Finnigan did a tailspin. When he leveled out, his bunny was clinging upside down to a tree branch, wide-eyed and trembling. Oops. Maybe he should just clap from now on.

Gently, he ushered the bunny back to earth. It wobbled on kangarooish legs. He burbled a brook to tempt it toward water, and rubbed his fins in glee as it drank. At last he was a proper Cosmic Turtle. He couldn’t wait to show Grandfather.

“Grandfather, Grandfather,” he would say. “Behold, I made a bunny.”

And Grandfather would reply, “And where did you get the seed to make a bunny?”

Oh, right, thought Finnigan. Um. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Grandfather just yet. Although his bunny possessed a fully-furred adult body, it was still young. Young enough to be transplanted elsewhere if Grandfather deemed him an unfit caretaker.

Hmph, Finnigan would show him! He’d be the best caretaker ever! First, he blossomed a trail of honey-sweet flowers to guide the bunny into the rich heart of his garden. Here, sweet melt-on-the-tongue fruits dangled aplenty. Veggies flourished amidst wildflowers. Fountains gushed aquatic music. His bunny lacked nothing.

* * *

For a bunny that lacked nothing, the bunny moped a lot. Oh, it nibbled fruits. It munched veggies. It sat on pebbled shores and splashed in the water. But it also spent hours kneeling in front of everything from trees, to flowers, to each individual blade of grass, and squeaking. Stranger still, it sat there waiting as if expecting the stupid plants to squeak back. When they didn’t, its ears flopped low, its cottontail sagged, and it moped around, sighing and plucking petals off flowers. Finnigan had worked hard on those flowers! Why was the bunny destroying them?

Stars. What if I got a damaged seed?

How to tell? For all he knew, sighs and flower mutilation were a normal side effect of combining bunnies with humanoids.

Growling under his breath, Finnigan kicked off in the direction of grandfatherly humming.

“Back again, Finn? Has the universe combusted after all?” Grandfather cruised along the gravitational currents of a balmy star, warming his new seedlings.

Aha, thought Finnigan, there’s a sneaky way onto the topic.

“If anything’s combusting, it’s your seedlings.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re awfully close to that star, Grandfather. Aren’t you worried your seedlings will get damaged?”

He gestured to where a mecha-man sat on a rooftop, gazing absently at a blank metallic canvas. Click, whirr went its steely forefinger, reconstructing into a laser-point pen.

“Oh, that’s merely an artist fishing for inspiration,” Grandfather said.

With a whirr, click, the mecha-man’s telescopic eyes extended, zooming in on the sky in Finnigan’s direction.

“Oooh, that cloud looks just like a turtle!” He began laser sketching a turtle-shaped cloud in a startling shade of pink.

Hmph. That clanker needed its visual wiring checked.

“Rest assured, Finn, everything is progressing as it should.”

“But how do you know?”

Grandfather opened one eye halfway. “I am a very old turtle. Very old turtles know everything.”

“Prove it. How many colors in a rainbow?”

Grandfather explained.

“Where do Soul Seeds come from?”

Grandfather explained.

“What’s the meaning of life?”

Grandfather explained.

“Why would a soul sigh and mutilate flowers?”

“That is a difficult question,” Grandfather said. “Perhaps you could provide more context?”

“Um. Bunnies, for example.”

“Ah, yes, a fine example.” Something twinkled in Grandfather’s eyes again. “In bunnies, I suspect those are symptoms of loneliness.”

Loneliness? Really? It was so simple! Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Well, it isn’t a thing we turtles think of often. We can swim to the edge of eternity and still meet fellow turtles traversing nearby. But imagine there were none. Imagine yourself the sole turtle in space.”

Pffft, no turtles, no rules. Sounds stellar.

But then Finnigan remembered the time he’d gotten lost in the Nebulous Nebula. No warm stars. No asteroids to race. No grandfathers to swim alongside. The vastness of space, alone, pressed upon him till he wanted to squish deep into his shell.

“Precisely,” Grandfather said. “Souls are not meant to be alone.”

Finnigan’s fins drooped. Sustaining another bunny was doable, but acquiring a second soul?

“Oh no!” shrieked the mecha-man in Grandfather’s dome. He leaped off his chair and dabbed desperately at a drool of molten metal. No use. “Ruined. Everything is ruined!”

He banged two fists against the canvas. That laser pen flared bright red.

Pew pew! Lasers streaked skyward, piercing clouds and pinging off Grandfather’s dome with a hiss and a sizzle.

Grandfather winced.

“Um. Are you sure that clanker isn’t damaged?” Finnigan asked.

Grandfather sighed something about never again mixing laser-capable appendages with emotional artists.

Wait. That was it! Unstable, er, damaged seeds got recycled.

Slyly, Finnigan sidled close. “Maybe you should have The Vault Keeper take a look.”

Again, Grandfather sighed. “Edna is a galaxy out of the way now, Finn. It would take me days.”

“Pffft, it’d only take me half a day.”

Really, Grandfather got more stardust in his eyes than any turtle Finnigan knew.

“Very well, Finn. Thank you.”

A glow suffused the mecha-man, snuffing his moans. Up he floated, a wisp of light, morphing into a seed between Finnigan’s forefins.

Yes! Finnigan somersaulted in excitement.

 * * *

Unfortunately, if planted straight away the seed would sprout unchanged, which meant Finnigan had to endure what felt like centuries waiting in line for the Vault Keeper. Why had he come at rush hour?

By the time his turn arrived, grumpy purple storm clouds churned inside his dome. “Tune up for Bumi, Mecha World.”

The Vault Keeper conjured narrow-rimmed spectacles perfect for glaring through. “You again.”

“Yes, me.”

“Hmm. You are being uncommonly helpful to your elders of late.”

“Is it so hard to believe helpful might be my natural state?”

“Yes.” The Vault Keeper relieved him of the seed and busied herself inspecting it from every angle, unraveling it to peruse the genetic code, once, twice, thrice.

Finnigan’s purple clouds ballooned into giant magenta ones. “Could you hurry it along?”

“Rush begets ruin, hatchling. These sort of things may take days.”

“Days!” Lime lightning flashed. “Grandfather’s in a hurry.”

Slowly, The Vault Keeper tilted her spectacles at an accusing angle. “Is he? How very unlike him.”

Finnigan shut his mouth and rumbled internally until she finally did whatever she did and finned the seed over.

“Be sure this is returned to Bumi. Seeds reared by an Elder Turtle develop intrinsic traits that can react unpredictably outside their home environment.”

“Obviously. Where else would I deliver it?”

“Where else indeed,” said the Vault Keeper with a frown that suggested she had a very good idea of where.

“Thanks!” Finnigan swiftly retreated.

 * * *

The Vault Keeper suspected him. She must. But did she suspect him enough to seek out Grandfather for confirmation? He couldn’t risk it.

After planting his second seed, Finnigan kept busy running errands for any irritating old turtle he could, in hopes of convincing her he was, in fact, naturally helpful.

“Are you feeling well, Finn?” Grandfather asked when Finnigan returned to his side wheezing and shaking in his shell.

“M’fine,” he managed. Errands usually did not exhaust him this much, but he was fine. After the eleventh time he delivered someturtle’s seeds for recycling, the Vault Keeper had ceased giving him suspicious looks and gone back to ignoring him.

“Why would Edna be giving you suspicious looks?”

Oops. Finnigan scrambled. “Oh, um, I keep pestering her to hurry and repair your seed.”

“There is no great rush, Finn. Are you certain you’re well? You look quite peaky.”

Finnigan opened his mouth to reply, but yawned instead. “Actually, I’m really tired. I think I’ll drift for a while.”

Eventually Grandfather swam on ahead. Finnigan hadn’t had a speck of time to himself during errands. He had missed the second bunny’s sprouting, though he knew the two had met: happy thumpity-thump-thumps jangled his shell.

Fatigue faded as Finnigan peeked into his bunnies’ world. He followed the sound of happy squeaks.

The mottled bunny splashed in a brook.

An answering squeak sounded from a treetop. Out bounced a pink bunny – dratted pink again! – and somersaulted into the water. Together, the bunnies splashed and played.

Excellent. Maybe now I can finally show—

Something else squeaked from a nearby bush. Out sprang a pint-sized bunny with chubby cheeks, followed by a second, followed by a third.

Wow! Second generation! Finnigan squealed with happiness. Just wait till Grandfather saw this. But first, he’d better cultivate more flora. No trouble. There were only five… eight… um, wow, eleven. He’d just—

Wait. How did his bunnies spawn a second generation independent of new soul seeds? That didn’t happen. Did it?

This conundrum nibbled at the back of his mind as he squeezed fresh rain from clouds and tickled tender greens to life. Baby bunnies ate a lot. By the time they finished one meal they were hungry for another.

This is exhausting, Finnigan thought, ushering a few last heads of cabbage into existence. Thank the stars replenishing flora could happen subconsciously, otherwise the bunnies might have starved before he found them. Maybe those errands weren’t what drained me, after all.

Once, he and Grandfather had passed a turtle that had given too much of itself to its world. Ice glazed its open eyes and glinted on every scale. What remained of its world lay buried in snow.

But that only happened to turtles too old and feeble to go on. He was young. He could manage thirteen bunnies.

* * *

Except when next he checked, a rainbow of bunnies frolicked everywhere: adults, tweens, babies. Argh! Why had he commanded them to grow faster?

Pew pew pew! A fluorescent beam seared through the canopy and singed Finnigan’s dome. Ouch! What now?

From deep in the garden, the pink bunny dragged a swath of leaves, stretched between sticks, into the pool of light created by murdering the canopy. There it sat, arms crossed, thumb stroking chin. Red flickered in its eyes.

Oh no. Is that—

Fzzzt! Lasers punctured the makeshift canvas, scorching tree trunks behind. The bunny jerked, glancing from ruined canvas to sizzling trees, and smiled a slow, buck-toothed smile. Up it bounced, knocking canvas aside, and began scorching pictographs of mecha-bunnies into every tree.

No! It’d set the garden aflame! Finnigan woke a lashing rain. Wind roared. Bunnies fled to their burrows. Even the pink bunny retreated, for now.

Oh, Stars. How am I supposed to handle a laser-eyed bunny?

Worse, as the bunnies drank, munched, and made merry, water levels sank. Trees dug deeper for nourishment. Tingles and aches pricked Finnigan’s fins, followed by cold, followed by numbness.

Within weeks, another generation joined the chaos, and every one of them possessed eyes of flickering red.

* * *

Even shriveled into the deepest, pinkest depths of his shell, Finnigan shivered. He’d spent thirty stars examining recipes for any reason his bunnies had super-productivity powers. Nothing. Plus the evil cotton-tails bounced all the time. They had all but jangled his bones to soup.

“Finn?”

Neck aching, Finnigan poked his head out. “Yes, Grandfather?”

Concern wrinkled Grandfather’s wrinkles. “Are you still feeling poorly?”

“M’fine.”

Grandfather laid a leathery touch on Finnigan’s head. “Fine, indeed. Whatever are you doing to tax yourself so?”

Heat flushed him from the inside out. He couldn’t tell Grandfather now. Not with everything in chaos.

“Tell me what, Finn?”

Stars, he couldn’t even not think a thought properly.

“Um,” said Finnigan. Grandfather wore the attentive expression of one who would not swim away without answers. “Well. I have been researching.”

“Researching what?”

“Recipes.”

Grandfather’s worry-lines smoothed into grin-lines. “Still thinking of your own world, I see.”

“Just planning ahead. But, um, I think mine are defective somehow.”

“How so?”

He finned the recipe to Grandfather, hoping maybe Grandfather would notice something he missed. But after a brief perusal, Grandfather said everything seemed in order.

But something wasn’t in order!

“Now, now, Finn, no need to shout. This is a perfectly sound recipe. I’ve used it often myself to patch together minor hybrid species. Helps with speedy population.”

Speedy population?

“Wait.” Finnigan un-tucked his fins and flapped them wildly. “What about soul seeds? You need soul seeds to populate!”

“Not for a beginner level species, Finn. See here.” With a loud clap of old forefins, Grandfather conjured two illusionary seedlings. He finned them into the shape of bunnies. They bounced together, producing a second boom, and then separated, slightly diminished in size and luminescence. As the glittering dust of the explosion cleared, a trio of baby bunnies wiggled to life. “Beginner level species sacrifice of themselves to forge a new life. That is why parents gray before the norm, you see.”

Finnigan did see. Worrywarts pebbled beneath his scales. “Um. How do you stop them from booming so much there’s no room left to boom in?”

Grandfather chuckled. “Leaping ahead yet again, are we? You’re too young to worry about population management. That comes decades into a successful seeding of species.”

“But—”

“Now, less talk, more swim. We’re nearing Pandora’s Blackout, and I’ll not have you surfing the gravity tide this time, young hatchling. Such antics give an old turtle palpitations.”

Finnigan swam alongside Grandfather in a daze. Surf the gravity tide? He couldn’t even muster the strength for his signature tailspin.

* * *

Turtles swam along the outskirts of Pandora’s Blackout: adults carrying flourishing worlds, younglings who whooped as they surfed the gravity tides, and hatchlings riding atop their parents’ heads.

One youngling shouted, “Finnigan, come play!”

Oh no, he couldn’t be seen like this! Finnigan scrunched into his shell and darted behind Grandfather, who cast a bemused glance back at him.

“Playing hide and seek, Finn?”

“Not really,” he muttered.

Something sparkled in Grandfather’s eyes. “I do hate to see you glum. Very well. I suppose you may surf a smidgen. If you beat me to yonder dwarf star.”

At that, Finnigan perked. Grandfather never raced him anymore. He used to, back when Finnigan was too little to outrace the moon orbiting Grandfather’s dome. Since he’d gotten bigger, however, Grandfather rebuffed every plea for a race with the claim he had eaten enough stardust for one lifetime, thank you.

“But I always beat you,” Finnigan said.

“Always is not always as definite as you imagine.” Grandfather raised his voice. “Or are you worried an old turtle might best you?”

Other turtles glanced their way.

Oh-ho, so Grandfather was feeling frisky, was he? Ha. Finnigan tested his fins. He wiggled his tail. Excitement for a race, however brief, dulled his aches. Maybe a quick zoom across the gravity tides would invigorate him.

“Ready?” Asked Grandfather.

“Readier than you.”

“Go!”

Finnigan kicked off, pumping hard and fast. Naturally he shot into the lead. Stars blurred on his right. The Blackout loomed dark on his left. Turtles cheered in the distance.

Here comes the gravity tug. The first wave yanked him so hard his joints popped. He wobbled. He flattened his fins out. Whew. Better.

Another pull jerked him askew. Stars spun. No! Pounding his left fins, he leveled out, panting. Why was this so hard? Bunnies didn’t weigh that much.

With a slow thwump of tremendous fins, Grandfather glided alongside him. “What’s all this huffing and puffing, Finn? Did you eat too many starfish earlier?”

“No.” How had Grandfather caught up to him? Grandfather never caught up to him.

Grandfather chuckled and stole the lead. “Come along, Finn, stop dilly dallying.”

Hmph! Telling me not to dilly dally. I’m the fastest turtle around.

“Finn, what are you doing? That is the wrong direction.”

What? No it wasn’t. He was swimming straight after Grandfather. He pumped his weary fins in a rapid swooomph-swoomph guaranteed to propel. Despite this, Grandfather’s lead grew, and grew, even when he flared his fins wide for a sudden halt.

Gravity snagged Finnigan at his core. Jerk, release, jerk, release. Oh no. Behind him now, the black hole yawned larger than before. Fear zapped his nerves. He kicked harder. But the tide dragged him back, back, back.

“Finn!” Grandfather pivoted sharply. The skyscrapers in his dome shrieked the shriek of tortured metal. “Dive to the side.”

Finnigan tried. He lurched right. He lurched left. Gravity snapped him back again and again. Painful crrrracks split a tiny patch of his shell. Shrill bunny squeals rang from his dome.

“I can’t.” He panted. “It’s too strong.”

Every black hole horror tale he’d ever heard popped into his head: tales of turtle’s shredded to fleshy lumps, of broken worlds and darkness and death.

“Grandfather!” Finnigan cried.

Grandfather charged faster than a meteor, so tremendous he eclipsed entire constellations. The shocking ba-ba-ba-ba-boom of his fins flung bolts of stardust into space.

He’s going too fast to stop. We’ll both get sucked in!

Grandfather slammed his fins wide as he whooshed by beneath. Had he overcompensated? Was he lost to the hole?

“Not at all, Finn. Rest easy. I’ve got you.”

Something bumped the underside of his shell. He peeked. Grandfather swam beneath, supporting him as he had not done since Finnigan was a hatchling freshly climbed from the Shores of Time.

Finnigan had never been so happy to feel like a hatchling. He draped trembling fins over Grandfather’s head. No doubt his bunnies were quaking in their burrows. His trembles lingered even when they reached calm space amid cheers from surrounding turtles.

“What happened, Finn?” Grandfather’s slow rumble was a massage to a jittery soul. “You’ve never been caught in a gravity tow before.”

“Oh Grandfather.” Finnigan hunkered deep into his shell where his voice echoed. He couldn’t lie anymore. He didn’t want to. “It’s these dratted bunnies! First there was one, then there were two, then they just went boom and multiplied by the billions! I can’t sustain them all. I tried, but I can’t. They’ve sapped my strength and cracked my shell.”

“Hmm. And how did you acquire a billion bunnies?”

Finnigan explained everything: how he had failed as a Cosmic turtle, as a caretaker, and as a grandturtle.

“Well, I’m not pleased, Finn. Not in the slightest.”

Finnigan flushed so pink the inside of his shell glowed. This wasn’t how he’d wanted his bunny reveal to go.

“Nor I,” said Grandfather. “But I am glad you finally told me.”

“Wait.” Finnigan poked his head out and gaped upside-down at Grandfather. “You knew?”

“I am a very old turtle, Finn. Very old turtles know everything. Now, let’s get your shell patched up. You will apologize to the Vault Keeper. No ‘buts,’ you will do so. Then you can drift and listen while an old turtle learns you a few lessons.”

Hope sprang to life.

“You can fix me? And my bunnies?” He didn’t even mind if the pink ones stayed pink and laser-capable so long as they weren’t so many.

“Yes, Finn. We can fix you both.”

* * *

Apologizing was not Finnigan’s favorite activity.

The Vault Keeper eyed him severely over her spectacles. “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson, young hatchling. There is good reason worlds are not built in a day.”

“So a wise turtle once said.” Grandfather shared a conspiratorial eye twinkle with the Vault Keeper. Finnigan felt quite ganged-up-upon.

Once patched up, however, he felt as light as light!

“Woohooo! I’m alive!” He did a triple tailspin and moon-walked around a meteor. No aches! No pains! Watch out, universe, Finnigan Turtle was back in action!

“Come now, Finn. Time for a lesson.”

“Coming!” said Finnigan, and abandoned action. He drifted quietly as Grandfather detailed recipes for plants to calm the bunnies and weather cycles to increase the growth of habitat. There was much to learn, but Finnigan listened in rapt attention and did everything Grandfather said, as slowly as Grandfather said, because he had no desire to experience anything like that bunny epidemic ever again.

 

* * *

About the Author

Hannah Montine hails from South Carolina, and every sweltering summer, dreams of migrating to Alaska. Much of her life has involved living and working on one type of farm or another. She is a human jukebox, a savior of overly-adventurous lizards, and a graduate of Odyssey Writing Workshop.