Despite Monica’s promise to talk, the walk was quiet. The streets were dark and empty, and here and there he could sense her throwing her intent outwards. His partner was projecting an aggressive lack of patience towards the world, and every maiden within the city knew better than to test that.

Rick didn’t ask her to speak up, he could sense there was a purpose to their destination, but remaining patient was proving to be far harder than he thought. His mind just kept going back to those words, over and over again.

Or Monica might lose kit again.

He didn’t want to assume what that meant, what it could mean, but there were very few ways he could take such a statement.

The only thing he could do was wait and focus on the path they were taking.

Rick was unfamiliar with this place. It was one of the parts of the city he had rarely visited mostly because it was nearly entirely abandoned. The buildings here were larger, but closer together. The road had seen better days, cobblestone worn and uneven, the intricate windows of the houses were now just wooden boards. The buildings themselves were wood, but the burnt marks and soot were a sign this had been the case before the attack on Sinco, and not after.

There was a distinct feeling to the place that made it appear as if it could just fall down on its own any day now. Doors either left open or wedged shut, smashed window boards, and an oppressive silence that spread in every direction. Rick could barely pick up on the sound of the sea, and he was pretty sure the shore was right around the corner.

Monica came to a halt in front of a house that didn’t look any different to the others. She reached out, grabbing him by the shoulder, her power surging out, pulling them both into the shadows.

Eva’s shadow-jumps were an intense but brief affair. One moment you were out, the next there was chilling oppressive suffocation, and then back out. Monica’s were different, it was like falling into a pool of warm water. Rick couldn’t breathe just the same, but he got a clearer sense of movement. If he focused, he was sure he could even spot something in the void.

Their exit was into a place almost as blindingly dark as the void Monica could move through. But something in the air was different, warmer, without the scent of mold or sea or charred wood.

“Where are we?”

“Nest.”

Her large fuzzy paw tugged him forward, and Rick stumbled, falling face first into… cloth? It was a mound of cloth, pillows, and blankets. He couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure the thing was large enough he could get buried in it. A moment later a heavy ‘woomph’ sound followed as Monica took her spot on the pile. Without a comment, she scooped him up by the shirt and dumped him into her lap.

She’d removed her clothes at some point between pushing him and joining into the pile.

“Pretty cozy spot.” He tried to lighten the mood a little.

“Important place. Almost ready.”

She pulled his back against her chest. Monica wasn’t hunched over, she was stretched over the pile, which meant her massive breasts were currently resting on his shoulders. Rick could feel a trepidation from her, a mix of nervousness and seriousness that was clashing with expectation. She didn’t bother to hide her feelings, yet he couldn’t quite make out what she was thinking right now.

“Being feral is hard for thoughts.”

Her switch in mannerism jostled him a little. Rick tensed, but her hands kept him pinned by the hips.

“Monica can’t remember well. It is…” He couldn’t see the grimace, but it was apparent in the shift of her toned body. “It is telling memory, but not living memory. Complicated.”

He had his fair chance to look into things. From how Eva and Dia explained it, the feral curse didn’t just cut away your mental capacity, but it also ate away at your memories like rot on wood. A year under its effects could chew away a few weeks, maybe a month or so. Even if they’d been born and raised in the wilderness, a maiden wasn’t susceptible to the feral curse until they were old enough to need a bond.

It was why Hunters focused on catching younger feral maidens when given the chance. Maidens who remembered their youth needed less training to learn how to navigate the wilderness. They were the ideal recruits to swell the Hunter’s ranks.

“Many details missing?”

“Many many.” She agreed. “But sometimes Monica remembers smell, or place, or thing. Memory that isn’t memory, but that it is true.” With a deep breath, her hold on him tightened. “Was teaching Eva to hunt, and remembered.” Her voice tightened. “Kit… daughter.”

A heavy sigh followed, Monica released her grip on him, her tail draping itself over both of them. A protective warm fuzzy blanket.

Rick adjusted himself as best he could. “How much did you recall?”

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“Always knew. Not much, but always there. Pain and want.” Her cryptic answer hung in the air, her hands moved to wrap his chest into a hug. “Monica strong, claim mountain, defend mountain. Then… change, here.” She picked him up, putting him at her side, taking his hand, and pressing it against her lower abdomen. “Monica confused, but determined. Survive and fight, like always. But thought maybe not alone, then.”

Parthenogenesis. Another anomaly these beings possessed compared to humans. After their first puberty, a maiden could spontaneously become pregnant, the baby being a practical clone of the mother. It was the only way for them to get pregnant at that point of their life. It would not be until they hit their second puberty that they’d become a matron… and be able to have children the more human way.

“It grow, and Monica fat. Monica knew what was. Had seen many like this, knew had to prepare nest.” With her hand over his own, she squeezed. “Strong kicks.” There was a hitch on her voice. “Monica ready. Monica get good meat, good water. Warm nest.” She took a shaking breath. “And then pain.”

Rick didn’t want to think about it. The question he’d asked Dia the day she’d explained about parthenogenesis, about how the process was responsible for the ferals being as numerous as they were. The question about why the wilderness wasn’t just oversaturated with maidens like Monica, so powerful there was nothing that could realistically threaten them.

“Pain get worse.” Monica let out a shaking breath. “Bad. Very bad pain. Try to hold, try to survive.”

The more powerful the maiden was, the more powerful the parthenogenesis baby would be. Strong enough they could pose a threat to the mother’s life. Strong enough it could kill them both. And in those cases…

“Then it stop.” She sobbed.

“Oh God.” He immediately reached out to her, clambering up so that he could hug her neck. He blinked away tears, squeezing her tightly as she cried against his chest.

Rick thought she should wail or scream, but Monica’s tears were silent ones. The only proof of their passing was the dampness in his shirt and the way her whole body shook. He cried with her, unable to fathom the grief she must have felt at the time. It was impossible to miss how even this much was barely an echo.

It was impossible to tell how long it took before they’d calmed down.

Even after they’d calmed down, the silence stretched out, neither of them letting go of the other.

“Monica need strength.” She was the first to break the silence, loosening her grip on him, hands shaking. “Monica need fights.” There was steel in her words, a hard determination that wouldn’t let itself be swayed.

“Have…” He paused. “Have you spoken with Dia?”

“She say not Monica fault.” Her tone was bitter, angry.

Rick’s chest tightened. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault. But it was clear some part of her believed that she’d been responsible, that in her desire to survive, to stop the pain, she’d lashed out.

His fingers caressed the scars of her neck, and he choked on his breath. He could see it now, the scars that covered her body practically from head to toe.

“When the time comes, I’ll take the pain away.”

Monica nodded.

Her hands shook as she squeezed, her fingers pulled away enough that she could ball her hands into fists until the tremors stopped. She didn’t make a sound, but the frustration boiled through the bond. This time she tried to hide it, to tuck it away in shame to keep him from seeing it.

Rick did his best to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

With gentle touches, he combed his fingers through her hair, idly brushing the knots away until their breathing slowed and they fell into a rhythm. It took a while for her arms to relax, going limp albeit twitching every so often.

“I’ve been afraid of putting things into words for a while,” Rick whispered, scratching the base of her ear until it twitched in annoyance. “Saying things out loud has this… it feels like it makes things real, and real things can break.”

Monica shifted a little, pressing her chin against his chest so that she could look up at him. The darkness made it impossible for him to read her expression though.

“Recently I’ve been trying to change that. And… this will sound dumb, I know. It’s this thing that hangs over my head that everyone assumes, but no one really mentions because it seems obvious.” He took a heavy breath, scratching his chin. “What I’m trying to get at is… I like us being a family.”

For the longest moment, Monica didn’t answer, her breath tickling his chest. “Family,” she finally said, as if tasting the word. “Dia too?”

“Yeah.” He nodded a little. “And the others.”

“Kiara?”

Rick grimaced. “Yeah, though I feel she wouldn’t like the idea.”

Another long pause followed. “Sheel and Haal?”

He hesitated at the names. Both were tribe-members, Sheel was the Hobgoblin and the oldest in the tribe. The maiden was almost a matron. Her position and friendship to Urtha made her one of the default go-to’s whenever he wanted to know what the tribe was thinking behind closed doors. She also came with some convenient wisdom nuggets from time to time, and apparently had gotten along well with Dia.

Haal was the pregnant Orc. Like Sheel, she was Urtha’s sister in the broad sense of the word. Rick had barely shared a couple dozen words with her.

“I guess they could be considered a distant part of the family, or maybe friends to the family,” he conceded with a grimace.

“Yasir?”

“Same.”

“Rollo?”

“No.” He quickly answered.

There was a slight pause, Monica made a thoughtful sound. “Complicated.” She proclaimed with a huff, as if tossing the whole conversation out of the window. With impossible ease she brought him further down the pile until they were face to face. “Not bad complicated.”

Leaning closer they kissed.

“But only Dia allowed in nest.” Monica added as she reached over to his shirt to take it off.

He pretended to be offended, helping her stip him. “And me?”

“If not stink.” The soft pads of her hand caressed his chest. Her touch lingered on his scars. “Need smaller fights too.” She muttered as if making a promise. Whether it was for herself or him, he wasn’t sure.

“I promised Dia I won’t be throwing myself at feral maidens.”

“Boar is not maiden.”

Rick balked. “That’s worse in a lot ways.”

Monica didn’t answer, removing his pants and leaving him just as naked as she was. “Nest need more good-Rick scent.” She blatantly ignored his complaint, putting him next to her. “Cuddles?”

“Yeah.” He answered with a soft smile. “You get all the cuddles you could want.”

They embraced quietly, long into the night.