Yotun, son of Laenar and Arrut.

Date [standardised human time]: May 9th, 2120

(16 years, 4 months before the invasion of the radji Cradle).

If Yotun had nightmares, he did not recall enough to write them down. Sleeping no longer frightened him. His waking hours were far worse.

It did not matter what he did, he could always feel the weight of her loss like a sodden blanket smothering him. He cried he knew not how oft; tears came and went like the tide. Even if there was a land beyond the waves, he did not have the strength to try and reach it. It was easier to just lay there. Food was not particularly interesting to him, nor the playing of any games. Just about the only thing he could do was draw, but his sketches had become angry, discordant. His pencils would snap, and his markers would burst into bright blue splotches.

His parents cycled through moods of disbelief, worry, anger, and grief. The first couple of days they had barely left him alone, constantly trying to get a smile or a laugh from him or to goad him into leaving the house. He barely left his room, and most of his time there was spent lying on his bed. He could see the signs as well as they could. The only thing that had stopped him was Turin’s words. She risked it all for you.

Why had Ki-yu done that? Why had she made such a gamble? Knowing she was a predator was one thing, but a pyq was something else. What little he knew of them scared him. Yotun’s mind spun with the demented accounts of grey cattle ships, the brutal slaughter amongst the trees, and the sonorous voice that had left him in the dark.

His arm still bothered him, sitting in its stiffened bandage. It hurt when he wiggled his claws, but at least the swelling was down. Mother still fussed over him though, doting over every little thing. Father kept away. He was not sure which was worse.

If he had to choose, he would say the investigators were the hardest part. Their faces blurred together. An endless troop of radji law enforcement and the extermination office, with a few journalists who had snuck in as well. His parents were none too pleased when they found out who the latter were; Yotun had not seen his father that angry in a very long time. At least they had been aliens, a pair of v’rstatin and an iridian. He had liked the latter more; even if iridians were pretty odd looking, this ones comments were soft and sympathetic compared to the v'rstatin's more pointed probing.

After a while, it became easier to retell the story; he knew the whole thing by wrote. That is what it became, a story. Something that happened to someone else. His voice shook, his throat became sore and broken.

But he kept the secret.

There was a knock at his door.

“Yotun?” His mother’s voice. “You’ve got a visitor.” He groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “Yotun?”

“Go away!” he called out. “No more questions…” The door swung open with a loud creak. He curled up beneath his blanket, quietly wishing for his distant father.

“Hey, darling… how’re you doing?” Mother said. He shrugged against his covers but said nothing. “Father asked if you’d like something to eat?”

“No, thanks. I’m okay.” There was the sound of someone drawing breath.

“Please, darling… it’s been days.” He remained unmoved.

“I think we’ll be okay on our own.” A familiar voice hooted. Yotun looked around at Rylett standing alongside his mother.

Laenar seemed to have lost weight in the short time since the attack, her light brown fur becoming patchy around her temples. In her paws she held a plate of sliced shoko fruit. She tried to give him a meek smile, but it just made her appear gaunt. Rylett looked like her regular matronly self, although he could also read the concern on her expression.

“A-are you sure?” Mother whispered, her voice seeming small and defeated. Rylett covered the other woman’s paw with her own. The Priestess leaned close, whispering something in her ear. Yotun thought he heard the word “blame” as he sat up. Mother nodded, more to herself, and handed Rylett the plate. Cautiously, as though afraid he would startle, she moved up alongside her son.

“I… I love you, you know?” Yotun blinked at her.

“Y-yeah… I know.” Her smile was almost a tremble. She kissed his forehead, patted flat his spines, and turned away. His mother covered her face as she strode from the room.

Rylett turned to him as the door closed with a soft clunk. She looked around the room casually, glancing over his bed, his desk, and wide south-facing windows with their view of the declining mountains.

“You know… I think I grew up in a house about as big as this room,” she said amiably. She moved to the windowpane, looking out at the rows of vineyards below. She held up the plate. “And fresh food every day…”

“My father has worked hard,” Yotun mumbled. Rylett set the fruit down on his desk.

“I saw on the way in. There’s a lot of machinery outside.”

“Yeah… He, uh, wants to rip up the trees he planted.” The Priestess turned back to him, her brow furrowing.

“The retan trees? I thought he wanted to plant a grove for the kuru?” Yotun just shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“It mattered before the winter; it mattered a great deal.” She shook her ruddy head. “Ah, we all grieve in our own way.” Yotun did not know what to say to that.

“Why’re you here Rylett?” She nodded this way and that, as though weighing several options.

“Braq and Turin were worried about you, but truth be told I wanted to see you myself.”

“Is this about school?” Rylett smiled gently.

“If only. I don’t doubt things will be… difficult for you when you come back.”

“I-I don’t want to…” Her smile faltered, replaced with a sympathetic nod.

“I understand why you feel that way, but please think it through. You’ve got some time before the next year starts. But enough of that…” She looked at him softly. “Oh Yotun… I’m so sorry.” The boy shuddered at the words, feeling the dirty claws rip across his arm once more.

“How’s Braq?” he asked meekly. Rylett sat down on the bed.

“He’s had a rather nasty infection, but it’s the nerve damage to his leg they’re worried about,“ the tutor said softly. “He might suffer with it for a long time.”

“Oh…” He shouldn’t have gotten hurt because of me…

“Painkillers should help, but I don’t think that’s the worst of it. I fear he’s taking the loss of Callio rather hard.”

“He shouldn’t… It’s not his fault…” Rylett tilted her head, looking at him deeply.

“No. No it isn’t.” Yotun swallowed hard, wincing as he found his throat had grown teeth.

“I guess you wanna hear what happened.” The woman turned slightly, as though pushed by invisible hands. Her face was a mask, but he could hear the strain in her voice.

“Only if you think it’d do you some good,” she croaked.

“I-I’m okay,” he insisted, forcing a weak smile. “I just wish they’d all leave me alone.”

“Who?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “My parents, the investigators. They don’t stop. They just ask the same things. ‘Why did you go out there? Who else was with you? What did the predator look like?’” He started fidgeting with his bandaged arm. “’D-describe the attack. What were you feeling?’ They all say how sorry they are, but I don’t think they mean it.”

There was a flash of fire behind Rylett’s eyes.

“Interrogating a child…” she scowled. “I dropped by to find one of them getting their claws into Imdi. These people…”

“Why talk to him, he wasn’t even there…” The woman paused, then sighed.

“I suppose they haven’t told you,” she said. “The whole community is in shock or uproar. There are journalists knocking on every door this side of the mountains trying to gather any possible sightings. Whilst none of them have been brave enough to push into the forest, there is a full investigation combing that section of the Brackwood as we speak. Braq and Turin are cooperating as best they can.” Rylett shook her head. “Not just the extermination office but the general law enforcement, as well as government officials. This has sparked something, that much is clear.”

The teeth in his throat began to gnaw. He felt pitiful. That he should keep the secret, and with it Callio’s death, meant nothing if they pulled the Brackwood apart anyway. I don’t want any of this…

“W-we just wanted to see the trees again,” he whispered. Rylett drew a short breath, grimacing for a moment. She put her paw around his shoulder, pulling him toward her. “I d-didn’t… we cou-ldn’t…” He was crying again.

“Shh… I know darling, I know.” He snivelled into her fur.

“I-it’s all m-my fa-ault!” She rocked him gently, patting down his spines.

“If anyone was at fault for this it most definitely was not you.” Her voice was soft but sure.

“Wh-why not? If I hadn’t let her p-push me so far, then she-!”

“We can spend the rest of our lives thinking of what could have been. Goddess knows I’ve dreamt of as much. But I have found that life’s greatest irony is that we are only ever truly responsible for what we do next.” She pulled back, looking him in the eye. “You shouldn’t have gone walking in the woods. Braq and Turin should have warned you about the roht.” She crumpled a little. “I shouldn’t have suggested we all go out there. Shouldn’t have told you the waif story.”

“The waif…” he murmured. Wait. “It… was your idea to show people the woods.” Understanding took root. “You know, don’t you?” It was not even posed as a question. “You know about the p–” Her paw covered his mouth at once. Her eyes were suddenly hard, glancing quickly around the room.

“Don’t go spreading rumours, now,” she said under her breath. Of course… she’s been helping them… She patted his knee as she pulled back her paw. “You’d do best to put the whole thing out of your mind.”

“B-but… I can’t.” The hard look in her eyes faded to a more sympathetic one. Yotun reached under his bed, finding his notebook where he had left it. He flicked through it, turning to the latest sketches. They were all of her. Her narrow snout and sharp teeth spread into that ferocious snarl. Her supple, muscular form cloaked in her shadowy scales. The largest drawing was of her sitting over the dead roht, her arms stretched wide with bared teeth. Rylett took it in silently.

“Have you shown this to anyone? Has anyone seen it?” He shook his head; he had kept it hidden beneath his bed.

“I haven’t told them,” he whispered. “I-I’ve just s-said it as it happened, b-but that Braq killed it.” The Priestess scrutinised him hard, before she let out a soft sigh. It was quiet for a long moment. “I want to see her,” he said. “Please.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Rylett… please… I don’t have any other friends left.” She took a sharp breath, then sagged again, rubbing a paw across her temples. He could see the mechanism turning in her mind, weighing the risks. She flipped open the sketchbook, tapping on the image of what they called Ki-yu.

“If you let me take this, I will put it to them.” He ripped the page out at once. “All of them,” she said firmly. “And you’re not to make any more.” He handed the book to her. She put it quickly into her pack, but there was a twinge of remorse on her countenance as she looked back at him. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but please have something to eat. You’re so dreadfully thin.” The fruit his mother had brought seemed oddly unappealing. He grimaced but nodded.

“I’ll try.” Rylett rubbed his shoulder.

“Good,” she said as she stood. “I’ll be in touch.” Yotun lay back down on his bed, turning his back to the door again. He heard the Priestess stop in the doorway.

“Yotun…” she said softly, “I don’t think Callio wanted to spend time in the forest. I think she wanted to spend time with you.” There was a long pause, filled with nothing but the warmth of tears on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” Rylett whispered, the door clicking shut behind her.

~*~

Rylett had used some of her Champion status to suggest that some fresh air away from everyone might do him well. Yotun could not fault her, an honest justification is better than a lie. Still his parents had dismissed the notion at first, wanting to keep him safe and close. Eventually they had relented, but only after Rylett had become increasingly firm, and they had subjected him to a full meal.

Rylett’s car coasted up and over the mountains, the tall spires of snow and stone slipping by beneath them. Yotun had never looked down on the forest before, his mother always flew northeast toward Bendara, saying there was nothing for them to see this way. Oh, but what a view it was! The vehicle’s shadow raced up and up the terrain, leaping over the cragged vistas and ice-capped peaks, before suddenly they were past the barrier, through the veil, and over the forest beyond. The dark green was starting to return to many a tree, the lighter tones of the undergrowth filling in between. The rock, dark granitic grey in places, in others a lighter beige, formed tilted scraggly cliff faces, sheer drops, and gentle descents. And here and there between the hills, Yotun could see the meander of rivers, the bowing of hidden lakes, the sun glinting brightly off their surface.

And somewhere down in those darkened trees was a log sitting across a small stream and a crèche of pale white flowers.

The car whirred as it climbed higher, and gradually the features of the forest faded into indistinct masses, a stretch of darkness sloping down into the plains. Had he strained his eyes, he might have been able to pick out the half-buried wooden lodge and its long barracks of predators whipping by.

He had already surmised that they would have moved her; it would be hard enough trying to hide a pyq away even if she was not literally beneath their feet. Were Braq and Turin actually crazy? That was certainly the most reasonable conclusion.

“I’m sorry for how… dismissive I must have seemed yesterday, Yotun,” Rylett said as she piloted the vehicle. “But I had to keep up appearances in case anyone was listening.” The idea of his middle-aged schoolteacher engaging in espionage would have been quite humorous in a different circumstance.

“When did you first meet her?” he asked the ruddy woman beside him.

“A few months ago,” she said. “It was… something of a surprise.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, it was.” Rylett snorted, then glanced at him apologetically.

“Sorry,” she chuckled. “You’re just wearing the same expression I was when I first met her. You’re probably wondering if we’re all mad.”

“Are you?” She tittered for a moment, then shrugged. She seems so… relaxed. Resigned almost. Yotun tilted his head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why would you look after her? Aren’t you a protector?” Rylett raised a tawny brow, looking out the corner of her eye.

“I think you just answered your own question lad.”

Looking out of the window, Yotun noticed they were descending quickly. The vehicle was rocked by strong winds as it shuddered to a stop on an empty beach. Outside the sands were hissing coarsely, the waves tall and grey.

“Perigee,” Rylett muttered. “I wouldn’t want to be on the water today.” There was no sign of anyone nearby.

“Where is she?” he asked slowly.

“Not here,” Rylett said, looking around carefully. “I need to be sure we weren’t followed.” It made sense, he supposed, looking out at the crashing waves.

“I don’t remember the last time I went to the seaside.”

“Callio often talked about this beach,” she said. “I thought you might want to see it.” The beach where she met Imdi. She had always talked about coming back. It was not as pretty as he had imagined.

“I, uh, really don’t want to talk about her- it anymore.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. ”Shall we talk about your parents instead?”

“M-my parents?” Yotun felt like he was back in the clearing. “Wh-what about them?”

“You’ve said before that you feel like they don’t understand you, and they feel like they can’t get through to you.” Rylett leaned further forwards as he tried to shift out of her gaze. “I’m worried about them too. Your father is so angry he’s as like to hurt someone else as much as himself, and your mother is so fretful with worry I doubt she’s eating either. But whenever I ask what happened to first make you so… how did your father put it? ‘Quiet and reserved’? I am met with that same silence.” She sighed, pulling his chin up to look him in the eye. “Yotun… I’m not trying to blame anyone here. I’m trying to help you.”

“They try,” he squeaked. “We just… we’re different people is all. It’s like there’s all this stuff we want to say, this…” He sighed, looking out at the ocean. “This big thing we’re avoiding.”

“And this thing, you all know what it is, but none of you want to talk about it?” Yotun remembered the cracking sound more than anything. He shuddered, forcing the memory back down again. “Yotun… what happened?” He shook his head. “Did they hurt you? Darling, I can protect you if they did.”

“I-I’m fine, y-you don’t need to do that!” She narrowed her eyes.

“Are they making you say that?”

“No! Th-they’re trying, honest! It wasn’t- they didn’t-!” He swallowed hard, shocked by the pleading in his own voice. “J-just pl-please don’t take them away…”

Rylett furrowed her brow and put them back into the air with a flick of her claws. The car was buffeted by the crosswind for a moment before picking up speed, following the coast further south. Fine water droplets spattered against his window, the sea beneath grey and raging.

“The last thing I ever said to my father,” Rylett said, “were the words, ‘I don’t care what you think, I’m never going to see you again.’” She sighed deeply. “I was right about the second part.”

“Oh…” he mumbled. Yotun had never even thought that Rylett had a family, but of course she must have done. “I’m sorry.” She nodded distantly.

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“If grief were easy, we would greet it far more joyously.”

“Well, how do you deal with it then?” The woman raised a brow, glancing at him with a reserved smile.

“I don’t think anyone truly ever learns to deal with loss, not really. There’s always so much left unsaid. We just have to find the best way to carry on. I have my work, my faith. For me that is enough.” She turned to regard him gently. “My father… wasn’t a perfect man. We argued a lot. Neither of us were comfortable with anything less than the last word. Yotun, I won’t pretend to know the full extent of what’s happened to make you all so distant. I won’t even try and argue that they deserve a second, or a third, or a hundredth chance. I guess only you can decide if they’re worth that. But I also know that, Goddess be good, I were given another moment with my father… I might try and find something else to say.” She reached over and took his paw in her own. “Just promise you’ll come to me if you ever feel unsafe.”

“Okay… I promise.”

Slowly the coast lanced out to the west, the tall woodwaifs retreating as the highway curled back. Rylett turned with the lancing peninsula, the land narrowing thinner and thinner, like a tapering claw diving into the abyss. Wild waters crashed against the point, the waves leaping to try and lick the car’s underbelly as they passed. Ahead of them, the narrow spit stood as a sentinel before the sea. There rose an old tower, long abandoned. It had been painted a light cream once, the colour bleached to pale ivory, greyish streaks staining its seaward side, and at its top was a faded green capsule of frosted glass. A lighthouse?

“You hid her there?” Yotun snorted. “Isn’t that kind of obvious?”

“Is it where you would have looked?”

“Well… no, I guess not.” Rylett chuckled as she slowly circled down toward the small speck of land amidst the sea. The engines droned louder as the craft battled against the elements, shaking to a stop on the cragged path up to the looming pillar. Rylett flicked off the vehicle, a light whine as it powered down. She turned to him.

“You know… you do have other friends, Yotun.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. “But Imdi’s just a kid.” The woman hooted softly.

“Actually dear, I was talking about myself.” With a flick of a claw the passenger door slid upward. She produced a solid plastic box with small holes in the lid. “She’ll need this.” He took it from her, and for a moment swore he felt something shift within.

“Wh-what is it?” he asked slowly, wrinkling his nose.

“Just… don’t open it.”

“Aren’t you coming as well?” he asked.

“Speaking from experience, I think you’ll be better off alone.”

The door slid shut with a pneumatic hiss as Yotun exited the vehicle. The path to the tower was a short set of weathered stairs, rising up to a stiff old door firmly set into its hinges. Trying not to get thrown into the sea by the gale, he managed to pull it open with his uninjured arm. Within was darkness. Creepy. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Rylett still sat in the car watching him. Would she still take me back home now? No… I’ve come this far.

He stepped slowly through the threshold and into the dim room. There was a rough rug beneath his feet, but beyond the overcast light did not penetrate.

“Hello?” he called out. There was a distant clattering noise before his echo reached him. Yotun felt himself bristle, taking a half step backward. There was a bang as a gust of wind slammed the door shut behind him. Yotun near jumped out of his quills, barely avoiding dropping the box on the floor. The tower was thrust into the gloom, and he could hear nothing but the smothered gale and his rapid breathing. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, light filtering into the tower from narrowed shutters. He was standing in a small, short corridor, the rotting remnants of wooden hooks by the door. Something was screaming between his ears, pleading to flee. He quieted it, swallowing the stabbing feeling in his throat. He stepped forward cautiously. The stone gave way to creaking wooden floorboards, worn in places by the thousands of footfalls of a lighthouse keeper, pacing their regular route. The interior door was ajar. Yotun reached out, wincing at the resounding scraping sound it made as he swung it open, and peered through.

Beyond was a wider semi-circular chamber, two thirds the area of the lighthouse’s base. More shutters on his right lit the room, their regular placement painting it in narrow rays of warmth. To his left was a dividing wall, a small archway leading to two sets of steps: one up, one down. A worn rug sat beneath a few wooden chairs, a large table, and several shelves filled with aged and scattered books and scrolls. The furniture had been arranged haphazardly, as though one knew that a room should have some but cared not for their use. The faded photographs of grizzled grey radji as well as the musty smell told Yotun that no one had lived here in some time. It made him uneasy.

“Hello?” he gasped thinly, his voice spinning up the winding staircase. He cleared his throat and called out as loud as he could. “Hello?!” Naught moved. “I know you’re here! Rylett wouldn’t have brought me if you didn’t agree!” Nothing. He shook his head, suddenly angry. “You’re still hiding?! After everything?!” he yelled at the tower. “I’ve seen you! I’ve spoken to you! I know you’re name, Ki-yu! And I know what you are! And yet here I am, seeking you out again! And here you are, hiding from me! Again! Just like old times, huh?!” He stood there panting hard, his anger echoing up into the rafters. Then there was silence. Damn her. “Fine,” he huffed, making to leave. But as he turned around a shadow detached itself from the alcove over the door and dropped heavily in front of him. He knew it was her, but he barked out in fright regardless. Everything about her posture was aggressive as she rose up on her hind legs to look him in the eye. Whilst maintaining eye contact, she slammed shut the door with one swift tail flick. She advanced on him, her movements quick and powerful. He retreated on instinct, the table squeaking against the floor as he backed into it. He was bent double, his flared quills scratching against the table as she leered over him. She still advanced, pushing the table forward —and him with it— in a squealing show of strength. The bookshelf dropped some of its cargo around them as the table was shoved into it. Her claws dug into the wood, scoring, etching. He gibbered wildly, unable to form a thought, let alone a word. Her eyes were everything, darkened slits trapping a dim glow as she stepped through the shuttered sunlight. Her snout came up, showing the slightest hint of teeth before snapping them sharply shut beside his ear.

“I suppose a deaf boy wouldn’t talk so much,” she sneered.

“D-d-deaf?” he stammered.

“Yeah, deaf,” she snorted, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “How many times did I tell you to stay away?” Her dark eyes bore into him for a moment more, then she pulled back off the table. Her gaze fell down onto the box in his paws, her own sinuous hands wrapping around it. Snatching it away, she skulked around him to pounce up onto the tabletop. “You’ll want to step back.” Her breath on his neck made him fall forwards, scrambling over to the adjacent wall. He was panting hard, his heart pounding. He knew what was in the box, but he could not look away. The pyq stared at him with large predatory eyes, before turning her back. She ripped the lid from the container, Yotun recoiling as something squealed within. Her long snout came down in a flash, there was a wrenching, cracking sound, and the squealing stopped. He glimpsed the ragged form of a small animal being thrown down her throat before he buried his face in his paws, visions of predators, petals, and dying girls plastering his eyes.

He did not know how long he sat there, shaking and sobbing manically into his palms. When the creature spoke again, her voice was softer than before.

“Sorry…” she said. “It’s been days.” Steadying himself, he pulled back his paws. Ki-yu had laid herself down on the table, lounging on her side. Her paws were crossed, her demeanour relaxed and casual compared to how he had seen her last.

“It’s okay,” he wheezed. “I… understand.” Ki-yu peered at him out of one onyx eye, as though not quite believing him.

“Why’d you come here? Why’d you want to see me?”

“I… um…” Why did I come here? Would she believe I just wanted to see her? She sat up a little.

“Do you still want me to kill you?”

“I…” It could all end… “Wh-why’d you ask that?”

“It’s what you asked me.“ She flicked her tail behind her. “A strange thing to ask someone, but then you’ve always been strange.” Her eyes bore into his own. “I could,” she said, leaning forward once more. Her tail stilled, curling around herself as she uncrossed her front paws. The filtered rays cast her partly in light and partly in shade, leaving the predators shape undefined, amorphous. Sitting there, as though poised to spring, Yotun thought he was looking at some forgotten god awaiting supplication on her pedestal.

“No,” he croaked. “No… I came to talk.” The predator regarded him, shifting her head imperceptibly.

“Talk.” Ki-yu curled her long pink tongue around the word, tasting every nuance. “Talk… Okay. Let’s talk.” She slid forward off the table, and the desire to flee became unbearable. He scrambled backward on his paws. The pyq just followed him, padding casually after him.

“H-have I done something wrong?” he gasped as she chased him. She rumbled deep in her chest, rising up.

“You were mean to him,” she breathed. Imdi… In two swift strides she was over him. He tried to speak but the words caught in his throat, instead he just yelped. “Not just the first day at school. Afterward you kept pestering him, bothering him. He’s tried to explain the concept of bullying to me. I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She touched him, her clawed hands strong and forceful as she gripped him by the shoulders and pulled him into a chair. “So, why don’t you explain it to me, you know, like old times?” Yotun panted hard in a dry mouth, feeling breathless and lightheaded. He was suddenly grateful to be sitting down. Ki-yu stared at him, her eyes inky pools in the gloom.

“Th-there’s n-nothing to explain,” he wheezed. “I was… jealous. And angry…” She peered into his face deeply.

“Angry?” She sat back on the ragged carpet, resting on her haunches.

“You left me alone in the dark! Why c-couldn’t you trust me?!”

“I did trust you! All too easily…” Her expression pulled together, the predator slouching into herself. The wind was howling.

“I-I didn’t mean to keep pestering him, I just…” He hung his head. “I actually rather like Imdi… but I’ll stay away from him too… if you want.”

“No… he needs real friends.” She rubbed the back of one arm. It was a little gesture, but totally incongruent with the rest of her. She glanced at him sheepishly, and the motion stopped. Yotun shifted in his seat.

“How are you?” he asked her quietly. “You don’t seem hurt anymore.” She shrugged her muscular sable shoulders as she sat up again.

“Okay. Baba got it worse. I’m… sorry about Callio.”

“Are you? Can you be?” The look in her dark eyes told him all he needed. “Sorry,” he croaked, putting his head back against the chair. “Guess I still can’t believe it.”

“That I might actually feel things?”

“That you’re actually real.” Ki-yu just looked at him. “F-for the longest time, I wondered if I was insane. If I’d imagined the whole thing. Spent the whole time talking to myself.” He cleared his throat. “Why’re you all the way out here?”

“They’re searching the lodge. I had a room there, but we’ve cleared it all out.” Ki-yu craned her long thick neck to stare up at the ceiling above. It was strange to watch her speak; she seemed to talk deep in her chest, the sound only partly modified by her lips. Her voice was lighter than an adult radji, almost sweet. Yet there was a tension to her breath, as though her strong lungs were always ready to let out a roar. He almost did not flinch when she looked at him again.

“Ever been in a lighthouse before?” she asked.

“N-no. Do you like it?” She smacked her jaws together, as though tasting something.

“It’s really weird being in a house so tall,” she said, tracing imaginary lines with her claw into the carpet.

“You must want to go outside.”

“Not really. It’d just be cold, and there’s nothing else around this tower.” She sniffed. “There’s a big crystal thing at the top though, dunno what that’s about.”

“It’s to warn ships in the night that they’re nearing land,” he said. “Or at least, they used to. Not so many seaships anymore.”

“How can you know that if you’ve never been in one before?”

“I dunno… I guess I read it somewhere.”

“Oh.” She flexed her claws absently, Yotun trying to ignore their monstrous span, their sharp edge. “Wanna see it?”

“The lantern?” There was an odd, eager look in her large eyes. “Okay.” Ki-yu made a light chittering sound, stretched, and then sauntered over to the archway. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Are you coming or not?” Feeling like he was late to class, Yotun unpeeled himself from the chair and shuffled gingerly toward her. Ki-yu waited patiently, a serene expression on her long face.

“You first,” she said, looking at him expectantly.

“Why am I going first?”

“So that you can’t get away,” she said sweetly. “That’s a joke.”

“Doesn’t feel like a joke,” he said under his breath as he started up the twisting stone steps. Ki-yu padded up behind him, loping up like an animal.

“C-can I ask you something?” he called behind him.

“Mmhmm.” He took that noise for assent.

“Why’d you walk like that? On your paws?” Ki-yu sniffed.

“I don’t know… It’s just comfier I guess.”

“I thought pyq walked on two legs like us.”

“Us?”

“You know what I mean.” She chirruped to herself.

“I can stand up and walk, even run too. But I feel clumsier like that. You could probably shuffle everywhere on your knees; doesn’t mean you want to.”

The stairway broke off into other increasingly smaller rooms the higher they went. Yotun saw they passed a pantry, a kitchen, a small bedding room, and an even smaller but empty room, save a round porthole that opened on the sky.

Yotun had an overwhelming sense of how high up they were, the wind was more noticeable, the stone getting cooler with each step. His knees were beginning to get sore, when at last the stairway terminated in a square wooden hatch. He stopped before it, a question burning in his mind. He looked back at her.

“W-would you have killed me? If I had asked?” Ki-yu peered up at him from beneath her brow. Slowly she rose up to him, her hand passing within a whisker of his neck. He flinched. She pushed the hatch open with a clunk. She made a huffing sound, deep in her snout as she brushed past him.

“C’mon,” she grunted, her tail whipping behind her as she disappeared up above. Swallowing a shuddering breath, he followed her up.

The lantern room was a solid structure of metal and glass, worn yet resolute in the sky. The wind howled against the frosted crystal, the moaning gale singing out its rage at the transparent dome. It struck Yotun as odd that both escaped the senses in opposite ways —one by fluid movement, the other by becoming immutable and solid— and yet were still partially felt. The lens at the rooms centre was another curious thing; loops of rippling refracted light, as though someone had convinced the wailing wind outside to kiss the stillest waters at the dawn. It was taller than he was, made of heavy thickened glass, and yet its intricate design spoke of a fragility, a delicacy to which it had to be balanced. Were it to topple from its pedestal it would no doubt shatter. In its heyday the keeper would flick a switch and this room would grow so loud and bright and hot that it would cry against the wind, burst through the glass, and push back the night. This was a thing that yearned to be seen.

Looking around, he found no sign of the predator.

“Ki-yu?” Only the wind answered. “Where’d she go?” His eyes raked about the room, feeling exposed and vulnerable so high up. His gaze passed over the lantern. Magnified by the lens was a massive predatory maw, grinning with sharp pointed teeth.

“AH!” he cried out, falling backward. He fell on his rump, a sting passing through his injured arm where he caught himself.

“Yotun!” Ki-yu darted around the pedestal, seemingly anxious to check on him. She stopped before she reached him. “A-are you okay?! Oh, I’m so sorry!” He hissed checking his arm.

“I-I’m okay… ow…”

“Oh sorry…” she groaned, kneading at her cheeks. “I-I thought that’d be funny…” Yotun picked himself up.

“Serves you right,” he grumbled. Ki-yu looked crestfallen. “Do it again.” He smirked at her bewildered expression. “Go on, I’ll try not to fall over this time.” Hesitantly, but with a slight upward twist to her mouth, Ki-yu sat behind the lantern again. Her long face became short and squat, the edges of her face pushed outward.

“How’s that? Pretty scary?”

“Less than usual,” he said, kneeling on the opposite side of the glass. She grinned, turning her head to the side. The glass made her slender snout droop down at the end. He snorted.

“It makes you look funny too,” she giggled back. He pulled a face, sticking out his tongue. Ki-yu chortled, a rasping barking sound. “Really shows off your big mouth!” They snickered together, giggling at their warped visages till their stomachs hurt. Slowly the laughter drained away, leaving them looking at each other through the warped crystal.

“I didn’t mean to scare you so badly…” she muttered. “After everything… it was a stupid thing to do.”

“I’m sorry too,” he mumbled back through the glass. “About before. I didn’t mean to… offend you.” He took a deep breath. “Sometimes… I feel like I’m sleeping. Like this is all a pleasant dream, and my nightmares are what’s real. Even right now, I guess I’m just… sleepwalking.” He shook his head. “Thank you… For saving me. And the, you know, not killing me when I asked.” Ki-yu moved out from behind the lantern, sitting down beside him.

“I wouldn’t have,” she whispered. “Not ever.” Somehow, he believed her.

“Turin… said something funny.” Ki-yu folded her arms, resting as she had before. “Not funny ‘haha’, more… funny odd. She said that night in the woods… after you left me alone… in the dark… she said you cried.” The girl shook her neck out, taking a deep breath.

“You look… thinner,” she said. “You were always skinny, but…” He peered at her, dumbfounded by the non sequitur. She sniffed, shaking her head as if to dislodge something. “I struggle with eating too. I don’t like hurting things. It was… so very cold that night. I’d forgotten my coat. On the way home I, uh, found a vyrryn. He was sleeping, s-so I got him before he could get away. And the whole time… I-I wasn’t even thinking, I just went for him…” He bristled despite himself. It was one thing to know she killed, another to hear her talk about it. The girl did not seem to notice his rapid breathing. “That night… you asked me if I liked it. Killing things. Hurting things…” Ki-yu sniffed out a bark. “Poor excuse for a predator huh, don’t even enjoy the kill.”

“And… the roht?” he breathed. “Wh-what did you… feel then?

“I… guess I felt… angry, scared.” Outside the sea raged, a leviathan of waves. “Callio,” she whispered. “She was the one in your pictures, wasn’t she?” Yotun felt his throat constrict. He nodded. Ki-yu wrinkled her snout, letting out a snuffing sound. He caught a glimpse of wet eyes before she turned her head away.

“My fault…” she mumbled.

“Ki-yu…” His throat was almost too taught to speak.

“Why’d you come back?!” It was almost a keen, strangled deep in her throat.

“We wanted to see the kuru…” She rubbed her muzzle with her paw, sighing.

“…you should see them in their nests… The babies have the fuzziest downy white feathers, and their legs are so small.” She sniffled. “Imdi says they look like little clouds.”

“Clouds? Really?”

“Ahuh,” Ki-yu chuckled tearily. “He calls them ‘Ku’s ku’s’ to annoy me.” Yotun giggled, earning him a mild look from the girl.

“S-sorry,” he said, trying to hide the snigger.

“Boys,” she grumbled, but there was a playful edge to her teeth.

“You know,” he thought aloud, “I think this’s the first time I’ve laughed in days.” Ki-yu curled her lip weakly, fiddling with her tail.

“Me too.” Yotun had a sudden stab of pity for the pyq. Of course, she must miss them too.

“You haven’t seen them in a while then?” She made a sniffing, snuffling sound, her snout working as she turned her head away.

“It’s okay,” she said hoarsely. “It’s for the best.” Something in her tone plucked at a chord far too familiar. She’s lonely, he realised. As mournful and restless as I am. Ki-yu did not deserve this, this fear, this grief. She should not have to hate herself as much as he did himself! She probably thinks the same of I, that’s why she saved us. The thought was like a spark, a match dropped into the dry kindling of his skull. Synapses burned like wildfire, optic nerves scorched, and the bones of his ears shuddered and snapped from the heat.

His head lit like a beacon.

“No… no it’s not,” he replied. “It’s not fair.” They were imprisoned together, but in separate cells. Ki-yu slouched again.

“All I do is hurt, why couldn’t you stay away…” Straining, he pushed his arm out between the bars of his prison. The paw brushed against the hardened scales on her back. He felt her flinch as he touched her, looking at him fearfully out of one eye before glancing away again.

“It’s… okay,” he said, patting her. “It’s not your fault.”

~*~

Rylett’s car settled down in front of his house. It was mid-afternoon and the day had grown overcast. His father was in the yard, busy securing some working drones in the shed. He waved to them from where he stood, but he did not approach. The Priestess watched him with amber eyes. Yotun had been quiet for most of the return trip but was suddenly desperate to say something.

“Thank you,” he said to her. “For making this happen.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. Yotun rubbed the knuckles of his scarred arm. “Do you think she’s going to be alright?”

“That we’ll be alright you mean?” Rylett sighed, then smiled. “I have faith.”

“I know you’re just doing your job, or… uh, the faith or whatever, but… thank you.”

“I have a duty, it’s true,” she said, tilting her head to either side. “To you both.” Yotun nodded slowly.

“I uh… I think you’re a really good teacher, Rylett.”

“I have my moments.” she said, allowing herself a wry smile. “But I didn’t do anything. You helped each other.” Her eyes slid back to the house as his mother appeared on the back porch. Rylett reached into a compartment and retrieved a notebook. It was the same make as the one he had given her, but clearly unworn. She looked at him apologetically. “I… obviously couldn’t let you keep those drawings. Someone would find them eventually.”

“I know,” he murmured, taking the blank notebook from her. “It’s okay.”

“Well… I’ve written my contact details in there,” she looked pointedly out at the house. “Should you ever need to call me. For anything at all.”

“Thanks… my friend.” Rylett smiled sweetly at him, giving his head a pat.

“Go on then, I’ll see you sometime.” Nodding, Yotun reached out with his stiff arm, a dull ache as it hovered over the door release. He turned back to Rylett.

“If you could speak to your father again, what would you say?” The Priestess looked up at the roof, rolling her lips. She huffed from her nose, closing her eyes for a moment.

“I guess… I’d tell him that I was sorry… and that I forgave him too.” Yotun looked out into the yard.

“I’d, uh, better go. Mother will be getting worried.” The Priestess smiled, but the lines of her face quickly reasserted themselves. He unlocked the door and slid out onto the damp ground. Rylett leaned over the passenger seat as he exited.

“By the way,” she said, “I had a friend of ours start it off for you.” The lines melted beneath a warm smile as she closed the door, Yotun stepped back as the engine sprung into life. He flipped through the notebook. Rylett had written her contact details in tiny letters in the top right corner of the last page. The rest was blank, save the cover page, in which a thin hand had drawn a picture of a log resting on a cragged overhang. The lines of his family’s vineyards and orchards were visible below, as was his house. He smiled at it.

“Did you do that?” his mother asked as she joined him.

“No,” he replied.

“Oh,” she said watching the car depart. “I didn’t know Rylett could draw.” He offered her a weak smile and turned back toward the house. “Will you join us for dinner?” she asked, following him. He grimaced as his good mood evaporated, his stomach already feeling twisted.

“Mother…” he groaned as they passed through the kitchen.

“S-sorry…” she sniffled, making his stomach twist further. She did not follow him any further. He was marching himself up the stairs when a spike in his paw stopped him. Looking down, he found a splinter of white wood from the baluster drawing blue blood. He held up the new notebook in his other paw. I’ll try…

He turned back down the hall and into the kitchen to find Mother staring vacantly out of the window. She looks thin.

“Mum,” he said, making her jump.

“Huh? Yes darling?” He hugged the notebook across his chest.

“C-could we have some shoko pie tonight?” The woman went still, eyes wide for a moment. Then she smiled, her eyes growing misty.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Yeah, I can do that.” Yotun smiled awkwardly.

“Thanks Mum,” he said, setting his notebook down on the counter and going outside again.

Father was where they had seen him, tinkering with the drones. They had been outfitted with forestry equipment; aerosols and fertilisers had been swapped out for blades and shears. One large unit hung from a crossbeam, the legs dangling limply like a dead insect as his father dug through its metal guts. He looked up, then did a double take.

“Oh…” He swallowed hard. “Hey bud. How was your day?”

“Okay,” he said, shuffling his feet. “We went to the beach, just had a chat.”

“Would have been cold today.”

“And windy,” Yotun nodded. The man wore a fixed smile, something fearful behind his eyes. “Hey, uh Dad. Don’t stop.” Father looked confused.

“Don’t stop what?”

“Planting the trees.” His demeanour stiffened, then he shook his head.

“It’s a waste of time and money,” he said. “Takes too long to grow something that no one cares about.” He picked up a ratchet, looking up into the inactive drone.

“I-I care about it.” His father kept working, the tool clicking into a socket. “Callio cared about it.” He stopped. A moment later he pulled himself out of the chassis, looking at his son hard.

“And it almost got you killed too,” he said bluntly.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Yotun said, his throat so tight he could barely speak. “I see it all the time Dad! All the- Ah!” Yotun winced as his jaw popped painfully.

“Yotun!” Dad stepped over to him, worry and fear scarring his face. “A-are you okay?! Can you breathe?!”

“I-I’m okay,” he whimpered, rubbing his cheek. That’s not happened for a while. Father reached out to touch him, but stopped himself, turning away. Tears welled in the boy’s eyes, Yotun shaking his head. “Fine,” he snivelled. “If you won’t do it for me, I’ll do it for her.” Yotun turned away, intending to return to his room.

“Yotun…” He looked back. Dad stood there, a mournful expression on his face. He had picked up a pair of shovels, and after a moment, offered one to his son. “C’mon,” Dad said. “We can get started before dinner.”

---

“’You’re not a monster,’ I said. But I lied. What I really wanted to say was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe. […] To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.”

– Ocean Vuong, On Earth we’re briefly gorgeous.