Imdi, the young boy.

Date [standardised human time]: May 8th, 2123

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

The dry grass rustled and shuddered around Imdi, framing his view of the bright blue sky. It had grown tall in the winter and was now high enough to reach his waist, more than plenty to hide him as he lay flat on his back. The light breeze rolled and shifted the prairie, the fronds tickling his sides and carrying away their slightly sweet-smelling seeds. Distantly some bellboys chittered and leapt from branch to branch, singing at the bright sky and golden days. How he wished to join them as they leapt up into the blue. He shut his eyes, trying to see the almost imagined purple and green fractals the flickering sunlight cast upon his eyelids. He could picture anything in those swirls, or nothing at all. He could just lay there in the warm light and float up into the dark beyond the blue.

It was soft up there. Quiet. There were not any bullies in the dark. He did not have any chores to do while he was grounded. He did not have to think about what happened in the schoolyard.

Or Yotun with blood on his paws.

Or Monster, thrown back in his pen… No. He screwed up his face, trying to picture some far-off world orbiting a distant star. Maybe he would visit Arrithi and take in the great treeless plains the Nauret once roamed. Or perhaps he would see Ornix, the pyq homeworld. He did not really know what it would be like, no one really talked about it. They can’t be as bad as they say, he reasoned. None of them have ever really known a pyq. If they’re even the slightest bit like Ku, then Ornix must be okay. But even as he thought it his mind went to the fear on the nauret’s long face, how enraged the twins had been at the sight of but one tiny kitten. The way that they all gasped and pointed, then yelled and tried to kick him. Even the usually talkative Roklin had seemed subdued, the boy not coming to his side. They hate her, he remembered. It’s not fair.

At least Erryt had been there; he had kept the other bunkmates subdued when it came time to sleep that night. The dark boy was always there for him, he would have to thank him. Even though his thoughts had returned to the ground, Imdi found himself floating regardless.

The sound of something trudging through the grass pulled him from falling asleep. It was too light to be his parents, the footfalls too carefully placed. He sighed to himself, knowing exactly who it would be. The footsteps crunched next to his head, the blessed sunlight being blocked out as a snuffling snout sniffed around his face. He opened his eyes as Ki-yu leaned over him, her pack held to her chest as she bent double.

“Found you,” she tittered. He pushed her long face away, the girl croaking out a throaty chuckle as he did so.

“I’m not playing hide and sneak,” he huffed.

“Clearly,” she said, sitting a short distance away. “Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying?” he retorted.

“I am,” she chirruped, producing the copy of The Merry King Rylett had lent her and promptly dropping it in the dirt. Imdi ignored the wry smile she gave him, closing his eyes again. She knew he was the one who had to hand them back to the priestess, that they were all loaned in his name. It should not come as a surprise, really; most of Ki-yu’s own possessions had hardly fared better. Her collections of leaves were kept in good care, even if the pages that pressed them were stained and often soggy from too much glue. Her poncho had just made it through winter without needing restitching, which was rare, and the beloved rug she kept in her den was reduced to ribbons by her clawing. Even poor old Spike was threadbare from her regular mauling, not that anyone could take the doll away from her for some much-needed surgery. It was as though a thing had to bear the scars of her affection.

“Mama and Baba won’t be pleased with you sneaking out like this,” she murmured to him, the book rustling gently as she flicked through the pages.

“I’m not out here,” he said. “I’m curled up in my bed.”

“Oh,” she snickered, “then nobody will mind my reading.” She cleared her throat noisily. “The stranger danced with his sons and daughters on the varnished floorboards, spinning from one to the next. King Meros laughed and jested, his flagon of wine splattering across the red wood of his table.” She paused for a moment, and Imdi could feel her eyes upon him. “Why do you think he was so merry?” she asked suddenly.

“Dunno, it’s your book,” he huffed.

“I guess he must’ve liked his trees,” she decided. “He’s always talking about his trees.”

“Reminds me of someone,” he grumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“Trees are good. Do you have a favourite tree?” Imdi sat up quickly, glaring at her.

“What do you want Ki-yu?” The girl’s snout twitched, her head tilting at him.

“I wanted to see you,” she said softly, closing her book. “You seem sad.” There was something bare and naked in her tone, something that only made the ache in his chest swell. He looked down at his paws, breaking off and inspecting a frond of dry grass. It stored its seeds in a small nook in its stem, shaped like a little raft.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he mumbled, watching as the wind picked up the pips and carried them away. Ki-yu’s tail flicked behind her, the slightest of curls to her lips.

“I know,” she said, “but I’ll do so anyway.” He smiled meagrely, still looking down at his feet. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, making him snicker softly.

“Not really.” He shook his head. “It’s so unfair.”

“You snuck a predator into school you moron,” she laughed, crossing her paws. “You’re lucky you weren’t expelled.”

“Meant for them,” he muttered. “For all those dumb kids in the playground, for Erryt and everyone getting caught in it all. And… bloody Yotun…” He groaned, resting his elbows on his knees, and palming his chin with a paw. “This is all my fault.”

“You just wanted others to see him,” Ki-yu said softly, shaking her head as only she did, that rolling side-to-side motion. “I… I get it.”

“I wish Mama and Baba did,” he grumbled.

“I’m sure they do. You know they’re just worried, right?”

“I know,” he sighed, glancing over at her endarkened face. In all that bright and golden grass, she looked like a lazy shadow lounging about, loath to be chased away by the day. “I like the big trees,” he said. “The woodwaifs.” She smiled, picking some of the book’s cover clean with a claw.

“They have a nice colour,” she agreed. “I really like the crunch of the ripbarks.”

“I found some string-moss under some bark the other day,” he told her. “Looked like snot.”

“Ew,” she sniggered.

“Imdi?” Mama’s voice carried across landscape, the boy instinctively ducking down. Ki-yu sat up, chittering.

“Can I hide in your den for a while?” he hissed at her.

“And what, get me grounded too?”

“Imdi?” The voice was closer. His sister put her arms out in front of her, stretching out her long back and rolling her shoulders.

“The longer you leave it the more trouble you’ll be in,” she sighed. He groaned, admitting defeat.

“Fine,” he said bitterly. Ki-yu flashed her teeth.

“Over here!” she called out, standing up to her full height and waving off toward the lodge. The tramp of crunching grass announced his mother’s impending arrival. His sister sat back down, trying to keep her expression mild. He stuck his tongue out at her, a gesture she was far more adept at than he.

“There you are,” Turin muttered, pushing aside the tall grasses. She put a thumb through the loops of her overalls, eyeing Imdi. “Sneaking out again?”

“Uh…” he uttered lamely.

”I asked him to help with my reading,” Ki-yu said quickly, pointing to the book. Mama raised a brow.

“He’s grounded,” she replied. “He can help you indoors.”

“It’s a lovely day, I thought he might–”

“Indoors,” Mama said in a tight smile, the kind that told you she was right, and nothing would change that. Ki-yu nodded.

“We’ll be right in,” she said brightly, standing to stretch. Turin looked at them both with a mother’s gaze.

“Your father will be back soon,” she said. “You will be back inside by then.” She turned back toward the lodge. Ki-yu made a little snorting sound, bending down and brushing off her book.

“C’mon,” she said. “We’d better not keep her waiting.”

“You go on,” he grumbled. “I wanna see the pens.” The dark patches around her eyes crinkled, just a little.

“Don’t hurt yourself needlessly brother,” she said softly.

“I… I won’t.” He tossed his head in the direction that Mama had gone. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” The girl shrugged, returning The Merry King to her pack.

“No, but I wanted to.” She smiled and flicked her tail. “Besides,” she laughed, “now you have to hear me read.” Ki-yu fell to all fours and slunk back into the grass with nary a sound. Imdi rolled his eyes, glancing longingly at the patch of grass he had been laying in. He brushed himself off and pushed his way back through the rolling golden meadow.

Sometimes he forgot that his parents had built most of their home, save the original construction itself. It was hard to imagine the place he had spent his whole life as naught more than a small shack in an open field, or, before even that, before there had even been any people at all there was still this patch of woods. It seemed like the predator pens belonged there with their chipping painted posts, the lodge with its roof of moss. Perhaps the forest had been waiting for them, and Kay-ut had given up her trees willingly, graciously, to build it.

They had put his pet back in his old pen, right at the end of the rows next to the storage shed. It was a warm day, so the covers were already withdrawn. Imdi peered in. He recognised Monster at once by the dark points on his long ears and the soft tawny pattern of fur on his chest. He sat dejectedly in one corner, curled up around himself. Three other vexise were backed into the opposite corner, all young animals, all eyeing him warily. Even here he’s shunned. The thought pressed a new ball of anxiety and regret into his chest as he leaned against the frame. The animal looked up at him with his emerald eyes, making a sharp, mewling sound. Please don’t… Monster stepped into the middle of the pen, pausing when the other vexise hissed at him. They were nearest to Imdi, and he would have to cross into their half of the pen to reach him. He paused at some feline mid-line, looking down and putting a toe down gingerly. The others bared their teeth.

“I’m sorry…” Imdi mumbled. “They… they say I can’t….” Monster padded forward, and immediately one of the vexise struck him. The kitten swatted angrily, crimson blood pooling on the pad of his soft paw. He mewled up at him again, confusion and pain in his eyes. Imdi knew he could not turn away. He reached in and plucked Monster up, resting him in the crook of his arm.

“Sshh,” he whispered. “It’s okay… It’ll be okay.” The vexise purred in his arms, and he decided that he had to try.

Mama was sitting at the dining table as he crept inside, a lamp illuminating a vast map of the region before her. She ticked something off on her notepad as the door closed with a creak behind him. Ki-yu sat by the window, picking at her stringed bow. Her claws would occasionally catch at a neighbouring thread, the girl adjusting her grip. She looked up as he entered, at once spying the vexise in his arms. If she was surprised she did not show it, flicking her tail and continuing to pick at her strange makeshift instrument. He looked back to his mother, filled with that particular kind of dread children know all too well. I have to try. Imdi swallowed, wobbling up to the side of the table.

Turin granted him all of a moment’s glance before looking back at her work.

“Imdi, put him back.” Mama’s voice was not stern, merely tired.

“I-I think he should stay in here,” he said, his voice only wobbling a little. “L-look,” he said, gently showing her where the other predators had left sharp claw marks across Monster’s paw. “They’re all attacking him.” Another half moment’s glance.

“It’s how they weed out the weak ones,” she said with a slight nod, frowning down at her notepad. “Food is scarce for predators, not all of them can make it.”

“W-we can’t let them do that,” he mumbled.

“It’s what they do,” she said, scribbling something down. “We can’t change their nature.”

“Why not?” Her pen scratched sharply. Imdi swallowed again, careful to keep his tone soft, non-confrontational. “I-isn’t that what we’re doing here? Don’t we change nature by adding them?” Ki-yu stopped playing. Imdi could feel her gaze burning into them. Mama set down her pen, rubbing her eyes.

“Sweetheart,” she sighed, resting her head on her fist and looking at him for the first time. “You shouldn’t have ever kept him to begin with. He’s not meant to be a pet.”

“But he’s not meant to be a hunter either,” he said quietly, rubbing at the soft spot behind his ears, right where he liked it. “Monster wouldn’t last out there…” Turin winced.

“I wish you hadn’t called him that,” she muttered. “Not all of them do survive, sweetheart. It’s cruel but we simply can’t spare the time on him.” The dread twisted and kicked in Imdi’s heart.

“I-I can!” he insisted, nodding. “I can make the time!”

“And what about the others?” she asked gently, her loving warmth still present in her tone and eyes. “One in five doesn’t survive to release, and perhaps only half of those who do survive a year in the forest. Will you look after all of them?”

“I would if I could…” he mumbled, chewing at his lip. That made her smile sadly.

“I’m sure you would–”

“But surely I could look after one? Can’t I save one?” The boy felt like he was back in the schoolyard, fighting for the kitten anew. Mama doesn’t want to hurt him, he knew, but… I can’t just let him starve! Mama rubbed the grit from the corner of one eye, leaning back.

“You aren’t here all the time. You’ve got chores around the house, not to mention when you’re out at school.”

”Then Ku can look after him!” he insisted, turning to the window where she sat. The girl just watched carefully. Mama shot him a look.

“That’s not her job,” she said quickly, “and she’s buried deep enough already. You’re grounded, that’s final.”

“I don’t care about being grounded,” he sighed. “Ground me for three weeks! Four!” Mama peered down her snout, looking from the kitten to him. “All of spring!”

“You’d miss the harvest festival,” she said.

“Okay!” he nodded emphatically. ”I-I haven’t started on my costume anyway! The whole spring, sure I’ll do that! J-just don’t punish him!” Mama sat there for a long moment, looking down at the floorboards and bouncing her knee. She looked deliberately over at Ki-yu, the girl rising. Imdi swallowed the ball in his throat as she picked up her bow and retreated down toward her bedding room.

“Imdi,” Mama sighed, pulling him in front of her. “This… this isn’t about punishment.” She offered a gentle claw to the kitten, tickling him beneath his chin. “You need to realise what you did… we… we can’t take risks like that. The more people know about us the… the more danger we put her in. We put all of us in.”

“I… I know… I… just wanted to show them.”

“All things being fair there shouldn’t have been anything wrong with showing your friends your pet, but…”

“Things aren’t fair,” he mumbled.

“No,” Mama replied. “No, they’re not.” She looked toward the window, her eyes lingering on the flowing grass. Something seemed to wash over her; a tide turned, a piece fell into place. The woman took a deep breath, a look of resignation creasing her forehead. “Fine,” his mother sighed, “keep the damn thing.”

“R-really?!” Imdi gasped, hardly believing it.

“The world is seldom kind, so we’ll have to make up for it,” Turin grunted. He hugged her fiercely, Monster wriggling between them.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” She kissed his forehead, inhaling deeply. A moment later she pulled him away.

“This isn’t an appeasement,” she said firmly, holding up a claw. “We’re not helping you here, he’s your pet. You will look after this animal on your own, you understand?”

“I-I understand! I promise!” She looked at him out of one eye.

“And you’re still grounded until you’re back at school, so you can get started on your harvest costume instead.”

“O-okay! Okay…” He looked down at the soft creature in his arms, the kitten tilting his head to blink at him.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“And… sweetheart,” mama sighed, a tired laugh hidden somewhere in her voice, “find him a different name. Monster is a little… on the snout, don’t you think?”

“Okay,” he said. He had never really been strong on the name anyway. “I’ll take care of him. I promise.” Mama gave Imdi’s head a friendly pat.

“Go on now,” she huffed playfully. Imdi backed away carefully, managing to take a few paces before jumping up and down. The vexise dug his claws in, but Imdi did not care. He giggled instead, sitting down cross-legged on the carpet to play with him. Returned to solid ground, the creature seemed far happier, darting back and forth from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Mama smile.

The alarm signalled his father’s return minutes before they heard his buggy. The man walked in carrying several bags, closing the door with his foot. His limp was lessened, but still there. He made it over to the table, dropping the two bags in his left paw down atop it. Ki-yu came trotting up the hall, her book in her jaws. The big man paused as she sat by his feet, no longer having to bend to tussle her head.

“Watcha get?” she said around her book.

“Dinner–” he held up the bag in paw, “– and crafts supplies for the harvest.” He chuckled, prodding her nose with a claw. “And keep the book out of your mouth, please. It’d be hard to explain bitemarks wouldn’t it?” He glanced over at the kitten playing on the carpet.

“I thought–” he began but stopped when he saw the look Mama shot him. Still holding the food bag, he put up his paws. “Oookay, why don’t I start on dinner?”

“Excellent idea,” she said in a voice as sweet and sharp as a needle. Baba shook his head, kissing her as he resumed toward the pantry.

Imdi’s sister padded over to him, coiling up on the seat beside the window.

“So,” she murmured, “you still grounded?”

“For now, but that’s okay,” he said, tickling the feline’s fuzzy belly. Ki-yu watched them play for a moment.

“I guess you’re keeping him?” He nodded, making her snort. Whether it was one of surprise or derision he could not exactly say.

“Mama says I have to give him a different name, though.”

“Dunno,” Ki-yu chittered, “I think you got it right the first time. Anyway, you were gonna help me with my reading.”

“Was I?” he said innocently, focusing on the kitten chewing on his claws.

“Uh-huh,” she pressed, glancing over at where Mama sat. “Since you definitely didn’t sneak out earlier.”

“What’s it about?” he groaned. Ki-yu panted a low bark of laughter, holding up the notably weathered book.

“So, there’s this king, Meros. He’s king of a vast forest of tall trees, and lives in the castle Noi, built of solid wood on a hill. He’s rich and powerful, and his people love him.”

“Sounds boring,” Imdi said, resting his cheek on his fist.

“Actually, it’s super weird. This stranger just shows up with this book of leaves. Like they barely describe them at all. Rylett says I have to speak it to her to ‘practice my speaking skills.’”

“Goddess I hate those,” Imdi muttered. “Well, let’s hear it.” Ki-yu cleared her throat, finding her place on the page.

“Opening the book,” she read aloud, “King Meros expected to find frail and dry leaves. But to his great surprise all were fragrant and fresh, as though they still grew on their lost limbs. The King was entranced, picking out the fieriest fronds and fairest flowers to show the crowd.”

Imdi always found it interesting to watch his sister talk. The sound came from deep in her chest, flowing with her breath, yet always carrying a lightness most alien. He also knew from experience that Ki-yu could yell any one of them down with a bark or a snarl, but hardly ever did so. Another thing outside her nature. It had taken him going to school, and the comments of Rylett upon reflection, for him to recognise the subtle difference in her cadence.

“’My good friend,’” Ki-yu continued, “’what a most excellent gift! But, I must ask, how did you manage to keep these leaves so fresh?’” She glanced up at Imdi’s face. Some of his thoughts must have been there as she paused and looked at him questioningly.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” he said. She rested the book on her lap, her head tilting inquisitively.

“I thought you were helping me?” she pressed with a chitter.

“It’s just,” he sighed, “we don’t sound like that.”

“We?” she said, blinking at him.

“Radji don’t sound like that.”

“What do you mean? I’m literally speaking Kejdar.”

“I know but listen–” he tapped his breast. “You speak from here,” he said. “I speak from my throat. I use my lips.” He smacked them together for good measure.

“I use my lips,” she said, her mouth barely moving. He snorted. “Oh, alright then,” she tittered haughtily, “how should I sound?” Imdi sat up, letting the kitten pace about.

“Use your jaw,” he said, gesturing with his paws and opening his mouth. “Like this, ‘Aaaa!’”

“I’m not doing that.” Imdi smacked her arm playfully.

“C’mon, you wanted me to help, so I’m helping. ‘Aaaaa!’” Ki-yu growled in her snout, rolling her eyes.

“…‘Aaaa’” she whistled, barely moving.

“No, c’mon do it properly!” he blustered. “’Aaa!’” Ki-yu opened her mouth a little.

“’Aaa!’” she barked.

“More! ‘Aaa!’”

“’Aaa!’” The two started barking at each other, Ki-yu throwing her mouth so wide open Imdi could see all of her deadly sharp teeth. He barked right back.

“’Aaa!’”

“’Aaa!’”

“’Aaa!’”

“What in Kay-ut are you two doing?” Mama called from the table, her face in her paws. They looked back at each other, breaking into laughter.

“I– Aha! I’m teaching Ku how to speak proper!” Imdi explained. Mama just pinched the bridge of her snout, her chair squealing as she stood.

“I can’t work in these conditions,” she muttered, moving into the kitchen. Ki-yu, meanwhile, was busy chewing at the air. Imdi peered at her, watching her snap at nothing. “Uh… at least I thought I was. What are you doing, Ku?”

“This’s fun,” the girl chittered. “’Aar…’ Tiiish ishh shhhun…” She twisted her face as spoke, having to flash her teeth at every word. “Ohr, yrrr ryyght! Tish ish howw yew shownd!”

“You’re being silly,” he groaned.

“Ohhhr, aaarm Iyyy? Arr…” she garbled, throwing her jaw in a ferocious smile. “He-rrooh… Iyyym Imdee, Iyy shhalk lyyk Iyyd godd ar mowshwall od mudd.”

“Oh, shut up!” he laughed.

“Oww, shurr uh,” she continued, going cross eyed for good measure. The expression, with the closeness of her eyes naturally, made him cackle.

“You two better be behaving,” Baba commented as he set about doing the washing up.

“Do you know your children?” Mama muttered beside him, throwing open the kitchen window.

“May-maybe you should do that for Rylett,” he sighed, trying and failing to compose himself. “Get points for performance.”

“You’re such a dingus,” Ki-yu laughed, tossing her head derisively. She looked over to their parents who were setting about chopping up some vegetables. “Dinner’s burning,” she called to them. Braq leaned over the stovetop, then looked back at her.

“The oven isn’t on sweetheart,” he said. “Are you feeling alright?” Ki-yu frowned, rubbing at her snout.

“I thought I smelled smoke,” she muttered, turning back to Imdi. “Anyway, I don’t think Rylett cares if I speak like you.”

“Didn’t you scare her the first time?” Imdi asked, picking up Monster as he came crawling back to him.

“Of course I did,” Ki-yu sniffed.

“Well, maybe it’d help next time you tried to talk to someone.” She blinked at him. Monster hissed in his arms. Imdi looked down at him, finding the kitten’s hackles to be raised. Ki-yu sat up at once, inhaling so deeply he could hear it build in her chest. In a slow, certain motion his sister turned to the window behind her, making a sound he had not heard before. Ki-yu gasped as all the air left her.

“B-Baba…” she said breathlessly. “Mama!” Ki-yu dropped her book. She leapt straight over Imdi as she bolted for the front door, almost barrelling through it as she threw it open.

“Ki-yu?!” Mama called out, running out after her. Imdi, feeling a cold dread he had not known in years, stood and pressed his face up against the window. The breath left him too.

“Imdi,” Braq panted, moving up alongside him. “Son, what is…?” The question ran out as he joined him. To the northwest a vast column of black cloud twisted high into the sky, ash flying up, lifted like charred flecks of paper. It looked like a volcano had erupted, so thick was the plume.

“…smoke,” he breathed.

~*~

The smouldering smell still lingered on the air, somehow overpowering the roar of the buggy’s engine. It took most of the day and the action of emergency services to contain the inferno. Much had to be doused by air, the woodland too dense to be accessed during the blaze. It was late afternoon when they could at last survey the damage, the sun barely present somewhere above. The sky had turned red and hazy, a strange phantom light.

It was a short trip to the very edge of their property, following the dirt track out to the main road and then veering back southwest. Mama had stayed home under the guise of helping coordinate with —but was in reality monitoring— the trespassers on their property. Ki-yu had been hidden away in her den, although, being spring, she had little cached to eat and would have to return home once the property was secure again. That left just father and son, neither of which were feeling particularly conversational at that moment. Baba was gripping the wheel so tight Imdi could hear the plastic squealing. He turned to the ripbarks neighbouring the highway, silently watching them go by. Between the trees he spied a stray stump smoking in a blackened clearing. They drove on.

Debris littered the road in places, blown about by the blaze’s heat. In the distance a thin layer of smoke hung over the highway, floating up from between the trees.

“Have you ever seen a wildfire here before?” Imdi asked quietly. His father spared him a glance.

“Never,” he replied gruffly.

Ahead of them two police hovercars had blockaded the road, the officers moving to meet them. They must have been expecting them, as an ashen but otherwise professional looking radji waved their buggy through, Baba nodding grimly to her as they passed. Just beyond them, larger hovercraft had set down, banded in a sash of vibrant yellow. Sooty boot prints criss-crossed the road, a few tired fire wardens sitting on the ground. They watched them park at the road’s edge with mild eyes. One brought them some thick boots. Imdi had never worn boots before; their emergency pair of working boots had seen little use outside of the rock game. Scorch marks betrayed where fire had licked at the metal guardrails. A wide section had vanished; burned away or pulled out it now offered egress. His toes felt cramped and his legs heavy as they followed the wardens down into the burned bush.

Imdi resisted the urge to gasp, knowing full well he would get naught more than a mouthful of dust. All around him, everything had burned. The ripbark trees had grown old here, grown ever so strong. Imdi had always loved the way they shed their bark, the inner core smooth, solid wood, the outer bark as soft as drawing paper. Whilst none grew so tall as the massive woodwaifs that towered over the shore, their trunks had never been touched by saw or axe, never before been licked by heat. Now their once mighty limbs were brittle and black, and even their mighty crown of golden leaves had turned to ash. The only sound was their crunching steps, and the slow crackling of embers. Imdi was grateful for his boots; though the ground was black it felt like walking across warm coals. He supposed he was.

“How’d this happen?” he said in a quiet voice, more to the world than anyone else.

“…I don’t know,” Baba replied. “Any other time of year and it wouldn’t be possible, too much moisture in the bark.” He shook his head. “Damn perigee.” Imdi reached out to touch the nearest trunk, finding it warm, his paw coming away black with soot. He looked around at the dull landscape of muted pitch; even his father seemed grey.

“Th-they’ll grow back won’t they Baba?” he asked him. His father’s jaw was hard set, even if his eyes were not.

“Not for a long time,” he grunted. “And not as it was.” In the distance a tree limb groaned and fell, crashing down heavily with a splintering, sparking wallop. Braq sighed shakily. “Be careful,” he muttered, moving to talk to some of the fire wardens. “Stay away from the trees.”

Imdi felt his eyes drawn to the bleak landscape. The forest seemed… empty. Nothing sang in the trees, no breeze moved any leaves. He somehow knew that if he dug beneath the bark or into the dirt he would find nothing living. It felt more like the open highways of Bendara than his living forest home. He walked a short way from the road, careful to avoid any overlying limbs. That was not particularly difficult; the red dusk hung overhead through blackened twisted fingers. Imdi felt like he was a giant, striding between skyscrapers of some lost, dead world.

His path led him down a slight embankment, perhaps a little further in than his father would have liked. The ground was still very hot here, Imdi treading lightly despite his protective boots. Nearby, at the foot of one ashen stump, something had curled up to die. It was a small little thing, stripped to black, charring flesh. Imdi only recognised it as an animal by the teeth. He turned away, not wanting to look at its final dread scream. Instead, his eyes passed over crossed, twisting tree roots. Something about them caught his eye, although he could not place exactly what. He looked up, noting how the sky was dimming down, still holding a reddish tone like a dying ember.

“The sky…” he breathed, glancing around. “I can see the sky…” The area around him had been completely burned away, seeming almost white with pale ash. These… these roots should be buried, he realised. The fire must have been hotter here…

“Baba…” he croaked. “Baba!” He heard his father coming a few moments later, tailed by a pair of wardens, a man and a woman.

“Imdi? What is it?”

“I-I think this is where the fire started,” he mumbled. Baba looked about, crouching down near the roots. The two strangers shared a glance, leaning close to one another.

“It’s not far from the road,” the woman whispered, her voice deep.

“The buses still come down this route, don’t they?” the man asked. Baba pulled a probe from his overalls, digging down into the ash. Nodding to one another, the man started back toward the hovercraft. Imdi crouched beside his father.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Praying I’m wrong,” he replied. When his probe cleared down to the cooked clay beneath the ash Braq shifted over a few paces and repeated the measure. A few moments later he pulled back. “The roots are still buried here,” he muttered.

“A wildfire won’t burn like this,” the woman replied with a thick accent. Braq sniffed, quickly looking over at the remaining warden.

“Hey, can you smell that?” he asked. The woman leaned closer.

“Accelerant,” she huffed. Someone lit this… Imdi took a step backward, shocked. As he did so, something crunched loudly beneath his boot. He cringed, thinking he had trodden through yet more cooked remains. But instead Imdi pulled back to see a partially charred rectangle, too uniform in shape to be natural. The adults were talking nearby, but Imdi found that he was no longer listening. Bending down, he picked the object up, brushing off the singed surface. A book? As he turned it over in his paws its spine cracked open, the pages tearing and leafing apart to tumble down into the ash. The book had been full of drawings, the edges singed and burned away, but enough detail remained of trees and animals, views of vistas and trails he did not recognise. He turned to Baba, but the open page caught his eye. It was a sketch of a young girl, the impression of someone he had not seen for years.

“Imdi?” Baba called out, moving to his side. “What’d you find?”

“It’s… Yotun’s notebook…” he whispered.

~*~

Imdi found himself lying awake that night. They had bathed and scrubbed rigorously, but the smell of soot now lingered on his bedsheets. At first he tried to float away into the night’s sky, to close his mind to it. But try as he might the world dragged him back. Then he had cried, but the lingering smoke in his fur bit at his eyes, so he had to wash them out again. So now he just lay there, doing the next best thing: thinking.

Law enforcement had arrived to swarm over the scene. They had taken statements, photographs, samples. And the notebook, they had taken that too. Imdi knew what it would mean when they found out who it belonged to.

It just… doesn’t make any sense! Why would Yotun start a fire? What’s more, why would he leave a beloved possession behind?

Restless, he sat up in bed, drawing the sheets tight around him. Monster had curled up on the chair nearby, his little nose twitching in his sleep. Imdi rested his chin on his paw, his fingers absently running along the old scar on his lip. Monster definitely won’t do, he reflected. You’re not a monster at all. You need a nice, friendly name.

It was so still as the boy sat in quiet contemplation that he only barely heard the latch on the front door lift. He went still, listening intently. They’d locked that door hadn’t they? Soft footfalls loped down the hall. A few moments later he heard it again, shifting back outside. Quietly, Imdi stepped out of bed, the kitten’s ear twitching as the boy crept out into the hall.

The night was dark, almost devoid of star and moonlight, so he felt his way up toward the living room. He peered through the kitchen, looking about for any movement. As he rounded the corner he saw that the front door was left ajar, letting in a faint, dim light. Through the window Imdi saw a dark shape sitting up on the porch. He would not have recognised her were it not for the soft sniffling sounds she was making.

“Ku?” he called out, tentatively pulling the door open. The girl shifted at once, wiping at her face and closing her book of leaves. He caught the faintest hint of wet eyes in Ki-ra’s subdued light as she turned away.

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he said, creeping closer to the shadow in the night. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.” He looked about the valley, seeing nothing but darkness. To the northwest, faint light could be seen moving, a mix of dim flickering orange and further-reaching white. Imdi swallowed. “Ku you shouldn’t be out here, there’s still strangers on the property.” She sniffled snottily.

“S-sorry,” she just repeated. Imdi pulled the door shut, leaning against their home beside her.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she snuffled. “No… I… I can smell it.”

“Smell it?”

“Even from my den.” Imdi rubbed at his raw eyes.

“The smoke gets everywhere,” he said. The girl shook her head.

“It’s not just the smoke,” she whispered. Imdi glanced down at her book.

“Did you… did you get many leaves from there?”

“A few,” she said, clearing her throat. “Not many. That grove smelled like… like…” She floundered, struggling to find the words. She opened her book to the thumbed page, a few simple notes alongside a carefully pressed leaf. “They were ripe,” she decided, “but only on the inside, th-their skin held it all in. Like when Mama cuts through a pie, and the fruit is sweeter than the pastry.” She fidgeted with her claws. “Th-the mud was fine like clay, a-and little crawly things gave it a tart bite. There was… a kind of colour to it.” She turned to him, her dark eyes foggy. Imdi slid down to sit beside her, holding his knees before himself.

“Did Baba tell you…?” She nodded down at her book.

“It’s not right,” she whispered, closing and holding it to her chest. “He wouldn’t do that. It can’t be right.”

“No,” Imdi croaked. “No, he wouldn’t.” They sat in silence as a gentle breeze, warm and sure flowed over them. Ki-yu shuddered beside him.

“Wh-why would someone do this?” she whimpered.

“I… I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes, I think people don’t know what they’re doing.”

“All those trees…” Ki-yu shrugged, a helpless gesture. “They’re now just smoke. They smell like ash and dust and cracking wood. The clay is just… grey, not the smooth richness of the river, b-but the blackened, barren kind of overcooked pots. And… and the creatures too… I-I can taste their fear, their charring bones…” She sniffed heavily. “Wh-why won’t it stop?” She was not even crying, that was the worst thing; she was keening. “I w-want it to stop… Please make it stop…” Imdi took her paw.

“I… I can’t,” Imdi mumbled, lost and impotent. He put his head against her shoulder, the two just sitting there. Eventually, the orange light seemed a little lesser than before, and gradually the white lights winked out. “C’mon,” he said as he stood, “sitting out here isn’t going to do you any good.”

“I can’t sleep,” she mumbled, but stood anyway. They crept back inside, making sure to lock the front door behind them this time. Baba’s soft snoring told him that they had made it back to his room undetected. Imdi carefully picked up the kitten before he was sat on, holding him gently as he lay back in bed. The little predator yawned, curling up in his arms. Ki-yu coiled into the armchair in much the same way, regarding the animal with an unusual warmth.

“Have you come up with a new name yet?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he muttered, patting the vexise’s fuzzy back. “But Mama’s right. ‘Monster’ is a terrible name.” Ki-yu looked down at the floor. A moment later she chuckled, shaking her head.

“You know… you used to scare me when you were born,” she said.

“Scare you?” He almost laughed. “You were scared of me?” She smiled sheepishly, rolling her eyes.

“It was… a long time ago. You were very young, and I was… very different.”

“You were… different?” He frowned, not sure what she meant.

“I mean… I was the same,” she said, rubbing her palm across her chest. “But you could tell I wasn’t what you were. You would look at me and– and screw your eyes up, and I was scared… that I made you scared. That…” She trailed off.

“That I’d always be scared,” he finished for her. The girl’s brow pinched, ducking her head almost shamefully. “You… you do know I’m not afraid of you Ku?” he asked. She nodded, fidgeting with her tail.

“I used to curl up in this chair and read and… help to you sleep.” Ki-yu shrugged. “It was nice to just… be here with you.” I think I forget sometimes that for as strong as she is, she is a terribly gentle thing. Imdi ran a thumb across his lip.

“Why don’t you go and get your book,” he said. “We could finish a chapter tonight. I wouldn’t mind…” The girl blinked languidly at him, tilting her head forward ever so slightly.

“E-even if I sound funny,” she sniffled, but there was a laugh buried in her words.

“Even if you sound funny,” he nodded.

“Okay,” she said, thin and tired and honest. She rose from her seat and slunk off toward her room with her book of leaves. Imdi curled up in bed, holding the kitten between his arms. The creature barely stirred, purring quietly. Ki-yu returned quickly, a new book in one hand, a blanket in the other. She paced a circle as she resettled herself into the armchair.

“Uh, where were we?” she mumbled, flicking through the pages.

“King Meros was talking to the stranger.” Imdi gave the vexise a thoughtful pat. “How about that? How about Meros?” Ki-yu tilted her head, a light smile pulling at her lips.

“The Merry King?” she tittered. “What does a vexise have to be happy about?” Imdi thought for a moment.

“That he’s home, and that he’s loved.” Ki-yu chittered so deeply it was a purr.

“It’s perfect, Imdi,” she whispered. She lifted up the book, and softly began to read.

“’My good friend,’ he said, ‘what a most excellent gift! But, I must ask, how did you manage to keep these leaves so fresh?’

’Why,’ the stranger replied, ‘one such tree I found produces the strangest yellowy wax. Rubbing it into the leaves keeps their youth forever.’

’Forever?!’ the King exclaimed. ‘And what of that tree, did you keep its leaves?’

’Of course,’ the other replied, flipping through the book. They turned to a seemingly drab cutting of round grey-green leaves, adjoined at the stem by small yellow bulbs. The King squeezed the bulb onto the table, and at once the wax soaked throughout it like lifeblood, the table shining from the new varnish. The crowd gasped, King Meros thoroughly pleased.

’Oh, explorer!’ he gasped. ‘What a wonderous thing! I must have a tree for myself!’

’Oh, you are too kind,’ they said. ‘But, alas, it is very rare. I found it only but once and collected no seeds.’

’It matters not, I would have such a tree! I would pay you any boon for such a mighty gift!’ The stranger thought for a moment before a thin smile spread across their face.

’Then, of course, I will bring you only the finest seeds!’ With that the visitor strode past the guards and flung open the doors, and the King felt only the softest chill at the night’s air.”

Ki-yu closed the cover slowly, drawing her blanket about her as she rose from her chair.

“How was that?” she asked.

“Perfect,” he told her. She smiled down at him, holding the book to her chest.

“I love you, dingus,” she whispered.

“I love you too, Ku,” he replied. She snorted, a soft, happy sound.

“Goodnight, brother mine.”

---

When the stars threw down their spears

And water’d heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger, Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

– ‘The Tyger’, William Blake, 1794.