Yotun, son of Laenar and Arrut.

Date [standardised human time]: May 9th, 2123

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

Darkness, fear, and the thrum of the engine; that was all Yotun had. He yelled and begged from the backseat until his voice was ragged, battered the divider where the driver must have sat until his paws were sore. All was fruitless. My fault… all my fault…

They had come for him at dinner. There was no warning. His parents had been speaking to him; that was nice at least. Mum had been talking about replanting the lower groves, something about the fruit developing an odd rot. Dad had commented on the odd sundown the night before, the smell of smoke speaking to some great fire out in the woods. Yotun had almost suggested they head out to ask Braq and Turin about it, but then he thought better of it. During their family sojourn Yotun had been taking some flying lessons and been itching to get back to it, but, after the incident in the yard, it was better if he kept his silence. His parents had not been impressed by the debacle, in fact they seemed mortified. Mum just kept bringing it up! It was as if she was incapable of talking about anything else. Nyrra was being such an idiot, egging her sister on like that. He really had not meant to break her nose, it just sort of… happened. Not that they wanted to hear my side of it. Dad would just sit there, his own knuckles white.

The hovercar pitched slowly, Yotun feeling the vehicle shudder in the wind. What have I done? he asked himself once more. Why’re they doing this? Where are they taking me?

Don’t you deserve this? something sniggered from the gloom.

“Is that a car?” Mum had said, looking up from their meal as the familiar thwopping descended quickly. She barely had time to move to the door when it nearly buckled from the fist being slammed against it.

“Madam,” a loud voice rumbled as she promptly opened it. “We have a warrant.”

“Laenar?” Dad had said, confusion giving way to worry. “Who–?”

“A… a warrant?” she stammered. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Madam, is your son on the premises?” Dad’s chair had shot backward as he stood.

“Wh-what?!” Mum had said. “N-no that can’t be–!” Two men drabbed in black protective uniforms had stormed past her. A face shield obscured their visage, all moving with such dread purpose Yotun thought them hardly radji at all. A third man had stopped Mum in the doorway, ignoring what she screamed. A second readied a baton, and aggressively ordered his father to stay back. Yotun did not really remember much of what was happening in that moment, other than yelling and a strange sense of disappointment. A massive paw had held his wrists together, affixing a pair of rigid handcuffs with the other.

“Yotun,” the officer told him, “you are being detained under suspicion of being a danger to yourself and the community. Any resistance will be treated as an aggressive act.” He had looked up to see his own startled face reflected in the black mirror of the man’s visor. “This’s for your own good, son.” Grabbing the restraints, he began dragging him out of the house.

Darkness, fear, and the thrum of the engine. Yotun shuddered in his seat, feeling for his feet in the dim, cramped compartment. He rubbed the split and bloodied nailbeds of his toes.

He had dug his toenails into the grass as the man dragged him toward the waiting hovercars, one of the doors swinging open to reveal a pit of darkness within. He yelled… something… he could not recall, but the next he knew he was watching his father struggle out of the house, one of the officers grappling with him on the front steps as Mother screamed at another behind them. Arrut heaved the man away, walloping him with a blow across the jaw that cracked his facemask and sent him spinning down the cinderblocks. Yotun cried out wordlessly as he watched, the man just managing to catch himself before he slumped to the ground. Father faltered, staggering toward the other officer dragging his son away with wide eyes. But before he could reach him the third man collided with him from behind, the two sailing over the steps to land heavily in the mud. The struck man pushed himself up, giving his father a swift kick in the ribs and spitting blood beneath his visor.

Darkness, fear, and the thrum of the engine. Yotun pressed his face against the black glass, feeling it’s cold kiss against his cheek. That felt nice at least. He could hear water running against its surface; they must be travelling some way.

Another hovercar had come down, nearly crashing, so swift was its descent. As the pilot stepped out Yotun thought he was saved. That Oryn would intercede, talk them all down, and explain the mistake. The champion gave him all of a glance. Yotun felt his heart sink as the brindle-coloured man strode toward the scuffle. He grabbed Mother as she came staggering down the steps, shrieking and bawling. Oryn just gently held her back.

All sound, all sight, was snuffed out by the slam of the door, the craft lifting and thwopping away from his furious father and screaming mother. There was no sound other than his quickened breathing and the thrum of the vehicle.

Yotun did not have the strength for tears, he did not have the will to push on. He just curled up with his face to the glass, enveloped in the cool kiss of the dark.

This was always going to happen, the voice told him. You belong in the shadows, amongst the monsters.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her…” he whispered. “I didn’t want to…”

But you did.

The engine’s pitch had changed, the tilt of the craft telling him they were descending. I guess I got to go flying after all, he decided in rueful contemplation. The craft tilted back again, his seat vibrating as the descent thrusters sputtered into life. The whole vehicle lurched as it settled, Yotun letting out a similarly shaky breath. There was movement outside, a clunking sound, and light flooded the compartment. He cringed away, already pressed against the opposite window as a massive silhouette overtook him.

“N-no, stop!” he managed as the figure snatched a hold of his manacles. They yanked Yotun out of the vehicle, the boy catching the briefest glimpse of a large, grey, sealed landing bay and a pair of vast metal doors in the ceiling before a black hood was thrust over his head. He was pulled to his feet by the handcuffs, the restraints digging into his wrists. “H-hey, let me–!”

“Move,” the voice commanded, pulling him along blindly. Yotun’s feet scuffed against cold concrete as he caught himself. The officer barely waited for him, pulling him along at a march. He breathed heavily into the bag, the thinnest fingers of light pressing through its dark weave. They stopped at a threshold for a moment before doors opened with a distinctive clunk, the guard dragging him forward a few paces. Suddenly the room lurched down, Yotun fighting off the wave of vertigo as he stumbled. The officer just pulled him up again.

“Wh-where am I?” he asked breathlessly.

“Quiet,” was all they said. The doors opened anew and Yotun was dragged forward once more. Their path winded this way and that, at one point seeming to double back, perhaps deliberately to disorientate him. He focused on the feeling beneath his feet; one of cool, tiled floors rather than coarse concrete. At last, they stopped. Yotun panted beneath the hood, wanting more than anything to run. He swallowed a yelp as a gloved paw clasped him around the back of the neck. His quills instinctively sprang out, but his jailor did not react.

“Stay still,” they commanded, pulling the handcuffs upward. A moment later the restraints were released, the grip on his neck so firm he could not have moved had he wished. The hood came off, and before he could blink he was thrown forward. He fell heavily onto his hands and knees as a door shut with a resounding thud. Yotun rolled onto his rear, a sharp pain swelling in his knee. For a long moment the teen just sat there, curled up on the floor, letting the sensation pass in and over and through him. He did not really want to look around, it would certainly have been easier to just fall into wretched sleep. But his treacherous eyes, having been thrust into darkness for so long, took in his surroundings.

The boy had been deposited into a small room, perhaps half or a third the size of his bedroom. It was painted a drab cream colour and furnished minimally. To the right of the solid metal door there was a platform that ran almost the full length of the wall. It resembled a bed with a raised and soft looking head section, although it lacked sheets and blankets. A toilet and a basin sat at the foot of the bed. Opposite the door was another small platform, a kind of desk judging by the small stool fixed to the floor before it. All the edges were rounded smooth, all a little too short for him, but would be of an appropriate height for a slightly younger person. Do they deliberately make these places too small for adults, he wondered, or do they make rooms specifically for children?

There was a thin strip of golden light coming from the top of the walls where it met the flat ceiling, just enough to see from. Yotun could see no diodes or fixtures by which the light was emitted; it was as if the wall was glowing of its own accord. He was pondering this new development with the displaced fixation of a tired mind when, not to be outdone, a large rectangular section of the wall opposite the bed started to glow a dim white. Slowly it grew brighter, a perfect pure snow white. Yotun, unsure of what to make of it, watched until the image of a radji moved across its centre. The boy scrambled backward into the bed, finding his heart in his throat. The spectre just smiled blankly over his head, a man of pale but otherwise friendly complexion.

“Hello patient,” the apparition said, smiling warmly into the middle distance. “Welcome to the Bendara Clinic of Social Control.” The man’s words scrawled across the lower band of the glowing rectangle, and Yotun realised he was looking at a recording. “Please pay attention, this message will not be repeated. You are no doubt experiencing some discomfort at your predicament,” the man said most graciously. “Please, for your own safety, and the safety of our clinicians, try and remain calm for the duration of your stay.” Clinic of Social Control? Yotun had not heard of that organisation before. There was a cut in the footage, the man marginally closer to the camera than before.

“If you are here it is because you have been arrested under suspicion of being a danger to yourself, your community, and to the security of our people. It might be that someone reported you, or that you are suspected of committing a serious criminal act. You are, of course, entitled to certain Radji rights, have an assumption of virtue, and will be treated benevolently.” A criminal? he wondered. They think I’m dangerous…

Of course you are, his mind told him. What else would you be?

“Predator disease, or PD,” the man was saying, “is a spectrum of behavioural disorders incongruent to proper social function. Disorders can come from many different sources, and vary in symptoms, intensity, diagnosis, and treatment. It is estimated that between three and six percent of the population exhibit some degree of PD. Most are functional with treatment. Some are not. It is those rare few that are of the gravest concern, and the reason for our department’s existence. Many of these people know on some level that they are in some way different. Maybe they have difficulty following conversations or are subject to wild swings in mood or attention. Maybe they do not ‘get on’ with others, or harbour distinct urges they cannot reconcile. If these descriptions feel familiar to you, dear patient, understand that disgust or shame over your condition is entirely normal, and is in fact a sign of possible recovery.” A line of radji figures appeared before him. “Of ten people who pass through our clinic, only four require treatment, and only one or two represent a serious danger.” Four of the figures turned light grey, the two furthest left becoming pitch black. “It is for this reason that we ask that you refrain from interacting with any of the other patients where possible.” The figures faded away.

“Lastly, there are our staff. These are the people who will care for you, provide you with meals, and perform your consultations and treatments. For the duration of your stay, you must comply with any and all directives from staff members. You will only be issued one warning. If you witness any action by another patient that you believe to be against the core principles of our society, such as violence or thievery, and/or an attempt to escape this facility, you are required to report it to your nearest clinician. Failure to do so will be perceived as complicitous behaviour and will be penalised. Similarly, undertaking any such action yourself will be dealt with harshly.” The figure gestured toward the door it could not see. “In a moment you will be asked to place your arm through this hatch where a clinician will take a blood sample.” A light glowed around the perimeter of a rectangle in the frame where Yotun could have sworn was nothing a moment before. “This is a routine screening. Once that sample is taken, you will receive your internment.” The man took a casual step toward the camera, taking on a contemplative guise. “You may be tempted to view us as your captors, but we are doctors, not wardens. We really do have your best interest at heart. Help us help you, and together we can work toward an equitable outcome. Remember: we are here to help.”

The man’s face faded from the screen, being overtaken instead by the imprint of a radji paw, the letters ‘DSC’ appearing beneath it. Then the screen suddenly switched off, returning to a dull beige wall. In the dim silence of the room Yotun found himself panting. He jumped at a banging on the door. Boom! Boom! Boom! The hatch slid across with the firm screech of metal on metal.

“Put your arm through the opening,” a deep voice called out. Yotun pulled his knees up in front of him, shaking his head. “Comply,” the voice said firmly. It could have been the same officer who brought him here, he could not tell.

“I-I don’t like needles,” he stammered. “C-couldn’t you take some hair?”

“If you don’t gimme your arm, I’ll come n’ there and take blood myself.” Yotun knew by the tone that it was no idle threat. Relenting, he put his shaking paw through the hole, a firm but careful grip turning it over. The hatch slid across quickly, so fast that for a split second he thought they were about to lop his arm off. Instead, he felt his limb be locked in place by a ring of rubber on the other side.

“This’ll sting,” the voice said. A moment later there was a prick in the crook of his elbow. Yotun swallowed a bark of pain, shaking his head of the welling wooziness.

“Where am I?” he croaked through the door. “What a-am I doing here?”

“Someone weren’t payin’ no attention,” the voice tutted. There was pressure on his arm as the needle was removed, and he felt the rubber retract as a bandage was wrapped around it. The hatch slid across again. “Now the other arm,” the gruff voice commanded. Seeing no point in resistance Yotun complied, quickly finding handcuffs adorning his wrists once more. The grip left his arms. “Step back.” Yotun retreated at once, and a moment later the door unlatched, swinging outward to reveal the large figure of a man standing outside the doorway. He stood a head and a half taller than the boy, and was of a pudgy, heavy build. His tawny fur was greying at the temples, creeping down beside his heavy-lidded eyes. He wore a short cream apron with narrow pouches at the front that he had jammed his thumbs into nonchalantly. He sniffed as he watched the boy peer back at him.

“C’mon,” he grunted. “Ain’t got all night.” Yotun stood up slowly, gingerly stepping out of the room. The windowless hallway was the same beige colour as his room, the floor tessellated in speckled black and white tiles. There were a half-dozen other doors on this stretch of hall, all with the same overbuilt metal frame. Yotun chewed his lip, glancing at the apron man. He’s big… but older than Dad… I could probably outrun him. The man leaned closer, grinning at him with crooked teeth.

“Go’n,” he grunted, “try it. See how well it goes.” Yotun met his yellowing eyes for a moment, but quickly looked down at the floor. Snorting, the man stood back up. Retrieving a small, black wand from his apron, he shifted the door back into place. The latch clunked heavily as he ran the wand over it. A jail. This is a jail.

They’ve locked you away, something licked into his ear. Good, good; it’s safer this way.

“This way,” the man said, not even looking back at him as he started down the hall. Yotun saw no alternative but to follow him.

“You… you didn’t answer me before,” Yotun called after the jailor.

“Oh-ho!” he chuckled, a phlegmy sound. “Someone thinks them deserving of an answer!” He turned left at the end of the hall, joining a near identical row of cells.

“Th-the guy said this was a clinic, but you don’t look like a nurse to me.”

“No shit,” the man chuckled, scratching at the wiry, grey-peppered fur of his throat. “This’s a PD clinic kid. You’re in the deep end.” They turned right and were met with a metal archway sealed by another large door. The apron man grumbled to himself, pulling out the wand and fiddling with it.

“Where… where are you taking me?” Yotun mumbled.

“Special treatment,” the man muttered. “Norm’ly get a day or two t’ settle on your own, but doc wants your sessions to start tonight. Lucky you.” He passed the wand over the door and there was another thunk sound. He shifted it out of the way, ushering Yotun through. As the man relocked the door, Yotun glanced about, noting that the walls on this side were painted a friendly light blue colour. The hallway stretched away a short distance, an ordinary pair of unreinforced doors at its far end. To the left of the arch was a stairwell.

“Up,” Apron grunted. Yotun could smell his breath as he followed him up the stairs. The first thing he noticed upon reaching the next level was that the walls were now painted a dull lime green, the same unassuming doors spaced more widely. The second, to his tremendous surprise, was that there was a window. It was sealed and clearly reinforced, but it afforded some view of the bright blue sky outside. He went to it at once, looking out at pointed silver spires of metal and glass. In the middle distance hovercars and spacecraft wheeled between buildings and up across the blue. This’s… still in the city, he realised. The man sidled up beside him.

“Before you start getting’ no ideas,” he grunted, “best you know that every room ‘ere is monitored. Every door alarmed. Fifty years this place been runnin’, no one leaves unless we think they fit to.”

“Wh-when will that be?” Yotun asked. The clinician sniffed at the window distastefully, turned away and pushed open the nearest door.

“Depends on you,” he replied, gesturing to the door. Yotun, with one last wistful glance at the window, stepped through the door.

The room within was a little bigger than the one he had just left, coloured the same dull lime as the hall. In the centre were two chairs, both looking rather large and plush and doubtless quite comfortable. However, one of the two chairs had the notable addition of a large, firm looking strap that would bind the seat’s occupant about their middle. The other chair had a small keypad built into the armrest.

“Sit,” the man commanded, gesturing to the strapped seat.

“I-I’d prefer to stand,” he mumbled, but complied. The big man’s calloused fingers pulled the strap tight about Yotun’s middle, buckling him in. Just when he thought he could sinch it no tighter, and he would have to protest, the door slid open again, a tall, slender, stick of a woman stepping through. She had a dim chequered black and grey complexion, her pelt well-groomed almost to the point of being slick. The fur of her head was also that same dim black but faded to a lighter grey about her face. Even her pelt was strangely reduced, being sparser and thinner. In one paw she lightly held a bound folder of papers. She waved this in the man’s general direction, hardly giving him a glance.

“That will be all, Farow,” she said with a raspy, patient voice, thick with an accent he could not place. “You have many more pressing matters to attend to, I’m sure.” Apron man — Farow— shot her a simpering look.

“O’course Doc, always a pleasure,” he said sardonically. The woman ignored him, sitting in the remaining chair. Farow gave Yotun one last yellow glance, sniffed, and limped from the room. Only when the door clunked behind him did the newcomer look up.

“Hello Yotun,” she said, taking him in with amber eyes as one might reflect upon an art piece. “My name is Tyranora del Elanae.” She steepled her paws together, Yotun noticing how strangely short her claws were. “I must apologise for my colleagues, you must have been through a nightmare of a night.”

“I-I…” He swallowed, trying to find the response that would be the most appeasing. “I… guess they’re just doing their jobs.”

“They’re brutes,” she said swiftly. “You wouldn’t want to hear my diagnosis.” Yotun chewed on his lip.

“Elanae? As in the colony world?”

“The very same,” she admitted. Yotun knew that some offworlders kept some strange customs but had never met one before. The woman smiled to herself, seeming to read his mind. ”You need not remember the full title. Most people call me Tyra. My job here is not to cast judgement. I’m here to assess your character, and to try and determine the best path forward, be that treatment or release. Over the coming days we’ll be performing an evaluation, trying to get to the root of what it is you’re feeling, alright?” Yotun sat there, trying and failing to reconcile what he was feeling.

They can’t help you. You’re helpless, remember? He said nothing, chewing his lip.

“Yotun,” Tyra said carefully, “coming here… being brought to this place… you’re probably feeling quite alone right now. Isolated. Misunderstood. I know I did.” He glanced at her, trying to read her soft face. “You’ve no doubt been told horrible things about the people in these places and think that we’re going to lock you away and swallow the key. I promise that’s not what’s happening here. It would be a waste of time for everyone involved. Instead, it serves both you and the community better if we can help you.”

“How can you help me?” he whispered. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

“We’ll just have to work it out together.”

“You’re… you’re really a doctor?” She nodded, smiling at him.

“Rest assured I’ve studied under the very best.” Tyra pushed one of the buttons on her armrest. The room began to dim slowly, the lime colour fading away into a soft abyss. Yotun could just make out her shape in the room beside him, but it was as if their two chairs had tumbled out of the atmosphere to leave their world behind. “You are about to be shown a series of images,” she rasped softly. “On each image I need you to say a word. Any word at all, just the first one that comes into your head.”

“Is… is this a test?” he asked the darkness.

“Of a kind. Don’t worry, today is just the calibration session. We’ll ease into the full test tomorrow. Take a deep breath and try to relax.”

There was a clicking sound and on the wall directly opposite him, almost floating in the darkness, a large blue square appeared.

“Uh… square?”

“Good,” Tyra said. “And the next.” There was another click, a red circle taking the square’s place.

“…circle.” Yotun fiddled with his handcuffs, the metal rubbing his wrists raw.

Click. The number two.

“Two,” he said.

Click. A piece of shoko fruit, cleaved in two to show the ripe yellow flesh within.

“Home.”

Click. A pale flower. Evermind…

“P-petals,” he stammered.

“Speak clearly for the record,” she said.

“Petals,” Yotun said again. The slide changed to a moss-covered rock with another click.

“Stone.”

Click. A knife, jammed forcefully into a chopping board.

“Anger,” he said at once. Immediately his face flushed. Shit… was that a mistake? The wheel clicked over to the face of a smiling child. “Uh…”

“Just say the first thing that comes to mind,” Tyra prompted. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Um… kids?”

There was a final click and the darkness around them began to fade, slowly ebbing into the calming lime shade again.

“Good,” Tyra murmured as her shape coalesced in the chair beside him, scribbling on a notepad. “Very good…” She casually leaned forward and unlatched his binds.

“I… did I pass?” he asked, rubbing his wrists. The psychologist chuckled.

“I’ve seen far worse,” she said, resting her paws primly atop her notes. “So, how’re you feeling?”

“Scared…” he muttered. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get into th-that dumb fight.”

“Fight?” she asked, running a claw down her notepad. “Ah, you mean the incident at school. You broke a girl’s nose.”

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

“Perhaps let’s start there. Please, tell me what happened at school.”

“You already know,” Yotun mumbled.

“Well, I have certain notes,” she said, “but I want to hear it from your perspective.” Yotun harrumphed, relenting.

“Imdi had brought in Monster,” he sighed. The psychologist glanced through her notes, her brow pinching slightly.

“’Monster’ being the vexise owned by Dr’s Braq and Turin of the Brackwood estate, Imdi being their son?” He nodded glumly. “Why do you suppose this boy would do such a thing?”

“He… he wanted to show us, me and Erryt.”

“Why didn’t you report the predator to a teacher?”

“I–” The noise came out strangled. “…look it was silly of him, b-but it was just harmless fun! He would’ve gotten in trouble if I’d reported it.”

“He did get in trouble,” she said with a raised brow, noting something down. “But you don’t think he should have brought it in?”

“Well,” he snorted. “It clearly went so well.” She smiled blankly at him.

“Are you good friends with Imdi?”

“O-okay. Better than we used to be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, uh…” Well, you see, I was jealous of the connection he had with the woods, and by extension the predator girl who lives there. The secret pyq, you know? “I wasn’t very good at making friends. Son of rich parents. Doesn’t go down well with most kids. So when he started talking to…” He trailed off for a moment, Tyra tilting her head. “…to the friends I had, I… I guess I was scared of losing them.”

“Did your friends ever say that they didn’t like you?”

“Well… no, not really.”

“Hm,” she murmured, her pen moving lazily across her page. “What about the other kids, the ones who got into the fight?” He sighed. Tyra just listened expectantly.

“I… I didn’t really know them. It was my first day back and I guess they just didn’t like the look of me. The alien, the nauret, she said something snide or something,” he muttered. “I think everyone was having fun till I showed up, so… Even Roklin seemed distant. We used to hang out before…”

“Before the incident with the roht?”

“I, uh, don’t really wanna talk about that,” he mumbled, nodding at the floor. The woman scribbled down a note.

“It’s okay. We can come back to that,” she replied. “But you felt that people at school were treating you differently?”

“No.”

“No?” He shrugged at her.

“I’ve always been treated like that.”

“Hm.” Scratch-scratch went the pen. “What started the fight?”

“They wanted to take Monster. They would have hurt him.”

“And in the end it came to blows.”

“I wish it hadn’t… I-I was confused… and worried. Everyone was all around us, yelling and everything, and Nyrra just kept pushing. A-and then Lollyn started screaming ‘cause she got bit, and–” He groaned into his paws. Tyra rapped her short claws on her notepad.

“What exactly were you feeling when you decided to hit her?” she asked.

“I didn’t decide,” he sighed. “I just did.”

“So you didn’t feel anything?”

“No, I mean, I felt scared.”

“Scared that you’d be punished? Scared that they’d hurt you?”

“Scared that they’d hurt the kitten,” he said. Tyra’s brow twitched, the woman making another note. She shifted in her chair.

“You’ve seen lots of predators, Yotun. More than most people.”

“Just lucky I guess,” he muttered. To his surprise an honest smile broke through Tyra’s demeanour.

“I think I can understand lashing out at bullies,” she said. “It’s entirely the wrong kind of reaction, but I can completely understand the impulse.” Yotun nodded, the motion becoming a yawn. Tyra set aside her notes. “I think that’s enough for our opening session. We can begin properly after the screening tomorrow.” She stood, pressing a button beside the door. “The first few days are always the most trying. You’ve no doubt had a difficult day. I’d advise trying to get some sleep.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, not exactly warming to the prospect of staying the night.

“Good,” Tyranora said, nodding. A thought occurred to him as Farow unlocked the door from the outside.

“Tyra?” She looked back at him.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever seen a predator?” The woman looked through him for a moment.

“Oh yes,” she drawled. “In this line of work, you see plenty.”

~*~

The next day they collected him from his cell —he refused to think of it as a room— about midday. At least he supposed it was midday; he had collapsed into sleep atop the platform his room —cell!— called a bed, finding it strangely comfortable. He had slept so solidly he had barely dreamt at all, and initially forgot where he was. The memory of his kidnapping quickly reasserted itself, not least because he had barely started dinner. He was positively ravenous when they unlocked his door. Whilst it was not Farow who collected him the new man still kept a close eye on him.

Rather than heading up the stairs to the green floor, he was guided further along the blue level and through the double doors. The corridor continued through a larger, open area. Rounded tables and chairs were scattered around the larger section to his right, occupied here and there by just a few radji. All were sitting on their own. On the other side of the room was a small unattended food cart. Ushered closer by both his stomach and the clinician, he helped himself to a bowl of… something. He prodded the creamy brown substance with his spoon.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Porridge,” the man replied. “Go sit and eat.” With that the clinician left him to his own devices, heading back the way they had come.

Taking his bowl, Yotun tried not to look too sheepish as he moved through the cafeteria. On the other side of the room were some large, fixed windows. Wispy clouds floated like white splotches of gouache against the pale blue and would have drawn him closer were it not for the pair of gaunt radji talking in hushed tones by the windowsill. They both shot him a furtive glance, Yotun quickly looking elsewhere. In one corner a small bookshelf was stocked beside another small table. A very big man sat there, leaning intently over a hardback. He was so large that his back seemed like a large circle of spikes that the man curled into. Very little space would be left for him to sit, even if the man was not objectively terrifying. At the last table a scrawny young girl with fiery auburn fur and bright eyes scribbled with a marker that was clearly eating through the paper onto the table beneath. Normally radji cut the long fur behind their ears back to stop it from getting snagged in their spines, but this girl had golden-orange ringlets that hung to her shoulders. While she could be no older than Imdi, she looked even wilder than he did. She looked up, the two locking eyes. Yotun looked away nervously.

“Psst!” the scraggly, fiery girl hissed. “Sit down!” Yotun gawked at her, a little frightened by her feral appearance.

“Wh-why?”

“Because they told you to!” she insisted. He looked over at the very large man, who had covered his ears, rocking back and forth. Thinking over his options, he sat down at her table. The little ball of fire smiled intensely at him. He quickly set about his breakfast, gobbling it up without relish or remorse. The girl eyed him the whole time.

“Aletra,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “Since ya didn’t ask.”

“Th-they told me not to talk to any of the patients,” he whispered between mouthfuls. The girl shrugged.

“Don’t matter if they don’ts catch ya. Hang in there. The first few weeks are the worst.” Yotun felt his brain fall through his feet. “It’s better once you’re out of the entry rooms,” Aletra continued. “I’ve got a nice big room with a window now!”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Weeks?!” he gasped.

“Keep your voice down!” she hissed right back.

“Why? A-are they watching us?”

“Oh, of course,” she whispered. “I meant about Ronnie.” She gestured to the large man in the corner, his snout a whisker from the page. Yotun eyed him carefully.

“Is he… dangerous?”

“No no, Ronnie just likes his quiet,” she said lightly, scribbling at her page. “He’s sweet otherwise. The bad ones they send off to the pan.”

“The pan?” he said dumbly. “They keep them in a pan?” The girl nodded cheerfully.

“Must be a big pan,” she agreed. He looked down at his bowl of slop.

“I’d hope they have better cooking,” he grumbled.

The clinician from before wandered back into the room, casually sauntering up to the giant Aletra had called Ronnie and gently touching his shoulder. The man looked up shyly, closed his book and, holding it tenderly to his chest, followed him out without a word. Yotun watched them go, finishing off his meal.

“Yotun,” he said. “Since you didn’t ask.” Aletra smiled, repeating the name back to herself.

“Yotuuun…” She can’t be much older than Imdi, he thought.

“How long have you been here Aletra?”

“Hmmm,” she hummed. “A while. I come and go.”

“Are there other kids here?”

“Sometimes,” she said, her ear twitching as she tucked a loose ringlet behind it. “You’d be the first in a bit.”

“It’s not right,” he murmured, “keeping kids here.”

“It’s okay,” she said. ”We’s all here because we’s–” she gestured erratically before her snout, “–different.” She looked at him with her bright eyes and he found something familiar and wounded in her gaze.

Yotun almost asked how she was ‘different’ when the double doors admitted a short, portly, haggard-looking man with a ragged satchel over one shoulder. Aletra looked up at once, gasping. Yotun just managed to snatch up his bowl as she clambered over the table.

“Daddy!” she called out, sprinting over to him. “Daddy, Daddy!”

“Hey luv,” the man chuckled as he picked her up, quite a feat given how short he was; it would have been easier to step over than around him. Aletra did not seem to notice, looking about.

“Wh-where’s Mummy?” The man managed to keep the smile on his face, even if Yotun saw his eyes fall. “She’s off in space, remember Aly? She’s off flying spaceships!” The father held her sideways, the girl cackling as he began to spin about. Yotun could not help but smile as he set her back down blue in the face but grinning. The two caught each other’s eye.

“Yotun?” the man said, doing a double take. “Goddess lad, what’re you doing here?” Yotun blinked at him, trying to place the face.

“You know him Daddy?” Aletra asked. “He jus’ showed up today.” The man shook his stout face.

“I’d heard but… I didn’t think they’d find cause to arrest…”

“The… the attorney,” Yotun realised. “Redan. You gave us sweets.” He blinked at the girl with fire in her hair. “Then this… I didn’t know you had a daughter.” For a moment Redan looked like he had been caught with his paw in the jar, but he smiled warmly, tussling the girls untamed head.

“Aye, she’s what it’s all about.” She smiled up at him. Redan turned back to Yotun. “They’ve got you here for PD screening, huh?” A worm of worry started nibbling in his chest. They all look at me like I’m the dangerous one.

“I-I think so.”

“That’s terrible lad, I’m so very sorry.” He sighed heavily. “Well, who’s your counsel?”

“C-counsel? You mean my parents?”

“No-no I mean your… wait. You haven’t seen your parents?” He shook his head.

“Not since they took me.”

“Hmm,” Redan harrumphed, furrowing his brow. “Well… who’s your legal representation?”

“L-legal?”

“You’ve been detained, you need legal counsel.” He pulled a datapad from his satchel, flicking across its screen.

“If you and your parents sign this form, then I can act as your legal counsel. I can help you.”

Help you? Who would want to help you. Aletra pranced up to the table.

“Daddy’s the best!” she said. “You should let him help!” Yotun chewed his lip. The doors swung open again, the sallow form of Farow spying them immediately. He was struck by the sensation of running out of time. What hurt is there in letting him try?

“O-okay,” Yotun decided, pressing his thumb to the screen.

“I’ll go see your parents as soon as I can,” Redan said, hastily putting the tablet away.

“Redan,” Farow called out. “I’ve warned you about talking to other patients.”

“Actually, I’ve met him before,” the attorney replied, turning to meet him. The clinician rolled his eyes.

“Another happy reunion. C’mon.” He seized Yotun by the arm, pulling him to his feet.

“Thank you!” the boy called over his shoulder. The clinician marched him quickly back to the lime green room from yesterday, only releasing his grip when they reached the door. This time Tyra was already within, sitting patiently in her chair.

“Good morning,” she said easily. “Did you sleep well?”

“Okay I guess,” he said, carefully seating himself. Farow moved to buckle him in, but Tyra raised a paw.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. The man grunted, shaking his head.

“It’s standard procedure–”

“You can rest assured that I’m familiar with protocol,” she said. “Leave him be.” Farow shrugged.

“Your fault if this one snaps too,” he said under his breath, making the worm of worry in Yotun’s chest start to burrow deeper. The woman shot the clinician’s back a look that should have set it aflame.

“Ignore him,” she sighed as the door closed behind him. “He just likes getting his way.”

“O-okay,” he stammered. “Is… it another test today?” Tyranora nodded.

“Today is the full screening,” she rasped. “It has been calibrated based on your profile. Try and relax. It’ll be over in no time.” The room slowly descended into shadow. Yotun took a ragged breath, trying to quell the rising anxiety.

There was a click, and the same blue square as before coalesced.

“B-blue,” he said. With a click the blue square became a red circle. “Red.”

Click. A piece of shoko fruit. Picking fruit for lunch.

“Vines.”

Click. The pale petals of evermind, golden light filtering from a distant sundown. A creche, hidden near a running stream.

“Th-the hill…”

Click. An altar. Wooden gods and heady incense.

“Rylett. M-my teacher.”

Click. Two men, trading silk in the city.

“…selling?”

Click. The fruit was now rotting. The feeling of mush beneath my paws as I run.

“I… uh…”

“Yotun,” Tyra said carefully. “Take a breath and say a word.” The air was cold.

“N-night,” he breathed.

Click. The flower again. She holds them in stiff paws.

“G-garden.”

Click. An image of a vexise. The creature bares its teeth.

“Imdi…” he said, his voice wavering.

Click. Callio, embracing her father. The man won’t stop crying. The air left him.

“Answer,” the woman prompted.

“F-flower,” he shuddered. “P-please stop…”

“One more,” she said. The button clicked one final time. On the screen was the lean, muscular form of an adult pyq. He felt his heart racing, his claws dig into the arms of the chair. It was clearly combat footage, captured haphazardly, the black and white background cropped to just the portrait of the predator. Its grey snout was long and narrow, the lips pulled into an unnatural leer as it looked up toward the photographer. It was hard to tell if it was crouching over something or waiting to pounce, but even in that position it seemed to tower over him. The eyes were dark like hers.

The voice in the woods… the creature that saved him… the girl he grieved with…

“Yotun?”

“M-monster,” he croaked. “Monster.”

~*~

That night it seemed like he barely slept, or if he did it was the fitful, loathsome kind one gets when one travels. The raised platform gave him too much air, feeling like he was displayed atop a pedestal. He wished for the weight of a good blanket to hide him, smother him in warmth.

The following morning Yotun collected the same porridge breakfast from the food cart. This time there were many different people scattered about the social area, but Aletra seemed not to be there at all. Most of the tables were taken by a few people, eating in eerie quiet. Even a gaunt looking v’rstatin preening at her feathers in one corner made nary a sound. He would have to sit next to someone… There was a small, wiry looking man sitting by the window seat, his button nose pink and twitching. His tiny dark eyes blinked at the overcast sky like a newborn, clutching at his bowl with ragged claws. I don’t like the look of him, Yotun admitted. Hm… is that some kind of prejudice? The man lifted his bowl up, noisily slurping it down. He could not stand a noisy eater, so that left the large bookworm Ronnie with the table to himself. What had she called him? Sweet? Yotun swallowed, carefully walking up to him. This time the man was facing him, Yotun grateful that he was not likely to startle the giant. The man glanced up as he approached. He immediately cringed, putting his paws over his book protectively. Yotun stopped.

“Uh…” he said quietly, nodding to the empty seat opposite him. “Do you mind?” Ronnie winced again, putting a crooked digit over his lips as though to shush him. He likes his quiet, Yotun recalled, mimicking the gesture apologetically. Ronnie glanced from him to the seat, then offered a meagre smile and a nod. Yotun slowly sat down, nodding his thanks. The large man, keeping a paw on his own novel and an eye on Yotun, quickly reached over to the shelf beside him and plucked up a book. He looked at it fondly, as one might a familiar face. Carefully Ronnie placed it down on the table and slid it toward him. The title, Duel, was emblazoned in large gold font across the faded red cover. Yotun flicked through the dusty pages as he ate.

It was a short story, clearly written before his parents had been born. It had an odd tone, reminding him of the secret folk tales kept in the teacher’s lounge at school. Interested, he began to skim through it.

The novel was the story of two great kingdoms, warring over an island in the middle of a vast lake. Each would send out a garrison into the mist, never knowing the size of their opponent’s forces, the soldiers never knowing when aid would arrive. In the middle of a great battle a storm like no other grew, and the waters of the lake rose like a hurricane as if to swallow the island whole. Many were swept away into the water, many more were killed in the fighting. One warrior, misplacing his footing, was dragged under. As his armour smashed against the sharp rock of the island, he thought he would drown. But instead, strong arms pulled him into a hidden cove, the sea raging about them. Sputtering, he tried to thank his comrade, but his saviour was in fact one of his enemies. He reached for his sword but found that he had lost it to the deep. The other was also unarmed, her armour dashed and tattered. The two, the last survivors of their legions, found no choice but to huddle together and wait out the long, cold night.

He was so enraptured by it that he almost startled when a paw gently tapped his shoulder. Tyranora looked down at him inquisitively, a tablet tucked under one arm. He closed the book, nodding his thanks again to Ronnie, and followed her from the room.

“Some light reading?” she asked casually as she led him along the blue hall.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” he said, “but it’s very good.”

“Duel was always one of my favourites,” she said in her croaky voice as they turned up the stairwell.

“Can I ask,” Yotun said, “who’s, uh, the big guy who likes to read?”

“Ronn? He’s a long-term patient. Very nice man.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“’Wrong’ is a poor choice of words,” she tutted as they reached the green floor. She stopped, resting her paw on the door. “You should know I’m forbidden from discussing the specifics of my cases, including yours, with non-professionals.”

“Oh… okay. I was… I just didn’t want to upset him.”

“That’s good,” Tyra said with a smile. “But cases like his are why we try to keep patient interactions to a minimum.” She pushed open the door and gestured for him to enter. At least they have some kind of standards for how they interact with… with patients.

With you. You’re a patient too.

“H-have you got my results yet?” he asked as they sat down.

“Not yet,” Tyra replied, swiping across her tablet. “It takes some time to compile. Are you feeling better this morning? You seemed shaken yesterday.”

“I… I’m not sure. It was… unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Today I wanted to pick up on our first session. You’d expressed some reservations about school. You said that you felt like people at school were always judging you or treating you poorly. Have you talked to your friends about this?”

“I mean… not really. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about that sort of thing.“

“What about Callio? What was your relationship with her?” The memory of their sunny day crashed through his mind like a falling boulder.

“I told you,” he murmured. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yotun, I want to help you.” She leaned forward. “I don’t want you to relive what happened to you and Callio. It was clearly a terribly traumatic event. But left unaddressed it’ll do you more harm in the long run.”

“She…” he croaked. “…she was my friend.” The doctor nodded slowly, flicking her claws across her screen.

“I’ve got the transcripts of your interviews following the incident. ’We wanted to have fun,’” she read aloud, “’we wanted to get away from our parents. Callio always wanted to see the forest I always talked about, the one she wasn’t allowed in. I wanted to show her some of the things I’d seen; the mountains, the waterfall, this grove of white flowers. They were her favourite.’” She looked up at him. “You’d been into the Brackwood before. Why?” Yotun swallowed.

“I-I was curious. It… it was nice and quiet, so I’d sit and draw.” Tyra reached down beside her chair and leafed through a binder.

“Such as these?” she asked, unclipping a page and handing it to him. It was an image of some drawings. His drawings. Most of them were incomplete, idle sketches, but a few were clearly missing sections, cut off at odd angles where he knew from memory he had drawn more. He tapped at the sketch of his home from the tip of the mountain’s snout. He knew the view, the sketch, as well as his own face but for some reason the image unsettled him.

“Th-these are from my notebook. Where was it?” Tyra ignored the question, unclipping another page. Yotun blinked at the sketch of a young girl.

“I take it this’s Callio?” she asked softly. He nodded stiffly. “You have a good eye for detail, Yotun.” The boy looked away. Tyra settled back into her seat contemplatively. “When I was a little girl,” she said, “I always wanted to be an artist.” He glanced at her.

“Really?”

“My father was a sculptor. He showed me… taught me that there is a beauty in any lump of clay that can rival the greatest of vistas, the gentlest of a musician’s notes.” She looked down at her paws. “You merely must… prod it in just the right ways. The wheel does the rest.”

“I like drawing,” Yotun said. “I find it helps me to… to get the stuff in here–” he gestured to his head, “–out. Give them space.”

“You’ve also drawn this animal a fair amount,” she said, splaying out several images of long-legged quadrupeds with floppy ears. “Can you tell me what this animal means to you?” Murder and death.

“It’s a brynn foal. We see them every now and then.”

“That’s what it is, not what it represents,” she said quickly. “Yotun, these animals are all lying down. Why is that?”

“I… I just always draw them like that.”

“Why not draw them up and about? Running and playing and eating?” He shrugged, the nightmare memory of something spindly shuddering to life in a dark corner of his mind. Tyra pursed her lips, folding her paws. “You didn’t draw any predators as far as I could see.”

“Why’s that important?”

“Yotun, I’ve read your file. I know you found a dead foal when you were very young.”

“That… that was a long time ago. I’ve… I’ve stopped having nightmares.”

“What would you see in your nightmares?”

“The foal. It was always the foal.”

“Did that bother you?” He sighed raggedly.

“Of course it did.” Tyra nodded slowly.

“You seem to… focus on victims over their tormentors. Forgive me, but I must ask; what did you feel once the predator was dead?” He shuddered, recalling how the animals head had collapsed in Ki-yu’s jaws.

“I… I didn’t care. I just… I wanted my friend back.”

“But there was no relief?” Tyra said charily, her paw writing without her looking. “No sense of catharsis or justice?”

“It was just an animal,” he mumbled.

“That doesn’t matter,” she said, leaning forward to sit on the edge of her seat. “Yotun, it killed your friend. You’re allowed to be angry.” He nodded down at his feet.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Yotun,” she pressed. “You’re allowed to be angry.” For a voice so coarse and raspy it was remarkably soft. It pressed into a point just above his sternum, the whisper of a giant. I don’t want to be angry…

“I was,” he heard himself say. “For a very long time, I was. Callio… She– she fought. Sh-she tried to hang on so very hard…” He sniffed, pausing for a moment. For but a taste of evermind… “But it’s not the roht’s fault,” he said. “It was a monster. But it… it just didn’t belong there.”

“Then,” Tyra said slowly, “who’s fault is it?” The question hung in the air between them. “Perhaps you feel in some way responsible? That if they’d listened to you when you were a boy, that maybe this wouldn’t have happened?” Could they have stopped it? he wondered. Could this have all been different?

But a part of you wanted to see it, didn’t you? Why else would you keep going out there?

“We all write stories,” Tyra said into the silence. “If the fruit is rotten we tell ourselves we must have planted it in the wrong spot or given it too much feed. If the sash is cut too short or running a bit thin we blame the spinstress. We need stories to make life make sense, and if we can’t find one in the real world, we start looking inward.” He felt himself curl up in his mind, raised up on a pedestal. “I think you’ve been on your own for a very long time. That you weren’t often given the opportunity to make friends, and that it’s far safer to just stay alone. And then when someone does inevitably become close to you, you become protective, because in the past they’ve always been taken away from you. It’s why you lashed out in the schoolyard, and it’s why you keep hiding back in the forest. But you’ll never heal so long as you don’t accept some degree of risk is inevitable.”

“I know what risk is,” he mumbled.

“No, you’ve known loss. I don’t think you’ve ever learned to accept risk.”

“You’re saying that I’ve got to… got to leave the forest behind?”

“It’s early days,” she said, “but that’s my initial conclusion.”

“Well… I’ve already stopped going to the forest, not since the roht.” The woman tilted her head at him.

“Have you?” she murmured. “Are you certain?”

“Of… of course I haven’t.” He glanced down at the photographed sketches, the worm in his chest reaching his heart. “Where… where did you find my book?” Tyranora steepled her paws, her golden eyes burrowing into his own.

“There was a fire in the forest,” she said. “A deliberately lit fire. Your book was found at the scene.” The fire to the west…

“Wha-? What happened? Is… is everyone alright?”

“No one was hurt, but I’m told that a dozen or so hectares of forest were lost.”

“Hectares?!” he gasped, standing. “B-but… what?!” Tyra was frowning at him, searching his face. The door behind him clunked open, a clinician barging in, but Tyra raised her paw.

“I think it best if we leave it here for today,” she said. “Please see Yotun back to his room.”

As the man dragged him away, Ki-yu’s words whispered in the dark beside his ear.

They will burn the forest down to kill me.

~*~

Yotun wandered across slick black rock, lost on an island amid a storm. The ruins of an immense tower rose like a black pillar around him, his voice, muted against the tempest, barely echoed off the crumbling rock. High above him, two men struggled in heavy plate armour on a derelict bridge, being tossed around by the wind. With a ear-splitting snap of whipping rope the bridge gave way, both plummeting to shatter wetly on the hard stone beside him. As he watched the crimson leak from the dashed champions, great shadows arose around him, beasts of charcoal and soot with long snouts and wicked grins.

He ran through the ruin, their footsteps thundering behind him. A wave rose up and dragged him beneath, dark foaming water thick with kelp and salt had forced itself within him until he feared he would burst. A pair of strong hands had gripped his shoulders, and–!

Yotun awoke, panting like a drowned man.

That morning, the boy ate his breakfast without tasting it, his mind running until his head was spinning. He could not have misplaced his journal, let alone dropped it into the middle of the Brackwood. It was absurd. Worse than absurd, it was criminal. It could only have been taken. And the only time that it could have been taken was during the scuffle in the yard… he was certain he had it during class…

Yotun was pulled from his mind as a girl with fur like fire sat beside him. He blinked, finding himself sitting at a table in the social area, an empty bowl in front of him.

“Morning!” Aletra said sunnily, dropping some markers and paper onto the table.

“Hm,” he grunted. The girl sniffed, setting about her art.

“Rough sesh?”

“Th-They think I started a fire,” he replied, barely even looking at her.

“Did you?”

“N–!” Yotun caught himself before he yelled, glancing to where Ronnie sat by his bookshelf. “No,” he said firmly, setting his spoon down. “Did your dad say if he talked to my parents?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged.

“Great.” It was always a long shot.

“Don’t worry,” Aly hummed. “Daddy’s just busy helping the other different people. He’s always doing that.” Yotun considered the young girl again as she picked up a black marker, scribbling a dark void across the page.

“Why’re you here?” he asked. “You don’t seem different to me.”

“Oh, ya know,” she sighed, “it comes and goes. Some days I’m me, and it’s all okay.”

“And on the other days?”

“It depends,” she shrugged. “I get hyper, Daddy says, so they put me under.”

“They… they put you to sleep?” Aly stopped drawing for a moment, shifting her marker.

“Kinda.” She looked carefully at what she had drawn, then put it aside for a blank sheet. She had drawn picture of a spaceship, three happy radji piloting the craft away from a tiny little world. The image made Yotun’s heart ache.

“It looks good,” he told her. “Hey, wanna see something?” Picking up a marker, he overturned the page. Aly snatched away the marker.

“Don’t draw on my paper!” she snapped. Yotun recoiled.

“Oh, s-sorry,” he mumbled, reaching for the clear stack.

“No!” Aletra screeched. “They’re mine!” There was a sudden drawing of breath, like the air was sucked from the room as Ronnie nearly fell from his chair. He threw himself up, scrambling. The ginger girl gasped, covering her snout.

“Iyyyyy–!” he cried. The big man swung at empty air, retreating into the corner of the room. “Quiet! Quiet! Shhh! Shhh!” He put his paws over his ears, squatting down and shaking his head insistently. “Not my turn, not my turnnnn!”

“Ronnie!” Aletra gasped, almost toppling her chair as she sprang over the table. Yotun watched the little girl stop a short distance away from the man, crouching down. “Oh Ronnie, shh it’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay.” Ronnie started pulling at the quills on his head, his eyes wide and unseeing. He began speaking in a hushed but manic manner.

“The-the men of old held spear of bronze, n’ shield of pressèd brass.

They slew the beasts of Barrownoi, n’ watered soils, crops, n’ grass!”

“Ronnie, you’ve got to be quiet,” the girl hissed at him. “It’s okay, you’re not there anymore. You don’t have to be scared.” Yotun winced as the man yanked away a pawful of quills from his scalp, little streams of blue blood running down the side of his head.

“B-buh, but the life of beasts is a fickle thing, born of death n’ loss.

Their blood seeped unto the dirt, n’ unto fruit n’ moss!

And from that gore, upon the folk, a wicked trap was set,

For all that tasted of their fruit was caught within their net!”

“Ronnie, please!” Aly begged him. Yotun stood there, unsure of what to do as Farow rounded the corner flanked by two guards. The girl backed off at once, looking down at the floor.

“Alright Ron,” Farow called out. “That’s ‘nuff now.”

“We must not speak of monster men, we must not walk their lands.

Who knows what kind of crop they sow with wicked, hungry hands?!”

Farow gestured to the quivering giant, the two other clinicians moving forward. Ronnie screamed as they touched him. “N-no! 1768!” he howled as they pulled him up. “1768!” The two men fought to contain the struggling patient, barely managing to hold him steady. Farow, retrieving a syringe from deep within his apron, quickly jabbed the needle into Ronnie’s neck. The man writhed and kicked, gasping with wide eyes. They passed over the spot where Yotun stood, stupefied, and he realised the man was not seeing at all. “They’ve come, they’ve come,” he muttered. “Goddess, they’ve come…” He went limp, but still kept muttering as the clinicians dragged him back through the double doors. They swung shut with a shuddering certainty.

Yotun clutched at an anxious tightness in his chest, turning to Aletra. The poor girl looked miserable.

“Oh Ronnie,” she sniffled. “Oh, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s my fault,” he began, reaching out to put a paw on her shoulder. Aletra just stepped back, looking at him with a fraught expression. A heavy paw gripped his shoulder instead.

“Yotun,” Farow said through a yellow grin. “You’ve got a visitor.” The fiery girl seemed tempered, sitting down against the bookshelf as the clinician walked Yotun away.

Instead of leading him upstairs they continued along the blue floor. In the distance he could swear he heard Ronnie howling.

“What’ll you do with him?” he asked the clinician.

“Oh, he’ll need some sedation for a while, then some isolation. Gotta work him back up again now. Waste of time if you ask me, them old goods. Lost causes the lot of ‘em.”

They came to a new checkpoint, a gate before a pair of large metal sliding doors. Farow grunted a greeting at the officer sitting on the other side of the reinforced glass. There was a clunk as the gate slowly slid across, Farow waving the wand across a keypad by the door. A moment later they slid across, revealing the elevator’s interior. By the way it lurched they must have been descending quickly, but the journey lasted a small eternity. When the doors at last opened they were on a newer, lower level. The hallways were sharper, their corners unfailingly precise, the floor and walls painted a dull metallic grey. It were as though they had sunken to an office space designed by an unpaid floor planner.

Farow pushed open the nearest grey door.

“Go on,” he said. Yotun blinked lamely, feeling like he were swimming through ichor. The room within was cold and dim, the walls lined with tall dark mirrors. Even the floor, the low, flat table, and the two squat chairs were made of a harsh grey metal. Champion Oryn sat with his elbows on the table, his claws steepled primly before the pointed fur of his chin. The mirrors reflected him endlessly into a glassy green night, as though this were just one cell among the infinite. All the champions looked over alternating shoulders toward the open door.

“Yotun,” Oryn said casually. “I hope they’re treating you well.”

“Treating me well?” he repeated dumbly.

“Yes,” the champion said. “You’re… eating well?” Yotun sat in the opposite metal seat, finding it as cold and uncomfortable as it looked.

“Porridge,” he heard himself say, Oryn nodding genially. The gesture unsettled him, and he felt his awareness burst back into place. “Where’re my parents?!” Yotun blurted.

“Back home, I believe,” he said. “In good health.”

“Y-you were there,” Yotun mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Why were you there?”

“I’d been informed as to your arrest,” Oryn said, “and a good thing I was. Your father had to be wrestled off of an officer. Understandable, considering, but I was able to make sure there were no charges raised against him.”

“Arrest,” he murmured, the word somehow more real when someone else said it. “I-I didn’t start this fire. I don’t know anything about it.” Oryn looked at him for a long moment.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Your parents have both provided testimonies as to your whereabouts as well as surveillance at the time the fire was lit. You have a reasonable alibi.”

“Th-then why am I still here?!”

“Yotun… your notebook was found at the scene of a crime. A very serious crime.”

“It must’ve been taken! My bag fell open in the fight!” Oryn sighed.

“And that fight as well, you shouldn’t have been involved. Do you remember what we talked about outside the Protectorate? It’s not a weakness to seek help when you’re sick.”

“Sick…” The word was like an insult, a tar in the fur. “I-I’m not sick…” The champion shook his head, disappointment clear on his face.

“Lad, I saw the pictures in your sketchbook. Those were dead animals. And this… this focus on the girl, it’s–”

“Callio,” he interrupted, feeling his snout crinkle. “Her name… was Callio.”

“Your focus on the girl is unhealthy.” You are weird, you silly boy! It’s what I like about you…

“This isn’t about the fight…” he breathed. “It’s not even about the forest. It’s about me…”

“Yotun, I will help you, whatever that might be.” The champion leaned forward. “That is my sacred duty, and I will not shirk it.” The image of Ronnie flashed up before him, the gentle giant reduced by too harsh a word. Waste of time, Farow had said. They send the bad ones to the pan, Aletra had told him. They burned the forest… and nobody even cares…

“How… how dare you?” It came out as a whisper, but the heat rose quickly in his breath. “How dare you?! You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!”

“I’m well within my rights–” Oryn began but Yotun yelled over him.

“A few short conversations and you presume to know me?! To understand all of–?! I-I-I’m just a kid, man! I should be at school, not fighting to prove I’m sane!”

“This is the best place to care for you,” the champion insisted.

“No, this is just the most convenient place to put me!” At that moment Farow pushed the door open, Yotun expecting him to jab a sharp needle in his neck for his troubles. But instead, he was surprised to see the man was actively arguing with Tyranora, the svelte woman seeming to back him further into the room with each word.

“He’s well within his rights!” the grubby clinician was saying.

“He doesn’t get to make requests of patients,” the doctor snapped back, pointing with a tablet at the surprised champion. “We have security clearance for a reason, I thought you of all people would appreciate that. And you–” she jabbed a claw in Farow’s face, “–don’t get to pull patients around just because they’re being difficult.” As the pair argued, the small, portly form of Redan squeezed past them, the lawyer at once moving to Yotun’s arm.

“You alright lad?” he asked. Yotun could have hugged him.

“Y-yes, I think so,” he replied. “Did you–?”

“I did,” he said. “But hush, not a word now.” The clinician’s argument seemed to have reached an impasse.

“Ronnie was having an episode,” Farow was saying, “what would you have had–”

“The man needed a friendly face and time to calm down again,” Tyra replied, “not people grabbing him and jabbing a needle in his neck!” The apron man scoffed.

“You interfere with treatment and protocol far more than anyone else.”

“Enough,” Tyra said. She dismissed him with a gesture so swift and curt she might as well have slapped him. Farow, clearly envisioning something murderous, slammed the door shut on his way out.

“You too,” Tyra said, gesturing to the champion. “Out.”

“Have I done something wrong, supervisor?” Oryn said, appearing somewhat bemused.

“You weren’t invited here champion.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could help,” Oryn said. “Perhaps I could recite some scripture?”

“Oh, spare me,” she said swiftly. “Frankly, I could piss on your piety, but your status affords you some leeway in these matters, so instead of having security drag you out of here I’m politely asking you to leave.”

“As much as I’d like to see that,” Redan interjected, “I’ve actually got some questions for him.”

“Redan,” Tyra sighed. “In your own time.” The brusque little man ignored her.

“You were present when Yotun was arrested, yes?” he asked Oryn, who still had not moved.

“Am I on trial for something?” the man asked coolly.

“Oh no, not at all,” Redan said heartily, casually sitting atop the table. “I was just hoping you might be able to shed light on why this kid wasn’t provided fair representation?” Oryn looked right back at him.

“That’s a question for law enforcement, surely?”

“Oh of course, but when I put it to them they said that they’d received direction from a member of the Protectorate.” The lawyer shifted where he sat, turning conversationally to where Tyra stood impatiently at the door. “Which, of course, begs the question as to why a champion was overseeing the movements of law enforcement, unless they’d been tasked with this action by, say, the judiciary itself?” For the briefest of moments Yotun saw something coiled and venomous in the brindle man’s eyes. Oryn smiled.

“I am here,” the champion said with soft assuredness, “because my duty compels me to be. Until such a time as you can show me that Yotun is fit to re-enter society, I am honour-bound to ensure that he receives the best possible care.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to see his test results,” Redan said cheerfully, holding up a tablet. “He passed with flying colours!” Yotun blinked at him, not sure if he heard him right.

“How’d… who gave you clearance for that?” Oryn asked.

“He did,” Redan said with a toothy grin in Yotun’s direction. “So did his parents, who’ve incidentally got footage of the lad about their home when the fire was lit. Solid alibi.”

“I… I passed the test?” Yotun asked quietly.

“Your score falls within accepted tolerances,” Tyra said, still by the door. “Although there are some deviations that need addressing.” The champion stood, passing within a whisker of the decidedly smug Redan to stop in front of Tyra.

“Doctor,” he said calmly, “you’ve spoken to the lad, performed his evaluation. Surely you can see that he needs help. This is where he belongs.”

“But you don’t decide that,” Tyra said. “I do. But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to pass on my decision.” She gestured to the still open door.

“Thank you,” Oryn said politely. “Please do.” He turned back to Yotun. “Stay safe, son.” With that he left, Tyra closing the door behind him.

Yotun felt like he had somehow cheated on a test and then forgotten about it.

“S-so… I can go home?” he asked.

“That’s still my decision,” Tyranora said. “That cocky prick is right, there are still issues that need addressing.”

“You know the regulations,” Redan said. “’A suspect, once cleared of charges, can be–‘“

“Oh, spare me the legal bullshit, we both know this isn’t about that.” Tyra gestured angrily to the door. “Bah, the lot of you; boys never given enough time on mummy’s knee! So desperate to save the world and show her how worthy of her love you really are.” Redan chuckled, peering at her curiously from beneath his bushy brow.

“What’s that?” he murmured. “Has the great Tyranora been left in the dark?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time they didn’t tell me anything,” she huffed. The woman gestured to the tablet in Redan’s paw. “If you take this to a Justiciar, I could say that the results are unsubstantiated, that the consultations are ongoing.”

“All I’m saying is that keeping him here is not necessary,” Redan said, spreading his paws. “Or is this not about helping him anymore?” Tyra crossed her arms, looking down at the floor then back at him. “Please Tyra, give me this one.”

“I’m doing all that I can with Aletra, you know? She’s… a difficult case.”

“She was always a handful,” Redan said wearily. Tyra sighed.

“Can you provide someone who might speak to his character?” she asked.

“She’s waiting outside,” Redan replied, his wolfish grin showing old and crooked teeth from ear to ear.

“Bastard,” Tyra chuckled, pinching the bridge of her snout. She looked at Yotun with her cool amber eyes. “With no case against you and a clean-ish screening I have no reason to hold you here. You’re no longer a threat to anyone as far as I can tell.”

“S-so I can go?”

“Unless you want to stay,” she replied. “Do you want to stay?”

“No,” he said. “I’d like to go home.”

“Very well. I’m still going to recommend you return for further consultations.”

“O-okay,” Yotun said, already feeling lighter. He turned to Redan, still sitting happily on the table, swinging his legs idly. This time he did hug him.

“Th-thank you,” he told him. “You didn’t have to do any of this.” The little man smiled toothily as he let him go.

“Nothing to it,” he chuckled. “Rylett’s waiting in the foyer. We’ll go over some paperwork and then she’ll take you back home, alright?”

“Alright,” he said, standing and moving to follow Redan from the room but paused as he passed by the psychologist.

“Uh, Tyra…” Yotun rubbed his paws, unsure as to why he felt so unsteady. “Th-thank you… for listening. I know it’s your job, but–”

“Yotun,” she said, “there’s still something else isn’t there? Something old that isn’t talked about even with those you trust the most.”

“I…” She raised a paw.

“I’ll still be here if you want to talk about it. But it does need talking about. Big things like that, they need to be addressed or they will eat your heart to build a nest in its place.”

~*~

They sat at the dining table, but this time none of them felt like talking. No food was served. They just sat.

Dad had a nasty split lip, the flesh tender where one of the officers had struck him.

“Did you get that looked at?” Yotun asked quietly. Arrut glanced up then away again, running a finger idly across the mark.

“I’ll be alright,” Dad said.

“You hit the ground hard,” Yotun said. “Could be infected.” His father grunted and hunched closer to the table.

“You sound like her,” he mumbled. Mother rolled her eyes and looked away. Yotun decided he did not want to live like this anymore.

“She cares,” he said softly, “is that so bad?”

“Yotun,” Mother tutted swiftly, standing to idly polish off the tabletop. “Don’t you judge him like that. After all he’s done for us–”

“After all he’s done,” Yotun echoed. “You don’t need to defend him, defend either of us.” He turned to his father expectantly. The wounded silence descended on them once more, a warm westerly wind watching through the windows. “For something so important,” the boy said in a small voice, “we never talked about it.” His father flexed his knuckles.

“What was there to say?” Dad mumbled.

“How about sorry?”

“Yotun,” Mum whispered scornfully, still defensive.

“No,” Dad whispered. “He’s right… This’s all my fault…” Mum leaned heavily against the woodwork, as though waiting. “I’d thought… I’d hoped you didn’t remember.” His father screwed up his face. “I’m a damned coward. I… I did this… I should have protected you. Sh-should have shown you… a better way…”

“I… I didn’t mean to hit Nyrra,” Yotun mumbled. “It just happened.”

“B-but you did it,” he coughed. “It’s my fault…”

“You d-didn’t… No,” Yotun said, shaking his head. “You’re wrong, you’re all wrong. You didn’t make me this way. I’m not a monster just because I’m ‘different.’ I’m not sick for feeling lost sometimes.” He looked to his father. “And I’m not broken.” Yotun stood, feeling lighter than he had in years. “I’m going to go back to school,” he decided. “I’m going to finish my year, and then I’m going to get better.”

“Just like that?” Dad mumbled, the big man seeming as small and wistful as a child.

“Yes,” Yotun said, feeling more comfortable with the notion. “Yes I think I will.”

“H-how?” Mum whispered. “Are you going to go back to these… these doctors.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But first, I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Into the woods?” she asked.

“Just to the grove,” he said. “I’ll be back for dinner.” And with that he left them at the table. The back door creaked and shuddered in its pale wooden frame just as it always had, and Yotun stood on the back porch for a moment, feeling freer than he ever had. The curled gargoyle on the hill called to him, with its maw of stone teeth.

Taking a breath of fresh air, he started walking.

The retan saplings grew in a small circular area his father had cleared. Every few months when they found the time they would plant a few more, slowly pushing the circle’s boundary outward. The first few they had planted were now spindly pale sticks about waist high, putting out just the smallest frond of leaves. They had fashioned a small bench of pale wood at their centre, remade from someone’s old dining table. They were going to throw it away, but Dad had taken off their paws instead. It felt… right. They were not burying what had happened to these trees but instead making something else with them. Dad called it paying off the debt.

He moved past the grove of saplings, deeper into the woods.

Yellowpuffs and tawnies had sprouted along the trail, balls of soft colour standing around one’s ankles. They spoke of spring’s arrival amongst this dry heat, so different to that cool day years ago. The soft ripbark trees held up a gentle shade, their falling crusts creating life amongst the litter, the joys and ecstasies only insects and fungi know.

And above it all he heard them, the comfortable voices of scansa in flight, the whistle of a bellboy, the awlets soft hoot, and fiirits familiar chirps. Too long, he thought as he climbed higher. I’ve been away far too long.

But even as he climbed the old voice threatened to overtake him.

Fool, it said. Falling back into the same bad habits. This isn’t a safe place. The scurrying of something small in the undergrowth grounded him, as familiar the taste of his own breath.

“No,” he breathed, “it’s not a good place, or a bad place. It just is.”

The burning in his shins did not matter, it felt like a warm fire after so many days indoors. He kept moving upward, the climb was all there was. The trees began to grow taller, older fellows, sure of their wooden footing on these high points. He knew he was getting close when the ground began to tilt in that gentle way it did.

Yotun sat at last at his favourite spot, the log half draped toward the precipice, open to the sky and the fullness of the sundown. The land spread away ad infinitum, golden hues glittering in the last of the day’s light.

How can you hope to get better on your own? The only person who ever loved you died because you dragged them out here.

The wind changed, some rocks clattering down the hillside. He smiled to himself. Because I’m not alone, he reminded himself.

“I hoped you’d be here,” he called out. A light laugh flittered down the mountain, a crag of dark rock uncurling on a nearby escarpment.

“I had half a mind not to,” Ki-yu chittered, crossing her paws to dangle over the edge.

“But you came anyway?” Yotun said softly. There was a rustling down beneath the trees.

“You’re our friend,” Imdi called out, the wild-looking boy pushing through the brambles. “We wanted to hear your side.”

“There’s not much to say,” Yotun told them. “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t there.” He watched as Ki-yu rose, digging her claws in as she stepped out onto a twisted branch hanging in the empty air. The limb bowed a little, showing a faint hint of her muscular weight. “Was it bad?” he said as she made her way down the trunk, Imdi stepping closer. “They didn’t tell me much.”

“It was bad,” Imdi said quietly. Ki-yu thumped heavily to the ground, Yotun reminded of how she had stalked toward him in the lighthouse. It was strange to see her standing next to Imdi, the young boy had always seemed timid and small compared to other children. But here, with his dirty claws and tangled fur, beside the creature twice his height, he somehow made sense.

“I’m sorry,” Yotun said, “I wish I could’ve helped.” The pyq paced closer, this way and that, peering at him with her big dark eyes. As she stood up he realised how much bigger she had become. The skinny predator now stood half a head taller than him, looking down her narrow snout. She took one long sniff.

“You weren’t there?” she whispered.

“No,” he said timidly. “Of course–” Ki-yu embraced him quickly. He wondered for a brief moment if she knew how startling her presence could be, but the thought passed. He laughed, hugging her back. There’s little as rewarding as the hug of a friend.

“Hey,” she said, letting go. “I missed you too.”

“Rylett called,” Imdi said. “Told us everything. It sounds like it wasn’t very nice.”

“No,” he said, turning out to the view. “No, it wasn’t. I don’t think any of them really cared about the patients, only doing their jobs.”

“Are they at least looking for whoever lit the fire?” Ki-yu asked.

“I don’t know,” Yotun said. “It kind of felt like they only wanted to lock me away.” Ki-yu curled up around herself on the log beside him.

“They don’t care?” she whispered. Yotun shook his head, listening to the soft cry of fiirits in the distance.

“Well, if they don’t care, then we’ll just have to figure it out!” Imdi insisted, balancing on the log. Ki-yu snorted.

“We don’t exactly know enough to play detective, dingus,” she said.

“Well, there was your book,” he insisted. “And some kind of smelly thing, like fuel.”

“Accelerant?” Yotun asked.

“It stank,” Ki-yu huffed. “Even Imdi could smell it.”

“Well, that’s something,” Yotun admitted. “If you could smell it again we might find who used it.” Imdi screwed up his face.

“So,” he mumbled, “we need a big gathering of lots of people where we can sniff the burner out.”

“More than that, we need suspects,” Ki-yu huffed, picking at something between her teeth.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Yotun said. “The last time I had my notebook was the day of the fight at school. Someone must have taken it then.”

“At the school?” Imdi asked. “Hmm.” He held out a claw as an idea crossed his mind. “There’s the summer harvest coming up! All of the school and their families will be there. I bet we could get a smell off one of them!”

“So what?” Yotun said, smiling at the insanity of the ploy. “You bring Monster into school again, and try and get him to smell everyone?”

“He’s called Meros now,” Ki-yu said.

“Be expelled if I bring him in,” Imdi huffed, kicking at the dirt. “Besides, he doesn’t know what to smell for.” They all sat back on the log, looking out at the rolling yellow crops. “But…” Imdi said slowly. There was a look of dawning realisation, a moment of wicked glee, and the same idea struck Yotun a moment later. Ki-yu looked between them, confused. She crossed her paws defensively.

“Oh,” she murmured. “I’ve got a terrible feeling about this.”

---

“The hedgehog's dilemma, or sometimes the porcupine dilemma, is a metaphor about the challenges of human intimacy. It describes a situation in which a group of hedgehogs seek to move close to one another to share heat during cold weather. They must remain apart, however, as they cannot avoid hurting one another with their sharp spines. Though they all share the intention of a close reciprocal relationship, this may not occur, for reasons they cannot avoid.”