As they thudded against the side of the Catterpillow, a prong shot out from Offswitch's fingerless gauntlet, and gave the furry hide a poke-- electricity crackled, and for a moment the furry bulk lifted, flinching away from the charge, and leaving enough room for Garbleday and Offswitch to roll beneath its protective bulk, before it flattened them again.

Offswitch hadn't been under the Catterpillow before, but he'd seen it cause no harm to Garbleday. The bulk that pressed down on him was heavy, but soft and puddinglike beneath the fur, and while he couldn't move much, he could breathe, albeit with effort. The caws of the crows were profoundly muffled, and he groped around, his hand working its way along the ground under the Catterpillow, until he touched something that flinched. Something stringy.

"Trashscarf?" he tried. Garbleday was somewhere back by his leg.

"Mmhmm," came the reply, muffled but familiar.

Trashscarf, for whom reality was sort of optional at the best of times, was wondering if the white fluffy Mrrp? and the white fluffy Fluffy, the mustache left behind, might have some common origin, and that perhaps he'd stepped into a future world where Fluffy had evolved into a giant cat-seal-monster that was even now protecting him to the best of its ability while still probably causing brain damage, in this case from oxygen deprivation.

He couldn't move much except his fingers, but even now he was recording this possible theory into the knots of his scarf, using Mrrp?'s own fur and a few crow feathers that he'd managed to scoop up before the Catterpillow had decided to go into lockdown mode.

If he died here, he thought nobly, they would find his scarf and know--- nothing whatsoever, because he was the only one who could read the thing, actually. He snorted out a nosefull of fluff and decided to keep living, instead.

Circumstances kept conversation to a minimum, but it seemed that the crows were losing interest, being unable to make much progress against Mrrp?'s hide. The muffled sounds of corvid clamor were gradually lessening, but it wasn't until they'd been silent for some time that Mrrp? finally shifted-- smooshing them all again, but never mind-- and then uncoiled.

Trashscarf, Garbleday and Offswitch stood up, a bit unsteadily, brushing themselves off and asking after one another.

"What about the Woodstrider?" Trashscarf asked, looking around. "Any sign of her?"

"Not that we saw," Garbleday said, worried.

"She was probably smart enough not to go marching around in the open," Offswitch said. He'd been rather impressed by the Woodstrider, and was sort of starting to wonder if maybe she might like to talk to him sometime... but his ears blushed at the very thought.

"MUURRRRPP," belched the Catterpillow, eructating a small cloud of black feathers. Trashscarf had watched in fascinated horror as it had greeted the incoming swarm of crows like a humpback whale erupting beneath a shoal of herring, but decided not to tell his companions about it, lest they worry.

"I'm here," said the morose voice, and the Woodstrider strode out of the woods, like she do. She was soaking wet, muddy, and squelching, and looked awful. She was unharmed as far as they could tell, but her brave shoulders slumped and her stride was heavy, her face downcast.

"I hid in a mudhole," she said wearily. "And I should have just stayed in there. I'm a coward and a failure and a weakling. The orques should have eaten me. Everything is awful, there's crows, there's you guys, I can't do anything right and there's just no point in--"

"Hey hey whoa--" Trashscarf said quickly, patting her rapidly on the back and dislodging a small frog. "That's the Murk talking! Come on, let's get you dried out--"

"No, hey, come on, you're awesome," Offswitch told her, adding a few soggy pats on her shoulder. "You're smart and strong and brave and pretty and a whole bunch of stuff, not like that stuff you said, no way."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He shot Trashscarf a look of 'help me out here bro' and Trashscarf gave him an eyeroll that clearly meant Offswitch was on his own in that regard.

"You can set me on fire for all I care," said the Woodstrider, sniffling as she collapsed to the ground. "I saw all those crows heading off that way--" She waved a hand vaguely, "--and if they come back I think we should just all let them eat us, at least then we'd be doing good for something--"

She went on like this in a low monotone as Trashscarf kicked together some sticks and leaves, rummaged in his scarf and produced a match, and lit a small campfire beside the road.

Garbleday stared. "How the--how did you just start a campfire on the first match? That never happens! It has to go out a few times, and you have to cuss, and find some dry twigs, and shield it from the wind, and--"

"Waywalker slash urban druid magic," Trashscarf said briskly, as Offswitch coax-dragged the Woodstrider into the warmth of the flames, and helped her doff some of her sodden gear. "The Murk seems to be connected to water, especially rain puddles. I discovered it in Fluffy's valley, and I think it's somehow connected to those dark clouds."

"What is it, though?" Offswitch asked, sniffing at his fingers where he'd touched the soggy Woodstrider.

"I'm not sure," Trashscarf admitted. "I've never encountered anything like it before. It's sort of like... distilled suffering." He shuddered.

"Maybe the crows are part of it?" Garbleday asked, looking up. The sky was still somewhat overcast, but the dark thunderous billows that had blown the birds towards them had dispersed. It was probably around noon, although he couldn't see the sun to be sure.

"We're damn lucky it didn't just open and rain on us, then," Offswitch said. "We'd all be sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves while the crows ate our eyeballs."

"WOOF?" rumbled Mrrp?, sniffing at the sodden Woodstrider, and giving her a helpful swipe with its massive pink tongue that almost pushed her into the flames.

"Just eat me and get it over with dammit," she grumbled, but there was a bit more fire in her spit this time, and she shook her coat out in the warmth, and pulled up a pant leg to start pulling leeches off.

"If those crows all went in one direction, we should find out where they went," Trashscarf said. "Those weren't normal crows, that's not normal crow behavior, and it must mean there's some reason behind it, and maybe we'll find out if we find where they went. I mean, I know it's a fairly thin thread, but it might lead somewhere."

"You want to go find them again?" Garbleday was not enthusiastic. Since there was a fire already, he'd pulled out his rations and was making toast. The Woodstrider seemed to be perking up a bit at the smell.

"Ah, sure, why not," Offswitch said. "Now we know we've got a portable hideout, right, Mrrp?" He patted the Catterpillow on the haunch, and it purred.

"MRRP?"

"It'll mean leaving the road, though," Trashscarf admitted, a little nervously. "I'm not much good in the raw wilderness."

He dropped to a hunker by the Woodstrider, who looked dubious. "We're going to need your help, Woodstrider," he said solemnly. "Only you and your knowledge of... woods... can guide us safely through what lies ahead, because from here I'm pretty sure it includes a lot of trees and stuff."

The Woodstrider looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. She wasn't crying, it was just mud. Really. "Me?" she said in a small voice. Garbleday handed her a piece of toast, and she took a small bite, then a bigger one.

"Of course you!" Trashscarf said brightly. "We need you. You don't seriously think we'd have a chance on our own? An assassin who can't kill, a Watchman gone AWOL, a furry schmoo, and a whatever-I-am? We'd be doomed! Absolutely screwed." He beamed at her.

The Woodstrider looked around at the group, at Mrrp? still purring contentedly by the fire, at Offswitch munching on toast, and at Garbleday wondering where his toast had gone.

She felt a warmth in her chest, a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in a long time. Back in the orque tribe, she'd known she was surrounded by allies, but it had been a long time since she'd had that comfort, and she'd never really encountered it from other Humans before. Humans were usually kind of confusing and weird, there were all these things you were supposed to say or not say, and she felt like she was trying to play some weird game when everyone kept changing the rules. But somehow even in this short time they'd known each other, these people (and one Catterpillow) had become something more than just obstacles to navigate. They were allies.

And, she realized, as she looked up at their concerned faces all around her in the firelight... they seemed to actually care about her. And that made her feel... sort of... like... caring about them back. Huh. It was a strange, fragile little feeling, a little tiny fish in the big sea of solitude she swam in. But it was kind of shiny, in a way. She was wary-- it might be a trap, anything might be a trap. Memories of her orque tribe family warm and strong around her, hunting and playing in the wild, were distant and lost. But these dumb monkeys (and one Catterpillow) were here, and they needed her. Of course she didn't need them... but maybe she could put up with them a little longer.

"You're right, you'd be dead in a day," she said, forcing back the effects of the Murk as new strength warmed through her. "All right. Follow me."

And with that, the group set off into the unknown wilderness, the Woodstrider leading the way.

(Trashscarf put the campfire out first, don't worry.)