#but also those years stuck in the winter forest should make it fifty

[i-bring-crack]

We are seriously not talking enough about how Cha Hae-In is freaking fighting Itarims' apostles in her fifties.

FIFTIES.

[bookofjin]

Annals of Taihe 20 (496)

[From WS007. The Emperor changes his family name. The Empress is deposed. The Heir is deposed and reduced to commoner status. Mu Tai plans rebellion.]

20th Year, Spring, 1st Month, dingmao [2 February], decreed to change the family name to Yuan.

On renchen [27 February], changed the fief of the King of Shiping, Xie, to be King of Pengcheng. Used the King of Dingxiang county, Luan, to restore his fief to King of Chengyang.

2nd Month, xinchou [7 March], the Emperor favoured Hualin [the “Illustrious Forest”], and listened to disputes at the Chief Watchtower.

On  renyin [8 March], decreed that since there were no metal and leather [i.e. weapons and armour → warfare], to allow the full three years of mourning.

On bingwu [12 March], decreed that within the imperial demesne, those seventy and above in late spring were to go to the Imperial City, where [the Emperor] wanted to act out the rites of nourshing the elderly.

On gengxu [16 March], favoured Hualin, and listened to disputes at the Chief Watchtower.

On guichou [19 March], decreed that the towns of Jie Mountian were allowed to make cold food, the remainder were forbidden and were to put a stop to it.

3rd Month, bingyin [1 April], banqueted the crowd of subjects and the elderly of the state and the elderly of the myriads at Hualin Park. A decree said:

For the elderly of state, the yellow-haired and wrinkled and above, [will be] provisional Central Unassigned Grandees and commandery Wardens; the aged and above [will be] provisional Serving Affairs-at-Centre and county Prefects. The elderly of the myriads will just be provisional commander and county [Wardens and Prefects]. On each bestow dove-shaped canes, clothes and garments.

On dingchou [12 April], decreed that the Central Correctors of the various provinces were each to lift up their district's commoners' hopefuls. Those aged fifty and above who guarded simplicity [at their] their crossbeam gates, were to conferred on as Prefects and Chiefs.

Summer, 4th Month, jiachen [9 May], the Inspector of Guang province, Xue Fahu, went south in rebellion.

5th Month, bingzi [10 June], a decree said:

Agriculture in particular is at the head of government, and the altars of grain indeed are the priority of the people. Timely rain abundant and widespread is what ought to genuinely be striven for. Should order within the imperial demesne to strictly apply teaching and supervision. Those who are indolent with their patrimony to be restrained with scouring and flogging. Those who put their strength in farming to be drawn up so their names are known.

On bingxu [20 June], began to lay out the Square Meadow at Heyin.

Dispatched envoys to use the grand sacrificial animals to worship at the mounds of Emperors Guangwu, Ming, and Zhang of Han. Also decreed that for the mounds of the various emperors of Han, Wei, and Jin, each would have a restricted area of a hundred paces where [people] did not get to gather wood or herbs, tread or walk.

On dinghai [21 June], the Chariot Drove to have affairs at the Square Meadow.

7th Month [26 July – 24 August], deposed the August Empress, Ms. Feng.

On wuyin [11 August], the Emperor, due to the long drought, altogether put in order the crowd of gods. From guiwei [16 August], he did not eat until yiyou [18 August]. That night there was timely rain, great and widespread.

On dinghai [20 August], a decree said:

Blazing heat contravening moderation, autumn drizzle rolling up timely rain, the responsibility is with Me, who it truth is deeply trembling with fear. For that reason stopped ordering meals for three mornings, so as to instruct high complaints. The numinous discerned the sincere earnestness, and specially let flow the clouds' liquid.

Even when resting, never rest, but instead dare to overstep idleness. There might be worthy people with profound virtue, exalted scholars stuck on their perches, and though applying measuring and selection, [we] are not able to summon them to come. Should focus on inquiring into the secluded valleys, lift up now these worthy intellects, to straight-away speak the utmost admonitions, and correct what I do not attain.

Also when pernicious flattery damage the court, it certainly will only govern vermin; when greedy men pilfer positions, the great government will then be deficient. The master criticizes and reproaches the incompetent, clarifies and demotes [those] with illicit beneficence.

Also when laws are the core of government, the people's fate is particularly heavy. For the prisoners that are in the Capital, comprehensively instruct itemize them in memorials. We want to personally rely on them for timely discussion and judgement.

Also illness and hardship's six extremities are what people and gods have sympathy for. [We] ought to timely inquire into and care [for them], so as to help the poor and discarded. For the widowed, orphaned, hard-pressed and bereft, and those who are not able survive by themselves, clarify applying sympathy and care, and cause them to obtain aid to survive.

Also to make light conscription and diminish taxes is a lordly person's regular arrangement. [If] within a year there is persistent service, draw it up so that the circumstances are known.

Also the Way of husband and wife is first among the living people. During mid-spring to run and assemble, the rite has an insightful model. For those men and women who have lost the times, use the rite to assemble them.

Also for the Capital's people who have begun the legacy, farming mulberry trees is the foundation. For fields that are sown much or little, teach and supervise so that it is not done, and draw it up so the circumstances are told.

8th Month, renchen, New Moon [25 August], favoured Hualin Park, and personally recorded the prisoners and convicts. For everyone he reduced the original crime with two grades, decided and dispatched them.

On wuxu [31 August], the Chariot Drove to favour Songgao.

On jiayin [16 September], returned to the Palace.

On dingsi [19 September], the King of Nan'an, Zhen, passed away.

Favoured Hualin Park and listened to disputes.

9th Month, wuchen [30 September], the Chariot Drove to review the military at Xiaping Ford.

On guiyou [5 October], returned to the Palace.

On dinghai [19 October], was about to pass along the Luo River to enter the valley. The Emperor personally approached and observed.

Winter, 10th Month, wuxu [30 October], used all of the soldiers who had moved from Dai as Feathered Forest and Rapid-as-Tigers. For the people of Si province, from each twelve men they were to levy one functionary, and be four years replacement soldiers. At the beginning of the year, they would alternate to be on leave, and so provide public and private labour and service.

On jiyou [10 November], a special amnesty for the Imperial City.

11th Month, yiyou [16 December], restored the fief of the former King of Ruyin, Tianci's grandson Jinghe to be King of Ruyin. The former King of Jinzhao, Taixing, became King of Xihe.

Intercalary Month, bingchen [16 January], the General of the Right, Yuan Long, greatly routed the rebellious Hu of Fen province.

12th Month, jiazi [24 January], since the north-western provinces and commanderies had drought and bad harvests, dispatched attendant subjects to inspect and examine, and opened the granaries to relieve and aid.

On yichou [25 January], began with restrictions on salt pools, and gave to people to provide to them.

On bingyin [26 January], deposed the August Heir-Apparent, Xun, to be a commoner.

On dingmao [27 January], announced it to the Grand Temple-

On wuchen [28 January], set up Regular Levelling Granaries.

The Inspector of Heng province, Mu Tai, and others in the province planned rebellion. Dispatched the Acting Master of Writing of the Personnel Section, the King of Rencheng, Cheng, to record and put them in order.

The King Leling, Siyu was convicted of knowing about Tai's secret plans and not reporting it. Stripped off his feudal rank to be a commoner.

[nyxysabyss]

LEVEL HORIZON; YEAR FIVE.24 1/3; Resolve & Potential

Chapter 34!

It is in my nature to be kind, gentle, and loving, but know this: when it comes to matters of protecting my friends, my family, and my heart, do not trifle with me, for I am also the most powerful and relentless creature you will ever know. ~Anonymous

~Five Months Later, High Summer~

Tobio Kageyama lands lightly in the middle of the main road running through a small town, his leveler dropping beside him a little less gracefully. Lev appears out of nowhere with a grin, Yaku at his elbow.

“That was the longest flight so far.” The tall cat says, his green eyes bright as they are joined by the owls, Noya, Asahi, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima. This is the first trip they’ve taken away from home since last fall… since Hinata’s wings ruptured into existence. Everyone had been going a little stir crazy over winter and spring, and it is probably well overdue now that they’ve hit summer and they’d had yet to take one.

The jaunt hadn’t been entirely welcomed by everyone; Yachi had worried constantly the last couple days, and had extracted any number of promises from all of them that if Hinata was getting tired, that they’d stop. She’d insisted that he not be allowed to push himself too hard, and that they rest if he was having a hard time. Kuroo had forced them to plot out a course this time and then secured a commitment to send ravens every other day to let everyone back home know they were still okay, much to the cynical annoyance of Tsukishima. Daichi had told them not to do anything stupid, and Suga had sent along a few extra coins in case they hit a bind somewhere. The only one who’d seemed at ease with letting them go was Kenma. The golden cat had smiled happily with a small wave as they’d taken off right after Tanaka had told them they’d all better come back in one piece.

Natsu, on the other hand, hadn’t been happy about being left behind at all. And since Natsu wouldn’t be allowed, the bald crow had remained behind as well; when the girl would wake in the dark with panic because she was positive the snakes were coming for her, he was the only one who could reach her.

“I go, too.” Tanaka had shaken his head at her even though he’d been put out about being stuck back home, too.

“You wouldn’t be able to keep up, Munchkin. I told you this would happen if you didn’t do those conditioning drills. Besides, you have lessons with Taji and his sister. You prove you can stay airborne for three hours, and pass your tests, and maybe you can go next time.”

Yeah, that had gone over well. The girl had settled into a perpetual sulk before they’d left. Coercing Natsu had been necessary, though. She could fly now, but she’d opt to walk over taking to the sky if given the choice, so she lagged heavily in her flight skills.

And it had been disappointing to discover that she could neither read nor write. She’d never been given any type of schooling during her time with the snakes, so they’d promptly set her up to learn not only written skill, but also a verbal regimen alongside Suga’s young cousins. They had no problem with she and Hinata conversing in their ‘island babble’, but for Natsu to be able to succeed in the world around them, she would have to be able to read, write and speak the crow lexicon like her brother. Hinata draws in a large breath and looks up at the grey cat with a grin.

“You guys are good rabbits! We almost lost you twice!” Hinata says with a laugh. Kageyama smiles slightly.

The trip isn’t just to restore Shouyou’s sanity and craving for adventure and human interaction. It’s also to build his strength and condition his wings, to actually field test them and put them under stress. It is to push them without breaking them, to increase his stamina and control, to restore the redhead to his pre-grounded state.

‘Catch the rabbit’ was one of their drills that they’d been doing as they moved from town to town. A modified game of tag or hide and seek, the cats would zip along in an unpredictable and often chaotic pattern across the forest floors, the airborne group working to keep tabs on them. It was actually eye opening to see what they were truly capable of physically. They could really stretch out, their movements fluid and sleek, until Kageyama and the others would be pushing their upper limits on speed. They could stop and turn on a dime, something that really forced any of them with wings to use every muscle and skill to keep up with their switchbacks and banks. When the cover grew thick, they’d slow and test the avians’ eyes and see if they could keep track of them in the heavy undergrowth.

And, skies, could they leap. Just the other day, they’d been pushing along at a clip and Kageyama had seen Lev clear a fifty-foot river in a single bound with ease. It had immediately dispelled his misconception that the river had stopped Kuroo when he and Shouyou had been headed back to the rookery after Hinata’s grounding; he’d never underestimate their abilities in that department again.

“You look a little pale, Hinata. You pushed too hard, didn’t you?” Yaku asks with a frown. Hinata beams at him, the smile a little too tight.

“Not at all! I could go all day!”

“Uh, huh,” the small cat says skeptically before turning to Kageyama, “We should probably stop for today.”

“We don’t have to!” Hinata says hurriedly, but Kageyama is already nodding.

“Take Noya or Bokuto or someone and go find some lunch.” He says and the redhead stops dead and turns to him questioningly.

“Where are you going?” The avian heir turns a bland look on him.

“Find some gingko leaves.” He says flatly, and Shouyou’s face scrunches into a scowl.

“They don’t hurt that bad, Kageyama. Really.” An eyebrow creeps up Kageyama’s forehead.

The crow setter raises one hand and drives an index finger into the muscle on his shoulder. Hinata almost drops to get away from it and Kageyama gives him a pointed look. His face puffs into a sullen pout and the avian heir suffocates his amusement.

“I’ll join you. I intend to get some basil, because you guys are all weird and can eat tasteless food twenty-four-seven.” Yaku says.

“That’s because you ate salt for decades at sea. You don’t have any taste buds left.” Noya says with a grin and Lev turns to the small cat.

“Is that why you’re so short?” He asks. Hinata snorts right alongside Noya and Bokuto, and even Kageyama can’t keep the smirk off his face. He’s quite sure the lanky cat will never learn.

“You aren’t getting laid for a week, Haiba.” The short cat deadpans, and Noya bursts out laughing.

Kageyama’s smile threatens to split his face as his leveler and the streaked owl quickly follow suit. Yamaguchi can’t keep his own down and even Akaashi’s mouth quirks. The only ones apparently not amused are the large bearded crow who just looks scandalized and Tsukishima who watches them with a very ‘I have never met any of you, don’t ever speak to me’ look. Still, Kageyama can feel his ears burn just a bit; he still colors at vulgar comments from his companions, but he’s gotten far more used to them— unlike Noya’s leveler.

“Yaku!” Asahi protests and Bokuto waves him off.

“What’s the matter? Natsu’s not around right now so he doesn’t need to mind his mouth. It can run all he likes; when they start gettin’ friendly is when it’ll be a problem. Let’s find some food before Yaku goes back on that threat in broad daylight, Hinata.” The streaked owl says throwing his arm over Shouyou’s shoulder.

“Akaashi, control your idiot before I drop kick him.” Yaku growls.

“That would be a wasted effort. The first and last time I tried that, I told him to get lost— you can see how well that went.” The smaller owl says with a quiet smile before drifting toward Kageyama. “Bo, I’m going to head over with these guys. They find a shop that carries gingko, they probably have a decent tea, too.”

“Maybe I could look for kukicha!” Yamaguchi says hopefully.

“Then I guess it’s up to us to get the food. Anyone not with us doesn’t get to complain about what we bring back.” Noya says, waving at them as he turns with Shouyou and Bokuto to head down the street, Asahi trailing after them like a child’s kite.

Kageyama feels that small pull in his gut that he always gets whenever he’s left watching Hinata walk away from him. He intrinsically knows his leveler will always come back to him, but it doesn’t make it any easier to let him wander around without him; he mentally thanks the streaked owl and large crow for accompanying the two short avians, because they are each imposing enough to be a large deterrent to anyone who might want to mess with them.

That small smile stays fixed at the corner of his mouth as he watches them start away, his leveler already arguing animatedly with Noya and Bokuto about what they should have for dinner. He’s enthusiastically invested enough in their meal prospects that his face lights up and his wings twitch with anticipation. Kageyama knows that whenever Hinata is around, he’s as easily distracted as the smaller boy himself… and right now, he should be looking for a place that sells ginkgo, but his gaze lingers on his leveler a few more moments.

Hinata without wings would never have been normal, but Kageyama has yet to get entirely used to them being back; it is still incredible to him that Shouyou is flying once again. Hinata’s perfect, white ticked black wings have gained over another foot in spread since that day he’d taken his first clumsy flight again in almost five years. They continue to stretch, and Kageyama knows it’s painful even if he never says a word.

Kageyama estimates that he probably has maybe another foot yet to go before they are back to the size they were before he’d lost them, and he still glows every chance the stupid bond gets. They have to be careful anytime they aren’t at the beach house, and they still can’t find sleep together. It has been particularly frustrating on this trip, and nearly everyone has had to remind them about it when one of them would subconsciously gravitate toward the other.

But… Kageyama would go through it all a hundred times over again just to see Hinata smile so freely like he is now. It’s an expression they’ve rarely seen in the last two years, and one that has slowly been making a comeback. Kageyama can see the way the others brighten in subconscious response, especially the streaked owl.

Kageyama knows Bokuto has been fixated on Hinata, trying with all his might to bring back that obliviously sunny insanity that had perpetually fueled the redhead when they’d first met the owls. He knows that’s the reason the streaked owl had been one of the first to step up to help him train in his new wings. He knows the larger man has acutely felt the difference in Shouyou since their run in with the snake nest… because Shouyou is different.

But Bokuto is wrong about two things.

Bokuto thinks that he’s mellowed because he’d had to take a life… but that’s not right. Kageyama had actually asked him about it once because it had bothered him, too, and Hinata had looked at him with surprise.

“That’s not it at all, moron.” He’d said frankly and Kageyama had frowned with confusion.

“But the nightmares since then—”

“They always end when you or Suga or Natsu or somebody dies. Kageyama… killing someone wasn’t the nightmare, it was being unable to save someone.”

“Then—”

“It’s because we went after my sister in the first place. I barely remember her from before I came to the rookery. When we ran into her, I had no idea what she’d been through, hadn’t even realized she’d survived. I do wish I never had to take lives, and I hate that I’m the reason that someone will never come home. But I don’t regret it because Natsu wouldn’t have been safe otherwise.

“What frightens me is that I readily placed all of our lives on the line for someone I didn’t even know. She could have been a plant and it wouldn’t have mattered because I’d have still tried to get her out. And that choice... we could have all died and we did nearly lose Sugawara and Sawamura. Two people to save one isn’t an even exchange. And I know it’s two for two in retrospect, but at the time, none of us knew she and Tanaka were levelers. It was an impossible call, because she’s my sister no matter how much a stranger she might have been, and I know things all turned out fine, but Suga and Daichi… Kageyama, I gambled their lives— all of ours really— to try and save someone I couldn’t have told you the first thing about.

“And it’s scary because if we had lost them… I’m not sure I’d have ever been able to look at Natsu the same, knowing that she lived free by their sacrifice. I’m scared to death that I’d have held that against her, because you and everyone from Karasuno, the cats and owls and girls, and even Tsukki and Yamaguchi— they’re family, and I love them all. I’m not willing to trade any of their lives for anything, and yet… I nearly did. And I did it with ease, no hesitation. I never thought I’d be someone who could do something like that.”

Kageyama had been quietly stunned that Hinata didn’t agonize over having killed snakes, but rather the illusion that he’d made the choice to endanger the others for the chance to save Natsu. Hinata was wrong about that notion, because they’d all made the choice to go after his sister, not just him, but it had tormented him all the same. And Bokuto never failed to pick up on that.

But he’s been trying to restore the redhead’s buoyancy in the wake of that emotional turmoil all along when it’s never really been gone. Hinata is still Hinata, and that brilliant shining happiness that he’d always radiated… it’s still there— it’s just tempered by a brush with harsh reality now. It might not be as obnoxious as it was before, but it’s far from gone.

He still gets ridiculously excited about the littlest things and he’ll still exclaim over Yachi and Shimizu’s meals. He still loses his mind when he gets one of their freaky fast hits off in Volley. He still avidly participates in pranks with Noya and Tanaka, and he still smirks right next to them through the rebukes from Daichi or Kuroo.

The difference is that Shouyou doesn’t miss much at all anymore; it’s not just Kageyama— he’s far more attuned to those around him than he ever was growing up, and it’s made him a little more quiet. But that brilliance that has always been his trademark is still there, and Kageyama can see it even now.

“You look like a lovesick idiot.”

Kageyama blinks and turns a nonplussed look on the ibis as Yamaguchi stifles a chuckle, but he has no comeback. The blond has always been quicker on the uptake, his barbs always sharp and on point. Kageyama has never been able to rattle off insults as well or fast, but for once, it isn’t his leveler rising in his defense.

“Better lovesick than love starved.” Yaku mutters pointedly and a smirk tips the avian heir’s mouth as Tsukishima rolls his eyes. The cat doesn’t even give the ibis a chance to respond and ignores Yamaguchi’s indignant squawk before he’s wandering off in search of a place that will carry his basil, and Kageyama drifts after him without conscious effort.

“Speaking about a lovesick moron, you missed it Yaku. You should have been awake after we found you and Lev after the wave. He wouldn’t let you go even to let Suga put his entrails back inside him.” Akaashi says with a smile and Kageyama huffs through his nose, because the lanky cat hadn’t released the russet one beside him for close to two days.

“No one ever said he was intelligent.” Yaku remarks flatly.

“That was mean Mori. You told me just the other day I was a genius—”

“Shut up, Lev.” The small cat snaps, taking a page from the blond he’s just shut down.

Akaashi laughs easily and Lev’s own mouth pulls into a covert smile. Kageyama has the distinct impression that the lanky cat knows exactly what he’s doing every time he opens his mouth, and that Akaashi is far too comfortable with this conversation, because his own face is already burning.

“Mori, what about—”

“I will end you, you mangy mongrel feline.”

They follow the russet cat inside a small shop, Lev still pushing his buttons and Yaku slowly developing the twitch over his eyebrow that signals a swift kick isn’t long in coming. Which will soon be followed by a suspicious absence. Kageyama wonders if he should have stuck with his leveler instead of Yaku and his exhibitionist other half.

He has zero desire to ever be privy to their activities again, he’s already had one front row seat, thanks. Seriously, he can totally sympathize with the expressionless look of distaste on Tsukishima’s face… and isn’t that bizarre. He and the ibis agreeing on something is like spotting a unicorn— it doesn’t happen. Resigning himself to the coming mortification, he heads for the counter where an older man he assumes is the store’s proprietor stands.

“Do you have ginkgo leaves? Also, opium lettuce?” He asks and the shopkeeper glances at him curiously.

“We carry both, but I wouldn’t recommend them used together. They can have… unintended effects.” He says.

“That’s fine.”

“Are you looking to trip your shrimp out or something? You’re far more depraved than I thought.” Tsukishima says from behind him and Kageyama’s face drops into a glare.

“They aren’t both for him, you degenerate. He isn’t the only one who’s frequently fielding pain. Natsu hates the taste of ginkgo, but she took to the opium lettuce much better.” He says, tossing an annoyed glance back at him.

“Oh, that’s right!” Yamaguchi says with a smile. “She was more willing to do flight drills when she got a good night’s sleep and wasn’t in as much pain.”

Natsu might have had wings the entire time where Shouyou had lost them, but she’d never used them. At least Hinata’s back muscles had had the muscle memory yet; she was starting from scratch and probably frequently in as much pain as his leveler. But where Shouyou would never complain as their rigid military upbringing had demanded, it was easy to tell when Natsu was hurting because she’d get cranky and Tanaka would in turn get surly.

“It’s tougher to come by around Sheru Bay, so I’m going to bring some back now.” He says as the door opens behind him.

“Will that be all then, Sir?” The shopkeeper asks.

“For me. The others might need time yet.” He answers.

“Tobio?”

Kageyama mentally stumbles, his mind half-shutting down on him.

Tobio?

He blinks slowly, wondering if he’s just hearing things, because he hasn’t heard that voice in over five years. His cobalt eyes find the russet cat five steps away by the dried herbs, his brow pulling down into a frown.

There’s no way he actually heard that. He’s going to have to start taking some valerian like they give Natsu for sleep at night if he keeps hallucinating crap like this.

But the small feline is watching him sharply from the corner of his eye, a question in his expression, and Kageyama’s thoughts finally starts clicking again.

“Tobio Kageyama.” The call comes again, more certain, and his spine stiffens.

He hasn’t heard that voice in five years… and he can’t tell himself that he isn’t hearing it now, because he will never forget who it belongs to.

His mind kicks into gear, mentally tabulating where everyone is at. The two cats, Akaashi, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi are all here with him… which leaves only Bokuto, Noya, and Asahi with Hinata. His gaze finds Yamaguchi over the russet cat’s head, his hazel eyes also staring back. The ibis beside him is still fixed straight ahead at the shelves of herbs, but his jaw is a rigid outline, a dead giveaway that he’s hyper aware of his surroundings. He can’t find Akaashi or Lev over his other shoulder without being obvious about it, and he feels a muscle beside his eye leap. The freckled crow’s mouth clicks shut, and he turns with a bow to the shopkeeper before heading for the door, Kageyama’s unspoken request loud and clear: Find Hinata and the others.

They aren’t prepared for this, how are they going to get out of it? Their first trip back out this year, their first since Hinata’s wings have returned, and they just had to run up against this. They’re scattered and out of combat practice, tired after a day of travel. Is there even a possibility at this point of them all escaping? Is there any chance they all come out of this alive?

Slowly, he turns to the doorway, his cobalt eyes finding the Grand King exactly where he knows he will, Iwaizumi just behind him. The rookery leader stands just inside, his face slack and eyes large as Yamaguchi slips past him and Iwaizumi. There are a few more worry lines in his face now and Kageyama might be mistaken, but he thinks he sees a few strands of gray in his wavy brown hair. He still looks the picture of health and poise, but… Daichi was right. He looks older somehow to the avian heir. The crow over his shoulder shares his expression and Kageyama’s gaze skips over him with a single cursory glance of accusation.

What the hell, Iwa. We had a deal.

“Good Afternoon, Grand King.” He says automatically.

He can’t explain his need to draw their attention from the others in the room. Hinata might not be here, but he wouldn’t be the only one in danger right now. Memories of Kuroo’s threats on account of having lost friends and family alike to Kageyama’s father make him want to do everything he can to keep the two cats in the room nothing more than background scenery. And the extra feathers that decorate Akaashi’s face mark him as an owl… if he can be kept unnoticed as well, that would be ideal.

“You are alive.” The Grand King says with marked amazement, and Kageyama tenses as Tooru takes a step forward. The others near him shift, and to keep the focus on himself, he also steps toward the rookery leader.

“Last time I checked, sir.”

“All this time, you’ve been here, Tobio?” Kageyama’s chin lifts, a spark of irritation slipping through his tension.

“No, first time. And I wouldn’t have even been here if I’d known you were coming, Father. My source obviously dropped the ball this time.”

He doesn’t look away from Tooru, but he catches Iwaizumi’s abrupt tension. He also catches the slight jerk Yaku does and prays that they all just stay silent.

If the Grand King doesn’t realize they are connected to Kageyama, they might be able to escape this confrontation— because he’s certain this will resolve in no other way. All he needs to do is keep Tooru’s attention on him.

His father will never let him just leave, he’s more than positive. They can’t flee by air; the Grand King can simply follow. They can’t go back home in case the rookery leader sets a tail on them. Even given the severely strained relationship between himself and his father, Kageyama is sure he’d never be able to kill him. Doing so would start a relentless hunt regardless, and none of them will be safe; their best option would be to somehow incapacitate Tooru and Iwaizumi— which shouldn’t be that difficult if they all act, but he doubts they are here alone.

He doesn’t remember a time where his father had left the rookery without a contingent of at least three units always with him, so he’s fully banking that there are others in the near vicinity. Which makes this tricky: they aren’t going to be up against some half-trained gutter snakes who don’t know the first thing about battle efficiency and technique, these are all sentries who’ve had the exact same training they did. These people will be conditioned daily through all those drills, will probably have the upper hand because of that; the last time he’d sparred with the others was over a week ago and their skills won’t be as sharp. The Grand King’s head tilts with a slight frown despite the smirk that twists his mouth.

“You wear the same face… but I hardly recognize you, Tobio. Your voice and expressions— you don’t even carry yourself the same. You’ve… grown up almost overnight. I’m disappointed to have missed it.” He says, and by the time he’s finished, that mask of a smile that Kageyama remembers so well has returned, all trace of his surprise vanished once more.

“Where have you been all this time, Tobio?”

“Wherever you are not.” He says bluntly and his father’s gaze fractures but that smile doesn’t waver.

“That’s awfully harsh, Tobio. And Shrimpy? Is he still alive, too?” He asks with that fabricated cheer that used to infuriate Kageyama.

“He is… but I doubt you really care about that. I have no desire to discuss him with you in any case.” The Grand King blinks at him with a shadow of surprise once more.

“To the contrary, Tobio, he is the reason you left; is it so hard to think I’d have an interest in his well-being?” Kageyama feels his eye twitch at the way he phrases it, as if it does matter to him.

“I imagine his getting iced somewhere along the line would be ideal for you, wouldn’t it?” He says before he can stop himself, unable to keep the bite from his voice. The Grand King glances back at Iwaizumi with a crease of… discomfort? But Kageyama can’t decipher the look before it’s sliding back under a layer of incincerity.

“Tobio, that’s not—”

“I’m not coming back.” He cuts him off, and Tooru’s jaw hangs for a moment before it closes with a tight smile.

“You’ve definitely grown into your own person. The rookery could use you. You should return, Tobio.” Kageyama’s brow cocks, knowing already where this conversation is headed, knowing the Grand King will try and strong arm him into doing as the rookery leader deems. That can’t happen. He will not fall prey to his father’s manipulation.

“How many men did you bring, Sir?” He says more than asks and Tooru’s brows crease in puzzlement.

“I’m here with Iwa’s unit. Probably ten of us or so.” Kageyama blinks, struggling to keep his surprise off his face.

That’s it? It might be possible to escape then. Provided his father isn’t lying.

Iwaizumi’s been unusually quiet through the entire exchange, his sharp eyes flickering between himself and the others, and it makes Kageyama wonder if the sentry leader hadn’t, in fact, foreseen this encounter. And when his dark eyes settle on him with a firm set to his jaw—unease, Kageyama banks that his father is telling the truth. One sentry unit; ten people. He settles back, sets his feet, his chin lifting just a touch. He knows there will be no doubt on where he stands with his next words.

“That’s not nearly enough.”

His father stares at him in bafflement, clearly unused to him pushing back. But his face quickly slips into a surprisingly real grin, and Kageyama realizes that Tooru’s taken it as a challenge. The flash of joyful rally in his gaze sets Kageyama on edge, because he’s never won a debate or argument with this man. But he’s also calm; the rookery leader has nothing to coerce him with this time— all the people he could have used are no longer under his control.

“For what? Bringing you back? You are one crow; you yourself might be strong, but eight or even six will be far stronger.” The Grand King says with a smirk. Iwaizumi shifts behind him and his attempt to intervene cements Kageyama’s gut feeling that the sentry leader hadn’t banked on this encounter either.

“Sir, we should maybe—”

“I don’t think he realizes he’s surrounded, Feathers.” Yaku says and the room stills.

The Grand King’s eyes flicker and they slowly drift to the russet feline. The avian heir can see an entire monologue of thoughts flipping through his orbs despite the neutral expression that takes over his face. Behind him, he can see Iwaizumi’s breath still, the muscle in his arms go taught. Kageyama wants to smack the cat, because he’s just undone any invisibility Kageyama’d bought the others by engaging in this verbal spar with his father.

Well, there’s no helping it now.

“...Obviously.” He drawls, hoping there’s a way to salvage this situation. The Grand King glances at Iwaizumi for only a moment and looks back at him, his expression closed off.

“Tobio… that’s a cat.” He says matter of factly, and one of Kageyama’s brows arches.

“Is it?” He asks, the sarcasm in his voice almost Tsukishima worthy.

“What are you doing with a cat?” Tooru asks, his entire face smoothing into bafflement. Kageyama almost smirks.

“Living.” He distractedly hopes the ibis is paying attention, because he feels like he’s on a roll at the moment.

“Sir.” Iwaizumi tries once again to intervene, but Tooru’s gaze skips around to the other faces in the room that all now watch him. He sees the ibis, his flat look as unimpressed as ever, notices Lev in all his lanky graceless glory, and he lingers on Akaashi, Kageyama certain he doesn’t miss the decorative feathers.

“… and these others?” He asks, a note of incredulity sliding into his voice. Kageyama’s head tilts.

“The same.”

“We’re all on his side. And this isn’t even everyone.” Lev supplies with a cheeky grin and once more, Kageyama wants to facepalm, because the tall cat is giving away information that is probably best kept under wraps.

“Really Tobio? Cats and owls and…” the Grand King trails away as he focuses on the ibis with scrutiny, “a gull?”

“Try again.” Tsukishima mutters, and Kageyama’s mouth almost quirks. Most people treated the Grand King with extensive respect; he’s probably been subject to more scalding sarcasm in the last two minutes than the entirety of the last six months.

“You trust these people?” Tooru asks and Kageyama deadpans.

“They’ve had my back time and again where sentries and a rookery leader failed.” He says defensively, and Tooru’s eyes find him once more, a slight frown creasing his face.

“You don’t have to live like this, you can come home.” He says and Kageyama scoffs quietly.

Did the Grand King honestly think he hadn’t had a choice in all this? Did he think he stayed with cats and owls and songbirds against his will? Did he think he was here by any other means than under his own power? And did he that actually bothered him?

“The reason I left would still be there.” He says evenly and Tooru’s face creases again, and Kageyama gets the distinct impression of pain at the words. It makes him blink in surprise, because it’s something he’s never seen from his father unless his mother had been mentioned.

“You can do whatever you want, Tobio. Live in the private sector as a civilian for all I care, but come back.” Tooru says lightly, contradicting the deep look the line between his eyes gives him.

Kageyama bridles at the order cloaked in the guise of a peaceful request.

“Not a chance.” He says, his response quick and sure and his father blinks.

“Why ever not? You don’t have to be a sentry, you can do whatever you want.” He says again, a note of sincere confusion sliding into the repeated proposition. Kageyama shakes his head slightly. Pity slips into his gut and he curses his flux of compassion towards his father’s ignorance.

“Why?” He says softly, positive he’s going to regret his next words. “You’d have killed my leveler.”

Silence. The Grand King and Iwaizumi stare at him and he stares back. He catches the look his companions cast at him, the glances of covert alarm.

What are you doing, Feathers?

He can almost hear their panic, but he knows how his father will react.

“Your… your leveler, Tobio? Those were stories we tell kids. Don’t tell me you believe them?”

Of course, he wouldn’t know what it was to have a leveler. He might have loved her, but his mother had died and his father had remained; they hadn’t been levelers. His father has never felt the burn of a breaking fight or the quiet content of a binding heal. He hasn’t known the fear of dying because it will kill his other half. He hasn’t watched another at death’s door knowing that it won’t be one person they bury, but two if they don’t pull through.

“Stories. Stories… the only reason I would ever return to the rookery would be to visit Mother’s tree and tell her of everything that’s happened. I’d apologize for how I’ve missed the last five years and make her a promise to try to return sooner… but I’d never guarantee it.” His father’s face fractures, the mask completely cracking away. And in that moment, there’s nothing but pain and sorrow.

“Tobio—”

The door bangs open and Kageyama wants to curse every deity when he sees who comes through it.

“Kageyama, I’m pretty sure I saw sentries, we should probably—” Shouyou breaks off as he finds the Grand King and Iwaizumi, his almond eyes blowing wide as the others crowd in after him.

“Shit.” Noya spits, automatically grabbing and shoving the redhead behind himself.

The Grand King’s eyes have already found them, though, Iwa’s not a moment behind. Kageyama had never intended for them to meet again, never intended that they even had a chance to see one another. But they stare at each other now, Hinata’s gaze solid and flat, the rookery leader’s wide eyes taking him in from head to toe, from limb to wing, and Kageyama knows he’s overwhelmed. But Hinata is calm.

“Grand King.” He says with a formal nod, centuries as a sentry demanding the acknowledgement without conscious thought.

“Sh… Shrimpy?” He says, his voice half shelled. “You… your wings— how— ”

“They’re just stories, right Father?” Kageyama says, recalling Tooru’s attention. His brown eyes snap back to him, stunned at a reality he’s being forced to acknowledge.

“They were Mother’s legacy. You can drag me back any number of times, but the only way you’ll succeed in keeping me there is to chain me to the garrison floor. And if you so much as try to force me through him, I promise you, I will destroy the very empire you and Mother worked so hard to build. I am compromised, and I cannot lead, Father; find someone else.”

Tooru’s eyes flicker between himself and Shouyou, skips over the others around them, back to himself and his leveler before settling once more on him.

“Fine, Tobio. I won’t ask you to bear that responsibility again. But you can come home. You and Hinata. They all can.” He says in an oddly strained voice while gesturing to Noya and Asahi, and Kageyama sighs lightly.

“That can’t happen. What message would it send to both your allies and enemies that you’ve welcomed back an heir and his unit after desertion? You would have an uprising. I knew the consequences when I left, and I know you do, too.” He says, and starts toward Hinata.

“So what happens now, Tobio?” Tooru’s voice is plaintive and he can’t decide how much of it is sincere. He straightens and glances back at the Grand King.

“Ideally? You return to the rookery safe in the knowledge that I’m alive, and I return back home with my leveler and companions unhindered and unsupervised.” He says and the Grand King’s head tilts.

“You expect me to go along with that?” He asks and Kageyama hates the half-strangled sound of his voice. It’s a sound he’s almost never heard from his father, and it infuriates him that Tooru is using it now. Does he think he will be moved just because he’s slightly altered his tactics?

“I do, because if you don’t, we will slip through your hands once more and you won’t see us again. I’d rather not since we are comfortable and safe where we live, but we are prepared to do whatever it takes to guard our lives.” He murmurs, turning away from him, his gaze finding Shouyou’s wide-eyed almond one like a lifeline. It’s a threat that could make his father act to prevent their escape and throw them into a physical confrontation as much as force his father to back off. But Tooru does neither.

“I’ve only just found you again.”

Kageyama curses his feet for pausing. He hates feeling like the Grand King is prodding at his resolve with that voice and those words, and he can’t stand the idea of being manipulated anymore when his entire future stands by the door flanked by crows and an owl. He will not bend and endanger him again.

“That should put your mind at ease, then.” He says evenly.

“He’s kind of right, Feathers.” Lev interjects and Kageyama turns a furious scowl on the lanky cat. He’s not the only one either… the rest of them turn incredulous glances toward the grey feline, the least of which would be his father’s.

What in all flaming feathered hell was going through his head? Did he somehow miss the part about this being his father? The man they’ve been hiding from for five years? The entity who’d have had Shouyou killed?

But Lev’s green eyes crackle with perceptive intent that makes his feathers stand on end. His eyes hold that glint that makes him think the cat is actually two steps ahead and knows precisely what he’s doing.

“It’s been five years, Feathers, let him have more than five minutes. Give him a chance to see that you really are okay and content.” The grey cat says and Kageyama can’t keep himself from glaring with massive irritation. But he has to keep his control. His father is a master at exploiting weakness and to lose his temper would be an excellent opportunity the Grand King could capitalize on.

“What exactly did you have in mind, Lev? Do you propose we sit and drink tea over biscuits? I think you have the wrong impression of the kind of relationship he and I share.” Kageyama growls but the grey cat’s bright green eyes flash with devious triumph.

“How about Volley? There was a net on the edge of town—we could have a friendly match.” He says. Kageyama blinks, blindsided by the suggestion.

Of course, it would be Volley. Everything began and ended with Volley. Damn that cat.

“What do you think, Hinata?” Bokuto asks and Kageyama’s head snaps toward his leveler and the streaked owl.

The redhead glances up at Bokuto who watches him with an avid enthusiasm and the short spiker’s head tilts. The smallest smile tips the corner of his mouth and he looks back at Kageyama, his eyes creasing with a telltale excitement.

“I’m okay with it.”

Kageyama scowls darkly. This isn’t helping them escape. In fact, he’s quite sure this is doing the exact opposite. The rookery leader clears his throat lightly and he looks back at him, not relishing whatever input he’s going to have.

“A Volley match would be... perfect.” The Grand King says, a strangely skewed smile on his face.

It makes Kageyama think that the rookery leader is trying to pull the mask of fabricated enthusiasm back into place and failing. Like it hurts to say the words, but he will stomach them no less. Like he’s not satisfied with that, but he will settle for it just the same.

Like he’s reaching for even the barest threads.

The notion that his father might be agreeing just for the chance to see and talk to him is totally foreign to Kageyama, bizarre and wrong. The idea that he’s willing to bargain for Kageyama’s time makes his skin crawl because it’s unnatural. This man had commanded his life for centuries, a tool structured and honed for a carefully planned out future. That he might actually want anything more from him… is irreconcilable for the crow setter.

“Tobio?” Hinata asks and he jolts at the name, the feeling he gets when the redhead says it completely different than the one he feels when Tooru does. The avian heir runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

How had this encounter been taken out of his hands so smoothly?

There are so many things that can go wrong. The Grand King could try to kill the cats and owls the moment they turn their backs and then it will be down to just the he and the other former sentries, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi. His father could wait until they’ve spent most of their energy on the match and then command that they all be taken prisoner when they have none left to fight. He could have them subdued and return with more sentries to ensure he succeeds in dragging them back to the rookery where they’d likely be detained indefinitely where they’d have no bargaining power, no means of buying their freedom…

Wait… wait. That… might work. That could work.

The idea hits him and he doesn’t even give himself a chance to second guess it before he’s turning toward Shouyou.

“You think you’ll be good?” He asks quietly and a brilliant smile lights his face, anticipation skyrocketing in his almond eyes.

“For one match? I think so!” Kageyama’s gaze narrows slightly.

Somehow, he didn’t quite believe that. They’d just busted ass across the sky the first half the day; he’s pretty sure his leveler is underestimating his level of fatigue.

A heavy sigh escapes him all the same, and he looks up at the Grand King.

“If we give you a match, do you give us your word that that you will leave us be?” He asks, banking like hell that his father will be up for making a deal.

There’s a spark of joyful gratification in the rookery leader’s eyes— as if he’s won something, and Kageyama almost instantly wants to take it back. He wonders how much he’s going to have to fight or promise to get what he wants.

“It’s yours, Tobio.” He says, a small smile, real and honest breaking his features, the mask forgotten completely and eyes sincere.

And for a moment, Tobio Kageyama doesn’t even register that Tooru agreed without any hesitation—no conditions or reservations, because he can’t breathe under that look filled not with deception or calculation, but pride, happiness, and more than anything, relief.

Level Pair ; Chapter 1; Chapter 33; Chapter 35

A/N:  So... start of the end. I feel like it is going to be VERY lackluster after everything else, lol. This one didn't have more than like one rewrite and I think everyone is very out of character -_-

I hope it still comes across well enough. I'm sorry for being slow to post, these are all still being hashed out almost as I'm posting them so they are really rough. I apologize for mistakes/errors/boring. I'm currently home with family for the first time in years and being pulled in 8 directions which means I'm writing these when everyone else is asleep lol. I'm being summoned to go play rummy, so take care and have a magical evening guys!

[long-liv-prairies]

DWC Prompt Cullen X Naomi AU with Cullen as a Beast/Shapeshifter smutty and/or fluffy ;D

Ok, so I got this prompt, and then my mind came up with this. Sort of a modern AU combined with the beast/shapeshifter AU using my MGIT AU characters (so, an AU in an AU in an AU…). This is only one installment, and I am currently imagining two more to finish the story, inspired by Beauty and the Beast. I think this could count as fluffy? (sorry, no smut yet).

Also, I’m trying a new POV, so there may be some slips here and there.

He is stalking a deer, approaching on silent paws, when hesmells her.

Her scent is blowing on the early spring breeze, nearlymasked by the musk of the deer, but coming through to his sensitive nose with astrong, human spice of its own.

He stands from his crouch, the quick motion exposing himselfto the deer, which bolts with a cough and a flick of its tail. But he doesn’tcare.

She’s back.

He runs on silent paws through the forest, weaving through fiftyyear old juniper and hundred year old ponderosa, branches of the underbrushsliding harmlessly across his fur. He stops atop an outcropping of rocks abovethe trail, one of many in the park, and crouches again. He can’t let her seehim, but this vantage will give him an unobstructed view of her. His body isentirely still, though he can’t keep his tail from twitching with excitement.

He hears her before he sees her, feet scuffling along thedirt path that winds through the forest, her boots kicking rocks nearly everyother step. He can her hear breathing, a little labored, and a mumbled commentshe makes to herself. There is a short verse of a song, something from Disney,he remembers. There is only one set of footsteps. She is alone.

He finally sees her, and it takes all of his self-controlnot to jump down on the path in front of her. It would only scare her,guarantee she never return.

They never returned. Aside from those who worked in thepark, he rarely saw the same person twice.

He had certainly never expected to see her again.

She has long brown hair woven back in a braid, lightlytanned skin, even now after the length of winter. She must have traveled south,he thinks, for those freckles to be so visible. She is tall, not exactly thin,but he can tell her body is used to moving. To walking. She is dressed warmly,appropriate for the weather, a daypack on her back. He thinks her eyes might beblue.

Beautiful, hethinks, as she walks closer with long, easy strides. Definitely used towalking, used to a life spent outdoors on trails like these. He breathesdeeply, that scent of hers, warm, earthy, uncovered by product or perfume,sends a shiver through his body.

Were this another time, were they at a bar, he might findthe courage to buy her a drink.

A burst of song cascades from the trees, a warbling twitterthat falls from high to low. The woman stops, her head cocked a little to theside. A smile spreads across her face, and he thinks he might cry from thebeauty of it. If he could cry.

She pulls a book from the small bag slung over her shoulder,the cover bordered with yellow, graced with a drawing of a bald eagle, andflips to a page. She makes a note before putting it away, lifting thebinoculars hanging from her neck when the bird sings again.

After a moment of watching she moves on, down the trail,humming another tune to herself. He follows alongside, through the forest,until she passes out into the grassland. He climbs then, into an ancient pine,and watches her brunette head moving through the open land, until she disappearsbehind a hill. It breaks his heart, a little, to see her go. But he cannotfollow.

He was lucky to have seen her two days in a row. When sheappears on the third, he thinks the Maker might have some mercy after all.

When she comes down the path on the fourth, he wonders ifmaybe the Maker has not abandoned him.

She walks the paths every morning, always with herbinoculars, with her books. Her hair is always in a braid, and she only wearstwo pairs of pants. One day, she wears glasses.

He starts to sit on his spot along the trail, waiting forher. He finds out she has been employed by the park on the fifth day, when shereceives a call from her father. He realizes he will see her often, every dayeven. It makes the days easier, brighter, knowing she will be part of them,even if she doesn’t realize he is part of hers.

And then, on the seventh day, it rains. She does not comedown the trail in the morning.

He waits for hours, growing more and more restless. Then hepaces, his stomach starting to rumble. He has not hunted in days, not since hemet her. She is too distracting. He can’t hunt when his thoughts are filledwith the her image.

He shouldn’t be so obsessed, he knows. Nothing will come ofhis infatuation. He can look all he wants on the women that pass through theforest, but none can ever see him. Not even this woman.

He doesn’t even know her name.

Darkness comes and he accepts that she is not coming. Heartheavy, he moves deeper into the forest, nose and ears pricked for signs of prey.

Perhaps the Maker was not so merciful after all.

She hated starting new things. New jobs, moving to newplaces… it was stressful, left her unbalanced. And now, she has to do both.

Her apartment is small, just a couple of dusty rooms in Mrs.Schmidt’s attic. The old widow has done the best she can, but the house is old,and she feels cramped.

At least her job lets her be outside. The property is large,one of the few state parks in the state, and she had been lucky to get a job insuch a pristine area. Especially in Nebraska. Of course, not many were willingto move to such a remote location. Especiallyin Nebraska.

She walks the trails of the park every day once she moves tothe small town, familiarizing herself with the property. She doesn’t officiallystart for a week, but it couldn’t hurt to get a head start on inventorying thespecies present in the area.

She walks the same path every day, and though it is beautiful,she cannot shake the feeling that she is not alone.

She is just nervous to be in a new place, she rationalizes. Onceher job starts in a week, things will start to settle in.

On Sunday it rains and she skips her trip to the reserve.She goes to church, then takes the afternoon to relax and read a book.

Monday is clear, chilly, as is expected in early spring. Sheheads down the trail, ears peeled for birdsong.

She’s decided to focus on the birds first. It’s spring andthey are migrating, the best time to find them. And the plants aren’t growingenough yet.

She is halfway through her walk when she hears it. A warblerthat shouldn’t occur this far west. Or at least, she thinks it’s the warbler.She needs another chance to hear the song, or better yet, a look at the birditself. She heads into the woods, following the faint song.

She stops at the steep bank of a stream, the bird singing inone of the trees overhead. She scans the bare branches for the bird, and bringsher binoculars to her eyes when she thinks she spots it.

She is contemplating the bird’s dusty yellow breast featherswhen the bank gives way.

She falls, tumbling into the nearly frozen water, and hearsa crack when she lands, her arm on fire. Her ankle aches. But it’s worse thanthe broken bones, because she is half buried beneath a pile of earth, herclothes soaking with the cold water from the stream. Everything is blurry, andthen her vision goes dark, the sound of rushing water in her ears.

She wakes, mind hazy, her body scraping along the ground.She moves forward with a jolt, a stone jabbing into her hip. Her shirt andfleece are choking at her neck, something tugging the fabric behind her neck,bunching the clothes at the front of her throat and making it difficult tobreathe. She tries to move her arms, reach out to lift herself up, but they arenumb. She hears thunder, and she is dragged through a puddle. It’s rainingagain.

She is tugged forward another step. She sees, though hervision is blurry, a tawny leg, and a paw.

She passes out again.

She is woken by a crack of thunder. She blinks and tries tomove, but she is too cold. Her arm and ankle still ache, and she feels a stabof pain in her side. She groans, confused.

It was foolish to goout alone. I should have told someone. Even Mrs. Schmidt. I’m not like mybrother. I don’t heal…

She fell and got hurt. She was stuck in a cold river. Shewas dying, likely hypothermic. A tear slipped out of her eye. This isn’t how itwas supposed to happen…

No, she remembers, someone had moved her. She was no longerin the stream.

A hand grips hers, strokes her cheek. She tries to shy away,startled at the development. But the hands are gentle, and the voice that accompaniesthem kind, if rough.

“I’ll help you,” the male voice murmurs. “Please, don’t beafraid…”

She isn’t. She trusts that voice, even after so few words,without seeing the face it belongs to. He pulled her from the river, the ownerof this voice. He is trying to help her. She can do nothing but trust.

His hands leave her, and she sees a spark in the darkness ashe tries to light a fire. Good, shethinks. I need to warm up…

But the sparks do not turn into flame. She hears the mangrowl in frustration, and knows he can’t do it. For some reason, he can’t startthe fire. She can still hear rain falling against the roof of whateverstructure they are in. The wood is too wet, she surmises. He cannot warm herup.

She isn’t shivering, and her breathing is slow. Another tearslips from her eye. She doesn’t want to die like this. And she knows she could,quickly.

The man growls again, louder, and she hears something strikethe wall. She hears him move closer, his body sliding along the floor. “Please,”he says again. “Don’t be afraid.”

But she is afraid. She is afraid of dying.

He starts to remove her clothing. She mumbles and tries topush him away. “I’m sorry,” the man says quietly, but he does not stop. “I needto warm you up.”

When she is in her underwear he lifts her, carries her to abed. A blanket is placed over her body, but she cannot move to wrap herself init.

She is tired. So, so tired. She just wants to fall asleep.

The bed shifts, and the man crawls under the blanket withher, the heat of his skin pressed against her own body. Her instinct is to pullaway. She doesn’t want a strange man in bed with her, especially when they arenearly naked. But the heat feels too good, and she knows if she doesn’t accepthis help, she will not make it through the night.

She does find it strange, when she eventually slips backinto sleep, that he is so hairy.

She wakes still sore, still aching. But she is warm.

And she is alone.

The room is filled with dim light. The wood floors arecovered in dust, though it is smudged where feet have walked. She frowns as shestudies the patterns. There are large, bare human prints. But among those arethe large pads of some animal. Feline, she decides, based on the shape and lackof claws. And based on their size, it can only be one thing.

Mountain lion.

She sits up, wincing when a pang of pain stabs through herside, and holds her arm against her body. She stares at those tracks, trying tomake sense of them. She can’t tell which came first. The room is old, and thesheets are just as dusty as the floor. Whatever building she is in could beabandoned. The lion may have wandered in before her rescuer brought her…

She hears an animal growl from the other room. Her heartrate rises, and adrenaline shoots through her veins. The lion hadn’t comebefore. It is here now.

She gingerly gets out of the bed, suppressing the cry thatthreatens to fall past her lips when her injured leg hits the floor. She won’tbe able to run. She won’t be able to get away.

She looks to the door leading out of the room. It is ajar.If she closes it, she will be safe from the lion. Eventually it will leave, andthen so can she.

She limps to the door, unable to resist peaking outside.

The animal is there, in the nearly empty and rundown room ofthe cabin she is in, tearing into the body of a deer. It’s the largest mountainlion she has ever seen, and the sight of it terrifies her.

She wonders where her rescuer is. She hopes he is safe, andthat he will be able to defend himself. Hopefully, the lion will run off whenthe man returns.

She pulls on the door to close it. But it is stuck.Unfortunately, it moves enough to send a loud creak echoing through the cabin.

The lion growls, pulls away from its meal, turning to lookat her with yellow eyes, blood staining its muzzle. A scar slashes across theright side of its face, from its mouth to its eye.

They stare at each other for a single second. Then it takesa step toward her.

She turns back to the door and tugs harder, uses all her strength,though it pains her side to do it. It doesn’t move.

She turns back toward the lion. She’ll have to fight if offthen. It often works with mountain lions.

But the lion is gone. Instead, standing where it had beenjust a moment before is a man. A very tall, very muscular man, with long, curlyblonde hair. His beard is long, stained with blood, and a scar slices throughthe right side of his face.

He’s also very naked.

For one moment, she doesn’t know what to think. And thenpieces of memory from the night before click into place.

Why she was dragged across the ground instead of carried.

Why she thought she saw a paw.

Why the man was so hairy in bed.

A mage. A shapeshifter.

She still has questions, but she is less afraid. Magic iscommon in their world. Her own sister is a mage. She herself has been changed bymagic. He isn’t really a lion. He can just take the shape of one.

“Don’t be frightened,” the man says, voice smoother than thenight before. He holds up a hand. “Please.”

“I’m not afraid,” she says, lowering her hand from the door.

But she is embarrassed. He’s naked, and she is nearly so.She looks away from him, starting to blush.

“Thank you for helping me,” she tells him, staring at theempty fireplace.

“Of course.”

He is terrified when she wakes while he is changed. He didn’twant her to find out like this. He wasn’t sure he had wanted her to find out atall.

But she is not afraid, not once he shows his human form. Shejust flushes red and looks away.

He finds clothes he has not worn in years, and a set forher. She is slow to change, and he knows he needs to see to her injuries, nowthat the cold has been taken care of. He digs out a first aid kit, allmedicines inside long expired. But the splints and fabric bandages can still beused.

“I’m Naomi, by the way,” she says as he settles on the floorin front of her. He looks up into her eyes. They are definitely blue. His heartflutters.

“I’m Cullen,” he tells her.

He wraps up her injuries as best he can. Her ankle is justsprained, if badly, and he suspects she cracked a rib in the fall. The arm isthe worst, however, and he knows she needs to be brought to a hospital. He’snot sure how that will happen. He can’t bring her.

“Where did you learn to do this?” she asks as he wraps herarm snuggly, drawing in sharp breaths as he jostles the broken limb. She waslucky the bone had not broken the skin.

Years ago. In anotherlife.

“I was in the army,” he tells her. “We were taught firstaid.”

“I take it we’re not in the park anymore. I don’t rememberseeing a cabin like this on the map.”

“No, we are not in the park.” It’s strange, he realizes,talking to another person. He has not talked with another in so long.

She glances around the cabin. “Do you live out here?” He canhear the doubt in her voice. It’s far too unclean to be lived in.

“Not… usually,” he tells her, finishing with the splint. Ithad been… months since the last time he had come back here. He usually wanders.

“I’m lucky you were around then,” she says quietly. “Thankyou, again, for saving me.”

He looks up to her face. She is smeared with dried mud, herhair tangled and falling from her braid. But her eyes are clear, bright blue.She is so, so beautiful.

And he nearly lost her. He had been lucky to find her thenight before.

She could be what saves him, what frees him from this lifehe has lived for the past ten years. He can almost see it, looking into hereyes. He could fall in love with this woman. He thinks he might have alreadystarted.

But she will not fall in love with him. How can she?

“It was my pleasure,” he tells her.

She watches Cullen as he puts away the first aid kit, wonderinghow he came to be in this rundown cabin, why he had been eating in his animalform, why he had dragged her through the forest instead of carrying her. She isgrateful he saved her life, but something about him is strange.

She’s never met a shapeshifter before. Her sister studiedthe Fade. Maybe he preferred to be a lion.

But most mages knew at least a little healing magic, yet hehad offered none.

“Do you have a car? Can you bring me into town?” she asks.

He looks at her, and the intensity of his gaze makes herheart race a little. They are gold, as if the color did not change between hishuman and animal forms. She rather likes it.

“I don’t have a car,” he says after a moment.

“We’ll walk then,” she says, though it will be much morepainful. “I’ll need to lean on you—“

“We can’t do that either.”

He doesn’t look at her, and he is frowning. It makes hernervous. Maybe his motives weren’t so pure after all.

“Why?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I… am only human in thiscabin, and in some of the surrounding land. Otherwise, I am a lion. I cannothelp you get back… Unless I drag you again.”

Her eyes open wide. She had not considered he had to be a mountain lion.

“Oh.”

Cullen gives her a few expired painkillers, to reduce herpain, and the swelling, but there is not much else they can do. Not until shecan walk.

He brings her bag, the books and papers inside ruined fromthe rain. But even though her cellphone was protected in a waterproof case,there is not enough service for her to call for help. And her parents won’tknow she is missing. She goes days without speaking to them.

“It won’t work,” he tells her. “Calling for help. There isno road leading here.”

The mystery of him grows. “How did this happen?” she askshim. “Did your spell go wrong when you were changing?”

Darkness passes over his eyes, and his shoulders tense. “Iam not a mage.”

He is angry, and she realizes, if he is not a mage, thatsomeone did this to him.

“Why—?“

“I do not wish to speak of it,” he snaps. Nearly snarls. Theoutburst startles her.

She drops it, though her curiosity only grows.

And she realizes, as he pulls his deer into another room,where he can change and eat in private, how lonely his life must be. Shewonders when the last time he spoke with another person was. It did not look asif anyone else had used the cabin in years. It makes her sad.

He returns some time later, a hunk of meat in his hand.

“I could try to make a fire again,” he says. “Cook this up…”

She wonders how long the deer has been dead. It doesn’tsmell, and it is cool outside, but she doesn’t really want to get sick.

She’s hungry, but she will live.

“That’s ok,” she tells him. “I’ll wait.”

“Right,” he says, tossing the meat back into the room.

She wonders when the last time it was he had cooked food.

“Once your sprain stops hurting,” he tells her as headministers another painkiller. “You will be able to walk out yourself.” Hechecks on the swelling of her arm. It could be worse. Her spill into the waterhad helped on that front.

“Is it bothering you?”

“It’s fine.”

She spends the night alone. Cullen gives her the bed, thenleaves the room. He had managed to light a fire, and she imagines him curled upin front of it.

Even with the painkillers, her arm is aching. She barelysleeps.

In the morning her ankle feels better, but not enough towalk. Cullen helps her to the latrine, and does what he can for her injuries. Otherthan that she barely sees him the entire day. She sits in the cabin andattempts to save her books and her notes. She takes a nap.

She wishes he would stay and talk.

It’s hard to sleep that night because she is so hungry. Thenext morning, she finally feels confident enough with her ankle to walk.

Cullen’s face falls a little when she tells him she is readyto leave. But he nods.

He follows her a few feet into the woods, and then stops. “Areyou certain you are fine? You are still limping.”

“I need to get my arm looked at. I can walk.”

“Then I… wish you the best of luck.”

She looks at his face, and thinks he is rather handsome.Even with the blood in his beard.

“Will you come back with me to my car? I don’t… want to walkalone.”

His lips twitch a little, and he nods. “Of course.”

Each step is harder, the closer they get to the edge of thepark. At least they move slowly, with her injury. It gives him more time withher.

Those last few days with her in the cabin had been the bestin years. Seeing her so close, with his human eyes. Touching her, even briefly,with his hands. And sharing that bed, even if it was just to save her life…

He wishes she could stay longer. But that was a selfish thought.She had a life beyond this forest. She might visit every day, but it was notwhere she lived.

He realizes he will need to leave. He does not think he willbe able to stay away from her, knowing she is so close.

It is miles back to the parking lot where she is parked.Several times she places a hand on his back for balance as they cross the rockyterrain. Even as a lion, he shivers at the touch.

Yes. He needs to leave this place behind.

They reach the parking lot after miles of walking. Two carsare parked. They pause in the cover of the trees. She looks down at him andsmiles.

“Thank you Cullen, for everything.”

It feels good to hear his name. Especially from her lips.

He lowers his head, an approximation of a nod.

She looks to her car, then back to him. “Goodbye Cullen.”

He nods again. She hesitates a moment, and extends her handtoward him. But she drops it, then limps toward her car with a final smile.

He climbs a tree to watch her car winding down the road.When it disappears, his heart feels heavy.

Goodbye Naomi.

[aaljakni]

Terrain Tires For Types Of Land And Vehicle That You Could Be Driving

By Dennis Wright

When you go on camping you should have the proper tires on your car. Or you will be stuck in a mud or puddle you could be stranded there till you push it off the puddle. If that is the scenario then you are in luck because there a lot of types of All Terrain Tires Philippines that you can use. The terrain tires used for the traction on kinds all of surfaces, along with on and off road. It is combining with the open design tread for off road tires that is good with handling in street tires. This type of tires is important because it is all purpose. But it surely is not advisable to get this if you only drive on paved roads and highways only these recaps are for dirt road. The traction of retread on road off surfaces design has been improved. Many interlocking tread has been added to this aspect that gives a better grip on mud and rocks. It is adequately could handle a paved roads. Those sidewalls should be reinforced because on models of terrain recap, they tend to be a heavy weight and expected to carry over the weight capacity. Those round things are usually aggressive because it was made for heavy trucks and much more on off the road use. People who camp often gets to forest to camp use those kinds of it. As the season wheels prove much better handling on very wet surface than the all terrain one. The efficiency on fuel of this wheel is also much better than that. It has estimated used of six hundred gallons per consumption a year. Compare to another AT tires, the discoverers are less noisy, which is a comfort in your ride. The tires are considerable durable in both pavement and rocks, after couple of thousand miles you should check the wheels if necessary. They look road friendly but terrain tires has their disadvantage. The so called terrain for all wheels has the tread blocks in close approximation, making contact with pavement closer. The blocks that flex helps the tire and could provide much better grip. There are more or less noisy, it is advantage when one are driving along the long street. The said sipes will assist the AT wheel to bite in snow better, improving the execution in winter. The softer the rubber is of a tire, the shorter tread capacity it has, though it still is not lower than forty thousand miles. Those compounds should help those terrain tire gives performance all on surfaces. Though there surely are long lasting versions of car wheels that lasts with mileage of fifty thousand. There were wheel that is more prone to the cupping all because many factors including of its design, the harder the round is used, the more possibility that it will be cupped. Usually the cause of this is insufficient control of its shock absorbers. To make sure it still works precisely, check up on then routinely, rotate it every moment you reach six thousand to eight thousand miles. Also you should pay attention to worn elements of tire and wheel balance.

About the Author:

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from Blogger http://bit.ly/2TzVicM via Terrain Tires For Types Of Land And Vehicle That You Could Be Driving

[theseventhhex]

Kaada Interview

John Erik Kaada

Photo by Observatoriet

Kaada is a diverse and prolific Norwegian composer and multi-instrumentalist whose career spans a string of critically acclaimed solo albums, major motion picture soundtracks, high-profile collaborations with key players such as Mike Patton, as well as numerous live appearances at home and abroad. Kaada's new album ‘Closing Statements’ is a visceral fifty minutes of new music composed and recorded over a twelve-month period, and centered around the subject of death. The spiralling arrangements feature Kaada's deft layering of piano, keyboards, cinematic guitars, electronics, although the distinction between the organic and electronic are intentionally blurred. Kaada's confidence in theme and style on ‘Closing Statements’ comes after years of style evolution and collaboration – the skilled virtuoso continues to form outstanding music… We talk to Kaada about reconnecting with the piano, an Oslo forest and future aims…

TSH: What was the main spark that led to you forming your album ‘Closing Statements’?

Kaada: Well, the main creative spark was me playing piano again a few years ago during some concerts. Those concerts are what triggered the ideas for ‘Closing Statements’. When I was a kid I wanted to become a pianist, but I fell into this film music business, and before I knew it I wasn’t playing piano anymore. I ended up getting hooked on other musical features.

TSH: How did it feel to reconnect with the piano?

Kaada: It was a mixture of a total disaster and a pure blessing! On one hand, I just felt so comfortable playing piano again, but on the other hand 15 years had passed by since I had really practised and played the piano properly. My technique was rusty and just listening to my own playing wasn’t much fun. However, even though my fingers weren’t as developed as before, my ears were still working just fine, so I knew what direction I needed to go in. I had to really dig deep into my piano playing, and soon enough it felt natural and fun again.

TSH: How did you settle on this album’s themes being about farewells and memorable last words?

Kaada: Well, I had this personal experience many years ago where somebody I knew was on their deathbed. Just going through this process and being there felt so intense - this chapter in my life really stayed with me. Everybody around at the time was paying such close attention and opening their ears just to hear what this person was saying. To me, it just felt like such a sacred and beautiful moment. Every little breath this person took really counted, and just listening intensely to somebody in that state felt so overwhelming and personal in a good way.

TSH: You’re also very much of the view that we should listen to each other despite our differences...

Kaada: Absolutely. I feel that everybody just goes into their own bubbles these days, as opposed to really communicating properly and working things out.

TSH: Did you decide early on to sequence ‘It Must Have Been the Coffee’ as the album opener?

Kaada: Well, I’m so old that I’m still thinking about albums as a whole, haha! Anyhow, I felt like this piece really sets the tone for the album since it’s just a warm and welcoming ballad. I didn’t want to start with a bang so to speak and this song was just so pleasing to me so I chose it as the opener.

TSH: What does a track like ‘Farewell’ signify to you?

Kaada: This song feels like a travel song to me. I feel it’s perfect for when you’re going through different landscapes. I was imagining going from one city to another as I was making it.

TSH: For yourself, making an album on your own is more difficult because there are little to no limitations. Do you need to overcome feelings of being uninspired?

Kaada: Yes, definitely. You know, I try to always mix it up whenever I’m faced with feeling uninspired - I look to discover different ways of making music to help myself. If I’m stuck I might just try different software or a different plug-in. Other times, I just play around on piano or guitar and try new methods to find something that works.

TSH: What have you taken away from having completed this body of work?

Kaada: At this moment in time, I’m just happy that I’ve got it done, ha! Just knowing I’ve finished this album is a relief for me because at times it was so difficult to know when to draw the line. I’m mostly pleased that’s it’s finally over, ha!

TSH: Do your surroundings seep into your music making?

Kaada: My surroundings play a big part in my music. I don’t think I’d be making the type of music that I make if I lived in New York. I live very close to a huge forest in Oslo, it’s right outside my door. I have become totally dependent on needing to take a walk in the forest often. You cannot compare it to anything else, it’s so beautiful. I have my own set path that I take each time I go into the forest. I simply go in and let it all sink in.

TSH: You also recently spent 4 days unplugged in the winter snow, surrounded by trees and mountains. You’ve stated it felt like ‘magic’...

Kaada: Yes! It always is. I love getting away from modern day technology. I try not to spend too much time in front of computers, though it can be very difficult. I mostly like to just feel fascinated by the contrasts in life. Knowing I can be in a quiet place and then suddenly find myself surrounded by people and noise really is so unique to me.

TSH: How valuable has it been to work alongside such great artist and friend in Mike Patton?

Kaada: Mike is so gifted and I have learnt so much from him. Just to see how detail orientated Mike is - it’s truly fantastic. There are no shortcuts in getting to the point where he is at now; he is a very hard worker. It’s an honour for me to be so close to someone who has made so much amazing music, and he’s never compromised his vision. Nothing comes for free with Mike and it doesn’t get easier for him too. I admire how he always digs into those small nitty gritty details to create something new. He really is so dedicated.

TSH: What matters most with your musical ambitions as you look ahead?

Kaada: You know, I think I would probably get a lot further if I stuck with one type of genre and music, but I’m not wired this way. I get bored of repetition; therefore I’ll just keep on seeking and searching for new ways to define myself with my music.

Kaada - “Unknown Destination”

Closing Statements

[beatnikwerewolf]

Chapter 1

Epigraph My mind has changed my body’s frame, but God I like it. -TV On the Radio Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness. -Allen Ginsberg I’ve played the Red River Valley. Sat in the kitchen and cried… We was friends, me and this old man. -Guy Clark Chapter 1 Joanie-17, Tommy-22, Maxie-Dead On this day people excused Joanie’s rudeness, her father had just died. She was rude every day, but today there were extenuating circumstances. No one she was rude to on that day knew that Maxie Lore wasn’t really her father. Or her grandfather. Or any sort of blood relation. He was her guardian, though not a legal one. He was her sire, but that implied the events that led up to Joanie ending up in his care had been intentional. They hadn’t been. Well, not entirely. This complicated relationship was probably one of the causes of Joanie’s persistent rudeness. The other cause was the fact that Joanie had been raised by wolves both literal and figurative. Figurative because Joanie had been raised by Maxie Lore and his foster son Tommy Amaryllis. They lived in a cabin in the woods and saw no reason to change their bachelor ways once they found a girl in their midst. Literal wolves because Maxie and Tommy were both werewolves, as was Joanie. The funeral director didn’t know the gory details of Joanie’s home life, but he did know people tended to fall into set categories when grieving. One group became incredibly polite and reserved. They held a strong belief that as long as they spoke softly and didn’t dicker over the casket price then their dearly departed would look upon them with a smile. Another group wanted to get the departed in the ground as quickly as possible. Belligerence and frequent trips to the hallway to hide tears ruled the day. Because of this the funeral director did not take it personally when a 17 year old girl missing a finger on her right hand and wearing a large men’s tweed blazer lit a hand rolled cigarette in his casket showroom. “Sorry miss, no smoking in here,” the funeral director said, his voice kind but implacable, trick of the trade. The girl nodded, she lifted her foot and stubbed out the cigarette on the sole of her shoe, gently so as to save it for later. She tucked it behind her ear. The shoes also looked like they belonged to a man. Clunky, leather, brogue boots. The funeral director was glad that she hadn’t argued. It marked the first time she hadn’t argued all afternoon. Joanie eyed a simple pine box stained grey to resemble barnwood. “This one,” She said. “How much?” “That one is one thousand dollars,” the funeral director said. “Though I’d be willing to come down on that,” He added hastily when he saw her face darken. He had the feeling if he pushed her too hard she’d just plant the old man in the woods. “How about nine hundred fifty and I’ll include a dirt dispenser and the deluxe program and guest book package?” “How about eight hundred and you keep your dirt dispenser and deluxe package,” Joanie said. “Very well. Eight twenty-five and we’ll call it jake.” The funeral director said. Joanie stuck her hand out and they shook. She nearly crushed his hand, but the funeral director didn’t think it was on purpose. She just didn’t know her own strength. She smiled. The funeral director was pleased. Among the groups of grievers there were those who felt better the more they spent on a funeral. Others felt better if they’d won. He’d finally found the group Joanie belonged to. With the funeral all planned, Joanie climbed into the silver 1987 Dodge pickup that had been Maxie’s and was now hers. She had to slam the door three times before it finally stayed closed. Maxie had told her it had been that way ever since the original door got torn off and had to be replaced. It was still light out, but she’d cut it a bit close. Full moon tonight. She had to be ready. *** Joanie-9, Tommy-14, Maxie-62 It was four o’clock. He figured he’d have enough time to buy some rolling papers and go harass the kid at the record store before he had to head back to his house. He hadn’t eaten since 9am two days before. When he was working he only ate hungry man meals they sold at Martin’s food center. He didn’t know what the kid ate, but he never missed an opportunity to rank Maxie out so he must not be starving. His mouth tasted like cigarettes. The knuckles on his left hand screamed. Too much scribbling and not a single decent page to show for it. He was hungover. Max stopped at the store for provisions. He bought the kid a Dr. Pepper in a glass bottle, he knew it was the kid’s favorite. After the food center he walked across the street to the record store. It was the only source of entertainment in the tiny town of Lorraine. It was empty. Which is why it was the only source of entertainment in Lorraine. The town could barely support the one they had. Roller rinks, revival movie theaters, video game stores, and billiard halls had all fallen in the face of the town’s apathy, indifference, and hereditary alcoholism. There were three bars though and every weekend the hills were alive with the sound of gunfire as the denizens hunted coyotes, deer, and mountain lions, paying little attention to seasons or endangered species lists. “You can’t smoke in here, Max.” The kid behind the counter said as he stacked CD’s on a wire shelf. The kid’s name was Blake. Not the type of kid you took home to mother from the looks of him. Dressed all in black, tattoos, stupid ring in his lip, but perhaps he was the type you should take home. A big teddy bear once you got past all the spikes. “Music and smokes go hand in hand, Blake,” Max said. “I know Belkin makes the rules. And it’s really darling of you to try and enforce them, but the fact remains that-” He cut himself off when he saw the kid’s hangdog expression. That Blake was able to pull off hangdog while wearing eyeliner was quite an accomplishment and Max decided to reward him for it. He put the cigarette out on an anonymous boy band CD, blackening the face of the dead-eyed youngest one. “Come on man!” Blake said. “Just saving someone from a life of mediocrity, kid.” Max said. “Old man’s prerogative.” Max turned to a milk crate full of vinyl. He rifled through it. “You know,” he said. “Maybe you should spend a little less money on that garbage and use it to buy more than two jazz albums. Blake sighed. He’s heard this lecture more than a few times. Their exchange was a well worn groove in his mind, he knew where to chime in even when he wasn’t paying attention. “No one buys jazz, Max.” “I do.” “No, you just come in, look at the same records, complain, and leave,” Blake said. “I already have these.” Max said. “We can put in an order for you. I can grab the catalogue.” “Takes the joy out of the find.” Max slid an LP from its sleeve and examined it. “B-side is scratched.” “Three bucks.” Blake already had his hand out for what came next. “Play it for me?” Blake took the record and soon “All The Things You Are” filled the store. Max smiled and Blake. Blake smiled back. “Gonna buy it Max?” Blake said. “Not today, Max said. “Can’t spare the scratch. But that Charlie Parker is one gone guy don’t you think?” “The gonest,” Blake agreed. Max had shut his eyes to better hear the warbling sax. Now, they shot open. “Say, what time ya got?” Max said. “‘Bout 5:30,” Blake said. “Fuck,” Max muttered. He grabbed his shopping bag, containing the essentials of life i.e. smokes, gin, and hungry man meals, off the floor. He ran out of Belkin’s Records without another word, save for a few low “fucks” as darted to his ancient pickup. He slammed the door three times before he got it to catch. The replacement door just didn’t quite fit. Max’s rusted out silver dodge with one mismatched blue door on the driver’s side burned rubber as he turned onto the tree lined highway. Max eyed the setting sun through the bug studded windshield. Too close, he thought. Way, way too close. He could already feel the change clawing at his guts. He drove down the winding forest road that led out of the town of Lorraine and meandered into the thickly forested outskirts. One side of the road followed the path of the Chusi river, and the other was populated by evergreens. In this area vision was always obscured either by fog in the spring and winter or smoke from distant forest fires in the summer and fall. Max tried to squint through the former. The river roiled and bucked, sending up sprays of icy grey. A sharp cramp wracked his arm and he swerved, nearly clipping a tree. He righted the pickup and continued toward his home deep in the woods. The speedometer edged from a relatively reasonable 70 to upwards of 90. It still wasn’t going to be fast enough. The change was happening now. The change was going to happen at 95 miles per hour down a dirt road if he didn’t pull over quickly. Maxie saw a small path barely wide enough to drive his truck onto. Once he was satisfied his truck couldn’t be seen from the road he locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and killed the ignition along with the headlights. He hadn’t engaged the locks to keep anyone out, they were to keep himself in when the change was complete. Maxie gripped the steering wheel of the Silver Bullet as he called his rig. His grip was so strong that his fingernails managed to leave small crescent holes in the rubber of the steering wheel. A shudder ripped through his body and with something akin to relief he stopped resisting. After letting go the change began immediately. His bones slid out of joint and began to meld into different configurations. Small popping noises accompanied the change. The sounds of bare feet walking through broken glass, when the glass breaks but bloody feet muffle the sharp crack and you’re left with a low painful pop. Max wished he’d remembered to leave the radio on so he wouldn’t have to listen to that terrible sound. Though with his luck he’d end up listening to Freebird for the duration so perhaps it was just as well. In any case his hands were now too malformed to work the ignition or the dial. His fingers curled back on themselves and the skin between his knuckles melted and fused together so he appeared to have five stumps on either hand, like a fleshy paw. The skin on his palms coarsened and blackened until it was the pad of a paw. His nose fused to his upper lip and elongated. His teeth grew into fangs. Color’s grew less saturate as his eyes turned from brown to yellow. His ears drifted to the top of his head and grew pointy. Once his nose had turned into a snout he could pick up the smell of diesel and the subtler scents of butted out cigarettes in the ashtray and the frozen meat from one of the hungry man meals he had purchased not an hour previous. The joints of his knees and elbows dissolved and solidified inverted. His chest pushed forward as his neck receded. He could no longer sit properly in the driver’s seat. He slumped over on his side, his paws dangled off the edge of the bench seat. He felt goosebumps cropping up over his entire body as he grew black fur with a silvery tint. The transformation wasn’t exactly painful, only resisting the change truly hurt. It was more a feeling of quesiness paired with the feeling of cracking his neck too far. The momentary panic. The flash that this time he had broken his own neck. This feeling but all over. All scored by the sinuous popping and cracking. It was dark and the change was complete. Maxie Lore was no more. In his place was a large black and silver wolf trapped in a piece of shit pickup truck. He paced in the cab of the rig. Crawling from the back seat to the front and back again. After he grew bored of that he nosed through his shopping bags. He ripped open a hungry man meal. He tore the cardboard into tiny pieces. His fangs punctured the cellophane. He gingerly licked the frozen salisbury steak. Disgusting. He devoured it. He then worked his way through the beef tips, meat loaf, “fried” chicken, and the Mexican Style Fiesta! Maxie licked some thawed beef gravy off his paw and settled down for a quick snooze. Something rattled a branch outside on the driver’s side. Maxie barked. A racoon bombed out of the tree and skittered away. Maxie lunged at it and smacked into the glass. He snarled. He stood with his paws on the door to get a better look at the fleeing racoon. One of his paws slipped. When he repositioned it, he placed his paw directly on the lock/unlock button. All the locks disengaged. Maxie’s ear twitched at the unexpected sound. Then the driver’s side door creaked open and he jumped out of the truck. The smell of fresh blood overpowered the scent of the racoon. He ran in the direction of the dank coppery smell. *** She sometimes went into the woods when her mommy was being sleepy and weird. The house smelled like nasty smoke and she didn’t like her mommy’s friends. They talked fast and laughed too loud the later it got. She wanted to go to bed but their music thumped and kept her awake. So she would wander into the woods that butted up against their little house with the rusty cars and broken trailers in the yard. There was a creek she liked to sit next to. She’d throw rocks into it. She had a friend, a little boy as hungry and angry as she was. He sometimes came with her to the creek, but he wasn’t around that night. His father sometimes came and worked on cars in her yard and brought him, but not today. Not when it was so cold. She had a little atlas that she’d stolen from the local drugstore. It had an american flag on the cover and pretty pictures amongst the maps. There was a picture of a waterfall that was her favorite. She’d sit by the creek and imagine the water gushing over rocks into a dip below was a sixty foot waterfall instead of a six inch one. She’d look at the maps, not really understanding what they meant, but loving them just the same. It was too dark to look at the maps tonight and her flashlight had run out of batteries. A nice lady who said she was her caseworker had given it to her. Now it was dead. Her mother had said they were going to the movies tonight to make it up to her after what happened, but her mother often said things she didn’t mean. Just because this happened often didn’t make it hurt any less. The creek was close enough to her house that she could still see the fender of an old car that she knew rested up on blocks. Once her mother had found her crawling under it and had smacked her. More scared than angry. Her mother told her it could have fallen on her and squashed her like roadkill. She always kept her distance after that. She didn’t want to see that car today. Not when disappointment made her chest ache and tears hovered near the surface. Not when her mother had told her she’d make it up to her, she’d make it up to her, please don’t tell anyone she’d make it up to her. Not when the burn on the back of her hand was still stinging red. She wandered deeper into the woods. She heard heavy breathing, coming out in great snuffing snorts. She walked toward the sound, her head cocked to the side to listen but staring at her feet. She always stared at her feet when she walked. She’d stepped on still burning cigarettes that people had tossed out into the yard from the porch more times than she cared to remember, so she always watched her feet. She came close to the sound. She looked up. In a tiny clearing was a deer. It laid on its side. A hot trail of blood thawed the snow leading to the deer. There were claw marks on its hindquarters. There was a bite on its neck. She approached the deer. It tossed its antlers at her but didn’t move. She crouched down and kept moving toward it. Hand outstretched. The whites of the deer’s eyes rolled into view as it watched her. She got within touching distance. She stroked its fur with the very tips of her fingers. Its muscles seized. She froze, scared it would jump up and trample her, but not so scared that she ran away. She petted the deer again. This time using her whole hand. She sat like that for several minutes. Then she heard a low growl behind her. She turned and saw yellow eyes. Then she saw black fur tinged silver. Then she saw nothing at all. *** Animals aren’t know for their long memories. They make associations but don’t form actual memories. They only know if they like water or hate the vacuum cleaner and if a certain scent means friend or foe. Humans are better at forming episodic memories. The ones that allow someone to remember the last time they heard a Jerry-Jeff Walker song or road on a four-wheeler with their dad. Tommy was never sure if having a human memory was a good thing or a bad thing. He’d had it both ways, so it left him uniquely qualified to judge, but he never could make up his mind. Tommy’s first memory was from when he was four years old. He was crawling around on the cracked yellow linoleum of the kitchen at his old house. His mom was browning hamburger for chili. Their old cowdog Cap ate from a gigantic pitted aluminum bowl in the back corner of the kitchen. He cracked gigantic kernels of stale meat scented food between his teeth. Tommy stumbled over and sat next to Cap. He played with Cap’s ears. Cap had been there to raise Tommy’s older sister so he was used to this type of good-natured abuse and endured it with a long-suffering resignation. But then, Tommy blew in Cap’s face. He’d done it a thousand times before. Cap had always blinked in consternation then returned to his doggy business. However, Tommy had never done it while Cap was eating. Tommy had the terrible knowledge that when a dog bites your eye you can see down its throat for one moment. Tommy shrieked. His mother clocked Cap in the side of the head with the still sizzling frying pan. Cap yelped and huddled in the corner. He unconsciously licked blood off his chops. His mother turned back to Tommy and screamed. His eyeball laid on his cheek, dangling by the optic nerve. She stuffed Tommy into the front seat of her car, not bothering with the car seat. Tommy held his eye up near the socket with a paper towel. When they got to the emergency room the doctor popped his eye back in like it was nothing. He said they were lucky the dog hadn’t bitten down. He gave Tommy an eyepatch and told him he was a pirate for six weeks. The family gave Cap to a guy Tommy’s dad had used to ride saddle-broncs with. None of them blamed Cap for what happened, not even Tommy eventually, but Tommy was so scared of the dog after that he couldn’t sleep. He kept dreaming about Cap sneaking into his room and eating both his eyes. So they got rid of Cap. Tommy was always scared of dogs after that. He had no problem believing they were descended from wolves. This fear turned out to be a good instinct, but did nothing to save him. When Tommy was ten, four years before Max bit Joanie, he also met Maxie Lore in the woods. Joanie found the family she never would have had. Tommy lost his. The morning Max brought Joan home, Tommy woke up in his cage in Maxie’s shed behind his shake shingle house. The scratches on his face weren’t as bad as they had been in years past. Tommy took this as a small victory. All his victories were small in those dark days. He glanced over and saw Max’s cage was empty. The old man had never made it home. He’d been running free during the change. Tommy’s stomach curdled. Tommy stretched his arm through the bars of the cage and grabbed the key to the fat padlock that held the cage closed. He popped the lock open and stepped out of the cage. For a few minutes he paced the shed, waiting for Maxie to come back, praying nothing terrible had happened. When Max didn’t return Tommy pulled on jeans over his basketball shorts and put on his duck boots. He’d left his shirt in the house, but his carhartt jacket laid on the floor. He pulled it on and stepped out into winter morning air. He blew vapor into the air and eyed the sunlight filtering through the trees. He thought it was eight or nine in the morning. He entered the house and stepped into the mint green bathroom to see to his scratches. The scratches were numerous but they weren’t deep. He dabbed them with a twisted tube of neosporin. No stitches or butterflies needed. They would be healed up in a week. He examined where a new scratch crossed a scar from three years previous. Maxie told him he was lucky he didn’t lose the eye. Tommy told him he didn’t know shit about losing eyes. Maxie also told him he’d eventually stop hurting himself during the change. He’d gone through a similar period in the early 50’s, but it got better. Usually cooking relaxed Tommy, but Max still wasn’t back and the sound of crackling bacon wasn’t taking any of the tension out of his shoulders. He made a deal with himself, if Max wasn’t back by the time he finished eating, he’d track him down. This deal lasted about thirty seconds. Tommy’s capacity for self-delusion was incredibly low and he was certain Maxie had fucked something up and he couldn’t waste any more time. He turned off the burner and pulled on his coat. The doorknob turned just as he was about to grab it. Tommy stepped back. Max opened the door. He had a little girl in his arms. She was unconscious, her head lolled on Max’s shoulder. She was covered in blood, there was a bite mark on her shoulder. Expletives and accusations flew through Tommy’s mind. They all sounded like cliches. Maxie dismissed cliche. When Tommy spoke he didn’t want to be dismissed. Max carried the little girl past Tommy into the living room and laid her gently on the couch. He brushed a piece of hair out of her mouth. Tommy watched from the kitchen. Maxie turned and looked at him. Tommy’s face curled into a mask of hatred. Max suspected that this face was how Tommy felt at all times and his generally neutral demeanor was the true mask. Today he had not bothered to put on his mask. Tommy spoke low and slow, as to ensure his pubescent voice didn’t crack and betray the gravity of the situation. It quavered a bit anyway. “God. Damn. You.” Tommy walked to the bathroom and got his first-aid kit. He’d foolishly thought he wouldn’t need it today. He knelt beside the girl. Her coat wasn’t thick enough for the cold outside. Her purple snow boots had holes in the soles. He moved her shoulder to get a better look at the bite mark. Something creaked and cracked, bones ground together. “You broke her collarbone.” Tommy said. Max wetted a dishrag under the faucet and handed it to Tommy. Tommy wiped blood off her face and neck, revealing rended flesh underneath. “These claw marks will scar.” Tommy examined her little hands. “I think she’ll lose this finger and…” He trailed off. He’d wiped more blood from her arms and saw little circular scars. Cigarette burns. Some old, some waxy and new. Tommy swabbed the girl’s wounds with hydrogen peroxide. He sucked air through his teeth with sympathetic pain as it fizzed. He was thankful she was unconscious so she wouldn’t feel the sting. “Take her to the hospital,” Tommy said. “Then call DHS.” Maxie knelt beside Tommy. He touched one of the girl’s scars. “Tell them you found her in the woods. She’d been attacked by an animal.” “The Oregon system is terrible,” Maxie said. “They’ll send her back to them.” “Not right away,” Tommy said. “She needs a hospital.” “When she changes it will heal,” Maxie said. “But it won’t heal right,” Tommy said, his voice going fierce. Maxie ignored the scars on Tommy’s face and his own fingers, crooked from years of breaks, “It never heals right,” Tommy said.