by Forthright
“And having come to your senses, you want to reenact the final stanza.” Daroo-fen’s eyebrows lifted questioningly. “You and I will become pactmates.”
“Is that even a thing?” Charles was afraid he was being childish and said as much.
Rather than answer, Daroo-fen’s attention strayed. Down.
Charles risked a peek. They weren’t all that high, and despite their romping around, they hadn’t gone all that far. In fact, he could see the pool outside Daroo-fen’s den, gleaming on the forest floor as it reflected the moon.
When the smooth surface shattered with a sudden splash, Daroo muttered, “This kid.”
And Charles was falling.
Sing My Name
It was over in a twinkling, but not the pretty, starry sort. This was more of a screeching, shattering near-collision, prefaced by a perilous drop and ending in a sloshing capture. Daroo-fen had somehow stopped their plunge mere inches above the water, thrust in a hand, and hauled Cole out by the back of his shirt.
Charles reeled him in. “Are you hurt?”
His son coughed and nodded, then shook his head.
“Rose?” he asked.
“Safe.” Daroo skipped the stairs in a stomach-dropping leap and plunked them both down before the hearth, stirred up the embers, then stalked away, tail switching.
Cole stared after him. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“That was Mr. Hunter, right?”
“Yes.”
His son was no fool. “And Beast?”
Charles sighed. “Yes.”
Crowding closer, he leaned up to whisper, “Can we keep him?”
“Crazy not to, yeah?”
They shared a grin of agreement.
Coop wasn’t afraid. Daroo-fen had braced for seven-score questions, the answers to which shared a den with the secrets he’d sworn to keep. Perhaps Charles had warned him not to ask. Or maybe this kid—this confoundingly irrepressible kid—was going to take him at face value. As if it didn’t matter where Daroo had come from, so long as he was here.
Once Charles had toweled the boy off and had him put on an over-large T-shirt, Daroo scooped him up and carried him toward their quarters. “Save any further exploration for morning,” he advised.
“I wasn’t exploring,” said Coop. “I was spying.”
He’d known that the boy suspected. He’d even encouraged the idea in small ways. And more pointed ones, like allowing Coop to ride on his shoulders … and find handholds in hair that felt very different than it looked.
“Quite successfully.”
Coop reached up to touch his hair, his ear, and finally his cheek. “Do I still have to call you mister?”
“Have you lost all respect for me?”
“No. But mister is good manners for company and strangers. You’re part of our family.”
Daroo-fen said, “That was the promise you made the day you captured me.”
Coop narrowed his eyes. “You let me.”
“I did.” He lowered the boy onto the mound of furs in the hushed inner room.
“Good thing, huh?” Coop whispered.
Inclining his head, Daroo murmured, “Leave room for us.”
The boy caught his arm and solemnly asked, “How about … Uncle Beast?”
This kid. Daroo-fen huffed and firmly answered, “No.”
Charles appreciated the faint light offered by the night lantern’s shuttered flame. He could see for himself that the children were here and safe and his. They were all nested together, with Cole curled up to his sister and Charles at his back. Like they fit. Like they were part of a set.
Or maybe they were part of a pack. Because it was hard to ignore the way Daroo-fen curved his greater bulk around Charles. It was a good fit.
“Charles?”
He turned to his head slightly to show he was listening. But Daroo eased backward and encouraged him to roll over.
When they were face to face, he said, “We were interrupted.”
Charles hummed a sheepish affirmative. “You can forget it if it was stupid.”
“No.” Daroo asked, “Do you want a pact?”
“Would it be allowed?” You never could tell when some restrictions might apply.
“Any promises we make and keep help to define a pack and its purpose.”
Charles took his time figuring out what that might mean, and he couldn’t see a downside. “Are we a pack?” he asked.
“Semantics,” Daroo said, all lawyer despite the wildness of their locale. “Whether we use human terms or wolvish ones, the ties that bind us cannot be denied. Only explored and … further defined.”
“And a pact?”
“An exchange of promises.”
Charles shrank a little inside. “Like exchanging vows.”
Daroo-fen gently said, “I am willing. I am also willing to wait.”
“Thanks.” Charles wasn’t unsure. More like uninformed. “How does it work though? Just make a promise while the moon’s shining?”
“The simplest way to formalize a promise is to exchange names.”
“Right. But you already know my name, and I know yours.”
Daroo lazily waved a hand. “I’d give you a new name, and you’d give me one.”
“Are we talking a legit name change? Or a new family name? Or … pet names?”
“I suppose we could resort to endearments, but a nickname would suffice. That is the usual way of things for friends.”
Charles chuckled. “Okay. I can live with that.”
Daroo-fen mussed up his hair and left his hand resting there, not quite pulling him in, but keeping him close. “When you’re ready, I will sing your new name at moonrise.”
“You’ll give me a wolf name?” That was kind of cool. Flattering, even. “By any chance, did you have a name all picked out?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me?”
He crooned a soft series of notes that climbed right up Charles’ spine.
“Again?” he whispered.
Daroo-fen repeated the cadence.
Charles asked, “What does it mean?”
“The ideas don’t carry over exactly. A literal translation would be ‘founder and filler of the lone den,’ which incorporates a play on words. I am a lone wolf, yet I sing for another. The intonation also implies the idea of ‘one and only,’ that ours is the best of dens thanks to the one who made it.”
Which was a lot of words.
All smugly delivered.
And suggesting a punchline.
Charles poked Daroo’s chest. “How would you say my name in plain English?”
“In layman’s terms?” With a secretive air, he murmured a word into Charles’ ear. Like it was a compliment. Maybe even an endearment.
The kicker was, he meant it. Charles could tell how much. His friend fairly radiated approval.
So Charles decided he liked his wolvish name. Because it was all about how you looked at things. Nothing had changed, except how he was understood. And appreciated.
Five Years Later
“Dad! DAD!”
Charles hurried to the front room. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”
“Look, look, look!” Coop’s voice broke with adolescent urgency as he pointed at the television screen. “They cut in a few seconds ago. Across all channels.”
He flipped through to demonstrate. Every station was emblazoned with banners that screamed, BREAKING NEWS!
“What’s happened?” asked Charles, because the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen were more confusing than anything.
Non-human.
Coexistence.
Treaties.
Reavers.
Shock.
Worldwide.
“Is this for real?” asked Charles.
Coop got right up next to the screen, which showed a row of five people on a stage. Some kind of government building, by the look of things. The camera zoomed in and panned back and forth, offering a c
loser view of calm smiles and pointed ears.
“Back, back, back, already,” Coop grumbled. And when the cameras finally obeyed, he jabbed his finger at one of them. “The taller lady. Dad, she has a tail.”
It took that long for Charles to realize what must be going on. He sank to a seat on the edge of their couch. “Those people. They’re just like ….”
“Where is he?”
“In that winter survival burrow thingie you built. Listening to Rose read.”
“It’s a snow den.” Coop hurried from the room. A moment later, Charles heard him holler from the back. “Dad wants you! There’s something about reavers on TV!”
Not two seconds later, Daroo-fen strode into the room—tail puffed, jaw teetering on the edge of a drop. With one glance at the screen, he sank to the floor, murmuring apologies to Rose for the rush and helping her out of her pink snowsuit.
Coop took over and coaxed his sister onto the couch with him. The boy was nearly as good as Charles at knowing what their wolf wanted, but for entirely different reasons. Charles suspected that they’d worked out a secret system of signals. Ones that often worked to Daroo-fen’s advantage.
The moment Charles was in reach, Daroo pulled him down onto his lap. Hardly normal, but hardly surprising. This was major. An event requiring both confidence and comfort.
Charles asked, “Did you know about this?”
“No.” His arms tightened. “I’m isolated here.”
“Those are your people?” asked Coop.
“Yes.”
With every passing minute, more secrets that Daroo had kept from them were made public. But it was big, impersonal stuff. Facts that didn’t matter as much as five years of being family.
Charles finally had a word. “You’re Amaranthine.”
“I am.”
“And you come in peace?” teased Coop.
Daroo-fen huffed.
Finally the guy in the middle stepped forward to speak into a bristle of microphones. His voice carried, as did his calm, and he took the time to introduce his companions. Dog. Wolf. Fox. Dragon. They were dignitaries or something. Representing different races.
With a pleasant smile their leader gazed upon those gathered. He seemed to look into every face, every camera, while his audience grew … and grew still. Into the hush that encompassed a startled world, he offered greetings in a dozen languages, then continued in measured English. “My name is Hisoka Twineshaft, and I speak for the Amaranthine clans.”
THE END
“Ours is the best of dens thanks to the one who made it.”
homemaker
never more than
FORTHRIGHT
a teller of tales who began as a fandom ficcer. (Which basically means that no one in RL knows about her anime habit, her manga collection, or her penchant for serial storytelling.) Kinda sorta almost famous for gently-paced, WAFFy adventures that might inadvertently overturn your OTP, forthy will forever adore drabble challenges, surprise fanart, and twinkles (which are rumored to keep well in jars). As always... be nice, play fair, have fun! ::twinkle::
FORTHWRITES.COM
Songs of the Amaranthine is a collection of short stories set in FORTHRIGHT’s Amaranthine universe. Before the Emergence, the clans were nothing more than whispers and mysteries and legends and lore. But every so often—in out-of-the-way places or shockingly close to home—an unsuspecting person stumbles into a fateful encounter with someone who is decidedly other.
An eclectic collection, spanning continents and centuries. Tales of adventure, discovery, friendship, rescue, belonging, and love. Each short story stands alone and can be read in any order.
Amaranthine Saga
Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Kimiko and the Accidental Proposal
Tamiko and the Two Janitors
Mikoto and the Reaver Village
Audio Books