Painted Warpony

[ Xet means "discord" in Undercommon ]

“I need your help.”

Caleb blinks, hardly half a step out of his own teleportation spell and still fighting to right his center of gravity again. Essek stands a few paces away with his hands twisted together and a curious frown on his lips, brows creased together in obvious concern. Since the drow isn’t immediately primed with a spell or other such defense, he can’t be in danger which is in and of itself reassuring, but then that begs the question—

“Help with what?” Caleb asks, shaking the residual magic off his fingers. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Essek replies immediately before his frown deepens. “Well, I’m okay, but not— I just need your help.”

Caleb blinks again and nods. “Alright.”

Essek relaxes slightly when he doesn’t ask any further questions and gesture with his chin, indicating for Caleb to follow as he quickly pads away.

Trailing behind his fellow wizard, Caleb follows at a slower pace, watching Essek’s stiff-backed posture as they cross the threshold into Essek’s lab and move beyond it. Not something magical or scientific, then. It leaves few other options; maybe still magic related, but outside a controlled environment like his lab? They’ve discussed a few such experiments in the past, though usually under the assumption they’d be together for such dealings.

Essek continues ahead, ears pinned to the sides of his head and betraying his obvious upset. Something severe enough to make him anxious, or at least visibly on edge. Caleb frowns, unwinding his scarf as they go and trying not to let his own worries get the best of him. Not many things get Essek so undone, especially to the point of him asking for help readily which only worsens Caleb’s own nerves.

They eventually stop within Essek’s trance room, oddly enough. Plush, giant pillows and sprawling blankets line the floor, many shoved up against one corner where Essek typically tucks himself away to meditate. The room itself is rarely neat, but it seems in more disarray than usual as Caleb’s eyes wander across obviously thrown pillows and twisted quilts, the carpet under his shoes hidden entirely from sight. A few pale globules hover high above their heads, filling the space with more light than it’s likely ever seen. Essek crosses the room to the open door of his closet, confusing Caleb further.

“Schatz,” he says slowly, “I’m not really sure—”

Essek turns sharply, gesturing for silence, and Caleb’s teeth click with the haste in which he shuts his mouth. The drow motions him forward and he approaches slowly, mindful where he sets his feet.

They enter the modest, albeit still open expanse of Essek’s wardrobe where only a dim candle lights the space. Caleb squints against the darkness, resisting the instinctual urge to throw up his own orbs of light, and trusts Essek’s guiding hand to lead him. It’s near the back corner they finally come to a full halt. He doesn’t immediately see the issue that ails his drow companion even in the low light, glancing around to find nothing but hanging clothes and finery.

When Essek speaks again, it’s in a whisper and with a soft sort of urgency.

“I haven’t been able to coax her out, and I’m worried she’s stuck.”

Caleb responds in the same quiet tone. “I’m sorry—who?”

Tugging his hand, Essek guides Caleb down to his knees and points into the depths of the deepest shadows. Caleb leans down, peering past a few dangling robes and still seeing nothing; he’s beginning to wonder if his lover might be suffering from some sort of illness—

When he finds two bright, round eyes staring at him.

Caleb blinks. The eyes blink back.

“Essek,” he says slowly, “who is this?”

“Xet,” Essek sighs. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you about her yet.”

“And she’s what, exactly?”

“A moorbounder.”

He sits back on his heels, looking to Essek with no small amount of incredulity. The drow waves a dismissive hand while not taking his eyes off the creature watching them from the corner.

“She’s hardly a threat,” he assures mildly.

“Essek—”

“She’s not!” He scowls, finally meeting Caleb’s gaze. “Do you truly think I’d take a dangerous beast into my own home?”

Caleb shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair. “I stopped putting limits on the things you would do a long time ago, dear.”

Essek pauses, seeming to absorb this statement before shrugging one shoulder.

“Be that as it may, we can discuss my decision-making later. You have more experience with cats than I do; what are your suggestions?”

Caleb exhales a fond sigh, lips quirking up in a smile despite himself. He peers back into the shadows and finds those two eyes still in the same spot, unmoving save for the occasional slow blink.

“Well, do you know why she’s in there?”

“She likes how dark it is,” Essek explains readily.

“And I assume you’ve tried using food already?” he asks.

“Of course, but she wasn’t interested.”

Caleb hums in contemplation, rubbing his beard. “Cats don’t like to be rushed, so it might be best to just let her come out on her own.”

Essek looks back up at him with a frown. “But what if she’s stuck?”

“Are you in the habit of keeping traps in your own closet, Schatz?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then if she got herself in, she’ll be able to get herself out,” Caleb soothes. “She’s going to need food or water, eventually.”

Essek chews on his bottom lip, one fang catching against dry skin. “Are you sure?”

He nods, reaching out to take Essek’s hand. “Frumpkin used to do the same thing and in far worse places. If he can get himself out from a stack of hay bales, I’m certain she can find her way out of a closet.”

Essek still seems uncertain, but let’s Caleb help him back to his feet. Caleb reaches out to gently grasp his chin once they’re standing, directing Essek’s gaze to him.

“She’s a moorbounder,” he reminds lightly. “I think she can handle the dangers of your wardrobe. And more importantly, you have a story to tell me about how you acquired said moorbounder.”

Essek chuckles, the tension in his posture finally relaxing somewhat. “Ah, I suppose I do, don’t I?”

It takes a bit of coaxing, but Caleb manages to urge Essek out of the closet and get them situated midst the comforts of his trancing room. Essek glances to the dark entryway whenever he thinks Caleb isn’t looking, the anxiety of a newfound parent writ in every line of his face, but stays put per Caleb’s instruction—or rather insistence. It’s amusing to see someone so lauded as the Shadowhand be nervous over something as simple as a pet. At the same time, however, it brings a pleasant warmth to Caleb’s chest and twists up something tight within his sternum, nestled just behind his ribs.

He holds Essek’s hand and strokes his thumb over the drow’s knuckles while listening to him recite the mysterious story of Xet the moorbounder cub.

Apparently, Verin had come across an abandoned litter out in the Barbed Fields during one of his treks between Rosohna and Bazzoxan. Most of the cubs had been lost already—between fighting each other and the various beasts of the fields, it was a wonder any of them were still alive at all. Regardless, Verin and his companions had gathered the remaining kits to bring back to Bazzoxan with the intent of handing them off to a proper caretaker, hopefully to have them raised as future mounts.

Everything seemed taken care of until Verin returned to his rooms a few days later and found none other than the runt of the litter perched on his desk. Essek retells this portion of the story with an amused smirk on his face, taking obvious pleasure from Verin’s described struggles to separate himself from the cub. He tried returning the kit to its siblings only to find it back in his room a day after; he attempted to pass it off on one of his fellow soldiers and nearly broke his ankle by tripping over it asleep on his doorstep; Verin even went to the lengths of trying to sell it to a traveling party of mercenaries, and he found it curled up within his saddlebags at the end of the day. For some inexplicable reason, the runt had taken a liking to Verin and seemed intent to stick with him—which wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t under a year old. Still practically a babe, it needed care and attention a leading soldier of Bazzoxan couldn’t provide.

Thus, came in Essek.

Verin had sent a weary message to Essek via one of the mages posted under him, requesting his presence with little more than a plea for help. Essek—never one to turn his nose up at an excuse to escape the suffocating clutches of the court—had teleported that same day.

Whatever attracted the small cub to Verin apparently carried over to Essek, and she hadn’t been shy to make it known. Within ten minutes of his arrival, she’d darted out from her hiding place under Verin’s bed and clawed up the back of Essek’s mantle, uncaring of the holes she left behind once she found her perch on Essek’s shoulders. The matter had been decided per Xet’s preference, and now, Essek had himself a new companion.

“It’s been about a week since,” Essek says now. “She’s been acclimating well, for the most part. Feeding has been… interesting.”

Caleb hums in sympathy. “Pray tell, what do growing moorbounders eat?”

Essek huffs, cheeks flushing. “Well, that’s been part of the problem. They’re supposed to eat any kind of meat, and Verin had told me it should be tender so their teeth can finish growing in. Xet is apparently very particular in her choices compared to other kits her age.”

“Is she now?” Caleb asks, fighting back a grin.

“Her siblings eat whatever gets placed in front of them, but the only thing she’ll take from me is fresh black-scaled trout.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he continues, “And it can’t be the whole fish, oh no. If I don’t pick out the bones and grind it into a paste with extra newt-liver, she doesn’t touch it. I have to take out the fish eyes myself because apparently those are her favorite, and—”

Caleb bites his lip, struggling not to laugh and failing when he let’s out an aborted snort. Essek stops mid-rant to shoot him a sharp look—albeit one somewhat ruined by the blush still on his cheeks.

“What?” he demands.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb snickers, “it’s just—she sounds very much like a cat is all.”

Essek sighs, accepting the placating kiss Caleb presses to his palm. “She does, doesn’t she? But she’s also very sweet and it’s nice having the company.”

Caleb smiles against Essek’s skin, taking care to kiss each finger and knuckle of the drow’s hand. He knows better than most the benefits of having an animal companion when it’s just yourself and your own thoughts. While it certainly can be frustrating beyond reason and a blight on the worst of days, it also brings a certain tender-hearted joy that few others experience; an understanding between beast and humanoid that weaves itself through history time and time again.

Weaving their fingers together, Caleb studies the gentle downward slope of Essek’s brow, taking in the delicate curve of his mouth and the familiar flash of concern in his eyes. He’s looking back to the closet again, scanning the shadows carefully, and Caleb can’t help but admire the lingering, ripe-plum hue to his skin. It snags a familiar snare in Caleb’s belly, sparking with heat both unexpected, but not unwelcome.

Before he gets the chance to act upon it, Essek’s ear twitches at the same time a squeaky, high-pitched chirp cuts through the quiet.

“Oh, finally,” Essek sighs in relief.

Peeking out from just beyond the doorframe, a single, bright yellow eye studies them from afar. Essek shifts to his knees and makes a soft crooning sound, holding out his arms. Caleb watches in fascination as—between one blink and the next—Xet darts out from the closet to barrel directly into Essek’s chest. It’s a chaotic scramble of lithe, black limbs and a tail that snaps like a whip before she finally settles, curled up in Essek’s arms as if she was always meant to be there.

Caleb’s experience with moorbounders begins and ends with the adult variety. He’s never seen a young one, let alone a runt from a half-dead litter.

The difference is… striking.

Xet is somehow both squat and lean at the same time, her skin bunching together in thick, leathery folds gathered around her shoulders and round belly. A scruff of pale, scraggly fur wraps around her neck like some unkempt mane and her ears make up half the size of her head, set wide apart with matching tufts of more white fur sticking out. Her eyes are a familiar, bulbous yellow like her adult counterparts, but her tusks are barely an inch, sticking up unevenly from her bottom lip. When Caleb meets her eyes, she chirps again—sounding almost like a strange reptile—before sticking out her forked tongue at him.

Caleb stares at her, and then stares a little harder.

“That’s a baby moorbounder?” Caleb asks, eyebrows raised.