#hidden ink

Inspired by this post by @albino-whumpee about rough caretakers and feral whumpees.

Hidden Ink masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, reluctant caretaker, hissy kitten whumpee, brief blood mention, leg-in-beartrap whump, some swearing.

Mika rose before the sun did, fumbling with the hurricane-lamp until its glow illuminated the inside of the cabin. It was one his father had left him, a centuries-old relic that still worked by some miracle. By the time he’d pulled on his hunting boots and helped himself to the berries and jerky he’d scraped together the night before, the lamp was no longer strictly necessary. He made sure to turn it off before he went out.

It had rained in the night. Mika could smell the petrichor in the soil and on the trees. When he brushed past a shrub to get to the forest track, the leaves left wet smears where they’d made contact. He shivered a little—the rain had absorbed most of the unbearable heat from the day before—and lifted his bow away from the foliage to help keep it dry. The morning birds sang to each other in the canopy above.

The first thing to do, Mika decided, would be to check on the traps. He’d set up a few new ones yesterday, a little more efficient than some of the others. He hadn’t forgotten the way something had pulled itself loose, dragging the trap with it. Mika had followed the trail of blood some way before he’d concluded he wasn’t getting the trap back. It had been a harsh lesson and, if his father had still been alive, he would not have let him forget it. The size of whatever he’d initially captured would have kept him fed for weeks.

“All right,” he muttered to himself as he pushed away waist-high ferns. As much as he’d tried to maintain the path he’d beaten, the local flora had other ideas. “First trap—up here…”

First trap was empty, of course. Mika checked briefly for damage, then let it be.

“Second trap…”

And then he heard the deer. Thrashing, loud thrashing. Instinct pressed him against a nearby tree trunk, turning his face towards the sound. The bow trembled a little in his grip. Something big. He needed to not mess this up. Land a few arrows in it, finish it off before it caught wind of him and struggled even harder…

His back still to the tree, he manoeuvred with a hunter’s practised silence. Get a good view, get a good shot. He reached for the quiver at his hip, his fingers seeking an arrow. He drew back the string, aiming that arrow at the writhing patch of darkness, and waited for the moment.

Something stayed his hand. Not a conscious realisation, but an itch that urged him to reconsider. He lowered the bow, returning the arrow to its quiver before he’d even realised what he was doing. Stalling… why was he stalling? He was almost out of food at the cabin, with each trip this past week having ended in failure. He couldn’t afford to pass this up, and yet…

The deer sobbed. Mika had killed plenty, and was familiar with their dying throes. He had never heard one make that sound before. And that weakly struggling darkness didn’t have the form of a deer; the configuration of the limbs suggested something closer to home. The early sun illuminated the side of a face, and a matted tangle of hair that did not resemble a deer’s fur.

“Oh, fuck.” Mika ran forward.

Prising the trap away would have been perfectly possible with the correct technique. The person caught in its jaws did not know the technique. Mika saw rips on the trouser leg where they’d tried to brute-force it, saw the splatters of new and dried blood on the leaves of the forest floor. He couldn’t blame the captive for that. The position of the trap on their ankle had forced them to the ground, pressing their face into dirt. Even for someone who knew what they were doing, who knew the release mechanisms like Mika did, it would not have been a straightforward task. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone would be… Here, I’ll help you.”

A scream startled the surrounding birds into silence. The thrashing recommenced, but without focus. Mika tried to catch the imprisoned leg and received a kick from the other. He was about to try again when a stone smacked him in the shoulder. A quick glimpse told him the captive was scrabbling in the dirt for another.

“Will you stop?” The impact of the first one would leave a bruise. Drawing back his bow-string was not going to be fun. “I’m not trying to hurt you!”

The captive’s hand did not still. Mika saw them grab another rock, this one much bigger. He did not hang around to see if they were strong enough to throw it. Instead he tackled the arm, using his weight to pin it against the ground, and the captive screamed until his ears rang. Under all the dirt, they were young. Probably a boy, although the presented profile and neutrally messy hair made it difficult for Mika to confirm that. Whoever and whatever they were, they were not content to let Mika contain them further. Mika had to duck his head as teeth snapped at his ear.

“I’m trying to help,” he snarled. “Help. Not hurt. Help.”

The boy hissed something incoherent, trying to raise his free arm to take a swipe. Mika shifted his weight so he was sitting between his shoulder blades. “If you keep wriggling, you’re going to do yourself a worse injury.”

Gradually the boy’s struggles stilled, although his shoulders heaved below Mika. Muttering to himself, Mika turned his attentions to the trapped leg. He knew he had no right to get so impatient, and indeed it was mostly a cover for the guilt. He’d set that trap, and a human being had stumbled into it.

“I’ll be quick,” he promised, and got to work on the mechanism. The jaws opened with a click, the metal teeth stained with the boy’s blood. “There, it’s done. I’m sorry again…”

The boy scrambled up, dragging his injured leg. Mika could tell from his stance that his centre of gravity was off. A pale, trembling hand reached for a discarded backpack that Mika hadn’t noticed. He was about to call him back, tell him he needed to look at the wound, when the boy’s balance gave out. Mika grabbed him, half-expecting a snap or a snarl, but the boy seemed to be beyond that. Glassy eyes stared uncomprehendingly under heavy lids as Mika lowered him to the ground.

“Great,” Mika muttered. Without a deadweight, the cabin was a half-hour away. He did not like to think about how much more difficult the journey would be if he had to drag the boy along narrow trails and treacherously steep slopes. He’d done it before with deer carcasses, and the multiple trips always left him exhausted. Slicing the boy into manageable parts would not be an option here.

“We’ll get that leg seen to,” he promised, hauling the weakly stirring shape over his shoulder.

The boy dug his nails into Mika’s back, a rebellion that reminded Mika just what he was signing himself up for.

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, reluctant caretaker, fever, some injury detail, implied past noncon body modification(?), unconscious whumpee, some swearing.

His newly laid traps proved a greater success than he’d dared hope for. Mika snared two rabbits and a wandering-fowl in the smaller ones, and a shoat had caught its leg in one of his metal claws. Mika dispatched the latter quickly, before it could squeal at the sight of him. He’d seen the size of grown forest boar and had no intention of picking a fight with its parent. The piglet formed a hefty but satisfying weight as he took its body away.

Mika had never been sentimental over animals. He still felt a twinge as he lugged the carcasses home. Good, said his father’s voice in his memory. The forest gives us what we need for survival. Never profane that gift by turning it into a sport, or taking pleasure in death. What we give the world has a habit of coming back to us.

The twinge did not cease. Mika rubbed away sweat, staring up at a deepening sky. The sun would be down soon, and he had another hill to climb before he reached the cabin. He should have timed things better, eaten a hearty lunch before he went out. Only he’d been distracted, and… He stopped, the young boar swinging against his back. The twinge became an ache; deep, yet still indescribable. The first bats of the evening fluttered between the tree branches.

The hill dragged at Mika’s muscles as he climbed. He’d grown used to it over the years, having hunted out east ever since he’d discovered the lake two miles away. Watering holes made for good trap locations and excellent hunting grounds. Some day he’d learn to fish, something his father had never quite succeeded in teaching him.

Even heading west, the skies darkened far too quickly for Mika’s liking. Soon he was stumbling through undergrowth that he could not fully see, desperately hoping he was on the path he’d made and not one of the animal tracks he’d laid traps on. He rolled his ankle a couple of times on tree roots that lay in wait to trip him. The obstacles only served to slow him further, and by the time he was back the darkness was so consuming that he nearly missed the cabin. He grunted, shifting the piglet’s weight, the smaller game tugging at his other shoulder. Just a few more yards and he could relax, get a fire roaring, allow the heat to soothe muscles that had been tense all day…

This time when he caught the tree root, it was unexpected. He hit the ground with a thud that smacked the breath out of his chest, the carcasses scattering around him. The darkness had really messed with him, if he wasn’t even in the clearing yet. He pulled his leg away from the roots and kicked something far softer than tree wood. That something rolled with him like a half-decayed log. Mika yanked himself to his feet and lurched into the cabin door hard enough to leave splinters.

“What the—”

He’d always kept the way clear. Had a tree fallen next to the house? He couldn’t think of any that were close enough. Then his mind hit on the memory of earlier, and the ache became a punch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He yanked the door open, nearly taking it off its hinges, and stumbled into the house. With the moon under the cover of clouds, he nearly garotted himself on the drying-lines. A shaking hand grasped for the old hurricane-lamp, turning the crank until the dynamo put out light. Faint light, but light nonetheless. Shadows swung wildly around him as he ran outside with the lamp in hand.

The boy did not move, save for Mika’s attempts to manhandle him into an examinable position. His slack face gave no reaction to the light shone into it, and his arm lay limp as Mika felt for a pulse. The punched-stomach feeling dissipated a little when he felt the heartbeat between his fingers. The boy’s shallow breaths, fluttery and yet faint, kept the rest of the relief at bay. He looped a skinny arm around a shoulder that screamed for rest, and tucked the boy up against his chest. It was a strange feeling, wishing to feel some form of protest. Kicking, biting, clawing, anything that might assuage the guilt of what he’d done. What he’d caused twice over—first with the trap he’d set, and then with the treatment he’d refused. He tried not to think too hard about that as he ducked under the drying-lines.

Working by lamplight had never been Mika’s strong point. He didn’t like to admit it, but long hours of distance-based hunting in the forest had blurred his close-up vision. The sickly blue-white light only compounded things. Still, there was no chance of waiting for morning, so he set the lamp on the nightstand and laid his patient flat on the bed. It did not take good eyesight to see the glaze of sweat on the boy’s brow, and when Mika laid a hand there he found it burning hot.

As much as he disliked the idea of undressing someone unconscious, he found himself tugging on the strange fastener that held the boy’s jacket closed. A strangely textured jacket, almost like an oilskin. The fastener was strange too, and made a low buzzing noise when he dragged it down. He’d have to inspect that later, when time pressed him less and he had proper light to see by. For now he threw the jacket aside and turned his attention to the other clothes. The next layer seemed to be an all-in-one deal, made of a thick coarse cloth that almost certainly made the boy’s frame appear bigger. It took a little more effort to remove it and he almost gave up, but thought of the wounds underneath spurred him onward. There was no sense in only treating the leg if the boy had injuries elsewhere.

It did not take long for Mika to realise how much heat and sweat the boy’s clothing must have trapped. In the confines of the cabin, the smell almost overpowered him. He remembered there was no water source for miles to the north, where the boy had come from. No wonder he’d drunk so greedily from any receptacle that came his way. Mika resolved to make a special effort to clean out the leg wound, even if the boy came to and went feral on him again. Which reminded him…

Mika chewed his lip. Unclothing the boy had felt bad enough, even if he still wore his undergarments. The other necessity made him feel even worse. Slowly and unwillingly, he took the lamp to the cupboard and fetched the length of spare rope he kept for hunting. The boy’s arms moved unresistingly as he brought his wrists together ready for binding.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing that even if the boy could have heard, he wouldn’t have understood. “But it’s for both of us. I can’t have you attacking me in my sleep.”

Would the boy attack again? After all, he’d dragged himself back to the cabin. Mika hesitated, and as he hesitated, something caught his attention in the light. Frowning, he lifted the boy’s hand. Something dark ran the width of the wrist. When he brought the lamp forward, he saw writing. His father had taught him to read, but this was an alphabet he did not recognise, and only the numerals stood out to him. Whatever the ink said, it was old. He let the boy’s hand fall onto the blanket and put the rope away. The tattoo might have been a personal choice, or it might have been a slave-mark of some kind; either way, he did not feel like traumatising him further. He ignored the mental reprimand that told him he needed to be more careful with his own safety.

He saw to the leg first, cleaning out the wound first with water and then with alcohol. It wasn’t as mangled as he’d feared, but he was oddly impressed the boy had tried to run away on it. The metal teeth had sunk in deep, tearing flesh. Tendons too if the boy was unlucky, but Mika didn’t have the medical expertise to deal with that. He bandaged the injury, ignoring the faint whimpers that had accompanied the alcoholic cleansing and which now accompanied the fresh pressure. The boy still didn’t move. Maybe not fully unconscious, but mostly. Mika elevated the leg on a rolled-up blanket and turned his attention to the fever.

At least the fever was the only other noticeable problem. Mika saw a few scratches on the boy’s face and hands, where tree branches must have snagged him, and some assorted bruising on knees and elbows. Nothing that needed immediate treatment. He laid a damp rag on the boy’s forehead, using the clean corner of the wound-cloth to wipe the worst of the dirt from around his eyes and mouth. The boy mumbled but did not open his eyes.

“Get rest,” Mika said, and promptly took his own advice. His second last thought before collapsing forward was that he’d forgotten to bring the carcasses inside the cabin.

His last thought was that he was going to be really, really sore in the morning.

Once again, I am so sorry for the cliffhanger. I had an idea in mind of where it was going and only saw one place to cut for a chapter break. Hopefully this one has enough whump to make up for the previous ending. >:)

Also, this is the last instalment for this arc! Expect new plots and tropes as we move forwards.

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Guns and their associated wounds, pursuit, swearing.

His assailant staggered backwards, bent double with the bruise Mika’s elbow had left on his chest. Mika, still in fight-or-flight mode, was about to follow up with a punch when he realised who he was fighting. His arm dropped like a falling log. “Ari!”

Shit. He’d said that far louder than he’d intended. No wonder Ari had tried to keep him quiet. He shot a frantic glance back towards the clearing and saw that several of the dark shapes had frozen at the shout.

Ari didn’t have breath to say anything in response, but his eyes betrayed a deeper-set panic than anything Mika had ever seen before. His fingers scraped, almost pleadingly, at Mika’s sleeve.

A deafening crack of noise, something vaguely akin to thunder in its suddenness. Bark pinged off the tree behind Ari, sending up little splinters of wood. Ari’s grip slackened, his face draining. For a horrible second Mika thought he might be about to pass out.

Another thunder-sound, hitting something on their other side. Mika’s ears rang. Whatever that sound was, he’d seen what it had done to the tree, and he knew what it meant. He grabbed for Ari’s hand, even as voices bellowed words he didn’t understand.

Running.

If he’d been a charging wild boar earlier, he’d now become a charging wild boar with a snare attached. Ari moved limply, his dead weight ripping Mika’s arm in its socket, but at least he was keeping up. Mostly, at least. Twigs snapped around them as their feet stumbled; shrubs made grabs with their branches. The autumn leaves left tell-tale paths in their wake, but there was no time for them to cover their tracks. Somewhere behind lay death. The sharp, cracking death the iron bird had heralded.

And then, Ari fell.

He went down so noiselessly Mika wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t been holding hands. As it was, the lack of warning almost dislocated his shoulder. He stopped, breathlessness punching him in the lungs, winding him just the way he’d winded Ari. The air burned. He yanked Ari to his feet and heard a scream of pain.

“Be quiet!” He had no way of knowing how much advantage they had over their pursuers. He tried to drag Ari’s arm over his shoulder—then, realising Ari was too small for that, hauled his whole body up there instead. “Don’t wriggle.”

Ari’s ragged breaths touched his neck. Beneath him, a small speck of blood bloomed into a flower. Mika bit back the swearwords, certain he heard people approaching.

Against his instincts, he swerved ninety degrees, heading north again.

Think how you can throw them off the scent. Think. But he’d explored these woods as a hunter, a predator.

Never as the prey.

He dropped down into a ditch, to a lower position. Swore to himself when he realised it was full of mud. Tried to smear his footprints, gave up after a few seconds, ran on. Ari’s agitated movements threatened to unbalance him.

“I said—stay still!” Mika hissed through gasping breaths.

“Vabrastki.” The syllables slurred together. “In bag.”

“What?”

Ari fought one-handed, tugging at his back. He was wearing the rucksack, Mika realised. Of course. If Ari had recognised the iron bird the moment he’d heard it—buying him enough time to escape the cabin and go looking for Mika—he’d have brought it with him.

“Oh, skut,” Ari seethed as something fell out. It was a word that needed no translation.

“Sorry,” Mika panted, skirting around a tree that had probably felled in the storm. “Can’t stop.”

Ari spun the backpack round, clawing at its contents. Out of the corner of his eye, Mika saw him draw something out. “Mika?”

“Yeah?”

“Go. Go quick.”

The world erupted into smoke.

Mika nearly skidded to a halt in the leaves as the smoke began to thicken. Only Ari’s instruction kept him moving forward. Somewhere behind, the shouts started up again, then dissolved into coughing. It left Mika in no doubt their pursuers had noticed the smoke.

“Ari—” He wanted to ask how, but there had never been a worse time. Ari slumped on his shoulder and went still again.

The hunt continued.

Were they tiring as fast as Mika, burdened by the weight curled against him? He dared not look to find out.

Eventually he yielded—to his body’s demands, maybe to whatever fate lay behind them. Walking should have been easier than running, and yet the moment he tried, it felt like he was wading. Nothing familiar in these surroundings. Just trees, endless trees. Some still in leaf, some barren, some scarred with antler gouges.

He reached past the backpack and put a shaking hand on Ari’s motionless shoulder.

The day… had it hit its end yet? Things seemed to be darkening. He hoped that wasn’t just his vision.

“Ari, I’m sorry. I can’t keep going. I’m going to have to put you down.”

Ari grunted something, possibly an assent. But when Mika tried to set him on his feet, he clung to his shirt and refused to put any weight on either leg.

“Ari, are you—”

Ari’s legs folded. His face had creased up, like scrunched cloth. Mika fell to his knees beside him, hands flying to the blood that soaked Ari’s sleeve. He wished he’d checked sooner. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. What happened?”

But he could guess what had happened. Like with the tree bark, that loud thunderous something had taken a chunk out of Ari. He didn’t even need to roll the sleeve back; the wound had torn through the fabric, too. “Iodine?” he said to Ari.

Ari nodded, his breathing loud and slow. Like he was doing all he could to control what came out. Mika fumbled for the little iodine bottle, remembered they were almost out, slathered it on regardless. Ari’s eyes squeezed shut at the contact.

“Whatever caused this, you’ve lost blood.” Mika noticed Ari’s other hand was slick with red. “Your hand?”

Ari moved to clamp down on his wound, but Mika grabbed his wrist. At least now he knew his hand was fine, just bloodied. “No. We need to bandage that.”

He had some old gauze in his hunting-pouch, just about passable for its duty. Ari sat quietly, allowing Mika to wrap his forearm. A triangular bandage had come out with the gauze, but Mika stuffed it away again. A sling would have been a great idea, if going one-handed wasn’t such a disadvantage in this situation.

“I’m sorry,” Ari mumbled.

“We can’t go back to the cabin, can we?” He hadn’t imagined it; night was falling. He took a mental inventory of their gear, as fast as his brain would allow him. On Mika’s end of things, they still had his bow and a quiver of arrows. A hunting-knife. A sorry mess of first-aid supplies. Everything else—food, maps, water bottles—lost to them. “What do you have in the bag, Ari?”

He didn’t poke around too much, remembering what Ari had told him about it not being safe. It was mostly the same useless stuff Ari had been taking to Dakrii. Mika cast his mind back to the smoke Ari had caused. “That smoke.”

“Uh, smoke?”

Mika mimed an explosion with one hand.

Ari smiled faintly. “Make… to them.” He pointed into the trees.

“Yeah, and as for them. What do they”—Mika found himself pointing too—“want?”

“Want? Um.” Ari licked his lips. “Me. This.” He hugged the bag.

“You know something, I don’t know why I bothered asking.” For a second Mika wanted to rip the damn thing out of Ari’s arms and hurl it into the trees. Maybe hurl Ari away with it. “That was my home. And now we’re both in danger. We…” He swallowed. “I never got to say goodbye to my parents.”

Enough self-pity. Their pursuers might not have retreated yet. They’d only know for sure once that iron bird passed on by. “Can you stand? We need to keep going.”

“Go-ing.” Ari stretched out the word as if trying to grasp it. His fingers held Mika’s sleeve. “Uh, where?”

“Will they expect us to keep going north? Back towards this Katakast?” Even the bluff might prove their undoing. The iron bird had surely come from there.

“No Katakast.” Ari shook his head. “For Dakrii.”

“North for Dakrii, then.”

Ari nodded. His gaze averted itself, staring at the brown leaves on the forest floor.

“Hey.” Mika took hold of Ari’s hand again, ignoring the drying blood. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “I won’t lie, this situation is shit. And none of this would have happened to me if you hadn’t caught yourself in my snare. But I promised I’d help you, and I’ll do that. I’ll protect you, as much as I can. Keep us alive. Okay? Voika.”

Ari swayed a little. “Voika.”

“Put your arm around my waist, okay?”

Ari took little prompting. Mika pulled him in close, offering defence from the cold as well as support. “Let’s go.”

And so they moved on into the dusk, with Dakrii a hope on a distant horizon.

**END OF VOLUME 1**

Part 1 can be found here.

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, reluctant caretaker, hissy kitten whumpee, fever mention, biting.

The sunniness of the weather did not match Mika’s mood as the cabin emerged from between leafy branches. Although the boy weighed little—alarmingly little, in fact—Mika knew he’d been foolish to assume he’d be lugging something as still and silent as a dead animal. The weakness and exhaustion may have lent itself to a phase of rest, but every last scrap of clawed-back energy had made itself known along the way. Mika’s nerves were balanced on spikes by the time he kicked the cabin door open.

Everything was the way he’d left it. Strips of meat dried on lines, and recently-tanned deer hides waited to be stitched into boot-shape. Mika breathed out, releasing a knot of tension in his stomach. The presence of another human a mile or two from his home had come with its own racing thoughts, namely the idea that the cabin could be ransacked. He made sure to latch the door when he closed it.

His patient did not actively fight efforts to put him on the bed, but Mika felt the resistance in his muscles. The boy scrambled the second his limbs touched blanket, pressing himself between bed and wall. An almost shiny flush had taken hold in his cheeks, stealing blood from the rest of his face. Mika thought he’d felt a temperature when he’d carried him. Perhaps the weather, perhaps the wound. He sat on the bed in order to make his height less intimidating; the boy was far smaller than he was.

“You know I’m not here to hurt you, right?”

The boy’s teeth bared. Mika tried again, pointing at his own chest. “Mika.”

If his patient had a name, it was not forthcoming. Mika kept his voice as gentle as he could, hoping to untuck the boy from the little ball he’d rolled into. That gentleness shook; he should be resting his sore limbs on that bed, not soothing some little wildcat who’d spring an attack the second his back was turned. “I’m sorry you got caught in my trap. It wasn’t for you. Can I look at your leg?”

The boy mumbled something.

“What was that?”

The question elicited a blank stare. Mika sighed, wishing his father were here. His father would have known how best to proceed. “I do know some things about medicine. I won’t make it worse.” He had to curb the temptation to cross his fingers, even out of the boy’s sight. “How about the backpack? Can I take that? It can’t be comfortable.”

No reply came, and for a moment Mika thought he’d been granted permission. But the boy reacted with lightning speed to the movement of Mika’s hand, and a stinging pain shot up his arm. By the time Mika had processed what had happened, the boy was back in his corner with the bag hugged to his chest. Droplets of blood intermingled with the blankets and furs on the bed.

“All right,” Mika said at last, staring at the rounded mark the boy’s teeth had left. “Let’s try this again.”

He found the first-aid supplies; a bowl of clean water, a bottle of distilled alcohol, a set of bandages. He saw to his own injuries first, gritting his teeth as the bite burned clean. One-handed, he wrapped a clumsy bandage between thumb and fingers. “I’m gonna back off, all right? I can see you don’t want anyone touching you, so you can sort yourself out. The stuff is there.”

The boy snatched up the bowl, drinking noisily. Mika had to gnaw back a protest at the misuse—of course. He brought more water, this time in a cup, and it was gone within seconds. He offered a few pieces of jerky, and the boy barely chewed them. The bulkier shape of whatever the boy was wearing concealed his true silhouette; Mika suspected that under the jacket and baggy underlayers, he was twiglike. “You must have been out there a while. Where did you come from?”

A frantic shake of the head. This time when the boy spoke, Mika knew it was not just the volume that made him unintelligible. “Far away then. You can’t understand a word of what I’m saying, can you?”

If the boy could, he was not listening. He was staring at the bag of dried meat still in Mika’s hand.

“We’re running out of food in here. I have to ration… oh, whatever.” Mika gave in and passed him the bag. Getting the boy to trust him meant a solution to the wound he’d been responsible for causing. “Eat as much as you need. I can hunt again later.”

But feeding the boy led to little progress on other fronts. Getting too close led to warning snarls, and Mika had to snatch his hand away from the boy’s teeth more than once. Even the gentle encouragement towards self-treatment did not seem to work. And so they sat at an impasse, as the sun rose into the hottest part of the day and chased away Mika’s last feelings of goodwill.

“All right. I’ve done what I can for you. You won’t help yourself and you won’t let me help you, so I think we’re done. Don’t you?”

The boy stared uncomprehendingly. Mika, thoughts already on replacing the eaten food, fetched his bow from the door and slipped a hunting-knife into its sheath. “I’m going hunting. I can’t leave you here. Come on, out.”

He pointed at the exit. The boy looked between his finger and its target, then slowly unfurled himself from his corner. His leg dragged when he put weight on it. Conscience needled at Mika, reminding him of the way it had buckled earlier. His father would never have sent him into the wilderness, no matter how many times he’d been bitten and hissed at. His father would have done whatever it took to make sure his unexpected patient was fully healed and recovered before he allowed him on his way.

“Wait,” Mika said reluctantly.

There was no response. Mika blinked, stepping out of the cabin and into the hot sunlight. Darkness swam across his indoor-adjusted vision, obscuring patches of the surrounding forest. He rubbed his eyes with his unbandaged hand, trying to clear them enough to see where the boy had gone. No sign of him. Just an empty clearing, as though he had never really been there in the first place.

“Well, I guess that solves that,” Mika muttered to himself, brushing leaves aside as he set off on his second hunting trip of the day.

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, thunderstorm, fear / trauma response, hand holding.

Thunder cracked above the cabin roof, a split second after the jolting lightning flash. Mika almost lost the contents of his plate to the hearth rug. He’d expected a storm, but not so soon or so violently. Just as well they’d gone inside when they had, and not attempted a journey to the lake. Wind screamed down the chimney as the flames tried to leap out of the fireplace.

“Nice weather,” Mika said, trying to lighten the tension the thunderbolt had left behind. He looked to the fireside chair, hoping to reassure Ari with some eye contact, but there was no one there. Instinct first sent his eyes to the door, swinging a little against the latch. Surely there was no way Ari would have run out into the storm. “Ari?”

An answering whimper came from across the room. Mika squinted in the storm-darkness; it may as well have been night with the black clouds blotting out the sun. Setting his food by the fire, he fetched the hurricane-lamp and turned the crank until it offered light. The light glistened in Ari’s eyes as he stared from under the fringe of the bed-blanket.

“Hey, hey. It’s fine. We’re safe in here.” Mika knelt carefully, although the rattling walls made him the least threatening thing in the cabin. He put the lamp next to the bed so the light could find its way underneath. “We’re in a clearing, remember? The trees won’t fall on us.”

Ari pressed himself into his knees, tucking himself up like a hibernating mouse. There wasn’t much space under the bed, and the movement squashed him between the underside of the mattress and the floorboards. Somehow the confines seemed to calm him. He curled one hand around the lamp as if he wanted to drag it into his hiding-place.

“You must have had storms when you were out in the forest,” Mika said. They’d had one just last week, although it hadn’t been as intense as this.

Ari whispered something over the howling wind. Mika wished he could understand what he was saying. He shifted position to take the pressure off his knees, leaning against the side of the bed, and put a hand on the top of the lamp. He didn’t miss the way Ari’s fingers crept upwards.

“You need me to, uh…” He winced as Ari’s hand caught hold and yanked hard. “Ari, I’m not going to fit under there.”

Ari seemed to have realised the same thing, but he didn’t let go. He simply wriggled forward a little so he could grip Mika while remaining under the bed. Mika resigned himself to his position for the duration of the storm.

More lightning, followed by another loud boom of thunder. Ari’s flinch moved all the way up Mika’s arm and into him. The storm was still overhead. Ari was mumbling to himself, eyes cast upwards as though he could view the sky through the mattress and ceiling. “Idrogost. Iliost. Litia. Verila. Vorost…”

Mika grimaced. Those lightning flashes could mean a forest fire. And still, one stupid thought carried above it all… “We never emptied the bath. I hope it doesn’t spill over.”

Ari’s hand squeezed his a little tighter. “Pirita. Fosfa.”

“It’s starting to move on,” Mika murmured, more for his benefit than Ari’s. The gaps between lightning and thunder were lengthening.

Ari relaxed slightly, although he did not let go of Mika. Mika ducked his head so he could look him in the eyes. “Hey, why don’t you come out of there?”

Retrieving Ari took some time and coaxing, and even then the thunder rolls threatened to undo progress. Eventually Mika was able to yank the blanket off the bed and cover them both. Ari nestled into it, his lips still occasionally framing words Mika couldn’t begin to guess at. His hair was still damp when he put his head on Mika’s shoulder.

“We could sit on the bed,” Mika said. The floor had numbed everything, and Ari’s admittedly insignificant weight did not help. “Come on, we’ll take the light with us.”

“Thank you,” Ari said in a small voice as Mika helped him up. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault for being scared. When I was a kid, I was terrified of storms.” If he were being honest with himself, that fear had never quite gone away. The cabin could only stand up to so much.

Ari said something in response. He was still holding onto Mika’s hand, broken fingernails digging into Mika’s knuckles. Mika searched his mind for something to say. “I hope the weather’s nice tomorrow. I’ll have to check on the traps. Maybe we can find something for you to do around the house that doesn’t involve too much walking. Need to make you useful. Assuming you want to stay for a while. Which… I dunno. I’d like to have you here, if you want to be here.”

“Mm.” Ari looked thoughtful.

“And I don’t know why I feel so awkward saying that.” Mika rubbed his neck, trying to readjust the collar of his shirt. “You don’t even know what I’m saying.”

At least it filled the silence. He wondered what Ari’s side of the conversation looked like. Perhaps some outpouring of his innermost thoughts, perhaps just something banal. Ari’s expression—still a little pinched, still a little frowny—made it difficult to tell. But he was talking back. Slowly, deliberately, as though hoping the artificially-stretched syllables might bridge the language gulf. Mika heard a few words more than once. Vabrastki. Isna. Katakast. His lack of understanding felt like an enormous shortcoming. Ari had picked up more words in less time. “Katakast?”

Ari nodded, pointing to himself. “Katakast.” He pointed at Mika. “Vabrast.”

“What?”

“Urgh,” Ari muttered, and rubbed his face.

“Sorry.” Maybe he was just slow. It would be blindingly obvious to Ari, the sort of thing a child could understand. “Oh, I just remembered. We didn’t finish eating.”

Ari stayed close to Mika as they returned to the fire. It was still spitting a little from the rain in the chimney. Most of the thunder had died away, replaced by the gale force winds that battered the cabin walls. If Mika looked out of the window he could see the trees swaying. “Maybe we’ll get some easy firewood out of it,” he said.

Ari pointed into the maelstrom. “Isna,” he said patiently.

“Oh.” Something clicked, a tiny victory. “Isna. Storm.”

“Dja,” Ari said, and the delight on his face took away the last of the tension.

Part 9

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, reluctant caretaker, feverish whumpee, hunger, some swearing.

Mika awoke in a pool of sun that had spread across furs and blankets. The heat was surprisingly fiery. He jerked, both in discomfort and the realisation at how late he must have slept. With the surround of leaved summer trees, the cabin never caught that kind of sunshine before noon. He’d lost half the day already.

He tried to sit up, but something pressed against his chest and shoulder. His left arm had already deadened at the weight. A few frantic seconds of attempted extrication died to nothing when he remembered the previous night. Ari had not moved at all at his thrashing.

“Ari?” Shit, he’d still been so weak from the fever. Mika rolled onto his side as best he could, hunting Ari’s face for some flicker of life. Ari’s still-glassy eyes were wide open, his muscles completely still. Mika heard no breathing over his own frantic heartbeat. “Ari!”

A tremble started next to his skin, or perhaps it had been there before. Mika tugged his senseless arm from under Ari, remembering the teeth marks Ari had left in his hand. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re here. You’re safe. You don’t have to…” Freeze up like a rabbit that’s just seen a fucking hawk. “You can relax.”

Ari’s fingers scrunched the furs Mika had just vacated. A tiny movement, but better than the deathly stillness. Mika thought of last night, how he’d managed to comfort Ari after his nightmare. He sighed inwardly, suspecting that would be the one and only time. “Breakfast?”

He wasn’t sure why he bothered asking Ari questions like he could respond to them. Even when he kept his words clear and simple, Ari just stared at him as though he were speaking gibberish. His father had told him of the languages spoken by faraway peoples; some were similar enough to their own for communication to still be possible, whilst others used entirely different systems of speaking. Mika wished he’d paid more attention to that lesson, but his younger self had been more interested in laying snares for rabbits. He wondered if his father would have known how to talk to Ari.

Breakfast was leftover stew. Mika left the pot on the fire until it was lukewarm, but did not bother to make it hot. Already the sun filled the cabin with unprecedented stuffiness. He brought some of the food to Ari, who did not move to take it. Wariness sat in every line and furrow in his face, closing him off. Unpredictable as a wild animal. Mika wondered if he could have done something differently. “Can I check your fever?”

Ari’s teeth bared at the approach of Mika’s hand, but they did not latch on to it. Mika felt Ari’s forehead and breathed a little easier; his temperature had gone down during the night. He still did not look well, but recovery seemed more certain now. “Do you—do you have the strength to sit up? I can help you if you like.”

Ari was staring at the bowl of stew. A healthier or perhaps less frightened person could have simply grabbed it, but Mika suspected it lay out of reach for one reason or another. Nonetheless, the glint in his eyes indicated he wanted it. Really wanted it. Mika brought it a little closer, but he still didn’t move. “All right. We can do this together, but if you try and fight me you’re on your own.”

He soon realised that Ari could barely sit up even with support. He should have fed the kid better yesterday, rather than only focus on fluids. Shit, he was bad at this. Ari lurched into him, head lolling on Mika’s shoulder, as Mika brought the spoon to his lips. He felt Ari chew slowly, laboriously. Felt the little bump move in his throat as he swallowed. “More?” he prompted.

The stew was cold by the time Ari finished eating, but at least he emptied the bowl. Mika set him against the headboard of the bed, propping the sitting position with the pillows. “I need to look at your leg,” he said, but Ari shook his head when he tried to touch the bandages. “The wound could go bad.”

Ari shook his head again. Mika took the hint and left it alone. He’d hoped Ari might rest quietly after that, but he seemed to grow even tenser. Scanning the cabin, as if he were expecting a threat—or else searching for something. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Ari stared almost accusingly. Mika lifted a self-conscious hand to his neck, rubbing away the beginnings of a flush. He forced himself to lower it; in a situation where words meant nothing, body language screamed everything. It did not do to make movements that might be interpreted as guilty or defensive. “What do you need?”

No response except a wobbling lip. The fear was back in Ari’s eyes, the wary pinch returned to a face it had never really left. Mika searched his memory for anything Ari had had with him. The clothes, which lay within eyeshot… and the backpack.

Shit, where was the backpack? He remembered bringing it in from outside, though only when he’d gone to fetch the animal carcasses the day before. It had been stained with sweat and wet with dew, and he’d gone to pick it up one-handed. It had strained him more than he’d expected it to. To think someone as small as Ari had been carrying it around. He’d resisted the temptation to look inside, had simply dragged it into the house and left it…

Left it under the bed. Mika reached down now, pulling it free. “This is what you want?”

In a single clumsy and uncoordinated movement, Ari dived for it. Mika had to catch him before he hit his head on the nightstand. Ari struggled limply in his grip, snarling like an animal trying to make itself bigger and more imposing. Mika angled his throat away from a potential bite. “Hey, hey. I haven’t done anything to it. It’s yours.”

Ari’s hand made a weak grab for the bag. Mika, all too happy to comply, thrust it into his arms. At once the tense shoulders loosened and Ari’s snarls and hisses quietened into something almost like contentment. He curled up with the backpack on his lap, nails digging into its strangely textured fabric. Mika raised his hands and backed away. “I have stuff to do. You and your… backpack should rest.”

At least the kid had done something proactive, rather than just react to Mika’s presence in whatever feral manner he decided upon. Mika watched Ari out of the corner of his eye as he stoked the fire, but he didn’t so much as open the bag. He just put his head on it and went to sleep. Mika debated whether it would be wise to leave him alone in the cabin, but there was plenty of firewood to chop, and the traps hadn’t been checked in a while. Shit, he took one day off and everything fell behind. One day off caring for this hissy little thing who’d survived the forest and whatever else life had thrown at him. Mika almost smiled. The hissy little thing looked so peaceful when he slept.

On his exit, he closed the cabin door as softly as he could.

Part 6

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, everyone’s favourite bathing trope, a little bit of touch starvation.

The bath was the next logical step. Mika waited until the following morning before he drew up water from the well outside; filling the tub always took a while, and he didn’t feel like carrying buckets in the dark. Ari sat on the grass and watched him stoke the outdoor fire. Even with the sun as hot as it was, Mika doubted Ari would want to sit in freezing water. Best to get it tepid at the very coldest.

“I don’t really bother with all this,” he admitted as the flames licked the underside of the water-pot. “Normally I just… use a wet cloth, or jump in the lake down there. Baths are a bit of a waste, really.”

Ari stared at the flames, then back at the waiting tub.

“But you can’t walk far, and you’re filthy. No offence,” Mika added hastily, as though it mattered. “But it’d be nice to not have to smell you. It’ll help with the healing as well.”

Ari peered over the lip of the tub as Mika poured more water in. It was as clean as it was going to get. A few specks of grass seed had found their way in there, and a fly was doing backstroke in the water. Mika retrieved the fly and flicked it away. “Ready?”

Ari looked up at the sun, dispensing muggy heat into the trees. He stuck a finger into the tub to test the temperature, scooping some of the water up in his hand.

“Don’t drink it,” Mika said, wishing his words weren’t necessary.

The water slipped through Ari’s fingers, making splashes. He used the side of the tub for support as he stood up. Mika helped him get in, pausing only when he realised Ari still wore his undergarments. “What about—”

Redness emerged beneath the grime on Ari’s cheeks. A little piece of humanity, fighting through a mind that was still half-feral and preoccupied with survival. He sat down in the bath with a slosh. “Sapast?” he asked Mika.

“Uhh. Oh. You want soap?” Mika had a full bar of it. Ari took it with both hands. “Use as much as you need. Honestly, it’s fine. Get yourself clean.”

“Soap?” Mika couldn’t tell if Ari was asking a question, or if he was simply mimicking the rising intonation.

“Yeah. I assume you know what to do with it.”

Ari used his good hand to wash himself. He stopped when he got to his hair. The little flush came back as he looked to Mika. “Vabrastki. Voika.”

“Help?”

“Help,” Ari repeated, a little uncertainly. He gave the soap to Mika.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re picking up words or if you’re just repeating what I say.” Still, Mika made a point of taking the soap. “Thank you.”

Ari smiled a sheepish smile. The th sound did not lend itself to easy reproduction. But he used the word vabrastki again. Mika wondered if it was a stand-in for his name. “You can call me Mika, you know.”

This time the smile became almost… a smirk? The sun streamed onto the back of Mika’s neck, burning the exposed skin. It was difficult to shake off the sense he was being made fun of. “All right. Get your hair wet.”

The soap barely lathered the first time Mika used it. It only started foaming after he rinsed Ari’s hair and tried again. Ari squeezed his eyes shut as brown water ran past in rivulets. The tub already looked half full of mud. “You doing okay?”

Ari nodded, his hair slipping under Mika’s fingers. It seemed as though okay was a word they could both understand.

“All right, let’s rinse it.” He had vague memories of his father doing this for him when he was a small child. The motions felt comfortingly familiar even from the opposite perspective. Ari must have felt the same way, because he leaned into the water pouring from the pitcher. Mika had to physically manoeuvre him in order to get the last suds out of his hair. “You do realise you make it more difficult when you push against me?”

Ari grasped blindly for the soap Mika had left on the side of the tub.

“Sapast?” Mika said. He handed it over at Ari’s answering nod, and for a few moments there were no sounds except dripping water and the birdsong in the trees. A breeze ruffled Mika’s hair, carrying static. A storm was on its way. “Are you done? Here, take this.”

The towel had been his father’s, and probably his grandfather’s too. It had lost most of its ability to retain moisture, but Mika had always liked it. Ari seemed to like it too, because he spent more time drying his face than was strictly necessary. He tucked it around his shoulders and reached for Mika’s arm. “Voika?” he said.

Help. “Oh. Okay.”

“Th-thank you.” He was shivering a little now. Mika led him to the outside fire, wishing he’d had the foresight to stoke one in the cabin. A few drops of early rain hit the parched grass at their feet.

And then the clouds burst.

With Ari still so weak on his feet, Mika lost a couple of minutes getting them both inside. That couple of minutes was all the rain needed to soak him through. He shuddered like a cat as water ran down the back of his shirt and pooled on the floor. Ari, twisting the towel around his shoulder, looked no more bedraggled than he’d been before. He made eye contact with Mika, and Mika saw he was smirking again. Not a malicious smirk, but a mischievous one. He offered Mika the end of the sodden towel.

“Wow, thanks Ari.”

Ari laughed, a giddy bubbling sound—then stopped as though someone had slapped him. He blinked a couple of times, his brow creased, then bit down hard on his lip. Mika steered him to the fireside chair and sat him down.

“I’ll get you some clean clothes,” he promised, his words too quick. He hurried to the chest of spares he kept by the bed, leaving Ari staring into the unlit remnants of yesterday’s fire. A cowardly exit, and yet… it was easier to deal with feral Ari, screaming Ari, biting Ari. Not an Ari that burst with happiness one moment and looked set to cry on the next. He distracted himself with the spare clothes, finding things that might fit. When he came back, Ari’s eyes were red but mercifully dry.

“Here. These are for you.”

Ari took them cautiously, as though Mika were presenting a trap. Some of the walls were back up now. Mika wished he could tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” he mumbled finally.

Even knowing how small Ari was, Mika had still overestimated his size. The shirt drowned him, and it was just as well that the trousers fastened with cords that could be pulled tighter. He helped Ari fold back the sleeves until his hands emerged. “Either you’re tiny, or I’m a giant.” Maybe it was a little bit of both. It wasn’t as though he’d met enough people to really get a measure of how either of them stood against the general population. “Shall I put some food on?”

Ari tipped his head at the intonation. It wasn’t fair to keep asking questions he couldn’t understand. “Food,” Mika said, miming a rub of the belly and feeling more than a little stupid for doing so.

“Ah. Yavan.” Realisation cleared Ari’s face, and he nodded. “Voika?”

“What do you need—oh. You want to help me?” Mika had to do a little more gesturing to get his point across. When Ari nodded again, he felt a little mushier than usual. “Oh. No. No, you don’t have to help. You can rest.”

In the end, he got Ari to watch over the fire. Given his recent track record with knives, it felt safer than letting him loose on slippery meat. Ari seemed happy enough with his task, throwing on logs with his good hand and giving the flames a poke to keep them roaring. Once they’d gotten the food cooking, Mika sat on the hearth rug and enjoyed the scent of the brimming juices. The cabin smelled fresher than it had in days.

“Mika,” Ari said. His damp hair lay plastered to his scalp, apart from a little cowlick that refused to lie flat. The dancing flames glowed orange on his face, bringing warmth to the bluish undertones. “Thank you.”

“I’d do it again,” Mika said, and realised as he spoke that he meant it.

Part 8

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, feverish whumpee, knives, injury mention, mild hand whump, gentle caretaking, some swearing.

The backlog of tasks took Mika away from the cabin longer than he’d intended. It wasn’t exactly dark by the time he returned to the clearing, but the sun was shining through the leaves on the trees rather than overhead. It occurred to him that Ari would be hungry if he’d woken up. He looked at the firewood that still needed chopping for winter, and dismissed it for tomorrow. He couldn’t keep putting it off—not when he knew the evenings were getting darker—but he’d made enough fuel for cooking tonight, and that was what mattered most. The rest could wait one more day.

His mind wasn’t really on Ari when he opened the cabin door. He certainly didn’t expect Ari to be out of bed with a knife in his hand. It took a moment for reflex to kick in, for his footsteps to freeze as he assessed the situation. Ari was gripping his spare hunting-knife—why had he left that lying around?—his face a mask of pure concentration. He hadn’t noticed the door open. Mika watched the knife lift towards Ari’s hair, making ineffectual sawing motions at the matted knots. He winced at the clumsiness of the manoeuvre, especially with a blade he knew to be recently sharpened.

“Ari, I don’t think—”

Ari’s hand jerked. The knife fell from his suddenly-slack grip, bouncing on the wooden floor. Mika raised his left palm, frantically tucking his own knife back into its sheath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ari shrank against the wall, sliding on it a little. His face was far too grey for him to be up and about; Mika was about to help him back into bed when he noticed the blood. “Oh, shit. You’d better sit down. I’ll fetch the medical supplies.”

At least the medical supplies were easy to find. Mika had left the box on the table in the hope Ari would use them on his leg. When he brought it over, he noticed the way that leg wobbled. “Sit down.” He tried to keep the impatience out of his tone, but snappiness found its way through. Ari took a retreating step towards the bed and collapsed like a felled tree. Mika wouldn’t even have realised he’d fallen had he not been staring straight at him; the sound was so quiet, like he’d had furs spread underneath him rather than hardwood. “Well, at least you’re not putting weight on it anymore.”

He squatted beside Ari, setting down the first-aid kit. It did not escape his notice that Ari was staring at the dropped hunting-knife. Mika positioned himself between the two, hoping his patient wasn’t about to snatch at the scabbard on his hip. “Let me see your hand,” he said.

Ari hesitated, his fingers curled protectively against his chest. At least he was still shirtless; the blood smeared against his skin rather than staining fabric. Mika held out his own hands, palms up, in what he hoped to be an invitation—if not a gesture of friendship.

Ari’s eyes widened. His good hand shot forward, gripping Mika’s fingers with surprising force. He peered at Mika’s hand as if searching for something, twisted it over, then repeated the process on the other. He muttered to himself about it, but some of the little pinches left his face. Mika kept his expression as neutral as he could, allowing himself to be manhandled until Ari was satisfied. He did not bother to ask what had sparked such curiosity, not trusting himself not to sound confrontational. He wasn’t sure Ari would have answered even if he’d been able to.

“Hand?” he offered eventually, pointing to the box of bandages on the floor.

Ari thought about it for a moment. Mika saw him wrestle, face twitching, eyes moving rapidly between the medical supplies and the imposingly tall hunter who was offering them. Then he looked down at his closed fist, at the blood dripping into tiny puddles on the floor. He turned his face away as he thrust his arm forward.

“Thank you,” Mika said. Shit, he couldn’t get over how skinny Ari was. Even when times had been tough in the cabin, and food scarce, he’d never lost this much of his body weight. He wondered if Ari had always been hungry. It would explain why he was no taller than Mika’s eleven-year-old self. “I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m sorry if you thought I was.”

“Sorry?” Ari said back, tripping on the unfamiliar string of sounds.

“Yeah, sorry.” Of course sorry would be the first word Ari picked up. It wasn’t like Mika could say much else, was it? He gently turned Ari’s wrist so he could inspect the slice on his palm. A clean slice at least, but it would hurt like a bitch for a while. Ari breathed in shakily as Mika reached for the bottle of alcohol solution. “Try and relax. I won’t be long.”

Close up, Ari’s hand looked battered. The little scrapes and scratches had formed scabs, but Mika saw a few sores that looked as though they were struggling to heal, and old dirt had embedded itself deep in the pores. He tried not to wince at the sight of the fingernails; most were broken, and the one on the thumb had torn right up the bed. The thumb itself looked slightly swollen, which explained Ari’s lack of dexterity with the knife. Mika wanted to hold the tiny aching hand in his, but he doubted Ari would allow it. He set to work on the cleaning instead. Ari hissed as the alcohol solution splashed onto the wound.

“I’m sorry,” Mika said again, hoping the words had translated properly in Ari’s head. He dabbed away grime until he was satisfied the immediate area was clean, then began to wind a bandage. The bandage wrapped towards Ari’s wrist, and as Mika repositioned his own hands he remembered the tattoo that was inked there. It looked blue in daylight. He told himself to move on and pretend he hadn’t seen it, but Ari had noticed his noticing. The shaky breaths became a little faster. “Hey, I’m not going to—”

“Arimnest. Kontost.” The words came out stiff and staccato. “Onomas. Kimist—”

“All right, all right.” For the second time that day, Mika held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain anything. Wherever you came from, you’re safe here.”

Ari stared at Mika’s hand. No, at his wrist. A piece of the puzzle clicked into place and promptly ejected two others. “I don’t know what any of that stuff means, but I’m not part of it.”

“Vabrastki,” Ari said, sounding a little more relaxed.

“Uh, maybe.” Mika smiled in the hopes it might keep him at ease. “Look, you should see to your…” He pointed to his own leg. “Your leg. The stuff is all there.”

Ari reached into the box, pulling out the old pair of scissors Mika had used to snip his bandage to size. He struggled to grip them. Mika thought for a moment, then gently tugged them away from him. “Wait there.”

The caution never quite left Ari’s eyes. Even when Mika came back with a comb, he frowned at it suspiciously. Then his face cleared, as if remembering what it was, and he reached for it. Mika sat back and watched the ineffectual attempts to work the knots out of his hair.

“Help? You want some help?” The comb dropped back into his hand. Ari’s face wore an almost-scowl, a flush on his cheekbones that had nothing to do with recent fever. “All right. Let’s see what I can do.”

Hairdressing had never been his strong point. As far as personal grooming went, he’d always gone for the simple option; any time his hair felt too long, he’d gather it back and chop across the ponytail. He’d tried shaving his head once, in much the same way he shaved his jaw, but the sun had burned his scalp. He hoped he wasn’t about to slip up and leave Ari bald, especially when he used the scissors to snip away the worst of the knots. Fuck, this kid was one disaster after another. He only had to probe a little to find soil dirt, dead twigs, bits of leaf. There was no way he’d be able to comb it all out… “You need a bath.”

Another hiss from Ari as a knot refused to budge. Mika cut the strand as long as the mats allowed him. By the time he’d worked Ari’s hair into something presentable there was less of it left than he’d have liked, but the longer bits tended to cover the places where he’d been too harsh with the scissors. “Well, it’s not great, but it’s just us here. And it’ll grow out.”

Ari lifted his hand, pulling his fingers through his hair. He looked almost surprised to be met with so little resistance. The surprise settled into a small, grateful smile.

Mika found himself smiling back.

Part 7