#malon babe

The block was busy that day. And so was Kipling if anyone took the time to notice. Yet it kept none of the gossipy merchants from interrupting her often and baptizing her ears in the latest scoops whether she invited them or not.

“Kip, have you been by Little Brother’s yet?”

Little Brother. The innkeeper, who happened to be large-boned, robust and a widow, but nicknames were sticky, stubborn things. For the fourth time that morning, Kipling heard about Little Brother’s pest control problem and her radical solution.

“I mean, don’t you think that’s inhumane, Kip?”

Kipling briefly turned away from her work to offer a look of consideration. “I think Little Brother’s customers are tired of hatchlings wandering from the nest and falling in their soup.” She also thought the other businesses thrived off the innkeeper’s unhappy tenants, but she plastered a smile over that little sentiment.

As the day dragged on, the interruptions did not slow down. Kipling could only rely on her familiar’s steady chittering and encouraging ear nibbles to keep her focused as much as possible.

However, as the gardener worked her way further down the street, she noticed that her pygmy lemur grew more and more antsy. Taro was already a lively companion. Add a dash of neurosis on a day like this and it really sent Kipling’s nerves spiraling.

“Taro,” She finally huffed, “what is the matter with you?”

Taro whimpered and bounced around Kipling’s ankles. Usually she could tolerate the lemur’s sporadic bouts of mania, but it was very hot and she wasn’t in the mood. Work was tedious, and the damn shop owners kept bothering her, and —

“Kipling! Might I have a word?”

The inquiry snapped Taro out of her neurotic rain dance. She scrambled so fast onto Kipling’s shoulder that it made the gardener sway on her feet. 

The newcomer steadied her and asked if she was all right. Clearly they were not going to leave, so Kipling affected yet another friendly smile and said, “Can I help you?”

The shopkeeper wrung their hands and threw a glance at the intersection off to the right. Kipling followed their nervous gaze, but saw nothing amiss in the throng of passerby.

“Don’t you see that?”

Kipling narrowed her eyes. “See what?”

The shopkeeper steered her gaze with their finger. “That. Coming back this way right now.”

Taro chittered again with sudden urgency. 

Kipling saw what the shopkeeper was talking about. A Vesuvian to be sure, but walking with a strange gait, like a cross between a raptor and a toddler. With a walk like that combined with those bright, shifty eyes, it had the potential to put people on edge.

“I don’t know what manner of vagrant she is, but she’s been prowling the intersection for the past three days.” The merchant threw their hands in the air. “I can’t figure out what she wants! She won’t buy anything. Whenever someone tries to talk to her, she barks. Once she even hissed at me!”

Kipling fought to stifle a laugh. Yes, the lurker was odd, but otherwise she seemed harmless.

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”

The shopkeeper fixed her with a desperate gaze. “I was wondering, would you mind maybe just seeing if you can get through to her? Make her go away? Or encourage her to buy something at least. Anything would be better than haunting the crossway like this.”

Kipling tried to think of a polite way to decline when Taro suddenly bolted from her shoulder. 

“Taro, no!” She hastily threw her work tools in her satchel and took off after the purple lemur. It was too hot and crowded to be chasing anything, let alone something so small and fast. And what do you know? Her familiar was headed straight for the wild eyed vagrant.

Taro was already coiled around the wanderer’s shoulders by the time Kipling caught up. Thankfully they were off in a spot outside of the foot traffic. It was shadier there. The road tapered off into a more natural setting. Further in were clusters of trees and beyond that a sparsely wooded glen. 

As Kipling approached, she was able to get a better read on Taro’s new friend. The closer she got, the more she was confronted by a rather unique aura. Gauzy and yellow – a feral essence. Almost exclusively so. Rare for a Vesuvian. Most tended to be elementals or some manner of seer. 

The limbs of the stranger’s magic stretched far, but flailed from a lack of practice. Kipling wondered if the carrier even knew what she was capable of. The stranger was now letting Taro groom her and . . . grooming the lemur in return. 

Taro was not the kind to jump on people she didn’t know, so Kipling wasn’t really sure how to go about this. Not only did she have to ask for her familiar back, but she also had to find a way to tell the stranger to run along – that she was scaring the poor shopkeepers. 

The stranger and Taro carried on, only vaguely aware of Kipling’s presence. That was okay, she still hadn’t worked out the details of what she wanted to say. Plus she was still studying the vagrant and weighing her appearance against the presence of her wild aura. She was tall enough that Kipling had to look up, which happened often because from her point of view everyone was tall, no matter what was considered standard. 

Kipling registered skin that was baked by sunlight and colonized by an army of freckles. Lastly, the stranger had a youthful mop of dark hair and a scar on her lip that gave the illusion of an errant fang. Kipling wouldn’t have been surprised if the shopkeepers had dismissed it as such.

Despite Kipling’s proximity, those bright eyes kept flitting about, fixating on pretty much anything and everything.

“Uh,” Kipling was about as close as she dared to approach. “Hi. Sorry about that.” She gestured to Taro. “She doesn’t usually jump on people’s heads.”

The stranger regarded her briefly, so fast she almost missed it. “It’s okay. Taro is really good at finding ticks.” 

Taro chirped appreciatively.

Kipling blinked. “How . . . ? How did you know her name was Taro?”

The wandering gaze settled. “She told me.” She said it like it was the only natural answer.

Given her sunny aura, Kipling wasn’t surprised. She narrowed her eyes at her familiar, but relaxed her shoulders a little. “What else did she tell you?”

The stranger giggled. “That you’re called Kipling.” Then she shot out a long arm. “I’m called Malon. Or Mal if you want.” The way she pronounced her own name came out like a yawned mewl. It made her wonder if that’s why the shopkeepers mistook her for something primal. 

Kipling smiled. “Hi, Mal. You can just call me Kip.” As she shook Mal’s hand she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do more – hug this feral being or simply give her a bath.

Taro whined in protest as Kipling pried her from Mal’s curly mop. “So, I have to ask. What exactly are you doing out here?” Not happy with the way that came out, she added, “I mean, is there a reason why you keep going back and forth along this street?”

Mal’s gaze was back to wandering, and this time she was sniffing the air. “Do you know what panic dreaming is?”

Bewildered, Kipling said that she had never heard of it.

Mal gave a curious grunt. “Hm. I’ve been wondering why it’s so loud over here.” And when it seemed that her answer was not going to evolve beyond that, Kipling tried a different approach.

“Are you,” she paused, trying to choose her words wisely, “looking for food?”

Mal grinned and reached for Taro. “I can find my own food. See?” She extracted a tick with ease and popped it into her mouth. 

For a moment Kipling was struck with disbelief, but it didn’t last long before she burst into laughter. 

“That is . . . impressive.” And she meant it.

Maybe it was the heat or the boredom of the day’s tasks, but Kipling found Mal’s atypical behavior strangely liberating.

Even though she had Taro back, she wasn’t ready to leave. And she noted that Mal had chosen to stay where she was though there was nothing holding her back from prowling the storefronts again.

Kipling paused in her thoughts. The stores. 

She sobered and said, “Mal? Could you come with me? I think I might know how to help you.”

When Mal cocked an eyebrow at her, Kipling reached for her hand and added, “With eh . . . the noises you’ve been hearing. Panic dreaming, right?”

At that Mal relaxed and wordlessly allowed Kipling to guide her through the intersection. The shopkeeper that had asked for Kipling’s help watched on with eyes that begged her to quit leading Mal further and further into the plaza. But she ignored all of the judgemental stares until she reached the door of the innkeeper.

“Little Brother,” she called once they were inside, “I think I found the answer to your pest problem.”

Kipling’s instincts were right. Mal’s feral aura was strong enough that it gave her the ability to not only communicate with, but also draw animals to her. She was like a beacon for the colony of bats in Little Brother’s chimney. The whole market was completely awestruck as dozens of bats teetered across the cobblestones on all fours, marching blindly in Mal’s wake towards the woods. Kipling and Taro followed close behind, careful to watch out for any strays that might wander off in the wrong direction.

Once they reached the shade of the trees, the bats opened their eyes and properly flocked to a small, but conspicuous cave. When Mal and Kipling caught up with them, Mal strolled into the cave and peered around.

“Didn’t know this was here until they showed me. Cool.” She made herself comfortable in the mouth of the cavern, almost as if it belonged to her. Kipling also noticed how Mal’s aura seemed more relaxed than before, tamer even. Her gaze still traveled, but in reflection as opposed to fruitless searching.

Kipling held Taro against her chest and scratched behind her ears. “Aren’t you coming back? I’m sure the shopkeepers won’t mind having you around now.”

Mal shrugged and shook her head. “Nah. I like it here.” She exhaled. “It’s quiet.”

Kipling didn’t feel right about leaving her new friend here alone in a cave of bats and who knows what else.

“Do you have any plans for dinner?”

Swinging her bare feet and bobbing her head to some imaginary drum, Mal pointed to the ceiling of sleeping bats and declared, “I’ll just have whatever they’re having.”

Kipling glanced up and grimaced. Crickets and cave worms? I don’t think so. 

But she realized that she wouldn’t get anywhere with the mother hen approach. So she tried another. 

Kipling gathered Taro close and whispered, “Guess what we’re having, girl? That’s right! Glazed salmon. Your favorite.”

The mere mention of the dish activated Taro’s excitement. Kipling knew that Mal wouldn’t be able to ignore the lemur’s projection of all of those sensory delights.

For once Mal stopped wiggling her toes and looking around. She went absolutely still and fixated Kipling with a gaze so direct and an energy so concentrated that it practically tickled. 

“You’re really going to feed me?”

Kipling granted herself silent applause as she nodded and held out her hand. Instead of taking it, Mal popped to her feet and rushed forward. 

Kipling squeaked as Mal fastened a pair of wiry arms around her and hoisted her off the ground.

“The bats,” she said, “told me to thank you.”

Kipling suddenly became aware of Mal’s scent of lingering campfires. It stirred some sad ache on the inside when she sensed the solitude underneath. She surrendered to the embrace, leaning her head against Mal’s and breathing in more old firewood.

“You did all the work. I just showed you the way.”

It was getting late and Kipling wanted to go home. She attempted to disentangle herself so they could leave this creepy cave, but the beast whisperer had other plans. Kipling made another ungraceful sound as Mal spun around and hoisted her onto her back. Taro made herself comfortable on Mal’s head and chirped authoritatively. 

Mal said as she marched forward, “Kip, you should get some rest. Taro can show me how to get there.”