#really rough

Not seeing him on the pier, they went down a set of stairs leading to another one, lower on the water and further out from the first. Boats were tied here, as well as crates full of goods and supplies for trading across the lake in Solas. The eyasses looked around, searching for a familiar shape. Dorcy squeaked and poked her sister, and then pointed towards the distant end of the pier, where, past a few stalls and piles of cargo, could be seen the familiar gray back with spots and stripes. Besteen let out a small cry of excitement, and the two began to barrel towards him.

As they approached, another surprise greeted them: their father moved a little, and they could see that he was talking to another Dorcean: his brother, their uncle Besteel. Both eyasses squeaked in excitement and increased their pace.

But as they came closer, weaving their way between massive piles of crates, they realized something was wrong. Besteen paused, then turned and looked at her sister. Dorcy tilted her head, and then she heard it too: muffled arguing. They crept closer, and the voices grew louder, and then they knew for certain that Uncle Besteel and their father were fighting again. They hid behind a pile of crates, peeking around the corner to watch and listen.

The brothers had clearly chosen this spot because it was somewhat private, with the large piles of crates concealing them from watchful eyes, and the crowded, busy sounds all around them helped to dull the conversation- an apparently heated one. Redimus had a large net between two of his talons, giving him an appearance of a giant spider as his other claws worked to weave and repair it. He was glaring at his brother, but he kept his voice somewhat low.

“I would sooner leave them with a hungry sand-sniper,” Redimus snapped.

Besteel scoffed. “Oh, please! They’re my nieces!”

“And they are my daughters.”

The twin eyasses glanced at each other worriedly. This was about them?

“And that means they are Dorceans.” Besteel spread a few of his arms. “Does this look like a place where they can grow right?”

“Yes,” Redimus said.

Besteel growled in frustration. He moved, and Redimus dropped his net and moved with him, and they were circling each other, hackles raised as if they were about to fight- not an uncommon occurrence, when they got together. Besteen and Dorcy made to retreat, but then they stopped. Besteel dropped the tension in his shoulders and spread some of his talons out, in a peaceful gesture.

“I’m just saying: leave them with me, and they’ll come back as real Dorceans.”

Dorcy and Besteen looked at each other again. Real Dorceans? Weren’t they already real Dorceans? And why did Uncle Besteel want to take them away to turn them into some?

Redimus sighed and dragged his net back towards himself. He sorted through its coils, searching for where he left off in its repairs. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. My answer remains the same.”

“Well, it needs to change. How old are they? Two? And have you taken them hunting at all?”

“There is no need. We have enough to eat.”

Besteel then turned and looked directly at his nieces. “He doesn’t give you any meat, does he?” He asked them accusatorially.

The sisters jumped at being addressed so suddenly.

“Yes!” Dorcy said, “Papa gives us lots of fish.”

“Lots!” Besteen agreed. “He’s good at fishing.”

Besteel snorted. “Fish is hardly meat! I mean real meat- something you can hunt. Come on, what have you had that I haven’t sent you?”

“They’ve had turnfin,” Redimus said, “and jackknife, shellfish, thatchtail, munt-runner-”

“But have they hunted? Have either of them made their first kill yet?”

“Dorcy already made hers at three months old-”

“That was a fish!” Besteel groaned. “That hardly counts!”

He dragged a talon down his face in exasperation. “Gabu! It’s like you don’t want them to be Dorceans at all! Has my namesake even killed anything yet?”

Besteen ducked her head. She scratched at the planks under her with her little claws. “...I smushed a bug,” she offered, murmuring.

“Lots of bugs!” Dorcy supplied. “And you also help with gutting the spiderfish.”

Besteen perked up. “Oh, yeah!”

Besteel looked at them, clearly devastated. He shook his head, then shot a look of disgust at his brother. “You should be ashamed of yourself! You’re supposed to teach them about their heritage! Their family pride!”

“It should be their choice,” Redimus said, firmly.

Besteel snorted again. “It should! But it seems you’ve already decided for them. How are they supposed to choose what they want for themselves if you won’t even let them learn?”

“Learn what?” Dorcy peeped.

Redimus sighed. “What are you two even doing here?” He asked gently, ignoring the question, “Shouldn’t you be with your mother?”

“Mommy went back to sleep,” Besteen said. “So we came to see the fishies.”

Redimus gestured up with one of his free talons. “Alright. Go back up on the boardwalk. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Uncle Besteel-?”

“Is not staying to visit.” Besteel said. Redimus nodded.

The eyasses seemed disappointed, but turned and slowly crawled their way back to the “usual” spot on the higher boardwalk, looking down into the water below. They watched the other fishermen and the shoals of spiderfish that swirled under the waves; but that wasn’t what was on their minds.

“We’re real Dorceans, aren’t we?” Besteen asked her sister.

“Of course!” Dorcy said, “Uncle Besteel is being silly because he wants to make Papa mad. What else could we be?”

Besteen looked at her sister for a moment, and then down at her claws. She wiggled them, as if she wasn’t sure they were really what they appeared to be.

“...You don’t think…”

The sisters looked at each other for a moment in silence. Then they both started laughing.

“What else could we be?” Dorcy said again, nudging her sister in the shoulder. Besteen giggled and nudged her back.

“Maybe marticks. Or bayries. That’s what uncle Huxie calls us.”

“No, I don’t want to be a bayrie! I prefer a martick. Marticks are fierce, and can spit acid!”

“That sounds like it hurts, though.”

“No, or else they wouldn’t always be doing it. I bet it's fun! I want acid spit!”

“I want acid spit, too! And horns!”

“I want horns, too! And-”

The two eyasses went on chittering, while unbeknownst to them, they were being watched from below. Redimus looked up at his twins, finishing the repairs on his net. Besteel shook his head.

“Look at them. That’s sad.”

“There is nothing wrong with them,” Redimus said in a low growl: a warning.

Besteel scoffed. “You would think so. You’re…you. It’s not fair to them, for you to try to mold them into your image, just because you think you know best.”

“I’m not trying to mold them into my image,” Redimus said. “They can hunt if they choose to. I’m not stopping them. There just hasn't been any need.”

“What about for their honor? Have you thought of that? They’re going to grow older. What male will ever want to join their harems if they can’t court him with a trophy display? No tribe leader would allow a male from his tribe to join with a female without blood honor.”

“It’s too early to think of that.”

“It’s never too early to earn honor.”

“There are other ways to get it. Ways that don’t involve blood.”

Besteel crinkled his nose in disgust. “You would believe something like that. You’re barely a Dorcean at all.”

Redimus didn’t respond. He continued furiously fixing his net, his gaze on his work. Besteel watched him and scoffed, though in truth, he regretted his choice of words; he had said something similar once, and it had gotten them both into trouble they almost couldn't come back from; no, a shaming approach wasn’t working. He had to attack this argument at a different angle.

An idea came to him. He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. A smirk formed on his features.

“...I bet they would have more fun hunting with me than fishing with you,” Besteel sneered.

Redimus tensed. His hackles began to rise.

Besteel chuckled. “You know it’s true. That’s why you don’t want them to visit me. Because you know that they’ll enjoy living like true Dorceans rather than Halcyonuses, and won’t want to come back to fishing nets and turnfins.”

Redimus felt his teeth grinding. A competitive streak, a long-held grudge, began to rise in him, though he tried to suppress it; but that tone, that sneer, was bringing it back out. He shook his net, trying to untangle it.

In a moment the grudge was suppressed. “I’m not going to make a bet with you over my eyasses.” He said.

“It’s not a bet,” Besteel said, “it’s a fact. You know they’re going to have more fun in one week with me than in two years of life with you.”

“But will it be safe?”

“Of course. It’s the edge of the forest, near the lake, not too dangerous. We grew up in the worst part of the forest and turned out fine.”

Redimus looked at him skeptically. Besteel shrugged.

“...I turned out fine.”

Redimus looked at him even more skeptically. Besteel waved his claws at him.

“Bah! You know what I mean; the point is- I think you just don’t want them to see how much better hunting is than fishing.”

Redimus glared at him. “Do you really think that’s going to work on me?”

“I know it is. You know you're going to lose. As always.”

“I don't always lose. I can think of quite a few times-”

“But I was talking about now.”

There was a tense stillness between them for a moment. Redimus grit his teeth, considering. He would never make a bet involving his eyasses- no matter how much Besteel teased and taunted- no, that wasn't what irked him. It was his words.

“Decided for them”

“Mold them into your image”

“Real Dorceans”

Expectations. Redimus had no expectations for his daughters. He knew, first hand, what that would do to them. But was he really choosing for them? What if they enjoyed the traditional lifestyle?

The thoughts swirled in his mind, gnawing into a long-held sense of guilt. Finally he growled and threw his net down. He pushed past his brother, towards the ramp leading to the higher boardwalk. Besteel watched him, smirking.

Redimus found his daughters playing with a bird feather they had found. Besteen caught it, then blew on it, and then they went scrambling around trying to catch it again. They only stopped when they noticed their father watching them. The feather blew away.

“Pack anything you’ll need for a week,” Redimus said, “You two are going to go stay with my brother.”

The twins squeaked in excitement and rushed off back towards their home, no questions asked. Redimus felt his brother's presence behind him.

“Don't be self-satisfied yet,” he warned. “I'm not agreeing to this to get at you.”

Besteel chuckled. “I know. But I win, all the same.”

“No. You don’t.” Redimus turned to look at him. His mechanical eyepatch caught the light, shining directly into Besteel's eye, and Besteel covered them with a grunt.

When he recovered, Redimus drew his claws down gingerly through the gouges of the scars on his face. The scars over his missing eye.

“Nothing,” he said, “is to happen to them. I know they’re like me. Just ensure they don't make my mistakes.”

Besteel snorted and slapped one of Redimus’ shoulders. “I know they're not as stupid as you were, at least. They'll be fine. And if they aren't, I'll shape them up.”

“What does that mean?” Redimus snapped.

Besteel smirked at him, but if he was going to reply he couldn't; the twins came back, hopping around Besteel’s feet and chirping questions. Redimus scooped them up and carried them down, from the tower down the stairs and onto a boardwalk to the beach, where Besteel's glider was parked.

Besteel strapped them onto a passenger seat on his glider and their luggage (two small bags, so at least they knew how to pack light) was strapped to each of the wings. The twins put their flight goggles on, and Redimus leaned over the glider to nuzzle beaks with each of them.

“Be good,” he said to them, “and be careful. The forest isn't like the lake, and it's much more dangerous. Keep an eye on your uncle for me.”

“We will,” Dorcy said, squeezing one of Redimus’ claws. Besteen took longer to let go, only relenting after her father gave her another nuzzle.

Besteel snorted. “For the last time, they're going to be fine. Finish with your goodbyes and let's go.” He put his helmet on and started the engine.

The glider began to lift with a loud hum. Redimus stepped back, waving.

“Goodbye,” he said, “stay safe.”

“We will, papa! Goodbye!”

Redimus watched them fly away, until the glider disappeared over the treeline in the distance. He sighed and began the trek back to the pier where he had left his net. He picked it back up and began to finish his repairs; for a while, his mind was empty.

But now that the confrontation had passed, and his blood cooled, he realized exactly what he had done- and realized, even worse, he now had to tell their mother. He sighed, folded up the net, and headed for his home.

The house was dark, and grew more so as he neared the room at its center, winding his way down a circular hall. As he went, the temperature also dropped, so that soon he could see his own breath. The refrigeration unit Hailey had repurposed for them was working well- extremely well, to be producing this temperature in the middle of Summer.

The hall ended at an arched doorway, and he stood at the threshold.

Doshika was lying on the floor of Redimus’ room- their room, when she was present- and she took up most of it. She had most of her limbs tucked under her, save for her her main pair of arms. They were propping up her chin on talons neatly folded. She opened her eyes as he came in.

“You are sending our eyasses to live with Besteel for a week.” She said.

Redimus ducked his head. He fiddled with his talons. “...Ah. You know already.”

Doshika's dark eyelids lowered halfway. “Dorcy and Besteen told me as they were kissing me goodbye.”

Redimus looked down at the carpet, picking at a few frosted threads with his claws. He cleared his throat a few times.

“...I'm sorry,” he said, after a moment.

“I understand. Your brother knows exactly how to get under your hide. Besides, it may be good for them to explore the world a little, to get fresh air that doesn't smell of the lake.”

He looked up at her. “If you're worried about Besteel-”

“He knows what I will do to him,” Doshika said. Her talons tightened on her knuckles. The dark black sickle claws shone in the dim light of the globular lanterns above.

Redimus nodded. He looked at the carpet again, then shivered a little in the cold.

“Still, I wish I had been consulted before I lost a week with my daughters,” there was a pointed inflection that sharpened at the end of the sentence, like an icicle.

Redimus ducked his head in shame again.

“I know. I am sorry.”

“Yes,” Doshika agreed.

There was another silence. Redimus rubbed one of his legs with another one, trying to warm it. He glanced at her, then away again.

He began shuffling back. “...So, I'm guessing you don't want me to-”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Perhaps the only good thing about this is I finally get you to myself. By all means, come here.”

***

Besteel landed the glider on the edge of his campsite. He turned it off, then took off his helmet and gestured to the glade with one arm.

“Well, here it is,” he said, “the Wandering Forest, my campsite.”

His nieces looked around at all of the trees and plants, the moss-strewn ground, and the many things Besteel had in his camp: lanterns hung on hooks, hunting implements, snares and cages and a tent for the rain.

Dorcy sniffed the air. “Oooh,” she said, “it smells alive here- not like the lake, in a different way! Very…planty!”

“So many trees,” Besteen murmured, “not like the garden.”

Besteel chuckled. “The forest is no garden, that's for certain. This is only the edge of it.”

He unstrapped them and the two eyasses hopped down onto the moss, sniffing it and squishing it between their talons. Besteel took their bags and placed them in a small mossy hollow in the center of his camp. His nieces rushed over and began to unpack their things, neatly laying out two small bedrolls and a dingy, chewed-up stuffed waterbear each.

Besteel blinked at them. “You still have those?”

Besteen hugged hers. “Mm-hm!”

Besteel narrowed his eyes. “Why? You're too old for baby toys.”

“We are?” Dorcy held hers tighter to herself protectively.

“You should be. Why hasn’t your sire taken them from you yet?”

The twins held their toys closer, as if afraid Besteel would take them away from them that instant; but he just snorted and shook his head.

“That's sad. Oh, well. His problem.”

He shrugged and then began using his multiple talons to brush dirt off himself.

“First thing's first. You need to learn the basics. What do you know about hunting? Nothing?”

“We know a little,” Besteen said.

“Not enough, I bet,” Besteel scoffed. “He's never taken you hunting. That changes now. But the first things must come first. That means we work on camp basics: location, set up, tool handling, weapons. After that I'm going to teach you about tracking, and if your instincts kick in by then, maybe I'll take you to make your first kills. You're both way behind for your age.”

He smirked. “But of course, with Orbona’s best hunter as your teacher, you'll be taking trophies by the end of the week.”

Dorcy and Besteen glanced at each other. They hugged their stuffed waterbears even closer.

“Then we'll be ‘real’ Dorceans?” Dorcy peeped.

Besteel nodded. “After you make your first kill, yes.”

“...But..what are we now?”

Besteel didn’t respond for a moment. There came a few expressions across his face, subtle twitches around his eyes and in the lines near his beak; but then he smiled again.

“Eyasses,” he said.

“What about papa?” Besteen chirped.

Besteel paused. He clicked his beak.

“Hm? What about him?”

“He's a real Dorcean too.”

Again, Besteel fell into that strange silence, save his face wasn’t a rippling pool of emotions like the first time- this time he seemed more solemn. His beak clicked together again.

“...Are you hungry?- Of course you are, you're still growing. I have some real meat in my stores. You seem to like water bear,” he said in a slightly jesting tone, gesturing to the plushes they held onto.

He rose and headed for another area of his camp, opening a latch that covered a hole in the ground. He began sorting through containers that were in there, something that smelled to the girls like spices the fishermen used to preserve fish- and there were other things they had never smelled before. Bloody things. Tasty smelling things.