[Closed] The Flowers Upside Down

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

G

ood night,” he said sharply, because perhaps something possessed him. Or perhaps he had thought – for a moment – that she was speaking to Shadow, and he had smiled a little to listen to it, to that edge of warmth and playfulness, in spite of Shadow’s soft, worried whine. It had sounded muffled, as if by wool; he had nearly not heard it, underneath the crickets. And he might have thought it was for Shadow, and might have ignored it, safe behind the glass, if not for that last, Des.

And still he thought it sounded as if she were speaking to someone else. To someone who was not him; to someone she had not thought would reply.

“Aurelie,” he murmured, so soft nearly that even he did not hear himself, after a few moments. There was no sound again but the crickets and the wind rustling through the grass. She must not have heard, he thought. That, too, was a very safe thought. As if he had whispered her name to the window, and the sound of his voice had not quite reached through the glass.

It was difficult, for the first few hours, not to let his mind wander.

At first, it was of her. He could not keep himself from turning over the words like stones, and then shaking down the tone of her voice like he might have searched a criminal. Going through the cupboards, searching for stains underneath the rug. Reconstructing whatever he could from the pattern of the shattered glass.

I suppose not, she had said, sounding dull again – dull and disappointed. What would she have said, if he had asked why she was sorry? It frightened him to think of. To talk to her, really to talk, like opening up the window. Like pulling a single straw, and then another, and then another, out from under the last ten years, watching the structure begin to lean.

And what other questions had he for her?

Questions he would never ask.

There was sometimes the quiet slop of Shadow licking his chops, or snorting and sighing in his sleep. He really was a threadbare dog. How was she sleeping with him? He stank to the high heavens.

And what on Vita would Inspector Morandi do with him? She had seemed to want him to keep pup for himself. Why, by Hurte, did she trust him that much? He had done nothing to convince her he would not be an even crueler master than the streets.

Well, he would find Shadow a kind master or mistress. That, at least, he held onto.

Off and on, he heard the creak of the springs. They sounded sharp, uneven. He heard the soft sounds of shifting; he wondered if her ankle would keep her from sleeping, too.

Once, he heard a sniff. Strangely alert, he trained himself to the dark. He heard a hitch of breath; that was it. More creaking. A long, low whine from pup, and more sloppy noises, and – he thought – a little laugh, and silence for a while.

There was a lump in his throat.

The night was more chill, perhaps, than he had thought; he could not prevent himself shivering. He felt grimy with the sweat that had dried on his skin, the dirt and dust. His muscles ached. By now, he would have taken his exercise, would have run or trained with weights. It had been a long day, and still he felt restless, tight, twitchy, as ready as a hound at the end of a leash.

And then he woke up.

He was not sure when he had slept. He felt as if he had pulled a muscle. He was propped against the table, his palm pressed against his cheek, his arm entirely asleep. There was a new warmth in the air, one that made him feel distinctly sticky. His head, as ever, ached wretchedly.

It must have been light out; he was damnably bleary-eyed, and all he could see was a blur of grey –

Light.

“Aurelie,” he gasped without thinking.

He heard the snap of pup’s jaws, and a curious whine. He blinked; a room, hazy, came into focus. His head jerked: there was a small blur of red in one corner.

“Aurelie,” he said, before he realized what it was he said. Still, the name was warm and lovely on his tongue. He waited, bolt upright, for her to wake; his heart was in his throat. He dared not hope. He had never been rewarded for hope. But perhaps – surely…

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Aurelie slept in fits and starts. She hadn't thought she would sleep at all; her mind was too much a mess, and her heart even worse. The night air was cold, and she shivered under her borrowed coat even with Shadow there next to her. She tried not to think of Desiderio in his chair across the room. She did not succeed.

But she did sleep. Not well—it was that shallow, dreamless sleep where one awoke more disoriented than rested. Her ankle hurt; so too did her eyes. Shadow's rhythmic breathing lulled her into it; her own mind pulled her back out. He really did smell awful, the poor thing, but she found the sounds of him sleeping comforting; she still had yet to adjust to sleeping in a room utterly alone.

Once she had dreamt, but when she woke again she couldn't remember what of. Only that her cheeks were wet and Shadow whining softly against her hair. She thought she remembered fish, and being swallowed whole. And a fire, leaving nothing of her behind. She couldn't be sure. Aurelie had turned to her other side and pressed her back into Shadow's flank and tried not to think about it.

For just a moment, she thought she heard her name, but she couldn't remember. That seemed the most impossible of all of it.

Shadow's warm, wet nose was on her cheek then. Aurelie had been sniffling, as quietly as she could manage. The insistent press of dog snout against her face made her smile. The smile became a laugh, soft and—she hoped—barely audible. Sleep came a little easier after that.

"...lie." Aurelie stirred, eyes fluttering open. For a moment she was confused; was it morning, or had she woken again in the night? Then she remembered—it would be dark for her, no matter the hour. Shadow's jaws snapped near her face, and he shook his head with something that sounded rather like a sneeze. He whined.

Then she heard it again—her name, clearer this time. She knew she was awake, but she didn't quite believe it. That was... She couldn't have said what the line was in her mind between Inspector Morandi and her Des; perhaps it was delusion to think of the latter at all. But she thought she heard him, just a little, in the saying of her name.

Aurelie sat up and rubbed her eyes. They hurt less now than they had when she went to sleep. She found she could blink and not feel a fresh wash of it, at least. But she saw nothing more than she had the night before. "Des...?" she asked blearily, head fuzzy. "What is it? Did something happen?"

He sounded so... Aurelie couldn't imagine it was that the magister had found them, not if he—he had said her name. For a moment her blood ran cold; his eyes, maybe? Had they gotten worse? "Is it...? They've not gotten worse, have they?" Oh, she wished he'd say something else. The fog of her half-sleep made it hard to get her bearings; she couldn't tell where his voice had come from.

"...Or are they—is it better? Can you...?" That would be too much to ask for, but she hoped... She was no better, but if he... Oh, Alioe's grace, she wanted him to be better. Please.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

H

e could not bring the room into focus, but he could make out vague details. More light seemed to be coming in by the minute; it was a Roalis dawn, early and warm, and he could see a wash of green and pale yellow through – through a bafflingly large gap in the wall, he realized, opposite the table. He could see the vague shape of foliage rustling in the breeze, and dappled shadows wavering on the wall.

It was her that he looked for. Nothing was quite where he expected it to be, but surprisingly close. He saw the empty bed first, small and stripped with its lumpy mattress; then –

A flash of red hair, poking up out of a dark shape. His uniform coat, it must have been: he saw the light catching on something gold, glinting off brass.

It rather swallowed her up. That, at first, was all he could notice. He felt a prickling warmth in his cheeks. Feeling it was one thing; seeing it, even so blearily, was quite another. He had not expected it to look so large, or her so…

The impropriety of seeing it at all would have left him aghast under any other circumstance. Hurte, she was in bed! He should already have averted his eyes. Even clothed, it was hardly appropriate. But there was a helpless, desperate sort of look on his face, and that he could not seem to wipe away, either. For all his oaths, Morandi was not a man who prayed; and yet still he wanted to pray to whichever of the Circle would listen.

There was another shape in the bed with her, large and dark. Surprisingly large, he noticed, as it stirred. For a moment, he felt himself tighten; then, he remembered pup. Pup? He had felt the dog’s weight against his shins, but he still had not pictured him quite so… large. He could make out no more details than that, all the same.

Slowly, she emerged from the coat, and he saw a blurry blue arm raise. Rubbing her eyes. Even at, Des…? he could not but stare, hoping.

Did something happen?

He swallowed dryly. She went on, half-slurry with sleep. His spirits sank to the very bottom of him. His heart, which had been in his throat, turned over. “Not worse,” he said. “Better. I can see. It is blurry, but I can see you.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

He stood, one hand on the table. He could see the dark shape of his bag. He had thought often of how much he would miss drawing; it seemed utterly petty, now. Nearby, the empty can of corned beef they had split nearly three ways with Shadow. He could see now, as her hand left her face, the blurry shapes of her eyes were very red indeed.

“I shall assume that yours are not the same.” There was no point in asking, in making her say it. “How is the pain?” he asked instead, his jaw tight. Even now, his voice sounded brittle and cold to him. He could have at least offered her some warmth.

He blinked against a hot pressure against his eyes; when he squeezed them shut, the pleasant, warm light against his eyelids seemed horribly cruel.

It meant – everything. The dream was over. All of his fantasies about her regaining her sight first and slipping away vanished in an instant. Nor was he in any imminent danger; nor had he any other excuse not to do his duty. At Brunnhold, he seemed to hear himself say a few days ago, sharp and harsh, within the week.

Perhaps she would remember him that way, then. He tried, standing with his hand on the table, to harden himself again. It was like picking up the pieces of a broken eggshell. But nor could he find any softness, either; he had lost that long ago. And so where did that leave him?

“We should eat,” came his voice, entirely without his permission, “get up our strength, for the day which lies ahead of us.” His fingers curled into a fist on the table.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Aurelie was holding her breath, waiting for Desiderio's answer. She felt like she was still asleep, almost. Existing in some liminal space between dreaming and waking, perhaps, where she could see nothing, where she heard the sound of her name said by a piece of the voice she most wanted to hear it in.

He sounded unwell, when he answered her. Aurelie couldn't understand why—better! Not all the way, but...! Her mouth curved into a wide, delighted smile as she let out the breath she'd been holding. Whatever harm she had done, it wasn't permanent. He was getting better. Aurelie could have wept with the relief of it, if she weren't so tired of crying.

"Blessed Circle! That's—that's wonderful!" Dizzyingly wonderful; she forgot that he could see her now. Blurry, he'd said. Well, even if... Oh, bells and chimes, she didn't care if he saw her face. She was happy, and she would be happy, whether Desiderio Morandi could see her or not. Whatever he thought of it.

Your drawing, she thought. She didn't know if he was drawing, still. He'd not answered her when... Aurelie flinched away from remembering, trying not to sour her elation with that sort of memory. He must still be. Even if he hadn't become an artist, like he'd always wanted—like she had wanted for him—surely he hadn't given it up entirely...? That was too sad. In absence of any contradictory information, Aurelie decided she would just believe he had not.

He spoke again, and this was the voice she had grown so used to these past few days. She tried not to think about that, either, or how her heart ached a little more to hear it. The first part was not a question, but she nodded anyway. A nod he could see, she thought with delight. The pain was... Aurelie paused, thinking about her answer. She blinked, and rubbed at her eyes. They hardly hurt at all now, actually. A little sore—like they had been injured, but were not being aggravated still. "Almost entirely gone. Just—just a little sore."

She ought to be more upset about her own blindness, she supposed. Aurelie had to think now that it was likely permanent. And somewhere in her heart, she was upset. But Desiderio was recovering—and what did she need it for, now? Her needlework, she supposed. If the Everine would have let her keep on with that. They might have. But the loss of it seemed a just enough punishment that she could mourn later. For now she wanted only to think of this happy thing.

Eating, she thought, was just the thing. Not that she wanted to think about the day ahead, in particular. They had been taking shelter here and not continuing on to Brunnhold only because neither one of them could do anything else. With his sight back... But that was ahead. And had been ahead of them this whole time; nothing had changed about that. Blind or not.

Aurelie swallowed; that thought was harder to set aside than she would have liked. "All right," she agreed. Unthinkingly, she tried to get out of the bed on her own—she had forgotten, again, about her ankle. It reminded her rather sharply of the injury. Aurelie gasped quietly at the pain. The mattress creaked and shifted; Shadow was coming over to her now. He whined; she could feel his breath above her. He really must be a very large dog.

"I'm, ah. Afraid I'll need your help, still. With, ah. Getting to the table." At least that would be a bit easier now, too. Now that he could see. Aurelie ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get it into something like order. She felt filthy; she knew she likely was a—a rather terrible sight, now that he could see her. Not that it was important. A light flush crept into her face anyway. Aurelie bit her lip. "Please," she added, hesitant.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

W

onderful. He could not help letting out a tiny choked noise, trying to swallow.

Her face was still hazy, but he could make out what looked to him like the impression of a broad, clear smile. The first he had seen, he knew, since – since they were children, he thought, because it could not make any of this hurt any worse than it already did. Not like the polite smile she had given the magister; this one, he almost recognized. He had imagined it, listening to her laugh. He had thought never to see it. And he thought, watching it fall, he would never again see it – certainly not in clarity.

She had nodded; there was some relief in that. It was more than unfair that he could see her but she could not see him, but it would be useful, at least, to see her.

He saw her shift off the edge of the bed, heedless of her ankle, and he nearly reached out. He froze, swallowing stiffly, as she gasped. The dark shape – Shadow, he thought; Shadow, it must have been, but startlingly large, and… – crept across the bed to her, springs creaking, whining.

Pup could not hold his attention. She looked terrible. It was almost startling to see. She had been attended to, at least, at Graywatch; now, her blue dress was streaked with grime underneath his coat. There was a smudge of something on her cheek, dark enough that he could see it even from here. He could not tell if it was dirt or blood; he could see that her palms were scraped. Her hair was tangled, the light catching on a blurry halo of red wisps.

But it was not her state of dishevelment, so much as… She sat up on the edge of the bed, as if self-conscious. He did not know what to make of it. Her small shoulders were very straight, and she ran her fingers through her hair as if trying to set it to rights. Her cheeks were slightly pink.

She looked as if she knew that she was being looked at, but could not look back. And being looked at by – him, he thought, most embarrassingly of all, he who might have been a stranger, and who was certainly not a kind one.

She was staring somewhere – nowhere in particular – with that sort of listening readiness of the blind. It did not seem fair to see her when she could not see herself. Plenty of others would see her at Brunnhold; he felt a gnawing pit in his stomach.

“Of course,” Morandi said stiffly, glancing away. His chest ached. She sounded so tentative.

She still bit her lip. He remembered it from the market and from Graywatch, but seeing it now was different.

He tried not to look at her, but he could not seem to avoid it. It was like looking through a foggy window, or at an unfinished painting. It had a lovely palette, a detached part of his mind whispered. He did not think she would have liked for him to paint her like this, or to draw her at all, but the coppery glow of her hair where a shaft of sunlight struck it would have come out wonderfully in aquarelle.

He shook himself, feeling distinctly immoral – sharply conscious of his own uniform jacket beside her on the bed.

He smelled Shadow’s breath as he came nearer. Pup had begun to apply himself diligently to grooming her hair.

He froze.

“That,” he began, then clamped his mouth shut. He studied the bulky blob of tan and dark on the bed. His eyes traced a black stripe down Shadow’s side. His eyes widened. “That,” he growled, fingertips hovering over his baton, field gone sigiled, “is a banderwolf.”

Shadow was trying to lick her face.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Aurelie waited, listening for Desiderio's approach. There was something singularly embarrassing about knowing he could see her now, and she couldn't figure out quite why. Perhaps it was that she couldn't see him herself. Aurelie was used to being unseen; she was not used to being the one who didn't see anything. It was an uncomfortable reversal, made no better by who it was who could see her.

That was silly; Aurelie grimaced at herself before she remembered, again, that she could be observed. How clearly? He did wear glasses, she thought with a small edge of desperation, even... before. She tried not to think about it too much, but it was rather difficult. The closer Desiderio got, the worse the prickling of self-consciousness became. She ought to get over it; she would likely be like this for the rest of her life.

Shadow was still nearby. He began to lick her hair, undoing whatever semblance of order she'd managed to get it in herself and making it all feel that much more disgusting. His mouth could not possibly be particularly clean. She had heard once that it was the cleanest part of a dog, but with this particular dog, she didn't find that counted for much. The poor baby; she ought to ask Desiderio if they could do something about that. There was a well nearby, after all. And he was so lovely and soft.

"Are you helping?" she asked him, voice high and soft. Shadow paused, as if listening, and then resumed his efforts. Aurelie laughed. "Thank you. Although I'm afraid we'll both of us still need to wash. Won't we? Yes we will."

Aurelie had never really known what kind of pet owner she might be, never having had one. Some people, she'd observed, talked to their animals quite normally. Others, not at all. Aurelie couldn't help but talk to Shadow as if to a particularly sweet child. Well, he was quite youthful, for all that he must be full-grown. So perhaps that was appropriate. And now she knew. The thought made her ache, a little wistful. She reached up to run her fingers through the thick, fluffy fur at his neck.

Desiderio's footsteps had paused. Aurelie waited, expecting him to tell her—when his arm was... Oh, chimes. Perhaps she ought to give him back his jacket again, first. That just seemed a strange thing to explain. Her face changed from expectant to puzzled as he began to speak. He sounded—startled. Was something wrong with Shadow? She hadn't felt any injuries, and he didn't seem sick—although malnourished—but she could have missed something.

Aurelie tensed. Her muscles felt it before her mind did, split as her attention was between Desiderio and Shadow moving from licking her hair to her ear. (It was extremely disgusting; she couldn't bring herself to stop him.) Desiderio's field had shifted, all tense and uncomfortable. And then—

A banderwolf.

Aurelie blinked, surprised. Shadow took advantage of her confusion to move on to her face; it was making it impossible to think, so she gently pushed him away. "A... A what? Shadow is?" Aurelie frowned. He was rather large for a dog—especially one that seemed so young. But for a bander pup... Especially not one bred to be small, as they were when kept in the home... Still. He was so... so sweet! He couldn't be a completely wild one then, surely?

"Are you quite sure?" The doubt came through clearly in her voice. He had, after all, mentioned his sight was still blurry. She was still petting him, and pushing his nose away as he tried to keep licking her. "Not now, darling. I'm having a conversation."

Well, that was stretching the definition. But she was attempting to. She didn't like the way Desiderio's field felt at that moment, or the tone in his voice when he said "banderwolf". She frowned, sharply, and moved a little closer to Shadow on the bed.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

I

am quite sure that Shadow is a bander pup,” Morandi bit off in confirmation, swallowing tightly.

If pup heard his name, he seemed entirely unconcerned with it, or with the perceptive mona warming in the air; she had pushed him away once, very gently, and he strained impatiently.

Not now, darling, I’m having a conversation. In spite of himself, another strange little smile tugged at Morandi’s lips, as if they were very secure in the idea that she could not see them. Sweetheart earlier, and darling now. He liked the sound of those words, or rather of her saying them; then, glancing over her disheveled hair and the dark smudge on her cheek, and the dark scuffs on her palms, he felt terribly sad. The bracelet on her wrist, at least, he noticed now, seemed all right.

He had never thought to wonder how she might speak to a real animal. It was hardly as if they had spoken to the fish, as children. She spoke to Shadow almost as if she were speaking to a child.

The smile sank from his face, and he glanced down at his jacket, gold braid stiff against dark green wool. His field had smoothed out somewhat; his hands had relaxed. Pup was clearly not ferocious, and nor did she seem much in need of defense.

Quite the opposite; it was pup whom she seemed to want to defend. From - him. She was frowning now, a pinched look on her face almost like the one he had seen at the haberdasher’s. Frowning, and holding Shadow closer.

Morandi glanced between the two of them, trying not to strain his eyes overmuch. He did not think it was permanent. His vision was growing clearer by the minute, seemingly, if not the moment. Clear enough to see pup’s fur plainly enough.

“Stripes,” he grunted; then, he added, “On his fur, I mean to say. He has a bander wolf’s stripes and coloring. It is unmistakable.”

Was this what it would be like someday? he wondered. He only just needed his glasses; as a matter of fact, Dr. Audinet had told him he had better wear them, on threat of needing thicker ones. (Dr. Audinet had also told him to ‘lay off the casting’, which had been as unnecessary as it had been presumptuous and inappropriate, so he was not altogether inclined toward the man’s opinion. Many of his perceptivist colleagues cast as heavily as he did; take, for example, Sergeant Valentin.) With his glasses off, Vita was still clear, if not crisp; he could not have read a sign at a distance, but he certainly could have made out the freckles on her face across the room, if not each individual one.

This was better than blindness, but he did not much like it.

He moved a little closer. Cautious, at first, though he was not sure of which of the two of them. “It certainly would explain his size. He seems – harmless enough. For now.” More of a promise than I initially thought, he wanted to say more lightly, but found himself incapable.

I will do nothing to hurt him, he wanted more than anything to say, but the words seemed to die before they even reached his throat.

Focus. On – eating. She must be hungry by now; he was ravenous. And he could see pup’s ribs well enough, standing out against his tangled, striped fur.

He had not imagined it would be any harder to give her his arm now. But – he paused, looking down at her. He felt even larger than he had with his eyes shut, and strangely obtrusive, especially as Shadow turned his head to whine up at him. He had passed into the light and now cast a shadow over her; he felt –

And he was still in his shirt, he realized, though to ask for his coat again, he would have had to draw attention to it. Not that it mattered, he thought, his face prickling; he took a deep breath, looking firmly above her head. He might as well have been made of stone. Whatever he was to her, he doubted it was a man – that sort of man, at least.

“Here is my arm,” he said, glad at least that he did not have to fumble in the dark. He stooped a little this time better to help her.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

A bander pup! Aurelie thought about it, and it did make sense. Poor Shadow; maybe he had been left behind because they thought him better able to fend for himself than a regular dog. But he was such a sweet pup, banderwolf or not—Aurelie couldn't imagine parting from him, even though she knew she would have to. Sooner or later.

Oh, she did hope... Surely Desiderio could see that Shadow was no more harmful than they had thought all along? People kept banderwolves, she wanted to insist, stubbornly. Not normally ones quite so—Shadow really was very big, if he was still a growing boy. But still! They did keep them, and some of those were large. Probably. Aurelie wasn't really sure, but she thought it must be so. It must be quite a shock, to see him clearly. (Aurelie felt a little pang of sadness then; she never would.)

There, though, see? The heat in the air settled. Aurelie relaxed, at least a little bit. She did still hope... He would still try to take care of Shadow, wouldn't he? He'd said... He'd promised he would try. Stripes, he said, on Shadow's fur. Oh, she did wish she could see it. Aurelie leaned her head towards Shadow, a little smile on her face. They were assuredly very striking, she thought; she didn't know otherwise, and so it was true.

"He is rather large," she admitted, straightening up. Harmless, absolutely. She considered this new information, and she stood by her prior assessment. A good dog—even if he wasn't a dog at all. "But so are— oh, er. Hmm."

You, she'd almost said! Like she had forgotten herself entirely. Her face was warm again; she remembered he could see it, and that made it worse. Aurelie swallowed, withdrawing her hands from Shadow's fluffy neck and settling them on her lap. She still needed his help getting up. Banderwolf in the bed next to her or otherwise.

Taking his arm was easier this time; he must have—have held it out to her. Properly. Or finding it was easier. When her hand came to rest on his forearm this time, she realized that the shirt he had been wearing underneath the coat didn't seem to have full sleeves. She nearly jerked her hand back. That was his bare arm he'd offered her, like it was nothing at all!

But if she did that, she might have to explain herself. And she assuredly did not want to do that, not on the heels of... of everything else. He was warm and solid underneath of her hand; it made her breath catch. "T-Thank you," she managed, barely.

Aurelie came to stand, leaning heavily against him. Just be natural, she thought. It's fine. He isn't thinking about it, so why should you? There was another hideous squeaking and then the clatter of claws on the floor. Shadow must have jumped down. She heard his nails clicking as he went a few steps away, and then they stopped. Shadow yipped, pitifully. That made her laugh, too, somehow.

"Used to meals with us already, you greedy goose? You're right though. We all ought to... to eat." Aurelie took a breath, and tucked her hair uselessly behind her ears. She couldn't look at Desiderio, but she did her best to turn in his direction at least. "D-Don't you, ah, agree...?" She tried to smile, normally. Just be normal, this was all... quite fine. Yes.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

H

e stiffened slightly, at first. So are –

Damn him. What had gotten into him? So are, she likely meant, mastiffs. So are many… working dogs. She was certainly not comparing an officer of the law to a dog, least of all a bander wolf, least of all in size. Least of all – him. If she had been, he hardly knew how he would have taken it. It was embarrassing enough for her to have known him… before, to have –

Damn him! He put it altogether out of his mind. There were working dogs this large, but none with these distinctive stripes. This close, he could see them very well indeed, rich and dark in the morning sunlight in spite of pup’s patchy fur. If you do not believe me now, he almost quipped, without even thinking, you shall see for yourself soon enough.

He did not say that. The pit in his stomach sank.

If he had thought of anything at all to say by the time she touched his arm, the sensation drove everything squarely out of his head. He should have taken his jacket back. She flinched, and he saw it this time: her whole posture jerking, her hand nearly dancing back, her blurry face scarlet and, he thought, unpleasantly surprised.

She did not flinch completely away, in the end. His muscles tensed underneath her fingertips. He cleared his throat and looked away, trying not to hold himself so rigidly. If he had felt taut before, he felt strained to breaking now, with her feeling out a good hand-hold to pull herself to her feet. Her fingers were warm and a little clammy from Shadow’s fur.

He grunted sharply in response to her thanks. Much too late for the jacket now. Much too late for anything.

It was easier to support her, now that he could see her. Easier, too, to stay within the bounds of propriety; no risk of fumbling and making a cad of himself, at the very least. That was simply all there was to it, he told himself. He scarcely noticed the light, warm pressure of her back against his upper arm, again curiously and unexpectedly solid. Or the hint of other layers underneath the scuffed cotton.

Circle preserve him, what a mess this was. What would the Steerpikes have said to see–?

She was not, he reminded himself, a Steerpike. Not any longer. She was not his fiancee; this was not – that he was who he was was evidence enough of that, if he did not have her powder-blue shoulders in the corner of his eye.

And she must have been mortified of him. She was tense under his arm, and her face was no less red. Mortified of him, when she had slept in the bed with a bander wolf all night. Well, he supposed that was natural enough. The bander wolf was not taking her back to Brunnhold.

Of a sudden, Shadow bounded off the bed, his bulky shape trotting ahead to the table.

She laughed; he felt it through her, warm and lovely, and he jerked his chin up, taking a very deep breath. Gooseflesh crept up the back of his neck. She was shifting to tuck her hair behind her ears, disturbingly familiar.

Then, she was looking up at him – or rather somewhere past him, the irises of her eyes caught luminous green in the light. He did not look at them; he did not look anywhere but straight ahead.

“Agreed,” he said sharply. “We have ahead of ourselves a very long day.” As does pup, he got the urge to add dryly, but if she had smiled while looking up at him, he would have died.

It was no faster going. One step at a time. But this time, it was easier to be careful of her ankle; he kept his eye on it, craning his neck now and then to watch. Once, a lock of hair slipped loose from behind his ear to brush her face, and he tried not to stiffen or acknowledge it in any way.

He had almost reached one of the chairs, when - “Hello?” came a woman’s voice, so sudden that Morandi jerked.

The magister. His heart was in his throat. He looked sharply at Aurelie, but swallowed tightly; his voice felt paralyzed in his throat. He shut his eyes.

“Hello?” It was faint, but strong; it was growing nearer, and in trickled the sounds of footsteps in the grass and fallen leaves, twigs breaking. And a little further away – the chitter and scratch of a moa, the jangle of reins. “Inspector?” she called. “Aurelie, my dear girl?”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Aurelie tried not to think about how his arm tensed under her hand the moment she touched it. The key word proved to be "tried"—she couldn't help but think about it. He was, after all, right there, her back against him when she'd finally gotten to her feet. As if sleeping underneath his jacket hadn't been bad enough. You are not a person, Aurelie, much less anything else. The reminder didn't seem to help.

Desiderio, for his own part, was scrupulously careful now that he could see her. She did try not to lean into him too heavily; it was both inappropriate and, clearly, upsetting. Of course it was. Aurelie was under no illusions there. Her hands, more than any other part of her, spoke very clearly of what she was not. She was proud of them, in a way, but that was simple fact. She doubted he found the reminder particularly pleasant, not when he could feel every little scar and callus against the stiff muscles of his arm and see it just as clearly. Aurelie swallowed.

Shadow's interruption was a blessing. Shadow, she thought fondly, was a blessing. Just a little one, and one she'd soon give up, but a blessing. She felt Desiderio stiffen again when she laughed. His answer to her question was as sharp as she'd come to expect. If she'd been tempted to smile at it, the reminder of the day ahead of them made sure she didn't give in to that temptation.

The day ahead. They could find the road now—or Desiderio could, and Aurelie... Aurelie would come along, of course. She didn't really think she had much alternative. She had tried that already, and she had failed. They would find the road, and perhaps even a town or... Or who knew, she thought sourly; the magister herself might well be there, waiting for them. The idea of that woman seeing her in the state she was in made her uncomfortable in a distinctly different way than Desiderio doing so.

This had all been—not easy, not pleasant. But she couldn't help but think it was almost like a little bit of a dream. Not a good one, but not a nightmare entirely either. She supposed some part of her had been pretending it could just go on like this a little longer.

"A very long day," she agreed. She couldn't keep the anxiety out of her voice, or stop her hand from tightening. Aurelie looked down.

They were making their way across the floor very, very slowly. Shadow was clearly impatient with their progress, coming back to stand next to her, only to jog lightly forward. Away, back again. One step at a time, each of hers smaller and slower than they might have been. It was oddly infuriating, to feel helpless in this way. She was rarely so injured or ill she couldn't manage on her own. Aurelie found she didn't like it. She felt something brush her face she was absolutely not going to think about; her ears were starting to feel warm now, too.

Almost there, she thought. She had counted the steps in her head, trying to get a sense of where things were. Very nearly to the table, and then she could stop thinking about the slight shifts of muscle under her hand and against her back or anywhere else. They would eat breakfast, and maybe—maybe this time she would think of something to say that would make Desiderio upset with her. That would be nice. Aurelie could almost picture it, when a voice cut across and shattered any daydreams rather abruptly.

Desiderio jerked; Aurelie very nearly stumbled, her eyes wide. Not just a voice—a woman's voice. Magister Desrouleaux. So soon! Aurelie had thought— She had, at least, wanted... Aurelie stiffened. If her hands had tensed before, they were worse now. All the warmth drained right out of her face. She found that she was, somehow, afraid. Like she didn't know this moment was coming all along.

Desiderio wasn't saying anything, or answering the magister's call. Aurelie couldn't make sense of it; surely he was glad. This was almost over, and he'd never have to see or think about her ever again. The magister called out again—Aurelie heard her name, and she flinched.

She didn't want to go back. It had been easier to ignore the pit of fear in her when momentum had carried her. From the market, to Graywatch, to the carriage—it had all seemed too inevitable to even think about being afraid of it much. Now? Now, she didn't know what had changed, but she was very much aware of it. The magister was here, and she would go back, and Shadow—

"Shadow," she whispered, stricken. He would be all right, wouldn't he? Taken care of? Aurelie looked up. "You... You will still...? Even though he's... not quite what I thought when... Please?" She kept her voice quiet, and just a little desperate. She needed to know at least that much. She could face it, if she had that much.

"P-promise me, please, Des? I need to..." Her eyes were very wide, as if by straining hard enough she could see him. As if by seeing him, she could make anything better.