<html> <body> Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold By Charles Matthias March 9, 708 CR “'Tis our last day of patrol,” Sir Saulius said softly as they rode down the southern road at a leisurely walk. “Thou hast been in the saddle for nigh two weeks, my squire. Dost it suit thee?” Charles had his eyes on the road as it wound in a mostly southerly course through a series of low hills and ever shrinking trees. To their left the ground sloped away to the valley floor, while the near constant squat ridge line to their right kept the streams from washing away the road. They'd already passed the small bridge where the Glen defenders, including Lord Avery's father, had fallen in the days before the Battle of Three Gates, and now were just waiting to see when Lake Barnhardt would come into view. His mind was lost in thought, pondering what they might see when they reached the fortified town by the lake, that it took the rat a moment to realize that his knight had asked him a question. He blinked, whiskers twitching as he pondered it. So much else was preying on his thoughts that it was difficult to concentrate. The vine curled around his chest and beck gently pulled tight. “Aye, it does. More than I would have expected perhaps, but, thanks to you, I have grown used to being in the saddle. Having such a steed as Malicon helps.” He patted the roan on the neck. Malicon turned his ears back at the sound of his name, but offered no other sign that his attention had been taken from the road ahead. “My hips and back aren't sore anymore either. Haven't been for days.” “Good,” Sir Saulius said with a confidant smile teasing the edges of his muzzle. “Thou hath progressed well since thou didst become my squire. I recall thy first time trying to ride Malicon.” Charles laughed a little at the memory. “He gave me the oddest look I've ever seen on any horse.” He shook his head and then looked at the knight. Saulius regarded him with a speculative gaze, but Charles couldn't guess what his fellow rat might be thinking. With everything else eating at his mind, there was only one question that he could conjure. “When we reach Lake Barnhardt, would it be all right if we went into the city? I'd like to speak with Jessica while we're there. I won't have another chance for a week or more. Would that be all right?” Saulius's brow furrowed a little beneath his helmet. “And why dost thou ask me permission to see thy dear companion?” “You're my knight, and I have sworn to be your squire.” In a quieter voice, feeling somewhat irritated that Saulius would choose to ruminate on this subject yet again, he added, “Even if I'm paid to serve as a Long Scout.” Erick lifted one paw and shook his head. “I desire not to argue over thy loyalties, Charles. Thou hast proven to me more times than I couldst count that thou art a true friend and fellow warrior no matter whether thou dost serve in the saddle or on thy paws. I admit that I wouldst rather see thee a knight, but thou must decide on thy own how thou wilt serve.” Charles grimaced and nodded, turning his eyes back to the road of hard dirt gouged and furrowed on either side with wagon wheels so that a small hump ran down the center. “Aye, I know. I've never been able to decide that. I am torn by loyalties to both you and Misha, and to my clan even! But... you didn't answer my question.” “'Twas clear to me,” Saulius replied with a brighter tone, an almost marshal staccato as his tongue clicked against the back of his incisors, “that it would delight me to reunite thee with any of thy friends. Though, the hawk does give my instincts judicious pause.” Charles glanced at the knight and found himself laughing despite the heaviness in his heart and mind. The mere image of Sir Erick Saulius, two time winner of the Golden Lance, cowering like a simple rodent before Jessica, one of the most gentle people Charles knew, brought about a mirth uncontainable by simple flesh! “You just need to get to know her as I do. It's like any other predator here at Metamor.” Charles shifted about in the saddle, his tail sliding across to hang off the other side of Malicon's withers. He grabbed his tail with one paw and lifted it onto the pony's backside to rest. “Besides, she might have news about what's happening in Metamor.” The knight's dark eyes widened and he began to nod. “In sooth, I didst not consider that. I wonder what hast become of Julian, Elliot, Goldmark, and Hector.” Unspoken was that he also worried about Lady Kimberly and Charles's children. “Then let's not waste any more time,” Charles grinned, giving Malicon a gentle click with his tongue. “We should catch her before Lord Barnhardt can send her on a scouting mission!” The knight laughed and flicked his reins. Both Armivest and Malicon lurched forward into a spirited gallop. ---------- The plague at Metamor was making Jo the Healer's job more difficult. Not that she had to contend with the plague at Glen Avery, but because every little cough, headache, or general soreness was now feared as being the first stages in that fatal malady. In the four days since news had spread to the Glen, she'd made nearly a hundred visits to every corner of the Glen; many times it was to the very same people. She'd climbed dozens of rope ladders, tree bark, and descended into more burrows in the last four days than she could ever remember doing. But not once did she blame any of those she visited for their fears. Plague was a word that chilled the bones and conjured nightmares of pain and suffering that made the bravest of warriors tremble. Jo the vixen had never encountered it before in all of her travels with Jono, but they had passed through villages that had been ravaged many years before. The charred remnants of timber and stone lingered where the homes of victims had once stood. Several streets were utter ruins on one side, and sometimes both, avenues that no foot, man or beast, dare trod upon. Where once a prosperous hamlet had thrived, now the remnants struggled to keep each other from leaving. Jo tried to maintain a cheerful demeanor with each Glenner she visited, all of whom were suffering from nothing other than what she usually tended. But in those precious few minutes when she wasn't visiting one of the many families who lived in the woodland, the vixen had to struggle to keep from crying with her own fears for Metamor and the Glen. That morning, with the sun still fresh above the mountains, she'd been sent to check on the skunk archer Berchem. He hadn't reported to Lord Avery that morning at the brewery. And the master archer was never late to report in without good reason. Jo wasted no time in gathering her herb basket with its myriad remedies and walking toward his home nestled beneath one of the redwoods north of the Commons. A few onlookers watched but kept their distance as she approached the doors and knocked firmly. “Berchem? Are you well?” Like everyone else at the Glen, Jo knew the skunk fairly well. He was a scout, which meant that he had received the ministration of her paws and concoctions many times before. While his demeanor was not as warm as that of the badger Angus, he was nevertheless polite and amicable. He was honest, proud, and expected the best from everyone around him, which meant that he could be a little hard and unsympathetic at times. But she'd never heard anyone speak an ill word of him, except a few rumors regarding the way his relationship with Baerle had come to an end. The stories surrounding those two were often in conflict, and so Jo did her best to ignore them. Who could ever tell the truth of a rumor or winnow the facts from gossip? But at the back of her mind, she couldn't help but half wonder if Baerle and he had endured an unpleasant encounter last night; she hadn't seen Baerle at all for days now. From behind the door she heard a muffled groaning. Jo lowered her ears and tail, grasped the handle of the door, and lifted it open. The air that greeted her was just as cold as the crisp morning air outside. She shivered as she climbed down the steps, surprised not to find the usual warmth in a Glen home awaiting her. When she reached the bottom of the steps, even without any lamps lit, her fox eyes could see why. Both windows were open a crack allowing a slight breeze. “Well no wonder you don't feel well,” she said with a slight laugh toward the black and white figure curled up tightly beneath several layers of quilts. “Just why did you open your windows? Well, let's get this lantern lit first.” Jo set her basket down, opened the receptacle on the lantern, and using her own flint, struck a light. It cast an amber glow about the room. Satisfied that they had light, she closed and locked both windows. “And to warm things up in here, let's get this fire going again.” She put some of the fresh kindling, struck it with tinder, and then added a couple smaller logs atop the new flame. It only took a few minutes with her practiced paws before a pleasant warmth began to radiate from the hearth. “Now,” Jo added, still a little nervous about what she might find on Berchem, “let's see what's wrong with you.” She stepped to his bedside, noted the folded garments on the floor next to his head, and then gingerly peeled back the quilt. The skunk lay with his eyes pressed shut so tightly that she could see the muscles in his neck and cheeks straining even through the fur. She could see flecks of dried blood on the fur just beneath his ears. When she touched him, one of Berchem's eyes opened briefly, before shutting tight again. His left hand reached out from under the quilts and grabbed her by the wrist. Jo gasped; his grip was tight and pulled on her fur. His other hand pressed into her spread fingers, and he started to move his fingers in a familiar array. After repeating the same three hand motions, the vixen recognized them; scout signals. The first, with the pointing finger and thumb pressed together and raised, while the other three were curled behind looked sort of like the *QUIET* sign. The second was familiar to her after almost two years of seeing to the needs of the scouts, that of *PAIN*. But she wasn't sure about the third. She'd have to bring another scout to read them. “I can't understand you,” she said firmly. “I need to check you for plague. It will only take a moment.” But Berchem continued to frantically press the signs into her paw. Hadn't he heard her at all? Unless... Jo swallowed and stroked her fingers down the skunk's signing arm. He stopped and let go of her wrist, his arms pulling flush to his naked chest and quivering. She leaned over him and, being careful not to get between the light, peered into his upturned ear. While it had been easier being a healer when everyone she looked after was still human because all of their various body parts were roughly the same, at least for most of her patients this was still true for ears. And in studying Berchem's ear, she had to admit there was nothing inside that looked any different from any other mammal-based Keeper she'd ever examined. She couldn't even see where the blood had come from. Resting one paw on top of Berchem's quivering arms, she breathed into his ear and asked in a normal voice, “Can you hear me?” But if he did, he gave no sign of it. With a long sigh, the vixen moved her paws down over Berchem's shoulder and gently tugged. After a moment, the tension in his shoulder pressing his arm to his chest relaxed and she was able to peer beneath his armpit. Even through the thick, black fur, she was able to quickly check for hideously swollen glands, one of the surest signs of the plague; nothing. Relief filled her heart briefly, but then worry over the mysterious malady returned. Something had happened to Berchem's ears, but what and how Jo couldn't fathom. She straightened and said in a loud voice, “I'm going to fetch one of the other scouts, and then I'm going to make something to help with the pain. I will be back soon.” With a firm grasp, she pushed her right paw into the skunk's, and made one of the few signs she knew with confidence to let him know she'd return quickly. Berchem, eyes still pressed shut tight, nodded twice, and then he pushed himself further against the pillow. Jo stepped back, jowls trembling with worry, before rushing out the door and toward the brewery. ---------- To Charles's ironic delight, they were not able to reach Lake Barnhardt before Jessica had been sent on a scouting mission. They didn't reach the city at all. By happy fortune, Jessica, Weyden, and the others under Captain Dallar's command were sent north along the road to patrol and watch for travelers. The hawks stayed in the sky, circling so high that they were mere dots dancing between the few clouds that marred an otherwise blue day. Darker clouds coalesced further to the south, but it would be evening before they reached the Glen, if at all. The two rats and their steeds were greeted around a bend in the road that opened up along a broad stretch of short pine and spruce with a view of the fortified town in the distance by a pair of giraffes. Charles recognized one of them as Larssen; he bore a heavy sword taller than most Keepers, and was dressed warmly from hocks to neck with more fabric than Charles had ever used on his bed. The second giraffe was a woman and she too was similarly attired, though she did not brandish so humbling a weapon as a sword heavier than a horse. “Sir Saulius, Charles,” Larssen said with a hearty grunt as they emerged from the stand of spruce. “It is good to see you again.” “Hail and well met, Larssen,” Sir Saulius replied with a warm smile and nod. The rat's jowls spread enough to reveal bright orange incisors just beneath his nose. He regarded the other giraffe with some amusement. “I do not believe we hath met, milady.” Larssen chortled while the other giraffe nodded, long blue tongue moving awkwardly in her muzzle as she spoke. “You have, good knight. I'm Maud. One of Jessica's spells has let me share Larssen's shape.” “For so long?” Charles asked. “Last week she could barely hold the spell for an hour.” “She's found ways to strengthen the spell,” Larssen said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don't understand how. Only that I like it.” Maud turned her head on her long neck and gave her husband-to-be a coquetish smirk. “I'm still undecided. Speaking of which,” she lifted a heavy hand and gestured at the sky. “Here they come now.” The two rats peered up into the sky and had to resist the sudden urge to find a rock to hide under. From out of the sky swooped two figures, one burnished bronze and rust, and the other an obsidian black. They swelled in proportion not because they changed size, but because they dove so quickly from the heavens. And then, just as they were sure the hawks would smash into the ground, their wings spread and they banked upward and around, circling along the road with a rush of cool air. Charles, even with a heart heavy with fear for his family, chuckled brightly at seeing the antics of the two birds. Their motions were synchronous as if they were two beasts with one mind and one will. They circled twice about the road, before settling on the road in front of the startled ponies and growing in proportion. A moment later the familiar man-shaped hawks Jessica and Weyden stood before them, wings folded along their backs and beaks cracked in avian pleasure. “Charles,” Jessica cawed with warmth and hope. “It is good to see you again. How are you doing?” “Well enough,” he replied with a nod of his head. “And you, Jessica? Weyden? How fare you?” “Much the same,” she replied, glancing once to the red-tailed hawk beside her before returning her gaze to the rat. “Experimenting with my spells as you can see. They're getting better. I will be able to keep Maud a giraffe for their wedding next week if they wish.” Maud's eye ridges lowered as she crossed her arms over her broad chest. “I'm not sure about that yet.” “Thy marriage or thy shape?” Saulius asked, his grin widening as his whiskers twitched in mischief. “My shape you rascal!” Maud leaned against Larssen and ran one hand across his yellow and brown spotted arm. “Father Malvin agreed to perform our marriage even on such short notice because Father Hough cannot for now.” “Congratulations to thee,” Saulius added with a simpler grin. “'Tis a good thing to celebrate in these times.” “Aye,” Weyden added, “It'll be a little longer for Jessica and I, but we hope not too much longer.” He tilted his head to one side and his beak cracked open in perverse amusement. “I do look forward to watching Father Malvin try to give you the Host. He's not quite the man he used to be.” Charles blinked. The three new priests in Metamor had been in the Valley for two weeks now. “Oh? What has he become?” “A child,” Weyden replied with a squawk. “Even shorter than Father Hough if you can imagine it!” “Then we shalt be able to look him in the eye! A good quality in a priest,” Sir Saulius observed with another twitch of his whiskers. Charles nodded thoughtfully, and then lifted his ears as he heard more footsteps moving through the spruce. A moment later, the boy Van and the ram Dallar emerged from the line of trees. The ram noted his company with an amused shake of the head, and then nodded to the rats. “Ah, Sir Saulius, Charles, what brings you two down from Glen Avery today?” Dallar asked while brushing needles from his wool coat. “Patrolling the road as art thou,” Sir Saulius replied. “My squire doth desire to speak with Jessica on some matter of import to him, so our meeting this way has been doubly fortuitous.” The black hawk blinked her golden eyes and looked at her friend. “What did you want to speak to me about, Charles?” Charles grunted, a bit back the flash of irritation he felt at Saulius. “A little out of earshot, if it is all right with you.” Jessica and Weyden rubbed their wing feathers together once before Jessica followed Charles back up the road a short ways. Charles glanced behind him as the others continued their pleasant discussion, all of them doing their best to hide the anxiety they each felt. The mirth had been true, but consciously willed. Nobody wanted to dwell too long on the reason they spent their days on long patrols through the cool March air and the Valley's last gasp of winter. Charles felt his flesh harden at the mere thought of what he longed for further to the south, and it took a sudden prayer to unclench the stone in his paws and arms. Charles guided Malicon a good distance up the road while Jessica wordlessly followed, her head bobbing forward and back as she walked, talons marking the hard earth with each step. They continued for almost two minutes before their friends were well out of earshot, even for Keeper ears. “I think it's safe to speak,” she said gently. The rat's muzzle twitched and he nodded. With a firm tug, he brought Malicon to a stop. The pony wriggled his lips and then lowered his head to search for grass. He found some wild flowers beside the road that had sprung up with the slightly warmer temperatures in the last week, and contently set to denuding them. “I'm afraid,” Charles said as he watched his steed eat. He ran his hands along the back of Malicon's mane, curling his fingers and claws through the long hairs. “I hurt so... so badly, Jessica. I am scared every day out of my mind for Kimberly and my children. And I ache for my Ladero.” Jessica took a step closer and rested her wing claws on his shoulder. She didn't say anything, her golden eyes beckoning him to speak instead. His eyes continued to stare across the top of Malicon's head, but they saw nothing. His voice echoed from within his chest like water dropping in a cave. “Every night I kneel before my bed for an hour or two praying for Kimberly and my children. I say their names over and over again, and I try to remember their fur, the colors of their eyes, the number of whiskers they have on either jowl, the shapes of their ears, the length of their teeth, their tails, and everything else. I ask, I beg Eli to bring them back to me. I am so miserable without them!” The vine curled around his chest and pressed itself gently against his flesh. Charles squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that they wouldn't be gems when he opened them again. “I get almost no sleep at night. When I wake, I go to the graveyard and visit the only family I have left to me. My little Ladero. I... I blend with his tombstone more and more each day when I'm there. The stone isn't buried deep enough to tell me anything about my boy, but the more I merge my own body with it, the deeper we can press. I know... I know all I'd find is a body riddled with worms and decay, but I just keep going there. I just keep letting myself be stone to escape the misery, but it only leaves me empty. Oh, Jessica, I am trying so hard to stop, but... what if Marzac is trying to make me surrender to the stone?” Jessica continued to peer at the rat for several seconds more before cawing ever so gently. “I don't think this is Marzac's doing, Charles. I don't see any sign of corruption about you; not even any hint like there was with both Lindsey and Kayla.” Her tongue quivered and she moved in closer, her wing sliding along his back as she neared. “I am scared for your Kimberly and your children too.” “Tell me they're going to be okay.” The hawk held him in her wings for a moment as he trembled and fought the urge to relinquish his flesh to granite. “They're going to be okay. Misha is protecting them. And...” she lowered her voice even more, the bottom of her beak brushing across one of the rat's still soft ears, “and Misha has been able to use magic to keep in touch with me and a few others. When we spoke last night, your family was doing well.” Charles shifted in the saddle, nearly bruising his snout as he lifted his head into her beak. “You can speak with Misha? Could I... could I speak with my family?” Jessica blinked and nodded. “I believe so. Misha gave me a crystal that lets me speak with his sister Elizabeth, but we can also use it to speak with each other.” The rat's elation turned like the wind to anger. “Why didn't you tell me about this before?” The hawk shook her head, “I'm sorry. Misha didn't want anyone else knowing. I should have known that he didn't mean you. Please, Charles, forgive me. It was cruel of me not to tell you.” Charles grabbed the reins in one hand and gestured down the road with the other. “Show me now. I have to go into the mountains tomorrow; I won't have another chance for a few days at least. If I can, I must see my family first.” Jessica glanced up at the sky, then down at her friend and carefully held him across the back with one wing. “If anyone asks why I've left my patrol, we'll tell them Long Scout business. Come. I do have to tell Weyden and Dallar where were going. And you need to tell Sir Saulius.” Impatient, Charles nodded and and flicked the reins. ---------- Angus the badger listened with furrowed brow as Jo described the condition of the skunk archer. The leader of the Glen military did not hesitate in following the vixen as soon as she told him that she needed his help. Angus was like that. Jo knew she could rely on him to do the right thing. He was a friend. And Bercehm was one of his. “I've never known him to have any trouble with his ears,” Angus admitted as they reached the skunk's door between the heavy roots. “And he seemed fine yesterday.” Jo carried her herb basket in both paws and waited as the badger lifted the door for her. “There was some blood, but I couldn't see anything that might have caused it. Maybe he tripped and hit his head last night. I didn't feel any bruising, but...” Angus waited for her to go down the steps, then followed her into the small chamber which the skunk archer made his simple home. The hearth crackled with the vixen's fire casting warm orange light around the circular room. The rich veins blending dark and light wood along the walls seemed to breath with a reclusive personality. And in the bed curled beneath the quilts was Berchem, eyes shut tight and arms clutched to his chest. Angus scanned the room once, sniffed the air thick with the acrid scent of the owner, and then crossed to the bedside and knelt down next to his friend. He wrapped a meaty paw around Berchem's arms and the skunk allowed him to pull his paw out. Angus slipped his paw beneath the skunk's fingers and began making signs. “I'm telling him we're here to help.” After repeating the same set of motions three times, Berchem's muzzle twitched in a facsimile of a smile, and he quickly, but briefly, nodded. “Now I'm asking what's wrong.” Angus kept his paw still, fingers turned in a familiar direction. Jo studied the hand symbol so that she could remember if ever she needed it again. Berchem slid his fingers across the badger's paw, and then began to make symbols of his own. The same three that Jo had seen earlier. Angus frowned and then put one paw over the skunk's to still his frantic motions. “He can't hear anything we say. He's in a great deal of pain from what he can hear. Some ringing in his ear, if I understand him right.” Jo set her basket down and began searching through the herbs and ointments she kept with her. “Ask him if he thinks he can drink something. I want to make him a broth to ease his pain.” After another flurry of hand signals, Angus nodded. “He thinks he can. I expect I'll need to help him keep his mouth open.” “Talk to him while I get this ready. It shouldn't take too long.” While the vixen busied herself with steeping a pot of water mixed with herbs and tea leaves, Angus continued making hand signals to Berchem, who felt them until he understood them, then responded in kind. The skunk's motions were erratic and then tightly controlled, as if the pain in his mind washed across him in undulating waves. Between each shattering detonation in his mind, his will would return and his spirit would gather its strength to master his body. But with each tolling in his mind, that control would falter and he would stumble into insensibility. Yet Jo heard nothing of their conversation. She occasionally spared a glance at the two men as they spoke with their paws, but she tried not to notice the exact words said. Instead she watched every tremor in the skunk's paws, ears, snout, and fur in hopes for any sign that his pain might be ebbing. But no sign came. When the kettle finally began to emit a biting steam, she poured out a small bowl and set the kettle aside. After adding another small log to the hearth, she carried the bowl to Berchem's bedside, stirring the potent tea with a wooden spoon. “Can you prop him up? And make sure he swallows, please.” Angus wordlessly did as she bid him. He slipped his right arm around the skunk's backside, and with a quick jolt, pulled him into a sitting position. The skunk shoved his back against the wall, eyes still pressed shut so that his entire face was locked in a rictus of agony. Muscles and sinews in his neck and cheeks were stretched and strained in a way she'd not seen even on a woman giving birth. Jo's tail flicked back and forth anxiously. She leaned forward, spooning out a small measure of the tea while Angus forced a finger into the skunk's jaws to pry them open. Berchem's paws clasped at the bedside beneath him, claws tearing through his quilts with each twitch of his muscles. His long tongue thrust from side to side in his jaws like an eel caught in a trap. The vixen gritted her teeth, lowered her ears, and then shoved the spoon into the back of his jaws and dumped the contents down his throat. Berchem jerked back and forth, but with Angus holing him down, there wasn't anything for the skunk to do but swallow. And swallow he did, spoonful after spoonful until the bowl was completely empty. Jo filled it again, and then emptied that down into Berchem's gullet. By the time the last spoonful had been shoved down his throat, the tension in the skunk's muscles began to visibly relax. Both of them sat waiting several minutes more before Berchem finally slumped against the wall with his arms resting wearily in his lap. His eyes blinked open, bloodshot and limpid, unable to focus clearly on either of them. “Berchem,” Angus said in a loud voice. “Can you hear me?” The skunk blinked once, eyes swimming toward the badger, before he nodded. “I...” his tongue struggled as if he'd forgotten how to form words, “I can.” “How are you feeling?” Jo asked. He lifted one arm and rubbed his forehead. “Better... the ringing... still there. Not as bad.” He grunted and closed his eyes again. For several seconds he did nothing more than take several deep breaths. “What happened?” Angus asked. “When I saw you last night you looked fine.” “I... I don't know.” Berchem replied with a suggestion of irritation in his voice. “I remember leaving the brewery last night, but I don't remember getting here. I just remember waking up to that ringing in my ear. It's not... plague is it?” “Nay,” Jo replied as swift as her tongue was able. “I don't know what it is. But the tea should help sooth your muscles and take away the pain. I'm not sure how long it's going to take before the ringing is gone. I'm going to speak with Lady Avery to see if she has any ideas.” Berchem nodded and smiled faintly. “Thank you.” “I'm going to stay here with you for now,” Angus said with a grunt. “How much tea did you make?” “There's enough left for another three bowls,” Jo replied as she bent to gather her things. “I will leave the bowl and spoon with you.” “Thank you,” Angus glanced at the skunk who still had his eyes closed, but now they were in rest. “And have somebody else sent to replace me. I have to leave for the mountains tomorrow and need to ready my gear.” “Going so soon?” Berchem asked while attempting to smile. His muscles tensed again for a moment before he was able to take a deep breath and slump even further against the wall and almost back onto the bed. “Don't have much choice about it,” Angus admitted with a heavy grunt. “And I expect to see you up and about when I get back.” “I hope so.” “As do I,” Jo added. She'd gathered all her things and had them secure in her basket. “I will be back as soon as I can.” And with that, she swept up the stairs and out into the cool March air. Angus watched her go as he crouched beside the bed, eyes trailing down the stairs and across the floor. And there they lingered for several long seconds. He blinked, mind trying to grasp what it was about the floor that caught his attention. Leaning forward, Angus splayed his fingers against the wood, and slowly dragged his heavy calluses across the surface, being careful not to touch the wood with his claws. What his eyes had spied in the light from the fireplace his sensitive paws revealed to him in richer detail. He shifted on his haunches, tail twitching curiously. The floor, usually smooth but for the occasional nicks from claws, now seemed to have a series of ridges marring its surface. Were the home built by anyone other than the woodpecker Burris, Angus would have paid it no mind. But Burris's homes always had smooth floors and walls as if they'd been polished and lacquered. Angus crouched on all fours, pressing his snout and eyes down to the offending gouges. He traced one claw along them, and then tightened his fingers and ran all four of his claws along the same path. With a grimace, he sat back up and turned to his friend. “Did you scratch your floor last night?” Berchem tried opening his eyes but they blearily shut again. “Did I? I don't remember.” The badger grunted and patted his friend on the knee. “Get some rest. I'll be here.” And while the skunk collapsed beneath his torn quilts, Angus stared at the gouges in the floor and wondered. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4e907b7968031075618241! </body> </html>