(i can’’t be saved) reaching for the life I threw away

watching as it circles in the drain

The cabbit’s long ears twitched at the sound of the chimes. She walked, then slipped into fast hops. Today had enough distance from the last ‘pain day’ that the ache in her abdomen faded to a dull throb. She didn’t bother to notice if the sudden acceleration caused the pain to change. Her mind was on Monty.

If he had to request food from cannibals? She worried for him. By Requiem and Vayu (no, Neandryne!), her former home was no place for him!

But he had returned. Intact, too. She slowed and shifted from hops to a walk. A glance to Brutei, because they’d stated what she’d observed in nicer language than she would’ve used.

The cabbit attempted to nose the despondent dog’s shoulder. The carnivore stink clung to him. But she didn’t mind. That stink was familiar. She’d been born into it, had worn it for her entire life until she’d disappeared from the Big Island.

As much as she hated Valerius and many of his followers… that carnivore stink smelled like home.

“My love?” she asked. A slight tilt of her head to the right. Her left ear lowered a tad. “The cannibals didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Her nose twitched. A double-check that he didn’t have fresh-blood or open-wound smell. And he didn’t. That was a relief. But then her brows furrowed.

He smelled like a Prometheus. She assumed he’d met with Valerius. But when Monty usually met with Valerius, the pharaoh provided rations. And they desperately needed food. “What’s the news?”

(i can’’t be saved) reaching for the life I threw away

watching as it circles in the drain

Lucia listened. Her pink eyes flinted from Monty’s face to her paws to the icicles dangling off the evergreen trees. Her husband was never very good at withholding the truth from her. Even at times like these, when his protectiveness wanted to lie.

As the truth came out, the cabbit’s long ears flicked back. A hardness in her pink eyes. For an instant, she looked more like a lynx than a hybrid should, but that shift wasn’t ferocity. More like muscle memory. Who she’d had to be in the Descendants of the Departed. Then her nose twitched, and she relaxed her posture with an exhale.

“Not great news, yet… I would trust Meteor to keep his word over Valerius.” Then she frowned. It’d been years since she’d known him. And she… well, her perception of Meteor was clouded, wasn’t it? She had loved him. “But it’s been years since I knew him.”

She licked her teeth. Nerves. A reminder of her neurotoxin fangs.

Then a memory of teenage boy Meteor: “Some are not worth saving.” But what Meteor had meant was most—anyone not of use to him, who wouldn’t follow him—were not worth saving. Whatever happened to him since the years she left the Big Island, she doubted he would have become less ruthless.

Lucia ducked her head and attempted to gently headbutt his shoulder. Affectionate, yes. But to keep her calculating expression out of sight from Monty and Brutei alike.

“I’m fine, the pain’s over. For now.” A partial lie. It’d faded down to a dull throb. But it’d disappear completely—until the next pain day. That was the pattern. That had to stay the pattern.

“And Meteor doesn’t… mock.” She straightened up. Frowned slightly, as she met her husband’s gaze. How could she explain this in a way he’d understand? Even the other Descendants had thought of Meteor as vicious with his words as with his claws and lightning. She shrugged. “He makes observations. When he sees a psychological wound, he can’t help himself: he has to twist the knife. He doesn’t even enjoy inflicting emotional suffering, not really. He’s just… curious about the depth of the infection.”

Then she shrugged. “You need me to go, Monty. Meteor probably thinks I died that night. My presence will distract him. Throw a wrench in his calculations.” Then her head tilted a tad to the right. “Besides, I know how the cannibals think, remember? If this is a trick… well, I’m the only one who’ll know what to watch for.”

(i can’’t be saved) reaching for the life I threw away

watching as it circles in the drain

Lucia bit her lip. A serpentine fang poked out against her lip. Her pink eyes lost their focus on Monty as she considered his question. Enough that she could be present? After a hesitation, though, she grinned. Still with that fang popped on her bottom lip. “Yeah, I can be present.”

At Monty’s next question, though, a shadow of confusion. Her right ear twitched.

Behind her pink eyes, more calculations. The conclusion had been obvious—she’d taken Meteor’s lack of confrontation for granted—but how to explain the why? She shook her head. “I’ve been presumed dead for years. I know where the Descendants live. I could’ve returned at any time.” She tapped a paw on an ice-shined rock, glanced at it as she thought. She was, perhaps, exposing some of her own Meteor-like cognition here. In many ways, she considered herself more similar to Meteor than Monty.

“Meteor won’t care where I’ve been. If I’m not a chess piece on his board… with no possibility of returning to usefulness upon the Big Island… then, well… why should he bother with me?” She shook her head. “Acting out of emotion for a long-gone ex-girlfriend wouldn’t just be inefficient. It would make him look weak. Assuming he even has feelings left for me, which I doubt. I moved on long ago.” She grinned at Monty. “Meteor has probably done the same.”

Then, about the plan. She nodded. “We do need a plan.” Then a giggle. “Unless you plan on eating anything valuable you find to smuggle out in your stomach and intestines, but that might kill you. So, please, that was a joke.”