FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Mosin drew his rain-slicked olive coat tighter around him as the filthy mid-March rain pelted his stocky frame. The roe deersquinted up as the miserable drizzle kissed his snout with its tainted moisture and dripped off the sanded-down stumps of his antlers. Rain in the City never fell clean. Maybe it didn't fall clean anywhere, anymore. He didn't leave the City often enough to know. Hells, he was probably six the last time he saw trees that weren't sad, stunted things planted in a highway strip on Golden Road.

He sure as shit wasn't on Golden Road now. The neon lights attached to the run-down buildings of the ironically-named Seventh Heaven district glared luridly against his eyeballs, forcinghim to squint even harder. The drizzle made the halogen glow shimmer with a false sense of purity, hence the neighborhood's moniker.

He vaguely recalled images from a time before Seventh Heaven, before the City. A time when he drankclear waterand lay under black skies lit by ten thousand thousand little burning pinholes. He recalled a wide, feminine doeface smiling at him, her black hair tied in braids whose intricacies now escaped him. He assumed it was his mother, but honestly he had no idea for sure. Whoever she was, she was gone now. Just like those stars, occluded by adull orangesmogthat turned day and night alike into perpetual twilight.

He hunched over and hustled through the wet and the grime, expertly dodging both pedestriansand traffic as he crossed the busy street and ducked into a windowless concrete building with the silhouette of a naked rabbitgirl that flickered in and out of life, pink and shimmering and, occasionally, with only one leg. The blazing pink sign above the door read THE COTTONTAIL PALACE.

When he stepped inside, Mosin breathed deep despite himself. The thick, cloying stench of stale cigarette smoke and spilled beer felt familiar, comforting. The wall of noise blaring from the speakers was heavy, rhythmic, and sexual. Four stages at the cardinal directions held four dancers, three female rabbits and one male wolf, all of them naked but for a thong. They probably wouldn't even wear the thongs, if they didn't need somewhere to stuff the rubles the leering crowdsof Anthros were trying to shove at them.

He shook out his shaggy black hair and nodded to Loba, the Samoyed bouncer, before moving toward the bar where a snub-nosed Anthro with puffy gray fur sat nursing a drink. Dragon wasn't from around these parts, to say the least. He was the only koala in the City, so far as Mosin was aware. He was soft, plump in the middle, with jet-black eyes and a wide, wispy stripe of bleach-white hair that he swore was naturally occurring. That, combined with the round ears and tiny snout, made Dragon adorably unassuming.

Mosin knew for a fact he'd used it to his advantage multiple times to get close to a target. Dragon liked the intimate kills. Mosin would bet hard rubles he had at least six knives stored on his tiny person right now. He approached thesquatkoala and slapped his shoulder companionably.

"You look like shit," Dragon yelled cheerfully over the din of the heavy music.

Mosin glared at him. "Hey, Dragon. Still trying to murder your way out of your mommy issues?"

"Well that's just un-called-for," Dragon laughed. "What's got your dick in a twist?"

Mosin shrugged dismissively. "Kalash?"

Dragon nodded with mock severity. "Oh, yes. Kalash awaits their knight in shining armor in the Lord's Manor."

Mosin rolled his eyes. The Lord's Manor was the most expensive VIP room at the Cottontail Palace. Kalash was always throwing rubles around to make themself seem like a much bigger deal than they actually were. They led a small-time gang called theRed Sunswith a little bloodlust and a lot of bravado.

Mosin patted Dragon's shoulderand headed off in the direction of the back hall that led to the private rooms. The wall of noise faded as he entered the gloomy red-lit hallway. The first four rooms were secluded only by maroon curtains that looked almost black in the garish light, but the next four had doors made of frosted Plexiglas. The hall ended in a dim stairwell leading to the whorehouse upstairs. The last door on the right before the stairs had a faux-silver plaque over it that read inembossed script:

Lord's Manor

Mosin took a deep breath, then knocked. After a moment, the door darkened before sliding open, revealing the hulking form of a brown-furred bear. The bouncer, Nikon, doubled as muscle for VIP clients. He went where the money was. Today, it was with Kalash.

"Outta my way," Mosin snapped. "I'm expected."

Nikon cracked his thick knuckles. "Like to see you make me, little fawn," he rumbled.

"Now, now," a soft, androgynous voice wafted up from behind the massive bear. "That's no way to treat a guest."

Mosin gave Nikona shit-eating grin. "Yeah, pookie," he sniped. "Move along like a good little bitch."

Nikon's lips curled back to bare his teeth.

"Nikon!" the voice snapped. The bear gave Mosin one last deep belly-growl, then stepped aside. Mosin tipped an invisible hat to him and sauntered in.

The Lord's Manor was spacious, withsmall piles of lounging pillows scattered in clusters around the velvet-draped room. It was mostly sound-proofed, though it couldn't completely eliminate the rhythmic vibrations of the music blaring down the hall. The mildjazz music being pumped in from somewhere above mixed poorly with the thrum of the distant bass to give the whole room an arrhythmic, unsettling ambiance, accentuated by the soft orange lighting that gave everything a weird, saccharine tone. Two half-circlelove seats sat facing each other, with a bean-shaped glass coffee table resting in-between.

The table currently had three neatly-cut rows of white powder on them. A lithe, glossy, coffee-furred sable in tight leather pants and corset bent over the table, rolled-up ruble in their paw, and snortedup the first line. They whipped their head back and rubbed their nose absently as they sniffed, their eyes glazing over for a moment. "Fuck, that's hot shit," they mumbled. Next to them, a half-naked wolf draped himself on Kalash's arm. The lean twink madelusty eyes at Mosin.

Mosin sat across from the sable and leaned on his knees, studying the room. In the back corners, two thick-necked seals in ratty leather jackets bearing a red circle on the bicepwatched Mosin with dull expressions, though he doubted they were at all as oblivious as they seemed. Light from a rotating lamp drifted across their gray skin, making them lookincorporeal.

The last occupant of the room was a small, rail-thin figure in a dirty gray hoodie and blue jeanshuddled up on a lounging pillow to one side of Kalash's love seat. A small pair of antlers sprouted from his head, and his wide eyes and narrow snout marked him as a fellow roe buck, maybe twelve summers old. He hadn't even had his first rutting yet.

Mosin felt something tighten in the pit of his stomach. A warning, maybe, or just nerves. There weren't all that many roe deer in the City. This wasn't the first one Mosin had ever met, but they were rare enough that it set him immediately on edge.

Kalash finally draped their lean, wiry arms across the back of the love seat. The wolf twink rested his head in Kalash's lap, nuzzling their crotch but keeping his heavy-lidded eyes still on Mosin.

He ignored the twink and said, "Nice to see you're enjoying yourself, Kalash. Not really sure why I'm here, though."

Kalash raised their head and gave him a look of mock hurt. "You wound me, old friend! Why _wouldn't_I invite my favorite problem solver in all of Seventh Heaven to my little party?"

Mosin laughed mirthlessly. "Because the last time this 'old friend' was in your vicinity, you tried to fucking shoot him."

Kalash grinned, their sharp teeth gleaming in the sickly orange light. "You broke my heart, honey. What else was I supposed to do?"

Mosin sat up and crossed his arms, scowling. "Break up with me."

"Which I did," Kalash intoned pleasantly.

"With a Glock," Mosin snapped.

"In my defense, you fucked my favorite toy," Kalash replied, a sliver of irritation creeping through their serene veneer.

"Anthros aren't toys, Kalash," Mosin said quietly. He didn't bother correcting Kalash that he hadn't slept with Adis. They hadn't believed him then, why would they now? He had a brief flash of the rabbit girl, emaciated and strung out, eyes vapid. Kalash hadn't done that to her--just living in Heaven had--but they also hadn't done anything to help her, to save her. He still hadn't forgiven Kalashfor it.

Apparently, neither had Kalash forgiven him for trying to get her out of the sable's grip and into rehab.

"Why am I here?" Mosin grumbled.

Kalash stared at him for a moment before nonchalantly shrugging and snorting up the next line. After wiping their nose and making a noise somewhere between a squeak and a growl, they said, "I need you to get something for me."

Mosin shrugged. He'd done smash-and-grabs before. But then, so had a dozen other Anthros that Kalash didn't hate. "I can do that, but why me? Why not somebody without so much, erm... history?"

Kalash actually blushed at that. It made Mosin feel both pleased and guilty. He'd... well, he'd felt_something_ for them, once upon a time. Not love--the notion felt absurd to him in this place--but something. He'd wanted to save them from this hellish soul-trap of a city, just like he'd wanted to save Adis. Wanted them to save him. But they'd just torn each other apart instead.

"You owe me," Kalash hissed.

"I don't owe you shit," Mosin snorted. "You got exactly what you fucking deserved."

Kalash leaned forward, claws out and digging into their expensive leather pants. Mosin ignored the claws, but he couldn't ignore the way the pants clung to Kalash's curves. "I should just kill you for what you did," they snarled at him. Mosin felt the atmosphere shift. Even the wolf fuckboy sat up and leaned away from the sable. Mosin noted the seals looked significantly more alert.

You can't take three, he reminded himself. Calm your shit.

"You gonna kill me, Kalash?" he asked softly. "Or you gonna give me a job? You can't do both."

Kalash's face twisted with frustration, and for an ugly moment, Mosin thought they actually_would_ kill him. But they finally fell back against the love seat. The tension drained from the room, and Fuckboy dropped his head right back in the sable's lap.

"No, honey," Kalash said with a dramatic sigh, "I'm not gonna kill you. I dunno if I could, even if I actually wanted to." Considering they'd shot at him last time they saw each other, Mosin seriously doubted that, but decided not to argue the point. Kalash gave him a mischievous grin. "But you're still gonna do this for me. You owe me and you fucking know it. I'm cashing in. You do this, I will consider your debt cleared and I won't have to break your kneecaps for hurting my feelings.Besides, you are... _uniquely_suited to this job."

Mosin raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Kalash finally addressed the strange fawn. "This is Capreo. He has something I want. You're going to make him give it to you, and then you're going to give it to me."

Mosin couldn't hide his surprise. "What makes you think I can make him give it to you?"

Kalash grinned. "Because, my sweet. You have such a way with people." They flashed him a shit-eating grin, and Mosin almost leaned across the table to punch them in that stupid muzzle just to disprove them. Instead, he leaned further back into the love seat and glared down at the fawn.

For his part, Capreo simply stared mildly at the older buck, hands folded in his lap, head cocked slightly to the side like a curious feral cat. What in the Nine Hells did Kalash think he could do to convince him? Was it just because they were the same species? What kind of racist bullshit was that? He'd never known the sable to fall for such narrow-mindedness before. What was their game?

Mosin finally looked back up at his ex. The sable lounged so casually, so supremely confident and soft and inviting, Mosin's throat dried up and he had to swallow to get enough saliva to talk. He hated that they still had that effect on him. "Okay," he finally croaked. "What's your angle here? What aren't you telling me? Why me, Kalash?"

Kalash said, "Cause the kid asked for you, that's why."

The bottom dropped out of Mosin's stomach and he swallowed down bile. "He what?"

Kalash laughed, soft and sultry and inviting and gods damn it, he wished they'd stop that. He wanted to keep hating them. Wanted to forget the cold nights in their warm bed, the supple curves and mind-boggling flexibility of their body under his shaking paws. Kalash knew it, too. Had to. It was all over their smirk as they stood up, offering a paw to Fuckboy, who dreamily stood and followed his master like a puppy, despite being almost twice the sable's height. "Good luck, Mosin. Don't disappoint me, now." They leaned across the coffee table and traced one claw gently under Mosin's muzzle, making him shiver unwittingly. "Maybe we could even be friends again."

"Fuck you," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as his body mutinied against his brain, launching blood to all the places he absolutely didn't want it to.

Before he could open his eyes, the sable's lips brushed against his ear. "Maybe," they whispered, "if you do good. I've missed you."

Gods, he wanted that to be true, and he hated that he wanted it. He waited to open his eyes, willing the sable to go away. When he did open them, Kalash was already out of the room, Fuckboy and the two seal thugs close behind. Nikon paused at the door, glaring daggers at Mosin, before squeezing his bulk through the door and sliding it closed behind him.

Mosin took a deep, steadying breath, staring at the coffee table. The third line of coke was still on the glass surface. He had a fiver in his pocket. Be a shame to let it go to waste...

He turned to the wispy little buck on the floor and pointed at the love seat opposite him. "Sit."

Capreo clambered up off the pillow and onto the seat, bouncing slightly in place before setting down cross-legged. "What's up?" he said.

It was the first time the kid had spoken, and he sounded so... shit. So damn young. Mosin searched the boy's face, looking for anything suspicious, or familiar. Nothing. Couldn't be a long-lost brother or anything, the kid looked nothing like him. Dirty blonde hair instead of black, thin features to his wide, darker shade to his antlers. Mosin unconsciously touched the flat, cream-colored surface of one of his sanded-down antlers before returning his attention to the boy.

"Spill it, kid," he snapped. "How do you know me?"

Capreo shrugged. "I don't. I just know your name."

Mosin's paws started sweating. Surely the kid wasn't an assassin. Nobody would send a twelve-year-old to kill him, would they?

Dragon wasn't much older than him when he started, he reminded himself.

Mosin didn't carry a gun. He didn't like them much. Preferred to do things with his paws, if they needed to be done at all. He supposed he could take the boy easily enough, assuming he was unarmed. Which, if he really was an assassin, seemed unlikely. He shoved his paws in the pockets of his rain jacket to hide the tremors.

"Who sent you?"

"The Tribe."

Mosin frowned. "Tribe?"

Capreo nodded. "Four Circles. We got a farm a couple hours outside of town. Elder Freya said she'd finally found you. I dunno how. She just knows things, sometimes. That's why she's the Elder."

Mosin snorted. Foresight. Sure. "Does she fire lasers out of her tits and stop bullets with her brain, too?"

For the first time, Capreo looked something other than serene and smug. He glared at Mosin. "Show respect for the Elder!"

"Or what?" Mosin drawled. "You'll beat me up?" He sat forward, leaning his elbows against his knees again. "Clearly you didn't grow up in Seventh Heaven, kid, or you wouldn't talk back to someone twice your size without knowing for sure you could lay him flat. That's a good way to get your teeth knocked out."

"I'm not scared of you!" Capreo huffed, but his whole body quivered with adrenaline. Mosin wasn't even a predator, and _he_could smell the kid's fear. Now that it was plain on his face, he was pretty sure Capreo had been scared the whole time, just really good at hiding it. Pretty impressive, actually, but hearing this "Elder Freya" get insulted had cracked his mask. That put Mosin at ease, a little; if the boy really was an assassin, he was at least green enough to lose control of his fear. That meant Mosin could probably defend himself if necessary, even if the kid was secretly armed.

Considering combat tactics against a twelve-year-old, a voice in his head hissed.You're a real piece of work, Mosin.

Mosin sighed and rubbed his face with his paws. So much for having a way with people. He probably could have been a little more patient with the kid, but he just wasn't programmed to ignore challenges like that. He stared at the line on the table again, unconsciously grinding his teeth for a moment before shaking his head. "Look, I'm sorry if I insulted your Elder, okay? Didn't mean nothing by it."

Capreo grumbled something under his breath before glancing up at Mosin. The older buck gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile, but judging by the kid's reaction, he was probably showing too much teeth. He always did. Dragon said it made him look like a maniac, but sometimes that was just what he needed.

This was not one of those times.

Capreo cringed a little and looked down at the floor. Mosin groaned. Good job, dumbass.

"Tell you what," Mosin said. "Just give me whatever it is you've got that Kalash wants and we'll be done. The sooner you do, the sooner I'm out of your hair."

Capreo finally looked back up and stared Mosin in the eye. "Can't," he murmured.

Mosin worked damned hard not to grind his teeth again. "Why not?"

Capreo shook his head. "Elder Freya was very specific. You gotta talk to her. Then she'll give you the Seed."

Mosin's brow furrowed. Seed? What kind of seed? And what the fuck did Kalash want with a seed in the City? You couldn't grow shit here, that's why all the food was vat-grown synthetic crap. He ignored it for now--not really his job to ask questions--and shrugged. "Okay. Let's go talk to this Elder Freya. Where's this farm?" His stomach clenched a little as he said it. He knew there were no farms in the City. That could only mean--

"Like I said, a couple hours outside the City."

Mosin swallowed. Outside the City. The very thought made his paws sweat.

The world beyond the walls was mostly a mystery to him. He knew, in an academic sense, that there were other cities somewhere out there, and deserts, and forests, and plains, and oceans. But none of that existed here. Here there were just bricks, and concrete, and pavement, and glass, and smog. There were no trees--no real trees anyway. Just stunted things to line highways for the rich fucks up the hill. Even the parks had no trees, just dead brown grass and rusty playground equipment, with rotting wooden benches consumed by ivy.

Out there, he knew, was green. Real green. The idea of stepping out of the City Limits into that terrifying expanse of unknown made his legs turn to jelly.

He came back to himself to see Capreo staring at him with unabashed curiosity. Mosin blushed and turned away.

Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the dull thrum of distant bass and the jazz music overhead as Mosin considered Kalash and their offer. He thought about the sweet, musky scent of their fur, the devious smile before they slid down his belly under the covers, the tightness in his throat when they kissed his chest before falling asleep.

The empty gaze when Adis nodded off. The patches of her filthy white fur as it fell out in clumps from malnutrition. The way her image would bend and blur as he tearfully tried to get her to eat something, anything. The look of jealous contempt on Kalash's face when he pleaded with them to intervene.

He wanted to throw up. Whether from disgust, or fear, or longing, or hate, he couldn't say. Probably all of them.

"Fine," he croaked. "Let's go."

* * *

Capreo stared out the window of the battered Cutlass Supreme with open awe. He kept fiddling with the window crank as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Mosin had his own window rolled down, cigarette between his lips to help calm his nerves. The sky was bruised and gray, and the cold March wind felt damp with the threat of more rain.

The miles stretched out before him, low hills and grassy plains, hardly any vegetation in sight, as the old boat rumbled vaguely eastward down the highway. Capreo hadn't given much in the way of directions, aside from getting them on the right highway to exit the City, then just "East." Occasional farmhouses broke the monotony, as well as a few shrubs and several acres of fenced-off land where crowds of feral horses galloped in the distance.

The world outside the City wasn't what Mosin was expecting, but then again, he wasn't entirely sure what he _was_expecting. Blue skies and herds of roaming feral buffalo? Nomadic tribes in loincloths wandering across untouched plains alongside their feral cousins? That shit didn't exist anymore. Where there was wilderness left, it was soiled by civilization--the stain of acid rain, or garbage left at camp sites. Even in the long spaces where not so much as a farm broke the horizon, the concrete highway still slashed through the low hills, staining the landscape like a scar. Just looking at it afflicted Mosin with a bone-deep weariness.

After another forty minutes of silent monotony, Capreo piped up, "Turn up there."

A hundred meters ahead, a dirt road jutted off the highway and led in a wavy line toward a large copse of short trees, their leaves still working to grow back after the chills of winter, making them look like thousand-fingered, lumpy appendages reaching desperately toward the thunderclouds above. Mosin slowed the Cutlass and turned onto the road.

He wended down the path into the copse, whose bare boughs darkened the already gray day. Mosin drove for another fifteen minutes before finally emerging into a massive clearing, easily two hundred meters in diameter. The dirt road led directly up to a huge three-story farmhouse, nearly a mansion in size, its sky-blue paint flaking heavily, and its steep-angled roof in dire need of patching. Mosin spotted a barn to the north of it, on the other side of the house from his approach, red as fire and in significantly better shape. The barn's doors were open, but he was too far away to see inside. Directly behind the house, surrounded by a bright green fence, a garden stood mostly bare. Behind the garden, long, freshly-tilled lines of dark earth stretched back to the far end of the clearing.

And everywhere, bustling back and forth, tilling earth or planting seeds or re-siding the flaking facade of the house under a wide makeshift awning, were roe deer. They wore home-spun shirts of wool and cotton, and battered overalls or linen pants held up by rope belts. There were no suits or khakis or even modern footwear--everyone wore old-timey leather boots or sandals. A pair of barefoot fawns looked up curiously from a game of tag to stare in wonder at the massive car trundling down the road.

Mosin parked a good twenty meters from the house and turned off the Cutlass. Capreo immediately leaped out of the car and into the arms of a scrawny middle-aged doe, whose narrow muzzle and tawny hair marked her as the boy's mother. She gave him a reassuring squeeze, but she didn't take her eyes off Mosin.

He sat in the car for another moment, feeling pinned by the older woman's gaze. It wasn't dislike, exactly, but whatever she was trying to convey with that look, it didn't feel particularly pleasant either. He sighed. Get it over with, man, he thought miserably, and stepped out of the car.

He had barely gotten the door closed when something slammed into his leg and nearly toppled him over. Looking down, one of the two barefoot fawns was hugging his leg. She couldn't have been older than four.

"Uncie!" she shrieked.

"Uh," Mosin croaked. What the fuck was he supposed to do with this?

Wait. Did she just say uncie?

The girl looked up at him, big doe eyes drilling into him expectantly.

"H-hi," he stammered.

"Hi Uncie!" she squeaked, and hugged his leg again.

Mosin looked around pleadingly for help, but the other deer just laughed and went back to their work. Finally, a plump doe not much older than him hustled over, her raven-black braid bouncing behind her. "Juniper!" she hissed. "Give 'im some room to breathe, honey! Uncle Mosin is prob'ly tired from his trip." She turned to Mosin and smiled awkwardly. "Goddamn, you look just like Mom, it's uncanny." Her eyes shone with constrained tears.

Panic welled in Mosin's chest. "Mom?" he whispered.

Pity painted the woman's face. "Right. You were real young when he took you. Gods, you don't even remember her, do you?"

Mosin's lip trembled. "Who are you?"

She sighed. "I'm Chris. Your sister."

Mosin felt the ground disappear from beneath his feet, and he landed hard against the side of the Cutlass before sliding to the dirt road. The little fawn toddled over to him and hugged his arm, face painted with worry. "Uncie?"

Mosin buried his face in his paws. What was going on? What was this? Some kind of trick? Was Kalash fucking with him to get back at him? Was this all a cruel hoax?

A paw gently pulled his own away from his face and squeezed it. Chris was hunkered down, her yellow and brown polka-dot sundress draped around her bent knees like a cascade of sunflowers. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to throw you for a loop. It's just... when I saw you, it was... it was like having Mom back again for a second."

Mosin didn't even try to process that. He couldn't. He couldn't process any of this. "Where's Freya?" he wheezed.

Chris's face went through about a dozen different emotions before settling on disappointment. Mosin couldn't look at her. "Yeah," she mumbled. "Yeah. Came here for a reason, right? Come on. I'll take you to her."

Chris gave him a paw up and led him toward the garden in the back of the house. Juniper, the moment's tension already forgotten, skipped along next to Mosin and chattered excitedly about a feral frog she discovered at the pond and how her mother wouldn't let her keep it as a pet but that was okay because frogs liked ponds better than bedrooms anyway. Mosin gave her an awkward smile, unsure what to say to the kid.

They walked through the fence gate into the garden. Most of the vegetables had only recently been planted, the ground having thawed just a few weeks ago, but a couple potato spuds were already sprouting, as well as stumpy little green stalks that Juniper excitedly explained were corn. She'd helped plant them, and was clearly very proud of herself. Juniper's mother remained tight-lipped as they walked. Mosin averted his gaze.

Chris led Mosin toward the wide rump of a doe, bent over planting something in the tilled earth. She sat up as the trio approached and turned to face them. Gray furs spotted her muzzle, and crow's feet lined her rheumy eyes. Her iron-colored hair was pulled back in a simple twin braid, and a wide straw hat covered her pate. She put down her trowel and got to her feet, extricating her paws from a pair of dirty yellow gardening gloves. It was a slow, laborious process with a lot of alarming pops, but when Chris offered a paw up she waved it off kindly.

The old doe brushed dirt off the front of her denim coveralls, her thick frame making her look almost square. She limped up to Mosin, and despite being over a foot shorter than him, gave him a steely stare that made his neck itch. She held his gaze for several moments before he finally turned away uncomfortably.

Mosin half expected her to gloat, but instead, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed in a surprisingly powerful embrace that pushed the straw hat off her head. She let it tumble to the ground without a thought. "So glad to see you again, Mosin. After your daddy took you off to the City, we weren't sure what happened to you. Broke your mama's heart. She didn't last long, after that."

Mosin swallowed hard and awkwardly returned the gesture. "I... I don't remember." Hells, he didn't even remember having a father, let alone that he'd taken him.

"Yeah, you weren't more'n a nugget when he took you," she drawled, pulling back from the hug to smile ruefully up at him. "I didn't wanna let a City boy into our Tribe in the first place. I jes' knew he'd be trouble. But I guess if I hadn't, we wouldn't have you. So that's worth something, I reckon."

Mosin had no idea what to say to that. To any of this. He wanted to take this Seed thing and get the fuck out of here, run as far away as he could, all the way back to the comfortable agony of the City. This place was too... He didn't even know. _Wholesome_came first to mind, but that wasn't quite it. He stared down into the old doe's face and felt his throat tighten.

"There's... I'm here for... a seed?"

Freya studied his face for several seconds before sighing. "Yeah, I suppose you are." She turned to Chris. "Chrysanthemum, sweetie, why don't you go get the box for me? My legs don't do them stairs so good anymore."

Chris gave Freya a dubious look. "You sure, Elder?"

"Don't go sassin' me, now," Freya huffed. "I know my own mind, yet. Now git." She gave the younger woman a playful swat on the arm, and Chris hustled off toward the farmhouse.

"Bye, Uncie," Juniper said solemnly, hugging his leg again before careening after her mother with alarming speed. Mosin watched her vanish into the house and wondered, for the first time in his life, what it would be like to start a family.

But you didn't start families in the City. There was no life for them in that place. And that's where he belonged, in the City. Not... here.

"Mosin, honey," Freya said, gently placing a paw on his arm. "This is a special Seed. Okay? I know this Kalash person wants it, but... I ain't givin' it to them. I'm givin' it to you. You do with it what you will. It's yours." She turned her half-blind gaze up to the huge farmhouse. "And we got a spare room here, if you ever want it. Ain't much, but it's cozy. Little drafty in the winter, but it's yours. If you want it. I think Juniper would like to get to know her uncle. And Chris and I can tell you about your mama. If that's something you're interested in," she added hastily.

Mosin didn't reply. He didn't trust himself to speak. He had so many questions--not the least of which was, how did this bumpkin from the Sticks know a gang leader in the City?--but finally decided he didn't want to know the answers. After a few minutes, Chris returned holding an ornate wooden box not much bigger than his fist. She handed it to Mosin.

Whatever was in that box seemed to hum with power, like standing near a transformer. It made his paw tingle just from holding it. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with the sensation of water, and darkness, and warmth, and a sense of safety like he'd never felt in his waking life, and every molecule in his body screamed to open the box and grasp whatever was inside.

He didn't open it. He just turned and walked back to the Cutlass. Chris walked beside him in silence.

When he reached the car, he stopped and turned to her. He still couldn't look her in the face, but he couldn't leave without saying_something_."Look," he said sheepishly, "I... I gotta go back. I don't... belong here. I'm not who you remember. I... I wish I was." He wasn't sure if that was true, but it felt like the thing to say.

"You do what you gotta do," Chris said. She plucked up his paw and squeezed it. "But you're still my little brother, even if you forgot. I love you."

Mosin squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't stop the tears. Three words he'd never heard in his life, and gods did they hurt like Hells.

Chris threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, her chest heaving with sobs. He let himself get caught up in her tears. He didn't sob or wail, but just the act of letting his own tears fall felt like a thousand years had been lifted off him. "This is your home," Chris sniffled. "You come back whenever you want. Okay?"

Mosin nodded, taking in the earthy scent of his sister's hair, the warm strength of her arms. No one had ever held him like this. Not Kalash, not Adis, not any of the nameless boys he'd bedded over the years. He never wanted to let go.

Now that he knew what home felt like, how could he?