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Part IV: The Weather of Dogs

"Finn! Finn, I'm going to need you to calm down, okay? Deep breaths. Breath for me. Deep breaths, Finn."

Finn stares at the stamped white ceiling, laying down on his bed. How exactly did he feel about River? He certainly cared for him. Past that? Did he?.. Was he?.. He was, wasn't he? He sighed. He wondered if River was thinking about the same things right now. He didn't want to talk to him right now, though. There was someone he could talk to.

Instead of River, he dials a different number. Struggling to remember it, he messes up on his first try but gets it on the second.

Ring. Ring. Someone picks up on the other side. "Hello?" A female voice says.

Finn rolls onto his side. "Andara?"

"Finn?," The voice on the other line says excitedly. "Where have you been!?"

"I'm sorry. I always wanted to call you but I knew you were moving and going to college and didn't want to bother you, y'know? I'm just some childhood friend." Finn responds.

Andara snorts. "It's been four months, not four years, Finny."

"I'm sorry again." He sighs. "Just been a little stressed out lately."

"With what?" Andara asks.

"If I told you you wouldn't believe me."

"You can always tell me anyway."

Finn thinks about it. "Well, I did meet a new friend."

"Already moving on from me, Finny? No, I jest, I jest. Tell me about them."

He relaxes thinking about him. "His name is River. He's a domestic cat. His grandparents are from Helsinki. You know, the Scandinavian Crown. Uh... we both go to Palisade for school. I could keep listing things here but honestly I think it's better just to say he's pretty cool. Oh, and he's a witch."

"A witch? What kind? He sounds pretty cool, indeed."

"If I told you you wouldn't believe me."

Andara laughs. "Damn you! What have you two been up to together? I feel left out already."

The two keep talking for another 15 minutes or so, but Andara's break ends so she has to go back to work. They say their goodbyes and Finn goes back to laying on his bed, alone. The conversation was somewhat-productful. He sort-of got to the point about River, and Andara seemed to have a "Go get em" attitude about it, which isn't surprising. He's still conflicted though. What if he's wrong? What does it mean?

Finn has no answers. Sitting up, he notices the poem beside his bed that he wrote last night. He was tired when he did and in a bit of a frenzy, and he rarely wrote poetry at all: He didn't even know his motivation for it. It just felt like it was related to his life. Regardless, a little free-form poetry couldn't hurt, right? He doesn't imagine he'd ever show it to anyone. Why not read it? He picks up the slightly crumpled paper and reads the opening line.

Please do not be a liar.

O' what, what have you tasted of desire?

Progenitors are not the sun-cut statues.

Be careful of your parent's smiles

Blacksmithers, they say, can make your own not yours

Please do not be a liar.

The greatest deeds are done by men

Who did not dance in the light of gravestones

Or woke only to be their father.

Love your mother, but she is wrong

Cave-painted images of you, the good child

Progenitors are not the sun-cut statues.

Good men, in an affair with torn cobwebs

Light the wicker to that wicked candle

Which wastes the flame of wanton progress.

The greatest lie you can tell

Is that precursors are always wiser

And the greatest part is who can hear it.

He puts the poem down. He's already written it, so no point backing out now.

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out.

River: The weather is supposed to be really bad today

River: Worse than forecasted

Self: thats fine, I can just drive you back early if it's on the horizon. it's a shame you don't have a license yet

River: I know. I don't have a job though and I don't want to burden my father by asking for a car, and he's usually out using his. I probably wouldn't be able to get one

Self: I use my sister's.

Self: so are we still on for today? I know the weather is pretty iffy with a snowstorm coming but I really think we'll be fine

And if things aren't fine, that'll probably end up with River having to stay over, which was something he wouldn't mind.

Finn spends most of the day playing video games and reading a PDF of his father's novel. (Which, in his biased opinion, was fairly good.)

Hours later, he checks the clock: 3:31 PM. He closes out his father's book, heeds goodbye to his parents, and heads out to pick up River. They live about half an hour apart, so the drive isn't too long. Tapping his fingers along the steering wheel as he enters the road, he flips on some music:

What a beautiful face

I have found in this place

That is circling all 'round the sun

What a beautiful dream

That could flash on the screen

In a blink of an eye and be gone from me

He hopes to show River his father's novel. His father had already consented to the idea, of course, and the cat had seemed interested: He guess he'll just read it out to him? Only the first chapter, then he can send the document to him over email or something. The book didn't have any hard copies yet, and probably wouldn't until it got an editor, so it was still fairly raw: It was good, though.

In a blink of an eye and be gone from me

Soft and sweet

Let me hold it close and keep it here with me

Finn looks up at the cloudy sky: It looks like River was right, snow was coming. He hadn't checked the forecast himself. Snow is fairly festive, right? It is winter break, after all. His fluffy winter coat had finished growing out.

And one day we will die

And our ashes will fly

From an aeroplane over the sea

But for now we are young

Let us stay in the sun

And count every beautiful thing we see...

He found himself thinking about that cat a lot more than what was healthy. It almost hurt. But he wanted to feel that warmth again.

25 minutes later, he pulls into the short, bumpy driveway of River's house. Turning off the radio, he steps out onto the cracked cement, taking in a deep breath of the cold winter air. How far away is Christmas now? A week and a half, he thinks. That doesn't leave him much time to finish his present-making. What will he even do, anyway? It's not like he has much money. Don't get him wrong, he had saved up a few hundred, but without a job, there wasn't a reliable source, so anything lost would cut deep. Oh well. It's christmas.

He walks up to the door between the long grass and shrubbery. Knocking on the white paint, it takes a good few seconds of standing on the stairs before the door opens. River stands there, wearing the same pink sweatshirt from the day they met. "Hey there." Finn says awkwardly.

River steps out cautiously. "Hi."

He checks the time on his phone: 4:42 PM. "So uh, we're cool, Right? I know we didn't like, you know, or anything, but-..."

River gives him a quick hug, wrapping his arms over his back: A moment's abatement from the cold. Finn steps back a bit, startled. River speaks. "Don't worry about it, okay? We can talk about it more later."

"Alright."

-=+=-

Was it the best you ever had?

Was it the worst? You'd never know

I'd try to tell you what I think and play it off like it's a joke

Oh no more surprises, I guess it's like this

The radio is back on, and Finn is busy driving River home. "So, you get to meet my parents."

River looks out the window, watching the houses pass by. "You've talked about them a few times, yeah?"

"Mhm." He makes a turn. "My mother will probably treat you like we're both children. She does that. My dad is a hermit who basically lives in his office, so if he comes out, it'll only be for a quick second."

River chuckles. "Does he treat you like that, too?"

Finn smiles. "Always."

"It seems like our fathers might be the same person."

"Hey, maybe." Finn answers.

The sun is fun, the land is dandy

I only talk to dogs because they don't understand me

My teeth are yellow, hello world

Would you like me a little better if they were white like yours?...

Finn reaches the final street of the run-down neighborhood. "We're here." He drives a few houses down to his blue-painted home. "Come on." He pulls into his driveway.

He notices River looking up at the sky. "Finn," he says, "Look."

He looks outside the window. "Well, damn. It's snowing." Flurries of snowflakes are spewing out of the sky before them, a beautiful amalgamation of white falling to the cold ground. They climb out of the car and look up at the sky, standing next to the house.

River reaches out to catch them on his fur. "I wish I was younger, when I could go out and play in the snow."

Finn shrugs. "You can still do that."

"Yes, but it's childish." River answers.

"Who cares? It's your life, if someone else judges you for it, it's their loss." Finn argues.

River huffs. "I do." He says.

Finn puts his paw on his shoulder. "Goddamnit, if you wanna play in the snow, River, you're gonna. We're gonna go somewhere sometime, just me and you, and you're gonna enjoy it. Deal?" He gives him a playful shove.

"I don't know..." River says.

Finn steps in a little closer and looks the cat right in the eyes. "You're gonna enjoy it, okay? Please."

Snow falls and ornaments the smaller cat's head, turning the orange fur the same color as River's muzzle. "Okay, okay, just for a little while. Tell me when."

Finn raises his fist in the air in victory. "I'll take it!"

He knows he should step away, but that electric feeling of being so close is calling for him...

The feeling hurts, but now's not the time. He reluctantly backs up. "We can negotiate another time. There's other things to do right now, and it's really cold out here." His fur can't protect him from everything.

"Alright." River says.

The snow begins to fall harder. Finn looks up at the sky. "I don't think we're outrunning that anymore."

River grins smugly. "Told you."

Finn squints at him. "You don't seem that stressed about it."

His ears flick back. "Shut up."

Finn laughs and pats him on the back. "Come on." He walks to the front door, River trailing behind, and briefly knocks on it to notify his presence. Now sufficiently covered with snow, he opens it, and leads River into the cozy interior. The walls, like the outside of the house, are painted blue, though a slightly offset color. He passes by their cluttered end table to the couch, where, as usual, his mother is sitting. This time, it's a new soap opera.

"Get home safe?" She says.

"As always, ma." Finn responds. He beckons River over. "Look what I picked up off the street."

After an awkwardly long conversation with his mother (And a quick acknowledgement from his father), the daily pleasantries are complete. They agreed that River should stay here for the night (Including River's father, from the phone), which was probably for the best. It's snowing pretty hard outside...

He passes through the doorway to his room. Small and cozy, his laptop sits on his desk in the corner, his bed permanently unmade next to the door. Warm yellow light shines down on the bookshelf and green walls encompasses the room. He sits down on the bed, River following in behind him wearing his pink sweatshirt. He looks around the room. "This is nice." He says.

"Thanks," Finn responds. "I spend a lot of time here, so I like to keep it at least somewhat presentable."

"I can tell." River stretches. "Is there anything you want to do in particular?"

"I mean, I wasn't planning on you staying here more than a few hours, so not entirely. Probably play some video games. I have a few board games, if that interests you at all. Oh, I did get my father's permission to show you his new novel, if you want a preview of the first chapter."

River smiles. "Sure."

"Alrighty, then." He grabs his laptop off the desk and opens it, sitting back down and logging in. He curls his vulpine, orange, white-tipped tail down on his lap. It always had been annoyingly long, and a bit troublesome in public situations: People had a habit of stepping on it.

When he looks back up, He sees River watching the snowfall out the window.

The cat looks pensive, eyes glinting off the white snow. "La météo de des chiens." He says.

"What?" Finn asks.

"La météo de des chiens. The Weather of Dogs. It's an old Francian legend about snow storms so cold that only devil-hounds could brave them." River explains.

Finn finishes pulling up the PDF. "Sounds creepy."

"I guess. Unless we're in a fairytale, though, I imagine we'll be fine." River returns.

"Hah, yeah. Well- If you want a different kind of fairy tale, I have one here. Here, come sit down."

River obliges and sits next to him, coming dangerously close to his side.

Finn reaches up and cautiously strokes the cat's head. River smiles. God, this was stressful. At least trusts me, Finn thinks.

Whatever. There are other times to resolve this, not now.

He begins to read the PDF out for River.

"Chapter 0: The Mushroom Ghost "

"Somewhere on the Continent of Europa, 1844"

"Alexios died of plague at the age of six. That's when he first saw the mushrooms.

They're tiny things, golden brown with bulbous caps. They coated the floor below him. He didn't realize it at the time, but they coat all floors. Every last one. Perfect and invisible, hiding in plain sight, a special secret hidden from living eyes..."

Time wanes on. They have dinner with his parents. As the light outside dims, and night settles in, Finn's parents go to bed. After chatting for a while, the two teenagers decide to watch a movie or two to finish the night before sleeping.

Finn opens the door of his room and steps out into the hall, padding over the wood flooring beneath his feet. River comes in from behind him. The hallway to the living room is lit by the soft blue light of the moon, filtering in through the trees and into the interior of the home. "Anything you want to watch?" River asks, still speaking softly.

Finn opens his mouth, about to answer, but that's when he feels it. Standing in the middle of the hallway, his silhouette cast on the wall behind him, he feels it. Oh, he feels it. All he wanted to do was watch a movie, why this now?

Something.

It's a terrible feeling, coursing through his body, his veins on fire, his witchblood boiling. The sensation wraps its tendrils around and into his organs, occupying his whole body. He freezes in place, struggling against it.

He grits his teeth, eyes going wide, and he suddenly doesn't care about River's question. Shaking, he breathes out in short breaths: "There's... something... outside." River wouldn't be able to feel it; He's not a Finder. But hopefully he'll understand.

River, obviously noticing the sudden and frightful change of demeanor, panics. He rushes up next to him, grabbing his wrist. "Finn! Finn, I'm going to need you to calm down, okay? Deep breaths. Breath for me. Deep breaths, Finn. What's outside?"

The feeling grows, thriving in his consciousness, infecting as many corners as possible. It doesn't hurt in the traditional sense. It's something else entirely. Something outside is overloading his abilities as a Finder, effectively paralyzing him. Finn shakes his head the best he can, paws clenching into fists. "I... don't... know..."

River looks at him, out the window, then back at him. "Wait for me a second."

The cat dashes into Finn's bedroom. Finn hears the sound of a drawer opening as he begins to shake harder. Faster than he thought possible, River runs back out. He's holding the bone he gave him. "Finn. I'm gonna need you to stay calm for me, alright? Stay calm. I'm going to try to help."

All Finn can do is give a small nod as his eyes force themselves wide, unintelligible mumbles unintentionally falling out of his mouth. The feeling cracks open his bones, burrowing into the marrow inside and spreading through his spine.

River takes a deep breath. "Okay. I hope this helps." He holds the arm bone, the one he had originally given to Finn, up into the air, facing it skyward. He closes his eyes, whispering something as he fully concentrates. His arms begin to shake, and Finn can sense the wealth of magic emanating from him.

River's whispering begins to grow louder. It's the same set of words, spoken over and over again: It's not inherently part of the hex, but speaking what they're doing helps many witches focus on their task. Clearly, The cat is focusing very hard.

The pressure on Finn begins to crumble. It cracks and breaks, falling off his body like dust. He takes in a deep breath as his motor functions begin to return to him, the metaphorical tendrils of whatever is out there being chopped off of him. River's fingers begin to snap and contort, but he doesn't lurch back in pain; A symptom of hex-casting, it's not painful. As far as Finn knows, anyway. A Finder can't cast hexes.

River clenches his other fist, bringing it up, closed eyes looking out the window. A big part of the feeling inside of him breaks, and it falls out of his spine. Functioning again, but still struggling, Finn forces his head to gaze into the snowy neighborhood outside. He catches a glimpse of something outside. Something big, on four paws. It's furless, and the thing's skin is dotted with rot and sores...

River slams his fast down, and he hears the beast hit the floor, though it itself doesn't make a noise. He raises it up again, and again, and again, his grip growing tighter, claws out. The last pieces of the creature's influence on Finn come off in droves, falling into nothingness. He breathes a sigh of relief, only a small ringing resonance of the creature's presence remaining in his head. At that moment, River drops his hands, bone clattering to the floor. Looking out the window, Finn sees the spot in the snow where the creature used to be, the tracks behind it being covered in fresh snow. Instead of the beast, he sees dirt, a bit of black flesh sticking out in the middle of it. Suddenly, it disappears beneath the soil, leaving nothing but a faintly snow-dusted patch of earth.

Finn rushes over to River, whose fingers are currently snapping back to normal, and grabs his shoulders. "River! Are you alright? What did you do?"

The cat pants. "I'm- I'm fine. I- I banished it. Underground. It should be going down there right now."

Finn is confused. "How did you- Shit, you're bleeding!" He hears drops of blood splatter onto the floor. He holds up River's arm, looking at the paw he had clenched. Four puncture wounds from his claws have dug into his flesh. Blood flows down and out of the wound, joining the rest of the crimson red on the wood below. "Shit, man, we need to get this cleaned up."

River swallows, his adrenaline wearing off. "Thanks."

Finn leads the feline to the bathroom, using his primitive knowledge of medicine to clean and bandage the wounds.

River stretches his fingers. "How will we explain this to anyone else? We can't say that, y'know."

Finn shakes his head, letting out a sigh of frustration. "I don't know. I don't know. We- ugh. We have bigger problems. What was that thing? And more important, why was it here?"

River puts down his paw. "Some sort of beast. Summoned. By who and why, I can't say."

Finn thinks back to old man Windborough. He thinks about his magecraft. He was a mage, right? "Do you think Windborough is onto us?"

River shakes his head. "Us specifically? I don't- maybe- I... he could have just summoned it targeting 'the thieves' or something, if he's found fur from one of us... which would be bad. And that- that thing. It was clearly made to paralyze us, with such a strong aura. He must think we're both Finders, if he even knows two people were involved."

"So he doesn't suspect you."

"No." River replies.

Finn nods. "What did he even do to you? If you don't mind me asking."

River's ears flatten. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Finn pats his shoulder. "Alright. I won't push. I think we both need to unwind. How about we go watch that movie?"

River smiles. "That sounds good."

Luckily, Finn's parents didn't hear their antics, leaving them in peace.

The duo sit on the living room couch, flicking through the shows on Netflix. Growing tired and still anxious from their earlier encounter, they decide on something calm: A nature documentary, specifically about Russland. Setting the volume to be comfortably low, it's clear tonight isn't going to be an all-nighter.

They let the quiet atmosphere calm their spirits. Looking at the cat next to him, Finn can't help but be worried. "River."

The cat turns to meet his gaze. "Hm?"

This confrontation is inevitable, Finn thinks. "Are we good? You know what I mean."

River blinks, then smiles. "Yes. We are."

Finn nods, looking back at the TV screen, which is currently depicting the wilds of Europa. So are they on the same page, then? It isn't quite clear, and he doesn't want to ruin anything, but... he thinks he's picked up on the proper social cues. River inches closer to him, body heat faintly reaching his side. "River," Finn says, "let me see your paw."

The cat holds his injured paw up to him, the bandages still wrapped around his palm. The parts of it that are pressed against the wounds are stained red, but it hasn't spread past that. Good, it could be much worse. "Looks fine. I think it's already clotted. Mostly, anyway."

River nods. "That's good."

"Does it hurt?" He asks.

River nods. "Yes."

Finn sighs and drops the feline's paw. He swipes the other, uninjured one, looks back at the documentary again, and tugs the cat a little closer. Soon, he finds a cat-like head resting on his shoulder, and he rests his own on that. They share their body heat in the moon-speckled night, thoughts away from the suffocating beast currently being buried under the earth by magic. "I never said thank you, River."

"For what?" The cat says groggily, clearly having exerted himself with his hex.

Finn squeezes his paw. "For- God it sounds tacky to say, but, for saving me. Really."

River shakes his head. "I was protecting us. It wasn't personal."

"You didn't know that when you started, though. You were just trying to help." Finn replies.

"I guess." River answers.

Finn drops his paw again and slides it over the feline's back, reaching over to grab his side. He pulls him against himself, then squeezes his shoulder. "You okay with this?" The cat nods. Finn rests his muzzle atop the cat's head. It ends up at an awkward, upward angle due to their current positioning, but the fox doesn't mind. He caresses the cat pressed against him, feeling undeniably happy.

Maybe everything would be alright. "I really am grateful. That feeling... I never want to go through it again." He shudders just thinking about it.

River shifts, leaning further into the fox. "You're welcome, I guess."

"You could use some more self-confidence, you know. I really do like you." Finn advises

"Maybe." River says.

"Seriously." Finn replies.

Their conversation stops there. Finn tries to watch the documentary again, but he's preoccupied.

They eventually start feeling tired again -- More than they should -- And fall asleep.