{"sf1_id":2238635,"sf2_id":"V1YL36On","title":"They Speak in Knives","author":"Oliver_Hart","words":8237,"posted_at":"2025-03-28T17:07:30.000Z","tags":["Academy","Crow","Fox","Foxing","HMOFA","Human","Human male on female anthro","Religion","Slowburn"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2238635-they-speak-in-knives","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/V1YL36On","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/1a/9a/1a9ae840-4b22-4b6b-b060-053e432626dc","description":"The Bishop might know something afterall...","content":"\\\u003eWe all keep secrets, right?  \n  \n\\\u003eRight?  \n  \n\\\u003eSo, what if you had a secret?  \n\\\u003eLike… a really huge secret?  \n\\\u003eWhat about a secret you wear on your hands?  \n\\\u003eA secret you almost always have an excuse for?  \n'Oh these? These are so my fox doesn't bite me.'  \n'Getting used to wearing them so when I'm deployed it's not such a jump.'  \n'So I don't get sick.'  \n'Gardening. I… wear these for gardening.'  \n  \n\\\u003eBut not today — there are no excuses  \n  \n\\\u003eIt was the Bishop that brought the crowd to stillness  \n\\\u003eWith a single clap of his palms, the noise dies  \n\\\u003eNeelan turns towards the crowd with his palms open, his thumb dotted with a just a small prick of blood, barely visible even up close  \n\\\u003e\"Please, if we could return to respectful silence,\" he bellows. “These sorts of things do happen.\"  \n\\\u003eAt that the din of the crowd weakens to a thin whisper, like spotlights fading down…  \n\\\u003e…pointed at you, still alone, holding Echo  \n  \n\\\u003eBishop Neelan motions for you to get off the raised platform via a set of stairs to his left  \n“Right, sorry,\" you say as you move with a swiftness known only to gutless cowards, terrified rabbits, and the odd human with an anxiety condition  \n  \n\\\u003eAs you pass by Neelan, he catches you on the shoulder with one bony hand  \n\\\u003eHis grip is not strong, rooting you in place  \n\\\u003eA flood of white-hot anger radiates from him to you via his touch  \n\\\u003eHe leans in close — so close you can smell the scent of incense and fox fur clinging to him like a cologne  \n\\\u003eHe whispers against your ears in a hissed voice  \n\\\u003e\"Don't try to leave Kiba tonight.\"  \n\\\u003eAnd with a friendly pat on the shoulder, he says something else  \n\\\u003eSomething that makes your heart burst with terror  \n  \n\\\u003e“I know what you are.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eYou spend much of your 'celebration' locked away in your old room, wearing your Foxer's scarf, chuffing down cigarettes and smouldering with anxiety  \n\\\u003eYou've escaped the chaos and clutter of downstairs for two reasons:  \n\\\u003eFact one, there isn't much of a celebration going on for your scarfing  \n\\\u003eTonight it's just you and Natalie — who is downstairs with dinner on the stove  \n\\\u003eAnd face two, your uncle Gregory isn't home  \n  \n\\\u003eGreg probably won't be home until late at tonight, slipping in like a shadow in the dark of midnight, his only tell the reek of spirits and cigarette smoke that cling to him like hungry dogs waiting for scraps  \n\\\u003eHe didn't even go to your graduation ceremony. Why would he come back now for the after party?  \n\\\u003eIf you know uncle Greg — dad's brother — you know he's at work on the walls, drunk off the cigarette fumes and sips of liquor from his flask  \n\\\u003eYou can hear his voice now  \n\\\u003e'Sorry Anon, work needed all-hands today. If the harvesters keep acting up like this, I won't be home before midnight this week,' he says in your mind's eye, knocking the lid off a bottle of gin. 'Congratulations,' he takes a swig. 'Your mom and dad would be proud.'  \n\\\u003eYour fingers tighten into knuckles underneath your thin leather gloves  \n\\\u003eYou chunk your red dream journal in your hands right at the door like a leather bound missile  \n\\\u003eIt bounces off the solid wood door and lands in an ungraceful heap, open to the page you were studying  \n\\\u003eFirst that dream last night — the one you can't remember much of  \n“What's the fucking use?\" you sulk  \n\\\u003eNow you're in deep with the Bishop  \nNatalie's sing-song voice downstairs flutters up to you like a dust moth, that girlish falsetto the only tether you have to reality  \n  \n\\\u003eEcho lifts his sleepy head in the waning sunlight that still bleeds through your mostly-sealed shutters  \n\\\u003eSullen, you address the source of your anguish  \n“Echo, you little rat,\" you sulk, “Why'd you bite that old bastard? Why didn't you bite me, or someone else?\"  \n\\\u003eHis pale-blue eyes stare back at you, his language of gestures and expressions one you know well  \n\\\u003eEcho rolls over in the slant of sunlight, exposing his pink belly  \n\\\u003e'Don't forget to feed me then,' is how you interpret this behavior  \n  \n“Anyone but the damned Headmaster of the whole damned Academy. Anyone but him,\" you sigh as you retrieve your dream journal from off your bedroom floor  \n  \n\\\u003eThe room stinks of nerves, cigarettes and body sweat; a miasma of teenage angst built up into a sensory roadblock  \n\\\u003eYou can't think while you're in here  \n\\\u003eWouldn't kill ya to open up your window and let in some fresh air, would it?  \n\\\u003eInstead, you pluck a cigarette from the pack on your nightstand and sit back down on the bed  \n\\\u003eYour mind turns to the Bishop's words as you pop the smoke between your lips  \n\\\u003eYou bring dad's everflame lighter out and take your first few draws  \n  \n\\\u003e'Don't try to leave Kiba tonight'  \n  \n\\\u003eFor what feels like hours — but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes — you smoke, and you sulk  \n\\\u003eAnd when you need a break from thinking about the Bishop's warning, you pen down thoughts into your journal  \n“It feels like my world is ending,\" you mutter to yourself, trying to remember that dream from last night. “It feels like I'm in a nightmare I can't wake up from.\"  \n\\\u003eThe one where you were being helped by someone — a name and face you can no longer recall  \n\\\u003eBefore it all went wrong somehow, and-  \n  \n\\\u003eEcho fox lifts his head off the hardwood floor  \n“Echo?\"  \n\\\u003eYour service fox rises onto four feet and snaps his attention to your bedroom door  \n\\\u003eNo tired yawn, no gentle stretch  \n“C'mon Echo don't fool around like this right now,\" you say, voice quivering with anxiety  \n\\\u003eYou slap your dream journal shut  \n\\\u003eEcho yips with excitement  \n\\\u003eThere's the sound of a heavy, excited fist bouncing off the front door  \n\\\u003e\"Hold on, hold on!\" Natalie roars, her song cut short. “Keep your pants on!\"  \n  \n\\\u003eOh God  \n\\\u003eYou pray as you drag deeeeeeep on your cigarette  \n\\\u003eYou inhale as much smoke into your lungs as possible, baptizing them in ash, as you beg God for a break here  \n\\\u003eToday was supposed to be a joyous, good day  \n\\\u003eBut they found you out after twelve years, one foot out the proverbial door  \n\\\u003eIt's gotta be the Church downstairs — they said not to leave  \n\\\u003eYou glance towards the window  \n\\\u003eYou could run, with Echo, you know  \n\\\u003eThere's tons of rogue or retired Foxers out there  \n\\\u003eBut you're barely nineteen — not equipped for the criminal underground  \n  \n\\\u003eThe sound of the door opening causes you to force your shutters up and window open  \n\\\u003eYou listen, heart pounding like a drum  \n\\\u003eSilence, brief  \n\\\u003eAnd then voices  \n\\\u003e\"You can't come in,\" Natalie says in a firm voice  \n\\\u003eOh FUCK you gotta go  \n\\\u003eOne foot is already out the window  \n\\\u003eYou look below, at your measly little side yard, and see something peculiar:  \n\\\u003eA Foxer in the neighbor's yard  \n\\\u003eHuh  \n\\\u003eThat's weird  \n  \n\\\u003e\"NO!\" Natalie shouts, “You're not- you're not sober. I don't like you when you're like this.\"  \n\\\u003e\"I pay for this damned house; I can come and go as I please, and DO as I please!\" a man's voice replies  \n\\\u003eWait, you know that voice  \n\\\u003eYou hear footfalls approaching the stairs  \n\\\u003e\"Fine! but don't expect dinner!\"  \n\\\u003eAnd then the sound of heavy work boots pounding off the stairs swells in your ears  \n\\\u003eYou pull yourself back from the window and onto your bed  \n\\\u003eLike a sixth sense, Echo yips in excitement, right at the moment you hear knocking at your bedroom door  \n\\\u003e\"Anon!\" your uncle Greg says exclaims, then bursting into the unlocked room  \n\\\u003eHis chest heaves from exhaustion  \n\\\u003eHe's dressed in his work clothes still — a harness around his waist, spools of rope at his side, carabiners, gloves, climbing shoes, bags of chalk, and more — all for the walls of Enclave  \n\\\u003e\"There's our little Foxer! There's our little graduate!\" he stumbles into the room with a self-aggrandizing laugh, nearly tripping over Echo in the process  \n\\\u003eIn his right hand is an unopened bottle of good whiskey, one that seems bound by an amber glow in the afternoon sunlight  \n\\\u003e\"Let me be the first to- no, wait, probably not… umm… well, let me congratulate you on becoming a fixer- I mean Foxer,\" he says with a slurred laugh  \n“Thanks, uncle Greg,\" you say with a sunken tone, taking a long drag on your smoke  \n\\\u003e\"Got this for ya,\" he shoves the bottle of whiskey towards you  \n\\\u003eYou catch a whiff of his breath in the process and it's…  \n\\\u003e…rich with liquor  \n\\\u003eHot with it  \n\\\u003eEnough to make you woozy just by the smell alone  \n  \n\\\u003eHe's… not a bad guy, you reason, as you grip the bottle  \n\\\u003eGreg isn't cruel, not the type of guy that speaks with his hands and fists when he's drunk  \n\\\u003eNo, that's not your uncle  \n\\\u003eGreg does his… let's call it his 'best'  \n\\\u003eAnd for God's sake, he bankrolled most of your education (though you did have to work), and he pays for this house!  \n\\\u003eBut still  \n  \n\\\u003eHe's a drunk  \n  \n\\\u003eEvery day after work, every night, and sometimes even at work on the walls  \n\\\u003eDrunk  \n\\\u003eSo drunk, perhaps, that he didn't even come to graduation for either you or Natalie  \n\\\u003eA common theme has crystalized over the years spent living with Greg  \n\\\u003eA single word that encapsulates his relationship with you, himself, and the amber crutch:  \n\\\u003eUnreliable  \n\\\u003eSince the age of thirteen you more or less raised Natalie, all while working through Academy to become a Foxer  \n\\\u003eFood on the table was up to you and Nat, of course  \n  \n\\\u003eGreg just kept the Church from taking possession of the house  \n\\\u003eLate bills will do that  \n  \n\\\u003eYour uncle is a thin man, so when he drops on the bed next to you, don't feel it much  \n\\\u003e\"Mind if I borrow a smoke?\" he says, as he plucks a cigarette out of the pack on your nightstand  \n\\\u003eYou scowl but say nothing, tightening up further into yourself, the bottle of liquor in your grasp like a lifeline to reality  \n\\\u003eGreg lights up and puffs once or twice  \n\\\u003eHe watches Echo chase dust motes for a second, smiling like a dope  \n\\\u003e\"God, it feels good to get off those damn walls. Did I tell ya there were some harvesters that came by the other day? Scared the new bloods so bad that one of them almost quit on the spot,\" he chuckles  \n\\\u003eGreg turns to you and finds you drawn up into yourself, your sullen shell  \n\\\u003eHe frowns and cocks his head  \n  \n\\\u003e\"What's up kid? I don't mean to assume nothing, but that gloomy look you're wearing isn't right for someone who just graduated.\"  \n\\\u003eYou lift your head a bit  \n\\\u003eGreg goes on  \n\\\u003e\"I mean, you just became a Foxer! You should be climbing the damn walls right now with excitement. You did it!\"  \n\\\u003eGreg digs into his pocket and pulls out some beef jerky in wrapped in wax paper  \n\\\u003eEcho bounds over and sits in front of your uncle, obedient and penitent. Your uncle doles out some jerky leftover from lunch, which Echo snatches  \n\\\u003e“Foxings an honorable profession, you know. Not like repairing the walls, like I do. Anyone can slap mortar onto holes,\" he muses, exhaling a jet of acrid smoke out his nose. “Anyone.\"  \n\\\u003e\"But not everyone can become a Foxer,\" he gums around the cigarette. “No, Natalie couldn't do it, and she's smarter than Scribe, I swear.\"  \n\\\u003eYou tighten your gloved hands around the bottle in frustration  \n\\\u003eHow do you broach this?  \n\"I think,\" you start, searching the threadbare walls of your old room for your next sentence  \n\\\u003eGreg looks over you  \n“I think the Bishop knows something,\" you say, voice low and wounded. “About the… gloves. About me.\"  \n\\\u003eYou turn your head up at your uncle as you feel something tighten in your throat, some condensation of weakness now choking you like a noose  \n\\\u003eVulnerability is scary, but you have to tell someone  \n\\\u003eAnd Greg is probably the only person you can tell  \n\\\u003eAside from Natalie, maybe  \n\\\u003eNot that mom or dad are in the picture  \n\\\u003eAny more  \n  \n\\\u003eUncle Greg's cigarette dangles between his cracked lips as he stares at you, his addled mind at work  \n\\\u003eYou squeeze your eyes shut and brace for the slurred lecture on being more careful  \n  \n\\\u003eTo his credit, Greg does not react like you expect. No crack of the whip, no lessons and platitudes about fairness and the Church  \n\\\u003eHe stubs out his smoke on a nearby ashtray  \n\\\u003e\"What happened? When did this happen? When I was at work?\" he says, voice low with concern  \n\\\u003eYou nod, that lump in your throat bringing frightened tears to your eyes  \n\\\u003e\"What do you mean 'knows something'?\" Greg parrots. “You didn't tell him you're a dream wal-\"  \n“Of course not!\" you nearly shout, red in the face  \n\\\u003eMore from terror than anything else — fear of that word  \n\\\u003eYou curl up back into yourself, bringing your knees against your chest  \n“It was my gloves. Echo bit the Headmaster during my scarfing, and the Bishop noticed my gloves.\"  \n\\\u003e\"Anon…\"  \n“The Bishop told me something.\"  \n\\\u003e\"Anon…'  \n“He said, 'I know what you are,' and then he told me-\"  \n\\\u003e\"Anon!\" Greg says, gripping you by the shoulder  \n\\\u003eYour uncle draws in close, his breath heavy with nicotine and spirits  \n“What?\"  \n\\\u003e\"He let you go home?\"  \n\\\u003eYou nod, unsure of Greg's point  \n  \n\\\u003eGreg sits back down next to you on the bed  \n\\\u003eEcho jumps onto Greg's lap and tries to lick his face clean  \n\\\u003e\"I tell ya, Anon, you're worried about nothing,\" he says, retrieving another cigarette from your nightstand pack  \n\\\u003eHe also withdraws a flask from his breast pocket — a small silver slip of metal that could fit against his gray uniform  \n\\\u003eHe knocks off the lid to the flask and tips it back  \n\\\u003eWhatever he's got in there, it smells like pine  \n  \n\\\u003e\"So you got a little careless today at graduation. It was bound to happen,\" he coughs, “but the way I see it, if he let you come home, you're in the clear. If they didn't make you sign some oath, they don't suspect a thing about you. Trust me, you're in the clear.\"  \n\\\u003e'Trust me'?  \n\\\u003eYou 'trust' Greg not to get fired, most of the time  \n\\\u003eEverything after that is a definite 'maybe'  \n  \n“How in Purgatory would you know?\" you say as you try to contain your frustration, your anger  \n\\\u003eIf you're angry, your uncle can't tell. His expression goes distant, vacant  \n\\\u003e“I just know,\" he says  \n\\\u003eHe points his eyes ahead, at your shut bedroom door, and lapses into a small bout of silence — one that lasts for maybe ten seconds  \n\\\u003e\"Listen — there's something I should tell you and your sister. Maybe I'll stay for dinner, and we can talk about it.\"  \n\\\u003eHe turns to you, smiles, his green eyes bloodshot from the smoke  \n\\\u003e\"Everything is gonna be alright. And nothing,\" Greg continues, “makes me happier than the fact that my nephew is a board-certified Foxer.\"  \n\\\u003eA weak smile turns up on your lips  \n“By God you're gonna be outside the walls bringing the fight right to those damned heretics, charting safe passage for the rest of us. It's an honor to have a Foxer in the family,\" he grins  \n\\\u003e\"I got to tell my buddies at work today that my nephew I'm lookin' after is studying to be a Foxer. They had a lot of questions that I didn't know how to answer,\" Greg chuckles. “When you get some miles under your shoes, I want you to come talk to the guys at work for me, alright? Bring Echo. He'd be a hit.\"  \n\\\u003eYou can't help but chuckle — just a little — at Greg's playfulness in the light ofo something so serious  \n\\\u003eMaybe he does have a faint point  \n\\\u003eNo oaths  \n\\\u003eNo Zealots at your house when you got home  \n\\\u003eFuck, you could turn tail and run now  \n\\\u003eMaybe you are in the clear  \n  \n“If I can get the time off in between deployments I'll swing by,\" you say, with a glance down at your bottle of whiskey  \n\\\u003eThe clear bottle sloshes in your grip, full to the brim with amber liquor  \n\\\u003eRemarkably, the bottle is unopened  \n\\\u003eGreg must see your curious, renewed eyes grazing the graduation present he gave you  \n\\\u003e\"That's good stuff,\" he muses, side-eyeing you. “Cost half a week's pay, but it was worth every bit if it's for my nephew's graduation.\"  \n\\\u003eYou pry the cork off the bottle, the bottle releasing with a hollow thunk  \n\\\u003eGreg's eyes light up, like a hungry vagrant seeing an outstretched hand  \n\\\u003e“I could help you with polishing that off-\" he begins  \n\\\u003eAnd then  \n\\\u003eHe does something you do not expect from your uncle:  \n\\\u003eHe stops mid-sentence, and says, “Forget it, you drink it when you want to. It's yours, after all.\"  \n\\\u003eYou, on the other hand, are giving in to the idea that you're going to be alright  \n“We should at least toast, right?\" you say as you offer him the bottle. “To my graduation?\"  \n\\\u003eGreg's eyes brighten with a slurred type of joy  \n\\\u003eAnd he's about to open his mouth to agree, to take the bottle for a swig, go dancing with the bottle, when Natalie's voice passes under the door  \n\\\u003eAn explosive voice — like a tortured songbird  \n\\\u003e\"Dinner!\"  \n  \n\\\u003eGreg looks at you, distraught; a man deprived of a chance to drink in peace with his nephew  \n\\\u003e\"Sounds like we better get down there. One quick wash before dinner,\" he says as he stands. He turns his attention down to you. “You do what you like with that. I'll join you two at the table soon.\"  \n\\\u003eAt that, Greg stumbles out of your bedroom with drunken grace, and finds his own room  \n\\\u003eThe door to his room slams shut, echoing throughout the small house  \n\\\u003eAnd as you walk down the stairs and turn the hall towards the kitchen, you can hear uncle Greg retching in the bathroom  \n  \n\\\u003eYou enter the kitchen, the smell of butter and garlic rich in the air  \n\\\u003eLike a pleasant smoke you can't see, from cigarettes you can't buy  \n\\\u003eA huge bowl of sauced noodles sits on the old wooden table for serving, tendrils of steam whispering off the dish  \n\\\u003eNatalie sits in her place on the left side of the table, sipping on a glass of water and reading Scripture  \n\\\u003eLong, messy tangles of raven-black hair cascade down one side of her face, as pale as the winter's chill  \n\\\u003eNatalie turns her head up towards you when she hears the floorboards squeal at your touch  \n  \n\\\u003e\"Well well well, mister Foxer,\" she coos, slapping her Scripture shut. “Come to spend time with your plebeian little sister, the poor, dumb Zealot?\"  \n\\\u003eHer blue eyes brighten, and she cracks a playful smile  \n“Your words, not mine, Nat,\" you say as you make your way through the kitchen towards the table. “But I guess if I have to spend time with you I'll have dinner too,\" you offer, wearing a playful smirk  \n\\\u003e\"Well don't get too excited,\" Natalie says, sarcastically as she glances around the table, “It's not much of a feast for your graduation — at least not like mine was. But it'll do, right?\"  \n“It'll do, Nat,\" you say as you pull out a chair. “You really didn't have to go through all the trouble.\"  \n\\\u003e\"Trouble? Pffft, this was hardly trouble-\"  \n\\\u003eTiny, clawed feet scamper on the hardwoods alongside you, distracting Natalie  \n  \n\\\u003e\"Echo!\" Natalie squeals as he rises from her chair. “Echo you cute little rat, you caused soooooo much trouble today. I thought Anon was gonna end up exiled or something!\"  \n\\\u003eShe crouches down to Echo's level, still wearing her floral print dress from your scarfing ceremony  \n\\\u003e“C'mere, baby,\" she says with all the love of a mother seeing her child for the first time in weeks  \n\\\u003eEcho leaps into Natalie's arm with a single bound  \n\\\u003eYou watch and wonder why Echo is so drawn to your sister  \n\\\u003eSure, he's great with you — most of the time — but Echo and Natalie always shared something special  \n  \n“He likes you a lot,\" you offer, “more than me. At least based on today.\"  \n\\\u003e\"You have no idea how glad I am that he lives here now,\" she says  \n“For now. Only until I'm called to service in a few weeks. The same goes for you.\"  \n\\\u003e\"I know, but it's still so nice that he's here,\" Natalie coos, stroking Echo's gray and white fur back. “I'm a little jealous that you get to spend so much time with this little rascal.\"  \n\\\u003eIn response, you plant the bottle that Greg gave you on the table like a hunting trophy  \n  \n\\\u003eNatalie's attention shifts from Echo to the bottle with a quick, bitter flick of her blue eyes  \n\\\u003e\"Greg gave you that, huh?\" she offers a stiff nod towards the bottle, like it was alive  \n\\\u003eYou turn to her as you fill your plate with noodles and sauce  \n“As a matter of fact, he did,\" you say. You pour a small snort of whiskey in your empty water glass. “I thought I'd celebrate my new position in the Church with a drink. I think I've more than earned it, right?\"  \n\\\u003e\"I seem to remember you almost giving up more than once.\"  \n\\\u003eYou hold the glass up to the weak everflame light  \n“First drink is to God; for luck, grace, and good aim,\" you declare  \n\\\u003e\"Do you even know how many much is in a shot of that stuff?\" Natalie squeaks, nerves mounting  \n\\\u003eYou knock back your first shot — ever  \n\\\u003eAnd it nearly knocks you on your ass  \n\\\u003eYou slap the table. The whiskey goes down like liquid fire as it scorches a trail down the back of your throat  \n\\\u003eDespite the pleasant warmth blossoming within you, you retch and gasp for air  \n\\\u003eNatalie scowls, a poor attempt to conceal her distaste. “Just don't- don't go overboard, okay? I can barely handle it when Greg's on one. I don't need you on one, too.\"  \n\\\u003eEcho leaps out of her grasp and scampers across the table towards you  \n\\\u003eWith your eyes shut tight, you feel his wet nose against your cheek  \n\\\u003eYour service fox sniffs you over as you gather yourself internally, if only to confirm that you're not in actual pain  \n\\\u003eYou remove your glove and stroke Echo's head as you cough out the last of the whiskey from your burning lungs  \n“You know me,\" you say as you force down another cough, “they called me 'mister self control' at Academy.\"  \n\\\u003eYour 'joke' does not land, and Natalie does not look amused as you prepare another shot  \n  \n\\\u003e\"Smells good in here,\" Greg says as he steps into the kitchen.  \n\\\u003eHe's a pale man, with dark hair like a raven's feathers; the remnants of his attempt at shaving cling to his patchy face, too  \n\\\u003eHe REEKS of liquor, and radiates a type of exhaustion that makes even you feel tired  \n\\\u003eYou are an idiot, however, and you try to carry on while sipping your whiskey  \n\\\u003eFeeling… peculiar… you raise your glass to your uncle  \n\"Second drink of the night goes to you, Greg, for making Natalie's and I's education mostly possible,\" you say with a light misplaced jab  \n\\\u003eSeeing that the spirits are flowing as free as water, much to Natalie's chagrin, Greg claims his usual spot at the table  \n\\\u003e\"It wasn't always… easy…\" Greg says as he unscrews the lid to his flask in solidarity, “but I'd do anything for you kids.\"  \n\\\u003eHe raises the flask at you, taps the lid to your glass, and knocks back a quick, exhausted shot  \n\\\u003eYou drain your glass, eager to keep u-  \n\\\u003eGAH  \n\\\u003eIt burns more the second time!  \n\\\u003eYou clamp your lips shut and force down the urge to cough, eyes blurring with pained tears  \n  \n\\\u003eNatalie looks on with silent disapproval at your behavior  \n\\\u003eDespite the commotion, Echo settles in your sister's lap as you all eat  \n\\\u003eNatalie's not happy Greg is drunk again  \n\\\u003eAnd at dinner  \n\\\u003eAnd that you're drinking now, too  \n  \n\\\u003eBut she's overruled  \n  \n\\\u003eThe night wears on; the sun slips behind the walls; Greg's forgotten about his 'work buddies' and sits in the living room with you for the evening  \n\\\u003eA fire snaps in the hearth as you all sit around, dedicating swigs out of your whiskey bottle to friends, co-workers, God, family, this, that, and the other (Echo)  \n\\\u003eYour ears burn with warmth, and your face is flush, rich with color and cheer  \n\\\u003eThe room spins beneath you, a pleasant auger gracefully carrying you along with it  \n\\\u003eNot too fast, not too slow  \n\\\u003eA warmth unlike anything you've ever felt pulses in your veins, as rich as your very blood  \n\\\u003eTo keep himself busy, Echo scampers up an old couch and makes the leap from the arm of the couch onto a nearby empty shelf drilled into the wall  \n\\\u003eIn fact, the room is lined with empty shelves — meant to mimic an 'agility room' for foxes back at Academy  \n\\\u003eYou and Greg built them for Echo when you moved back home  \n\\\u003eFoxes need places to run around and be active, else they get a little mischievous  \n\\\u003eEspecially Echo, whose grace continues to shock you — even now  \n  \n\\\u003eThe fox moves in silence, and with ease, from shelf to shelf, climbing high above the wooden floors  \n\\\u003eEcho is like a gray liquid when he moves, sometimes  \n  \n\\\u003eNatalie, on the other hand, is more like a solid  \n\\\u003eShe sits rigid in her chair, listening to the conversation, knitting away  \n\\\u003eGreg puffs away on another of your cigarettes and jabbers on about shit he doesn't understand  \n\\\u003e\"Got an old work buddy that spent time as a Zealot. Said that the crows are slipperier than wet fox shit. The ravens — big and proud — love to be heard, make noise, all that. They make dumb mistakes in the name of honor or glory or other such crockery. But not the crows. Noooo. Thems clever birds,\" he says, punctuating his point with a long pull on his flask  \n\\\u003e“We learned all about the heretics in Academy,\" Natalie says in a drifting voice. “Corvid, they're called.\"  \n\\\u003eGreg points his flask towards her, “You just learned to kill the birds. I bet Anon learned more about the heretics than either you or I will ever have permission from the Church to know,\" he adds with drunken laughter  \n\\\u003eHe turns to you, away from Natalie who simmers in her chair  \n\\\u003e\"Isn't that right?\" he says to you, leaning, expectant  \n\\\u003eYou look at Natalie, who glares daggers at the both of you  \n\\\u003eYou nod to her in a way that you hope Greg isn't able to process  \n\\\u003e'Let me try to handle him'  \n  \n“I learned how to fight, too. But I'm not really supposed to fight, not like Zealots at least,\" you shift in your chair, mind wrestling with your drunken tongue. “They put nature journals and maps in my hands before they taught me to fire a chemical rifle, if that tells you anything.\"  \n\\\u003eGreg jumps in his seat, excited and drunk, which causes Natalie to flinch  \n\\\u003e\"Which is what makes you dangerous to them, kid!\" He exclaims. “I am a strong believer in the idea that you should know your enemy. You should know how he thinks; how he makes a living; read his great works; see his point of view on this whole mess. Then, when his back is turned… BAM!\" Greg slaps his knee; the concussive sound of his palm striking off his thigh is louder than gunshot  \n\\\u003eYou wince at the sound  \n\\\u003eGreg settles back in his chair and takes a few contemplative puffs on his cigarette  \n\\\u003eYou feel your scarf through your gloves. The fabric is heavy, and coarse, but well-made  \n\\\u003eOne stripe  \n\\\u003eFirst rank  \n  \n\\\u003e\"If I was a Foxer,\" Greg gestures with his cigarette, “Or a Zealot,\" he nods towards Natalie, who does not nod back, “I'd find just a few people I could trust, and stick with em out there. Someone to watch my back from…\" he draws deep on his cigarette; smokes it down to the nub and ashes it  \n\\\u003e\"Well, the Church for one,\" he says at last with a giant cloud of dirty smoke plooming out of him, “and the heretics second.\"  \n\\\u003eNatalie's jaw unclenches at last  \n\\\u003e\"Your niece and nephew both just graduated into the arms of the Church, Greg. What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't just turn up on a whim, stinking drunk, spouting heresy.\"  \n\\\u003eNatalie rises from her chair. “I won't hear of it — not on my brother's graduation day. Not from you.\"  \n\\\u003eShe starts towards the kitchen  \n\\\u003eEcho leaps down off a nearby shelf and stalks behind her, pacing after her shawdow  \n\\\u003eGreg stands up in his chair  \n\\\u003e\"Nat, wait,\" Greg calls, his voice dark and heavy  \n\\\u003eThat's…  \n\\\u003eNot anger…  \n  \n\\\u003eNatalie pauses for a second, her back turned to the both of you  \n\\\u003e“There's a reason I'm saying all this. There's something important I need to tell you — what I've been trying to tell the both of you tonight,\" Greg says his voice a sad, sobering whisper.  \n\\\u003eNatalie's slender fists tighten and go white with rage  \n\\\u003e\"I'm tired, and there are dishes to do,\" she says with a turn; her rich blue eyes flashing bright with frustration  \n\\\u003e\"So just say what you have to say.\"  \n\\\u003eGreg, once again, doesn't notice the fire in his niece's eyes, so he gathers himself with another one of your smokes and a snort of his flask  \n\\\u003eNatalie spins and starts walking to the kitchen \"If you're just going to drink and smok-\" she starts  \n\\\u003eGregs cuts in, good and liquored up, prepared for the moment  \n\\\u003e\"This is about you and your brother. More specifically about your brother.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eYou lean forward, your anxious heart kicking itself in your chest like an old forgotten clock  \n\\\u003e“When I said you need someone to look out for you — even inside the walls — I wasn't kidding. Something happened at work today. Something that made me think of you, Anon, and what we talked about,\" he turns his head up at you  \n\\\u003eHe… he looks sober, but you know he's not  \n\\\u003eStill, you've never seen the mask drop like this; never seen it fall to the floor and shatter  \n\\\u003eMaybe it's the drink  \n\\\u003eMaybe it's the nicotine buzz from the smokes  \n\\\u003eBut you… don't like the energy you feel, coming off of Greg like, a bad odor you can't escape  \n  \n“What is it? What happened?\" you ask after a hesitant pause  \n  \n\\\u003eGreg draws another deep breath and begins  \n\\\u003e\"I was out-walling today — you know, dangling outside the walls on the ropes — and blind-dog Kevin comes whizzing down right next to me. I think 'he's here to tell me something about my shift.' Only he doesn't stop to talk on his way down. To the bottom.\"  \n\\\u003e\"What?\" Natalie says, leaning forward  \n“No way-\"  \n\\\u003e\"See, I realized a little too late he was in free fall,\" Greg says with a placid stare into the everflame hearth, the tongues of orange fire dancing in his eyes  \n\\\u003e\"I mean, I blinked, and he was halfway on his way to the ground floor of Purgatory. And we all saw him fall. All of us. My foreman, my crew, the Zealots on the walls, even some guys who were on break.\"  \n“What happened? Did he jump?\" you say, heart pounding in your skull  \n\\\u003eSounds a little like a drum if you listen closely  \n  \n\\\u003eGreg shakes his head again  \n\\\u003e\"The new blood who was supposed to tie off Kev's rope at the top hadn't done a good enough job. Kev clips in, thinking his lead is tied off, steps off the walls and…\"  \n\\\u003eGreg makes a whistling sound, which drops in pitch, to illustrate falling  \n\\\u003e\"Now he's the crazy part though, and the part that I want to talk to you both about,\" Greg says, taking a drag on his smoke  \n\\\u003e\"Kevin lived.\"  \n\\\u003e\"Bullshit,\" Natalie sounds close to shouting. “Unless there was some kind of miracle-\"  \n\\\u003eGreg silences her with a serious look before he returns to the story.  \n\\\u003e\"A miracle ain't out of the question,\" he says, voice tinged with nerves. “In a situation like this, it certainly is possible God interceded and saved his life.\"  \n\\\u003e\"How- how'd he survive the fall then?\" Natalie bites, as impatient as ever  \n\\\u003eGreg flashes a wild grin, a look that tells you not even your old uncle believes what he saw  \n\\\u003e\"God, I sound crazy saying this, but it shouldn't shock someone like me,\" he says  \n\\\u003eGreg looks over at you for a split second and then turns to address both you and Natalie  \n\\\u003e\"You might not believe me, but about ten feet before Kevin becomes a human pancake, he… blind-dog Kev just… stops falling and dangles… right there, in the air. Like a fish on a hook being lifted out of the water…\"  \n\\\u003eWith that same, unbelieving grin, Greg stares directly at you…  \n\\\u003e\"…suspended by nothing.\"  \n\\\u003e…For a good reason  \n  \n\\\u003eYou have an idea of where this story is going  \n\\\u003eGreg presses on  \n\\\u003e“I mean, he's got his damned belay rope coiled beneath him — nothing's holding him up!\" So despite God and gravity, Kev just… hovers there for a moment or two, I guess. Then he sees us all lookin' and floats down to the ground real quick, like a damn feather on the wind.\"  \n\\\u003e\"He shouts for a line back up like he can't fly, but we still pull him. He climbs back over the walls like a man being pulled into a boat after treading water for hours  \n\\\u003e\"Then we asked Kev — who is almost totally blind, mind you — how in God's name he didn't end up harvester as food? What the fuck did we just witness?\"  \n\\\u003eThere's a pause as your uncle takes a short swig  \n\\\u003eHe points his eyes down, towards the carpet in front of the fireplace where Echo dozes  \n\\\u003e\"'I got lucky' was all he would say. 'Lucky.'\"  \n\\\u003eGreg looks over to you  \n\\\u003eExhaustion tempers the corners of his eyes red  \n\\\u003e\"And that was his story — until the Church showed up.\"  \n\\\u003eSilence fills the room, the snap of everflame in the hearth punctuating the gap in conversation as you all soak Greg's story  \n\\\u003eEcho stands up and stretches  \n\\\u003eThe gray fox leaps onto your lap, his body pleasantly warm from his place in front of the fireplace  \n\\\u003e\"Turns out some Zealots on the wall saw Kevin stop himself in mid-air, so they call in other Zealots, who call in some bigshots,\" Greg sighs. “Eventually this lady from the Church comes by with a group of fancy looking guards. She looked like a Scribe, or an Inquisitor, I don't know which.\"  \n\\\u003e\"This lady — real pretty blonde; named 'Mueller' I think — came and interviewed all of us one-by-one. At first, all she talked about was Kev,\" Greg says  \n“What did she want to know about Kevin?\" You ask, heart speeding  \n\\\u003eYou have that sinking feeling in your chest again, like you've swallowed stones  \n\\\u003e\"She… asked us what his job was; our relationship to him; whether or not we knew of his status as an 'abomination,'\"  \n\\\u003eGreg turns his attention to you  \n\\\u003eHe jaws for words  \n\\\u003e“I told that lady I had no idea that Kevin was a mutant. I said he kept it hush-hush if he was one, and I got no problem with it. I guess it helped explain the blindness at such an early age; suppose how she goes sometimes, right?\"  \n\\\u003eYour uncle pauses for a second  \n\\\u003eThe cigarette smolders between his two fingers as he stares at you  \n\\\u003e\"Then she starts asking me if I know of any mutants. Says more than my job is on the line,\" Greg says, shifting nervously in his seat.  \n  \n\\\u003eYour eyes practically bulge out of your skull  \n\\\u003eOh no….  \n\\\u003e\"They made us all take an oath in front of the guards; my comrades at work, my foreman, everyone-\" Greg says as he takes a nervous drag on his smoke at last  \n\\\u003eYour sister's jaw drop like it weighed fifty tons  \n\\\u003e\"Uncle Greg, you didn't,\" Natalie seethes, starting forward. “Greg you didn't! You did NOT sell out this family-\"  \n\\\u003e\"Course not!\" Uncle Greg shouts back with a puff of smoke and an accompanying fit of coughs. “I- I- Goddamnit! I lied to the Church and on those documents they made us sign! When she asked me, I looked that Church lady in the face and I said, 'No I don't know of any abominations or mutants; no I'm not related to anyone who fits the 'criteria' for abomination; no, I am not a mutant myself, under penance, penalty, or pain of death.'\"  \n\\\u003eHe throws his hands up, spilling a little of his flask on the hardwood  \n\\\u003eNatalie's jaw screws back up tight, like a vise  \n\\\u003e\"See? I lied, alright? I lied to the Church! And if they find out I lied, I'll be on the wrong side of the walls with a donkey to ride and some well-wishes, that's for fuckin' sure. So listen to what I'm saying, and listen good!\"  \n\\\u003eHe aims his cigarette at the both of you like a professor giving a lecture  \n\\\u003e\"What I'm trying to tell the both of you is that you need to look after one another outside — and inside — Enclave. The Church is looking for people like Anon. I don't know what for, or why, but they- they took Kevin away somewhere and I doubt I'll ever see him ever again,\" he says with the finality of a hammer's stroke  \n\\\u003eThere's another moment of silence; but it's the type of silence that reminds you of the first time you threw a chemical bomb down range at academy  \n\\\u003eYou missed the target — the window of a prop-shack — and had to run for cover with your Den Master  \n\\\u003eThe explosion went off on the ground beneath the window; a blast so loud and absolute that if you close your eyes and listen you SWEAR you can hear ringing produced in the aftermath  \n\\\u003eYou turn your attention to the situation at hand  \n\\\u003eThe drums-  \n\\\u003eNo, not the drums in your skull  \n\\\u003eGreg putting his life on the line for you  \n  \n“You didn't have to do that for me,\" you start, an attempt at a thought drowned in whiskey churns in your mind  \n\\\u003eYou look at Greg, but he stares hard at his shoes as smoke coils upwards from the cigarette still glowing red between his fingers  \n\\\u003eWhat do you say to a man like Greg?  \n\\\u003eA troubled, yet kind man?  \n\\\u003eA man who took an incredible personal risk to protect you and your identity  \n\\\u003eSilence fills the room…  \n\\\u003eA pained, awkward silence,  \n\\\u003eThrough the whiskey haze, through the great miasma of smoke that churns around the living room  \n\\\u003eThrough flesh  \n\\\u003eThrough  \n\\\u003eThrough bone  \n\\\u003eYou arrive at the conclusion you should have always known was the end:  \n  \n“Thank you,\" you say at last, “Thank you for sticking your neck out for me like that. I'm sorry I put you in this position.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eNatalie's anger towards Greg smolders down to embers  \n\\\u003eShe opens her mouth, jawing for words, chasing after your apology  \n\\\u003e\"Yeah, thank you, Uncle Greg,\" Natalie squeaks, her voice small. “That was very kind of you to do. I'm sorry for being so… angry.\"  \n\\\u003eYou stand up; Echo jumps off your lap and skitters onto the hardwood floor  \n\\\u003eGreg's facade breaks with a hurt smile. He says, “C'mon, I practically raised you brats. I'm not gonna let Charlie down — especially not on his son's graduation day. Family doesn't do that to family.\"  \n  \nhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KshMoGC6Y0\u0026list=PL9aXlzDRA49Rmp4y6Z9Si9dS2LvmTNY7S\u0026index=4  \n  \n\\\u003eEcho, to your surprise, doesn't follow your sister to lick the plates and dishes clean in the kitchen  \n\\\u003eInstead, you watch your gray's tail stand up straight, like a warning flag  \n\\\u003eAnd then he takes  \n\\\u003eSlow  \n\\\u003eDelicate steps  \n\\\u003eTowards  \n\\\u003eThe  \n\\\u003eFront  \n\\\u003eDoor  \n  \n“Echo?\" You say as you see him curiously approach the front door  \n\\\u003eYou start towards him, but only get a few steps before a sound interrupts your progress  \n  \n\\\u003eA heavy fist beats on the door three times  \n\\\u003e\"Anton, E. Mouse,\" a deep, authoritative voice commands, “Under the rightful judgement of the Church's fathers, we order you to open this door and submit — either to us, or to God. You have five seconds to comply with these orders or we will use force.\"  \n\\\u003eWhat?  \n\\\u003eWHAT?  \n\\\u003eWait  \n\\\u003eHOLD ON  \n\\\u003e\"FIVE!\"  \n\\\u003eYou scramble for the door, bare feet slipping off the wooden floors-  \n\\\u003e\"FOUR!\"  \n“Wait, wait, just a second!\" you scream, as you throw the deadbolt aside  \n\\\u003eEcho yips and growls at the door, taking apprehensive steps backwards  \n\\\u003e\"THREE!\"  \n\\\u003eThe latch catches  \n\\\u003e\"TWO\"  \n“Sorry, one second! I swear I'm trying-\"  \n\\\u003eYou throw the latch  \n\\\u003e\"ONE!\"  \n\\\u003eYou hurl the door open  \n  \n\\\u003eA bright flash of everflame lamp hits your retinas, and the world shifts from the dark to light, like God as he spun the sun into being from flecks of starlight  \n\\\u003eYou raise your hand defensively to the lamp, one eye shut  \n  \n\\\u003e\"Grab the mutant! GO!\"  \n  \n\\\u003eA group of Zealots descend upon you like wolves killing a helpless fawn  \n\\\u003eYour eyes open right as rough gauntlets force your body to the ground, face down on your front porch  \n\\\u003eAnother pair of hands applies handcuffs to your wrists  \n\\\u003eEcho lets out a pained squeal, and you watch as they throw a choke-chain around his neck  \n\\\u003e\"Hold still and this won't hurt as much, freak,\" the Zealot who has his knee pressed into your back says  \n  \n\\\u003eYou can't see, but you can hear voices  \n\\\u003e\"There's two more in the house, doctor, do we-\"  \n\\\u003eA woman's voice, stern and cold, cuts him off  \n\\\u003e\"The Bishop wants Anton,\" she says  \n\\\u003eThe pressure on your wrists ratchets up as you're lifted off the cement and onto your feet  \n\\\u003eA woman in a lab coat stands in front of you — a woman with blonde hair like spools of golden thread  \n\\\u003eHer eyes look down on you — brown eyes with green flecks that remind you of good soil and growing things  \n\\\u003eHer jaw is set in a thin, hard line  \n\\\u003e“Which one are you?\" she wonders aloud, “Gregory? Certainly not Natalie, unless I missed something important. But if you were Anton, where's your fox?\"  \n\\\u003eShe does a quick appraisal of you by pacing around you, her studious gaze lingering on your gloves  \n\\\u003e\"Maybe they already took Echo away then. And, just based off my research, and the fact that you've still got those gloves, on tells me that people don't call you 'Anton' normally, do they?\" she says, completing her pass  \n\\\u003eFacing you, she then extends her hand out, as if asking for a handshake from a man handcuffed  \n\\\u003eYou stare at her outstretched hand for a moment  \n\\\u003eShe stares at you  \n\\\u003eA meeting of the minds  \n  \n\\\u003eAfter an embarrassing few seconds she retracts the offer, forgetting that you can't move your arms  \n  \n\\\u003eStill, her expression softens; and in the garden of her eyes you see something blossom from seeds to roots and then grass:  \n\\\u003eCuriosity's flower  \n  \n\\\u003e\"My name is doctor Anna Mueller — but most people just call me doctor,\" she says politely. “I don't know how much they teach people in Academy about Inquisitors, but I'm in charge of the Office of Inquiry for all of Kiba. Tell me, was I right about your name? Are you Anonymous?\"  \n  \n\\\u003eYou can hear Uncle Greg's voice tremble with rage — louder than you've ever heard him  \n\\\u003e\"Don't touch me you fucking bastards!\"  \n\\\u003eGodamnit  \n\\\u003eThey're gonna get themselves skewered at this rate  \n\\\u003eGotta start talking — for your family  \n  \n“M-my name is Anton, but most people call me An-\" you begin with a weak stammer  \n\\\u003eAnna cuts in, unable to control herself  \n\\\u003e\"Anon, Anonymous- it's a cute nickname. I know all about that. I studied your file as much as I could before we came over here,\" she says, a faint smile gracing her lips. “It's practically obligatory. You're a mutant and a Foxer! That's an actual miracle.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eOh God  \n\\\u003eThat word  \n\\\u003e'Mutant'  \n\\\u003eYou don't like that word  \n  \n\\\u003eYou chance a look behind you, at your house  \n“I- I don't know what's going on right now. Did I do something wrong?\"  \n\\\u003eYour front door is flung open, warm everflame light bleeding out into the street  \n\\\u003eYour house teems with armored bodies; Zealots searching and ransacking, no doubt wrestling against Greg or your sister  \n\\\u003e\"All your questions answered soon, Anon,\" she says politely, turning away from you  \n\\\u003eShe seems to wait for something  \n  \n\\\u003eAnd then, on cue, someone in the house screams  \n\\\u003eA high girlish falsetto  \n\\\u003eYour stomach twists in knots, like you've a grenade  \n\\\u003eNatalie  \n  \n\\\u003eAnna hums in thought, mind searching for a name  \n\\\u003e\"That must be-\"  \n“My sister\" You offer. “Natalie.\"  \n\\\u003e\"Right, your younger sister. I remember now. Quite unremarkable academy performance based on her records.\"  \n“Yeah…\" you hang your head. “That sounds about right.\"  \n\\\u003eSeconds later, two Zealots march Natalie out of the house, her arms shackled behind her back  \n\\\u003eShe moves with a stiff gait, as if one of her legs is bruised — or worse  \n\\\u003eStill, underneath the panic; beneath the flowered dress she wore to your graduation today and still wears now; beneath sweat-slickened pale skin; beneath dense bone and corded muscle, honed from years in Academy…  \n\\\u003eIt's still your sister  \n\\\u003eYour stubborn little sister  \n  \n\\\u003eNatalie points her chin up high and squeezes her eyes shut; either proud of being seen by all the neighbors, marched out like a criminal…  \n\\\u003e…or scared shitless of what's about to happen…  \n\\\u003e…and walks with what little dignity she has left  \n  \n\\\u003eWhen your eyes meet hers, she breaks character to give you an affirmative nod  \n\\\u003e'I'll be okay.'  \n\\\u003eThe Zealots leading Natalie push her into a nearby carriage — one of the more elegant ones on the street:  \n\\\u003eSlick black with orange-gold leafing and closed curtains, making the single-horse drawn carriage seem faster than it probably is  \n  \n\\\u003eAnna plucks a cigarette out of her breast pocket and lights up  \n\\\u003eShe takes a few long drags and then turns her gaze down at you  \n  \n\\\u003e\"You know what's funny?\"  \n\\\u003e…  \n“I don't know — I don't think anything about this is funny-\"  \n\\\u003e\"No, you'll get a kick out of this, my friend. Your uncle Greg and have already met. Today, actually.\"  \n\\\u003eYour mind hurtles backwards towards the story that Greg told you  \n\\\u003eAbout his co-worker  \n“He told me about you. And about his co-worker, Kevin.\"  \n\\\u003eAt the mention of that name, Anna visibly deflates; her shoulders rolling forward, her posture slackening  \n\\\u003eShe sighs with an annoyed grunt  \n\\\u003e\"He wasn't supposed to tell you any of that. Goddamnit Greg!\"  \n\\\u003eYou just shrug  \n“Can you blame him? I mean…\"  \n\\\u003eThe doctor ignores you and takes another experimental puff on her smoke  \n\\\u003eShe eyes the cigarette, letting it smoulder against the everflame street lamps, vying for space against the moonlight  \n\\\u003e\"Your uncle… is a special administrative task; one that I'm not going to pretend to have the energy for tonight. We have a lot to do after this. A lot.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eFinally, Greg emerges from the house, his arms bound behind him like yours and Natalie's  \n\\\u003eA pair of armed Zealots march him down the walk towards the street, where there's another carriage waiting  \n\\\u003eGreg doesn't look as proud or as composed as Natalie did  \n\\\u003eThe gin and whiskey are still thick in his veins, so he stumbles as he walks forward  \n\\\u003eA few of the Zealots laugh as he's hoisted back into composure  \n“Greg-\" you say in a bid for his attention  \n\\\u003eYour scared shitless uncle looks over at you, pale-faced  \n\\\u003eA rivulet of blood trickles out of his nose and threads down onto his work shirt  \n\\\u003eGreg doesn't stop to talk; not that he's given much of a chance.  \n\\\u003eHe's lead as he's lead to a much larger, more industrial-looking carriage; this one drawn by two surly draft horses, no doubt the same one all the Zealots arrived in  \n  \n\\\u003eAnd above all: his bloodshot eyes stay fixed on his feet  \n  \n\\\u003eAnna lets out an exhausted sigh, as if finished with something unpleasant  \n\\\u003e\"Your turn,\" she says with a smile  \n\\\u003eAnd it's a genuine smile  \n\\\u003e“Do try not to fight so much. You won't win.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eBefore you can respond, a Zealot appears behind you and yanks you onto your feet  \n\\\u003eFrom there, you're prodded forward towards the smaller carriage, like cattle at the behest of your master's whip  \n\\\u003eAnna follows behind you, her steps an echo of your own  \n\\\u003eShe pays particular attention to your hands — especially your gloves — as you walk  \n  \n\\\u003eWhen you're led to the same carriage that Natalie went into Anna steps ahead of you  \n\\\u003eShe opens the door to the smaller carriage on your behalf  \n\\\u003e\"After you,\" she says, again with a polite smile  \n\\\u003eTwo hands from behind give you a healthy shove  \n\\\u003eYou tumble inside  \n  \n\\\u003eYou end up almost upside down, smashed against Natalie  \n\\\u003eAnd as you right yourself  \n\\\u003eAs your eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior  \n\\\u003eA familiar voice greets you from the seat across  \n\\\u003eA voice in the dark  \n\\\u003eA voice like a puzzle piece, falling into place  \n  \n\\\u003e\"I really thought you'd try to run,\" Bishop Neelan says","series":{"name":"Foxing","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2236625-by-the-light-divided.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2240853-flush-from-the-den.json"}}