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“Scissor-Tail Turf?” Frost said it like she tested how the words felt in her mouth.

I wanted to be back at the garage with you, Tera, but I knew I needed to answer for my actions out in the Welt. I stood in the town hall, which was a large hall built on top of the hill inside the settlement. Aside from a set of stairs to the offices overhead, it was a single chamber with many chairs and tables that we used for meetings, festivals, and trials. Right now, Frost’s guards stood at the doors, keeping folk out while we talked. I leaned against a thick, wooden support beam, sword still bare and leaning against me, tip on the wood, hands resting on the pommel. Frost started pacing in front of the room’s small stage, which Canaan sat on, legs sprawled to take up as much space as possible.

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

“Like I told you, boss,” Canaan said. “She came out the Welt and said it was hers.”

“Not ours,” I said. “We don’t own it, just protect it. Just like Hypoxia.”

“And you need to protect it why?” Frost asked.

“Why do we need to kill it?” I shot back. “Where’s Grock? If he’s worried about a few scourge-ants he’s got nothing to fear. There’s only about thirty of them and they stay in their forest.”

“I’ve got folks asking for the Patchworks in town, Peacock. They want answers, fucking justice.”

I shrugged. “Plenty of caravans go missing. It sucks, but it’s part of living here. We shouldn’t waste our munitions on revenge. Trees don’t give a shit about hurt feelings.”

Frost snapped, “For fucks sake do you not care about optics?” She marched over to me, looking big and mean as she could before jabbing a finger into the chest of my riot gear. “If you start protecting the Welt, everyone’s going to start thinking Hypoxia protects it.”

“And maybe we should?” I swept her hand away. “The Welt isn’t like anything we’ve seen, and unlike the Growth or the maelstrom, it’s trying to be diplomatic with us. We should hear it out, see what it can offer.”

“It has nothing to offer us,” Grock announced from a door on the side of the building. He nodded acknowledgment to me and said, “Good to see you’re alive. I worried you would come back another puppet of that thing.”

“Puppet?” Frost asked.

He meant you, Tera, which made my blood boil. You might have been puppeted, but he said it like you were just a shell possessed. I shoved Frost aside, brandishing my sword as I crossed the room to the bull. “She might have been possessed at the Welt, but she’s here now, and she has total control of herself.”

“How can you be so sure?” Grock said, staring me down as I stopped in front of him, seething.

“Because I know Kestrel.”

“Do you?”

“Say that again, shitbag.”

“Peacock,” Frost warned, “Don’t make me put a bullet in your back.”

My blade’s tip quivered with my held in rage. I did not even understand why I got so worked up so quickly. Maybe I was more exhausted than I thought, or just so protective now that you were more vulnerable than ever. Perhaps, something had been done to me at the Welt.

I slapped my tail against the floor and slashed at the closest piece of furniture: a wooden chair, its back cleaved off and sent spinning through the air. After it clattered onto the ground, Frost asked, “You two done?”

Canaan watched all this with a shit-eating grin.

“Yes,” I said. I righted the chair and sat down, arms folded over my chest. “Let’s get on with it.”

“That thing at the middle of the Welt—”

“It calls itself Will.”

“Like the person?” Frost asked.

“The concept,” I said before telling Grock, “You weren’t the only one to spend time speaking with it.”

“Whatever it names itself, it is like a knot of the maelstrom, bunched together till it reached a level of sentience,” Grock said. “It showed me much before turning on me. It is not aggressive, but will defend the land around it. But, the reason it turned on me, is it wishes to destroy whatever it is that makes Hypoxia Hypoxia.”

“The Wound,” I said, a little grimly. It became all too clear what a “wound” in the maelstrom meant. “It called us the Wound.”

“You knew about this?” Frost asked.

“Fuck!” Canaan barked. “You really have lost your head, Peacock.”

“I didn’t know what it meant at the time,” I snapped. “What I got was it wanted to protect us from the Elect, but in exchange it needed us to let the maelstrom into Hypoxia.”

“The Elect’s closest borders are three hundred miles out,” Frost said. “They’re big, but they don’t have the time or resources to fuck with us.”

“What if they do, though?” I asked. I gestured to Grock, “If what he said about Will is true, if this is just concentrated maelstrom, don’t you think it chose this spot for a reason? It likely has a better eye on these bastards than we do.”

Grock scuffed a hoof on the floor derisively. “So you’re saying we let this thing get rid of whatever it is that protects us from the maelstrom?”

“People have been living in the maelstrom for generations now.”

“We’ve been dying, Peacock,” Frost said with an exasperated sigh. “Getting winnowed down to nothing. Hypoxia is stable, safe, people fucking move here to raise their kids.”

“Don’t give me that death of the human race crap,” I told her before pointing at the boys, “Not when there’s three hybrids in the room.”

“Hybrid or not, I fucking mean everyone,” Frost said. “For fucks sakes, we’re not giving Will what it wants.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I said, giving her and Grock a hard look. “All I’m asking for is time. That fucking shit isn’t moving or growing. We’ll keep eyes on it, your men can, too, Frost. I don’t care. Just let me have a few days—sort out what’s going on. Then we can kill it.”

Grock said, “A few days shouldn’t be any risk.”

“Exactly!” I said. “Besides, if the maelstrom made this there’s no telling if burning the place down won’t just make it pop back up the next day.”

“Be a shame to waste all that explosive, boss,” Canaan added.

My brow raised. “You’re agreeing with me?”

The wolf shrugged. “Agreeing with sense.”

“Fine, but Peacock, I want Grock to see Kestrel. Have her come here. She can bring one of your girls around, but not you. You’re too involved in this shit, and I need to make sure this bonded isn’t a ticking time bomb.”

A flicker of that anger crossed my features, but I snuffed it out by quickly standing up. “Fine. We done?”

“Send her tonight, Peacock.”

“You can have her in the morning,” I said while heading for the door. I threw them the bird over my shoulder and was outside before Frost had the chance to shout some obscenity at me.

***

Scissor-Tails fucked each other. Each girl had their own room, their own bed, but often they slept together. I realized this on my fourth visit to Hypoxia. The caravan I took up north this time planned to visit the Cauldron, which gave me a week in town instead of a couple days.

It was in the evening. I’d already seen you that morning, and you agreed to let me room with you, Peacock. You were supposed to come in from patrol any moment, so I waited in the garage with Quail, whiling away the time before Motmot came downstairs. “There you are,” she snarled before dragging me up to the living quarters.

The stairs to the second floor opened up to a living area. Trophies from raids and missions lined the walls: scourge-ant heads, the banners of raider clans, the arm-length teeth of some monster. There was also a smattering of old, salvaged and dingy furniture, a table with a chess set that missed some pieces, a few instruments set in a corner, and rugs clumped with hair, mostly that of a certain badger who now threw me into a couch. “We need to talk.”

“Ugh, I—” I tried to stand up, but Motmot shoved me over easy as you might a stool, Peacock. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“You’re my problem,” Motmot huffed, crossing her arms under her heavy bust. She had to be near seven feet tall, easily the biggest of the Scissor-Tails. Two stripes of black marked down her back while the rest of her coat was a shaggy, cloudy grey. It made her dyed purple, wavy hair even more garish than it would look on a human. She had so much fur that she complained about it being too hot year round, so when she wasn’t on the job all she wore was a bralette and shorts that never passed her mid-thigh. Both pieces of clothing left little to the imagination.

Her clear aggression left a fluttering of nerves in my chest. I asked, “Uh, what did I do?”

“You’re here for the week, right?”

“Yeah?”

“See, something you need to learn about us.” Motmot mounted a foot on the couch, leaning in and pushing me down into the cushions. “Scissor-Tails share everything, and Peacock has been hogging you.”

If my relationship with you, Peacock, said anything about my sexuality, it was that strong, forward women were a serious weakness of mine. This close, I smelled Motmot’s breath, and, despite its pungency, I found myself heating up inside. I swallowed the knot in my throat and asked, “Peacock won’t mind?”

“Nah, she doesn’t mind sloppy seconds,” Motmot said with a toothy grin. Her muzzle crashed into mine; our teeth knocked together as she opened my maw and her tongue filled my smaller mouth. Like everything else about her, it was big. That muscle filled my mouth, smothering my weak little moan as I let her have her way with me. Not at all how I expected the night to go, but I surrendered to it immediately.

Motmot rumbled in her chest, pleased by my surrender. She seemed more feral animal than person in that moment.

And her tongue! When it wriggled into my throat I gagged, eyes watering. I instantly tried to break the kiss, but a strong paw kept me locked to her muzzle. Smooth, slick muscle dragged through me, first strange as my throat swallowed around it, but then I found myself accepting this exchange. It did not hurt. Motmot’s drool poured out the corner of my mouth as her tongue nearly choked me. I got so lightheaded I thought I might pass out, but the badger broke the kiss. She licked her chops while I coughed and gasped. The fresh air stung a little, but being overwhelmed and dominated so thoroughly had me sticky between my thighs.

Her nose twitched, and she smirked. “Little mink smells like a bitch in heat.” Motmot swept me up in her arms. I squeaked a little, but she held me tight to her chest as we headed down a hallway to her room. When we passed the kitchen, several girls wolf-whistled. My ears flattened and I tried to sink into my impromptu partner, still thinking I needed to hold onto a shred of modesty around your girls.

Motmot had the biggest room in the house: what had once been the VIP suite of the brothel now only had its large, circular bed as a relic of that time. A wardrobe shoved against a wall had drawers open with clothes spilling out, a weight set in a corner, an old standing mirror with a large crack going across the top half, and set of broken brushes, clumped with badger fur, collected like trophies with an intact one resting on a nightstand beside the bed. Motmot’s scent could be smelled from down the hall. It was a strong musk scent, with a touch of sweetness, that became mingled completely with sex when she threw me on the unwashed sheets of her bed.

“Strip,” Motmot ordered, punctuating this by kicking the door shut. I later learned the code for what an open and closed door meant when fucking someone. No one cared about privacy or hiding the sex they had, but a shut door meant Motmot wanted no visitors, no interruptions. I was hers for the night.

I obeyed, throwing off the sleeveless turtleneck I wore, something I bought originally cause I figured you’d find it cute. My bra came off next, while those red eyes watched me with a hunger. Next came my pants and panties, which got Motmot to lick her chops. I was wet, and soon as my underwear got peeled off my steaming vent, my need became a strong, clear scent in the room.

“Heh, good, you want this. Peacock has good taste, you know?”

“I… thank you?” I tried.

Motmot smirked. “Embarrassed?”

“I’m just—didn’t know—”

“That we’re supposed to take turns when one of us bring a hot little piece like you back to the garage?” Motmot moved from the door to the bed, leering over me, “Look at you, this sleek, wiry little thing with that glossy brown fur and those big green eyes of yours. We’ve all heard what Peacock and you do. She gets girls like you near screaming, doesn’t she?”

My tail wrapped around my waist, and I couldn’t look at her as I answered, “Y-yes.”

“Turns you into a complete slut, huh?”

The way she talked down to me like this might have been humiliating if it didn’t have me so horny.

I nodded meekly, then looked up when Motmot caressed my jawline with a claw. “Yeah, nothing to hide, hun. You’re in the promised land now, but,” the badger leaned back and started to take off her bralette, “unlike Peacock, I expect you to do more than lie back and take it.” Exposed, she had these dark, near black nipples at the end of each teat. Her bust had enough heft to knock a girl flat, but worked on her large frame. It matched her proportions, sleek milky grey fur for each large mound, those dark nipples, breasts giving her an hourglass figure. She was a bit chubby in the middle, but her hips curved back out and her thighs were big enough it amazed she rode a bike so easily.

A claw tapped the button of her denim cut-offs. “Help me with these, will you?” I scooted to the edge of the bed are reached for the button. I was fairly tall for a woman, but my slender frame had nothing on Motmot. My furred fingers might as well been a child’s for how they looked, trembling with arousal and nerves, fumbling with the button of her shorts. They unsnapped, and I zipped them down. Motmot wore no underwear, so as I revealed the thick, black patch of pubic fur, her scent hit me right away and I moaned.

I leaned into her crotch, unable to stop myself. Motmot put a paw on the back of my head, and my snout quickly became smothered against her pubic fur.

“That’s it, girl, take a deep breath.”

I did, moaning. Her sex had a bitter, ripe scent to it that made my toes curl with how strongly it assaulted my senses. I hooked my fingers in the hem of Motmot’s shorts and worked them down her thighs till her sex was completely exposed. She shaved the fur on her labia, so the view of her grey muff greeted me immediately. Those pouty lips dripped with the badger’s arousal, and, scent even stronger, I couldn’t resist nosing into it immediately. My thumbs split open her cunt, and grey flesh became pink on the inside of that flower. Her arousal covered my nose in an instant as I licked up her pussy. She tasted sharp as she smelled, which made me moan as I worshipped her sex with my tongue.

I’m not sure how long Motmot held me there, letting my tongue burrow into her sex. Eventually my muscle found her opening, and I shoved my tongue inside, where her flavor came strongest. My eyes rolled up a little, and my cunny throbbed without even needing to be touched. Earlier, I mentioned you had a rather shameless oral streak, Peacock. I may have had my own as well.

Motmot growled above me, “Heh, no wonder Peacock is so fond of you. You eat pussy like a baby sucking a teat.” My ears folded back, but I did not stop, not till she shoved me onto my back. “Get up on the bed. Not gonna cum just from this.”

I listened, scooting back while she kicked off her shorts before joining me on the mattress. She crawled on top of me, completely swallowing me under her much bigger body. All that shaggy fur and body heat made her incredibly warm, and I quickly started to sweat beneath her as she growled, “I’m going to enjoy smothering you.”

I didn’t even bother protesting. She shoved her breasts in my face first. My muffled gasp quickly became a contented sigh when her dark nipple grazed my lips. I kissed then suckled it, groping her other breast with my hand. Her fur was softer on the front, yielding as I cupped a palmful of flesh. I teased her tits with both hands now, left groping a nipple and twisting it while the right massaged the one I sucked on. “Come on, you can be rougher,” Motmot growled, so I grazed her nipple with my teeth, pinching and twisting the other nipple hard. She snarled, but I could tell it was a pleased sound by the way she shivered over me. Both nipples became hard, and my tongue slathered one while the other I rolled between index finger and thumb.

“Mmm, that’s it girl, get me nice and wet before I ride that pretty mouth of yours.”

I moaned again, sucking hard and biting down over her areola. The flesh felt good gnashed between my teeth. She groaned and arched her back. Her paw wrapped around the back of my head and mashed it into her supple bust. I sucked hard as I could, teeth nearly piercing flesh till she finally released me and sat up.

“I think you earned a treat.”

She came to straddle my collarbone, most of her weight supported on the knees resting above either side of my head. Motmot warned, “If you start passing out just slap my thigh three times.” Her intentions clear, she slid forward, sitting on my face with her muff. Her hot, sweating sex smeared across my snout. Her weight barely let me get my maw open so I might taste her again, dragging tongue across her folds. Her strong scent and taste became my whole world. I moaned, practically drowning. She began to grind up and down my face, giving me the barest window to breathe before smothering me again. Her gyrations were slow and shuddering, as if her body took great pleasure in this. Motmot’s back arched, head craning back to the ceiling while she worked her clit with one paw and the other teased her breast.

I was a toy to her, getting used like this, but getting smothered had become dizzying. I licked and sought out more of Motmot’s bitter, sweet and sour nectar. Her flower spilled at a steady rate, my tongue worming deep as it could in her vent, occasionally slipping out on a particular buck and grind. I almost forgot to breathe with how caught up I was, and I could tell Motmot was near her peak.

Then the door swung open.

I squirmed underneath the badger’s thighs and crotch, but remained firmly pinned as she twisted her head. “Door was closed for a reason, Peacock.”

I quivered, thinking up some kind of excuse for why I was here so you wouldn’t be upset, but then I heard the door shut again. “Happy?” you asked.

“Heh, upset I’m having fun with your girl?”

“Upset I wasn’t invited,” you said, and I heard your boots clunk to the floor, clothes dropped next.

“You never seem to have trouble inviting yourself,” Motmot said.

The bed shifted as you climbed into it. “And you’ve never been mad about it, either.” You touched my thighs, spreading them before rubbing my mound. “Fucking damn, she loves this, huh, Motmot?”

“Mmm, soaked isn’t she?”

“Your scent does make girls stupid,” you said, slipping a finger in my cunt. It probed teasingly, toying in and out of me. “Done it to me plenty of times.”

“Going to toy with her while I have my fill?” Motmot asked.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you said, before shifting down. Just as your muzzle brushed my sex, Motmot ground back down on me. Her vent forced down on my muzzle perfectly so the big badger’s cunt split across it, forcing my lips and snout inside her. My whiskers flattened to my face, I couldn’t even moan past my lips, just trying my best to stimulate her while her snatch suffocated me. Motmot rode up and down on my muzzle, losing herself while your tongue dragged along my walls. Your familiar muscle made me squirm, but at the same time I quickly became lightheaded.

I got so foggy I didn’t even notice when you stopped making out with my pussy, Peacock. You slid up behind Motmot, and she rose up on her knees, freeing my snout from her cunny. I coughed and gasped for breath, but you kept Motmot so busy she couldn’t complain about me stopping:

“When was the last time I had this ass, huh?”

“Peacock, wait I—fuck…” Motmot went very still above me, and her cunt visibly clenched. I spotted your hands groping her from behind, but the massive badger blocked any other view of you.

“Good thing my cock’s always slick, huh? Taper makes it easy, too.”

“Fuck you, Peacock,” Motmot snarled, but did not fight back.

I heard you chuckle. “Always so embarrassed about your ass.”

“I… I…” Motmot huffed and I saw her losing concentration, getting lost in pleasure like she had before. Her body quivered when your hips collided with it, cock buried deep in her ass.

“That’s a good girl,” you whispered.

“Grrr—ah… God, why is it so good?” Motmot whined as you started to roll your hips. A steady, muted pat-pat-pat of scale to fur that made her weak. I was amazed to see how easily even Motmot wilted to you, but my reverie didn’t last any longer when your tail rubbed my sex. What first might have been thought an accidental brush clearly became steady rubbing, those scales grinding along my glistening folds and clit to the pace of your fucking.

I moaned, humping up into your touch till you told me, “Put that mouth to use, Tera.”

I did, leaning forward what little I needed to eat out Motmot’s quivering cunt. Her snarl turned into a whimper as we assaulted her from both ends. That fat cunny dripped around my whiskers as I hungrily ate out her vent. Her juices flooded my tongue and ran down my chin. I was nearly drenched in her prolific arousal, and still the badger moaned and whined. And this act of shared worship and lewdness, combined with your tail rubbing had heat building in my core as well, Peacock. I thought this moment might be what eternal bliss looked like, and I realized I needed to sample what every Scissor-Tail had to offer before the end of the week.

Eventually, after getting my fill of her nectar, I decided to move to Motmot’s clit. The grey button swelled prominently at the crest of her nether-lips. Like her nipples, it was spongy, firm, and a good fit between my lips. She groaned when I did that, and you whispered, “That’s it, slut. Give into it.”

I was giving into it, too. You picked up your pace, Peacock, and my thighs closed around your tail to keep it against my snatch. That rapid rub and grind over my clit and sensitive labia, plus everything else, had me quickly tumbling over the edge. I suckled on Motmot’s clit, moaning while I grabbed at her legs for purchase. I clenched fistfuls of fur when my orgasm came crashing. Pleasure blossomed through my hips and thighs, sensations in my cunt sharp and sensitive while I squealed, my sounds muffled as Motmot bellowed a curse and came as well. Over our noises you laughed, pounding hard into her ass till the badger almost collapsed on top of me. But then you flattened yourself to her back, sighing as your release came in her clenching rear. We had barely gotten over ours by the time you finished.

Peacock, sometimes your ability to bounce back and ruin a moment astounded me. You slid out of Motmot, spanked her, and said, “Welp, I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

“I tried to warn you,” Motmot growled.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not that bad really. Just want it nice for later tonight.”

The door opened and in flooded the sound of other girls shouting at you for walking out naked and erect. Closing the door muffled the argument, and my attention returned to Motmot, who fell into the sheets beside me, her great weight making the bedframe squeak and bouncing me on the mattress. She lay on her side, facing me, and hooked an arm around my chest. “Peacock thinks she needs to be clean for you tonight.”

“Mmm, I can’t imagine going again,” I said with a little sigh, scooting closer into her embrace until I rolled my back against her.

Motmot said in my ear, “Good, cause you’re not moving from this spot till I wake up tomorrow.”

Truthfully, Peacock? With how warm and comfy she was, I wouldn’t have asked to be anywhere else.

***

It was twilight by the time I made it back to the garage. We opted not to send out patrols tonight. All the nonsense with the Welt had the girls exhausted, and, frankly, we needed to focus on us.

Still, when I found Motmot waiting in the garage, paws on the iron gate that shut over the garage’s entrance, her look made me dread whatever conversation she wanted. She gave me a nod as I passed her and began walking the length of the garage, dragging along the door. As the clatter of metal sounded out behind me, I finally began to take off my riot gear. I stowed it on a shelf next to where other girls stored their armor: they ranged from salvaged Kevlar from the old world to leather armors stitched together in this one.

Motmot said once she locked the gate, “The girls are upstairs.”

“Kestrel?” I asked, turning now in the same black shirt I wore before and a pair of leggings. Under the smell of the garage I caught the smell of the Welt seeped into my clothes. Still matched your scent, I suppose.

“Kestrel is in her rooms. Last I checked, Quetzal is keeping her company.”

“Still disoriented?”

“Foggy, yeah,” Motmot said. From the moment we stepped into Hypoxia, you had been dizzy, quiet, and struggling to talk. I had hoped you might adjust but…

“Alright.”

I crossed the room for the stairs, but Motmot growled, “We need to talk.”

I watched the badger weave around bikes toward me, impatience making my tail twitch. All I wanted was to see you, take care of you, but everyone seemed bent on pulling me away. Motmot loomed over me, then knelt, wet her thumb and touched my lip.

“You still have dried blood here.”

After she wiped it off, I said, “Your fault, remember?”

“I was so fucking mad at you, Peacock.”

“I shouldn’t have questioned your faith in me.”

“Not that, idiot.”

“What then?”

“I thought you died out there, we all did,” Motmot said, rising to her full height. “We planned to hold your wake tonight, after we burned that fucking forest down.”

“I’m sorry for scaring everyone like that,” I said, glancing from the stairs then back to those large, red eyes of hers. The lights for the garage were off, and in the dwindling twilight Motmot was a massive shadow, except for her eyes.

“Listen, I know you have this connection with Kestrel. I know y’all are about as tight as can be, and we were all sad when we thought we lost her, but Peacock…” Motmot placed a paw against my shoulder and shoved me against the shelf behind me, “we love you. I love you. More than anyone in the last five years we’ve had each other. I’m not ready to run this—” her voice, that husky instrument often full of violence, quivered and cracked, “I’m not ready to lose you.”

“Motmot…” I rested a hand on her paw, then chuckled softly. “Let me go, huh? So I can hug you?”

“Heh,” she did, kneeling so when I hugged her my face wouldn’t be swallowed in her bust. We embraced, and she said, “You might think Grock is more important to Hypoxia, but you’re more important to us, alright?”

“I’m sorry for what I did.”

Her growl rumbled through her chest into mine. “Don’t apologize, idiot. Just do better next time.”

“I will,” I promised, throat a little dry. The moment had gotten to me, Tera. I felt so selfish; I wanted to die in the Welt without even thinking of who I left behind, who else in this world I still loved. I said, “You girls are supposed to be my reason for living—I’m sorry—”

“Stop it.” Motmot held me away from her to look me in the eyes. “Live because you are doing good in this shit world, and the world needs that. We all do, not just the Scissor-Tails, not just me, not just Kestrel. If you won’t take care of yourself for any other reason, do it for everyone else.”

I teared up, trembling. This whole ordeal I’d been trying to hold it back, but now…

“Hey, come on, you’re a Scissor-Tail. Don’t you start the waterworks on me.”

“God, fuck off, Motmot,” I snarled before breaking her grip to hug her again. I said into the thick fur of her neck, “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”

She patted my back and joked, “No one’s accused you of being the brains of this operation.”

I laughed, tears rolling down my face, and muttered, “You’re such a fucking bitch sometimes, you know that?”

She giggled. A sound I did not hear often. It was rumbling and low, almost a baritone purr. She hugged me tighter, then her grip eased up and she whispered, “You’re free to go now. I know you want to see her.”

“Actually, can you give me a moment?” I asked, not ready to let her go, not yet steady enough to climb the stairs.

While I sniffled and quivered against her, she whispered, “Take all the time you need, Peacock.”

***

Sister Acre came from an old family in Hypoxia—one of the first that settled here. Her uncle was the first bonded anyone in the Green Sea knew. It’s funny to think that sometimes: bonded had only been around for ten or so years, but they felt like something that had been a part of the world all our lives. Perhaps the maelstrom made us accept it. I remember, Peacock, as a teenager, hearing about the bonded and thinking, “Oh, of course this is what happens next.”

The story of Arc Acre, from what I learned, went like this:

When the prior warlord, Antler, ruled Hypoxia, Arc Acre was a human that screwed over other humans for Antler. Made his family rich on it—made a lot of bad blood between the family and the community. Then he died, suddenly. No one knows how, but you told me, Peacock, that Bloom killed him with poison during a checkup. Though, Bloom seemed like she would go to the grave without confessing that. Cause everyone hated Arc, they wouldn’t bury him inside the settlement, and dumped his body in a ditch outside town.

Few weeks later, Arc Acre got up. From his body mushrooms sprouted through crevices in his skin, purple welts on bruised, cracked white skin. Craggy roots grew from his temples, and unlike a bonded like Banyan or Grock, Arc had come back crazy. His tongue was a sunflower flapping in his mouth, but he still talked. And he told everyone he had been chosen by the maelstrom. He was the maelstrom’s messiah, the prophet of the new world.

The Acre family thought their kin crazy, diseased, but Sister Acre ate it up. This waxy blonde human who bowed at the feet of Arc. Where Arc was incoherent most the time, Sister was eloquent and charismatic, and she spun her uncle’s ramblings into something folks in the community clung onto. See, major religions from before the Wakening stayed intact. Copies of the Bible and Quran still existed, and some folks still clung to them to try and make sense of what happened here. Out in the Wastes there’s even a set of three religious settlements along this reedy river, the Chosen Children of the Maelstrom.

The Green Sea didn’t have anything like that till Sister Acre came around. You know how people get curious, right? You told me to ignore the crap she spilled. Arc Acre disappeared without a trace one day and you said, “He likely wandered into the Green Sea, that or someone killed him and burned the body outside of town.” But other folk thought he disappeared into some afterlife.

Sister Acre had this whole theology down, a religious text called Disciples of Earth. They worshipped the maelstrom as if it were the consciousness of the planet, and the planet their God.

Again, I got curious, so one morning I snuck away to Sister Acre’s sermon. Tried to get one of the other girls to come with me, but they thought I was crazy. Every three days, Sister Acre held a sermon in this church built out of the side of the hill town hall sat on. A chapel that fit fifty folk when they all stood. In the back existed the grotto, a spot underground that folks found after a sinkhole opened up in Hypoxia’s early days. Sister Acre used to do her sermons there, but her flock had gotten too big.

I stood in the back, wearing the jacket you gave me. I’d only been living in Hypoxia for a month, but pretty much everyone assumed I was a Scissor-Tail. I noticed several people in the chapel give me looks when I filed in. The chapel didn’t have any furniture in it at that time, but the walls and ceilings were painted in an explosion of colors, pinks painted over greens painted over blues painted over whites, like every week someone obsessively took another coat of paint to a different portion of the wall or ceiling. The grey, unfinished floorboards were coated in drops of different paints.

Sister Acre filed in with her helpers, all wore black cloaks with hoods drawn up, except Sister. She had hers down and spoke from a podium on a stage at the chapel’s front.

It was like the other two church services I’d been to: started with a prayer, a song most folks knew, then the sermon.

“Children of this blessed Earth,” Sister Acre began. She had this smoky, feminine voice to her that drew you in as she spoke, “Today marks the anniversary of when my uncle, the Prophet Arc Acre, joined with the maelstrom and ascended, as we all will when we pass. I mark this time every year and thank him, and the Earth which saw fit to make him Her messenger.”

“Blessed be the messenger,” the audience chanted.

Those who wore black robes chanted back, “Blessed be those who follow his footsteps.”

Clearing her throat, Sister Acre continued, “I am honored to see our flock so grown over these many years, and growing still, for I see new faces in the crowd today.”

I tried to shrink into the wall, tail wrapping around my ankles, but Sister Acre looked to a few other people before nodding to me. Thank goodness I was not the only one—I hated being singled out like that, Peacock.

“With the onset of spring, we have much work to do and rituals to complete. Last night I maelstrom-walked, and woke kneeling inside the old grotto. In my vision, my uncle told me the Wound still remains on the world, and we must offer up what we can to help mend Earth. Though the great wounding our ancestors inflicted on the Earth is the reason for our punishment, by observing the maelstrom, witnessing it, we may help heal this world and heal ourselves—”

The door banged open with a commotion, making several people start. Sister Acre took it in stride and called, “Mister Peacock! Welcome back, are you here to join us?”

“I’m here to get someone,” you said before stepping into the chapel proper and, as if you knew exactly where I stood, looking right at me. Eyes lit up in recognition and you walked over, “Come on Tera, before they try to recruit you.”

One of those robed figures who had been standing in a corner stepped in front of me and Sister said, “Mister Peacock, please let your friend decide for herself how she wishes to conduct her morning.”

It annoyed me. You were wearing a dress. Sure, because everyone gossiped about everyone else in this town, folks knew you were trans, but never had anyone done this to you. Not that I’d seen. This blatant disregard for who you were made my fists clench at my sides.

“She is just concerned about me,” I snapped at the podium before shoving the robed figure into the wall. “Let’s go Peacock.”

“Alas,” Sister Acre waxed, “another girl groomed by this—” slam! I smashed the door shut, visibly shaking with rage while you, also angry, just sighed.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Peacock.”

“It’s fine, I just don’t want you getting pulled into their cult, for your own sake,” you said before wrapping a hand around my waist. “Let’s go to Tarragon’s, might as well make the most of the morning.”

“I just can’t fucking believe her!” I let you walk me, but my heart thundered in my chest with the need to defend you. “I never saw anyone act like you were a boy before.”

“Sister Acre believes the Earth gave us our bodies and we ought to respect what the Earth wanted for us.”

“Psycho cunt,” I spat.

“I told you,” you said with a shake of the head. “Honestly, seeing you get so mad, though. It really makes me happy to see.”

“I just can’t believe she’d have the nerve—”

“You saw that chapel, if I gave her the ass kicking she deserves a part of the town would run riot.”

“I say let them.”

“Come on, Frost would have my ass.”

I scoffed. “If you ask me, Peacock, you ought to be running this town.”

You laughed at that suggestion. “And be like Frost and always send others out into the action? No thanks. I belong on a bike.”

“Mmm, much sexier on one, too,” I said, starting to calm down. Flirting always made me feel better.

Your hand pinched my butt and I giggled, leaning against you. You smelled of oil, gasoline, and the light sweet scent from bathing in the river the other day. Life in the garage, out on the bike, had soaked your scales in this particular scent, and I savored it now.

“Thank you for saving me from that cult,” I said. “I had no idea they would be like that.”

“You’re still new here,” you said with a little shrug. “I think Sister Acre is a nut and an asshole, but she doesn’t do anything harmful to Hypoxia. Honestly, I never expected you to hop in.”

“I’m not really the religious type, but I like faith, I think,” I told you. I enjoyed the feeling a church service could give, even if a religion never really stuck with me.

“Faith, huh? Believe in God?”

“I believe in… something.”

“Hehe, I can respect that,” you said, Za’atar now coming into view.

“What about you?”

“I believe in my girls and my bike, and that’s faith enough for me.”

“Mmm, do you have faith in me?”

“Girl like you could start a religion with how much faith I have in you.”

“Peacock!” I shoved you away, laughing.

“What? I’m complimenting you! The Cult of Tera is going to be hot shit here pretty soon!”

***

Your room, Tera, had not changed much since the last occupant, Raven, had lived in it. A chipped and tarnished wooden chest held all your belongings, which, given how you uprooted to here, wasn’t much more than clothes. A card table in one corner had Quetzal sitting at it with a small desk lamp on the table. She had her tarot deck out, and busied herself with aimless readings. It was how she occupied herself when bored. You slept in bed, and I, exhausted, needed to resist the urge to just crawl into it with you. I took a seat at the table and said, “She say much?”

“Went to sleep pretty much as soon as she laid down. We got her to eat a bit, but she’s just been out of it,” Quetzal answered, attention still on the cards. They were a deck salvaged out of a wrecked and ruined city a hundred miles east of here. By now, most of it had been looted clean of any valuables, but scrappers occasionally picked up odds and ends, like a box of tarot cards in the back of a ruined store.

I sighed, leaning against the wall, and whispered, “Cards give you any wisdom?”

“Haven’t had any good questions to ask it.”

“Mind if I try a question?”

“Sure,” Quetzal said, sliding the stack of cards over to me. Having done this before, she did not need to instruct me to cut the deck. I took the stack of cards and split it into thirds, rearranging the stack into a new order before sliding it back to Quetzal.

“How fucked are we?” I asked.

Quetzal smiled. “You mean with the Welt or in general?”

Stupid question. The Growth moved closer every year, the world remained a place of chaos, and nothing and no one seemed capable of fixing how the maelstrom treated us. I said, “I know how fucked we are in general. I mean with the Welt.”

“Three card spread alright?”

I waved dismissively. “Go for it.”

She laid out three cards from the top of the deck: Ten of Pentacles, the Fool, and Six of Swords Reversed. Quetzal did readings regular enough that I could recognize the cards but not read them. She shrugged, “Things are changing for us here, but change can be good. Don’t look to leaving to solve this problem.”

“Heh, where would I go?”

Quetzal glanced over to the bed. “What if she’s better off at the Cauldron, Peacock?”

“Then I’d be making weekly trips to the Cauldron,” I said. I hadn’t wanted to think about it—fuck, Tera, you moved hundreds of miles north for me, but if you had to leave Hypoxia I wasn’t sure I could follow you. It felt bad to think that. Made me sick. That I couldn’t make the same sacrifice for you.

“We all will,” Quetzal said.

I smiled wryly. “First time a Scissor-Tail’s ever come back bonded and we can’t even keep her. Folks going to think we have a problem with the bonded.”

“Anyone who knows us knows we don’t give a shit about stuff like that.”

“Yeah…”

“Peacock?”

“Hmm?”

Quetzal tapped the Fool card. “This got you thinking of something?”

“Wondering if I’m the Fool, I suppose.”

“It’s not a bad card to be, just means you might be naïve but determined.”

“Naivety gets people killed,” I said, staring now at you. You lay on your side, the filthy clothes you wore from the Welt finally removed and a sheet pulled up under your armpit. Your aloe arm rested outstretched as if you reached for something with it in your sleep.

Quetzal remained quiet, not arguing with me but eventually saying, “Anyways, to answer your question, things are changing around Hypoxia, Peacock. But they need to change, and it will make for a better home.”

“What does that have to do with the Welt?”

“You tell me, I’m not a psychic. Cards just tell you what to think about.”

“Heh, thanks Quetzal.”

She shuffled the cards back into the deck and said, “You got it from here?”

“Yeah.”

Quetzal got up, hugged me, and whispered, “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back, Peacock.”

I hugged her back, chuckling. “Heh, I’ll never know what I did to deserve you girls.”

Quetzal let me go and, smiling fondly, said, “Then you really are the Fool.”

“Suppose so.”

“Goodnight, love you.”

“Love you, too. Tell the girls I said the same.”

Quetzal opened the door to your room and whispered, “Will do, Peacock,” and shut it behind her.

I think I needed that, too, much as I needed Motmot’s intervention. I needed my girls to remind me I wasn’t a fuck up. This world takes things from us, Tera, whether we like it or not. And this entire week I lived with the terror you were being taken from me, but I didn’t need to fear being alone, or fighting for you all on my own.

I stripped off my clothes, tossing them on the chest before sliding into bed with you. You were naked, but warm despite the chill night. I spooned you and sighed, snout buried in your nape where I finally caught some of your old scent.

“Mmph, Peacock?” you groaned.

“Sh-sh,” I whispered, “I’m here with you. Rest. Tomorrow morning we can talk.”

You answered with a sleepy grunt. Your aloe arm reached back and rested on my hip, this strange new touch meant to be a sign of affection, one that felt alien. The wedges of aloe were smooth but cold compared to the rest of you. Still, it was you. I told myself it was you, every part you. And I was here with you, Tera, and that’s all that really mattered to me as we drifted off to sleep together.

I woke alone. Of course you could drift out of bed without waking me. Judging by the light from a window, it was mid-morning. I rolled out of bed, and raided your chest for a set of clothes: a crop-top sweater, denim jacket patched in places with leather, and a pair of leggings. Fortunately, while you had a long, lanky torso, our legs didn’t differ much in length. Your jacket did go down my knees, however. Almost a trench coat on me, but, feeling only a little ridiculous, I strapped on my boots and left.

Lark, waiting in the kitchen, called out when I stomped past her to the stairs. I poked my head in and saw her drawing with her sketchbook on the dining table. She had made a replica of your aloe arm, Tera. She said, “Motmot told me to tell you Kestrel is at town hall.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I said and made for the stairs. When I entered the lounge area, Lark grabbed my arm. She had run after me, so light on her feet I hadn’t even noticed it.

“Motmot said you ought to wait for them to come back.”

“I’m not—”

“Frost sent her goons to get Kestrel. She told us about what you said in town hall last night.”

There was a severe look in her eyes. “And?”

“You didn’t tell any of us?”

I sighed and faced Lark. “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Motmot will take care of Kestrel, just wait here.” She did not let go of my arm. “Don’t fight us on this.”

My first impulse was to dress her down for trying to boss me around, but my girls likely knew by now Frost didn’t want me around for the interrogation, either. “How long have they been gone?”

“About an hour, should be back—” her triangular ears twitched towards the stairs. “Speaking of.”

I heard Motmot’s heavy tread a moment before the door swung open.

“Finally woke up, huh?”

“Where’s Kestrel?”

“Getting food,” Motmot answered, which meant you were at Za’atar. “Quetzal and Quail are both with her, don’t fret.”

“I could eat, too,” I said.

“We need to talk first.”

“Lark said Frost told you everything.”

“And I want to hear it over, from you.” Motmot jabbed a claw at the couch. “Have a seat. Lark, get the bikes ready for patrols. I’ll have you go out with Quetzal and Quail when they get back. Your usual route.”

“Right,” Lark said.

I took a seat on the couch, expecting Motmot to leer over me and shout, but as Lark shut the door behind her, my second-in-command slumped in the couch beside me. She hooked an arm over my shoulder and observed, “Think I can count on one paw the number of times we’ve had the garage to ourselves.”

“Where are the other girls?”

“Robin and Sparrow are headed to the Cauldron to ask what folks up there make of the Welt.” Robin had bonded family up in the Cauldron, so that made sense. “Shrike and Vulture are out that way, too; they’re patrolling the Welt to make sure no one’s fucking with it.”

“And Swan and Albie?” We rarely called Albatross by her full name.

“Running east in the off chance the Elect really are out there and coming this way.”

“Sounds good,” I said, the words hollow and dry. Nothing was good.

Motmot confirmed as much: “You spend an entire day in the Welt, come back and are talking about finding a way to take out whatever it is that keeps the maelstrom out of here.”

“I know it sounds crazy—”

“It does,” Motmot growled. “And if it were anyone, and I mean anyone else in this town I’d tell them to piss off. I’d dismiss them as a nut. But it’s you, Peacock. So tell me what happened at the Welt, and don’t even think about hiding shit. I won’t let you see Kestrel till I’m satisfied.”

That got a bitter smile from me. “Usually I’m really good at satisfying you.”

Motmot laughed a little, but said, “Shut up and start talking.”

Not sure how long it took to tell Motmot everything, but I told everything that happened at the Welt. She listened to me tell it and didn’t ask many questions. When I got to current events, she said, “I need you to be honest with me, Peacock. Real honest when I ask you this.”

By now she sat with one leg folded on the couch, facing me with those intense red eyes. “Shoot,” I told her.

“Do you think we should let the maelstrom into Hypoxia?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Motmot.”

“But it’s not a flat no.”

“I feel like the whole town should be in on the decision.”

“You know what the town will say. People don’t live here because of the fantastic views or cause you can make a fast buck here.”

I nodded. “I know, but what if it is for the best?”

“I think, even if it were, you’d have a hard time convincing anyone of that, and even you can’t just go against what the town wants.”

I sighed, falling back into the worn cushions. “I’m not stupid, Motmot.”

She grunted, and downstairs we heard bikes revving in the garage. “The girls must be back.”

I got up, but before I could cross the room the door opened and you stepped through. We both froze up when we saw the other. You said, “Peacock.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. It’s like…” I could see you struggle to reach for the words, “I’m cold and I can’t get warm. Banyan told me that I’d get used to it.”

“That’s a relief, at least,” I said, but noticed the aloe on your arm looked closed in as well, like a flower sealed up for the night. “Grock treat you alright?”

“He just made sure she was free from that thing,” Motmot said.

“Kestrel?” I wanted to hear it from you.

“He didn’t hurt me,” you answered before glancing back into the garage. You had not moved from the doorway. “Sister Acre’s, I want to go there. Will you come with me, Peacock?”

“Why her?” I asked.

“The grotto in the church—I need to see it.”

I nodded. “Let me get strapped up first. We won’t take no for an answer.”

Motmot got up with a loud pop of her knees. “Oof, we’ll have to lock the place up, I suppose.”

“You’re coming with?” I asked.

“Every time the two of you have been alone together you’ve made trouble. I’m going to make sure you stay out of it, for once.”

Five minutes later and we were heading to Sister Acre’s church. I hadn’t bothered with my riot armor, but carried my sword by its sheath, and with Motmot backing us we had more than enough muscle for the visit.

It was an off day for Sister, which meant they left the chapel open for folks to pray. We caught the attention of a hooded figure immediately. A woman named Bleu was on duty that day. She sat in a chair next to the podium and talked with another visitor. A black-haired wolf looking fellow—like Canaan but leggy and with an orange coat. Bleu was a rodent hybrid, with a set of floppy ears, hairless and slender hands, and a chubby build and face. She did not smile when we entered because our gang was rarely on good terms with the church. Way I saw it, Sister Acre ran a gang in town much as I did, hers just happened to be more active about recruitment and a whole lot crazier.

Bleu said, “Good morning, or is it afternoon already?”

“Afternoon, if I’m not mistaken,” the canine said. He had a gentle, quiet voice. I would ask Motmot about him—I didn’t recognize him from around town. Hypoxia was only about five hundred people, so you tended to know the faces if not the names of most of the locals.

“Thank you, Vyvanse.”

“Vye, please,” Vye said.

Bleu acknowledged him with a smile before standing and saying, “I must warn you, we do not tolerate violence here.”

“We just want to see the grotto, no need to get jumpy.”

“The grotto is off limits today.”

“Says who?” I asked, pressing my thumb against the handguard to nudge my sword from its sheath.

“It is not a holiday, and you must be cleansed before visiting—”

“You know, Bleu, back before Sister made this her turf anyone could visit the grotto. It’s where a lot of the squatters stayed during winter. So don’t give me that cleansing crap,” I said.

Bleu’s little fists were quivering. She said, “I see you don’t plan to take no for an answer.”

You came forward, then. “Is there a way to cleanse ourselves?”

Bleu’s big brown eyes drifted to your arm. I’d been standing in front of you so she only just noticed you were bonded. “I see, you must be the one they brought back from the Welt.”

“Interesting,” Vye said. He watched us with a casual intensity, as if he noted everything about us without really trying.

Ignoring him, you said to Bleu, “Please, it is very important. I wish to speak to Sister Acre about the Wound.”

“I see. She is in the back—I will fetch her.”

“The back?” I asked, but Bleu did not answer. I really knew nothing about this place. Willing ignorance of a person I despised probably did not make the best sense.

Motmot whispered over my head, “What’s this about, Kestrel?”

I was concerned with that, too.

“I think it’s here,” you said. “The thing that keeps out the maelstrom.”

At the other end of the chapel Vye’s big ears were turned toward us. He sat in a pew, cross-legged, pretending not to eavesdrop, but I said, “Hey, buddy, why don’t you clear out?”

Didn’t put up a fight. He swung onto his feet, and strode for the door. The clothes he wore were elegant: vest, collared shirt, and slacks. The type of stuff you didn’t see most folk in Hypoxia wear, Tera. Motmot and I exchanged a glance. We let him by, and before he was out the door I said, “Word of advice, Vye.”

He stopped, and asked with his back to me, “Yes?”

“Careful strutting around alone in those clothes. Folks might see you as some kind of mark.”

“Thank you for the advice,” he said before shutting the door behind him.

Motmot asked, “You see him around?”

“No, was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Don’t like his vibe. I’ll ask Tarragon what he knows about him later,” Motmot said. Tarragon tended to know every little secret in this town, or at least knew someone who knew something. He didn’t let on too much, but it was an open secret he could be an information broker when needed.

You said, “He’s trouble.”

“You pick up any of his thoughts?” I asked, forgetting that you could do that.

“Wait, you can pull a Grock, Kestrel?” Motmot asked.

You nodded. “I didn’t mean to lie about it, I just didn’t want it coming out in our meeting with Frost.”

“Fair enough,” Motmot said with a shrug.

You said, “He works for someone, and he holds a great deal of disdain for this place.”

“That all?” I asked.

“All I was able to get,” you said, just as Bleu returned with Sister Acre.

She said, “You wished to discuss the Wound?”

“I do.” You crossed the chapel, adding, “Your uncle spoke of it, didn’t he? I wish to know what he said.”

I decided it best to give you space to work, and took a seat in the nearest pew, sword leaning against it. Motmot stood in front of the door to make sure no one else interrupted or left.

Sister Acre said to the back of the room, “You will not intimidate us into—”

“We don’t wish to, please Sister,” you said, standing before the small stage the podium was on. “What did your uncle say about the Wound?”

“You wish to know the holy word?”

“I wish to know his exact words.”

Sister Acre frowned. “His exact words are nonsensical without the context and knowledge of—”

“Verbatim, Sister.”

The older human huffed. “Very well, as you are a bonded, I am inclined to trust your judgement and wisdom.” Sister turned to Bleu, “Retrieve from my bookshelf my journal, please?”

“Of course,” Bleu said with a little bow before running off again.

“I would still like Peacock and I to see the grotto,” you said to Sister.

“Him?” Sister glared at me, but Motmot shut her down.

“Girl I’ve torn open the ribcages of tougher humans than you. You call Peacock a he again and I’ll carve you up with these claws.”

Sister Acre gawked at the badger, and I could not help but smile at her getting put in her place.

“Try me, Sister,” Motmot growled.

“Very well,” Sister said, clearly shaken. “You both may enter, but you will need to cleanse yourself first. There is a ritual, a baptism in the river is required.”

I rolled my eyes, but trusted you to handle this nonsense.

You simply nodded. “We can do that.”

At that point Bleu returned again with a journal. “Thank you,” Sister said as she took it. She opened the book and paged through it a moment to a certain date before looking over the podium to you. “He mentions the Wound almost daily. Was there a particular subject matter that could—”

“The first time,” you said.

“Very well, bonded.”

“Kestrel is her name,” I said, slapping the pew with my tail to make sure I had their attention.

Sister’s scowl wilted into a polite nod when she met my glare. She flipped a few pages, cleared her throat, and read, “Uncle is staying at the clinic. We are not sure if his condition is some new sort of disease. My father and mother believe him to be some kind of monster and have suggested killing him. Such a ghastly suggestion I could not brook, so I went to see my uncle myself. He is how they say, twisted with fungus sprouting all over him. He speaks in tongues, which Bloom seems to have tuned out, but I find myself fascinated by it. He mentions ‘the Wound’ constantly, but to all else it seems like gibberish and he does not respond to any stimulus—”

“The words, Sister,” you said.

“Oh, very well,” Sister almost snapped, turning the page and reading: “Today I recorded his words: ‘Wound. Wound. We are the Wound. The Wound is in us, a part of us. It must be closed to make it whole. Wound. Wound. The Wound is this place. This bed. This bird that talks to me. This bird I wish to Wound. Fuck Wounds. I am Wound. They told me to Wound. They told me close the Wound, no matter who it Wounds.” Sister stopped and said, “Satisfied, or shall I go on?”

“That is all I need,” you said. “I am ready to visit the grotto.”

***

I always thought Banyan had this regal bearing to him. The big caribou hybrid’s cape of brambles made him resemble a king. He apparently never wore clothes at the Cauldron: too much trouble with his brambles. In Za’atar, he managed with an apron for his front. His rear the brambles covered. I wondered often if he ever pricked himself, if that hurt, if he always had to sleep on his stomach. Perhaps he did not prick himself: he had a shaggy brown coat, thick like Motmot’s, and I’m sure that helped.

I liked studying the tangle of bright green stems, with their finger-length thorns. I did it often when sitting at the bar at Za’atar. Didn’t go by myself often, but every once in a while I had the morning to myself.

The day we first journeyed to the Welt was one of those days, Peacock.

Banyan brewed coffee behind the counter, wearing his apron, with his tall, slim ears listening to folks come and go. Each time a chair scuffed when moved or the door opened or a barstool creaked, his ears turned to the sound, but Tarragon took care of the patrons right now. I sat right behind Banyan, studying his cape of brambles, that tangle of ripe green stems so thick with thorns I could not see the fur on his back. A waterfall of violence sprouted from his body, but when he faced me, my mug of coffee in hand, his eyes shined with a friendly warmth I’d come to cherish.

“Doing well today, Kestrel?” Banyan asked me, leaning against the bar.

The name you gave me still left me a little breathless to hear from others. I said, “Just trying to relax before patrols.”

“Mmm, boring day on the bike?”

“Hopefully,” I said before taking a sip of the coffee. The bitter flavor was cut with something sweet and lavender tasting. Banyan grinned when my brow furrowed. “What’s in this?”

“Trying a new method of roasting. Some of Pine’s needles thrown in with the stingers.”

I looked dubiously at my mug and set it down. “Pine alright with that?”

“He sheds them like we shed fur, and it was his suggestion.” Banyan added when my frown did not retreat, “We have a normal brew if—”

“No no, I like it. It’s… just strange. I’m surprised he’d suggest being used like that. Can you imagine Hickory over there offering his nail clippings for food?”

“Yeah but Hickory is also an asshole,” Banyan whispered conspiratorially, “Between Tarragon and I, he’s our least favorite regular.”

“Heh, you two gossip about customers?”

“Of course, we gossip with Pine, too.”

That still confused me. “How do you talk with him, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Banyan shrugged. “There are many ways. Occasionally, Pine will shed an acorn that if you put in your mouth and suck on will let him hear your thoughts and you can hear his. Most of those go to Tarragon, Cheesesteak keeps one in her pocket in case of emergencies. And Pine and I,” Banyan tapped his temple. “bondmates.”

“Do all bondmates share a connection like that?”

“Not all,” Banyan said. “It’s different for everyone. This boy I knew in the Cauldron, Lichen, he could tell where his bondmate was, so if they were separated they knew exactly where to go.”

“Mhmm, so it’s like everything else with the bonded.”

“Meaning?”

“You just spin a wheel and end up with some random power.”

Banyan tapped the counter with the wrist resting on it. “Now you’re getting it. We don’t pretend to understand it. Some of us don’t ever have bondmates.”

I took another sip of the coffee. It smelled pleasant, and, now that I expected it, I enjoyed the taste. I asked, “How did you and Pine find each other?”

“Heh, there’s a story. You know we met before we ended up bonded?” I shook my head and took another sip of coffee while he shared the tale, “I lived out west, past the World Wound, you know those big, volcanic looking mountains beyond the Cauldron? We had this settlement on the other side called Arboretum—it’s where we got all our tree names from. I had a family out there, wife and kid, and one year the place got hit real hard with this plague. Whole family caught it and I was the only one who survived. Just about everyone had to go through it, but the hybrids got hit real hard. When I was up on my feet, I decided to volunteer at this makeshift quarantine clinic. I met Pine there. This slender, little human boy, barely an adult. He was sick, but through the worst of it. And it was just this strange, instant connection. At first, I thought I just saw this orphan boy as someone to protect and take care of: I lost my family, he had none. Then he was climbing into my bed at night and well, one thing led to another.” Banyan cut off with a little laugh. “I should check what orders came in.”

Something welled up inside me, and I snatched his wrist before he could turn back to the kitchen. “Wait, Banyan…” I didn’t know what I wanted to say, Peacock. It felt exciting and terrible at the same time to even suggest.

Banyan, softly smiling, said to me, “Bondmates don’t need to be bonded to find each other or share a special connection. Speaking of,” he nodded to the door, where you had just come inside, beaming when you spotted me. As you walked over, I heard Banyan say, “You two take care.”

He left and you embraced me. I didn’t know what to make of the moment, and it scared me to suggest it to you just then, Peacock. I know you respect how the bonded do things, but you also tend to dismiss maelstrom stuff. Were we bondmates, I wondered, and were we birthed with this bond, or did we make it ourselves?

***

Sister Acre clearly wanted us out of her hair quick as possible. We did the cleansing by the river, the nearest bank only fifty paces from the chapel. Then back inside in the black robes of the church. Motmot held onto our stuff and waited in the chapel while Sister Acre took us back. Dug into the hillside was a small apartment where Sister lived. I only got a glance through the open door on the walk to the grotto, but it looked cozy enough.

The grotto hadn’t changed since the last time I visited. It had been years, not since Sister Acre got real protective about her turf. The grotto was a small underground chamber big as a shed, with candles set up on the walls to provide light. The ceiling had been patched up with dirt and some of the stone that set the walls and ceiling of the domed room. The dirt floor had the seasons chill bristling into our feet as we entered with Sister Acre.

“What did you wish to know about this place?” Sister asked, but you ignored her, walking up to the statue in the center of the room.

The weathered stone had been sculpted into the figure of a fox before the wakening; you ran your fingers along its face, then turned to Sister, “Has anyone ever tried removing this?”

“Excuse me?”

“People have always been superstitious about it,” I answered. “We gave it a wide berth when we found it.”

“There is something inside. Not here,” your hand came to rest at the base of the statue. “Underground. It is… ah, I see.” You chuckled and said, “We’re done here, Sister.”

“Just like that?” she asked.

I think I understood. You wanted to talk, but not with this nut around us. When our eyes met you nodded, so I said, “She just wanted to see it. Honestly all this cleansing crap was a real waste of time. Come on, Kestrel.”

We left Sister flabbergasted, but waiting for us in the chapel was Swan talking with Motmot, the lioness still wearing her padded leather jacket, goggles around her neck, and mane pulled back in a braid. She, like me, had an aversion for this trans hating place, which meant—

“Peacock!” she said, “I was just telling Motmot. Albie and I, we caught sight of a convoy.”

“What kind?” I asked, hopping down the stage to them.

“Ten cars, four bikes. Albie went to warn Frost.”

“They raiders?”

Swan shook her head. “Not seen their colors before. We only saw them through binoculars, but they didn’t look scrappy enough.”

“What’d their banner look like?” I asked while shrugging off the robe I wore. I was naked underneath, and quickly pulled on my clothing as Motmot handed it to me.

“Uh, orange, white, and russet. Three bars on the flag of the lead car.”

“Motmot?”

“I don’t recognize it, Peacock,” she answered.

“It’s the Elect,” you said from the stage.

I threw on the denim jacket I took from your clothes this morning and asked, “You know?”

“Who else could it be?”

“She’s got a point,” I said. “Motmot, go on ahead with Swan and get the bikes ready and figure out what Frost plans to do. I’ll be back at the garage here in a minute.”

She glanced between us, Tera, and said, “You two don’t cause any more trouble, you hear?”

“I promise to keep Peacock from starting any fights,” you said.

Motmot took that with a satisfied grunt, and as they left you came down to change your clothes. “The Will tell you anything about the Elect, Kestrel?” I asked while you shed your robe.

“I’m not sure—mind helping me get dressed?”

“Of course, take a seat,” I said before kneeling in front of her in the pew. As I started to pull on the faded and patched jeans she had been wearing, I added, “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“It’s muddy without them here with me, Peacock.”

“Mmm.” I got your pant cuffs over your ankle, and you stood so I could wriggle the jeans up to your waist. I buttoned them and joked, “Usually I’m doing the opposite of this.”

“Sister Acre would be furious with us if we did that.”

I glanced back towards the grotto. “You’re making it even more tempting.”

You giggled, which, despite everything happening around us, had me grinning like an idiot. I kissed you, hugging you by the waist, our snouts touching and a loving gaze that we hung onto until you laughed again.

“We’ll have time later,” you whispered before picking up the sleeveless turtleneck you had been wearing. I helped you into it, and when I reached for your shawl you said, “I can handle that.” You sat down and lifted your padded toes. “My boots?”

As I tugged them on, I asked, “Can you tell me what you do know about the Elect, Kestrel? Anything at all?”

“I know they found a way to… it’s hard to describe. They are not killing the maelstrom, but they have found a way to push it back. To create a space like Hypoxia.”

“And that’s why Will is so afraid of it,” I said, lacing up your boots before standing up and grabbing my sword from the pew. “Come on, let’s get back to the garage.”

You grabbed my hand before I could walk away. I met your eyes and found you trembling, you voice suddenly coming to me in a rasp. “The way they do it is horrific, Peacock.”

“Yeah?”

You shook your head. “We should get going.”

“Alright, you don’t need to say anymore.”

I took your hand in mine and we walked out the door. The air today remained mild, but the occasional breeze had a bite to it. As we walked back to the garage, I said, “So this thing that keeps Hypoxia safe, it’s in that statue?”

“It’s not keeping Hypoxia safe, Peacock.”

I shrugged. “I won’t argue that point, but people here will.”

“It needs to be destroyed.”

“Kestrel—”

You stopped in your tracks and placed your hand on my cheek. “I mean it, for all our sakes. You must believe me.”

Everything I knew about the world told me you were wrong, Tera. Yet, more and more, my world seemed to revolve around you. It came out, simple and dangerous and sure, “I do. I do believe you.”

You hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, “I know you think I’m crazy, that we’re both crazy, but trust me. I want what’s best for everyone.”

And I knew you did—I only loved people who thought that way.

We returned to the garage, got suited up in time for Albie to get back. She told us Frost planned to meet the group at the east gate, so we took our bikes there. Hypoxia’s walls were made mostly from rusted scrap metal wielded and hammered into a palisade around the place. Honestly, they didn’t stop much, but it did keep most raiders from just slamming into the settlement with whatever vehicle they might have. At each of the four gates was a watchtower where someone with a set of binoculars and rifle typically whiled away the day. At the east gate, that person had their 22. loaded and aimed at the convoy as it blazed its way toward us. We rolled up behind a swathe of Frost’s regular militia. I told Motmot to stay with the bikes and swung off mine. Tera, you rode on the back of mine, insisting you come along. We were in too much of a rush to fight, but after I gave Motmot orders I faced you with my sternest glare. “Stay with the girls.”

You nodded. I shouldered my way to the front of the group. Standing with Frost was Canaan, Grock, and—

“Ah, I was wondering if you would be in attendance,” Vye said. The long, slender canine gave a little bow of acknowledgement.

“Welcome to the party, Peacock,” Frost said. She barely glanced at me, and didn’t notice me jab my finger at Vye.

“He got something to do with this?”

“Vye’s a delegate from the Elect. He let us know not to expect trouble with the folk riding into town today,” Frost said.

I grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her down so I might whisper in her ear, “You trust this fuck?”

She shoved me back. “Of course not. Why the fuck you think I brought all this heat with me?”

“I’m telling you he’s good people, boss,” Canaan said.

Frost got in Canaan’s face. “We’ll talk later about you vouching for some spy after this shit’s sorted out.”

Canaan remained unphased. The guard on the watchtower called out, “They’re slowing down!”

We could discern the shapes of the different vehicles now. All of them grew closer, and I saw the banner mentioned before waving from a pole in the back of the front car. It was some sort of armored truck, not something we even had in the settlement. That sort of shit alone could tear up the town if we weren’t careful..

I rested one hand on the sheath of my sword. Canaan noticed and asked, “What are you gonna do, samurai, cut a car in half?”

I ignored the jab and said, “How you and Vye meet?”

“He put a hit out on someone and I took the job.”

“Fuck, you’re normally not so blunt about your work.”

Canaan shrugged. “Got a feeling we’ll all be working for the Elect soon enough.”

Fuck if that boded well for anyone in this settlement. Frost spat in the dirt. “My ass. I’d sooner this place burn than work for someone else.”

“They are merely here to set up—”

“Shut up, spy,” Frost snapped at Vye.

I stepped beside Grock, who had remained otherwise silent, and asked him, “Still thinking working with the Will is crazy?”

“Like you said, we should consider all our options,” Grock answered. By then, the vehicles had closed the distance between us. As they rolled to a stop, Frost yelled over her shoulder, “Get to cover you fucks. Don’t give them the chance to mow us all down at once.”

Smart girl, Frost.

Fortunately, machine guns didn’t pop out the roofs of any of the cars. Just like Swan said: ten vehicles, a mix of armored cars, vans, the truck, and the four bikes. Everything was spray painted black, including the armor the bikers wore. It matched my old riot gear, but this looked less scrapped together—something made in the present day. Because the vehicles were just pure black, I did not notice until they rolled to a stop that each vehicle had plant matter growing across it. This also glowed black, squirming a little. It looked like a root system grown into the faces of each vehicle like a spreading cancer.

Grock, to my left, silently gagged. He covered his mouth, but I was the only one who noticed because Vye, Canaan, and Frost all marched up to the truck. The bull wiped bile from his lips, and I touched his side, asking, “Whoa, you okay?”

“Those… things on their vehicles. They’re bonded.”

“Fucking shit.” Over by the lead truck, a hatch swung open and more folks in armor popped out. They wore helmets with visors the same orange as their banner, but I could tell by the way they stood, the lack of tails, everything about them screamed humans. Maybe they had hybrid soldiers as well, but from the truck emerged no diplomats, Tera. Only an idiot wouldn’t be on their guard about this shit.

While Vye made introductions, I asked Grock, “Do you need to get out of here? You’re no use to anyone if you can’t even stay on your feet.”

“I’ll stay, but right here. What will you do?”

“Meet the neighbors,” I said before strutting up to the group. My sword belted to my hip, I kept a lazy hand resting on it.

Before I might announce myself, Vye stepped towards me and said, “And this is Peacock, leader of the fearsome Scissor-Tails—” definitely said in a patronizing way, “Peacock, this is Commander Roman.”

“Roman, huh,” I said, sizing up the human at the front of the group. I couldn’t see through his visor, so I told them, “You know, you look like a bunch of clones. Won’t be able to tell anyone apart unless you take off those helmets.”

Vye said, “Apologies for the locals’ rudeness, Com—”

“No no,” Roman said, voice a little muffled by the helmet. He pulled it off, revealing a blocky human head, pasty skin with red hair, a handlebar mustache and blue eyes. His left ear had been shot off at some point in his life—now just a lump of scar tissue. He offered me a smile, “We clearly appear hostile, their bluster is expected. At ease, men.”

Men. More helmets came off, and each one revealed a male human. They came in about every color and size, but those two facts told me what type of folks the Elect were. Especially with the bonded strung across their vehicles.

Frost said, “Good to put a face to the Elect, Commander Roman. I’m Frost, sort of the mayor here, mostly run security for the town.”

“I see,” Roman said.

I nodded at the truck. “What’s that shit growing out of your ride?” I trusted Grock, but I wanted to hear what these bastards said.

Roman said, “They are those poor soulless husks the maelstrom has reincarnated.” He walked over and rested a hand on a root growth thick as my thigh. “We have found that, once molded into a proper shape, they can be used to cull the maelstrom’s most hostile impulses.”

“Interesting,” Frost said.

“Is it?”

She threatened to murder me with her look.

Fighting between us made us both weak, so I didn’t push it, but fuck if I wasn’t sick thinking about it. Frost said to Roman, “We would welcome you and three of your men inside the settlement as guests. The rest will need to make camp outside the walls until we have a better sense of your intentions. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, we wish to greet the proud people of Hypoxia with an open hand and a warm heart. We only have love for our fellow man.”

I had a feeling we did not count for what things they loved, Tera.

***

“You ever kill someone before?”

I’m not sure why I asked it. Of course I knew the answer. Your origin story involved slaying your captors.

You laughed. “Come on, what kind of question is that? Better to ask who hasn’t?”

“I’ve not,” I admitted quietly. We had parked our bikes in the trees of this little wooded glade where a group of raiders had made their base. Motmot and Albie had drawn them out, and the rest of us moved in from the north. The raiders were a group of eight, far as we knew, with one old van, the roof cut off the top of it, and the whole group riding in back. They were pests, but pests that needed dealing with.

“Are you scared to?” you asked me. “Cause you know the longer you’re a part of the gang the more likely it’s going to happen.”

“I know,” I said while scanning the horizon for the van. We both waited on our bikes, the other girls split in pairs throughout the border of the wood.

Peacock said, “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like killing, but I’ve never hesitated, too.”

“What about fighting?”

“That’s another story. Guess I love fighting.”

“And when you have to kill in a fight?”

You sighed. “When your blood is pumping, it’s all a blur and it’s all a thrill. It’s only after, when you take stock of the bodies, that it hits you.”

“I’m scared it will hit me in the middle of the fight.”

“It might, Kestrel,” you whispered. “If it does, I’ll protect you.”

“Idiot,” a fond smile worked its way across my muzzle and I looked at you. “When am I supposed to protect you?”

“You have, in your own way, Kestrel.”

I remembered what Motmot told me, about you acting more careful about rushing into danger. I sighed and turned back to the watch. “I suppose you’re right.”

“We protect each other, we protect those who can’t protect themselves, and we protect Hypoxia.”

“That’s the Scissor-Tail way,” I finished. I had made that vow the night I officially joined the gang.

“Kestrel?”

“Yeah, Peacock?”

“No matter what happens, nothing is going to hurt you while I’m around.”

We heard a motor kick on from fifty paces away, a sign someone had spotted something. As we rode out into danger, I believed you completely—like you had faith in the girls, we all had that faith in you.

***

“You’re leaving?” The words came out of my mouth like you punched them out my sternum. I shook my head, “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“You said go back to Hypoxia. You didn’t say I couldn’t leave,” you whispered.

“At least let me ride you out there,” I said. We stood outside the garage. The rest of the gang came back into town and settled there while I stuck with Frost at town hall, hearing out the Elect. They hadn’t come to mince words: make Hypoxia a satellite of the Elect, a forward base for them, and we’d be allowed to have our autonomy. The other option meant fighting off whatever the Elect sent next.

I had not even gotten the chance to tell you any of this. You’d been waiting for me, waiting to leave.

You had a pistol holstered at your side—one of our spares, but you carried no pack. You planned to go back to the Welt with just the clothes on your back.

“You’ll be walking all night to get back there,” I said when you did not jump at my suggestion. The sun was slowly setting on the town, and all the buildings had long shadows cast around us.

“I’m fine with that,” you said.

“I’m not.”

“Peacock, this is not up for debate!”

It hurt to hear you snap at me. I took a step back, not sure if I wanted to lash out at you. I asked, “Have you told any of the girls?”

“Motmot said I needed to wait for you.”

“Fuck… so you were just going to leave?”

“I have to go now,” you said. “I should have left soon as Frost let the Elect into town.”

“Fuck the Elect, I can keep you safe.”

“But who is keeping the Welt safe?”

“Fuck off, it’s not—”

“Peacock it’s our turf.”

“I don’t give a fuck about our turf!” I barked. You flinched, and all my anger collapsed in on itself. I grabbed your hand and said, “You’re what I have to protect. We protect each other.”

“Then let me protect you and everyone else,” you whispered, pleading.

“Kestrel…” I whined, tears beading my eyes. I sensed you would not be swayed, no matter how much it might hurt me to leave.

“Why?”

“I need to know how we close the Wound.”

“You’re just going to do it?” I shook my head. “People will kill you if—”

“It needs to happen, Peacock. The maelstrom isn’t our enemy.” You cupped my cheeks with both hand and aloe. “I can feel all your pain—” and I noticed the corner of your eyes wet, “I don’t want to separate us, either. Come back for me tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have a plan.”

“I love you, more than anything,” I said, said it like trying to cling to a rock in a raging river.

You smiled; your thumb wiped a tear from my eye. “I know, Peacock.”

“You asshole, you’re supposed to say—”

“And I will, when I see you again!” you laughed, but it was pained and sweet, like my own when you hugged me tight. “It will be the first thing I tell you. You’re my bondmate, you know?”

“God, you sure you picked the right person?”

You released me and said, “I knew from the moment I saw you.”

“Pfft, yeah right.”

You shrugged. “Maybe not, but I definitely knew by the time you made me cum for the first time.”

“Hehehe, stop. I’m supposed to be sad.”

“We’ll see each other again,” you said.

“Count on it.”

As you headed to the north gate, slanted light caught you in this radiant glow. Your aloe forearm took on a yellowish green color. I did that to you, and I realized I never once apologized for it. You never asked me, too, either. That horrible, traumatic event. Did you remember it? I wish I didn’t, Tera. I wanted to grab you, say I was sorry, but then you turned a corner and disappeared behind a building. Gone again. How was it that missing a single person made the whole world fall out from under me?

Bondmates… I studied the palm of my hand. I held it in the sunlight, and wondered if the aloe growing out you felt sunlight like my hand did. Someday I would just know. Someday, I’d feel it in my own body, wouldn’t I, Tera?

I turned back to the garage to find Motmot waiting for me. She said, “Come on inside. Kestrel can take care of herself, let us take care of you.”

I wanted to cry, going back to her, spotting the other girls waiting in the garage. Scissor-Tails protect each other. I made this gang to help others, but when I threw all my love into it, into these girls, they helped me just as much. Maybe more, Tera.

Who am I kidding? Definitely more.