FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

*****

Chapter Sixty Four

*****

The creak of the door opening startled Vakaal from his fitful slumber. He jumped to his feet, reaching for his knife. But it hadn't been it his hip since the day he was caught. Though his shaping remained, it was far too suppressed to be of use. Ears back and fangs bared, he snarled at the human in the doorway, ready to fight if they'd come to hurt him.

"Easy, little guy. We're just here-"

"Where's my father?" Vakaal snapped his teeth, trying to stand as tall and imposing as he could. Without easy access to his shaping, he felt small. He was barely half the human's height. Still, he'd beaten one with his shackles before, and he was sure he could do it again. "I wanna see my father!"

"He's fine. You'll see him soon." The human, dressed in blue clothing, held up his hands. "Look, we brought you some food and water. We'll bring some hot water, too, enough to fill the tub. After you wash the sand and grime out of your fur, the Colony Commander and the Grandmaster Historian want to see you."

Vakaal rubbed his head, just under his horns. His head ached, and some of those words didn't quite make sense. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but his fur felt dry now, no longer damp with tears. As much as he wanted to argue and demand to see his father, the rumbling in Vakaal's belly said otherwise as soon as he saw the platter of freshly roasted meat.

"Here." The human handed him the plate. "Eat."

The pup glared at him, and snatched the plate away. "Fine!"

He hopped up on the bed, kicking his feet above the floor while he shoveled meat into his muzzle. Despite his angry and fear, whatever he was eating tasted delicious. It certainly wasn't any kind of animal he'd eaten before. He hoped it wasn't one of the dragons. When it was gone, he set the plate aside, and licked his fingers clean.

"Now can I see my father?"

The man shook his head, retrieving the plate. He handed it to someone in the hall, then took a pitcher of water, along with a cup. "Not up to me. But if you do as you're told, you'll see him a lot sooner, I'm sure."

When the man passed him the cup filled with water, Vakaal stared up into the man's eyes. "Why are you doing this to us?"

The man glanced away. "I just follow orders." He set the pitcher on top of the dresser. "I'll leave this here for you. The other servants will bring the hot water. After you bathe, there's clean clothes-"

"They're too big."

"I'll see about bringing something smaller tomorrow, then. Might have to measure you. Never had one your age here, before."

Before Vakaal could ask him what that meant, the man was back out into the hallway. A few other humans came in next, each carrying a large bucket full of steaming water. They walked into the smaller room, and poured it into the basin. For a few moments, the urd'thin considered rushing out into the hall and making a run for it. The reality of that little fantasy soon left his muzzle scrunched and his tail limp. He'd only get lost in those labyrinthine stone halls. Besides, he didn't know where Father was, and even if he got out of this place, where would he go? Out into the desert, on his own? Vakaal knew he couldn't survive that. He couldn't even make a rain cloud without soaking himself.

When they were done filling the basin, the humans told Vakaal they'd be back for him soon, after his bath. As unsure as he was about what they had planned for him, he didn't mind the chance to rinse the sand from his fur. He went into the little room and stripped off his breeches, then poked at the water with a foot. He yanked his toes back, yipping. Why was it so hot? He clicked his teeth, wringing one of his ears with a hand. That didn't' seem comfortable or refreshing at all. Not like bathing in the oasis, back home.

Once the water cooled off, Vakaal settled into it. The basin was deep enough that sitting on the bottom, Vakaal's head barely poked over the side. He was glad they'd only filled it halfway. The pup sloshed and wriggled and worked the water all through his fur. He dunked his head to make sure and wash his ears, too. Some funny smelling bars of off-white slippery material lay alongside the tub. If those were for bathing, Vakaal didn't know what to do with them. So he ignored them, and just got himself clean.

By the time the humans came back for him, Vakaal was out of the bath, mostly dry, and dressed in the clean breeches. As he brushed his fur, one of the humans brought him a belt. Vakaal was familiar enough with them, though his people used them for strapping knives and other tools around their bodies. At least it would help keep his oversized pants from falling down. That'd be just what he needed, he thought. Alone and scared in the home of his enemies, and any time he tried to act tough, his breeches would fall down.

At least the thought made him giggle. Laughing eased his spirits, if only just a little. This time, when the humans led him through the labyrinth, he was allowed to follow at his own pace. Once more he marveled at the scope of the place. Surely they'd built it with shaping. Vakaal couldn't imagine the time and effort it would take to create such a structure even with shaping, let alone any other way.

They took him to a circular room with a tall, domed ceiling. Lines of octagonal skylights let bright sunlight shine in. Books lined the entire room, more of them than Vakaal had ever imagined existing. They filled shelves that spanned from the floor to the domed ceiling. More book shelves formed aisles throughout the room. There were tomes of every size and color, bound in leather, cloth, hide, and other materials Vakaal couldn't easily identify.

A round table occupied the center of the room. Maps and other strange drawings on parchment were spread across it along with more books. Two humans were there, both males. One was older than the other, with graying hair. He wore the golden robe Vakaal saw earlier. The other wore dark gray clothing with golden insignias on each shoulder. Vakaal didn't know humans well enough to really tell their features apart, other than their ages. Both had flat faces, small ears, funny little noses. The younger one had short hair on his cheeks and chin.

"As requested, Sir." The servant who brought Vakaal bowed, and then stepped out, closing the door behind him.

"There he is, then." The golden-robed man eased to his feet, spreading his arms out as he approached Vakaal. "Our solution, at long last."

"He's a lot younger than I expected." The other man folded his arms without rising.

The man in gold glanced back. "You say that as if it's a problem."

"I know, I know. Extenuating circumstances. We'll do whatever we have to. There are too many lives at risk."

"Who are you?" Vakaal walked towards the humans, glancing back and forth between them both. "What do you want from my father and me? Where is my father?"

"A courageous little thing, aren't you?" The man in gold gestured at the urd'thin, as if outlining him with his hands. "So much power in so small a pup. But not quite ready to weave our story just yet, are you?"

Vakaal only glared up at him. "You haven't answered any of my questions."

The other man got up from the table. "I am Colony Commander Jirim. And this is Grandmaster Historian Lovro."

Lovro bowed, his golden robes crinkling. "And you, little pup, are called Vakaal, is that right?"

"Where's my father?"

"Enjoying our hospitality. You'll see him tomorrow." The man in the golden robe clasped his hands, grinning. "But first, we talk. What do you know about stories, little Vakaal?"

Vakaal grit his teeth. This human was already infuriating him. But father told him to behave...and he didn't want to disobey now, especially if it might mean they'd hurt his father. "I know you have a lot of them here."

"Yes we do." Lovro walked to one of the shelves, running his fingers over the tomes. He glanced back at Jirim, tapping a book's spine. "This one?"

"There's no way he could read that."

"There's no way he should be able to talk to us, either. Not in our language." He pulled the book free and tossed it to the urd'thin. "Open it to page one, and read the first sentence."

Vakaal caught the book, turned it over in his hands. The dark cover depicted a dragon's head made out of golden sand. An elaborate collar ringed its neck. Vakaal opened the book to the first page. The letters looked strange, unfamiliar, and yet he understood them without any trouble. "The sudden tolling of the warning bell startled Alvaranox from his slumber." Vakaal scrunched his muzzle. "That's a funny name."

Lovro beamed at Jirim. "You see?" He thrust a finger at the urd'thin, his robe rustling. "You see? See? He's everything we've hoped for."

Jirim tilted his head head, a funny look crossing his face. Vakaal couldn't read human expressions well enough to tell if he was worried or angry. "That doesn't strike you as-"

"As what, impossible? It tells me we've finally found someone with an ember of the true flame."

"What if it's more than that? What if it's-"

Lovro shrugged. "All the better to rebuild our world. To rebuild _all_the worlds."

"What are you two talking about?"

An eerie smile spread across Lovro's thin lips. "Clever, too." He whirled on Vakaal so fast Vakaal took a step back. "They tell me you're good with healing, is that true?"

Vakaal worked the book back and forth between his hands. "I...can heal, a little."

"A little? That's not what I heard." Lovro snatched the book away, spun it in his hand, and stuck it back in place in the shelf. "Back to shelf 5-D with you."

The pup blinked. Was this human always just going to skip around and ramble? Maybe that was how humans communicated best. He glanced up at the ceiling, and for the first time noticed the riddle he saw earlier was inscribed here, too. Each side of the phrase was marked by an intricate carving of hands holding a book. A less-detailed version of the same symbol marked the sleeves of Lovro's golden robes, and many of the books along the shelves.

"Why do you have a riddle everywhere?"

"A riddle?" Jirim tilted his head, following Vakaal's gaze. "Ah. That's not a riddle."

"Who tells the storytellers' story!" Lovro cast his hands wide, turning in place, as if calling out to every book in the room. His voice echoed back to him, and he followed it with laughter before his gaze fell on Vakaal. "That's what it says. But it's not a riddle, it's-"

"I know what it says." Vakaal flicked his tail. Something about Lovro put him ill at ease. "And it sounds like a riddle to me."

"It's our creed. You see, we..." Lovro put a hand to his chest, and bowed to the pup. "Are the storytellers."

"So you wrote all these books?" Vakaal picked another out and looked it over. The lettering on the read cover was too faded to read.

"Not exactly." Jirim chuckled.

Lovro snatched the book back. "In a manner of speaking, we wrote quite a few of them. These are, you see, histories of the many worlds. Worlds in which we have a hand in deciding-"

"They're not all histories." Jirim's voice was flat, but a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

Lovro snorted, putting the book back on the shelf. "Enough of them are. Which is something that you..." He poked Vakaal's nose. "Will have to study up on."

Vakaal fought the urge to bite his finger. "So what does it mean, if it's not a riddle?"

"It's a rhetorical question." Jirim folded his arms again, gazing down at the urd'thin. "We call ourselves the storytellers because we..." He trailed off when Lovro gave him a smoldering glare, then picked up again. "Because we travel from place to place..."

"World to world!" Lovro cast a hand towards the books, then danced his fingers down a few shelves worth of book spines. "Story, to story!"

"I was trying not to overwhelm him."

Lovra tossed his head, gray hair falling over his shoulders. "Well don't let me stand in your way."

The pup rubbed his ears, his tail twitching. Every word that fell out of their mouths left his head whirling faster. "What are you _talking_about?"

"See?" Jirim shook his head. "Don't worry about it, pup. You'll catch up in time. But consider these stories to be a history of the known existences. Some of them are histories of what went right, others are examples of were things went wrong. Some of them are just stories, but they all teach a lesson, one way or another. We call ourselves the storytellers, because we use such stories to learn how to better guide our lives. So, asking who tells the storytellers' story is our way of keeping ourselves in check, as it were. To remind ourselves we're telling our own story now, and so we'd better tell it right."

None of that made any sense to Vakaal. But it wasn't going to do him any good to argue. "I still think it sounds like a riddle. If I solve it, will you let us go?"

Lovro gave a deep, rumbling laugh. "You can't solve it. It's not a riddle. And as for letting you go...after you and your father help us? _Then_we'll let you go."

Vakaal tugged his tail around his front, running his fingers through the thick gray fur. "Help you?" He didn't like the sound of that. He'd heard some of their captors discussing something about that on the journey here, but he'd never figured out what they expected help with. "Help you what?"

"Heal the world, of course." Lovra spread his hands, smiling as if he were offering Vakaal some great gift. "You two have the greatest opportunity your little desert-dwelling wanderers have ever known. You have the chance laid out before you to fix this broken world, once and for all. For us, for you, for everyone. And when this one's fixed, then we can fix them all..."

"W-what?" Vakaal's eyes widened. His ears shot up. He released his tail and it stuck it stiff behind him. Insects whirled in his belly. That was...he couldn't think of anything that could possibly sound like a bigger abuse of their power. Father was already bringing the world back to life, but only bit by bit, only as the gods allowed. "No! We...we can't!"

"Oh, not yet." Lovro tugged on one of his golden sleeves. "You're not strong enough. It sounds like your healing is especially impressive, doubly so given how hard that is for your people. But healing a wounded dragon, and helping to resurrect a dead world, oh, that's a whole different kind of power. But I am confident you have it in you."

"N-no!" Vakaal was starting to pant, his eyes widening. If that was why they'd captured them... "It's...it's forbidden! Most of the world is already dead, because-"

"Because you killed it!" Lovro's voice twisted into a snarl. "Because your people and their powers went too far, and ruined this place! You scorched it almost beyond survivability. You think some uncaring gods are the ones telling you not to use your power? Your own people tell you that so you don't ruin what's left."

"You're lying! That's...that's blasphemy!" Vakaal snarled, stomping a foot. He didn't always believe everything his Father taught him, but he believed in the basics. "The people who ruined this world are those came before us! It was...it was you!" Vakaal swung a manacled hand in the air. "The ruins, out in the desert! They're just like yours! The gods gave us our powers to survive your mistakes, because your stories ended!"

"Now we're getting somewhere." A twisted grin spread over Lovro's cheeks, even as his face reddened. "This is what brings us together, here, in this moment!" He slapped his hand down on the table, rattling a few pens. "The very idea that stories have to end! I say, why? If we are the storytellers, we can tell a story that never ends! We are here, in this world, because we've been searching for someone just like you. Someone like those who ruined a whole existence. Someone who can stop the story from ending, and breathe life back into a dead world."

"But...I can't do that!" Vakaal shook his head, his fangs still bared. "And even if I could...sometimes stories have to end!" Now he sounded like his father. "If you use your shaping too much, and the world collapses? That's just how your story ends! You can't change that!"

"Oh, but you can!" Lovro advanced on him, and Vakaal backed away. "You in particular, I believe. But first we have to make you stronger. So very much stronger. You understand the basics, don't you?"

When the man's words hung in the air, Vakaal realized he was waiting for a response. "Understand what?"

"That life is a story we tell. That each and every one of us, are all part of a grand tale, guided by hands once unseen. That we!" He threw his hands up to the ceiling, calling out to the skies beyond the stone. "We are all_scrawled on vellum! Inked on parchment. Tied to existence by coils of blood, and ink." He dropped his arms back down, seizing Vakaal by the collar around his neck. "And you, pup, are the key to taking complete control of this grand story. To re-writing our ending, and fixing our broken world. _All broken worlds."

As soon as he released Vakaal's collar, the urd'thin stumbled back, grasping at his neck. He coughed a few times, wincing. "That hurt! And...you're crazy!"

"You'll understand, soon enough. You already understand about changing the story. Don't you?" Lovro glanced at his sleeve, checking it for dirt. "Good, nice and clean, still. See, this is why I wanted him to have a bath first. I hate all this sand."

"What are you talking about?" Vakaal swallowed a few times, chest heaving as anger and fear fought for supremacy. He was torn between trying to tear out this lunatic's throat, and running as far from him as he could. Yet he knew he was stuck here, for as long as they had his father. "Changing the story?"

"It's a story." Lovro waved a hand over his head. "All of this is a story. And a few exceptional people amongst us have the power to change that story. If we get sick, we change the story so we're healthy. If we're attacked by overwhelming forces, we change the story to turn ourselves into a hero." Lovro shrugged and gave the pup an innocent smile. "Isn't that what you did?"

Vakaal grit his teeth. "Father says...telling myself the story just...makes it easier to guide my shaping."

"Of course he does. He tells you that because he knows it _is_a story. When you change something, when you...shape it...you're altering what was meant to be. It's the same thing we do." He clucked his tongue, and shook his head. "But what he hasn't been telling his poor, little innocent pup, is what when you change the story, the vellum burns. And if you burn too much vellum, well...fire does so like to spread, doesn't it? Sooner, or later, the whole world burns with it. Your world burned, pup, and your people burned it. But trust me, I understand. You see, our world burned, too, long, long ago." He smiled, and patted Vakaal's head. "And that's why you're here."

Jirim strode forward again, gazing down at Vakaal. "We want you to help fix our world. And yours."

"No." Vakaal folded his arms, glaring up at them both. "You're both crazy. I can't do it. Even Father can't do it. At least, not like that. Not all at once. Besides, it's forbidden. Even if we could, the gods would punish-"

"I wouldn't worry about the gods." Lovro leaned in, growling. "I'd worry about me. You'll do it, or we'll kill your father."

"No!" Vakaal snarled at the human. "You leave him alone!"

"Then do as we ask. It's simple."

"I...I can't...even if I wanted too, I'd never be strong enough, my shaping can't...it can't...if you can't bring a person back, you can't bring a world back. You can't...that's like...what father calls leaping the chasm. We're not meant to."

"Says who, your father?" Lovro snorted. "You've bigger things to concern yourself with now. And don't worry about how strong you are. When we're done with you, you won't have to have to heal anything. We'll help you grow so strong, that one day, you won't just fix the world. No, no, no." Lovro laughed, folding his golden robed arms. "When the time comes, you're going to start the story over, and make our world anew."

*****

"Father!"

It was all Vakaal could do not to squeal in joy like a toddling pup when he finally saw his father again the next morning. He ran across the room the humans called The Library, and hurled himself against his father hard enough to send the older urd'thin stumbling back.

"Father!"

Father caught the pup in his arms, hugging him tight as he got his balance back. "Hey, pup!" He tilted his head, looking Vakaal over. "Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?"

Vakaal pressed himself to his father's warmth, arms around him. He nuzzled into the thick fur of his neck, then shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine." Father's fur smelt clean, and a bit like the strange bars the humans called soap. Vakaal missed the emblems and runes that usually marked his fur. He took a step back, his eyes wide and ears splayed. "Are you hurt? Did they hurt_you_?"

"No, pup, I'm fine." Father smiled at him, but Vakaal couldn't tell if he was being honest. He didn't see any injuries or blood, but his fur was freshly washed, and it would have hidden most bruises. Vakaal brushed at some of father's fur, checking for any signs of discoloration around his eyes. Father laughed, and leaned in to lick Vakaal's ears. "They haven't hurt me, I promise." Then his laughter ended and his smile faded. He grasped Vakaal's head, giving him a closer inspection in return. "Why, did they hurt you?"

"No!" Vakaal swatted his hands away. "I said they didn't!"

"So did I, but that didn't keep you from looking."

"I was just worried about you." Vakaal glanced away, wrung his hands, and then hugged his father again. "I missed you! I was really scared..."

"I missed you too, ya little brat." Father tweaked one of his ears, then squeezed him around his shoulders.

After a yip, Vakaal managed a giggle. "You're a brat. Oh!" He pulled away from his father to gaze around the circular, book-filled room. There were guards posted at the exit, but other than that, they'd been left alone for the morning. He lowered his voice. "I know...I know why we're here."

"Speak our language." Father's voice shifted, his ears flicked to the sides of his head. "Not just urd'thin, our language. They don't know it as well."

Vakaal worked his muzzle a few times, trying to find the right syllables. Their people had their own formal dialect, a different version of the more common urd'thin tongue the tribe usually spoke. Something developed by the desert dwellers, passed through old tales. He'd known it since he was a pup, father used to speak to him in both versions of their language. But he hardly ever used it, so trying to remember all the right words and tones was difficult.

"I...I know we...here. Why?" Vakaal swished his bushy gray tail in frustration, switching back to common urd'thin. "I don't remember it all."

Father gave a hearty, barking laugh. "That's always half your problem, isn't it? Thinking makes things difficult for you. When you stop to think about what you're doing, your thoughts and your shaping get tangled. You start to doubt yourself, and so your shaping, guided by that thought, starts to weaken, starts to falter."

Vakaal folded his arms and gave a little growl. "We're talking about languages, not shaping. It's different!"

"Is it?" Father only smiled at him, tilting his head to the side. "You know the language, Vakaal. You only lose it when you start to convince yourself you don't remember."

The pup grumbled, his lips curling across his muzzle. Even as captives, Father was still trying to teach him lessons. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or irritated. "It isn't that easy for me!"

"It's easier than you know, Vakaal." His father's always-patient tone was somehow both grating and soothing at the same time. "For you, more than anyone else."

"But I can't just-"

"You knew the language the humans spoke."

Vakaal flattened his ears. "I knew it because nicer humans used to trade with us."

"That wasn't the language these humans speak. And you'd never met a dragon before, and that didn't stop you from speaking to them."

"I was speaking..." Vakaal trailed off. He licked his muzzle, unsure just what language he had been talking to them in.

"You know it, Vakaal, it's only your doubt that gets in the way." Father ruffled his fur. "Just tell yourself you can speak it."

"But..." The pup tugged on his collar, whining. "This...this thing! It...It won't let me shape properly. It's like it...it locks me into...whatever story they want told, not...not the one I want to tell."

Father's eyes widened, and he stared at Vakaal's collar as if noticing it for the first time. "That is...quite perceptive of you. You just have to remember whose story this really is." Father poked Vakaal's chest for emphasis, then gave him a smile. "Besides, this isn't shaping. This is just remembering something you already know. So just tell yourself you can speak our old tongue, and then join me for breakfast."

"But Father-"

Still smiling, Father turned away, waving off Vakaal's arguments. He slid into their old, formal language. "I'm only speaking the old way today."

"Stupid Father." Vakaal paced back and forth a few times, fidgeting with one of his shackles. "Always teaching lessons. Fine, fine. Vakaal remembered every little bit of the old tongue, and spoke it just fine." He huffed and opened his muzzle, tongue protruding at his father for a moment. "There, happy?"

"Since you're speaking it now, yes, I am." Father settled into a chair alongside the table.

Vakaal trudged over to join him, feeling just a little chastened that Father was right, as usual. One day he'd learn to stop arguing and just listen. He scratched at the base of a horn, grimacing. No, he probably wouldn't. He pulled out a chair, and looked down at it. The chairs were made of wood, but they clearly weren't made for urd'thin. Vakaal sat down, then spent a few minutes fidgeting with his tail, trying to get comfortable. If he sat back, it got pinned against the back of the chair. If he turned to the side, his tail was free, but then the sides of the chair bit into the bottom of his legs.

"These aren't very good chairs for tails."

"No." Father grimaced and stood up, rubbing his own tail. "They aren't."

He picked up the chair, and set it on the table. He stared at it for a moment, then made a fist and drew it back. With a grunt of effort, Father punched a hole through the wooden backing. Wooden splinters exploded out and scattered across the floor. The crack made Vakaal pin his ears back. Father punched another hole, and then pulled out the rest of the wood from inside the bottom half of the frame's backing.

"There. That's better." Father set the chair down, then dropped into it, testing it out. He worked his tail through the now-open back, and smiled. "Perfect. Want me to do yours?"

"No, I can do it." Vakaal giggled and stood up. He set his own chair up on the table, and balled up his hand, sizing up his aim. The pup took a deep breath, and slammed his fist into the chair's back. The wood barely even bent, and his fist came to a dead stop, pain thudding through it. "OW!" Vakaal yelped and shook his hand out, whining. "Mine didn't work!"

Father barked laughter and stood up again. He came around the table, and gently took Vakaal's hand. "You alright? Nothing broking?"

Vakaal yanked his fist back, glaring at his father. "I'm fine!" He turned around, and clutched his hand to his chest, grimacing. Ow, ow, owwww.

"Let me do it."

The pup glanced over his shoulder, shrugging. "I can do it. But...If you want too, I guess you're already here..."

"That I am." With a few swift blows, and a little effort, Father smashed out the lower half of the back of Vakaal's chair. When he'd cleared out the debris and made sure there weren't any jagged edges or splinters, he set the pup's chair down near his own. "There you go. Come eat."

When Vakaal finished nursing his aching hand, he sat down. He got his tail poked through the back of the chair, and found it much more comfortable. The pup gave his father a nudge of thanks, then turned his attention to the platter of food. There was more variety now. Several types of grilled meat were arranged upon a round platter, along with a whole fish. Alongside it were dried fruits and things he was less familiar with. While Father helped himself to some of everything, Vakaal picked at the fish. He recognized it as something from the local oasis ponds.

"You should eat more than that." Father pushed him some of the dried fruits. "Eat these."

"I don't know what they are." Vakaal's ears drooped, and he gave a little whine. "I want hand-fruit."

"So do I, but we don't always get what we want." Father popped one of the brown, oval shaped, dried fruit into his muzzle. "Try these, they're good."

Vakaal stared at them, scrunching his muzzle. "They look like animal poops."

Father stopped chewing for a moment, then resumed, very slowly. "Could have done without that."

The pup only giggled. He selected a different dried fruit, golden color, and popped it into his muzzle. It was sweet, and chewy, unlike anything he'd had before. It wasn't bad, but he still missed having hand-fruit in the morning. "Supposed to have hand-fruit with breakfast."

"You want hand-fruit with everything."

"It's good! And bird."

Father handed him a piece of meat with a layer of fatty skin on one side, grilled crispy. "I think this is bird."

"It's not our bird." Vakaal took the offering, sulking a little before he ate it. At least it tasted good. He licked the juices from his fingers, then tapped his claws against the wooden table surface. "They talked to me last night." Father went still while Vakaal spoke. "They told me they want us-"

"I know why we're here, pup." Father's voice sounded halfway between worried and defeat.

"You...you do?" Vakaal swallowed. "They talked to you, too?"

Father was quiet for a moment, then let out a long sigh. "I've always known what they wanted."

Vakaal's eyes widened and his ears shot up. "You did? But...how?"

Father reached across the table, pulling back a pitcher of some kind of fruit juice. He poured some into a glass, and passed it to Vakaal. Then he poured some for himself. Only after he'd taken a drink did he speak again. "You remember the stories, Vakaal? Of the first chief, and men in robes, atop their great scaled beasts?"

The pup gulped, wide eyed. He clutched his cup but did not drink. "Yes. When they...came for us, I...I realized it must be more than a story. I...I knew I screwed up but-"

"Don't blame yourself." Father sipped his juice, rolling the cup between his hands. "It's not the first time this has happened. You saw another, in their city, with a collar, did you not?"

"They've...they've caught us before. Our people."

"The tales we tell are often more than myth. They're a history." Father waved his hand at the building around them. "These people, they think we ruined this world, and they expect us to fix it for them. They always do. But...that isn't what the gods made us for."

Vakaal stared at his father, his ears half-splayed back. "But...don't...don't you bring things back to life? You...you make the rain, and you turn the wasteland into desert..."

"Yes I do." Father's voice was solemn as he gazed up at one of the skylights. "I believe that is what the gods want, but even our own people would ask for more, if they knew I could provide it. They...they always do. And these humans, these storytellers...they don't want to see this world healed a generation at a time. They...they want us to fix everything, all at once."

"That's...what they made it sound like to me, too." Vakaal flicked his tail in thought, bumping it up against the boundaries of the chair's broken back. "Is that...I mean...can we?"

Father stroked Vakaal's ears, and the pup leaned into his touch. "What happens if you try to build a home, and you start with the roof?"

The pup blinked, peering up at his father. "What?"

"You need a shelter, because it's going to rain. But you don't want to spend the time building a framework, building a foundation. So all you do is build a roof, and stake it up with a pole. What happens when the rainstorm comes?"

Vakaal scrunched his muzzle. "The rain blows in from the side, and you get wet fur anyway because you didn't build any walls?"

Father blinked, and then gave a happy bark of laughter. "Not what I was going for, but also accurate. I was going to say, without a sturdy frame, the roof will collapse in the first gust of wind, the first deluge of rain. And then you're left with nothing. What I've been doing, with the rain, with the desert, is building the foundation for life, for our people. If you try and just..." He waved his hand at the platter of food. It rattled on the table. "Heal everything, all at once, the world can't take it. There's no structure to support it. It will just collapse all over again."

"Is...is that..." Vakaal tilted his head, staring into his father's dark eyes. He hadn't said anything about the gods, that time. It was unusual for him when he started talking about that kind of lesson. "Is that the gods' punishment, then?"

His father sighed, and stared at the skylight above them. His gaze looked oddly distant, his eyes held a faint blue sheen. "The gods' punishment is what befell this world the last time something like this happened. Those who came before us tried to change too much and everything collapsed. So they tried to fix it, all at once, and thus did the world burn once more. The gods gave them powers that would punish them for being abused."

Vakaal watched his father for a little while. He suddenly wasn't sure how much of the old myths Father actually believed, and how much he was just using to teach him a lesson. "Do you...do you really believe that?" He licked his nose, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. "About the gods? Do you really think they brought that punishment, that they'd bring it on us?"

Father grimaced, his face twisting up like he'd gotten his tail stepped on. "Vakaal, if we don't have something to believe in, what _do_we have? If there's no one to punish us for going too far, what stops us from leaping the chasms we were never meant to cross?"

The pup thought about that for a little while. He took a drink of juice. The taste was sweet, and it was cold enough to be refreshing. He licked his muzzle clean. "What if we are meant to cross them, if we can?"

Father only smiled. "What if, gods or no, across the great chasm lies only calamity? A belief in the gods may keep that calamity at bay. The truth is, Vakaal, there are some things we are not meant to do, some things we are never meant to shape."

"Like mother?"

His father looked away, ears drooping. Vakaal didn't like bringing it up, but this time he did not regret it. He put his hand on Father's, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know you miss her. I'm...I'm sorry, but...why didn't you save her?"

Father opened his mouth, but no words came out. He sniffed, and blinked away sudden tears. When he finally found his voice, it was trembling, half-broken. "I don't know. I was scared...terrified to lose her, but...more frightened still of what would happen if I changed everything. It was...I truly believed that...I had to let her go. That...that if I saved her, I would tear a terrible hole in...in everything."

"What?" Vakaal sucked in a breath. He'd never heard father talk about that moment like that, before.

"Vakaal, look at our world. Beyond the sand, what have you seen?"

"Wasteland. Dead earth."

"That's right. Our world...this story we live in, it's still so young, and fragile. People like these..." He thrust a finger up at the riddle, carved in stone. "They ruined it. By abusing their powers. They never understood that...that every little change is another...it's like a fracture, in the world itself. We teach ourselves that the gods will punish us for abusing our power, but the gods put that punishment in our own hands. Small changes help us survive, a tiny break that heals stronger than before. We build a new foundation, bit by bit, for this world to be born anew. But...altering something like that...like death? It's...Vakaal, it's not something we should do."

The pup murmured to himself, ears half-splayed. That wasn't exactly what Father said last time. "You...you don't know, do you. You don't know what would happen if you saved her."

"No, Vakaal, I do not." Father shook his head, sighing. "Sometimes I...I curse myself over and over, tell myself nothing bad would have happened. Other times I tell myself I'd have shaken the foundations, endangered this young world, our people, just for one life. It's the sort of thing that happened before our time, that...led to all this."

"What if...what if you saved her now?"

Father only chuckled. "Even you and I can't turn back time, Vakaal."

"If you didn't have this..." Vakaal reached out and tapped Father's collar. "What if you changed the story, so that she never died at all?"

"I don't think I have that kind of power, Vakaal."

"What if you did?" Vakaal hardened his tone. This time, the pup wasn't going to relent. After all that had happened to them lately, he didn't want myths and lessons. He wanted answers. "If you did have that kind of power, what would happen, if you...if you told the story where she survived, and used your shaping to make it real?"

"Vakaal, the gods-"

"Just tell me!" Vakaal slapped his hand against the table.

Father gave Vakaal a long look. Sorrow roiled in his eyes, a dark ocean of sadness washing through his gaze. He reached to the platter, and selected a piece of dried fruit, the last golden one. He held it out to his son. "Bite this in half."

"But-"

"Now."

Father's voice left no room for arguing. Vakaal withered a little, thinking he must have overstepped a line this time. He took the fruit, bit it in half, and chewed it up. Father snatched the half piece out of his hand, and slapped it down against the table. He waited until Vakaal had swallowed before he pointed to it.

"What is this?"

"Half a piece of fruit?" Vakaal stared down at it, his ears perking.

"Where's the other half?"

"I...I ate it?" Vakaal swallowed, already feeling as if he'd done wrong somehow.

"And you can never get it back. It's gone." He waved his hand over the fruit. "Forever. Now, tell the story the story where the fruit is still whole."

"The fruit was whole." Vakaal folded his hands in his lap, muttering.

"Do it right." Father's glare bored into him.

A spark of anger welled up inside Vakaal. All he wanted was a simple, truthful answer, and now his father was just putting him through more confusing lessons with uncertain meanings. He held his hand out over the fruit, snarling at his father. "The fruit was whole! The fruit was whole! The fruit was whole!" His manacle shuddered, his collar shook around his neck, but Vakaal paid them little whole. "The damn fruit was whole! I just wanted an answer, you didn't have to treat me like-"

"Look under your hand." Father's measured, even tone suddenly frightened him just a little.

Vakaal's hand shook as he pulled it away. The half-eaten fruit remained, but alongside it, a whole golden fruit now sat, untouched. A shiver ran through the pup, and all his fur stood on end. "What...what just happened?"

"The fruit was already halved." Father folded his arms. "You wanted to make it whole, but you cannot undo that which has already happened. You can change the story as it occurs, and you can add to it, but to change the past? Cannot be done. Instead, all you did was create new fruit."

"How?" Vakaal panted, his heart thundering. "I...I don't understand."

"This is but a tiny thing, Vakaal. Do you remember that day, after the storms, when you were swimming in the pond? You almost used your shaping to try and..." He took a shuddering breath. "Say your mother was still alive. You remember?"

Vakaal slowly nodded. "You stopped me."

"Yes I did. Because I was terrified of what may happen if you truly set your shaping to it. Watch the fruit, Vakaal."

Vakaal looked down at the fruit again. The half-eaten piece withered, moment by moment, as if left out in the sun. It dried up, then began to rot, crumbling away. Vakaal gasped, scooting his chair away from the table. "What's happening?"

"You changed its reality. You could not undo the fact you had already eaten it, so your shaping simply brought a new piece of fruit into existence. The story, the world, no longer sustains the old one. You asked for whole fruit, you got whole fruit."

"But...but...I didn't think-"

"You didn't think what?" Father leaned in, glaring at Vakaal, his voice sharper even than his teeth. "That you could make more fruit? Or that doing so would ruin the old one? You changed its very nature without ever understanding the consequences of your actions. Does that sound familiar?"

Vakaal gulped, wringing his hands. He nodded sullenly a few times. "Uh huh."

"Your shaping could not undo what had already happened, and so it simply created new fruit. Meanwhile, the half-eaten one fades from this existence. No longer part of your story." He took a deep breath, then shook his head. "Or maybe, there's another story, told by another god, where you refused to bite the fruit at all." He snorted, flattening his ears. "Now imagine, for a moment, that the fruit represents our world. You wish to change the very nature of its existence, and so you do." He tapped the whole piece of fruit. "This is your new world." Then he tapped the rotting one, still crumbling. "This is your old one."

"That's what happens?" Vakaal nearly jumped out of his chair. "That's why the world is dead? Someone made a new world?"

"I..." Father burst into incredulous laughter, shaking his head. "That's...not the lesson I was trying to teach you." He gave a long sigh, rubbing his forehead between his horns. "You just take your own version of everything I offer, don't you."

Vakaal folded his arms, huffing. He wasn't sure if he should be proud of that or not. "No. It's just...There's never just...one meaning to a lesson, is there?"

"Hmmm." Father murmured, swiveling one big ear back. "Maybe you're right. What I'm trying to get you to think about Vakaal, is this." He tapped the rotten fruit again. "The unexpected consequence. The result of abusing your power, without thinking it through. The bigger the change, the bigger the risk. And the wider the chasm, the bigger the change required to leap it."

"So...about mother..."

"Vakaal, think about the fruit. You couldn't make it whole, so you made a new piece."

"So..." Vakaal rubbed his head between his ears. He was getting a headache. "I'd...make a new mother?"

Father barked laughter again, but Vakaal didn't see what was so funny. "Keep in mind, Vakaal, that these are only theories. Nothing is truly certain. I think, instead...your shaping would seek to create a new..." He waved his hand. "A new version of your story, where your mother never died at all."

"Then...then what happens to our version?"

His father only smiled, and pointed to the rotten fruit.

Vakaal stared at it, whimpering. "It burns."

"What burns?" Father glanced at the fruit.

"The vellum." Vakaal licked his muzzle, gritting his teeth. "That's what they told me. That...when the story changes, the vellum burns."

"Ah, that's their metaphor, is it?"

"And when the vellum burns, the fire spreads...and the world burns with it."

"Now you know why I stopped you." Father gave Vakaal a stern look, his ears swiveled forward. Then he sighed, hugged Vakaal around the shoulders. "I'm sorry, Vakaal. That I didn't do a better job protecting you. This...this place...I never should have let this happen to you. I should have...I should have just..."

Vakaal leaned into his father's hug, smiling up at him. "It's alright, Father. It's not your fault. You did all you could. You said...they'd captured our people before, so...they must have known how to fight us. I think...I could have beaten them, but..."

"I know, I know, and I never should have let myself be caught. I back at first, thinking if they took me, they'd finally have what they wanted, and they'd never go looking for you. But then you were there, and...Well. We cannot change what has already happened." Father sighed, and turned his head to give Vakaal's ears a few tender licks. "Whatever comes next, Vakaal, we cannot give in to them. What they want to make us do, it only ever leads to calamity."

Vakaal nodded. "I...I think I understand. But...it's not as though we could really do that, anyway. Right?" He glanced up at his father, but the older urd'thin remained silent. "R-right? Our people's shaping isn't that strong...is it?"

"Vakaal..." Something changed in Father's voice. "Listen to me carefully." He took Vakaal's hand, and squeezed it, his fingers twined with the pup's. "You and I are not like the others. You've...already started to understand that, haven't you?"

The pups's mouth went dry. Something cold and uncertain curled in his belly. "Yes. You're stronger than the others, that's why they made you prime shaper."

Father chuckled. "We are different. In other ways. Our shaping works differently. It...it changes the world on a far deeper level. You...you just willed fruit into being, Vakaal, even through their safeguards. Do you understand that?"

The cold thing in his belly crept up his spine, sending shivers throughout his body. "You...will the rain into being, too."

"Yes I do. Vakaal, you know the stories of the first chief? How he lead his people to follow the rain, long before he ever fought with..." He gestured at the storyteller's emblems. "Them."

"He was making the rain, too, wasn't he?"

"Yes he was."

"And...spreading...the desert. Healing the wasteland..." Vakaal's voice trembled as he started to understand. "And...he...he fought with them, too. The storytellers. They...killed him..."

"He let them, so they'd have no power over him. So they'd never know he had children, somewhere. Afraid his mistakes would be repeated. He...did not known they'd return. Or perhaps...perhaps he thought we'd...do better next time..."

Vakaal worked his muzzle, trying to make sense of everything, struggling to form words. "The first chief had children?"

Father squeezed Vakaal's hand. "Yes he did. And like him, his children were different. Stronger, so much stronger than the others. But the other tribes...they don't understand. Sometimes they want too much. The storytellers, they...they've been looking for us, Vakaal. For you and I. For the descendants of our first chief, those who inherit his fire. Those can shape anything. I am strong, Vakaal, but you..." Father shook his head, laughing to himself. "You're something else entirely. You've a power in you that you cannot even fathom."

Vakaal gazed at the piece of fruit.

"From nothingness, you shaped existence, however small." Father's voice softened, and his gaze grew distance. "I have fled from the storytellers before, Vakaal. After your mother died. The tribe had...another shaper, good enough to keep them alive, I hoped. But they...they wanted me to do things I shouldn't. They wanted me to...to save your mother, and I knew I could, but I knew...I knew it might bring ruin. They never...they never understood that. They never believed the lessons that...that this has happened before! That the world burned for a reason, that what they wanted would inevitably burn it again. So when...when the storytellers came for us, I knew. It had happened before. It would happen again. It was...it was all a cycle. That the story was a shackle, and we were bound to it. I was...just like the first chief. I was ready to die, to stop the world from burning, but...I had you to think about. I could not leave you with our tribe. They would ask too much of you, and I would never let the storytellers have you. So I fought them, and I wiped them out, and I sent our tribe away. Then, when night fell, I fled with you into the darkness. If it was all some grand loop, I wanted to break it for you. I wanted you to have a chance to live your life, happy and free. So I took into the wasteland, where none could follow, to raise you, and build for you the world anew. Where I thought you'd be safe."

Vakaal sucked in a trembling breath, his whole body shaking. Tears brimmed in his wide eyes as fragments of dreams drifted through his mind. "You wandered the desert...alone."

"Not alone. I had my beloved son." Father sniffed, and lay his muzzle over Vakaal's head. "You were too young to remember."

"But you felt...so lonely!"

"I was. I missed your mother, I missed our tribe, but I loved you so dearly. You were all the family I ever needed, and it was all worth it, if I could set you free from the story's bonds. If this time, I could just stop it from happening again..."

Shuddering, Vakaal stroked his father's ears, half-forgotten memories tangled together in his head. "I dreamed that...I built you a family! I built them out of sand, because...you were so lonely, I...I didn't want you to be lonely!"

"And so I wasn't." Father gave a strange, bittersweet laugh. "From nothingness...We found them, by an oasis, and as you grew, we led them. That was...that was when I truly knew the flame you'd inherited." Father sucked in a trembling breath. "All...you ever wanted was...my happiness, and...and I still let them catch you. I thought...If I let them catch me, they'd never know you existed, that...you, at least, would be free of this wretched loop, to build your story and your tribe as you please. I'm..." Father sniffed, and pressed his face to Vakaal, sobbing into his fur. "I'm the one who failed, Vakaal. It's my fault." He lifted his face, not bothering to hide his tears, or fight the shaking of his voice. "Whatever happens next, whatever they do, you cannot give them what they want. You cannot bow to them. Your...powers, what you are, what they'd make you do...they'd...ruin everything they ever touched. You...you can't..."

"I won't!" Vakaal whimpered, fighting back his own tears, wanting so badly just to be strong for his father. "No matter what they do to me!"

"It won't be to you, my love." Father wiped his eyes. "They know your weakness. They always know...You...you must...be strong. For me."

"I will, Father. I promise!" Vakaal hugged his father's head. "I'll be strong for you! I'll keep you safe, I swear!"

Father offered him a weak smile, but Vakaal's words seemed to break his heart. The older urd'thin broke into wracking sobs, and pressed his horned head against Vakaal's chest. For the first time in all his life, Vakaal held his father while he cried. He stroked his father's ears, and swore to himself, that whatever happened, Vakaal would protect him.

Vakaal would keep him safe, no matter what.