FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"In 500 meters," chirped the allegedly female voice, "your destination will be on the right."

I could only hope so. It felt as if the clouds had blotted out the sun entirely, and the increased rain had done the rest. I wasn't sure that I'd be able to see my destination with a floodlight, much less my ancient vehicle's hi-beams. I was alone on the state road, the last town being some ten klicks behind me, and I was battling my way down the rain-obscured road at maybe 55kmh, one eye on the odometer, hoping to count five hectometers on the odometer.

My mood had been somewhere between sour and neutral, that strange mixture that seemed to suit the Idea sitting next to me. I try to accommodate my guests, even when they weren't welcome. I realized only tangentially that "unwelcome" wasn't entirely true.

"Your destination is on the right."

I hoped that my destination wasn't merely the sign. Well-maintained, designed to look like rough-hewn wood, the sign bore Timewind's name along with the notation that they were "Artisans in Clay, Metal, Glass, Fabric, and Life." If there were any lights, they would have to have been spots from below, and they weren't on. I activated my turn signal out of sheer habit; I doubted that there was another driver on the state road for several klicks around. I turned into a wide gravel road which, like the sign, was well-maintained if, at the moment, very muddy. I passed over some cattle guard grating, noticing as I turned in some split-rail fencing making a boundary parallel to the road. Once past this, the road rose gently toward a general darkness made mostly of lofty pines on either side.

I slowed my pace to maybe 25-30kmh, hoping to find some indication of habitation reasonably soon. The road was good enough, but I could still feel the tires slip a little, once in a while. The curve through the trees seemed to follow either a ditch or a naturally-occurring small creek, off to my right. I had the vague impression of yellowish light somewhere up ahead along with something softly blue behind me. I checked the rearview briefly, seeing nothing through the rain covering the back window, flicked my view back forward. Once more, the impression of soft yellow lights, not too far ahead, although the rain continued to put blankets between me and just about everything else. The blue light was definitely somewhere behind me...

back seat?

My eyes shot back toward the windscreen again as I shouted and swerved to my right to avoid a huge shape that had appeared suddenly in front of me. The brakes worked, but the road didn't. I missed the shape, slid off the road a bit, ending up sideways in the ditch/creek, leaning into it at about a 30-degree angle. After a few moments to catch my breath, I used a fresh batch of air to blister a few appropriate epithets at the non-sapient cow that had seemed to come out of nowhere, then tried to take an inventory. The car was reasonably whole but definitely stuck. The headlights were still on, but even if I could get the engine to turn over, I had little hope of being able to get out of this ditch under my own power. I couldn't even see where my Magellan-Bell-Bezos Machine had escaped to. As far as I could tell, I was intact. Just stuck.

"Ayooah!"

I looked through the rain-obscured window to see a strong lantern light bouncing along the road toward me. I made out two shadowy figures coming toward me, a horse-drawn cart not far behind them. If this was a rescue party, they should give lessons in precognition to other first-responders.

"Haloo!" they cried, getting closer. "Are you all right?"

I figured it was time to get a little wet. Pocketing the keys and turning off the headlights, I tried opening the door. I had the sensation that the door was unlocked but unwilling to open until I promised to renew that gym membership. The two figures had reached the car and, mercifully, they kept their lantern beam at an angle rather than directly on my face.

"Are you hurt?" the feline face asked loudly.

"I think I'm okay. Door's at a bad angle. L'il help?"

The feline stepped aside as the larger of the two shadows -- a bear of significant size and, as I was to find, muscle -- moved into place. "On three," he called. "One, two..."

Push and pull led me into a swift soaking and the lightning-quick reflexes of the feline, grabbing my arm and steadying me. My hindpaws gained some purchase and, soon enough, I was out. I fought the ancient reflex to shake, especially since it wouldn't do a lot of good.

"We haven't another cloak," the bear called over the sound of rain, guiding me toward the cart. "Crawl up and get under the tarp; we'll take you back to Starhold."

"I need--"

"Don't worry about it," the cat told me. "That car is stuck until daylight. We can get it sorted in the morning. Quick, get under the tarp!"

The worst it could be is dry.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dry and dark. By touch, I found various tools, what felt like wooden posts, and various other implements that might be used on a rural property like this one. I had to guess, since items outside of a basic urban tool kit were outside my understanding. Sounds beyond my close enclosure were muffled by the loud drumming of rain against the tarp. I heard the two of them calling out to one another, calling to the non-sapient horse who had stood so obediently in the rain. I felt the cart jerk and come around to head back up the gravel drive, the horse seeming quite sure where to put his hooves. The cart did not hurry, telling me that the bear was encouraging rather than insisting. Plus one for treatment of non-sapients. A few minutes passed in an oddly lulling rocking motion, the relentless pummeling of the rain on my body, before I heard and felt the cessation of the battering of the tarp. I heard a few other voices along with the bear's, three perhaps. No sense hiding.

Breathing slowly, I raised myself to my knees, shrugging off the tarp as carefully as I could, not to make a puddle in the space around me. I was inside a large barn, warm, well-made, well-lit, and well-kept. I could see wood beams and structure of good quality, worn more by use than by time. Five non-sapient horses stood quietly in stalls just beyond, the sixth stall waiting for the powerful bay that was receiving a rubdown with dry towels, tenderly attended by an eerily tall white wolf who murmured low, reassuring sounds, exuding a feeling of loving gratitude. The feline, his cloak's hood pulled back to reveal the unmistakable ears and cheek fur of the lynx, led a very wet roan-colored cow by a loose rope into another part of the barn. I heard sheep bleating, the sounds of chickens' clucking caroming off the walls and, above me somewhere, something rustled in the loose hay of the loft.

"Saved from the ravages of the storm!" laughed a nearby voice. The female padded toward me, shucking off a large cloth cloak from around her head and shoulders, passing it up to me. "Here, this one's dry; put it around you before you catch a chill."

I took it from her, unable to break my blatant staring into the most riveting ice blue eyes I'd ever seen. The Husky looked back at me, unabashed, as if my response were a familiar one but not expected as her due. Her black-brown mask blended perfectly into the fur that framed the cream-colored fur of her ears and of the rest of her muzzle. Her smile was friendly, welcoming, without the slightest hint of guile or insincerity, and her lush tail offered a brief wag, as if to reinforce the image. In all, it was a look that held few emotional barriers of the kind that I had become so accustomed to in the city, and my own drenched tail attempted a wag in response. Perhaps in her mid-thirties, she wore loose-fitting cotton shirt and pants in a muted dusty rose color, a dark cabernet-colored cotton sash tied at her waist, and her long, dark headfur lay pulled behind her head, held with a simple, narrow cloth ribbon, also the shade of the sash.

"Thank you," I finally managed to mutter. The cloak rested easily on my shoulders, perhaps more warm in my mind than in fact.

"Ayooah, Oaknail!" called a voice from above me. "What have you found there?"

Turning toward the voice, I looked up into the loft to see a young red panda, twenty years (if that), grinning down at us from behind a large lump of hay. The lean firefox wore no shirt, and my immediate impression was that he wore nothing else either.

Beside the cart, the larger of my two rescuers looked up with a huge grin of his own. "By the Hermit's lantern," the brown bear huffed gently, "are you up there again, Oray?"

"It seemed quicker than returning to the house when the storm broke."

The Husky offered a bit of a smirk in the yowen's direction, calling up, "Did the storm catch you out too, Starshine?"

I heard a distinctly young-female giggle from the loft, very close to the young red panda; for his part, he seemed to blush a little, gave us all a greatly exaggerated shrug, then fell back into the hay, his laughter joining that of his companion and the delighted chuckles that rippled through the small crowd around me.

"No need to stay up there all night," the big bear chuckled from deep in his chest, offering a forepaw to assist my descent. "Welcome to Starhold. I am called Oaknail, and to your right is Darkstar."

My second savior, a warm smile on his face, pressed pads with me gently. "I'm glad that you weren't hurt. Ginger seems to have gotten confused when the rain grew harder, wandering off instead of staying with the rest. She's back in the stalls now, acting as if nothing had happened,"

"I hope that I didn't spoil the milk."

The feline laughed amiably. "I doubt it, although I appreciate the concern."

"Rainmist," said Oaknail, gesturing to a buxom, light cinnamon-furred river otter who, like Oaknail, appeared to be much nearer my own age. I wondered if she might be one of the group's founders.

"I think we need to get your innards warm along with your outards," she chuckled softly. "Shall you join us for dinner?"

"Of course he will!" the bear boomed with the sort of tone which assumes that all good hospitality should not only be accepted but reveled in. "Rainmist has made a beef stew that's been simmering for some hours. The smell alone has been driving me mad all day; once you've sampled it, you'll never want to leave. Heartsinger," he added with anther gesture.

The tall, lean white wolf who had been tending the non-sapient horse earlier padded up to me with a shy smile and an outstretched paw. I took it, looking into his warm golden eyes, feeling the unmistakable sensation that he desired, most of all, to bypass the usual chit-chat between strangers and discuss, gently, matters of interest and importance between friends. "Welcome," he said in a baritone of crushed velvet. "I hope you'll stay."

"And Lightwing."

I turned back to the beautiful Husky who had lent me her cloak. The smile on her muzzle remained warm, and she reached out a forepaw to me. I took it gingerly, as if afraid that she might shy if my grasp were too firm. "Welcome," she said softly.

"Well now," Oaknail burst forth in loud goodwill. "What shall we call you?"

"My name is--" The word 'detective' refused to form in my maw. "Max. Max Luton."

"Welcome, Max," the bear said again.

"Come," Lightwing urged, squeezing my forepaw instead of releasing it. "You and I can fit under the tarp long enough to get us back to the house. Darkstar, do you have some clothing that might fit Max?

"I'm sure I do."

I shook my head. "Really, no, I--"

"Don't worry about it." Darkstar appeared next to me without a whisper of sound or movement. "You'll need to get out of those clothes and towel off before you catch a chill you can't shake... pardon the pun."

"The stew will be ready by now, and I'll wager Moonsong has made biscuits to go with it. That should help chase away all ills." Raising her voice, the Husky called over her shoulder, "And if you two want to eat, you'd better come join us soon!"

Giggling from the rafters. I put my head down to hid the smirk on my muzzle.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lightwing and I shared the tarp as we trotted through rain not quite as plentiful as before. I held it above us as she put an arm around my waist to stay close. I had a fleeting memory of sharing an umbrella this way with some female, long ago, college days, now forgotten as anything but sensation triggered through muscle memory. I tried not to think about how friendly it felt.

The area we headed toward appeared to be a particularly large portico at the edge of a particularly large structure. I couldn't gauge what I was seeing, although it (for lack of a better word) felt huge. As we halted our trot into the cover of the portico, the last of the six of us to arrive, Lightwing and I shook off the tarp behind us and sighed briefly, that universal expression of feeling good when coming in from out of the rain. We shared a chuckle, and I turned my head upward to realize that overhead heating fans were blowing warm air into the area.

"I've got this," Lightwing offered, taking the cloak from me. She moved to one of several wide brass pipes set into the walls and hung it over, spreading it out. It was then that I realized that none of my hosts wore plastic or rubber rain gear; all had cloaks.

"Connected to our heating system," Heartsinger offered in explanation, gesturing to the pipes. "With the rains here, it seemed more practicality than luxury."

I found the brass warm to the touch. "The fans don't...?" I began.

"Less energy efficient. They're just on for about a minute, to help us dry out our fur a little before going inside."

Oaknail stood at the arched stone of the entry to the house. Swinging wide the large oaken door, he boomed warmly, "Welcome to Starhold."

He allowed me to enter first, and I padded into an entryway that opened almost immediately into a huge living room area. A few non-sapient cats decorated the furniture, turning their heads lazily to acknowledge the bustle of intruders fresh from the otherwise comforting patter of rain that they had no intention of exploring directly. Padding smoothly past me on quiet paws, Rainmist called out, "Halloo, Moonsong!"

"Ayooah!" came an answering call.

"Set us another place, would you? We have a storm-tossed visitor as our guest tonight."

"Wonderful!" came the enthusiastic reply. "About the guest, I mean. Is all well?"

"Will be; we'll get him dried out and presentable." The buxom river otter fetched a wink and a grin at me. I'm not sure, but I might have blushed a little.

"Come," said Darkstar, again appearing at my side without a whisper of sound. "Our rooms are upstairs. Let's find you a towel or two and some dry clothes."

The six of us trooped up wide wooden stairs which curved slightly to our left, emptying onto a landing which then led into the last dozen steps to the second floor. Oaknail had already begun shucking out of his shirt and, from the corner of my eye, I noticed Lightwing placing a forepaw gently on Rainmist's arm before she completed an apparently reflexive motion to remove her own shirt. I didn't get the feeling that they were Naturists so much not concerned about it; having a visitor, they showed respect to me, in case I might not be comfortable with such a casual attitude. Rather than focusing on the otter's flying buttresses, I instead tried to take in the nature of the house itself.

The feeling that the structure was huge returned, with reinforcements. I had the impression of perhaps a half dozen large rooms on each side of a hall wide enough for three to walk abreast with ease, the ceiling perhaps three meters high. The long walls were broken in two places on each side by doors marked by ornamental brass plaques reading "Ye Auld Water Closet." At the far end was another set of stairs, simpler, leading both up and down. All along the corridor, well-framed paintings of several styles were hung decorously --oils, acrylics, even a lush watercolor. Doors to rooms bore carved wooden lettering, some with two such devices, spelling out names -- Elfbard, Summerwind, Dreamweaver, Clearwater, Unicorn, Sunrider.

Darkstar bumped gently against a door with his name on it and welcomed me inside. The room was large, a rough guess of six by seven-plus meters on a side, divided into sections by anchored bookcases and wooden dividers that didn't go all the way to the ceiling. In one such self-created area, a work space -- desk, chair, computer, printer, wooden trays and shelving, the delightful anachronism of a wooden, two-drawer filing cabinet, and a number of laminated squares being used as whiteboards, covered (at the moment) with a dazzling array of colored notations. In another section, a love seat and chair, the sort that looked like you could fall into them and lose track of time. One window held its own wrought-iron tray of plants; the other, a wide and welcoming bay window, held a seat that could be used to watch the world beyond, at least not when the rain and night didn't obscure it.

The lynx padded back to another section of the room where a large bed, closet, and dresser took up a comfortable amount of space. "What's your waist size, Max?"

"Medium-ish," I hedged.

Darkstar chuckled. "I think these will fit. Also medium chest?"

"We could settle on that."

He flowed around the partition, passing over lightweight cotton clothing of a soft sand color, hanging on to another set of dark gray. "Try these, friend. Step behind the partition, if you'd like a bit of privacy. Bring out those wet clothes when you're done, and I'll take them down to the laundry room for cleaning."

"The jacket isn't wash 'n wear," I cautioned.

He grinned at me, with the full-featured lynx mystique behind it. "We don't toss everything into the washer, Max. In fact, there's one hulking machine down there that claims it can dry clean, on a limited basis. You might guess that we don't have much use for it. The jacket's mostly wet rather than muddy. I thought I'd just block it out on one of the folding tables and let it air dry." He jutted his chin toward the "bedroom" space. "I left out a towel for you."

I padded behind the partition -- one of the few that didn't have bookshelves in it, I noted -- and peeled out of my wet clothes. Stuff from my pants pockets went on the lynx's dresser, since I'd no idea what to do with them otherwise. The warm air blowers in the portico had helped and, after I'd done with it, I added one very damp towel to the wet clothes. As I pulled on the simple clothing, I turned over in my mind what I had learned of the furs I'd met. They were an insanely hospitable crew. I'm not at all sure what I was expecting, either of the individuals or the homestead. The barn was huge, being part stable, part shelter from the weather for however many non-sapients they might have. And this house? I hadn't seen either particularly well from the outside, but I had to imagine that both barn and house must be immense. I started to think of that program with the time-traveling box that's bigger inside than out, and I wondered exactly what I'd found here.

"I'll imagine that your appetite is healthy, after your adventure this evening," Darkstar offered amiably from the other side of the partition.

"I hate to be an imposition." I hadn't had to shine up my manners in some time; I hoped I sounded all right.

"Not at all. There's usually plenty, and we enjoy sharing. You'll like the stew, I think. Rainmist has a hunter's sauce that is magnificent."

"A dark-brown mushroom sauce with white wine and spices," I said, finishing my dressing and tending briefly to my fur with casual swipes of my forepaws. "Best with beef, to my mind, especially if she's added some cumin."

"You do know something of the art." Darkstar's words twigged in my brain as a quote from some film, but I couldn't place it. He met me as I came around the partition, his own wet clothes in a wicker basket. He grinned at me as I added my sodden goods to his. "Rainmist will be pleased to have such an appreciative audience. I'll go take these down the hall and be back in a moment."

Leaving me alone in his room? Trusting soul. Then again, he didn't know I was a cop. "The laundry's down the hall?"

"No; the dumbwaiter is. The laundry is in the basement, and it's a big house." He turned to leave, adding, "Be right back."

In my solitude, I breathed a low sigh. Taking a look over my garments, I had to admit that they were comfortable. More like wearing pajamas, especially compared to my cop's garb. If I were to be doing undercover work, the costuming would definitely help get me in character. Michael, once his shire's favorite faux-Gypsy fortune teller, would have approved... once he'd stopped laughing his fool head off.

Padding slowly into the more central part of the room, I tried to get a feel of its owner. Darkstar was too young to have been one of the founders of this so-called tribe, but he was clearly a part of it. The lynx's space was warm, welcoming even to me. Glover, who had been known to his tribe as Airdancer, had created a house that was filled with things, all somehow distant and sterile. The kitchen, domain of cook and maid, was more warm than anything I'd seen in the rest of his house. I had the sensation here, in this room, of someone who was comfortable in his own fur, and his living space reflected it well.

The work area had its modern requirements, yet it still felt home-like. From the scattered papers "in plain view" (the phrase was not lost on me), I had the impression that Darkstar was a writer. I saw the name Alan Patrick Holloway on a title page; clearly, he hadn't given up his legal identity. I didn't read much -- that sort of deep snooping required time and a level of callous disregard for others that I'd not yet stooped to -- but between that introductory page and the notes I saw scribbled on the various squares of whiteboard, I gathered the focus to be a mix of science fiction and fantasy. On the other paw, I saw a stack of paper with a title page that marked it as an academic thesis. The forbidding title was Speculations on the Bicameral Mind: A Monologue with God. I had absolutely no idea what that meant.

In wooden trays near a recent-model printer, I saw a small stack of letterhead with the Holloway name on it and a PMB address in the nearby town. The paper appeared to be high quality stock; to my inexperienced eye and pads, I figured the 25% rag content type. I tilted it slightly in the light, and the paper revealed the watermark: a stylized script of a single word -- Darkstar. No doubt some sort of Satanic hidden message.

The computer itself appeared to be off, or "sleeping," as it had come to be called. I wasn't about to wake it up; you know what they say about sleeping giants. I had no skills as a hacker and no legal authority (much less moral right) to go peeking. I simply noted the happy anachronism of so much simplicity of cotton, wood, natural fibers and environment, all making way for the intrusion of the modern world. It's not something we can avoid, and I wondered if we really needed to.

Another divider wall was bedecked with dozens of pictures on photo paper, different sizes, all neatly arranged, none overlapping. Many showed faces I'd seen tonight, at different ages -- the members of Timewind engaged in various acts of revelry. One showed my benefactor in a mighty tug of war between two sets of five furs per side; Oaknail appeared as the anchor of the opposing side, and I wouldn't have cared to place a wager on which side might have won. Pictures of individuals, couples, groups of all combinations showed smiling and loving faces all around.

One of the larger pictures appeared to be a wedding photograph, although all were in garb similar to what everyone was wearing tonight (what I was wearing, I reminded myself), and all were draped about with flower chains, soft leather tassels, matching waist sashes and headbands. All were smiling, holding forepaws, embracing. It was at least as beautiful as any other wedding photo I'd ever seen. Better than mine. The camera had caught an expression in my new wife's eye that made me wonder later if she had regretted her decision after all.

I shook my head, at that thought and the one that followed. This was the dreaded company of devil-cultists and drug-drenched bacchanalian revelers? The treasonous tribe of pedophilic anarchists, thieving socialists, and morals-destroying atheists? Was this what Eisenhower's "military-industrial complex" was so terrified of that the Fibbies had miles of files on them?

Too much to take in on an empty stomach. I turned back to the door.

Darkstar stood waiting for me, arms loosely at his side, the small smile still present on his lips.

"Just coming," I said, feeling a guilty flush rise under the fur on my cheeks.

The smile grew a little. "I'm flattered," he said softly.

"At my snooping?"

"At your concern."

"Concern?"

"Most furs are brazen about canvassing someone's room, if they have the courage to do it at all. Some try to be subtle about it, but they don't often make it. You actually blushed."

I could feel the blush deepen. "I'm sorry; I'm just a nosy parker by habit."

"It's all right, Max. I have the feeling that you're curious about me, about all of us. You want to know but aren't sure how to ask. Circumstances allowed you to look about my personal habitat to find clues. Did you discover anything?"

"Nothing much."

"You're too modest. Surely some speculation?"

"Perhaps that you're quite a bright fellow. Is that a Master's thesis I saw?"

"Doctoral." The lynx continued to gaze at me with his species' legendary inscrutability. "I felt something as I folded your coat into the hamper. You seem to have forgotten your shield, Detective."

He tossed it to me casually as I made a slow move toward the center of the room. I had no desire to fight anyone, especially not someone twenty years younger and undoubtedly more fit.

"Are you here on official business? If so, you haven't identified yourself as law enforcement yet. That could have some bearing, if you're trying to build a case of some kind."

I blinked at him.

"Philosophy of Law class, and an occasional indulgence in television." His grin became unquestionably, if unexpectedly, friendly. "Is it official?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I'm not here to serve warrants, make an arrest... I'm not even investigating a crime."

"I didn't think so. I won't mention it, then. Your secret is safe. Leave the shield on my dresser, if you'd like; it won't go anywhere." He cocked his head toward the stairs. "Come on; let's get some of that stew before they decide we're not coming."

Again, I blinked. "I thought... well..."

"You'd prefer a scream of 'up against the wall, fascist pig'?" Darkstar chuckled softly. "Max, one thing I've learned in my time with Timewind is to avoid assuming anything. Hypothesis is one thing; it's not a fact until it's proven. In my younger days, when I was in Texas, a trooper pulled me over for driving at 95kmh when everyone else on the highway was tooling at about 115, well above the posted limit. I asked him if it was better if I drove with the flow of traffic, driving at 115. He decided I was 'sassing' him, clipped me a sharp one with a baton, and hauled me in. No charges, nothing more than the speeding ticket, the inconvenience, and a headache... but I've grown wary of anyone in a uniform, like a lot of us, these days. I try to keep myself calm, hoping each one I see is a furson instead of part of the new Reich."

The lynx paused, his face still filled with his soft smile. "You're not here as a cop, so you must be a friend we've not met yet. Besides, you didn't bring your baton."

I felt my stance relax, even as I gave myself permission to breathe again.

"C'mon, Max." Darkstar offered me a forepaw. "If you come in peace, you have come to a peaceful place. You're in no danger. I'll wager you're as hungry as I am, so let's go have dinner as friends."

If nothing else, I thought, it should be a very interesting last meal.