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Being Dead is Dirty Work

The afterlife is a bit warmer than I thought. I imagined it would be someplace a bit brighter too. All I see is blackness all around me. How droll. And isn't there supposed to be no pain? I ache all over. Man, if only Paul knew. He'd have a fit. Well, another one.

I mean, I have to be dead. I had a building fall on me.

Am I just in Limbo? Waiting to be reincarnated like that crotchety old couple who came in every Feraday afternoon believed? Because there's no way I survived what happened. I was shot! You don't just lay around in a pool of your own blood for a while and then just nap it off. Rather, and this is just from hearsay about the tavern, you need medical attention right off the bat. And that's just for the gunshot wound! I was burned and beaten and bruised and trapped under half of my own tavern!

Wait, is that fur around me? And why do I taste cotton? What an odd afterlife this is. It's a little difficult to move, but I don't imagine that it'd be easy, with my ghostly self and all. I'm used to flesh and bone, after all. I try my ears and all I can do is flick them around a bit. And my tail! Well, it's working, at least. I can feel it trying to move, but it seems a bit trapped underneath me. Oh well, I'll wag it all about when I get free. If I get free.

Y'know, I'm kinda lonely now. Talking to myself only goes so far. And I was doing plenty of it when I was trapped under the ruins of my establishment.

My whiskers twitch. Is that movement? Lovely! Company! I try to open my mouth to greet them, but find it bound shut. My ears flick now, displaying my confusion. I hear footsteps, but they sound muffled. I bow my head and wiggle about, finding that I can move most of my body, but it makes me hurt more.

My wiggling gets me what I'm fairly certain is a firm tap between my eyes, followed by a muffled... rebuke? I cannae say I understand mumbling, but it didn't sound like Circushan, the common tongue of the colonist traders. It sounded tribal. How odd. I definitely was not expecting to hear that language in my afterlife. But then again, what do I know about anything religious or spiritual? I was a tavern keeper, after all. I dealt more with rumors and politics than anything remotely resembling religion, save for that elderly couple who stopped by for lunch on Feradays. Maybe the tribes have something to their spirit worship.

I tilt my head to the side and immediately regret it for a couple of reasons. First, because I cannae see and I don't exactly know what all is around me, I get severe vertigo for a few moments. Second, my visitor grabs my head and rights it again and it feels like I may have pulled something in my neck. I'd like to ask this mysterious visitor a few things about what's going on, but the binding around my muzzle leaves the question naught but a fairly pathetic sounding whine. Oh well. Since they seem to think that I speak mumble, I'll have to assume they speak whine. Fair's fair.

That's when I feel whatever it was that was binding my muzzle loosen and get peeled away. I wince. Guess my face didn't get entirely spared. What feels like cotton is removed from inside of my ears and I shudder. So that's why it was mumbles. Odd.

That strange language flows into my ears again in a high sounding voice and I flick them in response, working my jaw a bit to get the stiffness out. Pleasantly surprised at how well it seems to be working, I manage to croak a few words from what still feels like a smoke battered throat. "Hello there, whoever you are. Might I ask if you speak Circushan? I'm afraid I'm not much of a linguist."

A pause follows that, then the soft sound of footsteps padding away. I resist the urge to tilt my head again, an old canine instinct that still resurfaces a bit when I'm confused. I instead cup my ears forward, hoping that they haven't been damaged in my trip to the other side. No, they work just as well as ever, and I can pick up the faint sounds of hushed conversation. Two voices! But both speaking a tribal tongue... I think it's from the south? I was never good with pinpointing tribes to languages.

Two pairs of footsteps approach me this time and I do my best to smile at whoever they are. "So, you are a colonist, then?" The second voice speaks to me, and at least I can understand this one. Definitely male, with an easy tone. Low, so I'm going to guess that he's probably a bit taller than me, but it doesn't have the little growl in it that I would normally hear from other canines. Most likely tribal as well. The two have a similar sound to their words, so I'm going to guess that they're a similar species, or at least from the same area. Or maybe they've just been together for a while. My nose still isn't working properly, probably from the smoke. Or maybe they stuffed it full of cotton too. I wriggle it to check and find that yes, it is clogged up. Lovely. Also, why is my nose numb when my muzzle wasn't?

"Indeed I am! Though may I ask where we are? I'm afraid that I cannae see at the moment and my nose is rather incapacitated. Which afterlife is this? I'm not on the up and up on most of my theology, you see." My throat feels like it's on fire. Perhaps talking that much isn't in my best interest.

As I'm thinking that water would be rather nice, I feel a paw on my back and the mouth of a flask at my lips. It's tipped up and cool water flows down my throat like a stiff breeze through my fur on a summer day. The second voice speaks again, a little quieter and a little closer than before. He's the one holding the flask. "Afterlife? No, you're very much alive. I've seen to that myself. And you shouldn't be speaking so much; there is much damage that I have yet to fully repair." Another tip of the flask and I gulp down the delightfully chill water.

So I'm not dead. That explains the lingering pain, then. And if he's a healer then I would imagine he has a decent idea of what happened to me. I'm no doctor myself, but I wouldn't have thought that I'd be any kind of saveable in the condition I remember myself being in. Gunshot wound, what I'd imagine were severe burns, broken bones, what felt and sounded like a punctured lung or two, and very likely infections all over the numerous cuts and scrapes one receives when a building partially collapses on you. That's a tall order. He must be very good.

What would a healer that good be doing near my little tavern in Meratown?

As if guessing where my thoughts are going, I hear a soft woofing chuckle from the first voice, followed by a string of gibberish. Second Voice doesn't respond to First, and instead talks to me again. "Do not worry so much about our presence there, as it is most fortunate that we were. You were not far away from the Dark Forest's gates when we found you."

Fortunate indeed. I'm rather fond of life, even if my establishment is gone. I can always start a new one. Maybe further away from the frontier, back in Saridale? That would be nice. I know a quiet collie couple who I could stay with for a bit.

After I find a way to thank my apparent saviors of course. I open my mouth to at least ask them their names and am rewarded with a paw promptly closing it again. "Please do not attempt to undo the work I've done already. Your throat is still damaged and will take a few more hours to heal. I ask that you refrain from speaking for that time." He pauses as once more, First Voice babbles at him. "To assuage your curiosities, and hopefully to get you to listen to me, I will introduce us. In return, you must try your hardest to keep still and not speak until I tell you that it is okay." The paw moves away from my muzzle and instead rests against my forehead, then over my covered eyes. The other supporting paw moves away and I feel something begin to unravel around my head. Soft light filters through what I can now identify as thin cloth wrapped several times around my eyes.

Once removed, I take a few moments to blink in the unfamiliar light, letting my eyes adjust. After a quick survey of my immediate surroundings, I find that I am in fact wrapped up tightly in furs and propped up on even more of them. And I'm in a tent. Okay, not what I was really expecting, but I shouldn't be surprised. They were speaking a tribal language, after all.

Then I let my gaze focus on my rescuers.

First Voice is of a tribe that I immediately recognize, even if I don't understand a single word of the language. First Voice is also female. The dusty leathers and leggings are more modest than I'm used to from some of the other tribes, but they do not stand out and would allow her to disguise herself as male if need be. Functional. She's also a genet, I would guess from the Vristlenak tribe in the southeast. A very pretty people, and she is no exception. Piercing gray eyes are set into the tawny fur of her face with those exotic black spots all over, all the way down to the striped tail that curls and sways against her legs.

Second Voice I don't recognize, though. He looks faintly vulpine, but there's a few important things missing. There's no black slashes along his muzzle, nor is his fur coloration quite right for a red. I'll have to ask him when I get the chance. He's dressed in something I would expect, though. The tribal leathers of a healer, decorated with feathers and beads. The sleeves are missing, it looks like, letting him leave his arms exposed while his legs are able to move about freely with a loose breechcloth. His garments are far cleaner than his companions, which leads me to believe that he is the more fastidious of the two. Which would make sense, considering he is a healer. The exposed limbs also lets me see the black tattoos dyed into his fur along them that I imagine continue under his garments, as I can see them curl onto his neck and face as well.

Second Voice returns to his kneeling position with the bandage that had been wrapped around my eyes held loosely in his lap. First Voice crouches low behind him. "This is Quinelia, a genet of the Vristlenak tribe. She is the one who found you." Quinelia bows her head in greeting, but never takes her stormy eyes off of me. I blink back at her before returning my focus on the not-fox. "And I am Rasithenuk, a maned wolf of the Volensecion tribe in the west. I am the one who has been taking care of you."

Tribal names have always been a mouthful. I'm happy to see that these ones are no different. A maned wolf, though? I cannae say I've heard of his tribe. He doesn't look like any wolf I've ever seen. Definitely more vulpine, save for the puff around his neck and the extra fur around his arms and the way his tail doesn't seem quite as fluffy. Kind of a combination of fox and some kind of dog, now that I think about it. How interesting. Absently, I wonder if they're related to jackals like myself at all. That would be a trip! Like finding that odd, long lost cousin or uncle or something.

It is odd, though, that I find my gaze drawn more to Rasithenuk than to his companion. I rationalize that it's because he's a species that I haven't seen before, and I'm okay with that explanation. Being a tavern keeper has its benefits. One of those is being the waystation for just about anyone who would come through the settlement. I get to see just about everyone as they're coming or going, and that means I have an impressive knowledge of most peoples and their tribes. It's not often anymore that I get to meet someone completely new. I'd be excited if I wasn't aching over every inch of my body.

Quinelia murmurs a few more of those incomprehensible words that make my ears twitch and my mind race. They sound familiar, now. Rasithenuk nods slowly and leans forward over my bundled form again. "I need to put you to sleep again for the rest of the healing to take place. Please, relax."

It's hard not to reply, but I just do my best to convey a shrug with eyes alone. I don't think he gets it until I close my eyes and settle back again. A strange chill racing through my nerves is the last thing I remember before being swept away into restful blackness.

My dreams are the humdrum fare that I've come to know over the past few years of my life since leaving my parents' home back in Graydale. Memories of the elder jackals, the sounds of my little brother pattering about the house, and life in the single room schoolhouse that I attended through my youth are all things that float along the currents of my mind as I drift in the lazy haze of slumber. It's comforted me in the past, but there's something subtly off about this dream. My little brother isn't as energetic, the neighbors aren't quite as loud. My classmates are a little more cynical and mean-spirited than I remember. It's not terrifying, just slightly disturbing. I'm more than relieved when a gentle tap on my nose brings me into wakefulness.

I sneeze.

Opening my eyes reveals that the tent is only occupied by Rasithenuk this time, and his lips are curled back in a warm smile. And I can smell him. My nose works again! I close my eyes and inhale deeply, once more regretting my actions near immediately. I reek.

The disgust of my own scent registers as a twisted grimace that I'm sure is quite comical, though my healer respectfully does not laugh. "You are allowed to speak again, pup. Your vocal tract is hale and whole once more."

I open my eyes again and clear my throat. "You have my thanks, Rasithenuk." He perks up when I say his name. "I was pretty sure I was gonna die there. My name's Cayne." My nose wrinkles again and I cannae help but wince with the smell. "And I don't mean to bother, but is there a place that I can wash? It smells like I've been laid up for days."

Those perky ears fold back and his smile falters. "A month, actually. And yes, there is, though you will be very weak yet. I can help you to the stream, if you would like."

My whiskers twitch as I notice a precarious predicament. My clothes were burned off when the tavern collapsed on me, seeing as how everything was on fire. I hadn't realized that when I first woke, the cloth I felt all over me wasn't my clothes at all, but bandages, which are now gone. I was a bit distracted with thinking that I was dead. Now I'm reminded of that fact. I feel the insides of my ears flush with my minor embarrassment. I never liked the idea of other people seeing me in my bare fur. It always seemed immodest. I know, I'm just about the only guy on the frontier who's like that these days, but damnit it's important to me.

Anticipating this, I imagine, Rasithenuk turns and produces a long fur cloak, reaching forward to wrap it around my shoulders. "I was not sure if you would need this, but it is getting into the colder months. Until you can properly dress yourself, I would prefer you not reverse the progress you have made by falling ill so soon." He stands abruptly, reaching one paw down to help me up. "Come, I will take you to wash."

When he said I was going to be weak, I didn't rightly believe him. I've never trusted doctors or physicians, so what difference would a healer be? Turns out they tell the truth more often, as I can barely even pull myself out of the furs to free my paws. I do manage to wrap the cloak tighter around me to cover myself, and with Rasithenuk's help I manage to regain my feet. And then, with more of his help, I stay upright. I probably would have crumpled without hesitation had his arms not been there around me to hold my weight up and centered. "Thanks again, I really appreciate this."

He smiles and carefully guides me from the tent. "I am a healer. It is what I am here for." I watch his eyes dart around the camp as I do my best to keep the cloak held shut around my middle. Trying to focus on that plus keeping my balance all while feeling like I'm relearning how to walk proves to be a greater task than I've ever faced in my life. Of course, the maned wolf notices. "Please, lean on me more. Your legs are very weak from disuse and injury. They are still regaining their strength." I sigh, but have no choice but to oblige. Walking is hard enough as it is. Complicating it only makes it near impossible.

With most of my mind freed enough to wander, I notice that the quaint little campsite seems fairly empty. There's a firepit, three tents, and a small handcart. Not only is there no pack animal or horse, like I expected there would be, there's no Quinelia either. I don't hear any noises from the tents either, so she wouldn't be there. I push it from my mind for now.

Rasithenuk stays quiet, seeming a bit more withdrawn now that I'm semi-ambulatory. I stay quiet as well, still sorting out more than a few things in my own head. Like, where I am, what I'm going to do now that my tavern is gone, how to repay these two travellers, and most importantly, where I'm going to go after I get my strength back? The questions make my head swim like some of my stronger drinks did. The only difference between the two being that I can distract myself from the questions with the strong scents and sounds of the outdoors. I haven't travelled from Meratown in the few years since I moved there. I haven't spent any real appreciable time in the wilds at all. This is all new to me.

Though I cannae help but feel the absence of the genet. The camp is small, yes, but it's homey and has a comfortable feel about it. It feels emptier, somehow, without the spotted creature in it. I find it odd that I'd make that assumption, but it's just a feeling. I've had stranger feelings before.

Possibly sensing my concern as we pass into the trees around us, Rasithenuk clears his throat. "Do not worry about Quin. She has been around these woods for many years and has yet to find something that can best her. She is out getting us dinner."

I nod, then wince as we step over a fallen log. I can hear the babbling of a stream nearby. It makes sense that they would make camp not far from water. I think. I was never much of a woodsman. The sound is encouraging, and I focus fully on walking again to try and increase our pace.

Maddeningly, Rasithenuk keeps our pace steady and still says very little. It's not a bad quiet, just a frustrating one. I want to ask so many questions but without a conversation I have nothing to slide them into and it seems rude to just pepper him with my curiosity within moments of becoming fully conscious again. I usually go with my gut on these kinds of feelings, so I stay nice and quiet too. Instead, I try to distract myself from these burning questions with taking in deep breaths of the crisp air, then sorting through the scents. Mistake number one: it gives me a headache without missing a beat. The amount of information I'd be able to get from this air just by sniffing it is immense! I tend to avoid taking deeper breaths in the city. It doesn't exactly have the most pleasant smell.

It does accomplish the original task of keeping me distracted until we get to the stream, which is deeper than it originally sounded. Plenty deep enough to bathe in. But wait, I don't have anything to wash with! Silly jackal, I tell myself. All of your worldly possessions went up in flames with the tavern. And I certainly wouldn't expect my saviors to just give me...

After setting me down next to the stream, Rasithenuk places a small bag next to me and graces me with another smile. "Some of the soap that most colonists seem very fond of. It is rather handy for cleaning wounds, so I keep some of it around." He stands there awkwardly for a moment, then flattens his ears and shuffles away. "I will... leave you be while you wash. If you need anything, I will be near." He gives one last look over me before turning and sweeping silently into the trees. Well that was nice. I hope I'm strong enough to keep myself from drowning.

I watch him depart until I can no longer see him, then slide out of the cloak and into the stream, nearly oozing into it from its bank. I'm chilled almost immediately, but the cold water shock gets my blood moving in response, at least a little. Lingering drowsiness flies rapidly away and I dunk my head to chase the rest of it from my mind. Sharp senses return and I sit up from the stream, smiling. Oh it feels good to wash again. I stretch up to snag the little bag and begin the slow, pleasurable process of cleaning myself up. Just the feel of my own claws sifting down through my pelt gets me to close my eyes and let my muzzle hang open. Gods above, but this soap is about the most heavenly thing I've smelled in my life.

My arms are sore and my backside aching slightly from resting on a rock wrong by the time I feel comfortable with my state of cleanliness. I'm amazed that none of my injuries, especially the bullet wound, are still open. I took the time to do a full inventory of my body during my ablutions and found it surprisingly whole.

Simply bathing has left me feeling utterly exhausted and drained of all energy and it takes me far longer than I would like to pull myself from the stream. I do manage to brace myself on the rock that holds my borrowed cloak and shake myself free of a majority of the water clinging to my slick silver and tan fur. With as much water off of me as I can get without rolling around on more furs, I wrap the cloak tightly about myself and call out for Rasithenuk. As I listen to the faint echo of my own voice fade, I notice the slowly dying daylight as well. It sets my nerves a-tingling with anxiety and I glance around the trees quickly, ears perked and swiveling about for any noise. Not like it would do me much good if I heard something coming either way, but just having that knowledge and being alert somehow settles me.

That is, until I hear the maned wolf's voice from behind me, soft spoken as always. "Feeling better, Cayne?"

I jump, fur bristling out in surprise. He is a quiet one. Maybe my senses just aren't as sharp as I think they are? Or it could be possible that he's just a skilled woodsman and knows how to walk silently through the thin underbrush. I have no idea where his life has led him, if he is so far away from his tribe. I shake off the startle and carefully smooth my fur down under the cloak. "I've definitely settled back into my own skin, so to speak. I cannae thank you enough. I'd bow or something but I'm afraid my legs still don't want to cooperate properly."

I watch his ears flick and his whiskers twitch before his muzzle opens with his reply. "Please, I only do the work that my training has prepared me for. Do you think you can stand for me? Quinelia has returned with her kill and you could use some proper victuals. I'm afraid you haven't had anything substantial to keep your strength as high as it should be." He sweeps an arm out towards me, stepping closer to offer me his paw.

I gladly take it and hoist myself vertical once more, only slightly less wobbly than I was on the little stroll out here. With his arm around my waist and me leaning against his shoulder, we set out towards the campsite. "Well I appreciate your training, then. And I will say that hearty food sounds like a truly marvelous idea."

He smiles when I agree with him and I can visibly see him relax against me, his shoulder muscles unwinding. "Step carefully now. I'll try and have a sturdy walking stick for you within the week, so you can strengthen your body without needing the assistance, if you'd like." We set out, keeping the same pace as we had before, though I feel lighter of heart and less weighed down by the future. A good bath will do that for me.

I shrug the cloak a tad bit tighter about my shoulders. "I would appreciate it. I wouldn't want to be keeping you from more important things, Rasithenuk."

His ears flick again and he shakes his head, his smile faltering as he speaks. "Oh, it's no trouble at all, I assure you. I just don't want to be invading your personal space if you do not wish me to." Very respectful. I'm not used to that in most people. Then again, I didn't get a lot of western tribesmen into my tavern, so I don't have a lot of experience with them. Maybe they teach far more respect in the plains out there. I wouldn't know.

"I was a tavern keeper, Rasithenuk. If I had issues with invasions of personal space, I wouldn't have been as successful as I was. I cannae count the number of times I've had to help carry drunks out of my tavern." I smile with the memories, despite many of them being less than pleasant. It was a simple time, since the days I opened my doors for business. I miss it already.

He scrunches up his nose in an expression that I can only interpret as confusion. "I have not had much experience with your kind of establishment, I suppose. We do not visit many settlements."

I blink a few times, lost into a confused state myself. I've always known that the tribes tended to stay away from towns and cities, but we get a lot of the outcasts and nomads in the fringe settlements, if my colleagues were to be believed. I'd even seen many of the travelling traders from the Vristlenak tribe pass through Meratown myself. "I never really considered that. I don't know the western tribes well, so I don't know how far away from the nearest town your lands would be."

His ears wilt and he tenses up again when I mention his tribe, but at least he does respond. "We haven't been that far west in a long time, I'm afraid. I'm more familiar with the Krillik'toa and Haransiri tribal lands and the settlements there, though we don't venture in for more than offloading the occasional collection of furs."

I cant my head to the side in thought for a moment, satisfied that I can do so without inflicting the vertigo that I had felt the last time I did it. "I don't think I follow," I start. "I cannae say I'm on the up and up with even the local tribal customs and practices, but I thought that your peoples rather liked to keep to themselves save for occasional trading parties." I feel that there's a story here. The thought of it gets my blood flowing nice and quick.

But instead, I feel him tense up further and go quiet once more, staying that way until we step out from the trees and back into the campsite. He helps settle me onto a pile of furs already set up near a roaring fire, allowing me to be wholly distracted by the tantalizing smell of seared meat emanating from a smaller fire close to the middle of the three tents. I spy Quinelia sitting there, slowly turning a roasting spit with what appear to be small wooden bowls with spices situated around her.

My attention is brought back to my caretaker when he pulls some more furs further around me. "We both have our reasons for being out here," he whispers into my ear. When I turn to apologize, I find that he's already moved away to circle the fire, pulling the up till now discarded sleeves of his healer's tunic onto his arms.

The camp lapses into an uneasy silence, broken only by the creaking of the wooden spit and the crackling of the fire. I stare into those flames and settle into my furs, bemused and a little disappointed in myself. Did I lose all of my tact and social grace in my near-death? Apparently, as I still itch to find out what may have happened to push them away from their families and friends, Rasithenuk especially. He did not seem pleased when I even mentioned it.

Well, I think after a moment, I wouldn't want to discuss my reasons for leaving home either. Fair's fair. Though I do think I'd be a bit more smooth in how I turned the situation away from scrutiny over my past. Perhaps that's just a learned skill. If they've been on their own for long enough, I would be surprised to see the level of civility they apparently have. Well, at least what Rasithenuk has. Quinelia has yet to say anything that I understand, or even be around me for more than just these few moments and the pawful of likewise quiet minutes when I first awoke. Perhaps she's more talkative when she's not cooking?

Well, I find out in short order that they're both the quiet sort, at least in the presence of a stranger. Quinelia serves a cut of the meat she was cooking to me on her knife and quickly moves to do the same for Rasithenuk once I accept my portion. I frown around the meal, though it is rather tasty, but again try to keep my thoughts to myself. I don't want to be inconsiderate or rude to these two wonderful souls.

I cannae help but feel like there's something wrong in this camp. The two inhabitants seem comfortable in it, and yes I cannae begrudge them the fact that I am intruding now, but if I trust my instincts then it isn't just that. I cast short glances at the maned wolf, as it seems that he's the more expressive of the two, but I get very little for my scrutiny. Pity, that. I do wish to talk more with him.

I do not get my wish that night. Quinelia disappears into one of the tents soon after finishing the meal and Rasithenuk sets to tidying up immediately after that. He helps me into the other large tent and quietly makes sure I'm comfortable before scurrying off to the first tent with the genet. I scrunch up my nose in thought at that. They stay in the same tent? They must use the other for storing supplies when they actually settle into an area for a time, then. Makes sense, I suppose. I wonder if they're married, or mated I guess would be the proper term. I'd better not assume anything. Maybe they just agreed to let me have my space? Or am I possibly taking Rasithenuk's tent? Maybe I'll ask, if I can find a time to in the morrow.

Speaking of the morrow, I should rest. I stare through the gaps in the tent flaps at the fire, letting its flickering lull my mind away from its constant activity. And a good thing that I do, as my dreams are as empty as the sky that night.

I jerk awake to the feeling of the warmth surrounding me suddenly vanishing. I yelp and snatch at the fur cloak I had fallen asleep in to wrap it around myself, quickly replacing the warmth of the furs that had just been ripped off of me. My eyes fly open to meet the stormy gray eyes of my assailant and I immediately notice the gleam of amusement behind them. Quinelia kneels at the entrance to the tent, already dressed in her leathers with a much rougher looking cloak of fur pinned around her shoulders and neck. Without a word, she tosses a wrapped bundle at me and whisks away again, letting the flaps settle back into place. I glare at the bundle and grumble, sitting up slowly as my body struggles to bring itself into the waking world.

My limbs ache like I've never felt before. Gods above, it almost feels like my tavern fell on them again. I put a paw to my head and stifle a groan, trying to steady myself before inspecting the bundle the genet left me. It takes a few moments for my senses to fully restore themselves to what they should be. The aches in my body remain for a moment longer, then fade to a dull throb, a reminder that I'm still far weaker than I'd like to be.

I push the feelings aside for the time being and turn my attention to the bundle of animal hide sitting in front of me. I pick it up - it feels solid, though it has a bit of give to it. It feels almost soft. It's bound with a small bit of twine, so I pick at the knot until I give up and snap the string between my teeth.

Immediately I lose my grip on the package as it comes apart, leaving supple leather to tumble into my lap. I stare at it in utter befuddlement.

It's a set of leathers, vaguely similar to the breechcloth, leggings, and shirt that Rasithenuk wears. It doesn't have the adornments of a healer, obviously, but it does have different patterning over it. I run my thumbpad over it, idly, trying to make sense of what it might mean. Then I realize that Quinelia meant these to be for me, to wear. I don't have the first idea of how to even put these on. So I sit there and stare at them in my paws, blinking.

Faintly, I hear Quinelia's musical laughter from out near the fire, timed just so that I have no doubt that she's certain I'm an idiot.