Child of Man: Chapter 2, Part 1

Briar opened her eyes, blinking to adjust them again to the darkness of her burrow, the afterimages of the spiritscape still bright in her mind. As always, the hare felt a twinge of melancholy upon returning to the here and now, but it would pass quickly.

The bear. Briar’s muzzle twisted in a brief grimace. Another predator. And yet…. His scent came to her easily enough when she thought about him, the feel of his fur beneath her paw. Shared visions were no accident, she pondered, but… who was he? And why did I see him, and not someone like Watcher? She chewed on her lip in the darkness, but no answers came forward.

First breakfast, then worry, she chastised herself quietly with a smile.

The burrow was little more than a few large holes beneath the ground, lined with grasses and leaves. She’d dug it herself over several weeks, enough at first for her changed self to sleep comfortably, then expanding it until she could stretch out below ground at her full size and not brush the walls. She did so now, arching her back, flexing her joints just to the point of soreness, working out the muscles in her arms and legs, preparing to leave her den. A prey species by nature and a rarity among shifters as a result, she couldn’t afford to be caught outside her home with a muscle cramp in the event of a larger predator taking an interest in her.

Not that any predator likely would, Briar reminded herself firmly. She’d selected the property based on the relative scarcity of population, human and otherwise. If there had been more in the way of wild animals, she would have gone somewhere else.

Still, it never hurt to be cautious, and she put herself through the full routine, making sure not to tax herself too terribly before hopping up to the short ledge that led to the main exit. The walls were close around her, the tunnel width barely larger than her shoulders at points, and she crawled her way along in near-darkness, her whiskers brushing against the sides. Almost any normal human would’ve gone into a panic, but Briar was far from either normal or human, and to her lapine nature the enclosed space filled her with a sense of comfort, not of confinement.

The tunnel ahead grew light, and she worked her way to it slowly and methodically, poking her nose up from the exit first, breathing deeply and catching the scents on the wind. Nothing came to her but miles of grasses and pollens, a symphony of green. Her ears returned nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat and the rustle of the breeze, and she popped out of her hole, brushing dirt from her coat.

As always, where to begin foraging was less a question of choice and more simply a matter of where she chose to stop wandering, when some choice tangle of clover or patch of tall greenery caught her eye, and from there she worked methodically, following the choicest stalks in range of her eyes and nose, a twisting but obvious trail. Her body operated on automatic, every sense out on alert. It was a needless precaution, but one Briar couldn’t conceive of not taking any more than she could stop her own heartbeat.

It was past noon by the time her stomach registered full, and she squatted over her heels, chewing on a last muzzleful as her mind returned to her. The scene in the spiritscape replayed itself in her mind, and she shifted uncomfortably, unable to let herself relax, her ears turning rapidly as if listening for signs of the bear she had seen. Who was he, she wondered again, as she studied her memories of his scent, the sound of his voice, the coarse texture of his fur beneath her paw. When I asked who he was, he was far too startled to answer. He looked like he didn’t even know where he was, though he seemed relaxed enough. Perhaps… a Lost One? She considered, then sighed. Truth is, the hare confided to herself, I don’t know who—or what—he was. The idea of an outsider in the spiritscape made her uneasy; that nervousness, she knew, could far too easily build into panic if she let it.

That having been said, there was only one thing to do, and that was to find Watcher and discuss it with him. Ordinarily, that would’ve meant hunting him up during one of his forays into the spiritscape, burrowing to him and talking there. However, with that being the source of her problem, she would have to take more drastic measures to regain her comfort.

The decision made, she rose and began bounding in the direction of her burrow. As an oversized hare, the tunnels of her warren seemed impossibly large to her, but her scent clung to every corner, and bits of her fur lingered at every turn where had scraped herself against a bit of rock, and so the spaciousness seemed unnerving but not unfamiliar. Back in her bedchamber, she rooted around in the gathered pile of crushed grasses that served as her bedding, until she came up with a thin black leather key-keeper. The metal snap, once polished chrome, had turned reddish-brown from rust, and it took a bit of effort to unsnap it, the leather cracking in protest as she unfolded the near-permanent creases. Inside, the top hole looped through a tarnished brass ring sewn into the leather, lay a pair of metal keys. Briar gripped the case with a white-knuckled paw, then squirmed back out of her den and started at a rapid pace towards her human home.

The cottage on her property, the false burrow she maintained out of her internal sense of security and comfort, was squat and rough-hewn, more akin to a mountain ski lodge than anyone’s home. She’d spent most of her human savings on it and the land surrounding, but she considered it well worth the cost, considering the freedom it gave her. The front drive was gravel, not that any cars ever parked there, and the mailbox stood forlornly at the far end of the drive, out near the paved road that ended a few miles past. There was no heat, no light and no power, but she lived in the lands around it, not within it. Mainly, it served as a maildrop for bank statements and junk, with the occasional note from another of her kind.

Perhaps, she thought, one day I’ll feel safe enough here to Pledge myself. Even as she said it, though, a shiver ran down her spine. The thought of being tied here, tied anywhere, scared her. Even the burrow, for all the effort it took, was a temporary dwelling. If it were ever found, it would be abandoned and she’d be gone before her scent had faded. The house, the effort spent at removing herself from human society without fear of being hunted… she cringed at the thought of all that for naught, and yet to tie herself permanently to one situation that could all collapse on top of her left her cold. She had the best solution for now, or so she felt. She might not gain the security of home that a Protectorate could bring, but she wasn’t trapped either.

The rooms of the cabin were unfurnished, the floors and countertops covered with a layer of dust. Briar avoided coming here, memories of her human life looming large in her mind as she wandered back to the “bedroom.” The corner of the room held an old military footlocker, the paint chipped and peeling in places, the stenciling faded to illegibility. It was the only piece of furniture in the house, and Briar knelt in front of it, a patina of dust covering her knees as she lifted the heavy lock in her paws. The second key in the case fit the aging lock with some difficulty, and it took several tries to make it turn, but she was rewarded with an audible snap as the lock mechanism within sprung and the clasp opened.

Passport. Driver’s license. Changes of clothing. Cash money in a burlap bag. College diploma in a waterproof tube. Inside the locker lay the neatly-dressed corpse of a human life. After brushing clear a patch of floor with the back of her paw, Briar rummaged through the meticulously sorted materials, picking out items and setting them into the spot she cleared. An old, brown leather backpack with fraying straps she retrieved from the guts of the case, into which went the few things she thought she’d need.

She’d heard Shadowdance’s cry for help, but she’d been too busy with the bear to answer it. Watcher, though, would’ve heard it too, and if there were anyone she knew would answer, he’d be the one. She didn’t have a way to contact him, but she didn’t need one. Once close enough to his Protectorate, the wolf would know she was there, and he’d tell Watcher. He’d know how to handle her situation, and hopefully Dancer’s as well.

When she’d stuffed the backpack to within a few ounces of bursting, she stopped and set it down, kneeling back before the chest. A quick jerk of her arms and the lid was back in place. Hopefully nobody would come along while she wasn’t home. Most of her remaining worldly goods would be with her, and she wasn’t worried about the locker, but her den would be a long time in rebuilding if it were found.

Finally, there was nothing left to prepare. She sighed and rose, her head bowed, ears back. It had been years since she had done this, and her body seemed to ache in strange ways from disuse as she pulled within herself, fur shrinking inward and ears receding. Her muzzle retracted, tail regressing back into her spine. For a few delirious moments, she felt dizzy and giddy, the top car on the Ferris wheel, and then she was dropping, descending, folding in on herself until she stood, naked and human, her skin flushed from exertion.

Briar panted, shivering, a thin layer of sweat beading on her bare skin. More than ever before, she felt vulnerable, exposed. Her flight response flew into overactive and for a few moments, she fought down the urge to retreat back into her burrow and act as if nothing were wrong. Hiding would do nothing, and running away would be worse in this case. If he were a danger, others needed to know. She wiped herself down with her hands and then quickly pulled on the t-shirt, jeans and sandals she had left out for herself. The material felt rough and smelled musty to her still-sensitive nose. It’s necessary, she reminded herself. You can do this. You have to.

The once-hare knelt, lock in hand, and resealed the footlocker. She hesitated again at the front door, but the decision had been all but made for her, and there was little for her to do but follow the course. The deadbolt lock thunked home, and then with her backpack over one shoulder, she took off down the street, trying to ignore the knot of fear clawing at her stomach as she returned to the human world.