A Message Delivered

[themorbidsocialite]

 A small, white blur raced across the city like a bullet shot from a gun, guided under simple instructions, whispered to her as her favorite ribbon was used to tie a note around her neck: “Go. Find him. Be swift.”

 

She knew what her hunter meant, who her hunter meant. And so, as soon as the note was secure, she ran.

 

Faster than talkative cats and the lizards of madness she could not stop to hunt and eat. Faster than the bats that would swoop to eat her, but she could not stop to play. Faster than horses and faster than thunder and faster than any weasel. She lived and ran on a time apart. Marsh to docks. Docks to Veilgarden. Veilgarden to Spite. Spite to home.

 

She found her hole in the door still open, but dusty and covered in cobwebs. The spiders should know better, but she had no time to teach them. She stood on her perch and searched the home she had left alone for too long.

 

There, on the far side of the room, at his desk, was her hunter's mate. And his pup and the strange clothes that moved without wind sat on the other mate’s seat. She barked loudly and with authority and, finally, they listened.

 

The pup brightened first, rising and calling her beloved, personal sound. Her sire turned and he appeared burdened, just the same as the day they first met, perhaps worse. He hummed her sound and stood from his desk to reach her. She met him at the table and allowed him to take the note from her ribbon. Despite being happy to see her, his face fell as his eyes scanned the note. The color drained from his face and his breath hitched. His pup came up beside with a note of concern and he took her hand. He spoke something with severity and squeezed her hand as he repeated himself. She nodded, her eyes firm and sharp. She always was a clever pup. The clothing that moved without wind held his wrist in shared promise and she had to bark. There was no time.

 

With a quick hug and a hurried race to grab removable furs and claws and pads and tools, she was finally told to “Go. Take me to them.”

 

Her hunter's mate did not delay with assembling the furs he grabbed. He simply ran after, tugging them over his paws as he did. It had been a long time since she'd had to run this path and he did just the same as before, abandoning his own dens and burrows and hunts to follow her to his family. The last time she did, it was through dreams, but her hunter had no mirrors in the marshes. She simply needed to be faster than London.

 

She could hear him panting strangely behind her, nose irritated in a way he must not have been able to lick away for the strange way he breathed sharply in. She would not hesitate, however. She would not pause. He could fix his breathing when they got there. They both knew this and both ran, just as before, led by false stars rather than a strange sun.

 

When they arrived to her hunter, there was a gentle tackle, a moment of grooming, muttered words, and a return to racing, a pause lasting precious seconds that could not be wasted.

 

Finally, racing up the steps, at the glowing door of the ruby bee's hive-den, Mori let Tularemia onto his shoulder and scratched her ear in appreciation as he knocked his paw harshly against the surface.

 

“Thank you, Tula.”

 

She didn't think any thanks were needed. This was her pup, too.