Ephraim hummed a ditty to himself as he helped carry the sizable piece of spruce, the bark-stripped trunk balanced over his shoulder. It had been felled by some of the other wolves of the Tribe—prisoner, member, or Guardian, he did not know or care—and now he would set to work shaping a canoe. He’d been singled out from the other prisoners he’d shared the dark cabin after someone’d heard him babbling about fish, and eventually his skill at making canoes had been unearthed. He was glad to be out and about, however; another might think he hadn’t quite grasped the fact that he was below everyone else in AniWaya in Maska’s eyes.

And it was so sunny! The sky would grow dark for months at a time in some of the tundra he’d visited, but here everything was brilliant, bright—the sunlight drew out all the colors of the village. Even the sad heaps of huts destroyed by an apparent snowstorm were more vibrant, and the heat coaxed the distinct scent of the earth and wood out in the open. The eunuch broke out into a broad smile, his skin tingling from the warmth seeping through his dark brownish-grey coat.

“Quit simpering,” the Guardian behind him snapped.

Ephraim let out a content sigh. “You cannot see me simpering, friend,” he pointed out gleefully, “though I must confess I am—gah!”

A deft roll of the trunk made the weight thump against his head, and he was momentarily dizzied by the blow. He walked in silence until they’d found a nice place in the grass, a little ways off from one of the main paths. He went to his knee and dropped the spruce, glancing over his shoulder at the Guardian. They all remained nameless to him, not that he recognized this one anyway. He gave a shrug of broad shoulders then reached out with a white hand, grasping the axe that the Guardian unceremoniously shoved at him.

“I’m not sure how you make canoes here,” Ephraim drawled. “Had to be small in my clan, yes—streams not easy to navigate. But the fish! Oh, the fish was as bountiful as it was delectable.”

The Guardian pointed. “Work.”

The quarter-dog hybrid blinked a few times then grinned. “Oh, work—yes—you have to get in a rhythm, you know.” He winked and stood, holding the axe over his head in preparation to swing. He paused there, however, arms rather loose, and let his mouth form a small “o” as he looked to his current captor. “You don’t suppose you could spare me a morsel, eh? You need vittles for work, yes.” He made his brown eyes widen pathetically as a dark stare bored into him. “Oh, oh—my arms feel like jelly, pal, just like jelly. But I’ll try hard to make it work if you don’t have any food. I don’t know if there’s a deadline for this canoe thingy, but—”

An exasperated sigh. “All right. I’ll get you a snack. Wisteria is patrolling the village, though—you get any ideas about running, and she’ll shred you.” The Guardian cast one last look over his shoulder before walking off, apparently pleased to be rid of the prisoner’s presence for a while, despite his threats. Besides, with the other Guardians constantly skulking through the Village, there was no danger of the fool escaping.

Ephraim smiled innocently after him. “Oh, no, of course not. I’m not even in shape to run, eh?” He patted his ample stomach then glanced at the trunk, his giddy demeanor fading briefly as he started to swing the axe. As foolish as the eunuch acted, he was perceptive—knowing that he had to bide his time and figure out how AniWaya ran. He hadn’t gotten much information out of his fellow prisoners, as most had been too sullen to respond to his gab, but with time, he hoped to be approached by at least a normal Tribe member who knew what was going on.

For now, he played the part of the free labor, chopping away at the barkless trunk as he’d done years past. The rhythm came naturally, and the unused muscles ached sweetly with the exertion, bringing back memories of before he was cut. After a while, a little work melody whistled from his lips, and he was the cheery and naïve prisoner once more.

Ephraim struck the wood again and again, attempting to flatten out a bottom. It was difficult to visualize where he was supposed to strike without any marks, and after a while he stopped, setting the axe vertically on the ground and leaning on it as he frowned and contemplated his work. He might have to ask for some charcoal to know where to carve out the seating area for the vessel, but he’d work as long as he could up until that point. While he seemed to have no qualms with speaking foolishly to the Guardians, the mind behind that babbling mouth was quite sharp and wary of the boundaries. He was no stranger to acting the omega, submitting and joking, letting himself be bowled over.

As he wiped his sweating paw pads on his fur, panting from exertion and the sunlight seeping into his dark coat, a pale flash caught his eye. Coming out of some nearby bushes was another luperci, a teenager by the look of her. She looked alert as she emerged, as if she wasn’t really supposed to be there—which Ephraim could understand, due to his position as prisoner.

The girl greeted him, introducing herself as Ayasha the scout. He grinned broadly as she asked him if he was new, immediately dropping the axe and taking a deep and exaggerated bow. One might have expected him to break out into a happy shout at the sight of her, but the eunuch knew to keep his voice low.

“Hello there, darling girl,” Ephraim said, smiling softly now. He straightened again and looked her over. “A scout, hmm? You have the build for it, honey.” His gleeful, dumb small talk did not go on long before he addressed the question. “Don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it hasn’t been long.” His brown eyes looked warmly into her blue ones, searching carefully for any indication of her emotions. “Mostly rested up in that cabin, but I suppose your leader needed canoes and weapons and whatnot made.”

It had been too long since he’d spoken to a child, though it was quite obvious that this lovely girl wasn’t much of a child anymore. She had reached a stage of adolescence further advanced by responsibility and stress in the pack. It made him sad to see such innocence go to waste, but not every wolf could be a puppy forever. He simply wished that they could, that he could.

The scout, Ayasha, explained that the Maska fellow was not a good leader. He nodded with a thoughtful frown, absentmindedly reaching over his shoulder to give his back a quick scratch. “Why’d ya let him become leader, then?” the male asked mildly, hoping that the question wasn’t disrespectful; after all, he’d no idea what had been going on, really. There had been snatches, but with someone unfamiliar with AniWaya’s customs, he was more confused than anything.

“Someone who’d attack those sheltering pups,” he added, though unconsciously his hands drifted down again, clasping each other casually in front of his lower abdomen to hide the barely visible scars there—though anyone could tell that Ephraim was “off” because of his scent. There was a difference between a killer and someone who’d killed, though, and he couldn’t imagine why someone would punish those who wanted the best for their children. A bad leader indeed—though his question was still valid. If there was so much unrest, why hadn’t there been a rebellion yet? Or maybe there had been an unsuccessful one; he hadn’t been paying attention enough to know.

The girl asked him how they—the Guardians, he assumed—were treating him, then prompted him for his name. With a wide and sheepish grin, the eunuch gave another bow and chuckled softly. “My apologies for being so rude, sweet child. My name is Ephraim Fisher.” He rolled his neck, still smiling. “And they’re treating me all right. A little bit of manhandling when they first saw me, but it’s no big thing.”

Ayasha snorted and implied there was nothing they could do about the new leader. That confused Ephraim, who had heard a lot of stories of uprisings and rank challenges, but he didn’t question the AniWayans if there was something else holding them back. After all, Maska ruled the Guardians—which granted him quite a bit of power as far as strength went. He didn’t blame the tribe members for having a healthy sense of preservation.

After all, wasn’t that what he was doing? Sitting, biding his time, ducking his head in obedience?

All the eunuch did was nod after she explained, his brown eyes widening slightly at her growl. He hadn’t seen being roughed up a bit as a big deal, but apparently it’d struck a nerve with her—and he did know that the other prisoners had suffered much worse treatment. The Guardians had simply written him off as an idiot, someone useful to have for labor, someone who wasn’t much of a threat.

“In the big old cabin, you mean?” Ephraim asked, tilting his head to the side. “Hmmm. There’s a few, yeah, smell strongly of a different pack than this one. Quiet folks, sullen. Didn’t get much out of ’em when we spoke.”

He shrugged then smirked as she asked if he needed anything. “Personally, give me some food and I’m content. I’ll ask the other prisoners if they could use some supplies, though. Haven’t been here long, so I’m not feeling the discomfort as much, but I dunno about them. Maybe we can work something out, in case I see you again while I’m working on this.” He gestured to the half-hollowed piece of wood and smiled at Ayasha.

“You’re a good girl. A strong girl. Your parents should be proud of you.”