Ephraim groaned.

The moment the AniWayans had figured out he had skill with a canoe, the Guardians had set him to building a couple. He had been up late the other night, chopping away at the gathered wood, falling into a repetitive rhythm that left his arms and shoulders entirely sore. Since his capture, his scent began to mimic that of the other Tribe members, but at the same time, he was more of a slave than a part of AniWaya. The Guardians who had initially captured him under Maska’s orders had teased him about being part of the Tribe—him, whose blood was tainted by a dirty dog grandparent.

Still, the eunuch remained relatively neutral, even though a nice girl had told him that Maska was a bad guy. While he didn’t quite like how things were being run here, he couldn’t complain much. The other prisoners, those stolen from other packs, were much worse off. And he had something to keep him occupied, so he wasn’t locked away for days and days in the dark cabin like some of the others. As indignant as he had a right to be about the situation, he simply wasn’t.

He was just sore.

The dark grey luperci let out another groan then sat upright on the cot he’d used as a bed since coming here. He’d offered it to the other prisoners once or twice, unsure if they’d had good bedding, though the thing could use several blankets. He’d slept buried in the snow before, so he didn’t really give a damn if he was elevated off the ground or not.

The chatty hybrid twitched his nose as he let his brown eyes adjust. He rarely got up before the sun, but he had no problem with it. His jaws stretched in a yawn, once again carelessly making noise, before he became aware that someone else in the room was awake—besides the persistently stationed Guardians, two very somber and very bored statues overseeing the prisoners.

The young woman—another pack. His sleepy mind worked slowly as he turned his head to see her curled up in the corner. Her name—he’d forgotten it. But she was not in the best physical state, and it was obvious that the Guardians had gone easy on him during his own capture, leaving him with some scratches. Then again, maybe she’d fought; he’d wandered along like a dog on a leash, big-eyed and simpering, hoping to show he wasn’t worth knocking down.

“Precious girl,” Ephraim murmured in her direction, swinging around on the cot so he could face her, his smile disarming. She was, in reality, an adult and not much younger than he was in his middle age. However, her injuries made her look vulnerable—like a puppy, a precious puppy. “Good morning, darling one.” He slowly stood and stepped a little closer to her, crouching and stretching out a hand carefully, not quite touching her. “Oh, if only I were allowed to make some tea. It wouldn’t help those wounds, oh no, but a little tea always made me feel better and cleared the nose.”

Ephraim was used to sneers. Whether it was because he acted like an oaf or he happened to be missing a certain organ, strangers sneered and spat upon him all the time. And while the mind working behind his broad smile was sharp, he gave no indication of noticing the disdain then or now. He only gave a quizzical tilt of his head and smiled again when she said tea would be nice in a less than enthusiastic tone.

Teeth flashed as she stated that he smelled like “them,” and instinct more than sense made his hand jerk away. A hurt expression lazily crossed his face as he wiped his paws on his white belly fur, as if rubbing himself would erase his scent. He scooted backwards from her a few inches and sat down Indian-style, hands folded in his lap.

“I’m so sorry, my darling,” the eunuch said, voice soft but thick with emotion—most feigned, although he did feel rather sad as he looked at her cropped ears and milky eye. “I smell like them because I go outside, sometimes, for work. But maybe I can help you when I go outside—oh, I met a nice girl who asked if we needed anything.” His level of idiocy dropped, replaced with a more or less genuine compassion.

The girl mentioned dynamite. Ephraim gave an alarmed snort then met her sky-blue eyes with a hint of a smirk. This one wasn’t going to waste time asking for small comforts such as more food or bedding, was she?

“You can be strong, precious,” the quarter-dog murmured, cutting the crap and letting a genuine smile settle gently on his lips. “Canines adapt. I’m not asking you to love all this shit you’re going through, but I’m telling you that you can be strong and bide your time.” There was an almost dangerous look in his brown eyes, a glimpse of the true man behind the façade. “What’s the hardest time you’ve ever been through, sweet girl?”

The eunuch would not ask her to share without sharing his own story, of course (assuming she would speak at all to a total stranger), and he rolled his shoulders and glanced back at the guards before the rest of his smile drained from his face. “Less food than this, far northwest. I had to fight other starved luperci to protect a stupid frozen carcass one winter.” He looked briefly at his hands, remembering encircling a grey throat when his final competition came. “We all have an animal inside us. It lets us live. It gets us through situations we couldn’t even dream of. Maybe it changes us in ways we couldn’t dream of, either, but at least I know I won’t die. And if I die, it’ll be after a lot of fighting.”

He grinned suddenly. “There’s a time for fighting, though… Just like there’s a time for dynamite.”

The female seemed to have warmed up to him, and the offering of her name caused his smile to fade briefly in confusion, letting a glimpse of his real emotions through before he grinned again—slightly wickedly, this time. “Ephraim,” he replied simply before pricking his dark ears at her remark. Well, well, well… Precious has some fight in her as well. He had underestimated her a bit, what with her torn ears and weakness huddling up against the wall.

She’s playing my game, the eunuch realized, and for a second his grin became even broader. His comment on her promise was simple: “Boom.”

Then the hybrid began to giggle softly, though he hoped the Guardians were used to this noise—although they might have switched while the pair of prisoners were chatting. He ceased his rather silly chortles when Sky asked him a question, giving him time to start thinking before rambling on. She pointed out that it was strange for AniWaya to just lay back and let Maska walk all over them, and he nodded for a second, remembering that he had asked the scout, Ayasha. She’d mumbled something about “not having much choice in the matter,” and that left a host of theories but no clear reason why they hadn’t revolted yet.

“I actually haven’t been part of the Tribe long,” Ephraim explained, scratching his jaw absentmindedly. “I had heard about them and wanted to join up, so they let me—as free labor rather than a real member, because what else is a mixed-breed good for?” His voice wasn’t as bitter as someone who might be extremely proud of their heritage or sensitive about racism; he didn’t agree or appreciate it, but the hybrid remained a neutral viewpoint on most things, lest he started exploding at every wrong thing in the world.

“I’m not sure why the other AniWayans haven’t fought back yet—but perhaps they have and were beaten down. I’m not sure about how smart the Guardians are”—his voice lowered, his expression cheeky—“but I know they can fight. Perhaps the other Tribe members are cowards, or perhaps their pups were threatened. I don’t make a whole lot of sense, but… Maybe there just enough canines like you in the pack.” His eyes rolled teasingly. “Maybe we’ll never know. But I know there’s unrest growing and that many of the Tribe want to do something, just… They’re unsure of what they can do.”

Sky seemed angrier about the mistreatment of hybrids than he did—and he could see that she had a bit of dog in her. He nodded in agreement with her statement but smiled softly to appease her. “If one believes there are weak breeds—all those weak breeds have died out long ago. We can interbreed for a reason, precious. Mixing genes is better than claiming purity in genes.” He tapped his hand against his leg for a moment, beating out a quiet rhythm as he looked over his shoulder. The other prisoners were silent as usual, always failing to respond when Ephraim was going on one of his rambles.

Then she sneered, describing the situation as she saw it, and the black and white male pricked his ears toward her. She alluded to taking out the queen—or “Big Daddy Maska,” as she called him—to destroy the colony. And it did seem simple enough when she said it that way. Why hadn’t the AniWayans done anything? There were things to lose—one’s own life, one’s family—but was death better than existing under tyranny?

“You’re making the Tribe sound like a buncha pussies,” the eunuch said, and he giggled crazily again. Well, he was doing nothing more than simply sitting around and working under orders, but at least he didn’t whine like some of the others. And while Sky complained, she also had plans. “You sound like you could take care of it yourself, if we weren’t all cooped up.”

What a pity. They could be free and out of here, at least if they managed to escape any honestly courageous Guardians…

Then what will you do, Ephraim?

He frowned, adopting her drawn-up-knees posture, and rolled his neck again, not sure what else to say.

Hell, Ephraim was glad that the Guardians didn’t think to listen to the ramblings of a giggly eunuch and a beaten-down female prisoner. Sky was blatantly saying that she would kill Maska, given the chance, but he wasn’t sure that she would have that chance. As she said, they needed some sort of distraction, or they’d be cooped up in the cabin without contact with him forever. Shaking his head, he smiled lightly. “Your chance will show up, precious. You just need to look for it. And don’t go getting yourself ripped into shreds, either.” He lifted a hand to push some of his black dreads from his face, blowing some air out from his mouth quietly. “I mean, we have those other packs itchin’ to beat up the Tribe themselves.” Maybe they could slip out in the commotion, if something like that happened.

The brown female had noticed his downcast posture and came forward, resting her paws on his and asking if he was all right. The eunuch smiled and turned one paw over, holding her hand and rubbing his thumb over the back of it. He had been starved of comforting canine contact for seasons, perhaps even years.

“Do you have a pack, girl? Or at least a home to go back to?” Ephraim cocked his head, studying her face and her cloudy blue eye. “I have nothing. I don’t mind much, to tell the truth, but I’m not sure if I should be stayin’ or goin’ after all this mess is over.” He broke out into a broad grin. “Well, if I don’t die first.”

Here this younger woman was comforting him—and while he wasn’t as cheery as usual, it still amused him to think he needed comfort. He had the urge to tell her that he’d killed before, as well as done other revolting things during the frigid winter to survive. But that wouldn’t have proven anything, and he could feel a friendship forming for the first time in nearly half a decade. He didn’t want to drive her away with ghosts he could hardly remember.

Ephraim chuckled a bit as she smiled, noting how quickly her demeanor had shifted, and gripped her hands a bit tighter as she straightened into a kneeling position. She told him that he could come back with her to her pack, and his brown eyes wandered off to the dark corner she’d been sitting in before he’d spoken to her.

“Perhaps. I will definitely visit you.” He winked playfully, but he still had to wonder what Cercatori d’Arte was like. AniWaya had a very distinct culture, and he didn’t know if it would be easy to settle into it if he did stay here. Would the Tribe treat him as one of them, were Maska to be driven away? Or would he be a stranger, a prisoner who had decided on a whim to join before being captured and used for labor.

He could feel warm breath on his hand, bringing him back to the present and looking to her again. Sky reassured him that they would be free soon, asking her to trust him, and he smirked slightly. He reached up to run his hand through her shortened hair, an affectionate and friendly gesture magnified by his smile.
“I believe you, darling girl. You and I will kick ass.”