Miles and weeks from New Brunswick, an early September sun shone high and warm over the rocky meadowlands. Summer crouched defensively over the peninsula, jealously refusing to relinquish its grip -- but the goats and rabbits that browsed and lolloped over the whale-shaped drumlins did not seem to mind. Nor did the small mongrel hobbling quickly over the grass.
Restless by nature, Jehan broke away from his companion as soon as he could, leaving Jairus as the old trader butchered a goat. He still felt like a puppy stealing away from his guardian to cause mischief -- only Jairus had ceased warning him to return before dark. While Jehan's adulthood hadn't really changed their dynamic, he knew he was free to do what he wanted. He just clung to the idea of a father to come home to. For Jairus' sake, of course; the trader needed him more than he needed the trader. Definitely.
Jehan galloped the hills on three legs, unhindered by the phantom paw that struck the ground along with the rest. He turned on a dime and sped after a rabbit, then abandoned chase when it vanished into its warren. High-energy, he shoveled at the mouth of the burrow with one paw then sniffed and limped along another trail. A larger den yawned in the earth, and when Jehan ducked down into it, he was greeted by the scent of earth and rock and the distant burble of an underground river.
Eyes dilated and eager, the small dog submerged into the cave and set to exploration.
Achilles had mentioned a castle to the south, long since abandoned and claimed by no pack according to his memory. The Kokinos did not know its name given his comparatively short time as a resident of these lands, but regretted its mentioning since the moment the castle slipped his lips and Mistral's eyes began to glitter.
And perhaps it was her constant babbling since leaving Cour des Miracles that had been reason for why they had gotten lost. Princess this, castle that; Achilles scarcely knew what any of the words meant, let alone the implications therein. But Mistral called herself royalty, and each time she did so the Kokinos earned himself a few new bruises when he laughed.
He did not mind escorting her. What else had he to do? After all, Atalanta could have been hiding anywhere — even in a castle.
By the time the two had managed their way back on course they had rounded back near courtier borders and nearly started anew, an afternoon lost in the trouble. Their next day was a late start (Mimi liked her beauty sleep) and delayed further when Achilles stopped to inquire goods with a trader idle along the path. When he began pulling from the stuffed saddlebags of Sibylla to offer random items for some sort of advertised miracle product, Mistral groaned and wandered, impatient. Were they ever going to reach the castle?
She found the mouth of a cave and snorted, casting one glance over her shoulder to confirm Achilles still busy with nonsense and wasting her time. Convinced it would be his own fault if she were hurt—and thus in her debt, perhaps—Mistral huffed and stalked into the dark.
Further within the dim light she caught glimpse of a light-colored blur and called in echoes, "Hello?"
And with her next step forward squeaked high-pitched, toes caught with not enough light to guide her. She tripped, arms waved a moment, and so landed Mistral de l'Or unceremoniously on her stomach with a windless oof.
Water burbled somewhere within the caves, but this tunnel and its connecting rooms seemed dry enough. It would be a good place to set up a camp of sorts -- better than digging at dusk to enlarge old dens and drawing the same demon-repelling circle every time they moved. Some low ceilings would cause issues, but not for the small Lupus. Boldly, he padded onward, small paws knocking pebbles and dirt and creating small echoes in the interconnected rooms.
Then a larger echo bounced from the walls into pricked ears -- a "hello," yelp, and thud of a body all in sequence.
Jehan spun around quickly and hobbled back toward the entrance, recognizing a feminine voice. Good-natured concern wrought his brow, but one might not have known its sincerity for the large grin that formed on his lips when he found a fluffy little grey spitz sprawled upon the cavern floor.
Need some help, Powderpuff? the mongrel asked, and crouched near her to provide deceptively broad, if small, shoulders for bracing.
Winded and annoyed, Mistral sat up and held her bruised belly. Perhaps bumps and bruises were not worth an indebted Achilles after all.
She was relieved to learn the crash was not entirely in vain, for someone had been in the tunnel's increasing shade and had clearly distracted her from focus on her footing. It made perfect sense to her regardless of the truthful occurrance, and so by that logic the dog that approached her earned himself a dreadfully sour look. The chivalry was appreciated, but the nickname and—was he missing a foreleg?
"N-No!" Mistral barked, not with anger but the start of terror. She waved him urgently away and compensated the fearful squeak with sudden fickleness. "Don't touch me, cripple. You'd just—you'd probably just fall over if you tried to help me, anyway."
The girlish de l'Or rose and dusted herself off, wincing once when fingers brushed sore stomach in the process. "What are you even doing in here? It's too fucking dark to see anything."
Terror or disgust twisted her face as she abruptly shooed him, her eyes upon him as if some flesh-eating sickness visibly clung to him even now. His lips twitched in the makings of a retort -- Oh no, it's super frickin' contagious -- but with cruel words and a last remark she silenced that. Slowly, his blunt muzzle jumped downward as turquoise eyes took stock of his stunted, crippled frame.
He all but fully ignored her as she grumbled more and fluffed dust from her fur, horror dawning on his face. All at once he fell into a heap, pathetically wriggling on the floor of the cave (throwing up more dirt in the process) and lamented his own situation. I thought I was exploring, but I forgot that I was a cripple! he whined, and wriggled his stump for effect. He attempted to stand up but lost his balance with an exaggerated teeter and crashed back next to her. You'll have to get both us out of here, I can't walk!
Then he barked a laugh and rolled over onto his back. Shit, I don't know. What about you? It's such a dark place, you might catch phantom limb. Unless I got confused and you are helping lil' ol' me? He flashed her a shit-eating, upside-down grin.
As she dusted herself off the cripple dropped to the floor and wriggled and writhed in pathetic, overplayed shame that Mistral did not mistake even for an instant. Nostrils flaring she folded her arms and tapped multicolor fingertips against bicep, waiting out the display with obvious impatience. "Oh my God—stop, just stop. You look like a fucking idiot."
Irritating as he was and useless as he must be with an arm missing, her impression of the man was not yet ruined in its entirety and it troubled Mistral as such. Though the spitz mix would not admit it, she admired the color of his eyes; a brilliant turquoise against the warm and golden tones of his fur, reminiscent of her own eye color and the charming hummingbird strung about her neck and forged lovingly by the guardian she missed dearly.
"I'm not helping anybody," insisted the girl, huffing, and started to march away assuming he would either follow or more preferably be left to his own devices. "I'm supposed to be seeing a castle but Achilles had to go and strike up a conversation. What else am I supposed to do?"
And she mumbled beneath her breath, pouting, "This isn't how you treat a princess."
Regardless of how she thought herself to be feeling, Mistral cast an unconscious glance over her shoulder at him as if to determine if he would follow. She hesitated, then continued into the dark. "Have you found anything in here?"
She yapped at him in frustration or secondhand embarrassment, and Jehan laughed again. He thumped his narrow, fluffy tail against the earth, glancing curiously at the tighter curl of hers, and rolled back onto his belly when she began to walk off. He rose and shook the dust from his brown coat, following her without minding who led. He liked adventures, he liked company regardless of its attitude, and he didn't see how this could go wrong.
Go boozing, chase lemmings, learn how to juggle, Jehan suggested as alternatives to spelunking. He pricked his rounded ears at her muttering. You callin' me a princess?
He paused in his hobbling when her turquoise eyes flashed back at him, and then jogged to catch up. I just got here, he replied. You can hear water if you stop talking, though. There might be an underground river. He pressed his lips tight together and surveyed the smooth walls and roof of the cavern. Might live here a while. It's a bit small, but so am I. He wondered if she'd laugh at the thought of a cripple in a cave; she smelled distinctly of pack, which was probably the reason for the prissy attitude.
"Boozing?" she said, the scoff hardly restrained; it bounced off the walls and ceilings down a long, dark stretch and and end she couldn't see. "Juggling?—You have one arm! Ugh, tell me you're joking. Nobody can be this useless."
Even Micah had some means of constructive sport. His art wasn't exactly... well, useful, but it wasn't self-destructive like this so-called "boozing." Besides, Micah was obsessed with being useful and part of the functioning machine—it was just that he wasn't actually good at anything.
This man, though—he was missing an arm. She supposed the fact that he hadn't been put out of his misery yet by some sympathetic, good soul was a triumph in and of itself. Though, perhaps she herself might have taken to this "boozing" in such a handicapped predicament.
"I'm a princess, and you're a dirty fool that sleeps in dark, gross caves," she said, primping the mane of white fur back into something presentable following the fall. "I don't suppose your boozing is what made you a cripple, is it? I certainly wouldn't be surprised."
Perhaps she should be nicer, Mistral thought. She didn't much like to wander the darkness alone. Would Achilles hear her if she slipped again and broke her neck?
The ladylike little hound scoffed at him, and Jehan grinned back over his shoulders, raising a white brow. Be mighty impressive, huh? he said of his supposed juggling skill. I've got skills a-plenty, Princess Powerpuff. I didn't stay alive a cripple this long without some. That much was true. Jairus had a good heart, but he doubted that the charity would have lasted long after he grew up and learned how to con a man. He considered himself more the old merchant's caretaker now, anyway.
She insulted him again, and he smiled at her to show that he was utterly unaffected. Still he pricked his ears to catch the echoes of her voice off the caves, padding in deeper still. Dark it was, as they wandered further from daylight, but it didn't seem too gross. He'd slept in gross.
Her remark made the dog turn to look at her, this time with a harsh laugh. Not my boozing, don't worry, he retorted, and faced forward again, abruptly. Jairus had spared him many ill comments of his mother (who'd only done what she'd done because she was possessed, because Jehan couldn't believe it otherwise), but he had mentioned offhandedly that Jehan had cost him a few good bottles of 'shine.
That smile turned into her rage, the unaffected and indifferent smirk of his, it should have flared her rage further—should have done something. But Mistral stared back into it unashamed of her insults and unimpressed with his character, perhaps so much so that she could not waste the energy on one so bizarre a person. Instead, the de l'Or sniffed a disapproving noise and began patting at the ground for rocks without explanation.
Stones damp and slimy in her fingers, she wrinkled her nose and touched them with the least contact possible, collecting three. Then, eyes half-lidded and lips pulled into a line, Mistral offered them out to the cripple.
"So juggle," she said. "My old pack had some performers. I'd bet you can't juggle any better than I can play the flute." That was, of course, acknowledging that she was not the worst at the instrument.
A moment's hesitation passed, and with turquoise eyes connected with his she asked, "How did you lose your arm, then?"
Jehan paused again as she dipped down to paw at the "gross" cavern floor, his tail waving back and forth like an ambivalent metronome. He could have walked on without her, but that didn't seem really gentlemanly. Like she would expect it of a random hobo. He smiled, then smiled wider at her challenge.
Aw, come on, you're askin' for a miracle and I'm fresh out of those for today, the dog said, turning around. In his small Lupus form and too lazy to shift, he couldn't do much -- but for show, to be a jester, he reached and grabbed one of the stones in his mouth. He tossed it up, then lifted a paw to smack -- er, juggle -- it, rearing onto hind paws in the process. The rock clattered down as expected, leaving a small depression in the softer dirt on the cave floor. He stuck his tongue out at the girl and waggled it briefly before she point-blank asked him the question.
His smile faded into solemnity. He stared at her and swept his tongue once over his lips, tasting the last traces of dirt. Demon bit it off, he said with a distinct lack of mocking or humor. It was the truth. (Had to be the truth.) It wormed its way into my mother's soul, and -- I was little, and, it. His mouth moved wordlessly for a second or two, and he finished with less conviction. It's not -- easy, biting a leg off. Even if you're a... baby. It takes... chewing. But I would've died, and. Well. He blinked then smiled at her, some old humor and color returning to his voice. She liked me better after, I guess. Said I was like my grandpa.
See galleries for credit.
See 
See 