Novek walked out of Teneskil village calmly, though quickly, taking the northern road towards the packlands. The obvious choice for a Brin holding a Ber kit to be safe from Human retaliation or pursuit.

  He made it about two kilometers out of town before he immediately shifted west off of the road, then trekked through the forest — he did actively enjoy having advantages over humans at times. Skirting the edge of Teneskil's influence to the west, they traveled south until they intersected back with the road and continued southwest — not quite the direction he wanted to be going, he'd have to go this way to intersect with the road headed northwest. It was much slower, sure, but if someone decided to try to follow them it could make all the difference.

  The tiny kit had fallen back to sleep in his paw, and he took great care to ensure he didn't jostle or wake it as he stalked down the empty road. Novek could certainly make better time, but he was staying quiet and wary — no good would come of bumping into overwrought villagers, bandits, hungry animals or even other Ber at this time of night. After a couple of hours the nap he'd taken earlier was no longer sufficient, and he decided it was time to look for somewhere reasonably safe to get some shut-eye.

  A small forested area looked ideal — it had some larger trees with wide branches and a dense canopy, and he clawed his way up to a good mid-point where he could curl up, invisible to anyone outside the canopy itself. He arranged his small pack to provide a small nook for the kit, and was out cold in seconds.

  The next thing Novek knew, dawn was preparing to break around him — the sky taking on the cool morning color that preceded the rise of the sun above the horizon. He wanted to be on the road before the sun was properly up and Humans got about their business. The better time he made towards the packlands, or maybe the wilds, the better. He wasn't really sure what he was doing at this point — he'd been acting on impulse over the last day.

  He was hoping that today's dawn wasn't nearly as eventful as the last one. What had happened last night at dusk to the Ber was bizarre — he'd have to find someone who might have a better insight. Their behavior had been irrational, sudden, and they seemed immediately regretful or maybe embarrassed by it. Was this an aetheric thing? He'd worked with Ber'Duun mercs before, and they'd sometimes get twitchy at dawn or dusk further south past Gravlin. But only rarely, and never violent or crazed. Just nervous, or maybe anxious.

  The kit woke up as he moved to put his pack back on, and looked at him with those piercing green eyes. Then it rolled to one side and dropped almost straight off the branch, plummeting to the ground below.

  Novek leapt after it but was too late to make the catch, enhanced speed or not.

  Apparently he needn't have bothered. The kit was standing on the ground, completely unharmed, staring curiously around.

  Landing next to the kit, he watched as it started pawing at the ground. Oh. Right. He turned politely away and let it take care of business. He'd his own to attend to as well, now that it occurred to him.

  As he stepped away for his own moment of privacy, he wondered if the kit would make a run for it or not. He wasn't sure what he'd do. It wasn't his child, after all. Not even his species. Not even from the same universe, or so he'd been told. Though he was the newcomer here, in that regard, along with humans.

  When he turned back around, the kit was stretching, scratching at the tree. It turned to look at him — Novek got an impression of intent observation — and sat down on its hindlegs.

  “So, staying? Going? Do you understand me?” He tried signing the same in Tradish, but the kit did not respond — just stared.

  He looked at it, then to the road, and started moving towards the road, to see what it would do.

  The kit immediately started following, with a lazy saunter. He stopped to look at down, and the kit immediately leapt up his leg and clung there. No, wait, it was clinging to his pouch.

  Ah. Breakfast. Of course. He stopped his movement towards the road and unpacked some more dried meat. He was out of cherries, unfortunately, and low on water, but that was easily remedied — there was a riverbed some kilometers to the west that always had a burbling stream in a crevasse it had cut into the land, even during the dry months outside the flood season. They'd head that way, then.

  Packing the water bowl back up, the kit clawed back up his leg and nestled on top of his pack, and then laid back down. He couldn't see it, but he could feel the warm little body on his upper back.

  Good enough. He got back on the road and headed west, just as dawn broke.

  He really hoped this one didn't have any surprises in store.

  Dawn came and went without any strange or unusual events, to his great relief. Yesterday has been strange enough to stand out, even in his lifetime of strange events.

  The kit seemed content to sleep, perched atop his pack, as they followed the dirt road to the west as it meandered through scrub and small copses of trees.

  Novek's eyes caught sight of motion on the road to the west on the road. It seemed there was a coach out bright and early — strange, there wasn't a town close-by that way, and the hunter-run trading outposts were still tens of kilometers distant. They must have overnighted in the wilds, or else been travelling early.

  The coach continued its approach — the horses were certainly being held to an aggressive pace, though nothing that out of the ordinary for people in a hurry. There were two people on the driver's bench, and they'd noticed him and were trying to appear nonchalant and calm. Novek was almost certain the driver, a smallish woman, certainly compared to the light colored wolfish Brin in the other seat.

  They were paying too much attention to him for a casual trip. They were coming from the wrong direction to be looking for him, so Novek assumed they simply had something of value or had been attacked recently and were on guard. While he was intimidating looking, he was only one person — they couldn't think he was a bandit. Those cowards only ever attacked in groups.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  There was a strange smell coming from the coach. Similar to roast crab? They must have just decamped after breakfast. The kit moved on his back — clearly the jerky hadn't been quite enough for it. He'd make a point of hunting something more substantial when they stopped for water.

  He considered doing something to hide the kit, but decided that the small black furrball would be less noticeable where it was, looking like some fabric sticking out of his pack, than if he were holding it or tried to conceal it now.

  “Ho, the coach! Good morning and safe travels to you.”

  “Ho there. Same to you, traveler.” This from the driver. The Brin, definitely a wolf or dog variant — Novek could never tell, was still watching him intently, all the while pretending not to. Clearly not one used to subterfuge. Probably a local worker. They might be transporting some of his work, then, and he's nervous. There was no reason to engage with them further, and so Novek kept his head down and walked on.

  Fifteen meters or so past the coach he glanced back, to make sure they hadn't continued to pay undue attention after he was past — they'd likely do the same. No, they seemed to be — wait! Where was the kit?

  Novek craned his neck back and saw nothing on the pack. He removed it, cautiously — nothing. He turned around in a circle, scanning the ground. Had it decided to leave? It had just been here.

  He looked back on the road; maybe it had fallen off or needed a moment in the sand again. No, not on the road.

  And then he saw the bright green eyes, atop the boot of the coach.

  Turning, he ran back along the road towards the coach, eating the distance in seconds.

  The coach didn't stop, but the driver, clearly wary, turned and stood on the bench, crossbow in hand.

  “I suggest you reconsider whatever it is you have in mind, friend.” The driver made herself heard over the coach easily, with the natural voice of someone used to commanding stubborn equines.

  The wolfen Brin had also stood, and grasped the side of the coach, ready to move. No weapon in paw though. That'll be a Talent, then — his mind habitually supplied an analysis.

  “Don't shoot. I'm friendly! Just a small issue.” He kept his crossbow on his back, and his knives away. These people had done nothing to him, and he could see how bad this looked. He continued without providing a chance to interrupt, “My kit has just decided to tag along with you, and I simply need to retrieve it. My weapons are away, it's just sitting there on the trunk, as you can see.”

  They both looked down when he pointed — rookie mistake — and could clearly see the kit, though just sitting there was perhaps under-selling it a bit. It was frantically trying to find its way into the storage trunk on the back of the coach. A green mist had started to waft from where it was clawing at the lid — those claws had no chance, as soft and small as they were.

  The other Brin looked at Novek, an eyebrow up and muzzle hinting at a snarl. Novek saw a glint of yellow sheen on the teeth — okay, that's one to watch then. The Brin's tone was rife with disbelief. “It? That's not your kit then, sir. Whose is it then?”

  “Mine enough. It's my ward, and too young to be sexed, which you might know if you were more familiar with felinids.” That was a gamble, but the kit was small enough for it to give the other Brin pause.

  At that moment the top of the trunk gave way to the kit's efforts. The claws might be soft, but apparently it already could produce their characteristic acid. He'd need to be careful retrieving it. The kit dipped down into the trunk and came up with a mouthful of… roasted crab? What?

  The coach driver noticed, however, “Hey! Get out of there! You'll ruin it!” — she put the crossbow down, and moved to climb around the side of the coach. They'd clearly decided he wasn't a threat, with such a young ward.

  “Hey! Paws off. That's not for you.” Novek had no idea if the little troublemaker could understand him. He'd need to start its training — or more likely education — sooner or later.

  The wolfen Brin didn't move, but their snarl dissipated and turned to a knowing look in a moment. Okay, that guy had kids — Novek knew without needing to ask.

  “Do you mind, if I?” Novek started, but the driver interrupted.

  “Yes, yes! Get it off of there. How did it even get in there?” They finished coming around to the back, but by then the kit had dropped through the brand-new kit-sized hole in the lid of the trunk. Loud smacking and chewing noises ensued with the enthusiasm only a hungry child could manage.

  Novek leapt upwards to stand by the side of the trunk opposite the driver.

  “Don't touch it! The acid will burn through anything.” He set his pack down and pulled his leather gloves out — while more to avoid injury while spanning his crossbow in combat, they should hopefully be up to the task of gripping a small whirlwind of teeth, now that the acid had reduced with the lid bypassed.

  He tried to pick up the kit with his gloves, but it was latched firmly onto the meat, and the hole in the trunk was awkward to reach through with the size of his paws. Eventually he managed to get a grip and pull it out, along with a piece of meat almost the size of the kit, which was rapidly vanishing. Where did it even go?

  The kit hung there in his hand, completely unrepentant, and continued nomming away, oblivious to anything not being stuffed in its tiny mouth.

  “You owe us for at least five kilos of scrav. Some of that is unsellable now. And my trunk.” The driver was unamused.

  “Scrav? Are you serious? I don't have that kind of money on me.”

  The coach driver looked at Novek's knives and crossbow. Then to the Brin. The Brin looked back, after a moment, nodded.

  “You know what? We could use a guard. You for hire for the day? I can tell you're elite — so I won't undervalue your time. We have hundreds of kilos of this to sell — and we could give you and your insatiable maw over there ten kilos — what it's damaged and then some extra?”

  Novek looked at them and did some calculations. That offer wasn't that bad, all things considered. But he'd places to be and while he felt bad for the driver, they couldn't force him to pay, and taking a trip back eat towards a Human city wasn't in the cards with the kit.

  The coach driver could see him deliberating, and seemed to know that he'd decided in the negative. They went on. “I know we seem to be going opposite of the way you're headed, but we're coming right back this way just as soon as we sell this meat at the next town. We'll cut you in a portion of it, if you come to town and watch over it while we make the sale. We'll be back here by mid-afternoon, and I can take you further on to where you're going, after, as long as I'm headed that way.”

  He was still inclined to say no, and started to decline when the Brin chimed in. “You can stay in the coach. Nobody will see you. Or the kit, there.”

  That one was smart — Novek would have to watch out for him. But that; that did change the equation entirely. Who would be looking inside a coach headed to market, and then he'd have a trip back this way unobserved in a covered coach as well? Okay, he'd be foolish to pass that up.

  “Make it twenty, and a ride to the riverbed west of here. I don't come cheap.”

  The driver and the Brin looked at each other for a moment. Then back to him.

  Hmm. Now what did that mean?

  The driver answered, “Deal. Hop on in. The coach is a bit jammed with meat, but you should still fit. I doubt the kit'll mind. I'm Ellie. This is Tanner.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I'm Novek. The kit's too young to have taken a name.”

  Novek hopped up into the coach. It was, as described, absolutely packed with meat, wrapped in horse blankets and whatever else could be found, clearly. They must have absolutely lucked into finding the results of a scrav territorial battle and managed to scavenge it while the winner was too stuffed to care. The lucky bastards.

  The coach driver spent a minute or two covering the trunk that was now unsuitable for keeping the weather out, and they were off, heading east.