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winters-tales · 11 months

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NaNoWriMo2023 Excerpt

Title: Oathsworn: The Nameless Chapter: Girl's Best Friend Genre: Urban fantasy horror Content warning: child in danger Wordcount: 5,059

“Come on, it’s ok!”

Dark, soulful eyes stared back at her from where the dog had wedged itself under a fallen house, just out of reach of the outstretched arm. Flowers had come around a corner and startled it while it was scavenging, causing it to yelp in fear and wriggle its way under the concrete away from her. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, I’m only small. I bet you’re lonely, huh?”

“Flowers?” The voice made her jump slightly, and she wriggled backwards out from under the concrete, throwing the dog one last look. Bat was crouched down next to her, one eyebrow raised in question. “What are you doing down there?” She rolled over until she was sitting, brushing the dust off her coat.

“There’s a dog,” she said by way of explanation, and both of Bat’s eyebrows shot up. “And it looks hungry, and scared, and I want to make friends with it. Maybe bring it back the way you and Brick brought me back.” Bat lay down on their front to stare into the gap Flowers had wriggled out of, and nodded before pushing themselves back up.

“Well, that is indeed a dog, little one,” he said gently, “but it’s not a good idea to chase strange dogs.”

“I wasn’t chasing it! It saw me coming and ran away, so I followed it,” she scrunched her face up in thought. “That- that’s chasing, isn’t it?”

“As far as the dog is concerned, yes,” Bat gave her a wry smile. “It’s dangerous to try to get close to strange dogs, especially ones like that, that look quite big.”

“Why?”

“Well, when dogs are scared, sometimes they run away, but sometimes they bite,” Bat explained, and held up a finger when Flowers once again opened her mouth to over-explain again. “And sometimes, the dogs who would rather run away will also bite, if they feel like they don’t have anywhere else to run to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do,” Bat said, taking her by the hand and gently starting to pull her away. “Remember the day me and Brick found you and brought you home? You’d wedged yourself somewhere small and tight like that dog, but I bet if either of us had tried to come get you, you’d have fought back - kicking, biting, screaming, right?”

Flowers thought back to that fateful day, to the fear that had held her body in check, to the way she’d frantically been looking for something anything she could use as a weapon in case they were monsters, knowing that the rocks and rubble wouldn’t do anything.

“Oh. I guess I do,” she sucked on the inside of her check for a couple of seconds, then brightened as a thought occurred to her. “Oh! Wait, wait, wait,” she pulled free of Bat’s hand and ran back towards the crevice where the dog was, trying to kneel down in a way that wouldn’t frighten the dog any more than it already was.

Those black, wet eyes stared back at her, and she heard a faint whine from the shadows. It was definitely scared.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said softly, remembering the gentle way Brick had spoken to her at the beginning. “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to make friends. But I understand if you don’t want to be friends just yet. Here,” she dug around in one of the pockets of the oversized coat she was wearing, the only pocket that wasn’t pull of holes that dropped her treasures into the lining, and pulled out a couple of pieces of semi-stale bread. “You can have this, I’m not hungry right now anyway.” She paused; would the dog understand? She shrugged, and reached back into the gap, pushing the bread as far into the tiny crawlspace as she could towards those eyes. The whine turned into a slight growl and she stopped, carefully letting go of the bread and slowly pulling her hand out. “Freely given!” She added, just before she wriggled the whole way out again.

Bat was staring at her with a bemused expression on his face.

“You really want to make friends with that dog, huh?” He said, and Flowers nodded vigorously. Bat sighed dramatically, and Flowers knew he was only teasing. “Well, one extra friend is never a bad thing, especially if they’re as big as that dog looks.” Flowers grinned.

“I knew it!” She crowed, and Bat laughed, once again pulling her away from the dog’s hidey-hole.

“Ok, Flowers, but we should establish some ground rules. First, please don’t come trying to find that dog on your own again, at least not until we know it’s not sick. If it bites you, and you’re on your own, we might not be able to find you to help you.” Flowers nodded solemnly, suddenly very aware of how vulnerable she’d been under all that concrete, not able to get out very quickly if the dog had been nasty.

“Can we try and bring it some more food tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, sweetness, but that leads up to rule number 2: if it’s not where we left it, we don’t go looking for it. We can leave a little bit of food and hope it comes back to it, but we need to focus on feeding everyone back home first, ok?”

“Ok, that makes sense,” she stopped guiltily. “That bread I gave the dog was all I found today. I’m sorry.” Bat laughed and crouched down, giving her a quick hug.

“It’s ok, Flowers,” he took both her hands in his, and met her eyes earnestly. “Truth be told, if I saw a dog, I’d probably try to give it some food as well. I’m just a bit too big to squeeze into the gap the same way you did.”

“You would?” Bat nodded.

“Being kind is important, especially to things that might not understand. That’s when it’s most important.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Bat started, then stopped, thinking. “Hm. I can’t put it into words right now, but it’s getting dark. Can we go home, and I’ll see if Brick or one of the others can help explain?”

Flowers nodded happily, and Bat straightened back up with a smile, leading her carefully back to the hidden place they and the other children called home.

—

“That’s a good question, actually,” Brick had said when they’d returned and Bat had explained everything, with a few interjections from Flowers. “I’m not sure I have an answer, either. I just know that if you have an opportunity to be kind, you should.”

“Can I ask the others?” Flowers said. She couldn’t explain why, but it felt important that she got an answer of sorts. Brick nodded. “Of course! Though I’m not sure many of them will be able to answer either. Maybe stick to the kids bigger than you for now, ok? The young ones are still learning to be brave. Let’s not complicate things for them.”

Flowers nodded, and turned to Bat, hand outstretched. He blinked in surprise.

“Do you want me to come with you while you do the rounds, kiddo?” He asked. We’re not outside any more, you don’t need me to come with you.”

“I know,” she replied, “but I thought it would help, because you don’t know the answer either, and if we do find the answer, I want you to know as well.” Brick laughed softly behind them.

“You are such a sweet thing,” she said, eyes soft. “Go on, go find your answers. I can’t come with you, I have stuff to mend, but I expect you to bring me the answer when you get it, ok?”

The other kids reactions varied from confused to apathetic to suspicious.

“What? It just is,” said Rough, shaking their head. “Like how you stick to the ground without floating even though there’s all that sky up there - it just is.”

“I disagree,” Willow said softly, barely looking at either Bat or Flowers. “I think kindness is a waste if you don’t get anything out of it. I think you wasted that food and that blanket and Bat’s time on that dumb animal. I think it’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Flowers muttered at Bat ushered her away from the quiet girl. “S’nothing wrong with being nice.”

“Because it makes you feel good,” Skip answered, shrugging. “At least, being nice to toher things makes me feel good. Maybe that’s it?” Flowers considered, wrinkling her nose in nose, then shook her head.

“It does make me feel nice,” she admitted, “but I don’t think that’s the answer. Not the answer for me, anyway. But I’m glad you’re nice!” She added as she noticed Skip looking a little crestfallen at her dismissal of her answer.

Hawk was the last one who was willing to hear them out. She watched Flowers carefully, sitting almost as still as Willow had, but she seemed more awake, somehow. It seemed that she was always watching everything with the same intensity, regardless of if it was first thing in the morning over breakfast, or over a fire in the evening.

“Because,” she said slowly, almost as if she was feeling the words in her mouth before she spoke them. “Because it’s what makes us different to them.” Looking at the girl, she slowly uncurled from her position and rolled up a sleeve, holding her arm out for Flowers to see.

The scars that ran the length of her arm were horrifying, knotted and lumpy. Some were white, some were purple, and in the flickering firelight the shadows as they criss-crossed over one another made it look like they were moving, pulsing and twitching. Flowers reached out to touch, but snatched her hand back when she saw Hawk flinch back slightly.

“Sorry,” she muttered, “I don’t know why I did that.” Hawk smiled slightly as she rolled her sleeves back down.

“It’s how you learn,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Touch. Taste. Can I pick this up? Can I eat it? No? Ok, I know better for next time.” Her honey eyes reflected the firelight, and for a brief second her intense gaze was also alight with flames. “But that, that’s why we’re kind. If I hadn’t been kind I wouldn’t have gotten hurt, but the thing is: if I could go back, knowing I’d get hurt for being kind, I’d still be kind. I’d still do it. Because being kind means I’m still me. It means I haven’t changed into one of them.”

“One of what?” Flowers asked softly, almost afraid to know the answer. Hawk gazed into the fire, and when she answered, she sounded far away.

“There are monsters out there, little one,” she replied distantly, “and a lot of the time they’re easy to see, because they look like dragons, or strange bird-ladies, or spiders with- with cat heads instead of spider heads. Maybe they’re just so huge they can’t be a person. But you can tell. You can look at them and know they’re not… not us.” She looked back at Flowers, and there was something in her eyes that made the girl reach behind her for Bat’s hand, who gave her a reassuring squeeze. “But sometimes the monsters look like people. They look like us. But they’re not kind, not even a little bit, and that’s how you know they’re not us.” She reached past the fire bin and did up the last button on Flowers’ jacket, carefully pulling the collar up to where it hugged the bottom of her ears. “Be kind, Flowers. Always be kind. Even if you don’t think anyone will be kind back. Even if you’re being kind to- to one of them. Be kind.”

—

The dog wasn’t in the hole they’d left when the two of them returned the next day, but Flowers wriggled her way in determinedly anyway, noticing with delight that the bread she’d left was gone. She dug into her pocket again and pulled out a couple of big pieces of slightly burnt jerky, placing them carefully as far into the gap as she could.

“Next, please!” She called, sticking her arm back as far as it would go. The feeling of something soft being pressed into her small palm was the cue to start pulling, and eventually next to the jerky was a threadbare blanket. She would have asked for something nicer, but like Bat said, the dog might never come back, so this was all they could spare. She tried to arrange it as nicely as she could, but with limited room it still looked like a sad little pile of rags. At least it was clean, and there was a bit more food. She gave the pile one last look before wriggling her way back out again.

—

On the third day, the dog was back, tucked under the concrete, but maybe not as far back as it had been the first time. Flowers gasped with delight when she saw the eyes staring back out at her, and immediately started scrambling to get into the gap. Bat, laughing, held her back.

“Hey, slow down!” He cautioned, “I like the enthusiasm, but it’s been 3 days; it’s still going to be scared. Sudden noises and movement is going to make it more scared.”

With a huge effort, Flowers stopped trying to dash into the crevasse between fallen debris and ground. She lay on her belly as slowly and gently as she could, and faced the shadows.

“Hey, dog,” she said, trying to mimic the gentleness Brick had shown her when they’d found her. “I hope you’re the same dog. I hope you have the blanket and you liked the jerky. I’m sorry it was a bit burnt; Brick and Bat said you wouldn’t really mind, and because it was burnt it was too tough for us to eat, but they said you’d probably have really strong teeth and jaws and wouldn’t mind the taste.” Bat gently set a shallow dish down in front of Flowers, and poured a bit of water in it.

“Think you can get it in there without spilling the water?” He said, sounding unsure for the first time since they’d found the dog. “It’ll probably need a drink, but that gap is narrow, and I know you have to wiggle a lot to get in there.”

“I can do it,” Flowers said, making sure she kept her voice soft. “I’ve got to be kind.”

She carefully pushed the dish into the gap in front of her, stopping when she heard the faint whine again.

“I’m sorry, dog,” she said, “I know that made a loud noise. But it’s water, you’ll like it. I’m going to come a bit further in, and try to help you get a drink, ok?” And she pushed the dish in again with a scrape. The whine came again, but the dog didn’t retreat, and there was no growl this time. “You’re doing so good,” she cooed, hoping it could at least understand that she was being kind even if it couldn’t understand her words. She pushed again, wriggling her way under the concrete after the bowl. So far, not a drop had been spilled. “Just a little further, ok?” She pushed again, aware she was now almost all the way into the gap.

This close, she could sort-of see the dog; its eyes were wide, and its ears were pinned back, but it wasn’t showing its teeth. It had its jaw resting on it’s front paws as it watched her get closer, and it seemed to be wiggling slightly itself. She took a breath, and gave one last push of the bowl, getting it as close to the face as she could, before pulling her hands back slowly. Once again, she dug around in her pocket, and this time she pulled out a bone, wrapped up in paper to stop it sticking to the inside of her pocket and making it smell. It still had some raw meat on it, and she could see the dog’s nose twitch and inhale as she unwrapped it as carefully as she could.

Slowly she pushed the bone out as well, until it was next to the bowl. The dog had finally moved, stretching it’s head as far forward as it could, reaching towards the bone but not quite daring to get any closer.

“Come on, “ Flowers whispered. “It’s ok. I won’t hurt you. Even if we’re not friends, I just want to help.”

The original plan had been for her to leave the bone with the water and then backtrack, leaving the dog alone again, but it was so close, and it didn’t look fierce at all with the way it was stretching its nose out, tongue flicking out little by little as its fear of her was slowly outweighed by its desire to get the bone.

She felt something soft touch her hand, and she gasped, dropping the bone. The dog flinched back slightly at her gasp, but wriggled forward again, grabbing the bone and licking it enthusiastically. It didn’t back away with the bone, just sat there enjoying what must have been a rare treat for it, and Flowers smiled in delight at how she close was to it. Slowly she started to wriggle her way backwards, until she was outside again in the fresh air, covered in concrete dust.

Bat raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well?” He asked, and somehow in that one question he made it clear he knew she’d not followed the plan and just dropped the bone. She blushed, and sat down, leaning against the walk that had the gap in it.

“I waited a little bit with the bone, and,” she was gasping slightly, a combination of the tight space and dizzying excitement, “I think it licked me!”

Bat’s face was a warring mix of emotions that Flowers couldn’t identify as he sighed and knelt down next to her.

“Ok, remember the first day?” He asked seriously, and Flowers nodded, scrunching her face to try to remember exactly. “I said that sometimes dogs bite, yes? Can you remember what else I said?”

“Something… something about it might be sick?”

“That’s good,” Bat said encouragingly. “Yes, the dog might be sick, so letting it lick you isn’t the best idea, which is why you should have dropped that bone and come straight out, just to be safe.”

“I can be sick just by being licked?”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it than that, but we want to play it safe. There’s a type of illness that’s very nasty, that animals like dogs and foxes seem to get a lot. I can’t remember the name, but it makes the animals very scary, and become very afraid of water. If an animal like that bites you, we don’t know how to make you better.”

Foxglove felt herself go numb all over with dread. If she couldn’t be made better, she’d either be sick forever or she’d die! She felt the weight of that fate settle in on her, and in the absolute silence that followed as she contemplated her own mortality… she heard the faint sound of water being lapped up.

She smiled triumphantly at Bat, who had let his head flop forwards in defeat.

“I wish I could tell the dog that you’re not going to learn any lessons if it keeps proving me wrong,” his voice was resigned but his eyes were sparkling with laughter. “We’ll wait a few minutes and then see if we need to put another batch of water in the dish. This time,” he caught Flowers’ arm before she could dive back into the crawl space. “This time, we won’t push the bowl quite so far in. If you really think it’s friendly, let’s see if we can encourage it to come out, ok?”

Flowers nodded, shaking herself free of Bat’s cautionary grip and wriggling back into the darkness once more.

It looked like the dog had come forwards slightly; she could see a bit more of it’s face beyond those eyes, and the flicker of pink as it alternated between licking the bone and licking the water dish made her break out into a smile.

“Hey, dog,” she said softly before going any further. It’s eyes flickered over to her slightly, and it resumed attention on the bone. “I’m going to come in a little closer and try to get a look at the water bowl, ok?” She shuffled herself forwards a bit more, and the dog paused in its licking briefly to keep an eye on her, but didn’t shrink away. “You really like that bone, huh? I think Hawk said it used to be a deer. There are lots of those.”

If it understood her, it wasn’t giving any indication as it held the bone daintily between it’s front paws, and started to chew it enthusiastically. Flowers reached out slowly, making sure to keep her hand away from the bone and the mouth, especially now she could see the size of the teeth it had. It froze, watching her hand, mouth open almost comically as she reached to slide the bowl towards her, and only resumed chewing when she started withdrawing.

The bowl was definitely empty, and Flowers wriggled back slightly and passed it out to Bat, who filled it back up obligingly and passed it back to her.

“Remember, don’t put it all the way in - see if it’ll want to come out for it,” Bat called as Flowers contorted herself around the space, doing her best not to spill any of the water. She didn’t push herself or the bowl any further in this time, just as Bat said.

“Hey, Dog?” She said, and the dog stopped chewing and looked at her. “I’m going to leave the water here, ok? There’s a bit more room, so it’s easier for you to drink, and then I’ll leave you alone for the night.” She paused - something had moved in the shadows behind the animal, she was sure of it, a shadowy blur and the muffled clatter of concrete dust and stone. She swallowed, trying to make her voice sound as brave as she could. “Me and Bat will be back tomorrow, ok? I don’t know if we’ll have any food to spare, but we’ll bring water, there’s lots of that.” She gave one last parting stare as far back into the shadows as she could, but whatever had moved wasn’t there any more. “Be careful, I love you, bye.”

“Did you just tell the dog you love it?” Bat asked incredulously as she sat up from crawling back out. Flowers felt herself get defensive.

“Well, yeah,” she answered, sticking her chin up defiantly as she dusted herself off. “You and all the others were all telling me to be kind the other night, and the dog is sad and alone, so I thought it’d help if it knew that I love it.”

Bat gave her a long, searching look.

“Do you?” He asked at length. “Do you love it?” Flowers tilted her head, thinking.

“I think I do,” she said slowly, “I mean, not the same way I love you and Brick and Hawk and the rest,” she paused, thinking carefully, then sighed almost to herself. “I even love Willow, I think, even if she can be mean sometimes.”

Bat chuckled, and held out a hand, which she took readily, but they didn’t start walking home just yet.

“You really love me?” He asked, and something in his voice seemed to shift slightly in the gathering gloom. Flowers frowned, and went to pull her hand away from his, but he held on tight, staring at her.

“You’re holding too tight,” she said, and her voice came out smaller and tighter than before. Bat was kneeling now, staring at her so intently it made Hawk’s eyes look soft, and that shifting feeling seemed to get worse.

“Answer the question,” he said, and his voice was eerily flat. “Do you really love me?” Flowers tugged again, harder this time, and her vision swam as tears started welling up.

“Let me go!” She said again, and this time she was louder but she could hear how scared she was, she sounded like a little baby, and she squeezed her eyes tight, trying not to cry. This wasn’t Bat. It looked like Bat, sounded like Bat, its hands even felt like Bat’s, but it wasn’t Bat.

“Answer me true, and I’ll release you.” As she watched, not-Bat was starting to look less and less like Bat, its features lengthening and the eyes turning from the deep comforting brown she knew to an endless glittering gold. “Do you really love me?”

Something clicked into place in Flower’s head. Something about threes. She stopped pulling and planted her feet, staring back at it defiantly.

“I love Bat!” She yelled, shouting directly into the face that no longer looked like her friend. “And you are not Bat!”

Time seemed to stop as she said it, and she watched as the strange face shifted from Not-Bat into something stranger, the mouth shrinking and vanishing as something that looked like fur spread across the once-smooth skin of her friend’s face. It stood, still holding her hands in both of its, and she felt her arms pull up above her head.

With every ounce of determination in her tiny frame, she pulled back, refusing to let it lift her off her feet.

I am rock, I am metal, I am iron, I am heavy, I’m heavy, I’m too heavy for you, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut, and felt her backside dip towards the ground slightly.

Imagine your stomach is full of rocks, Fresh had told her once, and that your legs are like trees that are in the ground. You have to imagine it really hard, and then people won’t be able to pick you up.

She’d tried it with Fresh, but she wasn’t sure if it had worked; they were very strong, so they might have been able to pull trees out of the ground. They had ruffled her hair and pretended to steal her nose, and said she’d done just fine.

I am a tree, my legs are two trees, I am stuck to the ground, stuck in the ground, I am too heavy for you!

She heard a hiss in front of her as the thing strained to pick her up. She didn’t dare open her eyes, didn’t dare look at what the not-Bat was now, but she had to do something.

“Help!” She tried, but her throat was dry and her voice came out as little more than a squeak. The not-Bat laughed, the sound watery and horrible.

“Your Bat was very tasty,” it burbled, “so strong and gentle. Before I eat you, little one,” and she felt a waft of acrid breath on her cheek. “I would like you to know that he loved you too.”

There was a scrambling sound behind her, and suddenly the grip on her hands was gone, wrenched away painfully as she sat down with a heavy thump, the concrete making her breath whoosh out of her. There was a horrible growling sound in front of her, and she opened one eye a crack.

Dog was between her and the not-Bat, lips pulled all the way back in a ferocious snarl, the dirty fur on it slowly fluffing up into a solid line all down its back. Its tail was between its back legs, and its whole body shook, but it held itself there, between her and the monster.

The not-Bat was picking itself up from where it had been knocked down, and she didn’t know how it had ever tricked her. It had two arms and legs, but there the resemblance to anything like a person stopped. It towered over her, taller than any of the others back home, taller than if three of them stood on each others shoulders, and in it’s face was a pair of glittering golden eyes, and nothing else. No mouth, no nose, no ears - she wasn’t sure how she had felt its breath when it said it was going to eat her, but she pushed that thought away - monsters don’t make sense.

The not-Bat cocked it’s head, it’s attention now entirely focused on Dog, and Flowers looked around frantically. Iron was supposed to be best, but all she could see was lumps of concrete rock. She reached for one that looked like it would fit into her hand and stood slowly, feeling the weight of it as she stared across at the monster.

It seemed very unwilling to come close to Dog, and sank down to the ground on all fours to almost match Dog’s posture, limbs splayed out awkwardly. Something on it’s face shifted, the fur moving inwards slightly as if there was a mouth and the fur was getting pulled in with each breath.

“Three for three,” she said softly, almost dreamily, knowing that she understood… and yet, not quite sure what she understood. “How long have you been Bat?” She was surprised at the question, surprised that she’d dared to ask anything and risk drawing it’s attention back to her. It’s head snapped up slightly, but its eyes remained focused on Dog, who was still trembling all over despite the fierce snarl.

“Long enough to know where you sleep,” not-Bat chuckled darkly, and Flowers felt herself get cold at the thought. All the kids were in danger now - they’d need to move. She swallowed hard and gripped the rock tighter.

“What are you?” She asked, curiosity overriding her desire to run. It shuddered, and the fur rippled slightly, making it took liquid.

“No names,” it hissed, “but once, I would lie in the dark places; under beds, behind doors, next to windows. I was the shape in the blink of your eye, the shadow on your chest as you dreamed.”

Flowers nodded. Something about this felt strange, like it wasn’t really happening, but shockingly, painfully real at the same time. She glanced down, trying to think of a third question, and noticed at her feet a metal bar, rust lying in the crevices of the strange twists in it. She dropped the rock, and slowly reached for the bar instead, pulling it free from the rubble, feeling the weight of it pull the end towards the ground slightly. Seeing it, the creature hissed again and recoiled, looking very much like it wanted to run - but it stayed where it was, almost rooted to the spot.

Abruptly, everything settled into place in her head, and she felt a strange calm come over her.

“You can’t go until I’ve asked you the third question,” she was careful to not change her voice, not raise it at the end the way she did when she was asking Bat so many questions that he’d always answered so patiently. She took a breath, and, trusting that Dog would help if needed, pushed one foot forward, taking a step towards the monster. The rippling she’d noticed was getting more pronounced now, like waves were running up and down the skin underneath all the fur, and it was trying to back away without moving any of it’s limbs.

It looked a little like Dog had, trying to shove itself back into the depths of a corner to hide - but it was out in the open, and it couldn’t get away from her.

She took another step forward, and the metal in her hand felt like it was meant to be there. She felt a nudge at her legs, and knew that Dog was there, trembling and terrified, but ready if she asked.

One last step, and she was right in front of it now, watching it try to back away with something unseen keeping it firmly in place. Fear was starting to ebb, replaced by something that bubbled and roiled within her, that pushed at the edges and yearned to be unleashed with a burst of violence.

“Hawk told me to be kind,” she said, staring at the thing in front of her that was now rapidly shifting and twisting, desperately struggling against its own rules. “But I think Hawk would understand that I can’t be kind all the time.” She hefted the bar over her shoulder, mimicking the pose she’d seen the older kids doing as they got ready to go on supply runs. “I could be. Right now, I could be. But I don’t want to be kind.”

The creature abruptly stopped it’s violent rippling and shifting, and golden eyes fixed on hers, swirling and pooling to familiar brown.

“Flowers,” and it was Bat’s voice pleading, Bat’s eyes begging, he was there, he was there-!

She took a breath, and looked down.

“Dog?”

The animal didn’t look up, but instead stayed laser focused on the being in front of them both. At her unspoken question, it curled it’s top lip again and snarled, the sound low and guttural and certain. Flowers nodded, and looked back at the not-Bat.

“Ok, then,” she said, and swung.

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