Relive

by Subtle_Shenanigans

Summary:

The Saint finally decides to Ascend Five Pebbles, to ease his suffering.

Things don’t go how he expected them too.

Notes:

Silly idea I had I decided to pursue.

In this AU I will be referring to Saint as he/him.

Chapter 1: Wheel flower

Notes:

Chapters will probs vary widely in length.

    The Saint shuffled back a few steps, heart heavy.

    “I’m sorry,” his voice was whipped away by the wind, but Pebble’s antanae twitched as though he heard.

   The once-great Iterator was in a pitiful state; paint and fabric and synthetic skin ripped in patches, opticals dim. Even his voice was crackled, whether from age or disuse who could say?

   Saint had brought lanterns, and endured the cold for as long as he could, curled around the puppet. Sometimes Pebbles jerkily pet his fur, giving a wheezing crackle as though he wished to speak but couldn’t recall words to say.

    Saint knew theoretically the Iterator could understand him; it was one of his gifts - to understand and be understood by all. But Pebbles was worn by the weather, and time, and guilt. He seemed incapable of processing much at all.

   Therefore, Saint couldn’t ask him if he was ready to Ascend. Couldn’t ask permission to set him free from the Cycle, because although it is his job, his right, Saint will not Ascend someone who is not ready.

   But. . . Five Pebbles was barely alive anymore, barely functioning. He was nothing but a collection of thoughts rotting in his own corpse - no, not even a corpse, but a skeleton returning to dust as all things do.

   Saint took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

 

    Ping.

 

---

 

   The trudge back to the Shelter was bleak, his stomach heavy with the pearl he carried. He felt it was his duty to give her the last of Pebbles’ worldly possessions. It was the least he could do.

    He was more optimistic about Moon; he knew she was still moderately functioning.

   But with Five Pebbles gone. . . 
   
    His task was difficult, but in the end, it was one he chose. He was tied to this realm, and ultimately to the Cycle as a whole; he was an echo through time, a wish, a plea.

   Funnily enough, he fit the description of the “triple affirmative”, and as currently he was offering relief to the Iterators. . .

   Well, the comedy wasn’t lost on him.

   With a sigh he curled up for sleep, forgoing meditation this hibernation.

   He dreamt of much, and yet nothing, as the winds howled outside. 

---

 

   Saint woke up warm.

   Contrary to popular belief, he actually withstood the cold fairly well. It’s just when things got glacial and with prolonged exposure he risked dying, like any creature. So while the shelter he was in wasn’t heated like some of the others, it was temperate enough, when compared with the outside.

   But it wasn’t warm, per se.

   He felt warm, beyond his meager lantern.

   He began to uncurl, and realized that there was a weight on his tail and hind legs.

   Curious, he looked, and found his mouth agape.

   By Void fluid, Worm kin, and may the Ancients be damned, the Cycle really does have a sense of humor.

    Because there was no doubt in his mind that the slugpup currently draped across him was Five Pebbles.

  A pup it was, too small compared to his own fluffy bulk, but old enough to walk at least. Fluffy, pink fur, with the distinctive yellow markings on the face; he was snoozing peacefully, face young and calm. No signs of damage or trauma.

   . . .did he have any memory, of who he was? How was this even possible? 
   
   He poked the pup’s head a few times, earning some sleepy grumbles. Eventually he flicked his ears and started to wake up, yawning with sharp little teeth. It took everything ounce of strength not to coo then and there.

   “Pebbles, you need to get up.” 
   
   Saint stood, a sleepy little Pebbles following with nonsense complaints. 
   
   When the pink pup looked up at him, there was no specific sign of recognition - nor, oddly enough, any wariness. The pup rubbed his eyes, squeaking, “did the cycle start?”

   “Yes,” he said slowly, unsure how to proceed, “we will need to move quick to make it to Shoreline.”

   Some grumbles, and then Pebbles made grabby motions with his hands up, the universal pup sign for ‘uppies’.

   Mystified, Saint complied, hoisting the pup on his back. He also balanced the lantern between his neck and the pup to keep them both warm. Then they were out into the snow.

    He could feel Pebbles shift, and whenever the pup spoke it was with wonder. He asked about almost everything they passed, and Saint explained what he could. At one point they passed through areas with ample petrified rot, and the pup shrunk, clinging tightly. He still shook for some time after they had passed through.

   From what Saint gathered, Pebbles did not remember his Iterator-self. Oh he had inklings; he understood speech a normal Slugcat, much less a pup, wouldn’t understand, and his obvious fear of the rot. He knew his name. At one point he asked about his music pearl, which Saint assured him was safe.

   But he never questioned who Saint was or why he was with him; never questioned whether he had parents or why they were there.

   It was perhaps the oddest thing that had ever happened in his existence, Saint concluded.

   He decided not to tell Pebbles too much about his past - if this was a second chance for him to live a happy life, who was he to ruin it? From what he knew, Iterator Five Pebbles had paid for his mistakes tenfold. He deserved to be happy.

   As for why was he a slugcat, was beyond Saint.

   But perhaps he could speak with Moon and sort some of this out.

 

---

 

    Saint was nervous.

    No, anxious would be a more apt description.

    He had directed Pebbles to follow him and cling onto his tail, while he swam them over to Moon’s chamber. He had already regurgitated the pearl, and promised Pebbles that he would get it back, but it was important he showed it to the computer lady.

   (He debated if he should tell Pebbles that Moon was his sister, but he felt it was best to wait. Something was holding him back. And while Pebbles was quite young by slugcat standards, he was sharp.)

    As they pulled up onto the little island, Saint puffed his fur in an attempt to dispel the water, which sorta worked. His fur was mostly water resistant, but when some did manage to soak in it was difficult to get it out without thorough grooming. He felt behind himself to make sure Pebbles was there, before directing his gaze to the mechanical whirr of Moon descending.

   “Oh! Hello little creature, where did you come from?” She looked good, Saint thought, healthy despite her predicament. His nerves began acting up again. He couldn’t bring himself to speak yet, so he merely showed her the pearl.

   “What is that?” She hummed, leaning forwards. “Would you like me to read it? I-“

   Moon cut off and it was. Scary. Frozen solid. Then, “-no, no, you can’t have that! Put it back, he, he needs it, it’s-!”

   “Looks to the Moon,” she was shaking, badly, and her head jerked when he spoke, probably out of surprise that he could speak, “before you assume the worst, allow me to explain.”

   He brought Pebbles forwards, giving him the pearl which absorbed all of his intention. The slugpup sat and somehow began levitating his pearl so that its warped tunes echoed around the chamber. Finding the child thoroughly occupied, he gestured for Moon to move back a bit, and began conversing in low tones.

   “Is that-“ Moon had a hand over her puppet’s face, where a mouth would be on most creatures. 
   
   “Yes, that is Five Pebbles.”

    “How?” She couldn’t take her eyes off of her brother, disbelief wracking her puppet.

    “I am The Saint,” he began, voice low and rumbling, “I am of the Void, Worm Kin, Cycling Echo; I was entrusted with a task, a very difficult task.” At this Moon did look at him, scrutinizing. 
  
   “What Task?” 
   
   Saint raised a paw, warping and pulling at the space around it to produce a Karma Flower; he twirled it around, choosing to focus on it rather than her. “When I am in Attunement with the world, I posses the ability to Ascend other creatures. For those who are sapient and cognizant, I allow them to decide whether they wish to Ascend. I only Ascend those who need my aid to do so.”

   “Iterators.” Moon was fully focused on him now, his fur prickling at her gaze.

    “Yes.”

    “Are you the one who. . .” She turned away and closed her eyes. “Are you the Triple Affirmative?”

   Saint huffed a laugh. “In a sense, I am one, yes. Am I the one who caused the Ascension of Sliver of Straw? No. I do not even know if she Ascended or not. If she did, it was a different solution she found; perhaps even a creature like me.”

   “I still don’t understand, not really. So, you Ascended my brother?”

    Saint tilted his head. “Yes. He. . . wasn’t in good shape. I’m sorry.”

   Moon out a hand on his shoulder, surprisingly. “No, I. . .after we lost contact, I suspected. And I assume it was unpleasant, if he has been alive this whole time. It’s. . .I’m glad to receive some sort of closure. Although,” she squinted and looked at where Pebbles was holding the pearl in his paws, twirling it and peering at it, “I am unsure how Ascension leads to- to this.”

   “I’ll be honest; I have no idea how this happened either. Ascension doesn’t thrust one back into the Cycle. Quite honestly, I believe there is some sort of power that decided to give him a second chance. That’s. . .partly why I’m here.”

   Moon folded her antanae back, sighing deeply. Her voice was resigned. “Have you come to Ascend me, too?”

   “Only if you’re ready,” Saint swore. “It’s your choice. I also can’t guarantee whether you will join the Void as you’re supposed to, or. Well.” He gestured at Pebbles.

    She closed her eyes. “I see.” 

   It was quiet, for a time. Pebbles eventually grew bored and began playing with some rocks and debris around. Saint gave him the Karma Flower when he ran up, letting the pup play with it.

   Moon eventually opened her eyes again, her arm lifting her; her gaze was determined.

   “I have calculated the risk, as well as thought deeply enough on the matter; without- without my brother, knowing he’s gone. . .I do not think I could continue to function in a normal capacity. I would lose hope, and. . .” She looked away for a moment, “I know how painful it is to fall into such serious disrepair. I do not wish to experience it again.”

   Steeling herself, she turned back to Saint. “Please, whether it is for peace, or if I could be with my brother again in another life - I’m ready.”

    Saint stared at her for a long moment, then dipped his head. “Next cycle, then. I’ll leave Pebbles in the nearby shelter.”

 

---

 

 

    “Will it hurt?” Her voice is small, so small it barely echoes in the chamber.

    Saint smiles softly. “No. It won’t hurt.”

    She hugs a neuron close, closing her eyes. She takes a breath to steady herself. “I’m ready.”

Ping

 

 

---

 

    Saint is relieved to wake up the next cycle with another body in the shelter.

    Moon is certainly older than Pebbles; taller and more lithe. But she is still obviously a pup, closer to mid-adolescence, if Saint were to guess. 
 
   She was an aquatic slugcat, with nudibranch-whiskers the color of Shoreline’s sea, while the rest of her held the same blue as her Iterator puppet. Like Pebbles, she had her forehead mark. Unlike Pebbles, she also had a smattering of darker and lighter flecks throughout her back.

   Most aquatic Slugcats were hairless, but upon closer inspection, Moon had short fur slicked so close to the body, she appeared smooth.

   Most probably wouldn’t assume the two were siblings, at first glance. But Saint could tell by the shape of their ears, and other distinct things that they were.

   Pebbles was snoozing on Saint’s stomach, and Moon was curled next to him. He kept quiet, just observing the two children for awhile. Eventually, Moon’s nose twitched, and she yawned, showing off an impressive set of teeth.

   Omnivorous, like most slugcats.

   She stretched and opened her eyes - the same sea-green as her nudibranch-whiskers. She looked curiously at Saint, but not warily - like his presence was normal, expected. Like they had known one another all their lives, and this was another normal day.

   “Let me wake up your brother,” he mumbled, sitting up.

    Pebbles whined and clung with the motion, snuggling closer; Saint felt his muzzle quirk up. It was honestly adorable.

   “Come on, Pebbles. Your sister is already up.”

   “nuh,” he kept his face pressed into Saint’s fur, “sl’bby.”

   Moon finally jumped in, pulling Pebbles off. “I know you’re sleepy, but I’m hungry!”

   Pebbles flung his head back to glare at her upside down; she stuck out her tongue. Then she hoisted him up and made her way to the shelter entrance, Pebbles thrashing. “Lemme go, Moon! I can walk!”

   Well, that answered that, Saint followed, bemused. Pebbles knew her name without me saying it; they must retain some knowledge. They’re still their core selves, just. . .given a second chance. 

   And, of course, biological changes their superstructures hadn’t had, like hungry and tiredness. And mouths. Why hadn’t the Iterators been given mouths? 

   It was a bizarre situation, to be sure. But seeing how Moon dove for a jellyfish with bright eyes, and Pebbles eagerly enjoying Bubble Fruit, well, Saint wasn’t going to complain. 
  
   He was just happy they had been granted this second chance.

Notes:

Next up: Saint realizes he is dad ™

Moon’s fur is like a leopard seal; those things kinda look like they only have skin upon first glance, but you look closer and realize they have really short fur.

Pebbles is fluffy like Saint but his fur is more water soluble, while Saint’s is more resistant.

Moon is the most cold resistant since Aquatic Slugcats have thicker blood to keep warm in deep water. Pebbles is the least, due to his little water resistance, snow clinging to his fur and melting, and his underlying trauma with cold.

Chapter 2: Stories echoed

Notes:

Saint: I am an eldritch creature that was once mortal, I have lived for countless cycles, helping others break free; there is little I have experienced

Saint (panicking): WAIT HOW DO YOU TAKE CARE OF A CHILD

    Pebbles was grouchy.

   When Saint announced his plans to leave Frigid Shoreline through Glacial Wasteland, the pup’s expression had scrunched up.

   “I hate Garbage Wastes,” was all he would say, arms crossed.

   Saint sighed, and put the small pup on his back. “Either way, it’s the easiest route. Just close your eyes and I will take us through there as quick as I can.”

   Moon kept looking at her brother with worried eyes; Pebbles refused to elaborate on why he hated the place, but kept resisting, unhappiness on his face, as soon as they passed through the gate.

    Saint had Pebbles hold onto the lantern - the music pearl was tucked away in Saint’s stomach, since Pebbles’ was too undeveloped at this point - while Saint himself held two white pearls, and Moon had one. There was a toll shortly after the gate. She had squinted at it and turned it, making a funny face. He wondered if the two slugpups could still read pearls. He never learned how they did it in the first place.

   They approached the toll, and a darker furred scavenger greeted them. “Ho! Is that Saint? Hello friend!”

   Saint smiled, passing off the pearls and nudging Moon to do the same. “Tempered Tines, hello. Three pearls for three creatures to pass, if you will.”

   Tempered Tines - whose antler tips shone like black metal - looking down at the three pearls, uncertain. “I’ve told you before, that payment is unnecessary. You’re a friend to our tribe, we will allow you free pass, always.”

   Saint shook his head. “I appreciate your kindness, but I know you need it for trade. Besides, I bring two more with me, it is only fair.”

   Tines frowned, as much as a Scav could frown with mandibles, muttering a quick, “wait here”, before running off to the outpost. Saint could feel Pebbles grow agitated on his back, so he lowered him down to stretch for a moment.

    Tines came back with two more lanterns. “Here! The Elite agrees; one pearl for two pups that barely equal an adult, one for your passage, and one for some extra lanterns we have.”

   Saint tried to decline, “We couldn’t possibly-”  but one was thrust into his hands, and the other in Moon’s before he could finish.

   “Nonsense! Pups need warmth, isn’t that right?” Tines crouched down, addressing Moon and Pebbles. Moon beamed, squeaking a polite, “thank you!”, while Pebbles edged back with a growl.

   “Pebbles!” Saint admonished. To Tines, “I am sorry about that, he doesn’t like this area.”

   “No, don’t like Scavs,” Pebbles spat, “kill pups.” His fur was puffed up and he glared fiercely at Tines. 
   
    Tines seemed to droop. “Ah, I suppose that story is still among the Slugcats, too.”

   “Story?” Moon looked between Saint and Pebbles, the former giving a little shrug. Saint wasn’t sure what story Tines was referring too.

   Tines nodded. “Yes, the story of Chieftain-Death, or as your kind called her, The Artificer. Some of our ancestors were cruel; they valued pearls over anything, even life,” Tines expression was one of disgust, “and killed pups over one. This lead to Death arriving amongst my people. Death came in the form of a Slugcat - she could produce explosions, and kill anything easily. She even gained the honored title of Dragon Slayer, in her life. But one day she killed the Chieftain of the Scavengers - his name was wiped from history - and instead of slaughtering the remaining population, so took the role of Chieftain. She changed many laws and practices, one of the most important being to covet life over anything else, and kits - children - above all.”

   “So,” Tines stood, wiping snow off of his thick fur, “while we still value pearls, it is against our law to harm children. To do so is to commit yourself to death.”

   “Wow,” Moon breathed. Her eyes were so wide that Saint could see the reflection of the snow falling in them.

   Speaking off. . .

   “We should get going before it blizzards; thank you once again, Tempered Tines.” Saint gave a polite dip of his head. “What do you say, pups?”

   “Thank you Tempered Tines!” Moon chirruped.

   Pebbles frowned at the ground, then looked up. “Thanks,” he grunted. Saint sighed and pulled him up onto his back.

   Tines just laughed. “No problem, pups. Now listen to your dad, okay?”

   As they left, Pebbles relaxed significantly. “. . .I didn’t know that’s how it ended.”

   “Hmm?” Saint was a little disappointed with Pebbles behavior, but he had to remember that Pebbles was now a child, and, if he only knew the beginning of The Artificer’s tale, well. It stood to reason why he might not trust Savengers.

   Pebbles nuzzled into his back. “The story, I didn’t know it ended like that. I thought Ruffian fought the Chief and then killed them all and died.”

   “Why would you think that?” Moon held one of Saint’s paws, skipping beside him.

   Pebbles was quiet for a long while, long enough for different conversation to start.

   It wasn’t until they were on the shelter that night, curled up with three lanterns, on the edge of sleep that he breathed out, “because she never came back.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   Saint’s eyes snapped open on the middle of the night, staring up at the flashing ceiling as he remembered something Tines had said, something he hadn’t really noticed.

    But there was no denying, with a pup curled up on each side:

   Oh Void below I’m a father now.

Notes:

So I do not plan to have the pups find out about being Iterators previously. They are gonna have fairly normal lives. That being said, they are not normal Slugcats, and will have longer lifespans. And they have knowledge that they don’t question.

Fun fact! This chapter is a reference to the one-shot, Artifacted! Tempered Tines is a descendant of Branching Antlers! The only difference is that she did regularly visit Pebbles, but that data was lost in his collapse.

EDIT (12/6/2024): Made this for y'all https://youtu.be/liLjqMRrsPo

Chapter 3: What is a dad? You is. You is a dad now.

    It seemed that the word had not been lost on the children either, as they had seamlessly adopted it along with all the other information that made the world make sense to them.

   “Dad! Tell Moon to let me go!” Pebbles squealed, trying to dislodge his sister’s hold. She chirped disapprovingly, tightening her grip.

   “You’re filthy! If you’re not gonna groom yourself, I’m gonna have to do it!”

   “No! Lemme go! I can do it myself!”

   “As your big sister, it’s my job to look after you,” she chided, brushing out knots from his fur.

   As. . . startling as his new role was, Saint wasn’t about to object. He could tell his objective had changed for the moment; after all, he had Ascended those who had needed it, and yet he felt no rush to get to Rubicon. That meant his work was not done, at least for this point in time.

   And if he was being graced with the chance for a break, to look after these two? Well, he wasn’t complaining.

   “Pebbles,” Saint sighed, “let your sister help. You can’t reach your back yet anyways.”

   Pebbles continued to hiss and whine, but stopped fighting to get free at least.

   From what little Saint knew of the two Iterators, he could tell that they were mostly the same: Pebbles was still independent and rash, while Moon was caring and thoughtful. Without the pressures the Ancients had put upon them, as well as being an entirely different species, and now with the chance to grow. . .who knew how their personalities would develop? Either way, he was glad to see them as relatively normal, happy children.

    (He was sure that there were more surprises in store, but. Well. He had learned patience a long, long time ago.)

   There was a time when Saint was a normal Slugcat. Once. A very long time ago. So long ago that he didn’t not recall much - he surely had parents. Maybe siblings? But those memories had faded away, dust in the wind.

   Okay, first things first: the children needed to eat.

   Once they settled down, he ushered them out. 
   
   “Remember to stay close to me, okay?” Moon nodded, nudging Pebbles so he would as well. “If you see any bluefruit or batflies, just let me know. I’ll help you.”

   Just because Saint could not eat flesh, didn’t mean he wouldn’t help the children. Their bodies were obviously omnivorous, and he would not deprive them of nutrients. He couldn’t slay creatures but he could help coral them.

   (No lizards yet. Not until they were older.)

   Thankfully the Wastes were teaming with bubble fruit seeds (which delighted both children), and centipedes (which Pebbles vehemently declared he wouldn’t eat. He seemed to hate bugs, for some reason.)

    Saint even managed to find a popcorn plant cracked open from the cold, his own personal favourite. Moon seemed a little more unsure about it, but Pebbles delighted in the crunch it made.

    All three had a lantern balanced on their lap, and while causal, Saint kept his eyes and ears trained for danger.

   “So where are we going next, dad?” Moon swung her feet over the edge, watching the garbage worms below. They seemed to be interested in some hovering squidcada.

   He struggled to swallow his popcorn; it would be some time before he was used to being called that. “Well, I believe it might be a good idea to head to the Outer Expanse.” As he said it, he realized he hadn’t actually had a destination in mind. Where had that come from?

   Pebbles, who was dropping rocks off the edge, perked up. “Outer Expanse? What’s that?”

   “It’s. . .” Hmm. An old memory rose to the surface. “It’s a place outside of Karma gates and structures.”

   Pebbles crumbled some of the popcorn plant, dropping it over the edge; the garbage worms seemed to like it. As did the squidcada, who began to headbutt them. “Oh. Why there?”

   Why indeed.

   “Well. . .” Saint. . .couldn't recall ever even going into the Outer Expanse. He’s fairly certain it’s through the Primordial Underground, in the opposite direction of Rubicon. He narrowed his eyes (which were usually heavy-lidded, so much so that now it looked like his eyes were closed), the words coming out from who-knows-where. “There was once a colony of Slugcats there; it’s relatively peaceful, and a good place for you to grow up.”

   Moon tilted her head. “But I like traveling!”

  Some old instinct had Saint reaching out and drawing her to his side; he pulled Pebbles to the other. “Of course, and it will be much travel to get there. But you’re still small, still new to the world; take some time to grow. We can always travel more in the future.”

    Pebbles nuzzled closer; both children soaked up the affection like they were starved of it. In a way, they were. “Really? Promise?”

   Saint nuzzled the top of his head. “Really, I promise.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    “Well,” the Scav drawled, “seems like yer best bet is through Monument.”

    The gate was broken.

     Saint wanted to scratch behind his ears, but he held the childrens’ paws in his own. 
  
     Originally he intended to go through Undergrowth; there were dangerous predators, of course, but it was warmer and would take them straight to Primordial. He closed his eyes. But now they would need to go through, what, three more regions? 

   Yes. Three more regions, of cold and danger.

   But-

   Pebbles and Moon were not completely helpless. Definitely needed guidance and protection, but they weren’t stupid and were quick learners. 

   Plus, they weren’t exactly in a hurry.

   “Well, children, it seems like we will be traveling a little further to get to our destination.”

    He received two resounding cheers, and shared a look with the Scav, who rolled their eyes, as if to say, ‘kids, amirite?’

   Saint chuckled as the two scups held paws and spun in the snow, chanting some kind of victory song.

    Kids indeed.

Notes:

Fun fact, if you were to DNA test Pebbs and Moon, they would show up as genetically siblings! Despite being different subspecies of Scug.

You’ll find that Saint refers to places by how they’re named in his time (like Glacial Wastelands is Garbage Wastes), while the other two refer to places by the base game’s names.

Saint’s vegetarianism is partially choice partially biological. And I say vegetarian because technically Bluefruit are bug pupa. I’m not sure if the state of the being inside is what makes them edible for Saint or not, or if this is more like the whole wasp-fig situation.

Chapter 4: Mlem and other biology

Notes:

I have both ‘Mlem’ and ‘yippee’ mods and I love them.

I do have a vague end idea for this, so it probably won’t be a terribly long Fic. There will be a little upcoming drama, but nothing too angsty.

    Icy Monument was fairly easy to get to. And Saint found that holding the childrens’ paws allowed them through the gate with no issue. Probably because they were children, and thus can only get to a certain threshold on the Karmic wheel?

   Hmm. He wasn’t sure what knowledge they had retained of Karma. Something to revisit, for sure.

   Suburban Drifts was nearby - hopefully they could get there within a cycle, but if not that was okay. He didn’t want to rush them. Plus, he could take this as a teaching opportunity.

   The children were certainly full of questions, and Saint took ample time to answer them, as well as point out any dangers - very important to learn. And despite the snow, he even explained how in warmer areas there were Poleplants that mimicked railing, so when they climbed he had them ‘test’ a few by throwing rocks.

   It was, after all, an important thing to learn.

   Plus, the kids liked throwing rocks.

   At one point there was a divide that would be too difficult of a jump for them, so Saint hoisted Pebbles on his back, and hugged Moon close. “Hold tightly, okay?”

   A pair of trusting eyes blinked at him, and they nodded.

   It’s a short run and a bound, they went sailing.

   With a snapping ‘mlem’ he caught a distant pole, grappling them across.

   Moon giggled, tugging on his fur. “Again, dad!” 
   
   Saint couldn’t help chuckling in return, as he let Pebbles down. “Don’t worry, we will.”

   For a while afterward, whenever he glanced behind him he saw Pebbles and Moon trying to stick out their tongues, as if hoping to shoot them and grapple. The sight warmed his heart.

    By time the shelter doors slid into place, Moon asked, “How come we can’t do the tongue thing?”

   Pebbles demonstrated, stick out his tongue and blowing a raspberry.

   Saint leaned back against the wall. “Biology, mostly. It’s. . .how our bodies are. Like Moon is blue and Pebbles is pink and I’m green.”

   Pebbles looked down at his fur with a furrowed brow, as though he never noticed.

   “So. . .because we’re all different?” 

   Saint ruffled Moon’s ears. “Exactly. You can hold your breath the best, because of your nudibranch-whiskers, and you have thicker blood so you can endure cold longer. My fur doesn’t soak up water as much as Pebble’s, and Pebble’s thicker fur provides more protection from sharp things. But, you’re also not done growing. I couldn’t always grapple with my tongue.”

   “How come? And where does it all go?” Pebbles’ patted his face, and Saint gently took the scups paws, directing them down. 
    
   “Hmm, well,” Saint took a moment to think about how his own body worked; he had a basic idea, not that he thought much about it, but he wanted to explain in a way they would understand, “you know how I have to hold onto your pearl? In my stomach?”

   Pebbles nodded. “Yeah. Why can’t I? Moon can’t either.”

   Moon wrinkled her nose. Whether she was frustrated or didn’t want to hold things in her stomach, he wasn’t sure.

   Saint tapped where his stomach was. “Well, you’ll both be able to when you’re fully grown, all Slugcats can. When you’re all grown, you have an extra area here,” he circled a little above his digestive stomach, “called a stomach pouch. When you swallow something you want to hold onto, you store it here, where it’s safe and you can regurgitate it when you want it.”

   “But how do you bring it back up?”

    “And how come you don’t eat it?” 
   
   “Well, you’ll kinda learn to use certain muscles, like when you learn to walk,” he demonstrated, pulling out the pearl, handing it to the kids to look over, “see? Not dusty or slimy. I dunno why. But when you learn to use those muscles, and you swallow something, you know how to redirect it to your pouch. That doesn’t mean you can’t accidentally swallow it the wrong way,” he warned. “If you do, then you will need to really throw up.”

   Both wrinkled their noses in disgust.

   “Most can only keep one item, like a pearl, in their pouch. Too many items or too big can be dangerous.” He knew of Scugs who had choked to death, or bled internally from doing so. No need to give the kids nightmares, though. “Mine is a little bigger than others, and that’s where most of my tongue is. I have different muscles, too, that allow me to shoot and retract, like a grapple worm.”

   “So, we could one day do the tongue thing?” Moon’s ears perked hopefully.

   Oh dear. “There’s. . . a slight possibility, but it is unlikely. I always had a longer than normal tongue, it just grew as my pouch developed. More than likely you two will develop your own unique biology, it’s not uncommon.”

   Pebbles nodded, with all the surety of a child. “Like exploding.”

   Saint flicked his ear. “Yes. . .?”

   “Oh!” Moon turned to her brother. “Like the Artificer, from that story, right? She could explode and make things explode!”

   “Yeah!” 
   
   Not the oddest thing I have heard of, Saint thought. “Exactly; there’s many different forms of unique biology. Everyone’s body is different, and they’re good at different things.” He laid a paw on each of their heads, and they turned their full attention to him. “It will happen eventually, don’t worry. In fact, Moon may have already developed something with how old she is.”

   “Not fair!” Pebbles hissed at his sister, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

   Saint chuckled, pulling them into a hug. “Don’t worry, Pebbles, you’re growing too. It’s only a matter of time. Now, it is time to sleep, I think.”

   Pebbles ears fell flat, even as he snuggled closer. “I hate being small.”

   Moon lay down in Saint’s thick fur, reaching out to hold her brother’s paw. “I love that you’re small, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to pick you up! And you can ride on dad’s shoulders! I’m a little too big.”

   Pebbles seemed to contemplate that.

   Saint brushed both their ears, softly. “Sleep now, so you can grow bigger then, okay?”

   In the dim of the shelter it wasn’t long before both children fell asleep on him.

   He couldn’t remember a time when he felt so content his heart ached.

   By Void and the Cycle, he prayed, may I protect them so they can live long and happy.

Chapter 5: Separated || Also entitled: Alone

Notes:

Love figuring out ways that their minds justify memories that conflict with their current understanding if the world.

    She was running.

    Industrial - or Icy Monument, as dad kept calling it - had been a sprawling network of warped, metal frames drooping with the weight of snow.

   The gate to Suburban Drifts (Outskirts, her mind whispered) wasn’t far from where they entered Industrial. It should have been a quick in and out, not even half a cycle.

   But-

 

inches from her face a bolt slams into the ground, and Pebbles is screaming, and dad is yelling run! so she does because that is a King Vulture, and it’s already taking aim-

 

   And now Moon is lost, because they got separated by the stupid vulture, and there’s no sounds save her own hushed footfalls and the trickling of melting ice.

   At least she’s inside, and out of the wind; the tunnel entrance had been half buried in snow, but she managed to wriggle into it.

   But, she’s alone.

   Moon clutches her paws together tightly, holding them to her chest. She keeps glancing around warily, like dad said to, because the world was full of hungry predators. Swivel your ears, listen closely, and move slowly, he had said, but be ready to run at a moment’s notice. We may be smaller than a lot of creatures, but we’re faster, and smarter too.

  The quiet unnerved her; the creaking ambiance of strained metal, the echo of the wind from outside. She scooped up a piece of debris with one paw, gripping it tightly. Rocks and metal bits could be enough to stun a lizard.

  Moon hoped dad would find her soon.

  She didn’t- she didn’t like being alone.

  She hated being alone.

  Moon had been alone for too long-

  she-

  Moon stopped, squeezing her eyes shut, her free paw pressed against her temple. That, that wasn’t right, was it? But- but it was. She had been alone, for a long time, before. By herself, and- and had she been hurt?

   She- she must have been separated before. Moon untensed. That’s right. Something, something scary had happened, and she had been alone, and it was dark at first, and, and wet, and-

   Moon sat down and started crying.

   She couldn’t - she couldn’t be alone again! It was scary! And, and her back hurt, and, and-

   She tried to muffle a sob.

   Moon wanted Pebbles, her baby brother.

   She wanted her dad.

   Eventually, she wore herself out, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shivering and sniffling, but knew she needed to find a shelter before it got too cold.

   That’s what dad said, anyways; if they ever got separated, find the nearest shelter and wait there. He’ll find them.

   When she finally got to her feet, she could feel the cold settling in, seeping in through the very ground. She took extra care to add the path to her mental map, just in case.

   Just get to a shelter, Moon. Keep moving until you find a shelter.

   Thankfully the path stayed well-lit enough for her to place her feet, one in front of the other. 
  
   “Well there you a- hnnk!”

   Moon shrieked and jumped back, the debris flying from her paw and smashing into the Scavenger that had just scared the void out of her.

   “I’m so sorry!” She tried to help them up, but they were much bigger than her, all lanky limbs and shaggy fur. They blinked, green eyes burning in the darkness.

   Moon had been wary of the Scavs at the toll, especially with Pebbles’ disdain, but dad had been friendly with them, especially Tines. That had melted away her worries about the species. 
  
   So having just accidentally assaulted one had her body prickling with guilt.

   The Scav merely waved her off. “No harm done, really. That would have been a great deterrent if I was a lizard!” They brushed themself off. “Now you must be little Moon; my entire unit has been helping Saint look for you.”

   “Dad?” She grabbed the scav’s paw. “Really? Is he okay? Is Pebbles? That’s my baby brother, and there was a vulture, and I-!”

   “Oh dear,” she was sobbing again, and the Scav gently patted her head, “it’s alright little one, your dad and brother are alright. Just very worried about you. C’mere,” they scooped her up, “let’s get you home, alright?”

   The Scav carried them through the region, whispering quietly when they could. Their name was Fond Remembrance, for they looked just like one of their grandparents, a well-loved member of Monument’s Scav Tribe; they were a merchant by trade, and they told Moon about some of the sillier encounters they had had before, and strange wares they had received.

   Aside from a lone magenta lizard they had to slip past, there was no trouble. Fond took them into an emoty room and up to a wall, and Moon was surprised when they were able to enter through an unmarked tunnel.

   “Most of them are closed up, but not all of them,” they explained. 

   Past the entrance, it was filled with warm, orange light, and ambient heat. There was a good amount of Scavs, as well as weapons and pearls that glowed in the ambient light, but Moon barely took note.

   She wriggled out of Fond’s grip and dashed across the room where Saint stood, Pebbles jumping out of his grip once he saw his sister. He slammed into her, gripping her tight, and then dad’s arms were around both of them and drawing them close, whispering her name over and over.

   I’m not alone, she thought, I’m home.

Notes:

So yes, Moon remembers her post-collapse! But her child mind has warped it to fit with her current views as a scup. Just because they get to live their life doesn’t mean all of their trauma and fears are gone - but! They get the chance to heal from it. Pebbles will get some of his focus next chapter >:3 but dad Saint will be there to comfort them.

They’re in a Scav Treasury at the end, btw! I figure that’s where Scavs tend to mass shelter

Chapter 6: A bump in the road

Notes:

This chapter fought me, sorry about that.

*me realizing that balancing who they are at their core, the fact that they basically have amnesia but lingering trauma and sensations from their lives, and have been age regressed makes this a very difficult balancing act.*

   Pebbles had been scared.

   But it’s okay, because dad had been too.

   It meant that there was a reason to be scared; because Moon was gone missing, and, and there had been the big vulture, and it had been scary. Dad had held him close the entire time, muttering things under his breath. His eyes, usually half-lidded, were wide, reflective pools of gold-black.

   Pebbles was almost relieved when they found some Scavs who seemed to know dad - they had leapt into action when he asked for help, gently ushering the two Scugs to a shelter while the squads went out.

   Then it was a lot of waiting. And Pebbles decided he hated waiting.

   But eventually, she found them.

   Pebbles couldn’t remember crying, ever, but it didn’t matter because Moon was there and Moon was okay, and Dad was hugging them and rumbling with love without words.

   The next day, though, Pebbles felt bad.

   Was Moon separated because Pebbles always clung to dad’s back? They couldn’t both fit, but, maybe she should have a turn? He- he was brighter colored than Moon, maybe he had stood out too much. Maybe he could have done something. 
  
   When they headed out Pebbles hissed and fussed, refusing to cling to dad’s back. Dad gave a tired sigh and relented, holding his paw while he walked.

   Moon chose to walk, too.

   Pebbles’ ears remained flat.

   There wasn’t another vulture attack, and getting to Outskirts was easy enough. The trip to Desolate Fields (Farm Arrays, a distant voice whispered) wouldn’t be too bad. It’s traversing through the Fields themselves that would be a trial.

   “We’re not in a rush, though,” dad rumbled. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.” He gripped their paws firmly.

   Pebbles still chose to walk.

 

---

 

   Less vultures was nice.

   Unfortunately that also meant more lizards.

   They hadn’t seen more than green and magenta, thankfully, so they were easy enough to avoid.

   But there was a lot of climbing - like, a lot. Climbing up in some areas, and down in others. But Pebbles refused to be carried refused to be a burden; he was a big pup, he could climb.

    Dad kept frowning, but he didn’t force him either. He just insisted on always being under/behind both Pebbles and Moon, so he could catch them if they fell. Which was fair.

   “C’mon slowpokes!” Moon teased, leaning over the ledge. Her frills ruffled in the breeze, and Pebbles growled.

   “Showoff!”

   It became a bit of a competition after that; Moon agilely scampering up poles, Pebbles not far behind. Dad was even smiling. 

  Their fun ended when a section Pebbles grabbed onto crumbled, his grip on the ledge slipped and he fell; Dad caught him easily, although he banged against one of the poles on the way down.

   Dad hauled them up onto the ledge, looking Pebbles over and nosing at his fur, Moon round-eyed with worry. “Are you okay? Anything hurt?”

   Pebbles squirmed. “ ‘m fine, let go!” His heart was beating too fast to tell.

   “Let’s take a rest for a moment.” Dad let go but sat down. Pebbles followed with a huff.

   He wasn’t a baby! 
   
   But. . .now that he was sitting, he could feel his side ache, in time with his heart. 
   
   Moon danced around on her feet for a bit, too jittery to sit still. Until dad snagged her arm and brought her over, slowly grooming her ears. Her too-wide eyes relaxed a little with the rasp-rasp-rasp of his tongue.

   Pebbles felt that gross feeling in his stomach; Moon was scared because of him.

   He scooted closer, leaning into dad, and dad started grooming his ears, too.

   “We’re all right,” he purred, “it was just a little scare. Everything is okay.”

   The soothing murmur worked, and eventually they were on their way again.

 

---

 

   Pebbles really started to feel it by time they got to their last shelter before the gate.

   His side felt hot and throbbed; he didn’t even complain when dad scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way. He couldn’t remember ever getting hurt like this before. He was. . .sick, a lot, when he was really little, he thinks he remembers. But not hurt.

   He doesn’t like getting hurt.

   When they’re in and the shelter mechanism has locked into place, he gently rubs his side, hoping it will help. It’s almost more annoying than anything. 
 
   He freezes.

   There’s-

   He keeps his paw over the spot, feels the uneven texture beneath his fur; there’s some kind of lump, or lumps.

   He feels sick.

   Pulsating, writhing mass - it’s here, it will consume him like it has consumed everything else-

   He turns and parts the fur, and his skin there is blue.

   Blue, unnatural blue, artificial, unholy, writhing and reaching and seeking to squeeze itself into every crevice of his being, stripping away-

   “-bbles! Dad, he’s not responding!”

   Blurry blue in his face, but this blue is normal, natural. Green there, too.

   Pebbles blinks, and there’s dark dusties in his vision floating away.

   He takes a shuddering breath.

   And promptly bursts into tears.

   Dad scoops him up and a Moon presses close, nuzzling him and asking something. Pebbles is scared; there’s a monster growing beneath his skin, and it’s gonna eat him from the inside out.

   He’s borderline inconsolable.

   When he finally wears himself out, comes back to himself, he notices that dad is rocking them back and forth.

   “You with us, Pebbs?” A nod.

   “Why do you think there’s a monster in your skin?” Moon blinks at him, and he looks away, pressing his face into dad’s chest.

   “My side,” he croaks, “there’s lumps ‘n’ is blue.”

   “Lemme see,” dad smooths down the fur on his head, then gently shifts apart the fur on his side; he chuckles faintly, “oh, I see. Pebbles, it’s just a bump from where you hit the pole. Sometimes skin swells, and sometimes it swells in little lumps.”

   “And the blue,” he whispers.

   “Just bruising. It’ll fade in a couple cycles; blue to green to yellow.” 
   
   He sits up and meets dad’s eyes. “Promise?”

   Dad presses a kiss to his forehead. “Promise.”

   Not to be left out, Moon gives him a smooch on the cheek. “Yeah, Pebbles! It’ll get better. And,” her eyes twinkle, “If a monster tries to eat you, I’ll bite it, like this!” She shows off her teeth, making exaggerated chomping motions.

   It earns her a watery giggle; Pebbles wipes at his eyes. 

   “You’re not very scary - and you have little teeth.”

   Moon gasps. “I do not! I have very large, sharp teeth. The best to bite monsters with, and to protect little brothers.”

  Pebbles yawns before he can respond, and Saint takes that as his cue. “All right children, time for sleep.” There’s some mild protesting, but he curls around them, a lilting purr rumbling out. With his warmth, and his bulk, they’re safe and comfortable, and fall asleep with ease, despite the . . .excitement, of the day.

   He hopes, fervently, that the rot remains no more than a monstrous nightmare, and that it fades from the children’s memory.

   

   

Notes:

I do want to say, the things scored out aren’t even thoughts Moon or Pebbs have, rather they indicate wisps of feelings from when they were Iterators. Pebbles ‘ascended’ with lots of guilt, and Moon with loneliness. So these are things that will regularly manifest in different ways, because they’re born from trauma that left an impact on them. But they’re not active or solid thoughts, either.

Farm Arrays arc is next, and it’ll be a little longer (I.e. span more chapters)

Chapter 7: Enter into Arrays

Notes:

Okay so I will touch on Moon’s ability a little, but it will be shown in the Subterranean arc

   Saint now understood why parents were so tired.

   But he also now understood that it was worth it.

   By the next morning, Pebbles seemed back to being his self; that is, no longer distant or brooding or fearful. He loudly complained about his bruised side, and teased his sister, asked a million questions.

   Moon, while physically more energetic than Pebbles, was a lot calmer in other ways. She, too, hungered for knowledge, but her questions were slow, even-paced. She thought on the answers Saint gave, and formulated her questions based upon such responses.

   Pebbles, instead, was starving for knowledge. He would ask rapid-fire, with no discernible rhyme or reason. Saint wasn’t sure if this was due to their ages, or was part of their core self.

   Moon was more interested in nature - the plants and animals.

   Pebbles was more interested in how things worked, what the buildings and machinery once was - he also was drawn to the art of it all; the architecture, the murals.

   Both wondered aloud, forming hypotheses and conclusions well beyond their age, and not for the first time Saint wondered how much knowledge they had retained.

   The Desolate Fields - or Farm Arrays, as they were once known as long ago - were fairly quiet. The main concern was the sheer vastness of the region, and whatever patches of wormgrass stubbornly resisted the cold.

   As such, he had found a spear for both of the children, and showed them how to sweep at the ground in front of them.

   “Wormgrass is very strong,” he cautioned. “It will cling and try to bite into you as fast as it can; you need to rip yourself away instantly, even if you lose some fur in the process. You may bleed.”

   Thankfully, they took it seriously. It was quite cute, how they insisted to walk in front and check the path for him.

   He stuck his own lantern on his spear; he was incapable of throwing a spear, anyways, and he figured it would help if it got dark from storm clouds.

   Which reminded him . . .

 

   
   Fond Remembrance, the Scav to find Moon, leaned in close for a moment, to whisper into his ear:

  “I was surprised, when I found her, for around her glowed like fabled moonlight; even though I couldn’t see it coming from her, I knew it was her. You gave her a very apt name.”

He shook his head. “It was not one given, it was always hers. But, thank you,”

 

 Saint suspected that was her own little biological quirk, like his grapple tongue. Whether it was just to be a light in the dark, or if there was more to it, they were sure to find out later.

  There was a tug on his fur. Moon peered up at him. “Dad, what’s that?” He knelt down next to her, and followed where she pointed.

  “Ah, a squidcada,” it hovered, eyeing them warily; Pebbles hissed at it, “they’re harmless. We saw some in Glacial Wastes, remember? You see how it’s smaller? And black? That means it’s a male. The females are larger, and white. They all have blue on them.”

   Saint stood, having an idea. “Actually. . .” He set his lantern-spear aside, prowling up to one, slowly. He bunched his muscles and then leapt, grabbing its tentacles. “Oof, got it!”

   His fall slowed due to the buzzing creature, and he brought it over to the children. “Go ahead and put down your spears. Okay, now one at a time; Pebbles, you can go first. Go ahead and grab its tentacles, and don’t let go.”

   Pebbles grimaced, but did so. His ears perked up when he found the creature wasn’t slimy - rather, they had silky soft skin. Saint gently picked Pebbles up, and then hefted him in the air.

   Pebbles yelped as he flew up high, hind legs kicking uselessly. Then his eyes widened when he realized he was slowly drifting back.

   Moon clapped and jumped. “Ooh! My turn! My turn!”

   Saint chuckled, helping the children shift out. He wasn’t sure how long they were there, Saint tossing the kids up high, where they laughed and squealed; when their fun was over, he patted the male squidcada and captured a few batflies for it. It gave him the stink eye and buzzed away.

   “C’mon, time to go.”

   Desolate Fields was quite unnerving; the wide, open spaces, the only cover being the wormgrass that would consume them if they attempted to hide among it; towering silos and machinery, empty; the first Scav toll they came upon was long abandoned.

   It really was a desolate, abandoned place.

   In fact, they didn’t run into anything much until they squeezed down through one set of tunnels and found a decrepit shelter.

  Across the room were some Scav lanterns, highlighting the decrepit symbols of a Scav treasury.

   A head curiously poked out when Moon stepped on Pebbles’ tail, leading to a whispered-hissing match.

   A pale colored Scav, deceptively young - any kit fuzz was long-gone from their face.

   They visibly perked up upon seeing the three of them; they scented the air then chirruped, “travelers! Please, come in, come in! I haven’t seen anyone new around here for a long while!”

   Saint scented the air, himself; he didn’t smell anything off, nor the scent of explosives. While he trusted the scavengers he had met in his travels, he always discretely checked the air. He just knew how to be subtle enough not to offend anyone.

   She beckoned them over, then popped back into the pipe. Saint gave the children reassuring pats on the head and followed.

   It was not a Scavenger Treasury; it was best described as a workshop, and at worst, a hoard of cloth. Different piles and bolts hung around, varying colors; most were pale, sun-bleached and weather-worn, but acceptable quality. Some had cut ends, where Saint presumed they were bug-eaten or torn.

   The Scav - oh. She had some kind of desk, set up. Various tools of old, twisted or torn metal were set up, including some spines from a lizard’s frill she seemed to be using to pin pieces of cloth together. He also realized she was wearing something; not quite a robe, colored like the deep waters of Frigid Coast.
 
   “Please, sit wherever you like! You can stay for the cycle if you want - or there’s a shelter across the way. I haven’t had company in a long while.”

  “What of the tribes in this region?” Saint was fairly certain there had been two or three major ones, at some point.

   She shook her head. “All gone; there’s a few scattered groups - and some of them are little more than bandits who thieve. The weather has gotten too harsh to properly stay in groups around here.”

   Unspoken, he knew what she meant; they had to go too far afield to find food, and without enough food a sizable population couldn’t sustain itself.

   “Well, thank you for your kindness. I’m The Saint, and these are my children, Moon and Pebbles.”

   “Oh! I’m Woven Cloth, it’s nice to meet you,” her eyes crinkled as she smiled.

   “That’s-“ a very Iterator-like name, he thought, “an apt name.”

   Woven laughed. “I chose it myself, sometime after my family-tribe disbanded. I started finding these wonderful articles of color,” she gestured all around, “and began to learn how to manipulate it and create things: garments, bedding, what-have-you. It’s like I was born to be Woven Cloth.”

   Saint could appreciate that; in Slugcat culture, you had two names - your pup name, something between family or colony - and your chosen name as an adult. By the twinkle in Woven’s eyes, he suspected she knew the custom, although she didn’t comment on it.

   (He wondered what names Moon and Pebbles would choose, when they grew up.)

   Moon had drifted away from Saint and closer to Woven, tilting her head curiously. “So you make art?” Pebbles perked up at that.

   Woven smiled. “I suppose so, yes; it’s something I enjoy, but also use to express myself. This one,” she turned around slowly, showing off her outfit, “was designed after the region of Shoreline. I’ve been working on one for each region, using the old names.”

   It was quite well done; the bottom edges were sheared in a gentle, wave-pattern, purposefully lop-sided. It covered her torso and part-way down her legs, but was sleeveless, and hung on by crossing over one shoulder. Not a garment Saint was familiar with, at any rate.

   He realized that there was some kind of stitching on it; once he focused he could see the thread taking shape: bubble weeds and jetfish, kelp and jellyfish, even a single, massive leviathan. It wasn’t as precise as the Ancient-made markings he had seen in his travels, but it was recognizable.

   “That’s really well done,” he complimented, “I especially enjoy the Leviathan.”

   “Go ahead; you can touch the pictures,” she pulled the garment away from her body and towards the kids, who felt over the fabric. To Saint, “thank you, it took me many cycles. This is the only region I’ve finished, although I’m almost done with Sky Islands.”

   Moon peered close, rubbing the fabric between her paws. “I’ve never seen such immaculate embroidery; there’s care in every stitch.”

   “Mm,” Pebbles hummed, “look, there’s a story; the jetfish swim, avoiding kelp and eating bubble weed, cycle after cycle, but the leviathan is unavoidable.”

   It was always jarring, how suddenly they were not children, but something far older. Then with a blink they were children again, eyes bright and curious.

   Woven Cloth took no notice of their oddity - or at least, didn’t comment on it. She accepted her garment back and shrugged it back on. “Em-broi-dare-ee,” she tried out the word, “embroidery. I like it!”

    “Thank you for sharing!” Moon chirruped, giving her brother a hefty elbowing until he thanked her too.

   “Of course! What is art, if not to share? Now please, tell me about your travels - I don’t hear much of anything new out here.”

   Saint let the kids take over, chiming in once in awhile. The children regaled Woven with stories of the squidcada, and the other Scavengers they had met. They talked about their interests - Pebbles talked about poetry that only an Iterator would have read, but in a way only a Slugcat could. Moon spoke of the land itself, that they had travelled through, giving vivid descriptions.

   In turn, Woven cloth spoke more of herself, her home life; how her brother - born from the same litter as her, which wasn’t common with Scavs - left for Undergrowth, and she hoped he was doing well.

   She showed them different cloths, including some she had found well-preserved in chests that were still vibrant after all this time. The children were very vocal about some of the colors.

   Eventually though, both pups were yawning and rubbing at their eyes, and Woven Cloth cleared a space for them.

   With the children curled up around him, Saint made sure to thank their host, again.

   “Think nothing of it,” she kept her voice low, to not wake the children, “I love where I live, and what I do, but it does get lonely - and I appreciate the company, more than you would know.”

  “We’re heading to the Outer Expanse; if you ever decide to come that way, you will be welcomed.” 
  
   She was quiet, for a long moment. Then gave him a soft smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now goodnight, and good dreams until the next cycle.”

Notes:

Woven’s brother is named Restless Earth, because he squirmed and wrestled a lot as a kit, and her birth name is Frozen Stalks.

The reason why Saint specifically pins Woven Cloth as an Iterator-like name is because Scavs do not weave cloth as an artistry - at least not at this point in time.

Chapter 8: Fashion Forges Friendship || AE: The Long Road

Notes:

Finally glad to get to this one, I’ve had this idea for awhile.

Also hope you like the winter tundras version of a Shelter Failure.

I feel like I’m gonna get mixed reactions on this one so sorry about that. I need to stop writing until like 2am lol.

AE means Also Entitled

   Their next cycle starts late, and ends up being an indoor one.

   Over the night a fierce wind had begun to howl, and the weather took a turn for the worse. This wasn’t uncommon, exactly, but it did cause what was known as a “skip-cycle” - which often resulted in a mechanism lock failure in shelters, causing the inhabitant to hibernate for a second cycle in a row.

   Thankfully Woven Cloth’s workshop was warm, roomier than a typical shelter, and she was stocked on food that she didn’t mind sharing. 
 
   When Saint managed to find the words, and the children were occupied with some sort of game, he couldn’t help but ask why she was so welcoming and hospitable. It wasn’t that he didn’t have friends among the Scavengers, but for how much she was willing to give up to help them, he was curious.

   “You bear the Chieftain’s Passage, don’t you know?” Woven wore an expression of disbelief when he shook his head.

   Sighing, she picked her work back up while she explained. “It’s not the only reason, of course; I’m kind to others, especially when they’re kind in turn. It gets lonely out here. But also because you bear what we call the Chieftain’s Passage.”

   She paused for a moment as she picked up a thread, inspecting it for something or other. When it met her satisfaction, she continued, “when an outsider - someone not a Scavenger - does significant good deeds for our tribe, they can be considered an honorary Scavenger - or at least a friend to our kind. Those actually in tribes or still connected with them will honor such a mark; the individual is free to pass through Tolls without paying, and are welcomed into our Treasuries. Essentially, it’s as though a Chief has granted you passage through our territories.”

   Saint hummed. He had helped many Scavengers, but. . . “What is considered significant? I can’t think of anything I had done that would bestow such an honor.”

   Woven chuckled. “Significant doesn’t mean it was a big gesture - it could be from numerous small deeds or regular trade. Anything that would increase your reputation among us.”

   “I see.” So far, it made sense. Of course, there was the matter of how any Scav who he came across knew; after all, word could travel through nearby tribes, but for Woven Cloth so isolated. . . “How did you know?”

   “Hmm?”

   “That I have this Chieftain’s Passage?”

   “Oh!” She paused her embroidery to look at him. “By scent. You can scent things, right?”

   He huffed with good humor. “Of course.”

   Woven turned back to her project. “Well, that’s how. I’d assume through the pearls you’ve traded. Your kind keeps things in their stomach and regurgitates them, right? Well that leaves a scent, and once one tribe decides you’re worthy to bear the mark, then when they trade those pearls, if the scent still clings they tell the tribe that they trade to to remember that scent. They might pass along a description, but as that chain continues it’s really the scent that’s important. As for your kits- I mean, pups,” her eyes crinkled with amusement as she glanced to where Moon and Pebbles were heatedly playing some kind of game that involved slapping paws, “well, you groom them, as they’re your kids, so they smell like you, and are included.”

   “That’s quite fortunate.” And it really was; he had never questioned his actions, he had been happy to help. To know that goodness brought goodness in turn warmed his heart. “Still, how did you know.”

   “Ha! I said I’m lonely and haven’t had visitors in a while, not that I didn’t visit others! There’s a tribe I confer with from the Windswept Spires - my parents live with them, actually. I meet up with them occasionally, trade for goods or gift them some of my creations. I prefer living here, but it’s nice to see other places.”

   “That it is,” Saint murmured, thinking of the places he had passed through before. The world was constantly changing around them. There was a time. . . 
   
   The thought drifts away like a violent gust of wind. He shakes his head, confused, but not worried. It wouldn’t be the first time.

   “Well, know that you will always be a friend amongst my kind, as well,” he clasps his paws and gives a half bow, “upon my word and my kin.”

   Woven gives a dip of her own head. “I am honored, and privileged; thank you.”

 

---

 

   Moon walked her brother through the game once more. “So this paw goes down, and this one up, so that we slap paws - then we lift both paws and press forwards like we’re pushing against each other, but it’s just a quick slap too - then we clap. Then we do it over again!”

   His ears were flat, a frustrated snarl on his muzzle. “Why is it so hard?! It’s just, just slapping!”

   Moon giggled. Pebbles really didn’t know how to be patient.

    He glares at her. “Isn’t there, like, a song or something that goes with it?” 

   “I-“ Moon tilted her head. Was there? On the edge of her thoughts, there was. . . a rhythm, of sorts. But what were the words? “Probably? I think? But, but I can’t remember. . .”

   Pebbles snorted. “Then make some up! This is too hard without a song!”

   Moon nodded slowly. Just, make up words, right? She hummed under her breath for a moment, sloppily playing the game with the air. Pebbles watched her impatiently, tail swishing, before he started to mutter some words.

   He watched her paws and she repeated his words, until they had some semblance of a song going that they out together with the game. It was slow and clunky, at first, but as they grew more confident they picked up speed, both with singing and clapping:

 

 

”Noodlefly,

squidee,

goieeduck

for me.

 

bluefruit,

centi,

bubble fruit,

yummy.

 

Noodlefly, centi,

goieeduck, yummy,

here’s a trick

do a flip,

clap along and make it quick;

if you can’t,

here’s a dare,

go as fast

as you can bear.”

 

  They went at it for quite a while, until their paws were sore; but they were grinning and laughing, and all Moon could think was that she had never seen her brother so happy.

   Even though it eventually devolved into him yelling “cheater!” and bowling her over into a wrestling match.

   Time passes with intervals of sleep and play; Dad and Woven talk a lot, but dad still takes time to play with them and groom them, and Woven shares a bit of her work with them. Moon tries sewing, and isn’t very good. Pebbles talks about the designs and pictures, and suggests some of his own.

   When the door finally unlocks, dad dips his head outside and breathes deeply. “All clear; the storm has gone.”

   “And so our time comes to an end,” Woven gets up, from where she and the children were matching colors for her future projects, “but before you go, I have gifts.”

   “You really don’t have to-“

   Woven waves him off. “I insist. For making dreary days less dull.”

   Dad sighs, but relents. “We can never thank you enough for your kindness.”

   Moon likes when Woven smiles; the softer skin around her eyes crinkled up, so her eyes are smiling too. “And I can never thank you enough for yours; friendship is a very valuable gift.”

   There’s one for each of them: bundles of what was once bright orange, but while faded still vibrant enough. She unfolds them into squares and shows how to fold them different ways to be different things. The best way, though, is as a triangle piece that she ties around their necks, loose enough they can slip them off if need be. “It’s called a bandana; You can pull it up over your muzzle, if the air is too cold.”

   Moon touches the fabric; how it’s been folded, there’s a circle embroidered in the center, with smaller phases of the moon on either side, curving away and up. The mark of friend rests in the center of the full circle. There’s some odd string threaded in with the marks, and she realizes that they are strands of Woven’s fur added in. Not a lot, but enough to be purposeful.

   Pebbles’ own bandana also has friend in the center, but either side has his forehead marks, above the friend symbol a circle - or perhaps, a pebble. He looks at it with something akin to reverence.

   She glances at dad; he’s smiling happily, even though he didn’t get anything.

   “Thank you so much!” Moon throws her paws around Woven, giving her a hug. The Scav seems surprised but hugs her back. “I’ll treasure it always!”

   Pebbles isn’t very touchy-feely, so he watches with a weird expression on his face. Moon fights the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

   “You’re very welcome.” She lets go. “And don’t worry, I didn’t forget your dad.” She must have caught Moon’s look.

   For Saint, she gives him some kind of wrist ties - scraps leftover from what she made for them. But they’re no less thought out, the symbol for the saint on the underside, and wheel flowers opposite.

   “Thank you.” He touches them gently. Dad’s voice was always low, and deep in a soft way, but his voice is undeniably thick with emotion as he says it.

   Pebbles tugs on dad’s fur, gesturing him down so he can whisper. Moon barely catches him asking for his pearl, and her brow furrows. It’s such a weird thing to ask for, right now - he hadn’t even said thanks yet! 
  
   But dad coughs it up, and Pebbles marches over to Woven with a determined look on his face.

   “This,” he says, “is a music pearl. You do this-“ he shows her how to make it work, warped music fading through, “- to make it play music. It’s very good for when you get lonely.” He then presses it into her hands and steps back.

   “I-“ Woven blinks, baffled. She bends down, asking gently, “Are you sure?” 
   
   Pebbles nods. “I’ve got dad and Moon, and, and you don’t. And you like art too,” he scuffs the floor with a foot paw, “music is art. And now we both have something art from one another.”

    Woven reaches out slowly to put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s,” she swallows, and void, Moon realizes she’s trying not to cry, and Moon has to rub at her own eyes, “May I give you a hug?”

   She waits until Pebbles gives her the okay; and then she gently brings him close for a hug.

   “Thank you, very much. I will always think of my friends when I listen to it.”

   Pebbles wriggles out of her hold after a moment, and she lets him go easily.

   It’s a little longer before they finally go, and Moon’s a little sad, but she’s also very, very proud of her little brother, and she gives him a squeeze because she can hug him anytime unless he’s really not okay with it, and sure enough he just grumbles half-heartedly. Dad even gives him a forehead kiss and tells him how proud he is, because he knows that wasn’t easy, but showed he has a kind heart. Moon is a little jealous until dad kisses her forehead too. She bonks against him in response.

   The air is crisp and clear after the skip-cycle, blue peaking through the thin haze of clouds. Wormgrass is nearly frozen solid, which makes it much, much slower to respond, and much, much safer for them to travel through.

   

---

 

    At one point, dad drags them through some tunnels, the chilled earth surrounding them. He finds some weird plants, round and spotty. Pebbles squishes it a little, and it feels kinda spongy.

   “Careful,” dad warns, “we don’t want it to explode. They’re called spore puffs, and they pop into stinky spores.”

   Pebbles wrinkles his nose. “Why are we getting them then?”

   Dad pats his head. “You’ll see; it’s a surprise.”

   Exiting some tunnels, they come across a hilly expanse (that once was pristinely cut fields, as it still holds some of its rectangular shape). Far as they can see into the distance is thick with wormgrass, too much to rush through even with the frost.

   Dad motions them to step back, and once they do he sets his own spore down, slamming the end of his spear into it; it erupts into a thick, green cloud. The smell is noxious; sharp and cloying, and sends all three into sneezing fits with watery eyes.

   “Sor- hnnnnkch! - sorry, kids, didn’t think - hnnpffff! - it would spread so - nnnchhh! - far-“ he’s cut off by another sputtering sneeze.

   In the distance is a bellow, a sound that travels through his very bones and sets his fur standing. Pebbles is suddenly afraid of how big such a thing must be.

   Dad notices, of course. “It’ll be okay - it’s passive. Harmless. I promise.” 

   At first, it seems like a bunch of storm clouds gathering on the horizon - but it draws closer, and closer, and while Pebbles still thinks of clouds, he knows it’s not. It’s texture - wiry, wooly, walking on delicate-looking limbs. A behemoth balancing on straw.

   “A Raindeer,” he breathes, drawing closer to dad. He- dad must have talked about them, once. Hadn’t he?

   Moon is practically vibrating in place as the creature draws nearer, snuffling at the ground where the spore puff exploded. Up close, it’s huge, amber eye looks at them curiously.

   Dad gently untangles Pebbles from his fur, bringing him over to Moon. “Go ahead, give it the spore puffs we brought. It’s going to give us a ride.”

   It delicately snuffles at the spore, pulling it out of her paws. Then it takes Pebbles, and he has to fight to stand still. Its nose is moist and leaves his paws wet. Gross.

   With acrobatic grace, dad snags onto its antler with his tongue, and wraps an arm around each of them; they’re propelled up onto the creature’s back, and dad tells them to keep a tight grip on the antlers. There’s plenty of room for all of them.

   With a groan, the Raindeer rises, meandering back the way it came; below they can hear the muted shuffling of the wormgrass trying to find purchase on the spindly legs, but there’s nothing for them to latch onto. The legs are slick and smooth, mostly bone.

   The fur of the Raindeer is kinda gross; spongy and rough. It bounces beneath Pebbles’ foot - until it doesn’t, and he’s suddenly knee-deep in the softest warmth he has ever felt.

   Dad laughs, and pulls him out. “Careful; the outer layer stops the Raindeer from getting soaked, but it’s not indestructible.”

   “But the rain crushes bones,” he mutters, ears flat; he’s pretty sure he isn’t strong enough to crush bones. Not yet, anyways.

   Moon prods at it. “Maybe because the rain is a bunch of smaller drops, it bounces?”

   Pebbles hums. He doesn’t know, but it sounds like something Moon could figure out. She likes animals and plants and stuff.

   There’s a gentle swell to their movement: up and down, up and down. The shuffling wormgrass below them. The breeze ruffling his ears. Pebbles closes his eyes and soaks it in.

    High, high above the world, at the top of The Wall; above the clouds, above the rains. 
Not above the cycles, no matter their chatter and ambitions.

   He thinks the Raindeer might not be that scary, actually.

   He must have napped, somehow, because dad picks him up, murmuring softly, and Pebbles rubs at his eyes. “C’mon pup.”

    He automatically clings when dad puts him on his back, and he falls back asleep, dreaming of soft wool and blue skies and a place above the world.

Notes:

* If any of you played lemonade, iced tea or Miss Sue, this is supposed to be a hand game like that. I’m focusing more on the tune of the first one, but I imagine over time it evolves to be more complex like the second one.

Yes it is Iterator-robe orange, but not as….searing, as the color has faded some.

Saint has never been given a personalized gift in his memory. Everyone is very touched.

I imagine spore puffs smell kinda onion-y.

Pebbles’ pearl, while valued when he was as an Iterator and a major comfort during his trauma, isn’t necessarily needed anymore. It’s not like a childhood toy he’s had forever (I hate the trope of someone getting rid of a beloved childhood item), and him willing to let it go is supposed to be symbolic of him letting go of his past - even though he can’t remember it. It would be one thing if he had his memories, but this is more subconscious. Also autistic!Pebbles my beloved.

Chapter 9: *Rarefaction cell noise*

Notes:

EDIT: Erasing my original note. I’m really sorry for the delay; I’ve had most of this chapter written since December 29th. It’s been a heck of a time all around, and without getting into all the personal stuff in my life, the long of the short of it is that I do live in California where all the fires have been happening. I am safe, we have not had to evacuate, etc. My block specifically had power out for almost two days (I have a friend who’s power was out for about 56 hours), and with one of the more recent fires it got really Smokey here for a bit (couldn’t go outside without a mask), but so far have been fortunate. It’s actually raining rn as I finish this chapter and post it, which I hope is reaching some of the wider affected areas. Please remember to stay safe in the event of any kind of natural disaster and have a go-bag for emergencies. You never know.

If any of you are also in range of the fires, or directly affected, I hope you’re safe.

    While most regions only took three or four cycles to travel through (two if you were in a rush, one if you were really booking it), Desolate Fields took a minimum of seven cycles. And these numbers were based on constant travel, and never mind with children in tow.

   They were maybe. . .halfway through, at this point. Saint knew from Woven Cloth that there was a still-standing toll near the gate to Primordial Underground (many, many Scav tribes lived there, where the trapped earth was warmer and plant life could be cultivated), but that was still quite aways away.

   So for now they had to contend with miles of wormgrass, unreliable raindeer, and bandits. They had yet to see bandits.

   Hopefully it would remain that way.

 

  (Saint was afraid, not for himself, but for the children. If he has to Ascend someone to protect them, he would. No matter how much he hates violently taking the choice of ascension from someone.

But they were his pups, now, and he would do whatever he needed to, to protect them.

Void willing, he would never need to.)

 

  At least there was plenty of Popcorn plants and batflies - the latter both children were really fond of. Saint helped catch them, silently wishing them peace in their next cycles. They were living beings, too. No matter how minuscule, they deserved respect.

   The hardest part of their journey was the tunnels. Neither child like the dark, dank spaces where infant centipedes crawled. Moon ate them readily enough; but earth pressing in from all sides, and the quiet, spooked them.

   “We’ll be out soon enough,” Saint reassured, as the shelter latched closed behind them. At least there was enough room inside, unlike squeezing through the corridors one-by-one.

   “I just don’t like it,” Moon muttered; both children hugged him tight on either side.

   He wrapped his own arms around them, rubbing their backs. “How about a story then, hmm?” He remembered enough pup stories - whether they were from his childhood, he didn’t know. But, he knew some.

   Neither seemed inclined to leave his side, so he told a story about a Slugcat in a faraway place, who found an overgrown garden, where they found a small sea full of stars.

 

---

 

   Saint isn’t quite sure what wakes him up.

   One moment he’s asleep, and the next he’s awake with the sense that something isn’t right.

   He opens his eyes.

   . . . Pebbles is on the ceiling of the shelter.

   He blinked; yep, the pup is still there. “Pebbles?”

   His fur is spiked and he’s breathing funny, eyes wide; but he’s unhurt, as far as Saint can tell.

   Moon is awake, paws stretched - she looks guiltily in his direction.

   “I can’t get down!” He mewls, panicked.

   Moon steps back as Saint stands - thankfully the roof is not far, Saint can easily touch it with his paws, so he just reaches up and pulls Pebbles towards him. There’s some resistance; a weird distortion around the pup. Saint holds onto him, firmly but not tightly, searching for any injury.

   “Are you hurt?”

   Pebbles shakes his head. “I- I had a- I was dreaming, I was, I was falling-“ he shakes a little, “it was scary. I didn’t want to fall and crash. And I was scared, and I, I woke up and then I was on the ceiling!”

   “He jolted away, scared me,” Moon adds. “There was a weird sound and he flew towards the ceiling! I think he hit it pretty hard,” she adds the last part in a whisper.

   Saint gently prods at Pebbles’ back, but no blood - probably just bruising, based on how the Scup winces. “Hmm, well I’ll hold onto you and we’ll wait a bit; see if it goes away on its own.”

   Moon wraps her paws around Pebbles in a hug. “I’ll help!” Her little brother scowls at her, but there’s no heat in it. It’s funny, as the cycles pass, they become more comfortable in their own fur. They act more like siblings every cycle.

   Thankfully, it did pass. There was a sound - not quite mechanical, perhaps electrical in nature? - and the distortion around Pebbles faded. Carefully, they let go, and Pebbles didn’t float off - Saint noticed as well that when the phenomena stopped, Pebbles paws had set more firmly on the ground.

   “I think we’ll stay here this cycle; I’ll gather some food, but don’t leave the shelter, okay?”

   “Awww, why?” Moon drooped and her brother crossed his arms, grumbling. 
   
   “Because I think this is going to happen again, and I would prefer to be in an enclosed room if it does.” He ruffles both their ears. “Now be good, I’ll be back.”

   What he doesn’t tell them is that he has already imagined a hundred and one scenarios, starting with Pebbles floating off and a vulture snatching him out of the air. Saint really can’t take the strain on his heart. So he would prefer they take time to figure this out.

   

 

   They take a few cycles to establish what, exactly, is going on.

   Pebbles isn’t about to randomly float off, thank the void. It seems that whatever biological quirk the pink pup has emits from him, and distorts gravity around him - basically, he emits low gravity, and can launch himself off of things. So he can’t just float away. He needs movement, momentum. And when he gets moving, he hurtles pretty fast.

   But he is young, and doesn’t have great control; he can’t turn it off at will, and it takes a frustrating amount of time to figure out how to trigger it.

   For Saint, he controls certain muscles. It was easy to shoot out his tongue, but learning to grapple with it . . .he thinks he vaguely remembers it taking a long time. 
  
   Pebbles frowns, placing his paws in the vague area of his stomach. “I think it’s here.” 
   
   It’s more internal than external, they surmise; they’ve figure out it has to do with his core, and his core muscles play a part in it.

   Moon is ecstatic, to say the least.

   “This is so cool! You’ll be able to do so many things!” She gushes. Her brother shies away from the support, unsure how to react. “Catch batflies super fast, and dodge lizards, and-“

   Eventually, though, he caves under her enthusiasm. “It is pretty cool. It’s probably the coolest thing ever!” Saint has to hold back a chuckle as the pup proudly puffs his chest out. 
  
   “Hmm, well,” Moon fixes his bandana, “careful you don’t get too puffed up, or maybe you really will float away!” She giggles and he shoves her, grumbling about how not funny she is.

   Saint shoves away the brief image of Pebbles hurtling into danger; he’s confident he can grab him fast enough if the situation calls for it. He also plans to have Pebbles hold hands with either Moon or Himself while they travel. Preferably both of them.

   “It will be a great advantage,” Saint finally adds in, setting a paw on Pebbles head; the slugpup pushes into the affectionate gesture, a brief purr rumbling out. “But it will also take time to practice. But we’ll work together on it, okay?”

   He nods, eyes alight with determination. 

   Of course, when they actually set off and Saint commits to holding the pups’ paws, Pebbles scowls and pulls and complains. Pride and independence, good qualities in certain circumstances, tiring in this one. It’s not until Saint explains that it’s more for his own peace of mind than anything - “because I love you, and I don’t want you to get hurt” - does he relent. Not quietly, of course. But no longer actively fighting, either.

   He can tell that even Moon isn’t too happy with the arrangement, ears flicking back every so often, but quite frankly if she starts defying gravity he might actually have a heart attack. So. They’ll just have to deal with a clingy dad for a few cycles.

   At the last leg of their journey through Farm Arrays (fourteen cycles; fourteen. Cycles.), as they’re riding the Raindeer down through a fissure lined with wormgrass, he gently pats both children’s backs.

   “When we pass the gate, I promise to be less clingy.” The children look at him skeptically, but he doesn’t elaborate. Pebbles has gotten a better grasp on centering himself when his distortion activates, for lack of a better term, and Saint is confident he can navigate and re-orient himself in the enclosed subterranean region.

   Once the gate activates, Saint lets go of their paws, keeping to his promise. They’re not infants nor are they helpless; he’s confident in them, and in himself to intervene when necessary. And the children seem appreciative, as Moon gives him a brief hug, and Pebbles relaxes. They dart around the new room curiously.

   His worries, while not unfounded, perhaps made him a tad overprotective.

   Saint smiles. “Come along, children,” he ushers them towards the tunnel. “I believe the next room has more squidcada, if I’m remembering correctly.”

   Although, as they leave the tunnel and come face to face with bristling spears, he wonders if overprotective is actually all that bad.

Notes:

Pebbles had a nightmare-memory of his can collapsing, which is what triggered his rarefaction adaptation.

My silly AU so I’m tweaking timing; you can assume empty Scav treasuries can be used as shelters, and/or that there are more shelters than canonically in-game. Broken shelters exist too.

Yes Pebbs will eventually be able to trigger and disable at will; there will be a cool down. Think about how the timer for Saint’s ascension ability works - disable it, and the timer refills.

We’re gonna be entering Subterranean which will technically be the last arc! Outer Expanse will be more akin to the epilogue I think. Maybe I’ll do an extra chapter for it. I dunno.

Chapter 10: Fractal Opulence

Notes:

No idea what the title is, I kinda want to convey something specific in regards to Echoes but I have no idea if it makes sense. Sounds fancy tho.

Sorry if last chapter ended on a scare, lol.

The echo dialogue will have some pieces the same as downpour canon, but will have changes also!

EDIT: thank you guys for the patience! The fires are contained and out, to my knowledge, and thankfully my family didn’t have to evacuate. If anyone here has been affected by the fires I hope you’re doing okay and are safe.

   Saint was torn between putting his paws up, grabbing the children, or reacting aggressively. He ended up standing with shoulders hunched, fur slightly puffed, the beginnings of a snarl on his face and his paws gesturing the children to stay behind him where he could protect them.

   There were some guttural words and a Scav slammed their spear onto the others, forcing them to point downwards. They roughly shoulder-checked the nearest one with a clicking hiss.

   “Ack! Ack! Oenn, sssk!” Saint found himself frozen, more bewildered than anything. He knew Scavengers had their own language, but it was mostly interchangeable with the spoken language of slugcats - at least the ones he knew. This sounded like a completely different dialect, if not a different language altogether. 
 
   The Scav finished shooing the others away, before turning back to them. “Sorry, recently ranked.” Their words were heavier, thicker and with more of a snap to certain sounds than Saint was used to - but he could hear how it rang similar to how the Scavengers that Saint was more familiar with spoke. Had it really been so long, since Saint had traversed to the depths, that the Scavengers’ language was evolving? Or was this a dialect spoken by a smaller group he had never met, expanding over time?

   He was pulled from his musings by the children clinging to his arms, peering around him. He finally forced himself to relax; there was no danger here. Just a misunderstanding. 
   
   “It’s okay,” he forced himself speak, struggling to drop the snarl, “no one was hurt.” His instincts were still screaming though, expecting a fight and the sudden absence of it making him off-footed.

   The Scav smiled - she was an elite, he noticed, her vulture mask pale blue and painted with the symbol for survival. “I am glad it is so,” she looked them up and down, then dropped to a knee so that she was more level with the children; she was still almost bigger than Saint, even like this. “I see you are friends with the artist from the fields, and have rights of the chieftain.” She held out a paw to them. “I am Sun-warmed Vine.”

   Saint shook her paw, introducing himself and the children. “I am The Saint, and these are my slugpups: Moon and Pebbles.”

   Moon hesitantly shook her paw, but Pebbles shied away, eyeing her with distrust. To be fair, she was quite an intimidating figure, much larger than any other Scavenger they had met.

   “Little names for little creatures,” she chortled. “But importance in title,” she tilted her head towards Saint, then stood. “Short names, though perhaps not as quick.”

   Saint liked her, he decided. There was something kind about her, and a jovial air. Oh, he was sure she could kill a vulture easily enough. But her hands were gentle with children. Soft with those she cared for. 

   A guardian, more than a warrior, he surmised. 
  
   “Well, we are an easily hunted people, and pups are so very small; but I have heard adults with longer titles. But no larger for them.” 
   
   Vine found this funny, laughing heartily. “You speak well, Saint! Now come, shelter with our tribe before next cycle - much time for eating, and speaking.”

   It seemed that this group was not a sole tribe, but a smaller portion of the larger populace - Vine explained how there were groups set up throughout the region that regularly switched out. Her particular squad was made up of mostly young adults who were new to their rank, and this particular area made them high strung and nervous.

   “Dreams,” she explained, “odd dreams at night, always in this area. No agreement on what, only that one wakes fearful and confused.”

   Saint’s ear flicked; he was fairly certain he knew why - after all, an Echo resided close to here. “And you?”

  She grinned. “Is only dreams, why fear?”

   “Why fear indeed.”

 

 

   This particular room, right after the gate, had been turned into something new - not a Toll, or a Treasury, but an Outpost.

   Above them was an old shelter that had finally succumbed to time, and fallen into disrepair; there was also an old treasury up there, from before the cold.

   (Saint was fairly certain he had stayed there, a few times, in the past.)

   Upon exiting was a sheer drop that split into three different tunnels - the higher up one housing the echo named Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets - and the latter two going straight down into Primordial Underground.

   Or. . .there was supposed to be.

   When Saint told Vine that they were heading to the Outer Expanse, she shook her head.

   “Nay, it will not be quick; collapse, bottom tunnels smothered. Gone. Newer tunnel dug in closer cavern, will take you closer to tracks. Not too far, but no longer quick route.”

   Saint exhaled slowly. It was a setback, but fairly minor. They were in no rush, really.

   He heard laughter and turned, catching the vv-whop sound of Pebbles altering gravity. Moon squealed as two younger Scavs gently tossed the pup back and forth, over her head and out of her reach, even with her impressive jumps. Pebbles shrieked indignantly, obviously mad about being used as some kind of rock, but soon enough he was laughing along, shouting something about not letting Moon catch him. 
  
   He felt a hand on his shoulder, and saw Vine watching as well, gaze warm. “I will take two with me and guide you - there are still many dangers, spiders, centipedes, but we will protect you.”

   Saint placed his paw on hers. “Thank you, truly.”

   “No thanks are needed; kits are precious things to protect.” 

---

 

   Saint was familiar with the echoes, although as time rippled, they only vaguely recognized him. Like a breeze carrying a familiar scent.

   This close, it was easy to wake in a dream, the air solemn and ethereal all in one, the world still around him. He could see Scavs breathing, slowly, so slowly - time wasn’t exactly stopped, but thick. Walking felt similar to walking through a pond - slow.

   He was surprised when a paw grabbed his, and he turned to see Moon, Pebbles behind her and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Dad?” The words wavered and stretched.

 

   I need to go speak with someone.

 

   She squinted, confused. He wondered if his voice distorted as well. Or if she could hear him at all. He gently squeezed her paw, and she squeezed back. Gently, he continued, bringing her along. Even though he didn’t see, he just knew she reached back for her brother’s paw - he could feel the three of them traveling, like a chain.

   Outside, it was cool. Not cold, but cool, the air almost silky. As they travelled closer to the source, the world rippled, and down fell golden flakes.

  Inside the cavern it was, like a great space had been carved into reality just for it. He hadn’t visited this one, as he had found a sufficient amount of echoes to reach attunement. He was glad, because he didn’t know if he could reach an echo twice in one lifetime, and he was sure the children would have been pulled here regardless during their journey. He would rather they not encounter an echo alone.

   Ebb and flow; the presence noticed them.

 

A little beast! No, a family of little beasts!

Though only one enlightened.

Do you herald the dawn of a new era? Erasing us and our sins, from history?

It matters not whether we were the tenth, the hundredth, the thousandth civilization. We will be consumed like the rest.

Our small struggles bore such insignificance, as will yours.

All was naught but to serve the void.

 

  Saint felt his soul resonate; though he cared not for this echo’s words, the karmic tethers still called to him.

   He could not pluck such strings, never mind sever them; the echoes made their choices.

   The rising tide swallowed them whole, as they faded to waking once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   For Saint, it was easy for his mind to acclimate to the waking world once more. His very existence teetered on the edge, so it wasn’t an unfamiliar experience. 
 
   The children, however. . . 

   Pebbles woke with a ragged gasp, Moon swiftly following. Their pupils dilated, both were panting, tails twitching.

   “Wha. . .” Moon gestured, frustrated, confused.

    He knelt before them and gently put a paw on their shoulders. “Take a moment to get your bearings,” her murmured to them.

   When they managed to calm down (which took a while, as Moon randomly burst into tears at one point, although why, Saint had no clue), he got them some food.

   “What do you recall?” He asked, once they were sated.

   “We- it; everything was weird,” Moon hugged herself and shuddered, “blue and gold. And you were black and gold, dad, and felt weird too, like that thing down below, but I knew it was you, so I wasn’t scared - until we met the, the big thing. That thing felt wrong.”

   Odd. . .his appearance was different to them, then? He knew, in his nature, he was essentially an echo, although not the same as the tethered ones - he was unaware he could look as such to others though. He was glad he hadn’t scared the children at least.

   Pebbles nodded. “It was like, like swimming in a reflection.” Whatever that meant seemed to make sense in both children’s minds.

   He . . . wasn’t actually sure how to explain. It was, certainly, A Lot, perhaps even somewhat traumatic (perhaps why many unatunned minds forgot such encounters). But it wasn’t necessarily bad. “What happened, what we saw, was a dream - but a very special dream. There are . . . people, or there were, who felt very, very strongly about something. So strongly, an echo of them becomes. . . tethered, or tied, to a place they once lived. That’s what they’re called: Echoes. This one was a member of an ancient society, long gone.”

   Something flashed in Moon’s eyes; a glimmer of disgust? Her face briefly twisted into a snarl and then it was gone, leaving her blinking in confusion. Was it something she had known once, as an Iterator?

   Pebbles, on the other hand, was positively spooked: his fur was bristling, his tail fanning out like an agitated pole plant. “What did it want with us?” 
  
   Saint gave him a reassuring rub on the head. “Want? It wanted nothing, little one,” Pebbles leaned in, relieved, “It did not call to us - we were drawn to it. Some creatures are. . .more sensitive to karmic attunement than others. And Echoes like to speak to any who can hear them.”

   Moon was leaning into his side, and she looked up at that. “Karmic attunement?”

   Ah. “A lesson for another time,” he promised, ruffling her ears. “It will be a lengthy discussion, I fear.”

   The cuddling soon turned into a grooming session, with Pebbles only half-heartedly protesting, and then some of the younger Scavs came by to cajole them into playing.

    Saint leaned back, and thought on the echo’s words. He snorted.

    ’All to serve the void’? No, all things fall into the void in due time, but our existence until then is for us to enjoy - it is no means to an end.

    Saint never really liked that echo.

 

 

Notes:

Me: More Scavs but these guys are more on alert.

Also me: but what if I made them have different customs, tongue, and views? What if I complicated things?

Anyways, the Scavs in the map areas don’t actually match up verbally with the Slugcat language all that much. This is more of the case that Saint has lived who knows how long, the pups were once Iterators, and the Chieftain during Artificer’s timeline surely had the Mark, so their language changed a lot. This group in Sub actually has ancestry from Outer Expanse and beyond, where their language is quite different, and can vary as dialects. This is my way of explaining why the Scugs in game don’t actually know any Scavenger - those in the facilities of Moon and Pebbles are actually the ones with the odd/different dialect. If this makes any sense.

Chapter 11: Grumblebum

Notes:

I really like this track tbh XD Subterranean is a funky little place. I am taking many creative liberties, though.

In the previous chapter, Saint’s echo-dream form looks similar to Saint’s echo-design in Priintiisor’s Mad Dog PMV (which is really good and you should check it out!) It’s really similar to what I imagined Saint looks like as an echo, so I was stoked when I saw it lol

EDIT: Thank you guys so much for being patient; I’ve been dealing with a lot of health issues and personal stuff, so sorry about the delays.

    Sun-warmed Vine had chosen a squad of four other Scavs to accompany them, the main reason being that five minimum was what could take on a red centipede. And since the Slugcats were non-combatants, it was best to have a full squad.

   On-going Snow, Whistle Wind, and Hanging Pearls were your typical array of Scavs in browns and grays - their last companion, however, was a different story.

   Saint didn’t even know a word for what color they were: it wasn’t just a red, and it wasn’t quite a pink, but some . . .assaultingly bright color in between. He didn’t even know such a color existed, nor that it was possible. He was brighter than a red centipede.

   Not that he would say that because it would be impolite; honestly, Cherry Berry was a very nice Scav. But looking at him was kind of a headache.

   He was sure his eyes would get used to it in time.

   The kids seemed quite taken with Cherry Berry, at least.

   “. . .and that’s why I don’t eat bluefruit anymore.” The kids were enthralled with . . .whatever it was he was telling them.

   There was a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to Vine, tilting his head.

   “I wanted check; you no throw spears, but can throw rocks?” When he nodded, she gave him a small bag, one he could sling over his shoulder so his paws were free. It wasn’t very big, but it could hold a few pieces of rubble. There was also some cherrybomb seeds.

   “We have danger, you throw; noisy, scare predators.” She patted him on the shoulder.

   He adjusted the bag so that it hung on one side, easily accessed by his dominant paw. “Thank you, Vine; I really appreciate the kindness you have shown to us. If you ever need anything from me, you need only to ask.” 

   She merely chuckled and ruffled his head fur, like he was a pup. Then she was off, shouting orders to the Scavs remaining behind.

 

    There was no trouble sliding down the echo cavern; the children gazed around, wide-eyed, despite its emptiness. Sometimes, when Saint visited places echoes resided, he felt like he could taste the lingering remains of their presence; something not quite textured, nor flavored, but lingering like moisture in the air. He did not have a proper way to explain how his fleshly body processed it.

   Thankfully, even with the echo faded from this realm, predators knew to stay away from this space - as well as from the majority of the tunnel leading them down. But as soon as they entered joint tunnels where Gooieducks began to grow, they got their first sign of other life.

   The very air was warm, and seemed to thrum with the hundreds of creatures crawling through the earth; sibilant hisses echoed, and the crackle of centipedes crept around corners. Here there be death.

   That was the cost of plentiful food - not just vegetation, but the creatures drawn to the vegetation, drawing in the meat-eaters.

   It was not an easy life.

   But it was not all hardship; they could hear the whoop! of other Scavengers on the hunt, and exploring, and gathering. It echoed, perhaps from far down the tunnel, or from another running adjacent to them, only an earthen wall between them. It was a lively cacophony that sang of the Primordial Underground.

   Saint subconsciously drew the children close; his ears flicking every which way, getting accustomed to the tidal wave of sound. It was definitely not as. . . loud, last time he was here.

   But he supposed it was a good thing; with the raging snow storms on the surface, he was glad to see creatures adapting, surviving, thriving.

   Vine held out a hand, and everyone halted. When she began to move, they followed, careful as the tunnel sharply began to veer down.

   She grabbed a root, grunting. “Below opens up wide into the old metal trail tunnel; there is landing, but brace yourself.”

   Then she let go, diving down where the ground gave way.

 

---

---

 

   Pebbles didn’t like this.

   It was fine at first; the tunnels weren’t too cramped. In fact, both he and Moon could walk on either side of dad, and there was still room. The lanterns the Scavs carried lit up the path, and while it was noisy, Pebbles could tell that the sounds were around them, but not in the same room as them.

   And then they jumped down.

   Pebbles went weightless, while dad carried Moon down, using his grapple tongue. The tunnel they entered was almost too open; shadows danced out of the reach of their meager lights. He thought he caught a glint of something on the ceiling, like a pustule made of dirt.

   His fur stood on end.

  It smelled too: like must, and stale air, and decaying metal. Something about the smell of rust turned his stomach.

   They were in an abandoned railway.

   Tracks, disintegrating in some places, buried under earth in some, and others, still, torn and twisted up from the ground as though by some great force, like a mockery of growing plants. Most of the tunnel was empty, though he knew there must be railcars further in the tunnel.

   . . .railcars were used to carry peoples or things, to other places.

   But not anymore.

   Pebbles had never seen a railcar.

   Right?

   Something brushed against his fur and he jumped; but it was only Moon, frowning at him.

   “You okay?” She whispered.

   Pebbles throat felt tight. “I. . . “

   “. . .Pearls, Snow, scout ahead. Whistle and Cherry Berry, you take up rear. Saint, you and little kits stay center.” Vine’s voice boomed in the stillness, and Pebbles couldn’t help but curl in on himself.

   Moon’s worried frown didn’t go away, but she didn’t push him, either. Just gently coaxed him to stand, and leading him to dad.

   What was wrong with him?

   “Pebbles?” He looked and saw Moon holding onto dad’s arm; dad was frowning now, too. It was a small frown, soft.

   He held himself tighter.

   Dad knelt down, gently grabbing his shoulders. “I can tell something’s wrong. Are you able to tell me?”

   He shook his head. Then didn’t stop. His while body was shaking. 
   
   He heard a soft sigh, then felt himself being scooped up and help close. Dad was talking, he could feel the rumble, but he couldn’t hear what was being said.

   Pebbles felt awful, and he didn’t know why.

   Something. . .something bad is gonna happen. Something bad is gonna happen. Something bad is gonna happen.

   He couldn’t breathe-

    He opened his eyes with a gasp - when had he closed them? - and his heart was in his throat, badumpa-budumpa-budumping too fast, and his vision was all blurry-

   Eyes. Shoreline blue. Moon?   
  
   Eyes, endless-gold-and-black. Dad.

   “You back with us kiddo?”

   “Whuh’,” his mouth felt weird, dry and sticky. “Wha’ happened?”

    Moon hugged him as soon as he started talking. The frown finally left dad’s face. “You had a pretty bad panic attack. Do you know what worried you?”

   He tried to shake his head, but Moon was in the way. “Nuh’, just. . .a really, really bad feeling. That something bad was gonna happen.”

   He made grabby hands - he didn’t know when dad set him down, but he really, really needed to be close to him right now, even if he was getting too big for uppies. No one said anything as dad scooped him up, though, and he nuzzled down into his soft, green fur. He was still tremoring, a little at a time, and he was nauseous, but he could breathe again.

   “Little one okay?” He heard Vine murmur. Dad must have responded, because then they were moving again.

   Gradually, he relaxed. Even peeking out and seeing Moon on the right. She was super-focused, watching their surroundings, and it made Pebbles feel better.

   She was holding dad’s paw, too, which made him feel better as well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

    They did eventually see some railcars, fossilized and set into the dirt. It would be impossible to move them; they had become a part of the environment.

   There was no fear of freezing to death, so they slowly took their time. Pebbles’ found the lack of predators in this tunnel unnerving until Snow dug around a bit and uncovered infant centipedes, and threw a rock at the weird, dirt pustules he had seen on the roof earlier, which shot out hooked tentacles. “Stowaway,” they explained, “flying creatures and wall-climbers get caught by them. Don’t touch it’s tendrils, or it’ll pull you in.”

   It explained the lack of other larger predators, at least.

   But eventually the tunnel lightened, and the air cooled. They exited the pipe and entered what must have once been a station, long ago. High above were grills where a fresh, cold breeze blew in with some sparse snow.

   It was still nowhere near as cold as topside.

   “We’ll need to move carefully here,” Pearls murmured. “Lizard territory.”

   Everyone was smart enough not to respond out loud.

   While the broad tunnels made him uneasy, it had nothing on the empty station: a land slide had crushed the actual station centuries ago, and what was left were rusting railcars and the cold, muddy ground. Away from the grates, it was moist and chilly, the metal slick with condensation, until they were closer to another grate where there was a sheen of frost instead. There was creaking, and water dripping, and indistinguishable sounds covering the area like a fog of sound.

    There were signs of lizards, too; old, cracked carapaces from centipedes that had been eaten, as well as some scales and hair that must have been shed. One railcar had silver marks where it had clawed through the paint.

   There was a spitter spider at one point, but it saw the size of their group and scuttled off with a hiss.

    Quite a ways ahead, they could see no more railcars; and looking further, it was obvious that the ground ended.

   How would they get across? Would they climb down?

   There was a sibilant hiss and everyone froze.

Next to their left were two railcars: the further railcar was partially tipped and the only reason it was held back was that it was latched to the closer railcar that was firmly rusted to the warped track and pinned down by a landslide.

  Vine made a motion towards them; they were to make for those railcars and lay low for a moment while they assessed the area.

   A horrendous screech rose out.

   The area began to resound with angry hisses and crackling, and dad scooped both of them up and ran for it - suddenly there was nothing but red chitin and then there was an overgrown centipede among them, and then orange as a pack of lizards closed in. They must have been hunting, and one got zapped; Pebbles saw as one orange whipped around and sank its teeth into a Scav (was that Pearls or Whistle?) and he squeezed his eyes shut so that he wouldn’t see anymore.

   He felt them tumble into the railcar, and yelling voices, shouting, hissing, buzzing - a whirlwind of noise, but under it all he heard creaking.

   His stomach dropped.

  The railcar was falling.

   But outside was predators, and even then it was going too fast, sliding-

   A moment, suspended.

   Then with a great groan, it fell.

 

 

---

 

   Moon remembered sounds that kept crescendoing, and then abruptly cut off.

   Her head hurt.

   She kept a paw to her head as she sat up, gazing around the room.

   It took her awhile to actually see; it was a mess of torn metal and dirt. She saw dad, first, his bright green a blessing at the moment. She crawled over, slowly, and saw he was curled around Pebbles, who was groaning.

   Dad didn’t wake up, though.
 
   He was breathing, and she felt her heart begin to calm down. She gently pulled Pebbles out from under him, rubbing her brother’s back to rouse him. There was blood on dad’s face.

   At least he wasn’t seizing.

   There was a rustle.

   She turned around, holding Pebbles close and shielding dad, catching a glimpse of something, but then Cherry Berry was in front of her, murmuring, “don’t look, kit,” and guiding her to turn back around. 

   She looked anyways.

   She wished she hadn’t.

   She didn’t know. . .she didn’t know metal could do that, tear into a body like that. She wasn’t sure- there was so much blood-

   She thinks it might be Snow.

   She fights down nausea.

   “Moon?” Pebbles slurs. 
   
    She shushes him, and checks him over, gently murmuring as she prods at him. Cherry is taking care of dad, so she focuses on her brother. Thankfully he’s not much hurt, just swollen around his right eye and cheek where he must have smacked into something, but she can’t find much else. She’s sure he’ll be sore and bruised like she is, but remarkably, they’re mostly okay.

   Moon glances at their companion; Cherry is ruffled, and definitely has bumps and bruises. He’s breathing a little sharply, but she doesn’t see much else wrong. He’s tying some kind of fabric on Dad’s head, muttering under his breath as he does.

   “Okay, I think it’s just a head wound - he might be hurt more, but I don’t think it’s gonna kill him,” he announces. “What about you kits?”

   “Pebbles’ hurt his face, just the right side. We’re both bruised but okay.”

   Cherry smiles crookedly. “That’s good; we’re pretty lucky, all things considered.” He sits with a groan.

   Moon scoots closer. “Are. . . are you okay?”

   “I might have some broken ribs, but I’m okay,” he assures. “It’s something that will heal, eventually. It could have been worse.” His eyes flicker over to, to Snow, but snap back to the Slugpups.

    Moon sits with her brother in her lap, curling around him. Pebbles sniffles and rubs at his eyes, “I jus’ knew something bad was gunna happen. . .” He quiets as Moon starts grooming him, compliant.

   It’s not too dark in the car, surprisingly; their lanterns are long gone, smashed in the crash and only a few fairly glowing shards visible. Pebbles leans into her, murmuring, “y’glow,” playing with her fur.

   And he’s right, she does glow - not like a flashfruit or a lantern, but like. . . there’s a space of light all around her, coming from her, even if she herself isn’t glowing.

   Faint, ever so faintly, she recalls. . .they floated, and glowed. They were white, but they could change colors too. When they were eaten they could make you glow, couldn’t they?

   But whatever weird. . .thing, that was, she couldn’t remember.

   She did notice that her light slowly became brighter.

   Cherry stirred - when had he fallen asleep? - propping himself up with a wince.

   “I think we need to find a way out; get some of the others for help.”

   Pebbles woke up from his own half-sleep as Moon shifted. “But . . .how? I mean, what if they’re. . .” dead, she doesn’t need to say.

   Cherry shakes his head. “I don’t know, but that’s not what I meant. There should be another outpost close to here, if we fell where I think we did. That’s where the others will got if they’re okay.”

   Cherry slowly drags himself up, but slips; thanks to the wall and Moon’s quick reflexes, he’s eased down. “We’ll look, you need to rest.” He nods, wheezing too much to answer.

   It doesn’t take long, although Pebbles sticks close to her so he can see. There’s a few holes in the crumpled frame, too small for Cherry or dad, but. . .

   “We found some holes, but only Pebbles and I can fit.” Moon doesn’t particularly want to go out alone, but there’s not much of a choice, is there?

   “Are you sure?” Cherry doesn’t seem keen on the idea either.

   Moon nods. Dad needs her, and so does Cherry. They can’t wait here until a centipede makes its way in, or a lizard breaks through. And while she would rather leave Pebbles, she already knows he’s going to follow. “Just. . .take care of dad, please.”
   
   The scavenger slumps. “Okay, let me give you the directions.”

   

Notes:

I’ll eventually do some doodles of the Scavs, something simple, but Cherry Berry is a bright red colored Scav. I’m in a server with a random Scav bot, and this is one of the fun ones that popped up. The word Saint needs is saturated, actually, not bright. Intense works too.

Also, as someone who is autistic and has anxiety/trauma, sometimes you pick up pattern recognition. Or just good intuition. I’m not implying Pebbles can see the future. Sometimes you just get unexplained foreboding lol. Also, sometimes you can get panic attacks without a specific trigger - could have been built up from the stress, or something else.

We are approaching the end!

Chapter 12: Outer reaches - scars and trails

Notes:

Just the prologue after this!

This is where we kinda diverge from the map - the beginning room is a real room. If ya know ya know. But I’m making it that an upper room collapsed down, at this point in time, opening up another tunnel.

Back to a mix of cartoon silliness and seriousness.

EDIT: sorry. Was sick, got distracted with Watcher, joined an awesome RP group, and found out I have arthritis in my spine now. It’s been a weird. . .however long since the last update XD

    Moon and Pebbles squeezed out of the broken railcar, armed with a piece of rebar and a rock, respectively. Once out, they hold paws and crouch low.

   Moon’s glow, which had seemed to reach some kind of threshold, had begun to dim, so their range of sight wasn’t as wide - she hoped it would grow back, but only time would tell. If she wasn’t so stressed and scared, she would be more interested in figuring out her little biological advantage.

    And talking to dad about it.

    But that would have to wait.

    They seemed to be in the room Cherry Berry thought they were; and open room with mounds and old carapaces of centipedes. It took a moment to find the cramped tunnel he described, higher up in the wall, but they did find it. 
   
   Moon was quick to help her brother reach it, shoving him up urgently. She could hear crackling, as something skittered amongst the old carapaces. Hauling herself up, she looked behind her but couldn’t tell which centipedes were dead, and which were alive.

   She was just glad she could only see some platings from red ones, no whole bodies.

   It was a tight squeeze, but opened out into another room - this one barely bigger than the inside of the railcars. There were old pillars mostly buried in dirt, so thankfully it would be easy to cross. Entering the next pipe, they squeezed out into a sloping tunnel that veered up.

   “Hold onto my tail,” she instructed, grimacing when Pebbles did so. It was uncomfortable, but with the tight quarters and angle, there was no other way to ascend. She made sure she had a good grip on the spear, and then best as she could dig her paws into the dirt as she hauled her way upwards. 
 
   By time they made it to the top and into the next room, her paws and back ached; on top of the crash earlier, she was really worn out. 
  
   Dad and Cherry need us, she reminded herself. 

   At least her glow started to wax again.

   Moon stood and stretched. “C’moon, let’s go.”

 

---

 

   Cherry Berry had a sizable pile of rocks and debris gathered - while it wouldn’t do much damage, it might deter an angry predator trying to get in.

   He hoped the kids were okay; he hated sending them out alone. But they didn’t really have any other option. The Saint couldn’t be left alone, unconscious, and Cherry was too injured to drag him around - he could barely drag his own body forwards as it was. And sitting here, all huddled together, was just asking to get eaten.
 
   But they were just little kits - not infants, but too young to be by themselves, surely.

   Would they make it? 
   
   The fur on nape of his neck prickled, and he turned to see Saint was awake, staring at him incomprehensibly. 
 
   “I’m. . . glad to see you’re awake,” Cherry wiped his sweaty hands on his legs, “how are you feeling?”

   A blink. He shifted.

   Okay. This was, unsettling. 

   Saint gently touched the wrapping on his head, wincing, shakily sitting up.

   Cherry reached out. “Maybe you shoul-“

   Saint whipped his head, baring his teeth, eyes wide and glowing. “Where. Are. My. Kids?” He hissed.

    Cherry whimpered, recoiling.

    He had never been so terrified in his life.

 

---

   So far things had been going well.

   There had been a few spiders, but they managed to deter them with rocks and hissing; wolf spiders were fairly reluctant - they didn’t like when their meal tried to fight back.

   But still, they remained alert - more so, if anything. The tension thick in the air, ears flicking back and forth.

   A paw grabbing her arm stopped her short. Moon looked down to her brother, who was looking ahead, brow furrowed. “Look,” he whispered.

   And, up ahead, there it was: a lantern. Glowing, alone. Had one of the others been this way? Or perhaps other Scavs, from the outpost they were heading to? 
 
  . . .but why was it here? It wasn’t hard to guess that maybe they dropped it, running from a predator, but wouldn’t there be scuffles in the dirt, or other items dropped? 
  
   “Stay behind me,” she breathed, tightening her grip on her spear. They slowly crept forward, eyes and ears strained, but nothing happened.

   “Hm,” she glanced around once more, “maybe. . .we may as well take it. It could be useful.” She reached down to pick it up.

   And caught the sound of something up above.

   Her tail lashed out, sweeping Pebbles out of the way, and she swung around holding the spear horizontal as a great weight dropped on her; it was heavy and cold, knocking her to the floor, and while she tried to push it away, she merely directed it away from her neck.

    Time seemed to slow down: Hot-cold pain, as something punctured her shoulder; a rattling hiss, spots and stars dancing across her vision as it clamped tighter into the injury. She felt herself yowling, but couldn’t hear it over the pumping of her own heart.

   Then everything was too fast, as she felt another weight join the fray, knocking the predator off of her: the jaws unlatching barely enough for it to let go, but not before tearing further across the shoulder. Moon took a breath and fought to get up, frantically looking for her brother.

   Pebbles!

   He was trying to detangle from the creature, but it’s legs caught on his fur, pulling - it reared back, probably to give a killing blow, but Moon launched herself at it with a yell, stabbing forward with all of her weight.

   She felt the rebar resist, then go in; green goo splattering. A shudder as it finished running through the creature, pinning it to the ground.

   Moon didn’t let go of the spear, panting, and shoulder on fire. She whipped around when her brother latched onto her, relaxing when she saw him. He gave a subvocal whine. 
  
   “Oh,” she instantly let go of the spear, crouching down and reaching for her brother, “it’s alright Pebbles,” she soothed, “everything’s okay. Are you hurt?”

  He shoved at her, but it was a weak shove, snorting angrily. “Okay? You always do this! You're hurt!” He sniffled, wiping at his eyes.

   She pinned her ears back. “I. . .you're right.” With a grunt, she sat down hard. “It’s. . .not that bad. Honest.” Sure, it burned and throbbed. But it was distant.

   Her brother grumbled, untying his handkerchief. “Yeah, cause your bloods still pumping from the fight. Now shut up and let me cover it, or you’re gonna bleed out.”

  “We can use min-“

   The glare he shot her brooked no arguments. She shut her mouth.

   Contrary to either of their opinions, no, it wasn’t going to bleed out, but yes, it was going to scar. The actual puncture wasn’t too deep - it was the jagged scrape extending from it that was the real problem. He tied it off as best as he could, careful not to do it too tight.

   He stepped back. “There.” He looked so proud that Moon wanted to coo, but unfortunately the adrenaline was leaving her system, and exhaustion was hitting her.

   Pebbles noticed. “Let’s take a few,” he said, scooting close to her. She wrapped her good arm around him, leaning into a half-hug. He trembled, minutely. She must have really scared him.

    You always do this! 

    Did she? It’s true that her focus was more on her brother, than herself, but. . .

    She was his big sister; she had to look out for him.

    But not at the cost of yourself; you can’t look out for him, if you don’t look out for yourself, too, a familiar voice pointed out.

    She nuzzled him. “I’m okay. We’re okay. Okay?” 
    
    He gripped her tighter, before relaxing. His voice was muffled by her fur. “ ‘Kay.”

 

---

 

Meanwhile. . .

 

   “WHAT THE-“

    
    A multitude of legs, thrumming, as a red centipede squeezes its way into the crashed railcar. Antanae bobbing, as it freezes.

    Cherry is pressed against the back wall, eyes wide in fear. Saint merely huffs, flicking an ear in annoyance.

   Ping

 

  “I am stressed. My kids are in danger. And this is extremely inconvenient,” He seethed.

   With a practiced cast of his arm, there was an echo of power in the air; whatever it was, it was with precise aim. Sensing movement, the centipede skittered forwards a few steps.

    “Begone.”

   That sound that follows is a hollow bong that reverberates through the air, and something like the whistle of a thrown spear with the sound of it piercing flesh; the centipede falls to the floor, lifeless.

   Saint droops with a grunt, looking back at Cherry Berry. His eyes are no longer flashing, but Cherry doesn’t feel any safer.

   “Now, walk me through again the route you sent them on.”

   Cherry gulps.

 

---

 

   It takes both of them to wrench the spear out of the carcass. They even prod it a few times to make sure it’s really dead. 

   With a grimace, she crouches and tries a bite of it; it’s. . .not her thing, but its edible, at least.

  The look of disbelief Pebbles gives her is . . .very loud.

   “What? I killed it,” she wrinkles her nose, “it’s not great, but it’s a bug.” And bugs were food.

   Pebbles walks away. “I’d rather starve.” 
   
   She debates teasing him, but they’re too exhausted for it. She takes her fill and wipes her mouth, hoping she’ll gain more energy.

   She makes Pebbles hold onto the lantern - if they get separated, she glows, and he does not - and they continue on. The meal did help, but she’s still physically exhausted from the scuffle. The tell-tale lantern-staffs of Scav territory are a welcome sight.

    The sentry on duty does a double take, then runs up to the, eyes wide. “Kits! Gravel, get me some wrappings and food!” He ushers the kids inside. “Come in, come in; what are kits like you doing out here? Why are you injured?”

   Moon lets Pebbles tell the story while her wound is properly cleaned and wrapped; she winces when they remove Pebbles make-shift bandage. Gravel promises to clean it for them, when she quietly asks him to.

   The sentry - Roots Entwined - is quick to send out a group to get dad and Cherry, as well as a squad to get those who might be alive on the tracks, still. 

   (By time the group arrives to the crashed train car, they find a pale Cherry gripping onto Saint, who’s trying to drag himself across the floor to one of the entrances; they have to convince him to back off so they can blow one of the holes bigger. It’s a whole ordeal.)

   Dad’s wobbly and weak, but as soon as he catches sight of them he perks up, rushing to them, nuzzling them, and murmuring worries and reassurances. When they tell him about the big (a dropwig, by the description) he kisses them both on the head, commending them for being so brave. Cherry Berry is sobbing somewhere on the background, apologizing - but they assure him it’s not his fault.

   “They would have to brave the world eventually,” dad says, gently combing through their fur, “I’m just glad it didn’t end any worse.”

   (“By the way,” Gravel whispers to Cherry, “what was up with the dead centi the others were talking about?”

”I don’t want to talk about it.” His eyes were haunted.

Gravel wisely doesn’t push.)

        As for the rest of the squad: On-going Snow is confirmed dead, and Hanging Pearls may not last the cycle. But Whistle Wind and Sun-Warmed Vine are alive, if injured. 
  
   “We never know who we’re going to lose, or when,” Whistle Wind says, somber, “just that one day we will lose them. We can remember them, in stories and songs, in long cycles; it doesn’t make the hurt go away. But. . .it helps.”

   Vine grunts as her own wrappings are tightened. “And they died protecting others. It’s how I would want to go.”

   There’s not much more to say after that.

 

---

 

   They spend the next few cycles resting and healing. Other squads had lost members recently - as was the hazards of their world - and so they spent those cycles telling tales and other stories of lost friends. There were some silly ones about Snow that got the children softly laughing.

   Pearls woke briefly, only to sleep deep again. Time would tell whether she would fade or not.

   Saint took some time to visit them. “They are strong of heart, and spirit,” he told Cherry, “it’s more a matter of if their body will hold.”

   He didn’t explain any further, and Cherry didn’t ask.

   They decided to leave, once recovered enough - Saint didn’t want the kids waiting in case Pearls passed away, nor did they know how long Pearls condition would maintain. Cherry insisted on following them through Outer Expanse to the edge of Scav territory, since Vine was not recovered enough.

   “I’m not ready to say goodbye to these rascals yet,” he tweaked the children’s ears, earning some scowls and squeaks.

   “We’d be happy for the company.” Saint folded his paws diplomatically. “And please,” he lowered his voice and said to Vine, “send word if Pearls’ condition changes.” 
  
   Thankfully the journey was smooth from there.

   The children got their first experience with a Karma Shelter, at the next major Scav settlement, Sunken Pier. The water was freezing, and some place had thick patches of ice they could slide around on. Of course, they fell in - Moon faired well, while Pebbles was spitting mad. Saint has to hold back a chuckle; it was harmless, really, but the image of a soaking wet Pebbles stamping his paws and yowling was quite comical.

    (At least until he had nightmares about the cold; then it wasn’t really funny. Saint kept it in mind from there on.)

    Further into Expanse it got warmer - not warm, per se, but the snow was more of a sleet, and sometimes just a very cold rain. Frosted gooieducks could be found, their sharp, fermented taste warming to the heart.

   There were caramel lizards, but they were ill-adapted to the cold, and easy to avoid. 

    Cherry paused at the edge of their territory. Moon and Pebbles were hugging him tightly (the latter grumbling). He had duties to his tribe, and it was a bad idea to travel back alone.

   “Aww, I’ll come visit one of these days,” he promised, “and hey, you guys can visit here!”

   Saint gently clasped his shoulder. “We will,” he promised.

   With that they departed, Moon and Pebbles looking back until they could no longer see him waving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Down hills and slopes, there was a tree.

    This tree was old; old enough to outlast towering metal constructs. The outside rough and fossilized from countless cycles of weather.

    A tree that had seen generations come and go; had stood tall as travelers passed, and the world changed. 

   Still standing, an exact image of what he had seen in his mind’s eye, was The Tree.

   It had steadily grown larger as they drew closer; when they first caught sight of it on the horizon, they hadn’t even been sure. But now they were.

   It was The Tree.

   It was Home.

  Carefully, Saint helped his children through the brush and cold mud. The closer they drew, they could hear it; happy laughter and joyful conversation. Warmth and love.

   Finally, pushing through the last bit of tall grass where the stream tumbled into a small pond-

   Dozens of young Slugcats ran around; playing and wrestling. All sorts of colors and fur types, tumbling around, squealing with laughter. A few cast curious glances when they caught sight of them, one even running over to the base of the tree, where a tunnel went down presumably under it.

   At the base stood a Slugcat - an adult. Her fur was soft gray, like a whisper of cloud, and her eyes were cream.

   With Pebbles and Moon holding his paws, Saint approached.

   “We’ve been waiting for you,” she said, spreading her paws, “welcome home.”

Notes:

Saint isn’t actually upset with Cherry; he just has a head wound and is afraid for his kids.

One more!!!! Chapter!!!!

Some fun things will be revealed. I will save my sappy authors note for then.

Frosted Gooiducks are the snow/cold version of said fruit, and they’re fermented. Not super strongly, if picked early in season. Otherwise you get the issue with animals getting intoxicated lol.

Chapter 13: Epilogue: Home

Notes:

I wanna thank everyone who has read, commented, kudos’d, etc. - I really appreciate it. I hope this was a fun little Fic you could read throughout your day. It was definitely a fun write, even if I wasn’t sure where it was going at times.

Just. . .thank you.

I hope you enjoy this concluding chaoter

     The Matriarch was her name. And she had twenty-four Slugpups under her care.

    “I woke one day far from home - or so I presume. I knew not my own name, or where I was,” she explained. “So I wandered, until I found the first one. I found almost all of them - although some found me - over time. Pups with naught but a name. So I took them in, until we found this place.” She pats the rough bark. “I knew instantly that our kind had stayed here before; signs are everywhere if you know where to look. Some pups came after, finding their way here.”

   Moon and Pebbles cling to him, but weren’t paying attention; they kept watching the other pups with curiosity and trepidation. A green pup around Moon’s age ran up to them; he had short ears and fur, but big paws. “Matri,” he grabbed onto Matriarch’s fur, “are our new siblings gonna come play?”

   Saint snorted; Pebbles did not like the assumption, obviously, clinging onto Moon protectively.

   Matriarch sighed fondly, “Significant, sweetie; you need to ask them if they’re okay with that - to both things.”

   He nodded, jumping over to Moon and Pebbles. “Hi! I’m Sig! Wanna be my new siblings and play?”

   Pebbles flattened his ears and hissed, clinging to his sister. Moon giggled. “Sorry, I already have a brother. But we can - we can play?” She looked at Saint, unsure. 

   He couldn’t help but melt at that. “Of course, go play; I’ll be here if you need me.”

   Before anyone could say anything else, Sig was dragging Moon, which meant he was also dragging Pebbles, over to a small group. They must have been his other siblings.

   “They’ll be fine; Sig is a sweetheart, he just keeps trying to adopt everyone he meets.” She waves them off. “Now, where was I?”

   Saint hummed, keeping an eye on the kids; they seemed fine, though. Pebbles was hissing in his, ‘I don’t know how to act so I’ll act with aggression’ way, not ‘I’m actually mad or terrified’ way.

   “You came here and began taking care of the Scups?”

   “Ah, right!” Some more children run passed, one or two nuzzling her before going after their friends. “Many banded together as siblings, the eldest barely older than your daughter, and the youngest being a few toddlers. But they all shared the same story: a name, but no other recollection. By the fifth child I had chosen my own name, and by the eleventh I was bestowed with the title The Matriarch,” she smiled at Saint, “I liked it.”

   She went into the tunnel and Saint followed; they sat where they could have privacy in the shadowed interior, but they could still see enough outside in case any of the children needed them. 
  
   “There was history here - I could sense it,” she continued on, “evidence of bluefruit from batfly colonies. We’re trying to recultivate it, amongst other things. Like food sources. We’ve managed to bring some bluefruit back into the recesses underground, as well as some batnip. Only time will tell if they begin to thrive here, though. And there’s some bubble fruit on the edge of the stream. It’s slow going, but we’re happy here. What about you?”

   He blinked. “I call myself The Saint; my children are Moon and Pebbles. We’ve travelled . . .pretty far. One day I just knew to come here.” Sig slung his arm around a dark gray pup in the group, saying something that had Moon giggling.

   She hummed. “The world works in mysterious ways.” One of the group, a taller orange-yellow one, crouched down to speak to Pebbles. Whatever Pebbles said made the other stand up straight and laugh. “They’re like the others, aren’t they? Only a name, but,” she smiled at him, “I suppose the difference is they have a family.”

   He hadn’t even noticed himself bristling, until he began to relax. “. . .yes.”

   They quietly watch the children for a while; there’s also a lavender pup in the group, who keeps flitting around them. She was either young, or short like Pebbles. 

   As he watched, he noticed that they all had a forehead or face marking of some sort. His fur prickled.

   He looked at Matriarch - really looked at her. Faint, soft, was a cream X on her own forehead.

   Something like laughter danced in her eyes.

   “. . .your name,” he said slowly, “what did you call yourself, at first.”

   “Silver, for my gray fur,” she replies, “although I suspect it was once something different. Sometimes. . .its best to let the past stay in the past.”

   Does she remember? He wonders. Or is it like Pebbles and Moon; an inkling more than anything?

    “Well,” she gets up and stretches, “why don’t I show you around? After all, this is your home too.”

 

---

 

   “. . .and Suns said they can make sparks with their claws!” Pebbles was jumping while holding his paw.

   “Hmm, very cool,” Saint was leading them to their new nest - there were plenty of burrows and crevices under the tree for them to sleep, so they had chosen their own room, “and what about the others.”

   Moon chimed in from the other side. “I like Sig - he’s funny! I think he’s cool.”

   “He’s annoying.” Pebbles wrinkled his nose.

   Moon stuck out her tongue. “You just don’t like that he teases you.”

   “Be nice, you two,” he chided gently. He was pleased they were making their own friends, though.

   “Inno is. . .nice,” Moon goes on.

   “She’s also annoying,” Pebbles grumbles.

   There’s already fresh bedding when they arrive - mosses and leaves. They get themselves situated, curled up together comfortably.

   Saint purrs. “And Inno is the. . .lavender one? What about the gray one?”

   Pebbles blinks sleepily. “Wind is okay, I guess.”

   Moon baps him. “They’re boring. But, well, they’re nice I guess.”

   “We make different friends, and like different things about different people,” he drew them closer, “there’s nothing wrong with that.”

   Saint starts to groom them; their eyes droop and they grow sleepy.

   “Can we play more tomorrow?” Moon asks. Pebbles adds his own inquiring whine.

   “Of course,” Saint’s voice is soft, full of love “tomorrow, and many tomorrows after.”

   But they’re already asleep, safe and content.

   Saint let’s himself drift off as well.

   For many tomorrows after, indeed.

 

 

The End

Notes:

Sequel will be called Tales From The Tree and will be random oneshots set in this universe!

Yes I named her Silver because I originally thought her name was Silver Of Straw on my first playthrough

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Relive AU