Curse of the Stars Book 1

Chapter 32

Chapter XXXII

"He's doing a lot better." Sylv smiled to herself as she patted the fox's head. His fur was like the bright crimson leaves of the Blood Forest to the South. He was various shades of red and brown, ruddy in the face, bright red along the spine, with ears tipped black as ink, and rust grazing his muzzle like a patch of wild grass. His stark black paws stood out like a pool of night sky amongst all red on him. Creamy white fur flowed down in a thick waterfall down the front of his chest and graced the tip of his tail.

Sylv had vouched to care for the fox like a beloved dog that ate from silver bowls and slept in her bed at night. Fyran didn't get it, never having owned any pets for herself that hadn't been eaten later. But she couldn't stop the smile from lighting her own face at the red girl's fondness for the thing. They went together like warm autumn leaves, Sylv's red curly hair and brown freckles matching the scarlet of the fox's pelt.

They were sitting outside of the Pub, with the little fox wrapped up in a towel, blinking warily up at the two with his little nose twitching as Sylv patted his head. It was an especially warm day today, as the wind sang around them of the approaching summer. The sun was a burning orb in the sky, pressing down and warming Fyran's pale skin.

"Aren't you scared he could bite you?" Fyran pressed. "Or that he might have rabies?"

"Oh Fyran!" Sylv scolded, her voice teasing. "Lighten up a little, won't you? He's simply adorable. How could you resist a face like this?"

I could eat a face like that if I was starving enough. Fyran thought to herself bitterly. But now she just felt insensitive. Sylv was from one of the poorer sects too. Perhaps her father had also been in the mine with Fyran's own. Perhaps, despite needing to kill and eat for a living, human beings could still develop a little sympathy for their prey.

"Do you know how much money we could make from that coat?" Fyran couldn't help but tease. She couldn't help it because it was partially true. Every act of mercy, as far as she was aware, was a loss, a consequence of something or someone else.

"Oh Fyran." Sylv's golden eyes glowed. "I feel sorry for you. Truly I do. To be that desperate? You're with us now. You don't need to worry about tuckla anymore."

Fyran folded her hands. She had no rebuttal against that. Only a sad hollow feeling that she resented being here against her better judgement despite the fact. She missed her grandfather. She rarely saw him because he lived so far away, but every religious festival was mandatory to give all persons a day off to celebrate, and her family and her, rather than going to the festival, would instead take a trip to visit her grandfather in his library in the northern sector of the city.

They had a tradition actually that Fyran was really missing right now with the sudden turn of events. They'd bake cookies or bread and bring it as a gift, and her grandfather would show her the new work he had done while she was away and teach her all he knew about engraving and inking and creating dyes. Her parents would sit at the table and have tea or whatever else he supplied them while visiting. Her father was often pretty silent and rarely made conversation, but at least he came. Fyran's mom would always blame the lack of interest on how tired he was from working in the mines. He always came home covered in mining dust.

Fyran looked at her hands again, remembering. She hadn't seen him since her father died and everything had happened so fast after that. Did he even know? Surely her mother would have written him a letter of some sort.

I shouldn't have just disappeared in a fit of rage. She thought regretfully. I should have gone to my grandfather. He would have made it all better. He makes everything better.