Chapter 31 ( part 2 )
(Author's Note -  Y'all ready to cry?  I know I did. )

“I don't know what to say. . .” I mumbled, knitting my fingers together tensely across my stomach.
	The small arctic fox looked up at me, blinking drowsily, with a soft smile.  A smile I'd come to know and love over the two years we'd known one another.  “You don't need to say anything,” he assured me, patting my arm weakly.
	I leaned over the small cot he was lying in in the back of the infirmary.  This room was separate from all the others, used primarily for surgeries, births, and occasionally, for housing someone on their deathbed.  A quieter, less crowded place for them to pass on.
	I could only pray that this time, it would not serve that purpose.
	“Puck, if this is the last time. . .” I trailed off, a hitch in my voice.
	The fox's eyelids drooped for a moment and he shook his head against the pillow.  “It won't be,” he promised me.
	“You can't know,” I said, but I couldn't manage more than that.  The last thing I wanted to do right now was bring his spirits down and I knew that lingering on those thoughts would do just that.  
	But at the same time, the whole reason I was here was, potentially, to see him one last time.  And both of us knew that.  It was not a reality we could ignore.
	His clouded eyes were at mere slits and his breaths were beginning to slow.  I leaned over him again, reaching down and stroking a hand over his cheek.  His eyelids fluttered open and he almost looked at me, smiling again.  He brought his paw up to mine and squeezed.
	“The medicine is working faster than I thought it would,” he said, clearing his throat and sniffing.  “Maybe. . . maybe you should send Ransom in.  Before I can't stay awake any longer.”
	I nodded then, standing quickly.  It took me a few moments longer to release his hand, though.  I could feel his pulse through my pawpads, and seeing him lying there. . . under the effects of a powerful sedative. . . with his heartbeat slowing, bit by bit. . . .
	It brought back a lot of memories.  Painful memories. . . of the last time I'd thought I'd lost him.
	Surely, life couldn't be so cruel, twice?  Could it?  The fact that he'd had that one brush with death meant he was foretold to survive this surgery.  It simply wasn't possible the after all he'd come through, we'd lose him to this.  It wouldn't be fair.
	But I'd come to think that when I'd allowed myself to start caring for Grant.  After I'd lost so much already, lost the only person I'd ever loved, I'd thought that surely, this time, I'd be safe.  Time had proven me wrong.
	The world was cruel.  Life wasn't fair.  If there were spirits or Gods, they had larger issues to concern themselves with than my personal happiness, and I knew that now.  The reality had been crushing at first, but in the time since, I'd come to accept it had been a lesson in humility.  The world did not revolve around me or my wishes.  I had to carve my path through it and find my happiness where I could, not expect that what I had would last.
	And I had to make the most of every happy moment I had, when I had it, and not wait for everything to go wrong or waste my time mired in anger over everything that had gone wrong previously.  I'd given up too much of my life to those thoughts, already.  They could consume you whole.  Burn you from the inside out.
	So instead, today, I leaned down and kissed the fox's brow, squeezed his paw once more and left the room, hoping that my confident departure would give him some amount of the conviction he needed to see himself through this.  It was all I could offer now, and it would be unkind of me to offer anything less.
	When I stepped outside and saw the coyote slumped on the bench outside, with his long arms draped over his knees, his ears tucked back and his head hung, I nearly lost that composure.  He was chewing on the end of a toothpick, since he couldn't smoke inside the triage building.  His eyes were wide, but staring at the ground, and I knew the man's posture.  It was like a bowstring pulled too tight.  He was slumped and ramrod stiff all at once.  I think he was even shaking.
	When I put a hand on his shoulder, he jerked forward, startled, until he realized it was me.  And even then, he didn't look comforted.
	“You can go in now,” I said softly.  “He's falling asleep, though, so. . . it won't be long.”
	The coyote said nothing, only nodded stiffly, stood, and brushed past me into the room.  The door closed behind him with a click that resounded in the narrow back hallway.  I let the confidence slip from me like a sleeve, slumping down on the bench myself.
	My mind was blank.  I didn't look up again until I heard footsteps and saw Forrest making his way towards the room, tray in hand.  
	The tray terrified me.  I'd seen surgical instruments before, of course, but just knowing what these would be used for added an extra level of fear.  And they weren't even for me.  I just. . . I could hardly believe that in a few minutes' time, this man would be carving up my friend's eyes.  And I was allowing it.  At any other point in my life, I would have fought to the death to keep a man with knives away from the vulnerable fox.
	He stood near the doorway and looked down at me.  I thought it would be a momentary pause, but then he leaned against the wall.  We waited there in silence for some time.
	“. . . thank you,” I said at length.
	“Hm?” the Otherwolf glanced down at me.	
	“For. . . giving them this time,” I explained.  “You could have gone right in.”
	“It's customary to allow significant others time with the patient before surgery,” the Physician said, in an almost offhanded way.  “There are no time constraints on this surgery, so it's hardly as though it will affect the outcome much.  It's a Physician's perogative to give some consideration to the welfare of the patients' loved ones as much as the patient themself.  Provided it doesn't detract from the level of care afforded.  And much of recovery and health is mental.  The additional comfort may prove some boost to his morale.”
	I just blinked up at him.  “I. . . guess I shouldn't be shocked by now that people know about them,” I muttered, “but I always am.  It's just. . . the way they made it out, I figured more people would be. . . .”
	“Intolerant?” the Physician answered for me.  “Men who believe in God, perhaps.  I don't.  Sexuality is part of our physical makeup.  You could as soon blame a man for being spotted.  The Church can try to treat the condition, if they truly think they can. . . I don't see the point in treating something so frivolous.  There are far more crippling, unfortunate afflictions one can be born with.  I've seen them all.  It puts things like this in perspective.”
	“I don't think it's an affliction. . . .”  I murmured.
	“It is a societal affliction,” the Physician shrugged.  “Just as having no interest in taking a wife, or any lover, can be.  The world expects people to pair, and to reproduce.  Those people who take no interest in it whatsoever are also often objects of scrutiny.”
	I glanced up at the man.  I may have misheard him, and he would never clarify it for me, but that had sounded personal to me.  Forrest was never personal, though, so. . . maybe I'd just imagined it.
	I'd never know.
	“In any case, I've given them long enough, I think,” the man said, the tools rattling on his tray as he straightened up from leaning on the wall and reached down with one hand for the door knob.
	“Wait,” I said, putting out a hand hesitantly.  He looked down at me, questioningly.  “I mean. . .” I stammered.  “How. . . how good are his chances, do you think?”
	The Physician looked at me seriously.  “Do you want a percentage?”
	“I. . . don't know what that means,” I said, feeling ashamed for a moment.  He could give me an answer, and it wouldn't make sense to me.  Of course.  I wasn't as intelligent as this man, or Puck.  Medicine was beyond me.
	“His chances are good,” he said, and those four words sent a bolt of hope through me.  Not just because I understood them, but because he'd said them with some confidence.  So that 'percentage', whatever that was, was good.  “He is healthy, his body is strong, my tools are meticulous, and we're in the cleanest room in this building.  And potentially this entire fetid colony,” he said with a certain amount of derision I didn't miss.  Puck had told me many times how obsessively clean the Physician was.  But that could only bode well for this operation, so right now I was thankful for it.
	“The biggest fear is infection,” the man continued.  “But that's a wait-and-see sort of issue.  I trust my hands enough during the operation that I'm fairly certain he won't bleed out.  Although we need to be careful he remains as still as possible, or no steady hand in the world will matter.”
	“That's. . . what the straps are for. . . ?”  I asked, even though I knew the answer.  I'd seen them, of course.  Leather belts, riveted into the side of the bed.  There was even a stabilizing device for his head, and more straps that would presumably keep his head as still as possible, too.  I couldn't imagine what else they were used for here at the hospital that they had to have a bed like that on hand, but. . . on second thought, no, I didn't even want to begin to imagine that.
	“Also why I require an assistant,” the Otherwolf confirmed.  
	I bit my lip at that.  “I still don't think Ransom should be doing it.”
	“Oh, I agree with you there,” the Physician said with an edge of annoyance in his tone.  “I would have vastly preferred to use one of my nurses.  Although he won't be doing much more than ensuring the fox doesn't move, so. . . a man's strength will be of more use to me, in that regard.  But it's idiocy to have someone so close to the patient assisting in this surgery.”
	“Then,” I sighed, “why are you allowing it?”
	“He wouldn't have it any other way,” Forrest muttered.  “And I don't like to argue.  It grows tiresome, quickly.”
	“If Puck tells Ransom to listen to you, he will,” I promised him.  I was more worried about what watching this surgery would do to the coyote.  I didn't doubt for a moment he'd do whatever necessary to help Puck.  But if this surgery went awry somehow, and Ransom had played a role in it at all. . . .
	“He had better,” the Physician stated.  “Or I'll have him tossed out and one of my nurses sent in.  But he's been warned, and the man seemed. . . determined, if nothing else.  Let us hope that is enough.”
	I blew out a soft breath and looked to my feet for a moment, arms crossed over my chest.  The man seemed to know I had more to say, and waited.  When I did finally speak again, I had his full attention.  “Can I just ask one more thing?”
	“I wouldn't be lingering here in the hallway while the sedative runs its course, just to ignore you,” the man pointed out.
	“Right,” I sighed.  To the point, then.  “Why do you care enough to do this?”  I asked, directly.  “I know a man like you could fetch a lot for your services.  We're still trying to figure out a way to afford spectacles for him.  And this is. . . surgery.  Puck told me you didn't even broach the issue of payment.  Why are you doing this?”
	The man stared back at me implaccably.  “You think I have ulterior motives?” he asked.
	I thought for a few moments, before answering, “. . . yes.  Everyone seems to, outside the world I grew up in.  I have to make my judgments based on what I've seen so far.”
	“That's only wise,” the man confirmed.  “But you've nothing underhanded to fear, here.  Put simply, my motives are the same as your friend's.”
	“Curing the Seer's Fever?” I asked.
	The man was silent for a few moments, his expression mostly unreadable, but beneath his calm exterior I could see a certain sense of frustration.  I recognized it because I'd seen it in Puck, from time to time.  Usually when he was trying to explain something to me that I was either incapable of grasping, or didn't like his perspective on.  Essentially whenever we disagreed.
	“. . . Seer's Fever. . . cannot be cured,” the man finally said, the words spoken almost between his teeth.   
	I opened my mouth a moment, then looked aside.  “Of course,” I muttered, “I'm. . . I'm sorry.  Puck's told me that before, of course.  I just. . . well I thought you'd know what I meant.  Stopping the spread, and all that.”
	“Miscommunication like that is precisely why treating illnesses like this are such an issue, though,” the man said with a sigh.  His eyes swept up to the ceiling for a moment, then came back to rest on me.  “I'm going to say something here, and you must try for a moment not to be offended.”
	“I'll. . . try,” I said, uncertainly.
	“The world as a whole, and the people that make up most of the population. . . are mentally inferior to the people who have to treat them,” the Physician stated, like it was nothing.  “People like myself.  Physicians and healers.  And yet, despite that, a great deal of them seem to believe they know what's better for their families, for their communities and cities. . . than we do.  I cannot even begin to express to you how very frustrating that is.”
	“I can only imagine,” I said truthfully.  His words didn't offend me. . . much.  I'd long accepted I wasn't an intellectual.
	“That makes treating a disease like this, that spreads like wildfire, and is, in actuality, very easily survivable if basic medical care is given,” the Otherwolf gestured uselessly in the air with his free hand, “like. . . trying to weave fire.  Difficult to handle, dangerous for the Physician involved, and more than likely, no matter what we do, it will continue to spread.”
	“That's a very colorful metaphor for you, sir,” I pointed out.  I knew he'd done it for my sake.
	“Thank your friend, he once used the phrase,” the Physician explained.  “I'm not nearly so fanciful.  But it's apt.  And it's a good example of why I need him.”
	“Metaphors?” I queried, trying to follow the man's explanation.
	“I came here to treat rare, exotic diseases,” the man said, “like the Seer's fever.  This place is rife with them.  The Seer's fever isn't even amongst the top five of the most deadly, it's just the most prone to spread, which is why the world is taking notice of it.  Your friend is right to be so desperate to find the root of its spread, too. . . because given time in a chaotic, intermingled, dirty place like the Colonies, it can and will become a plague that could very well cripple the entire country.”
	I swallowed.  Hearing that from this man just confirmed everything we'd ever feared.  I believed him. 
	“Why do you want to treat the fever, though?”  I pressed.  “I mean. . . it's mostly threatening Carvecia not. . . not your country, right?”
	“For whatever reason, yes,” the man confirmed.  “It hasn't been a major issue in Amuresca.  That's part of the pathology we don't understand yet.  I'm certain it has something to do with why it spreads, but. . . until we determine that, it's impossible to say why Amurescan cities haven't had the same kinds of outbreaks.  As for why I wish to tackle this illness specifically. . .” he looked towards the doorway.  “I didn't.  Until Puquanah arrived here, and I began to work with him.  The fact of the matter is, miss, your friend has already done a considerable amount of the work in learning how to treat this illness.  His experiences with an entire settlement afflicted by the illness, in testing an inoculation on himself, were invaluable.  Others have done what he's done, of course, but none of those others are colleagues who are willing to work with me.  And none of them are Carvecian.”
	Something clicked at that.  “You think he'll be more suited to help treat the spread of it back home, because it's his country.”
	“Your friend is a rarity, miss,” the man said.  “In addition to having the background, and thus the cultural understanding, of the folk medicine practiced in your country, he also possesses a sharp enough mind to know better than to use all of it.  He can converse with your people on a spiritual level, and perhaps coax them away from their foolishness, while being intelligent enough to practice true medicine.”
	I recoiled a little bit.  “I don't like the way you talk about our Shaman,” I said, defensively.  “Spiritual healing is important to our people.  And spirits can aid people in dire need.  I've seen it.”
	“I'm not going to argue religion with you,” the man said with a sigh.  “But the fact of the matter is, having the background he does, but the intelligence to know what is true healing and what is just mystic nonsense, means Puquanah may be able to cross a bridge most Physicians who've had the benefit of higher education simply cannot.  And given time and better education, I believe he even has the mind to count himself amongst us, eventually.  Earnestly, to be as sharp as he is, to have picked up on so much over the years without that education, he must be. . . brilliant.  He'd be a boon to medicine if he didn't waste his life in the wilderness.”
	“I don't think Puck wants anything so grand,” I said quietly.
	The Otherwolf snorted.  “No.  Which is foolish.  I hate to see wasted potential, but it is his choice.  He doesn't even want the credit of our work.  A sentiment which, in all honesty, I have no desire to fight him on.  Science is the only true immortality men have.  In a hundred years, I want a University named after me.  All your friend wants, as much as I can gather, is to educate people in the back country.  It's honestly a very fortunate alliance for both of us.  I can make the connections necessary to spread the word on how to tackle this monstrous illness once we're in Carvecia, to Physicians and whatever passes for learning institutions in the Colonies, and he can. . . reach out to the people, since that's what he truly desires.  If we can target the spread of this disease, we'll both make our mark in the world, in the way that suits us.”  His eyes narrowed.  “But he won't be able to do any of that. . . unless he can see.”
	“He's healed us many times,” I insisted.  “Being blind hasn't kept him from helping a lot of people.”
	“No, but it is a hindrance,” the man stated.  “And there's no getting around that.  He will never be able to read.  To research.  To properly perform surgery, or assess a patient.  A blind Physician may be possible, but it isn't preferable.  He could do more.  And considering there's a treatment for his condition, and the survival rate is actually quite good. . . .”
	I put my hands up.  “It was his choice,” I said with a soft sigh.  “I'm not going to question it anymore.”
	“Yes, well,” the man cleared his throat, “rest-assured, I am invested in seeing to it that he survives.  You've nothing to fear.”
	“So you can work together in the future?” I said with a slight smile.  “That's. . . really good to hear.  Thank you for talking to me about it.”
	“Yes, that, and. . .” the man's usually calm composure stammered a bit at that, and he looked odd for a moment.  Like he was uncomfortable.  “Other reasons,” he muttered, after a few moments.
	I arched an eyebrow, but wasn't able to ask him to clarify what he meant, before the door opened again and the coyote was suddenly in front of us, looking directly down on the shorter Otherwolf.  And the expression he was wearing was. . . menacing, to say the least.
	“He's asleep,” he said, jerking a thumb inside.  “So get t'work while that stuff's hittin' him the hardest, doc.”
	“I already told you, he is going to wake at least a few times during the operation,” the man said, exasperated, but he seemed to be choosing his words carefully.  And acting oddly polite, considering his evident derision for the coyote when he'd been speaking to me about him.  “You need to be prepared for that.”
	“S'why I'm in the room, ain't it?” the coyote grabbed the man by the shoulder, and tugged him inside.  “Now c'mon.  Let's git this done.  Y'ain't gonna screw nothin' up with me'round.  Now are ya?”
	The Physician just gave him an irritated, if wary look, and walked in past him.  Ransom looked to me once more, then grabbed at the nob, and shut the door without saying another word.
	I considered briefly in the few seconds as the door closed that I might wedge my foot between it and the doorframe, and remind the coyote that intimidating the Physician probably wouldn't do much to steady his hand. . . but in the end, I only took a deep breath, and forced myself to say nothing at all.  It was more important that the Otherwolf just got to work, while the sedative was still powerful.  Puck had said it was made from some sort of plant called 'Coca' that grew in abundance in this region.  It actually, ironically, would be less effective than the Len'Sal berries had been, and Puck said if he'd thought to have any more of those on hand, this might not have been a bad time to take a diluted mixture made from them.  But we were working with what the region provided, and apparently, these leaves were it.
	He'd never be able to sleep through the pain of what was going to be done to him.  The Physician had warned us about that, time and again.  Warned Puck, even.  The medicine he'd taken would have him in and out, and dull some of the pain, but the straps would have to do the rest, because as awful as the surgery sounded, keeping him still was of the utmost importance.
	Ransom was strong, though. . . and so long as his nerve held out, I knew he could keep the fox as still as was necessary, where the straps and the medicine failed.  Other than that, we had to leave it all to the Physician.
	I don't know how long I sat on the bench, my nerves raging, unable to sit entirely still.  The minutes moved by as slow as the currents in a mud-choked river, and not knowing what was happening behind the door that was barely a foot to my left was agony.
	It was nowhere near as bad as when I knew the surgery had begun, though. 
	I think I'd expected screams.  Or something along those lines.  Shouting, outbursts of pain. . . that's what I'd been prepared for.  I'd been bracing for it, in fact.  I didn't have to wait outside and hear it, of course.  I wouldn't be allowed to see him until tomorrow, as it was, lest I risk infecting him with something from outside.  Even Ransom had been thoroughly bathed and scrubbed down by the nurses (something he'd promised me he'd try not to enjoy) before he'd gone into the room today.  I could leave at any time.  But I'd felt obligated to stay, for some reason.  Like my presence would ease Puck's pain, somehow.
	I had been prepared for screaming.  But I hadn't been prepared for quiet, plaintive, pained whines.  They sounded only half-coherent, like someone crying in their sleep.  And they were a thousand times more heart-wrenching. 
	They didn't sound like the pained noises of an adult. . . they sounded like they were coming from a kitten. . . a child.  And I knew by the sound of them that they were coming from Puck, but it still pulled at every motherly bone in my body and made me want to dash into the room and make the noises stop.
	I stood, swallowing back an anguished groan and forcing myself to march down the hallway, away from the doorway.  I couldn't be there any more.  I just couldn't.  I'd wait outside.
	But even once I was out in the busy commons area, the knowledge of what was still occurring in the back room hadn't left me, my hands were twitching for a bow that wasn't there and all I wanted to do was scream, and. . . and I just needed something. . . anything. . . to distract myself from what was happening to my friend.
	Fortunately, thanks to the fact that we were in the midst of the war and nearly everyone I knew was injured or knew someone else who was, there were quite a few people in this place I knew.  One in particular quite literally stood out from the rest of the crowd, due chiefly to his height. 
	The wolfhound looked startled when I grabbed at his coat.  And with good reason.  I hadn't realized my pace, and I'd nearly crashed into his back.  I couldn't help it, though.  I felt like I was still running from that room.
	“Good God,” the man said, his voice laced with concern as he turned to regard me.  “Miss Shivah. . . are you alright?”  He instantly began looking me over, suspecting I suppose that I'd been injured.  Considering where we were, it wasn't exactly an odd conclusion to come to.
	Before I could answer him, I felt a paw settle heavily on my shoulder, and was tugged back into a familiar-smelling mass of dreaded fur.  I glanced up past the heavy collar of the brine-infused coat, to a similarly-concerned pair of dark blue eyes.  “Aye, what's wrong, love?”  The Privateer asked, making sure to thread an arm around my waist as he did.
	I knew by only a secondary glance at the wolfhound's suddenly icy glare that I had about three seconds to diffuse this situation before it got out-of-hand.
	“I'm fine,” I insisted, pushing gently at the wolf's chest, and trying to extricate his arm from around my waist.   “I'm just. . . gods, Grayson,” I finally just reached down and tugged each of his fingers free of my tunic by hand.  I snarled up at him, “Would you please not grab me?  Especially in public?”
	The wolf only gave a lopsided smile.  “Ain't this exactly the sort of place we should be keeping up the ruse, though?”
	“I think you've forgotten it's a ruse,” I growled.
	“Kindly do as the lady asks and keep your distance, Privateer,” the wolfhound warned from over my shoulder.
	“It's- I can handle him, Johannes,” I snapped.  “Don't go playing Knight right now, alright?  I don't need a man defending my honor.”  I glared back up at the smirking wolf.  “I've already proven I can best this drunkard.”
	“ 'Johannes'?”  the wolf echoed with a chuckle.  “Ain't you two gotten chummy. . . .”
	“I don't particularly like watching a blaggart man-handle any woman,” the wolfhound warned, “let alone one under my command.”
	“Your command?” the wolf replied in a remarkably chipper tone, despite the low set of his brow, and the teeth he was baring with his grin.  “Whose ship is it she returns to every night, again?”
	“I never wanted you here, you son of a bitch,” Johannes snapped his jaws.  “Just give me a reason, and I'll ready the gallows-”
	“Oh for God's sake, Johannes,” another familiar voice called from somewhere far to the right of us, past a small crowd of onlookers who were trying not to look like onlookers.  I caught the barest sight of the cattle dog through the crowd, seated beside a cot.
	“Don't let him bait you,” the Admiral said with a sigh evident in his voice.  He sounded tired.  Very tired.  “You're supposed to be more dignified than me.  Let's not have a replay of last week, shall we?  I never got those bloodstains out of my shirt, and you own. . . what?  Three?”
	I don't think I'd ever been more grateful to the damned cattle dog in my life.  I made sure I gave both of the towering canines on either side of me a good, hard glare, long enough that both of them wilted back a bit.  Then I pushed past a few still gaping people in the crowded hospital and made my way towards the cattle dog.  I don't know why.  His mood just seemed to suit mine better right now.
	I found him where I'd almost always seen him, when he was here.  Seated beside the dying Otherwolf who'd lost both of his legs, and still seemed to be wasting away.  If possible, he looked even worse than the last time I'd seen him.  And this time, he wasn't talking, only sleeping fitfully.  
	I felt a sudden and unexpected pang of sympathy for the Admiral, watching him sit beside his friend.  I didn't know the man, or what exactly he'd been to the cattle dog, but I knew grief when I saw it.  Grief, and helplessness.  
	“Apologies,” he murmured suddenly, and even though I knew it was directed at me, I couldn't imagine why.  I began to ask, but he clarified, “For their behavior.  Johannes doesn't exactly wear his emotions on his sleeve. . . and Reed covers it with a mask of bravado, but. . . .”  He turned his muzzle slowly back towards the dying canine lying in bed a foot or so away.  I saw his ears twitch and fall back.  “Finnegan was the heart of my fleet.  There wasn't a soul who didn't consider themselves kin to him.  If you'd known the man. . . .”
	He dropped his head for a few moments, putting his palms over his muzzle and just shaking his head.
	“He's. . .” I swallowed, “. . . he's not gone yet. . . .”  I knew there wasn't much hope in my voice, but I tried.  I didn't even know this man, but I knew pain.  And especially right now, I knew how terrible it could feel. . . the fear of losing a friend.
	“I didn't know Grayson knew him,” I admitted at length.  Because it occurred to me that I honestly knew very little about the wolf's previous connection to the cattle dog's fleet.
	“We. . .” he dragged in a breath, raising his head and pulling himself together for a moment.  In that moment, I realized I'd been terribly wrong about something.  I'd always assumed the Admiral was as aloof as most of the Amurescans, but now I realized, he'd actually always been fairly openly emotional.  I'd just never seen him in a weak moment before.  
	He turned to regard me, giving me a smile that was painfully obvious had been forced.  “It's a long story,” he summarized.  “It feels like a lifetime ago.  Or three.  But. . . yes.  We all used to sail together.  Hunting Pirates.”  he gave a weak chuckle.  “Dangerous business.  But, thinking back, it was a whole lot more simple than all of this.  We knew how to handle ourselves at sea.  All this. . .” he gestured at nothing, “. . . Imperialism. . . doesn't suit me.  This isn't even my colony.  It wasn't even my father-in-law's colony.  All of it belongs to the damned crown.  We're just the hounds they sent to guard their interests.”
	His voice got very bitter, suddenly, “I hate this place.  My father-in-law hated this place.  We aren't meant to be here.  All this land does is take, and take, and take.  No amount of gold or lumber is worth it.  They just can't see it, because it isn't the people they know and. . .” he looked to the dying canine at that, his words catching in his throat, “. . . care for. . . that are dying.” 
	“I'm sorry,” I said softly, because it's all I could say.  I didn't understand everything the man was saying, of course, because he wasn't filling in all the blanks.  But one thing came through loud and clear.
	These men were soldiers.  Warriors.  Pure and simple.  The objective of this war for their people wasn't even being directed from here.  I knew enough of their society by now to know their 'tribe', their elders, were actually in a country across the sea.  The fact that they were stranded here fighting for their lives, for a war they weren't even directing, seemed like madness to me.
	The world was so much bigger, so much stranger and more cruel than I'd ever thought it could be.  And it put all of my suffering in a perspective I don't think I'd ever have found, had I not begun to travel and meet all these different people.
	“What happened to him?”  I asked softly, looking over the canine.  I think the two of us were just making conversation at this point so we weren't trapped in our thoughts.  But it was working for me, so maybe it was working for him.
	The cattle dog glanced over at me, tiredly.  He looked like he'd slept here.  Or rather, not slept here.  “He. . .” he swallowed, “. . . he was stranded at an outpost along the river, where we were attempting to build a new Garrison.  He was there to install the cannons.  Finnegan was brilliant with firearms, and any and all uses for gunpowder.”  He shook his head.  “The Garrison came under attack, and they cut off our reinforcements along the river.  They hit us hard at the gates and we had to batter down.  We couldn't get to him, or the men under his command, for nearly a week.  By the time we got there. . .” he leaned back, his back thudding heavily against the wall, “. . . the Garrison was in splinters.  I knew it was his work.  The Cathazra burn, but this was. . . it was very clear gunpowder was involved.  We found out later he improvised something, in an attempt to take down the war-band with him.  It must have been a contingency if they became overrun.”
	“I don't understand,” I said, confused.  “You sound uncertain.  He survived, clearly.  Couldn't he just tell you what happened?”
	“What happened at the Garrison hardly matters,” the cattle dog muttered.  “He was cornered, and he tried to do what he could with what was left of his life.  It was bloody heroic, I'm certain.  But it was what followed that was the true horror.”
	I looked to the man.  The explosion explained the loss of limbs, I suppose, but as for the rest, I couldn't even imagine.  Maybe an infection was what was causing the malnutrition?
	“They took him,” he said, his voice hard-edged.  “We don't know why.  He must have survived the explosion, and. . . they must have known, somehow, that he was an Officer.  I don't know.  The Cathazra never take Prisoners of War.  Why they made an exception this time, I can't honestly say.”
	“What did they do to him?” I asked, aghast.
	The cattle dog gave a soft breath through his nose.  At long length, he murmured, “. . . we don't know.  He'll not speak on it.  In fact, not much of what he's had to say since we got him back has made sense.  He's just miserable, hostile, and he seems to want to die.  His body is only dying because he's allowing it to.  It seems like they actually treated his wounds, when they had him.”
	“How did you ever get him back?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off the decrepit man, now.
	“He was returned to us,” the cattle dog said, and when I whipped my head around to stare at him incredulously, he only shrugged.  “Don't ask me.  I don't know.  One of our scouts found him. . . in the jaws of a Basilisk.  They followed the creature for a time, but it was either playing with its prey, or earnestly carrying him back to Serwich.  I don't know.  They killed it, of course.”
	I opened my mouth to object, but he only shook his head.  “It wouldn't have mattered if the beast had been spared.  Basilisks are non-verbal.  We couldn't have gleaned anything from it even if we'd tried to communicate with it.  Besides, the scouts didn't know whether or not the beast meant him harm, and their perogative was to save one of our own from- quite literally – the jaws of death.”  He looked down at his friend.  “Not that we did, in the end.”
	“What do you think happened?”  I asked, drawing my knees up to my chest.
	“They did something to his head,” he said, vaguely.  “We don't know.  Brain-washed him, is what the Physician was calling it.  He seems sympathetic to their people now, and even I can't reason with him.  He keeps asking to be returned.  He even speaks in their language, in snippets.  And he's grief-stricken about what happened to the Basilisk.  He even calls it. . . something.  A name, I suppose, although how he got a name from the creature, I don't know.  We only have two 'diplomats' here in Serwich who are still alive, and still even willing to study the Cathazra, and even they can't make sense of most of what he says.”
	Something crawled up my spine, suddenly, and I turned slowly to regard the Admiral.  “. . . sir?”  I asked at length.  He regarded me with a flick of his eyes.  “Are you. . .” I paused, uncertain I even wanted to voice this aloud.  “You come here often to speak to him, I've noticed.”
	“I still consider him one of my Captains,” the cattle dog murmured, miserably.  “I keep hoping he'll come around.  But we're on death-watch, at this point.  The Physician thought there was a good chance he'd slip away last night.  He actually seems slightly better now, but-”
	“Sir,” I interrupted, and felt bad that I had, but I had to press my point here.  “Have you been talking to him about any pertinent information regarding your plans for the evacuation?”
	The cattle dog's ears perked at that, and he looked suspicious.  “I hope you're not inferring what I think you are-”
	“You said yourself, he sympathizes with them,” I pointed out.  “And Johannes has said there are leaks in this colony that you can't track down.”
	The cattle dog gestured at his dying friend, seeming mildly irate, now.  “Look at him!  Does he look like he's sneaking out at night to relay information to our enemies?”
	“No,” I persisted, “but he could be talking to someone who is.”
	The Admiral gritted his teeth at that and averted his gaze, knitting his fingers tensely in his lap.  “I've been careful. . . with what I've said around him,” he assured me.
	“Are you certain?” I pressed.  “Because that would be an easy slip to make, with a friend you hold so close, whom you used to talk war with.”
	The uneasy way the Admiral shifted at that made me even more suspicious, but when I opened my mouth to continue, he turned quickly and snapped out, “I think you should leave for now, miss.  My friend is ill, and I don't have long to be with him today before I have to get back to work.  So please.  Leave us be for now.”
	I wasn't about to disobey a direct command from the man in charge of the colony, let alone when he was so frayed, but I had little more to say anyway, so I stood and left without any hesitation.  I made my way back towards Johannes.  Grayson was lurking around a nearby corner, and I saw his ears twitch in our direction.  But I didn't care if he heard this.
	“We thought we were going to lose him last night,” the wolfhound said quietly.  “It was a long night-”
	I cut him off by grabbing at his collar, yanking his head down somewhat.  He was startled, but leaned in, as I whispered, “Have you been watching him, when he visits with that man?”
	The wolfhound arched an eyebrow, and I saw the wolf closing in behind us, curiously.  “I try to give them a bit of space,” Johannes replied, uncertainly.  “What's your concern?”
	“Your friend is a lot more open and unguarded than he should be, around a man who harbors sympathy for our enemy,” I said pointedly.  
	The wolfhound looked briefly concerned at that, before shaking his head.  “Luther's no fool.  He's a bit. . . easy to read, sometimes, but he's clever enough to keep his secrets close to his chest.  Especially those concerning other peoples' lives.”
	“Are you certain about that?” I narrowed my eyes.  “Because he seems like an open book, to me.  Especially around his friends.”
	“You don't know the cattle dog like we do, love,” the wolf assured me.  “He's crafty.  Sometimes he only plays like he's being candid.  Th'man can lie backwards and forwards when it suits him, though.  I'm sure he ain't slipping secrets to the poor old boy.  Besides, even if he was, what would Finn do with them?”  He scratched at his dreads, yawning.  “Don't worry your pretty little head.”
	The wolfhound, however, seemed to have latched on to my concern.  He lifted his long muzzle and stared across the room at his friend's back, eyebrows lowering.  At length, he looked back down at me.	
	“Do you really think he could be relaying what Luther's been telling him?”  he asked, seriously.
	“I saw someone suspicious here a few weeks ago,” I said, stammering, “I mean. . . I think I did.  I'm not certain.  But she was near your friend Finn.  You said you were trying to track down where some of these leaks were coming from, right?  Don't you think it's. . . at least possible?”
	The wolfhound's expression turned pained for a moment or so.  “I don't want to think that, no,” he said softly.  “But I'd be a fool not to.  I've been a fool.  I let my friendship with the man cloud my judgment.  I never even considered it.”
	Even the wolf's tone had turned grim.  “I. . . Finn?”  His ears fell back.  “I don't feel right even thinkin' this way.  But. . . .”  By now, he knew about the evacuation, and knew that the fallback would likely be his fleet.  His dark blue eyes fell to his feet, and one corner of his muzzle turned up in a snuff.  “If that's the case. . . how do we even deal with that?  The man's already dying.  What are we going to do, lock him down somewhere?”
	“No,” the wolfhound said, quickly.  “If he's communicating with someone, we need to intercept that person.  We can't act as though anything's changed.  If we cut off Finn, we've only caught one part of the chain.  We need to find the messenger.”
	“I don't like that we're talking like this is really happening,” the wolf said, uncomfortably.  “We don't have any proof.”
	“There's no harm in finding out we're wrong,” Johannes murmured.  “I'll post a man-”
	“No,” I interrupted.  “Let me.”  When the two men looked down at me quesitoningly, I explained,  “I'm going to be here for a few days, anyway.  Puck's in surgery right now, and then afterwards he'll be recovering.”
	“God Bless,” the wolfhound said softly.
	I smiled.  “Thank you.  My hopes are high.  But, the point is, since I'm going to be here anyway, I can also keep an eye out.  If you'll trust me to the task?”
	The wolfhound didn't even pause.  “Absolutely.  If you need a reprieve, I'll send Gabriel for the night shift.”
	“You know he prefers his alias,” I reminded him with an arched eyebrow.
	“I don't like false names,” the wolfhound replied.
	I felt a pang of guilt at that, but only nodded.  It had been a long time since I'd owned my real name, and this didn't feel like the right moment to grip hold of old pain and make it fresh again.  There were too many other things happening now that needed my full attention.

	At some point during the night, my resolve had boiled down to exhaustion and I'd sent for Gabriel.  I'd been up since dawn the previous day, after all, spending time with Puck and being with the two men as they readied for the operation.  And even if it hadn't been a mission into the wild, it had been equally draining.  
	Besides, I needed to be sharp if we were going to catch a spy, and there was no reason not to have a fresher pair of eyes relieve me.  Magpie was only too happy to fill in, since we'd been grounded ever since the cliff mission, and he was itching for something to do.
	All I knew of the operation was that about an hour after it had begun, Forrest had left the room and I'd caught him washing up to ask how things had gone.  He'd seemed calm, and assured me that at the very least, Puck would not bleed to death.  Which wasn't much of a surprise, I'd trusted the Physician's able hands.  But now we were playing the waiting game, letting Puck sleep off the medicine he'd ingested and praying that the operation hadn't scratched anything necessary, or caused any kind of infection.  Forrest promised me he'd been as clean as possible, but he'd also warned me that opening up the body in any way was always a gateway to infection, especially in a place like the Dark Continent.  And we'd only really know by visual and scent inspection in the coming days. 
	“If something goes wrong in the eyes,” he'd told me, “it usually sets in quickly.  We should know by the morning.”
	And that was all I had to go on, all night.  It had certainly kept me awake for most of it.  But eventually I'd found myself slumping and blinking far too often, and had realized I wasn't the best candidate for keeping a vigil.  So now the rat was filling in, and I'd finally collapsed on one of the spare cots.  
	I slept only fitfully, especially since the cot was in the common area and the place was bright and noisy come morning.  When I did wake, probably only a few hours after I'd fallen asleep, I decided against trying for any more rest and opted to start my day early, instead.  
	I passed Gabriel on my way to the baths, and he put a palm on my shoulder, comfortingly.  “You could get a few more hours, you know,” he offered.
	I shook my head.  “I won't be able to fall back asleep once the crowds really start coming in and out,” I sighed, looking towards the back hallway.  Puck would still be sleeping, most likely.  I glanced back down at the rat.  “Keep up the vigil, would you?  I'm going to clean up, and check on him.”
	“You should get yourself something to eat,” the rat reminded me.  
	I only shook my head as I sleepily wandered off.  The early rise and lack of hours was making me mildly nauseous, so food didn't exactly sound appealing right now.  A hot bath did, though. . . and this place was one of the few in which you could get one in this colony.
	I got permission from the nurses and made my way to the barrel out back, pulling up the water from the well myself, and lighting the first fire of the morning to heat the water.  Most of the time, I'd never been here early enough to catch the very first bath of the day, and using second or third-hand water just wasn't quite as pleasing.  I soaked for quite some time, letting my mind wander, but making sure I didn't fall asleep.  That would be. . . embarrassing.
	I scrubbed my hands and arms clean, specifically, since the Physician had told us that was most important.  Showing Ransom how to scrub himself thoroughly enough to remove about twenty years of dirt had been an ordeal, and he'd complained the whole way through.  But he'd probably never been cleaner than he was right now, and that's the only way we could be with Puck while he was recovering.
	As I made my way towards the small back room, I had to fight the urge to backtrack several times.  I almost didn't want to know what I'd find when I stepped inside.  I knew essentially what the operation had involved, but I wasn't sure what Puck was going to look like.  How badly his eyes would be scarred. . . or his face, or. . . the gods only knew.
	The room seemed quiet from the outside.  I stood frozen at the door for. . . I don't even know how long.  It could have been half an hour.  I couldn't account for my sudden lack of courage.  I was just so afraid.  Could he have passed away in the night?  Had the doctor missed something?
	At some point, my hand managed to turn the knob, and I stepped as silently as I could into the small, dimly-lit room.  The curtains were mostly pulled, but they were a light cloth and it was long past dawn at this point, so the room wasn't terribly dark, just subdued, matching the quiet I stepped into.
	I first saw Ransom, because he was seated near the door, slumped over in a chair sleeping.  Similarly, and proof indeed of his earnest desire to see the fox through it. . . was Forrest.  The Otherwolf looked more like he'd planned to fall asleep, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his barrel of a belly.  Ransom, on the other hand, looked more like he'd passed out where he'd sat without much choice in the matter.  One of his arms was entirely fallen over his knee and he was tilted at an angle I knew would prove aching when he woke.
	“Is someone there?” a hoarse, soft voice asked.  
	I sucked in a breath and swept my gaze towards the bed, where. . . Puck. . . sat.  He was entirely upright, his small paws gripping the edge of the blanket.  His eyes were covered in two circular bandages that were wrapped tight with gauze.  And for the first time since I'd known him, he looked. . . entirely blind.
	Puck had never before not known me when I entered a room.  I was puzzled for a few moments, before something struck me.
	“Puck. . .” I said softly, padding towards him as slowly as I could, so as not to frighten him.  He looked very much awake, but also very wary.  His fur was on end, and he seemed disoriented.  Lost.  “It's me,” I said, reaching tentatively for his hand.
	He took it, slowly, and seemed to relax.  “O-oh. . .” he murmured after a few moments.  “Shivah.  Good.  I-I'm glad.  I. . . the door woke me, and I heard breathing, but. . . .”
	I squeezed his palm.  “We had to scrub ourselves raw,” I explained.  “And we're wearing clothing they gave us here.  The Physician was afraid of infection.”
	The fox sighed, seeming somewhat relieved.  “That's. . . why I can't smell you,” he murmured.  With a slightly forced smile, he murmured, “For a moment there, I was afraid I'd lost another sense.”
	I chuckled softly.  “I don't know if you can even lose your sense of smell.”
	“You can,” the fox assured me.  “Through damage, mostly, but-”
	“He's awake, then?” a somewhat groggy voice asked from behind us.  The Physician gave a bit of a groan and a snuff as he came to, pushing himself slowly to his feet.  I heard his knees crack more than once.
	I nodded at the man as he headed over towards us, and gave him some space as he leaned down, taking the fox by his chin and turning his head a few times, likely inspecting the bandages for seepage or blood.  I'd already looked, and I hadn't seen either.  
	At length, he leaned back, dragging a breath through his nose, and. . . shrugging, of all things.  “He smells good, to me.  I think we can remove the bandages.”
	“Today?” I balked, my heart skipping a beat.  So soon?  I'd thought for certain Puck would need to be in recovery for a very long time.
	“I tried to tell you,” the Physician said matter-of-factly, “it's a very simple operation, just not a pleasant one to undergo.  I removed the clouded lenses.  That's all that needed be done.  I'll need to visually inspect the eyes to be sure nothing was scratched, but. . . I did that last night, and all seemed well.  He doesn't smell infected.  I think all went well.”
	Puck gave a shuddering breath, and I nearly stopped breathing entirely.  
	“Th-at's it?” the fox asked, trembling.
	The Physician cracked a rare smile, and nodded.  “That's it.  Well. . . once you're fitted for spectacles.  Your eyes won't be able to focus, as they are.  And expect to be disoriented for quite some time.  You haven't seen so much as shapes or colors for many years, and it's going to be startling to be barraged with it all at once.  I've heard you might even see color more vividly now than you did before, though.  You'll have to let me know how it compares to your vision before the cataracts.”
	“. . . I can hardly remember,” the fox admitted, softly.
	“Make sure the curtains are closed entirely,” Forrest said to me as he leaned forward to begin undoing Puck's bandages.  “Best that he grows accustomed to it slowly.”
	I nodded and made for the thin cotton over the windows, tucking it in as well as I could.  By the time I'd looked back over to the bed, Forrest had most of the bandages off, and was just removing the two remaining circular ones over Puck's eyes.  He removed each pad very carefully.  Puck's eyelids were shut beneath them, and he didn't open them at first.
	“Slowly,” the Physician cautioned.
	The fox was shaking, the blankets fisted in his small paws, body rigid where he sat.  But slowly. . . very slowly. . . his eyes slipped open.
	They were brown.
	I put a hand up to my muzzle, stifling the quiet sob that threatened to escape my throat.  I watched as the deep, mahogany-colored pools that had been so long obscured beneath a clouded surface revealed themselves. . . so perfectly fitting my friend's deep, gentle soul.  I was shocked I hadn't been able to imagine him this way before.
	But really, those clear, soulful eyes had always been there.  I'd seen them, seen through the clouded lens obscuring them, many times.  Now, the entire world would be able to see what I always had.
	And hopefully, so would he.
	The fox gave a soft 'hah. . .' of breath, his dark eyes sweeping the room.  They fixed first on Forrest, then swept over towards me.  They were extremely dilated, and for a moment, he squinted hard, like he was trying to see something far in the distance.  But it wasn't like every other time he'd tried to look at me when we spoke, using his other senses to compensate, and fake a gaze he couldn't really follow through on.  I'd known then, every time, that he was only doing it for my benefit.  So that his wandering gaze wouldn't disturb me.
	It never had, of course, and I'd hated that he felt he had to do it.
	But this time, he was looking at me.  Really looking.  And I could tell he couldn't see me clearly, but he could see me.  And that was all that mattered.
	“Shivah. . .” he said with an amazed smile.  “I. . . I think I see spots.  It's you, right?”
	I nodded, wanting to say something but knowing that if I tried, I'd probably start crying.
	The fox let the breath out that he'd been holding, giving a gasping laugh.  “I-I can. . . see. . . colors. . . .”  He blinked quickly a few times, sniffing wetly and looking down at the blanket he was gripping.  “This is blue,” he murmured, still in that awed tone.  “I'd nearly forgotten. . . what blue looked like.”
	I heard the creak of heavy footsteps, and so did Puck.  He turned slowly, his dark gaze sweeping upwards.  At some point, he'd woken, and had come to stand at the foot of Puck's bed.  And this time, the fox didn't squint, or hesitate, or pause.
	“I know that scar-” he said, his voice catching in his throat.  Before the Physician could catch his shoulder to stop him, the fox pushed aside the blankets and stumbled out of bed.  The coyote quickly caught him before he could go crashing to the floor, and held him fast.
	But Puck was gripping him tighter, suddenly, and the two men were drawing one another close, the fox clinging to his shirt and pressing a hand up along Ransom's ragged neck scruff.  He shakily drew it down over the coyote's cheek, pulling him closer still, until their noses were nearly touching.
	The coyote was shaking, Puck was dragging in ragged breaths, and both men were crying.  
	“Why didn't you ever tell me you had gold eyes?” was what Puck finally chose to ask, to break the silence.
	I was glad at that point that Forrest stepped out, because a few moments later, even I lost my composure.  We all spent that morning happier, and more elated that we'd been in years. . . and crying like children.