Chapter 9 – Trust 

	My mind was a blur as I stumbled back towards the lean-to.  It’s hard to describe what I felt.  I was physically shaking, my stomach clenching in knots, waves of uncertainty and apprehension washing over me in equal measure.  
	It couldn’t be true.
	I’d told Sawyer I didn’t believe him.  Upon first hearing his claims, it had seemed obvious that he was just trying to sew distrust between Finn and I so that I wouldn’t try to convince my father to release him into their custody.
	Or, it could have been a lie they’d been told.  The bounty put out on Finn could be full of lies, and they’d have no way of knowing any better.
	It couldn’t be true.
	But a frightening number of things were playing through my mind, coming together like some grisly tapestry.  And the picture they were creating was dark.  But compelling.  Especially when I looked at it all as a whole.  
	It couldn’t be true.
	But the truth had always been there, if I really thought about it.
	From the first day I’d met Finnegan, I’d sensed he was hiding something from me.  Many things.  And he’d only begun revealing them bit by bit.  But there were still so many facets of the man I’d been traveling with, that I’d grown so strangely attached to, that I couldn’t make sense of.  Until now.
	His story was just the sort of righteous, worthy cause for an adventure you’d tell someone if you wanted their help.  And that’s the part I’d really believed, until now.  Because he spoke on it with such passion.  Maybe that part was true.  Maybe. . . it was hard to believe he might have lied about everything concerning his family.
	But did I really have any evidence?  Of any of it?  We’d been carrying a bag he insisted contained documents proving the whole of his tale, but I’d never read any of them.  Granted we hadn’t had much time, but it’s not as though he’d ever offered.
	And if the story about his father and mother was true, why had he come halfway across the world to punish the man?    
	Finnegan had a pistol.  A weapon he rightfully shouldn’t have had, upon reflection.  It was expensive, not just because it was a firearm. . . it was a particularly expensive-looking firearm.  And he’d gone on and on about how he’d been born in poverty, and how desperately he’d needed money for his mother’s treatment.  What about that weapon?  It must have been worth a small fortune.
	But moreover, he’d had a pistol, presumably before he came to our country.  Which means he’d been armed when he was in the same country, possibly the same city, as his father.  And if there was one thing about his tale I absolutely did not doubt, it was the hatred he clearly had for that man.
	Had he killed his father?
	That, at least. . . I suppose I might have understood.  It would have been a terrible thing.  An immoral thing, certainly.  But putting myself in his position, given what he’d experienced, (if true) I couldn’t say what I might have done.  
	But he could have told me.  He could have told me the truth, in that case.  I would have listened.  I’m not sure if I’d known right off about a man killing his own kin if I would have still consented to travel with him, but. . . .
	And maybe that had been the point.  I wanted to believe he’d deceived me because he was frightened, because he’d needed my help.  I wanted to believe it had been for a good reason.
	The things we’d been through, the things we’d done together over the last few days. . . .
	I deserved to know.  If this was true, I had deserved to know.
	The one real thorn in my paw, the point on which I kept returning that made my gut sink through the earth, was his remarkable skill with the weapon.  It was something I’d avoided thinking about throughout our travels, and now it was so obvious.
	Finnegan had never mentioned being a soldier of any kind, and he clearly wasn’t a hunter.  Why else would he be so steady a hand, so knowledgeable about firearms, unless he had considerable experience with them?  I didn’t understand pistols or rifles well, but I knew enough to know they were difficult and dangerous to use, even for an experienced bearer.  But Finn had always been so focused and calm when he’d had occasion to use his pistol.  I vividly recalled watching him stand, steady as a pine, and aim for the shoreline.  The memory of his startling speed drawing the weapon, just hours ago.  He’d known how to handle Odina and Sawyer on both occasions they’d fired on us, too.  Known whether or not they’d fired based on smoke, how long it might take them to re-load.  Now that I was thinking back on it, he’d checked and cleaned his pistol meticulously every morning after we’d camped.  He’d used up nearly all of his remaining coin to purchase powder, instead of food.
	And I’d been so certain he was really going to kill Sawyer.  If it weren’t for Odina’s intervention, he might have.
	I realized, in the mire of my thoughts, that I’d made it to the lean-to.  It had really only been a short walk from the river.  Close enough that Sawyer could keep an eye and an ear out for us if we were to flee.  
	I stared at it for a long time, my fingers brushing my palms, my body so on-edge I thought it would simply break.  Every fiber of my being wanted to run away from this.  From all of this.  What had I gotten myself into?
	I could run, I realized.  Our supplies were outside, save Finn’s bag.  I could take some of our food, (my food, really) and get back on that raft, and go as far up-river as I could before the ice set.  I could leave Finnegan here, with the mountain lions.  I could go home.  
	I had every reason to.
	Except that I’d always regret it.  I knew myself, and despite all my fear and apprehension, all of my awkwardness and anxiety, I knew I couldn’t be the kind of man who ran from something like this.  I wouldn’t be able to face myself.  I’d always wonder if I was wrong.
	Whatever the truth was, Finnegan should have told me the full extent of it by now.  But if I ran, I’d be running from that truth.  And even if it was unpleasant, I had to know.  Because I had to make the right decision here, or know at least that I had tried to.
	I steeled myself and kneeled, pushing aside the flap and going back inside.
	Finnegan was awake.  Not just awake, but upright, leaning back against one of the trees the lean-to was pitched on.  He looked indescribably tired, slumped and hollow-eyed.  Like he hadn’t slept at all.
	“I heard,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
	My heart stopped.
	“So, it’s true?”  I asked, in a voice so small it was hard to believe it had come out of me.
	He looked towards me, sidelong.  “That I’ve killed people?  Yes.”  He dropped his gaze to where his hands were sitting lifeless and uncurled in his lap.  “Although your man has the number wrong.  It’s actually eight kills now, all in all.”
	I felt a spike of anger rise inside me.  “How can you be so. . . so flippant about saying that?!”
	He closed his eyes slowly.  “I’m not, Tulimak.  It’s just. . .” he seemed to search for the right words, “. . . hard to. . . to cope with.  If I let myself fully feel it.  I try not to think about it.  It’s the only way.”
	“If you’ve killed people, Finn,” I said, hardly believing the words were leaving my mouth, “you should feel something.  Even if it were at war, o-or. . . like with Odina.  If you were defending yourself.”
	“The last two,” he murmured, “the ones in Stuttgar. . . those were bounty hunters.  Like Odina, or the two foxes.  I had no choice there, I was defending myself.  They came after me, they shot my horse, they cornered me on this bridge, and. . . .” he sighed, running his hands over his muzzle.  “What does it matter?  It feels pointless to even make my case.”
	“It isn’t pointless, Finn,” I insisted.  “I want to know.  I deserve to know.”
	He looked back at me at that, and there was a flicker of something across his features.  “You do,” he agreed quietly.
	“So why have you kept all of this from me?”  I pleaded, desperately.  “I-I. . . was really beginning to feel that I knew you.”
	“Because I didn’t want to lose your respect,” he said bluntly, if quietly.  “Even if we parted ways here, I didn’t want you to know this part of me.  I wanted to think you’d be out there somewhere, thinking I was a better man than I am.”
	“Finn,”  I put my paws to my knees, digging my claws into my fur.  “If there was a good reason. . .”  I clenched my jaw.  I couldn’t say I’d forgive him.  I didn’t want to make that promise.  “Any reason,” I said softly.  “Any reason that I could. . . understand.  I want to know.  Why?  Please tell me why.”
	He was silent for longer than made me comfortable.  The air in the lean-to felt hot and constricting, like I couldn’t really breathe it.  But finally, just when I thought it was more than I could bear, he responded.
	“It’s hard to explain,” he said.
	The anger returned.  I lifted my head, speaking between my teeth.  “Try,” I growled out.
	He opened his muzzle for a moment, then shut it.  When he opened it again, this time to speak, his face looked tense and drawn.
	“I’ve never lied to you, Tulimak.  I swear on my mother’s grave.  I have tried to be as honest with you as I could.  There are just some things about my life that are hard for me to talk about.  Not just because of the language or the cultural barrier.  Because. . . I’m ashamed of them.”
	I stayed kneeling where I was, giving him time to continue speaking.  It was clear he had more to say.
	“Remember when I told you I had a trade, back home?”  He asked, although it was clear he required no answer.  “As a mediator, of a sort?  That wasn’t. . . a lie.  But it also wasn’t the whole of it.”
	“That sounds like an Otherwolf expression for ‘a lie’,” I said, sternly.
	He huffed.  “You’re not wrong.  But it wasn’t just my shame that kept me from explaining my. . . profession.  It’s a hard tradition to explain to an outsider.  Because honestly, it’s barbaric, and stupid.  And it’s not something I ever saw myself getting involved in.  But an opportunity came my way when I was desperate for money, and. . . .”  
	He held out his hands, helplessly, gesturing at nothing.  Then he dropped them back in his lap and let his breath out slowly.  “I’m a Professional Second, Tulimak.  Or at least, I was.  Back in Amuresca.”
	He must have sensed my uncertainty, or knew what he’d said would make no sense to me.  “A Duelist,” he amended, in a subdued voice.  He finally summoned the nerve to look me in the eyes, searching for any signs of understanding.  “You still don’t understand, do you?”
	It was frustrating to be proving him right.  “No,” I admitted.  “I know some of the words, but not what you mean by them.”
	“I shoot people, for money,” he said.  “Or at least, I used to.”
	“Like a bounty hunter?”  I asked uncertainly.  If the men he’d killed were criminals, surely he’d have told me that earlier.
	“No, not like a bounty hunter,” he sighed, and slowly turned to face me.  “In Amuresca, there is an old tradition whereby men who wish to settle disputes. . . arguments. . . over various things, they. . . fight one another.  To determine who is in the right.”
	“That would only determine who is the better warrior,” I pointed out.
	“It’s even less sensible than you realize,” he muttered.  “Because men with enough money can, and often do, simply pay someone else to fight for them.  They call that man a ‘Second’.  He fights in their stead, against their opponent.  Often another Second.  In five of the duels I took part in, I was simply facing off against another man like myself.  A stranger.  Although to be honest, they were all strangers to me. . . even the men who fought their own battles.  I was just a hired hand.  I never really had any stakes in what the duel was over, save the coin I was being paid and my own survival.”
	“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, baffled and disturbed.
	“It never made much sense to me, either,” he agreed.  “It’s an ancient, brutal tradition that usually solves very little, except wounding or killing one or both of the participants.  There’s some thought that Pedigree Lords used to duel to avoid larger battles that might cost many more lives, but those times are long past.  Nowadays it’s primarily engaged over social slights, or a woman.  Or ‘honor’, which is especially hypocritical when the Lords in question employ men to fight for them.  It’s more like a cock fight, a spectator sport.”
	“Then why do it?”  I moaned, imploringly.
	He tipped his ears back.  “The money,” he replied simply.  “It pays like nothing else a man like me can aspire to.  The medicine my mother needed near the end of the wasting rot that took her. . . it’s from Mataa.  Imported.  Illegal, in fact, which just made it more expensive.  But it was the only thing that eased her pain.”
	“You could have sold your weapon,” I said, recalling my thoughts from earlier.  “Instead of using it to. . . to kill.  For coin.”  That part still didn’t make sense to me, and it was hard to say, in reference to this man I’d grown so fond of.
	“Tulimak, I only have this pistol,” he explained, “because of the first duel I agreed to be a Second for.”
	I didn’t say anything, but I kept my gaze pinned on him, saying wordlessly what he had to know by now.  Explain.  
	“One of the men,” he sighed, “that my mother used to work for.  They were very close.  I guess you could say he was her primary patron.  He obviously wasn’t the man who’d sired me, but for whatever reason, maybe because he had no sons of his own, he didn’t mind my coming to the estate with her.  We’d spend weeks there.  I loved it,” he admitted.  “It was in the country.  Sprawling grounds, so many places to play.  His stable hands and gardeners had children my age.  You could really breathe the air. . . .”  he looked nostalgic for a short time.  “He had no sons, like I said, but he’d been a military man when he was young, and I think he’d always wanted to pass on some of his knowledge.  So every now and then, while my mother wasn’t occupying him, he’d take me out on the grounds and show me what a fine soldier he’d once been.  And he’d let me try things I never would have had occasion to learn, back in the Risers.  Like fencing.  And shooting.”
	He leaned forward, knitting his hands over one knee.  “I never took to the foil well.  But for whatever reason, I was a natural with a pistol.  It’s the only thing I’ve ever discovered that I have a real gift for.  God, if he exists, gave me nothing else.”  
	He drew a breath in through his nose.  “When I was thirteen I started looking for a trade, and there weren’t many opportunities available to me.  I considered enlisting, I tried my hand at getting a few apprenticeships, none of which I was chosen for.  I didn’t have any desire to, but I wouldn’t have even been able to follow in my mother’s footsteps and be a Courtesan.  Not as successful as my uncle Mikhail, in any case.  Black fur is frightfully commonplace in Amuresca, and I’m too wolfish besides.  My mother at least had a beautiful white pelt,” he looked bitter.  “But I inherited my father’s fur, more than anything else.”
	He looked up at me again, as if to ensure I was following along.  I was so far, so he continued.  “I thought I had time.  Until my mother’s condition became apparent, and she couldn’t work anymore.  We got by for a time on the kindness of our neighbors, but that couldn’t last.  And this disease, Tulimak. . . God,” he narrowed his eyes, expression pained.  “It ate away at her.  Rotted her face out, until you could see bone.”
	I wanted so badly to reach for him.  I had to fight everything inside me, remind myself that once again, no matter how hurt, how earnest, how heartfelt he sounded, they were all just words.  Still just words.
	But spirits, it was hard.  The emotion laced through his voice was undeniable.  If he was lying to me now, he was summoning forth deception I hadn’t known a soul was capable of.
	“I was so desperate,” he continued, solemnly.  “I sent letters to all of my mother’s prior patrons, to see if any of them were willing to show some compassion for her condition.  This Lord, the man who once showed me how to shoot, he was the only one who got back to me,” he held up a finger, “and made me an offer.  Apparently, you see,” he cleared his throat, “sourcing a Second from the lowest rungs of society is fairly common practice.  He thought nothing of asking me to shoot his rival for him.  I was hesitant at first, sure, but he offered me so much money.  More than I could earn in years doing any other kind of trade available to refuse like me.  I didn’t see that I had a choice.  I would have done anything for my mother.”  He stared me straight in the eyes.  “Anything.”
	This was why I’d wanted answers.  Because I’d suspected there might be some reasoning that would explain things.  I’d worried it might be something muddy like this.  Complex.  Hard to make any kind of judgment on.  So much of this was so difficult, nearly impossible, for me to understand.  But I was determined to try.
	“You said you killed eight people,” I said softly.  “Or, well, including the two hunters who came after you here.  Which I have no reason to disbelieve, and. . . I can forgive you for that.  Or at least, I would have.  If you’d told me about it, rather than hiding it from me.”  I let out a shuddering breath.  “But you said eight, Finn.  Not three.  Your story only explains away the first.”
	“That first duel was so simple,” he said in a single breath.  “I went to his estate.  I hadn’t touched a pistol in five years, but it didn’t matter.  I practiced on his property for a day or so before the duel, picked it right back up.  And when the day came, I shot that man dead.  He didn’t even graze me.  I was so resolute, so certain in my conviction.  I figured if two men were going to fire on one another that day regardless, it ought to at least be for a good reason.   It was so easy to convince myself of that.”
	“How do two people fight with pistols?”  I asked, having trouble picturing this.
	“You stand a set distance apart, wait for a count, and then fire on one another,” he explained matter-of-factly.  “If no one hits, you move closer, and repeat.  You do so either until first blood, or death.  Although since most duels now are done with pistols instead of blades, death is a lot more common than it used to be.  I didn’t shoot dead six people right on the spot.  I’ve wounded over a dozen.  It’s just that some of them died after the fact.”
	“You just stand there and shoot one another?!”  I exclaimed, horrified.  I couldn’t think of anything more insane.  This is how Otherwolves won arguments?
	“It can be more nuanced than that,” he shrugged.  “Honestly, a lot of people just don’t show up in the morning, or lose their nerve before the count.  You can admit defeat before things have begun, and avoid the whole mess.  Once I started getting a reputation, that happened to me a few times.”
	“A reputation?”
	“Dueling is legal in Amuresca, Tulimak,” he explained.  “It’s legal here, in fact.  So yes, if you make it your profession, it’s good to build a reputation.  It doesn’t just get you more work, it can intimidate people.  Frightened people have unsteady hands.  So even if they elect to go through with the duel. . . .”
	“Why not stop after the first?”  I pressed.  “You said you won.  Did he not pay you?”
	“Oh, he paid me,” he said, glancing down at his holstered pistol.  “And he gave me that pistol, besides.  Out of gratitude.  It’s specifically a dueling pistol, that’s why the barrel is a little longer than most.”
	“Then why?”
	“The money I made was enough to care for my mother for a while,” he said.  “But the disease she had was. . . a lingering one.  And she continued to need medicine.  For years.  More and more, as time went by.  It was the only thing that kept her calm and stopped the pain.  I just wanted her to have peace.”  His voice sounded strained on the last word.  “I thought about selling the pistol, but I realized I could make more over time if I just. . . kept winning duels.  And I did.  I’ve never missed a man at ten paces.  I’ve been hit, but-“
	“You’ve been shot doing this?”  I balked.
	“No one who’s done this for years on end hasn’t been shot at least once,” he muttered.  “A few grazes, two bad ones, but I came out the other side.  I still have lead in my hip.”
	I put a paw up over my eyes for a moment, swiping it slowly down my muzzle.  “Of course,” I murmured.
	“Luckily I’ve always been kind of scrawny.  But I’ve also intentionally stayed lean to keep a slim profile,” he explained.  “Helps more than you’d think.  Most of the men I’ve gone up against are Pedigree or well-paid Duelists, both of which live the good life and. . . eat well, suffice it to say.  When you’re half their size, you’re half as wide a target.”  
	“You were killing complete strangers, Finn,” I emphasized, my voice strained.
	“Don’t you think I agonized over that?”  He replied with a bit of a snap in his voice.  He immediately tipped his ears back and looked ashamed of his defensiveness, though.  “I didn’t,” he said, visibly trying to calm his tone, “know. . . what else. . . to do.  It seemed. . . what I was meant for.”
	“It can’t possibly be,” I said softly.  “Killing for no reason can’t be what anyone is meant for.”
	“I don’t know,” he said darkly, in a defeated tone.  “As far as most of the world is concerned, a person like me is worthless.  Low-bred, guttersnipe son of a whore.  But as a duelist. . .” he got a distant look, narrowing his eyes.  “I was a force to be reckoned with.  Am.  A force to be reckoned with,” he corrected.
	“I thought you were a force to be reckoned with before I knew all of this,” I said quietly.
	He looked up at me, surprised.
	“Finnegan, you’re one of the most passionate people I’ve ever met,” I said sincerely.  “You made me care about something I knew nothing about until just last week.  You drew me into your story, into this quest of yours, and made me consider leaving my home, leaving the world I know, just to be with you.  To help you see this goal of yours through.”  I hunched down, leaning in closer to him, my voice plaintive.  “Was that all a lie?”
	“No,” he said firmly, and immediately.  “I told you, I haven’t lied to you.  Not once.  I fucking meant that.”
	“So this bounty out on you,” I said.  “It really is because of your father?”
	“Of course it is,” he said indignantly.  “That man knew my profession.  He had the gall to mock me for it, the one time we met after I put my mother in the ground.  As if any of it, any of it, would ever have been necessary if he’d just lived up to his responsibilities!”
	His voice had risen to a crescendo over the end of his statement, and I let him, without flinching.  I could feel how much he wanted this out of him.  The anger was coming off of him like heat off a stone, his green eyes burning, even in the dim lean-to.  
	I had so many conflicting feelings.  So many.  But overwhelmingly, I pitied him.  I wasn’t entirely certain of my trust for him.  He’d kept this facet of who he was a secret from me all this time, and it was no minor thing. . . but I believed his anger.  I believed that he’d been terribly hurt over the course of his life, and I had no reason to think he’d invented the reasons why.  Everything seemed to fit, now.  In a way it hadn’t when I’d been missing pieces.
	The question was, how did I feel about him now that I knew all of this?
	There wasn’t an easy answer to that.  But one thing I knew for certain was that my perception of him had fundamentally changed.  And I needed to think on all of this, come to make sense of it all somehow, and learn how I felt about him all over again.
	I’d already been contending with so many new feelings over the last week, things he’d brought out in me that were forcing me to confront who I was.  It was so much, all at once.  I hardly knew where to start.
	“I don’t know how he used his channels on this continent to get a bounty out on me here,” he muttered.  “I suspect I know which duel he’s citing as a ‘murder’.  The last man I shot, the duel wasn’t officiated properly.  There was some question as to the credentials of the man overseeing it, and the young deerhound I killed was from a prominent family who were demanding an investigation.  I got the hell out of dodge before things got bad.  Which,” he paused, “maybe I shouldn’t have done.  Upon retrospect.  But I’ve learned to fear what Pedigree families can do with their money and station, whether they’re in the right or not.  I didn’t want to be hung over a job.”
	“You said you were just the hired gun,” I said, still trying to make sense of this ritual of theirs.  “Wouldn’t they come after the man who. . . started the. . . argument?  ‘Duel’?”
	“He was also a Pedigree,” he said pointedly.  “It’s messier when families of means go at it.  Simpler to make a point by offing the pawn, someone no one’ll miss.  Less chance of continued retribution, too.”
	“No offense Finnegan,” I said, exhaustedly.  “But your country sounds awful.”
	“So yeah, there might be a legitimate warrant out for me,” he let out a breath.  “That or he lied.  Not exactly difficult for a man of his means to forge a warrant.  But he knew I was digging into his financials.  I’d gotten a whiff of how dirty his business dealings were years ago, when I managed to get one of his associates drunk and talking.  At the time, I won’t lie. . . I was looking for a way into his Estate.  I was angry, Tulimak.  So angry.  But the bastard never went anywhere in public without an armed escort.”
	“You were planning to kill him,” I nodded.
	“I didn’t, for the record,” he growled out.  “I got as far as his grounds once, got a look at what my mother and I should have had, and. . .” he trailed off.  “He had other children.  Purebloods, of course.  But still, just. . . kids. . . .”  He turned his chin aside, posture slumped and small.  “I’d only lost my mother a few months earlier.  I couldn’t do it.”  He gave a snuff.  “I can kill a man I’ve never met before, who might have a family of his own.  But I couldn’t put that bastard in the ground, because for once, I had to confront what I was really doing.  Pretty fucking cowardly, hnh?”
	“If anything,” I uttered, “I think it’s the bravest thing you’ve said so far.”
	He looked up at me at that.  And scowled.  “I’m not a good person, Tulimak.  Don’t try to reason that I am just because you’re attracted to me, and you want me to be.”
	“Is this,” I paused, “why you wanted us to part ways?”
	“I told you, I didn’t want you knowing all of this,” he said.  “I’ve enjoyed being with you.  Truly.  Not just because. . . well, because you are a good person.  But. . . because for a while, I got to pretend I was one, too.”  He lifted his ears ever-so-slightly.  “I’m the only person left alive who will ever ultimately care what I’ve done with my life.  What I’ve made of myself.  I don’t want to. . . be. . .” he swallowed heavily, his jaw trembling, “. . . this.”
	“Then,” I steeled my nerve, and reached for him.  Not his hand, but his shoulder.  “Don’t,” I said simply.
	He looked up at me with a fragile tremor, like some part of his expression was about to give way.  “I can’t undo what’s done,” he said, quietly.  “I lived that life for years.  I’ve taken eight souls.  Wounded twice as many.”
	“I don’t understand your peoples’ ways,” I said, putting my feelings on the matter as kindly as I could.  I’d accepted at this point that I needed to think on this all much more before I really decided how I felt about this ‘dueling’ practice.  And I wanted to know more, too.  “And my tribe has not gone to war for many generations.  I’ve never experienced war.  So I can’t say I even have an understanding of killing, as my people see it.  But killing to protect, or even to ease the suffering, of one’s family. . . I can’t say I wouldn’t be willing to do the same.  I’d have to be put in that position.  And that’s a thing I never hope to face.”  
	My expression softened.  “Whether you did the wrong thing by taking on this ‘profession’ or not,” I said, “or by continuing it for so long. . . the fact that you had to make such an awful choice at all isn’t fair.  It wouldn’t be right for me to judge you the same way I would someone who had more options in life, and still took so dark a path.”
	His shoulders and gaze lifted marginally, and I felt bad cutting him down after I’d managed to lift him up some.
	“That being said,” I sighed out.  “I don’t care how many times you say you didn’t lie to me.  You hid this from me.  Intentionally.  You had a lot of chances to explain this to me, and you didn’t.”  I tightened my jaw, knowing the betrayal was showing in my features.  “If we’d just travelled together for a few days Finn, I might have understood that.  But you. . . let things. . . happen. . . between us. . . .”
	The wolfdog curled in on himself, the shame evident in every part of his body.  His tail was tucked, ears folded back, knuckles tense where his hands gripped his knees.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “I didn’t. . . think. . . .”
	“I deserved to know who you were.  Who you are.” 
	He nodded slowly.  “You did.  You do.”
	“Is the guilt why you’re doing all of this?”  I asked, honestly uncertain what he’d say.  It was clear what I wanted him to say, and if he kept feeding me what I wanted to hear, I wasn’t certain I could repair any of the trust I’d had in him.	
	He seemed to think about that for a long while.  “Maybe, on some level,” he reasoned.  “I’m hoping to be redeemed?  But.  I think it’s more about. . . not just revenge, but certainly that.  I want to ruin what he values most, without having to hurt his family.  I want to ruin his reputation, his business, his respect amongst his fellows.  I want them to know what a monster he is.  I know he’ll likely never be brought up on charges for any of this, or lose enough of his fortune to be forced to live the kind of life we did.  But I want. . . .”
	Again, silence.  He tipped his head back, clearly thinking.  It was so strange to see the wolfdog uncertain about anything.  Lost for words.
	“I don’t just want him to have less,” he stated.  “I want him to be less.  And I want to show him, and maybe myself?  That I can be more.  I can at least be a better man than him, if nothing else.  I can put a stop to the worst thing he’s ever done, and is continuing to do.  It’s a sort of redemption I guess, but also I’ll be kicking him in the teeth.  It just feels like it’s the only thing left for me to do.”
	I felt the hint of a smile finally come to me, albeit briefly.  Not because he’d professed his noble aspirations, but because he’d admitted to his selfish, angry reasons for them.  It was real.  It was the truth.
	It was a start.
	“Finn?”
	His ears perked, and he looked at me expectantly.
	I took in a breath.  “I want to know everything,” I said.
	He blinked.  “What?  ‘Everything’?”
	“Everything you haven’t already told me,” I said.  “Anything that might affect me.  About this bounty, any part of your past that might end up mattering to us now, here.  Anything about your plans to bring these papers in.  Everything that might involve me.  Or my tribe.”  I shifted to sit cross-legged, getting comfortable.  “I don’t expect you to tell me everything there is about yourself.  Everyone has things about themselves they’d rather not share.  But things like this?  Things that might involve armed and dangerous hunters shooting at me?  Those things, I need to know.”
	He let out a long, staggered breath, slowly closing his eyes.  “Alright,” he agreed.

	Chapter 10 - Proof

	“Hey, can you show me how to quick-draw?”  Sawyer was asking.  The young lion had been sitting on the fringes of our camp all morning, replacing his mother, who’d taken a shift last night.  Unlike her son, she’d kept her presence quiet and hadn’t engaged with us at all.  But she also wasn’t hiding.  I’d heard her, smelled her, knew full well she was there, all night.  She wanted us to know.
	I was busy packing our remaining supplies for an extended trip on-foot, which was different than just lashing them in place on our raft.  They needed to be less cumbersome, more tightly-bundled.  I’d be carrying most of them, and one of my shoulders was still injured, so I was paring down to essentials.
	Finnegan was tending the campfire, stirring the hearty stew of carrots, potatoes and half a chicken we’d purchased in town.  After we’d spent an additional night in Broen, (mostly sleeping, after Finn and I had a long talk) I’d been feeling a lot better.  But a good hearty meal felt like a real necessity before we made the trek to my tribe, and when I’d noticed they were slaughtering a bird a few campfires over, I’d offered to purchase half of it off of them for double what it was worth, just so that we didn’t have to go to the market.  They’d readily agreed.
	I was only vaguely listening in on the chattering young Sawyer while he’d been pestering Finnegan all morning, who’d mostly been ignoring him.  The teenager must have been profoundly bored to be trying so hard to start up conversation with the man they’d been hunting not days ago.  Finnegan was having none of it.
	“You’re inside the boundaries of our camp again,” he muttered.  “I’d appreciate some space.”
	I heard rather than saw the mountain lion take a few steps back, then sit, likely again on the stump he’d been favoring nearby.  “What’re you cookin’ there?”
	“You’re not getting any of our stew,” the wolfdog replied tersely.
	“I don’t want yer bleedin’ stew,” Sawyer groused.  “I want y’to show me how to pull a pistol that fast.  I ain’t ever seen anything like that before, but I’d ‘eard it could be done.”
	I turned, taking in the sight of the young lion as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rifle unceremoniously tipped against his side.  He was looking at Finn, who was cocooned in his dark coat against the cold, stooped over the soup like a miserly, grouchy old man.  The illusion was completed by the most ornery expression imaginable, focused squarely on the young, impudent lion like he could burn him with his eyes if he tried hard enough.
	“C’mon,” the teenager pleaded.  “Can I just see it again?  Maybe I kin pick up some tricks.”
	“I don’t.  Do.  Tricks,” Finnegan said emphatically.  He stood slowly, wincing as he stretched his hip.  “You want a lesson?”
	The expression on the mountain lion’s face said he most certainly did.  I began to wonder when I was going to have to get involved in this.
	“Never pull a weapon, any weapon,” Finnegan said, “unless you intend to use it.”
	He turned and began to make his way back towards me, and I saw Sawyer move a second before he did, and began to raise my voice to cut off what would certainly be a bad thing.
	Sawyer stood quickly and tried to reach for the pistol on Finnegan’s hip, but before I could shout at him to stop, Finnegan had clearly felt his presence behind him, and whirled around to face the lion.  His gun was in his hand in a flash, just like two days ago in the street.  It was almost too fast to follow, and I was again astounded that anyone could move so quickly.
	“Whoa-haha-“ Sawyer back-pedaled, chuckling nervously.
	“Lesson two, you little wanker!”  Finnegan snapped, advancing on the boy.  “Never fool around with a loaded firearm!”
	I was on my feet by then, approaching the two of them.  “Alright, enough-“ I growled out.
	“That was amazin’!”  Sawyer exclaimed, for some reason thrilled by the turn of events.  But then, he’d gotten what he wanted.
	Finn seemed to realize that suddenly, and dropped his pistol with a disgusted noise, stalking back towards our lean-to after holstering his weapon and wrapping his coat back around himself.
	“Please show me how t’do that?!”  Sawyer called after him.
	“No!”  Came the muffled response from inside the lean-to, where the wolfdog had retreated.
	I began to make my way back over there as well, before I noticed Odina standing near the edge of the clearing.  She was leaning against one of the few maples in the area, casually.  I was worried for a moment that she might take issue with the fact that Finnegan had once again pulled a gun on her son, but she seemed relaxed.  She was smoking a pipe, just watching us.  And she had that odd pack over her back again.  Looking at it now, it actually more resembled a big basket of some kind.  My tribe made baskets like it, otters were usually well-known for their reed weaving.  But it stood out because it was shoulder-holstered and large.  I couldn’t imagine what she used it for, where a normal backpack of some sort would have sufficed.
	Considering what had just happened and that soon, I’d be bringing her to my tribe, I thought it might be best if I made sure we were still on good terms.  So I crossed the small clearing towards her, stopping a few feet away.  She levelled a placid look my way, slowly blowing out a smoke ring.  
	“I’m sorry about that,” I said in our language since I knew she spoke it.
	“You’ve nothing to apologize for, bearchild,” she said, tapping her pipe against the nearby tree.  The pipe weed she was smoking reminded me of the kind my father smoked sometimes, and made me nostalgic for home.  It’s possible she even traded for or bought hers from our tribe.
	“Finnegan’s not,” I paused, “in the best of spirits, right now.”
	“He is facing the consequences of his actions,” she said, shrugging.  “I wouldn’t expect him to be happy about that.”
	I decided now wasn’t the time to argue the semantics on that.  Instead, I said, “Your son’s being precocious, but that’s no excuse.  I’ll try to make sure he keeps his temper in better check in the future.”
	She gave me a searching look.  “You think you can change an Otherwolf’s behavior?  Oh, child,” she blew out another puff of smoke.  “You really haven’t been in the world long.”	
	“I don’t know,” I admitted.  Then, something occurred to me.  “You didn’t intervene,” I pointed out.
	“My son is growing into a young man,” she waved a hand.  “I can’t pick him up every time he falls, or he’ll never learn.  I watched.  If I thought your ‘friend’ had any intent to actually shoot, I’d have gotten involved.”
	“Then you’ve realized he’s not just some heartless murderer,” I reasoned.  Maybe this was a chance to make some ground.  “Were the circumstances of his bounty ever explained to you?”
	“No, and I don’t really care to know them,” she said point-blank.  “I need that bounty.  And it’s triple if I bring him all the way to the southern lands alive.  Those are the only facts I need to know.”
	“Why did you shoot at us, then?”  I asked, confused.
	“Less coin is better than none,” she reasoned, then smirked.  “And I was aiming for you.  We thought you were just some guide he’d taken on, remember?”
	“Maybe don’t tell my father that part,” I muttered.
	“I’ve always been honest with Takoda,” she said, shifting the straps over her shoulders to put her basket-pack down.  “This time will be no different.  He gets the full story.”
	Something about the basket caught my eye.  There was a small opening in the side facing out, only large enough that I’d be able to fit a few fingers through.  I was perplexed what it could possibly be used for, until I saw a pair of eyes staring out from inside of it.
	Odina noticed my gape-jawed stare, and casually reached down to lift the lid off the basket.  “You may come out and meet Tulimak,” she said, extending an arm down.
	The tiny child who clung to her thick arm as she lifted her out was a fawn-colored, tufty-furred little mountain lion, with oversized ears and an even more oversized tail.  She had her mother’s eyes, deep mahogany brown, and lighter fur along her facial features that reminded me of Sawyer.  But her overall hide color was lighter than both of them, suggesting she must have had a very light-furred father. 
	She was, to put it mildly, one of the cutest little creatures I’d ever seen.  And I’d grown up with otter siblings.
	She clung to her mother’s leg once she set her down, staring up at me with those big brown eyes, clearly intimidated, but also curious.  I lowered myself to my knees by habit, something I’d learned to do amongst my otter brethren.  
	“This is Nuka,” Odina said, stroking her daughter’s head.  “My young one.”
	I looked up at her.  “You gave your son an Otherwolf name, and her a Tribal name?”
	“Her father named her,” the mountain lioness said, explaining it no further than that.
	I looked back to the little girl, who had boldly begun to approach me, and was reaching up to gingerly pet the fur on my arm, near my markings.  I let her do so for a time.  I’d actually gotten quite used to being around small children, given my upbringing, but that didn’t mean I was about to scoop a stranger’s child up into my arms.
	No matter how badly I wanted to.
	“She’s beautiful,” I said earnestly.  “But, you had that pack with you the other night.  Do you bring her with you. . . everywhere?”  The rest was unspoken, but it hung there.  Do you bring her with you while you hunt people?
	“I have no choice,” Odina said plainly.  “We have no land any more, no place to lie our heads except the road.  For some jobs, I can leave her with Sawyer.  But when I need him, she must come with us.  She’s safer on my back than she would be hiding somewhere, alone.”
	She was probably right about that, but the explanation still left me feeling concerned.  The little girl was wrapping a hand around one of my fingers now, toying with the long claw.  When she looked up at me again, she smiled, and it felt like my heart ripped in half.
	We could have destroyed this family.  And it wouldn’t even necessarily have been the wrong thing to do, given that we were fighting for our lives.
	It just felt like the world wasn’t supposed to work this way.  What was right and what was wrong, anymore?  A week ago, I thought I’d known.
	Now, I wasn’t sure.

	When I re-joined Finnegan in the lean-to with two steaming bowls of soup, he looked pensive.  He took the bowl from me all the same, quietly.  But he didn’t immediately begin to eat.  I did.  
	Things had just. . . been like this, since the talk.  Whereas before I’d spent nearly every hour awake with him talking, eager to listen to his stories and his wisdom, and he eager to hear my thoughts on whatever it was we found to speak on, now we measured our words more.  When we did speak, it felt important.  But serious.  Always serious.  No pleasantries.  And it wasn’t that the spark between us was gone, exactly.  Just tempered.  There was an uneasiness between us that I knew hinged mostly on me, and my feelings.  I’m not sure exactly how I knew, but I felt that I had the power to lift it, to dissolve the tension between us, if I chose to.  It was an odd feeling, knowing you were the one causing discomfort and awkwardness.  But it also felt warranted.
	I wasn’t sure how long I could go before I gave in, to be honest.  It was hard to intentionally hold yourself at arms’ length, to protect yourself like this, from someone you wanted and preferred to be close to.
	And I did still want to be close to him.
	Despite everything I’d learned, or maybe because of it, my feelings for Finnegan were still deepening.  They weren’t all positive, the good was so entangled with the bad it had gotten hard to separate the two.  It was complex.
	The strangest realization that I’d come to, primarily thanks to some very illuminating dreams, was that some part of me enjoyed how dangerous Finnegan was.  It wasn’t that I wanted to be hurt by him in any way, but more that my life before meeting him as opposed to now had been so much smaller.  Finn had brought a world of experiences with him and as awful as some of them had been, I wouldn’t go back.  
	It was exciting.  It felt twisted to admit that, even inwardly.  But it was true. 
	The more he’d told me about his life before this and the task ahead of him, the more I’d wanted to know.  And the less I wanted to part ways with him.  I was still very confused about my feelings for him, personally.  But the thought of going back to my life with my tribe as it had been only a few months ago, even though that would clearly be the safer option, made me feel hollow inside.
	“Kid doesn’t even use a pistol,” Finnegan muttered, randomly.  “He barely ever bothers to hold his rifle correctly.  Muzzle’s covered in dirt.”
	I glanced at his bowl, then said, “Eat your soup.”
	He slowly brought the bowl to his muzzle and sipped some of the broth, and I watched him for a time, before getting back to my own.  “He’s impressed by you,” I said.  “Wants to be as skilled as you.”
	“He shouldn’t be,” Finn murmured.
	“I’m impressed by you,” I admitted, at length.  “I don’t particularly like firearms, but. . . you are a master of your craft.  In a way.  How did you get so fast?”
	“Becomes second nature after a while,” he said, plucking at a piece of carrot with a claw.  “But in Amuresca it’s more about accuracy.  I was already an expert marksman by the time I was twenty.  I only started practicing the draw when I knew I’d be coming to Carvecia.”
	“Why?”  I asked.
	He sighed.  “Dueling is different, here.  In Amuresca duels are officiated, for one.  Everything is planned out more precisely, time, place.  The rules are enforced more.  And you draw first, then there’s a count.”  He finally ate a chunk of carrot, which would be the first solid food I’d seen him eat in two days.  “Here, there’s a count. . . then you draw.  Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.  But it sounds like it’s looser overall.  More chaotic.  It’s about reflexes, more than accuracy.  I thought I should be prepared for that.  I practiced a lot on the voyage over.  Wasn’t much else to do.”
	Knowing him, I could imagine him practicing the same thing hours on end, for days and days.  Finnegan was intense, driven, and probably a perfectionist.  
	“You were prepared to engage in these duels here?”  I asked, before chewing on a piece of chicken.
	“Death seems to follow me,” he said morosely.  “I wasn’t planning to make a career out of it here, but I thought it might be a possibility.  Anyway, it hasn’t really ended up serving me well, save at the bridge in Stuttgar.  And even then, I got the ever-living shite beaten out of me taking on the second man.  I only have the one pistol.  One shot.”
	“How did you. . . ?”  I asked, trailing off.
	“I got lucky,” he admitted.  “Managed to get him against the railing and tip him off-balance.  He fell over the side.”  He said it staring straight at me, like he wanted to gauge my response.
	I stared back at him, then continued eating my soup.
	“For what it’s worth,” he said.  “They weren’t trying to capture me, Tulimak.  They were trying to kill me.”
	“I know,” I said softly.  “Although Odina says your bounty is worth three times as much if you’re delivered alive to the south.”
	“Thrice as much?”  He repeated, disbelievingly.  “Why?”
	I shook my head.  “I don’t know.  But it means she prefers you alive.  Which is good.”
	“Yes,” he agreed, staring down at his soup.  
	“You really need to eat,” I urged quietly.  When he continued to simply look down at the food, unmoving, I said, “You know, you probably would be dead now, if not for these skills of yours.  Which means no one would be looking into these documents.  That’s something.”
	“Like I said, my ‘skills’ haven’t availed me much,” he said.  “They don’t equate well to the real world, where people don’t stand in a field and wait for you to shoot them.  I mean hell, when you first met me, I was about to get my bell rung by two mangy blighters armed with little more than pocket knives.  They just stuck one of them in my back and shoved me outside, and I could’ve drawn on one and hoped he didn’t realize I was out of powder, but then the other would have gotten me from behind.  Literally all it takes for me to be as helpless as a newborn lamb is one more man than I’m accustomed to.”
	“It was two-on-one, Finn,” I said.  “Now we’re two.”
	He looked at me, imploringly.  “How can you be so kind?”
	I smiled.  “Eat,” I reminded him.  “Or your fur will get thin.”
	That seemed to get through to him.  Self-consciously, he brushed back some of his cheek ruff, like he was checking it.  Then he began to eat the soup in earnest.

	The final stretch of the journey to my home village would take five days.  The brief rest we’d taken, the extra day we’d encamped in Broen, had done wonders for me.  Whatever the affliction that had taken hold in my wound, it was well and truly gone.  The apothecary, for all his eccentricities, had done good work.
	I’d spaced out drinking the tonic far more than he’d probably intended, but that meant I still had plenty left when we began our trek, which would prove to be a decent remedy for the remaining pain.  And honestly, I think it had done more than that.  Once I’d begun drinking less of it in the days immediately following the initial treatment, I realized it had surely affected my overall character.  It made me think less, or rather overthink less, about saying what was on my mind.  In the case of what I’d learned about Finnegan, loudly and angrily.
	He’d since assured me I had not been at all ‘out of line’, which apparently meant ‘in the wrong’.  But I did reflect on how much more severe the drink had made me.  Maybe in this case it had been for the best.  It’s not as though I’d said anything that wasn’t true.  But I didn’t like the version of me the harsh spirits brought out.  My otterfa had been right about liquor.
	Or maybe I was using it as an excuse and the anger I’d expressed was all me.  It was so hard to say.  Either way, what was done was done and even now, I had to admit I was still a little angry.  The fact that Finnegan was being contrite about it all should have satisfied me some, but it mostly made me frustrated for some reason.  I think because the whole situation was so. . . confusing this way.
	If Finnegan had been a lying con artist criminal who’d strung me along as a protector so he could skirt the law, I’d be on my way home now feeling stupid, but resolved.
	But what he truly was, I couldn’t build a clear picture of.  Not yet.  Was he lying?  I didn’t think so, at least I wanted to believe him, but I knew enough of the world now to know I was naïve.  Was he a criminal?  Even he didn’t seem to have the answer to that, and even if he was, how much did that matter to me?  The Carvecian laws had done nothing to protect my people and he was a foreigner besides.  Amurescan law was so far-removed from my world, I hadn’t even known about this ‘dueling’ practice.
	Did I believe his story?
	Would it even matter soon?  I was once again facing the inevitable, that we would be parting ways in a short time.  One way or the other, we couldn’t be together for long.  I was taking a risk by bringing him to my family as it was.  My only comfort was that I knew Odina and she knew my father and seemed to want to maintain good relations with my tribe. 
	Beyond who he was within his own story, I wanted to at least figure out who he was to me.  Was he a friend?  An interesting acquaintance I’d met once, that I could tell my children about some day?  The things I’d felt for him, would they be unique to him?  Had they somehow tainted or changed how I’d see relations like that in the future?
	Would I ever feel the way I’d briefly felt for him, for someone else?
	Did I still feel that way for him?   
	That last one was especially hard, because I was of two minds about it.  There was no longer any denying the physical attraction.  I might have been self-conscious about my big, cumbersome body, but I knew at least in this case what it was telling me.  There was no getting around the thoughts, the dreams that had been unleashed in my mind.  If anything, I was growing more certain by the day about that.
	But there was no future with Finnegan.  And I might have been inexperienced, but I’d always thought these feelings were meant to go together with other, more lasting ones.  My otterfa had explained it very clearly to me, that these yearnings were allowed, were part of being a man.  But that they should accompany other feelings, like respect, loyalty, a desire to protect.  All things I would someday feel for my wife.
	Perhaps even more frighteningly, what if I did feel those things for someone like Finn?  Even if and when the wolfdog left my tribe, what if this happened again, with another man?  What then?  I couldn’t. . . marry. . . a man.
	Would I ever feel this way about a woman suitable for me to marry?
	I’d asked the canine everything I could think to about himself over that last day we’d spent in the tent, and he’d answered me, even when it had seemed hard.  In retrospect, there were a few things I wish I hadn’t asked.  Things about his mother.
	But I certainly understood it all much more now than I did before.
	I hadn’t asked him about these fears of mine, though.  These worries about my future beyond him.  Because for one, he’d already told me back on the raft how to handle this problem, if it did indeed become a problem.  He’d said get a wife, (as if that were so simple) have children, and never talk about what we’d done together.
	And for two, what could he possibly tell me that would help?  He’d already given me what he deemed to be the best advice, and he was probably right.  I didn’t need to know as much as he did about the world beyond our river to know these feelings I had for another man were unusual.  I’d never even known they were possible until I’d met him.
	Although thinking back, really digging through my memories, I suppose I might have suspected. . . .
	Finnegan had traipsed into my life, whisked me along on a dangerous journey with him, told me stories of a world beyond that was crueler than I could have imagined, and revealed a part of myself that might haunt me for the rest of my life.  And yet still, strangely, that wasn’t what I was angry at him about.
	I was angry he hadn’t told me more.
	Here we were yet again, moving towards a destination, and that destination would and should separate us.  And here I was again, mind spinning, trying to think of ways I could keep him from being taken away, somehow.  Not just because I was afraid for him.  I just knew there was. . . more. . . between us.  Even while I was angry and frustrated with him, I had so much empathy for him.  And I had so many more questions that he might have the answers for.
	I didn’t want to lose him.  I didn’t want to know he was being dragged off towards an uncertain fate. . . without me by his side, to protect him.
	Respect, loyalty, a desire to protect.
	Oh no, oh no.  No, this was a bad path to go down.	
	As if I could protect him, I chastised myself inwardly.  I had to look at this logically.  Finnegan didn’t even really need my protection.  For the whole of the trek over land, I don’t think Odina or Sawyer considered me a threat even once.  But they certainly still kept a wary eye on Finn.  All of the other more earth-shaking revelations from this trip aside, one humbling lesson I needed to take away was very clear.
	Size wasn’t everything.  I guess even though I’d long felt awkward and uncomfortable in my body, I’d assumed somewhere in the back of my mind that at the very least, my bulk would be an asset to my smaller loved ones if the time came that we were put in danger.  Indeed, it often came in handy with my tribe, performing tasks far more easily than the much smaller otter folk were capable of.
	But in a world full of firearms, it meant very little.  In that world, Finnegan Ambrose was a terror, and I was just a larger target and potential victim.
	But would he be alive right now if not for me?
	Would I be alive right now if not for him?
	I hardly knew what to do with myself, with these thoughts, these feelings.  I spent most of the trek up-river in a haze, wanting more than anything to talk to my otterfa.  As childish a notion as that was, I wanted it more than anything.  My mind was more tumultuous than it had ever been, and the object of that storm was walking beside me every step of the way.
	Finnegan was similarly quiet and contemplative, and I believed, troubled.  He was having the other half of this maelstrom play out in his mind, and I wanted so badly to know what he was thinking.
	I could have asked.  But seeing as I didn’t know how to put my own thoughts into words, it hardly felt right to demand he give me more answers than he already had.
	Odina, Sawyer, and their little girl kept a decent distance from us throughout most of the trek.  I was grateful Odina afforded us that respect, and that her son was listening to her.  I’d been worried he and Finnegan might fight the whole way, or that Sawyer’s immaturity might grate on Finnegan enough that there would be some kind of incident.
	It was only on the third day that Finnegan noticed Nuka, and only because she’d bounded on ahead of her family and gotten close enough to us that he’d briefly been spooked by her.
	He’d nearly drawn on her, too.  Had his coat pushed back right up until he’d seen her peering out from behind a tree.
	Honestly, given our situation, I couldn’t blame him for that sort of instinct.  But it scared me.  It would have been so easy to make a mistake.
	What shocked me was that it seemed to scare him, too.
	“. . . fuck. . . .” he breathed out, like he’d just come up for air under water.  “I could’ve-“
	I put a paw on his shoulder, and I could feel him shaking.  His muzzle was drawn in a thin line, ears quivering.  He let out another breath after a few long moments and thrust his hand down to his holster and deftly pulled out the pistol, lifting it up to his shoulder, held by the grip backwards.
	It took me a moment to realize he was offering it to me.  Uncertainly, I took hold of it and slipped it away from his hand.  “Are you sure?”  I asked.
	“My nerves are shot to hell,” he said, voice wavering.  “I don’t trust myself.  And they’re going to take it from me when we make it to your tribe, anyway.  You may as well keep it.  Sell it, if you don’t want it.  It’s worth a decent amount of coin, even out here.”
	“Finn,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I was, “we haven’t spoken to my father yet.  He might be able to talk them down.”
	“Uh-huh,” he said, noncommittally.
	The crunching of heavier footsteps approached us, and soon Sawyer came into view, rifle slung over his shoulder.  He called out, “Approachin’ from th’east,” before he came in closer to us, clearly heading for the little girl.  She was still standing partially behind a spruce tree, peering out at us curiously.
	Specifically at Finnegan, who was also looking at her.  I’d told him about her days ago, but this was the first time they’d ‘met’, as it were.  It was hard to gauge his reaction.
	“Sorry about ‘er,” Sawyer said, easing up behind the little girl and loosely curling his tail around her, protectively.  “She’s practicin’ stalkin’ up on folk, and she’s got good enough at it tha’even I lose track o’her sometimes.”
	He seemed to read the tense silence that followed and just nodded, putting a hand down on her shoulder and trying to turn her back.  “Anyway.  We’ll get outta yer fur.”
	“Wait,” Finnegan said suddenly, surprising the mountain lions.  And me, if I’m being honest.  He slowly kneeled down, lowering his bag to the ground as well.  He looked across the ten feet that separated us towards the little girl and asked, “I’m sorry. . . Nuka, was it?”
	The little lioness nodded.
	“Did I scare you?”  He asked, quietly.
	She shook her head.
	“Good,” he forced a smile.  “I’m sorry, all the same.”  He reached down towards his bag and opened it, pushing aside a few things and digging about for a moment, before he found what he was looking for.  He pulled out a long, green ribbon and looped it around his fingers a few times, bundling it.
	“Your mother and brother would probably have given this to you eventually anyway,” he reasoned, looking right up at Sawyer, “after they take possession of everything that’s on my person.”  He looked back at her, and held it out.  “But I’d like to give it to you myself, if that’s alright.”
	Nuka looked up at her big brother, who simply shrugged.  “Jes’a ribbon.  You can take it.”
	She needed no further nudging.  She darted up to Finnegan and gingerly took the ribbon, turning it over in her hands with a growing smile.
	“When we wear cloth spats,” he said, patting his ankle to indicate the leather calf and ankle guards he currently wore, “we use those to tie them.  I always fancied green.  Enough there to use for a dress or something of the like, though.”
	She looked up from her new trinket at him, and gave the kind of bright smile only a child’s capable of.  “Thank you,” she chirped in somewhat accented Amurescan.
	“You’re welcome,” he smiled back, a little more genuinely this time.
	“Actually while I’m here,” Sawyer cleared his throat.  “Ma’s been sayin’ we should hunker down early tonight.  Snowstorm comin’ in.”
	“Or we could just move on ahead of you, and lose you,” Finnegan said sardonically.
	“I’m fine to camp now, actually,” I said, setting down my things.  “Shoulder’s aching.  We should arrive late tomorrow, regardless.  Another hour won’t do us much good.”
	So we made camp, and Finnegan started a dinner for us.  We were down to fish and potatoes, which didn’t exactly stew well together, so tonight it looked as though it was just going to be fish.  We’d been able to keep them frozen even since we’d left the raft thanks to packing them in snow at night.  And the freezing temperatures in general.
	We’d run out soon, exactly as I’d planned for.  Initially I’d saved enough for myself on the trip back home, but I’d been eating about two thirds as much as I’d planned on, so that Finn could eat.  It hadn’t been a hardship, really.  I’d just put on a little less weight this winter.
	Finn hadn’t been eating or sleeping well since our talk, so it was a relief to see him finish his meal and almost immediately fall asleep in the lean-to, even before the sun had set.  I guess the exhaustion had finally caught up with him.
	It also meant we had as little awkward silence between us as possible, which admittedly, had been bothering me, too.  Before all of this, I’d loved talking to him at night.  During the day, while we were traveling, really any time we were together.  But all of our talks since Broen had been tense and dire, by necessity.
	And that closeness we’d had was marred by discomfort, by mistrust.
	I found myself sitting near the campfire, thinking on that.  And my eyes drifted to his bag.
	He’d left it just outside the lean-to with our other bags, covered by the branches of a thick-needled pine.  I could hear his even breathing, just feet away.  He was out to the world.
	He rarely let that bag leave his side, and he’d never offered to show me its’ contents.  Of course, I knew primarily what was in there.  Documents.  The ones that supposedly proved his story, that he’d brought all the way across the ocean.  The ones he intended to use to prove his father’s misdeeds.
	My grasp of Amurescan was poor, but I could read it.  How much would I be able to make sense of them, if I took a quick look?  Could I at least discern they were what he’d said they were?
	Was it right to go through someone’s possessions like that?
	No, I admonished myself immediately.  Of course it wasn’t.  But maybe this was a special circumstance.  I’d been hurt, physically hurt, at this point.  I’d put myself through a lot for him.  I was about to bring him home to my family.
	I needed to have more than just his word to go on.
	Making up my mind in that moment, I reached over for the bag and dragged it as quietly towards me as I could, and unclasped it carefully.  I stamped down any further misgivings I might have had and reached inside for the bound stack of weighty papers, encircled with twine.  I made sure to undo the knot, rather than cut it, so I could bind them again when I was done.
	Spirits, I was covering my tracks now, was I?  This was feeling less and less warranted every second.
	Still, at that point they were in my hands.  And I began to look over them, slowly turning one to the back of the pile, then the next. The first two were folded three ways and looked to be letters written to someone.  I recognized the name ‘Eamon’ immediately, which I vaguely recalled had been the name he’d given me for his father.  It was followed by another name, ‘Lancaster’.  I was briefly confused, then realized Finn had likely taken his surname from his mother, not his father.  So far, so good.
	I spent quite some time trying to decipher the letter.  The script was flowing and fine, but that only made it harder for me to read.  To make matters worse, it had gotten a bit wet in places, so parts of it were blotted out.  I picked out a name that was mentioned many times, which was far simpler than Finnegan’s father’s, ‘Gezan’. As far as I could gather, the man who’d written the letter- presumably this ‘Eamon Lancaster’, since that was the name signed at the bottom, was asking about a shipment of livestock.
	I didn’t realize how long it had taken me to make out even that much, before Finnegan’s voice pierced the still night air.
	“Have you gotten to the ledgers yet?”  He asked, nearly right beside me.  I almost jumped out of my skin.
	I looked over at him guiltily, having been caught in the act.  But he was just sitting on the other side of me near the fire, drawing his knees up to his chest, looking exhausted.  He made no move to stop me from reading any further.
	“I-I’m sorry-“ I stammered.
	“Stow it,” he muttered.  “If you really were, you wouldn’t have done it.  Here,” he reached over, taking the stack away from me and sorting through it.  “Look over Eamon’s letters to his Fleetmaster in Arbordale all you like, but what you really want to see are the ledgers.”  He extracted a few papers from the stack and handed them to me.
	I took them slowly, while he kept speaking.  “The rest are mostly my memoires,” he sighed.  “Of this whole escapade.  And Eamon’s history with my mother, with me, with Ambrose Park in general.  I don’t know how much my account of any of that will matter, to anyone, but I thought I should write it all down for posterity all the same.”
	I looked to him, arching an eyebrow.
	“In the very likely case I die,” he explained, then stared back into the fire.  “I thought, you know. . . someone should hear my story.  I guess that’s a little grandiose of me, eh?”
	“Not at all,” I assured him.  “Every person’s story is worth telling.  There are stories in my tribe for every member, current and many generations past.”
	“I suppose you’ll care, then,” he said, leaning back on his hands.  Then, quieter, “that’s something.”
	“I’m confused,” I stated, my eyes sweeping the dense logs I was trying to read through.  “I’m not. . . saying you’re lying, Finn, but. . . that letter, and these papers here all seem to talk about ‘livestock’ a lot.  Horses, mules, cattle.”
	“That’s what’s on the books,” he nodded.  
	“But that’s not what you said. . . .” I trailed off.
	“The thicker paper, with the seal on the top?”  He pointed.  “Those are the official Dockmaster’s logs, for each vessel.  Turn a few pages.  Pull out some of the thinner, more yellowed ones.  Those are the logs from the Mercantile house itself, private logs.  Got into some real dodgy situations getting those, let me tell you.”
	I did as instructed and got to the pages in question.  After a cursory sweep of the page, I said, “still livestock.  Again, horses-“
	“Ah-ah,” he shook his head, “look three columns over.  Those are the Captains’ notes from each vessel, on the state of the cargo.  Usually, they’d use it to indicate when they take cargo on, if it’s already been damaged, waterlogged, gone rotten, what have you.  Read what’s written there.”
	I did so, slowly.  “Male.  Th-thirty. . . years of age.  There-a-bouts.  S. . . suitable. . . for. . . labor.”  I paused, then moved down to the next.  “Female.  Four. . . teen.  Years of age.  Suitable for. . . ho-use. . . work.”
	I lifted my head slowly, reality sinking in.  I felt Finnegan’s gaze on me, his green eyes catching the firelight, flickering like embers.
	“You should see how young they think is ‘suitable for companionship’,” he said, tone dead and lifeless.  “So you tell me, Tulimak.  How many fourteen-year-old mules do you think would make good maids?”