Chapter 19 – Arbordale

	His fur smelled like cedar smoke from our campfire, leather and gunpowder.  My paws were buried in it, moving down his neck to his shoulders, fingers digging beneath his coat lapels, wanting more purchase on him.  His scarf was in the way- why did he have to wear one of those all the time?  It was tugged free easily enough, exposing his clavicle to my muzzle as I dropped it from his mouth to his throat.  He gave a stuttering moan when I bit at him gently.
	His mouth had tasted like cinnamon from a strong tea we’d shared earlier with our last meal in port, and I decided I preferred the taste when it was on his tongue.  I would probably prefer just about anything on his tongue.
	“N-uhh. . . .” he exhaled, leaning his body into mine all he could.  He couldn’t touch me, though.  He was still manacled.  Instead he bared his throat to my assault and let me press him back against the wooden hull, his legs shifting against one another where they were flung over my knees.  I could feel his body through every layer of his clothing, struggling against the restraints even though he must have known it was pointless.
	We didn’t have a choice.  I didn’t have the key, and we’d discovered through a few earlier fumbles that the manacles didn’t really stay on well unless they were locked.  Odina was up on deck, it was the first moment Finnegan and I had alone in weeks, and damned if we weren’t going to make the most of it.  Our aft section in the crew quarters was mostly private with the aid of a cloth hung up to separate our area, (that was their way of separating ‘bunks’, as they called them, and there were many such dividers).  It wasn’t as effective as a door, and it did nothing for sound. 
	It was risky to be sure.  I’d checked to confirm our neighbors were out, they were.  But they could return at any time and barely a curtain separated them from our secrets.  So we’d agreed- just kissing.  For now.
	The fact that we were failing to hold to our lofty ideals was entirely on me.  Finn was literally at my mercy.
	Not that he was complaining.
	He was sitting against the wall, the both of us kneeling on our thin mattresses, which I’d removed and put on the floor.  I wasn’t quite sure the flimsy frames would hold my weight.  As my free paw began to unbutton his vest, he crumpled down into the tangle of our blankets, lying prone before me.  He couldn’t gesture or beckon at me, but the beguiling way he smiled and kept his eyes raptly-focused on mine as he sunk down was all the invitation I needed.
	“How long do you think we have?”  I asked him as I leaned down over him, balancing my weight on my hands.
	“I don’t really care,” was his breathless response.  
	I kissed him again, inhaling sharply through my nose, eager to fill my nostrils with his scent once more.  Maybe for a bit, I’d forget where we were.  That would be alright for a little while, wouldn’t it?
	“I wish I could at least unbind you,” I lamented as I finally got his vest open.
	“I don’t mind it,” he insisted with an impish smirk.
	“You’re so strange,” I shook my head.
	He began to say something else, but at that point one of my paws had found its way up between his legs, cupping him through his clothing.  His jaw fell open, tongue lolling out slightly.  “Uhhhhh. . .” he blinked slowly as I lazily stroked the shape of him through his britches.  “God damn, Tulimak,” he uttered, “I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted so badly for someone to just f-“
	The stairs down to this level of the ship were blessedly loud, so we had ample warning- if you want to call it that- when we were rudely interrupted.  I bolted upright and Finn scrambled to a sitting position, the both of us putting a few good feet between one another, as if that would have made a difference if someone saw us in this state.
	Whoever was coming down here, they were taking their time on the steps.  Almost like they were trying to avoid making noise.  After the initial seconds of panic had passed and Finn and I were both catching our breath and taking stock, I saw that he realized it, too.  
	I looked at him uncertainly and he simply shrugged back.  There were only six other passengers on this ship besides us and all of them obviously had a reason to come back down here to their bunks.  But then, why would they be doing so in such a quiet manner?
	Another footstep, this time off the stairs.  That one was definitely done hesitantly, especially since it wasn’t soon followed by another.  Someone had stopped at the foot of the staircase.
	Finn’s expression got deadly serious, and I took that as a cue to get one of our pistols.  While I dug in my bag for the longest-barreled one, Finn’s personal dueling pistol, I watched the wolfdog perform a feat that would have been completely impossible for someone of my bulk.  He tucked his legs up against his chest and looped his arms around and under his feet, bringing his hands around to his front.
	I looked at him incredulously.  He could have done that the whole time?  Then why. . . .
	Never mind.  More important things.
	I grabbed my axe, standing slowly, the boards beneath my feet creaking as I did so.  Finn was hurriedly re-buttoning his vest one-handed, which looked to be a struggle, but in time he managed.  The footsteps near the staircase went silent.  So yes, definitely someone snooping around.  I checked to make sure Finn was behind me and armed, awkwardly at best with his hands still manacled, but still.  Then I pushed aside the curtain and-
	“First Mate Anderson?”  Finnegan was the first to call the man out..  And just as quickly, subtly toss his pistol back onto one of our soft rucksacks.  Hopefully Anderson hadn’t even seen him with it.
	The skunk was across the cramped crew quarters, frozen in place in one of the other passenger alcoves, the one nearest to the steps.  He was half stooped-over, like he’d been previously kneeling, and looked like a child caught rummaging for snacks.
	“I-yes,” He stammered, standing and fussing with the edges of his vest, which looked like it had fit him better before he’d gotten a bit of a belly.  “I’m sorry,” he said nervously, “I’d thought-“
	“No one was rotting away down here on a beautiful, sunny day, when there’s better scenery to be had above-decks?”  Finnegan ventured.  “Yeah.  Well.”  He lifted his arms, showing off the manacles.
	“Quite so,” the skunk cleared his throat.  
	“Just me and my ever-present warden, I’m afraid,” Finn muttered, glancing at me.  I saw him hold my gaze for a moment meaningfully, and I remembered what we’d talked about in the city.
	So when I spoke, I did so in Nontawlik.  And just in case Anderson spoke it, I kept the conversation neutral.  “What do you suppose he’s looking for?”  I asked Finn.
	The wolfdog shrugged in response, either because he earnestly had no idea, or he couldn’t yet understand what I’d asked.  Probably the latter.
	“Ka ikin ahota,” Finn said to me, one of the expressions he knew well enough by now.  It meant ‘smells like bad fish’, when you used it on food the meaning was ‘spoiled’.  But on people it more meant ‘suspicious’.
	“Oh,” Anderson seemed surprised, “you speak their language?”
	“Not well,” Finnegan admitted.  “But when you spend enough time with someone, you know, you pick a few things up.”
	“Ah, I-I’d imagine,” the skunk nodded, still fidgeting nervously.  He stood there afterwards in silence for a few extremely awkward moments, seeming indecisive.
	“So. . . .”  Finn snuffed out a chuckle, “You going to explain why you’re poking around down here?  I mean it’s hardly my business.  But the big guy might be a tad curious,” he said, poking an elbow in my direction.
	I did my best to look intimidating.  I have no idea if it worked.
	The skunk sighed.  “I’m, I’m sorry,” he said.  “This is obviously not permissible behavior, violating our paying customer’s private area, and I’ll understand if you feel you need to report me to the Captain-“
	“Yeah I’m a real believer in strict adherence to authority,” Finnegan said wryly.
	“I’m looking for my bird,” the skunk blurted out.
	Silence followed.
	“Alright, I don’t know what to do with that one,” Finn admitted.
	“It’s the truth,” the skunk slumped.  “There’s a speckled pigeon, I’ve called her ‘Dolly’, who roosts somewhere on the ship.  I’ve never found her nest, but she’s always about and I’ve grown very fond of her over the last few months.  She’ll even eat out of my hand.”  He said it with such earnest affection, I couldn’t doubt his story.  “I saw her fly down here earlier when the passengers were boarding,” he continued, “and I couldn’t stop her or step away from my duties then to look for her.  But I know she came down here.  If one of the passengers finds her first-“
	“Roast squab,” Finn was full on snorting in laughter now.  “Alright, I get it.  We’ll help you find your bird.”
	“Really?”  The skunk’s expression brightened.  But then a moment later, he seemed guarded.  “You’ll forgive me, but. . . why?”
	Finn shook his head.  “You think I’m some cold-hearted son of a bitch?”
	“Well,” Anderson stammered, “y-you are a. . . .”
	“Murderer?”  Finn leveled back.  “I’m a duelist, sir.  They can call me whatever they like, but a soldier doesn’t generally get jailed for killing during a war.”  He sighed.  “Look, never mind.  You’re not going to believe my story, so I won’t bother explaining myself.  Let’s just find your bird.”
	So, we looked.  And it turned out the skunk was telling the truth.  After poking about in most of the nooks and crannies, Finn sniffed her out, hiding tucked away in the nook of one of the cross-beams along the ceiling.  She was as described, a little puffed-up, grey spotted bird who looked pretty terrified.
	“God, she’s up high,” Finn muttered.  Then looked sidelong at me.  “Tulimak?”
	I looked up towards the small animal.  I was absolutely certain if I just reached for her, she’d fly away.  If I grabbed her, I could crush her.  While I was deciding what to do, I heard Anderson asking Finnegan, “What does that mean?”  in a low voice.
	“It’s his name,” he replied.  
	“Uh-ah. . . Tu-li-mak?” the skunk sounded my name out carefully and gingerly tapped on my arm.  When I looked down, he was holding something up to me.  A little biscuit, small and flat, the dry kinds Otherwolves ate for rations.  “She likes these,” he explained in Amurescan, then pointed up at the bird.
	I took it from him, putting it in my palm and slowly lifting my hand towards the bird, trying not to frighten her.  It actually didn’t take long.  She poked her head down, seeming to hesitate for only a moment, before fluttering down and pecking at the biscuit.  
	I lowered my palm down slowly so that the skunk could take her, which he did with the utmost care, looking thoroughly relieved.  “Thank you, thank you,” he said, stroking her back while she continued to eat.  “These voyages are so droll.  Dolly is a little bit of daily joy for me.  I was so worried. . . .”
	Honestly, I could have been bitter, comparing this man’s minor trauma to the troubles we’d all been experiencing this winter.  But I was just glad to see the two odd companions reunited.  Finn seemed amused, too.
	It felt good to smile again, whatever the reason.
	“Ummm, listen,” Anderson said suddenly, still stroking his bird’s back.  He was looking at Finnegan.  “I don’t know if what you were telling me was true, and. . . I don’t feel I’m in a place to judge your crimes one way or another.  But, if you need help- legal help. . . I know someone you can call on when you’re in Arbordale.”
	“Yeah?”  Finn seemed interested.
	“You’ll forgive my saying so, but you’re clearly from across the sea,” the skunk continued, “so I doubt you have a Solicitor here.  My sister’s husband has a lot of experience in the Arbordale Courts.  Perhaps he could help you.  I could give you his address.”
		“I don’t see how it could hurt,” Finn agreed, and Anderson offered to send down a slip of paper later with the ‘pertinent information’ on it.  Whatever that meant.
	The brief melodrama over, Anderson went back above decks to release his bird and Finnegan and I settled back down in our makeshift bunk, not quite knowing what to think about the odd turn of events.  At length though, he just started chuckling, and I eventually did, too.
	“I’m not sure how we can make use of a Solicitor,” he said, “but it’s our first contact in Arbordale, and no connections are bad.  You never know.”  He leaned back against the wall, unbuttoning his vest again.  “Alright.  Where were we?”

	The voyage down the Roseline River was the most peaceful, calm stretch of time I’d spent since I met Finnegan that first night in Kingsdale.  Finn and I were able to spend uninterrupted, relaxing days with one another, without the stress of being hunted, or even having to pitch camp and deal with the exhaustion of travel.  We couldn’t find much in the way of private time, but. . . what few moments we had, we used.
	The other travelers mostly let us be.  A jowly raccoon who claimed to be a tonic salesman was the chattiest among them, insisting several times over that the cure for whatever was ailing us was somewhere to be had in his cargo, if only he could crack the crates open during travel.  No matter how many times Odina curtly told him she wasn’t interested, he would not be dissuaded from asking ever more invasive questions, specifically of her, about her health and ‘bodily humors’.  When the conversation began to steer towards ‘feminine issues’, I decided it was time to intervene.  I did so as politely as I could, claiming her time with conversation in Nontawlik whenever the man came round, so he wouldn’t have a chance to bother her.  I thought I was being pretty clever about it, while also guarding a tribal woman from unwanted advances.
	Odina seemed to be of another mind about it.  If anything, her mood soured even further once I began stepping in.  I wasn’t sure what I was doing wrong, exactly.  I’d begun to consider her a friend, and it irritated me how the ‘civilized’ men on the whole either completely dismissed her, or were far too interested in her, for the wrong reasons.  I just wanted to help.
	“It isn’t you I’m irate with,” she muttered to me as we made our way across the deck towards the railing on the eastern side, where she and I came to watch the sun rise and set, or just sightsee as we’d traveled the river.  Finn was not permitted to come above-decks, it was the one provision they’d insisted on to allow him on-board.  He had to remain manacled in our area at all times save to relieve himself, and if neither of us were with him, he had to be chained to the wall.  
	It was disturbing to me that this ship had areas where you even could chain someone to a wall.  They were probably there to tie the crates down so they didn’t slide around in poor weather.  Or at least, I hoped so.
	Odina leaned out over the railing, the edge of her fawn-colored fur tinged gold in the light from the sunrise.  She and I woke earlier than most of the other passengers, Finn included.
	“You and I have endured similar hardships in life,” she said, her voice stoic as ever, but her countenance seemed noticeably tired.
	“We have,” I agreed.
	Ever since she’d lost Sawyer, she’d looked. . . older.  More worn down.  For a while I’d equated it to the fact that she was healing from an injury, but I think it went deeper than that.  In a way it was a relief to me, although thinking that way did seem cruel.  But, I was oddly glad to know losing her son had affected her.  It made her more relatable, more real to me.  She wasn’t entirely made of stone.	
	“We’ve both lost tribes, loved ones, and land to the settlers’ incursion,” she said.  “I won’t presume to say we’re similar people, but our struggles at least are similar.  But there is a further frustration on my existence that you cannot, and will never, understand.”
	I could guess.  “You mean being a woman,” I said knowingly.
	She nodded, then adjusted the hem of her trousers, tugging the edges of her long, ragged shirt free of where it was tucked in and letting it hang loose.  “I can’t even garner the respect you do in their world when I wear their clothing, speak their language, understand their customs and know my way through their land better than some of them.  I’m not too proud to try, you know.  Up until lately, I wasn’t even fixated on my bitterness, even if it was always there.  I just want to live, work and feed my family and I have no choice but to do so in their world any more.  They’re everywhere.   I’ve tried to adapt, I really have.  I have bit every bullet.” 
	She stared down over the railing at the red-tinged water.  “You can’t be selfish when you’re a mother.  Not if you want to be a decent one, anyway.  Nothing is more important than your children.  It doesn’t matter how angry I am at them- at these people who took everything from me.  I had to swallow it.  For the sake of my young ones.”
	I looked down at the water too, aware suddenly that this was it.  This was, perhaps, the most open Odina had ever been with me.  I couldn’t know what had brought it about, but I wasn’t about to question it.  Maybe she’d just needed time.  
	“I think,” I said carefully, “a father should be all those things, too.”
	 “My childrens’ fathers were taken away from them,” she stated.  “I was the only parent they had left.  And that made it so hard. . . .”  she paused at that, showing no physical signs of distress, but she didn’t find her words again for some time.  “So hard,” she emphasized, finally, “to provide for them.  For many reasons, but in no small part because I am a woman.  With no man to speak for me.  Everything I’ve fought for, everything I’ve negotiated and accomplished, has been through that barrier.  I’m not just a woman to them, I’m a tribal woman, and a widow, and I have. . . had. . . children.  There are very few people in the world worth less than someone in my position.”
	I thought of Finnegan’s mother.  Or the coyote we’d briefly met in Broen.  Everything about her words hurt to hear, but one thing in particular stood out to me. She kept speaking of her children in the past tense.
	“You still have your daughter,” I said quietly, putting a hand over hers on the railing.
	“I have frozen my heart,” she said, in that same forcibly calm voice I’d heard from her since we’d first met.  “I have narrowed my feelings over the years, cast aside any unnecessary weakness.  I am a hollowed-out thing, bearchild.”  She looked to me, finally.  The self-awareness in her words stung, because much of what she was saying were things I’d thought about her sometimes, and hearing her voice them aloud almost felt accusatory.  As if she knew what everyone thought of her.  But at the same time, she was saying them about herself.  “There is little left of the woman I once was, I couldn’t endure as her.  She was too frail, too emotional to survive all the losses heaping up on top of her.  I told myself if I was a stronger person, if I could just grit my teeth and bear it all, rise each day and just work,” she emphasized that part, “and not bring my feelings into it, then. . . then I’d stop losing my family.”
	I gripped the railing tighter.  Oh.
	“But I was wrong,” she said, the words flat.  “It didn’t matter how strong, how competent, how dispassionate I became.  I still failed to protect my son.”
	“But your daughter. . . .” I ventured quietly.
	“I asked Takoda to look after her, before I left,” she confessed.
	My eyes widened.  She must have talked to him alone.  “So,” I trembled, “this is-“
	“I am not planning to die in Arbordale,” she said before I could say the words myself.  “But I have. . .” another long pause, during which she leaned on the railing a little more heavily, “. . . I have come to accept at this point that I have failed, as a mother.  What I thought were my best efforts were not enough.  And I am at my limit.”
	“Odina, no,” I whispered insistently.
	“Takoda is a good man,” she said, “and if you are any indication, far better than I at raising a child.  He will care for her and raise her like one of his own, and if you are successful in Arbordale, you will never want for land.  Please see to it she has a plot to call her own.”
	“You can do that yourself,” I pressed.  “We don’t need to go after this ‘Gezan’.  Finn isn’t even intent on it any more.  We’ll just focus on getting Citizenship.  That’s what’s important.”
	“I must put an end that man,” she uttered softly.
	“Why?”  I asked, putting a growl into my words.  “Odina, why?  You just said yourself how a parent needs to let go of their anger, focus on their children.  You still have a child!  And whether or not my father will raise her well- and I’m sure he will, she’s your daughter.  She’s up north in Tawnahowac right now, thinking of you, waiting for you to come back to her.  I don’t,” I sighed, “I don’t agree with you that you’ve failed as a parent.  No more than. . . than my father did, when he hurt Finnegan.  I’m still trying to decide how I feel about that and how much I’m willing to forgive him for it, for everything that he said, too.  But I still love him.  I love him enough that. . . he can make mistakes, even terrible ones, and I’m willing to find a way through it with him.”
	“I will never have that chance with Sawyer,” she uttered, his name coming out in a half-whisper.  It was the first time she’d talked about him since he’d died.  Before I could reply, she continued, “But this isn’t about revenge.  That isn’t why. . . .”
	I looked at her incredulously.  Was she just outright lying to herself now?  “What else could it be?”  I demanded.
	“There were children on the manifest.”
	The world fell out from beneath my feet.  Of course.
	All this time, I’d been assuming she was motivated by anger.  The real people, somewhere in the world, who were being bought and sold, whose names were in those ledgers. . . .
	She’d been thinking of them.
	“When my son was alive,” she said in a shuddering breath, “I ignored the feelings Ambrose ignited in me, when he told me about the manifests.  I told myself it was just a job.  The last I’d ever need to undertake, to pull my family out of a starving, nomadic life.  I told myself it was worth it.  But now. . . .”
	She shook her head slowly.  “I failed my own child.  I can’t continue to live with myself unless I’ve found balance, somehow.  I have to help these people.  I have to.”  She dragged in a deep breath, closing her eyes.  “Call me a hypocrite if you like.  I won’t deny it.  I’m doing this to hate myself less.  That’s really all there is to it.”
	“You’re doing this,” I said, squeezing her hand where my own still rested over it on the railing, “so that Sawyer’s spirit can be at rest.”
	She seemed to contemplate that for a long while.  “. . . maybe. . .” she said at length.  But she didn’t elaborate beyond that.
	We continued watching the sun rise in silence for a long time following that.  In the distance, I could see the first signs of civilization.  Cabins, clear-cut farmland, cattle.  We were approaching our destination.
	“I’m sorry if you assumed my foul mood was directed at you,” she said at length.  “But it is hard to describe how frustrating it can be to see how easily people sit up and take notice and finally start respecting you when a man speaks for you, or stands up for you.”
	“I can imagine,” I said automatically.  Then, “Wait, no.  I can’t.  I’m sorry.”
	“I had to become so unbroken,” she sighed.  “Never show the hurt.  Never reveal how insulted, angry or vulnerable I felt, to be taken at all seriously.  Especially working in a man’s profession.  And all it takes is for you to interject once, and suddenly,” she snapped, “I’m seen.  It makes me wonder how many times I was passed over for a job, underpaid or flat-out swindled.  If Sawyer had been a son traveling with his father?  Perhaps we would have made the coin necessary to start over, long ago.  Perhaps he’d be alive now.  I’ll never know.  That bastard I got Sawyer’s citizenship papers from?  I had the bribe ready, but he wanted more.  I had it on good authority how much it would cost to get that stamp and I came prepared, but he thought I’d do whatever he asked and pay him.”
	I looked to her, worried.
	“I didn’t,” she said defiantly.  “I pointed a knife in his gut and told him to stamp the damn paper, and then I paid him his bribe and left.  That’s the kind of woman I had to be, because I didn’t have a man to speak for me.”
	“I’m sorry,” I said softly.  “I’m. . . really glad you trust me enough to tell me all of this, though.  I believed you were. . . .”
	“You believed what I show myself to be,” she said.  “That isn’t your fault.  And honestly, I might never have told you any of it.  You’re still practically a child.  But. . . .”
	I gave her time, uncertain what she was going to say.  
	She turned, releasing my hand and leaning back against the railing.  For the first time she looked me square in the eyes, rather than from the side.  “Tulimak,” she rarely used my name, “you’re going to have a very difficult life, beyond the troubles you’ve had already.  There is a good chance you’ll endure terrible danger and loss the likes of which no one can protect you from.  I wish, when I’d been younger, someone would have told me this, so I’m going to do so now.  Don’t let it hollow you out inside,” she narrowed her eyes.  “Stay defiant.  Remember who you are.  It’s the one thing they can’t take from you.  It isn’t worth giving up.”
	I knitted my hands in front of me, understanding dawning.  “You mean. . . because of. . . Finn and I. . . .”
	She nodded.  
	“It doesn’t seem to bother you,” I said hesitantly, “like it did my father, when he first found out.”
	“If you can find anyone who comforts you, anyone who makes living more bearable,” she said intently, “let alone someone as hard to kill as Ambrose?  You hold on to them with both hands.  If he is who you want to make a family with,”  She bared her fangs.  “Don’t let them steal that away from you.”

	We docked in Arbordale early on that tenth morning, as promised.  The ship, while not nearly as spacious or pristine inside as it had looked from the outside, was clearly professionally-run and experienced.  Which, considering we’d spent the majority of our remaining coin to transport ourselves and our horses, at least meant we’d made one good decision on this trip.
	Most importantly it had saved us weeks of travel, according to Odina.  And in my case in particular, with the thaw bringing the probable seizure of my family’s land, time was of the essence.
	Especially so because this city was monstrous.  Our task here would not be like an errand in Broen.  I was awestruck by the mere sight of the skyline in the distance as we approached.  I had never seen such flat land in all my life.  The closest I’d ever come to seeing so much of the world in one glance had been when we’d crested the mountains and looked down on the Basin.  But this was different.
	From the river, it seemed like one could see for miles.  The land in these parts before we’d started to reach serious signs of civilization had been grassy and wet, slightly warmer than where we’d come from, although definitely in the throes of winter.  The trees were increasingly more bare-limbed and skeletal, less evergreen, and most of the growth near the river edge seemed to be reedy and short.  Patchwork snow covered the barren landscape and it was hard to tell where the Otherwolves’ farmsteads and fields ended and natural terrain began, save the occasional sparse forest. 
	Could it be that they’d just clear-cut most of this land?  Or was this just how the southlands were?  It was so hard to tell.
	All of that faded as we reached the outer edges of Arbordale, though.  And any traces of nature were fully gone once we’d docked, save an abundance of loud seabirds.
	The air here smelled wholly different, even than Gavensdale had.  There were the ever-present smells I’d come to associate with the ‘civilized’ world by now, primarily smoke, refuse and the mingled musks of far too many people packed tightly together.  But there was something else, something that drifted up from the churning waters beneath the plank we descended off the ship.  It was in the air, in the spray, in everything.  It was vaguely fishy, but also like salt.  It tingled my nose in the way something utterly foreign and new to you does.  I hardly knew what to make of it, or whether or not I liked or disliked it, but it more than anything else permeated me with the knowledge that I was very, very far from home now.  Everything here would be otherworldly and strange.
	“Technically right now we’re on the fringes of Debriss,” First Mate Anderson was explaining to Odina, who’d taken a moment with him after we’d disembarked to ask for our bearings.  “But, Debriss is like. . . hmm. . . almost a horse-shoe.  It wraps around the city proper, from the northeast to southeast end.”
	“What is the difference?”  She asked.
	“Arbordale proper is a different burb,” he said.  “There are actually several subdivisions within the city proper, and even within Debriss.  But the primary difference is cost of land and wealth on the whole.  Debriss is working-class-“
	“By that he means poor,” Finn muttered.
	“Some folks live well enough here,” the skunk weakly insisted.  “My brother-in-law and sister, for instance.  I have a residence here, not that I have a chance to put my feet up there often.  But, yes.  There are. . . some very impoverished areas. . . .”  He fussed in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a folded slip of paper, tucking it into one of Finnegan’s vest pockets.  “My brother-in-law, Josef Engelwood, is in the East Quarter.  He is no stranger to criminal law.”
	Odina arched an eyebrow, glancing at Finn.  “Getting yourself some legal help, are you?”
	“I’m entitled to it in this country, the way I understand it,” he said, putting on a good show of defiance.
	“I don’t really give a damn so long as I’m paid,” she shrugged.
	“I wish you all luck, whatever your future endeavors,” Anderson said.  He began to turn, and then as if realizing something, added, “Oh!  Do. . . do be cautious of the canal districts.”
	I didn’t have to pretend to not understand those words.  I had no idea what he was referring to.
	“Why?”  Odina asked simply.
	Anderson sighed.  “The canals are remnants of what Debriss used to be. . . logging towns, on a series of waterways, as I understand it.  My sister is more interested in history than I.  They converted them to canals as the city sprung up, but since logging is no longer much of an industry here, they’ve become an. . . often literally underground network for. . . illicit businesses, and all the unpleasantness that accompanies such things.”  He paused.  “And they’re filthy.  Good place to catch the Seer’s Fever, I’d wager.”
	“We’ll keep it in mind,” Odina tipped her wide-brimmed hat.  “Thank you.”
	We moved through the bustling crowds, the docks here actually slightly cleaner than they’d been in Gavensdale, due chiefly to the roads near the water actually being paved, even if most of it was cracked and sinking.  This city had clearly had more time to establish itself.  The buildings nearest to the water were, unlike in Gavensdale, mostly large and well-made, if old.  None of them looked like homes, but rather massive store-houses the dock-workers here were milling in and out of, loading and unloading.  
	And I stood out less here.  For one, there were other bears.  I’d seen two so far in the first few minutes we’d been walking the pier, working alongside other stocky or large men handling cargo.  Both were black-furred and had no markings I could see, or anything in their garb denoting them as being from a tribe I recognized, so it was impossible to say if they were native or from across the ocean.  
	We stopped first at a vendor along the pier who was selling, as far as I could gather, information.  “We need a guide,” Finnegan had explained, shucking out of his manacles once we’d found a moderately quiet spot to do so, tucked up alongside a building.  
	“Is it safe for you to walk freely now?”  I asked.  I wanted the answer to be yes, especially when I saw how his fur had gotten thinner around his wrist bones thanks to wearing them for so long now.  But at the same time, I didn’t want us to be running from hunters again.
	“In a city this large, the chances I’ll be spotted are slim to none,” he affirmed, looking to Odina.
	She seemed a little less confident, but reluctantly agreed.  “Honestly, we’ll garner more attention with him walking everywhere bound.  And at this point we’re in the hornet’s nest, we don’t need that.  Besides, I’d rather you be free to act, if need be.”
	“Me, too,” he agreed, shaking his wrists out.  Odina reached to take the manacles from him, but he deftly slipped them into his shoulder-bag.  “I’ll keep those, thank you.”
	“Just don’t misplace them,” she gave him a long-suffering look.  “We may need them later.  And don’t lock them.  The last thing I want is to get woken up in the middle of the night by this one,” she denoted me with a glance, “begging for the keys.”
	“Madame, I can’t imagine what you’re inferring,” Finnegan said with a crooked smile.
	“I don’t know why you seem to think I’m as innocent as your mate,” she muttered, turning and heading back onto the street.
	“I really hate that she’s right,” I sighed.  “Care to explain?”
	“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Finnegan promised, smirking back at me as he bound off after Odina.
	I spread my palms wide.  “How much older?!”
	‘A guide’ as it turned out, in this city meant a child.  Finnegan seemed not at all surprised by this and insisted the man with a small flock of children ranging in age from probably seven to fifteen years-old by the look of them, was a solid bet.  The man himself was a girthy opossum and many of the children were as well, which made me wonder if they were his.  The child he ‘assigned’ to us once we paid him, (not the child, couldn’t help but notice) was a rat.  He was grey-furred and skinny, smelled like the port and wore clothing I would certainly have qualified as ‘rags’.  
	Despite this he seemed chipper and talkative and most surprisingly, not at all intimidated by any of us.  Myself included.  The most I got out of him was a profoundly impressed, “Ain’t you a big’un!”  It didn’t seem like a question, more of a statement.  But I nodded all the same.  
	He was probably ten or so, although it was hard to tell for sure, and went by ‘Rory’.  And as it turned out he was in fact a very knowledgeable guide.
	He first suggested he take us to the inn and tavern district nearest to the port, which my rumbling stomach agreed with.  This seemed planned- for one, the inn he ‘recommended’ hardly looked the most well-kept, nor was it the closest, we had to walk for several blocks to reach it.  But he seemed to know the servers there, all of whom were also rats, and when we ordered ourselves an early lunch, one of the women brought him a mug of something on the house.
	“That your pay for bringing us here?”  Finn asked knowingly, stirring an odd drink he’d ordered.  I recognized the scent of coffee, it was expensive and not something my tribe often indulged in, but he hadn’t asked for a coffee when he’d ordered it.  He’d asked for an ‘Islander Caife’.  I swore I remembered him mentioning a drink like it once.
	“Whad’you care?”  Rory replied, drinking from his mug.  “Food’s good here!”
	“It actually does smell really good in here,” I agreed.  
	“Rats make the best food on the cheap,” Rory snickered.  “An’I know you lot is on the cheap, so don’t play.”
	“Oh, did the clothes we’ve been wearing for a month now give it away?”  Finn asked wryly, sipping his drink.  He saw me eyeing it and offered it across the table to me.  “You want to try?  It’s got whiskey in it, I’ll warn you.”
	Normally I wouldn’t have given whiskey a try, my father said it was a drink that made men lose their minds, but mixed in with something else, how bad could it be?
	I tried a bit, Finnegan watching me curiously.  The coffee was less bitter than I’d expected, I’d only had it once before and hadn’t liked it. . . but this was clearly sweetened.  The taste beneath it was thoroughly unpleasant to me, though.  Strange.  Almost like burnt wood, with that familiar sting most strong spirits had.
	I handed it back to him, wrinkling my nose.
	“I think I’d like it better without the whiskey in it,” I admitted.  “But it was. . . interesting.”
	“The last time I had one of these,” Finnegan sighed, “I was sick for weeks.”
	“Damn,” the rat piped up, “how many’d you have?”
	“Just one,” Finn said ruefully, sipping his drink again.
	Rory laughed at him, finishing off his mug.  “Pansy!” 
	Finn chuckled despite himself, leaning back in his chair.  “What are you drinking, Rory?”
	“Swill,” the rat responded bluntly.
	“Cheap beer, by the smell of it,” Odina muttered.  “More water than anything else.”
	“Well your lunch and another mug of swill is on me,” Finn said, laying out another coin on the table.  I honestly had no idea where he was keeping them, he just seemed to keep producing them.  He’d insisted I keep my own coinage buried deep in one of my packs while we traveled the streets here.  Seemed like good advice now that we’d walked the streets for the better part of an hour.  People did not give you space here, regardless of your size.
	“You folk are alright,” Rory said with a buck-toothed grin.  “Ah’ll give y’my best service today, a’ight?  Where we off to next?”
	“We’ll need a place to stay,” Odina said.  “Inexpensive, but clean.”
	“One or t’other,” Rory shrugged.
	She swiped her palm over her eyes.  “As clean as we can find, then.”
	“Best bet’s further from the water, then,” the rat said, reaching across the table to where they’d just set down a basket of still-steaming rolls I had every intent of destroying personally.  He grabbed one, chewing on it noisily.  “Unless yer alright bein’ in one of the canal districts.”
	“We aren’t-“  Odina began.
	“Do you know the canal districts well?”  Finnegan asked the young rat, suddenly.
	Rory grinned.  “I know this whole damn city,” he proclaimed proudly.  “Above and below.  All o’the East Quarter, anyway.”
	“Anderson mentioned something about ‘underground’,” I pointed out.  “And you just said ‘below’.  Are there caves?”
	“I wouldn’call ‘em that,” the rat said.  “More like tunnels?  Not everywhere, and they ain’t literally underground.  Just, they built stuff up around ‘em, you know?  Taller buildings, bridges, the likes.  So it’s like there’s layers, y’get me?”
	“The canals are old,” Finnegan said, understanding.  “The city’s built on top of them.”
	“Right, so there’s places they go underneath buildings and whatnot,” Rory continued.  “Used to be for millin’, I guess. . . there are still broken up wheels and such, if you look in the water when it’s clear ‘nuff.  Now, though,” he dropped his voice, “the Syndicates use ‘em.”  He munched on another bite of the roll.  “That and us folks what ain’t scared of ‘em.  I’ll show y’around down there if you really want, but not while I’s on the clock with Mister Piercey.”
	“And not without additional coin, I’d wager,” Finn arched an eyebrow.
	“You want a li’l child to risk his ass fer free?”  Rory clucked his tongue.  “For shame.”
	“I think we can work something out,” Finnegan said, setting his cup down with a clink.
	“If you lot are lookin’ for somethin’ specific down there, I can even introduce you to my big brother,” he offered.  “He don’t like us goin’ down there without him anyway.”
	“Maybe,” Finnegan hummed.  “For now, a place to hang our hats is fine.”
	Our meal showed up at that point, and it was in fact as good as it smelled.  Some kind of hearty stew with bird meat in it- Finnegan warned me it probably wasn’t chicken, but I hardly cared.  It was seasoned well and full of potatoes and vegetables, and the fact that the meat was a little greasy honestly only added to the broth.
	We hadn’t had anything but ship’s rations for some time now, which hadn’t agreed with me.  Why the Otherwolves insisted on pickling everything was beyond me.  So we all ate pretty heartily.  Including Rory.
	The rat took us deeper into the city following that, during which we passed through many neighborhoods as varied as ever I’d seen.  It became clear over time that in this ‘Debriss’, each street could be its own community.  Some were as obviously rough and downtrodden as the worst areas we’d seen in Gavensdale, while others seemed more lively and industrious.  Some were both- people clearly making the most of the resources at-hand, painting and decorating otherwise drab, worn buildings, finding commonplace solutions to problems like broken windows, doors and holes in the road, even growing small gardens in empty plots of the shells of old buildings.  Or at least, it looked as though they had been in the warmer months.  The corn stalks still stood.
	We eventually picked a rooming house after entering several and getting rates.  One thing Finnegan seemed particular fixed on finding was a place where we might have some privacy, finally.  I heartily agreed.  We settled on a nondescript place called the Mocking Magpie Inn that was apparently fairly close to the canal district, accounting for its low rate, but still far enough that the area felt rather safe.  Or at least, not much worse than the rest of the city we’d seen so far.  The family that ran the place looked like coyotes, but Finnegan explained to me later that they were actually ‘jackals’ and were foreigners, even by Otherwolf standards.  They spoke enough Amurescan for us to get by, though.
	And most importantly, Finnegan and I finally had a room to ourselves.  It was incredibly small, but the bed was large enough that I could use it and there was a potbelly stove in the room, so at least we knew it wouldn’t get too cold at night.  It seemed relatively clean, too.
	Odina got her own quarters and seemed happy for it.  I couldn’t blame her.  We’d all sort of had enough of one another by this point, sharing a small tent and then crammed into a corner of a ship for weeks.  Well. . . except Finn and I, obviously.  If anything, the difficulty in being so close with him throughout this trip was that I couldn’t. . . be close with him. . . in the way that I wanted.
	Which unfortunately, we didn’t have time to make the most of immediately.  I stole a kiss or two after we’d stowed our things away, but we had to depart almost as soon as we’d arrived so that we could make the most of our ‘guide’ while we still had him.
	Rory gave us the lay of the land in the district we’d settled into.  I got to see the canal district, which was. . . as advertised.  It seemed quiet this time of day, nothing illicit taking place that I could pick out.  Just a really horrible-smelling waterway in the middle of the city.
	One place Finnegan insisted we stop was the garment district.  Or at least, one of them.  We’d passed quite a few already, but this stretch of road in particular seemed to be better-maintained than some of the previous ones, consisting of rows and rows of tightly-crammed, slim buildings, most of which sported large glass windows out front with dismembered wooden torsos wearing different outfits.  
	Honestly, I found them rather eerie.
	“If we want to be taken seriously by the local bureaucracy,” Finnegan explained lowly, “I’ll need to play as your representative in your tribe’s case.  I’ve started work on a plan, of a sort, but half of selling it is in how we look.  Clothes make the man.”
	“Finn,” I sighed, “I don’t even like wearing suspenders.  I can’t dress like you.”
	“You won’t have to,” he assured me, patting my chest.  “Maybe a new shirt.  But with the duster and britches, you already look the part of a tribal man making a go at civility.  Any finer than that would be suspicious, honestly.”
	“You just want to replace your old vest,” I said with a slight smile.
	“I’m not going to deny that,” he said in a sullen tone, glancing down at the worn leather vest and threadbare shirt he’d been wearing since we’d left the Basin.  He’d bled through his forest green vest and shirt, so he was wearing what we’d scavenged off the Jackwalds, just like me.  Definitely not his style.  “But this issue with being taken seriously?  That’s real.  Trust me, I’ve played this game before.  I can’t look like I just came in off a wagon trail, not if we want any real chance at making it into government offices.”
	I nodded.  “I trust you.  This is more your world than mine.”
	“Ah, the tables have finally turned,” he chuckled.  “You know I-“ 
	He’d paused, not just in his words but physically.  I noticed a bit late and had to turn around, looking off in the direction he was.  But this place was as busy as everywhere else we’d been, I hardly knew where to look first.  
	“Finn?”  I queried, uncertainly.
	He began to move through the crowd towards something, stopping at a lantern post and clearly looking off in the direction of a large store front, nearly three times as wide as some of the other ones here, but oddly with very little in the windows.  It looked closed, the front of the building far more nondescript than the others, save the lavender drapes over the lower and upper windows, and a display of men’s clothing in the front window, also in front of the same lavender-colored fabric.  It was a pretty color, I suppose.  Reminded me of some of the mountain flowers from the North Country.  The only other thing of note was that the front door and door frame were bright, crimson red, but a lot of the shops around here seemed to use bright, eye-catching colors.
	“I think that one’s closed, Finn,” I said, uncertain just what had caught his eye about it.
	He stared for a further moment while Rory trotted up beside us.  “Ey, you don’t wanna go in tha’place,” he jabbed Finn in the side, obviously not knowing the wolfdog was injured there.  I winced with him as he clutched his ribs, but Rory seemed to miss it, continuing on, “They don’t sell britches there, I’ll tell y’that much.”
	“What do they sell, then?”  I asked.
	“Issa molly house!”  He said jeeringly.  “Y’know, woofters?”  
	I stared back at him, blankly.
	“Sodomites,” he said, dropping his voice a bit.  That one I knew, strictly because Finnegan had warned me of the term.  That and ‘heretic’ were apparently very bad things to be called in this place.  And not just the normal, ‘insulting’ kind of bad.  The sort where you might have to run.
	I looked down at Finn.  He’d gone silent, but was still giving the place a long, pensive look.
	“The storefront’s a ruse,” Rory continued, poking me in the belly, which was about the boldest anyone in the city had gotten with me so far.  “Thas’like a ‘lie’, tribesman.  Y’see?”
	“I see, thank you,” I said.
	“Every month’r so they move it,” the rat sighed, grabbing for Finn’s hand.  “C’mon.  I know a place you can get right dapper on the cheap!”
	“That so?”  Finn smiled slowly despite himself, allowing the young rat to lead him.  “I’ll just bet you do.”
	“S’all second hand, but the tailor’s a pro,” Rory assured him with a wink.  “You kin get fancied up good’n proper for pence on the crown.”
	“I like the sound of that,” Finn agreed.
	I followed the two of them, watching the wolfdog interact with the little rat.  I’d hesitate to call someone in Rory’s position a ‘child’, but there was no doubt that that’s what he physically was, at least.  He still hadn’t lost all the charm and fearlessness of childhood, or the ability to be totally rude and immature without any self-awareness.  He reminded me of my sisters growing up, in some ways.  And Finn acknowledged and spoke with him with understanding of his age, while not being patronizing.  Which reminded me very much of some of the best mothers and fathers in my tribe, my own included.
	He’d been good with Odina’s children, too.  It honestly wasn’t that surprising, given what he’d told me of his younger life in Amuresca, living impoverished and caring for the other workers’ children.  
	Finnegan, for all of his issues with his own sire, would have made a good father.  But then maybe. . . that’s precisely why.
	That was one of those things there wasn’t an easy answer to.  I’d certainly learned things from my father I’d probably repeat as a parent someday, and there were others I definitely wouldn’t.  I’d make mistakes, of that I was certain.
	One thing I was becoming increasingly sure of was who I wanted beside me through it all.  And that was beginning to feel less like a dream, and more of a possibility.