bigapplesauce | all that was lost is revealed; open

The sun drops with almost immeasurable slowness into Greg’s teacup. He rests his chin on the tree stump and holds up one thumb and closes one eye and watches the big yellow ball roll down the side of his finger. He remembers the time a girl at school told him that thumbs aren't really fingers. “That’s a rock fact.” His breath, clear as the air, puffs away the snow that’s fallen in front of his mouth. The snowflakes are undisturbed? By the sound. It’ll be night soon, and Greg made his wish the night before; Wirt must have found his way home by now. He’s smart like that.

The trees far away eat up the sun before it can land in the cup, swallowing it in their needles and branches, but Greg is too tired, and the light breaking through the trunks is too pretty. Just as the last little slivers disappear, a green light flashes, like when he makes Wirt photograph him and his findings with that camera that spits out pictures, except this flash is growing and growing, filling the sky and the forest and his cup. It resolves into the shape of a kitten, then a cat, then a big cat, bounding closer and faster. It leaps into the air and strikes its head against the tree stump, shattering it and the cup and the branches that Greg hadn't noticed were hugging him. It stops in front of him, shaking the leaves and snow from its fur.

"Oh, Gregory," the fearsome critter says, like his father when Greg tells him about the adventures he's had and the new friends he's made.

"Hi, kitty," Greg greets, quiet and awed and droopy-eyed.

"I am not a kitty," it huffs. "I am the Splintercat." Greg reaches out to play with the funny tufts of hair at the tips of its ears. It bows his head, rumbling, then circles him three times, taller than Greg where he sits. "You don't belong here, Gregory." It wraps itself around him, soft and warm.

"Okay," Greg sighs, and falls asleep.

When he opens his eyes again, it's daytime, and the soft warmth surrounding him is much bigger and softer and warmer than before. Greg takes a big breath of the fur under his nose and sneezes. The big soft warmth rumbles. Greg pokes it, then pushes his fists into it.

"Punch, punch, punch."

With a mighty yawn, which Greg follows with one of his own, the fur parts to reveal the sky, and some rocks, and some water. Greg squints up at the sun and stretches.

"Boy, am I pooped."

A white face and a black nose descend on him, snuffling at his face, and his clothes, and then his stomach. Greg laughs, batting at the animal's snout.

"Haha! Hey! Hahaha!"

The creature whumpfs and nudges him with its nose, batting back with its big paws. Greg tickles it under its chin and on its cheeks.

"I'm gonna call you Antonio," Greg decides, as he's rolled back and forth by the curious creature. "You're real fuzzy, Antonio."

There's another flash, but not green, this time, and raises his head to look at it. Over past the rocks there's a big crowd of people waving at him and taking pictures. Delighted, Greg waves back.

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Daine still wouldn't call the menagerie one of her favorite places in Manhattan, but it's gotten better since her arrival. She's seen to that. All the animals that wanted them have had waking dreams sown into their minds, and some that fell ill have healed faster than their keepers would have expected. Even when all she can provide is company, that's better than nothing. The polar bear, Gus, has particularly enjoyed her presence, and if the two-leggers find it charming or unbelievable that this white mountain of a bear allows a crow to share his space and hop along his furry side, at least they don't find it suspicious.

There's a brisk wind today, and Daine's sunning herself on one of the rocks in the enclosure while Gus naps below. A sparrow calls out an alarm - something is going to happen soon, here - and Daine lifts her head moments before a curious rumble comes from the bear. There's a new arrival, and he's in the enclosure.

Don't hurt him! Daine orders immediately, swooping down to get a closer look at the... boy? A young boy with a kettle on his head, completely unphased by the polar bear peering down at him.

She receives a snort in reply. I'm not going to hurt him, Gus says as he gently bats at the boy. He's new, and lost.

Well, he can't stay here. Folk will panic. She expects a keeper will be along any moment to get him out of here, but then what? They're not likely to find the boy's parents no matter how hard they look, and then it'll be calls to the police and he'll end up Goddess knows where. What can she do, sneak him out? Coax him to follow her?

He does seem to like animals.

Daine hops toward the boy, head cocked. "Hi," she says, her crow voice betraying none of the strain she feels. "Hellooo."

"Beatrice?" Or not Beatrice. Greg's excitement diminishes slightly. He pushes himself to his feet and dusts off his butt. "You're not Beatrice. Are you her sister?" What are the chances that two talking birds aren't related? Pretty slim, he thinks. Or maybe they aren't and he's being bird racist. Hm. He hoists himself up Antonio one handful of fur at a time until he's sitting on Antonio's back, all the better to see how the crowd of people is pushed up against the clear walls, watching him. He grins and puts his hands on his hips, posing for the cameras.

Oh, Mithros, what is he doing? Daine watches him clamber atop Gus as if the bear is no more than a grassy hillock. Crows can't exactly groan, but she does manage a disapproving croak when the boy starts posing for the two-leggers and their cameras.

Whoever 'Beatrice' is, it'll have to wait. Daine alights atop Gus's back and looks up at the boy. "Must go," she insists. "Can't stay here."

"Huh?" Greg looks down at the bird, still caught up in the attention. "Oh." He looks disappointed, but he takes her words in stride. He pats Antonio on the back sadly. "You're gonna make it big now, kid," he says gravely, with the slightest hint of melancholy beyond his years. "You don't need old Greg weighing you down." He slides off Antonio's back and gives him one final pat on the leg. There are people in uniforms on the other side of the glass wall lowering a rope ladder over the side with the same look on their faces that his teacher usually has when he tries to show her how high he can climb (which is pretty high).

"Have you seen Wirt?" He turns to look at the bird again, face open and expectant and not at all worried. "He's my brother. He's tall and he doesn't look like me."

It's probably just as well her face can't betray the bafflement she feels. He's being far too calm for a new arrival, especially one so young. Is he from some universe where this sort of thing happens a lot?

No matter. There are two-leggers about to climb in, and she doesn't fancy trying to get the boy safely away after they've caught him up. "Quickly," she sing-songs, and even her crow voice sounds a bit strained as she leads the boy toward the exhibit's access door. There'll probably be a zookeeper about to open it for them, and she's not entirely sure what to do about that. Maybe she can fly up into their face and startle them.

She looks back up at the boy - Greg? - and says, "When the door opens, run. Run quickly."

all that was lost is revealed; open

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remember that time i wasn't really busy all the time

wow gmail thanks for routing this to my spam folder

SAME and a combination of me being slow

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