{c o u p} [Semper/Rook]

Colton fits snugly against my chest. Part of me still can’t believe that I’ve found him – I actually found him. He’s sound asleep, wrapped up in a tattered blanket that I found on the streets of some district, sniffing occasionally from a running nose.

When I found him, he didn’t know me; Lily’s dad, though, did. He snarled at me, pointing out that I “left” his daughter when I really didn’t. I’m an Avox, I don’t abandon the few friends I manage to make. And I especially don’t abandon my own flesh and blood. From what I understand, Lily’s dad left them and never came back. He shouldn’t be telling me about abandonment when he apparently never tried to find any of his kin. The man infuriated me as I tried reasoning with him – using just a notepad, mind you – about why I should be able to take Colton with me. I certainly had, and still have, my doubts about my ability to be a parent: I can’t speak so I can’t teach him how to. He knows a few words and sentences already (he knows what a “puppy” is and what sounds they make, and since I make similar sounds he’s begun to refer to me as “Puppy,” though sometimes it’s more like “Uppy”

This boy is much bigger than I am. He obviously hasn’t been in the woods for very long; he doesn’t have that weathered, burdened, survivalist façade that wanderers have. He must be new to the wilderness. No person I know could look that healthy after months surviving off leaves and berries and constantly being on the move. It makes me a bit nostalgic, actually; thinking about the “before” time.

By now Colton has calmed down though his little hand is still clutching at the fabric of my jacket. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and I can only hope that he’s at least warm enough within the confines of the jacket. I quickly scan his short fingers and check for any sign of frostbite: there’s nothing, much to my relief. Just redness and a little purple tint underneath the nails. Securing him with one arm, I take my only hand and peel his tiny fingers off my jacket, circling my fingers around his hand. It’s not much I can do but every little bit counts, I guess.

I know the dangers of frostbite all too well. It was nothing but pure luck that Jack found me when I was trapped in that blizzard, curled up in a futile attempt to keep myself warm with my own body heat. I could barely walk alongside Jack as he led me to his house and let me tell you, I’ve never been so thankful for a fire in my entire life. My fingers fared awfully: I still remember the pained look on Mrs. Lexington’s face as she examined my hand, rubbing my fingers between hers. I felt nothing in just a few extremities and that was what scared her. The elderly woman certainly was no stranger to wounds considering she lived in the ranching district, where anything could happen. I’m sure she’s dealt with kicks, bites, stomps, broken bones, missing limbs, gorings, everything. She’s no doubt one of the best healers in the district (not just saying that cause she gave me a whole bottle of whiskey to purposefully get drunk) and I trusted her dealing with my frostbite. She saved my life, pretty much. Her and Jack both. If it weren’t for them then I would never have found Colton, never would’ve been able to hold him even if it’s awkwardly, never would’ve been given the chance to raise him, even if for a little bit.

Avoxes aren’t supposed to raise children. I can’t teach my own son to read, write, speak, anything. All I can teach is actions, memory through movements, drawing, which berries to eat, and very few hand signals. Even though Colton’s just a squeaking toddler, he’s deciphered me with ease. Perhaps it’s his innocence or even his obliviousness – or do toddlers and babes have a sense of understanding human emotions unhampered by the complexity of reality? Colton understands when I mean ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ he understands when to stay put and when to come to me or follow; unfortunately, though, those are the only things I’ll ever be able to teach him.

He looks up at me with those big brown eyes of his, a grin coming to his face. He’s actually got a few teeth now, enabling him to gnaw on things instead of just gumming. All I’ve been able to give him is berries but soon he’ll be able to enjoy other things like meat and leaves and honey.

I hear a rustling behind me, so I turn my head and see the silent stranger searching through his backpack. At first I brace myself, thinking that he’s searching for any sort of weapon that can take me out, and when he draws his arm out I tense up. He then drops the bag but I keep my eyes trained on his hand, seeing nothing that looks like a weapon. Whatever the object is in his hand, it’s far too small to cause any sort of damage unless he plans on shoving it down my throat and choking me. I still position myself protectively over Colton as the stranger nears us; he sets the little item down close to me and then backs away, holding his hands up once again.

My attention leaves him and quickly turns to the bar on the ground. What is it? It doesn’t look harmful at all. I hesitate to reach out for it, choosing instead to see what the stranger is doing again. He’s gone further back, sitting beside his bag and leaning against a tree. Definitely not a position that any attacker would take. My anxiety eases and I reach out, grabbing the little bar and slowly and somewhat awkwardly unwrapping it.

It’s brown, and the longer I keep my finger on it, the stickier it gets. I bring the bar to my nose and sniff, finding a welcoming sweet scent. My stomach lurches, that familiar hollow pain gnawing, and without a second thought I take a very small bite of it. It takes a moment but soon I can feel that it’s melted in my mouth; it’s a little hard to swallow since it’s a thick and slow liquid, so I tilt my head back until it drains to the back of my throat before swallowing. I can taste very faint traces of the same sweetness I smelled and it’s a delightful taste. Maybe this stranger isn’t a threat afterall.

I want to take another bite but I resist, wrapping it up and putting it in my little sack of other food items. I very gently set Colton down, then take out my little notepad and scrounge for a pencil, writing down a few things in awful chickenscratch: Thank you. My name is Devroux. The little one is Colton. I make sure Colton is snug and warm before standing up, taking the notepad and heading over to the stranger. I approach cautiously still, holding out the pad and pencil, just in case he wanted to write anything back. He hasn’t said a single word since we met – either he’s just shy, a mute, or he really is another Avox. I guess I’ll just have to wait to find out.