Grandeur Defector

XX: GRANDEUR

There was a soft knock on the tent entrance, his breath heavy from running across camp. He couldn't miss his golden opportunity— the only time they could really talk— to chat with his friend from the other side.
"Come in," Truffles whispered, his voice hush in hopes no superiors were nearby to see. Flippy stepped into the tent, smiling.
"Hi," he whispered back, making sure the tent was zipped so that they could be alone.

It had been a few weeks since the rat incident, and both of them were back to talking more personally about things.
Truffles recalled everything he'd learned from his friend so far.
Flippy Ursidae, 19 years old; goes by he/him. He likes snowy weather and honey salmon... he knows how to fish, cook, clean, all from what his mother taught him. Talking about his father is a delicate subject because the wound still hurts.
Used to be a troublemaker in camp, but he wont talk much about that. He also hasn't mentioned changing accents, or how he covers his body up. It's like... he doesn't like what he is.
Tonight's discussion was family, something they both admitted to dreading.
I think we need to talk about it though. Maybe I could ask for advice with my kin.

Flippy sat down, his lungs still heaving from the jog. He huffed, crossed his thick legs, and placed his hands on his knees.
"So...family, eh?"

There was a tense silence.
Truffles began.
"I was not born purebred. M-My father ran from home to marry a peasant orange and white pelted woman. She was beautiful and kind."
Truffles let the memory hit him.

...
The flowers went up to his torso in height, his little steps feeble and shaky. He wasn't used to walking by himself yet, his legs stumpy and little tail wagging, but he loved the flowers more than anything. The blues, the oranges, were those daffodils too? Lilac and lavender in tin containers, a rusty watering can, lemon scenting the porch much like the yard. There was an old bicycle in the yard he would always go to; it's pedals were rusted over and stiff, weeds encircling the strange man made object in nature's territory. He loved putting fresh flowers in the front basket, and although the bike never moved, it always looked pretty from his hard work.
He heard a familiar voice calling to him.
Soup?? SOUP!!!
He scampered back to the porch, the stained dark wood creaking. For a second he stumbled and fell over, but his mission for soup was unstoppable as he picked himself up, kicked the wood plank that made him trip, and walked inside.
The house was small and almost too tiny to hold a family, but it was covered in pressed flower etched paintings and beautiful wooden carvings. There on the carved, petrified wood table was a flowery printed bowl of noodles— his favorite. He licked his lips, then turned to his mother, who towered over him in height. She stood with a warm smile that was brighter than diamonds, her beauty stunning. Fur patchy with white splotches and orange stripes, she was as elegant as a ray of light in a shaded forest. At first glance, you'd assume she was royalty or a model of high status... perhaps once she was in another life, but her eye bags told a story of tragedy more than luck.
"Hướng lên!"
He made grabbing hand motions up at her, and she listened, picking the tiny tiger up and placing him in his special chair at the dinner table. He had no fork, just a wooden spork to eat his dinner with— silver was expensive these days.
He heard his mother giggle as he took a sip. The tasty flavor made him so happy that he dropped the spork in his hand, clapped his hands together excitedly, and chirped.
It was his way of showing happiness.
His mother adored it.
"Súp ngớ ngẩn?" she cooed, petting her son's head as he slurped the noodles ungracefully.
Silly soup!!!! I love the silly soup!
His little tail wagged happily.
He had no idea that his mother paid a week's worth of work for that single bowl, or that she would eat scraps, but he did know that his father would come home that night and he would tell his papa that the silly soup was very good.
That night was like the night before: Truffles crawled into bed with his papa and mama, curled up between them in their safe hands, purring. His papa only came home at night, but always made sure his son was safe.
Truffles never complained why his father had to hide during the day. He still provided the best snuggles.
...