Riven Isles

29 | The Moonwalk

A/N- "Narrative continued by..." is used in R.L. Stevenson's Treasure Island when Jim Hawkins is away from stockade. Dr. Livesey assumes the narrative to fill in what Jim Hawkins does not see.

This chapter uses that, but incorrectly. This is the most confusing chapter of Riven Isles, and I hope you may bear with. I am still mulling over how to write this part effectively. 

Read on through, and I will post a summary/explanation at the end in case this chapter is too wack. It levels out from the moment that Hank wakes up. This chapter begins in a sort of dream state.

--Narrative continued by the Captain--

"Of all of the places and all of the times, why here?" I whisper, sensing a familiar pair of ears behind me. A slender black fox with a white eye and a missing left paw appears at my side, so smooth and silent that it is as if he materializes, rather than slips from the bush behind us. His tail curls around his paws and he stares ahead at the pair of humans beneath the sheets.

"Who cahn say," the fox answers, baring his teeth in a quiet and watchful snarl. "Leslie'll be ahlong suhn."

"Yes... I suppose."

In the bed, in the room, the man sits up. Unkempt, unraveled, unrespectable. "My God," he breathes, and my poor heart clenches at the confusion and pain in his expression. "Dorian."

"This is the night you rescued me, isn't it," I ask, but I, regretfully, already know the answer.

"Aye, it is," replies the black fox grimly.

A larger fox with a great bulk of fur flowing from his neck—appearing top-heavy and almost more like a dog—grunts and clambers onto the windowsill beside us. The bushes don't shake as his tail whips them. It passes through.

"Cap'n," he greets.

"Aye," I say, bowing my head.

"You're faint, Hank," he says, tilting his head so that his ears flop to one side. "How is your leg?"

I lift my translucent paw to peer at it, splaying out the digits. I put it down and glance back to my right side, lifting my tail from around it. I am missing a foot. "I don't feel it here. Astiza gives me strength."

The man and the woman wrestle in the bed, but she has all the power, and all he has is confusion and a hazed mind. She presses a bottle into his hand and tells him, "Everything is fine, my Henry. Relax, have a drink. We'll find Dorian in the morning."

"No, I don't want a drink, damn you! I—"

"You need to rest, Hank. You won't be any use at finding him if you're half-asleep, will you? Here." She wraps his fingers around the bottle and I feel his guilt now as strongly as I did all those years ago. "For your nerves."

"F-For my nerves," repeats the man, taking a hesitant but full swallow. He runs his hand across his lips and lies back, sinking into the pillows. The woman takes the bottle away and sets it on a table, rolling onto her side.

"We'll find Dorry," he whispers. The sorry excuse for a man falls asleep.

I close my eyes.

"How old was I, Hank?" Another voice, another fox. He's angry, and has every right to be.

"Dorian," I greet, wincing.

He pushes against my side and I stagger, falling onto the black fox. I weakly roll off my stump leg and sit up again, but I can't lift my head higher than my shoulders. I can't. The shame weighs on my neck like an anvil.

"I was three, in your years," Dorian spits, and I don't look at him. "I was a pup! And that bitch had me blindly tripping over myself in that dark, empty basement for how long, while you just sat there drinking and drinking, you terrible, terrible—"