Chapter Text
The storm howled over the island with an unprecedented hostility. The branches were violently shaken by the wind, and the heavy drizzle made it difficult to see anything in the already darkened landscape. The ground seemed to tremble as large mounds of rocks and dirt fell from the mountains. The lightning strikes in the distance offered only brief moments of light amidst all the chaos, and the air was thick with the sharp scent of moisture and electricity.
A tiny figure zigzagged between the trees, tripping over the wet branches and leaping over the rocks. His paws were caked in mud, his fur soaked, and the biting cold in the air numbed his body fiercely. Despite it all, he didn’t stop.
He was small for its age, with an extremely slender and elongated silhouette, likely due to some sort of nutritional deficiency. His beautiful red fur was dirty and tangled, his muzzle trembling from the cold and fear.
A fox.
Too young to be alone.
He dodged a large fallen trunk with a leap, allowing himself to pause for a few seconds to exhale deeply, trying to regain some of his lost, meager energy. He felt his limbs stiffen from the icy breeze, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the uncomfortable, wet warmth of his own blood soaking his fur from a recent claw mark on his side. All of his senses screamed at him to run because he knew the predator was close. So, as soon as he heard those deep growls in the distance, he began running once again.
But his mind wasn’t focused on the present.
He thought back to a couple of weeks ago, when his mother and siblings were still alive, although he wouldn’t exactly say it 'missed' them in the conventional way. He had been born weaker than usual, and his family didn’t miss an opportunity to rub that fact in his face whenever they could. He was the smallest, the slowest, the most vulnerable, and still, his mother had committed to teaching him everything she knew about survival so her son wouldn’t have to rely on her protection throughout his entire life, though her methods were, to say the least, questionable. Her treatment was cold, harsh, and her lessons exhausting. The wild nature of the island would make no exceptions for him because of his limitations; the larger predators wouldn’t hesitate for a second to hunt him down if he didn’t have the agility to defend himself, and they were the last foxes on the island. No one beyond his family would accompany him, and in fact, he should be grateful that his mother hadn’t abandoned him at birth.
But he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t made to survive.
And yet, here he was. Spending the last of his strength running from a bear because he thought venturing into his territory for some food wasn’t such a terrible idea, considering he wasn’t ready to hunt, and thought he had been too long without eating to torture himself any longer.
Bad idea.
On its own, hunger clouded his judgment, and his legs trembled as he felt his senses dull. The darkness of the storm didn’t comfort him at all; the lightning only amplified his fear. The rain soaked his fur, and the cold began to weaken his bones.
And he only wanted to know why. Why had nature chosen to spare him and not his mother or siblings?
Why, if he was so shy and fragile, could he easily be the least fit to live in such an environment, and now had to face the world alone?
It almost seemed like a cruel joke.
And he wasn’t sure he could do it.
Sometimes, it even seemed like the best thing would be to give up. It appeared easier in his eyes, but he was too cowardly to die. Even when his body screamed for him to stop and surrender, he clung to the faint spark of life left.
What kind of life awaited the last of their kind on a savage island?
He wanted to force himself to stop.
He heard loud, heavy footsteps. The predator was near.
He didn’t have the strength to keep running, so he let himself collapse against a tree, exhausted.
He wasn’t long before he felt the humid and unpleasant breath of the larger creature suffocating his small body.
It was over.
And suddenly, the entire reality faded away.
And he woke up.
_____
Fink’s breath was still rapid from the recent nightmare, his senses on high alert, and his body stiff, just like every time he felt at risk and was torn between hiding or confronting the threat.
But there was no danger.
And, strangely, he felt like he had just run across the entire island.
Again.
Tired, he allowed himself to fall back onto his bed, at least until his heartbeat steadied a little and his breath decided to give him some oxygen.
When he did, he finally looked around.
He was in Roz’s cabin.
Roz…
He quickly glanced toward the usual place where she used to 'sleep', though in reality, she just powered down at night, when she didn’t have the sun to power her energy panels.
After all, she was a robot.
But she wasn’t there.
He looked again, this time at the small nest where the gosling they cared for together rested. He wasn’t there either.
He glanced toward the entrance. By now, the sun was already casting considerable light and warmth inside, enough to make him realize it wasn’t just dawn.
He understood he had fallen asleep.
Again…
It was fine. He was a fox, and 'mainly nocturnal', as Roz had once described him whenever she justified letting him sleep too long instead of waking him up.
It wasn’t as if it bothered him. In fact, Fink didn’t have much to complain about in his life shared with the robot. She was helpful, attentive, never asked him to be quiet when he thought he was talking too much, let him ramble on all he wanted, and always got him the food he needed without him asking. She never complained about anything. And Fink felt a little embarrassed for waking up so late considering all the attention he received from Roz, even though she didn’t seem to mind. In other circumstances and with other beings, he wouldn’t have cared, but when it came to her, he felt living at the cost of the robot’s efforts was wrong.
He rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for thinking that way.
On the other hand, he often wondered why she had that effect on him without even trying.
He jumped off his bed with a leap and stretched out on the ground before leaving the shelter. The intense sunlight bothered him; maybe Roz was right about him being more comfortable at night.
It was too early for the robot to have gone anywhere far with Brightbill without telling him.
Roz would never do anything that would worry him. She was probably just somewhere nearby, and he was right.
He didn’t have to walk far to reach the ROZZUM's garden, and it didn’t take him much longer to spot her in the distance, inspecting the growth of the plants while the little gosling fluttered around her and asked her any question that came to mind, which she answered with the same calm and patience that characterized her.
"What are all these, mom?" he asked.
"These are the plants we’ve grown, Brightbill."
"How do plants grow?"
"The seeds absorb water and nutrients from the soil, and sunlight allows them to produce the energy needed to grow."
"Wow! How do you know all that?"
"I have information on the germination process in my data bank, and I also collect information by observing this garden."
Fink couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. Roz always had an answer for everything, and sometimes it irritated him a little.
She was so warm, kind, and generous.
And pathetic.
His mother would have probably described her that way if she had been here.
Fink knew that kindness didn’t help to survive. He’d even told her that bluntly when he first met her, and he immediately thought he could take advantage of it to survive, adding a few extra lies along the way.
Goose expert.
Of course.
It surprised him how easily he could convince her of things like that. He didn’t have to act too much for her to really believe that Fink would help her raise Brightbill.
Though, looking back, he didn’t feel good about having approached her like that.
It didn’t matter.
Roz didn’t see him just as a helper in her task anymore. In fact, he was the closest thing the robot had to a 'friend', although Fink still wasn’t sure if the feeling was mutual.
He approached to greet her, even though he knew she could detect his presence without seeing him if she paid enough attention to her sensors.
"Good morning, Fink," the robot paused her work to look at him. That made him a little tense, and he began wagging his tail from side to side in an attempt to channel his feelings.
Not because it was bad, but because it still felt strange interacting with another being without feeling threatened in the process.
She would never attack him even if she wanted to.
And he knew he could trust her.
"Ah, hey, Roz…" he said lazily, trying to sound casual. The exhaustion slightly disguised the heavy tone of his voice.
Brightbill chirped happily upon seeing him, fluttering around the fox, looking at him with innocent curiosity. The little one spent a lot of time with his mother, but with the fox, it was different. The anatomical differences between the two were quite evident, and clearly, Brightbill had a fixation on Fink’s fur and tail.
Roz returned to her task.
"Uh…" Fink mumbled, pretending not to be irritated by the little goose's chirps. "You… why did you let me sleep so late?"
Roz didn’t hesitate.
"I saw no logical reason to wake you up, Fink, you needed rest."
Okay, that felt strange.
Was she worried about him?
Fink shifted uncomfortably.
He wasn’t used to someone caring about him.
His ears slightly flattened. His tail moved with more energy.
"Yeah… didn’t need rest, "he grumbled, shaking his now-messy fur.
Roz tilted her head, not entirely convinced.
"But you slept longer than usual."
"Yeah, so what? Sometimes I sleep late because… uh… I have important things to do…"
Brightbill let out an inquisitive chirp.
"What important things?"
Bad memories.
And because he avoided sleeping as much as possible to avoid dealing with another nightmare.
"None of your business."
Another chirp.
Not exactly confusion, but it didn’t mean the little goose had quite understood the harsh tone.
Roz didn’t say anything, but Fink could tell that he had picked up on her interest. As if it mattered.
He wasn’t used to that, so he did what he knew best: Pretend.
"Ugh... Never mind, not your problem. Anyway, tell me, Roz, why are you here so early?"
Roz looked back at her plants.
"I’m checking the state of the berries. Some are ready to harvest. Others need more time."
"Wow, how interesting," said Fink sarcastically.
Brightbill, on the other hand, was excited.
"Roz says I’ll get to help harvest them soon!"
"And what’s fun about picking herbs?"
"Humans consider such activities pleasant. Taking care of something and seeing it grow can be gratifying."
Fink furrowed his brow.
He knew that to her, it was just reciting a concept stored in her data base, but the way she said it made him think Roz understood what it meant to care for another being.
It still made him uneasy to digest that, somehow, he had become the father of the little goose.
Roz was learning something from all this, too.
And that made him feel even stranger.
It wasn’t worth thinking about.
He didn’t want to think about it.
He didn’t want to think about how easy everything felt when he was near them.
He didn’t want to think about the fact that, for the first time in his life, maybe he wasn’t alone.
He exaggerated a yawn and stretched again before turning toward the cabin.
"Well, this is boring, I’m going to go back to sleep. I don’t want to be here watching the leaves rot."
Roz just nodded.
"Rest, Fink."
Brightbill gave a couple of little hops of goodbye before returning to his mother.
Fink sighed in false annoyance and walked casually back toward the cabin.
When he was halfway there, the fur on his tail bristled, his body tensed, and, instinctively, he perked up his ears.
Just like every time his instincts told him there was danger.
Strange, nothing was in sight.
Besides, he doubted anyone would come near this corner of the island with the robot around.
He sniffed the air.
And smelled the presence of something unfamiliar.
It wasn’t Roz’s scent, nor Brightbill’s.
Something else was there.
Pretending to keep walking toward the shelter, he turned behind some rocks and climbed them until he reached a high point, hidden among the bushes.
From there, he saw the lynx.
Barely visible through the shadows of the foliage, crouching, waiting for the perfect moment to attack the robot and the goose.
Fink felt a chill run down his spine.
Roz could withstand the damage and even defend herself, but she didn’t have combat instincts.
And Brightbill…
No.
Fink tried to convince himself it wasn’t his problem.
He could stay right there and watch what happened.
He could return to the cabin and pretend he hadn’t seen anything.
He could...
Before he could think it through, his paws were already moving.
Idiot, Fink. You’re an idiot. He cursed himself.