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Bodies have memories. Even the pieces of bodies, their donors dead and gone to scavengers or mushrooms, have memories. So while Pin explores the forest outside of the city and finds it familiar, other parts prickle with the memory of cold, of snow, of more rocks and different kinds of trees. The other piece of him, the part that hadn’t existed until Occtis had given him a name, the part that had never been a fox, that had been shaped such by the body he’d been called into, finds the forest as new and strange as everything else he’s experienced in his short existence.
Pin’s button eyes take in the world in unblinking swathes of color as he moves through the forest, sometimes with all four feet on the ground, sometimes, when he forgets himself, in a form as quick as wind and light as air. He sees the bright green of life, the same color as the liquid in the flasks that his Maker keeps on his belt, all around him. There are mushrooms with their brilliant white networks under the ground, echoing the roots of trees, both sending messages to each other and to the world around them. Even the brown corpse of a sparrow, nearly the same color as the leaves it lays on, is alive with specks of green as insects do their work.
And the smells! Smells are a completely new language for Pin to learn, a language that this body is teaching him. The layered smell of leaf mold, the warm, sticky scent of berries ripening in the sun, the dusty, delicious scent of rabbits and voles. Indeed, the body recognizes the smells of many good things to eat in these woods, for all that the body does not feel hunger or thirst, does not need to satisfy itself in that way.
The wind shifts and suddenly there is another smell, a scent that sends the body running without Pin telling it to do so. All of the parts of the body are frightened, even as the part of Pin that is Pin, that has never been a fox, sorts through what the smell actually is. Musk, rich and deep, somehow conveying size, so much bigger than him. A hot, wet smell that brings with it the image of teeth, long and sharp. The body remembers pain that Pin has never felt, the pain that comes before the long darkness. The body is so very, very afraid. That’s why it runs.
But Pin is not afraid.
The dead have senses that the living do not, and while they have nothing to do with scent or sight or taste, Pin, incarnate in a body, experiences this sixth sense as all three. Underneath the musk and damp, there is a scent that’s a bright, brilliant blue, sharp and cold on the tongue like the snow Pin has never felt, all overlayed with the faintest wash of green, a memory of having once lived. A spirit. Pin is being chased by a spirit, or something very much like, and he has no need to fear their kind.
There’s no reason for Pin to keep running now that’s he’s identified the source of the body’s fear, but he does, if only for the joy and novelty of it. When he finally stops, it’s from curiosity. What exactly has been chasing him all this way? He turns to see, only to be pounced upon by something much larger than him.
If Pin was only a fox, then he might have been in trouble. Instead, he turns insubstantial for a brief instant, slipping out from underneath the creature on top of him and reappearing beside it, taking the creature in with big button eyes. He’s huge, compared to Pin’s lithe form at least, all gray and brown fur, save for one paw which is a swirling, spirit blue. There’s something odd about him that Pin can’t place for a minute. Not the paw. There are straps on his legs, leather across his back and cloth around his neck. Clothes. The creature is wearing clothes.
Wolf, Pin’s body tells him as Pin takes in the teeth and claws. Hunter. Danger. Run run run. Run and hide.
Pin plants his feet and remains still as the wolf realizes that Pin’s no longer underneath him and stands up to his full height. For a moment the two of them regard each other, each taking the other’s measure.
“You’re not going to run?” The language of the wolf is sniff and growl, ear flick and tail wag, all with an undercurrent of another language entirely, one Pin knows well.
“I wanted to see who you were,” Pin answers in yips and barks, all underlaid with the language of the once intangible.
“Curiosity is the death of both people and beasts. But that time has come and gone for you. You have nothing to fear from me, fox made of foxes.” The wolf takes a step forward and begins to circle Pin as he speaks. “I am Wulfric, Companion of Kattigan Vale, summoned from the earth and from the depths of his own heart. Together we walk.” Wulfric breathes in Pin’s scent, then sneezes, sitting down. “Well, when he has not drunk himself insensate anyway.”
Pin watches Wulfric circle him and feels the one who made him watching though his unblinking eyes, a familiar, comforting presence. “My Maker is Occtis Tachonis, and he sewed my body together from fox upon fox upon fox, calling me forth to inhabit it by his own blood and the twist in the loop of the cycle of life and death, by the sign of infinity standing upright.” He flicks his tail and walks forward to brush against Wulfric’s legs. A bold gesture for a first meeting perhaps, but something about the wolf in front of him makes him feel bold “And I could walk with you, if you don’t want to walk alone.”
Wulfric’s tail wags against the forest floor as his jaw drops open in a grin. “I would rather run.”
That moment leads to a near daily routine, the two of them meeting in the forest, hours passing by in a blur of running and chasing, hiding and seeking, the play wrestling of young animals punctuated by occasional rests in the patches of sunlight that filter through the trees, Wulfric’s large form curled around Pin’s smaller one.
“You should bring your Maker here,” Wulfric says during one of their resting times. The sun is low in the sky, shading towards dusk. “To meet my Companion. It would do him good, I think. He is lonely, that is what drew me from his heart in the first place, and while he says I am all he needs, I know it for a lie.”
Pin considers this. Is Occtis lonely? It’s true that he seems to have few friends that he has seen, save for Thaisha, who had called Pin “the cutest abomination of nature” that she had ever laid eyes on, which had caused Occtis to chuckle. “I can try,” is what he finally says. “But he usually stays in cities.”
“And Kattigan rarely leaves the forest,” Wulfric says. “Still.” He lays his muzzle briefly on Pin’s back. “You are welcome here, with or without the one who made you.”
Pin goes to reply— then yips in surprise when he finds himself in his Maker’s bedroom, the plush quilt of the bed underneath his paws instead of grass and leaves.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Occtis is sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. It’s a posture that Pin knows well from the short time he’s been incarnate. He pads across the bed and licks Occtis’s hand until the young man begins to pet him. This close, he can hear his Maker’s heart. It’s rabbit fast, prey run to near exhaustion, but the longer he pets Pin, the more the frantic beat begins to slow.
“So much is happening,” Occtis says quietly, his voice shaking “So much, so fast. It might work. It might not. We can’t know until it happens, and that’s days from now—”
His Maker’s heart begins to speed up again. Pin wiggles out from under Occtis’s hand to lick his face.
“Pin! Pin—” Occtis huffs out a sound that could be a laugh as he fends Pin off, flopping back on the bed. “All right, all right, I’ll stop!”
Pin gives the quietest of yips, satisfied, before curling up on his Maker’s chest the way he likes, a tiny, soothing weight. After a moment, Occtis begins petting him once more.
“I keep seeing you in the forest,” Occtis says. “Playing with the big dog. He looked like he was having fun.”
Pin sneezes a laugh. “He’s a wolf, not a dog,” he says even though he knows Occtis can’t understand him. Wulfric is going to find this so funny when he tells him later.
“I bet you were having fun too. It must be nice, just to be able to play and not worry about anything.”
“I worry about you,” Pin says with a whine. “You should come with me next time. We can all play together.”
Occtis lets out a long sigh. After a while his hands only rest on Pin’s back as his chest rises and falls in a gentle rhythm. He’s fallen asleep in his clothes again, not for the first time this week. Whatever he’s been doing is wearing him out. Maybe it’ll be over soon. That’s what he had said, wasn’t it? Whatever is upsetting Occtis will happen or not happen, and then he’ll be happier.
The dead, even the reanimated dead, do not dream. They do, however, remember. Pin plays the memory of his days with Wulfric over and over again until the sun rises.
————
“Pin? Pin, have you stolen my cravat again?”
Pin, hiding under the bed with the cravat in his mouth, says nothing of course. If he could speak to Occtis in the way that humans spoke to each other, this would be a lot easier. He could just say, “Maker, my (untranslatable word describing the deep bond between spirits) Wulfric says that he wears clothes like his Companion’s to show that Kattigan is his. I want your clothes so that people know you’re mine.” And also because it would be nice to look like Wulfric in some way, but Occtis doesn’t need to know that part.
There’s the sound of snapping fingers, and then Pin is on top of the bed, cravat still in his mouth. Occtis sighs and holds out his hand. “I don’t have time for games, Pin. If you would—”
Pin drops the cravat into Occtis’s hand and whines, ears flattening.
“There’s just a lot to do today, that’s all, and this is the third time this week you’ve run off with that particular item of clothing. I’m not mad at you,” Occtis assures him as he finishes dressing, reaching out to stroke the top of his head. “In fact, I got you something.” He reaches into the pocket of his coat. “Now hold still.”
Pin holds as still as a statue as Occtis ties something around his neck, then picks him up and steps in front of the bedroom’s full length mirror. “There. What do you think?”
Pin stares at himself in the mirror, button eyes unblinking as he looks at the scarf Occtis has tied around his neck. It’s purple, like his eyes and the marking on his flank. Like the inner lining of his Maker’s coat. He wiggles in delight, licking Occtis’s face.
“Ack, Pin!” Occtis chuckles. “I guess you like it. Maybe now you’ll stop stealing my things?” He scratches Pin behind the ears and goes quiet, the mirth of a second ago falling off of his face, his gaze distant. Pin settles down, letting out a quiet whine when he hears his Maker’s heart start racing again.
“Today’s the day,” Occtis says softly. “Where everything works, or nothing does. I might need you as a distraction if something goes wrong. Until then—”
Occtis sends Pin away rarely, letting him roam where he pleases when he’s not on his shoulder or curled around his neck. The experience feels like what Pin imagines blinking would be like. One moment he’s being held in Occtis’s arms in their bedroom, the next he’s on his Maker’s shoulder in a place that’s utterly unfamiliar. He doesn’t recognize the sight or smell of anyone in the room, save for one. He leaps down from Occtis’s shoulder, feet not even touching the floor until he reaches Wulfric.
“Look!” Pin yips, pouncing as Wulfric rolls onto his back. “He gave it to me this morning!”
“It looks good on you,” Wulfric says, licking Pin’s face.
“Well would you look at that.”
Pin looks up at the person speaking and knows who he is immediately. He’s wearing the same clothing as Wulfric, after all, and his scent is all over him.
“You out there making friends without me?” Kattigan Vale says this with a chuckle and a smile.
“That’s why Pin wanted to wear the scarf,” Occtis says softly with a smile of his own, anxiety leaving his face for a moment.
Things turn more serious soon after that, their playful reunion cut short. Still, there’s enough time for Pin and Wulfric to make plans.
———
Pin tugs on Occtis’s sleeve for the forth time that morning.
“Pin, I need to study this,” Occtis says, hunching further over his book. “It’s very important.”
It’s been days since the failed escape and the immediate aftermath, bringing more stress and worry in its wake. It’s been all Pin can do to nudge Occtis to eat and complain, yipping and stomping his feet, when it’s past time for him to go bed. Pin had presumed that, with the thing that his Maker had been worried about having come and gone, that things would go back to normal. Yet, instead of less stress in his Maker’s life, there is suddenly more.
Pin looks to the study window, then tugs on his sleeve again.
“You can go for a walk on your own, you don’t need me.”
“Just an hour,” Pin whines futilely.
Occtis holds up his other hand, as if to snap his fingers, then lets out a heavy sigh. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Pin just keeps staring until Occtis closes his book.
“A short walk,” his Maker says firmly. “And then I’m going back to studying.”
Outside, Pin leads the way, occasionally checking on Occtis, who is not navigating the woods as easily as Pin can, having to contend with bushes and tree roots in a way Pin simply doesn’t. Thankfully, they don’t have to go terribly deep into the woods to get to the clearing that Wulfric had picked out for this meeting, a sunny spot with a large, fallen tree perfect for sitting on.
Pin smells the two of them before he sees them of course, leather and musk a round, rich smell in Pin’s nose, the cool taste of Wulfric’s spirit nature bright on his tongue. There’s another scent as well, one that Pin has smelled faintly before on Thaisha from time to time, one that’s sharp and strong enough now to make Pin sneeze. Alcohol.
“Well look who’s here!” Kattigan greets Pin when he scampers into the clearing. He’s leaned up against the fallen tree, his grin wide and easy. “Wulfric, it’s your little friend!”
Pin walks up to Kattigan, not having properly introduced himself before and sits neat as you please, feeling Wulfric flop down next to him.
“Did you bring him?” Wulfric asks.
“He’s right behind me.”
“Hello there.” Kattigan holds out a hand for Pin to smell, as if Pin wasn’t perfectly acquainted with his scent already. Still, Pin obliges him, letting out a happy yip when Kattigan scratches behind his ears. “You’re a friendly little guy, aren’t you?”
Pin twists around to lick Kattigan’s hand, tasting alcohol and loam.
Kattigan chuckles. “Your boss as friendly as you? We didn’t get much of a chance to chat. Not that I’m a big talker really.”
There’s a rustling from the nearby trees and brush, the sound of twigs snapping. “Pin? Did you come this way? I don’t move as fast as y—” A sudden crash interrupts Occtis’s words, punctuated by a sound not unlike a fox’s cry.
Pin’s with his Maker in an instant, moving fast as thought to where Occtis is sprawled on the ground, his right foot caught in between two tree roots. Pin whines, licking Occtis’s face until he opens his eyes, groaning.
“I’m fine, Pin, it’s all right.” Occtis sits up, wincing. “At least no one else saw that.”
“Well, isn’t this a surprise?” Kattigan’s voice rumbles like an oncoming storm. Pin hadn’t even heard him approach. “Fancy meeting you out here. Didn’t strike me as the walking in the woods type.”
Pin feels Occtis stiffen beside him. “Hello, Kattigan,” he says, his voice tight. “Pin was very insistent that I walk with him today.”
“Is that so?” Kattigan tilts his head ever so slightly to regard Wulfric, who silently walks over to Occtis’s right side and lays down, as if to give the man someone to lean on. Kattigan shrugs and kneels down to regard Occtis’s foot. “Gonna need better boots if you’re going to make that a habit.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Occtis says, his words clipped. He tugs at his right foot and lets out a hiss of pain.
“Hold still.” Kattigan places his hands on Occtis’s leg. “You’re just wedging it in further. Let me just—”
Occtis lets out another high, foxlike sound of pain when Kattigan frees his foot, a sound that Pin can’t help but echo, ears flat against his skull.
“It’s all right,” Wulfric tries to reassure him. “Kattigan will take care of him.”
“It’s not all right,” Pin whines, feeling wretched even as Occtis’s hand finds its way into his fur. “I brought him out here to make friends, not get hurt!”
“There we go,” Kattigan says softly, as if to an injured animal, his hands trailing downward to Occtis’s ankle. “Oh, that’s already beginning to swell, I can feel it.”
“I believe I may have suffered an injury to the ligaments surrounding the ankle,” Occtis says, his voice strained and his eyes glassy.
“And here I thought you went and sprained it.” Kattigan frowns. “I can maybe do a little something, but I’d need to get that boot off first.” He reaches for a knife on his belt. “Just how attached are you to this these? Well off lad like you, you probably got another five pairs like it at home.”
“Just one pair actually, in case something happened to these, but do what you need to do,” Occtis says, his gaze still glassy and distant as Kattigan begins to cut the leather. “I’m not rich, you know.”
“Could have fooled me.” Kattigan gives a nod towards Occtis. “Your clothing and all.”
Occtis sighs. “As eighth in the line of House Tachonis, my father has given me a place to live that’s well out of the way of those heirs that he’s deemed more worthy of his attention. and a monthly stipend, which I would rather spend on things that aren’t clothing. I take care not to get blood or embalming fluid on my person, and I am very good at sewing.”
“Consider me corrected.” Kattigan eases the boot of off Occtis’s leg, revealing a swollen ankle mottled with bruises that are already deepening towards purple. Kattigan reaches into a pouch on his belt and produces a tin of sharp smelling salve that glows a faint green in Pin’s spirit sight as Kattigan smears it on his hands. “All right, now this is going to hurt until it hopefully doesn’t.”
“Hopefully?” Occtis asks, then draws in a deep, pained breath when Kattigan lays his hands on him, his own hands clenching in both Wulfric’s and Pin’s fur.
Kattigan begins to murmur something, words in a language that Pin doesn’t know, his hands going from faint green to a color just shy of golden, like sunlight on leaves.
Occtis blinks, looking present for the first time in several minutes. “You know magic?”
Kattigan nods as he rubs the salve into Occtis’s skin. The bruising begins to fade, purple to red to yellow as the swelling subsides. “Little stuff. Nothing that’ll put blood back into a body once it’s lost or mend a bone larger than a finger. Should be enough for this.” He takes his hands away, and only Pin hears the small sound that Occtis makes when he does, like how Pin himself whines when he wants his Maker to keep petting him. “How’s that feel?”
Occtis flexes his foot back and forth, then around in a circle. “It’s stiff, but it no longer hurts.” He looks up at Kattigan. “Thank you.”
“Just glad I could help,” Kattigan says, rubbing the back of his neck before clapping his hands together. “Well, should probably get you home.” And, so saying, he scoops Occtis up into his arms.
Occtis makes a sound very much like eeep as he instinctively puts his arms around Kattigan’s neck. “Oh, I uh—” His face begins to turn red, just like when he reads that book he keeps under his pillow. Now that Pin thinks about it, that book has a cover very similar to the scene he’s looking at now, a strong, rugged looking man carrying a smaller, more willowy one.
“Well, you should probably stay off that ankle as much as possible until at least tomorrow,” Kattigan says. “And even if you could walk, you wouldn’t want to walk through these woods with just one boot. So just point me in a direction.”
“I’m— not sure actually. Pin?”
Pin obediently begins to lead the way, Wulfric beside him.
“It’s lucky that I was even in this part of the woods,” Kattigan says after several minutes of silence. “Wulfric practically herded me out here this morning. Almost like he knew you would be here.” He chuckles. “Good thing too. Who knows how long you’d been laying there otherwise?”
“Yes,” Occtis says faintly. “Who knows?”
When Pin looks back at him, his face is still red.
It doesn’t take nearly as long to walk back to the house as it did to get to the clearing. Even with Occtis in his arms, Kattigan moves quickly and easily through the trees, barely disturbing the ground that he walks on. In hardly any time at all, they’re back at the stone dwelling that Occtis and Pin call home, a modest four room cottage.
“Nice place,” Kattigan comments as he brings Occtis inside. The main living area is sparsely furnished, but what furnishings there are are of good quality. There are plants hanging in several pots near the windows, all gifts from Thaisha, one of the few bits of decoration besides the rugs on the stone floor.
“Thank you,” Occtis says as Kattigan lowers him into a chair near the hearth. With a gesture, the logs in the grate burst into sudden life. “Can I offer you something to eat or drink?” With another gesture, a purple skeletal hand appears and starts opening cabinets at Occtis’s direction. “I don’t have anything fancy...”
“I never turn down food, and I’m not picky,” Kattigan says, settling himself in a chair across from Occtis.
Pin spends a brief time in Occtis’s lap before moving aside to make space for a plate of cheese and grapes. He curls up on the hearth rug, making himself small. A moment later, Wulfric turns away from the bowl of meat scraps he’d been offered to settle down beside Pin, grooming him with his large, wet tongue.
“Your Maker is rubbing off on you,” Wulfric says. “You taste anxious.” He licks Pin’s ears until they stop laying flat. “It’s turned out all right. Look at them. They’re talking and sharing food. Humans love doing that together.”
Pin doesn’t need to breathe, strictly speaking, but he sighs anyway. He still feels like he messed up, leading Occtis into a situation that had gotten him hurt. But Wulfric’s right. He hasn’t heard Occtis talk this much in days, and Kattigan seems to be enjoying himself as well, both of the humans trading stories and occasionally laughing. Maybe it really is all right. He relaxes for the first time since he heard Occtis’s pain filled cry, uncurling and licking Wulfric’s face. “Thank you.”
“I really should go,” Kattigan says hours later, getting up from his chair. “Are you going to be all right? I can carry you to your bedroom if you want to lie down or something.”
Occtis blushes. “I can— uh, I can manage, but thank you.”
Kattigan grins. “Just thought I’d ask.”
Wulfric gets up from the hearth rug with a yawn and a stretch, rubbing his cheek against Pin’s as a goodbye before going to stand by Kattigan, who puts a hand on Occtis’s shoulder.
“Except for the part where you hurt yourself, I really enjoyed today. Like, more than I’ve enjoyed a day in a while.”
“Likewise,” Occtis says, covering Kattigan’s hand with his own. “We could— do this again sometime? Without the ankle injury hopefully.”
“And perhaps with some wine and proper boots,” Kattigan agrees with a chuckle. “Until then.”
Pin hops up into Occtis’s lap once Kattigan leaves. Occtis reaches down to pet him, looking into his button eyes. “Pin, did you conspire with Wulfric to make sure Kattigan and I met today? Is that why you pulled me away from my book?”
Foxes bodies aren’t built for nodding. Pin yips instead, just once, and rolls onto his back.
“Oh Pin,” Occtis says softly, gathering Pin into his arms. “Thank you.”
———
Pin smells Wulfric before he can see him, just like always, but it’s still a surprise when he jumps through Occtis’s open study window nearly a week after he’d last seen him, one of Occtis’s boots in his mouth and with a package tied to his back. Pin lets out a yip, jumping down from Occtis’s shoulder and brushing against Wulfric’s legs. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you!”
“I missed you too.” Wulfric sets the boot carefully down at Occtis’s feet and lays down so that Pin can jump onto him. “We were hunting, Kattigan and I, and then he was working on something. You’ll see.”
“Hello, Wulfric.” Occtis bends down and picks up the boot. “My boot from the forest? Kattigan repaired it for me?” He runs one gloved hand over the leather. “That was thoughtful of him.”
Wulfric thumps his tail against the floor and turns his head to indicate the package on his back.
“Is this also for me?”
Wulfric keeps thumping his tail while Pin nips at the package strings.
“All right, let me just—” Occtis unties the package and sets it on the table to open it as Pin leaps back onto to his shoulder to see better.
The boots in the package are similar to the style of Occtis’s regular boots, save that they’re shorter and the dyed black leather not as fine. As Occtis turns one boot over in his gloved hands, Pin can see that the soles are textured, not smooth. So he won’t slip on tree roots and fallen leaves so much, Pin supposes. Then the realization hits him and he yips with excitement, jumping down from the table to prance around Wulfric.
“Your Companion gave my Maker clothing! Does that mean he wants people to know that Occtis is his?”
Wulfric sneezes a laugh. “I don’t know that it works that way for humans. But I do know that Kattigan spent many hours on those boots instead of sleeping. Maybe even as many hours as he worked on that note. Spelling is not his strength.”
“Note?” Pin looks up to see Occtis reading a piece of paper, a blush creeping up his neck as he does so. When Pin leaps up onto his shoulder to try and read it, Occtis lets out a strangled little squeak, quickly folding the note and tucking it into the book he had been reading before closing it.
“Down, Pin.” Occtis says as he reaches for the boots on the table. “I’d like to try these on. And then what would you say to a nice walk in the woods?”
Pin lets out a bark of joy and scampers for the door, Wulfric close behind him.