Chapter Text
Paddler had always thought of himself as living a fairly peaceful life.
A wild island. Harsh winters. Predators lurking nearby. The constant struggle for survival. All part of everyday life.
He wouldn’t say he was exempt from all the dangers the forest could offer, but he could at least boast that he had reached the point where he no longer had to spend hours marking territory or patrolling his routes. He had finished building his dam long ago, he didn’t need to hunt for food, and he wasn’t particularly interested in starting a family just yet.
In short, he had far too much free time. And for a busy beaver like him, that was almost inconceivable. Paddler had no intention of spending the spring without some activity to keep his ever-growing teeth in check, so he had taken it upon himself to bring down the largest tree on the island, because—why not?
Paddler figured it would be a good way to pass the time, and besides, the thick trunk’s abundant bark and branches would make the effort worthwhile once the tree finally came down.
The truth was that his life could even become a little tedious, and when he wasn’t repairing his dam, looking for food, or gnawing at the tree, he often found himself watching how the other animals were getting along—again, why not?
The latest news wasn’t particularly exciting. Pinktail had a new litter, Longneck was busy with the breeding season, and he had no reason whatsoever to try talking to Thorn. He knew the bear could become very aggressive at times.
And after all of them, there was Fink—the only red fox he had seen in months.
A first-rate cynic. Sarcastic, proud, solitary. With a particular hatred for squirrels. He spent his time tossing dried pinecones at other prey animals and never used his sharp tongue for anything except hunting or mockery.
Quite annoying, to be honest. Paddler tried to keep a low profile around him because he had no desire to interact with the fox. Unfortunately, that strategy never worked. Fink never missed an opportunity to bother him, and he certainly didn’t hide how amused he was by the beaver’s stubborn determination to bring down the tree. He even encouraged other prey animals to laugh along.
Paddler told himself it was probably because the fox carried an even deeper boredom than his own and, apparently, couldn’t find anything better to do. Annoying him must have been far more entertaining than hunting him, so perhaps he should be grateful for that.
But that didn’t mean his irritation didn’t grow every time the fox called him crazy or weird.
Naturally—because the world could never be that perfect—a new nuisance soon joined the list.
As if his dam breaking during that morning’s storm hadn’t been enough, he soon discovered that something alive—and dangerous—had fallen onto the island.
That morning, Paddler had been gathering branches to repair the hole. He remembered placing one of the last pieces when a tall, strange silhouette ran toward him, shouted something he didn’t understand, and destroyed his dam again. A sudden flash blinded him, and Paddler didn’t have the nerve to do anything except splash water and flee.
Well, that had been a nuisance. And quite rude, if you asked him.
The following days turned into chaos. Too many animals asking questions and gossiping about the monster’s presence quickly became overwhelming.
Whether anyone had seen it.
Whether it would come to devour them.
Whether it even moved.
Whether they thought it was dead.
He might have thought they were exaggerating, since all of them were perfectly unharmed. Rebuilding the dam would be a nuisance, but as long as that thing didn’t touch it again, Paddler had no reason to try attacking the monster.
Though he would certainly give it a piece of his mind if he ever got the chance.
Avoiding the creature became his new favorite pastime. It worked for a couple of weeks before whispers of danger started drifting through the breeze again. The latest thing he heard was that Thorn had chased the threat until it tumbled down a ravine.
Truth be told, Paddler doubted that would be enough to finish the monster off. He had already seen it take a beating before, and he had to admit it possessed admirable resilience. He would have liked to see what it was made of—and how.
With that in mind, Paddler tried to muster a bit of compassion. All he really had were scattered rumors fueled by collective paranoia, and it was obvious that she hadn’t claimed a single victim. She didn’t even have a mouth—how was she supposed to devour anyone? Besides, she could be far too slow at times to be any kind of hunter, and she had openly announced that she was there to help with whatever the others might need. She talked and explained far too much to be dangerous; she didn’t seem to have come with bad intentions.
Clumsy, yes. But for his part, he had no intention of plotting anything against the robot. He had even considered trying to be polite, though she didn’t seem to be looking for friends either.
It didn’t matter. He could tolerate it.
Besides, it couldn’t possibly be worse than dealing with that idiot Fink. Of that, he was certain.
Nothing could be worse than dealing with Fink.
That particular morning was quite hot, so he figured it was going to be an exhausting day. That kind of blazing sun rarely encouraged anything besides rest and shelter, and Paddler had no intention of wasting the day pathetically sunning himself on the wood, so he returned to his tree.
A few minutes after he started cutting into it, a small crowd quickly began to gather. That didn’t surprise him. They weren’t even trying to be subtle with their comments.
“That thing’s gonna fall on you.”
“And squish you to jelly.”
“This guy’s nuts.”
That was fine. A few voices wouldn’t break his concentration, but that wasn’t what made him uneasy.
It was the fact that he still hadn’t heard Fink anywhere.
Where was he? The fox could be lazy, sure, but Paddler knew something was wrong when that jerk didn’t show up to ruin his morning. And Paddler couldn’t imagine him doing anything else that might interest him more. That nuisance barely bothered with anyone but himself and would never willingly involve himself with another creature more than necessary.
So…
“Who is that?” a soft voice asked—the same one that had made that announcement about offering help.
“Paddler? Local laughingstock. Spends every day trying to cut down the biggest tree on the island. He’s obsessed!” The speaker laughed. “Kind of like you and your task hang-up.”
“His… programming!” she reasoned.
Was he losing his mind, or was that idiot actually talking to someone?
And why—
“Hey, Paddler, you’re never gonna finish that!” Fink sang out mockingly.
…Was he with her?
Naturally, Paddler felt the urge to defend himself, if only to hide the surprise of seeing the fox on top of the robot.
“Felling this is not the point. The process! Is the art.”
For some reason, he didn’t want to be rude in front of her. He could be polite too, if he wanted, and—
“And that’s what happens to your brain when you eat wood! Weirdo!”
Forget it.
The animals around them burst into laughter.
“Yeah? Well, you’ll eat those words, vermin…” he muttered, not without noticing how the fox settled himself comfortably beside her again.
Paddler went back to gnawing at the trunk. He gave up trying to imagine what the machine planned to do with so much wood.
There was no point wasting energy trying to figure out why Fink and she were together. In fact, it might even benefit him if she managed to keep the fox occupied somewhere else, so he tried to ignore it, no matter how confusing the whole thing was.
It was probably just Fink realizing he could use the robot’s assistance for something that benefited him.
But that still didn’t explain why a baby gosling was tagging along with them.
Then again, now that he thought about it, he had seen her trying to teach it how to swim earlier that morning.
…
Better to forget about it.
-----
“Are you sure Paddler will not mind us borrowing his home?”
“He doesn’t need to know.”
His jaw quickly tensed, and his muscles began to ache with fatigue. At that hour of the morning the sun wasn’t doing his tired body any favors, and Paddler thought it might be a good time to rest. With no more spectacle to watch, the other prey animals drifted away one by one, and he walked back to his burrow. He collapsed onto the stone inside, exhausted, and closed his eyes.
Only then did he notice there was no shade left to protect him from the heat.
What the—?
He scrambled up and looked around. Could the day get any stranger, that it had to rob him of his home too?
He glanced upward. All he managed to see was the robot’s silhouette carrying off the wooden structure without the slightest hint of discretion.
His burrow.
Hilarious. Very funny.
Well, now Paddler didn’t feel like being polite. But he felt even less like wasting energy on someone who didn’t even understand the food chain, and only because of that did he decide he might give her the benefit of the doubt.
He wasn’t wrong.
Dragging himself tiredly across the clearing, he found them chatting while they built a stone base for—he assumed—their shelter.
Well, in reality, Fink was busy bullying a group of rodents while asking questions about her, and Roz—now he knew that was what he could call her—was the one actually doing the work.
Did that surprise him? Not in the slightest. Paddler figured it only confirmed his suspicions: of course the fox wouldn’t act out of anything but pure selfishness, especially with that machine involved.
The beaver was almost tempted to feel sorry for her.
But she had said she was looking for tasks to complete anyway.
And Paddler couldn’t think of anyone better—or worse—than Fink for that.
He was only there for his burrow. That was all.
He didn’t particularly appreciate them using his home as a model to build their own. He wouldn’t have minded helping the robot if she had asked, but that idiot could never pass up an opportunity to annoy him.
To be fair, Paddler had to admit that Fink was being incredibly patient with her. If he didn’t know him better, he might have thought the fox was actually growing close to the robot.
But that was impossible.
And obviously ridiculous.
Fink becoming friends with a machine. It sounded like the beginning of a terrible joke Paddler wanted no part in.
Yes… he wasn’t eager to witness one of the fox’s schemes again. He could come back for his burrow later.
He might as well reinforce his dam first. Just in case. A splash of cool water would do him good, and he wouldn’t even have to work to find materials—the mess Roz had been making all over the island had left plenty of loose branches lying around.
Well, it was strange to think of her as someone who even had a normal name. “ROZZUM 7134” didn’t suit her attitude at all. It sounded far too rigid, bland, artificial. Much like her nature: she spoke in a very strange sort of jargon, had no interest in hunting or defending herself, and knew absolutely nothing about life in the wild.
“His programming.” What in the world did that even mean? And she had said it in such a soft, cheerful, confident tone, as if she had just discovered a concept that was difficult for others to understand. She thought in her own terms because she had no real reference for the environment around her. She was far too innocent and naïve.
Would she ever leave the island? Paddler knew animals well enough to understand that the label of “monster” wouldn’t disappear anytime soon. Bored prey animals like him could afford not to worry about danger, but Roz was considered a significant threat. She hadn’t even spent a few weeks on the island yet, and she was already dirty, bruised, and scratched.
“I do not know my origin point.”
She didn’t even seem to know where she had come from. That was troubling.
Almost as troubling as the fact that he was worrying about her.
It was simple pity. That was all.
Though deep down, he hoped that fox wasn’t plotting something in that head of his.