Chapter Text
Private Broden Fink's dæmon was some sort of wild dog-- striped, square-jawed, and stiff tailed. Fox-sized, with dark eyes that glittered bitterly in the flashes of artillery fire and flare-light that lit up the night.
Private Adelaide Fink was just as inscrutable as her human; her body language was like no dog Holder had ever met at least. She prowled at Broden's heels with stiff-legged aggression, and often punctuated his words with what sounded like a deep-timbred combination of a growl and a hiss.
DuPont was the one who finally did the asking one mission after drawing the short straw while they were on their way to a secluded beach landing. "So, what exactly is she?" he said casually, smoothing the fur on his Genet-dæmon's tail where it wrapped around his neck. Ismerie herself twitched her narrow nose and looked askance at her squad-mates, who were sitting across from them in the narrow boat.
Fink looked to Adelaide, who yawned, opening her jaws impossibly wide and revealing intimidating rows of very large teeth.
Ismerie, nonplussed and unthreatened, folded her paws under her chest and slowly blinked at her from her place on DuPont's shoulder.
"We're a Thylacine," Fink shrugged after a moment, pausing the writing he had been doing in an effort to keep his mind off of the proximity of the ocean and the tiny size of their vessel. When there was no spark of recognition from DuPont, he continued. "You know. A Tasmanian wolf? Tasmanian tiger?"
"An Australian creature then?" DuPont propped his chin up on his hand, and Ismerie jumped down from his shoulder and tentatively approached, whiskers twitching.
"Yeah. We happen to be." Fink snapped his journal shut. "And I didn't think we'd be so interesting. I never asked you what your ferret-cat was, did I?"
Holder leaned forward from his post at the motor of the small skiff. "Don't take it the wrong way, brother. We just want to know more about you, is all. Is that so bad?"
Ismerie touched her nose to Adelaide's, who (belying her human's obvious irritation) had bemusedly lowered her blocky snout at the genet's approach. At the same time, Fink pointedly looked up at the sky, where an albatross wheeled overhead-- farther and higher than any normal dæmon could usually fly.
Holder flashed an easy smile. "Lola's just keepin' eyes on the horizon and the weather in 'er feathers. Ol' sailor's habit."
"Bloody fucking unnerving, if you ask me," Adelaide rumbled under her breath. Ismerie flicked her ear and cast a look back to DuPont, who shrugged.
Holder obviously overheard, but seemed unruffled. His Albatross-dæmon coasted ahead of them, her massive, narrow wings seemingly motionless as they cut through the air. He took a drag on his cigarette and sat back against the wall of the boat, resting his elbows on his kit bag.
DuPont turned back to look at him. "She can fly very far," he said mildly.
The corner of Holder's mouth quirked. "My mother always told me I had witch blood in me."
"You're full of shit," Fink called from the bow of the boat.
Holder just chuckled. "Maybe, but the proof soars up there, don't she?"
At this, the Albatross-dæmon angled her wings and dove-- swooping down until her wingtips skimmed the crest of their wake, and she kept pace side-by-side with the skiff. "You're fibbin' again, dear heart," she chided, rolling over Holder's head and plucking at his hair with her beak. He lazily swatted at her, only for her to clip his ear with a wing-tip.
DuPont and Fink exchanged a look.
Lola tilted her wings and moved forward until she was level with the two in the front of the boat. "He is full of shit," she laughed freely, voice carrying clearly over the wind and the waves. "If you really want to know, ask Jon about the storm." With a few heavy flaps she launched herself up higher into the air and away from the turbulence near the water's surface.
"Storm?" It was DuPont who spoke, but four pairs of eyes looked back at Holder, who flicked the last of his cigarette out into the water.
"There isn't much to it," Holder said, carefully choosing his words. "We were out on the water and got caught out in a storm. Lola was flying high, then the wind shifted and took her."
---
He did not tell them that the storm was a hurricane-- that it was a wall of cloud and wind and rain that looked like the face of a God as it bore down on them and their crew. He did not tell them about their desperation, because he knew that the only way to survive on open water in a vessel like theirs was to run to the Eye and pray to every spirit and deity you knew that you could make it through to the clear sunlight on the other side.
He did not tell them that Lola ignored his pleading and took to the wing herself-- knowing damn well that they were the only ones onboard who had even the slimmest chance in hell of figuring out which way to go-- knowing they were the only ones with wings.
He did not tell them how far she was taken-- because there were no words to describe the pain they felt as, in an instant, the two of them were torn miles apart. There were no words to describe the sickness and anguish that took root as the bond between them stretched and stretched and stretched until finally it gave. He did not tell them about how he thought for sure their bond had snapped-- how he had staggered like a zombi on the deck of his ship, freezing despite the island heat-- how his crew eyed him with pity and disgust and distrust.
He did not tell them how it had taken days for him to even realize that Lola, his Dolores, was still out there and looking for him; and how even after that realization it had taken days for them to find each other. Lola, half-falling through the air, feathers bent and broken and bleeding golden Dust-- Lola, falling into his arms where he barely managed to catch her. Lola, digging her sharp beak into his chest until her preening was biting and drawing blood because even burrowing under his skin wouldn’t let her be close enough, but it didn't matter– the two of them did not care because they were here, they were alive, they were together, and they were whole--
--even if they were forever changed.
---
Holder blinked back to the present: to the others searching his face and measuring his words. Ismerie had crawled into DuPont's lap, and his hands were buried in her dappled silver fur. Adelaide and Fink stared at him openly, scrutinizing him.
"You're not Severed, are you?" Fink asked this time, his voice rougher than usual with some unnamed emotion. At the word, DuPont stiffened.
"No, no no no no." Holder waved a dismissive hand. "No, not Severed. Just…separated."
Fink nodded and busied himself again with his journal-- tapping his pencil against the page.
"You are... alright?" Ismerie spilled from DuPont's lap and put a delicate paw on Holder's bag. Her eyes searched his face.
"We're good, Izzie," Holder said easily. "It happened a long time ago, and we're fine. Ended up being dead useful."
DuPont shifted. "We have seen what it is like. Severing." He twisted his hands together and stared down at his boots. "I know it is not the same, but I am sorry you went through that."
Holder nodded. "I've seen it too, and I thank the gods and the spirits every day that that was not us."
Ismerie's fur smoothed a bit and she jumped back up to nuzzle against DuPont's neck.
They spent the rest of the ride to the shore in silence.
