Infinity Smashed: Through the World-Hole
Apr. 4th, 2016 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeThrough the World-Hole
Universe: Infinity Smashed
Word Count: 2500
Summary: Strong-Legs first meets Thomas when he's confused, bedraggled, and stranded in another world.
Notes: This story was prompted bysilvercat17 and paantha, and sponsored by the Patreon crew! This is the very start of Thomas's adventures in Treehouse, when he's fourteen. Handsome Boy is his Pidgin Sign name, and he doesn't meet Raige and M.D. until he's sixteen. More notes at the bottom.
Strong-Legs had first met Handsome Boy outside of Treehouse.
Technically, Strong-Legs should not have been beyond town limits alone. But its labor partner had recently suffered an unfortunately lethal accident, and Strong-Legs hadn't had a chance to make the necessary arrangements for a new partner yet. Besides, it was the middle of the day, so relatively safe. Strong-Legs may have been carrying a heavy load of wood on its back, but its wood saddle had a trick strap that allowed dumping if necessary, so it didn't feel too afraid. And the Chewcarvers had specifically asked for Strong-Legs; it had apparently made a positive impression as delivery laborer.
So perhaps it was foolish, but Strong-Legs liked the Chewcarvers, so there it was, trotting down the slopes with its wood, when it heard a choking, keening sound.
Strong-Legs froze. It had heard a sound like that before. Where? It took a grip on the trick strap, got ready to pull, dump, and run.
There was the sound again. Grating, hitching. It didn't sound like a warning. It sounded more like distress or injury. Sad—and also small. Ah, now it remembered what the sound reminded it of! The squeaky mammal people on its homeland—they made sounds something like that when upset.
Strong-Legs thought of home. It thought of its unfortunate labor partner. It dropped the trick strap and followed the sound as quietly as it could with wood on its back.
The creature making the sound wasn't far. He was curled up in a ball of misery at the foot of a gnarled tree, a squeaky mammal thing with a black crest of hair on his head. At the time, Strong-Legs didn’t know he was male, but later he would become very insistent on the matter. Perhaps he was distantly related to the squeaky tiny things Strong-Legs knew from home, though quite a lot bigger.
He didn't seem to be in a fighting mood. He was dirty, scuffled, and bleeding. His blood was red, just like Strong-Legs's. And like Strong-Legs, he carried a burden on his back—it didn't look a thing like the wood saddle, more a sack with straps, but it was clear he came from a crafting society. Which meant he could probably be communicated with.
He hadn't seen Strong-Legs yet. Could he hear? Surely if he made unhappy noises, he could hear.
“Whoomp?” Strong-Legs asked.
The mammal boy jumped, backed into the tree. Strong-Legs kept its distance, trying not to seem fearsome. It was quite a lot bigger than him, after all. Under normal circumstances, it would've tried not to look so large, but safety trumped etiquette.
“Know Pidgin Sign?” it signed tentatively.
The boy unleashed a torrent of squeaky babble. He pointed at the sky, at the tree, spread his long skinny arms, flailed around.
“I see you have language,” Strong-Legs signed to itself. “Pity it means nothing to me.”
The mammal continued babbling, though more disjointed now, hitching. He pointed at Strong-Legs, flailed, seemed to be breathing far too quickly.
“Oh, look, fresh from the world-holes and all alone,” Strong-Legs signed, flattening its feathers in a hopefully calming gesture. “I come through too. Is very upsetting, yes? And from the sky too! At least my hole was lower down.”
The mammal was keening again.
“I know, I know, it is just the same for me.” Strong-Legs looked around. “Now, what to do with you...”
It didn't want to drop its job—the Chewcarvers were good customers, and Strong-Legs wanted to continue having that relationship. But even in daylight, Strong-Legs couldn't leave the boy to himself like this. As distressed as he was, he'd surely end up in something's belly.
“I will take you with me,” Strong-Legs signed, doing an exaggerated pantomime with wings and neck. “You understand? Follow?”
It took a few tries, but the boy eventually caught on. Thankfully, he only seemed a little battered and upset, not badly hurt, and he even adjusted Strong-Legs's wood saddle, which had gotten off-balance with all the overdone miming. He had clever, dextrous little hands, like the squeakers back home.
“Why, thank you! Such a helpful mammal-thing. Come, follow!”
Strong-Legs made it to the Chewcarvers without further delay or incident and unloaded the wood. When the lost mammal boy saw what it was doing, it rushed to help, taking the sections of trunk and branches and moving it to the pile, while the Chewcarver children milled around, adjusting everything just so.
“New labor partner, Strong-Legs?” asked the Chewcarver family head, and it signed to the boy, “Very dextrous. Good job!”
The mammal boy just stared.
“No, no, he doesn't understand. He fall from world-hole, no Pidgin Sign,” Strong-Legs explained.
“Oh! All alone?”
“Is so, I think.”
“Poor thing. You needn't have come here directly, we understand that things happen. Here.” It added a sack to Strong-Legs's back. “To help it in its citizenry.”
“Thank you! Is very good.” It clicked to the mammal boy to get his attention. “Come, follow!”
At least he understood that!
The mammal boy wasn't as fast as Strong-Legs, but at least he wasn't intolerably slow. Strong-Legs certainly wasn't about to let a stranger ride it, so it let him follow it up the slope, through the flowers, mud, and thick grass of spring. Even though he couldn't understand, Strong-Legs signed on, hoping to be soothing, or at least to get the boy used to the idea of not making predator-attracting noise in the process of communicating.
“We get many, many from world-holes here. From sky, from ground, everywhere. You are not alone, not hardly. I come from a world-hole too—I was very sad.” And for a moment, it was sad again. “But I have a new home now. It can be yours too, maybe?”
The mammal boy sniffed. He still looked desperately unhappy.
“Oh, poor thing. I would groom you and clean you like the little fledglings at home, but I worry you think I am eating you. I am sorry. But look!” It paused, performed looking up at the sky. After a moment, the boy looked up too.
“See? Big blue sky. Warm yellow sun. Like home, yes? I ask many, many people from the world-holes, and many say they too come from worlds with blue skies and one yellow sun. I hope it helps you. It helps me.
“Now, I know little of worlds,” Strong-Legs signed, moving again, and the boy hurried to catch up. “I am young, and not very clever at this. But I have a theory. All things fall down. Rocks roll, water flows, is the way of things. So I think this world is at the bottom. Yes? The holes go down, and we fall down into them. Maybe there are holes that go up, but falling up, that is unnatural. So we fall down, into this world, which is at the bottom.”
The boy wiped his face on his arm and watched Strong-Legs sign. He didn't seem to understand, but at least he seemed to be paying attention.
“Is no way to know, really know. But I try. Wait, stop! Stop!”
It blocked the mammal boy with a wing and he halted, though he looked confused. (Well, as near as Strong-Legs could tell.)
Strong-Legs had automatically gone to the tree-line wall, the layers of carnivorous trees that outlined the Treehouse town perimeter. But while they knew Strong-Legs's scent, and Strong-Legs knew how to navigate them, the mammal boy was a different matter. In winter, maybe, when the trees were sluggish or dormant, they could've gotten away with it, but it was spring. The trees had new growth and blooming, perfumed red flowers. Very dangerous.
“Silly me. You can't go in here. This way, yes, follow close, to the gatehouse! Be careful!”
The 'gatehouse' was really where the tree-line wall thinned, framed by two stout tall trees (the harmless kind), equipped with comfortable platforms and manned by a team of four—three for the skies, one for the ground. There were four gates, all manned the same way, keeping track of those coming in and out. Strong-Legs waved as it arrived.
“Hello, gatekeeper Scout!”
Scout perched up on the edge of the tree “Hello, laborer Strong-Legs. You have a friend!”
“Yes, please, send an all-speaker. He is fresh from a world-hole, new and sad.”
Scout hastily slithered down the pillar and went to fetch an all-speaker, the beings who relied on the deeper, universal languages of the mind to communicate. One of the flying sentries came down to soothe the carnivorous trees, feed them meat and start the process of acclimating it to the new boy's scent—though it would take many tries before they ignored him. Strong-Legs turned its head and craned its neck over its shoulder to take the extra bag from the Chewcarvers in its mouth and hold it out to the mammal boy.
“Here. This is for you, your first gift. When we come through world-holes, we take gifts. Later, when we are citizens in good standing, we give them. Is the way of things, yes? Like children. We feed them, and they feed their children.”
The boy took the sack.
“Good! I give you one too, from me, not the Chewcarvers. First, I must see the labor crier, report my job done. Be good, squeaky lost thing! I hope you will be less sad.”
And it was rude, not to ask first, but the mammal boy looked so forlorn, so like how Strong-Legs had felt when it had fallen through the world-hole, that it couldn't resist. It took his crest of hair, the endearing little black tuft on his head, and gave it a little tug, grooming with teeth and tongue. The mammal boy made an amusing squeaky noise and pulled back.
“I am sorry. That was rude. But now you are nice and clean, and will look your best for the all-speakers. Farewell!”
And while Strong-Legs was sad to say goodbye, it was also relieved. It had done its citizenly duty and helped a newcomer, just as it too had been helped when it was new. Now, hopefully he would be in better hands.
…
“We must do something about that new boy.”
Strong-Legs tried not to shrink in on itself. “Whatever do you mean?”
The Dead-Carrier Beetle and the day healer exchanged glances. They were both highly respected, important members of Treehouse, specialists in the well-being of individuals and community alike. That they had invited Strong-Legs into the Beetle family's home, for nectar and a snack and “an important matter to discuss,” Strong-Legs had been both gratified and alarmed. It liked attention, but not trouble.
Now it sat in the Beetle family's greeting room, on a nice scented pillow and with a nice dish of nectar, and all its fears were confirmed.
“But he has taken a name,” Strong-Legs signed, trying not to look nervous. “Handsome Boy. Is a peculiar name, but he has been very friendly, very devoted to learning Pidgin Sign. A good citizen, yes? Is so?”
“He seems very nice,” Elder Sister signed, “but you remember how challenging it was, the transition. He's not full-grown; he's in transition, like you.”
The healer, Flame Belly, was more blunt. “He didn't know how to bathe. We had to teach him.”
Strong-Legs ducked its head meekly. “Er. Well...”
“We just think a little extra help...” Elder Sister started.
“He needs a helpmeet,” Flame stated, with an emphasis that broached no argument.
Strong-Legs quailed. “Not me?”
“You found him,” Flame signed. “You brought him here.”
“But--”
“You lost your helpmeet and labor partner recently, didn't you? You need someone dextrous, don't you? You come from a communal people, and you're about at the same stage of development. It'll be good for you.”
“But I am only here two seasons!” Strong-Legs protested. “My Pidgin Sign is bad! Oh, I am not ready!”
“Please, Strong-Legs,” signed the beetle.
Strong-Legs stilled. It bowed its head. It could not say no to the sister who had so thoughtfully cared for its deceased partner's remains. “Yes, Elder Sister.”
“Thank you. I think you'll do fine.”
Strong-Legs wished it had their confidence. Nevertheless, Handsome Boy moved in within the day. Which was nice. Strong-Legs had lived with its helpmeet/labor partner since it was new, but now that they were dead… well, Strong-Legs hadn't realized how empty the tree had been without them. Handsome Boy looked nothing like Sharps (who had four legs, a long snout, and an impressive array of claws and armored spikes), but he coincidentally needed a similar amount of living space, which was convenient.
As appropriate, Handsome Boy had been given a number of gifts to get him started—blanket, knife, chopper, spoon, clippers big and small—but even with those and the things he'd brought with him, his room seemed barren and impersonal. His sack-with-straps lay in a corner. A tiny flat picture had been stuck to the wall.
“May I see?” Strong-Legs signed.
When Handsome Boy signed yes, it trotted over, bending low to give it a good look. It looked bent and faded, like it'd been stored improperly for a time, but it still contained a striking image of five mammal people. One of them had no crest at all (how embarrassing!), making it easy to tell apart; the others, Strong-Legs wasn't sure about. The picture was too small, and the mammal people looked too similar from the shoulders up.
“Your people?” Strong-Legs asked, and when he just stared, “you understand? Family?”
He got it. “Yes!” He put his finger to the crestless figure. “Father.” Then the others. “Mother. Brother big. Brother small.”
“Ah! So new, signing so well! Much better than me.” Strong-Legs squinted at the picture. Heights. Perhaps it could remember their heights. It was embarrassing, being unable to differentiate people, even if they did look all the same.
But perhaps asking had been a bad idea; the boy's face was crumpling, like when they'd meet.
“Oh, please, don't be sad! Well, no,” it corrected itself, “you have all right to be sad. I was very sad too, when I came. I am still sad, sometimes.” It crouched down, to be a more polite height for him. It was rude to loom over someone you were trying to comfort. “I wish I could talk better with you. Then I could comfort you better.”
Handsome Boy threw his arms around Strong-Legs's neck.
For a moment, Strong-Legs froze. Among its own people, being grabbed by the neck was a very aggressive act, done during fights and ceremonial mating competitions. But the boy wasn't choking Strong-Legs; he was shaking, making that sad hitching distress sound. And then Strong-Legs remembered the tiny squeaky mammals from home. The babies would cling to the fronts of their mothers, who'd carry them. Perhaps Handsome Boy's people were not far removed.
Strong-Legs curled its neck over and around Handsome Boy's shoulders and wrapped its stubby wings around him as far as they'd go, though it was an uncomfortable position.
“I hope I do this right,” it signed, though he couldn't see it in his position. “When you sign better, you must tell me.”
Suddenly, Handsome Boy pulled away, hastily signing, “Sorry. Permission?”
Ah! He was learning already! “Yes,” Strong-Legs signed. “You have permission.”
And Handsome Boy hugged it again.
Notes: Strong-Legs's theory isn't actually that far off-base, though vastly simplified and would probably frustrate Bobcat to no end. And yes, the tree-line wall is the source of the, “No, those trees are violent” line from Happy Godbirth, and Many Blessings Upon Your Meat. Believe it or not, these trees were a staple of Silver Fern from the very beginning of the old Infinity Smashed drafts, though vastly changed in form; I just only now have been able to devote time to them in story now.
A 'helpmeet' in Treehouse is a combination of roommate, friend, and sometimes a coworker. Their job is to help someone integrate into the community. Not everyone gets a helpmeet when they join up at Treehouse, but a lot of people do—a year and a half after this, Thomas will be M.D., Raige, and Bobcat's helpmeet.
Universe: Infinity Smashed
Word Count: 2500
Summary: Strong-Legs first meets Thomas when he's confused, bedraggled, and stranded in another world.
Notes: This story was prompted by
silvercat17 and paantha, and sponsored by the Patreon crew! This is the very start of Thomas's adventures in Treehouse, when he's fourteen. Handsome Boy is his Pidgin Sign name, and he doesn't meet Raige and M.D. until he's sixteen. More notes at the bottom.Strong-Legs had first met Handsome Boy outside of Treehouse.
Technically, Strong-Legs should not have been beyond town limits alone. But its labor partner had recently suffered an unfortunately lethal accident, and Strong-Legs hadn't had a chance to make the necessary arrangements for a new partner yet. Besides, it was the middle of the day, so relatively safe. Strong-Legs may have been carrying a heavy load of wood on its back, but its wood saddle had a trick strap that allowed dumping if necessary, so it didn't feel too afraid. And the Chewcarvers had specifically asked for Strong-Legs; it had apparently made a positive impression as delivery laborer.
So perhaps it was foolish, but Strong-Legs liked the Chewcarvers, so there it was, trotting down the slopes with its wood, when it heard a choking, keening sound.
Strong-Legs froze. It had heard a sound like that before. Where? It took a grip on the trick strap, got ready to pull, dump, and run.
There was the sound again. Grating, hitching. It didn't sound like a warning. It sounded more like distress or injury. Sad—and also small. Ah, now it remembered what the sound reminded it of! The squeaky mammal people on its homeland—they made sounds something like that when upset.
Strong-Legs thought of home. It thought of its unfortunate labor partner. It dropped the trick strap and followed the sound as quietly as it could with wood on its back.
The creature making the sound wasn't far. He was curled up in a ball of misery at the foot of a gnarled tree, a squeaky mammal thing with a black crest of hair on his head. At the time, Strong-Legs didn’t know he was male, but later he would become very insistent on the matter. Perhaps he was distantly related to the squeaky tiny things Strong-Legs knew from home, though quite a lot bigger.
He didn't seem to be in a fighting mood. He was dirty, scuffled, and bleeding. His blood was red, just like Strong-Legs's. And like Strong-Legs, he carried a burden on his back—it didn't look a thing like the wood saddle, more a sack with straps, but it was clear he came from a crafting society. Which meant he could probably be communicated with.
He hadn't seen Strong-Legs yet. Could he hear? Surely if he made unhappy noises, he could hear.
“Whoomp?” Strong-Legs asked.
The mammal boy jumped, backed into the tree. Strong-Legs kept its distance, trying not to seem fearsome. It was quite a lot bigger than him, after all. Under normal circumstances, it would've tried not to look so large, but safety trumped etiquette.
“Know Pidgin Sign?” it signed tentatively.
The boy unleashed a torrent of squeaky babble. He pointed at the sky, at the tree, spread his long skinny arms, flailed around.
“I see you have language,” Strong-Legs signed to itself. “Pity it means nothing to me.”
The mammal continued babbling, though more disjointed now, hitching. He pointed at Strong-Legs, flailed, seemed to be breathing far too quickly.
“Oh, look, fresh from the world-holes and all alone,” Strong-Legs signed, flattening its feathers in a hopefully calming gesture. “I come through too. Is very upsetting, yes? And from the sky too! At least my hole was lower down.”
The mammal was keening again.
“I know, I know, it is just the same for me.” Strong-Legs looked around. “Now, what to do with you...”
It didn't want to drop its job—the Chewcarvers were good customers, and Strong-Legs wanted to continue having that relationship. But even in daylight, Strong-Legs couldn't leave the boy to himself like this. As distressed as he was, he'd surely end up in something's belly.
“I will take you with me,” Strong-Legs signed, doing an exaggerated pantomime with wings and neck. “You understand? Follow?”
It took a few tries, but the boy eventually caught on. Thankfully, he only seemed a little battered and upset, not badly hurt, and he even adjusted Strong-Legs's wood saddle, which had gotten off-balance with all the overdone miming. He had clever, dextrous little hands, like the squeakers back home.
“Why, thank you! Such a helpful mammal-thing. Come, follow!”
Strong-Legs made it to the Chewcarvers without further delay or incident and unloaded the wood. When the lost mammal boy saw what it was doing, it rushed to help, taking the sections of trunk and branches and moving it to the pile, while the Chewcarver children milled around, adjusting everything just so.
“New labor partner, Strong-Legs?” asked the Chewcarver family head, and it signed to the boy, “Very dextrous. Good job!”
The mammal boy just stared.
“No, no, he doesn't understand. He fall from world-hole, no Pidgin Sign,” Strong-Legs explained.
“Oh! All alone?”
“Is so, I think.”
“Poor thing. You needn't have come here directly, we understand that things happen. Here.” It added a sack to Strong-Legs's back. “To help it in its citizenry.”
“Thank you! Is very good.” It clicked to the mammal boy to get his attention. “Come, follow!”
At least he understood that!
The mammal boy wasn't as fast as Strong-Legs, but at least he wasn't intolerably slow. Strong-Legs certainly wasn't about to let a stranger ride it, so it let him follow it up the slope, through the flowers, mud, and thick grass of spring. Even though he couldn't understand, Strong-Legs signed on, hoping to be soothing, or at least to get the boy used to the idea of not making predator-attracting noise in the process of communicating.
“We get many, many from world-holes here. From sky, from ground, everywhere. You are not alone, not hardly. I come from a world-hole too—I was very sad.” And for a moment, it was sad again. “But I have a new home now. It can be yours too, maybe?”
The mammal boy sniffed. He still looked desperately unhappy.
“Oh, poor thing. I would groom you and clean you like the little fledglings at home, but I worry you think I am eating you. I am sorry. But look!” It paused, performed looking up at the sky. After a moment, the boy looked up too.
“See? Big blue sky. Warm yellow sun. Like home, yes? I ask many, many people from the world-holes, and many say they too come from worlds with blue skies and one yellow sun. I hope it helps you. It helps me.
“Now, I know little of worlds,” Strong-Legs signed, moving again, and the boy hurried to catch up. “I am young, and not very clever at this. But I have a theory. All things fall down. Rocks roll, water flows, is the way of things. So I think this world is at the bottom. Yes? The holes go down, and we fall down into them. Maybe there are holes that go up, but falling up, that is unnatural. So we fall down, into this world, which is at the bottom.”
The boy wiped his face on his arm and watched Strong-Legs sign. He didn't seem to understand, but at least he seemed to be paying attention.
“Is no way to know, really know. But I try. Wait, stop! Stop!”
It blocked the mammal boy with a wing and he halted, though he looked confused. (Well, as near as Strong-Legs could tell.)
Strong-Legs had automatically gone to the tree-line wall, the layers of carnivorous trees that outlined the Treehouse town perimeter. But while they knew Strong-Legs's scent, and Strong-Legs knew how to navigate them, the mammal boy was a different matter. In winter, maybe, when the trees were sluggish or dormant, they could've gotten away with it, but it was spring. The trees had new growth and blooming, perfumed red flowers. Very dangerous.
“Silly me. You can't go in here. This way, yes, follow close, to the gatehouse! Be careful!”
The 'gatehouse' was really where the tree-line wall thinned, framed by two stout tall trees (the harmless kind), equipped with comfortable platforms and manned by a team of four—three for the skies, one for the ground. There were four gates, all manned the same way, keeping track of those coming in and out. Strong-Legs waved as it arrived.
“Hello, gatekeeper Scout!”
Scout perched up on the edge of the tree “Hello, laborer Strong-Legs. You have a friend!”
“Yes, please, send an all-speaker. He is fresh from a world-hole, new and sad.”
Scout hastily slithered down the pillar and went to fetch an all-speaker, the beings who relied on the deeper, universal languages of the mind to communicate. One of the flying sentries came down to soothe the carnivorous trees, feed them meat and start the process of acclimating it to the new boy's scent—though it would take many tries before they ignored him. Strong-Legs turned its head and craned its neck over its shoulder to take the extra bag from the Chewcarvers in its mouth and hold it out to the mammal boy.
“Here. This is for you, your first gift. When we come through world-holes, we take gifts. Later, when we are citizens in good standing, we give them. Is the way of things, yes? Like children. We feed them, and they feed their children.”
The boy took the sack.
“Good! I give you one too, from me, not the Chewcarvers. First, I must see the labor crier, report my job done. Be good, squeaky lost thing! I hope you will be less sad.”
And it was rude, not to ask first, but the mammal boy looked so forlorn, so like how Strong-Legs had felt when it had fallen through the world-hole, that it couldn't resist. It took his crest of hair, the endearing little black tuft on his head, and gave it a little tug, grooming with teeth and tongue. The mammal boy made an amusing squeaky noise and pulled back.
“I am sorry. That was rude. But now you are nice and clean, and will look your best for the all-speakers. Farewell!”
And while Strong-Legs was sad to say goodbye, it was also relieved. It had done its citizenly duty and helped a newcomer, just as it too had been helped when it was new. Now, hopefully he would be in better hands.
…
“We must do something about that new boy.”
Strong-Legs tried not to shrink in on itself. “Whatever do you mean?”
The Dead-Carrier Beetle and the day healer exchanged glances. They were both highly respected, important members of Treehouse, specialists in the well-being of individuals and community alike. That they had invited Strong-Legs into the Beetle family's home, for nectar and a snack and “an important matter to discuss,” Strong-Legs had been both gratified and alarmed. It liked attention, but not trouble.
Now it sat in the Beetle family's greeting room, on a nice scented pillow and with a nice dish of nectar, and all its fears were confirmed.
“But he has taken a name,” Strong-Legs signed, trying not to look nervous. “Handsome Boy. Is a peculiar name, but he has been very friendly, very devoted to learning Pidgin Sign. A good citizen, yes? Is so?”
“He seems very nice,” Elder Sister signed, “but you remember how challenging it was, the transition. He's not full-grown; he's in transition, like you.”
The healer, Flame Belly, was more blunt. “He didn't know how to bathe. We had to teach him.”
Strong-Legs ducked its head meekly. “Er. Well...”
“We just think a little extra help...” Elder Sister started.
“He needs a helpmeet,” Flame stated, with an emphasis that broached no argument.
Strong-Legs quailed. “Not me?”
“You found him,” Flame signed. “You brought him here.”
“But--”
“You lost your helpmeet and labor partner recently, didn't you? You need someone dextrous, don't you? You come from a communal people, and you're about at the same stage of development. It'll be good for you.”
“But I am only here two seasons!” Strong-Legs protested. “My Pidgin Sign is bad! Oh, I am not ready!”
“Please, Strong-Legs,” signed the beetle.
Strong-Legs stilled. It bowed its head. It could not say no to the sister who had so thoughtfully cared for its deceased partner's remains. “Yes, Elder Sister.”
“Thank you. I think you'll do fine.”
Strong-Legs wished it had their confidence. Nevertheless, Handsome Boy moved in within the day. Which was nice. Strong-Legs had lived with its helpmeet/labor partner since it was new, but now that they were dead… well, Strong-Legs hadn't realized how empty the tree had been without them. Handsome Boy looked nothing like Sharps (who had four legs, a long snout, and an impressive array of claws and armored spikes), but he coincidentally needed a similar amount of living space, which was convenient.
As appropriate, Handsome Boy had been given a number of gifts to get him started—blanket, knife, chopper, spoon, clippers big and small—but even with those and the things he'd brought with him, his room seemed barren and impersonal. His sack-with-straps lay in a corner. A tiny flat picture had been stuck to the wall.
“May I see?” Strong-Legs signed.
When Handsome Boy signed yes, it trotted over, bending low to give it a good look. It looked bent and faded, like it'd been stored improperly for a time, but it still contained a striking image of five mammal people. One of them had no crest at all (how embarrassing!), making it easy to tell apart; the others, Strong-Legs wasn't sure about. The picture was too small, and the mammal people looked too similar from the shoulders up.
“Your people?” Strong-Legs asked, and when he just stared, “you understand? Family?”
He got it. “Yes!” He put his finger to the crestless figure. “Father.” Then the others. “Mother. Brother big. Brother small.”
“Ah! So new, signing so well! Much better than me.” Strong-Legs squinted at the picture. Heights. Perhaps it could remember their heights. It was embarrassing, being unable to differentiate people, even if they did look all the same.
But perhaps asking had been a bad idea; the boy's face was crumpling, like when they'd meet.
“Oh, please, don't be sad! Well, no,” it corrected itself, “you have all right to be sad. I was very sad too, when I came. I am still sad, sometimes.” It crouched down, to be a more polite height for him. It was rude to loom over someone you were trying to comfort. “I wish I could talk better with you. Then I could comfort you better.”
Handsome Boy threw his arms around Strong-Legs's neck.
For a moment, Strong-Legs froze. Among its own people, being grabbed by the neck was a very aggressive act, done during fights and ceremonial mating competitions. But the boy wasn't choking Strong-Legs; he was shaking, making that sad hitching distress sound. And then Strong-Legs remembered the tiny squeaky mammals from home. The babies would cling to the fronts of their mothers, who'd carry them. Perhaps Handsome Boy's people were not far removed.
Strong-Legs curled its neck over and around Handsome Boy's shoulders and wrapped its stubby wings around him as far as they'd go, though it was an uncomfortable position.
“I hope I do this right,” it signed, though he couldn't see it in his position. “When you sign better, you must tell me.”
Suddenly, Handsome Boy pulled away, hastily signing, “Sorry. Permission?”
Ah! He was learning already! “Yes,” Strong-Legs signed. “You have permission.”
And Handsome Boy hugged it again.
Notes: Strong-Legs's theory isn't actually that far off-base, though vastly simplified and would probably frustrate Bobcat to no end. And yes, the tree-line wall is the source of the, “No, those trees are violent” line from Happy Godbirth, and Many Blessings Upon Your Meat. Believe it or not, these trees were a staple of Silver Fern from the very beginning of the old Infinity Smashed drafts, though vastly changed in form; I just only now have been able to devote time to them in story now.
A 'helpmeet' in Treehouse is a combination of roommate, friend, and sometimes a coworker. Their job is to help someone integrate into the community. Not everyone gets a helpmeet when they join up at Treehouse, but a lot of people do—a year and a half after this, Thomas will be M.D., Raige, and Bobcat's helpmeet.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-21 02:06 pm (UTC)--Hikaru
EDIT: Never mind, I found it! :D