When the Wild Comes


It had been a bad idea.

His grandfather had warned him about hunting alone and Otabek was the kind of man to listen. Usually. So naturally, the one day that he didn't, things would go to shit. Blessed be the Weaver, and her ill placed, bad sense humor.

He ran as fast as he could with a bow in his hand and a quiver on his back, but the bear led on with a mighty chase. Otabek rounded a worn trail, weaving to the left before he risked a glance back. No bear, though he knew that it was right behind him. He hooked sharply to the side and ducked underneath a craggy overhang. Otabek tried to slow his breathing, but it was hard with the adrenaline that pumped through him, setting his blood on fire.

This is why you never hunt alone- so you don't get caught between a rock and a hard place, literally. Were another man with him, they could have split their attack from two ends, and scared the creature off. The throw of his grandfather's bone dice weren't in his favor, not that they ever were.

A twig snapped to his right, and Otabek went rigid. He took his bow in hand and knocked an arrow, before he pulled the string half-taut. Not an ideal form, but it would do in a pinch. He'd take a pinch over nothing.

Heavy footsteps rose and fell, and he could hear the heavy breath and dripping saliva from the bear's mouth. The Rot, Otabek realized. The bear was sick with it, and that was likely why it'd strayed so far from the forest to the east. They don't get bears around the Steppes often, and when they do, they were never quite right.

Paws dropped like heavy stones, closer and closer and then-

Otabek slung around the corner, pulling his bow string to its limit and let the arrow fly. It missed, flying past the bear's head. Otabek cursed. His aim was always good, even under pressure, but he couldn't help his sweaty palms and the sinking feel that he might not make it out of this unscathed. And that was assuming he'd live.

He knocked another arrow and let it fly. It missed again. The bear let out a mighty roar, agitated, the sound bouncing off the rocks around them, before lurching forward.

Otabek reached back to his quiver to grab another arrow, only to find none, hand clenching around air. He cursed. He cursed himself and he cursed the Weaver above, the Lady Mistress who created everything. But mostly himself.

The bear was wild and angry, saliva foaming at its mouth, eyes mad with anger and hunger. With Rot. Out of options, Otabek scrambled backward across the ground, sticks and stones scratching his hand, his muscles burning at the strain.

It wasn't the bear's fault, Otabek thought. It wasn't its fault that it had no mind left, or anything that it could control. It fed only on its base instincts, and that was to hunt and eat and kill whatever was in its way. Otabek would be an unfortunate casualty.

His back hit a solid stone wall and he cursed again. This would be his end, at the hands of a diseased bear, lost to the back trails of his people. All because he was an obstinate man, who refused to listen to his grandfather.

Weaver above, his death stared right at him, snaggletoothed and with fetid breath.

Otabek uttered a short prayer, not that he was the religious sort, and snapped his eyes shut. He waited. Waited.

There was a loud thud, followed by snarling. Claws shrieked across stone, and then the bear let out a screech. Otabek heard fighting. Ripping and tearing; unearthly sounds from before him. And then they stopped. The bear was silent, but there was something else there. Something else breathing heavily. Feet pattering across the ground.

Otabek opened his eyes.

A giant cat with rippled muscles and long fangs, mouth bloodied as it feasted on the bear. Striped and white as the snow of winter. Tigers were orange, Otabek thought, not white, and they weren't ever found here. Far to the east perhaps, closer to the jungle proper. Not the wide prairie land and hilled valleys of the Steppes.

And yet.

The tiger ate its fill, pulling and tearing at the bear with ease. Otabek shouldn't risk a move. Tussling with a tiger would be twice as worse than with a bear. And so, Otabek sat and watched. Waited.

When the tiger finished, it didn't leave. Instead, it sat on its haunches and began to lick its paws clean. Like there wasn't a bear carcass less than a foot away. Or a human a few paces further, waiting for death.

It looked to Otabek.

Otabek didn't move, didn't think, didn't breathe. The tiger watched him, brilliant green eyes staring back as it considered Otabek. Odd, Otabek thought. Inquisitive, even. It was like the tiger was trying to read him right back.

It went back to licking its paw, seemingly uninterested.

Either Otabek would die, or he wouldn't. He chose to risk it. Otabek stood slowly, pulled the string of his bow taught and slipped the weapon over his shoulder and across his chest.

The tiger stopped once more, turning its large head to watch him.

Otabek stepped closer, hands out and placating. He turned to leave and then-

And then he remembered something else that his grandfather had instilled in him from a young age. How to honor the dead, and to thank them for their sacrifice. He hadn't killed the bear, but he didn't want its spirit to wander the Steppes restlessly either.

Otabek cursed lowly. He might not believe in the mighty Weaver that much, but he did believe in curses. He wasn't willing to put his family at risk.

So he stepped closer to the tiger instead, watching carefully. The beast lifted its head in curiosity, watching back. Waiting.

Otabek pointed to the bear. It was probably dumb to think that the tiger would understand, but there were a lot of dumb things about this entire absurd situation. And really, it was more from Otabek himself, as he tried to keep his demeanor relaxed.

The tiger didn't move, only watched, and so Otabek continued forward.

It was several feet to his right, sitting there coolly as it regarded him. Otabek kept his breathing controlled, though his palms sweated. He turned to the bear. Reaching into a pouch at his waist, he pulled out a handful of ashes kept for just this purpose, throwing them across the carcass.

"A prayer," Otabek said quietly. The tiger leaned forward to listen. Or at least, it seemed that way. Otabek ignored the odd behavior. "Pass on in peace. You have done your job."

It was simple vigil, but effective. He wiped his dusty hand on his pant leg, and then turned to leave. The tiger stood and Otabek paused. But the tiger didn't pounce, it only watched him. Otabek took several steps and the tiger followed. Otabek walked to the end of the path. The tiger trotted alongside.

When Otabek stopped once more, the tiger did as well, falling to its haunches to lick at its paw.

"You're an odd thing," Otabek said to it. The tiger seemed to listen to him, blinking back through long, blonde lashes. "Where did you come from?"

The tiger of course, didn't answer, and Otabek wondered if he was going mad due to his near death experience.

The tiger followed him the entire way home, before disappearing into the night at the sight of Otabek's village.

#

His mother and father were not pleased that he didn't come back with meat. His grandfather didn't say anything; instead he sat at the table and threw his dice, lips tugging downwards at whatever it was that he saw. Otabek felt the disappointment radiate off of his grandfather in waves. It felt worse than anger would have, and Otabek winced everytime he glanced his way.

Dinner was a meager affair. Spiced porridge and baked root vegetables. His mother complained about the lack of meat. He complained about how many arrows he'd lost. And his grandfather still said nothing, eating his fill with an insufferable silence.

"I found a bear," Otabek finally said. Everyone around the table stared at him.

"In these parts?" his mother asked, tone hushed.

"It was wrong," Otabek said. Everyone knew what he meant. "It was killed." Otabek wasn't a good liar, so he skirted the truth. There wasn't any wisdom in worrying his family over a lone tiger in their midst, so he didn't mention it.

As odd as it was, Otabek didn't fear the creature. But his family would and then the village would, and then they would hunt it down. He didn't want that, not after his life had been saved. He owed the tiger that much.

His parents seemed to believed him, turning back to their dinner. His sister stared at him through narrowed eyes, and his grandfather finally said something.

"I trust that you honored him?"

"Of course," Otabek said. "Ashes and all."

His grandfather nodded and dinner was finished in relative silence.

Later that night, Maya caught him outside of his yurt. "So," she said, arms crossed over her chest and mouth tugged into a smirk. "You took down a bear all by yourself?"

"I'm capable," Otabek said to her, but Maya wasn't the kind of person to blindly trust what people told her.

"That's not what I'm implying. I saw you when you left this morning. You only took a bow and a handful of arrows."

Otabek stilled, looking back at her, and he didn't like the triumphant smile that was slapped across her face. Otabek was capable, and she knew that- provided he had full weaponry. His load had been light, because he hadn't planned on going far enough to find anything more than a handful of rabbits.

"Maya-"

"The truth, brother."

Otabek had never been a good liar, but it was worse with her. They weren't just brother and sister, they had shared a womb. They were two halves of a whole. The one and the same. Maya could read him like the back of her hand.

"I nearly died," he said to her. "A tiger killed the bear."

"A- A what?" Maya looked at him incredulously.

"A tiger. I was backed into a corner and I was about to die. It… it saved me."

"And then you killed the tiger," she assumed.

"No," Otabek said.

He didn't like the stare that she leveled him with. "You left a tiger to roam free? Around our village? Beka, it must be rotted itself, otherwise why would it be here?"

Otabek had considered it, but he also knew it not to be the case. "The tiger was of itself," he said to her. "I performed the rites by its side and it did nothing; just sat there, licking his paw. Watching." He paused. "It was an odd creature."

If it were any other person, Maya wouldn't believe him. But he was Otabek, and she believed every word that he said because she knew that he couldn't lie to her. "Odd," she repeated, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"It followed me here, and then it left. It seemed interested in me. It could have attacked, but it didn't."

Maya pursed her lips, gripping her chin as she thought. "What if it's a test? From the Weaver herself?" Otabek gave her a look, and she sighed. "Right, right, you wouldn't believe that. Not that I do either. Grandfather would though."

"Don't tell him, or our parents," Otabek asked her. Maya looked at him seriously, about to answer, but he cut her off. "It saved my life, so I owe it its own."

Maya sighed. "I don't know why, but I believe you."

And then she left him.

#

Otabek went on a proper hunt three days later, with proper gear. A bow strapped to his back and a short sword at his hip. A quiver full of newly fletched arrows and a tiny bottle of poison to dip them in. Just in case.

An hour away from the village, he crossed the well-worn path onto another, only to run into the tiger. It sat to the side of the path, laying across a wide and flat stone outcropping, belly up. Otabek stepped closer, twigs snapping underfoot. The tiger didn't move much, only tilted its head to look at him.

Otabek looked back. "You… are sunbathing," he said, eyes raking along the tiger's body and then, "And male."

The tiger yawned, fangs painting a scary image as his jaw widened. But Otabek wasn't scared, only interested.

"I'm going for a hunt," Otabek said. "I have a family to feed and they weren't happy that I came back empty the other day."

The tiger rolled over onto his belly, watching Otabek with shining green eyes. A calculated gaze, far too knowing for just any animal. He remembered Maya's words. What if it's a test? From the Weaver itself?

Nonsense. But still, there was something odd about the tiger. Not bad, but odd. Enough to be interested. Enough to want to find out more.

"You're welcome to come," Otabek said. He wasn't sure why he offered it, but he did. Then he turned and began his trek further into the back trails of the steps.

The tiger yawned once more, then decided to follow.

#

They build a rapport, Otabek and the tiger.

There was a routine. Otabek would dress himself in soft leather pants and a linen shirt. He would then check and adorn his weaponry. He would walk the familiar path south of his village to where it ended and the back-trails began, and the tiger would wait for him there.

Otabek hunted and the tiger watched. Or helped. Really, it depended on his mood, but the creature was likely the laziest thing that Otabek had ever seen. He preferred to lay in the shade under an outcropping, watching Otabek do all the hard work. But occasionally, he'd join the hunt, provided Otabek share a portion of the meat.

Otabek didn't mind.

It took Otabek a week to name him.

They were sitting in the shade, Otabek's back against a rock. The tiger sat next to him, watching Otabek eat salted jerky and a hard piece of bread.

"Jolbaris," Otabek said to him, around a mouthful of meat. "It means tiger." Then he paused. "No, that's too long. Jolba. Would you like that?"

The tiger cocked his head to the side, like he was confused. Otabek had long since realized that he understood way more than he should. He had stopped questioning it. Otabek didn't really have any friends, so the silent, solid companionship was… nice.

"For a name," Otabek said. "You deserve one. Jolba."

The tiger watched him for a long time and then yawned. He didn't answer and Otabek didn't really expect him to. But then, the creature shifted closer, dropping his head onto Otabek's thigh. Otabek paused and looked down, a piece of jerky locked tight in his fingers. He hesitated, and then he dropped his free hand into the warm scruff at the tiger's neck.

He purred in response, eyes slipping closed as he started to doze.

"Jolba, it is," Otabek said.

#

A month passed.

Otabek and Jolba spend their days hunting. Otabek's family make the observation that he has been more productive than ever before. There was plenty to eat and they sold the extra to friends and neighbors.

And then another month.

Otabek and Jolba still hunt, but Otabek preferred to spend his afternoons lazing about with the tiger lying alongside him. He didn't make friends easily, but it came naturally with Jolba. He told him about his life, his family and everything in between. The fact that Jolba couldn't talk back, probably helped.

The third and the fourth flew by, and the weather started to cool. Otabek started to wear longer sleeves, and if he didn't know any better, he would think it made Jolba depressed.

With the fifth month, the northerners came to his village.

They swept in on well-trained and war-hardened horses, carefully plated armor and long swords. And then there was the largest horse yet, trimmed in gold finery and with it, a Prince. He was as silver tongued, as he was silver-haired, and Otabek didn't trust him from the moment that he spoke.

"I've come seeking help," the Prince said, from atop his mount. He spoke their language well enough, despite tripped syllables and a mispronounced word.

The villagers were wary though. They hung back in the entrances of their yurts, eyes full of distrust and hands on readied weapons. So, Otabek stepped forward.

"With what?" he asked, hand resting gently on his short sword. Not a threat, just out of habit. And to be ready. The Prince's eyes flickered down to his waist and narrowed slightly, but he didn't comment on it.

Instead, he said, "I am Victor Nikifovrov of Rus, and I've come looking for a friend." The way that he said friend, implied that the man he was looking for was anything but. "I was gifted a pet, you see, a tiger. Rare in form and color. He has escaped my palace. I've tracked him south and his trail goes cold here."

Otabek stiffened, hand tightening on the hilt of his aldaspan. But he said nothing.

Victor's blue eyes watched him carefully. "Have you seen such a creature?"

"Tigers are not known in these parts," Otabek said to him. "You would find them to the east, closer to the jungle."

"This tiger wouldn't stray that far from home, I would think," Victor said.

"But if he was gifted to you, then he comes from elsewhere. Would he not want to find his way home?"

Victor cocked his head to the side, and though he smiled, it had a dangerous curve to it. "My pet is an odd one, that is all. And he doesn't know what he wants. All I want is for him to be safe." Then Victor sighed dramatically. "I will leave you be, then, and continue my hunt. If you find my Yuri, our camp is just to the north. I would ask that you don't kill him."

Victor bowed to Otabek as a taunt, but Otabek did not bow back. Victor's mouth tugged into a frown, a tiny little thing, but he was displeased. "Good day then, sir," he said, and then he tugged the reins of his horse to turn around and left the village.

Otabek watched until their horses were out of sight.

The village went back to their normal hustle and bustle, almost as if the strange northerners had never even come, but Otabek remained standing there for a long time.

"You know where he is," Maya said from his right, pressing a gentle hand against his shoulder.

Otabek hadn't told her that he'd kept company with the tiger, and he didn't want to now. So he turned to her, looked her in the eye and said, "No, I don't." There was a sick feeling that settled in his stomach, but he'd made his choice. He held her gaze resolutely.

Maya said nothing, only blinked at him. Then, she frowned.

But she didn't call him out on his lie.

#

The grass of the Steppes started to turn brown and Otabek knew that snow would soon follow.

Victor and his men had stayed in the area, desperate to find his pet tiger, seemingly determined to ignore to Otabek's assurance that he wasn't there. Even if he was.

Otabek and Jolba still met, but carefully and at night. They didn't hunt, but rather, ambled aimlessly in each other's presence. Otabek had warned him that he was being hunted, but Jolba had only scoffed, seemingly offended. He preened in his ability to defend himself. Otabek had no doubt that he could, but, Victor had brought a cadre of highly trained men.

It had only been luck that he hadn't yet been seen.

The first day of snow came and Otabek felt relieved. It was hard to hide against the brown Steppes, but with the snow, Jolba would blend in easily. Victor's men remained vigilant and determined, but the weather would be a thorn in their side.

That night, after shooting down a few rabbits, Jolba followed Otabek to his village. And instead of turning around just out of sight, he kept following.

Otabek paused, hesitating. "Jolba," he said, "it isn't safe." If a tiger could pout, he would venture to think it'd look like that, just a little crinkle across his furred brow. "For you, I mean," Otabek continued. "My people will not be kind. If they see you, they will call for Victor."

Jolba's demeanor changed at the name, hackles raising and mouth hissing. Otabek blinked, realizing he'd never mentioned who had been hunting the tiger before, but-

"Jolba," he said, "Calm down."

Jolba did, but it wasn't without tension. Otabek slung the rabbits over one shoulder and reached out, pressing his free hand to the tiger's neck. He squeezed it softly, scratching through the thick fur, and Jolba settled.

"Tonight only," Otabek said. "I'll lead you around the back way and sneak you into my yurt. And you will stay there, understand?" He gripped at the scruff, holding it tight.

Jolba huffed, but he seemed to. Otabek let go and pointed east. "Around that way. Come on."

Otabek led the tiger around the eastern edge of his village. The fall of nighttime and the white glow of the snow under the full moon helped hide his coat, and Jolba stalked with natural quietness.

Otabek's yurt was decorated with the bare minimum, but it suited him. There was a pile of pillows and furs to the western side of the space, and a small fire pit in the center, directly between the two center poles and under the top opening. A few assorted rugs and thick quilts, and a work table tucked into the eastern side. Everything arranged as the Mother Weaver wanted, as far as men were concerned.

Jolba padded around the room, sniffing and rubbing himself along Otabek's things. Staking territory. Otabek chuckled, before dropping his weaponry to the ground. His heavy coat and shirt came next, and then his pants. Once in his under things, he filled a wash basin with a pitcher of water, and scrubbed down, then he dressed in a pair of loose pants.

By the time he was done, the tiger had settled into his cot, kneading at the furs with his large paws. Otabek hadn't known many cats in his life, but he found it entertaining that Jolba wasn't much different in the grand scheme of things.

The air was cold, so he lit a small fire to warm the space, before settling into his bed. Jolba laid against the pillows, eyes half slit with contentment, as he watched Otabek tuck in.

Otabek turned to him, watching his whiskers twitch. "Victor," he said, and Jolba hissed, though not as agitated as the first time. "He came here looking for you. Said that you were a pet."

Jolba bared his teeth dangerously, but Otabek knew that it wasn't at him.

"You escaped though," Otabek said. "You got away." He held his hand out and Jolba nuzzled against it.

"He called you Yuri." The tiger paused under his hand, looking back at Otabek, green eyes practically shimmering in the darkness. They watched each other for a long moment, as Otabek contemplated the tiger; a creature with a distinct personality, who understood him implicitly, who hissed and snarled at the name of his owner.

Who knew his own name.

"Yuri," Otabek repeated, opening his arm wide and patting the furs next to him. It was already cold, but it would only get worse as the night wore on, and eventually the fire would go out. The tiger was warm and soft. It would make sense to sleep next to each other.

The tiger watched him for a long moment, thinking, and then slid closer, settling himself next to Otabek. Tucked into his side, coarse fur not nearly as scratchy was Otabek would have assumed.

"Yuri," Otabek said one last time.

Yuri purred against him.

#

"I need a deer today," Otabek said to Yuri. "It's already a cold winter, and it will only get worse. I need to bring something back that can be cured and stored for the season."

A thick layer of snow blanketed the land, and the season had barely begun. He stood at the end of the familiar worn trail an hour from his village, clad in a heavy winter coat and his bow. Yuri was by his side, powerful shoulders rippling with energy as sat on his haunches. Waiting. Excited.

"We'll have to go further than usual," Otabek said. "I know you've roamed these parts. Victor's camp has moved and I don't know where they have gone, so we'll have to be careful."

Yuri shifted his head toward Otabek, and while he couldn't answer him, there was a glimmer in his green eyes. Yuri understood. Otabek didn't know how, but he just knew. He had stopped questioning it long ago.

Yuri had against all odds, become a friend. Otabek chatted with him and told him secrets- things that he'd never told anyone else- and Yuri would purr quietly beside him. It was a relationship without words, but Otabek had no doubt that he could trust his life with the tiger.

Otabek felt honored, because Yuri had escaped captivity at the hands of the Prince, and instead of roaming the lands like the king he was, he'd chosen to settle with him. For the time being.

"He seems determined to take you back," Otabek said to him.

Yuri seemed contemplative that day, without his usual ire at the mention of the Prince's name. He was still on his haunches, still watching the frozen landscape, still thinking. About what, Otabek couldn't pretend to know.

Otabek reached out and pressed his fingers into his scruff, scratching at the fur in a comforting motion. "I won't let him," Otabek said.

Yuri shifted then, leaning against his leg, a solid and warm weight against Otabek. They stood like that for a moment, and then Otabek said, "Alright. Into the Steppes. We shouldn't waste daylight."

#

They came across two deer at separate times of the day, but they were both useless. Foaming at the mouth and stuttering with madness. Otabek heaved a heavy sigh as he shot one down, and then then the other later on. Animals such as these didn't often find their way near the village, but further out in the Steppes?

They weren't common, but they weren't uncommon either.

Like the bear, he gave them rites. Yuri sat there, watching. Waiting. Always waiting for Otabek, it seemed. Patient and comforting. Otabek's fingers slipped into his scruff, as he watched the second deer lay dead.

When midday came, they broke for Otabek to eat lunch. They were nestled against an outcropping to cut the bitter winter wind. Yuri lounged alongside him, licking at his paw in a desperate effort to clean himself.

"It wasn't always like this," Otabek said to him, around a mouth full of jerky. "Animals crazed and unusable. When I was a child, my grandfather would bring me out here to hunt, and we had the pick of many. We would bring back enough meat to last weeks. The Steppes were plentiful."

Yuri had stopped licking his paw, watching Otabek with interest, so he continued. "They say this land is cursed now. My village is the only one left, but only because we're too stubborn to leave. Everyone else moved on and followed the food. We stay." He paused. "I don't like it, but I understand it. This is our home."

Then Otabek sighed, rubbing at his face. "Something is poisoning the life here. My parents think that it's the Weaver, angry and vengeful. I don't. In the end, it doesn't matter. Eventually we'll have to leave."

Otabek chewed at his meal in silence after that, and Yuri watched him. He watched him for a long time.

Eventually, Otabek finished and drained part of his water skin. "Would you come?" Otabek mused. "If I were to leave this place, would you follow?"

Yuri didn't answer, only looked at him with a calculated and cool gaze. And then he nuzzled his thigh.

Of course, Otabek thought. Why had he bothered to question it? Otabek had already known the answer before he ever asked.

#

One night in Otabek's yurt turned into two.

And then three.

And then a week.

It wasn't easy sneaking Yuri into the village, but they created a process. They would skirt around the Eastern side, covering their tracks. Yuri would dip low into the snow cover and wait for Otabek to tend to a chore or two, say his evening thoughts and then retire for the night. He had crafted a slit in the back of his yurt that Yuri would slip into, and by the time was started to turn for bed, the tiger would be dozing among his furs and pillows.

Otabek had gotten used to his warm and solid presence in the bitter cold, and he wasn't sure that he could sleep well, without the comforting purr at his back.

And then one morning, Otabek awoke to a scream.

Instantly he was up, hand around the grip of the dagger he kept hidden in his sheets, eyes wide and alert as he looked around-

Only to find Maya tumbled across the rugs of his yurt, bread loaves and basket thrown askew. She wasn't staring at Otabek, her eyes were trained on Yuri, who was alert as well, teeth bared in a dangerous hiss.

"Yuri," Otabek said softly, reaching out to press his hand into his scruff. Yuri immediately quieted, falling back into the pillows with a huff. Haughty even. Annoyed. What a mood for a tiger.

Maya breathed heavily, but her eyes hardened once she regained her composure, and Otabek winced for what was about to come. "I knew it," she snapped. "I knew that you had lied to me. How long have you and this thing been-"

"Yuri isn't a thing," Otabek said to her with a frown. He snapped his dagger back into its sheath, before shoving it under his pillow.

"Beka, he's a tiger," Maya said, like it actually meant something.

"Obviously," Otabek said, his tone rather dry and sarcastic.

"He's a wild animal."

"He's not wild," Otabek said, obstinately. Maya stared at him like he was insane. "He's…" But then he trailed off, because how could he possibly explain what Yuri was him?

"Mom and Dad will kill you," Maya said to him. "And our grandfather! Beka, there are people looking for him. A Prince-"

"I know, Maya."

"What if they come here looking for him? Beka, you've put us all in danger-"

"I know!" Otabek snapped. Maya's mouth clamped shut at his outburst. He rarely lost his temper, and he never yelled. He rubbed at his brow. "He saved my life. I'm only trying to do the same for him."

Maya was silent for a long moment, watching him carefully before she said, "You've been hunting with him, haven't you. Do you spend all day with him? He's sleeping with you, like a pet-"

Yuri finally reacted, sitting up straight, hackles raised. He growled at her, teeth bared, stance tense. But then Otabek reached out and caught him by the scruff, fingers slipping into the coarse, white fur.

"Yuri isn't a pet," Otabek said. "He's a friend." Yuri calmed under his soft touch. Otabek could tell that he wasn't happy about it, but he settled back into the pillows, eyes trained on Maya was he eyed her warily.

She eyed him back, lips tugged into a frown. "I suppose that you'll want me to keep quiet."

Otabek sighed, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "For now. Yuri only stays the night with me. We don't spend our days here."

"And so what? He stays here forever?" Maya finally stood, picking up her spilled basket of breads.

"He won't hurt anyone."

"You don't know that," Maya said.

"I do," Otabek said firmly.

Maya stood there for a long moment, basket on her hip as she watched the two of them. Then she sighed. "I won't tell them, but Grandfather will find out. He finds out everything." She took a loaf and shook it at Otabek, before dropping it onto his work table. Then she left his yurt.

Otabek let out a long breath. "I'm not afraid of my grandfather," he told Yuri, who had leaned in closer to nuzzle his hand. "I'm afraid of her. I think you passed her first test, so congratulations."

Otabek could have sworn that the tiger smiled back at him.

#

Otabek had been taught that the Mother Weaver had created all. She had woven together the night sky, and then she had pieced together the earth. And then came plants, and then life. And just as she could weave life together, she could also weave death.

"Shit," he murmured, ducking low into the snowbank. Yuri followed suit.

The Rot.

He had never seen anything like it, such desiccation. It wasn't a diseased or rabid animal; there was an entire patch of the Steppes, completely blackened, festering with decay. It smelled like death and Otabek covered his nose.

Yuri remained silent, watching carefully from his side.

"What is this?" Otabek asked. "I've never…" He reached out to press a hand into Yuri's fur, trying to ground himself. "We should go back," he said. "I need to tell my grandfather."

Yuri led the way.

Later that night, while sharing dinner with his family, Otabek broached the topic with his family.

"I saw something while hunting today. The Rot has spread to the Earth."

And to his aggravation, his parents didn't seem surprised. His father looked away uncomfortably, while his mother stared into her bowl. Only his grandfather looked at him, his weathered face tired and weary. He didn't throw his dice.

"You went north, then," his grandfather said. "Farther than you should have while alone." Otabek wouldn't tell him that he hadn't been alone. It would only make things worse. So he nodded and his grandfather sighed.

"This is not a surprise to you," Otabek said.

"No," his grandfather replied.

"You knew about this?"

His grandfather didn't answer immediately, his mouth twisting downward into a small frown. And then, "I've always told you, never to hunt alone, and to never go that far north."

Suddenly, everything his grandfather had ever told him, seemed suspect. Otabek narrowed his eyes and said, "Explain then."

"Otabek-"

"Do you think me a child? I'm a man."

He was; nearly twenty-seven name days. His mother reminded him frequently, before proposing the name of a woman to marry. The idea curdled Otabek's blood.

"It was only to keep you safe," his grandfather said.

"And I am safe, so explain."

"Later, after dinner. We'll share some kumis." His grandfather turned back to his meal, a definitive show that the conversation was over.

They finished in silence.

#

They sat at the edge of the village, just outside of Otabek's yurt. His grandfather was bundled in a mountain of leather and fur to fight off the bitter cold, hunched over on a little wooden stool. Otabek sat next to him. The bottle of kumis had been chilling in the snow for nearly an hour. Otabek removed the stopper and poured out a small amount into a palm-sized, wide and shallow dish, before holding it out to his grandfather. Then he poured one out for himself.

And then Otabek waited, watching his grandfather sip from his cup.

"You were too young to remember the first time they came from the North," his grandfather finally said. "The Rot had taken root there, before moving southward. They were trying to stop it."

The Northerners from Rus, he assumed. "They failed," Otabek said.

"We told them that Mother Weaver would show her will, regardless of what they tried. They do not believe." Otabek frowned at that, but said nothing. "Death is part of life."

"This isn't death, it's-"

"The Weaver has a plan."

Otabek downed the kumis, his mouth setting into a firm line. There was a sour burn down his throat, but his blood warmed at the drink. "This is why everyone else left," he finally said.

His grandfather didn't answer immediately, only gazed out at the snowy landscape showered in soft moon glow. "They were cowards." He sipped at his kumis. "What is fact though, is that the North never brings good. The last time the brought The Rot, so what is it they bring now?"

"He's looking for his pet," Otabek said.

Finally, his grandfather turned to look at Otabek, a long and sweeping gaze along his form. And then he said, "It is never only one thing."

Silence fell over them once more, as they watched the snow drift. Otabek finished his kumis and poured out more. His grandfather requested a refill in silence, simply holding the cup out to him.

"You haven't seen the tiger with all the hunting you have done?" his grandfather had asked.

"Once," Otabek said. Half-truths worked better than lies. He tried to spin a tale that was maybe believable. "Maybe. I'm not sure. It could have been the sun shining off of the snow."

His grandfather hummed at that. Then he shifted, shoving a bony hand into his pocket. Otabek watched as he pulled out his blasted bone dice, shaking them in his palm lightly. There was a crate to the side. He threw the dice onto it and leaned over to read.

But said nothing, only hummed again, before draining the rest of his drink.

If there was one thing that Otabek had learned over his life, it was that his grandfather had too types of silence- the one where there was nothing that needed to be said, and the one where there was too much.

This was the latter.

"We aren't safe here," Otabek said, trying to steer the conversation away.

"No," his grandfather agreed, "but it is our home. It is where we belong." Then he stood, handing his cup back to Otabek. He reached out, pressing his fingers into Otabek's thick, curly hair. "Next time, let's share a drink with your tiger, hm? I would like to meet him."

Otabek watched his grandfather amble away with his uneven gait.

Your tiger. Not the Prince's, but his.

Otabek downed the rest of his drink, before capping the bottle of kumis and leaving it in the snow.

Later that night, he slipped into his furs after dressing down for sleep, mind slightly muddled with the buzz of alcohol. He wasn't too far off; just a soft, calm state that would allow sleep to easily come. Immediately, Yuri shuffled closer, tucking into his side. Soft against Otabek, he purred sleepily. Contently. Otabek scratched at Yuri's scruff idly as he thought.

His.

It felt right.