Tressilate
(v): to quiver
The dead of night.
Within stone ruins, a wolf and a fox slept soundly, cocooned in each other's warmth and in the fox's great nine tails. They had been lovers in the night, but now, they were resting, dreaming of each other. Holding each other close.
Theirs was a love that had persisted through thick and thin—through each sweet heaven, through every burning hell.
And not too far from them was a war camp, and within this war camp, two separate women were up early, beside themselves.
One was a fortune teller; the other, a horseback rider. The rider couldn't sleep since earlier, and so that's why, with the stars as her witness, she gazed upon the infinite space above her, wondering if anything ever mattered, and if people would bother remembering her once she was gone.
And as she thought these things to herself, a wave of nausea swam over her—eyes watering as she sat up straight, hand pressed tightly over her mouth. Bile threatened to come loose, and her body stung with discomfort. She'd just been dreaming about the stars, and now her nightmares bled through her stomach.
She couldn't hold it in. The nausea had won, and she remained curled up like a shrimp after the foul deed was done. She hadn't felt such severe sickness in all her life—not even when her servants' blood coated her face, and her mother's hand fell limp at her side.
As she agonized, elsewhere in camp, the fortune teller was also awake. Her divinations were important to her, so much so that she stayed up late to peer into the vast future and all its wonderful possibilities.
As the incense burned strongly throughout the night, the plumes of smoke left in the burning twigs' wake formed a shape. Then once the fortune teller observed the ebb and flow of the perfumed smoke, she gasped loudly, startled by the realization.
The smoke was in the shape of a skull. A skull meant death. And death meant—
Well, it could have meant literal death. Of course. But more often than not, it also meant change, and the death of past rituals. She pictured the image of a human body, and all the ways a human body bends and breaks and tears, so fragile and susceptible to the flow of time. Sagging skin, limp muscles, and pronounced bones. And then, in the midst of such gruesome imagery, the stark vision of a womb streaked across her eyelids—she watched as a beast wretched itself free from bloody limb and torn membrane alike.
Her stomach turned and her eyes watered; she fell to her knees as if in prayer.
Oh, Gods, she begged. Please let this be a lack of sleep. Please don't let it be true. Because if this vision is true, then…
…
She sobbed quietly, then dried her tears. The world continued to spin no matter what—she found comfort in this universal truth as she lamented the death of her past, and the death of the woman she was before this divine revelation.
As the minutes bled into hours, the sky brightened at once.
The break of dawn.
.
.
.
To say that Pieri wanted a family was an understatement.
But not in the way that most people thought it was.
She wanted a family so badly, she clung and cried onto the delusions of her old one, refusing to believe a picture-perfect family could be torn apart so easily. She wanted a family so badly, she ingrained the image of her mother's smile deeply into her memory, choosing that version of her over the current one.
(Dead, unmoving, lost to the earth. From dust we are born and to dust we return. Gone. Forever.)
Pieri wanted a family so much —she dreamed of having children of her own, of being a good spouse or having one, of a loving household where no one suffered and no one cried. She didn't know if she could actually do it—with the war so fraught and everlasting, it seemed like her life would be used as fodder for this unending conflict—but she always dreamt that it would be possible. Pieri, a sweet wife. Pieri, a mother to her children. Pieri, safe and secure.
Pieri, together, and not alone. She didn't want to be alone, she never did.
And now, with something stirring within her—something that could one day live and love —she had a realization both terrifying and beautiful, one in the same.
She would never be alone. Not after this.
.
.
.
Orochi remembered her first kiss.
She remembered the look on Kagerou's face, how young they both were—how young everyone was. And Kagerou, pure and unapologetically herself, didn't even mind. She only mumbled something about how she couldn't remember what she was going to say—that she didn't know if she could face anyone because she would be preoccupied by the thought of Orochi all day.
And if it were anyone else, then Kagerou would have been swept up in the moment—romanced so young, but so passionately, as any person would promise her the moon, stars, earth, and everything in between. If it were anyone else, Kagerou's hand in marriage would have been sworn, and the pair would have grown up never wanting anything else.
But it was Orochi. And Orochi saw more than just the future in Kagerou's eyes—she saw the future that wouldn't come, if Orochi had selfishly taken the shinobu-in-training away. She saw the empty retainer at Prince Ryoma's side—she saw the madness that would overtake Kagerou, that would overtake everyone because who could truly learn to love a seer like Orochi?
She was named after a greatly evil serpent, after all. To break the stereotypes against the name, that's why I named you as I did, Orochi's mother must have said, a lifetime ago. Clever and cunning… but you are a woman first and foremost. You are no serpent.
Yet the Orochi that let Kagerou go; the Orochi that kept Kagerou close as her best friend, too selfish to let her go properly; the Orochi that intervened with Nishiki and Flannel; the Orochi that bears a child to someone who does not love her the way she loves him; the Orochi that was a girl, that became a woman, that grows older and older by the day; that Orochi looked up to her mother in her mind's eye just then, a rueful smile on her face.
As if to ask, Are you so sure about that?
.
.
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Daylight.
"Ugh," groaned Nishiki. "Flannel…" a sleepy yawn morphed into a breathy gasp. "Flannel! Get up, we've been sleeping for too long."
"Don't wanna. Five more minutes," insisted Flannel, his eyes thoroughly closed and his limbs snaking around to keep Nishiki trapped.
The fox laughed, morning sun caught on the gleam of his fang—beams of sunlight pouring through the ruined ceiling and reminding him they had long overstayed their welcome. "Come on, get off of me!"
The wolf smiled—canines sharp—and hands greedy as he tightened his hold over the other, bringing him so close that he could relish the warmth of Nishiki's breath and the way the other flustered more in his arms. "I said five more minutes, someone's impatient, and it ain't even me this time…"
"You!" Nishiki sighed, and accepted his fate as he snuggled closer against Flannel's chest. "Alright, fine. But five more minutes, and that's it."
"That's it," Flannel agreed, wriggling upward to plant a kiss on the other's forehead. "Good mornin', love."
Love. Nishiki felt the flames of affection alight his face—he made some ungodly noise halfway between a squeak and a scream, before burying himself in Flannel's chest. "Good morning…" he started out, mumbling, "...my love."
And five minutes turned into ten which almost turned into fifteen—until a bird landing near the ledge chirped and stirred the two sleeping beasts, who emerged from their slow morning in a sweet stupor.
A new day awaited them both.
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.
"Orochi, there you are."
The basara stopped in her tracks, then turned around to face the familiar voice. "Kagerou," she began, a sweet lilt to her words. "Good morning. Something the matter?"
"I could ask the same thing about you," Kagerou said, her face neutral as she appraised Orochi, before falling into place beside her. "You're a hard woman to find. I heard you had mess hall duty this morning but by the time I got there, they said you already left."
"Oh, well, I was with Pieri, and she seemed like she could use a minute alone." In all honesty, Orochi would have asked Pieri herself what was wrong with her, if she wasn't dealing with her own problem at the moment. "But I'm free right now. What's up?"
"...Orochi. How long have we known each other?"
She laughed softly. "Far too long."
"You have the same look on your face. The one you had on the night of Kamui's disappearance, the one on the day of His Majesty's—"
"Kagerou."
"You have that same look," she insisted, gentle smile falling into a firm line. "What's wrong?"
And Orochi could only think of how ironic it was in the moment, to be sharing this news with Kagerou first, the woman that her younger self once dreamed of being with forever—the person that her current self can never, ever, let go.
She wasn't sure if it was happiness, relief, apathy, guilt, or something else eating at her inside, only that the expression she managed to form was a smile, and a barebones one, at that.
The fortune teller sighed, but leveled her gaze with her friend. This wasn't something to be shameful about , she reminded herself. So have no shame . "I'm pregnant."
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"Pieri? Are you in here?"
She glanced up, first wincing at all the sunlight that the person opening the door brought in, then looking aghast when she realized exactly who it was that brought the light in. "Lasward?" He was her fellow retainer, but for some reason, she felt it had been an eternity since they had last spoke. Perhaps it had been. "What are you—"
"So you are in here. That's good." He knelt down, eye-level with her, remaining gentle even when she eventually broke eye contact with him first. "I'd been looking for you, you know. Our daily training? Our usual bouts? Even when Sir Marx hadn't seen you, I had assumed you were hiding." He paused for a moment, then followed up with, "Which you didn't use to do before, you know."
"What… what are you talking about?"
"You know, those awful moments. Searching for people, finding them, searching for them again. I don't want to spell it out, Pieri."
Her nose scrunched. "You mean that witch and her kids and all those poachers? Then yeah, you're right, I don't want you to spell it out, either!"
"Right. You never used to hide before those times, is what I'm saying. Yet now, you're—" he gestured to the cramped space around them— "sitting in a broom closet. Just like before, on the night they found Nishiki- san. " He didn't have to add the honorific, but Pieri knew that Lasward was too good with his words to make odd choices on purpose—he was likely distracting her with the fact. And it worked.
She breathed softly.
He went on to say, "Is everything alright? If you need me to cover for you today, I am most certainly up to the task."
"That's… so nice, of you, Lasward." She reached forward and wrapped her arms around him, laughing when he quietly yelped at her sudden show of affection. "Thank you. Pieri will be honest, then. I… I haven't been feeling good."
"I surmised as much. Do you need a healer's expertise? I know Her Highness Elise can be very discreet when it comes to these things—"
"No!" She cried out at once. "Not her! She's too… too young!"
"Too young?" Lasward's eyes were wide as saucers. "What's her age got to do with it?"
"Hearing that sort of comment from you… it's just as well…" She sighed. "Lasward, I… I threw up this morning."
"..."
"My stomach hurts, and… I just, I know." She sat back against the shelves and closed her eyes, letting her head bump against a pot or pan or she didn't know what it was and she just didn't care. Pieri only said, "Once upon a time, I heard the servants talk about Mother in the same way. When she wasn't yet Mother, but was about to be."
"Pieri…"
"I don't… I don't know." She opened her eyes. "It doesn't make sense to Pieri, the timing of it all."
"I mean, nine months ago felt like an eternity ago, no? I understand completely, it's hard for some people to keep track—"
"Nine months isn't right."
"H-Huh?"
"That's the thing. I feel this way, but it hasn't been nine months since then."
"Wait, then maybe you're wrong about what you're feeling?" She glared at him, and he quickly covered up his missteps with an earnest, "N-Not that I'm implying that you're wrong about your own body, heavens no! But if it wasn't nine months ago, then how—"
"It's been—" she didn't actually know, so she made a gross estimate— "three or four months?"
"..."
"I don't know. But it was much sooner than that, except even though that's really weird and worrisome, it actually makes sense. And I think it's because—"
"Because…?"
She sighed into her hands, half-mumbling. "Because it was with Flannel."
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.
Nishiki washed his clothes with extra care and loving. He let them soak in the river water first, then set up an entire wash basin after the fact, with enough soap and sweet-smelling things to offend the dullest of noses, let alone a sharp one. He scrubbed on the washboard up and down, up and down, and up and down again. He let his thoughts wander.
He stared long and hard at the haori, kosode, their respective layers, the regular shirts and pants and socks, poking each floating article of clothing back into the sudsy water. How did he get here, exactly? And where was the next step from here?
He didn't know. He just knew that if there was any confusion about his relationship to Flannel before, it was made startlingly clear at the start of the day.
They were lovers, now. They loved each other—deeply, madly, truly so.
But, with this realization came a million questions, all of which were aptly described by a single one: Did a future await them as a future awaits all lovers? When everything was said and done, would they be able to spend their lives together? Forever?
Or maybe they were only lovers in these sparse nights, in the unending veil that led up to something big—bigger than either of them.
The fox mouthed two simple words, the same ones he uttered to Flannel in the morning: my love. A love that existed for him, and only him. A love that was certain to not be outmatched by any other. A love unending; a love soft and sweet, but then thunderous and bloody.
A love. His love.
He blinked and suddenly the sun was starting to set. With a muttered half-curse, Nishiki stood up, and started to pack all the laundry away. He would have to get to the rest of it another time.
Then came a voice: "Nishiki?"
He continued his work unimpeded, albeit a smile managed its way on his face. "Orochi," he greeted her without looking, too preoccupied with folding. "Sorry, I'm just about done here. You can—"
"Ah, it's not about laundry. Could I have a minute of your time?"
He put his things down immediately. "For you?" He stepped closer to her, that smile brightening on his face. "Of course. Anytime. What is it?"
It was then that he noticed she wasn't the same as usual. She wore a deep violet robe, and her hair was down. Her slippers were for indoors—she clearly had no intention of going outdoors, until this very moment, that is. "Nishiki," and in her words and in her eyes were such doubts that the fox knew wherever this conversation was going, it was going someplace very complicated for him, "I had a vision."
"Oh!" A minor relief, but perhaps he was celebrating too early. She didn't normally come to him with visions mundane or important, so— "What about?"
"..." She sighed. "The future."
"Whose future?"
"Your future, my future…" Her head hung low, eyes averted to the ground. It seemed an emotion welled up deep inside of her—her voice shook as the earth did during a thunderstorm. " Our future."
"Our—"
"I'm pregnant."
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"Flannel, I need a word with you."
He stopped whatever he was doing—broken sword hilts and torn leather gloves falling to the floor—before glancing in the direction of her voice. "Pieri? Sure." It didn't take a genius to know that she meant business. He swept his 'treasure' under the rug, literally, before inviting her to take a seat, herself. "What is it?"
She sat down next to him, the two of them cramped for space on an ottoman—so close she could smell the blood on his body and the perfume on his skin.
The scent of Nishiki, no doubt.
A quiet exhale escaped her. "It's important. I want you to listen first, then talk later. Okay?"
He nodded silently.
She went on to say, "This morning, there was this sickness. Pieri hadn't felt anything like it before. And, well, when I thought long and hard about it…"
"..."
"I talked to a couple of friends. And they're in agreement."
"..."
"Flannel," she muttered, "I think… I'm with child."
"..."
"So… what… are we supposed to do?" Her gaze dropped towards the ground, at her feet. "Maybe I'm wrong? It's only been a few months, but—"
"Actually," he muttered, "that makes sense."
"Wait, really?"
"Yes. Humans have to wait a long time, right? Wolves don't."
"So how long is—erm, how long does it usually take?"
"For wolves? Two months, maybe less." He glanced upward, lost in thought. "Sometimes it's longer. So, you feel sick?"
"Yes," Pieri sighed out. "Like I've never felt before."
"Then I'd say we've got a few months before, uh, go-time." He smiled despite everything, and Pieri found it in herself to smile, too. "Are you scared? You don't have to be. I'm not gonna leave you, you know."
She had been ready to talk him into staying, ready to chase after him in case he ran off. So his acceptance, casual as it is gentle, had come as a surprise. "You're not?" she muttered. "You mean it?"
"Of course I mean it." Flannel reached out, and put a hand on her knee, squeezing softly. "Thanks for telling me. I'll figure out how to deal with this. And—wait, before I think about anything." He blinked once, twice, then asked, "Do you, uh… want to keep it?"
"Flannel!"
"Hey, I'm the one askin', here!"
"Well—" her face reddened, and she glanced away, fingers twirling the ends of her hair. "I… I've always wanted children of my own."
"Pieri—"
"So I would like to keep this one, yes."
"Are you sure? You don't have to feel forced—I wouldn't want you to."
"You're not forcing me," she insisted. "I… I can deal with this."
"Okay." He smiled. "Okay!" He nudged a shoulder against hers. "And you won't be alone—I'll be here with you. I'll make sure everyone else supports you, too. We'll figure it out."
Pieri thought back to a conversation she had with Lilith recently, nodding slowly. "Thank you, Flannel."
"Thank me?" He laughed. " You're the one doin' the heavy-lifting here. I should be thanking you. So, thanks, Pieri."
Part of her wanted to say you're welcome, but she found herself satisfied listening to the sound of his voice, and leaning on his shoulder with her eyes closed.
Able to rest at last.
.
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She was in tears.
Between the kotatsu table and fresh green tea and blanket cast over her shoulders, Orochi wasn't sure what she should thank Nishiki for first.
Not ridiculing her in her face or bringing her to misery was a great start, though. She was sure that after all they'd been through—after all she both intentionally and unintentionally put Nishiki through, herself—it wouldn't take much for the fox to turn his back on her.
She felt she owed him the world for such generosity and understanding, instead. He even bothered wiping her tears! "Orochi, it's okay," he consoled. "You're alright."
"I know," she whispered. "My apologies. I must be getting sick on top of everything, so—"
"You don't need to explain what you're feeling. I get it."
"You do?"
He tilted his head slightly, considering for a moment. "Well, in truth I probably don't, but I understand that you're feeling a lot. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, I'm—I'm glad you told me, really."
"You are?"
"Of course! So, let me ask you something, now that we've calmed down a little bit."
"Oh," she said, gripping tightly onto the teacup. "But of course." She drank greedily, as though by drowning her sorrows in hot tea, she wouldn't have to answer the impossible queries that came after. "What is it?"
"Do you want to keep the child?" He put a hand up in front of himself, quickly adding on, "You certainly don't have to, by the way. Whatever you decide to do, I'll respect the decision."
"You will?"
"I will." He smiled. "How could I not? It's you, it's me, it's us. It's the same as it's always been, except—"
"Now it'll be a lot harder."
"Yes," he admitted. "It'll be harder. But if you choose to keep it, then don't worry. We can carry the burden together—I won't let you suffer alone."
"Nishiki…"
"You can take more time to decide if you'd like," he offered. "I don't want you to feel rushed, either."
"Well," she started, "first, can I ask if this gestation period is normal? It hasn't been that long since that night, so…"
"Usually it's anywhere from two to four months for foxes," he said, "so, if anything, now that you're feeling the weight of it… It shouldn't take that long for the day-of."
"I see…"
"I'll be honest, though. This child, they would be—I've never known a half-fox before."
"Never?"
"Or, if there were half-foxes in the hamlet, they were pretty good at hiding the fact," he said with a laugh. "So I can only tell you what I know, just like you can only tell me what you know. You know?"
"I think I do," Orochi insisted. "So we're doing this, then. We're having a child together."
"We are." He reached a hand across the table to her, squeezing her knuckles against his fingers. "If you want to. I'll be here, I'll ask for more favors to balance things out, I'll help you whenever you need it—" Actually, how would they go about child-rearing in the middle of a war? Kamui had mentioned a power for 'extenuating circumstances' and now would be as good a time as any to use them— "Just say the word. And even when you don't say anything, I'll be there, anyway."
"Wow, I, I don't know what to say." A deep red bloomed across her face. "Thank you for being so understanding, Nishiki. Whatever arrangement we can work out—whatever happens—I know it'll be better because it's you, so. Thank you again."
"You're welcome!" His ears perked up, and he leaned in close to her, smile lessening from brilliantly bright to humbly small. "Who could've known that our lives would have ended up this way? It's so insane…"
"It is," she agreed. "But that is life, for you. The twists and turns called fate… they don't care if we stumble along, or if we walk along gracefully. Only that we follow its rhythm all the same."
"Orochi…"
"And there are worse people to be indebted to than you, or me," she consoled, "so it's fine that things ended up this way. I swear, Nishiki, that no matter what had happened between us in our past, I will make it so that this child grows up happily. They deserve that much—I'll do all that I can to keep this promise." She squeezed his fingers in her own, as though doing so would squeeze blood from stone: love from nothing at all. "I swear it."
"Then I'll make the same vow." He placed his lips along her fingers, as though sealing her promise with one of his own, eyes closed against the softness of her skin. "Our child will grow up happy, and loved, and healthy. I'll be there with you every step of the way—this, I swear."
"Nishiki…"
"Please believe me when I say this," he muttered. "I'm serious."
"I believe you," she said, reaching out to ruffle his hair—hesitating at first, but then relishing in the act when it seemed as though he didn't quite mind it. "I always have, haven't I? Since the moment we met, I knew…"
As day turned into night, as the sun fell, the meaning resounded loudly between them, despite nothing else being said at all.
I knew our destinies were meant to intertwine.
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"What are the odds," said Nishiki, "that we would have the same news to share to each other!"
Flannel, laying on his back, staring at the stars, felt warmth spike in his face. "You can say that again," he grumbled. "They're impossible odds, whatever they are."
"Well! Isn't that something…"
"How are we going to do this, Nishiki? I mean, it's one thing to raise a kid in some barracks, but two of them? And there's hardly ample space for beasts to go running in these parts…"
"I know what you mean. I'm sure we could arrange something with Lilith or Kamui or someone else…" Nishiki sighed. "Though replacing the work of both Orochi and Pieri is going to be hard. I don't know the first thing about divinations or court appearances."
"You think that's hard? I'm sure you'll figure out how the divinations work easy—I'm worried about the knightly duties I'll have to cover for Pieri! Routines and patrols and stuff like that were never my strong suit."
"I'm sure you'll make it work." Nishiki turned his head, locking eyes with Flannel as the dark world goes sideways in his vision. "I will, too. We don't reallly have a choice."
"I mean, I just can't believe… a kid…"
"I know."
"And you too!"
"I know."
"Hey," started Flannel, "they could grow up together. They'd probably be best friends and siblings, yours and mine."
"You think so?" His smile was slow, but when it appeared in full, it was as if the sun itself was present on Nishiki's face. "I hope so. I always wanted siblings of my own."
"Same," Flannel said. "I mean, I did have siblings, I just never met them. But I think having someone to grow up alongside would be fun. Maybe we can convince Kamui to help us in the same way. Some kind of countryside retreat for the pups to grow up together in? A few servants that can help out with Orochi and Pieri, too?"
"Why not? I mean, I can finally use all these bullions for something. We can definitely work this out!"
"Then, how about we talk to Kamui right now?" Flannel bolted upright, grinning. "While it's still early, that is."
"Speaking of which…" Nishiki sat up straight, but then leaned in close, swooping underneath the shadow of Flannel to fit in the space between his formidable body, his strong limbs. "I was thinking we could do something else, actually. Kamui can wait 'til the morning, can't they?"
Flannel's eyes widened, lips a mere brush away from melting in Nishiki's. "Are you sure? We could—"
"We could die tonight," Nishiki reminded, eyes fluttering closed as he took Flannel's mouth in his own. Between shivering gasps and roaming hands, he gasped loudly and muttered, "We could already be dead."
"Still on about that?" Flannel's grin was wolfish, wide, more teeth in his face than blood in his heart. Like he could eat up Nishiki right here and now, savoring each bite. "Fine then. Guess you didn't learn your lesson the first time, huh?"
As he slipped Nishiki's sleeves off his shoulders, as he pressed hot kisses into the crook of Nishiki's neck, the fox bloomed under his loving touch—a camellia in full-blossom, dyed-red at the fingertips. "Guess not," he whispered, before wrapping his arms around Flannel's neck, and falling back into an easy rhythm: the thrall of their hearts, and the moonlight pouring in above them.
Midnight; the lover's hour.