Hello, faithful readers!   Quick note, here.  If you are enjoying this series, would you do me a favor and tell your friends about it?  The readership is quite a bit down from Beneath the Skin, and I'm wondering if that's just because people are unaware that this is being posted.    

Thanks!  And remember - Those who pay attention will be rewarded. :-)

***

Dagen felt great satisfaction watching the young hybrid devour his lunch. With each bite he took, a little more of the boy’s natural enthusiasm fell back into place.  Fortunately, the boy did not talk with his mouth full.  Not only did this relieve Dagen of having to watch as the boy mumbled around a muzzle of half-chewed food, it gave the man time to evaluate everything he was learning about this young man and the life he led. 

When they’d first sat down, Dagen had wondered whether the floor of the food court had been washed with stale water, or perhaps a nearby sewer line had backed up.  After a few minutes though, he came to the conclusion that the unpleasant smell was coming from the young man sitting across from him.   As discreetly as he could, Dagen inquired about daily life in the orphanage, gradually shifting the focus to habits of personal hygiene.  

When the boy revealed that they were expected to shower every day, and that the orphanage had no fur dryer, Dagen had a clue what was happening.  His suspicions were confirmed when he received permission from the boy to examine his fine, dense headfur and, by extension, the skin underneath.  Sure enough, it looked angry and inflamed, unmistakable signs of an untreated infection.  Not wanting to alienate the pup, Dagen left his discovery unmentioned for the time being. 

Their meal completed, Dagen patted his belly. “Just enough,” he proclaimed, then gathered the plates and wrappers into a neat pile on the tray. “I want to look in some of the shops,” he said, as he worked. “Would you like to join me?”

“Yes, please!” Victus nodded his head with youthful enthusiasm, the tips of his ears bobbing back and forth with the motion. 

“Come along, then,” Dagen said.  As he lifted the tray, he exclaimed “Whoops!” to catch the young man’s attention as he casually flicked one of the crumpled paper wrappers off the edge of the tray with a finger.  He appeared grateful rather than unduly impressed when the pup’s hand shot out to catch the paper mid-air and returned it to the tray.  “Thank you,” Dagen said, with a genuine smile. “You’re very quick.”   Vic smiled at the compliment and thought no more about it.  Dagen, on the other hand, began thinking about the boy’s ability, and about his potential.  

***

“Let’s stop in here for a moment,” Dagen said, pausing at an apothecary shop. “They should have something I’m looking for.”  Opening the door to peek only his head and shoulders inside, Dagen occupied the doorway so that young Vic was left outside to wonder what he was doing.  The robes about the man’s arms fluttered as if things were being removed and added to inner pockets, and thirty seconds later he emerged.

“Stand over here,” Dagen instructed, motioning Victus to a clear spot between shops.   “Now, raise your arms like this,” he said, demonstrating.  Once the pup had complied, Dagen withdrew a small pump bottle from the folds of his robes and proceeded to mist the boy’s fur with the product.  “Do you feel comfortable pulling your shirt off, for a moment?” he asked, pausing to look at his companion. “If you don’t, that’s okay.”

Victus had no idea what the man was doing, but he trustingly did as he asked, stripping off his shirt in a gangly tangle of arms and elbows.  “Keep your arms up for a moment,” Dagen instructed, as he sprayed the mist on Vic’s arms and torso.  He rotated the boy around and asked that he assume a variety of positions as he sprayed every centimeter of exposed skin that could be reached without violating the child’s modesty.

“What are you doing?” Victus asked, after completing his second pirouette.  

“You’ve got an infection caused by being damp too much, Dagen told him as he worked, then gave the pup’s belly one last playful squirt that made the boy giggle.  “Work that down to your skin and it should make you feel better.”  Obediently, Victus rubbed his palms over his arms.

“Not quite,” Dagen corrected, “do it like this.”  He demonstrated by splaying his fingers and rubbing them against his own thinly-furred arms.  “Work it in with the tips of your fingers.”

Vic nodded his understanding and mimicked Dagen’s actions.  He understood the purpose when the liquid finally contacted his skin.  Wherever it touched, it brought instant relief from the nearly constant warm itching that had plagued Victus for years.  Scratching had only made the problem worse and given the other boys an opportunity to tease him about having fleas, so he’d learned to endure the unpleasant feeling as an inescapable fact of life.  

The boy’s happy sigh and shiver told Dagen the depths of his relief.  “It’s not a permanent fix,” he warned.  “There are special soaps you must use every day to keep the problem away.”

Victus snorted.  “That’s not going to happen.  ‘It’s too expeeeeensiiiiiiive!’ “he mocked.

“Don’t worry about that,” Dagen assured him.  “I’m sure the monastery will cover the cost.”  And if they don’t, he said to himself as an afterthought, I’ll pay for it myself.  “You can put your shirt back on now,” he added, noting that other than the skin condition, the boy appeared to be in excellent physical health.

“But for now, you feel better, right?” he asked, once the boy’s clothing was back in place. And smelling better, he thought to himself. “Shall we continue?”   

Their next stop was a bit more difficult to find, requiring that Dagen abandon his written directions in favor of consulting nearby vendors.  The shops in this part of the market had apparently been shuffled around over the years, moving physical locations without changing their addresses.  The shop they were looking for was at 73B, which ended up being unapologetically located between 23A and 12C.  The name of the store was boldly printed in red above the door, but this did Dagen little good since he did not read Chinese.

“Ah-choo!”  Victus sneezed as they passed through the shop’s glass and aluminum door.  His nose was instantly assaulted by a swarm of unfamiliar smells.  “What is that?” he asked, momentarily disoriented by the overwhelming amount of stimulus.

Taking a sniff, Dagen said “Sandalwood, I think.”

Victus rubbed his nose with his paw in an attempt to ease the itching sensation caused by the thin, scented smoke.   It reminded him of the smell that lingered in the fabric of Dagen’s robe, but was much stronger.  “It’s...big.”

Dagen glanced at the source of the smoke, a small altar to their left.  “If it’s too much for you, we can leave.  I can always come back later.”

“No, it’s ok” was Victus’s quick reply.  He didn’t want to alienate his new friend by being difficult.  The way Mr. Dagen was acting suggested that this smell was normal to him, and Vic wanted very much to fit in.

Ever prepared, Dagen produced a paper napkin left over from their lunch and handed it to Vic.  “Smells so strong can be difficult to tolerate at first,” he said.  “Use this if your nose starts running.”

“Ok.” Victus dabbed at the end of his nose and looked at the paper.  It was dry so far, but he had the feeling that Mr. Dagen was probably right.   Putting it back up to his nose, he sniffed instead of blowing.  The smells of crispy shrimp rolls and Dagen’s hands were far preferable to the peculiar smoke.

Dagen patted the wolf on the back. “I’m going to talk to the proprietor for a few minutes.  Look around, but be careful.  Some of the things in here look like they might be valuable.”  With that, he left Victus and walked over to the counter and started talking to the wrinkly old man in a language unlike anything Vic had ever heard before.

Left to his own devices, Vic wandered aimlessly through the aisles, looking more closely at whatever engaged his curiosity.  In the back part of the store he saw many pieces of fancy furniture, but these things did not interest his young sensibilities. More intriguing to him were the pictures made from different kinds of wood and shell, some of which were very pretty, with inlays forming images of peculiar looking houses and willowy white birds with impossibly long beaks.  They were sufficiently interesting to merit a passing glance, but they did not engage him for long.  He moved on, but was careful to not let Dagen out of his sight as he browsed.

Vic rounded an aisle and stopped dead in his tracks. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, as his eyes wandered across a glassed-in wall covered in an array of sheathed swords and knives.   “These are awesome mister Dagen!” he called, mindless that the man was in the middle of a conversation. “What are they?”

The flow of words between Dagen and the shopkeeper paused, then two pairs of footsteps approached from the back of the store.  “It appears that you have encountered a wall of sharp, pointy things,” the Kenzine said, smiling at Vic’s youthful enthusiasm. “Have you ever handled a sword?”

“No,” Victus said, with no small amount of awe.   Reaching out a paw, he touched the glass above a bejeweled Mediterranean scimitar, aching to be even a millimeter closer to the fascinating object. “I’ve never seen any that were curved like this, or with so many jewels.”

Quiet words were exchanged between the older men, then with a polite bow to the shopkeeper, Dagen knelt by Victus’s side.  “Would you like to see one of them?” 

Confronted with a choice, Victus returned his gaze to the wall. They all seemed so impossibly cool, how could he choose between them?  As his yellow eyes scanned all that was in front of him, he had the feeling that for some reason this choice was an important one.  The pressure building inside the young varius caused his tail to droop.  What if he chose poorly? he asked himself, irrationally.  He might never have this chance again!  One ear rotated back to the grown ups standing behind him, and he could hear their patient breathing. Soon they were going to get tired of watching him dither and take the choice away! his mind screamed.

Dagen knelt on one knee beside the boy, looking with him.“If you are having difficulty in making a choice,” Dagen advised, calmly, “step back and look at them in a different way.” 

Victus didn’t really understand what Dagen was saying, but at the same time his words made a weird sort of sense.  Nodding, he turned back to the array of bladed weapons and considered his choice anew.  He’d been looking for the most, the very most!, special one among the dozens of fancy swords, and that made the choice impossible. 

This time, instead of imagining which of the swords was the most beautiful, he imagined which might be the most useful.  This narrowed the field considerably, and Victus found his gaze drawn to a sword at the edge of the display which was not part of a set.  Unlike the others, it’s sheath, while beautifully polished, was not ornately decorated with inlaid jewels or carvings.  The simplicity caught Vic’s eye, and the fact that the sword seemed isolated from all the others reinforced his decision.  Hanging all by itself, it might be lonely.  Victus knew very well what lonely felt like. “That one,” he indicated to Dagen.

Dagen motioned to the shopkeeper, who suddenly appeared less certain.  After the adults exchanged more words, Dagen turned back to Victus.  “Are you certain that is the one you would like to see?  The others are much fancier.”

“Yeah,” Vic said, his gaze still firmly fixed upon his choice, “but this is the one I like.”

Another short exchange, and the old man unlocked the case.

Dagen carefully plucked the sword from its mounting posts, inserted it fully into the sheath and, holding it at eye level, bowed his head to it.  “We respect all swords as weapons which may take life or protect it,” he instructed.  “Bowing to it reminds us of the power we hold in our hands, and to use that power wisely.” It may have been far more information than was required, but Dagen was a teacher at heart, and the boy seemed to appreciate the trivia, however useless it might be to his daily life.

With care bordering on reverence, he slid the sheathed sword into the obi of his garment.   “All Kenzine robes are equipped to carry a sword,” he told his companion, as he moved to the center of the store where the clutter had been pushed back, “for in times of great need, any or all of us may be called to fight.  The empty obi reminds us that we must remain fit to fight at any time.”

Dagen put a hand to the sword’s pommel. “Stand back,” he instructed, then waited for Victus to comply. Once the boy was a safe distance away, Dagen pulled the weapon free of its sheath in a single sweeping motion, then performed a series of graceful, high-stepping movements, occasionally slicing the air with the razor-sharp blade.  Victus was impressed that Mister Dagen was able to swing the sword in such a confined space without knocking over any of the curios littering the shelves.  

As quickly as the demonstration began, the sword was back in its sheath and Dagen was standing in front of him as calmly as if he hadn’t moved.  “That was kata number one,” he said. “There are many others.”

More words were exchanged between the shopkeeper and Dagen.  The older gentleman smiled and waved a hand at Victus as he jabbered in his discordantly musical tongue. “Mister Chang has offered to let you hold it, if you wish?” Dagen translated.

At the boy’s nod, Dagen got on one knee and gave further instruction.  “All the other swords hanging on the wall,” he cut his eyes to the display, “are there to draw the eyes of people who don’t know any better away from the true weapons.  This sword,” he said, holding the simple weapon between them, “is real.  It is very sharp, and will cut you should you test its edge.  It is very expensive,” he warned, “so take care to not drop it.  But if you do...” here, he paused, to make sure he had the boy’s full attention, “do not try to grab it.   Just back away and let it fall.  Understood?”   

 “Ok,” answered Vic, nodding his head.  Even in the quiet shop, his voice was small with respect.  Taking the weapon, he remembered to incline his head as he’d seen Dagen do. He tried to pull the blade free of the sheath, but his arms were too short. Afraid that he might damage something, or worse, someone, he slid it mostly back into the sheath and contented himself with looking at the exposed section of blade.  

Victus gazed into the polished steel and saw a tiny reflection of himself staring back.  It wasn’t a perfect mirror finish, though.  The little wolf living in the blade had wavy, black lines running through his face.  The metal was different than anything he’d ever seen, and for reasons he could not explain he found it entrancing.   The sword was so clean that it might have been manufactured yesterday, but Vic’s nose suggested otherwise.  After being heated by Dagen’s hands, the laminated leather handle of the sword released deeply-ingrained scents from dozens of other people - all of them sapiens, and, most curiously, all of them male.  “Is it old?” he asked. 

Dagen translated to the shopkeeper, whose reply was brief.  “Very old,” Dagen relayed.

After some more muttering in the foreign tongue, Dagen asked Victus if he’d like some help.  Nodding, he let Dagen take the sword and draw the blade completely out.  Holding the blade vertically, Dagen began to hand it back down to the boy’s eager paws.  “When handing an unsheathed sword to someone,” he instructed, “Always keep the blade pointed towards yourself.”  When Vic’s paws closed around the hilt, Dagen continued, “and the person receiving the sword turns it towards themselves.”  

Vic followed the instruction as best he could, but his lack of familiarity made even this simple movement feel awkward. The tip of the sword wobbled uncertainly in the air, a far cry from the confident solidity with which Dagen had held it.  Victus would have sworn that the sword weighed twice what it had when it was safe in its sheath.

“Here,” Dagen said, moving behind the boy and wrapping both arms around him, supporting most of the sword’s weight while allowing Victus to control its direction. “Try it like this.”   Their size difference left plenty of room between the two, not that Victus would have noticed the close contact.  Time stopped for a moment as the young wolf stared at the steel in his small hands. 

“First we move to the left,” Dagen said, gently assisting the young boy’s movements, “and then to the right… and up...and then down.”  Motion by motion, he slowly walked Victus through the primary sword form.  “Make a high step with your left foot,”  He chuckled when Victus lifted the wrong leg into the air. “Your other left foot, and kick…”  Dagen bore most of the boy’s weight, allowing him to balance on one foot much as the Kenzine had a moment earlier.  “Now back to the earth, and...rest.”

Victus gave control of the sword back to Dagen, and before the man could pull back, spun around in his arms and hugged his neck.   “Thank you, Mister Dagen!” he said, breathing quickly from excitement more than exertion.  “That was the best!”

Dagen gave the boy a quick pat on the back and disengaged.  He was pleased that the boy had enjoyed the experience, but he had to admit to being more than a little perplexed by his behavior, as well.  Although he had met Sam and Rob when they were five or six years older than this boy, he’d expected Victus to share their sense of cautious reserve.   This young lupine was nothing like he had expected.  If you’ve met one varius, he reminded himself, you’ve certainly not met them all!  

On their way out of the store, Dagen rubbed the fur on Vic’s head.  “You were very good in there, Victus.”

“Thank you,” the varius said, sounding uncomfortable at hearing unfamiliar praise.

“I mean it, Vic” affirmed Dagen.  “Thank you for following my instructions with such care.  Mr. Chang appeared to be impressed with your discipline.” Dagen couldn’t help himself.  He reached out and smoothed the hair he’d just ruffled, hoping very much that Victus wouldn’t take offense at being petted like a dog.  “He said you were welcome to return at any time.”

Vic looked up and around Dagen’s arm. “Really?”

“Of course.” Dagen smiled and scratched between the boy’s shoulders.  “Perhaps we can come back next weekend.”

“Can we?” Victus’s eyes sparkled with complete happiness. “That’d be cool!”

Dagen’s smile was no less enthusiastic. “Now, there’s still a few more shops I need to see before I go,” he mused.  “Someone told me about a little shop around here that sells tea…”

***

The drooping of Victus’s tail kept pace with the lengthening afternoon shadows. “What’s wrong, my boy?” Dagen asked. Although he already knew the answer, it would do the varius good to say it. 

“I don’t want to go back,” Victus admitted, after a lengthy pause. “They’re going to blow up when I get back.” He put his hands to his head and mimed his head exploding.  “Ka-booom!”

Dagen chuckled to himself.  He had to admit, he wasn’t eager for their day to be over, either.  “I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he said, reaching a hand out to the boy’s shoulder, “but you need to go back sometime.” 

“Yeah, I know…”  

Dagen’s heart would have had to be made of stone for the pup’s drawn-out words and the despondency in his voice to not affect him.  From what he’d gathered during their time together that day, he didn’t think the staff at the orphanage would be cruel to the boy, they’d just give him an extra chore or two as punishment for running off.  They could take little away from him because there was so little to take.

“I have an idea,” Dagen said. “What if I bring you back, and suggest that you were a great help in showing me around?  Perhaps they would be less critical of your actions if they thought you spent the day assisting a priest.”

As happy as he was to extend the time with his new friend however he could, Victus felt his ears droop in sudden shame at what he knew Dagen would see; a run-down orphanage filled with dirty, undisciplined boys.  Out here, he was just another boy.  In there, he was the low man on a very short totem pole, a social misfit who made no friends.

“Victus?”  Dagen’s voice was gentle.  “I see your ears falling. Are you embarrassed for them to see me?”

“No!” Victus almost shouted, shaking his head at the thought.  “I’m not…”  he sighed, suddenly feeling despair at the thought that his new friend would realize what a messed up world he lived in. “It’s not you,” he said, finally.  “Where I live isn’t very nice, and…”  He trailed off, his hands flapping down to his sides in frustrated dejection.

“You don’t want me to see how you live?” Dagen said, sounding perplexed.   The boy’s nodding head added to his confusion.  “Did you have any choice where you went when your parents died?”

Victus shook his head. “That’s where they took me.”

“And has anybody given you the chance to go someplace else that’s better?”

Again, the lupine shook his small head. “Nobody’s asked me.”

Dagen took a chance and pulled the boy toward him in a casual, one-armed hug. “There are things in our lives that happen outside our control, my boy.   All we can do is make the best of the situation we’re given and better ourselves the best we can.”   He released Victus and turned the boy to face him. “Did you do your best?”

Victus shrugged uncertainly.  “I guess.”

“Then there it is!” Dagen smiled and opened his arms expansively.  “You have nothing to worry about.”

The boy’s voice was small with doubt. “It’s not very fancy.” 

“Do you remember the sword?”  Dagen prompted.  “It wasn’t fancy either.  But it ended up being the best one in the case, didn’t it?”

At this, the young lupine brightened.  He didn’t understand exactly why, but the fact that his living arrangements were shabby didn’t seem like such a bad thing any more.  “Okay,” he said, his voice strong again, “you can walk me home.”  He looked hopefully at his new friend.  “Do you think they might not punish me?”

Dagen chuckled.  “I hope they do!” He smiled down at Vic’s consternation. “You ran away, and payment must be made for that transgression.”  He looked down into the annoyed eyes. “Once payment is made on that debt, you’ll feel much better inside.  Still, I hope we can at least convince them to be lenient.”