Chapter Text
Aside from the moments of peace, which you cherished with your family, there came epochs wherein the future seemed unstable and volatile, winding its way through a curving landscape in which you had no way to navigate.
One of these momentary lapses of chaos came when a young boy, skinny and shivering, washed up on Cairnholm with nothing but the clothes on his back, and a strange, lilting tongue that no one seemed to speak.
It was on one of your scouts that you first saw him— Alma and you took shifts, she scouted for a day, for an hour at morning and at night, and then your turn came.
It was a regular patrol— until you saw him. He was sopping wet, cold, and obviously had no way of communicating with the villagers around him lest they cast him out.
You couldn't leave him there.
From your vantage point in the scruffy underbrush to the side of the cobbled road, you could see no normals— just the boy, alone, cold, starving, and with no way home.
You push your snout through the underbrush experimentally, and, scenting no danger, pad forward cautiously. You know the sight of a wolf is usually enough to send someone screaming and running, but you can somehow tell that this child is different.
You approach from his side, but start to pad forward a little bit so he has the time, if needed, to assess you as a threat and flee. When you're in his line of sight, you pause in your steps and allow him to see you first. You naturally camouflage with the night, but his eyes dart immediately over to you, as if sensing an attack.
Your heart breaks when you meet his eyes. They're filled with so much fear, so much hurt, for such a young age— he can't be more than twelve, you think.
And, to your surprise, he does not run. Instead, he tilts his head to the side, and says, "Little wolf. What are you doing here, all alone?"
Talking to animals is normal; normals do it all the time in hopes that their animal might one day understand them. What is decidedly not normal, is that he speaks in a series of barks and yips, snuffling at the end of the statement to show you he's harmless.
He's peculiar.
You don't think you could be any more relieved— you don't know if you could have walked away and left him there.
"Little boy, I am not what you think I am." You speak back to him, sizing him up with sharp eyes. If you bring him back home and he's a threat... but, you could never turn away a peculiar child in need like that.
He is curious at your reply, but before he says anything you take the hem of his shirt gently in your jaws, and tug him lightly. You only mean to coax him in the right direction, but he stumbles over, his light frame being jostled, and you quickly steady him, pressing your warm flank against his legs to keep him upright.
You huff when he's upright, and start to pad slowly away from the town. He follows without hesitation, dark eyes gleaming in the low light of the street lanterns to either side of you, and for a while, all that is heard is the falling rain, and the wind rustling through the trees beside you.
"Where are you taking me?" he asks you, his voice curious rather than wary.
You glance back at him, and huff by way of comfort. "A safe place."
He is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is slightly choked. "I haven't had one of those for a while."
You turn back to snuffle your warm nose into his shirt, trying to offer him what little comfort you are able before you reach home— he is a broken child, like the few of the starving, war-torn orphans who wash up on Cairnholm that you've seen. You're just glad he's peculiar.
"Come." You turn back to the path, and stop when you come to the edge of the bog. You evaluate your options, and then turn back to him, tilting your head. He's surely light enough to carry— you can carry Claire and of course Olive, and the heaviest you can take is Alma, although she is not too heavy. (The one time you've carried her, she'd lost a bet with the children and the ride had been the consequence; she'd loved it though, and couldn't hide her pink cheeks afterward, those intense, piercing eyes of hers so soft when she's with you.)
Plus, with his state of near starvation, you can't ask him to navigate the bog just on your guidance— he's liable to misstep and be sucked in. Cairnholm doesn't need another Bog Man. Another sacrificial offering, lost to time.
You make up your mind. "Hop on, little boy."
He stops you with a hand on your flank. "Wait. You should know my name." He closes his eyes briefly, no doubt recounting a time when this simple piece of information would have had him found and arrested. "I'm Abe."
You smile reassuringly, and huff as he gives you a tentative smile back. When you introduce yourself, he nods, turning the syllables over in his mind. "I like it." You laugh, the strange, yelping laugh of wolves, and gesture for him to get on.
He recoils. "I can't make you do that. Are you— I don't want to hurt you. Isn't there another way around?" You shake your head.
"Abe, my youngest child is heavier than you are, and I carry her on my back all the time— once or twice through worse situations than this. I promise, we'll both be fine."
He nods resolutely, and you see the open trust in his eyes. He falters, crouching next to you— even though you reach his waist. "How should I..." you give him a reassuring look, and tell him to wrap his arms around your neck and lay flat on your back.
He does so, and you were right— he weighs less than Claire. You don't like the thought of that— but you do like the thought of baking even more so he gets a little meat on his bones.
"Ready?" you huff, and you feel him nod. He's trembling slightly, and your heart softens more. "Relax. You'll be okay."
You go slowly at first, padding onto the step of the bog you know holds a person's weight. When you've proceeded cautiously for a while, you pause for a moment. "Can I go faster? If you wouldn't like me to, I'll keep going slow, Abe. It's alright."
But he nods his assent, and you grin wolfishly. You pounce across the gap between the next spots, and start to bound, your paws knowing the right path instinctively. You howl into the night, happiness at having found another child, and also to let Alma know you're okay.
When you finally reach the other side of the bog, you sense that Abe is a lot more comfortable on your back, so you simply pad forward with him still on it.
"Is this okay? I know I should get off, but you're so warm..." he shivers, pressing his face into your ruff as you reassure him it's okay.
It's only a ten minute walk through the underbrush after the bog to find the cave entrance, and as you make the familiar journey, it occurs to you he doesn't know anything about Peculiardom, or loops, or where you're going— so as you walk, you talk to him about the house, the children, and of course, your ymbrynne. He is quiet through all of this, and you can tell he doesn't want to let himself hope.
As you walk through the familiar loop entrance, you give a soft sigh of relief. The bright light comes over you, and you are feel that irreplicable sense of calm you always do when you're home.
Abe, on the other hand, is startled, giving a little jump, his frame shaking a little. You breathe more evenly in an attempt to calm him, and you're relieved to find it working. Almost out of the cave now.
When you see the light at the end of the tunnel, you bound towards it, slipping through the other side and finally feeling the sun on your face, its warm rays slipping across your skin like molten gold.
Abe is quiet, as he takes in the sunlight. You are about to speak when you hear your name called from beside you, its timbre severe, worried, and heart-achingly familiar.
Alma stands, eyes filled with worry, as she takes in your bedraggled appearance, your robe clutched in her hands. "Where were you? I was worried sick! You were only supposed to be scouting for forty-five minutes, not two hours—" you halt her tangent with a quiet bark. You didn't realise Abe was so small she couldn't see him on your back.
She's taken aback— you never bark at her— but you crouch slowly, and Alma's face changes completely as Abe steps off your back, rubbing his eyes at the sudden sunlight. He takes Alma in with worry, stepping back slightly, but you turn to him.
"Abe, it's okay. She just wants to help. She's an ymbrynne, just like we were talking about." You reassure him in wolf-speak, your tone soft. He looks up at Alma with frightened eyes, but you comfort him. "It's alright, lad. Speak. Here, you'll never be persecuted for your gift."
"Are you sure she wants me here?" he tells you in wolf-speak, and Alma's face softens as you comfort him, snuffling at his clothes.
"We're all peculiar here. Would you like to see mine?" You tilt your head, and he huffs a yes, face still wary, but less so.
You pad up to Alma, rubbing your cheek against her as she sighs quietly with relief, glad for you to be back. She strokes your fur gently, and your eyes close a little. She kisses the top of your head, wrinkling her nose at the taste of wet dog, and you laugh, taking your robe from her hands.
You shake the excess water off, before darting behind a tree to the side of the path, and shifting back. You slip your robe on, flexing your limbs and adjusting to this form before combing your hair with your fingers and stepping out from behind the tree.
"Hi, Abe." You give him a reassuring smile, and then step towards him. "I promise you, there is nothing here to hurt you. And if there is, Miss Peregrine and I take care of it. We'd never let our children hurt."
You see the carefully restrained hope on his face, and your heart breaks. "There are... other children?"
"Yes. Lots of them— and many are your age, or thereabout. We take care of them— peculiar children." You take his hand. "We would never hurt you; and if you wish to leave, that is your choice as well."
Alma walks towards you, and Abe's eyes dart over to her, dark and frightened. "Headmistress Alma Peregrine, at your service." She puts out her hand for him to shake, which he takes cautiously.
"It is my job to protect any child in my care, no matter what. Would you like to see our house? Stay for a while, and if you don't like it, you may always leave." She tilts her head to the side, and he nods immediately.
"I'll stay. Even if you turn out to be evil, at least it's sunny here." He gives you a tentative smile, and you grin back at him despite the dark joke.
Alma places her hand on the small of your back to lead you away, and Abe's eyes zero in on it. "Darling, we must speak later." Her voice is low, quiet, and you nod subtly before you fall back in step with Abe.
"So, where would I sleep? If there are no more beds I could always take a stable—" Alma cuts him off.
"My boy, there is always room for another child. What a preposterous idea! Sleep in the stables." she repeats to herself before shaking her head as if to banish the thought.
Abe is talkative during the walk, asking about the other children, the house, and anything that comes to mind. But, when you round the bend to the house, he falls silent.
Mouth slightly agape, he looks up at the pink and pale green of your home, towering and covered with honeysuckle and creeping ivy, sprawling gardens and dwarfing topiaries, golden afternoon sunlight refracting off the stained glass windows. "This... this is where you live?" he asks, voice soft.
Alma's expression softens. "Yes, lad. It could be yours too."
You share a soft look with her, and just for a moment, the sun shines a little brighter on your joined hands.