Chapter Text
Brushbuddy had long understood that the dispersal of juveniles was a natural and necessary stage in the reproductive cycle.
Once a juvenile had achieved sufficient physical maturity, demonstrated an ability to acquire food, and developed an appropriate appreciation for the importance of a well-maintained tail, it departed the ancestral burrow to establish a territory of its own. With luck, it would eventually attract a suitable mate, construct a nest, and produce a litter. Humans, naturally, had found a way to complicate matters.
The four juveniles had grown considerably since Brushbuddy first arrived at the burrow. They were now nearly the size of the adults, although their physical development remained uneven. The pink one had become taller and even more energetic, the blue one had acquired an increasingly alarming collection of shiny objects, and the curly-haired one had developed a remarkable ability to express disapproval without moving any part of her body except her eyebrows.
The blonde-green one had undergone the most dramatic transformation. For one thing, she was no longer blonde. Brushbuddy had observed the gradual alteration of her head fur over several years. It was not uncommon for brushbuddies’ coats to gradually change colors throughout development, but it did seem to be an unusual trait in humans.
The more concerning development occurred one afternoon when the juvenile returned to the burrow having apparently lost a considerable portion of her head fur.
Brushbuddy was resting on the windowsill when the door opened.
“I’m home!” The green one entered, carrying a parcel beneath one arm. Her head fur, which previously had been well below her shoulders, now ended just below her chin. It curled slightly inward toward her face, exposing the back of her neck.
Brushbuddy straightened. Was this a seasonal molt? That was unexpected. Humans generally retained their head fur throughout the year, regardless of temperature. Perhaps the green one had finally reached reproductive maturity?
The curly-haired one, seated at the table with a book, looked up. Her cheeks darkened in her typical color-changing behavior.
The green one smiled. “Agott! What do you think?”
The curly-haired one continued staring. “It’s… shorter. Quite a lot shorter.” Brushbuddy had always thought that the curly-haired one would make an excellent partner in its observational study of the household if she were not so distracted by her own attempts at courtship.
“Do you like it?” The green one touched one hand to her fur.
The curly-haired one opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down at the book in her hands as though the answer was on the scribbles on the page. Finally, she said, “It’s nice.”
Brushbuddy’s bristles rose. Nice? Was the curly-haired one even trying? Had this been the warm one, he might have used words Brushbuddy typically considered only appropriate for a tail like, “beautiful.” The tall one seemed to favor “wonderful.” That was a proper way to address a mate’s fur!
Against all odds, the green one appeared delighted. “I thought it would be easier to manage when I’m traveling,” she explained. “And… with the fifth test coming up, I felt like doing something different.” She turned her head from side to side, displaying the new length of her fur.
The curly-haired one’s face underwent a remarkable color change.
Brushbuddy leaned forward. The development of mature coloration was frequently accompanied by an increase in courtship activity. Particularly striking individuals might attract considerable attention during the seasonal displays, especially when their tails achieved their full adult length. The green one's tail remained conspicuously absent; nevertheless, the curly-haired one's response suggested that the display had been successful. Very successful, judging by the increasingly vivid coloration of her face.
The curly-haired one had always been an unusually territorial juvenile. Perhaps her mature reproductive instincts were finally asserting themselves. How encouraging. Unfortunately, her ability to communicate with a prospective mate appeared to have deteriorated considerably.
The green one moved closer. “You don’t think it’s too short?”
The curly-haired one looked at her. For a moment, Brushbuddy wondered whether she might attempt an appropriate display. Perhaps she would straighten her posture, demonstrate the quality of her own head fur, or offer some suitable nesting material. Instead, she said very softly, “It suits you.”
The green one’s smile changed. It was a small change, but Brushbuddy had become exceptionally skilled at noting these things through observation of the tall one. “Thank you,” she said equally softly, touching her hand to her head fur again.
The curly-haired one looked down at her book.
Brushbuddy settled back onto the windowsill.
Well. It was not an especially impressive courtship attempt, but it was a beginning.
The impending dispersal of the litter had become a frequent subject of discussion.
The pink one intended to establish a shop in a nearby human colony, where she had apparently identified a promising provisioning territory. She spoke enthusiastically about customers, commissions, and the possibility of constructing a display window large enough to accommodate several elaborate magical demonstrations. Brushbuddy approved of this arrangement. A reliable source of food and nesting materials was an excellent foundation for future reproductive success.
The blue one's plans were less clear. Whenever anyone asked, she gave an answer that was either evasive or entirely unrelated to the question. “I’m still deciding,” she said one evening.
“You’ve been saying that for months,” the curly-haired one replied, her observational acumen on full display. “Don’t you think you ought to have some idea by now?”
“I have ideas,” the blue one replied in annoyance.
“Such as?”
The blue one ignored the line of questioning and returned to her warren to enjoy her shiny objects. Brushbuddy regarded this behavior with suspicion. It had long considered the blue one the least cooperative subject. She was quiet, secretive, and inclined to conceal interesting objects in her clothing. Recently, it was a decorative neck ornament.
Brushbuddy had initially paid little attention to the decoration, assuming it was another example of the juvenile’s fascination with shiny materials. But one afternoon, while the blue one was bent over a drawing, the necklace slipped free of her collar. Up close, Brushbuddy could see several small, overlapping scales hung from the cord. Brushbuddy froze. It knew those scales. Those were scalewolf platescales.
The plates were unmistakable. Their distinctive texture and iridescent surface were characteristic of the species, which shed portions of its protective scales during elaborate dominance displays associated with the mating season. Brushbuddy had witnessed such displays before: they were magnificent, terrifying, and best observed from a considerable distance. The blue one had somehow acquired several of these plates and was wearing them as a neck ornament.
Brushbuddy's thoughts raced. Had she witnessed a dominance display? Had she collected the scales afterward? Had they been gifted to her? The implications of that final possibility were extraordinary.
Brushbuddy examined the blue one with renewed interest. Eventually, she noticed the scrutiny. “What?”
Brushbuddy chirped urgently.
She touched the necklace. “Oh, these? Pretty, aren’t they.”
Pretty? They were evidence of a mature Scalewolf's reproductive fitness!
The blue one smiled to herself and tucked the necklace beneath her collar. Brushbuddy sat back on its haunches. There were several possible explanations for this behavior. None were reassuring.
It would have to investigate further.
The green one's plans were considerably more developed. She had expressed interest in a fifth test which was required by the humans to establish a burrow of her own. Brushbuddy thought that the requirement presented an unusually high barrier to producing a new litter, but it was a sensible progression for a juvenile approaching dispersal age. The construction of a new burrow was among the most important milestones of an individual’s development.
The tall one had taken on the responsibility for preparing her for constructing the new burrow. They spent hours together discussing increasingly complex scribbles, looking at scribbles in books, and practicing elaborate forms of magic. Brushbuddy occasionally attended these sessions, although it found the tall one’s teaching methods unnecessarily indirect. More often than not, he would ask questions when he knew the answer. It seemed so inefficient.
The warm one, meanwhile, had begun assisting the green one with selection of a suitable territory to establish her burrow. They examined drawings together at the table in his nest.
“Somewhere with good access to a town would be useful,” the warm one said, tracing a line on the drawing with his finger. “But you don’t want to be so close that people come bringing you their problems at all hours.”
The green one nodded seriously, her brow furrowed in concentration. “And enough room for apprentices to thrive… eventually.”
“Eventually,” the warm one agreed.
Brushbuddy approved. The warm one was an experienced nest-builder and understood the importance of preparing a burrow for a growing litter.
“There’s another thing you’ll need to think about,” the warm one continued.
“What’s that?” The green one looked up from the drawing.
“You’ll need a Watchful Eye.” The green one went still.
Brushbuddy lifted its head. It knew the Watchful Eye was a human term for the non-dominant partner in a pair bond responsible for caring for the dominant partner while they were gravid and building the nest. The warm one himself occupied this position in the existing burrow, though Brushbuddy never fully understood why humans considered it an official appointment. Any sensible mate would keep an eye on their mate and young.
Even so, the arrangement had proven effective. The warm one was attentive, protective, and exceptionally skilled at maintaining a comfortable burrow. He had also proven to be unusually tolerant of the tall one’s reproductive peculiarities. He was a truly admirable mate in nearly every respect.
“Have you given any thought to who you might ask?” he asked. “I wouldn’t trust the Knights Moralis to assign you a Watchful Eye.”
The green one scrutinized the drawing again. “I’ve thought about it,” she confessed.
When she didn’t speak again for a long time, the warm one continued. “Well, you’ll want someone you can trust. And more importantly, someone who actually wants to be there.” Sensible advice for selecting a mate, though Brushbuddy found it woefully incomplete. There was no mention of reproductive fitness, facial bristles, or tail quality.
The green one smiled, but it was a peculiar expression, like the smiles the tall one sometimes made when he was hiding his disappointment with his fertility struggles. “That’s the difficult part. I trust them, but… do they want to be there?”
The warm one regarded her for a moment, then put a comforting hand on her back. “Right.”
Brushbuddy was puzzled. The selection of a suitable mate should not be especially difficult when a promising candidate was already living in the same burrow and had been displaying courtship behaviors for years. Admittedly, the curly-haired one’s technique left much to be desired, but she was industrious, physically fit, and capable of producing wonderfully intricate magic. Surely the green one had noticed.
Humans were extraordinarily inefficient.
The curly-haired one's plans were equally ambitious. She intended to establish her role as a provider in an enormous communal storage chamber, but it wasn’t for food - it was for books. Books were not especially nutritious, but humans appeared to place considerable value on their preservation.
The curly-haired one had been preparing for this future for some time. She studied diligently, corresponded with other humans outside the burrow, and spent hours discussing archival systems with the tall one.
Brushbuddy observed all this with growing concern. The green one was preparing to establish a burrow elsewhere. The curly-haired one intended to occupy a territory near the book storage. These arrangements were not compatible with successful pair bonding. The warm one and tall one were often separated for brief periods when they left the burrow to seek food or other provisions, but it placed strain on the mate who remained behind with the litter. Their reunions often began with long grooming sessions for reassurance and ended with unsuccessful mating attempts. It was a vicious cycle.
One evening, the green one and the curly-haired one sat together at the table in the kitchen. The green one was doodling on a large piece of paper while the curly-haired one was deeply engaged with a thick book. Brushbuddy settled on the table with them to monitor developments.
“Do you think this would be enough room?” the green one asked.
The curly-haired one looked over at her. “For what?”
“The Watchful Eye’s tower.”
The curly-haired one stopped reading and leaned closer. Their shoulders touched. “You know, it isn't actually normal for a Watchful Eye's tower to be connected to the atelier. I have no idea how Master Qifrey and Master Olruggio managed that.” The girls exchanged a look that Brushbuddy could not interpret. “But… yeah, I see what you’re envisioning.”
The green one pointed with her pen to another spot on the scribbles. “Would you want a room like this?”
The curly-haired one looked at her, startled. “What?”
“For a library, I mean. If you were designing one.”
“Oh.” The curly-haired one paused, then gave more serious consideration to the doodles. “Yes, probably. You’d want to be aware of the direction of the light; it can damage the books.”
“Right, of course.” The green one tapped the back of her pen on the paper, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. It was a strange behavior Brushbuddy had not observed in the adults. “But you’ll have the Tower of Tomes… you wouldn’t need a little library like this.”
The curly-haired one withdrew, leaning away from the green one and looking down at her book. “No.”
The green one’s smile diminished. “Right.”
Brushbuddy was thoroughly dissatisfied. The green one had just offered the curly-haired one an entirely serviceable nesting chamber and the curly-haired one had declined! It was a serious failure of courtship.
Brushbuddy chirped sharply at them, but neither juvenile paid it any attention.
Honestly.
Over the following weeks, the situation deteriorated. The green one continued preparing for her fifth test. The curly-haired one continued studying. They spent an extraordinary amount of time together, but neither appeared willing to establish a shared burrow. Brushbuddy began to suspect that the curly-haired one had inherited the tall one's unfortunate reproductive difficulties. The tall one had been incapable of producing another litter despite years of considerable reproductive effort. The curly-haired one, meanwhile, was incapable of completing even the preliminary stages of courtship despite having a prospective mate directly in front of her.
Perhaps the condition was hereditary. Brushbuddy found this possibility deeply distressing.
It had hoped that at least one member of the litter might produce healthy offspring. The pink one's prospects remained promising, although she had yet to demonstrate interest in any particular mate. The blue one's situation was frankly alarming. And now the green one and the curly-haired one were apparently preparing to establish separate territories despite a mutually beneficial pair bond.
Something had to be done. Brushbuddy had considerable experience with unsuccessful courtship displays; unfortunately, its previous attempt to lend the tall one its magnificent tail had been poorly received. Perhaps a more subtle approach would be appropriate.
It collected several attractive scraps of fabric from the warm one's workshop and deposited them beside the curly-haired one's books. She looked down. “What’s this?” Brushbuddy straightened proudly. The curly-haired one picked up a scrap. “Did you steal this from Master Olruggio?”
Brushbuddy chirped indignantly.
She sighed. “I’ll put it back. Try not to cause so much trouble.” The curly-haired one returned the fabric to the warm one’s nest.
Brushbuddy was appalled.
It tried again the following afternoon, this time selecting a particularly fine piece of blue fabric. The curly-haired one examined it. Then she looked at Brushbuddy. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Yes. “Am I going to find out Master Olruggio is missing fabric?”
Brushbuddy deflated.
There was simply no helping these people.
Several days later, Brushbuddy was resting beneath the workshop table when the green one entered carrying another large drawing. The warm one was sorting through a collection of tools.
“I think I’ve narrowed it down,” she announced.
The warm one looked up. “Have you?”
The green one spread the drawing out across the table and motioned to two red circles on the picture. “There are two places I really like. This one is closer to the coast, but the other has better access to the Great Hall.”
The warm one studied the paper. “Both could work. Which do you prefer?”
The green one hesitated. “I don’t know.” Brushbuddy considered her conundrum. The coastal territory offered several advantages, particularly if suitable nesting materials could be obtained nearby. The inland territory, however, appeared to provide better access to established human colonies. Either would be adequate.
“The second would be easier for someone who needed to travel to the Tower of Tomes,” the green one said, tracing her finger over one of the red circles.
“I imagine a windowway would be much simpler,” the warm one said, looking up from his tools. “Coco, have you spoken to Agott?”
The green one became very invested in the picture. “About what?”
The warm one made a low, rumbling sound in his throat. Brushbuddy recognized it; he frequently made that same sound when the tall one insisted on performing a task without assistance while they were attempting to conceive a litter. It was a display of the warm one’s excellent paternal instinct. “About what you want,” he said.
The green one spoke quietly. “She wants to work at the Tower of Tomes and I want my own atelier.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, bowing her head. “It would kill me if she thought she had to give up her dreams because of me. I could never be that selfish.”
The warm one smiled fondly and placed his hand on the green one’s back. “Who says anyone has to give up anything?” This seemed to startle the juvenile. “You ought to ask Agott what she wants. She might surprise you. Maybe tell her what you really want while you’re at it.”
Brushbuddy’s tail flicked. This was promising; at last, someone was addressing the territorial problem directly.
The green one swallowed hard and then snatched up the drawing from the table. “I don’t want to make things difficult for her.”
The warm one sighed. Brushbuddy sympathized.
That evening, the curly-haired one returned to the burrow considerably later than usual. Brushbuddy watched her come in from its perch on the back of the tall one’s chair.
The tall one glanced up from his book. “Welcome home, Agott. Did everything go well at the Great Hall?”
“Yes, thank you.” She hesitated. “Is Coco home?”
“In your room, I believe.”
The curly-haired one nodded and went through the door to the den she shared with the green one. Something about her manner was unusual; she had the focused expression she generally wore when she was scribbling on little round pieces of paper.
“What was that about?” the tall one wondered aloud, reaching up over his shoulder to give Brushbuddy a scratch under the chin.
Brushbuddy hurried after her, slipping in the crack in the door before it could be locked out. It found the green one in the common area of the den, kneeling beside an open trunk. Several books and folded garments were arranged across the floor. The curly-haired one had barely made it past the doorway.
“Coco.”
The green one looked up, her expression immediately brightening. “Oh! Agott, you’re back. How was the Great Hall?”
“Fine.” The curly-haired one stepped into the room. Brushbuddy slipped beneath her workbench so as to avoid detection. “You’re packing.”
“Just sorting things. I don’t know where exactly I’m going yet.” The green one looked down at a folded garment in her hands. “Master Olruggio has been helping me pick a location for the atelier, but it’s harder than I suspected. I’ve been thinking I should ask Master Qifrey how he found this place.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” the curly-haired one said. She came to kneel beside the green one in front of the trunk. “I’ve decided where I’m going to live.”
“Oh!” The green one’s lips twitched; Brushbuddy recognized it as a typical precursor to tears, though she was still smiling. “Did you find somewhere in the Great Hall that suits you?”
“No, I hate that place.” The curly-haired one rested her hand on the trunk, leaning closer to the green one. “With you. In your atelier.”
Brushbuddy froze. Oh. Oh.
The curly-haired one’s face began changing color while the green one stared at her openly. “I’ve looked into it,” she said quickly. “There’s no requirement that I reside in the Great Hall to work at the Tower of Tomes. I’d need to travel, of course, but nothing that I couldn’t handle with a windowway. And you said you wanted somewhere with access to the roads, so—”
“Agott…”
“—it would be perfectly practical. You’d need someone to help maintain the atelier, and I for better or worse know how you work, and—”
“Agott… do you mean it?” The curly-haired one stopped. The green one had turned herself bodily to face her, leaning her hands on her knees and moving their faces very close together.
“Of course I mean it,” the curly-haired one stuttered.
“But your family—”
“My family does not get a say in this.”
“But—”
“Coco.” The curly-haired one’s voice had become very quiet. “I want to live with you. I’ll figure the other stuff out as it comes.”
Brushbuddy’s bristles stood on end. At last! After years of hesitation, it was a direct declaration of shared territorial intent! The curly-haired one had finally demonstrated a competent and appropriate understanding of courtship.
The green one threw her arms around the other juvenile. The curly-haired one made a startled noise. Brushbuddy watched with satisfaction as the green one pressed her face against the curly-haired one's shoulder. An enthusiastic acceptance display. Excellent. The curly-haired one sat motionless for a moment before wrapping her arms around the green one.
Brushbuddy relaxed. The pair bond was progressing beautifully.
The green one said very softly, “I wanted to ask you to be my Watchful Eye, but I didn’t want you to give up the Tower of Tomes.” The curly-haired one opened her mouth, but the green one kept speaking. “I wanted you.”
Brushbuddy peeked out from under the table. The curly-haired one was displaying the most extraordinary coloration it had ever observed. The green one appeared to be exhibiting a similar physiological response. Perhaps the change in head fur had affected both of them.
The curly-haired one made a peculiar sound—it may have been a laugh or a sob; Brushbuddy could not be certain. She put her hand on the green one’s hair. “I really do like it.”
The green one smiled. “I know.”
The curly-haired one leaned forward. Brushbuddy held perfectly still except for the little twitches and flicks of the end of its tail. Their faces moved closer. Closer. Then the green one leaned into the curly-haired one to press their lips together. Grooming!
Brushbuddy straightened triumphantly. A successful pair bond! After years of inadequate displays, inefficient provisioning, and an almost complete failure to communicate territorial intentions, the juveniles had finally accomplished something worthwhile.
The curly-haired one made a small, startled sound, but she continued to engage the green one in grooming. Enthusiastically. Noisily.
Brushbuddy was delighted. Although it would have preferred a more elegant display, the exchange appeared satisfactory.
Perhaps the green one's new head fur had indeed constituted a particularly effective reproductive display. The tall one did seem to react differently to the warm one when his whiskers were shaggy, after all.
It would make a note of the observation.
The following morning, the household was unusually noisy.
The green one and the curly-haired one had apparently informed the adults of their decision; the tall one was delighted and the warm one appeared wholly unsurprised. The pink one shrieked so loudly that Brushbuddy retreated beneath the table.
The blue one said slyly, “I wondered when you’d figure it out.”
Brushbuddy regarded the blue one suspiciously. She was still wearing the Scalewolf platescales.
The tall one embraced both juveniles, although the curly-haired one protested that he was making a fuss. The warm one offered practical advice about transportation, housing, and the responsibilities of overseeing a burrow. The pink one immediately began discussing possible decorations for the new burrow. The blue one suggested that they should install additional shelves. Brushbuddy approved. A properly constructed burrow required adequate storage for food, especially in the colder seasons.
By evening, the green one and the curly-haired one were seated together at the table, examining more of the big drawings. Their shoulders touched. Occasionally, the curly-haired one reached for the green one's hand. Brushbuddy observed this with satisfaction. The pair bond appeared stable.
There was, however, a remaining concern. Neither possessed a tail. Given the tall one's history of reproductive difficulties, Brushbuddy could not entirely dismiss the possibility of hereditary infertility. The condition might be more widespread than it had originally believed. The blue one's mysterious association with a Scalewolf did little to improve its confidence. The pink one remained the only juvenile whose reproductive prospects were not immediately alarming.
Brushbuddy heaved a great sigh, curling up on the edge of one of the drawings. It had done everything it could. At least the new mates had established a suitable territory. That was something.
Brushbuddy observed ongoing preparations with growing unease. The litter was leaving. This was normal, expected, and altogether biologically appropriate. Yet, the burrow had begun to feel different. The pink one’s laughter echoed through the corridors as she carried boxes through the burrow. The blue one’s hidden warren gradually emptied. The curly-haired one’s books disappeared from familiar shelves. And the green one—the green one was planning to establish her own burrow with her mate.
Brushbuddy had followed her here many years ago. It remembered the journey, although some of the details had grown indistinct with time. It remembered the unfamiliar territory, the strange humans, and the extraordinary discovery of a warm, dry burrow occupied by a pair of adults and several juveniles. It had remained because the green one remained. That had been the arrangement. Naturally, it would accompany her when she departed.
Brushbuddy considered this conclusion. Then it looked toward the warm one's nest—the door was open. Inside, the warm one was doodling carefully, his head bent over his work. The tall one sat beside him, reading aloud from a book. Occasionally the warm one interrupted to ask a question. The tall one would smile and answer. Brushbuddy watched them for some time.
The warm one’s nest was expertly crafted and exceptionally comfortable. There were scraps of fabric suitable for nesting, the tall one was affectionate and particularly generous with head scratches, the warm one maintained an admirable temperature throughout the colder months, and…
Well, both required ongoing supervision.
Brushbuddy's stomach felt peculiar. It must have eaten something disagreeable.
One afternoon, the green one found Brushbuddy curled inside her travel bag. “Oh, Puffpuff!” She laughed and lifted it in her cupped hands. “Are you coming with me?”
Brushbuddy looked up. The green one’s head fur was almost entirely green now. It remembered when she had been smaller, when her head fur had been more yellow, when she first brought it to her burrow.
She gently scratched its bristles. “I’d love that. But you know, you can stay here if you want.” She stroked one thumb under its chin. “You’re awfully attached to Master Qifrey and Master Olruggio.”
Brushbuddy became attentive. What the green one was saying was true.
The green one held it close to her face. “I think they’d miss you.”
Brushbuddy knew the tall one would certainly miss it. He had grown increasingly dependent on Brushbuddy's comforting presence during his prolonged reproductive difficulties. The warm one would miss it as well, although he was less inclined to admit such things. And the burrow… Brushbuddy knew every corner, every warm patch of sunlight, every suitable nesting place, every place the tall one was likely to fall asleep and require supervision.
The green one gently placed it on the bed. “I know you’ll make the right choice.”
Then she returned to her packing. Brushbuddy sat very still. For the first time, it considered the possibility that it might not accompany the green one. The thought was unsettling, but so was the thought of leaving.
The tall one was unusually quiet that evening. The last of the girls’ trunks had been carried downstairs, and the burrow had begun to acquire the stillness of hunkering down for winter. The warm one was sitting on the couch; the tall one settled beside him. Brushbuddy occupied its customary position on the cushion between them.
“It’s going to be strange without them—quiet,” the tall one said. “They’ve been here so long, now.” The tall one smiled faintly. “I remember when they were little.”
Yes. Brushbuddy agreed. The juveniles had once all been very small. Their tails had never developed properly, but they had otherwise grown into healthy young adults.
The tall one reached down and stroked Brushbuddy’s back. “Even Puffpuff’s getting older.”
Brushbuddy bristled. It was in excellent physical condition. Its tail was exceptional and it would have no difficulty attracting a mate if it chose to do so. The litters it would produce would be of the highest pedigree, and—
“Don’t think he appreciated that,” the warm one said with a chuckle, poking Brushbuddy in the cheek to quell its rage.
The tall one laughed softly and leaned his head on the warm one’s shoulder. For a while, neither spoke. Brushbuddy watched them fondly. The pair bond remained strong. The burrow was warm. The litter was healthy. Everything was proceeding according to established expectations. So why did the tall one seem so sad?
Brushbuddy moved closer and pressed itself against his leg. The tall one looked down. “Oh, sweetheart.” He lifted Brushbuddy carefully into his lap, allowing it to settle in its favorite spot against his stomach. The tall one stroked its bristles. The warm one reached over and rested a hand on the tall one’s neck.
Brushbuddy watched them, just as it always had. It had spent years observing these humans. It had observed their courtship displays, their reproductive difficulties, their peculiar nesting habits, and their extraordinary commitment to provisioning. It had attempted to assist them whenever possible. And, despite their many shortcomings, it had grown fond of them. Very fond, in fact.
The tall one bent his head and touched his lips to the warm one’s cheek. His thumb swept over Brushbuddy’s head. Brushbuddy closed its eyes.
There was something it had overlooked—something rather important. It had always considered itself an observer of the household. A specialist. An authority on reproductive behavior. But… perhaps it was not merely observing the litter. Perhaps it belonged to it. It had lived in the burrow for years, received food and affection from the mated pair of adults, slept in their nests, been protected and groomed… the evidence was compelling.
Brushbuddy was a member of the litter. An unusual member, certainly, and one whose tail had developed considerably more successfully than those of its siblings. But a member nonetheless.
It looked up at the tall one and warm one. They were—
Well. They were its parents.
It tucked its tail around itself. Of course. How had it failed to recognize something so obvious?
The decision, once reached, was straightforward. Brushbuddy would remain in the ancestral burrow. There was no biological requirement for every juvenile to disperse. In some species, mature offspring remained with their parents to assist with territory maintenance, resource acquisition, and the care of younger siblings. Admittedly, there were unlikely to be any younger siblings in this particular household. The tall one's reproductive difficulties were well established. Nevertheless, the arrangement was sensible. Someone would need to look after the aging pair.
The warm one was competent, but frequently distracted by the tall one. The tall one was affectionate and generous, but demonstrated a troubling disregard for sleep and regular meals. Neither possessed a proper tail.
Clearly, Brushbuddy's continued presence was essential.
The following morning, the green one was carrying another box downstairs when she found Brushbuddy sitting on the tall one's shoulder. She smiled. “Have you decided if you’re coming with us, Puffpuff?”
Brushbuddy straightened. The tall one looked up, his expression unreadable. “Oh,” he said. “Are you?”
Brushbuddy turned, climbed down the tall one’s shoulder, and settled comfortably against his chest. The tall one chuckled softly. “I see.”
The warm one, passing through the doorway with a bundle of folded cloth, glanced over. “Looks like we’re stuck with it.”
The tall one smiled. “I don’t mind.”
Brushbuddy closed its eyes. Excellent. The arrangement had been accepted.
The green one reached over and stroked its head. “I’ll miss you, Puffpuff.” Brushbuddy opened its eyes. It would miss her, too—very much. But she was establishing her new burrow with her mate and, eventually, a litter of her own. Her future was promising despite the unfortunate reproductive complications that undoubtedly would arise.
And she would return to visit. They all would. Brushbuddy was certain of it.
The green one kissed the top of its head. “Take good care of them, okay?”
Brushbuddy flicked its magnificent tail. Naturally. It had been doing so for years.
The day of the departure arrived.
The pink one left first, accompanied by an extraordinary quantity of luggage and several emotional embraces. The blue one departed shortly afterward, although Brushbuddy remained suspicious of the circumstances surrounding her journey. The Scalewolf platescales were still hanging around her neck. Brushbuddy made a mental note to investigate the matter at the earliest opportunity.
Finally, the green one and the curly-haired one prepared to leave. The tall one embraced them both. The warm one offered one last round of practical advice, which the curly-haired one assured him she already understood. The green one laughed. The curly-haired one took her hand. Brushbuddy watched with satisfaction. Their pair bond appeared exceptionally strong.
The tall one was smiling, but his expression was tender. The departure of healthy juveniles was a successful outcome, but it was also a loss.
The green one knelt and held out her hands. Brushbuddy went to her and she stroked its head one final time. “Be good, Puffpuff.”
Brushbuddy chirped.
The curly-haired one smiled. “Don’t let Master Qifrey get away with anything.”
An excellent suggestion.
Then the green one rose, took the curly-haired one's hand again, and together they departed. For a long moment, the burrow was quiet. The tall one stood silently looking at the door.
The warm one moved beside him. “Well.”
“Well.” The tall one leaned into him.
Brushbuddy climbed onto the tall one’s foot and chirped.
The tall one looked down. “Oh, Puffpuff.” He bent and picked it up so it could settle comfortably against his chest. The warm one reached over and scratched its head. It closed its eyes.
The tall one and warm one were no longer young, their reproductive prospects were poor, their nesting habits remained questionable, and despite years of observation, neither had demonstrated the slightest improvement in tail development. Someone had to look after them.
Brushbuddy tucked its elegant tail around itself, content in the tall one’s arms.
That evening, the burrow was quiet—very quiet. Brushbuddy initially welcomed the absence of the juvenile noise, but after several hours the silence was unsettling. The adults were also quiet. The warm one was working at his scribbles, again, and the tall one was engaged in a book. Brushbuddy lay between them on a folded piece of cloth.
“Olly?” the tall one asked suddenly. “Do you think they’ll be all right?”
The warm one kept working. “Of course they will.”
“I just worry.”
The warm one set down his tool and reached across the space between them to take the tall one’s hand. “They’ll be fine, Qifrey. You raised fine witches.” The warm one squeezed his hand.
Brushbuddy observed this exchange with considerable approval. Grooming and reassurance were essential components of a stable pair bond.
The tall one leaned closer. The warm one brushed a strand of pale hair away from his face.
Brushbuddy relaxed. The household was functioning normally.
Then the tall one pressed their lips together. The warm one leaned over Brushbuddy to return the contact.
Brushbuddy opened one eye. Surely not.
The tall one moved closer. The warm one made a low sound.
Brushbuddy sat up. The juveniles had only just dispersed. The adults had an entire burrow to themselves. And apparently, despite their advanced age and the tall one's tragic reproductive limitations, they intended to resume their efforts immediately.
The warm one rose from his seat. The tall one smiled up at him. Brushbuddy recognized that expression. It had observed it many times before. This was going to be a long evening.
The warm one glanced down at Brushbuddy. “Come here, little fellow.” He lifted Brushbuddy and deposited it gently on the workbench. Brushbuddy was indignant.
The tall one laughed. “Don’t look at us like that, Puffpuff.”
Brushbuddy chirped.
The warm one took the tall one's hand. Together, they left the warm one’s nest.
Brushbuddy watched them go before settling onto the folded cloth and tucking its tail around itself. It was content.
Although, given the circumstances, it was beginning to suspect that remaining in the ancestral burrow might involve considerably more exposure to reproductive behavior than it had originally anticipated.