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He was becoming more mouse now. In his nervous state, Rowan had shrunk to around four and a half feet tall, his pink tail rattling behind him. Fur had spread across his cheeks and arms, warming him slightly in spite of the cool draft that always seemed to wheedle its way into the cabin. He was beginning to wish he had opted for a t-shirt instead of the usual light sweater. While the cabin was quite cold, Rowan was extremely hot after so much running about.
He was being hunted. Ears pinned back, he could still hear clearly the thumping footsteps milling around the house, searching for him. Although his opponent was certainly making an effort to be silent, Rowan knew that his silence couldn’t beat that of the mouse. Rowan was stuck in a room, hidden behind the door. His opponent was walking back and forth down the hallway, trying to find what room he was in. It was only a matter of time before he entered.
Thump, thump.
Two loud steps into the room, and…
Wham!
Rowan stepped out from behind the door and swung his small pole at his opponent, but he retaliated, quickly blocking the attack with his own pole with such force that Rowan’s flew from his hands. His tail was jittery as hell now, vibrating like a college student on their tenth cup of coffee. Due to his adrenaline, most complex thoughts went out the window replaced only by instinct. As his mouse half continued to consume his human half, Rowan became only around three and a half feet tall. He strafed left, out of the way of a second swing, leaning down to grab his weapon. Then suddenly a pressure appeared at the base of his neck, almost near his shoulder blades.
And then everything stopped. He was half mouse at this point, more fur than skin. As a large, strong hand grasped his fluff by his shoulders, Rowan realized was being scruffed. He had slumped forward instantly, head and arms hanging down, kept from collapsing to the ground only by the hand gripping the skin between his shoulder blades. His clothes hung off him ridiculously as he was lifted into the air.
Immediately, anxiety began to settle in. He couldn’t move. At all. He was completely limp on reflex. He didn’t know how to start moving again. No, no, no, this was bad. This wasn’t his parent. This was a stranger. They were picking him up and he couldn’t stop them. It wasn’t his mom. Not his mom, not his mom, not his mom. They weren’t supposed to pick him up. Only his mom grabbed him there. What were they gonna do to him? Were they ever gonna let him down?
His spiral was interrupted as he was slowly lowered to the ground and released. As soon as he had control of his body again, Rowan bounded backward, hitting the wall in his frantic escape. His round charcoal eyes flicked frantically across the room. Bed in the corner, dresser against the wall. He could become a mouse, completely. Then he could run. He could hide. In the dresser. A small ache began to form in the back of his head.
“Rowan. Rowan? You alright buddy?” a deep-ish, slightly hoarse voice called. Oh. But that was Evan. Right, they were in the middle of a training exercise. He had forgotten.
The mouse boy was still trembling, quivering against the wall. Though, now at least, he was returning to his human shape, with some concentration anyway. As his fur retreated once again, Rowan resumed his regular size, growing back into his clothes. Complex thought also began to return to him as he calmed down, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Staring at him with a look of concern, Rowan’s attacker, or rather Evan, was kneeling down in front of him.
“What just happened man?” Evan questioned, pressing a hand to the back of Rowan’s head to check for possible injuries. “You just— freaked out.”
Rowan couldn’t bring himself to speak. It was just too difficult to formulate words out of the ribbons of nonsense flowing through his head. Evan’s huge, warm hand felt good against the sharp icicles of pain shooting through his head, though. Struggling to articulate at all, Rowan opened his dry mouth once, twice, goggling like a goldfish. He couldn’t find the words. Evan pulled his hand back, resting it instead on Rowan’s shoulder.
“C’mere. Can you stand up?” Evan coaxed, supporting Rowan as he stumbled upright. “D’you wanna go sit on the couch?”
The mouse hybrid nodded slightly, flinching as Evan rested his hand on his back, a little too close to his neck for comfort. Silently, Evan guided the younger man down the hall into the living room, the largest room in the cabin, containing several pieces of upholstered furniture and a blackened, stone fireplace. Rowan released himself from Evan’s hold, which the older hesitantly allowed. As he flopped down on the couch, sweat from the training exercise still sticking his clothes to his skin, Rowan let his eyes wander to the cold mug of coffee and well-worn books resting on the wooden coffee table. His wet mouse nose picked up the comforting scent of burnt pine as Evan situated himself next to the teenager.
“You okay?” Evan asked in a low tone. “Are you— are you in pain?”
“No,” supplied Rowan’s flat, young voice. “Not really.” Oh, so he could talk now. He ran a hand through his soft, grey hair, noting the thick droplets of sweat near his forehead. A shower would be good.
“What… happened?” Evan sighed. “You just went collapsed when—“ he demonstrated, putting a hand on Rowan’s neck. He didn’t grab him or apply any sort of pressure. However, in an instant, pale fur flared along Rowan’s arms and face; his ears pulled back, eyes turning to shiny black marbles. He flinched away, standing up off the couch. “Woah. Okay. You’re okay,” Evan muttered as if speaking to an injured animal, and in a way, he was. “My bad— stupid idea.”
Rowan wished Miles was here. He would understand.
“It’s my— my scruff.” He continued at Evan’s uncomprehending expression, “If you, uh, grab me there, I go limp.” Pausing for a moment, Rowan felt the loose skin above his shoulder blades. “I can’t move. At all.” Sharing this fact, especially with a non-hybrid, was nerve-wracking to say the least, but there wasn’t much to do about. Either he could lie and Miles would tell Evan later, or he could tell the truth and directly make himself vulnerable. He was hoping this wouldn’t be like last time. That Evan wouldn’t ever do it again. That he wouldn’t take every opportunity to make him vulnerable.
“Ah. Sorry.” There was a small pause before, “Your head still hurt?”
So, no big deal then? Rowan resumed his seat, slouched against the back of the sofa. “Not much,” he replied, shrugging. Then he voiced the thought that had been bothering him, “Why’d you grab me there if you didn’t know?”
Evan considered this for a moment. “Well, y’know, I knew about the extra fluff there. So I was thinking, ‘Hey, that looks like a place someone would grab you if you were in a fight’. Unfortunately… that didn’t turn out great, sorry.” He ruffled Rowan’s thick, fur-like hair affectionately. Evan had been like that since they had met. Quite touchy-feely. Normally, it would bother Rowan, especially since they hadn’t know each other long, but Evan had saved his life, so he trusted him enough. “But, like, thats pretty important to know, right? If you’ve got that weak spot, you’ve gotta guard your back more I guess.”
“D’you actually think we’re gonna get into a fight though? I haven’t seen even five people since the snow storm.” Rowan rubbed his eyes tiredly.
“I’m sure there’s still plenty of people—we’re resilient, y’know?” he smiled, picking up the mug on the coffee table and walking over to the sink. “And if someone sees you taking anything that they want, they will absolutely fight you for it. And, although this may surprise you, I don’t wanna see your brains bashed in by some crazy apocalypse freak.”