Chapter Text
Tenderness is the most modest form of love...it goes far beyond empathetic fellow feeling.
Instead it is the conscious, though perhaps slightly melancholy, common sharing of fate.
Tenderness is deep emotional concern about another being, its fragility, its unique nature,
and its lack of immunity to suffering and the effects of time. Tenderness perceives the bonds
that connect us, the similarities and sameness between us. It is a way of looking that shows
the world as being alive, living, interconnected, cooperating with, and codependent on itself.
- Olga Tokarczuk
Ilya Rozanov is 12 when his dæmon Kova abruptly settles.
At first he doesn't even notice, too busy tugging frantically at his mother's limp hand where it hangs over the couch, whispering pleas for her to wake up, mama, please get up don't leave me please until he realizes he's not whispering anymore he's shouting, screaming, weeping. Somewhere nearby Kova is making soft pained noises in the back of her throat but Ilya doesn't turn around, can't look anywhere but at his mother's beautiful face now wretchedly pallid and blank.
Time passes. His tears dry up. His father returns home to find Ilya sitting on the floor, holding his mother's cold hand. His father screams — at his mother, at Ilya, at Kova, at his own wild boar dæmon — until he's hoarse. Ilya doesn't hear any of it, not really. He doesn't need to; it's the same as always.
The police arrive. They take his mother away. Her dæmon Sezja is already gone.
That night, Ilya lays on his back and stares sightlessly at the ceiling. Kova crawls on top of him and tucks herself neatly under his chin, pressing her small wet nose into the side of his neck.
"Ilyusha," she whispers gently, "come back to me."
"I'm here," he mumbles. It's mostly true.
"Can you feel it?" Kova asks. She sounds calm but Ilya can sense a layer of anxiety bubbling beneath the all-consuming waves of grief.
"Did you…oh. Oh, Kova," Ilya sniffles and, for the first time, clutches his settled dæmon close. She is beautiful, just like he knew she would be. Her fur is splotchy with color, dark browns and tans and a reddish bronze he knows will gleam brilliantly in sunlight. She is small—smaller than he expected his settled dæmon would be—but she feels so perfectly right in his arms. Tears drip down his cheeks and soak into her soft fur.
His father will be furious but Ilya doesn't care.
Kova has settled as a lemming, just like Sezja. Ilya realizes he will always have a piece of his mother with him now, and the thought brings him just enough peace that he's able to drift off into a quiet and dreamless sleep.
~~~
Shane Hollander is 18 and his dæmon Hikari still hasn't settled.
It isn't a problem, exactly, that she's taking so long, except for all the ways that being different is a problem.
Hikari has spent years cycling through small, fuzzy creatures, testing each form out anywhere from a few hours to a few months. Shane gets his hopes up every time she stays in one form for more than a day, that Hikari has finally made up her mind, that he'll finally be normal and he can talk about his dæmon the way everyone else on his team does. But days and months and years go by and no matter how much Shane begs and pleads with her to hurry up, to just pick something that would be easy for them both, she remains resolute.
"I won't rush this Shane," she tells him in the form of a small brown bear, the night after Team Canada's miserable loss to Russia in the International Prospect Cup gold medal game.
"It's not rushing if you're years behind everyone else," Shane mutters uncharitably.
He's laying on the bed in his hotel room, Hikari's fuzzy body sprawled comfortingly over his chest, enough weight to hold him here, tether him to his body instead of floating away somewhere else.
Hikari lifts her head off his chest, releasing a bassy growl and baring her teeth at him. It doesn't scare him—she's part of him after all—but he understands that he overstepped.
He wraps his arms around her and hugs her close. "Sorry, I'm sorry Ri. I'm an asshole."
Hikari huffs a breath but doesn't disagree.
"It's not up to me, you know. Not really."
She doesn't say it's up to you, but Shane hears it anyway.
"What's the deal with Rozanov's dæmon anyway?" he asks instead of letting himself spiral over Hikari's comment. When he approached Rozanov the other day to introduce himself he hadn't noticed his dæmon, and Hikari had stayed tucked in the pocket of his hoodie as a ferret. During games dæmons were required to stay on their team's bench to ensure they didn't get hurt, but they were allowed on the ice after. Rozanov's dæmon was small enough to sit comfortably on his shoulder in the handshake line, which surprised Shane when he noticed.
Hikari sighs out another breath. "She was quiet, mostly. And kind of sweet."
Shane gawks at her. "Sweet? No way!"
"She said it was nice getting to see you play in person."
"No she didn't!"
"Okay, asshole, if you think you know everything why ask me a question?"
Shane shakes his head, dumbfounded.
"She really said that?"
Hikari nods, shifting forms until she's imitating Rozanov's small, round dæmon. In a mortifyingly bad Russian accent, she says, "Is nice to see Hollander skate in real life."
Shane chokes on a laugh. "Oh my god, Ri, that's so weird, change back!"
She snickers at his discomfort but does as requested, fur shifting colors and small body expanding until she's stretched out on the bed next to him as a tiger. He looks at his dæmon, the ease with which she shifts forms to become something else, and his chest aches with an emotion he's not sure he can name.
"It'll happen Shane," Hikari tells him with a confidence he doesn't feel. She uses her rough tongue to groom him, licking gently at his hair. He scrunches his nose up but doesn't push her away. "I'll settle and you'll get drafted and next year you'll play in the NHL and the rest of our life will be ahead of us."
Shane nods sleepily.
"It'll happen."