Chapter Text
Fink bounced off the great white stone before landing back on the grass, claws digging into the earth as he bounded for the beach ahead. He shouldn’t even be capable of such things: jumping off tree barks, avoiding all hanging branches, speed accelerating despite the thumping of his heart. The hammering in his chest only excited him further—the only times he’d remember this kind of vigor coursing through his body was when prey escaped him or when he escaped predator. Yet, it was none of those cases; none at all. His only fuel being the joy and relief at a friend come home.
He wasn’t the only one sharing this elation. All around him, the inhabitants of the island followed the same trail. They galloped, crawled, skittered across the grass in a unified crescendo of excitement and hope. To his right was Thorn, him and his heavy thuds; to his left was the deer family, Pinktail and her kids gripping onto Crowpoint's back fur; and, overhead, among the colorful songbirds and woodpeckers, he spotted Brightbill soaring among the blue, the fastest of them all.
They had all heard it; they had all seen it: the rumbling of the ground and the white ship above their heads—then the metallic ball that fell from the sky and made contact with the deep waters.
Fink wasn’t the first to see her—it was Thunderbolt, actually, perched upon a high oak tree feeling the wind pass through his down, that spotted the sphere of metal fall from the flying ship. Albeit a little disappointed he wasn’t the first to spot his favorite robot’s return, he wasted no time sprinting to the nearest shortcut he knew to the beach. A few close calls (how many branches had he almost been snagged against? His enthusiasm was so unlike him—almost embarrassing; almost) here and there, the same going to his fellow animals—all as they galloped, crawled, leapt from tree to tree. He was in awe. In awe at how a misfit of a robot could bring a whole island together, simply at her kindness, resilience, and empathy—simply at who she is.
The growing, sore ache in his calves and forelegs didn’t slow the fox. All his senses focused on the beach ahead, on the small splotch of glimmering white that had begun to wash up on the shoreline. Soon, he felt the distance close: the wind that beat his face smelled of salt and seafood and the steady earth beneath his paws turned into grainy, warm sand.
Brightbill was the first one to get there, then him (surprisingly, but the adrenaline that rushed through him pushed his ability to overtake all the competing speeds), howling as he came to a stop. The animals clambered and jostled in celebratory anticipation from behind him—after all, she had done it; she was back home! They hadn’t even properly greeted her, and they were already prancing and shouting—unbounded, true joy.
Brightbill was the first to register the lack of whirring or the sound of moving metal, however, even amongst the celebration. Restlessly, he hobbled to the front of happy animals, wings outstretched in an attempt to get their attention. “Everybody, wait!”
They came to a halt, looking thoughtfully at Brightbill’s worried expression. “W-we don’t know if this is her yet! She hasn’t even moved. We don’t even know if…”
The animals considered his worry. They watched curiously as the ball of blue and silver metal, perfectly new and pristine, made no movement, simply rolling with the tide of the waves. Fink’s initial excitement slowly turned into dread—evident in the way his face slowly fell—eyes trained on the small, lulling movements of the white, metal sphere. He’d always resigned himself as the carefree tyke at heart—so why was it so easy for his thoughts to drift to grimmer possibilities, if the ball in front of them was even Roz? And if it was Roz, had the impact left her unresponsive? Could she even be…
He didn’t allow himself to finish the thought.
The slow flapping of Brightbill’s wings pulled him out from his own head, his gosling gingerly making his way to the sphere—webbed feet leaving light footprints on the malleable sand. “Roz?” he said, tapping the metal with his beak. “Roz?”
Fink stepped up, walking beside Brightbill. “Hey, Roz, quit playing around with us!” He gently pushed against the ball with his left paw. “Roz? Buddy?”
A beat pulsed through the animals, watching wordlessly at the soft, insignificant movements of the seemingly sleeping robot. Brightbill pecked Roz’s body again, then again, becoming more frantic. He looked at Fink’s own worried face.
“Is she–”
Suddenly, the sphere began to unravel, which caused Fink to protectively push Brightbill a few steps back with him. With a mechanical whirring sound, arms emerged from the side of the sphere, then legs, then a round, helmet-shaped head. It pushed itself forward as it unfurled, planting its legs into the soft sand. It stood to its full height, body glinting in the sunlight, a perfect artificial white with sleek cool blue highlights, directly contrasting its warm natural environment.
For a moment, everyone simply gaped. The robot stared back, as if observing, its eyes zooming in and out of its surroundings.
Fink blinked.
“Roz?–”
“HELLO! Bonjour! Guten tag! Hujambo! Hola! Congratulations on your new Universal Dynamics robot! I am ROZZUM unit 7134, ready to assist you and complete any task. Just ask!”
The animals stared in horror, gaping at the artificial machinery in front of them. Fink’s heart broke. After 2 years of waiting, what they had hoped was a friend back safely home was simply another robot sent to the island—unfeeling, calculated. It wasn’t their Roz.
Fink watched as the robot’s blue lenses dilated, and there emerged a metal “eyelid” from the bottom of her eyes, making her look almost bemused. He squinted. Wait a minute–
“I’m kidding.” The robot’s monotone, endlessly cheery, high-pitched voice deepened, warm and loving, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners. He heard her sweet smile from the notes that rang out of her voicebox. “You can call me Roz.”
The animals were soon in uproar. With no time to waste, they jumped onto their favorite robot, affectionately bumping her head and nuzzling her close. Brightbill sat on her shoulder, nuzzling up to her neck. Fink, who was pressed up to Roz’s chest, watched lovingly as Roz laughed that sweet, genuine laugh of hers, stretching her silver, glimmering arms as far as she could to wrap everyone in a loving embrace, one full of love, care, and everything that was left unsaid at her departure. She giggled—happy, true, feeling.
“I missed you all so much,” she said warmly, bringing everyone close.
Brightbill, close to tears, wrapped his feathers tightly around Roz’s neck, eyes shut close with unshed tears. “I missed you so much, too, Mom.”
Although he was also holding back tears, Fink mustered the quietest sniffle he could before smacking Roz square on her left cheek, sending her head spinning like a top before it stopped to face his direction. He tried to sound mad, but it came out more broken. Vulnerable and small. “What was that all about?! ‘I am Rozzum’– Did you think that was clever? Was that some kind of joke?! You–” Fink paused to muster up a fiercer tone. “You scared me!”
Roz’s expression softened. She carefully brought her hand to hold Fink’s face, who melted into the touch, struggling to keep the tears from falling down his fur. “I’m sorry, Fink. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Oh, and now you’re apologising,” he said, his typical coy nature masking the relief and absolute joy he felt at Roz’s return. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly, but he couldn’t hide the smile that soon followed. “Shut up, will you? You’re finally home!”
He leaped onto her, which, combined with the weight of everyone else pressed up against her, knocked her off balance onto the soft golden sand. She laughed as Fink licked her, tail practically vibrating in happiness, and as all the other animals followed in lovingly attacking her.
Roz laughed the truest laugh that she had in 2 years. She was finally home.