Chapter Text
You don’t know what time it is when you and Daraya make it back to your hive. Only that the moon is low and the stars have dimmed. The air is sticky from the nighttime dew being evaporated by the planet’s already rising heat. It feels like you’re breathing in cotton as you trudge home silently, taking the backroads in case there are any drones on the street looking for you.
When you’re at the doorstep to your hive, you turn to Daraya. You look at each other’s charred clothes. The bruises on her arms. The scratches on your legs. The caked blood on both your faces.
You can’t stand it. Body shaking, you step forward and wrap your arms around her tightly.
Daraya hugs you back. She starts to choke out a sob but then stops herself, swallowing loudly. She shakes in your arms.
You hear bugs chirp. Flight beasts hiss. The wind rustles the grass and tree branches in your front yard. You both stand there for what feels like a long time.
You pull back first. “Will you be able to make it back to the caverns before the sun rises?”
Daraya wipes her eyes and sniffs. “If I run I can.”
You take her hand and squeeze it. “I guess . . . with how long you’ll be hived, I won’t be seeing you for a while then, huh?”
Daraya coughs a laugh and sniffs again. “Yeah, probably . . . .”
“And you’ll . . . be okay?”
Daraya looks at the ground. She kicks a pebble with the toe of her boot. “Eventually.” She scratches her arm. “What about you?”
You pause, then say, “Same.” You reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “Message me when you get back, okay?”
Daraya nods. You’re both quiet again. She wipes her nose on her arm and sniffs. Then she straightens her posture and holds her head high. She squeezes your hand back before letting go and sprinting down the street towards the woods to take the hidden path home. You watch her run until she is out of view, then go inside your hive.
You hear typing. Stelsa is in her home office with the door open. Having heard the front door close, she calls out to you, “Oh Zizi there you are I was wondering what time you would come back!” You hear drawers close and footsteps coming closer toward you. “You’re a little later than normal, which makes sense since you do have that big project and usually that’s fine but I came home exhausted just exhausted I could barely get through my strength training today so I ordered more of that grub loaf you love so much for dinner but it came early so it’s a bit cold, but if you want I can put it in the ove--” She sees you and stops.
“Oh god, Zizi . .” Stelsa approaches you slowly, like you’re a wounded animal. She gingerly touches your check and scans the cuts on your face. “What happened?”
The words die in you. You open your mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. You just stand there, gaping like a scale creature.
Stelsa takes care of any talking you might have needed to do. “You must’ve been near that awful drone attack. I heard on the news today that one had happened near your office and I was afraid that you might have gotten caught up in it. Oh look at you now so dirty and weirdly covered in red was there a rustblood or two in your office that got squashed my god so much blood on your nice pants but I’m so glad that most of it doesn’t seem to be yours, elated actually. ” She rubs your shoulder and gives you a small smile. “Poor dear, you’re all shook up. Don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything nothing at all but let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
You let Stelsa lead you to the bathroom and remove your ruined clothes. Dazed, you go through the motions of getting into the tub, washing off the dirt and grime, drying, dressing your wounds, and putting on a clean set of pajamas.
She lays you in your recuperacoon and kisses your forehead. “Poor dear, you had such a long night. Get some rest now. You’ll feel better tomorrow night, I promise.” She puts your spare pair of glasses on your bedside table. She bends down and pecks you on the lips. “Night, my love,” and shuts off the light when she leaves.
In the dark you lay awake. The slime feels good on your skin and soothes your scratches and bruises. Normally, the cool gooey substance would help ease you into a restful sleep. But right now you have so many tiny thoughts moving so fast in your mind you can barely keep up with them. Can barely comprehend that you’re having any thoughts at all. Your brain feels blank and loud, like a husktop screen with no picture. Just static.
Your palmhusk buzzes. You assume it’s Daraya and don’t move to answer it. You know the sun will not be up for at least another half hour and that the drones won't bother singling out anyone higher than a gold blood; she should be home safe.
But then it buzzed again.
You don’t want to answer it. You don’t want to move, especially if it means leaving your recuperacoon or finding out about another friend getting hurt. You let it lie in your bag, the one that Stelsa had placed at your desk on the other side of the room. You turn on your side to face away from the device and close your eyes, determined to fall asleep and forget that today ever existed.
But then it buzzes again. And again. And continued to do so.
After the twentieth buzz you couldn’t take it anymore. Groaning, you tear yourself from your recuperacoon, getting slime all over the floor, your body aching and muscles screeching. The wounds on your feet from running on all those stupid pebbles that snuck into your socks still haven't closed up yet. You leave partial bloody teal footprints and make an aquamarine trail as slime mixes with the blood on your march to the desk.
You snatch your palmhusk from your bag. Teeth gritted, you raise your arm and prepare to chuck it to the ground. You hold it in the air for a long time, the device vibrating in your hand. Your arm buzzes and your palm feels tingly. When your shoulder starts to get sore you sigh and slowly lower your arm. You feel around for your glasses in the dark and open your palmhusk to read your messages.
snakeBytes has began to pester Furnace chatroom
snakeBytes: Anyone know how to keep a furnace hot?
Your device buzzes again and a pesterhande you don’t recognize responds, “Stoke that fire.”
Then you read the messages before that one. Dozens of pesterhandles have responded back, all with the same message. And more were still coming in.
You rack your brain for what this could be. Suddenly two words hit you and it all makes sense: rally cry.
Your eyes start to water. Through your tears, you see a familiar Pesterchum handle respond to the chat.
jadedObstetriatic: Stoke that fire.
You feel your heart swell. You smile as you type.
listlessAdvocate: Stoke that fire.