"We're disembarking

  here, mate." Yeen said, skillfully navigating the pirogue between the

  ships that now crowded the waters, despite the width of the river. Less

  than a kilometer away stood the fortifications of the city. A great wall

  of brick as red as the earth, it stopped on either side of the river at

  towers decorated with low geometric reliefs and topped with

  battlements.

  Between

  them and the wall lay what seemed to Pastel to be entire villages, where

  gardens, rice paddies, temples, dwellings and terraced buildings

  coexisted in a variable and heterogeneous density and architecture. They

  stopped at a stone pier where several ships were already piling up. On

  the quay, a panther turned towards them with a smile as soon as she

  caught sight of them.

  "Welcome to Ternoulie, travelers! Give me your pole! I'll help you to..."

  "We

  won't give you a penny, so get lost or I'll shove my pole in your

  face!" Thundered Yeen. To Pastel's surprise, the panther replied with a

  smile and simply turned towards the other boat, as if accustomed to this

  kind of response.

  Yeen

  turned to Pastel: "Well, I too heard that your people weren't allowed

  into the city. That's why you're coming down here. You might stand a

  chance if you go and see the monkeys. I'll be on my way."

  "Ah,

  of course," replied Pastel, a little surprised. "But what did you

  expect? That he'd be carrying you back to your mother?". He thought to

  himself. He looked at the tall, muscular creature and stood up in the

  boat. Yeen gave a restrained smile, which made Pastel laugh. He thought

  back to all the miles they'd traveled together. He thought back to their

  caresses and confessions. Despite everything, and despite the feeling

  of familiarity that had begun to form between them, they were still

  strangers, Pastel reflected.

  He'd

  told himself so many times to be wary of the other, and the stone

  seemed to send him invitations to be cautious, but now that the spotted

  gnoll with the big brown eyes was throwing him out of his canoe, he

  wondered what he'd been afraid of all this time.

  "Thanks

  for everything Yeen." Pastel stepped forward and hugged the gnoll. The

  latter grunted, at first resisting, before reciprocating the hug. Pastel

  ran his fingers over the thick fur on Yeen's neck. The gnoll's hand

  moved down to the fox's bottom.

  "I'm gonna miss your ass." Yeen murmured just before Pastel pushed him away with a hurt sigh.

  "Really, Yeen? That's all you have to say? After everything we've been through? After everything you've done for me?"

  "What? That's just it! We're even."

  "What do you mean, we're even?"

  "Don't feel bad about what I've done for you, by lending me your body you've repaid me in return. It's give and take."

  "Give

  and take! Goddamn it! Why do you always have to ruin the moment! We've

  been traveling together for weeks and..." Pastel clenched his teeth and

  fists, disappointed. He shook his head, unable to articulate another

  word, his throat tight. He bent down to pick up his saber and small

  makeshift bag.

  "I'm a mercenary, Pastel, you said so yourself."

  Pastel

  didn't reply and climbed onto the dock, now in the midst of the bustle.

  He thought of simply leaving without looking back, but stopped and

  looked at Yeen. The gnoll looked at him gravely, his eyes shining. He

  was no longer smiling. Pastel thought he read sorrow in his face,

  despite the coldness of his words. He remembered what Mazeran, the

  innkeeper, had told him about Yeen, to trust his actions more than his

  words.

  "Goodbye, Yeen." Pastel managed to say softly.

  "Goodbye

  Pastel." Said the gnoll before plunging his pole back into the water

  and pushing the pirogue into the middle of the waves. He pulled away and

  with his muscular arms strode towards the city.

  Pastel

  remembered his embrace among the crickets a few days earlier. He shook

  his head again. Alone on the banks of a red river, at the edge of a

  strange city, amid the bustle of a civilization that was perfectly alien

  to him, he found himself smiling and giggling.

  It was the bitter

  laughter of seeing himself losing someone again. He wished he'd hated

  the gnoll and had more reason not to regret his departure. He wished he

  hadn't found the terribly familiar feeling of loss again.

  "He's

  just a mercenary gnoll," he articulated aloud. No one seemed to care,

  but as he left the dock, he couldn't help but feel a few curious but

  sometimes rather cold glances.

  He

  turned his head to one side, towards Ternoulie and its walls, and then

  to the other side, towards the forest's wall of dense vegetation. He

  walked in this second direction, adjusting his saber to his waist. The

  hope of finding his people lifted his spirits as he explored the narrow,

  labyrinthine streets on the outskirts of the city. Unlike the trading

  post, the buildings were far more impressive. The terracotta brick

  buildings were up to three storeys high, with shuttered windows that

  filtered the sun's hot rays. In the street, colored veils were sometimes

  stretched from facade to facade to mitigate the stifling heat,

  heightened by the humidity.

  Although

  he sometimes lost sight of the forest canopy in the winding streets,

  the direction of the shadows helped him keep in mind the way he should

  go. After a few minutes' walk, he was reassured to find that the

  outskirts were less dense and trees were growing between the buildings.

  Pastel found himself relieved to breathe air less dense with the intense

  scents of bustling streets, stalls, assorted creatures and stagnant

  puddles.

  Just as the

  street seemed to turn into a path, Pastel let out a cry and broke into a

  run, suddenly electrified. He ran at full speed, dodging passers-by,

  making do with their offended exclamations, and jumped into a rice

  field, walked between the grasses and leapt into the arms of a fox.

  "Manawan!"

  Pastel shouted. Terrified at first, the fox's face changed from

  amazement to immense joy. Hugging her with all his strength, Pastel

  couldn't hold back the sobs that burst and ran down the fur of his

  cheeks. He could feel his sister's breath choking with emotion. He

  stepped back and they burst out laughing, looking into each other's

  eyes. "You look tired." Pastel said, looking at his sister, both legs in

  the mud of the rice field, a sack of grain around her waist.

  "And

  you look... terrible." Manawan frowned, astonished. Pastel remembered

  that he was still wearing the oversized, dirty tunic stolen from the

  brigands' camp. He looked at himself for a moment and noticed how far

  the infection had spread, leaving bare patches of red skin. Terrible was

  indeed the word, Pastel thought.

  "Where is everybody? I can't believe I found you so easily! I'm so happy."

  "What

  about you? Where is everybody? Daddy? How was it at the Guidians? Oh

  my, I have so many questions! Mom will be so happy you're finally here!

  It seems like a thousand moons ago!

  Pastel

  smiled and turned his gaze to the field, searching for the words to

  evoke their father's death, but he didn't have the time. Someone shouted

  behind them. Not in joy, but in anger. Manawan looked frightened.

  "Quick

  Pastel, get out of the rice field... you... you've damaged the rows. I

  can't talk to you now, I have to work. There are a lot of us working in

  the rice fields now, so I guess it wasn't very hard to find us... keep

  going towards the forest and you'll find the others. I'll be back by

  nightfall."

  Pastel hugged his sister one last time as a deep voice belched behind them.

  "Get

  to work, damn it! Damn foxes! Leave her alone!" Pastel jumped onto the

  path, out of the water, and turned toward the voice. It was an imposing

  black boar waving a stick. He hesitated for a moment, but his sister

  smiled at him as she waved him off toward the forest.

  "I

  can't wait to see you guys again! My heart is light, Pastel!" At these

  words, his heart became as heavy as stone. He trotted off towards the

  forest, suddenly anxious. How could he tell them that the others were

  dead? That Batto was no more, and that their bodies, having washed up

  with the Guideans, had been buried there, at the foot of the mountains?

  Running

  between the rice paddies and the few low buildings, he did indeed come

  across other foxes from his clan or from other eastern clans, but while

  at work they didn't notice him, he continued on his way. What could he

  tell them? The only fox he was looking for was Tamo, but he reached the

  edge of the forest without finding him.

  As

  he moved away from the suburbs, fenced gardens and rice paddies had

  replaced the buildings, and tall, bare-trunked trees stood amidst the

  crops, casting a shadow over the lucky farmer. The silhouette of a

  nearby tree, rising some 50 meters into the sky with a simple tuft of

  leaves at the top, seemed strange, so out of place out of the forest.

  Pastel looked up to see a subtle wooden ladder clinging to the trunk.

  Squinting, he looked up to see a monkey sitting deftly on a branch 50

  metres above. The monkey seemed to be nodding at him.

  Pastel

  continued into the forest, his head raised to the canopy. It was on

  careful observation that he first noticed that what he had thought were

  just vines were actually footbridges, 50 meters above the ground. Pastel

  continued on his way, sometimes getting stuck in the roots and bushes

  as he followed the discreet rope bridges with his eyes. More and more

  numerous, Pastel noticed that they clung to wooden structures that

  looked like disproportionately large weaver's nests.

  "Hello

  my friend", said a voice behind him. Pastel gasped and turned, a little

  dizzy from staring up at the sky. Large yellow eyes ringed with black

  fur stared back at him. Level with his face was the friendly face of a

  female lemur hanging from a vine with a long striped tail, completely

  upside down.

  "Ah, hello I..."

  "Lost?

  There's a ladder over there, on the big Kapokier tree. I'm Tabi, by the

  way. This is the first time we've seen each other, I think."

  "I'm Pastel. I've just arrived, actually."

  "Oooooh

  Welcome then! I do believe there's a bit of room left in the new

  baskets, but we can always work something out" Tabi reacted expressively

  grabbing the vine with one hand to straighten herself up. Over her

  black-and-white coat, she wore a green-and-white tunic and baggy pants,

  tightened at the ankles with strings, probably to prevent them from

  rolling up when hung upside down.

  "I'm

  going to tell your people that Pastel has arrived!" From her paws she

  swung, then quickly propelled herself through the air to grab a higher

  branch and then quickly climbed to a higher platform, sometimes with her

  hands, feet or tail.

  "Just looking at her makes me dizzy." Pastel thought.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He

  headed for the big tree Tabi had mentioned. The Kapokier had an

  impressive trunk, beige and smooth to the touch, which widened into

  imposing roots, like the buttresses of a castle or the sides of a

  mountain. Around the tree, the vegetation had been removed and the

  ground was covered with dead leaves, but also with piles of wood and

  what appeared to be building materials and everyday objects for lemurs:

  rope trays, a hammock, a wooden table and benches. The hollow in the

  buttresses of the giant Kapokier tree was thus laid out as a small

  outdoor living room where, Pastel noticed, an old lemur was weaving a

  basket from long grass. Sitting on a cushion with a pipe in his mouth,

  he was using all his limbs in the rapid creation of the object, mumbling

  the lyrics of a song. When Pastel approached, he raised his pupils,

  squinted and muttered: "Another fox of yours. Soon there'll be more

  foxes than bananas in this forest..."

  Without

  saying a word, Pastel grabbed the rope ladder leaning against the trunk

  and began his ascent. He climbed quickly at first, in a hurry to rejoin

  his family, but more and more carefully as he moved away from the

  ground. 40 meters in the air, he looked up. Ten more meters separated

  him from the platform and almost another 40 meters to the top of the

  tree and the platform above. Pastel looked down for half a second, long

  enough for a wave of terror to seize him and he clung tightly to the

  ladder, his eyes now riveted on the giant tree's bark.

  "By

  all the spirits, by the clouds by the stars..." murmured Pastel,

  stunned by the intensity of his vertigo. "One at a time. You've crossed

  this fucking continent alone, you're capable of climbing a tree,

  Pastel." he murmured to himself. And so, in what seemed like an

  eternity, he managed to climb the last ten meters. At the top he heard a

  yelp of excitement and the murmur of what he recognized as several

  foxes. So Tabi had had time to warn the others of his arrival during the

  eternity he'd spent on this ladder, he thought.

  Finally

  on the platform, a multitude of arms grabbed him and encircled him.

  Pastel sighed, relieved to no longer be suspended in the void, relieved

  to find comfort and relieved, at last, to have found his loved ones. The

  moments that followed were confusing for him. It was as if, suddenly,

  in the arms of his mother, uncles and aunts, he let himself go

  completely. All tension released, he cried tears of joy, sorrow and

  relief all at once. He let himself be carried to a bunk, in a woven

  circular space that resembled a giant basket filled with rugs and

  cushions.

  He fell

  asleep, dreaming of Yeen, of snakes. He dreamt of losing all his fur,

  then of giant fireflies nibbling the clouds. He dreamt of dancing

  lemurs. He woke up in new clothes, his fur clean and his wheel wounds

  covered with a greasy ointment. A hand caressed his arm.

  It

  was his Manawan, his sister. Her bright gaze was charged with love but

  also concern. "How are you feeling, brother?" she asked softly.

  "I feel like I've been dreaming for three moons. Manawan I..."

  Their

  mother entered the giant basket, which swayed gently, subtly rocking

  them. The light-coated fox sat down next to her children and looked at

  her son with a gaze similar to her daughter's.

  Pastel

  thought he understood what was hidden in their eyes. There was the joy

  and relief of being reunited with Pastel, but there was also the

  blade-cold premonition that yet another catastrophe had befallen their

  family. It was just the two of them, but the rest of the clan had to

  wait anxiously to find out more.

  As

  if reading his mind, Marrinelle, the white fox, stroked her son's cheek

  and said simply: "You can tell us anything, my son. We're ready."

  Pastel

  let his head fall back into the pillows and heard himself slowly

  recounting his entire adventure since they had parted. He recounted his

  group's arrival in the mountains, the easy crossing of Guidean

  territory, the shipwreck, the King's refusal to grant them assistance

  and then his crossing of the jungle, aided by a relatively sympathetic

  mercenary. In turn, the fox told of their exile through the mountains

  and, to Pastel's amazement, of how his brother Fileniou fell mortally

  ill. They interrupted his story several times to mourn with his sister

  and mother the deaths of Batto and his brother, as well as those of the

  friends the waves had snatched from them.

  Exhausted

  by the story and the emotions, the pain like ice gouges in the hollow

  of his heart, Pastel fell asleep again, this time in the arms of his

  sister, who whispered to him: "I'll never let you go again, Pastel. Our

  family must never be broken again."

  Over

  the next few days, he regained his strength, ate and even found the

  courage to laugh and play with the clan children. Hundreds of lowland

  foxes had found refuge among the lemurs, after being denied access to

  the city. The monkeys were welcoming for the most part, and had even

  helped the Foxes build hanging baskets and find a way to earn money and

  equipment by working among the farmers on the outskirts of Ternoulie. A

  minority, however, took a dim view of these refugees, who scared away

  the animals, couldn't climb and took up a lot of space.

  For

  the foxes, the transition from the plains to the trees was generally

  difficult, as vertigo was so persistent, but they joked that the cradle

  of clouds had at least been replaced by cradles of wood, referring to

  the suspended dwellings where they now lived. Pastel was happy to be

  back with what was left of his family, but he couldn't help worrying and

  feeling disappointed not to find Tamo. He had first suspected that they

  must be among the other group of refugees, further to the east of

  Ternoulie, but was told evasively that he, his father and several others

  were indeed here, but that they had left on a mission in the city. He

  was always told in whispers. One evening, Pastel couldn't resist asking a

  cousin about it.

  "I

  don't understand, I thought we'd been denied access to the city." Pastel

  whispered between bites of a strange meat and banana stew that gave off

  a sweet and spicy scent.

  His

  cousin looked around to make sure no lemurs could hear them before

  replying, "Exactly. We're not allowed in, but once you're there it's

  pretty easy to go unnoticed.".

  "Why bother then, if it's dangerous. It's dangerous, I guess, if it's forbidden?"

  "Not

  everyone agrees with the idea, but... Tamo's father managed to convince

  some of the foxes that we should start trying to retake the plains

  right away and build a resistance to get back there as soon as possible.

  They left for the city to negotiate alliances."

  "Alliances with whom?"

  The

  other fox, with his light red coat, seemed to hesitate: "I don't know. I

  think they'd rather not say since... it's already a contested plan. You

  should talk to Clatoudo about it. Maybe he'll agree to tell you more."

  "What do you think? What's your opinion about the plan?"

  His

  cousin turned to Pastel. The glow of the torches reflected in his eyes.

  "I'm among those waiting for the word of the stone. Pastel, many of us

  have been waiting for you to clarify the course of our shared history."

  Pastel

  remained silent, confused by these words. He suddenly understood why

  the atmosphere among the foxes was so strange. He understood better why,

  since his return, he'd been struggling to read complex, conflicting

  emotions in the eyes of his people. This was the source of the cold,

  incisive unease he felt. There were those who were bitter about the

  stone and those who pinned all their hopes on it. What had been a matter

  of opinion on the plains now seemed to have crystallized into what

  appeared to be a rift between the foxes.

  Why

  hadn't his mother and grandmother told him any of this yet? What were

  they trying to protect him from? Pastel thought, suddenly angry. He ate

  the rest of his stew without answering his cousin, who understood that

  he would have no answer that evening.

  ***

  "It's

  not getting any better." The old fox observed as she cleaned Pastel's

  wounds. It was the day after his discussion with his cousin. Every day

  he visited his grandmother, who took care of his skin problem. Pastel

  was lost in thought. His grandmother continued, pretending not to notice

  her grandson's trouble: "It's nothing like in the plains... it looks

  like ragweed, but the ointment doesn't help. I'm not familiar with this

  infection. You'd have to seek the advice of a healer here, one of the

  lemurs might take over..."

  "Why

  didn't you tell me what was going on with Tamo, his father, and above

  all, why didn't you tell me you were waiting for me to choose the clan's

  destiny?"

  The fox

  rinsed a cloth in a tub of water and applied it to Pastel's skin to

  soothe him from the burn, which was growing worse every day. Finally she

  said: "You're not ready. Mamalou chose you, but I can see you're not

  ready."

  "But I've told you about my dreams and intuitions and...."

  "Snippets, sweetie. The voice of the stone must be unambiguous, like the unanimous echo of a choir. That of the spirits."

  "But

  we don't have time to wait! I don't know what to do, Nana! I've been

  losing myself in these snippets for months now, and I really do have the

  strongest intuition that something important is hidden in them, but all

  I can find are emotions. No chorus, only turmoil. Our priests are no

  more, but is there no one who can help me? No one to teach me to listen

  to the stone and the wisdom of the elders? If not you, perhaps a lemur?

  In one of the temples that dot the city?"

  The

  fox seemed to hesitate: "I've thought about it, but... it's dangerous

  to reveal the existence of the stone these days. I imagine you know what

  magic objects are worth these days... go to the lemurs and ask for a

  healer. You'll bring him a bag of rice as a thank you."

  "And maybe he can tell me about a priest or a thaumaturgist who knows something about magic objects?"

  "It's

  best not to talk about it, Pastel. Lemurs are very generous but... you

  have to be careful. It's best if he doesn't know too much."

  Pastel

  pondered these words as he left his grandmother's basket and crossed a

  liana walkway. He stopped on a platform to look around. Clusters of

  large baskets filled the canopy, on several levels. Foxes and lemurs

  went about their business in the shade of the giant trees' large leaves.

  Pastel crossed the

  suspended village and, after making enquiries, went to the edge of the

  village where foxes and a few lemurs were weaving a new basket in the

  middle of the void. Clatoudo, among them, was busy tying a rope around a

  trunk to immobilize the structure being woven. Imposing pieces of bark

  were intricately interwoven to form the structure of what would become a

  family home.

  Pastel reached out and grabbed the rope to help Clatoudo.

  "I'd like to talk to you, Clatoudo."

  "Tamo will be back soon, just a few more weeks." Said the big fox.

  "Ah thanks, but I'd like to talk about something else."

  "I'm listening, my boy."

  "Eeeeh,

  I think we'd better talk in your basket." Clatoudo glanced at him and

  understood. He raised his voice, addressing the group he was working

  with: "Why don't we take a break? I've tied up the base."

  Pastel

  and Clatoudo moved away from the structure and Clatoudo took the lead,

  navigating the footbridges with confidence. Between two trees, in the

  middle of the void and away from any ears he said, without looking back,

  "You want to join him, right?".

  "Yes."

  "So the wearer of the stone wants to join the resistance, eh? Now there's something to talk about."

  "That's

  why I'd rather keep it between us. And I don't know yet, Clatoudo.

  There's still too much I don't understand. I need to talk to Tamo about

  it."

  "Talk, eh?"

  Pastel shook his head, blushing, catching the unspoken in the big, confident fox's rhetorical question.

  "You've

  only just arrived. I understand your urgency. You have the energy of

  the early days. But you know, some of us have been here for months.

  We've found work, a routine, friends..."

  They

  crossed a platform towards Clatoudo's basket. Clatoudo continued:

  "They've been in Ternoulie for weeks, and building relationships takes

  time. It's not like wildebeest hunting." He pushed aside a veil blocking

  the entrance to his basket and continued: "Then what I suggest is..."

  Clatoudo suddenly paused, serious.

  "What

  is it?" Pastel asked, noticing the concentrated gaze of the fox whose

  black eyebrows were beginning to turn gray. The latter cast a

  penetrating glance at Pastel, who shivered. He said, "Can you hear it?

  The buzzing." His tone had changed.

  Without

  saying a word, he pushed back some cushions and rummaged in a bag, in

  the half-light of the basket, where light entered through the holes

  between the pieces of bark, or through a few circular openings.

  Suddenly, Pastel noticed a buzzing sound growing in intensity. He

  approached Clatoudo.

  "By

  the guardians..." murmured the man, pulling a luminous, whirring object

  from his bag. He turned and, looking grave, brought it close to Pastel.

  The cube suddenly shone with a dazzling brilliance and the vibrations

  became so intense that the frequency became audible, in a high-pitched

  screech.

  "Clatoudo... what's..." said a worried Pastel. His heart was racing.

  Clatoudo

  dropped the cube and shouted: "Quick, come with me." He stepped out of

  the basket, pulling Pastel by the arm. A few steps further on, the

  hissing disappeared and the whirring of the object became imperceptible.

  "What's that, Clatoudo? What is this object? Talk to me, dammit!"

  "I

  thought that... We thought the cube was for the dead. That the dogs

  used it to make sure they didn't leave any wounded behind. Monsters, I

  thought. The cube shone for the first time when we found your brother,

  Pastel."

  "Fileniou

  made this dog artifact glow?" Pastel asked half aloud, now suddenly

  beginning to understand. He noticed Clatoudo's contracted muscles as he

  clenched his teeth between words, without looking at him. "And now it's

  coming back to life... it's not a death cube, it's... it's you. Your

  family, it's you they've been looking for! It's for you that the cube

  shines and vibrates... Batto." Clatoudo had uttered these words in a

  trembling voice mingled with sorrow and bitterness.

  He

  turned to Pastel, who took a step back, but the young fox suddenly read

  a flash of tenderness in Clatoudo's eyes. "Pastel I... perhaps your

  father's death wasn't an accident after all." He looked at a leaf that

  had fallen at his feet and added between his teeth, "Batto, old chap, if

  you can hear me. What in the storms is this mess you've gotten us

  into?" Clatoudo took one last look at Pastel. The latter was motionless,

  his hand on the soft bark. In the other's eyes, what he read this time

  was pity.