All sound disappeared in that moment. Then, leaves rustled in the breeze, and petals floated in a gentle wash. Collins realized what was missing. In addition to birdsong and the dog's cry, his companions' discussion had abruptly ended. He glanced over to find three pairs of eyes directly and unwaveringly upon him.
Collins' face flared red, and he forced a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that." Aware that treating a human the way he had the dog practically defined assault and kidnapping, Collins attempted to mitigate his crimes, at least to his companions. "I'd let it go, but…"
Zylas nodded, expression serious. "Cannot." He stroked his chin, clearly pondering. Then, shaking his head, dislodging a storm of petals from the wide brim of his hat, he unraveled a ropy, green vine from a nearby trunk. Carrying it to where Collins sat, he expertly bound the dog's mouth shut. Zylas turned his gaze to Falima. "Know this dog?"
Collins eased away his hand.
The hound's nose crinkled menacingly and it jerked its head, but the vine held.
Falima responded in their language, and Zylas raised a warning hand. "You have stone. Not waste."
Falima glowered.
Zylas' look turned pleading, weary.
"I'd rather Ialin understood than… him."
Collins ignored the loathing in Falima's voice and supplied, "Ben."
Falima grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a snarly teen's "whatever." She switched to English, "We had best move on."
Zylas studied the skeletal shapes of trees against the growing darkness, the crescent moon overhead. "Quickly. I have to sleep soon."
Falima pushed through the trees, Ialin following. The hummingbird/man moved with a flitty grace, individual movements quick and jerky, yet the whole merging into a smooth and agile pattern. Only Zylas remained, frowning at the problem that remained in Collins' lap. Collins elucidated, "He can't bark if we let him go, but he also can't eat or drink if he doesn't find his way home quickly."
"Still think like your world." Zylas grinned. "When he switch…"
Collins imagined trying to tie a man's mouth closed and shared Zylas' amusement. "… the vine will fall off."
"Right."
Collins rose, dumping the dog from his lap. "Shoo. Go home." Other thoughts dispelled his smile. "But won't he go back and tell everyone who we are and where?"
Zylas' smile also wilted. "Falima say he… he…"he fumbled for the right word, then supplied one questioningly, "little?"
"Young?" Collins tried, remembering how he, too, had assessed it as a partially grown pup.
Zylas nodded. "Like… teenager."
The dog watched them, tail waving uncertainly.
"Probable very dog. Very very dog. Not… not retain…?" He looked to Collins to confirm the appropriateness of his word choice.
Collins made an encouraging gesture.
"… what see in switch-form, not same."
Collins nodded to indicate he understood despite the poorly phrased explanation. Zylas seemed to be struggling more than usual, a sure sign of stress. "Is it possible he might… retain… some of what happened here after he resumes human form?"
"Not impossible," Zylas admitted.
Collins trusted the decision to his companion, glad the dog made it easier by remaining with them unfettered. Its soft brown gaze rolled from one man to the other, and its tail beat a careful rhythm.
Zylas sighed, air hissing through his lips. His face lapsed into creases that seemed to age him ten years. Beneath the shadow of his hat, his pale eyes radiated troubles, and the white-blond hair hung in limp, tangled strings. "Too tired to make wise choice." He ripped another stout vine from the tree and looped it around the dog's neck. "Keep with us now. Talk. Think." He headed in the direction their companions had taken. The dog balked.
Collins went, too, encouraging the animal by tapping his leg and calling, "Come on, boy. Come on," in a happy tone.
Tail whipping vigorously, the dog followed.
Camp consisted of downing the last of their cold rations, tossing their bodies on layers of moldering leaves, and drifting into sleep. Zylas dropped off almost at once. Falima and Ialin chattered in their incomprehensible language, occasionally glancing furtively in his direction. Though exhausted, Collins found sleep more elusive. He knelt by the tethered dog who no longer required the muzzle tie and had eaten his share of the remaining foodstuffs.
Collins ran a hand along the animal's spine. It quivered at his touch, then lowered its head with a contented sigh. Collins continued to stroke the fur, stopping now and then for a pat or a scratch. The dog sprawled on its side, moaning with contentment. Its tail thudded against the ground, and it wriggled as if to keep every part in contact with Collins' hand. He could scarcely believe it the same beast that had inflicted the gash across his hand.
Thinking of it brought back the pain that desperation and need had made him disregard. Collins examined the wound. Clotted blood filled the creases, making it appear to encompass the entire back of his hand. He spit on a finger, rubbing and scraping until he revealed a superficial, two-inch laceration. He had gotten lucky. He doubted a doctor back home would even bother to stitch it.
The dog whined, sniffing at Collins' hand. It licked the wound.
"Yuck." Collins jerked his hand away, only then thinking of infection. It seemed unlikely this world had a sophisticated medical system, such as antibiotics. Probably at the level of leeches and bloodletting. The image sent a shiver through him. He had heard that dog saliva contained natural anti-infection agents, the reason why they licked their own injuries and suffered fewer infections. He wondered whether the benefits of those agents outweighed the germs inherent in any drool of a species that drank from mosquito-infested puddles, groomed itself in unsanitary places, and lapped up horse excrement like candy. Better, he decided, to clean this wound myself.
Collins glanced at Zylas. The albino slumbered comfortably, the stress lines smoothed from his brow. Collins' watch now read nearly 11:00 p.m. Assuming this place had days the same length as his own, Collins realized Zylas would become a rat again in about an hour. A flash of heat passed through him, followed by a hysterical shiver. Without Zylas' calm reason, he doubted the group would stay together. Apparently, Falima and Ialin hated him, perhaps enough to turn him in to the guards. They'll hang me. He wondered if he had now compounded the crime enough for a worse fate, though what fate could be worse than death he didn't even want to imagine. He slumped to the ground, abruptly incapable of anything. Hopelessness overpowered him, a dense blanket that forced his thoughts to a tedious slog. Escape lay only a day's travel away, yet it was beyond his ability to navigate. He still did not know the way. Once there, he would have to battle his way through armed warriors, with only a rat for assistance. A rat. A wave of despair buffeted the last of his reason. Twelve hours utterly alone. Twelve hours dodging a hunt he scarcely understood in an unfathomable world. Twelve hours without a friend.
Tears stung Collins' eyes, then rolled down cheeks still flushed with distress. He had so many questions, and he needed those answers to survive Zylas' rat-time. It seemed safest to lay low, to mark time until he had a trustworthy companion to plan with again. He wondered how the people of Barakhai stood the change, interrupting half their lives daily, putting relationships and experiences on hold just as they started to build. Romance seemed impossible without careful coordination of the switching times-if such could even be arranged. He shook his head, the tears flowing faster. He knew so little to be suddenly thrown, friendless, back into an inexplicable world beneath a sentence of death. He had never felt so completely, so desperately, alone.
Leaves rustled. Something warm brushed Collins' cheek. He looked up into the dog's fuzzy face, and it licked tears from his face again. It whined, sharing his discomfort. Collins managed a smile. Even amid all of Barakhai's strangeness, a dog was a dog after all. He placed an arm around the furry body, and it lay down against him with a contented sigh, sharing its warmth.