The Desolate Refuge

Chapter 1

Darkness. Silhouetted figures followed. A choking tunnel crushed him on all sides. Dead end. Screeches echoed behind. Bloodied paw prints. Skin worn raw. A gap above. Hollow eyes stared down. Unseen paws reached for him.

A heavy knock rattled Gaareth’s door.

His eyes jerked open, fuzzy with the grogginess of sleep. The dream faded quickly until only a tremor still lingered in his body; impressions of something half-remembered. 

The faded gray of the concrot walls greeted him like an old friend wreathed in darkness. 

Shaking off the urge to turn over and go back to sleep, Gaareth rolled out of bed. His ragged brown blanket released him reluctantly. Underneath him, his sleeping pallet was lumpy and tattered, and his rear paws hung off the end. It was still the closest thing he had to comfort. 

His room was wide enough for his bed and a crate in the corner that was one loose screw away from being in shambles. Everything leaned away from the faint sliver of light that trickled under the door, casting deeper shadows that stretched toward him. 

He rarely noticed it anymore.

The knock came again, harder this time.

Muted voices came through from the other side of the door.

Gaareth scurried over, the skin on the top of his rounded ears brushing the ceiling with each step. The concrot was rough on the pads of his paws, and his claws clacked against the floor; a sharp sound that ricocheted off the bare walls. It did little to distract him from the uneasiness creeping in. There were few reasons someone would pound on his door during the night, and none of them were good.

He yanked the door open, ready to snap at whoever had woken him. Maybe that would scare them off.

Paws lunged for him from the dark hallway. They yanked him from his room. He barely managed to squeal as he was thrown to the side, skidding across the ground.

“We own this quadrant now. Remove your possessions or be removed. Your choice,” A voice snarled from above Gaareth. 

He shot up. “You can’t take my room. I’ve paid my rent.”

A tall male with sleek black fur stood over Gaareth, his pointed head jutting forward from the top of his narrow body. He glared down his snout, yellow eyes catching the faint light. “No refunds,” he sneered, revealing sharp incisors. His whiskers, splayed out on either side of his pink nose, quivered as he spoke. 

A golden chain glimmered around his thick neck, cinching his fur together. 

A Coorprok.

Gaareth scrambled backward, eyes darting around.

More of them clogged the hallway. They moved with steady strength as they dragged sleepy Paardokians from their rooms or hauled out everything they owned and dumped it all on the floor. The Coorproks were Paardokians too but they still treated everyone else and their belongings the same; an inconvenience that was beneath them.

Cries and desperate begging filled the cramped corridor. 

Their pleas were ignored.

The Coorproks loomed over him as they worked, choking the already cramped hallway. Gaareth scrambled out of the way as one of them lumbered past. His cheeks weren’t gaunt like Gaareth’s, and his body had a solidness that Gaareth’s emaciated form lacked.

Gaareth picked himself off the ground, wrapping his pink furless tail around himself for comfort as much to keep it from being stepped on. He eyed the door to his room.

He took a step closer. 

Everything valuable he kept in his waist pouch. Its familiar weight hung from his hip, tucked under his fur. Still… He had left a half-empty bottle of dirty water under his bed. If he left it behind he’d spent his last tokens for nothing.

A stocky male stepped in front of him and blocked the door. His gold chain shimmered faintly, nestled in his dark brown fur. He snarled, flashing his teeth.

Gaareth shied back. 

He turned away, dropping to all fours, and scurried through the mess of belongings and Paardokians. 

There was nothing he could do.

That didn’t make it any easier to keep moving as they tossed out his meager possessions. His ears twitched and swiveled backward at a sharp crack. His flimsy crate shattered into a dozen pieces on the floor of the corridor.

Gaareth kept walking.

Someone hissed at him from ahead, waving him over. Gaareth jerked back, fur bristling, until he recognized the shadowed form hunched over in the dark hallway.

Roonthar watched the others, even as he motioned Gaareth to join him. He sat back on his haunches, arching his neck as he surveyed the carnage.

Yellow eyes with large black pupils peeked out from his thick grimy fur. It hung loosely from his body, even though he had tied the ends around his tail, and rippled like amorphous goo as he gestured. His thin lips split into a toothy grin at the end of his snout, revealing two stained and chipped incisors that hung over his bottom lip. 

He clutched a thin rectangular object draped in a black sheet under one arm. His other paw held a faint glowstone. Its purple light barely dented the shadows.

“What’s going on?” Roonthar asked as Gaareth stopped beside him. His round furless ears twitched as he spoke. 

“I can’t catch a break. Those rotten slimeheads own this place now,” Gaareth glared back down the hall. Paardokians picked through the refuse. Their loose, tangled fur matched the scattered possessions they scrounged amongst. Few did anything to confront the Coorproks, and the ones that did limped away, whining softly as the work continued uninterrupted.

A tall male with black fur supervised the work, directing the others to clear out the rooms as they moved farther down the hallway. He glanced their way, licking his lips as his eyes lingered on the object tucked under Roonthar’s arm. 

Roonthar pulled Gaareth. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“That was my room. It took all I had to rent it,” Gaareth said as Roonthar dragged him away.

“It was bound to happen, eventually. No use whining,” Roonthar said, letting go of Gaareth even as he kept moving. 

“So? That doesn’t make it okay,” Gaareth followed after him. More shut doors lined the hallway, lucky enough to be left untouched.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Roonthar didn’t look back as he led the way. The hallway curved as they followed it. The commotion faded behind them, replaced with the silence Gaareth only ever heard when everyone was asleep; a vast hollow emptiness that surrounded him as he trailed behind Roonthar. Their claws gave the only sound, clicking against the floor and echoing softly down the hall.

“I don’t know. Nobody does anything about it,” Gaareth muttered, mostly to himself.

“Exactly. Nobody does anything about it. Including you,” Roonthar snapped back at him. He stopped, and tossed something back to Gaareth. “You look like a mess.”

Gaareth caught the object, a durable black comb. He whistled softly through his teeth, his frustrations forgotten for a moment. “Where’d you get this?”

“Found it this morning.”

“Morning? What time is it?”

“Dunno. Sun’s coming up soon.”

“Didn’t sleep again?” Gaareth asked.

Roonthar ignored him, shifting the object tucked under his arm before he leaned it up against the wall. He glanced down the hallway in both directions, ears perking up as he listened for any sounds. Satisfied, he pulled back the black sheet. 

“Look,” Roonthar said.

Gaareth gasped. He stared down at his reflection. Gray flecks permeated his yellow irises, and his black pupils were wide in the darkness. There was a weariness deep in his eyes, a fatigue that would have been more fitting before bed instead of after waking up. 

His dark brown fur was a wild tangle, hanging from his body in all directions. He wiggled his nose, shaking his whiskers on either side of his snout as his reflection did the same. Lashing his tail back and forth, he watched the dull pink skin of his furless tail move behind him.

“A mirror,” Gaareth whispered, twitching his ears.

Roonthar smirked at him through the mirror. “An intact one, too. Should help you comb out that twisted-up tangle you call fur.”

“Where’d you find it?” Gaareth asked. When Roonthar didn't respond, he set about combing his knotted fur; using his three fingers and the thumbs on both of his forepaws as much as the comb. He eased loose a dense weave of knots that hung down his chest. His eyes barely left his reflection as he worked, letting his paws move with the routine familiarity of the process. He must have thrashed wildly in his sleep for his fur to be so tangled. The comb flexed in his paws as it caught on the snarls, and he gently worked through them. 

He couldn’t afford to replace Roonthar’s comb if he broke it. 

Gaareth passed the comb between his rear paws as he sat on the floor. They were flatter and longer than his forepaws, but their long fingers were still dexterous. The exposed pink skin on both sets of paws was stained from constant griminess, and more black gunk was collected under his claws. He ignored the filth as he patiently untangled the web of matted fur.

“Can’t believe our luck though. We’ll eat like Overseers for weeks,” He grinned at Gaareth through the mirror. It somehow made the hallway seem less dark even though the same amount of pale light still glimmered from the nearest glowstone. “You need it. You’re nothing but fur and bones,” He glanced at Gaareth out of the corner of his eyes, waiting.

Gaareth sighed then gave a half-hearted chuckle as he finished combing the short shaggy fur covering his arms and legs. He gathered the long strands that hung from his body together in one paw.

“See? Not so hard, is it?” 

“No harder than anything else I guess,” Gaareth said as he pulled a small stretchy beige band from his waist pouch. He pulled his long loose fur through the band and then looped it around his tail, savoring its length. It barely reached the end of his tail but that was still long enough to get him out of the cub gangs. He held the comb out to Roonthar.

“Do you think Father Paardok was the first to tie his fur around his tail? Seems like a pretty obvious thing to do in case we need to run,” Roonthar said as he snatched the comb back. Gaareth blinked and the comb disappeared into Roonthar’s fur.

“Dunno. The Priests say he did it to differentiate us from the other clans,” Gaareth glanced back at the mirror. He looked somewhat presentable now, with his long fur combed back and tied up. Except for the short bit of scruff on his snout that stuck up at odd angles, no matter how much he tried to smooth it out.

He lashed his tail side to side and watched his reflection as the fur on his small angular frame undulated from the motion. It was almost enough to make him forget about being removed from his room. 

Almost.

“The Priests say a lot of things. I wonder if they’ll ever run out of words, and give it a rest,” Roonthar watched him expectantly. 

“Hopefully,” Gaareth said, pawing at the ground. He knew Roonthar was trying to distract him but it didn’t help. Even with the mirror and having his fur freshly combed he still had no room to go back to and he could barely afford breakfast, let alone rent another room. It never stopped. He had scrambled from one crisis to the next since he was old enough to walk upright. 

Roonthar rolled his eyes at Gaareth but remained silent. He scooped up the mirror, wrapping it in its black sheet, and tucked it back under his arm. 

 “The Diggers have no imagination,” Roonthar said as he set off down the hallway without looking back. Gaareth sighed and hurried after him. “Concrot is so versatile, and still all our halls look the same. It’s amazing, you know? The Waste breaks down with some stomping and grinding, and turns into a thick gray sludge. Once it hardens it's totally solid,” Roonthar rambled as they passed by door after door.

“You’ve been a Digger for a week. Seems like you should be in charge.”

“A sharp jab from Gaareth. How will I survive?” Roonthar gave him a shove with his free arm. The black sheet rustled over the mirror tucked under his other arm. “I should be in charge. I’d build some new levels that aren’t dreadfully boring. Look at the Perimeter. It’s a mess but at least it’s interesting. There are no rules out there.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”  Gaareth said. The hallway ahead was getting brighter.

“Dunno. Not sure I can do anything about it,” Roonthar paused and scratched his chin, “You’ll see. Once you’ve had your ceremony, you get stuck taking orders from slimeheads.”

“At least I won’t have to spend all day scavenging then. Feels like–”

“Ugh. My ears will rot off if I hear it one more time,” Roonthar groaned, interrupting him. 

Gaareth let the topic drop.

The hallway ended in a landing, where multiple other corridors met. Green, yellow, and blue glowstones lined the walls of the wide chamber, illuminating the space with pockets of colored light. In the center of the landing was the Spiral, surrounded by pillars connecting the floor and ceiling. The thick concrot spiral ramp was the only way up or down Mount Paardok.

“Must be early for it to be this dead,” Gaareth said as he followed Roonthar to the Spiral.

“Told ya. Sun’s coming up soon. It’d be slime getting through here with the mirror any later. Probably end up broken if someone didn’t take it,” Roonthar hopped up the nearest set of steps, and Gaareth scrambled after him. The Spiral was wide and built around a thick central column. Before they had gone halfway around, Gaareth could already see the next landing peeking through the gaps in the pillars. 

“Now the Spiral’s a masterpiece. It ain’t pretty but it does a hard job. All those paws every day, and I’ve never heard of it breaking,” Roonthar said as they continued their way down the ramp. The glowstones in the access chambers gave off the only light that reached the Spiral, letting in bars of light of every color.

“Does it matter?” Gaareth mumbled. 

“Yes, yes. I know it doesn’t matter. You’ve told me before. Doesn’t change me though. We built this thing, maybe not us, but other Paardokians. We could probably make something even better… If we tried. That matters to me.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was talking about the concrot. I don’t see what’s so exciting about it.”

“Course you don’t. You don’t see what’s exciting about anything anymore.”

“It’s just concrot…” Gaareth muttered to himself.

Roonthar didn’t hear him or chose not to respond. Either way, they descended the Spiral in silence. Occasionally other early risers came through the access points. They kept their furry heads down as they scurried past. 

Eventually, Spiral descended into the cavernous main hall below them. The pillars continued to surround and support the Spiral as it reached the floor. Baskets of glowstones hung from the ceiling. They gave off a multicolored glow that didn’t reach far, only pushing back the darkness in small pockets and filling the main hall with a faint dull light. 

More Paardokians scurried about between the openings. No one looked at them or even glanced in their direction. They were all one clan but everyone was too busy with their own struggle for survival to notice them. Even if they were swallowed by the Waste, the rest of the clan would keep going as if nothing happened. 

“Come on,” Roonthar was already walking towards the opening for the Exchange.

Gaareth squeaked and hurried to catch up, joining Roonthar as they reached the wide entrance. It opened up into another large chamber. 

They stood in an open section blocked off from the rest of the Exchange by a low counter. 

On the other side of the counter, large piles of scavenged goods filled the room, making it almost as chaotic as the Waste itself. A short line had already formed, and they stepped up to wait at the end of it. 

Gaareth glanced at the price board on the wall beside the opening. It reached the ceiling and was set with objects with tallies next to them, indicating their current price per token. Glowstones, meal bars, bottled water, and other valuable essentials that they consistently found lined the price board.

Anything else could still be traded but its value would be decided by the Conners; the Paardokians that ran the Exchanged and handled the trades

“I’ve never understood why the wrinkle foil is always so high,” Roonthar said. Gaareth followed his eyes to the top of the board. A small square piece of wrinkle foil was pinned there; the silver foil shimmered in the light. Beside it was a mark with eight tallies. “They’re not rare, and they seem useless. It’s almost too easy. We could spend all day searching for wrinkle foil and walk away with a fortune. For what? Glowstones I get. We always need more. Same with food, and water but the wrinkle foil...” He shrugged without taking his eyes off the foil.

“Dunno. Maybe the Priests do something with it?” Gaareth suggested, scratching at his ear. Even if he knew what the wrinkle foil was for, he’d still be scrambling through the Waste everyday looking for it, and knowing wouldn’t help him find more.

“Maybe they wear it on their heads to protect themselves from the rest of us.” Roonthar laughed at his joke, then cut off when he noticed Gaareth was silent. 

Roonthar glanced away. 

The line shuffled forward. It was short and soon they reached the front. 

“Next,” an old female called out. Some of her wavy white fur hung loosely around her gaunt pointed face. The rest was tied back to her tail. The exposed skin around her gray eyes was creased with age but she still watched them with lucid vigilance.

Gaareth helped Roonthar lift the mirror onto the counter, worn smooth from constant use, then stepped back as Roonthar pulled the black sheet from it. 

“What’s it worth?” Roonthar watched the Conner hungrily.

“Fifty tokens,” the Conner said, barely taking her eyes off Gaareth.

He squirmed under her gaze then looked down at his paws, only glancing up at Roonthar when he spoke again. 

“Come on. You didn’t even look. It doesn’t have a single crack,” Roonthar leaned forward, gesturing over the shiny square. “I’m sure the Priests will want it.”

The old Conner hummed to herself for a moment before looking over the shiny square more thoroughly. “Not a crack. Rare to see something intact where others find only refuse. All things are possible under the right circumstances,” she paused, glancing at Gaareth again before rubbing her chin with a worn finger. “Eighty tokens.” 

“Throw in a bottle of water and some meal bars, and you got yourself a deal. Otherwise, we’ll take it to the Coorproks.”

The Conner glared, narrowing her gray eyes almost to slits. She huffed a length of white fur out of her mouth and inspected the item again. “Deal,” She stalked off without another word, her tail lashing behind her.

“I can’t believe you pushed her for more,” Gaareth said once she was gone.

“I can’t believe it worked,”  Roonthar laughed. “We will eat like Overseers!”

“Almost got nothing for it... Would you really have taken it to the Coorproks?”

“Waste no. They treat the rest of us like slime. We would have got more but you gotta know how to strong-arm the Conners. Otherwise, they’ll try to buy the fur off your back for a token.” Roonthar shoved Gaareth again to emphasize his point.

Gaareth stumbled and then charged at Roonthar, tackling him to the floor. They rolled around, each struggling to get the advantage. Roonthar was bigger but Gaareth was long and nimble. He squirmed free every time Roonthar pinned him down. As he wriggled free, he got his arms under Roonthar and flipped him onto his back. With his rear paws, Gaareth pinned Roonthar’s arms to his side. Gaareth slipped his forepaws around Roonthar, securing his chokehold.

Roonthar tapped out. 

They rolled apart, panting, and grinning at each other as they clambered to their paws. 

A giggle from behind caused Gaareth’s ears to twitch vigorously. A female Paardokian watched them with light orange eyes from farther down, and on the opposite side of the counter. Her light brown fur rippled as she covered her mouth with her paws.

Gaareth scratched at the floor and looked away. He tried to still his tail but it lashed back, and forth behind him.

“Go talk to her,” Roonthar said, nudging him with a sharp elbow.

“That’s Faarica. I can’t talk to her. I have nothing to offer her,” Gaareth said as he elbowed Roonthar back. “It’s your fault she’s laughing at us. Wrestling is for kits.”

“Says you. We’re never too old for a good time. Besides, you haven’t even had your ceremony yet.”

Gaareth opened his mouth to respond, before he could speak the old Conner was back.

“Get outta here,” she said, dropping a small sack on the counter that clinked softly. Beside it, she set down a bottle of brown sludgy water, and two meal bars wrapped in foil. 

Roonthar grabbed the sack. He pawed through it. “Seems like enough. Thanks.” He nodded at the Conner, who glared back. Gaareth grabbed the water, and bars as he turned to go he glanced down the counter toward Faarica. She was already busy helping someone else. He let out a sigh then scurried after Roonthar.

Back in the main hall the rest of Mount Paardok was starting to wake up. Paardokians scurried in every direction, filling the space with the frantic warmth of many bodies. The murmuring of distant conversations added an incoherent hum to the hall.  

He stepped out of the way of a few Diggers prowling the main hall with clumps of dried concrot crusted on their fur. They kept to all fours, focused on each step as they moved easily through the flow of bodies. 

A Messer passed in front of him, bulging belly swaying with each step. His boisterous laughter was quickly lost in the noise that filled the hall. 

His kin surrounded him as he followed Roonthar. They passed by, oblivious to him as they rushed onward or stopped to join their packs, facing into their group. As if it would shut out the rest of them and keep themselves safe. 

Gaareth looked down as two Overseers trudged by ahead, clubs swinging at their hips. Their hulking forms still only barely hinted at their strength, walls of dark brown fur that surveyed the room with their ears laid back flat and their eyes edged with malice. Everyone scurried to stay clear of them. He should have been able to hear the concrot cracking under their weight as they walked, even though nothing could damage the hardened surface.

Once they had passed he let out a breath he hadn’t noticed that he had been holding. Roonthar stared at their backs as they went. 

The Overseers shoved someone out of their way. 

A female with black fur went sprawling to the floor. She pushed herself back up to her paws and knees. 

One of the Overseers smashed a hind paw into her chest with enough force to kick her over to her back. She curled up into a ball, her sides moving with rapid breathing as she whined softly.

The Overseers moved on, continuing their patrol as they laughed to themselves. A low rough sound that still made Gaareth’s fur bristle as it was swallowed by the noise around them. 

He took a step toward the female, to check if she was alright, and felt Roonthar grab his arm. 

“Come on. We’ll only draw their attention to us. Let’s put these tokens to good use.” He said, turning towards the Mess. Gaareth trailed behind. The whimpering faded as they walked away. It wouldn't have been worth the trouble, and the Waste would rot before he did anything about it. Still, being honest with himself about it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

He couldn’t help anyone else. He could barely take care of himself.

Instead, he followed after Roonthar; shoulders slumped. Roonthar was right. He would only make things worse if he got involved, and that was the last thing he needed. He popped open the bottle and gulped down some of the warm grainy liquid to distract himself. 

“Oi. Save some for me.” Roonthar squeaked, yanking the bottle from Gaareth’s paws. 

They passed it back and forth until it was empty. Gaareth dropped the empty bottle as they crossed the main hall. It crinkled under his paw as it was left behind to be crushed into concrot.

Roonthar turned around, speaking as he walked backward, “Maybe our luck is finally turning around. First the mirror, and after that who knows? We could find…” Roonthar cut off abruptly, eyes going wide as he stumbled.

A paw on Gaareth’s shoulder pulled him to a stop

“Gaareth three hundred, and forty-seven. Come with me.”

A furless snout loomed over his shoulder, its pink skin was wrinkled and weathered. Whiskers hung from the sides of the snout, close enough to brush against Gaareth’s head. 

Every muscle in his body shook at once, stuck between trying to scurry away and being frozen in place. Instead, all he could manage to do was turn. 

Beady yellow eyes stared down at him. Crooked teeth smiled at him without any warmth. He had never been so close to a Priest before. 

Chapter 2

“You come to us as a cub, ready to be cleansed so that the service you give Mount Paardok is pure.” The Priest’s voice rasped like metal grating against metal. His grip on Gaareth’s shoulder tightened as he turned towards the Temple. A firm yank got Gaareth walking. Two Overseers flanked them on both sides, following like shadows. His heart pounded in his ears as he was led away. 

Gaareth’s eyes darted back toward Roonthar.

“I’ll find you after,” Roonthar called after him. The growing morning crowd swallowed him, and Gaareth was left alone with the Priest. Each step was like walking through sludge as they got closer to the Temple. His tail dragged on the floor behind him. 

The Overseers easily cleared a way for them, forcing their way through the crowd with a club or their claws. Gaareth glanced up at the Priest. His severe stare cut through everything around him, and his immaculate white robe swished with each step. 

Gaareth recognized him. Priest Puunilish. He groaned softly to himself. None of the Priests were gentle but he had seen Puunilish dole out the harshest punishments for minimal infractions.

They left the main hall and crossed through the opening into the Temple. The light faded behind them, and the noise became an incoherent hum as it traveled down the tunnel with them.

Gaareth tried to breathe, to steady himself. It felt like an Overseer was sitting on his chest. Every breath was insufficient and left him craving more.

The tunnel opened up. Far ahead candles had been lit and placed around the stage. Their light provided little relief from the oppressive darkness. 

Instead, it flickered and danced, sending ripples through the shadows. Some of the light caught the carvings that covered the Temple walls in spurts, making the edges seem insubstantial as they caught the light then slipped back into the dark. 

More Priests waited in the light of the candles with their paws clasped together in front of them. Their bare heads were turned towards him, and even if he was far enough away to not be able to see where they were looking; he could still feel their eyes on him.

The Overseers took up position beside the exit back to the hall as Puunilish guided Gaareth forward. 

They passed under a carving of Father Paardok. Etching in the concrot streamed off of him like radiant light. The lines of his face and snout were soft and projected warmth. His mouth was open as he gestured as if he was speaking. Even though he stood alone. 

“The Father watches over us even though he can not be with us. All he desires is to see our clan thrive and prosper. It is because of his kindness and care that we have elevated ourselves above the other clans and the squalor they live in.” Puunilish spoke as they walked. He set a slow pace, and Gaareth followed along. 

Gaareth gripped his tail in his paws, and forced himself to keep up. “Why… Why isn’t Father Paardok with us if he cares so much about us?” He regretted it even as he said it.

Puunilish frowned down at him, “If he held our paws through every trial we would never be able to display our greatness.”

They passed under another carving. Its disorienting blend of shapes was meant to represent the Waste. Within the image, half-seen figures caught his eye. When he stared at them, they blended back into the jumble of the Waste, but if he let his gaze drift over the carving he caught the impression of multiple ephemeral silhouettes twisting and twirling. 

“The Observers watch us. They seek to make us in their image, forging us through life’s pain. Through it, we become more than we are so that one day we may ascend to our rightful place at their side,” Puunilish ran a weathered finger along the carving, tracing the lines and shapes.

“Otherwise all the pain would be even more pointless,” Gaareth said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Puunilish snapped his teeth together. A low growl built in his throat. “You know nothing. Our sacrifices will not be in vain.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he pulled his paw away from the wall, clenching it with restraint. His voice was heavy and left no room for disagreement. “We will fulfill the divine expectation. This duty now falls upon your shoulders. Even as you are crushed by the burden, it will prepare you for what comes next. Failure will not be tolerated.” Puunilish stared down his snout at Gaareth, flaring his nostrils. 

Gaareth forced himself to look away, dropping his gaze to his paws. He was only making his situation worse with his comments.

“Your ignorance is no longer an acceptable excuse. You represent our clan now, and we will not allow you to disappoint the Father.” Puunilish snarled. 

All Gaareth could do was nod.

Satisfied, Puunilish walked on in silence and Gaareth followed after him until they reached the circle of light around the stage. Its black material was worn on the surface, and a white podium rested in the middle. 

The other Priests had gathered at the base of the stage around a metal tub. Their white robes almost shone from their cleanliness. They watched Gaareth with cold yellow eyes glaring out from the folds of their wrinkled skin.

Gaareth shook as he stood before them. It was a distant sensation, as if it was the room that was shaking and not him.

“A cub comes to us ready to shed their fur, and step into adulthood in service of Clan Paardok and the Father." A Priest intoned with a low voice that cut through the vast silence.

The Priests surrounded him. A wall of white robes and furless heads with piercing eyes stared down at him as if he was a piece of Waste.

"As water provides life it also cleanses the flesh of impurities. You will be cleansed so that you may serve Clan Paardok with pureness of mind, body, and spirit." Another Priest said. Gaareth’s eyes darted around, searching for the speaker. He couldn’t find them. Someone untied his waist pouch. It dropped to the ground with a thunk. 

He tried to scramble after it, and let out a squeal as he was hoisted into the air.

A dozen paws gripped him on all sides. They lifted him easily. He struggled to break free. They tightened their grip until it hurt. Claws dug into his skin as he squirmed.

They raised him over the metal tub and dropped him. 

Water splashed up beside him, splashing over the side. He had only ever used water to drink. He gasped at the frigid cold as the water soaked into his fur.

He hit the bottom of the tub hard and struggled to get his head above the surface.

Paws grabbed onto his arms and legs again. They lifted him until his head was out of the water. Priest Puunilish looked down at him from above. His yellow eyes could have held Gaareth in place on their own.

"The Father watches over you and sees all you do. He takes pride in your success, and your failures pain him. From this day forward you will not fail the Father," Priest Puunilish leaned over the metal tub. His loose wrinkled skin shook as he spoke. "You will Obey. You will Contribute. You will fulfill your potential and elevate our clan in the eyes of the Observers. Otherwise, you would not exist." 

The Priests lifted Gaareth above the tub. 

He let out a sigh of relief. That certainly wasn't pleasant but he had expected worse.

Priest Punnilish spoke again. "Your life is not your own. Surrender control, or it will be taken from you." The Priests slammed him down into the water again. He tried to suck in a quick breath before he was completely submerged, and only ended up with a mouth full of water. 

He struggled, trying to reach the surface. Strong paws held him down. His muscles strained uselessly against their grip. 

Water slipped into his mouth as he pushed toward the surface. He choked, and coughed, letting more water into his mouth even as he struggled not to inhale it. He couldn't take it anymore. They were going to kill him. 

He was lifted out of the water again and held suspended over the metal tub, shivering. 

Gaareth gasped in the air as much as he could in between coughing fits.

"Your life is not your own. Surrender control, or it will be taken from you." He heard Puunilish say again from somewhere nearby. 

He was slammed back into the tub. This time he didn't try to struggle to the surface. He knew there was no point. He held his breath and waited. 

Even when his lungs ached he struggled not to move.  

He strained against himself, desperate for air but knowing it was impossible to reach. Struggling only made it worse. He clenched his jaw, fighting down the panic and the need to breathe. It wasn’t enough.

He started to thrash, desperate for the surface and the air that waited there. The paws that gripped his arms and legs squeezed harder, digging in their claws. Gaareth squealed in pain, and water flooded into his mouth. 

They yanked him out of the water again. 

Everything was blurry, and his entire body ached. 

All he could do was breathe, even as he sputtered and coughed. 

He heard Priest Puunilish speak again somewhere above his head. “You are cleansed of your impurities. Your life is not your own. Surrender control, or it will be taken from you.” Puunilish’s voice cut into him. 

Then he was underwater again with only the crushing grasp of the Priest’s paws to keep him company.

This time he didn’t struggle in the wet darkness. 

He didn’t move. 

He gave in.

There was nothing else he could do.

A burning heat filled his veins, contrasting the cold water. All his life he scrambled to survive, desperate to eat and avoid the endless threats that surrounded him. He had nothing, and still, they took.

He ached from forcing himself to still. Sinking his claws into the nearest Priest wouldn’t change anything.

Bubbles slipped out of his mouth. 

Fingers of unconsciousness brushed him. The jagged need for air was the only thing keeping him from blacking out.

He was jerked out of the water, and dropped in front of Puunilish, soaking wet, and shivering. Each breath hurt from the sweetness of it. He kept his gaze on the floor. 

Anything to avoid being thrown back in the tub. 

"Your struggle is not without purpose. It makes you resilient, and Clan Paardok can use that strength. From here on you are reborn. The cub you were; is dead. Let them be forgotten. Now you stand for Clan Paardok and every act will be done for the clan. So that one day we may all thrive. It is a heavy responsibility but you will fulfill it." Puunilish said before him. Gaareth couldn’t hold back his whimpering. He knew the truth of Puunilish’s words.

The other Priests turned away, filing towards the tunnel beside the stage. 

“You will be assigned to the department of Service. Return here tomorrow before the morning’s sermon.” Puunilish said. Gaareth risked a glance up. Puunilish had turned to follow the other Priests, his bare tail drifting lazily through the air behind him. 

Gaareth crouched there, dripping wet and breathing heavily. His muscles ached, and everything spun around him.

He couldn’t stay there long. The last thing he needed was another Priest to come upon him. Gritting his teeth, he scooped up his waist pouch and then scurried away from the metal tub.

Each step was agony. His head was ready to fall off of his shoulders, and he couldn’t shake the discomfort in his body. Still, he kept moving. Not stopping even as he reached the tunnel to the main hall. It stretched on ahead of him as it closed in around him Gaareth tried to breathe, to steady himself. Each breath came in a staggering gasp. 

That only added to the pressure he felt inside his head. 

He stumbled out into the main hall.

Mount Paardok had come awake with full force.

Paardokians moved in every direction or gathered in packs. A pulsating jumble of fur, claws, and teeth. Everyone talking or hissing or dragging their claws against the floor at once.

Gaareth stopped, overwhelmed already even though he stood at the edge.

“Gaareth.” Someone called him over the noise.

His ears swiveled, looking around for the source of the voice.

“Gaareth.” 

He heard it again. Behind him. He turned back.

Roonthar leaned against the wall, watching him. “You alright?” 

Gaareth glanced down, wringing his paws together. His mouth opened to speak, to share what happened. He closed it again. 

“That bad, eh?”

Even Roonthar’s words were far away. As if he wasn’t sitting right next to Gaareth. 

“It’s over. You only have to go through it once. Things will get better now, you’ll see.” Roonthar put a paw on his shoulder. Its comforting weight reminded him that Roonthar had gone through it too. 

Somehow that brought him a small relief. 

Roonthar squeezed his shoulder, and that relief faded away as he felt himself being gripped by the Priests again. His stomach lurched, as if he was jerked into the air then held underwater again. He squeezed his eyes shut.

It only made him feel more like he was underwater. 

Bile rose in his throat; hot, and swift. He had just enough time to lean forward before he wretched out the remaining water in his stomach. 

It burned the back of his throat, leaving a tangy metallic taste on his tongue. He coughed and gasped for breath after it was all out. Roonthar’s paw hadn’t left his shoulder. It felt reassuring again.

“Let’s get out of here,” Roonthar said, giving Gaareth’s arm a pull. 

With a groan Gaareth let himself be pulled along the wall, skirting around the hectic crowd of Paardokians that filled the main hall. His tail dragged along the floor behind him, and he had to force himself not to crumple up and join it on the ground.

Instead, he kept placing one paw in front of the other. Even as his head pounded from the piercing noise around him.

Roonthar didn’t slow as they darted through one of the exit tunnels. It was wide enough for ten Paardokians to walk through at once, and the ceiling was a dozen paw lengths above Gaareth’s head. Not that it mattered. It still weighed down on him as they left the frenetic pulse of the main hall behind.

“You two look ready to work.” A tall male with dark brown fur walked towards them. One of his ears was missing, with only a fleshy scar where it should have been. He had a thin silver chain around his neck. 

A Coorprok. 

Gaareth stifled a hiss. They had already taken his room but that would never be enough for them. Couldn’t they leave him be?

“Maybe. What you got in mind?” Roonthar said, oblivious to Gaareth’s reaction.

“It’s your lucky day. We’re down two bodies for this morning’s expedition. You can come along, we keep any food, water, foil, and glowstones you find. Everything else is yours if you meet the quota.” The Coorprok said, looking down his nose at them. 

“Roonthar…” Gaareth whispered, grabbing at his friend’s arm. “Please. I just wanna–”

“The tokens won't last forever,” Roonthar muttered, interrupting him. “We can’t pass up this opportunity.”

“We don’t often take on stragglers like yourselves. I’ll make an exception today. If you’re ready to go now.” The male grimaced, as if he had tasted something sour. 

“We’ll come,” Roonthar said, nodding as he spoke. 

Gaareth glared at him. He’d rather rot than line the Coorprok’s pouches with more tokens. He grunted at a sharp elbow from Roonthar. “Fine. We’ll come.” He agreed through gritted teeth.

“We don’t have all day.” The male said. He turned to go without looking back.

“Why did you do that?” Gaareth hissed to Roonthar as they followed the male through the tunnel, weaving their way around the others heading for the exit. “The Coorproks just take what is ours and sell it back to us for more.”

“This will get us some fresh Waste to scavenge through. Might be worth it.” Roonthar said. The tunnel split in two, and they took the left branch. 

“We have enough for now. What with how much we got for the mirror.”

“How much I got for the mirror. You need this more than I do so I don’t know what you are complaining about.” Roonthar growled under his breath as they followed the male.

Gaareth bristled. He wasn’t complaining. First, he lost his room, and then he had had his ceremony but somehow it was still too much to ask for a little sympathy from Roonthar. He was still being held down underwater, and having to work for the Coorproks was only rubbing his face in it.

The male glanced back at them, cocking his head to the side. “Name’s Taarnov.” He said, ignoring their disagreement. 

Roonthar gave his name, then prodded Gaareth to do the same. 

“Prove yourself today, and we might get you on again. Who knows, you could work your way out of the squalor eventually.”

“Is life in the Coorproks that good?” Roonthar asked.

“Only those lucky enough to be born Priests or Overseers have it better.” He paused as he walked, glancing back at them. “You two look like your bones are ready to pop out of your skin. I haven’t gone hungry my whole life.”

“Lucky you,” Gaareth muttered. They turned a corner, and the tunnel opened up into one of Mount Paardok’s loading bays. Sunlight glared in from the far side that was open to the Waste. 

Ahead, the loading bay was alive with activity. 

Paardokians scurried about preparing, and loading wagons that were all made of different colored materials. He could see the silver, and gold chains they wore around their necks glinting in the light of the opening. Their long brown and black fur rippled along with them, tied to their tails.

The bustle engulfed Gaareth as they followed Taarnov into the fray. It was the creatures that would pull the wagons that drew Gaareth’s eye the most as they passed by. No matter how often he saw them they still made his fur stand on end. 

Big black eyes reflected the morning light, and two antennas protruded above them.

The rochon were almost as wide as the wagons and longer. Their broad oblong bodies were flat and dark brown. Their heads were light brown, and instead of fur, or skin, their bodies had a harder exterior. 

They stood on six legs that seemed too skinny to hold up their weight, with their front two legs extending down directly from their bodies. Their four rear legs extended behind them, flat on the ground. 

It was their mouths that always unnerved Gaareth. Two small mandibles extended beside a mouth full of jagged teeth. Some picked at the concrot floor, searching for food that they wouldn’t find until they were in the Waste.

As they walked through the loading bay the Coorproks started to climb into the wagons beside the crates, and sacks that were piled in the open beds. 

Taarnov stopped before one, a rickety thing made of a reddish-brown material. There were already three Paardokians in the back, all with dull silver chains around their necks. It gave them a bulbous look as it cinched the fur around their necks before flowing back down to their tails.

“Up,” Taarnov said, jabbing a thumb at the wagon. He climbed up the front where there was a hard bench built into it for the driver. The rochon shifted eagerly in front of him. Its wide body swayed from side to side as it chittered. 

Gaareth reluctantly scrambled into the wagon behind Roonthar. It was too late to back out now. The wagon groaned under his weight but seemed sturdy enough that it wouldn’t break down immediately. There was enough space for both of them to fit in beside the stacks of crates at the back. Once they were settled, Roonthar tried to strike up a conversation with the other passengers. 

The Coorprok closest to them sneered at him, baring her teeth, and snapping “Rot off.” before turning back to her companions.

“Guess they don’t want to be friends.” He said, grinning at Gaareth.

“Their loss,” Gaareth said, not sure why Roonthar would want to be friends with them in the first place.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Roonthar said, looking around. The rest of the Coorproks were climbing into their wagons. “I don’t think I’ve ever been down here during this. Let’s roll before we all rot.” 

There was a sharp crack ahead, and the wagon rumbled into motion. The bay was filled with the chittering of rochon, the cracking of whips, and drivers yelling at each other as they all tried to rush out of the opening at once. Eventually, the semblance of a line formed, two or three wagons wide, and they inched forward. 

Concrot on all sides gave way to open sky as they rolled through the exit. 

The change in light blinded Gaareth for a moment. 

He blinked his eyes against the brightness. 

Then they were out fully, and picking up speed. The smell hit him next. An acidic rotting fume that burned his nose, and made his nose twitch. The night sky had faded to a pale yellow, and he could see an orange glow on the horizon.

A wide concrot road led from the loading bay. On either side, the Perimeter spread out beside them. Mounds and cliffs of concrot surrounded Mount Paardok, covered in inconsistent spires and misshapen lumps. Others were vague spirals that twisted his eye. Cracks and crevices lead deeper into the wild sprawl of concrot as the rochon gained speed.

In between, piles of Waste had accumulated; random objects that had been blown in by the wind, or dragged by Paardokians. Broken pieces of dark blue, green, and red material poked up from mounds of rotting organic matter, pink or black slime that was flecked with white mold. Crammed into corners, and crevices was a thin soft material that had been crumpled up into balls. 

The Waste clogged every corner, and most of it was starting to break down into a mushy pulp that would eventually become concrot, building the Perimeter around Mount Paardok further.

“This is way better than scrambling through the mess of tunnels out there, eh?” Roonthar said beside him.

Gaareth nodded, not taking his eyes off the scenery as they rolled by. No matter how good it was, it still didn’t change how his day had started. 

The road wasn’t smooth, and they bounced hard every time they hit a bump. The rochon was almost at full speed, and the wind rustled Gaareth’s fur as they rolled faster. 

“I got stuck in a tunnel the other day,” Gaareth said. “After crawling forever I had to squirm my way back out when there was a dead end. Felt like I was choking the whole way.” He sucked in a ragged breath. Whether it was water or concrot or the Coorproks, he was still surrounded and it was closing in on him. 

“Waste, that’s rough. Have you seen the figure that someone built? It almost looks like a Paardokian. Except that it's four times as tall.” Roonthar said, taking Gaareth’s story as a boast to be outdone. “Right beside it, someone made a slide down into a valley. I thought my fur was gonna fly off from going so fast.” Roonthar’s laughter was dragged away by the wind. 

They crested the edge of the Perimeter. The chaotic mess of concrot transitioned to endless Waste. Every color and shape he had ever seen was present, jumbled together so thoroughly that it was impossible to distinguish anything in particular as the uneven landscape blurred by. Still, the rot and decay were inescapable.

Gaareth glanced at Roonthar. A huge grin split his pointed face.

 Gaareth couldn’t help but smile too. At least for a moment.

The wagons ahead and behind bumped along, clattering and creaking as they bounced over the road. Their rochon was hauling now and showed no signs of slowing. The rochon pulling the wagon behind them was foaming from its mouth of jagged teeth, its antennas dancing in the wind as it rushed to keep up.

The sun peaked out from the horizon. A sliver of radiant orange that looked ready to set the Waste ablaze. Gaareth settled back as he watched the sliver become a half circle slowly growing as the sun continued rising. The final remnants of the dark sky faded into dawn’s soft yellow glow. He drank it in until his eyes started to water from the brightness. Then he glanced back. 

Mount Paardok impaled the sky in the distance behind them, a massive gray spire that got slimmer as it stretched higher. It loomed behind them, waiting to impale him when they returned. 

“See. Ain’t so bad is it?” Roonthar called to him over the wind. He was gripping the side of the wagon to steady himself against the wagon's jostling. Some of his fur had come loose, and it twisted and turned in the air behind him.

“For now,” Gaareth said to himself. The wind covered his words. “I guess so,” he said louder. Roonthar nodded to him and clapped a paw on his shoulder.

“You’ll see. We might not be cubs anymore but we can still make the most of it.” Roonthar dropped his paw and returned to gazing out across the Waste.

Gaareth envied him for how easily he kept hope. Try as he might, it slipped through his fingers like slime.

The sun continued to climb higher, the yellow of dawn turning to the dusty red sky of day. They began to slow down when it was halfway to its peak. The other nearby wagons had either pulled off the road earlier or had kept rolling past as their wagon pulled to the side. When they were at walking speed the rochon turned off into the Waste. They rolled along for a while longer, slowly maneuvering across the bumpy ground. 

The Waste squished and crunched under them. Black, yellow, green, blue, red, and more, all mashed together in a broken rotting mess. They rolled over piles of empty clear containers, odd black cubes that had open fronts with jagged sharp edges of a different material around the opening, rusted pieces of metal that were bent or crumpled, and a dozen other things half submerged in the Waste. There was always something new to see in the Waste. 

The wagon came to a stop. Its quiet rumbling was replaced by the satisfied chittering, and gurgling of the rochon as it began to pick through the Waste for food. Insects buzzed everywhere, tiny things of different shapes and sizes with black bodies and transclucent wings 

Taarnov hopped down from the front of the wagon, his brown fur rippled as he hit the ground. “You know the drill. Get to it. We leave at dusk. Anyone not here gets to walk back.” The last words were directed at Gaareth and Roonthar. 

Gaareth nodded back as he stood up, the wagon shifting underneath his paws. He clambered over the side of the wagon and felt paws push him from behind. 

The world tumbled by. 

He slammed into the ground, squishing into the Waste before he could even cry out. 

“Waste. Rotting slime. You touch him again, and I’ll leave you here to decompose,” Roonthar yelled. There was hissing, and the sharp snapping of teeth above him then Roonthar was down beside Gaareth giving him a paw up. 

He grabbed it and climbed shakily to his paws. There, beside where he had landed, was a sharp serrated tube of black metal protruding from the Waste. If he had fallen on that… 

He shook his head, trying not to think about it. 

“Rotting slime. You alright?” Roonthar said.

Gaareth brushed himself off, as best as possible. His fur was wet and slimy along his back, and he could feel the liquid trickling down his skin now that he was standing. “No. When have we ever been alright?” Gaareth snapped at him. The wagon shifted beside him, and he caught sight of the Coorprok’s ears as they laughed and walked away.

“Geez, did you wake up on the rotten side of the bed this morning?” Roonthar frowned at him.

“The entire thing is rotten. If it’s not the Coorproks, it’s the Priests. Or the Overseers. Or the rest of our rotten clan.” 

“What? You think it only happens to you? Poor little Gaareth getting picked on by everyone else.” Roonthar’s yellow eyes narrowed, and his words crashed into Gaareth.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that… I’m tired, Roonthar. I’m tired of everything, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“So what? All you do is whine, and I’m sick of it.” Roonthar snapped before stalking off. His tail lashed violently behind him as he walked into the Waste. 

Gaareth watched him go, stunned. He didn’t move for a long time. 

Eventually, he snagged his pack out of the back of the wagon then turned in the other direction as he slung it over his shoulders. He picked his way carefully through the Waste, sticking to the sections that looked more solid. 

It still squished under his paws. 

A black bag spilled open as he stepped on it, spurting out rotting food that he couldn’t identify. Red and brown chunks, thin stripes of beige that were tangled together, and some rancid liquid with colorful pieces in it oozed around his paw. He groaned as he tried to shake the slime off of his paw. A swarm of small black bugs descended onto the sludge. Gaareth ignored them and kept moving.

He would have been better off if he hadn’t said anything to Roonthar. That seemed to be what he wanted. For Gaareth to just act like everything was alright. 

Even though it wasn’t.

Gaareth held his breath as he passed by an iridescent puddle. The tangy pungent smell still burned his nose as he wandered the Waste. 

Around him, the chaotic mixture of objects and pieces formed together into a sludge of colors and shapes as he walked. The Waste rose and fell haphazardly, never flat for more than a few steps. Far in the distant several enormous fungal growths were clustered together, protruding from the Waste and stretching high towards the sky. There dark red bulbous forms were streaked with white and yellow nad made up of layers of ridges, growing from each other.

He stopped eventually. The orange sun was high in the red sky, beating down on him. Sweat poured from the skin beneath his fur. It hadn’t rained since he had still been running from the other cub gangs and the heat and humidity kept building. Still, sometimes the rain made him itch and burn. Or worse. He would rather sweat and pant then have to deal with the rain.

Gaareth set his pack down and started digging in the Waste with his paws, moving slowly; careful of anything sharp under the surface. 

He pulled back piece after piece of Waste. Long twisted pieces of rusted metal. Ragged cushions covered with swirling patterns of beads, many of which were missing. Round spheres that had a hard green exterior, and soft blue inside. They were covered in black spots and squished in his paws as he moved them. 

Those were edible. If it wasn’t already rotting. 

Gaareth piled up the junk that was worthless as he dug. When he found something of value he placed it beside his pack. A meal bar’s package shone in the sunlight where it wasn’t covered in slime. A piece of crumpled wrinkle foil so small he almost missed it. A small metal cup that only had a few dents in it.

He lost himself in the steady rhythm of sifting through the Waste. 

It was his only escape from everything else. Even as his paws were coated in slime, he still savored the brief relief. No Priests. No Overseers. No Coorproks.

And no Roonthar.

He still didn’t understand what Roonthar’s problem was. Things were bad enough without also being snapped at by the one Paardokian he was supposed to be able to count on.

Otherwise, he might as well face it completely alone. 

If he could.

It gnawed at him as he tried to work. He focused on his task instead, slowly expanding the hole he was in until only the tips of his ears reached the surface.

On one side of his hole, he left a shallow ramp. He used a wide flat piece of metal as a sled, piling it high with mismatched items, dragging it up, and dumping it. 

He sifted through rotten chunks of organic matter. Here, a lump of a soft light brown material that was darker, and firmer on the outside edge than on the inside. There, a piece of meat that was charred black on the outside while the cooked flesh was blue on the inside. If he found something that wasn’t too rotten or burnt he wiped it off, and added it to his stack.

Everything else he tossed onto his sled. Thin black tubes that had cracks running along them. Small strips of rope that were frayed at both ends. Flat pieces of a clear material that were often cracked, or shattered completely. He added those to his pile, careful of the sharp edges that could cut through even the tough dark skin of his paws.

Occasionally, he shifted some Waste to find a glow leaking through to the surface. He dug around until he found the glowstone, covered in gunk. He piled those beside his pack. Red and blue were the most common where he was working. 

Gaareth pushed back another layer of Waste. Clumps of a fluffy white material that was stained gray with dirt, and grime. Beads of orange, and yellow that were cracked, and chipped. Clear containers made of strong but flexible material. When he opened those he gagged from the smell of decay that overpowered the stench of the rest of the Waste. He tossed those as far away as he could after he closed the lid again. 

Through it, all were the things he needed to survive, and trade for tokens. A bottle of water that was covered in orange goo. Two more pieces of wrinkle foil that were jammed inside a dented metal bowl. He even found a brown blanket that was less ragged than his current blanket, and not too filthy. 

The Waste stretched to the horizon in every direction. It had surrounded him his entire life, and it was all there would ever be. More Waste to scavenge through. 

Still, it had to have come from somewhere, and he didn’t believe what the Priests said. Even if he did know, it wouldn’t change anything. He’d still have to pick through the junk and slime until his fur fell out.

The sun had reached its peak when Gaareth stopped to take a break, an orange ball blazing far above him. He wiped the grime from his paws with a rag he kept in his pack, and smiled to himself in satisfaction. 

Beside his pack was a pile of valuables that he would not have found closer to Mount Paardok. Roonthar had been right. Scavenging in fresh Waste had its advantages. No wonder the Coorproks lived so lavishly. Hopefully he had enough to meet their quota already, and he could keep the rest.

Eventually, he returned to his scavenging. The hole he dug was wide but he hadn’t gone much deeper than his body length. He was small for a Paardokian so he was still close to the surface. If he went deeper what else could he find?

Gaareth dug around in the center of his hole, scooping Waste out of his way. He reached in to scoop out more. Something clicked in his paw. 

He gripped it, and pulled, emerging with an oblong, and bulbous green object; his thumb pressed against a black button built into its side. 

Cautiously he released the button. 

Green smoke shot out in a hesitant sputter from the bottom of it. The sputter turned into a spewing cloud. 

Gaareth dropped the object. He didn’t know what the smoke was but he knew enough to not trust it. 

His eyes burned and watered. He coughed, gasping for breath even as he dropped to all fours to scurry to safety. 

His leg gave out under him, sending him face-first into the Waste. He tried to push himself up, and crawl forward, only managing to shake and twitch his stiff muscles. 

Everything faded to black as he collapsed onto the Waste.