Mature Content Warning

Touché, Machi murmured with a slight shrug, rolling the pouch away from the pair with the back of his paw before rising to collect the small flowers.

He noticed the glint of mistrust in her eyes, the smug expression she wore as if to silently declare, "I won’t fall for that." He raised another flower to his lips, his heart finally easing its frantic pace. In a quiet, resigned tone, he offered an explanation, Chamomile— for anxiety. If I wanted to kill you I would have done so already.

But she was asking for every detail, wasn’t she? He had told her only what was absolutely necessary—that Herod and his men were searching, even the manner of their relationship. But that had not been enough. She had pressed for more, and reluctantly, he had given it. Yet, even then, it wasn’t sufficient. The dog could never have anticipated that Eira would be among the party. She was supposed to be irrelevant, a secret buried in Godsmouth with Hasdrubal. But secrets had a rather annoying way of surfacing, and now he was paying the price for underestimating the past’s tenacity.

Machi leaned back against the stone, his gaze growing distant as he began to speak, voice heavy with the weight of memories that had long since burrowed into his soul.

In Godsmouth, I... I was not a good person, he began, the words dragging from his mouth as if made of tar. I did what I was told, turned a blind eye to the suffering of others if it meant I’d be spared Herod's attention for another day. I didn’t care who got hurt, so long as it wasn’t me. It was a wretched existence, devoid of anything remotely resembling compassion or morality—but it was all that I knew.

He paused, his brow furrowing as he delved deeper into his recollections, paw stroking through his matted fur. That was the sum of my life until Juno arrived. I was just around a year or so, and he not much older—and very sick. He and his mother had journeyed from the mountains, desperate for salvation. They sought Hasdrubal, the so-called Prophet, hoping he could call upon the gods to cure Juno’s illness.

Machi’s voice softened, a flicker of warmth creeping into his gaze as he continued, They stayed far longer than most. The weather was unkind, others had come before them, and Juno’s health was unstable. In that time, we grew close—closer than I thought it possible. Juno was different from anyone I’d ever known. Despite everything, he wasn’t hardened by the darkness the world had to offer. Instead, he showed me that there was still light, still beauty, in places I had long since abandoned.

A faint smile touched his lips as he recalled those fleeting moments of happiness. We’d sneak out after dark, chasing fireflies along the edges of the swamps, or lie hidden in the reeds, listening to the symphony of cicadas and frogs. For the first time in my life, I felt... like I was somebody—like there was more to me than just The Prophet.

But the smile faded, replaced by a shadow of regret that darkened his features. Then, without warning, everything changed. Juno’s ritual was moved up. They were going to leave, return to the mountains. The night before, Juno begged me to come with them, to escape the hell that was Godsmouth and start anew. He even promised to help me find where Herod was keeping my mother so she could come with us.

Machi’s expression darkened further, his voice thick with the weight of what came next, he shut his eyes tightly, looking ill. I agreed. But as we were making plans, we heard a noise, someone lurking too close for comfort. We fled before we could be discovered. The next day, after Juno’s ritual, Herod sent me away to bless a neighboring pack's newborn whelps. I rushed back to our meeting place, only to find Juno gone—Herod was there instead.

The dog's paw froze, digging into the matted fur as though it was the anchor tethering him to the present, tension radiating from his every word. I asked where Juno and Eira were, and Herod told me they’d left right after the ritual. I felt... betrayed, utterly heartbroken. But Herod, being the manipulative bastard he is, convinced me to join him for dinner. Said he had a special surprise for me, something that would cheer me up.

Machi’s voice faltered, the pain of the memory evident in his trembling tone. The dinner felt wrong from the start. I didn’t want to eat, but Herod insisted—he said he’d prepared it himself. After I finished, feeling sicker by the minute, Herod told me the surprise was waiting in my room. We went there together.

He paused, swallowing hard as if the words were lodged in his throat, threatening to choke him. The voice grew hoarse, almost a whisper, as he forced himself to continue. The surprise was...  Machi’s breath hitched, the words dissolving into mere noises as he shook his head, trying to clear away the memory. But the image would never leave him, and he could see it still now, with his eyes shut tight. He was quiet for a moment, clenching white-knuckled to the tangled fur. It was... Sick, Machi finished finally, sounding very much like he might be sick himself.

There's only a little I remember after that. I— blacked out. When I finally came to, I was in an underground cell, badly injured. My mother was there. She told me I’d nearly killed Herod— that the guards had to pry me off him.

A few months later, Herod left on a trip. That was my chance, and I took it. And, well, you know what happened after that, The dog concluded, voice trembling. When he opened his eyes again, he found his vision blurred, and untangled his paw to wipe at his eyes, a disgusted expression crossing his face.

Excuse me, please, he whispered, trying to steady his breathing. His gaze fixed on the floor below him, and although he watched Eset from his periphery, he would not meet the coywoman's gaze, knowing full and well that the judgement and disdain he was sure to find within would unravel him completely.