Page 49 of The Ashpaw: Part One

The only one she knew by name was Rosen, the others merely faces she recognized.

“Mauricia is so lucky! She gets to eat the same food as Lady Kyntha, and she spends much more time with the Lurvekh than we do. They’ll be petitioning her before the next full moon, I just know it.”

Fern rubbed at her chest, looking inward towards the hollow where her wolf used to be.

She stirred every once in a while. Proof of life.

But Fern had a feeling nothing would convince her it was safe to come out again, which put her in a double bind—forced into estrangement because she could not shift, and yet with each day of her punishment, her wolf drifted farther and farther away.

“Rosen, what’s it like being petitioned? Are the Lurvekh homes grand? Do you—”

“I am a Lurvekh. I was mated, not petitioned.”

The woman waved her off. “Aye, but… really, it must be better than here. Anything is better than this.”

Fern snorted.

“Oh, I can think of something worse,” Rosen replied, the other two continuing their blathering.

“And Mauricia says Lady Kyntha is so kind and intelligent. I mean, you heard her at the grievance. She knew exactly what games the Ashpaw was playing, and was able to help the alphas see her tricks clearly.”

“So clever of her to figure it out! I really do not know what the Lurvekh could possibly have seen in her.”

“Well,” Rosen began slowly. “I suppose the reason why Lady Kyntha would recognize such tricks would be if she’d been taught them herself. I’ve known Alpha Darion a long time, and I’ve never seen him so gentle as he is with her. That kind of cleverness is never spent in only one direction.”

The conversation quieted for a moment, and a small squeak stole Fern’s attention. Anwen was making her way along the edge of the wall, and Fern quickly dug out the green bean shell she’d found in the kitchen when no one was looking.

She held it out, pinched between her fingers, so still she didn’t breathe.

Anwen’s nose and whiskers twitched as she weighed the danger.

A few tiny steps closer.

“If Mauricia is properly petitioned,” one of them continued, undeterred by Rosen’s observation, “then Lady Kyntha may have need for a new attendant. I think I’ll ask her to recommend me, if such a thing is allowed.”

“Not if I ask her first!”

They giggled until someone moaned, begging them to be quiet, and the laughter rolled back out like fog at the break of day.

Anwen took the shell right out of her hand.

“I think I’ll stay as far away from Lady Kyntha as possible, thank you,” Rosen whispered, lying down on the cot that used to be Fern’s, pulling up the blanket Marin had given her on her first day only a few short weeks ago. “Cunning wolfkin rarely do anything out of the goodness of their hearts.”

* * *

“What stinks in here? Did someone spill a chamber pot?”

Fern looked down, keeping as close to the wall of the winding stairwell as possible.

Someone still managed to ram into her with their shoulders, and her teeth clenched shut as she breathed through the pain.

Her bruises had turned from purple to a yellowish-green, her eye less swollen, but she still ached.

And couldn’t even blame it all on the attack—sleeping on the floor every night was slowly becoming worse.

She didn’t know how long Rosen had been the Ashpaw before her, and wanted to ask her if she ever got used to the pain.

But perhaps the types of physical hardships humans suffered through were of little consequence to Lurvekh.