Time stood still. Drought was leaning forward, half-crouching in front of Elry's blood-stained leg, a white baby in his arms. Makile held his sword out in front of him, inches from his throat. The two men exchanged gnces, each contempting their positions. The general couldn't think of anything. His head was churning, ideas bubbling and bursting like bubbles, unable to stay still long enough for him to dwell on them. The small man in front of him, whose downy hair had grown enough to tickle his lips, didn't budge or lower his bde either. Finally, it was Icy and Greta who acted. The bodar stepped forward to deliver a powerful blow to Makile's skull, which started the murmurs and shouts among those watching the scene.

  - Since when do you raise your sword at a general ? Do you want your head cut off ?

  He burst out into a false, stressed, tense ugh, which prompted Greta to speak as well.

  - This is a situation General Drought will handle with the Council; it's not something you should take on your own. But for now, let's celebrate our victory over the Samaltas ! I think this war is finally over !

  A cheer echoed through the crowd, joined by a second, and quickly a troop of soldiers threw themselves into each other's arms, completely unaware of what had just happened, or rather, carefully avoiding the two aberrations still standing in the same spot. Drought moved too, stood up, and returned Calixte to his mother. Their eyes met, but the pacle lowered his gaze. He didn't yet know what he felt, but in the confusion that filled him, he knew it would be dangerous to keep the attention on Elry and Calixte. So, reluctantly, he turned his back on them and nervously greeted the soldiers, then hugged them. But when he passed Makile and S'rinj, he gave them a dark look, monstrous with anger.

  - We'll have to talk ter.

  The young human didn't respond. The physicist simply nodded neutrally, as if he hadn't done anything wrong. Once the troops had dispersed and the volunteers left to help clear the area of ??any enemy traces, Drought returned to his tent. But Elry was no longer there. He looked everywhere for her, searched every piece of furniture, and called out to her. But in vain.

  She probably left. After all, she had almost died and had her baby cut open alive by the people in this camp. It was hardly surprising. Despite everything, Drough's heart sank so hard he felt sick. He held his stomach, swallowing the tears welling up in his eyes and the sobs catching in his throat. When he finally came out, S'rinj was waiting for him by the opening that served as a door. The curly-haired physicist nodded to him, then took out one of his cigars. The general had no desire to see him. Nevertheless, he lit his cigar and said, without looking him in the face:

  - Deadly's badly hurt, I'd like you to take a look. The rest of the healers will be busy elsewhere.

  - Okay, boss.

  Silence fell again, punctuated only by S'rinj's long breaths as he puffed on his cigar, then by his exhations, which emitted rge plumes that swirled in the cool air. Rain threatened to fall. It was bad weather.

  - So she's the one, the famous prisoner. Elry. Did you name her that ?

  The tone was calm, but inquisitive. And there was something defiant about it. Drought felt very uncomfortable.

  - No, it's hers. She introduced herself to me. And so did her cub.

  Not a sound again. Just the distant voices of men rejoicing and chatting happily. S'rinj quietly finished his cigar, extinguished it by rubbing it on his belt buckle, then tossed the butt away. He then turned to Drought to fix his small bck eyes on his.

  - I know I've told you many times that you need to find someone, but... But that's a no.

  The pacle tapped his hoof on the ground, impatient and annoyed.

  - I haven't found anyone, she's someone I only value as much as you, Icy, or Deadly. She helped us win this war, mind you; you could even say she saved us all !

  He sighed, forcing himself to calm down.

  - And don't call her "it." She's a person in her own right.

  The forty-year-old continued to look at him, but Drought stared into the distance. He waited like that for a moment, then finally blurted out :

  - And Makile ? Do you like him too ?

  Drought suddenly turned to S'rinj, stunned.

  - What ?

  - You heard me.

  The tall man pced his calloused hand on the pacle's shoulder. The tter couldn't help but notice poorly washed red marks still embedded under his nails. Recalling the earlier horror, Calixte squirming as a scalpel was plunged into his abdomen, his rge infant eyes filled with tears as he frantically waved his chubby little hands and hooves... Drought pushed the physicist's hand away.

  - He's a young man with talent. You have an eye. But that's about it.

  S'rinj burst out ughing. But it was a fat ugh, fake, and full of frustration. It made the general grit his teeth.

  - Stop it. You accepted him without question when he was brought to you. And that's not like you. You're a thoughtful person; you make decisions for the greater good. But that wasn't a decision. It was a whim. Not to mention...

  The man moved closer, his face inches from Drought's. His breath reeked of stale tobacco and root soup.

  - Makile, seriously ? I know that's what you called your first pet. A tchik, right ? Long legs, brown and purple fur, big bck eyes, adorable...

  The pacle shoved S'rinj violently, knocking him off bance. The forty-year-old caught himself as best he could by leaning on a passing bck-haired soldier, then straightened and raised his hands in defeat.

  - Okay...Okay...I think it's pretty clear in your eyes, even if you don't seem to realize it yet.

  Drought stood there, trembling with rage and surprise, anxiety, and fear all at once… Everything was coming back to him, and he had only one desire : to vomit. And to know if Calixte and Elry were okay. Finally, he signaled to S'rinj without looking him in the eye.

  - We're going to see Deadly. We need to take care of her injuries. Icy is probably already with her.

  And, without even checking if the forty-year-old was following him—but he knew he was—he set off toward the infirmary barracks. He twisted the gold hoops in his hairy earlobes, over and over again, in a crescendo of nervousness. Nothing was going as pnned. Obviously. But he didn't want to lose Elry. Something made him uncomfortable, bothered him. Her absence by his side was like a void. Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe not exactly friendship. It was more like an armchair you enjoy sitting in, and it suddenly disappears. Like a splinter stuck in the hoof horn. Something very unpleasant and uncomfortable.

  The two men arrived at the infirmary fairly quickly. As Drought had guessed, most of the healers and physicians were tending to the wounded at the front and were running around in dismay. Deadly didn't look good. The arrows and projectiles had been removed from her back, arms, and thighs, but the wounds hadn't yet closed properly. Icy, his hands shaking, was trying to pour alcohol onto a rag to clean the gaping holes in the pacle's skin, but he froze at the slightest of her moans. He looked panicked, perhaps even more so than Drought. But S'rinj wasn't offended and walked past them without a care to get some supplies, then returned with a small iron case, which he opened while humming. With a gentle nudge of his hip, he pushed Icy aside to take a seat next to the injured woman. The bodar gnced in surprise at the physicist, then at the general in turn. But the tter didn't comment. So Icy came and stood beside him.

  - So... Everything's okay ?

  The pacle pulled back a fme-colored lock of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, his gaze fixed on Deadly.

  - Everything's fine.

  - Ah... If you say so...

  The white-skinned young man shifted in pce, his rge wings fluttering with worry. Feathers flew here and there, and the healers cursed as they passed by.

  - Your wing ?

  Drought pointed at the bodar's back. Icy stopped swaying and stretched his muscle for a long time, slowly, as if testing its limits.

  - I'm in pain, he noted. But I'm okay. I mean, I've seen worse. Remember, four revolutions ago ? The Battle of Ul ?

  Despite himself, the Pace brightened slightly.

  - You mean when you swooped down on the very one city where the Fire Empire doesn't have authority ?

  The two young men stifled giggles at the memory. Icy patted the general on the shoulder.

  - Remember that granny ? The one who...

  - Chased you out of her house with a pre-Bodarian anti-goddess weapon ? I didn't even know such a thing existed !

  They were drifting off now, their shoulders shaking with hearty ughter. When they finally calmed down, they caught their breath while listening to Deadly's whining, very calm as usual. S'rinj was disinfecting her wounds and stitching them up one by one.

  - Someone's in a bad mood !

  - Someone needs to shut up.

  The somewhat gruff man began to tease her, squeezing one of the sutures a little too roughly.

  - You, he whispered, have problems with your father.

  The response was instantaneous, a pain reflex that made the pacle's horns shine.

  - I ate my father !

  S'rinj quickly finished his work then turned to Drought.

  - I don't know why you called me, she's fine. Well, if "as usual" means anything. I'm never sure if she's a raptorik in a dress or a raging pacle.

  - In that case, there's nothing to worry about !

  The general nudged the bodar in the ribs, encouraging Icy to go over to her. He tied his hair with a shoece and walked over to the pacle, who was readjusting her tunic. S'rinj didn't give him time to open his mouth; he grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him onto an empty bed.

  - Well, let's see this wing !

  Drought smiled as he saw the three of them chatting so animatedly. It was clear, they truly were like a family. Like a close-knit group of people, even if they were different. But he couldn't help but feel a pang in his heart.

  ***

  Makile spun his sword through the air, bringing it down on invisible enemies. His bare torso, despite the light drizzle falling from the sky, was drenched in sweat that dried his skin. Each of his blows inflicted severe shocks on his muscles, forcing them to awaken with a violence that would have made the most seasoned warrior protest. But he wasn't doing this to train. Each swing was charged with his emotions. Rage, resentment, incomprehension, but above all, a great deal of disappointment. He resented Drought. And yet, he struggled to put his finger on the exact reason.

  Was it because he had hidden the presence of an aberration from him, even if it proved useful ? Because he had put himself between him and her when he wanted to inflict the necessary punishment on this animal ? Or some other reason ? Perhaps their green and red gazes that had met at that moment on the cliff, the silence that had seemed to carry so many words.

  Just thinking about it, the young soldier couldn't help but let out a low growl and strike again at his imaginary assaints. Drought wasn't the general he'd thought, full of virtue and deep respect for his nation. He was a frivolous man who gave in to his emotions without any thought of good or evil. He was a stubborn pacle, a noble child who didn't know what the world looked like. Makile, who had worked with his father from a young age and experienced the outside world, knew what aberrations were capable of. They were beings who weren't meant to exist, deformed as much in their bodies as in their sick minds. They could attract pity, certainly, but above all, they were very dangerous. Unpredictable. They acted on instinct even more than the bodars. For the birdheads could still speak, understand, and learn, but the aberrations could do none of that. They were beasts, attacking children, devouring their own in times of famine, stealing whatever they pleased, pying with dead people's heads as if they were nothing more than balls, toys. The aberrations were terrifying. And Drought had let one enter the camp with her young.

  The young man struck a final blow in the air, letting his bde fall. His whole body screamed in agony. He was tired, and it went far beyond the physical. He dropped to his knees, trying to catch his breath as he leaned on his sword and his thighs. His hair had definitely grown out since they'd left the capital, and its length was unbearable. Without further thought, he took out the small dagger he kept at his thigh and began to cut them. He wasn't very careful, didn't care about the result, but just wanted to see things more clearly.

  When he was finished, he put the tool away again and used his cloak to wipe his face. The once purple fabric was now a dirty brown. He should have participated more regurly in the trips to the ke to freshen up and do some undry, but he had been too focused on his missions, and on the joy of belonging to a family. But that feeling was gone. Aside from S'rinj, who seemed to truly understand Elry's threat, the others were despairing. Why was he the only one worried ? To think that Drought might have a problem ? They were all friends !

  He rolled the garment into a ball and grabbed his sword, which he reattached to his waist. The belt was also beginning to wear out. Finally, it might be a good time to go clean up and take care of his equipment. It would at least have the benefit of clearing his mind. So he set off towards the tents located opposite the camp gate, the ones where the equipment was stored. He took great care to avoid any crowds and to avoid any areas that were too visible. He had no desire to run into anyone. Arriving at the undry barracks, he greeted a friendly brown-haired human woman, a little shorter than him, but with muscles that had always impressed him.

  - Hello, Kwat. We haven't seen each other for a while !

  The woman gave him a big, toothy smile. She was probably in her fifties, and her wrinkles framed her small green eyes. But she was charming.

  - Hello, Makile ! Yes, it's been a while since we st saw each other at dinner. What brings you here ? You're not the kind of soldier who brings me his undry so I can do it for him...

  The young man smiled, but he couldn't seem to make a joke.

  - I was busy. But don't worry, I'm not here to give you work. On the contrary, I wanted to take my mind off things, so I thought I'd do my rounds of chores...

  He realized Kwat was staring at his hair in a strange way. Embarrassed, he ran his hands over his head, as if to hide the extent of the disaster.

  - It's terrible, isn't it ? I cut it all off on a whim because it bothered me…

  The little woman shrugged her square shoulders and handed him a dirty tunic.

  - You know, I have five boys at home, I know these kinds of mood swings. Put this on before you get sick, you're almost naked. And I could help you fix that nasty haircut when we get there.

  She gave Makile time to dress, then handed him two rge baskets filled to the brim with clothes. She grabbed two of those as well, hung the bag filled with utilities and brushes around her neck, and led the march toward the camp gates. Usually, a cart pulled by a mliniak was used to do the undry, but the war animals had all been requisitioned for the current assault. So they crossed the opening, greeting a few soldiers they met along the way, and set off. Several rivers flowed down from the marshes and the forest, cleansed by roots and numerous waterfalls, then arrived in torrents that died out in the desert, or flowed into the seas to the south. It was a humid environment where kes and other watering holes abounded. All this was new to Makile, who had always lived surrounded by dunes and hot sand. It was unpleasant to have this feeling that the air was heavy, solid, as if one could drink just by breathing, but it also had something invigorating about it.

  Other people had joined them on the path. A couple of women in their thirties who had come to take a nice bath, a bodar who had pulled the short straw and now had to wash his entire family's clothes... After a few dozen minutes, nine of them were heading towards the river. They crossed the smaller streams in a joyful atmosphere full of chatter, telling each other stories or pying little games. When they found a pleasant spot, a stream waist-deep, clean, without silt, and flowing into the sea and not into a drinking water reservoir, they settled in with great sighs of relief. Kwat put down her baskets first and began dipping her feet in the current, checking its strength. She wiggled her toes on the pebbles for several seconds, savoring the caress of the water, then signaled to the others.

  - Perfect temperature ! We'll start with baths first and then do the undry. I feel too dirty to work right away.

  The small group nodded happily. So they split up, two by two. Each had to hold a cloth around the other scouring partner, to maintain a little privacy. Makile watched them do this, perplexed.

  - I thought that... Well, I was told that modesty wasn't...

  The couple, the thirty-somethings ughing as they spshed each other, turned to him.

  - Imagine how long it would take if we had to wash one after the other, or if we had to do it in groups. No, worse, imagine if we all had to wash at the same time without even hiding !

  A honey-skinned human, who was holding the bodar's towel on undry duty, narrowed his eyes at Makile.

  - Sure, some wouldn't mind... But believe me, we'd have a lot of trouble if everyone frolicked around instead of working. It's just simpler, faster, and more comfortable for everyone.

  The young soldier nodded. He watched the others finish washing before swapping hand towels and starting again for the person who was still dirty. It was fun to watch, comforting. Everyone was waist-deep in the water, and even though some of his toes were starting to turn blue, it was very pleasant. Kwat approached him, a sheet in her hand, and pointed with her chin to a pacle sitting alone on the shore.

  - Go wash with him. He doesn't look so good either, and meeting new people is a real morale booster. Who knows, you might even become friends !

  The forty-year-old sniggered and tossed the sheet to Makile, who caught it halfheartedly. Friends were the st thing he needed. In fact, that's what was hurting him right now. He had no desire to meet anyone new.

  But his sense of duty, not to leave this person alone, unable to wash for ck of a friend, pushed him nonetheless to head towards the pacle. The pacle was dipping his hooves in the water, looking thoughtful. He straightened as Makile approached, his long blue hair barely concealing his pale skin. His hooves were coarse and thick, and his short legs were studded with small, curly white hairs. Even his floppy ears had the same texture. He was cute in a way, looking innocent and shy. Even more so than Makile himself.

  He took the first step, pointing to the sheet in his hands.

  - You… Um… Would you like to wash with me ? I don't have a partner to hide behind either…

  The pacle's eyes widened, astonished and panicked by the young man's appearance.

  - I… Yes… If you don't mind…

  They both waded into the river up to their waists, and Makile held the sheet out in front of him, turning his head away as his cheeks flushed. He had seen naked soldiers many times during the march to Fingur's fort, and he had quickly learned that pacles were very uncomfortable with their nudity. Their tails, especially. Something like 'a dishonorable appendage that dispyed our deepest emotions.' He chuckled softly, but his good humor quickly vanished when a memory forced itself upon him. The general's tent. The small, heart-shaped tuft of hair twitching on Drought's back. Rage rose within him again, his cheeks flushing again, but this time with anger. Makile had adored this supreme general, this idol of all the young people in the capital. But now that he knew him better, that he knew what the pacle was really like, all admiration had vanished. All that remained was a dark feeling of coldness, indifference, but also betrayal.

  He was pulled from his reverie by a hand pced on his own. He turned quickly to see his bathing companion's face peeking out from behind the sheet.

  - I... Um... I'm done... We can switch...

  The young man shook his head to clear his thoughts, and took his pce behind the makeshift curtain while the white pacle lifted the fabric with trembling hands. Makile undressed quickly, throwing his clothes onto the nearby bank, and began to scrub himself vigorously. He scrubbed his skin fiercely until it was reddened by friction and cold, massaging his scalp until his hair was torn off. He wanted to make the feelings that gnawed at him disappear, but also the shame of having been naive enough to believe what he had been taught.

  - I don't want to intrude, but... My magic is knowing people's emotions, so... I mean, are you okay ?

  The human paused for a moment. Then he called through the sheet :

  - What's your name ?