Chapter 20: Gwen, Meet Zenn

Chapter 20: Gwen, Meet Zenn

 

 

My fingers shook as I loaded Mom’s shard thrower. It was difficult, mostly because it was made for an adult and really heavy for me. Mom had never let me mess with it and the few times I’d gotten close to it when it was set down saw her on me in an instant, but she was also in bed. And unconscious. Again.

 

I glanced her way. Her eyes were closed. Yet, her sleep wasn’t all that peaceful and she shifted with a pained grimace. Despite that,  she wouldn’t wake up. At least, not for long. I’d tried to talk to her earlier about what was going on, but her eyes drifted closed within a minute or two.

 

I paused, ears folded and I knew my tail drooped. I wanted a hug from my Mama.

 

I breathed out and resumed carefully loading the shard thrower.

 

But, despite the situation, I couldn’t hold back the errant thought that the weapon was just weird. It still bothered me how it had a rune inscribed bow on the front at the end of the body like a crossbow but the weapon also had a barrel that sure looked like a gun barrel. Yet Mom had been very, very firm in calling it a shard thrower, not a gun and I didn’t think that was weird language meaning things not lining up with my old life’s memories.

 

In my old life it’d have been anachronistic and just weird, like it was randomly put together, but it undeniably worked. I’d seen Mom shoot enough birds and recently, rock knockers, with it.

 

Monsters in the water, too.

 

My breath hitched.

 

It didn’t fire bullets. At least, I don’t think they were. They were kinda like bullets, being made of metal and shaped similarly but they lacked the, I think, bottom part of the shape? They looked more like one solid piece, thinner, almost dartlike or, I guess, shard like? Mom called them shards. Still not sure why. Memories of my ever fuzzier old life screamed never to hit the bottom of a bullet, so I’d asked Mom if they were dangerous on their own before and she’d just looked at me funny. I don’t think they had propellant, so did the thrower do all the work? I didn’t know how that worked, but I didn’t know a lot of things.

 

Each shard slipped into the thing Mom called a clip with a satisfying click. I scrunched my nose. Why did that sound have to be so satisfying?

 

“Gwen, I really don’t think you should be messing with that…” Sandy’s voice called out. This fifth time she’d said something about me handling a loaded weapon. “You should—”

 

“I’m not hiding if Mama can’t hide,” I said, focused on my work and ignoring the trembling in my tail. That had been the first thing she suggested, hours ago.

 

 Sandy’s orb glinted with murky shapes in its amethyst depths. There wasn’t really furniture in the shack, so I’d just placed her on top of our packs. “Listen, it’s… dangerous, and a girl your age shouldn’t—”

 

“I don’t know what girls my age should be like,” I said, absently as I checked the safety was on… I think. Mom had shown me that much even though she never let me handle it on my own.  “Is the safety on, Sandy?” I carefully oriented the shard thrower toward her and carefully keeping the end of the barrel pointing away from either of us.

 

“…you’re going through with this, no matter what I say, aren’t you?” Sandy finally said, tone filled with utter resignation.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

Sandy rolled her eye. “You really are as stubborn as your mother, you know that?”

 

“Uh huh,” I may have smiled, just a little.

 

Sandy groaned. “Yes, the safety is on. But…you know, this can go spectacularly wrong? You are a child, and if something happens to you while handling that, I don’t think I could forgive myself…”

 

I sniffled. “I know, Sandy. Just…what can I do? You don’t have a body and Mama’s not awake.”

 

“Gwen, I hate that you are right,” Sandy said, voice small yet steady. “I hate that you are in this situation at all. Okay, fine. Can you bring the thrower over to me? At the very least I can make sure you don’t accidentally shoot yourself with this horrible plan.”

 

I  didn’t say anything but did as she asked, shifting so that the shard thrower was in full view of her.

 

Sandy hummed. “You’re mostly right, but flick that bolt right there? Would tighten a part I think you accidentally loosened,” she said.

 

“Okay,” I agreed, and moved the nearly indiscernible part as she asked. So began the next fifteen minutes, with her offering corrections as I slowly worked on the rifle. It wasn’t just loading, I was checking over parts, making sure they clicked together or adjusted smoothly, checking on stuff like Mom had. I wasn’t… really certain on a lot, but with Sandy to guide to me, it was, if not easier, at least smoother.

 

At some point, I got up to glance outside. Sandy watched silently. Everything was the same, from the snow on the ground, the big rock I’d sat on a few times over to the side the depression in front of the shack, the copse of young trees to the right, and of course, no smoke in the distance.

 

There’d been smoke the last few days. Now, there wasn’t any. Same as this morning. 

 

I tensed, breathed out and continued going over the thrower worriedly with Sandy’s guidance while also treating as if it would explode if I pressed or touched the wrong thing.

 

The people whose campfires we’d spotted were going to be here today. Sandy did some fancy calculations, but I was able to ballpark it well enough even without her. Every day the smoke had been getting closer, and I was now out of time.

 

“Gwen… You don’t know they’re bad people.  We don’t know anything about them. But I don’t think they’d hurt a little girl and her sick mom,” Sandy tried, again.

 

“You don’t know that,” I said.  They could be anyone as far as we knew. Maybe Mama’s people finally got off their butts and sent a rescue team for us and by tomorrow we’d be eating cake and drinking tea in a centrally heated building. But…

 

Memories of a life before suggested things could go so, so bad.

 

An unconscious woman and her daughter, all alone in the wilderness, while gruff and hardened strangers wrangle chains as they approach an easy mark…

 

Outrage, anger, as hunters find territory they’d long claimed breached. It didn’t matter the invaders were a sick mom and her daughter, they were invaders, and the punishment was final and bloody.

 

Opportunist, profiteers, who see Sandy for what she is, and decide the unconscious woman and her daughter are best to have an ‘accident’ so they could make a tidy profit with a military grade ship core on the black market…

 

The vision, the nightmare scenarios weren’t real. It was a product of my mind, of me being utterly terrified. I knew this. It was equally likely they’d take one look and help. But the issue was that the nightmare scenarios were very, very possible, and that fact alone kept it in the back of my skull like a shade haunting me.

 

Sandy was right. We didn’t know. So anything could happen, and if the worst was true and they were nice, then Mom was gone and my fate up in the air.

 

Mom couldn’t get up. She could barely keep her eyes open for a more than a few minutes at a time. She could eat, but the last time she’d been awake she’d nodded off as Sandy and I tried to explain the situation.

 

I might be able to hide, take Sandy with me, but what then? I had no delusion of where that led outside the greatest luck, and frankly, I didn’t trust Lady Luck at this point. Or if she was alive and this wasn’t all random chance.

 

I’d thought about praying, again. But…

 

I’d already tried. I hadn’t heard anything, or seen anything. I had no idea what that meant. Was my benefactor ignoring me? Was it tired and had to rest? Was it busy? Was I already maxed out and had to work off ‘favors’ or whatever it was it wanted? Was I just imagining things and going insane?

 

I didn’t think it was the latter, but I didn’t know. What I did know that I’d only heard silence the last time I tried. I was on my own.

 

Time passed. I finished checking the shard thrower, then did so again. And again.

 

Eventually, Sandy spoke. “Gwen, you… I really think you shouldn’t do this, but I can’t stop you. If they’re going to arrive, they will do so soon. You need to get ready. Checking over the shard thrower for the twentieth time is not going to help,” Sandy said.

 

I nodded stiffly.  I remembered what Mama said about how important Sandy was and how she’d been in the center of the ship. If nothing else, she looked shiny.

 

“I’m gonna hide you, okay?” I said, picking Sandy up.

 

“Wait, Gwen, I can —”

 

I stuffed her into our sock pack. She’d be safe there.

 

“Sorry Sandy,” I said as I closed the pack and muffled her indignant cries and drew the drawstring closed.

 

I knew Sandy was right, that she should be concerned at what I was doing, but I refused to not at least try. 

 

Satisfied the shard thrower was loaded and ignoring Sandy’s following protests, I  propped up some wood up with intent to use it to prop the thrower up and aimed doorway.  It was my workaround the fact I wasn’t really strong enough to hold it steady, nor was I remotely confident in my aiming skills. But I could pull the trigger and at such close range, if someone was in the doorway I’d probably hit them.

 

I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I really, really did.

 

I didn’t intend to shoot first. I was going to linger near the door and watch for them and, if they looked hostile, I’d retreat indoors as fast as I can just so I could get to the thrower and pull the trigger as long as necessary and… and hope for the best.

 

With that done, I clicked the safety off,  hefted the thrower up with a huff and moved to set it up.

 

The rickety door banged open and a young catgirl  dressed in heavy furs and with blonde hair skipped in.

 

There was a brief, still moment where we both stared at each other.  Despite it lasting only a brief moment, the entire world slowed.  Her entire demeanor was frozen; her eyes fixated on me with dilating slitted pupils.  Her tail’s thin, blonde fur bristled even as she remained fixed on the spot.

 

 For some, inexplicable reason, I was struck by an inane thought:

 

Why are her ears on the side of her head and not on top like mine?

 

“Pwy wy —” she began slowly.

 

Someone outside shouted. I flinched.  The shard thrower went off with a piercing whoosh and a new hole erupted in the ceiling to let in a beam of sunlight.

 

It was less loud than a gunshot from my old life, but still enough in an enclosed space to send a pulse of pain through my ears and make them fold. The girl felt the same as she jumped while her own ears folded to the side of her head. Dust fell from the new hole let a beam of light into the shack.

 

Alarmed shouting erupted from outside. I fumbled the shard thrower. It slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor. My heart shot to my throat as I stared and felt the world drop out from under me and I fell down as my knees turned to jelly. I crawled backward, retreating to Mom with no goal in mind beyond being near her.

 

I was going to die. They were going to kill me and then kill Mom and take Sandy and I was going to die and I didn’t want to die I didn’t want to die please please I didn’t want to die and—

 

“Arhoswch, dw i'n iawn, dw i'n iawn! Dim ond merch ydy hi!” the girl shouted.

 

Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out I’m hyperventilating hahahaha-

 

The girl held out her hands. They were fuzzy, with little claw tips, like mine. Slowly, my brain registered she wasn’t calling in hunters with big guns and big knives and wasn’t trying to kill me and Mama.

 

“Chwaer fach, mae'n iawn, rwyt ti'n ddiogel,” she said, holding her hands out, palm forward as she stood still. Further shouts came from outside but she shouted something else over her shoulder I didn’t catch or understand.

 

My breathing stilled a bit.  I realized my claws were out and weren’t receding but I remained fixed on her.

 

I was able to see her more clearly now.

 

She was tanned, like she spent all the time outdoors, but some of that might’ve been heritage. She was older and bigger than me, but not by much. If she was more than eight years old, I’d be surprised. Although that was my old life’s judgement, things could be different here.  Her eyes were wide, their shade a meadow green. Her hair was light blonde to the point of looking bleached and long, tied up in a simple ponytail. Yet, the most strange thing, to me, was how her ears weren’t erched atop her head, but were more on the sides of her head, with gray fur in contrast to her blonde hair.

 

She looked around quickly, her eyes darting all over the shack. She spotted Mom. I hissed.

 

She blinked and stepped back but made no other movements. She spoke, slowly and soothingly. I simply stared. She kept talking to me, speaking really slowly, but I didn’t understand a word.

 

It sounded vaguely familiar at times. Maybe it was in the same family language? But I didn’t understand a word she said and stayed tense, watching her.

 

Once it became clear I didn’t understand a word she was saying, she apparently gave up and then the awkward silence ensued.

 

I… I really didn’t know what to do. I felt completely frozen as all my plans, all the scenarios I’d played through in my head, fell apart at seeing a person other than Mom up close for the first time.

 

The voices outside were getting louder, more insistent. The girl shouted behind her, but I didn’t know however long that’d work.

 

At this point, Sandy started shouting and both the girl and I jumped.

 

“Gwen you ninny! Did you try to shoot someone and now can’t understand a single word they’re saying?  Get me out so I can try, and that’s an order young lady!”

 

The girl stared in bewilderment at the sock sack I’d put Sandy in.

 

Hesitantly, I moved, keeping out of sight of the doorway and keeping the girl in my vision at all times. I untied the bag and took Sandy out. The girl blinked at me pulling a purple crystal-y ball out of my pack.

 

The girl jumped when Sandy lit up and her iris seemed to “focus” on the girl, but at least she didn’t start screaming. Then, Sandy spoke:

 

“Can you understand me?”

“An dtuigeann tú mé?”

“Bạn có hiểu tôi không?”

“Kan du forstå mig?”

“Можете ли да ме разберете?”

 

It didn’t take me long to figure out Sandy was trying a lot of languages very quickly, most of which I didn’t even know were a thing. Evidently, the girl didn’t either as she just stared at both of us.

 

This went on for a while. The tension didn’t fade entirely, but it did seem to deflate as the tanned catgirl stared at Sandy trying a lot of languages. Some sounded like music, light and melodious, others were gritty like gravel. A few involved complex growls that reminded me of grinding gears. None were recognizable and the girl was evidently of the same mindset given she looked so confused.

 

Not alarmed, fortunately, but definitely confused. I suspect half of it was that an obviously magical purple crystal sphere with glowing thingies and runes swirling inside it was talking to her. Even Sandy sounded frustrated as she kept trying increasingly esoteric sounding languages.

 

Once again, I found myself paralyzed with indecision.  I had no idea what the heck to do. I really hoped this wasn’t a situation like learning to speak with Mom again. When I first woke up that took forever, and now the stakes were far higher.

 

Wiry, gray furred claws gripped the doorway. Slowly, and with great purpose, a figure stepped in and I was dumbfounded as I saw the first male cat folk in my life.

 

He had to duck as he was so, so tall. But rather than imposing, he was thin, to the point of being lithe. He glanced around the room, taking us all in.  His hand fell on the girl’s shoulder. “Gofalus nawr,” he rumbled.  She jumped, but he pushed her behind him. He was also old. Healthy, but definitely wizened with a long, gray tail, gray furred ears, and a hat kinda like a fedora with hair tied back in a ponytail. He had one crystal blue eye while the other was covered by an eyepatch.

 

I blinked. His ears went through holes in his hat. Neat.

 

His eye scanned us, lingering on Sandy for a moment before he zeroed in on Mama. He stared a long time before he took a step forward.

 

I jumped between him and my mama and hissed, my claws extending once more. Yet, he wasn’t intimidated. He simply unslung his own cloth pack, kept his distance, and took out some kind of vaguely minty smelling dried herbs. I think the gesture and herbs were meant to placate me, but I honestly had no idea what he was even trying to reference here.

 

 

He frowned, muttered something, before pointing at Mom, fake coughing to the side, and back to me. He then pointed at himself, his pack, and mimed his forehead.

 

It pains me to say that it took me another 60 seconds of silence to realize what he was saying. Gods I’m so slow sometimes.

 

I…I didn’t want him near Mom. I didn’t trust any of them, even if…

 

They hadn’t hurt us. I think they could have. But just because I knew that didn’t mean I could bring myself to trust. Their scents were new, strange, and just seeing new people up close was so weird.

 

Yet, I also knew I couldn’t do anything else.

 

Finally, after a long time, I stood aside. He nodded at me but didn’t smile.

 

He spent several minutes examining Mom with something of detached air. He took her pulse, listened for her breath, checked for other wounds and, more. I kept close eye on him. My claws had yet to recede, and I was ready to pounce if he tried anything.

 

Eventually, satisfied with his examination, he pulled several things from his pack. This included a very basic mortar and pestle, along with those dried herbs from earlier as well as a few others I couldn’t identify. He took to grinding them down, at one point calling outside where others were, but no one else entered. He mixed it with water from a water skin at his side and placed it in a small wooden bowl, making a sort of cold tea. He held it to Mom’s lips.

 

This triggered a response I was familiar with. Her eyes didn’t open, but she leaned in and absolutely gulped it down. When that was done, he had to shoot his hand back as she just didn’t stop and snapped at his hand, but when no more was forthcoming, she stilled back into slumber. I think he was surprised, but I was used to it. I just wasn’t sure how to warn him. She’d been half snapping at me every time I tried to feed her. I don’t think she was even aware.

 

This entire time, Sandy had kept trying languages with the bewildered girl. I’d tuned it out at some point as I focused on making sure the old man didn’t try anything with Mama, but eventually she tried something that sounded super familiar, but I couldn’t quite follow what was being said. It was almost like that background noise you heard in my old life in public where you knew people were talking but was just indiscernible unless you really focused.

 

This, finally, prompted a bright smile and a long surge of chatter from the girl.

 

The man looked over at Sandy. “O, rydych chi'n siarad ein hiaith ni. Gwych,” he said.

 

Sandy said nothing for a long time, and then her entire… iris? Blinked.

 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Sandy finally said.

 

“What? I thought you figured it out?”

 

“I have, and it’s so strange. I tried every single language in my database and nothing, and yet when I tried an obscure dialect of called Céim-Illia that I got some results.”

 

“What’s so weird about that?”

 

“Oh, you wouldn’t know this. Um, it’s like, an exaggerated dialect of Illia — what we’re speaking now — that was used like, two centuries ago almost exclusively in, um, stage plays.”

 

“What?”

“That’s what I was thinking! It’s so weird and it’s not a perfect match up as I’m not picking up a lot of words, but it almost feels like this bizarre mismatch of historic Céim-Illia diverged with inclusions of also altered modern Illia, and then someone passed that on for generations, and this is the result. Like re-enactors founded a society and diverged from there.”

 

I… I had no idea what to make of that.

 

From there, things slowly… calmed down. I had little to contribute beyond hissing at the old man if he tried anything or got too close, but beyond that important part, I couldn’t do much.

 

Sand spoke back and forth with them, mostly the old man. Where the girl kept staring at Sandy like a talking rock had asked her about her favorite cheese varieties, the old man just seemed bemused by the conversation.

 

“I’ll try to teach you more when I can, Gwen, but I need to collect more data. I’m getting way too much wrong to properly translate, but I think I can figure it out quickly enough. But, I think this will go well, this man has already picked up some Illia!”

 

At some point, I noticed the girl edging closer to me. I turned and stared at her awkwardly.

 

She opened her mouth, but seemed to remember I couldn’t understand her. Finally, she pointed at herself and slowly mouthed the word, “Zenn”.

 

Despite everything, despite the constant worry, the fear that this was all a ruse, that everything was about to go wrong, I couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture, and decided to reciprocate with my own name, “Gwen.”

 

Zenn smiled brightly, clapped her hands, and bounce in place. I suddenly wanted to headpat her.

 

I blame my old life and his bizarre fixation on catgirls.

 

Still,  I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of hope for the first time in a while.

 

If you've paid to read this anywhere outside of Patreon, SubscribeStar, or Ko-Fi, then you've been scammed and someone is ripping you off as it is stolen.

 

If you're reading this on any other site than RoyalRoad, SufficientVelocity,Spacebattles, QuestionableQuesting, MZNovel, Wattpad, or Scribblehub or it's by anyone other than HiddenMaster, it's been plagiarized and stolen.

 

 

 

Chapter 20 Author’s Note

 

And here we have the true first meeting Gwen has had with other people beside her Mom and Sandy. This chapter…good god it took a while, but honestly I am happy with how it turned out. Bit larger than normal, but felt criminal to cut it into pieces.

 

This was originally all in the diary format, which was fun enough, but I then had my common author sense smash me upside the head with a baseball bat as I realized this stuff would be great in scene, and the diary format just couldn’t live up to that potential. The prologue did its thing find, and the diary worked there, but this had to be in scene, and here we are.

 

I will say my issue with my job remains uncertain, so I will again mention I am accepting writing commissions primarily through my Ko-Fi. I’ve had a bit of a trial run at this point and I think I am ready to treat this as a regular thing for those interested, so be sure to check out my rates below and on my Ko-Fi.

 

Obligatory author plug because I'd love to write more but society sadly says I need monies to keep living (and support my growing addiction to commissioning catgirl art).

 

Support me on Patreon, Ko Fi, or Subscribe Star. Check them advance chapters uploaded every weekend, too. Or check out my website for links to my other author accounts, contact, socials, etc. Anything is appreciated :3

 

I am also hosting writing commissions at 0.1 USD (10 cent) per word, but offer discounts on memberships on my Ko-Fi, so be sure to check it out if you’d like me to take a crack at a fic of yours, eh?

 

Also I have a discord now! Check it out. I would love to chat with fans. :3

 

---

 

Finally, we have Zenn! Artwork by the ever wonderful YoruAlice.

Check her out! She does commissions.

 https://bsky.app/profile/hiddenmaster.bsky.social/post/3m7cv42fxe22q