Thanks to Luba and Mica, who helped beta-read and point out a few major plot errors . . . And a special note to Judith: You've written to me a few times, and I always want to respond, but for some reason my mail gets bounced back to me. Thank you for your feedback, it's greatly appreciated!
JB

Generation: Black Air (5)
Coyote
JBMcDragon

Logan walked almost silently through the dark woods, a frown working its way onto his face.

It had been three days since Azul's mind had been scanned, and the boy still responded to nothing. Azul would eat when told to, and he could change his clothing on his own if one laid it out and ordered him to, but there was no other response. Logan had finally called Hank that morning, but the former Beast had only reiterated Nate's words, saying what Logan had suspected: there was nothing medically that anyone could do.

Logan sighed soundlessly, thinking of all the others. Not one of the children had escaped from Black Air unscathed. Constance had become drawn, moody. Vault trusted no one, the tentative bonds that had been forming destroyed.

Logan pushed a branch out of his way and heard it snap back. A bird scolded him mercilessly and he ignored it, lost in his thoughts. Trace slept with Logan's rifle, having proclaimed it his own. Logan had tried, repeatedly, to take it back and had finally decided that Trace seemed safer with it--not nearly as touchy, or violent. As if the knowledge of safety was what he needed to keep himself grounded. The rifle also never left Trace's room, which was another comfort. The instant it did, Logan was taking it away again.

Pistol woke from nightmares. Logan heard the boy in the dead of morning gasping for air as he relived some trauma, could smell the fear that radiated from Pistol's room. Once Logan had gotten up and gone to the child's doorway, only to see Trace already there. Pistol had been huddled in the window, shivering, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. There were no tears, but the man-child's face was pale and stretched taut across his bones.

Logan stepped over a root reaching high into the air, and almost slipped in a pile of leaves on the other side. A squirrel darted from one hiding place to another, then sat up high and chattered down to its mate.

Pete, Kurt and Kitty had, thankfully, suffered no ill effects from their stay at Black Air's base. A few scratches and bruises, and a headache that Kitty got from the collar she had worn. Nothing that wouldn't heal given a small amount of time.

But Logan's heart wrenched every time he looked into Vault's eyes, so filled with betrayal, or every time Kurt came down the stairs with Azul, still and unblinking, on his hip, and every time Pistol cried out, his voice muffled, late at night.

Logan scuffed at a leaf and walked on, letting the nature around him ease away his pain and uncertainty. He breathed deeply through his nose, pine and oak mingling with the scent of animal and sweat. His senses stretched out, touching the world gently, letting it come and flow over him.

The tang of blood entered his nostrils as a whine reached his ears. Logan stopped and looked around, not knowing what was causing the smell or sound. With a third sniff he recognized the smell of coyote, and the fourth twitch of his nose sent the hairs along his spine bristling. It was no natural occurrence that caused the coyote pain; it was metal. Something from a man.

Logan turned into the brush and forced his way through, traveling more quietly than many humans but louder than many animals. The smell got stronger, though the whining stopped. He was almost on top of the creature before he realized it. Logan bent slowly, watching the pup calmly. Logan's slate gray eyes assessed the damage quickly, noting the blood matting down the pup's fur. It couldn't have been more than a few days old, and probably shouldn't have been out of its den yet.

Logan reached down, moving aside the branch of a bush to peer where the blood collected on the coyote's leg.

A jaw trap was there, highly illegal but there none the less. It had snapped shut on the puppy, cutting through skin and muscle and grinding flesh to pulp.

"All right," Logan said softly, reaching down with his large hands and gripping the edges of the trap. "Hold still." He strained against the metal, the blades cutting his fingers and the pads of his hands. Logan grimaced and pulled harder, feeling the spring starting to give way.

The puppy pulled his foot free and started to scramble off, but Logan let the trap clang shut and grabbed the pup by the scruff of his neck. "I can't let you run off, kid," he growled, wrapping the coyote in his jacket to ward off shock. "You'll be predator food in less than an hour." Logan stood and started back to the house, talking quietly to the pup to calm him the entire way. Once at the house he didn't pause, but went straight for his Jeep and, the coyote wrapped securely in his jacket, drove off for the town.

***

Walk into a room. Partner's beside me. I need new pants. Take stock of surroundings. Two agents are there. Another agent in the corner has a boy with him. The boy's agent points to my partner. Boy looks up, at me. I feel cold and--

Pete startled himself, sitting up and bashing his head against the headboard. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. Carefully, giving his now-aching head no reason to protest, he turned and looked at the window. Sunlight peeped in around the edges of the curtain, gleefully informing him it was too late to go back to sleep, but too early to be up. Pete sighed and, still carefully, sat up.

Kitty was gone, not surprisingly. Pete rubbed his sore head and thought back, wondering what had startled him so. There seemed to be a dream . . . but even as he reached for the memory, it fled. Shrugging, Pete got up and headed for the bathroom.

***

Pistol smelled the blood and antiseptic long before he saw the thing. An odd, musky smell accompanied it, along with the scent of leaves and fresh dirt. Curious despite himself, Pistol put down his book and went to the railing of the stairs, peering over.

Logan walked into the house carrying something gray-ish, and small. There was fur sticking out beneath bandages, and it wriggled.

Pistol watched intently until Logan walked into the kitchen, where Pistol could hear Kitty and Amanda asking what he had and where he'd gotten it amid exclamations of how cute it was.

Finally, his curiosity overwhelming his need to be separate from these people, Pistol walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, eyebrows raised at the bundle of fur and whiteness on the kitchen table. Pistol glanced at Amanda, hovering over Logan's shoulder, then at Kitty, who leaned against the stove holding a mug of coffee.

Logan continued talking as though the boy hadn't entered the room. "Normally the vet would have cared for him and then released him later," Logan said to Amanda. "But his leg was shattered, and we won't be able to release him. She'll find a home for him when he's older."

"He's not afraid of us?" Kitty asked as Logan offered the pup a bottle of warm milk. The pup grasped the nipple gleefully, sucking as hard as he could.

"He's too young to realize he should be," Logan answered. "He's only a few days old. I don't know why he was out of his den at all."

Pistol eyed the fuzzy gray creature swathed in bandages as it wriggled on the table, bringing one paw up to bat at Logan's hand.

"What is it?" Pistol asked finally. The pup stopped drinking to look at him with big brown, curious eyes. Its ears, too big for its head, pricked forward. The pup quickly deemed Pistol of little interest, and went back to drinking.

"It's a coyote pup, Pistol," Kitty said softly, looking as though she were afraid to speak for fear it would scare Pistol away.

He stepped forward into the kitchen, brow furrowed. "A what?"

"A coyote is a type of canine," Logan explained, "and this is its young, so it's called a puppy, or pup."

"Canine," Pistol murmured, rolling the word around his tongue as though tasting the way it sounded. "Isn't that like a dog?"

Logan nodded.

"So that's a dog?"

"Sort of," Logan said, frowning.

Pistol walked forward, eyeing the thing. He reached out and poked it, and the puppy turned around and snapped at him playfully. "This doesn't look like the neighbor's dog," Pistol commented uncertainly. "Are you sure it's a . . . a canine?"

"Yes. It's just a baby, a puppy, though," Logan assured him.

Pistol looked doubtfully at the creature. "If you say so," he said at last. "Dogs drink milk?"

"Baby ones do," Kitty said. "But it's really a coyote, a type of dog. There are different kinds."

Pistol looked at her in disbelief. "But it's still a dog?"

"Yes," Kitty said, smothering a grin. "It's still a type of dog."

Pistol nodded, looked at the pup once more, then turned and went back up the stairs.

***

"What's wrong with that thing?" Pistol shouted, storming into the den. He paused in the doorway and glanced about, seeing a weary looking Logan sitting on the piano bench, head cradled in his hands, the trap that had caught the coyote pup laying dismantled nearby.

Pistol stalked to the make-shift pen by the sliding glass door, looking down at the puppy. "Is that dog-thing hurt?" he asked, exasperation in every line of his body. The puppy kept yelping.

"No, Pistol," Logan growled, wishing himself that the coyote would be quiet. "It's just lonesome."

Pistol stepped up to the make-shift pen in one corner of the family room, bending to grab the pup by the scruff of its neck and lift it.

"Be careful," Logan said quickly as he saw Pistol dangle the pup before his face, fingers digging into the fur.

Pistol's fingers relaxed, and his yellow eyes flickered from the puppy to Logan and back again. "It would shut up if we made it," Pistol growled.

Logan stood slowly, shaking his head. "No. You would hurt it just to make it quiet? Would you hurt Trace to make him be quiet?"

Pistol's fingers had tightened again in the puppy's scruff, and he stood for a long moment, his body tense. "Maybe. If he was annoying the hell out of me."

Logan said nothing, just watched the man as he held the puppy.

Finally, Pistol glanced toward Logan, obviously contemplating. "But you don't hurt things here, do you?" he muttered.

Logan shook his head.

Pistol glared back at the coyote, then marched it over to the window. "It's time for bed, Dog," he growled seriously to the thing, pointing to the stars outside. "It's almost midnight, and you're keeping me awake."

The coyote looked out the window, then wagged its tail and started peering around the room from its higher, if dangling, vantage point.

"Now go to bed," Pistol said to it, then deposited the creature back in its den.

As soon as he had left the room, the yelping started up again. Pistol whirled and marched back into the family room. "Dog! Cut that out!"

The puppy went silent, looking up at him happily and wagging its tail.

"That won't work, kid," Logan said quietly.

Pistol glared at Logan and left the room again. He got halfway up the stairs before the howling began. It was very high, and incredibly mournful. Pistol stopped on the steps, glaring back down at the closed family room door. He turned and continued up the stairs, back to his own room.

***

He had just fallen asleep when it happened. He was suddenly under attack, pain lancing throughout his body as people started beating him. He tried to fight back, but there was a pit in the way and he fell in, and was trapped. And then there were spiders, all over, and they were crawling on him and--

licking his face?

Pistol woke with a start, blinking away sweat and trying to bat at some unseen assailant who wouldn't stop licking his face.

"Jesus," he muttered, finally catching hold of something fuzzy. He blinked at it, rubbed his eyes, and looked at it again. "What are you doing here?" he groused at the coyote.

Logan came into Pistol's room just then, a look of irritation on his face. "There's the pup," he growled, walking in.

"Will it stop yelping if it stays in here?" Pistol said, a definite whine in his normally stoic voice. "I won't hit it if it doesn't whine." It had taken him hours to finally get to sleep, and a glance at the clock told him the sun wouldn't be rising for a very long time yet.

"It'll stop whining," Logan said slowly. "But if you let it sleep here it'll want to follow you around all day, too. It'll think of you as its family. And if you get tired of it and hit it you'll be proving to everyone here that you have little self-control."

Pistol glared at Logan's pending insult, then eyed the puppy, who was looking at him out of big, brown, hopeful eyes. "It can learn I'm not its family tomorrow," Pistol finally growled. "Tonight it can stay here." Then he turned and looked very clearly at Logan. "And I won't have to hit it."

Logan shrugged and turned to walk out of the room. Pistol eyed the coyote, then tucked it on the far side of the queen sized bed and laid back down. The coyote struggled up until he lay cuddled between Pistol's head and shoulder, the pup's head laying on Pistol's neck.

Pistol blinked and grabbed the pup, putting it back across the bed.

The coyote whined and crawled back to where it wanted to be. Pistol growled in irritation and put it back. The pup yipped and laid itself across his neck. Pistol snarled at it, depositing it roughly across the mattress.

The puppy stayed there, looking at him very mournfully. Pistol closed his eyes and rolled until his broad back faced the puppy. The puppy yipped and stretched out, wagging his tail hopefully. Pistol growled. The coyote yipped louder. Pistol snarled. The puppy started howling. Pistol whipped around, snarling and snapping back at the coyote.

The pup went quiet, putting his head on his paws and looking sadly at Pistol's profile. He snuffed and tucked his tail between his legs. Pistol did his best to ignore the puppy. The puppy somehow managed to look even more mournful.

"Ah, shit," Pistol muttered, reaching over and grabbing the dog by its neck. He pulled it close, tucking it under his arm and closing his eyes.

The puppy snuffled, happier than it had been a moment ago, but still not entirely thrilled. It waited mere moments before standing and trotting up Pistol's chest, plopping down in the crook between his head and shoulder. The puppy sighed heavily, in sheer ecstasy, and placed its head across Pistol's neck.

Pistol cracked an eye, and felt the whisper touch of the puppy's tongue at his chin. He sighed in defeat and went to sleep, one giant paw of a hand settling on the dog's ribs, carefully above the bandaged leg.

***

Walk into a room. Partner's still upset because of the car wreck that morning. I need new pants. Take stock of surroundings. Two agents we're supposed to talk to are there. Another agent in the corner has a boy with him. The boy's agent points to my partner and I. Boy looks up, at me. Brown--

Pete was startled awake by a sudden shout, and with an irritated mumble he realized it was Pistol. Shouting. At what, he couldn't tell.

Pete rolled over, stuffed his pillow over his head, and tried to re-claim the dream he had already forgotten.

"C'mon, sleepy-head," Kitty said, nudging him and getting up. "I know you're awake. Come with me to see what's going on."

Pete groaned and knew he'd never be able to say no to Kitty.

***

"What were you thinking?" came the shout, echoing throughout the entire house. Logan woke with a start and bolted toward Pistol's room, where the cry had come from.

Pistol was on the floor, yelling underneath the bed. "Did you look at that? That's disgusting! Why would you do that?"

Logan frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked from the doorway.

"That dog peed on my goddamn bed," Pistol snapped. "Dog, get out here. Now. Come look what you did."

The coyote only crawled farther under the bed.

"That was bad," Pistol said. "That was very, very bad and you'd better not do it again!"

Kitty giggled from where she'd arrived in the doorway, Pete in tow. Trace frowned at Pistol from the doorway of their joined bathroom. "What are you doing?" he asked incredulously. "Yelling at dirty socks?"

Pistol glared up at Trace. "That dog peed on my bed," he snapped again.

Trace chuckled and turned around, going back into his own room.

"You need to get the puppy out from under your bed," Logan commented dryly. "We need to change his bandages, and he needs to eat breakfast."

Pistol sighed heavily and glared at Logan. "Fine. And I didn't hit it," he muttered, too quietly for anyone but Logan to hear. One side of Logan's mouth kicked up in a smile. Pistol had already turned back to the bed. "Dog, get over here."

The puppy ignored him.

"Dog!"

Logan chuckled and ushered Kitty and Pete out of the doorway and down the hall.

***

"That smells really bad," Pistol commented, trying to clean sticky medical tape off his claws. He stiffly ignored the chuckle from Kurt, who held the coyote for ministrations. A glare silenced Lynx before she said a word, and she moved away from him to stand near Amanda by the pantry.

"Wounds generally do," Logan answered. "Hand me the antiseptic cream."

Pistol picked it up and slapped it into Logan's hand without looking over.

"Can you hold the coyote tighter, Kurt?" Logan growled.

Kurt blew a thick lock of hair out of his face, glaring at Logan. "I'm trying," he said, casting a swift glance at Azul's still form sitting at the end of the table.

"It sure does wiggle a lot," Lynx noted as she chewed on her apple.

"I know," Logan growled unhappily. The pup snapped at him as his fingers strayed too close to the pup's wound.

"It's kinda ugly, too," Lynx continued, cocking her head.

"No, it's just hurt," Amanda said, putting an arm around the girl's shoulders. Lynx shrugged out from under Amanda's arm and moved to the trashcan to throw away her apple-core.

"Is it supposed to look like that?" Lynx leaned over Logan's shoulder and wrinkled her nose at the puppy.

"No. It'll look better when he's healed," Logan said.

"What's wrong with him?"

Logan sighed gratefully as Trace walked into the room, taking the bandages from him and wrapping it a few more times around the puppy's leg and hip before holding it so that Pistol could tape it.

"He got caught in a trap and his leg is broken," Logan said, wiping his hands off on a paper towel.

"A trap set by people?" Lynx asked.

"Yup."

"Like Azul? He got caught like Azul and got hurt and we have to wait for him to get better?" Lynx shoved her hands in her pockets and looked worriedly at Azul.

"Yeah," Logan said quietly. "Like Azul. And with both of them, we have to be patient and kind, and show a lot of love, and just wait."

Lynx nodded, never taking her eyes off Nightcrawler's clone. "Yeah. Okay." She turned and walked away, eyes downcast. Amanda frowned unhappily, glancing over at Azul. Kurt reached over to the boy and ran his fingers through the child's locks. Amanda shook her head sadly and left the room after Lynx.

"Then," Pistol asked softly, looking furtively up at Azul, "Azul will get better, just like the dog?"

Logan hesitated. "We hope so," he said.

Pistol nodded grimly and kept his eyes trained on the coyote as it stood and tried to leap off the edge of the table. Pistol caught it deftly and set it down on the floor, watching it run off to attack Trace's toes.

Trace looked down at the puppy, then cocked an eyebrow up at Pistol. Pistol grinned, letting out a bark of laughter.

***

"Pistol!" Logan shouted in irritation. "Where is that kid?" he snapped at Pete.

Pete shrugged and squinted at the early afternoon light coming in the window. "Don't know. That coyote eatin' anythin'?"

Logan sighed and set the bottle down. "No. It won't eat at all."

Pete smiled slightly and turned back to the mail, ignoring Logan's disturbance of his nice, quiet, lonely room.

"Pistol! Where is that blasted kid?"

"Right here," Pistol said testily, walking into the room with Vault on his heels. Pete glared up at the three people now in the room that had been empty before, but they ignored him. "What's the emergency?"

"Here," Logan said, shoving the pup and bottle into the other man's hands. "You feed it."

The pup yipped happily and licked Pistol's chin. Pistol glowered at it, then settled the creature in his arms and offered it the nipple of the bottle. The pup took it greedily and started to suck. Pistol eyed Logan. "It looks like it's eating fine to me," he commented dryly.

"It likes you," Pete chuckled, looking down at his magazine.

"It does not," Pistol growled, an odd expression crossing his features. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Actually," Vault said, stepping forward and touching the beast's ear, "it does. It really likes you a lot. I can . . . I can feel it, as if it were an extra tiny human."

Pistol glared at Vault, then at the coyote. "Don't like me," he said to it seriously. "You'll regret it."

Logan chuckled and left the room, shouting, "I told you it would think you were its family if you let it sleep with you!" over his shoulder.

Pistol humphed and left turned to leave, pup still cradled in his arms.

"What's it called again?" Lynx asked as she slammed the screen door, beating dust off her pants.

"A dog," Pistol answered.

"Oh. Amanda said that it was a . . . ky-tee?"

"No, it's a dog," Pistol responded.

"Hey, kids? Can I talk to you?" Amanda asked just then, entering the hall.

"What about?" Pistol growled, starting up the stairs.

Lynx watched Amanda shoot the man's back a dirty look, then start up the stairs after Pistol. "Could you call all the children, 'Stol? I'd really appreciate it. Kurt and I were hoping to talk to you all."

Pistol glared at Amanda over his shoulder. "Pistol," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry?"

"My name is Pistol, not "Stole." You have not earned the right to make up your own names for me."

Amanda blinked, and chose her words carefully. "I apologize. I wasn't aware it was an honor. Now, if you could call the others for me, Pistol?"

Pistol nodded shortly and went up the stairs.

***

Amanda, Kitty, and Kurt met in the pool room. Azul was sitting on Kurt's lap, ridged and unresponsive. The three people had been picked carefully among the adults, because these three all somehow seemed the most reassuring to the children. Logan suspected it had something to do with the fact that they all were older versions of one child or another, but he couldn't prove that.

Since Vault had withdrawn from Logan it was harder to tell what would offend or frighten the children, or what they liked and why. Only Enchantment acted the same, but she had always been shy.

Lynx entered the room first, fingering a leaf. She walked nervously to Azul and bent to one knee, holding the leaf near his nose before putting it carefully in his hands. He gripped the leaf obediently, but otherwise didn't respond. "He's gonna wake up though," Lynx said with false assurance. "It'll be okay."

Kurt nodded easily and watched as the girl sat down.

Enchantment and Constance entered next, one before the other. "What do you want?" Constance said, glaring around the room.

"Why don't you go ahead and sit down? We're waiting for the others still," Kitty answered.

Enchantment went and sat by Lynx quietly, watching with large blue eyes as Constance leaned against the wall.

Trace entered next, and Amanda smiled when she saw that his skin was white, instead of a sickly gray. It still wasn't the pearlescent color of Domino's skin, but it was better. He had gained enough weight so that he didn't look as emaciated as before, though he was still a long way from looking healthy.

Vault entered after Trace, looking sullenly at the three adults before heading to the other side of the room. Pistol wandered in moments later, the cub in his arms still drinking milk.

"So what is all this?" Pistol asked softly, his eyes on the pup he held.

"I was watching Lynx riding earlier," Kurt commented, "and I realized how much better she would do if she had a book to learn some new techniques." Kurt's gaze slid toward Lynx, and he saw he had gotten her attention. "But then I remembered that she couldn't read."

Lynx bit her lip and sat back.

"So I talked to Kitty and Amanda, and they suggested that perhaps they could teach the girls, and I could teach you boys."

Pistol looked from the puppy up at Kurt. "What do you want in return?" he asked bluntly.

Kurt thought about that for a long moment. It hadn't been considered that this question would be asked: an oversight. Kurt briefly considered saying that nothing would be asked in return, but he didn't think they would believe him. "Lynx must feed her own horses from now on," he said slowly. "You have to learn how to take very good care of them, so that maybe someday you can have your own."

Kitty and Amanda smiled as they realized his tactics. "And Vault, you tell us if you feel anything from Azul," Kitty added.

"Enchantment must do one thing every day that has nothing to do with television," Amanda said, winking at her younger self, "and Constance has to . . . keep her room clean."

"Trace has to--" Kitty started, only to be interrupted.

"No thanks."

"But--"

Trace smiled dryly and crossed his legs at the ankles, shaking his head wordlessly.

Amanda broke the awkward silence that followed. "And Pistol must--"

"I already know how to read," Pistol pointed out dryly.

"Oh. Well, let me know if you want to learn anything else," Amanda said.

"Can we think about this?" Trace asked after a long moment.

"Of course," Kurt answered. "But we would like you all to learn to read and write. There are all sorts of interesting things to know."

Trace nodded and got up, escorting Pistol from the room. The others left quickly thereafter.

***

Logan held out his arms as Pistol dumped the coyote puppy into them with little ceremony. "Here," Pistol said gruffly. "It's fed."

Logan nodded, suppressing a smile as Pistol walked from the room and the puppy started to whine, its gaze fixed on the door Pistol had disappeared through. It wriggled, finding that it couldn't get away from Logan--especially with its leg bandaged as heavily as it was--and yelping in frustration. The yelp quickly turned to a howl.

Pistol slammed back through the doorway. "What's wrong with it now?"

Logan put the pup on the floor and it ran straight for Pistol's feet. Its tail wagged happily as the pup pounced on Pistol's shoelace and pulled.

"I told you that if you let it sleep with you it would think you're its family," Logan said, leaning back against the chair and wondering how the boy was going to handle this.

Pistol reached down and picked the coyote pup up by the scruff of its neck, letting it dangle before his face. "I'm not your family," he growled.

The tail wagged hesitantly.

"No, stop that. I'm not your family, so you can't treat me like it. Got it? I don't really even like you."

The puppy licked Pistol's face and wagged his tail harder.

"Cut that out! I'm really not the person you should like. Logan over there is the one who saved your life, you know."

Front paws came up to bat at Pistol's face playfully.

"Now go away," Pistol said sternly, and set the puppy down on the floor.

The coyote grabbed again at Pistol's shoelaces, pulling for all it was worth.

"Cut that out!" Pistol yelped, pulling back. He looked up at Logan hopefully.

Logan shrugged. "It's a puppy. It wants to play."

"If I play with it will it leave me alone?" Pistol asked pitifully.

"Well, it might sleep. But it'll probably still like you."

Pistol ignored the last part of Logan's statement, bending down and taking off his shoe. With deft hands he unlaced it, then teased the pup with the lace until it bit. There followed a furious game of tug-of-war, and Pistol and the coyote left the room together, one on either end of the lace.

***

Lynx ripped a blade of grass up viciously and chomped it, mangling the end. She chewed for a moment, then tore savagely at the blade with her canines. She walked with long, swift strides around the corner of the house to where the horse pastures were and stepped up on the wooden fence, using the two bars as a ladder and jumping down the other side. Momentum kept her traveling swiftly across the meadow with its shortly cropped grass, trampling small yellow flowers and tiny bugs alike. The metal pieces of the bridle hanging on her shoulder jangled loudly, the bit slapping against Lynx's hip. The breeze ruffled her short hair, tossing it about and flattening her blue T-shirt against her body.

Within moments Lynx had reached her bay gelding where he grazed on grass clumps. Lynx clucked with her tongue, wrapping an arm under his neck as the horse raised its head. Swiftly, with movements made smooth by practice, Lynx put the bit in her horse's mouth and fitted the headstall over his ears, freeing his forelock with one hand while reaching down and adjusting the noseband with her other. She buckled it quickly, then took the reins and led the horse to a nearby boulder. The bay finished chewing his grass, then stood quietly while Lynx mounted him and adjusted herself on his back. Lynx glanced down at her shirt, dusting it off where she had laid across the bay's back and coated herself with his dirt.

Done dusting, Lynx picked up her reins, adjusted them quickly, then bumped her legs against the bay's sides and started off. One hand reached down to clutch at the bay's fur, taking a fistful of mane for balance. She brought the two reins across one side of the horse's neck, shoving her heel into part of his ribs and moving with the beast as it spun and took off at a gallop across the pasture. Lynx tightened her grip on the bay's mane, shifting quickly, her knees griping the horse's sides as her body moved up to his withers, leaning forward as she prepared for the bunching of muscles she knew would come if she did this correctly.

The gelding's ears flicked back and Lynx squeezed with her legs, letting him know to go forward. His stride shortened suddenly, muscles that had become well-defined in the past few weeks of riding tensing. Then the fence was there, and the bay sailed over it with a lunge, stumbling as he hit the other side.

Lynx almost fell, but she clung to the bay with hands and legs, her upper body falling across his neck. The bay didn't slow, but he remained steady until Lynx caught her balance and sat up once more. She grinned, laughing delightedly as the breeze whipped through her hair while she raced to meet the tumbling wind. Lynx yelled and kicked the bay harder than necessary, but he didn't seem to mind. He put forth a new burst of speed, galloping recklessly across the field and toward the line of trees.

Lynx whooped and leaned forward, helping to keep her balance without even meaning to and helping the bay run smoother, all never knowing she did it.

Oh, to be able to read and then ride better!

But that never came without painful and sometimes shameful consequences. Her heart fluttered unhappily in her chest at her train of thought, and Lynx tore her mind away from that particular line.

Right now, she had to play!

***

Kurt's bed dipped as he handed Azul carefully down onto it, the black comforter fluffing up around the boy's small body. Kurt knelt in front of the boy, trying to catch the gaze that seemed almost thoughtful.

Kurt called Azul's name softly, watching the boy's yellow depths for any sign that he had heard. After a moment, Kurt repeated the call. Azul's lack of response was the same.

Kurt pursed his lips, unwilling to show more displeasure than that, and turned to reach for a book. He picked up the novel by David Brin that Hank had left for the boy, flipping it open to an earmarked page. He scanned the words quickly. They were the same words they had been every time, and they were apparently the last words Azul had read on his own. The boy had been almost halfway through the book when Black Air had come back.

Kurt flipped more pages, then smiled slightly and settled himself back against the headboard of the bed, pulling Azul up to sit with him. He pulled the boy back to lean against his narrow chest, pressing his head to Kurt's shoulder. Kurt took a deep breath and re-read the last passage out loud, then started reading the next chapter to the boy.

***

Constance froze as she passed Kurt's closed doorway on the way back to her own room down the hall. The low tones of an older copy of Azul's voice rolled out, thick with accent, changing slightly as he mimicked different characters in the book he read. It was the same book Azul had started and Kurt now continued, Constance knew. She had seen Kurt reading to the boy, and she could imagine them now; sitting on the bed, Azul staring straight forward, Kurt glancing from pages to the child and back again.

Constance leaned against the wall and slowly slid down, until she sat on the floor. She leaned her head heavily against the stucco, closing her eyes to listen to the rhythmic, peaceful noise of a voice so like her lost friend's.

***

"Hey, 'Stol," Trace said, crashing into Pistol's bedroom and glancing around. "Wanna lollipop? They're cool. Kurt had some in his drawer and when I asked--"

"Would you shut up?" Pistol hissed frantically, lunging up from his duct-taped easy chair and bolting for the bed. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped.

Trace stuck his lollipop back in his mouth and rolled it around his tongue, eyeing Pistol. After a moment he pulled it out and twirled the stick between thumb and forefinger, still watching the older man. "Are you okay?"

Pistol peered once more at the bed, then sighed and nodded. "I just got that dog to sleep," he almost whispered. "If you wake him up, you have to put him to bed again."

Trace's icy blue eyes widened as if he had choked on the lollipop once more in his mouth, then he pulled it out and walked out of Pistol's room, laughing uproariously.

Pistol snarled at his best friend's retreating back, then eyed the pup again.

It was still sleeping peacefully on Pistol's pillow. Pistol sighed heavily and collapsed back into his easy chair. His slit-pupil amber eyes flew open as he grabbed for the book that had been sitting on the arm of the chair, and was now falling through the air because Pistol had rocked the seat too roughly.

Pistol's fingers closed on nothingness, and the book hit the floor and bounced. Pistol's heart stopped, but the sound had been quite a bit more silent then Trace's entrance. Surely it wasn't enough to wake Dog.

Pistol stood slowly and walked on quiet feet to where he could see the puppy. It was peering up at him happily, wagging its tail slightly when it saw him. Pistol groaned and scooped the dog up into his arms, carrying it out the door on a quest to find Trace. If he was going to suffer, he was going to suffer in company.

He left the door at the end of the hall and turned toward the stairs, then stopped at the sight that greeted him. Constance sat, her head on her knees, outside Kurt's door. Trace stood beside her, head bowed, back to Pistol. Lynx stood leaning against the banister, glaring at the floor between her feet and smelling of horse, trees and sweat. Pistol walked slowly to the small group as Enchantment came out of the attic and perched on the last two steps, Vault coming down behind her and settling in back of the child.

"What's going on?" Pistol whispered, petting the coyote's head absently.

Trace turned to him then, and there was a curious wetness in his friend's eyes. "Listen."

Pistol put a hand on his pseudo-brother's shoulder, offering silent comfort. He bent and set the puppy down on the floor, where it curled up against his feet and yawned mightily. In the silence that followed, Azul's voice could be heard reading through the doorway. It was accented, and Pistol knew that it wasn't the boy's voice, no matter how similar it seemed.

Pistol looked down at his feet, then up at Trace, who couldn't meet his gaze.

The voice in the room was older, but still melodious. Pistol's grip tightened on Trace's shoulder as he could almost feel the thought that seemed to pass like an electric current through each of the people standing there.

They might never hear Azul's voice, never hear it change and age, becoming older and well-worn.

Ever.

*******************************

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