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THE BURROW WAS IN CHAOS—SCREECHING, sodden, scampering chaos. Dun sat on his haunches in the middle of it at the low desk he used for scribing. It had been like this all work-span. Work-span in this instance was largely figurative as nothing had gotten done.
“I swear to all the Gods that if you pups don’t stop, it’s going to make me pull all my fur out with my teeth!”
Normally, Dun was the soul of patience. He loved the great big burrow family that they’d all created after the war had settled. The fact that Padg and Amber lived there too, mostly made his heart warm. Padg mating with Amber was not something he’d foretold, and Dun was, amongst so many other things these days, still meant to be a shaman.
This work-span, he was supposed to be writing a speech to deliver at the big tribes-moot that he’d arranged to try to kindle the fragile peace that had settled with the exhaustion of war.
The Over-folk tribes were still bemused about there not being a bureaucracy to guide them and persuading everyone to a more bottom-up style of planning and leadership was taking a while for some Folk to get a hang of. Dun understood that, but Gods it was frustrating.
“Raarr!” said Padg, at Dun’s knee level, to shrieking pups, “I’m a giant cave spider and I’m gonna eat you all up.”
“Do cave Spiders go ‘rarr’?” said Dun, tapping his stylus on his mouth.
“Shh, I’m improvising. Raaarrrrr!”
Dun sighed and slowly leaned forward. He rolled the bark scroll, half-finished, and stood. One of the pups ran through his legs, he reached out and scooped them up, “Gotcha! Always beware of the spider you haven’t noticed.”
There was a knock at the post outside of their burrow. Having a burrow at all in the Hab was unusual, most Over-folk seemed to have habitation made from found things: containers and metal boxes; doors and walls lashed together with found ropes and wood. For their own place, Dun had moaned on for spans about how he missed home since he’d effectively moved away forever, so Padg had found a site in the Hab that had soil as flooring. Since the negotiations between the Tinkrala religious sect that Padg still seemed to belong to and the more traditional Grey Duchy sect that were the guardians of the great secrets of the Overfolk, had progressed apace recently, it seemed a few secrets from the Grey Duchy were leaking out. The possibility of burrowing being least among them. Their burrow was danker than Dun’s home back in Bridgetown, not having enough ventilation in any of its rooms yet. The advantage of their family being best friends with Nev the ‘pipe’ had not fixed things on that score. Nev had got himself involved in Amber’s grand scheme of a steam relaxing box for several cycles. It had rapidly become all she talked of, and it was good to hear the enthusiasm in Amber’s voice once again.
“Are you gonna let me in, or do I need to stand out in this draft till I die?” Kaj was the final piece to their puzzle. Never all that far from Dun’s side since they’d fought in the war together, everyone expected them to have paired up in a way that no-one expected Padg and Amber to. Dun just couldn’t, not that the age gap between them made all that difference in the Folk, but his first and last great love was her mother and he just couldn’t; not with her, not with anyone.
“Hello trouble,” he said, pulling back the plastic sheet that made their makeshift door. When she didn’t enter, he made an inquisitive ‘huh?’
“OneLove requests your presence,” she said. “Both of you.”
“Amber’s not back from the market yet,” said Padg, “and hello Kaj.”
“Hey, Padg!” she shouted into the melee, “I’m kinda here to relieve you, to go before she gets back.”
“Auntie Kaj! Auntie Kaj!” came excited shouts from inside.
“Hi monsters! You two go, I’ll take it from here.”
“Sure?” said Dun.
“I don’t need telling twice,” Padg, grabbed Dun by his collar, “Always overthinking it. Come on!”
