-Chapter 9-

“BURT! BURT! WAKE UP MARK IS BACK!” I was jolted awake by our resident goblin man pounding their hand onto my chest. Apparently sleep had found me that night.

“Wh? What?” I stammered, the nice dream I was having now history.

“GET UP!” Walt shouted.

“Okay! Jesus!” I grunted and dragged myself out of bed, pushing Walt out of my way. I grabbed a shirt off the ground and threw it on and tossed on a hat to hide my messy morning hair.

“COME ON!” They shouted running out the door. I trotted after them with my tail flagged.

I hopped to a stop at the corner of the stairs to look down with a bubbly heat rising in my stomach. Making their way up the stairs was a half-conscious, pale, and sickly Winfred with Mark’s coat snug around him with my father and Marquis hoisting him up, one arm over their shoulders as he staggered up. Winfred and Mark looked absolutely exhausted and miserable, Mark stumbling and hopping awkwardly as they tried to get Winfred up. It took me a moment to notice Mark grasping Winfred’s side tightly.

“What happened??” I asked worriedly, my tail dropping between my knees.

“Winfred got shot, it’s bad,” Mark muttered through a concerned expression on his cold-reddened face. My father looked up from his monitoring of the blond and flashed a vicious look to me. I pinned my ears back and hopped out of their way as they made it to the top of the stairs. Winfred let out a pained yelp as they adjusted their hold on him. Mark shuddered. “Now there’s claws in my shoulder-“ Mark winced.

Both Walt and I watched with concerned expressions as the two hauled Winfred into the guest bedroom. The lanky man yelped as they tried to move him onto the bed, attempting to remove his coat and button-down, revealing a maze of long, deep, long-healed scars covering his body as they laid him down. At this point Winfred looked on the brink of tears, blood coming from his side onto the sheets. Mark and my father stepped back, Mark having his dark grey ear turned down harshly. My father quickly took a pillowcase from the bed and forced it around Winfred’s torso and wrapped it tightly around the oozing wound.

“Christ, it’s got to be in there pretty deep, bullets usually don’t hurt this much..” My father grumbled, taking out a first aid-kit. “You’re lucky I know how to remove bullets…”

“I-I can’t thank you enough Mr. Foxford,” Mark said timidly.

“Mhm..” My father scoffed. With a click he opened the kit.

“Do you think Winny will be alright?” Mark asked, his foot beginning to stamp down on the hardwood.

“I don’t know. I honestly do not know, Marquis. I don’t know where the bullet is, and for all I know it could be holding back more blood than what’s already coming out,” My dad explained exasperatedly, placing a hand on his forehead. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it. He’s in an unusual amount of pain for one bullet.” The sorrowful look that showed in Mark’s eye told it all. He looked back to his injured friend and his tail curled at the stifles. While I was focused on Mark, Walt sneaked into the room with their ears perked up, trotting their way over to the other side of the bed.

“I’m so sorry..” Mark said quietly.

“Do you know what they’ll do to us if they find out about him, Marquis?” My father told him coldly. “Do you realise how utterly stupid this was?” Mark looked down.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Foxford this is my fault, I-I, I fucked up,” Mark said timidly.

“What’s done is done, I need to get to work on this kid..” My father said quietly as he examined Winfred. Walt crouched down by the bedside looking just as confused as they did worried about this man they barely knew.

“What’s all the commotion?” I jumped upon hearing my mum come up behind me.

“Oh! Valentina, come see what the cat dragged in!” My father exclaimed sarcastically. Marquis raised his head to slowly look over with a melancholy glance. “Meet Winfred Woodward, he's an 18 year old, shot, quite possibly fatally-“ my mother cut him off.

“The Fenlish man??” She exclaimed in her shock.

“Yep!” Replied my father with his cheery sarcasm in an attempt to mask the fact he was most likely seconds away from ripping Mark a new one. My mum covered her mouth in shock, her head then turning to Mark.

“I- I was trying to get him home,” Mark tried to explain, avoiding eye contact as he looked to the decades-worn hardwood.

“You brought a Fenlish man onto our property while we’re starting a war with Fenland?” My mum asked, pinning back her white ears.

“I was trying to get him out!” Mark insisted. I took a tiny step back.

“Hey! Guys, lion guy looks really hurt by the way, someone should probably help him!” Walt shouted over the rest of them pointing at Winfred. We all looked over. Winfred reached out a hand and tightly grasp’s Walt puny little hand. Walt’s eyebrows raised and their lips pursed. “OW.” Walt stated. “That hurts.” They added, their delivery monotone but loud with a little added squeak of pain.

“Thank you Walt, for being the voice of reason for once!” Mark scoffed. “Please Mr. Foxford, don’t make this about me being an idiot, Winfred needs help.” My father sighed, watching Walt and Winfred with brows furrowed.

“Mark, Burton, you have no idea how pissed I am at you. I think for all of our sanities, you guys go somewhere else,” My father growled coldly. My ears pinned back. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong, but I wasn’t sticking around to push my luck.

“Yes sir…” Mark growled back through gritted teeth before pushing between me and my mother with a tight snarl on his face, limping and cursing to himself as he hopped down the stairs in a contained rage that was slipping through it’s seal. I swallowed my pride and turned to follow my friend down the stairs, my head held low, and limp through my back in my shame.

Following the sound of disgruntled cursing, I found Mark leaning on the dining table with his palms, his right foot held high. I took the opportunity to take a peak at this paw… his outer toe was completely gone. With a squint I swore I could even some bone poking out to the side. I shuddered, feeling a bit woozy for a brief moment before lifting my eyes to look at Marquis as he attempted to hold himself together… with little success. His face red, a tear managed to escape and roll down his cold burned cheek passed bared misgrown teeth. He continued to growl curses at himself, hissing self degrading remark after self degrading remark.

“Hey, Mark, no need to get so worked up,” I said cautiously, putting my hand on his back as I positioned myself next to him.

“I know there’s no need,” He mumbled in frustration towards his own emotions, the claws on his hands unleashing against the withered wood and flannel tablecloth. “I bloody fucked up, Burt.”

“Don’t say that, you couldn’t have stopped what happened,” I told him, rubbing his back in an effort to comfort him, my palm against the back of his grey tweed waistcoat that he always wore; his winter coat was thrown by the door.

“Yes I could’ve! I should’ve kept a better eye on Winfred. We were traveling through a town - which I knew was a terrible idea - and someone shot him! I went and lashed back, but turns out it was a police officer! If I had been paying attention to Winfred he wouldn’t be in this situation!” Mark vented, a growl intertwining with his voice.. something not many Hirschelfen were able to do. I was taken aback momentarily when discovering Mark had attacked law enforcement. I wouldn’t say I cared much for law enforcement- but I did care about our own asses getting thrown in jail.

“Mark.. mate, you’re partially blind and deaf, you can’t be watching everyone at once…. If Winfred has lasted this long I’m sure he’ll be fine. My dad probably knows what he’s doing,” I told him, noticing him wince when I mentioned his disadvantages. “You don’t have to beat yourself up so much, it was all an accident.”

“A preventable accident!” He exclaimed in distress.

“An accident none the different. It’s okay, Marquis,” I insisted to him.

“It’s not okay, Burt! This isn’t okay! Winny got hurt, I should’ve never let him be in that position, I should’ve known it was stupid to go out so unprepared! Now Winny is hurt and potentially on his deathbed, he doesn’t deserve that, he never deserved to get shot! I really fucked up, I really really fucked up,” Mark rambled, his composure nowhere to be seen as his eye was bombarded with tears. I wasn’t confident in being able to handle his emotions any further. I’d done the most I could, I expelled all my resources… in simple terms: I couldn’t comfort my friend. He hit that point of showing his emotions that I wasn’t familiar with and that frankly— I think I was a little frightened by it. I looked down at the table, glancing over at his unleashed claws, dirt stuck under them as they pierced through the flannel. He was a man with large hands, making his claws dwarf the dinky little needles that stuck out of my fingers.

I sighed, nothing left for me to say. I brushed my hand to his opposite arm and pulled him close to me for a little squeeze in a final ditch effort to soothe him. He stumbled- catching himself on the paw he’d been holding up. He hissed a curse and quickly jumped away, his long-haired tail bristled up. I flinched and stepped back, my face red with embarrassment after making matters worse.

“Oh my god I’m sorry!” I frantically said, my tail tucking, holding his foot higher than before… now with a better look.. his outside toe had really been taken clean off. “Mark your foot-“ I pointed out.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it-“ He said through gritted teeth, re-establishing his balance.

“Your toe-“

“Burton, please, I don’t want to deal with that right now!” He insisted. We were both quiet for a moment, besides Mark’s sniffling to contain snot that tried escaping from his nose. Mark growled and covered his face, turning back to the table and putting the elbow on the wood. I stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over my options.

“You just need a minute to be riled up huh?” I waited for a reply. I got nothing more than his continued sniffling. “I’ll… I’ll leave you be,” I said quietly, giving him one more pat on the back before walking off and heading to the stables to take care of their horses. Before throwing on Robin’s rug, I noticed a stain of red on his barrel. There was no cut or scrape, it must’ve been from Mark- I thought to myself before heading back to the house.

I did like I said and continued to leave Mark alone and headed upstairs to see the situation with Winfred.

“Who is it?” My dad asked when I gave a tiny pitter-patter of a knock on the door.

“Burton,” I answered, then being invited into the room. Inside were, my mum, dad, Walt, and of course Winfred. Winfred looks absolutely exasperated, he had bandages wrapped tight around his shirtless torso revealing an abundance of long straight scars vandalising his torso. The poor guy looked miserable and on the verge of passing out.

“How’d it go?” I asked my father as he packed up the medical kit.

“It went… okay.” My father replied. “Messy, but, the bullet is out and hopefully he’ll be able to heal.”

“That's good to hear,” I nodded, watching Winfred.

“I suppose…” My dad grumbled before he began to walk out of the room. “Keep an eye on the kid, alright?”

“Yes sir,” I replied as he left, shutting the door behind him. I looked back at the injured Fenlish man. He was definitely fitter than I anticipated when I first met him.

“Hey… are you feeling any better, big guy?” I greeted Winfred, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, giving him a friendly smile to hide my worry. He mumbled and looked over at me, flashing a grin back at me through the mess that was his red beard.

“I’m doing alright,” Winfred replied, lifting his hand to touch mine on his shoulder. Though tired, I saw a good deal of relief and happiness in his hazel eyes whilst he looked back at me, I could see his stripeless tail shudder. “I’m feeling a lot better without that bullet in my side,” He detailed, followed by a little chuckle… followed by a wince.

“Goodness, are you alright?” I asked, with my ears pricking up. He nodded, still smiling bright.

“Yeh’ I’m alright, laughing is just not in my realm of possibilities,” He beamed in his visible exhaustion and feverishness. I imagined myself in the situation and couldn’t envision myself anymore than a dramatic mess.

“I’m glad to see you being so happy about all of this,” I told him, my forced smile turning into that of a genuine one.

“Well I figure someone autta’” He replied, his head dipping to the side followed by a big yawn. “He’s not gonna do it,” he said, lazily pointing at Walt as they continued to look at their hand. “I think I really hurt his hand…” He pouted.

“Eh’ they don’t need it,” I joked. “Do you need anything?” I asked, petting his shoulder, prompting him to move his hand off mine but it was sort of a weird half-holding kind of thing where I could tell he really didn’t want to move his hand from mine but was trying not to make it obvious.

“No, I’m quite alright. I’m happy to have a nice comfy bed to sleep in!” He mentioned. “I cannot thank you guys enough for helping a poor bloke like me.”

“Of course- ehm…. Mark is really sorry about what happened,” I commented, remembering how utterly torn the guy was.

“He is? He doesn’t have to be… it wasn’t his fault as all,” Winfred pouted. “I’m not mad at all…”

“He didn’t mean for you to get hurt at all, I’m sure you know that,” I told him.

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t thinking it was his fault at all actually, haha! Some guy took a shot at me and Mark didn’t take an extra minute before he took his bow out and shot one back and ponied me off.” My eyes widened hearing that this attack Marquis had told me now was not a few harsh words and shove but a shot taken with his fatal archery skills.

“He shot back..?”

“He only hit his hand, but dang it was an effective distraction. I wouldn’t have wanted that arrow through my hand,” Winfred scoffed. “I didn’t pay much attention after that because I sort of fainted,” The blond recalled.

“Fuck we’re in trouble,” I hissed under my breath. Deep trouble.

“Oh. I haven’t even thought about that yet,” Winfred said, ears perking up.

“We are so dead. Soooo so dead,” I repeated aloud. I swallowed on my saliva. “If we get caught we are literally dead, all of us. We are screwed!” I smacked my hand onto my forehead. I knew we were already in an immeasurable amount of trouble when we initially got Winfred, but Mark was going to take him home, surely we could sweet talk our way out of that. Although now we had resisting the police whilst helping a Fenlish man, immediately after I had already had a scrap with the bloody Prince of all of Deautschria, next in line for king-hood! That was definitely a death sentence. We were going to be dead. Marquis and I were gonna be led to the gallows and hung in front of the town. I felt boiling in the pit of my stomach and the blood rush from my face. My balance wavered. My attention drifted for a moment.

“I uh.. I.. I gotta go,” I quavered breathily before dashing to the nearest bathroom. I slid on the flower patterned linoleum and placed my hands firmly on the bowl of the toilet before ejecting all the contents of my stomach into the toilet with an unattractive gag, like a cat passing a hairball. With stifles bruised from pounding onto the solid ground, I gave a large huff. Heat travelled in my face like I had just shoved my face into a newly lit fire. My hands were shaky as if they were placed on the bow of a ship rocking through a nasty stormy.. I attempted to push my face up from the toilet, but the glaring lights about the mirror made the room spin like a carousel of “screw you” before I was thrown face first back to the toilet bowl as I tried to dry heave out any other anxiousness that had manifested itself in my gut.

“Burton, are you alright?” Walt shouted from the guest room, their voice muted in my ears. I took a moment to stare at the vomit swirling in the toilet. There goes last night’s dinner. With the smell of expelled internals lingering in my nose, I gave my head a moment to come back together before I could lift my head up with a response.

“Yeah, it’s all good! I coughed out before sitting back on my bum and wiping my mouth with a disgusted grunt. I let myself stay there on the cold floor as my body readjusted to the cool air in the bathroom.

I finally regained enough composure after around 10 minutes to get up, flush the toilet, and quickly brush my teeth. I washed my hands quickly as well, anything I could do in efforts to get rid of the horrid stench of vomit. Another look in the mirror to my distaste, I had puke in my short beard. I groaned and just decided to wash my whole face, getting rid of the bandage on my lip to show the deep cut that didn’t look like it was going to ever heal fully. I decided to go find Marquis again, he had a knack for getting rid of my anxiousness.

I wandered downstairs in search of Marquis, only to find an empty dining room with claw marks through the flannel tablecloth. I glanced about, wandering to the kitchen to the back foyer where I heard the quiet hum of voices beyond the back door. I glanced out the window to see my short mother standing next to my friend huddled in his tweed waistcoat with a hand shoved deep in his pocket as he slouched over the old wooden deck railing looking out to the mare’s pasture covered by a full blanket of white snow. The sun peeked through white clouds and shined towards the faces of the two yet left my view with nothing but a backlit scene contrasted by the reopened wound on his foot dripping down into the snow dusting the deck. Curiosity ventured into my head. I took a step closer, paying attention to where I placed my paws to avoid the cold vinyl floor panels.

“I just wanted to help him!” I heard Marquis express as I quietly cracked the back door.

“I know you did, Marquis,” My mother replied softly as the two leaned on the old railing on the back deck. “Not everyone can be helped.”

“But I..” He started, but quickly cut himself off.

“But what, Marquis?” She asked.

“Nothing…” He mumbled quietly with a cough. “I’m fine.” My mum sighed.

“You’re just like William, keeping everything bottled up inside you,” She told him. “One never knows what him or you are thinking. Unlike Burt and I who just know nothing else but to express what we’re feeling,” She said with a polite smile. “I know for a fact, Burton is terrible at holding himself together. If something is wrong with that kid he lets it out…” My ears lowered and I blushed a bit from my eavesdropping spot. Yeah, I definitely “let it out.”

“I know he does that, he’s always been like that,” Mark mentioned. “That's how Burt is.”

“You don’t think it’s a bad thing for him to express his feelings do you?”

“No, not at all. He’s the sort of person who needs to. I’m there for him when he does, that’s what I’m meant to do,” he explained with a confident nod amongst his somber radiance.

“While I am fully grateful that my son has such a caring friend like you looking after him, you have to look after yourself too, Marquis,” She attempted to tell him. Mark shook his head subtly. She waited for a verbal response only to get hasty taps on the deck ground from Mark’s injured paw and a cough. “How about something else since I know you don’t quite trust me like that,” She said.

“Mrs. Foxford that’s not what I mean to come off as, I do trust you! I’m just not upset!” He insisted, adjusting his weight.

“Those three cigarettes you just breezed through says otherwise. Marquis, listen darling, I’m not offended by it. I’d be hurt if it was Burty, but as much as I like to think you’re my son too, we’re not like that in your head and I understand that. Though, the motherly instinct in me is still going to do my best to help you out, since even though you’re not mine, I would want someone to try and help my son if he was upset. Which frankly is what you do for me. I’m sure your parents would want someone to do the same for you, hm?” She asked lovingly. Mark looked down quietly.

“How do you think your mum would feel knowing someone just left her little boy to be all upset, huh?” Valentina asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. I heard Mark give a little sniffle. “Probably pretty upset herself too, huh?” Mark nodded with another sniffle then wiped his eye.

“What I wanted to recommend is something Will used to do when he was younger, since he’s just like you- everything is to himself. Will used to write, and write a lot. Now was it very good writing? No, not by a long shot, but it was how he got his feelings out. I think you should try doing something like that too, I think it would help you out a lot,” My mother explained to him softly while he continued to sniffle and held his head low. “I’m sure I can find you one in my workshop too!”

“Thank you Mrs. Foxford,” My friend murmured with his tail between his knees followed by a cough.

“Just doing my job after all. Someone needed to check in on you, and since I care for the well being of my almost-son, you get that care too,” She told him kindly. My mum watched Mark for a moment as he sniffled, those sniffles eventually became desperate hurried sniffles one would do when they when the floodgates were just about to break. I frowned witnessing my friend so upset. “Oh darling, come here,” My mum sighed with open arms. Mark hesitated before he leaned down for the hug, and just like I’d expect from my cuddly friend he hugged her back. The floodgates couldn’t hold back his feelings anymore and let way a fraction of what was bottled up in him.

“You poor soul, I know you just wanted to help someone out,” My mother cooed softly. “It's hard I know,” she sighed and continued to hold him tight meanwhile I stayed watching from the door, sucked into the moment. My best inference was my mum was stuck on him being upset over Winfred being injured. I knew he was, but something else struck him. His rage had subsided into this vulnerable, weepy, melancholiness. In my own right, I was worried for Mark. I had been exposed to another side of him - though not through his own will… I saw him in a new light. Those rose coloured lenses on Mark’s being as a whole had become clearer.

“Burton!” My drifting thoughts were halted. “What in the world are you doing?” My mother angrily barked. I jumped and came back from the door. Mark quickly backed up, his face his red and eye glossy with the glistening outlines of the route tears went down his reddened cheeks. His bright green eye and vibrant against bloodshot sclera wide as we made momentarily eye contact before he turned away and covered his face. His tail retreated between his knees once more.

I looked back to my mother’s cross expression and scrambled to make up an excuse.

“I was just coming over to ask where dad went!” I quickly defended myself.

“He had to go out to get more medical supplies… and hopefully tells some authorities we found a Fenlish man on our property,” She told me. “But what did I tell you about eavesdropping Burton Winston,” She hissed with ears pinned back. She crossed her arms at me.

“I just got over here!” I lied.

“I find that hard to believe!”

We both neglected through our bickering to notice Marquis walking off the porch with his face still in his hands.

“Oh look what you did now!” My mother barked again. I tried to slip in yet another excuse. “I don’t want to hear it! Go to your room right now!”

“I’m 23!”

“Right now Burton Winston!” She retorted angrily, standing her ground.

“Mum! I’m not gonna go to my room!” I scoffed, now growing more concerned about how Marquis was doing with the freezing weather, his injured paw, and a questionable mental state.

“You know I do not like raising my voice at you young man! Get to your room you’ve done more than enough this week! Sneaking out, yelling at me, smuggling a Fenlish man into my house, and now doing this! Please just give me a break, I’m stressed out, Burty!” She begged, her white tail dropping.

I pinned my ears back, feeling a lump in my throat. The angsty teening inside me stormed off trying to keep myself together. I was done with dealing with the conversation of my maturity over and over again. The audacity to even make me abandon Marquis like that? Nonsense. That was what I thought about it as I stomped my way into my bedroom, passed the guest room and threw myself into the bed with an anguished groan.

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