Victus joined two dozen other sleepy boys who waited in line for breakfast.  Out of consideration, he left a half-meter gap between himself and the boy in front of him.  He’d long ago learned that the other boys didn’t appreciate the way he smelled, and the best way to avoid friction was to keep his distance.  Despite his attempted kindness, the boy in front of him rolled his eyes, then gave a quiet cough and sighed in disgust, turning his shoulders away from Victus to make certain the varius knew what a burden it was that he’d arrived.

As the line crept past the list of chores posted on the bulletin board, he noticed that it was his weekend to clean the bathroom.   More than once he’d asked why he got bathroom duty more often than any of the other boys, but nobody seemed to care.  Each time, they just shrugged their shoulders, handed him the scrub brush and told him to stop complaining.

A ten year old named Bront and two of his favorite lackeys were a few meters behind him in line, giggling like schoolgirls.  Victus tried really hard to not hate anyone, but Bront actively pushed the limits of his resolve.  The older boy's position in the social order was maintained by stepping on people who would not, or could not, fight back, and he took special pleasure in humiliating Victus.  The two boys flanking Bront weren’t much better, but Victus had the feeling that if Bront hadn't been around to egg them on, they'd have done little more than grumble under their breaths like everyone else did.

They were acting strangely today, chortling and whispering in low voices that were just under Vic’s threshold of hearing.  That never bode well.  After spending two years in their constant company, Victus knew them inside and out.  If they were behaving oddly without obvious reason, they were up to something.  If they refused to meet your gaze, their misbehavior was probably directed at you.  And if you were the only varius among them, they almost never met your gaze.

Victus was uncomfortable having them at his back, so he patted his pockets as if he'd forgotten something, quietly pulled out of line and walked toward his room.   As soon as he was out of their line of sight, he ducked into the bathroom to kill a few minutes until the breakfast line cleared.

The unpleasant smell had been strong before he'd even pulled open the bathroom door, and once inside it got far worse.  Vic wrinkled his nose in distaste, both at the odor and at the boys' juvenile behavior.  The orphanage was home to a few mentally disturbed residents, some of whom found great satisfaction in discovering new and unique ways to act out.  The giggling boys had apparently been paying attention when one of their more twisted brethren had engaged in a behavior which the counselors had termed, "fecal smearing."  

Vic walked carefully to the toilet stall and pushed the door open, wincing when he saw their handiwork.  They'd somehow gathered enough excrement to smear along all four walls in earth-toned stripes, even going so far to mash the poop into the opening of the toilet paper dispenser. Then they'd gilded the lily by urinating across the toilet.  He let the door swing shut and looked around, curious what other gifts they'd left for him.  They must have felt pressed for time, because the only other insult was a single word, written in filth on the mirror above the sinks.  "WOOF".

His shoulders slumped in dejection, but they soon rose again, buoyed by inspiration. Peeking carefully down either side of the hallway before exiting, he sneaked out of the bathroom and over to the dorm’s copy of the work detail list posted on the wall between two bedroom doors.   Pulling the list off its clipboard, he ran to the dorm's study room. 

Few of the other boys were all that interested in studying, so the room was little used and loosely monitored.  As expected, the door was locked, but this didn't slow him down much.  He'd watched an attendant enter the passcode a few months back,  and he remembered what he'd seen. 

Victus put the chore list in the imager and sat at one of the battered terminals. It was outdated, but it would do what he needed.  Calling up an archiving program, he used the "clip" and "paste" functions to make two tiny alterations to what he saw on the screen.  With the flick of a few keys and the drag of the cursor, he was assigned to garden duty.  A few more keystrokes, and bathroom duty had been donated to Bront and his cronies.  "It's their poop," Victus said, quietly.  "Let them clean it up."

He printed two copies of the document and left the room, locking it behind him. The original went in his pocket and the improved copy went up in its place.  Peeking around the corner, Victus saw that the cafeteria line had cleared and the hallway was empty.  Thirty seconds later, the second chore list had been replaced and Victus was out the door and running at top speed across the playground grass, headed for the low fence that marked the boundary of the orphanage. 

Victus jumped the fence in a single bound, an irrepressible howl of joy bursting out of him mid-air.  He was free!  He’d pay for this transgression tomorrow, but for today the world was his to explore!  He could go anywhere he wanted, but really there was only one place to go - the Bazaar.

Thousands and thousands of people passed through the Bazaar each weekend, but Victus knew that so early in the day it would be sparsely populated.  There were permanent shops at the center, but on the outskirts, anyone who wanted could set up a table and sell their wares. The variety was endless.  Some sold food, some dealt in small animals, others sold tax services or insurance or God. 

Most of the people he passed were still setting up their tables, preparing to be overrun by the weekend crush.  Some of them recognized him as he loped by and waved a friendly greeting.  This wasn’t Victus’s first time to escape for the day. He waved back, calling out their names if he remembered them, which he usually did.  Old miss Marga was having trouble drawing her sun shade, so Victus stopped for a moment to help her latch it into place.

His kindness was returned a few minutes later when he saw Mr. Davidson, a fruit vendor, culling through that morning’s delivery. Victus peered at the man’s produce.  It wasn’t the highest quality, but it was inexpensive and fresh so he sold quite a bit of it. “You have anything I can eat?” he asked, looking up at the man with lowered ears.  He’d learned that wide eyes made him look vulnerable and innocent, so he gave Mr. Davidson a dose of those as well.

The vendor just rolled his eyes at the pitiful act and used his foot to push a box full of bruised fruit toward the varius.   Victus smiled and picked a couple of pieces out of the box that had some edible spots.  “Thanks,” he said, smiling at the man.  To pay the man back, and because there wasn’t anything more interesting to do, Victus put his finds in safe place, then busied himself helping the man arrange his produce.  Twenty minutes later the displays were shipshape, and Victus waved goodbye.

“Wait,” the man grunted.  It was the only thing he’d said all morning.  Without explanation he pulled a small, perfectly ripe peach from behind the display and pressed it into Vic’s hands.

Victus stared at it in awe, eyes wide for real, now.  He’d never had such a fancy piece of exotic, off-world fruit before.  Certainly nothing they served in the cafeteria compared!  When he looked up to thank the vendor, the man had already turned and walked away.

Victus smiled, picked up the other pieces of fruit he’d saved and settled himself in the bazaar’s food court.  He pulled the original chore schedules out of his pocket and unfolded them to serve as a placemat for the fruit, keeping his food clean of the dirt which covered the table.  He’d found a couple of bruised onkles and a nectello that appeared to be in almost perfect condition. The onkles he ate methodically, chewing as best he could around the bad spots . 

The nectello was dry and had little flavor, but he didn’t really care.  It was merely filler, something to occupy his belly and stave off hunger pangs from his missed breakfast.  The peach, however was another story entirely.  He pulled it to his nose and took a long, intoxicating sniff.  Although the smallest piece in his collection, it was by far the most appealing. The smell was heady and sweet, like nothing he’d ever experienced, and it made his mouth water in anticipation. 

Not knowing how large the pit might be, he took the first cautious bite.  More juice than he expected flowed into his mouth and around his tongue, seducing his taste buds with a flavor that was every bit as heady as the aroma had promised, then dribbling down his chin in a sweet, sticky trail.  He groaned and closed his eyes.   He would definitely remember where that fruit vendor was located!

***

The market was much more interesting an hour later, once people were milling about.  Victus enjoyed experiencing the variety of people who came to the market to buy, to sell, and to see the spectacle for themselves.  Occasionally he even spotted another varius in the crowd, although never one who looked like him.

The beeping back-up alarm of a delivery truck made the people around Victus crowd together as they cleared a path.   Vic bumped his heels against the curb and fell backwards into a woman’s skirt.  Seemingly without effort, she lifted him up and returned him to his feet.  Looking up to thank her, Victus was surprised to discover that the woman was a man!

Looking again, Vic saw that she...he wasn’t wearing a dress after all, but the robes of one of the religious clerics who sometimes tried to engage him in conversation about his everlasting soul.   “I’m sorry, father,” he said, automatically.  “Thank you.”

The man laughed.  “I’m not a father,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.”  He swept a hand over the exposed fur of the child’s arm, knocking loose clinging flecks of dirt.  “You be careful, young man,” he said, smiling kindly at Victus before straightening and going back to his day.

Victus considered the encounter as he wandered about.  The man had smelled odd.  Smoky, but not the offensive sort of smell that lingered about a stimstick user.  Rather, it was a sweet smell,  woody and exotic.   Victus liked that smell, and he decided that he liked the man.  He had seemed pleasant and kind, attributes which Victus hadn’t often seen in his daily life.  Hoping to catch another glimpse of the man, Victus looked in the direction he’d gone, but he’d already disappeared among the throng of people.

***

Teacher Dagen straightened and smiled down at the varius boy, then went about his business.  The energy of the market thrummed around him, joining all of the gathered people as one, although most weren’t even aware of its presence. The ocean of life surrounding him made him feel somewhat better about being on Galise. 

This particular planet would not have been where he chose to build a monastery, but some among his order had apparently considered it ideal.  On paper, it didn't seem like a bad choice.  Inexpensive land, a decent economy overwhelmingly funded by mining interests, and a freewheeling government which didn’t require a lot of taxes and, more importantly, didn’t poke its nose into the personal lives of its citizens were all appealing reasons to build a training compound for reclusive monks here.

But the same conditions which made economic sense also fostered a culture which was highly insular and bigoted.  The inhabitants of this world, although highly protective of their own oddities, were notoriously closed to the peculiarities of others.  Its considerable financial power could have made it a crown-jewel world, but the greed and narcissism of its ruling class had relegated it to backwater status. Galise was, Dagen thought, a moderately-sized fish in a very small pond.

It didn’t take a degree in economics to see why it would stay way, Dagen mused, as he floated through the throng.  Others around him pushed and shoved, but Dagen floated, re-directing the crowd’s momentum to carry him where he wanted to go. Looking around him, it was all too evident that the social strata was solidly in place, and would remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Dagen knew that the ruling families, the Negins, had gotten their wealth not by mining the valuable mineral ores from the planet’s crust themselves, but by virtually stealing the wealth from the mine operators through a series of technically legal but morally corrupt contracts.  Fewer than a hundred Grand Negins now owned the mineral rights to virtually the entire planet, and they weren’t about to give that control back.

The rest of the economy had blossomed to support the mining operations.  Farms fed the miners, textile weavers clothed them, and religious organizations moved in to give them god.  Teacher Dagen’s monastery might appear to be one of those organizations on the outside, but there was far more going on inside the impenetrable walls of the Kenzine monastery than lighting candles and chanting ancient prayers.  The Kenzine Order existed not to give people safe passage out of the world, but to protect them while they were in it.

A booth of brightly colored tunics caught his eye.  As a monk, Dagen had detached himself from worldly desires and influences.  His everyday clothing were the simple robes of his order. Heavy emphasis was placed on utility. Split pants allowed greater freedom of movement, and loose robes permitted a variety of...items...to be concealed.  He had no use for such colorful garb as was arrayed before him, but he did have friends who might appreciate something lovely.

Looking across the multitude of colors and styles, Dagen was thankful that never in his life had he greeted the day with the task of making the choice of  what to wear.  Raised in the Order since his birth, he’d never had to wear anything but diapers or robes.  He’d graduated from the brown of a student to the orange of an acolyte upon being selected to serve in the Order, and five years later he’d opened the wooden box containing his black Protector garments.  After a decade of service defending the lives of the world’s most honorable and respected citizens, he’d finally been allowed to put on the vermillion teaching robes he’d worn to this day. 

He had several pairs, of course.  It would have been silly to wear the same garment over and over again.  But the choice he had to make every morning was among function, not form or color.  Nevertheless, he looked through the rack of garments, thinking that it had been too long since he’d called his best friend Sam, and knowing that he owed the newly-named Abbot Wesley a gift as well.

Although no longer a Protector, his habit of maintaining constant vigilance had yet to ebb, if ever it would. While those not similarly trained might find the constant barrage of mental data intrusive, Dagen used it to better experience the world around him. It became an extension of his own spiritual awareness, attuning him to everything nearby and connecting him with life, the value held most dear to the Kenzines.  He had heard this as a student, learned it as an acolyte, put it into practice as a Protector, and now he was honored to teach it to the next generation of Kenzine.

At forty-two, he was young for a Teacher.  Most of his colleagues were at least a decade older than he, and to close that experiential gap his mentor had thought it wise that he experience the culture of others.  Thus, his mission to Galise. His stated purpose here was to understand its inhabitants, however long that might take.  On the outside it should not be a complicated or lengthy assignment, because the people of Galise were neither complicated or numerous.  A week on the planet had Dagen wondering how much longer it could possibly be.

A stand of antiques caught his eye, and he moved closer to peruse the contents.  The first settlers had landed on Galise less than a hundred years prior, so there were few true antiques on the planet.  What was arrayed on this table could more appropriately be called junk.  Among the jumble of  ill-maintained tools and worn-out cooking implements, he spied something that brought a smile to his face.  A small stack of paper books sung their siren song to him, and he obediently picked them up.  Things like this were all but unnecessary in his day and age. If a person wanted to read virtually any book ever published, they need only download it to their personal comm. 

Fiction or non, for reference or enjoyment, the wealth of knowledge and entertainment provided by books was still available to the world even if the format had changed.  Although paper volumes had been eclipsed by their electronic cousins, he still felt that printed books were somehow superior. It was entertaining to think that while visiting the furthest reaches of explored space, he’d discover some rare volume among all the booths and stands.

He noticed a rather large, dusty book hidden behind a ceramic crock of shiny stainless steel spatulas.  He gently pulled it from its resting spot, hoping that he’d discovered a book of poetry or a great work of fiction.  It ended up being nothing more interesting than a well-bound version of The Joys of Low-G Gastronomy.  A cookbook.  While not interested in anything of the sort, he nonetheless opened the cover.  Inscribed with meticulous care on the title page was a note to the original owner. “To Beth, Congrats on your move to the Moon. You’re a big girl, now!  Love, Mom and Dad.” 

An electronic book could never be this personal.  The paper and ink touched by the ones giving and the one given to, creating a long-lasting connection which words on a screen could never achieve.  It was that sense of connection that encouraged him to curl up with a book on a rainy day.  Thinking back to what he’d read about the place, he seriously doubted he’d see many rainy days on this planet.  Most of it was desert. 

The Joy of Low-G Gastronomy was not, alas, the treasure he sought.  Dagen flipped the book shut and moved to put it back where he’d found it.  As he bent forward, a reflection in one of the steel spatulas caught his eye.  It was a face so adorable that he was not likely to soon forget.  A little lupine boy…

The book back in its place, Dagen slowly turned to see...nothing.  The boy was not standing where he remembered.  Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a patch of gray fur as it slipped behind the building.  Was the sighting a coincidence, or...was the boy trying to hide from him? Remembering his childhood and the tracking games played with his varius friends put a smile on his face.

His official business in the market long since completed, Dagen imagined that his remaining time would be best spent by learning about the native culture.  And what better way to learn about the locals than to observe them as they went through their daily routines?  With his sense of adventure fully engaged, he wandered the stalls in search of treasure.

***

The funny man’s movements throughout the bazaar caught Victus’s attention.  Rich people weren’t ever as relaxed as this man seemed.  The ladies held tighter to their purses, and the lord’s hands constantly hovered near their money belts for fear they’d had their wallet stolen.  Poor people, thought Vic, behaved far more casually, wandering to and fro with no discernable purpose.  But this odd stranger who had long hair and peculiar clothes moved through the tumultuous bazaar as if he were aware of it all, yet unaffected by it.  He seemed self-assured in the midst of such a maelstrom that Vic’s curiosity was piqued.  And so, he would Follow. 

The game of Follow was a lot like hide-and-seek, but to win, your target couldn’t realize he was being tracked.  With his hybrid heritage, Victus excelled at tracking games.  Unfortunately, his senses gave him unfair advantages over the sensory-deprived sapiens children, and they had refused to play hide-and-seek with him after they realized that they couldn’t win.  This stranger gave him a chance to play his game without anyone ever knowing.   His tail began to wag, his feet  shuffling up and down in anticipation as he gave the man a head start.

With the man’s odd dress and unique odor, keeping up with him was not terribly difficult at first. The man stopped at every curio stand he came to, peering intently at all the booth had to offer and making polite conversation with the sellers.  Vic noticed that the man spent a lot of time staring at paper books, but he couldn't understand the appeal. He shrugged his shoulders, writing the behavior off as yet another of the man’s oddities.  Each difference he noticed added to his intrigue, encouraging Vic to continue the game.

 ***

Once again, the small bit of gray and black darted out of sight just as Teacher Dagen looked in his direction.  Dagen would have written it off as his overactive imagination, had it not have happened a dozen times in the past hour.  At first, Dagen had wondered whether the lupine boy might be a pickpocket.  This would have been most unfortunate for the young man,  for not only were Kenzine priests bound by vows of poverty, but reaching an unwelcome hand into their robes was a good way to get your hand broken.

Most others would not have ever noticed the boy, but after spending a decade as a protector, Dagen’s eye was sharp and his awareness was tuned.  Few understood how their body’s energy worked, or the ways that it affected their space or the people around them. Conscious of this flow of energy, Dagen felt his pursuer’s presence long before he actually saw the young lupine. 

His varius school buddies, Sam and Rob, would have been proud of him for realizing that he was being tracked.  They’d played a very similar game together as they’d grown up, and Dagen had needed every bit of his wits to hold his own against their superior senses.  The game got even more fun as they grew older, graduating from the school playground to shopping centers, and from bicycles to cars. As Dagen had found with much of his Kenzine training, the most important lessons weren’t always the ones taught by the teacher.  Both Rob, a canine varius,and Sam, a gorilla hybrid, had taught him more than they’d ever know about thinking flexibly.

At a clothing vendor, Dagen stopped to try on a hat that he didn’t particularly like. Checking his appearance in the mirror, he looked past his reflection to see the small lupine boy looking right at him.  At least he’s not a threat, Dagen thought, just some curious kid wondering who the odd stranger was.   Smiling to himself, the teacher savored the irony.  Now, he was curious too.

Dagen continued playing tag with the young wolf throughout the bazaar, slowly upping the difficulty level as he moved through the deeper, more cramped recesses of the market.  Randomly, he turned in odd directions in an attempt to lose the young pup.  At other times he’d backtrack, or linger overlong at a booth to see whether the young pup would lose interest. 

No matter how challenging or boring he made his journey, the intelligent yellow eyes inevitably found him.  On a few occasions Dagen thought he’d lost his young pursuer, only to find the boy conspicuously not-waiting for him at the end of his false trail, nonchalantly looking at a toy or pressing his snout against the glass of a display.  It was as though the boy was following a silent beacon, Dagen mused.

Impressed by the child’s success, Dagen felt his curiosity mount.  He noticed the young wolf lap up water from a public dispenser, then steal a longing look at the food court.  Being intimately familiar with the eating habits of adolescent varii, he’d bet good money that the boy was starving by now.

***

Victus wondered if the man knew he was there.  There were a couple times when the man had turned to look in his direction, and Victus had to scamper away before he was noticed.  But no sapiens had taken an interest in him for the last few years, and he seriously doubted this man would today. More than anything, Vic’s curiosity stemmed from a desire to know whether he’d lost the game.

His stomach gurgled in protest at the savory smell of foods cooking nearby, amplifying his regret at not eating a real breakfast that morning.  The fruit, although filling at the time, had long since worn off.  The sausages at the cart he’d just passed had awakened what felt like a demon in his belly, and he stared longingly at the hanging tubes of fire-roasted meat.  He could easily have taken one while the vendor wasn’t looking and been gone in the blink of an eye, but he had never forgotten his father telling him that it was wrong to steal.  He knew other kids at the orphanage who would have taken whatever they wanted without concern for the consequences, but he wanted to always be the good boy that his parent’s would have loved, had they still been alive.

The funny man had apparently finished his business in the market, and his path was leading him straight to the food vendors.  Vic’s stomach moaned and his ears wilted at the thought of following the man amongst the cornucopia of things he couldn’t eat.  But the game was so much fun!  The man didn’t realize he was being tracked so Vic was still winning, and he hated the thought of giving up.

He had been staving off his hunger with the thought that he might take an extra portion at dinner, but it now occurred to him that  he may not get very much food at all as a punishment for running off.  Panic settled in as he felt his stomach knot in fear that he might even be made to go to bed without dinner.  Yet here he was, watching a stranger buying an abundance of food from a variety of stands.  What was he going to do?  Stealing from the man would be even worse than stealing from the vendor, but the gnawing hunger in his belly made the option seem almost viable.

The man completed his purchases and carried his overloaded tray into the food court.  Loathe to admit that his game was over, Victus pushed his way into the middle of a circular rack of blouses and peered through the hangers. The man wasn’t exactly skinny, but the amount of food he’d purchased was far more than one person could possibly eat.  Perhaps his family was going to join him here soon?  Victus was curious what they would look like, so he continued to watch from his secret hiding place.

***

Dagen followed his nose, which directed him to a stall selling spice-rubbed, spitted meat roasting over a low fire. He might be a practicing vegetarian, but he was certain the boy would appreciate a nice chunk of goat.  Or beef.  Or whatever it was.

Dagen had a fairly good idea what his little follower would like.  At another stall, he bought some crispy, fried rolls filled with plump shellfish.  The chicken skewers seemed excessive, so he bought a small bowl of macaroni and cheese from the same vendor.  Thinking that it smelled pretty good, he bought a second bowl for himself.  Then it was back to the Asian section for soba noodles and vegetable dumplings for himself, and a small assortment of fruit pastries wrapped in caramelized sugar shells for them to share.

Sharing, he remembered, was the lynchpin of varius relationship. Sam and Rob had insisted that he share their food, no matter little they came to school with. If he didn’t take what they offered, they put it on his plate.  They were so adamant that he was afraid if he didn’t eat it, they’d put it in his mouth for him.  Seeing what was happening, his parents had insisted that he take extra so he could share, too. The two varii might not have appreciated the subtleties of vegetarian cuisine, but they always managed to choke it all down with an appreciative smile.

Dagen set his tray at an unoccupied table at the edge of the eating area and scanned his surroundings for his young wolf. Sure enough, there he was, hiding in the middle of a rack of women’s smocks.  Dagen smiled, thinking to himself that it would have been an excellent hiding spot, had the boy’s ears not been poking up for all to see.  

Dagen cleared his throat and casually strolled to a spot a few meters to one side of the rack.  Not wanting the canine to feel threatened, he moved somewhat more slowly than he usually did.  

Years of experience had taught him that if one desired something from a varius, the best policy was to be direct, with no prevarication or hesitation.  Varii were highly sensitive to anyone who lied or even clouded the truth in an effort to be polite.  In this instance, if Dagen wanted to eat with the young man he need simply ask, although he knew it never hurt to add a little bait to the hook.

Casting his gaze downward over the clothing,  Dagen looked directly into the surprised eyes of his pursuer, and his voice was every bit as friendly as his words were blunt. “You lose.”

Vic’s ears flattened to the sides, his dismay at being caught so easily mixed with curiosity.  Did this man know the game?

“It’s all right,” continued the man, casually.  “I’ve had several varius friends over the years, and we all enjoyed playing Follow.”

Victus’s eyes went wide. He did know what Follow was!  Unsure of what to say, he extricated himself from the rack and shuffled his footpaws through the dirt, his tail unconsciously curling between his legs.

“You’re very good,”  Dagen reassured him, his tone even calmer. “It was fun.”

Victus’s tail came up a bit.  “You... knew?” he stammered.

“Oh yes,” Dagen said, his sparkling eyes never leaving the lad.  “But it’s been a long time since I’ve been tracked by anyone who really knew what they were doing.”

He paused, then sounded more serious.  “It’s time for my lunch, and I’m a bit hungry.” He looked back at the food, cooling on the table. “I bought a lot of food, though.  It’s too much for me to eat by myself and I have nobody to share it with.”  He waited for a response.  The young man was still quiet, the tips of his ears shaking the tiniest bit, as though still expecting to be punished. “Would you help me eat it?” he prompted.

Vic’s stomach chose that moment to express its discontent, growling so loudly that both could hear and answering the Kenzine’s question for the young varius.

Dagen smiled reassuringly.  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. I’m half-starved myself,” he chuckled, slowly moving closer to the food as he talked. “The Bazaar is huge.  Walking around this much is bound to make anyone ravenous.”

The young pup hadn’t moved, but his fingers twisting together revealed his conflict.  When he spoke, voice was small and uncertain. “My parents said I shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what?”  Dagen asked, pausing to face the boy.

“They said I shouldn’t take anything from strangers,” Vic said, remembering instructions he had been given years ago. “Especially food,” he added, quietly.

Dagen could not have been more pleased with the wolf’s caution.  “Well, they’re quite right,” He nodded, approvingly.  “I don’t suppose we could ask them?  I’d like to meet them.”

Vic’s voice caught in his throat.  He had become used to not having his parents around, but this man’s question had suddenly brought them back to the forefront of his mind.  “I… can’t” he stammered, his eyes becoming damp.  

Dagen’s brow knit with concern. “Why not?”

“Because...” he started, haltingly.  He didn’t want to say it.  For what felt like the longest time, Vic had kept his feelings bottled up from everyone, locked away so they wouldn’t hurt.  But the look the man in the robes gave him was so sincere, so comforting, that he was unable to maintain the facade.  “Because they’re dead,” he said quickly, spitting the words out, as if spending less time in his mouth might make them less real.

“I see,” Dagen said, unconsciously reaching out to touch the young wolf’s arm in sympathy.   Knowing how strong family units are to hybrids,  he chose his next words carefully.  “I wish that weren’t so.”  His hand scritched through the boy’s shoulder fur in the nearly universal sign of sympathy between varii.

Vic felt confusion wash over him.  This stranger made him feel comfortable, and suddenly there were things boiling out of him that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Your parents were wise,” Dagen continued. “Trust without reason can lead to disaster." He looked back to the table, where the food patiently waited.  “Will you come and sit with me, then? For a few minutes, at least?”

Victus nodded and walked back to the table, beside the strange man this time instead of following him.

Dagen put one of the bottles of fruit-flavored water in front of the young boy, then held out his hand.  "My name is Dagen,” he said, formally, “and I'm a member of the Kenzine order.  Will you share your name with me, so we might become friends?" 

Victus nervously took the man’s hand, but his grip was firm and his eyes steady. Victus wasn’t certain what to say, so he relied on what he remembered his father telling people he’d just been introduced to. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Dagen hadn’t missed that the boy had not shared his name, but he brought his quiet smile back in a conscious effort to reinforce the fact that everything they were doing was perfectly normal. He set two places with the disposable plates the vendors provided, putting the majority of the skewered meat on the second plate for Vic.  He put the noodles and pastries between them, then looked expectantly at his young friend.

The boy hadn’t touched the food, so Dagen broke spades.  “Mmmmm….” he hummed, as he put a tiny morsel of the meat into his mouth.  “This is really very tasty.”  Reaching over, he skewered a large portion of the noodles with his chopsticks and moved them onto the plate he’d set for the boy.  “These are really good, too.  You should try them.”

The flood of care was all but overwhelming.  “But...” Vic stammered.  As much as he wanted to accept the man’s generosity, he still found it difficult to trust.  Conflicted, he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, part of him wanting to run, and part wanting nothing more than to stay.

As a teacher of the Order, Dagen was more than a little curious about this young man’s thought processes.  The lupine’s behavior during these early interactions would tell Dagen far more about the pup than anything he might have learned from formal testing or from playing in the bazaar.

Dagen put down his chopsticks and devoted his attention to Victus. For all the intensity of his gaze his eyes never lost their gentle understanding, and he spoke to the boy as if to another well-reasoned adult.  “I can’t make you believe me, and I certainly don’t expect to have your complete trust so soon after meeting me.  But I don’t want you to be hungry either. “ He gestured to the plates between them. “There’s nothing wrong with the food.” He lifted a dumpling halfway to his lips in emphasis. “As you can see, I’m eating it too.”

Vic gave what the man said a great deal of thought.  He was worried that he might be taking too long, but the man waited patiently for his decision.  What Dagen said made sense, and he had to admit, he was very hungry.

Using the formal mode that his parents had taught him so long ago, he said, “Thank you for sharing your meal with me.” He thought carefully about what his next actions would be, then sat and offered Dagen his handpaw.  “My name is Victus.”