Chapter Text
Virgil imagined that most borrowers probably managed to pick up the language of the sgauthec whose homes they shared. Perhaps some of them might even pick a few different languages if the families moving in and out or the bad luck of needing to relocate themselves wound up requiring it.
Unfortunately for Virgil—or at least, unfortunate so far as understanding was concerned—he wasn't exactly a "borrower".
They were the same kind as he was, of course, both bychanec, but Virgil had never set foot into a human home in his life, let alone imagined carving out a thull there for himself. The family he had been born to had been just one part of a small traveling cythe that kept themselves hidden in the woods just out of humanity's reach...
Or, at least, it had been for most of his life. The sgauthec seemed to push farther and farther, and while his kin were nomadic, in his lifetime Virgil had seen them forced to move further and further from the established territories where they had been making their living since at least his grandparents' time. But it was dangerous to travel into unknown territory, and trying to do so with the entire cythe—whole families with children and elderly, and the full measure of the belongings that they carried—would have more or less been suicide. And so, their elder had sent out scouts to the fringes of their old territory, to look for new sources of food and water and shelter so that they could plot new traveling routes and find new sites for their families to shelter away from human eyes, and perhaps even stathlgn places where they might meet up with other cythen for trade.
With the safety of his siblings and his young cousins all firmly in mind, Virgil had volunteered to be one of those scouts. And, unfortunately, he had suffered the terrible misfortune of getting caught.
Fortunately, most sgauthec didn't seem to realize that the bychanec even existed, but, just as unfortunately, it didn't take the knowledge of many to make them dangerous. Virgil's only real piece of luck was that he had traveled so far from the route his cythe typically traveled that the odds of humans finding them if they went looking for more were low. After all, judging by the thundering weapons those humans had been carrying, they hadn't gone out into the woods to hunt for his kind in the first place. But the humans had dug a small pit for some purpose or another and Virgil had the great misfortune of falling into it, and he had regretably been unable to climb out again before he was discovered. They had stuffed him into a metal box littered with crumbs and smelling of some kind of unidentifiable, oily food and brought him back to the strange, unnatural lands where the sgauthec lived.
Virgil had changed hands several times since then, and he tried not to think about what had been exchanged in return that the humans seemed to think his life was worth.
The place he was being held currently was far from the worst that he had seen, though that bar wasn't set particularly high. Currently he was being kept in an enclosure made of glass with a lid that was made from a rigid, net-like material that allowed air in. And often the humans would leave scraps of cloth to be used as bedding, but thicker layers of some kind of cloth had been laid down to pad the floor as well. There was water not just to drink but to wash in, and a place to relieve himself where the humans passing by couldn't watch—both of which had been uncommon enough in his thankfully brief experience to nearly qualify as a luxury...
Which wasn't to say that he enjoyed it by any means, but that it still had a lot to recommend it over some of the other places where he had been kept so far.
As unfamiliar as he was with human things, there wasn't much else that he could glean about the place he had found himself. The walls were made of some kind of grey stone with a peculiarly even, stacked pattern, and he thought they might have been underground, but that was only his best guess. It was difficult to tell just how long he had been there, because the only light the place saw came from the human's strange devices, but Virgil thought it might have been close to half a fortnight.
The only thing he had managed to figure out was that it seemed to be a place of trade, though he didn't understand what most of what else was being traded there. It smelled very strongly, and of a great many things, though few of them he could name. Most of what was on the shelves was contained in boxes of metal or wood or bottles and jars made of glass, and the few things he had been given a brief glimpse of when patrons came through had made him shudder.
Of course, many of the humans that passed through for exchange seemed just as confused and dismayed as he was, which...didn't give him a lot of hope about where he might wind up in the end.
If there was one other notable detail about the place, it was that, for better or worse, he wasn't there alone. They had another of his kind there—an actual borrower, and one who unfortunately spoke almost none of the language that Virgil knew. Despite both of their best efforts, the most that Virgil had managed to get was his name, which was Roman. Which wasn't to say that Roman never talked—he talked a lot, in fact, and didn't seem much bothered by the fact that Virgil only understood the odd word here or there.
It was annoying at times, though at others it was soothing, the way Roman filled the silence. Particularly when the human who normally occupied this place left—most likely leaving for wherever it was that they actually slept. When the strange lights were all extinguished leaving only the stranger glows of some of the things kept on the shelves, when the lack of other sounds made the unfamiliar humming and buzzing noises he couldn't identify stand out sharply against his senses, it was of great comfort to have others to focus on. To know that Roman was there...
And it was why, over the course of three days after Roman's arrival, Virgil hadn't failed to notice as Roman had gradually grown more and more quiet.
It hadn't been obvious at first, but over time his long-winded accounts, whatever he was talking about, had slowly but surely gotten shorter. It was only in hindsight that Virgil realized it was because it had become difficult, as the days passed, for Roman to sustain them. He had also become noticeable less animated as time went on. He began eating less, and spent less time trying to engage Virgil in one-sided conversation or any of the other activities the borrower had attempted to keep himself occupied.
But it was only as the third day opened up that Virgil realized how serious the situation really was.
The human had a loose routine that they followed whenever they entered the trading space where the two of them were being kept. Part of that routine—though one that was often put off for several hours—included leaving them their food and water for the day. Between the arrival of food, the noise as they removed the lid from the enclosure, and the unavoidable disturbance as saw to the necessary housekeeping, the event of the human's visit was rather impossible either to miss or to ignore. And when Roman had failed to rouse from the nest he had built for himself in one corner, Virgil had gathered up his share to bring it to him.
And as he was forced, with great effort, to shake the other awake, Virgil had quickly realized that the borrower was sick.
Like, really sick. Roman's eyes were noticeably hazy once he opened them, and up close he could see that his cheeks were bright with fever. And though, once the borrower managed to wake, he had drawn himself out of bed to eat readily enough, now that he was watching Virgil couldn't help but notice how careful his movements had become.
Neither of them had tried to get close enough to the other to touch, neither of them really sure how much they could hope to understand boundaries when communication was already so hard, but Virgil took a chance, just then, to cross that unspoken line and put a hand on Roman's shoulder. When he watched the borrower flinch, looking somewhat dazed, he pinned him with a glare that, thankfully, communicated wordlessly that Roman was to hold still and allow him to take a look...
Though Virgil really hated what he saw.
At some point before being brought in to the current human's dubious care, something had clearly gotten hold of him. Something with claws large enough to have raked massive wounds across his back. And perhaps he had been lucky enough to get away with a graze—from the size and the spread, Virgil was sure they could have been much deeper—but he hadn't been lucky enough not to have it break the skin. And, because of the location—and because the absolute idiot hadn't taken the time to draw Virgil's attention to it for help—he hadn't been able to clean or take care of them properly on his own.
They were infected. Badly. And from the visibly ashamed expression on Roman's face, Virgil had a feeling he was well aware how bad it was.
Unfortunately, even now that he knew there wasn't much of anything in Virgil's power to do about it. Still, he was determined to try to help in the few ways he could. He had at least been able to coax Roman into allowing him to help clean the wounds, and though infection had already gone deep enough that he didn't know how much good it would do, it was still much better than simply doing nothing.
Other than that, over the next two days that followed, Virgil just tried to do his best to keep Roman comfortable however he could. He tried to discourage him from moving, though Roman largely ignored him. At first, he thought that Roman was just restless—or stubborn—but he allowed himself to lie down and rest without complaint whenever the human was gone. Virgil eventually realized that Roman was afraid of the human learning about his injury. He didn't understand why, but then Roman probably understood the things the human said to its visitors whenever they peered through the glass of their encousure. He probably knew better than Virgil ever would just how much worse their situation could be...
He still didn't know why the borrower had hidden it from him, though, and if Roman's condition worsened as quickly as he feared it would, it was possible that he might never know.
Virgil had never been one to pray. It wasn't that he necessarily believed that there weren't spirits out there that might listen, but it had always seemed more helpful to put his faith in the things he knew—the folks of his cythe who he traveled with daily and the work of his own hands. But there was nothing within reach of his hands at the moment that could help Roman, and nothing better to do with his time than reach out—to his ancestors if they could hear him, or to whatever strange spirits might dwell in this place if not—for help, or a windfall, or even just guidance towards something he could do.
And if that proved hopeless, then perhaps any spirits that were listening might at least take pity on Roman and guide him gently, afterward, to wherever he needed to go.
The last thing Virgil had on his mind the following day—morning, evening, whenever it was that the human came in to manage their business—was that those prayers might actually be answered.
(And he certainly wouldn't have guessed that they had, given the alarming form that answer had taken.)
He hadn't seemed unusual at first, the stranger that stepped into the room—save that they were taller than any other sgauthec that Virgil had seen so far. Tall enough that even the human that owned the space seemed intimidated by it. But he had clearly come with business in mind, and the human had visibly pushed those concerns aside.
Virgil hadn't. Virgil was still developing his instincts when it came to assessing these creatures for the threats they were, but as untried as those instincts were he still knew better than to ignore them. And though he couldn't quite name whatever it was, he knew that something about this particular sgauthec just felt...off in a way that he didn't dare to ignore.
Whatever business the newcomer had come for, it seemed to be expected that it would take some time, for after rattling off whatever information it was that the other human needed it used the time that was left to it to browse. Virgil kept a close eye as he roved the space, peering over the unusual items on all the shelves. And he was braced for it by the time the strangers eyes eventually wandered over the enclosure where he and Roman were being kept...but he wasn't braced for the sudden focus in his attention, nor the slow smile that spread across his features.
Regardless of his fear, Virgil tried not to show it as the stranger approached, nor to stare too obviously as those massive features loomed beyond the glass as he stooped down to look at them.
And Roman was awake and trying to seem lively, particularly now that there was another human poking about. He seemed wary of the stranger as well, though it seemed like he was less concerned with being seen staring back, and the attention, unfortunately, seemed to draw the human's eyes directly to it. Alarmed by the shift in scrutiny Roman had finally looked away, but the damage had already been done...
Virgil was still watching, however, when the creature's eyes changed, amber-brown shifting briefly to a sharp-pupiled and nearly luminous yellow, and he saw the dark, snake-like tongue that darted forth from between parted lips to taste the air, and suddenly he was frozen by the sight-
With fear and alarm, yes, of course, but also now, strangely, he felt the slightest, maddest little sliver of hope. Because this enormous creature staring down at them wasn't a human, clearly, but although it seemed improbable Virgil...thought he might know what the stranger actually was. And already he seemed to have become unmistakably interested in the both of them...
It was a gamble—a dangerous and absolutely terrifying one—but Virgil was desperate, and Roman was only going to get worse if he did nothing.
Surely there wasn't much that either of them had left to lose?