Debarre — 2350

Debarre and Do I Know God After The End Waking stood, naked and frowning, on the granite that hung, cantilevered, above the pond that had dug itself into the forest floor beneath the falls. It wasn’t a high drop, not enough to turn the stomach, but enough to keep them from simply jumping in.

“And you’re sure it’s deep enough?”

“I am not, no,” End Waking said and then let out a shout and leapt off the overhang out over the water

The weasel’s frowned deepened. No sounds of screaming below, at least.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and stepped off the edge of the rock, arms folded over his chest, and plunged, feet first, into the water.

The cold was enough to drive his breath from him. Even though there wasn’t any snow this low down on the hillside, it was still cold out and even colder up-slope from whence the snow-melt came. He realized, too late, that another possibility that there wasn’t any screaming from his boyfriend below was due to the frigid water.

All the same, there was nothing beneath his feet for at least another meter as he sank beneath the water.

Thankful for small victories, he swam shakily for the surface, breaching the water with a shallow gasp and teeth already chattering.

End Waking floated closer, treading water. The skunk’s smile was wide, but his teeth were clenched shut in a clear attempt to slow the shivering. “Pleasant day out, is it not?”

“F-fuck you,” Debarre said, laughing breathlessly. “I’m getting up to the fire ASAP.”

The skunk laughed, shoved at him weakly, and then swam for the shore, weasel in tow.

They slicked the water off themselves as best they could while walking. Fluffy as he was, End Waking had the larger job of it, having to spend most of the rest of the short trek back up the hill to the fire he’d built squeezing water out of his tail fur.

Once there, they parked a few feet before the fire and huddled beneath his woolen cloak, held open toward the flames, and soaked up as much warmth as they could.

“That was fucking cold,” Debarre said once he was able to speak without stammering. “You’re such an asshole, I can’t believe I ever listen to you. Fine fucking new year’s surprise.”

“Yes, well, I love you to,” End Waking said, grinning. “Thank you for joining me, and for your help today.”

They’d spent the afternoon building up a rammed earth wall for the skunk’s new house, pulling sandy clay from the pile they’d brought up from the pond’s shore the previous day, mixed in deer’s blood as a binder before stacking it in a frame, and pounding it with logs sanded smooth and cut down to a width that fit comfortably in their paws.

Part of the ramming process had involved carefully setting the chimney pipe for the wood stove between the layers of earth as they built up, something which had seemed an unnecessarily fiddly process, despite the admonitions that, if the pipe crumpled beneath the sand, clay, and blood while they pounded it, the wall wouldn’t be sturdy and there might be gaps. As it was, after they built up the rest of the tent, they’d have to seal it with more bloody earth and a layer of pitch.

It had left them both feeling worn out and dirty, and when Debarre said he was going to wash the sticky earth from his paws and fur, End Waking had suggested turning that into the icy plunge.

The skunk then built up the fire higher than usual, told Debarre that they’d need to do so nude as he shed his clothes by the fire so they’d stay dry, and them pulled him along to the rock overhang.

Once their fronts were mostly dry, they turned out to face the waterfall and ravine, draping the cloak over their fronts with their backs exposed to the fire, sitting in silence and leaning against each other, sharing warmth.

“Why don’t you build your camp here?”

“The river may overflow, and come spring, the fall will be quite loud.”

Debarre grinned, “Don’t need the white noise?”

“Not particularly, though I am more concerned about flooding. I already had a tree fall on me while I slept, you will surely remember, and I do not feel the need to be carried away on dirty waters so soon after.”

“Thanks for letting me back after that happened,” he said, more quietly. “And thanks for forking to fix your leg.”

“Of course, my dear. I do not know who else I would have called. And thank you for your patience during my solitude.”

Debarre nodded and slid an arm around the skunk’s waist. “I’m used to it by now. Besides, #Tracker had a larger merge than usual to deal with.”

“That is what happens when I steal a version of you away and then aliens visit one of the LVs. I will accept half of the blame.” He smiled, adding, “Well, perhaps less than half. You had your own stuff going on.”

“Well, #Tracker did.” He snorted, shook his head. “It’s what I get for only part of me hanging around interesting people.”

“Am I so boring, my dear?”

He shook his head. “No, just plain. Your life is pretty simple out here. #Tracker is still all caught up on all the political stuff with user11824 and Yared.”

End Waking made a face. “Gross.”

“They aren’t that bad,” he said, laughing.

“They are fine, I am sure,” the skunk said. “You may keep the political stuff, though.”

“I mean, that’s why I’m out here. It’s good to get away from all that bullshit.”

“Oh, so you are using me for a vacation, yes?”

Debarre laughed and poked at End Waking’s thigh. “Where’d this sense of humor come from?”

“The audacity of weasels never ceases to amaze,” he said. “I have a sense of humor. The squirrels and I share our private jokes. I practice them before the fire.”

“Fucking lame,” Debarre said, rolling his eyes. He tucked closer to the skunk all the same.

That End Waking was so open to touch over the last few weeks was something he was keen to take advantage of. He knew that neither of them were necessarily the cuddly type, and most of the time, he was happy with the level of physical contact he got from the skunk, just as he was with the partners his other forks had settled down with. Still, it was nice every once and a while. A bit of touch to keep him grounded. It tended to happen when their relationship picked up again, after both of them had spent months or years apart, each living their separate, more cerebral lives.

Before long, however, they set the cloak aside to get dressed, and Debarre watched as End Waking prepped a sizeable hare and pushed it onto a cast-iron spit and set it over the fire, a tilted pan beneath it catching the drippings.

They dined on the hare and squash roasted in the fat, both pungent with thyme. They stayed up until it was well and truly dark, talking about this or that, so long as it was light.

Worn out as they were, though, they didn’t last much longer, eventually retreating to the makeshift tent that End Waking had set up with the fabric that had been his previous shelter strung over a rope and draped over his recovered cot. Narrow as it was, they had to huddle close — the only time the skunk was consistently okay with close physical contact and intimacy — sharing each others’ warmth beneath the cloak and a few blankets besides.

“E.W.?”

“I like it when you call me that.”

“I’m a sucker for nicknames,” he said, tucking himself back against the skunk.

“That you are.” He rested his snout over Debarre’s shoulder. “What were you going to ask, my dear?”

“I…well, all these little changes are coming to the System. The ACL changes, the cones of silence…”

“I do not use those.”

“Well, but you never leave here and you gave up on all the politics.”

“This is by design.”

Debarre laughed, shaking his head. “I’m just worried about changes.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know,” Debarre mumbled. “I just think there’s a lot of subtle things — more like the little stuff May Then My Name talks about — and I’m worried those will go away or change.”

End Waking hummed thoughtfully. “They have survived Secession and Launch.”

“Yeah, but those were political things, right? Not technological things.”

“You are worried external engineers will tamper?”

He nodded.

“I do not know that they have a good enough understanding of the subtleties to do so. One does not understand forking or memory or sensoria until after uploading.”

“Well, maybe not intentionally changing things. Just knock on effects, maybe.” Or maybe internal politics encouraging changes, he added, mentally.

“I imagine they will be careful, even around the subtle things.”

They lay, silent, for a while, Debarre thinking and, if the slow slackening of his arm around the weasel’s chest was any indication, End Waking slowly falling asleep.

“E.W.?” he whispered.

“Mm?” A sleepy reply.

“Do you still feel em? Like, at night sometimes. Like a dream or something.”

There was a long, long silence before the skunk replied. “Sleep, my love. There is work to do in the morning. Sleep, and dream beautiful dreams.”