Page 4 of Faun Over Me

“Right. Of course, that’s right,” she muttered, hitching her skirt to swing a leg over a recently fallen tree trunk. The storm the night before had been wild, blowing in from the west without any warning. It was a wonder they hadn’t lost power in the camp, so Avery was hardly surprised to find a tree blocking the path. The sweet scent of rotting wood tickled her nose and she rubbed it with her palm, peering at the dark hollow of splintered oak and churned earth at the base of the trunk. “Why else would they be here if we weren’t supposed to share this earth with them?”

She straddled the tree, enjoying the quiet of the wood and the peace that thought brought. She could do this—get over the biases of her upbringing and be better before starting a graduate program at a fully integrated university.

Avery slid off the trunk and started down the trail feeling lighter. It all seemed so easy now that she’d argued her way out of a legalistic trap. Every living thing was on the earth for a reason that she, a single human, wasn’t in a place to question. All she had to do was accept it and be kind. Easy.

She ducked under a low branch, and a thorny bush snagged her skirt. Grumbling, she stooped and tugged at the fabric, yanking it free with a tearing sound that didn’t bode well for the fabric.

“Great. Just great.” She inspected the inch-long tear, tossing the fabric aside as she rose, took two steps, and stopped at the sight of a skinny, haggard form leaning against a tree less than six feet away.

“Hel—” the figure wheezed, raising a filthy, shaking arm. Sunlight glinted off of the tips of three trembling fingers. “Help me.”

“Ohmygosh.” Avery rushed over, stopping short when the figure lurched away from the tree and practically threw itself at her.

“It’s in the woods,” they gasped, gripping Avery’s shoulders. Sharp points pinched her skin and raised goosebumps. They drew close, blinking at her with wide and wild, coppery eyes. Mud caked their arms, masking their face and matting the curls clinging to their head. “It followed me, I ran, I—”

“Are you okay?” Avery circled her fingers around their thin wrists—they were covered in a soft, delicate down, she noticed—and gently pulled them away.

“It followed me; it’s out there. I ran as fast as I could.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Avery raised her voice, using the “counselor tone” that worked so well on her campers. “Calm down, okay?” The creature’s pupils tightened to thin, horizontal ovals. Every muscle went taut, and they held themselves so still Avery wondered if they were breathing at all.

They weren’t a camper; she knew that much. As Assistant Director, it was part of her job to know every kid in their bunks, if not by name, then by sight, and this figure with their mud-caked clothes and soft downy fur, was neither a camper, counselor, or staff member of Elkwater Music Camp. “Where are you from?”

Those narrow pupils pulsed, and they twitched to meet Avery’s gaze. “Monongahela.”

And with a tight exhale, they collapsed.

Avery stood there, biting her lower lip and weighing her options. Nurse Almaden would be on the field this time of day, ensuring none of the wolven collapsed from heat stroke. Her roommate would be goodness knew where, and even if Avery could find her, what would Sanoya do? This wasn’t a camper; they didn’t belong here, which meant there was only one person to go to for help.

Avery turned and ran, scrambling over the tree trunk and hitching her skirt to lengthen her stride. In half the time it took to reach that part of the wood, she was back with Director Murray in tow.

“They said they ran here,” she panted, hitching forward and gripping her knee with one hand, pointing to the figure lying crumpled in the dirt with the other.

Director Murray skidded to a halt, the flush in her cheeks from their run fading as she stared down at the creature in shock. “She ran here?”

“How do you know it’s a she?” The figure was a mess, all torn clothes, mud, and twigs. If she’d learned one thing over the last month of being thrown feet-first into integration, it was that one never assumed gender. That was an easy way to earn the hatred of a skunk ape, and she was still apologizing for making that mistake by calling the camp cook, a rat-like inhuman with four arms and too many tails to count, “ma’am.”

Director Murray glanced at Avery and then crouched beside the figure, brushing matted curls away from its face. Her shocked expression eased to worry. “I just do.”

“Do you know…her?”

Director Murray tensed, working her jaw before speaking again. “Go back to camp.”

“What?”

“Go back to camp, grab Nurse Almaden, and send her to my cabin.”

“Do you want me to help—”

“Go, Avery,” Director Murray snapped, angrier than Avery had ever heard her. “Go and get the nurse; I’ll handle this.” She gathered the figure in her arms, struggling to her feet and turning to head back to camp. The creature hung limp, her head lolling and feet dangling.

No. Not feet.

Avery startled back, pressing against a tree as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The torn hem of filthy yoga pants gave way to delicate, lean calves covered in more mud, and where she would have expected shoes or toes, the creature’s ankle tapered into a cloven hoof.

“Avery,” Director Murray’s voice was calm and even. It was the voice she used whenever a counselor called her to a particularly rambunctious bunk after lights out. “Go get the nurse.”

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