Chapter Text
Shadowheart is just settling in for her evening prayers when she notices a flash of that algae-pond green moving quickly across camp: Lae’zel snatching up Scratch’s ball, stalking towards the woods.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Shadowheart demands, hurrying to the dog’s side. Scratch pants happily, fixated on the ball in Lae’zel’s hand.
Lae’zel tuts. One of those ugly gith words, a bite of consonants. “As much as you brag about your devotion to secrecy, you continue to prove that you just love sticking your nose into the business of others.”
“Just when I thought I’d seen the depravity of your kind at its fullest. Stealing a poor dog’s ball?” Shadowheart makes a grab for the ball; Lae’zel tosses it to her other hand, grimacing at the sheen of drool it leaves behind. “For what purpose? Just to ruin the day of a being actually capable of feeling joy?”
“By the hells, Shadowheart, she’s taking the thing for a bloody walk,” Wyll says from his tent, where he’s lying with his arm splayed over his eyes. A group of the tieflings had invited him to go out drinking the night before to ‘celebrate’ his new membership in the humanoids-with-horns club; the hangover appeared epic.
“A walk,” Shadowheart repeats, crossing her arms. “Why?”
“I assume the animals of this world require some amount of exercise if they’re not to collapse under the weight of their own atrophying muscles,” Lae’zel says, wiping her slobber-covered hand on the corner of Wyll’s tent. “But you wouldn’t know, would you? Do the disciples of Shar pre-kill their pets so they can skip right to the loss?”
Shadowheart bristles. A hazy memory nudges at the back of her brain – herself as a child, asking a woman with purple skin for a puppy; the sharp slap she received in response. She offers up a quick prayer of thanks to Shar for curing her of such foolishness. “Fine,” Shadowheart says, giving Scratch a pat. “Don’t hurry back. I have a feeling the camp will feel quite peaceful in your absence.”
Lae’zel disappears into the trees, Scratch plodding after her. “She’s something, isn’t she?” Wyll says dreamily, hanging a shirt over his horns to better block the light.
“She’s a lot of things,” Shadowheart says, squinting at the forest. She doesn’t think she’ll relax until Scratch is back home safe. It wouldn’t be unlike Lae’zel to use the creature as target practice.
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To Shadowheart’s great relief, Scratch returns in one piece. (Lae’zel also returns in one piece, which Shadowheart feels pretty neutrally about.)
However, the next day, Lae’zel once again leads Scratch off into the woods. She’s gone for over an hour, returning without so much as a word to the rest of them. The pattern continues for a week; every day, as soon as they’ve all finished their lunch of whatever Tav is able to scrounge on the road, Lae’zel and Scratch head out for a joint stroll. The others aren’t nearly as concerned about it as they should be.
“Her people pop out of eggs and immediately start killing,” Shadowheart says grumpily. Dirt flies in their direction as Scratch digs a hole to bury the bugbear bone that Karlach had brought him. “Do you really think she’s softhearted enough to repeatedly seek the company of a dog?”
“Dunno,” Karlach says, her chin in her hands as she watches Scratch work. “Lots of the tough ones have got a bit of softness, deep down. People get a load of the big guns” – she flexes, her biceps sizzling – “and write me off as a heartless murder machine all the time.”
“Well, that’s hardly fair,” Shadowheart says. “I’d say you’re a rather compassionate murder machine.”
“Thanks, soldier.”
Scratch barks boisterously, his bone snugly buried in its hole. Lae’zel, beating the stuffing out of her makeshift mindflayer training dummy, glares at the sudden noise.
“You see? She doesn’t even like Scratch!” Shadowheart huffs, pushing her hair out of her eyes. When she gets her memories back, maybe she’ll understand why she chose to maintain bangs while pursuing a mission that doesn’t often cause her to cross paths with hairstylists. “Poor little guy. I wonder if he thinks she’s a giant lizard. Dogs like chasing those, don’t they?”
Karlach shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him? Can you do the thing that Tav does? Flash a’ magic, suddenly every squirrel in the land wants to be your buddy?”
“Oh!” Of course: Tav can cast a spell that allows them to speak with animals. Whatever they say to that strange ox every time the group visits the grove, it can’t be very nice – Shadowheart could swear the ox gives Tav the stink eye each time they pass through. “You’re a genius, Karlach,” Shadowheart says, taking off towards Tav’s tent.
“Don’t I know it,” Karlach shouts after her, drawing another glare from Lae’zel. Karlach gives her a big wave, beaming; she could swear the corners of Lae’zel’s mouth turn up before the gith resumes her attack on the defenseless dummy. Softie, Karlach thinks, reheating her mug of tea with the heat from her hand.
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Shadowheart is used to magic falling into two categories: the kind that knits wounds back together, and the kind that opens them.
Tav’s spell to converse with animals is neither, and it takes some time for her to wrap her head around. Shadowheart confidently introduces herself to many a raccoon and chipmunk, only for the creatures to blankly stare back, uncomprehending.
At last, something clicks; when Shadowheart tiredly greets her third wild rabbit of the day, the rabbit responds, “You smell like food! Carrots? Carrots? Carrots? Carrots?”
“Sorry, friend, no carrots,” Shadowheart says back, rejoicing at the hard-won success. The rabbit thumps its foot, confused at the stranger’s happiness at the sad reality of no carrots.
That night, when the members of their group begin to yawn and gravitate towards their bedrolls, Shadowheart finds Scratch lounging in the crackling heat of the dying fire. “Hi, Scratch,” Shadowheart says.
Scratch bolts up with a yip. “Hello!” he says, tail wagging. “I didn’t know that you could talk!”
“I just learned how.”
“Good for you!” Scratch says, nuzzling her arm. “We have much to discuss. I smelled five bushes and ten trees and seven rocks today. I marked three of the rocks and two of the trees. Someone else had marked one of the trees but it’s marked by me now. The elf with the sharp teeth dropped some of his dinner on the ground and when he is asleep I am going to eat it.”
“That’s great,” Shadowheart says, glancing around. Lae’zel is over by her tent; she looks like she’s preoccupied by some kind of prayer, her palms upturned on her knees. Her form isn’t nearly as good as Shadowheart’s. “Could I ask you a question?”
“You can, but I don’t know a lot,” Scratch says. “Unless you are asking about the trees and the rocks. I know a lot about those.”
“You’ve been going on a lot of walks with the green one.”
“That is not a question!” Scratch says cheerfully, lying back to roll in the grass. “I do not know ‘green.’ The scary woman is yellowish-tan to me. My back is itchy.”
“Focus, please, Scratch,” Shadowheart says, snapping her fingers. Scratch sits up, ears at attention. “Where has she been taking you? What have you been doing?”
“We walk all around. Sometimes we play fetch. Sometimes we just find a spot and sit. She smells very strange. Never smelled anything like her before.” Scratch sneezes. “She talks a lot. The whole time, most times. Sometimes she says ‘Scratch.’”
“She’s talking the whole time,” Shadowheart muses. Strange. Planning out her fantasies of genocide out loud, maybe.
“You are Shadowheart, yes? That is your name?”
“It is. See, you know plenty of things.” Shadowheart gives Scratch a pat.
“She says ‘Shadowheart’ a lot,” Scratch says. “Far more than she says ‘Scratch.’ I wish that she would say ‘Scratch’ more. No offense.”
Shadowheart freezes mid-pat. “She’s talking about me?”
“I guess so. Do you have any more dinner?”
“What does she say about me?” Shadowheart demands. “Is she plotting to kill me? Should I forego sleep tonight?”
“She says a lot of words,” Scratch says, his ears flattening a bit at Shadowheart’s change of tone. “I don’t know most of them. I feel that I’ve made you upset, Miss Shadowheart. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s not you, Scratch,” Shadowheart says. “It’s her. Listen – the next time you go out with her, I may trail behind. Do you think you could pretend that I’m not there?”
“This is a game,” Scratch says wisely, tail thumping again. “I am. Excellent. At games.”
“You are,” Shadowheart agrees. She steals another glance at Lae’zel’s tent; the gith is wiping off her war paint for the night, scrubbing the black makeup with a cloth. She’s more lizardlike without the charcoal, all of the spots on her face fully visible. She’s also less intimidating. Lae’zel’s eyes, usually two lit lanterns emerging from a pit of black, are unfocused and clouded with sleep. Her hair is out of its complicated braids, messily falling around her face. In the deceptive light of the half-moon, she almost looks like a person.
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“You’re certain his salivary glands are not defective?” Lae’zel says, eying the ropes of drool hanging from Scratch’s mouth with distaste. “I have not witnessed another being of your world produce the same volume of spittle.”
“He’s fine,” Halsin promises, pausing in his task of whittling a hunk of cedar into the likeness of a deer. Newly rescued from the goblins, he’s begun to stop by camp to cool down after his many heated confrontations with Kagha. “Each of this realm’s magnificent creatures possess their own quirks. Dogs slobber.”
“On this subject alone, I’ll defer to your knowledge.” Lae’zel laces up her boots. “Come, Scratch. We must go before the heat of the afternoon sun becomes too much for your poorly-designed anatomy.”
“Remember,” Shadowheart murmurs to Scratch, hoping that the others don’t notice the quick spark of magic as she casts Tav’s animal-speaking spell. “If you see me, you don’t see me.”
“Those two things are opposite,” Scratch says. “A most confusing game. I will win it.”
Once Lae’zel and Scratch are almost out of sight, Shadowheart loudly declares, “I think I’ll go fetch us some more firewood.”
“Looks like you have plenty,” Halsin says, expertly using his knife to give his wooden deer a regal expression.
“It can’t hurt to have more,” Shadowheart calls over her shoulder, already hustling toward the trees.
Weaving through the greenery, Shadowheart takes a moment to call up the spell that allows her to pass most places without a trace; only those with the keenest eyes and ears might be able to notice her presence. Big as Lae’zel’s ears are, Shadowheart has watched the gith walk right into traps without sensing a threat. She’s not that concerned.
Lae’zel and Scratch are up ahead, walking along a woodland path strewn with fallen leaves. Lae’zel is speaking; Shadowheart can hear the growl of her voice cut through the backdrop of gentle nature noises, even if she’s too far away to make out the words. Careful not to step on any especially crunchy leaves, Shadowheart hurries forward, taking cover behind trees and bushes as she goes.
“ – wasting our dwindling time asking every gnome and halfling we pass whether they need any help,” Lae’zel is saying. She kicks a pinecone, sending it flying into the foliage. “Don’t they comprehend the danger we’re in? The fate worse than death that creeps ever closer? T’chaki. I can’t understand it. Our only goal should be – must be – to locate a creche.”
Shadowheart would laugh if doing so wouldn’t blow her cover. So that’s all this is: Lae’zel’s usual string of complaints, blabbered at a dog when no one else will stand to listen to her. It’s pitiful, really. She can’t wait to tell the others.
“It should be the only thought allowed to occupy my mind as well,” Lae’zel says, tossing Scratch’s ball. Scratch bounds after it, scampering back proudly. “For my mind is a fortress, Scratch. Impenetrable. Ironclad. And yet, as of late, it has been invaded.”
Shadowheart creeps closer, flattening herself against the bark of a massive oak tree. Lae’zel tosses the ball again, chking in disapproval when Scratch briefly loses it among the leaves.
“Why her?” Lae’zel says, lacing her fingers together to stretch her arms above her head. Her movements are much more relaxed when she thinks she’s alone, Shadowheart notes. “Even out of the limited options offered by this motley istik crew, why her? Wyll has made his interest painfully clear. Astarion is a tempting specimen by anyone’s tastes. But they are not where my thoughts stray in the loneliest stretches of the night.”
Shadowheart readjusts in her hiding spot. She’ll have to warn Karlach that the lizard is trying to slither up big red tiefling mountain.
“I have bedded rivals before,” Lae’zel tells Scratch, who is investigating a large pile of dung of unknown origin. “Hotheaded warriors in K’llir. While in training, I learned that the classmates I most clashed with would often make the most exciting conquests. But she is no warrior. Arguing with her is like batting a thousand flies from around my head. Nuisance. Kainyank. She does not deserve the gift of my attention. Besides, I’m sure she throws all gifts straight into the fire to satisfy the sadism of her precious Shar.”
Bitch, Shadowheart thinks. Then she thinks, Wait. What?
“Her eyes,” Lae’zel says in a sigh, leaning against the thick trunk of a fallen tree. “Her hair. The scent of her, more floral than flowers. Ceaseless torment. She heals me after battle and the touch of her hand sets me ablaze. She cuts me with her insolent remarks and I feel my pulse stampeding like the steeds of war. Even in its tadpoled state, my brain knows full well that she is beneath me. But my body rebels.”
“This is bear dung,” Scratch says confidently.
“Yes,” Lae’zel says. “Bark, Scratch. Let the smaller and weaker beings of this forest know the power of your voice. I too wish to shout until the birds flee their treetop perches. A pity: the sun grows strong. We should return.”
Lae’zel turns; in a dozen steps, she’ll be on the other side of Shadowheart’s hiding tree. In a mad scramble, Shadowheart climbs as far up the tree as she can, making it to the first sizable branch before Lae’zel pauses, one long gith ear flicking up.
“Hey!” Scratch barks, pawing at Lae’zel’s leg. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!”
“Yes, yes,” Lae’zel says, patting Scratch’s head. “It is past your designated mealtime, I know. Lead on.”
As Scratch gallops ahead, he spares a quick look back at Shadowheart’s tree. It’s the first time she’s seen a dog wink.