Fur

v | After Today

The treehouse used to belong to Leila's older brothers. It had been commissioned by their mother when she was still alive, before Leila was. But her brothers were grown now and had no further interest in it. They abandoned it when Suzanna passed, because it reminded them too much of her.

But Leila had no memories of her mother nor the treehouse she had built for her children. And so Leila staked her claim over the structure some odd years ago and faced no competition for it. She had once craved that competition. When she was five she used to try coaxing her brothers into visiting the treehouse with her, into spending the day there, just the three of them in a secret, shared haven. But any hope of her earning their favor had been buried with their mother.

Zakai was the first person to ever join Leila in her treehouse. He followed her up the board ladder that was nailed into the trunk, keeping close to her just as she had to him as they dug their way up that muddy cliffside on the night of the flood. She wondered if that same memory was evoked for him as well. It must have been. It was the only thing they had to judge each other on: that one disastrous night.

But Leila's arms and legs hurt now, more than they had when the adrenaline of the flood had numbed them. The wounds bestowed by the feral dogs had healed hours ago, yet the fatigue and exhaustion remained. She'd had her fill of climbing for the day and was glad when she could finally step up onto the flat landing that acted as the treehouse's balcony.

Zakai stepped up shortly behind her. She opened the door for him, the knob pitching a shriek to ache both of their ears as it turned.

Inside, it was dark. The floors were wooden. Dead leaves that had blown in from many years past crinkled beneath their feet. The windows were glassless, and a gentle spring breeze twirled through the small main room. Within it mixed their scents, mingling in the air before blowing past Leila and out the door she hadn't bothered to close.

It would ride on the wind until reaching the manorhouse, where Garrett Ardeneux, Leila's father, sat contemplating, his library's window open to let in the dusk air. Though they would never know it, their scents would waft into the library, crawl over a stack of leather bound books near the sill—some left open on the desk—and dance across the aisles to where Garrett sat, inhaling softly.

His irritation would be spurred at the recognition of his dead mate's daughter's scent. It reminded him of the problem he continuously failed to solve, of the problem he sat laboring over right then. But his irritation would fade into something else—into something not yet identified and which stiffened him in his seat—at the recognition of Belfiore boy's.

"It's nice," Zakai said as they roamed about the treehouse. There were two rooms: the main one containing the door and the windows, and one off to the side that had not an open window, but a pair of wooden shutters that were latched closed.

"It's bare," Leila disagreed. Bare of furniture, bare of decor, of any objects with any significance. Bare of life.

"We could fill it," he offered suddenly, his voice heightening. "The flood ruined our first cabin, but the furniture is still in it. No one else would keep it, would they? It's all wet."

Leila thought of her grandfather's adoration of all things unique and grand, of the shininess of his office, and the hand-carved chair that sits in it. He would deem anything with so much as a raindrop fell upon it as trash.

"No. No, it will all be burned."

The cabin would not be rebuilt or replaced. It was one of the few private residences kept for guests of honor, such as the newly acquired Belfiores, who had left their prestigious pack in Italy in exchange for the Ardeneuxs'. Zakai and his parents had already moved into the cabin given to the Belfiore matriarch, thus the ruined one had no further use and would be burnt to the ground once it dried enough to do so.