Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (best classic books .txt) 📕

own!” Boomer nudged his old friend, but it wasn’t met with the same camaraderie he’d been accustomed to. Ox seemed different, quieter. Every time he finished speaking, darkness came over him, as if he was preoccupied by some horrible thought.

Nitro noticed this as well, and his smile faded into concern. “Ah!” He slapped the giant’s furry arm. “Come on, we’ll get you some food,” he urged him. Ox nodded and followed, only to be stopped short by their escort.

The Eighth had dismounted and was assessing the new, large threat. Ox paused, though not out of fear. Even after his great and harrowing journey to arrive back with the team, he would not back down from a fight. He straightened his back, reminding everyone of his true mass, and he looked at the Eighth.

“A Waykind,” it said, coldly. “This is unexpected.”

Ox’s jaw swerved as he also assessed the Eighth. “I could say the same,” he murmured.

“It’s fine.” Nitro put himself between the two. “He’s with us,” he told the Eighth before spinning around and shoving an MRE into the Waykind’s chest. “Here, buddy. Eat.”

Ox’s wide yellow eyes turned from angry and ready for a fight to annoyed and inconvenienced. He saw the urgency in his captain’s eyes, the need to keep the peace; in all his years with the captain, he’d only seen these qualities in him once before. “This is for the girl, isn’t it?”

Nitro’s face became apologetic. “You got a lot to catch up on, pal.” He patted him and urged him away from the Eighth. They opened the MRE, laid the bag over the back of the snow-glider, and continued their hike to the base.

Upon seeing Ox finish the food, Josie approached the Waykind. “Thank god,” she muttered. “Here, my arms are killing me.” Josie excitedly handed Ula to Ox, and her arms dropped in exhaustion. “Man,” she groaned as Ox stared at the child with a raised eyebrow. Josie patted the Waykind on the back and walked away. “Good to have you back, big guy.”

Ula’s look to the large mercenary was not one of scrutiny but astonishment. She’d never seen anything like him, only read of his people in books. They stared at each other for some time before her astonishment turned to joy. “You are my new best friend.” Ox’s eyebrow dropped into an unappreciative understanding of the situation. He walked as he was bombarded by questions from the young Herulean.

Slowing her pace so they could pass her, Josie stretched. She was grateful to finally get feeling back in her arms and silence back in her life. She sighed deeply, and only listened to the crunch of her boots along the snow.

She’d lost track of time before Martin caught up with her. She greeted him with a glance and nothing more. Noticing his expression, she glanced at him again. He seemed confused or troubled, and she was surprised how much that bothered her. Finally coming to terms with that feeling, she spoke to him. “I didn’t know you were divorced.”

He chuckled. “I have been named ‘the greatest mind of our age’, by several publications. I created life, for fuck’s sake! But no.” His hands flashed out in the air, as if reading a marquee. “Martin Collier: divorcee.” They laughed, but he didn’t seem to find it as funny as she did.

“I guess it’s hard to keep important people around in your line of work,” Josie mused; her head leaned back to let the cold air hit her neck.

Martin nodded; it was a very small nod, with no words to follow it. His social abilities had nearly evaporated since his incarceration, but she made him want to do better. His lips pursed for a moment as he dwelled on what she said. Giving up on the thought, he grumbled and raised something he’d been carrying. “Here.” He handed her a tall, metal thermos. He didn’t stop to wait for her to open it, nor did he make any attempt to conclude the conversation: he simply walked faster.

Josie furrowed a brow, her eyes fixed on the thermos as he walked away. She frowned slightly before she spun the container open. Steam poured out, and a familiar scent enveloped her: tea. She looked up to see his back, the surprise still fresh on her face. As she watched him walk into the gray winds, she closed the container and popped open the small slit to drink from. She drank it with a smile in her eyes as she watched Ox carry Ula.

To Ox, Ula was a taxing, inquisitive, and unceasing reminder that he had survived recent events. And as strenuous as she’d proven to be, it was a welcome assault on his ears and patience. “So you can talk to dead people?”

“They speak to me; we do not converse.”

“Can all of you do it?”

He held her in one arm as his other hand used his staff for support. Despite the bumps, scrapes, and bruises he’d taken on his travels, being ejected from the transport seemed to have the most lasting physical effect on him. Only those who knew him—and the little one in his arm—noticed the psychological trauma from his journey. His answers were short and patient, though it was more than likely due to his weariness. “With proper training, yes.”

“And you’re not scared?!”

Ox smiled. “They cannot hurt me, nor I them.”

Ula paused as a thought occurred to her. Her hands clung tighter to his fur as hope sparked in her eyes. The next question came slowly and painfully. “Can you see my parents?”

Ox’s lips tightened and his eyelids drooped. He understood the weight of such a question. He’d heard many like it in his time, but hearing it from a child stung him worse than most. “I do not choose who I see.” His low voice was nearly a grumble, as he did not wish such grief upon someone so small. “But believe me, little one; I wish I could.”

Ula nodded as a pout emerged on her