FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Today we've been out in the ashen vale. It's not a crowded place like the slurry sink or the fleshen growth. But the dudes around smell funny, just sand and bones they are, and a chatty folk at that. Most of them make a clattering sound with their teeth while they speak. In some way, it's like listening to a flute with a xylophone build in, totally awesome.

One of them is Bill. Used to do files in his life, he said, now he enjoys to play wind with the other drieds. He's still wearing his office shirt and trousers. Kinda like a mummy in a suit he looks, and tall I tell ya! He asked us who we were - after all, it's not often that realm-dwellers speak with any of the stranded. When we told him about Cerberus and his kin we were able to peak through the hole where his nose once was and could actually watch these silver lights of his mind forming and connecting inside that hollow skull. Seems he had heard the legend, but hadn't given much about it in life. Told us he was all buried in figures and numbers. Silly dried.

Anyway, we explained to him we were one of Cerberus' ascendants. Of his kind there were hunters and guards and trackers, while we were a herder. That made Bill curious, so we told him we looked around the different realms along the shores of Styx, looking after the individual stranded.

"So... do I need to do something now?" he asked. Lefty snickered and Right shook his head, rolling his eyes. We told him he was free to do whatever he liked, we were around just to watch, sometimes interact. Sure we had to guard some stranded at times, but since most of them weren't exactly hot blooded...

Bill laughed at that. The sound made us listen closely and wag, it was so unique. The drieds don't really make much conscious sound, their lungs are shrivelled or sometimes missing. Like with spectres, you understand them through their spirit. But when the memory of laughter went through his body, his ribcage extended and contracted, he had his lose jaw opened wide and the skull far in the neck, and like when they play wind, that produced enough air-movement to let the separate inner sinews vibrate. Together with that crystalline 'cling' from his spirit, we were to listen to a short but memorable cascade of soft notes.

When he looked at us again, it seemed like his dead smile had grown even bigger. He invited us to join him and his friends. Eagerly we accepted. Lefty was all excited, for a while ago we had met here a stranded who used one of his shoes - foot still inside - to play fetch with us.

So when we reached the other two, we realized they had found themselves a place where two dead trees stood close to each other. The upper half of one of them had broken down in between them. Not only was it a rare sight in here to see two dead plants that close to each other, but also the drieds had enough space on the broken down tree to sit comfortably together. If they didn't play wind, they enjoyed the stillness of the area or made bets on how many circles it would take of the two opposing suns before any of the ash flakes on the ground moved. A challenging game, we reckoned, for there was scarcely any natural wind in that realm. The suns circled in perfect distance around it, thus there were no seasons, no nights, no change of climate in any way. Only air-movement from the Styx or neighbouring realms could reach this place. And the sight of a dust bug. Surely, they didn't welcome the sight, since it meant they couldn't play any bets until it was out of sight again.

The other two were Tom and Mark, and they eyed us just as curious as Bill had. Mark knew a bit more of mythology, so we had to introduce ourselves a bit more thoroughly.

But in return, they talked about themselves too! Tom had been a banker and Mark was an office assistant. They knew each other, because they had worked together. Had first moved some money this way and that to avoid taxes. When that hadn't proved profitable enough for them, they had started to move children that way and that. Cheeky! Apparently, they had lived some place where a lot of illegal prostitution and stuff went on, woman getting raped and yet some community hadn't allowed them to have abortion. Tom actually was one of those who had supported that circumstance in public. So they got around through the shady streets and took the infants from the broken mothers - sometimes by force as we were told, sometimes enticing them with some money or a meal. They made an export to get the infants quick as possible to infertile woman who wanted a child badly enough.

Bill had begun to gaze into the distance, so we asked him what was the matter. He smiled at us and said that he had thought of his life, and his woman. He said that he had loved her more than anything, and that he had worked hard every day, working overtime to earn enough money for her. She wanted a child. When lefty was gasping already, he just shook his head kindly. "No, I had nothing to do with their actions", Bill said. Right was cocking his head, sniffing something off to come up soon. So, he continued, his wife wished for children, but it hadn't worked for some years at the time. Out of love, he went to a doctor in secrecy and had his health checked. And then, one day, when he came back home, she told him she was pregnant. It was the brightest day of his life. They made plans, did some maths, moved into a new home where they had a garden and a huge room for the child. Bill had completely forgotten about the test then.

Until - she was in the sixth month - he received a mail from his doctor. He was informed that his sperms were some sort of slow swimmers. It was highly unlikely for him to father children.

"She betrayed me." His whole body seemed even more hollow at the memory. When he had read the letter, she was in the childrens room, singing to the bastard in her belly. Bill said he must already have looked like a dried then, for she startled when she realized him behind her. "Darling", she had said, "poor darling, you look like a ghost!"

>> I had said nothing. I had just given her that damned letter. Her cheeks had blushed from the rush, and she smiled unsurfaced during her first read. Her face froze. She read again.

"What does that mean?", she asked.

"You betrayed me", I answered. Her eyes widened as she stared at me. The realization in her eyes that I was right. But she denied it. If she hadn't betrayed me, why was she pregnant? If she hadn't, why was she so frightened? I was her husband, there was no reason to be afraid, if she had said the truth. I reached for her face, feeling... torn inside. When I had her face I realized I still had the paper knife in my hand.

"Not mine" I said, looking at the knife, then at her.

"You are mine. That child is not."

She begged me to believe her. I grabbed her face to silent her.

"I have to take it out, Martha."

So, in the room I made for my child, I did what I had to. It was quite difficult to get the foetus out, her guts got in the way. She scratched my face, but it ceased soon. At some point she had bitten my hand and while she turned cold, she let go. At last, I had the bastard out. It was so ugly. So clearly not mine. I threw it in the trash can and went to wash myself. When I had fresh clothes on and a bandage around my hand, I looked after Martha. Poor girl, she hadn't even gotten back up yet. "Come on now.", I said, "it's al right now, I fixed it." I helped her get most of her intestines back in her belly and made her sit up properly. "Look at that fine house we've got ourselves now. We can still adopt a child." She didn't answer, but I forgave her. Of course I did, I loved her."<<

We had listened closely. It was almost as good as the stories daddy used to tell us when we were still little hell-whelps. Though we've heard many stories, we seem to never get tired of humans and the storys of their lives. Bill told us he had continued to take care of his Martha, and beard lovingly that she didn't seem to brighten up at least a little. He even apologized for what he did, though it had to be done. It wasn't his choice.

Bill was at work when they seized him. From there on, his memory was fuzzy. He was thrown into a cell and not allowed to see Martha any more. It ripped his heart. They told him he'd killed her. He was accused of murder, sentenced to death. It was his last day, he had just taken a sniff of his last meal. At that moment, a man approached him. "We've tested the DNA. You were the father of the child."

Sadly, he didn't continue his story. Lefty enjoys to hear what it feels like to end on one of the crafty execution devices, but Right told him to shush and that he had heard what it's like more often than enough. However, we asked them then what it was like to get here. They all agreed that, before they met one another, they had been just standing somewhere in the middle of the ashen vale when they arrived, still full of juice and flesh. We knew what it's like, but it was always good to see what it was like for them. They said first days were the most horrible, with no water around and an air so dry that it bruised the lungs and throat when breathing. They all agreed they had gone mad during the process of their body drying out slowly, circle by circle, however the realm didn't allow to lose track of time or the things happening to a stranded. They still feel the process, but from the initial torment it shrunk to but a constant itching like pain throughout the entire body. We nodded and concluded that their presence took their way as it should. Though we had enjoyed the talking and the occasional tunes, we had to go on and look for other stranded. They nodded and waved us good bye. The last thing we heard was a discussion of how many hundred circles they would bet this time.