1
To Touch a Furapintairow?

Luck was against me, as usual. Freezing drops of rain fell mercilessly from the dreary sky, soaking me to the bone. Lightning flashed, followed closely by a clap of loud thunder. I'd like to say the sound didn't make me jump, but it did. In fact, everything was making me jump this particular Monday morning; it wasn't because I was afraid of thunder, or that the gloomy atmosphere made shadows around every corner and beneath every leaf-dripping tree. It was something else.
I'd dreamed of yellow eyes.
Unusual, you'll agree. A cause for jumpiness? Not likely. But for me it was. I never recalled my dreams—ever. Occasionally I had fleeting images or vague sensations left from dreams, but this was different. This time I recalled both a pair of intense yellow eyes and a prominent feeling of dread.
The dread stuck like glue—thus, jumpiness.
A dog barked, and I jumped again. Recovering quickly, silently chastising myself for being stupid, I scowled and trudged on through the miserable rain, determined to focus on anything but the persistent dread twisting my stomach in knots, or on the stupid rain dripping from my lashes into my eyes.
My thoughts, oddly enough, turned to my family. There were times I thought I might be adopted. Doesn't every child? But I figured my reasoning was pretty legitimate. After all, I was the only blond in my household—and that included my dog affectionately called Beastie. Every single head of hair, minus my own, was dark brown (yeah, the doggy too). They all had brown eyes. Mine were light gray. They were all tall, while my own height was five-foot-seven—with shoes—though I was nearly eighteen years old.
I had asked on more than one occasion if I was adopted. My parents laughed it off and assured me that my genes came from my grandmother on my father's side. I asked for pictures. Sure enough, she was blond. Perhaps my melodramatic mind just demanded a much more mysterious answer for my unique appearance. It wasn't that I was unhappy; my family was the best and I couldn't be prouder to be a member (though they would never know it). I just craved something different; something as “out there” as my fibs.
I shifted my backpack strap from one shoulder to the other. Textbooks were heavier than bricks; of that I was thoroughly convinced. Only a few more months, I silently consoled myself. I was a senior, destined by the government to graduate in May. Only two months away. Two months of the ultimate juvenile hall and then I would be free to consider four years of prison life known as university. It's true, I had no ambition in life. I was just getting by like so many others my age.
Amid my ambling thoughts I heard a voice calling from down the street.
Glancing up, squinting beneath my dripping bangs, I caught sight of a fellow student. A local jock who called himself Chasym (no one recalled his real name). He was waving at me—whoa; was he seriously waving at me? I stopped trudging through the murky water, waiting as he ran toward me. To be certain he was actually coming to talk with me, I glanced behind my shoulder to find the street empty of anyone else. Yippee.
Chasym sprinted down the sidewalk, hoodie flapping out behind him, short light-blond hair slick from the rain, name-brand tennis shoes slapping at tiny puddles of water. He slid to a graceful halt in front of me, trademark smirk plastered to his clear-complected face. Even the male population of my high school had to admit he was undoubtedly handsome. But, instead of following his every whim for his God-given gift, we despaired at our misfortune and loathed him for his supposed perfection. Truth was, he was as arrogant as a man could possibly be (reason in itself to loathe him, even if his face had resembled a dog's instead of a Greek god's).
“Jason, isn't it?” he said, not short of breath despite his sprint. Stupid jock.
“Yeah,” I muttered, stuffing my hands deep into my khaki pants pockets and hunching against the cold rain and biting wind.
“It's nice to see rain for a change, after all that snow,” he commented, glancing at the sky as though to double check that it was actually raining. He took a deep breath of the crisp freshness, basking in the clean smell.
I shuffled my feet, annoyed that my socks were getting increasingly damper thanks to the stupid chick magnet. He might be grateful for the rain, but I wasn't.
Slowly Chasym lowered his gaze from the overhead gloom, and his bright green eyes held my gray with their sudden intensity.
“Let's walk,” he said after an awkward moment of silence. Turning to face the route toward school, he began nonchalantly sauntering through the wet. I grudgingly followed, not thrilled at the prospect of running into his groupies. Shoulders slouched, I tried to stay a pace behind him, but Chasym slowed to match my shorter strides.
“What are your plans after you graduate?” he asked conversationally, running a hand across his wet brow, removing strands of yellow hair from his vibrant eyes.
I shrugged noncommittally. “Not sure, really.” Was I seriously having this conversation? Maybe my alarm hadn't rung after all and I was still fast asleep, stuck in a nightmare. Politeness kicked in after another awkward silence and I forced a convincing smile. “Yourself?”
“I'm leaving,” Chasym said, his tone odd.
“Where to?” I pressed, curious why the local jock wanted to skip town; his own playground.
“Far away,” he said vaguely. “I'll probably never come back.”
“Hate it that bad, huh?” I asked.
“No.” Chasym shook his head, droplets of water trailing down his face. “I just won't have any reason to return.”
What about your family, moron? I thought, but this I kept to myself.
Frowning, I wondered if there was more depth to Chasym than I'd assumed. It seemed risky to entertain such thoughts; start believing in people and you end up disappointed. Still, Chasym had everything in the world a high schooler craves: popularity, looks and smarts. What did he have to gain by leaving his familiar world?
“Will you go to school?” I wondered aloud.
Chasym shrugged; a surprising gesture, as he always seemed so sure of himself. “I don't need to.”
Still an arrogant cuss, deep or not. “Oh? Plan to charm your way through life?” I was startled that the words came out so easily; startled that I felt comfortable enough to insult him out loud. Still, I didn't care much if he was offended. Mr. Popular could afford to be affronted now and then.
A strange smile stole across Chasym's face. “Something like that,” he answered simply.
Again, silence. It wouldn't have been so bad, except he seemed to think I needed to fill the gap, and I somehow felt obligated. Stubborn, as I always was, I sealed my lips and kept quiet. It wasn't hard, really. I usually kept quiet around my peers.
“Do you ever feel like you don't belong here,” Chasym asked as we reached the end of the block, rounding the corner to view the school in the distance. The brick structure was ominous against the gloomy backdrop of the sky.
Doesn't everyone feel that way sometimes? I mused to myself. “Doesn't everyone, sometimes?” I offered aloud, slipping one hand from my pocket to wipe a droplet from my nose.
“I wonder,” he murmured, gazing at the school. I studied his face several inches above my own; somehow he seemed mature as he pondered the mysteries of the universe (or something). I knew better than to think he was usually so reflective, but it was intriguing to watch his single “ah-ha” moment in action. Finally he released a weary sigh and turned to face me fully. “Well, Jason. I can't say it hasn't been interesting.”
“Huh?” I managed stupidly, blinking, both in surprise and from water trickling into my eyes.
An evil glint appeared in Chasym's eyes and I involuntarily stepped back; a twisted grin spread across his face, making me take another. Instinct I hadn't known I possessed screamed for me to run. Unfortunately, I didn't listen; that, or my legs were frozen to the sidewalk.
“Bye-bye, Jase. See you around.”
Chasym's arms shot out from his sides with lightning-fast agility. I felt more than saw him shove me backward. I flung my arms out to the sides to counter my fall, hands flailing wildly. It might have been enough to keep my balance, had the sidewalk not been slick as ice from the storm.
Time seemed to slow. Water fell toward me from the dark sky, one arm was extended before my body; it almost didn't feel attached anymore, though I knew it still was. My breath appeared in a puffy cloud.
Distant sounds of scraping feet against pavement. Laughter. Golden light.
The last thing I saw were frightening yellow eyes in a familiar face.
Icy water filled my ears; surrounded me. My head slammed against the pavement and stars collided with my eyes, bursting like thousands of fireworks in a brilliant finale. Consciousness slipped away, though I grasped desperately at it. The last sensation I experienced was a strange tangy, sweet scent as it filled my nostrils.


I was acutely aware of the pain, first.
The second thing I was conscious of was the wind. It rushed around me; pleasant, warm, sweet-smelling. Moaning, I tried to open my eyes. It didn't work. I wasn't even sure if my eyes were still in my head (all my head knew at the moment was agony).
Working my mouth to stop from feeling panicked, I tried to pry my eyes open again. This time I could actually feel the effort, but they were still glued shut.
I raised my hand to my face, feeling for my eyelids; found them; rubbed. My fingers were wet. I decided to sit up, as I became aware of water surrounding my head and upper-torso. Gingerly, I sat. Water rushed from my ears and I shivered, despite the warm breeze. Pressing my palms to my face, I rubbed vigorously, then tried to open my eyes once again. This time, it worked.
Red sunlight burned my retinas and I cringed, shutting my eyes quickly. Gritting my teeth, I squinted with one eye and waited for it to adjust. After managing that, I babied my other eye and finally (through rapid blinking) I could see the world around me.
It was not what I expected.
I was sitting in the middle of a meadow. Tall trees surrounded the clearing, and a bright-red sun filtered through the gaps between them as it set behind distant mountain ridges. Wild flowers bobbed back and forth in a warm breeze, while tall wild grass danced around the small buds. I found it rather peculiar that the sky was devoid of clouds and the grass was perfectly dry, yet I sat in the middle of a massive murky puddle.
How in the world—?
—Chasym.
With a rush I recalled what had happened.
Disbelieving, bewildered and aching, I sat in the puddle for a long time, trying to devise a logical explanation for my predicament.
Either I was dreaming, or I was insane.
I chose option one. It was the lesser of two evils.
At last I ventured to my feet, wobbled for a moment, head swimming, then reached my right hand up to investigate the egg-sized bump on the back of my head. The slightest touch caused pain to blossom and spread through my brain. I held my breath until the throbbing passed, then I released the air from my lungs carefully.
Another breath; now release.
I repeated the exercise a few times, then finally turned my attention back to my make-believe meadow. Happily chirping birds swooped around, gathering who-knew-what before dark came, then flew back to the trees. Three small butterflies danced around the pastel wild flowers, swirling, flipping and gliding.
What the freak kind of dream was this, anyway?
I studied the trees, intrigued to find that while the trunks resembled a pine's in height and branch layout, instead of evergreen needles maple leaves adorned the branches throughout. I looked up and down the largest tree, trying to wrap my head around this particular insanity.
It was then that I saw them for the first time: two small creatures that couldn't possibly be real, sitting beneath the maple pine tree I had been studying.
They were covered completely in thick blood-red fur, giving the appearance that they were merely foot-high balls of fluff. A jagged tail, almost as though it had been broken multiple times along its length, protruded from the fur, and a smaller ball of fluff hung on its tip. The only other feature visible amid the fur were two huge (and I mean huge) pink eyes that watched me unblinkingly.
I couldn't help myself—either my curiosity took over, or their pink eyes were strangely alluring—and I slowly approached the furry things and knelt in front of them. My head didn't swim too badly as I moved.
They didn't stir. Carefully I reached toward one. Just as my hand touched its incredibly soft fur, a sharp pain shot through my fingers. I drew back in surprise and my gray eyes rested on the trickle of blood running down my right hand. I looked up sharply at the furry thing and gasped. It was grinning, displaying two rows of sharp, pointy, blood-covered teeth. The other creature was also grinning, its teeth pearly-white.
I quickly scrambled to my feet and backed away, pressing my injured hand against my red jacket to ease the growing ache. I admit the furry things scared me, but not nearly so much as the fact that my hand was throbbing with pain.
Dreams were not supposed to hurt, right?
“It's much too late to run,” a soft voice said from behind me.
I spun, heart pounding, head banging, fingers throbbing, and came face to face with a woman.
She was beautiful, but frail. Her frame was small, though she was quite tall; a shimmering silver shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders, covering her simple black apparel. Strips of gray cloth wrapped around her wrists and feet. I stared as I spotted long sharp nails adorning the tip of each slender finger, and even her toes.
“You are peculiar,” she mused, voice still soft, as though she spoke to herself.
Pulled from her deadly nails, I looked up into her face. She was pale. By pale, I don't mean she had a light complexion; by pale, I mean her skin was almost white, like she'd never stepped foot out into the sunlight in her life (although she obviously had or she wouldn't be standing in front of me while the sun was still up). Apart from sickeningly light skin, she had a pretty face; it was angular, sharp yet alluring; framed by glossy black hair that reached just below her shoulders, parted in the center of her head. It was all one length; no bangs. And—I gawked—protruding from her hair were two long pointed ears, like something from a fantasy game.
“Can you understand me?” she said, seeming only mildly curious, as though I was just an animal, and it didn't really matter if I understood her or not.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words were loathe to come out. My vision was starting to swim.
She cocked her head slightly to one side, arching a slender eyebrow, pursing her pale lips. “To touch a furapintairow is to incur its wrath. Are you not aware of the consequences?” She stepped forward, reaching out a clawed hand.
I stepped back, flinching. As I realized that I was reacting so, I felt myself blush with embarrassment; which only made me more embarrassed; which caused me to blush deeper. An endless cycle.
“It's all right, stranger,” the woman said soothingly. “I will help you.”
Stepping back again, alarmed without understanding exactly why, my foot found water. I glanced down, feeling the murky liquid seep into my already-sopping shoe. I was back at the puddle. Maybe, if I jumped...I could get back home.
It was a wild thought, certainly. But I was in no fit state to comprehend that. Desperate to gain my senses once again, eager to wake up, I stepped fully into the puddle and jumped.
Pain exploded in my head and a numbness spread up from my bloodied fingertips. I gasped, stumbling.
How exactly the woman got from standing before me to suddenly catching me as I fell backward, I couldn't say. She was surprisingly strong; that, or I'm just really light. Probably both. As I glanced up into her pale face, she smiled, flashing her pearly-whites. My blood froze.
Her teeth were pointed too.
“Relax, stranger,” she said, easing me to the ground. I felt like I was floating. “Did you come from the puddle?”
I tried to nod. It didn't work. “Y-yeah,” I croaked.
“You do speak. English, too.”
What else would I speak? Chinese? My sight was fading completely now; inky blackness spread from the corners of my vision, seeping inward. I fought to stay conscious, but my brain and my fingers all protested.
“Rest now,” the woman said, voice gentle. “Sleep, Vendaeva.”
The pain seemed to melt away, dissipating like a cloud. My muscles relaxed, tension leaving my body. It was easy to let it go; to just forget the freakishness I'd experienced. Everything was fine, was safe.
“This is what death feels like,” another voice whispered, this one dark, luring yet bone-chilling. It filled my mind, drowning out the last of my consciousness. I didn't try to struggle.