Riordan sulked through the whole brushing. His fur was coarse, with a minimal undercoat, which meant the brushing wasn’t terribly long or arduous, but he hated it. He would have preferred to wallow in some grass or dust until the loose dirt fell off. He growled half-heartedly at Norris when the man wiped the last sticky bits of honey off his paws and snout, waiting until he finished to shake free and go run off into the grassy field between the workshop and the pack house to roll around in the spiky sun-baked grass. The stiff stems scratched at his skin, removing the unnatural sensations of the brush and replacing it with dust and the smell of sun and plant juice.

 

“Now, is that any way to thank Norris?” Daniel asked jokingly, floating over to Riordan, who just huffed at him and kept rolling. “He worked so hard to get you clean.”

 

Riordan shot Daniel a glare full of annoyance. He wasn’t angry, aside from his usual pissed off buzz that came with being his badger. Both Norris and Daniel meant well. He really did need to have less dirt on him and it wasn’t like the man tried bathing him like a pet. A bath would have made Riordan smell like something other than a wild animal, which was often far more problematic than helpful. As much as it threw people off to see a wild badger, a “pet” badger stood out even more. And that’s what people would assume if they saw him all shiny and groomed, smelling of soap instead of woods and dirt and animal.

 

I can clean myself, Riordan grumbled mentally at his friend. It’s not like my fur gets tangled or anything.

 

“I’ve always heard that honey badgers were tough,” Daniel said, “Though that seemed to be because they were fearless, picking a fight with anything if it got in their way. Are you actually tough?”

 

That stung a bit. Riordan knew Daniel didn’t mean anything by it, but his phrasing implied that Riordan was weak. If his self-confidence wasn’t already in the mud, he’d be able to shake that off without problem. As it was, Riordan wished for some of that fearlessness that his animal was known for. He could feel it like a blanket wrapping around him when he was shifted like this. A confidence that he would fight the world if needed or go down trying. His stupid human side kept undermining that.

 

My skin is basically bite proof as well as puncture and slash resistant. I can’t shake off a bullet as easily, but unless it hits something instantly lethal, it won’t stop me right away. I’m also highly resistant to venom, Riordan explained, giving the facts instead of his fucked up feelings. Basically, animals I fight are going to quickly discover that putting me down is way more trouble than it’s worth. Humans just don’t play fair, but I do enjoy fucking them up when they ask for it anyway.

 

That was all truth, if not the complete truth. And yes, Riordan loved to throw down when it was clear that his opponents were spoiling for a fight. There is a rush that comes from physical exertion and from that level of pain. That rush could make Riordan feel free and invincible if he let it, ready to take on everything. Being human meant acknowledging that sometimes you couldn’t though. Or that you shouldn’t. Riordan had internalized decades of messages and behaviors from his surroundings that fucked up the nice and orderly functioning of his mind. He’d lived too long to be a proper honey badger.

 

Riordan wished he could make his world simple again.

 

Instead, he shook himself all over and let his shift take him, returning to that damned and beloved human shape. Riordan let his breath flow out of him and then pushed himself up on the inhale, presenting a strong front once again.

 

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Riordan asked, casting a glance up towards the sun in the sky. “I clearly slept in.”

 

“The agents headed out early already,” Daniel updated Riordan, ever helpful and probably ever bored, being constantly awake as he was. “Frankie and Lucinda are working on making combat spell items or something. One-use pre-prepared spells, stored somehow, in case of a fight. Mark was helping them but got sent out to re-read some references after messing something up.”

 

“Breakfast’s over, lad,” Norris called out, coming down the front steps. He talked over Daniel slightly, obviously taking Riordan’s question to be directed towards him. “I set some aside for you, but you clearly needed the sleep. I figured I’d wake you up with a treat rather than risk losing a hand if you woke up cross.”

 

“And you decided I needed a good brushing after?” Riordan asked, well aware of the sullenness in his tone. 

 

Norris shrugged, completely unapologetic. “You had been messy when I last saw you in your fur and still were when I saw you sleeping in there. Since you hadn’t fixed it, I did.”

 

All of that was valid. Riordan could hardly complain. He was a guest in this place, relying on their resources and aid during this crisis. If they felt he had fallen down in meeting the standards of a good guest, he could hardly fault them for taking matters into their own hands.

 

Well, he couldn’t fault Norris. He liked and respected the old man too much. Anyone else trying the same thing would have gotten bitten for their trouble.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Riordan responded thinly, a sharp smile stretching his lips.

 

“See that you do,” Norris said, laughing and clapping Riordan on the shoulder as he walked past. “Your breakfast is in the fridge. Make sure you eat. Frankie said you owed her a quiz afterwards. I’ve got to go out and get more groceries to feed you beasts.”

 

Riordan snorted, feeling comfortable enough to quip back. “As if you aren’t a beast yourself.”

 

His mind wasn’t on the conversation anymore. It was on Frankie’s quiz. Riordan thought he’d make a good showing, if she stuck to the stones in the box. As this was Frankie, he didn’t count on that. Still, breakfast came first and Riordan headed towards the pack house.

 

The main dining hall was temporarily empty, so Riordan felt no need to take his food off to the other room. He considered microwaving the towering plate of eggs, bacon, and potato chunks, but decided it didn’t matter with food that good and weather this warm. It wasn’t like he wasn’t more used to his food being room temperature. Daniel joined him to Riordan’s relief. The pair of them chatted in between Riordan inhaling his food. Not about anything important, just little things. What Riordan had been reading about last night. Some cool flowers Daniel had spotted. Mark walking into the door frame before he had coffee and time to wake up and then apologizing to it. These sorts of small things were the heart of life, if he paused to look at them.

 

It was so easy sometimes to get hung up on the big things. Moving from disaster to emergency to victory, only dwelling on the big moments, lost so much time. Big moments were often quick, a matter of hours or days at longest but usually just a handful of minutes that changed the trajectory of his life. His life itself was the moments in between. It might be anchored and molded by defining moments, but those moments were not the root of existence. They were the stones in the stream, making Riordan bend, but his life was the stream itself. He was glad he’d remembered to breathe and stop long enough to see them, even if the looming disasters would seize his attention again eventually.

 

One of the nice things about being a drifter was Riordan had learned how to live in the present. It hadn’t come easily. Indeed, he’d spent many years stuck purely on regret, lost in the past. Now he struggled with anxiety, becoming lost in the future. The only moment that was real, the only moment in which he could act, was the present. To exist anywhere else besides the present was a waste. People had died of regret or anxiety, so convinced that there was no joy left in the world that they turned their face to a wall and faded away. Riordan wasn’t sure he’d ever be free of regret and anxiety himself. They were both rooted deeply into his experiences. Yet, sometimes he could set it aside and just be in the now.

 

If he had more useful paperwork waiting for him, Riordan would have hurried through his meal. With only Frankie and her quizzes waiting, Riordan ate more leisurely, spending time with his friend. Still, it didn’t take too long for him to finish up, even taking the extra time to wash his own dishes. Back at Frankie’s workshop, Mark was gone from the front room, all the books put neatly back on the shelves. Even the forgotten honey plate and the pillows and blanket from Riordan’s den were tidied up. Voices from the main workroom drew Riordan in. The door leading into there was still open just a crack. Riordan pushed it open far enough to see Frankie and her apprentices all sitting inside the stone circle. 

 

The apprentices had their head bent over a magical working in front of each of them. It consisted of a large paper covered in symbols with a space in the middle for a dish from which some scented smoke rose. They were chanting quietly in what Riordan thought was Ojibwe. He hadn’t heard enough of it to be entirely sure, but it had the right cadences and he already knew it was the language Lucinda favored for casting.

 

Not wanting to disturb them, Riordan waited patiently by the door for Frankie to glance up at him. She was watching both of her apprentices at work rather than doing a working of her own, though there was a third set of supplies nearby that showed signs of use. He suspected she’d provided an example, just once, and then set them to replicating it. She obviously knew he was there, but Frankie had no reason to drop everything to teach Riordan, especially not her two actual apprentices. Just like Riordan hadn’t needed to rush over and start working at the crack of dawn, all while being quiet enough to let a badger sleep nearby.

 

Okay, that might have been a bit inconsiderate, but Frankie had a very comfortable living room.

 

A few minutes later, both apprentices finished their current castings and Frankie had provided her critique. She told them to set up for the next one after calling both their results adequate and then walked over to Riordan.

 

“So boy, did you study well?” Frankie asked, her gravely old woman voice stern but tinged with humor from the smirk on her face.

 

Riordan played it safe. “I studied. I assume your tests will determine whether I studied well or not. I was grateful for a useful distraction, either way.”

 

“Bandying words with me, huh? You’re a hundred years too young to try,” Frankie snorted, heading over to the shelves and pulling down the box of stones and the book she’d had Riordan studying from. “Well, let’s see if your studying was good for more than a distraction.”

 

She walked over to the coffee table, gesturing Riordan into one chair while taking another herself. Plucking one of the stones from its case, she tossed it to him, barking out, “Tell me everything you can about that. Quickly now.”