A week after Peter had arrived in Shantee, the first snow had arrived.

It was a trickle. Fairly insignificant, and melted as soon as it touched the ground. But it was the truest sign that the seasons were changing. And with its arrival, would soon spark other changes.

“As you all know, today is Remembrance day,” Rand announced. “I am looking for volunteers to help with preparations for festivities.” The crowd was silent.

On days like this when it was cold, the murderous Dungeons were a blessing. The outside temperatures did not follow inside, so it was a momentary respite from the weather. Even if you just hung around the portal at the entrance.

Peter sighed and raised his hand. Spending time with Kaze was draining. Kalista and Gaia were always tense near Kaze due to his crest, and even Peter was growing discontent.

A few times Peter had spotted a feral that he might be interested in, only for Kaze to cut the whole group down. Perhaps it was for the best, as someone defeated easily might not be the best addition to his team. But he wasn’t sure surviving against Kaze was a fair expectation.

All of this didn’t even include the fact that Kaze hoarded nearly every single drop for himself.

A short murmur followed by a few chuckles broke out from a group of tamers which Peter tried to ignore.

“Any interested parties may meet me at my home. Dismissed,” Rand said before heading towards his shack.

Peter began to follow him only to notice that the temperature behind him rose slightly. He didn’t have to turn around to know why. Rand’s eyebrows raised briefly before relaxing.

“Your first duty will be to assist with procurement of firewood for the bonfire. Pile up the wood in the center of Shantee. You can cut down the trees north of the fort. We will need a considerable amount. Dismissed.”

With as much emotion as a stone, Rand gave his orders and promptly returned to his abode. Not even handing Peter an ax or mentioning any reward for this work. With a sigh, Peter turned towards the nearby door.

Outside the fort in the surrounding forest, there were a few stumps already present, either from previous years festivities or other uses. Arriving next to the closest grown tree, he turned to Kalista. “You can cut these down, right?”

She nodded while summoning her blade. Behind them, Fira stood still, intently staring at Peter without any movement besides her slow breathing.

“Hup!” Kalista shouted while swinging her heavy blade sideways. She managed to sink into the trunk quite deep, although not quite all the way through. When she pulled the sword out, the tree began to collapse towards the empty space, and soon the top snapped off from the rest and fell to the forest floor with a loud boom and a cloud of dust.

Peter guessed the tree was roughly twenty-five feet tall. He had Kalista cut into four parts before they slowly began to move the giant logs towards Shantee. Kalista was able to carry two on her own, one beneath each arm. Gaia began to drag another, as Peter struggled to move the fourth.

“Grrh,” he groaned as he lifted it up and slowly pulled it by one side. He glanced towards Fira, who was still wordlessly staring at him. “Aren’t you going to help?”

Fira blinked. “Help.” Her breathing quickly grew exasperated. “Help! Help, me,” she said slowly.

“Oh. What now? This again?” Peter sighed. “How many times do I have to-””

“Fer-al,” she emphasized. “Help. Me. Help.” Fira put a hand up to her forehead and pressed it tightly.

“I must say this is an interesting change of tactics. From acting high and mighty to playing stupid.”

“No. No stew.” Fira shook her head. “No fer-al. Fer-al, die.” She grasped the sides of her head with both hands and pressed while shaking. A few tears began to stream down her face.

Peter grimaced. “I’m not the only tamer in Shantee, you know.”

“Aaaah!” Fira let out a mix of a loud groan and a yell. She pointed towards Shantee repeatedly. “No help!” She pointed toward Peter. “Help!” She crouched down, shaking her head while letting out soft sniffles. “No die. No die.”

“You won’t die.”

Fira’s head jerked side to side. “Fer-al die, fer-al, die!” She looked up at Peter. At that moment, he realized the flaming eyes which she normally wore were gone. Had they just extinguished, or was she already like this earlier?

“Harassing my tamer again, I see,” Kalista disappointingly stated. She had returned along with Gaia.

“She claims she’s going feral and wants my help.”

Kalista frowned. “She must be faking. I wasn’t anything like this when you were in your coma.”

“No die. No die.” Fira got on her knees and curled into a ball.

“Again, you won’t die. Ferals are as alive as you and me. If they weren’t, well, it means that Kaze or the Church have succeeded in their schemes.”

“No die. No die,” Fira repeated over and over to the silence of others.. 

“It is hard to call being feral living,” Gaia thought aloud. Peter looked at her, slightly surprised. “My time before I met you… I suppose I don’t even remember the first time I truly met you. Only by your own recollection… Did I know happiness? Was I capable of feeling? What was I like?” Gaia paused, deep in thought. “...That Gaia almost killed you. Something I would never dream of doing.”

Peter closed his eyes. Was this what Occo had feared when they nearly left her out in the forest? Returning to this state?

Gaia is right. But somehow… is she also wrong?

Certainly, by definition, a feral cannot know the love of a bond. But are they truly without feeling?

He had seen the feral Gaia get bullied by the other Dryads she once may have called family.

The pregnant Goblins had shown fear, even the Orc who had defended them seemed desperate.

The mixture of playfulness and aggressiveness from the feral Fren that Bryan had captured.

When a primal is bonded, what happens to the feral self? Is it locked away, only to resurface once they have reverted back to that state? Or is it gone forever?

If he doesn’t help Fira, can the ‘Fira’ he knows now ever be brought back?

He looked at her pitiful scrunched up form. The normally proud and argumentative primal was now begging for him. Despite knowing he was not fond of her, she followed him out here anyway, in some desperate ploy.

No. Perhaps she couldn’t even remember the animosity between them anymore. And now she has been reduced to the base instinct present in all things: self preservation.

Peter crouched down next to her. The natural heat emanating from her was pleasant amidst the chilly air. Peter recalled his conversation with Fira, when they had first arrived at Shantee. That she was well equipped to help survive the Winter. Forget lighting a campfire, she was a living flame.

At that time, furious after traveling with her, he dismissed everything she had to give. Having just arrived, even though he’d not been impressed with Shantee’s appearance, he was still hopeful. He would conquer the dungeons, obtain one, perhaps even more primals for his team, and replenish his dwindling savings. Those were his goals coming here.

He’d been off by miles. After a single day most of his possessions were stolen. The only tamers which he could have made friends with had either hopped onto a wagon or fallen into ZIlas’ group. Rand languishes in his shack all day and does nothing to resolve the disparity between Zilas’ inner circle and the rest of the tamers. Kaze was not making it easy for him to find a new primal, or earn any coin while here. And it had only been a week since he arrived. What might the next few months deliver?

The situation was growing worse with each passing day. Something needed to change. He needed more allies. 

There might not be anyone left he could truly forge trust with in this accursed place besides his own primals. But does he need that to accomplish his goals? Peter didn’t feel he’d make lifelong friendships here. But finding people good enough to bring down Zilas a notch or two?

There might be some who are good enough.

And as his mind began to swarm with ideas on how to win people over…

He realized Fira, who now sat before him desperate, could play a big part in that.