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Well, it seems 2007 wasn't a complete creative bust after all. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sithdragn needed someone to pinch-hit for a missing writer in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
muncle "Down the Chimney Affair" and I managed to come up with a short piece to frau_flora's prompts. Thanks to aukestrel for the fast and fabulous beta!.
Title: A Trick of the Light
Fandom: Man from UNCLE
Pairing: IK/NS (if you squint)
Size: appx. 3300 words
A Trick of the Light
c. 2007 Kellie Matthews
"Stop it," Illya said irritably as he stirred his stew over the meager heat of the small fire he'd managed to coax to life. "I'm not falling for it, so don't give me those big eyes."
The offender stared back at him soulfully, and Illya snorted. "Oh no," He shook a finger reprovingly. "This whole mess is your fault in the first place, so you can just find your own dinner."
Something that might have been guilt crinkled his companion's brow at his words, but it was probably just his imagination. Or more likely, worry that he really might not get any stew.
He stuck a finger into the dented hubcap he was using for a pan, and quickly yanked it back out, blowing on it and swearing under his breath. He hadn't thought the fire was putting out that much heat. After sucking the remaining liquid off his finger, he decided that really, as wild meals went, this one was turning out rather well. It could use some salt, but scavenged camas bulbs, fennel root, wild onions and dandelion greens made a decent soup. The judicious sprinkling of fir needles he'd tossed in added a flavor vaguely reminiscent of rosemary. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if he'd managed to catch the rabbit that had been nosing around earlier. Unfortunately he was in no shape to go chasing bunnies.
Still, he was alive, and wasn't going to starve, at least not today. And considering how fast he'd been going when he'd had to slam on the brakes and ended up going over the side of the road, he was more than happy to have escaped the wreck with just a slight concussion (he was a connoisseur of those, so he was fairly certain of his diagnosis), cuts, bruises, and a badly strained leg. Now he just had to figure out how to get back to civilization. He was miles from the nearest town off a road that wasn't on any map, and walking was going to be slow at best. It was almost too bad it wasn't winter-- with a decent snowpack on the ground he could fashion a makeshift sled and let the elevation do much of his work for him, but while there were still a few decrepit patches of snow scattered about in areas where the sun didn't reach, what was most prevalent on the ground at the moment, other than vegetation, were rocks.
He sighed, and used the lower edge of his sport-coat to insulate his hand as he pulled the soup off the stove to let it cool a bit. The action drew a hopeful look from across the fire. and Illya laughed softly. "Yes, you'll get your share, but I hope you don't mind vegetarian fare."
His words provoked a tail-thump, though the animal didn't come any closer. It was skittish, more than half wild. Illya wondered what breed it was. Long-legged and rangy, with a tawny, brindled coat, golden eyes, large, pointed ears and a narrow muzzle, he would have taken it for a coyote had it not had irregular splotches of white on its shoulders and forelegs as if someone had spilled bleach on it. At any rate, though it appeared uninjured, it seemed to feel compelled to hang around, which was definitely not coyote-like. At least not like any coyote he'd heard of– not that his experience was vast.
Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't dangerous, except to his driving. When he'd come to after the crash, the animal had been sitting watching him. If it had wanted to eat him, it could have done so while he was unconscious, so he'd classified it as a non-threat and mostly ignored it. It didn't ignore him though. It watched him with much the same fascination a young child might display while watching cartoons on the television. At times he had the feeling it was just as amused, too.
When the broth had cooled enough, Illya drank off the liquid– the animal could get water more easily than he could- and used a broad, sturdy leaf to ferry vegetables to his mouth until he'd eaten about half what was in the pan. He scooped the remainder into a depression in a nearby boulder and eased back a couple of feet, watching to see what his companion would do. It approached cautiously, stretching its neck out to sniff the food, then turned to gaze suspiciously at Illya.
"Go on, you saw me eat it. It's not poisoned, and while I may not be the best cook in the world, it is edible."
It cocked its head a bit at the sound of his voice. "Truly, it's all right," Illya assured it. "Go on." He kept his tone light, almost sing-song. After a few more moments, it finally lowered its muzzle and took a cautious lick. After it swallowed, he saw the skin of its nose wrinkle a bit, nonexistent eyebrows drawing down, looking for all the world like Napoleon did when encountering some unfamiliar foreign food, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and scaring it off. A sneeze followed, chased by a second lick, then a third, and finally it stopped being cautious and finished off the remainder in just a few bites, then looked around for more.
"Sorry, that's all," Illya said. "I know it's not much, but its better than nothing."
As if it understood him, the animal let out a slight sigh and sat back on its haunches, looking up at the sky. Illya followed its gaze, and nodded. "Yes, you're right. It'll be dark soon." Which reminded him that it might be summer, but at this elevation it was still going to be chilly after dark and he wasn't likely to be rescued tonight. Most likely, in fact, no one had even missed him yet. He got painfully to his feet and set about scavenging more fuel for his fire.
There were piles of dry brown pine needles everywhere-- good for starting fires, but not much else-- so he didn't bother with them. He did find a few small broken branches that would work, but they wouldn't last all that much longer than the needles. He was going to have to range further afield to search, a prospect he didn't relish, since his injured leg made movement difficult. He was just steeling himself to head out, when a sharp bark drew his attention to the other side of the clearing.
His companion stood next to a gnarled, wind-twisted, barren stub of a tree that had been hidden behind two larger, healthier specimens. It had clearly been struck by lightning at some point; it was devoid of foliage and the paler phloem and cambium layers of the tree showed here and there where patches of darker bark had peeled off. The ground around it was littered with dead branches and slabs of shed bark.
Illya stared for long moments, amazed, his gaze shifting between the animal and the tree. "How could you possibly have known what I was looking for?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. Which was just as well, since he didn't get one, though the dog did look rather smug, once again reminding him of his partner.
Illya limped over to collect firewood, and this time the dog didn't run off at his approach, but rather stayed, watching him, and when he'd gotten a good armful of bark and branches and headed back to the firepit, it grabbed a branch in its teeth and followed, dragging the branch, which it deposited on top of Illya's stack and then stood back, looking for all the world as if it were admiring its handiwork.
"You're a smart one, aren't you?" he asked, amazed by the animal's behavior. Maybe it was normal; he didn't know, as he'd never really been around dogs. Truth be told, he was a bit afraid of the larger sort, having been on the receiving end of a few too many 'kill' orders. And the small sort seemed good for little but making noise. This medium kind seemed quite all right, though.
A yip answered him. He chuckled. "Like compliments, do you?" he asked. "That settles it. I'm going to have to call you Napoleon."
A swish of tail was all the response he got, but he took it for assent. "Napoleon it is, then."
He made several trips back and forth from the tree to his camp, each one slower and more painful than the last, and by the time he had enough fuel to last the night it was quite dark. After stoking the fire judiciously, Illya buttoned his jacket closed and curled up on his less-battered side, near enough to the fire to feel its warmth on his face and hands. He knew he needed to sleep: it would help him heal, and he needed a few days worth of that before he would be able to walk back to civilization. He could only hope that the weather held clear and his foraging for food continued to turn up enough edibles to keep him going. He didn't like thinking about the alternatives.
Unfortunately, his clothing wasn't proof against even a summer evening at this altitude, and while his front side was relatively comfortable, his back was not. He tried to ignore it, but the cold made him tense and the tension made every strain, sprain and bruise ache even worse than they had before. "Bolshoi mladynets," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "You've had far worse at the hands of Thrush. Suck it up, as Napoleon would say."
Off to his left he heard a interrogatory whine, and saw a flash of firelight reflect off a pair of eyes close to the ground. "Different Napoleon," he called. "Don't mind me."
That worked about as well with this Napoleon as it did his usual one. He heard the soft rustle of paws moving across groundcover and dead pine needles. For a moment he tensed uneasily, wondering if he should be preparing for an attack, but as the animal moved into the firelight he saw its posture was unthreatening and he relaxed. It paused momentarily to sniff at his shoes, then moved behind him and plopped down next to him with a soft grunt.
Immediately his backside felt warmer. He lay there for a moment, blinking stupidly at the fire and waiting for something else to happen, but when nothing changed he finally looked over his shoulder. "Thank you."
Napoleon put his muzzle on his feet and closed his eyes, ignoring him. Illya couldn't help but smile. Just like his namesake, he was putting himself out for Illya, but refusing to acknowledge it. Suddenly realizing that he was thinking of the animal as if it were human, he frowned. It wasn't like him to anthropomorphize. He wondered if his concussion was worse than he'd thought. No real way to tell, unfortunately, unless he dropped dead. He smiled, realizing that even if he did so, he still wouldn't know.
For a while he lay awake trying to decide whose behavior was odder, his or the dog's, but eventually the warmth and the solid presence beside him made him dozy. He felt strangely safe, as if his partner, not a half-wild dog, lay at his back. It was a familiar position, actually; he'd long ago lost count of the number of times they'd slept so, over the years. Sometimes, in rare moments of peace, they slept even closer– skin to skin, mouth to mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the flush of warmth those thoughts provoked, and went to sleep with surprising ease.
* * *
"Illya? Illya, wake up!"
He heard worry in that voice, and fought his way back to the surface from strange dreams of animal-headed beings, like in Egyptian frescoes, opening his eyes to find warm, dark-brown eyes gazing back at him.
"There you are," Napoleon said, looking pleased.
"Here I am," Illya affirmed. He pushed up on an elbow and glanced around. The fire in its ring of stones was nearly out, just faint shimmers of heat rising into the chill air from grey-coated coals, no flames or smoke visible. No dog, either. Napoleon must have scared him away.
"Are you all right?" Napoleon asked, voice low, and rough with concern.
"I've been better," Illya said wryly, allowing Napoleon to help him sit. He was stiff, sore and a little dizzy, and not above leaning on his friend. "How did you find me?" he asked, puzzled, noting that several dark-suited men he assumed were agents were fanned out across the landscape, picking up bits and pieces of the rattletrap pickup truck he'd been driving.
"It was the darndest thing," Napoleon said, frowning. "We'd just realized you hadn't checked in after taking out that Thrush facility in the Bitterroot area, and were putting together a search party when we got a call from a Tribal Police officer in Orofino saying that one of their elders had just come into town with your wallet and said they needed to go looking for you."
Illya's hand immediately went to his breast pocket, and came out empty even though he knew for a fact his wallet had been there after the crash. "How on earth did he get my wallet?"
"Well, there's where it gets weird. He said Coyote brought it to him and told him to bring it to the authorities."
"A coyote spoke to this man?" Illya asked incredulously.
"Not 'a' coyote," Napoleon said. "The Coyote, apparently. I guess he's some sort of mythological being hereabouts. The old man said Coyote felt bad for causing your accident after you'd done a good turn for his people, so he wanted you looked after. The cop found your UNCLE identification in the wallet and called us right away."
Illya gaped at him until Napoleon lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "What?"
"I do not believe in supernatural creatures," Illya growled.
Napoleon raised his hands. "Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger! So what did happen here? Blow a tire?"
"No." He realized he was going to have to say something, so he temporized. "I was going rather fast and had to slam on my brakes, and lost control of the vehicle."
"Why'd you have to sl. . ."
"I saw something in the road."
Napoleon studied him for a long moment, then a corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Wouldn't happen to have been a coyote, would it?"
Illya glared at him. Napoleon snorted and reached out to ruffle his hair. Illya flinched away, and the ruffle changed to a soft caress that Illya hoped no one else had noticed. "Seriously, partner, you okay?"
"As I said, I've been better."
"Tell me."
"A mild concussion is probably the worst of it, but my right leg was caught and twisted badly. I think I've sprained both my knee and ankle."
"Let's get you back to civilization then, and get you looked at. And I promise to play your faithful nurse if you need one."
Illya lifted an eyebrow. "I'm afraid with this leg I won't really be up to chasing you around the bed for a while."
"We'll think of something," Napoleon said blithely. "There's always sponge baths. Upsy-daisy." He hoisted Illya to his feet and put a shoulder under his arm to help him up the steep slope to where several vehicles waited on the gravel road.
Halfway up, Illya dug in his heels. "Stop!"
"What?"
"The fire. I need to douse it."
"Jenkins, douse the fire, will you?" Napoleon called out to one of the men. "There. Now will you come on?"
Illya took one last look around, feeling strangely wistful about leaving, but finally he nodded and let Napoleon half-drag him up the rest of the hill.
One of the cars littering the roadway was an elderly Ford painted black and white with the words Tribal Police arched across the front doors, and a single gumball-machine lantern perched on the roof. A lean young man in a short-sleeved tan police uniform was using its roof as a writing surface as he made notes on a clipboard. As Napoleon and Illya crested the hill he turned, and Illya stopped again, staring into eerily familiar golden-brown eyes.
"Well, here's our prodigal returned, Lieutenant Itsiyeye, and thanks so much for your help. My people should have everything cleaned up in short order. We really appreciate you bringing us out here."
"Glad to help," the man replied, his voice a pleasant tenor, slightly accented. "I hear there's a storm coming in tonight, so it's a good thing you found him now. A soaking might've done him right in." He tucked the pen he was holding into his shirt pocket, and Illya's gaze was drawn to the pale splotches of vitiligo on his otherwise tawny-skinned forearms and hands. Somehow he knew those melanin-poor patches crossed the young man's shoulders beneath his shirt.
Illya shivered, and not because he was cold.
Someone called out Napoleon's name and he walked away to consult with another dark-suited man, leaving Illya there with something he staunchly didn't believe in. Something that winked at him as soon as Napoleon's back was turned, and smiled slyly.
"Thanks for dinner last night," he said. "I'd've left you a rabbit for breakfast this morning but it seemed more important to get you out of there. It'd be a poor thing to let you die after what you did for us. That place you shut down was polluting the people's water, and the men who ran it were polluting their souls."
Illya couldn't think of any way to respond other than to take the man's presence at face value. "If you were so thankful, causing me to run off the road was a strange way to show it," he said irritably.
That drew a chuckle. "Sorry. I thought you'd see me before you did. I forgot I kind of blend in on a dirt road. Not to mention the fact that you drive like a maniac."
"That he does," Napoleon said, returning to the conversation. "He's a sore trial to me. We're all set now, so we're going to take our leave, if that's all right."
The being nodded. "No problem at all. Best to get him seen to. Head injuries can be tricky– make you see things that aren't real."
Illya snorted, and Lieutenant Itsiyeye waved cheerfully as Napoleon supported him over to a sedan whose front seat had been let all the way back so Illya could stretch his leg out comfortably. As he settled painfully into the seat, Napoleon grabbed a blanket from the back seat and tucked it around him.
"Comfy?"
"Yes, Mother," Illya said with mock irritation. Truthfully it was nice to be sitting in a padded seat and the blanket was deliciously warm.
"Good." Napoleon shut the door and went around to get in on the driver's side. Putting the car in gear, he pulled out. "Fellow's got odd eyes," he commented as they passed Lieutenant Isiyeye's car.
"Indeed," Illya said, staring at 'the fellow' as they passed. Itsiyeye stared back until they were out of sight.
"You had me worried, partner," Napoleon said quietly.
"I'm sorry."
"Good thing someone was watching over you. Though I know you don't believe in that sort of thing."
"Some days I wonder," Illya said thoughtfully. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and for a moment he thought he saw a dog on the road behind them, but when he blinked and looked again, it was gone. It must have been a trick of the light.
* * * Fin * * *
Note: It'se-ye-ye is, so far as I can determine via Google, the Nez Perce name for Coyote. ;)
sithdragn needed someone to pinch-hit for a missing writer in the muncle "Down the Chimney Affair" and I managed to come up with a short piece to frau_flora's prompts. Thanks to aukestrel for the fast and fabulous beta!. Title: A Trick of the Light
Fandom: Man from UNCLE
Pairing: IK/NS (if you squint)
Size: appx. 3300 words
A Trick of the Light
c. 2007 Kellie Matthews
"Stop it," Illya said irritably as he stirred his stew over the meager heat of the small fire he'd managed to coax to life. "I'm not falling for it, so don't give me those big eyes."
The offender stared back at him soulfully, and Illya snorted. "Oh no," He shook a finger reprovingly. "This whole mess is your fault in the first place, so you can just find your own dinner."
Something that might have been guilt crinkled his companion's brow at his words, but it was probably just his imagination. Or more likely, worry that he really might not get any stew.
He stuck a finger into the dented hubcap he was using for a pan, and quickly yanked it back out, blowing on it and swearing under his breath. He hadn't thought the fire was putting out that much heat. After sucking the remaining liquid off his finger, he decided that really, as wild meals went, this one was turning out rather well. It could use some salt, but scavenged camas bulbs, fennel root, wild onions and dandelion greens made a decent soup. The judicious sprinkling of fir needles he'd tossed in added a flavor vaguely reminiscent of rosemary. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if he'd managed to catch the rabbit that had been nosing around earlier. Unfortunately he was in no shape to go chasing bunnies.
Still, he was alive, and wasn't going to starve, at least not today. And considering how fast he'd been going when he'd had to slam on the brakes and ended up going over the side of the road, he was more than happy to have escaped the wreck with just a slight concussion (he was a connoisseur of those, so he was fairly certain of his diagnosis), cuts, bruises, and a badly strained leg. Now he just had to figure out how to get back to civilization. He was miles from the nearest town off a road that wasn't on any map, and walking was going to be slow at best. It was almost too bad it wasn't winter-- with a decent snowpack on the ground he could fashion a makeshift sled and let the elevation do much of his work for him, but while there were still a few decrepit patches of snow scattered about in areas where the sun didn't reach, what was most prevalent on the ground at the moment, other than vegetation, were rocks.
He sighed, and used the lower edge of his sport-coat to insulate his hand as he pulled the soup off the stove to let it cool a bit. The action drew a hopeful look from across the fire. and Illya laughed softly. "Yes, you'll get your share, but I hope you don't mind vegetarian fare."
His words provoked a tail-thump, though the animal didn't come any closer. It was skittish, more than half wild. Illya wondered what breed it was. Long-legged and rangy, with a tawny, brindled coat, golden eyes, large, pointed ears and a narrow muzzle, he would have taken it for a coyote had it not had irregular splotches of white on its shoulders and forelegs as if someone had spilled bleach on it. At any rate, though it appeared uninjured, it seemed to feel compelled to hang around, which was definitely not coyote-like. At least not like any coyote he'd heard of– not that his experience was vast.
Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't dangerous, except to his driving. When he'd come to after the crash, the animal had been sitting watching him. If it had wanted to eat him, it could have done so while he was unconscious, so he'd classified it as a non-threat and mostly ignored it. It didn't ignore him though. It watched him with much the same fascination a young child might display while watching cartoons on the television. At times he had the feeling it was just as amused, too.
When the broth had cooled enough, Illya drank off the liquid– the animal could get water more easily than he could- and used a broad, sturdy leaf to ferry vegetables to his mouth until he'd eaten about half what was in the pan. He scooped the remainder into a depression in a nearby boulder and eased back a couple of feet, watching to see what his companion would do. It approached cautiously, stretching its neck out to sniff the food, then turned to gaze suspiciously at Illya.
"Go on, you saw me eat it. It's not poisoned, and while I may not be the best cook in the world, it is edible."
It cocked its head a bit at the sound of his voice. "Truly, it's all right," Illya assured it. "Go on." He kept his tone light, almost sing-song. After a few more moments, it finally lowered its muzzle and took a cautious lick. After it swallowed, he saw the skin of its nose wrinkle a bit, nonexistent eyebrows drawing down, looking for all the world like Napoleon did when encountering some unfamiliar foreign food, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and scaring it off. A sneeze followed, chased by a second lick, then a third, and finally it stopped being cautious and finished off the remainder in just a few bites, then looked around for more.
"Sorry, that's all," Illya said. "I know it's not much, but its better than nothing."
As if it understood him, the animal let out a slight sigh and sat back on its haunches, looking up at the sky. Illya followed its gaze, and nodded. "Yes, you're right. It'll be dark soon." Which reminded him that it might be summer, but at this elevation it was still going to be chilly after dark and he wasn't likely to be rescued tonight. Most likely, in fact, no one had even missed him yet. He got painfully to his feet and set about scavenging more fuel for his fire.
There were piles of dry brown pine needles everywhere-- good for starting fires, but not much else-- so he didn't bother with them. He did find a few small broken branches that would work, but they wouldn't last all that much longer than the needles. He was going to have to range further afield to search, a prospect he didn't relish, since his injured leg made movement difficult. He was just steeling himself to head out, when a sharp bark drew his attention to the other side of the clearing.
His companion stood next to a gnarled, wind-twisted, barren stub of a tree that had been hidden behind two larger, healthier specimens. It had clearly been struck by lightning at some point; it was devoid of foliage and the paler phloem and cambium layers of the tree showed here and there where patches of darker bark had peeled off. The ground around it was littered with dead branches and slabs of shed bark.
Illya stared for long moments, amazed, his gaze shifting between the animal and the tree. "How could you possibly have known what I was looking for?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. Which was just as well, since he didn't get one, though the dog did look rather smug, once again reminding him of his partner.
Illya limped over to collect firewood, and this time the dog didn't run off at his approach, but rather stayed, watching him, and when he'd gotten a good armful of bark and branches and headed back to the firepit, it grabbed a branch in its teeth and followed, dragging the branch, which it deposited on top of Illya's stack and then stood back, looking for all the world as if it were admiring its handiwork.
"You're a smart one, aren't you?" he asked, amazed by the animal's behavior. Maybe it was normal; he didn't know, as he'd never really been around dogs. Truth be told, he was a bit afraid of the larger sort, having been on the receiving end of a few too many 'kill' orders. And the small sort seemed good for little but making noise. This medium kind seemed quite all right, though.
A yip answered him. He chuckled. "Like compliments, do you?" he asked. "That settles it. I'm going to have to call you Napoleon."
A swish of tail was all the response he got, but he took it for assent. "Napoleon it is, then."
He made several trips back and forth from the tree to his camp, each one slower and more painful than the last, and by the time he had enough fuel to last the night it was quite dark. After stoking the fire judiciously, Illya buttoned his jacket closed and curled up on his less-battered side, near enough to the fire to feel its warmth on his face and hands. He knew he needed to sleep: it would help him heal, and he needed a few days worth of that before he would be able to walk back to civilization. He could only hope that the weather held clear and his foraging for food continued to turn up enough edibles to keep him going. He didn't like thinking about the alternatives.
Unfortunately, his clothing wasn't proof against even a summer evening at this altitude, and while his front side was relatively comfortable, his back was not. He tried to ignore it, but the cold made him tense and the tension made every strain, sprain and bruise ache even worse than they had before. "Bolshoi mladynets," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "You've had far worse at the hands of Thrush. Suck it up, as Napoleon would say."
Off to his left he heard a interrogatory whine, and saw a flash of firelight reflect off a pair of eyes close to the ground. "Different Napoleon," he called. "Don't mind me."
That worked about as well with this Napoleon as it did his usual one. He heard the soft rustle of paws moving across groundcover and dead pine needles. For a moment he tensed uneasily, wondering if he should be preparing for an attack, but as the animal moved into the firelight he saw its posture was unthreatening and he relaxed. It paused momentarily to sniff at his shoes, then moved behind him and plopped down next to him with a soft grunt.
Immediately his backside felt warmer. He lay there for a moment, blinking stupidly at the fire and waiting for something else to happen, but when nothing changed he finally looked over his shoulder. "Thank you."
Napoleon put his muzzle on his feet and closed his eyes, ignoring him. Illya couldn't help but smile. Just like his namesake, he was putting himself out for Illya, but refusing to acknowledge it. Suddenly realizing that he was thinking of the animal as if it were human, he frowned. It wasn't like him to anthropomorphize. He wondered if his concussion was worse than he'd thought. No real way to tell, unfortunately, unless he dropped dead. He smiled, realizing that even if he did so, he still wouldn't know.
For a while he lay awake trying to decide whose behavior was odder, his or the dog's, but eventually the warmth and the solid presence beside him made him dozy. He felt strangely safe, as if his partner, not a half-wild dog, lay at his back. It was a familiar position, actually; he'd long ago lost count of the number of times they'd slept so, over the years. Sometimes, in rare moments of peace, they slept even closer– skin to skin, mouth to mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the flush of warmth those thoughts provoked, and went to sleep with surprising ease.
* * *
"Illya? Illya, wake up!"
He heard worry in that voice, and fought his way back to the surface from strange dreams of animal-headed beings, like in Egyptian frescoes, opening his eyes to find warm, dark-brown eyes gazing back at him.
"There you are," Napoleon said, looking pleased.
"Here I am," Illya affirmed. He pushed up on an elbow and glanced around. The fire in its ring of stones was nearly out, just faint shimmers of heat rising into the chill air from grey-coated coals, no flames or smoke visible. No dog, either. Napoleon must have scared him away.
"Are you all right?" Napoleon asked, voice low, and rough with concern.
"I've been better," Illya said wryly, allowing Napoleon to help him sit. He was stiff, sore and a little dizzy, and not above leaning on his friend. "How did you find me?" he asked, puzzled, noting that several dark-suited men he assumed were agents were fanned out across the landscape, picking up bits and pieces of the rattletrap pickup truck he'd been driving.
"It was the darndest thing," Napoleon said, frowning. "We'd just realized you hadn't checked in after taking out that Thrush facility in the Bitterroot area, and were putting together a search party when we got a call from a Tribal Police officer in Orofino saying that one of their elders had just come into town with your wallet and said they needed to go looking for you."
Illya's hand immediately went to his breast pocket, and came out empty even though he knew for a fact his wallet had been there after the crash. "How on earth did he get my wallet?"
"Well, there's where it gets weird. He said Coyote brought it to him and told him to bring it to the authorities."
"A coyote spoke to this man?" Illya asked incredulously.
"Not 'a' coyote," Napoleon said. "The Coyote, apparently. I guess he's some sort of mythological being hereabouts. The old man said Coyote felt bad for causing your accident after you'd done a good turn for his people, so he wanted you looked after. The cop found your UNCLE identification in the wallet and called us right away."
Illya gaped at him until Napoleon lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "What?"
"I do not believe in supernatural creatures," Illya growled.
Napoleon raised his hands. "Don't shoot me, I'm just the messenger! So what did happen here? Blow a tire?"
"No." He realized he was going to have to say something, so he temporized. "I was going rather fast and had to slam on my brakes, and lost control of the vehicle."
"Why'd you have to sl. . ."
"I saw something in the road."
Napoleon studied him for a long moment, then a corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Wouldn't happen to have been a coyote, would it?"
Illya glared at him. Napoleon snorted and reached out to ruffle his hair. Illya flinched away, and the ruffle changed to a soft caress that Illya hoped no one else had noticed. "Seriously, partner, you okay?"
"As I said, I've been better."
"Tell me."
"A mild concussion is probably the worst of it, but my right leg was caught and twisted badly. I think I've sprained both my knee and ankle."
"Let's get you back to civilization then, and get you looked at. And I promise to play your faithful nurse if you need one."
Illya lifted an eyebrow. "I'm afraid with this leg I won't really be up to chasing you around the bed for a while."
"We'll think of something," Napoleon said blithely. "There's always sponge baths. Upsy-daisy." He hoisted Illya to his feet and put a shoulder under his arm to help him up the steep slope to where several vehicles waited on the gravel road.
Halfway up, Illya dug in his heels. "Stop!"
"What?"
"The fire. I need to douse it."
"Jenkins, douse the fire, will you?" Napoleon called out to one of the men. "There. Now will you come on?"
Illya took one last look around, feeling strangely wistful about leaving, but finally he nodded and let Napoleon half-drag him up the rest of the hill.
One of the cars littering the roadway was an elderly Ford painted black and white with the words Tribal Police arched across the front doors, and a single gumball-machine lantern perched on the roof. A lean young man in a short-sleeved tan police uniform was using its roof as a writing surface as he made notes on a clipboard. As Napoleon and Illya crested the hill he turned, and Illya stopped again, staring into eerily familiar golden-brown eyes.
"Well, here's our prodigal returned, Lieutenant Itsiyeye, and thanks so much for your help. My people should have everything cleaned up in short order. We really appreciate you bringing us out here."
"Glad to help," the man replied, his voice a pleasant tenor, slightly accented. "I hear there's a storm coming in tonight, so it's a good thing you found him now. A soaking might've done him right in." He tucked the pen he was holding into his shirt pocket, and Illya's gaze was drawn to the pale splotches of vitiligo on his otherwise tawny-skinned forearms and hands. Somehow he knew those melanin-poor patches crossed the young man's shoulders beneath his shirt.
Illya shivered, and not because he was cold.
Someone called out Napoleon's name and he walked away to consult with another dark-suited man, leaving Illya there with something he staunchly didn't believe in. Something that winked at him as soon as Napoleon's back was turned, and smiled slyly.
"Thanks for dinner last night," he said. "I'd've left you a rabbit for breakfast this morning but it seemed more important to get you out of there. It'd be a poor thing to let you die after what you did for us. That place you shut down was polluting the people's water, and the men who ran it were polluting their souls."
Illya couldn't think of any way to respond other than to take the man's presence at face value. "If you were so thankful, causing me to run off the road was a strange way to show it," he said irritably.
That drew a chuckle. "Sorry. I thought you'd see me before you did. I forgot I kind of blend in on a dirt road. Not to mention the fact that you drive like a maniac."
"That he does," Napoleon said, returning to the conversation. "He's a sore trial to me. We're all set now, so we're going to take our leave, if that's all right."
The being nodded. "No problem at all. Best to get him seen to. Head injuries can be tricky– make you see things that aren't real."
Illya snorted, and Lieutenant Itsiyeye waved cheerfully as Napoleon supported him over to a sedan whose front seat had been let all the way back so Illya could stretch his leg out comfortably. As he settled painfully into the seat, Napoleon grabbed a blanket from the back seat and tucked it around him.
"Comfy?"
"Yes, Mother," Illya said with mock irritation. Truthfully it was nice to be sitting in a padded seat and the blanket was deliciously warm.
"Good." Napoleon shut the door and went around to get in on the driver's side. Putting the car in gear, he pulled out. "Fellow's got odd eyes," he commented as they passed Lieutenant Isiyeye's car.
"Indeed," Illya said, staring at 'the fellow' as they passed. Itsiyeye stared back until they were out of sight.
"You had me worried, partner," Napoleon said quietly.
"I'm sorry."
"Good thing someone was watching over you. Though I know you don't believe in that sort of thing."
"Some days I wonder," Illya said thoughtfully. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and for a moment he thought he saw a dog on the road behind them, but when he blinked and looked again, it was gone. It must have been a trick of the light.
* * * Fin * * *
Note: It'se-ye-ye is, so far as I can determine via Google, the Nez Perce name for Coyote. ;)