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The borman shifted where he stood, weight rolling uneasily from one broad foot to the other. His thick fingers curled and uncurled, claws rasping faintly. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. It was lower now, each word pressed out slowly, as though he was forcing calm into the cracks of rising tension. "I take off jacket?"

Bubs did not look up. "No." His tone stayed flat, edged with that same brisk authority he threw at everyone else. "Upper body's stable. Coat's dry. Don't force a change of temperature after exposure. We have the adjustment room for a reason, but a few minutes don't undo weeks of hypothermia. Weeks of cold." His thin hands never stopped working as he spoke. "The shock kills faster than the frost. What you did with the towels was good. Now she warms in her own shell, slow and layered. Let the body remember warmth before you strip it."

Yu's feathers prickled. He saw the logic in that. Harrow had warned him about the same thing when they had first arrived, cautioning him not to tear off his cloak and coverings too quickly after coming in from the blizzard. Though it was different for Yu, with his feathers. On the mountain, they offered a barrier against wind and rain, as well as extra insulation. In the settlement deserts, they stored moisture and gave protection against sunburn and dust.

The tairan, however, had nothing. Just like humans, they walked around in bare skin, naked except for whatever layers they stitched around themselves. Some grew faint traces of hair as they aged, but to call that fur would be absurd, nothing short of ridiculous, really. You would think that the skin, then, should be really tough, to make up for all these shortcomings, but no. If anything, it was rather thin and soft. They utterly relied on clothing, for everything.

This tairan's jacket was of thick and white-grey fur, so bulky and dense that it reminded Yu of the downs on a chick. It was heavily stuffed, with a faint oily shimmer, like it had been treated. Not soaked through, Yu noticed. Noticeably damp but not ruined. At least partially water-resistant, then. Whoever had made it knew what they were doing.

Her trousers were a different thing. They were a strange hybrid of leather and cloth, the outer surface still cracked with frost. It looked like they had once been padded with some sort of wool, but the stuffing had shifted out of shape. Some parts were ripped out entirely, others were frozen into stiff clumps. As he worked, Bubs cut and probed them out. Whatever he got, he placed on the tray. The torn fabric resisted stubbornly, as Bubs worked his way around the mess, though that was probably less credit to the garment's maker and more affirmation of general mianid weakness.

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While Bubs worked, voices from the common room seeped into Yu's awareness. Far distant, at first, then sharper, as he let them in.

"Only the ker and the selder are registered," the krynn was saying. His voice was taut, the words stretched too thin, too measured to sound natural. "I am only a traveller."

That last line. The insistence on neutrality. It pricked Yu's nerves.

"So is Kel-Khadar, the borman," the krynn added quickly. "We were born in these lands. We are free to roam."

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Yu knew that there was no standard on passes in most of the northern Midlands. Beyond the Barnstreams, record-keeping was patchwork at best, a sprawl of ledgers and half-kept birth registries. But in the settlements, it was different. With the issues around tairan ancestry, the Barnstreams had become meticulous in tracking the identity and lineage of individual people. Every birth, every union, every move from one settlement to another was recorded. Beyond that, the administrations tried hard to trace and sort the last three hundred years — at least within the settlements that were still tairan-held.

Where the borman took over, all of it went to shits. They did not maintain the established organisation of things, because they were either too savage to uphold order or too stupid to actually understand civilised administration in the first place. No structures lasted. No archives held.

Maintenance is in a peoples' culture, not in their nature, Tria had said once. It is the choice to live a more strenuous and restrained present, in exchange for a safer tomorrow. It is in the culture of those who live for the generations that come after them, not for their own selfish, momentary pleasures.

It was not just incompetence — though there was plenty of that. It was deliberate. It was useful to them.

Disorder is a weapon. A way to disrupt and dispute and destroy the trail of tairan heritage and, with it, their rightful claims to these lands. To let bormen take over is to set back a cultured society three hundred years. It is a passive war, Tria had said.

From what Yu had seen, he believed her.

Outside the Barnstreams, and now Yu meant the rest of the world, records and regulations were something else entirely. Most beastkin peoples lived in remote clusters, secluded and self-sufficient. Some tribes never built any form of infrastructure at all, let alone systems of record. They did not travel beyond their tribal territories unless forced to, and when they did, they clung to traditional routes carved by generations of wanderers. Rulers like the King Brothers tolerated this, apparently. A convenience, or perhaps indifference.

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But this guild demanded passes.

The raider guards wanted names. They wanted to know who they were facing.

Deltington's voice cut cleanly through the distance. "You must have papers for that human, at least," he said.

A human?

There was a pause.

Yu was very good at hearing. He was good at hearing voices, and equally good at hearing pauses. This one was not hesitation. It was calculation. A breath held, tested for how long it could last before it sounded false.

"Yes, of course."

Another pause.

"Kel-Khadar has them. The borman."

"Right."

Disgusting. That was the other reason to hate bormen. It also explained why the borman cared so much.

After that, it was guild and room layout, drying rooms for wet clothes and gear, room keys and meal schedule.

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Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Yu's stomach clenched at the notion of food, and for the moment, his eyes stayed locked on Bubs. He willed him to look up, to glance in his direction, to see him, but the mianid never turned away from the human. His deliberate motions stayed smooth, methodical, as he worked to free the human's right leg first, then her left.

Yu understood the process well enough, though his view was obscured by the borman. For all he had retreated to the wall, his bulk still blocked half his view. Atop that, Bubs' hunched figure covered a big part of her legs.

From what Yu could see, the human wore a second layer of clothes under her trousers, some sort of tights that ended in long socks. At least her left leg was covered like that. On her right, all clothing was torn from the knee down, from where the broken bone was visible. Instead, the lower leg was wrapped in thick compresses and bandages. They protruded from under a second splint, this one cobbled together from what seemed like two overlapping plates of armour — perhaps a vambrace, or a shin guard. It had been fixed in place with brutal efficiency.

Bubs did not touch it. Not yet. Instead, he changed stools.

With Bubs out of his line of sight, Yu could see the human's upper tight, now uncovered — and recoiled. Where the bone jutted free, raw and white, the giant wound was covered in a bloated mess of blood and mottled bruising. It spread up from the knee to the flank like black moss. It only hinted at the true extent of the injury and the pain.

On her left side, Bubs worked quickly, cutting through the tights, peeling back the fabric. That leg, too, was discoloured. There was deep blue and black pooling beneath the skin like submerged ink. The stench hit seconds after Bubs eased off the boot; sickness and rot.

It pushed Yu's hunger down hard and made his beak clench shut. His gaze skittered away, toward the other figure on the adjacent cot. Still motionless. Still waiting for examination. Still awaiting treatment. Second to the human. It irritated Yu.

The irritation amassed all of his suspicions. Was this … deliberate? Was Bubs purposefully neglecting the injured selder? But why let him worsen?

Because there was no point in caring for him? Perhaps the syndicate had already taken from these travellers whatever the shaman wanted — and now they were liabilities? But then, would it not have been easier to refuse them entry altogether?

To rob them of their possessions? No. Yu tossed the thought as quickly as it arose. That was too simplistic.

More likely, they needed to check their papers first, their identities. So they allowed them in, to decide whether this group held value or posed danger. To see if anyone in the Barnstreams expected them, or would come looking if they vanished. To learn if they were notable authorities themselves. As unrealistic as it was with the krynn, you could never tell with the bormen and their brutish hierarchies.

But then, surely, the selder should be the syndicate's first priority, should he not? If this group hired him as their guide, or the witch abducted and forced him, would his tribe not search for him? Would they not ask every Snowtrail wanderer about the whereabouts of their child? No one would mind if a human died, and no one would blame Bubs with how bad that leg looked, so why did he still prioritise this female over the selder?

Yu's thoughts circled back to the human's papers, and then —

He does not know.

Yu stared.

For a moment, he just stared, as the shaman got a potion from one of the many shelves, showed it to Bubs and then infused it into the human's mouth spoonful after spoonful, all while Bubs, back on the left stool, worked on undoing the many straps of the human's right boot.

Of course. Yu had listened in, but Bubs had not.

He does not know that this is a human.

Bubs had not been told, at least not after the party had entered the common room. And looking at her, he would have no reason to suspect. The girl's pale complexion and the copper tinge in her hair could easily pass for one of the fiercer tairan mixes, those striking hybrids of flaxen blond and burning red that was so common among those with strong ancestry. This was tairan traits, if Yu had ever seen any.

Her appearance was so convincing that even Yu had not questioned it. A borman, of all people, had carried this girl in his arms, and Yu still had not concluded anything from just how wrong that was. He had suspected nothing, even though it made no sense at all that a borman cared for a tairan girl. Even though it made all the sense that instead, said borman would very much want his personal human to be fixed.

And still, even now, Yu would not believe that she was classified as a human, if Deltington had not declared it with so much calm and certainty, and if the krynn had not confirmed it a moment later.

How had Deltington known so quickly?

Through Estingar, probably. The borman might have told him while they had been waiting in the walkway. For the most part, Yu had not listened to their conversation as they acclimatised. But then again, it did not matter. Whatever Deltington knew, Bubs would not be able to guess from the human's appearance.

No one would, from the outside.

It must be her mind. Her habitat administration must have tested her. She must be mentally deranged. Profoundly deranged. That was the only reason a habitat human born with tairan traits was not handed over to the tairan. If they could not sustain themselves, they either died in infancy or were taken out of the habitat and disposed of. Otherwise, they were simply sterilised and kept amongst the other humans until they died.

So this girl was a human. And she had been sold to the borman.

And now he was taking her to the Barnstreams?

Yu's feathers rose in an involuntary wave.

That could not be true.

Yes, there were still habitats that sold excess humans into private ownership. But even if she was his legal property, the borman would not be allowed to bring her into the Barnstream settlements —not if Tria and the tairan had their say. So what was he playing at? What did he expect? Was this an attempt at secret trafficking?

There were still a few settlement bormen who owned humans, simply because they got them before the selling ban. Their ownership remained legal under the oldest Reparation Rights. But the issue was the cause for great tension, with the potential for another civil war. The bormen refused to give up their humans. The tairan lacked the manpower to take them by force. From that stalemate grew the unspoken consensus to simply wait it out, to let the problem resolve itself when the last privately owned humans finally died out.

In the meantime, those rare cases of non-habitat humans were hidden from sight. That was a rule not confined to the Barnstreams but upheld across the continent. Humans did not walk unbound. They were not taken travelling — certainly not for weeks, and never on treks this open and dangerous. They were meant to be locked away. Whatever their owners did to them was supposed to stay behind closed doors.

But of course, a borman would break that rule. A borman would drag his human across the wilds, even if it meant shattering her legs.

The thought sickened Yu. It sickened him to imagine why.

Tria had told him what the bormen did to their humans. What they did to those given as restitution for the old wars, under their repulsive Reparation Rights. Yu had never wanted to know any of it, but Tria had insisted. She had told him in great detail, because these atrocities do not deserve to be forgotten. And oh yes, it was brutal. It was disgusting. It was monstrous. They were only humans, but still, what the bormen did with them were things not permitted even with animals.

If humans draw such cruelty out of our midst, if their presence alone degrades our civility so easily, even now, then their war on us has not yet ended. Tria had said that in all her speeches. It was also in the treatise that made the ban on bormen purchasing humans official.

Yu believed it. He generally took her word for it, in all matters human. As long as they behaved, the humans of today, be they kept in the habitat or privately owned, should be treated no worse than any other beast of burden.

The humans of today. That was the crucial distinction.

The habitats were not punishment. They were protection. They were created because no one should ever suffer from humans again. Humans must be kept apart from the world. They must never again be mistaken for people.

This was why Yu had to say something.

Yes, he had to act like a sensible guard. He had to be involved, and to show concern for the selder.

"She's a human," Yu said it into the room.

The words hung in the air for several seconds, before Bubs made a low, noncommittal sound. No words followed. Yu could not tell whether he had heard or was too absorbed in his work. Then, however, Bubs got off his stool, grabbed the tray with the chunks of clothing and stuffing, and placed it onto the adjacent bed. Yu believed that this meant he was finally done with the human, but then Bubs got another, empty tray, and placed it right where the first one had sat. He then gathered two more scissors, different in size but both with odd handles that had some sort of spring between them. He put them on the tray, pushed his stool further to the foot end of the human's bed, got back on and then started cutting into the boot. It was tough work and he moved meticulously slow. By now, the leg and ancle were stabilised with towels all around. Everything was bruised and bloody and horribly swollen. Whatever this was, it would take a while.

Yu swallowed and repeated, louder this time. "She is just a human. She is not a tairan."

"Yes," Bubs said. He did not look up.

The borman looked down on Yu.

Yu's feathers rose as he edged closer to the other cot, the one holding the selder. He made sure to keep five careful steps between himself and the borman, and then one more for good measure.

"I mean, … so you can start with him," Yu steadied his voice and added what he hoped to be something like care. "With … this person." He emphasised the last word, putting all the compassion there.

This time, Bubs' hands halted. His head lifted and turned, and for the first time, he looked at Yu. The mianid's wide, black eyes locked onto him. For a long second, all urgency drained from his movements.

Yu froze too.

There was no ridicule in that stare, no frustration and no anger. Not like the times Bubs had treated him an imbecile over cleaning mistakes. No, this was … the opposite. A serious look. Alert. Measuring him. It was the look Lib and Url gave Tria when they had messed up, and knew that she knew. Cautious.

He's wary of me, Yu realised. Of how well I can hear. Of what I might overhear. His stomach knotted all over again. Of what I might read in someone's mind.

And then his stomach dropped.

He had no idea what they must all be thinking after the shaman spoke of Transcender mind reading. Did she say that to make them fear me? To make them think I can uncover their plan? To make them kill me, because I'm too dangerous?

Desperate to shift the focus, Yu flared his wings towards the beastkin's bed. "I just thought … I mean, should we not … You, I mean, you could see if he's injured?"

"We will", Bubs said, and then resumed his work. On the human.

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