Not Far From The Tree
It wasn’t knocking, per se. It was pounding. A much deeper more urgent sound on his front door. It was both loud and worrying. Darcy threw back the covers exposing long legs to the cool night air. His feet were a padded trot as he descended the stairs. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he went. With a click the foyer and his porch were bathed in light and he peered out the peephole. What he saw made him throw open the door immediately.
Ishara in pajamas and an open robe holding a tiny bundle against her chest. She was crying and pounding on his door.
“Help him. Help him.” She thrust the bundle at him with that desperate greeting.
Darcy had no choice but to take the baby from her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The cry that sounded from the soft blankets made primal echoes somewhere inside him. Darcy was shocked but also moved to hear that sound. So, it had happened after all. The question they had been waiting to have answered.
He pulled back the blanket that was wrapped tightly around his son. The head of lynx cub peaked out at him. Gold fuzz stuck up everywhere. His mouth open in cry showed tiny but sharp looking teeth.
“Why does he sound like that?” Ishara asked sounding shrill not so unlike the needy cries Owen was making. She was biting at her nails and pacing in front of him. “Is he – is he – stuck?!”
“No.” Darcy’s answer was hardly a whisper. He was in a state of awe at the little being in his arms. “He’s just frightened. He can sense your stress. Cubs are very sensitive to their mother’s moods.” Darcy began carefully unwrapping the kitten from the blankets. She had essentially swaddled him. “They don’t like being wrapped like this.” He explained as he tossed the blanket over his shoulder. The blue blanket printed with little bears hung over his shoulder like a sash.
The kitten’s limbs were free of the restricting blanket. He cried once more up at Darcy as if to make a point before settling into the nook of his father’s arm. His paws began kneading affectionately against Darcy’s ribs.
“See? That’s more comfortable, isn’t it Owen? Yeah. You like that better, don’t you?” Darcy asked as he ran his fingers over the kitten’s head to feel the soft fur like down that grew there. He glanced up at Ishara who was standing there with one hand over her mouth looking shocked. “He’s fine.” He assured. “See?” He tilted his arms to show her their child nuzzled up in kitten form along his forearm. “He’s perfect.”
Ishara’s eyes welled with tears again. “How – how will he go back? How long will he be like this?”
“Not long in the beginning. Longer as he grows. He’ll be walking and running and climbing in a few months. Cubs are very nocturnal too.”
“W-walking? But he’s only three months old, Darcy.”
“Lynx cubs develop faster than babies. They grow a lot faster too.”
“How much will he grow?”
“It’s hard to say. Hybrids can vary.”
Ishara blanched and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. She flipped a large section over her part. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“You’re not doing this by yourself.” He reminded her sternly. “Listen.” He held up his finger to stop her from speaking. It was a tiny sound almost like a marble being rolled on a bumpy surface. Owen was purring away completely oblivious to his mother’s stress now that he was tucked safe against his father’s side.
Darcy heard Ishara say ‘aw’ quietly and felt her move up against his other side. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sleeping kitten. “He is kind of cute like this.” She conceded as she ran her fingers tentatively over his head and down his spine.
___
There was the crashing in the kitchen almost simultaneous with a distinct screech of feline terror followed by familiar mournful cries. Darcy threw off the covers and rushed downstairs to see what Owen had gotten into this time. It had been something every night this week. Darcy had hardly gotten any sleep but he didn’t mind at all. He had gotten a blissful week all to himself with his son.
The other Hart children had gone to their respective annual summer camps and Ishara had convinced Renly to let Owen stay with Darcy for the week so they could have child-free time. She seemed to find all sorts of reasons to let Owen stay over with Darcy for the day, or afternoon, or night.
After a week of nightly wakings with Owen, Darcy could certainly appreciate how fatiguing it must be to care for the child fulltime and keep the secret of his parentage from the rest of the family. He was beginning to wonder how she managed it, when Owen could be so frisky and troublesome in his kitten-play.
“Owen?” Darcy called out for his son. He wasn’t quite sure where the crashing sound had come from. The kitchen maybe?
More urgent mournful cries confirmed his guess.
Darcy flipped on the lights in the kitchen and found the evidence of Owen’s play on the floor. A knocked over box of cereal spilled flakes over half of the kitchen. He’d found the toy inside and tore up the plastic wrapping. The toy was nowhere to be found. A drawer had been pulled out and half the silver ware dumped on the floor.
Darcy scanned the wreckage with something like wonder. How hadn’t he woke earlier? His eyes tracked upwards when he heard a more tentative call. There high up on the top of the cabinets were two scared kitten eyes glowing yellow from the way they caught the light.
“How did you get up there?” Darcy glanced around looking for clues. A few magnets and papers held up by them had been pushed askew on the fridge. There. Owen had jumped on the counter and then to the fridge and then to the top cabinets.
Darcy tsked and moved closer under the spot where Owen was. “You’re alright.” He held out his hands. “Come on.”
The kitten inched farther back from the edge and cried pathetically. His ears were pressed down against his head and he made as small a ball of himself as he could.
“I’m not going to let you fall.” Darcy reassured as he reached up to coax Owen closer. The kitten wouldn’t come. “Look.” Darcy ran his hand along the top of the cabinet towards the fridge. “You can jump back down here. It’s not far, see?”
Owen raised his head to peer down the line of the cabinet where his father indicated. He twisted around and crept in that direction keeping hard against the wall.
“You can back down just the way you got up. See?” Darcy kept up his encouragement as Owen got close to the fridge again. “I won’t let you fall.” Darcy kept his hands up to catch him should he miss his jump.
Owen’s back side lifted some and his feet seemed to mark time as his body calibrated the jump. He lept easily clearing the space back to the fridge.
“Good. See? I knew you could do it.” Darcy let his hands fall down to the counter and he tapped his fingers there. “It’s farther down but not by much.”
Owen made his calibrations again and leapt down. He was obviously scared by the distance and landed with his paws outstretched as if he would try to sink his claws into the counter to stabilize himself. But there was nothing to latch on to. And that seemed to annoy him. Owen’s ears flattened out and his tail flicked back and forth.
“You made it! Now it’s just down to the floor.”
Owen turned around and leapt at Darcy forcing the man to catch the kitten. Darcy laughed when he caught Owen even though there were claws sinking into his shoulder. He didn’t mind the pricking. Owen’s claws retracted as he relaxed against his father. He bumped his head against Darcy’s cheek as if relieved.
“You made a mess.” Darcy said as he stepped around the spilled cereal, carrying Owen back to his crib.
___
“Oh it’s alright, sweet heart. It won’t hurt you.” Ishara cooed at her youngest child who had backed himself into a corner, crouched down, and covered his head with his hands. He was crying a sobbing. It might have been funny, maybe one day it would be funny. But his genuine fear made her heart ache. “It’s just a haircut, baby.”
“No.” He whined into his own knees, peering at her with watery blue eyes. “No mama.”
“Yes, you need it, darling. Your hair is wild.”
“It huwts.” He whined.
Ishara smiled at the sad child. She couldn’t help it. The way he said his r’s like w’s was so adorable to her. “It doesn’t hurt.” She argued gently. “Look.” Ishara left her son in the corner briefly while she retrieved the scissors. She snipped a small bit off the end of her hair in the front and showed it to him. “See?”
“Youws is diffewnt.”
Ishara shook her head. “No our hair is just the same. I promise.”
“No. You have mama haiw.” He argued.
It was no use. He dropped his head back to his knees more determined than ever to protect his mop of messy blonde hair. How blonde he was left her in awe at times. She hadn’t expected him to be so blonde. Darcy’s hair was so dark at the roots. She’d noticed when he let it grow long the strands seemed to become more and more blonde. Even so, Owen was just so blonde.
The door bell rang. Ishara pushed herself up from her crouch. “Guess who that is, Owen?” She asked using her ‘get excited’ voice.
The boy gave her a daring watery glare. “I don’t know.”
“It’s Darcy!”
Owen lifted his head some and gave her a dubious look before dropping it back down.
Ishara was in that frustrated but still amused in-between emotional state that she found was peculiar to being a mother. “You don’t wanna come say hello to Darcy?” She reached for Owen’s hair trying to ruffle it affectionately but he shoved her hands away. “Oh you’re being a stinker.” She accused him. “I’m going to tell Darcy.”
The door bell rang again.
“Fine, fine.” Ishara muttered to herself as she left Owen in the corner. She opened the door to find Darcy standing there looking impatient. His hip was popped and his fist rested on it.
“Took you long enough.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Mmm.” She hummed a warning at him before stepping over the threshold to give the man a kiss on either cheek. “Your psycho offspring keeps me quite occupied.” She whispered and as she pulled away she gave him a devilish smile.
Darcy grunted. “I’ve heard psycho is a trait passed down by the mother.”
“Nope. Exclusively a ‘Y’ trait.”
Darcy grunted. “So what is it this time?”
Ishara grabbed on to his bicep and pouted dramatically. “He won’t let me cut his hair. He’s scared of the scissors.”
Darcy gazed down at her seemingly unaffected by her endearing ways. “Did you snip a piece of your hair –?”
“Of course I snipped a piece of my own hair. This isn’t my first rodeo. It didn’t work. I have mom hair, so.”
Darcy’s face lit up as if he was having a revelation. “Hard to argue with his logic there.”
Ishara planted both hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow at him. “Get in here and make him let me cut his hair so we can get to Renly’s pinning ceremony on time.”
Darcy allowed himself to be pulled into the house. “Where is he?” He asked loudly.
That open inquiry produced first the frantic approaching steps of a small child. Blonde hair bobbed everywhere. “Dawcy!” Owen called excitedly as he ran with open arms expecting to be caught.
Darcy swept the child up and hugged him close. He frowned down at the boy in his arms whose hair was all in his eyes. “Where is he? Where is Owen?” He teased as he examined the boy skeptically.
“Dawcy I’m hewe!”
Darcy managed to look shocked as he pushed back Owen’s hair. “Oh! I didn’t see you there. You need a haircut, Owen.”
Owen’s brows knitted together. All his mirth melted into an expression that looked like betrayal. Darcy had taken his mother’s side. He crossed his hands over his chest. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Dawcy. No.”
“Owen. Yes.”
This contest of wills wasn’t getting anywhere. Ishara threw up her hands. “Goddess help me.”
Darcy carried Owen into the kitchen where a chair and towel had been set up for the haircut. He set Owen into the chair.
“You gotta get your haircut for the pinning. Don’t you want to look nice for the pictures?” Ishara asked as she followed along.
“No.” Owen said stubbornly to her before turning to gaze up at Darcy. His voice changed to more dulcet tones. “Dawcy. What’s a pinning?”
“It’s when the military gives out awards for when someone does something brave.”
Owen made an ‘o’ with his mouth as if he understood. Curious grey eyes fell to the stitches that spelled out Darcy’s name on his uniform. The embroidery glistened gold like the pins that lined his chest.
“You did something bwave?” He asked poking at one of the awards.
Darcy stared down at his own chest as if he were noticing his awards for the first time in a long time. It seemed impossible that the one Owen pointed to was the Meritorious Leadership Medal he’d received long ago from the war in Eskra. He glanced at Ishara whose face was a mask.
“I sat still for my haircut.” He explained to Owen with a serious expression.
His son blinked slowly indicating that he didn’t believe for one second that’s what the award was about. “No you didn’t.”
“But you will.”
“No.”
“Owen will you be brave and sit for your haircut?”
“No.”
“What if I sit with you.”
Owen crossed his arms again. His feet kicked back and forth where they hung off the edge of the chair. He seemed to be mulling over how much Darcy’s approval meant to him. “…okay.”
Darcy lifted Owen under the arms and sat himself down on the chair with Owen on his knee. “Alright mom. He’s ready.”
Owen squeezed his eyes shut tight and gasped when he heard the snip of the scissors. When he felt no pain, he opened one eye and peered around to find his mom holding a lock of his hair in her hands and the scissors in the other. “There. See?” She asked sweetly. “I told you it wouldn’t hurt.”
When she snipped another chunk of hair away, Owen frowned at her and said, “Ow.”
When Darcy laughed, Owen giggled along with him. Ishara sucked her cheeks before muttering, “Psychos.”
____
Owen was crouched down and creeping along barefoot in the grass. He was watching something in the bushes intently as a light breeze made the grass tickle his feet. The sun was setting and reflected an orange gold in his hair.
Ishara had opened the backdoor to call him in for dinner, but stopped and cocked her head to watch him. She stepped back into the kitchen and whispered and waved at Darcy to get his attention. “Hey. Hey. Come here. Look at this.”
Darcy set aside the book he’d been reading and joined Ishara in the backdoor way. “What.”
“What’s he doing?” She asked quietly, gesturing at Owen who crept along so slowly it was almost painful. She kept her voice low so as to avoid alerting Owen to the fact that he was being observed.
She didn’t know that his ear had pricked at the sound of the door opening. He heard his mother’s voice and then Darcy’s and then hers again. He knew he was being watched. It made him more determined in his task. He crouched lower.
Darcy leaned towards Ishara’s ear. “He’s stalking something.”
She turned and frowned at him. “Stalking? Why?”
Darcy watched Owen in that so feline crouch, sneaking through the grass. “It’s in his nature to hunt. He’s practicing.” He explained feeling something like a surge of pride.
“But he can’t…” She stopped short of saying ‘shift’ because that damned spell had become a bitter wedge between them. The biggest mistake she had ever made was tampering with their son’s nature.
“I guess he’s more resilient than you expected.” The anger he still felt for what she had done to Owen years ago bubbled up into his voice.
Out in the yard, Owen stilled moved in what looked like slow motion. Suddenly, he sprang to action. A figure darted from the bush and Owen leapt at it capturing the neighbors tabby cat. It screeched in protest and struggled against him. Owen turned with the cat and held it up clearly looking for his father’s approval. The cat twisted around in his hands and with one effective sweep wiped the grin right off Owen’s face. He dropped the cat with a cry. He doubled over with his hands cupped over his face and wailed in terrible pain.
Darcy darted from the doorway and was the first to reach him. He fell to his knees and coaxed Owen’s hands from his face. “It’s just a scratch. Let me see.”
It wasn’t just a scratch. The grey in his eye was washed out by red and when Darcy pulled back the lower eyelid to examine the damage, blood leaked down Owen’s cheek. Owen screeched and shoved Darcy’s hands away to cover his eye with his hands.
“It scratched him in the eye.” Darcy explained when Ishara ran up to them. He gazed up at the redhead and saw her standing with her hand over her mouth. She had an expression on her face like she shared in Owen’s pain.
“Bring him inside.” She ordered and Darcy lifted the crying child into his arms. “It’s okay, baby. Mama will fix it.” She cooed as she petted at Owen’s hair. She whispered a spell that would help soothe his nerves.
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