Eira sat cross-legged in the cool shade of a pine tree, the scent of sap hanging faintly in the air. The grass around her had been freshly cut, though here and there, taller strands had been missed by the groundskeepers. She busied herself with plucking them one by one, the blades folding between her claws.
From somewhere across the yard came a scatter of yips, playful snarls, and the muffled thump of bodies hitting the grass. She glanced up. A tangled knot of her younger siblings rolled and tumbled across the lawn, grass-stained coveralls flashing pale in the sun as they wrestled without a care in the world. Their laughter rang bright against the low hum of summer insects.
Her eyes wandered further, taking in the other pups scattered about the facility grounds. Some lounged in the sun with their noses buried in the assigned reading for the week, lips moving as they mouthed unfamiliar words. Others sat in small circles under trees, the older ones patiently guiding the younger through their Deutsche Fibel, correcting their pronunciation with quiet authority. Eira knew she was behind in her reading. She didn’t need the overseers to remind her.
She had only just finished Cinderella. The ending was sweet, she supposed. The prince found his bride, love triumphed, the evil stepmother and her daughters punished. But her mind kept circling back to the grotesque detail of the stepsisters slicing off their own toes at their mother’s urging, desperate to cram their mutilated feet into the glass slipper. She could see it too clearly, the knife, the blood soaking stockings and then the doves descending to peck out their eyes at the wedding feast. It was dreadful, yes, but what unsettled her most was that it felt… unnecessary. Cruel for cruelty’s sake.
Eira smirked faintly to herself, a private thought taking shape. Children should not read such things. A quiet laugh escaped her, low and brief. She pulled another long blade of grass free and began weaving it with the others, trying to shape the strands into a crude basket. Her claws made the work clumsy, but she persisted, adjusting the tension, threading each piece through with stubborn focus.
The shadow fell across her before she heard him approach. Bare, furred feet padding softly over the clipped lawn. Dieter’s familiar scent reached her a heartbeat before his voice.
“What are you making, little sister?” he asked, curiosity threading through his tone as he crouched down beside her. His coveralls were stained deep green from rolling in the grass, and a few stray clippings clung stubbornly to the fur along his forearms.
Eira turned her small creation over in her hands, inspecting the uneven weave. “A basket… I suppose,” she said with a shrug, her furred shoulders lifting with the motion.
Dieter extended a hand without a word, and she placed the half-formed thing in his palm. His ears flicked as he studied it, running a clawtip along the weaving. “It is small,” he said, a faint smile curving his muzzle, “but well done, Eira.”
She felt her own ears cant forward at the praise, warmth blooming in her chest. She took it back carefully, turning it over in her lap again.
Dieter’s ears tipped back slightly as his gaze slid to the other pups scattered across the grass. “Have you finished your reading?” he asked.
Eira shook her head. “Nein, I… needed a moment after finishing Cinderella. I can’t stop thinking about the stepsisters cutting their own feet.” Her muzzle wrinkled. “I suppose I wanted the fresh air.”
Dieter chuckled, nodding. “Ja, it was horrible. Still… It ended happily.”
She gave him a crooked look. “Horrid all the same.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but a sharp cry cut across the lawn. It wasn’t playful. Snarls followed, the sound raising the fur along Eira’s neck. Both of them turned toward the commotion.
Two older boys, Leif and Willhelm stood, locked in a clumsy, furious struggle. A broken wooden toy lay at their feet, one wheel detached and resting in the grass. Leif shoved Willhelm hard, sending him staggering, ears flattened, eyes rimmed red with angry tears.
“You broke it on purpose!” Leif shouted, his voice cracking before he lunged, knocking Willhelm backwards. The other boy hit the ground with a grunt and came up snarling.
Around them, the other pups froze, ears pinned, unsure whether to intervene. From the facility entrance, two grey-coated orderlies broke into a run, calling out for the boys to stop. Neither seemed to hear, fists flailing in uncoordinated fury.
Then a single word cut through everything.
“Children!”
Dr. Friedrich Vollmer’s voice rolled across the grounds. Not loud enough to be a shout but carrying a weight that stilled every movement. Dozens of eyes turned toward the open first-floor window where he leaned out, spectacles sliding precariously down his nose. His expression was equal parts weary and amused.
The man shook his head, muttering something to himself before swinging one leg over the sill. His foot caught for a moment and he nearly lost his balance, his white coat billowing like startled wings. The slip drew a ripple of giggles from the younger pups, and even Vollmer chuckled as he regained his footing.
Leif and Willhelm were already standing side by side now, their heads bowed, postures stiff with shame.
Vollmer approached them at an easy pace, clapping his hands together as though dusting them off. He crouched down before the boys, picking up the broken toy. A small wooden truck, its missing wheel resting in the dirt.
“What happened?” he asked simply, turning the toy over in his hands.
Leif sniffed. “Willhelm wanted my truck. He broke the wheel.”
Vollmer’s gaze shifted to Willhelm. “Is this true?”
The boy’s voice was quieter. “Yes… but I didn’t mean to break it. I only wanted to see it, and Leif struck me.”
Vollmer nodded slowly, rolling the wheel between his fingers, assessing the damage. “I have glue in my desk that will fix this,” he said at last, his tone mild. “But you mustn’t strike your brother, ja?”
Both boys nodded. Willhelm brushed bits of grass from his arm.
Vollmer rose, tucking the truck into his coat pocket. “I swear, the moment your eldest siblings aren’t watching, you manage to invent new forms of trouble,” he said with mock exasperation. “Now, apologize to each other.”
The boys glanced up briefly, then mumbled their apologies.
Satisfied, Vollmer turned toward the two orderlies who stood waiting. “It’s nearly time for lessons. Let’s get them inside.”
The men nodded and began ushering the children toward the building.
Vollmer stepped back, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Children, inside, please.”
A chorus of groans rose from the lawn, but none dared linger long. Lines formed quickly, tails and ears drooping as the pups filed toward the facility doors.
Eira sighed and got to her feet, accepting Dieter’s offered hand. She cradled her half-finished basket in one palm, then glanced at the ground. In a quick, furtive motion, she bent to scoop up a few extra blades of grass, tucking them into her pocket. There would be time later, between lessons or after supper to finish what she’d started.
Dieter gave the yard one last sweeping glance before slipping in beside her, their strides falling in step as they followed the slow current of children toward the building.
Ahead, Dr. Vollmer stood with his hands braced on his hips, surveying the stragglers. His eyes were narrowed against the glare, crow’s feet carved deep into the pale skin around them. Sweat beaded at the edge of his bald patch, glistening under the unusually warm sun. He plucked his spectacles from his nose and polished the lenses against the silk of his tie, squinting at the children for a moment before slipping them back on.
“Hello, you two,” Vollmer greeted warmly as they approached. His gaze dropped almost immediately to Eira’s hand, and the small, uneven basket she cradled there. His mouth curved into a pleased smile, and he held out his hand without a word.
Eira passed it over, with no hesitation. He turned it slowly in his fingers, running a thumb along the woven rim, studying the way the grass strands were tucked into each other.
“Very well done, Eira,” he said, nodding in genuine approval.
Her ears angled forward at the praise, and she folded her hands together in front of her, her shoulders lifting just slightly.
Vollmer returned the basket carefully and glanced between the two of them. “And your reading? Eira… Dieter?”
“I am reading Rapunzel, Papi,” Dieter said immediately, straightening his posture as if to earn an extra measure of approval. “I will finish it today.”
“Sehr gut,” Vollmer replied, satisfied, before turning to Eira.
She hesitated. “I just finished Cinderella, Papi… I’m sorry. I’m behind.”
“Ahh,” Vollmer said, tilting his head, his tone soft rather than scolding. “You should be further along by now, my dear.”
Eira nodded once, eyes dropping, one clawed toe scuffing at the clipped grass.
Vollmer’s expression warmed again. He extended his hand, palm open. “I will keep it safe for you, yes? It will be in my office until you have caught up with your siblings.”
Eira clutched the basket for a heartbeat longer before placing it in his hand. Then, almost as an afterthought, she reached into her pocket and drew out the extra strands of grass she’d collected, offering them as well.
Vollmer chuckled, low and pleasant, as if the gesture had genuinely amused him. "Ah, so you came prepared for later," he teased, taking the grass along with the basket.
He checked his watch, humming under his breath. “Dieter, off to class now. I want a word with Eira.”
Dieter gave her a quick wave before heading inside.
“Come along,” Vollmer said, setting a gentle pace toward the building. The last of the children were filing in under the watchful eyes of the grey-coated orderlies.
As they neared the door, Vollmer bent slightly toward her. "I had hoped you’d be finished with the next story," he said conversationally. "Between you and I…" he glanced down at her with a conspirator’s grin. "I might have a little surprise that involves it. But you mustn’t tell the others."
Eira’s ears perked, her curiosity flaring. “A surprise?” she blurted, louder than intended.
He gave a theatrical wince and pressed a finger to his lips. “A little quieter, meine dear. But yes.” His grin was sly, almost boyish, before fading into a more thoughtful squint. “In fact, I will tell you something else. How about you join me in my office with your reading? You may finish it quickly. I will tell Herr Rauwolf I am tutoring you… which will not be entirely untrue.”
Eira’s tail gave the faintest flick, interest blooming across her face.
Vollmer tapped the basket in his hand. “I suppose you won’t miss anything terribly important this afternoon. Ach, I find Mein Kampf rather melodramatic. Like one very, very long speech from our dear Führer."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “That stays between us, ja?”
Eira nodded quickly.
“Good girl,” Vollmer said, holding the door for her. She slipped inside, her claws clicking faintly on the polished floor as she darted toward her shared quarters.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“You remember which story it is?” he called after her.
“Ja, Papi Snow White!”
He grinned, already turning toward his office. “You’ll be glad you read it before this evening,” he called back.
Eira hurried to her bunk at the far end of the room, where her Brothers Grimm collection rested on the mattress. She snatched it up, tucking it under her arm, and spun on her heel so fast her feet skidded on the waxed floor. She nearly broke into a run, flipping the book open as she moved, the thin strip of paper marking the start of Snow White.
The bold black title stared back at her. She smiled faintly, clutching the book tighter, and stepped into the hall.
Reaching Vollmer’s door, she pushed it open, then froze.
A prickle ran up her spine, her ears angling forward. At the far end of the corridor stood a small figure. A little human girl.
The sight was so out of place it felt like a mistake in reality.
Eira blinked, taken aback. As her eyes adjusted, she took in the details. Blonde hair in two neat braids, that rested on her shoulders, her eyes they were blue, and as Eira focused, she realized the little girl was clutching a small, ragged doll in her hands.
The girl smiled faintly, lifted one small hand, and waved.
“Eira? Are you alright?”
Eira flinched and whipped her head around. Vollmer sat behind his desk, one brow arched in mild curiosity.
When she turned back toward the hall, the girl was gone.
She hesitated, swallowing. “Ja, Papi… I thought I saw something.”
Vollmer chuckled softly, waving her in. “Come, come. Bring your book.”
She stepped into the office, closing the door behind her without looking back.
Eira shifted uncomfortably as she came to consciousness. The first pale light of dawn creeped into the cave’s entrance, reflecting off the snow-covered trees outside. The cold bit at her, the meager heat from the fire gone, since reduced to smoking ash. Every muscle in her body protested as she shifted, the bruises and injuries screaming with each slow movement. She slowly opened her eyes and stifled a groan, rubbing a hand over her muzzle, feeling the dried blood and grime caked into her fur.
Eira felt the weight of a dream hanging over her. But as she tried to recall it, the details seemed to slip away. In its place was the ghost of something warm, and pleasant. A far cry from her current situation. She furrowed her brow as she tried again unsuccessfully. Eventually with a defeated sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if to steady herself.
When they opened, she glanced toward Emmett, her ears twitching slightly at the unnatural stillness of his form. At first, she thought that was a good thing. That maybe, for once the bastard was getting some proper rest. But now, seeing him so pale, so utterly motionless, an unease crawled up her spine.
Is he…?
Her heart pounded, an unwelcome, unfamiliar panic creeping into her chest. She hesitated, then reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they pressed against his throat. A long pause, her breath held.
She felt a pulse.
She exhaled slowly, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, the sound dry and humorless. “Why do I even care?” She muttered under her breath in German. Her hand lingered against his neck a moment longer than necessary before she pulled away, shaking herself from the thought. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
But the truth she didn’t want to admit, not even to herself, was that she was terrified of being alone in this misery.
Even if that meant being with him.
Eira let out a frustrated sigh and carefully shifted, easing his head off her lap and lowering it gently onto the packed earth of the cave floor. His face looked worse in the dim light. Blood had crusted at the edges of her makeshift stitches, his skin clammy, his clothes tattered and stiff with dried blood. It was as if he was barely held together.
She knew they couldn't afford to stay here long. The cave provided shelter, but it was no safe haven. Sooner or later, the Russians would catch up. But moving him? In this condition?
Cursing under her breath, Eira made a new fire and then rifled through what little remained of their supplies, taking grim stock. Emmett’s gear was pitiful. Two spare magazines for his handgun, his ever-present knife, a handful of random trinkets she didn’t bother to inspect. And the magazine pouch for his lost submachinegun. Her eyes turned to the cut down shotgun, sitting within arm’s reach. She picked it up and broke open the action.
Two.
That was all. The remaining shells that were in his pocket now gone. Likely slipping from his coat when they fell.
She set it aside and felt the hollow of the empty holster on her hip. She had only just gotten the weapon, and now it was lost. Shaking her head she checked the magazine pouch on her left side. Only one spare magazine she could at least use with Emmett’s pistol.
She still had her knife at least.
Her tail flicked in frustration as she ran a hand down her face. “Schei?e,” she muttered, feeling the full weight of their predicament pressing down on her.
Movement.
Her ears flicked toward Emmett as he mumbled something, his face contorted slightly in his fevered sleep. His cracked lips parted, barely forming words.
“I’m sorry…”
Eira’s breath stilled as she watched him, her thoughts turning to the night before. The mad sprint through the woods, the dead weight of him over her shoulders, the way his words. Slurred, delirious, yet painfully clear had spilled from his lips like confessions from a dying man. She had known he was no saint. He was cruel, bitter, a bastard in every sense of the word. But this?
I’m just as gawd-awful as the krauts. Who killed the people at the village.
Her jaw clenched. She knew what he meant by that. Even if she didn’t have the details.
His anger at the village, suddenly felt hypocritical.
Eira wanted to process it, to untangle the web of contradictions and fury that made up Emmett Granger. But she was too tired. Too battered. And honestly? She just didn’t have the energy to care right now.
Shaking off the thought, she grabbed his canteen, carefully tilting it to his lips. He sputtered slightly, his head lolling to the side, but he swallowed, his throat moving weakly as the water trickled past his lips. Satisfied, she took a sip herself, wincing as the cold water burned its way down her throat. At least they had water.
Her limbs ached as she sat beside him, her exhaustion so deep it felt like her bones themselves had turned to lead. She let out a slow breath, then reached down and gave him a gentle shake. “Emmett,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended. “Wake up.”
Nothing.
She frowned, gripping his shoulder a little tighter. “Emmett.”
He stirred, his remaining eye fluttering open. It took a moment for him to focus, but when he did, his mouth curled into a weak smirk. “Mornin,” he rasped, his voice like gravel.
“You look like death,” Eira muttered.
He let out a faint laugh, wincing immediately. “Never… better. Could do with a dose of morphine, though.”
Eira’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Without sarcasm, tell me what hurts.”
He closed his eye, his face creased in thought. “Everything,” he admitted after a moment. “But I think... ribs. Best case, they’re cracked. My heads pounding like a drum. And my knee feels... wrong. Those are the worst of it.”
She nodded, her fingers grazing his shoulder. “Your arm was dislocated. I reset it last night. You had a puncture wound in your side which I stitched closed. And your thigh…” She hesitated. “You lost a lot of blood, Emmett.”
He gave a small, pained nod. “And yet, here I am. Luck of the devil, I guess.” He wheezed. “We just… can’t catch a break, can we?”
She laughed softly, though it sounded more like a groan. “No, it seems not.”
Emmett’s gaze drifted to their supplies. “What’s the situation?” he asked.
Eira recited their inventory, her tone grim. Emmett nodded as she spoke, his expression unreadable. “And the Russians?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t believe they’re close, but I cannot be sure.” Her eyes flicked to the cave’s entrance. “I want to head out later, get our bearings.”
“Smart,” he said simply. He shifted again, trying to sit up, and Eira helped him, her hands firm but careful as she steadied him. His breath hitched in pain, but he managed to stay upright. She opened one of the cans with her knife and handed it to him, watching as he ate slowly, methodically. She opened her own can, finished her portion quickly, and tossed the empty can aside.
For a long while, they sat in silence, the wind crying faintly outside the cave’s mouth. Eira leaned her head back against the rough stone wall, closing her eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet.
She opened her eyes again, casting a glance toward Emmett. He sat propped against the opposite wall, his head tilted slightly, his chest rising and falling in uneven intervals. He was awake… barely. His face was drawn tight with pain, but he was trying to mask it, as always. His fingers idly traced the hem of his tattered jacket, his expression distant.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Eira exhaled slowly, then, almost without thinking, she asked, “Tell me a happy story from your childhood.”
Emmett let out a low grunt, shifting slightly. He cracked open his good eye and shot her a look that was somewhere between annoyance and exhaustion. “What about yours?”
She huffed, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly in something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You already know there’s not much to share.”
Emmett scoffed but didn’t argue. He ran a rough hand over his face, and then rubbed his temples as if wrestling with himself. His jaw clenched, his eye flicking toward the cave floor. He was debating whether or not to say anything, she could see it. But then he let out a long breath, tilting his head back against the wall.
“Should really tell you to fuck off,” he muttered. “But... hell with it.”
His voice was rough, his words heavy. He coughed, wincing as his ribs protested the movement, before settling into an uneasy silence. For a moment, Eira thought he had changed his mind. But then, quietly, he began to speak.
“Christmas morning,” he started, his voice low and slow, as if dredging up something from deep within. “I musta been... Eight? Momma made pancakes that morning. Smothered ’em in… butter and molasses. I can still remember the smell.” Emmett smiled, as if lost in the memory. “The old radio was playing something in the background. Me, my older brother… and my kid sister, we tore into whatever gifts our folks managed to scrape together.”
His lips twitched slightly, not quite a smile, but close. “I got a penknife that year. Small little thing, sharp as hell. It had these antler panels. I still remember how the texture felt in my hand. The previous Christmas my brother Ray got a knife and I spent that whole damn year jealous. But that morning, I had my own.”
Emmett smirked, and closed his eyes. “Soon as I got my hands on it, I flipped the blade open and cut my thumb not a moment later.” He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “My father told me that’s what I got for bein’ careless.”
Eira watched him closely, noting the way his face softened, just for a moment. His voice trailed off slightly, his eye losing focus as he stared at the fire. “That would’ve been December of 1922,” he murmured, almost to himself. He remained quiet after that. His eye remained closed as if lost in the memory.
Eira let the silence settle, watching him. His shoulders had sagged, his entire body seeming smaller somehow, as if even the memory itself weighed him down.
She swallowed, unsure of what to say. The nostalgia in his tone as he had spoken wasn’t lost on her.
“Sounds wonderful,” she said softly, her voice devoid of mockery.
Emmett exhaled slowly, rubbing at his face again. “Yeah,” he muttered. Then, after a pause, his voice hardened just slightly. “Doesn’t feel real anymore. Like it happened to someone else.”
Eira turned her gaze upward, staring at the jagged ceiling of the cave, her hands resting loosely on her lap. She didn’t know what to say to that.
But what she did hate to say, she herself didn’t have much to reflect upon. There were happy moments of course. Moments of joy, and wonder. But for the most part, it was a daily grind of education, and endless training.
Eira broke the silence first, her voice cutting through the steady crackle of the fire.
“As I carried you, after the fall… you told me something. Do you remember?”
Emmett’s eye cracked open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as it fixed on her. Confusion flickered there, quickly joined by a hard edge. “What did I tell you?” His voice had a dangerous rasp to it, anger wrapped around something deeper. Fear, maybe, though he’d die before admitting it.
Eira hesitated, her ribs flaring with pain as she drew a steadying breath. She almost abandoned the thought right then. Safer not to stir his temper. But she’d heard the words, every slurred syllable tumbling from his broken body as she’d hauled him through the snow. She couldn’t un-hear them.
“You spoke of being as terrible as my countrymen, Emmett. The ones who killed at the village.” Her tone was flat, stripped of accusation.
For a long heartbeat he just stared at her. His mouth hung slightly open, like she’d hit him with a blow he didn’t see coming. Then his face twisted slowly, the shock burning away into something sharper, uglier. His jaw clenched, his hand flexing against his thigh into a furious fist.
Eira dropped her gaze to the cave floor, not flinching, not provoking. She heard the deep inhale through his nose, the telltale sign of a man bracing to bite. But instead of fury, what came out was a long, ragged exhale that seemed to drain him hollow. He was silent for the longest moment. Eira keeping her gaze on the cave floor, until he finally spoke.
“I told you that, huh,” he muttered, his voice low, bitter, and heavy.
Silence stretched. His anger hung there for a moment longer, then guttered out like a candle in the wind, swallowed by exhaustion and the oppressive weight of their situation.
When he spoke again, his tone was flat. Like a man forcing the words out before they rotted him alive from the inside.
“Must’ve been half-dead to spill that.” He said in a low tired tone.
Eira said nothing, but her ears flicked as if in anticipation. She leaned forward slightly, voice hushed, almost careful. “What happened?”
For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. His eye drifted to the cave floor, the shadows cutting deep lines into his scarred face. Finally, he let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.
“We were there to hit a supply train. Troops, ammo, fuel. Cut the arteries before D-Day.”
He stopped, swallowing hard. His hand drifted to his side, pressing against the wound beneath his tattered shirt.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t realize what was on board. Not until it was too damn late.” His voice cracked, just faintly, before hardening again. “Henri Roux, one of the Maquis… he saw it first… Windows full of faces. Families. Kids.” His jaw worked, clenched tight, the muscles in his neck taut as wire. “And then… boom.”
He shut his eye, tilting his head back against the cold stone wall, the image playing behind his eyelid. “It was like the world ended. Just fire and steel and screaming. I walked through the wreckage after, stepping over bodies. That’s when I saw him. A man, kneeling in the debris. Holding his little girl in his arms. She was gone. He wasn’t. He just kept looking at me and saying, Warum, Warum?... Why?”
Emmett’s voice faltered, his fist clenching hard enough his knuckles whitened. “I shot him, and to this day I don’t really know why… It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change a damn thing.”
The words hung in the cave like smoke. He drew in a shuddering breath, his face twisting, then smoothing into something akin to emptiness.
“That train ain’t the only thing, Eira. It’s just one of the louder ghosts. There’s more… Others I don’t care to name.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “It never stops.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. His fists stayed tight, his jaw locked, but his shoulders sagged under the invisible weight pressing him down.
Eira stared at him, her expression unreadable. This wasn’t begging. This was just… truth. Raw and ugly, dragged into the light because it had nowhere else to hide.
Her lips parted, and she let the words slip out, soft, spent.
“I hate you, Emmett.”
The words landed between them like a stone, but there was no venom in them. No fire. Just simple, exhausted fact.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then came a dry, rasping chuckle, half pain, half amusement. Emmett groaned as the movement tugged at his ribs, then shook his head faintly.
“I hate myself too,” he muttered, his voice brittle, stripped bare. He let the silence sit, then added with a faint, bitter curl of his mouth, “I hate you too, Eira.”
The fire popped quietly, throwing shifting light across the rough stone walls. Outside, the hissed faintly through the trees. Inside the cave, the weight of everything unsaid pressed down on them, thick and suffocating, like a third presence watching over the pair of them in the pale morning light.
