As Nial and I approached the Portal, the unexpected sight that unfolded before us sliced through the heavy silence. Nial's voice, tinged with surprise and concern, cut through the air. “Buffy!” he exclaimed, recognition and worry evident in his tone. Ahead of us, Luke knelt in the dust, a Dalmatian by his side. Buffy, presumably the dog's name, was growling softly, nursing what appeared to be an injured leg.
A torrent of anger surged within me at this sight. It was too much, too soon after Duke's departure. The rawness of that loss was still palpable. “What the hell!?” I couldn’t hold back my outrage, my voice erupting with a mixture of pain and incredulity. “Duke hasn’t even been dead for a day, and you’re already bringing another dog here!?” The words escaped me uncontrollably, a release of the tumultuous emotions that had been building inside.
Luke stood up swiftly, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “How dare you bring Duke into this!” he shouted back, his voice reverberating across the barren landscape. His shove was forceful, a physical manifestation of his anger.
I braced against his aggression, my arms warding off his second attempt. “Let me guess, it was another ‘accident’,” I shot back, my words laced with a bitter skepticism. The pain and disbelief from Duke's loss were still fresh, tainting my reaction with a deep-seated hurt.
“As a matter of fact-” Luke started to retort but stopped abruptly, his anger suddenly giving way to confusion. “Where is Duke?” he demanded, his tone now accusatory.
At the mention of Duke, a deep sadness engulfed me. My expression must have betrayed the turmoil churning inside. The memory of Beatrix, cradling Duke as she left the camp, flashed vividly in my mind. It was a painful recollection, one that intertwined sorrow and regret.
Luke's sneer was like a slap in the face, a jarring contrast to the guilt and sorrow that weighed on me. “Was there an ‘accident’?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Beatrix took him,” I admitted, the words heavy with a sense of defeat. It was a confession that came with a tangible loss, the finality of Duke's departure leaving a void.
“I know,” Luke replied, his voice layered with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.
I was taken aback by his response. "Oh," I managed to say, a trace of surprise flickering across my face. "So, you’ve spoken to Beatrix?" I asked, a sliver of hope in my voice.
“No,” Luke said bluntly, extinguishing that brief spark of optimism.
As I opened my mouth to press further, Luke let out a weary sigh, cutting me off. “It would seem that Wendy has found him,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Who’s Wendy?” I asked, the name unfamiliar to me.
“Beatrix’s mother,” he explained, a note of reluctance in his tone.
“Oh,” I responded, feeling a bit foolish for not making the connection sooner. “That might be a little awkward.”
“You don’t say,” Luke sighed again, his voice laden with a tiredness that seemed to go beyond physical fatigue. He quickly redirected the conversation to Nial and the injured Dalmatian. “That really was an accident. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Seizing the moment, I pushed for more information. “We’ve got time now,” I urged, my curiosity piqued about the circumstances surrounding this new 'accident'.
Luke's response was curt, his irritation evident. “You might have time, but I don’t,” he retorted sharply.
With a resigned tilt of my head, I let the matter drop. "Guess I’ll talk to you later, then."
A heavy silence settled between us, filled with unspoken words and the tension of our complex situation.
“I guess,” Luke echoed my earlier sentiment, his voice barely more than a whisper. The sound was almost drowned out by the roaring silence that filled the vast desert expanse. As he handed me Nial’s laptop bag, his movements were slow, tinged with an almost palpable reluctance. His fingers lingered on the fabric of the bag for a brief second before he let go, as if he were parting with a piece of himself.
As Luke walked away, a tumult of emotions churned within me. Frustration bubbled up at the forefront – his simple mistake of grabbing Nial's personal laptop instead of the work one had compounded our already complex situation. This error, leading to his second, seemingly unnecessary visit to Nial's house, added another layer to our intricate web of challenges. Yet, beneath this frustration, there was a thread of sympathy. I understood the weight Luke carried, a burden shared by all of us in these harsh and uncertain times.
I watched, a heaviness settling in my chest, as Luke's figure disappeared through the Portal. His departure left behind a tangible sense of unresolved issues, a string of questions and concerns that remained hanging in the air.
Shaking off these unsettling thoughts, I turned my focus to Nial and Buffy. While Luke and I had been locked in our heated conversation, Nial had been quietly attending to the Dalmatian. Observing his careful handling of Buffy, I noticed the gentleness in his actions, his movements measured and attentive. After coaxing her to take a few cautious steps, Nial straightened up, a hint of optimism lighting up his expression. "Seems like it's just a simple sprain," he announced, a note of relief evident in his voice. "She's tender, but I think it's more shock from arriving here than a serious injury."
Hearing this, I let out a deep, relieving sigh. My shoulders relaxed, a tension I hadn't fully acknowledged until now starting to dissipate. The lack of medical expertise in our camp, for both humans and animals, was a constant source of concern. The prospect of dealing with an injured animal, in addition to the myriad of other challenges we faced, had been an unwelcome thought. Nial's assessment, albeit not professional, provided a small but significant relief in the face of our ongoing struggles.
Approaching Buffy cautiously, I was acutely aware of her unease. She growled lowly, her gaze fixed on me with a wariness that spoke volumes. Her body was tensed, ready to flee at the slightest provocation. This defensive stance, so at odds with the playful demeanour typical of Dalmatians, was a stark reminder of the impact our arrival in Clivilius had on every living being, not just us humans.
"It’s okay, Buffy," Nial spoke gently, his voice a soothing balm in the tense atmosphere. His hand rested reassuringly on her back, a gesture meant to bridge the gap between her fear and my presence.
Slowly, I extended my hand towards her, giving her the opportunity to familiarise herself with my scent. The moment was fraught with tension, but eventually, she allowed me to make contact. I started with a soft pat on her head, feeling the silky texture of her fur beneath my fingers. Gradually, Buffy's stiffness began to melt away. Her body language eased, and she leaned into my touch, a sign of growing trust and comfort. It was remarkable to witness her shift from apprehension to acceptance, a testament to the resilience and adaptability inherent in animals, even in the most alien environments.
Turning towards Nial, I offered a small smile, one that carried empathy and understanding. "She's a strong one, isn’t she?" I commented, continuing to gently stroke Buffy’s fur.
Nial’s nod was accompanied by an expression that melded pride with a hint of concern. "Yeah, she's been through a lot. But she's tough," he responded, his voice imbued with a clear affection for the dog.
In that moment, I felt a deep connection with Nial. We were both in this strange new world, striving to look after those who depended on us. This bond, born out of our shared circumstances, was significant, despite its sudden formation. As Buffy settled contentedly at our feet, I realised that amidst the chaos and uncertainty of Clivilius, it was these moments of genuine connection and care that would sustain us, guiding us through the challenges we faced.
As I stroked Buffy's fur, the steady rhythm of her breathing under my hand was soothing, yet it stirred a deep yearning within me. My thoughts drifted to Charlie, my loyal black Kelpie back in Broken Hill. Memories of her boundless energy and steadfast loyalty brought a bittersweet ache to my heart. I could vividly recall the sound of her paws dancing on the dry, red earth of our home, her eyes sparkling with a blend of mischief and devotion.
Buffy's trusting gaze as she looked up at me only deepened my longing. The gentle thud of her tail against the ground, the comforting warmth of her body, and the soothing sound of her breathing – it all reminded me intensely of Charlie. I missed the familiar weight of her head on my lap, the way she would nuzzle into my hand, and the reassuring, constant presence she provided.
Being with Buffy and witnessing her resilience, despite the shock of arriving in Clivilius, reignited a thought I had been suppressing. What if Charlie were here with me? This once fleeting wish was now taking hold in my mind. The companionship of a dog, especially one as loyal and intelligent as a Kelpie, would be invaluable here – not just for their practical help, but for the emotional comfort and a sense of home they could offer.
But this thought brought with it a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. The fear of subjecting Charlie to the stress of such an alien world, the uncertainty of how she would adapt, and the guilt of removing her from her familiar surroundings weighed heavily on me. Yet, the overwhelming desire to have her by my side in Clivilius, to face the challenges here together, was compelling.
I gazed down at Buffy, now lying peacefully, and envisioned Charlie in her place. Would she adjust as well as Buffy seemed to be doing? Would her presence bring that slice of home I so desperately longed for in this foreign land? The thought of seeing Charlie again, her joyful dash towards me with her tail wagging wildly, filled me with a mixture of hope and concern.
"I wish Charlie could see this place," I found myself whispering, the words more for myself than for Nial.
