The Cohen Clover
Mason and Lark II
copyright comidacomida 2021

As far as Oolau went Lark was hardly an exceptional specimen.  Like the stories Mason had heard of the Purists, Lark looked far more lupine than canine.  He had thick, very-dark-gray fur and, despite being seated on the floor backed up against a wall, Mason knew from having seen him standing, the warrior was several inches taller than most Seekers who were, in turn, several inches taller than most Humans.

During the attack on the caravan it was hard to get a good look at any of the attackers but Lark was left in his care when the rest of the war party retreated and Mason had the opportunity to get a decent look at the Oolau while attempting to render first aid.  At the time, Lark was dressed only in a loincloth with a leather strap across his chest, revealing far more of his charcoal-gray chest and belly fur than what showed from around the patient outfit he wearing while at the Centre.  In fact, it was strange to see the tribal Wolf so dressed.

Lark was wearing a simple button-up long sleeve shirt, though it was unbuttoned and the long sleeves had been torn off just above the elbows.  The long-legged uniform bottoms had fared little better; although the string around the waist had been secured with what looked like a simple bow knot, the legs, like with the arms on the shirt, had been removed, shredded just above the knees.  Although Mason wasn't in a position to view Lark's rump the young man knew from experience seeing other Oolau in Programme issued clothes that a hole was most likely created at the back seam of the trousers to accommodate the tail.

It was the torn portions of the clothing that caught Mason's attention the most.  Since he had Lark's attention the least he figured he could do was start off with a casual question, which he proposed in the Oolau language.  "What happened to your clothes?  They are ripped."

Lark looked down at them for a moment before his pale blue eyes returned to gazing at him.  "They get in the way of moving.  Clothes should not limit motion."

The statement was matter-of-fact, as if the Oolau meant to leave no room for argument, not that Mason would have; he knew that it wasn't worth antagonizing Lark.  Oolau was a direct language-- straight forward and to-the-point.  To that effect he simply accepted the comment thoughtfully. "I understand."

The Oolau language didn't have many words or statements to acknowledge something, as opposed to English-- Mason was a particular fan of 'Okay', 'Fine', 'Sure' and 'alright' personally, but there were no such equivalences in the language of Shattered Earth so he stuck with the closest equivalent.  Even as he stood there waiting for the conversation to continue, the Human realized that it probably wouldn't; Lark did not seem to mind the silence and the Wolf remained where he was, staring, as if waiting for something.

Contemplating what he was going to say next, Mason remained standing in the middle of the room, examining Lark.  His eyes eventually beat out his reluctance to look at the Wolf's arm and he gave into his curiosity, looking to the still-regrowing fur just visible beneath the bottom-most portion of the torn sleeve.  The young man had no fantasies that the wound would one day be unnoticeable but he was still surprised to see how quickly it was healing; even from a distance he realized that it was much further along than it would have been for a Human or Phin. 

He wanted to discuss it but realized readily that such a thing would probably be rude.  Instead, Mason turned to where a single chair was situate against the wall, picked it up, and moved back to where he'd been standing.  He set it down and took a seat, starting the conversation fresh using his knowledge of Seeker customs to start the exchange.  "I apologize that I did not get a chance to introduce myself correctly when we first met.  My name is Mason Weston, son of Elijah Weston and Juana Valesquez."

Lark flicked an ear and scowled, turning away.  "You sound like everyone else here... and they all sound like Dreamers."

Mason wasn't able to identify where he'd made an error but Lark's entire demeanor had changed in the scope of a single sentence.  He wasn't willing to let it pass without addressing the problem. "Is something?  Is that not the right way to introduce myself?"

The question immediately snapped the Oolau out of his cold-shoulder response but didn't quite return him to the prior level of receptivity.  "I am a prisoner here and everyone who comes to see me greets me by telling me who they are.  It is not right.  If you are trying to act like Oolau then you--"

Although it was generally rude to interrupt people, Human, Phin or Oolau, Mason couldn't help himself. "You are not a prisoner here."

Lark's expression changed very little but the subtle difference gave Mason the impression of sarcasm. "I can leave whenever I want?"

"Well... no. I don't think the--"

The Oolau interrupted him right back. "Then I am a prisoner."

The realization didn't really sit well with Mason but he realized that arguing with the Wolf wouldn't really progress the discussion.  Instead, he settled on a simple statement. "You are here under our care so we can treat your wound.  When the--" Mason wanted to say 'doctors' but there was no equivalent word in Oolau, "--When the healers say you are well enough to leave I am sure you will be able to leave."

Lark looked as though he wanted to continue an argument but, at the same time, Mason saw that the Wolf lacked the energy or will, and, instead, the Oolau settled for a simple statement of "You all still sound like Dreamers."

Despite how dismissive the statement sounded, Mason considered it progress.  Leaning forward ever-so-slightly he asked "The Dreamers... they are the Oolau who call themselves 'Seekers', right?  Your people call them Dreamers?"

Lark responded with a succinct, singular flick of his muzzle upward; it was the Oolau equivalent to a Human nod-- it reassured Mason to know that at least some of the non-verbal gestures used  by the Seekers were also used by the Purists.  The Human was surprised that, upon being quiet for several seconds, his silence was enough to get Lark to elaborate. "Yes.  They are Dreamers... what they seek cannot be found."

It was a loaded value statement and was more than enough to catch Mason's attention. "What do you mean?  We were told they were looking for secrets and old lost knowledge from before 'The Night of Twenty Suns'."

According to the Seekers, Shattered Earth's society ended in an event that Human scientists had identified as a global nuclear strike, causing near extinction of all life on their planet over the course of a single night, hence the glorified name given to it.  There wasn't much history to learn aside from the stories passed down by the Seekers but Mason had never thought that another viewpoint might be available from the Purists; did they have another take on it?

Unfortunately for the young man's curiosity, Lark was more focused on making his point.  "What good is it to seek the next part of a dream when you have already awakened?  No.  They are looking for something that was lost before their grandfathers' grandfathers were born.  If they believe they can recover what was lost then they are Dreamers... but, even if they could, it was lost for a reason."

Mason knew exactly what Lark was talking about.  "You mean 'The Creed'?"

Despite the Oolau being divided into two separate factions, the two had held an uneasy peace ever since the species had clawed its way back from the brink of extinction after The Night of Twenty Suns.  It had taken decades but, eventually, they reformed a half-functioning society which existed for half a generation until a schism appeared in the leadership.  One side sought to recover what was lost in the war; they believed that uncovering the past would lead to a brighter future.  The other side believed that they had to move past the life of science and technology which led to the war which decimated their earth if there was to be any kind of future at all.

They had become, Mason realized, the Seekers and the Purists.  Or, as Lark had put it, the Dreamers and the-- he paused, remembering that he hadn't been given that information. "Lark... if what we know of as the Seekers are 'Dreamers' to you, what do you call yourselves?  The Oolau we know call you 'Purists'."

The Oolau's response wasn't exactly what Mason was expecting.  "The Crescent Valley Tribe."

The young man tried to clarify. "No... I mean your--" he paused, not knowing the word for 'faction' in Oolau, or if even such a word existed.  "I suppose it does not matter.  So you are from the Crescent Valley Tribe?"

Lark's expression grew dire. "I was."

The comment was something of a discussion-killer, especially when Mason thought about the circumstances which led to the Oolau having his arm savagely removed from his body and then being left for dead by one of his own people.  "Thank you again for saving us, Lark.  I am sorry about what happened because of it."

The Oolau offered another upward flick of his muzzle but offered no further response.  The two sat in silence for some time as Mason tried to navigate the various complicated emotions at war within his mind.  In the end, he tried to see if he could push the conversation toward something else. "We can talk about something else if you--"

"The Stewards."

The statement came out of nowhere and it gave the Human a moment's pause. "The Stewards?"

Lark elaborated.  "The Dreamers call us The Purists because we do not believe in searching for the lost way of living-- we believe it is best forgotten.  The Four Tribes are known as The Stewards because we have tasked ourselves with maintaining the balance within the world, and enforcing The Creed, which all Oolau are sworn to uphold."

It was a powerful statement and gave mason a moment's pause. He asked for clarification. "I thought all Oolau follow The Creed willingly.  Why would it need to be enforced?"

The Wolf gave a half-hearted snort, almost reminiscent of a snyde 'ha'.  "There are always Oolau who do not believe rules are to be followed.  Most Dreamers think this way and so The Stewards return the world to order.  This is why my pack attacked the Dreamers and your people."

In all the time Mason had to think about the various reasons why there was bloodshed on his way to the Oolau city on Shattered Earth he never once took the viewpoints of the aggressors into consideration-- at least, not in any way that would relate to what he was hearing from Lark.  "Then you attacked us because of The Creed?"

The Oolau grunted to the affirmative. "Yes.  Garon and Gennis wanted to kill everyone-- the Dreamers because they were not following  The Creed, and you Hunans because you are not of our world."

Lark's statement stung.  Mason had been led to believe that all races could get together once they found a common ground but, he suddenly had to question, would happen if one party didn't want to live peacefully?  The realization put him off balance.  "So... because Humans are not of your world, they are your enemy?"

Shaking his head, the Wolf looked up at Mason, catching the young man's gaze with his own, icy blue eyes.  A gleam of intellect and understanding was evident in them, but it was tempered by an obvious wavering sheen of emotional pain. "Not all of us.  I do not know Hunans, so I cannot hate your kind... but that does not stop others from doing so."

Lark had a valid point, and Mason had been gifted a front row seat of the response.  The young man had many more questions for the Wolf but he didn't want to go down that road-- not when the physical and emotional pain was so fresh.  Resolving to try and find a brighter topic, the Human instead redirected the conversation. "Well, I am glad you are talking at least.  I heard from others who have come to see you that you have been very quiet and have not said a thing to anyone."

The Oolau gave a slight upward tilt of his muzzle. "Yes.  I do not know anyone here.  My people do not speak with strangers."

It was a very upfront answer, but that didn't really tell Mason very much, especially since there was a hole in the Wolf's logic.  "But... you talked to me when we first met before I introduced myself."

Lark grunted. "We had established roles.  That is different."

Mason didn't know if something was lost in translation so he requested clarification. "What do you mean?"

The Wolf ever-so-slowly rotated more of his body so he could face Mason, even if his gaze had once again drifted down to the floor.  "I was injured.  You told me you were a healer.  One being cared for by a healer does not need to know his healer when he is in danger of dying, Nason."

There was something utterly comical about the way Lark pronounced his name but Mason fought hard to avoid laughing about it; he knew that many letters were difficult for Oolau to pronounce, so if Lark was going to call him Nason the Hunan then he would weather it with grace and dignity.  Coughing through the inclination to laugh, Mason addressed what was apparently a social issue for The Stewards.  "Many of the Humans who come to see you are also healers.  It is their job to care for you."

Lark responded with a simple, succinct, single syllable growl with a softly fluttered 'r', indicating disagreement.  He elaborated. "I am no longer in danger of bleeding to death.  They cannot save my life and so there is no understanding of role.  You say I am here to be cared for by healers; I say I am a prisoner.  You, I know; them, I do not know."

Mason thought about the significance of the statements. "I... can introduce you to them."

The Wolf repeated his earlier sound of disagreement.  "You can introduce them to me, but you cannot introduce me because you do not know me."

At first, it felt like circular logic, but the young man quickly realized what Lark meant.  "You can introduce yourself though... right?"

The Oolau's eyes drifted back his way, holding his gaze for only the briefest of moments. "I will not, no.  I do not know them."

Fighting a sense of growing frustration, Mason took a deep breath and then sighed.  "But you will talk to me because I introduced myself while I was helping you?"

"Yes."

In a flash of inspiration, Mason got an idea. In addition to the Oolau language lacking conjunctions, it also lacked a clear method for making requests.  While Mason would normally have asked Lark to introduce himself, in Lark's native language he had to settle for making it a demand.  It felt rude to the Human but to Oolau it was just standard dialogue.  "I have introduced myself to you, now introduce yourself to me."

Returning the focus of his gaze to meet Mason's, Lark spoke clearly, and without any of the near-mumbling his comments had included up until that point.  "I am Lark, eighth of that name, son of Gihna of the Crescent Valley Tribe."

Mason knew little of The Stewards except what he'd learned from information obtained from The Seekers.  He was aware that Lark's people tracked lineage from female lines, which implied that Lark's mother's name was 'Gihna', and that they held a great regard for names, which probably explained the fact that Lark knew that seven others used his name before him, but that didn't tell the young man how to proceed from there.  At a loss, he asked for guidance. "Okay... and now what?"

The Oolau's gaze once left him. "Now we know one another.  We have made introductions.  I am your prisoner and I will honor your demands."

The young man knew for certain that one of his demands would be for Lark to stop considering himself a prisoner but, at the same time, Mason didn't have any illusions as to thinking he could change the Wolf's mind just by saying so.  "Baby steps."

The curious look from the Wolf made the Human realize that he'd not only said the words aloud, but he'd also spoken them in English.  When Mason didn't say anything, Lark actually tried the words on for size.  "yay-yee stets."

It took all of Mason's willpower to avoid cracking up laughing; it was not the kind of display he believed would build trust and good will with his guest.  Taking a deep, steadying breath, the Human pushed through, looking for something (ANYTHING) to distract him, and he focused on the obvious: Lark's breakfast was still seated on the small table beside his bed.  "The food that they are giving you.  Do you not like it?"

The Oolau followed his gaze with his own eyes, speaking as he focused on the tray. "Meals are not shared with strangers.  Hunans are in here often so I do not have time to eat."

It was another social rule, Mason realized.  "I can leave and make sure nobody else enters if you would like to have some--" he couldn't remember the word for 'privacy' "--time alone to eat."

Lark offered up a growl indicating disagreement. "No.  I know you.  You are not a stranger.  I will eat with you."

Reaching the distance with his good arm, the Oolau took the tray off of the night stand and placed it on the floor between the two of them.  The Wolf then looked up toward Mason as if expecting something.  Hesitant to guess, the young man wondered if perhaps Lark was worried that they were trying to poison him.  He tried a less-accusatory way of assessing the situation. "You want me to taste it first."

His companion issued another negative growl; the statement was treated like a question, which was reassuring to Mason that he was at least not messing up entirely.  Lark clarified. "I will not eat when you are not eating.  It is rude."

The young man realized that Lark's caloric intake was probably being closely monitored which meant that he would not be doing the science team any favors by sharing the meal.  Turning to the room's wall-sized mirror, he spoke to Dr Cohen and whomever else was observing in English. "Could someone get me a sandwich?  Ham and cheese would be fine."

Turning back to Lark, Mason saw that the Oolau was looking at the mirror.  The Wolf parroted his final words, mumbling quietly "Hanan cheese."

Mason didn't know what to expect from the Wolf, but he wanted Lark to know what to expect from him and that meant truthfulness and transparency. "There are other Humans behind that wall.  They're keeping an eye on us."

The Oolau's response was nonchalant. "I know."

Mason was surprised, but only until he noticed that Lark's ears were perked, one focused on the wall. "Oh... you heard them."

Lark tilted his muzzle upward. "I did.  I was able to hear you when you were there too. I recognized your voice."

The young man was about to press the Wolf further but the sudden opening of the room's door silenced him.  A middle-aged member of the Programme support staff came into the room, approached Mason, and set down a folding tray with legs long enough that it would fit over his lap as he sat while attached to the ground.  Although the plate was plenty visible and the contents anything but uncommon, the man nevertheless identified the food on it. "Ham and cheese sandwich, and potato chips."

Mason nodded and offered a succinct "Thanks."

Before leaving, the support staff guy added "That's all cleared for Oolau.  Dr. Cohen said you're welcome to share if you can get him to try any."

The statement was a surprise, especially considering how closely the med team usually tracked food intake.  Regardless, the young man repeated his earlier statement. "Thanks."

Only once the newcomer had left did Lark speak up.  "What does that mean: 'thanks'?"

It was more proof that the Oolau was observing them just as much as they were observing him.  Mason looked back to the Wolf and explained. "It is a short version of expressing gratitude in my language.  The longer and more formal form is 'Thank you.'."

Lark flicked an ear.  "That is how you give thanks in Hunan?"

The young man hazarded a smile-- a closed-lipped one since showing teeth was a social aggression to the Oolau. "No.  Humans do not have a single language.  The language I was raised with is called 'English', but there are many languages here on Land Earth."

The Wolf cocked his head to the side in a way that reminded Mason of a confused four legged dog. "How many languages do Hunans speak?"

Mason saw that his sandwich had been cut lengthwise rather than on a bias; in then past he might have thrown it out in objection but he had come a long way in the almost two years since he'd left home and he put the inane concern out of his mind.  Before taking a bite, he addressed Lark's question. "Most Humans I know speak one or two or maybe even three, but there are thousands."

Lark picked at the chunks of cooked meat on his own tray with his left paw once Mason had taken a bite, picking one up and popping it into his muzzle.  The Wolf chewed perhaps all of three times (if that) before swallowing, then looked back toward the Human. "That is a lot of languages... the elders say that there may have been many languages in our world before the Night of Twenty Suns but now we know only one."

Mason wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, so he tried to offer a degree of understanding. "We have lost a lot of languages due to war too."

The Oolau adjusted his tray, setting it onto his lap as he sat up, shifting to a cross-legged position; Mason noticed that Lark had used his left paw for that too-- his right went completely unutilized.  The Wolf let out a snort after consuming another hunk of meat. "You have lost as many languages as leaves on a tree, but still have as many as stars in the sky?"

Mason had never claimed to be the best at talking to people, but, even though he had been certified to go through the Gateway into Shattered Earth he still had no illusions about being a master diplomat.  "Well... yes.  I see what you mean.  But, you know, I can imagine it would be nice to be able to talk to everyone and not just the people who know your language, so it can not be all that bad... right?"

Lark stared at him blankly, one ear flicking, almost as if trying to shoo away a fly.  "Oolau are divided, Nason.  Stewards do not speak with Dreamers if there is not an important reason.  We are different people.  We are two people who speak one language.  Are Hunans not thousands of people who speak thousands of languages?"

The young man took a few moments to consider how best to answer Lark's question; before he knew it his sandwich was almost gone and he still didn't have an answer that would do the situation justice.  Sighing internally, he opted for the next best thing:  the truth.  "Humans spend a lot of time having different points of view-- I guess we are a little like the Stewards and the Dreamers in that way, but we are also able to come together when we need to-- again, like your people did when they created The Creed.  But, mostly, I think Humans just want to be able to understand and be understood, which is why we try so hard when we meet new people like the Oolau."

Lark looked away, ears dropping as he set down his empty tray. "Hunans should be careful then, Nason-- not all Oolou want to be met."

The word in Oolau for 'met' or, specifically 'to meet' was conjugated differently than in English and could mean a number of things.  In the case of Lark's comment, he was implying that the term be used to mean 'discovery'.  Was he implying that the Stewards didn't want Humans to interfere with them?  If that were the case, he had no doubt that the Unity Programme would respect that; they certainly had done so with the Tikk, a group of Phins who didn't want to unify with the Humans.  He promised himself that he'd speak to Dr Cohen about that, presuming the good Doctor wasn't listening it which, Mason realized, he probably was.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he realized that Lark was eyeing the final small chunk of his ham sandwich, not unlike a domesticated dog sitting on the floor next to the table waiting for something to drop.  Mason calmly took the opportunity. "Try this.  It is called a 'Ham Sandwich'."

It would have been rude to shove a tray into someone's face and insist they taste food but Mason realized that there wasn't a way to offer it in a way that a Human might deem polite; as it was, sharing food with an Oolau was in itself considered a mark of great manners.  Lark stared down at it before reaching out with his left paw and picking the hunk of sandwich up.  "Han sandouich."

For all the trouble the Wolf had with the letter 'm' he navigated the 'w' fairly well in Mason's  opinion and the young man smiled when Lark wasted no time taste testing it.  Like the hunks of meat, the little piece of bread and toppings was gone in a split second and, unless he was mistaken, the Human could have sworn he heard the Wolf's tail beat out a double thwap against the floor.  The Oolau suddenly paused, and eyed Mason warily. "If this is a trade, you have not said what you want for it."

He was just about to say something more when the room's intercom cut in. "Mason, you are needed in the hallway please."

The announcement was in English and Lark, whose ears were raised listening in obviously had no clue as to the purpose of the voice.  Slowly standing, Mason announced "They are calling for me.  I have to go."

Lark offered a succinct grunt of acknowledgment. "Then go... but first I want to know what you are expecting for the han sandouich."

Despite wanting to object and inform Lark that it was a gift and not a trade, Mason realized that the Wolf wasn't about to accept that at face value so he took a wild swing at an answer. "I want to come visit again."

The Oolou's expression turned into a scowl. "I am your prisoner.  You do not need permission to see me."

The Human returned the scowl. "I already said: you are not a prisoner... so I want permission to visit."

Rolling his eyes, Lark laid back down on the ground, rolling over and he grumbled his response. "Go Hunan.  You can come back."

The obvious grumpiness actively made Mason smile. "Alright.  Thank you.  I will see you again soon, Lark.

The Oolau responded with a word the young man didn't recognize. "Ah-ahwoo."

Despite how much it sounded comically similar to a Human half-heartedly trying to imitate the sound of a dog howling, Mason managed to avoid snickering at what was said and he made his way out of the room, a spring in his step and joyful that his first attempt at carrying on a conversation with a strange new Oolau went so well.  He promised himself that it would be the first of many.