The Orchard

Directly follows Protection

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The solid barrier of gold at the edge of Bradford’s mind told him that Will was mad at him.

It was not his fault.

Just because he thought something does not mean he made it happen. He was a mortal man without any magical talent. He didn’t have the ability to make things happen. Even if he did, it’s not like he wanted the Avenger to get attacked.

A giant crab tried to sneak its way into the salvaged supplies they’d gathered on the beach.

Will hit it with a stick. It grabbed it with its pincers, beginning the dumbest tug-o-war fight Bradford had ever seen.

Will clenched his jaw, and yanked with all his might. Throwing both the stick and the crab out into the water.

“We probably could have eaten that,” Bradford said.

Will threw out his arms to gesture around them. At least five other crabs could be seen up and down the beach. Each one with pincers strong enough to crush their skulls while they slept.

“I don’t suppose you know how to make a spear?” Bradford asked.

Ms. Elena Dragunova was the greatest hunter on the east coast. Some might say, the greatest hunter currently living in the United States.

Hunting animals had lost its charm five years ago, which gave her a loss over what to do next. Being introduced to Konstantin Volikov at a party in New York had turned into a blessing. He introduced her to a world where the game was always far larger and sometimes infinitely more intelligent.

The Reaper Moon Lodge has its…quirks, but the people of Arkham tolerated them for all they did to keep the nastiest of monsters away. Cultists and Eldritch things had come to learn to be wary of the Lodge’s grounds. People knew where to run if set upon.

Few abominations were daring enough to step foot on their lands.

‘Will Weir’ proved to be the exception. Always accompanied by that Investigator it managed to charm. Or mind control, if you believed Volk’s accusations.

Weir was mute. Either out of choice or a continuing inability to understand the body it inhabited, Dragunova did not know.

It certainly understood language when spoken too, but its understanding of social norms remained spotty at best. Proving time and time again this creature did not belong among them.

Though, admittedly, she had a time holding back her laughter when Weir picked up one of their hound’s balls and threw it across the dining room. Pointing after the the thrown ball. Its look expectant.

Volk’s face went white with rage.

If Mr. Bradford hadn’t rushed in to see what all the yelling was about, there might have been a very dead alien bloodying up the carpet. He dragged off his partner who was still unperturbed by the fact Volk had reached for his knife.

Weir waved goodbye at them as Mr. Bradford dragged him out the door.

Will, he’d come to realize, thought of everything non-human as a type of dog…and Bradford wasn’t all that certain he didn’t see some humans as loveable dogs. Like Mr. Volikov who owned the Reaper Moon Lodge. The man disliked Will with a passion, but Will regarded the constant derision like you would a particularly loud canine.

This wasn’t true of all humans. Lily and her father were fully fledged individuals beings in Will’s eyes. As was that Dr. Tygan, and a number of others. Not all of them were people Will liked. Dr. Goodchild at the Asylum, for example.

Bradford couldn’t figure out a rhyme or reason behind it. He suspected it was a cultural thing unique to extradimensional non-corporeal entities. A stark reminder Will didn’t see the world like he did.

All this in mind was the reason Bradford was unsurprised when Will’s first instinct upon seeing a night-gaunt was to try and teach it how to fetch.