Sheppy once told me that there are people out there that hate what we’re doing. It’s *unnatural*, they say. I couldn’t believe her. This *sickness* is unnatural. The medicine reduces the fever and pain, lowers the chance of the sick becoming truly enraged and attacking. And if the affliction permanently takes, the same medicine can put the sick to rest. It’s not a cure, it’s just pacifying and palliative treatment. But it’s better than just indiscriminately killing everyone who gets bitten or gets a fever. That’s the hope, at least. She and Zhenya came back to camp one day after visiting a village upriver, looking dejected, their supply packs still heavy. I walked with them as we made our way back to the harbor, carrying the supplies for them as Angel napped atop my saddle. The ground seemed firm, but it was soft enough that only I was leaving footprints. Sheppy was worried the villagers could track us, but it seemed paranoid to me. “They just didn’t want treatment. They don’t really *hate* us, right?” I said, quite naively. Sheppy and Zhenya exchanged a glance, worry on their faces. “Jakey, they were *all* feverish. It was… it was in their water.” Sheppy said softly, looking up at me. The water. I felt my ears droop. Sheppy cleared her throat. “We don’t have a lot of time before they might turn, and we were the last healthy ones they saw.” I looked back at my tracks—obvious deep hoof prints in the clay soil. I should’ve suggested walking in the gravel of the riverbank instead of cutting through the forest. I should’ve suggested they get on my back so I could run further. I should’ve suggested anything that could’ve lowered the risks. “I’m sure we’re far enough.” I said instead, stupidly confident. “Plus we’re downwind of the village.” It was true enough to ease our anxieties for a while. We kept walking. The pace was too leisurely. We reached the lake as the sun set and rested for too long. We unwinded too much, let our guard down. We should’ve made a fire. They were smaller animals, I think, but it was a horde of them. A village’s worth. We ran for a while under the moonlight, but they were relentless. The lake was frozen over, so we couldn’t escape into the water. It looked like it was death by mauling or death by freezing. “Leave me. I’ll block them off. Run!” Sheppy barked at us, as she turned heel to face the incoming horde. We stopped, too, arguing with her for a moment, but she shook her head, shoved us away. Angel was wailing, as any puppy would. “Take him with you. Just leave.” She demanded, pushing her son towards Zhenya. Zhenya and I both hesitated. It frustrated Sheppy even more. “Run!” Sheppy barked, louder. She was desperate. The woolly fur on her shoulder was soaked in blood. She was already bitten. Zhenya grabbed Angel by the scruff and hopped on my back. I ran. I ran until my lungs hurt and my knees hurt and my face hurt and my heart hurt. The sky was beginning to brighten up as the sun was rising. The light meant we were safe, for now. I nearly collapsed into the riverbank, exhausted. Zhenya hopped off and quickly set up camp. With a fire this time, just to be safe. Angel was sound asleep, somehow. He was used to riding on my back. We could see the mouth of the river from our camp, meaning that Pontia’s Heart Harbor is only a day’s walk away. And the old barn would be south of where we are, just through the forest. The herd would stop by there pretty often, before the monthly meetings at the harbor. I was reluctant to go to those meetings. I had nothing to contribute—I had no idea how the medicines were prepared or how to test them or any of the technicalities. Sure, I’ve read Sheppy’s notes and papers, but I never really grasped them except for the fact it was made from poppies. I was just a beast of burden, in more ways than one. And I was pretty sure Hans didn’t want to see me there, anyways. Zhenya seemed to know what I was thinking. “We should go to the barn,” she said, rather pointedly. “You and Angel should go,” I remember saying, much to her dismay. “I’m not leaving you behind, dickhead.” Zhenya said, smacking me with a paw. “We’re joining Hans, okay? We were on our way there anyways. It’s what Sheppy would want.” “*Biel* would still want to be here, Zee.” She frowned deeply at that. “…I think Biel would want us to live. And our best chances are joining with your former herd.” I couldn’t argue with that. Sheppy had clearly sacrificed herself for us. Her family. But to go back? I frowned back at Zhenya. “But Hans doesn’t like me. I almost killed them, after all.” “Jakob.” She sighed loudly. “If Hans didn’t like you, why would they always ask us why you weren’t at the meetings and say that they miss you?” I huffed at her. “They’re just being polite.” Zhenya barked out a laugh. “They’re famously *impolite*, you dense fucker. If they really hated you, they’d make it clear.” “Language,” I said. I was running out of arguments. She rolled her eyes. “Listen, if you’re right and they hate you, we can just leave. But they should know about Sheppy…” Zhenya trailed off and looked back upriver, lips tight against her teeth before sighing again. “And we can ask for help finding her.” I nodded, my stomach turning. It still felt wrong. It still felt like any minute now, she would come trotting back, smile on her face, like she would after a scout. It was possible she had survived, maybe, but terribly unlikely. And if she did survive, it’s more likely she became afflicted. I look at Angel, curled up a couple feet from the fire on a blanket and snoring softly. He looked like her, even at his puppy size. Woolly coat. Flopped ears. I wondered if he could even understand what had happened to his mother. Angel was only a year old, still figuring out how to be alive, but it was clear that he wanted to grow up to be just like her. I remember wondering if he would ever forgive me.