“Are you prepared for your first day of proper duties?”


    “I hope so.”


    “Would you like me to test you before you go?”


    “It wouldn’t hurt. Go for it.”


    Quiet-Dream had come to derive a great amount of comfort from the library in the College. He had never really been a curious or studious person, and he still wouldn’t rightfully call himself one. Research was just not all that exciting to him. But what he lacked in academic interest he more than made up for in enjoyment of the work that went into maintaining the place.


    Categorizing information, reading and summarizing documents, filing and sorting items. It was rote and straightforward while still requiring enough thought to prevent his mind from wandering. It was infinitely more effective at settling his nerves than the mindfulness meditation he’d been trying to relearn before. As it turned out, squirrels were just too energetic and nervous by default for anything requiring him to sit still and calmly consider his thoughts to work as intended. The brain chemistry just wasn’t compatible with the method.


    “What is today’s date?” Archivist Sharp-Search grunted the first question on its improvised quiz.


    “Fifth day of Heavy Storms, 1386th Year of Understanding,” Quiet-Dream recited.


    “Good,” Sharp-Search nodded. A big part of archival was, obviously, keeping track of dates, and Darksoil’s calendar was as difficult to get used to as it was simplistic. The main trouble was that without a lunar cycle to suggest any regular intervals in a year it was based purely on seasons, with no regard for uniformity year-to-year.


    A new year began on the first day of New Blooms, when the first flowers in the region began blooming in the equivalent of spring, and the days were counted and numbered until the seasonal weather took an obvious turn with the first day of Heavy Storms. This then repeated, using either the weather or local flora as indicators with equal prominence, for each of the other recognized seasons: Dry Winds, Ripened Fruits, Cold Rains, and Barren Fields. It seemed that snow rarely fell here, being much more common in the Highnests or far to the southwest, on the opposite side of the Lost Lands. It was straightforward and comprehensible, but like many forms of measurement in the Known World, it was frustratingly imprecise and unstandardized by human standards.


    “What is your primary task today?” The porcupine’s second question was either a freebie or a lead-in to the third. Quiet-Dream assumed the latter.


    “I’m going to attend a local Consensus on behalf of the library, record each question and outcome, and then return to file the results in their appropriate place.”


    “And beyond that, what is the most important thing you must do as part of your duties?”


    “Beyond that? I…”


    Despite expecting a tougher question, the squirrel was still completely blindsided by this one. He was certain that he had recalled all of an Archivist’s duties in this area, at least as Sharp-Search had explained them. He wasn’t going to be acting as a Scribe like Swift-Paw, so he didn’t need to keep an exact transcript of the proceedings, just record the matters being decided on and the tally of each vote.


    But what if it’s something I must not do? What would be more important to refrain from doing than completing the task itself? Only one thing came to mind, so he answered as best he could. “I must… refrain from expressing any thoughts or opinions on the Consensus, even if I disagree with the results?” He was not at all confident in the answer, but it was the best he had.


    “Excellent!” Sharp-Search reared up and squeaked with delight. “I was expecting to have to teach you that lesson directly, but you intuited it on your own! In matters of Consensus, an Archivist is merely a witness of history. To express an opinion risks influencing the results, and when you are not subject to the Consensus itself, that causes irreparable harm to the integrity of the entire process.” The porcupine affectionately placed a forepaw on Quiet-Dream’s head. “This was important enough that I would not be allowing you to do this if you did not properly internalize it. You have earned my full trust in this, Apprentice Quiet-Dream.”


    The role attached to the front of the squirrel’s name echoed in his head, and his breath hitched briefly as he tried to wrangle his emotions. It was the first time he had been formally referred to as such, and he was far more affected by it than he’d anticipated. Before now, he’d thought of it as a simple formality, but in this moment he Understood exactly what was meant by it. It meant that Sharp-Search recognized and affirmed the purpose he had chosen for himself. That he wished to learn and become more capable. That he wished to help and facilitate those around him as a means of improving himself. It was real, acknowledged, and accepted. And by proxy, so was he.


    “Thank you!” Quiet-Dream let out a mewling cry as he lunged forward, embracing the Archivist as best he could. For once he was thankful that his front legs were far too short to reach all of the way around most other people. He’d almost certainly have gotten a quill or three stuck in him otherwise.


    “Oh!” The porcupine froze for several seconds, unable to properly respond to the gesture. “This is… genuinely important to you. More important than I had assumed.” They returned the gesture, awkwardly embracing the squirrel with their own forelegs, having seen the alien gesture enough times over the last few weeks to figure out that returning it was appropriate. “How long do you plan on continuing this? Arbitrators resent being made to wait, and unfortunately I am the one they will direct that resentment towards.”


    “Right, of course. Sorry.” Quiet-Dream sheepishly let go and dropped back on all fours. Never change, Archivist.


    Guardian Golden-Streak had been assigned as his escort for the day, something that seemed way more awkward for the leopard than it was for him, and it was already extremely awkward for him. They had seemed genuinely remorseful about what had happened to Ink-Talon in their brief interactions after the crow’s “treatment.” Not enough to make them any more trustworthy than any of their other jailers, but it was better than nothing. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    After Ink-Talon’s escape, however, Golden-Streak’s entire attitude had shifted. Now, they were being assigned to more menial duties far more frequently, and were constantly anxious and on-edge during all of them. The Guardian barely wanted to look at any of the remaining humans, much less speak with them, as if showing them even the smallest modicum of acknowledgement would bring down the wrath of a vengeful god.


    “Okay, I’m ready to go,” Quiet-Dream squeaked upon exiting the library, causing Golden-Streak to flinch as they suppressed what would have been a more startled response. “Lead the way.”


    “No. You will be in front, I will be giving you directions,” the Guardian growled. “We will be traveling through crowded areas, and you are not to leave my sight. If we are separated, call out for me and remain where you are. Do not attempt to navigate without me or another Guardian, even if it means declining an offer of assistance from a member of the public. Do you Understand?”


    “Perfectly.” Quiet-Dream responded to the draconian instructions with a growl of his own, albeit one incapable of being remotely intimidating. He had figured that they were going to make this difficult. He was going to bear it without complaint. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of catching him falter. “Which exit?”


    “Duskward.”


    “Got it.”


    The guardian was right about things being crowded outside. During Heavy Storms, it seemed to rain more days than not, so a clear day like this sent people scrambling to get their business done while they still could. Carts and hooves clattered up and down the damp brick streets, thankfully free from puddles due to exceptional drainage, while the ropes and planks above creaked and shook from the foot traffic of smaller creatures, occasionally dripping as the waterlogged material was jostled. Quiet-Dream sincerely wished he could be traveling up there, even if he wasn’t all that confident in his ability to keep his footing. But Golden-Streak wasn’t about to allow that.


    “How am I supposed to get through this?” the squirrel squealed, doing his best to be heard over the noise. “I’m going to be crushed!”


    “I will… warn people to stay clear.”


    “With me out in front? They’ll avoid you, not the rodent colored nearly the same as the pavement!”


    “Fine!” Golden-Streak snapped, bending over and picking Quiet-Dream up in their jaws like a kitten. “There. Hold still and you will be fine.”


    Oh, so this is what it feels like. The fact that he had done this exact thing with Black-Leap and Gray many times during their first week here was the first thought that came to mind. The second was that this was ridiculous. “Can’t I just ride on your back?”


    “No, you could easily jump off and attempt to escape.” The leopard’s rumbling growl came out comically muffled by Quiet-Dream’s body, but that only slightly damped the raw terror that came from having the sound literally reverberating in his bones. He was fairly certain that if he were a natural-born squirrel with proper instincts, this would be the single most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced in his life. As things stood, though, it could maybe manage a distant third. Nothing was dethroning his first moments in this body any time soon. And just below that…


    “Hey! Careful!” Quiet-Dream chirped in distress as Golden-Streak unexpectedly bounded forward, jostling his limp body against their fangs far more than he was expecting.. “Your teeth are built to eat me, remember?”


    “I said to hold still! Do not let yourself be so limp!”


    The squirrel did as he was instructed, tensing up as best he could. It did indeed manage to keep him from flopping around like a wet noodle, but he could tell he was going to be sore at the end of this, and then they’d have to do it all again on the way back.


    The Consensus he’d been called to witness was a small one, settling a dispute between a Crafter and two of their patrons. This placed it under the Arbitrator of the Crafters’ Quarter’s jurisdiction, where most of the work had taken place. Arbitrator Completed-Day was a reserved and even-tempered beaver, according to Sharp-Search, and Maggie had described them as respectful but distinctly unfriendly when she had petitioned them for their own Consensus. The creature Quiet-Dream encountered at their destination, however, looked like they were about to scream.


    Completed-Day stood glaring at the three arguing creatures in front of them, a white-feathered flamingo, a boar, and large, gray-furred rat, the sheltered pavilion the Consensus was being held in echoing with their squeaks, growls, and grunts. Their mood only seemed to worsen as Quiet-Dream and Golden-Streak approached, with the squirrel thankfully having been able to arrive on his own feet to spare his dignity.


    “If you do not have business with this Consensus, please leave. There have been far too many disruptions already today.” The beaver huffed and slapped the stone floor with their tail, drawing the attention of the quarreling participants for a moment.


    “I am Apprentice Quiet-Dream, here to witness the Consensus on behalf of Archivist Sharp-Search and the College of the Beacon,” Quiet-Dream recited, which only caused the beaver to narrow their eyes.


    “And who are you?” they asked, looking up at Golden-Streak.


    “Guardian Golden-Streak. I am the Apprentice’s assigned escort for the day.”


    This seemed to set off a few murmurs between the others present.


    “A Guardian escort? Why would an Apprentice of all people need one?”


    “The Arbitrator is clearly displeased. Was it expecting someone else?”


    “Wait, I think that might be–”


    “Stop.” Another slap of their tail quieted the trio. “You are here to settle your dispute, not gossip amongst yourselves.” The Arbitrator paused and took a deep breath, a rather familiar anxiety readable in their stance. “Now that a proper witness is present, are there any declarations or requests before we begin?”


    Quiet-Dream had immediately withdrawn his paper and marking tools from the satchel Sharp-Search had provided, setting them on the ground in front of him and preparing to take notes. His appearance had clearly made things even worse for the already exasperated beaver, and he resolved to be as unobtrusive as possible.


    “I have a request!” The rat leapt forward, much to the annoyance of everyone else.


    “Express yourself, Crafter Blended-Technique.”


    “I would like to request that the opinion of an expert advisor be considered in this Consensus.”


    “Stop trying to stall, Crafter. An advisor must be present prior to the start of proceedings. You had plenty of time already to search for one.”


    “But one is present!” The rat jumped in place and then turned their gaze on Quiet-Dream, its eyes shining with a sort of determined desperation that he had only ever seen Ink-Talon express prior to this. “I call upon the expertise of Apprentice Quiet-Dream as a being with vast knowledge from another world!”


    Everyone froze as all eyes fell upon the squirrel, the only sounds he could hear from anyone being his own rapidly accelerating heartbeat and panicked breathing. They were looking at him to respond. He had to say something. Anything.


    “What?”


    Anything but that…