(dis)comfort

By the time Muse reaches the Meadows, their head is spinning. Josiah seems concerned, but they distract him with chores and a new game around the greenhouse. It is enough to take his attention away. Enough to allow them the freedom to slip outside, if not unnoticed, at least without being stopped.
 
The cloak about their shoulders slides from grey to brown to green. Muse grips it tightly and considers tearing it loose. Instead they draw it more tightly around themself as they stalk through the trees. Their head feels heavy. Sound rings back and forth against the inside of their skull, rattling the delicate plates in their ears as if someone had boxed them.
 
It certainly hadn't felt *right,* to be in a place of learning. But there had been so many intriguing things to see and interesting speeches to listen to. They'd understood less than half of what they'd heard. But spending time with their friends, listening to the ideas, learning something new…it had felt important.
 
And where had it ended? Their friends upset, scattering in every direction. Because they had continued asking questions. Because they had thought it might be important. Because they had tried to put their fingers in where they didn't belong.
 
The motions are effortless, born from years of practice. Find a dense cluster of brushes. Weave the sturdiest branches together at the base. Feed in smaller twigs and deadfall to create a semi-solid wall of foliage, thick enough to obscure anything hidden within it, but well-covered enough to look natural from the outside. Easier to hide from predators, this way. Harder to be found.
 
They pull their coat of soft, grey wool free and slide it carefully under the cluster of bushes. After it goes the cloak, now rippling in an agitated swirl of green. Then they turn their gaze up toward the sky. For a long while, the only sound is the sound of their own joints, creaking faintly in the chill.
 
No more questions, then. No more interjections. Even being present had caused a problem, and confirming they'd been present, confirming they'd seen anything at all, had only made it worse. Maelie was upset at being forced to endure something she hadn't wanted to speak on at all. Cardinal was upset because of Maelie. Peg was upset because of what had happened to Vera. And it had all come to light because Muse had selfishly wanted to talk about what they'd seen. Why had they thought it appropriate to speak? They knew better. Their responsibility was to be silent. When had they allowed that to change?
 
They sink down to their knees. The metal plates of their body shift and slide, and they shudder for a moment, elation warring with a sick feeling in the pit of their stomach. Even this might be too much. They had worked so hard for it, they had wanted it more than anything, but how long would it be until they did even this in the wrong place, at the wrong time? How long until this, too, chased someone away from them? How long until they chased everyone away?
 
The metal fox's forepaws touch down on the cold soil. Muse shakes themself from ears to tail, plates clicking faintly as they settle into the new form. Then they crawl into the hollow space they have built within the center of the bushes. They nose themself under the coat and mantle, now the size of a massive set of blankets. The mantle spins through a myriad of greens and browns. It settles into the color of mottled leaf-shadow, disguising them even further from the world outside. And though the shape is different and the tricks are different, this, at least, is familiar. The whisper of the wind. The smell of frost. The cold nipping at the edges of their body. And the sense of stillness pushing down on their shoulders, settling them into the ground, reminding them where it is they belong.