Well, that's that. Fynn is flat-out, bonafide, completely weird. Just like his brother, just like his sister. Only this time, I think we can use his weirdness to our advantage.
The intial snowfall that buried the Dauphine - along with the rest of the world, given the nature of nature - has since been bolstered by flurries. These damned flurries make getting across country more difficult than before. And it only got worse today when, this morning, we woke up to a damned blizzard.
Libby anticipated snow. She anticipated snow so hardcore that she installed heating systems in the wheels which could, in a pinch, clear them of obstacles and allow the Dauphine to keep moving. Unfortunately, it was so damned cold today that the boiling water flowing through the tubes in the wheels simply created sheets of ice when we activated the system. Consequently, the Dauphine was stuck in snow AND had no traction. Good times.
We couldn't move. Nobody wanted to go outside because of the intense cold. Hell, it was damned chilly inside, let alone beyond the bay doors of the Dauphine. We had to seal the observation deck to prevent snow from flooding Command. No one knew what to do beyond watching the nose of the Dauphine as it slowly, but surely, disappeared under a thick blanket of white.
Like everyone else, I watched the progression. There's no greater spectacle than that of nature. Unlike the rest, though, I couldn't bear the gloomy sight for long, and I eventually took Fynn down to Engineering to play. The bottom floor of the Dauphine was largely clear of life, what with the current uselessness of the mechanisms, and Fynn was eager to muck about with the rhino. So I let him.
It's marvellous how children can cleanse a foul mood, it really is. The way Fynn bucked about on that rhino... funny as hell. They're great friends, those two.
After twenty minutes of watching Fynn gamble about on the rhino's back, I noticed a strange expression on his face. The rhino must've noticed, too, because it stopped playfully bucking and peered at its adult-sized cargo.
"What's up, Fynn?" I called, picking at some dirt under my toenails. "Wanna come down?"
Fynn shook his head. His curls neatly masked his face. Quite a set of hair on that boy. "No go?"
"What'd ya say, m'boy?"
He pointed at the ceiling. "Go. Daauphhdinei. No go?"
I smiled, rolling my eyes. "No, Fynn. No go. We're stuck. Stuuuuck."
"Stowk?"
"Yeah, stuck." I helped him off of the rhino and pointed out one of the portholes. "See? The snow. It's 'round our wheels. We can't move. Stuck."
"Stowk." He considered the word as he tapped on the glass. "St... sto... stoww... stuwk."
"Stuck. Good lad." I sighed. "We'd need your sister to pry us free now, I'm afraid. Or your... bro... eh, nevermind. Point is, we're stuck here for now. Might as well play with the rhino a while longer."
"Snort," said the rhino. I passed it a sock from the sock tree, potted and growing nearby.
"Stuwk." Fynn tapped on the glass a few more times. "Stuck. Stuck."
"Hey, that's right. Prime pronunciation, me pint-sized... uh... peregrin. Maybe you'll make a good writer some day, Fynny, 'ol boy. Got the language down even... faster... than..."
"Stuck."
My sentence died. I stepped back, away from Fynn, bumping into the nose of the rhino. I'm sure I might've been more fearful of getting the horn up my butt, but I was preoccupied.
So suddenly that I had no time to process it all, Fynn was changing before my eyes. His limbs, previously so plump and awkward, shrank and toned themselves. His face, full of baby fat, became more naturally rounded. His tresses, so shaggy and long, receded into a neat, trim haircut. For a second he grew to almost double his normal size, but then his body folded in on itself and virtually matched mine in height. A light dazzled my vision, two colours mingling into a gentle, brilliant brown.
Then I saw Fynn. Not the Fynn of today, mind, but another Fynn. A Fynn in adulthood. A Fynn a long time from now. A Fynn with battle scars, a Fynn with a cloak and a sword, a Fynn looking grim and determined. A warrior, much like his sister... but not a killing machine.
Heroic. Yes. That's the word I'd use about my son. He looked absolutely heroic.
The light faded. I staggered onto the rhino's head, and it tactfully brushed me to the floor so I wouldn't impale myself. Recovering, I looked to my son - and found him gone. No Fynn.
But the Engineering bay door was open.
Alarmed, I grabbed a coat beside the bay door and waded into the white of winter, emerging near one of the Dauphine's front wheels. The cold nipped at my face, my ears, my lips, my everything, but I managed to pry my eyes open just far enough to see what was happening.
Fynn was standing between the front wheels of the Dauphine, surrounded by a faint aura of brown. Looking an altogether more immature and naive kind of heroic, but no less determined, he dug his hands into the front of the Dauphine, bashing straight through the wood. Within seconds the aura surrounding him extended to the hull of the Dauphine -
- and when Fynn began to trudge backward, the Dauphine went with him. It took several minutes of painful labour, but Fynn pulled the whole damned thing free of the ice and snow. Whenever he tugged the aura surrounding him blazed all the brighter, as though amplifying his ridiculous might.
Yep. He's related to Eve, all right.
After yanking the Dauphine to a clear area, Fynn slowly set the transport back down, wiped an ample amount of frosted sweat from his brow, and looked at me. I'd followed his progress the whole way, disbelieving, hardly aware of the horrible cold chewing at my body.
He grinned, though sheepishly. "Sorry, dad. Mom's gonna have to fix that hole. I did good, though, right? Not stuck anymore?"
Yes, son. You did good. Not stuck anymore.
Sincerely,
Dragomir the Stupefied
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