Dirt was surprisingly hard to find in a city. Most of the ground was paved with hard stones, covering the dirt and natural soil that was once everywhere in this place. Only a few places still had that past exposed to the open air.

One of those places was on the banks of the river. For a good few feet on either side as it wound through the city, bare soil could be seen as the river refused to let the past die.

The river refused to let nature be forgotten. For this reason, the river was one of Scratch's favorite places.

Standing there in the waning moonlight, Scratch settled their feet into the cool water, burrowing down into the mud, relishing the cold liquid as it nourished their bark. Scratch remained there for some time, eyes closed, basking in the twin joys of the water and the dirt. While doing so, Scratch looked down into the water at their reflection, seeing themself for what they were.
Not human.

Perhaps their head was shaped similar to that of a human, but that was where the similarities ended. Humans had skin. Scratch had bark. Humans had lips. Scratch had a jagged crack that revealed their mouth, stretching almost all the way from one side of their face to the other. Human eyes were mostly white, with colored circles in the center that showed where they were looking. Scratch's eyes were similarly shaped to human eyes, but there was no white to them. Instead, they were entirely green, and glowed faintly in the fading darkness.
Humans had hair: little thin strands of dead material that fell from the tops of their heads. Scratch had thick, living vines sprouting from the top of their head and fell down a little past shoulder length. Scratch had tried to cut these vines once, but the pain forced them to stop. These vines also sprouted a multitude of leaves and flowers, most of which appeared to be wilting. Scratch kept their vines tied up in a sort of bun on the top of their head. Easier to conceal that way.
Scratch felt the first rays of dawn on the back of their neck, and knew they needed to head back. People would soon come near the river and see them. Scratch tried to avoid people when possible. Scratch reluctantly stalked up to the dry section of the bank where they had left their stuff. Scratch quickly threw on the cloak that concealed their bark-covered body, and their two extra arms. The cloak reached all the way from head to toe, and the hood was large enough that it could be pulled forward to entirely obscure Scratch's face. Then Scratch picked up their satchel, slung it over their shoulder, and hurried back to the hideout.



Scratch slipped into the hideout just before the streets began to crowd with pedestrians. It was hidden in the back of a run-down shop that didn't get many customers. Scratch stepped up to the man behind the counter. A burly, unshaven creature whose eyes were buried beneath thick brows. He looked in need of more sleep. Scratch spoke the password and was granted entry, though not without a mumbled reply from the man. Scratch didn't quite make it out, but he said something about "Treefolk" and their "ridiculous sleep schedules."
Scratch gave the comment no heed and silently walked past the man into the hideout. Scratch had heard people call them Treefolk before, though not frequently, and never with a tone that indicated good intentions. If it was a slur, it was a strikingly common one, as most people seemed confident enough to say it. If it was the proper term for what they were however, then Scratch didn't like it. something about it felt wrong.
Truthfully, Scratch wasn't fully certain what the proper term for what they were was. Adding to their confusion, it seemed nobody else knew either. Scratch noticed that people called them "he" more often than "she", though Scratch disliked both of these. Scratch seemed to be at least part tree, and as far as they could tell, trees were neither "he's" nor "she's." Others called Scratch "it," or "that thing." This also didn't feel right. A rock was an "it." A candle was a "thing." Scratch disliked "it" the most.
What Scratch most preferred was when people didn't talk about them at all. Nobody ever seemed to have anything good to say, anyway.
Scratch was hoping the hideout would be more packed, so they would be able to slip quietly into the room they shared with Ash without getting noticed. No luck. The main room of the hideout, which primarily served as a glorified tavern, was barren. All the other bandits were still in bed. It was, after all, just past dawn. These people preferred late nights accompanied by drink and merriment, and later mornings accompanied by headaches and foul tempers. Scratch couldn't imagine why. They had no idea why humans were so willing to ingest poison so frequently. There were many things about Scratch's human compatriots that they simply did not understand.
And yet Scratch was still the strange one.
There were only two other people in the main room at this hour. Ash was behind the bar, cleaning some glasses. The squat 17-year-old's body was barely visible from Scratch's angle, whose own diminutive stature made it hard to see over the bar. Scratch's bunkmate was the only member of the crew who Scratch didn't find repuslive. As the story went, apparently Ash had found a seed the size of his fist about five years ago, decided to plant and tend it, then a year later Scratch popped out. Scratch still had some memories of their time in the dirt, but those were hazy.
Flint, the crew's captain, was seated at the bar, facing away from Scratch, hunched over a mug. Perhaps he didn't notice Scratch come in. They would be able to just sneak past, into their room…
"Scratch!" Flint's hoarse voice boomed through the empty room and struck Scratch right in the chest. Rats. Scratch walked over to Flint, knowing what was about to happen.
Flint turned to face Scratch. Flint had an appearance that many seemed to find attractive: tall, slender frame, chiseled features, piercing eyes, a large nose, and wavy blonde hair slicked back on his scalp. Scratch did not think Flint looked attractive. Scratch thought Flint looked like a rat with a haircut.
And he smells like one too, Scratch noted as Flint leaned in close to their face. "And just where have you been?" Flint droned. "Little Ash here and I have been worried sick, haven't we Ash?" Flint didn't turn to look at Ash when he said this, but Ash still flinched and looked back down at the cup he was polishing.
Scratch also looked away from Flint. "I, umm, went to the river—"
"The river, eh? That the story you're sticking with?"
"Well, umm, it's true, so… yes?" Scratch was trying to think of what they needed to say to get out of this as fast as possible. Evidently this was not the right thing to say.
"It's true, he says!" Flint chuckled bitterly and leaned back. "You hear that Ash? Kid says he's telling the truth! Ridiculous, I say. Not a doubt in my mind you're out there with my competition, conspiring against me, maybe even praying to one of your silly tree gods for my downfall."
Scratch didn't even know of any tree gods. Flint was being ridiculous, and Scratch said so.
"B-but, that's ridiculous… why in the world would I work against you?"
Flint's lips curled into a disgusting sneer. "Why, indeed? It is a pretty stupid thing to do if you thought about it at all, but I'm sure you didn't think, did you, Twiggy? Didn't think for one second about everything I've done for you these past years! You know that any other crew would have tossed you out at the first opportunity? Treefolk are bad luck, people say, and nothing but trouble you've caused me! But no. Not old Flint with his heart of gold! I should be awarded a medal, I should, just for letting you stick around—"
CRASH
Flint and Scratch both turned to look at Ash and the shards of glass that now spread out across the ground around his feet. Flint gave an exaggerated sigh, stood up and stomped around the bar to Ash. "Two useless bodies! The things I put up with!"
Ash caught Scratch's eye and winked. He'd drawn away Flint's attention on purpose. Scratch made a mental note to thank Ash later, and slipped away into the room the two of them shared.
Scratch passed into the small room. Most of the hideout's other sleeping quarters were packed, but Ash was the only one willing to sleep in the same room as Scratch, so they had the room to themselves. Scratch walked past the two bedrolls on either side of the room to the far end. In one corner sat the large pot Scratch had grown out of, and the other corner was where Scratch kept their trinkets on a small table.
Scratch liked metal things. Though perhaps it was more accurate to say that Scratch enjoyed contorting metal objects into different shapes. They collected scraps of metal during some heists when they could get away with it. Gears, wires and springs from broken watches, silverware, coins of insignificant denomination; Scratch was able to source their metal from many different places. They used to try sticking the bits of metal in fire to make it more pliable, but Scratch almost always got burned doing that, and those burns had yet to fade from Scratch's bark, so it had been some time since they had tried.
Scratch sat down and began scanning through their collection. Most of their creations were caricatures of things Scratch had seen. Other members of the crew, a few insects, birds and other animals. While Scratch's creations were inspired by real things, they liked to exaggerate aspects of the subject that caught Scratch's eye. A grasshopper's multi-faceted eyes were made extra large. An alleycat's body was made extra thin, its claws longer and sharper. The man who watched the hideout entrance was given absurdly long and thick arms, while Flint's body was a single wire thin.
Scratch's creations weren't particularly useful, at least so the other bandits thought. They seemed to see Scratch's metal trinkets as a waste of resources, or simply told Scratch they looked ugly. Flint especially thought they were a total waste of time.
They were right. Scratch's trinkets were ugly. That was why Scratch liked them, especially — ahh, there it was!
Scratch's eyes finally rested on their favorite trinket. Scratch sat down and with their lower set of hands resting on the ground, gingerly held the small trinket with their two upper hands.
Scratch always loved looking at this little piece of metal. It was made almost entirely from wires twisted around each other into a rough approximation of a person, but the arms were longer and thinner, and split apart where the elbows should have been into a multitude of thin, twisted appendages that crossed over and intertwined with each other. The eyes were two copper coins wired into place, corroded green with age. They were so large compared to the rest of the body that they bulged from the sides of the face. From the top of the head sprouted the ends of most of the wires, all twisted in a messy knot that shot straight up from the top of the creature's head.
This was easily Scratch's ugliest creation. That was why it was their favorite.
It was even uglier than Scratch.
Scratch sat there for a while, pondering their trinkets before Ash eventually walked in. Before Scratch could say a word, Ash collapsed on his bedroll, exhausted. The poor kid had probably stayed up all night serving drinks, only to end it off with a drunken lecture from Flint. Scratch went back to their collection, turning their attention to their latest creation: a rat with an absurdly long snout and tail.
A few minutes passed, when Scratch heard Flint's voice in the main hall again. "Ah, of course! I've been expecting you. Come on in!" he spoke in the tone of voice he only used when he wanted to make a good impression. Who was he talking to?
Then it clicked in Scratch's head. The informant! The crew had been hired by some anonymous individual to rob a wealthy, influential man in the city. Why they were hired was unknown, other than the informant simply wanted to enact revenge on the man for some reason. Not that that mattered much to Flint, since their arrangement let the crew take all the earnings, a deal Flint couldn't refuse. The heist was supposed to take place the coming night. The informant must have shown up for a final review of the heist.
Scratch tried to listen in on the conversation, but the voices were too hushed. Scratch couldn't even hear the other informant's voice, though it was clear that Flint was speaking to somebody. Scratch was only able to make out three words scattered through their conversation, and they were not welcoming ones:
Scratch heard "Elf." Rumor was that this wealthy man had an elf in his personal employ as a bodyguard. Scratch had never met one before. Supposedly they were unkillable. Whatever the plan was for the heist, they would need to find some way to take care of the elf. But how?
Scratch heard "Distraction." Scratch supposed a distraction would be the obvious choice. But how exactly would that be accomplished? Scratch was glad that the crew rarely brought them along on heists anymore. This wasn't something Scratch really had to worry much about.
Scratch heard "Treefolk."
Scratch froze in place. Why would they be bringing Scratch? Were they supposed to be the distraction?
Scratch was now much more concerned about the results of the coming night.




Scratch crouched outside a window looking into the third story of an elaborate estate. The crew had dropped them off at the base of the building nearly half an hour ago before going around to enter the estate's cellar from another side. Scratch had spent that time carefully scaling the wall, reaching the window which would apparently deposit them in a hall directly outside the room where the elf was said to sleep.
It had taken them this long to reach the window because Scratch was mortified. They had never been this high up off the ground before. Not only that, but it felt like every motion they made sent out blasts of sound for all to hear, so Scratch climbed as slowly and quietly as possible. In hindsight, it probably would have been quieter if they'd climbed normally. It required a good deal more effort and stamina than they'd expected, so Scratch crouched next to the window for a moment, taking in gasps of air and covering their mouth with both their lower hands to muffle the noise. Scratch prayed that they hadn't taken too long, that their slowness hadn't led to the crew getting caught by this mysterious elf, or worse.
Hesitantly, Scratch peered into the window, but was greeted only with the fabric of a curtain covering the view. How in the world am I supposed to distract an elf, Scratch wondered. What am I going to do, dance a jig and sing a tune?
They slowly opened the window and crawled inside, still behind the curtains. Scratch barely dared to breathe as they peeked out and saw the hallway stretch down on either side, a long blue carpet running from one end to the other. Decorations marked the room every few yards, mostly potted plants or maybe a suit of armor. Thankfully, there was nobody to be seen.
Directly across from the window Scratch climbed in from stood a tall, ornate pair of doors. They were decorated in a different style from the rest of the hall, with strange geometric symbols lining the rims and surrounding the handles.
After checking that both directions were absolutely clear of people, Scratch silently walked away from the curtains and towards the doors.
As soon as they did, the curtain grabbed Scratch's lower left wrist.
Scratch almost cried out in surprise, but luckily remained silent. They tried to pull free from the fabric but it had a firm grip. Then the curtain grabbed Scratch's upper right wrist, pulling the two arms together behind Scratch's back. Try as they might to wriggle free, the curtain kept a strong hold on Scratch and prevented them from moving anywhere.
Now what do I do? What if somebody sees me?
Scratch stood there pushing against the curtain's hold for only a moment longer before the doors across the hall opened, and the elf stepped out wearing a dark blue robe.
It didn't seem like the elf had needed to touch the door in any way to open it, as he simply stepped forward between the two doors with hands clasped behind his back. As he approached Scratch, he was trailed by a small lantern floating in the air at his shoulder's height.
Scratch first noticed how tall the elf was. Scratch stood a good half a head shorter than the shortest other member of Flint's crew, yet they could still easily tell that this creature was taller than anyone they'd ever seen, and their thin frame and straight white hair reaching down to the hips accentuated this. Scratch was surpprised to notice, however, that his ears looked just like those of any human, and were not pointy as Scratch had heard elf ears were supposed to be.
The elf stood just outside the reach of Scratch's two free arms and looked down at them with an unreadable expression. "About time you got here," he said lazily. "I was beginning to wonder just how long you would keep sitting out on that ledge. Very inconsiderate of you, considering the lengths I've gone to to secure this conversation. But now that I have you stuck here, I can finally ask you: what is a child of the soil doing with a band of human thieves?"
Scratch remembered why they were here. Distract him. Maybe Scratch could keep the crew safe if they kept the elf busy talking. Besides, maybe the elf knew something about what Scratch was. "What do you mean, child of the soil?" Scratch was careful to keep their voice down to not wake up anybody else.
The elf regarded Scratch quizzically. "Do you… not know what you are? What is your tribe? Who planted your seed?"
Tribe? Were there more like Scratch? They'd never seen another creature like themself in all their life.
Scratch decided that it was probably best to be honest with the elf. That would likely keep him talking for longer. "I've lived my whole life in this city. My friend Ash found some weird seed, stuck it in a pot, and it grew into me. Now tell your drapes to lemme go!"
"Fascinating. So you truly know nothing about what you are?" The elf crouched down to look Scratch directly in the face, and Scratch saw something in his eyes that he'd never seen among Flint's crew.
Genuine concern.
"You must feel so alone, so out of place. I imagine you've never even met another of your kind, as they hardly ever venture this far into human lands. Makes me wonder how your seed ended up here in the first place."
Scratch found themself agreeing with the elf. There was a moment of silence, before Scratch spoke, voice quivering.
"So… you know what I am?"
The elf's expression softened, and he stood up. "I am not an expert on your people," he admitted, "Though I think it's safe to say I know more than you do. There are many names for your kind. The humans call you treefolk. Us elves call you Shuma Zeze, Children of the Soil. However the word that your people use is Tosha. That word's meaning is unknown to me. Your kind typically seclude themselves from other civilizations, living in close-knit tribes and clans in the jungles far to the south. They are a strong and crafty people, and you should be proud to call yourself one. They are very rarely seen this deep into human lands, which is why I went to all the effort to organize this little heist."
"Wait," Scratch was trying to process what they'd just heard. "So you're the one who's sponsoring this heist? Why would you betray your master like that?"
The elf let out a laugh that rang through the empty room. "I'd hardly call that man my master. More a business associate. Though it doesn't surprise me to hear that he'd spread such rumors around the city. Neither do I care one bit for his ridiculous hoard of belongings. I organized this heist because I heard a rumor of a child of the Soil living amongst human thieves. There is such animosity between humans and your kind, I couldn't imagine how that would be possible. My curiosity was piqued. Now that we are face to face, the answer is clear to me. You, child, don't know what you are.
"If youd'd like," the elf said, turning back towards his room, "I could write you directions to the nearest tribe. I believe there is an outlying tribe living in a forest only a week's journey south from here."
Scratch thought about it. A chance to find out who they really were! It was almost too good to be true. But…
"What about the crew?" Scratch mumbled, trying to find any excuse not to take this being up on what seemed to be the offer of a lifetime.
"I hope you don't earnestly believe those ruffians were your friends. I've only had the displeasure of interacting with that slime you call a captain, but if he's any indication of the rest of them, they do not have your best interests in mind. Not to mention they're long gone by now."
Scratch felt fear wash over their face. "What did you do to them?"
"Nothing. in fact, I believe their little heist was a success. They entered, took what they wanted, then left another way. It… doesn't seem like they will be returning to collect you. I doubt they'll stay in town long after such a big success."
Scratch's heart sank right down to their toes. How had it just occured to them that they'd never been told the exit strategy?
"This may be distressing for you to hear," the elf said, interrupting Scratch's thoughts. "But I feel obliged to tell you that it wasn't my idea for you to be left behind. Flint came to that decision all on his own. He seemed rather excited by the idea, in fact."
Would the entire crew really just ditch them like this? Even Ash?. What was Scratch supposed to do now?
Scratch considered it. Then finally made their decision.
"Show me the map."


The days Scratch spent traveling on the open road were some of the best that Scratch had ever had. They had understood on an intellectual level that there was far more dirt out in the wild than there was in the city, but they still didn't feel prepared for just how much there really was.
Dirt was everywhere! It was impossible to escape it. Every direction Scratch looked, they were surrounded by lush soil promoting the growth of grass, bushes, and tall trees that stretched high overhead. Every step Scratch took was on soft, springy dirt, instead of the harsh stone they were used to. The dirt called to Scratch, inviting them to stop, dig their feet in, and simply stand a while. Scratch did this multiple times per day, and relished in the simplicity of just standing and letting the land claim them as its own.
This joy was made all the more sweet by the warm sun beating down overhead. All Scratch's life, they had been taught to avoid the sun and its light. That lightwould make it harder for Scratch to hide. Burglaries and crimes were more easily committed as far from the revealing rays of the sun as possible.
But out here, Scratch had nothing to hide. They rarely met other travelers, and those they did cross paths with barely gave Scratch a second glance, more focused on reaching their destination. Still wearing their large cloak for the warmth, Scratch was able to pull the hood down and untie their head vines, letting them fall free on their back. The foliage that grew from them seemed much healthier for it. In the city, the flowers that grew from Scratch's vines all looked sickly, always on the verge of falling off. Now, Scratch's head was practically glowing with life.
Not only that, but Scratch didn't seem to need to eat as much as they used to. In preparation for the journey, Scratch had packed what they had assumed would not be enough food for a week-long journey, scrounging up whatever they could salvage from the now abandoned hideout and stuffing it in their satchel alongside some of Scratch's favorite metal trinkets that Scratch chose to bring along as keepsakes. Scratch had barely touched that food. Nourishment from the soil below and the sun above, along with water from a river the road followed, provided Scratch with most of the nourishment they needed. In fact, Scratch felt more energetic than ever.
Scratch was more free than they had ever been.


Scratch had been wandering the forest the elf had indicated to them for two days with no sign of any other life. The path Scratch used to arrive at the forest long abandoned, Scratch simply wandered the land, unsure what to look for. They had long since lost any sense of direction, as the dense trees blocked direct sight of the sun; though its light still filtered down to Scratch, tinted green by the leaves of the trees it passed before reaching Scratch. They were pretty sure they were still moving further into the forest, though.
Around midday, Scratch heard the gurgle of a stream nearby, and decided to head towards it to rest. As the stream came into view, Scratch saw them.
The creature was standing practically motionless, ankle-deep in the clear flowing water. Nearby, Scratch noticed a long wooden spear with a stone tip tied at the end and a similarly crafted dagger, both stuck point-first into the ground so that they stood up straight. Though simple in design, these weapons were clearly built with a sort of artistic elegance to them which emphasized the… well, natural… nature of their composition, the length of the spear especially; bearing many knots and twists which contorted the spear, yet made it seem like the stick had simply been plucked directly from a tree. Scratch wondered if they could learn to craft things with such a natural elegance.
The figure was staring directly upwards towards the sun, facing away from Scratch so they couldn't make out the face. Scratch could, however, see that the foliage growing from this creature's head was similar to Scratch's, but much more vibrant and colorful, and the vines were slightly longer than Scratch's. Clearly they had been tending to their flowers better than Scratch could. They stretched out all three of their arms in different directions; one from either side of the body, similar to humans, but a third appendage sprouted out their back, a little lower down from the shoulders than the other two arms.
The creature was unclothed save for a light wrap covering their hips down to just above the knees which appeared to be made of woven grass. This left their upper body bare, revealing a chest, back and upper arms all covered in more foliage, including not just leaves and flowers, but moss too. Scratch wondered if they could grow moss, if given enough time.
It's a Tosha! I've found my people!
They appeared not to have noticed Scratch yet, so Scratch approached cautiously until they left the cover of the trees and came into full visibility. Then, Scratch called out.
"Hello there! What's your name?"
Immediately the Tosha let out a short shriek and jumped from the water towards their weapons. In the blink of an eye they had collected the spear and knife and fell into a strange crouching stance, holding the spear in its two front hands and brandishing the knife above their head with their back hand. The Tosha regarded Scratch with a ferocious look, and began shouting at them in a language Scratch had never heard before.
The message was still clear. Scratch jumped back and raised all four hands to the sky. "Whoah, hey!" Scratch said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
Once the Tosha got a good look at Scratch, they calmed significantly, stood up straight, and their expression turned from violence to curiosity. They carefully began speaking in their strange language with an inquisitive tone.
"Sorry," Scratch said nervously. "I don't speak your language."
I call it their language, Scratch thought as they spoke, but I suppose It's technically my language too. I'll need to learn my own people's language!
The Tosha paused, then spoke slowly in the Human tongue. "You are… Tosha, but… no speak Toshkani?" The words carried a heavy accent Scratch had never heard before.
"Yes!" Scratch said. At least they would be able to understand each other a little. "I don't speak… You called it Toshkani?"
"Yes! Yes! Toshkani!" They said something in Toshkani again, then laughed. Toshkani was a strange language. To Scratch it sounded almost like the groans and hisses of a tree blown in the wind. They then pointed to themself. "Kashi," they said.
"Kashi! Nice to meet you." Scratch was elated. They had never even imagined another person like them was out there, and now here Scratch was, talking to someone who had lived their entire life in this paradise of a forest! Scratch gestured to themself. "I am Scratch."
Kashi tried to repeat that, but seemed to have some trouble. "Sssss…. sssssssc… Sclash. Sclash?"
"Close enough, I guess," Scratch chuckled. "Yes, Sclash."
"Sclash!" Kashi laughed loudly and jumped about, repeating the name. They then approached Scratch and firmly placed two hands on Scratch's shoulders. "Come, follow! You see Moshak! You see tribe!"
The Tribe! Scratch was going to meet a whole tribe of Tosha!
Scratch eagerly let Kashi lead them along a small path that Scratch hadn't noticed before. Now that they were following it though, they could see the signs with some effort. A broken branch here, a scratch in the bark there. Kashi led Scratch forward, holding one of Scratch's hands with their back hand as they hurried down the hidden path at a brisk pace. As they went, Kashi began teaching Scratch bits and pieces of Toshkani. Scratch was taught the words for things like "tree," "grass," and "stream." Scratch was surprised to find that Toshanki had multiple different words for dirt. Scratch struggled with the pronunciation, but tried their hardest. This was, after all, the language they'd be speaking the rest of his life.
A few hours later, Kashi slowed to a halt and the pair stopped to rest. Scratch set down their satchel and lay on the grass, looking up at the sky. Every part of them felt like it was buzzing with some inner energy.
Scratch was going home.
Kashi approached Scratch, apparently curious about their satchel. Scratch sat up, and began pulling out its contents to show Kashi, mostly the food that had still gone uneaten. Kashi tried some of it. It was mostly bread and cheese with some slices of dried sausage. Kashi quite enjoyed the sausage and seemed to tolerate the cheese, but spit out the bread.
Scratch reached into the satchel again to show Kahsi some of their trinkets. The first one they grabbed was a grasshopper with extra long legs and large eyes. Scratch pulled it out for Kashi to see.
As soon as they did so Kashi screamed, jumped away, and began speaking rapidly in Toshkani. Their behavior startled Scratch too, who scrambled back a few feet across the ground, metal grasshopper still in hand.
"What's wrong?" Scratch said. "It's just a bug. I made it myself!"
Kashi gasped. "You… made that?" They pointed at the trinket and regarded it with the same fear Scratch would have expeted from somebody who had seen a terrible beast. Scratch had actually seen humans in the city regard them with that same fear before. Kashi clutched their spear in front of them, as if they needed to fight back against the inanimate object.
"Yeah, I made it. There's more in my bag too." Scratch didn't understand what was so wrong. "I like to make things with metal."
"Metal!" Kashi spat the word. "Metal is human. Human metal bites. Human fire burns. Humans destroy Tosha! You make metal, you are human!"
Scratch quickly picked up their satchel and backed away from Kashi. They were now brandishing their spear towards Scratch. That same ferocity came back into their eyes from before, but now it was accompanied by something else. Scratch could see a pain behind those eyes.
"What do you mean? Of course I'm not human, look at me! I'm a Tosha!" Scratch gestured to themself with all four arms.
"No!" Kashi started walking towards Scratch, spear still pointed directly at Scratch's chest. "Tosha don't touch metal. you touch metal, you are not Tosha! You can not see Moshak! You can not see tribe! You are not Tosha!"
Scratch stood their ground, frozen in place. What was happening?
When Scratch didn't move, Kashi charged forward. That got Scratch moving. Scratch quickly jumped out of the way, and ran off into the forest.


Scratch wasn't sure when Kashi had stopped chasing them. But some time later when they fell to their knees, taking in ragged gasps of air, they didn't hear anything behind them so Scratch assumed they were safe.
Scratch sat there on the ground for some time. Just breathing. Big breaths. Quick breaths. Soon those breaths became something akin to sobs.
Scratch didn't cry. They weren't sure they could. When humans were emotional, they cried. Water would leak from their eyes. Scratch had never had that happen to them, and wondered why humans did it. Why couldn't Scratch cry?
Instead, Scratch just breathed heavily. Just let me cry, they thought. Let me do something like everyone else!
Then Scratch began to scream. That was something they could do. Scratch screamed to the sky. Somewhere behind all those trees was the sun, hiding from Scratch. Scratch screamed as loud as they could, as long as they could. It was a strange scream. It almost sounded like it didn't belong to Scratch.
Scratch kept screaming, pounding on the dense soil beneath them with all four fists. Why? Why couldn't the Toshas accept Scratch? Why did Ash abandon Scratch?
The humans saw Scratch as strange. That was understandable. Scratch was clearly not a human. But if Kashi's outburst was any indication of the Tosha, then they wouldn't accept Scratch either. Scratch wasn't a human. Scratch apparently wasn't a Tosha. So what were they?
What am I? WHAT AM I?
"WHAT AM I?" Scratch screamed to the unyielding sky.
Scratch reached into their satchel and pulled out the metal trinkets. Scratch looked at each one, then threw them out into the forest, screaming some more. Every single trinket. The only things Scratch liked. The only things that Scratch had ever enjoyed. Scratch could abandon them. Scratch would make the Toshas see that they were a Tosha! Then they would accept Scratch! Then somebody would finally love Scratch!
Scratch stopped when they reached the last trinket in their bag. They held it with tender fingers.
It was the ugliest trinket of them all. It was Scratch's favorite. The only thing uglier than Scratch, and so Scratch loved it because nobody else would.
Scratch didn't throw it. They sat there, staring at the small jumble of wires and coins in their hand for a long time. Scratch's breathing slowed.
Then Scratch began to realize something. Or perhaps they simply accepted something they had always known.
Looking down at their favorite trinket, Scratch understood. Nobody would accept them. Scratch was neither human nor tosha. Scratch was something different.
Scratch was Scratch.
There was no place for Scratch. Not yet, at least. It still needed to be built.
And it would have to be built from Scratch.