Icy-blue eyes open wearily to a cloudy sky. Snowflakes flutter down between the eaves of the neighboring houses. The alley she laid in, illuminated only by the embers clinging to what is left of a smoldering log, is starting to fill with snow. Winter, yawning, stands up and stretches, doing what she can to fulfill her daily routine. She brushes her hair and tail, then glances down at her sleeping acquaintance.

The fox, finishing grooming, drops the brush to the small girl’s side and then roughly shakes her by the shoulders. “Wake up, idiot, you’re gonna freeze.”

With a groan, Sally stands and yawns, half-asleep. She grabs Winter’s odd weapon, eyes drooping. The older girl shoves her away and crosses her arms, sighing. “I need some clothes, so I’m gonna go see if anyone left a clothesline out. You’re free to join, I guess.”

Sally, the comment fully waking her, opens her mouth and cocks an eyebrow. “You’re gonna steal people’s clothes during the cold season?” She slams her palm onto her forehead. “Humans need it more than you; You’d be fine even if you went skinny-dipping in the lake.”

Winter rolls her eyes. “You’re right, sorry, I guess I’ll just walk around naked.” The vulin strolls out of the dank alley, using her tail to flick snow at her. Winter’s bare feet sink into the rapidly piling snow, causing her to shuffle uncomfortably.

Sally picks up her brush and stabs Winter’s back with it. “You’re not leaving yet! You never told me what that thing is.” Sally grabs the vulin’s arm, her indignant gaze meeting the older girl’s glare. “You said you found it and it shoots stuff, but I know that isn’t everything you know.”

Winter shrugs her off. “Nothing else about it matters. I know a bit more, but it’s none of your business.” Winter vaults over a fence with unmatched grace, causing the watching ferma to stop, stunned, because the fox immediately falls over the other side and face-plants into the snow.

Sally climbs up the wood and looks over the side. “You okay?” She looks around, confused about where her acquaintance went. Her jaw drops again as the strange girl climbs halfway through a window, grabbing something. “Hey! Winter! Get out of there! What the hell are you doing?”

The fox glares at the panicking kid as storming footsteps resound from inside the house. Winter rushes, snatching three burlap sacks just inside the room from under the windowsill. While she drops back down into the yard, a large man slams the door open and darts toward Winter. Seeing him approaching, her ears flatten and she runs to the fence, trying to climb back over. Before she can escape, her tail is grabbed and yanked, pulling her off the fence and into the snow.

Winter tries to get up and escape but gets slammed face-first into the snow. She feels her nose bending against the frozen soil as the back of her head is forced into the ground. Reaching up to the ankle, Winter fruitlessly tries to scratch the attacker, her claw-like nails unable to tear through the thick fabric of his pants.

A young voice resounds through the yard, causing both the individuals in the yard to halt their one-sided scuffle, “Stop! Please!”

The man turns and meets the ferma’s eyes. His face is gruff, his skin slightly tan, and his beard unkempt and unruly. Sally’s eyes fill with familiarity. Not with the man himself, but of his class, his type. He’s a fisherman, clearly. Muscular and tall with a tackle bag left at his back doorstep, Sally could easily envision him sitting at a dock silently, reaching into his pack, hooking bait, and fishing for hours. It brings back memories of the girl, an important person she’s reminded of. At the same time, she doesn’t want her new friend to be hurt, even if she is a bit shifty.

“Look, we don’t have any food, supplies, or anything. I know you’re not a bad guy, and my friend just wanted something to wear… please… don’t hurt her…” Tears begin to well up in the girl’s eyes, causing Winter to snicker against the soil as the pressure on her lightens.

With a sigh, the fisherman moves away, taking two of the three stolen bags back. Winter stood, bruised, splintered, and barely clothed. Though he noticed the odd object on the thief’s back, he didn’t have any particular care for it after the confrontation. He shoves her toward the fence, exasperated. “Scram. Never come back.”

Nodding rapidly, Winter tries to keep a smile off her face, climbing back over the fence and walking off with Sally. Once the girls leave earshot, Winter laughs and slaps her accomplice’s back. “Damn good job, kid! You do have some smarts after all, huh?” Examining the bag, Winter doesn’t even look at Sally.

The pre-teen’s face is wet and her eyes are bubbling. She sniffles and turns toward the fox.

“What is it? You can stop now, he’s gone. I appreciate the dedication, but really.” Her smile fades as her eyes meet Sally’s. “Kid?”

Sally shakes her head, tears dripping from her chin. Her brown hair blankets her face while she holds herself.

“I guess I’ll be down at the docks…?” Winter waves and walks away, holding her new sack up.

It’s not what she had been aiming for, but it would solve one of her biggest problems. Opening the bag up, she shoves her weapon inside of it. Though it doesn’t fit completely, the sack is large and wraps everything besides the barrel. If only Winter had two of them… oh well! She can always snatch one up from the docks.

With her weapon disguised, Winter walked through the streets. Though the nearly naked girl keeps to the shadows as much as she can, little attention is drawn to her anyway. After all, most in the streets are refugees, not in any position to be judging her.

Making her way down the road, Winter begins to notice a pattern in how the town is laid out. It’s quite marvelous, actually. To start, the whole town is located in a basin between four mountains. Two of those mountains have tributaries into one, decent-sized river: the same river which she followed to town. The river, after passing through a large grate in the outer wall, continues forward. This first spot it flows through is the start of a quintuple-layered terrace layout. The top terrace is the thinnest, containing primarily defensive formations, some dorm-like structures, and a small jail.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

After a steep fall of about ten meters, the river waterfalls down to the second terrace. This second layer begins a consistent pattern of wide, mostly residential terraces. Only on the fifth and final layer does this pattern change. The river cascades into the lake, passing by a sprawling marketplace on the bank. Connected to this area, wooden docks stretch out into the frozen waters, barely a meter above the surface. Fishermen sit on the frosted planks, their fishing lines reaching down into every inch of exposed water.

Winter is impressed, she didn’t expect such a deliberate and planned-out design for an isolated human town. It does make her curious about whoever founded this place.

Winter’s eyes flick up to a sign that catches her interest. Engraved onto the wood is a symbol of an anvil. Curious, she approaches, opening the rickety door which only barely manages to keep to its rusted hinges. Inside, a boy huddled in a blanket behind a large desk, fast asleep. The fox senses opportunity.

She examines the racks and bins that line the wall, holding metal items that her untrained eye determined to be of amateur make: arrowheads, knives, bigger knives, hooks, and a multitude of other parts she couldn’t immediately identify.

Winter picks a box up and drops it, the metal clattering across the floorboard with a noise that almost hurts her ears.

The boy doesn’t stir.

Winter then slinks behind the desk and begins checking the drawers, pocketing every coin she can find. She shuts the drawers and tiptoes away, snatching a skinning knife as she departs.

With a jog, she makes her way down to the lakeside marketplace. When she had first taken notice of the shop, she was hoping merely to inquire about her out-of-place belongings. This, however, was much more useful to her at the moment.

Now that she had money, however meager the amount, she could at least afford something. Even in her ragged state, she still received the occasional lustful stare. Her kind are quite against indecency, so Winter is only barely stopping herself from tearing the clothes off of the nearest refugee. But even she had her limits… somewhat.

Winter hops down a wooden staircase into the crowded market. She holds onto her weapon and coin tightly, not wanting to risk losing even a cent. The boy only had enough money stored to just barely be able to buy some pants, so she was keeping it close.

In her search for a townsperson selling pants, she comes across an empty dock. Her bare feet thumping onto the boards, she looks out to the horizon. Barely visible in the distance lay the ruins of the sister town. From what she can see, it isn’t nearly as organized or landscaped as this one. The destruction she witnesses serves as a grim reminder of her own past. How the buildings continue to burn after weeks, how the smoke builds into a dusty storm, and most of all, how the sight of the monster who caused it all meanders through the rubble. It tramples the legacy of those who were lost, desecrating their graves and adamantly refusing to allow them a proper burial.

The large beast, a horned monstrosity of obsidian and flame, is not a new sight to Winter, nor anyone native to Stoneridge. A titanita, a child of one of the Sentinels, is a monster among monsters. Dozens of them roam the mountains. Seemingly at random, they switch from being gentle giants to calamitous beasts, destroying all life around them.

This one, whose infernal silhouette she could barely make out, has horns that twist backward in a magmatic crown. This one, she knows, is not the one that ruined her life. Just seeing it, knowing what those refugees are here for… fills her with something she hasn't felt in a long while.

“You see it?”

Antlers come into sight from Winter’s flank, a familiar shorty walking up beside the fox. Sally’s hand reaches up, pointing to a large house at the center. “I lived right there, you know. I was adopted.”

Winter’s head tilts to the side, her ears flicking in thought. “By whom? Where are they… oh…”

“I was out playing when it happened. When I saw it, I ran away, unable to bring anything with me besides the clothes on my back.” Sally looked up at Winter, her eyes wet. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you don’t know what’s happened to us, either. You, stealing from people when you'll be fine otherwise, isn't right!”

Winter scoffs, crossing her arms. “The world is governed by who needs what and when. If someone tries to stop me from stealing from them, I don’t blame them, even if they kill me.” Winter’s eyes turn to Sally, her icy gaze thawing into a burning fire rivaling a titanita itself. “I know what you feel, alright? But unlike you, I’m not gonna bunker down in an alley and wallow!” Winter’s eyes begin to water. “Even if I hurt people. Hell! Even if I kill people, I WILL be free again!”

Pushing past, Winter walks back to the market, her footsteps quiet. “And so will you…” she mutters.

Sally remained on the solitary dock, staring out at her old home. It’s not that she laid down and accepted fate, it’s that sometimes crawling away is better than standing and fighting. What would she have done if she had stayed?

The ferma lifts up her hand, a vine curling around her fingers like a snake. She hadn’t told Winter the full truth. She had turned back to face the titanita. A reckless girl like WInter couldn’t hope to understand what Sally had seen that day.

Two ruby irises suspended in lava, glaring into her own with burning hate. Waves of heat made her feel like her eyes would evaporate out of their sockets, but her fear built so high that she couldn’t even blink, couldn’t even look away. After that brief encounter, her legs were the only part of her that worked.

Maybe, if she was reckless, if she threw her life away, she could’ve chipped its toe. Sally chuckles. "Prodigy" could be such a misleading word…

Winter, meanwhile, now sporting pants, slams her fist on the doors of the town hall. She’s still not as presentable as she’d like to be, but she feels like her mental state is at least matching her body.

“Yes, how can we help… you?” A robed man, probably in his fifties, looks the vulin up and down, grimacing. “We aren’t giving relief from here. Please go–”

“Shut up, I have a proposition.” Winter takes a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore her own misgivings about what she's about to do. “I’m not a refugee, I’m here to drive away the titanita.”

He raises a graying eyebrow, stroking messy scruff that could barely be called a beard. “How does someone like you plan to do that?”

She lifts her weapon off her back, brandishing its cold, black steel. “With this.”