We bid goodnight to the mice and headed back to the warren. Lady Moon shone among her children in what sky that showed through the barren trees. A sharp chill that whispered of coming snow kept us alert as we made our way through the forest. Russet sniffed the ground every few hops and Oakbud and I listened and watched for birds. Twitch circled us, watching for predators on the ground and muddling our prey scent with his.
For good or ill, Oakbud was thinking besting the foxes was possible again. And he had ideas about what we could do to help. “If Bremen is merely named after a fox, why did you bring it up?”
Twitch responded, “He’s strong, crafty, and understands predators. Plus, from what I understand, he speaks fox better than his father. And Blackfeather’s a serious polyglot.”
“Regardless, if Bremen grew up with you, that would give him some insight.” Oakbud pondered at our next stop. “What if he was a fox in a rabbit’s body?”
“You can’t think that’s possible,” I objected.
“Not really,” Oakbud said. “Although, if it helps me understand you, does that matter?”
“That’s not how that–”
“Quiet!” Russet cut off my reply as he halted. He sniffed the air, turning around. “There’s a scent. Run!”
We doubled our pace. Russet bolted sideways and curved back to the warren. Twitch close to Oakbud; me at the back. We no longer checked for predators; we had one to avoid. Across the blood trail from Herb, shadows and branches grasped for us, but we slipped through.
“No.” Russet went to double back but stopped. “No...”
I finally caught the scent of fox. We were surrounded.
Between us and the warren, a large fox emerged from the underbrush. He smiled a tooth-filled warning, a thin muzzle full of sharp teeth. Dark, unkempt, earth-toned fur made him look larger, but he was easily double my length and three times my height. He walked casually; each paw landed without force, but his claws gripped the ground, preparing to lunge. He glared at us, daring us to run.
Back toward Twitch’s, a vixen blocked the path. A bit smaller, her features were sleek with a nice subtle curve. Her fur was without the slightest scruff and just a touch lighter than usual, with a pure snowy underbelly. Much more sophisticated than the other fox. Plus, her mouth closed around all her teeth. She frowned as we stopped and settled on the ground; the chase was over.
A third fox ran in from our flank, in case we tried running somewhere else. He skid to a halt as he got within sight. Not quite a runt, he was the smallest of the three, and his well-groomed fur was the darkest of the three. To my surprise, he spoke in a very clear rabbit tongue. “You were trying to run. That’s not allowed. Stay.”
The last word ran through my body and left icy trails of fear. Not like the fear from the badger, this lingered with a force of its own. Some predators could do that, train their fear to a sharp edge, but that was mostly weasels and snakes. Perhaps I was imagining it after all the rumors of these foxes.
Regardless, fear never stopped me from speaking before. My voice found strength, and I responded in rabbit tongue. “We can stay, if you insist, but you must see you’re outnumbered.”
“Fight if you must.” The small fox gave a bitter laugh. “Struggle makes it much more fun.”
Twitch was between Oakbud and the large fox. Russet flicked his ears; he had a Pepperpuff tucked behind one, ready to be shaken into his paws. Yet another trick I had no talent for. So, I did what I could; I talked.
“But you killed yesterday, even if you didn’t want to show it,” I objected. “After two seasons, you can’t break that pattern.”
“What matters is the pattern doesn’t look broken.” The small fox settled on his haunches. “Those who flee the warren will die. Those who stay will die slowly.”
The large fox sneered. “I don’t want to hide their bodies. Herb was enough trouble.”
“I want to keep you alive and suffering,” the smaller one said. “The warren is too meek to tear itself apart without a king. Perhaps an injured king as a warning to never run again. Why run when you can lie down and die?”
His words struck the group of us, a heavy weight that pushed us into the ground. Fear and despair told me it was hopeless, and it made my limbs heavy. I acknowledged the emotion and pushed past it, at least enough to speak. “No. We will always fight.”
“Fighting is hopeless. And talking will not help you.” The smaller fox stepped closer. “Neither will help your rabbit’s-paw weasel-friend. He’s prey now.”
Russet grunted and stood up. His voice shook with anger as he spat out one of the few canine insults he knew. “Only prey hides behind seer-tricks; no real predator has visions.”
The words were ugly; a curse given to the only other predator-seer we knew. They disowned him, exiled him from his pack, and played on his inner shame. The belief that visions were a sign of inner terror, that a predator-seer was not Death’s herald, but Death’s plaything. The words struck with the same venom here, perhaps finding the same doubt.
The small fox lunged as the heaviness lifted. Twitch darted between his legs, and the small fox almost nipped his own feet. I was already in the air; my feet smacked his muzzle fully into the ground.
The big fox lunged as well, not seeing Russet as a threat. The Pepperpuff spoke otherwise. Stinging pepper blinded the fox and caused him to rush past Oakbud and into his pack mate with a yelp of surprise.
Oakbud jumped away from the action and landed right in front of the vixen. She frowned, but made no move.
“Fang, get off me! Talus, get them!” the small fox barked in vulpine—fox-tongue.
The vixen, Talus, simply studied Oakbud as the king backed away. She spoke in rabbit-tongue, “You know I can’t attack this one.”
We regrouped. “Russet, Twitch, get Oakbud out of here.” They almost objected, but I cut them off. “Fang and claw.” The part of the oath that spoke of sacrifice.
“Hope and stories,” Russet responded. The three of them ran down the unblocked path to the warren’s back entrance. It was short enough; I could run the longest. With Prince Twilight’s blessing, I wouldn’t need to stop. Delay the pack, then run. Maybe get some information from them before I fled. Like what happened between the vixen and the king. Had he lied about knowing a fox?
“Interesting, ghost,” Talus said. “Tell me, is their survival worth your life?”
“Talus!” the smallest fox growled as he finally shoved Fang away from himself and got to his feet. “Get yourself under control.”
Three on one was bad odds. I had to keep them off balance. The talk of having a fox-soul was fresh in my mind. Without any hint of an accent, I slipped into vulpine. Fox-tongue has three means to address others: one for prey, one for equals, and one for larger predators. I used the last one. “I had hoped to join you. But it seems you’re not in charge as much as you think.”
The small fox narrowed his eyes and glared at me. “What makes you think you have anything we want?”
“It seems my offering has run off, but that clearly was not my fault,” I lied. “If you are the foxes that haunt this warren, I know I can be a useful fox’s-paw. I ask only for survival through the winter and permission to leave afterward.”
Fang was on his feet. “I’m done with questions! Let’s kill him and be done with it.”
“I’m not done with him!” the small one barked. “He speaks like a predator who knows his place. Bring him before me.”
Fang grumbled, but obeyed. “Talus, are you going to help?”
She didn’t move; her muscles tensed for something. Fang didn’t press the issue.
Neither did I. I hopped past Fang and closer to the small fox. Another gamble, but Fang definitely looked surprised at my confidence. Conversation would delay them. I settled on my haunches, one ear at Fang, one ahead.
The small fox took his time examining me. “What makes you think we need paws?”
“Surely you have rabbits letting you into the warren. That trick alone is worth the trade of service.”
“You don’t know,” the fox growled. “Useless. Fang, break his back and try not to kill him.”
“Wait!” I shouted. “Wait, my father was always kind to predators; he even named me after a fox he knew. That’s why I don’t have an accent.”
Fang hesitated, and I took a breath.
“Only last year, we had met a pack of foxes and—”
“Stop him!” Talus shouted and knocked me sideways with her muzzle.
My legs froze with surprise, and I sprawled on the ground. As I got my front feet under me, Talus stepped on my back and crushed me to the ground.
The small fox yowled. “He’s one of them?”
Talus pressed on my back while she explained. I couldn’t breathe; my chest ached, trying to get air into my lungs. The pain grew as I flailed at the ground. She knew? How did she know?
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My back legs barely twitched with the fear paralyzing them. I clung to consciousness; I would not die there; my story could not end like that. There wasn’t enough air to talk or scream. My right forepaw flopped on the ground three times, leaving tiny scratches. The introduction code could also be a cry for help. Three scratches with my left paw. I had no idea who would see it, but my vision was clouding over. Weak and desperate, I forced my right paw to scratch again, three times...
Talus recoiled as if struck, and I managed a gulp of air. Somehow, my legs remembered how to move. Instinct got me running before my vision cleared, before I realized I was breathing. A few bounds and my mind remembered to turn toward the warren entrance. I caught Fang running after me as I glanced back, but I was too far to see what happened to Talus.
Moon-lit trees flew past me as I fled through the sparse underbrush. The dry fall leaves warned me that Fang was getting closer. My lungs burned. On the best of days, rabbits are made for the short run, the quick hop. A predator fast on your heels will outrun you, and I started out of breath. Fang didn’t have to catch me, only make sure I collapsed before I got to the warren.
I needed a trick. Talking was out; I didn’t know where the stream or cliffs were. Trees were solid, and a rabbit-bound was different from a fox-run.
A mock-stumble—a fake to get a deep breath—and I let Fang get closer. He nipped at my feet as I took off. He had to be close, and that let me push us both faster than comfortable. A wide tree in my path gave me the last needed thread for the scene.
I landed a paw-width from the trunk and jumped straight up. An old trick, but they’re classics for a reason. If you’re lucky, the pursuit will knock themselves silly on the tree. If you’re not, they’ll strike you against it. I twisted, pulling my feet up, as Fang skidded and struck the tree under me. Without landing, I used the trunk to leap away and did not look back.
My limbs didn’t want to run; my vision swam from exhaustion. Fear was honed, kept at flight but not freeze. I emerged from the forest and bolted in the entrance before my body gave out.
The run wasn’t tall enough to hop down, my back smacked hard into the rock ceiling. On my belly then, I scrambled down the run, limbs pulling me farther away from the entrance. My breathing was shallow and my heart beat in my ears. Thankfully, it started to slow; the need for survival faded. I laid on the ground, scratched the sides of the run until my legs realized I was no longer running. Staring into the darkness, the fear broke into numbness as I started to black out.
There were voices, but they were so far away.
“He’s in shock, but alive.”
“Get him to the burrow. I’ve got some herbs that will help.”
With the rest of the world, along with the day’s failures and survival, they faded.
After I collapsed, my body would not stand up. Curled up under a fallen tree, my surroundings seemed vague with only soft details. There was a white rabbit watching over me. Why would he be protective of a fox?
“What do you want?” I asked, and coughed; my lungs burned in protest.
The rabbit applied something to a cut on my flank. “You could have left me, but you didn’t.”
“Yeah, well, you saved me first.” I growled unimpressively, especially when pain from my lungs and cut demanded that I stop. “Does that make us even?”
He shook his head, finishing up with the herb he was using. “I think that makes us friends. I’m Blackfeather. Why not tell me your name?”
“Bremen,” I answered. The nagging pain in my chest didn’t really match the injury I could see. “Don’t I know you?”
Blackfeather looked at me. “Yeah, we met at the rabbit warren. After Sathe attacked you.”
I frowned and shook my head. “This is a dream; I’m here because I was talking about the stories you told me as a child before I passed out.”
The dream-Blackfeather countered, “You’re here because you called to this Bremen again. It’s more than a story.”
“That’s what we do, isn’t it?” I growled, my fox-self angered by the insolence of this prey. “We let people see stories. You did it to me as a child.”
“No, not with these,” he pleaded, clearly hurt—just like every time I had that argument with the real him.
I sighed and rested my head on the ground. “I’m sick of this talk, dad. Let me rest.”
“Of course. I’ll keep you safe.”
The forest contracted to just the alcove under the tree. There was nothing here to threaten me. No matter what I had been running from, I had made it to safety. My family—my brothers—would help with the shock, keep me warm as my body recovered. Even the memory of my father helped...
And the absurd thought that I was a fox.
Awareness after the dream was muddled. My first clue that I was awake was when I felt my ears flick; they were the longer ears of a rabbit, not the short ears of a fox. Familiar scents reassured me as I stirred weakly. “Twitch, how long was I out? Have you been here the whole time?”
“All night.” Twitch yawned and stretched against me. “Russet woke up early. He only has one more Pepperpuff, so he was going to try to forage and prepare herbs. I think he was going to meet Sylvia.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I’ve been here all night.” Twitch leaned against me. “I was waiting out the foxes, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. We didn’t want you getting a chill from shock.”
“And if someone had come by? Like Fig?”
“No one came by,” Twitch said. “Besides, we’re as far from the center of the warren as your father’s burrow. He kept Corbin there all winter before anyone noticed.”
“I guess, but a crow is different from a weasel.” I sighed and nudged him. “I’m glad we got to see you again.”
He nipped one of my ears lightly. “It’s good to see you as well, brother. It’s been too long since we held each other.”
“That was a while ago, the start of spring.” I nudged him again and nipped his ear. “I miss our real adventures.”
“I preferred the time between them,” Twitch replied. “When it was just us under the stars.”
“Oh,” I said, ears flat. “It was nice to have you with me.”
“You only cared about me being on your adventures.”
I reached out a paw. “You were my brother.”
“And it wasn’t enough.”
I winced, my voice refused to work. Twitch watched me swallow my words, and mercifully changed the topic.
“For what it’s worth, I really did want to find some herb that might save me from needing meat.” He nudged me again. “I don’t blame you for not feeling the same.”
“I’m sorry. I should have noticed.”
“Forgive yourself; I have.”
I decided to follow the other topic. “Did you ever find something to help you be an herbivore? You look a little underfed.”
“Nothing helped. I can only go a day or so without meat. There’s something in it that my body needs.” He whimpered a little. “I’ve been surviving on carrion, bugs, and Rebel’s old pack sometimes lets me share their kills. It’s enough.”
“It doesn’t sound like enough.” I nudged him again and held him. “None of it does. It sounds like a terrible punishment for being my brother.”
“I am a predator; that will not change in this life. No matter how much rabbit blood I mix with my own.” He forced a lighter tone into his voice and pulled away. “You should still talk to Basil, like we planned. I’ll see if the foxes made any proclamations over last night’s encounter. We’ll meet up tonight, and you can tell us the tale of your escape.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “About my escape, the vixen, Talus, knows about storytelling and recognized what I tried to do. She pinned me, and I clawed out the introduction code. Someone saw it and knocked her off of me. I didn’t see who it was. Hopefully, they didn’t kill whoever helped me.”
“I’ll check where we got ambushed.” He paused. “Do you think Talus is a renegade?”
“No, she would’ve talked more. But, it means Oakbud might need to hear more about us. I’ll talk to him before we go.” I frowned. “Maybe they’re coercing rabbits with that seer trick the small fox did? Maybe Basil will be able to tell.”
“I’ll leave you to that. I should probably go.” Twitch made his way to the exit run. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“As okay as you are,” I answered.
Reluctantly, Twitch left. Unsteady, I got to my feet and headed toward the heart of the warren. I didn’t know where Basil normally stayed, so I planned to ask Oakbud for directions. Only vague hints of rabbit-scents filled the barren runs. Not as bad as a warren emptied by plague, but the eerie stillness felt rather similar. I mostly remembered where his chamber was, and found it without much difficulty.
The quiet was broken by the sound of restless snoring as I got close. Mulberry and Oakbud were napping next to each other; Mulberry snoring from exhaustion. I crept in and lightly nudged Oakbud with my nose. “Hey, we need to talk.”
He grunted and swatted me with a paw.
I tried again. “King Oakbud, your presence is requested.”
He started and managed to shove me out into the run before waking up. Mulberry managed to stay asleep, turning on his side as the king left.
“Oh, Bremen! You’re awake.” He shook his head and looked back into the kettle. “Yeah, the watch was exhausted from yesterday. Mulberry refused to rest until I returned.”
After the talk with Twitch, I wasn’t ready to ask. “If you think it’s important, you can explain tonight. I’m here to say another storyteller saved me from the foxes last night and I wanted to ask Basil if he could tell if any of the warren might be affected by that seer-trick the fox did.”
“Should you tell me what you can do now?”
“What Russet and I said to each other last night was shorthand for: Though friends may die by fang and claw, the warren lives on through hope and stories.” My nose wiggled with anticipation, but I forced myself to be serious. “Now, what did my dad do in the story?”
“He made the watch member see someone that wasn’t there.”
“How?”
“By telling a story.”
“Good,” I said. “You know what we can do. Now for the bigger question: Why don’t we share that with the warren?”
“How should I know?” He growled. “You’re the one being secretive.”
“Focus.” I went to cuff him and thought better of it. “If you lack the imagination to envision, then you can’t learn. What was the motto I said? What does it mean?”
“It’s too early for riddles,” Oakbud grumbled, but took a few moments to think. “If stories are the hope of the warren, and stories can injure, then a rabbit cannot have hope. Fear would build, and they’d die of even the smallest fright.”
“Basically,” I said. “You know all you need to know. And you knew it last night. Hiding in plain sight is the other thing we’re good at. I’ll try to give some history tonight. Now, I was serious; forgive yourself for not realizing I had already told you, forgive your daughter for not telling you herself, and it’d help if you could forgive us for the convoluted way you were told. Yourself, your family, and your friends.”
“You’re really here to help, without thought of reward. And we survived an impossible fox attack yesterday. That is real hope, even if it only lasts two more days.” Oakbud tilted his head a little. “I thought that only happened in stories.”
“We are stories, sir.” I shrugged. “Besides, you’d do the same thing. As would most of the warren.”
That got a chuckle from the king. “So, I’m going to finish my rest. Do you need anything else?”
“I don’t actually know where Basil’s burrow is,” I said.
“Assuming he’s in his burrow. If you haven’t eaten, I’d check above ground.” Oakbud gave a yawn and turned to head back into his chamber. “Either he’ll be grazing or Fig or Lily can find him for you.”
“Thank you. Good luck finding the old fox story today; you never know what will be helpful.” I let him head back to Mulberry.
Truth be told, the situation was feeling less like a story to me. Twitch and I were both in bad shape, and with the delay, we’d definitely miss the start of the storyteller reunion. At least my brothers and I could swap stories on the trip back, and perhaps a few storytellers would stay a few extra days. Rebel always did. And just maybe, with a little luck, no one else had to die.