Harded had perched himself up in the hay loft, one of his legs dangled out of the hay door, and his boot scraped against the now-dry siding.

“Fill their mouths with the name of the beast.” Harden softly sang.

He had idly carved the beast's name into the flat gray stones he had recovered from the stream, collecting the three rocks nothing special to him at this point. The process reeked of the old magic that Mother had drilled into him. He had gathered each stone barefooted while traveling upstream, ensuring the water was well disturbed as he dipped his mitts into the clear spring.

He had emblazoned two rocks with the name of the beast he was summoning. Though calling it a name would be a stretch of the imagination, no human language could recreate anything similar to what the beasts were. Mother would refer to them using a horrible combination of guttural vowels, curses, and shrills.

The hurdle of that ancient unknowable language was no issue for him; whenever Mother spoke to him in that primal language, magic would flow off her and take the form of dark smoky tendrils. The black inky magic would coil around him and burrow into his mind, pressing flickering visions of the symbol would burn into his retina, ensuring he could not forget the name of the bounty.

Harden dug his knife into the rock and chinked off another small piece of the stone, the geometric series of overlapping triangles and circles almost complete; once this one was complete, he planned to see if he could start winding rope out of the Union member's skins.

A flutter of movement in the shadows of the treeline caught his attention. With lightning speed, he dropped the knife and coiled his fingers like a viper around the grip of his Lemat. He threw the hammer back with a satisfying click. Like an eagle high atop their perch, Harden narrowed his gaze on the deep greens of the shrubbery just over the fence.

His predatory gaze burned holes in the gently swaying forest. He clenched his Lemats ivory grip harder, his knuckles turning white, as he waited for the draw against the unseen duelist. He felt his heart cracking like a whip in his chest, and a bead of sweat crawled down his brow.

“Who’s out there?” Harden challenged.

The birds took flight at his challenge, the loud flutter of their wings filling the air. Hardens sharp gaze caught flecks of movement as mice skittered and squeaked as they rushed out from the gap between Harden and the fence. A looming silence fell over the area; the heavy anticipation for the showdown rushed into the open field; it coated Harden's skin like salve on a wound and chilled him to the bone.

Harden swallowed his spit, wondering what sort of monster could be lurking within the shadows. From everything he had seen, the appearance the entities and their ghastly children could take on was legion, in both form and threat.

Harden peaked a glimpse into the lands of ash, the dark swirling void enveloping him. That momentary peak was all he needed to know who was prowling nearby. One of the brightest souls Harden had ever known blazed in the rolling shadows. It was as beautiful and orange as the sunset and was blindingly bright. It burned a wide hole in the ash; the area around its owner smoldered as her lustrous magic beat the shadows away, setting the dead world ablaze with hateful indignation.

Harden clicked his tongue and released his grasp on the ashen world, and focused on where he saw her burning soul stand. As per usual, she had been all but impossible to see without the ability to peer into the realm of ash. Any non-Unveiled would have surely never even noticed the twitch of movement. Though Harden did have this itching feeling, he only saw her move because she wanted him to.

“Fox, I know ye’r out there, come out,” Harden bellowed.

It took her a few moments, but eventually, the tiny head of a fire-red fox poked out from the thicket. Her heterochromatic eyes glared burning holes into Harden. One human eye of lustrous emerald green, the other a slitted fox eye as dark brown as any tree's bark.

“My name is not Fox it’s..” Fox started to say before Harden cut her off.

“I don't give a damn what you were called ‘fore that curse,” Harden snapped. His words ripped all the wind out of her sail. He had never bothered to learn her human name. He only knew her as Fox, as Mother and their siblings called her that. Though a few of the far older Witchborn would occasionally refer to her as eldest, but they never dared call Fox that in the presence of Mother.

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“She ain’t not here, by the by,” Harden said as he gestured all around him with the hand, not on his Lemat. “Now, we both know Mother wants you put down. What's wrong? gettin’ desperate?”

Fox stepped forward, her vulpine form slithered out of the dark green shrubbery, being released by the sanctity of the thicket. She took a moment to shake any loose leaves and sticks off her shimmering coat.

She bared her fangs at Harden, filled with the same wild fury Harden had seen in Fox when she ran away from her last run-in with Mother months ago.

“Then where is she, you filthy slave?” Fox growled.

“Ah ah ah, that ain’t very ladylike of you,” Harden said as he slid the Lemat from its holster and flicked the muzzle towards her. Fox’s front paw slid back slightly in response as she readied herself to run, just as she always did.

“take another step, and I'm goin’ to blow your brains out,” Harden spat.

Fox fluttered her ears in frustration. The two had been performing this same song and dance since Harden had become Unveiled. Their patience for one another had long since grown thin.

“Yer war with our mother ain’t mine, the only reason I'm warning and not killing you outright is for the help you gave me back in Bolton,” Harden snapped.

The hackles on Fox’s back stood on end, and her ears tucked back. She pressed magic through her pneuma; the pressure of her magic billowed the dry grass around her. The sheer heat of her magic rolled over Harden, making his brow sweat more than the summer heat had already caused.

“Fuck you. I should have left you there to rot,” Fox hissed. “And she is your mother, not mine.”

Harden shook his head, never understanding why his older sister tried to betray Mother. They both made a deal with her, had bounties to fill, and felt the ecstasy of the hunt. Why Fox would have given all of that up was beyond any conceivable notion of rationality.

“Look, I got a lot of work to do. Can we stop this posturing and cut to you shovin’ off?” Harden sighed.

“Where is she then?” Fox replied.

“Not here, don't know where, and I wouldn't tell yah if I did,” Harden shrugged as he shoved his Lemat back into his holster. “Like I said, that curse she gave you is yer business, not mine.”

“It will be when that Demon gives you your own curse. No one lasts forever, Slave,” Fox spat, venom flowing off her words.

Harden leaned his head back against the door frame and shifted his eyes to a murder of crows high up in the trees, “Yeah sure, whatever you say, little Fox, Now git out of here ‘fore I bury you facing north” He sighed.

“Fine, be that way,” Fox spat as she turned around and crawled back into the treeline.

Harden tilted his head and watched the area Fox wandered off to, only catching the smallest glimpses of her fiery red fur amongst the ocean of trees. He saw Fox return to her human form and stand on two legs.

She turned her head back towards him, their eyes locked in a bitter rivalry. The half-human, half-fox face mother had given her entirely on display. Her curse ensured she could never return to the world of man. The only place she had to go was back to Mother's loving embrace or six feet under, whichever came first.

He cracked a toothy smile, knowing that Fox was doomed to fail in her foolish crusade. She would never manage to kill Mother. As strong as Fox and Harden were, neither of their pneumas could wield enough magic from the lands of ash to pose even the slightest threat to Mother. If the two of them were flickering candles, Mother would be a roaring forest fire, engulfing everything it pleases.

Fox had approached every other Witchborn at one point or another and kept trying to convince their brothers and sisters to join her fool's errand, but their siblings had all told their eldest sister to shove off. None of them had any reason to trust Fox; she was always far too cryptic and abrasive, and all the Witchborn did not want to fall to the same Ire she had.

Why Fox was so insistent on meeting Harden, time and time again, was not beyond him. He was the softest and youngest of their siblings and was the only one to offer her parley still, while the others had taken to simply shooting at her on sight, having given up on hearing her out after years of her squawking.

Once his misbegotten sister had taken her leave, Harden pushed her out of his mind and returned to chipping the entity's name into his final stone. He had much left to start working today, winding the rope and preparing the barn for the upcoming fight. He had little idea what Mother had sent him out here to hunt, but he would be dead before the battle even started if he did not adequately prepare for it.

By the time the sun had set, Harden had managed to clear everything out of the barn that was unnecessary for the fight. He looked over the drying strips of skin; regrettably, they were not quite ready, and he could start making rope out of them tomorrow. For tonight he had done everything he possibly could do to prepare.

As he lay down in the hay loft, the beasts in his arm stirred slightly in anticipation for the next day. A quick cautionary glimpse through the worlds showed nothing other than the distant flares of other powerful souls, far too distant for them to bother him for the night.

Harden stretched out and looked through the hay door high into the sky. The stars twinkled like millions of campfires spread across the universe above him. The moon was bright and bold, its vast form peaking just over the treetops.

Harden's eyelids had grown heavy after a day of hard work. With his pistol in hand, he idly rotated the cylinder with his thumb. The oh-so-familiar sounds of croaking ravens, hooting owls, and chirping crickets filled the air; he smiled and enjoyed their magical symphony as he was fully engulfed by sleep.