The War for Eventyr

7 | So Easy

There was solace in being alone.

Skadi trudged over the snow, twinkling beneath the light of a crescent moon––every crystal of ice took on an ethereal shimmer. She enjoyed its beauty by herself. The quiet was calm and soothing. It didn't prickle her fur like the presence of her sister. It didn't make her legs tremble like when she bowed to the queen. It didn't pound in her heart like the times Kleng spoke of the war.

But it reminded her of Njall.

Skadi didn't always want to be alone. She longed for the warmth of his fur, the tickle of his nose, and the gentle thrum of his heart. His eyes that spoke a thousand words without opening his muzzle. She missed being loved.

There was no love in war.

Her furred paw pads plodded slowly against the tundra, and she turned her head slowly to scan the rocky outcrop that sloped upward into the mountain-like ridge.

Skadi had already made her way to the top before, stared across the fjord as the sun fell from the sky, wondering what it was like across the river valley, where life grew freely and green covered the ground, even as winter prowled closer. There was no sickening ice.

It would be so easy to see for herself. The chasm that nearly split Eventyr in half stopped just short of the sea. A rough and rocky sea-side cliff marked the only point of passing between the two skulks, and it was a dangerous one at that. No Leafborn fox dared to cross over from their vantage point, high on the tree-studded ridge top. But Skadi glanced up at the leafy blurs anyway.

How she longed to get away from the snow and the bitter, salty wind. Why did she stay? Njall was gone, and so was her reason to live.

Her nimbled feet could scale the steep incline without a worry. But what would she do when she reached the top? Why would the Leafborn accept a fox not of their own? Much less, one as useless as her.

She focused her vision on the ridgeline. Amidst the dull and shadowed stone, a flash of brown caught her gaze. No matter how much she squinted, she couldn't make it out. The mist in her sight had grown too thick.

But then she heard a faint yelp. She watched the blur tumble forward, halting just before it could be cast from the ridge. Another yowl pierced the air.

A fox.

She didn't know what came over her––why she took off across the rocky ground. Skadi didn't know why her heart pounded, or why her stomach sank at the screams.

Skadi scaled the slope quickly, following the sounds of struggle with her ears, while her eye stayed focused on the ground for crevices safe to place her paws. Finally, Skadi pushed off the stone with a long leap upward, and she landed on another narrow ledge.

The foreign fox's claws were dug into two narrow fissures in the crag. They clung desperately to the rock while their hind feet swayed beneath them, scrabbling against the stone and trying to pull themself up. Their brown eyes widened at the sight of her.

She reached forward with her jaws, watching the terror in the tod's eyes grow brighter. He ducked his head, and Skadi missed his scruff.

Her paws slipped.

With her neck outstretched, she nearly toppled over the edge. But she jerked her weight back onto her haunches just in time, steadying her legs before snarling.

"Stop moving!"

Scared into obedience, his body went limp. He clenched his eyes shut as Skadi's teeth pierced the loose skin around his neck, and she jerked him over the ledge.

The two stumbled backward. A wave of dizziness passed over Skadi, and she closed her eyes until her head stopped spinning. She took a deep breath, and when she opened them, two rings of brown met her.

Skadi took in his curious expression––before growling again. She jumped past him, finding the next paw-hold that marked safe travel up the cliffside. The Leafborn fox followed without a word, and they stopped just shy of the top.

She wouldn't step foot in their territory; she couldn't risk being seen by another.

Then Skadi tackled him. She pressed her claws into his tan-furred chest until he bled. "Why are you here?"

The tod only gulped and continued to stare at her.

With a groan, she wrapped her teeth around his throat. She closed her jaws just slightly so that she could feel his skin squirm beneath her teeth, and he choked out a plea.

"Don't kill me, please!"

Skadi pulled her muzzle away. She looked down at the tod's face. Water welled in his eyes. His cheeks were narrow and young. It took the smaller vixen little effort to pin down his scrawny limbs.

"Then why are you here?" she snapped again.

He hesitated. "I–I just needed to get away from home," the tod stuttered. "Nobody takes me seriously."

Skadi backed off of him. His expression seemed genuine, but fear still flapped its feathers in his voice. She knew it was a lie. What good would coming here do him? "So you try to kill yourself?"

The tod flinched. "I wanted to be alone..." He let his voice trail. "Then I fell. But I don't know why you saved me." His muzzle tilted to meet her gaze, and she noticed the awe in his eyes. He stood up and shook the dust from his fur. "Thank––"

"Save it," she growled. "I don't know why I did either." Skadi glanced around, then peered down at the tundra. She didn't see any foxes, but that didn't mean much considering her faulty vision and the fact that they'd only blend in with the snow. She'd be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out about this.

She could still kill him. It would be so easy to restore her dignity, to revoke the mercy she wasted on such a weak and worthless creature. But then she saw his eyes––an innocent sense of youthful wonder. It reminded her of Njall.

"Get lost, kit."

He wasn't a danger anyway, no matter whatever weak attempt at spying this was. She was sure that the Leaf Skulk had nothing to do with it. The tod was just a child, even if his teeth were worn with adulthood.

Maybe he was curious. Perhaps stupid.

She hopped off the ledge and started back down the incline.

"Hey, what's your name?" he called.

Skadi rolled her eyes.