The War for Eventyr

11 | Only Place to Go

The water crashed against the shore. He could hear it in the distance. The ground grew colder under Colborn's feet.

Mountains reached toward the sky along the narrow strip of sea, poking through the midnight fog that shrouded rogue territory. The place was full of mysteries, and Colborn had heard only stories. He didn't know what the foxes were like across the water, or if there was even a safe place to call home. But it was the only place he could go.

The soil shifted between his toes, grainy and wet. Sand clung to his fur, flying through the air as he ran. Out of breath, heart aching, he planted his feet on the shore. He didn't know how to swim, but he would have to. Whether he lived or died, it was better than taking his brother's life.

Colborn took a step into the water, nearly tripping on the slick stone underneath. He balanced himself before he strode forward once more, until the sea met his neck and his claws hardly touched the bottom. His paws kicked beneath him, testing to see how hard it would be to stay afloat. His body bobbed in place for a moment, before a surging wave formed suddenly and crashed over his head.

It yanked him under. His feet met the stone and he scrambled backward, breaking through the surface with his muzzle when he leveled in the shallows.

He snarled to the sky. Colborn hated feeling weak. Powerless. Just like Jakob.

The runt couldn't swim either. He wouldn't even make it a single stroke through the sea. But surely drowning would be better than what their father would do to him. Did Colborn really just leave him?

Had he made the right choice––letting his brother stay behind to die? It was Jakob's stupid decision, foolishly convinced that he could change something on his own. That he might survive his father's rage when he found out the Kriger had gone missing, and that Colborn had abandoned his home and purpose like a coward.

He pushed off the rocks. Colborn flailed wildly with his legs beneath the surface. His body surged forward, pushing through the murky waters that glinted in the silver of the moonlight above. He filled his lungs with air and snapped his muzzle shut, just as another roll in the sea pulled him forward. His ears were consumed with a gurgling rage, and his nostrils stung as the chilling water forced its way into his lungs.

The current pulled him further with each passing wave, and his legs were already growing tired. His paws pushed futilely against the water, trying to resurface. He forced a tiny breath into his nose before he was jerked downward again. But refuge was in sight, a large, dark stone that emerged from the water ahead.

Maybe it would be easier to die. He should suffer the same fate as his brother surely would. In the back of his mind, he wished the sea would have mercy on him. It was a death kinder than that he'd earned. The soft whisper of suffocated sleep was hardly the painful, consuming flame of death he deserved.

But if he gave up, he would never have a chance of seeing Jakob again. If the sea carried him out to the horizon, if it filled his lungs with icy water until every ounce of warmth fled from his flesh, he'd never be able to return. When he had a plan––a place for them to go––he would come back for his littermate.

He would drag Jakob by his very tail if he had to. The two of them would escape. Eventyr could burn without them.

Colborn's claws scraped against the slick stone, and the current smashed his ribcage against the rough surface. The air left his lungs but he scrabbled up anyway, finding a dripping refuge from the sea. He retched, and salty water spilled from his mouth. It burned in his throat, in his eyes, and in his gut.

He ripped his muzzle upward to stare at the distant shore. His vision spun, he couldn't tell how far he still was. Colborn was weak, and his body ached. He wouldn't make it much farther.