The War for Eventyr

12 | Answers

His fur had dried hard and stiff. It prickled his back as he stretched from his warm, curled position. Colborn opened his eyes, heavy from exhaustion, and pain rippled down his back like a wildfire.

The sea still clung to the inside of his nose. Sand coated his eyelids and stung his eyes as he blinked it away. He peered through the darkness, and the murky world spun. When it settled, the icy fangs of panic tore into his skull.

Colborn scrambled backward, urging his burning body away from the blurred unknown. He was surrounded by walls and a low-hanging roof. A den.

But who's?

His eyes darted to each shadow, trying to discern something that would tell him where he was. Had his father found him and dragged him back home? No. The earthy scent here didn't smell like that of the grasslands. Instead, something rank filled his nostrils, like salt and algae: fish.

The scent led his nose to a pale mass on the floor. Its eyes were wide and unblinking, and only one faced upward at Colborn. He gave it a wary sniff, confirming the scaled flesh was something edible, before scanning the den again. He was alone––with food.

Certainly someone had left it for him, or would he anger the owner by scarfing it down? The saliva dripping from his muzzle and the growling beast within his stomach told him he had no other choice. He closed his jaws around the fish, crunching the tiny bones beneath his teeth. The taste was better than it smelled, but it was nothing like the tender pink meat of a hare. He almost gagged as he chewed, swallowing the slimy tail.

"Not used to fish, huh?"

Colborn's muzzle snapped upward, locking on a silhouette at the entrance of the den. He cursed himself for falling prey to the food––for not taking his chance to escape while he had it. He growled, his hackles raising as he paced the back wall. Each step sent a sharp pain through his ribcage, but he didn't dare wince.

He didn't like being cornered. He couldn't stand feeling weak. "Why am I here?"

The soft voice hummed this time. "You should sit down. You're only going to hurt yourself more."

He hated being told what to do.

With a snarl, he leapt toward the shadow. He knew the fox was smaller and weaker, based on the scent alone. A vixen. Hardly a fight, even injured. But a bushy tail was all that brushed against his throat as she bounded aside. He whirled around on his paws to face her. Teeth glinted in the murky light of the den, a taunting smile.

Colborn charged again, even as his head grew light and his vision started to spin. A fierce flame gnawed at his brain, but he couldn't let her see he was injured. He would take the answers from her.

But when he reached her body, it was no longer there. His paws stumbled over empty space, until something bony and hard hit his shoulder. He lost his balance, his legs slipping out from beneath him. Colborn yelped and his ribcage slammed into the stone floor.

He held off the tears by biting his tongue. He clenched his eyes shut tightly, while a new wave of agony dragged him under.

"I told you so."

His nose slowly tipped upward, following the source of the voice. The vixen stepped forward, lingering in the ring of light that trickled into the den from outside. Her fur glowed softly in the rays of dawn, like an ember.

His eyes lingered on her visage; her sharp, dark features were set against a slender face. Her muzzle was white as ash beneath the flames of orange, and her lips parted in a slight smile. Her sides were sunked, and Colborn could count the ribs that poked out. A stark contrast to the swollen bags of milk weighed down her underbelly.

Questions eddied in his brain, more than the ocean could ever churn. He didn't know what to expect from rogues––nor that he would find any. Much less one that resembled a Flameborn.

He let his hackles fall. It was clear she meant no harm. A mother, one showing compassion to a fox that was broken and lost. But that didn't mean he'd give her his trust, not yet.

"Why did you save me?" he snapped, his mind tugged back to the sea. Colborn didn't even remember making it to the shore.

She laughed. "A 'thank you' would be nice."

Colborn grumbled. Was he really thankful? Perhaps it would've been better if he died.

"And why do you say that?" The vixen's voice rose nonchalantly, and she peered into his eyes.

He could've sworn he hadn't said anything aloud, but he swallowed the question. There was no answer to give that she would understand.

She cocked her head. "I suppose it must be hard to bear the mark of royalty."

Colborn grew rigid. His glare locked on the vixen, and he gritted his teeth. "How do––why would––" He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how she had learned so much from the scars on his hide. All he'd wanted was a fresh start, but even here, a tainted reputation followed. "Are you from the Flame Skulk?"

The vixen let out a snort. "Don't let appearances fool you, fox. I was born in Eventyr, and I don't take sides in your pitiful war."

His jaw quivered for a moment, but he couldn't find fault for the acid in her tone. It didn't make sense though, how a lone rogue could know so much about his skulk.

"You know, you aren't the only Kriger to stumble your way here."

Colborn narrowed his eyes. How did she keep doing that? Before he could voice another question, or she could voice it for him, the vixen stood and trekked toward the doorway. She beckoned him to follow, and he stood with a groan. Pain pierced his side with each labored step, but he limped after her––desperate for answers.