The War for Eventyr

14 | More to the Story

Colborn stopped to give his aching sides a rest. He and the vixen came to stand outside in the nipping wind. His gaze drifted to their surroundings, taking in the sights of a wetland. The ground they stood on was one of few patches that stood out from flooded plains, stretching for a couple hundred fox-bounds.

Water formed shallow channels between patches of pale brown and yellow, the dull color of the grass in the time of autumn. The boggy land stretched toward the sea, where a thick veil of mist formed a cloud above the rocky shoreline. Colborn could hardly see the opposite shore through the fog.

His former home.

The sun painted everything in a pale glow, its rays peeking through the mountains opposite to them. They stood tall in the distance, separating the fringes of Eventyr from the rest of the island. Just across No Fox Land––a dangerous, rocky, and uninhabitable place––lay the Shadowborn in their frozen wasteland. Still, it seemed they were better off than the rogues.

There were hardly any plants, no places for small prey to live and thrive, and little space to run freely. He could already make out the forms of a few foxes across the flat terrain. All of them looked small and thin, just like the mother, and their fur ranged in a variety of colors: brown, white, and even the shade of flame.

"What is this place?"

The vixen shook her head. "A little underwhelming, isn't it? And it gets worse with every rainy winter."

Colborn followed her eyes to another female he hadn't seen a moment ago, laying next to the entrance to the den in a small patch of short grass. Six squirming balls of fur sat at her tan-furred belly.

The ember-furred vixen stepped over to her and muttered a thank you before settling down at her side.

"You're welcome, Runa," the strange fox muttered, gently guiding three of the kits over, the ones Colborn guessed were her own.

"Where do you all come from?" He eyed the other mother up and down. Her dark coat stood out against the orange of the fox beside her. She looked like a Leafborn. "How do you know anything about the Flame Skulk?"

Runa laughed. "I've seen a lot of things, young fox, and heard them too. Many like you have come and gone, but some stay." The vixen absent-mindedly licked the head of one of her crying kits. "This is the place where the lost foxes of Eventyr come when there's nowhere else to go. I know that life in your so-called skulk is difficult, but so is ours."

Her tone grew sharper with each uttered word. She didn't seem as old and wise as her words professed. Colborn wasn't sure he liked being called out. To be lost.

"This is no place to raise a kit." Runa cast a longing glance at their home and the dreary gray clouds above. Even the air had grown damp and tearful. "This is no place for any of us to live. Each day we grow weaker––from no food, no place to stay warm and dry. Those are luxuries reserved for your stupid skulks, while we're stuck here."

He started to raise his voice, to tell her that he had nothing to do with that. But he held his tongue. His father had everything to do with it, why no fox would ever want to stay with the Flameborn.

A sigh escaped her muzzle. "You'd take those things for granted, wouldn't you? Left it all behind, and for what? Because you couldn't be Jarl?"

His hackles started to rise. He wouldn't be attacked, not when this random vixen knew nothing about what it was like to be born into that world of hate.

"Was it too much to take over the killing spree? When so many bodies have fallen before your paws to make it here?"

Then he growled. "You don't know what I've done to make it here," he spat. "You don't understand. I never wanted to be a part of it. I didn't have a choice." He grasped at the words, each breath coming out in heaves. "I couldn't do what he asked me." Tears clouded his eyes. Colborn hated for them to see him like this. Broken.

Runa peered into his sunken gaze for a long moment, empathy sparkling in her yellow eyes. "I know. Neither could my mate."

He held his breath, searching her face with widened eyes. "He was... the Kriger?" But how? That was his father, the rightful, powerful heir that killed all of his brothers to claim his birthright.

She chuckled. "You'd be wise to not assume that everything the Jarl tells you is true. You aren't the first heir unable to bear the sacrifice."

Colborn's head spun. He struggled to grasp what it all meant––didn't know where to start. His father was a fraud. The victim of his brother's mercy, who couldn't kill him. Just like he couldn't kill Jakob.

"Don't go thinking you've unraveled it all yet," Runa chimed. "There's more to the story. More to Eventyr."

"What do you mean?" he asked timidly. He wasn't sure what else he could wrap his muzzle around.

Her kits had finished nursing, and the vixen beside her allowed Runa to snuggle them back against her belly. She stood, shaking out her fur, and walked past Colborn. "It's a long journey. Perhaps it'd be good to have your name."

He trotted a few steps to keep up, making their way across the wetlands towards the mountains in the distance. "It's Colborn."

"A strong name. Fitting." Runa smiled. "Come along, Colborn. Or might I call you, nephew?"