Yaan is a good place to spend nights but a poor place to sleep. Fortunately for the Felii of Yaan and unfortunately for every unlucky traveller who has perished here like a moth caught on an open flame, the woods around Yaan are some of the most dangerous in the area. Those stuck within its stone walls remain so, trapped like mice within the paws of the lawless felines.

This is the best possible thing to consider when we enter just before sunset, the sun an orange ball of blood slowly descending into the trees. The Felis figures atop the wall are beginning to grow indistinct, but I can still see the glint of their inquiring eyes, the membranes at the end of their whiskers unfurling as they take in the newcomers. Their bones watch us too, strung up on the houses, and you can almost hear the voices rip through them when the winds roll across. All those spirits who will never leave the world... this is their final resting place.

From the highest peak of the uneven stone walls, a Felis with his tail slung over the wall asks, "What do we have here? If my whiskers don't deceive me, I spy Whitetongue and the Lightstepper."

"You know us?" Altair asks, more concerned than impressed.

Another Felis purrs, "Naturally. Yaan catalogs most of our kind, even the mice among the rats." She jumps off inside the city and appears in the opening in the wall, flicking her head towards Yaan proper. We follow, and she whispers something beneath her breath. The walls respond, though I can not make out quite what they say. "You've been welcomed in," she says. "A necessary precaution, in these times, to set up barriers... but it stifles our city."

"Do you have protections to prevent anyone from getting out?" Altair jokes.

"Not wise of you to give us ideas, Lightstepper."

"Lightstepper," I say, stepping in between a shaken Altair and the Felis, whose pink tongue curls in her mouth. "How do you come up with these names?"

The Felis smirks cruelly. "On ends of one whisker, they come from silvertongue and light step required to move around issues in negotiation for conning. Close to the muzzle, they're names invoking light, referring to reluctance to kill, trade for bones, or do anything that would make you a threat."

"I've never been simultaneously insulted and complimented to such a degree before," Altair says. "Thank you."

The Felis gives us a quick nod. Many believe the Felis to be a dry race, but in truth their humor is just near imperceptible, swift like a knife to the back. It suits them well as their towns, which are more cohesive than the more rundown pack (canine) cities, even though the effort placed into the structures was clearly quite little. Houses stack on houses, barricaded by sticks and trinkets, and walkways connect the shanty buildings. Felis trail across these bridges on quiet step, their aura like a dark, shuddering version of the white Canis's afterimage glow. They carry rings of small melee weapons across their backs, similar to our adornments, but they do not shy from bones. Outside one of the stabler bridges, a long-furred Felis licks blood from their paw, their eyes and tongue the only part of their face not hidden by a four-horned Canis skull.

Despite the apparent leisure of the scene, and the onset of sunset (and with it the end of magic), Yaan does not pause for a second. Not far from us, two Felis rush each other in the streets, going for necks, and I see the aura pulse like lava around their claws as it would in normal battles. With astounding agility, they leap between buildings, bounding up onto roofs and landing perfectly. In high, unintelligible voice they yowl insults at each other. Altair watches this like his own neck is about to be cut open, instead of that of the clearly less experienced Felis, and when one of them falls not far from our side, spitting with rage, he bolts.

The Felis guiding us through the town pretends not to notice the moment of weakness. "You'll be wanting to speak with Merc."

"We will," Altair says, though his eyes dart for an escape route. The Felis behind us whispers a few words into a gnarled spot on the wood. The wood whispers back and the door opens, triggering a simultaneous clanging of a dozen different bells. Instead of bones, fresh bodies dot the ground, making the air smell rank. The slackjawed Canii rest at bottoms of inventory heaps, hauntingly free of bugs or even decay. At the back of the room, still as a body, lies the current Merc.

There have been ten Mercs in Yaan over the last five years, each one more scarred than the last. Merc holds beneath his paw a single golden token, indicative of a trade with the dragons. "You look like you've come for something parrrrticular." He breathes out on the last syllable, letting his purr hang heavy on the air. Devious intent flashes in his green eyes, sizing us up for the kill.

"I've come to barter," I say.

"No. There is something you need, and I have it." Merc says, knowing well as I that Felis possess no great intuition or foresight. Merc draws from a cabinet behind him a bag of herbs, which he places on the table. "You're wanting herbs for quieting spirits."

My snout twitches. "I'll trade two petals of Bliss."

"For that? I couldn't give you a half bag." He says, voice swimming with need. His aura is larger than that of most Felis.

I rummage the bag and remove an old antler from a prey beast to the north, an odd, segmented structure. "What about for this?" I say, "It contains within it a deep northern magic."

His eyes narrow. "I have a better trade for that. See, this gem contains its own world beneath the surface..." he removes the bag from the table and replaces it with a silvery pebble, perfectly smooth in shape but unassuming in all other qualities.

I draw out a rock from my own bag. "And these are eyes of an ancient beast who saw the future with all the clarity of a Fauna. To gaze into its abyss is to see your own fate."

"I see little in yours." the Merc says, peering over the rock.

"As I see little in yours. It requires a right kind of eye."

"A fair trade." admits the Merc, and we swap river pebbles. The Felis purrs with delight. "Not bad. They say there can be no two winners in a con's trade, but no one has ever said anything about two losers. You have imagination."

"Altair comes up with most of the material." I admit, and Altair's ears flick, dismissive if savagely, secretly proud.

"Impressive for a prey beast." All the joy in Altair's expression drops. "Now. I want Bliss. Let us begin this again... this time, do not try to con me with 'northern magics'."

Altair puts a hoof on the table. "Stop being cloying. You're desperate. Now, we want the herbs as a gift. Now, for the actual trade, we're requesting bindweeds, a satchel of Snitch Powder, and you can tie that all up with information on any groups who've passed through the area. Fair?"

"I am no fool." asks the Merc. "You are swindlers."

"True and true... but you're in pain, and pain makes us all desperate." Altair says. "Do we have a deal?"

The Merc grumblies and goes to get our items. When he returns from the herbal section with some flat, blackening bindweeds and a sad, half-filled bag of Snitch Powder. We pass a few petals of Bliss, and the Merc's nose scrunches.

"I know we are due to meet with Weltvans tonight, for trade." he says, with a dismissive lick of his paw. "That is all, though I can tell you what my siblings know for more petals."

"We'll keep our Bliss to ourselves, thanks." Altair says, adjusting the bag on his back. Deep inside, an empty pocket folds over the others a little more snugly than before, unaware of the trouble its absence is causing. "Hawk, we know what we need to know. We should get out of here."

"Stay a while. We have ambrosia milk," suggests the Merc with a smooth purr.

"Did you have something you wanted to discuss?" I ask, tail sweeping. I flick my ear forwards twice, backwards twice, and to the side. Altair's bags slide down.

"Do you remember what I said about two losers in a con, Hawk?" The Merc asks.

"Why do you ask?" We watch each other, like professionals.

The Merc dives at Altair, who falls to his side, crying out. I wrest him off with my bare paws, but the Merc slices me across the face and torrents of pain flow through me, the full force of his magic entering me and filling me with anguish. He rounds on me, spitting, and Altair bucks him with his good antler, charging him from the side. The Felis, who is relatively light, soars through the air unharmed. He could take a dozen of us in paw-to-paw (and hoof).

"Altair. Shelves." Shelves. In a Felis's shop. Not likely. However, when the Merc lunges again, Altair kicks not a shelf but instead an entire cabinet of crystals on top of him, sending strings of jewels everywhere. There are several small explosions, followed by desperate writhing, and the Merc's pupils dilate wildly. His fur is singed and a foam comes from his mouth.

"You do not kill," he says, one of his front paws jerking. "Spare me, and I will tell you what my sisters know about the Weltvan trade."

We look at each other and stand over the Felis, who is bound by his own inventory against the ground. "Rule one," I say. Altair nods.

The Merc's claws sheathe and unsheathe again as he tries to wriggle out of the intersection of a few long, heavy chains of crystals. With a labored breath, he hisses, "My sisters know that she approaches."

"Who? Who approaches?" I ask, stepping forwards.

The Felis's eyes narrow, a smug confidence across his face. "You've made bad enemies. Andulas is coming to barter with us."

Well. This would be a good time to clarify certain terms. I shake my head. "You're the one who's been played. Andulas doesn't barter."

Altair steps forwards. "To clarify, this building is magically protected, is it not? Only those who those inside specifically allow in may enter."

The Merc hisses beneath his breath.

"Thank you. We didn't ask for an abode, but if you're generous enough to provide it, I suppose we can hold down the shop while you're out."

"Mongrels. I'll kill you," murmurs the Merc. "Flay your innards."

I take out my sleeping powder and slam the bag straight across the nose. He's out before he can draw another breath. I look around at the piles of goods, trying to decide if one of the later rules (one hundred eighty-two, perhaps?) and rule two, the one about exchange, pertain to shop inventory effectively won in a brawl.

"Are we safer in here?" asks Altair.

"For now? Probably." I say, seeing the sun set over the bastions through one of the fractured windows. Looking out over the city, I sigh, "Shame. I was really hoping to get some of their drinks."

As soon as he's said it, the outside world fills with cries. Bandits flood in through the walls, a victorious Canis (even Canii can't teleport through magical barriers, so someone must've let this moron in) welcoming them all in as the Felis are defenseless to stop the perpetration of their own walls. A house catches aflame as Canira magics light the air, elemental energies clashing with Felis's enhanced claws, which seethe with their own energy. The light begins to fade out as the night sets in, everyone's powers falling from them, but many of the bandits are draped in bones, and their glow moves through them from the bones, in a circle. Altair backs away from the door.

"Well," I say. "Or we could try to make a break for it? I'm pretty sure the Felis can handle themselves better than we could handle them."

Altair looks terrified crossed with this spiteful how could you lead us into this expression, which is in turn a mix of exasperation and fury. "What-- we-- Hawk, they're going to destroy this city!"

"You were the one who offered that we stop in Yaan," I say, indignant. "Don't look at me like that."

(He continues to look at me like that.)

The fire intensifies, the smell of smoke now obvious even from where we stand. The barrier caves in, the entire stone wall giving way, and three dark shapes ringed by flames enter, all of them looking hateful as death. From where we're sitting, we both sense a body hit the store barrier, followed by two smaller taps. There are Felis rounding on them, ready to take care of the problem for us, but the worst part is that I recognize them at once.

"You're kidding me," I say, padding up to the window, as Vade struggles to his paws outside. There is a wilder energy to him than when I saw him last, and besides the bones that lie in shambles around him, he has dozens of new, desperate scars. It looks as if someone tried to struggle out from under his grip for a long, long time, tearing his chest to shreds. Multiple someones. "What are you doing? Yaan is a bandit city! What made you think you could stride in here and screw them over like you've done to everyone else in the area?"

All in his unnervingly calm, nearly civilian voice, Vade says, "Hey, it looks to me like we've done a pretty bang-up job. This place is a lot more profitable than legal cities, but of course, the good loot will be in the Merc's host... well, we'll pillage the whole area. Hit another city tomorrow! It's been a good life. Shame you had to sneak out of it."

"Have fun," I say, turning to go back indoors.

Ruby and Mallow hold back two Felis, fighting back to back with their weapons of choice. Ruby's fire flickers out, her few foreign tooth bones giving in to the tremendous strain she puts on the poor, restless souls she's exploiting, and Mallow is running out of knives. One Felis gets one of them across the bag, dragging it away by the strap, but the other is in for the kill. Altair watches in horror, the flames silhouetting his haunted eyes, and I stand in equal silence, deciding who to root for. It's surprisingly hard to do when you hate everyone involved.

A Felis pounces atop Vade, who bucks him off with the horns before tilting his head to use the force of his telekinesis to throw said Felis against one of the houses closest to the blaze. "Fellas, pals, you don't think you could let us in, could you? We appear to be in a bit of a bad time."

After a speech like that? You'd do better to chop off his own head. For once, I agree with the mysterious voice. "I don't think so."

Vade cries out in agony as his left leg gives, but he still pulls himself against the barrier, pressing himself against the magical field. In the distance, Felis are starting to quell the blaze that Andulas no doubt instigated, with some renegade Lutra (nasty, weaselly beasts, but always good water summoners in a pinch) assisting. No doubt if the Felis win said Lutra will get a nice bite in the ass for their troubles. However, Vade is not watching the flames nor the Felis beginning to crawl towards him but rather at the busted wall at the edge of the city. "Things are going to get real rowdy in a moment. I know you're against death... or killing... you would consider letting me die killing me, wouldn't you? You might as well let me out of grip on the side of a sheer mountain. We won't hurt you or your associates... blood pact. On the spirit." His voice grows more dire.

"Whose side are we on, anyways? I'm fair sure that all of you want to kill us. In that case, I suppose..." I look to Altair. "We really owe allegiance to no one, don't we? Fancy how that works."

"You seemed like you were having a lot of fun with the whole 'never needs to end' deal. We wouldn't want to take that from you." Altair agrees.

"Damn you," spits Vade. "You need to get out of here, if you value your own life. We're just the frontrunners. Andulas is coming and she wants your heads."

We could take her. Ha. Fat chance. Shut up. I twitch my head to the left. "We got that. Luckily, we're safe in here..."

"You don't understand, do you?"

"I believe I do. What can she do against magics like these? Willow holds are remarkably strong, even in the face of... enhanced magic." I tap the willow floors with a paw, and the woods whisper back.

"It's a pact, dammit! What else do you want out of me?"

"An escape route." Altair decides.

"Done." Vade swears. Regaining his old composure, he says, "Always there to help two of my favorite upstarts." I can hear the facade of cheerfulness seeping out of his voice as the desperation sets in, shaking under every syllable.

"Let Vade, Mallow, and Ruby within these walls," I say, which triggers the same buzz within me as did saying the words of the prophecy. The three of them gratefully enter, spy the Felis lying unconscious on the floor, and their eyes move at once to all the inventory instead the multiple other bodies. Ruby licks her chops. I can scent her greed.

"So. Escape?" I ask, eager to keep them on task.

"After the worst of it. Do you have salt?" Vade is looking around the disheveled piles.

I shake my head. "Not enough to throw around. What kind of magic needs a salt circle to block, anyways?"

Mallow lifts a bag of ambrosia, pocketing it, and afterwards rummages about, kicking a body aside, and manages to get a crusty bag of salt out of the corner. Drawing a lazy, wobbly circle while suspending seven knives, three of which are covered in blood, he says, "The kind that never should have come to this world."

In the distance, Andulas encroaches, Dominic and Reynard at her sides. They are cloaked in so many bones that little of their own faces show, and even from a distance it's not hard to sense the thrill of the hunt rising from them all. Their backs are arched, tails lashing, and when Felis so much as try to move in their general direction, they are cruelly knocked aside by what looks like a pole from here. Even through this, I can see something is wrong. Andulas's eyes have no reflective glint, half of her body is more covered in bone than the other side, and her face, near imperceptible in the murk, is incredibly... wrong, in a way I have no words for.

Mallow begins throwing about more herbs, some water, all the works. I've never seen such an elaborate circle of protection with so little effort put into it. I can't believe anyone actually uses sigils anymore, given how woefully ineffective they are save for in incredibly specific cases, but I can give him a pass. Ruby is no longer sniping items from the inventory, nor is Vade, instead, all three of them are focused on the near-empty streets, where a few Felis are driving back a retreating bandit force.

"Where'd the bandits go?" asks Altair.

"Whoever got out got out. Whoever didn't..."

Dominic, Andulas, and Reynard move in perfect unison, and slowly Andulas's fur begins to light. It's not the actual hairs that are sparkling-- I know enough of Moonwalker magic to tell that the current aura about her originates not from the fur but from every crystalized bit of blood on the surface of it. It lights up the bones, illuminates sockets, and casts light on her face, which is burned clean of fur on one side. One eye is missing and the other is glossy, unseeing. My heart pulses. It couldn't have been a light orb to the face, could it...?

Dominic's eyes glow, as do all of Reynard's scars, and in the murk I realize that all three of them are holding up unconventional weapons. The pole from earlier has a huge circle at one end, and the others have disc-like protrusions on their own weapons, held in their mouths, a blade and a kind of flail respectively. It looks entirely flamboyant until I realize that they're not battle implements.

Those are amplifiers.

That's an old trick of hers. You've never seen the Wail of Death?

That's reassuring. Sure enough, Andulas sets the cane in the ground and opens her mouth, Felis from all sides backing up, and soon they begin to flee their own city in panic. The noise grows louder and louder, a singular pitch that seems to make the very heavens quiver, and as Reynard and Dominic lift their weapons, the sound bounces off all three. Even within the shop, we all get down, the pain unlike anything I've ever felt. Windows shatter and through half-closed eyes I see the last few stragglers, Felis and bandit, falling dead silently in the streets. When the sound is over, entire buildings look like they've been licked clean by storms and bodies line the roads, many of them still almost in motion, reaching out towards the exit.

We may be the last Sentients standing in this whole town.

"That's Zwella's inventory." I say, remembering the weapons of old that lie in the back. "But no one steals-"

"Zwella? Zwella died after you left." Ruby snaps. "Bet you can guess what happened there. Look, there's a new order to things... and we'll die if they find out we're helping you. We need to leave now."

"Wait, why?" Altair asks. "Did I miss something?"

"We may have kicked a light orb into the most powerful thieves in Opphemria." I say, realizing with wide eyes and a dropped tail what terrible trouble we've found ourselves in.

Ruby agrees, "You utterly maimed her. 'Er face 'nd her leg are gone. Say nothin' of her companions."

Altair shoots me a look. I shoot him one back. This is either going to be a very long night or a very short one, depending on if we're around to see the end of it. The bandits begin to walk back in, but we're still safe... for the moment. Our protective circle's taken a hit, and no doubt willow will be no problem for determined bandits. "Right. We need to get out of here." Vade's group looks to each other, sharing an equally important conversation as Altair and I's mutual look of devastation, but when they then cast their gaze towards the piles of merchandise they're planning on looting, I realize we can go no further until we settle things. "You can have all the inventory. We don't steal. Directly. Often. Anyways, we're not interested."

Yes we are. Steal something, for Verhamera's sake. Do you have any clue how much this is all worth?

"You're so generous. It's admirable, but it's also almost pathetic, and I can't condone that kind of behavior." My mind races through thousands of cons to pull in case of a turn-tail, but truth be told I'm in less than an optimal position right now, and they all know it. Vade smirks, scenting our fear. "I made you a pact. If I break it, I'll end up a Fauna in my next life, or something equally pathetic. Plus, I'll be dead! Ah well."

Altair opens his mouth, looks at Andulas scenting the air with her burnt-out nose and her companions looting and beating bodies to pieces, and scrunches his eyes and snout, erring on the side of silence. "Rule twenty, rule twenty, rule twenty--"

"First of all, if we ever meet again, I'm going to beat the daylights out of you just for that remark. Second, how do we get out?" I ask.

"Back of the city. If you could blast the walls from the insides..." His eyes cast upon a light orb. "You're going to have a reputation for blowing things up with these, won't you?"

"Not a bad reputation to have." I say, rolling one towards Altair, who is still repeating 'Rule 20' over and over, as a prayer. "Altair can kick this pretty far, so I'll just hoist this up, and... you guys pretend you saw us duck out the other way while we run for it. You can pretend to be woefully incompetent, probably take some lashes, but hey, you'll live. Unlike those victims who gave you those scratches down your chest, who I have no doubt didn't survive the encounter."

Ruby steps in front of Vade defensively, her muzzle barred into a wide snarl. "We've killed twice in self defense. Don't think you're the only group out there with morals."

"You? Morals?" asks Altair.

"I do nothing that would make my son turn his eyes from me." Vade says. "Never."

"We're good. We've saved a few Sentients from Blasted Tooth," peeps Ruby.

Mallow nods. "Under heavy financial compensation."

Vade nods. "Aye, never mind that. If you toughfeet see Zeke, tell him that when the world stops ending, I'll be ready to wash my paws clean."

I shake my head, incredulous. "If you're so soft, why are you even with Blasted Tooth?"

"Better than being against them," Vade says, "And dead. It's the new law of the land, upstarts."

Mallow and Ruby nod. Both of their faces are grim, their bodies thin from a lack of food and their bodies ragged from needless battles. It's almost easy to pity them, but the streets are quiet, and I'm so angry that none of us are the kind of heroes that could have prevented this that I can barely move my clenched jaw. I offer, "I... I hope you find your son." (I do not.) "Don't get the wrong idea here, though. I hate you. It doesn't help that you've tried to kill us three times in our last few encounters, and would probably do so again if you hadn't made a pact."

"What's in the past is in the past. Here's wishing you the best." Vade says.

You can't go. You can't leave... turn around, you idiot! She's right there! Just have Mallow stick a dagger through her throat. Finish the job. You want to be a hero? Finish her.

The head voice has gone from unreasonable to suicidal.

Vade raises the light orb for us, right out of my bag, and then Altair kicks it through the window. Fortunately, it does not detonate as it passes through the cracked pane, but it does retain several scars from the encounter which then alight as the entire orb glows and presumably detonates in a display worthy of a hoof-paw bump. Another hits the back walls, while everyone is distracted by the first explosion, and Vade's crew pretends to cry in agony, detonating another orb within the store, and we're already long, long gone, two shadows stepping between bodies as we make to the woods.

The city is dead silent as we exit, and my heart pounds fast, almost afraid of the prospect of not being followed, due to the implication that there may be no one left to run after us. All those bodies will be torn to shreds later tonight, carefully carved and embellished to adorn Andulas and her followers's bodies. In this way, their armies will grow larger and larger, and if her followers die? No problem. They're as useful to her dead as alive. Maybe more so.

Altair brings out the crystal, the blue sand of which faithfully moves forwards, but once he's made that small motion we walk in silence. His tail flicks up on occasion, old prey-instinct rife within him, but we must be too lean or too pathetic even for large monstrous beasts and Sentients who are handling the Dog Days less than optimally, because we live.

The blue of the crystal intensifies, practically slamming against the sides of its container in an attempt to escape into the world around it, and with a collective sigh of relief we pass the first scent markers. The unfriendly reek of the Yaan woods fades, replaced by familiar, warm aromas.

"So," Altair says.

"Yaan?"

"Figured I'd ask."
"Exactly how I remember it." I say. "Let's never do that again."

Altair nods solemnly, and the two of us walk a little faster, independently, before moving up to match the other's pace. We speed up again, and again, until we're bounding down the road, released from everything by the pain of exertion. Altair bucks, and the crickets in the bushes screech with relief and joy, out of their minds with the desperate urge to continue existing, to go on. We share a singular moment of bliss when we bound over the first familiar hill, the kind no flower could give to us, and we are young, freed of problems, turning homeward.

This place makes me feel young. It's one of the many reasons I never wanted to come back.

We come to the formal road sooner than I'd expected, and up in the trees and all around us are the haphazard buildings my family built together, with a little help from Aunt Engreaves's Defender friends. It is a massive construction, in part up in the canopies though primarily down on the ground, and it wraps around the trees and landscape, bending where it does. I'm thinking already about the room suspended above the river, that impossible, constantly in need of repairs room sealed from the rest of the rooms after a few floods, but no one will give up on the river room. It is the me of the family, save for that everyone has fond memories of the river room.

Fireflies alight on the bark, flickering signals through the tepid night air, and a breeze rushes through our pelts. We're within eyesight now, and a Moonwalker appears in the door, ears perked. Her body is curved in the way only a dam's is, stomach round with experience, and in the light of the house's candlelit innards I can see her beautiful eyes.

"My son is home," she decrees, her voice raspy but full of a deep, resonant energy. Hearing it sends a warmth through my body, so powerful it makes my tired limbs shake, and my heart pangs. The forest around here is familiar and lush, the scent of our territory one of the most perfect aromas I will ever know, and I can imagine a good night's rest and good company all too clearly now. Why had I waited so long to return? How could I ever have forgotten the sweetness of home? "Though I suppose Hawk is there too."

"Hello, Misa." Altair chirps, his ears tilted forwards and his eyes alight.

"Thanks, ma." I grumble.

"Boys are back," she calls to those inside, which is echoes around on Moonwalker-style yips to the furthest reaches of the home.

"Boys?"

"Boys."

"Boys!"

"They're back!"

The family charges us like a swarm of bandits, and there's no con in the world that could get us out of this now.