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.

Just like Jakob. Their father was as unpredictable as the waves. What would he do now that his heir was gone and his own strength was fading? Could he afford to risk losing his other son? His next litter might be even weaker.

Or would he push Jakob through the trials? Would he force his brother to face the same bloody fate as he did, to become a warrior against his will? When Colborn returned, there was no telling what kind of fox his brother would be.

Perhaps he would do what Colborn couldn't; he could take the throne and destroy their father's empire. There was no telling how many lives he would have to take, when all he'd wanted to do was give his own.

Colborn had stolen that from him. He had done this. He was a monster, just as much as the Jarl.

His paws pushed off the stone, and he landed once more in the sea. He thrashed through the water, darkness growing heavy in his mind. His vision fogged just like the misty shoreline in the distance. The waves jerked him beneath the water one final time, and he shut his eyes.

–❈–

Skadi held her breath as footfall grew near. She waited on the same ledge where she'd let the tod go––told him to never come back––and now his tan paws set foot here again.

She leapt from the shrouded alcove that kept her hidden from above. Her paws collided with his brown fur, and the young fox was beneath her once more.

He almost yelped, but Skadi quickly put a paw against his muzzle and pushed it to the ground. His eyes gazed up at her, and the tension seeped from his muscles with a sigh, but Skadi could still hear his heart thudding. It was hard to stay calm when his ears were a mere hair from the rocky cliffside.

"Why are you here," she snarled. "I told you not to come back."

He opened his mouth to speak, his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he sputtered an attempt at an excuse. Finally, he swallowed, trying to lift his head from the ground. With an eye-roll, Skadi moved her paw from his cheek. He tilted his muzzle to face her, and his lips curved into a nervous smile.

"I wanted to say thank you."

She growled again. "Do I look stupid to you?"

"It's your fault," he retorted. "You didn't let me say it last time. Nor would you give me––"

"Do I look like I care?" She shifted her weight forward, pushing his spine back against the stone. He winced, and she flattened her ears against her skull. "Because I don't, and I'm not sure how a fox can be so stubborn and idiotic. I should just kill you now."

She flicked her tail to the drop-off before him, and she gave a nudge with her paws. The edge crumbled a little beneath the back of his head. "You were waiting for me," he said, squirming. It wouldn't take much for the fox to use her imbalance against her, throw her over the edge before she could react. But something about the innocent sparkle in his widened eyes told her that the thought had never crossed his mind.

"You must've known I was coming back." His brows furrowed. "Expected it."

"We'll just say that the minds of kits are predictable," she snapped. "I knew you'd be back to try something else dumb and reckless."

"You came to save me again?" The Leafborn's tone was filled with awe.

She clenched her jaws so that the disbelief wouldn't drip out in oozing puddles. "More like to kill you. I'm here because I saved you the first time, and it wasn't received well by my skulk."

His muzzle scrunched. "They punished you? For saving someone?"

"An enemy." She spoke the word with a sharp tongue. "Kicked out. And now, I have nowhere safe to go. Nowhere that the Shadowborn won't be looking for a one-eyed criminal." Skadi licked her chops, scanning the tod's face for some hint of emotion. A hint that he was getting it. His tongue only lolled like he wasn't about to be thrown off a cliff.

"If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me." She pushed her claws into the tender flesh beneath his chin, and his body slipped closer to the edge. Now his head hung over empty air, his black ears a stark contrast to the pale yellow light of dawn.

She watched his expression shift to one of panic. A whimper filled his muzzle, and he scrambled with his legs to push her off. Her small form was just enough to keep them pinned, and with each thrash, he only inched closer to the drop off. When his shoulders spilled over, he finally fell motionless.

"Okay, okay," he huffed. "I don't think you would kill me, not now"––Skadi shoved him a little more and he yelped ––"but I won't test you. I'm sorry I got you kicked out." His words were soft and sincere.

"Apologies do me no good." Skadi glared at him, wondering if he was really sure that it was all a bluff. Honestly, she wasn't sure herself, but she hoped he'd break soon, otherwise she'd have no choice but to throw him to his death. "So a dead fox will just have to work."

He squirmed again, and she noticed tears welling in his eyes as he looked over the cliffside, watching the crashing waves far below. "Stop!"

She stepped back, letting the fox flip over and scramble to safety. Skadi recognized the fear in his voice––watched his body tremble with desperation. She knew the words he would say next.

"I know a place you could go."

–❈–

Trygve couldn't believe what had left his muzzle––inviting a Shadowborn into his skulk. Was he insane?

There was a chance that his grandmother would do worse to him than this vixen ever could. His skulk would hate him, judge him, never elect him. They'd probably throw him out for bringing an enemy into their home.

But maybe there was a chance that this could work out. For both of them.

He owed her a home for making her an outcast. He owed her his life. And she would owe the elders something for taking her in. Information. Secrets.

Perhaps it would be exactly what they needed to get a step ahead in the war. Thridi's plan had worked. Well, the essence of it. He hadn't had to hurt another fox.

"Come with me," he told her. "My grandmother, she serves on the Council. She'll know what to do."

"Are you serious?" Her muzzle sank, and her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You would do that for me?"

There was something indiscernible about her voice. He couldn't quite tell if she was upset or happy. But he nodded anyway. "My way of thanking you. Since you won't take a verbal one."

She snorted. Something reminiscent of a smile tugged at her lips. "Fine," she said. "I'll take it."

He grinned back. "Seeming as you have few other choices, I will too." Trygve bowed before her paws, then turned on them to lead her back up the rocky slope. Then he stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face her. "I'm Trygve by the way," he told her. "You can call me Tree."

She dipped her muzzle slightly. "Skadi."