The kit fell from his muzzle. On their day-long journey through the grasslands, the mass of flesh had started to stink. Colborn was the only one who could smell it: the stench of death.

And regret.

He looked up at his father. His dark fur was set ablaze against the sun, sinking behind him on the horizon. The fox was a living flame––lustful for terror and destruction.

"Well done, my son."

Colborn tipped his drooping muzzle upward, and he met the prideful fire in his father's eyes.

"Thank you, Jarl." He paired the words with a nod of respect. But he didn't deserve praise for his deeds.

His father stepped closer, lifting the kit from the ground, and returned to perch atop a large boulder. He dropped it at his paws and faced the crowd of Flameborn gathered.

"This fox is becoming a mighty Kriger," he boomed. "And he has led us in another victory against those scheming, Shadow fools."

Colborn timidly cast his gaze to the foxes around him. They cheered on his achievement with yips and howls. He only wanted to die––like the kit at his father's feet.

Finally, his gaze focused on another crimson-pelted fox beside the boulder. His brother grinned at him across the clearing.

A smile tugged his lips, but Colborn quickly drew his eyes away and placed them back on the Jarl, now treading a dramatic circle atop the boulder. He swallowed the fleeting moment of joy.

"There is a fire in my son." His voice was low and hoarse, like a fox who'd been breathing in smoke for far too long. "He's one step closer to becoming your unstoppable leader."

More hollering. Each bark burned into his skull, and Colborn resisted the urge to flatten his ears. He stood up taller instead, basking in his father's warm glow.

"With one final trial, Colborn will be your Jarl." He placed his coal-colored claws around the body of the kit. "I have no doubt that he will conquer the land that belongs to us." He shoved it off the rock, and it landed on the ground with a thump.

Colborn kept his eyes on his father, even as the screaming around him faded into a single yowl. He could almost hear the kit bay from its tiny muzzle, and its voice fizzled out with a whine. The whimper of death.

"Eventyr will be ours."

This time, he echoed the war cries around him. Every Flameborn voice in Muspell filled the darkening sky with their support for the war. For the taking of more innocent blood. For him to lead it.

All except for one.

His brother, Jakob, didn't cheer. The joy had been ripped from his muzzle. Colborn's voice caught in his throat, tracing the tod's eyes to where they lingered. The sight of death.

He wished that his brother didn't have to see it, that his father wouldn't make him watch every vulgar exchange of violence in hopes to strip him of his innocence. In many ways, Colborn envied his littermate––born smaller. Weaker. He didn't have to bear the burden of being an heir. He was allowed to have emotions.

He didn't have to kill.

His father strangely guarded his life as much as he pushed his other son into the claws of danger. Colborn was expected to live or die fighting. Thankfully, he succeeded at the latter, letting it harden his heart to the bloodshed. Jakob wasn't so lucky.

His runt of a brother took a step forward, despite Colborn's silent pleas for him to back away. Even if his father would never kill him, his hide bore the scars of past lessons.

He hated the things every Flameborn called Jakob behind his tail. But Jarl had the spine to say them to his muzzle––and the jaws to back it up.

When he reached the mangled mass of pale fur, Jakob stopped, and so did the roar of the crowd. His father stood still on the boulder, peering down with a frown of annoyance.

"What are you doing, Jakob?"

He broke from his trance with a start, like he was drawn to the kit without even knowing. Jakob's gaze jerked to their father, and a whisper left his muzzle. "Can't we bury it?"

Jarl laughed. The foxes around him roared. Colborn's face never twitched, even as blood rushed to his cheeks in anger.

"No." His tone steadied into a thrum of disappointment. "Our enemies don't deserve that kind of effort."

Jakob whined in response. "But it's just a kit. How can something so small––"

"Enough!" Their father's growl rang in Colborn's ears. He watched with dread as Jarl jumped down from his perch, landing in front of Jakob. "How can something so small have such a large mouth?"

Baring his teeth, he crept closer. His own kit cowered before him, tears in his eyes and a pleading whine in his throat.

Colborn shifted forward on his haunches. He yearned to open his muzzle, to leap to his brother's rescue. But he couldn't. The scene was all too familiar. Jakob would limp away bloodied, and he would stand there like a good, heartless Kriger and watch. He couldn't incur his father's wrath. Not yet. Or both their years of suffering would be for naught.

The Jarl stopped in his tracks. He hid his fangs beneath his jowls and tilted his head slowly toward Colborn.

"On second thought," he chirped with a trill of malice. "I think it's time our future leader learned how to inflict punishments."

Colborn's stomach dropped like a heavy stone. The heat fled from his face in place of the icy nip of adrenaline. His father stepped back and urged him closer to the trembling tod.

He filled his lungs. He strode forward without hesitation. He couldn't let his father sense the fear swirling around in his brain––couldn't be weak like his littermate.

Jakob's teary eyes darted back and forth, scanning Colborn's face. Terror formed wrinkles in his muzzle, but in front of his skulk, Colborn couldn't close his eyes to shut it out.

He didn't dare meet Jakob's gaze as his claws found their way to their victim. And just like he'd seen his father do a hundred times, he dug them into his brother's hide.

–❈–

The tod whimpered as a gentle tongue grazed his wounds. His dark red fur was parted by three jagged lines, each seeping a fluid much brighter.

Colborn knew it stung, but he hushed his brother. He couldn't help but glance over his shoulder each time Jakob raised his voice, worried that even in the starlight, someone would see him pitying the weak.

"I have to," he said, "or it'll get infected." Colborn looked into his brother's teary eyes.

Jakob nodded and let him dress the injury without complaint. When he was done, Colborn stepped back. He turned on his paws and tread lightly to the underbrush on the other side of the barren patch of grassland. His teeth closed around white fur and withdrew.

His brother's chin quivered. "Please. I don't want to see that anymore." Jakob shut his eyes tightly, turning away from Colborn, even as his jaws clenched from the pain of his new wounds.

Colborn dropped the kit and placed a firm paw on the soil. It shifted beneath his pads and broke apart between his claws. He raked a mound of dirt from the ground, and Jakob dared to take a peek.

"What are you doing?"

Colborn didn't spare him a glance. "We're burying it."

Jakob forced himself into his vision, placing his paw over his brother's. "You don't have to do this, Col."

With a grunt, he shoved him out of the way and kept digging.

"I don't blame you. It's not your fault."

Colborn pounded his claws into the ground, jerking the soil away from the earth. It scattered in the air and landed with a tumble. Each pawful grew faster, until it was raining dirt around them. Blood thumped in his ears. Anger burned in his eyes.

A sharp pain stopped him. Crimson trickled from the hole where a nail used to hang. He smashed his muzzle into the ground and muttered curses beneath his breath.

"It is my ashen fault!" he yelled, throwing quiet to the wind. "I'm the reason he treats you this way. He wants you to be like me." Colborn snarled the word, his teeth rattling at the force of his snapping jaws. He forced a sigh through his nostrils. "And that's the last thing I want."

His brother's muzzle press against his. The warmth slowed his heart, and he exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry," Colborn muttered.

"You're doing what you have to." Jakob nuzzled his cheek. "Don't be sorry."

What he had to. Did he have to take innocent lives? To take any lives for that matter. Did he have to hurt one piece of his family to please the other?

It wasn't really about that. The day would still come when Colborn would stand up to his father, but only when he gained the respect he needed to make things change.

Colborn pushed the kit into the hole. He kicked some dirt back over it and nudged away Jakob's muzzle. He gestured to the grave, and his brother did the same.

Soon, their enemy––something so small––rested beneath the soil.

"Things will be better." Colborn used his nose to nudge away a tear rolling down Jakob's cheek. "I promise."