It was only one more life. One more sacrifice for the greater good.

Blood doesn't stain crimson fur.

The soil thundered beneath his paws. He bounded toward the den, fueled by thoughtless determination. Soon it was in his sight, and so was the shimmer of red fur in the moonlight.

He locked his eyes on his brother, slowing his feet to a trot. Jakob lay asleep in front of the burrow, alone and unaware. His fur rippled slightly in the wind's icy breath.

Colborn stopped. He chewed on the inside of his jowls. He couldn't do this, could he? But the longer he waited, the harder it would be. If he took his life while he slept, Jakob probably wouldn't even scream.

It would be the easiest way. Quick and quiet. Blind and painless. For both of them.

Blood doesn't stain crimson fur.

He approached on silent paws. Colborn held his breath steady, keeping his breathing in check. But he wished to the twinkling stars that his brother would grow restless. That a pebble might appear beneath his step––skitter across the ground and wake him. If only he'd just flick an ear.

Jakob would turn to him, eyes widened in surprise. He'd wonder why his brother was sneaking up to him in the darkness, with the same emotionless visage he had when Colborn gave him the scars along his side.

Colborn would wrap his neck around him. He'd breathe in the tod's earthy scent. And he'd say that everything would be okay.

There were no rocks in his path. Colborn abandoned the fallacy with a jerk of his muzzle, and he trudged onward. There was no other way.

He wanted to kill his father, but Colborn wasn't sure he'd win the fight. Not against the jarl, and not against his skulk.

His father ruled with iron claws; he used strong and cruel methods to enforce his rules. The foxes of Muspell regularly witnessed him violate and murder his own just because he had deemed them weak.

What would they do if they realized that his image was fallible––that the jarl was just as much a fox as they were? He wasn't some indestructible creature of death and fire, but living, breathing flesh. He was a body that could be torn to shreds, even by the claws of his own kit.

If the fear they'd relied on for so long collapsed, would they all vie for the throne with their own bloody fangs?

Colborn had to do this right, had to make his father proud and follow the crumbling laws of the ages and be given the right to lead before the crowds of cheering, blood-thirsty foxes. Then the former jarl would have no say with what his rule. He'd have no choice if his son disbanded the army. He wouldn't be able to lift a paw when Colborn called for peace, not conquest, and showed the Flameborn that there was another way.

And that would be the greatest revenge: never having to take a life again.

Colborn lowered his body to the ground. He crept closer to his brother's back. Jakob's chest rose and fell with a slow, gentle rhythm. His coal-colored paws twitched in the air, his throat vibrating with every sleep-uttered yip.

Maybe he was practicing his hunting skills. Catching a puffin to please his father. To make Colborn proud.

The tod swallowed. He blinked back the flood.

Blood doesn't stain crimson fur.

Colborn closed his eyes and leaped forward. His claws collided with a mound of flesh and fur, and with an instinct he wished he didn't have, he blindly reached for his brother's throat. Darkness kept him from seeing the fear in Jakob's eyes, but it didn't keep him from hearing the choked squeak.

He closed his jaws around his neck. Blood tickled his tongue and his teeth tore the skin.

A whimper emerged from beneath him. Colborn kept his muzzle still, and he urged his mouth to close just a little tighter. He'd crush Jakob's windpipe, and the deed would be done. No more suffering.

He took too long.

"Colborn?" a breathless voice whispered beneath him, filled with a whimpering horror. Now Jakob would know that his own brother had killed him. It would be the last thing he ever saw.

Blood doesn't stain crimson fur.

Both their hearts pounded in Colborn's ears. It was all he could hear, the thunder of blood like the constant clash of jaws on the battlefield. This was where the mighty Kriger belonged. Killing. Why couldn't he do it now?

Jakob had to die.

Colborn stumbled back. He tore his eyes open to find Jakob scrabbling backward. He cowered before him like he did with their father. His amber irises glowed with the same terror they did when he faced the Jarl.

The feeling raked its curved claws through Colborn's heart. He fell to the ground. His breath caught in his throat, and he choked on the spit and blood. Stars danced in his vision, before he forced a gulp of air into his chest.

"Why are you trying to kill me?"

His vision clouded with a layer of stinging tears. Licking his chops, he searched with his tongue for the right words to say.

Sniffles were enough of an answer. Jakob stood, uncurling from his fearful, fetal position. He crept closer to Colborn, the hesitance in his step replaced with compassion. He was no longer afraid of him––said with his eyes that he never had been.

A rough tongue met Colborn's cheek. It licked away the tears that trailed down his fur. It was the first time in years that Jakob had seen him cry.

He pressed his cold nose against Colborn's face. The heat dissipated from his skin in an instant, and a soft wave of peace washed over him. He returned it with a nuzzle, and stood.

Blood stains crimson fur.

"I could never hurt you, Jakob." He muttered each word in a pained whisper. There was nothing futile about emotion. "Which is why we have to leave."

Jakob pulled back. Confusion twisted his muzzle, and he cocked his head. "What do you mean? Where?"

Colborn didn't know. "Away from here." He cast a timid glance in the direction he came. His father would find them soon. "We have to go." He ushered Jakob forward with his nose.

"Where, Colborn?" Jakob snapped, shoving his shoulder away with a forceful snout. "You can't be serious."

He steadied his weight, meeting his brother's eyes with a fierce gaze. "About what?"

Jakob whined. "So you're just giving up?"

Colborn froze. The words clawed at his heart.

"Because it's hard," his brother said, "you're throwing away years of work? Of pain? For both of us?"

The sadness shriveled––kindling for Colborn's anger. He spun around, lunging toward his brother. "What do you know about pain?" A snarl formed on his tongue, and his jaw quivered in disbelief. He had sacrificed so much for him already. Why couldn't the stubborn tod just shut up and follow? He was trying to save his life.

Jakob shook his head. His eyes drifted to the scars on his side. "I've endured worse, Colborn." His voice was a faint whimper. He sat, and he closed his eyes. "I know what you have to do. And I'm not afraid."

Colborn swallowed. What was he saying? He wanted to die? "No." He turned and kept walking. "This isn't a discussion. We're leaving."

"I'm not going anywhere." A determined grunt followed. "What will running do? For you? For Eventyr?"

He clenched his jaws. "To ash with Eventyr. I will not kill my brother!"

"Then I'm not going anywhere!" Jakob echoed, this time in a growl.

His brother had never raised his voice at him before.

"I will not run from my fate. If I have to stop our father myself, I will."

"You won't stop anything," Colborn spat. "He'll kill you, you stupid runt."

The words did nothing to Jakob. He was far too used to them. Colborn's heart pounded harder every moment he spent standing there. Waiting for the Jarl to seek him out––to force him to murder the only fox he'd ever loved. He wouldn't do it. Not to save a million lives. That was where he drew the line.

"I don't care," Jakob said. "I always hoped it would be you to give me mercy, but if it must be Father, so be it. If he has no heirs, perhaps his reign will end."

Colborn knew that wasn't true. Just as soon as he tossed his kit's body aside, he'd force a new vixen to birth his spawn.

There was no time to argue. "If you want to die, you'll do it alone." He trudged onward, refusing to look back. The stupid runt didn't deserve such pity.

"I love you, Colborn." A whisper clung to the air.

He hardly heard the words through the sound of his pounding paws. And he wouldn't say them back––wouldn't accept that this might be the last time he ever saw his brother again.

But he had to try. Someday, he would come back for him. Save them both. Even if the future was uncertain, Colborn did know one thing: Jakob's blood would never stain his fur again.