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Shivah, the first-ever 17th century woman to have sleepovers with her gay best friend and talk about boys :P

Chapter 11 - Halfway Point


The sounds of the rowdy campsite drifted to me even beneath several layers of furs and the usually-muffling fabric of my tent. I tugged the blankets down, giving an irritated growl and sucking in a breath of cool air, while I was at it. Wasn't it supposed to be getting colder up here?

We were a week into the trip, nearing the halfway point, and so far it hadn't been the grand adventure I'd imagined it would be. It had more just been a long, weary trek through rocky, thinning terrain, with little but my inner thoughts and the occasional griping session with Puquanah to occupy my time. The fox at least seemed to be in as dismal a mood as I was, and we'd bonded over our shared bitterness at the rest of our traveling companions for having longer legs than us. As well as various other complaints.

Like the fact that they insisted on staying up half the bloody night!

The men, Ransom included, in contrast had been having a glorious time. Or so it seemed. It had barely taken a day or so along the road before Ransom had grown tired of acting aloof and had settled his pace back towards where the Marshals were traveling, and where Puck and I were forced to lag behind, strictly due to our aforementioned shorter stride. A day more, and the coyote was knee-deep in raucous conversations with the Otherwolves, Grant included. I don't know what I'd ever been concerned about, to begin with. . . the only one amongst them who still seemed to take issue with Ransom was Connall, and he seemed the disciplinarian of the group with all of the men, so I had to attribute that to his own demeanor. For once, Ransom was getting on fine with the people around him. I should've been happy.

I would have been, honestly. I wasn't so resentful as to begrudge the coyote some friendly discussion and laughter with his fellows. . . but did they have to be so damned loud about it?! Especially at night!

Puck gave an answering groan from beside me. The fox and I had taken to sharing a tent over the last few nights, since no one really seemed to pay attention to us after we encamped anyway, and it was easier to set up one than two. Warmer, as well, and the fox was meticulously clean and a quiet sleeper, I didn't mind sharing quarters with him in the least. There was always the chance that some of the men might assume our shared sleeping arrangements meant more, but I didn't particularly give a damn, and so far no one had questioned us. Not even Ransom.

Puck had been right about that, at least. The coyote barely spared a word for him. It was so utterly unlike the way they'd been when it was just the three of us alone, it was shocking. Either the coyote honestly stopped caring about the fox when he was amongst other canine men, or he was doing a magnificent job of acting like it. Either way, it made me angry for Puck.

A lot was making me angry of late. I'd been absolutely horrid to Grant that day we'd shared a horse, and I'd tried to keep our interractions to a minimum since then. Despite that though, the man went about his days with the same civility towards me he'd always shown, save the occasional embarrassed glance whenever I caught him looking my way. I hardly knew what was going through the dog's head, but I was trying hard not to think on it.

I was probably just winding myself into a frenzy, trying to figure out what I would do from this point on. Every day, our trek took us closer towards the last marker on my path. From there on out, I was thrust into the wild with no trail to follow. I didn't know what I'd do. I didn't even know how I'd survive in an Otherwolf settlement, let alone track down a man with a group whom even a skilled band of Otherwolves who knew this area and its people had yet to find. The most I could really hope to do was sniff around and hope I got lucky, or depend upon Grant and his Marshals to find the otter and invite me along when they went after him. I wasn't confident in either option.

I glanced over at Puck, who was staring blindly up at the top support pole in our tent. I rolled over, putting a hand on his shoulder lightly and murmuring, "Can't sleep either?"

"I was," he said, irritated. "That mink has a loud, grating laugh."

I sighed. "I know. I wish I knew what was so damned funny."

Puck listened for a few moments, before murmuring, ". . . something about someone's absurdly fat wife."

I rolled my eyes, flopping back over onto my back. "I need to learn more Otherwolf words."

"It's actually an easier language to learn than most of the tribal dialects," Puck murmured. "But it took me a few years to become fluent, and even longer to really speak it well. You'll get it in time."

"We could do more tutoring while we're on the trail," I murmured. "It would be something to pass the time, at least."

"Not a bad idea," Puck nodded.

There was a sudden eruption of noise from the camp, which sounded almost as though the men were encouraging something. I braced for another night of drinking games.

"Gods," I muttered, "if they break out the moonshine, we'll get no sleep at all tonight."

"I think Ransom ran out after the last time," Puck muttered.

But the camp suddenly fell quite silent, and my curiosity was peaked for a few moments. . . until I heard why. The first few thrumming chords from the 'guitar', that instrument that apparently Grant kept with the things strapped to his saddle-bag. I'd heard him play it for the first time a few nights ago. It was unlike any other instrument I'd ever heard. It had so many different sounds. . . it could go from jovial to haunting in but an instant.

And a moment later, Ransom joined in with his harmonica and the strange, foreign music began to fill the campsite. I settled back down into my furs, stretching my arms above my head and closing my eyes.

"I much prefer this," I murmured. "At least the men stay quiet."

"Agreed," Puck said. He was silent for a little while, we both were, listening. At length, he whispered, "I know this song. The Beaten Path. It has words. . . ." he sighed. "I wish Ransom would sing again."

"How long has it been?" I asked. I too was curious about the side of the coyote he chose not to show.

"Almost since I first knew him," Puck murmured, introspectively. "And even then, it was rare. Something about it bothered him, intensely. The passion just sort of faded from him over time. But gods. . . that sadness. . . it might be a horrible thing to say, but I think it's what made the songs sound so. . . beautiful. Mournful. Longing. It wasn't like tribal music. It's. . . it's hard to explain."

"I can imagine somewhat," I said, listening to the music from camp. I turned my head a bit, watching the fox for some time. He'd shut his eyes, but clearly wasn't sleeping. He seemed enrapt in listening to the music, and the longer the song went on, the more his expression turned peaceful. It had really been the first time I'd seen him that way in nearly a week.

". . . what are you thinking about?" I asked, before I could really stop myself.

"The first month I spent with him," the fox replied quietly, without opening his eyes.

I smiled, although it was mostly for his benefit. Not that he could see it, but he always seemed to know. The two men's current situation was a stark reminder that the past often seemed more rose-colored than it truly had been. But I'd let him have his fond memories without questioning. The fox needed something, right now.

"I know what you're thinking," Puck said, cutting through my reverie. "And no. . . it's not as if things were better then. Honestly, he's never really changed. Time makes us face certain things, and he's come-to-terms with us more than he used to. But in many ways, it's much the same as it always was."

"Then why do you remember it so fondly?" I asked.

"Because nothing in life is perfect," the fox replied, evenly. "For every good moment you share with someone, there will be bad. For everything you love about someone, there will be aspects of them that infuriate you. It's all a matter of weighing what's important and accepting that you cannot have it all. If in your estimation, your time with them proves worth it, then. . . it's worth enduring the bad."

"That's one thing you and I are always going to disagree on, Puck" I said with a sigh. "I don't like accepting that things are as they are. If I sit back and let the world be as it is, Methoa goes unpunished. If Grant were to sit back and abandon his task, this Rourke would go on killing. We can change things. And we should, if we have the will to do it. Our lives shouldn't be stagnant. Accepting my lot in life is what put me in Methoa's power to begin with. I could have left, I could have fled with my child before it was too late. . . but I was too scared. If I'd had the nerve then I have now, I'd still have my son. But I just accepted what everyone told me to be. I never tried to change."

Puck opened his eyes, staring blindly heavenward. "Then. . . maybe I'm just a coward."

"No," I insisted, "Puck, that's not-"

"It's fine," the fox murmured. "It's hardly a new revalation for me."

I looked helplessly to the fox, not certain what to say. I hadn't meant to put him down with my words.

"I wasn't able," the fox's words faded off for a moment, and he swallowed, "to fight. . . my blindness. I tried. I spent half my life willing it away, taking herbs, praying. But every day it. . . just got worse."

"Puck. . . ." I murmured, sadly.

"I gave up, at some point," he whispered. "Not just in seeing again. On everything. On my faith. On my family. On living, when I was near the end. I stopped eating, stopped taking care of myself. I was just so tired of trying so hard, of waiting for a salvation that wasn't coming. Or gods that didn't listen. And. . . then Ransom found me."

I remained silent, letting the fox speak. I'd heard the story once before, but even as sparse as he'd been on details then, it was obvious Ransom had saved him in more ways than one. I hadn't known he'd been suicidal.

I could tell myself all I wanted I would never have been so weak, that I'd always endure. But that wasn't fair. You couldn't ever really know until you'd walked the same path. Puck and I had both had our hardships, but it was impossible to compare or say either of us had it more difficult.

"I suppose," the fox said quietly, "it's not particularly wise to hinge your life on another person so completely. I'm entirely at his whims, in many ways. I don't ever doubt that he'll take care of my needs, so far as food and shelter is concerned, at least. I do my part by caring for him and selling herbs, but we both know who the provider is. And that's never bothered me. I don't need to be dominant over another person. I never have. He does. It works. But. . . ."

He turned to the side, burying his nose in his furs. "I'm dependant upon him for more than just physical needs. I need him to care about me. I need him to need me, to validate why I'm still alive."

"Puck-" I began.

"I know," he said with some difficulty, "I know it's not a good way to live. And it's why I get so upset at. . . at times like these, when he barely spares a word for me. But then we go back on the trail, and everything is as it should be. I just have to get through the bad to get back to the good."

"You need to live for yourself, Puck," I said insistantly. "There's a difference between relying on someone and relying completely on someone. You have to have worth beyond. . . him. I see it. Why can't you?"

"I can't," the fox whispered. "I put everything I had inside me into surviving the years I did on my own. I don't have anything left. Ransom. . . gives me a reason."

"Ransom has his own problems," I pointed out. "And maybe the reason he can't talk to you about them is because he wants to be strong for you. Because you need him to be. Puck, I can't. . . I can't think of a kinder way to say this. You need to be stronger."

"So that he can be weaker?"

I paused for a few moments, not certain if I was giving the best advice. But I'd found over the years that overthinking was not my specialty. I wasn't an intellectual. So I spoke from my gut. "Yes," I said, in a hard tone. The fox's ears drooped, but I didn't back down. "Yes, Puck. I'm sorry. But if you really want to help him, you need to pick yourself up out of this. . . complacency. You need to risk something. Push him. You want to stop being such a coward? Stop."

"I'm afraid I'll lose him," the fox said, hoarsely.

"Don't you think he sees that?" I pressed. "He is never going to change if you accept the way things are right now. I've seen you argue with him-"

"Paltry things," Puck muttered. "What's for dinner, what trail to take-"

"He listens to you," I insisted, "more often than not, in fact. I know you think he's in control, but trust me, from an outsider's perspective, you have a lot more power than you think you do. He's just as afraid of losing you. You need to remind him that he needs you as much as you do him. He needs to start treating you like it."

"You think he'll. . . get better. . . if I'm firmer with him?" the fox asked.

"I honestly don't know," I said, "but it needs to happen either way. And if his demons really are what make him such a bastard sometimes, he'll have to talk about them, if only to explain himself."

"I suppose that makes sense in theory."

"Sometimes we need to be faced with losing what we hold most dear before we can truly appreciate it," I said, staring down into my lap. "Trust me. . . ."

"But I don't want to lose him," the fox murmured, curling in on himself beneath his furs.

"Honestly? I don't think you ever could," I said, cracking half a smile. "You two are stuck with one another. He's too grungy for anyone else."

"Is that some sort of crack at my being blind?" the fox asked, shocked.

I chuckled, "No, no. . . I meant you just tolerate. . . things most women wouldn't tolerate."

"Gods, for a moment I'd thought you'd developed a sense of humor," the fox said, rolling over onto his back.

"Never fear, I'm as dour as ever."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," the fox sighed, resting his arm over his eyes, "but actually, Ransom has no trouble finding women. Although not a one of them would be as useful to him on the trail as me. If they'd even consent to go."

"Wait, what?" I blinked.

"I told you about the whores," the fox muttered.

"I thought that was just something you told me back when the two of you were playing at not being together!" I said, leaning forward. "He really buys women?"

" 'Rents' would be a more accurate term. And believe it or not, there are one or two who don't charge him."

"I don't believe it!' I growled.

"He might be a bit rough around the edges," Puck sighed, "but is it really that hard to believe? He's got an odd sort of. . . tough charisma about him. And he's. . ." he paused, ". . . I can't really think of a better way to say this. Well-equipped?"

"Only the shallowest of women judge a man by his weapon."

"They're whores, Shivah," the fox scoffed, "they're hardly reservoirs of deep thinking."

"Then it makes even less sense they'd care about his rifle," I balked. "What does a woman who lies on her back for a living care about hunting?"

The fox blinked, glancing my way. "You think I'm actually talking about his gun? No. No, Shivah, it was. . . I meant-"

I stared back at him.

". . . nevermind," he muttered after a few moments. "Sometimes with you, I feel like it's probably best if I don't fill in the blanks."

"This is all beside the point," I said irately. "Why do you let him take up with other lovers? That's beyond keeping up a facade. It's despicable."

"Honestly, because he always has," the fox blew out a breath. "It was that way in the beginning when my connection to him was tenuous, and I've just never had the nerve to tell him to stop. He knows it upsets me, but. . . ."

"This is exactly what I was talking about, before!"

"I know, I know," the fox said quietly. "Maybe I'll talk to him about it this trip. It would at least be a good place to start. You know, I've often considered just. . . returning the favor, and showing him how it feels. But no other man's ever taken an interest in me the way the. . . women do him. . . ."

"Never mimic Ransom's bad behavior," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "You're too mature for that, Puck."

"Am I?" the fox queried impishly.

I gave him a playful shove.

"I hear the husky's quite a stunning sunspot stuffed into all that leather and fine clothing. Although he's been practically throwing himself at you, so I guess his interests don't lean my way."

I shoved him harder, lowering my voice to a harsh whisper, "He'll hear you! And who told you that?! Because I know it wasn't Ransom."

"That's staying my secret," the fox practically said in a sing-song tone.

"I knew it," I muttered dryly. "All this time, you haven't really been blind at all, have you?"

The fox laughed quietly. "My deception knows no bounds, Shivah. I'm a fox."

I rolled my eyes. "But I'm serious, who told you that?"

"That he was handsome? Because I deduced that on my own the first time you met him, in case you'd forgotten."

"No, I meant-"

"That he's been making dumb dog-faces at you since practically the first day of the trip?" the fox snorted. "All of his men are talking about it. Haven't you. . ." he paused, "Ah, right. They're speaking Amurescan."

"Gods. . . ." I said, putting my head in my hands. 'Embarrassed' wasn't sufficient enough for this.

"Yeah, he's not particularly subtle," the fox chuckled. "But don't let it bother you. The man's an obnoxious simpleton, just ignore it and he'll eventually give up. As it is, I assumed you would mostly be rid of him once we get to the Crossroads. If you want to keep in touch with him in case he finds Rourke, that's fine, but. . . ."

"I've tried ignoring it," I said, flinging my hands down into my lap. "I've even tried being outright unpleasant. I feel bad about it. He's so. . . nice to me, no matter what I do."

Puck laughed. "Gods forbid."

"It's frustrating!" I admitted. "So frustrating. And I don't even know why. I'm not a hateful person. I don't know why talking to him. . . even being around him. . . bothers me so much."

Puck went oddly contemplative at that, his blind gaze seeming to consider me for a few moments.

"Shivah," he said at length, "are you absolutely certain you're not. . . actually just. . . taken by him, somewhat?"

"Gods no!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," the fox insisted, before giving a mirthful smile. "I'll admit, if I could see him, I might be a bit smitten, too. If what I've heard is true."

"I'm not courting," I said. "In fact, now is the last time I should be looking for a husband. I've no plans to re-marry any time soon, if ever. It has no place in my life any more."

"Well there's a a canyon's difference between physical attraction and. . . marriage," the fox said, bemused.

"I don't even like him," I insisted. "He irritates me. He's too placating."

"Well he might just be acting that way because he's looking to impress you," the fox pointed out, "but again, there's a world of difference between enjoying someone's personality and enjoying. . . looking at them. You're just physically attracted to him. It's nothing to panic over."

"This has never happened to me before," I said, my voice low but desperate. "What do I do? How do I make it stop?"

"You can't," the fox stated simply, shrugging. "Just be glad you don't like his personality as well, or you'd really be in trouble. Once we're in town, put some distance between yourself and him. That's the most you can really do. I did warn you about huskies. They're always trouble."

"You seem strangely. . . well-versed in this," I grumbled.

"I am the master of quelling unrequited desires," the fox said almost proudly, with a chuckle. "I waited years before I told my parents what 'ailed' me, and most of my teenage years were spent trying to survive in Otherwolf society while hiding my predilection. Even with my sight fading, and now gone, I still found myself attracted to men I knew I could never. . . become better acquainted with. I was lucky that the first man I ever gathered the courage to attempt. . . something. . . with. . . was amicable to the idea. And since then I've never needed anyone else."

"How did you know you wouldn't be rejected?" I asked, before I really thought about what I was saying.

"Ransom was sending out some pretty obvious. . ." the fox stammered a moment, ". . . bodily. . . signals. . . and then he just sort of grabbed my paw, and. . . you know what? Remember those 'gaps' I was talking about earlier. This is another one of those." He sighed. "Besides, what are you so concerned about? Grant couldn't be any more obvious about his regard for you. I don't think he'd deny you."

"But deny what?" I said, frustrated. "I don't want to marry him. . . and he's already said he's not looking for something like that, either. I don't know what I want from him."

The fox gave me a quizzical expression for a few moments, lifting one eyebrow. At length, he opened his muzzle to say something, then shut it. Then finally opened it again and began to say, "Shivah. . . you've had a child, haven't you?"

"With my husband."

"Right," the fox paused. "And you've seen Ransom and I-"

"Oh, don't be vile," I said, disgustedly. "Women don't want for things like that. Especially with men who aren't even the right kind. Besides, obnoxious or no, I'd like to think the Marshal's a better man than that. He respects me."

"I'd like to think so, too," the fox agreed, "But, Shivah. . . no man is that good. Even if he's intent on being a gentleman, he's still. . . a man. And what makes you think you're so immune?"

"Women don't want for things like that," I repeated my sentiment from earlier. "It would be hard for a man to understand."

The fox sighed. "Shivah, I feel like this is a conversation that's been a long time coming. I think you might have a really damaged view on se-"

"You ladies awake in there?!" A sudden gruff, familiar voice shouted from outside our tent.

I narrowed my eyes and pushed myself up on my knees, shoving the tent flap aside and glaring at the coyote.

"Yes, Ransom," I growled, "thanks primarily to you and the men-"

"Shut it, cat," the canine said, and it was only then that I noticed that not only was he armed with his rifle, but he was stowing his ramrod, which meant he'd just loaded it. I bristled and went for my bow.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

"Don't know yet, but it might be trouble," Ransom said, glancing back towards camp. "Horse comin' this way at a good trot."

"In the middle of the night?" Puck queried the obvious.

"You stay put, fox," the coyote instructed. "I mean it. Shivah, can you-"

"The pine near the west side of camp," I filled in as I donned my cloak and quiver.

Ransom gave a curt nod, then left us, the sound of his footsteps retreating back towards the center of camp. I heard the noise of the camp beginning to quell, other than the hurried paws of men going presumably to their gear, or falling into position. And an alarming amount of guns being readied.

I slipped from the tent quietly and slunk low to the ground near the edge of the clearing, where the firelight failed to reach. My eyes were already adjusted to the dark from being in the tent with Puck, so I had an advantage over the men who'd been in the clearing near the fire. I made my way towards the large pine I'd indicated to Ransom, a tree I'd picked out when we'd made camp as a good perch, just in case a situation like this came up.

I saw the distant figures of the men in camp, many of which had fallen back to their tents, but the glint of the fire on the steel of many rifle and pistol barrels poking out from tent flaps assured me that they were still about, and ready. The unmistakable figure of Grant and the squatter, stockier figure of his Paymaster Connall stood near the fire, facing the trail we were camped alongside. Neither of the two men were concealing their weapons, but neither were they concealing themselves. I had to admit some respect for their bravery. We couldn't hide the camp after all, and someone had to face whatever was coming head-on, in case they could be reasoned with.

This time of night, it couldn't be good. But only one horse? That was odd.

As I began to climb the tree, brushing past the bushy exterior of thick pine needles to the more trespassable interior skeleton of the tree, I caught the sound of the horse, finally. It wasn't at a full gallop, but it was definitely in a hurry.

I was glad I'd found this tree. Pine trees in particular made tricky, but very effective perches. I was light and my paws were built for climbing, so I could brave the thinner limbs, and the thick layers of pine needles made it very hard for anyone outside the tree to spot me in daylight, let alone in the dark. The tricky part was finding a break in the branches from which to fire from.

Also, they were absurdly easy to climb, since the branches were so uniform and close to one another. I shot up a good fifteen feet in a few seconds before I began looking for a likely perch. When I found one I thought would work out nicely, I tested it with a shake first, before crawling out onto it carefully.

I was in a tree. IN a tree. So, you can imagine my shock when I heard a voice. . . from above me.

"Fancy meetin' you here, miss Shivah."

I nearly leapt out of my skin, clinging to the branch for dear life when my foot slipped. I looked frantically up through the branches, trying to figure out how I was going to fire up through them. . . .

. . . and then I saw white and black fur, and a rat tail.

I heaved a sigh. "A-ah. . . gods. . . ."

The rat gave a soft chuckle, keeping his voice low. "Startled you, did I? 'Pologies. Seems we both got similar taste in trees."

"It was 'Magpie', right?" I asked, refocusing my efforts on steadying myself on the branch and getting settled into a crook where I knew I could dig my claws in, lean back against the trunk and really steady myself if the time came to shoot. I couldn't help but look up again, though. There was little to see of the man though, save his tail and his recognizable fur. He was holding something, that much at least I could tell. I could only imagine it was a gun, but it looked longer than Ransom's rifle.

"Yes, ma'am," the rat said, confirming he did in fact have a gun when I heard the sound I'd come to know now as the 'hammer' being cocked back in the thundering weapon.

"What are you doing in my tree?" I asked, mystified.

"Well first off, I thought yer people didn't like to own the land," the rat said good-naturedly.

"That's not what I meant," I sighed, rolling my eyes.

"And secondly, you ain't the only one 'round here wot appreciates a good perch," the rodent informed me. "I singled this pretty little spot out as soon as we made camp."

"I. . . didn't know you were a hunter," I admitted. All I'd really noticed about the rat until now was that he was generally in good humor, seemed liked by the other men, talkative, and had a longer rifle than most.

"Oh, I ain't like yer woodsmen," the rat chuckled again. "I can't track a deer worth shit. But if you need a man shot b'tween th'eyes from a hundred yards, I'm yer rat."

"A hundred yards?" I asked, honestly just not understanding the term for measurement he was using.

The rat seemed to take it as my questioning his skill though, and cleared his throat, "Well. . . 150 if you don't need it right b'tween the eyes."

I looked out into camp, where Grant and Connall still waited. The horse was coming around a bend in the trail, ever-closer now. I saw Grant check his sidearm more than once, belying that he was nervous. Connall seemed as implacable as ever.

"How did you learn how to shoot without also learning to hunt?" I wondered aloud. "What were you hunting that didn't need to be tracked?"

"People, miss," the rodent stated, outright. "White River Militia, guerrilla forces. We hunted platoons. They ain't hard to track."

He shifted forward suddenly, and I heard him raise the rifle. He whispered down to me in a barely audible tone, "Whoever it is, they're here."

I looked through the branches as the moonlit grey form of the horse finally came into view. The rider was hard to make out from here, save that he seemed slumped over and dark-furred. The trail cut closely near our camp, the clearing we were settled in had been man-made specifically for travellers, and was barely a hundred yards from it. The horseman seemed to be coming from the direction we'd come from. . . back in the valley.

I narrowed my eyes when the moonlight caught the unmistakable glint of steel strapped across his back. So he was armed. He seemed alone, but he might just be an advance scout, or-

Movement from Grant suddenly caught my eye, as he began to trot forward towards the horseman, calling something out in Otherwolf. Even Connall's body language suggested he was surprised, and both men had lowered their guard, outright running towards the horseman as his beast slowly trotted to a stop, huffing into the cold night air.

"Oh, hell!" Magpie said from above me, shifting in the branches. "That's Robert. Bastard looks hurt."

"Wait. . . who?" I asked upwards, confused. But the rat was already dropping his rifle down carefully through the branches ahead of him and making his way down, so I followed suit.

"One of the boys we left in the valley," the rat said with a grunt as he dropped down through the branches, quickly. "He was s'posed to catch up with us at the Crossroads."

By the time we'd both reached the ground, Grant was shouting at his men and Connall was helping a very weak-looking man down from the dirty gray mare he'd been riding. The canine yelped in pain as he was lowered to the ground, and even from a distance, I knew the signs of a broken leg. Many of the men who'd been scattered throughout camp came to the Paymaster's aid, carefully helping the wounded black Otherwolf down and laying out a bedroll quickly to set him down on in the center of camp. Grant knelt down beside him, speaking lowly in Otherwolf, presumably trying to discover what had happened to the man.

". . . poor bastard," the rat murmured from beside me, re-shouldering his rifle.

"What happened to him?" I asked, still confused by the scene.

"Sounds like he got thrown," the rat said after a few moments of listening in. "That's a shame. Marybell's a good mare. Never been-" he paused, then his eyes widened and he glanced up the mountainside, the light from the fire catching and reflecting red in his eyes as he stared through the darkness.

"What?" I asked, looking where he was. But my night vision would be nothing compared to a rat's.

"He said th'mare was spooked by a beast," the rat murmured warily. "A white lion."

"The wraith lion?" I asked, my eyes widening.

"I thought tha'was an old wives tale," the rat said, disbelievingly. "But Robert's not prone to flights o' fancy. He's a borin' old salt. If he says he saw it. . . ."

I took off into camp, hoping I'd find Ransom before word of this did. Knowing the coyote, he'd do something foolish-

I knew the second I saw him cutting across camp towards our tent that I was too late. I caught up with him just as he reached his tent and supplies, around the same time Puck poked his head out from our own tent with a confused expression.

"What's going on?" the fox asked, bewildered.

"Get your bag and go help the Marshalls, Puck," the coyote instructed, stonefaced. "There's a man with a broken leg."

"I. . . alright, but what's-"

I looked towards Ransom, who was already hurriedly stuffing extra ammo into his belt pouch and shouldering his quiver. I gave him a strict glare I'm sure he missed, saying, "You can't just leave in the middle of the night to chase her, Ransom. There are other dangers out here aside from her, and you'd be leaving Puck and I alone with these men, whom I still don't trust."

"The Marshall will take care o'you two just fine," the coyote growled, not paying attention to me in the least.

"Wait, what?!" the fox asked, alarmed. "Where are you going?!"

"One of Grant's men says he saw the Wraith Lion," I said with a sigh.

"Ransom, no!" the fox said insistently. "It's the middle of the night! This trail's dangerous enough during the day!"

"You ain't talkin' me outta this, fox," the coyote stated point-blank, standing and checking his rifle.

Puck stepped out of the tent, making his way towards the coyote, putting his hands out in a placating gesture. "Ransom, please," Puck said softly, "this is. . . this is crazy. Just. . . wait until the morning, at least. We can stay up here on the trail as long as you want and hunt, if that's what you want to do. We don't have to follow the Marshalls. We can just stay up here, and you can look for her for as long as you want, just not-"

"That man said he saw her two hours back along the trail," the coyote finally turned his eyes on the two of us, and I saw immediately that there'd be no talking him down from this. The intensity there was burning like a hot coal. I'd felt that fire before, in my own heart. "I ain't ever been this close, Puck. Not since I saw her. . . ."

His gaze went somewhat glassy at that, and he slowly swept it up along the steep slope of the high mountain, visible even in the dark as the moonlight reflected on the permanently-frozen peaks.

I couldn't judge him for this. My own hunt consumed my life, it would be hypocritical to say his was any more irrational. Especially if the beast truly was real.

". . . I'll go with him." I said at length.

Both men turned to regard me in shock. Ransom was silent, but I thought I saw a hint of gratitude in his eyes. Puck, however. . . .

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?!" The fox demanded, looking incredulously between the two of us. "Now you're both going to throw your lives away for this fantasy?!"

"She's real, damnit! I've seen her!"

"While you were lost in the mountains, freezing, bleeding and delirious!" the fox yelled right back, mustering the most aggressive stance I'd ever seen him take against the coyote. Even Ransom seemed surprised.

"Puck. . . ." I tried to carefully interject by putting my paw on the small fox's shoulder.

"No, I'm sick of this!" Puquanah said defiantly, pulling back from my touch. "The God's Maw, that season in the Saskawanee Pass, every gods-be-damned night you've made me sit up, terrified you weren't ever going to return from a hunting trip. . . I'm tired of this insane obsession! Even if the animal is real, IT isn't the one who hurt you, Ransom. Dominick is!"

"Don't you talk about my cousin," the coyote said in a low, threatening growl.

"Look at his scar, Shivah," the fox demanded. "I can't see it, but I've touched it, and I know it wasn't made by an animal. That's a knife wound!"

"You shut your damned mouth, fox!" Ransom snapped.

"You're hunting a ghost, Ransom!" the fox shouted, unabated. "And it's going to get you killed! I'm scared for you!" His voice broke on the last words, and through the anger, I saw what I knew Ransom must have seen, too. That fear he'd spoken to me about. . . of being alone, of losing the coyote.

Even Ransom went silent, turning his eyes away.

"Puck. . . ." I said softly, hesitantly putting my paw on his shoulder again. This time he didn't pull away. I dropped my voice, murmuring, "I know. . . what we talked about, but. . . this. . . ."

"He's not going to back down from," the fox finished, quietly. Then he looked towards Ransom. The coyote just stared back at him, stoicly.

"We'll be back before dawn," I promised quietly. "I'll bring him back. I swear."

"If you aren't back before the sun rises," the fox said softly, but with evident difficulty, to the coyote, "then. . . I'm leaving. I'll go on with the Marshalls. I will not wait. Don't test me."

"You said you'd stand by me if I stayed here to hunt!" the coyote insisted.

"That was if you made any concession about going out tonight!" the fox snapped right back. "And you weren't willing to do that! If you're not willing to be reasonable, Ransom, then don't expect me to be! I'm tired. I'm sick to death of this. This is the last time I'll stand by while you hunt this creature. So choose."

Ransom looked at the fox for a further few moments, then he slowly turned away and went back to gathering the rest of his things. The fox gave a soft sigh, his shoulders slumping. Then he just turned and went for his own pack, gathering the things he'd need to treat the injured man in camp.

"If you're so much as an hour late," the fox reminded the coyote quietly, "in the morning. . . I'll be gone."

And then he left, making his way towards the center of camp.

"He's serious, Ransom," I said to the coyote, leveling my gaze his way. "Puck's perfectly capable of making his way in the world without you. So let's get this done, and no matter what we find, I'm returning before dawn."

"Wondering who put all this bravado in him," Ransom said pointedly, narrowing his eyes at me.

I just narrowed my eyes back at him. "You're lucky to have him at all," I said in a hard tone. "It's about time you started giving a damn about how he feels."

"You're a bad influence, cat."

By the time we'd made our way into camp, things seemed to be calming down. Most of the men were gathered around the fire again, their attention now on their injured companion, whom Puck was already attending to. Connall looked on, a hint of distrust in his eyes as Puquanah instructed some of the men to hold the black-furred Otherwolf down while he set the bone. I couldn't really blame him. For all his gruffness, Connall seemed almost a disciplinary father-figure to these men, he was probably just being protective.

"Wickham!" Ransom called out across the camp to the husky, who was looking on worriedly, as well. "Ye nied eh meri."

Grant made his way towards us, right at about the moment the men must have set the man's bone, because his scream made the husky flinch and look back.

"He'll be fine," Ransom said in Katuk, presumably for my benefit. "Puck knows what he's doin'."

"He's blind," Grant stated the obvious, "can he really-"

"He does most of it by touch an' smell, and he's set plenty o'my bones before. You won't find a better healer anywhere. Now come on, man. A horse."

"Are you going after her?" the husky asked as we walked over towards where the horses were tied.

"Of course."

The husky nodded. "Then I'm coming with you."

"Wait, what?" I interjected. "No!"

"More eyes wouldn'a exactly be a bad thing. . . ." the coyote admitted.

"You should stay with your men," I insisted, "and besides which, what do you care about a wild animal? Ransom, how does he even know about this?"

". . . you honestly think I ain't mentioned her to all o'them, yet?" The coyote snuffed. "I tell everyone I'm huntin' her, in case anyone's seen her."

"I've heard tales of the Wraith Lion for almost five years now," the husky said as he began to untie his mare. Ransom selected another, a plain brown one that likely belonged to the company. "I used to be a Road Warden in these parts."

I thought I heard Ransom snort, but the husky ignored it. "If that beast actually exists," Grant said as he gathered his saddle, "she's a danger to everyone on this trail. And she hurt one of my men."

"Did it attack him?"

"Not. . . exactly," Grant admitted, "but her darting across the trail was what spooked his horse."

"He shouldn't have been riding at night," I said with a sigh, as I weighed quite possibly one of the most impossible decisions in my life. Impossible because neither option was appealing.

I was either going to have to mount up with Ransom. . . or Grant.

"He wasn't," the husky said as he tightened the straps on his gelding's saddle and let down the stirrups. "It was two hours ago, he was about to encamp for the night, and apparently that beast came out of nowhere and bounded across the trail."

"So we've got a little ways to go," the coyote grunted as he hefted himself up onto his own horse sans a saddle.

"Prefer bareback, do you?" the husky noted with an arched eyebrow.

"Always," the coyote flashed a grin.

The two men shared a chuckle that mostly just confused me, although I could tell by the dirty grin on the yote's face and the briefly embarassed look Grant spared my way that it had been something disgusting.

"I never should have introduced you two," I muttered. "And I don't buy that nonsense about wanting to defend the trails, or whatever it was you said," I glared at Grant. "You just want to hunt a giant. . . legendary. . . monster lion."

"I'll have you know I took my job of defending the roadways quite seriously, once," Grant insisted, defensively. But a smile was cutting its way through his features, and he couldn't entirely hide it. "And. . . I'd like to hunt a giant legendary monster lion."

"Only a man would say that."

"If you're gonna travel with nothin' but men," Ransom said to me as he lashed his rifle tighter to his back, "you'd best get used to the things we say."

"Shall we be off, then?" Grant asked, stepping up into his saddle and straightening his long coat out a moment before looking down towards me, and slowly offering a hand.

I looked at it for a long, long moment, flicking my eyes up to his and blowing out a breath. He kept it out, though, and despite the fact that he'd kept his distance from me since the last time I'd nearly ripped his head off, there was the barest hint of hope there in his expression, now.

"Oh for god's sake," Ransom's voice cut through the quiet, and he turned his horse and began taking off down the trail, calling back over his shoulder, "it ain't a marriage proposal! Just get on the damned horse!"

I shook back any embarassment at the coyote's shout and clapped my paw into Grant's, letting him pull me up into the saddle. The man shouldered my bow and quiver for me, then took the reins.

"Apologies," Grant said over my shoulder, as he wrapped an arm around my waist, "but this time I'll need to keep you a bit closer. I mean no indecency."

He gave a shout at his horse and a harder than usual tap of his ankles, and then suddenly, we were really moving.

I muffled a surprised cry and grabbed at the end of the horse's mane with one hand, the other closing around Grant's paw. . . anywhere so that I didn't fall off. I'd never been on a horse at a gallop, before. The difference between a trot was intense.

"I've got you," the husky assured me in a deep rumble, his muzzle over my shoulder. He held me tighter.

I sucked in a breath, trying to fall into the rhythm of the horse the way he so easily was. I needed to learn how to ride. It was clear I wouldn't get far as a traveler until I did.

For the moment, though. . . I was growing more fond of this than I probably should have been.