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Chapter 30 – Unclouded
(part 1/2)

We made it down the cliffs the following morning, hitting the forest floor before the sun had even entirely risen. We didn't want to risk being near the nests at any point in the daylight hours, since that's when the Cathazra were most active. Johannes was doing much better by then, although his arm very badly needed to be seen to by a Physician, and quickly. If I'd been wrong, and it was a break, it would need to be re-set. He bore it all so stoically though, it was hard to tell how much pain he was in.

The chest wounds at least hadn't been deep, and they looked to be healing well. And the symptoms of the head wound didn't seem to be affecting him any more, save the fact that he'd admitted to having a hell of a headache. That was to be expected, though.

My thoughts occasionally flickered back in time to the days following Grant's death, and how different my life might have been, if he'd just had a 'close call', like the wolfhound had. But just as I began that whimsical train of thought, I remembered where we were, the very real dangers we still faced, and sharpened back on the present. Now was not a good time for daydreaming.

When we hit the bottom of the cliffs and began our trek into the sprawling, messy forests beyond, I noticed Ransom had been looking back towards the bluffs an awful lot. If he were just looking for pursuers, they were more likely to come at us from behind us, from the winding paths we'd taken through the brush along the hillside. And he wasn't looking to the skies, either. He seemed to be looking down towards where the coastline crashed into the peaks, far off in the distance. I couldn't imagine why, so I decided I'd ask.

“What is it?” I asked, as I moved up beside him, keeping my eyes on my footing. We were walking through a marshy, reedy area for now, on the outlying edge of the forest, and it was a likely place for Wyrm ambushes and traps, so I was keeping my eyes peeled.

“. . . huh?” the coyote muttered after a few moments, only seeming to realize I'd wanted an anwer to my question belatedly. “Uh. . . nothin',” he sighed.

“. . . thinking about the nests?” I ventured. He seemed to be looking up towards the cliffs, from where we'd come from, specifically, so that was my best guess.

“Naw,” the coyote grunted. “I ain't gonna overthink that'n too much.”

My eyebrows knitted. “You've made your decision on that?” His silence was telling, so I sighed. “Well?” I pressed.

“Ah don't like th'Admiral,” he muttered. “So you ain't got nothin' to worry about. It ain't even that I don't think we should report this. Ah just. . . don't wanna talk t'that man.”

I nodded, even though I knew it was a lie. The coyote's morals had won out, in the end. He just didn't want to be seen as soft, and that was fine by me. And we did still have time. If things got close to the wire and it became clear that a lot of people. . . possibly even Puck. . . might die because of the decision we'd made, though. . . I didn't trust his resolve to hold out.

Even mine might not. I couldn't know until we got to that point. But it wasn't worth thinking about right now.

“So then what's wrong?” I asked, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject.

The coyote growled something under his breath, then, when I leaned in, sighed and repeated, “I was hopin' we'd find that beast's corpse, is all. But it must've fallen further down towards th'cliffs.”

I gave him a bizarre look. “The Dragon? Why, for gods' sake? I promise you, it's dead. And there are a lot more live ones where it came from that we need to worry about.” A sudden thought crossed my mind, about the coyote's profession, and I recoiled. “Ransom, you can't. . . you didn't want to skin it, did you?”

The coyote's ears fell back and he whirled on me with a look of disgust. “Goddamnit cat, no! I ain't depraved! That's disgustin'!”

I held up my hands. “I know,” I insisted, “I know, I-I just. . . I can't imagine what else you'd want from-”

“That thing was wearin' gold,” the coyote said, cutting me off. “A lot of it. I'd heard tell their adornments was worth a lot. I was hopin' if we ran into one of 'em, I'd be able to strip off whatever was valuable. But it fell, so I ain't got nothin' out of this whole mess.”

I blinked at the statement. It made sense, of course, but it still seemed somewhat uncharacteristic for the coyote. Not that he didn't care about money at all, he'd wheeled and dealed for his furs back at Crossroads, and he liked to have enough to live on. But there was an edge of desperation to his tone right now, and I knew for a fact he'd been receiving enough to live on from the military garrison here, which was generally all the coyote wanted for. A warm place to sleep and enough food to fill his belly. And. . . buy cigarettes and booze, both of which he'd seemed to have more than enough of, of late. Apparently they could grow a lot of tobacco in this climate, so it was inexpensive. 'The one upside to this place', as Ransom had put it.

Then again, I'd also been thinking of ways to make money, of late. Or at least trying to, I was piss poor at understanding currency or what was of value to Otherwolves. Of course in my case it wasn't for pleasure's sake, I just wanted to help-

“Oh!” I'd paused in my step, and I rushed the few feet between through the grass to grab at the coyote's arm, suddenly. “He told you, didn't he?”

Ransom's expression said it all.

“Oh thank the gods,” I blew out a breath. “Keeping that secret was eating me up inside.”

“Y'should've told me as soon as he told you,” the coyote growled. “I'm right pissed th'both of you kept this from me as long's you did.”

I punched him in the arm, hard enough that I saw him wince. “Have you proposed?” His ears fell at my comment, and I snorted. “Then I don't want to hear it. Hypocrite!” A few silent beats passed between us as we continued to push through the reeds, before I asked the obvious question. “And. . . you're going along with it?”

“I don't got much choice in th'matter, do I?” the coyote grunted. “You know the fox. Once his mind's made up on somethin', it's like tryin' t'budge a mountain. He was even too stubborn t'stay dead.”

I chuckled, looking back up at the coyote, affectionately. “Ransom,” I said after a few moments, in a more serious tone, “he values your feelings. More than his own sometimes, I think. If you told him you didn't want him to get the surgery-”

“Don't tell me that,” the coyote cut me off. His eyes were on the skyline, vigilant for drakes or other dangers, but I knew he wasn't seeing much of anything in front of him right now. “I gotta feel I don't got a choice in this, Shivah. Ah don't. . .” he scrubbed a paw over his muzzle, “. . . ah don't. . . want to tell him what t'do with his life. This oughta' be his choice. No matter how much ah hate it. I ain't the kinda' man who tells th'people e'loves they ain't allowed to see. . . just because ah'm afraid of bein' alone again.”

I was nearly staggered off my feet by the deep pang of respect I felt lancing through me at the coyote's words. And the sudden realization that he'd. . . changed. . . more than I'd ever given him credit for, this last year.

And I still had a long way to go. Because if I was in his position, I'm not certain I could have made the choice he had. Not where a loved one was concerned. Even though it was the right thing to do. I was still too afraid of losing everyone in my life. Petrified, even.

“. . . that's very brave, Ransom,” I murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He just shook it off. “Puck's the brave'un. I'm quakin' in mah britches. Ah'm just. . . not interferin'.

“So,” I said, quietly, “he's definitely going through with it?”

The coyote nodded. “Think so. He's talked t'the Physician about havin' it done, at least. Ah know that much. Ah don't know when. . . but. . . after he has it done, he needs these. . . spectacles.”

I nodded, “He told me.” I reached down and grabbed for a loose stick, sticking it in the marshy mud a few paces in front of us before crossing the patch. It had looked a little suspect, like a sinkhole, but apparently it was just normal mud. I leapt it anyway. “Are they really that expensive?” I asked over my shoulder at the coyote. He was waiting for the wolfhound to catch up. He'd been lagging a few paces behind us the entire way, still tired no doubt, but keeping up steadily despite his injuries.

“More'n I'd make in a year, back home,” the coyote muttered, with a sigh. “And that's a good year. Out here I can't even hunt, and there ain't much of a market. My skills ain't worth bunk, here. And the military pay's just enough to pay our way to live here. . . everythin's so expensive in this place. I don't know what t'do.”

“I wish I had an answer for you,” I murmured. But I didn't, and I'd been thinking on it for weeks now. Really, the whole thing seemed idiotic, but it was still daunting. The difficult choice here had already been made, if Puck had decided to go through with the surgery after all. That should have been the hard part.

It was somewhat cruel that, even after weighing his odds and making such a hard choice, even if he were to survive and heal from the operation. . . he could still be left mostly blind. Without the spectacles, Forrest had told us it would be like looking through a foggy glass, except when objects were extremely close to him. And even then. . . .

“We'll figure something out,” I promised the coyote with a firm nod. “It's not even as if it's something we have to do here. Puck's been blind a very long time now. If he has to wait until we make it back to our lands to get these. . . spectacles. . . even if it means you have to save your earnings for a few years, I know you'll do what's necessary, Ransom.”

“Damned straight,” the coyote growled.

I smiled up at him. “Then let's focus on the present, for now. Being there for Puck while he endures this, and making certain we get out of this place alive.”

“Yer bleedin' heart ain't helpin' us there,” the coyote muttered.

“Our bleeding hearts.”

The coyote grumbled, but he didn't bother denying it. He did, however, speak again after a brief pause. And when he did, he'd dropped his voice. “. . . y'know, all yer guiltin' me and yer goddamn stubbornness ain't gonna mean a thing in th'world if the wolfhound talks.”

I had to briefly glance over my shoulder at that to see if Johannes had heard us, but he was busily navigating the same sinkhole we had a few moments ago, and seemed more interested in keeping up the pace despite his injuries above listening in on our conversation.

“. . . do you really think he will?” I asked him in a low whisper. “He seems like a good man. I think the thought disturbs him as much as it does us.”

“Ah think the thoughta' betrayin' his Lord will disturb him more,” the coyote muttered. “But I guess we'll see, won't we?”

The thought that the man whose life I'd just risked everything to save might be the instrument of the same sort of merciless slaughter we'd seen from the Raiders sank into my gut like a lead weight. But Ransom was right. Good man or no, this wolfhound, the man whom I'd poured my heart out to last night, might be a comrade to us now, but his loyalty still undoubtedly lay with the Amurescan Lords here. Especially the damned Admiral, whom I had no doubt would use this information if he ever heard of it. The cattle dog had been willing to drag Grayson's entire fleet into this mess by way of deception and trap them here in the middle of a warzone, after all. He'd all but admitted to it.

Situations like this forced me to wonder how it was ever possible to make the right decision. It seemed like no matter what I'd done in my life of late, no matter how obvious the moral choice had seemed at the time, there was always some unintended consequence of my actions. If saving a man's life. . . a man who was willingly throwing himself to the monsters at our backs in a purely selfless act, to save his men. . . hadn't been the right thing to do, then what could be?

And yet here we were. We'd saved his life, and at the time I'd felt I was almost undoing a wrong from my past. . . protecting a comrade in the heat of battle, something I'd failed to do for Grant. I should have been elated.

Instead, I was beginning to wonder if I should have let him die. Because now we shared our secret with him. And unlike Ransom, I didn't trust him to keep it.

“It's all so maddening,” I said, catching the coyote by surprise. And why wouldn't I? That had probably come out of nowhere to him. He hadn't been taking part in my mental conversation, after all.

“What is?” he asked, idly chopping at a jagged frond with his hunting knife.

“It's like no matter how hard I try,” I said in an irritated tone, “I can never really take the right path. Every road I take finds some way to twist back into gnarled,” I shoved the same bent frond out of the way, and kicked down another cracked, sharp-edged dead jungle plant of some sort, “thorny. . . difficult terrain. Pitfalls I never seen coming. It's shit. I hate it.”

The coyote barked a laugh, “I take it yer not talkin' about the jungle.” When I snuffed, he gave a surprisingly easy smile, the way he did whenever he was about to say something he knew more about than me. “Shivah, that's life. 'Specially fer people like us, who don't take the beaten path. S'always gonna be difficult. Yer never gonna be entirely certain y'did right. Even folks who live easy, direct lives ain't got that kinda' conviction. And if they do, they're arrogant shits.”

I gave a frustrated snarl. “It shouldn't be this hard to do the right thing, though.”

The coyote shrugged. “So long as yer intent's good, Shivah. . . all'at matters is that y'tried. Shit happens, people fuck up, gods know ah make mistakes all the time,” he muttered. “Y'can't control th'world. You just get wise to it as y'get older, and make better choices as y'go.”

I glanced over at him. “Since when did you become a philosopher?” I asked, mildly amused by his sudden bout of insightful rhetoric.

The coyote's fur whipped in the light breeze coming in off the ocean a mile or so away. Even this far from the shore, I could smell it. He was looking towards it as well, probably having caught the same scent I had.

“Them's my father's words, actually,” he said quietly. “Old 'yote. . . was honestly a smarter man than I ever gave'm credit fer. I was just. . .” he glanced down, slowing his pace some, “. . . a wild little'un. Bent on not listenin' to my old man. I wish I had, more. Man had some wisdom.”

I pursed my muzzle a moment, before asking, “Have you ever considered going back home to see them again, Ransom? Your parents?”

The coyote was silent for a span after that. “Yeah,” he said at length. “Ah jes'. . . been afraid, I guess. Knowin'. . . they're gonna ask about Dominick.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. That was an aspect of his reality I'd never even considered until this moment, and I felt foolish. Not just for thinking the issues that might come with the coyote returning home would all evaporate in the face of parental love. . . although that in and of itself was a naive thought on my part, and I knew it. My own tormented relationship with my parents, who'd given me up to an abusive man, knowing who he was, should have shattered my perception of unconditional parental love. But I guess in the recesses of my mind, I still wanted to hope other people's families were the ideal I'd always wanted in mine.

But the fact was, even if that was the case, even if the coyote's parents truly did love him and had simply never gotten a chance to save him from the clutches of the man whose control he's thrown himself into. . . that didn't mean they'd pity him for the choice he'd made. Or that they'd accept him for who he was now. I could imagine a thousand nightmarish scenarios for him returning home, and only really one good, very unlikely one.

They could blame him for running away with Dominick. They could pity him to the point of being unable to see him as anything but a victim any longer. They could blame him for killing his cousin. They could force him to cut himself off from Puquanah, out of the same fear that had haunted him for years. . . that he was only in love with the fox because of what Dominick had done to him. That he'd been corrupted, twisted by his cousin, and couldn't ever have 'natural' relationships with women anymore, because of what had happened to him.

I'd known the two men long enough to know their love was real, had seen it first hand, knew it was the only reason both of them were alive right now. But they hadn't seen what I'd seen. And people had their prejudices.

I knew one thing for certain. If Ransom tried to reconnect with his parents, and they opened those wounds again. . . if two people he'd once loved, whose opinions would stick in him like a knife. . . made him feel the same old doubts he'd felt before. . . it could tear him apart. It could tear him and Puck apart.

And he probably knew that.

“. . . Ransom?” I said. The coyote tipped an ear back towards me, but didn't turn. “Your parents,” I said softly, “even if it wasn't by their doing, haven't been a part of your life for a very long time. If when you go back home, you decide to seek them out. . . I think that would be great. But they. . . they don't need to know everything that's happened in your life over the last few years. Sometimes, some parts of ourselves are so personal, they don't bear sharing with everyone.”

“They're my family, Shivah,” the coyote murmured, turning to look at me. “You suggestin' I hide those parts o'me from'em?”

I hesitated only a moment, before saying, “You know them best, Ransom. Do you think. . . there's any way they'd accept you. . . if they knew?”

The coyote's silence said more than any response could have.

“Pick your battles,” I said quietly, but intently. “Don't give yourself that kind of pain.”

“They're family.”

“Then just don't involve them in those aspects of your life,” I said. “Or don't seek them out again. Enjoy your memories. We're your family too, Ransom. At least. . . I'd like to think so.”

The coyote put a calloused palm on top of my head and mussed my hair some. I batted at him. He was smiling tiredly down at me. “Aye, cat, yer right,” he said at length. “Ah don't even know why I've been thinkin' about the old man, of late. . . .”

“I'd venture to guess it's because you're considering getting marr-”

“Never should've bloody told you about that,” the coyote growled.

“It's sweet,” I said with an impish smile. I swear, the man rolled his eyes. In that exaggerated sort of way he did out of affection. “Well you have to at least tell him about the rings,” I said, jabbing him in the ribs with an elbow. “Talk about it.”

“Why? It ain't even like it's possible.”

“. . . if it was, would that change your opinion on the matter?”

The coyote briefly glanced down at me at that, but then he just swept his eyes back to the horizon. “I got time,” he said at length. “On that, a'least. I don't see no need t'rush, when we got so much else goin' on. All the miserable shit goin' on in my life right now. . . the fox a'least is a constant. Only thing now's gettin' b'tween us is death, and if that happens, I ain't exactly got no more worries, do I?”

“You're so certain of that,” I sighed, shaking my head.

“Yeah, I am actually,” the coyote stated, bluntly. “There ain't a whole lot I can count on in mah life, but Puck's one thing ah know I can. Only thing that'd take him away from me is the damned reaper, and I'm doin' my best right now t'make sure that don't happen. And. . . Forrest will do his damndest too, ah'm sure.” He pulled ahead of me at that, purposefully putting some distance between us. “So don't you worry yerself about the two of us'n our 'relationship' no more, cat,” he said over his shoulder at me. “That's one bit ah think we've finally got all worked out.”

I watched him plow ahead, too dumbstruck to move for a little while. The coyote was audacious at time, but this was beyond the pale. He was in no place to be that confident about Puck's loyalty to him, after all he'd put the fox through. . . and was continuing to put him through, if my talks with Puck were any indication. I knew full well it was only a matter of time before the fox did something about it all, too. He was a patient soul, but he had his limits. It made me more than a little irate to think the coyote considered Puquanah so firmly 'his' that he didn't realize the increasingly tenuous state of things between him and the fox. What they'd been through in the mountains must have given him a big head. As if accepting that he wanted the relationship with Puck now was enough that it would be so. Without any real effort at empathizing or showing some damned loyalty to his partner.

The maturity he'd shown at letting Puck make his own decision in having the surgery was a step in the right direction. But he had a long way to go.

I must have been standing there for some time, because the wolfhound caught up to me. I felt his presence at my side, and looked up to see the man catching his breath, the morning sun casting a shadow over me from his tall figure. He tilted his muzzle down at me, curiously.

“That looked rather. . . animated,” he said, indicating the coyote. “What was that all about?”

I sighed. “Denial.”

“Oh?” the wolfhound's scruffy moustache turned up in an amused smile.

“My friend,” I paused, wording this carefully, “has a very complex, unnecessarily dramatic love-life.”

Strangely, the wolfhound only patted my shoulder at that. “I feel your pain,” he muttered, “I have one just like him back home.”



“I think we've narrowed it down to the water supply,” Puck murmured, as he dug through his pouch for something, a sewing needle stuck out of the corner of his muzzle. He was in the midst of working on something that looked a lot like a wrist brace. I briefly wondered if it was for the wolfhound. They'd improvised something a few days ago when we'd made it back to Serwich and he'd come here to be treated, but I'd seen him since then, and it didn't seem adequate to me. He was mending well, but had mentioned that the brace came loose too easily. Likely because the straps were hard for him to tighten one-handed, not being sewn into the leather they'd cobbled together.

They were low on supplies in this place, though. A lot of people were going without necessary medicine, or medical supplies. From what I'd seen, that's primarily what Puck had been working on while spending his time here over the last two months. That and talking to Forrest about the Seer's Fever, as well as assisting in the few cases they saw of it here. Apparently, for all his superior training, Puck actually was more knowledgable about how to treat the fever than the Otherwolf Physician. Likely because of his crash course in Serahaven, seeing every flavor and horror of the illness first-hand. From what Puck had told me, most of the people who'd come to Serwich had gotten vaccinated against the illness, since they'd had prior knowledge of its prevalence here. And the few that hadn't that came in from time to time were usually isolated before it could become a contagion. They knew how to look for the symptoms here, knew to expect it.

“They're paranoid about it,” Puck muttered out of the corner of his mouth, before plucking the needle out, and handing it to me to be threaded. There were still some things that he simply couldn't do without sight. Re-threading a needle was one. He usually kept some pre-threaded in his bag for medical emergencies, but this was more a sewing project.

“About what?” I asked.

“The water supply,” he said. “It's long been suspected that's how the disease spreads, and. . . I have to concur. It seems likely. The question, of course, is how.”

“That does make sense,” I murmured thoughtfully. “A lot of the settlements in Carvecia that got the fever were along the river.”

“A lot of otters, in particular,” the fox nodded. “Which is another factor that makes me think it has to be in the water. There's just a few things that don't fit.”

“Such as?” I asked, mostly making conversation at this point. When the fox got like this, I knew full well I couldn't keep up. But Forrest was away treating patients, and I'm sure he'd already had this talk with him. At length.

“Well here, we could say it's natural to the environment, somehow,” the fox said with a sigh. “I mean, we don't really know where it comes from, ultimately. Perhaps it comes from the animals here, or the insects, or the Cathazra themselves. It's hard to say. But whatever the case, because it's endemic to this land, cases of it appearing. . . seemingly out of nowhere can be explained. Especially with the river running through this settlement. It could be coming from anywhere upstream. The mountains, animals in the wilderness, the Cathazra settlements. . . .”

“Isn't it bad that it's that vague?” I asked, suddenly concerned. “I mean, if you can't isolate the root of it, how are we going to end the spread back home? Isn't that what we came here for? To figure out how it's spreading, and stop that?”

“Precisely,” Puck nodded. “But back home, we actually have a chance. Back home it's spreading through the population, primarily. Whatever the source of it is, that source is here. We might not be able to isolate that source just yet, but presumably, unless it's coming from a population of livestock or something else that was brought to Carvecia, if we can stop it from spreading through the populace there-”

“There won't be a source for new infections,” I said, understanding.

“Well. . . there always will be that, unfortunately,” the fox sighed, “so long as people are sailing between the two continents, someone new could bring the Fever to Carvecia again. In fact, I'd say that's a fargone conclusion. All the same, if we're just treating isolated cases, and we can stop those isolated cases from spreading, we've pretty much beaten the disease.”

“So that brings us back to stopping it from spreading,” I muttered. “I feel like we're going in circles here, Puck.”

“It has to be the water supply,” the fox said with a sigh. “There's too many coincidences for it not to be. But a few things don't fit, in that case, which is what's frustrating me.”

“Mnh?” I leaned on my palm.

“Serahaven, for one,” the fox said, sticking up one finger. “I talked to the people who lived there, Shivah. They weren't ignorant. Mice can be remarkably meticulous. They had a town well. They didn't use the river for drinking water, only washing clothing and watering livestock. And even if that's where the disease came from. . . how?” He spread his hands, as if at a loss. “The only settlements up-river from Serahaven were the ones closer to the valley. Disregarding the chance that the disease somehow came from some isolated traveller we never found who somehow got his fluids or corpse in the river nearby. . . and I'm not saying that isn't a possibility, but. . . every settlement that was hit by the Fever further North, especially those along the river, has to have been hit by the Raiders. They wouldn't have missed an infected town along the river, since that's how they travelled.”

“Maybe it was from a settlement even further North along the river?” I offered.

“That's an awfully long way for a disease to travel, especially in the winter,” Puck sighed. “It seems far-fetched. And the outbreak that hit Serahaven was acute. It hit hard, and fast. Nearly everyone in the town was infected in a very short span of time. That's the sort of outbreak I wouldn't expect to see unless there was a massive surge of the disease making it into their water nearby, somehow.”

I shrugged. “It's possible the Raiders missed a settlement,” I offered.

“I have to believe I'd have heard about that,” Puck muttered.

“. . . or didn't burn all the corpses?”

“That's more plausible,” Puck sighed. “But it doesn't make figuring this out any easier. Finding the solution here is easier if I think in absolutes.”

“But not necessarily true,” I muttered.

“Therein lies my problem,” Puck said with a frustrated snap of his teeth. “I really need to know all factors absolutely to come to an accurate conclusion, here. And that's impossible. I'm honestly just hoping for a bolt of inspiration, at this point. Something obvious I'm missing.”

“Well I can't help you there,” I said, sliding off the cot he was sitting on and getting to my feet with a stretch. “Nor with your sewing any more, I'm afraid. I have to go.”

The fox's ears perked, and he looked a bit disappointed. “Really?” he queried. “I'd been hoping you'd stay longer today. Where are you going?”

“The Navy Lodge,” I replied. “There's a war meeting there today, and. . . for once. . . I've been invited. I figure that means it's not all that important, but Johannes invited me along, so I figured I'd make the most of it. Learn what I can.”

The fox arched an eyebrow. “. . . Johannes?” he parroted.

“The wolfhound, the one Ransom and I serve under,” I said, bristling a bit defensively. I hadn't told the fox about what had happened on the cliffs, or since, and he was irritatingly perceptive sometimes.

He seemed to brush it off, though. “Well,” he mused a moment, “can I come?”

“Um,” I paused, “I. . . I suppose. You're technically with the defense force here. And I don't think this is one of their secretive meetings, or I wouldn't be invited. I'm guessing they're just assuaging local merchants' fears and going over the 'hypothetical' evacuation. Although I think that excuse is wearing thin at this point. . . .”

“Yes,” the fox nodded. “I'm fairly certain the people all know it's coming, now. The nurses talk about it all the time. People are making preparations.”

I began shouldering my cloak, then looked down at the fox, tilting my head. “You know,” I said, “if you can afford to take time off today, you should go be with Ransom. He's not stationed on the wall today, and it's a few days before our next scouting mission. Why don't you two go spend some time together?”

The fox looked away, which I'd always found to be a reminder that he hadn't been born blind, a habit from a previous life. “We saw each other this morning,” he muttered. “It's. . . things are uncomfortable with he and I right now. Can I please just spend some time with you today, Shivah? I won't be a bother.”

“Oh for god's sake,” I growled, “are you avoiding him?”

“. . . no,” the fox said at length, running a paw up his arm in a gesture that looked to me to be oddly. . . guilty. “I just- like I said, things are just awkward. I'm giving him the day to think. I'm sure it will all work itself out in the end.”

“I don't want to know,” I said, slicing a hand through the air. “Don't involve me this time, Puck. You two need to start working your problems out on your own. I am not your fixer, and the more I help, the more it's enabling you two not to solve these things yourselves.”

“That's fine,” the fox said, still with that strangely guilty look about him. I couldn't put my finger on it, exactly. It was unusual to see on him. Usually when he was fighting with Ransom, he was angry. Rightfully so, most of the time. This was something else.

I decided to follow my own advice, and think on it no longer. It was so hard not to mother the two men, but I really needed to stop intervening, or they'd continue to rely on me.

We headed off for the Navy Lodge, a sort of all-purpose building for the Navymen and a city center for a lot of other functions in the middle of the settlement. It was a large log building, with one main hall and several adjoining offices, although I'd only ever been in the hall before, and only a few times.

I helped Puck inside, after explaining to the door guards that he was here from the triage unit. They seemed to accept that with a disinterested nod, which confirmed my suspicion that this couldn't have been a terribly important meeting, or they'd be more choosy about who they let in. Despite that, there weren't exactly throngs of people inside. Mostly faces I recognized. . . the Admiral, of course, currently speaking with a barrel-chested canine in a blue coat who seemed to be missing half an arm, a few men from the wall I knew, one of Grayson's messengers (the wolf himself likely hadn't thought this meeting important enough to wake up for) and several other navymen and military types I'd seen around, but couldn't put names to.

The lodge smelled of wood, lamp oil and dogs, and by the time we got there people seemed to be settling in, which was for the best, because Puck would have had a hell of a time navigating the place otherwise. As it was, I led him to a good corner where we could stand, since the only places at the table were for the higher-ups.

I felt a familiar presence slide in beside me, and looked up to see the wolfhound giving me a polite nod. He probably could have sat at the table if he'd wanted to, but a man like him, I'm certain, preferred to watch the action from a distance. Especially somewhere where he could see the entire room at once, with an unobstructed view of the door. I'd chosen this spot carefully. Not that I felt it necessary at this meeting, just. . . habit.

“Anything important coming up for discussion today?” I asked the tall canine.

The man glanced briefly down at me, then back towards the long table, where discussions had begun. A jowly canine of some sort had started things off, prattling away at the Admiral about something or other he seemed irate about. I was only vaguely listening, and honestly, so was the Admiral, by the look of it. He seemed more interested in idly chewing on the tip of his quill pen.

“Mostly Treasury matters,” the wolfhound said in a thoroughly flat tone, like even he found this tiresome. I knew then that we were in for a long, boring meeting. “Serwich's Treasury is actually rather impressive, considering the size of our settlement,” he said. “Back when trade was good, we exported far more than we imported, and we haven't been able to purchase much of anything in the last year. Not to mention the gold we've won in the war with the Cathazra. We have more money than supplies. Not that it's of any value, without the latter,” he muttered. “But it is, of course, the main thing the merchants and the Pedigrees are grousing over and worrying about divying up before the exodus.”

“I'll be happy to escape with our lives,” I sighed.

“They don't seem to realize the peril they're all in,” the wolfhound agreed. “Pedigrees take it too much for granted that we're here to protect them. They never seem to consider that we might fail.”

I was about to remind him that his Admiral was a 'Pedigree', the term the Otherwolves used for their nobility, when I remembered that he'd once told me the cattle dog had humble roots of some sort. Watching him nearly dozing off in his palm now, that was suddenly easy to believe. He was only vaguely listening to the fat canine barking something about tax revenue at him, but he was still at least looking at the man.

Which is, I suppose, why I saw the threat closing in on him, and he did not.

I reached out and gripped at Puck's wrist suddenly, breathing out a soft, “. . . no. . . .” as I saw the coyote's lean frame step through the doorway. Even from thirty feet away, I could see the malice in his eyes, the anger boiling off of him in waves. . .

. . .and all of it directed at the back of the Admiral's skull.

The fox just sniffed. “Is that Ransom?” he asked, tipping his ears forward.

The wolfhound beside me must have sensed my tension, and glanced down at me questioningly for a moment, before following my gaze across the room. The second he saw the coyote stalking through the thin crowd, he seemed to catch on to the same permeating sense of impending disaster I had.

I knew even as I surged forward to try to cut the man off that there was no chance in hell I'd get there in time. This was happening, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Before I'd so much as made it halfway across the room, Ransom was at the Admiral's back, and without breaking stride in his step, had wheeled back a fist and connected with the side of the cattle dog's jaw.

The impact seemed to shock the Otherwolf more than anything. He staggered forward in his chair, slumping for a moment as he put a paw to the back of his head. When he slowly raised his muzzle in the moments following, he looked absolutely. . . perplexed. Not like someone who'd just been punched in the back of the head out of nowhere. More like he'd been dumbfounded with a riddle.

The entire room went silent. And I mean that. I don't think anyone breathed. And everyone, absolutely everyone, looked as confused and shocked as the Admiral.

The cattle dog slowly blinked up at the coyote, who was standing stooped over him, a trickle of a low growl the only sound slipping past his snarl, his fists balled at his sides. I think I'd honestly only ever seen Ransom this angry once or twice before in all the time I'd known him, and that was saying something, considering all we'd endured, and how prone the man was to anger.

The Admiral gave the coyote a long, curious look before, at length, simply inclining his head and asking, “I'm. . . I'm sorry. Do. . . I know you?”

“You. Me. Outside. NOW,” the coyote snapped, stabbing a finger towards the doorway. He levelled that broiling snarl at the man a moment or so longer to make his point, then turned and stalked back outside.

The cattle dog's perplexed stare followed the coyote the whole way out, before he slowly turned back to the table of merchants, dignitaries and naval men, who seemed to be expectantly waiting for some sort of explanation for the scene. He clearly had none to give.

Someone coughed, but other than that, silence pervaded for a few more moments. Finally, the cattle dog. . . shrugged, of all things. . . and slowly stood, pushing his chair back with a wooden squawk. He straightened his cravat and glanced down the length of the meeting table.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said, excusing himself with a demeanor so nonchalant, one would think the whole previous scene hadn't in fact transpired. “Apparently, I'm wanted outside.”

I felt the wolfhound beside me pushing ahead, and found myself following in his wake, towards the door. And the fox behind me. The room had erupted in murmurs, but I didn't much care what all these people thought of what had just happened, I was busily trying to make sense of it, myself. Johannes had a longer stride than me and made it to the door at about the same time the Admiral had, and was there to catch the man's red coat as he unshouldered it and handed it to him.

Meanwhile, all I could think was 'what on earth'? As far as I knew, Ransom had only had the most cursory of encounters with the cattle dog. I knew at least that he wasn't fond of him, but I'd always assumed Ransom just didn't like any Otherwolf in a position of power. Also the man came off like an arrogant piece of shit, sometimes. But still. Ransom didn't just pick fights at random, unless he at least thought he had a good reason. And he'd been angry. The only other times I'd seen him so angry, it was usually over-

I stopped dead in my tracks, and felt Puck bump into me from behind. The fox blinked up at me, trying to navigate around me to get out the door. I stopped where I was, blocking his path for a moment.

“Shivah, please,” the vulpine pleaded, “I want to see. . . listen. . . to this.”

“What in the hell did you do, Puck?” I growled, knowing the instant that guilt I'd seen earlier lanced across his expression that I was right. My muzzle dropped. “You didn't,” I gasped. More silent guilt from the fox followed, and I put a hand up over my mouth. “Puck!” I cried, exasperated.

An elbow bumped mine, and I looked up to see the wolfhound, who looked more annoyed than concerned, now. He was patiently folding the cattle dog's red coat over his arm. “If you're going to have this conversation,” he muttered in a low tone, “would you mind doing it outside, like your friend had the decency to? A public meeting hall isn't the right place for this sort of foolishness to take place in. There are a lot of ears about.”

Puck pushed past me at that point and rushed outside, and I wasn't sure I wanted to follow. I gave a disgusted snarl, crossing my arms over my chest. After a few moments, I glanced up at Johannes, who seemed to be uncertain about whether or not he should go back into the meeting hall or go out to watch over his friend, as well.

“Aren't you his bodyguard, or something?” I muttered.

“I told that man a long time ago,” the wolfhound said, “that it wasn't my job to protect him from the consequences of his own immoral behavior. If he wants to stew trouble with his loins, he can deal with the fallout himself.”

I sighed, uncertain if I should adopt the same attitude.

“Besides,” Johannes sighed, “I'm not exactly worried for him. The man can handle himself in a fight.”

“So can Ransom,” I warned him.

“You remember the Dragon, I take it?” the wolfhound asked.

“How could I forget?” I responded, glancing up at him questioningly.

“I've been fighting those beasts since we founded this colony,” the wolfhound said. “I've six kills to my name, mostly by way of well-placed pistol shots, and I'm including that one we triple-teamed on the cliff. The Admiral has slain twenty-three of them, throughout the few years he's been here,” he arched an eyebrow, “with a sword.”

“Damnit, Ransom. . . .” I moaned, and jogged outside.

By the time I'd made it out to the alley beside the Navy Lodge, the fight was already underway. Judging by the lack of blood, though, I'd probably caught it before things really got bad. Ransom was all wild energy and reckless abandon, as ever, and the cattle dog was in the midst of carefully side-stepping one of his wide swings, when I turned the corner and caught the tail end of whatever it was the coyote had been previously shouting.

“Don't play dumb, you shit!” Ransom snapped, recovering fairly quickly from the swing, and launching himself at the Admiral again. “You soddin' well know what'chu did!”

“I earnestly-” the cattle dog ducked, coming up laughing so hard, he almost seemed out of breath, “-have to tell you. . . I really don't!” He chuckled again , a feral grin split across his features, “But, if it's a dustup you want. . . .” He leveled a well-timed, clean shot at the coyote's muzzle at that, and I heard the crack as it connected. Ransom went sprawling to the ground, spitting and swiping a paw over his teeth as he shoved himself back up.

The cattle dog stood over him, letting him get up, but gesturing at his chest with both hands invitingly. “Give it to me good then, boy,” he growled a challenge at him, smiling. “I won't deny you a good beating, if that's what gets you off.”

“I can take you any day o'the week, old man!” the coyote snarled.

“Oh, lad,” the Admiral gave an almost sly smirk, one that would have been more at home on a feline than a canine, “don't say that until you've tried.”

The coyote gave an angry, indescribable sound somewhere between an obscene word and a snarl, and charged him again. And this time, his overwhelming ferocity seemed to catch the cattle dog by surprise. Ransom was nothing if not determined, and raw. He brought a knee up into the Admiral's gut, which he bore well considering how much it should have hurt, but it still bent him double long enough for the coyote to club his fist into his neck. He'd probably been aiming for the jaw again, but the cattle dog had had enough of his wits about him to get mostly out of the way.

I moved up beside Puck, who of course wasn't intervening, but seemed to be straining to follow the action with his ears, and what must have only been silhouettes to him with his gaze. The alley was lit by the early afternoon sun, so it was possible he could even see hazy blurs of figures, right now.

I gave him an annoyed glare until he seemed to notice me, although he didn't turn his attention away from the ongoing fight. He was standing on the balls of his pawpads, his tail twitching nervously back and forth. . . but there was the hint of a smile beneath all the feigned concern, and that's what had me angry.

“Stop enjoying this,” I growled. “I'm ashamed of you, Puck.”

“Oh, let me have this,” he whined. “They're fighting over me.”

“You're awful,” I sighed, my eyes going back to the fight. It was at about that moment that the Admiral looked our way, as well, and seemed to finally notice us. Including the fox, of course.

“Oh!” he said, literally snapping his fingers, and shoving Ransom off of him from where the coyote had been vainly trying to wrestle him to the ground. “Is this over the fox?” he seemed to realize, tilting his muzzle towards the angry canine.

Ransom gave a bloody snuff, his nose dripping down his chin by now. The hatred in his gaze was so palpable, I could almost feel the temperature rising from the sidelines. “That's it, isn't it?” the cattle dog crowed, and I'll admit in that moment, even I wanted to punch the smile off his smug face. “You're the other man. . . aren't you?”

“Ah'm his only man,” the coyote growled, his tone laced with acid.

“Aye, well. . . past tense may have been more appropriate for that statement,” the Otherwolf seemed to taunt, leaning over him. “'Were'. You 'were' his only man. Say it with me now.”

Mistake. Ransom used the opportunity to catch the Admiral by surprise, swinging his head forward to crack him in the skull with his own, presumably more dense one. I could only guess. Because Ransom sure as hell seemed thickheaded to me, sometimes. The sudden attack made the cattle dog crumple to one knee, clutching at his skull with a pained groan, and a moment later, Ransom was dragging him up by the armpits, and kneeing him in the gut again. That sent him to the ground, but he managed to drag the coyote down with him after kicking him in the knees, and wrenching an arm around his neck.

And then the scuffle was on the ground, and I still wasn't intervening, and neither was Johannes or Puck, so. . . I guess we'd all just decided to let this one play itself out. Neither man was pulling weapons, so it didn't seem like the intent on either part was to kill. If things changed, I'd step in, but. . . .

“This is so damned stupid,” I muttered. The wolfhound beside me only nodded.

The Admiral had Ransom nearly in a headlock by now, and the coyote's feet were scrambling in the dirt, his far scrawnier arms trying, to no avail, to undo the iron lock the stockier canine had him in. He may have been shorter, but it was easy to see the cattle dog was a lot stronger than Ransom. He almost didn't seem to be taking this seriously, though, despite the fact that his nose was bleeding now, too.

“Now, the way I heard it,” the man said around a grunt, as he shoved Ransom down into the dirt again, the coyote yowling in protest and struggling against him with all his might, “you're fond of straying off-course. So what's all this possessiveness about, then? Turnabout's fair play, is it not?”

Ransom shot a hurt glance in my and Puck's direction, and it sent a stab of pity through me before I could remind myself that, in fact, the Admiral actually had a point. And maybe he'd finally have to face it, coming from a third party. So I only crossed my arms over my chest, shut my mouth, and glared back down at the coyote. This was difficult to watch, but. . . I knew intervening was wrong now. I was absolutely certain of it, in that moment.

He'd quite literally made his own bed, and now he had to lie in it.

“. . . you don't love'm like I do. . . .” the coyote rasped, gripping at the Admiral's speckled arms, taut where they were locked around his neck and shoulder.

“You're likely right, there,” the cattle dog confirmed, his voice reflecting some of the strain it was taking him to hold down the thrashing coyote, “but then, I barely know him. Give me a bit more time, and I could steal his heart away. He's a sweet, pleasant little creature. Not bad on the eyes, either. And eager-”

Ransom gave a powerful shove and a growling yell at that, rolling the two of them over once, twice, and then he was on top of the cattle dog, the Otherwolf still holding him in a lock, but forced to his back beneath him as Ransom dug his heels into the dirt and tried to scrape him free.

“My point is,” the cattle dog ground out, still grinning like a maniac, “I might try. And so might others. You're a fool to not hold on with both hands.”

That seemed to stop the coyote's struggling for a few moments. His whole body went limp, and he just stared up at the sky in the following silence. It was impossible to say what was going through the man's mind at that moment, but I hoped it was something profound, for once.

The cattle dog released him suddenly, and shoved him off of him, wrenching himself to his feet and shaking out a wrist. His sleeve was torn from where the coyote had been tearing into it with his claws, and he was covered in dirt, and whatever else was on these roads. He was still bleeding from the nose, the red freckled on his white cravat.

“Do you want my advice, son?” He asked, staring down at the coyote, who still hadn't picked himself up off the ground.

Ransom swiped a hand over his now bloody teeth, scrunching up his muzzle in an expression mixed between hurt and mortified. “Shove yer advice, old man!” he snapped.

The cattle dog approached him slowly, with a purposeful stride. I briefly considered intervening, because his face had fallen darkly serious, all of a sudden, and I was worried the violence was about to escalate. But when he made it to the coyote, he stopped a pace or so away from him, looked down at him, and simply spoke.

“That's right, I'm older than you,” he said in a firm tone. “Probably by a decade or more. So. . . learn from my experience. Don't wait until the people you love are dead and gone to start treating them with the respect they deserve. The last thing you want is to spend the rest of your life regretting the things you never said.” He tugged free his cravat and used it to dab at his nose, sniffing some blood back and looking down at the soaked fabric, then gave a wet snort, muttering, “Damn. . . you've got a hard head, boy.”

Ransom had remained silent, but he'd averted his eyes by now and didn't seem to have any interest in renewing the fight. Thank the gods for small favors.

The Admiral headed back towards us, calling out, “Johannes!” as he did. On cue, the wolfhound stepped forward and offered him his coat, as he dusted off some of the dirt from his undershirt. It wasn't as though any amount of that was going to cover the fact that he'd been in a fight, but he didn't seem to be letting that fact bother him.

He looked to us once more before he strode past, back towards the Navy Lodge. I didn't miss the secretive smile he cast the fox's way, nor the wink that followed a moment later.

“Hold on with both hands!” he shouted a reminder over his shoulder in the coyote's direction. “Fate is cruel. Death comes for all of us eventually, and a grave's a bad place to realize you wanted everything to have gone differently.”

And then he and the wolfhound were gone, the tall canine shooting me one last empathetic look before following his Lord inside.

I looked down at the fox, arching an eyebrow. I hadn't missed the conspiratory look the Admiral had given him at the end there. “Wait,” I paused, “. . . did you. . .actually. . . or was this all some ruse to make him think. . . ?”

The fox only shrugged. “Does it matter?” he replied, turning his muzzle towards the slumped coyote, who was shakily picking himself up off the ground. “I think I made my point.” He inclined his head towards Ransom. “Uh, I. . . I have to go. You know, act offended that he thought this was the proper response to. . . something he's done a thousand times.”

I nodded mutely, and the fox hurried over to his dirty, beaten lover. He admonished him in a low, hushed voice for a few moments, but I was considering heading back inside myself at that point, since I'd become determined of late to let them handle these things on their own.

But then, suddenly, the coyote was gripping the fox by the shoulder, and shoving a hand into his pocket for something, then gripping the smaller man's wrist and pressing it into his palm. And my heart leapt into my throat, because I knew what it was before Puck did.

“Wh. . .” the fox stammered, running his thumb over the metal band in his hand, clearly trying to make sense of what it was Ransom had just handed him. “What is-”

“Marry me,” the coyote growled out. Then a moment later, as if as an afterthought, he murmured, “. . . please.”

The fox opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. He sort of mouthed something a few times, as though out of breath or just too shocked to manage words.

“I get what you've been sayin' now, a'ight?” the coyote said, helplessly. “I'll be loyal. Ah don't want you with no one else. This felt worse'n. . . Serahaven. Ah can't lose you t'another man.”

“Ransom, I-I-” the fox stammered, “this is going a bit far. . . to. . . it wasn't serious, I swear-”

“That a 'no', then?” the coyote bit out.

The fox's ears flattened, his pale eyes wide, and his tone dropped to an earnestly shy, almost demure one. “No. . . I mean, of course it's not a no,” he said, his tail tucking between his legs, paws scuffling nervously at the dirt. “Ransom, how could I possibly turn you down?”

“So that's a yes, then?” the coyote pressed. Blood was dripping from his muzzle, one of his ears was bent over from being jammed on the ground earlier, he was covered in dirt and might not ever have looked more pathetic. Or more hopeful.

I swear, somewhere deep inside me, something long-since buried was bubbling up to the surface, and it felt suspiciously like a feminine squeel. I suppressed it, of course.

The fox gave a soft, still somewhat disbelieving 'heh' of breath, smiling shyly, “. . . y-yes. It's a yes.”

The coyote leaned down to half-nuzzle, half-slump against him at that, the tension seeming to drain out of his shoulders. I was trying very hard not to interrupt the scene with my secondhand joy, when the canine seemed to notice I was still there.

“Hey,” he growled, “d'you mind? Me'n the fox here are havin' sorta' a private moment.”