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Before I start I had for months (no seriously, probably like 6 months) had this chapter done but didnt have a picture finished. This wasn't even the planned picture because I wanted to draw Balluric who is still floating around my hard drive somewhere.

Also if anyone needs to know what mood the Capital City possesses. I've felt this song suits it perfectly. 30 minutes? Yeah that should be long enough to read a chapter. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCo78e53uUc

Now then, let's go.

Chapter 2: No Good Deed.

It took a long time for me to move on. For the rest of the day I remained faintly conscious that my worries for Cheryl never quite dissipated. She was right though, and I needed to move on. Maybe she was just looking out for me. Despite today's setback, and even if she suffered some irreparable damage, of which I knew was not true, she did not want me, me or Cypris from suffering the same fate. I knew my next destination would be able to assuage my fears though, for a while at least.

My next destination could not have been further from the incident, and right now that was the last thing I wanted. I still felt like I had more to offer. I could have helped Cheryl. Why was I letting her push me away?

Where I was now headed may have still been considered part of the merchant's square, but from where I'd been standing most of the day I could not see the building, especially through the hazy air and with the shortage of light this time of year.

The pub was also one of the only structures within the square which could by any common definition be considered a building. Its foundation was stone, more resembling the random assemblage of the cobblestone road underfoot than brick. The pub was certainly an old building, the inside of which still reeked of alcohol and debauchery despite multiple replacements to its wooden half which sat atop the stone foundation, rising up more than twice my height from the ground.

The inside, despite all aforementioned statements, was warm, well lit, and overall more welcoming than any other publicly accessible location within the capital. Cornell didn't just have a living to make. No, here, in this waning era of a perpetual frost this pub was central to our very way of life. Citizens of the city commonly refer to wearing four layers at any time: fur, underclothes, overclothes, which are often cloaks or capes, and a liquid layer on top. This liquid layer of course refers to the consumption of alcohol, often referred to as "the drink of the gods" here in this city. I myself am not very familiar with cordrigen religion, but I'm also not a part of that species. As such this cordrigen made a good living for himself; he was more or less selling clothes that everyone disposed of after one use. Some aforementioned aristocratic fat cats should be able to grasp that analogy rather well.

I stepped into the building and ascended the small flight of five wooden stairs, each one displaying its age with a quiet creak which became utterly lost in the dissonance of the myriad of conversations across the large, single room. Much of the stone walls were covered in red tapestries, each possessing the monarch's crest, a roaring canine indeterminate in its exact species with fire in its eyes and a serpent for a tongue. Above the stone lied the painted wooden walls. From the first floor only a few mere feet of the wooden structures were visible, the majority of these walls supporting the second floor. A lighter red than the tapestries covered the wooden portion of the walls, providing an atmosphere which made the entire building feel a few degrees warmer than it really was. It was probably a good marketing scheme if anything. The longer people stayed out of the cold the more they'd drink.

I began to make my way forward towards the bar, where I could already see Cornell idly standing by, busily tapping his fingers against the countertop impatiently. Off to the side a door to the back room swung open and another cordrigen stepped through, a female this time. Immediately Cornell straightened up and procured the full glass from her paws, setting it down on the counter before a russet coloured canine with large, rounded ears. The female cordrigen turned away after a nod from Cornell. Prior to making it through the back room door however a loud smack resounded through the pub, causing the female to flinch and then freeze for a moment. At once she turned around and slapped Cornell across the face before going on her way, shaking out her wrist as she slipped back through the door.

At first I did not realise I was standing still. The entire pub had gone quiet while the spectacle saw to its conclusion. With the bar now directly in front of me, unobstructed by the lack of tables through the building's centre, I closed the last dozen steps. Beneath my feet lied a strip of red carpeting, the only thing covering the floor throughout the entire pub with the exception of the token stains of what was hopefully beer, and with that the room was split in two. On the left side, closer to the entry stairway and the staircase leading up to the next floor, eight square tables were roughly arranged into two separate, adjacent diamonds. On the right meanwhile the tables were larger, more sparse and circular in shape. The right side of the room was generally louder as patron's called for more drinks or yelled explicit sentiments at one another over a few pieces of red and black printed paper or the toss of a couple wooden cubes.

I took the stool beside the recently served canine, giving him a quick nod of hello before searching out Cornell once more. Or wait, make that giving her a quick nod of hello. By the time I'd realised my mistake she was putting down her glass – empty. A certain foreign aroma however continued to emanate from her direction, whether it be from the drink, or her directly I was uncertain. That sharp, citrusy, almost floral scent stood in stark contrast with every other aspect of the pub beneath its atmosphere of an obviously superficial hospitality. She reminded me of home somehow, of the forest. And it was then, as her eyes began to open after struggling to force the alcohol down that I realised with full certainty – she did not belong here.

"Oh, sorry," she spoke up, apparently oblivious to her company. I too remained unaware, not of my company, but of the lingering of my eyes upon her until the moment her voice rang softly in my ears. I'd been busy until then, taking her in, trying to discern what was different or why it was so. Her tone was soft, her clothing sparse, merely rags covering her legs and waist while the fur of another animal barely stretched across her chest. The scantily clad female's salvation from the drunken attentions of other males ironically lied in the cordrigen's religion. They tended not to stray outside the species boundary. It would be unbecoming of a male to indulge in unsavoury behaviours with a lesser creature or something like that. But still, there was something about her I was unable to place. It was only once I heard her voice once more, breaking me from my reverie did I find out what that was.

"Can…um, I help you with something?" In time with her words she brushed a lock of her mane back behind her shoulder, drawing my eyes to her quick, slender fingers and then, ultimately, up to the vibrant, pink flower affixed and probably clipped to her left ear.

Life in the capital was tough. The winters were severe and shelter for most was substandard. Poverty ran rampant and rations were few under normal circumstances. During the ice droughts, where water was too cold to evaporate and precipitate back down the harsh conditions were even more so. As such the capitals citizens became hardened, Cheryl served as a prime example. This canine though, she was different. She did not belong here. I think she knew that though. She did not seem too thrilled with her current surroundings; she'd seem more at home in the Forbidden Forest, or the Urasii Mountains, or…well anywhere but here.

"Huh? No, sorry. It's just, we don't get many red foxes here."

"Dole."

"Um, bless you?"

"Mm, no," she said at length, producing two silver coins from her person and placing them on the counter one by one, a quiet click being heard as each contacted the wooden bar surface.

Across the length of the bar Cornell's gaze flinched and his eyes flashed our way for what could not have even consisted of a full second prior to the readdressing of his current customer.

"D-h-o-l-e," she corrected, causing me to mentally curse myself. "You can probably tell by the tail." She was right, well I mean of course she was. It was her own body after all. And now that I could see her eyes they were obviously not the prying eyes of a fox. Vivid shades of green were not common as eye colour for foxes. The fur patterns might have been relatively similar, with her black tipped muzzle and tail setting her apart from red foxes for the most part, but the jump to conclusions was still inexcusable.

"I'm just stopping in though, had some business to attend to in the city. I'm looking for someone," a pause followed her words and she seemed to be looking me over in that time. "A particular someone. Hope I didn't get your expectations too high. Afraid you're still the only fox in the entire city."

That wasn't true. We just weren't as common as the cordrigens. What, or who a dhole was looking for had me floored. I'm sure I would not have missed two of them. Her paw came to rest between my ears, pushing them back as she stood up to her full height, which was no more than an ear's length taller than me, even from a sitting position. Before the delicate touch of her paw pads left me she ruffled my fur, a consolatory gesture that would have probably been more appropriate from my father than from a female I'd just met in a pub.

"Er, w-wait," I stammered, despite remaining adamant to the fact I wasn't being desperate.

"Rain."

"Uh…"

"You we're about to ask my name right? It's Raine."

"Right." With a final wave over her shoulder the dhole slipped between the tables and out the door, seemingly unnoticed by every cordrigen patron.

"Dude…"

"Dude what?" I asked, turning around to the large male cordrigen leering down at me. "Don't 'dude' me."

"The hell was that?"

"It was nothing."

"Damn right it was nothing. You were into her until you found out she wasn't a fox." I was not about to ask how he picked those words out over the noise of the rest of the pub. Truth be told he was probably interested himself. Which was exactly the next thought on my mind.

"I couldn't help but notice a lack of interest on your part. Down on your luck then?" I flicked my eyes towards the door to the back room for good measure. Cornell just threw his head back and howled with laughter, his wide canine smile stretching all the way back to his carnassial pair.

"Aye, young ones don't seem so interested in these old bones anymore."

"Yeah, gross."

"Well thanks for the support. I'm not that old you know."

"I know, but I also know which bone in particular you're thinking of. You're not exactly deep."

"So you here for a reason then?" Cornell asked at length as he brought the silver coins up to his brown eyes, taking a second or two to examine each one. Once he was finished his inspection Cornell looked over his paw at me once more, raising an eyebrow.

"Long story."

"Looking to apprentice today or you need a drink?"

"Probably a bit of both honestly," I responded with a sigh.

"She buy you a drink?"

"No, and stop making me feel worse." Cornell kept quiet for a while after that, appearing to be contemplating each of my words before attempting to respond.

"You want one then? Cause uh, these are maldouves." My ear twitched to attention at that word though I didn't look up from the table top.

"I'm only from Alstor and I hardly see them. I probably wouldn't question it if all the cities used the capital's currency but still. Where the hell would a dhole get maldouves?"

"Dude I dunno." That particular sentence finally earned my attention. My eyes shot up and glared into his own, asking the question without needing any words.

"Oh come on. No one want's the only bartender in the entire city to be suffering from chronic SUAD."

"SUAD?"

"Stick up ass disorder," Cornell responded casually with a shrug.

"Hmm." I guess I agreed with that sentiment, but only grudgingly. "But you aren't the only bartender in the city."

"But I'm the only pub recognised by the cordrigen church."

"But you're not even religious!"

"Ahahaha!" Cornell burst out hysterically and I felt more than just a few pairs of eyes on us from around the bar. "That one gets funnier every time you tell it!" Having missed the apparent punch line, most fiound their drinks or gambling more entertaining and quickly turned back. "Are you fucking kidding me, fox?" Cornell attempted to keep his voice down as he made the corresponding, and perhaps a bit too personal gesture of wrapping his paw around my muzzle. I both smelled and tasted hard alcohol on his fingers. His fur was matted by the strong drink and this was honestly more intimate with the cordrigen than I ever really expected, or wanted to be. "No one needs to know that. So," he began at length once more. "You want that drink or not?" I gave him another, more distressed sigh.

"You got any absinthe?" No more than a second later did a green bottle plop down on the hardwood surface, shaking the entire countertop and earning a few wayward glances in the process.

"Private Stock, verte, 74% ABV, 148 proof."

"Holy shit Cornell. It was a joke."

"If you want the entire bottle it'd only cost you a bit more," he stated flatly, making a motion rubbing two of his pawpads together, and apparently ignoring my previous sentence entirely.

"And you keep this on hand?"

"Dude, I like to keep an eye on anyone drinking it. Contrary to popular belief I'm actually a responsible cordrigen. The entertainment factor of watching those who drink this stuff comes in a close second though. So, what'll it be?"

"I said I'm good. I actually did come here to learn something today."

"You wanna learn something, Balluric?" I gave a nod and my tail flicked behind me, betraying my clear interest despite what my facial expression might say. "Okay, when a cute girl buys you a drink, you don't decline, especially if the alternate option ends in the barkeep, albeit a devilishly handsome barkeep, getting a tip of uh…" my ears swivelled forward to better hear Cornell stumble over his words though my eyes remained down. "A little less than a thousand percent." That certainly caught my attention once more however. I opened my mouth to speak, a few questions on my mind but I also wasn't sure which I wanted to ask first. For a while I didn't manage to get any of them out.

"A thousand?" in the end was all I was able to get out.

"Dude, they're maldouves." Cornell held the two coins out in front of me for emphasis. I'd seen maldouves before, a few times, but that didn't explain why a foreigner had them, or why she'd be using them to buy herself a seasoned beer.

Maldouves were small, silver coins. Most coins I'd ever heard of were round and maldouves were something different. The majority of coins even in cordrigen culture were round, with the next highest denomination below the maldouve as having a diamond shape carved out of the middle. The maldouve was essentially this coin, the delras, cut in half with a few other minor differences. It was widely believed the maldouve was made out of a more precious metal, meaning less of the metal could be used to equate to the same value. The coins looked the same and sounded the same when they were dropped onto the bar's surface so I personally wasn't convinced. I rested my chin in my open paw, not sure I was willing to let this conversation drag on too much longer.

"So she was just throwing her money around for no reason then?" I asked that final question which needed to come into light. "Cause you're a good guy Cornell. I just wouldn't tip you a thousand percent."

"Me neither," he admitted with a shrug. "Well, maybe if I was a drunk, dashing young lass."

"She wasn't drunk. I could tell by the attentiveness in her eyes." It was at the same time Cornell cracked that smile of his, that kind of smile where he knew I'd just walked into his trap, that I realised I'd made a mistake.

"You were paying attention to her eyes? You know foxes are trouble, hell you are one. You should know what trouble comes from staring into those crafty-ass brown eyes."

"She's a dhole, and they're green." Realising what I just said I cursed myself yet again.

"Yeah? Looks like you foxes aren't as fucking clever as you all think." I probably would have taken offense to that if it were anyone else in the world aside from Cornell. He meant well.

"That's just a stereotype. We're not all like that. I mean hell," I said after a considerable pause, making an effort to divert the conversation elsewhere. "At least you aren't talking to a dragon. Sons of bitches will eat your damn head off if you answer a stupid riddle wrong." Cornell seemed to blanch at that. It was this cringing kind of motion as if I was the first to tell him his wife was pregnant, or that he had a wife.

"Right… so this fox-"

"Dhole," I clarified for his sake more than mine this time, correcting him with a bit of an agitated sigh.

"Mm-hm, well, in that case go ahead."

"Go ahead what?"

"Go after her."

"She said she was looking for someone special."

"Yeah, looking. Be that someone special. It's clear you're interested. Here," he spoke throughout the motion of turning himself around, grabbing two bottles and a small glass off a shelf behind him. With a practiced expertise he spun the bottles in his paws before pouring each in equal measure into the small, clear glass. Before he pushed it forward Cornell reached into his pocket, pulled out a book of matches and struck one. As he lit the surface of the dark drink the cordrigen motioned for me to drink it.

"Alright I'll bite. What the hell is this?"

"Liquid courage."

"Cornell I didn't come here to chase tail. I came here to-"

"And I learned you," Cornell cut me off, grasping the flaming glass in two fingers and holding it before my muzzle. "Dismissed."

Grudgingly I took the glass out of Cornell's fingers and into my own, eyeing the flaming cocktail dubiously. "This isn't going to kill me is it?"

"Dude…"

"Alright…what's it taste like at least?"

"No fucking idea!" Cornell was seriously just screwing with me now. "You know I don't drink. Now get going." Following his words, Cornell reached forward with a single finger, pushing the glass in my paw up towards my muzzle. "It's a slow night anyway."

"Slow night?" I barked back incredulously, while also finding my way of delaying ingesting some doubtless toxic concoction. "It's like three in the afternoon."

"Exactly. You really want to be here for another six hours before things pick up? I've got all the help I need and I've given you all the help you need."

I had serious questions as far as Cornell's credentials as a barkeeper went, but I still trusted him nonetheless. Perhaps a personality flaw on my part. But, with a deep breath I steeled myself and swallowed the dark, burning drink. The strong sting of alcohol burned all the way down to my stomach while the flame itself was extinguished the moment I tipped the glass back. Residue of the fires lingered on the mixture of spiced whisky and what was probably some kind of liqueur. The taste, though unfamiliar, was almost thick, a viscous kind of consistency with a flavour reminiscent of milk, but sweeter. The beverage almost tasted like charcoal, no, more like drinking a campfire. It was a comfortable warmth which struck my gut, spreading across every inch of my body with the fading dryness of the alcoholic burn coating my throat.

It was by no more than pure impulse that I'd gotten up from the bar and walked to the door while pulling my bandana back up over my muzzle, offering nary a word of farewell to Cornell and not hearing one back.

I wasn't desperate. I told myself. I wasn't sure why Cornell seemed to think that. I wasn't desperate and I didn't need to prove myself otherwise, not to anyone. I was here strictly for myself. Well, okay that's not true. I was here for a reason, everyone of my kind was, even if I was not completely convinced I knew what that reason was. Someone, something like me is not just placed in this world without cause. It was almost like there was someone behind the scenes, someone far away pulling all the strings, keeping my life and each of my steps in line. And, if I ever stepped out of- fuck!

Skipping away with little patters was the culprit of my stumble, quickly becoming lost in the crowd. I did not get much of a look at it before it disappeared, though I suppose I would not have tripped on a rock I plainly saw. At this very moment however, I was not too bent on causing another public scene. I'd been turned away from two of my employers not within just a few hours, and I felt unready to face another rejection so soon. That went double for a female of another species of which I was not even convinced I was into.

Home was probably where I was headed next. There were too many thoughts on my mind for me to consciously control the direction of my feet. I didn't remember telling my arms to hug my cloak in tighter when the wind picked up at my back. And ultimately it was a chain reaction ending with the scream of a child which brought my awareness back once more.

It started with a sudden powerful gust of wind which tore through the square, extinguishing a majority of the smaller, free-standing torches scattered around the open market. The larger torches were scarcer, located in strategic points throughout the city, particularly the more highly trafficked areas and intersections. Each sat not a metre overhead, atop a three legged stand under which a small sealed basin fed a constant supply of oil to the fires above. Because the constant fuel they received, none of these torches went out. At three in the afternoon however the levels of ambient light were not what most city residents concerned themselves with. At the time the torches were extinguished a chill crept into the square instantaneously, temperature falling by no less than five degrees centigrade in a matter of seconds. My fingers found the fringes of my open cloak and quickly pulled them together over my otherwise exposed chest. My head meanwhile whipped around, eyes drawn to the lowly flickering of the red and orange cinders left behind after the wind rushed through the square. Those short few seconds were all punctuated in finality with the piercing voice of the screaming cordrigen child.

There was an initial shock which accompanied the unexpected temperature change. It certainly wasn't anything to scream about though. I didn't like children. They're loud, loud and energetic. They're utterly impossible to appease and they're loud. I probably mentioned that already didn't I?

Cordrigen children were something else though, and I understood them even less. I rarely if at all ever saw one in the capital during the dead of winter. During these rare occurrences I'd almost always seen them hitching a ride on the shoulders of an unfortunate parent, sound asleep. The uh, child was asleep, not the parent. In the summer I was almost forced to walk with my eyes glued to the ground just to avoid kicking one of the little scarf-wrapped fluff balls.

And it was that scream which conveniently pulled my eyes away, allowing the turbulent gust of wind to nearly take me off my feet as it tore through the narrow road between rows of stalls like a wind tunnel. An accompanying blur of white flashed through my peripherals, probably only avoiding direct contact with me due to the one-step half-stumble I took forward.

The white blur, I soon realised, wasn't some phantom or some kind of personification of the wind. My reflexes as an Alstorian (or near Alstorian, whatever) kicked in, and thinking I'd just been mugged I gave chase, for the moment forgetting my only possessions worth stealing were concealed in a tightly tied canvas bag beneath my cloak.

He was fast though, weaving in between the slowly mobilising crowd like the very wind which preceded him. I was going to lose him at this rate, and his head start did nothing to even the odds. But I had my own trump card, my ace in the hole, or I guess make that two aces, finishing my dead man's hand. So now I waited, keeping pace as well as I could with the white canine who as I spoke extended the distance between us. I couldn't very well throw out my gambit here with all the eyes upon us; no one needed to see what I was about to do. I just needed a clear shot. Then, as he rounded the corner out of the main street I knew I'd gotten it.

The side streets were still populated, but the stalls on these streets, this one in particular, was largely for seasonal goods. Agricultural harvests in the winter as a whole were scarce meaning there'd be less people selling and thus less buying. Or, was it the other way around?

I blinked the thought away and furrowed my brow in concentration. As an additional measure of security before committing the act I pulled my cloak closed around my right paw. A familiar restraining feeling gripped my back and with a glance over my shoulder I realised – I was not actually being robbed; I still had all my possessions. That did not matter now. It was too late to stop what I was about to do. I'd already committed to the act. I wondered why I was doing this as I flicked my wrist out and flexed my fingers. Was I being a genuinely good person or was that only secondary? I wasn't desperate; I remember telling myself. And yet this suspicious figure was white. Cordrigens weren't white, and they also wore all these scarves and wrappings and snooty leg braces or whatever. …Arctic foxes were white. I knew that much. Hold on, so was that it? Was I desperate? No.

A familial crackling resounded distantly as a thin sheet of ice filled the cracks in the cobblestone walkway. Following this was a louder sound, a shrill yelp, higher in pitch than I'd expect from most males. Then again this was an arctic fox. Er- just, never mind. The figure never quite finished rounding the corner as he skidded into a nearby stall, only avoiding possibly cracking his skull open on the corner of the counter by putting his paws out, instead slamming his gut into the surface. He'd fallen back flat onto his tail by the time I caught up to him. God damn it.

Correction, she'd fallen back onto her tail by the time I caught up. Why do I keep making that mistake? Somehow that thought allowed me to be distracted from the possibly injured vixen while I searched for my answer. Right, this city is full of cordrigen patriarchal fucks. That's it, or at least that definition fits the government, well except for Linus because he's a maned wolf.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I got down to eye level with her, not yet certain if I felt sorry for the potential harm I caused her. That decision would come later. She said nothing in response, her eyes trained on the ground while a paw clenched at her waist. Judging from what I saw she probably had the breath knocked from her lungs. Offering a few more seconds, I asked again, this time placing a paw on her shoulder and gently turning her to face me. The first look at my face forced a flinch from her and she reeled back. Before I could react a balled up fist connected with my nose.

A pained yelp of my own escaped my throat and I recoiled, paws clutching at my muzzle and tearing the bandana down around my neck in order to check for blood.

"What the hell?" I shouted impulsively around my paws, for the moment forgetting about how much I rightfully deserved what I got. But she didn't know that. She couldn't know that, right? Along with the passage of a few seconds I removed my paws from my nose, my eyes confirming my suspicions of the slow dribble of red I felt staining the fabric of my gloves.

I pulled my head up, eyes fixing on her own as I waited for my answer. My first instinct as the silence persisted, coming from my throbbing nose which was screaming at me to further interrogate the vixen, ultimately was suppressed by something I couldn't identify. Was it some form of compassion? I didn't know.

"I- I'm sorry," she spoke with what sounded either like some kind of foreign drawl or a slur. What I did know was she wasn't from around here. Raine might have been wrong about my being the only fox in the capital, but I was pretty sure with the death of Terax I may have been the only arctic fox.

This wasn't a place for my kind. Actually, this was not much of a place for anything outside the cordrigens. The problem was the rest of the world was even less of a place for us, at least, these are the truths passed around the capital. These were the words which kept us all bound here.

"I didn't mean to. I thought you were going to hurt me." I took that opportunity to bring a paw back to my nose, giving the front of wiping away the slow dripping of blood. In reality I wanted to mask any changes in facial expression, lest she read the guilt plastered across my muzzle. I couldn't be sure how proficient she was at reading body language, but many people these days were quite good at it.

Something as simple as a twitch of the nose, or a wandering eye could be as powerful as the words themselves. It was like a growl, the pivoting or folding back of the ears, or a flick of a tail, just another visual cue each and every one of us was able to identify. I just wished she picked her words a little less ironically. She really didn't know the half of it. And I guess I should say fortunately she did not know the half of it.

"It's…okay," I said at length, fully aware as to how unconvincingly those words came off. "I'm fine." Pulling my paws away from in front of my mouth I addressed her again, holding out an arm which she took without hesitation.

"You're okay then?" She asked in that accent again which I still was unable to identify as something sounding either completely foreign or perhaps just childish.

"Yeeaahh…" I responded, throwing a dubious glance her way. Even if I now had eight more questions for her I still wanted an answer for the one which sparked all of its successors. "So where were you headed in such a rush?" it was hard to ask that question without coming off as intrusive. My original intent was to go for sympathetic, considering her recent misfortune, but the appropriate tone, much less the appropriate words never quite left my mouth. The arctic fox had her head down as she brushed off her clothing – white, somehow unsurprising. What was surprising was the nature of her clothing. The garments were thin like a pair of underclothes, but also loose fitting. The garment covering her chest looked almost formal, not formal to the extent of Linus' poet shirt, but close nonetheless. That left her legs, which were protected even less from the elements. Not that her clothing was sparse, it was just…breezy. They certainly weren't clothing fit for this climate. I almost felt cold looking at her. I'll say that again. I almost felt cold looking at her.

She finally looked up, as though my thoughts became more to her than just mental imagery. The look in her eyes forced a lump down my throat. Her eyes weren't brown; brown wouldn't be appropriately flattering. Cocoa, café, hazel, chestnut, I could go on. It was a mild, cool colour, though they caused my temperature to rise. Suddenly I felt hot beneath my robes, and then it wasn't her eyes causing my warming body to freeze, it was the gentle sloping of her face, the soft curves of her muzzle, the very emotion present on her whiskers, and the hidden smile on her dark lips, or was it even there at all? My Mona Lisa. Wait, stop Balluric. I shook my head. My? She wasn't mine; I don't even know her.

She blinked her eyes twice, snapping my unrelenting attention away from her. The minute tilt in her head was my next clue she was waiting for me to go on. I barely registered; it was another of those subtle visual cues, but my scrambled thoughts almost allowed it to go unnoticed. That degree of politeness she possessed was disarming if not almost unnerving. She didn't seem willing to ask and I couldn't find the words to answer.

"Hey." My ears twitched to attention, honing in on the origin of the callous voice emanating from just behind the vixen. "This some kind 'a publicity stunt or what? Cause ah best not need to resolve yer petty d'mestic problems 'n fronta mah stall. Buy sum'n, er git." Over the disgruntled cordrigen's shoulder a female in a white apron rolled her eyes and shook her head. Shortly after she returned to her task at hand, dropping a wicker basket full of produce onto a table and meticulously sorting each by type and then again by size.

I stepped forward, past my vixen and snorted through my nose as my response, a glob of bloody mucous from each nostril splattering across the road beneath my feet. I was not so much angry with the tone, or the time he was taking, it was a complicated thing to explain, or maybe it wasn't. Maybe I was just being a male, a possessive, dominance seeking male.

"Hersh sweetie," the female cordrigen started up, dissolving the lingering tension in the air. "Hershel don't go trying to throw down with everything that moves. You keep scaring away our customers and there's not going to be any left."

"Ay now purdy lady. That hoodlum was askin fer it. Swiggin' from 'is bottle 'n strollin' down this 'ere street like he owned the damn place. Y'know public drinkin's illegal."

"I heard you tell him, Hersh. I think the whole square did. And he promised to throw it away." Hershel snorted, dismissing the subject. "Money's money. You keep scaring away business then I might have to invest in another man." Hershel's head whipped around so fast it was a wonder he didn't feel any whiplash. His wife meanwhile just raised her brow, her gaze as amicable as always but now with an obviously serious undertone. "A less scary man," she emphasised, and Hershel visibly cringed, all semblances of anger draining from his face and body. She stepped up to the counter with three different fruits in hand. "Here you go sweetie."

"Darlin'!"

"You hush," and Hershel hushed. "Just come back now, aye?" She spoke in a tone practically bordering on sultry as she leaned over the counter, her chest pushed out more than what could be described as professional. The entire spectacle presumably, hopefully, serving to drive the point home to her husband. I nodded silently, not sure which words exactly would form the best verbal response. I honestly wasn't sure how much use I could get from a persimmon, a mandarin orange and a…uh, handful of little grape-shaped oranges of unknown origin. Fortunately, foxes aren't strictly carnivorous. And it was that thought which provided me with the solution. Foxes, plural.

I spun on my toes, finding at my side not my vixen, but an empty street. Empty, aside from the merchant's stalls, the crowds of the main street not twenty paces away, and the persistent dust and dirt strewn across the cobblestone road. To me these streets could not have been more desolate.

It was, as I'd just realised, as it had always been. These streets of desolation are no emptier now than they'd been minutes ago. My vixen was no more than what I had dismissed from the very beginning, a phantom, some personification of the wind. She was my green fairy. Now as I remember her, exceeding every expectation I could have set for her, but of course she did. It was my mind after all which created her, and thus she was created to my own specifications, my own inner desires.

I started on my way home. I'd had enough. I felt as though I'd overdosed on "excitement" today, maybe for the next few days as well. The need to crash was creeping in, my skin still crawled from all of the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was a strange sense of clarity, being this on edge, as though I was able to see the world from an elevated position. Suddenly I realised how monotonous life in the capital was. The rush I felt from merely condensing moisture in the air into ice served as a testament to how dull and miserable it all was. I almost felt…domesticated here, trapped behind wooden gates while the thick, toxic air slowly suffocated me.

There was a way out, somewhere past the walls which keep the rest of the world out. Or, perhaps more worrying was the thought that it kept us all in. For now I could take solace from the Forbidden Forest which provided my sanctuary. I was still within the Monarch's walls, but this was something which was my own. I took a degree of pride in that.

My walk home was quiet and uneventful, as I'd hoped, and as it should be. Passing through Alstor however was anything but peaceful. I'd purposely left my blue bandana over my muzzle after leaving behind the capital's sour air for the simple fact that my blue square of cloth seemed to deter potential muggers or otherwise general ruffians. I'll continue to defend that fact on the grounds that I'd reached the edge of the city without any further distractions. Nothing could assuage my feelings of suspicion while within the confines of civilisation however. Every crack and crevice in the faulty foundation of the decaying, decrepit Alstorian buildings held equal opportunity for unseen danger. Its narrow alleys paved with dirt and concrete debris stood in for the cobblestone roads of the capital. They also provided all the security a claustrophobic alleyway situated between rows of dilapidated, condemned buildings could, which was to say none. If I wasn't worried about a figure emerging from the shadows to mug me all but five metres away in either direction then the possibility of someone's home toppling over onto me was always a viable threat.

…Alright, not all of Alstor was that run down, but it certainly wasn't high class society, nor did it look very middle class now that I think of it. The few homes I knew of which were in standing order also had owners possessing weapons. Imports from a faraway land they would say with a self-absorbed sort of chuckle. I often wondered if that were true, maybe this was the land, the very escape I sought. But that couldn't be. Even if there was a land out there, crossing the ocean was impossible, a fool's errand.

The wind usually died down when I entered the forest. The narrow streets of Alstor seemed to form a series of artificial wind tunnels, and the arbour columns beyond the city broke up the turbulent air. It was natural then when I realised the wind continued to blow at my back, even increasing to a howl which forced a skip in my step as the wind swept my feet off the ground for the briefest of seconds. I don't know what I expected to see by turning around, as though I'd catch a glimpse of some windly apparition cackling quietly behind the trunk of a tree while offering me a provocative hand gesture, the expression across his (or her) face silently communicating the message of "ha ha, gotcha bitch!" Instead I was met by a sight far more preferred, or at least at face value.

I froze, the only thought on my mind did not involve moving out of the way. Part of me knew that was the last thing I wanted. If I allowed her to pass me by again hells above and below only knew when I might see her again. But it was her; there was no mistaking it. Only fractions of a second before the collision had I caught the browns of her eyes. Before that point she had them concealed beyond veils of white. At that very moment she appeared to mirror my initial shock, and then it was only seconds later that I was truly swept off my feet.

That moment was all just a blur, just a bombardment of meaningless stimuli overloading all of my senses. It was surprise, then inexplicable joy, then panic, then pain, then just colours – swirling in a disorienting dance above my head before coalescing into more familiar shapes. The blues of the sky formed first, followed by the browns and greens of the forest. The last colour to take shape was white. Somehow the most familiar, and yet so much unknown.

I thought she was a phantom, just some crazed delusion of mine giving a visual to an otherwise invisible phenomenon. At first she was just my green fairy. I created her.

"-you alright?"

"No," I answered without really hearing the question. In my mind however I distinctly heard my own voice asking the same thing. I wasn't okay. I really wasn't. This was Cornell's fault. If he hadn't given me the absinthe…

"-that didn't happen." That struck me. She was right. It didn't happen. Cornell made me a drink, some kind of dark rum and I don't know what else.

"How did you know?" I asked from behind my bandana as I started to rub my sore forehead.

"What?"

"What?"

"I asked if we could pretend that didn't happen."

"Oh," I replied simply at the realisation that we were currently maintaining two completely separate conversations. I had just lowered my arm from my head, making a movement towards returning to my feet when she yanked the blue square of cloth around my muzzle down out of my face.

"I can't hear you behind that thing." It was the only sound I could muster at that point. I hadn't realised how utterly mindless I was sounding in front of her until that word had already hit her ears which were pivoted away from me, either ignoring me completely or finding something wholly more interesting somewhere behind the two of us.

"Oh," was what I allowed to unthinkingly slip from my muzzle. Meanwhile she, along with the entirety of our collective surroundings sat in complete silence.

The air was stagnant, the entire world at an absolute standstill. Frozen, as our union plunged the globe into absolute zero. And now, even beneath no more than the brisk, motionless winter's air did I feel crushed. The very weight of my being almost too much to bear. I did not understand what I was doing here. Nor could I reason what she, still perched atop my stomach like a cat- always surveying, always watching from above, waiting for the moment to pounce upon its prey, wanted from me here, here in my forest. Here on my chest in my forest.

No other words ever came to mind. I had questions, things that needed asking and words that needed saying. Above all my questions was why I wasn't asking them. Why this dissonance occurred between my mind and my mouth. Suddenly I felt trapped within my own body, captivated by her eyes and pinned beneath her knees. Or no, what had me pinned were her eyes. It took a second outside source to wrench my stare away from her own. A gentle tap came to the tip of my muzzle and my eyes flicked down to the culprit which dangled loosely from her neck. It was probably the shifting of my vision to her chest which caused her to look down and tuck her necklace back into her shirt. Though the fact I wasn't staring appeared to come as some relief to her.

"I- I…" I stammered helplessly. I did nonetheless, recognise the feat for what it was, forcing that much through my lips was some progress over my struggle throughout past half-minute. I didn't know what was wrong with me, what this strange possession was. But at the risk of furthering her doubtless opinion of me as a mindless fox incapable of stringing together a single complete and coherent thought I attempted to voice my thoughts once more, desperately hoping for more success on my next attempt. "D-do you-" my words were left at that. I hadn't a chance to either make amends or make a bigger fool of myself before she was up on two legs. In the same motion I found myself helped up to my feet by a gentle grip which tugged at my forearm. The motion was deliberate; she was reaching for my forearm, not my paw, a somehow sobering fact.

She continued to look around while I acclimated myself to being up on two feet once more. Never once did she address my previous fumblings, much to my greater relief. Her ears however remained in the same exact position as the last time I had spoken to her, pivoted partially away and focused on nothing in particular. Even with the motion of her eyes and head back and forth they remained stock still, not once training on any distant sound.

"Hey, are uh you- are you alright?" I felt stupid for coming back to that question. This whole encounter had been leading up to my asking that question and bringing it full circle. It was the obvious, cliché thing to ask, but there was not a more appropriate way to attract her attention once more.

"Huh, what?" she blinked her way back to the present, becoming once again aware of my existence.

"Are you alright?" I spoke slowly for her sake and placed my pair of paws on her shoulders in order to calm and console her. I remembered her just as wired when we met not an hour ago. "Where are you going?" I felt it better to keep her talking than running around in a panic. Giving myself more time with her was secondary, a bonus, but a secondary one.

"Anywhere," she spoke at length with a cautious look over her right shoulder. I wasn't quite sure how I'd missed it before but as that ear was turned towards me her piercings were suddenly obvious. There were two of them. Both were bone by the look of it, though stained white to match just about everything else about her, everything else aside from her eyes. The first dangled from the base of her ear, a thin, cylindrical kind of shape, tapered at each end and curling around itself to form what was almost a complete circle. It was about the same size as any of our coins, any of our fully circular coins to be more accurate. Her other ear piercing lied just above the first. This one, while slightly smaller in size was highly detailed. Carved from a circular piece of bone, this piercing was hollowed out in what was clearly a painstaking manner. The designs left after carving out the majority of the small bone circle took the shape of small swirls, or waves perhaps would be a better description. Each "wave" was superimposed on the background of the circular outline, standing out the smallest bit over each of the previous shapes. There were a total of four of these wave-like designs, running from left to right, chords across the circular plane, acting like braces to the delicate circle encompassing them.

That hollow feeling, that previous possession which enraptured my body and mind took over again while I spoke my next words. For all I know it might not have even been me who uttered them. It hardly mattered that she didn't quite catch each syllable that slipped from my tongue because her head snapped back to me. Her ears, as always, remained unmoved, but the change in her eyes' expressiveness conveyed all I needed it too. As much as I feared speaking those words again I had to. It was too late to take it back now wasn't it? But this fear wasn't- I mean it didn't- I'd been afraid before. I'd been afraid of the dark and afraid to be alone and afraid of my secret being discovered, but this wasn't the same. And now I realised this same fear I felt all the time. Every second I laid my eyes upon her this fear filled me. What was it? I couldn't speak those words again in fear of what she'd say, in fear of just one two letter word. Only a second more passed before I discovered I didn't need to speak them. The possession spoke it for me.

"You could come back with me." It was more of a question than anything, and more of a question than the last time I spoke it. I never got a yes, nor did I get that other dreaded word, but the simple nod of her head was enough to make my heart skip a beat. It was a bit harder to conceal my excitement when my tail battered the inside of my robes, but I think I managed.

From where we stood the burrow wasn't too far away, but then again it couldn't be. I'd personally never seen any monsters within The Forbidden Forest, but Cheryl had warned me against them once or twice before. I figured she'd know better than I would seeing as she came from the Urasii Mountains to the west. Just as well, before Terax's death I had been given the same advice and never strayed into the deep woods where the trees grew taller and closer together, their canopies blotting out the sun even on a cloudless day.

Before long I found myself walking down the dirt slope to the front door, ushering my vixen inside once I unlocked and pushed open the two consecutive wooden doors. Her eyes never remained fixed on one object throughout the short journey down the corridor leading to the open living space. Her eyes took in every minute detail, her gaze calculating and yet uncertain. She possessed a look of certain nervousness, her fingers occasionally twitching as she kept them balled into fists, as though equally predisposed on every second that ticked by to reaching out and grabbing something hovering just beyond the realm of the visually perceptible. More than once I felt her gaze drift to me from over her shoulder, but each time it disappeared before I could offer a smile of reassurance.

Her pause at the last door leading into the den could have formed no greater punctuation to the arduously long and silent journey down the corridor. That anxious look on her face as she waited for me to catch up made for just about the best summation of the collective feelings surfacing between the both of us thus far within the subterranean hallway. The discrepancy in our paces meanwhile was not something I took notice of prior to her nervous looking pause as she most likely waited for me to unlock what was not a secured doorway.

I stepped up beside her, needing no more than to give a gentle push in order to clear the obstructive door from her path. I gave her ample room. I was sure of it, being thoroughly articulate in reaching past her as not to give any false indications that I may be imposing on her. She turned only momentarily, her eyes locking with mine for only enough time to begin to speak but then ultimately clam up and finish walking inside once the first syllable of her gratitude dried up and fell from her lips like the shrivelled, rotten fruit of a wilting old apple tree.

"You can just take a seat wherever," I casually offered, making a beeline for the dining area not a dozen paces away, where a pile of small fruits found its new home atop the first flat surface I could locate. I opened up the ice box – which was for clarification, a literal wooden box filled with ice. "Anything to uh-" she was still standing there, awaiting further instruction, or guidance rather, and I think I was finally beginning to understand the situation at hand.

"Excuse me?"

"You can sit down if you like." It had crossed her mind. She wouldn't be standing beside the couch otherwise. At this very moment she was nearly positioned between the rectangular, glass coffee table and the couch. Likely, it took her some degree of willpower to walk to the side of the room and not sit herself down. She just nodded, silent once more as she tentatively took her seat, brushing off a spot before any part of her contacted the brown upholstery – brown like just about everything else in the room. The entire house was however, just about that one single extended room. The wooden counter jutting from the wall on the opposite side of the room as my seated vixen walled off the dining area for the most part but there was no concrete divider separating my room from her own. "Anything to drink?" I attempted to reiterate before turning back to the ice box. My response hadn't come until I'd already poured a glass of white wine.

"Just water is fine." Of course. She wanted the most difficult thing to find in this city. If I had not already been sure she was an outsider I was certain now. I turned away, masking a sigh while I put the green bottle back in the ice box. I wasn't even sure if this sort of stuff was meant to be chilled. I wasn't all about wine if I had to be honest. It was for special occasions and this felt like one. And she asks for…water.

"That's fine Balluric. You can do this," I assured myself as I held my paw out, feeling the frost dance across my fingertips, coalescing into a solid form all at once. A quick glance over my shoulder was all I needed to ensure I hadn't been detected. The cold, clear solid fell from my grip, never a clink or a ring as it fell into her glass – water, liquid once more. Flexing my fingers I repeated the process, slowly creating a fist and turning the frigid air into cubes of solid frost – ice.

Ice, it is the first element to be created, and it is the most powerful. Even before the formation of our own world ice hurtled through the heavens in balls of frost and dust. Water, our source of life is gentle enough to soothe the skin and light enough to caress the sky. Ice is not so forgiving. It is cruel, providing no sustenance in its solid form and hard enough to smash stone. The water plants, or we animals require for survival freezes us, kills us slowly. Enemies it has made us in these past tens of thousands of years. It buries, it hides, some secret it keeps beneath its blanket of white. And yet it preserves, keeping each of its corpses safe for the sole sake of having them uncovered so we might marvel at its work, revering the power it possesses and that we are each so desperate, in the end helpless in staving away. The cold, icy hand of death comes for us all eventually, and what then?

"Your water," I smiled, crouching down while I held the glass forward, never actually intending to curtsy her.

"Thank you," she replied plainly, breaking eye contact after the first word. There had been something troubling her the entire time. I was just about certain it wasn't me. It couldn't be. My nose suddenly throbbed with the pain of a not so distant memory and I unconsciously rubbed it while moving around the table to take the seat beside her. She had been on edge since that blow to my nose. No, it was even before that. I remembered chasing her down through a crowd. I turned towards her, lifting my glass before speaking up. She turned to me.

"I uh, never got your name." While I spoke I slowly lifted the glass to my lips, punctuating my sentence with a sip of the sweet, fragrant white wine. Each spoken word was enunciated clearly, my speech loud and clear.

"E-excuse me?" She seemed taken aback by that statement in particular, like I was teasing her, but I was only being certain.

"I never got your name."

"Oh." Her voice was wistful, almost apologetic. It was a certain soft tone she possessed, but it certainly was not apologetic. We both knew there was nothing for her to be sorry for. Instead there were undertones of confidence, some underlying strength she had hidden beneath. "It's Artemesia."

"Balluric." She sipped from her glass, her posture, even her grip was refined – proper. I had by this point put my own glass down. It felt like the right thing to do if I was about to confront her with what I felt was almost an accusation. "You're deaf, aren't you?" She almost choked. She didn't even need to be directly looking at me that time. I'm sure she recognised those specific lip movements through her peripherals alone. She turned her eyes on me with a complementary sound of glass contacting glass. Her expression changed, harsher now. Although she still was not aggressive; it was more like defensive. "I'm sorry. That was wrong."

"No, you're right." That wasn't what I meant.

"Look, it's okay…Artemesia." It might have been the use of her name which got her to look at me that way. Now she did look apologetic. I knew she hadn't asked for it. No one would ever ask to be deaf.

"You don't need to console me." She replied, that previous confidence now creeping back into her voice. Once more she kept from attacking, any hints of offense were utterly absent from her speech. "I've been like this for as long as I can remember, but this is why I don't tell anyone about my…condition." She nearly whispered that last word. "I'm perfectly capable on my own. I can function just like anyone else can. Just like you. I don't need anyone to look down on me just because I can't hear. Just because I'm deaf doesn't mean I'm helpless. As long as no one knows, then I'm…normal. That's really all I want."

"I see. It's okay you know. I understand how you feel." For the first time her ears actually perked up and swivelled towards me while I spoke. Her gaze lingered upon my own and I felt her genuine interest. Perhaps all she wanted was to be understood. "During cold nights if I don't light any candles it's impossible to see a thing. The sun must be down by now, but inside here, beneath the ground, it's like being blind. So I get it." A few seconds then passed in silence following the whump which resounded throughout the entire burrow. "…that was wrong wasn't it?"

"It was very wrong."

"I'm sorry. All I meant was-"

"Maybe I should just go." With the completion of that thought Artemesia promptly stood up. I called out to her, but with her back to me I knew I would never be heard. Her ears pivoted towards me regardless, a useless gesture in the end, but maybe it wasn't. Was it just body language? Apprehension, or interest? I didn't know. "I'll-" she turned back just long enough to speak. It was clear I wouldn't be given the attention to make my rebuttal. "Maybe I'll see you again," and suddenly her eyes were gone, and I felt, once again, the return of that pervasive emptiness which dominated my existence.

My head came to rest against the arm of the couch, my feet hanging over the opposite end. My drink meanwhile, my one consolation lied just beyond my reach. I smacked a fist down against the table, jostling the pair of glasses with the dissonant jarring of scraping glass. With a flex of my fingers the table top froze over, and then a flick of my wrist as I curled my fingers in brought my wine to me, sliding gently across the slick glass surface. The emergent ice pillar, born from the film of frost covering the table melted back into nothingness with its task complete – the glass safely within my paw. The film faded out of being shortly after, leaving behind not but a clear puddle. Breathe in. A sweetness of grapes and sugar, and the sting of alcohol floods my senses. Breathe out. Tomorrow has to be better. Right?

- - -
Thanks for reading to whoever actually got this far. Hopefully I'll only need a few weeks at best to start throwing out chapters from now on. As for accompanying illustrations which I still suck at...eh.

Oh and congratulations to all (if any) of you who got the artemisia absinthium/green fairy joke; although, I'll openly admit the name Artemesia came about on its own and is actually coincidental to the plant.