The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs unfold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling beds of dawn
The earth do scorn.
--William Blake
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Erin lay in the bloody street and cried until no more tears would come. She felt so utterly, totally alone. How had it happened? How could this have happened to her? It wasn't fair. But it was real, of that she was now certain. It was all so horribly real.
Mustering her courage and stilling her turbulent emotions, her got up and performed the last rites of foxes around Bratis's lifeless body.
While teaching his adopted daughter in the ways of fighting, science, history, the arts, adn other such things, Bratis had not neglected to pass on to her the lore of foxes as well. The secrets, traditions, and accumulated knowledge of their kind were a thing that Bratis had held very special. All such things, both mystical and practical, were a part of what made them foxes.
Bratis had said that creatures who lived in cities often forgot their roots. Living in close proximity with other creatures who might have been enemies, or even prey, had they been Wild ones, numbed the senses and made you forget your ancestral identity. In some places, there was really only one type of creature.
Phsyical appearance was the only true difference any more.
Now, tacing ancient lines on the ground, repeating the death-song of foxes, Erin felt a strong sense of who she was.
Winds that bring us scents from afar,
Sun, moon, earth and stars,
And great Ni-Elat who made them all,
May you run free in the fields of paradise...
She was a fox, and now, a fox with a mission.
The ritual over, she turned and began to walk away, but something stayed her paws. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling atwinge of pain at seeing
Bratis's still form again. But there was something...
She walked over and unclasped the now blood-stained cloak that Bratis had worn. She ustrapped the sword belt and sung the weapon across her own back.
Reverently she toched her nose to the ground. "Goodbye." she whispered. And trotted off without looking back again.
* * * *
Once she was out of the city, and out on the open fields, some of Erin's resolve began to ebb.
A chill wind blew across the flatland and ruffled through her fur, sending shivers through her fatigued young body.
Dark was falling, but that didn't bother her. She was made for traveling in low light, but somehow the thought of darkness sent another wave of panic through her mind.
Her vivid imagination began to conjure shapes out of the shadows, evil, brooding things, waiting to pounce on her and devour her soul...
A stray wind howled wildly about her ears. She panicked.
Paws flying, she raced across the plain, not caring where she went, conviced that something was after her.
Suddenly, she felt it.
That foeboding, tingling sense of evil that had hung over the town just prior to the attack. She knew it well, it's terror had permeated every inch of her being.
With a scream she increased her speed.
It was closer now, moving ponderously across the countryside like a grim stormcloud of invisible death...
The eerie silence was suddenly shattered, a nocie like the screams of a thousand dying creatures rent through the black stillness of the night. The smell of death blotted out all other scents. Erin's heart nearly stopped. She came to a small stand of trees-
Something hit her in the back of the head, lifting her off the ground. In her frozen terror, she thought she could feel the hot, fetid breath of some large predator, thought she caught a glimpse of blood-blackened claws and teeth, but it may well have been a halucination. At any rate, she was now falling, falling...
Rolling, tumbling. She came to a painful, stupefied halt in the midst of a thorn bust in the bottom of a deep ditch. Her heart felt as though it would burst through her ribs. She tried to calm her nerves, but- something was wrong...
She felt blood trickle down her face. A rush of numbness came over her. It was too, too much. Too much emotion, too much fear, too much to think about.
With a desperate whimper, she let herself slide into a state of exhausted unconsciousness.