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"Derek!"

The small kit sat somberly staring at his father. Riadne called his name again, but he didn't even acknowledge hearing her. By now, she would have assumed her voice would become hoarse, but it didn't. It just swam hauntingly through the darkness outside of the room. "Derek!" she screamed, her voice reaching a fevered pitch that one might describe as the top of one's lungs. Still her boy didn't hear her. She sat on her knees upon what she assumed was the ground, screaming with every ounce of energy she could muster. That which flowed through her with such celerity could be described as anguish, but that would not produce an understanding. There are no words that can bring enlightenment to the flesh and blood of the living about what sorrow it means to a shade.

The room was largely dark, and cast in grays that she had never before viewed. Even in the most dismal cavern jutting into the earth's good bosom or filthy back-alley hovel of disease ridden molder could not begin to compare to the bleakness of this room. She wondered at length how the priests could stand it. The walls seemed to fade into darkness at varying heights, but always before they reached the ceiling. Beyond that, there was only an infinite nihil of abysmal continuity. Here in the room there was a bed of those drab and morose monochromes, and a wooden chair that housed the only thing that she seemed to be able to hold onto. Her son sat before her in slight luminescence, a beacon of persistent color where nothing else could. Had this always been the way things were? She couldn't remember. All she knew was this room, the boy, and the man who languished ill and invalid day and night.

That was another thing...how long had he been like that? There was something about him that was important as well. Derek was the last vestige of pleasantness, an ecstasy that the corporeally bound can never comprehend. The man was something else. What was his name? She could swear that she knew, only a split second before. What was he? Something ephemeral, and fleeting that seemed to slip ever further away into the chasm of nothing that loomed portentously beyond.

Hope...

There was something to this. What was this realization? She knew it only a second ago! Frustrations welled, and she cried her pitiable lamentations into the void above, below, and beside. Sorrow could not be said to consume her, but more so compose her.

Hope...

There it was again. Only a second earlier, and infinitely small measure of distance, or space, or time, it didn't matter. For one to say that the distance was infinitely small was to say that it was infinite, in which case no adjective would condition, or control its immeasurable continuity. Would that she could weep, gnash, or rend her hair, or at least it seemed that it should be appropriate to vent in some way as to promote outlet for grief. At least it seemed that way, or would have just a moment ago, or was it a moment from now? Her spirit darkened in further woe at the realization of one more gap of missing...something.

From time to time someone who could see her would wonder by, but they would never speak to her. They would only tell her of some great sea, and how they had to be going before it swallowed them and they never reached the shores beyond. They often looked at her with pity, and sometimes tried to console her, but that seemed to scare them into a hastened departure. She was so terribly lonesome, and her only comfort was in embracing her sweet son. She couldn't touch him, but she could touch the happiness he represented. What was that?

Something stood out against the black. In her wailing fit she had missed it! The man...Adrian!

"ADRIAN!" she screamed.

There he was! He was moving, and so was her son! What was that? Something new, something old something she knew but grasped blindly at putting her finger on. Stop it she chastised. This was only distracting. What was it that she was thinking about? A sound roused her to look to her bright beacon. The man was touching him, he was awake, and he was touching her son. More than that, he was killing him! She reached out in blind rage, and flailed madly in some insane attempt to affect him in any way. Vicious blood-rage swelled, and replaced everything else as it buried all joy, or sorrow, or fear that remained. The world pulsed in red and black, and everything else seemed to fade away as she groped desperately for anything she could destroy. Suddenly, it stopped.

What was that? She found it again, that thing, that indication that couldn't be named. Her son was on the other side of the room now. What was happening?

Hope...

That was it, or was it?

Hope...

What could it be? She railed at the darkness to relent the revelation to her.

Hope?

Was that some kind of possibility? Was there a possibility that she had forgotten?

Hope!

That was it! Hope! The man was hope! Her son now stood in the man's arms, but he wasn't hurting him any more. The man was nurturing him, comforting him, promising him a future that she could not, and the boy was unable to forge for himself. Her spirit soared as this new emotion boiled to life in her formless ephemera. She didn't know what she was doing, only that she was, and things were right. For the first time in as long as she could remember, everything was right. Or was it always this way? Had anything before this moment really existed, or was it some fantasy of her making? Had she made anything? What was it she was just thinking about? It didn't seem to matter anymore. What was that?

Something in the darkness caught her attention. Turning her consideration behind her, she found that the room was gone, it's bleak wall cut into calm water that extended beyond her perception and melted into darkness. Far beyond that darkness was a light, tiny, and flickering like some distant candle. She thought for a moment to look back to her son, and her love, but it wasn't as important anymore. No longer important, or was it ever? She couldn't remember. Everything was as it should be, and everything would be alright. Or had it always been? She walked confidently forward and tread lightly across the surface of the water towards that unmistakable radiance. Were there others? It seemed so, but in what way were they important?

The blazing lucidity of her son's luminescence grew faint in the distance, replaced by that beckoning shimmer ahead. There was an end to the water after all, and on that beach burned a blazing pyre that leapt high into the black sky above. Figures stood motionless in the water just below the surf, and she approached them curiously.

Tall foxes, all of them, each topped with hair so bright, and fair that it almost glowed. A man, a woman, and a little girl were there silhouetted against the inferno beyond. "Hallo?" she ventured, and they looked to her. There expressions were somber, but not sad. Better described as serious were those extraordinary foxes. They stood in stern quietude for a long time, or no time at all. She couldn't tell anymore. The man among them nodded in acknowledgement.

"What is your name, girl?" he queried in a large, hollow voice. She opened what she thought to be her mouth, but paused realizing that she didn't particularly know. How much had she lost, she wandered, or did she lose anything at all? Mother. The word meant something to her. Mother, lover, woman, child, daughter, traitor, dancer, orphan, fox, beauty, murderer. Riadne! There was a sudden dawning that washed over her, and she seemed to fill suddenly. All of the gaping that had been a plague to her before was replaced with all she thought she might have misplaced. She looked sadly towards the tall, strong looking man, and her face (or what could be her face) fell somber.

"I" she said, pausing for a moment after, "I'm dead."

"I know that" the man responded, "As are all who find this shore, but who are you?" She felt the water under her becoming as it should be, and her feet (which yes, she realized she did still have) sank slowly into it. She rushed forward pushing against the water as it leached her, and chilled to the core of her being. Nothing could ever be described as so cold. Thankfully, there was soon earth under her feet, but the water was yet agony. She stood in the presence of those fantastic specters that hovered over the water and gazed out across the endless ocean of death.

"My name is Riadne" she said, "I was...shot." The man nodded, but didn't turn his eyes back to her.

"Go on girl, there's no need for you to freeze there. We stand in the wind because we are waiting for a loved one. The fire warms us, and our love holds us aloft. You'll be warm and safe in the country beyond." She looked passed the shore to the beach. There seemed to be some dark wood ahead of the rough, but endless darkness beyond that.

"Can I wait with you?" she said meekly, "For my son, and his father? I don't know if I can leave the light of this fire..." The three of them looked down to her.

"You can" the woman said, sweetly, "This fire is for someone else. You should make a new one for your own, though you will be waiting for him for a long time unless some tragedy befalls him." She hazarded one gaze past the copse, and looked back to them. "What are the names of those you wait for?"

"Adrian, and Derek" she said, "Of Beduin Born. Adrian was my lover, and Derek his son. My boy, my world, he's in the hands of his father now. I don't know how, but I know that." The three of them looked down at her, and smiled. The tall man extended his hand to her, and she took it. He led her to the front of them, and she found herself stepping up until she stood aloft on the waves. Each of them put a hand on her shoulder, and a deep feeling of belonging overwhelmed her, and she felt the very composition of her being warmed.

"Welcome girl" the woman said, "Stand with us as long as you like. We'll never send you away, and we'll never betray you. Here there will only be the warmth of the fire, the sound of the surf, and waiting for your loved ones. They'll find their way here, for this fire is promised to them."

Riadne smiled broadly. For the first time she could remember, in life or death, she felt peace. She turned towards the broad, lightless sea, and stood in just in front of the adults behind her. They each placed a hand on her shoulder, and she placed her own on the shoulder of the little girl beside her. So this is what it felt like to have a family. She wondered at what this was. It seemed so akin to a story that Adrian had told her years ago. Take your time, my darlings, she thought to herself, for I'm no worse for wear.

---

Couric sat in the room of an inn. The trek of his mother, and her servants was not going as well as hoped. They had been on the run for months, but at least the hunters of his steward seemed to have given up on them. He hated this nation. The trek had seen their funds drained much quicker than was to be expected. All of their finery had been liquidated to pay for warriors to protect them from his despised uncle's killers, and they now wore the rags of commoners. All he had managed to keep was his father's mace, which he vowed to starve before losing. Damn this city, he thought to himself.

The nation they were currently settled in was called Mariath. A vast city-state the likes of which he had never before seen. Rather than a collection of villages, or small cities, Mariath was a metropolitan urban sprawl that choked the life from all of those within it. Poverty was rampant, and a decadent plutocracy of wealthy merchant class families ruled over it in contrasting opulence. He had grown to know them well.

Many peoples were settled here, each with their own districts. Felines of various stripes, horses, bears, canines, and even foxes called this city home. To his relief, there were no Beduin Blood here, but he wondered if the foxes of this land were not worse. It seemed to him that they were among the wealthiest of the upper class, at least those who were wealthy. He had only really met one.

As if summoned by his musing, a knock came at the door. He took a deep breath, and walked over to answer it. Behind the partition was a short man of fox birth, dressed in fine clothing with a train of servants behind him. "Good evening, sweet Couric" he greeted.

"Dalma's blessings, my Lord Guild Master Chalmer" he replied as he stepped to the side of the door with a bow. The man laughed in delight at his colorful reference to his northern god, walked confidently in and his servants followed laying the table with a cloth, food, wine, and silverware. This had been the routine, twice a week for the last month. Couric forced himself to smile pleasantly, and attended the seat for the fox as his servants discreetly excused themselves. A young lady of canine stock looked on Couric in pity as she passed, and rage swelled in his young heart.

"You shouldn't drink so much at your age" the fox said, as Couric poured himself his fifth glass for the evening. They had been dining for maybe a half of an hour, and chatting as they often did. "It isn't healthy, even for one as exceptionally fit as your self." Couric stared at the ruby liquid in his glass, and sighed. He smiled up at Chalmer, and set the bottle down.

"Forgive me, m'lord, but I'm just so nervous around your greatness, and it helps to calm my nerves" he replied, and the fox smiled. Bullshit, plain and simple, but Couric didn't dare tell him the real reason for his drinking. It was the only way to keep himself from seeing his father's scorning face as he earned the gold that the fox would gift him at the end of the night. Shame burned in the young tiger, and he drank his snifter dry as the first four glasses warmed his belly, and muddled his mind. He felt the hand of the young guild master rest on his own, and he fought the urge to jerk it back. He imagined himself drawing the knife he kept at his belt, and plunging it through the pitifully week paw of the worthless fop, and then choking the life from him. There wouldn't be any backing out, however. Better he do this than his mother.

Chalmer admired the boy's eyes for some time as they talked, and progressively scooted closer to him. This was routine of the evening. Soon, they would turn to kissing, and then to the bed. Couric would wake the following day, soar, hung over, and burning with shame. Shame that he, a proud Sherftii warrior would submit him self to this for of all things a fox, and shame that on some level that he feared he was growing to enjoy it. By all the gods he hated foxes more and more every day.

The sun peaked in through the window lattice, and Couric woke slowly. His body throbbed with the absence of wine, and he was chilled under the thin sheet. He slowly rose to his feet, and stifled tears as he collected his clothing. A small pouch rested on the table. Its contents would feed him and his family for another few days before he would have to meet the vulpine lothario for another evening.

He missed the servants that his mother had brought with them. Both were slaves, friends of hers that she had rescued from worse fates. Dan, the older man had developed a bad lung in the salt mines before Aliera had time to muster the influence to retrieve him. His condition had worsened quickly away from the dry air of the north, and he had passed from this world in slow, relentless pain. Orgia, the girl-servant who had come with them had been working in an inn to help pay for food and his mother's liquor. Couric had looked for her when she didn't return for two days, only to find her naked, bloody and strangled in the ally beside her place of employ. His mother had taken to the bottle and the strange alchemies of the region to quiet the pain of loss she felt for her friends, and husband. His sister, only eight, was only able to help in the most rudimentary of ways, cleaning, and watching the cooking. The weight of provision falling squarely on Couric had caused him to look desperately for any way to feed his mother and sister. He had learned the ways of a gang of youths, mostly his age, and had taken to robbery, and pick pocketing. He had risen in reputation quickly being much hardier than they, and trained in the ways of combat formally. It was among these rogues that he met the wealthy pederast who now filled his purse with coin.

His mother had been right. When he returned triumphantly to Sharaf, there would be hell to pay the likes of which would put the Beduin Blood to shame. He would have his uncle tied to a pole in the center of town, and skinned alive. Then, he would be left for the birds to feast on until his wretched life ended in agony for this treachery.

Couric entered the hovel in which his family had found residence. His nose wrinkled as he recoiled from the stink of liquor, opium, and offal. His mother lay on her side facing the far wall, a pipe on the floor behind her. She hadn't moved from her bedroll in a week, and he was growing very worried. He walked in and set the groceries he had collected down. His sister was asleep in a corner on an old rag of a blanket, more than likely sedated by the ambient smoke of his mother's drug.

"Mother" he said sweetly, "I've brought food. I've got milk. You should drink some if you don't feel like eating." She mumbled something incoherently, and rolled over to face him. His heart sank at the sight of her. She had lost thirty pounds over the last few months, and the bright life of her eyes was dull, and broken. She looked in his direction, but he was certain that she didn't actually see him. She rolled onto her back, and lifted a bottle of some dark ichors to her lips, and quaffed a long draw from it. She let her hand fall carelessly beside her, and the bottle clanked on the packed dirt of the floor, and rolled away spilling its contents as it went. Couric bit back tears and walked over to her.

He took a rag out of a pack he kept, and poured water into it from a canteen. "Please mother" he said, lovingly wiping the crust of her eyes from her cheeks, and the dirt from her fur, "You have to stop drinking so much. I...I need you" he said weakly, no longer able to stop a few tears from dampening the fur under his eyes. His sister stirred, and looked at him.

"Couric?" she said, and he nodded and waved to her. She smiled, and sat up sluggishly.

"I brought food" he said, his voice stuttering with emotion, "Get something to eat. There is some milk." He turned back to the shell that had been his mother just a few short months ago, and brought some milk to her lips. "Please" he pleaded, "Please drink something real, you can't live off of this liquor! Please drink." She swallowed a few drops of the milk, then choked on it, and weakly pushed him away. She slurred quietly about how her life had been so beautiful, and how she could almost see her husbands face. Couric listened, and tried valiantly to comfort her. She did this often, mumbling in a drunken state, pining for Kalafax, and her friends. She groped blindly for her bottle, and Couric offered her the milk. She drank about half of the bottle, and dropped the rest as she had the real bourbon. He scrambled to pick it up, and scolded her for her carelessness, but she only rambled about how she remembered the taste of milk. Her Kalafax would bring it to her whenever he sought a smile, but it was laced with honey. She brightened, and touted the virtue of milk and honey, then closed her eyes and grinned pleasantly, as if imagining it.

Couric helped his sister to some food, and set a fire in their cooking pot to roast some meat. He left it to brown and fetched a rag to clean up the mess his mother had left. He sopped up the milk, and liquor, and a sudden feeling of panic washed over him. Some instinctive part of him screamed that something was wrong, and he slowly turned to Aliera. "Mother?" he said quietly.

He reached over, and shook her a little. "Mother?" he posed again. His sister was busy filling her hungry stomach for the first time in two days, and the fire crackled happily as the meat he had laid out sizzled. "Mommy!" he said worriedly, and shook her more firmly. "Mom..."

He waited, and waited for her to whine longingly for her lover, her home, and for a safe happy place for her babies. Instead, she stared silently ahead through half-opened eyes, and lay far more still than he had ever seen her sleep. She wasn't saying anything any more. The fur under Couric's eyes moistened, and he bit his lip until bright blood spilled down his chin. His mother was gone, he instinctively knew, forever. "Sissy, come here" he said weakly, his voice broken with emotion.

She slunk over to him on her knees, bread still in her mouth, and sat down on his lap. She looked up at him, and reached up to wipe the blood from his chin. He put his arms around her, and hugged her closely to him.

"Say goodbye, Sissy" he said dismally, "Say goodbye to mommy. She's gone away, and we won't be seeing her for a long time." The girl cub stared over the loaf of bread she was eating somberly. She understood the situation, but some part of her still failed to grasp, or accept the gravity of her mother's bleak form.

Couric gathered up his belongings, and bid his sister stand by the door. He packed everything that he could carry into a backpack. He walked over to the exit, and turned to look one last time at the ruin of his mother's corpse. He had no tears left, but his breath came in whimpers, and his jaw quivered with her loss. Without another word, he kicked the bowl of fire over, releasing the coals into the pool of his mother's spilt liquor, and set the room ablaze. He took his sister's hand, and led her to a safe distance to watch the one room shack burn. The flames danced over his wide green eyes, and something inside him hardened. This would be his last night in Mariath, but before he left there was some business to attend to.

He watched until the fire burned down to nothing, and only black ash remained sending its requiem of smoke listing lazily into the air above. He knelt down and hugged his sister tightly to himself, and kissed her forehead.

"Come on" he said, smiling down at her, "Let's go, baby. There's a whole new life ahead of us now." He turned, and led her towards the wealthy district, and the house of Guild Master Chalmer. Tonight would be the last night he spent in Mariath, and no one would be left to mourn his disappearance. He smiled as he passed a crier, calling the day, and date of the year with his news.

"Jullah" he said to his sister, "It's the beginning my Thirteenth year. Do you know what that means?" She shook her teary eyed head no, and he looked forward grinning widely. "It means" continued, "That today, I have become a man."

---

Riadne sat with her sisters on the fence of her father's farm watching the young men from the nearby village working in the fields. He had a large amount of land, and produced a good deal of surplus each year. That combined with the fact that his brother was a broker added up to the ability to actually turn a good deal of profit, a luxury most farmers lacked. As a result of his expansive fields, large harvests, and disposable income, he liked to hire youths with less opportunity and pay them well for their service in aiding him to tend his keep. His five daughters simply enjoyed the presence of the lads, and lacking much else in the way of entertainment spent their precious free time watching them work, and trying to catch their attention.

"That's Ordorik's boy there" one of them said, "He's growing up fine!" The other's giggled amongst them selves and whispered about the workmen as they sipped on their chilled juice. A frequent topic was of their ages at the time, and how soon enough they might snatch up one of these fine cubs as they came of age for a husband. The common consensus was that if their brothers were not out there, they might have to tempt some idleness of their favored males.

Riadne, who in previous days had lazily eyed over various local youths and chatted casually about the fairer ones now found her self somewhat fixated. The other girls were not slow in noticing, and sniggered at her singularity. Whereas she had in the past never denoted that she was particularly interested in taking a mate, she now seemed quite enamored of a new face in the field. To be specific tall, strong young fox with a curious puff of blond hair. She had never seen him anywhere around the area before, nor had she ever met a fox with such an odd pigment to his topfur. That combined together with another peculiarity: A fine sword that he wore on his belt at all times. Even now as he toted large bales of hay to a wagon shirtless in the summer sun he was wearing it. It didn't even seem to get in his way.

Her attention was grabbed away by a wet plunk as one of her adjacent sisters dropped a rock into her cup, and splattered her chest with juice. The girls laughed mischievously, and Riadne blushed with anger.

"Wake up there, little girl!" her sister jibed, "You look like some fairy has you caught in her web of dreams." Riadne cast the vixen a hateful glare, and emptied out her glass.

"No fairy" she said, wiping at her blouse, "More likely a god." Her sisters fell silent, and leered closer to her with interest. A god, she says? What fair vision could have so affected her to make a statement as powerful as this?

"What god?" her sister asked, a bit more seriously, "Certainly not Shopil, he's too busy with the summer bustle of growth. I'd say your closer to Zander."

She smiled. "Zander, maybe, I've never heard a description but that he is most handsome." She turned her gaze back to the mysterious youth of whom she knew nothing. "All though I'd never expect Zander to bear a weapon, as this one does. He should be so endowed of fantastic features however." The other girls followed her gaze to the young fox working to bring in the hay. A few of them sighed as he hefted the heavy bales with ease, and cleared the sweat from his brow.

"He's no farmer, that one" a sister said, "You can tell by his arms. He's as strong as one though, or maybe stronger."

"That's true enough" said another, "Look at the ease with which he hefts the bales!"

"He's not so great" said a third, "I'll bet he's a robber. Why else would he carry a weapon all the time? He's probably on the run from the law. Papa said that he is a tramp who wondered in looking for work. He's a northerner."

Riadne looked over her sisters. She wasn't really in the mood to gossip right now. She hadn't ever really felt like this about a boy, and was dying to speak to him up close. The vixen slipped down off of the fence, and looked up at the others.

"I'm going to get some more juice" she said, "Would anyone like me to refill their cups?" The others gave no real acknowledgement except that they had plenty. She quickly slapped the bottom of her offending sister's vessel and splashed the girl with its contents. She bolted, and laughed as she skipped quickly off with the angered sister in pursuit. Knowing that none of them could catch the lithe Riadne, the girl heaved her cup at her, and it was nimbly caught before it could strike. The other girls laughed heartily, and the drenched vixen stomped off infuriated.

"Momma" Riadne said, reaching the house, and stepping through the kitchen door, "The hands look hot, and thirsty. Should I take them a pitcher?" Her mother turned, and looked over her. A knowing expression came over her, and she shook her head slowly.

"Has it come to this already?" she said, looking into her daughters eyes, "I had hoped for a few more years of your youthfulness. Ah well, so I'm getting old."

Riadne looked a bit confused, and walked over to her dam. "What do you mean?" she queried.

"Oh" her mother replied, "It's written all over you face. Which one is it? Which boy, I mean. You may as well tell me, I can tell plain as day, so don't you lie to me." She smiled at her daughter, and wiped her hands on her apron. Riadne blushed and looked away for a moment, and her mother's smile widened. Her little girl was still so innocent in spite of her reaching breeding age. She wondered how long it would be before she was off to be married.

"Well" Riadne responded, "I don't know, one of the new boys. He's really, really handsome, and strong." Her mother chuckled a bit. She could remember thinking the same thing of her husband so many years ago as she looked at him through virgin's eyes.

"So" she said, giving her girl's shoulder a little shove, "Which one is it? Hopefully it is one that your father will approve of." Riadne toyed with the fabric of her dress and looked at her shoes for a moment.

"I don't know his name" she said, "He's one of the new fox boys, the yellow haired one." Her mother's smile faded. That was trouble. A young girl's feelings she knew quite well, were fragile and irrational, and best not wasted on a homeless wanderer.

"I think it best if you stay inside till the harvest is in" she said bluntly. "You can swap your outside chores with one of the other girl's inside chores." Riadne was quite confused.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, "I didn't mean to. I was only telling you what you asked!" Her eyes searched her mother for some sign as to how she had transgressed.

"It's nothing like that" her mother said sternly, "I just think it's what is best right now. I'll explain it to you later, if you still don't understand."

Riadne felt that she did understand. Her mother didn't want her around the young man she was speaking about. Maybe he was a criminal, and her father had taken pity on him. Maybe she just didn't like him because he was a foreigner, and they were usually not trustworthy. Whatever the reason, she resolved that she had to find out, and that would mean being sneaky.

"Yes mother" she said reluctantly, and the older vixen eyed her. She made her way over to the pump in the yard, and filled her cup with water.

"I mean it" her mom called from the door, "You mind your mother, and stay to the house!" Riadne called her acceptance, and slipped out of the yard.

Later in the day as the sun was following its familiar path home to its consummate lover and companion, the young men retired from the fields and made their way to the barn as they were instructed by the boys of the farmer. Inside, they found a simple table that most of them were used to, and four girls laying out biscuits and fried lizard. They each took a seat, and thanked their hosts for the meal, and took to hungrily eating.

Conversation passed among the young men as it usually does. Stories of personal this or that's, and of fine young ladies that had attracted their attention. One of them sat quietly, refraining from the discourse.

After a few moments, the attention of the table largely rested on him, and the others watched him eat in wonderment. He ignored them completely preferring to keep to his meal, and let the other males have their entertainment to themselves. They seemed interested in how he used his teeth on certain parts of the meat insuring that nothing was left on the bone.

"Hey" a young man said finally as Adrian cracked open one of the bones he was holding and sucked aggressively at its contents, "Why do you eat like that, and why are you sucking on a bone?" A few of the other men chuckled at the curious act.

"When you live in the north, and you train to be strong" he replied nonchalantly, "You learn how to eat to get the best of every meal." The young man looked at him challengingly, so he continued. "There is meat inside the bone" he said, cracking another one open, and showing him, "And it will nourish you better than the meat outside. It's where the lizards store the best of their strength. Clovis taught the Beduin men that in the first days."

The other youngsters were quite interested with this, and took to investigating their own food for evidence of truth. Adrian had to scold a few of them for trying it incorrectly.

"You have to be careful with a bone" he said, "Lizards guard their strength jealously, even in death, and if you don't make sure it is broken right, then you will get splinters in your throat and bowels. You'll be shredded from the inside, and die."

The door opened, and the owner of the farm came in. The young men's interest in the curious straw headed fox and turned to greet him merrily. He seated himself, and took a biscuit. The conversation turned to the elder of them, and their appreciation of his kindness. Adrian returned to his quiet solitude for a time, but soon felt the need to speak up to his employer.

"One of your girls was watching me" he said, "For a long time. I can always tell when I'm being watched." The older fox cocked an eyebrow at him, and the other young men looked nervously to the remnants of their meal.

"Why do you tell me this?" he asked with interest, and leaned on his elbow as he awaited the young stranger's response.

"Because young women are mischievous" Adrian said, "And a man makes a fellow man aware of his children's doings if he thinks they may be related to mischief. I thought you might want to watch her so that she doesn't distract from my work while I'm here. Vixens only watch young men for one reason and that reason is mischief in the making."

The old farmer nodded, and looked the boy over appraisingly. "That is very wise" he said at last, "You had a very good father that much I can tell you. Why have you wandered so far from him at so young an age?"

Adrian sighed and took a drink of water. "I don't speak of that" he snapped, then thought better of his self. It doesn't befit a man to insult a generous host, his father had always said. The older fox, Samuith, was looking at him in shock, and the other boys were amazed at his brazen response.

"My father was murdered" he said hatefully, "Please forgive me my rudeness. He was killed by tigers of the Sherftii when they slaughtered my village twelve seasons ago. As far I know only I escaped the attack, and so I left my homeland in search of brighter fortune." Adrian realized that he was digging grooves into the table with his claws, and relaxed his hand.

"And that sword?" the farmer posed.

"It was my father's. He gave it to me with his dying breath" he replied, drawing the blade and holding it for his host to see. "In my father's paws, it was called Righteous Overture, but in my possession, I have renamed it Stripe Splitter. It is my life, and as it stayed with my father until his last breath, so shall it stay with me. That is the way of the Beduin."

"Ah" Samuith replied, "A Beduin. I should have assumed. I've never met one, but I hear fantastic stories of your people from travelers. It seems that your father instilled in you great nobility in his short time with you. You evidence him a great man, and I am deeply sorry for your loss." Adrian took another drink, and returned to eating. The farmer watched him for a moment, and then stood up. The time had come to pass out payment, and he turned the precious copper over to the hands of the young men as they had earned it. When he came to Adrian, he put his purse away and gave him nothing.

Adrian eyed the man with suspicion and wondered if he was going to cheat him. He prepared himself to take his pay out of his hide, but the old fox spoke.

"I've not enough to pay you, Beduin" he said sternly, "But I will offer you a room, and a place to work until such time as I can. I will see you rewarded for your service, and odd but admirable manners. Take that as an oath."

Adrian nodded. He was shown to a room in a smaller house adjacent to Samuith's, and given a bed to sleep in. Adrian fell quickly into slumber after the long day's exertion, and the tiresome memories the farmer had drummed out of him. Samuith went to his chambers where his wife was readying for bed.

"We've a guest in the visitor's house" he said, "A young man named Adrian. He will be staying with us." His wife looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"He's not by any chance a blond fox, is he?" she pressed, and slowly crossed his arms. Samuith could tell his mate disapproved, and simply walked to the bed and began to remove his clothing.

"You object?" he said, and his wife sighed.

"One of your daughters is quite infatuated with him, and I don't think it healthy for her to get too much more involved with him. I assume it's a bad idea for her to become too attached to a drifter, and a foreigner?" Samuith considered her words, but held to his resolve.

"I'm aware that one of them was watching him" he said, "he told me. He felt that I should be aware in case she was foolish, and might fall to mischief." Samuith gave a chuckle as he removed his tunic. "Can you imagine that?" he said, "He's a fine boy, an orphan of war, and a Beduin Bred." He turned and walked over to his wife. "He's very sharp, and terribly proper in his curious north-man way, very well mannered. However, he's very angry, and terribly alone. I invited him to stay because I would like to help him. He needs guidance that his father can't give him."

"He's not your problem" she countered, "I'm more worried with our own children. You said you already knew of Riadne's folly, yet you pressed him to stay anyway? You know how young girls are with their feelings!"

"He watched his father die" Samuith stated firmly. "He's a good lad, and he'll be fine man. If someone will just train out some of that wander-lust, then he'll have a happier life. Perhaps he just needs a good woman to temper his heart? You should meet him. He's twenty years older in mind than body, and he could take good care of our girl." His wife brooded for a moment, conceding his point, and feeling a little guilty for her coldness.

"Fine" she said, "I'll meet him. If he is as fine a child as you say, I'll have no problems. We'll have to keep an eye on them, though. You never know with those north men." Samuith smiled.

"Very good then" he said, and kissed his wife sweetly on the lips. "Tomorrow at the close of the day, tarry a while in the barn and speak with him." The farmer and his wife found their way wearily to bed at the end of yet another day in their difficult, but happy and simple lives.