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Darwin's Legacy

Chapter 11 - Flight and Capture

Patch shuddered as the hulking figures disappeared into the forest. Strange folk these southerners, he thought, strange and frightening.

Patch was risking a lot by coming down here, and the threat was not just from the brutal southerners. Contact with the southerners was officially banned, and the Board had taken the caravan out from under more than one enterprising leader in the past. But Patch ignored such rules. A clever fox with guts could turn a tidy profit down here, but unlike his canine customers, he would never think of cheating the King's folk. Well, he admitted to himself, I would think about it, but never actually do it.

One of the reasons for his reluctant integrity was because they never made contact until one was well inside their territory. That meant that it was too far to get back to safe terrain to make any double dealing worthwhile. The large southerners were half feral, and could outrun a caravan even on flat ground, but there was no flat ground between their coastal city and the gap that led to the fox's home valley. It was a slow steady grind uphill all the way.

It had taken Patch's caravan almost two days to climb the gap from the valley side, and another week to descend to where the emissaries had been waiting for him. They had carefully skirted the line of mountains that separated the lush western valleys from a dry, desert zone where nothing grew and you could smell the salt in the air. When the air was clear they could see a vast expanse of water off to the south and east. But they did not venture down that way because animals and vegetation grew increasingly bizarre the closer one got to the great bay and at night the ground glowed an eerie green in places. The fox knew to cross the top of the valley only when the winds were blowing in from over the tops of the mountains, and not to stop until they were in a valley that was sheltered between the desert and a coastal ridge.

The southerners had been expecting him because he usually ended up his tour of the valley with a side trip into the south, and they had brought the kind of rare and exotic metals that made the detour so profitable. But they were surprised to find that he did not want to trade weapons, gadgets or trinkets this time.

In fact, they were a little taken back at his offer to sell them a female slave.

It was not that they were unfamiliar with his female commodities; they enjoyed the services offered just as much as the males in the valley. But they had never showed any interest in purchasing one, and Patch knew why. Even though he enforced a no feline on feline or canine on canine policy, all of his females had been sterilized to prevent pregnancy. The southerners were not interested in importing any of the valley species in general and not sterile ones in particular. But things had changed over the years and he felt that they would reconsider when he told them about Snowdrop. As indeed they did.

One of the original emissaries had gone back to report to the King while the other two had stayed to make sure that Patch did not get cold paws and attempt to leave before the King's instructions could be relayed. That had taken another four days.

The runner returned with several of the King's advisors in tow. They examined Snowdrop and questioned her incessantly until they were satisfied that she was telling the truth.

"It's not that we don't trust foxes." The largest said critically. "It's just that we don't trust you, Patch."

Patch grinned and took their insults. He still had doubts about the cat's claim of virginity until that one and only act with a canine, but if the King believed it then that was good enough for him. It meant that he could charge a huge sum for her, and since her baby was not due for at least another month, he could be well on his way back to the winter campgrounds before the King even knew if he had been cheated or not. And if it was true, then all the better. That meant that Patch could start a business exporting fertile females to the south.

Of course I will have to kidnap them, he mused. None of the ones that would come to my caravan voluntarily would suit the southerners. It was not often that he was offered slaves; cases like Snowdrops were rare and her beauty rarer still. Most of his female employees were tramps to begin with, and considered unseemly by their own kind. Patch had to market them to other species as 'exotics'.

He would need new wagons, sturdy ones if he was going to export in any sort of profitable volume, and drugs to keep the females he stole quiet without interfering with their reproductive cycle. Maybe his mother would have some ideas. She had been doing a good job of keeping Snowdrop healthy and presentable through the summer.

Thinking of how Snowdrop looked when she was standing in the firelight naked at the finale of each show made his groin twitch. Patch had not allowed anyone other than his mother to touch the feline and had not as much as laid a paw on her.

Well, that was not exactly true, he admitted to himself, he had been laying his paws on her quite a bit these last few weeks. She was beyond doubt the finest female ever to grace a caravan, and he had turned down more than one generous offer from canines and foxes eager to pass some time with her. The temptation to turn her into just another prostitute was great, and the urge to visit her himself and take her by force was even greater, but he knew that as soon as he did she would lose the air of innocence that made the show so convincing, and profitable. So he had kept her locked up and kept his paws to himself for the first three months. But lately he had been finding any excuse he could to touch her. He fussed with her costume, smoothing it down over her hips when it did not need it, checking that her tail was protruding properly so he could run it through his paws, and adjusting her bosom just to feel the soft round globes beneath the thin doeskin. He knew what such actions would lead to ruining the merchandise, so he resisted as best he could.

But I do not have to resist any more, he thought, do I?

After the exams and the interrogation the King's emissaries had begun to negotiate a price for the pregnant cat. That they wanted her, and badly, that was obvious. The southerners may have been formidable foes but they were shitty bargainers, in Patch's opinion. He had named a truly outrageous price, as usual, and had let them talk him down to one that was merely unreasonable as they had raised theirs from barely adequate to one that was fair and then to very good. But Patch refused to lower his final offer, and they had reached the limit set by their king. They needed to go back to the palace and seek new instructions. Taking a poster that Patch had commissioned to advertise the show, one that showed a good likeness of the naked Snowdrop from behind, they set out as a group to confer with their master.

Patch was certain that his price would be met once the King saw the poster. They would be back in four or five days with enough rare metals to fill his largest wagon. All that Patch had to do in the meantime was to wait.

But he did not have to wait idly. The goods had been examined and found to be suitable. The southern examiner had been able to tell that the cat had not indulged in any sexual activity for months, possibly since conception, as she had sworn. What harm was there in indulging myself now, he wondered? He had heard that laying with a female at this stage of pregnancy was an experience like no other, and it was not like she was going to get any more or any less pregnant thereby, not if he was not too rough on her. She would probably be submissive anyway, for fear of harming her unborn child should she fight back.

The thought of Snowdrop meek and compliant under him tipped the argument in favour of indulgence. Patch hitched up his suddenly uncomfortably tight trousers and went to tell his mother to prepare the feline for him. He would stop by the cart where they stored the wine and the preserved food on the way, so that after she was brought to him he would not have to leave his wagon for at least two days. That should give ample time for her to recover before the King's folk returned.

Oh what the hell, he chided himself as he rummaged through the dried fruit and wine that he usually reserved for his best customers, make it three days.

* * * * * * * *

Roark, Dylan and Darwin were looking down on the caravan that they had been tracking for many weeks. The wagons were parked in a small river gorge just inside a heavily wooded valley that ran southeast. They had managed to catch up by running during the daylight hours for the last four days and most of the previous night as they drew closer and following the scent became easier. Now they were dirty, sore and exhausted, but hopeful because the first thing that Darwin said when they crawled over the rim of the ridge was, "I can smell her!"

The small dog made to get up and rush down the hill but Roark stopped him with a paw on his shoulder. The sun had already dipped behind the hill to the west and it was getting difficult to see. But he needed to know what they were up against before he could make a plan.

"What else do you smell?" He asked the over eager beagle. Darwin took several deep breaths through his thick snout and pause to consider.

"There are foxes, the odd wolf and coyote guard, and females of various species. None of them very clean, so they are very easy to detect. And as I said, I can smell Snowdrop. She smells much healthier and cleaner, but subtly different than what I remember somehow."

"That's because she's pregnant now." Dylan told him. Living in the den as much as he did had familiarized him to the female side of life more than the average canine. "She wasn't when you last saw, or rather, smelled her."

"But we had already ..."

"It takes a little longer than the few moments you two had after .... you know." Dylan informed the dog. He had overheard some of the older she wolves telling the younger ones that they could avoid pregnancy by hopping on one leg for twenty minutes and then switching to the other leg for another twenty, but that it had to be done within hours of the act, before the seeds could be planted firmly, they had said. Dylan was not certain how it all worked himself, but he continued to educate the dog anyway. "It takes a couple of days for the babies to take root, you see, and the female smell doesn't change until they do."

"Oh." Darwin said. He took another sniff and a puzzled look came over his face. "There is something else there." His snout wrinkled as he worked the scent around inside. "I've never smelled anything like it. There are traces of feline, and something bear-like, but not exactly a bear."

"The King?" Roark speculated.

Darwin shrugged. There was no way to tell from the smell. "Whoever it is brought some pigs, maybe to trade for goods." He said.

Just then a door in the back of the largest wagon opened and several creatures stepped out. It was hard to make out any details in the deepening shadows at the bottom of the gorge, but three of the creatures were big, very big. The largest was bigger than Ang-Ro, Roark would wager, with a chest and arms as broad and thick as Dylan's. But it did not have the hunchback's shrivelled legs and would be a formidable foe in a fight. They were clad in clothing made of rough material trimmed with fur, and it was difficult to determine where the garments ended and the creatures began. It did not help that they were all standing with their backs to the three hidden observers.

The forth creature was much smaller, and had a bushy tail that marked him as a fox. When he turned toward them the flames of the cook fire reflected off a shiny spot high on his forehead. Patch, Roark thought, and then he looked to his companions and tapped his own forehead to draw their attention to the fox's bald patch. Darwin withdrew the pouch containing the bit of scalp that the fox Dead Eye, had given him to track his brother by. He sniffed the air and then opened the bag to take a whiff. He turned to Roark and nodded in agreement.

"What do we do now?" The tri-coloured dog mouthed. Roark motioned that they should lay quiet and observe.

They knew roughly how many foxes and guards the caravan contained from the signs they left at every campsite. They were badly outnumbered, but Dead Eye had told them that none of his brother's workers were particularly skilled or brave. A surprise attack with plenty of violence and noise would probably scatter most of them, and with Dylan's great crossbow throwing wagon-shattering spears into their midst noise and violence were guaranteed. Roark was sure that they could handle Patch and whatever guards were left, but the three hulking creatures changed the situation considerably. He could tell by the way they stood and the way they casually rested their paws on the hilts of their swords that they would not cut and run.

He wished that they would turn around so that he could get a better look at them.

After a short animated discussion that they could not make out the three strangers made gestures of farewell to Patch and headed downhill, disappearing into the dark woods almost immediately. Roark breathed a sigh of relief as they did because their departure evened the odds and they had left without Snowdrop. That meant that they still had time to affect her rescue.

Patch watched the strangers leave and then he walked over to a smaller wagon and talked to an old vixen that sat on the rear platform smoking a pipe. She must be Patch and Dead Eye's mother, Roark guessed. From the tales told throughout the valley by canines that had visited the caravan to see the feline on display she would be the keeper of Darwin's lost love, and the wagon she was riding was the only one with barred windows. Snowdrop must be inside that one he deduced.

After a few words with Patch the vixen went inside and he went to one of the supply carts and started rummaging around in it. The caravan folk were gathering to prepare the evening meal, and Roark made a hasty count to confirm that all were present and that none were out on sentry duty. Dead Eye had been right about the guard's lazy and amateurish behaviour. With no way of knowing how long before the King's folk came back they would have to attack as soon as possible, but he needed a little more information before finalizing his plan.

"Stay here and keep an eye on the camp." Roark told Darwin. "Dylan and I are going to circle around for a closer look." He slid back beyond the rim of the ridge and Dylan followed.

"What do you think?" Dylan asked when it was safe to speak. "A barrage from up here on the ridge followed by a charge downhill or an envelopment supported by fire from 'The Equalizer'?" He patted the oversized crossbow that he totted.

"Let's circle around and take a look at the ground beyond the camp." Roark advised. "If there is enough cover we can get right up on the wagon I think Darwin's feline is in. If that's possible then I think a little deception is in order." He explained what he had in mind as they took the long route around the camp, checking the approaches and looking for good fire positions as they went.

* * * * * * * *

Snowdrop had indeed been submissive since being sold to the evil fox with the bald patch on his forehead, but not always for the same reason.

At first the shock of being caught with Darwin and exiled into a life of slavery had been too much for her to bear. She had gone into a near comatose state. As a result she could barely move or think, let alone fight or plan an escape. The shame at her predicament was only slightly improved when she discovered that she was not going to be turned into a common whore, but it returned each night when her clothes were ripped from her in front of salivating crowds of canines, foxes, and even a few felines.

She was kept alone in a compartment barely large enough to lie down in, in the wagon of Patch's mother. She believed that one day the novelty of the act she was forced to submit to would wear off and she would be thrown in with the rest of the trollops, so she did as she was told and bore the shame each night in hopes of delaying that fate. Fear was her driving motive at that point.

But things had changed after they learned that she was pregnant. Not only did it add a new twist to the story that Patch had woven around her and give the act new life, but it also affected his long range plans for her.

"I had always intended on selling you after you stopped attracting the crowds." He had told her after extensive questioning and some mild torture to see if she was lying about having only ever made love the one time with the beagle. "Some rich old canine would pay a pretty sum to have you as a maid and occasional bed partner. But if we can convince the King that you are capable of breeding with other species ... well the profit will be immense."

He had gone on to explain why that would be but she only paid attention to certain facts: She was pregnant by her lover, Darwin, and she would be sold to a creature outside the valley from where there was no hope of her ever escaping. And she very badly wanted to escape at that point. She had to get away somehow and return to Darwin.

From then on she remained outwardly docile, motivated by caution, but she had already begun scheming her escape.

She knew she would need to collect some things not only to affect her escape, but also to survive in a strange and unfriendly land afterward. Patch's caravan was criss-crossing the valley but moving slowly and steadily south, into territory unfamiliar to Snowdrop and where there were few feline encampments. She had no idea how the canines of the region would treat an escaped slave, and a feline at that, so she had to plan on avoiding settlements until she got back to the northern end of the valley. That meant she would need some food, something to hold water, basic tools, and a weapon.

Her compartment was bare save for a few rags and tattered blankets that the old vixen had thrown in for her to sleep on. It was a jumbled mess. The advantage of that was it made a good hiding place for the bags and water skins she would need. Snowdrop set her mind to how she could acquire some.

Snowdrop first suggested that she should lend a paw in the sewing. Patch's mother had to stitch back together the costume that they dressed her in each night. Even though it was designed to tear away easily it occasionally needed more extensive repair, and now that Snowdrop's belly was expanding it needed regular adjustment. But the corrupt vixen was very old, with weak eyes and trembling paws. She gladly turned her seamstress chores over to the young cat. She watched her like a hawk the first week, like a mildly interested crow the second, and not at all by the third week.

Snowdrop was able to secrete a spare needle and thread in her clothing for use in her compartment. There was plenty of material in there to make practical clothing and a pack with, but getting a water skin was proving to be difficult.

The fox had taken to making her stand on a platform away from the trading area during the day to pique the canine's interest. She had to stand there for hours on end, head down, her slim figure with the protruding bump in her belly outlined by the overly ornate costume. One day she told Patch that her advancing pregnancy was putting a lot of stress on her bladder, and that she was finding it difficult to stand on display without releasing it. She mentioned that the warriors of her tribe had a device that enabled them to lie in ambush for days on end without suffering, and that she should be able to manufacture a female variant with a water skin and some plastic tubing. The old fox was eager to see if her device would work, thinking that they would be popular with the wagon drivers, especially in hostile territory where it was dangerous to stop and relieve oneself. He could have them mass produced back in the campgrounds. He instructed her to build both male and female versions. She asked for several water skins because, she explained to Patch, she was sure to ruin a few before she got the design right.

Building up a stock of food was more difficult because most of the meals that Patch's mother brought to her consisted of overcooked leftovers. But she did bring the occasional apple or onion and Snowdrop put several of each aside, rotating them with fresh ones to preserve her stock in case an opportunity to escape presented itself. She also experimented with a form of pemmican made from the stale crusts of her bread mixed with the fatty residue of her meals. It took a few tries to get the ratio right. She had to eat the failed attempts, which made her feel nauseous, but it went un-noted as it could easily be explained as a symptom of her pregnancy. Finally by trial and error she determined which ingredients would keep the longest and how to combine them. She began storing small quantities of the substance in a split water skin that she really had ruined while making her bladder relief device.

Stealing a complete weapon was out of the question, but Snowdrop felt that she could build one easily enough if she had the essential parts. Metal for tools to build one proved to be easy to come by. Spurred on by a couple of stooges that Patch had placed among them the audiences had taken to tossing bits of spare metal and plastic onto the stage at the end of the show, a tribute to the shamed princess. After the curtain was drawn Snowdrop had to collect them and turn them over to Patch's mother because the old vixen was too arthritic to bend over and pick them up herself. She gathered her ripped costume at the same time, so it was an easy matter to slip some of the more useful pieces into the folds.

She then asked if she could help gather firewood for the small brazier in her compartment as the nights were getting cooler even if the days were still warm. Getting out in the fresh air would also be good for her health, and Patch wanted her in top shape, so he agreed to let her out on a leash locked around her neck and tied his mother's wrist. The old girl took great delight at first in driving the young feline around the camp like a pack animal, but she soon grew bored with the jest. She became lax and her attention wandered, allowing Snowdrop to secrete select pieces of wood and scraps of leather from the caravan's trash for working on later when she was alone.

Snowdrop collected straps and springs, seasoned hardwood and strips of bark for lashings. By the time of the autumn equinox she had built herself a small crossbow that could be disassembled and several metal-tipped bolts for it. Thread collected from the seams of cast off clothes had been woven together to make several yards of fishing line, and two sewing needles had been bent slowly and carefully into hooks. She also had several cutting, scraping and drilling tools as well as a flint to spark fires with.

Her preparations finished, Snowdrop just had to wait for the right opportunity to make a run for it. She began to complain about the chilly air, and took to wearing several layers of bulky clothes on their morning firewood excursions. Within the layers she secreted her food, empty water bags, her tools and the components of her crossbow. But she kept a short cutting tool up her sleeve to cut the leash when the occasion to escape arose.

She had hoped that the chance would come soon, because Patch had been letting his paws wander more and more as they closed in on the final trading site before leaving the valley behind. But the equinox passed without an opportunity presenting itself and the caravan moved south in an uninterrupted journey south through the gap. With no trade fairs to prepare for the old vixen and her son's crew had nothing to distract them, and Snowdrop found herself under constant observation up to the point where the emissaries of the King arrived.

She suffered the prodding, poking and questioning with the same outward docility as she had displayed when she was still in shock, but her mind was raging. The King's folk were larger than any creatures that she had ever seen, and covered with muscle, the kind of muscle you get from chasing prey down and ripping it to shreds. They were well groomed, and well spoken, but they appeared to be half-feral throwbacks from the mythical times all the same. She could only imagine what their king must be like.

They spoke the common tongue, not only to her and Patch but also among themselves. Forgetting that she could overhear, or merely discounting the fact as unimportant, they discussed her value to the King and how eager he would be to breed with her should the story of the canine father prove to be true. But since Patch was demanding more than they were authorized to pay they would have to go back and get the King's approval.

"We'll be back for you in four days or so." The kindest of the group told her before they departed. "Keep yourself well, it will a great honour to be mated with the King." The creature then turned to patch and advised him to keep her lock up safe until they returned. Snowdrop had been taken straight back to her compartment immediately after.

She was desperate to escape now, but how could she if Patch intended to keep her inside for the next three days? Would he follow their instructions, she wondered? He had shown no respect for his own specie's rules, so maybe there was room to manoeuvre. She spent the next hour scheming of ways to get out in the open and away from the wagons with only Patch's mother for company. Then her thoughts were interrupted by the frail old vixen herself.

"Come." The fox ordered. "My son would enjoy your company until you are to be picked up by the King's people. I need to wash you and pretty you up while he arranges his wagon and prepares himself." She emitted an evil chuckle at the thought of what her son might be doing to prepare himself and it sent a chill up Snowdrop's spine. "Come now." The old vixen repeated. "We go to the river to bathe you."

"Yes, one moment ....Maman." She used the title that she often heard Patch address his mother with when they were conversing in their own language. She had heard some of the other females use it with the vixen also. It brought a smile to the fox's face, but did nothing to ease the harshness of her tongue.

"Why a moment, heh? What do you need a moment for? You go to bathe, not for putting on a show."

"It is chilly outside, Maman, and I am afraid of catching a cold. I'll just put on some warm clothes and bring some blankets to dry my fur with." As she spoke she scrambled her escape supplies together before her, blocking the vixen's view with her body.

"Alright, but hurry up. It is going to take hours to dry you and style you up nice as it is." She left then, muttering about stupid males and the silly things that seemed to excite them as she went.

The river! Snowdrop thought as she hastily arranged her bags and tools about her person before donning her baggy outfit. The river was a ways away from the campsite, or so she had overheard from the grumbling of the water bearers that passed by her wagon. It would also be secluded she suspected, as Patch did not want her bathing where the guards could see her, just in case the sight was more than they could resist, and none of Patch's crew were ones for regular washing so they were unlikely to run into anyone. A quick whack with a stick should take care of Patch's mother. Then if what the old vixen had said was true she would have several hours head start before they noticed her missing.

She had just finished secreting the last of her supplies when the door to her chamber opened and Patch's mother summoned her out. Snowdrop followed with her head down, to maintain the appearance of one with a broken spirit, but inside she was tense and alert. Her eyes scanned the camp as they passed through, noting that the rest of the caravan folk were gathered around the fire, just starting the evening meal. As they passed the wood pile she pretended to stumble, and limped like she had twisted an ankle as she stood up.

"Never mind that, Dearie." Patch's mother said with a smirk, thinking that the young feline was trying to avoid spending the next two days with her son. "What Patch has in mind does not require you to be on your feet, just your back ... and your stomach, and your knees, and maybe even your head, but not your feet." She added with a cackle. But she did allow Snowdrop to select a branch from the pile to use as a crutch for the slippery descent to the riverbank. Snowdrop chose a sturdy one.

"Here we are." Her keeper declared when they had reached a sandy spot where the water was deep and calm. Herons stalked frogs in the shallows and swans cruised majestically, escorted by small groups of gulls and ducks. It was a tranquil and beautiful spot that Snowdrop had no time to appreciate; she had to get moving while there was still some light in the sky to navigate by.

The vixen bent to place her bag down on the sand. She opened it and began pulling out bottles of shampoo and scented lotions, concoctions that they usually sold to the finicky female canines. The back of her head presented an excellent target, so Snowdrop brought the makeshift crutch up and around and down. It connected with a satisfying thud that sent the old girl sprawling across the sand.

She dropped the branch and bent to examine the bag that was sitting open on the ground. She would need something to tie Patch's mother up with and she preferred to not have to tear strips off her clothing to do so. Maybe the vixen had some knitting yarn or cord in there. Even the leash she used to use on Snowdrop would serve the purpose. She was rummaging through the contents when something slammed into her back.

Snowdrop fell forward, recovering adroitly and turning as she rolled with the agility that her species was renowned for. She had expected to see a stray guard or maybe Patch himself, come to spy on her while she bathed, but it was the old vixen. She was standing by the bag with the branch in her paws and a look of hatred on her face.

Patch's mother was tougher than she looked. Sixty years on the wagons, forty of them mated to Patch's father, a drunken and abusive partner, had seen to that. It would take more than a whack in the back of the head from some high-toned willowy feline to take her out. She had silently regained her feet as soon as the cat's back was turned and retrieved the stick that was still wet with her blood. She very badly wanted to bash the cat's head in with the same club that had been used on her, but she restrained herself. Patch would be incensed if she killed the little slut, and less than happy if she as much as left a mark on her.

"Get on your knees." She snarled as she advanced on the crouching feline, the branch held up and ready to strike. "You will bathe with your paws tied behind you back and be scrubbed with the bristle brush we use to clean the horse shit off the wagon wheels for your trouble."

Snowdrop knew that it was now or never. She dropped to her knees and let her arms droop beside her but dug her toes into the sand. When Patch's mother was close enough she used the muscles hardened by standing on display for long hours to propel her up into the old vixen's stomach.

Patch's mother reacted amazingly quickly for one that had seemed half-asleep most days. She twisted out of the way and tried to bring the stick down on Snowdrop but the cat was too close. The vixen took several steps back to give herself room to manoeuvre, stopping when she felt the water of the river on her heels. Snowdrop remained crouched on the beach before her, curled into a defensive ball the vixen thought, but with her arms in front, protecting her swollen belly no doubt. That left her head and back exposed. Surely Patch would not begrudge his own mother a lump or two, she thought hopefully as she brought the branch up, th_e cat certainly deserved it_.

When the impromptu club had reached its apex Snowdrop turned, revealing the small one-paw crossbow that she had concealed already assembled in her clothing. She had spent long hours in her compartment practicing loading and firing it into a bundle of rags that served to muffle the strike of the bolt. Her target was just as large and hardly farther away, but considerably noisier as the impact of the bolt in the vixen's chest brought forth a wail of pain unlike any that Snowdrop had ever heard.

Patch's mother was thrown backwards and into the river. The shriek was cut off as her head went underwater but the noise was replaced with a cacophony of cries from the wildlife that the fight had disturbed. Quacks and honks and the high pitched screams of the gulls filled the air as the birds took wing, with only the stately herons remaining silent as they soared away looking mildly perturbed.

Had the noise carried as far as the camp, Snowdrop wondered, and would the guard come to investigate? She had to assume that they would. She had to move fast, there was no time to hide the evidence of a fight. Besides, the body of Patch's mother was drifting away into the centre of the river, carrying one of her precious bolts away with it. Maybe if she was lucky they would assume that those horrible creatures had returned to steal her away and go after them instead. She kicked the sand around to obscure the fact that it bore only the tracks of a fox and a cat and then she ran for the cover of the trees.

All around her the birds continued to protest, sounding for all the world like a horde of warriors on the attack. Behind her, back in the camp, she could hear a clamour rising. She could imagine the guards and the foxes rushing around, gathering weapons, yelling at Patch's troop of sluts to get out of the way as they tried to figure out where the threat was coming from.

And through it all Snowdrop imagined that she could hear the voice of her beloved Darwin calling her name, calling her home. She shook her head to clear it as she crashed through the bush; she needed to keep her wits about her. But she could still hear him calling plaintively, although the cries were growing fainter. I must be going crazy from loneliness, she thought.

The woods were dense and it was difficult to determine which direction she was headed in, but Snowdrop figured that since they had been going downhill for the past few days that she should go uphill. Unfortunately, she had been spending most of her time locked in her chamber of late and had did not realize that they had moved from one valley to another, or that they were camped in a small gorge off that second valley. From where she stood three out of four directions were uphill, and the odds of choosing the correct one were two to one against her. The path that Snowdrop chose took her more east than north. Instead of heading back toward the gap, she was moving back into the foothills of the mountains.

* * * * * * * *

Back on the ridge Darwin stayed perfectly still as he silently watched the camp, but inside he was seething. To think that I am so close that I can smell her, he mused, and yet to have to wait. It was agonizing for the forlorn canine. But Roark had explained the need for careful planning several times during the long search. He knew that the big wolf was right, and that their best chance lay in executing a well thought out and meticulously prepared plan. But the suspense was almost killing him.

He just hoped that Roark did not take too long coming up with his plan. Otherwise the strange smelling creatures might come back before they had a chance to rescue Snowdrop. The thought made him even more anxious.

He scanned the camp every few seconds, but mostly he kept his eyes on the wagon that Roark thought Snowdrop was being held in. A few minutes after the wolves left him the old vixen reappeared with a creature dressed in baggy and concealing clothes in tow. The two headed toward the river, and it was not until he saw the slim black tail waving behind the bulky figure that he realized that it was Snowdrop.

Darwin twitched again at the involuntary urge to get up and run to her, but he managed to restrain himself. They must be taking her to the river to bathe, he told himself, if they wanted her to be presentable for the King. He stayed still and controlled his breathing just as Dylan and Roark had taught him, and he felt his racing heart slow down as they had said that it would. That made him feel better. Nothing unusual, he thought, just a bath. I must not panic or attack on my own. He reminded himself to show restraint and to trust the more experienced wolves to come up with a good plan. But why was she dressed like that, he wondered?

He also wondered if Roark and Dylan also saw her go. Rescuing Snowdrop at the river when there was only one old vixen to contend with seemed like a good plan to Darwin. Maybe I should follow them and tell them? But they had gone around the other way, so maybe it would be better to circle around in the opposite direction until they met in the middle? Or maybe .... Darwin's mind became clouded with indecision.

At that instant a wail of pain rent the air, followed by the screams of angry fowl. Darwin's head came up and he turned in the direction that the cry had come from, toward the river.

"Snowdrop!" He cried aloud as he leapt to his feet, convinced that they were hurting his beloved. He rushed down the hill making a bee-line for the river, a route that would take him right through the middle of the camp, calling her name earnestly.

* * * * * * * *

Roark heard the high-pitched wail only faintly from where he and Dylan were crouched on the far side of the camp, but he heard Darwin's shouts a lot more clearly. Although he could not see the beagle he could follow his progress from the sound of him crashing through the bush. Roark guessed that the dog had seen someone hurt Snowdrop and that the sight was too much for the beagle to bear.

He had not had time to make a plan, but it was too late for that now. Darwin's mad rush toward the camp had forced them into action. Roark motioned to Dylan to ready his great crossbow for a charge. At least the guards' attention would be focused on the dog charging down the hill, allowing the two wolves to hit them from the side unexpectedly. But they had to move fast to avoid catching Darwin in the crossfire.

Roark rose to his feet and was just about to charge when he was jumped from behind. He was knocked flat onto the leaves that were scattered about the forest floor, but it was still early autumn, and the thin layer of fallen leaves did nothing to cushion the blow. All of the wind was knocked out of him as something incredibly large and heavy landed on his back. He tried to roll over but he could not, and whatever creature had attacked him got an arm around his neck and another behind his head in a choke hold. Struggle as he might, he could not break the grip. He twisted with all his strength, but could not even get far enough around to see his attacker. All he could see was Dylan stretched out on the leaves with a bloody wound on the back of his head and the massive legs of Dylan's assailant standing over the still form of his friend. Legs that ended in massive, stunted, furry orange paws.

The last thing that passed though Roark's mind before he blacked out from the lack of air was that he had never seen paws like that before in his life.

* * * * * * * *

Patch came out of his wagon with a crossbow in each paw, but not until the clamour had died down enough to make it safe to do so. As he had guessed from hearing the familiar voices of his workers and guards his side had won whatever battle had just happened.

"Alright." He growled as he stomped into the middle of the camp waving the crossbows about dangerously. "What is going on here?"

One of the guards, a tall skinny wolf, held up a small tri-coloured canine by the back of his collar. The dog was bleeding from several cuts and had lost consciousness.

"This crazy dog come running down the hill yelling the black cat's name." The wolf reported. "He slipped about half way down and bounced off about five trees before going face first into the side of Snow Mane's wagon." Snow Mane was the camp cook. The white and brown fox was examining a wet red splotch on the corner of the kitchen wagon.

"We didn't lay a paw on him, Patch." The wolf continued. "He did this all to his self falling down the hill." The wolf opened his paw and the dog slumped to the ground.

"Calling Snowdrop's name, you said?" Patch bent to examine the canine more closely. "Say, this a beagle! This could be the lover she claims is the only one she ever slept with. You think he tracked us all the way here from up north?" He put down one of the crossbows and flicked the comatose dog's head back and forth with his free paw. "He has a big enough nose for it. Was the scream I heard from him hitting the wagon?"

"No. That came before he showed up, from the direction of the river." One of the foxes reported. "Black Paws went to check."

Patch jumped to his feet and looked toward the river, where his mother had taken Snowdrop to be bathed. But before he could take a step in that direction he was frozen by the sound of someone calling his name angrily.

"Patch!" A voice roared from forest in the direction that the King's emissaries had gone.

Patch gulped and picked up the discarded crossbow, but he kept both pointed at the ground.

Two of the three emissaries appeared out of the shadows of the trees. They were each dragging a wolf. Patch had never seen either of the wolves before. Despite the one's hunched back and shrivelled legs they were both more impressive specimens than any of his guards.

"Patch, what is happening?" The smaller of the two, who was still roughly twice Patch's size, demanded.

"Kaplan, what are you doing here?" Patch asked in a slightly shaky voice.

"Rock and I decided to let our companion go ahead while we stayed back to keep an eye on the feline." He dropped the hunchbacked wolf at Patch's feet beside the beagle. His partner threw the big grey one on top of the pile. "We were just setting up on the ridge south of here when we saw these two sneaking around your camp. Then we heard a cry and someone shouting the feline's name. What is this?" Kaplan asked, prodding Darwin's head with his stubby paw. "Some kind of dog?"

"Yes. I think that it is the dog that Snowdrop claims ... is, is pregnant by." Patch replied.

"This little thing? I thought you said that he was a prince?"

"It ...it was a small ... kingdom." Patch improvised. "With small ... small dogs. He was quite, uhm, noble looking before my guards beat him. He put up a good fight."

"Hmph." Kaplan grunted one eyebrow scrunched down in doubt. Just then a fox with very dark fur from paw to mid-forearm came rushing into the camp from the opposite direction.

"Patch!" The newcomer exclaimed before the caravan leader could stop him. "Your mother is dead! Shot in the chest and floating in the middle of the river. And the cat is gone!"

"Gone?" Kaplan roared. "You have lost the feline? The King will not be pleased. No, not at all."

"She's not yours yet." Patch whirled on the larger creature, his anger making him bold. "We do not even have a deal yet, not until the King accepts my demands. Until them she is my property and no concern of yours."

Kaplan's larger companion took a step forward, but he was stopped by an orange paw on his chest.

"No Rock. Patch is correct. The feline is his problem, for now. But the King will want to know who has stolen her from our esteemed guest, so we will take these three back with us." He kicked the body of the unconscious grey wolf. "And the King will most certainly want to send a patrol out to look to see if there are any more of these ... invaders." His yellow eyes never left Patch as he spoke. "And if we find them and liberate the feline before you do, Patch, she will be the property of the King as part of the spoils, the rightful claim of he that enforces the law in this land."

Patch stared back silently, and after a moment broke eye contact and lowered his head in submission. I cannot fight the King's army, he thought. Hell, we probably cannot even take these two.

Kaplan nodded to the fox and motioned for his companion to pick up the two wolves. Rock bent and slung one over each of his enormous shoulders and stood back up without any apparent effort. Kaplan lifted the dog up and draped him around his neck like a scarf.

"We will run all the way back to the King." He advised the fox. "And the troops will run all the back here to begin searching for intruders. That should take about three days. You have until then to reclaim your property. Anyone we find in our forests after that will likely be treated without mercy. Anyone. Do you understand?"

Patch understood. Either be here with the cat in three days or be back on the valley side of the gap. He watched the two depart for a second time.

"Everyone down to the river." He cried as soon as the two were gone. "We'll fan out from there. Two gold pieces to whoever finds Snowdrop and brings her to me."

* * * * * * * *

Snowdrop kept moving all through the first night of freedom, but it was hard going. She stumbled onwards in the dark, trying to keep to one direction, which meant that she was going uphill the whole time. Before she had gone more than a mile shouts, curses and the crashing of inexperienced creatures in the bush down slope alerted her to the fact that the pursuit had already been joined. She had hoped for more of a head start, several hours at least. Now she had to move fast yet quietly, least they track her by sound.

She had grown up in the forest and at one time could have run silently all day with little effort, but not now. The months of enforced inactivity, her advanced pregnancy, and the continuous climb all conspired to wear her down. After an hour she was forced to slow her pace to a fast walk. After two she was merely shuffling along. By dawn she could hardly stand.

Snowdrop knew that she needed to rest and eat. She had not taken any water or food during the night because she knew that the energy needed to digest it would have slowed her down, perhaps at a crucial time. She had not heard anyone behind her for several hours, hut now that the sun was up they may be able to find her trail. She looked up. The sky was light blue already but the sun would not be high enough to light the eastern slopes for at least another two hours. The need to restore her strength outweighed the risk. She decided to eat some of her provisions, drink one of the two skins of water she had filled before leaving the river behind, and rest for three hours before continuing.

She ducked under an evergreen whose branches swept the ground, very similar to the one that she had met Darwin under. There she satisfied her hunger and thirst and relived her aching bladder. After burying her scat she moved under a different tree and lay down to rest. She glanced at the sky before pulling her head in and closing her eyes, reminding herself to sleep no more than three hours.

Snowdrop was running toward a large dark cave and Darwin was running after her, calling her name, trying to catch up. She wanted to stop and wait for him but something was compelling her to keep going. As she drew nearer to the cavern entrance Darwin fell further and further back, until he was lost in the shadows and only his faint cries reached her. She looked to the black hole of the entrance and was afraid, but she somehow knew that she had to reach the caves, with or without Darwin. She jumped into the cave just as Darwin's voice rose in an agonized cry and the then it was cut off, as if she had entered a different world when she crossed the threshold. She blinked, and shafts of blinding light stabbed out at her.

Snowdrop blinked again and shook her head. The bright beams of light resolved themselves into shafts of sunlight that had managed to pierce the thick foliage of the tree she was sleeping under. She had been dreaming, she realized. Darwin was not following her and she was nowhere near the safety of their homeland, if that is what the caves represented. With that thought remembered where she was and the danger she was in.

She parted the branches in several places and peeked out to check all around her hideout. She listened carefully for unusual noises, including any unnatural silence that the approach of strangers could herald, but all she could here was the chirp of the birds and the buzzing of the occasional fly. By the height of the sun she guessed that it was not yet noon; she had woken as she had planned, after just a few hours sleep. It was a talent that the felines, who lived without clocks or church bells to regulate their day, had developed and fostered in their children.

She ate again and drank half of her remaining water skin, wondering when it would be safe to hunt or even make a fire. Her food stock would last another day at least, but after that she would need to start looking for edible plants or a fishing stream, maybe even a rabbit warren where she could lay in wait with her small crossbow.

Snowdrop emerged from under the tree and the sounds of nature were hushed at her sudden appearance. She looked around for signs of the gap that they had come through but she could only see dense forest and distant mountain tops in the direction she had been heading. Remembering that the trail through the gap had run along the tree line she decided to continue uphill until she cleared the forest and could see a greater distance rather than guess blindly and end up wandering in circles.

Several hours of trudging uphill brought her close to the tree line, the elevation above which trees would not grow. As she climbed the trees became shorter and grew further apart, providing less concealment. Snowdrop moved through this zone carefully, in case Patch's folk had run ahead to get above her and catch her as she emerged.

She crawled the last several hundred yards, using the baggy ragged clothing to blend into the barren soil. Seeing no one nearby, she continued to crawl until she reached the next ridgeline. There she turned around and peeked back over the rocks surveying the area to the north and south for any sign of movement.

T her dismay she could not see the gap, just a line of mountains marching northward. Many more than she had expected. Seeing the valley that she had just climbed out of laid out below her she was able to realize her mistake. By heading east she had made no progress at all towards her home. She had wasted a whole day. But knowing that did her no good. She would just have to make up the distance, she decided, but the question was, should she stay at this elevation, where streams and nourishment were scarce, or spend more time in dangerous territory by moving back down the side of the mountain until she got closer to the trail that led back to the gap?

Something caught her eye. Something had moved near the tree line several miles away, to the north. Snowdrop narrowed her eyes and concentrated on the spot. There it was again.

It was a fox, one that she recognized from the caravan, the one with the black arms, and it was not alone.

As she watched she picked up more movement uphill and downhill of the fox. He was just one in a long line of foxes, wolves and coyotes that extended from the ridge she was hiding behind down into to forest. Patch must have known that she would head for the gap eventually and had rushed north to cut her off. Now his clan and their helpers were sweeping back along the mountainside, hoping to catch her in their net.

If she stayed where she was the fox at this end of the line would walk right into her. Snowdrop had no choice but to crawl away toward the southeast, putting even more distance between her and her home. As she backed away from the ridge she failed to notice that one of her water skins had fallen from the folds of her garment.

Every feline child, whether male or female, was taught how to move stealthily in order to hunt small game and avoid canines that they may come upon unexpectedly. She had to keep low to avoid silhouetting herself for almost an hour, and she could hear the foxes getting closer. By the time she was hidden by a curve in the mountainside and could stand again she was once more near exhaustion, but she knew that she had to keep going until dark, when her night vision would give her the advantage, or she found somewhere safe to hide.

Shortly after she was able to walk upright she heard shouts of excitement behind her. One of the searchers had found something and was calling the rest to him. She patted her clothing and discovered that one of her water skins was missing. Now that they had her trail they would be coming quickly, the wolves among them following her by scent as much as by sight. Despite the ache in her legs and the pain in her chest Snowdrop forced herself into a shambling run. She looked around madly for any sign of cover but the tree line was too far below her and the land ahead was bare as far as the eye could see. The sun was still above the western horizon and would not set for at least another two hours, illuminating this side of the canyon until it did.

In her desperation she chose the line of least resistance, along a natural roadway between the ridge she had crested and a line of cliffs to the east.

Snowdrop ran. She ran holding her belly and sucking air between her teeth. She ran straight along the roadway that grew ever narrower, until it was just a path running between the cliffs and the steep slope leading down to the canyon below. She ran as the shadows lengthened until they touched the path at her feet. She ran until the moccasins she had made from cast off hide and strips of fabric were worn through and fell off her feet. She ran until her feet bleed and then she kept on running. And when shouts of triumph from far behind revealed that Patch and his posse had spotted her, she ran some more.

Snowdrop ran down the eastern slope of the mountain she had climbed and across a small arid valley bisected by a long ribbon of smooth black material. She crossed the valley and ran up the ridge on the far side, hoping to find a crack or a crevice to hide in until full dark, but shouts from the opposite slope indicated that they had spotted her and she could not hope to hide now. So she ran some more, until the trail she was following came to an abrupt end in a large circular clearing that was surrounded by sheer cliffs with no exit other than the narrow path she had followed to get in, the path that was blocked by the party of foxes chasing her.

Her spirit broke then. The determination to escape that had been giving her strength left her and she collapsed on the hard ground. Tears filled her eyes, moisture that her dehydrated body could ill afford to spare. Her head hung down, and all that she could see through the blur of her tears in the rapidly fading light was that the granite floor of the clearing was clear of any debris, like it had been swept clean, but the rock was stained red, like the rocks near her village where they slaughtered the pigs they raised and the sheep they stole from the dogs.

A fitting place for my life to end, she thought, because even if Patch doesn't kill me for murdering his mother my live is over. I can't live as a breeding slave in a strange land. I can't.

Snowdrop reached into her robe and withdrew the small crossbow. With only two bolts there was no sense trying to fight off Patch's clan. She fitted the sharpest of her bolts to the rail and cocked the string, and then she turned the crossbow around and pointed it at her chest. She pulled her garment down off her shoulders to be sure that there was nothing to impede the passage of the bolt. As the last of the light faded from the canyon she sat with breasts and belly exposed and made her final peace with this world before exiting it.

She sat, composing herself for her final act, but her concentration was broken by a series of sharp clicks and the sound of metal grinding on rock. She opened her eyes, and the extra layer of mirror-like cells that only felines had in them intensified what little light was available. To her amazement there was an opening in the cliff where there had only been solid rock before, and it was shaped just like the cave entrance in her dream. And there was someone, or something coming out of it.

The crossbow fell from her paw and went off harmlessly as she fumbled to turn it toward the new threat. The creature stepped out of the shadows of the cave and into the clearing. It was tall, with a shiny, bright, yellow hairless hide and huge glassy eyes that glowed. Where its snout should be was a hard blue disc with openings on each side. Steamy breath issued from there as the creature exhaled, proving that it was a living thing and not a ghost or an apparition. The creature raised one arm, an arm that ended in five blunt yellow digits, and spoke to her in the common tongue in a voice that was rough and amplified, seeing to come from everywhere in the small arroyo at once. The kind of voice that she had always imagined the gods would use should they chose to speak to lowly creatures such as her.

Snowdrop saw two more of the creatures appear out of the cave and she fainted dead away.

The lead creature shambled over to the unconscious feline and its eyes glowed brighter, illuminating the prone figure. It spoke to its companions in the same booming voice and then stooped to scoop Snowdrop from the cold hard ground. As it turned toward the cave the entrance to the clearing was lit by the dancing flame of torches and the air was filled with cries of pursuit. It turned part way back and watched as a group of foxes accompanied by several wolves and coyotes tumbled into the clearing and stopped, their jaws hanging open at the sight of the three yellow beings and the comatose feline in one's arms.

"Get them!" A fox one with a bald patch high on its forehead yelled as he waved his torch and goaded the rest forward. Reluctantly at first, but then with more confidence, the band moved towards the creatures that they had outnumbered. They brandished swords and crossbows, emboldened by the trio's apparent lack of weapons.

The creature carrying Snowdrop took a step back and spoke a word to his companions. The other two raised their arms and pointed them at the advancing force. Fire spewed from their upraised arms. Foxes and wolves and coyotes fell or were blown backward by the impact of invisible projectiles. Blood sprayed and flesh flew, splattering those behind before they too were cut down.

The eyes of all three creatures glowed brightly, illuminating a scene of death and carnage. Several of the bodies in the clearing still showed signs of life, but not for long. The first creature turned and carried Snowdrop into the cavern, leaving the remaining two to clean up. The first thing they did was lay out the bodies by species. They ended up with two wolves, three coyotes and seven foxes.

None of the foxes had a bald patch on their foreheads.