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It was dark that night, in Verdigris. The wind blew cold as ice that night, in Verdigris. A boy of nine and ten years died that night, in Verdigris. The wolves howled in the forest that night, in Verdigris. Copper pipes gurgled that night, in Verdigris. Smokestacks belched that night, in Verdigris. Blood ran in the streets, that night...in Verdigris.

The moon was shining like pale bone, a great eye in the heavens that stared solemnly down upon the little village. Nothing more than a collection of houses and barns, it nestled like a slumbering babe in a bountiful cradle. Surrounded on three sides by forest-garbed mountains, on the fourth by water, the village was isolated and insular. Few travelled the pass through the mountains, and those few were nearly always merchants that roamed the land, chasing profits. The village depended on that trade to survive, sequestered on the lonely north coast.

The Mouth of Hell, as it was known beyond the village. The Coast, as it was known within. The merchants guarded the secret pass jealously, for the Hellfang Mountains were worthy of their name. Unusually vicious animals made the towering spires their home, and even the rock itself seemed possessed by a foreign will. Many a man had been thrown to his grave amid a shower of boulders. The forests stood as silent sentinels would, implacable and immune to the pleas of those who wandered in, never to wander out. Vines and roots melded with the stone, and in some places, with flesh and bone. The vegetation obscured dizzying heights until it was too late, and fearful whispers spoke of engorged spiders that enclosed themselves in a great, webbed expanse, in some hidden valley.

The north sea was well suited to this fearsome landscape. Only the bravest of fishermen ventured so far out as to reach the aquatic bounty, for giant waves drowned sturdy ships in scores. The broken planks and smashed decks that drifted ashore along the Mouth of Hell spoke of horrors unknown. Scarce few survivors returned, and with wild eyes and wounded bodies, spoke of terrifyingly huge monsters that prowled the depths. It was often questioned if their minds were as damaged as their flesh, but none dared prove or disprove these claims.

And in the centre of this expanse of unknown land squatted the village of Verdigris. It had always been small, and always been closely-guarded against the world beyond the Hellfang Mountains, for this wild land of the chill north held many secret bounties. The mountains themselves were a startling source of precious metal, especially copper. The forest's many trees were of suitable stature to be used in the great ships of the Eirlund Navy. And the ocean that courted the beach before Verdigris dove deep indeed. Pearls, exotic fish, and gem formations were all plentiful in those fathoms.

Thus, Verdigris was a village of many secrets and mythos, as well as xenophobia and caution. It was a harsh place, unkind to all. Those who did not learn the lessons of their elders, and bucked tradition, often found themselves cast out into the dangerous embrace of the mountains. If they were lucky, they would be sent away with the travelling traders. If one was fortunate, quick of mind and action, and ruthless...then life was not impossible. Despite its small size, the village was filled with technology, both dangerous and benign. The fishermen sallied forth on the back of a steamship, plated with copper and driven by coal, both plundered from the mountains. The hunters and loggers defied nature with matchlock and chain-axe. Likewise, the venomous and feral beasts claimed victims but rarely. Antidotes and medicinal remedies were effective and simple.

Yes, it was widely held in Verdigris that danger came from within as much as without. Behaviour was fiercely regulated, almost dogmatically preached. Youths were discouraged with stick and word not to converse with the traders. And above all, no outsider could be given leave to remain for any period of time. This near-sacred rule was never broken, due in part to the punishment, that which was death.

So the moon shone like a pale bone, in the darkness of deep winter. The snow was laid thick upon the ground like a swaddling blanket. Stillness was everywhere, not a living thing moved in the inky black. Nothing moved outside, at least. Two-score chimneys disgorged smoke that drifted, near-invisible, into the night sky. Among these, one produced no smoke. It sat atop a ramshackle house of bloodwood and copper nails.

This house had no light or warmth. It was as stiff and devoid of life as a corpse. It had been occupied a long time ago, a handful of years hence. It was a point of much discussion among the children and adolescents, for no adult of the village would speak of it. Theories were formulated and discarded like the shattered sticks the boys fought with. It was a mystery to the youths, and if history had ever proven a thing, it was that youths often make the best detectives. One youth, in particular, was much more vested in this mystery than the others.

His name was Rudan, an otterlad of eighteen enter-morns. He had been born on the ninth night of the Season of Ice. Like every other villager, he had sleek brown fur that shone when wet and had an oily cast to it. Set in his skull were eyes of sapphire, flecked with black. His muzzle was short and blunt, and his teeth healthy and strong. His chest was well-muscled, and his tail swung with enough force to crack a spear-haft. All in all, he was a son any villager could be proud of. Although, he had his flaws, the same as any person. He was incurably curious and nosy, not to mention pushy and cheeky. In other words, he was an embarrassing young man to his parents in a place like Verdigris.

On this dark night, he sat upon the tallwort fence that marked the edge of the village, and stared with his flecked sapphire eyes. He stared at the abandoned dwelling that stood, cloaked in darkness. The otterlad sat, and he stared. And while he stared, he allowed his mind to fill with all the fanciful notions he and his two friends had concocted that day. Perhaps the house had belonged to a deceased warrior. Perhaps it had been the dwelling of a widow who had returned to her parents' home. Maybe it was simply built for a person who had never claimed it. Or couldn't claim it. Or had been forced not to...

Rudan didn't feel that any of these were right. It had to be something else. He felt it in his tail that the answer was nothing a youngling could stumble upon. He exhaled through his little black nose and craned his neck back. He dragged one claw through his chestfur and looked upon the starless sky, instead. Briefly, the otterlad recalled a story his mother had told him when he was just a kit.

Once, the sky at night was like a shroud embossed with many flickering lights, called stars. And then one night, the stars began to disappear. One by one they blinked out and were never seen again. Since that day, the only thing that appeared in the night was the moon. Nobody could say why the stars had winked away, and none could fathom a way to bring them back.

This was another mystery, and one of Rudan's favourites. He adored mysteries, even though he was often ridiculed for such an adoration. Many saw him as still a kit, bumbling and tripping over his feet, nosing around at anything that had even a whiff of the unknown about it. He was as unlike most of his peers as it was safe to be. All the younglings knew what happened to anyone too different, anyone who became dangerous. The threat of those punishments alone was what had kept Rudan in check these past eighteen enter-morns.

Despite his eccentrics, Rudan was hardly unpopular. As long as he didn't stray from acceptable behaviour when he was around the adults and the more obedient younglings, he was welcomed and even liked. On his own or with his two cohorts, however, he was quite different.

And so as he sat upon the fence, he did what no other youngling had done before...and hopped off the fence. He was officially outside the village. Thank the Ice that his house was closest to the boundary, so he didn't have to sneak past any others.

Still, this was a monumental step for him, for any otterlad. He paused and thought to himself that things like this, right now, were worth thinking about before they were done. It was indeed done, though, so there was little point in turning back. With this philosophy perfectly rationalised, Rudan hunched over and padded stealthily towards the abandoned house. The old metal seemed to gleam invitingly, as if happy to be even looked at. The air was cold, colder than Rudan had ever known it, and suddenly he was unsettled by the night. It was all around him, and he felt as if it were sucking at his footpaws. The otterlad inhaled stutteringly through his nose and willed his thudding heart to slow. The chill breeze cut his face as it rolled in from the beach, and caused him to shiver. Rudan took another step forward and paused again, his nose and whiskers twitching. There was something very strange in the air. Every fibre, every fur on the otterlad's body whispered at him to leave. He was more tense that he could ever remember feeling, the night closed in around him, constricting like a scarf wound too tight. He felt the breath snatched from his lungs as a fresh blast of ice-cold air assailed his furry form and gasped.

Rudan trembled all over, and could barely find the strength to put one footpaw ahead of the other. What was he doing? His mind was filled with this question, and it was a good one. He had left the village. This was forbidden under every circumstance! This was the most taboo of all deeds, and yet he had gone off half-cocked, without considering the ramifications. Oh, but he considered them now, and they were dire indeed.

But he couldn't find it in himself to turn. His stubborn nature compelled him to continue, and continue he did. Rudan's footpaws carried him right to the bottom step of the trio of stairs before the run-down house, and the left one quivered above that step just as a voice pierced the oppressive silence.

"Rudan!" It hissed, full of fear, surprise, and worry. "What in Fire's name are you doing!"

Rudan turned his head fast, so fast he felt his nerve catch and shoot molted fire through his neck. It hurt, and the scorching pain burned the last of his bravery away. He scampered back to the fence and leapt it, ignoring the other otter entirely as he crumpled to the hard earth and sucked in a mouthful of oxygen. The cold air stung his lungs and made his eyes water - he had been holding his breath! Rudan lay still for a little while, until the otter beside him dug a footpaw gently into his ribs.

"Get up! What were you doing out there?!" It queried, sounding angry and awed all at once.

Rudan complied and dragged himself upright. He willed himself to stop panting as he looked up into the face of one of his two closest friends; Lutra. The ottergal looked absolutely dumbstruck. Rudan didn't exactly blame her - he was trying to figure out why he hadn't thought about what he was doing before he did it. He leant against the fencepole and dry-swallowed, another shiver wracking his body.

"I-I'm...I was just..." The otterlad's voice broke and he fell silent, too ashamed and too afraid to look up at her. Lutra was one of those people it was impossible to argue with. Something about the half-disappointed, half-pitying look she gave him at times like these sucked all the coherency from his brain. He knew she was giving him that look right now.

"Rudan, give it up. It's just an old house. You'll get sick if you're outside in this cold, too." She said, smoothly ignoring his failed explanation and nudging him with her paw. That was one of the things Rudan liked about her. She was always a voice of reason, and when he had said as much to her, she gently joked; "Well, it isn't like you have one of your own!" Lutra was a good friend to him and Artom, the third member of their trio. Rudan straightened up, Lutra's typical chivvying soothed his nerves and made him feel much better.

As she dragged him away from the fence, though, he looked back towards the house. It sat, squat and ugly in the night, and Rudan swore it watched them both leave.

Lutra escorted Rudan back to his own home, the gorrum-fat candles long since burned out. A window on the eastern wall was cracked open, and Rudan was as glad as ever that most of the villagers lived in bungalows. It made it extremely easy to sneak out once his parents had retired. Lutra hovered nervously by the wall as Rudan hoisted himself onto the windowsill with a grunt, then turned himself round so he could look down at her.

Her face was mostly obscured by shadow, but he could see her eyes glint up at him, moonlight reflecting out of those brown eyes. Another shiver, nothing to do with the cold, raced along his spine.

"Bye, Lutra." Rudan whispered softly.

"Stay inside the fence next time, sand-brain!" She teased, and then she was gone. He could barely see her as she scurried away, and not at all once she slipped around the corner of his house. With a sigh, Rudan swung his legs inside and dropped to the floor with a muted thud. He wasn't afraid the noise would wake anyone - his parents were notoriously deep sleepers - so it was in short order that he'd shut the window and clambered into bed. He lay on his back for a good hour, staring at the crack in the ochre he knew was there.

"That could have gone better, sand-brain. How are you going to face Lutra and Artom tomorrow?" Rudan asked himself acidly, then rolled over and pulled the woollen duvet close to his chin. Within a score of seconds he was asleep.

Outside, the timbermaws yowled as the first flake of snow fell.