Duel Vulpinsula & Surroundings Insanely Rich Area Forged in Fur and Flame

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh stretched, seeming to elongate himself as he reached, windmilled his arms, touched his toes, and cracked his joints with relish. He moved out into the centre of the room, and bounced a little from one footpaw to the other. His tail flicked with an impatient energy.

“So! First rule o’ fightin’,” Darragh began. Then, he hesitated. “Well... actually, the first rule o’ fightin’ is ‘Don’t Get Into Fights,’ but a jack’s gotta make do, so let’s skip that one.”

Darragh cleared his throat a little self-consciously. As much as he was Swifttail’s friend, it felt odd to be teaching a beast older than himself. “Ahem… well, seein’ as you will be in a fight…”

The stoat bit his lip, and paused again. The next advice he wanted to give was that Swifttail had to accept that he was going to get hurt. In boxing and brawling, you were bound to take hits, no matter how good you thought you were. If there was a knife or dagger involved, you would be rushed to a surgeon afterwards if you survived, no ifs or buts about it. Fighting in real life was a messy business, not the daredevil heroics of serials printed on pulp.

It wasn’t a fight-fight though, or at least not the kind Darragh was used to. It was a duel to first blood, with swords. That meant Darragh’s expertise would have to be limited to where Swift was putting his head, his body, and his footpaws. Bobbing and weaving, dodging and pivoting, perhaps even a bit of tumbling.

“Alright, I have a better way of goin' about this!” Darragh said firmly, taking up his stance. “I prefer practice to theory, and it’s better you see for yourself how this works. So… hit me. And watch what I do closely!”

The stoat raised his arms to shield his head, and shifted his weight back and forth from his right footpaw forward, to his left footpaw back. He smiled at Swifttail in what he hoped was encouragement. He was sure things would click into place in the fox’s mind once he saw the techniques demonstrated.

All Darragh needed was for Swifttail to punch him in the face!

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail couldn’t help it... the moment Darragh stumbled over his own “first rule,” laughter bubbled out of him. The stoat’s awkward mix of seriousness and sheepish charm was disarming in the best way. It took the edge off the nerves curling in his gut.

"Aye, I’ll keep that one in mind," he managed between chuckles, tail swaying lazily behind him. "Rule one, don’t get in fights. Might be a bit late for that, though."

Swifttail watched Darragh stretch and bounce about the hall, tail flicking in time with every jittery movement. The stoat looked like a spring wound tight! The sight alone pulled a laugh from the fox’s throat and, before he knew it, he was mirroring a few of those stretches himself the best that he could muster. Awkwardly, stiff and sore, but grinning all the same.

"Ye move like ye’ve got a storm bottled up inside ye," he teased lightly, rolling his shoulders until something in his back popped. "If I can learn half o’ that, maybe I’ve a chance after all."

He tried to follow the rhythm, paws shifting, tail counterbalancing as Darragh demonstrated. It was clumsy, sure, but there was something fun in it. A flicker of that reckless, kit-like energy that begged for tumbling and play fights in the dust.

Then Darragh said it.

"Hit me."

Swift froze mid-motion, ears perked, then flattened in disbelief. "Hit ye? Ye’re serious?"

The stoat only smiled that maddening, confident smile.

Swift’s own grin faltered. His wrapped paw flexed out of habit, the ache a dull reminder of what carelessness could cost him. He didn’t want to hurt his friend. Darragh was helping him, and all of this… it was supposed to be about learning, not lashing out... But that’s what he’d have to do, wasn’t it?

The thought settled in like a cold weight. This stupid duel. The smug gleam in Greeneye’s eyes. Silvertongue caught between them like some prize to be won. The bile rose within him before he could stop it. Anger, hot and sharp, bled into his veins until it drowned out everything else.

How dare he!? How DARE he put him through such unnecessary brutishness!

His jaw clenched. His breathing quickened.

HOW DARE HE try to orchestrate his life. To force him to stoop to such a level just to set the fox that he felt sorry for free.

Suddenly the stoat wasn’t standing there anymore. Darragh’s grin and stance blurred and twisted, morphing in his rage until all he could see was Greeneye.

The bastard’s laugh rang in his ears, booming over the echo of his own pulse. His claws curled tight. His tail lashed hard.

Without thinking, Swifttail surged forward. The air seemed to thicken around him as his paw drew back, weight driving through his legs, everything his body could muster pouring into that one furious motion.

He didn’t mean to swing so hard… but when the anger finally left him, it did so through his fist. Aimed right where the clever stoat had planned it to be.

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh’s right footpaw never left the ground, as he pulled back his left in a quick pivot. Swifttail’s fist whiffed past the stoat’s muzzle with an inch to spare. The fox had put all his energy in that swing, and left himself open. Darragh jabbed a right paw towards Swifttail’s face…

Bap.

Darragh gently tapped his friend’s forehead. He was delighted, both at himself for a textbook dodge, and at Swifttail for actually trying to hit him. For a moment he thought he was going to have to coach Swiftie through the it’s okay to punch your friends stage of boxing. The fox had a good, burning fire in him, which set a scheme stirring in the stoat’s head:

Swifttail = NEW SPARRING PARTNER??

“Good! See how little effort it took me to move? If Greeneye’s anythin’ so aggressive as he looks, you can wear the little blighter down, if playin’ for time’s your strategy,” Darragh chattered brightly. “Let’s go again, aye? This time, keep up that speed, but not so heavy! We’ve got a long way to go…”

Swing! Duck! Jab! Weave! Feint!

The dusty old hall echoed with the thump of paws on the waxed floorboards, breaths and grunts of exertion, and Darragh’s excitable voice guiding Swifttail through the motions. The stoat lost his shirt - there was only one open window, and this was going to be hot work - yet somehow his hat stayed on his head. He kept his smile on too - he had a feeling it was annoying Swifttail, which was a good lesson in catching an opponent off-balance.

“See! As soon as your opponent gets into a comfortable rhythm, throw it off!” Darragh shouted, and almost immediately had to take his own advice and duck. “Haha! Very good! Come on now, don’t let me recover!”

Once he had demonstrated enough of the basics, Darragh decided there was no better way to help Swifttail learn and memorise than through practice. He called for a quick break, then they began anew. This time, it was Darragh throwing the punches, and Swifttail dodging. The stoat was a little monster about it too - starting with a few easy, telegraphed motions to get his student into the swing of it, before rapidly changing into rapid-fire combinations to test the fox’s reflexes and forethought.

“Keep your paws up! Up!” Darragh yelled, pulling back his fist just a whisker’s length from cracking the fox’s nose. “C’mon, don’t cross your footpaws! Don’t just watch my fists, watch all of me! Watch how I shift my weight! Whether I snarl or lick my lips or fold back my ears before I attack! Your opponent will have tells, and you need to learn ‘em fast!”

Though Darragh didn’t say anything about it, the pace and fury of his assault was mounting on Swifttail. He buzzed like a wasp around the fox, forcing them both to focus heavily on their footpaw-work. Darragh knew Swifttail was going to need to be in good condition for the rest of his week of training, not to mention the fight itself. This was an exhibition in technique, not a true match. However, he let a few less-than-gentle blows to the arms and body land, when he judged Swift needed to be pushed. He had to keep the fox’s fire burning and his blood flowing quick. So much of a fight depended on the mindset, and right now, Swifttail needed to see Darragh as his opponent, first and foremost.

"Do y’see how much can happen in three minutes? Your duel could be over in seconds if you aren’t completely focused,” Darragh said, after they’d taken another breather. “You’re getting the hang of the technique. But Greeneye won’t be yellin’ at you where to put your footpaws if you step wrong. So… let’s finish this out with you showin’ me you can win a fight. No paw-holdin’, I won’t correct your mistakes, you’ll have to live with them.”

Darragh touched his floppy faded-blue cap, grinned, and took up his stance. “You’ve got three minutes to knock me hat off. Come and get me.”

This idea had come to the poet in a moment of inspiration. Technically, Swifttail didn’t need to learn how to land a successful punch, and he was throwing himself wholeheartedly into learning the stoat’s dodging tricks. But Darragh felt it was important Swifttail learn what it felt like to win a real fight, or at least as real as Darragh would allow in training. Too much of the taste of victory could make a beast arrogant, but a beast that never tasted it had already lost in his own mind.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail blinked as his fist cut through empty air... Then bap! Darragh’s paw met his forehead with the gentlest of taps.

He froze, then barked out a startled laughand rubbed the spot with mock indignation. The fox’s tail wagging playfully.
"Aye, I see that… Put way too much into that one!"

He straightened as Darragh explained, nodding along, the advice sinking in deep. It echoed Kaii’s words from the night before. It wasn’t about striking hardest or fastest, but outlasting. Outthinking. Let the brute wear himself thin, then strike the opening.

When Darragh called for another round, Swift was ready. The hall echoing again with the sounds of the two sparing beasts, paws thudding against wood in rhythmic patters.

Swing. Duck. Jab. Weave.

The stoat’s energy was maddeningly contagious. That grin and boundless confidence spurred something in Swift that he hadn’t felt in far too long. Pupils dilated and attentive, he found himself laughing mid-dodge, breath coming quick but light, his muscles warming and flowing where they’d been stiff the day before. For the first time since the duel had been declared, the fear that had dogged him seemed to falter.

He missed as often as he hit. Took a few blows, gave a few back. But he was learning. Feeling the rhythm of it. Starting to understand how to call moves before they happened. His paws moved faster, his balance steadier, and that smile on the stoat’s face only urged him on.

Then came the challenge.

Darragh’s tone shifted to something a lot sharper and more daring. Three minutes. No corrections. No guidance. Time for Swifttail to prove himself and knock that hat off!

He drew a long breath, tail flicking out for balance. He widened his stance, knees bent slightly, the air electric between them. Then he moved. At first the exchanges were light and testing. Darragh darted in with quick jabs and feints, and Swift kept his paws up, learning to read the stoat’s tells. A sway here, a sidestep there. All the little victories in every narrow escape. He was panting heavily, but his grin only widened.

A minute passed. Their movements quickened and he began to strike out more frequently, foot paws scuffing lightly against the old floorboards. Swift struck high, then low, driving Darragh to shift his footing. The stoat countered with a flurry of blows that forced the fox back, but Swift recovered fast, using his tail to steady himself and dart in again.

Another feign in one direction, another rush in another. Then suddenly his paw connected. A glancing hit that brushed Darragh’s cheek and tipped the floppy blue hat askew, hanging precariously close to falling off. Swift’s eyes lit up, chest heaving, pride blooming fierce and bright.

"Ha...!" The sound left him half-formed and breathless.

That moment of triumph cost him.

The stoat moved like lightning during his brief loss of focus.

WHAM!

Stars exploded behind his right eye, pain blossoming outward from where the clean, stunning shot sent the world spinning in a flash of white. He staggered back two steps, paw flying to his face as the sound of his own pulse filled his ears. The floor wobbled beneath him for a moment before it came up to meet him as he toppled backward slowly. The ache pulsed deep and hot as he was momentarily floored into silence, sitting down on the floor with his head held downward so that the stoat could not see his face.

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh felt his hot-headed excitement get drenched in a bucket of icy water as his fist made a solid connection with Swifttail’s face. He hadn’t been expecting his opponent to just… stop in the midst of a bout, and he had moved to take advantage of it without a second thought. Darragh would never have thrown the fight - it would have been wrong to give the fox false expectations of what it took to win. It was quite ordinary as well for a new boxer to lose their first fight, and the stoat well-remembered getting laid flat-out on his back when he took up the sport seriously. This was supposed to be the moment Darragh proved how much progress Swift had made… not the moment for another harsh lesson. Reality, however, had not given way to the poet’s narrative expectations. Swift had been close, Darragh’s smarting cheek was proof of that. But the fight was over.

“Swift?” Darragh asked in a small voice, crouching down beside his friend. “…Swift? Let me see?”

Darragh put his little white paws on the fox’s, and leaned in to get a peek. Gates, but there was going to be trouble if he’d done some real harm. He hoped dueling wasn’t a fashion that was catching on with his friends. Silvie was going to kill him. Death by lute-bonking. The poet would have to get started on writing his own eulogy.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail stayed unmoving for a few moments longer. Then suddenly, he crooked his head and looked up at the stoat crouched before him. A sly, crooked grin pulling at his muzzle.

Before Darragh could respindy, Swift’s paw shot upward. "Bap!" The hat popped clean off the stoat’s head and tumbled to the floorboards. Swift fell backward with it, laughter bursting out of him in ragged, breathless fits.

He lay there for a moment, paw still clutched to his bruised eye, laughing until the sound broke into a groan. "Gates, Darr... Ye’ really clocked me good…"

His tail flicked behind him, the laughter softening into a grin that still hurt to wear. He pushed himself upright, shaking his head slowly, the ache throbbing just beneath his brow.

"Sorry fer fightin’ dirty there," he said between breaths, voice low but playful. "But an opportunity’s an opportunity, aye?"

He rubbed at his temple, the swelling just starting to bloom, but his tone carried nothing but admiration. "I suppose I lost that one, huh?"

 

[Darragh Harper]

The stoat startled in surprise, and for a moment looked perfectly ridiculous, mouth-half-open with the fur of his hatless head all mussed up. Then Darragh fell back onto his rump and started laughing. Once he’d used up the last of his breath he panted, a grin still on his face.

“Oh, stinkin’ fishsticks, Swift. Silvie’s gonna hang me by my tail when he sees that!” Darragh said as he stood, wincing a little as he caught a peek of the swelling around the fox’s eye. He stretched himself, loosening up his muscles to close the sparring session. He picked up his hat and perched it back over his left ear, then shrugged his shirt back on. “Maybe we can get somethin’ cold on it… Ooh! D’you know the Frosted Whiskers? It’s that new pub with an icehouse! They serve ice in drinks, have you ever tried ice? It’s fun to crunch on it, but sometimes it makes my head absolutely throb, y’know?”

Darragh chattered on as he slunk back out through the window, holding out his arms as if the little stoat really expected to catch the bigger fox should he tumble. “You’re not so bad as a boxer, Swift! You’ve definitely got the arm strength for it, eh? Light on your paws too. You should come spar more often! Good fun, good practice for trouble… o’course don’t forget Rule One, but sometimes there’s a fight on before y’know it. ‘S how I found the Whiskers in the first place. Too much trouble at the Bilge! Too many old soaks, not enough young dames, aye? Well… or young jacks either, but I s’pose you’re not in the market as such. Speaking of, how did you’n’Silvie get together?”

Perhaps he was being a bit nosy, but stoats are rather good at nosing their way into things. Certainly his poetic side was on the edge of the proverbial seat for details of Courtly Romance and Chivalry - the sort of thing he himself had little experience in beyond stories and daydreams. The jills that Darragh had met were typically a lot more… grounded in reality, to put it mildly. Either that, or so far out of the scruffy little jack’s reach that all he could hope to do was dream.

The Frosted Whiskers was new - no doubt constructed on cheap land following one of Bully Harbour’s frequent building fires. It was built in stone and tile, its inner furnishings done handsomely in stained wood. Most of its seating however was outside in a courtyard, which was perfect for watching passers by, and limiting the amount of property damage that could be done in a brawl. It was nowhere near as rough as the Bilge of course - the Bilge being Bully’s oldest haunt of sailors, and so Darragh had heard, even pirates.

“The Volunteer Fire Brigade’s out recruitin’ again,” Darragh gossiped to Swift, nodding his head as they passed a beast in a beaten-up set of orange-painted armour. “And the Smudgies too, I’ve heard, they’re lookin’ to poach likely lads’n’lasses wherever they can. Ooh, there’s still seats! C’mon, my treat. The Iced Juleps are really good and sweet!”

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail rubbed at his swelling eye with a wince, the soft flesh beneath his fur already puffing tenderly. Despite the ache, a grin still split his muzzle as they stepped out into the sunlight.

"Gates, Darr… if this is how y’train yer friends, I’ll be wearin’ an eyepatch by week’s end," he said with a rasping chuckle. "Still... worth it. Been a long time since I’ve had that much fun. I’d say we oughta make this a habit, eh? Sparrin’ once a week maybe?"

He flashed a toothy grin, tail flicking behind him as he followed the stoat down the narrow lane. "Next time, though, I’ll be the one gettin’ the first hit, aye?"

When Darragh started talking about cold drinks, Swift stopped mid-step and stared at him like he’d just claimed to enjoy bathing in the harbor in winter. "Cold drinks? Beasts do that by choice?" he said, half in disbelief, half amused.

The idea of drinking something icy after years of boiling water for tea or broth was absurd. And yet… after the workout in that stuffy hall, it didn’t sound so bad. He rolled his shoulders, still sore but loose, and laughed. "Aye, after a good pummel, I’ll take a bit o’ ice. Sounds strangely refreshing."

As they walked, Darragh’s chatter rolled from one topic to another until he veered straight into the subject of jills, jacks, and love. Swift’s ears twitched, the tips burning faintly under his fur. He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling low.

"Ah, I ain’t much for chasin’ hearts, mate," he said. "Seems they end up findin’ me first."

He hesitated, then reached up and thumbed the amulet that hung around his neck. The amulet that Silvertongue had given him. His tone softened as he went on.

"Silvie was… forward," he admitted with a faint laugh. "First kiss came outta nowhere back on Urk, then the amulet… then he confessed his love to me before the duel... He’s reckless, bright, kind… everything good in this world, even when he don’t see it himself. I just want him safe, y’know? He’s given me more than I ever thought I’d have again."

For a heartbeat, his voice nearly wavered. He hid it behind another laugh, gentle but genuine, as the pub came into view down the street.

When Darragh mentioned the Volunteer Fire Brigade and the Smudgies, Swift hummed softly, eyes following a passing beast in orange armor.

"Good, honest work, that," he murmured. "Doin’ somethin’ bigger’n yerself. Never thought I’d be much use for anythin’ like that… but maybe someday, eh?"

He gave Darragh a little nudge with his elbow, the faintest smile returning. "C’mon then, show me this Frosted Whiskers. Let’s see if they can chill a drink faster’n ye can swing a paw."

 

[Darragh Harper]

If he inferred anything from Swifttail’s reserved reaction to his inquisitiveness, or even heard the waver in his voice, Darragh did not show it. If he had been expecting a rhapsodic tale of Silvertongue’s romantic overtures (possibly literal overtures from the bard), it didn’t seem to trouble him either that Swifttail kept his privacy. Perhaps there was no grand courtly drama to embellish the tale - just kindness in kindred hearts.

Predictably, Darragh got his brain freeze.

“Ow. Oawowowwww,” Darragh groaned, his eyes shut fast, a chunk of ice dancing on his tongue. He crunched it between his teeth, grimaced and rubbed the bridge of his snout, then pulled half a dozen absurd faces, settling on a weak, pained smile. “Good… good stuff! How’s the eye lookin’?”

A few chunks of ice fished out of the pewter cup and wrapped in a handkerchief served to keep Swift’s bruise cool. Darragh fretted over it, trying to convince himself that the puffing really wasn’t all that noticeable, and it was probably going to go down quick anyway, and Swift didn’t look like he was hurting, but what if he was and just being really subtle about it?

Getting a black eye is cool, actually. Jills dig injuries that they can fawn over. Jacks what fancy other jacks probably appreciate the masculine rough-and-tumble qualities of a facial bruise too. Silvie definitely won’t be mad. He’ll think Swifttail is tough, and that he must have beaten little Darragh into mincemeat for just one black eye in return. He will smooch it better with his long fox snout and tell Swift what a hero he is. He won’t. Be. Mad.

The Iced Juleps at least were as refreshing as promised. Darragh was a bit of a crazed stoat to enjoy them, but he was in good company, as many of Bully Harbour’s finest nutcases also stopped in to enjoy their cold drinks. The poet tried to keep up his cheerful demeanour, but as the ice turned to slush, and then to the last diluted drips of his drink, it was clear that all Swifttail’s troubles were weighing on him heavily.

“He cracked his ribs y’know, in the battle on Urk. He’s a madbeast when he fights, aye, be prepared for a burst of aggression, but you might be able to wind him in a prolonged bout,” Darragh said, scowling at his cup as though he could divine Greeneye’s reflection in the metal. “I don’t mean to fret, I know I ain’t yer mum… but yer sort of, I dunno, I think of all the Foskateers as a bit o’ family, aye?”

Darragh paused to take a deep breath, made eye contact with Swift, and got out what was on his mind all at once, his accent growing thicker with his emotions. “This rat seems bent on gettin’ rid of you. I wouldn’t spend late nights noplace dark’n’quiet. If you want, y’could stay over at the Sedge’s if him or any roughs turn up at your place. I’m allowed guests t’stay within reason, and I know Azalea already loves you. Or I could write to me brother, he only lives a short way from town. I wish I could offer you the whole Harper household to keep a watch out, but the clan’s mostly back in Marquistry Cape. If he doesn’t stick to the rules o’ duelin’… well I can be right ungentlebeastly m’self sometimes, just as a statement o’ fact.”

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail rubbed at his swelling eye with a wince, the fur beneath already puffing tender and purple beneath his thin coat of white face fur. Despite the ache, a grin split his muzzle as they relaxed at a small circular table at the Frosted Whiskers.

"Oh, it's nothin' Darr. Really! Bah, I’ve had worse hammerin’ metal, mate! Smashed me own finger more times than I can count. Once dropped a whole chunk o’ raw iron on m’footpaw, an’ that hurt ten times worse!"

He chuckled, waving off Darragh’s concern with his good paw. "Besides, gives me character, aye? Makes me look dangerous."

He gingerly pressed the ice-wrapped kerchief to his eye and hissed through his teeth... then laughed, shaking his head. The stoat’s fussing only warmed him further; it was a strange, comforting thing, being cared for like this.

When both beasts tipped back their cups and froze mid-sip, the shock hit them in near perfect unison. Swifttail’s ears flattened, his tail fluffed wide, and he clutched Darragh by the shoulder with a strangled sound.

"Oooowowowowow... hah! By th’Gates, that’s agony! Beasts drink this on purpose!?"

The two of them howled with laughter through the pain, doubled over like kits in the midst of some ridiculous shared secret. When the laughter finally ebbed, their mirth left behind a quiet comfort. One that hung in the air as Darragh’s tone turned serious.

"I know, Darr… I feel it too. Greeneye’s no small threat. But I’ve got good beasts at m' back now. You, Kaii… Silvie."

His voice was low but steady, touched with gratitude and something deeper beneath. He gently shook his head, smiling faintly through the ache.

"I can’t ask ye t’keep me safe. I’d never forgive m’self if trouble followed me to yer door. But if it ever comes to it... aye, I’ll know where t’run."

He reached out, laying his paw briefly on Darragh’s arm in thanks before letting it fall again.

"Kaii’s lettin’ me use part o’ his family’s old compound fer the duel," he explained after a quiet sip. "Place was half-burned years back. There’s this marble pedestal standin’ alone in the middle, with old gardens and ponds all quiet round it. He says trainin’ there’ll help my paws remember the ground come the day itself. Can’t argue that. It'll help being familiar with the dueling ground."

He looked down into his half-melted drink, swirling the ice. A faint smile tugged at his lips again, tired but genuine.

"For what it’s worth, Darr... today was the best I’ve felt in ages. Ye gave me so much joy when I needed it most."

Feigning a punch at the stoat's shoulder, a spark of mischief crept back to his features. "We’ll do this again, aye? I think I fancy a bit of sparring! Once I can see outta both eyes again, that is. Next time I’ll even let ye keep yer hat!"

As their afternoon wound down and the two friends parted ways, Swift clapped Darragh on the shoulder and smiled warmly. "Thank ye, mate. Truly. I’ll see ye again soon."

He left down the cobbled street, the ache in his eye pulsing with every heartbeat. But there was a lightness in his step and warmth in his chest that dulled the pain. The duel loomed closer by the day, yet for now, all he could feel was gratitude.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Four Days Remaining

The first roars of the day came well before dawn from below the loft...

"Up, fox! Ye think the metal shapes itself?!"

Swifttail jolted awake, heart hammering, the sound like a thunderclap in his ears. He blinked in the dim gray light bleeding through the slats of his loft. The air was cold and thick with soot, the ghost of yesterday’s fire still clinging to the stone.

He scrambled down the ladder, still tugging his tunic into place. The forge was already alive with orange glow, Clinker hunched over the coals like a shadow cut from the flame. The black-furred weasel’s eyes burned hotter than the iron.

"Hell’s teeth, what’ve ye done t’yerself now?" Clinker growled, pointing a claw toward the bruise under Swift’s eye. "Can’t swing a hammer straight but ye can throw punches in the streets?!"

Swifttail said nothing. He’d learned long ago that answering back only made it worse. Instead, he took his place at the anvil.

The hammer rose and fell. The sound echoed like cannonfire through the small shop.

He poured every bit of tension, frustration, and lingering fear into each strike. The rhythm steadied him like a drum beat. Sparks leapt, and in the reflection of the glowing metal he saw faces flicker: Greeneye’s sneer. Clinker’s scowl. His own, tight with exhaustion but resolute.

Fine then, he thought, jaw clenched, let it burn outta me. All of it.

The ringing of metal filled the silence between them while the sun rose, until the forge bell chimed, not from the impacts on the anvil, but from the front door's chime mechanism. A figure stepped inside, backlit by the morning light. Well-groomed, calm, carrying a folded ledger under one arm.

Clinker froze.

The stranger’s voice was low and polished. The kind that chilled you to the bone without ever raising tone.
"Mister Rottail. You’ve been given your final notice. We’ll expect your payment before the week’s end. You will not be late again."

Nothing more was said. The visitor turned, tail flicking once, and disappeared back into the street.

Clinker didn’t move at first. Then he muttered something sharp under his breath followed by a curse and slammed his hammer down hard enough to make Swift flinch.

"That’s enough fer the day," he snapped. "Shop’s shut."

Without another word, he tore off his apron, grabbed his battered hat and worn satchel, and stalked out. The bell above the door gave one last, hollow jingle before silence took the forge again.

Swifttail stood there stunned, hammer still in paw.

When he realized that the weasel was not coming back, he slowly quenched the half-forged piece he’d been working, the iron hissing as it met the water.

"He’s in some sort o’ trouble…" he murmured.

The thought sat heavy in his chest. Thank the Seasons he still had his work aboard The Golden Hide. At least there, he had purpose. Friends. It was hard work, but it was work that felt necessary. Like being part of a self-sustaining village again where everybody benefited from each other's labor.

He hung up his apron, cleaned his paws, and stepped out into the daylight.

The city felt alive after the forge. Gulls called overhead. The scent of salt and bread was thick in the air. He let the noise and smells wash over him as he walked, no destination in mind, just breathing in the morning.

Then a flash of russet fur caught his eye ahead in the crowd. A familiar shape darting between stalls mischievously. Swifttail gasped with hope, then grinned wide, tail giving a bright flick.

"Finny! By th’Gates, that’s ye, isn’t it?!"

He broke into a jog, waving an arm as the younger fox turned at the sound. Relief and warmth flooded his chest like the first breath of calm air after a storm.

"Ye’re a sight fer sore eyes, lad!"

@FinnianBrightfur

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

It had been a few rough days after the fire. Naturally, Finn felt awful about the whole ordeal. Several beasts displaced, Alwyn burned... but the todd had been remarkably kind to him. Even gave him a place to stay in his apartment. Finn couldn't quite understand it all, but that wasn't his greatest concern right now. Amends had to be made.

Though Finn was looking for Cricket, Swifttail found him first. The foxkit's ears perked as he heard someone calling his name, and halted in his tracks. He knew that voice! Turning around, Finn raced over to meet Swift, and nearly leapt into his arms in an embrace.

"Awh 'gates Swift!" he cried out cheerfully, burying his head in the todd's chest and holding onto him tightly. Pulling away, he looked up at his old shipmate. "'m I glad to see you! I've been meanin' to thank y'for saving me the other week, I--what in Vulpuz's saggy left ear happened to yer eye?" he asked, frowning at the fox's black eye.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail barely had time to register the blur of russet and cream before it was on him.

"Oof...!"

He stumbled back two steps, laughing as a familiar bundle of fur and energy latched tight around his middle. He caught the kit before they both toppled, tail puffed and wagging.

"Hah! Finny, easy, lad! Ye’ll knock me clean off m’paws!"

The fox’s grin spread from ear to ear, joy shining through the weariness that had clung to him all morning. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the little kit until he was right there again.

Before even he could even comprehend the little kits first question, Swifttail found himself blurting out excitedly:
"Darragh punched me!"

It came out far too cheerful, like a boast. He barked a laugh, rubbing the side of his muzzle where the bruise still bloomed dark beneath his fur.

"Proper wallop too... but it’s part o’ me trainin’. Don’t fret. I'm still standin’, see?"

He leaned down and set Finny back on his paws, brushing fluffy sheddings from the front of his tunic with a crooked smile.

"Aw, Gates, Finny… it’s grand seein’ ye in one piece. I was worried sick after that fire. Glad Minister Talinn's own son Alwyn got ye clear! What incredible luck! Ye gave us all a fright, y’know."

His tone was all warmth now, voice gentled by relief. He ruffled the kit’s headfur lightly before straightening again, tail swaying behind him.

"Truth is... I’ve got a duel with Greeneye comin’ up. Nothin’ grim n' deadly...and it’s over Silvie, o’course...."

He chuckled, shaking his head, though the fondness in his eyes at the bard’s name was unmistakable.

"But I’m not facin’ it alone. Got Kaii teachin’ me the footwork in sword fightin'. Grace, balance, readin’ a foe before they even move. Darragh’s showin’ me the stoat wardance style o' fightin! Duckin’, weavin’, swingin’ smart, not hard. Between the two, I’m learnin’ there’s a bit o’ science to scrapin’."

He gave a small, proud huff through his nose, standing a touch taller.

"They’ve been brilliant, really. Couldn’t ask for better beasts in me corner."

Swifttail paused a moment, the noise of the marketplace filling the quiet between them. Then something seemed to flicker behind his eyes. A memory stirring from the day of the fire.

He glanced down at Finny, ears tipping forward.

"Y’know… that day... Alwyn Ryalor, the guard captain... he said somethin’ t’me after it all. Promised me a favor, for helpin’ get ye clear."

A thought sparked, faint but growing, and his tone softened with curiosity.

"Tell me, Finny… how well d’ye know him?"

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn let his momentum carry him forwards, and stumbled slightly as Swift fought for balance. Now Finn was a growing fox, but he still saw himself as a little fluffy ball of fur. He was quite surprised to find out he had enough weight to knock Swift off kilter. The foxkit gave a glance over Swift, sizing him up with a dangerous glint in his eye... but now wasn't the time for further play.

> "Darragh punched me!"

"He what!?"

> "Proper wallop too... but it’s part o’ me trainin’. Don’t fret. I'm still standin’, see?"

"Hah~! I thought it'd take a lil' more to knock you down!"

> "Aw, Gates, Finny… it’s grand seein’ ye in one piece. I was worried sick after that fire. Glad Minister Talinn's own son Alwyn got ye clear! What incredible luck! Ye gave us all a fright, y’know. Truth is... I’ve got a duel with Greeneye comin’ up. Nothin’ grim n' deadly...and it’s over Silvie, o’course...."

Finn listened carefully to the older fox, some of his energy bleeding off as the more sorrowful topics came up. But Swift quickly moved onto another topic that turned his mellowing mood into confusion. While Finn didn't have anything personal against Greeneye, he wasn't quite sure why the rat was so aggressive and mean. He'd witnessed several outbursts that were quite embarrassing -- and so further conflict was unsurprising. Still... Greeneye was on the peripheral of their network of friends, and this definitely shifted the dynamic of things. But Darragh and Kaii were already helping, so peer pressure made the decision for him.

Now duels and such were beyond the kit's knowledge, and so he asked no further questions, for fear of exposing his ignorance. But he understood well enough what Swift was looking for, and was happy to help. "Awh yeah, Alwyn? He uh... kinda took me in, I guess! I'm staying in his spare room until the Hide departs again!" he said cheerfully, his tail flagging behind him in excitement. He seized the fox's forearms, and tugged in the direction of the apartment. "C'mon, c'mon! He's usually home around this time!"

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Finny grabbed his forearms with that same infectious spark of energy he’d always had, but something was different now. The little kit wasn’t quite so little. His grip had strength. His steps had weight. It struck Swift suddenly, in a soft, startled way.

"Great Seasons, Finn… yer lookin’ taller’n ever! Fit too!"

He chuckled as Finny tugged him forward.

"Think again if ye think I’m goin’ down that easy!"

The kit led, Swift followed, weaving through the bustle of Bully Harbour’s morning streets. The noise washed around them. Gulls cried, wagon wheel rattled along behind grumbling porters, vendors sang their wares away, but the warmth of familiar company drowned out the rest.

As Finny spoke about staying with Alwyn, something in Swift’s expression shifted. Surprise at first. Then thoughtfulness. The memory of the fire, and the mad rush to the hospital afterward, flickered sharp in his mind.

Of course the captain had taken the boy in. Talinn would only trust his own son to watch over the young, homeless fox during shore leave.

Swift smiled softly, something warm settling behind his ribs.

"He truly took ye in? Well… seems yer luck’s finally changin’, Finny."

He meant it. Every word.

They walked a little farther, turning down quieter lanes now. The crowds thinned. The clang of the main street faded behind them. Finny’s tail flagged high as he pointed ahead, urging Swift faster with the enthusiasm only a young fox could manage.

Swift let himself be swept along, matching the kit’s pace with a growing sense of purpose humming from within. His bruise throbbed with every step, but even that couldn’t dim the spark of hope igniting inside him.

Soon enough, they rounded a final corner, and the din of the city softened into a calmer residential row. Finny slowed in front of a modest apartment building tucked neatly between two taller ones.

Swifttail straightened his tunic, smoothed the fur around his swelling eye, and drew a steadying breath as they climbed the short steps to the door.

He glanced down at Finny, a small, resolute smile tugging at his muzzle.

"Right then… let’s see if Alwyn’s willin’ t’hear me out."

@Alwyn Ryalor

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

(Set before a Nameday to Remember).​

Alwyn, for his part, was lounging in the chair of his apartment, having finally finished an exhausting twelve-hour patrol. He had a bottle of whiskey open next to him, and he sipped from the glass. The situation after the mess at the Opera House had been very taxing on him, as nothing was being left to chance in the security of the Minister of War, and preparations were under way for operations to strike back at the Supremacists where and when they least expected it. The good news was his financial situation was recovering quite nicely-the bad news was that he had little time recently to spend any of that money. Still, he was glad that he had Finnian with him, and he had been spoiling him recently with the best healthy food that he could buy, along with some toys, and had gotten him a very comfortable bed. His apartment was warm, too, in the coming winter-his son would never have to sleep in the cold again.

I confess, I am nervous as how to break it to him, but I cannot put it off much longer. Maybe next week, when things have been prepared better at work. And they have those little associations, I hear, on how to be a good father. Kitsune knows I never received any instruction or good examples on that since I was around eight, so perhaps I should attend.

Suddenly, the series of four knocks that he had taught Finny to use rapped on the door, and he put his half-full glass on the table, and gingerly rose out of his chair. He was wearing his leather coat and his sword in its scabbard as he always did when he was off-duty, but he was not particularly alarmed. Going to the door, he peaked out of the little peephole, seeing Finnian, and it looked like...Todd Fairpaws? That was something of a surprise, though he knew that the two were friends. Undoing the door bar and then the lock, he opened the door.

“Finn, Swifttail.” He nodded, offering a faint smile, before stepping aside and gesturing for them to come in. “Come on in, before too much of the warm air gets out. The building has the newest furnace system to provide heating without a fireplace, but it takes a little while to heat up.”

@FinnianBrightfur @SwifttailTheFox

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

It was a strange thing watching foxkits grow. In only a short time, Finn would be thirteen -- not that he advertised that fact, though. But all over Bully, whenever he bumped into an old shipmate, they'd remark something to the tune of "Gates, Finny, you're getting bigger!" He didn't mind the remarks that much, it was nice having other people point out that he was getting bigger. But then again, Finn took some amusement at the surprise. Shouldn't he be growing bigger? (The surprising thing would be if he wasn't growing.)

Finn trotted into the apartment as if he owned the place. In only a short period of time, he'd settled himself in with Alwyn. Albeit the unpleasant circumstances surrounding recent events, he seemed to be quite enjoying himself. The foxkit launched himself onto a nearby sofa, and sprawled over the arm. "Darragh punched Swift!" he announced bluntly, as all kits do with surprising news.

"He's tryna teach him how to fight 'cuz Green challeneged Swift to a duel over Silvie, and Swift knows how to fight but only sorta because he's not all that trained, but Green used to be a pirate like his dad ('cept he's not now) and Swift said he'd teach me how to use his bow at some point, but I don't think they let you use a bow and arrow in a duel... do they?" said the young kit, somehow, all in one breath.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail stepped into the warmth of the apartment, blinking as the heat wrapped around him. No hearth, no visible flames… just a soft, steady glow humming through the place. It felt strange and sophisticated. Very Alwyn, he supposed.

He wiped his paws politely on the mat before crossing the threshold, barely having a moment to take in the space before Finn exploded into speech like a firework.

“Darragh punched Swift! He’s tryna teach him how to fight ’cuz Green challenged Swift t’ a duel over Silvie...”

Swifttail nearly choked on air.

“Finn! Gates lad, breathe! Y’don’t know all the details yet!”

He held his paws out as if trying to steady the kit’s runaway words before they knocked the furniture over, ears angled back in mortified panic. Then, with a rueful huff:

“And aye, no bows… pity. It’s the one skill I already ‘ave above ‘im.”

He reached over and ruffled Finn’s headfur, giving a gentle tap to his shoulder.

“An’ don’t fret yerself. I’ll teach ye the bow still! Just… not in any duel, aye?”

Only once Finn was momentarily contained did Swift straighten, ears lifting, posture shifting to something more respectful. His voice gentled.

“Sir… truly… thank ye for takin’ Finny in. Means more’n I can ever say.”

He meant it. From the bottom of his heart. Seeing the kit warm, fed, and safe eased something deep inside him.

But then came the harder part... Swifttail rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly wishing his tunic collar wasn’t so tight.

“Sir… that day o’ the fire… ye mentioned a favor.”

He hesitated, swallowing nervously.

“If ye meant it… I’d like t’ask somethin’ of ye.”

His tail eased low behind him, betraying his nerves. Around someone like Alwyn, a captain of the guard, Swift felt small, but he pushed himself forward regardless, drawing a breath

“C… could ye show me some o’ yer sword skills? Mayhaps even lend me some armor fer the day?”

He internally cringed at the request. He knew it was a major ask, especially for someone of his social stature, yet he continued with determination.

“I’ll bring it back straightaway when I’m done… I just… need all the help an’ trainin’ I can get.”

He stood there in the warm hum of the apartment, hopefully and respectfully, internally bracing for whatever Alwyn might say next.

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

Alwyn was taken a bit aback by Finnian’s blunt candor, but, it also made him exceptionally happy. More than he had been in over a decade. His son was fitting in right at home, here with him, as it should be, and he was content, safe, and healthy, and he would burn down the entire Imperium if that was what it took to keep him so. His face, however, quickly contorted into one of confused concern as the tale was recounted, and his eyes eyes did widen slightly at the mention of a duel-although he only knew Fairpaws a little bit at this point, he did not seem to be the type to naturally rouse the ire of others. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Closing the door against the cold, he motioned for Swift to sit down next to Finny, and went to sit down in his own plushed, comfortable chair across from them in the sitting room. It struck him how he had often, when he was younger, made fun of his father for his “dad chair”, but he appreciated his own quite a lot these days. Although he was still young, it was good to rest his back properly, and even take naps in on occasion-working for the Guard was not an easy job.

He listened carefully and patiently to Swift’s further explanation, nodding and scratching his chin, and when he had finished, he replied fairly quickly in the affirmative. It would not be good for his son’s mental health if his friend was skewered to death in a duel. Especially after what had occurred at the opera.

“Of course, a Ryalor always keeps their word.”

Or should...father may have betrayed that, but Alexei lived up to, and ultimately, I think, died, for that. And it is good to train Finnian in the proper ways of our family.

He knew, in passing, Darragh, as Finnian had sometimes mentioned the poet stoat, and thought he had even seen him in passing during their hectic escape from Kilaris’s assassination. He knew Silvie, or Silvertongue, was a new officer on the Hide, and had heard about him from his father and mother. But first, he had to ask a few questions.

“First, if I may ask a question or two...what is a ‘Green’ and why did he, she, or it, challenge you to a duel over Silvertongue of all beasts?”

Evidently, Alwyn had not been informed of their relationship by his father or Finnian.

@SwifttailTheFox @FinnianBrightfur

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail sat when Alwyn motioned, folding himself neatly onto the couch beside Finny. His posture was straight and respectful… but the curl of his tail around his ankles betrayed nerves he couldn’t quite hide. He smoothed the front of his tunic once, then again, absentmindedly.

When Alwyn asked his question, Swift couldn’t speak for a moment, then let out a quiet, unsure laugh.

“Ah-sir… ‘Green’ isn’t a what. It’s… uh… Greeneye. A rat. Crewbeast aboard the Hide.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, ears dipping.

“He an’ Silvertongue were… involved. Romantically. For a time.”

The shame crept in right behind the explanation, soft and heavy. He lowered his gaze to his own paws.

“It wasn’t good for Silvie. Truly. Greeneye’s temper runs sharp as a cutlass edge, an’ Silvie… well, he kept makin’ excuses for him. Took the blame for things weren’t ever his fault. I saw it clearer every day I spent with ’em. Silvie’s been hurtin’ in ways he hides behind smiles.”

His voice wavered, but he kept going.

“I never meant t’cause trouble. Silvertongue… he kissed me first. On Urk. Then again later. He’s kind, an’ bright, an’…”

His ears burned hot, words tripping.

“Well… we care for each other. Properly.”

A soft gasp drew his attention. Of course it was little Finnian, leaning forward, ears perked so high they nearly brushed the ceiling. Swift’s face went crimson beneath his fur.

“Finn… heh… aye… Tods can smooch tods. It’s normal as the tides.”

He offered the kit a helpless, mortified little smile.

“Just… don’t shout it out the window, aye?”

With that crisis contained, he dragged in a breath and finished the truth.

“Greeneye found out. Or guessed. Either way, he cornered me where I’ve been stayin’ an’ challenged me t’ a duel t’first blood. I think he means t’do far worse’n that if he gets the chance, though…”

A tremor crept down his spine.

“But if I backed down… Silvie would be the one payin’ for it. I couldn’t let that happen.”

His good paw curled into a fist on his knee.

“I’m not tryin’ t’claim Silvie like some prize. I don’t want domination or victory or any such stupid thing. I just want him safe. I just want him free to love without bein’ punished for it.”

At last, he raised his eyes to Alwyn’s. They were tired, bruised, but steady with resolve.

“So… sir… if that favor stands… I’d be grateful beyond words for any sword guidance ye can give. Even a little helps. An’ if… if ye’ve any armor t’lend, just for the day…”

His ears lowered again.

“I’ll return it straightaway. I promise. I just… need every ounce o’ protection I can get.”

He exhaled slowly, shoulders easing.

“Thank ye for hearin’ me out. Truly.”