Open The Frost Fair of 1765

[Korya]

Korya writhed and wriggled in the snow fort's remains, coating her fur in a thick layer of insulating (and privacy-protecting) white powder.

"Hrmmm..."

She didn't really want new clothes. She liked her old clothes. They fit well and let her punch things, and were just light enough to let winter's bite thrill her. While she hadn't yet experienced a Vulpinsulan summer wearing the same things, they had been tailored to not cause over-heating... loose pants, a sleeveless shirt, and those she asked confirmed the style was ruggedly heroic and, most importantly, carried her Northland heritage and charm with her.

The big thing to worry about was the stick. Cryle had spent a while on the stick, and it was important... a physical manifestation of their friendship! That let her whack beasts!

She let out a little mewling whine at the idea of it being lost in the snow.

"I... I want fizzy drinks, but I want my old clothes and my stick! Cryle made me the stick! She would be so sad if I came home without it - we're roommates, by the way... she didn't have anywhere to stay except the ship..."

Korya perked her ears and leaned out from the ruined fort.

"Griblo? Is it truce time? Are we getting fizzy drinks? Do I have to throw more snowballs at anybeast? Do you see my stick and clothes? Oh! Freya!" Korya turned back and patted the larger feline's arm, then held her own arms up. "Uppies? Kitten-back ride? How is Willow doing, anyway? He remember anything yet?"

It had only been a few days since the ship had come back to port, but who knows what had happened in that time! A few days was like years when it came to stories to tell over drinks.

 

[Marble]

The Vixen gave a laugh as she darted through the hail of snowballs landing in the snow as she dove for cover, looking back at the bard she had saved.
"Always protect the bard, they do naught but bring joy and light to the world. Plus my patrons brother is the god of music so technically cousins" She laughed, seeing the other fox coming over to help the Bard up, wasn't intending to pelt them but it must have seemed that way to them.
"Ah, no not for you, for those blighters up there that dare strike our friend. Though seems I may have joined a little late." Standing up and dusting off the snow as she moved closer to the pair.
"Yes Swift of tail I remember. Have you been contnuing to practice since we last met? and yes bards are always dramatic have no doubt about that, you chose yourself."

Turning to the bard and gave a short bow
"Miothiyle of Thermodon at your service good sir" With a wide smile and perhaps a tad manic from the excitment of the brief exchange, turning her head to watch the beasts flee from their fort and the other combatants cheer the victory. At the offer of a rematch she flicked her paw and the already balled up snow into Swifts chest, having not let go of it yet, aiming to strike the fox before he could ball it up
"Be quicker than that, Cider does sound good though and I am not used to cold as much so best to call while I am not foxicle."

@SwifttailTheFox @Silvertongue Songfox

 

[Irene Rightsbeast]

Irene looked over the frigid ferret's head, and turned to look at the other beasts on the snowy battlefield. Unfortunately for her, while before the crowd was dispursed over the relatively large field, everyone has now gotten to the remains of the fort, where she was with her sneakily-gotten gains. The more eyes were on her, the more eyes could notice, and that big lynx could probably count for like 6 pairs of eyes, all lynx in the stories she read had supersight after all, and this wasn't just any lynx, this was a big lynx! The ferret didn't seem to notice her pickpocketing him, and was more focused on the small naked feline in the fort. She assumed that's what he was yelling about, because she couldn't actually catch any of the words he said, and she decided to just assume that he wanted her gone instead of asking him to repeat himself. For one, that was more convenient for her, and for another, she doubted she would understand him any better the second time.

"Oh, ok sir, well, Miss Big Lynx here, she can help you if you need..."

And just as quickly as she appeared, the red vixen let go of Griblo's shoulder and ran away, the snow slushing under her paws. She was already forming her plan for the rest of the evening: get something to eat, get a place to sleep, and then eat and sleep in that place until next morning, where fortunately tomorrow's Irene will be ready to figure out what needed to be done on her day. She was running once again, her mind flowing at 17000 barrels of thoughts per second. She could look at what's around her, dodge other people, make sure she wasn't going into any place where she could be easily caught or discovered, and have some thoughts left over for what just happened. Why was there a naked cat in that snow fort? Who would take off their clothes in this terrible winter! Where would their clothes be? Weren't there some clothes around? Wait, yes, they were, until she took them! And didn't she also mention a stick? Yes, she got the stick too! And she was looking for that stick! And she told the big lynx! And the ferret was looking at her, they were all in cahoots, and they were going against her!

She looked around for the big lynx or any of her friends, still running ahead. There weren't many lynxes, none of them were as big as the big lynx though and they weren't chasing after her. There were more wildcats, but none of them were naked. And there were a gates bunch of ferrets, but no ferret icicles. Ferretcicles. Yeah, that sounded funnier. Before she could giggle at the word she just invented however something bad happened.

She tripped on something in front of her as she was looking at a squirrel to the left, and she fell straight ahead over the opsticle and would have fallen straight on her face if she didn't turn mid-fall on her side and land on her back. Apparently falling on the rump was best, followed by the back then side, but it always hurt to Irene. At least it was easier to get up when she was on her back, which she forced herself to do to look at what she tripped over. She was standing on a small gecko's tail, which must have been the explanation for her fall. A part of her wanted to yell at the gecko for being their while she was running, but her mood was improved a lot by the smell of soup and bread prepared only a leap or so away from her. She was now stuck between the long-tailed reptile, an imposing important-looking squirrel with a strange footpaw, reminding her of pirates and their wooden legs, and a white vixen who didn't seem to have a thing noteable about her. Irene's eyes darted around, as if she was in a mousetrap, putting her paws on her snout as if trying to bend it so it would look straight, but like every other stressful time she resorted to it, it just wouldn't budge.

"Uh, I... I'm sorry, I need to get something to eat from the stand over there..."

She was looking at the squirrel, as if asking for her to move even though there was plenty of space for her to get past.

@Griblo Jankweed @Freya McFjorl @Korya @Amnesty Greysoul @Cricket @Orina Emberkin

 

[Rosmakh W. Dowganosyv]

It was as dark as a starless night in Professor Dowganosyv's apartment. This wasn't as much trouble for the two Northlander residents in it, who often had to work in less than favorable lighting conditions and thus relied on their night vision and other senses to work. Every beast had their limits though, or at least their physical manifestations did, since the wolverine professor lit four candles in a semicircle around the letter he was writing, a bit closer to the flammable paper than most beasts would feel comfortable with. He wouldn't have it any other way. The greater risk the greater the reward, and he wouldn't settle for anything less than greatness, in the spiritual, mystical and esoteric sense of course. Levin the Ermine watched him on with great interest, following every stroke of his master's paw and the stylus he held, like he would during his chemical experiments and demonstrations.

"The minister of commerce, just like I thought, has great knowledge of the commonly unknown", Professor Dowganosyv said without missing a beat in the narrative he was writing, "I am fairly certain he has listened to my lectures back in Caer Eira Haf, and is guided by them in his ministerial duties. The Vulpine imperium is the most fortunate to have one of my disciples among its ministers, and that one of his first acts as minister was to establish good relations with the winter spirits and the criomantic unknown ones through this frost fair. I will need to meet with him, and tell him how much I appreciate his work".

by the time he finished speaking he had finished writing the lettter, had gently and carefully folded it and placed it into an envelope, and had written the following words on it:

"To my colleague Nevali Waybird.
From Professor Rosmakh W. Dowganosyv.
Staying at 19 Vladimir Ullyanov street
Apartment lucky 7"

"Levin, would you please deliver this letter to Madame Nevali Waybird, whilst I get ready for tonights lesson?", Dowganosyv nodded at a thick tome he pulled out out of his suitcase that morning.

"Yes, professor", the snow ermine took the letter, put it in the pocket of his light coat he already put on, and with great speed, some excitement, and uncertainty that the student always felt when going out on his own, left the apartment, made two circles down the steps of the narrow building, and stepped out onto the snow-covered streets. Levin's walk to the frost fair was rather uneventful, there were so many kits walking around on their own it barely even registered for most beasts, especially when Levin looked like a very small adult by the seriousness in his step. He was hopelessly lost at the fair for a while, there were just so many things going on. Levin wanted to be at the fair, experience all the joys that it had to offer. There were beasts talking, there were beasts serving food and eating it, there were beasts throwing snowballs and skating on the ice. He put the thought of fun out of his mind though. Professor Dowganosyv told him that entertainment was just a distraction for simple beasts for appeasement of the unknown ones, and that he was destined to be much more than a simple beast. He could only do that through great struggle, study and work, and the frost fair was the exact opposite of those.

He finally spotted whom he was looking for. He was told what she looked like, "The most pudgy, least weasel, hahahaha" was what the drunk sailor said when he retold the rumor he heard about the knowledgeable witch, and then tripped over her name 11 times over. Levin counted it, he was taught to count everything, and Dowganosyv rewarded him greatly for it, since with a supposedly simple procedure involving a glass prism, green inc, a bright blue flame and a half spoonful of Natrium Chloride, he discovered the witches true name from the drunk's ramblings.

"Uh, hello...is this Madame Nevali Waybird?"

Levin pulled out his letter as he approached, stretching his paw out for her to grab it.

"it's from Professor Rosmakh W. Dowganosyv, he heard of your work and wrote you this letter..."

@Nevali

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

The Vixen gave a laugh as she darted through the hail of snowballs landing in the snow as she dove for cover, looking back at the bard she had saved.
"Always protect the bard, they do naught but bring joy and light to the world. Plus my patrons brother is the god of music so technically cousins" She laughed, seeing the other fox coming over to help the Bard up, wasn't intending to pelt them but it must have seemed that way to them.
"Ah, no not for you, for those blighters up there that dare strike our friend. Though seems I may have joined a little late." Standing up and dusting off the snow as she moved closer to the pair.
"Yes Swift of tail I remember. Have you been contnuing to practice since we last met? and yes bards are always dramatic have no doubt about that, you chose yourself."

Turning to the bard and gave a short bow
"Miothiyle of Thermodon at your service good sir" With a wide smile and perhaps a tad manic from the excitment of the brief exchange, turning her head to watch the beasts flee from their fort and the other combatants cheer the victory. At the offer of a rematch she flicked her paw and the already balled up snow into Swifts chest, having not let go of it yet, aiming to strike the fox before he could ball it up
"Be quicker than that, Cider does sound good though and I am not used to cold as much so best to call while I am not foxicle."

@SwifttailTheFox @Silvertongue Songfox

"Mio- uh- Miothiyle." Silvertongue struggled to pronounce the name. "A pleasure to meet you. I am Silvertongue Songfox. You'll have to tell me more about these gods of yours. They sound intriguing."

 

[Orina Emberkin]

Orina raised a brow at the little gecko, momentarily unsure how to respond to the young beast's unintelligible exclamation. She had not expected the reptile to be quite so flustered. The squirrel glanced at Amnesty to see if the vixen had any ideas, given that it seemed she knew the gecko, but before either squirrel or fox had a chance to respond, another vixen entered the scene, tripping over the lizard's tail.

A Stealthblade wildcat who had been hovering within the crowd just off Orina's flank was suddenly beside and partially between the squirrel and the newcomer. Orina cleared her throat and tilted her head to the Unsmudgable who had stepped in to protect her from potential attack. The wildcat stood down, but not without a sullen glare at the vixen as she picked herself up and spoke.

The Minister of Niceties opened a paw towards the stand. "The food is free, courtesy of the Ministry of Niceties. Please, help yourself."

 

[Nevali]

"Uh, hello...is this Madame Nevali Waybird? It's from Professor Rosmakh W. Dowganosyv, he heard of your work and wrote you this letter..."

My work? thought Nevali.

"Waybird?" said Nevali.

She gave a snort that shook her glasses from her nose, and caught them just in time. She put them back on her face with a lopsided grin, then accepted the ermine's letter.

"It's Wayward, but... tell your Professor thank you very much! My first..." She didn't even know what to call it. Admiration-letter? Was it a summons, a recommendation for advancement, a coupon for twenty-percent-off a general store's stock of bottled milksap? "My first letter," she said, proudly. She waved it at Matisse with a hearty cheer, her short weasel tail bottle-brushing in excitement.

She opened it and read.

Surprisingly, she read very slowly, and occasionally sounded out a difficult word or two. It was enough time to bore the remaining onlookers hoping for more, and they eventually wandered off to enjoy the rest of the Fair.

"Wonderful," she said. "If you're relaying messages, you can tell the Professor I'll be along to visit tomorrow! What an exciting opportunity."

The letter vanished into her hat, replacing a small quadrant of a peanut butter and elderberry jam sandwich wrapped in paper, which she caught mid-fall and then shoved into the ermine's paws in the way an elderly aunt might shove a teacup onto a visiting nephew - declining was not allowed.

@Callisto Bluemoon @Rosmakh W. Dowganosyv

 

[Callisto Bluemoon]

Callisto was often used to being the largest beast in a given space, particularly since work had developed to a more stable location and the travelling of youth less frequent. The Imperium was teaching him day by day more about the growing assortment of beasts immigrating to its shores. He was impressed and more than a little disgruntled by Pomodu’s reach, making note to keep an eye on the sack of gifts and perhaps send a Kreeholder to fetch them in. Well-intentioned though he suspected her goals to be, he was not of a mind to see the beast batter the city’s economy any further with her overzealous kindness.

With Zara’s paw on his arm, the Minister gave his company a polite half-bow (gentlemanly traditions of the Imperium had been long-learned) and followed Ruffano’s lead towards the stalls. It was a curious interjection when the fox referred to some unfortunate out on the ice, gaze following the direction the todd was speaking in, but he bit his tongue from commentary. What an eclectic group he had fallen in with, indeed, though he could not say he hated such: it proved refreshing after meetings and offices. Still, he’d do better not to become involved with something so base as snowball fights.

Rounded ears twitched when he heard the fox moments later. Callisto gave a gruff chuckle. “Diplomacy? Oh, that’s far too severe a word for tonight! Many of the foods and drinks served here are Northlands delicacies and I would be remiss not to encourage you to try whatever strikes your fancy, my treat.” Amber eyes glittered as he side-eyed Zara. “After all, when else would be a better time for a little indulgence?”

@Ruffano Quickwhistle @Zara Raposa @Pomodu lu Modokunomulo


-----


A deft dip of the paw sent the quaint talisman disappearing somewhere about the sable’s body before Matisse half-turned to pin his gaze somewhere on the horizon. Though Nevali was already seeking her own privacy he felt it prudent to afford her what space she could to deal with the styptic powder. Idly he wondered back on that little strange creature and whatever had transpired to convince something so clearly ungovernable into taking part in the performance. He’d have his contacts scour the city for it once the weather improved: it seemed the sort worth keeping an eye upon.

Returning the little weasel’s bow with a flourish of his own, Matisse was about to take the suggestion that he should leave and excuse himself when an enthusiastic young ermine trotted over, to whom he nodded politely. Information was gold to the sable, and as long as they would converse in his presence he would listen. Large ears pricked, expression polite, he remained silent and unobtrusive whilst his mind raced. Rosmakh was a name new to him, but if they were one sending dispatches that would need to change – and rapidly, too. Likewise, too, would he need to scour MAUL’s intelligence on this Nevali he had encountered if she was at all sought after. As of yet he had not realised his own blind spot: so disinterested did he often purport to be on the goings-on of the Occult Division he had yet to learn that both worked for the Ministry of Misanthropy.

Nevali’s pride at receiving a letter was met with an indulgent smile (he did not share her enthusiasm for missives: in his experience it often meant more work or a summons, which rarely ended well). Still, she was not shooing him away and so he waited patiently, his own short brushy tail twitching. “It certainly sounds like good fortune,” he remarked. “I take it the letter is good, then?”

@Nevali @Rosmakh W. Dowganosyv

 

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

Still craning his neck to gawk at the spectacle (and discern jest from violence, particularly when it seemed that some…dramatics were unfolding) Lorcan stared in bemusement as he listened to the rest of the party. Daniil seemed more hesitant than Caden or Kinza and Lorcan himself was not entirely certain that, thick though his coat was, he particularly fancied that freezing stuff lobbed on his face. Still, half the group was up for the game and he was too competitive to ignore the call. Poor Daniil would have to keep up.

“If we can find BlackShippers,” Lorcan mused, only pausing in his observations to glance down and snort in amusement as he watched Kinza remove her skates. His gaze flicked to the jack and todd, smirk curling on his muzzle. “I suppose we’d best pick ourselves a likely target or two, else me an’ Kinz might end up having to test your certainty on protectin’ Daniil, Caden. I ain’t ever thrown a snowball but I got a strong arm an’ good aim.”

@Caden S. Freemont @Kinza Rainclaw @Daniil Ryalor


-----


Idiot. Embarrassment flushed her scales at her tongue-tied exclamation, still wilting beneath the stare of the older squirrel. How possibly could she ask her about the Opera House without sounding crazy if she was wrong? What were the implications if this beast with the amazing leg was, in fact, one of the most important in the Imperium? Was she even allowed to be speaking to, let alone cheeking, a beast of such status without severe risk? Was asking in such a public forum, around so many strangers, a stupid stupid idea? The panic bounced around her head like a writhing sack of ferrets.

Another timely intervention came in the form of heavy pressure on her tail. Cricket yelped, panic suffusing her body for a beat before she forced herself to calm: it was a fear of hers that she might drop her tail, and though she did not know that crested geckos were unable to grow another, she had heard of the long process other lizards went through and did not fancy it. Glaring at the vixen who had trodden on her, she took note of the alarmed look before a wildcat was on the scene. It answered one question in the gecko’s anxious mind. Unconsciously she cowed back against Amnesty as though anticipating the feline’s ire turning upon herself, making herself smaller and unobtrusive. Best not to invite more risk.

@Amnesty Greysoul @Orina Emberkin @Irene Rightsbeast

 

[Rosmakh W. Dowganosyv]

Levin's fur stood on end. Did he get it wrong? Well, of course he did, but was it his fault? He was certain that Professor Dowganosyv said Waybird, and when he strained his neck to peak at the envelope, he saw it read Waybird on it, in the wolverine's own handwriting.

"I'm sorry, excuse me...", the Ermine started, but his voice died in his throat. He looked around as if he were cornered, and wanted nothing more than to sink into the snow. He must have handed the letter to the wrong weasel, and who knows what they would think of it! The professor was chased out of the Northlands, would he be chased away again because of his foolish mistake and would Dowganosyv keep him after such a failure?

"I think I...I might have, um, gotten confused..."

Levin's voice was so low and weak, and towards the end he seemed to lose the confidence to say words and his voice faded away. Especially when it was too late now, and this weasel was reading Dowganosyv's letter with great interest. Oh, what would she think?

"W-wonderful?"

He repeated the word, as if wondering what could it refer to. Was this Nevali interested in the contents, even though she wasn't the intended recipient? Maybe fate intended her to be the true recipient, and the Waybird thing...well, could someone as experienced as Professor Dowganosyv make mistakes?

Levin's eyes lit up at the sandwich, and greedily ate it as soon as he got hold of it. The poor ermine didn't know how silly he looked, stuffing his snout with the sandwich and greedily devouring it like an extremely thick noodle. After a few seconds of rapid chewing and murring, the kit looked back at Nevali, with a wide smile revealing his jam stained snout and teeth.

"Thank you, uh, Madame Nevali Way...ward"

The color returned to his face. It didn't all go wrong, in some ways it went very well. He wondered if he could stay for a while longer, Rosmakh won't be worried if it took him up to an hour to deliver the letter, and he wouldn't get his crystal prizm ready just because he took a while to finish an errand, right?

"I am Levin, the professor's student and helping paw. Can I stay with you two?", he asked, looking between the weasel and sable clearly seeking approval, "I don't talk to people out there often...or be outside really."

@Nevali @Matisse Dubois

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

Ruffano inclined his head toward Callisto with a graceful half-bow, one hand sweeping lightly over his heart.

“Minister, you are dangerously persuasive,” he said warmly. “If indulgence is encouraged, I would be a fool to resist.”

He turned smoothly toward the cider stand, stepping forward through the press of beasts.

“Two mulled ciders, if you please,” he requested, voice crisp but pleasant. “And two of those golden pasties beside them.”

The vixen behind the counter straightened at once, offering a tidy curtsey.

“Of course, sir. Two mulled ciders and two pasties.”

She moved with brisk efficiency, but the moment she turned her back, her composure cracked like ice under strain.

“Oi! Two more mulled! An’ mind the pasties ain’t charcoal this time!” she barked over her shoulder. “Keep that kettle movin’!”

Steam billowed. Someone behind the stall muttered something indistinct. A ladle clanged against copper.

Ruffano’s mouth curved faintly as he stepped back from the counter, allowing the next beasts in line to press forward. He cast a sidelong glance toward Zara, one brow lifting in shared amusement at the controlled chaos of it all. Winter civility strained at its seams, but held fast under the sheer willpower to have a merry time for a change.

His gaze then shifted back toward Callisto, noticing the Minister’s own attention lifting ever so slightly above the crowd.

Ruffano followed the look. Pomodu’s bulging sack of generosity perched dramatically atop a nearby rooftop, as though the fair itself had been gifted a crown.

Ah.

He leaned just slightly closer to Pomodu, lowering his voice so that it remained private despite the bustle.

“My dear Pom, if the wind grows ambitious, I should hate to see generosity rain upon the city without choreography.”

His smile remained soft, conspiratorial rather than corrective.

“Perhaps we might find it a stage more worthy of applause.”

The cider vixen returned then, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kettles, professional composure firmly restored.

“Your ciders, sir. Careful — they’re hot.”

Ruffano accepted both mugs with an appreciative nod, then collected the pasties as well, stepping aside smoothly so the tide of customers could continue unabated.

He passed one steaming mug and its companion pastry into Pomodu’s paws with deliberate care, retaining his own.

Steam rose between them in pale ribbons, fragrant with spice and apple, winter held at bay by heat and lanternlight. For the moment, the fair felt perfectly balanced and at ease.

@Callisto Bluemoon @Zara Raposa @Pomodu lu Modokunomulo

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

Snow clung to Griblo in all the wrong places. He staggered through the churned slush toward Freya and Korya, boots squelching miserably with each step until he was near enough to feel their warmth. Near enough to not feel alone in the wreckage of the fort.

“Freya… thank the tides. I can’t do this alone.”

His whiskers trembled as he dragged a sleeve across his face, breath fogging thick in the air.

“Truce!” he barked hoarsely, throwing one paw up in surrender toward the scattered remnants of the battlefield. “We're done, L'il Scrap! I’m freezin’ through me spine!”

The fight was over. Hell's Teeth let it be over.

He reached automatically for the inside pocket of his coat for the spare cigar he kept wrapped dry and safe. Something to steady the rattling in his bones.

His paw met nothing.

He frowned.

He checked again. Harder.

Nothing.

His paw dove deeper into the pocket. His coin purse, and the weight it brought: Gone.

The slush and laughter around him seemed to dim. Slowly, very slowly, his head turned. Across the churned snow toward the stands and crowd.

There! The red vixen was at the food line.

His jaw tightened.

“Oi!”

His paw rose, finger stabbing toward her across the fair.

“THIEF! Red coat! You!”

To Freya, tight and furious, barely reining in the shake in his voice:

“She was on me shoulder! Me purse’s gone!”

His eyes flicked once toward the churned patch where Korya’s belongings had been.

“An’ Korya’s pile was right there!”

He didn’t think.

He didn’t plan.

He scooped up a handful of snow, packed it once, twice...

...and hurled it with every ounce of cold, offended fury he had left.

The snowball tore through the air and burst against the ground just short of the red vixen’s boots, exploding in a spray of white.

Griblo stood trembling in the aftermath, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

The truce was over.

@Korya @Freya McFjorl @Irene Rightsbeast

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

The snowball struck him square in the chest. Swifttail blinked once at the powder blooming across his coat... then barked a laugh.

“Oh, ye think so?”

He bent, scooped in one smooth motion, packed once against his palm, and thup — sent it cleanly back toward Miothiyle’s shoulder in playful retaliation.

“Check me aim, then.”

His grin lingered as the snow settled.

At her question about bow practice, though, something in him softened.

“Aye. I have.” He brushed lingering snow from his sleeve. “Not as much as I’d like, but enough t’ know I’ve still a ways t’ go.”

His tail gave a small, thoughtful flick.

“If ye’ve the patience fer it, I’d like t’ meet ye proper after the Fair. A quiet field, honest targets, no singin’ foxes wanderin’ through the line of fire.”

He cast a fond sidelong glance toward the bard.

“Miothiyle, this dramatic menace is Silvertongue Songfox.”
“Silvie, this is the huntress I told ye about. The one with the bow what put mine t’ shame.”

He shifted slightly between them, easy and open.

“You’re welcome too join us as well, Silvie. We’ll find ye a bow that matches your theatrics.”

A curl of breath left him in a faint laugh.

“Though cider first, I reckon. Before our teeth start playin’ percussion.”

But just then a shout split the air.

“THIEF!”

Swifttail’s ears snapped upright.

The word carried sharp across the fair, drawing glances and stirring the thinning crowd near the food stalls. A burst of snow exploded somewhere beyond them, white spraying against darker shapes.

He turned his head toward the commotion, brow lifting.

“Well,” he murmured lightly, eyes narrowing with interest rather than alarm. “Seems the Fair’s found itself another spectacle.”

His gaze flicked back to Miothiyle, something bright and questioning in it.

“What d’ye say, huntress? D' we run in t' save another beast in need?”

@Silvertongue Songfox @Marble @Griblo Jankweed @Irene Rightsbeast