Expedition [Urk Climax #1]: The Long Watch

It was hot. Oddly hot. Wasn't he still in the icy battlefield? Greeneye opened his eye. He was on some sort of stone boat, and as far as his eye could see was lava, a dark and ominous mountain sprawled out in the distance. A cloaked beast was rowing the boat with a metal paddle that didn't seem to melt despite being dipped in lava.

"OH, WHAT DER HELL?!" Greeneye scrambled to his feet. "AM I IN HELL?!"

"Right ye are, boyo..."
The cloaked figure replied with a familiar voice sent chills down Greeneye's spine. It turned around and revealed itself. Ironpaw. The damnable pirate 'king', commander of the Red Fleet, and...

"Farder?!" Greeneye exclaimed. "But, yer not dead! Or are ye so desperate that'll ye'll literally chase me ter Hell an' back?"

Ironpaw let out a wheezing laugh, the smile unnatural on his face, a menacing glint in his eye. "Course I ain't dead, boy. But ye are. Well, dyin'... I'm just pissed I didn't get ter gut ye myself, ye ungrateful little whelp." He snarled. "I would 'ave given ye the whole fleet! An army on a silver platter! Somethin' any other respectable vermin could only DREAM of! An' ye threw it all away fer that damned PANSY lover of yers!"

"Shut up, shut up, yer just in me head!"
Greeneye snapped back. "If I am dyin', can I at least die in peace, ye miserable rat bastard?!"
----
Greeneye was leaning against a crate, holding his chest and wheezing. His eyes fluttering open and closed. The medicine was wearing off, and he was in such unbearable pain that he was slipping in and out of consciousness, his body becoming numb from the coldness all around him.
 
Kaii fell to his back as soon as he was pushed by his snout. It didn't hurt because his mind went into overdrive. He was neither mad nor disappointed. More than anything he was confused.

Why Darragh insisted on this? He wasn't helping anyone, Tutlow and others needed medication much more than Kaii (at least in his eyes). And a simple request was treated as an order? True he wasn't particularly capable of making it sound nice but still...

Those questions had to wait. Simply because Kaii was now being assaulted. The only true matter that remained in his mind was how to defend himself despite his weakened, wounded state. He couldn't find ways to diffuse the situation, was getting suffocated, was weaker than his attacker and had no tools or equipment on him. Not the most favorable scenario.

He thus considered one thing, was giving up better? The stoat on him could then move to take care of others... except he seemed to be hellbent on caring for Kaii specifically. That he could approve of. He himself would do the same. At the same time? Kaii's life was expendable, others were not.

Going limp for a moment to conserve the air in his lungs and to muster strength needed despite the pain and blood loss, Kaii knew he shouldn't hurt this beast. There was no need for causing more wounds and work for medics than there already was. Claws and teeth were off the question then. What could he use if that was the case? The answer came to him quickly as his mind brought to him memories of the last time he was drugged with medicaments. They assured him he was doing a right thing while also reminded him of his observation... Beast's body wasn't that different from machines.

And he knew how to break machines.

With trismus caused by holding off pain and effort alike, Kaii rolled to the side sharply. Even if the stoat over him held with immense strength, his joints had to adjust to the movement, counteract it even a bit. And that coincided with his paws moving up and pressing into the elbow joint, applying pressure with his fingers to make them contract.

With last of the strength he could muster, Kaii used his last functioning asset, his legs, pulling them sharply kicking into his kneecaps. It was the most he could do, try to make Darragh collapse onto the floor or him.

And for this entire time he stared unblinkingly into his eyes. There was nothing behind his, not an expression on his snout. Wasn't it for movements you could consider Kaii dead from his face. Because for all real purposes, he was.
 
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Vihma could only breathe. She heard Silvie’s orders, heard without looking, trying to calm her heart and her breathing, and trying not to look down at Piper, at the marine’s mangled body.

Piper’s touch took her by surprise – she almost drew her paw away, looking down in first quiet shock, then an awkward dismay. She didn’t know what to say to the other weasel’s questions, to her panicked desire to see the kit she’d saved.

Vihma bit her lip, more to stop it from trembling than to occupy her mind. There was enough occupying it already. Enough going on in the medical tent, enough madness and suffering and confusion.

The weasel pulled her paw away then, but didn’t make to leave yet. She’d follow Silvie’s orders – see to the end of the careless, foolish crusade she’d been pulled along on. Following orders until one of them put her in the ground.

Amidst the chaos in the tent, there wasn’t much the time or presence to notice her as she pulled the crying shrew kit out of its makeshift crib. It didn’t stop crying – might have even grown louder, more distressed for the sort of beast carrying it, as Vihma’s gentle touch didn’t reach her eyes.

Babe of the very beasts that’d hurt her comrades, killed Honeytail and others. Tried to kill her – left a nasty slash across her back in a near miss. Now it cried, cried and cried. Cried out for a mother and father it’d never see again.

The weasel’s softened some. Maybe there wasn’t a world of difference between them.

Vihma kneeled beside Piper again, laying the kit in its blankets across her stricken form, so she could cradle it in her arms. She wasn’t a doctor, but she figured they could help each other. And if not, well – she wouldn’t be sticking around to be thrown out by Barrett or his staff.

“Kit’s ‘ere, Piper. Rest… rest easy now, mate.”

With that, she gave the wounded sniper’s shoulder a soft, comforting pat and rose to leave – making her way from the tent for the backline and what was left of their perimeter, before anyone could see the angry tears in her eyes.
 
Swifttail exhaled hard through his nose, the breath catching in the air in a white mist. He stood hunched at the edge of the boat, watching two others take hold of the body he'd just delivered. They nodded to him and murmured something, but he didn’t catch it. The blood in his ears roared too loud. His paws were trembling. One from pain. The other from exhaustion. But he turned anyway, boots squelching through half-thawed sludge as he pushed himself back toward the infirmary tent.

There was no time to stop. The return trip was worse. Every crunch of snow, every sharp gust, made his fur stand on end. The battlefield was still... too still... and his imagination filled the silence with shapes and shadows. Beasts hiding just beyond the next ruin. Blades waiting in the smoke. He didn't run. Running would make the pain spike worse. Instead, he walked with grim purpose, tail held stiff, ears pivoting at every sound.

He passed one of the barricades, then another. The tent came into view, a smudge of canvas against muddy, bloody snow. Beasts still moved about in a rush. Some lifting the wounded, others ferrying crates of supplies. No one had time to speak, it was a frenzy of a retreat.

He made his way back to the row of bodies. Swifttail reached down and gripped the end of the hammock. Similar to how he grabbed the first body, he again began his burdened march back towards the boats.
 
On her next trip out searching for wounded, Vilde trod through the bloodied, slushed snow where the great shrew had been slain. The air stank of fear and suspense amid the clear iron tang. It would not be long before the enemy overran this place when their tide shifted. For a moment, she missed her clan.

Concentration fell back upon her task. She caught movement by some crates and hurried toward them. There she found a wounded rat, one she now recalled having been smacked aside by the monstrous creature as she had made her approach. Whether he had been presumed dead, capable, or simply forgotten in the chaos mattered little right now.

"Easy, friend. I will get you to your healers."

Vilde moved to help Greeneye.
 
Arthur leaned close to Piper, brows furrowed with grief. Though he kept racking his mind for something to do to heal her, nothing would come. Glancing up, the infirmary seemed to be spiraling away from him. Tultow was now asking for help, and Kaii was fighting against it. At the very least, the shrewbabe had nestled down against Piper, and stopped wailing.

As the fox kicked at his assistant, Barrett's temper flared. Combattive patients were uncommon, but not unheard of. Now granted... perhaps Darr was... overly enthusiastic about administering medicine, but Arthur had his attention focused on Piper and missed that little interaction. Additionally, Kaii was known to be a difficult fox. The pine marten had half a mind to let the fox lay in agony outside the tent... but compassion won out. The boy had lost a decent amount of blood, and likely wasn't thinking right.

Barrett fetched a bite stick from his pocket, and standing by the fox's head, waited for the opportunity to slip it in his jaws. "He's not thinking straight, Finn -- it's just the blood loss. You there -- hold his legs down. I don't want him kicking anyone again..." he growled, looking to Darr for assistance. The young stoat was a fairly scrappy type, Barrett figured he didn't need much tutoring on how to grapple a patient. Seeing his opportunity, Barrett slipped the bitestick in, and wedged it behind the fox's canines. A strong paw clamped Kaii's muzzle around it, and Barrett laid down across the fox's upper torso to pin him down. While Kaii's elbows would still be free, the pine marten's broad shoulders would stop him from reaching up.

"Steady! Steady... just relax, Kaii... Relax..." he said as soothingly as he could manage. Meanwhile, he looked up to the foxkit anxiously standing by Kaii's head. "Finn, dose him. Don't rush now... easy does it... Now, there's a white bottle up there too. Fetch it, we're going to give him a sedative as well, so he doesn't hurt himself." Barrett kept his weight down on the fox, and kept him from struggling with a gentle shushing while Finn fetched and administered both medicines.

"Go take care of Mr. Tultow, Finn. I'll stay with Kaii..." Slowly, Barrett de-escalated things with Kaii. As he felt the fox starting to relax, his own grip on the boy would loosen until the bite stick slipped out of his muzzle. "Easy, Mr. Nay-shuh-roh*... we've got you. You're gonna be ok..."

* Barrett was confident he was getting closer and closer to pronouncing Kaii's last name right.
 
Piper cradled the shrewbabe to her, her voice hushed as she gently sobbed through a lullaby. "Nevermind the pouring rain, nevermind the storm's refrain," she choked out, moving her arms as much as she could to try to rock the babe to sleep. "Nevermind the aches and pain, sun will come again."

Outside, the marines stood sentinel at the edge of the camp, bloodied and bruised, bandaged as best they could manage while holding the line. Crossbows pointed out into the mist, the soldiers listening to the distant sounds of some far off battle, cries of pain and rage echoing over the cliffs. The sergeant who had assumed command in Tultow's absence raised a paw, and the marines tensed, then knelt before the barricades, aiming at distant shadows, barely flickers of darkness beyond the sputtering torchlight.

"Nevermind the creeping dark, nevermind the mournful lark. Nevermind the silence stark, sun will come again."

The shadows grew closer, enough to make out the form of one lone shrew shuffling forward, dressed differently from the rest. They were wearing a long, shaggy coat woven through with many bits of carved bone, a hood that came up over their head, and were carrying a simple staff held horizontal in their palms. As they reached the edge of the fortifications, they stopped before the spike pit littered with shrew bodies and, slowly, placed the staff down on the ground.

"Nevermind the mountain steep, nevermind its shadows deep. Nevermind the things that creep, sun will come again."

Moving oh so slowly, the shrew straightened up, leaving the staff on the ground, carefully watching the invaders for their reaction. Slowly the sergeant lowered his paw, keeping his fingers loose, as he watched their enemy watching them. The tension of the moment hung in the air.

"Nevermind the battles past, nevermind the cannon's blast."

A private at the end of the line, face bloody from a poorly bandaged cut, trembled in the dark, the fear apparent on his youthful face. He looked even younger than Morgan, too young for war of this kind. A trickle of blood seeped out from beneath his bandage, curving a line down toward his eye. As it reached his eyelid, it seeped over and onto his eyeball, making him blink vigorously, trying to clear it.

"Nevermind the grave's cold cast..."

The recruit moved one paw from his weapon to rub at his eye, the sting of pain causing his other paw to reflexively tighten on the trigger. A sharp twang cut through the silence, and crimson bloomed across the carefully woven cloak as the bolt lodged itself in the midst of the shrew's chest, spraying out over the white snow and the dark staff. The shrew collapsed, falling onto their offering, as the sergeant whirled, yelling in panic and fury at his troops.

"Sun will come again."
 
Easy, it’ll be over before y’know i-…

Pain exploded through Darragh’s kneecaps and elbows. The stoat yelped and jerked back, the slumbering lizard of instinct at the back of his brain taking over from reason and duty. Losing balance, he flailed in a moment of weightless freefall. Then, the back of his head hit the edge of the cot behind him.

One…

The warm lantern light swam in Darragh’s vision, like an egg yolk sliding around a frying pan.

Two…

The crowd was roaring in his ears. Were they calling his name?

Three…

He had to get up. The back of his head throbbed, and he was about to lose the fight in the first round.

Four…

Darragh rolled over onto all fours, and pushed up. His knees flared with pain, but he was young, flexible, and resilient. His muzzle drew back in a snarl, and he bounced up onto his footpaws, arms raised to block his opponent’s next jab.

F- he’s up! Harper’s up!

He was back in the tent. The roaring crowd was just the blood rushing in his ears. There was no marble-furred fox stripped to the waist waiting to slug a knuckle-bruised paw into Darragh’s jaw, just the injured and upset one flailing on the cot, Doctor Barrett pinning him from the other side.

He had expected resistance, but there was a lot more fight in the fox than he’d thought. Darragh felt a twist of guilt in his stomach. He imagined he would probably have done the same, if he was hurt and disoriented and afraid of taking strange drugs. He had to be ruthless though. Barrett and Finn were counting on him. Nashirou, this is for your own good, like it or not! Darragh tried to say.

Nngghhhrrr!!” Was about as far as Darragh managed to articulate that thought, through his clenched teeth. Kaii had hurt him, and the fall would leave a bump at the base of his skull. While his ability to express his frustration had momentarily outpaced his ability to string syllables together, his fighting instinct was bringing the situation back into sharp focus.

Darragh tackled Kaii’s legs with a renewed vigor. He hugged them tight together, trying to keep the fox’s knee joints from bending in preparation for another kick. Somebeast was singing, and though the stoat was busy clinging to his patient, his ears twitched in interest. With his head still pounding, he couldn’t be sure if he was the only beast that could hear a sad lullaby that stirred something in his soul. He wished he had a moment to appreciate the poignancy of the moment, but pressed up against dirty boots and matted fox fur, all he could do was commit the lyrics to memory.
 
Kaii stopped moving as soon as Barrett got close to him. The reason was simple. Wasting time of the stoat that tried to force medicine into him, without even asking him to take it, after he merely inquired for writing utensils... that didn't feel too problematic for the cause. Wasting time of a sole medic in the tent of dying beasts? Kaii had known better that to do that. Barrett was needed elsewhere and Kaii knew it.

But the exertion and pain he shoved back to fight in a burst of energy came back. Kaii not only didn't want to fight the chirurgeon, he truly had nothing left in him that could let him do that. Still he wished for that ink and paper, the part of his mind that was reminding him of his duty and his promises screamed aloud. Kaii couldn't do much more now than comply, exhausting other options, he was left with one thing he hated the most.

Hoping. Hoping it will be all fine. He hated it, because it never was.

Kaii tried to void his emotions and clear his mind again, but the suffering was too strong. He spit out some blood to the side and stared into doctor's eyes.

"Just. Be. Quick. With. Those" He slowly muttered in flat as fine table voice. "I s-still. Can. Move an... aaa-nd act." He paused to take a deep breath to make some pain go away. It didn't help. "Please. Tend. To. Those. Dying." Kaii finished and let himself get medicated against his will and reason. The greater good of the others needed him and that was enough of an argument.

And letting it flow, Kaii prepared for the worst. Hoping actually he will be able to fall asleep to not have to bother with the aftereffects of the sedatives. He dreaded his own actions otherwise. This state of unchecked surge of thoughts, unhampered desires to act. Those weren't that bad back when he was just at the ship, no danger that was above what the crew could manage around. But here? Losing his collected calm was the worst.

But there was something that gathered his attention, being hyperaware of your surrounding helped him to register singing... a soft lullaby. Nothing he expected here and definitely not something aimed at him.

But it was soothing, something he could hatch onto while his mind slowly started to slip into anarchy he ever so hated.

Between exhaustion, pain, sedatives and a sweet singing of one of the soldiers... the desired slumber came in. Taking over control from the machine that ruled over the body and letting Kaii rest.
 
Silvertongue wasn't sure why Kaii has been so against taking the medicine. It was something he'd have to ask later. Right now, his head was pounding. It was as if all the weight of his responsibilities were pressing against his skull. He felt he was getting drawn in multiple different directions. Piper was in such a terrible state, it made him want to vomit. He had to compose himself. Why, why did Tultow have to be out of commission? He couldn't handle all this! On top of it all, he heard some shouting from the marines outside.

"I'm going to see what that's about." Silvertongue took the chance to excuse himself from the chaos of the medical tent and skipped out before any beast could reply.
 
On her next trip out searching for wounded, Vilde trod through the bloodied, slushed snow where the great shrew had been slain. The air stank of fear and suspense amid the clear iron tang. It would not be long before the enemy overran this place when their tide shifted. For a moment, she missed her clan.

Concentration fell back upon her task. She caught movement by some crates and hurried toward them. There she found a wounded rat, one she now recalled having been smacked aside by the monstrous creature as she had made her approach. Whether he had been presumed dead, capable, or simply forgotten in the chaos mattered little right now.

"Easy, friend. I will get you to your healers."

Vilde moved to help Greeneye.
Greeneye seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in as the wildcat approached him, and lifted him effortlessly up.

"Ye know..." He wheezed. "Ye could at least pretend I'm a little heavy." Greeneye let out a pained laugh, clutching his chest. "I think me ribs been cracked or somefink..."
 
Vilde smiled at the brave rat in her arms.

"I would if you were not as light as a feather," she teased.

A shot rang out and she stiffened, as if she had been the one hit. She looked back toward her allies' front lines and the feverish shouting did not bode well.

"Something is wrong. We must hurry."

The wildcat maintained her grip on Greeneye and rushed for the medical tent.
 
The sergeant was screaming bloody murder at his complement while the body of the envoy cooled on the bloodstained snow. "YOU NEVER, EVER, REMOVE YOUR SAFETY BEFORE YOU'RE READY TO SHOOT," he hollered, face nearly purple and spittle flying from his face. "PRIVATE JOHNSON, YOU'D BETTER PRAY THOSE SHREWS GET YOU FIRST, BECAUSE IF WE SURVIVE THIS, I'LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU HADN'T."

There was a sound of more ululation from the fog, a few voices rising into an angry cacophony, sourceless, omnidirectional, and terrifying. The marines tensed, all of them looking into the darkness. There was a shuffling line coming towards them, and as a temporary reprieve in the mist washed across the field, they saw it. There had to be over a thousand of them, all gathered either up on the cliffs where they had the benefit of range, or on the beach, each one clustered by certain sets of ornamentation such as specific bone piercings driven through their fur. Every single clan on the island must have gathered to push the Vulpinsulans off of Urk for good... and the last chance for peace now lay bleeding on the snow.

The sergeant's face was ashen as he turned to Silvertongue. "Sir," he said quietly. "Sir, if our orders are to retreat and leave the captain, that's an order you'll need to give now. My men..." He swallowed before he added, "My men and I will buy you time for a retreat. This... This isn't a situation in which victory is possible, sir, and unless the captain is coming down from those hills right now, sir, I'm afraid that he's never leaving this island."
 
The second body slid from Swifttail’s shoulder into the waiting paws aboard the boat with a soft thud. He didn’t linger. The cold gnawed deeper now, and his muscles trembled from more than exertion. As he turned to head back for another, a sound split the air, angry and wavering, not unlike a wounded beast or a keening wind.

He froze. It was a truly chilling ululation from the blackened ruins, cliffs, and shores.

His ears pinned back. No thought. No hesitation. Swifttail ran back towards camp.

Boots tore through snow, heart slamming in his chest. That cry made one thing achingly clear.

They needed to leave. Now. Gates he wish he had help carrying the dead.
 
"Oh, Saints preserve us..." Silvertongue's face paled. He looked at the sergeant. "Hold the line, for as long as you can." He then sprinted back into the tent. "We need to go, NOW." Silvertongue ran over, and he forced his injured arm out of it's wrappings to scoop up Finn in his arms. He dashed out of the tent, paws slamming into the snow. He held Finn close to his chest as he made his way to the longboats.

"Saints above, please grant our soldiers the strength to win this battle." Silvertongue muttered. As far as any beast on the crew would likely be able to recall, Silvertongue had never been much of a religious beast before now.

Silvertongue ran past Swifttail. "Swift-" He stumbled to a stop. "Get Finn onto a boat. Now." He dumped Finn into Swiftail's arms, and leaned forward to kiss Swifttail firmly on the lips. "That one was for good luck." He explained, before he turned and ran back into the tent. He was somehow out of breath. That wasn't right. He wasn't out of shape. He hurried over to Piper, leaning down beside her. "Piper, I'm taking the kit, okay? I swear to you, you will see them again. We need to get them to safety." He took hold of the kit, and had to wrench the babe away from her arms. It started to cry once more, and Silvertongue bounced him gently before turning to Barrett, a darkness not before seen in his eyes. "The babe is going with us, and I won't hear a word of protest from you, Barrett." He stepped forward, for once he didn't wither away under the doctor's scowl. "You can hate me all you want, you miserable old cur. I'm in charge until the Captain returns. I'll beg his forgiveness after the fact."

With that, he turned to the others in the tent. "We need to move the wounded out as quickly as we can. Improvise some stretchers if we must. The marines are taking their final stand as we speak."
 
Vihma trudged through the snow, white cloth around her once again obscuring her figure, until she finally found what she wanted. The weasel drew it from the slush and dirt, gentle as she could be, checking for damage. Piper’s crossbow had its scope still attached – she looked down its glass with a tired eye, sighting the darkness beyond the perimeter.

It’d do her better than her bow, with how few arrows she had left, and the exhaustion she felt creeping in.

*click… click click click*

The weasel set the scope’s elevation down to minimum. It was going to be a short ranged fight. She’d get a few shots off, maybe, and then it was back to relying on her cutlass. To just trying to stay alive.

Exhaling in a long sigh, she let her arms rest, crossbow leaving her shoulder to aim harmlessly back to the snow below.

“Good ‘s it gets,” she said to no beast in particular.

Turning around, she walked back closer to the perimeter.

She’d collected a few spare bolts from around the ravaged camp, from the remaining marines. She liked them. Liked their spirit, the bond they seemed to share with each other. Their crossbows she had less favor for, but Piper’s was special. She had faith in it.

More faith than she had in anything else about the mission so far.

As if to drive home the point, she heard the commotion as some sort of shrew officer got wasted by one of the marines. Heard the strange sounds the shrews made off in the distance – a call to war, or something like that.

“T’hell with ‘em,” the weasel muttered, setting herself in position behind one of the barricades – the shattered remains of some crate – not far from some of the marines.

Vihma thought she saw one of them give her a look, but she didn’t mind it, busy setting out a few bolts along her wooden cover. They’d be there for her to grab for a fast reload, assuming the shrews didn’t pin her first.

Assuming she didn’t die herself in the first volley.

The thought actually amused her, almost made her laugh. Wouldn’t that be her luck?

To think she could have still been on the Valdez – on that dreadful ship she’d always hated, but far away and warm in the fair waters of the Sea of Pleasantries. Away from the ice and the cold and the shrews. Away from this hellish island, from this place she wished she’d never returned.

---

Rummaging through his coat once more, Gaffon produced a set of signed papers, handing them off to the taller weasel as she stood ready, silently.

"These papers here include your rank affidavit, 'n a summary of your service on the Valdez. I've seen it done that ye be transferred t' the old Golden Hide. It seems they'll be needing a beast familiar with the Urk run."

He paused, taking another puff of his cigarette. The rat made no effort to shield Vihma from the smoke as he exhaled, suppressing a small grin as he watched her nose twitch in response.



"These are your orders, Miss Rhoodie. Or would you rather stay on this ship?"

---

Vihma choked out a quiet sob, letting her crossbow rest against the barricade as she tried to breathe, to clear more moisture from her eyes. In the moonlight she could see her trembling hands.

She’d known – of course she had! And here she’d gone anyway. Her choice to accept, and she’d dragged Morgan along for good measure.

The weasel rubbed her eyes, trying to hold her breath to keep from sobbing, to calm herself down. It didn’t stop her thoughts, though.

Morgan… the ferret had a hole in her chest now, plugged with some ungodly contraption just so she could breathe. She’d nearly died several times over.

At least she’s safe now.

That thought finally brought calm. Vihma could close her eyes, could breathe once again without choking on a hard feeling.

Whatever happened, Morgan was safe on the ship. She’d make it back to her parents, to Bezine and Eirene. To the only beasts who’d ever seen anything in her.

They’d survive. Maybe they’d even remember her.

She swallowed her fear, readying her crossbow with a last quiet sniff.

It was then that the mist finally parted, and she could see the shrews in their great number. All around them, waiting, it seemed, for the signal to advance, to overrun their clearly hopeless position.

Vihma’s eyes widened – but only for another moment.

She'd chosen this. Maybe she'd expected something else, something better. But she'd set herself on this path. And, like her parents had before her, she'd just have to deal with the consequences as they came. And hopefully, maybe – if they were somehow watching – she'd acquit herself well enough to earn their favor too.

Sighting the first shrew she felt would come in range of her crossbow – and wishing very much that she’d had more time to practice with it – she set a claw on the trigger and waited for the order – or the chance – to thin out the shrew’s numbers by at least one more.
 
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Suddenly beset by a frantic Silvertongue, Finnian landed in his arms like a tossed satchel of apples. Swifttail caught him...barely. The weight dragged straight through his injured paw, sending a jolt of fire up his forearm that nearly made him drop the poor kit.

“Hh–hhhff–ow,” he hissed, staggering a half-step before bracing with his good paw. Finn clung on awkwardly, probably just as surprised to be suddenly Finn-napped.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Swift managed through gritted teeth. “Mostly.”

The pain throbbed sharp and unrelenting. His wrapped paw was now pulsing like a red-hot coal.

And then... A kiss.

Soft. Sudden. And square on the lips.

Swifttail went still. He stood frozen, half bent from pain, half tangled in kit limbs, and now fully stunned. His ears didn’t seem to know whether to perk or fold. His tail, stuck somewhere between confusion and instinct, flicked once like a broken metronome.

He turned his head slightly, wide-eyed, to glance back at Silvertongue. Whatever words he meant to say didn’t make it out.

Instead, he gave a very small, very bewildered nod. Then turned and limped toward the boats, clutching Finnian like a lifeline.
 
As Kaii's body gradually went limp, Arthur began to relax the tension holding him to the cot. Barrett had already lost enough valuable time with this endeavor -- and resolved to not let go until he was positive the sedatives had taken effect.

The moment gave him a little respite from the chaos of the infirmary tent, and he took the opportunity to listen to Piper's lullaby. The stillness of the moment almost forced him to listen. It was a poignant old tune he was familiar with... But gates it'd been an age since he'd heard it.

Without a doubt, this was the closest he'd ever been to the front lines. All the emotions of the infirmary were more vividly in color than he'd ever remembered, and he was surprised how deeply the plight of his crew moved him. He bled with them more ways than one -- as evidenced by the small red patch growing on Kaii's white chestfur.

As he felt Kaii's labored breathing slow, Arthur finally stood wearily to his feet. Everything ached. His back, his bones, his heart. Facing the tent wall again, the pine marten took his glasses off and coughed dryly while rubbing his face with his paws.

That's when Silvie came in, and delt him a grievous blow.

The young officer's sharp words were like an arrow, shot deftly through a dozen axe handles. The shaft passed through all his decades of jaded defenses and lodged deep in his chest, leaving Arthur utterly speechless.

He was a bitter, miserable cur. And he didn't know how to be anything else.
 
Finn hated seeing his patients in pain, but this was a different kind of pain. Kaii looked... scared, almost. Hesitantly, he carefully administered the potions. He knew it was what the fox needed... But how awful it was to force it upon him. Hopefully Kaii wouldn't hold it against him.

Pulling away from his mate, Finn dashed over to the surgeon's chest, and fetched the golden vial. Though it was by far the most precious thing he'd ever held in his paws, he couldn't fathom the value of it. Barrett had ordered it, and he would administer it -- perhaps more easily than even the surgeon would.

"Lieutenant Tultow, sir... Medicine for you..." And with little understanding of what he was doing, Finn brought the vial to Tultow's lips, and poured it into his muzzle with the same care he used to give Kaii his medicine. Not a drop would go to waste.

The foxkit watched in stunned silence as Silvie reamed Barrett out. Of all the members of the crew, he'd spent the most time with Arthur, and he'd never seen the pine marten cut down to size like that. A slight grin flickered over his muzzle for a moment... That made up for all the hours Barrett had mercilessly chained him to the bulge pumps.

But then Silv came over and whisked him off his feet. THE INDIGNITY! Finn cried out in protest, and struggled against the fox as he was hauled out of the tent. "Rrrgh, Silvie, no! Lemme go! I gotta help..." he cried, struggling against the older fox, but to no avail. Just as difficult as it was to wrestle the dibbun from Piper, Finn didn't want to leave his mates. "Mr. Barrett!" he pleaded -- but the pine marten turned his gaze away from him to the patients.

Panic slowly set in as he saw the boats being loaded, and saw the fighting on the battlements. They were evacuating. The captain wasn't back yet. "Silvie... Silvie, no-hoho, please..." he sobbed, struggling more earnestly as a frightening thought struck him. It might be the last he saw of his mates.

Finn was too afraid to fight back any harder against the officer, or Swift as he was shoveled over. He knew the consequences for striking an officer were severe -- but worse than that, he was afraid of doing or saying something he couldn't take back. "Swift, Swift! No... Leh-mee go ba-hack! Kaii's still back there! Don't make me go! P-Please, I'll do anything!"
 
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