Shadow Mountain honey, this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us

It had all started with that damned fox.

The vixen-scent had cloaked their caches, heady and flagrant. The woman was stealing from them, and he'd been tasked to find her out—to put an end to the thievery.

Caligula at one end of the foxhole, the rest at the other—

And Drusilla the first bitten.

---

He'd wandered a bit after his meeting with Mae at Swiftcurrent Creek, unsure of his next move. Her face had nearly swayed him into staying; clearly, she was not protected there. Not enough to remain unmarred.

But that wasn't his job, was it—to protect her? Had not his mother fled, and his father. . .

God, what had Akavir's crimes been?

Hex had shaken it off, gritting his teeth. The mountains were in his mind; they'd always been. And as the spring storms rattled the peaks, sending lightning sizzling off the highest trees, he climbed higher, still higher.

He did not stop until his breathing came shorter, the altitude finally taking its toll.

Finding a small hollow amid the wind and rain, he shielded himself from the elements and tucked his dark, bushy tail across his body, golden eyes narrowed to slits; owlish in the dark.

Hidden away. Just as he ought to be.

The shadow-furred boy was not the only lost soul to seek shelter in the hollow. Earp, too, slipped into the shadows in pursuit of solace. It wasn't that the stranger had slipped past his notice. Few things did anymore.

He didn't mind company just then, though. A flash of ultramarine eyes upon the boy was the only true acknowledgement he received; even in his most social of moods, Earp was often a silent creature. He settled with a slow, good-natured sway to his tail, opting to groom the rainwater from his fur rather than shaking it off. He knew how to be polite company, after all. Sort of.

At first, he took the stranger for a ghost. The pale fur like moonbeams, bright eyes even in the dim light. . . His golden gaze widened slightly as he whispered, Agrippa.

But hope died, as they all had, when the wolf came close enough to reveal his younger age and different build.

Not even his lover's ghost could comfort him now.

Hex thought of speaking, but the words didn't come. He just stared instead, watching through the drizzle as the young man—near his own age, he thought—preened and primped.

He was pretty. Even if he wasn't Agrippa.

Agrippa.

In his grooming he paused to regard the boy, something near-predatory blooming behind the ultramarine eyes. I could be him, He murmured, uncoiling now in a slow, smooth motion. If you want.

Earp was only a lost soul seeking shelter.

Dirtwater Fox, then, was a hunter — no longer in search of anything at all. He smiled and crept closer. Just for tonight, yeah? Our little secret, his tone seemed to say. I understand. I won't tell.

The coquettish glance was met with a dead-eyed stare from Hex, his face impassive as to be completely expressionless. No, you couldn't, he replied, matter-of-fact.

A sigh, then a long stretch as he exited the hollow, rain spattering like ink spots upon his dark pelt.

You could be you, Hex said, now face-to-face with the young man. Or anyone you want to be. So, who? His choice.

Loss and longing sat heavy on his shoulders, an inextricable yoke.