Northstar Vale marble bone

hex and viskani had met with one another among the stone cairns. muskrat had not come to the meeting, for her hunt had taken her into patchwork shadow and mud-tunnels.

all in pursuit of the little thing she led by a twist of vine. the warrior's quarry had been a red fox cub of eight moons. still bright with scarlet fur not yet shading toward the thick silver of a winter coat, they plodded disconsolately behind muskrat. bruised into subservience and laden with curled bundles of mountain heather, muskrat intended to make a gift of the fox to viskani.

to kill. to eat. to wear. she did not care, and had indicated as much. but foxes did not speak wolf, and she did not need to learn their tongue to have captured one.

dropping the vine, muskrat noted that the thing did not try to run, only crouched in dismal silence upon the ground. she called out, a coyote-yipping note, proclaiming herself as ridge warrior with a message.