Disclaimer: Zootopia and It's characters are property of the wonderful people at Disney, this is a fanfiction meant to be entirely non-profit.

Second Disclaimer: There will be violence and blood in this story.

A/N:Right, here it is, I promised and here it is, part 1 of the rewritten prologue, which I hope you all enjoy. Also to the kind reviews and follows and favorites that happened while i was re-working this, thank you, I expected a very different reaction from the one I received, and it is immensely encouraging to see people actively interested in this story. However I have news, I'm starting school on the sixth of September, however I don't expect mountains of homework as I am only a senior in high school, also I intend to have this story finished by the end of the school year, more on that if I needed, and updates will come if I am unable to post a chapter on Friday's as I have promised.

Prologue I

October 17, 1873

Nicholas Piberius Wilde groaned as his mind shifted to a conscious state. The first thing he noticed was the pain. Or more accurately the lack thereof. Which was interesting, considering he was lying on his back, where he had received the brunt of his "punishment". The punishment in question being 50 lashes from a particularly cruel variation of a Cat-o-Nine-Tails. The usual nine cords were present but the rest was simply barbaric. Each of the nine cords was tipped with a metal bulb, each of which had four razors attached to the bulb.

Nick chuckled ruefully, the posse had rushed into the town of Respite with a vengeance, they were tracking a murderer, according to them, and Nick had received the blame. Never mind that the murderer in question was in the saloon across the street from Nick's office. Never mind that the murderer in question was known to be a wolverine. Never mind that Nick was the town's Marshall. It all simply hadn't mattered to the posse, all of whom were 'prey'. All that had mattered was that Nick was a Fox and that, apparently, the only way he could have a Marshall's badge was to have stolen. Nick knew there was no point in fighting, there were thirty of them against just himself, and while he was good, he wasn't quite that good, besides he could survive the lashes. And he had. He hadn't screamed either, refusing to give the bastards the satisfaction. This however made the posse collectively angrier. Apparently assault on an officer of the law was not satisfactory, only murder was. They then dragged Nick to the Lost River on the west side of town, and threw him in, if the rapids didn't kill him, then the river going underground would.

Nick groaned again and found he had the strength to sit up and open his eyes, so he did, to not find what he was expecting. Green. It was everywhere, which didn't make sense, Respite was in the middle of brown-grass plains, even in spring the most vibrant colours were only yellow, with the occasional Pinyon Pine adding a spot of drab green along the river. Green grass, trees with green leaves, flowers. A log cabin some feet away to his left, with a laughing brook to his front, his hind paws at the edge of the bank. Nick looked down at himself, and was again surprised. He felt no pain, yet he could the wounds inflicted by the lashing, and felt them when he reached around to feel his back, with every wound his felt or touched oozing blood. A small yellow finch landed nearby and began chirping excitedly. At least Nick had thought it was, the finch's was moving rather animatedly after all. It was then Nick noticed the dull roar, almost like being underwater….

Nick's head burst above the choppy river, his senses being overwhelmed from the pain and the roar of the river which beginning to recede. His whole body felt weak and as if it were on fire, and his limbs moved sluggishly as he kept his head above water, like he was in molasses instead. Nick took this respite, to look around, and breath. To his front was stretch of wide smooth river flowing lazily, as though nothing were wrong in the world. What lay behind Nick made him count his lucky stars, the rapids. It was then he vaguely recalled being smashed into a rock and everything going black. To his right was a sheer cliff face hundreds of paces high. And to his left a stretch of smooth sandy beach.

Nick moved, slowly and painfully, and somehow managed to get the bank. There he collapsed, after dragging himself out of the river on all fours too tired to stand.

"Hell-blasted Mondays."

=8=

The first thing Nick noticed was he was aware, acutely so. So much in fact that he gained a full mental picture of the area surrounding him simply by lying, listening, and sniffing. He was in the same little paradise as before, except now he could actually hear the birds sing, without the dull roar of being underwater. He sat up. And again he noticed his wounds. Still there, still oozing blood, yet painless. He looked around, the clearing was the same for the most part, there was only one difference this time. This difference came in the form of an old Coyote, weathered, and wise looking, with a curious coat of black fur, and just curious a robe of black silk. He sat under one of the many trees along the river, with a fishing rod in one paw, and an interestingly shaped cane by his side. Despite being old, there was an air about the Coyote, a curious one. One that made Nick want to lay his secrets bare for the old Coyote to freely judge. This confused Nick, he didn't have any dark secrets, and he'd always been one to play his hand close. Nick tried to stand, only to find he couldn't remember how to stand. Well his mind remembered, but his body did not. After the third attempt Nick gave up, and simply walked over to the old Coyote on all fours. He lay down a few paces away, far enough to be polite, but close enough to hold conversation.

"Excuse me sir, but, where are we?" Nick asked politely as he could.

"Well aren't you a polite one?" The Coyote turned and chuckled, looked at Nick for a few seconds and then turned back to his fishing.

Nick considered speaking to that but then reconsidered. The Coyote had clearly heard him, and had even acknowledged the question. So the Coyote was being rude, except he wasn't, he hadn't answered Nick, but he hadn't dismissed him either. And then there was the Coyote's cane that looked familiar…. Nick thought carefully as to where he had seen that shape before, it was from when he was young, and had worked the fields of his family farm, it was tool, specifically used in the wheat fields a….Scythe. The old age, black fur, and black robe suddenly held a new meaning to Nick. Foxes had legends about this, Foxes who would live blessed lives after meeting Death in youth. Which confused Nick, he was young, only twenty-two after all, but he was hardly a youth. Well, he didn't consider himself a youth. He had signed with the Marshall's at fifteen, to seek justice for his father and mother who had been gunned down by another mammal, simply for being Foxes.

Nick scowled slightly, thinking about how his family, himself included, seemed to have bad experiences with prey simply because who they born as. But that was something he consider later. Right now he was sitting in front of Death himself, Death who was now looking at Nick with a bemused expression. 'Alright old timer,' Nick thought to himself. 'You want to play a game? Let's play a game of masks and dice.' Nick simply stared back, setting his face into a half-lidded smirk, his muzzle forming a sloppy grin.

"How's the fishing?" Death nodded at Nick's question.

"Poor, It's as if the Fish don't like me." Nick simply 'hmm'ed at Death's reply, non-committedly.

"Paradise, and though you don't know it, a certain mammals missing." This caught Nick's attention and he was tempted to ask, then remembered who his company was. 'That was rather straight forward' Nick thought.

"Hmm, I don't know….I guess we'll see." Nick shrugged back crossing his front paws, wounds still present, and laid his head down. Though as he did so, something rather curious happened, Nick felt as though he were suddenly a fish, looking up at Death.

"I suppose we shall." With that, Death threw Fish-Nick, with something that looked like a scythe passing by his eye, into the stream Death had been fishing out of.

=88=

It was going to be hot today. It was quite clear to the Coyote since the sun had been above the horizon for an hour and he was already panting with the heat and exertion of the day. The clan had risen early, even earlier than normal, so as to begin moving to the winter camp. As such he had been up since well before dawn, though it was time for him to get a move on, as he was a scout, one of many who would be spread out in front of the tribe making sure the path to the winter camp was clear, his route being specifically along what the Foreigners called the Lost River. The Coyote chuckled to himself at the thought, as much as the Foreigners knew they didn't know how to Listen. They were so sure of themselves individually that they didn't care to learn anything from those they deemed "Barbarous". And when a member of the Tribes tried to tell them the stories that, if listened too, would tell the Foreigners exactly how to find the 'lost' river, the Foreigners ignored them. The Coyote again snorted, it wasn't lost, it was underground, and if you dug a few paces into the ground, in certain places, you would find wet dirt, a few paces further and enough water to fill a water pouch. It was likely going to be muddy, but it was pure from rot and better than no water at all.

Fortunately that wasn't going to be a problem for the Coyote or his people, as they would traveling along the river south, for a time, and then head west into the mountains, hopefully before the first snows fell, though it was unlikely as late in the season as they were moving. The tribe usually began its movement around the middle of the paperman moon and arrived towards the beginning of the fall moon. This was not the case this winter, they were only beginning the movement in the middle of the fall moon, and as such would likely have to set up lower in the mountains. This wouldn't be a problem, it would simply mean no warm baths as they would not have access to the hot springs, but better to be in the mountains than on the southern plains and desert when the winter storms came down the plains from the north. The Coyote chuckled again, the Foreigners thought that every Tribe moved about for no reason, and then wondered why they could never find the Tribes in winter.

The Coyote grabbed his sling and pack and set off towards the river, he wouldn't be missed, several others had seen him as he left the camp. Soon after he dropped to all fours and began to move at a steady lope, fast enough to make decent time, but not so fast his paw falls would be too heavy to silence. Mammals around the world had retained the ability to walk on all fours despite thousands of years of evolution simply because it was more convenient to travel in such a manner. More paws hitting the ground meant the weight of whatever the mammal was carrying was more evenly distributed, when in the form of a properly made pack. That was another thing that the Coyote had found to be universal, even among the Foreigners, packs often hugged the torso of the body of whatever mammal they were designed for, having a pouch at the back and a vest with varying sizes of pockets at the sides and on the front, with traders usually having travois as well.

The easy yet steady lope allowed him to cover a fair amount of ground in a decent time, 35 miles shortly before midday. As such he decided to stop under a scraggly pinyon near the river bank to allow the noon sun to pass. There wasn't much to risk, his clans caravan would be doing the same, and this area wasn't known for having many snakes. His only real threats were of humiliation should he fall asleep and be found, which wasn't a concern as he was still active, whitling on a talisman, and Foreigners as they tended to fear the Numinu for reasons none of them cared to explain to him. He whittled the noon sun away, and he soon set out again, continuing to make his way along the river, slightly above the bank. He continued on well after dark, as between his night-vision, and the moonlight it was easy enough to say, though he did slow his pace, no sense, stepping on a snake.

The moon had recently risen when the Coyote found another mammal. The coyote stopped short near a collection of sage, and watched the unknown mammal carefully. The other mammal simply lay there, in a slightly awkward position that the Coyote found odd. As the Coyote was about to retrace his steps to leave a mark to let his clan know of the other mammal, the wind shifted carrying scents from the unknown mammal to the Coyote, the most prominent two being fox musk, giving the Coyote the unknown mammals species, and the sharp iron smell of fresh blood. This gave the Coyote pause. Blood meant the Fox was likely in trouble, so the Coyote decided to test that. He picked a small stone and threw it. It landed right next to the Fox, a bit harder and it would have hit the Fox. But there was no reaction. The Coyote uncertainly slide down the small but steep hill he had been on, and slowly made his closer to Fox, the smell of blood becoming almost overpowering. The Coyote continued his approach until he was right next to the Fox.

The reason for the strong smell of blood was, easily apparent. The Fox had severely beaten with….something. The marks were like bruises except in the center of the bruises were uneven and oddly angled cuts, the fur around the wounds gone looking as if it had ripped out by whatever had been used against the Fox, the wounds were so numerous they crossed in many place and there was only an odd mat or two of fur left on the Foxes back. There were wounds of similar types on the Foxes forearms and legs. The Coyote couldn't see the Fox's chest as that was what the Fox was lying on. Albeit in an awkward position that made it clear the Fox also had wound on his chest.

The Coyote held his breath against the stench of blood and leaned close. Though shallow the Fox still drew breath. The Coyote made a decision and howled. The howl was one of distress, loud and long enough that his clan surely heard it. It took another twenty minutes, but his clanmates did arrive. He thanked the Great Spirit that they had brought Smiles Brightly, the fairly young boy who had begun to train as a medicine mammal. Unfortunately they brought had brought Loud Wind, a warrior whose mistrust of the Foreigners, was slightly infamous, though it was often fairly placed and called for.

"What do you need?" Came Wind's question. "You appear to be fine."

"I do not need help, he does." The Coyote stepped out of the way, allowing them to see the Fox. The reaction was collective, even Loud Wind, a warrior of fifteen winters, winced at the sight of the Fox. Smiles Brightly walked forward and kneeled next to the Fox, listening to his breath, and inspecting the wounds as best he could.

"We will need a travois." Smiles Brightly said, in a low tone more focused on how he could help the Fox than the rapidly-becoming-heated conversation behind him.

"Why should we help this Foreigner, they make pacts, say we are equals, yet have you ever been treated as an equal among them?"

"And if we leave one of them to die, we proof all that they say that is wrong about us correct."

"That is not our concern, if someone cared for the Foreigner he would not be here."

The back and forth continued, finally Smiles Brightly had enough.

"The Great Spirit says to respect all life, Loud Wind," He stood from his position next to the Fox, and locked eyes with fellow Coyotes, making sure the message was clear. Loud Wind spoke first.

"I will fetch a travois."

=8=

The wheels of Nick's mind turned slowly, as he felt himself swim in the stream that Death had thrown him into. Slowly he became aware, the only thing he was aware of though, were his screams of pain, as he felt paws work across his back, arms, legs, sides, and the top left of his chest, sealing the wounds in those locations. He heard, but did not understand, the multiple voices around him. Shortly after he breathed something warm and moist, making him feel drowsy and he slowly slipped away.

Nick soon became used to this as something of a routine, become semi-conscious and be aware of the pain, yet from that point forward he managed to stop himself from screaming. His whole life simply consisted of the pain, though as time went on the pain lessoned. He supposed he was healing that was the only thing he could think of that would actively lesson the pain. One of the worst experiences was, who knows how long, after however was caring for him found him, was the itching as his fur started to regrow, as it itched like hell, yet he couldn't do anything about.

=8=

Nick groaned, as he woke from what seemed like an endless state of semi-consciousness. The first thing he became aware of was a noticeable lack of pain, other than a slightly dull ache in left shoulder. The second was the sounds around him, that sounded like whispering, that was most definitely not Common. He opened his eyes slowly, and as he did so he heard rapid whispering, and the hustle of paws headed away from him. He looked about, the first thing he noticed was that he was in a tipi, which surprised him with how spacious it was. The things had always looked cramped to Nick whenever he saw them either out on the plains, or when the local magistrate decided he needed protection from the "Barbarians". Nick snorted at that thought, the Tribes Mammals didn't attack unarmed mammals for no reason.

Nick looked over himself, and was slightly surprised, the fur around the wounds on arms, legs, and sides were all healed, with regrown fur covering the light scars Nick felt as he ran his paws over said body parts. He then reached his back, and hesitated. Nick shook his head, it was his back, no mammal was going to see it often….Besides those who clearly already had. He sighed lightly as he ran his paw over his back, the area of his body that had suffered the brunt of his ordeal. The skin was heavily scarred, so much so, it felt as though his back was a map of the Western Range. The fur wasn't as thin as he had expected, but it was no longer the thick coat that had covered his entire body, before all this had happened. He sighed, life would go on, and if his conversation, dream….Whatever it was, with who, or what maybe, he suspected was Death, his life was going to take a turn, from a Marshall based out of a trading post, that while busy, saw nothing extraordinary, to very eventful.

Nick heard pawfuls approaching and turned from himself to the 'door', a cloth flap, that provided visual privacy. The flap was held open and two Coyotes walked inside, and sat down facing Nick, who studied the two. The first was young, and looked to be around Nick's own age he mused, and was relatively striking. He was broad shouldered, for Coyote, and well muscled, he wore the same white-tan cloth clothes that most Coyotes wore, made from the cotton that grew amongst their lands, which consisted of pants and sash that wrapped around the waist before diagonally crossing the Coyote chest, from left to right. The first Coyote's fur was the same as the second's, a brittle looking brown, with some crimson and cream stripes. Nick then shifted his gaze to the second Coyote, who looked just as impressive, the real difference being the noticeable amount of aged grey, and a robe that was covered with talismans and had several bags hanging of it, which the second coyote seemed occupied with looking inside one bag, looking at Nick, shaking his head and looking at another. Nick noticed that the first of the two Coyotes was busy looking at Nick the way he had at Coyotes. The stare down continued for a bit and Nick's face eventually formed into half-lidded smirk with a sloppy, uneven, grin on his face.

"Much as I appreciate the wholesome look you're giving me, but….you're not my type." The first Coyote frowned at this clearly understanding Nick. The coyotes frown deepened as he, apparently, explained what Nick had said to his elder, resulting in said elder giving a barking laugh and pointing at Nick, repeatedly, saying something, and laughing even more. Nick then leaned across the tipi to the halfway point and extended his right paw.

"Nicholas Wilde, and since I don't know the time, I'll simply say, 'good day'". Both Coyotes shook his paw in turn, and the younger of the two said something that Nick found incomprehensible. This caused Nick to shake his head.

"I'm sorry but what?" This caused the coyote to grin.

"My name is-" he then repeated the word, and while Nick recognized, that there was, indeed, a word spoken, he recognized that he wasn't going to be repeating it without butchering it.

"Do you mind if I just call you Jerome? You look like a Jerome, and I'm not going to try to repeat what you just said, because I know I'll butcher it." This caused the Coyote to laugh, a hearty and full sound, when he finally managed to stop, he nodded his head once.

"Yes, you may call me Jerome. But where are my manners? This is-" The Coyote then spouted off what Nick assumed to be the older Coyote's name, except it was three times longer than 'Jerome's' given name. Nick stared off into space for a second, and then shook his.

"No? Not going to try?"

"Nope." This resulted in hearty laughter coming from both Coyotes, as Nick simply shook his head. After the laughing died down, he decided to try and learn some things, where he was, being a good start.

"So, where are we?" Jerome acknowledged the serious tone, and while Nick's smirk was gone, his face was entirely neutral, and the rest of his body, had remained unnaturally still.

"High in the Mountains, I believe you call them the Western Range, this is our clans Winter Camp." It wasn't a specific location really, but at least Nick had some idea where he was now.

"Speaking of your clan, who found me?"

"I did." Nick nodded appreciatively at Jerome, who simply returned the nod.

"So how am I supposed to repay the favor? I don't like being indebted, to anyone."

Jerome nodded his understanding, he had lived among the Foreigners for two years during his youth, his parents had been traders after all. He had learned that something like saving a mammal's life like Jerome had with Nick, usually brought with it a stigma that it was only fair to repay the favor. Jerome simply smiled.

"Teach me to shoot, if you can." This surprised Nick, Tribes Mammals were an odd bunch, notoriously traditional, but extremely tolerant of other ways life.

"Do you mind me asking why?" Jerome shrugged at this.

"Life can be boring in winter, there are only so many ways to approach the camp each of which is adequately watched, and there is no scouting to be done. Besides I read one of your books, 'know your enemy and yourself'". This made sense to Nick, but at the same time concerned him, he was a Marshall after all, it was his job to help and protect the mammals of the Frontier…'Like they helped and protected you? Marshall for seven years, helped that town in so many ways you've forgotten all the ways you've helped. And how did the repay you, Nicky? Fifty lashes from an especially cruel nine-tails, you think anyones gonna care?'. The bitter thought surprised Nick, but it was true, Mammals didn't care, not about him, and at a guess it was the same reason his parents were shot.

"Sure," Nick looked up from his inner monologue, "I'll teach you to shoot."

=8=

It took a half a day to get Nick walking again, not because his legs had suffered serious damage, but because he hadn't used them in a month. Nick had also apparently impressed the Coyotes, since he had insisted on not being helped for that first half day. It took another 2 and half days to get off of the crutch. Nick was enjoying village life, it was….Satisfying, you woke up each day knowing you were going to get something productive done. It wasn't something that was for him, but it reminded him of parents place, a hybrid between a farm and a poultry ranch, the satisfaction. Jerome proved to be very good shot. The rifle Jerome had was actually a repeating carbine for a wolf, the specific model being a surprise, a .45-70 Henry that loaded five shells, six, if one was willing to risk a jam or misfire, which Nick highly praised. Jeromes accuracy was proved one afternoon after Nick had taught Jerome the importance of leading a moving target. Jerome had decided he had a better target than the one Nick had specified. The target had been the hind paws of one of Jerome's fellow scouts, who was surprised by the sudden ricochet that quite literally went between his legs. Jerome had dropped to ground in laughter, yelling 'Good Gun!'. Jerome's friend simply made a rude gesture and continued on his way, Nick just shook his head and said 'it's your gun'. It was a good day.

As winter continued to pass, Nick regained what little weight and strength he had lost, and while his fur completely covered all of his scars now, it was still quite thin on his back. He became well known in the camp, which wasn't surprising, he was the only fox there, and the only fox many of the Coyotes had ever seen, after all. And despite Nick teaching Jerome to shoot, he still felt as though a debt was still owed, not only to Jerome, who yes had initially saved him, but to this clan, the Chiricoyote'en, as they had all had a paw in making sure Nick had survived. So he helped around camp, doing little things, simply to lesson his unease at owing a debt. Though because of this, Jerome insisted on teaching Nick things like tracking, archery, weapons skills (mostly with knives, or axes), and fieldcraft, though Nick insisted he was trying to repay his debt to the clan, Jerome insisted on teaching Nick, who eventually gave up and took to the lessons eagerly.

=8=

It was silent, not quiet, not muted, silent. This was the first sign to Nick that something was wrong. Ever since the thaws had started, two weeks ago, there had been the sound of birds chirping in the morning air. Not this morning; Nick remained unmoving, every sense heightened due to a sense of unease he had never felt in the camp. Nick lay there for a solid hour, and began thinking nothing was wrong when the wind shifted. There was an unfamiliar scent on the wind, Nick moved silently about his tipi, gathering his things. He had been moved out of the Medicine Mammals tipi months ago, after he had abandoned the cane, and been given a significantly smaller tipi, but one that was large enough to hold all of the things Nick had been given while here.

He smiled at the time he spent and memories he had formed here. The Coyotes, after some initial misgivings had come to trust him, in a manner that he had never seen displayed towards him, even in Respite where practically everyone in town knew him, and knew he was a Marshall. Nick snorted at the thought of Respite, 'Real friends, you lot were'. That was a line of thinking that had become increasingly prevalent in Nick's mind. He looked around his Tipi, temporarily forgetting the sense of unease. There was his new utility sash, a few sets of clothes, his pack, and a dream catcher, all had been given to him by the tribe. It was amazing. What he found even more amazing was it simply in the Tribes custom to do so, they did expect repayment he had learned, but more in the terms of favors. Nick shook his head, despite what had happened to him several months ago, he considered himself lucky, he would always have friends in the clan, and over his time here he had learned enough from Jerome that he could find his way back should he ever need to.

Nick's thoughts were interrupted by a shadow on the flap of his tipi, causing Nick to grab his knife. It wasn't the shadow itself, it was that the shadow was shaped like a Tribal Badger. The stranger's scent confirmed what Nick thought, and he sprung.

Nick jumped through the flap tackling the badger to the ground, while barked the alarm at the top of his lungs, the reaction inside the camp was immediate, however Nick had other things to worry about. Namely the three badgers he was confronted with. The first which had been standing outside of tipi was taken by surprise by the sudden attack. Nick took advantage of this and bit into the badgers neck as they landed Nick on the bottom, filling his mouth with the taste of iron. Nick threw the soon-to-be dead badger off of him and rolled to the side throwing his knife simultaneously at one of the other badgers who attempted to dodge the projectile, the badger was successful to a degree, as the knife struck him in his right arm forcing him to drop his weapon and stunning him. Nick landed on all fours, growled instinctively and launched himself at the unwounded badger, who brought his left arm up shield his neck from the Fox's teeth. The impact knocked the badger on his back however, and Nick yanked the badgers arm with his muzzle still closed on it, resulting in a dislocated and unuseable arm for the badger. Nick swiped at the badgers eyes with his claws, who raised his right arm. It was a fatal mistake, as Nick took advantage of the distraction to close his maw around and tear out the badgers throat. Nick was about to turn when felt himself flying. The third badger had recovered and bull rushed Nick hitting him, and sending airborne, landing harshly against a pine, cracking a few ribs. Nick shook his head and looked to see the badger once again charging towards ulating a war cry with his hatchet raised. Nick waited until the last second then jumped, straight up, over seven paces in the air, clean over the rushing badger and landed behind him, almost silently. This confused the badger, one moment there had been an odd-looking and smallish Coyote on all four in front of him, the next, the Coyote was gone. He turned and the last thing he saw was Nick flying towards him, fangs bared.

Nick crawled off the third dead badger and looked around, the entire camp was a battleground, with war cry's piercing the very soul of the mountain air. Nick spotted Jerome who looked to be in trouble, fighting three badgers at once, and sprinted there on all fours. Combat was not the time to be civilized.

Jerome was in trouble, he was bleeding from a nasty claw wound on his left side courtesy of one of the three badgers he was fighting, Jerome was a good melee fighter but not that good. The two badgers on the left charged and he turned to face them, and realized too late it was a feint, as he was tackled from the right. The badger sat above Jerome and raised his hatchet bellowing a triumphant war cry, 'so this is it' he thought.

"Morning Jerry!"

The yell was unexpected by both Jerome and the badger, both turning to see who had yelled. All Jerome saw was a red streak flash by his eyes, and suddenly there was weight on his chest no more. Jerome looked over to see Nick clamping down on and tearing out the badgers throat. Nick rolled off the dead badger and grabbed the deceased's hatchet, throwing it and burying it in the chest of one of the other two badgers facing him and Jerome. Jerome charged the remaining badger, who did the sensible thing. He turned and ran. Jerome quickly grabbed his rifle, which had been knocked out of his paws in the initial melee and took aim, only to see brown gloved knock his aim off.

"There's been enough death today." Jerome turned to the gristly sight that was the fox Nicholas Wilde. There was blood covering him. His normally mauve nose, and cream colored chest, throat, and muzzle, were a deep liquid crimson. What struck Jerome was the wild and crazed look in his eyes….mixed with regret.

=8=

It had been a week since the raid by the badgers. It had been a bittersweet victory. While no one in camp was dead, the four sentries guarding the stream that came from the northwest had been found dead. Nick had become distant that week, and had made it known that he was leaving soon. Everyone in the clan found this new, brooding Nick worrying, as they had all become fond of him. Word had spread about how he had fought as well, as though he was feral, and every time Nick was asked he simply reply that it was his business and his business alone.

In another week the time came for the clan to leave the winter camp, and for Nick to leave the clan. Before he left however he pulled Jerome aside.

"I owe you an explanation." Nick started, Jerome simply nodded, and waited he knew this wouldn't be easy for the fox, as, while he friendly, funny, and social, he was a very private mammal.

"I'm like most mammals on the frontier, I got a sob story, but it's a long one and it doesn't matter right now. But I learned something, You kill a mammal, you not only take everything he has, you take everything he's ever going to have. Hell, that's not the half of it. I fought the way I did, because combat, and that's what that was, isn't civilized, nor should it be. There are two types of fights, one that settles problems, and one that ends problems. The first type is admirable and okay. The second is uncivilized by its very nature and goal. So to hell with anyone who says I should fight the second way civilized, you want me dead, you better be ready to do everything in your power to make me so, 'cause I will do everything in my power to make you dead."

Jerome was finding Nick scary, at this point, Nick wasn't ranting, far from it, he was just stating facts, it was de-mammalizing really, there was no emotion.

"That's why I've been distant," Nick was shaking his head. "Most think it's barbarous to fight like that, well so is killing, yet it happens every day. The clan is the only group outside of family to not judge me for being a Fox, where my species didn't matter only my character did…"

Nick was interrupted by Jerome putting a paw on his shoulder.

"You fought that way in defense of the clan, you saved my life." Jerome chuckled. "You finally payed off that imaginary debt of yours." Jerome sighed, he had noticed Nick had everything packed and ready to go, he slapped his paw on Nick's back and gave Nick a grin, which was returned.

"You visit sometime, and don't let me find you like I did the first time."

"I will, and I don't intend to, stay safe, Jerry."

=8=

Nick had mixed feelings about his leaving the clan. He knew he would always have a home and friends there, and the months he had spent there were satisfying, he didn't feel as though he could make a life out of it. Hence his decision to leave.

It was most definitely spring, as insects hopped among the grass stalks that he had been trotting through for the past half day, and as the day wasn't too warm he decided to keep going. The grass which usually faded to a warm brown, was a dull green, with a pleasantly warm breeze, and the occasional cloud floating on by above.

The clan had made sure he would be able to get back on his own hind paws without too much trouble, as they had given him a well made travois, that was piled high with rugs, beads, and carvings which would fetch a fine price at any general store. Fine enough to buy himself a rifle and a pistol, with ammunition belts to go with, and cloths should want some. He didn't. The Moccasins he had been given where a hybrid of clothing. Made of Coyote Cotton like all the clans clothes his was a bit different. The weaver had taken his clothes and taken inspiration from them, making full shirts with pockets, a sash that was essentially a utility belt, and a pack that was similar to every other pack in existence. There had been a surprise however with the pants, the weaver had seen the extra pockets on Nick's old shirt, and had the idea to put some on his pants. Nick accepted them, they looked odd, but it was extra space for food, which was never a bad thing. And if he was honest, the Moccasins were the most comfortable clothes he had ever worn.

Nick arrived in the closest town to where he had been, Respite, early morning the next day. He didn't care if the mammals there recognized him. He hated the town, now, it had nothing but bad memories for him. But he was essentially naked out on the plains without any firearms. And he could always replenish his supplies. He got more than a couple stares walking through town, it wasn't surprising, but no one recognized like he thought. He did however recognize several others however, namely the 'posse' that had originally tried to kill him, as it seemed they had decided to stick around. Nick snorted, in his opinion it was nothing less than these mammals deserved, they were all cowards in his eyes after all. They could have helped him, but apparently they all kept the guns on their hips there for show only.

Nick walked into the General store run by a hog named Clancy, and tooke his travois too, it fit through the door, no sense leaving it all for the towns-mammals to steal. Clancy looked up from whatever he had been doing.

"A trader, huh?" Nick simply nodded and headed up to the counter.

"How much?" Nick nodded towards the travois. Which Clancy looked at and considered for a moment.

"20 dollars." Nick had to struggle to keep from laughing and just snorted.

"Most mammals try to commit robbery at gunpoint." Nick turned to walk out, knowing Clancy would buy, Tribes Mammal goods sold well back east.

"All right, you got me, 1,200 dollars." Nick paused, he knew all he had was valuable but didn't think it was that valuable. Oh well, more money to work with.

"1,300 will get you the travois as well." Clancy nodded and opened up the register and laid the money on the counter. Something was wrong, something was very wrong, not only should Clancy not have that much money, Clancy always bartered, he was the literal definition of a greedy pig after all. Nick went up to the counter, grabbed the money, and undid the harness. And then made swift time out of the store. Nick then went to the gun store, and decided to splurge, the rifle he bought was essentially the same thing as what Jerome had except it only had four shots, and then two .38 special revolvers, as well as the needed holsters and ammunition belts, and an extra ammo bag, for the back of his sash.

After all this Nick felt he was being watched, and he knew exactly who it was, and so decided to leave town, there was going to be nothing but trouble if he stayed. And as much as he hated this town, he had no intention of dying in it.

After he left he began to head northeast, towards where some of his family lived. He made some good progress too, and expected to arrive early in two days. Only problem was his shadow. Being a Law Mammal since he was fifteen had given Nick something of a sixth sense, and it was tingling like crazy. So he made camp he couldn't see anyone, nor hear, nor smell, so he decided to wait for his shadow to its move.

It was several hours after sundown when he heard it, a slight scuffling noise, though he made no reaction. The scuffle became near silent pawsteps, that sounded familiar, 'another fox', the pawsteps continued to near as Nick wanted, yet he still didn't move. He didn't move when the other fox stopped right next to him, he did move when the other fox decided to try and remove one of Nick's revolvers from it holsters. Nick's eyes shot open, and his paw darted forward to grab the first thing he saw, which happened to be a set of rather large tan ears, and rolled up to stand.

"PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN 'FORE I BITE YOUR FACE OFF!" Nick instinctively turned the mammal he was holding away from him, to try and reduce the amount of sound coming from the small mammal who was struggly pretty hard to escape Nicks grasp, who, Nick could see was a fennec Fox. It didn't help. What did help was when Nick sighed and pulled one of his revolvers.

"Whoa, I'm sure we could work something out here mammal, no need to…."

"No need to what? Resort to violence? I seem to remember a certain mammal here say something about biting my face off, and it wasn't me as I'm rather fond of my face. You also went to pull my gun, meaning you were about to likely kill me and then loot my corpse. So tell me what is there no need to resort to? Hmmm?" Nick was livid, he had figured something was wrong with Clancy and now he had figured out what it was. The fennec didn't say anything, merely hung by his ears. Nick sighed, he had just thought of something, and cursed his bleeding heart.

"Let me guess you were going to do this for Clancy?" The fennec looked up now, somewhat alarmed. Nick shook his head.

"Look I know that town hates foxes, I got the scars to prove it, so how about I make you an offer?"

"What's this offer?" Nick refrained from chuckling, and put his revolver back in its holster, he'd always been amazed at how deep the voices of fennec's were.

"I'm on my way to a poultry for work, its owned by family, pretty sure I can get you a job there and if I can't the towns a hell of a lot more friendly to foxes, sound good?"

"If you put me down." Nick did so and was rewarded by a swift kick to the shins, causing him to drop to all fours.

"Why you little…" Nick growled, and was about to get even when the fennec put his voice to use again.

"HEY YOU OWE FOR PICKING ME UP LIKE THAT!" Nick still made his way over and pinned the smaller fox, and growled in his face.

"Fine, don't do it again." Nick released the smaller fox, who instantly put distance between the two.

"Whas yor name?"

"Whats yours?"

"Finnick Chivay."

"Nick, Nick Wilde." Finnick shook his head at new counterpart, he didn't trust the red fox, and he suspected the red fox didn't trust him, not that it mattered. Finnick could fight, he knew this, he had fought off Buffalo before, Nick however was something else he could tell, the way he walked and growled on all fours like it was an everyday thing to do, and then pinned Finnick without even trying was scary. Finnick was pretty sure trying something on the red fox would be a fatal mistake for just about anyone, and considered himself lucky.'Wilde, huh? Damned appropriate, askin' me.'