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~Orion

Swartt ordered the horde to break camp at midmorning. Toting everything they had managed to salvage from the charred ruin of the site, the mass of creatures began their lengthy march southwest. At the rear of the horde, Sixclaw stood with a line of archers gathered around a fire. He ordered burning arrows to be fired into the pine grove of the crows, baring his red fangs in a malicious grin as a torrent of flame erupted from the natural firetrap when the arrows hit.

Bluefen was marching alongside Nightshade near the front of the horde. She looked over her shoulder to see the pitiful remains of the crows fleeing the smoke and fire, heard their terrified squawks as their home burned to the ground. The ferret turned back around, a grim smile of satisfaction on her face.

"So, you've been with him a long time?" Bluefen was talking with Nightshade. She hadn't thought about it before, but befriending her husband's seer was a wise thing to do. If anybeast knew anything about Swartt, it would be Nightshade.

"As long as I can remember," the vixen replied. "He gave me a purpose, and I have sworn to serve him until the end of my days."

Bluefen was a little surprised. "He isn't making you stay?"

"I doubt he would let me leave, anyway," Nightshade chuckled. "I know he's cold, cruel, and generally downright damnable, but that's what makes a Warlord. And Swartt is smart. Just look what he's done: gone from leader of a band of scavengers to leader of a horde!- apologies in regards to your father, though. Swartt Sixclaw will soon be name feared throughout every country, and this horde will be so mighty, none will dare to oppose him. Believe me, only a fool would desert this horde." As she was speaking, the vixen became louder and louder, and eventually everybeast around them was glancing in their direction.

"Speaking of deserters," Bluefen said quietly, leaning over to Nightshade, "I've been hearing things, and I think Swartt ought to be told."

Nightshade stopped smiling and looked at her. "What sort of things?" she demanded softly.

Bluefen struggled to speak over the marching of footpaws, rustling of gear, and beat of the drums, yet keep it soft enough to avoid others from hearing. "You recall how muttering is still going around, even with Wildag and Lardtail gone? Well, I think I found out who's causing it…"

Nightshade leaned in so close that she nearly trod on Bluefen's footpaws. "Who?"

"His name is Gromm," she hissed. "He's a rat, tall and broad-shouldered. Wears a woven belt and carries a short sword. I've heard him conspiring with a few mates of his. They don't like the way things are going, and I heard Gromm say that if it keeps on this way, they're going to desert, and take a good few with them." Bluefen had done a little detective work this morning, had found out the name of the rat that had insulted her, and who his cronies were. He wasn't a conspirator, of course, but that didn't matter.

"You're sure he's the leader?" Nightshade whispered. Bluefen nodded, and the vixen gave her a curious look. "Why haven't you told Swartt yourself?"

"I don't think he'll take me seriously. He trusts you more," the ferretwife told her, keeping the resentment out of her voice.

The seer set her jaw grimly. "It shall be taken care of this evening." For a moment, there was an ominous silence, then Bluefen spoke up again.

"Does Swartt ever… talk about me?"

Nightshade's face remained inscrutable. "He has."

"What did he say?" Bluefen asked anxiously.

The vixen smiled at her. "You shouldn't worry so much. Swartt trusts you a good deal more than you think." Bluefen snorted at this, and Nightshade shook her head. "Do you prepare his food?" she asked.

Bluefen frowned. "Yes…"

"Does he eat it?"

"Yes."

"Does he ever question it beforehand?"

"…No."

"And do you not share a tent?" Nightshade said. "You could easily murder him in his sleep should you so choose."

"That's not trust," Bluefen muttered. "He just doesn't think I'm capable of poisoning or stabbing him."

The vixen cut her eyes at her. "Then what is it that makes you think he doesn't trust you?"

Bluefen stepped on a rock and swore. She was beginning to think they were out to get her. "He won't talk to me! It's like he's afraid I'm going to learn something about him." Nightshade laughed at this, and the ferretwife scowled at her.

"Darling," she said, "you should have already learned one thing. It isn't that he doesn't want to talk to you, it's just that he doesn't like to talk. He's always been that way, very dour. That, and he has a lot more to think about now that he's a Warlord. You ought to give him some slack."

Bluefen looked sullenly ahead at Swartt, who was marching at the very front of the company. How was she supposed to get to know him if he wouldn't talk to her?

"Why are you suddenly so worried about his faith in you?"

The question caught Bluefen by surprise. While she fished desperately around in her brain for an excuse, Nightshade smiled again. She had beaten her to it.

"You not only want him to be your Warlord, but your husband as well, correct?"

Bluefen sighed. "Yes," she said. It wasn't a lie. If Swartt trusted and respected her, the horde ought to follow suit. At least, she thought so.

"Bluefen," Nightshade said, "may I be blunt with you?" The ferret shrugged.

"I suppose."

"A servant brings food and drink to their master. They wash his clothes and help him dress. They listen to him rant and often feel the brunt of his anger. Sound familiar?"

"Sounds like me," the ferretwife sighed despondently.

Nightshade nodded. "You're a servant to him, Bluefen. That's how he sees you. Perhaps, if you were to behave more like a wife, he'd see you as one."

"How?" Bluefen hissed. "How am I supposed to do that when a wife's duties are no different from a servant's?"

"Aah, but they are," the vixen replied. She reached up and touched the ferret's face, examining it. "Your face looks much better; does it still hurt?"

Bluefen shook her head. "No, not much."

"Do you mind telling me what you did to deserve a bruise that big?" It didn't take long for Bluefen to get the hint, and when she did, the seer nodded knowingly. "You are his wife," she told her, "but you have yet to consummate the marriage. Perhaps that will help."

"AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!"

The hordebeasts looked left and right, looking for the source of the sound. There was a beating of wings, and everybeast looked up: a rat was being hoisted into the air by a score of crows at the back of the horde, kicking and screaming. They stared in mute horror as the crows released him, and he plummeted to the earth in a wailing bundle.

Archers were sent to the back of the marching mass, facing backward, bows strung and at the ready. The crows saw the danger of attacking the rear again, and picked off another rat from the middle right flank. Before sundown, one more rat had fallen victim to the winged attackers, and everybeast marching at the front of the company gave Swartt more room as he cursed and ranted. He ordered Nightshade up front with him, so that he could berate her for giving him the idea of burning the pine grove, and Bluefen was left to march by herself and do some thinking.

When night fell, the horde was forced to stop and make camp. A ring of fires was kept burning around the camp, preventing the crows from picking anybeast off the outskirts. With half the soldiers standing upright with spears, pikes, and javelins, the other half was allowed to rest. Swartt sent Nightshade to scout ahead and find a solution to their crow problem, and she slipped through the protective fire ring undetected, looking for all the world like a wraith in her long hooded cloak.

In the Warlord's tent, Bluefen was serving Swartt his dinner. There had been no chance to fish or hunt, what with guard duties for half the horde at a time, as well as the danger of crow attacks, so the ferretwife had nothing to offer the Warlord but fruit she had stored in her wicker basket during the stay near the stream. Swartt sat slumped on some cushions, munching a pear moodily. He did not speak to his wife.

Having served Swartt, Bluefen sat down and selected a rosy apple. She wondered if Nightshade had told her husband about Gromm. If so, he certainly didn't look like he was going to do anything about it. Bluefen couldn't help but wonder if he would take her seriously should she say anything about it. She put the apple down.

"Sire?"

Swartt's eyes flicked up at her. He didn't say anything, though, just kept chewing. Bluefen twisted her apron in her paws.

"Sire, I know who's behind all the muttering in the horde," she said quickly, feeling she would lose her nerve if she didn't get it out.

Swartt stopped eating. He leaned forward, his dark eyes sharp and attentive now. "You do?" he said.

Bluefen nodded. Feeling it would add to the charade, she looked over at the tent flap, as if expecting someone to be listening in, before she turned back to him. "It's Gromm," she whispered. Swartt seemed to recognize the name, and Bluefen wrung her apron until it stretched the fabric.

"Huh," Swartt grunted. "Never thought that one was bright enough to think fer 'imself."

'I've heard him talking," Bluefen lied. "He says he's going to take that blade of his and… deal with you himself. He says it will solve a lot of problems, and that as soon as he's Warlord, he'll take everybeast back to the scrublands. There are quite a few beasts that support him, that want to go back. I don't know if he meant it, Lord, but I wouldn't want to leave it to chance. He could be dangerous."

Swartt was staring at his gauntlet, a peculiar light glittering in his eyes. Bluefen's heart leapt to see it.

"Thinks he can 'deal with' me himself," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a dark smile. The Warlord raised his eyes to Bluefen, and his sharp teeth glistened a chilling red in the lamplight. "Well, I do enjoy a good skinning every now an' then," he said matter-of-factly, standing up. "Get me a knife."

Bluefen dug the weapon out of the chest and brought it to her husband. As she handed it to him, she said, "'Tis too bad you don't have another dead crow handy." Swartt stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Ahahahahahaaa! Aye, t'was a good show, wasn't it?" he guffawed.

Bluefen forced her most charming smile. "It did leave a lasting impression on the horde." Swartt shook his head, chuckling, and headed out into the night. Bluefen followed close behind.

"Comin' to watch, are ye?" Swartt asked when he realized she was behind him.

Bluefen hurried to walk beside him. "I've never seen a skinning before," she said excitedly. She didn't have to fake it; she was excited, not so much about watching the skinning, but being there to see Gromm's face when Swartt pronounced the sentence. Gromm would look at her, and he would be sorry for everything he had said, but it would be too late. She had heard him talking this morning to his cronies about how he had told her off, how funny it had been when she had started to cry. She was glad the scum sucking filth had told them that; they would know that she was the reason he was about to die, and they would be afraid of her, for if she could lie about Gromm and have him skinned, could it not happen to any one of them?

Respect born out of fear.

It didn't take long to find the rat in question. He was on guard duty, holding a pike aloft, his eyes half shut. He had no idea what was happening until he was flat on his back in the dirt, staring up into the face of Swartt Sixclaw.

"I hear you've been sayin' some nasty things, mate," Swartt said, and hordebeasts all around turned to watch, waking those who were asleep and nodding at the Warlord. They had all enjoyed the last public punishment a good deal.

Gromm was speechless with terror. He looked at Swartt, then at Bluefen, who stood at the front of the spectators, looking on impassively. The horrified rat began shaking his head fervently. "I didn't say nothin', Lord! I didn't say nothin', I swears it!" He tried to scuttle backward, but Swartt stepped on his tail, pinning him.

"Know what I think, Gromm? I think yer lyin' to me." The Warlord produced the knife and held it up; the firelight played across the cold steel, making it glimmer in his paw like a flame itself. He looked down at the rat. "Know what I do to liars, Gromm?"

The rat let out a choked sob, then broke down, tears rolling down his dirty snout. "Oh, please, Sire, don't kill me! I didn't mean nothin' I said, honest!" He looked at Bluefen and wailed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't let 'im-" Swartt had smashed him across the face with his mailed paw. The Warlord turned to a few soldiers, one of them that Bluefen recognized to be a crony of Gromm's.

"You three, c'mere and hold 'im," he ordered.

It took far longer for Gromm to die than Bluefen thought it would. Though the scene was unbearably gruesome, she forced herself to watch, should Swartt look up and see her averting her eyes. When Gromm's screams were finally stilled, Swartt buried the knife in the carcass and stood up. His arms were stained up to the elbows, and blood spattered his tunic and face. He looked out at the spectators.

"I can't abide liars," he told them, his voice carrying so that everybeast could hear. "Gromm 'ere said 'e was gonna' kill me, take my title for 'imself. As you can see, he lied. Now, I won't stand for all this talkin' behind my back. If you have a problem with me, I suggest you come talk with me 'bout it, 'stead of yer mates. It won't do you much good," he added darkly. "Now… does anybeast else fancy bein' Warlord?" There was a baleful silence in which many creatures shuffled uncomfortably, eyes locked on the ground.

Swartt smiled. "Well, all right, then." Bluefen joined him as he started back to their tent, and the crowd parted to let them through, murmuring softly. On a whim, she took hold of his arm, despite the gore that stained it. The Warlord did not shake her off, but seemed quite amused, and let her cling to him all the way back to the tent.

Upon arriving, he told Bluefen to fill a basin with water and fetch a cloth. As she hurried to obey him, Swartt plopped down and pulled the bloody gauntlet off. Bluefen brought him the water and sat down before him, cloth in her paw. When he tried to take it from her, she pulled it away.

"Let me," she cooed. Having soaked the cloth in the basin, she wrung it out and draped it over a paw, reached up to his face, then paused.

"It will take off the paint," she said.

"You can repaint it," he told her.

Bluefen leaned forward and began to carefully wipe the blood away, taking all the paint with it; it would be easier to just repaint it all. Swartt watched her as she worked, and it made her a little nervous, but she managed to ignore him for the most part. When she got to his right arm, she took his hefty paw in her tiny one and began scrubbing away at the crimson mess.

"What did he do to you?" Swartt asked her casually.

Bluefen looked up from her task, eyes round as saucers. "W-what?"

A knowing smile twitched onto the Warlord's features. "Gromm didn't 'ave the guts to say what you told me 'e said. He must've done somethin' to upset ye."

The ferretwife looked back down at his arm and began scrubbing again, though with less vigor. It took her a moment to find her voice. "He said something nasty to me…"

"Oh? An' what was this nasty thing 'e said?"

Bluefen rinsed the cloth in the basin, the water now a pinkish color. "He called me a whore," she said, wringing the cloth.

Swartt clicked his tongue. "Ah, t'was a nasty thing to say. I trust yer pleased with 'is punishment?"

"I am," she replied, cleaning the last bit of gore from his arm. "Excuse me, I need to fetch new water…" Bluefen picked up the basin and took it outside to dump the contents. As she prepared to duck back into the tent, she saw a couple of weasels looking at her. They quickly turned around when they realized she was watching, and Bluefen smiled to herself. It had worked.

When she returned, she refilled the basin and set to work on his left arm. Bluefen was especially careful here, though she didn't have to clean near his stilled paw because it had been shielded from the gore by the gauntlet, which she had placed in the basin to rinse.

"There," she said when she had finished. "Oh… your tunic."

Swartt looked down at the splattering on it. He began to pull it off, though with some difficulty as he could only use one paw. Again, Bluefen offered to assist him, and he let her.

The ferretwife gently tugged it over his head and replaced the gauntlet with the tunic in the basin. She doubted she would get all the blood out of the clothing, but knew the task would prove easier if it soaked for a bit. As she rinsed her paws, Swartt took blankets from the trunk and laid them out to prepare a sleeping pallet.

"Where's the other blanket?" Bluefen asked when she saw only two: one beneath Swartt, and one on top.

"Don't need it," Swartt said. "Take that dress off an' c'mere."

Bluefen thought she was going to faint. Taking a deep breath, she untied her apron and folded it neatly to set atop the trunk. Her paws trembled slightly as she began to tug off the dress, but she did as her husband bid her, and pulled it over her head. The night air was cool on her bare body, and she shivered slightly as she laid the dress across the trunk lid.

"That's more like it," Swartt murmured as she forced herself to turn to him. "C'mere, now." Bluefen stepped tentatively toward the Warlord, telling herself over and over that this was a good thing. This needed to happen.

She felt her courage waver as he got that look again, that wolfish look, and held out his paw to her. She took it, and he pulled her down onto the blanket with him. It took all Bluefen's willpower not to pull away, but she managed to hold still as Swartt looked her over with that disturbing glint in his eyes, ran his paw over her. He smiled unnervingly, then reached over to the lamp.

"Wouldn't be decent of us to give the rest of the camp a show, eh?" And the tent was plunged into darkness.

In the end, Bluefen was glad that Swartt had extinguished the lamp, that way he couldn't see her tears. He knew she had never lain with a malebeast before, but that didn't seem to change anything. The Warlord took her hard and fast, either so focused on his pleasure that he couldn't hear her cries and moans, or just ignored them. When he was finished with her, he rolled off his sobbing wife and went to sleep without a word to her.