This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

Chapter 10. Jaktens Tid

by Solgrim

It was as if the escaped beasts and their cart had vanished.

Solgrim powered himself higher. They had to be somewhere up ahead; the tracks they were following were as real as his own primaries, but the dazzling field of white before the buzzard, combined with relentless snowfall, confounded his ability to see clearly. A beast could go blind. The thought writhed like a worm in his gut and worried him more than it rightly should have. The north wind struck him in the face, and he wheeled, flushed right through with helpless anger.

The buzzard cursed. His travel companions had stopped a fair distance behind. Spring will come before we catch up with them! Useless landbounds. With the wind at his back, he soared toward them, coming to rest on a low-hanging bough.

The stoat, Sage, glanced at Solgrim and drummed his paws against his apron in agitation. The buzzard cocked his head, unwilling to expend the extra energy needed to come up with the accompanying question.

"Keep yer voice down," Brooketail the ferret muttered. "There's beasts nearby."

Vexed that he hadn't spotted anything out of the ordinary, Solgrim fluffed up his feathers. Tch. Lucky find, ferret. If there weren't all this snow around... "Sure of it?"

Brooketail nodded, tattered ears twitching like mad. "Aye. Not sure how many, but I heard voices."

"Wonderful," Sage said crossly. "So why are we standing here waiting for them to come to us?"

"Jus' stay on your toes—"

As the ferret's warning rose phantom-like into the air, several beasts emerged from the firs, surrounding them in a ring. All three of the Red Fire soldiers tensed and Solgrim's heartbeat quickened at the bristling of weapons all around.

And then he noticed that the leader of the band, the beast standing tall with a weathered cutlass in paw, was a floppy-eared, puff-tailed rabbit.

Had his group not been as painfully outnumbered, he might have laughed. He glanced toward his companions: Brooketail's whiskers twitched with curiosity. Irritation and something unreadable creased Sage's brow.

"Hello there, chaps," the leader said. Solgrim followed each graceful swipe of the hare's blade as it carved up the air. "I've got a few questions, and I'd jolly well answer them quickly, if I were you. First one's easy enough." His cutlass stopped its dance, pointed at Brooketail. "State your names 'n business, wot?"

"Brooketail, with the Red Fire Army." He gestured to stoat and buzzard in turn, "Sage, Solgrim the Mercenary."

At that, the hare relaxed. "Oh, good show, old bean!" He sheathed his cutlass, and the other creatures took that as a signal to do likewise. "No hard feelings. Can't be too cautious in the woods 'n all. Now, about this Red Fire thingummy. What sort of business are you chaps on? The rest of the bally troupe wouldn't happen to be nearby, would they?"

One of the hare's vermin, a bulky monitor wrapped up in two heavy cloaks, spoke up. "W-would they happen t'be z-z-ztaying in a w-warm plaze?"

His chief shot him a look, and the monitor returned to looking miserable.

Solgrim blinked. The flop-eared creature in front of him had switched from threatening them to acting as if they were all good friends in the time of a single wing-beat. Were all rabbits insane? Perhaps so—he'd never bothered chatting with his food before.

"We were tracking some beasts, but they've probably fled across the Northern Sea by now," Sage snapped.

"Who attacked you?"

Now it was the hare's turn to blink. "S'cuse me?" he asked Solgrim.

"You were attacked, were you not?" The buzzard tilted his head. "Must have been bad."

The buzzard might not have been good at searching out beasts in the snow, but he was always keen for the scent of blood.

The hare whistled a long breath through his buckteeth. "Hm. Right to th'point, eh? Got a keen eye, m'good bird."

Solgrim hunched his shoulders and glowered, but nodded for the hare to continue.

"First off, th'name's Bartolomeo, Captain of the Bluddseeker, but do call me just Bart if y'please." He dipped his head before carrying on. "Came ashore just presently and set upon by a great badger. Long story short, this is all that's left of me crew."

The three soldiers exchanged glances. "Badger?" Sage spoke for all of them.

"Oh, come off it!" One of the crewbeasts, a ferret, threw his paws to the air. "How could you not know about that… that giant thing? Are you blind?"

Solgrim's head swam, but he could only think to ask one question. "What was its weapon?"

The ferret snorted. "Huh, a great bloody walking suit of armor like that didn't need weapons."

"How would you know? You was hidin' like a baby field mouse the whole time," a fox was quick to add. The ferret glared double-bladed battleaxes at his detractor, but their captain silenced them before a fight could break out.

"So then, m'lads, let's cut to the bally chase. We'll accompany you on your hunt, help you catch those rotters and give 'em the old one-two-what for, and you put in a good word for us to your boss."

Sage massaged his forehead. "Fine, good. Let's get going before night falls."

-

It was some hours of careful—and excruciatingly slow—tracking later before the sun set to slumber, letting the moon take watch in its stead. Thanks to Brooketail's tracking skills, the vermin (even Sage) were content that at least they were still on the right trail.

A fire crackled in the center of the clearing, and all around it lay various forms of deeply sleeping creatures, soldier and corsair alike.

Except for one.

Solgrim had agreed to first watch, but he felt as if he might burn alive with anxious energy. The buzzard had only heard tales of badgers and never expected one to show up in Mossflower. A great bloody walking suit of armor, that's what that ferret—Avery—had called it.

Could he be another mercenary?

The buzzard chanced a glance at his troupe. Avery shifted under his cloak and muttered something about not ever making skilly 'n duff unless he had chives.

Solgrim shifted on his perch as he pondered the situation. Leaving his duty was unforgiveable, especially on his first real mission. But yet it would only take a quick flight, especially without the burden of having to wait on anybeast. And even if he didn't find the badger, he might be lucky and snatch an early breakfast.

Mind made up, Solgrim launched himself into a pleasant grey sky. He glided just above the tree-tops, keeping an eye out for any of those miserable owls. It wasn't fair that they could see so well in the dark. He'd like to rip their primaries out.

A thin scent of blood rose flirtatiously to meet the buzzard. He coasted down, hovering over a gristly sight. His heart caught in his throat. Three bodies—all vermin. Mangled and tossed aside. Great gouging clawmarks betrayed their attacker as unlike anybeast Solgrim had ever seen and he burned with longing. This badger was a hurricane, shattering everything in his way. And yet, they already shared a connection - he had been left a gift.

Solgrim circled, wings cushioned by a pleasant breeze, assessing. He would only have the very best. Although he preferred woodlanders, it seemed that the longears back at camp was off-limits. Hm. That rat will do. Solgrim flew around the hefty rodent a few times more, straining his eyes against the dark before he was satisfied. The buzzard landed, folded his wings and looked around sharply before setting into the delicate flesh.

Ugh. Solgrim shook his head, scattering scarlet droplets from his beak. Guilt clung to the pit of his stomach in a troublesome way and made it impossible to enjoy his meal. His surroundings were murky, but he could see his companions ripped to shreds by the armored badger with disturbing clarity.

Sinking his talons into the rat's stomach with a squelch, Solgrim beat his wings but could only hover for a second before being forced to drop his prize. He snorted and lashed at the deadbeast's face, all hunger replaced by a seething fury.

"Need some help?"

Solgrim screeched, forced to take wing. He landed, puffed up and furious, when he saw Brooketail approaching, a little out of breath. "What are you doing?" The mercenary snapped.

"Same to you, lad," the ferret said, a small grin playing on his face. "Couldn't sleep. I saw you flyin' off and got curious. Sorry," he added as Solgrim's scowl deepened.

The buzzard was more irritated that he hadn't spotted Brooketail earlier than he was at having been followed. "I wonder if he's close," Solgrim said, gesturing to the deadbeasts with a wing.

"He has been. Best to keep an eye out." The ferret's nonchalance confounded and annoyed Solgrim, as did his own inability to do anything but watch as Brooketail went to work at chopping up the rat. The buzzard latched on to a more manageable chunk and then blinked at his companion, who hoisted what remained over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Solgrim cocked his head. Vermin didn't eat proper meat.

Brooketail chuckled at Solgrim's bewildered expression. "Hope y'don't mind sharing."

He did. Very much so. But yet, he kept it to himself as they started on their way back to camp. Solgrim was slowed by the extra weight, and had to flap considerably more to stay aloft, but didn't dare show his weariness.

"You got family, Solgrim?"

The buzzard narrowed his eyes—Brooketail never ceased to confuse him. What an odd thing to ask. "Of course I do," he grunted.

"I mean," Brooketail went on, "any close to you now." Solgrim gave him a stormy look. "Suppose that's a no, then." He sighed. "Hope we get back soon. My son's vulnerable, Solgrim. I worry about him on his own…"

The buzzard's gaze softened at the worry in the old ferret's face. He suspected that a proper companion would have done his best to cheer him up, but couldn't think of the proper words. "…Try and get some sleep. You won't be fit to travel," he said, realizing just after that he probably shouldn't have said anything at all.

"True enough," Brooketail said. He patted the rat on his shoulder. "And at least we won't be heading out on an empty stomach."

Solgrim could see smoke from the vermin's fire curling and coiling into the sky like a dancing serpent just ahead. The ferret talked a good deal more than strictly necessary, but he supposed he wouldn't mind letting him share his catch this once.

-

Early morning sun caressed the increased numbers of the Red Fire vermin. Avery stretched out in full, nearly touching his own back with splayed claws. "Mmmm…." He sniffed, whiskers twitching. "Something smells heavenly. Count me in for seconds."

He pushed himself up by his elbows, trying to find where the scent of cooking meat was coming from. And then recoiled. "Yeurgh! Wh…what are you doing?"

"Breakfast. Dig in, lad," Brooketail said cheerily.

Solgrim looked up from his own unadulterated meat, beak dripping. The younger ferret's expression was a precious gift.

Roused by the commotion, the other vermin began to stir. Sage blinked. "When did you even find that?"

Brooketail swallowed. "Your badger friend's been on the move."

"Well that's certainly a spot of bad news." Bart, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, leapt to his formidable footpaws. "Th'sooner we leave, the better. Make sure we stay the trackers an' not the other way round, doncha know. Oh and save a spot of the old tuck for me as well, would ye chaps?"

Solgrim and Brooketail exchanged glances. Landbounds are certainly full of surprises.