George stared. "You want me t'be your Recorder?" he repeated.

"Well, I wasn't really given much of a choice on this, George," Neil explained, a bit apologetically. George looked away in incredulity.

"I don't believe it!" he said, his shaky paw wobbling the cane. "I 'ave t'sit down!" But something told him it was something other than shock at the suddenness of the title pushed upon him.

(You only feel like this when you're about to see something.)

Yes, I know, George agreed, his eyes tearing at the ferocity of the nausea, but never this bad!

(It is something important. Get away, Flantyr, get away!)

"I 'ave t'get into th'shade," he pleaded weakly. "Help me into th'gate'ouse, will yeh, Brother?"

When inside, he sank down into the wooden chair at the messy desk where most of the writing was done. His head nodded, and soon became light and surreal. He didn't realize it when Neil left, but he soon felt alone in a detached sort of way....

* * *

The dream was much too vivid to be just that: a dream. George could feel the early morning seacoast air of home: he observed from behind a pillar as Tori watched the sun rise.

(look closely 't'will be your last)

Cursed name! he thought bitterly as the sky began to dye itself brilliant shades of peach. George's father had been a Gael: Flantyr was their word for "foresight," or "seer."

The red wolf sat down on the bench of the piano she'd spent the early hours of the morning dragging from the cellars, undisturbed by the fires. George saw, through her perception, the dejected keyboard. Tori closed her eyes, shutting out the new day, and he witnessed what was painted by memories onto the backs of her eyelids.

* * *

"Poppa's been worried about the Badlands."

"Oh really?" she replied casually, playing with an old beanbag.

Peter turned to her gravely. "Haven't you noticed? They've been much too quiet. Creekben even thinks they've been abandoned." He shook his head. "Those foxes can't be up to anything good."

How Tori had loved Peter. He seemed so solemn to the casual observer, but all close to him respected his wry, subtle sense of humor. But at this moment, he was, indeed, completely serious.

(Her body shook. How foolish she had been.)

"Well, then, guess I'd better go do a little spywork," she remarked flippantly. "I'm off to Esterlin's. They're high enough up I'm sure someone could spot a coming invasion." She smiled pleasantly and turned toward her coat, draped over a deeply polished wooden banister.

I know what you want. The magpies have come.

Peter suddenly grabbed her arm. "Tori," he pleaded, "be careful. I have a bad feeling about the city today. Please, don't wander too far." His oldest sister had a slightly puzzled looked on her face.

"I'm only going along the cliffs, Honeydew, I'll come straight home," she reassured him, calling her tense brother the same pet name their mother did.

He gave a small, concerned sigh, and let go. She beamed at him, and pecked him on his cheek. "Don't worry so much, you'll turn into a squid." Peter's face momentarily broke into a smile, and here she fleetingly escaped.

She stood leaning against the balcony on the top floor of Esterlin's. the view from this favorite haunt was magnificent: it directly oversaw the royal gardens, where Tori could make out Leah practicing her archery under the direction of their grandfather, Cairnfael. Casting her gaze east, she overlooked the entire city of Leedsdown, the jewel of the Northlands. The chilly Arctic air made the view clear for miles, and she pulled the old coat closer to her shoulders as she watched the taiga stretch out and join the steppes to the tundra far in the distance. Behind her, the Welshentie Cliffs rose seven-hundred and fifty feet above the coal blue sea. As with many cliffside buildings, the restaurant seemed to precariously balance on the edge.

A flapping of wings above her head startled her: none of the birds who resided this far north stayed for the harsh winters. But two black-backed birds, white-chested, with a white stripe across their wings, flapped overhead, complaining.

"Kree-AK! When was it she wanted up signal to her daughters?"

"I think around midmorning, though why she wants those wolves I don't know. Caawwwwk!"

Tori crouched low so the two magpies wouldn't notice her: obviously this was something important.

"Maybe a nin-nee is something valuable to them. Though we know not of these fox things, do we?"

If you know me so well, then, tell me which hand I use.

However the rest of the conversation followed, it became faintened by distance and wind. One pounding thought rose above the rest of the many the princess harbored: Tell Creekben, tell Creekben....

(Yes! Tell Creekben! George thought frantically. Ohh, Tori, please...)

Her breath returned to her all at once; she fought her wobbly legs to regain balance. Mind, for once, won over body, and in a panicked red streak she broke away from the banister, hurtled past her old friend Esterlin and nearly knocked her trays of hot chocolates onto them both as she flew down the endless steps, tripping herself and treading on paws.

Creekben, Creekben....---where was he?!?!!

Dashing down the brick street, she dodged angered passers-by, desperately hoping she didn't have to believe the strange birds. She knew of the Widowmaker's jealousy of the wolves: jealous of how well and how happily they existed. Tori was sure the poorly-built hovels and shacks of the Badlands were probably miserable.

(Ohhh but why burn better living quarters?!)

She finally arrived at a tower on the fringe of Leedsdown. It was a popular spot: the countryside for leagues around the city was visible. Most of the pleasure-goers often ignored the stretch of scarred, barren land south of the huge Loch Imnal, but today Tori scoured it.

But how will I see them? she thought bitterly. 'Tis the dead of winter, and they're all white. In fact, what am I even doing here? She laughed at herself momentarily.

What was the point of that panic? "Really, Tori," she told herself, "if you're going to be any kind of ruler, you'd better stop jumping at every snippet of vaguely threatening conversation!" She chuckled, and slowly made her way down yet another staircase.

Her sudden lightheartedness must have been totally intoxicating, for she didn't hear the rough voices and coarse talk until she walked straight into their sources.

Three weasels, headed by an evil-looking fox, stood at the foot of the stairs. They snickered among themselves; occasionally one of the weasels would cackle gleefully. When they found themselves the unwitting captors of Princess Tori Rubyhaer, the fox's face lit up with greed.

"One o' th'brats! Shang'll make me a gen'ral fer this!" He held the shaking wolf in a vice-like grip. "Yore 'ide would look grand adornin' my tent, wolf! Wot d'yer think o'that?" She was too terrified to turn her head away from his foul breath.

A hollow-eyed weasel sniggered and pulled out an ominous-looking knife. "Hey Ribsy, she ain't puttin' up much of a fight. Why don't yer just do d'job now?" He offered Ribsy the weapon as one of his companions cracked,

"Guess y'never learned 'ow t'fight back in princess school, eh? Too busy sippin' tea an' keepin' y'posture nice! Hawhaw!" The trio of weasels seemed to find this enormously funny. The fox, however, yanked the knife away and held it at the joker's throat.

"An' I guess they never taught yer t'grow a brain an' take yer 'ead outen yer slops! Idjit! How'll Shang know et's really her if we jus' bring back a ski--AAOW!"

Tori didn't know how she forced herself to bite Ribsy's paw near clean off, but the rancid taste in her mouth and the ringing of teeth that have encountered bone sped her onward toward Tyne Palace. Once again, the single, obsessive thought dominated her mind: Creekben! Find Creekben! Tell Creekben!

* * *

The silver-brown otter strolled through the palace's iced-over gardens. He nodded approvingly as he watched his old friend Cairnfael pat his granddaughter Leah heartily on the back and shoulder her bow and half-empty quiver himself. His watchful eye followed them to the nearest door, and into a side room through through the gust of warm air from the inside.

Creekben Sheercliffe was a formidable figure. He himself had lost count of the many seasons he'd seen, but his powerful body and ever-youthful manner belied the age he'd attained.

Make them go...mmm, make it go...

He heard his name and all of a sudden he found Colvin's eldest clinging to him. Leedsdown's future ruler was crying pitifully, like a cub who had just learned what death is.

"Whoa, whoa, there missie! Wot's makin' yeh shed such tears?" he questioned gently.

"Ohh, Creekben! Foxes! Foxes!" Tori then proceeded to tell the stately otter of her encounter of the magpies and the fox. Creekben was genuinely surprised by her account.

"So Shang's plannin' full-scale invasion of the city, is it?"

Tori sniffled and composed herself a little. "It seems so."

The kindly otter shook his head. "Well, I ain't got no other choice but t'take you to yore parents. Though I think they'll just tell yeh th'same thing th'police an' scouts tole me: they've cleared out somewhere an' vanished journeyin' north."

* * *

Colvin Wolflord also shook his kingly gray head, his short beard stroked thoughtfully by a paw. "Tori, I'm sorry, but there isn't much more I can do than send out a few extra patrols to ward off this band of weasels who attacked you. It's just too unfounded: there's no evidence other than what you overheard and saw. I can't deploy the whole army against a foe who left the area three weeks ago."

"But Poppa--!" she protested with a small cry.

Saw them, restaurant, Poppy don't go.

Colvin held up a paw for silence. "Now I know what you say you heard at Esterlin's, but I can't accept it as fact." His face became very concerned. "You look terribly upset, though. And exhausted too. Why don't you go up to your room and rest a little? It seems to have been a hard day for you."

She allowed herself to be helped away by one of the guards, but could not part from her father without whimpering, "Oh, Poppa, but it's true..."

* * *

Tori welcomed her brief slumber, but nightmares stalked her. She remembered the hideous giant monster lazily stomping toward her as she, a cub once again, sat seated helplessly in a pool of clouded water. Sitting duck. Sitting--

"Father! You'll be sitting ducks!"

She, in a daze, half-opened her eyes.

Her sister Paula's voice carried well, as it always did. "They can't be trusted! She'll have an ambush waiting for you! Are you crazy?! Or is it just too noble to acknowledge what will happen to you if you go?!!"

Tori jumped as she heard her father's paw crash down on a table.

"Paula, I'll have no more of this! This fox gives me her word, I can only take it!"

"Colvin, listen to yourself, and listen to reason! You can't meet Shang alone!" Tori had never heard her mother Derynai's voice sound so harsh and angry. She arose from her bed and crept toward the top of the stairway.

The Wolflord was buckling the belt attached to his leather scabbard. His wife and second youngest daughter were desperately grasping onto his arms, now pleading. They were totally oblivious to Creekben and the four otters trembling behind them.

"Your mother, Cole! What about your mother?!" Derynai cried shrilly. "Surely she--"

I know your mother, is a good one but Poppy, don't go. I'll take you home....

"Snowangel could talk a hare out of eating. That's why she was queen for so long. But I promised this Shang myself," he said gently. "I cannot go back on my word, even if she can."

"A MISTAKE!"

Everyone turned at the fierce shriek from the top of the stairwell. Tori raced down to her father and grasped his powerful paw.

"Poppa, be assured, if there are four guards for you, Shang will waste none and have fifty waiting to kill you!" she ranted. "Raise troops, flee, hide, do something, but I beg you, if you go to talk with that fox, you'll come back hand in hand with death!"

"Tori--" her mother began.

Show me the things I've been missin'.

"Send me instead! If you send me with lots of backup, we could get them before they get us! We--"

"Tori, you are thinking like a vermin," Colvin warned.

"She's right, though," Paula said, eyes cast downward. "If we are up against vermin, we must think like them and treat them as such."

There was an awkward pause.

"You've not handled a weapon for neigh on eight seasons or so, child. Supposing you were to go..."

Show me the ways I forgot to be speakin'.

"I'm sure it would come back to me," she tried weakly.

"How could we take that chance?" Colvin asked her. "Tori, I must go."

"NO!"

Show me ways to get back to the garden. Show me the ways to get around, and get around it. Show me the ways to...

"Just a few minutes is all I need! Once you learn swordplay you never forget--"

"Enough!" Derynai cried.

Button up.

She turned coldly to her daughter. "You made a choice to pursue music, not war. Now leave that business to those who still know it."

Buttons that have forgotten they're buttons...well, we can't have them forgetting that.

"You are to come with me. You too, Paula," the queen said stiffly. "We'll wait in the weaving room with Snowangel and Cairnfael. Where I can keep an eye on you two: I don't want you running off and doing something foolish." Unacknowledging of her childrens' worried and disappointed expressions, she turned to her husband. "You be careful," she told him briskly.

Colvin chivalrously kissed her bejeweled paw. "I'll come back in one piece or I won't come back at all, my love." He quickly turned heel and exited, the otter guard following. Derynai took both her protesting children by the paw and led them away.

* * *

Snowangel stroked her daughter-in-law's head as the sobbing Derynai confessed her fears regarding her son.

"Angie, I'm so afraid! Colvin is such a brave soul he won't back down from anything, even when it would do him and his family better to run! Those foxes will do something to him, I can feel it!"

The pearly matriarch kept her voice soft and level. "Colvin will be just fine. He's never met an enemy he couldn't defeat, or, as you know, he wouldn't have just walked out that door."

Derynai shook her head worriedly, unable to speak through her distress. Paula and Tori sat by in a corner, watching them.

"I wonder if we're the only ones who know," Tori remarked. "I mean, the townfolk, what about them?"

"There's no need to upset them over what may be nothing and cause a panic," Paula replied reasonably. "For all we know, the Widowmaker may just want better places to live."

Snowangel sniffed disdainfully. "Widowmaker, phah! She sounds like nothing to be afraid of from what I hear! Only reason she's head o'that rabble is cause 'er dad just got too long in th'seasons."

Tori said sadly,"That's what they want you to believe, Grandmother."

Cairnfael stood up. "I'm off. I'm not gonna sit here and do nothing. I'll check on the situation, see if my son is back yet. See you in a little while."

"Bye," Tori murmured quietly, and watched him depart.

* * *

He returned an hour later. He was choking and out of breath. Falling against the door, he crashed into the room and landed heavily on the stone floor. All four wolves leapt up and rushed to his side.

"Grandpa, what is it?!!" Paula cried.

He looked at them blearily, mute. Pulling a bloodied paw away from an injured side, he reached it toward his shell-shocked wife.

"H-heard it from...one of the otters," he gasped slowly. "Fox.....had more waiting. Colvin and Creekben--daughter got them...Funny, she looked like ---a ghost ,of Tori..." He inhaled sharply, quivering. His eyes were becoming worryingly rheumy. "There are....more of them now. In the city. They're burning and killing the citizens." He cast his gaze onto the four. "Stop them. Before they destroy us a...." His voice slightened to an inaudible whisper, and the steady beating of his heart loudly ceased. Snowangel was too stunned to react : Derynai let out a terrified wail. Tori, her green eyes wide with fear and surprise, looked at her remaining family.

Girls, girls, what have we done? What have we done, to ourselves, yes?

"Why were we so unprepared?" she whispered. Instead of falling to her knees and crying, she only became angry. Angry at the injustice of the slaying of her father and grandfather. Angry for Creekben, his otter guard, and the others being ransacked of their lives while she sat and did nothing. Wordlessly she stood up and rushed out the door. Her mother screamed her name, just once, pleading her to come back. But the red wolf had to warn her people. It seemed no one else was.

* * *

Driving on the vines, over clothes lines. But Officer, I saw the sign...

Tori crouched pitifully into a corner. She could hear the sounds of battle and of death in the city. She had tried. Oh she had tried.....

The maze of the city had been nonexistent to her. She'd raced through the cobblestone streets, hoping to warn someone, but no one paid her any heed. More often than not she was laughed at. Finally, a large, brawny policeman ran her down and sternly told her to cease this disturbance of the peace. She tried protesting, tried explaining what she saw, tried even pushing her title upon him, but a seemingly crazy wolf would have of course claimed herself to be the heir to the throne up on Tyne Mount. The officer had roughly grabbed her forepaw and was beginning to heft her toward the nearest arrest station, but the resounding sound of a collapsing building nearby startled him. She wriggled free of his grip and, in an exhausted and muddle-headed panic, sped back to the palace,which still remained.

She raised her head. The room had already been pillaged when she'd arrived. The barren walls were now only filled with the ruins of a collapsed, crippled piano. Like a newborn, she weakly crawled underneath it, and cowered in the soundboard as she tried to block out the noises of a life being destroyed.

George's head began to pound as the air around him turned thick and bloody: the chaotic crashes of piano chords and symphonies, orchestras, whole sections of strings rising in a discordant war march. Tori rushed from the burning castle, straight into the arms of Anastasia, being freshly congratulated as "my little arsonist" by her mother. No... ohh no...... they grappled her, held her down, laughing at her expression as she watched the palace become the inferno of the hell she felt. Anastasia---hefting her--no, never did like birds--no, no, no!--Paula cried her name, Leah too winded to talk--The two-irised white fox maliciously pushed Tori over the cliff edge. A flash of knife behind her next to Paula. "Ha! Now the last of them is gone! Go join your family at Dark Forest Gates, weak one! You'll find none of their company here!!!" ...Falling down, falling down.... other white bodies falling around her like snow bled into...twisting, twisting; wind rushing, water roaring, the sizzle of burning wood hitting the water--

"Tori?"

She turned around from her perch. A young Gael stood, shaking fearfully. He bowed his head slightly, trying to hide it. " 'Tis time, miss."

Tori rose up. A fire burned in her eyes similar to that which had ravished the room in the late grips of winter. She nodded, and followed the wolf through the ruins of the castle, leaving George helplessly draped over his table, watching her with a sick feeling churning inside him like waves...