2


Lord Hawkin Icesplinter was angry.

The lord was already in a bad mood. Tonight was a particularly cold night. The blizzards on Mount Jicidus were normally nightmares to live through, but tonight, they grew a lot colder, if that was even possible. But to be woken up from a decent slumber and forced to walk on a freezing, marble floor, all because of a criminal? Someone was going to die tonight.

The snow-white fox wore a blue robe made of fine silk, and his silver crown rested atop his head. He sat up tall on his throne and had a face of stone. At his feet was a shivering weasel. Two rat guards stood beside the weasel, their spears pointed down on him.

"Your Coldness," one rat began. "One of the evening patrols spotted this weasel," he paused to aim a kick at the creature in question's head. "Trying to climb down the mountain."

Lord Hawkin's pale eyes glared down at the weasel. The weasel wanted mercy; the arctic fox knew this already. But Lord Hawkin was not a merciful beast.

"Explain yourself," the lord ordered gruffly.

"Oh, y-yes, of c-course, Your Coldness," the weasel stuttered, obviously trying to make up a lie. "I was jus'…I was jus' goin' down to, uh, get out of the blizzard! Yes, that's it! It's so cold up here on the mountaintop, so I t'ought it would be warmer at the bottom of the mountain. Nothing wrong with that, right?"

The white fox smirked.

"Oh, yes," he said, feigning kindness with his voice. "I understand. It's very cold up here. You may not see it, but I'm shivering in my throne right now. Yes, you had every reason for leaving the mountain."

The rat guards glanced at each other, puzzled. This wasn't their lord. He'd never act like this. Lord Hawkin suddenly beckoned the weasel to him, and the weasel obeyed, having no choice. Lord Hawkin leaned forward in his throne, his nose almost touching the weasel's.

"But, here's the problem, my friend," continued the fox, his voice now sinister. "I don't give a blind mouse's tail if it's cold up here. My law is that no one leaves this mountain unless I give the word. I don't believe I've given you permission to leave my kingdom. Am I wrong?"

The weasel swallowed.

"N-No, Your Coldness," he whispered.

Lord Hawkin sat back, looking at his rat guards.

"Whitepaws, Dirtface," he began. "Bring me my collection."

It was the rats' turn to shiver.

"Y-Yes, Your C-C-Coldness," they replied, before walking off. Quickly, they returned with a wooden box, which they presented to their lord.

Lord Hawkin took the box, and opened it. In the box were many small, glass bottles, each holding a liquid of some sort, as well as many clumps of dried herbs and berries. Lord Hawkin picked up a bottle holding a clear liquid, and a pinch of herbs.

"Mmm," the fox said with a pleased smile. "My favorites."

Whitepaws, Dirtface, and the weasel watched in silent horror as their lord opened the bottle, and held the herbs over the bottle's mouth. He glanced up at his guards.

"You both may want to step back," he warned.

The rats quickly did so. The weasel let out a small whimper, knowing that his time was up. The herbs were dropped into the bottle, and the reaction caused a mass of white smoke to form. Lord Hawkin blew on the smoke, directing it towards the unfortunate weasel. The weasel cried as the smoke touched his skin, instantly burning him. The screams grew louder and louder, as the smoke overwhelmed him. The lord watched in boredom, while the rat guards watched in terror. After a while, the smoke dispersed. All that was left of the weasel was his bones, were still disintegrating. The white fox addressed his shaken-up guards.

"Clean this mess up," he ordered. "And put my collection back in its chamber. I'm going back to bed."

Setting down the wooden box on his throne, the lord prepared to walk back to his room. But he stopped. Standing at the entrance of his throne room was a young dibbun fox. This was the Icesplinter Clan's heir, Shade. He stared at his father with wide eyes. His innocence had been lost. He had seen an execution.