Slate-colored smoke danced its way into the nighttime sky, carrying with it the scent of burning wood and salty broth. The heat of a Juska campfire was in deep combat with the chill of late autumn. Taggerung Rangum Nock, fox leader of the Juskanock band, stared contemplatively at the flames. He was a lean beast, muscular beneath his ginger fur. Across from him stood a large, black rat, dark-eyed and scarred from past battles. Black Alder Club was the name he went by, Club for short, and he stirred the contents of a large, iron cauldron. The evening's supper was a shrimp and seaweed soup seasoned with herbs from the woodlands: wild garlic, sorrel, and lemon balm. Club looked at Rangum and waved his free hand, trying to gain his attention. The fox didn't seem to notice. Removing the wooden ladle he was stirring with, Club tapped the side of the cauldron, forcing Rangum's head to shoot up. One of his paws reached for the dagger strapped to his leg.

"What's the matter?" Rangum Nock asked. His bronze eyes scanned the surrounding area. "D'you hear somethin'?"

"Mmm-mmm," grunted Club, shaking his head for good measure. Grunts, huffs, snorts, and other noises were Club's preferred method of "talking"; his tongue had been cut out when he was much younger. Despite that fact, Rangum had little trouble understanding him most of the time. It was a testament to their seasons-long companionship. Club dipped the ladle into the soup, gathered a sample of it, and held it out for the fox to try.

"Ah, right," said Rangum. He stood up, approached the cauldron, and carefully sipped at the concoction. The shrimp and seaweed were cooked well, and the herbs added flavor to what would normally be a simple brine. Rangum Nock nodded his head in approval. "Pretty good. I think it's ready for Lans." Pausing, the fox then sighed. "If she'd just let me into our tent…"

Rangum and Club looked towards one of the three tents surrounding the campfire. A lantern had been lit inside, and the silhouette of a fox was moving about. It was Moggs, the band's seer and the mother of the second vixen lying inside the tent: Lansah. Lansah was Rangum's mate. A few hours ago, she had given birth, but Rangum had yet to see his cub. Lansah would not allow it; her mind was clouded with the instinctual desire to protect her newborn, something many a Juska she-beast experienced after bearing young. For his own safety, and for Lansah's peace of mind, Rangum stayed away. It was frustrating, but the Taggerung knew that it wouldn't last.

Moggs' silhouette moved again, and she emerged from the tent, her golden eyes dull from exhaustion. This had not been the Seer's first time delivering Juska babes, but it never got any easier.

"Oooh…" she sighed, her nostrils quivering at the smell of food. "Soup's done?"

"Mmm," Club grunted again, nodding. Leaning down, the rat reached for one of the wooden bowls that were placed just far enough that the campfire couldn't reach them. He filled it with soup, and held it out as Moggs joined them.

"Didn't add t'much wild garlic again, did ye?" asked Moggs as she eyed the bowl. Club sucked his teeth, a noise indicating his annoyance at the question.

"He didn't," Rangum answered for Club. "I 'ad some just now. It's good." He nodded towards the tent. "How's Lans?"

"Fine," replied Moggs as she took the bowl of soup and began blowing at it. "She's nursin' right now, and not t'be disturbed. Hmph. Snapped at me, she did. Her own mam!" She pointed at Rangum. "It's yore fault, o'course."

The Taggerung's shoulders bounced as he laughed.

"It's not all my fault." He took a bowl of soup that was offered to him by Club. "Lans and I agreed on it together. What's the point in startin' our own band if we have no one to pass it down to when we're gone? Besides, we could use an extra set of paws."

"Mmph. Still don't like bein' growled an' fussed at." Moggs took a sip from her soup bowl and smacked her lips at the various flavors. "Hmm. Not bad, Black Alder. Yore learnin'."

Black Alder Club dipped his head in response to the praise.

"Anyway," continued Moggs. "I'll bring some soup to Lansah in a bit. I just needed some fresh air. She might settle down once she's got some good vittles in 'er."

Rangum sighed.

"I want to see 'er…" he lamented. "And the cub. At least tell me if I've gotten a son or daughter?"

"A daughter," answered the Seer. Rangum's ear flicked curiously. "Not the biggest cub I've seen, but a good appetite. Think she smelt the soup; she stopped nursin' fer a second t'get a good whiff."

Rangum could not help but chuckle at the thought. He was pleased at the news. He had a legacy now, and he was determined to shape his daughter into a proud Juskabeast.

Club had served himself his own bowl of shrimp and seaweed soup as the conversation had gone on. He listened quietly, sipping at the broth and carefully chewing the solid bits. He could not taste his meal at all, but it did not bother him much. He was alive, and that was what mattered to him. Club's eyes darted between Rangum and Moggs as he waited for one of them to speak again. The Taggerung had begun to eat, but Moggs was sitting still, the bowl tightly gripped in her hands, and her eyes staring straight ahead. Curious, Club watched her. The Seer's body began to tremble.

"Hah…" an exhale escaped Moggs' lips. "Hah…hah…hah…"

At that sound, Rangum was paying attention to the vixen as well. He and Club exchanged a glance before they both set down their soup bowls and approached her.

"Moggs?" called Rangum. "Y'alright, silver-whiskers?"

Moggs did not reply. Instead, her breathing quickened, as did her trembling. The soup threatened to spill out over her paws. Club took it from her. Rounding the vixen, Rangum rested his paws on Moggs' shoulders, steadying her. He then brought a paw to her forehead. She was warm to the touch. A fever was kicking in at an unnaturally fast pace. The Taggerung knew exactly what this meant. With serious eyes, Rangum Nock looked to his rat comrade.

"We need t'bring her inside," he said. "Quickly."

Club nodded. With one of Moggs' arms wrapped around one of their shoulders, Club and Rangum carried the old vixen into her own tent. Lansah, hearing the commotion, called out to her mate.

"Rangum? What's happenin'!? Is it Mam? What's goin' on with Mam!?"

Rangum gritted his teeth. He had no choice but to ignore his mate's shouts as he and Club laid Moggs down on a "bed" of barkcloth blankets. Club stepped out again and returned seconds later with an earthenware jug filled with fresh water. Rangum lifted her head, allowing Club to carefully tilt the cooling liquid into Moggs' open mouth. The vixen drank it, smacked her lips, and peered at the Rangum and Club through squinted eyes.

"Hah…" she breathed again. She struggled to form words. "Sm…smo…"

"Easy," said Rangum gently. "Take yer time."

"Smoke…" Moggs choked out. "White…fox…white smoke…"

Rangum listened carefully. This was an omen. Whenever Moggs received one, she was struck with a sudden fever.

"Hare…badger…" continued Moggs. "Juska…death…death…death…!"

Rangum's fur bristled. Again, he and Club looked at each other. Club's eyes were wide with alarm.

"Winters…two…two winters…red…stone…" Moggs' eyes began to close, and her trembling lessened. As she slipped out of consciousness, one final word left her lips: "Barabell…"

Moggs went limp. Rangum checked for a pulse. The Seer was alive. Right now, she needed rest. In the silence, Rangum and Club sat near the recovering Moggs, both beasts repeating the words in their heads. One thing was painfully clear: something bad was going to happen, and they had two winters to prepare for it.

"Rangum!" called Lansah again. "Answer me! I know ye can 'ear me!"

Club nudged Rangum's shoulder, a signal for him to go to his mate. The Taggerung nodded, stood, and left for his and Lansah's tent in a hurry. When he arrived, he was met with Lansah staring intensely at him from her corner of the tent, their cub dozing in her arms. She was a pretty thing, her coat being an unusual shade of gold that only foxes of the Ruggan Bor bloodline could inherit. For a brief moment, Rangum's attention was stolen by his sleeping daughter.

"Answer, damn it!" snapped Lansah irritably. "What's 'appened? I 'eard Mam talkin', but she was goin' too fast. What'd she say!?"

"It's not good news…" admitted the fox. "I don't think I should tell you now, not after the day you've 'ad…"

"I'm fine," insisted the vixen. "Go on. 'urry up an' tell me."

Rangum sighed. There was no other choice; Lansah would only work herself up if he kept quiet. He sat down a good, safe distance from his mate and repeated the words to her.

"White smoke, white fox, hare, badger, Juska, death, two winters, redstone, and…" Rangum was still a bit puzzled as to the last word and its meaning. Nevertheless, he said it. "Barabell."

Lansah took the words in. Her brow furrowed.

"...It sounds like another war's comin'," she muttered in a somewhat calmer voice. "And so soon after the Taggerung Truce, too…"

The Taggerung Truce was an event that occurred seasons prior, during the spring. After the humiliation of Ruggan Bor by Russano the Wise, the Juska clans fell into a generations-long war over the title of Taggerung. The bloodshed seemed endless until the more sensible Juskabeasts introduced the Taggerung Truce. Any Chieftain, whether they ruled a large clan or a small band, would be known as s Taggerung. Something resembling peace finally fell over the Western Coast.

"It could be," said Rangum Nock. "And it won't only be us Juska involved. Badgers an' hares? I'm sure you know what that's referrin' to…"

"The Salamandastron lot…" growled Lansah. She held her cub tighter to her chest. "An' redstone? Tha's referrin' to those Abbeybeasts from the old tales. What'n Hellgates do either of 'em want with us!?"

"I really don't know, Lans." Rangum let out a heavy sigh. "An' then there's this talk o' white foxes and smoke. It's a lot t'figure out right now, but the one thing we do know is that we 'ave time t'prepare, two winters. We're lucky ol' Moggs had her omen now an' not later, when it's too late. We need t'be well-trained, all of us."

Lansah was quiet for a moment. She stared down at her cub, and after a few seconds, looked at Rangum.

"Barabell…" she began. "That was the name of me gran'mammy. Mam tol' me about her when I was a wee 'un. She died in the wars when Mam was barely old enough t'get her clan markin's."

"Aye?"

"Aye." Lansah looked at the cub again. The foxbabe yawned, exposing her pink tongue. "I wonder if that's meant t'be this 'un's name."

"It's a good name," commented Rangum as he stood up. Lansah seemed calmer now than before. Perhaps this was his chance to come closer. Cautiously, he took a step forward. The vixen's golden stare burned into him almost immediately. Rangum paused. "...I'm not gonna 'urt her. You know I'm not."

Lansah glanced her mate over. Rangum waited, not daring to breathe as the vixen made up her mind. Lansah's gaze softened somewhat; the brief conversation made Rangum's presence more palatable.

"Slowly," was all she said in response. Ears perked, Rangum carefully approached. He lowered himself onto all fours and took his place beside Lansah. The vixen held Barabell out so that Rangum could properly see her. Even with her eyes closed, something told Rangum that she would have the same vibrant eyes of her mother and grandmother.

"Heh…" laughed Rangum. "Amazin' how even the vilest Juskabeasts start out small like this, hmm?"

"Hmm…" Lansah halfheartedly attempted to laugh. Frowning, Rangum nudged her head with his own. She flashed her teeth at him as a warning.

"Sorry," the Taggerung winced. "Y'know, you really shouldn't stress so much. Moggs is fine. After a day or two, she'll be back on her feet. You know that."

"And what about the omen?" Lansah stared hard at Rangum. "What are we meant t'do when it 'appens? Fight an entire army ourselves?"

"O'course not. We survive by any means necessary, even if that means…" Here, Rangum exhaled wearily through his nostrils. "We have to flee the Western Coast."

"Flee?" growled Lansah. "Tch. I'm tired o' fleein'. We did our fleein' when the Juskalaith fell apart."

Rangum frowned as he remembered the clan he, Lansah and Moggs once called home. Life in the Juskalaith had been rough, especially under the rule of the weasel Chieftain, Sloangra Laith. She had not lived long enough to see the Taggerung Truce, not that Rangum believed she would have agreed to it. Her daughter, Verratta Laith, led a mutiny that took Sloangra's life, and in the chaos, Rangum, Lansah and Moggs took their leave. After the Truce, Rangum did not concern himself with the Juskalaith. It was a bad memory he would rather forget.

"If runnin' means our band survives," the fox responded after a long pause. "Then so be it. I didn't leave Juskalaith just so I could die. Did you?"

Lansah's silence was all the answer Rangum needed. After a moment's hesitation, he brushed her arm with his own.

"We shouldn't think about that now…" In a bold move, the Taggerung reached out with his paws. "Lemme see 'er."

"...What?" Lansah gave Rangum an odd look.

"I want t'hold 'er. See 'ow little she is."

"Hmm…"

"I'll be gentle with 'er. Honest, I will. Swear on me longbow."

"Right." Lansah eyed her mate a bit, her mind still a bit clouded by her maternal instincts. Slowly, she raised the infant and began passing her over. "Careful. Not one 'air outta place, or I'll break that longbow."

"Of course," snickered Rangum. He took Barabell, and held her out in front of him. Moggs had not been lying; Barabell was a tiny thing. The cub stirred, her nose quivering, taking in the scent of her father. Rangum could not resist a grin as he brought Barabell closer. "Barabell. D'you like that name, lass?"

"She can't 'ear ye," scoffed Lansah, the slightest hint of amusement on her weary face. "Mam says cubs can't 'ear when they're first born."

"Oh." Rangum blinked. His fur bristled with embarrassment. "Well, in my defense, I 'aven't 'andled too many cubs in my lifetime."

"I know." Lansah leaned a bit closer to her mate and rested her head on his shoulder. "Can't wait 'til she's old enough to handle a spear. Just imagine, me and 'er, downin' enemies left an' right. Not t'mention how much fish we'll be bringin' back from the sea, hehe."

Rangum held little Barabell in his arms the way he had seen Lansah do it. As the vixen spoke, he gently poked the cub's belly with a claw.

The Taggerung grinned as his own imagination took flight. "An' I'll teach 'er to use a bow. Strikin' fear into the 'earts of intruders with 'er ol' sire. I tell ya, Lans, the Juskanock's gonna be in good paws when we're done with 'er."

Lansah smiled. By now, she was used to Rangum being in the tent with her. The maternal cloud had become a ghostly mist, allowing her to see Rangum as the fox she knew and loved. The feelings were not completely gone, however. She reached for Barabell again.

"Give 'er back," she ordered. Rangum chuckled.

"Yes, marm," the Taggerung joked. He rested Barabell back into her mother's arms, and the cub began whining. She was hungry again. Lansah laid on her side, closed her eyes and began nursing Barabell. Watching her and the babe for a moment, Rangum spoke again. "You should eat, too. Moggs was gonna bring some soup, but…"

"Mmm…" Lansah opened an eye to look at her mate. "Soup would be nice. Get me some, would ye? And make sure there's a lot o' shrimp."

"Aye, Chieftain," snickered Rangum. His laughter grew louder when Lansah looked at him in annoyance. He got up and started for the entrance of the tent. "Alright, alright, I'm goin'.

Just before the Taggerung stepped out into the night, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. He watched his mate and cub once more and began to frown as Moggs' words repeated in his mind. Despite what he told Lansah, not even he could fight off the worry in his heart. Rangum Nock closed his eyes, shook his head, and left the tent in silence.