Beams of warm, yellow sunlight bathed the forest floor that morning. Gentle breezes plucked the last amber-red leaves from their branches, carrying them down to the exposed roots of the trees that once nourished them. Autumn had visited the woods again, two autumns since the birth of Barabell. At eight seasons old, the vixen was well past her infancy, not an adult, but no longer reliant on her mother's milk. Her face had yet to be marked with the symbol of the Juskanock: a green arrow that stretched along the length of the muzzle. Barabell could only earn this marking after succeeding her father's test. Today was not her first attempt, but she hoped it would be her last.

Barabell sat on one of the high, naked branches of a rowan tree. She sat with her back against the truck, one paw clutching the strap of a traveling pouch, and the other holding onto a longbow, one suited for a fox as young as she. Her golden eyes scanned the forest below her, searching for any signs of her father and Black Alder Club. In the traveling pouch was a wood pigeon slain by one of Rangum's arrows. Her test was simple; Barabell was to take the pouch and make her way back to the Juskanock camp, alone, and without being caught by Rangum and Club, who were tracking her.

The forest was quiet save the occasional warbling of songbirds and the drumming of a woodpecker's beak. Barabell wondered how far away Rangum and Club were from her location. She was given a thirty second head-start and took off running in the direction of camp. The first time Barabell had done this test, she simply ran until she was exhausted, and was found easily thanks to the trail she left. The next attempt, she had tried hiding, but the spots she chose were painfully obvious. Now, Barabell had a bit more sense. Her father's eyes would be on the forest floor, so what better place to lie in wait than up in a tree? Barabell chuckled to herself. It was a clever trick, and Rangum would never suspect it. It would have been nice to have some extra leaves for cover, but as long as she stayed still and quiet, Barabell felt certain that she would not be spotted.

Minutes passed and Barabell eventually heard the rustling of leaves. Some beast was kicking them up with their footpaws, most likely the big brute that was Club. With a cheeky grin, Barabell peered down at the forest floor, expecting to see the rat wandering past her hiding place. What she actually saw, however, made her blood run cold. One by one, five strangers came into view, armed and scanning the area as they walked. They were Juskabeasts, as evident by their tattoos: two swirling, black lines that started on the right brow, looped the eye, and ended at the cheek, with another line of small, white dots between them. Barabell's parents and grandmother bore the same markings, the symbols of their old clan: the Juskalaith. What were they doing in the Juskanock's hunting ground? Why were they armed? Who were they looking for? These questions, and more, buzzed around in Barabell's head. Her heart pounded in her chest and her grip tightened on her longbow.

"What do I do…?" she asked herself in a trembling voice, quietly, so that the trespassers could not hear her. This was a situation Barabell had never found herself in before. This was the first time she had seen trespassers on Juskanock land, and if they were unfriendly, her father and Club would be outnumbered.

"'Old it," commanded the scruffy, brown rat taking the lead. He held up his free paw, the hilt of a cutlass firmly grasped in the other one. His allies obeyed, a stoat, two ferrets, and another rat. Barabell watched the brown rat's ears twitch. "Let's 'ave a lissen fer arrows. Rangum might be 'untin'."

Barabell did not dare to breathe as the five Juskalaith listened to the sounds of the woods. Seconds passed. The birds never ceased their singing, nor did the woodpecker cease his quest for a meal. Agitated by the noise, one of the ferrets, armed with a sling, pulled a stone from a pouch on his belt and aimed randomly.

"Shuddup already!" he snapped as the stone went flying. Barabell flinched at the loud thud. Wings fluttered as the birds took flight. The drumming of the woodpecker's beak also halted. A silence followed, and the Juskalaith beasts listened again. A few more seconds went by before the stoat snorted.

"Not 'round here, I reckon," said the stoat. "Must be further along. Just wish 'e 'ad a trail we could follow."

"Mushbrain," hissed the brown rat. "Rangum ain't no fool. Our best bet is t'search this forest top t'bottom. Even if 'e spots us first, we can easily swarm 'im and bring 'im down."

They were going to kill Rangum, and Barabell was clueless as to why. She had to do something, but what? How could she…?

The vixen's eyes brightened as an idea formed in her head.

"C'mon, move it," ordered the brown rat as he started off. "The sooner this is done, the sooner we can grab Lansah and 'ead back for supper. Remember, we're gettin' a good meal if we do this right."

"Good," huffed the other rat, a female. "I'm tired of chokin' down roasted seaweed every night while Crabcull and the other brown-nosers get the best vittles."

While the group continued in the direction they were going, grumbling and complaining about the one they called Crabcull, Barabell pulled an arrow from the quiver she carried on her back. She loaded the arrow, drew the bowstring back as far as she could, and aimed to the east. She watched the group move further and further away from the tree, and when Barabell felt that the time was right, she released the arrow.

THWANG!

The arrow took off like a shooting star, disappearing from Barabell's view in a matter of seconds. Wherever it landed, birds took flight and Barabell could hear their panicked calls. As she hoped, the Juskalaith beasts stopped and glanced towards the east.

"Just as I thought…" The brown rat took a few steps in that direction. "'E's shootin' birds."

"Why in the Dark Forest would 'e be 'untin' there?" questioned the sling-wielding ferret. "Ain't that where the Stone Border is?"

"Aye," agreed the brown rat. He then scoffed. "Just our luck. But, again, Rangum ain't stupid. 'E wouldn't get too close to it. We 'ave nothin' to worry about. Heh, if we're lucky, we can trap 'im there and he'll be forced to surrender."

A chorus of agreements and snickers arose from the Juskalaith beasts as they continued their hunt for Rangum. As they disappeared into the undergrowth, Barabell, who's heartbeat rivaled the beat of a hummingbird's wings, began climbing down after looping her bow around her body. Fortunately, going down was easier than going up. Digging her claws into the wood, Barabell allowed gravity to do most of the work. She tried distracting herself with some interesting facts from her grandmother.

Apparently there were creatures that were born with some natural ability to climb trees, and much faster than Barabell ever could. Squirrels, they were called, bushy-tailed and red-furred, much like her. The concept of such a creature fascinated Barabell so much that she had crafted a doll based on the mental image she had conjured in her head. The toy squirrel was named Lunger Longtail, and was back at camp, awaiting her return. The thought of her only friend steadied her shaking limbs somewhat.

Among the Juskalaith group, however, the sling-wielding ferret, who was named Chummer, stopped and looked over his shoulder. Noticing his hesitation, the rat leader shot Chummer a glare.

"What? Why've ye stopped?"

"Somethin's off…" muttered Chummer.

"Off?" echoed the rat. Chummer's clanmates stopped to look at him questioningly. "What d'ye mean "off"?"

Chummer shrugged. "Dunno. Call it a 'unch. Think I might patrol 'round 'ere some more. Rangum might be clever, but all it takes is one stone to his skull."

"Sounds more like yer scared o' goin' to the Stone Border to me," mocked the stoat with a wide, toothy smile.

"Stow yer gab, Hollowgill," Chummer shot back roughly. He then turned and began walking back to the path the group had originally been taking. "I'm goin'. If I'm right, ye all'll be lookin' mighty stupid."

"An' if yer wrong," laughed Hollowgill as she brandished a dagger and followed Chummer. "The look on yer face'll be 'ilarious."

"Ye both can find yer own way back to t'camp," the brown rat called after them. He nodded for his remaining comrades to follow him. "C'mon. Let the idiots wander. More of a reward for us when we bring back Rangum's 'ead."

Barabell had nearly reached the bottom of the tree when she heard the returning pawsteps of Chummer and Hollowgill. Her heart skipped a beat, and in her moment of fear, her hind paw lost its grip. A cry escaped her maw as she fell downwards, her back hitting the rowan's protruding roots.

"Ow…!" winced Barabell. Not far from where she lay, Chummer's ears perked.

"Didja 'ear that?" he asked Hollowgill. "That was a voice. A brat, by the sounds of it. Now, din' Crabcull say Rangum an' Lansah might've settled down an 'ad one by now?"

It took Hollowgill a second to respond. She was surprised, and a bit peeved, that Chummer had not been a fool like she had previously thought.

"Ain't 'eard no voice," lied Hollowgill. Chummer squinted at her, before loading his slingshot with another stone and starting off in Barabell's direction.

"Stay 'ere, then," Chummer snarled. "I'll get the brat meself."

"Not without me, ye don't…" hissed Hollowgill. Barabell had recovered by this time, and hearing the Juskalaith pair grow closer, she ignored the dull pain in her back and took off on all fours. Her cover was blown, but that was not Barabell's concern. She needed to find her father. Chummer and Hollowgill looked after her.

"Oi!" Chummer shouted as he began running, twirling the sling. "Stop! I said stop, brat!"

Barabell, of course, did not listen. Chummer launched the stone. It cut through the air, its whistling growing louder and louder in Barabell's ears. She tried running faster, hoping and praying that it would miss.

THWACK!

"Ahh!" Barabell cried in pain as the stone caught her left footpaw. She fell flat on her belly with a groan. Chummer and Hollowgill rushed to close the distance. They would not kill the young vixen, not yet. The one ordering them about, Crabcull, would find young Barabell to be very interesting.

Barabell's paw was throbbing. Even the smallest flexing of her toes sent pain all throughout it. This was bad. They were going to catch her! Fear began to take over despite the weapon she carried. Although she could have attempted to load her bow, there was no guarantee that she could land a good blow, and the other Juskalaith would deal with her immediately after. Her golden eyes glistened with tears and she slammed them tight as she lay amid the leaf litter. Barabell had always hoped that her first fight against enemy Juska would be at her parents' side, Club providing aid and Moggs ready to tend to their wounds after their victory. The fantasy had excited her before, but she felt no such excitement now. The young vixen was terrified.

"Papa!" Barabell screamed as hot tears ran down her cheeks. "Papa, help!"

The shadows of her pursuers fell over her. Barabell looked up to see the wicked sneers of the ferret and stoat.

"Aww…" cooed Hollowgill, malice dripping from her words. "Poor baby's callin' for 'er Daddy. Not t'worry, lass. We ain't gonna 'urt ye, hehe…"

"'Ey, 'ow's about ye tell us where yer Ma is, and we'll all go on a nice trip to the Juskalaith camp?" Chummer hummed. "Our friend Crabcull would love to see the two o' ye. C'mon. Speak up."

Barabell couldn't speak, instead, silently shivering as she looked up at the Juskalaith beasts. Hollowgill gained an evil glint in her eye and allowed sunlight to glint off her dagger.

"Answer the question!" she roared. "Stupid brat. Talk, or I'll bleed ye! Talk!"

"Just leave me alone!" sobbed Barabell. "I don't wanna go wi' ye!"

Chummer put away his sling and raised his paw in preparation for a strike. "Tsk. Stan' back. The brat won't talk. I'll just knock 'er out an' we can-"

Chummer never finished his sentence. Before the ferret even knew what happened, an arrow shot him through the back of his head. The lifeless Chummer crumbled to the ground. Hollowgill's previous aggression left her as fear took over. Frantically, the stoat ran to the trees for cover, only a large figure to appear in front of her and bash in her skull with a heavy club. She fell onto her back, dead. A silent Barabell stared at the two slain Juskalaith, and then at her approaching saviors: Rangum Nock and Black Alder Club.

"Barabell!" gasped Rangum as he came to his daughter's side. He knelt down and helped her into a sitting position. Barabell groaned at the pain from her injuries, but they were nothing compared to the amount of shame she felt in her heart. "Oh, lass! 'Ell's teeth, I thought we wouldn't make it 'ere in time. Me an' Club 'eard you screaming…"

"I…" Barabell's voice was barely above a whisper. Her mouth stayed open, but no other words would come out. She wanted to say that she was alright, but that was a blatant lie. Her paw stung, her body ached, and her pride was wounded. Her ears fell as she turned away from her father's concerned face. With a gentle paw, Rangum made her look at him.

"'Ey…" said the Taggerung softly. "Yer safe now, Barabell. I'm 'ere, alright?"

Barabell's eyes turned away. She said nothing. Rangum was about to speak again when a low growl from Club stole his attention. Rangum turned to see Club lifting Chummer's head and pointing to the tattoos. Rangum's eyes narrowed.

"Juskalaith," hissed the Taggerung. With a serious look in his eyes, he focused on Barabell again. "Tell me, lass, was it just these two? Or were there others?"

"...There were five of 'em," Barabell whispered. "I saw 'em from where I was 'idin', up in the trees…" She pointed up to her hiding place. With wide eyes, Rangum and Club glanced at where she was pointing and then stared at each other. A moment later, Rangum managed a small laugh.

"So this is 'ow I find out my cub's a tree-walloper, eh?" It was an attempt at lightening the mood, but Barabell's look of embarrassment never changed. Rangum cleared his throat. "Right, so, which way did they go, Barabell?"

"To the east," replied the vixen. She pointed again. "I shot an arrow that way, where the Stone Border is. I tricked 'em an' made 'em think you were shootin' birds. The five of 'em left before, but those two came back…" She paused for a moment. "They want t'kill you, and take me and Mama away."

Rangum felt the fangs of rage grip his heart. His fur bristled, and his eyes darkened and he pulled another arrow from his quiver. A startled Barabell looked up at him.

"Did they mention Crabcull?" asked the Taggerung in a low voice. Barabell nodded quickly. Rangum fit the arrow to his bow and looked to Club. "I figured that black-'earted cur wouldn't leave us be."

"Who is he, Papa?" asked Barabell. "Who's Crabcull?"

"We'll talk about that later," answered Rangum Nock. "Right now, y'need to get t'camp and get those wounds taken care of. Club."

"I'm fine, Papa, really!" protested Barabell as she tried to stand. She yelped as she stepped on her injured paw. Club approached her, holstering his weapon on his back and scooping the vixen up in his arms.

"Take 'er to Moggs," ordered Rangum as he began to track where the remaining Juskalaith had gone. "I'll be back."

Club nodded and obeyed, taking Barabell in another direction. Barabell squirmed, ignoring the pain in her body as she called after her father.

"Papa! I can 'elp! Please! I'm fine! Papa!"

The youngster's voice faded the farther away Rangum got. He frowned deeply. Barabell's humiliation had not been lost on him. She wanted to impress him so badly and earn her Juskanock markings. Perhaps, had the Juskalaith not interfered, she might have bested him. Such a strange concept, a fox hiding in a tree. In hindsight, Lunger Longtail should have been a clue. Rangum shook his head, and focused on his current task. Clumsy walkers, these Juskalaith were. They had kicked up leaf litter without a care in the world.

"Should've come 'ere an' faced me yerself, Crabcull," muttered Rangum under his breath. "Then again, you always did like makin' others do yer dirty work for ye. Coward."

Falling silent, Rangum pressed on, sticking close to the trees and shrubs to hide himself. His fur fluffed at a sudden breeze. A bit of down drifted from a roosting bird; for a moment, Rangum thought it to be snow. The first day of winter would be upon the Juskanock soon. The fox gritted his teeth as he recalled Moggs' words that night two autumn's prior. What a fine time for Crabcull to make trouble when he had other things to worry about.