Disclaimer: All non-original characters are property of SEGA or their respective creators.

22. Hunter's Moon

Angharad stood up on her tiptoes, straining to see over her parents' shoulders. The two foxes were kneeling before the ramshackle shrine's altar, murmuring prayers as they laid out several cobs of corn before a stone idol of the harvest goddess Cosmo.

"Why are they giving the goddess so much corn?" the cub wondered aloud, "Is she hungry?"

Her big brother Lachlan shushed her harshly.

"Quiet, Angie," he hissed, "You might make the goddess angry."

"Angry?" said Angharad bemusedly, "But I thought Cosmo was a nice goddess."

"She still—"

"She still appreciates peace and quiet as much as any creature," their father cut in, peering over his shoulder, "Lachie, go wait outside with your sister."

"Yes, Pa," said Lachlan, seizing Angharad by the hand.

"Sorry, Pa," mumbled the younger cub as she was led away, "Sorry, Cosmo."

Outside the roadside shrine, the siblings sat down on the edge of an irrigation ditch, dipping their sore feet in the cool murky water. They'd walked all morning from their grandfather's farm to get here, close to where the sprawling farmlands around Cilgarren met the Jade Forest.

"Why did Ma and Pa bring us here, Lachie?" asked Angharad.

"To…see the goddess."

"But why, Lachie? We just did the harvest."

She had the cuts to prove it. Those pointy sickles were not a cub's best friend.

"Maybe they want to thank her," said Lachlan.

"They never did that before," said Angharad, tilting her head, "They're giving her so much corn—"

Just then, a sonorous battle-cry exploded out of the woods to the west. The terrified cubs frenziedly wriggled out of their tunics — safety wasn't worth a scolding — and plunged into the irrigation ditch. Squatting in the shallow water, they held hands, each waiting for the other to make the next move. Angharad found her courage first.

"Be careful, Angie" whispered Lachlan, watching his little sister stand up and peep gingerly over the lip of the ditch, "Can you see who it is, Angie? Can you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Who is it, Angie? Is it Trogglia…uh, Trogg's followers?"

"No, Lachie," said Angharad, crouching down beside him, "It's not them at all."

Her big brother blinked. "Then…who was it?"

"A badger."

жЖж

"How do you all put up with that gull-throated vagabond?" asked Tiara, uncovering her ears in the wake of Styx's latest ululation.

"Think that's bad? Try being on her horse she does that," replied Prince Sonic of Erinia.

The brown bobcat grimaced. "No wonder you wanted to drive this thing."

The hedgehog shrugged. "I'm not sure that was the only reason."

Tiara smiled coquettishly. Sonic grinned.

"If you see her about to howl again, wake me," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'll try my best," he said, rearranging the reins in his lap.

They were travelling as part of King Furlong of Cambria's entourage, heading back to Cilgarren after a prolonged stay at Talamh, the royal hunting lodge deep in the Jade Forest. Ahead of their wagon, Styx and Morain rode at the head of the column, followed by King Furlong, Prince Miles and five vulpine warriors from the Jade Forest Company.

For a long moment, Sonic watched Tiara's head bob on his shoulder. Turning his attention back to the road, he caught Miles giving him another glare of disapproval. The hedgehog pretended not to see it. What was the use?

That fox had done nothing but sulk since they'd arrived at the hunting lodge, only to learn his mother Queen Rosemary had stayed home in Cilgarren. Although the queen had no authority to grant Zoë's freedom or Miles's request to marry her, the prince had still decided to put off asking.

In the days that followed, King Furlong and company had hunted by day and feasted by night. The fruits of their collective leisure were piled high in the back of Sonic's wagon: bear hides, elk hides, boar hides, and antlers galore. Few of the trophies belonged to the hedgehog, but he'd been quite happy to watch Tiara at work with her bow, hitting just about everything Styx's arrows missed. Only Morain had bagged more kills.

The bobcat was the daughter of Agnia's ambassador to Cambria. Sonic had known her face — there weren't many felines in Cilgarren — but not her name. That first night in her room had ensured he'd never forget it. The fact he didn't actually remember much of that night hardly mattered. It'd kept his mind off other things, as had the nights that followed.

As he cast a glance across the endless farmland towards the walled city off in the distance, one of those other things reared her furry red head. He grimaced. It would be a long afternoon without someone to talk to. Styx's next howl couldn't come soon enough.

жЖж

Raymond brought his cleaver down on a slab of elk meat in the kitchen of the Blackthorn Inn.

"Trogg's balls," he murmured, marveling at the cleanliness of the cut.

Fiona smirked. "I take it you like it."

The flying squirrel tested the cleaver a second time. It sliced the meat just as neatly.

"Can we forget I ever said anything?" he said sheepishly.

"Can I have one of those steaks you just cut?" said the vixen, flashing a winsome smile.

The inn's resident butcher had returned from an errand in the village over the bridge and caught Fiona sharpening his favorite cleaver. She never thought a whetstone would provoke such indignation. As it was, he'd grumbled about how just because he'd never trained with Morian on Mount Scathach didn't mean he couldn't look after a blade.

Fiona had merely wanted to do something more to help out than waiting tables when forty hungry villagers came marching over the bridge at dusk. It felt like there were less jobs to do around the inn compared to when she'd lived here. Raymond and his wife Tessa had this place running as smoothly as that 'waterwheel' thingamy Miles had dreamt up.

"So, want me to do those next?" asked Fiona, eyeing a rack of knives that comprised the rest of the kitchen's armory.

"How can I refuse?" replied Raymond, "Just…try to be done before Tessa and the children get back from picking berries."

жЖж

"Still with us, son?" asked King Furlong of Cambria.

Miles blinked out of his daydream. "M-my king?"

His father cocked the brow above his eyepatch. "Your what, Miles?"

The prince smiled bashfully. "Sorry, Pa."

Furlong grinned. "No, no, I'm sorry for interrupting. I trust you were busy dreaming up a better way to get us across this damned moat."

Miles smirked. The royal party's progress had stalled on the wrong side of Cilgarren's moat. For reasons unknown, the west gate's drawbridge was still raised when they'd arrived. Only now had it begun to descend. An impatient Morain had ridden off in a huff. The king had sent Styx after her.

"There are three other gates, Pa."

Furlong looked at him blankly. "Miles, how tall are our walls?"

"Umm, about seventeen cubits. Although—"

"The south wall is almost half-a-cubit shorter in places," the king cut in, "So you've been telling me ever since your uncle gave you that sextant. My point is, even I can see as far as the tree-line from up there. There's no way those sentries didn't see us coming."

Miles frowned. "Pa, you're sounding like Styx after too much mead."

"I have grounds to be suspicious, son. Let's just say your mother and I didn't exactly part on the most harmonious terms."

The prince grimaced. Was this going to complicate getting his parents in the same room?

"Just how angry was she, Pa?"

"Don't you know your own mother, Miles? Fury's not her way. She prefers to…simmer, like you do."

"Like me?"

Glancing back at Sonic and Tiara nuzzling on the wagon behind them, the king smiled knowingly.

"Yes, son. Like you."

Miles curled his lip as the drawbridge finally completed its descent.

"Company, advance!" yelled Moon, a member of the king's escort with fur as red as Fiona's. She had assumed Styx's place at the head of the column.

The king and his entourage followed her into Cilgarren at a trot. Beyond the gatehouse lay the West Way, a broad cobbled avenue that led directly to Cilgarren Castle at the heart of the city. The thoroughfare teemed with foxes going about their business. Few seemed to have noticed they were in the presence of royalty.

"Where's Styx when you really need her?" sighed Furlong, "Moon, be a good lass and tell them I'm not some jumped-up fur trader."

"Yes, my king," said the red vixen, puffing out her chest as she turned her head, "Citizens of Cilgarren, make way for your king!"

Moon's yell had the desired effect…mostly. The gawking masses clogging the West Way were slow to part as the royal party advanced. Most gaped in awe at their one-eyed monarch, but Miles couldn't help noticing scattered glares aimed at him. Well, not so much him as his two tails.

Even after twenty-four years, it seemed some foxes still couldn't accept a kitsune not living as an outcast. Well, someday they would have to accept a kitsune as their king. Just like they'd have to accept a former slave as their queen.

Seeking distraction, Miles looked up. Whole families of foxes were crowded around unglazed windows overlooking the avenue, vying for a view of the royal party. The prince noticed one cub perched on a window ledge, waving down at them. On a whim, Miles waved back. An instant later, every window in sight was full of flailing little hands.

"Careful, son," murmured Furlong, "Keep that up and they'll expect it of you every time you ride through."

"What's so bad about that, Pa?" said Miles as he carried on waving.

"You might find there's a few disappointed faces when you don't wave goodbye as they put you in the ground."

"Lighten up, Pa."

The king snorted. "At least don't wave at the guards. You'll distract them."

"Hmm?" uttered Miles, looking down, "Oh."

The open gates of Cilgarren Castle were less than a stone's throw away. Watching the portcullis rise, Miles felt his pulse do the same. It was almost time.

"Well, what have we here?" said Furlong they rode into the castle's bailey.

Miles scanned the large courtyard. There was no sign of Queen Rosemary waiting for them outside the keep's doors. Instead, a white-furred fox in lilac robes stood with a phalanx of squires and slaves.

"Uncle Atticus?" he murmured to himself.

The white fox was his father's chancellor, entrusted with overseeing the day-to-day governance of the kingdom while Furlong focused on keeping the peace…and hunting. Atticus had been destined to be King of Cambria himself once, as the husband of the late Princess Yardena. After she fell in battle, her younger brother had known better than to let his brother-in-law's years of study preparing for kingship go to waste.

"Atticus, what unholy forces have dragged you out of that study?" said Furlong as he and Miles stopped their horses outside the keep.

The white fox smiled thinly. "Merely a slavish devotion to protocol, my king. After all, someone had to be here to receive you."

"And Rosy declined?"

"The queen is…otherwise engaged, my king."

"I'm sure she is, Atticus."

"Not if I can help it," mumbled Miles.

Two teenaged squires shuffled forward to take the royals' horses. The instant the reins were out of his hands, Miles jumped down from his horse and marched off down the line of wagons. The one he was after — the slaves' wagon — had just rolled through the gates, driven by Morain's brother Errol.

Just looking at it was enough to make Miles angry. The back of the wagon was enclosed by a wooden cage. Not to prevent the passengers escaping, Errol insisted, but to keep the younger slaves unaccustomed to horse travel from falling out. Whatever the actual reason, it was no way for the mother of his cub to travel.

"Stop, Errol!" he barked.

"M-my prince?" said the grizzled fox, heaving on his horse's reins.

Miles drew his sword and slashed the coil of rope tying the cage's door shut. Startled slaves retreated as he stepped inside.

"M-Miles?" said an alarmed Zoë.

Her fellow slaves let out a collective gasp, staring at the vixen like she'd just cursed Princess Yardena's memory. Miles calmly sheathed his sword and held out his hand.

"Come with me," he said, smiling.

Zoë stayed rooted to the spot.

"That sounded like a command to me," remarked Errol through the bars.

With a helpful push from two cheeky cubs, the vixen stumbled towards her lover. He snatched her hand and whisked her away.

"Wh-where're are we going, my prince?" she asked, struggling to keep pace.

"To find my mother."

"Already?"

Miles stopped in his tracks. "I'm sick of waiting. Aren't you?"

"I…uh, what about your father?" she whispered, motioning towards the keep.

The prince followed her gaze to where Atticus had cornered King Furlong. He grinned.

"Pa will take any excuse he can to get away from Uncle Atticus. Let's go."

жЖж

"Rosemary!" gasped Marjoram, looking up from the embroidery hoop in her lap.

"No need to overreact, Marjie," said Queen Rosemary of Cambria, casually inspecting the fingertip she'd just pricked with a needle, "If it's still attached, it'll be fine in the morning…as my mother always said."

The matronly silver vixen pursed her lips. "I must say the more of your mother's sayings I hear, the gladder I am never to have met her."

"I'm not sure there was ever any danger of that," sighed the queen, setting aside her own embroidery loop, "She'd certainly have a few words for whoever built this fire."

Before Marjoram could stand up off the couch, Rosemary was down on her knees by the parlor's fireplace, poker in hand.

"Could someone kindly remind Errol most of our slaves didn't grow up foraging for firewood," she said, prodding at the pile of smoldering logs, "Some of the poor things hadn't set eyes on a fireplace before they turned up outside the kitch—"

She stopped short as she heard the parlor door creak open. She could name three foxes in all of Cambria who would dare do such a thing without knocking, and one had sworn never to set foot in Cilgarren.

"Is that you, Furlo?" she asked, continuing to rearrange the fire.

"It's me, Ma."

The poker clanked on the hearth as the queen whirled around.

"Miles! What a lovely sur…prise."

She faltered, seeing her son was accompanied by his father and a vixen that was neither Fiona nor Morain.

"Zoë?" said Marjoram.

"Oh," uttered Rosemary, "From the kitchens, yes?"

Zoë pulled a face like she'd been caught eyeing up the queen's jewelry box. Clutching her hands to her chest, she bowed low. "Please forgive my intrusion, my queen. I shan't disturb you any longer!"

She turned to flee. Miles beat her to the door.

"Zoë, just wait a—"

"I'm sorry, my prince! I had no right coming here—"

"Yet here you are," Furlong cut in, "Why?"

The slave cast a tremulous glance over her shoulder. The king smiled amiably.

"Well, son?" he urged, "Why is this charming kitchen slave in your mother's parlor?"

"'Kitchen slave'?" echoed Miles, with a hint of indignation, "This 'kitchen slave' is carrying my cub!"

"Ah," said Furlong mildly, "At last."

The prince blenched. Zoë's gaze darted to the silver vixen still sitting on the couch by the fire. Not so long ago, she'd asked that very vixen for advice having not bled for three moons in a row.

"Marjoram?" she said woundedly.

"Forgive her, Zoë," said Rosemary, "There are certain things that really are too important for Marjie to keep to herself."

"Oh," uttered the slave, "I…I understand, my queen."

"I don't!" blurted Miles, stepping away from the door.

Furlong clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Sorry to steal your thunder, Miles, but it's hardly the biggest surprise."

The prince curled his lip. "It isn't?"

Rosemary smirked. "It was very sweet watching you both during all those dinners."

"And how Zoë was never once late to breakfast?" said Marjoram, "We were all most impressed."

Miles shrugged off his father's hand and sidled up to Zoë. They clasped each other's hands.

"Then…does this mean we can get married, Pa?"

"Married?" echoed Furlong, his good eye darting back and forth between the lovers, "Marriage is…quite a step, son."

"We know, Pa," said Miles levelly, "But it's what we both want."

"It is?" said the king.

Zoë nodded stiffly. "It is, my king."

For several seconds, the loudest noise in the parlor was the crackle of the fire.

"Zoë?" said Rosemary.

The slave jolted in surprise. "Y-yes, my queen?"

"Perhaps you and Marjoram would like to go—"

"She's not going anywhere, Ma!"

"Nobody speaks to a Queen of Cambria that way!" barked Furlong, "You least of all."

He looked towards the couch.

"Marjie, would you be so kind?"

"Of course, my king."

Miles looked on helplessly as the matronly vixen hastened across the parlor and whisked Zoë out of the door.

"Twenty-four years old, indeed," muttered Furlong, stalking across the parlor to join his wife by the fire, "Twenty-four years young is more like it."

Rosemary sighed. "Miles, come sit down."

The prince hesitated. He seldom noticed his mother's resemblance to her own mother, but in that moment, he recognized that same dour expression he'd seen on his grandmother's face after making his big announcement in the Blackthorn Inn.

"Yes, Ma," he mumbled.

Trudging across the parlor, he sat at the opposite end of the couch to Rosemary. Furlong stayed standing, leaning on the mantle over the hearth.

"Well?" demanded the prince.

"Mend your tone, son—"

"Furlo, please, there's no reason carrying on like Atticus is here," said the queen snapped, turning to her son, "Miles, please don't think we aren't delighted for you and Zoë. From everything Marjie has told me, I'm sure she'll be a fine mother. However, you can't just marry anyone."

"Why not? Pa did."

"Your aunt Yardena didn't," said Furlong.

"She didn't?" said Miles.

He'd never had the chance to know his father's older sister. She had died whilst Furlong was lodging at the Blackthorn Inn, simultaneously wooing his mother and training with Morain upon Mount Scathach.

"This is what I get for letting you choose your own tutors," muttered the king, "Why do you suppose our thanes send us their taxes every year, son?"

"We protect them."

"Which is all well and good when there's trouble afoot, but in peacetime, what's to stop them keeping those taxes for themselves?"

Miles twiddled his thumbs awkwardly. These were matters he'd never given much thought to. They were things for his chancellor to worry about, whoever that might be when the time came.

"They need to be made to feel as if they're involved in the running of this kingdom," said Furlong, "Or rather, we have to give them the opportunity to feel that way."

"By marrying them?"

"How else?"

Miles sighed. "Just how old was Aunt Yardena when she married Uncle Atticus, Pa?"

"I can't say I remember when the betrothal happened," said the king, adjusting his eyepatch, "As for the wedding…Dena must've been seventeen or so."

"That young? Why have I never…"

Seeing his father's grimace, he trailed off.

"You see, son, back then, those Trogglodytes were a damn sight more organized than the current rabble. Your grandfather…well, suffice it to say there were some thanes he owed—"

"Just tell him the truth, Furlo," snapped Rosemary.

"Truth, Ma?"

"Rosy, I see no need to upset him more than he—"

"Miles, the reason we've never discussed until now is that, well, only a few thanes have said they would consider wedding their daughters to a kitsune," said the queen, a little shakily, "Atticus has been trying make the others see sense for years, but now you know. It's also why—"

"Rosemary, be silent."

The queen met her husband's monocular glare head-on.

"Furlo, speaking to me like that never worked for you before and it won't now. I didn't complain when you brought Fiona to live here, nor when you said Morain would be coming too. I'm not even going to ask what you might've gotten up to on that damned hunting trip—"

"Nothing happened, Rosy!"

"No? Well, then at least there's no danger of you fathering a third cub!"

Furlong flared his nostrils and headed for the door.

"Pa, wait!" Miles called out, jumping up off the couch.

Reaching the door, the king stopped.

"Yes, son?" he asked gruffly.

"If you won't let me marry Zoë, will you at least release her from your service?"

"Free her, son?"

Furlong looked over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure you realize what you're asking, Miles. If she leaves my service, she leaves this castle. Where would she stay? Who would pay her way? All I'd be doing was putting her back on the street."

He gripped the door handle.

"It's long past time you had a valet, anyway. Let Zoë be your maid."

He opened the door.

"Thank you, Pa," said Miles.

Furlong scoffed softly. "Save your gratitude for someone who deserves it, son."

With that, he left.

The prince fell back on his heels and looked to his mother. She was wiping her eyes.

"Ma?"

"Don't mind me, Miles," she sniffled, "I'm just sorry you had to find out about Fiona this way."

"When did—"

"Not now, Miles. I promise you someone will answer every question you may have — possibly me, possibly your father — but for now…"

Choking up, she paused.

"You and Zoë must be exhausted after such a long trip. Please, go get some rest."

"Yes, Ma," muttered Miles, shuffling off towards the door.

"Son?"

He wheeled around, ready to bound over and hug her. "Yes, Ma?"

"Could you send Marjie in, please?"

Suppressing a sigh, the prince hurried on out of the parlor. In the chamber beyond, he found one more vixen than expected. Moon, a warrior of the Jade Forest Company, was admiring the blue velvet dress Marjoram had outfitted Zoë in. It fit sleekly enough to reveal her ever-so-slight bump.

"There you are, my prince!" blurted Moon, looking up, "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but we have a situation over at the east gate."

"What sort of situation?"

"The sentries received a rider there a short while ago. They weren't authorized to lower the drawbridge, but they did so anyway. They've detained the rider there for now. I would've gone to Captain Styx, but no one seems to know where she is. Chancellor Atticus suggested I come to you."

"Very well, Moon," said Miles, "I'll be with you in a moment."

The red vixen bowed. "Thank you, my prince."

жЖж

Fiona almost fell off her barstool as her tail was tugged. She whipped her head around, ready to warn off an inebriated villager. She found a sandy-furred little squirrel in a nightsmock peering up at her, clutching a decrepit ragdoll.

"G'night, Aunty Fifi," said Saskia.

Fiona broke out in a smile. It wasn't quite night yet. The orange light of sunset was still flooding the Blackthorn Inn's tavern area, but Raymond and Tessa's children were retiring early for another instalment of one of Yojana's epic bedtime stories.

"G'night, Sask," she said, ruffling the fur between the squirrel's ears.

The youngster smiled sweetly and tottered off, weaving her way between tables of chattering foxes to where her big brother Ossian and Yojana waited at the foot of the stairs. The blind vixen gave each sibling a hand to hold. Then, the trio began their methodical ascent to the second floor.

Fiona snickered into her empty goblet. Despite her cataracts, Yojana could still manage the stairs perfectly well. She claimed she liked the children to feel helpful. Fiona suspected the old innkeeper simply liked being pampered.

"Not joining them tonight?" asked Raymond on the other side of the bar.

"If it's the same story as last night, I think I remember how it goes better than Aunty Jana does," replied Fiona, setting her goblet down, "Could I get a refill?"

"More sloeberry wine?"

"Make it something stronger," said the vixen, "Whatever's strongest, even."

She couldn't bear to lose another night's sleep mulling over that fight with Sonic.

Yes, she'd been too hard on him. She saw that now. She'd apologize when she could. In the meantime, couldn't her subconscious just let the matter rest?

жЖж

Knock-knock!

Tiara awoke with a jolt.

"What in Typha's name?" she breathed, glancing around the bedchamber.

The bed was covered in a thin layer of white feathers. They'd escaped through the holes she'd torn in the bedding. She'd had to do something with her claws, and Sonic's back was off limits.

The hedgehog lay asleep beside her. Odd that the knocking hadn't woken him too. It wasn't as if they'd drunk anything before retiring.

Knock-knock!

The bobcat frowned at the volume of the banging. She could hear it loud and clear through the closed bedchamber doors.

"Sonic?" she said, shaking the Erinian prince.

He was unresponsive.

"Typical," she sighed.

Knock-knock!

"Iblis forgive me," she murmured, unsheathing her claws.

"Trogg's balls!" spluttered Sonic, convulsing in pain.

"Sorry," said Tiara, "But it sounds like someone really wants something."

"Doesn't everyone?" grumbled the hedgehog, massaging where he'd been scratched.

"I'm almost certain it's not my father if that helps," said the bobcat, confiscating his share of the bedding, "Now, for Typha's sake, move."

Dragging himself off the ruined mattress, Sonic wrapped himself in an ambery samite cloak and threw open the bedchamber doors.

"Don't mind me," said Tiara as he went to close them.

They traded smirks.

Knock-knock!

The hedgehog left a trail of white feathers behind him as he crossed the anteroom. He unbolted the door as quickly as he could.

"Took your time about it," sneered Miles as they creaked open.

"What do you want now?" groaned Sonic, "Come to glare at me some more?"

"He wasn't the one knocking, my prince."

The hedgehog almost dropped his cloak. To Miles' left stood a brown rabbit in a suit of armor. Her arms, one of which was bare, were folded across her chest.

"B-Bunnestra?"

"I'm glad to see you're well, my prince."

"What brings you—"

He stopped short, struck by a morbid thought.

"Wait, my father…he isn't—"

"King Melodeon is quite well, my prince."

"Oh, I'm…glad to hear that."

Euphoric was more like it. He feared his father's death more than his own.

"But wait, why—"

"Bunnestra was kind enough to accompany me."

Sonic's breath caught in his throat as someone in a long violet cloak shouldered Miles aside. They drew their hood back, releasing a cascade of green-tipped black quills over their shoulders.

"A-A-Asha?" stuttered Sonic, transfixed by his wife's glassy blue gaze, "What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you," said Ashura, "Decibella's ceremony was ten days ago. Where were you, Sonic?"