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15. Warm Welcomes

The wooden battle-dummy creaked on its pivot as Styx poked the battered shield it held in its arm.

"Poor Lugh," she murmured, "She never did get you that grease."

Smirking to herself, she cast another glance around the Proving Ground. That was the grandiose name Morain had bestowed on this clearing near the summit of Mount Scathach. It was littered with training paraphernalia: racks of wooden weapons, archery targets, straw dummies in the shape of various species, and a circle of sand in which to wrestle.

This was where she had auditioned to become the swordmistress's student, and subsequently trained with her. Alone at first, and later with Miles, Sonic and Fiona.

The vixen and hedgehog hadn't accompanied her to the mountain. Somewhere along the road from Cosmo's shrine, Fiona had suddenly decided she was neglecting her duty as Captain of the Jade Forest Company by letting Miles and Zoë ride off by themselves. Naturally, Sonic had concurred.

It had struck the badger as a limp excuse to avoid making the climb she just had. The trail up here was well-worn but nonetheless arduous. In the event, she'd told them exactly what she thought of them and their flagrant disrespect for their former teacher. Then, she'd let them ride off. It had felt like a fair trade.

Resisting a nostalgic impulse to fire off one last arrow at the nearest archery target — she'd be there 'til sunset if she missed — Styx turned to face the sheer cliff overlooking the Proving Ground. At the top lay the summit of Mount Scathach. The only way up there was a long iron chain, clinking against the rockface in the wind.

"No wonder you're retiring," she muttered, cracking her knuckles as she approached the cliff.

Gripping the chain with both hands, the badger tugged hard on it three times. Satisfied it would take her weight, she began her ascent. Progress was slow but steady. She only began to feel eleven years older as she cleared the treetops. By the time she hauled herself over the precipice, her arms were on fire.

"You're early."

Lying as flat as she could with the bow and quiver on her back, Styx turned her head. Across the clifftop, a red vixen in a frayed green tunic stood in the mouth of a cave. She held a loaded crossbow in her hands.

"King Furlong changed his plans," the badger wheezed, unfazed by the weapon.

"That's no reason to change yours," said Morain.

"Try telling Miles that."

"Is he with you?"

Styx shook her head. "He went ahead to Lethra."

"That'll please Yojana," said the vixen, lowering her crossbow, "What about the others?"

The badger waved a hand towards the surrounding woodland. "They're somewhere out there."

Morain curled her lip. "I expected better from Fiona."

"Why?" asked Styx, propping herself up on her elbows, "She's kept Sonic, hasn't she?"

The vixen's widened. "Still?"

"Eleven years and counting."

"Trogg's balls," breathed Morain.

Leaving her crossbow by the cave mouth, she crossed the clifftop to give Styx a hand up. Then, they hugged.

"I'm sorry I never came back," the badger whispered.

"Why?" said Morain flatly, "I would've thought hunting Trogglodytes was more enriching than beating up on Lugh down there."

"I guess," mumbled Styx.

Trogglodytes were bandits who professed faith in Trogg, the legendary aardvark whose berserker armies were said to have preyed upon Cambria before Miles's ancestor Lengeth beat them back, founding the kingdom's ruling dynasty in the process.

"Could your horse reach Lethra before dusk?" asked Morain, breaking the embrace.

"Why?" said Styx guardedly.

"Did you arrange a meeting point with the others?"

The badger grimaced. In her spitting rage at Fiona and Sonic, it'd slipped her mind.

"You couldn't possibly pack in time," she muttered.

"What's there to pack?" said Morian pointedly, "I have armor, weapons, and…a few trinkets that're none of your concern. I can hardly take Lugh with me."

"What about food?"

"Wouldn't you prefer fresh meat?"

Styx's head snapped up. "We can hunt?"

"Just for old times' sake," said the vixen, lightly tapping her former student's cheek, "Go saddle your horse."

With a stiff nod, the badger wheeled around and rappelled down the cliff, letting out a rolling ululation as she went.

жЖж

"What was that?" gasped Zoë, holding Miles's waist tighter as the ululation echoed across the woodland.

"What was what?"

"Didn't you hear that?"

"Oh, that? That'll just be Styx."

"Oh."

Bashfully, Zoë began to loosen her hold on the fox's midriff. Miles's hand stopped her.

"No one said you had to do that."

Zoë smiled. Edging closer to him on the saddle, she rested her head against his back as they trotted along the treebound track.

"Is it much further?" she asked.

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so?"

"It has been eleven years," said Miles, "Besides, Morain never exactly encouraged us to leave the mountain."

"Not even to see your grandmother?"

"Especially that."

"Why?"

"She never said."

"Did you ever ask?"

Miles grimaced. "You'll understand after you've met them."

Zoë frowned but let the moment pass, keen to simply enjoy this peace while it lasted.

Their initial gallop away from Cosmo's shrine had been mercifully short-lived. The trail was too uneven and overgrown for their dun mare to go much faster than they currently were. They hadn't spoken much, either. The vixen was quite content to be spending some time alone with her prince unencumbered by bedsheets.

A short while later, the foxes heard giggles. Sly giggles. Zoë peered over Miles's shoulder. Three fox cubs were playing in the road up ahead. The smallest of them was running back and forth, vainly trying to intercept whatever the other two throwing to each other.

"Poor thing," she murmured.

"Shall we help?" asked Miles.

"How?"

"Hold on."

The dead leaves carpeting the track rustled as Miles spurred the horse into a gallop. The little cub's tormentors looked up in alarm. Their game forgotten, the eldest of the trio rushed his siblings to the roadside.

"Stop it!" hissed Zoë in Miles's ear.

"You can't say it didn't help," said the prince, slowing the horse to a canter.

The vixen smirked as they passed the petrified cubs.

"K-k-kitsune!" squeaked the youngest, thrusting a finger at Miles.

The dun mare suddenly stopped. Miles shot a glance at the pointing youngster. She hastily retracted her hand and scrambled behind her brothers.

"Is Lethra close by?" asked Miles coolly, eyeing the eldest.

The cub nodded furiously.

"J-just a little further that way," he gibbered.

Miles nodded in thanks and trotted on. Zoë watched over her shoulder as the cubs tried to console their bawling little sister.

"Did you mean to do that?" she asked.

"It's not nice to point," muttered Miles, "Someone had to teach them that."

The vixen glanced down at the two tails draped over the horse's flank. She'd never heard much mention of the prince's deformity among the slaves of Cilgarren Castle, but maybe they just knew better. They'd certainly never bothered her.

The surrounding woodland began to rapidly thin out. The foxes trotted past cottage after cottage built on land hacked out of the wilderness. Eventually, they emerged from tree cover for the first time that day. Miles halted the horse at a stone bridge spanning a coursing stream.

"There it is," he said.

Zoë craned her neck. Across the bridge stood a log building three storeys high, encircled by a low stone wall. There were several of the things she knew to be called 'letters' carved in the wood above the entrance. She couldn't read them, though.

"What does that say?" she asked.

"The Blackthorn Inn," replied Miles.

"Can the villagers here read?"

"Actually, my father carved that when he…"

The fox suddenly trailed off, distracted by something in the inn's yard. Someone, in fact. A golden-furred flying squirrel in a blue tunic was wielding an axe in the yard.

"Who's that?" asked Zoë.

"An old friend," said Miles, urging the horse across the bridge.

The oblivious squirrel set down his axe and gathered up an armful of chopped firewood. Straightening up, he saw the foxes.

"Miles?"

"Hello, Raymond," said the prince, steering the horse into the inn's yard.

"What brings you…sorry, we weren't expecting you for another day."

"I can only apologize. My father decided to exercise his royal whim," said Miles, "What're you doing here, though?"

The squirrel grinned. "That's quite a thing to ask a squirrel in his own home."

Miles blinked. "Your…home?"

"Pa?" a small voice interjected.

All eyes converged on the inn's backdoor. A small sandy-furred squirrel stood on the threshold.

"What is it, Saskia?" asked Raymond.

"Ma…the fire," the child mumbled, nervously fiddling with the fur on the tip of her tail.

"Tell your mother I'll be right there."

Saskia promptly vanished. Raymond sighed as he turned to Miles.

"Forgive me, Miles. You can put your horse—"

The squirrel stopped short, seeing the broad smirk on the fox's face. He smirked in turn. The fox hardly needed directions to the stables he'd periodically helped to muck out as a cub.

"Let me help you, my lord," said Zoë, jumping down from the horse.

The nonplussed Raymond watched the vixen gather firewood in her arms.

"I'm no lord, my lady," he said.

"And I'm no lady," said Zoë as she straightened up, "Call me Zoë."

"Ah…well, thank you, Zoë."

"Pa!"

"Trogg's balls, Tessa," breathed Raymond, looking towards the backdoor.

Another sandy-furred young squirrel, somewhat taller than the first, gazed at him expectantly.

"Ossian, go tell your aunty Jana her guests are here."

"But Ma said—"

"Ma could stand to learn a little patience. Now go on, there's a good lad."

With that, Raymond led Zoë into the inn's kitchen. There, a brown squirrel knelt hunched over on the hearth, frantically working a pair of bellows to keep an embering fire alight.

"Took you long enough!" she snapped without looking round.

"You'll have to forgive us, chestnut," said Raymond, dumping his armful of firewood on the hearth.

"Us?" said the frazzled squirrel, glancing over her shoulder in time to see Zoë add her own burden to the pile.

"Tessa, this is Zoë," said Raymond, "Zoë, this paragon of patience is my wife."

Tessa looked blankly at the vixen, then hastily began tossing wood into the fireplace. Zoë quietly picked up the bellows and joined the squirrel on the hearth. Between them, they restored the fire to health in no time.

"Thank you, Zoë," sighed Tessa, dropping a sooty poker with a clang, "Where did you learn to become such a firesmith?"

The vixen smiled shyly. "Cilgarren Castle."

"Cil…garren?"

The brown squirrel's eyes darted to Raymond, just as Miles came in through the backdoor.

"Mi…my prince?" she said.

"We will have no formalities under this roof."

Both couples looked to the door near the hearth. A wrinkled vixen, her red pelt flecked with gray and white hairs, shuffled into the kitchen, flanked by Ossian and Saskia.

"Grandmother?" said Miles.

"High time I heard that voice again," said the elderly vixen, turning her cloudy eyes in his general direction.

She gently shooed the young squirrels as her grandson padded across the stone floor.

"Your eyes…I had no idea."

"Why should you?" she said as they embraced, "An old fox going blind is hardly reason to send poor Raymond riding off."

Resting her muzzle on the shoulder of Miles's green velvet tunic, she sniffed.

"Is that another fox I smell?"

Her grandson's eyes widened.

"Y-yes, my lady," Zoë piped up.

"Didn't I say no formalities?" snapped the elderly vixen, releasing Miles from her embrace, "My mother called me Yojana and so shall you. And as for you, Miles. You cease that 'grandmother' nonsense right now. I feel my age quite enough already without someone reminding every time you speak."

"Yes…Yojana," said Miles weakly.

"Better. Now, where's that darling Fiona?"

"Mount Scathach."

The elderly vixen curled her lip.

"I suppose that's to be expected," she sighed, "Well, we can get some proper food in the two of you at least. I shudder to think what mulch they must serve in those castle kitchens. Tessa, that last elk Raymond brought back ought to do."

The four squirrels all moved at once. Raymond set about sharpening a cleaver. Tessa reached for her apron. Young Ossian and Saskia came forth to help Yojana leave through the same door she'd come in. Amid this flurry of activity, Miles sidled up to Zoë.

"Sorry about her," he murmured.

The vixen smirked. "It's alright. Maybe the food here will be better."

"It will be if I have anything to say about it," remarked Tessa, tying her apron strings, "Now shoo."

Zoë blinked. After helping salvage the fire, she found herself ready to help out some more. She quite literally slept in the castle kitchens on the nights Miles's bedchamber was off limits. After their dizzying few days in the Jade Forest, she felt oddly at home here.

"Come on," said Miles, taking her hand.

Zoë looked at him like he was taking her to dine with King Furlong himself.

"Really?" she whispered as they edged towards the door.

"It's only me she'll bite."

The vixen snorted softly as she let him lead her through to the inn's tavern area. Yojana awaited on one side of a rectangular table near the bar, flanked by the chatty squirrel siblings. As the foxes approached, Ossian hurried round to pull two chairs out for them.

"Good lad," said Yojana, "Now back to the kitchen. Both of you."

"But Aunty Jana!" whined Saskia, "Ma will just make us help."

"As well she should," snapped the elderly vixen, "Now off with you."

Dropping her shoulders, the pouting little squirrel trudged off holding her big brother's hand.

"Not the most auspicious attitude for a future innkeeper," chuckled Yojana as Miles and Zoe sat down, "Raymond and Tessa certainly have their work cut out."

"How did you convince Raymond to stay on?" asked Miles.

He had first met the squirrel eleven years ago, during his tutelage under Morain. Raymond had come to Lethra with his heart set on becoming the swordmistress's next student. On his last visit seven years ago, he'd found the squirrel behind the bar, working for the room he'd run out of money to pay for. At the time, Raymond was still clinging to dreams of Mount Scathach.

"Convince, you say?" said Yojana, "I didn't have to. Tessa did that herself."

"Was Tessa another aspirant?" asked Miles, employing the polite term for the wannabe warriors who were the Blackthorn Inn's steadiest source of income.

"Oh no. That hermit Morain took her on."

"As her student?"

"What else?"

Miles blinked. "But…what's she doing—"

"Cooking good food for weary travellers?" Yojana cut in, "I'm sorry. Do you find something ignoble in that?"

"No, of course not. I only meant—"

"I know very well what you meant. Suffice it to say my cook got to know my barkeep a little too well to go off sleeping by herself in a dank and blustery cave for very long."

A warm smile broke out on Zoe's lips. She sought out Miles's hand under the table.

"But enough about my charming staff," said Yojana, "Who are you, Zoë?"

The younger vixen stiffened. "Who am I?"

"Or should I say, what are you? It's not just any fox that gets to ride through Cambria with the prince of the realm. How did you come to be here?"

Miles took a deep breath as he prepared to explain.

"I'm a slave," said Zoë flatly.

"A slave?"

"In service to the household of King Furlong."

"And yet here you are. How?"

The lovers exchanged uncertain glances.

"I was assigned as the prin…uh, as Miles's cupbearer at a banquet—"

"Just one banquet?"

"No, uh, several."

The number of shy glances that'd passed between them during those many banquets defied counting,

Yojana nodded sagely. "So, he didn't leave with you over his shoulder the same night he met you?"

Zoe blinked. "Err…no."

The elderly vixen smiled warmly. "Then he's already a better fox than his father—"

"Grandmother!" blurted Miles, "That's the king you're talking about!"

"And? Under this roof, I will talk about the cad who sauntered in here and stole away my darling Rosemary however I choose."

For a long moment, the prince held his grandmother's cloudy gaze as intensely as if she could see.

"There's something I forgot to do in the stable," he muttered, pushing out his chair.

Zoë tried to keep hold of his hand, but he deftly slipped her grasp and stood up. She bit her lip, watching him stalk off towards the kitchen.

"Go on, my dear," said Yojana eventually, "Rest assured, Tessa won't let you let her cooking go cold."

"Th-thank you."

The younger vixen stood up, curtsied out of habit, and shuffled off towards the kitchen.

"Zoë?" said Raymond, looking up from the elk joint he and Tessa were tending over the fire.

"Did Miles…?"

"Out the back," said the squirrel.

The vixen nodded her thanks and crossed the kitchen, filing past Ossian and Saskia who were grudgingly peeling vegetables into a pot. Out in the yard, she found Miles perched on the low stone wall. His back was turned to the inn.

"Miles?"

The prince looked over his shoulder. "She let you go?"

"She told me to."

"Oh," he muttered, looking away as Zoë joined him on the wall, "…sorry."

"What for?"

"Coming here. Running off like that was a mistake. We should've just gone to the mountain with the others."

"What's wrong, Miles?"

"I should've known she wouldn't…there are things slaves shouldn't know about their masters."

Zoë bridled. "Excuse me?"

Miles winced. "Wait, I only meant—"

"Are you sure you even know what you meant?" the vixen cut in, "Everyone's been telling me not to act like a slave since we left Cilgarren, so I fail to see why it's suddenly so important."

Her lover dropped his head, letting out a heavy sigh.

"It's not important," he mumbled, "I just didn't want you to know how much she hates my father. Not yet, anyway."

Zoë frowned. "When would be a better time for me to find out?"

Miles lifted his head and reached for the nearest hand.

"After we're married?" he said, squeezing her palm.

The vixen stared wide-eyed at him. She seized his hand with both of hers, holding it in an iron grip until she couldn't bear not to wipe her eyes.

"Can we tell your grandmother?" she sniffled.

Miles bit his lip. "About what?"

Zoë pressed his hand to her abdomen. "Everything."

"Do I have a choice?" he asked meekly.

"Only if you want to go straight to sleep tonight," whispered Zoë in his ear.

The prince blinked. "Could we at least wait until we've eaten?"

"I should say so," the vixen cooed, leaning her head on his velvety shoulder.

They sat quietly for a time, listening to the stream flow under the stone bridge.

Zoë found herself gazing idly at the craggy peak of Mount Scathach in the distance. Truth be told, she was a little disappointed not to have climbed up there. Not to meet this mysterious Morain, but simply to see what the world looked like from so high up. However, having smelled what Raymond and Tessa were cooking in the kitchen, she couldn't honestly say she regretted it.

"Miles?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you really sleep in a cave up there?" she asked, eyeing the mountain.

"We all did."

"All four of you together?"

"For a little while."

"What happened?"

Miles smirked. "What do you think happened?"

жЖж

Fiona crunched fistfuls of dead leaves between her fingers as her bare back arched.

"Get on with it!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

Sonic merely grunted. Inwardly, Fiona smiled. At least he was enjoying himself.

This detour had been worth weathering Styx's temper tantrum for. They'd strayed from the road to Lethra, returning to the willow under which it had all started. Where they had started.

Yojana would no doubt be asking after them. She could wait a while longer. This was maybe the last chance they would get to do this. At least while they were still young enough to want to. She was glad to have taken it.

Sonic's body pulsed as unsheathed claws dug into the quills on his back.

"I said…get on with it!" snarled Fiona in his ear, squeezing his waist between her thighs.

Nice as this was, a hot meal and a soft bed would be even nicer…and a hug from her Aunty Jana.