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Eleven beacons, first one halfway through the pass, one at every twist and turn. If it took half a minute to light each one, then that meant the Wolves were already five and a half minutes past the middle by the time the last one flared up, by the time the valley even knew...

"Ander."

There were still Foxes coming in, running back and forth, going up and down stairs, some off in the woods, some saying prayers, some sharpening blades. How long would it take to fully assemble here?

"You need to calm down, Ander."

Time was up. There would be no more sketching, no more talking, no more building, no more preparing of any kind. This was it.

Ander's hand crept up to the ram's horn hanging from his neck. His fingers played across the rough, bony ridges growing along its length, too many to count, going around and around, infinite rings upon the spiral.

His people would be here soon...

"Ander!" Someone punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What is it?" Ander said, rubbing his arm. He needed to focus, everyone needed him to focus, he couldn't afford to not focus...

It was Nilia. She put her hand on his shoulder and regarded him with a look that was almost a glare. "You need to calm down."

Funnelled through the mouth of the pass, the wind here was exceptionally sharp. It felt like it was blowing right through him, freezing him to the bone, but Nilia was so solid. It just seemed to split around her, barely even flicking her hair out of place. She should be the one leading the defence, not him. She was the warrior, she was the one who -

Nilia squeezed his shoulder even harder, until it bordered on pain, and her stare became even more intense than the icy wind. "You need. To calm. Down."

He tried. He pulled freezing cold air into his lungs one breath at a time, slowly and deliberately, but Nilia didn't understand. She didn't know the real reason he felt this way.

The walkway was packed with nervous-looking Foxes standing shoulder to shoulder, some with bows and arrows, some with crossbows. They glanced at each other, whispered to each other, but mostly they just peered into the swirling mass of shadows before them, stretching from one side of the pass to the other, a solid wall that made the one they were standing on look like a child's set of building blocks.

What army would come marching out of that gaping maw? An army of monsters? Of demons? Of animals?

Or one of family?

"I don't know if I can do this, Nilia." Ander could barely hear his own voice over the screeching wind. "I just... I can't -"

"That is good."

For just a moment, Ander felt like slapping her hand off his shoulder. "Excuse me, but how is that good!? If I can't do this, if I fail these people -"

"If you knew you could do this, then you wouldn't be you. You'd be just another bloodcrazed Wolf who didn't give a damn about anyone. The doubt you feel in your heart isn't weakness, Ander. It's what makes you different from the ones who seek to destroy us all. It's what makes you strong."

"It's what makes me feel like throwing up."

Nilia smiled. "That, too."

Ander couldn't help but smile back. It didn't last long, but the simple fact that he was still capable of smiling was more valuable than the smile itself. "Thank you, Nilia. I needed that."

Time stretched on, and the mouth of the Cora grew darker and darker.

They would be here soon.

*

Bethany wasn't used to setting up in a place like this, what with the wind blowing against the tent, making that awful rippling noise, and the shadows of barren trees scraping along the roof like they wanted nothing more than to scratch open the canvass and grab whoever was inside. There were a dozen beds in this place, six to a side, with small tables from a dozen different houses between them. The candles doubled and tripled their shadows, turning them into giant, black, twelve-legged spiders scuttling along the shifting walls. There was a firepit in the middle, with a pot of boiling water suspended above it.

It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

"Layla! Take these tools and distribute them evenly, three knives and a pair of pliers for every table. We'll probably be dealing with arrow wounds first, and I do not want to waste time running around looking for clean blades every time a new patient comes through the door."

"Yes, Mother."

"And Kiana, you -" Oh gods, not again... She was off in the corner, holding her belly, taking slow, deep breaths. "Are you going to throw up?"

She shook her head. "No, Mother. I just... being here... with the beds and the knives and the disinfectant and the bandages and... I just... this is real, isn't it? This is really happening... It's..." She sucked in air between her teeth and doubled over, squinching her eyes shut and covering her mouth.

"Kiana, if you're going to throw up, do it outside!"

The girl nodded once and bolted for the exit.

"Do you need me to hold your hair?" Layla called after her, but the girl was already gone. "Wow. It's not like Kiana to be so... squeamish. And nothing's even happened yet. If anyone was going to throw up, I thought it would have been me. But she has been looking a bit... how should I put it? Woebegone, lately? Do you think she might be falling ill, Mother?"

Bethany sighed, ran a hand across her tired face, said: "Yes. 'Woebegone'. That's definitely it."

"Mother?"

"Half these trays are still empty, girl! You'd better speed up if you're going to be of any use!"

That certainly lit a fire beneath her bottom. She sped around the tent, distributing tools exactly as was asked of her, while Bethany carefully unpacked all her medicines and tonics. Aloe Vera oil, good for cuts, burns, and scratches. Whiskey, good for light anaesthesia. A bottle of White Willow powder, good for -

Rufio was lying in one of the beds. She could see him, clear as day. He was covered in arrows from head to toe, more arrows than she could count. The sheets were turning red. Blood was dripping down the sides. He reached for her, his arm pierced all the way through in at least a dozen places. He couldn't speak, but he didn't need to. His eyes were begging for help, pleading for her to do her job, to save him, but she... she didn't know what to do! He was screaming in silent agony and she didn't know what to do! She didn't -

One of the bottles slipped free of her fingers and shattered, spilling its bright green contents all over the floor. The acrid stench of disinfectant filled the air and accosted her nose.

The bed was empty.

"Oh dammit all!" she cried, bending down to pick up the pieces. "Layla! Bring a bag!" She angrily wiped the tears from her face, hoping the girl wouldn't see. What kind of an example was she setting, jumping at shadows like some senile old fart? "Hurry up, Layla! We can't have glass all over the place, people need to _walk_here!" A sharp piece of glass pierced her reaching finger and she jerked her hand back in surprise. "Oh dammit!" She put her finger in her mouth, sucked on it, and watched in disgust as it came back bloody, with a great big drop of the stuff welling just beneath her claw. Of all the stupid, amateurish -

"Mother, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, dear. Just help me clean up this mess. We can -"

Layla gently took her by the hand and held it up to the light, scrutinizing the small cut in her finger with the utmost concentration.

"Layla? What are you doing?"

The girl looked her in the eye and smiled. It was such a normal thing for her, to always be smiling, that Bethany had come to take it for granted over the years. But on this darkest of nights, with the wind howling and the frost building, with an unknowable horror marching ever closer, that smile seemed to radiate with a subtle kind of power.

"What am I doing?" she said, still wearing that unfazable smile. "Why, it looks like I'm about to treat my first patient!"

This was a moment that would stay with Bethany for the rest of her life. It was a moment that filled her with pride, but a little bit of sadness, as well. Layla was always such a carefree child, a child that would lose herself for hours at a time, reading stories, listening to stories, writing and telling stories. She was a child that loved to talk. She was a child that loved to be with other people. She was a child that loved to smile and to laugh. She was a child that loved to love. She was still all of those things, but she was no longer a child. The vixen she was looking at right now, her youngest daughter...

She was an adult.

Bethany allowed herself to be led to the nearest bed and sat down, holding her finger out in front of her.

"Don't worry about a thing, Missus Bethany. We'll have your wounds treated in no time!" Layla said, rummaging around in Bethany's black bag. It was something she had never allowed any of her daughters to do (not while she was around, at least), but now she didn't say a word. She simply watched, that odd feeling welling in her chest just as the blood was welling on her finger, that feeling that she was watching something happening, some transition.

"Ah, here we are..." The girl came up with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a pair of scissors in one hand, a roll of bandages and scraps of cloth in the other, and a small waterpouch hanging from her teeth.

It would be easier to just bring the whole bag over here, you silly girl, Bethany thought but did not say. She didn't know why she felt like smiling and crying at the same time.

Layla carefully placed the equipment on the table and took the pouch from between her teeth. "First, we clean the afflicted area."

Bethany held out her hand and Layla poured some water over the wound, then dried it with a piece of cloth.

"Next, we disinfect the wound to prevent infection, which is probably why they call it 'disinfectant', I guess... but anyway!" She unscrewed the bottle, dabbed some on a square of cloth and pressed it against Bethany's finger, applying gentle pressure.

The alcohol stung like a tiny set of liquid teeth, but Bethany didn't mind. Watching her daughter work, going through the same motions she herself had gone through back when she was still just a bright-eyed young girl learning the craft... there was something magical about it.

"Almost done..." Layla said, carefully bandaging her finger, going around and around with her tongue sticking out in concentration. She snipped it, tied it (not too loose, and not too tight) and stepped back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

Bethany looked down at her daughter's work, so neat and tidy, but it was tough to get all the details because her eyes were all watery, probably from the smell of alcohol. That stuff always made her tear up.

"Mother?"

Bethany looked up and was surprised to see her youngest daughter, normally so flippant and carefree, shifting her weight from foot to foot, anxiously fiddling with her hair and biting her bottom lip.

"Did I... do it right?"

The alcohol in that bottle must have been exceptionally potent, because the tears spilled over her cheeks in great, burning lines. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

Layla's lips began to tremble and she quickly wiped at her eyes. "Oh? That's good, then. That's... I'm happy I could be of help."

"That alcohol is pretty strong, huh?" Bethany said, fighting hard to keep her own lip from trembling as well. "Gets up in your nose?"

She sniffed and nodded, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "Uh-huh."

Bethany got up and gave her daughter a great big hug, the only kind of hug she knew how to give. She could feel her own heartbeat radiating through the cut in her finger, lightly throbbing against the bandage, as well as Layla's, pounding against her chest.

The girl wrapped her arms around her waist and rested her head on her shoulder, creating that odd sense of transition yet again. For in this moment, she was neither child nor adult, but both.

Bethany patted her on the back and said, "Don't worry, dear. Gods willing, I will be your only patient this night."

---

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