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About 8000 words

To Your Own Defences

By Televassi

They sat in the roundhouse watching the flames, waiting like the ancestors had done centuries before.

"Do you think it's true, Artos?" Gwenhwyer sighed, poking the scrawny fox beside her.

"What?" He grunted, trying to keep his attention on the fire. "That the Romans have gone?"

Despite appearances, Artos wasn't really invested in divining a sign from the flames tonight. His efforts were to draw as warmth as he could from the hearth. The mountains grew little and tonight he had only a bundle of twigs to feed the fire. Barely worthy of kindling, it seemed a luxury to waste the meagre heat on anything else.

It wasn't like the gods spoke to him anyway.

"Come on, Artos," Gwen thumped her tail behind her. "Even the rocks have an opinion on the recent signs. Do you expect me to believe that you, a fire-touched believer, would not?"

"I'd rather not waste my breath arguing with you."

The fox pulled his cloak over his fur. Most of the mountain tribes' fur was brown, stoney, or grey. But while Artos had not earned the right to daub his fur with woad, the orange hue to his fur was enough to whisper that he might be the first druid in centuries.

"Arguing isn't the worst we could do. Tonight's gathering has already wasted our time, firewood... We've had omens before. They've always never come to anything." Gwen grunted and shuffled closer.

"You never shy away from any opportunity to criticise, do you? Has it ever struck you that for some of us, prophecy is the only fire we have?"

"Do you really think some old tale, supposedly from the dying breath of the last druid on Ynys Môn, can keep you warm on a cold night?" She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to the side. "Is reclaiming the lost lands even possible, nevermind the cost? We might be poor, but at least the only enemy we have up here is the cold. Besides! If the prophecy wasn't true, you wouldn't have to worry about your fur..."

They held their tongues for a moment, ears twitching at every sound from the struggling fire.

While Gwen was the same season as him, the grey-pelted vixen towered above everyone else in the tribe. The whispers about her were less complimentary - that she was wolf-blooded, half-Roman - but no one had the courage to make that charge directly. He didn't know whether to envy her - whether that freed her to choose her destiny in either world, or condemned her to exile in both.

"Hope takes the edge off freezing, even if you've run out of firewood."

"Perhaps I should stick you on the flames then?" Gwen teased.

"One day you'll run out of clever things to say. Maybe then you'll know where I'm coming from."

She scoffed, throwing her head up to the sky, half-laughing, half-howling.

"Shall I trust my faith the next time I come across a false trail then? Will the gods we're cut off from show me the way? I rather think that they'd have me use the nose they gave me, and sniff twice just to make sure," she muttered.

"We wouldn't have to fear the tricks of the mountains if our ancestors had kept their faith."

"Perhaps we wouldn't be stuck in these mountains because of their faith? Painting ourselves in woad wasn't armour enough to stop swords then, so why do we still do it?" She snorted, shaking her head. "Artos, please. Lie to the others if you must, but don't lie to yourself. You're far better than all that nonsense."

The fire wheezed. The cold crept further in, forcing them closer, even if this was just to stop their teeth from chattering."

"Myrddin has been talking out there for hours now. Hopefully he'll bring the assembly back inside soon." Artos pulled his cloak closer and tucked his muzzle underneath it.

"Perhaps there is something more to the omens for once?"

Artos shot her a sour look.

"What? I'd rather be kept awake for something," she yawned.

"I'd rather not spend tomorrow scouring the cliffs for firewood, hacking away at gorse." Artos fiddled with his empty paws as he stared at the spluttering fire. He'd used up all the firewood by now.

"At least gorse burns hot."

"Small consolation when you're gathering it."

"Remember to curse old Myrddin's name then, each time you have to pluck a spine from your fur." Gwen instinctively picked at her thick grey fur.

"I thought you didn't feel it?"

"I don't show it, like a lot of things. But I'd take pulling thorns over freezing my tail off here, though" Gwen growled, muttering a curse under her breath.

Artos looked up from the fire and over the faded murals on the roundhouse walls. In the dim light, the splendour of the old songs felt tantalisingly in reach, despite the decay. The figures there were tall, proud and with full, fiery pelts. Woad adorned their fur. Fine torcs of silver and gold hung around their necks. Every paw held a sword, their blades things of equal beauty and terror. He didn't know whether he felt pride, or just wanted it to crumble to dust. In reality those were ghosts, haunting a life that did not belong to them, an unwelcome reminder of something nobody remembered.

Finally the roadhouse door was pulled aside, and the elders filed back in. Their fur was like the leaves of a wet autumn, or dead heather clinging to the mountainside. Few among them possessed even a hint of the colours on the walls.

"They look even worse than earlier," Gwen whispered, nudging Artos with her elbow as they made way for their betters. More had joined since the night had begun, travelling in the dark from the nearby peaks to add their voices. Though some of them wore finer cloaks, their bodies underneath were just as scrawny, while others had fur that was entirely grey, as if the mountains had made them in their likeness. The only thing that seemed to unite them was the fact that none of them were warriors: in body, mind, or even belief.

Finally when all were seated, Myrddin entered. She was ancient, grey furred through age, with a deep weariness to her eyes. Yet she has a sort of gravity to her every move that made her seem stronger than her frail form.

"We have spoken," Myrddin announced, silencing the room with a lifted paw.

"Signs have been called. Witnesses have spoken. Their words, considered. But we must discover the truth: these whispers of Vortigern, a king of all Pretani, and a land free of the Roman yoke."

Her eyes snapped towards Artos.

"Flame-keeper, what have you seen?"

"Nothing," the fox replied, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat.

A familiar, disappointed sigh rippled through the crowd.

Myrddin waved her paw, silencing them.

"Then our wait must continue, until one who can see is spoken too." She dismissed the gathering with another wave of her paw. Their elders drifted away into the night. Like the smoke, their bitterness was equally palpable.

"Don't worry about it," Gwen whispered in his ear. "None of them could do any better."

Though Artos appreciated her sentiment, it still wasn't a relief. Perhaps if he'd tried harder he might have seen something? Maybe if he had more wood to burn? Or - he bit his lip - what if Gwen hadn't been there to distract him?

Something twisted in his chest, hurting until he pushed away that thought. Instead, he quietly cursed his red fur, wondering, at least, what things could be like if they were different. It made him feel a little better, so he turned to follow Gwen out the door.

"And where do you two think you are going?" Myrddin snapped. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Sorry, Great Mother," they replied.

"Gwen. Tomorrow, go find more wood for the fire. Artos, remain here with me," She flicked her paw, dismissing Gwen.

Myrddin kept silent as the fire finally died. The shadows flooded in around them, obliterating all trace of the murals surrounding them, even when the darkness gave way to faint starlight.

"I want you to go down from the mountains and see for yourself if the rumours are true."

"But I saw no sign-"

The words tumbled out from his muzzle, unfamiliar enough that it took a moment to realise they were his.

"I'm sorry Mother. Forgive me for speaking out of turn." He quickly ran through a prayer of forgiveness.

"Your prayers do nothing to help dead gods," she snorted, her wrinkled muzzle quivering as she took amusement from the young fox. "Perhaps the loss of the druids severed our link to them forever. Perhaps not. But I have been watching for signs longer than anyone gathered here tonight - and in that time, I've only ever seen silence." She sighed, motioning for him to sit next to her.

"You're still young. You don't remember, but we trusted in omens once - what the flames told us. And what happened?"

"The Romans beat us."

"Well-observed," she smirked. "Our enemies wielded brute and cunning well, so we have learned to be smarter to survive. But for our vengeance, more is required. Our time in the mountains has not helped us rebuild our old strength. You saw the remnants of the tribe tonight - the last of the Ordovices. Survivors of the great conquest, the slaughter of Ynys Môn, the burning of the sacred groves..." She sighed and shook her head, her breath rattling out in one long wheeze, as if words failed to express their collective weakness. "We must be careful if we are to reclaim our birthright."

"What signs should I look for then?" Artos asked, seeing how the memory hurt her.

"Real ones," Myrddin snorted. "Go to the great legionary fortress of Deva. If they have truly abandoned these isles, then that fortress should be empty," the old vixen said with steel.

"Must I go alone?"

"It makes sense if you wish to remain hidden."

"Wouldn't two sets of eyes and ears be better than one?"

"Who would you take?"

"Gwen has the best nose among us."

"You only double the chances of getting caught," Myrddin sighed. "But fine, I will allow it."

He flicked his ears, detecting something more in the wordless tongue of fang and fur.

"In the first century of our sorrow, we gave away our gold. In the second century it was our silver. In the third, our steel. Now there is only one thing for us to give. Do not let the burden of this task consume you. I will not give away our people without good cause. Now go, while the night still has strength to lend you her dark cloak."

For the first time in the night, Myrddin sounded old. She narrowed her eyes and dismissed him from her sight with a nod and flick of her wrist.

She would have made a fine warrior-queen centuries ago.

***

"Why did you drag me into this?" Gwen sighed, whipping her tail behind her. "I should be sleeping in my warm den, not risking a broken leg on old trails."

"Why did you agree to come then? No one can tell a full-pelted tribe member what to do," Artos reminded her.

"Then why did you? Myrddin sure did pour cold water over any hopes the prophecy might be about to unfold."

"There's nothing wrong with checking if the trail ahead is false." He teased, trying to catch Gwen's eye. She shook her head and sighed, but he thought he glimpsed a ghost of a smile in return. "Speaking of..."

The fox bit his tongue as he studied a tricky section of the trail, a rocky outcrop that plunged down vertically. It'd take at least a couple of metres to climb, and the night only made it feel more threatening. Cautiously, Artos shook out his shoulders and scrambled down on all fours, slinking against the rock like one of his wilder kin. After a couple of moments where his paws slipped, Artos composed himself and he reached the bottom. Standing tall as he brushed the dirt off his paws, he called up to Gwen.

"Besides, if we didn't go, someone else would. Who knows what trouble they'd get us all into?"

"I just can't believe you listened to me for once." The vixen cooed. "Perhaps miracles do happen?"

She laughed to herself for a couple of moments, before beginning her own climb. Instead of crouching low, she climbed down the rock face skillfully, hooking her claws on thin cracks that from his lower angle were impossible to see. Her movements were deliberate and graceful in the moonlight, finding a different route made it all look effortless.

"You handled that well," Artos mumbled.

"Thanks." Her fur lifted subtly. "Perhaps you should let me lead then?" She patted him gently on the shoulder and nudged him to continue.

"I think that's the worst of it," he replied, pointing to the trail that snaked down the ridge. "But sure."

They slipped into silence as they descended. In some places, the path was rough and weathered, in others, polished smooth - presumably from the hasty retreat of many feet upon it. And at all times on either side, the mountain's flanks tumbled away into the dark, airy void that seemed to reach out and taunt them.

As exposed as it was, the mountains were more beautiful than during the day. The full moon came out from behind the clouds, shining down on them to light the way. On the sheer faces, invisible crystals in the rock sparkled. Veins of white quartz became bold and luminous in the moonlight, pools of water rippled with a silver sheen, and waterfalls tumbled through the void like liquid metal. Even the shadows' velvet darkness complimented the starlight.

Eventually the flanks of the mountains rose on either side, bringing a sense of security as the trail led away from the ridge.

"You know, you still didn't tell me why you really wanted to do this?" Gwen probed.

Artos sighed. Fortunately she wasn't asking the other question.

"Sometimes I think about getting out of these mountains," the fox admitted, ears drooping. "I wonder what things could be like, if things were different."

"What's your plan?"

"I don't know. I need to know what's out there first," Artos sniffed, trying to gather what intelligence he could from the air.

"Surely it's just Romans and faithless Pretani," she teased.

He growled, wanting her to take the moment seriously.

"My entire life has been spent hidden up between these peaks. Don't think I've never dreamed what wonders lie over the horizon - it's easy enough to see from here."

"Well, you'll have to brush up on your Latin then," Gwen sighed. "My master used to tell his guests how big their world was."

"I thought you came from a neighbouring peak?"

"Yeah, Myrddin did say that," Gwen grunted. "I ran from the estate as soon as I was strong enough. Only time I've moved on all fours."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be." Gwen shrugged. "It's fortunate for you. Did you really think you'd be able to get to Deva Vitrix without any Latin, or even Cornovii?"

"Nice of you to say you don't want to see me get killed." Artos chuffed. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pick out the tell of Gwen's.

"You're welcome," Gwen shrugged, pushing ahead.

The trail now levelled off slightly into a grassy plateau. Tangled shrubs and stunted trees rustled in the breeze, too high up to grow into anything bigger.

"I reckon we're about halfway down," Gwen called back, scratching her head. "We should make the foothills by dawn if we-"

A bolt of lighting interrupted the vixen. Fearing its touch, they threw themselves to the ground, gasping as the fall knocked out their breath. Panting, they watched as it forked through the sky, arcing slowly through the cloudless sky, illuminating the horizon. It hung there for seconds, making no sound, before suddenly burrowing into the ground.

They counted the seconds, waiting for the ripple of thunder so they could figure out how far away the storm was. Being caught out high up in the mountains was the worst place to experience a thunderstorm. But as the seconds crept by, nothing came.

"Was that... an omen?" Gwen breathed. Her eyes were wide. "I've never seen lightning behave like that before."

"It's no sign of our gods," Artos whispered. "Did you see where it landed?"

"No," Gwen breathed, her hackles bristling. " But I think it was close to Deva, maybe right by the sea."

"Could it be a Roman god?"

"I was but to work, not learn their ways," Gwen snapped. She paused for breath, then relented. "I'm not sure. I never really paid attention to anyone's gods."

"Perhaps it's one of the Brigantes? They're further north, perhaps the rumours of this Vortigern have spurred them to come down from their lands?"

"I wouldn't count on it," she warned. In the moonlight, the narrowed whites of her eyes caught the moonlight, pulled back like twin arrowheads. It was unsettling to see her this way, looking so fierce and wolf-like.

"Well," Artos conceded, "I suppose we'll find out anyway," he said, brushing the dirt from his chest fur. "You coming?"

Gwen nodded. She still seemed troubled, but she kept her doubts to herself as they set off, keeping a brisker pace than early morning warranted.

There was no more lightning. The stars overhead wheeled on their way to their sleep, fading as the light of dawn began to approach. With the loss of the moon and stars, the night briefly deepened, but it did little to hinder their progress as they reached the long, rolling foothills.

Artos felt his hackles rise as the peaks loomed protectively behind him, each step forward bringing a growing uncertainty. His paws itched, longing to break into a run and dash back home. All he had ever known were the mountains - rock underneath his feet and the awning sky all around.

The world ahead was wide, open, rolling, and like a bad memory. As the sky lightened and the sun reared her head, her sight served only to show how much had changed. The oak groves were gone. So too were the ancient yews; the eternal forest replaced by large square fields ringed with wooden fences or stone walls. In enclosures further beyond, cattle and sheep ambled about, growing fat without worry or care. The morning light made it seem beautiful, but Artos did not know how to feel about it.

"We can't keep moving - there's no cover once we enter those fields," Artos hissed.

"We'll camp in that gully away from the first field. That should keep us out of sight for a couple of hours," she sighed, pointing to a dark cleft in the rolling hills ahead. "We'll move again after that," Gwen finished. She seemed unphased by the alien world ahead, her tall grey ears flicking back and forth, understanding the words in each and every sound around them. She stood tall, her tail held high, scanning the horizon as she figured out their next move.

"Sounds like a plan," Artos nodded, following the vixen.

Whatever her reasons for joining, the fox's fur rose at the fact she was here with him. Her familiar scent did much to dispel the fears that came from enemy territory.

***

Sleep came fitfully.

Though the gurgle of the brook was soothing, the soil underneath him felt wrong. It was indifferent to his presence, as if the nameless ancestors buried within slept deeply.

Sooner than Artos liked, Gwen was kicking him awake.

"Must we get up now?" Artos grumbled, rubbing his heavy eyes.

"There'll be plenty of time to rest when we're done." She ignored his groans as she climbed up the side of the gully and poked her nose over the ridge. She spent minutes casting about for scents, and finding nothing new, risked poking her head further above ground. There was no one to be seen.

"Let's get going, while it's quiet," Gwen huffed, beginning to lose her patience.

"What's the hurry?" Artos asked, still picking sleep from his eyes.

"We're still in border country. If we can cross these fields and get onto the main road without anyone spotting us, it shouldn't be hard to get to Deva."

"Are you mad?" Artos snapped wide awake.

"You expect travellers dressed like us on the road from Segontium to Deva," Gwen explained. "If anyone gets suspicious, we just tell them we're prospectors for a new lead min, and we're looking for partners to invest," she shrugged, as if it were common enough. "You're my mountain guide, in case anyone asks why you can't speak a 'civilised' tongue," she smirked.

"And what, on that alone they'll just let us pass?"

"If we act convincingly," she nodded. "You've got to remember, the Romans have been here for at least 400 years, and apart from Boudica, most of that time has been at peace," she shrugged. "As much as we'd like to think highly of our efforts, their attention has largely been towards the north anyway."

"I think you're mad."

"Trust me. It'll work. The further we get from the borders, the less they will be on the lookout for potential cattle thieves or raiders. Besides, it's a likely story. The Romans love a good tale about 'civilising' the wastes."

"Explains what they've done with the place," Artos huffed, shaking the remaining dirt off his cloak.

They left the gully and brushed through fields full of wheat and barley, stumbling across a dusty trail that wound a level path between the hills. The orderly, rolling fields stretched on and on, making it hard to imagine that this land had ever belonged to someone else. The old forests had been cut back and tamed, the tangled groves levelled and buried under the plough - even without the druids to divine their will, surely the gods saw such an affront to their works. Why did they do nothing?

Artos chewed his tongue, the question souring his mood as afternoon faded into evening. By now they were deep enough in Roman territory to feel more at ease, but it still seemed odd that they'd bumped into no one all day. For all he'd grown up hearing stories about them, the fox was oddly curious to see what a Roman wolf looked like up close.

"Those are some fancy dwellings," Artos noted, pointing at the whitewashed walls of the villa on the crest of the next hill. It was bigger than any building he'd ever seen before, putting shame on even the tribe's largest roundhouse.

"That's nothing, just wait until you see the bigger estates." Gwen shrugged, tossing her paw through her mane. "Imagine the wealth and power of someone whose lands stretch from one horizon to the other."

"How do they manage that?"

"With a lot of 'help'," the vixen muttered. "The Romans are always looking for greater conquests." She slowed her pace, crooking her head to the side as she strained her senses.

"Everything alright?"

"Let's not linger," she replied cryptically. Artos noticed how her hackles had risen, but he kept walking.

At first it was faint enough that he thought it was a nervous trick of his senses, but as the sun began to skirt the horizon, the smell of smoke was unmistakable. Artos looked over to Gwen anxiously, but the grey pelted fox said nothing. A brisk pace crept into her strides, and he struggled to keep up with her loping gait.

The stench of smoke grew until it overpowered everything else. It was not the pleasant tang of woodsmoke on a crackling fire. It burned each breath; the dry, acrid air stinging and clawing at their throats, born of a fire that came only from hatred and violence.

The source came into view as they turned the next bend in the farm trail. The villa's once proud, immaculate walls were blackened with soot, ruined as the fire had brought the red roof tiles crashing inside. Even though there were no flames, thick black smoke twisted up into the sky from several places, adding to the desolation.

A lump formed in the fox's throat. It proved hard to swallow.

He remembered how he yearned to see such destruction repaid upon the Romans. Now he witnessed a fraction of such violence, he could only think how this was someone's home.

He took a stop off the path, trying to find a trail up the hillside towards the ruined villa.

"Get down from there!" Gwen hissed.

"Why? This must be from the lightning bolt we saw last night."

"And you think that's a good reason to get closer?" She growled, pulling him back by the tail. "We don't know who's responsible for this - they're likely just to blame us!"

"How could that be? I thought you said lightning was a Roman sign!"

"Thought." Gwen growled. "I didn't say I was certain. Do you think a Roman god would do this to their own?"

"So it's someone else's god then?"

"Not a Pretani one, that's certain."

"You know what they say.."

"Since when has anyone ever been our friend?" she snapped.

"Fine," Artos mumbled, chewing his lip. "Let's at least stay off the main road from now on, especially if we think something else is afoot."

"Agreed," Gwen nodded. "We're lucky there'll be a thick fog tonight."

"How can you tell?"

"Don't you feel the damp rising underneath your paws?" She called after him, cutting across an empty meadow and heading for the remaining treeline. Unwilling to be caught in the open, the fox dashed after her, an orange spark zipping towards the shadows.

Sure enough, as eventide washed over, a thick grey mist began to rise from the earth, covering first his paws, then his legs in its cool embrace. Perhaps the land didn't sleep so heavily after all.

***

The night was smothered by the mist. It devoured the moonlight, creating a darkness deep enough to blind sharp vulpine eyes. The fog obliterated scents too; clustering them together in the damp air, turning them into an indecipherable mass that barely shifted on the breeze.

The weather hindered the foxes as much as it helped them. More than once the loud snap of a branch pierced the silence, forcing them to freeze while they waited for what felt like hours on end. Even when there was no cause to remain still, their hackles still remained raised, as if something drew close, invisible to their senses.

Dawn came as a welcome relief. The first rays ignited the fog, transforming the air into a golden haze before quickly burning off. As it faded it revealed Deva Vitrix, spread out before them.

Though fortress-city was nestled in a bend in the river, the rectangular settlement resisted nature's contours. The proud walls jutted out from the green river plain, forming an imposing bastion of red sandstone. High up on the overlooking cliff, Artos quickly lost track of the number of the plumes of smoke rising up from the buildings. There had to be many hundreds of hearths, and they certainly did not lack firewood.

"It just keeps going," Artos breathed, tail twitching. He grabbed it with a paw to keep it still. "Look at all the smoke," he pointed at the rooftops. "I've never seen so many people in one place."

"This is small by their standards, apparently" Gwen grumbled, taking a moment to rest her weary paws.

"Thanks," Artos mumbled, trying to feed his faltering conviction.

"We'll need to get a closer look. Appearances don't mean anything," Gwen replied.

"Stop trying to cheer me up."

"Am I?" She grunted. "None of this explains the empty fields, burning villa, or the lightning."

"I guess so," Artos grumbled.

"Let's not waste the early hour then. Do you see any patrols down there?"

Artos sighed and squinted, trying to make sense of the long shadows cast by the morning sun. Here and there he thought he spotted black scorch marks on the weathered masonry, and spots of green shoots sticking out between the stones. The outlying buildings were in a similar state, leaving it a fair guess whether their disrepair was due to the length of time they'd been there, or the long time since their builders had left.

"Well?" Gwen prompted.

"Apart from the bridge I don't see any."

"That settles it then! You up for an early morning swim then?"

"Can't we just pay the toll?" He yelped, already feeling the cold water. "Surely that's what your trader story is for?"

"That's our fallback if we were to get caught." Gwen shook her head. "Besides, we don't have the coin."

"Great traders we are then..."

"No one will be any wiser once we get into the forum. Besides, we'd be seeking investors, not spending. But enough. We're wasting time!"

"We don't know if it's safe to cross. What if there are currents? Why would they build a bridge if it was safe to just swim across?"

"Because Romans don't like getting their fur wet." Gwen grinned, nudging him with an elbow. Without even waiting the grey vixen dashed down the rocky slope, weaving a nimble path towards the water. Artos scowled and followed her lead.

Soon enough the river lapped away at their feet. The fox wrinkled his muzzle but Gwen pushed past him, and through the reeds before sinking down into deeper water. Artos took a deep breath and bit his lip before taking the plunge.

The water was cold, but not enough to make him gasp. He followed Gwen as she began to swim, feeling the gentle current wash through his fur. Fortunately, the river remained gentle. Clouds of mist hovered above the surface, concealing their movement, but the steady flow made it easy to stay on course. It lessened as the bank loomed in the fog, his feet touching the riverbed as they waded between the reeds. They headed further downstream, searching for where the vegetation was thickest and lingered for a moment, listening to the wary calls of the wading birds, before pushing through to firmer ground.

Suddenly the reeds disappeared. The foxes stumbled into a large clearing cut into the wetlands. Tall shrubs still hid them from view on all sides, but not from the tall wolf sat in the centre, tending to a small fire he used to smoke his first catch, his sword lying on the ground off to the side. Before either could react, Gwen dashed forward and grabbed the weapon, swinging it out from its sheath and pointing the gleaming blade at him.

"Woah! Easy! Easy!" The wolf whined, holding his big paws up. "Don't start chewing me out - you think I'm up early poaching from the river because I like to save money?" He sighed, pointing at the wicker basket further back, hidden among the reeds. It wiggled from side to side occasionally as the wolf's catch struggled for breath.

"I thought legionaries were paid well enough to go to market," Gwen growled, remaining defensive. Even though there were two of them, the wolf was big enough to easily overpower them both.

The wolf laughed, pressing a paw against his chest. "Do I look like army material to you? They'd clip me at the very least for keeping my mane so long."

The wolf swung his muzzle towards Artos, taking one deep sniff.

"Ah, you're not from around here." He shrugged, muscle rippling under his fur as he waved them over, inviting them to sit in dust next to his small fire. "Please, you look cold."

Artos shot Gwen a look. She dipped her head slightly, enough that the wolf might not notice.

"Thanks for the fire," Gwen grumbled, holding out her paws as her fur still dripped with water. Artos did the same, trying his best not to stare into the leaping flames and lose himself in their dance.

"You're welcome. It's not much, but I do what I can with my kindling."

"Have you tried burning gorse?" Artos muttered.

The wolf's large ears snapped to attention.

"It wouldn't occur to me to do that," the wolf frowned. "Where did you say you're from?"

"Segontium," Gwen snapped, her fur bristling. "We're travelling from that city."

"Right," the wolf nodded, eyeing them both up. He didn't seem convinced by the way his fur ruffled. "If that were true, I suppose you'd know that the place was abandoned when the legion left there years ago."

Artos frowned.

"You know, I get lying about where you're from, but there's not much point lying about it when the truth's plastered all over your muzzle," the wolf sighed. "I don't know whatever rock you've been under, but just about everyone knows the Romans have left."

"What do you mean, left?" Artos asked, flicking his ears in disbelief. "When? Who beat them in battle?"

Gwen rolled her eyes, her teeth grinding audibly. "Why didn't you go with them?" She snapped, scowling at Artos for slipping up so soon.

"Do you think I look young enough to follow them to Gallia?" The wolf laughed again. "I heard the Emperor found this miserable, rainy island more bother than it was worth. Apparently he told the Britons to look to their own defences. Can you believe it?" He shook his head and poked at the fire angrily. "Well, some of us didn't feel like moving home all over again."

"So you're some sort of honourable deserter, nevermind a poacher?" Gwen pressed, still holding his sword close. "I suppose it's fortunate that no one will miss you."

"Actually, I declined being called back as an Evocatus, despite the honour. Enough blood has been spilled in these lands. I wished to have no more of a part in that."

"Do you really expect me to believe that a soldier like you would suddenly have a change of heart? You Romans hate this miserable, rainy, gods-forsaken rock at the edge of the civilised world!"

"You sure know how to swear like one of us," he replied, concealing a low growl.

"You're best turn your fish," Artos piped up, pointing at the fire. "They're starting to burn."

"Thanks." The wolf grumbled, keeping a wary eye on Gwen.

"What my friend is trying to say," Artos began warily, trying to keep the peace, "is that she's surprised a Roman would choose to stay here. You can surely forgive us for finding it a bit hard to swallow."

"It's fine." The wolf grunted. "There are greater storms out there than just the rain. Against those, being at the edge doesn't sound so bad," he said cryptically, gathering up the last of his catch. "Besides, Rome may have left, but they couldn't take the walls with them."

The wolf smiled proudly, pointing up at the imposing red bastion. Despite the lush grass poking out from cracks in the mortar it seemed resolute, though marked with black scars reminiscent of those at the villa.

"They certainly seem like some refuge," Artos replied, brushing down his fur as it fluffed up from the heat of the fire. Even Gwen, with her thicker grey fur, seemed dry. It was time to make a decision.

"Well, thanks for sharing your fire," Gwen said, trying to disguise the loud gurgle from her stomach. "You can do us one last favour and point us towards the forum? I'd quite fancy digging into a fresh loaf of bread."

"Oh, the forum is long gone. We have a small market in the ruined amphitheatre outside the walls, just over there."

The wolf smiled and pointed between the swaying rushes. When the wind bent them, a dilapidated circular building appeared in view, open to the elements and spared from none of their fury.

"Hengist did that to save the hassle of letting strangers inside the city. Fortunate for you." The wolf laughed, his yellow eyes locking with Gwen's, goading her.

Make a decision.

Gwen grunted and said nothing. She bit her lip and dragged her paws in the mud, her claws digging deep furrows. The leather grip of the sword squeaked as she squeezed it tightly.

"Fine." She cursed and swung the sword. The metal whirred in the wind, before disappearing into the reads behind them with a wet splash.

"Thanks," the wolf grunted. He did a good job hiding his relief.

"Just in case you think about stabbing us in the back," she snapped back. The wolf sighed and went back to tending to his catch.

Without so much as a goodbye, Gwen stood and started briskly towards the arena, refusing to speak to Artos as they struggled to push through the thick, tall reeds.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Artos hissed. "How do you know he won't betray us?"

"Because he's right about one thing - too much blood has been spilled."

The grey-furred vixen sighed heavily, an invisible weight lifting from her shoulders.

"I came along because that night, I dared to hope the future meant something more. If your prophecy is true - that the Romans have indeed left - do you really wish to greet it with more blood?"

Artos looked down at his feet. Even here, among the watery banks of the reeds, the earth was dark and red.

"I'm sorry," the fox whispered.

"Don't let your story slip again. Let's get this over with, and get out of here." Gwen turned around and stalked along the narrow trail, disappearing among the swaying reeds.

The fox paused for a moment, poking again at the waterlogged earth with his feet. He didn't know if the bubbles of air popping up from underneath were a sigh of relief, or merely just the natural decay of things buried underneath. But as he listened to the cautious piping of birds hidden in the marshes, he too dared to hope for something more.

Quickening his step, he set off after Gwen, following her large footprints in the mud. However her tracks quickly disappeared, swallowed up by the mud. He kept going - she couldn't have gone far.

There was a loud crack that thudded against his head.

The last thing Artos saw was the grey, uncaring sky above. It was filled with dark, roiling clouds of a storm blowing in, and the wolf standing above him, wearing a leering, ugly grin.

***

When Artos came to, the dying rays of the sun cast a copper sheen across the world. The storm had passed. The air smelled fresh, full of the scent of petrichor. But the brilliant sunset heralded deepening shadows.

It took a moment for Artos to recall his surroundings. The journey to Deva came together in a disordered blur: mountains, lightning, wolves.

Gwen.

He'd made it to the ruined amphitheatre somehow, and was now lying in the remains of some once-fancy box above the rows of ordinary seats. It had suffered from the weather, but, like the faded mural in the roundhouse, it hinted at a brighter past. A broken, dusty mosaic still showed two canine gladiators locked in battle, snarling teeth hidden behind bronze helms. Their names were forgotten, obliterated under the scraps of rotten wood and mouldy cloth littering the floor.

The approaching clatter of hooves against the floor told the fox he was not alone. A tall red deer came to stand ahead of him, leaning against the balcony wall like an emperor surveying his realm. The stag flicked an ear, deciding to acknowledge his charge behind him, before turning around to face his catch. His confidence was evident as he'd chosen to leave the fox's limbs unbound.

The stag had a terrible beauty to him. There was a violence behind his sharp eyes that set Artos's fur on edge. He was dressed for war in a foreign way, not in the Roman style or the wildest of Pretani. A smart red tunic sat underneath a shirt of fine mail, finished with a thick golden thread twisted about the leather hem of his coat of mail like interlocking snakes. His short cropped fur was painted with a strong-smelling mixture of ash, charcoal and lime. The markings swirled about in dizzying, interlocking shapes of beasts and animals he did not recognise. And from his hip, he held the hilt of a long, thick blade - gripping it like the shaft was part of him.

"I don't usually entertain spies. But sometimes I enjoy these simple pleasures." The stag smiled. He spoke with an odd accent. Formal yet informal, his tongue treating words like things he could push around.

"We're here to trade lead... to start a new mine."

It was hard for the fox to speak. Though the rest of his body felt fine, his head throbbed and he felt close to being sick.

"I'm not into that old Roman rubbish" the stag smirked, shaking his head.

"What about the rest of Deva? Do you speak for all of them?"

"Of course. They're mine." The stag laughed, pulling at a golden ring on a hoofed finger.

"Shame. It's quite a marvel. Water running fresh into your home."

"The river is good enough for me. If I need more, I can make someone else fetch it for me." He shrugged. "Perhaps if the Romans were as powerful as they claimed, they wouldn't have needed such silly inventions."

The fox tried to keep his eyes on the stag, but his head was getting worse. The edges of his vision started to swirl.

Sensing the fox's wandering attention, the stag crouched down and held the tip of Artos' muzzle, holding him steady.

"I know you're lying. I've dealt with enough Pretani to know you better than you know yourselves." He tutted, brushing away some of the grime sullying his orange fur.

"Sorry," Artos groaned. "I only came here to seek investors. I'm not interested in whatever it is you're trading," he quipped, trying to get a good one in. But joking didn't lift his spirits like it usually did. The headache didn't help.

"Oh, but you are, little fox. I just won't be peddling lies."

"I'm not a spy!" He coughed, trying to channel his injury to embellish the lie again.

"Come now, fox," the stag tutted. "I don't need a turncoat wolf to tell me you're no trader."

The stag sighed. He squeezed Artos's jaw harder, pulling him closer so it was hard to do anything but stare into his eyes.

"You're just the last embers of an old, dying fire. Spluttering away, waiting for someone to kick dust over you and move on." The stag paused, staring into Artos' eyes like how he'd stare into the flames back home. Searching for a sign.

"Fortunately for you, my gods see no glory in killing spies, or raising settlements to make some needless statement. I'll warn you once. Test me, and your mongrel vixen will regret it."

"Where is she?"

He smiled.

"I don't need to hold her here to hurt her. Not when I have you. So... do you want to trade then?"

"What is it?"

"A message," he replied. "Hengist has had enough of you Pretani stirring up trouble wherever a little piece of Vortigern is not. There's not enough bits of his corpse to go around for that, so you'll have to do."

"What happened to the Cornovii?"

"They had some dangerous ideas." Hengist smirked. "My god Thunor made his displeasure known." He imitated a lightning bolt from the heavens. "Whatever tribe you're from would be wise not to make the same mistake as them. The Romans took all the fire from your people centuries ago. I'm just sad they left me these isles without even the honour of a decent battle."

"That's a message... but what are you offering?"

The deer grinned and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He sucked it, hard, as if he couldn't get enough of the taste.

"Your lives. In exchange, your people will be grateful and give me the proper payment."

He tossed the fox his gold ring. Artos caught it in a start, glancing between it and the stag quickly.

"Do you really think the Romans left us with anything? They stripped any wealth from us long ago!"

"You survived many years of their occupation though. I'm sure you're resourceful enough to survive me. Perhaps you'll start that new mine after all?" He laughed, and unleashed a swift kick square into Artos' chest, knocking the wind out of him and pushing him back down onto the floor.

He barked something in some harsh tongue, summoning two of his kin. Their antlers were equally as impressive as his, but they obeyed him without hesitation. They pulled Artos out of the arena, through the empty fields, the falling night, and finally across the empty bridge.

"Don't worry foxes!" Hengist bellowed out into the night. "I'll waive the toll for you this time! Just remember to deliver this message!"

He laughed, sucked his lip, and grunted for something from one of his companions. Even in the gloom, it was enough to make out the stag stringing a bow, slowly bringing the white blur of an arrow's fletching being brought to the stag's cheek.

"Best get moving. In my experience, word travels faster when you send one messenger."

Artos' heart leapt first. His body followed him, sprinting towards the dark treeline without a second's thought. The sinews in his body burned in a new way, unused to the gait of all fours, but the surge of adrenaline quickly obliterated all other sensation or thought.

His ears snapped taut as somewhere close by, an arrow whistling into the night. It was quiet and distant, but still surprising the thud it made.

He kept running, and soon the dark boughs welcomed him under their embrace. His lungs burned. How was he already out of breath?

The fox risked a look behind him, safe in the cover of the trees. Relief swelled through him as he saw the deer crossing back over the bridge, laughing and joking as they went.

He still yelped in shock when he felt Gwen's paw touch his check - quickly followed by her lips.

"I almost feared the worst," she whispered, running her paws across his body, seeking reassurance that he was indeed all there.

She froze, plucking something below his ribs.

"Stay still!" she hissed, pushing him to the ground.

Artos didn't remember feeling any pain. He was still trembling from the surge of adrenaline. But sure enough it bloomed within him, leeching out in all directions from the shaft protruding through his chest.

He felt cold. His mouth tasted blood.

"To think I would curse Myrddin's name when plucking a big thorn!" He laughed, but again the joke brought no comfort. He couldn't stop staring at the white fletching with a shaking hand. It felt strangely part of him.

"Hold still," she hissed. "I need to break the fletching off before I can pull it out and patch you up-"

"I don't think that'll help," Artos coughed. He could only taste blood now, and feel it trickle from the corners of his muzzle.

"Don't say that! You're stronger than you think." She growled. Then she howled.

"Gwen." Artos shook his head. "Say something clever."

"I can't-"

"Please. I need to hear it."

He whispered, reached out, and squeezed her hand. That was all the strength he had left.

***

For a second time, Gwen ran to the mountains. This time, she didn't bring a message. A new fire had kindled inside her heart: a spark that she swore would consume Saxon-kind.