Boyd Whitetip and his children Ryan and Mia were fox-kin. As such, they could take the form of a fox or a form that... resembles a human. It would take quite a lot to pass for a human though. At least a hooded robe, gloves and boots reaching halfway up the calf. Depending on the individual, a set of false teeth may also be required.

Most of their relatives lived in a small community further to the north. One of several communities in that land of rough brown grass and cracked soil. A land the siblings loved to visit in winter or autumn, never summer. “Out home”, Boyd called it.

In that land, many years ago, a nobleman tested his fortune with a copper mine. As these things go, the operation was abandoned not two years after it had begun. Nonetheless, it began the involvement of fox-kin in the affairs of men.

Boyd told them of their great grandfather and his three trustworthy companions. He spoke of how they'd negotiated for some of the stubby cattle the miners' used to pull their carts. With the help of the whole community, they bred them until there were roughly one thousand. Then they drove five hundred all the way to the kingdom's capital. Sixty two days later, they returned with thirty wagons. Each was full with all manner of goods.

Thus, they prospered.

When Mia had asked why the mine failed, Boyd commented dryly. “Perhaps if the short-horns were not so delicious, the logistical costs would not have exceeded their expectations,” he'd said. Later, when the siblings were in bed and asleep, she asked Ryan what “logistical” meant. He didn't know either.

For the longest time, they thought their great granddad must've been the best person there ever was. A pioneer. A fox of the land. A shrewd man who’d feared no opportunity. It wasn’t until another visit that his grandfather clarified, saying, “He was a man of few words. Your cattle or your life, he'd say.”

Such was their great grandfather.

“Still friggen awesome,” Ryan had said. Mia was unsure, but could sympathise. They were delicious.

The story didn't end there.

Boyd told them of how the times had changed when their grandfather was young. In those days, they were well beneath His Majesty's notice. He neither collected taxes nor accepted them as citizens. The fox-kin were content with this lack of arrangement. Yet it wouldn't last. Many of the nobles at the time vied to appropriate their land as it could only be rightly managed by humans. Such befit the natural order. Of course. Some humans were like that.

Granddad had interrupted at the time. He said that if it were merely that, he would not have acted with such recklessness in the events that followed. But he had trotted the upper parts of the capital city. He had listened from the street as a fox as they talked in the apparent privacy of their fancy homes. “You pay attention to your studies,” he had said, “so you can work out the meaning of their prattle.”

From there, granddad picked up the tale. In not so few words, he told them that he acted the day he learned the price of cattle had tripled in six short months. The reason, it transpired, was the increasing raids on villages in the south. The army was recruiting, and there was talk of rationing. He feared the King's men would soon take their cattle in what might have been an amusing turn of fate. So he dusted his coat, wiped the mud off his boots, and approached the palace. Thus knelt Ted Whitetip with hat in hand, before His Majesty King James the Second, Ruler of Falencia.

“What's a turn of fate?” Mia had asked. To which granddad said “Hush. It's when a thistle sticks you in the ahh!” ending as grandma dug her claws into his arm.

The night was dragging on, so Boyd skipped through the tale. The King found in them something of greater value than cattle or land. He offered them semi independence if only they would serve him as scouts. Ten years on the kingdom to the south, Rhysland, finally sent a standing army. The fox-kin demonstrated their worth as scouts, then saboteurs on three separate occasions.

The war repeated itself fourteen years later. But that time, there was a much greater degree of sophistication. Boyd distinguished himself in six bloody years of conflict. He led the fox-kin. He led them well. With reluctance the nobles deemed them an indispensable component of the military. The king was pleased.

Boyd finished with the words, “His Majesty gifted us this very manor, promoting me to the rank of General.”

And so the siblings learned of the fame and sometime infamy of their ancestors.

Six years passed. Their grandparents had moved “out home”. Their manor was empty save for the siblings and their father. In that time, they had both spent much time training. To be sure, they enjoyed themselves but skill at arms was their way.

Ryan, now seventeen, had trained in the style of his great grandfather. That is to say, twin shortswords. Whether or not his great granddad had a style is not something Ryan questioned. At his grandma's insistence, he conceded to only use swords with handguards.

Mia, now fourteen, had her own interests and direction. She flitted from time to time. Sometimes, she trained with a sword. Sometimes, she made complicated patterns with a whip. More recently, both.

Mia had been exchanging letters with the princess over the past year. They were friends, as they had bonded in the siblings' one visit to the palace. It was in one of those parcels that Mia got a copy of A Primer on the Elements. Since then, she played with water.

Ryan had found affinity with lightning, but tended not to practice. He committed himself to swords first.

As for their old man, he did not want his children to see war. Yet he made sure that they were ever ready for a fight. Fox-kin were smaller than most humans. So they compensated with speed, dexterity... and initiative.

He knew a thin sheet of parchment was all that held the kingdoms apart, to say nothing of merchant fleets. The armistice. By rights, the war had not ended.

His chief contribution to that peace was questionable. He had swapped a pot of ink with one of blood. It was excessive. Embittered by loss, he'd ensured the nobles had no choice. It was the first step on a silent track. He used his discretion to aid the king, and it earned him fear.

But he wasn't stupid.

It wouldn't last.

Revision 2.3