The next morning, the siblings were enjoying breakfast when Mia pointed out five people walking along the track towards the house.

Ryan observed them while Mia liberated a pancake from his plate.

Each of them wore the standard military garb of the kingdom. Grey pants, brown long sleeve shirts with leather bracers, grieves and vest, topped off with an open helm. The insignia of the kingdom was stitched on the vest, right over the heart. Thick concentric circles of white, red and blue. It was visible even at this distance against the otherwise drab brown.

Below the insignia were two horizontal stripes. Orange and white. He tried to remember which company that signified. Boyd had never bothered to teach them the symbolism of the placement, or the meaning of the insignia's colours.

One of the few things Ryan remembered of his mother was her stitching extra pockets onto a big pile of vests. As they huddled by the hearth, she would cut and stitch. The company stripes were grafted to the flap of the pocket, where it could be tucked in if necessary. The insignia disappeared altogether.

No one made much of a fuss over it until after several members of the third company had received recognition for their service under his father's command.

The King was not pleased when he learned of it. However, punishing scouts for subtly, or guerilla soldiers for initiative did not seem quite appropriate. Certainly not at that time.

Later, after the King's passed the crown to his son, the military was reorganised. The uniform was revised. The pockets were included. A sash was added with the insignia, but it was only issued to the palace guard and the royal lancers.

It was now six years since the signing of the armistice. The changes completed only in the last winter. The kingdom was rebuilding, after all. And so Ryan finally realised why he couldn't recognise the company. Those are old uniforms.

And they were nearing the front door.

"Mia!", he hissed, "Go to my room and don't make a sound. If you hear anything suspicious, climb out and we'll meet at the village. "

She looked confused, but nodded and went.

Ryan tried to think of the possibilities. Retired soldiers from the same company... travelling together? Deserters? Foreigners with the clothes of the dead? Yet they could be here with information.

Sharp knocking interrupted his thoughts. He listened for any noise from his bedroom before he moved to the door.

Then he stopped.

What if they attacked the moment he opened the door?

Glancing around, he spied the rag and small bottle atop the fireplace. Oil to keep his swords from further rust. He dashed over, uncorked the bottle spilling oil in the process.

Best they don't notice a dry cloth.

He held a sword in his left hand, and moved back near the base of the stairs.

They knocked again.

Ryan stilled his nerves. Slowly, he ran the cloth once down the length of the blade.

"Come on in. Its unbarred. "

The door opened wide. They entered one at a time. Two men, two woman... and a boy?

He appeared no older than Ryan, but humans all looked a little older. Ryan himself was the legal age, barely, so that would make this guy underage. But was it so rare? Soldiers received three meals a day and four silvers a month. There were strict numbers to fill, too.

"We need to speak with Sir Whitetip. ", one of the woman spoke with a respectful tone.

Ryan remembered his father's words. Son, don't wait to confirm suspicions. If you can't fight, leave. If you can't leave, fight. Never give them the first move.

They were spreading out.

The first room in the manor was large and wide. Ryan was by the left side, a metre ahead of the base of the stairs. There was an opening in the wall granting access to kitchen counter.

To his right a long table dominated the space, with eight chairs tucked in. It was too large for the room but no one really cared. Further to the right, a fireplace dominated the wall.

On the back wall, a door closed off the hallway.

"Of course." he said, placing the oil rag on the back of a chair. "He's in his study at the moment. Down the hall and to your left. "

The woman gestured. Two of them split off down the hall. That leaves three: the woman, a man with a halberd and the boy. The man was resting the halberd casually on his shoulder. The boy didn't move further in. The woman glared at the boy but didn't say anything. The boy's knuckles were starting to turn white from how tightly he was gripping the haft of his shortspear.

"Any good with those?", the man nodded to Ryan.

The question was followed by a crash from down the hall, and some swearing.

The boy jumped.

The man didn't react.

The woman started drawing her blade.

She was the closest.

"Yes", Ryan muttered as he lunged.

She tried parry, instinctively perhaps, but her sword was only half drawn. Ryan's blade slid in below her leather vest. Her attempted deflection twisted his blade after it had already gone in. The motion pulled it from his grasp. Her face slackened in shock.

The boy's gasped.

Ryan drew his right hand blade.

The man grinned.

She started sliding to the ground.

The axe-edge of the halberd cut a thin slice in her shoulder as the man lowered and thrust in a practiced motion.

Ryan brought his right hand weapon around. The flat of his sword met the gap between the spear and axe, his left hand pushing against the flat of the blade.

Ryan stumbled back. The man took a step forward, pulling his weapon back. The boy jumped up onto the table, discarding his shield as he clambered across. Sparks were jolting off from his spear were blackening the table.

Ryan could hear the others. One of them was coming back while another was slamming against the door to the "dark room".

"This one's locked!" A man shouted.

It wasn't locked, Ryan knew. You had to lift the door a bit or it'd get caught on a wonky floorboard.

Ryan glanced at the sword still embedded in the dieing woman. No. While the boy clearly wasn't adept with his own two feet, let alone that shortspear, he could smell smoke from the table.

He sheathed his sword, and turned back. The man was still smiling as he thrust again, but Ryan was already transforming. The halberd passed above his head, about where his chest had been. The man tried to turn his thrust into a downward hack.

It should be noted at this time that the clothing beast-kin wear stretches and shrinks to form, including belts belts which were made of the same material. Folded over many times and sewn tight. Swords do not shrink, of course, which is why Ryan wore his across his back.

If he were not so small such a placement of swords might work as armour. On a fox, however, all that would happen if a halberd struck down with enough force is a broken spine.

So Ryan didn't run forward. He jumped forward. He felt something against the fur on the side of his tail as he scrambled up the stairs.

Accustomed as he was to these stairs, he still hated them. They were not made for a fox's stride.

Ryan could see Mia standing just inside his room. He barked.

Dammit. Go!

She was pointing inside. Probably at the window he couldn't yet see.

The window you should have left through, idiot.

Entering the room he looked for something to bar the door, forgetting he would need hands for that.

He saw the rope tied to the bedpost and out the window as Mia grabbed him with both arms. And dived out of the window. Utterly confused, Ryan instinctively bit the rope as Mia crossed her legs around it.

They dangled.

"Looser" she yelled.

This is not how you slide down a rope.

He started to ease his death-bite.

What if the rope rips my teeth out?

He bit down again with a vengence.

If I transform back, I can grab it, but we'll be falling.

Mia grabbed the rope with one hand, squeezing his guts as she tightened her hold around his middle. Relieved, he let go.

They slid to the ground. Mia looked back at the window. Ryan nipped her on the arm. She let go.

The front door banged open.

Ryan bit his lips as Mia morphed.

"Jack! Did you find it?" The siblings heard one of the men shout as they took off down the path to the village.

They didn't stop running until they were standing inside the village hall, panting heavily in front of a startled elder.