A fox was chasing a cat across the rooftops of Redlog city. It wasn’t the bushy tailed chase of predator and prey mind, but more of a game between friends because the two clearly knew each other. Gracefully the cat leapt off an ornate cornice and landed softly on the shingles of a neighboring roof. Each tile clinked in protest but refused to be dislodged by something as light as a critter. The cat spared itself a moment to look backwards, orange twin tails swishing to and fro in playful anticipation.

It needn't have waited long because the fox was right on its tails, jaws hanging open to pant after the spirited run. The fox leapt, not as gracefully, and nearly missed the jump. It had to scramble and kick, and for a moment the cat considered stopping to help it. Yet Trust in its friend’s ability won out instead, and so the cat was off again, continuing its mad dash across the clattering shingles.

The cat’s trust was well placed it seemed, or maybe the fox was simply lucky enough to find its footing despite the wiley clay tiles that made up most of the sloping roofs of Redlog city. A fall wouldn’t have hurt it badly anyways, not with how low the roofs of the market plaza tended to run. It would be an embarrassing crash into a lavender bush at most, which the fox would have had to hear about for weeks if the chase had ended like that. Traversing these treacherous paths usually reserved for animals and the bravest of climbers required luck and skill- and plenty of practice.

Tobby had about 5 years on Mao, and the fox boy had come into his wilder side later in life at that. They were older now, 18 and 23 respectively and life had developed a fair bit since that fateful summer 8 years ago, when the elves had decided but ultimately failed to feast on Redlog’s children.

It had been a busy 8 years.

Mao was the one to run stock of Josei’s Medicine Shop mostly these days, with his mother having taken a more passive role to rest her old bones. It was tiring work to go up and down the mountain several times a week to gather herbs, then to process said herbs and turn what they may into medicine for the ailing and the sick. Josei was perfectly content spending most of her days doing some sales and the processing, occasionally guiding Mao on some new trick or technique to really bring the magic of their cures out to bloom. It was tiring but rewarding work.

Tobby on the other hand had decided against pursuing a career of medicine making. He found running deliveries to be more of a calling, especially when he could do night trips that let him run wild in his true form. He had two tails now as opposed to just the single one he’d had during his childhood. A coming of age trait of some sort as far as Mao could understand, unique to cats, or maybe just the Havre family itself. Both Tobby and Katja were annoyingly and happily vague about it whenever he asked.

It sometimes made Mao wonder about his own transformation. From the very first time he’d turned to now, his true form had grown and evolved along with him. As he raced after Tobby across the rooftops, it was as a coal black fox with velvety fur and a white tipped tail. Where Tobby was mostly uniformly orange in color- with the occasional red stripe like Katja, Mao’s patterning was a bit more pronounced. White covered his belly and the insides of his ears, and his cheeks had a smattering of red. His forelegs were a darker black than the rest of him, as were the outside of his ears and the bridge of his nose.

His human hair matched it all rather well, black with a few hints of red and fluffier than the neck scruff of his rooster Tulip. Speaking of Tulip, the rooster was setting some kind of record for age. Josei had been prepared for the heart-rending revelation that should have come ages back when the old bird finally started to slow down but… well, he hadn’t slowed down at all.

In fact, the cranky old bastard was more spry than Mao and Tobby combined on certain days. Mostly the days where he took offense to some poor bastard on Peak Street breathing the same air as himself. He had a temper that could make even a Hunter shiver.

Around Mao, the rooster was as docile as they came though, oddly enough. Perhaps it was his broody nature. Why, Josei had caught him sitting on her son’s chest when he slept at times, keeping guard for unseen dangers while the oblivious boy dreamt. If not self-proclaimed guard duty, then it could also just have been the rooster’s craving for body heat. He always seemed a bit too cold for his own liking, constantly seeking out sources of warmth to huddle up against.

Right now he was probably sleeping by Josei’s feet near the burning hearth, enjoying the peace and quiet while Mao was out running Wild. Speaking of running, Tobby made a daring leap off a roof’s edge towards the wall-mounted spout of a fountain, but the slippery stone refused his grip and down the cat went. He emerged from the freezing waters of the shallow basin just as quickly, shrieking like the devil himself had dunked him down for an unintended dip.

Mao paused on the roof, front paw halting in mid air as he halted before his intended leap. He stared as the orange cat pulled itself up on the fountain’s edge, hissing and spitting, then couldn’t hold it in anymore. A shrill fox cackle echoed through the empty market plaza, making some of the lighter sleepers nearby open their shutters to shoo at them.

“Damned wildlife’s at it again,” muttered a merchant to his wife.

“It’s winter, they always come closer to the city during the cold months.” Said wife didn’t bother opening her eyes. Their shared bed was far too comfy to leave for a bit of feral shenanigans. Her husband eventually agreed, but not before making an angry whooping sound out the window in the hopes of scaring the noisy scamps away.

That just made Mao cackle more. Tobby hissed at him.

The fox leapt down from the roof to join his sulking friend. Tobby, who despite the name, was not a tabby - sometimes parents made a hopeful guess and children got a name that fit, other times it missed - swiped a paw at Mao’s smug snout.

The fox dodged and slunk in closer, offering his huttering friend the heat of his fur. They both had dense winter coats befitting of the season, but a dip in cold water would chill you to the bone no matter how thick your fur got. Tobby accepted the warmth after a bit of grumbling about invisible slippery moss growing on fountain heads.

“It would have been mighty fine if you’d stuck the landing,” Mao snickered. That earned him another gentle paw to the snout. Tobby’s claws were deceptively dangerous if he had them out, but by now he had excellent control over them and kept them sheathed. Mao still struggled with his own at times, having only had about… 8 years of practice. Ahem, shapeshifting wasn’t as easy as it seemed at times.

“Says the one that always falls of the school’s roof,” Tobby sniped back.

“Hey now, it’s a tricky jump. If they had made it the same size as the one from the cookery roof I wouldn’t miss nearly as often,” Mao shot back. Tobby just scoffed.

“Cities are rarely symmetrical, at least not where they can get away with it. You don’t see many humans jumping from roof to roof.”

“Only some,” Mao grinned. Tobby winced at the reminder. “What gave you the idea that running across the rooftops would have been faster than using the streets like us regular mortals?” the fox asked.

“I was running late and the roof was closer than finding a set of stairs,” the cat explained.

“Sure sure, and it wasn’t just to show off to the house Lilja girls sitting on the balcony overlooking it all?” Mao put an intentional sway into his gait so his shoulder would bump into Tobby’s. The cat made a sound like choking, a poor attempt at clearing his throat with a cat’s vocal cords instead of a human’s. He paused to lick his paw instead, taking to cleaning his fur when embarrassed as most cats did. Mao slowed to grin at him.

“N-not at all.” Tobby stuttered, “I just happened to be passing by their corner of the street so…”

“Curious that a run from the Peak Street shrine to the western Gate should take you through the Market Plaza to the south. Why, it’s almost the completely wrong way now that I think about it, isn’t it?” Mao coaxed, voice humming with amusement.

Tobby made the choking sound again. Mao wagged his tail, grinning from ear to ear. Oh how enjoyable it was to watch his elder squirm. Teasing him about his crush was way too easy.

“It’s not like they hang out on the balcony overlooking the plaza every evening,” Tobby tried to defend his odd choice of route, but Mao just snickered.

“Only almost every evening. Speaking about it, wasn’t that run supposed to have started around midday to be done in time? It should have seen you well on your way down into the Farmlands before evening came around. It’s almost as if you were late on purpose-”

Tobby made a play lunge at Mao and the fox spun with a yip, but before he could retaliate the cat was off, running down the street once more.

“Slow foxes don’t get to laugh!” Tobby yelled, already sprinting at full tilt.

With an annoyed growl, Mao took off after him. He had to pump his legs hard to catch up with the swift bastard.

They weren’t too worried about anyone hearing them while they played - Wild Ones had a way of sounding like regular animals when they spoke - if they wanted to. A case of words only being words when they wanted you to hear them and what not. It made the voice-crack of teenage years an interesting experience… One Josei and Katja laughed at a lot and one Mao and Tobby tried their best to forget. A fox or cat’s voice tipping up or down at random made for a very silly sound.

Mao was almost caught up with the cat but a curious scent made him slow his mad dash. The fox paused around a street corner to sniff the wind, whiskers trembling as he tried to focus on it. A musk of rich dirt, roots, and rotting leaves. Traces from a den perhaps? With those smells mingled a sweet scent of cinnamon and baked apples, a recent meal probably. Mao tried to focus on the core of the smell, that which would tell him what this creature was.

It had a musk that was vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t rightly tell why. Something warm and earthy, close to a dog but not quite.... It eluded him as the wind changed direction. Tobby’s encouraging yowl from up ahead called on him to continue their game of chase.

Frustrated over the mystery but too full of energy to keep the game on pause for much longer, Mao took off after the cat once more. Still, it was a good reminder that they weren’t the only Wild Ones hiding in Redlog. Mao was endlessly curious to know who else shared this proud mountain city with them.

-

Morning came with its usual set of tasks. Go through the shop inventory, write up a list of herbs running low, grind the dry stuff, dry the fresh stuff, mix and mash and follow the routine. Mao had been doing this for about 8 years now so the ins and outs of his mother’s medicine shop was second nature to him by now. Not to say it didn’t take its fair bit of time, he had a lot of things to do! Especially if he wanted to get most of it done before Josei woke up.

They were at war. Had been since Mao became old enough to work somewhat independently. It was a daily race to wake up first, take on the most taxing or dreary of tasks, then shoo whoever woke up second back into bed to sleep in. Both had their well practiced arguments by now.

“I’m your mother and this is my shop, you don’t need to do all the heavy work.”

“I’m your son and I don’t mind letting my weary mother sleep in a bit.”

Both had their own specialized arsenal of weapons to fight this war with. Josei had years on Mao when it came to experience. Mao had wit, clever thinking, and a rooster that could be oh so cuddly and eager to sleep on your chest so you would be forced to stay where you were to scratch his chin for a bit.

When Josei covered the windows to prevent the first rays of sunlight from waking Mao up before herself, Mao retaliated by teaching Tulip to chase all the roosters away from their part of the city so they couldn’t wake up Josei in turn.

It was a constant back and forth with an about equal tally of victories for both sides, and no real hard feelings over the friendly bout of tricks. ‘Keeps the mind sharp,’ as his mother liked to say.

Today Mao was the first to wake up. He’d bribed Tulip into waking him before dawn by offering the moody rooster the promise of a meaty breakfast. Ham and eggs and maybe a little bit of roasted chicken from their dinner last night.

Was it wrong to feed a rooster roasted chicken? Perhaps… but Tulip didn’t seem to want to conform to the usual standards of chickenhood. He ate more meat than grain, spat at anything that offended him- and recently Mao had started to notice that the spit was mildly corrosive. Just enough to burn through some blades of grass or leave an ugly burn mark on a stone floor… It was definitely not something a chicken was expected to have, but what was one to do? Call the watch on the bird? Mao could never do that to Tulip. The rooster would retaliate by bringing them both down for their shared list of lesser crimes. Like digging up a rival shop’s vegetable garden. Mao had done it because his claws had itched something fierce that day - growing aches. And Tulip? Tulip was just a bastard.

Tulip also preferred to sleep in, thus the need for a bribe to get the bird up early. He was also awfully clever for a chicken. Possibly capable of understanding human speech… It was a tad concerning sometimes but it was mostly just convenient. Too convenient when you could just tell him what to do to be spooked over the fact that he didn’t need to learn commands to figure out what a word meant. Then again, “GET OFF! NO SCRATCHING MY COUCH!” was a universal signal of rage and to scatter as fast as possible.

Should the Rönn household tell an expert on suspicious chicken behavior about their odd pet bird? Probably. Did they? Absolutely not. The local priesthood - who also tended the largest host of chickens in Redlog due to their connection to their revered Lady Hen - were usually harmless, but like any group of fanatics- chicken worshippers or not- they could get a tad… zealous, if given a reason to justify it. A rooster older than he should be that spat acid, ate meat, and understood at least a fair chunk of human speech? Yea that wouldn’t end well for poor Tulip. They might worship him and if his ego grew any larger the rooster’s head would explode. Or they might declare him an evil creature pretending to be their sacred kind of poultry, which would end in blood. Possibly the priesthood’s blood given Tulip’s skills at kicking the hell out of people, but it wasn’t a risk worth taking.

Neither would the Hunters’ Guild treat Tulip very well, Mao suspected. He’d learned after the elf incident 8 years ago that the guild weren’t the evil boogeymen people liked to describe them as, but rather guardians treading the fine line of keeping balance between man and the Wild. They were firmly on the side of man during a clash between the two though, so should Tulip decide to pursue a more sinister path, the Hunters would no doubt stand against him. And one could argue that spitting acid at a street performer for playing music during Tulip’s nap-time was a bit of an evil move. Especially when the spot Tulip had picked for his nap was the performer’s tip-hat.

Mao eyed the rooster where he sat by the window, basking in the first rays of morning as they trickled past the horizon. The old bird was fat and happy after a royal meal of cooked food, a feast compared to what other chickens lived on in Redlog, and seemed perfectly at peace with the world. The fox let out a content huff and went back to work.

Today the market plaza would open up for the first wave of travelers returning for the spring season of trade. Winter still had a few more days left before it ran out, but the snow had melted early this year so people were content to pretend it was done and gone by now. The farmers would be selling the newly shorn wool of their flocks, food stuffs pickled during the winter months that hadn’t been eaten already, crafts like clothing, embroideries, tools, and other things they might have produced while stuck indoors for most of the cold season.

There would also be plenty of seeds and cuttings imported from afar to buy in preparation for the first sowing once spring was fully here. Mao would be selling some poultices, pills against the common colds that liked to strike when people got a little too daring with their spring wear, a collection of winter greens, and other odds and ends people would want to pick up before starting their new year. Some sprigs of fir or pine to hang by the window was considered good luck this time of year.

He was in the middle of packing his wooden backpack when Josei finally woke up. Bleary eyed and sluggish, his mother pushed the screen door of their shared bedroom aside. They’d talked a lot about expanding the house to give Mao a room of his own, but space was scarce in their corner of the city. Moving out was also on the board, but it felt like a big step and Mao wasn’t sure he wanted to leave his mother alone just yet. Perhaps if a house nearby got left empty, or space was cleared somewhere to build a new one…

It wasn’t as if they were in a rush. The few times Mao craved a bit of privacy he simply went outside, climbed until he found a nice spot, and stayed there for as long as he fancied. Being able to turn into a fox with its warm coat and nimble paws also opened up a whole new world when it came to hanging out without a roof over his head.

“Good morning sleepy-head. Slept well?” Mao put on a beaming smile. He tried to keep it from turning smug. He’d won this morning’s contest of who woke up first. Josei just scowled at him once the sleep cleared from her eyes.

“Did my rascal of a son set the fox loose on the chickens again? I didn’t hear a single one of them croak yet.”

Josei gave Mao a narrow eyed look. Her son just smiled. Tulip coughed up a white feather. They both stared at the rooster.

“Not the fox… but Tulip looks awfully pleased with himself,” Josei hummed.

“I wouldn’t have the slightest clue on why,” Mao lied. His mother scoffed again on her way towards the kettle. She took one look at the tidy store front, at Mao’s packed and ready backpack, then decided that some tea by the hearth would be a good way to spend her morning after all. A graceful acceptance of defeat. Her revenge would be terrible.

“I’m off for the market. Do you need anything?” Mao hefted the heavy pack over a shoulder and perked a brow at his mother.

Josei thought for a moment then shook her head. “Not yet. You’ll be plenty tired once you’re done at the market anyways. I’ll bring Katja out for some shopping later to stock up. We’ve made plans.”

“Alright. Tulip?” Mao offered the rooster a forearm. The bird was fond of perching there when they went for a walk, too lazy to waddle on his own if he could hitch a ride.

Now Tulip eyed the offered arm, then Mao’s backpack. As if knowing full well what the stuffed pack meant, the bird let out a disapproving hiss, gathered up his feathers as he stood, then trotted over to Josei by the hearth, demanding to sit on the arm rest near the fire.

“Traitor,” Mao huffed, but with a smile on his lips. It wasn’t unexpected that the rooster would refuse tagging along into a place full of busy people. Himself and Josei were about the only people Tulip tolerated for prolonged periods of time.

Mao on the other hand didn’t mind a bit of chaos. The sights and smells of today’s market set his nerves to tingling with excitement once he arrived at the plaza. So much to see, so much to do. It was an infectious delight that turned even the most tired of early birds into chipper merchants and customers.

Sales were good this morning. Mao sold a good few jars of cough syrup and tea blends for warming up fever shivers. It made the many weeks spent toiling over bubbling brews and careful grinding feel well worth it. He rarely took silvers for anything, mostly coppers, cheap prices. Good health should not be exploited for coin in his mind.

Most of the early arrivals in the market square were farmers and travelers. They were those that weren’t too bothered by rising with the sun, or who had traveled too far to waste time sleeping in. More familiar faces started appearing around noon.

Tobby rushed through the garden a level above the market, leapt off the wall, landed on a market stall’s wooden roof with a graceful thud, then hopped to the ground with a flourish and a flip. All to the delight of the trio of ladies sitting at the balcony overseeing the plaza. The Lilja sisters were a common sight during busy markets, even if they rarely left their elegant two-story home.

House Lilja was a local noble family and Tobby was sweet on the eldest sister, a beautiful woman named Maridot. She had an easy laugh, a bit loud but gentle as bells. Mao could hear it even from the bustling market, a faint background sound of approval at Tobby’s daring antics.

The gardener tending to the Lilja family’s small herb garden was less impressed. Murderous was a better application, rake in hand and face red over the hedge leaves fluttering down after Tobby’s blast through them on his way down. Love was worth a little risk. And apparently a broken leg if he hadn’t stuck the landing. Cats and their confidence at daring leaps… Mao shook his head with a chuckle.

The delivery runner didn’t have time to stay and chat, he merely shot Mao a salute on his way past, backpack thudding with carefully placed packages. Tobby loved his job as a courier. It was good work in a city like Redlog where one couldn’t use horses for most parts of the city. Yet it took a certain kind of stamina to be able to run up and down the many stairs, to take ill advised shortcuts across the roofs if one got a little too late, and so on and so forth.

Letters and the like were usually sent by crow from the Nest on Peak Street, but packages and heavier deliveries had to go by foot or wagon. Foot was cheaper than wagon since goats were about the only beasts of burden that would tolerate being led through the sprawling maze of steep slopes and daunting stairs that made up most of Redlog’s roads. Goats, while good climbers, were also challenging to train into mounts or beasts of burden, so most people pulled smaller wagons by hand or settled for backpacks or pockets.

Horses were still seen at times in the city, mostly in the market square since that part was closer to ground level and thus not beholden to as many sets of stairs. Travelers used them mostly, either unaware of the fit their mounts would throw if they tried to urge them further up than the first levels of the city, or too stubborn to realize the futility of their plans.

If you came through the southern gate you may well get your horse to the market plaza and the stables, but Wilds help you if you come by the gate at the Foot to the west. The Eastern Gate was all stairs and pompous decoration, reserved for important arrivals coming from across Lake Midorm.

If you weren’t too important to listen to commoner advice, then you were likely to stop by in the lakeside village Lilybed, hopefully for long enough that someone would tell you to take the long way around Redlog. Better spend a few more hours on the road to reach Redlog’s southern gate than to have to wheeze up the eastern stairs, which reached from the foot of the mountain nearly all the way to the peak, with just a few levels and side-paths to break the agonizing climb.

If you were important enough to warrant a blown-out welcome, then the Mayor and his folks would switch your horses for specially bred goats that grew almost as big to pull your entourage the rest of the way up. They were an impressive kind of animal that Mao had only ever seen in a stable. Almost as tall as horses, usually of a dark color with impressively curled horns. Their gait was so stable that you could balance water on a spoon without spilling it while riding one, or so it was said. They were a must for foreign nobles and their ilk that would rather die than suffer the humiliation of having to walk a few steep stairs.

But of course anyone with a big enough stick stuck up their rear would ignore all of this in favor of taking the ‘proper’ way into the mountain city. Money really did rot your brain if you hoarded enough of it.

Speaking of one with money but thankfully without the brain rot.

“Mao! Good day to you. How’s business?” Joseph came over to greet his childhood friend.

He looked much the same as when he’d been a kid in that most children lost their blond hair to darker colors as they grew up, but Joseph had not. His hair remained the same platinum white as from his youth, now combed back into a loose ponytail. His eyes were a pale green, like mint and the freshness of winter. They were narrow from smiling now, a welcome sight.

Mao greeted him with a grin of his own. His teeth were sharper, but only if you paid attention. Like most Wild Ones it was a detail easily missed unless you knew what to look for. He had a feeling Joseph knew, for all that most had been too busy being terrified that cursed night 8 years ago to notice one of the children turning into a little black fox with a mask. The same mask hung from Mao’s belt even now, a loyal companion that he would wear whenever he wanted to feel the breeze on his fur.

They hadn’t talked about that night since it happened, at least not in detail. Only frightened hints, muted reminders, shudders and a shared wish to forget. It was a night where they’d all nearly died. Mao, Joseph, and the other noble children around their age who’d attended the same class in Redlog’s school. The sly teacher Jåhn Bok had nearly succeeded in spiriting them all away into the woods, where a pack of elves had waited to feast on their precious blue blood.

Twisted things, former humans gone too far into dark desires. Greed, gluttony, a wish for immortality. The price they paid for it kept Mao up at night.

He smiled now, that distant memory of horror long since filed away into the back of his mind. There was no room for terror in his life now.

“Business is blooming. Rather fitting for the season, yea? How’s things up at the Peak?” Mao asked. Joseph made a grimace.

“Busy as always but not in the way I’d like it to be.”

Mao gave his friend a sympathetic smile, if a bit strained. “Still not feeling involved enough?”

His friend sighed. “I’d just like to…” Joseph waved his hands around in search for a good way to word his troubles. “Be more useful.”

“Isn’t sponsoring the Watch enough? Your family keeps us all safe, you know.” Mao offered gently. It didn’t soothe Joseph much. The nobleman sighed again.

“I know, I know. It’s just that I want to do more. My parents don’t know that I’m here right now.” Joseph said. Mao frowned.

“Isn’t that bad?”

The noble waved it away. “Not if I’m useful. Thought I should check in with people since it’s the first spring market. See if there’s any troubles we should know about. Help if possible.”

Mao wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Most had things well in hand without needing the supervision of a noble. In fact, some might take offense to it if Joseph wasn’t smooth about it. Still, he wanted to support his friend because he knew that Joseph meant well.

“It’s appreciated,” Mao ended up saying. Joseph smiled weakly, sensing the sympathy in those words. Mao continued. “I’m sure people will be happy to complain about stuff if you ask them.”

“What about you?” Joseph’s question caught Mao off guard. The nobleman noticed and added, “Still trying to become a Hunter? I thought old Josei was working you ragged enough with the medicine shop as is.”

Mao relaxed. He put a wry smile on his lips. “I’ll balance it somehow. If they let me join, that is. I’ll keep pestering them until they do.”

“What’s their excuse this week?” Joseph asked. A sparkle of amusement glittered in his eyes. He knew that the Hunters’ Guild’s constant refusal to let Mao join them was a bit of a hot topic for the medicine maker.

“Not enough endurance. I’ve been practicing running with Tobby all week though, so I’ll beat them on their next warm up run,” Mao confided.

“That’s the spirit.” Joseph smiled.

Mao was about to share more of his master plan on how to convince the Hunters that he was a worthy candidate for their ranks when it happened. A crash of sound quickly followed by screams. Something heavy had hit the ground and Mao’s sensitive ears didn’t miss the surprised yell of pain as it landed. At once, he and Joseph were rushing over to see what had happened.

The sound came from the stables, a tall two story building with more lattice work and fences than actual walls. The top floor was level with School Street and was mostly for storage, while the bottom floor sat in the plaza and held the animals.

One corner of the building was an open loft spanning from ceiling to the ground, with a simple rope contraption for hauling heavy bales of hay up and down between the two floors.

One had slipped free from the rope and landed on a person. A young man that couldn’t have been far out of his teens, now laid flat against the ground with the heavy bale of hay crushing his lower half. The horses in the stables reared and neighed as Mao rushed over, smelling the fox scent lingering just beneath his human one. He paid them no mind but a stable hand snapped out of her shock to go and sooth them.

A red faced man in rich clothing was venting his fury on the rest of the panicking stable staff. He screamed at one of them as Mao and another stablehand heaved the hay bale off the young man. It didn’t take a healer to see that one of the teen’s legs had bent the wrong way from the sudden impact crushing him against the ground. The richly dressed fellow noticed and got even louder.

“How am I supposed to get anything done now?! He’s the only servant I brought! You imbeciles have crippled me!”

The rich looking man was actually unharmed. He looked like a merchant, a foreign one lacking the local accent and with heels higher than any Redlog citizen would ever have dreamed of wearing in this nightmare-slope of a city. High heels and uneven cobblestone roads did not mix well…

The young man groaned as Mao gave him a bottle of quick acting painkillers. He’d grabbed some supplies from his marketstall before rushing over, fearing he would need them.

It was a bad break but thankfully only one leg. The other was bruised but otherwise fine. The hip might have taken a beating too but the young man seemed able to move them without nearly fainting from the pain like he did when the broken leg was felt at. Mao inspected the injury as carefully as he could, racking his brain for what knowledge and experience he’d collected over the years so far to set what he could. He tuned the furious merchant out while working, cleaned the scrapes that bled and carefully felt for bone that crunched at the slightest touch.

A nasty hit, but a bit of crowsmoss to keep infection at bay, some clovercup nectar mixed with moonbell for the pain… The servant calmed down as Mao tended to him, only grimacing when the medicine maker bound his broken leg stiff with a makeshift splint. He would need a more proper cast later but this should do for now.

Mao’s ears twitched as the merchant kept raging. Joseph had latched onto him by now, calmy trying to appease the upset man. He ended up pointing out a farmer’s son, a George if Mao remembered the name correctly. He was only paying the fuss behind him half of his attention.

“How’s your schedule? Would you be able to take the servant’s spot for a few hours? I’ll sort you proper pay for it. If you can spare the time.”

The farmer’s boy and his father consulted each other, far from eager to take a job that had broke the leg of another. But after much coaxing they hesitantly agreed to the deal. That calmed the merchant down at last. He turned to his wounded servant and hissed.

“Sort out lodging for yourself. I’ll find someone else to take over permanently for you later since you won’t be useful anymore.” With that said, the merchant stormed off before the injustice in that statement could be called out by the outraged onlookers. He’d fired him? Just like that? Mao’s teeth ached from anger but he resisted the urge to bare them.

Joseph once more swept in like a guardian on a warpath, determined to be of as much use as possible now that he had his chance. Mao didn’t notice him slipping away until the nobleman reappeared, now in the company of the owner of Market Square’s inn.

Lara Öl was a portly woman with that warm, freckled, smile of a cozy home. She called her inn Hearty Home and the place lived up to its name. On Joseph’s request, she came over to help the wounded young man up- Mao helped lift him, although Lara could probably have managed it on her own. Kneading her own bread every morning for a hungry crowd made for impressive arms.

Given its location of the busiest place in Redlog during trade season, it was an impressive feat to run it with such success. It housed most travelers who didn’t make it further than the southern part of the city where the market lay. Her inn stood two stories tall with a loft one could generously call a third story, or more accurately, a crawlspace for storage that merely offered the roof another tier.

The inn also lay right next to the stables.

Joseph’s meddling became obvious when she welcomed the servant boy to stay at her inn, all with much fuss and a refusal to accept any flustered attempts at saying no. The teen didn’t have the coin for the admittedly expensive inn, but someone had very generously paid for a few nights to ensure he could recover in peace. Mao was certain the young man would be eating hot food and resting in the softest of beds before the day was over. He was in good hands.

Yet once Lara was off with her new ward the crowd started dispersing, Joseph wore an impressive mix of beaming pride and troubled concern. That wouldn’t do, not after the young noble had managed to sort this so well. A little cheer was warranted here and Mao had a mind to bring it if Joseph didn’t find it himself.

“You look like you swallowed a whole dung bug,” he teased. Joseph blinked. The noble’s cheeks grew red.

“Just ah- I’m glad Lara agreed to take him in,” Joseph said. He still didn’t look pleased and Mao said as much.

“It’s just… the way that merchant was treating that poor fellow…” Joseph sighed in frustration.

“Fired him on the spot for daring to break his legs when a hay bale hit him from above,” Mao grimaced. That seemed to be the right thing to say, because Joseph let his anger over the poor treatment of the servant out at last.

“The gall of some people, I swear-”

They traded barbed complaints about haughty people on their way back to Mao’s stall. Right in time to see a girl look up from stuffing Mao’s merchandise into a burlap bag. A moment of shock passed in a second, then the girl took off at a sprint. Mao gave chase with a snarl, but the bustling crowd blocked him from running as fast as he could. Despite his yelling and trying to push through, the thief disappeared between the clusters of moving bodies.

Without any sight of her to follow, Mao raised his nose, trying to instead catch her scent. He willed his senses into waking up fully, to take in every hint he could-

A wall of clashing smells and sounds flooded his senses. Mao recoiled with a snarl, overwhelmed by the many sensations found in a busy market place. It was far too much for a fox’s senses to handle. His Wild self retreated back into the core of his being with a whimper, leaving his human side dizzy and disoriented.

Once he caught up, Joseph gave him a strange look, pale brow knit in concern and… Mao shook his head. This day had started so well…