Ashen was awakened to the thud of feet.

  Not the jolly kind, though.

  Racing, panicked clomps across the floor, snapped commands shouting in the wind.

  Ashen remained very still under his thin blanket for three solid seconds.

  If I'm really, really quiet, maybe the end of the world will just blow on by me like a deer in mock-rock disguise.

  //System Notification// //Warning: Localized Threat Detected. Recommend Observation Mode//}}

  I am always in Observation Mode, Marco. Barely surviving.

  He rolled off onto his feet, grabbed his idiot flute — emotional support flute, now — and peered out.

  The village square was stretched taut with masquerade as celebration.

  Tables being set out. Baskets of victuals being placed. Colorful ribbons streaming on poles.

  But beneath — hard glances. Welded smiles. Bladed things concealed in picnic baskets.

  And in the midst of it all:

  Two guards half-dragging a bloody figure between them.

  Ashen's tail stood on end involuntarily.

  No bandits in sight beyond the walls. No arrows in the air. No army at the gates.

  The only indication of life was this scout — a gaunt wolf-beastman with serrated slashes across his chest — clinging to the edge of awareness by tenuous threads.

  His wheezing breathed. His fur was sticky with blood and muck.

  The guards hauled him away towards the council tent, spitting savage curses Ashen could not make out.

  Maddie flitted up to Ashen, pink face, steady voice, jamming a chunk of bread into his hand.

  "Shove it in, sweetie! Big day today!"

  Ashen gave her his most charming overwrought twink face: huge eyes, quivering hands, mortified smile.

  "Thanks ever so much, Miss Maddie! You're being way too kind."

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  In her mind meanwhile:

  Oh wonderful. Break-fast bread and trauma. My favorite.

  ---

  They met again in the sunny glen where the council met — Ashen sitting primly in the rear, flute pressed against his breast, looking indeed every inch the confused foreigner.

  The injured scout, with Cypher and Reya's help, struggled to his feet.

  His voice cracked as he spoke:

  "We were on patrol in the forest east. They ambushed us."

  A spasm of coughing rocked his body, blood smearing his lips.

  "Jonnin's dead. They… they left me alive… to bring a message."

  Maddie's face darkened.

  Sister Nell bowed her head.

  Burok growled low in his throat.

  White, wide-eyed and gripping his flute more tightly, Ashen blinked up at the poor guy like he was going to cry.

  Fake it till you make it, sweetheart.

  The scout continued, each word gritting out like it hurt him:

  "Surrender the village. Open the gates."

  "Give yourselves up, and the children will be spared."

  "Resist. and none of you will live."

  A heavy, heavy silence fell.

  The weight of it pressed Ashen's false smile to the back of his head.

  Even the kids playing in the distance fell silent, swept up in the mood shift.

  Great, that's scary. Love that for us. Huge fan of hostage threats against children.

  Cypher's fists clenched at his hips.

  Reya was longing to kill someone in her own two hands.

  The scout collapsed onto his knees, exhausted.

  Maddie rushed over to him with a blanket and a cup of something hot, clucking low and gently like a mother hen gathering her hurt chicks.

  Ashen stared blankly at the ground, mechanically chewing the dry bread Maddie had given him, every bite tasting of ash.

  He should run away.

  He should go away, scavenge for provisions, get lost in the forest before the humans come.

  But…

  Ashen scanned the area.

  The little fox-earred boy he'd encountered was seated on the grass, cross-legged, fashioning a daisy chain.

  Old Burok was sharpening an axe with slow, careful strokes.

  Maddie was continuing to care for the scout with a hand as gentle as the summer wind.

  And Cypher — Cypher stood like a block of stone, jaws clenched, eyes blazing with icy anger.

  Goddammit.

  Ashen realized he couldn't depart yet.

  ---

  The council convened in a hurry after that — whispers slashing, tension thick as mire.

  Ashen lingered at the edge of the meeting, playing his flute idly among his fingers.

  When Cypher spoke, his voice was steel:

  "We stand for Haven. No surrender."

  Maddie bobbed her head, shining and fierce. "They think us weak because we chose peace. They will learn differently."

  Reya flashed her fangs in a grin that promised carnage.

  Even Sister Nell wrinkled her blindfold and showed one flashing golden eye.

  Burok merely growled and strapped on a warhammer over his back.

  Ashen politely raised his hand, as though he would be sent out of school.

  "Uh. excuse me?" he dared, raising his voice high and demure.

  "What if we, um, you know… practiced? Fitting in? Guarding gates? Maybe building traps?"

  Maddie clapped her hands together like he'd just proposed a village fundraiser bake sale.

  "Oh, what a bright boy you are!"

  Ashen grinned shyly, cheeks flushing — just the good picture of a humble, sweet, too-good-for-this-world star twink.

  Meanwhile in his head:

  I am actually saving your furry behinds and you don't even thank me. Bow down, peasants.

  Cypher gazed at him — long and hard — and then nodded once.

  "Prepare," he growled. "The enemy is watching. We will make them wish they'd never considered us prey."

  ---

  The afternoon was a whirl of mad last-minute preparation.

  Ashen helped haul baskets of boulders to slingshot rounds, stash knives in picnic hampers, and ended up roped into teaching village kids the rudiments of evasion techniques (because who'd ever suspect the little sweet-appearing flute-player is plotting defense strategies?).

  All, meanwhile, smiling, blushing, laughing with warm smiles at compliments.

  Ashen the adorable new lad.

  Ashen the wide-eyed sweetheart.

  Ashen the taciturn mastermind of their survival.

  ---

  The fires burned more fiercely that night.

  Warning beacons lighted the sky — not brightly enough to bring on the bandits, but brightly enough to shout:

  We are not afraid.

  We are ready.

  Ashen sat beside the biggest fire, wrapping a worn wool blanket around his shoulders, pretending to sleep with his flute lying across his chest.

  Cypher draped a thicker pelt over his shoulders in silence.

  Ashen looked up at him, fluttering his eyelashes like a Disney princess relinquishing the contest.

  "Th-thank you," he stammered modestly.

  In his head rather:

  If I survive this, I'll have earned a goddamned trophy. And cake. And many cakes.

  Cypher growled — his understanding of love, apparently — and sat down beside him, crossing his arms, staring out into the dark woods beyond.

  Ashen shut his eyes and inhaled smoke and fire and open wind and thought: