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When Best stepped away, the first thing that unfolded was the crane - it spread its golden wings, lifted - and fluttered to follow him. The turtle came after...well, stood after, having found a berry dropped on the floor. Best urged it forward to his brother.

“What a turtle, eh?” That smirk was wicked. “Look at its dull greyness. It suits you perfectly.”

The worst part of a hunt was being seen off by her dad. "I'm a big girl now, Father," Run said, rolling her eyes. "Please. A muskrat will not kill me." An exclamation of horror - poor choice of words. But what was there to do on short notice? It was so ridiculous to run out and bother the hunters when she was here and honestly capable of acquiring one on her own. "Goodbye," she stated with finality, and sped off into the expanse of the swamp.

It was times like this that she was reminded how much bigger the world was than the shop (though she knew it would hurt her father a little - after all, the shop was his world). She slowed her steps to enjoy the scenery, scanning the environment to locate her prey. Not quite yet - her first sweep only revealed idyllic things: a songbird and its mate chirping on a branch, a mongoose hoarding its dinner, a moth fluttering by, leaving dust in its wake. 

On her second look, she was startled by a distinct pair of eyes in the brush, and took one step back. She held her breath as it rose and revealed itself - a lynx, bright green with a bold orange blaze across its back (so reminiscent of her own burning locks), had not broken her gaze. They stood motionless for a few seconds before it blinked slowly, and stalked away.

Run wasn't sure whether she was supposed to be scared, but the stare did not seem hostile nor predatory. She shook her head, smiled (for what an encounter!) and went in another direction. The muskrats were probably just a little while off.

And so they were. She wanted no trouble, she was alone and only here for one. A straggler would be ideal, just one to the side, hopefully far enough from the pack for its cries to be lost on their way. Things, however, weren't so convenient. Run was on a time limit, and in fear of failure, struck one  within listening radius.

She didn't manage a stunning blow, instead only catching it about the ear - a shrill, ringing screech sounded out, and she cringed, slamming another hoof down in desperation. If she could just get it unconscious she could grab and run, but it was too late: its comrades caught up lightning-fast and began their assault.

Sometimes she wished that they hadn't inherited Mom's luxurious long hair. The muskrats pulled at her fur and her locks, biting and scratching. She lashed out, throwing some off. She regretted her childish pride; if only she had been more patient, or simply ran on first cry. But here she was, under siege by muskrats, and if she died by their paws she would loathe her own soul out of being.

Everything was a blur of biting, scratching and screeching, though all of a sudden the screeching got quite a bit louder. And suddenly, the screeching started to lessen. With her hair across her eyes she could not understand the strange changes, but after a while she could hear the patter of little feet. They were running away. 

But why? They had been hungry for blood, and they certainly got some. She finished off what she could see and paused to toss her mane back - only to find that very lynx with a muskrat in its mouth, shaking the life out of it. 

She stared. It looked up, muskrat now limp, its brilliant orange eyes wide...and slowly blinked.

Run returned with three muskrats and her new lynx, Your Call. The only explanation she offered was a slightly irritable (yet also satisfied) "we make a good team." 

Sleep on a night where the moon dominated the sky as red and ominous as his own name? Not a chance. A dark form shifted even before the words had left Left’s mouth. It rose gracefully to its feet, making not a single sound. Stepping around the sleeping forms of his other siblings; Killing Moon parted from the shadows and stepped into the moonlit night. He shook his head once, removing a stray strand of hair from his nose, and approached his brother.

“You’ve been gone for a while.” He said softly, keeping his voice low as not to wake the others. He gave an easily smile that lit his eyes and spoke of how happy he was to see his brother returned home. “Are you well?” He looked past Left, sharp gaze first picking out the familiar form of the turtle and then…

“For me?” Killing Moon inquired with a gentle smile of amusement. He loved all his siblings, but there had always been a soft spot in his heart for his often awkward little brother. Left’s stepped aside to reveal the Eaglehound and Killing Moon spent a long time in thoughtful silence. “She’s beautiful…” He said eventually, trying not to look so obviously besotted. A confident step forward and he dipped his head towards the Eaglehound in a gesture of respect. “Left, are you sure?” She can still be yours, his steady gaze said.

Finally Killing Moon let the joy he felt show and he stepped first towards his brother, pressing their cheeks together and holding there for one long moment. “I am grateful. I could not imagine finding a better companion on my own.” Of course, it would all still depend on how the Eaglehound took to him, but from in the short time he had spent with the beast, it simply felt right. He approached her then, dipping so that they were nose to nose, gaze meeting gaze. A breathless moment spent in contemplation. “Fate perhaps, but I think Echo would suit well for a name this time.”

iii. Dearly Departed

Much time had passed since that strange night where these caves had been transformed into a hovel of shrieks and frights. The gasps of no naive doe echoed there now, the laughter of no boisterous buck. The props still remained, but the actors had long departed from the set. Under the beating midday sun, the gaping holes looked almost small; abandoned, empty...forlorn.

But, for the first time in a long time, they had visitors today. In the distance, they cantered, unhurried, two does. One burned like fire, the other black as night. The unusual cascade of lustrous locks down their backs marked them, nevertheless, as sisters.

The darker doe was unperturbed, by the smell, nor her sister's distaste. "Places made merry," she said, in a voice like dusk, "are so much more interesting abandoned, don't you think? All that fear and joy, compressed into a single night. What echoes of their fright are left behind in these walls...hark - can't you still hear the voices?" Without waiting for a reply, she stepped within the mouth of it, rolling back her head for a moment, thinking, or listening, or neither, before stamping a soft hoof in decision and striding into the forward-most cave.

If she had noted her sister's distress, she showed no sign. Her purposeful stride had soon halted, paused at a nondescript spot about two-thirds into the cavern, left of the middle. Her unblinking gaze was fixed upon some part of the dusty floor, scattered with chitinous segments. She stood, she stared. she did not move. It took some time, seconds, or minutes, one or the other, before the silence was silent enough that one could perhaps just hear the minute whirrrrr of gossamer wings. Part of the ghastly debris was vibrating, just slightly. It was not a segment. It was whole. It was alive.

The rest of her body remaining entirely still, down to the perfect detachment upon her face, she reached a hoof towards it. Moments more...but it did crawl upon the proffered tip.