A shift of shadows and a hint of red, and then the wolf arrived with triumph clutched in his jowls. The foxbun was plump from summer plenty, red blood still oozing from the fangs clenched around its throat. Delicately, he set it down on the ground and sat down beside it, awaiting the arrival of his partner. A rustle in the trees drew his gaze, ears perked, but it was upwind and smelled nothing like her. His hackles rose, fur bristling, lips drawing back. Something was wrong here. But when he turned back to his kill the rush of movement was already past, and his jaws snapped shut on air.An orange buck was galloping away, weaving through the mangroves, his jaws clamped around the wolf’s prize, and a furious snarl ripped from Firethorn’s throat as he got to his own paws, flowing like a shadow after the thief. But the buck had surprise on his side, and he was fresher, swifter, not having just finished a hunt. He might have even gotten away with his theft, had another shape not come catapulting out from the bushes, taking him in the side and sending buck, doe, and foxbun corpse sprawling. The kin immediately moved to their hooves, but the wolf was faster. He lost no time snatching back his prize and backed away to stand over it with fangs bared.
From the other side of the orange buck, Snow Shrike shook the fringe from her eyes, blue and sparkling with wicked amusement. “Thought you could steal from us, did you, peacock?” The words were a sneer, more amused than icy, yet distinctly predatory.Bandit remained unfazed—it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been caught— but he cringed at the choice of nickname. “They’re peasant feathers,” he said immediately, defensive of the prized collection he wore behind his ears. He’d worked hard for them… but he had to admit, they did floof out quite a bit.
“Yeah yeah, peacock. You look ridiculous wearing so many of them,” she snickered, but she also took a small step forward. She hadn’t forgotten. It was a surprisingly menacing action from the smaller doe, and Bandit found himself backing up a step, but a snarl from behind him told him where the wolf was.
“Everyone needs to eat,” he replied smoothly, dark eyes moving slowly from side to side. Outnumbered, and thus outmatched, his best bet now was to plan his escape.
“There are other ways to feed yourself,” she replied just as easily. Her tone was not scornful, though, instead it dripped implication. He was capable, that was clear from his theft and near escape. There was no need to resort to taking what others had felled; he was plenty able to feed himself using his own means. He found his interest piqued, usually all other kin had for him was disdain, but this doe saw that there was something deeper there. She took another step forward nonetheless, though, and he felt more than saw the wolf do the same behind him. This time he held his ground.
“None of which are nearly as amusing,” he assured, which drew another laugh and another step.
“I’m sure there’s more than that, now…” Her eyes narrowed, her gaze as suggestive as her smirk, and it seemed she would hesitate so long as he kept her in the dark.
“Is there?” He quirked a brow, one corner of his mouth drawing up into a smile, but he was more focused on the fact that the distance was closed now. She was a bound away, and it was time to take his leave. “This really has been lovely, but-“
Two figures leapt, and he bolted to the side, feeling bodies narrowly miss him, hearing jaws snap closed just beyond his ear. It was only when he was well and safely away that he would notice, of the feathers he was so proud, he was missing one.
___________________________________________
“So we meet again, peacock.”
The voice startled him, but he tried not to show it. “They’re peasant feathers,” he corrected yet again, turning from the stone and the carcasses piled upon it. The doe who blocked his way out of the cavern was unchanged, her blue eyes still sparkling with that same wicked mischief, dark fringe still falling almost into one eye. Only a few paces behind her stood her wolf, and when he snarled, Bandit smirked. Nobody had forgotten anyone, so it seemed, despite the change in venue.
“Up to your same old cowardly habits, are you?” she sneered, picking up a finch she’d dropped at her hooves and stepping into the cavern, up to the stone, with a sense of unmistakable belonging.
“I take offense to that, I am not a coward,” he protested as she dropped her bird and made another selection, picking out a mouse, starting to nibble at it’s tail, oblivious to his own purposes for being there. For his part, though, he let the corpses be. He knew when he was caught. “I didn’t know you were in the Coalition.”
“You certainly aren’t.” The accusation was ripe in her tone.
“Easy pickings,” he commented with a shrug, and the doe nearly choked on her mouse. “What?”
“You’ve never actually taken anything from here,” she replied, so matter of factly that he had to bristle a bit, fixing her with a pointed stare. Nevermind that she was right, but to be so adamantly so when he’d never even seen her here before… But she continued to eating in silence, with a grin curving over her bloodstained jaws. Finally, he gave in and asked.
“Now, how do you know that?” And then out of the corner of his eye, in the shadow of the stone, he saw a glimmer of cream. A pheasant feather— his pheasant feather— placed there, as if in offering. It told a story of its own, how he’d been able to get so close to the Cavern unmolested, why he’d been allowed in even.
“There’s only been one creature which has taken from the Killstone,” she smirked, jerking her head up towards the rocky wall. High up on a ledge sat a ball of white and brown fur--only a lemur could be that large and still make that sort of climb. “And you wouldn’t have gotten in here unless Marshdove had allowed it – there is nothing she doesn’t know, when it comes to the Cavern.” Of course, that begged another question.
“Why did she allow it, then?” He asked, rounding on her with one raised brow.
When she turned her suggestive blue eyes back to him, he found all the answer he needed there.
___________________________________________
“Why are they so important to you anyways?” she asked, balancing the feather delicately on her nose. They were laying side by side by side, curled up in the morning sun, a welcome surprise (to both of them, he hoped) that both had stayed the night. She seemed to insist on taking one each time they met, and now there were only three left tucked behind his ear. Surprisingly, he had long since stopped minding.
“A goal, of sorts, I suppose. I plucked each of them straight from a living pheasant, no easy task mind you.” He blew lightly, and the feather fluttered to the ground, earning him a momentary glare.
“Oh? Couldn’t finish the job then? Get queasy at the drawing of blood?” she teased, and he faked a hurt glance.
“You would think so little of me?” he replied, aghast.
“Perhaps,” it was a coo.
“I take offense to that too,” he complained, but she butted his chin, and he laughed.
“Why do you steal, anyways?” she finally asked. The question had ridden with her since their first meeting, but this was the first time that both of the had stayed till morning, both so sated by last night’s lovemaking.
“Are you calling me a thief?” his fake chagrin made her butt him again, harder this time.
“Seriously!” she was insistent, now. He laughed.
“Honestly? Because it’s more challenging; it’s more of a thrill. Hunting isn’t easy in its own right: only the skilled can make the kill. Imagine how much harder it becomes to rob the skilled of their spoils?” He grinned at her, saw the understanding in her eyes, laughing at the wickedness he saw there too.
“You must have no shortage of enemies, then,” she replied, bemused.
“Are you my enemy, now?”
“You never did manage to steal from me, remember?” She picked up the feather again, brushing his nose with it before tossing it aside. “Why if I recall, I seem to be the one stealing from you.”
“Then am I your enemy?”
She laughed, rolling into him, and in a tangle of limbs and lust he found his answer once more. It was only until much later, after they’d rested and fed (both stealing from a certain disapproving wolf), that she reached over to pluck yet another feather from his collection. This time, though, he stopped her, pressing his muzzle to hers.
“This time, it’ll cost you,” he said, and her eyes glittered with mirth.
“Haven’t I already paid you handsomely, good sir?”
“Your name, for a prized feather, one of the rarest and finest in the swamp.”
“Well that’s a lousy bargain—for me that is. I could just steal my feather and begone,” she huffed, but he caught her with his eyes. She looked up at him through her lashes, torturous, then said finally: “Snow Shrike.”
“Bandit.”
She plucked the feather, leaving him with just two. “You look much less like a peacock now, Bandit.”
And then she strode away, his feather in her jaws, and he found himself looking after her until her silhouette was claimed by the mist.
___________________________________________
Under the light of the just waning moon, a fire crackled merrily. Kin gathered around it, laughing, chattering, and occasionally bickering over what appeared to be bones. Every so often, one was tossed into the fire to a roar of either approval or disapproval, and carcasses were passed around from kin to kin. Bonepicking, they called it, one of their favorite pastimes during Ashmoot. Yes, during the past few moons, he had learned much about the Coalition.
He stood at the edge of the clearing, watching, still debating. He wasn’t one for tethers, but then again, neither was she. He should have been surprised when a shoulder brushed against his from the shadows beyond, and yet, he wasn’t – he had known she would find him.
“Come to take from our Killstone again?” she chided, and he smiled down at her.
“Actually, I came to offer something.” A pair of squirrels rested between his hooves, plump from early autumn. She surveyed them and smirked back at him, her dark fringe falling into one eye.
“And from whom did you steal these from?” she teased, and he faked affront once more.
“Why, are you calling me a thief?” He demanded, lightly stamping a hoof.
“I’m calling you a Bandit,” she crooned, brushing his cheek with her nose, but this time she left his feathers untouched. He looked back at her with surprise in his eyes, but she only smiled back at him, and he found himself grinning in turn. Letting his guard down, however, turned out to be a mistake, for suddenly a shadow pooled out from behind a mangrove. Quick as the wind, Firethorn snatched one of his offering’s tails and darted out towards the fire, and before Bandit could properly protest, his mistress had done the same with the other squirrel, leaving him pitifully emptihoofed.
“Oh no you don’t, those are mine!” he called out, but he was chuckling too as he raced after them towards the fire. Kin laughed and called out, but he had eyes for one doe only, and when he cornered her in the back of the cavern, after splashing through water and corpses and a pile of pheasant feathers, he couldn’t help himself but laugh at the irony.
He was the thief, and yet she had stolen his heart.
