Need Some Firewood? I've Got... Plenty

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~February 9~

"Time for your lesson Shifter." Dad nudges me awake. I practically spring out of bed in response. "Finally! Morning took forever to get here." I start washing my fur (I turned back into a fox last night when it got too chilly, even with my blanket) while Dad heads over to Brody's nest and pokes his nose into Brody's back. "Mmf," replies Brody.

Unperturbed, our pa rolls Brody out of his nest. Brody grunts an "Oof!" as he hits the ground. "All right, all right. I'm up," Brody mutters and shakes himself to clean off the dirt from the floor. He yawns and I get a whiff of his morning breath. I gag. "Eww. Yuck, Brody," I gasp.

He rolls his eyes. "If you don't like it, then move. No one says you have to sit there."

I glare at him.

Dad picks up my sword and leads us out of the den. "Where are we going, now?" Brody asks, yawning, and blinking the last of his sleepiness away as we tread through the snow. "Dad's training me to use a sword," I answer.

"A what now?"

"A sword!"

"I still have no idea what you're talking about."

I sigh. "Those shiny stick things. You know, the ones with thin edges on the right and left and flat edges on the front and back? It's got a line running down the middle of the flat parts..." I break off when Brody cocks his head at me, a blank look across his face. I sigh. "What Dad's carrying in his mouth."

Brody turns his gaze to where I'm motioning. "Ohhh! That's what Dad's training you with? Lucky... Where'd you even find a sword?"

"Dad gave it to me."

"He gave one to you?!"

"Well, not exactly. More like I... inherited it. From my... first father..." Man, I really wish I knew who he was!

Brody stays silent thinking. I raise my eyebrows in return. "No response? You're not curious?"

"No... I knew that you had parents before Mom and Dad... I was there the night you were brought here."

It never occurred to me that Brody was already five years old when I was a newborn. He must remember that night pretty well, then... Well... parts of it, probably. Brody and I walk in companionable silence the rest of the way.

Dad takes us to a circular, open, shady, clearing. Frozen dew glitters in the early morning light. Dead, brown grass lightly coated in snow crunches underfoot as we walk. The air has a chilly feel to it and the area smells like snow and wet wood. Snow covers the branches of the trees surrounding us. "This is where you boys will practice from now on," Dad declares.

"'Boys'? Plural? What am I here for? I can't wield a sword!" Brody complains.

"Who says you need a sword to defend yourself? The weapons nature gave us are just as good. I'll be training you to use your claws and teeth," our father answers.

"I know how to use my claws and teeth! Bite and scratch. That's how you use them. The most it'll do is probably give someone a minor infection. Plus, you said foxes aren't fighters!"

"Yes, while it's true that we foxes would rather escape than stay and fight, there will be times when we'll have to stand up for ourselves. I want you to be prepared for those times. You will not simply be 'biting and scratching', you will be using your whole body... tactfully."

"Hmph."

"Shifter, drop your sword and use your person form," Dad orders and I oblige. "Very good!" Dad exclaims and once I complete the change. I blush. Dad continues, "I see that you've been working on switching forms. You were able to transform very quickly that time. Now, I want you to hold the handle, or hilt, as that's the actual name, of your sword with two hands. As if you're holding a vine."

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