Foxes of Westbrook: Trouble in FernPack

Prologue

Crisp, night air drifted along the cluster of pines, swaying them in a gentle breeze. Moonlight danced on the forest litter, bringing a show of lights cast by the leaves. Murky smells clouded the area, competing with the fresh water from a nearby stream. Hills rose and fell, some bigger than others, and sheltered those within their protection.

It was here that a shadow blinked his eyes open, raising his head suddenly. His sharp golden gaze pierced the dark veil, sweeping the hills in a tired scan. A new scent flooded his nostrils, a scent of another fox, though it was faint. His sniffing grew more thorough as the fox became clear. Another ally, one as fierce as a rotting mouse.

Orange shone on the hilltop, revealing the fox's colors in the leafless space. His legs browned further down, and his white-tipped tail wagged like a pup.

"Darkheart!" the fox shouted with the quietness of a screeching hawk. "Hooray, I found you!"

Darkheart pawed his nose. Watching the fox skip down brought a path of misery, regret, and plain confusion.

"Fuzztail," Darkheart hissed as the fox came close. "You shouldn't be yelling for every pack to hear! We don't know if anyone is listening in."

Fuzztail cocked his head and talked as loud as he yelled. "What do you mean? No one is here!"

The fox reared onto his legs, his tongue lolling like a dog. Darkheart flicked his tail as he turned away. "Just do your thing. The moon is full, you can look at it nice and clear," his words fell to a near-whisper as he concluded, "and hurry up with your prophecy-reading."

Strong beams of light poured onto Fuzztail's overgrown fur, illuminating it to a shade brighter than any fox. At first, Fuzztail watched the moon with open eyes, his tongue still flopping in a typical Fuzztail manor. Then, as though common sense clicked, Fuzztail closed his snout and eyes, yet gazed up as though the moonlight broke through his lids.

Darkheart waited far on the hill, pawing his tail instead of watching the scene. When the first cloud blocks the moon, diminishing contact with the foxes below, Fuzztail would open his eyes. And, as Darkheart learned to expect, not a single prophecy would be announced, and he wasted time that could've gone towards hunting.

Light faded into dark, and the clouds danced in front of the moon, preventing any more storytelling to Fuzztail. Shaking his fur, Darkheart stood up, his paws beating the ground eagerly. "Anything, Fluffle?" Darkheart stopped with a stealthy twist of his paws.

Something shone in Fuzztail's eyes, something bright that wasn't the scorching moonlight. Excitement. Cold, worrying excitement.

Calm down, Darkheart. Fluffles always get excited over the simplest of things. He thought of how full the Hunters' Den once was, full of peculiar rocks that Fuzztail found interesting. But his mind wandered to the worst possible outcomes, and no flashbacks could reassure him.

"The Spirit Foxes sent a message," Fuzztail announced, his muzzle stretching wide in a smile. His next words were a shout that would scare a screeching hawk. "The Demi-Spirits have been chosen!"

No. NO. NO! Screaming ricocheted around his mind, like a rabbit cornered by hungry foxes. But unlike the rabbit, there was no kicking, no smart tactics in the back of his mind, no adrenaline to push him until the very end...

Only horror. Worry, and horror.

"Did they say who?" Darkheart asked. "Anyone in particular? Maybe a specific litter of pups? Or those lost pups?"

Not long ago, the pack found an abandoned fox. A strange blue one, who Darkheart wanted to call Fuzztail's long-lost cousin. The next one was brought in with an adult, but he died mysteriously, leaving the pup in FernPack's care. If anyone would be a Demi-Spirit, it had to be those two.

But who will be the third one? Demi-Spirits only came in groups of three, so there had to be a third Spirit...

"Nope, just Demi-Spirits!" Fuzztail barked. "Wait, does that mean I can be a Demi-Spirit?" Fuzztail asked, looking at Darkheart with curious eyes. The hunter, however, shook his head.

"Of course not!" he replied, putting immense emphasis on the 'not'. "From what we... I... know, only pups have been Demi-Spirits. And even if you act like it, you are not a pup."

"But what if they like me?" he rolled over, jumped around, and did other annoying Fuzztail movements.

"I can assure you that they don't," Darkheart growled under his breath. His paws turned the dark fox towards the distance, where FernPack lies.

Brightear is not going to like this...