She stood her ground, staring her mother down with unwavering determination. For me.
That had to be a good sign.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I prayed. To every god, every spirit, every shred of luck I had left—that whatever she was saying was enough to convince her mother.
Because if it wasn't, I was about to become ash scattered in the wind.
The kit and her mother went back and forth for what felt like forever. Sharp barks. Low growls. Long pauses that built into another round of snarls and snapping jaws. I couldn't understand a single syllable, but I didn't need to. The lash of the little fox's tails, the way she planted her paws firmly in the dirt, the way the Matriarch's molten eyes narrowed—all of it told me this wasn't some sweet family reunion.
This was an argument.
