The War for Eventyr

5 | Rough Edges

Colborn lowered his forequarters to the ground, watching the rounded mass of coal-colored feathers waddle through the long grass. He was concealed by their swaying, yellowed blades, killed by the incoming chill of the changing season.

Jakob stalked forward to keep up with his brother. Colborn used a tipped nose to keep him from coming further than his flank, then he turned his eyes back to the bird. It was hardly ever that they ventured this far inland from the ocean. Saliva dripped from his muzzle as he focused on the orange and black-striped beak.

He scrunched his nose and jerked his gaze away. As bad as he wanted to take over––to ensure this opportunity wouldn't go to waste––this was meant to help Jakob hone his hunting skills. Not to please his growling belly.

Colborn crept sideways, allowing his brother to take the central position across from the fowl. Its curved beak pecked at the ground while webbed toes pushed away the soil, ignorant to the danger behind it. It hoped to make a home here, while the tod only hoped it would find a home within his stomach.

He watched Jakob step closer, low to the ground, placing each paw slowly as he covered the distance between them. That was always his problem, underestimating the natural spring of a fox's leap. He'd tried to explain it many times, that getting close only gave your prey more opportunity to sense you. His brother had less confidence in himself than the pale-bellied bird they were hunting.

From years of being treated like he was worthless.

Jakob glanced back at him with hesitance. Colborn nodded, and the scarlet-furred tod crouched even lower. The puffin lifted its head and turned its beady eyes in each direction. He needed to go. Now.

His brother started to jump, only to flinch and fall back with a grimace. At the sound of his rustle in the grass, the bird hopped into the air with a flurry of black and white. Colborn couldn't take it anymore, pushing off the ground with his paws and soaring several fox-lengths into the air. His jaws met the tender flesh of the puffin's leg, and he dragged the squawking creature back with him to the earth.

He snapped its neck and stared down with content at its lifeless eyes. This was one thing he was happy to kill.

"Impressive."

The harsh voice wrapped like a thick smoke around his throat.

"Father." He dropped the bird and spun on his paws, letting the joy melt from his face like frost beside a blazing flame. His blank, unflickering expression met the Jarl.

"Now if only that limp pile of flesh over there could do that."

From his peripherals, he watched Jakob sulk up to them. His nose pointed to the ground and his tail drooped. It wasn't his fault. Colborn put too much pressure on him. They should've started with something easier.

"I'm sorry, Father," Jakob said dully.

The thorns in the jarl's words no longer pierced his brother's pelt. Just as the blood no longer stained his own, crimson fur.

A coal-crushing scoff emerged from his throat. "You always are. Apologies don't feed us though, now do they?"

"No, Father." His voice grew quieter.

The tod pointed to the puffin, then at Colborn. "Pick it up. Your brother can eat when he learns to hunt." The scorn rolled from his tongue as easily as the constant praise he gave to his other son.

Colborn grew nauseous just listening to his words. He did as he was told, looking to his father for instruction.

"Come along," he said. "I need to speak to you. Alone."