“Please, sir…” Bax looked at the trooper’s helmeted face and swallowed his words. Like a death warrant, the stolen sword hung limply in his paw. Four months' rations surely weren't worth his life...
Why’d he have to do it?
“He’s just a kit, Staj. Can’t we let him go, this once?” The other guard was bare-headed—a young vixen who stood with eyes downcast.
“Huh. You’re too soft on ‘em- just let the word spread and we’re in for it. I’m sorry, Golda.”
Golda fidgeted, eying them both. Then she shrugged and Bax saw the brief glint of a knife.
“Wait”- he clamped his jaw shut. They took him in tow after first relieving him of the sword. His spirits rose when Staj veered towards the pub, then sank again. His captor was merely greeting a friend.
There were few otters about. Bax appealed silently to them- no luck.
“Why did you do it?”
“As if you really cared, fox.” He glared at Golda, hoping to discourage her.
“You idiot! This has nothing to do with our species,” she hissed.
Staj glared at them, gesturing to his cohort. The fellow was thin even for a fox, and his eyes darted every which way.
"Hey, Ven- didn't expect you to be licking this coward's feet."
"'Scuse me, but do you kn-" The pommel of Staj's sword rammed into Bax's gut.
"That was uncalled for!" She produced the knife, waving it under their noses. To Bax's astonishment, they froze. "Listen to me, you spineless lackeys. I'm taking charge of this operation- got it?"
The two dogfoxes nodded. She took their weapons, issuing Bax with the recaptured short sword. "Hope you know how to use that."
So do I- and what is she thinking?
