Fithir—Emer's Message.

	Fithir wandered in her garden to tend to the last few plants that the first snow would kill and to stop herself from thinking.  She was cold, but that was better than staying inside with an empty bed in rooms that smelled of her life with Connor.  She’d forbidden him from going back to Oseille and she’d threatened to leave if he did.  That had pushed him in on himself and it had made him leave without telling her.  She’d gotten a horse from the stable and had had him saddled for a long journey.  She’d packed her most important things into two saddlbags and she’d gone so far as to get a sword in case she ran into trouble.  Except that she had nowhere to go.  She’d had visions, too, of Connor coming back hurt and needing her, or Ciara, running from God knew what.  So she’d unpacked, and prayed for all she loved to stay safe, and gone to her garden.
	As she was picking sticks up out of an empty flowerbed a fox child came up behind her and touched her arm.  The girl was no older than twelve or so, and all she had on against the cold was a plain grey dress and sandals.  She was an orphan, a ward of the church, under Marcan’s dubious care.
	“Lady, you are wanted at the City gate.  I’m to take you there as soon as you will come,” the child said.
	Fithir picked up a twig from the pile she’d made and she broke it into pieces before she answered.  She flicked each piece away with a snap of her wrist and counted each one until her temper was under control.  When the pieces were gone, she got up and brushed the dirt from her knees.
	“If Bishop Marcan wants to talk to me, he’ll have to come and ask me himself,” she said.
	The child hesitated, and Fithir felt an older anger rise in her chest.  Marcan drank openly now and it made him short tempered and free with his fists.  She’d never seen him strike any of the children but she had seen their bruises.
	“What is your name?” she said.
	“It’s Emer,” said the girl, and she flinched and pulled at her fingers.
	Church orphans were given new names, which they were expected to use until they were grown up, but the newer ones often forgot and gave their real names.  Marcan always punished them harshly when they did.  Fithir put a hand on Emer’s head, the way her mother had done when she was small, to comfort her.
	“If he gives you any trouble, for anything, you can come and tell me.  I’m not going to put up with it anymore,” she said.
	“It wasn’t Marcan who asked.  It was a strange rabbit on a big black horse.  She had a fox with her, which must be how she got in, but the fox was asleep.  I think she was hurt, too,” said Emer.
	“Badly?” said Fithir
	But she already knew the answer.  Ciara was the kind to attract misfortune, just like her father.  Fithir gathered up her skirts so they wouldn’t trip her, turned and ran.  Emer followed close on her tail.  They cut across the garden and jumped the low wooden fence that seperated it from the rest of the city.  Startled foxes turned and stared at them, then scattered in front of them when they didn’t stop.  Fithir slowed enough to grab Emer’s hand so she wouldn't lose the child and she was nearly pulled off her feet when the kit veered off down an alley that she hadn’t seen.  Emer led her along a series of confusing twists and turns and they reached the Gate Plaza in half the time it would have taken her alone.
	Embarr stood just inside the city gates, in a wide ring of curious foxes.  He was lathered from running and he jumped at sudden noises, but he was still under control.  Niamh was on his back and she looked close to panic with so many foxes around her.  She held Embarr’s mane tight in both hands and Fithir wasn't sure who was holding the other back.
	Ciara was draped face down over the stallion's back and she did look like she was asleep, except that she was naked to the waist and her left shoulder was covered with a crust of dried blood.  A crude bandage made of strips of torn shirt was wrapped around the wound, but that had already been soaked through.
	Fithir pushed her way through the crowd to Embarr’s side and put a hand on Ciara’s back.  She was alarmed how how hot the girl felt and at how shallow Ciara's breathing was.
	“She needs help,” said Niamh.
	“We’ll take care of her, right away.  But why did you come all the way back here?  Don't you have doctors in Oseille?” asked Fithir.
	“We did.  I saw what was left of Oseille as we passed and the only thing still standing is the Red Wolf tavern,” said Niamh.
	Fithir lifted Ciara down from her awkward perch and cradled the child against her chest.  Ciara wasn't much bigger than Emer and she was nowhere near as heavy as she ought to be.  The girl stank of infection.  Fithir breathed through her mouth and tried not to mind.  Except for Connor, Ciara was all the family she had left.
	“After this long, I don’t know how much can be done for her.  She’ll be lucky to keep the use of her arm,” said Fithir.
	“Just keep her alive.  I'll give you anything in the world,” said Niamh.
	Fithir turned to go back to the castle and this time the assembled foxes scattered in front of her.  She thought that Niamh would follow her on foot, but the rabbit didn’t get down off her horse.  The rabbit clung to his mane, her fingers clenched so tight her hands were trembling.  After a moment, Emer went to them and took hold of a stray lock of Embarr’s mane.
	“She cares too much for people who, not so long ago, would have seen her dead,” said Fithir.
	“And for you,” said Niamh.
	“What have we done to be worthy of such sacrifice?  Only let two children carry all our burdens while we let ourselves slip into the night.  If it were my choice, I would give up my kingdom to see that this does not happen again,” said Fithir.
	Fithir was only slightly surprised to find Connor’s personal physician waiting for them on the castle steps.  Word spread fast in Cearnach, which sometimes made her feel a little proud of her city.
	“The little Sister sent a runner for me on her way to find you,” he said “I got the impression that someone important needed me.  If I had known it was for some outsider-“
	“You would have come anway.  Except, if I’d known you were such a cruel fox, I wouldn’t have sent for you.  This vixen is your king’s only daughter,” said Fithir.
	“This is Connor’s bastard?  I won’t touch her, and if you valued your soul you wouldn’t either.  You sully yourself by breathing the same air,” said the doctor.
	Fithir passed Ciara to Emer, who held the girl easily.  Then she climbed the steps, and punched the doctor's nose.  It was, she thought, the most satisfying thing she had ever done.  He reeled back and clamped his hands over his muzzle, ears flat.
	“How can you say such things?” said Fithir.
	“She’s evil,” he said.
	“So are we all,” said Fithir.
	“She's a fox, just like you.  Tell me, what did she ever do wrong except get born and try to love all the people who turned their backs on her?  She could have stayed in Oseille and helped the only people who care about her.  I begged her to do just that.  But she always said this was her home, too.  If you won't help her now then get out of my way and be damned,” said Niamh.
	The doctor looked up at her and Fithir thought he looked a bit stunned.  Rabbits were a rarity in Cearnach and none of them had dared speak to a fox like that before.
	“The Word of God tells us that we must love everyone of all species equally and to treat them as we would ourselves,” said Emer.
	“Abominations don’t count.  She should be destroyed,” said the doctor.
	Blood from his nose was oozing between his fingers, and dotting his shirt.  This reminded Fithir of Ciara’s wound, and she knelt to check on the girl.  It was hard to tell if the bleeding had slowed since she’d arrived, and Fithir wasn't about to remove the bandage out in public.
	“You will leave my city by tonight or I’ll put you in chains and have you dragged out behind a horse,” said Fithir.
	The doctor glared at her over his bloody hands, but he lowered his ears.
	“You need me,” he said.
	“There are other doctors in the city,” said Fithir.
	His face twisted and he bared his teeth, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.
	“If you had any sense, you’d throw her out instead.  She’s going to destroy this city,” he said.
	He walked away, head held high, trailing blood down the steps behind him.  Fithir stepped around it and unlocked one of the two great doors at the top of the steps.  Emer followed her, still holding Ciara in her arms.
	“Why did you send for him?” she asked.
	“Marcan told me to, Lady,” said Emer.
	“Of course.  I don't blame you for obeying him, but from now on you come and see me first, okay?”
	Niamh slid stiffly to the ground and clung to Embarr’s mane for a moment while her legs shook under her.  After a moment she nodded and the stallion stepped away.  The girl was still unsteady on her feet and her knee buckled twice, but she made it up the stairs to join them.  She grimaced with such pain at every step that when she got to the top, Fithir wanted to put an arm around her to support her.  But Niamh ducked away from her to check on Ciara instead.
	“I don’t imagine you think much us after the way you’ve been treated here.  I had hoped to move this city forward but Marcan keeps knocking it back,” said Fithir.
	“He wouldn’t if you didn’t let him scare you the way he does,” said Niamh.
	“Perhaps.  I sometimes think that we could move closer to God if we did away with the Church,” said Fithir.
	Fithir took Niamh by the shoulders and they limped through the door together.  The protection of the castle was a relief after the exposed brightness of the rest of the city and she felt some of the tension leave Niamh’s shoulders, too.  With her self-confidence restored Fithir freed one arm to slam the door against all of her troubles.  The noise echoed in the empty rooms around them and shook a cloud of dust down from the ceiling.
	It also had the effect of stirring Ciara from her stupor.  She kicked and twisted, making Emer lose her grip, and dropped to the ground.  She hit the floor with a jarring thump and it was mostly by luck that she landed on her butt instead of her shoulder.  She raised her nose to sniff the air before she had opened her eyes, and she sneezed.
	“Back in Cearnach again.  We keep going around in circles, chasing our tails, and what good does it do?” said Ciara.
	“Its kept us safe,” said Niamh.
	“But what now?” said. Ciara.
	“Now you get some rest and heal up,” said Niamh.
	Emer knelt beside her and Ciara sniffed carefully at the child before she let Emer help her up.
	“How can I rest?  Mom’s still out there and so is Fiachra.  I know I’ve failed at everything I've done but that’s no reason to stop,” said Ciara.
	“They’ll be better off knowing that you’re safe.  Besides, you’re in no condition to even walk, right now never mind trying to help anyone else,” said Fithir.
	Ciara sagged, ears drooping, and Niamh limped over to wrap her arms around the little vixen.  She nuzzled the side of Ciara's neck and they both sighed as some of the tension drained out of them.
	“It’s just for a while.  A day or two can’t hurt anything,” said Niamh.
	“They burned Blackpool the night we left,” said Ciara.
	“I know.  It'll take them at least a week to pick up the pieces enough to do anything.”
	“If he found her, Mom will make sure Fiachra's okay.  She's always enjoyed having someone to fight with,” said Ciara.
	“And she's just the kind of fox he always thought you were.  We ought to hear them coming, anyway,” said Niamh.
	There was a sudden blare of trumpets at the city gates and the sound jerked Ciara upright again.
	“Connor’s back,” she said.