Ciara—Ciara's Choice

	The entire north side of the city glowed as bright as day.  People had been building bonfires for half the night and nobody showed any inclination to stop.  At the head of the main road, just beside the city gate, a large pile of wood and brush had been built.  It had taken three teams of foxes hours to put it together.  Some of them were still around, building troughs around the pyre and filling them with water or sand.
	Ciara had come out, after the rabbits had fallen asleep, to watch them from the shelter of the porch of an empty shop.  She envied them their work.  However difficult the labor was it would be easier to keep her mind off of everything that had happened if she didn’t have to sit and wait.  She didn’t want to have to think about why they were building the fire.  The Cearnach graveyard was full, or so Fithir had told her.  All of the rest of Connor’s daughters, Ciara's half-sisters, had been buried in the last open plots.  So they were going to burn him on a pyre just like he was one of the old pagan Kings who had ruled the island a thousand years ago.
	“I think he might like the idea, if he knew.  He always did have a romantic streak,” said Deirdre.
	She waved at Ciara to move over and sat down beside her.  Ciara sniffed for alcohol, but Deirdre only smelled of soap.
	“He should have tried thinking for himself instead of listening to that fucking priest.  He’d still be here if he hadn’t cared so much about his fantasies,” said Ciara.
	“He was scared,” said Deirdre.
	“Only because he let Marcan frighten him.  He let things that aren’t real control his life,” said Ciara.
	“So does everyone.  Sometimes, it's their idea of God, sometimes, they just want a little bit of peace.  Both of these things are only dreams until you make them real,” said Deirdre.
	She brought out a silver flask, unscrewed the top, and held it out.  Ciara took it and drank.  She expected whiskey.  What she got instead was a mouthful of sweet, spiced tea.
	“Niamh guessed where you’d gone and she was worried you’d be cold.  If it has to be a rabbit at least you’ve got a brave one,” said Deirdre.
	Ciara drank more, dribbling tea down her front in her thirst.  The tea warmed her, and it washed the lingering taste of blood and gunpowder out of her mouth.  When the flask was empty she put it down between them.
	“Are you going to give up fighting like you promised?” she said.
	“I suppose I’ll have to.  There isn’t anybody left who will hire me now,” said Deirdre.
	“What will you do, then?  Will you come to Oseille with me?  We’re going to need a lot of help,” said Ciara.
	Deirdre picked up the flask and spun it in her fingers for a while.  Then she jumped up and slipped it into her pocket.
	“Come with me.  I was going to wait until later, but I think you need this,” she said.
	When Ciara didn’t get up Deirdre grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet.  Ciara knees creaked in protest but Deirdre didn’t give her any time to find her feet.  She dragged Ciara into the road at a fast jog and turned left between the shop and another building, away from the pyre.  After a moment, they started to run.  There was something comforting about running for the sake of it.  It was what swift foxes were meant to do. 
	“You’re going back to the mainland, aren’t you?” said Ciara.
	Deirdre only waved a hand vaguely and sped up.  That was as good a confession as any and Ciara tried to feel angry, but she found that she couldn’t.  She wanted her mother back but she knew that Deirdre would never be able to settle anywhere.  It would be cruel to ask her to.
	“I thought it would be for the best.  You have your own life and you don’t really want me in Oseille do you?  Spying on you and your lady and always getting in the way?” said Deirdre.
	“I don’t think the rabbits would mind.  Anyway, they need someone to teach them how to build a proper wall,” said Ciara.
	“They won’t need one anymore.  Fithir’s really the mother you should have had. And I think Sabia’s frightened of you.  They won't touch Oseille again,” said Deirdre.
	“Sabia was laughing at me,” said Ciara.
	“Let her laugh.  You’re the only person I’ve ever seen her run away from,” said Deirdre.
	They stopped in an open space where both the buildings and the road gave way to a wide circle of bare dirt.  It wasn’t a large area, just the size of the paddock she’d had at home, but it was carpeted with grass and this felt better under Ciara's feet than the stones and cobbles of the rest of the city.  The place smelled like a paddock, too and once she’d caught her breath, Ciara could see why.  On the other side of the circle was a large square building that looked something like the old stables where Embarr had stayed.
	“Go in.  Fithir is waiting to see you,” said Deirdre.
	“Why?  Embarr’s dead and there isn’t any fixing that,” said Ciara.
	She felt on the edge of tears again and she didn’t want her mother to see her cry.  She turned and started to go back but Deirdre still had hold of her arm.
	“You’re already here, and Fithir is expecting you.  Go in for her,” said Deirdre.
	She pushed Ciara across the circle to the stable’s one open door, and shoved her inside.
	Fithir was waiting for her next to an oversized pen with a steel gate.  A couple of lanterns hung on the posts on either side of the gate but they only gave shape to the gloom.  Ciara wanted to leave but she owed too much to Fithir to be so rude.  The big vixen hugged her and gave her a small kiss on the top of her head.
	“You’ve lost more than anyone else and I'm sorry.  I know you'll miss Embarr the most and there's nothing that could ever replace him.  But you need some way to get home,” said Fithir.
	She led Ciara over to the stall, and turned up the wick in one of the lanterns enough for her to see inside.  Connor's yellow mare, Thirteen, stood in the back of the stall with her nose in a bucket of water and a blanket over her back.  The mare raised her head and whickered when Fithir called to her, and she came over to put her muzzle in Fithir’s hands.
	“I never learned how to ride and she needs someone to look after her,” said Fithir.
	Ciara put a hand on Thirteen’s neck, and the yellow mare lowered her head to be scratched between the ears, like Embarr always had.  She let Ciara cling to her, too, and cry into her mane so Fithir wouldn’t see.

	They burned Connor and Embarr together at dawn, with the whole city watching.  Niamh came down to bring Ciara another flask of tea, and to hold her.  Fithir placed the firebrand into the pyre and it caught so quickly she had to leap back to keep her fur from catching on fire, too.  Deirdre caught the big vixen and guided her a safe distance away from the pyre because Fithir was too smoke-blind to do it herself.  Once her eyes were clear, Fithir came over and knelt in front of Ciara.
	“I don’t blame you for wanting to go home, but I think you would make a good Queen, if you wanted to be,” said Fithir.
	“What about you?” said Ciara.
	“Oh, I don't think I'd ever be that good.  I just stayed in my garden and let Connor do all the work,” said Fithir.
	Ciara chewed the side of her tongue and watched the pyre for a while.  She wanted to prove Sabia wrong.  She wanted to prove that she was still as much of a fox as her father had been, and a better one than Marcan could have dreamed of.  But that would mean abandoning all of her friends at home.
	“I'm too much a rabbit, like everybody has been telling me, and I’m not sure if I know how to live here anymore.  I don't think that's such a bad thing anymore,” said Ciara.
	“Of course not, but if you want to stay here, I'll stay, too.  Don't throw this away just because you think it's what I want,” said Niamh.
	“I know where my home is,” said Ciara.
	They watched the fire burn down, while people on the edge of the crowd started to drift away.  Ciara didn’t blame them.  Connor had been just another king to most of them, and people didn’t seem to care who ran things too much as long as they got what they wanted.  The city would go on without him, and she suspected it would survive well enough once Fithir was gone, too.  That made going home that much easier.