The Assassin

[Airan]

Name: Brother Hawthorn
Species: Mouse
Gender: Male
Age: 52

A pair of eyes stared askance over the rim of two half-light discs. "Drunken brawl, you said?"

The hedgehog stretched across the table grit his teeth. "Like nothin' you ever saw."

"Mm." The mouse adjusted his spectacles, eyes disappearing once more behind them. "No, it isn't."

Hawthorn regarded the oozing red pulp that once was the hedgehog's shoulder. Slowly, he withdrew debris from the wound along with whatever unsalvageable flesh he found along the way.

"What's your name?"

"Thought you Abbeyfolk didn't ask questions."

Hawthorn chuckled. "You must have never been to the Abbey. Come now: talk. It helps old mice like me from going stir-crazy. And you may find..." the hedgehog squeaked as Hawthorn ripped a particularly large chunk of wood away, "it takes your mind off the pain, too."

Wet dripping and the tinny chorus of objects joining the Hawthorn's debris plate to Hawthorn's side punctuated the silence. And then, "Bursoot."

"Ah." Hawthorn set the forceps aside and dabbed a cloth into a bottle. "That would explain the brawl. Ashgrove can a little... unwelcoming to newcomers."

"Aye..." Bursoot hissed at the cloth's touch. "Suppose I shoulda kept my snout outta trouble."

The pair continued their chat as Hawthorn cleaned the wound and set to sewing it. Finally, the old mouse reached for a jar.

"Ain't gonna leach me, are ya?"

Hawthorn produced a candied chestnut. "For being such a good patient."

Bursoot snorted as he rotated the chestnut in his fingers. "Feel like a dibbun again..." The frown on his face eased as he popped the candy into his mouth. "Thanksh, doc," Bursoot muttered between slurping bites. "I... really owe ya one."

A brisk tapping drew both of their attentions to the other side of the hovel.

"Excuse me." Hawthorn stood up and paced his way to the door.

Cold air assaulted his whiskers the moment the door opened. A squirrel stood before him, hunched over and hugging a cloak to himself. His heel-heavy stance suggested recent enlistment. The spotless uniform underneath the shawl confirmed it.

"Yes?"

"Brother Hawthorn? I was told to give you—"

Hawthorn snatched the parchment the moment it appeared. "Thank you, recruit. Safe journey."

The squirrel gulped, then scampered into the dark. Hawthorn counted to five, then turned the scroll over in his paws. His eyes quickly centered on the blood-red seal: a cracked skull of indeterminate species in the iris of a giant eye. An old ache quivered in his breast.

Ripping it open, Hawthorn scanned the contents briskly. A snort escaped him. Tucking the parchment into his pocket, he returned to his hovel.

Bursoot waited for him, halfway up from the table. "What was that?"

Hawthorn wagged a paw. "Winter storm. They want to make sure everyone stays inside." He chuckled. "If you don't mind keeping an old hermit company, you're free to stay here."

Bursoot gave his shoulder a try, then winced. "Aye. I think I'll take you up on that."

"Excellent. I'll have to make you my not-quite-famous, but still very-well-regarded leek and onion soup. But first, let's finish up that shoulder, shall we?"

"Whatever you say, doc."

Hawthorn retrieved the tool and assumed his position by Bursoot's side. "You might feel a small prick."

"Wha—"

The rest of the words drowned in a gurgle of blood. Bursoot threw himself off the table, clawed for purchase, then slowly fell deeper to the floor before growing still.

Hawthorn counted, then bent down and ripped his scalpel free. It clattered on his debris plate before he picked up the nearest rag.

"Pity. He would have made a full recovery."

[Airan]

Name: Robin Merriweather
Species: Fox
Gender: Female
Age: 28

"How could this happen! He can't be dead! He can't!" Robin collapsed against the sink, sobbing into her paws.

A moment passed before Robin regained her composure. She tilted her head while examining her reflection in the mirror. "Dead! How could this happen!" She began to quietly wail but stopped.

The fox shook her head and began again, "My fiancé -"

The knock at the door caused Robin to jump, dagger instantly appearing in paw. "Milady, the feast is starting," came the voice of a servant.

"I will be there shortly," Robin's said sweetly. The dagger was returned under her dress before Robin stepped into the hallway. She gestured for the mouse outside to lead her through the castle.

Approaching the great hall, the vixen paused at the top of the stairs, waiting to lock eyes with a burly tod at the head of the master's table. He smiled, gesturing at her to join him.

The vixen drew stares from both fatted vermin lords and scrawny servant mice as she glided past them to her seat.

"That dress is stunning," Olaf said quietly. "Did you know blue was my favorite color?"

"Of course I did," Robin leaned in to whisper, brushing her paw across the fox's tail. "Because I'm the one wearing it."

While Olaf's cheeks blushed under grey fur, Robin's other paw passed over his wine goblet. Something dripped from her ornate ring into the cup below. "Were you not about to make a speech, my love?"

"Y-yes, yes! Of course! My fellow lords and ladies. Tonight is..."

Robin found herself idly tapping her foot as the fox droned on about mundane things like warrior ancestry, the history of the castle, and how vermin of old wrestled it from woodlander paws.

Woodlanders like the servant pouring wine into both of their goblets.

"This vintage hails back to when grandfather took this castle and made it his own."

Robin made a wry grin as Olaf explained and wondered if he would appreciate the irony.

"It was bought with blood and violence. But tonight..." Olaf then stepped closer, crossing his arm with Robin's and bringing her drink to his lips...

...and his drink to hers.

"Tonight, we shall share this wine, in love." A moment passed and Olaf became concerned, "Dear, you look... pale."

Struggling to keep her smile, Robin's eyes drifted to the toxic wine.

"Oh, honey. We really shouldn't," Robin gently nudged the poisoned goblet away with her free claw.

"Sweetie, what are you doing?" Olaf forced a smile while gently bringing the goblet right back under Robin's snout.

"It's really just... unhygienic, don't you think?"

"It is a gesture of our love. And everyone is staring." He held the goblet even closer, if possible.

"Since when is backwash romantic?" The vixen hissed and sighed.

It was time for Plan B.

The holdout dagger appeared in her paw as if by magic. She only needed one quick thrust to his kidneys, then dive out the nearest window. She might break a few bones in the fall but-

"Death to tyrants!"

All heads turned to the servant as he lunged.

Just another slave tending to the whims of the social elite, Robin never knew the mouse was there until he was trying to stab Olaf with a knife.
Robin yelped, and her dagger changed its course.

Terrified screams filled the room as the mouse collapsed from a fatal case of being stabbed in the face.

"Well," Robin groaned silently, "There goes Plan B..."

[Airan]

Name: Siobhan, Codename: The Mantis
Species: Fox
Gender: Female
Age: 28

Siobhan started as her door flew open. She made it to the entryway just in time to catch the bloodied weasel before she collapsed to the floor.

The vixen had seen her friend beaten before, but never like this. She carried Arwydd to the bed and gently laid her down. The weasel groaned, but didn't move. Siobhan gathered bandages, honey, and warm water and set about dressing the wounds. Arwydd's eye was swollen shut, her snout was broken and bleeding, and it looked like she had lost a tooth. Her face was a mass of bruises, many of them split open.

When she finished, Siobhan left her friend to sleep and went to prepare a soup and willow bark tea. As she was finishing, Arwydd stumbled into the kitchen and plopped into one of the chairs at the table resting her head in her paws. Siobhan set a bowl and cup in front of the weasel.

"When are you going to leave him?"

"Ican't," mumbled thickly Arwydd. "He'dfinally... killme."

"He near enough did today."

"What am I going to do?"

Siobhan sighed and joined her friend at the table. "You're going to start by finishing that soup and tea. Then we'll talk."

The two sat in silence as Arwydd finished. "What're you thinking about, Siobhan?"

"A solution to your problem. I'm going to fix this. Stay in this house. I'll be back by sun up."

"But what can you do?"

"It's better if you don't ask, Arwydd. Stay here. Sleep."

~~~~~

Siobhan waited in the shadows in the alley beside the pub. The last patrons were leaving, stumbling their ways home in the early hours. Her breath puffed in the cold night air as she spotted her quarry. The weasel was always in the pub afterwards. Siobhan was always left to mend her broken friend.

He called a slurred good night to the other patrons leaving and wove his way towards the alley. Siobhan knew it was his shortest way home. And the darkest.

The vixen silently slid the dagger from inside its sheath in her boot. The hilt laid comfortably in her paw, an extension of herself. She could feel the notches she had made in it: 9 in total. Cedric. Grimfang. Thisa. Gribill. Aspen. Straithis. Jame. Dimtail. Zheka.

He was coming closer. Siobhan's heart quickened, anticipation running through her body. The world grew sharper: each sound was magnified, the smells more pungent, her vision sharpened.

As the weasel passed by, Siobhan slithered out of the shadows behind him. He was humming a ditty under his breath, and didn't hear a thing. The vixen took a step closer.

Time stood still. Like it always did.

The dagger slipped easily between his ribs. He gasped. Siobhan gave the knife a practiced twist.

She pulled the dagger out as he slumped to the ground. She felt the warm, sticky gush of his life leaving him, coating her paw. Siobhan wiped the dagger on his cloak and resheathed it.

~~~~~

"Arwydd, we have to go," Siobhan whispered as she shook her friend awake. "I've packed some things, but we need to be far from here."

The sun was still an hour from rising, and the vixen wanted to be on the roads and away.

"Wha--"

"Come. It's time I told you what I do. But we have to leave now. I'll tell you everything on the road."

The pair shouldered their packs and began walking out of town.

"What happened, Siobhan?"

"I killed him tonight, Wydd. You don't have to worry about him anymore."

The weasel turned, wide-eyed and spluttering, to look at her friend.

"This is what I do. I'm not a courier. I'm an assassin. But I've never killed near home before. Some beast will find him at first light. They may understand why he's dead, but you'll still be blamed. I'm sorry. We had to leave."

Arwydd stopped. "Y'mean... He's... I don't..."

"You're safe now."

Arwydd found her words in a rush, "I can't believe you would do that! I mean, thank you... I mean, how-? Why-? How long have you been doing this? How many? Siobhan, what are we going to do? Where will we go?"

The vixen pulled her friend along the road. "He's my tenth. I've been doing this for 4 seasons. Now, we're going somewhere nobeast knows us... knows you."

The two walked on, eyes kept firmly on the path before them. As the sun rose, Arwydd tipped her swollen face towards the vixen, "y'know, Siobhan, there's probably lots of females out there like me."

"I think you're probably right, Wydd," Siobhan grinned wickedly, "and we can't just leave them like that."