Editing Leape (section)

== '''11''' ==
''In which we hear what the Fox says''

Penn was hit back by the hare, his fall being cushioned by a snowdrift. Shooting up from the pile of snow—which, surprisingly, only came up to his middle—Penn looked around frantically, looking for the furry, white, fiend who had leapt into him, knocking him over.

Two deep brown eyes locked with Penn’s own before the infernal creature blinked and disappeared into the snow-covered everything that was the forest. 

Giving a grunt of annoyance, Penn struggled to stand up, before a gloved hand reached out to him. ''Deja vu?'' He wondered, looking up to see Lethia’s sky-blue eyes watching him curiously. “Gettin’ up, Leapus? Or am I going to have to hold out my hand forever?” 

Quickly, Penn took her hand, the duo making an effort to haul him out of the snow. He brushed himself off quickly, giving a small shiver as a bit of snow melted under his shirt, the cold water chilling him to the bone. 

Cayto’s gaze flickered back to Penn from where he crouched behind a thicket, gazing forward at the camp of another tribe, where snow-covered huts stood, bluish smoke rising from a fire set in the center of the clearing. People milled around, skinning hides and doing their everyday work, the little ones playing casually, chasing each other around. 

Penn watched, a small smile coming onto his face as he remembered his childhood with fondness when sudde— “And what might you be doing here, spying on the fox tribe camp?” Penn gave a small yelp, jumping up and trying to get out of whomever it was’s grip, which was firmly on the hood of his pelt coat. 

''Polar spirits! My clothes finally did the Lethia thing!'' Penn stared into his captor’s green eyes, icy and angry, boring into Penn’s skull. His blond hair was short-cropped and hidden mostly under his heavy coat’s hood. He had lifted Penn an inch off the ground, large frame menacing and strong, a scowl sewn deeply onto his face. 

“Well!?” he demanded, bringing Penn’s face closer to his own, to the point where Penn could smell the older boy’s breath. “Uhmhnah—” Penn began, trying to explain as best as he could. ''Is that deer jerky!? I swear, that’s deer jerky, isn’t it!?'' The thought, accompanied by a snort from the Narrator, crossed his mind, the scent of the blond boy’s breath wafting up to his nose. 

Cayto dipped his head, making a Y shape with his fingers. “Esteemed hunter of fox tribe, we mean no harm, we simply mean to—” the fourteen-year-old fisherman was cut off by a scoff and an eye roll from one of the other hunters in the group. 

“Enough with the formalities! We’ll take you straight to Grandfather Krio straight away. ''He'' can decide what to do with you.” The one who had spoken’s voice was deep, his ebony hair shortly-braided hair hidden partially under his hood, dark eyes casting a hostile stare to the trio. 

Cayto stepped back a bit, bumping into another hunter behind him, this one with sleek red hair, tucked behind his ears and a face smattered with freckles. He raised a brow at the fourteen-year-old, who quickly scrambled away. 

“Let’s go, then,” said the one holding Penn’s coat, still lifting him off the ground, if only ever so slightly. A sigh came from Cayto, who held out his wrists as if to be handcuffed. 

The one holding Penn’s coat scoffed. “We don’t bind and capture our captives—they go willingly or ''die''.” Lethia raised a brow at this, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms, an air of disbelief about her. 

“Really, Lithander. You would ''kill'' a human? The Code forbids it.” 

Snark edged the deep-voiced one, who gave a roll of his dark brown eyes. “Look who’s talking, the little girl who trespassed onto sovereign Fox Tribe territory.” 

“Enough! Girl, it’s Li''san''der, and the tribes are fighting. The Code is null and void. Haven’t you heard about the conflict between the Tribe of the Meese and the Hares? Just last week, a child was slaughtered,” Lisander spat out the last word, a look of disgust coming onto his face as he dropped Penn, who stumbled a bit in trying to regain his footing. 

Lethia’s face remained stony, although she took a barely-perceptible step back. “E-either way, Salamander,” she began, crossing her arms yet again, “that’s not how law works.” 

Lisander scoffed, raising a brow at her before nodding to his hunters. “Take them to Grandfather. ''He’ll'' decide what to do. Alex, take this guy, Russell, with me, and Jonas… you take the girl.” Lethia flashed Lisander an offended look as he started off along with Russell—the one with the jaw-length red hair that was tucked behind his ears—into the forest, presumably to terrorize a few squirrels. 

''The force in your voice really sells me on wanting to go talk to Grandfather and your will to live,'' Penn thought sarcastically, rolling his eyes as well. 

'''So brave. So fierce. So majestic.''' The Narrator’s voice echoed in his mind sarcastically and Penn stifled a laugh, to which Alex—the deep-voiced one—gave him a scowl. 

A boy who Penn hadn’t noticed stepped up to Lethia, about eye-level with her, gangly form making Penn think he was around fifteen or sixteen. Lethia scowled at him, to which he shrank back a little, looking a bit sheepish. 

“This way, lady…” he trailed off, emerald eyes looking down at the ground in a shy sort of way. Lethia started forward, thickly-insulated boots crunching against the snow. Cayto followed somewhat reluctantly, and the group was brought into the Fox camp as if they were prisoners—which, Penn reasoned, they were. 

''‘Least we can’t die!'' A small, confident, voice in Penn’s brain sounded. 

'''Ohhh, yes we can,''' the Narrator argued back, the two going back and forth, like a ping-pong ball. 

Penn mentally gave a facepalm, shushing the two, deciding to take in the surroundings. The Fox Tribe camp was large and busy. For a planet that froze and flooded, there was a lot of greenery. A warm fire shot up from the center of the camp, large in size, rainbow in color. Blues and greens and pinks and yellows licked the wood beneath it, which, although charred, resembled the stubby pine-like trees Penn had observed on his miniature tour with Cayto. Huts were scattered about, made of the same sort of wood, curved in nature. Snow caked the outer frame of said houses, and Penn realized with a start that the huts could be used as boats, if only they were to be flipped over.

''… Ice spirits, these guys are smart,'' was all he managed to think, before a figure stepped out of one of the largest center huts, the one nearest the fire… if one could called the colorful flame that. The figure was large and hunched over, its muscled form laden with animal furs. The person’s face was weathered, with a large, hawkish, nose and eyes to match. He looked stoic and firm, as if, in a family, he were the stricter of the two parents. 

Cayto made a Y with his hand, nudging Penn and Lethia to do the same. Brushing a strand of her long, blonde, hair out of her pale face, Lethia cast Penn a look that clearly instructed him to make a Y with his hand as well. Obliging, Penn did so, waiting expectantly for the fur-covered man’s response. He gave a short nod, before starting back into his hut, gesturing for the trio to follow. 

A silence hung between the trio, before Cayto made the first move, starting forward and shattering the all-too-fragile quiet. 

The hut was well-lit, with various wood-built things scattered around. A cot was in one corner, with a few baskets scattered around, a small, brightly colored fire in the center, alongside a couple of chairs. It looked like a weird, rustic sort of office. With rainbow fires. 

“Sit,” the old man commanded, gesturing to a few chairs in a corner. “We shall speak.” 

Penn followed Cayto who strode confidently over to a chair, sitting down carefully, before leaning forward with anticipation for the old man to speak. The chair Penn found was somewhat comfortable, its green cushion square and tough, while the frame of the reddish-brown chair was sturdy and curved as if it were made for a polar bear. Or something. 

''My brain… the description… it hurts…'' Penn managed to think before the old man began to speak. 

“I can tell,” he began, settled in the chair comfortably, his hood down to reveal grayish-black, straight, hair, that fell into his face, his face creased with crinkles, scrunching up with every word, “that you are from the Seal Tribe. Your coats smell of it. And, it seems, you are here on business. So please, expand on that idea.” He gestured with his leathery hand, pale blue eyes boring deep into Cayto’s soul, it seemed.

It was the old man equivalent of a teenage girl screeching with excitement to “spill the tea”. 

“Uh,” Cayto began, now in the presence of “Grandfather”, at a loss for words. “Well, it’s really a long story and I’m not one for summarizing, so my companion will have to speak.” With that, he gestured wildly at Lethia, who immediately straightened, giving Cayto a glare, before she drew her words together to speak. 

“Long story short, we’re trying to stop a war,” Lethia managed after a second of thought. Grandfather straightened, eyes narrowing into slits. 

“And you decided to encroach onto sovereign Fox territory to do so? Why would you not focus on the Tribe of the Moose or the Hare’s tribe?” He sat stiffly, watching the trio, waiting for an answer. 

Cayto’s eyes flicked to Lethia’s, whose gaze drifted to Penn. They obviously had not thought of an answer. ''Do or die,'' the western cowboy bit of Penn thought, and he took a deep breath. 

“The Tribe of the Fox is quite possibly the most organized of the tribes, sir,” he said, fidgetting slightly as he spoke to the old man, whose features slackened slightly at the high praise. “And as such, we need help. The Moose and the Hares have been fighting. It’s common knowledge. But—last week, was it?—a child was killed. This has to stop.” 

Grandfather leaned back in his chair, posture relaxed finally. He looked at Penn carefully, as if seeing him for the first time and taking in the boy. Unfortunately, Penn could not read minds and simply sat there somewhat awkwardly—''hey!''—'''I speak the truth'''—under the old man’s critical gaze. 

“So, what do you say?” Cayto piped up, leaning forward in anticipation. 

The old man paused as if thinking.  “I will bring it up with the Council,” he answered finally, before clearing his throat to keep from dissolving into coughs, “but for now, you may stay in the Fox camp. I believe we have some work we could put you to. There is a Council meeting tonight, and I will ask them what they think. You are dismissed.” 

Cayto dipped his head, grabbed Penn and Lethia’s forearms, and dragged them out of the hut, having given a hasty thank-you and goodbye to Grandfather. 

'''We’re all dead,''' the Narrator deadpanned, sarcasm and a roll of her eyes sounding in her voice. Penn wasn’t sure if he disagreed with her. 
[[Category:Novels]]