A little fox babe sat apart from his mother and father's horde. He could still here the commands being issued from here.
"Pull harder! You'll get them fer dinner if'n ye don't!"
"Push!! Use your muscles! You're a badger for heaven's sakes, you HAVE muscles! Push, or it'll all come crashing down on you!"
The fox babe sighed. He watched as a fox ran by him, looked this way and that. "Furir!"
The fox, Furir, turned to the wolf. "Prince Nytmair! There ye are!"
The babe, Nytmair, grinned widely. "Were ya lookin' fer me?"
"Yes, Lady Silvamord would've killed me if I couldn't find you!" Furir picked up the little fox cub.
"No, Mommy wouldn't ever do somefing like that."
"Well, then Lord Urgan Nagru definitely would!"
"Daddy wouldn't hurt you either if I told him not to."
I'll bet he wouldn't! Furir groaned as Nytmair struggled in his arms, and began to walk towards the Horde leaders' tent.
"Hey, Fur! When'll the army march again?" Nytmair asked cheerfully. He loved being a part of Urgan Nagru's Horde.
"I... I don't know. Why don't you ask Lord Urgan?"
"He wouldn't tell me." Nytmair deflated.
It was true. Urgan Nagru the Foxwolf absolutely hated his son, and avoided him at all costs.
"Well, what about Lady Silvamord? She would tell you." Furir held him tighter and sped up.
"Maybe. But her stupid servants are always following and waving things at her." Nytmair shuddered. Sometimes my parents disgust me. he thought. But one day, they'll tell tales of Lord Nytmair with his Horde of foxes, wildcats, and wolves! One day, I'll be famous- famous for my Horde of fearsome vermin, and famous, most of all, for being able to lead wolves!
"Did you hear me, sir?" Furir asked.
Shaking himself out of his daydream, the fox cub realized that the fox had stopped moving, and in front of them was a large white tent. "I'm sorry Fur, but I didn't."
"I said, Prince Nytmair sir, that we are here, so you may stop choking me now."
Furir was playing, Nytmair knew, but he still apologized. "Sorry Fur."
"Quite alright, sir. Go on in, Lady Silvamord would like to see you." Furir gave Nytmair a little shove through the doorway.
Finally! I didn't join this Horde to babysit Nagru's little brat! Furir thought, but he sat down underneath a nearby tree to wait for the little Prince to come out. I especially hate the fact that it's "Prince Nytmair this" and "sir, that". He's not even twenty seasons yet!
Hey... maybe... Furir smiled slyly, then frowned. No! That's treasonous! I can't murder my future master!
After a while, though, the fox thought, Or can I?