"I knew it wasn't your first time!" Yeen shouted as he turned around, while they were still walking along the same path. "It's that Tamo who... ah sorry, it's true we weren't supposed to talk about it."

  "Ah, all right! I can see it's impossible for you to pretend. Yes, it wasn't my first time, yes, Tamo and I had fun because we were close! I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of it! We fucked this morning because I was horny and uninhibited. It was a bit... wild, especially with a foreigner like you. But, in the steppes sex is a social relation like any other... the expression of a desire, a bond... well. It annoys me how you talk about it like... like something dirty!"

  "What do you mean a foreigner like me? A gnoll you mean? You have to be on drugs to sleep with a Gnoll, don't you? I'm talking about it as something dirty because that's exactly what I read in your eyes when you sobered up!" threw Yeen, suddenly cold.

  "No, no! I mean a stranger... a foreigner! A mercenary!" Pastel clicked his tongue in annoyance and sighed before adding, measuring his words. "You know well the image you give off... I can see you like it, looking like a brute." Yeen stared at him, stopped in their tracks. Pastel added. "My grandmother used to say that the thickest skins hide the most tender flesh..." "Are you comparing me to a piece of meat now?"

  "No! I mean that's how you protect yourself and I can see that... that the gnoll stereotype is just that and that you have a sensitivity and..." It was at this moment that Pastel noticed Yeen's contained smile, which finally burst into laughter.

  "It's okay, kid! It's okay, I get it. Crisp on the outside, tender on the inside. The opposite of you, am I right? You, you've gotten used to cushioning blows with smiles? With that drug I got to see what was inside."

  Pastel didn't expect the painfully accurate retort and remained silent. Yeen gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Go on with your story. We'll reach the three-waterway in a few days, and if we're lucky, there'll be fish there. Besides, I still have no idea what that stone is and what the hell you're doing so far from the steppes."

  They resumed their walk and, in a soft, deep voice, Pastel resumed his tale.

  ***

  The blaze rose ever higher as the steppe fox clan chorused powerful harmonies. Heads raised to the sky, they all watched for the moment when the column of smoke would melt into the clouds, marking a symbolic bridge between the skies and the earth, between the dead and the living, and between the tangible and spirit worlds.

  The setting sun had just broken through the cloud layer and struck it from beneath with a warm golden light, dramatically defining its feathery undulations. When they stopped singing, the column of smoke was tracing an infinite shadow on the ground.

  Pastel stared up at the sky, his heart buzzing with excitement, sensitive to every sensation in his body, to the memory of the vibrations of their voices as they passed through his body. It was, on the steppes, the most important time of the year. He looked down at his clan and smiled with all his teeth at the looks he met. He looked at his mother, his uncles, smiled at Tamo's sister who winked at him, without him understanding why. He looked at Tamo with affection, then at his father. The muscular dog stood in stark contrast to the rest of the clan, both in stature and color, but no one had really noticed the difference anymore. Finally he looked at Mamalou, sitting on cushions to the west of the circle. The setting sun behind her struck her with a dazzling halo.

  She broke the silence.

  "Galanaxico, Magdalaxisco, Bathoupescu and your descendants. We stand before you and shout the joy of being in the world. We thank you for the floods and the droughts, we will keep for you, with you, the steppes, the sky and all those who inhabit it, dead or alive."

  She murmured a prayer, which all joined in a silent chorus. Mamaloou rose slowly, with the help of a few young foxes, his great-great-grandchildren, and retired to his tent to speak to the stone. When she withdrew, the clan came back to life. Everyone chatted with their neighbor, trying to predict what the stone would say. Some were even making bets.

  "I've been praying to the spirits every night for a month that we'd go back and spend the summer near the Forest of Shadows. "Said a young fox to Pascal's left, smiling. Her shoulder brushed his. "We were still cub last time... I was afraid of this forest and what it might hide."Someone to the fox's left interrupted them, whispering something into her ear. She smiled and leaned towards Pastel, he felt her breath on his cheek. "Yolanda bet Clatoudo five arms of ruddy carpet that the stone will tell us to go north."

  Pastel smiled and repeated the message to his right. On the other side of the large circle, Yolanda glared defiantly at Clatoudo, who squinted and shook his head in incomprehension. Yolanda raised his eyebrows and pointed with his muzzle at the message that was slowly making its way through the circle.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Pastel turned back to the fox and resumed: "You remember, Tamo's cousins used to tell stories of bloodthirsty monsters in this forest. People turned beast again because of a curse."

  She laughed, "Ah, that's true! What I remember most are the brooks and the grilled cattails we used to draw from them!"

  A howl ripped through the air and took everyone's breath away. The death howl stretched and rasped through the night air. Everyone looked at each other, some jumping to their feet. The screams began again. It was coming from Mamalou's tent.

  As many ran towards the tent, where the howling continued, chaos quickly settled over the clan. Some children were crying, others screaming for calm. Pastel rose slowly to his feet, his gaze fixed on the tent, and slowly walked towards it, feeling as if he had a huge boulder in the pit of his stomach. He heard someone calling his name, but, without reacting, he continued forward. The howling stopped with a gurgle.

  Pastel pulled a piece of cloth from the tent. In the half-light he saw at first only a crowd of foxes turned towards a single spot.

  "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay..." A male voice repeated, sounding out of breath.

  "Mamalou, can you hear us?" Said someone else.

  The crowd moved and he saw Mamalou's contorted body. Powerful spasms were running through her, and several hunters were struggling to hold her in place. Her mouth was wide open, filled with foam. In her eyes, despair.

  Someone tugged Pastel by the shoulder. "Pastel! Go back to the tent! Now!" It was his mother. She stopped for a second when she saw the livid look on her eldest's face. She probed her gaze for a second that seemed much longer, despite the surrounding commotion. With their golden gazes locked in each other's, they exchanged pain, fear, love, comfort and confusion. She hugged him and kissed his forehead.

  In a softer voice, she repeated, "To the tent, now."

  ***

  The next few days were heavy. Fear and uncertainty hovered in everyone's shifty eyes. Mamalou had slowly recovered from her seizure, but she was no longer the same, and no one could hide from the fact.

  After a few days' rest, the priestess's family were allowed to visit. Everyone left with tears or anger in their eyes.

  Of course, no one won any bets, as no predictions had been made. One wondered how to interpret this episode. Was Mamalou too ill to talk to the stone? Had the stone said something terrible? Had it stopped working?

  Soon it was Pastel and his siblings' turn. His mother had warned them not to talk about the stone and to keep the conversation light. "Wish her well, tell her you love her and let her rest." One by one, they entered the large, dark tent. The air was thick with purifying incense. Pastel crouched gently beside the elder. They had been told to sit on the left side only. He soon understood why. Half of the old lady's ravaged face was collapsed.

  His sister leaned over to Mamalou to place a kiss on her forehead. "Hello, Mamalou, we're glad we can finally talk to you. I pray every day for your recovery." The elder's eye seemed to survey the tent's canvas ceiling. She opened her mouth and tried to answer with difficulty, her tongue hanging out of her mouth.

  The young fox approached with a gentle smile that hid her pain well and, wiping the drool that ran down the priestess's fur, replied. "Yes, it's a beautiful day. The sky has cleared. It's a deep blue with little fluffy clouds wandering about, like little sheep..."

  Mamalou grunted in approval.

  "I love you Mamalou, I can't wait to sing with you soon." Pastel's sister withdrew and he approached the priestess's head, shifting on his kees.

  She quickly focused her left eye on him. From tenderness, her gaze expressed fear. She grabbed his wrist with force.

  "Pasteeeel!"

  "Mamalou! Are you okay Mamalou? Do you need anything?"

  "Pasteeeeel! Ooooooh. Ittttt.... ittttt." The old lady seemed to be mustering all her energy to express something important. "The stone... sent me back to silenceee.... There was only a whisper ohh!"

  "Mamalou?"

  "The steppes gone I heard nothing for.... for the clan... the end of time. But for you.... oh my heart! You must.... You wiiiiiiill..... take up the burden after our story ends... the stone whispered yours to me. Beware....! It must... I must... important."

  Her eye closed, her grip relaxed. Pastel was petrified with terror as the old priestess slumped, exhausted. She let out a groan.

  "it... Mamalou, I don't understand!" Pastel murmured with difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. Without his noticing, his brothers had gone out to get help.

  They returned with Mamalou's daughter, who was also very old. "You, come right away. All of you. Manawan, stay with her, make some tea."

  She led the small gathering through a series of stretched cloths to another, smaller tent, filled with tables and chests where herbs and potions were piled. She turned to Pastel, grabbing him by the face. "What did she say? What did you say, Pastel? You shouldn't have told her about the stone!"

  His great-grandmother's big green eyes, rimmed with black, were penetratingly attentive. He stuttered, confused. He couldn't remember ever having exchanged such a look with his elder. On the contrary, it was considered impolite for young foxes to exchange such an intense gaze with elders.

  "I didn't say anything. She looked at me and... suddenly she grabbed my arm, like this. And she said... she said she hadn't seen the future of the clan, but that I had to... or that I was going to take up the burden and ... that the stone had told her about me."

  "'Repeat back to me exactly what she told you. Word for word."

  Pastel took a slow breath and closed his eyes. In the second of silence, children's laughter could be heard outside. An almost impossible contrast to the incredible heaviness of the air in the tent.

  "The steppes disappeared, I heard nothing for the clan, the end of time. But for you, oh my heart. You must. You'll take up the burden after our story ends. The stone whispered yours to me. Take care. I must. Must. Important". Pastel repeated the priestess's words in a voice that was deep and soft, yet full of pain. His brothers and sisters shivered. His youngest brother squeaked in disbelief.

  He had spoken in the same voice as in prayer or sacred stories. When he had finished, he opened his eyes. His great-grandmother was trembling. In her face, fear and love mingled like sky and horizon.