Slowly boiling with irritation, Aranea clenched her fangs as fingers tugged at the long ear again. Her arm shot out, eager to catch the culprit, but the fingers closed around nothingness. Darn it.
"Please be still, daughter," Gregor purred.
"I am standing still!" Aranea snapped. "You're the one messing with me!"
Another palm, warm and comforting, touched her shoulder, dispelling the anger, and the girl glanced up at the elongated snout of the amused-by-their-bickering Mom. Kalaisa hailed from the Wolf Tribe, a group of Wolfkins inhabiting the untamed Ravaged Lands. She stood head and shoulders taller than Dad, eyes glowing brightly, like a pair of flashlights, a legacy of her former rank. The thick fur covering her body could stop even bullets. For today's occasion, she carefully brushed and combed it, donned a simple black dress, and paired it with a silver necklace bearing the Wintersongs' symbol.
Dad, tall and covered by snow-white fur Wolfkin, stood to Aranea's right. Heavily built, he wore the white and dark-blue ceremonial raiment of a Wintersong noble, and at his belt rested a longsword in a golden sheath. Twenty years ago, Dad had undertaken a pilgrimage to the mystical and frozen homeland of his ancestors, earning his place in the family by deed and later attaining the rank of knight-captain. Gold rings were skillfully woven into his beard, and around his neck glittered the exact mirror image of his wife's necklace. No inner flame lit his crimson eyes, but they were still highly visible red orbs.
Aranea Wintersong stood between her parents, clothed in an overly fancy and restrictive dark-blue dress. Four weeks ago, they celebrated her third birthday. In that gentle age, cubs of the order barely began forming meaningful sentences, and their size was small. Yet the blood coursing through her veins accelerated the girl's maturation, and the top of her head, covered with fur the color of night, already reached Dad's waist.
Unlike her Ice Fangs' kin of a similar age, Aranea spoke freely and, forced by her Mom, read books voraciously. Members of the Wolf Tribe developed at a completely different pace to their cousins. One of Aranea's eyes was amber in color, while the other was crimson, a sign of Dad's heritage. Pale hair surrounded the red eye, as if to remind the young cub that she was a child of different worlds.
Some hushed voices called their family weird, and Aranea supposed that it was because of Mom's and her fur color. She had only ever seen other black-furred Wolfkins in books and photographs. Dad served in the Ice Fang Order, a band of warriors originating from the distant north. The Order had long served under His Excellency Wyrm Lord before the constant violent clashes among the two tribes of Wolfkins had forced Wyrm Lord to relinquish vassalage over the order to His Excellency Devourer.
In the lands of their new leader, the Ice Fangs had become an influential organization, taking responsibility for the restoration efforts and guarding the borders from roaming bands of slavers and raiders. Since fewer and fewer fools dared to test the nation's stability, many members of the Order had left their military careers to realize themselves in other areas.
If he keeps doing it, I'm biting him. Aranea's eyes widened at another tug. It was Dad's idea to pose for the picture. The pleasant painter had welcomed them graciously and had even snuck her a soda after she admitted to hating tea. Proper etiquette demanded them to place their utmost efforts to reward the diligent man, but no, Dad grew bored and began amusing himself by teasing her.
Aranea hated it when Dad tricked her into making a fool of herself. How's he a knight?
"Please, just a few moments more!" the painter pleaded as Aranea turned to leap at Dad. "I am almost finished!"
"Oh!" The girl quickly returned to her position, becoming still like a statue once again. "My apologies, sir."
Her parents whispered between themselves behind her.
"Stop teasing her, dear." Kalaisa smiled.
"But it's so cute when she loses her temper," Gregor joked. "I won't see our furball for an entire month, so I want to take every opportunity I can now."
"Dad, you can always call me over the terminal," Aranea whispered carelessly with just her lips.
"Ah, but talking through a display is just not the same. No scent, no opportunity to tug an ear…" The painter gave a thumbs up, signaling completion, and Gregor squared his shoulders and cracked his neck. Ignoring his daughter's protests, he scooped her and hoisted the cub onto his left shoulder. "I won't be seeing you for a long time, little one, so today we will be treating you to whatever you want. How about a snack for a start? Candies, meat, or honey, perhaps? Or maybe we should try some of those strange vegetable dishes that have been appearing in the markets lately, brought to us by the Oathtakers? We can also take a ride around the city, check out what's new in cinemas."
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The family left the room, heading to the vast hall leading to the inner chambers of New Dawn Fortress. Exquisitely drawn paintings adorned its walls, and rich, warm carpets with gold trim covered the floors so the Wolfkins could walk barefoot. The Ice Fang Order wasn't poor; its coffers had amassed enormous wealth over the years, whether from trade or from war trophies. They were closely involved in the construction of new cities, inspiring the population by their presence, and also aided in healing sick and wounded. The Order was an ever-growing political force within the state, ever striving for excellence and prosperity.
"Dad, stop embarrassing me! I can walk just fine." Aranea tried to break free, but Gregor held her with ease. "We'll be the laughingstock if anyone sees us!"
"Let the entire world laugh if they want to. What do we care? Childhood is a fleeting thing, and let the Spirits damn me if I allow you to waste yours trying to act like a grown-up." Gregor waved his paw dismissively. "You haven't answered my question, squeaker."
"Well, then, I want to learn how to fight properly," Aranea said stubbornly. "Other cubs train all day in the weapons halls; their swords ring nonstop. Why can't I join them?"
"Honey, you are a bit too young for this." Kalaisa gently patted her daughter on the head. "And besides, there is so much more to the world than fighting. You can be an artist or an engineer. Just imagine that with your paws, you can create paintings as beautiful as these." She pointed at the walls.
One painting depicted the Twins and Ravager, the revered progenitors of both groups, standing side by side in a rare moment of peace. The painter had to create this piece of art from the photograph, for Ravager simply could not stand in the presence of the Twins for long without trying to dominate them. Her desire to be the strongest ran searingly hot. The Twins were dressed in doublets of pristine white, trimmed with golden thread, and trousers of the same color. The man had a longbow behind his back, and the woman had a long sword the size of Dad's on her hip. Ravager, meanwhile, was naked; her fur of the void color served her better than any garment. The one weapon she ever needed, her trusty claws, slept in her elegant fingers. She sat on all fours, and yet her head was on the level of her brother's and sister's. The Twins smiled, but Ravager appeared unhappy and out of place.
"Or learn how to create world-class technological marvels. Think of a standard terminal. Such a compact thing, but imagine how difficult it would've been for people to converse over distance without it. And for it to work, the device itself is not enough. It is necessary to build and maintain the special operation centers scattered throughout our country. Technicians, engineers, and laborers are incredibly important. What would a warrior eat without food grown by farmers…"
"Boring!" Aranea rejected the ideas. "I can fight with wooden swords just as well as Keyl can. Ev…. If we sparred, he'd always end up in the mud. Mom, I've heard what others spoke about you. You were a warlord, the best of the best, a fighter without equal! I want to be like you. No, I want to surpass you one day! To crush the enemies of the Dynast and restore the world to humanity!" Aranea's claws slipped out of her fingers, and she swiped with them at imaginary foes, imagining how she would shred them.
"There have been many people stronger than me. Even today, there are dozens, if not hundreds, of those capable of crushing me into dust under their thumbs." Kalaisa said softly, touching her forehead, "My joy, you have no idea what war is, and if the Spirits will it, you will never know. To experience the pulsating sensation in your blood, to see the squashed bodies ahead, to never lower your guard, for a single lucky shot could end you... To lose dear friends again and again… No, I will never let you choose this path." Mom shook her head. "I grew much happier when I left it behind and started my new career as a doctor."
"But why?!" the girl yelled angrily. "Battles still rage on in the world! Dad leaves us to fight. Everyone knows there is a danger or two out there. Each day, our people risk their lives to tame the wilderness and topple monsters. Just because you chose to hide and…"
"Your mother is not a coward, and neither is she hiding," Gregor said, dropping to one knee and lowering his shoulder to meet his daughter's eyes. "She has a... condition. She can't fight anymore, or else a bad thing will happen. And yet she saves lives even now. Is that not brave?" Aranea knew what her father meant. Mom often left home to work at a hospital. The last time there had been a shortage of doctors in the neighboring city, Kalaisa had been gone for two months, chatting with her daughter over a terminal.
"That's precisely why I need to become a warrior!" The girl snapped back furiously. "And I didn't call Mom a coward. Don't put words into my mouth! I need to learn to carry my share of responsibilities. What if an invader tries to hurt Mom while you are away? I must be stronger to protect our home, so…"
"Protect our home?" The knight-captain laughed, standing up. "From whom? Furball, you are in one of the safest places in the world! Relax, grow, study and have fun. That is your 'share'. Kalaisa and I have both bled a lot in our past, so that cubs like you can have all the happiness we can give them. You don't owe us anything, and you certainly have no obligation to follow in our footsteps. No one will ever dare to touch you here. Still want your share of responsibilities?" he asked at her pouting. "House cleaning is on the menu. And today you'll be responsible for purchasing and transporting everything we buy."
Aranea crossed her hands over her chest. No one wrote songs about doctors. No one sang about engineers. There were no legendary giant statues built to honor workers or painters. Artists themselves competed for the right to create statues of generals, captains, and famous soldiers. She wanted to become a legendary trooper, just like Mom.
And one day I will. She decided. Her eyes would glow with the same light as her mother's. Foes would tremble at her name. She would become one who inspired others. A protector of the weak and a bringer of civilization.
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