Pastel held his bow tightly in one hand. He had been silently stalking the beast he was about to shoot. After hours of silent stalking, he had it in front of him. The wind carried the scent of the beast. Pastel readied an arrow, strung his bow and held his breath, his chest swelling, like his biceps that easily held the bow's tension.

  The string snapped and the arrow, without whistling, pierced the air and within a second found itself, with a thud, planted in the throat of the cervid, who didn't even have time to be surprised. It yelped, leapt up and quickly collapsed. Pastel pounced on it, slitting its throat to hasten its death. He let out a long sigh, releasing the tension he'd built up during his stalking. He stood up and smiled at the horizon. Suddenly, his ears pricked up, turning to one side.

  "They're back!" Pastel exclaimed to himself. He ran, hopping in his tracks, and after a few minutes found his mount, grazing, hidden behind a thicket of stubby trees.

  "They're coming back!" Pastel called out to the creature, a sturdy equine with a short, blond coat like straw. He straddled it and returned to the beast's corpse to tie it to his mount, before trotting back towards the village. At the edge of the camp, he saw them.

  Silhouettes drew closer. Appearing and disappearing in succession as they crossed the rolling landscape. The breeze shifted and brought the echo of galloping mounts.

  Pastel had dismounted with ease. He watched his father return to his clan's scouts. After a month among the eastern clans they seemed to be returning with a large number of strangers. "Have you seen Zala?la? More friends for you." Pastel said to his steed, stroking it with one hand. In the beast's big, dark eyes, one could read nothing but tranquil quietness.

  A modulated, questioning whistle cut through the air. It came from the village behind him.Pastel shouted back, "At least a dozen guests... We could slaughter a beast in their honor."Pastel turned and walked down the hill towards the village. He passed the whistler, his sister, coming up the hill, curious, wanting to see the unexpected guests with her own eyes.

  Pastel brought his catch close to a tent where a few people were already butchering another beast. A young fox of about 15, who was slicing up a leg of lamb with an impressive knife, asked: "So it's true? Do you think the western clans are in danger? That it's an invasion of the Sea Peoples?"

  I don't know, Ratavina." Pastel replied.

  Behind the diffuse murmur of clan life, behind the laughter and cries of the children. Behind the bleating of the sheep and the screaming of the beasts, behind the sound of the wind and the song of the birds, silence no longer had the same texture.

  Since Mamalou's crisis, the quietude of daily life had been mere appearance, for the inevitability of the stone's predictions had given way to doubt and dissension. The latter had the same effect as a beast that stalks, makes itself invisible and whispers the promise of a violent but swift death.

  Pastel, of course, was curious and eager to see how this unprecedented meeting with the guests from the east would go. But he also feared the bickering that, he suspected, was bound to erupt.

  "By the fangs of the sky, I swear it's true. Gharlancia, priest of the Bee clan, told me in person. They have retreated to the southwest to follow the wildebeest, who are following an escape route. All signs point to an impressive quantity of people, arriving from the east, from the sea, no doubt." Said a large grey fox with a dark, penetrating gaze.

  Another younger fox, sitting next to him, added: "All the herds arriving from the east have fewer heads, and there are even individuals with wound marks left by weapons. Not fangs, arrows!".

  "Mamalou was telling the truth...". Someone murmured.

  "Mamalou warned us as best she could, but she's never known war. These hills haven't known war for hundreds of solstices! She shared with us what she could. But now, the stone can no longer help us." Said an old red fox.

  A wave of consternation swept through the circle. It was made up of all the adults in the clan, plus the guests. Tamo and Pastel sat side by side on the tamed grass, exchanging worried glances. Subtly, Tamo leaned his thigh against Pastel's.

  "But none of the living here has ever known war! The Stone remains the only way to communicate with the spirits."

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  Pastel observed the reaction of the members of the assembly. Among the looks of approval, there were others, more serious, expressing discreet doubt. Pastel knew that many didn't dare express their nascent skepticism. Not everyone had the same faith in the stone. He looked at his father, the big dog. The latter said nothing and seemed lost in thought. Pastel knew that the latter had experienced conflict in his previous life. His experience could perhaps be useful to the people of the steppes. But he seemed to prefer not to talk about it.

  Tamo's father, a respected and powerful hunter, rose to speak. Pastel felt his friend hold his breath.

  "The stone has foretold the end of times! What more can it tell us? It has predicted our end, but as the clouds are my witness, I'm ready to give my life to prove it wrong!"

  A wave of accalmative whistles passed through the assembly. Tamo whistled too, but Pastel saw no joy in his beautiful brown eyes. Only a kind of bitter resolution.

  Tamo's father's words had crystallized a conviction among the steppe clans. The foxes would fight or die. In the months that followed, those who were in a position to fight prepared to do so, while the others prepared the equipment and necessities for a long war of resistance. Although no one had experienced war, the art of combat was alive and well in the Firefly clan. Over the centuries, however, training had become ritualized and was now primarily a sport. Fighting spears, arrows and black steel sabers, typical of the steppes, were made. The latter, elegantly curved and forged from iron outcrops near the western mountains, were ideal for fighting on horseback.

  Pastel hoped it was all in vain. Just a passing folly. Maybe the stone had only spoken in metaphor, maybe it was just a storm, or even a crossbreeding of clans! Pastel's mother had articulated this hypothesis. Pastel was willing to believe her.

  Four months after the visit of the representatives from the East, Pastel occupied his time with hunting, daily chores such as washing, cooking and maintaining the camp, but also trained for combat.

  "You're dead!" Tamo said, holding his dark, iridescent saber to Pastel's throat. Pastel merely grunted.

  They retreated to a defensive position. They were fighting on the outskirts of the village, close to the hill. Near them, a few other foxes were practicing their weaponry, or repairing their bows while chatting.

  After a second of concentration, Pastel launched himself first, spear aimed at Tamo's heart. Tamo parried to the left, and with his free hand tried to strike Pastel's arm. The red fox leapt backwards, his paws barely touching the grass. Balancing himself with his tail, he returned to the offensive, with a great upward gesture. Tamo leapt to the left, backwards, then leapt forward, his blade whistling through the air. Pastel rolled and launched an upward thrust that Tamo narrowly parried, exclaiming "almost!"

  Strike, parry, jump, spin, hit, counter-hit, dodge. Their rhythm quickened, along with their concentration and breath. The exchange of blows was like a deadly dance.

  After long minutes, Pastel saw his opening, a fragile grip from Tamo, following a feint. Pastel twirled his spear, which seemed invisible for a second, before striking the saber with a resonant strike, leaving Tamo's bare chest vulnerable. Then, in a quarter of a second, the tip of the spear appeared on Tamo's side. Too late, Tamo felt the cold of the metal against his fur.Out of breath, Pastel grinned, "Dead!"

  He stepped forward, the spear sliding against Tamo's fur under his arm. Pastel pretended to thrust it ever deeper into his friend's chest. Soon he was close to his face, their eyes shining. Tamo grabbed the handle of the spear and taking his eyes off Pastel said, "Don't you think we've died enough today?"

  "Don't you feel like fighting anymore?" Pastel challenged, their breaths mingling as their faces were so close together.

  Tamo, for all answer, stuck out his tongue and licked his friend's muzzle, who stepped back, looking around. A female fox, preparing a bowstring, pretended not to have seen anything, holding back a smile.

  " Rascal!"

  Tamo burst out laughing. "Stop talking like that!"

  Pastel grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go practice in the hills."

  "Can I come with you?" They turned around. It was Pastel's youngest brother. A fine 12-year-old fox. He'd just come running in, spikeless spear in hand and eyes full of hope.

  Pastel ruffled the fur on his head. "Not yet Fileniou. We've got some... moves and tactics to try out together, but we can practice together afterwards, before sunset, how about that?""Ah, but why? You're always avoiding me."

  "No, I'm not! Why would you say that? I promise we'll spend the evening together!"

  "With Tamo?"

  "With Tamo, if you want." Tamo nodded with a smile. The younger boy scowled.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Well, Yalaria says that since you're now old enough to... well, create a family, when you unite with another you're going to live in your own tent. So we'll see less of each other and you won't be able to show me how to hunt and... I've seen the way you look at Magnolie's sister. She's pretty."

  Pastel remembered Natana?o, the smiling fox who told him about the forest of shadows. They had grown up together and sometimes played, but their friendship was only nascent. He hadn't noticed the glance from his brother's eyes. He put his hand on Fileniou's shoulder, suddenly more serious.

  "I confess to you, Fileniou, that at the moment... it's not really on my mind, all this. Natana?o is a friend... yes, she's pretty and our families get along well and our ancestors are far apart. And maybe one day we'll get together, but you'll always be my family! We'll set up our tents side by side and you can come whenever you like. It'll be like a second tent for you!"

  The young fox's black eyebrows still marked an expression of concern, but he seemed reassured."Okay." He said finally. "But I want to team up with Tamo later and you take the sword.""Of course! See you in a bit, brother! I love you!" Pastel and Tamo ran off into the tall grass. Behind them they heard a "me too!".