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IV

Dead Eyes

The group of Juskarord clan members was getting more and more irritated over the ferret's impressive nose. No matter what they made the creature sniff, he always seemed to identify the object, despite how disgusting or crude it seemed. Dead-Eye was grinning smugly as he had a second eye patch covering his right eye, thereby blinding him completely. He wiggled his wet nose and snickered, waiting for the clan members to continue with their little game.

"Ya wanna stop now 'afore yew lose all yer food?"

"No! There ain't no way yer nose can be that powerful!"

Dead-Eye shrugged. "Try me!"

The clan member, a fox whose face was littered with black tribal markings, gestured for a thin dark brown stoat to pull another food item out of a sack. Dead-Eye wiggled his nose shortly after it exited the sack and chuckled.

"That's wild ramson! C'mon, gimme somethin' hard!"

The fox huffed and rubbed his forehead. "Give 'em the ramson."

"Argyle, at the rate we're goin', we won't 'ave any food left."

"Shaddap, Jarron! Trust me; he'll guess wrong an' we'll end up gettin' all the food back!"

The stoat tossed the ramson over to Blowhorn, who started to tear away at the pungent vegetable with his teeth. Members of Kurwin's crew were still snacking on all the vittles that Dead-Eye had won for them during this tournament, whilst a half-dozen Juskarord tribe members were staring at Argyle with contempt, wondering when the fox would call it quits so he wouldn't gamble all their food away. The blinded ferret was still grinning while Argyle fished through another sack and took out several slices of cheese.

"Fine. Wot's this then?"

Argyle held the cheese near Dead-Eye's nose and watched as he sniffed twice. "Cheese."

"Wot kind of cheese?"

"Err...it's that light yellow cheese made with goatsmilk, aye? An' somebeast stuffed some kind of nuts into it!"

Argyle growled. "Wot kind of nuts?"

Dead-Eye sniffed the cheese again. "Walnuts."

Jarron and the other tribe members exhaled and rolled their eyes while Kurwin's crew members shouted with joy and cheered at Dead-Eye. The reddish-brown fox scowled as he stared at the ferret before Longfang held out his paws.

"I'll take that."

The vulpine shoved the cheese in Longfang's paws, and the rat greedily started to gobble down two slices. Meanwhile, Argyle dug into another sack and pulled out some kind of bottle filled with purplish-black fluids. The moment the fox took off the cork, Dead-Eye's nose wiggled and he snickered.

"Blackberry wine!"

"FUCK!!"

The fox furiously tossed the bottle at Kurwin's corsairs, but Ishlin caught it before it bounced off a pirate's skull. The burly stoat took the bottle and shoved it into his mouth. He tilted his head back and started to gulp down the fruity beverage in huge quantities, causing some of the corsairs to frown.

"Hey, don't hog it all, Ishlin!"

"Yew ain't the only one who spent all this time drinkin' nuttin' but grog!"

The giant stoat removed the bottle from his mouth and belched. He tossed the bottle on the ground in the middle of the crowd and watched as three different corsairs argued and fought over trying to get the same bottle. The Juskarord members all stared at Dead-Eye with contempt, upset that he had such a powerful nose.

"Anythin' else?" the ferret challenged.

"Fine! Hehe, you ain't gonna like the smell of this though!"

The fox pulled out another bottle of strange fluids before grinning wickedly. He held the bottle up to Dead-Eye's head but didn't remove the cork just yet. It wasn't until his nose was practically touching the bottle that Argyle ripped off the cork with a faint pop. Dead-Eye only sniffed once before he recoiled and groaned with disgust.

"Yurk! Wot is that, stale fish 'ead grog?! Smells like this were brewed when Raga Bol were still alive!"

Argyle's left eye twitched. The Juskarord tribe members either swore or sat down in frustration with their arms folded. Dead-Eye noticed there was a very long pause.

"It was, weren't it?"

The vulpine shoved the bottle in Dead-Eye's paws, causing everybeast watching the spectacle to cheer. The ferret removed the eye patch covering his right eye and snickered as he looked at the disgusting fluids. A majority of the vermin around Dead-Eye playfully punched him in the shoulder or ruffled the fur on his head, glad that he won all this delicious food from the Juskarord tribe.

"Great job, buddy!" said Longfang.

"Hah, never woulda guessed it were walnuts in that cheese!" said Slipfoot.

"How'd you know when that grog was made?"

Dead-Eye shrugged. "Special talent of mine mates!"

As bad as the grog smelled, it was grog. Dead-Eye looked at the nasty fluids in the bottle before he opened his mouth and started to guzzle down some of the bitter, but still somewhat spicy fluids. The ferret hacked after drinking a substantial amount of the fluids and shook his head, the flavor burning his throat and leaving a rotten taste in his mouth. He looked over at the frowning Argyle and all the other Juskarord members and smirked.

"No need ta be so down! Yew lost fair an' square! Yew wanted ta see how strong me nose is, an' now ya know!"

"Pfft! Big fuckin' deal--so you can sniff out food and grog! Not like that's any use when yore surrounded by a buncha squirrels or otters!"

"Oh, but it is! Hehe, part of the reason I'm still livin' today!"

"Bollocks. Prove it then," said Jarron.

The one-eyed ferret sighed heavily as he started to grin to himself. "Awright. Couple seasons ago--'round autumn I think--I got lost, found meself wanderin' through the dark woods all by me lonesome! An' to top all that off, some otters were out lookin' fer me. So there I was: pitch black, middle of the night, already can't see too good with only one eye. Had no weapons on me 'cept fer a measly li'l blade!"

"So wot, you used yer nose ta run away from the otters' scent?"

Dead-Eye quaffed a substantial amount of the stale grog and hacked again as more fluids burned his throat. "Nope! I went right towards 'em! Hehe, didn't 'ave much light, so all I could do was sniff out the otters 'afore they found me! Li'l game o' cat 'n' mouse, killed 'em 'afore they found me! But there were this one otter I ran into..."

"Wot d'you do?"

This was the part of the story Dead-Eye enjoyed telling. "She were this young otter--not sure 'ow old she were--and she had no idea I was there! I crept behind her, ready to slice that pretty li'l neck a' hers. But them otters...hehehe, they're always just so wet..."

Now more of the Juskarord clan members were interested in the story. All of them sat down and a few of them started to grin. Argyle growled as he nodded at Dead-Eye.

"Keep goin'."

Dead-Eye took his time. He drank more grog, not caring how much it burned his gullet at this point. He rubbed off some of the fluids dripping from his mouth before he licked his lips.

"I didn't kill her. Pinned her down from behind instead. If it weren't fer me nose, I never woulda known how wet she were. Any a' yew ever smelled an otter's cunt?"

All the Juskarord members shook their heads, prompting Dead-Eye to laugh.

"Shame. I dunno wot this otter was doin' 'afore she and her crew started lookin' fer me, but I'm sure as hell ain't complainin'!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah--just get to the good part! Yew force yerself into her or wot?"

Dead-Eye licked his lips again. "That's just it...when I started gropin' her skin and rubbin' up against her...I didn't have time ta force meself into her. I just pinned her down an' kept rubbin' me shaft all over her skin, y'know, jammed a few fingers up her arse an' cunt. And then I came all over her face."

Some of the corsairs standing beside Dead-Eye noticed that a few Juskarord members were licking their lips or grabbing themselves. Even Argyle, who was previously pissed off at the ferret for taking all his food was grinning at him with satisfaction.

"An' then wot happened?"

Dead-Eye shrugged. "I jus' left. Couldn't slay a pretty thing like her. 'Sides, no point in markin' somethin' if yer jus' gonna destroy it afterwards."

"...P'haps I should keep that nose a' yours close by. Maybe yew can use it to sniff out a few otters fer us to have fun with."

"Maybe I'll do that," said Dead-Eye as he began to stand. "Fer now, we got some delicious vittles ta shove down our throats!"

Dead-Eye and the rest of the corsairs sitting around the Juskarord clan members all stood up with their vittles and walked away. Unfortunately, Longfang and Dead-Eye didn't get very far before Traegar rushed towards them with a few other pirates backing him up.

"I see yore not havin' trouble makin' friends," said the weasel.

While Dead-Eye started to finish off the grog, Longfang just laughed and shoveled the last wedge of cheese into his mouth. "He just got through tellin' everybeast 'bout his little incident with those otters, 'member?"

Trae giggled. "Course I do! But you can tell 'em more stories later. We need you and Dead-Eye ta come with us into the forest."

"Wot for?"

"The sorry excuse of a weasel runnin' this tribe needs us ta kill some legendary squirrel pickin' off his tribe members," said Dirtfoot.

Dead-Eye finished his fish head grog and gulped hard as he tossed the bottle aside. "Fine then. Jus' show us which way ta go an' we'll sniff 'im out!"

---

The tall, thick-headed stoat exhaled after drinking all the fresh elderberry wine his leader had rewarded him with. It wasn't all that much, but considering that he rarely had the pleasure of drinking wine, the stoat didn't complain. He set his chalice down on the ground before he stood up and walked over to a tree with fungi growing around the roots. Knowing he needed to get back to his post soon, the stoat figured it was better to go now instead of holding it all in. So the muscular stoat lowered his trousers slightly and sighed as he began to urinate on the tree. The stoat was staring at the yellow fluids splashing against the ground and tree bark when a ferret with a heavily scarred face snuck up on him and greeted him.

"How's it goin', Fleckle?"

The stoat nearly jumped and gasped. He jerked his head around and saw Kurwin standing behind him, staring at him nonchalantly.

"Wot is it? I'm a little busy here!"

Kurwin ignored him. "Ya know, there's two things a good leader should never do: let his paw get bittin' by the beast he's feedin', and abuse the beast that's feedin' from his paw. They're two simple rules, yet I hardly ever see anybeast follow 'em. Why d'you think that is?"

The stoat just blinked. "Erm, I'm not sure I foller ya."

"It's simpler to understand than you think. If I'm nice ta you, then by default, you should be nice to me. But if you fuck with me, well...you might find a blade shoved 'tween yer eyes. Get my point?"

Fleckle growled. "I'll have you know that I--"

Kurwin held up his paws. "This isn't a threat I'm makin' to you, Fleckle. Rather, it's a proposition."

The stoat finished urinating on the tree and pulled his trousers back up. He turned around and faced Kurwin, still feeling a bit confused.

"A prop...wot?"

Kurwin digressed. "Ferrin Rord. Is he a good leader?"

Fleckle nodded his head eagerly. "Yes, course he is! The best leader a Juska clan could ever ask for!"

"Then why is he abusin' the beasts he's feedin'?"

Fleckle scratched his head, confused again. "Not sure wot you mean."

Kurwin huffed. "Why isn't Ferrin treatin' you right? You've done everythin' he asks; you've been a loyal and trustworthy guard fer him, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"And yet he calls you names, he abuses you, embarrasses you--and in front of guests, no less! Wot kinda leader is that?!"

Fleckle looked down at his footpaws as he shyly kicked a small pebble. "Well...Ferrin's just a li'l stressed is all. I-I know he don't always mean it."

"Sure he don't. Has Ferrin ever, well...done things to you, Fleckle? Very unpleasant things?"

Fleckle looked at Kurwin and scowled. "Wot the fuck are you sayin'?"

Kurwin grinned nastily as he approached Fleckle. "Nothin'. Just askin'. I mean, a stoat as big and strong as you can fend fer yerself."

Fleckle yelped when Kurwin reached forward and grabbed his groin. And then he squeezed hard. Fleckle just stared at Kurwin and nearly blushed. But when Kurwin raised his other paw and started to stick it down Fleckle's trousers, the muscular stoat snarled and grabbed Kurwin's right arm. The ferret shouted as Fleckle squeezed so hard that he nearly broke his wrist. The massive stoat lifted Kurwin right off the ground before snorting in his face.

"DO NOT. TOUCH. ME."

Kurwin chuckled evilly. "That wot Ferrin does to you?"

"NO!"

"Only a matter of time ya know. Yer his little whippin' beast. You let him insult you, belittle you, abuse you--and fer wot? To protect some fat, pompous creature who brings shame to beasts like you and me? He's usin' you, Fleckle, and you can't even realize it."

"Shut up!"

"He's gonna ask you ta get naked. An' then he's gonna ask you ta bend over. And yer gonna do it willingly, 'cos yer so 'loyal' to him. And then he's gonna fuck that arse of yers 'til his fat cock's sore. And he's gonna make you enjoy it."

Kurwin leaned forward so his nose was practically touching Fleckle's. "Is that wot you want?"

Fleckle loosened his grip on Kurwin's arm and eventually let him go. The ferret grunted as he landed on the ground. He rubbed his right wrist with his left paw before looking back up at the stoat.

"So how long will it be 'til you start bendin' over and takin' it up the arse? Next season? Next month? Next week?"

"Never," the stoat growled.

Kurwin laughed. "Good answer! Yore much smarter'n you think, Fleckle! P'haps you should be the one runnin' this tribe, not that fat blob of fur you call a weasel."

"How can I do that? Ferrin's leadin' this tribe. Only way some other beast can lead is if the current leader got banished or killed."

Kurwin nodded. "Indeed. It would be such a tragedy if good ole Ferrin wound up dead, wouldn't it? Of course...I'm not sure anybeast would miss him."

Kurwin and Fleckle stared at each other until they both had massive, smug grins on their faces.

"I trust by that look on yer face that you know wot must be done."

"Hehe, I do."

"Good! It really was a pleasure talkin' to you, Fleckle. I'll jus' keep chattin' with the rest of yer tribe--err, I mean, Ferrin's tribe. He is the leader...fer now."

Fleckle watched as the cocky ferret began to walk away. His methods of persuasion were a bit unusual, but they worked. Fleckle didn't care about protecting his leader anymore. He was tired of all the times the chubby weasel kicked, beat, punched, and yelled at him for nothing. The stoat knew that Ferrin needed to be disposed of, and soon.

---

Dead-Eye and Longfang were busy looking all around the trees and sniffing the air, gesturing for the other beasts to tread lightly. Islik and Slivik were there, although they knew that now wasn't the time to jabber on about their past stories, so they were being quiet. Turvin was there too to assist the two trackers, and Dirtfoot and Trae were commanding the five vermin and providing them support. Dead-Eye and Longfang noticed a series of low branches up ahead and knew that this was the perfect climbing spot for squirrels. Longfang looked all around before he noticed a few paw prints in the ground. Dead-Eye sniffed the air a few times and growled.

"He's close by. Everybeast keep quiet," whispered Dead-Eye.

"You want us ta split up?" asked Islik.

"Yah! Me an' Islik here could each climb a tree--"

"No, stay together," Longfang interrupted.

"Tch, wot for?" asked Dirtfoot.

"'Cos if we split up, that squirrel will just pick us off one atta time 'afore we even know wot happened," said Turvin.

"If you say so," said Slivik.

So the seven vermin continued their journey through the woods, listening to the leaves rustling and the wind occasionally blowing behind them. They heard some sort of bird flapping its wings somewhere above the canopy, but nobeast saw anything swooping down low enough to pluck them off the ground. Dead-Eye inspected one of the bushes growing beside a tree and noticed that only a few berries were there. He looked more closely at the leaves and stems and could see that somebeast had snatched several berries off. The one-eyed ferret looked up into the trees while gripping his spear tightly, and a few other beasts had their weapons drawn. But Dirtfoot just shook his head and folded his arms, finding this entire journey very arduous and time-consuming. Dead-Eye heard a branch snap and jerked around. He looked up at a humongous tree and saw one of the branches several yards above the ground shaking. To make matters worse, a couple leaves were floating down onto the ground. The ferret looked left and right; he could've sworn he saw a shadowy figure hopping onto another branch and hiding behind a tree.

"Shite...yew see that, Longfang?"

"Damn it, I lost 'im!" said Turvin with frustration.

"Coulda jus' been that bird we heard," Dirtfoot mumbled.

Six of the vermin crouched down and started to walk across the ground so carefully that the leaves they crushed with their footpaws barely even crunched. Longfang and Dead-Eye were regretting not having a ranged weapon to take this beast on. If they had a bow and arrow, then this could've been much easier. Trae had his bow and arrow drawn, but he still had no idea where Merle was. All he could see were leaves and branches scattered everywhere. And somewhere within this nest of trees was a beast that longed to shed more vermin blood. But the vermin didn't panic, despite how exposed they felt. They stayed huddled together, their eyes scanning the trees for any strange anomaly. Turvin blinked and gasped when she saw something crouched down on a branch.

"THERE! HE'S RIGHT--"

And then the figure disappeared. Turvin exhaled as she lowered her sling.

"Fuck--he's gone again!"

Dirtfoot closed his eyes and grumbled softly to himself. Traegar noticed how irritated the filthy rat was and snorted as he walked towards him.

"I'm sorry, d'you say somethin'?"

"Nope."

"No, no, no--I'm pretty sure yore jus' dyin' to tell us somethin'. Any advice would be greatly appreciated, Dirtfoot!"

The gray rat shrugged. "Got nuthin' to say."

Trae scoffed. "Wotever. Just keep lookin' out for this arsehole then."

As the rest of the vermin started to walk away, Dirtfoot spotted a piece of kindling on the ground. Grinning, he lifted his footpaw and stomped on it, causing it to snap audibly. The six vermin either gasped or jerked themselves around, panting. Once they found the culprit, Dirtfoot snickered and continued walking.

"Whoops! Guess my footpaw slipped!"

Dead-Eye scoffed. "Yew know wot, jus' head back ta camp. Me an' Turvin an' Longfang can handle this."

"Obviously yer can't! That nose a' yours is just leadin' us 'round in circles! We ain't even goin' the right way!"

"Yes, we are! I told ya, I saw him just up there!" said Turvin.

"Even if we were goin' the wrong way, at least we're tryin' to do somethin'! Wot the fuck have you been doin' this whole time?!" shouted Trae.

"Bein' grumpy," said Islik.

"Bein' dumb," said Slivik.

"Bein' an arsehole."

"Bein' nasty."

"Bein' Dirtfoot," said the foxes in unison, before laughing simultaneously.

"I dunno why ye bothered comin' with us if yew ain't gonna contribute!" said Dead-Eye.

"Lower yore voices! That squirrel can prob'ly hear us!" Longfang warned.

"Bah, so wot?! It's one squirrel and seven bloodthirsty corsairs! That tree climber ain't got a chance!" said Dirtfoot.

"He does if you keep snappin' branches like that an' give away our position," growled Trae.

"OH SHIT!!! WAS I BEIN' TOO LOUD?! I'M SORRY!! I'LL BE QUIET FROM HERE ON OUT!!!"

Trae lowered his bow and arrow and started to walk towards Dirtfoot. The filthy gray rat did the same, moments away from drawing his cutlass. Longfang could see what was happening and quickly got in-between the two beasts, dropping his spear and stretching out his arms in both of their directions.

"That's enough! From both a' ya!"

"Hmph! I ain't lettin' some tracker--"

"Do you guys ever stop thinkin' with yore balls fer five minutes? There's a squirrel up in them trees tryin' ta kill us fer fuck's sake!" said Turvin.

"She's got a point," Dead-Eye added. "So we ain't found the tree climber yet. So wot, Dirtfoot?! We're goin' in the right direction; I know we are! This whole area reeks of squirrel; he's very close by, prob'ly in one of the trees we're standin' next to right now! So stop makin' this shite harder fer us, stop fuckin' around, an' fig--"

It all happened before anybeast could comprehend it. Even Dead-Eye didn't have the time to process it through his brain. He saw the dark shadowy figure up in the tree carrying some kind of weapon. After seeing the beast, the ferret's right eye grew wide. But the beast already spotted him ahead of time and had a perfectly good arrow pointed at him. Dead-Eye's sentence was cut off as a long arrow went straight through his right eye. He fell backwards and landed on the ground, permanently blinded in both eyes. The six vermin stared at Dead-Eye's corpse and the arrow protruding from his good eye in silence with their jaws hanging down. Longfang let out a tiny whimper while Dirtfoot started to breathe heavily.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered.

Islik was starting to turn around when he shouted in pain. A shaft was sticking out of his left shoulder now and he was bleeding all over his tunic.

"GET DOWN!" Trae shouted.

The six corsairs did as they were told, hiding behind a tree or inside a bush. Longfang and Trae were crouched down inside the same bush, where they had full view of the ferret's body.

"Shit...Dead-Eye?!"

Longfang was about to stand up, but Trae grabbed his trousers and yanked him back down. "Get over here! He's dead; ain't nothin' we can do about it now. You all right, Islik?"

The fox was hiding behind a tree alongside his brother. As he grasped his bleeding shoulder, he chuckled. "Takes more'n a bloody shaft to slow me down!"

"Can't say the same for Dead-Eye..." mumbled Turvin.

"So wot do we do now?" asked Slivik.

As Trae tried to step out into the open, another arrow whizzed by and nearly hit his footpaw. The weasel growled with frustration. "We don't do anythin'! Dead-Eye's dead, and Islik's wounded! You guys head back to camp; I'll take care of Merle!"

"By yoreself?" asked Longfang.

"No point in all of us gettin' slain. 'Sides, if you guys stay, he'll keep woundin' us an' pickin' us off slowly; he'll turn one target into five. I think I know--"

Trae yelped when another arrow whizzed by, this time much closer to his face.

"GO!"

The vermin didn't need to be told twice. They gathered their weapons and started to rush back to camp. Trae stood up and gave them cover, erratically firing arrows up into the trees where he predicted the squirrel was. Slivik helped his brother as he sluggishly ran across the soil while Longfang grunted as he picked up his spear and Dead-Eye's corpse.

"Wot are you doin'?!"

"I ain't leavin' Dead-Eye ta sit 'ere an' rot! Least I can do is bury 'im back at camp!"

Trae watched as the black rat with disgusting yellow fangs began to jog away, carrying Dead-Eye's cadaver over his shoulder. The weasel huffed and shook his head; he never did understand why some vermin bothered risking their lives just to collect the bodies of their slain companions. The weasel panted as he side-stepped his way through the woods, an arrow notched against his bowstring. He crouched down and looked in the trees, watching the leaves rustling and falling from branches. He saw a glimpse of the dark figure and immediately fired an arrow. However, the dark figure dropped down and landed on a lower branch. Trae hurriedly notched another arrow to his bowstring as he stood up and changed location. The weasel crouched down again beside a berry bush, hoping it would conceal his location a little bit. He looked up at the trees again to see if the squirrel had changed location. Much to his horror, he had, and now Merle had a perfect position to spot the weasel. Maybe it was his sixth sense acting up. Maybe he heard something weird. But something told Trae to hit the ground. He yelped as he threw himself backwards, and an arrow flew right past where his skull was only a second ago.

Trae panted heavily as he lied on the ground. Sweating, he flipped himself over as he hid behind the bush. The weasel crawled forward a little and froze. His ears twitched as he heard branches rustling and snapping. The weasel blinked and growled when he heard somebeast skittering along a branch. Then there was a pause. After that, he heard somebeast grunt, followed by another branch rustling. Then there was more skittering seconds later. After that, a pause, and then another grunt accompanied with a branch shaking. This pattern kept repeating itself for quite a while, until Trae realized the noises were getting louder. Merle was running and hopping from tree branch to tree branch. More importantly, he was getting closer to Trae.

"Oh shit," he said grimly.

The weasel stood up and began sprinting in a zigzag formation. Three arrows zipped through the air, one of which flew so close by his right ear that it almost tore said ear in half. Trae pressed his back against another tree before he heard a loud THUNK. The fourth arrow just barely missed him and hit the bark instead. The weasel huffed and swore with frustration. This was going nowhere; he needed to have the same advantage as the rodent. Staying on the ground just made it easier for the squirrel to kill him. So Trae looked up at the branch hanging above him and put his arrow back in the quiver. Then the weasel put the bow around his back and grunted as he jumped up and climbed onto the branch. The weasel didn't stop, no matter how tired he felt as he climbed. Trae didn't have the same magnificent climbing skills as a squirrel, but he still knew how to scurry up a tree with much haste. Traegar continued climbing from branch to branch until he hauled himself onto a long and thick branch that supported his weight without bending even a little bit.

The weasel blinked and looked left and right, hoping to detect the squirrel sooner than later. He slowly edged to his right, making his way towards the end of the branch. Then Trae froze when he heard leaves rustling up ahead. Not taking any chances, Traegar equipped his bow and notched an arrow again, hoping Merle would show himself eventually. And then he saw it: a squirrel with light brown fur peeking around the corner of the tree he was hiding behind. Trae fired an arrow, but the squirrel immediately jerked his head back and hid. The weasel pulled out another arrow and aimed, but Merle reacted faster. He sprinted out into the open and threw three throwing knives at Trae. The weasel swore vehemently as he lost his footing trying to dodge the knives. Then Trae screamed as he fell off the branch and crashed onto the one below him, which snapped in half a second later. The weasel fell for a few seconds, then reached up and luckily grabbed onto another branch. His heart pounding and sweat pouring down his face, Trae hastily pulled himself back up. He jerked back around with his bow and arrow out and looked up into the trees.

And then he hopped to the left and nearly fell again when another arrow was fired his way. Frustrated, Traegar leaped onto the tree branch across from him before sprinting and skittering up the tree bark with his bare paws. He jumped up onto a higher branch and latched onto it, seconds before propelling his body forward and landing on an adjacent branch. Traegar looked up and saw the squirrel hopping at least two yards so he could latch himself onto a different tree several feet away. Traegar huffed with frustration as he watched the squirrel scurry up the wooden surface. He aimed his bow at the climbing rodent and fired. As if to taunt the weasel, Merle hopped off the tree and disappeared from his field of vision like an annoying fly. Traegar snarled furiously and swore again, practically foaming at the mouth over how bothersome this one squirrel was. The weasel put his bow and arrows aside and took out his dirk instead. There was no point in trying to swat the fly while it was buzzing around in the air. He was better off waiting for it to land on a smooth surface so he could catch it by surprise and crush it with his bare paw.

What was supposed to be a simple hunting expedition turned into an arduous cat-and-mouse game. Traegar found himself hopping back and forth, jumping up and down just to get closer to the squirrel--or at least to avoid his deadly arrows and throwing knives. It wasn't until the weasel collapsed onto a branch panting from exhaustion that he realized this was exactly what the squirrel wanted. He wanted to tire him out so he'd make a mistake and fumble. At the rate Trae was going, the weasel would die because he fell and broke his neck, not because the rodent killed him. Seeing no other option, Traegar stood on a tree branch, dirk in paw, and waited. If he was right, then Merle would get bored and look for him instead. The weasel even breathed heavily just to make it sound like he was more tired than it seemed. So he stood and waited for nearly five minutes, and then heard somebeast grunt and land on a branch very close by. Traegar held his breath. Something told him that the beast was on the opposite side of the tree. He glanced to his left. There was another branch hanging from the tall brown tree.

He stepped onto it before hearing another grunt. Traegar looked down and saw Merle looking around questionably. The weasel didn't take any chances. He dropped from the branch he stood on and landed on the one directly beneath him. Merle gasped. Traegar shouted as he charged forward and prepared to stab the squirrel. But the squirrel immediately pulled out a dagger, and the two creatures started to fight each other at close range. Merle was attacking swiftly and waiting for the right opportunity, whilst the irritated Traegar was just trying to kill Merle as soon as possible. He snarled and crouched down to avoid a horizontal swipe from Merle. Then he tackled the squirrel against the tree bark, pinning him with his brute strength. He snarled again and lifted his right arm, preparing to stab the squirrel in the head. Merle grabbed Trae's right arm with his left paw, and then tried to stab Trae with the dagger in his right paw, which was subsequently grabbed by Trae's left paw. The two beasts were in each other's faces, snarling and grunting, both sweaty and exhausted from so much climbing. They were so close together that Merle could smell Trae's rancid breath, and Trae could smell all the berries the squirrel had consumed.

Merle jerked his head to the right when Traegar snapped at him, getting a bit of spittle on his neck. Both creatures stared at each other again and kept snarling and grunting. Trae was trying to stab Merle in the head; Merle was trying to stab Trae in the abdomen. The only problem with Merle's strategy was that he didn't fight dirty. Traegar did. So after much frustration, Traegar opened his mouth and lunged forward. The weasel's mouth was the predator, and Merle's fragile eyeball was the plump, juicy prey. The squirrel screamed as Traegar bit down on his left eye socket, but it wasn't until Trae started to close his mouth that he really started to holler. The weasel could feel the fluids oozing out of Merle's eyeball before it eventually popped and blood gushed out. Merle dropped his dagger and used his right paw to slowly pry Trae's head away, but the damage had been done. Then the squirrel ducked and snapped his head to the right as he let go of Trae's wrist, causing him to stab the tree instead of the squirrel. The squirrel fell off the branch and crashed through several more thin branches before he finally collapsed onto another thick tree limb. Trae quickly descended and arrived to the giant branch before he noticed that the squirrel wasn't there. Somehow, he must've jumped to another tree.

"What's wrong, tree climber?! Givin' up already over a li'l injury?" the weasel taunted.

Traegar snickered evilly as he slowly crept along the branch. But then he felt the same branch he was on shake. Trae tried to turn around, but Merle was quicker. He grabbed Trae from behind and held his dagger to his throat.

"No...jus' needed to get my weapon back!" he snarled.

Thinking quickly, Trae jerked his head backwards and bashed his skull into Merle's face three times. As the squirrel's nose began to bleed, Trae tried to wiggle his way to freedom. It didn't work. With no other option, he jerked his entire body backwards, causing both beasts to fall off the branch. They both screamed as they fell several feet to the ground and landed with a hard thud. Merle took most of the damage since Trae fell on top of him, but the weasel was still disoriented. Groaning and grabbing his head, Trae rolled off Merle's body and retrieved his dirk from the forest floor. He rushed back over to the moaning squirrel, who was covering his mutilated eye socket and still trying to hold his dagger. He tried to defend himself, but the exhaustion from so much hopping, combined with his eye wound and the fall from the tree weakened him too much. Trae tackled the squirrel again and stayed on top of his body. Before the rodent could do anything, Trae took his dirk and drove it into his forehead. Given Trae's irritation, he went well out of his way to stab the unfortunate squirrel three more times while snarling.

And then it was all quiet. The panting weasel got off Merle and sat against a tree, his dirk littered with blood. In all the confusion, Trae had dropped his quiver of arrows, and he had a feeling his bow might be a little bent from the fall. But at least the bothersome squirrel was dead.

"Jumpy li'l fucker..." he said wheezily.

Traegar looked at Merle's steadily cooling body and crawled over to it. Remembering what Ferrin Rord said about the squirrel's head, the weasel grinned widely and thrust his blade into the squirrel's neck.

"Relax. You won't feel a thing," he muttered as he started to brutally and repeatedly stab the neck.

---

Traegar returned to the camp some time later, although some of Kurwin's crew weren't exactly celebrating. As he approached the camp, he could see that a few vermin were already digging a hole to put Dead-Eye's corpse into. A majority of the corsairs were just trackers who knew Dead-Eye, but a few soldiers like Blowhorn and Bloodbrain were present as well, waiting to bury the ferret. The weasel sighed heavily as he walked over to Slipfoot and Longfang, both of whom were leaning against a tree and watching as other corsairs dug the hole. Longfang flicked his eyes over at Traegar before staring at Dead-Eye's corpse again.

"You okay?"

Longfang opened his mouth slightly and licked the underside of his right fang. It was something he usually did whenever he was irritated or pissed off about something. He folded his arms and shook his head.

"Not really."

"Just sucks when shit like this 'appens, y'know?" said Slipfoot.

"Dead-Eye was a good mate of mine...one of the few beasts that didn't bother or annoy me ta death. Did yer find the bastard--"

Trae lifted Merle's severed head. Slipfoot and Longfang glanced at the head that was messily removed from the squirrel's shoulders and blinked, and then resumed looking at Dead-Eye's body.

"Oh," said Longfang flatly.

"You don't feel better, do you?"

"...No."

Traegar sighed before he awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "So you gonna cry now? I mean it's...it's fine if ya do, I guess."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't deny it."

Longfang huffed. "You know wot, fuck you, Traegar! All you captains an' soldiers jus' see beasts like me an' Turvin an' Dead-Eye as nothin' but live bait! So wot if one of us gets killed--none a' you give a shit about it! Not my fault that unlike you, me an' Slipfoot an' Turvin do care that Dead-Eye's not breathin' anymore!"

"You think Dead-Eye's death doesn't upset me?"

"No, I don't, 'cos yer used ta havin' yore friends die on ya."

Traegar's right eye twitched upon hearing that comment, but he didn't feel like responding, because he knew Longfang wasn't necessarily wrong. After being a corsair for so long, watching beasts like Dead-Eye abruptly die on his watch just seemed commonplace now. The weasel walked away from the two trackers when he noticed that Bloodbrain had been staring at him ever since he returned. The weasel stopped walking and growled as he approached him.

"Now what's yore damn problem?"

"You should have brought me along. I'm not sure why you chose to leave me here when I could've easily taken out that squirrel."

"This ain't the time for 'I told you so,' Bloodbrain! Dead-Eye's gone, so get over it."

"Dead-Eye's death is not wot bothers me. Wot bothers me is that you know how useful I am with a bow and arrow, yet you chose to leave me behind to 'mingle' with this tribe. I could've prevented this. But instead, your army lost a very good tracker, and one of your soldiers has been wounded."

"Yore not perfect, Bloodbrain. Stop actin' like it."

Bloodbrain nodded. "Fair enough. I'll admit I'm not perfect, but you have to admit that you neglected to take me with you because you didn't want me to spoil your 'fun.' If I had come along, I would've killed that squirrel long before anybeast spotted him, thereby ruining the glorious hunt."

Bloodbrain's menacing scowl suddenly seemed to become bigger and more noticeable. "Am I right?"

Traegar scoffed as he rubbed his chin and shrugged. "So what? Maybe we didn't want ya to spoil our fun. Maybe Dead-Eye would be alive if ya came along, but so fuckin' what? I got the job done--"

"--and you had lots of fun, didn't you?"

Bloodbrain turned away from Traegar and stared at the hole being dug. "That's wot I like about you, Traegar: yore not afraid to have a little fun in battle, even if it means sacrificing the lives of others."

The weasel couldn't find a proper comeback that didn't involve breaking Bloodbrain's nose, so he just mumbled under his breath and walked over to go check on Islik. The fox was sitting beside his younger brother, wincing as he tried to remove the arrow from his shoulder carefully. Dirtfoot was standing a foot away, screeching at Kurwin over the problem Traegar "caused."

"I'm tellin' yer, he let it all 'appen!"

Kurwin nodded. "I s'pose he won't mind sharin' his side of the story now then?"

Dirtfoot turned around and snorted when he saw Traegar walking towards him. The weasel chucked the severed head and watched as it rolled in front of Dirtfoot and Kurwin. The ferret smirked.

"Good job, Trae."

"'Good job,' he says. Yah, he definitely fucked this one up awright!"

Islik shouted once Slivik removed the arrow. He held his bleeding shoulder and groaned. "Wot are you complainin' about?"

"Aye! You were the one who cocked this whole thing up fer us!" said Slivik.

"An' just how in the world did I do that?!" snarled Dirtfoot.

"You gave away our position. You started screamin' at the top of yore lungs you fuckin' idiot!" snapped Trae.

Dirtfoot scoffed and folded his arms. "Pfft! An' that makes it my fault?"

"It does when Dead-Eye gets slain not even a minute after ya start hollerin' like that!" shouted Slivik.

"Aye. Dead-Eye got slain 'cos of you, Dirtfoot, not Traegar," replied Islik.

"That's enough!" Kurwin bellowed.

The four beasts stopped arguing with one another and looked at the ferret's scarred face. He sighed heavily and kicked Merle's head like it were a common ball babes played with. "So we lost a tracker. It's unfortunate, but we got more. So Islik got an arrow in the shoulder. That's unfortunate, but the fox is a tough son of a bitch an' he'll deal with it, won't you, Islik?"

The fox scoffed and rolled his shoulder slightly. "'Tis only a flesh wound, sah!"

Kurwin nodded. "That's wot I thought. Now, if I recall correctly, Dirtfoot, Traegar was the beast who slew Merle without yore help, or help from any other beast."

"But he--"

Kurwin grabbed Dirtfoot's muzzle and clamped it shut with his paws. "Shut up. Even if this were Trae's fault, he did more good than harm. You were the one who returned to me with a dead tracker, a wounded fox, and yer cock in yer paws."

Kurwin let go of Dirtfoot's muzzle and shoved the rat backwards, almost knocking him down in the process. The ferret looked at the squirrel's head and sighed with relief.

"Now that that's over with, all we have to do is show our li'l prize to the clan's leader!"

"I told you, Kurwin: we're not workin' with some pompous weasel like Ferrin Rord! We're better off choppin' his head off like I did with Merle!" protested Trae.

Kurwin grinned. "Who said I was referrin' to Ferrin?"

---

Fleckle entered his leader's tent carrying a standard bottle of fluids with him. The corpulent weasel was busy chewing on part of a roasted bird when he swallowed hard and saw his loyal bodyguard approach him.

"Fleckle! Just where the hell have you been all this time?!"

"Talkin' to the captain of these pirates, sah. Sounds ta me like they've slain Merle fer us!"

Ferrin laughed, his giant belly jiggling in the process. "Good, that's very good! Now everybeast from here to the Northlands will have a reason ta fear me, the great and wise Ferrin Rord!"

As the weasel basked in his narcissism, Fleckle scratched his arm awkwardly and stood closer to the obese beast. He was about to lift his bottle when Ferrin lifted his legs and placed his footpaws on the table he was eating off of. The weasel sighed heavily as he wiggled his toes.

"I believe it's time fer you ta clean my footpaws again! Can't present myself to Kurwin and his smelly pirates again when my soles are so dirty!"

Fleckle looked down at Rord's disgusting footpaws and growled without opening his mouth. He was so tempted to hop over the table so he could tear the weasel's throat out with his teeth. Ferrin noticed Fleckle's hesitation and snorted.

"Now, Fleckle! Or do you wanna use yore tongue again?!"

Fleckle, somehow, managed to smile. "As much as I'd love to lick those delectable soles a' yers clean, I think you should have a li'l drink first."

Fleckle set the bottle down on the table. Ferrin, being the glutton he was, stared at the mysterious bottle and put his footpaws down. The weasel grabbed the bottle with his paws and blinked.

"Wot's this?"

"A gift from Kurwin! He said it's seaweed grog, one of the corsairs' favorite drinks!"

Rord took the cork off the bottle before he curiously sniffed the fluids. He groaned and recoiled in disgust.

"URGH!! Wot foul concoction is this?! Hmph, no wonder that corsair's breath stinks so much; I'm surprised this filth hasn't rotted all his pirates' teeth!"

Fleckle ignored the fact that he didn't know what "concoction" meant and continued. "Like I said, it's a gift, sah!"

Rord scoffed and set the bottle down. "Then tell that odorous beast I decline his gift!"

Fleckle smirked and shrugged. "No problem, sah. Course, then his pirates will know yer a coward..."

Rord's nostrils flared. "Wot?"

"Oh, it's nothin'. Kurwin an' his crew all joked how you'd never be able to drink this slop 'cos it's too deadly fer you. Only tough beasts who can handle this fiery con...con...um, drink, are worthy of showing every other beast how brave they are. But it's okay, sah! You don't need to prove them anythin'; they're just a buncha smelly corsairs, 'member?"

Rord snarled and snatched the bottle back up. "Fuck that ferret. I'll show 'im brave!"

And with that, Ferrin Rord proceeded to guzzle down nearly half the bottle of grog in one go. Fleckle watched his leader gulp down the fiery fluids without trying to smirk the entire time. It didn't take the plump beast long to consume half the beverage, and once he finished, he slammed the half-empty bottle down and started to cough and hack from the bitter flavor. The weasel stuck out his tongue multiple times and shook his head, groaning from the horrible taste.

"GAH!! Could they make this slop anymore disgusting?! Wot the hell did they put in it?!"

Fleckle shrugged. "Oh, the usual. Some crushed seaweed, bit of water, deadly poison, some salt...hmm, what else..."

Ferrin's eyes grew wide. He stared at the bottle and blinked before slowly looking up at the tall stoat. The weasel rubbed his throat--which was starting to feel sore and dry--before he coughed.

"Um...wo-wot was that third thing?"

Rord saw Fleckle grin in a way he never imagined possible. It was a smug grin, the grin he would see on a winner's face as he callously gloated to the loser how much better he was at whatever game he just won. More importantly, it was the grin of betrayal, something he'd see on the face of a turncoat. Rord grabbed his stomach and started to breathe heavily. He shut his eyes and exhaled as the stomach pain went away. But it came back only a few seconds later, much worse than before.

"Poison, sah. Fast-actin', fatal, toxic poison. This fox from Kurwin's crew--Sheeka I believe--gave me some poison ta plant inside that bottle. Think it's the same stuff Farran the Poisoner used all those generations ago, so you should be dead shortly."

Ferrin tried to scream, but his throat was closing up. It was becoming harder for him to breathe and move his limbs. As he grabbed his throat and gagged, Ferrin stood up, only to slouch back over and collapse on the ground. Fleckle looked down at the subdued weasel, watching as he began to die slowly and made pathetic gagging, coughing sounds. The stoat casually walked over to the same structure Ferrin was sitting on and sat down. He looked at Rord as his stomach pains became severe and the weasel struggled to breathe. Then Fleckle sighed and placed his equally filthy footpaws on the weasel's immense belly.

"I'd ask ya to lick my footpaws instead, but you'll be dead in another minute or so."

"W...w-why?" croaked Ferrin.

Fleckle snorted. "Why? 'Cos yore mean ta me? 'Cos you punch me, throw things at me, whack me with yore hammer fer no reason? 'Cos you make me lick yore footpaws clean?! I've been nothin' but loyal ta you, Rord! This whole tribe has done everythin' you ask, yet you constantly shit all over us an' treat us like we're yore slaves!"

Ferrin tried to say something in his defense, but all he could do was make a disturbing gargling noise.

"This tribe's better off without you. However, if somebeast like me were runnin' it, well, this tribe might actually do somethin' with itself, become Mossflower's most-feared Juska clan since Sawney Rath were alive."

As Ferrin's gagging sounds became quieter, Fleckle chuckled evilly as he got comfortable in his seat.

"Goodbye, Ferrin. I'll see you at Hellgates!"

And with a sloppy, gurgling sound, Rord stopped moving, as well as breathing. Fleckle stared at the weasel's half-open eyes before he laughed evilly again. With Rord dead, Fleckle Mard was now the ruler of the Juskarord--or rather, Juskamard--tribe. And he had Kurwin to thank for it.