Be neutral. Be indifferent. Be as cold as an Ician.

Nick leant back in the saddle, rubbing at the ache in his stiff shoulder. The aftermath of Burn's antics was the least of his worries now that Prince Shadow was shaking hands with a curly-haired man walking around the kennel's training field with Fiddler. Given Bigtown's location so close to the border, Silvermarkers visiting the capital for trade wasn't a rare sight. Nick usually kept quiet and listened in, more out of curiosity than hatred against the neighbouring country, despite obvious reservations he couldn't shake off.

"Weather's nice up here." The Silvermarker spoke softly but with a choppy accent, as though the words had to pass through broken glass before leaving his mouth.

"Yeah, we can't complain," Prince Shadow murmured. "And if we did, we wouldn't live here. A two-week summer means another good year."

"Moondale isn't better," the Silvermarker said, not laughing at the Prince's joke. Ician humour was an acquired taste. "Either it's wet or cold, or both. There hasn't been a real summer in years."

Vague and fleeting memories sprung to Nick's mind, as though he recognised the voice, but neither remembered nor managed to place it. The man turned slightly, the lighter, silverish arrow prominent on his otherwise grey tunic. The shape contoured by Ician blue.

The accent. The tunic. Moondale. 

He was an ambassador from King Storm.

Nick ground his teeth. The man's presence confirmed his suspicions, that fear that the pups would be sold as war dogs. Instead of aiding their masters to earn an honest living, the majestic creatures would one day be sent into battle and likely die for a conflict that wasn't theirs.

How could he be impartial yet still prevent the worst from happening?

His shoulder spasmed, his grip too firm. No, he couldn't prevent the sale from happening. He was still a guest at the Ician court. King River wouldn't appreciate Nick meddling in affairs that weren't his.

But as Kennelmaster, the dogs were his business. He couldn't stand by idly and do nothing. Unless... he did exactly that.

Fiddler's enthusiasm snapped him out of his thoughts. "...restorations to Moonstone Castle are delayed again! Can you imagine a kingdom without a proper hall?"

"A shortage of stones," said the Silvermarker. "Then again, if your uncle succeeds, we might not have to rebuild it at all. Why spend all those resources if we can move the capital a hundred leagues more south."

Nick's right eye twitched, losing focus. King Storm could also not wage war with the Greenlanders and use the silverlings to restore the castle and his land. Then again, the potential gain from winning the war combined with traditional Silvermarker overconfidence decreased the likelihood they considered retreat an option.

Their loss. But the dogs didn't have to be the victim of that pointless war.

"Yip!"

Number Two popped out of the saddlebag, its marble-like eyes peering down at Number Three. Chaos and barks erupted. The pups crushed and trampled each other as they wiggled loose from their burlap confinement.

"Yap yow!" snarled Number One. The grey female leapt from the wicker basket attached to Vixen's saddle and puffed out her fur.

It had little effect. Two and Three barked as they fell out of the sack, on top of each other, then circled Number One, yapping and snapping playfully at the black male and snow-white female. A sharp contract to the snoring and occasional kick during the return journey from Flat Hill Lake.

Next to Nick, Number Four yawned audibly, his eyes half-shut. The pup returned to sleep without attempting to climb out of the sack. His brother, however, stood on his hind legs in the basket where One had crawled out from. He joined in the barking contest.

Nick darted a look at the Silvermarker, who was facing the scene. His eyesight was too unfocused to make out facial expressions. Bless the Goddess of Temperance; perhaps the racket was enough for the dogs to stay in Bigtown.

Less firmly than he normally would, Nick said, "That's enough."

Number One bared her teeth to Two. Five jumped, kicking over Three. Moments later, the troublemakers darted in all directions.

Just as Nick suppressed a smile, Bear growled, a deep throaty sound that reverberated through skin and bones. The four pups stood in their tracks, stopping mid-bark, snarl, or snap. Ears drooped. Tails stopped wagging. 

"That bark...," the Silvermarker said in awe.

Nick patted Bear, muttering under his breath, "Shouldn't have done that, boy."

Bear let out a confused huff.

"Get those pups here." The Prince beckoned, his waving hand a smudge.

"It's been a long journey. I need to feed them," Nick said.

"There's water and fresh liver here," Fiddler replied.

Nick swung his leg over the saddle and slid off Bear. There was no avoiding the inevitable. Scooping Four out of the saddlebag, he gesticulated at the other pups. "Come, follow me."

Number One flicked her tail up. She strutted not beside him but a few inches before him, asserting enough dominance that her siblings didn't dare venture near her. Meanwhile, the white and grey runt nuzzled Nick's collarbone, too tired to engage in pack games. The heat of the animal's body soothed his shoulder.

"They're six weeks old, aren't they?" asked the Silvermarker.

"Five," Fiddler corrected him. She picked up a bowl as she approached the puppies.

"The grey one's pretty big."

As the Silvermarker crouched down, Number One sprinted towards Fiddler. She knew she was going to get a snack, and she was going to be the first to get it.

"Do we have clean paws?" Fiddler asked.

Number One lifted her left front paw, then the right. She sat down as Fiddler threw the dark piece of meat. The other three pups stood on their hind legs, trying to reach the bowl.

"No," Fiddler said sternly.

Against Nick's collarbone, Number Four's nose bobbed up and down.

The Silvermarker rose back to his feet. "Now that's a small one. Is she the same age?"

"It's a stud," Nick said. He slurred a little not to reveal his accent.

"Yeah, same age," Prince Shadow told the ambassador. "Because Mountain Dogs are such a large breed, the differences between pups of the same litter are apparent. Not every animal is destined to become a miner or a tracker. If he lives, this one will be a companion dog at best."

"Nothing wrong with that," Nick added. A lapdog's life was better than a war dog's, even in Silvermark.

"They make for very loyal friends," the Prince said.

Clumsily, the Silvermarker stroked Number Four's head with the back of his fingers "Perfect for Princess Leaena. What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one."

"That's odd."

"It's the owner who should name the dog," the Prince explained. "We use temporary names among each other, but never to call them directly. A pup that grows too close to its trainer can have trouble bonding later on. That's why we have a rotation system, so it's not always our Kennelmaster who feeds and trains the dogs. This way they don't get attached."

"The little one doesn't look like he's going anywhere." The Silvermarker grinned. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"The runt sleeps everywhere," Prince Shadow said. "You can take him if you want."

"Sure."

The Muttonhead of a Silvermarker held his arms as though expecting to hold a baby. 

"No, you'll have to support the back legs and butt," Nick scoffed.

"Okay." Uncertainty dripped through his thick accent. The man took a wider stance. His arms and hands a blur.

"He might squirm." And, hopefully, bite. 

But Number Four only wriggled for a bit. He dug his face in the crook of the Silvermarker's elbow and continued sleeping, which wasn't a surprise. Number Four could sleep anywhere, and his only bites were sight nibbles.

"They're heavier than they look."

"Seven pounds of Mountain Dog glory," Prince Shadow boasted.

"Six and a three quarters," Nick corrected him. It was not in an Ician's nature to lie. Then again, they paid little attention to detail either.

"Almost seven, then."

"Princess Leaena is going to eat you up," the Silvermarker said in a cooing voice, as if talking to a baby. "Yes, she will. Oh, yes, she will."

In the corner of his eye, Nick spotted a white blot attacking a slightly larger black smudge. Yowls led to snaps. Fiddler stepped between the two. Behind her, Number One was pushing a bowl forwards while drinking. Once again, Number Five was barking at him.

The Prince scraped his throat, and although Nick understood it was a signal to intervene, he crossed his arms and pretended not to hear it.

"They have quite the character," the Silvermarker said. The metal hilt hanging from the man's belt lit up, reflecting the sunlight.

"They're young and mischievous," Nick said, peering at the sword but too tired to make out more details. "Part of the beauty."

"I would lose four out of five before I reached home."

Nick sniffed. And they would have an even better future in the forests of Silvermark than in the ruined city of Moondale. 

"You're going to buy all five?" he asked, pretending he didn't already know the answer.

"One for His Majesty, one for the little Princess, and then three for the army."

Nick swallowed. "Who will they serve?"

Prince Shadow coughed.

"I don't understand the question." The Silvermarker cocked his head.

"They're not horses that you can give any job or give to any rider," Nick said. The urge to give a lecture was too strong. "Even in the army, the dogs need an owner. Someone whose instruction they'll always obey, even onto death."

"I... I don't know."

"My uncle will," the Prince said. "These are not the first dogs under his care, nor will they be the last."

"How could I forget?" Nick said, playing dumb. He knew very well who reigned from the Silver Seat, and how little had changed. King River merely finished what King Ariel had started.

The Silvermarker shrugged. "We all forget things. The name's Phoenix, and you are?"

"The Kennelmaster."

He let out a short chuckle that he swallowed. "I apologise. I still need to get used to Ician names."

"Oh, but Nick's not Ician," Prince Shadow said.

"I'm adopted," Nick blurted.

"Right, of course. A pleasure to meet you, Nick." Phoenix showed the white of his teeth, and although Nick struggled to see, he couldn't shake off the feeling he was scrutinised. 

He was the Greenlander in Bigtown, once a ward of King Thomas and until shortly engaged to his only daughter. Even if the Silvermarkers didn't tolerate his presence at the Ician court, they had never vocalised their dismay. Not to him directly, anyway, and he doubted King River would accept such criticism.

In any case, the King of Silvermark should be glad he was but the Ician Kennelmaster. Back in Sundale, he would have been a Lieutenant by now, General George's right hand. He would fill his days planning to crush the northern army. And succeed too.

"Nick and Fiddler have work to do," Prince Shadow said to Phoenix. "Let's continue our conversation over a pint of brew and slices of fresh flathead. We caught a big one on our trip."

The Silvermarker smacked his lips. "I've heard legendary stories about flathead heart."

"It's a true delicacy."

If you were born without tastebuds. Nick accepted Number Four back into his arms. Leaving the two men to discussing ways to salt and pickle flatheads, he tiptoed towards the shed. He crouched by a bowl and dipped his fingers. Wet. When he found two more and another half full, he called the adult dogs in. 

Still saddled, the furry giants plodded in and sloshed up the water. He better went to the well to fetch more. For that, he needed a bucket. Where had Fiddler left it?

He squeezed his eyes, focusing on the objects instead of the lingering headache. Rag balls, pieces of rope, too many bowls, but no conical shape reflecting the sunlight. 

"Bucket... bucket..." he said through his teeth.

A warm hand tenderly squeezed the back of his neck. "Wonderful news, isn't it?" Fiddler said. "The dogs will stay within the family."

Nick hummed.

"Wra-at," Bear said.

In the shadowy corner of the shed, where water trickled down from the roof whenever it rained, stood the metallic cone.

"Thanks, Bear."

"Wo-wro."

"What?" she asked.

Nick's shoulder tensed as he took the bucket. "Nothing."

"So, I have an idea..." Fiddler said suggestively. As Nick headed for the well, she slipped right beside him. "Since it isn't advisable for Phoenix to take the dogs by himself to Moondale, we could travel with him. You know, have a little adventure of our own before we might... settle down?" Her voice rose. Was this a real question or a rhetoric one? He couldn't tell.

Nick moved the bucket from one hand to the other, keeping his distance. Sure, he had promised Prince Shadow to break up with his daughter, but couldn't the Gods wait until he had unsaddled and fed the dogs, and had a full belly too? A couple of hours, and then he wouldn't mind delivering the bad news.

"So, what do you say?" Fiddler asked.

Nick lifted his shoulders.

"It's not unusual to send someone with the buyer, especially on larger distances. I mean—we wouldn't want the puppies to eat the Silvermarker or flee before they cross the Great Big Wide."

Nick remained quiet. He failed to see how that was a horrible outcome for the pups. Either they would find their way back to Bigtown or roam the wild until the end of their days.

"Nick, are you against the idea because Phoenix is from Moondale?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

She touched his shoulder. He flinched slightly. "It's not that. I couldn't care less if Number Four forms a bond with the Lion Princess. It's the others. I haven't spent all those short nights on a rock-hard floor to know they'll be butchered in war."

"But we're Ician."

He was neutral. "I wouldn't want them in Greenlander hands either. A battleground is no place for an animal."

"And how many horses, dogs, and sootwings do you think have died in battle?"

"Too many."

Fiddler snorted. "Honestly, Nick. I don't understand you. Had you been playing war general in Sundale, would you say the same?"

"It's irrelevant—I'm not." He placed the bucket atop the low stone wall of the well.

Fiddler handed him the rope to attach the bucket. "Then there's no reason for you not to come with me to Moondale."

"What kind of logic is that?" Nick tight a knot around the bail.

"Because I want to do this with you."

Nick lowered the bucket into the well, slowly counted to ten after hearing a splash, then pulled the water up. His silence already stretched too long. Since she had him cornered, now was as good a moment as any. Cut off the limb before the rot spread. Quick pain for maximum result, even if it meant him feeding and grooming the dogs by himself.

The bucket dangled at the edge of the well. Fiddler caught it before the metal clanged against the stones, spilling water.

"I don't think we should do this," Nick said.

"You don't think? What a Greenlander way to say things."

"Alright, I don't want to do this." He was more direct.

"It will be good for us," she tried convincing him.

"Icians, or the two of us?"

"Everyone. And it will be good for the pups too. You can talk directly to King Storm and change his mind about giving the dogs to the army."

"He'd never consider criticism from someone like me."

"You'd be surprised. He's still Ician."

"Perhaps." He needed to give it another thought. "But whatever happens, we shouldn't go together."

"Why not?" Fiddler sounded crestfallen.

Swift and to the point. Nick scratched his neck, his skin sweaty. "Fiddler, I enjoyed our nights together, and even the days, but to me, that's all it is. I don't want a future with you."

"What?" she mumbled.

"This is me breaking up with you." He couldn't be more direct.

"Why?" Her voice broke.

He didn't have a reason.

"It's the Greenlander Princess, isn't it?" Fiddler yelled. Ice cold water splashed into his face. "Did she write back, proclaiming her undying love for you?"

Nick coughed. Aside from the shock, the water was surprisingly refreshing. "No, I doubt my letter has reached Snout Valley. It'll take another week before the raven crossed the Horseshoe Mountains. It has nothing to do with Alana." He wiped his face, his hair and shirt dripping wet. "It has nothing to do with you either."

"Then why don't you love me?" Sobs cracked her voice.

"Do I have to love anyone?"

"You had me fooled, like all the others. I was so sure you wanted to settle down with me, have our own wing, looking after the dogs and getting half a dozen children. Holy Dragon, I wanted to grow old and wrinkly with you, Nick. What was I thinking? I'm just another girl you managed to lure into your bed."

"Don't say that. I have fond memories of you."

Fiddler snivelled. Her tirade stopped. "What."

"Yeah, we had a good time, hadn't we? Just because it ends in sorrow doesn't mean the journey didn't matter." He fished out his handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers. "Here, I haven't used it."

"Thanks." The brown cloth masked most of her face. She blew her nose.

"I may risk sounding like a Greenlander, but I never intended to hurt you. What we had was special, but the story's over now. A new one will begin."

"Though it hurts, I appreciate your honesty." She stretched her arm, wanting to give the handkerchief back.

He mouthed to her, "Keep it."

She curled her hand into a fist, keeping the cloth close to her chest. "No other woman in your life?"

"Apart from One and Three, not really," Nick said.

"So, where will the next story take you?"

Nick breathed in.

"Moondale?"

"It would best for the pups, wouldn't it? And there are no females pregnant at the moment."

Fiddler nodded. "You want me to look after Bear when you're gone?"

"That won't be necessary."

Bear was coming with him.