The Horseshoe Mountains didn't care what path he took; if he took a path at all. One hand on the sand grey mare's rope, he meandered through the maze of stones, mud, and mushy snow that had melted and refrozen one too many times. 

While the wind hit his face in every direction, the uniform grey clouds gathered above his head, darkening instead of climbing over the peaks. The eagles and the sparrowhawks screeched and argued before tucking their wings and diving towards the unlucky rodents that would be their next meal.

The mare stopped and lifted her head towards the sky, her ears perked up, as though she was the one to fear for her life. Fox tugged softly at the rope, beckoning her to follow him. Her eyes drifted back to him, and only after he nodded at her, she padded towards him. Though the horse had been calm and obedient since leaving Moondale, he wasn't comfortable in the animal's presence.

Still, it was a vast improvement compared to Storm's alternative: boarding a ship in Greysport that would drop him ashore where the waters of the Grey Sea and the Jade Sea clashed. If he could avoid large bodies of water, he would. Besides, if the messages coming in from the south bore but a fraction of the truth, the Silvermark fleet failed more than it succeeded.

Stretching his hand, he widened a crack between the boulders, creating a pathway large enough for him and the mare to pass, then entered the cave. He would do this on his own. It had been his life since Katla had been murdered. By King Thomas. By Seb. By Alex. By Caracal too, indirectly, but the self-crowned King had already paid the highest price for his crime.

After Storm had succeeded him as King of Silvermark, Fox had moved from town to town, staying with Lords, Ladies and various masters of magic to hone his skills, never staying long enough to call any place home or to make friends. By the time he had grown accustomed to the people around him, a crow from Moondale would arrive to guide him to the next place. Horsecliff, Starford, Stenby, Waterhole, two moons in Longmark followed by three moons in Shortmark. Only special occasions allowed for a return to Moonstone Castle. Doe's sixtieth birthday, Phoe's marriage, and the naming feast of Princess Leaena. Though a few days after his arrival, King Storm announced his next destination.

Between the age of twelve and a half and fifteen, he had spent three cycles of respectively three, four and six moons in Snout Valley where the name Fox was more common than bread. Lady Fox had been an adept Water Magician, though apart from learning to appreciate a good bath, the elderly redheaded woman hadn't been able to teach him much.

Renewed magic bubbled through his veins. A bright yellow flame danced in his hand, illuminating the dark, cave-like construction. Raindrops seeped through the crevices between the fallen rocks and fell into pools that hadn't seen sunlight in centuries. A damp, somewhat rotten smell lingered in the air.

A cone-shaped rock rising from the floor blocked his path. He swiped his arm, breaking off the tip, then stepped over the dulled stone.

The mare followed.

Sniffing, Fox took the path where the air smelled cleaner, fresher. A waft was all he needed to know where he had to go to. Here and there, he cut the edges of rocks blocking him, even smashed a stone into a thousand pieces when it didn't budge. After the God of Wrath had subsided, he recalled Badger's lesson from years ago. An Earth Magician must be wary of their movements; just like a Fire Magician can burn down a city, an Earth Magician can sink a city into a hole.

The cave would collapse if he moved a rock that held the formation in place. He moved the flame close to the walls and regularly studied the ceiling littered with icicle-like rocks that dripped with cold and heavy drops.

Then he smelled the sweetness of rain. 

As he chased his nose, a sudden breeze drifted through the darkness, accompanied by pattering coming from above. He entered an aisle, a cramped and uncomfortable but just wide enough. No jagged, angular stones above him, nor cones on the floor; water streamed down his face. A single boulder the size of a storage chest sat between him and the light.

He had found a way out.

"Go back," he whispered to the horse, releasing her from his grip. He would call her when he had created a hole to heave her out. "Get yourself to safety."

The mare neighed in approval.

Fox waited for the clipping of the hooves to fade. He was going to need magic to lift the boulder, cast it aside, then jump out. Closing his eyes, the pitter-patter turned into applause as he climbed up the fourteen steps of the obsidian throne.  In his head, he faced the crowd: they bowed down until they were kneeling. To him.

Magic ignited in his hands as he stretched his arms high above his head. The sound of splintering cracks was deafening. He groaned. Soggy earthy gravel oozed through the crevice, though but a nuisance compared to the immense weight. He would be the best King the Greenlanders ever saw, the one who opened their eyes and taught them that mages and non-mages could co-exist. In centuries, children would sit on their mothers' lap as they told them the tale of the first Magician King of the south.

He pushed and roared and pushed again, ignoring the cramping of his muscles and the panting of his breath. The more debris fell on his face, the closer he was to reach his goal. His fox pendant scalded his skin; the cave filled with an alternating brown and white hue.

Oh, the shock on Seb's face upon his return to Sunstone Castle, to find him of all people there. The puddingbrain who never did anything right, who could never win. Now Seb would be the one on his back, begging for forgiveness before Fox got his revenge for Katla and for all the attempts on his life; his half-brother had to understand that it was their relationship had turned in a kill-or-be-killed situation. In his shoes, Seb would do the same.

Light. A steadier stream of water. The foggy clouds appeared. He growled as he tossed the boulder aside, more a shoving motion than a good hurl. The rock crashed down with a thunderous bang that echoed throughout the cave. 

Not a heartbeat later, a waterfall of rubble and grime hurtled down. Fox leapt aside just in time for the pieces of rock to slam down.

It wasn't just raining; it was pouring. 

Thick beams of liquid sunshine, Lord Viper had called this phenomenon. The Lord had been a funny man; another reason he had returned King Storm's crow with an empty promise and had stayed a few weeks longer on Sapphire Island. Until an envoy from Bigtown had reminded him of his place in the world.

Fox drew the hood of his cloak up. Content with his work, he leapt out of the cave into the downpour. 

The boulder laid shattered, the point of impact a fractured crater that was quickly filling with water. On the other side, a tilted plateau stretched out in front of him, leading to a lower peak. It was a steep incline, but broad and smooth like a blanket; only mild, muddy disturbances in the terrain.

His sword clunked against the ground as he lowered to his knees and stuck his head through the hole. "Horse?"

No answer. 

What was the animal's name again? Grey? Spotty? He didn't remember.

"Hey, you there. Come here. I'll get you up."

Neither neighing nor clipping of hooves. 

Fox ignited a flame in his hand and threw it into the cave, hoping it would attract the creature.

When nothing happened, he uttered a grunt that originated at the back of his throat. "Fine. I'm counting to ten. Know that if you don't come, I'll abandon you. I can easily steal another horse—there's plenty in The Greenlands."

"One... two... three..." How hard was it to follow his plan? "Four... Five..." There was more than pudding in his brain; he knew what he was doing. "Six... Seven..." 

This was the Nick conversation all over again, with King Storm failing to understand why Nick was a potential threat to his usurpation. "Eight... Nine..."

He may be some Kennelmaster in Bigtown, but the spies were clear he was still the Greenlander's General first successor. For whatever reason. "Nine and a half... Nine and three quarters..."

Luckily, both Leo and Atilax grasped the urgency to eliminate Nick. Fox extinguished the flame as he shouted. "Ten. Enjoy starvation, Horse. I'm not coming back for you."

A sudden neigh appeared from behind him.

The mare towered above him, a mocking smile on her bare teeth. Her mane dripping like the rest of her hair. She narrowed her eyes, gleaming.

Fox cocked his head, half avoiding her gaze. There were hoofprints in the mush. "You think you're clever, right? Finding another way up here."

She whinnied as if to say, "Yes."

He grabbed her rope and led her up a steep, though a hardly challenging elevation. Sure, there was a narrow, wandering path up a  bit further, with loose pebbles washed smoothly by the rivulet that had formed at the end of winter and had dried up by the start of summer. His way may have been an unnecessary detour, but it had been an adventure that the horse had missed out on. Her loss.

Fox tucked the pendant back under his shirt. His fingers touched the ring around his neck; a gift from Hawk for his sixteenth birthday; a token to hold onto whenever he needed those moments of despair to keep his hair black instead of red. He both loved and hated the ring, the memories of what he had and lost. A mentor. A father. A friend. Katla.

He entered the heart of the fog in a bubble of warm air that repelled the drops swirling in the wind. The incline flattened. On a clear day, one could spot both the thick, swampy fields of Silvermark and the luscious mix of broadleaves and perennials of The Greenlands. Not today, but he knew they were there.

His magic faded as the decline set in. He braced his feet for the traitorous rolling that would lead to stumbling and falling flat on his face. His ankles twisted nonetheless, but he kept his balance. Mostly because the mare did, and he leaned on her, trusting her. For now.

Ahead, the sun was battling against the walls of ice and water. The clouds brightened, even evaporated in places. It was no longer raining.

The path led them to lower brown and green hills, with plateaued valleys formed by creeks of melted snow. The landscape was more diverse than he remembered. Blossoming canopies stopped abruptly where large meadows and greater rivers began. All bathing in the green of The Greenlands.

The Greenlands. Something stirred in him, a feeling so foreign he had trouble realising how he felt. Happiness tainted with the pain of another life, of the boy he had been before Katla had taught him how the world truly worked.

This was no longer home; he had no home. As King, he only needed a throne.