Teàrlach wandered the countryside, not really sure where he wanted to go. Every night he was haunted by his memories of his beloved Siubhan. Her tender lips. Her soft warm body. The fox could remember every night they had been together, every day they had shared the chores on the small farm. But there was nothing for him to return to now. His sorrow had seen to that, and somewhere in his inner most being, he regretted his actions.
The todd buried those feelings deep down, as far down as he could push them in his mind. So deep that he hoped he would never remember them ever again. Of course, by doing this, he began to avoid relationships as much as he could. Yes, there would be lovely bar maidens, needy inn keeper’s wives, the occasional road weary traveler that wished to share body heat, but they were nothing to him, outside of a way to ease his tensions, to seek relief for this most carnal and primitive desires. At least, that was what he told himself, and as they say, if you repeat a lie long enough, you begin to believe it yourself.
And that was what Teàrlach began to do; believe the lie. He told himself he would never love again. He would never find another with whom he would be unable to live without. It was a convenient lie, or was it a convenient truth? After weeks, or was it month or years, the fox couldn’t tell the difference anymore. And the lie held true for a time, until he went to Warrington Abbey.
Teàrlach had wandered the rolling hills, lush forests, and steep mountains of the English and Scottish countryside. His sword nestled snugly upon his back, and his coin purse easily dwindling as gold and silver left it and found the hands of many an inn keeper. His funds had dwindled so much so that he had begun staying in abbeys, monasteries, and sometimes even friaries. Not that he didn’t mind the hospitality the Church showed to weary travelers; a place to sleep out from the elements for free, warm ales, and of course good hot meals. The fox had even considered renouncing himself and taking the brown robes and the celibate lifestyle of the clergy. But every time he considered it, the feelings for Siubhan resurfaced. So every morning, he would bid the clergymen good morrow and leave. It had become such a practice, that by the time he found his way to the old abbey in the field, that it had become routine.
When Teàrlach had first approached the grand walls of stone and pitch, he did not expect to stay for more than a night, possibly two; long enough to feel welcome, yet short enough not to feel missed. The fox’s eyes traced over the high walls. They were newer of course, built during the Northmen’s raids, at least some parts where. It was easy to tell where the newer construction had been placed. The white stones were less tarnished; the weather having given them a lover’s kiss in contrast to the brutal scars of harsh love making that adorned the walls lower structure.
The “newer” section of walls had been erected during the dark times when bandits and barons roamed the countryside. During Civil Wars and conflicts between the Scots and the English. But somehow, this small abbey had been left alone during those wars. Peculiar to say the least, but not completely unheard of. So Teàrlach shrugged his shoulders as he made his way to the gate, the long fluffy tail flicking around from side to side as gazed at the massive wooden gates.
But when he was a merely a few yards, someone yelled at him from atop the wall. The fox came to a complete stop as he gazed up at whatever, or in this case, whomever, was calling to him.
“What,” he cried up at the guard. It was true that vulpines had excellent hearing, but the distance did not exactly make things easier as Teàrlach craned his neck up at the man. “What did you say?”
“Turn around and leave,” the voice cried back, “We don’t want any of your kind here!”
The fox was puzzled, “My kind?” His ears flicked from side to side, twirling about his mind raced. Did they mean Scots? Did they mean travelers? Did they mean foxes? The wording itself wasn’t entirely clear. Unsure of what the guard meant, Teàrlach kept moving forwards, intent on his mission of spending the night in the old abbey.
He had almost made it to the gate before his ears picked up a new sound. Metal strained against metal as a massive set of iron bars crashed down in front of the wooden door. The fox had to leap back to avoid being crushed. A loud snarled ripped across his muzzle as he glared up at the figures now starting to gather at the battlements. Teàrlach couldn’t see them exactly, but he knew what was up there. Archers and crossbowmen, a mixture of old and new aiming their arrows at him.
There was really nothing he could do to combat what was to come. Their arrows would rain down up on him. Sharp metal spears impaling themselves into his fur and flesh to cut him down. Drawing his sword would only make things worse and give them the circumstances. Teàrlach raised his hands high above his head, trying to show that he was no threat as a new voice began to boom from the rampart.
“What do you want,” the voice cried down to him. It was male, slightly deep, and certainly old, with a hint of impatients hidden within the words. The fox looked back up, straining his neck to reply, “I had hope to find a place to sleep and a warm meal before I continue my journey.”
There was a long pause, it felt almost too long for Teàrlach’s comfort. In the back of his mind, he contemplated drawing his sword, and letting the defenders lose their arrows into him. It would mean an end to the pain. It would mean he would finally get to be with Siubhan forever. The voice in his head whispered to him over and over again, and the more he listened, the more tempted he became. But just as his arm started to fall towards his sword’s hilt, a reply cried down to him. “You are welcome to stay,” it said, “but you will surrender your weapon at the gate. And you will be gone quickly. Is that clear?”
Teàrlach was taken aback for a brief moment. He’d half expected the voice to turn him away and make him sleep in the woods that night. But the prospect of staying in the abbey was much more appealing. “Fine,” the fox cried back, “I will do as you ask.”
His words had barely fallen from his lips as the great iron barred gated began to slowly rise up in a hail of squeaking and grinding metal. As soon as the anchoring spikes had lifted, the massive wooden doors flung backwards only to reveal a small contingent of armored beings.
They were an odd lot. Moles, mice, and a few otters mixed in with them, but at the front was an aged hare who looked well past any fighting age. “Well, hand it over, lad. We haven’t got all day,” the old lapine called to Teàrlach in a heavily endowed accent that made it almost unintelligible.
The fox let out a snort as his arm finally fell to his back, his paws grasping the hilt of his sword. The grip was covered in strips of leather, each one gripping onto the forged steel as tightly as a lover’s embrace. Teàrlach knew the touch of the hilt well, almost as well as he hand known Siubhan’s curves, as he gripped the handle. He eased the long sword out of its scabbard, moving it over his shoulder as he slowly knelt down on a knee before the old hare.
The display was elegant. The shimmering blade lay across what had been Teàrlach’s free paw as the other paw let the hilt rest upon his paw pad. “My sword,” he said, eyes fixated on the old man. The gray hair didn’t waste much time in taking it from him. Paw wrapping around the hilt as he pulled the great blade away from the fox. He held it in the air, moving it around admiringly before gliding into a fighting stance. “Certainly large enough,” the lapine said as his head moved to look at the fox, “Then again, I’ve rarely seen a Scottish blade that wasn’t this long.” A smile started to crack across the hare’s grey-white muzzle, his yellowing buck teeth popping out. “If I weren’t a gentleman, I’d ask if you were compensating for something.”
Teàrlach snorted as he looked up at the older man, “Only for distance.” The hare’s grin widened as he threw his head back to let out a deep chuckle, “Good retort, I must say.” The smile slowly started to fade as his eyes began to visually caress the sword, slowly moving it back and forth once more. “Not very good in a close fight, I’d imagine.” The fox laughed in return before he gave the lapine a more serious look, “I don’t need to be up close when I can cleave your head from your shoulders from a good yard away.”
There was another awkward pause as the two gazed at each other. The fox and the hare sizing one another up, wondering if each one could be trouble. Finally, the hare spoke, “Point taken, though you won’t have much use for it here, I’m afraid.” The lapine pulled his eyes from the vulpine as he slowly sheathed the longs word into his belt. Once that was complete, the old hare turned back around, “Come, welcome to Warrington Abbey.”
