This post contains all public links to the draft preview to Shadow and Song, the first novel in the Cliffmore Keep series. This page will be updated as new chapters are shared with the public.
Character Profiles
Public Chapters:
CHAPTER 1: The Rabbit at the Gate
CHAPTER 2: First Impressions
CHAPTER 3: Allies and Acquaintances
CHAPTER 4: Trial by Fire
CHAPTER 5: The Weight of Expectations
CHAPTER 6: Lessons in Adaptation
CHAPTER 7: Diplomatic Duties
If you want to read all of the chapters of the preview in one document together, please visit the Google document link here.
If you want to check out all the chapters of the preview all together, check out the Google document link here or the Masterpost with a full list of public chapters and character profiles.
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Shadow and Song - Chapter 7 - Diplomatic Duties
Walking beside Sir Reynard through the stone corridors, Pepper found himself standing taller, his steps lighter despite the lingering soreness from morning training. The fox knight seemed to notice the change in his bearing.
“Proper attire does more than clothe the body,” he observed quietly. “It shapes how others see us – and often, how we see ourselves.”
“Thank you for your encouraging words about my physique, Sir Reynard,” Pepper said as he walked alongside the fox knight through the stone corridor. “I’ve always been... well, rounder than other rabbits. Do you think my build might offer other advantages beyond what you’ve mentioned?”
Sir Reynard’s amber gaze slid to Pepper, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. His russet tail swished once behind him, a gesture Pepper had begun to recognize as indicating interest.
“An insightful question,” he replied, slowing his pace. “Most focus solely on combat applications, but a knight’s duties extend far beyond the battlefield.”
He gestured to a window alcove overlooking the eastern courtyard where knights drilled in formation. Sunlight streamed through the leaded glass, casting dappled patterns across his handsome features.
“Consider endurance,” he continued, his voice taking on a professorial tone though his eyes remained warmly fixed on Pepper. “Leaner rabbits may sprint faster initially, but they lack reserves for extended campaigns. Your natural build provides energy stores that others might envy during winter marches or prolonged sieges.”
He leaned slightly closer, his voice lowering. “There’s also the matter of presence. A knight must command respect in diplomatic situations as well as martial ones. Your... substantive form fills space differently than the typical waifish rabbit messenger. When you enter a room properly attired and carry yourself with confidence, you’ll draw eyes naturally.”
Pepper hadn’t considered this perspective before, having spent years trying to minimize his appearance rather than embrace it.
“Additionally,” Sir Reynard added with a hint of something warmer in his tone, “there are certain... aesthetic considerations among the noble classes that differ from common perceptions. A fuller figure has traditionally signified prosperity and good living. Many find such attributes quite appealing.”
His gaze lingered on Pepper a moment longer than strictly necessary, and Pepper detected a slight increase in his scent – that cedar and clove mixture now carrying subtle notes of something spicier.
“I’ve observed that you carry your weight with natural grace,” Sir Reynard continued, resuming their walk toward the Great Hall. “That speaks to good balance and coordination. Qualities essential for the fighting style we discussed earlier.”
A pair of squirrel pages scurried past, bowing hastily to Sir Reynard before disappearing down a side passage.
“Sir Felix was not dissimilar in build,” the fox added. “The chronicles mentioned that he was particularly resistant to cold weather conditions during the Northern Campaign. The commander’s journals noted that while other scouts required extra rations and warming tents, Sir Felix maintained his vigor throughout.”
They rounded the final corner before the Great Hall entrance, where two badger guards stood at attention. They saluted Sir Reynard crisply as he and Pepper approached the massive oak doors.
“To answer your question directly, Squire Krolikov,” Sir Reynard concluded, his tone shifting to something more personal despite the formal setting, “your build offers numerous advantages that extend well beyond the training yard. Some immediately apparent, others you will discover in time. The key is not to view your body as an obstacle to overcome, but as an ally to understand.”
"I'm truly grateful for your perspective, Sir Reynard," Pepper said, adjusting his stance as he walked beside him. "I've spent so long thinking of my body type as something to overcome or hide. The idea that it might be advantageous – or even attractive – never occurred to me."
His voice caught slightly on the word "attractive," and warmth flooded his cheeks beneath his honey-colored fur. The new training clothes suddenly felt a touch too warm despite their breathable fabric.
"Many of life's greatest strengths are first perceived as weaknesses," Sir Reynard replied, his amber eyes softening as they met Pepper’s. "It often takes an outside perspective to recognize the value in what we take for granted."
He paused before the massive doors of the Great Hall, turning to face Pepper fully. The afternoon sunlight streaming through a nearby window bathed his russet fur in golden light, highlighting the distinguished silver streaks at his temples.
"The world is quick to tell us what we should be, Squire Krolikov," he continued, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Merchants should be calculating. Knights should be imposing. Rabbits should be lithe and swift." His muzzle curved into a gentle smile. "But those who transcend such expectations often leave the greatest mark on history."
Pepper noticed the guards studiously focusing straight ahead, practicing the careful art of aristocratic invisibility that servants perfected around their betters. Sir Reynard seemed untroubled by their presence as he reached out, straightening the collar of Pepper’s new tunic with a delicate touch that sent shivers down his spine.
"You have qualities that cannot be trained into existence, Petra," he said, using Pepper’s given name for the first time. The familiar address felt like a gift, intimate and unexpected. "A quick mind. Natural grace despite your unfamiliar surroundings. And yes, a form that carries strength where others might not recognize it."
His paw lingered at Pepper’s collar a moment longer than necessary, the contact brief but unmistakably deliberate. Pepper struggled to maintain composure, his merchant family's etiquette training battling against the fluttering in his chest and the warmth building elsewhere.
"Now," Sir Reynard said, stepping back and resuming his more formal demeanor though his eyes remained warm, "let's introduce you to Sir Felix. I believe you'll find the resemblance... illuminating."
He gestured to the guards, who immediately pulled open the massive oak doors to reveal the Great Hall in all its afternoon splendor. Sunlight streamed through the high stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns across its soaring timbered ceiling and stone floors, illuminating the rows of ancestral portraits that lined the walls. A balcony ran around the perimeter of the space, with two grand staircases that circled symmetrically into the parquet flooring below. Beyond the Great Hall, Pepper could see the Dining Hall through the other entrance.
Servants and kitchen workers scurried about the space, preparing tables and chairs that looked like some sort of diplomatic function for tonight. Sir Reynard gestured forward into the space with a slight bow, his amber eyes catching Pepper’s with unmistakable appreciation.
"The eastern alcove," Sir Reynard directed, leading Pepper up one of the staircases. The rabbit did his best to keep up with the fox’s longer-legged stride. "Sir Felix's portrait was commissioned after the Northern Campaign, at the height of his service to the crown."
As Pepper followed, he couldn’t help but reflect on how differently he felt in these new clothes (and how Sir Reynard's words) had begun to transform his perception of himself. For the first time since arriving at Cliffmore Keep, Pepper found himself walking not with the careful shuffle of someone trying to minimize their presence, but with the deliberate stride of a squire who might one day be worthy of knighthood – and perhaps worthy of the attention of the distinguished fox walking beside him.
Pepper crossed the immaculate balcony of the Great Hall, following Sir Reynard toward the eastern alcove. His new boots made a satisfying sound against the polished timbers, so different from the hesitant shuffling of his previous ill-fitting footwear.
The eastern wall held a collection of portraits arranged in chronological order, depicting knights and nobles who had served with distinction through the centuries. As Pepper drew closer to the alcove Sir Reynard had indicated, his breath caught in his throat.
There, illuminated by a shaft of amber light from a nearby window, hung a portrait that made his heart skip. A sturdy rabbit knight stood with quiet confidence, one paw resting on the hilt of a slender sword, the other holding a small round buckler. He wore armor unlike any Pepper had seen before – lighter than traditional plate but reinforced at strategic points. The painter had captured an intelligent gleam in the knight's violet eyes – the same unusual color as Pepper’s own.
"Sir Felix Krolikov," Sir Reynard announced softly, "Royal Knight and Confidant to the Crown, commissioned after the Northern Campaign."
Pepper stepped closer, studying details that felt eerily familiar. Sir Felix's build mirrored his own – sturdy rather than slender, with powerful haunches and a solid frame. His honey-colored fur appeared a shade darker than Pepper’s, perhaps weathered by campaigns in sun and snow. But the similarities were undeniable.
"The family resemblance is striking," Sir Reynard observed, standing close beside him. "Particularly around the eyes. That shade of violet is quite rare."
Pepper noticed something unusual about the sword depicted in the portrait – its guard curved elegantly rather than extending straight, creating a subtle spiral that would indeed redirect a blade rather than merely blocking it.
"It's... it's like looking at myself in ceremonial armor," he whispered, emotion thickening his voice.
"Not entirely yourself," came a new voice from behind him. "Felix had a scar along his right ear from a Sha-- from a Southern Isles assassin's blade."
Pepper turned to find Lady Serena Wintermint approaching, her pine marten form graceful despite her advanced years. She carried a leather portfolio under one arm, her spectacles perched on her narrow muzzle.
"Lady Wintermint," Sir Reynard greeted her with a respectful inclination of his head. "I was just acquainting Squire Krolikov with his distinguished ancestor."
"So I see." Her keen eyes moved between Pepper and the portrait. "When I showed you the family chronicles yesterday, I thought you might find your way here eventually. The visual evidence is always more compelling than words on parchment."
She opened her portfolio and withdrew a careful sketch of a uniquely designed sword. "I found this in the archives this morning. The specifications for Sir Felix's personal blade, commissioned from the royal armorer. I thought it might interest you."
Pepper accepted the sketch with reverent paws, noticing intricate notations about balance points and material composition.
“Family resemblance extends beyond appearance, Squire Krolikov,” Lady Wintermint said with a smile that suggested she knew more than she was telling. “You might find your paws remember what your mind has never learned.”
Pepper studied the sketch in his paws before looking up at Lady Wintermint, his ears perked with interest.
“These specifications are fascinating,” he said, tracing the unique curved guard with his finger. “The balance point seems unusual compared to standard blades. Do you know if this sword might still exist somewhere in the keep?”
Lady Wintermint’s whiskers twitched with appreciation at his question. She adjusted her spectacles, leaning closer to examine the sketch alongside him.
“A perceptive inquiry, Squire Krolikov,” she replied. “Sir Felix's blade was indeed preserved after his service. Unlike most ceremonial weapons that find their way to the general armory display, items of particular... significance... are kept in the Lord Commander's private collection.”
She exchanged a meaningful glance with Sir Reynard before continuing.
“Lord Commander Thornheart maintains a secured chamber adjacent to his study where historical artifacts of special importance are preserved. Your ancestor's sword would be among them.”
Sir Reynard stepped closer, his tail swishing thoughtfully behind him. “The Lord Commander's collection is not generally accessible to squires,” he noted, though his tone suggested this wasn’t necessarily the final word on the matter.
“However,” Lady Wintermint interjected, her dark eyes twinkling, “exceptions have been made when a direct bloodline connection exists. Particularly when that connection might prove... instructive.”
She closed her portfolio with a deliberate motion. “I could make inquiries on your behalf, Squire Krolikov. The Lord Commander respects historical precedent and family legacy. He might permit a viewing, especially if Sir Reynard were to accompany you as sponsor.”
Sir Reynard’s expression remained carefully neutral, though his ears twitched forward with interest. “I would be willing to make such a request, should you wish it, Squire.”
Pepper noticed a subtle exchange between the fox knight and the archivist – the slightest nod from Lady Wintermint, an almost imperceptible flick of Sir Reynard's ear in acknowledgment. Something unspoken passed between them.
“The sword is more than a ceremonial piece,” Lady Wintermint continued. “According to the records, it was designed specifically for Sir Felix's unique fighting style. The curved guard protected his smaller paws while enabling swift, precise movements that larger knights couldn't match. The records suggest he was particularly effective against opponents who underestimated him based on his stature.”
She tapped the sketch with one claw. “Note the hollowed pommel. Not merely for weight reduction, but rumored to have contained specialized equipment for his... diplomatic duties.”
“The polite term used in court records,” Sir Reynard explained, his voice dropping slightly. “For those knights whose service extended beyond the battlefield.”
Lady Wintermint smiled, revealing her small, sharp teeth. “Knowledge and information have always been as valuable as steel, Squire Krolikov. Some knights protected the realm with their swords. Others, like your ancestor, protected it with their wits as well.”
She looked at Pepper appraisingly. “The Krolikov line has always had a talent for being underestimated – and using that to their advantage. A useful trait in both merchants and knights, wouldn't you agree?”
Pepper leaned closer to Lady Wintermint, lowering his voice despite the Great Hall's relative emptiness at that time of day. The sunlight streaming through the stained glass cast patterns across his newly-fitted training clothes.
“You mentioned knights protecting the realm with their wits,” the rabbit said carefully. “And 'diplomatic duties' that seem to mean something more. I'd like to understand what Sir Felix truly did for the crown.”
Lady Wintermint and Sir Reynard exchanged another of those meaningful glances before the pine marten archivist gestured toward a secluded bench beneath one of the hall's arched windows.
“Perhaps we should sit,” she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper.
Once seated, with Sir Reynard positioned to observe anyone approaching, Lady Wintermint opened her portfolio again and withdrew a small leather-bound journal.
“What I'm about to share is not secret, precisely,” she began, “but neither is it widely discussed beyond certain circles. The crown has always required knights of various... specialties. Some wield swords on battlefields. Others wage quieter campaigns in council chambers and foreign courts.”
She tapped the journal with one delicate claw. “Sir Felix excelled at gathering information others could not. As a rabbit, he was often overlooked in noble gatherings – considered harmless, decorative even. Many spoke freely around him, never suspecting his true purpose.”
Sir Reynard leaned forward, his amber eyes intent. “Your ancestor's merchant background provided perfect cover. He traveled extensively, established trade connections, and observed political developments in neighboring kingdoms while appearing to focus solely on commerce.”
“But he was still a knight,” Pepper said, trying to reconcile these two images. “He carried a sword, wore armor...”
“Indeed,” Lady Wintermint nodded. “And he was skilled with both. The most effective Confidants to the Crown maintain dual identities – their public face and their true purpose. Sir Felix could defend himself admirably when necessary, but his greatest victories were won through observation, deduction, and carefully placed words.”
She slid the journal toward Pepper. Opening it revealed not personal entries but detailed sketches of mechanisms – hidden compartments, secret locks, and what appeared to be a hollow pommel design that matched the sword in the portrait.
“He designed these himself,” she explained. “Ways to transport sensitive information securely. The pommel of his sword contained a sealed chamber for carrying messages. His buckler had a false backing where maps could be concealed.”
“Some of the greatest services to the crown are never recorded in ballads or celebrated in feasts,” Sir Reynard added softly. “Sir Felix prevented three wars through information he gathered before hostilities could erupt. He exposed two assassination plots against the royal family. And he established a network of reliable informants that served the kingdom for decades after his… retirement.”
Lady Wintermint's expression grew serious as she closed the journal. “The current political climate has renewed interest in these particular skills. The Southern Isles grow increasingly hostile. The Western Plains Alliance shifts allegiances with alarming frequency. Blackmoor threatens to invade if reparations aren’t made.”
“And rabbits,” Sir Reynard said with surprising gentleness, “continue to be underestimated in court circles. As are merchants who appear focused solely on profit rather than power.”
Pepper felt a weight of understanding settling across his shoulders as he looked back toward Sir Felix's portrait, seeing it through new eyes. The intelligent gleam in the painted eyes now carried deeper meaning – the calculation of someone constantly observing, assessing, planning.
"Is this why my father sent me here?" Pepper asked softly. "Not just to become a knight, but to follow in Sir Felix's... specific path?"
Lady Wintermint closed her portfolio with practiced care. "That, Squire Krolikov, is something you will need to discover for yourself. But I will say this: talent often runs in bloodlines. And you've already demonstrated a merchant's eye for detail and a natural aptitude for being underestimated." She rose from the bench with surprising grace for her years. "Both valuable traits in a knight of any specialty. Wouldn't you agree, Sir Reynard?"
The fox knight's eyes met Pepper’s, warm with something that might have been pride – or perhaps something more personal. "Indeed, Lady Wintermint. Most valuable indeed."
Pepper reached toward the journal with respectful paws, careful not to appear too eager despite his racing curiosity.
"Lady Wintermint, might I borrow this journal to study Sir Felix's designs more closely? I promise to treat it with the utmost care," he said, his merchant family's training in courteous negotiation evident in his measured tone.
Lady Wintermint's whiskers twitched with mild surprise. She exchanged another glance with Sir Reynard, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"An unusual request from a first-year squire," she said, tapping one claw against the leather binding. "These designs aren't typically circulated beyond the archival chambers."
Pepper felt a moment of disappointment before she continued with a thoughtful expression.
"However, blood calls to blood. And these are, after all, your family's innovations." She slid the journal across the polished wood toward him. "You may borrow it until sunset tomorrow. After that, it must be returned to the archives."
"Thank you, Lady Wintermint," Pepper said, accepting the journal with reverent paws. "I won't let it leave my quarters."
"See that you don't," she replied with unexpected seriousness. "And be mindful of who observes your interest in such matters. Not everyone appreciates the... subtler diplomatic arts of knighthood."
Sir Reynard stepped closer, his voice dropping to ensure only Pepper and Lady Wintermint could hear. "Lady Wintermint means that certain factions at court prefer their knights to be straightforward warriors rather than strategic thinkers. The Silvertooth family from the Eastern Provinces, for instance – young Nathaniel's kin – have long advocated for martial prowess above all else."
"Understanding comes before application, Squire Krolikov," Lady Wintermint added. "Study these designs not merely as curiosities, but as expressions of how your ancestor approached problems. The mechanisms themselves matter less than the thinking behind them."
Pepper tucked the journal carefully into his tunic, feeling its weight against his chest like a promise.
"Now," Sir Reynard said, his professional demeanor returning as a pair of servants entered the far end of the hall, "I believe we should continue your orientation to the keep. There's still much ground to cover before evening training."
Lady Wintermint adjusted her spectacles. "I'll make those inquiries about the sword, Squire Krolikov. Perhaps by week's end, Lord Commander Thornheart might grant a viewing."
As she turned to leave, she added one final comment over her shoulder. "Your father would be pleased to see you taking such interest in your heritage. He spoke often of the Krolikov legacy when he arranged your placement here."
Pepper watched her graceful form disappear through a side door, leaving him alone with Sir Reynard and the precious journal nestled against his chest – a tangible connection to the ancestor whose portrait watched him with those familiar violet eyes.
He carefully secured the journal inside his tunic, feeling its weight against his chest as he turned to Sir Reynard. "I'm ready to continue our tour, sir," he said, straightening his posture despite the lingering soreness from morning training.
"Excellent," Sir Reynard nodded, leading him to the end of the Great Hall and around through a side passage he hadn’t noticed yet. "While most squires become familiar with the training yards, mess halls, and barracks, there are sections of Cliffmore that remain mysteries to many. As a Krolikov, you should know the keep in its entirety."
The corridor narrowed, opening into southward gallery lined with tapestries depicting hunting scenes and battle formations. Afternoon light filtered through narrow windows, illuminating the rich threads with golden warmth.
"This is the Southern Approach," Sir Reynard explained, his paw occasionally brushing Pepper’s shoulder to direct his attention. "Note how each alcove contains both decorative elements and defensive positions. Even in peace, Cliffmore's architects never forgot its primary purpose."
Pepper observed the clever arrow slits disguised within decorative stonework and the way each turn in the corridor would have forced attackers to expose their flank.
"The Southern Wing houses our diplomatic quarters," Sir Reynard continued, gesturing toward ornately carved doors. "When envoys from neighboring kingdoms visit, they stay here – close enough to the Great Hall for convenience, yet separated enough to prevent casual observation of their comings and goings."
He paused before a particular door bearing an intricate carving of intertwined vines. "This chamber once served as Sir Felix's office during his tenure as diplomatic liaison. The position has been vacant for some time."
Pepper noticed Sir Reynard watching his reaction carefully. "May I ask what happens in there now?" he inquired, ears perked with curiosity.
"It remains largely untouched," he replied, producing a small key from within his tunic. "Lord Commander Thornheart believes in preserving history while we await... suitable succession."
The key turned with a satisfying click, and Sir Reynard pushed the door open to reveal a modestly appointed office. Bookshelves lined one wall, a writing desk faced a window overlooking the western gardens, and a comfortable seating area occupied the corner. Despite apparent disuse, not a speck of dust marred any surface.
"Someone maintains this room," Pepper observed, stepping inside with reverence.
"Lady Wintermint ensures it remains ready for occupation," Sir Reynard confirmed, watching as Pepper took in the space that once belonged to his ancestor. "The diplomatic liaison serves as the crown's voice in sensitive matters – hosting private negotiations, conveying royal intentions without the formality of court, gathering impressions of foreign dignitaries in relaxed settings."
Pepper’s paw brushed the edge of the writing desk, and he noticed a subtle indentation beneath his fingers – a nearly invisible seam in the woodwork.
"A keen eye," Sir Reynard commented, stepping closer. "Sir Felix believed that true diplomacy requires both transparency and discretion. His quarters reflected this philosophy."
He didn’t elaborate further, but his meaningful glance suggested there was more to discover about both the room and its former occupant.
"Come," he said after allowing Pepper a moment to absorb the significance of the space. "We should continue. The weapons master will be expecting you for specialized training soon, and there's much more of the keep you should become familiar with."
As Pepper reluctantly followed him toward the exit of the room, he cast one last glance at the office that had once belonged to Sir Felix – and that perhaps, someday, might await another Krolikov with the right combination of skills and temperament.
He hesitated at the threshold of the office, gathering his courage before turning to Sir Reynard. "Sir, if I may... could I have a few moments alone in this room? To feel a connection with my ancestor?"
Sir Reynard studied his face, his amber eyes thoughtful. After a moment's consideration, his expression softened.
"A reasonable request, Squire Krolikov. Family connections are important, especially for those walking in ancestral footsteps." He glanced at the position of the sun through the window. "We have some time before your specialized training begins. I'll wait in the corridor."
With a respectful nod, he stepped outside, leaving Pepper alone in the space once occupied by Sir Felix.
The sudden solitude felt weighty with significance. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the leaded glass windows, casting dappled patterns across the polished wooden floor. Pepper inhaled deeply, detecting the faint scent of old parchment and something else – perhaps the ghost of spices that had once clung to his ancestor's fur after merchant travels.
Drawn to the writing desk, he ran his paws across its surface, tracing the nearly invisible seam he had noticed earlier. His merchant family's training in examining craftsmanship guided his fingers as they explored the woodwork.
"How did you do it?" he whispered to the empty room. "Balance two worlds – knighthood and... something more?"
His paws found a small indentation beneath the desk's edge – barely noticeable unless one were specifically searching. When he applied gentle pressure, a soft click rewarded his curiosity as a narrow drawer slid open beneath the desktop.
Inside lay a single item: a medallion bearing a rabbit standing vigilant before a merchant's scale. He lifted it reverently, turning it over to discover an inscription on the back: "Observe. Adapt. Prevail."
The metal felt warm in his paw, as though it had been waiting specifically for him. This wasn’t an official military decoration but something personal – a family talisman perhaps, left behind either by accident or intention.
"I found it tucked away years ago," came Sir Reynard's voice, making Pepper start. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "I suspected it might reveal itself to another Krolikov when the time was right."
He crossed to stand beside Pepper, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from the fox’s russet fur. "Sir Felix commissioned that medallion after his first successful diplomatic mission. He wore it beneath his formal attire as a private reminder of his purpose."
"Why wasn't it returned to my family?" Pepper asked, still cradling the medallion.
"He left it deliberately," Sir Reynard explained, his voice low and intimate in the quiet room. "Lady Wintermint's predecessor recorded that Sir Felix said it should remain until another Krolikov found their way to Cliffmore." His paw covered Pepper’s gently, closing his fingers around the medallion. "It appears he was right to do so."
The brief contact sent a flutter through Pepper’s chest that had nothing to do with ancestral connections. He carefully tucked the medallion into his tunic alongside the journal.
"Thank you for allowing me this moment," he said, meeting Sir Reynard’s gaze.
"Some connections transcend time, Squire Krolikov," the fox replied with a subtle smile. "Now, shall we continue? There's much more to show you before your training resumes."
Sir Reynard led Pepper from Sir Felix's office back into the corridor, his tail swishing thoughtfully behind him. "We should continue to the eastern armory next," he said. "Dame Rosemary will be expecting you for specialized weapons training, and it wouldn't do to keep her waiting."
As Pepper walked beside him through the winding corridors of Cliffmore's southern wing, servants and knights alike offered respectful nods to Sir Reynard while casting curious glances his way. Word of the new rabbit squire had clearly spread throughout the keep.
"Sir Reynard!" called a cheerful voice from an intersecting hallway. A portly beaver in steward's livery hurried toward them, scrolls tucked under his arm. "Ah, and you must be Squire Krolikov. Marvelous timing!"
"Steward Oakenbridge," Sir Reynard greeted him with a polite inclination of his head. "Yes, this is our newest addition to Cliffmore's ranks."
"Delighted, truly delighted," the beaver said, his flat tail thumping once against the stone floor in excitement. "I've been revising the seating arrangements for tonight's diplomatic dinner. Lord Commander Thornheart has requested Squire Krolikov be seated at the second table rather than with the general squire population."
Pepper felt his ears perk up in surprise as Sir Reynard's eyebrows raised slightly.
"That's... unusual for a first-year squire," the fox knight remarked carefully.
"Indeed, but the Lord Commander was most specific," Steward Oakenbridge replied, consulting one of his scrolls. "Second table, between Dame Wisteria and yourself, Sir Reynard. His lordship mentioned something about 'facilitating proper introductions.'"
Sir Reynard's expression revealed nothing, but Pepper noticed his tail flick once – a gesture he was beginning to recognize as indicating surprise or heightened interest.
"We shall be there promptly at the dinner bell," Sir Reynard assured the steward. "Thank you for the information, Master Oakenbridge."
As the beaver bustled away, Sir Reynard continued walking, his pace slightly more brisk than before.
"The second table is where distinguished knights and visiting diplomats are seated," he explained quietly. "First-year squires are typically relegated to the fourth table, sometimes the third if they have noble lineage. For the Lord Commander to specifically request your presence at the second..."
He left the implication hanging as they rounded a corner into a sunlit courtyard. The afternoon had progressed, casting long shadows across the flagstones as knights and squires crossed between training sessions.
"Sir Reynard," Pepper ventured, "does this have something to do with Sir Felix's position? The diplomatic liaison role you mentioned?"
The fox knight paused, turning to face him fully. For a moment, his professional demeanor slipped, revealing something warmer in his amber eyes.
"You're quick to make connections, Squire Krolikov. That will serve you well here." His voice dropped lower. "Lord Commander Thornheart rarely acts without purpose. I suspect tonight's dinner will involve more than mere introductions."
He straightened, resuming his formal posture. "But first, we must ensure you're properly prepared for Dame Rosemary's training. The eastern armory awaits, and after that, perhaps we should visit the bathhouse to ensure you're presentable for tonight's elevated dinner placement."
As Pepper followed Sir Reynard across the courtyard, he noticed Dame Wisteria observing from a balcony above, her expression thoughtful as she watched his progress alongside the distinguished fox knight. She made a note in her ever-present journal before turning away, her decision apparently made.
The eastern armory gleamed with well-polished weapons arranged in precise rows along the stone walls. Dame Rosemary Darkwood, the slender pine marten knight, awaited their arrival with paws clasped behind her back. Her dark fur shone in the afternoon light streaming through the high windows, her posture impeccable as she turned to acknowledge them.
"Ah, Squire Krolikov," she said, her voice melodic yet commanding. "Right on schedule." She gestured toward a practice area where several wooden weapons had been arranged on a bench. "We'll be focusing on developing your defensive capabilities today. As a rabbit, your natural agility gives you advantages many larger knights lack."
For the next hour, Dame Rosemary drilled Pepper relentlessly on buckler techniques adapted specifically for his shorter stature and quicker reflexes. Sir Reynard observed from the side, occasionally offering suggestions that complemented Dame Rosemary's instruction.
"Shield up, Squire! A proper angle deflects the blow rather than absorbing it," Dame Rosemary corrected, demonstrating the proper technique. "Your ancestor understood this principle well. Size matters less than technique."
By mid-afternoon, Pepper’s arm ached from the repetitive movements, but he had begun to grasp the fundamentals. Small victories emerged as he successfully deflected several of Dame Rosemary's practice strikes.
"Well done," she finally announced, signaling the end of training. "You show promise, Squire Krolikov. We'll continue tomorrow."
As Pepper replaced the practice equipment, Sir Reynard approached with a water flask. "You handled that admirably," he said, his voice carrying a note of approval that warmed him more than the water refreshing his parched throat.
"Now, as mentioned earlier, we should visit the bathhouse before dinner. Lord Commander Thornheart's special seating arrangement warrants proper preparation."
The walk to the bathhouse passed quickly as Sir Reynard explained the intricacies of second-table protocol. "You'll be seated between Dame Wisteria and myself. Follow our lead with cutlery, and remember to address the Lord Commander as 'your lordship' upon first greeting, then 'my lord' thereafter."
At the bathhouse, Matron Dewdrop greeted Pepper with a knowing smile. "Back so soon, Squire Krolikov? In a moment, I can prepare the private bath again with herbs for muscle recovery."
Sir Reynard nodded approvingly. "Excellent. I'll return in half an hour to escort you to your quarters for proper attire."
As Pepper soaked in the steaming herbal water, easing his aching muscles, he contemplated the whirlwind day. From discovering his ancestor's legacy to being invited to dine at the second table – events were unfolding faster than he had anticipated. It was all happening so fast. Pepper wasn’t even sure he belonged here, and now there was a legacy to uphold, the Lord Commander to impress, and training schedules and stairs and so much more physical training and work than he had ever imagined. It was all so overwhelming; too much to take in and internalize.
He slumped into the water, humming quietly to himself, a soothing melody Mama used to sing about a river’s promise and going home. But Pepper wasn’t sure Cliffmore would ever feel like home. He wasn’t sure that anywhere ever would.
If you want to check out all the chapters of the preview all together, check out the Google document link here or the Masterpost with a full list of public chapters and character profiles.
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Shadow and Song - Chapter 6 - Lessons in Adaptation
Pepper hastened from the dining hall, navigating through the corridors of Cliffmore Keep. The west tower rose before him, its stone spiral staircase daunting after the morning’s exertions. His muscles protested with each step upward, reminding him of Dame Wisteria’s words about endurance being as important as technique.
By the second landing, his breath came in short gasps. The recovery bath had helped, but his body was still adjusting to demands unlike anything in his merchant upbringing. He paused briefly, leaning against the cool stone wall.
“First day’s always the worst,” came a sympathetic voice from above.
Pepper looked up to see Harlow Leafshadow descending the stairs, a small wooden box tucked under one arm. The deer squire’s budding antlers nearly brushed the ceiling as he approached.
“I was just heading down to find you,” Harlow said, his gentle eyes crinkling with understanding. “I thought you might be needing this sooner rather than later.”
He opened the wooden box, revealing small clay pots nestled in dried herbs. The rich, earthy scent of medicinal plants wafted upward – mint, comfrey, and something deeper Pepper couldn’t identify.
“Family recipe,” Harlow explained, selecting a pot with a green-tinted salve. “My mother’s side has been herbalists for generations. This one’s for muscle fatigue – apply it tonight before sleep.”
He selected another, this one with a golden-hued mixture. “And this is for the bruises you haven’t gotten yet but certainly will this afternoon. Weapons training always leaves marks.”
Pepper accepted the salves gratefully. “Thank you, Harlow. This is incredibly kind.”
The deer squire waved off the thanks. “We prey animals need to stick together. The predators don’t understand what it’s like to train against natural advantages.”
The pair stared at each other for a moment, before Harlow broke their glance and turned his attention toward a beam of sunlight streaming through a narrow window. “You’d… ah…. You’d better hurry if you’re meeting Sir Reynard. He values punctuality almost as much as he values potential.”
“Uh… yeah. I’ll see you around?”
Harlow nodded and smiled, walking back up the tower.
Pepper tucked the salves into his belt pouch and started back down the stairs, moving as quickly as his protesting legs allowed. Despite his best efforts, his breathing grew labored, and his descent became increasingly unsteady.
Near the bottom landing, his fatigued leg buckled unexpectedly. He tumbled down the final few steps, landing in an undignified heap at the feet of a passing ermine in formal knight’s livery.
“Stars above!” she exclaimed, kneeling beside him. “Are you injured, Squire?”
Pepper scrambled to his feet, wincing at fresh bruises forming beneath his fur, but nothing seemed seriously damaged except his dignity.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he assured her, brushing dust from his training clothes. “Just my legs reminding me I’m not a knight yet.”
The ermine – Lady Juniper Silverclaw, according to the insignia on her elegant blue tunic – gave him an appraising look. “You’re the Krolikov boy, aren’t you? Your name was mentioned at this week’s council meeting.”
Before Pepper could respond, a bell chimed the quarter-hour. He was running late for his armory appointment. “I’m sorry, I need to go,” he said with a hasty bow. “Sir Reynard is expecting me.”
Lady Juniper nodded. “Best not keep him waiting. He’s quite particular about timekeeping – a trait he shares with your ancestor, interestingly enough.”
Pepper hurried toward the armory, her casual reference to his family history echoing in his mind alongside the throbbing of his newly acquired bruises.
He dashed through the winding corridors of the keep, his legs protesting with each hurried step. The armory was located in the east wing, requiring him to cross the main courtyard where afternoon training sessions were already underway. The bright sunlight momentarily blinded him as he emerged from the cool interior, the clash of practice weapons providing a rhythmic backdrop to his urgent journey.
By the time he reached the armory’s heavy oak door, he was breathing hard, his fur now damp again with fresh exertion. He paused just long enough to straighten his ill-fitting training clothes before pushing through the door.
The armory was a long, well-organized chamber lined with racks of weapons and protective gear. Sunlight streamed through narrow windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air. The room smelled of oil, leather, and metal – the distinct scent of martial preparation.
Sir Reynard stood at a workbench near the far wall, examining what appeared to be a small buckler shield. The fox knight’s russet fur caught the sunlight, creating a fiery halo around his elegant profile. He turned at Pepper’s entrance, his amber eyes finding him immediately.
“Squire Krolikov,” he acknowledged, his expression unreadable. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost your way.”
“My apologies for the tardiness, Sir Reynard,” Pepper said with a respectful bow, trying to control his labored breathing. “I took a small tumble on the west tower stairs after collecting a healing salve from Squire Leafshadow.”
Sir Reynard’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. “Are you injured?”
“Only my dignity, sir.”
A hint of amusement flickered across his muzzle. “Dignity heals faster than broken bones. You were wise to seek Harlow’s remedies – his family’s herbal knowledge rivals even Matron Dewdrop’s.” He gestured Pepper closer to the workbench. “We have much to accomplish this afternoon, so let us not dwell on tardiness.”
As Pepper approached, he saw that the workbench held not just a buckler shield like the one at his assessment earlier, but an assortment of equipment sized for a smaller frame – practice weapons, leather guards, and what appeared to be a custom-fitted chest protector.
“Dame Rosemary and I have selected initial equipment suited to your particular... attributes,” Sir Reynard explained, his gaze briefly taking in Pepper’s sturdy frame before returning to the workbench. “These are temporary measures until your custom gear is ready, but they’ll serve better than the standard-issue equipment.”
He lifted the small round buckler, its wooden face reinforced with metal bands. “This belonged to a squire about your height who completed training last season. The grip should accommodate your paw comfortably.”
As he handed Pepper the shield, his fingers brushed against the rabbit’s – perhaps accidentally, perhaps not. The contact sent an unexpected warmth up Pepper’s arm, but Sir Reynard continued without comment.
“Now, about your training schedule,” the fox said, his tone measured. “Dame Wisteria and I have consulted with Sir Alaric. You’ll continue morning drills with the general group, but your afternoons will focus on specialized training better suited to your natural abilities.”
He looked at Pepper directly, amber eyes intent. “Three afternoons with me or Dame Darkwood for weapons training, two with Dame Wisteria for agility work. Cook Bristletail will maintain your specialized diet, and Matron Dewdrop has agreed to reserve the private bath for your use after training.”
His tail swished thoughtfully behind him as Pepper began to protest. “This is not preferential treatment, Squire Krolikov. It is practical adaptation. Different bodies require different approaches to achieve the same goal – knighthood.”
He selected a practice sword from the rack, its blade shorter and lighter than the standard training weapons. “Shall we begin with basic forms to assess which size best fits your grip?”
The focus in his gaze told Pepper that despite the fox’s casual manner, he was evaluating everything – posture, reactions, potential. And perhaps something more.
Pepper turned the small buckler over in his paws, studying the craftsmanship. “Thank you for this specialized attention, Sir Reynard. I’m curious – how might a rabbit best use a shield like this? Our body structure is quite different from foxes or wolves.”
Sir Reynard’s ears perked at the question, his eyes brightening with approval. “An excellent inquiry, Squire Krolikov. Most new recruits simply mimic what they see without considering their natural form.”
He stepped closer, the scent of cedar and clove trailing with him. With a gentle touch, he adjusted Pepper’s grip on the buckler. “For rabbits, your advantage lies here – ” he tapped Pepper’s forearm, his touch lingering briefly, “ – and here.” His paw moved to indicate the shoulder.
“Unlike wolves who use shields as battering implements, or badgers who plant them like walls, a rabbit should treat the buckler as an extension of natural agility.” He demonstrated a fluid movement, the small shield deflecting an imaginary blow before spinning back to guard position. “Quick deflections rather than static blocks. Redirection rather than absorption.”
He positioned himself behind Pepper, one paw guiding the shield arm through the motion while the other rested lightly at the rabbit’s waist to stabilize his stance. The proximity sent a flutter through Pepper’s chest that had nothing to do with exertion.
“Feel the difference?” Reynard asked, his voice close to Pepper’s ear. “Your center of gravity is lower than mine. Use it. When a blow comes – ” he mimicked an attack with his free paw, “ – you don’t meet force with force. You redirect, like so – ”
He guided Pepper’s arm in a circular parry that felt surprisingly natural. The shield seemed to dance in his grip rather than resist.
“Your ancestor understood this principle well,” Reynard continued, stepping back to give Pepper space. “Sir Felix was renowned for a fighting style that appeared almost like a dance. He used his opponent’s expectations against them.”
Pepper attempted the movement on his own, finding the buckler surprisingly responsive when used with his natural rhythm rather than forced into traditional forms.
“Very good,” Reynard nodded approvingly. “Most knights expect a rabbit to be quick but fragile. They’ll strike hard, expecting to overpower you. When you deflect rather than block, you preserve your strength while unbalancing them.”
He selected a practice sword from the rack and assumed a ready stance. “Let’s try a simple sequence. I’ll attack slowly – you focus on redirecting rather than stopping my blade.”
His sword moved in a deliberate arc toward Pepper’s left side. Following Reynard’s guidance, Pepper turned the buckler at an angle, causing the blade to slide away rather than impact directly.
“Excellent!” Reynard’s muzzle curved into a smile that reached his eyes. “Again, a bit faster this time.”
For several minutes, they worked through the basic movements, each repetition building Pepper’s confidence with the unfamiliar equipment. Reynard proved a patient teacher, his instructions clear and his praise genuine when Pepper executed a movement correctly.
“Your body remembers what your mind is still learning,” Reynard observed after a particularly smooth sequence. “The Krolikov reflexes are clearly in your blood.”
He sheathed the practice sword and brushed a speck of dust from his immaculate tunic. “We’ll continue tomorrow with the arming sword paired with these buckler techniques. For now, Master Thornleaf awaits us for your measurements.”
As Sir Reynard led Pepper toward the door, he added in a softer tone, “You keep asking the the right questions, Squire Krolikov. Many never thought to adapt their training to their nature – they simply struggled against it. You should remember this lesson beyond the practice yard.”
“Sir Reynard, you mentioned my ancestor’s fighting style being like a dance,” Pepper said as he followed the fox knight through the stone corridor. “Could you tell me more about how Sir Felix fought? I only just learned of him yesterday.”
Sir Reynard’s ears perked with interest, his amber eyes glancing down at Pepper with approval. “Curious about your lineage, are you? A wise pursuit.” He slowed his pace, allowing for conversation as they navigated the busy afternoon corridors.
“Sir Felix Krolikov was something of an anomaly in his time,” he began, his voice taking on the cadence of a practiced storyteller. “Most rabbits who achieved knighthood – rare as they were – attempted to emulate the fighting styles of wolves or bears. They would compensate with heavier armor, larger shields, trying to match strength they simply didn’t possess.”
He gestured elegantly with one paw as they rounded a corner. “Sir Felix took a different approach. He recognized that a rabbit attempting to fight like a wolf would always be a poor imitation. Instead, he developed techniques that emphasized what rabbits did naturally – quick direction changes, unpredictable movement patterns, and extraordinary spatial awareness.”
They passed a group of squires who bowed respectfully to Sir Reynard before continuing on their way, their curious glances at Pepper not escaping his notice.
“The chronicles said he carried a specially balanced arming sword – lighter than standard, but with perfect equilibrium for swift recovery,” Sir Reynard continued. “Combined with the buckler, it allowed him to deflect rather than block, to redirect force rather than absorb it. His opponents would exhaust themselves while he remained fresh.”
They descended a narrow spiral staircase, Sir Reynard’s tail occasionally brushing against Pepper’s leg in the tight quarters. “Most fascinating was his footwork,” he said. “He incorporated what he called ‘rabbit leaps’ – sudden changes in direction that confused opponents. He would establish a rhythm, then break it precisely when his opponent had adapted to it.”
“That sounds more like dancing than fighting,” Pepper observed.
Sir Reynard’s muzzle curved into a smile. “The best swordplay always is, Squire Krolikov. Combat is conversation, not monologue. Sir Felix understood this better than most.”
They reached a workshop door marked with the insignia of scissors and thread. Before knocking, Sir Reynard turned to Pepper, his expression thoughtful.
“There was something else you should know about your ancestor. His value to the crown wasn’t solely his blade.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Sir Felix had a gift for... acquiring information. His unassuming presence and quick wit gained him access where more imposing knights would raise suspicion. He served as both sword and ears for three successive monarchs.”
A gleam of something unreadable flashed in Sir Reynard’s eyes. “Some skills, it seems, run in bloodlines.”
He rapped sharply on the workshop door, which opened to reveal a stooped hedgehog with spectacles perched on his snout and a measuring tape draped around his neck.
“Master Thornleaf,” Sir Reynard greeted him. “May I present Squire Petra Krolikov, who requires proper fitting for training attire and eventual ceremonial garb.”
The badger adjusted his spectacles, peering at Pepper with professional assessment. “The rabbit squire! How delightful!” His voice carried warmth, despite the gravely intonation. “Come in, come in. I’ve been instructed to spare no expense on his outfitting, young sir.”
As Pepper stepped into the workshop filled with rolls of fabric and half-completed garments, he couldn’t help but wonder about Sir Reynard’s comment regarding bloodlines – and what other talents he might have inherited from Sir Felix beyond quick reflexes.
“Sir Reynard,” Pepper asked as Master Thornleaf bustled about gathering his measuring implements, “do you know if any of Sir Felix’s original equipment or personal effects might still exist here at the keep?”
The fox knight tilted his head thoughtfully, amber eyes brightening with interest. “An astute question. The armory maintained a collection of historical pieces, though I haven’t specifically looked for Krolikov heirlooms.” He stroked his chin. “The old north tower repository might hold something. Dame Wisteria would know better – she’s made quite a study of unconventional knights through the ages.”
“Up on the pedestal now, if you please,” Master Thornleaf interrupted, gesturing to a small circular platform in the center of his workshop. “And I’ll need measurements with minimal interference from fabric.”
Pepper suddenly realized what that meant, heat rising to the tips of his ears. Sir Reynard noticed his hesitation and cleared his throat.
“I can step outside if you prefer privacy, Squire Krolikov,” he offered, though something in his tone suggested he was quite accustomed to remaining present during such proceedings.
“N-no, that won’t be necessary,” Pepper managed to say, his merchant family’s training in social graces kicking in despite his discomfort. “I understand this is standard procedure.”
With as much dignity as he could muster, he removed his ill-fitting training tunic and trousers, standing on the platform in nothing but his simple undergarments. The cool air of the workshop raised goosebumps across his fur as Master Thornleaf circled him with analytical eyes.
“Hmm, indeed,” the hedgehog murmured, adjusting his spectacles. “You carry your weight quite differently than most rabbits, young sir. More in the middle and haunches – good for balance in combat, I’d wager.”
He stretched his measuring tape across Pepper’s shoulders, then down his arms, making notes on a small parchment with quick, precise movements. Pepper tried not to notice Sir Reynard’s gaze, which seemed to linger a moment longer than strictly necessary.
“Master Thornleaf is right,” the fox commented, his tone professionally neutral though his eyes betrayed something warmer. “Your proportions are actually quite advantageous for the fighting style we discussed. Lower center of gravity, powerful haunches for explosive movement.”
“Most rabbits who come for fittings are all legs and nerves,” Master Thornleaf added, wrapping the measuring tape around Pepper’s middle. “You have substance to your build, Master Krolikov. Makes for better drape of ceremonial garments, I must say.”
Pepper felt a curious mix of embarrassment and unexpected pride at their assessment. For years, he had been self-conscious about being plumper than other rabbits his age, but here, it was spoken of as an asset.
“About Sir Felix’s effects,” Sir Reynard continued, tactfully drawing attention away from Pepper’s state of undress as Master Thornleaf worked his way methodically down to his legs. “There was a portrait in the Great Hall’s eastern alcove that showed him with his distinctive sword and buckler. The sword had an unusual guard – curved rather than straight, designed to catch and redirect blades rather than stop them outright.”
“Arms out to the sides now,” Master Thornleaf instructed, measuring across Pepper’s chest.
“The historical armory might have preserved pieces,” Sir Reynard added. “Though many knights took their favorite weapons to their graves. If memory served, Sir Felix died in service to the crown on a diplomatic mission to the Southern Isles.”
“There we are,” Master Thornleaf announced finally, setting aside his measuring tape. “Most illuminating measurements. You may dress now, Squire Krolikov, though I recommend using these temporary garments rather than those ill-fitting monstrosities you arrived in.”
He gestured to a simple but well-made set of training clothes laid out on a nearby table – tan breeches and a forest green tunic that looked much more accommodating to Pepper’s build.
“Your proper attire will be ready by week’s end,” the hedgehog promised with professional pride. “Including padding designed specifically for your... unique physique.”
Pepper cleared his throat, adjusting his stance on the pedestal as Master Thornleaf finished noting his measurements. The cool workshop air had done little to quell his body’s unexpected reaction to being so exposed before Sir Reynard’s attentive gaze.
“Sir Reynard,” Pepper said, keeping his voice remarkably steady despite his predicament, “might we visit the Great Hall afterward to view Sir Felix’s portrait? I’m eager to see my ancestor as he was depicted in his prime.”
He casually shifted his weight, angling his body so that his rounded belly provided some measure of concealment for his growing... interest. A lifetime of merchant’s son etiquette training served him well as he maintained eye contact with the fox knight rather than glancing down at his predicament.
“An excellent suggestion,” Sir Reynard replied, his amber eyes meeting Pepper’s without any indication that he had noticed the discomfort. “There’s no better way to connect with one’s lineage than through portraiture. The artist captured something of Sir Felix’s spirit – a certain knowing gleam in the eye that I find... familiar.”
Master Thornleaf handed Pepper the temporary training clothes with a professional nod. “These should suffice until your proper attire is ready. The fabric breathes well during exertion – important for those with your particular build and... heat retention.”
Pepper thanked the hedgehog with as much dignity as he could muster, turning slightly away as he pulled on the tan breeches. They fit remarkably well compared to his previous garments, with room for his thighs and haunches without excess fabric to catch on equipment.
“The green suits you,” Sir Reynard observed as Pepper donned the forest-colored tunic. “It complements your honey-colored fur quite nicely.”
The unexpected compliment sent a fresh wave of warmth through Pepper that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He busied himself with adjusting the tunic’s collar to hide his reaction.
“Master Thornleaf has an eye for such things,” the fox continued smoothly. “When your ceremonial attire is completed, I suspect more than a few heads will turn at the seasonal feast.”
“You flatter an old badger,” Master Thornleaf chuckled, gathering his measuring tools. “But I must admit, it’s refreshing to outfit someone with substance. Too many young squires arrive looking like saplings – all height, no presence.”
Fully dressed in his new temporary attire, Pepper stepped down from the pedestal feeling considerably more comfortable – in multiple ways. The well-fitted clothes seemed to transform his perception of his own body, highlighting strengths where he once saw only flaws.
“To the Great Hall, then,” Sir Reynard said, opening the workshop door with a flourish. “I believe we have just enough time before the afternoon bell calls the knights to council.”
As Pepper followed the fox into the corridor, Master Thornleaf called after him, “Return in three days for your next fitting, Squire Krolikov! I’ve already begun sketching designs incorporating elements of your family crest!”
If you want to check out all the chapters of the preview all together, check out the Google document link here or the Masterpost with a full list of public chapters and character profiles.
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Shadow and Song - Chapter 5 - The Weight of Expectations
Pepper made his way through the winding stone corridors of Cliffmore Keep, following the increasingly rich aromas of freshly baked bread and simmering porridge. His muscles protested with each step, trembling from the morning’s exertions.
The kitchen proved to be a vast chamber dominated by several large hearths, each radiating welcome warmth against the morning chill. A plump badger in a flour-dusted apron directed a small army of kitchen staff with practiced efficiency. His salt-and-pepper fur was neatly groomed despite the chaotic environment, and his commanding presence left no doubt that this must be Cook Bristletail.
“Excuse me,” Pepper said, approaching with a respectful bow that made his sore muscles twinge. “I’m Squire Krolikov. Sir Alaric instructed me to inform you that he’s ordered a specialized meal plan for me.”
Cook Bristletail turned, his amber eyes sweeping over Pepper with the same assessing gaze he’d come to recognize from the knights. “Ah, the rabbit squire. Been expecting you.” He gestured for Pepper to follow him to a quieter corner of the kitchen to give them some privacy. “Sir Alaric sent a mesage ahead. Said you showed promise with technique but collapsed like a soufflé when your stamina gave out.”
Pepper winced at the blunt assessment, but Cook Bristletail’s tone held no mockery. “Not surprising,” the badger continued, moving over to a journal on one of the prep tables. “Most prey animals struggle their first few weeks. He sent you to me so I could help - the standard diet here is designed for wolves and bears, not rabbits.”
He flipped through his notes. “Sir Alaric and I have worked out special diets for different species before. For you...” He tapped a page thoughtfully. “You’ll need more frequent meals, smaller portions. Complex carbohydrates for sustained energy, plenty of protein but from varied sources. And herbs – certain combinations can help muscle recovery.”
He reached into a nearby basket and selected a honey-glazed roll studded with seeds. “Start with this. It’s made with buckwheat flour and flaxseeds. Good for endurance.” Pepper accepted the roll gratefully, suddenly aware of his gnawing hunger.
“It looks like you trend toward plumpness,” Cook Bristletail observed as Pepper ate. “Some knights might tell you to slim down, but… Dame Wisteria says that prey animals are different. She believes each species should fight according to their natural form, and embrace their natural features.”
“You know Dame Wisteria?” Pepper asked between bites, immediately regretting asking a question with such an obvious answer.
Cook Bristletail’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “I’ve known her since she was a squire herself. She was plump too, for a badger. Used it to her advantage – lower center of gravity, harder to unbalance.”
He began assembling various ingredients on a small tray. “I’ll have special portions sent for you at mealtimes. Between breakfast and midday meal, stop by for this.” He handed Pepper a small wrapped package. “Dried berries, nuts, and a bit of cheese. When your energy flags during training, it’ll see you through.”
As he worked, a kitchen assistant – a young marten named Briar – approached with a steaming mug.
“Master Bristletail asked me to prepare this for you when you arrived,” she said shyly, offering the fragrant brew. “Nettle and ginseng tea with honey. For recovery.”
Pepper sipped the tea, feeling its warmth spread through his aching body.
“One more thing,” Cook Bristletail said, lowering his voice. “I’d wager Sir Alaric also doesn’t want you to lose your...” he gestured vaguely at Pepper’s midsection, “...natural padding. He can be tough sometimes, but especially with prey species, he’ll argue that more mass is good, no matter what form it’s in. Something about maintaining momentum and balance.” He straightened up. “Just focus on building endurance. Your body will find its fighting shape naturally.”
As Pepper finished his tea, feeling surprisingly revitalized, Cook Bristletail glanced at the kitchen entrance. “You should head to the bathing chambers before your weapons assessment. Tell Matron Dewdrop I said you’re to have access to the recovery salts.”
“Thank you sir, for everything.”
“You’re welcome, lad.” Cook Bristletail turned back to his work, then paused. “And Squire Krolikov? Dame Wisteria’s methods work. I’ve seen them prove true for thirty years. Keep at it. You’ll get there.”
--
Pepper followed the cook’s directions through the winding corridors of Cliffmore Keep, each step a reminder of his morning’s efforts. The bathing chambers were located in the eastern wing, next to the infirmary, marked by subtle wisps of steam escaping from beneath a heavy oak door adorned with intricate carvings of water lilies.
When he entered, warm, fragrant air embraced him like a comforting blanket. The chamber was significantly larger than he expected – a vast space with high ceilings and a large, communal bathing area, shaped by natural features more than artificial. Morning light streamed through stained glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns across the rippling water surfaces.
“Can I help you, young squire?” called a melodious voice. A plump hedgehog wearing a practical blue dress approached, her graying quills arranged in an elaborate up-do adorned with dried lavender sprigs. A ring of keys jingled at her waist as she walked.
“You must be Matron Dewdrop,” Pepper said with a polite bow. “Cook Bristletail sent me. He mentioned something about recovery salts?”
Matron Dewdrop’s eyes brightened with recognition. “Ah, you’re the new rabbit squire everyone’s talking about! Yes, yes, Cook mentioned he might send you my way.” She gestured for him to follow her to a corner of the room where shelves were lined with colored glass jars and bundles of dried herbs.
“First day of training with Sir Alaric is always brutal,” she said sympathetically, noting his trembling paws and weary stance. “Especially for prey animals. We’ve learned a thing or two about recovery over the years.”
She selected three different colored salts from her collection – one pale green, one lavender, and one that shimmered with an iridescent quality. With practiced hands, she mixed them in a small wooden bowl.
“The green is rosemary and sage for muscle relief,” she explained. “The purple is lavender and chamomile to ease the mind after the stress of training. And this one – ” she held up the shimmering salt, “ – is my special blend. Helps the body remember its proper alignment after a day of being knocked about.”
Matron Dewdrop led Pepper to a series of smaller chambers at the far end of the hallway; opening one of the doors revealed a much smaller pool. “These are usually reserved for senior squires and knights, but Dame Wisteria left instructions that you’re to have access to the private baths when needed.”
As she poured the salt mixture into the steaming water, the chamber filled with a soothing herbal aroma. “Fifteen minutes, no more, no less,” she instructed. “Then rinse with the cool water from that basin. Your muscles will thank you for it.”
She placed a small hourglass beside the bath and turned to leave, then paused. “One more thing, Squire Krolikov. I’ve been at Cliffmore for almost forty years, and I’ve seen many squires come and go. The ones who succeed aren’t always the strongest or the quickest.” She tapped her temple with a smile. “They’re the ones who learn to use what they have. Dame Wisteria understands that better than most. That’s why she takes special interest in unusual cases.”
As Matron Dewdrop busied herself on the other side of the bathing chamber, Pepper gratefully sank into the fragrant water. Almost immediately, the special salts began their work – the aching in his muscles transformed from sharp pain to a dull, manageable throb. As the hourglass sand trickled down, he felt his body beginning to recover, preparing itself for the challenges still to come.
He started to idly hum as his mind wandered, the quiet notes still sonorous in the small stone chamber. His thoughts drifted to the fragments of information he’d gathered about his family’s connection to Cliffmore Keep. Sir Felix Krolikov, his ancestor, had served as both knight and intelligence-gatherer according to Lady Serena’s records. The way Sir Reynard had recognized his family name instantly. Dame Wisteria’s unexpected mentorship and interest in him; mentioning letters from his father. The specialized training regimens. It all suggested that there was something more at work than a merchant’s son simply being accepted to Cliffmore on a whim.
He recalled his father’s cryptic words before he left: “This is where you need to be.” Was it merely hope that Pepper would follow an ancestral tradition, or did Dmitri Krolikov know more about what awaited his son?
If Mum were still here, would she have even agreed to let him send me away from home? Shame rose hot in Pepper’s cheeks even as the thought entered his mind – that wasn’t fair to ask himself, even hypothetically.
His contemplation was interrupted by the faintest sound – a barely perceptible creak of the door hinges, discordant to the tune he’d been humming. His ears twitched reflexively, swiveling toward the noise before he even consciously registered it. Through half-closed eyes, he caught a glimpse of russet fur and the edge of a fine tunic partially concealed behind a column near the entrance.
He recognized that distinctive red-orange tail immediately. Sir Reynard Russetail, attempting to remain unobtrusive while observing him. The fox knight seemed to be studying him with that same assessing gaze Pepper had noticed before, though now there was something different in his expression as his eyes lingered on Pepper’s damp fur and plump form.
“The recovery salts appear to be working well,” Sir Reynard remarked smoothly when he realized he’d been noticed, stepping fully into view rather than pretending he wasn’t watching. “Matron Dewdrop’s herbal knowledge is second only to her discretion.”
He made no move to leave despite having been caught, instead leaning casually against a marble column. “Sir Alaric reports that you showed promising adaptability this morning, even if your stamina failed you. Dame Wisteria seems quite invested in your progress as well.”
Pepper shifted slightly in the water, conscious of his exposed upper body and the way the fox’s amber eyes occasionally drifted to his soft midsection before returning politely to his face.
“You have your ancestor’s build,” Sir Reynard observed thoughtfully. “Sir Felix was similarly... substantial. Many underestimated him because of it. A tactical advantage in both diplomacy and combat.” He straightened, adjusting his immaculate tunic. “I came to inform you that I’ll be overseeing your weapons selection this afternoon. Dame Wisteria believes – and I concur – that the standard armory offerings may not suit your particular physique and fighting style.”
The fox hesitated, then added with careful casualness, “I’ve also taken the liberty of having the keep’s tailor prepare training attire better suited to your form. The standard-issue gear clearly doesn’t accommodate your... natural advantages.”
There was something in his tone that made Pepper’s ears warm slightly. Before he could formulate a response, Matron Dewdrop bustled in with fresh towels.
“Sir Reynard!” she exclaimed, giving him a pointed look. “The private baths are precisely that – private. Especially when occupied. Shoo!”
The fox knight offered an elegant bow to them both. “My apologies for the intrusion, Matron. I was merely delivering important information regarding this afternoon’s training schedule.” As he turned to leave, he glanced back at Pepper with a smile that contained a hint of something more personal than professional interest. “Until this afternoon, Squire Krolikov.”
Matron Dewdrop watched him go with a knowing look before turning to Pepper. “Your sand has run out,” she said, nodding toward the empty hourglass. “Best finish up before you’re late for weapons practice. And don’t mind Sir Reynard – he’s always had an eye for potential.”
As he toweled off and donned his training attire – still ill-fitting but somewhat less uncomfortable after the bath – Matron Dewdrop handed him a small cloth pouch.
“A bit of the salt mixture,” she explained. “For your washbasin tonight. The second day of training is often worse than the first.”
--
Pepper thanked her and made his way to the weapons practice yard, located in the western courtyard of the keep. Unlike the eastern yard used for formation drills, this space was arranged with various training stations – archery targets along one wall, practice dummies in another section, and racks of training weapons of all descriptions.
Squires of various species were already paired off, working with an assortment of weapons under the watchful eyes of several knights. Pepper scanned the yard, searching for either Sir Reynard or Dame Wisteria.
“Squire Krolikov!” called a melodious voice.
He turned to see a slender pine marten in knight’s attire approaching. Her dark brown fur gleamed in the morning light, and she carried herself with the unmistakable confidence of a seasoned warrior despite her relatively small stature.
“I am Dame Rosemary Darkwood,” she introduced herself with a courteous nod. “Sir Reynard asked me to begin your assessment while he attends to some business with the Lord Commander. I specialize in adapting traditional weapons to suit... unconventional fighters.”
She led Pepper to a quieter corner of the practice yard where several weapons were laid out on a cloth-covered table.
“Standard knight training begins with the longsword,” Dame Rosemary explained, lifting a wooden practice sword that looked comically oversized for Pepper’s frame. “But Dame Wisteria and I have long argued that forcing every squire to master the same weapons regardless of their natural build is not only foolishness, it’s dangerous to the defense of the keep.”
She set the longsword aside and gestured to the array before him. “These are some alternatives we’ve found effective for smaller or uniquely proportioned squires. I’d like to see how you handle each.”
Over the next half hour, Dame Rosemary guided Pepper through basic forms with a variety of weapons: a shorter arming sword that balanced better in his paws; a quarterstaff that leveraged his powerful legs; paired daggers that complemented his natural quickness; and even a sling that made use of his excellent depth perception.
“Interesting,” she murmured, making notes on a small parchment. “Your grip is naturally suited to the arming sword, but your footwork shows promise with the quarterstaff.”
As Pepper attempted a basic parry with the arming sword, he noticed Sir Reynard entering the practice yard. The fox knight paused to observe his form, amber eyes thoughtful. When Dame Rosemary signaled for a break, he approached.
“How goes the assessment?” he asked, his gaze moving from the pine marten’s notes to Pepper’s flushed face.
“Promising foundations,” Dame Rosemary replied. “Natural affinity for balanced weapons, good instincts for defensive positioning. Still developing strength in the upper limbs, but compensates well with lower body power.”
Sir Reynard nodded, then turned to Pepper with a smile that seemed warmer than mere professional interest. “I’ve spoken with the tailor. Your new training attire will be ready by tomorrow morning – properly fitted to your form rather than simply adjusted from standard sizes.”
The fox’s words carried that same subtle appreciation Pepper had noticed in the bathing chamber, his eyes briefly taking in Pepper’s figure before returning to meet his gaze.
Pepper rested the arming sword against the rack and turned to Dame Rosemary and Sir Reynard with earnest curiosity. “Given what you’ve seen of my abilities so far, which weapon would you recommend I focus on? I want to build on my natural strengths rather than fight against them.”
Dame Rosemary exchanged a meaningful glance with Sir Reynard before answering. “A thoughtful question, Squire Krolikov. Most new arrivals simply grab the biggest weapon they can lift.”
She gestured to the array of training weapons. “For you, I’d recommend a primary focus on the arming sword paired with a small buckler shield. The shorter blade suits your height and leverages your natural quickness, while the buckler plays to your impressive reflexes.”
She demonstrated a defensive stance, the small round shield protecting her core while leaving her other arm free for balance. “Many larger knights dismiss the buckler as insufficient protection, but for someone with your speed and awareness, it can be far more effective than a heavier shield that might slow your movements.”
Sir Reynard stepped forward, his tail swishing thoughtfully behind him.
“I concur with Dame Rosemary’s assessment, though I’d add a secondary recommendation.” He picked up the sling Pepper had tested earlier. “Distance weapons are often overlooked in knight training, yet they’ve decided more battles than swords ever have. Your depth perception is exceptional – a trait common among rabbits but rarely utilized in combat training.”
He handed Pepper the sling with a gentleness that felt almost intimate.
“An unconventional combination,” Dame Rosemary noted with approval. “But then, the most effective knights are rarely conventional. The sling requires minimal strength yet delivers considerable force. Master this alongside your sword work, and you’ll have options in combat that your fellow squires lack.”
Sir Reynard’s amber eyes lingered on Pepper’s. “Your ancestor Sir Felix was known for his... creative approach to combat. Traditional knights scoffed until they found themselves defeated by techniques they’d never encountered.”
“The quarterstaff showed promise as well,” Dame Rosemary added, making another note. “Perhaps as a tertiary focus once you’ve built proficiency with the primary weapons.”
Sir Reynard nodded.
“The staff leverages your powerful legs and natural balance.” His gaze briefly dropped to Pepper’s sturdy lower half before returning to his face with that now-familiar hint of appreciation. “Your build provides a lower center of gravity than most squires possess – a significant advantage with staff techniques that Dame Wisteria can help you develop.”
“I’ll arrange a specialized training schedule,” Dame Rosemary concluded. “Two hours with the sword and buckler each morning, one hour with the sling, and supplementary staff work once you’re ready for it.” She rolled up her parchment and secured it with a small ribbon.
“We’ll begin tomorrow, once your properly fitted training attire arrives. For today, observe the weapon demonstrations on the south end of the yard. Study technique rather than power – that’s where your advantage lies.”
As Dame Rosemary excused herself to address a question from a nearby squire, Sir Reynard remained beside Pepper.
“That was a wise question you asked, Squire Krolikov,” he said softly. “Understanding one’s true strengths rather than attempting to mimic others’ is the mark of a knight who will forge their own path.”
The morning sunlight caught his russet fur, giving it a warm glow as he added, “I look forward to working with you this afternoon. Meet me at the armory after the midday meal – we’ll begin selecting the proper equipment for your particular... attributes.”
The pine marten swiftly returned to the pair as they returned the equipment back to the racks for the next assessment. Pepper offered a respectful bow to both knights. “Thank you for your guidance, Dame Rosemary, Sir Reynard. I’ll study the demonstrations as you suggested before meeting you at the armory after midday.”
Dame Rosemary acknowledged his thanks with a crisp nod before departing, while Sir Reynard’s muzzle curved into that now-familiar appreciative smile. “Your eagerness to learn is refreshing, Squire Krolikov,” he said softly, his amber eyes lingering on Pepper’s for a moment longer than necessary before he too took his leave.
---
Pepper made his way to the south end of the practice yard where several fourth-year squires demonstrated various weapons to some of the younger squires under the watchful eye of an elderly stoat knight. The white-furred master, Sir Thaddeus Whisperfoot, sat on a raised chair, occasionally calling out corrections with surprising volume for his frail appearance.
“Higher guard! Your opponent aims for your throat, not your belt buckle!” he barked at a muscular wolf squire struggling with paired shortswords.
Pepper found a spot at the edge of the small crowd of observing squires. Magnus Burrows noticed him and shifted to make room. “Morning, Pepper,” he whispered. “Heard you impressed Dame Wisteria. That’s rare.”
The demonstrations progressed through various weapon forms. Pepper paid particular attention when a lithe pine marten squire demonstrated sword and buckler techniques, noting how her smaller stature became an advantage as she slipped beneath her opponent’s guard. Her movements echoed what Dame Rosemary had described – economy of motion, using speed rather than strength.
“That’s Quincy Pineheart,” Magnus explained quietly. “Fourth-year squire. Everyone thought she’d wash out because she’s so small, but she’s bested half the predator squires with that quick blade style.”
Next came a demonstration of ranged weapons. A sturdy badger demonstrated crossbow techniques, followed by a falcon with throwing knives. When a gray fox took the field with a sling, Pepper leaned forward with newfound interest.
“The sling is considered a peasant’s weapon by many,” Sir Thaddeus announced, “but in skilled hands, it can be as deadly as any arrow and far more portable. Squire Slatecrest, demonstrate the overhead rotation.”
Pepper watched intently as the fox loaded a stone, whirled the sling in a precise pattern, and released with startling accuracy, striking a distant target with enough force to crack the wooden board.
“When your primary weapon is lost or broken, secondary skills determine survival,” Sir Thaddeus lectured. “Every knight at Cliffmore must master at least one ranged weapon, regardless of specialty.”
As the demonstrations continued, Pepper noticed patterns in the training – smaller knights favoring speed and precision, larger ones utilizing reach and power. The variety of approaches contradicted the standardized training he’d expected.
“Sir Reynard’s taken quite an interest in you,” Magnus commented during a brief pause between demonstrations. “And now Dame Rosemary too. That’s... unusual for a new squire.”
Before Pepper could respond, a bell chimed from the central tower, signaling midday meal.
“Already?” Magnus looked surprised. “Time flies when you’re watching others get thrashed.” He grinned. “Coming to the hall? Cook Bristletail mentioned something about special preparations for you.”
“I’ll head over there in a little bit. I just need a moment.”
Magnus lingered for a moment, decided Pepper was okay, and turned toward the dining hall. The squires began dispersing in the same direction, their morning training complete. Pepper recalled Sir Reynard’s instructions to meet him at the armory after the midday meal, giving him just enough time to sample whatever specialized fare Cook Bristletail had prepared for his training regimen.
He entered the bustling dining hall, not immediately recognizing anyone among the crowd. He sighed and sat at the end of one of the tables, prepared to eat lunch alone.
“Pepper!” A voice cut through the crowd, and the rabbit looked up to find Magnus waving him over to a table near the broad hearth. The scent of fresh bread and savory stews filled the air as squires and knights alike gathered for their midday meal.
“Saved you a seat,” Magnus called, patting the bench beside him. Edmund sat across from him and smiled warmly at the rabbit. “And look what’s coming your way.”
Cook Bristletail himself approached, carrying a wooden tray laden with food quite different from what the other squires were eating. The plump badger set it before Pepper with a satisfied nod.
“Specialized training fare,” he explained, his salt-and-pepper whiskers twitching. “Herb-roasted root vegetables for sustained energy, blackberry compote for quick vitality, protein-rich bean stew with meadowleaf, and honey-oat bread to maintain your natural physique. Sir Alaric and Dame Wisteria were quite specific about the balance.”
The meal had been delicious – hearty without being heavy, flavorful without overwhelming. As Cook Bristletail returned to her kitchen, Pepper noticed several squires eyeing his special tray with curiosity.
“That’s quite the spread,” Edmund remarked, spooning his own simple barley stew. “They must really see something in you.”
Pepper sampled the food, finding the flavors extraordinarily well-balanced. “Tell me about Quincy Pineheart and the other non-typical squires who’ve succeeded here. How did they manage?”
Edmund’s whiskers twitched thoughtfully. “Quincy’s a marvel with light blades. Fourth-year squire now, she’ll probably knighted by winter solstice. She struggled at first – Sir Alaric kept trying to make her use weapons too heavy for her frame. Dame Wisteria stepped in during her second year.”
A sleek pine marten passed by their table, her movements graceful even while balancing a tray. Edmund nodded toward her. “That’s her now. She’s paired with Dame Rosemary for final training.”
Quincy noticed Pepper’s attention and paused. “You’re Krolikov,” she said, her voice melodious. “Dame Wisteria mentioned you this morning. Find me in the east practice yard tomorrow if you want some buckler technique pointers.” She continued on without waiting for a response.
“Friendly sort,” Edmund chuckled. “But brilliant with a blade. Then there’s Harlow, who you’ve met. He uses his height to advantage with polearms. And Lillian’s mastered a fighting style that uses a hare’s jumping ability as a weapon rather than trying to mimic predator techniques.”
Pepper savored another bite of the perfectly spiced stew. “And what about the salve Harlow mentioned? For training bruises?”
“Ah, that!” Edmund’s eyes lit up. “You must have caught his eye too, if he’s already offered it to you. Harlow makes it himself – family recipe. He’s probably in the herbarium now, third level of the west tower. Always spends free time there before afternoon training.”
As Pepper finished his meal, a small figure entered the hall – a young squirrel with russet fur and bright eyes. She wore the loose garb of a courier and scanned the room purposefully before spotting him.
“Squire Krolikov?” she asked, approaching the table. “I’m Maple, Master Thornleaf’s assistant. Sir Reynard asked me to inform you that your new training attire measurements will be taken directly after your armory meeting this afternoon. Master Thornleaf wants to ensure the proper fit personally.” She delivered the message with professional efficiency, then departed with a polite bow.
“Well, well,” Magnus said with raised eyebrows. “First special meals, then custom weapons training, now personalized attire? You’ve made quite the impression for someone who arrived only yesterday.”
Pepper glanced at the timekeeper on the wall – still enough minutes before the armory meeting to seek out Harlow and his healing salve if he hurried.
“Thanks for the company – and for pointing me toward Harlow,” he said with a grin. “Seems I’m collecting more bruises than skills so far.”
Edmund chuckled. “That’s how you know you’re learning. The pain means it’s working.”
If you want to check out all the chapters of the preview all together, check out the Google document link here or the Masterpost with a full list of public chapters and character profiles.
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Shadow and Song - Chapter 4 - Trial By Fire
Pepper’s eyes snapped open well before dawn, the keep still shrouded in darkness. The moonberry tea had worked wonders – his body felt refreshed despite yesterday’s exertions, with none of the soreness he’d expected. Dame Wisteria’s book still lay atop him.
Lighting a small lamp, Pepper slid from bed, careful not to make noise that might wake the other squires. The stone floor chilled his feet as he moved to the center of his modest room, still in his undergarments, and opened the book to the chapter on “Redirecting Momentum.”
The illustrations showed a rabbit knight sidestepping a charging boar, using the larger opponent’s weight against him. “Position before power,” read one annotation in elegant script – he assumed they were Dame Wisteria’s own notes.
He attempted the first stance depicted – weight balanced on the balls of his feet, body angled to present a smaller target. So far, so good. Next came a pivot move designed to redirect an incoming charge.
Pepper practiced the motion slowly, trying to commit it to muscle memory. Turn, drop, extend leg to trip... but his balance wavered. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall with a thud that sounded thunderous in the pre-dawn quiet.
“Practicing already, squire?” came a voice from the doorway.
The rabbit whirled around to find a stocky female badger in knight’s training attire watching him with arms crossed from his doorway. Her gray-streaked fur was immaculately groomed, and her eyes – sharp and assessing – missed nothing. He, on the other hand, had been too focused to realize she had entered their common room.
“I – yes,” he stammered, realizing this must be Dame Wisteria herself. “I was trying to understand the redirection technique from your book.”
She stepped into his quarters without invitation, closing the door quietly behind her. Pepper blushed as he realized he was still mostly undressed; still modest, but feeling exposed. The badger didn’t seem to mind or comment at his physique on display.
“You have the right idea, but your center is too high.” She demonstrated the stance, her movements fluid despite her solid frame. “Like this. Lower your weight. Rabbits have power in their haunches that other species don’t – use it.”
Pepper mimicked her position, and she adjusted his form with firm but gentle paws.
“Better,” she nodded. “But this isn’t something you master in one morning. The body must learn slowly what the mind grasps quickly.”
She picked up her book from the bed, thumbing through it thoughtfully. “I’m pleased you took the time to study this. Most new squires are too proud or too frightened to admit they need different techniques.”
“I know I’m... not like other squires, I don’t think.” Pepper admitted.
“Good,” she said firmly. “Different is not lesser, Squire Krolikov. Remember that.”
The first hint of gray light appeared at the window. Dame Wisteria noticed it too.
“Sir Alaric will be ringing the bell soon,” she said, returning the book to him. “Keep this. We’ll work on these movements properly once you’re settled in a little more.” She moved toward the door, then paused. “Your father spoke highly of your quick mind in his letters. I’m glad to see he wasn’t exaggerating.”
Before Pepper could ask what she meant about letters from his father, she slipped out, leaving him holding the book and wondering about the unexpected encounter. A quick glance into his roommates’ rooms revealed they had already left even before he woke. Through the window, the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. The day of his first training had dawned.
He hastily grabbed his training gear from the wooden chest. His heart pounded in his chest; the elevated pulse made him aware of just how quickly the minutes were ticking away before Sir Alaric’s dawn session. The padding and practice armor felt heavier than when Pepper had tried them on the day before and felt considerably less accommodating to his round form. He fumbled with the unfamiliar uniform, the fabric stiff and unyielding against his fur.
“Come on,” the rabbit muttered, struggling with practice jerkin. The garment stubbornly refused to close properly around his middle, the lacing straining against yesterday’s overindulgence of berry tarts. He sucked in his stomach, pulled harder, and finally managed to secure it, his torso uncomfortably compressed. The jerkin pinched at his shoulders and strained across his belly, while the breeches clung awkwardly to his thighs. The leg guards presented their own challenge. Designed for a leaner rabbit’s build, they strained uncomfortably around his thighs. They fastened, but sitting would become an exercise in discomfort. Pepper sucked in his stomach, trying to fasten the last button on his breeches, but it refused to cooperate. With a sigh, he left it undone and hoped no one would notice.
“By the seasons,” the rabbit panted, already sweating from the effort of donning his gear. A glance out the window revealed the sky lightening rapidly – training began precisely at first light, and Sir Alaric’s warning about tardiness echoed in his memory. Pepper snatched Dame Wisteria’s book and stuffed it into his belt pouch, then made a dash for the door.
His paws thumped rhythmically, echoing of the stone halls as he raced through the keep, taking a wrong turn in his haste and having to backtrack. The constricting jerkin limited his breathing, making each step more labored than the last.
The corridor outside already alive with the sounds of squires preparing for the day – boots stamping, voices echoing, the occasional clatter of dropped equipment. Pepper followed the flow toward the training yard, his heart pounding with a mix of dread and anticipation.
---
By the time Pepper burst into the eastern courtyard, he was wheezing audibly. The keep’s bell was in mid-ring, its deep tones reverberating across the training grounds. Dozens of squires stood in neat rows facing and flanking Sir Alaric, who turned slowly at Pepper’s noisy arrival.
“Squire Krolikov,” the wolf said, his yellow eyes narrowing. “How generous of you to grace us with your presence.”
Pepper attempted to fall into formation beside Edmund, but in his breathless state, he misjudged the distance and bumped into a stocky pine marten who shot him a withering glare. Instead, the rabbit found himself between a tall fox and a burly badger, both of whom eyed him with thinly veiled skepticism.
“New blood,” the fox muttered, sizing up Pepper’s short stature, round physique, and awkward stance.
“I see yesterday’s... achievements... at the dining table have affected your punctuality,” Sir Alaric continued, drawing chuckles from several of the predator squires. Nathaniel Silvertooth’s smirk was particularly pronounced.
“And your equipment seems to be protesting its service,” the Master-at-Arms added, eyeing the straining seams of Pepper’s practice jerkin. “Perhaps Master Thorpe can find something more... accommodating.”
More laughter rippled through the ranks. Pepper’s ears drooped with embarrassment, but he forced himself to stand tall despite the discomfort.
“No, sir,” he managed between breaths, staring back up at the imposing wolf. “The gear is fine. I’ll adapt.”
A subtle nod from Lillian across the formation assured him that his answer had at least hit the right note. From the shadows of the nearby armory, Pepper caught a glimpse of a badger observing the exchange – Dame Wisteria, her expression unreadable at this distance.
“Very well,” Sir Alaric said, turning his attention back to the group. “Since Squire Krolikov has finally joined us, we can begin. First drill: perimeter run, six laps. Begin!”
As the squires broke into a run along the courtyard’s edge, Pepper struggled to keep pace; his ill-fitting gear chafed with every labored step. Ahead lay a grueling day of training in gear that felt like a torture device, with lungs already burning from his mad dash to arrive on time. The day had barely begun, and already he was fighting an uphill battle, figuratively.
Edmund came up behind him and slowed slightly to match his pace.
“Impressive entry,” he opined with a sympathetic grin. “But next time, we’ll make sure you’re out the door a little earlier, okay?”
As Pepper struggled through the first lap of the perimeter run, his lungs burning and gear chafing, Dame Wisteria’s words from earlier rang through his head: Position before power. Despite his breathlessness, he adjusted his stance mid-stride, lowering his center of gravity as she had shown him, and lengthening his stride so that he wasn’t jogging, but rather leaping from foot to foot.
The effect was immediate. His natural rabbit’s gait – evolved for efficiency rather than brute force – found its rhythm: a slower tempo that felt more comfortable and covered more distance with each step. He was still breathing hard, but he was covering ground more effectively, his paws striking the earth with purpose rather than panic.
“What are you doing, Krolikov?” Edmund whispered as he loped alongside. “You look... different.”
“Using what I have,” Pepper gasped back, focusing on maintaining the form Dame Wisteria had demonstrated, keeping the rhythm steady as he focused on pushing his body to move in ways it had never done before.
By the third lap, several squires were flagging, their initial burst of energy depleted. Pepper’s chest still heaved with exertion, but the techniques were working – he had settled into a sustainable pace while others began to falter. He dug his claws into the earth for even more support, letting his instincts take over as he lost himself in the trance of one foot after another.
Sir Alaric paced along the edge of the training ground, his yellow eyes missing nothing. “Squire Thornwall, pick up those feet! Squire Silvertooth, mind your spacing!”
When his gaze fell on Pepper, his brow furrowed slightly. The wolf’s expression shifted from dismissive to curious as he watched the modified running style.
By the final lap, Pepper had completely overtaken three exhausted squires – including, to his satisfaction, Nathaniel Silvertooth, whose sleek mink form was doubled over with fatigue. His jerkin still pinched uncomfortably, but he had found ways to move that minimized the chafing.
“Water break! One minute only!” Sir Alaric barked as the last squires completed their laps.
Pepper bent over, paws on knees, gratefully sucking in air. Lillian appeared beside him, offering a ladle of water from a nearby barrel.
“I see you’ve been reading,” she said quietly, nodding toward his belt pouch where Dame Wisteria’s book made a visible bulge. “Good. You’ll need every advantage here.”
Before Pepper could respond, Sir Alaric’s voice cut across the courtyard. “Shield formations! Partners, now!”
Squires scrambled to pair up, leaving Pepper momentarily adrift until a stocky female fox with russet fur approached.
“You’re with me, new blood. I’m Fiona Redbrush,” said a fox wearing the colors of a fourth-year squire. “I’ll catch you up to speed.”
As Fiona moved to retrieve their practice shields from the weapons rack, another fox emerged from the nearby corridor. The fox’s gaze swept the courtyard before settling on Pepper with a now-familiar look of assessment. His shield partner noticed his distraction.
“Eyes here, rabbit,” Fiona chided, but gently. “Sir Reynard likes to observe the new recruits, but he won’t save you from getting flattened if you’re not paying attention.” She handed the rabbit a shield that felt impossibly heavy in his tired arms. “Show me what else you’ve learned from that book in your pouch,” she challenged with a knowing smirk.
Pepper took a deep breath and settled into the stance Dame Wisteria had demonstrated that morning, his shield angled to deflect rather than to absorb direct blows. Across the courtyard, Dame Wisteria now watched openly from beside the armory door, her eyes observing his form as he prepared to face this next challenge. He adjusted his grip on the heavy practice shield.
“Since you recognized the book,” he said to the fox between labored breaths, “I don’t suppose you could offer some advice?”
Fiona’s ears flicked with surprise. Her amber eyes narrowed, assessing him with renewed interest. After a moment, she lowered her shield slightly.
“Most new squires don’t ask for help,” she said, her voice low enough that nearby pairs couldn’t overhear. “Especially prey asking for it from a predator.” She stepped closer, adjusting his shield position with a quick, efficient movement. Pepper noticed callouses on her paws similar to the ones he had observed on Lillian the day before.
“Angle it outward, not flat. You’re not trying to catch the blow – you’re redirecting it past you. Dame Wisteria taught me to use my opponent’s expectations against them,” Fiona continued, circling him slowly. “Most predators will expect you to block or dodge. When you redirect instead, it throws them completely off balance.”
She tapped his footwork. “Wider stance. Your advantage is in your haunches – like all rabbits. When your opponent charges, pivot and use their momentum to send them stumbling past you.”
“But what about the weight?” Pepper asked, muscles already trembling from holding the heavy shield. “I can barely keep this up for minutes, let alone an entire training session.”
Fiona’s muzzle quirked into a half-smile. “You don’t. That’s another assumption most people make – that strength means holding your position. Use controlled movement instead. Never static, always flowing.”
She demonstrated a weaving pattern, her shield constantly in motion rather than held rigidly in place. The technique distributed the burden across different muscle groups, preventing any single set from becoming too exhausted.
“Sir Alaric’s watching,” she warned quietly. “Let me show you properly now. Ready yourself.” She raised her voice to normal volume. “Prepare yourself, new blood!”
Fiona charged forward with her practice shield. Instead of the brutal collision Pepper expected, she subtly telegraphed her movement, giving him just enough time to attempt the pivot she had described.
He managed it – barely – turning his body sideways as she brushed past. His execution was clumsy, but the principle worked; her momentum carried her forward while he remained standing.
“Again,” she commanded, circling back. “This time, counter after the redirect.”
Across the courtyard, Pepper noticed Sir Reynard had moved closer, observing the practice with evident interest. Dame Wisteria remained by the armory, her expression inscrutable but attentive.
“Focus, rabbit,” Fiona snapped, reclaiming his attention. “Dame Wisteria chose me as her student because I never waste an opportunity to learn. If you’re serious about her methods, prove it now.”
She charged again, this time with less warning. Pepper pivoted – more smoothly this time – and as she passed, he tapped her exposed flank with his shield edge, just as he had seen illustrated in Dame Wisteria’s book.
Fiona stumbled slightly, genuinely caught off-balance. When she turned back to him, there was newfound respect in her eyes.
“Not bad, new blood,” she admitted. “Maybe there’s something to you after all. Keep that book close – and find me after archery practice if you want more pointers.”
From across the training yard, Sir Alaric’s voice boomed: “Rotate partners! Next formation!”
Fiona gave him a quick nod before moving away. “Remember – position before power.”
As Pepper turned to find his next partner, he caught Dame Wisteria nodding slightly in approval before she slipped away from the armory wall.
The next partner was Harlow Leafshadow, a slender deer in second-year colors with impressive antlers just beginning to bud for the season. He towered over Pepper, his practice shield looking twice the size of Pepper’s in his graceful hooves.
“Ah, the new rabbit,” Harlow said, his voice surprisingly gentle for his imposing frame. “I’ve been watching you with Fiona. Interesting technique.”
Pepper remembered Fiona’s advice – position before power, never static, always flowing – and adjusted his stance accordingly, angling his shield outward rather than holding it flat against his body.
“Ready when you are,” he told Harlow, trying to keep the tremor of exhaustion from his voice.
Harlow nodded and advanced, his movements measured and precise. When he thrust his shield forward, Pepper pivoted as Fiona had taught him, using his natural rabbit agility to slip sideways. The deer’s momentum carried him past, and Pepper managed to tap his flank with the shield edge.
“Well done!” Harlow exclaimed, genuine surprise in his voice. “Most new squires try to block me directly and end up sprawled in the dirt.”
He circled back, more cautious now, his gaze more considering, curious. “Let’s see if you can do it again.”
This time when he charged, he feinted to the left before driving right. Pepper’s tired muscles reacted a heartbeat too slowly, and Harlow’s shield caught him partially. He staggered but managed to stay upright, using the shield’s angle to deflect some of the impact.
“Not bad recovery,” Harlow commented. “But you’re telegraphing your movements with your ears. They flick in the direction you’re planning to move.”
Across the training yard, Sir Alaric’s voice carried: “Krolikov! Stop dancing and engage him properly!”
Harlow lowered his voice, facing away from the wolf so he wouldn’t see. “He wants to see if you’ll abandon technique when pressured. Don’t.”
Pepper nodded gratefully and reset his stance, consciously controlling his ears this time. When Harlow came at him again, he waited until the last possible moment before pivoting, this time adding a quick counter-step that placed him at the deer’s undefended side.
Before Pepper could answer, a shadow fell across the training ground. They glanced up to see a massive figure watching from the battlements – an imposing bear in the formal attire of castle nobility, his expression inscrutable as he surveyed the training squires.
The bear’s gaze seemed to linger on Pepper for a moment before turning to speak with a uniformed ermine beside him. He recognized the ermine’s uniform from working in the marketplace; a diplomat from the Eastern Territories.
“One more round,” Harlow suggested quickly. “Make it count – they’re watching.”
Drawing on his dwindling reserves of energy, Pepper focused completely on Fiona’s advice as it applied to his technique, internalizing the motions in his head before they started. When Harlow charged, he executed the maneuver perfectly – pivot, redirect, counter. The deer squire found himself completely off-balance, nearly dropping his shield.
“Rotate!” Sir Alaric barked before Harlow could recover.
As Pepper prepared to face his next partner, Harlow gave him a respectful nod. “Find me at midday meal,” he said quietly. “I know a salve that works wonders for training bruises.”
Pepper caught Sir Reynard exchanging a meaningful glance with the Lord Commander on the battlements before both turned their attention back to the training yard – and to him.
As the morning training progressed, Pepper diligently attempted to apply Dame Wisteria’s techniques through each new exercise. After shield practice, Sir Alaric ordered the squires to transition to wooden practice swords. The weight of the training weapon felt impossibly heavy in his paws after the exertion with the shields.
“Form pairs!” Sir Alaric barked. “Basic parrying drills!”
Pepper’s next partner was a stoic heron named Henry Longbill, whose height advantage and natural grace made him an intimidating opponent despite being another prey animal.
“I’ve been watching you work with Fiona and Harlow,” Henry noted quietly as they took their positions. “Interesting approach.”
Pepper struggled to recall the stance illustrations from Dame Wisteria’s book after a long morning of shield drills, positioning his feet as she had recommended that morning. The first few exchanges went surprisingly well – he managed to deflect Henry’s strikes rather than block them directly, saving his flagging strength.
“Good movement,” Henry acknowledged. “But watch your – ”
Before he could finish, Pepper’s leaden muscles betrayed him. A particularly forceful thrust from Henry’s practice sword slipped past his guard, catching him squarely in the chest. He stumbled backward, losing his footing entirely and landing hard on his tail.
“Krolikov!” Sir Alaric’s voice cut across the courtyard. “What happened to that fancy-dancy footwork I saw earlier?”
Pepper struggled to his feet, his limbs trembling with exhaustion. The combination of yesterday’s tart challenge, the early start, and the unfamiliar exertion had finally caught up with him.
“I’m fine,” he insisted to Henry, who offered a wing-tip to help him up, trying to show his determination. “Just need to...adjust my stance.”
But as training continued, Pepper’s performance deteriorated. The techniques that had worked so well earlier now seemed beyond his grasp as fatigue set in. His pivots became sluggish, his counters mistimed. His body refused to cooperate with the patterns he saw in his mind.
After his third fall, Sir Alaric approached, his yellow eyes narrowed.
“Your form has completely collapsed, Squire Krolikov,” he stated flatly. “What happened?”
“I’m trying to maintain the proper technique, Sir,” Pepper panted, struggling to stand straight. “Dame Wisteria’s methods – ”
“Are useless if you lack the stamina to execute them,” Sir Alaric finished. “The finest technique in the world means nothing if you can’t maintain it through a full training session.” To Pepper’s surprise, the wolf’s tone lacked the mockery he had expected. Instead, Sir Alaric regarded him with something closer to clinical assessment.
“Report to the kitchens after morning drills,” he said decisively. “Inform Cook Bristletail that I’ve ordered a specialized meal plan for you. And find some time for extra running between regular drills.”
As Sir Alaric moved away, Henry helped steady Pepper with a wing. “Don’t take it too hard,” the heron said kindly. “Everyone hits their limit on their first day. The difference is whether you come back stronger tomorrow.”
From her position near the armory, Dame Wisteria watched the exchange, her expression thoughtful. She made a notation in a small notebook before tucking it into her belt pouch and departed through the south gate.
As morning drills finally concluded, Pepper’s energy was completely drained, his training jerkin soaked with sweat, his muscles quivering with exhaustion. But he had learned something valuable: technique without endurance was merely theory. Tomorrow would require both.
