There's a ship on the seas next to the badger kingdom of Salamandastron. Large ship, enough to carry a full crew and many extra beasts. Adorning the hull is a teal inscription, that when not bobbing beneath the waves, plainly states, •Lightning Sunset•.

The Lightning Sunset is captained by a surly ermine from the north who refers to himself as Andras. Andras is a very educated beast and a very ambitious one. He's a very persuading beast, wooing females with his look like ice and voice like rain, and incensing the petty thieves and common street urchins with promises of glory and a better life. He sailed this ship in sight of a realm called Mossflower, a domain he and his half-cult, half-crew would surely rule and harvest.

Here I use past tense- Andras no longer sails.

You see, Andras is dead, his throat cut, once-penetrating eyes glazed over. He's hung from his ship's mast like a common criminal. All around him, the Lightning Sunset is in flames. A crescendo of fire and light and corpses that once held souls of beasts with dreams. Those dreams sink with this ship, crashing into the sea like a heart attack in motion.

The water swallows the fire. Andras is the last to go under, arms outstretched and dripping blood in crucifixion; eyes clouded but never shut; his head slowly tilting limply to his shoulder. Just as a martyr should look.

Never left his ship; just as any true captain would. Alas, true captains aren't crucified to their own sails.

The beasts that did this to Andras and his ship and his denizens are truly a despicable lot. Rumors abound of a sociopathic, savage wildcat and his bloodthirsty crew plundering the high seas. This wild feline, Dantalion, as he was called, did not seek fame or fortune or power specifically. He simply existed. Dantalion exists to take. That's his existence. The answer as to why? Simply enough, because.

Dantalion takes.

Thus, he exists.

He takes, he lives. That's his species and how it plays out. Nature's dictated it to be that way. Grass grows. Birds fly. Dantalion kills.

Dantalion is self-appointed captain of the Horizon Runner, a medium-sized fishing vessel. It no longer serves a role for fishing as when we took over the ship, we threw the original sailors- and their original intent, overboard to be fed to sharks.

Now, the Horizon Runner holds Dantalion's Army. Really no larger than a small militia, this army sails past the shores of Salamandastron. The Long Patrol, the security force comprised of hares, is lined against the coast, weapons at the ready as the ship passes.

One of the younger members attempts to fire an arrow; the launched projectile lands far behind the ship.

I watch, from the starboard side, in a mixture of disappointment and amusement. I yearn to goad them on into more pointless threats, and greater than that is the craving to take an axe to one of their craniums.

That was rather harsh. I'd apologize, but most likely I'll do that again.

It's my nature.

As it is to report quickly when called to the deck, standing uniformly among the rogues gallery on the ship. A rat to my left shifts legs awkwardly, and a ferret to my right coughs loudly.

In front of us, Dantalion makes his move. Amber fur streaked with black stripes, covered in chainmail and leather, gleaming teeth like ivory knives and deep green eyes, the wildcat is built like his namesake and the air around him crackles with energy. Gripped in his left paw is a handcrafted spear which talon-like claws wrap around. Dantalion raps the bottom end of the spear against the deck. He has the attention of all of us now. Everyone watches him, and he watches all.

"Come dawn tomorrow," he begins, turning his head and canvassing the personnel in front of him. He has a scar just below his left eye, long and intense. "We will have reached land."

Halfhearted applause. I clap my paws together for what it's worth.

"This forest," he continues, "is no doubt populated by somebeasts. Nonetheless, it does not matter, as we will overcome."

Dantalion's never been a rousing public speaker, you see.

"We will reach land and it will become our domain. No longer bound by species, class, or anything else."

"You," and he's on a young pine marten in the crowd who tries to step back and gets no leeway. Upon seeing this, Dantalion seems to straighten his posture, staring.

"You, who have been conditioned to rear back at anything close, for that it may be your last." Then twisting and pointing to a weasel. "You, who was born into poverty with no way out," then arching back in my direction- "you, the fox who's family has been forced into a nomadic life,"

He goes on. I don't particularly remember anything about my family. I suppose that's not an entirely bad thing, as I cannot remember any negative points in my early life. Yet, it was lacking, but most of the things I recall are shades of gray and uncertainty.

Another feeling as well- anger.

That this, is something that was unavoidable. Either you're born a mouse or a squirrel or a desirable beast or born a vermin with no motive. Permanently forced to a middling life.

One of the few things I remember from my childhood is something my mother told me when the droughts were heavy and luck was scarce.

Landeskog, my little Landeskog, my son; I know too well- three simple words bled us dry:

I love you.

Not soon after, she died and joined the everlong shades of silver that line the edges of my memory.

Dantalion has gotten most beasts added to his unit this way- playing off the misfortune and rage. It doesn't have to be this way. Some things are nature and destiny, but this isn't it. It has to change.

"Death to cowards, traitors, and empty words," Dantalion howls.

Feet stomp in unison and a battle cry rises. The wood beneath our paws creak and our voices are caught up in a razor-sharp wind.

"This is your memory, for these are your years and days to outshine."

In unison, suddenly roused, us, the vermin and the useless, we cry out:

Push on and soar high!

The winds of change are blowing. Mossflower is on the horizon.

i dedicate the upcoming chapters to the people i hate most in my life. (: