Firethorn listened to the white wolf's cold words. He couldn't literally understand them, but he could feel their meaning. This is no wolf, this is a fox, he imagined her speaking, It's not welcome in our den. It can't be one of us.

Firethorn felt trapped in this nest now, even more than under the berry bush. Ahead of him was the disapproving mother of this pack, who would throw him to her pups to get killed. Behind him was one of those pups, only restrained by the orders of her father, who already expected plenty from the fox. Firethorn started to wonder if he stood a chance among these wolves, if he was ever going to be free of their rule and control.

He stepped back a few steps, then returned a few steps forward and straightened up. Vasili was talking, and Firethorn could feel he was talking about him. About what he could do. He listened, some words coming to him from somewhere far away, from a different world where he used to be. Sneaky, suspicion, target, it all made him more sure of himself. He knew it. He just needed to grow up, grow stronger, become who he used to be, not that he was sure who that was yet.

He could feel Nephthys' words again. They sounded similar to the last time, but she was giving ground. She wasn't aiming to kill him, not just yet. And that was all Firethorn needed. In due time, he was going to make sure all wolves of this den loved, respected, maybe even feared him. For now, he just stood still, and tried the hardest he ever will to be a good foxkit.