Chapter One- Fox's Run

Fat, ugly, useless. Some words stay with you, even if you know they are not true. The words flung at her for so long from her uncle and his family since she arrived on their doorstep with her grandfather. At first the slights had been minor and just rolled off her. She knew her grandfather and his friends truly loved her. That was enough, for awhile. But after the insults and slights grew and her grandfather became ill and less active she began to waver in her strength. By now hearing the insults and taking the abuse either saddened her because of what she had lost and could now barely remember or enraged her because these people were blood, family. Family should protect and support its members. This she knew without a doubt.

Since she had come to live here she had been forced to wear her cousins' leftovers and worn clothes, which were all far too big for her, not to mention often torn or stained. But, in the last few years these baggy clothes have been a blessing. When she was only ten years old the gods had decided that her body should start changing. Early and far too quickly her body became that of a woman.

Thankfully she was just as quick to learn to tightly bind her breasts and handle her monthlies without bring any attention to herself. With her breasts bound and reasonably fitting clothes she looked like a skinny young boy. But, most of the time she wore a second layer or larger clothes, just to hide her curves a little bit more. It was effective but often uncomfortable to maintain in the hotter months of the year, but quiet nice in the cold months.

Ugly was a taunt she had no doubt that was actually true, with her family's bright red hair she was a freak. It looked even worse now that she had taken to cutting it short like a boy's. She had no illusions of beauty. Her eyes were too large for her face, and a shade of green that was more the color of grass or leaves than you normally saw in eyes. Freckles dotted her face, so it looked like she was filthy, no matter how much she tried to keep clean. She was too short for her age, making it even easier to go unnoticed or thought to be younger than her thirteen years.

Useless, she supposed that could be debated, depending on whose definition was used. Her skills had managed to keep her alive, but did nothing to add to her uncle's estate. She did not have assigned duties, though she did spend much of her time with the animals, and she was extremely glad that her uncle hadn't thought to use her as slave labor. Just as Lizbeth had started to doubt her own worth because of the daily onslaught of insults, the praise heaped on her cruel cousins made them think themselves invincible and intelligent. Thankfully, they were neither, which made it much easier to outwit them or to hide from them. After hearing the some words so often and for so long they had started to become real to those that heard them. Shaking even the most obvious foundations of truth.

Unfortunately the years of easily hiding in plain sight were gone. One moment of carelessness, relaxing, and her years of trying to escape notice were rendered useless. Until tonight she had not been noticed as anything more than the dirty girl child, a charity case, an annoyance. Now she might face a horrible fate simply because of her desire to be clean, ad the gods' decision to have her body develop so early.

She had always hidden herself crowd of boys. For years she had spent her days running and climbing trees, hiding from the beatings her uncle and cousins would give her if she did anything to irritate them. Using the skills of stealth her grandfather had taught her before his death. She had stayed safe, staying small and unimportant in everyone’s eyes as much as possible had been her only defense and it had worked until today.

Some of her younger cousins weren't so bad. The now twelve year old twins Richard and Donald had helped her learn to climb trees like a monkey and where some little hiding places were in the manor. Though she had discovered or built most of her favorite hiding places on her own. They had always been reasonably good to her. They had never stood up for her or tried to protect her, but they never snitched on her or hurt her themselves.
Really, as long as her Uncle Henry or cousin Roger didn't catch her doing something they didn't like she would be fine. She had only to stay out of their way. She had been really good at that for years. But when she made a mistake she made it big and paid for it in spades. This mistake would cost her everything.

Lizbeth cursed Roger and her own carelessness as she sat huddled on the roof. She had just finished bathing and had only just put on some pants and finished rewrapping her breasts when she heard a branch snap in the woods behind her. She should have been paying attention; if she had been she would have heard Roger early enough to avoid all this. But, she was too busy nursing her wounded pride and bruised arm. She had failed to evade her uncle's swing at breakfast that morning and paid the price, but this threat was different.

Roger looked at her with a different kind of heat in his eyes. She knew if he managed to find her now she would be hurt in far worse ways than the beatings that she had survived thus far. She had always been grateful for the skills her grandfather had taught her in hiding and thieving. It has been those skills that have kept her alive, and free from serious harm for this long. Now she was doubly glad of her ability to hide from her cousin.

Sighing silently Lizbeth knew it was finally time to leave. She had only stayed so long for grandfather, and now that he was gone there was no real reason to stay. Being honest with herself she could have left a year ago, right after he died. But a threat you knew was much easier to face on a daily basis than the unknown. She always kept a travel bag packed and hidden in the stable along with a plan forged from grandfather's old stories for just such an emergency. She always knew that she would leave; it was just the when and why she finally went that had been in question.

Now she just had to wait out Roger, get her bag and get out unnoticed. It should be easy, if only she could calm her nerves enough to hide like she has in the past. Lizbeth had several hiding spots that Roger would never think to find her. Now that would come in handy as she worked her way off her uncle's land and toward the city of Burghal.

Settling into a more comfortable position she readied herself to sit tight for a couple hours. Then she would steal some food from the kitchen and gather her pack from the stable. Then she would move through the woods, heading north until she hit the county road that would lead the way to Burghal and her uncertain future.

It was three hours before Lizbeth finally climbed down from the roof, and using every bit of cover she could find made her way to the kitchen. Sneaking into the pantry she started gathering bread and flasks of water. Taking things in small quantities so that the loss wouldn’t be noticed. Suddenly, as she was about to reach for a piece of fruit to stave of some of the hunger she currently faced, having been huddled on the roof during dinner, she froze. Cook was returning to the kitchen. Cook didn’t ever seem to share the ill will many in the household had for her; but Lizbeth couldn’t risk her raising an alarm or alerting anyone of her intentions.

“Child, I’ve got a small satchel of food for you here. I heard Roger raving tonight and thought you’d be smart enough to get supplies before runnin’. You always were a smart one. Roger is asleep now, as is the master. Best get on the road now, before anyone gets up for nightly constitutionals.” Lizbeth stepped out of the pantry and looked at cook. She was in her nightclothes, but still seemed to have a cloud of flour clinging to her.

Lizbeth smiled and gave her thanks, still weary that it might be some sort of a trap. “There is still room in this satchel for what you’ve got there. Hurry up and get your stuff together, while it’s still safe.” Lizbeth nodded, grabbed the satchel and said her thanks again. Lizbeth gave the cook a quick hug and ran towards the stables.
Cook watched her go, marveling at how the child could disappear into the shadows. She was still in shock about the hug; the poor child had never shown or received any affection, except with her grandfather. “Be careful and safe little one.” She whispered into the night. Hoping that the girl would make it safe to her grandfather’s friends. She’d do what she could to soothe and delay matters here.

Once in the stables Lizbeth wasted several moments talking to each horse and saying goodbye to them. She then grabbed her hidden pack and took out the clothes and dressed herself in multiple layers to both hide her shape and make more room in the pack for the bounty of food she had not expected. If she was frugal with the food she’d have enough for a week, but that would not be enough to get all the way to Burghal. She would have to forage and hunt to stay fed and strong on the road.

All eyes, little Lizbeth sat on her grandfather's lap listening to the tales of his youth. Feeling safe, warm and loved she pictured the tales of adventure and intrigue that her grandfather had told her a hundred times. The Raven and the Fox, legendary thieves and sometimes spies. She knew her grandfather spun these tales, but underneath the bluster and fog of age and drugs there was truth. The vague memories of her early childhood and parents solidified her belief in her grandfather’s tales. The medallion she wore proved to her that on some level it was all true.
The Raven, master of thieves with jet-black hair and a laugh that made everyone want to join in. The Fox, her grandfather, now lost in the haze of the drugs his youngest son fed him, with bright red hair and bold ideas. Lizbeth lost herself in the stories and pictured herself running alongside the two legends. Dodging children and dogs in the street, running towards nothing, and away from everything.

Falling behind she staggered only to be caught by rough hands. She lost sight of the heroes as she hit the road, still with arms on her shoulders. They shook her instead of helping her up or pinning her down. "Hey, get up kid" she heard in the distance. "Hey, boy."

Shaken and fighting her way to wakefulness she realized that the hands weren't part of her dream; they were real. Sitting up straight she struggled free from the hands and scampered back. Putting up her arms defensively she prepared herself for a fight or preferably to run. Dreaming of the past and her grandfather's stories would not do her any good, especially out on the road. It would only lead to problems, like this.

"Boy, what are you doin' all the way out here. It ain't safe for a little lad like you out here alone." Looking up Lizbeth saw an older man and behind him a small cart led by a mule. Letting out a sigh of relief she relaxed a little, until she saw the bright eyes of the man. They were a deep blue lit with an intelligence that had obviously not dulled with age. She would have to play this carefully.

She had been traveling for five days, and last night she hadn’t bothered to climb into a tree or made a hiding place to sleep in. She had just collapsed in pure exhaustion and laziness in the hollow of a tree just off the road. She had not intended to sleep until daylight, certainly not late enough for travelers to be on the road.

Though this particular traveler seemed harmless she knew she'd have to be careful that he didn't see through her boy's clothes and dirty face and realize her true gender. Never mind discover that she wasn't supposed to be here. No one should really be traveling these roads alone, never mind without the proper papers that would allow entry into a city.
Mumbling apologizes and excuses Lizbeth got up, but kept her head down, and tried to figure out how to stay on the right path to Burghal. She didn't want to raise anyone's suspicions, not even this man's. She made a bit of a show brushing off her clothes and gathering up her pack. She took a flask of water out and drank slowly, savoring the taste. Then she corked it again and repacked her bag, water being her whole breakfast. She was already running low on food.

She should only be another few days away now. She gathered up her pack, cast another glance at the man who had woken her and began today's leg of the journey. Not about to be forgotten the old man asked where such a young lad could be going by himself.

Quickly Lizbeth ran a hand through her short hair and then pulled a knit cap out of her pack and covered her hair. Although she had dirtied her hair, and the color was unrecognizable, she was not going to take any chances. She finally answered the question by muttering that she was carrying a message to Burghal for her grandfather. Happily leaving out that she was running away from her extended family and that her grandfather had been dead for a little over a year.

She really did have a message, of sorts. If she could find the Raven, or his family, she had to pass on the news of her grandfather dying. She had the medallion which would prove her identity and gain sanctuary in the thieves' own family. So she wasn't really lying, just not telling the whole truth. She hated being deceitful, but she had to protect herself. Her survival had to come first.

The old man looked at her like he knew that she wasn't telling the truth. She kept moving on down the road, with her new companion not far behind her, and his mule pulling his cart right behind. Odd, he didn't even seem to have to lead the mule. The beast just followed. Maybe the old man had just taken the route so often that the mule new it by route, or maybe he just had that odd connection with his animal that she had with birds. "I'm headin' that way myself. You could join Fred and I, and help gather wood and such at night so as I don't have to go wondering with my creaking joints in the woods If you don't mind travelin' with an old man and mule."

"Fred?" she questioned. He gestured with his head toward the mule. "That's Fred, the best companion an old man could ever have on dusty roads like these." The old man took her non-committal grunt as an agreement to travel together and began to walk beside her rather than behind her. He began to tell tales about the current state of the country. She only half listened to his chatter about robbers on the roads and the corrupt Shamus in the area. Lizbeth took that little bit of information and stored away for future reference, though she was hardly surprised. As far as she'd seen in life so far the people with power, those that were supposed to uphold the law seemed to be the most inclined to break the rules or take advantage.

"I'm Geoff", said the old man suddenly, breaking from his stories and Lizbeth from her thoughts. "We can't be calling each other just 'hey you' if we are going to travel together. Here I am just rambling on, after giving you a fright." Lizbeth glance over at the old man, who she supposed she should can Geoff that that he offered his name and all. He watched her expectantly and Lizbeth supposed he was waiting for a name in return.

"Red... they just call me Red" Lizbeth muttered. Again she was telling half-truths, though her father and grandfather had both called her red for the mass of hair she used to try to keep tame. But the name was her only connection she still had with them; as they had both been called Red in their youths as well thanks to the families tell tale shock of red hair. Not the orange that most redheads have- a true red. Not that anyone would know that Lizbeth's hair was that color now, with the dirt that coated her from head to toe. No one else in the family had called her that since grandfather died.

Her uncle and cousins rarely called her anything but insults or obscenities. She quickly derailed that train of though after remembering how those names had changed and taken on a new threat as soon as Roger had noticed her as female, instead of just a stray to kick around. For a moment she thought about the things Roger had promised to do when he caught her, the names and threats he called out while searching for her. She wondered how long it took him to realize that she had left. Were they looking for her, or just thankful that there was one less mouth to feed and content to let he go?

"Hrmm" Geoff grunted, apparently not noticing her reluctance to talk. However, Lizbeth did not miss his speculative glace that followed her after that announcement. She looked back down at her feet and continued to pull into herself and appear as small of a target as possible. "Not many men, never mind boys, can live up to sharing a nickname with the famed Fox. Surely not one as meek as you. Best hope no one takes your use of that name as a challenge." Lizbeth tried to hide her surprise, but still stumbled over her own feet when she looked over at Geoff. "What's that?" She questioned. "The Fox?"

"Surely you've heard the stories of the Raven and the Fox?" At Lizbeth's nod Geoff continued. "The Fox had flaming red hair. His friends and family had always called him Red rather than by his real name because of that hair. When he began his career that led him to be known as the Fox he left behind roses that matched his hair for his female victims."

"Why didn't they just call him Fox?" Lizbeth questioned despite herself. Grandfather had never included this tidbit in his stories. Absently she lifted a hand to rub on the medallion where it hung. She thought she knew everything of import about the Fox, if not about both him and his partner the Raven. "At least after he earned the name."
"Well, what legends get names like that off the bat? People need other people to start telling tales about them to properly earn such names. Even the Fox had to be known as something else before becoming a part of local legend. A parent or sibling would not change what they call a loved one, just because the rest of the city gives them a new name. Even if they wanted too it would have made it far to easy to catch them if everyone in their daily lives called them by such infamous names."

Absently Lizbeth nodded. She had never considered that anyone would know her grandfather's nickname. Strange that this man would know something so important about her grandfather when she hadn’t even thought about who he might have been before becoming the Fox. If it were such a secret that Red and Fox were nicknames for the same man, how would it be part of the stories when she hadn't even known? How many people knew this information? Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of the dual names? Questions raced through Lizbeth's head making her dizzy.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts she realized that it was too late to change what she was going to be called out in the world. She would just have to be extra careful to conceal her identity and gender. Besides who would connect a little waif in clothes far too large to the infamous Fox? They wouldn't make a connection, at least not unless they realized her true hair color. How many families had hair like hers? She's just had to make sure her hair stayed dirty, or maybe add ashes from the fire to her hair after bathing to mask the color. The hat would just have to remain on her head hiding her hair for a while longer. At least until she was safe.

Her companion seemed too observant. He knew too much. It was obvious that Geoff was smart enough that he could cause Lizbeth some trouble if she let her guard slip for even a moment. He was too well versed in the lore of the Raven and the Fox. Geoff could be someone that had been in the immediate circle her grandfather was friends with, or he was part of the teams working to catch them. Either way, letting him know her connection to the Fox at this point could be very dangerous. Lizbeth was going to have be extremely careful to stay inconspicuous while making sure Geoff was not a danger to her.