Epilogue

(Sixteen years Later...)

The farmhouse is still standing, but it’s different now, wilder. The scent of damp fur and crushed grass lingers in the air, and the furniture is scratched beyond repair. The front porch sags under the weight of two young teenage fox brothers lounging in the afternoon sun, their russet tails flicking lazily as they pick at a stolen chicken leg between them.

Greg whose new name is Garrin is the larger of the two, Garrin has kept some of his human stubbornness just wrapped in a lanky, foxlike body. His fur is a deep auburn, his amber eyes sharp with a lingering, unplaceable irritation. He doesn’t remember his past life, but sometimes he wakes up with fragments, a shotgun’s kick against his shoulder, the smell of oil and dirt, a voice yelling "Bob!"before it all slips away.

He’s stronger than the other kits, quicker to snap his teeth when challenged. Rufus calls him "my little alpha," which pisses him off for reasons he can’t explain.

Daily Life:

• Hunting: Surprisingly good at it. His human instincts (buried deep) make him clever with traps.

• Fights: Gets into scuffles with the local coyote boys. Wins most of them.

• Weird Quirk: Hates the sound of tractors. No idea why.

Bob, whose new name is Brim is smaller, faster, and far more mischievous, Brin is the troublemaker of the litter. His fur is lighter, almost golden, and his grin is permanently smug. He doesn’t have the same flashes of memory Garrin does, just a vague sense that he used to be something else, something less fun.

He’s the one who figured out how to open the fridge. Rufus regrets teaching him that.

Daily Life:

• Stealing: Eggs, pies left on windowsills, Rufus’s secret whiskey stash.

• Exploring: Found the old human cellar. Now it’s his "secret lair."

• Weird Quirk: Keeps collecting shiny things (like bottle caps and old coins and hiding them under the floorboards. No one knows why, but Rufus suspects it’s some buried human instinct screaming "MONEY. THIS WAS IMPORTANT."

When it comes to their ghosts of their past memories Garrin sometimes stands at the edge of the fields, staring at the horizon like he’s waiting for something. He doesn’t know what.

• Brin once found an old flannel shirt in the barn and dragged it into his nest. It smelled right. (Rufus burned it the next day.)

• Neither of them knows why they flinch at the sight of white liquid.

While don’t remember being brothers in a past life, but they’re inseparable anyway whether they’re teaming up to raid the neighbor’s henhouse or brawling over the last scrap of meat. Rufus watches them sometimes, grinning around a mouthful of stolen sausage.

"Damn good kits." he’ll say to his mate, who just rolls her eyes. " Maybe one day, Garrin might lead his own pack of thieving foxes. Brin might end up as a ladies man and charm his way into every den in the county."

Rufus leans back in his stolen couch, arm draped over his mates shoulder, listening to the chaos of his kits tearing through the house, and he thinks.

"This was the best law ever made."

The End again?