"The news is not good" Silverheart declared. Those who heard her included Reynard and the nameless foxmorph, as well as several of Silverheart's extended family and a large, quiet male bearmorph. "The lords of the downlands, who have always hated us, are mustering against the free folk of the mountains. They have vowed to kill all who resist and take the survivors away in chains. So have I heard from the traders and our spies."
"How much time do we have?" Reynard asked.
"The soft folk of the downlands know they cannot attack us in the winter, and of course given the endless quarrels of the slave lords it is not easy for them to work together. The best estimate is mid-spring."
"So we should be ready by early spring." Reynard knows this is serious, damn serious, yet she can't keep her eyes from sliding to the massive chest and arms of the bearmorph.
"Indeed" rumbles the bearmorph. "The bear-folk go their own ways, but this will bring most of us out."
"The fox-folk as well, although I cannot make promises in any name but my own." answers Reynard. "And mine" adds the nameless foxmorph.
"And my family among the cat folk" adds Silverheart. "And others as well."