Ever since Danielle and Brandon had come to their new home, a force Danielle carried within her had tried to find an outlet. The force was not used to dealing with foxes or with people who had changed their gender, it was blind and mindless. But it was persistent, and it had been passed down through generations of foxes, none knowing that they carried it.
Until now. After a dozen generations, the magic had found its path to enter the world.
Sami, her husband Nick, and their litter emerged after the rains had washed the world. It was time for one of the three great festivals of the foxfolk, Drying Skymother's Tears. Skymother needed to be comforted after her weeping by seeing the joy of her children on Earthfather. The foxes brought out the smoked meats that they had been saving, and began to prepare the cooking pit for a great feast. Foxes over the continent were rejoicing to reenter the world outside their burrows. (And expressing their rejoicing in different ways--it was widely believed that a litter conceived on Drying Skymother's Tears would be specially blessed by Skymother, while one conceived during the rains would be marked by Skymother's sadness.)
The time spent in the burrow during the rains was a time of introspection, and Rob, who loved "why" questions, had been asking one of himself. His question dated back before the rains, to first parent's day. Like his brothers in the litter, he had made his hair up like a girls and helped his father cook the family meals while Sami and her daughters went out hunting. First parents day was a time of laughter and joking, but this time--it was only the second occurrence of the holiday Rob could remember--it felt different. It didn't feel like he was pretending. Everything felt very natural, in a way that it didn't seem like it was natural for his father or brothers. They were clowning around, while Rob felt as if it were just another day. It felt natural, even pleasing, to have a ribbon in his hair. His father and brothers seemed different from him, somehow alien, although he loved them as much as he ever had. That night, everyone agreed that the scrambled wild eggs Rob had made were the culinary triumph. But since that day Rob had felt increasingly a stranger to his own body.
"Why did I feel like a girl? What am I, really?" Rob thought while he was patiently trying to make a fire. The moisture made firemaking on Drying Skymother's Tears particularly difficult, Rob had been grinding away for what seemed like hours. He tried to drive his questions from his mind and concentrate on coaxing forth a tiny spark.
Suddenly a tower of flame six feet high jetted forth from Rob's hands.