The next stretch of travel passed by relatively uneventful, but Altan wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing yet. One one hand, Altan was thankful that he wasn't being thrown off a waterfall, being hunted by whisperhounds, or having his flesh and lungs shredded by bits of glass and dirt, or any of the other screwed up events that had occurred in the not so distant past. On the other hand, now he had time to think about those events. Process them. He wasn't enjoying the fear and feeling of weakness and vulnerability, even downright trauma, creeping into the back of his head. The feelings were causing him to become somewhat paranoid. Sometimes he felt he was being followed, watched, and he made a daily effort to suppress them.
Since essentially all of their belongings were ravaged in the mountain, The Prince had no map and was relying on vague directions and instinct to lead them out of the forest, 'towards a big river', and to the next major settlement. This obviously extended their quest by several days, pushing the trek well over a week, nearly two at this point and they were still a couple of days away.
      It didn't help that he was truly, and utterly, exhausted. His calves ached in a way that reduced him to waddling for the first few hours of each morning, his abused muscles knotted and stiff, and it wasn't exclusive to his calves. If that wasn't enough, The Prince insisted on continued nightly swordsmanship training. Since Altan no longer possessed a sword, they resorted to sticks, which more often than not were shattered across Altan and left him littered with dark splotchy bruises and tender muscles. Combine all that with a general lack of sufficient calories needed for such exertions, paper thin and shredded clothing that provided little to no protection from the elements, plus many unrestful nights, and Altan was on the brink of collapse. Every night he would go to sleep, fantasizing about how surely the next day he would wake up in his own memory foam bed. He would go to school, rail May or maybe some desperate chick in the empty locker room after practice, then go to Ian's for a club-like party and get hammered. And every morning he would be awoken by the nagging of The Prince, berating him for being so lazy and weak and to hurry up and get moving. How The Prince could maintain such stamina was beyond him.
        The fennecainx, who Altan decided to name Knax, was the only reason he got by day-to-day. She didn't boss him around, her warm flames were incredibly soothing on his aching muscles, and when they foraged for whatever food they could find she would go off and hunt small game and vermin for him. She would even bring him various knick knacks like a sparkly stone or a particularly interesting stick. It surfaced fond memories for Altan of his childhood dog, a husky named Luna who had a very similar energy to Knax. Knax was just seemingly much more intelligent, and much, MUCH, larger.
By now they had broken through the forest into the plains, currently sat around a small campfire eating the meat of some mole-like creature under the stars. Knax was curled beside him, gnawing on the bones of her prey. Only a little less than two weeks, and she had grown to be as tall as his shoulder, and several times heavier than him, consistently bringing in larger and larger prey. Altan discovered she could willingly suppress her bright blue flames to remain unseen.
"Didn't you say she was supposed to be a baby?"
The Prince looked up at him from across the fire, then at Knax. "She is. Not... quite... a moon old, from what I can discern."
"Not a month old!?" Altan took a bite of his dinner, "She's almost as tall as me! It's been like, two weeks!"
"Correct, their rapid maturation and growth rate, as well as utility and size, is what makes them so desired."
"..."
The Prince sighed heavily. "Fennecainx are not common creatures, but many have been captured and subsequently bred in captivity as they fully mature in under two moons time. In the wild, they live to only eight, perhaps ten years. However, they have been selectively bred in captivity for many years now, mainly employed for military use in royal settings as mounts and guardians. Domesticated fennecainx take a little longer to mature, and do no grow to be quite as large as their wild counterparts, however they can live as long as thirty-five years and are no less formidable creatures."
"Next time, lead with that."
The Prince glared at Altan and continued to eat his meal with no further comments. Altan huffed and turned away, reaching for another skewer of meats roasting by the fire. It was a real treat since having come into the plains, The Prince had insisted they avoid making fires every night for fear of being seen. This time, however, they had found a small dip between two hills, surrounded by just enough brush and small saplings that tonight they got to enjoy a warm meal. The Prince also fashioned patch-worked pieces of hide they collected over the last several days into some crude form of clothing with magic. They were pretty smelly, looked ugly, and sat weirdly against his skin, but at least they offered better protection and coverage than the shreds of clothing they had been travelling with since the mountain incident.
The fire popped, sending embers drifting into the air, and The Prince was no longer sitting on the other side of the flames. Altan groaned loudly, rolling himself quickly to the side as a stick came cutting through the darkness, impacting the ground seconds behind him.
He spun to his feet, barely catching the stick The Prince tossed at him. "Can't we just have ONE night off?" Making the first move, Altan lazily stabbed his stick forward but The Prince easily danced to the side and swatted it away.
The Prince scoffed, slashing low at Altans legs. "Please, tell this to your foe and inform me how well it works. Watch your footwork!"
          Altan blocked the swipe, sweeping his stick away. He stepped towards the Prince, using the momentum to carry him forward into an advance. Altan bit back with a poor mocking impersonation, "Watch your footwork, Altan. Don't leave yourself open, Altan. I can never do it rig-"
          "Lux rades!"
            A spear of light shot two inches from Altans body, impacting the ground several meters behind him.
            "Eep!"
             Altan whirled at the sound, seeing standing not six feet away a man, a startled look plastered onto his face and holding his hands up palms open. He stared at the smouldering pit of dirt at his feet for a few seconds before looking to The Prince with a lopsided grin.
           "Now that's no way to greet a guest, Prince."