Title: Year Zero: The Fall
Part: 1 of 3
Keywords: furry, nosex, cubs, violence
Universe: Shattered Tears
Author: just_lurking
Summary: The fall of Foxkind, as seen by Cælin and Mor.  Two foxes not yet in their tweens.

Private Merlin of the 3rd Heavy Infantry sat behind the steel-glass
bubble in the cockpit of his exomech and adjusted his grip on the yoke
for what seemed like the fiftieth time this morning.  The pads of his
black socked paws were shiny with sweat and the textured rubberised
grips of the main controls were not designed with comfort in mind.
His thumbs ached from prolonged periods of arching them over the big
red buttons which terminated both handles.

Pressing the buttons would unleash a hail of cannon fire at his enemies -
at least it would once he disengaged the safeties by flicking the little
switch to his left.  He would flick the little switch once he received the
order from his superior, probably once the wolves reached the shore line.

He looked out again to the troop ships that were approaching from
the west.  His stereographic HUD tinted everything a washed out amber.
In the top left corner, in tiny print, it listed the status of the various
systems of his mech.  In the bottom right there was a box which displayed
the images captured by the mech’s binoculars.

With a flick of his eyes Merlin enlarged the image to fill most of the
display and increased the magnification to maximum.  The box became
a translucent overlay showing ghostly wolven figures superimposed
on reality.

He dismissed the image.  The ability to look soldiers from the invading
army in the eye did nothing to relieve his anxiety.  The wolven warriors
were calm and placid and had nothing but death and hate in their eyes.

At this distance the battle computers couldn’t establish any accurate
targets.  That would change once the air force arrived and performed
a pass over the looming ships.  The intelligence they returned would,
no doubt, paint his field of vision with thousands of markers.

At the moment the only marks he had were those belonging to the
battlegroup.  He looked to his left and right.  As his eyes passed over
the units, personnel and equipment information, provided by the battle
computers, appeared on the HUD showing the status of each.

The battlegroup stretched across the shoreline in either direction as
far as the eye could see.  At the front were exomechs, in a staggered
line, two deep.  Behind that were emplacements for the heavy artillery,
surface to air missiles and the like.  Behind them were the energy
weapons: lasers and plasma cannons.

The sight of so many powerful weapons reassured him - if only a little.
Merlin wasn’t very well travelled but from everything he had heard
Coalition technology was miles in advance of anything the wolves could
field.  With a field full of the most powerful weapons known to foxkind
they were going to send the wolves yelping back to their mommas.

He checked himself.  Just because victory was assured didn’t mean there
wouldn’t be losses on his side.  The front line was a very dangerous
place to be - whether or not you were in a heavily armoured exomech.

Where was the air support?

The grassy hill he was on was twenty or thirty metres from the shore.
Just yesterday families would have been picnicking here, cubs would have
been tossing frisbees around and collecting shells, lovers would have
walked along the soft sand of the shoreline hand in hand.

Now the only presence on this idyllic landscape was military.  The jagged
angles of metal behemoths alternately shone and cast shadows in the early
morning sun.  The sight of the killing machines was morbidly beautiful.
It was an image which would trouble even the most heartless of furs and
convince even the most virulent militant to take vows of pacifism.

Private Merlin, unlike his namesake, wasn’t given to such deep thoughts.
His stomach rumbled.  He hadn’t had breakfast this morning and he
was hungry.  He was sure there was some rule which said soldiers should
get a meal before going into battle.  He didn’t want to die, but if
he had to then he’d prefer to have a full stomach.

The air force arrived.  The sky was full of aircraft streaking forward
to meet the ships.

A group of faster reconnaissance craft led the way.  They made a pass
over the ships, fire was exchanged and the planes scrambled to get out
of range.

On the ground Merlin held his breath and waited to see if the battle
computers had received enough intelligence to give an estimate of the
enemy strength.

After a scarce three seconds the information began to assemble itself
on his HUD.

“Spraint!” A voice cursed over the platoon local comms, “There’s
millions of them.”

Merlin grit his teeth at the behaviour of the ill-disciplined private
as the Lieutenant chewed him out.  Still his assessment was correct -
there were easily millions of them.

By this time the wolves had got their fighters in the air.  The two
forces rushed to engagement.

The Lieutenant stopped his tirade to give the order “Safeties off!”

Merlin flicked the little switch, a line of the minuscule text in the
top left hand of his vision changed from “Cannon safeties: ON”
to “Cannon safeties: OFF”.  It was time to give those loup a warm
foxen welcome.

The battle in the sky was epic.  Both forces trying to push through the
other and obliterate their ground troups.  Fortunately the air force,
the heavy artillery and the energy weapons were doing a good job of
shielding the infantry from wolven attack.  Unfortunately their wolven
equivalents were doing almost as good a job against the foxen craft.

As the battle progressed the wolves managed to edge near enough to
land troops.  Merlin prepared himself to defend his homeland.  He took
a good long look at his enemy.

Wolves were, on average, larger and heavier than foxes.  These soldiers
were no exception.  Each was equipped with a heavy looking automatic
weapon (hand held - so no automatic targeting), some (thoroughly
inadequate looking) body armour and a helmet with (Merlin sneered at this)
a monographic HUD.  They approached on foot.

Their relatively weak equipment gave Merlin confidence.  He targeted
the nearest wolf and let loose the cannon.  He swept the cannon sights
across the wolves on the shore and watched as they were torn to pieces -
their body armour as ineffective as he had judged it.

The wolves kept landing more troops to replace their fallen and they
were coming faster and faster now.

Merlin gritted his teeth and stared wild eyed at the carnage around him.
The wolves were dying in droves. Why were they still coming? Why didn’t
they cut their losses and retreat? They were completely outclassed.

Flaming, melted shrapnel rained down from the sky as the battles
progressed above and below.

Still the wolves came.  As more and more wolves landed Merlin found that
he couldn’t kill them quick enough.  The line of wolves continued to
advance closer with each minute.  He swept the cannon back and forth
through the crowd but it wasn’t enough to stop the battle crazed army
before him.

Then an explosion from his right sent his exomech and his world reeling.

When he had gathered his wits a second later he saw that fire from
an aircraft has destroyed the mech beside him.  Worse was that the
explosion had destroyed part of the steel-glass around the cockpit.
Worse still was the wolf who had clambered onto his mech and who was now
hanging from the side with one hand.  Worse than that was the weapon
that was levelled at his head by the wolf hanging from the side of
his mech.  But the very worst thing, as far as Merlin was concerned,
was the feral grin/snarl plastered on the wolven soldier’s muzzle -
a snarl of victory, a snarl which promised his death.

The automatic weapon unloaded at point blank range into his throat,
killing him instantly and taking off part of his lower jaw in the process.

Eventually the wolves overwhelmed the left and right wings of the foxen
infantry, swarmed around the gaps they had made and out flanked their
opponents.  By the time the fox generals realised their mistake and
ordered a retreat it was too late.

The cost to the wolves was high, but the cost to the foxes was total.
Not one fox survived the battle.

The wolves marched onwards into fox territory.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eleven year old vixen Mor sat in a foetal position, chin up against her
knees in the bushes.  She’d been forced to sleep under them last night.
Her body was sore and stiff, her stomach was empty, her dress was stained
and her fur was a mess.  Thoroughly miserable, she stared at the ground
directly in front of her as if she could make it suffer for the anger
and fear she felt.

It’d been a day since her sire left her here, but he promised he would
return for her so she waited.  He would come back for her - she refused
to believe otherwise.

Her mind drifted back to last night.

He seemed to be frightened about something.  He’d come home, run up
the stairs, burst into her room, grabbed her paw and dragged her out
of the house.  They stopped only so he could fetch the rifle he kept
locked in the cabinet in his room.  He hadn’t even bothered to close
the front door behind them.

Then they had been running or at least walking very fast down the streets
of Light Province in the twilight.

The death grip he had on her hand hurt her and his grip on the rifle
looked no less intense.  She tried to keep up with him but he was walking
too fast for her short legs so he ended up half dragging her behind him.
At one point she tripped on a stone and it felt as though he dislocated
her shoulder.

He remained deaf to her pleadings or complaints though - only saying
that she should “Run faster.”

Finally, they approached their destination, which turned out to be a
small park.  He took her into the bushes.

“Sweety,” he began as he dropped to his knees, grasped her shoulders
and looked intently into her eyes, “you stay here in the bushes -
you understand? Don’t let anyone know you’re here and don’t leave
for any reason. I’ll be back soon. Just stay there.”

Then he kissed her on the forehead, hugged her tightly, got up and
walked away.

Mor stood in the bush, her hands limply by her sides, with a wide
eyed expression of confusion and fear on her face, the very picture
of traumatised youth.  She watched her sire depart and suddenly came
back to herself.  She lunged towards the bush line, right hand open and
outstretched.  “Daaaddeee!” She called forlornly.  Remembering her
sire’s warning, she stopped short of actually leaving the bushes even
as he deserted her.

He reached the entrance to the park, looked left and right to see if he
had been observed, and took off at a run without ever looking back.

That had been a day ago.

Mor was young but she wasn’t stupid.  She knew what guns were for and
she knew what had been happening to foxes with guns recently.

She’d watched soldiers on the tri-d set as they fought the invading
wolves.  She’d watched them die one after another as the wolves
advanced.  She’d watched as the wolves took the Coalition building
in the capital and executed their leaders.  She’d watched until three
days ago when the tri-d signal was cut off and replaced by ‘official’
programming from the wolven government.

Then her father had turned the tri-d set off in disgust at what he called
“Loup propaganda.”

But even without the tri-d she had still watched, because the day after
that the wolves took her home city, The Province of Light.

All in all, she had a very good idea what her father had intended to do
with that rifle.  She just hoped that he would be able to come back for
her like he had said he would.

There wasn’t anything better to do so she slept most of the day.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mor was woken by the sound of heavy footsteps.  Thinking it was her sire
returned to collect her, she jumped to her hands and knees and peered
out of the bushes.  What she saw poured water over her hopes.

Endless rows of foxes, escorted by armed wolves, gloomily marched in
all directions.

Mor watched in sickened awed as row after row after row marched passed
the park and her hiding place.

Suddenly the sun went dark.  A wolf stood over her.  He had a truncheon
raised above his head ready to strike the little vixen.

“Please Sir! No.” A voice called out from behind her.

A pair of thin, black socked, foxen arms wrapped themselves around
her shoulders and a body placed itself between her and the truncheon,
shielding her from the blow she was about to receive.  The wolf paused
mid swing, puzzlement written all over his face.

“Please Sir. I’m sorry Sir. This is my little sister. She slipped
away when I wasn’t looking. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen
again Sir.”

The wolf paused and mulled things over, it was obvious he wasn’t the
sharpest tool in the shed. Finally he came to a decision.

“All right, back in line you two,” he turned to address the mystery
rescuer directly, “and don’t let it happen again.”

“No Sir. Of course not Sir. On our way Sir.”

The black socked hand took Mor’s left and pulled her into the nearest
line.

In the anonymity of the crowd Mor turned to look at the one who had saved
her from a beating.  He was a young tod with perky black tipped ears,
black eye markings and short whiskers.  He wore a grey hooded pull over,
canvas shorts and trainers.  They all looked as messy as her clothes did.
He was slightly taller then she was.

A sense of guilt washed over her.  This cub had risked himself for her
because he believed her to be someone she wasn’t.  Obviously the war
had sent him a little barmy, the poor guy didn’t even recognise his
own sister any more.  She resolved to break it to him gently.

“Thanks for saving me back…” she began.

“Think nothing of it.” The boy smartly replied, head high, chest
thrust forward, a smug smile on his muzzle and a swagger in his step.

He was a complete contrast to the rest of the foxes.  Mor couldn’t
help but think of the artful dodger when she looked at him.  Like the
dodger this tod seemed to be alive and vibrant and colourful against a
backdrop of sadness and suffering.

“Ah, well. No really, thank you. You see …” Mor struggled to find
the words to tell him.

The tod turned his head in puzzlement.

“The thing is,” she finally collected herself, “I’m not your
sister. Sorry”

The tod looked at her a few seconds longer.  Then he smiled wider
than ever.

“I know,” he said, “I’m an only child.”

Mor felt very foolish and relived at the same time.

“Sorry. I thought you had gone mad or something.” She explained
relief evident in her voice.

“That’s okay. And anyway you’re a fox so I think that makes you
my sister.” He gestured at the press of foxes around them, “I think
right now we all need brothers and sisters.”

“Well thank you for being my brother.” Mor said, seriously impressed
by the young fox.

“Don’t mention it.” He replied, “My name’s Cælin by the way.”

“Mor.”

“Glad to meet you.” He grinned.

“Stop talking!” A wolven guard screamed at them.

They held hands for the remainder of the journey.  Silently drawing
strength from each other’s presence.

Their destination turned out to be a hall which had hastily been converted
into a holding pen.  The large arch windows had been boarded up on both
sides so that only a chink of light filtered in from the very top.
There was a pile of blankets and rations in the middle of the room.
A large bucket in one corner was provided for obvious functions.

A hundred or so foxes of all ages, sexes and classes were packed in.
Two wolves stood guard at the door. One on the inside of the hall and
one on the outside.

A quick stock take showed that there wasn’t enough blankets to go around
and that it would be necessary to share them or to take turns sleeping.
Despite the shortage of blankets the first course of action decided
upon by the captive foxes was to hang one in front of the bucket.
No one objected.

The food was plentiful enough if extremely unappetising.  The food
packets themselves were extremely difficult to open.  Asking the guard
for a pair of scissors or a knife was fruitless - indeed, attempting
to talk to him at all was a waste of time.  The flavour didn’t bother
Mor who hadn’t eaten in two days.  She immediately polished off a pack
once she managed to rip though the plastic with her teeth.

Finally there was no more for the foxes to discuss and they broke apart
into ones and twos to mull around their enclosure.

Cælin and Mor found a spot beneath one of the boarded up windows and
talked to each other in whispers.

They talked about their lives, their likes and dislikes, minute details
and grand designs, they laughed and joked together and cried in each
others arms.  Cælin turned out to be the same age as Mor “Little
sister indeed.” she said with mock hurt.

“You were right you know.” Cælin said at one point.

“Right?” Mor asked, confused.

“Back in the street,” he clarified, “you thought I was mad. Well
you were right I am mad. Absolutely livid in fact.”

Mor watched as the artful dodger façade dropped away from the handsome
tod’s features and was replaced by hurt and fear and hatred.

“They murdered my family right in front of me.” He hissed, “I want
them dead. All of them.”

She put her arms around him and held him close.

“I don’t think my father is coming for me.” She confided.

He looked at her in confusion and she told him her story.  Afterwards
they picked a free blanket, wrapped in around themselves and tried to
get some sleep.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They must have succeeded because the next thing either of them knew they
were waking up.  Blinking sleep out of their eyes the pair awoke facing
each other.

“…right, all the Males. Front and centre. Hurry it up. As fast as
you can.” A bored looking wolven corporal stood in front shouting.

Dazed Cælin looked around stupidly.  Mor cried out as a large hand ripped
him from the blanket and hoisting him in the air.  The hand turned out
to be attached to a large not terribly friendly looking wolf.

“You heard him fox. Move.” The wolf practically tossed Cælin towards
the front of the hall.

Cælin, now wide awake, hit the ground running and got into line with
the other tods at the front.

Once the guards had finished rousing or rooting out the remaining
stragglers and had assembled them in rows at the front the corporal
spoke again.

“Okay, you know the drill. Same as yesterday. Follow us. Stay in
formation. No talking. No stragglers.” He droned, “Anyone got a
problem with that?”

“I do!”, Cælin spoke surprising even himself, “You can’t split
us up like this! And where are you taking us anyway?”

A look of disgust washed over the corporal’s face. He was obviously
not used to being talked back to, especially by a scruffy kit.

“You’re going to be fixed and I can do whatever I damn well
please. You’d better learn that soon fox.” The wolf spoke the last
word, ‘fox’, with revulsion plain in his voice.

“Wadda ya mean fixed?” Cælin was becoming belligerent with rage,
“I’m not broken ya dam yiffing loup scu…”

At this point the corporal made a downwards motion with his right hand
and pain erupted across the back of Cælin’s skull.  He folded to the
ground.  The last thing he heard before blacking out was the wolf who had
struck him from behind saying “Anyone else got a problem with that?”

At the back of the hall Mor watched on, restrained by one of the older
and wiser vixens, as the guard who had knocked Cælin down scooped him up
and tossed him over his shoulder.  The tods, their guard and the corporal
marched out of the holding pen and up the street.  Mor’s heart shattered
as for the second time that week she was separated from a loved one.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Cælin awoke again the first thing he would notice would be pain.
Three pains specifically, in the back of his head, in his left ear and
in his groin.

Cælin awoke.

A long draw out pitiful whine, “Arrroooowwwwwoooee,” escaped his
lips before he even opened his eyes.

He was lying in a bed, his head buried in the pillow.  He tried to sit
up and look around but the pain in his groin flared up.  Eventually he
managed to roll onto his back without cause the pain in any of the three
effected areas to flare up too much.  He opened his eyes and took stock
of his situation.

The light hurt them momentarily.  He was in a large, well lit white
room with beds along each wall and the smell of antiseptic in the air.
A hospital ward he realised.

A wolven guard stood beside the door.

The beds were occupied by mostly the same tods that had been in the
holding pen with him.  There wasn’t one vixen or wolf in the room.

The other tods seemed to share much the same pain he was in.  He
couldn’t ask since the beds were spaced too far apart to talk and the
wolf on guard didn’t look like he would tolerate a shouted conversation.

As he looked at his fellow foxes he noticed something.  Each seemed to
have a white metal strip running up thee outside edge of his left ear.
Slowly, in fear and apprehension, Cælin moved his hand to touch the
area of pain he felt in his left ear.

He jerked his hand away immediately as his not-gentle-enough touch caused
a wave of pain to shoot down the side of his face.  More carefully
this time he brought his hand to his ear.  He could feel the smooth,
cool strip which now adorned his ear.

If he had had anything substantial to eat in the last day he would have
been sick.

A clatter from the hall way beyond the door interrupted his thoughts.
Three guards entered and took up positions on the left of the door.
Ten fox nurses pushing trolleys followed them in.  They each seemed
to have a designated number of beds in the ward which they went to
immediately.  They were followed by another three guards who took
positions on the right.

Cælin was the first in his nurse’s assigned beds. His nurse was a
young professional looking vixen. Her left ear was tagged just like the
ears of Cælin and the other foxes.

“Hello there little guy.” She greeted him as she wheeled the trolley
over, “We were all worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” The implications of that statement scared him,
“How long was I out?”

“Two days.” She replied simply.

She thrust a plate into his hands.

Cælin was shocked, “Two days!?”

“Some of that will have been from the anaesthetic.” She explained,
trying to open a packet of food.

“Anaesthetic!?”

The nurse got the ration open and dolled it out onto the plate.

“You’d make a good parrot you know.” The nurse joked, “The
anaesthetic from your operation.” She continued in a more consolatory
voice, “I’m sorry cub but while you were out they gave you a
vasectomy.”

Anticipating his next exclamation she explained, “They sterilised
you.” Then quickly to forestall his denial, “It’s reversible but
they don’t want foxes breeding out of their control. They want to keep
the birth rate at the replenishment rate. No higher. No lower.”

She checked for infections or inflammation around the tag on his ear.

“But why?” Cælin asked voice wavering.

“Because they don’t want to run out of slaves and the don’t want
their slaves to out number them.” Was her succinct reply.

Taking a penlight from her pockets, she proceeded to conduct a pupil
examination on his eyes.

“Slaves!?” he choked out, horror now etched on his face.

“Sorry cub. I really wish it wasn’t so.” She said her professional
demeanour gone for a moment, “I really wish this wasn’t your life. But
there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Cælin pulled himself together and asked in a stronger voice, “The
ear tags?”

“Nothing special about them, they’re just radio tags. They
broadcast an ID number which can be used to look up all your details in
a database. The number is printed on the tag itself in case it has to
be entered manually.”, She explained

Defiantly he asked, “And if I remove the tag?”

“Don’t.” She said, “They’re a titanium plastic weave. They
won’t come off without the proper tools and if you try you’ll remove
a chunk of your ear. Plus while you were out they came round the ward
and took biometric details, paw prints, iris scans, the works.” She
expounded, “If they found you without a tag they could issue you
another pronto and all you would have achieved is ripping your ear.”

“Hoi! Number 245633!” Came a shout from one of the wolves at the door,
“Shut your trap slut and move it!”

She gathered her things and made to move onto the next bed, “Sorry cub -
got to go. Good luck.”

She left Cælin with his meal.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that afternoon the wolves announced that the foxes had been
discharged and that they would all be marching back to their enclosure.
Cælin was gratified to find that we were still in Light Province.
He had been worried that he might have been transported out of the city
while he was unconscious.  The wolves marched the tods, who were hobbling
in pain, back to hall/holding pen they had been taken from.

They were reunited with the vixens who had also been tagged in their
absence.  There was much consolation from the vixens when they heard
what had been done to the tods.

Mor was overjoyed to see Cælin again.

“I thought they were taking you away for good and I was never going
to see you again!” She cried with tears of happiness as she clutched
him gently to herself.

Later on as he told her his story he confessed “I’ve never felt so
violated before.”

“Slaves.” She agreed, “It’s just not right.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing happened for the next two days.  The foxes mulled around, talked,
ate and slept.  Occasionally the bucket was changed - usually when the
smell started to annoy the guard.  Cælin noticed his various aches and
pains fade away.

On the third day the corporal returned, flanked by his flunkies.
“All right you scum. Front and centre the lot of you. Hurry it up.”
He shouted, “You’re shipping out today.”

After the object demonstration on Cælin no one dared question where
they were being shipping out to.

The group marched out of the pen, onto the street and towards the harbour.
Cælin and Mor marched side by side.  The journey was several hours on
foot and many of the foxes, all of whom were civilians, started to drop
behind from exhaustion.  Those who couldn’t keep up were punished.

Finally they reached the docks.

The place was a hive of activity.  There were ships at every berth and
ships queued up behind them waiting for a free berth.  Cargo was being
loaded and unloaded.  Troops embarked and disembarked.  A PA droned on
unceasingly in the background.

But the most horrific of all was the sea of red fur.  Thousands upon
thousands of foxes were being marched - no - herded onto the ships in
regimented groups.  Mor’s jaw dropped her muzzle agape as she drank in
the full horror of the situation.  Cælin just stood there eyes burning
with hatred and sorrow.  As one their hands drifted to meet each others,
their gazes never leaving the scene in front of them.

Finally the PA announced “Lot four oh two to bay seven. Repeat. Lot
four oh two to bay seven.”

“That’s you scum.” The corporal announced as he took a swing at
the back side of the nearest fox with his truncheon, “Get moving.”

They were marched onto bay seven and from there onto a ship.  As they
walked up the gangway a computer, with an attentive, bespectacled,
scrawny, wolven clerk sat behind it, beeped as it registered their
presence.

The clerk gave the soldiers a thumbs up as the last of the troop reached
the top of the gangway.  From there they were led into the hold and
into a large rectangular cage - one of many which were arranged in a
grid across the level and one of the few that wasn’t already occupied.

One of the guards addressed the slaves as they entered the cage, “Your
training will be the responsibility of your new masters whoever they
might be,” as the last fox passed the threshold he swung the gate shut
and continued, “but all foxes are expected to know one command. That
is ‘Identify’. When you are told to identify yourselves you will
recite your ident. number and nothing else. I suggest you use this time
to memorise your numbers. It’s a long trip to Lyngvi City”

As the gate was locked behind them the foxes took stock of their new
lodgings.  They were much the same as their previous dwelling, blankets,
food, bucket.  Their spirits thoroughly crushed, they settled down for
the voyage to their new lives.

Soon after the ship left dock.  Cælin and Mor had left The Province
of Light.  They would never return.