The coldest November anyone could remember, and Redwall was in the midst of it. Fluffy snowflakes drifted to the ground like cotton, pilling up in huge drifts against buildings and fences. The stars shone, crisp and clear, in a sky of black velvet. It was late, but still a few citizens scurried to and fro; occasionally, a car would race past, disturbing the new fallen snow into a swirl of white, which slowly settled back onto the street. A tall girl held her heavy overcoat tightly around her, a brightly colored scarf flapping behind. She walked quickly, boots making almost inaudible crunching noises. Even without a wind, her ears were laid flat on her head against the bitter cold. A black-bound case was strapped to her back, bright colored stickers advertising places, events, people. Across the worn handle: Fawkes, and Property of Zita Montang on a peeling label.

It was difficult to tell what species the girl, Zita, was, perhaps some kind of vixen. Her face was fox-like enough: a pointed muzzle, though shorter than usual, with large ears that glinted with tiny silver hoops. Her head was almost hidden under a bushy mess of bright red hair; almond shaped eyes glinted from underneath. The rest of her was hidden under the volumous coat.

Zita hummed quietly to herself, with snatches of song racing through her head. Momma, tell my baby I love him...oh, what next? That won't work...Momma put my guns in the ground...yeah...I can't use 'em anymore...I gotta ask Chaz. She blushed slightly and smiled to herself. Chaz was tall, strong, a good singer. I hope the others haven't found out yet... Zita blushed deeper and sang softly into the night.

"Knock knock kockin' on heaven's door..." Her voice was pleasant to listen to, rich and mellow. She paused; her ears lifted up visibly.

A muffled cry, followed by a series of thuds were coming from a nearby alley. What the... Zita crept at quietly as she could, blessing the snow on the sidewalk, until she reached the alley. As she poked her head around the corner, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

A group of five Imperial officers had cornered a tiny vole. The little girl shivered and cowered against some garbage cans as the Imps advanced on her, nightsticks raised. Beer bottles littered the scene.

One of the officers sneered at her, his voice so slurred, it was hard to make out. "Ya lil' whore, we'll teh'ch ya tah trow snowb'll at us, eh b'ys?" His companions laughed drunkenly, and stood behind him as the first officer lashed out with his stick. The girl yipped again, but froze as a shadowed figure stepped into the alley. The Imperials turned to see what had disturbed them.

"J'accuse!" Zita growled harshly at them, tossing the case to one side, and threw off her coat. The vole squeaked in fright, and the officers whimpered in fear when she leaped over some cans, eyes glowing red in the dim light, hair framing her head like a halo of fire: her entire appearance was demonic. Her arm lashed out, knocking the lid off one of the cans. Her breath was ragged in her throat.

Four officers fell to the ground in fright; this 'demon' vixen was something new to them. The other, the one who'd beaten the vole, shivered, but stood his ground. He was frantically groping for his blaster, the vixen was reaching to her side, where a worn leather holster was slung, and carefully drew something out. The officer succeeded in getting his weapon, but by then, his head rolled out onto the street, struck off by Zita's hunting knife. She wiped the blade on the carcass and turned to the rest, still groveling in the snow.

"Vat have ve here? Four stinking cowards vit nozing beter to do zan pick on a little girl." Her tone was as cold as the air, contemptuous and deadly. One of the men tried to rise, but she stepped on the back of his neck, forcing his head into the snow. "Vell? Vat 'ave you to say for yourselves?" she demanded. Spitting on the snow as she drew a battered blaster from the other side of the holster. "I'm vaiting..."

"Mmmphtzg..." She bent down and lifted up one guy's chin with the flat of her blade. "Vill you not tell me? Very vell..." With a quick flick of her wrist, she slit his throat and turned to the others. "Sealed lips are not ze best zing to 'ave right now, you see..." Two more were stabbed in the back.

The remaining officer was in tears. Blood from the vixen's knife dripped down onto his nose; he trembled as she grabbed the scruff of his neck, and he was slammed against a brick wall. Her hand around his throat, he managed to whisper. "What the hell are you?"

She laughed in his face. "Your vost nightmare." Her grip tightened, and the officer made a gurgling noise. Zita's hand tightened again, and twisted violently, a resounding crack echoing in the night. She let him slump to the ground, head lolling. Her eyes rested on the girl.

The vole quivered and shrank against the cans, but Zita dropped her knife into the snow and crouched beside her. Her voice lost it's chill: it was soft and melodious again. "Are you alright? It is okay, I vill not 'urt you." The little girl nodded silently, still shivering. The vixen looked at her ragged clothes, thin and inadequate for the freezing weather. "Vere do you live?"

The girl pointed to a large cardboard box at the very back of the alley. A few newspapers were stuffed into it. "Mommy left, daddy too," she whispered, wide-eyed and innocent. Zita offered her a hand. "Oh, mon pauvre, you poor thing. Come vit me, and I vill find you a place to stay." The girl hesitated. "Do not vorry. I vill not 'arm you. I vant to 'elp." The vole nodded, and took Zita's hand.

Zita picked up her knife, wiping it on an officer's body. She folded it and stashed it away in her holster, along with her blaster. Shivering, she wriggled into her coat and slung the case on her back once more. Picking up the girl, she zipped her inside the coat and hurried away from the carnage. The girl's voice bounced off the walls as they sloshed off through the snow together.

"Why do you talk so funny?"

Updated Dec 10-03