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Deep in Mossflower Wood, a pack of foxes stood sharing an unsatisfying meal of berries and roasted birdflesh. The berries were hard, and there was not enough meat to feed all of them.

So the little one went hungry.

The foxes were the son and daughters of Rockpaw, a poetic seafaring vermin who had found herself enchanted with life on land after her ship had been wrecked and most of her crew slain at the shores of Salamandastron. In order of age, the five foxes were Owlfeather, Hawkfeather the son, Pigeonfeather the runt, Sparrowfeather, and Nofeather. Their father, Rockpaw's ship's cook Bloodsnout, had started a tradition with his first daughter's birth to fetch feathers to adorn their tails with. Rockpaw had decided for the sake of simplicity to name her whelps after whatever feather Bloodsnout returned with. When Bloodsnout had returned empty-handed and mysteriously wounded after seeking out a feather for their youngest, Rockpaw had listened attentively to his story of marauding rats, named the babe Nofeather in accordance with Bloodsnout's failure to retrieve an adornment, and then slew him to save herself the trouble of tending to both a babe and a recovering mate.

Pigeonfeather sulked, grooming her tail daintily as she watched Nofeather ripping hungrily at the meat. It wasn't fair, the runty fox decided. Nofeather was the youngest and not fully grown, and stupid to boot. And yet she got to eat, because she would someday be bigger than her sibling. Looking up, Hawkfeather waved a paw scornfully.

"Ya wants ter eat, go find yerself some mushrooms or something," he shouted.

Pigeonfeather stood. "Look at you," she snarled. "Lazy, shiftless fools. Our mother was a feared seacaptain, she slew half a dozen hares and crippled a badger, and what do we do? We sit half-starved, eating hatchlings snatched from nests because the lot of you won't take on a full-grown bird."

"Our mother died seasons ago," snorted Owlfeather. "She was mad with age and got herself slain by the crippled badger's son when she tried to relive her glory against his mother. We are alive. We practice with the weapons we found after she died, and we will build a ship and become pirates on the seas!"

"Pirates!" Pigeonfeather whirled, ignoring the plumage that fell from her tail. "You keep dreamin' then, matey. I'm going to find me a real meal, and then we'll see who becomes a pirate when I'm the only one strong enough to captain a boat!"

Ignoring her siblings' derisive laughter, Pigeonfeather stalked off into the woods. She would find a meal, and eat it all herself. She'd finally grow to a respectable size, and then she'd slay her abusive older siblings. She'd kill the badgers, too. The one who had escaped Rockpaw's might, and the one who had slain her. Then her younger sisters would come crying back to her. "Pigeonfeather," they would weep, "we are sorry we mistreated you. You are wise and powerful. Let us serve you as Bloodsnout served Rockpaw, faithful and without question."

Chuckling to herself, Pigeonfeather walked for hours, scheming as she hunted for food, until finally she stepped right into a snare line set by the rat who had been following her since she'd left her siblings' camp.