Blue sky gives way, the sun doth set, unfurled is the short, cold night.
The two they march, they see no threat, and resume their petty fight.
A fox stays by, with fangs of ice, as thieves approach the sett.
It watches close, it counts them twice, and stays its fell lash yet.

"You never answered my question."

"Which?"

"About your power. You've never told me what it does."

"I've tried to, you know."

"Not very hard, it seems."

The night brings chill, and hides the truth, these deeds remain unknown.
As fate demands, the frostbite tooth, sees this old truth dethroned.
As two move forth, so too does one, a silent game they play.
Beneath the stars, before the sun, their game concludes in day.

"Then I'll try again. You know what I always say?"

"You say a lot of things, Olve."

"True enough, but one more than anything else."

"You've lost me."

"That fortune is always on my side."

They reach the walls, the end draws near, for good, or bad, or worse.
The fox kept pace, but neither fear, for fortune is one's curse.
From nothing comes, the luckless, hark, when skies themselves speak dire.
From nothing comes, the tiny spark, from nothing blooms the fire.

"My power is that fact, simply."

"That... means nothing."

"To you, maybe."

"So what does it mean to *us*?"

"It means we've always already won."