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cuuno-moved · 2 years

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golden hour

or: acamar and bryce have a talk :-)

Bryce wasn’t sure he liked the Goblands as much as he’d thought he would.

It was dark, darker than anywhere he’d lived in the past, and it smelled a bit musty, like mold and mushrooms and moss. The city itself was nice, lots of little alleys and buildings and glowing fungi that Bryce was unwarrantedly tempted to put in his mouth, but living in a cave wasn’t really as cozy and snug as he thought.

Although, he had to admit, the hammocks were nice.

Nearly every shop front had one, every front porch, every public park. It was as if the city was made for sleeping.

Maybe it was.

Rose had explained it to him on the way home from a fish shop, one night. Goblins would work through the morning, followed by a huge meal and an hour-long nap, before going back to work in the evening. It was meant to keep spirits up and productivity high. Other subterranean creatures, specifically the kobolds, dwarves and gnomes who lived in the city, also preferred to work in shifts, with breaks and naps and siestas in between. The few humans, like Rose, and visiting vendors and merchants learned to adjust their schedule accordingly, and it was widely beneficial to everyone.

Everyone, apparently, included Bryce.

It was hard being alive, and even harder being suddenly thrust into a social role.

Where before, no one spoke to him and he easily avoided everyone, now he was regularly dragged along on Rose’s errands, or being told to cook dinner, or making small talk with the dwarven family who lived next door who were really curious to meet Young Mister Kent’s new and exciting long lost uncle.

For the first few days, he hadn’t done very well, he’d fumbled with social life, easily running out of steam and locking himself in his room to huddle in the closet or under the bed until he didn’t feel like throwing up anymore. Since then, though, he’d gotten better. Now he could spend an hour with Rose, walking around town, helping around the house, even eating meals with her, although most of the time, he ended up excusing himself early to finish in his room. He still couldn’t brush hands with her without feeling like he immediately wanted to cut off his whole arm, but that was a problem for future Bryce.

All in all, he did, occasionally, need to take a quick nap in the hammock out back of the small house, gazing up at the walls of the cave and the glow lichen that coated the walls of the narrow alley.

It was during one of these short naps when Acamar poked its head in to check on him.

The Dawner had made a habit of this. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday when Acamar and Cilantro visited to check on Rose and occasionally bring some more of the special long lasting lamp oil that the young man relied on to light up his house, it would check on Bryce, sit with him, chat, try to remind him he was wanted here.

This time, however, it had walked out to find the human fast asleep, one leg sticking over the side of the hammock, his mouth just a bit open, drool in his beard.

Its chuckles woke Bryce with a start, who nearly fell out of the hammock while trying to get a purchase on his surroundings.

“Good evening,” It rumbled happily, leaning on the doorway. “You sleep well?”

“Huh,” Bryce rubbed his eyes passionately, missing his sunglasses. “Mm, hrgn.”

Acamar laughed, tilting its head slightly. Its breath fluttered its veil, and for a second- and not for the first time- Bryce wondered what lay under it. “Mind if I join you?”

“What will the children think,” Bryce admonished playfully, but scooted over to make room on the hammock. “Cuddling out here, at such an early hour-”

“It’s nearly three in the afternoon,” Acamar huffed, sitting down gingerly. “And I think they think we’re doing a lot more than cuddling.”

Bryce laughed in surprise, tugging Acamar to lay down, immediately moving to put his head on its chest, arms looped around its waist. For a moment, it was quiet, except for Acamar’s breathing and the sounds of the city that leaked over the tall stone walls that surrounded the little courtyard.

“Hey, I’ve got a weird question,” Bryce said, suddenly. “Rose is, like, 17, right? 16, 17? How does she have a house?”

“The Goblands have a no poverty policy. If you can’t afford a house, one will be given to you, if you can’t afford food, you are still given three meals a day. When Rosie aged out of the ward program, she was automatically given a house and a job at the local factory.”

Bryce blinked at the dull, monotone explanation, shifting to look up at Acamar’s veiled face. “You don’t sound very excited about that?”

Acamar hesitated for a moment, one hand sliding out from under Bryce to rest gently on his back. For a moment, Bryce expected to feel the usual disgust and discomfort that he got when people touched him, but either the thick leather gloves helped dispel the sensation or he wasn’t awake enough to register it.

“I… I’m happy for Rosie,” Acamar finally said, slowly. “It’s nice to hear that she’s able to live easily and comfortably, although, I- it kind of sucks that I… don’t get that? Like, I have my own house, sure, but it’s not as big as Rosie’s and I have to pay for it, and… I don’t know, it’s kinda tough to know that other people are living so much better and easier than you, while you… while you struggle.”

Bryce sighed, pressing his cheek into Acamar’s chest, feeling the slight click of its ribcage as it breathed, slowly, in and out. “Yeah I get that.”

They lay there for a while, just breathing.

One of the nice things about the Goblands was the temperature. It was always the perfect temperature, warmed by lava pools, but cooled by the stone, and there was no wind or rain or snow, just the perfect ever-so-slight humidity and the echoing shouts and calls of the vendors.

Bryce could feel its eyelids grow heavy as he started to drift off, his cheek against the soft silky yellow fabric of Acamar’s sweater. Alpaca, he thought vaguely, or maybe llama, although he wasn’t sure what the difference was.

“My turn to ask a personal question,” Acamar said abruptly, waking Bryce from his near sleeping state, and he grunted, squishing his face into its pecs. “Did you ever have a job?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Bryce pressed his thumbs into his eyelids. “I used to work part time at this one joint in the Crystal Cliffs. It was called… oh god, what was it- Sapphire Wishes and Magic Books? I did inventory, mostly, it was a nightmare.”

“Mm. How long did you work there?”

Bryce hesitated. He didn’t like sharing much about his life, but… this was pretty useless information, he wasn’t sure if Acamar could use it against him, at all. “Four years, I think? From when I was twenty until I was twenty four.”

“Huh,” Acamar shifted a bit. “Why’d you quit?”

“My wife had a job, and I fucking hated working there,” Bryce shugged a shoulder. “It just… wasn’t worth staying.”

Acamar was quiet, the hand resting on Bryce’s back slowly tracing a circle. He hesitated, thinking, before he made up his mind, and gently nudged Acamar’s hand away. He pushed himself upright, twisting around until he was straddling Acamar’s lap, leaning back against its bent knees. Acamar huffed a bit, shifting so the hammock wouldn’t flip, but didn’t stop him.

Bryce looked curiously down at it, and it stared back. Or, at least, he thought it was looking back.

“Why do you wear that veil?” He finally asked. “I think you said something about sunburns, but you’re underground, you can’t possibly need it that badly. Is it a Dawner thing?”

Acamar hummed, resting it’s hands on his thighs, drumming a little beat with its fingers as it thought. Bryce was starting to realize that it did that a lot.

“I… don’t particularly like my face.”

Bryce blinked. That was a lot simpler than he’d been expecting, as well as a lot more honest. “What’s… what’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know, I…” Acamar shifted a bit, uncomfortably, but when Bryce moved to get off, it patted his knee reassuringly. “I guess… I don’t know if Rose has told you, but I’m not quite human.”

“I figured that from the rat-eating,” Bryce chuckled, picking at his cuticles. “What are you exactly?”

“I’m, um,” Acamar exhaled, and the veil around its mouth fluttered up for a second, the bottom of the fabric twitching. “Let’s just say I’m not something most people are very comfortable around. Plus, I’ve got a pretty bad scar, I don’t think… I don’t want to scare people.”

Bryce hummed, staring at it, thoughtfully. “Can I see?”

It stayed silent for a bit, before shifting, sitting up, so that its face was only a few inches from Bryce’s, and he could feel its breath. He was still sitting on its lap, but it was still easily taller than him by a couple inches, which he desperately hoped it didn’t notice.

Finally, it nodded, slowly, hands coming up to gently tug at the bottom of its veil, but not pulling it off, anxiously glancing around one more time. Bryce frowned, grabbing its hands.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” He said, carefully. “I get it if you don’t want to-”

“No, no, I don’t mind, I just…” Its voice dropped to an embarrassed murmur. “I don’t want anyone else to see.”

Bryce chuckled, and then, in one quick move, he grabbed the edge of the veil, ducking under, so they were both covered in the yellow fabric.

He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the sudden dim, yellow light, before he finally looked at Acamar’s face.

In all honesty, it didn’t look all that bad. Not as bad as Bryce had feared. It had warm brown skin, a small, carefully trimmed mustache and soft looking, creamy white hair. A bad burn scar ran down the side of its face, from its forehead to about half-way down its cheek.

It was absolutely not human, he would have never made that mistake. It’s eyes were solid black, with wide white pupils that seemed to nearly glow, and it’s sharp, needle-like teeth protruded from its mouth as it nervously licked its lips, but all in all, it was hardly any scarier than a goblin or kobold.

“Hm,” Bryce lifted his hands to trace its cheeks, twisting his expression into one of deep consideration. Acamar’s lips twisted a bit in amusement as he tapped his chin. “I don’t know if I like the mustache, I must admit, I would absolutely be running away and screaming if I saw that on the street-”

Acamar laughed, loud, its nose wrinkling jovially, as it pulled its head away from his hands, shaking its head. Bryce could feel its warm breath on his face. It had a nice smile, he decided, even looking at the rows upon rows of thin, sharp, slightly curved teeth, mere inches from his nose. Finally, Acamar huffed, puffing its cheeks up and letting them deflate just as quickly, and Bryce blinked as the sudden minty smell rolled over him.

“I think you take better care of your teeth than I do,” He admitted. “Which isn’t saying a lot, but-”

Acamar snorted again. “Yeah, jeez, when’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Bryce stuck his tongue out, socking Acamar lightly in the gut. It didn’t even flinch, just smiled happily at him.

Suddenly, from outside the veil, someone cleared their throat, and Bryce quickly ducked out from the yellow tent, blinking in the sudden light.

Cilantro and Rose stood in the doorway, staring at them with matching expressions of horror and confusion. Bryce found himself laughing as Acamar quickly shoved him off its lap.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Acamar said, quickly, nervously. “We were just talking-”

Bryce cackled at that, and it brought a huge gloved hand down over his entire face, smothering him for a second before pulling away and resting on his chest instead. Bryce was still laughing, kicking Acamar’s chest lightly.

“Uh, sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt?” Rose said, uncomfortably, wide eyes flickering between them. “Sorry-”

“-You weren’t interrupting anything, we were just talking,” Acamar said, batting Bryce’s foot away from its head. “Seriously.”

“Right,” Rose narrowed her eyes. “Uh, we were wondering if you guys wanted to go to the park with us, we were going to get cannolis, on the way?”

“Oh, shit, I love cannolis,” Bryce struggled to roll out of the hammock, landing on one knee and a hand and tottering to his feet. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“Uh, guess I’m in, too,” Acamar stood with a good deal more grace, pausing to tie one of its boots. “Shall we.”

“So… are we going to address what you two were just up to-?” Cilantro started, but was cut off by Rose.

“-I don’t think that’s any of our business, Cilantro,” The human batted at the rodent’s head, eyes flashing dangerously. “Now, let’s go get cannolis and talk about anything else!”

Bryce and Acamar shared a look, and Bryce chuckled, brushing his hair from his eyes.

He should take more naps, he thought.

#acamar #bryce kent #the other two show up towards the end but there not important.#ALSO. here are my headcanons on the goblands economy 👍#dave's author arc #kent heritage lore

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sonicringbond · 2 years

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Sonic Ring Bond - Episode of Amnesia Island II 06

The following is a work of fan fiction by Joshua D. Tarwater and is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.* *SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS retains full rights over the Sonic the Hedgehog™ intellectual property and can terminate or take control of this work at any time.'

★Fate. The[JT1] will of the gods.

Out there somewhere, the gods interfered with the world shaped by the Rings. Perhaps there was none more so invested in toying with it than the God of Rings. Sealed away, his little games, limited as they were, were his only chance to break free. And anywhere the Rings spun on their axes was a place he could try and reach out with his will. But what of Tempest? Was he subject to this divine will and just another pawn in his game, or did the hedgehog who deigned to forge his own path run to where fates were changed by the Rings as a force to free all from their destinies?

Sandaled feet splashing down flooded cobbled streets Long abandoned stores watching from under giant mushroom caps Mushrooms joining moss and lichen overgrowing all Lush green forest persisting yet River filled ravines hardly an obstacle. The sky so blue above Marred by speck of Darkness Framed by two-fifth Ring fragment and turning cogwheel The enormity of the Sky Ring Island forest fire reflected on its surface

“Her face!” Tempest laughed as he ran, leapt, and swung through the forest, smaller mushrooms acting like natural variations of the bumper springs that littered his path. Even the giant crabs and fire fleeing animals that filled the forest did little to distract him from his laughter. “She’s totally in love with him, but he’s obviously never told her. He’s all she remembers, and he never told her!”

It was a victory. Tempest’s confession of love and sworn dedication to Rosy was a victory. The blue light from his crystals shone brightly, flakes of more intense blue light swirling within. As joyous as he was though, his laughter waned, and a cautious smile took its place.

“I need to be careful though. I love her, so I can’t disrespect her and really shouldn’t say it again. At least not anytime soon. I’ll just need to show her my love through my actions, and awareness of her feelings. I hope she can calm down quickly enough so we can just talk like we usually do. That expression though…”

It was obvious Rosy would need a great deal of time to calm down to Tempest and he began laughing again. Partly at her expression of bewilderment, partly at his victory over Sonic, and partly at himself for making a future he could only understand by running straight at it. But it was not his future with Rosy that he currently ran towards, but rather an adventure she lacked the speed or means to keep up on. One he could not even take her with him on without mastering the desire of his arm to consume her. As the roaring flames of the forest fire swelled up around him that perhaps was a good thing.

“Are you satisfied, Projector?” a gruff older man’s voice cut through the roaring of the flames and Tempest slid to a stop, relying on a still moist mushroom cap for cover.

Peeking out, Tempest saw a portly man closer to a meter-and-a-half in height than two, but with a tall gray military hat that accounted for the difference. Dressed in a matching gray, tailed coat of obvious military wear, the human male was addressing a knight’s great helm held aloft on clockwork driven dragon fly wings with set of matching arms with gloved hands armed with a two-handed straight sword. On its underside a large six barreled turret muzzle with small flames burning at their tips swiveled about as though seeking their next target as the man continued to address it.

“You should be able to make your drones as needed now, no?” the man asked with obvious impatience behind his bushy mustache. The metal cuffs of his boots and sleeves were casting an orange light from the sunken band at their center and he was rubbing his forearm as though it was plagued with an unpleasant rash. “Here I thought we’d be leaving field work like this to Thorn. What was even the point of bringing the Hunter along?”

“You can calm yourself, General,” a calmer man’s voice spoke, but one that Tempest could not pinpoint the origin of. He shifted his focus to the flying helmet however as that was where the ‘General’ kept his attention as the voice continued. “Projecting an armor requires a Knetic Bond. Thorn lacks any Knetic ability and is useless in this case. Besides, what would we do if she encountered the Machine God rather than a disposable drone?”

“God…?” Tempest vocalized his confusion and clamped his left hand over his mouth as the helmet turned in his direction.

“A local?” the General asked.

“No actually,” the voice replied surprised. “Their readings are…”

“Really? Don’t tell me those fools of the Secretaries sent out a spy.”

Rubbing his forearm more vigorously, a flame appeared above the General’s upturned palm. “As the officer in charge of this deployment, I demand you show yourself, no matter what the fool Secretaries have told you.”

“No General, I advise caution in this matter,” the voice warned. “They have no matching data in the Spiral Archive, and there is an absence in their right side identical to the heart of the Sky Ring.”

“You just said two impossible things in a row. Projector.”

“I am aware, General. For now, it would be best to leave and allow the drones to observe them.”

“Fine by me, I don’t desire to waste my time here anyway. We can let the Hunter mop them up if they really are a problem. Let’s go, Projector.”

“Wait!” Tempest shouted the foolish request as he dashed out from under cover and slid into a position where he faced the General’s back.

“You’re either brave or a fool to issue orders to a Page General of the Empire. I suggest you identify yourself, boy, under order of Two-Star Page General, Pinn Bowlings.”

“Who,” Tempest managed to ask as his surprise at Bowlings lack of at his appearance stunned him.

“Who…? You’re a fool then if you think I’d believe that anyone doesn’t know the name of the Pyrokinetic with Green Eyes.”

“It… It must be my amnesia,” Tempest replied, his body tensing as his fight or flight response triggered in response to the potential danger he faced. “”I woke up here and don’t have any memories from before I did?”

“An experiment of the Emperor’s” Bowlings asked the flying helmet.

“If so, a discarded one. As such we can leave it. It won’t matter.”

“Then we’re leaving.”

“Wait!” Tempest demanded as Bowlings turned his back on him. A move that prompted Tempest to extend his arm to grab the General, only to have it met by the flying great helm.

“That was an unwise move, boy. Projector, kill him.”

“What!”

The barrels of the turret began to spin at Bowlings’ orders and Tempest found himself having to dodge a barrage of fireballs. It was not difficult, but it did anger him, marked by the shift of the light in his crystals from purple to red.

“Just what do you think you’re doing! You made up your minds about me without even giving me a chance to say anything, and then you try to kill me. No, that’s just plain wrong!”

As he dodged the flames, Tempest took the first opening he saw and lashed out with his right arm like a clawed whip.

“A waste of effort, boy,” Bowlings scoffed, but his eyes widened as Tempest’s crystal fingertips tore right through the flying helmet and rent it apart in an explosion of light, a small forest critter springing free as a result.

“What…?” Tempest asked trembling as he watched it flee.

“How did he…?” Bowlings asked in shock at the scene before him. “Projector, how did he destroy your projection! That should be impossible!”

“The answer to that must lie in his right arm, but I can only acknowledge its absence of any readings. It is as though it simply does not exist, nor the space it occupies.”

Tempest could care less about anything Bowlings or the voice that was unattached to the now gone helmet after all were saying. He was trembling as he watched the path that the now long-gone forest critter had fled down. “You trapped a harmless animal to make your machine…?”

“I suppose I better kill him myself then.” Bowlings stated and finally drew Tempest’s attention again. As he fell under the black hedgehog’s angry glare, the general issued his next order to the voice with which he conversed. “Support me, Projector.”

“Of course, General,” the voice acknowledged as a wide floating chair shaped as though carved from the rind of a melon appeared for Bowlings to sit in. “For the Empire.”

“For the Empire,” Bowlings snickered through a toothy grin as he repeated the mantra.

“You said your name was Pinn Bowlings?” Tempest asked as he clenched his fists. “Call me cheeky, but that reminds me of a game I’ve read about. One where a ball knocks all the pins over. Seeing as I’m a hedgehog, I’ll gladly play the role of the ball.”

Is it fate or is it a conflict of destiny that leads people into battle? Is young Tempest truly able to walk his own path when obvious pawns appear on it? Fate, whether one stands against it or for it, demands battle.★

EPISODE OF AMNESIA ISLAND II 06 - END

-----

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic The Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement.

The Sonic Ring Bond alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and IP research which can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

The Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond story are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein, regardless of creator, context, use/ function, intent, and time of creation, considered for all legal purposes without contest, compensation, employment, or offer of employment, liability, etcetera, the property of the Sonic The Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS regardless of having read or possessing awareness of this disclaimer.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic au #sonic ring bond #sonic fan fiction #amy rose #rosy the rascal #sonic ocs #tempest the black #page general pinn bowlings #brilliant the projector

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kashi-prompts · 3 years

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Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 8: Death

Word Count: 2,381

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀ Archive of Our Own Link ❀ Wattpad Link

A/N: Thank you to those who have been reading. I know it’s not my usual one-shots, but it’s really given me a lot of inspiration and purpose to continue writing this. I appreciate all your love and support. I hope you like it so far.

And I promise there will be romance and fluff. Soon. I PROMISE.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

"You remember me, sister?" the man asked, his lips curling in an ominous smile.

"A-Aoi?" Ayame managed, her mouth dry. "You're supposed to be dead. You died, Aoi. I -"

This couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream or an illusion of some sort. This man could not be her brother, but his unmistakable green eyes staring back at her told her otherwise. In his hand was a blue scroll, the very one she sought after.

"Ayame?" she heard Kakashi's call out, his voice in a slightly higher pitch than usual. "I think something strange is going on - are you-?"

Ayame looked up, her eyes meeting Kakashi's over her brother's shoulder. His once disquieted gaze turned stern, his eyebrows knitting together immediately at the sight of the man in front of her. Ayame looked back at her brother, her vision suddenly becoming grainy and blurred. His nefarious smile shifting as he moved, leaving a trail of rippling colors and bright lights behind.

She blinked, feeling her heart racing as she tried to focus her vision. Her skin felt itchy like it was coated in something foreign. She shook her head, feeling disassociated from her surroundings. Her mind felt muddled.

"Who are you?" she heard Kakashi's commanding voice boom through the hallway. His eyes landed on the scroll.

She looked back up, her head spinning as her eyes landed back on her brother. Something was wrong. When her eyes locked again with his, Aoi's grey skin began to wrinkle unnaturally, liquefying to the consistency of melted butter. Her stomach twisted while she watched in horror as his skin melted away from his face, revealing his skeleton.

She blinked her wide, petrified eyes. What was happening? Was she awake? Was this a dream? Her body felt heavy and the air thick. Panic seized her. Upon the second blink, the skeleton replaced itself with a new man, someone she had never seen before but seemingly twice the size of her younger brother. His eyes were darker, and his hair longer. He smiled at her again, taking a step closer as her feet shifted backward.

"Who are you?" she demanded, watching his fingers swirling around the scroll perched mockingly in his palm.

"I'm an associate of your brothers," his azure eyebrows twitched with his words.

"My brother is dead," Ayame assured him, her voice jagged. "I know he is."

"Do you?" the man questioned, his smile revealing a set of grey, decaying teeth. Ayame's stomach coiled in fear. She couldn't focus on him. Her vision blurred like waves of vibrations during an earthquake.

A leg abruptly swept underneath the man, his feet coming out from under him without a moment's notice. He landed on his bottom, and his repugnant smirk was swiftly wiped from his face. Kakashi took his chin in his hand, lifting it and pointing a kunai at his throat.

"Who are you?" Kakashi demanded, his grip tightening on the man's jaw, forcing his gaze to look upward.

"Ah, your pupils," the man noticed cooly, "that mask of yours must act as a filter. Your friend over here doesn't seem to have that luxury."

Kakashi looked up at Ayame, her hand against the stone wall as she tried to steady herself. There was something in the air, he thought. He had smelled it when they had first entered. Watching her struggle made him grip the man's cheeks tighter. She opened her eyes, her pupil appearing like tiny pinpricks in a pond of green, begging him to help her.

"Shame," Kakashi heard before he felt the jolt of a foot smack into his face. He staggered backward, composing himself quickly to assess where the man had gone. Kakashi saw Ayame's chest expanding in the corner as she continued to try to get her bearings.

"Earth Release: Wolf Lichen Rope," the man exclaimed, appearing behind Kakashi as he slapped his hands to the ground. A ripple of green erupted from the cracks in the marble floor. A pealing paint like mossy rope quickly sprung up to catch Kakashi's heel as he lept away. The green thread quickly wound itself around one of Kakashi's heels, slamming him back to the ground.

Without hesitation, his hand reached into his pocket to retrieve a kunai and cleanly cut away the rope as it continued to pull him closer to the man. Releasing his heel, Kakashi vaulted his body from the ground, throwing the weapon at the man before landing on his feet in front of Ayame. He held a protective hand in front of her as she slid her body against the wall to the floor, the room still spinning. Her eyesight was pulsing in a tunnel of black.

The kunai missed, hitting the wall behind the man with a loud clang. Kakashi blinked, wondering how he could have missed. Pushing his palm against his headband, he revealed his Sharingan to the man who seemed unphased by the dojutsu.

"You know," the man cooed, "maybe that mask isn't helping you as much as I thought. Your target is off."

Kakashi reached in his pocket, pulling out a kunai with a paper bomb as the man stood up. He threw it, aiming straight for the man's chest, but he quickly dodged it. He watched it skitter on the floor and explode.

What is wrong with me? Kakashi gritted his teeth. As he moved his head, he could feel the world shifting around him. His Sharingan stayed focused while his regular eye blurred.

There must be some type of toxin in the air or a hallucinogen, Kakashi inferred, wrapping his elbow around his face to shield him. Things would only get worse if he didn't release the air in the room. He looked up, calculating where they must be located in relation to the debris above ground.

"My name is Daichi," the man said, walking forward. "And I have orders that neither of you are to make it out of here alive. And especially not with what you came for. You can count on that."

"You can count on this," Kakashi lunged forward, his hand sparking with electricity and chakra. He pushed his fist through the air, aiming for the man's chest. Before he could reach him, the man slapped his hands together to summon a mushroom that burst from the ground, cracking the marble. Kakashi's heels skidded as he tried to stop. The large fungi tilted its head back, shooting nails from its under cavity. Kakashi cursed himself for wasting his chakra as he dodged the arrows, twisting his body as he somersaulted backward.

His foot slipped on the marble floor, and the sharp point of the nail cut through the skin of his shoulder effortlessly. His hand slapped over his wound, gritting his teeth as he kept a blurred eye on Daichi. This was not like him. He calculated every move he made, but his brain was fogged. It was as though the solutions were there, but he couldn't get through to them. He shook his head.

Who was this man? What did he want with this scroll?

"You're sweating," Daichi said cooly.

Kakashi pushed his hands to the ground forcefully, producing a boulder that burst from the marble to hit the ceiling above. He gritted his teeth, forcing the boulder through the top to form a large cavity above them. Debris from the wreckage overhead fell through, scattering itself around them like snow.

The stale air of the village above sauntered into the basement like fresh, clean air. Kakashi looked up, feeling slight ease to know they weren't breathing in whatever toxic chemicals it was this man had produced. The afternoon sun above was hot on his face. For a moment, he just listened to the crows cawing in the distance. Quickly, he looked back down, hearing the man projecting himself over the hole Kakashi had created with the boulder.

Kakashi promptly retrieved a kunai, shielding himself with his weapon and pushing away the dizziness. Daichi produced a kunai himself as his feet skidded in front of Kakashi on the fractured marble floor. The sound of metal hitting metal echoed in the space around them.

Kakashi half-turned and stepped back, swinging his arm to connect with his opponent's weapon. Faster the two sparred, one-hundred and forty pounds colliding head-on with a man closer to three hundred. Kakashi kept twisting, feeling his stamina begin to weaken as he boldly attempted to keep up with a man twice his size while also trying to push away the symptoms of this toxicity. He threw one long left hook, turning his leg over the man's shoulders to hit his head, Daichi dodging quickly.

"Take a puff," Daichi said as he stood back up from the dodge, a perfect mushroom in the palm of his hand. With one blow, a small bubble rapidly traveled from the blue fungi to Kakashi's face, bursting at the tip of his nose. Taken aback and still dizzy from the previous toxin, he staggered backward and fell onto the floor.

Immediately, Kakashi knew something was wrong. He had inhaled poison before, but this felt different. His chest constricted tightly, and his throat itched painfully. A cough rose through his trachea, but he couldn't inhale enough air to expel it. His skin began to itch, little red hives raising all over his exposed forearms.

"Enjoy," Daichi smiled, looking down at the copy-ninja as he held his chest. "I've heard about you Leaf shinobi. It's a shame you can't stand up against a few noxious fumes. But wait, your friend back there is still barely functioning with even just a little bit. Let's check on her, shall we?"

Daichi walked past Kakashi as he struggled to breathe, stepping on his hand carelessly. Beyond the silver-haired shinobi, Ayame lay with her head against the wall. Her fuzzy consciousness was slowly piecing itself back together from the new air above as she looked over to see this behemoth of a man walking towards her.

He knelt next to her, his heavy stale breath in her ear. She looked over at him as he reached into his pocket for the scroll they had come for. He leaned in closer, touching her hair with his rough hands. She reached up, slapping his hand away.

"Don't touch me," she snarled, her slit eyes glaring over at him. His hot breath touched her nose, wrinkling it from the stench of his rotting teeth.

"If you want this, you'll have to earn it," he nudged her ear with his nose. She could feel herself recoil at the thought of what he was implying, and she quickly moved away.

"You're disgusting," she muttered to him, looking deep in his yellowing eyes. "Why do you have that scroll?"

"I'm not telling you anything," Daichi grasped her chin, forcing her face closer to his. "But I know all about you, Ayame Hana. I know what you've done and how useless you are. You always listened to your family, never honing that kekkei genkai of yours that so many others pined for. You're weak. You always have been."

"You don't know me," Ayame gritted her teeth, heat flaring in her chest.

"Oh, but I do," he smiled, letting go of her face. He tapped the side of her cheek mockingly, standing up and turning away. Ayame quickly stood up, enraged by his words as her mind tried to adjust.

At that moment, she noticed everything that had happened while she was unconscious—the hole in the ceiling, the damage to the underground cache. Her eyes finally landed on Kakashi as he laid on the fractured marble floor, unconscious. She looked back at Daichi as he walked away, the afternoon sun coming in from the hole in the ceiling above.

She ran towards Kakashi, her knees skidding across the floor when she reached him. His skin was pale as her hands hovered over his face, unsure of where to begin. She touched his shoulder where his shirt was ripped open, blood smearing on her fingertips. She reached up, tapping his face and calling his name. Panic rose.

"He'll be dead soon," Daichi called back to her as he continued to walk. "Amatoxins, you know."

His nonchalant demeanor set a fire of rage within her as she pushed Kakashi's hair from his sweaty face. Her eyes widened as she looked back down at him.

No.

Something snapped inside of her that she hadn't felt in a long time. A wave of anger came from deep within, rolling over her body like an ocean current. This man, who came into her old village, seemingly ransacking every house he could find and destroying everything, stealing everything - injuring Kakashi. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep, battered breath. Concentrating.

Stay focused, she heard Kakashi's voice in her mind from earlier. She focused on the feeling she had when she had meditated that morning—feeling the chakra flowing through her, pushing its way through her damaged parts, and producing more to sustain her.

Carefully, she wove her fingers to form signs she had barely ever used before and slammed her hand to the floor. The already split marble floor shattered in hundreds of molecular paths as a thick vine erupted from the floor. Anger seized every ounce of her body as Kakashi lay beside her, dying. She thought of Daichi's words as the vines traveled quickly towards him.

How useless you are.

Daichi's small eyes turned around at the commotion behind him. The lush vine swirled in the air, wrapping itself around his neck tightly. Within seconds, the vine constricted his thick neck, blocking his airway. She watched him turn blue as he clawed at the vine around his neck, gasping for air. The tighter the vine became around his neck, the more relief she felt. She clenched her teeth, feeling her vision begin to tunnel from the exertion.

Above, a crow cawed in the distance. She watched the man fall to his knees, his eyes begging her to stop. She wouldn't. Her body lurched forward as she tried to remain conscious. In the last few seconds where she remained awake, she watched this repugnant man die of asphyxiation before her.

She had never killed anyone before. But today was a new day.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

A/N (again): Please don’t make me beg, but I would really love to know what you guys think. I literally get so hyped just for a like.

Constructive criticism is always welcome as well. If you want to shoot me a message/comment and tell me what you don’t like or do like, I would be very happy with either. I just want to know, as I would love to be a professional writer someday and am looking to improve.

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winterscream4 · 4 years

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Interlude II

Maggots.

Life for him, had been a toil, as for his mother before him. Still a fledgling he had watched her in combat, ripping meat and plum out of that pair of nasty crows. It was early December and the unforgiving arts of Boreas were upon them, burying the land beneath a spiraling blanket of snow and death. A nest, decay made architecture, stood over a thickly leafed fir, its rich canopy preventing the wind’s icy semen from coating its hundredfold boughs. The crows owned it. She didn’t. That simply had to change.

In caw and claw they defended their home right down to the last breath, scratching through her face till her left eyeball popped out, hanging like one of the ripe nipples of September vintage. In retaliation, the mother cornered one of them, shoving it against the pale ground in full force while slicing right across its neck, tearing the head from the spine in a single gnaw. In realization and perhaps even foresight of his immediate future, the black-feathered companion of the deceased, took a moment staring at the mother and she back at him. Two seasoned players locking eyes in recognition while the third’s head hanged from bleeding tissues smeared across the mother’s unwavering beak.

The little Barred owl was only three days old at the time and in that moment, he was initiated into one of the most fundamental laws, that all surviving denizens of King’s country forestlands and beyond come to know eventually.

By talons or by teeth. By bullet or as meat.

Never miss the chance to make display out of a slaughter.

Mother of course had reserved most of her lessons for the upcoming spring. Then she would teach the young inheritor of the apex avian predator crown, how to direct his inner savagery into effective hunting, how to utilize the velvet texture of his wings, for silent flight. Come early December, the gift bestowed by her victim’s surviving relative, festered into a blister of puss, blood and fungi that devoured her from within. Come Christmas she was dead.

Maggots.

They finally crawled out of the socket, once they were done feasting on her destroyed eye. The owlet had made it through for a few days, by picking on the red squirrels’ Christmas decoration. Mushrooms collected during the summer months and left to dry between branches, proper sustenance for the darker half of the year. No doubt, the squirrels fought for their property. True protestants they were about it, measuring the owlet’s worth by the size of his fortune. But his inheritance wasn’t that of savings, food or nest. When his species desired something, they seized it and ripped its neck open before taking flight to the highest branches where they’d watch their prey writhe its way to an agonizing death.

But the squirrels too had valuable lessons to teach.

Save your food. Not all days will be as lucky.

The owlet took their advice to heart as it hanged their amber-furred corpses from the very same foreshoots, where they kept their much-valued possessions.

But not every day was as lucky since, and soon the mushrooms were vomited out, as they were poor comfort for an aching stomach, and nothing but strips of hair and tissue garlanded round tiny skeletons was left of the squirrels.

Maggots.

They devour faster than they multiply.

It took the owlet a while to notice them writhing and slithering beneath his meekly sprouting plumage.

But come late February, they had popped their wire-shaped bodies from his orifices, dancing almost, as his delicate legs had begun to collapse. Old man Boreas, never failed to remind him of his presence, howling across the lichen covered beeches and the white-cloaked firs, beating, cutting, flaying the maggots’ new corporeal abode.

A butterfly would occasionally visit, during his final days, fluttering its wings in invitation, landing far enough from his beak to be clearly visible as it dominated the thorny branches above, but never close enough to become a life-saving meal.

Why was she there?

The owl’s fading instincts would ponder about it throughout its delirium.

Butterflies don’t eat flesh and they rarely fly during the winter months. Might she be there to comfort him? A psychopomp, a shepherd of souls perhaps, beckoning to the kin who shall soon join her?

No, that wasn’t it. There was no comfort in her presence. No warm welcome to the afterlife.

She had landed there to enjoy the show, to relish on the potential that were never realized. She was there to mock the mighty as they fell.

A familiar sound also ushered its presence. It could have been the trees responding Boreas’ breath, rocking and swaying their appendages casting his essence to the land, below. Or maybe it wasn’t, for such crepitations were heard by the owlet only before a branch was about to collap….

The wind died out.

Boreas copulation had reached its climax.

The earth had turned white by the wind’s frozen virility and the owlet, was smothering beneath it.

No light in there, but rather winter visible.

Something stirring…

Maggots…?

The owlet felt them rising up his flesh. Long, gnarly, covered in the same fecal matter that delivered them into this world. Indeed, earth’s horde of recyclers thrived in the absence of light, but the Owlet’s sharply endowed senses couldn’t amiss a marked difference in the stimuli they now provoked. Warm, inviting, ushering images in his developing brain, of a world were owls dwell free and prosperous and of itself still wrapped under the insulating wings of his mother, her eye and soul restored into unparallel vitality.

His instincts must have abandoned their purpose. Reckoning the inevitability of his circumstances, they merely soothed a gradual transition into quick decomposition, a welcoming embrace of hormones and neurotransmitters released to ease the journey from limbo to the great after. All that would have been all too valid explanations, was it not for his keen vision detecting a dim phosphorescent glow emitting from the roots that had entangled the entirety of his resigning husk. Their whispers were those of his mother... Calm...Stay....

Lies. Mother owl had survived as long as she did by knowing that solace was the vestige of the dead. Her multitude of sufferings had secured him a hatch, a nest, all those moments in her company...She had pushed against the infections that would have otherwise eradicated her long since. The last days of her life, were nothing but embracing pain and all that just to keep him safe. He could not afford to disappoint her. Everything suddenly became clear, as if walking from a dream. The roots puncturing of his flesh, his own will to survive. The genuine rage he had inherited from mother, forced him into drilling through the snow with damaged beak and broken talons, screeching maniacally all the way. A message worth delivering to to the eyes of lurking predators and the biting gusts of Boreas. Never miss the chance to make a display out of a slaughter. Even if it is your own.

For all desire quickly dissipated when hungry eyes witnessed a half-dead fetus coiled by violet, vein-like tendrils, rising in screams and wails, from the very heart of Winter…

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easterlingwanderer · 7 years

Text

Stories in the Dark

I don’t remember arriving at the Dark Fortress. I remember the Day of Giving. And I remember *being* here. And I remember the stories…

Voices in the reddish darkness, gruff and guttural as the language that reverberates into the corridors of stones. Scent of tallow candles and unwashed bodies and the faint smell of coal. Small pebbles under my feet. I walk silently in the corridor, sitting just behind the bend, hidden by a spike of rock and I listen, my knees under my chin, my skin dark against the darkness.

“Once, we were mighty. Yes, the mightiest of all. So powerful we were, so strong, that That One feared us, our power, and our strength. He spoke to his servants and said "We cannot have them so powerful, so mighty, because they may come and take stuff that is only for my Beloved Firsts." and his Servants all agreed with him because they were puny and weak. And That One then smiled and said. "I know what I'll do. Yes I do. I'll make their time on the World small, so they can't grow in power, and the most beautiful of them I'll change to be hideous so they'll know I, One, am the Strongest of All". And so it was. And so it was, and so now the Orcs are as we are and both us and Man can't live forever as the Other Ones.”

"But Gazog, if we were so powerful why couldn't we stop it?"

Another voice, of the same kind, but softer, not yet scarred. I look unseeing in front of me.

"Because it was done by treachery. We were faithful to That One you see. We didn't expect it, not then."

"Tell us how the Master came to save us!" A third voice, piping and rasping at once. I look at the ceiling, rough grey stone blackened by soot and wait.

"Ah... The Master. The One Lord. You see, once That One had took our power and beauty and strength from us, we were slowly dying in great pain, all of us men and women and children, Orcs and Men alike. But the Master came, and he healed us as much as possible and promised us that once we are victorious we shall be as we were. One day."

"One day."

As they chant the words, I stand up and get back down the corridor, one hand slightly on the wall. I feel a small spider scuttling away, I snatch it and chew it, the feeling of many tiny legs tickling my lips.

Behind me, the old Orc is telling another tale. I do not stop to listen.

"...And then the Other Powers looked at us, we who were beautiful and strong and mighty, and feared for their Favourites. Truly, they spoke among themselves, these Children of Melkor are too strong. What if their children grow in power beyond our Beloved? Our creatures, which we nurtured and cared for? So they concocted a plan, to destroy us all. But our Creator and Master heard them, and fought them all for us. But even if he was the most powerful they were many, and as such, while they did not succeed in killing us all, Tjar and Mew managed to steal the immortality our Master has given us. And so we and our Master still fight the Beloved of the Other Powers and their Servants. For they fear us, once we come to our full power."

The ceiling is polished metal, still blackened by the soot that coated everything. The voice is mellower, the language less sharp, less gurgling. I stand at the window, now, looking inside the barrack where the old, gnarled Easterling speaks to the swarthy children, their hair black as their black eyes as their bodies, darkened by coal dust. The light inside the building is almost painful, a fire and several candles lit to show the stark place, the several small pallets on the ground, and the silhouette of the narrator casting a shadow on the young pupils. The air smells like fire and metal and coal, and like the scent of the tanned leather the Easterlings wear.

I sit under the windows, my legs in front of me and watched the clouded sky above. I do not go to them, even if I could.

I close my eyes as the first oily drops hit me, but kept my face tilted upward. Rain comes, and hail, and they hit me on my legs and face and shoulders, drowning away the voice of the teller of stories. I listen to the sound of rain upon the rock, of ice splitting in endless shards all around me. It smells like acid rain and sharp ice.

It is a long time before I stand up to leave, to go gathering lichen or moss or mushroom.

But I do not listen to more tales.

#WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN NOTHING YOU DO MATTER : THE WANDERER #{tales in darkness ^ a life in angband}

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exileseverafter · 7 years

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Chapter 5

Strawberry Pie and the Winter Prince

“He’s got legs like tree trunks! Big yellow eyes! I imagine he could throw a boulder the length of the forest. I KNEW that maiden was in trouble!”

Ezra did not go with Marjorie to her ‘Moonflower Market’ that night, or the next. It wasn’t out of lack of curiosity or laziness. He already felt restless and ill at ease knowing he had no steady income, as while servitude under Hamilton Tooth had been unbearable at times he at least didn’t live in fear of missing a meal. Rather, his pride simply wouldn’t allow him to show up at a bazaar selling only a single pie, even if that pie could be sliced up to feed a good 20 humans according to Marjorie. “It’s preposterous,” he’d insisted at the time. “If this is to be my ‘debut’ as a baker here in the Center of the Universe, and if I’m to attract customers as you seem to think I can, I won’t do it with subpar work! Certainly not with cold cheese and mushroom pie.” (He’d already eaten a slice of the other pie for supper.) “At least let me prepare a decent strawberry pie. As soon as I can find strawberries…” It took a week, in fact, to gather the ingredients and prepare for his ‘debut’ at the Market. During that time he made several discoveries about life on the surface. Forests in particular were absolutely teeming with life. On the Sky Islands, the plants that grew there did so in organized ways, sending their roots down into the translucent surface of the cloud and blooming to produce brightly colored fruits or perfumed flowers. Here the plant life seemed determined to spread across every inch of land available, vines choking trees and lichens feasting on their fallen corpses. Where the enormous fir trees didn’t choke out the sunlight, patches of grass formed carpets studded with toadstools and weeds. Insects buzzed about, many too tiny to see until they’d landed on his nose or left his wrists with itchy bites. In the Sky there had been birds, and only birds; no other animal seemed to thrive on the Islands unless it was a pampered pet, and even Enlightened land animals showed no interest in trying. The priests of the Sun theorized that this was because birds were the favored of the Sun, the ones among the animals who hadn’t turned their backs on Her and thus could still fly far higher than the insects could. The scientists thought it had something to do with the kinds of plants grown in the Sky, pointing out that even flightless birds like chickens did just fine. Whatever the reason, it led to birds being enormously popular with the Sky Folk as livestock or pets. The massive Capital Island of Vox, hovering perpetually over the ocean, was said to hold a glorious menagerie with one inhabitant: a phoenix, one of the last in the world. Yet even in Mielle, Ezra could not recall the flocks of birds which woke him every morning with gentle chattering and warning calls. Swarms of them sat on the branches of a dying tree until they gave it the illusion of leaves. Birds lived in the Islands, but they thrived on the ground. What he was to make of that, he didn’t know. Marjorie, for her part, went about her business privately as she promised she would, answering questions only with some needling. She cheerfully told him where to find wild strawberries and edible mushrooms, possibly just happy to have the place to herself while he went out gathering. It took pressing her a bit more to find out that they were currently on the outskirts of the Ever Empire, a human-ruled nation that was in her words, “of no concern to us as they don’t send tax collectors out here.” He also learned there weren’t any terrestrial villages within a week’s travel, leaving Ezra to conclude that this Market was the only way he could continue living as a baker instead of inevitably going mad as a hermit with a chatty freeloader. He found himself wondering what exactly G. Chulainn did to cause so much terror if he was so far away from anyone at all. He also learned from her how sacks of flour and sugar, bottles of milk and eggs would show up every other morning without explanation. “A little birdie brings them,” she said with a coy look. “And I may have told that little birdie that I have an ailing grandmother. But he wouldn’t bring it if he couldn’t spare it, right?” One afternoon he sat gathering strawberries in the meadow, kneeling next to the plant and plucking them with his chubby fingers as delicately as he could. He’d discovered that blueberries were a lost cause; tiny as they were, they’d end up squashed and smeared on his hands no matter how careful he was. “I suppose I’ll have to learn how to shape dough more delicately as well,” he muttered to himself as he wiped sweat off his brow, the sun beating down on him. “No wonder humans think they’re the default for everything. It’s all sized perfectly for them down here. Well, except for the trees, and the bears…” He thought he heard a rustling in the surrounding woods, freezing on instinct and wishing he’d brought his cooking pot. Had merely mentioning bears jinxed him in some way, bringing them down on him? Didn’t they love sweet things like fruit? Certainly he was larger than a bear or a wolf, but that didn’t mean he wanted to run into one. For a brief second he thought he saw two sets of eyes peering out at him, one bestial and one more human. Then he saw a flash of movement and both disappeared, leaving him standing and staring in the heat and feeling a little foolish. # “The giant has returned!” Basil burst into his cabin with so much energy he could have torn the door right off if he weren’t careful. “I knew it!” Lavender paused in her sweeping and looked up at the young prince, smiling gently. “That’s wonderful, Dear. You can bring him a housewarming gift later. Help me get the corners here, won’t you?” Basil took the broom without even thinking about it, too distracted to be of much help sweeping. “He’s got legs like tree trunks! Big yellow eyes! I imagine he could throw a boulder the length of the forest. I KNEW that maiden was in trouble!” “Maiden?” Lavender raised an eyebrow, setting herself down on a wooden chair as Basil rushed past her, imitating the battle he dreamed of in broom-handle pantomime. “You mean that girl with the sick grandmother in the old giants’ cottage?” “And a fishy story it is, right? Why would a girl with high-class manners be out in the woods with her grandmother for no reason at all?” “Oh, I don’t know. Why would a prince be out in the woods with his fairy godmothers? One of whom he did not kiss when he came in, might I add.” “Ah…” Basil rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand and bowed his head. “Sorry, Grandmother!” He gave her a kiss on the wrinkled cheek she presented and set the broom aside, still too excited to notice how his booted feet were already starting to warm up. “Just got a little excited. And I see your point, but I mean…I have a reason. Which is why I thought she had to have reason, too. And now I know what it is! She’s actually a prisoner of that giant, and she can’t say or he’ll crush her bones to make his bread! Or whatever giants do. Didn’t one of them kidnap maidens some time ago?” Lavender just pursed her thin lips together and made a ‘hmm’ sound. “You don’t believe me? I-hooo.” The cold was creeping through Basil’s limbs again, and he quickly sat himself in front of the fireplace, burning perpetually thanks to fairy magic. The same magic kept the inside of the cabin warm as a steam bath for his sake, something the godmothers insisted they didn’t mind in the least. He wrapped his heavy coat and cloak around him, letting the warmth surround him until the terrible chill had passed. But he forced a smile and shook his head, letting his long brown hair fall loose from its braid. “I’m fine now. Honest! Toasty warm. And I’ll feel warmer once I save that maiden.” Lavender pressed a bowl of hot chicken soup into his hands, the heat from the clay bowl soothing instead of burning. “Do you fancy that maiden?” “What? No!” Basil wrinkled his nose, and then remembered that a Prince Charming never spoke that way about a young lady. “I mean, she seems nice enough but I don’t ‘fancy’ her in that way. Why do you keep asking that whenever I want to help someone?” “A fairy godmother just wants to see her boy settled and happy, that’s all.” “And a prince has a marriage arranged for him, right? I mean, eventually. After de-cursing.” He found the idea a little relaxing. Without having to worry about his eventual marriage, he could concentrate on becoming Prince Charming and fighting dragons. Surely he could still do that after his parents married him off to some foreign princess, right? “I just want to save someone. I mean, that’s what princes…do.” “The princes in the stories do, sure.” Lavender started brushing his hair, a habit he couldn’t convince her to stop doing even if it left him feeling like a little kid again. “Now you’re really convinced this is a wicked giant we’re dealing with, or do you just want a wicked giant to fight?” How did Lavender manage to make Basil feel like a chastened child even now that he was a young man? “I want a problem to solve. I want to help people, like my brother and sister do. When I get to play that role, the person who swoops in and saves the helpless, it makes me feel, I don’t know. Useful. Important.” He looked down at his hands, the fingertips still cool despite the crackling fireplace and hot soup. “It warms me, I guess.” After another ‘hmm,’ Lavender went back to brushing his hair. “I think if you go out tonight and keep an eye on the Moonflower Gate, you’ll find someone in distress. Fairy intuition. Just remember, the situation might not be what you think it is. You can’t always trust your eyes, because your mind lies to them.” “And how could my own mind possibly lie to myself? But-thank you, Grandmother.” Basil turned around and smiled. “I’m going to brush the burrs out of Aurora’s fur. You don’t think she’ll be too tired to go out tonight?” The old fairy woman chuckled. “Aurora’s been sleeping and eating quite enough. I think the exercise will do her good.” “And if the giant isn’t wicked but is a great warrior, you think he’ll let me challenge his strength?” Basil couldn’t hide the eager smile on his face, ignoring how Lavender rolled her eyes. “Go check on your bear.” # That evening, Ezra followed Marjorie down what seemed to be the most meandering forest path possible. She was wheeling a rickety wooden cart with her carved miniatures and glass baubles, he a larger but equally unstable one stacked with freshly baked strawberry and custard pies. She seemed to be in a particularly good mood, chatting the entire way; Ezra didn’t mind, as it distracted from the distant howls and hoots of the dark woods. “I swear it, dear Mr. Kettle, those pies smell heavenly! I still think that cheese and mushroom bit was good enough to sell on its own, but I see you have a nose for quality. A nose for it!” “Well,” Ezra murmured, “fragrance is important. It interacts with taste, you know. And the crust is a family recipe…!” “And if I live long enough with you I’ll be too round to fit in that house for certain. I’m glad you’re selling those things and keeping them out of my way!” Marjorie hummed as she toted along her cart. The road was worn smooth with footsteps, provided one avoided the occasional jagged rock or puddle. “But yes, Moonflower Market. Oh, what a glorious place, Moonflower Market! There’s simply no fairy market like it. It’s where you go to get something unusual. Say you want to cast a spell? Well, some witches use miniatures for that purpose, though I don’t know the true process. Say you want a tiny recreation of the throne of King Theodore the Warlord? I have no idea why you’d desire such a thing, but I sold one I made with enough to buy myself a new dress.” “Art collectors, I’d imagine.” Ezra held his head a bit higher. “It’s good to know even people down here appreciate the hard work of an artisan.” Marjorie just shrugged at that. “Whatever you mean by that. You know we’re not all luddites down here, right? We manage just fine without fancy blue apples and rocs.” Realizing he might have said the wrong thing, Ezra colored in his cheeks. “And it’s wonderful work you do down here,” he added hastily, eager to change the subject. “What sort of things do they sell?” “Rarities. I know, you’re about to point out that a pie is not a rarity, but Sky cuisine is not exactly common down here! Just emphasize your family’s legendary baking prowess and people will buy it just for the experience, even if a strawberry pie is just a strawberry pie in the end. Then they can brag that they’ve tasted the sorts of foods only royalty get to try. And giants of course, but maybe that’s part of the novelty.” “I don’t know how I feel about being a ‘novelty,’” Ezra said. He had an odd feeling in his stomach about this whole affair. What if one of his kin was there, recognizing him as a criminal exile? What if his presence really did scare off humans who weren’t as odd as Marjorie? He already felt big and out of place outside of the cabin, his makeshift cart dwarfing hers and still feeling like a child’s toy. Would his customers just gawk at him, or worry he’d be a violent lout like other Sky exiles? Marjorie hadn’t heard him, or pretended she hadn’t. “The best thing to do is to flatter your customers just a little bit. ‘You look like you have a healthy sweet tooth!’ I’d say. Or perhaps, ‘the redness of the strawberries suits the blue of your eyes.’ Or perhaps you can’t sell pies the way you can jewelry…” “The blue of your…what?” Ezra stared at Marjorie. “Eyes.” She pointed at her own. “People like when you compliment their eyes. Windows to the soul and all that.” Ezra scoffed. “Eyes are gold. …Right?” “Well, yours are! Quite unusual; human eyes usually don’t come in that color. Or, wait.” She pondered for a second, tapping her lips with her finger. “Let me guess. Your kind all have gold eyes, right?” “Yes, because that’s the color eyes are!” Ezra fumed, sensing she was making a fool of him again, until he realized what he was arguing about. “Wait, humans don’t have…excuse me for a second.” He knelt down to examine her face a little closer, squinting until he could make out the irises. It wasn’t easy in the dark. “You have green eyes,” he finally concluded, marveling. Marjorie stared up at him and then laughed. “Of course! Our eyes are small compared to yours, so even when you’re making eye contact you don’t always register the iris color. No offense, but your kind does seem to have trouble seeing past your own noses, metaphorically speaking.” Feeling rather humiliated and at the same time frustrated with humans for being as small and complex as they apparently were, he turned away and continued on the path. “Eye color doesn’t matter.” “Not unless you’re complimenting a lover, no. I agree.” Marjorie chuckled again and moved on. “Oh, but the things they sell there. Enchanted soups, love potions, spell artifacts, magic plants. Once I saw a cauldron that produced noodles with one word-oh, mind that branch!” She’d been a little late with the warning, as the tree branch had already smacked Ezra in the face, but he was too stunned to notice the stinging nosebleed that resulted. “Did-did you say magic plants?” The human stood still for a moment, as if thinking, and then cleared her throat. “Sorry, just lost my train of thought! Yes, you get those from time to time.” “Say…anything like magic beans?” “Beans? Hmm. Perhaps? Maybe? I see so many things, it’s hard to recall. What’s a baker want with beans, anyway? You know how to make a cassoulet? I do adore cassoulet…” “Uh, nothing. I mean, yes. Sort of.” Ezra was hardly in the mood to explain the whole story to Marjorie now of all times, but already his mind was racing. He’d thought he could use any success he gained at the Market to spread word of his talent around among the humans, finding himself prestige in the Center of the Universe. Were he well-known and beloved enough down here, perhaps he’d have more success appealing his unfair sentence. But if there was someone selling magic beans, like the ones which had created the monstrous beanstalk, maybe they could lead him to Jack. And if he could find the real culprit, be it that seemingly innocent human boy or the one who had sent him… “We’re here, Ezra!” Marjorie snapped him out of his own thoughts. They’d arrived at a perfectly circular clearing, the grass well-worn and flat in places. It was completely deserted and lit only by the light of the full moon. He glanced around, rubbing his chin in concern. “Are we very early? I thought you said it started at midnight, and I’m sure it’s nearly that time.” “It is! And we’re not but a few minutes early. And yes, this is the place.” Marjorie pouted up at him, patting him on the thigh. “Have a little bit of faith in me, my large friend! Just give it a few minutes…” The rustling around them would seem to confirm Marjorie’s words. “Oh! That must be them now. I guess they’re all arriving at the same ti-” Ezra felt a tug on his shirt and looked down at Marjorie, whose smile had vanished and been replaced with a wide-eyed stare. She was holding her finger in front of her mouth to shush him, pointing outward. There were no merchants emerging from the woods. Instead, dozens of gold eyes emerged, dark shapes shuffling out with lowered heads and hunched forms. Wolves, Ezra knew from pictures; though the wolves he’d seen had been far less menacing and hungry-looking than these. He also imagined them being much smaller, like large dogs. These were at least a head taller than Marjorie, and she was a tall human. “Marjorie,” he whispered down to her. “Get a bit closer. I could probably take one or two of them just fine…” One or two he might be able to handle, but there were at least nine. “Is this normal?” “No it’s not normal!” she snapped, reaching for a dagger she’d apparently hidden in her dress. “I’ve never seen wolves like this before. This is supposed to be an enchanted glen. You know, protected.” He swallowed, clenching his hands into fists and mustering up willpower. He had to have some courage in there somewhere, didn’t he? “You can probably make a run for it while they go after me. I’m sure between the two of us, the fat giant is the more tempting target.” “Oh, I will not! I said I’d get you to the Market and I’m going to do that! Somehow, yes…” The wolves hunched and then growled, the largest one with an enormous, shaggy mane and blood red eyes. It was big enough to reach Ezra’s chest, and he could already imagine it tearing into his throat. He’d die in total obscurity after all, without any surviving ancestors to even return his body to the sky… The wolf growled and lunged, jaws out. Acting on instinct, he swung a fist and miraculously connected, nailing the beast right beneath the chin. It stumbled back, yelping and snarling, as Ezra stared at his own arms. “I…how did I do that?!” “You’re a giant, silly! However you were up there, you’re quite strong in comparison down here!” Marjorie had somehow managed to climb onto his shoulders, and he couldn’t blame her under the circumstances. “Think you could do that, oh, about 40 more times? Because there’s more coming…” “N-no, I don’t,” Ezra admitted, backing up against the carts as the wolves closed in on them. The big one was uttering strange noises, almost as if it was passing on orders to its hungry brethren. One after another they lunged, leaped… And were flung yelping away. Ezra opened his eyes. He was sure he hadn’t done that. Instead there was a great bulky form, fur white as the moon itself, swatting the beasts away with long black claws. A bear, Ezra recognized from the shape, though he’d never seen one that color in the paintings. Riding atop it was a figure in a thick, fur-lined cloak over an equally heavy coat, face wrapped in a scarf and long black braid trailing behind him. He had a sword hanging in a scabbard at his side and pulled it out to fight off the rest of the wolves, sending them running back into the woods in a matter of minutes. The bear rider turned to face Ezra in particular, silhouetted by the moonlight. He dressed for far colder weather than the warm night necessitated, a golden amulet hanging from his neck. The young warrior pulled the scarf down so he could speak. “And now, Giant…” “You saved me,” Ezra blurted out before feeling incredibly foolish for even speaking to such a person. But no one had ever saved him before. Not when his family was sinking into debt, not when his parents were dying, not when he was on trial for something everyone knew he hadn’t done. It was an indescribable feeling. “Ohhh, thank goodness you’re here,” Marjorie added as she appeared from behind Ezra. She wiped blood off the tip of her dagger; apparently she’d gotten a few blows on a wolf herself. “You always are helpful, my little birdie. Basil, this is Ezra Kettle, the new owner of the cottage. He’s helping me take care of my sick grandmother.” Ezra would only later realize she’d mentioned a nonexistent grandmother; he was too busy staring at the bear rider, apparently named Basil. “Ezra, this is Basil, Prince of…um, hello?” She poked at him. “Hello?” Basil looked down at Marjorie, then up at Ezra, dismounting from his bear and giving the latter a baffled look. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound quite sincere. Had Ezra committed some kind of offense? Was he expected to offer something in recompense? What was the etiquette regarding being saved by a handsome prince? Marjorie gave Ezra a strange look and then shrugged. “Mr. Prince of the Blue Forest, could you stick around and escort us to the Market once the gate is open? You know, in case more weird wolves show up.” That seemed to excite the prince, whose eyes lit up like the stars. “Escort you? Of course, my lady! My large…sir.” He bowed to both of them, tipping his wide-brimmed hat with fur gloved hands. “The gate should open any moment now, and I shall ensure your safety from all ills.” “You can have some pie,” Ezra interjected, and then wondered why he’d been so insistent about it. “Uh, thank you.” Basil gave Ezra another awkward look up, confirming it in Ezra’s mind that he’d already made several major social fumbles with the prince. “Though we’ve never seen wolves like that in the forest before either. Strange! I wonder if that means something terrible’s afoot…” “You’re a little too excited about something terrible being afoot, Highness,” Marjorie mock-whispered at him. Ezra would have agreed, but he was distracted by the dizziness he felt when he looked at Basil. A gentle, warm breeze blew into the clearing. The grass turned from dark green to a bright blue, lit by a circle of periwinkle-blue, bell-shaped flowers glowing like morning stars. The glow increased in intensity until it bathed them in blue light, the surrounding woods warping and rippling out of view. Ezra reached to steady his cart by instinct, even though nothing was actually moving, thanking the Sun that he’d only lost one pie in the fracas and the wolves had mostly ignored the cart. That was strange, he’d realize later; why would wolves be picky? In the storm of light and the strange, static sensation it brought on his skin, Ezra couldn’t help but notice something that was of great importance to him at that moment. Basil had brown eyes.

(Author’s Note: Since I forgot to do a post last night, there’ll be another chapter up tomorrow. Hope you’re enjoying so far! If you are, let me know and give me a reblog. You can learn more about the series on the main page.)

#The Exiles Ever After #Chapter posting #serial fiction #fairy tales #giants

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lifelearningapps · 6 years

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Moodzie Loves Reindeer

Moodzie just loves reindeer. Below are tips about them and what impacts them in their natural habitat:

Characteristics:

Reindeer are one of approximately 40 species of deer. In Scandinavia and Russia, the term reindeer is used. This comes from the Lappish word ‘REINO’, which means a reindeer calf. The term ‘Caribou’ is used in North America. It is derived from the Micmac Indians and implies the animal’s habit of digging and scraping through the snow for food. Lifespan: 15 years and up to 28 years in captivity. Gestation: 190-240 days. Number of young at birth: Normally one calf, but occasionally twins. They are born from about the last days of April until the middle of June. Size: Approx. 1 meter high at the shoulder.

Antlers:

Antlers: Reindeer are the only members of the deer family in which both males and females grow antlers. Antlers are composed entirely of bone. Every year they fall off and the new ones grow. The large mature breeding bulls are the first to lose their antlers, casting them in November at the end of the rutting (breeding) season. The reindeer cows and the young keep their antlers throughout the winter months. Calves are born with buds in the place of antlers and the antlers are fully grown by the time they reach maturity. (4 to 6 years) While antlers are growing, the developing bone is covered in a thick velvet skin. The skin protecting the growing antlers carries blood vessels out to the growing tips. When the antlers are fully grown, the velvet is shed and the solid bone underneath is revealed.

Behaviour

(a) Communication:

Reindeer are spirited animals, exhibiting both shyness and curiosity. When alarmed, the adults snort and the fawns grunt.

(b) Reproduction:

The cleaning of the velvet from the antlers heralds the rutting (mating) season when the bulls use their antlers for display and to fight for supremacy. Dominant bulls will hold harems of cows. Reindeer calves are able to walk and follow their mothers as soon as they are born. In summer, the mature males are solitary, whereas the female and young form herds commonly of 20 or 30, but occasionally more. The mature males join the herds during the period of rut, which occurs in September and October.

Reindeer do not necessarily migrate between two distinct areas, but rather wander from place to place. On these migrations, they swim rivers, lakes and streams and have been recorded to travel up to 37 miles (59.5 kilometers) per hour over a daily distance of about 96 miles. (154.5 kilometers).

(d) Dominance:

Reindeer will use their full-grown antlers for dominance, whether it is a bull reindeer fighting in the rutting (mating) season, or a cow reindeer competing for food in the cold months.

Diet:

Reindeer, like all herbivores, are plant eating animals. Reindeer moss, Cladonia Rangiferina, a lichen, forms the main diet of the reindeer during the winter months. There is little other food available to reindeer during this season. Lichen is indigestible to man, but reindeer are able to digest this moss in their stomachs. Diet varies with the seasons of the year: Autumn: Mushrooms are a great delicacy and the reindeer forage eagerly for them. Summer: The food of the reindeer in this season is composed of herbs, grasses, cotton, leaves and twigs of bushes. They also eat bulbs and shoots of shrubs and lichens. Winter: When snow is lying on the ground, reindeer use their hooves to dig down to the lichens below. Spring: There is an abundance of food during this season of the year. There are newly growing leaves, grass shoots and shrubs for the reindeer to eat.

Special Features:

(a) Amazing Insulation

A reindeer’s internal body temperature is 38 degrees C. (100 degrees F) Heat exchange system where air is warmed entering the lungs and cooled on the way out to prevent heat loss. Leg temperature is 9 degrees C. (48 degrees F)

(b) Hairy Nose

This keeps the nose warm while the reindeer are grazing down through the snow. The warm moist air being exhaled does not freeze in the nose and heat loss is also prevented.

Reindeer face into blizzards as this keeps their fur flat. This traps a layer of air that assists with insulation to keep the reindeer warm.

(d) Special Hooves

Reindeer have hairs at the base of their legs that grow long over and between each deft hoof to prevent them from slipping on the ice. Broad and flat deft hooves aid in walking on soft ground or snow. They are also well designed for pawing down through the snow to the lichens beneath.

(e) Wooly Coat

Reindeer have wooly coats that are highly insulated. This is due to the outer coat having long, hollow hairs and the underneath coat short, dense and soft hairs.

Impacts:

(a) Domestication

Reindeer are the first hoofed animals to have been domesticated. There is plenty of evidence that the association of the reindeer with man goes back to over 4500 years ago. Not only was man hunting the reindeer, they were also herding them. Throughout Arctic Scandinavia and Russia, man has associated himself with reindeer to enable him to live and survive in this very difficult environment. In this environment, traditional domesticated animals like horses, cows and sheep would not survive. The reindeer provide man with a source of food. Skins are used for clothing and tents and female reindeer can also be milked. As beasts of burden, reindeer can be used as pack animals or to pull sleds. Some tribes ride their reindeer to access hunting and fishing grounds. They also use reindeer to carry their belongings while they move to other areas.

(b) Global Warming

Global warming has an impact on the food that reindeer graze upon. As winter temperatures rise, lichen becomes tougher to find. After the snow thaws with the rising temperatures and combined with rain, the ground freezes. As a result, the ground is covered in layers of ice that are impervious to the most tenacious reindeer.

Loss and destruction of habitat can have a huge impact on reindeer. Natural resource exploration such as oil and gas and logging, are destructive to the reindeer habitat. This especially occurs if the destruction is in the old growth forests where reindeer eat lichen that grows on rocks, stones and trees. Another treat is that the roads built to serve these industries not only result in the destruction of land but prove access to previously inaccessible lands. This can often lead to additional industry and commercial development, that can further destroy the reindeer habitat.

(d) Predators

As well as the wolf, bears and wolverines are also predators of the reindeer. Reindeer calves are sometimes attacked by lynx, eagles or ravens. Reindeer meat represents the staple diet of many northern people of Europe and the Artic. It is eaten fresh, smoked or dried and will keep well for long periods. The over hunting of reindeer has resulted in their numbers declining. Reindeer hide, tails, skin and antlers have been used to produce many household products, such as utensils, upholstery, clothing, shoes and woollen materials.

Thanks to Cairngorm Reindeer CentreDecember 5, 2016Thanks to Cairngorm Reindeer Centre for providing the factual…Read more http://www.lifelearningapps.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/reindeer-1.jpeg 200 267 Natalie Clarke http://www.lifelearningapps.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/logo330x156-copy.png Natalie Clarke2016-12-05 10:38:162018-01-18 08:56:26Thanks to Cairngorm Reindeer Centre Cairngorm Reindeer - Christmas (null)

See the Reindeer feeding with Santa Below:

Visit Santa and the Reindeer at Santa Claus Village, Artic Circle.

Santa Claus Village to the Santa Claus Village at the Arctic Circle in Rovaniemi, Lapland You can meet Santa Claus and cross the magical Arctic Circle every day at the Santa Claus Village in Lapland in Finland. Send friends and relatives greetings from the Read more...

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#LatestTips #AntlersReindeer #dantaclausvillage #diet #inverness #reindeerapp #reindeerfacts #reindeercam #Russia #santa #SpecialFeatures #where'sthereineer

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