nanowrimo days 11 + 12

Good Morning!

So sorry to have kept you all waiting. The great barn owl who occupies the position of Muse for me had flown the coop. I stared at my story for the past 2 days, but nothing came to me somehow. Anyway, he flew back today, so while he is here I shall try to make up for lost ground. Expect days 11+12, 13+14, and hopefully 15+16 to boot. Here's hoping!

As always, I look forward to your thoughts, comments, and possible critiques. :)

*Editors note* I've made some minor edits on the previous chapters for flow and sensibility, but they do not drastically change the story. I'd be happy to send them to curious readers though. :)

Walking down, she surveyed the main lodge room. The Wood Nymph had stepped off the stage to be replaced by the magician from their village. He was in the middle of a disappearing acorn trick, where a volunteer was onstage trying to guess which cup the acorn was in. Four of the tables were occupied, one by the Wood Nymph seated proudly, watching the badger with a look of boredom and mild disdain. A table near the center of the room had a motley group of vagabond types; a fox, a couple of large ferrets, and a hyena. The hyena was laughing at the volunteer, another fox, possibly from the same party. Their food mostly gone, there were several glasses and an empty pitcher in the middle of the table. They were all well armed and seemed like a group to avoid, Morika thought to herself nervously, padding down the steps as quiet as possible. A table near the front door held a tiger and a jaguar, deep in conversation. They didn’t even notice the stage or other members at the inn. Morika was glad they didn’t see her. She didn’t know how well her disguise would hold up against an actual jaguar. Her father sat at the last occupied table, near the kitchen, and as far as possible from the stage and magician, who was now tossing an ever growing number of rings into the air. Stepping down off the stairs, she walked over toward the kitchens, sitting down by her father. She glanced at the plates already on the table, mouth watering. Her father had ordered dinner for them both, two steaks, medium rare, steaming hot potatoes, and some fresh greens. Raylin had already started eating. For a while, neither spoke, paying close attention to filling their empty stomachs. Then, setting aside his now empty plate, her father leaned over to her. “We’ll hang out here a while longer, so as not to draw attention to ourselves, then go to our rooms. I was hoping to stay here a few days and see if word has reached the innkeeper about any other panthers coming this way, but that may be too risky. We’ll see what the magician decides to do. If he leaves, we may be safe here for a while. I still don’t like that he left our village unscathed, and seems to have beaten us here.” She nodded, the now familiar feeling of fear creeping up her spine. She wanted nothing more than to return to her room, locking the door behind her. Still, the wistful side of her was hoping the wood nymph would perform another song after the magician’s act. Half glancing at her father, she felt herself relax. He was tall, strong, and confident. He could have easily been a captain of the border guard had he chosen. Instead he taught at the school; herbs and medicine, and archery, though he was often called upon as a stand-in for sparring matches for advanced classes. He sat quietly, scanning each table and it’s occupants, keeping a paw on the dagger she knew lay under his cloak. His other paw had absently reached up to rest on his wounded shoulder, which was obviously still bothering him. She tsked under her breath. He would have to let her dress his wound with fresh cotton when they returned to their rooms. A sweet note interrupted her thoughts. Turning back to the stage she saw the wood nymph indeed had returned to the stage, and began to sing, twirling and spinning as she sang. The other guests turned their attention to the stage as well.Her dress seemed to shift in color, from a reddish hue, to a cool blue with white veins, then to a bright green, and finally a warm yellow. However, long before she finished, Raylin nudged her arm and gestured toward the stairs. Quietly they climbed the staircase and up to their rooms. For a split second Morika turned and glanced at the aging badger, and their eyes met. A spark of familiarity passed over his face, but a moment later it was gone, and he was watching the stage. She shuddered. Morika didn’t like the look he gave her, like he knew exactly who she was. She didn’t relax until she had bolted and locked her door. Sinking down on her bed, she pulled off her boots and dark cloak. She was tempted to tell her father about the badgers look, but decided she was being silly and over cautious. She sat down on the bed, exhausted, after such a late night. Before she knew it, she was asleep.Some part of dinner must not have settled right because Morika had very strange dreams. She dreamt she was back in the town of Mawr, playing with some of her classmates. Then from out of nowhere, large monsters appeared out of the trees. They surrounded Morika and her playmates and took them to the black lake. The lake itself was black as pitch, and as she watched, horrified, the lake began to writhe and boil, as if something large was under the water, rising to the surface. The silver badger came out of the mists of the forest, and pointed at her. “She’s the one! She will be the sacrifice for the great Uthark!” Then, the ground opened up beneath them and she fell… Morika bolted awake, as if a bucket of icey water was poured down her spine. She hugged herself, shaking, whimpering softly in the dark. She eventually fell asleep, and when she woke, she didn’t remember the dream at all.

Nano Wrimo Days 9+10

Sorry I didn't post this yesterday!

As they drew the cart up to the front of the inn, Morika saw two other horses tied up to the post outside. One horse was a dark brown, almost black, with white fluffy hair like boots on its lower legs and hooves; a clydesdale. It was small for a clydesdale, almost the size of a pony. The other horse was a chestnut, well groomed and well fed, with a splendid cart with many colors and streamers. She could read ‘Splendor and Magic’ on the side in gold and silver letters. Morika smiled, recognizing the cart from the midsummer's eve festival. Her father however, stiffened when he saw the cart. “That’s the cart from the night at the festival.” He said tersely. “I don’t like it, we barely escaped, and we left long before he did. That means that either they were only after the panthers, or…” His voice trailed off. He doesn’t want to scare me, Morika realized to herself. That the magician might be a… spy? Or worse. She cleared her throat. “What do we do daddy?” he thought for a moment, then whispered, “keep an eye out on the inn. Let me know if anyone steps outside.” He then began to rummage through the magicians old cart. A few minutes later he climbed back out with a small bottle in his hand. He gestured them back into their own cart. “We’re going to be jaguars for tonight.” He said, unscrewing the lid. Inside was a creamy orange powder. Rayling took a pawful, rubbing it onto his face and arms. “No good under scrutiny, we might pass for jaguar / panther half-breeds”. Morika hesitated, then began applying the powder to herself as well. It took some time, the powder didn’t want to stick. Finally, they had to add some water, and using the corner of an old blanket to draw with, added lighter and darker patterns into their fur. Morika and her father managed to get their faces and arms looking distinctly jaguar-ish, but by then had run out of powder. “Best to wear long sleeves and not take your boots off, her father advised. He pulled out two travelers cloaks. “Also best to hide our tails, as they might give us away.” She donned the cloak he handed her, a bit too big, and when she pulled the hood over her head it fell over her eyes. She held her father’s paw as they walked up the steps and opened the door. For all their precaution, the inn was warm and friendly feeling. Built in a traditional long log cabin style, it had several tapestries along the wall; some of valiant warriors, others of peaceful maidens, and one of a majestic wildcat princess in a flowing dress of flower petals. The inn was old and rustic, tables roughly cut, and worn smooth from all the years in service. To the left was a small stage, on which the nymph was singing and dancing. Her voice was as clear as the morning spring, and she looked at once fragile as a young sapling, and as strong as an oak. She had a shimmering pearl shawl wrapped around her long thin arms, and clad in a dress the color of fall leaves. Her eyes were closed, a look a bliss on her green tinged face as she sang. Glancing at a nearby table, Morika noticed a crossbow and long dagger, probably belonging to the wood nymph near the stage. The rest of the customers were held captivated by her song. Her father nudged her, breaking her gaze. He led them to the check in table near the back. “Two rooms please”, he said quietly in a clipped, precise voice, mimicking the speech of the Jaguars. “Yessir” the manager, a wild looking koala with too much fur, accepted the coins Raylin deposited. “Rooms 4 and 5 upstairs to your right” he said, handing Raylin two keys. Morika helped her father carry their gear, mostly blankets and a change of clothes as they had used or lost the rest of their supplies, up the worn banister and down the hall. She yawned as they walked, glad to be somewhere warm, but tired and hungry. The manager seemed not to question their disguises or her father’s accent. She had kept quiet, keeping her hood low covering her shining blue eyes as per Raylin’s instruction. Taking the keys, her father unlocked room 4 first, stepping in with her as he surveyed the room. Apparently satisfied, he gestured. “Seems safe enough, although I would stay away from the windows. Go ahead and get ready for dinner, I’ll knock shortly, and we’ll go down together.” He handed the key to her, and softly left, closing the door behind him. Morika sighed, plopping down on the bed. She absently scratched at her ear, it had been cut when the cart was flipped over her head, but had mostly stopped bleeding. Her room had a single bed, a small dresser with a faded mirror, and two small windows with a candle and box of matches. There was no fireplace, but the heat from the fire downstairs had risen and filled the air. She lit the candle, hardly needing the extra light to change, as she had excellent night vision. She only had one spare shirt; a thick cotton tunic, homespun purple and white stars embroidered into a black background, something she had bought from the festival. Her trousers were both mudstained, and travel-worn from days spent in the back of the cart. Her father had lent her an extra pair of tan trousers and a belt from his spare clothes. They smelled of the wood and pine of the storage boxes in the cart. She felt sure these were a set that he had never bothered to unpack. They were a little baggy on her, but warm and comfortable. She took her time grooming, and cleaning up. When she felt ready, she pulled open the door. There was a note, presumably from her father:

“Meet me downstairs at the table near the kitchens. Don’t forget to wear your cloak, and not to talk if possible.”

She grabbed the cloak hanging from the hook on the inside of the door, and carefully locking her door after her, descended the steps.

NanoWrimo Days 7+8

Her father drove them all hard, stopping only when necessary, and allowing them one 4 hour rest each day around noon. They had been traveling in this fashion for a few days before she began coughing. She tried to hide it, she knew their lives depended on not being found, but each day she felt worse, and shivered night after night, in spite of the warm nights and blankets.

“We need to get you a proper night's rest and a warm meal, my kitten” Her father’s face was furrowed with worry. Despite her concern over their flight, a hot meal sounded like heaven. She sneezed, then nodded. “That settles it. We’ll risk the path this evening. Let’s hope we find somewhere safe without inquizitive hosts”. He smiled at her. “It’s safe to take a nap, I’ll holler if something comes up.” She nodded, looking into his warm brown eyes. Eyes weary with forced travel. “You need a rest too” she reminded him quietly. He nodded. “If we find a place, I’ll take a nap” he promised her. Together, they broke camp, collecting their meager belongings and stacking them into the now very battered cart. Then, Raylin began scattering leaves over the forest floor, covering the indentations where they had slept on the moss. He then pulled out a small bottle from his pocket and uncorking it, spread a few drops over the leaves. Morika caught a whiff of the oder and gagged. “Skunk essence, to cover our scent”. Her father replied. She nodded. It made sense, but she was surprised her father had been so prepared for the unexpected journey. Perhaps he had known they would someday need to leave? She shook her head silently. She must be over thinking things. Yawning, she climbed into the back of the cart, and they set off. They traveled through the muddy forest, wind still on their heels, making for the road. She slept most of the time, waking only when they made a sharp turn, or had to navigate around close clusters of trees. Birds called and chirped at one another as they traveled. Eventually, she heard her father call out “lunchtime Morika”. She looked out find the cart slowing down near a small stream. Raylin hopped out and began to set up a small travel tablecloth over a stump near the stream. She watched him pulling out the food, expecting a meager ration of berries, roots, and some bread slices. They had been fasting, trying to make their food last as long as possible. Her father turned the bag upside down, emptying the contents on the stump. Berries, roots, 4 slices of bread, and a small clay pot. She gasped, looking at him. “From the midsummer night's feast” he grinned. “Your favorite”. He grinned. “I know it’s risky, stopping again so soon, but we shant stay long, and we deserve a break.” Inside the pot was a small pomegranate and blackberry pie, topped with honey. “We’ll eat the rest of our rations for lunch, and pray we find an inn before nightfall.” He noted the look of worry on her face. “We’ll find somewhere, and besides, the food won’t keep forever. Eat, and enjoy.” Together, the two ate in peaceful silence, savoring the sweet pie for dessert. When they had finished, he looked at the sky. “Getting on evening time, if the sun is any judge. It will be the perfect time for traveling back onto the road. Hopefully no one will notice we emerged from the forest. That would lead to some embarrassing questions.” Raylin winked at her, but she didn’t share in his levity. She was starting to feel sick again, and drank some more spring water, trying to cover her cough. “Thank you for the wonderful lunch daddy” She smiled up at him. It was nice. He stroked her cheek once, and began packing.

Some time later, they pulled up out of the thicket and onto the path. After so much time in the forest, she enjoyed the nice smooth ride, but kept an eye out down the darkening path, half expecting those things to come up on their rear at any moment. Sunset turned to dusk, which slowly turned to pitch black night. He lit his lanturn. “Might as well see if we’re on the road anyway”. He noted. She nodded, but was glad he didn’t light the back lanturn. The night turned cold, and she shivered. Crawling up to the front, she snuggled in under her father’s arm. He smiled at her, hugging her tight. She wasn’t sure when she drifted off, but she woke to music in the air, and a warm delicious smell wafting on the damp night air. They had pulled off the main road down a small dirt path to an inn. The inn was a welcome sight, with smoke dancing out the chimney, and song and laughter in the air. Her sharp ears picked up a voice, carrying the rhythm of the song. An wood nymph! There was no mistaking the melody, how it wavered on the air, holding a note that was neither happy nor sad, but somehow both at once.

Many moons ago, a wood nymph had visited their village during the festival. The tree being’s singing was magical and held everyone spellbound. Every year, Morika wished she could hear a nymph’s song again. “Do you hear that?” she squeaked in her father’s ear, her voice horse with coughing and excitement. “I reckon we’ll be safe here tonight, her father whispered. Nymphs are extra sensitive to creatures of darkness. They wouldn’t be singing unless they felt safe.” They rode down the dirt path to the entrance of the inn.

NanoWrimo Days 5-6

Morkia tossed and turned. She wasn’t used to sleeping during the daytime. And her father's words gave her plenty to think about. She watched her father, eyes closed, breathing evenly, looking for all the world like he was asleep. She knew he wasn’t though. His body was tense, like he was waiting for something to happen. She could almost believe the creatures were after Raylin though. He had a hereditary trait, fire conjuring. One night while out camping, the wood was soaked and didn’t want to light. He had sent her off for more firewood. On her way back to the camp, she saw him chanting over the fire, and it burst into flame before her eyes. Her father had asked her to keep it secret, said he didn’t want the attention or something like that. But who knew? Perhaps there was more to it. She was thinking to herself, lost in thought, when suddenly his eyes popped open. She could see his ears flicking back, and his nose following an unknown scent in the air. “Someone's approaching!” He whispered. Raylin leapt up, motioning Morika to crawl under the cart. She scrambled under the cart, kicking up sticks and moss in her hurry. She twisted around in time to see a large beast come crashing through the bushes. If it had fur, it was mostly torn off, and matted. Pink scars crisscrossed all over its muscle bound body. It was oozing green blood from an ugly gash on it’s side. In another life, it may have been similar to a giant rhinoceros. But instead of a horned head, in its place was the head of a serpent. Morika recoiled. Biting her lip to keep from screaming out in horror. Ignoring Raylin, the creature charged the cart, knocking it into the air, and sending it crashing against a tree. The serpent head coiled and lunged, trying to bite Morika. She thrust her plate at it stumbling backwards. It crushed the plate with a snap of its powerful fangs and coiled, ready to lunge again. Raylin hit the back side of the creature like a thunderbolt, naked sword in his hand. Bellowing, he drove it deep into the creatures hind flank. Hissing and spitting, the creature turned to face it’s new foe. “Up the tree Morika!” She got to her feet, breathless, heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. Clawing her way up the tree, she turned to watch her father. As she turned around, she saw the snake head strike her father in the shoulder. He grunted with pain, but swung again, also lashing out with his other hand, which held a set of 3 iron claws. Hissing with pain, the creature reared on its hind legs, coming down with a force that made the woods tremble. The serpent struck again and again, hitting dirt and logs, but sometimes striking her father, who was moving slower and slower. She bit her lip, not knowing how to help, and could only watch, horrified. Before long the creature had her father backed up against a tree. It reared its head, preparing to strike. Sobbing, she closed her eyes and turned away, unable to watch her father die. She heard her father shout something, in a strange language. There was a flash of light and heat, followed by a scream. She gripped the tree branch afraid to look. Then she heard a voice right below the tree. “It’s alright you can come down now.” She peeked her eyes open, and Raylin was standing beneath the tree, wincing and out of breath, but alive. His right shoulder was bleeding, and his left arm looked as if it had been bitten more than once. She glanced at the monster, then wished she hadn’t. Laying on the ground, it was somehow more grotesque than when it had been alive. Blood was oozing out in multiple places, and it’s head was burnt and severed, eyes still wide open staring at nothing. Stomach churning, she reteched, still clutching her branch. Then slowly climbing down, she rushed into her father's arms. “There there, it’s alright, it’s all over now.” he said soothingly. She sobbed in his arms. When she felt better, she helped her father right the cart and collect the supplies that had been scattered across the forest floor. Her father worked at repairing the damage to the cart, stopping every once in a while to rest his shoulder. Morika wondered if the snake had any kind of poisonous venom. Raylin seemed to be in a hurry to leave, and she couldn’t agree more. She didn’t want to stay near the monster a second longer than they needed to. Their primary problem was finding their horse. At the first sign of the creature, the horse had taken flight and bolted. It was some time before they located her, and she flatly refused to return to the camp and the smell of the creature. In the end, Morika stayed with the horse, and her father laboriously wheeled the cart over to the trembling mare. Once hooked up, they were on their way again. “If the larger creatures had time to travel this far, then the scouts are probably ahead of us, searching.” he said darkly. “I’m afraid we’ll have to make tracks, and fast.” He lifted her up into the cart, then climbed in. They traveled straight through that evening, and well into the night. The cart was bumpy, and made sleep near impossible. Twice her father picked up a scent on the air, and they had jumped out, abandoning the cart to hide in a tree until he deemed it safe enough to return. The first time they saw and heard nothing, so after a half hour or so of sitting up in the branches, they came back down and continued on. The second time, they had scarce gotten out of sight when a pair of scouts had passed by, looking for all the world like a pair of black panthers themselves. She almost called out, when Raylin put a hand hastily over her mouth. He gestured, and she looked again, and recoiled. The panthers had evil faces, with burning red eyes, and they hissed at one another, spitting every so often, a green saliva that caused the plants and grass to wither on contact. They sniffed around the cart for a while, conversing in their strange tongue. After what seemed an age, they left, wandering through the forest. That time they stayed in the tree an hour before climbing back down. The horse had behaved, standing quietly, but eyes wide with terror, and sweat coming down it’s back. Morika petted the horse, talking soothingly to it. Her father had always said that she had a way with animals, and she could feel the horse calming as she petted it. They remounted, both too tired to talk much, as the cart rattled on into the forest.

nanowrimo days 3+4

Sorry about the delay everyone! I had to fill in a gap in my story, and my new router was giving
me grief at home. Anyway, here's Sat and Sun! And I have Mon and Tue done, but I'll post that tomorrow. Happy Monday everyone!

It must have been close to midnight before her father stopped the cart. “Kitten are you awake?” He called out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, she replied, whispering back”. “Good.” He cleared his throat nervously. I’ve been traveling on the road just long enough to avert suspicion. But we’re far enough from the village now, and we need some deeper cover. I’m going to take the cart into the forest to hide our trail. Hopefully that will buy us a head start.” He kept his voice calm, but he was scared. She could hear the tremble in his voice. What could those creatures want with them? Why was her father so worried about discovery? Shouldn’t they stay and help the village? It was as if her father read her mind. “I know you have questions, but they’ll have to wait for another time. Do you trust me?” She nodded. He tugged at the reigns and the cart swung around and into the forest. As they entered the woods, a sharp wind came blasting down the road, carrying with it leaves and loose bramble. It was almost as if the night was swallowing them up, covering the place where the cart left the road.

He stopped the cart, but only when it was starting to get light out. She looked out at the pale pink sky, and saw nothing but giant trees and wild plants she had never seen before. There was no grass under the canopy, but plenty of moss, wild mushrooms, some ground berries she recognized from one of her classes, and several fallen logs. Her father jumped down from the cart and began unpacking their gear. “We were fortunate that we decided to stay late for the ceremony” he said. “We have several blankets, some leftovers from our dinner and the tarp from our camping trip a month ago”. She was only half listening. She gave her father a quizzical look. He caught her pained look and understood. “Well, let’s see, there’s a nice thicket on the other side of the fallen log that would offer some privacy.” He handed her a roll of toilet paper and a trowel. “Lucky these were left in the cart too. Pick a spot, but stay in shouting distance” he reminded her. She collected the paper and trowel, grumbling to herself. This was her least favorite part of camping. When she finished, she returned to camp to find Raylin had lain out the blankets over the moss, and fixed the tarp to the side of the cart, and nearby to the ground to form a lean-to. “It’s not much, but it will keep the wind and rain off us”. Morika settled down on the blanket under the tarp, and took some of the food her father handed her. “So daddy, what’s going on? He set his cup and plate down, and and looked her in the eyes. “Long ago, our village was led by the Melmanzos; powerful spellcasters. There were three families who possessed the gifts. Their children and offspring were born with many abilities, healing, sightseeing, control of the elements, even the power of invisibility, or so ‘twas said. The Melmanzos had an enemy, the Caorthannach, creatures of darkness, terrible to behold. They were burning, raiding, and killing all that was good and wholesome in the shadow of the mountains. Finally, tired of beating back the demons that came upon our gates, we brought the fight to them. Many of our warriors gathered their finest weapons, and armor, and made the long journey to their domain, the marshes near the black lake. The battle was grimly fought, and no lives were spared on either side. Not a single warrior returned that day, but ever since, not a single of those dark creatures has been seen.”

She had heard this tale before, but to hear it again right after an attack on their village brough shivers down her spine. “So they survived somehow? What will happen to the town?”

“It seems they somehow are still alive, yes. I’ve heard some rumors from one of the border guards who fought off a pair of black wolves 3 weeks back. He swears the wolves could breathe fire, but I just couldn’t believe that after all these years…” His voice trailed off. Seeming to change the subject, he added, “What do you know of the offspring of the three families?”

She furrowed her brow, remembering. “The lineage has been lost all these years, but some panthers still are born with gifts, like the ability to hover, or fight well, or even baking.” She giggled. Her nana, a kind hearted panther with wisps of silver in her hair had insisted she was given the power to cook delicious food. “There’s no denying your nana has talent. Do you think I would let just anyone cook for us?” He joked. Her felt a pang in her heart. Her father had invited nana in to watch over her after Mom left. One day suddenly, she was gone. She hadn’t even left a note. Her father had been frantic. He tore their house apart looking for clues, then would go out searching the village and forest, sometimes for days at a time. There had been no sign of forced entry, either at the gates, or their home. Finally, they just had to accept that she wasn’t coming back. Her father’s grim voice brought her sharply to the present. “As for the town, I don’t like to think what may have happened. If the alarm was raised in time, maybe most made it out into the forest…” His voice trailed off. “And once they find out we left, they’ll be looking for us.”

She started. She couldn’t imagine why they would be after them. Why were they so important? He noted the look of confusion on her pale face. “I can’t tell you why just yet, but you carry the future of our village on your shoulders. It is imperative that we keep you safe and hidden!” His tone of voice scared her. She had never dreamed of being anything more than how she saw herself; a slender, black furred, average panther. A bit small for her age, and completely normal looking. Well, except for the white patches on her ears, and bright blue eyes. Most of the village had liquid black eyes, or a dark brown. Still, nothing to set her apart from the rest. “Why me daddy?” He shook his head. “It’s time we get some sleep. We’ll sleep during the day, and travel by night. And try to stay off the path as much as possible.”

NanoWrimo Days 1 and 2

<Okay, I broke the rules of NanoWriMo, and edited my first 1,000 words. It was for a good reason though, I realized I had some introduction I wanted to get into the beginning to lay the groundwork for what lays ahead>. I'll try to make this my only re-write until after November though.

-Edited Version-

She yawned, slowly swishing her tail, belly full. It had been a great night. Midsummer’s eve celebration always was, but tonight seemed better somehow. There had been games, prizes, a ring toss, even a magician! As a special treat, her father let her stay late to watch the coming of age ceremony for young panthers. For the males, this included a test of strength, and for the females, it included a fire dance. The elders then placed ink marks on the panthers; blue headstripes for the males, and blue stars on the cheeks of the females. In ancient tales, ancestors born with these marks had possessed incredible gifts, healing, fire conjuring, fortelling. Now of course, only the occasional villager was born with them. Hereditary Traits, they were called, and much less powerful.

At the end of the ceremony, there was a large dance for the new initiates. All the young panthers would dance in pairs around the fire. It was said that only the fortunate few found their soulmate under the Midsummer Eve moon. How romantic! She thought to herself. In a few years, she would be old enough to participate. She had lived in her village her entire life. Most of the villagers were black panthers, as it had been for time out of mind. However, for midsummer’s eve, all manner of creatures attended, from the Red Fox Clan, to the Traveling Tigers Carnival Troupe. The magician was a pure silver badger, bent with age. But his show had been the best of all! He made apples disappear, turned buttered rolls to silver, even teleported a one of the tigresses from one spot to another!

She rolled over, almost buried in blankets in the back of the cart. She could hear the soft clip clop of the horse’s hooves over the path. Night had fallen, and the fog began to set in. She was just dozing off when the cart stopped. “There’s something ahead on the road” her father, Raylin whispered. Stay in the cart, I’m going to check it out.” She heard him dismount, and walk slowly up the road. “Ere now, what do you mean by blocking the road?” He called out. She couldn’t make out the conversation, but someone else was talking, in a low, urgent tone. She popped her head out, trying to see the road ahead. A tall dark shape, taller than even the border guards. He was wearing a great black traveler's cloak shrouded in fog. After some more words with the stranger, her father came hurrying back to the cart.

“We need to leave the village at once!” he cried. His eyes were wide. “They’ve come back!” he whispered, in a tone almost to faint to hear. “Who’s come back?”

He paused, as if weighing how much to say. “Remember those bedtime stories I used to tell about the fearless warrior mages of old and the curse of the black lake?”


She nodded. She loved hearing about their town lore, and the great deeds of long ago.
“They weren’t just stories. And this time, we no longer have the strength to repel them!”
He gave the reigns a tug, and quickly pulled the cart off the main road and into the brush.
“This fog is welcome, it will help muffle our breathing, and hide our trail.” He whispered.
"All the same, no sense in taking chances my dear. Git under those blankets and keep quiet!”
The cart rattled and creaked as it left the road, and into the forest that separated the center of town from the outlying farms and distant border patrol. They hadn’t gone more than an arrow’s pace of the road when he halted.
“Listen!” He gestured. The fog was too thick to see the road, but straining her ears, she could hear a faint sound. Almost a hissing, and quick pace of a dozen or so large, heavy sets of feet. They passed in the night, never slowing, nor changing their direction, headed straight for the center of town. Soon they were gone. She could hear her father breathing a sigh of relief.
“What were those things? Who was that figure on the road who warned us? What will happen to our town?” Questions came bursting out of her mouth.
He patted her furry head. “Hush my little one. I will explain everything. But not now. Now we have a long journey ahead of us. The town, and our home are no longer safe. Let’s be off!” He pulled the horse back towards the road, and then off in the direction away from town. She looked back and thought she saw prints on the road, deep in the mud tracks of the like she had never seen before. She curled into a ball, hiding deep under the pile of blankets and tried to stave off the horrible images of these creatures.
The night passed slowly, every gust of wind and crack of a branch made her start, the cart never slowed down, traveling at a steady pace down the road. It wasn’t until they had been traveling for a good 30 minutes after their fright that she realized something. They were still in the outskirts of Mawr, their town. Surely the border guards would have stopped the intruders? What if they tried, and failed? She shuddered. The border guards were the closest thing Mawr had to a military. They mostly kept the wolves away, or checked travelers wishing to enter. Still, they were well armed, and brave. She had heard the captain, Saber, possessed Keen Eye, an ancient hereditary trait that made him unbeatable in close combat. If these things were in town, why hadn’t she heard a fight, or even an alarm?
The cart came to a sudden halt. She heard her father gasp quietly. “So the rumors are true!” He said almost to himself. Then he turned to look into the back of the cart. Moriko, my kitten, I’m sorry but we can’t risk stopping by our house to pick up anything. We’ll be on the road a while, and we’ll have to make do with what we have with us. Can you accept that?” She nodded under the blankets, then, realizing her father couldn’t see her, said meekly, “Of course daddy”. “That’s my kitten” he said softly. Then she heard him click the horses back into a trot. Moriko felt the cart bump heavily over something, jarring the muffled silence. *Clunk* She peeped her nose and eyes out, and a shocking scene met her eyes. They were passing the main gate. The cart wheel had rode over one of the posts from the gate. It had been torn loose, and lay on the path. The gates were flung wide open, and the lock mechanism looked melted with some green acid still clinging to the sides. But that wasn’t the worst. She looked beyond the gate posts and saw many of the border guard on the ground, still and lifeless. She shivered and buried her face into the warm blankets.

FOOF!

Warnings: Long winded, science-y, dragons, and dangerous chemicals! 

Enjoy! 

FOOF!

The moral of this story is, never ask for FOOF for Christmas. FOOF is the lab nickname for a highly volatile compound made of dioxygen and difluoride. However, unlike most interesting compounds, this one scientists usually make a point to avoid. Dioxygen_Difluoride has been referred to as “the gas of Lucifer” due to its uncanny ability to set things on fire. It can make almost any organic substance ignite and explode at any temperature hotter than 300F below zero! To put this in perspective, it can make ice catch on fire. Violent explosions and lab fires circle this compounds deadly history. While this compound has no practical uses (outside using it to fight dragons) it has one semi-redeeming quality; it can be used to synthesize plutonium hexafluoride at safer temperatures (I can’t imagine why anyone needs plutonium hexafluoride!).

But I digress. This story isn’t about the horrific lab failures of the humans, it’s about a little girl with bad handwriting, and an excessively industrious and devoted little elf with poor eyesight and a chemistry degree. You see, years ago, in the small town of Socros, AK, a girl by the name of Kaia was writing her Christmas list to Santa. She had been very good all year, and had recently seen How to Train your Dragon in theatres. Oh how she wanted a giant stuffed dragon to snuggle with at night! Kaia hadn’t learned the difference between lower case letters and capitals. Her Christmas list was in all caps, along with the entry FOOFY DRAGON. When she had finished, she was so excited she skipped all the way to the family mailbox, way out by the road. It was cold out, and her cheeks were flushed by the time she got back. That night, she went to bed and dreamed of dragons.

Far north, but not too much further north than Kaia lived, the elf factories were running full tilt to get things ready for Christmas. Keelee, the littlest elf (as her friends called her) had just been promoted to the R&D department. In most human organizations, R&D involved testing practical ideas slowly over decades, and wading through literal mountains of bureaucratic red tape. A human may go an entire lifetime and only make a single real contribution to society. In elf country, it is much different. An elf studies for a minimum of 25 years to be qualified enough to work in R&D, and then only in a specific section. This is because elf’s deal in dreams and imaginations. They read letters from children all over the world, then set to work to create the toy the child has asked for. These toys must be safe, long lasting, and easy to play with, and above all, fun! Elves don’t have the decades to invent new things like humans have. By then, the child will have outgrown the toy. They begin their work around November, when the letters to Santa start coming in. They then have to invent, test, prototype, and produce the toy all in less than 60 days. The job is stressful, but the perks were great, and it is one of the most coveted jobs in the North Pole.

Keelee was 125 years old (young for an elf) and had just finished her chemistry degree. She had just been accepted into the R&D department and had finished her first week of basic training and regulatory paperwork. Today was her first real day on the job. She woke up, ideas for amazing toys already swirling in her brain. Almost racing through her morning routine, she arrived to the R&D campus almost 20 minutes early. Swiping her card, the door clicked green and let her in. She walked slowly through the entrance, eyeing massive workroom. Every inch was decorated in red and green, the floor freshly waxed and polished, all the machine stations clean, materials loaded in racks beyond. There were 6 little red doors off to the left, indicating private study labs for use for delicate and clean-room testing, and 6 little green doors off to the right especially for outdoor and large toys and gifts. For humans, the latest craze are 3D printers that can mold plastic, metal and other materials into objects. However, elvish technology was a little more advanced. Each station in the center of the room had its own thought-printer, which could make things using dreams, and thoughts instead of detailed blueprints. They required training though, as elves had to visualize all the miniature pieces and parts properly or else it wouldn’t turn out quite right. Keelee gasped as she took all this in. It was her first time on the floor. Her week of training had been held in conference rooms in another building. She walked down the stations until she came to one with her name on it. 5^th isle across, 12^th row down. It was an open workplace, no walls or confined cubicle like the humans used, and her station was roughly as large as the average living room. It included 3 workbenches, 2 thought-printers, plenty of wrapping paper, and a holographic computer module specially built to display diagrams, digital copies of Santa letters, and materials in stock, supplies, etc. She began sifting through the various letters. Most were fairly simple (each letter was classified based on a difficulty level, and assigned based on elf experience) and she was confident in her ability to fulfill each and every one. Then, one caught her eye, or rather sort of caught her eye. She had a little trouble with her eyesight; despite having perfect vision, she often blurred certain letters together or mixed words up on occasion. The humans were calling this dyslexia (they like to name things) but to elves, it was just called “a touch of the fuzzy’s” and usually came and went for no explicable reason. To her eyes that morning, the card read FOOF Dragon. She thought to herself for some time, well aware of the FOOF compound, but couldn’t figure out why a child from Alaska would want FOOF for Christmas, or how to make a dragon out of FOOF. After some quiet contemplation, she figured the child must have meant she wanted a dragon that could breathe FOOF instead of Fire. A dangerous toy, but surely she could make one that was safe enough to play with? She spent the morning making the other toys and testing them, but all the while her mind was on creating the dragon. She decided to set it aside for 3 days to give her time to fully plan it out. Tuesday, then Wednesday passed. By Friday, she decided how to make it. The dragon would have to be child sized, but contain a small elf-power source inside. Elf power sources often look like double AA batteries, but are entire factories for generating power. These batteries never wear out or corrode. In fact, they will often last for years. This is why a toy from an elf will last not only through the Christmas season, but often not need a battery change until two or three years. Then after that, human batteries are used, which last only months at a time. In this case, the batteries would have to create these two chemicals separately. Then, they would be combined inside the third battery, mixed properly, then spewn out of the mouth. She knew she would have to add a 4rth “safety chemical” to automatically detect and neutralize any chemical reaction that might occur which would cause a large explosion. This safety chemical would have to take into account such materials such as trying to set the couch on fire, kerosene from the garage, and other things a typical family might have lying about. The main trick the child wanted, she assumed, was to make fire on ice, snow, and other cold places in Alaska. After 3 more weeks of working, she finally finished the dragon. It was about the size of a small stack of books, felt mostly squishy to the touch, and would breathe black and blue flames which would make fire (she removed the toxic smell and corrosion that normally came with the FOOF chemical. It was as safe as FOOF could be.

That Christmas morning, Kaia came downstairs exited for a stuffed dragon to squeeze and hug and tell stories too. The dragon was neatly wrapped in a box, with the curly elvish handwriting on it: To: Kaia, From: Santa. She ripped open the box, and pulled out the dragon. It was a bit heavier than she expected, and had a small button on the top of its head. Surprised, she pushed the button, then jumped back as flames spouted out. The flames scared her at first, then her smile widened as she rushed outside to try to light a stick on fire (her parents had warned her about trying to light anything in the house). After searching for a small stick, she found one under the fir tree out back. She pressed the button, and the dragon burst out a stream of blue/black flame that lit the stick, and the snow on the ground on fire! The fire quickly spread, fueled by the oxygen in the water! It grew larger and larger until the tree began to catch and spark. The girl screamed and dropped the dragon, running back inside. Luckily, her scream registered on the toy’s safety meter, and sent out a signal to the North Pole. Keelee had installed this meter on this particular toy due to its volatile nature. It pinged Santa himself, and he sent out a team of specially trained elves to quench the tree, calm down Kaia, and bring back the dragon. Keelee was ashamed when Santa kindly pointed out to her that the note had said foofy dragon, and that he wouldn’t have given a child a dragon that spewed FOOF in the first place. He then had the elves quickly drop off a large stuffed dragon, and Kaia happily went into a Christmas sleep in front of the Christmas tree, her memory of the FOOF Dragon erased, replaced with sugar plums. Kaia was warned not to mess with FOOF again, and the entire event was eventually forgotten.

However, that FOOF Dragon was not destroyed, but instead magically turned to a live ice dragon, and sent to live in the South Pole to keep the penguins warm during the frigid winters…

Writing Prompt 2 Food & Clip

Today's themes are Food, and Clip. Let me know what you think! 

Woof!

She yawned, slowly swishing her tail, belly full. It had been a great night. Midsummer’s eve celebration always was, but tonight seemed even better somehow. There had been games, prizes, a ring toss, even a magician! She rolled over, almost buried in blankets in the back of the cart. She could hear the soft clip clop of the horse’s hooves over the path. Night had fallen, and the fog began to set in. She was just dozing off when the cart stopped. “There’s something ahead on the road” her father whispered. Stay in the cart, I’m going to check it out. She heard him dismount, and walk slowly up the road. “Ere now, what do you mean by blocking the road?” He called out. She couldn’t make out the conversation, but someone else was talking, in a low, urgent tone. She popped her head out, trying to see the road ahead. A tall dark shape, taller than even the soldiers in town. He was wearing a great black travelers cloak shrouded in fog. After some more words with the stranger, her father came hurrying back to the cart.

“We need to get off the road, find someplace safe” he cried. His eyes were wide. “They’ve come back!” he whispered, in a tone almost to faint to hear.

“Who’s come back?”

He paused, as if weighing how much to say. “Remember those bedtime stories I used to tell about the fearless warriors of old and the curse of the black lake?”

She nodded. She loved hearing about their town lore, and the great deeds of long ago.

“They weren’t just stories. And this time, we no longer have the strength to repel them!”

He gave the reigns a tug, and quickly pulled the cart off the road and into the brush.

“This fog is welcome, it will help muffle our breathing, and hide our trail.” He whispered.

“All the same, no sense in taking chances my dear. Git under those blankets and keep quiet!”

The cart rattled and creaked as it left the road, and into the forest. They hadn’t gone more than an arrow’s pace of the road when he halted.

“Listen!” He gestured. The fog was too thick to see the road, but straining her ears, she could hear a faint sound. Almost a hissing, and quick pace of a dozen or so large, heavy sets of feet. They passed in the night, never slowing, nor changing their direction. Soon they were gone. She could hear her father breathing a sigh of relief.

“What were those things? Who was that figure on the road who warned us? What will happen to our village?” Questions came bursting out of her mouth.

“Hush my little one. I will explain everything. But not now. Now we have a long journey ahead of us. The town, and our home are no longer safe. Let’s be off!” He pulled the horse back towards the road, and then off in the direction away from town. She looked back and thought she saw prints on the road, deep in the mud tracks of the like she had never seen before. She curled into a ball, and tried to stave off the horrible images of these creatures.