A silly short story I wrote for my roleplay character Tatiana to tell.
Kinda pointless, actually, and I might also mention that Tatiana is a horse. Her companions are stallions Korther and Luinrokko, roleplayed by two of my friends.
~
Tatiana stretched out on her side, head laying on the cool grass.
The trio of horses had settled down in a small grove of trees out on the wide moors. A group of old cypresses, and a couple of spindly pines, among a pair of oaks. The land was even, so most of the fallen leaves had already blown away, exposing the fresh grass that grew a lush, soft green. All the trees were budding again, fuzzy, pale green or pink; curled together, or in tight little balls. The wind was sweet, and heavy with the scent of spring; it was cool, but not cold, though it would probably get a bit more chilly as the night settled in. Already, the sun had sunk to a mere shadow of gold dusted across the misty horizon. The ground was cool as the air, and it felt good to rest after the long, eventful day.
Her eyes looked over at the sky, seeing the tiny stars as they popped casually into view against the spring-soft sky. Nearby, Luinrokko and Korther were probably getting ready to bed down for the night also. She had been leading, and had picked out the little cluster of trees in the growing grass as the place they would spend the night, and graze in at the morning's dawn.
Sprawled on her side, she kind of propped herself up a bit, raising her head with a small shake to dislodge the flakes of hay that stuck to her cheek. Eyes pleased, she said, “I think this would be a nice place.” Though her thoughts about the area were clear; she had wasted no time plopping down on the ground, nor trotting a bit ahead of her companions. Looking around when she had walked over towards the trees, she had seen the narrow, clear stream that trickled down the valley, and towards the horizon. It was filtered naturally by clean stones, and was probably cold and fresh, judging by the way the stars glinted shiny, off it's surface: a silver gleam under the glowing dusk.
“Would you like to hear a story?” she asked, this time including Korther in the question, unlike last time; her heart felt warm now that she had both to talk to---even though she still wasn't too sure of the black stallion.
“It's a story about a young wizard,” she explained, her voice drifting over the clear air like a melody. Her dark eyes had already taken on a silvery mist that veiled her gentle gaze. “But not a human wizard, no, I think we've had enough of humans for a while.” She smiled faintly, touching her muzzle to one knee. “This wizard was a mink; you know them, they're kind of like a ferret. He had a long, slinky form, and a brown coat like chestnut. He had slanted, almond-like red eyes that were rather darkish (nearly brown), and set on a wide-domed, intelligent face with a tampered muzzle and a little pink nose. They always said he looked like his father, who was a warrior, you see. A scout. A ranger. He roamed the trees and burrowed sly tunnels to catch the mice unawares, and brought them back to the little pond were, around, all his kind lived. This particular mink was named Sylo, brother to Marten—his sister—and a new baby who had yet to be born in his mother's tummy.” She smiled.
“Sylo wanted to be a hunter and proud scout like his father, so that way all the mink of his village would benefit from his deeds. His father—named Tyler—though it a very good idea, and set about training young Sylo to hunt, and burrow, and climb. Sylo learned to use his nimble, tiny paws to find crevices in the bark of saplings, and eventually bigger trees, so that why he could lithely haul himself up—but he fell often, even then, and had to try again. He learned fast, though. Too fast. He starved for information, and longed to know more. Not just about climbing, or how to keep a tunnel from collapsing with sticks and twine from the bushes, not just about sneaking quickly through the undergrowth, or knowing how to use his sharp teeth to steal life from his prey. Not just those things. He wanted to know what made the plants grow under the filtered sun that leaked through the forest-tops; he wanted to know why the fish swam underwater without having to come up for breath in the pond they lived by...he wished to learn how to do that. That would be fun, he thought.
He questioned his father unstoppably about everything that came to mind. Why did the birds have feathers, and why did they preen them so? How come some flowers closed at night, but others stayed open until they shriveled up and died in the winter? His father didn't know the answers to all of Sylo's questions, and told him to hush. To be patient. To be quiet, least he scare the mice, which had very keen ears, and could smell them coming.” Tatiana blinked. “Tyler told his curious son how to smear his chestnut fur with mud, and how to use leaves to hide in the undergrowth when trying to ambush prey. He told him that squirrels had keener eyes then mice, as did birds. But mice could feel their footsteps through the ground, like the earth spoke to them, and warned them. Birds, Tyler said, had to be chased with some decency because if they decided to fly, they were gone for good. Squirrels could fight better then either mice, or bird, and were hard to catch if they got into the trees.”
The mare suddenly paused, and closed her dark eyes in a heavy yawn. The sun had disappeared by now; and somewhere in one of the trees, a owl hooted solemnly.
“But still, Sylo wasn't content. He found himself wandering off on his own, searching the forests for things to learn about, and ignoring prey. He was hunting for answers. Not food.
Before long, the young boar (/because that's what male minks are called/, Tatiana explained,) had come to a small burrow; set under the heart of a old pine tree that had fallen, and snapped on it's side. Overtime, some animal had burrowed under it, and sheltered the hole with branches and a blanket of entwined pine needles. The result was a nearly completely hidden little den, that Sylo wouldn't have found if not for him spotting the fat, scuffled paw-prints on the trail leading around it.
Wary, but insatiably curious, he lowered his head, and flicked his tiny ears.
Quietly as he could manage, he slinked forward, dodging a lollop hand of a busty fern, as the leaves leaned down to brush his narrow head.
“Soon, he has his pinkish nose sticking into the shadows of the den, his whiskers trembling as he gave the place a good sniff. He noticed, with some surprise, that the den was much deeper then he'd thought, and led back into a large tunnel, dug into the earth below the roots of the dead pine.
The place smelled normal to him---of mink, moss, and musky pine-needles; but for some reason, that didn't click in his mind. /The place smelled of mink/. He didn't realize what that meant until the owner of the den jumped out behind him, and lashed at his side.
Alarmed, and more then a bit afraid, the young boar leapt into the air, and twisted his little hand-like paws forwards to gabble at a branch stuck in the mud under the fallen pine. His claws sunk into the dead bark, and the moist, crunchy texture rubbed against his small pads as he scrambled up onto the roof.
He felt something swing at his tail just before he whipped around, paws sliding on the slick coat of pine-needles. With a small yelp, he came face to face with a much larger boar mink, who had fierce, glittering red eyes and a fat, scared muzzle. But, to add to his shock was the fact that the other boar was standing /on his hind legs/ which gave him a impressive advantage of height. In one paw, the other mink held a long string of dead vine, soaked in bile to keep it flexible, and on the end of that string was a tiny barb; the long, sharp thorn of a rose, tied in place.
“They stared at each other, Sylo biting back fear, and forcing himself not to run and face the other mink down. As he appraised the other, Sylo slowly began to realize that the other boar was /old/. His shoulders were hunched on a knotted back, and his long body was husky and unfit. His blocky legs were more well-muscled then Sylo has ever seen, and figured that must come from walking on your hind-legs all the time, which was something that mink /never/ did...until then.
Eyes glittering, his opponent growled what sounded like a load of klunk to Sylo.
'/Eagra! T'tont, d'Mumbre!/'
Then, as sudden as the sun blinks it's one eye, (yeah, you've never seen that have you?) the thorn began to glow, a brighter red at first, then a ruby sheen that shone like a small star, enlightening the sharp edge of the thorn. On the same breath, the stranger's eyes began to brighten, the foggy, small pupils shrinking out of sight like a swallowed fish in a ocean of red waters.
Hypnotized, Sylo stared at the thorn, unable to move as the stranger swung it over his head, faster and faster. Then, Sylo blacked out....”
“Sylo awoke in the den, surrounded by the musky smell of rotting pine needles, dried moss, and long-fingered heather, which was molded into the walls of the den, dripping with a choking aroma. He laid there for a long while, slowly opening his eyes to see through his sleepy daze: he saw stars, they spun along the walls of the den, glinting and casting queer light that glowed like moonshine, caught between the ropey roots that tangled the roof, and kept it from collapsing. He realized, as he became more sober, that he really was deep in the den, so far away from natural light---because those stars couldn't be right, could they?--- that he'd never get out on his own, and with a mixture of alarm and relief, he noticed that his strange attacker wasn't in the cave with him. For it was a cavern, no small den, for cert. It was like palace among underground homes, a wide, open room far underground, with a high clay ceiling, knotted with roots, and jeweled with those strange stars, which turned out to be lots of small gems, of varying colors. Sylo counted at least four, because that was as far as he could count, and he only made it that far from sitting back and staring at his four tiny paws for a while. He recognized colors, many more shades then four. He saw yellows, silvers, greens, blues, and pinks----plus reds, and purples, and milky whites; they spun around him, and he stood hurriedly on the floor of old pine shavings, needles, and moss. He felt like he would suffocate; the feeling was strong, and sudden. His breathing became instantly irregular as he sensed the stars closing in, glowing from within until they reflected in his wide, fearful eyes. Chest weaving, he backed against a far wall, into the shadows, where the lights didn't gleen.
He cowered there, and stared out from the corner, his chestnut pelt bristled along his nape and shoulders; his sleek muzzle tucked into his hand-like paws. He closed his eyes to block out the stars and their unnatural stare; but the after-effects of their eerie leer floated under his eyelids, riding on waves of beady colors and black winds. Haunted images. He told himself they weren’t ghosts, but lay there paralyzed all the same, until darkness swallowed him, with a teeth bronzed in sleep.”
“When he awoke again, he was still in his corner, and the lights still gleamed; this time, he came to his senses faster, and jumped up, feeling lightheaded and woozy. His long, flat tail brushed behind him as he made to move, scared and nervous, but thinking fast, and looking for a way out----but then he froze, seeing the other boar-mink. The one who'd brought him there.
He looked mostly the same, the stranger, with his red eyes like blood had been dripped onto their irises, and his fat face, scarred with the pale symbols of past battles, and riddled with silvery hairs. His coat was more of a bracken-color, and longer, like he'd come from farther up north, where the lands were colder. He hadn't turned around, and Sylo wondered if the other knew he was awake; quietly, he looked out from his corner, and glanced about for that strange glowing thorn, which had /somehow/ knocked him out---magic? Sylo's heart beat in his throat, could that be true? But the thorn and strange lasso that held it wasn't around.
Then the stranger spoke, and not in that mumbled jumbo nonsense that he had previously; he spoke in Basic, and Sylo understood him perfectly, because, besides the language of his people, Basic was the only speech he understood well enough to get by.
'You're a curious sight, you know.' The stranger said in a guttural string of grunts, hunching his shoulders, and staring at him. The width between his eyes was unnaturally broad, so wide that Sylo felt he couldn't look into both eyes at once, which made him feel like he was being watched, even when he was the looker.
'What do you mean?' he asked, still not seeing a way out, and vying for time until he did. He resisted looking at the stars---gems, that is---that studded the roof, and upper walls, though still their presence bothered him.
'Your mind----it is hungry. I have looked into it, and seen that beast that craves for knowledge.' The stranger held out his forepaws, which boasted long, nimble fingers, and soft pads, like they weren’t often walked on. In each paw he palmed a berry. Both a milky blue, both round, and both identical, so that they could have come from the same bush. But Sylo sensed something was wrong with the berry in his capture's right paw. Sometime just wasn't right about it. It wasn't normal, for sure.
Sylo said nothing, glancing from the berries, and into each of the stranger's crimson eyes, which were dead-pan unreadable. 'Who are you? And why have you brought me here? I wasn't trying to break into your den, I was just---'
'--Curious? Wondering? Seeking answers?' The stranger laughed, like rocks rolling down a cliifside, gravelly and rough. 'I knew that, and so I didn't kill you. My name is Tilmn. You don't have to introduce yourself, Sylo, I already know who /you/ are.' He reached forward with the berries, turned his paws face-down, and placed them on the floor of the den, on top the rotted bedding. 'You may eat.' He said. 'Though I must warn you, one is poisoned.'
Sylo gaped at the boar called Tilmn, thinking fast as he could; 'poison? You may not have killed me, but you want to! I wish to leave!' He exclaimed, 'let me free! You block the tunnel out, don't you?”'He challenged, baring his fangs with a bravery he didn't feel. He knew he couldn't fight Tilmn, not even with his youth on his side. He was small---he always had been, and the other boar was old, experienced, large, and deep: like something inside of him bellowed and rippled with power. And besides, what of that thorn? Could he have it blanketed under his tail? He didn't even bother asking how Tilmn knew so much about him.
Tilmn was up against the wall opposite to Sylo, his broad body blocking the shadows, but it wasn't a tunnel they behind him---just a wall, and Tilmn laughed again. 'There are no tunnels here, Sylo. None. Eat, and you will escape.'
'One is poisoned.'
Tilmn nodded, seeing the sparks in Sylo's eyes. Intelligence. Thought. Though the young mink was scared, confused, and overwhelmed, he was taking things surprisingly well. That was good. 'Yes, but one isn't.'
'Which?' Sylo asked, examining the berries from his corner.
'Which?' Sylo asked, examining the berries from his corner.
Tilmn chuckled, like his question amused him. 'I cannot tell you that. That would be cheating.'
'What does escaping have to do with these berries?' Sylo gestured with one paw to the two round fruits, his eyes resting a little longer on the berry that had come from Tilmn's right pad. Then he looked away, and to the other boar-mink.
'Both will allow you to escape this cave. But, where they will take you is different. One, the poisoned, will kill you, and allow your spirit to escape to the afterlife. The other, is magical, a normal berry with added properties. It will allow you to walk from this cave, unharmed, and completely safe.'
'How?' Sylo gulped, knowing he was at a crossroads. He forced himself to remain calm. A ruffle of longer fur fell over his forehead, between his ears and he scratched it away with a quick swipe of his hindpaw.
'Eat it---and find out.' Tilmn's voice was pleasant, but goading. That fierceness that had been in his eyes when Sylo had first stumbled upon his den was gone. Had that fury been a ruse? Or was this calm? Could he be hiding his anger, and simply waiting to strike?
Sylo stared back at him for a moment longer, then stepped into the center of the cave, feeling the glare of a thousand---or just four, right?---gems and their contained fire heat his pelt, and shift around him like smoke. He looked at the two blue berries, sniffing them, and nudging them with his tiny pinkish nose. He couldn't eat both, and test it. So, it would be up to chance. Or Tilmn could just be playing with him, and both could be poison. But something told him the other mink told the truth.
So then, Sylo took the one on /his/ right---the one that had come from /Tilmn's/ left paw, and clutched it very carefully between his teeth, glancing up to see Tit's reaction. The other mink was calm, and his gravelly voice unmoved, hiding whatever thoughts he had of Sylo's choice. 'Eat it,' he dared.
So Sylo swallowed it. And then, with a great heave, spat it back up again, glistening with spittle, but not broken, its creamy, pale blue hide un-punctured.
Then, without missing a beat, Sylo snatched up the right-hand berry, and crunched it under his tongue, then swallowed it, feeling the skin and a wash of sticky white flavor rush down his throat.
Nothing happened.
Then Tilmn laughed, staring at the regurgitated berry. 'You had me trembling for a second there! I thought you had chosen wrong! How did you know that the one from my left paw was poison?'
'Because it seemed normal,' Sylo said evenly, feeling a ball of warmth heating in his middle. Weird.
'Define normal!' Tilmn guffawed, tears of mirth welling in his blood-red eyes, giving the illusion that they were bleeding.
'Those are berries from the Nile bush,' Sylo explained, his pelt flickering transparent, though he didn't notice. He was too busy watching Tilmn. The ball in his chest had swelled to consume his whole being with warmth. A curious sensation.
'I knew that the berry that seemed normal, would be just that. And that the berry with “special properties,” would be the one altered to be safe.' He gave Tilmn a queer glare. 'Unless you lied.'
'No, no, no.' Tilmn smiled, 'I didn't. You are the one! You can trust me. You are smart, and well-learned already, but still starved for knowledge. I know this. I will train you with skills, and feed you a diet of information that none of your village ever could share!'
'Why?'
'Because, you are special. Like that berry that you ate---completely. You will fell others with warmth----and the world with magic! You will be my apprentice. I will teach you the ways of the warlocks.' Tilmn kept his grin, and the light behind his crimson eyes got a little crazed. 'I'm sorry if I scared you when I sent you to sleep. I thought you /could/ be a imposter, and had to put up my...dark side.' He winked with mock evil. 'But I sensed you were different, and sure! I have waited for you for many moons, many many moons. Seasons, even, as the crow flies. So what do you say?'
Sylo was open-mouthed, and staring. His eyes bugged, and his paws twitching with shock. What was that old coot talking about? Magic? Apprenticeship? Crows? The FORCE?! But then, something clicked in his brain, like a warning siren, and he looked down at his paws, to see that they weren’t there! He was invisible! And /floating/ in midair. His ears whisked against the root-knotted ceiling, and he must have sat there, frozen for a long time before he finally said, with a skip of his heart, 'sure. Yeah, uh, hungry for knowledge and all that. So um, when's lunch?'.”
Tatiana finished by rolling up again unto her belly and fixing that dark, milky gaze of hers on both her companions in turn. “Sylo,” she said, “had many adventures with his mentor Tilmn, who's personality changed and shifting like the moon's surface. So did Sylo's at times, because he was young, and thrown into a wild new world. A new parallel. Tilmn was crazy, calm, wistful, and others. Sylo was scared, curious, sad, and hungry. Both were always hungry, and that's what made them good together. After Sylo had accepted Tilmn's offer of giving him a apprenticeship, they both left the cave. Sylo, drifting right through the ceiling like a ghost after uttering a phrase that Tilmn had him repeat, and then with his mentor following, they went into the forest to catch a snack, and begin training out in a small clearing. Sylo would then go home that night, like nothing had happened, though his heart would be filled with a sense of home. He had found what was missing!”
Tatiana shrugged. “It's a weird series of tales, I admit. And that was only the first story I know of him. There were others, many others. Though most of them I cannot remember. One, when he conjured the Dark Bubble, and defeated it later. In another story I heard as a foal, he met a young vixen that could /shifte/ into another creatures, by shedding her fur.”
~
