Also the Bighorn Sheep exhibit at the Phoenix Zoo is so naturalistic that we thought, briefly, that we had gotten lucky and just seen some slightly rare local guys wandering around the desert outside the zoo dhdhdhf

Wells of Deva Chapter 2 Half Giant

After delivering six of the daggers to three prisoners, sunlight hits the top of the unfinished wall. Fordar examines the prisoners between Aela and the giants. He realizes that those few cages might be in a better peripheral view to the giants than the others.

“Better get those unlocked right now before it gets any brighter.” He thinks to himself. Fordar unspools a section of wire, burns it up and points to the humongous man with the thick black mane. “Look towards me, I’m sending the key over. Do not let it hit the bars. Unlock your cage then hold the key behind you so I can send it to the next person without it hitting anything.”

Kuragar doesn’t respond. Wizards prying around in his head is the quickest way to infuriate him, and this one is especially long winded. But being in this tiny cage is worse. He looks to the right and sees the key. He reaches between the bars and grabs it. The key’s uncomfortable in Kuragar’s massive fingers. He’ll have to pay close attention to the way he holds it, so it doesn’t slip from his grip. He curls his arm around the bars, scraping both sides of his forearms on the adjacent metal. He has to squeeze his bicep in between them to get his elbow in the right position to be able to get the key in the hole.

“Clever dwarf, to make me go first while still dark” Kuragar thinks to himself as he turns the key. Kuragar isn’t confident that his arm is going to squeeze back out without a bit of force. He can imagine himself slamming the back of the cage with the key in full sight as he recoils from the effort. So, after twisting the key and pulling it out he waves it around signaling Fordar to grab it.

Fordar jolts to attention, “Stupid oaf, don’t wave it around!” he thinks to himself while quickly reaching out to grab it. The key is 40 feet away, Fordar whispers “hånd” and closes his hand as if grabbing it. Kuragar feels pressure around his fingers and lets go. Kuragar waits for the key to retreat before forcing his arm free of the bars. With a free hand he has more control now to squeeze out quietly and slump back into the cage. Fordar retracts his right hand at a downward angle towards his midsection, swooping the key lower to the ground. Closing the gap between Kuragar and the next prisoner. Then raising his hand to his left shoulder, he brings the key to the hand of a woman with patches of blonde hair missing, dried blood marks the areas where hair used to be.

­­ An hour later, Aela watches an adamantine dagger dancing over the ground quickly making its way to the last cage. The sun beating down on it creates glistening beams of metallic light which frequently catch her eyes. The giants seem too preoccupied enjoying what’s left of the fire’s burning embers to notice. The dagger reaches the last man, a human with dark brown skin just like hers. She used to ask her father why it was that the two of them had darker skin than mom, and why she’d never met anyone else who shared the color. Her father never had an answer for that. He would tell Aela that he’d met others with darker skin during his travels, but none of them knew either. The history of the world before is a mystery to many, and those who know the tales are eagerly listened to as their stories are told. They say, once there were cities that would spread for miles on end, filled with people from all around the world. Thousands of them living side by side. Intermingled with businesses that would collect things from outside the city so no one ever had to leave the safety of the walls if they didn’t want to. The idea of thousands of people was enough for Aela’s imagination to be pushed to the boundaries of unbelievable. In her 24 years she’s only seen maybe 50 people, and only met possibly 30 of them. The others she had seen at a distance, or were people who had attacked Aukra. Wolves, deer, and elk were more prevalent in her life than humans, dwarves or elves.

This experience with these other prisoners makes Aela’s perspective broaden to the idea that there are other villages like Aukra. Her father had found one or two of them in his hunting trips but they were usually gone by the next time he went out into the woods, either abandoned or missing. However, these dwarves don’t seem to have any inclination of moving any time soon. If these walls they’re building are anything like the walls from before the dark, they’ll be here for hundreds of years. Aela imagines herself guarding them, protecting this unfinished town from atop the wall. But first the wall will have to be finished, and the giants will have to be on the other side of it. She watches Fordar throughout the morning. Slipping his hands into pockets, weaving signs, maneuvering keys and daggers between the cages whenever the giants are distracted. It’s like a dance, a conductor of a great orchestra. Commanding pianissimo as the key hovers low to the ground, a great crescendo to bring the key to the hands of a man who’s eyes strain as the music pushes his emotions to something more. Pointing at the brass section to make sure the coming of the climax is clearly communicated to the crowd, Aela. The single audience member to a movement with an unpredictable ending. Then abrupt silence as the giants turn their heads, hearts beating with suspense. A small dance of Fordar’s fingers and the piece is off again.

“Time to go.” Commands Jachin, standing up from the fire and stretching his arms and neck towards the sky “Aja, Helek, Grosta, Ashub.” He continues, “Jijah says one more human village to the east. Wooden walls and horses. Bring spears and shields.”

A look of excitement washes over Helek’s face “Horses don’t need cages! Means we can take more and eat whenever we want, don’t need to save humans for tomorrow!”

“Ya Helek, new rule when you come back with the horses” assures Bograk.

Helek prances with joy skipping over to Kuragar’s cage and squatting down to look at him. “Thick one’s gonna make Helek sleep real nice tonight Bograk.” he schemes while looking into Kuragars eyes.

“You’ll sleep for rest of time when your bones decorate my garden” Kuragar threatens.

“Say that again when I shit you in the woods half breed!” Helek shouts, spittle splattering Kuragar.

“Shouldn’t play with food that can kill you Helek.” Bograk warns.

He snorts and snears at Kuragar before turning away, “Let’s get them horses, then I show him Bograk.” Helek says as he picks up a 10-foot-long spear.

The five giants walk between a gap in the middle of the wall. Leaving only four giants left in the camp, fifteen prisoners, and thirty daggers. The pounding in Kuragar’s chest makes him realize that he’ll no longer be able to control himself. His mind twisting with a maddening sickness, a vile disgust for everything he’d done until now. Unforgivable, unspeakable things. Things he’s only been able to get past because his giant brothers have done worse than that. Like they’re doing now, the half of himself that Kuragar wishes would disappear.

“We’ll wait twenty minutes. Enough for the giants to be long gone.” Whispers Fordar into the thoughts of the other prisoners. “Reclaim this wall, and the city of Kazak will raise children old enough to have families of their own. Reclaim this wall and we’ll protect your families and build a castle for your friends. We’ll set their beds with sheets and blankets so you can kiss their heads goodnight.”

Aela listening to the words kneels down onto her feet and sits on her heels. By grabbing her knees she’s able to steady her breathing. In preparation, Fordar begrudgingly takes off his belt. Looking at the leather always brings memories of the wolf that almost killed Gobber. As they skinned the beast that nearly bested the youngest brother they made a pact, they would always protect each other. One of the dozens of pacts they had made over the years. Fordar takes the belt and wraps it around his wrist a few times until the length is used up. Placing a hand over the belt, he whispers “Rustning”. The belt melts away like silver in a hot pan. Stuck to Fordar’s skin, the melting leather spreads up his arm, under his sleeve and up his shoulder. Around his neck and over his face. Down his chest and onto his legs. The liquid leather stretches thin as it reaches the tips of his toes, making his skin a slightly darker tint but hard as leather.

Grinding teeth was the only thing that distracted Kuragar to wait these five grueling minutes. He pivots his feet to the back of the cage pushing them into the corner. Resting his head on the door and squatting down he leans forward to make it look like he’s stretching his legs. The rate of his breathing quickens, like the thrumming of a train engine. Slow heavy exhales as the train begins to move brings strength to his legs. Building rapidly to focus his mind, he opens his eyes and sees Bograk. His breathing sharp and quick to fill his lungs until his heavy breath matches his heart beat.

SLAM! The cage door swings open crashing into the hinges. The cage tumbles to the ground behind him from the recoil of Kuragar’s push. The stomachs of the other prisoners drop as he sprints towards Bograk fifteen minutes earlier than planned. Before the prisoners can even sit up, Kuragar is already halfway to the giants who are still gathered around the empty fire pit. A spark of anger lights in Fordar’s stomach as this half giant ruins the plan that he’s taken so long to put into motion.

“Bastard gets to take a nap while I’m up all night stretching my mind farther into the void. He’ll ruin everything!” Fordar grumbles into his own thoughts, but that doesn’t stop him from perceiving the scene.

Kuragar almost to the giant, his daggers pointing down to the ground stabbing the air with every stroke of his arm.

“He’s gonna jump and stab them into the giant’s neck” Fordar thinks to himself, watching Bograk whipping his head around “But pebble brain ruined his element of surprise when he threw his cage to the ground. Bograks gonna swat him out of the air like a yipping dog. A nine-foot-tall dog, but still a dog in the face of these mountains.”

Fordar kicks open his cage, Kuragar leaps into the air both hands rising above his head. Bograk swings an open hand around himself, spinning to counter Kuragar’s attack. Fordar slams his open palms onto the ground and shouts “Skelve!”

Rattling metal sings through the air as the ground trembles. The metal cages shake violently, their passengers holding onto the bars bracing for the sudden wild ride. Despite the squareness of the cages, some of them teeter before tipping completely over. The shifting earth forces Bograk to jolt. His head leans back and a foot leaves the ground, making him waver to keep balance on the other. Which is lost completely as Kuragar tips the scales.

Soaring through the air unaffected by the shaking ground, Kuragar slams into Bograk. Both daggers simultaneously plunge into the giant’s chest, his aim lower than expected from the giant’s unpredictable movement. Bograk loses all balance and falls to his back, laden with Kuragar upon his chest. He missed the neck, but knocking Bograk completely to the ground gives Kuragar the unique opportunity to rip the daggers out of his chest and plunge them back in, again, and again.

The giant’s thick stony skin creates a tremendous layer of natural armor. The adamantine daggers don’t have an issue piercing the hard surface but they still are only daggers. Being crafted by dwarves makes them more like butter knives in the hands of Kuragar. Seven plunges into Bograk’s chest and the other three giants regain their footing. Fordar’s brothers roll out of their tipped cages stumbling to their feet along with the other prisoner’s. Rushing towards the fight, they all see Bograk’s open hand lurch towards Kuragar. It grabs him by the shoulder, not much different than a parent grabbing their child. Bograk throws him to the side like tossing off a blanket after waking up and discovering that you’re gonna be late. Kuragar rag dolls through the air before slamming his entire right side into the wall of the dwarven home. The stone cracks and Kuragar’s bones shutter. A splatter of blood marks the white stone of the building. Kuragar reaches out to catch his fall but his head is spinning from the impact and his arms collapse from his own weight and his head bounces off the dirt. Bograk rolls to his stomach, forcing himself to his knees. With one hand planted to his own chest, blood starts to fill his palm drizzling through the fingers. He coughs, splattering the dirt with more blood.

Fordar’s vision goes blurry as if burnt from staring at the sun. The clear indicator that he’s used to much magic. Sending his mind to the void feels like the moment before consciousness fades to dream. Coming back more exhausted each time. Like a night where four hours of sleep should have been eight. With each spell he casts, the four hours turn to three and three turns turn to two as the consciousness fades farther away. His arms start to shake from holding himself up, his open palms still on the ground from casting the spell. He slumps backwards into the cage and looks at his hands. Each finger twitching uncontrollably like he’s playing an invisible piano on his lap. He looks up to his brothers charging into battle and quickly loses their shapes as they disappear into his foggy vision. “I can’t stop now.” He thinks to himself as he grabs the two daggers.

Aela pops the hood of her cage and vaults to the other side going to a low crouch considering her approach. The three giants leap between Bograk and the twelve incoming prisoners. Aela considers the route behind the building that she took the night before. She purses her lips and lets out a steady breath.

“Pretend you’re blowing out a candle. Imagine the flame wisping away into smoke.” Something her father would tell her when the internal screaming would get too loud. She lunges into a careful sprint.

“Aela the Giant Slayer.” she imagines as she sprints to the building, taking a wide curve to hopefully go unnoticed by the chaos. “Can I do it again? Are you watching me Marrek? Mom?”

She looks towards the battle just in time to see the blonde woman take a kick from Zibah. The massive foot impacts the woman’s entire chest. She twists through the air, her back obviously broken as her head touches the back of her feet. Bonder, the hairiest brother, swoops under the swinging kick rushing in towards the giant’s planted leg. Aela looks away before the woman’s body hits the ground. Her imagination can’t resist the image of her own body flying through the air like that.

“Just keep moving” she thinks, motivating herself “Get behind the building, see what I can do from there. If they don’t see me, I can come from behind and slice the back of their knees. Then get sat on.”

With his head still spinning, Kuragar gets to his hands and knees wincing from a sharp pain in his shoulder. He strains his neck to look at Bograk who’s already kneeling back up. Kuragar realizes that he’s now separated from the rest of the prisoners. The three other giants are directly behind Bograk fighting the outbreak. Surprised disgust washes over Bograk’s face watching Kuragar recover from the throw.

“Guess you really are giant after all.” Bograk says between painful breaths.

He gets to his feet and starts a limping sprint towards Kuragar. He sags with every step but Bograk closes the distance with 3 massive strides. Planting his foot on the third to steady himself for a kick that will surely finish off the half giant. Kuragar puts his entire weight on one knee using his other limbs to twist himself towards the kick. Kuragar spreads his arms out to allow Bograk to get a clear target of his chest. Bograk’s shin covers the length of Kuragar’s upper body. His arms forcefully wrap around the giant’s legs. Kuragar smashes into the wall behind him making a second indentation below the first. Blood sprays out of Kuragar’s mouth, covering Bograk’s shin. He slides from the wall to his knees before collapsing onto his stomach. Bograk steps back from the kick and a sharp pain appears on the inside of his thigh. Inspecting the discomfort, he sees a massive gash starting at the top of his inner thigh running down to the top of his knee. Where an adamantine dagger has embedded itself. The torrential flow of blood down his leg makes him lightheaded. He stumbles backwards as his knee gives out, collapsing onto his back.

Aela gets to the building and presses her back against the wall. The sounds of steel, flesh, rock and bone crash around the building. Aela blows out a candle to recenter herself. She pivots around the corner leading to the back of the building before grinding to a stop. She notices a wooden longbow leaning against the wall directly below the window she’d escaped through the night before. Movement from the window sill draws Aela’s attention to look up. Beating wings and scraping talons mark the sudden appearance of an owl perching in the still open window. Hanging from the owl’s beak is the shoulder strap of a quiver full of arrows. With an outstretched neck the owl drops the quiver and it clatters to the ground next to the bow. Without a glance the owl beats its wings and soars to the higher reaches of the mountain lingering above the wall. Aela gapes at the owl before returning to the longbow that has appeared in front of her.

“One of the longbows from inside the house?” she perplexes over the situation. “What’s going on?” she continues to wonder, picking up the hand-crafted bow. “Maybe Fordar had this trick up his sleeve too…”

She straps the quiver around her waist and continues around the building. Still confused but stuck in a moment without time to think about it, she knocks one of the arrows into the string. Her father had taught her how to hunt. It was a rite of passage for everyone who lived in Aukra. Whether you watched the children or cooked the dinner, everyone in the village learned to hunt for times of sickness or worse. Aela had killed a handful of deer throughout her life, and one man. A shaggy brown-haired boy not much older than herself. She’ll never forget his restful face as he lay dead in the long grass surrounding Aukra, her arrow piercing through his neck. She often thought of the boy, longing for an explanation for the attack. The stockpiles of meat and leather, maybe the women. All possibilities her father had considered. If they had only shared words with them before firing on the village, perhaps they could have joined their efforts of survival. Maybe then, their strength would have been great enough to protect Aukra from the giant’s attack.

Aela stares at the last corner taking in hectic breaths. Still holding the arrow to the string, she fiddles her fingers making sure their placement is good. With the bow and arrow in hand, she no longer has the thought of being sat on, but that doesn’t give much relief. Around the corner she can hear the others fighting, and probably dying.

“No! Don’t think about that!” She shutters with a stamp of her foot. “Don’t think, just go.”

Returning to her low crouch, she starts a jog and passes the threshold of the corner. The giants have now equipped themselves with the very spears that pierced Marrek through the chest. A few of the prisoners now share a close resemblance to that scene.

Bograk’s laying face first on the ground, Kuragar doing the same. Three more are still alive, the unnamed giant on the ground with Bondor on his chest. The dwarf is twisting his dagger around the giant’s eye socket. A boy no older than fifteen is stabbing the same giant repeatedly in the neck below Bondor’s feet.

Zibah, has the dark-skinned human in her grasp and the giant is reeling her arm back to throw the man. Unlike with Kuragar, the giant can grab this man like you’d grab the hilt of a sword, or a stick that you’d throw for a dog to fetch. A swing of her arm and the man soars into the air and over the wall. His introduction to the ground hidden from view.

Kijak has a spear drawn back preparing for a thrust to skewer Bondor to stop him from digging into the giant’s eye. Aela aims, straining the bow to its designed limits. The wood creaks and the arrow’s feathers graze her right cheek. Blowing out a candle, she releases the drawstring at the end of the breath.

Feathers rustle in the wind and it gouges into the right eye of the readying giant. Forcing him to recoil from the strike and drop the spear. Bondor’s giant goes limp as he swaps his dagger from one eye to the next. Kijak screams in pain fueled with anger of being unable to save his dying clansmen. Bondor notices his giant has gone limp and turns to face the next. Kijak stumbles backwards, both hands grasping his impaled eye in hopes that the pressure will relieve the pain. He steps onto one of the four prisoners lying dead on the ground. Their chest and skull caves in under the pressure.

Unless the dark-skinned man survived the fall on the other side of the wall, that makes for five dead prisoners and two more giants. Zibah settles back in from her impressive throw and turns to reconsider the battle in front of her. Bondor locks her gaze, enticing Zibah into confrontation.

“Come on leather tits, my brother’s prettier than you are!” Bondor beckons while flipping a dagger in his hand to grab it by the tip.

With a curl of his arm and a throw, Bondor sends the dagger spiraling through the air puncturing Zibah’s right shoulder. With another steadying breath and a smooth release at the end of a focused thought, Aela sends an arrow into Zibah’s neck. She recoils but her consciousness remains unlike the boy from Aukra. With a flick of her wrist Zibah whirls her spear like a baton, unphased by the two impalements. She reaffirms her grip and starts a lumbering sprint. The head of the spear points to the sky with the first step, and to the ground with the next and then a thrust towards Bondor’s chest on the third. Gobber, the third dwarven brother, catches his opportunity to strike the lumbering spearman while she’s distracted with Bondor. The giant’s attention drawn to his brother with the focus of trying to thread a needle, doesn’t see the beardless dwarf sprinting behind her left side. Zibah thrusts her spear to pierce the eyelet and SLASH! Gobber runs a dagger across the back of the giant’s knee forcing her to buckle and swing upwards. Gobber’s happiness is evident from his massive smile accentuated from his chubby hairless face.

“Gobber slash knee Bondor! Me think dead soon Bondor!” Gobber shouts mocking the giant.

“Jokes?” Aela can’t help but think to herself. “Does his blood-soaked feet not send his heart to the darkest depths of the breach?” she wonders as she rests another arrow into place.

The door of the dwarven home bursts open as Fordar barrels through, three longswords cradled in his arms.

“Brother!” He shouts as he under hands the first one to Bondor.

He runs up to Gobber who grabs the second sword by the hilt and pulls it from the sheath between Fordar’s arms. Dropping the empty sheath, Fordar readies his own blade as Bondor catches the one thrown to him. With a swirl of the hilt Bondor’s sheath flings off the blade and he smoothly transitions into a fighting stance. The three of them charge in.

With the longer reach of their blades, they’re able to lean into the cuts and then quickly recoil to avoid a reaction. Zibah spins in a circle, locking the shaft of the spear under her elbow to secure it for the impact of a dwarf. Gobber ducks and Bondor rolls, but Fordar’s mind is still stretched from sending it into the void through the night. He stumbles back and the spear slices across his chest and shoulders, cutting clean through his woolen jacket but gliding off his leather hardened skin.

Aela’s heart drops as the giant with an arrow through his eye, Kijak, locks onto her with his one good eye, his face twisting with malice. She can feel the spear of hatred stabbing through her heart from the other side of camp. Swooping his fallen spear from the ground he takes an Olympic throwing stance. Statues wouldn’t be able to paint a better picture than this war-torn desperate giant. A prance forward to lean back into the throw, then a heave. All his weight presses into his front foot and the spear screams through the air. Aela swoops to the side drawing back an arrow in the same movement and slides down to a knee. She pulls the arrow to her cheek, an outstretched finger pointing at the giant’s last eye. Breath, release, and the arrow pierces Kijak’s second eye and the giant goes blind.

The explosion of rage that fills the camp rips even Gobber’s smile off his face. The blind giant screams into his open palms. His howls of pain quickly fade to a roar of action. His hands close to a fist as they lower to his side. His chest pumps as he inhales fury, his arms flex as he exhales malice. He lurches forward with tremendous speed, his pounding steps equally powerful to Fordar’s earthquake. His right foot shakes the earth, his right shoulder rams Zibah into a pirouette before stumbling to the ground. His left foot lurches directly above Bondor. The dwarf raises his hands to brace for impact as Kijak’s left foot comes down on him. Not enough time to dodge, barely enough time to stiffen. He disappears into the dirt as he folds into himself. Aela is next in line in the charging giant’s trajectory. She rolls to the right, tucking the bow into her stomach and somersaulting through the dirt. He slams into the wall behind her knocking slabs of stone to the ground as a portion of the wall collapses. Without a pause of motion, the giant grabs a handful of rocks while spinning around. He throws a shower of pebbles in front of him. A pebble to a giant but a stone to Aela. One of them smashes into her forehead.

“Gah!” an unstoppable wince just loud enough for the giant to find her.

He stomps towards her, his malicious motivation sends Aela to the darkest pit of anxiety. Amplified with vengeance his speed is too great. He swoops her from the ground and her arms get forced to her side as she becomes nothing more than a twig in his tremendous fingers. A simple squeeze and she’ll break like a brittle piece of bread. CRACK! There goes her rib. SNAP! Her shoulder. The wind of something soars past Aela’s face and a dagger stabs into the giant’s temple. Blood runs down his face, his grip goes limp and he falls to the ground. Aela rolls out of his hand like a poisoned apple. She looks up and sees the dark-skinned man leaning in the opening of the wall recovering from throwing the dagger. Breathing heavily from being thrown himself.

Gobber, not failing to seize the opportunity presented to him, jumps on the Zibah’s neck. Like a territorial flag he stabs his sword into the giant’s jugular. Stumbling back, he watches Zibah for another movement. After several heavy breaths and deciding that the giant’s dead, Gobber falls to his back. Exhausted, he looks to the crushed remnants of his brother. No more laughter, no more fighting, only tears.

I’M SHORE OF IT.

Short messy ficlet that my brain wouldn’t let go of today.

The summer before their second year of college, the pack returns to Beacon Hills. It’s a hot and sticky season, breeding reckless abandon and a feeling of carefreeness that your final youthful summer days should. Lydia offers the use of her family's lake house and no one argues. When Stiles arrives the door is still standing wide open and he can hear laughter coming from inside, It warms him in a way that few things have in recent years. 

Bags and luggage have been left in piles by the door and the only light is coming from down the hall in the kitchen and from the fading sunset shining through large living room windows. Erica tackles Stiles as soon as he steps into the room. And he laughs, the most genuine one that he can get to leave his heavy chest anyway.

“I missed you too, Catwoman.” he mumbles into her mane. 

The pack has been apart for a while so the scent marking happens in earnest. Stiles tries not to flinch away from any of the many groping hands that come his way but he’s not sure he succeeds. He thought it was a good idea, to get away from the chaos that surrounded their teenage years. To go to college, and learn, and experience, and grow. He thought that he would blossom under the freedom that Berkeley granted him but instead he just felt alone. Alone and afraid. He ached for his pack. The nightmares had only gotten worse since he moved into the dorms. Thankfully he had managed to get a single room. He’s not sure how he would have fared with a roommate that he woke multiple times a night with screams of terror. 

Hours later, the pack has piled together on the living room floor. It’s a mess of limbs and bedding and it's so warm that Stiles is struggling to breath a little bit. Maybe it’s not the warmth. Maybe it's the heavy way Scotts arm is pinning him across his chest. Or maybe it's how Issac is gripping his hand so tightly in his sleep that Stiles fingers are getting cold. Before he can work himself into a panic, there are hands grasping his ankles and sliding him out of the pack's grip and across the cool wooden floor. The action is so unexpected and silly that it surprises a laugh out of him as he looks up at his rescuer. Derek's eyes are shiny with his grin and he gently shakes Stiles’ foot where it's still in his hand before dropping it and helping him off the ground. The wolves grumble at being disturbed but rearrange themselves and fall back to sleep quickly.

“Come on.” he smiles, tipping his head towards the door.

And so Stiles goes. He’s never been good at refusing Derek anything, so he doesn't complain when the wolf stops to pick up his duffle bag from the floor on the way out, or when Derek grabs his hand to help him over a log and then doesn't let go. It’s a bittersweet thing, seeing Derek finally being comfortable with casual touch in a way that Stiles no longer can.

Down a short path from the lake house is a smaller cabin and when they step onto the porch, Chris Argent opens the door for them with a smile.

“He couldn’t sleep.” he says, pulling Stiles in for a hug.

“Said, he could feel your unease.”

Chris’ arms are firm around him and Stiles sags a bit into him, nodding against his shoulder. God, the man smelled good. Stiles knows that he should move, that this is probably a really inappropriately long hug, but he’s suddenly so tired and moving sounds like the worst thing in the world.

Chris makes an inquiring sound and then, there is another warm body pressed against his back. Derek's hands sliding down his arms where they wrap around his husband and covering Stiles hands with his own. They hold on to him, but it doesn't feel constrictive in the way he felt before. Now he feels like he's in a cocoon made of strong, protective, capable, warmth and, again unlike earlier that night, Stiles feels he can finally breathe.

Derek and Chris getting together had been a shock to pretty much everyone, but no one could deny how they cared for each other. They had both lost so much, it was good to see them happy. They deserved to finally be happy. Stiles would burn worlds to keep them this happy.

After they lost Allison, Stiles expected Chris to pack up and leave. Beacon Hills had never done anything for him except take and take and take. The same way it had taken everything from Derek. But then, the hunter had shown up at his house and instead of being met with the end of a rifle like he secretly hoped, Chris had held out his hand and asked Stiles if he wanted to train. Being human in the supernatural world was dangerous and as much as he hated that the kids were involved, The man thought it would be stupid not to teach them how to better protect themselves. Scott refused, saying he didn't need the help. The dazed look on his face and the way his eyes were always a little red around the irises now, said differently.

So Chris and Stiles trained alone at first, weeks went by and the others slowly started to join in. The three Hale betas dragged along Jackson, and Jackson brought Lydia, Lydia invited Kira, and Kira somehow roped in the Sheriff and Parish. Since almost everyone was already there, it was just easier to have pack nights after training. Reluctantly, Scott agrees.

When Derek started showing up to their sessions. Stiles was confused at first, Derek Hale willingly spending time with an Argent, odd. Then he noticed how well Derek knew his way around Chris’ space, never fumbling in the wrong cabinet for a glass. How he always handed Chris his plate first during meals. He notices the way the hunter quietly offers the wolf pieces of whatever snack he's having and the way Derek’s ears get pink when he accepts. Stiles has been head over tail for Derek for as long as he can remember but oddly he isn't jealous, he likes seeing Derek smile. Chris makes Derek smile and Stiles likes Chris. Maybe he likes Chris a little more than he should. But either way, he's happy for them. So it doesn’t surprise him, one pack night, when Chris gets up for a drink and presses a quick thoughtless kiss to Derek's lips.

Scott loses his shit. Screaming about how Allison would have been ashamed of her father for being with someone so much younger than him, someone who had murdered people. His eyes burned red as he battered Derek for “Making his way through the entire Argent family.”

“Would you have tried to get Allison next?”

Stiles watched in shock as Scott spat out hateful words, watched as Chris’ face shut down into a carefully composed mask, watched as the betas cowered under his aura. He watched. But then Scott took a step forward.

And Derek flinched.

That was it. Stiles doesn’t remember getting up. He doesn't remember his fist connecting with Scott’s already crooked jaw. He doesn't remember following Scott to the ground or pressing his hands against his long-time friends chest and feeling his magic pull.

He does remember the burning in his eyes as Scott’s Alpha spark snapped into him. He remembers the way Chris’ hands felt like lifelines as they picked him up off the ground. He remembers the way Derek crouched in front of him letting loose a truly terrifying snarl. He remembers the way Scott sighed in relief.

The Alpha spark was tainted. Stiles could feel the way it urged him on, whispered inside his head like the fox had. It was no wonder Scott had gone power crazed.

It had taken the rest of the summer for Scott to stop apologizing to everyone and longer for Stiles to get a handle on being a human Alpha. His spark worked constantly to purge the Alpha Spark of its darkness but it was a slow process. Using so much magic left him drained. With that, and so much of his energy being split between taking care of the pack from afar, his college work, and trying to ignore the whispers in his mind, the nightmares from the nogitsune soon returned with a vengeance.

Which left him where he was now, exhausted and sandwiched between his two favorite people.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles sighs into Chris’s shirt. Derek chest rumbles against him with a quiet growl. The spark shushes him gently and tangles their fingers together.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Alpha.” Chris speaks into his hair. “Let's get you to bed.”

They all three pile into the queen sized bed and wiggle and arrange until everyone is comfortable, like they've done this before. And maybe it should be weird, sharing a bed with a married couple that he’s pretty sure he's in love with, but it isn't. It’s the best night's sleep he’s gotten in over a year. Tucked under Derek's chin, Chris’s hand covering Stiles’ on the wolves chest.

The bed is empty but still warm when he wakes up the next morning. The door is cracked and Stiles has a direct line of sight to the kitchen where a yawning Derek, complete with messy bedhead and bare chest, stands in the early morning light sipping his coffee. Chris walks past in his sleep clothes whispering a quiet good morning and leaving a soft kiss on his shoulder. Derek gives a tiny smile as he repeats the sentiment back to his husband. And Stiles aches. He wants that. He wants morning kisses and packed lunches and board game nights that end in dish duty for a week. And he wants that with them.

The summer is full of pack bonding and junk food. Slowly, Stiles adjusts to being scented near constantly by every member of the pack. His dad even joins in occasionally, laughing as he messes up his son's hair. Stiles feels lighter each day.

Derek and Chris are always around and Stiles spends more nights than not in their bed. Derek makes smiley face pancakes for breakfast and comforts Stiles through his nightmares. Stiles learns that Derek wears glasses when he is reading and absentmindedly plays with Chris’ fingers when he’s watching tv. When he does the same with Stiles the first time, the spark freezes up but doesn't move away. The wolf doesn't even try to hide how pleased he is.

Chris teaches Stiles to fish. The only reason Stiles isn't complaining about how early he makes him get up is because the sun rise is beautiful on the water and he gets to see Chris’ toned forearms in action as he rows them out into the middle of the lake.

“Eww, it's slimy.” Stiles complains and pulls a face at the bait the hunter tries to hand him.

Chris rolls his eyes dramatically “Stiles. I've seen you put your entire hand inside a dead wendigo’s stomach with no hesitation, just to get Allie's favorite knife back. You can bait a hook.”

Stiles stops, then laughs openly, “You're not wrong.” He grins, “Issac calls it my “Pack Mom Override.” Any other time, I’m super squeamish and there would be no way I could stomach something gory or gross but as soon as it affects one of my pups, I'm all in.” Chris sighs dramatically and baits Stiles hook, but he doesn't think that he's mistaking the fond look in the older man's eyes.

The first time Chris kisses Stiles, it’s just as absentmindedly as he had kissed Derek just moments before. They’re finishing dinner, Chris giving his husband a soft peck as he takes his plate before grabbing Stiles empty one as well, The Alpha looks up to tell him that he’ll volunteer to do the dishes when Chris leans down and presses his lips lightly against his. The man is halfway through the kitchen before he realizes what he's done and turns around wide eyed to see Stiles’ shocked and Derek’s grinning faces. Stiles has never seen Christopher look more unsure of himself.

“Do it again.”  Stiles whispers. “If you meant it. Do it again.”

The plates shatter against the tile floors. Chris' hands are warm against his jaw as they cup his face and he kisses him soundly. Stiles can't stop the whine that crawls out of him when he pulls away or the deep moan when Derek’s hand tangles in his hair and his lips replace his husbands.

They’ll eventually clean up the broken glass but for right now, this is all he wants to do. When they pull away, Stiles’ eyes are deep red and he smiles. There are no whispers in his head. The Alpha Spark is mended.

It’s still the 5th on the west coast it 100% counts

Day five! In anotehr Au’s Clothes!!! You actually.. can’t see Ru well at all. he’s in the outfit he wears for Triassic Planet and Eclipse is sporting her look from the Tangled AU (end outfit)

Ficlet time~! This one’s a lil long sorryyyyy

“Don’t you look smart,” She teased as the ghost fixed the cuff sleeve with an annoyed huff.

“Ever since they lost their disguise, that nth dimension shifter keeps making weird requests,” he grumbled as he reached to mess with his hair.

“Come here I’ll put it up.” she grinned holding the bright blue hair tie.

He sighed and shifted, kneeling a tiny bit as she combed his hair. He leaned into her hand as she did, causing her to laugh.

“Prince! I can’t fix it if you just go soft!” she snickered.

“I’m sorry I like the sensation.” he huffed as she began to gather the unruly curls, “Your claws are nice when you comb it.” he admitted, “like when you play with Snatcher’s mane.” he felt his face glow as he thought about it.

“Yeah?” she paused and pursed her lips, “I guess then at least they have a decent use other than ripping rifts.” she snickered.

“Or cutting wolves.” He added with a laugh.

“Or cutting perverted nooses.”

“I asked them to knock it off.” he sighed, “Are they still making comments?”

“Not at me but I overheard them talking to Hattie.” she huffed. She finished pulling his hair up, “there we go!” she beamed.

He stood up and brushed a strand off his shoulder, “Thank you. Normally I don’t mind it loose but I feel this weird outfit needs it out of the way. I just…” he scowled, “Have a lot of hair.”

“You do!” she laughed, “But it’s pretty and soft~!”

He covered his face embarrassed, “Not as nice as yours… mines just….” he sighed. “I sometimes wish I wasn’t a shade.”

“Oh?” she asked curiously.

“I.... normally I’m fine with it but some days…” He looked at her and gripped his chest, “If we met when I was alive…” he sighed and shook his head.

“Maybe we have!” she laughed as she went to open the garment bag Craft had left for her, “I wouldn’t know! I have no memories of my past! Well. I have bits and parts. And Papa said I am two years younger than you! And I’m from Solgario! So maybe we did!”

She frowned, “How.. Do I even put this on?” she pulled out the gown that shimmered with silvers and blues. She frowned, “Prince what do I do with this?”

He choked a bit looking at it, “Are they being funny?!” he shifted to help fully remove the intricate gown with a shocked expression, “T-This is a royal gown?!”

“Oh?” she tilted her head, “So they want me to dress like a princess?” she scrunched her nose, “are they mocking you?”

“I wonder….” he scowled with a heavy sigh and hung his head, “I can help you put it on. I used to help Vanessa sometimes.”

She turned a bit red, “Mmhm… I just… I don’t think---?!?!” she huffed as he pinched and pulled on her cheek with a scowl, “I-I’m not being negative!!!”

“You were going to say you don’t think you fit a princess weren’t you?” he huffed, “What. Have. I. Said.” he scolded.

He let go and she rubbed the spot tenderly with a pout, “But I’m just an idiot wolf…”

“A very pretty idiot wolf.” he smiled. Looking at the gown again he sighed, “Come on, sooner we show them the outfits sooner we can put our normal clothing back on.” 

He knew he was blushing as he looked at the outfit, “I… want to see you in it… we can even take a picture for Snatcher…” he chewed his knuckle as he thought about it, “Shame they had me dressed as a scientist… If I was in my normal outfit the two...of...us…would maybe…. Look...like a...” he shook his head and gave a loud laugh, “Anyhow let’s get this over with!”

“R-Right!” she huffed as she looked at it. She frowned as she began to strip down to her underwear, the grey stretchy material clinging to her as she took the gown, “Do I go under the skirt or?” she huffed.

“It’s in parts.” he helped shift it, “we’ll put this underskirt on first. Just step into it,” he explained.

She nodded taking it to pull it up and frowned, “this is going to be a pain to move in!” she fretted.

“Yeah…. Our clothing was more for showing status than moving. I hated my formal clothing. My casual was odd but I could at least run.” he laughed.

“Even with the heels?” she asked innocently, causing him to turn yellow and look away. She giggled as he handed her the next part, “Undershirt?”

“Yes.” He helped with the strings in the back, “Corset is next…. Have you worn one before?”

“Only costume ones for Craft.” she flinched when his cold hand touched her waist as he helped with the shirt. She felt her face grow hot, “S-Sn.. I mean, so how many layers is this?”

“Looks like they simplified it so about 3ish.” he admitted as he unlaced the corset, “Arms up. This may hurt a little since you’re unused to it. Gods know Vanessa despised the corset some days but it’s needed to help the gown stay up.”

She gulped and did as instructed. She tensed as he moved behind her, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Alright. Brace.” he grit his teeth and pulled on the laces. She squeaked as it tightened and gasped. 

He scowled, “yeah I know. I’ve worn one too.”

She gave a small laugh as he finished tying it up and patted her back.

“All set.” he huffed. He stared at her as she stood in the undergarments and corset. Even though he’d seen her in her underwear plenty of times, normally when forcing her to wash her clothes, he couldn’t help turning a bright yellow as his eyes trailed the dip in her side as the corset fit her. She turned around and he yelped as he accidentally looked right down. He forgot corsets did that.

He coughed to regain his composure, “O-Okay let’s put the actual gown bit on.”

He took the outfit and noticed his shaking hands, “A-arms up.” he instructed. He just needed to finish getting her dressed, then he’d be fine. Right?

She huffed arms up as he helped pull it over her head. She fixed her hair, letting the silver fluff behind her as she moved to fix the sleeves and such. She looked at herself with a small frown, “Hrmph.”

Snatcher could only look at her a little slack jaw, he covered his mouth and looked away, “it fits.”

“Mmhm. Well, Craft knows my siz---”

“No I mean… it fits... You… you look good…” he covered his mouth as he looked at her shyly. He moved closer walking around her. He knelt in front of her with a smile and took her hand kissing it lightly. “You look amazing, my lunar princess.” he smiled.

She turned bright red, the shorter parts of her hair fluffing up in shock at his gesture, “S-Sn--Stop T-Teasing me!” she gasped when he stood up and scooped her up. She yelped and gripped his shirt as she looked up at him with wide eyes. She buried her face in his shoulders with a pout.

He laughed as he spun around holding her, “I guess that nth shifter has some good ideas….”

“Typically.” Craft leaned in the treehouse, leaning on a patchwork covered hand, “Glad to see it fits.” they smirked, “Too bad Snatcher isn’t here.” they sneered looking right at the ghost.

Snatcher scowled a bit as he set Eclipse down.

She huffed, “H-He’d tease me more than P-Prince does!”

“I’d say he’d most likely get the ghost version of turned on. Or I hope he does.” the shifter pulled up into the house and dusted off. They walked around both, before giving a proud smirk, “God I am good!” they laughed.

“Are you?” snatcher scowled.

“Well, judging from the color on both your faces, mission semi accomplished. But considering ‘Snatcher’ isn’t here then it’s another failure.” they sighed.

“W-What does that mean?!” the prince tensed up angrily.

“Oh nothing.” the shifted huffed and took Eclipse’s hands spinning her to see how the gown behaved, “Hrm. maybe this fabric is too heavy. I want it to flow a bit more when she dances.”

“Maybe you aren’t dancing right.” Snatcher sighed and stood beside them. He held a hand out which Eclipse took with a laugh. “You’re a nine-foot pile of ooze. Let me dance with her.”

“I think it’s heavy.” she admitted, “I don’t mind layers but.” she huffed, “I can’t move like I want to.” 

She held the prince’s hands as he began to dance with her, gown flowing with their movements, “See? Moves fine with traditional dancing.” he huffed.

The shapeshifter frowned, hand up to their face in thought, “Hrm. Yeah but I still want more flow. I want it almost like she’s underwater with how it ripples.” they scratched the back of their head and removed their hood with a sigh.

“I don’t think you can do that with this style dress, Craft.” She laughed as she danced. She felt her foot catch the rug and gasped as she fell into the ghost’s chest causing them both to flush. She pulled away and fixed her hair with a small squeak.

Craft watched and sighed again shaking their head back and forth, “Well. I’ve never backed down from a challenge!” they grinned, 7 eyes alight with mirth, “Just you wait! Anyhow, thanks for wearing them again!” they pulled their phone out, “Hold still.”

The two smiled as the shifter snapped a photo and put their phone away, “Alright I am gonna head back to Birdopolis, Connie dear is going to blow a gasket if I’m not on set again. Honestly it’s not like the owls WEAR most the costumes I make. They just DRESS like that...” the ink on their features shifted as they took human form and kissed Eclipse’s cheek, “Enjoy taking the outfit off as much as on.” they teased before heading out in a flurry of feathers.

She stood there slack jaw, “W-what does that mean?! C-Craft!?” She shouted in a huff. She stared at the sky where the owl-shaped shapeshifter had already vanished from view. She gave a heavy sigh before she turned to see Snatcher holding his face.

“Ah.. Did the prince leave?” she tilted her head with a pursed expression.

The ghost fluffed up, “Y-Yeah. Had something to do…” he lied and used his tail to hide the discarded clothing he’d slithered out of in his shock.

She sighed but made a small noise when the ghost touched her cheek. She gave a small smile, “Do you like it?” she asked leaning into his hand.

He grinned and kissed her cheek, “You look decent.” he cackled.

“I’ll take it.” she laughed.

Nighthowlers

I’m in the process of starting an account on Ao3, but I thought I’d post this story here until then.

Fandom: Zootopia

---------------       “Carrots? Carrots! Wake up!” Nick shouted as he held the rabbit officer in his paws. “Carrots! It’s okay! I’m here!”

      “Officers come quick! A savage fox had been spotted at the natural history museum!” The sheep above squealed into the walkie talkie with perfect drama. “Officer Judy is down! Please hurry!”

      No! No! Nick’s mind screamed. This hadn’t been the plan, they had it all thought through! Why hadn’t it gone to plan?

      “N-Ni?” The bunny wheezed as the carrot pen fell from her hand, hitting the faux grass that had been washed red seconds ago.

      The lights above the exhibit glared down on Nick, burning into his flesh as his heart thudded against his ribs, filling his ears with the untamed rush of adrenaline filled blood. No! This can’t be happening! His mind screamed.

      The blueberry stain on his fur dripped down as the scarlet fluid stayed wet on his lips. What had he done? What had they made him do?

      The tapping of feet was heard as the silver light burned into him, perfectly highlighting the orchestrated scene. The cotton of the plush deer between his teeth soaked with the dark red of the body in his hands.

      The tapping of feet as they surrounded him. An audience as he sat in the soul scorching lights that put him on display in perfect irony; as the blood was quite literally on his paws, but it did not belong there.

      The gasps and shrieks of the spectacle, the shuffling of uneasy feet. He heard it all. The rustle of a hidden taser that shocked nerves and forced muscles to jolt, jaws to close, teeth to rend.

      But was he shocked in another way as the body of the officer lay at his hands, as blood pooled around the two. And he watched with horror as her eyes became empty and dark.

      Sour was the blood that bathed his tongue, but not by comparison to the injustice that defined the spectacle. The one only he knew about.

      And even as he was muzzled and torn away, was he still picturing her determined face. And still while the straight jacket held him fast in his padded room was he dreaming of the past.

      “Chief Bogo, officer Judy Hopps has been killed in action.”

Three years later...

      Anchovies. Nick thought. They put anchovies on my pizza.

      The yellow lights flared down on him in his ironically matchy jumpsuit as he sat in the cafeteria. The tray in front of him had a sad looking flop of cheese and bread next to a couple of other things that Nick had learned not to ask what they were. The only problem to Nick right now was the little silver fish that the lunch servers had thrown on there. I asked them not to do that.

      The air around Nick was filled with the heavy clattering of silverware as the other inmates ate around him, each trying not to taste what they were putting in their mouth. But Nick casually sat there with his paws in his lap, trying not to look at his food. I hate anchovies.

      This may have been a little dramatic, but at the time it felt right. So many of the other prisoners had given up themselves, lost to the cycle. But not Nick. He refused.

      For three years now Nick Wilde had been in this building. Never aloud to see the open streets, never allowed to venture beyond the barbed electric gate. Treated like any other murderer. And for three years now, Bellwether has been president of Zootopia and the surrounding cities. And the little wooly serpent had made sure to enforce the rules.

      It had been so long since Nick had met anybody other than a predator, apart from the stone-faced officers. Not since the courtroom had ruled him guilty. Bellwether had declared that predators and prey be kept apart in the prisons at all costs, not that the prey prisons were filling up or anything. It was almost a relief that Nick had been locked away for all this time. He didn’t have to see what a mess he had made of the world.

      As the bell above rang and the announcer’s voice on the speakers crackled, Nick halfheartedly grabbed his tray and filed along with the rest of the inmates. As they walked past the trash cans, he dumped his untouched food down into the third smallest one with the rest of the medium predator’s filth before following the line out. He had already eaten twice today, and if he didn’t want his dinner, then he didn’t need to eat it! Nobody was going to make him, at least Bellwether hadn’t done that yet.

      The line led back to the containment room. A large open room with an all around balcony looking down from the upper level cells. The cells varied in sizes, each ready to accommodate their own size of predator. From a tiny otter, to a towering lion. All were held here.

      Nick knew the motions clearly, as they had been drummed into his head over the course of the time he spent here. For thirty minutes the prisoners were allowed to roam the common area between all of the containment rooms. A group of bears and a group of lions, which had been rival gangs in the past, would get into an argument, and maybe even a fight. The wolves would sit together and talk trash about prey animals. And everybody else would sit in their own little space and dream of their past lives or create small talk with the other prisoners.

      But Nick decided to be different. He decided that everyday we would do something different, and today, he decided to do one he had been dreading for a long time. He had talked to the wolves before and engaged in their heated conversations, but he had been able to turn their slanderous tongues away from prey in general and over to Bellwether, which was something they could all agree on.

      But today he was doing something dangerous, because he was going to join one of the rival gangs in their arguments, which could very likely get him killed due to his inadequate size. 

      Breathing deep to calm his slight nervousness, he watched as the two gangs gathered back by the larger cells. “Try everything,” he whispered to himself, before laughing quietly. It was a painful laugh.

      As he began to walk over, he thought about which group he was going to support. It didn’t matter, since the arguments were often stupid anyway, and this wasn’t going to be a permanent alliance or anything. He eventually chose to go with the bears.

      As he crept quietly over behind the gathering bears, he heard one of the lions start. “Just because you can shoulder most animals out of the way doesn’t mean you get to walk on our side of the halls,” he said coldly.

      A large grizzly bear then stepped forward to challenge the lion. “We will walk wherever we want Darion.” She growled, and Nick sighed. This had to be the pettiest gang battle known to mammalkind. But if you lived your life for conflict, you had to find it somewhere.

      Another bear stepped forward, but her voice was loud and untamed. “If you have such a problem, maybe you cats should find a new side of the hall!” She roared, and Nick could already tell that this was going to be a fight. Why had he even gotten himself into this?

      The lion was about to say something when Nick spoke up. “Yes, get your own side!” He said, feeling suddenly awkward as the large heads of the bears turned away from their maned rivals to stare down at the small orange fox amongst them. Nick gulped slightly.

      “What do we have here?” The female grizzly bear, that Nick now understood as the leader of the gang, stood as she slowly came closer. She craned her neck further to look down at him. Nick understood this tactic, it was to make him feel even smaller than he already was. But that didn’t work on him.

      “Willy Bushtail at your service,” he said with a bow. It was his fake name he used, he had used it in countless hustles before. And he used it now because the cops had given him the mercy of not telling the other inmates that he was the convicted murderer of Judy Hopps.

      A couple of the bears laughed, and why shouldn’t they? He was a little orange fox wearing orange and trying to blend in with the ranks of bears. Nick knew this would happen, and brushed it off.

      “Seriously? You got a new member without letting us know?” Darion, the leader of the other gang, said with mock pain in his voice, before starting to laugh. “Aww, and he’s a little bitty fox too! How adorable.”

      Nick rolled his eyes, but one of the other bears, a polar bear, spun around and smacked Darion. “Put a sock in it, kitty cat!” He growled as Darion reeled slightly from the blow. And then the lion struck one himself, raking his claws through the polar bear’s orange jumpsuit. 

      And that’s when the fight that Nick was expecting broke out. Nick slowly backed away as the larger predators beat and clawed at each other. Doing something different was his goal, but it would take him a little longer to actually rush into one of their fights. Maybe he could do that next time.

      Then at the other end of the room where the door was, cops started coming in. They were used to dealing with the fights. And pretty soon all of the members of the fight were detained.

      Nick was silently creeping back to his cell as Darion turned his head to avoid the muzzle that the hippo cop had in her hands.

      “Darion, if you do not cooperate, I will have to tase you,” she said matter-of-factly.

      “Wait!” He shouted. “Willy Bushtail was with the bears! The fox was part of it too!”

      Nick flinched when he heard this. He hadn’t considered that he might wind up in a higher security cell for a couple of days too.

      The hippo suddenly stopped trying to put the muzzle on him and held it in her left hand. “Nick Wilde?” She asked.

      Suddenly a hush fell upon the room, and Nick cringed. He hadn’t heard anybody use his real name for a long time, and knew that his name carried bad connotations. And now people that he had previously fooled with his fake name knew who he really was.

      “Nick Wilde?” Shouted a deep male voice, and he turned to see a large wolverine stand up from next to a badger. He was one of the small talkers, Nick had noticed.

      The wolverine looked down on him with an unreadable expression. “The killer of Judy Hopps.” He laughed a little bit, before turning to face around the room. “Look guys! It’s the killer of the only cop who cared about us!” The wolverine laughed some more, before his face turned hard. “You know, I really do hate foxes.”

      Nick’s heart pounded as the massive predator loomed toward him. He whipped around and bolted as he heard the charging of the angry wolverine.

      “Tase him!” Somebody shouted, and the sound of taser guns firing popped through the air, but did nothing to cease the pounding of paws behind Nick.

      Nick scrambled up the metal stairs, heat jolting as he heard a heavier crashing join seconds after. The metal turned to tile as he leapt over the top of the stairs and dashed desperately.

      The entrance to his cell was just up ahead! Nick hoped he could hold the door shut for long enough for the cops to detain his pursuer. But what if I can’t...

      He could hear the cops running up the stairs… and the wolverine’s heavy footsteps right behind him. I’m not gonna make it. He knew he needed another option, quick. And with years of thinking on his feet, he saw one.

     Desperate, he shot to the side, leaping over the rails and off of the balcony. This is going to hurt. He spread out his limbs to land as the ground raced up at him. Hit the table. Hit the table.

      Suddenly, his body jolted as his vision whirled up, and he let out a yelp. He heard fabric tear as long claws tore through his jumpsuit and suspended him above the gawking inmates below.

      He had been caught. He had never been caught before. Not since...

      “Time to join your victim, fox!” The wolverine snarled, and Nick looked behind to see him lifting his massive claws to swing.

      “Fire!” The voice of the hippo rang out from hind as the razors sped towards Nick’s throat. The large predator jolted as electricity pulsed through his muscles. His long claws swung up suddenly as pain exploded on the right side of Nick’s head.

      The predator dropped him and fell back, stunned, and Nick fell fully this time, body slamming into a table below.

      The fall hurt, but not nearly as much as the paralyzing agony Nick felt as he clutched his face. Over his closed right eye he felt the oozing of water and warm blood. And then he remembered. His mind dug up something he had long since buried deep into the back of his head.

      The day he had bitten Judy, it wasn’t for real. It was only to trick the sheep into thinking that he had really gone savage. But the plan had gone wrong, and Bellwether tased him. His jaw had moved uncontrollably, and he had bitten her for real. He remembered the shock as his fangs pierced her throat, her neck crushing under the power of his teeth. He remembered the straight jacket and the muzzles, and how he was eventually found to not be affected with the nighthowler venom. But that didn’t help him now. Because if he wasn’t insane, he was a murderer. And then it all went black.

                  “No!” Nick shouted as he strained against his chains. “It’s not true! Don’t trust her!”

      The ear splitting sound of the gavel rang out three times, each one killing the words in Nick’s throat. “Silence! Silence!” the kangaroo judge ordered. “You are lucky you even get a trial Nick Wilde. And while you are here you will speak in your turn and only in your turn!”

      Nick’s pelt burned with anger. He and Judy had worked so hard to find the missing mammals, but all of it had been for nothing. Sure, the animals had been found, but Judy had been killed before they could catch the true culprit. No, Judy had been murdered. Murdered by the very accuser that sat on the other side of the judge as an eyewitness.

      “Thank you, Your Honor” Bellwether said politely, before twisting her face in a strange fabricated emotion that only Nick could see through. That sheep was a sociopath. “When I first heard Judy scream, me and the upstanding citizens around me ran that way as fast as we could to make sure she was okay!”

      Psssh, upstanding citizens, Nick scorned inside of his mind. Indeed the other sheep, along with Bellwether, had been the culprits. But only two people had witnessed the actual experiments, and one of them was dead.

      “But when we arrived, it was too late!” The sheep said as crocodile tears pooled in the bottom of her eyes. “And Judy was dead!”

      The kangaroo judge once more tapped her gavel, before turning to Nick. “What do you say in your defense, fox!”

      Nick was ready to let the fire out, and burn this entire courtroom to the ground. “It is true that it was my teeth that dealt the fatal blow to Judy, but it wasn’t by my will!” He shouted.

      There were several murmurs throughout the jury, but the judge looked bored. “Well if it was not your will, who made you do it,” she said dryly.

      Nick swallowed hard as he thought of how to explain the situation. Through all his time in law bending activities, he had never been in a courtroom before. There was so much at stake here, the entire future of Zootopia rested on him, but he didn’t know where to start. At last when he had a truth to tell, his tongue failed to speak a single word.

      With the silence, the judge tapped her gavel once more. “Bellwether, the report says that there were electric burns discovered on Nick Wilde, do you have any idea where those came from?”

      At last Nick knew what to say, but the turn was not his. And one more word spoken at the wrong time could end the trial here and now. He had to trust that Bellwether would mess up, and make his story more credible by doing so.

      But if she was caught off guard, she didn’t show it, until she spoke. “I had to tase him,” her voice warbled strangely.

      Hope came up inside of Nick. Maybe others would hear that slight imperfection in her voice, and they would pick and chip at it until the truth came rolling out. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who saw through the psychotic creature’s lies. How foolish he was to think that though.

      Tears suddenly began to spill from Bellwether’s eyes. “Because I thought… I thought that maybe I could still save-” the sheep suddenly dropped to the ground, weeping.

      Nick flinched at this display, before he realized immediately what she was doing. Nonono… his mind pleaded. By perfectly mimicking the emotions that he had been forced to bury within himself, she manipulated the minds of everybody in the room. Molding their brains like clay.

      After sighing, the judge spoke. “I am sorry for your loss, Bellwether.”

      Nick’s heart nearly stopped. The pity in everybody’s eyes when they looked at Bellwether; instantly shifting into hatred when their gaze turned to him. His fate was sealed, and he had failed.

      Suddenly bringing down her gavel three times, the judge stood up. “Order. Jury, all in belief that the accused is guilty, raise your paw.”

      Nick turned away, refusing to gaze upon as every corrupted hand in the room rose against him.

      The judge then continued in the same tone. “All in belief that the accused is non-guilty, raise your paw.”

      Nick once more decided to not look, but when he heard the shocked gasps of the crowd, he forced himself to turn. And right there in the very center of all of the animals, was a little fennec fox. It was his partner, the very one he was working with the time he met Judy. And he was right there in the center of all of the still mammals, raising his tiny little paw in spite of all of the disgusted looks people were throwing at him.

      Even though the entire world seemed to want to string Nick up, he stared gratefully at that one person who still believed him, that saw past his outside and knew the real him. And Nick mouthed a silent ‘thank you.’

      But it would not be enough. The judge nodded before standing up. “The jury has spoken,” she said before turning to Nick. “I hereby sentence you to,” her eyes threatened to bore holes into Nick’s flesh. “Life in prison! For the life that you have stolen from us!”

      Nick froze, as he realized what that meant exactly. His life would be over. No more traveling, no more hiding his life in the shadows and minding his own business, no more scheming another hustle. His future was gone, and every other predator’s future was broken.

      He fought to hold in the tears that, after all this time of binding his emotions, threatened to escape.

      As the police came up behind him to take him away, Bellwether cried out. “Wait! May I say something?” She pleaded.

      After a second, the kangaroo judge nodded. “Of course Mayor Bellwether. You may get anything off of your chest that you must.”

      The sheep nodded before turning to Nick. “You know Nick, when I first saw you down there, tearing Judy to pieces, I wanted to believe that you were just affected by the same madness of so many other mammals. I wanted to believe that the Nick Wilde that was Judy’s best friend was still buried deep down in there somewhere. But I was heartbroken to find out that you murdered her in cold blood,” the sheep raised her hand as she cleared a sob out of her throat. “But it is even worse to know that you are truly unsavable. Nick, this hurts me more than it hurts you.” Then, after a sniffle, the sheep turned to face the judge. “I am done, Your Honor.”

      Nick was disgusted at how sick the sheep was. The way she could lie without guilt, even about something as fragile as a mammal’s life, made him want to vomit. But still, she wasn’t the only one to blame. He had failed to speak up before she sank her neurotoxic lies into the heads of the people around. He had failed to bring light onto what had really happened. He had failed Judy. As Bellwether walked down the hall to the exit and the officers cuffed and muzzled Nick and dragged him away, he knew one thing. It was her word against his, and his word had failed.

      Beep.

      The single small noise pierced into the darkness of Nick’s mind, as he faded back to consciousness.

      Beep.

      He remembered before, he had been scared of something. Not just afraid, but in mortal terror.

      Beep.

      He knew that his face hurt, and that what had happened before was likely the cause.

      Beep.

      But it didn’t matter. Because he was safe now. Nothing was chasing him. The pain was bearable. Everything was okay.

      Beep.

      He was safe now.

      Beep.

      He was safe now.

      Beep.

      He wasn’t safe now…

      Nick’s eyes opened as he shot upright in the bed, throwing off thin covers. The bright lights stung his eye a little as he looked around the room.

      A machine beeped steadily beside him, eerily consistent with it’s timing. A dark blue curtain hung beside him. The walls were a bland white. Numerous unfamiliar instruments lay around him.

      He suddenly realized that he was in a hospital room. And then it all came rushing back to him.

      First, he tested all of his limbs. Nothing broken. Nothing on his body seemed to even be bandaged. But as he looked around, he realized that the room was weird. It was like he couldn’t quite measure the distances.

      His heart jumped . Maybe he had a concussion! His head didn’t really hurt, but maybe that was even worse.

      He blinked a few times, before looking around to see if there was anything in the room that could give him a hint on his current situation. But despite his keenness for putting things together, his lack of knowledge in the medical field meant he had no idea what the objects around him meant for him personally, except for that he needed to brush up on medical science. If he ever got the chance.

      Then another thought occurred to him. In the five years that he had been confined to the prison building, this may have been the first time that he had ever been outside of it.

      He looked to his left, but was just met with the same dark blue curtain. Then he looked to his right, but oddly found that he hadn’t turned his head far enough the first time.

      Slightly off-put, he strained his neck to look at the wall to his right, turning his body to get a better look.

      But he was met only with drawers, cabinets, a sink, and a door. No windows. He assumed that if this place had any windows, that mister-lucky-side-of-the-curtain had gotten them.

    Nick’s thoughts were broken into by the sound of a door creaking. He whirled back in forth in the bed a bit to see where it was coming from, before he realized that it was coming from the other side of the curtain.

      Small, clopping steps echoed through the sectioned room as somebody entered the room. Nick hoped that whoever it was could explain what was going on.

      A figure, tall in stature, pressed into the curtain slightly, before swiping it out of the way. Through the second the curtain was pulled back, Nick strained to see if there were any windows on the other side of the room, but the sliver of unblocked space wasn’t enough to tell him.

      Nick’s gaze fell upon the zebra who entered. She was tall, just like he thought, and wore a seafoam-colored uniform that bore her name; Adamma Equus.

      She wore a melancholy expression as she stepped over beside him with gloves over her hands. “Sit still,” she said, “I am just going to change out your bandages.”

      Nick was confused. “Bandages?” He said, questioning.

      “Yes, bandages. The ones on your face? Or were you not aware of the giant patch over your eye.”

      Nick realized that he did feel something tight on his head, and his paws immediately shot up to his face. He inhaled sharply as he felt the fabric and other materials wrapped around the right side.

      Paws shaking, he looked at Adamma, who was pulling supplies from the cabinets. “Wh-What happened?” He asked.

      She left the question hanging for a moment as she grabbed some bandages into a bundle, before she finally responded. “Your eye was torn out. You don’t remember?” She said in the most matter-of-fact tone possible.

      Panic struck Nick like cold water, as he grasped at the bandages around his head. “Tell me you’re joking,” he said, searching the area around for something slightly reflective.

      Adamma’s braided black-and-white mane fell around her neck as she approached him. “Why don’t you look for yourself?”

      She handed him a small spoon from within the drawers. Nick froze when he saw himself.

      The entire right-side of his face had been obscured in layers of gauze and bandages. He knew that Adamma was telling the truth.

      Suddenly, he remembered. The wolverine, the running, and the claws that had sliced across his face.

      He dropped the spoon and felt a bit queasy.

      Adamma picked it up off of the covers.

      “Will you be able to fix it…” Nick said quietly, holding back his panic. In all his years of close-calls and stressful situations, he had almost always been able to squirm out of harm’s way. He had never lost a body part before. He didn’t even know if that had ever been a thought that crossed his mind! He had never really thought, could I lose a body part?

      Adamma snorted, something Nick would have never expected as a response to his question, let alone from a professional.

      “Maybe in a higher-class hospital we could do something. Likely not fix it entirely. But here? The best thing we can do is hope your face doesn’t look horribly maimed in the future!”

      Nick froze. “Higher… class…” he spoke low and dark. Don’t tell me that means what I think it means.

      “What did you expect?” Adamma said. “You’re a convicted murderer, for one. And for two, your a predator. Bellwether won’t risk you going bonkers and tearing up the patients in the prey hospitals.”

      Nick had a bitter taste in his mouth from what she just said. He stared hard at his paws in his lap.

      “I have seen what you creatures can do,” Adamma said, quietly and laced with spite.

      Nick looked at her and saw something behind her expression. This wasn’t just a hateful person. There was something in those eyes that told him she had lost something, something to a predator.

      “Is she still-“ Nick held his tongue, knowing if he finished, he could get himself into trouble. “Are… predators still going savage..?”

      Adamma was selecting tools for the bandage change when he asked, and she didn’t look up from her task. “Sometimes. But the new safety measures that President Bellwether has ensured have been causing the rate to decline. Since taming collars have been released, less predators have been going savage.”

      “What is a taming collar?” Nick asked.

      “I’m surprised that they haven’t already been issued in the prisons,” Adamma replied. “It’s a device around a predator’s neck that administers a small electric shock when a predator gets too emotional for their own good,” Adamma replied as she began to unwrap a few layers of bandages. “It’s to prevent you from snapping. Now hold still.”

      Nick felt around his neck, but only felt the soft fur of his throat. He hadn’t been collared, yet.

      “I said hold still,” Adamma scolded.

      Suddenly, there was a thump against the wall to his right, something had been thrown against it. Nick’s ears shot up to listen.

      Nick couldn’t see whether or not Adamma reacted, but he felt her hands stop.

      Adamma murmured something under her breath before continuing.

      Then there was another one, except this one was much louder, and shook the entire room.

      Nick’s head automatically turned to see what the cause was, but not far enough, so he turned it more.

      “What the…” Adamma said as she instinctively braced herself against the side of Nick’s hospital bed.

      “Could that be somebody in another room? Or…”

      “No. That wall has nothing but outside on the other side,” Adamma replied, obviously thinking.

      “Oh,” Nick said. Guess this place just doesn’t do windows.

      They both stared at the wall in silence for about thirty seconds. Then, Adamma was satisfied. “I don’t think-“

      Nick never heard the end of that sentence. There was a giant crack, and next thing he knew the world was rolling around him.

      He felt himself hit against something rough, that then enveloped his vision as he whirled into  darkness. He clanged against something hard.    

For the writer meta asks: 3, 4, 5, and 19?

Fun Meta Asks For Writers 

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Here’s an excerpt from a short story I am calling “The Crow Corn King”, but could easily be called “Ichabod Bontecou and the Worst Christmas Ever” that I thought about sharing this Christmas.  <cw referenced parental death in passage below>

Ichabod had another name for the boy.  Beatrix had first learned of it at the Gables one Christmas, when Crixus was five years of age and Theodora seven.  Ichabod had been commanded home from his scholarship, his father’s failing health inciting many hushed conversations in adjacent rooms between the old man and his sons, particularly the two eldest and then Ichabod after he had been summoned by them.  He had returned from one of these discussions blanched, and Beatrix later learned that he had been told in that room that his father’s condition was terminal, and that his brothers had decided that their business could not be interrupted to stay with him to death.  Ichabod had recently finished his masters degree.  They had determined for him that the doctorate that would have followed could wait, and he should have the privileged role of watcher for his father, and later mother, as they passed in sequence the following year.

He had come upstairs to the first storey parlour then, where Beatrix was with Crixus and Theo, supervising them from a settee as they played with their new toys.  Paled and drifting vacantly with the dragged steps of a sleepwalker, Ichabod had sat himself down in an armchair adjacent to Beatrix and watched the children play in silence.  Beatrix hadn’t dared ask him what had happened, and she soon noticed that he was not in fact watching the children at all but rather staring straight through them at the patterns of the carpet.  The rest of the family were downstairs in the grand reception, and the jolly piano carols and laughter floating up through the floor could only mean Septimus at the grand below.  Beatrix was glad to hear them.  It meant she knew exactly where he was, and that both his hands were occupied with music rather than some poor young maidservant in the scullery.

The children were not quite so conscious of Ichabod’s plight as she was, however.  Oh, Theo had always been timid and rarely spoke unless commanded to, and Crixus likewise hid most often behind his sister’s skirts, but Beatrix had noticed before that both of them recognised the chronically shy Ichabod as a kindred spirit.  He alone among the brothers would be approached across a drawing room to be shown toys or a book, and though he always declined to read to them, Ichabod would speak to them gently with an adult dignity, patience, and a soft voice, and the children respected him for that.  Eventually Crixus approached him with the prize toy of the merry day, a figurine of a paint horse with real hair mane and tail.  

“Uncle Ichabod.”

When he addressed his uncle, the man jerked upright in his chair as though woken from sleep and appeared genuinely confused about where he was.  He blinked himself back to the parlour and looked down upon Crixus, and then said in his patient little mumble: “Oh… Cricket.  What’s that you have there…?”

And she watched as they spoke together, kindred shy souls, about horses and all the fine things about them while Theodora sat before the fire and listened, alike them too.  

From that evening on, Beatrix struggled to look at her son without seeing his uncle in his visage.  She knew it was just the family resemblance, but looking again and again at her children she simply could not see their real father in them.  None of his sharp features in them, none of his evil.  Reincarnated in his children, Septimus’ legacy of hate and violence was smoothed down into their sweetness and kindness.  In Ichabod, too; not a soldier like his father, but rather a scholar, a dreamer, possessed of a round moon face and pink lips, and on his tongue the vicious name his brother had given their child was dissolved into a musical little bug, a tiny violin singing its song through the night.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like:

All right well.  This paragraph presenting Septimus’ thesis statement on revenance from my revenant story:

“Drink it.  It is your right,” said Septimus, patiently grinding his heel into his brother’s neck, “You feel it, don’t you?  You must drink.  I only want to share with you what I have been given – what we both have been given. A throne above men.  As a pastor is to his flock as a shepherd is to sheep, so too have we been raised to be wolves.  And what a wonderful life after death I have seen, better than sleeping in ashes and smut and soil until the crack of doom – you should see it.  I want you to.  Drink.”

I don’t often get the chance to use ‘smut’ in the sense of the fungus, and I like how succinct this becomes, tying it into their family church’s doomsday prophecies. This scene takes place in the chapel, so.

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

sfdsgsfdsfds how very dare

Frankly they’re all ‘parts’ of me, even the bad ones (I can lampshade that what Septimus says is pretentious, but I still wrote it).  But I suppose if I had to, I’d say #1 is Sugar, the future Australian outlaw, who is very very similar to me, #2 is Graeme, who isn’t on the surface but has a very familiar pain, #3 is Ichabod, but in a more from the outside looking in manner, and #4 is Jesse, a character from my novel.

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Oh look there’s always things aren’t there.

I’m a criminal for people staring (there are 30 results in 70 pages for that revenant story).  I do indulge in references excessively, and many will have to be pulled as one’s on thin ice with music references specifically.  I seem to have a thing for histrionic bitchy characters matched with superficially calm but secretly emotional characters.

Thank you for your questions!

Green Thumb 4

First / Previous

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He woke up surrounded by flowers. To be exact he was draped in a canopy of them that had grown around him, covering him from view. More importantly, It was warm. His powers were calm again. No longer bursting from his chest. He had grounded himself. Clicking his neck, Walter slowly uncurled and pulled himself out of the cocoon.

It was bright, too bright to be early. Fuck. He stumbled to his feet. Barrow was going to be furious with him. He was barefoot. When he had taken off his shoes, he didn’t remember but mud was covering him. Searching, he found his phone, now waterlogged. Double fuck.

Tears rolled down his face. So much for just being an hour. He wiped the tears from his face and looked around more. Something had clearly happened. The trees were all lush and blooming, the canopy of flowers was a sign too. He shivered and pulled his coat close. It was only then that he noticed his hair was considerably longer than before. Running his fingers through it, it found it was down to his waist now. Leaves and twigs were tangled into it now too.

“Roses shouldn’t cut their hair,” His voice was hoarse as he reminded himself of the rules. Even thorns tended to keep their hair long. If their powers unleashing did this, there was no wonder. He had a knife in his bike. He could cut more of it off there. The rest would have to wait.

He picked a flower from his new mane and let his magic flow. As suspected, the flower grew, blooming beautifully as it did so. Its roots curled around his forearm and for a brief moment, Walter felt like he was about to fall to pieces. Steeling himself, he gently put the flower on the ground and covered the roots with some soil. He stumbled over the roots of the trees and followed his feet to the path. He didn’t find his shoes which was unnerving. Instead, he had to deal with the undergrowth under him.

Slowly, he found his way, until he stumbled out into the car park. People were waiting. They turned and looked at him in unison, their eyes flickering. “Walter,” Kirsten said her voice relief filled. She was a werewolf, mated to one of the lower-ranked members of the pack but more importantly one of the best trackers the local pack had. “This makes our job easier.”

“What time is it?” Walter frowned, looking up at the sun. Not midday, surely?  

“Around 10,” a voice rumbled from behind him. A strong hand took his shoulders and propelled him forward, catching him as Walter almost tripped. Marvin was taller than Walter by an inch. In general, the wolves were on the tall side but at 6’2 Walter rarely felt dwarfed by them. Kirsten was tiny in comparison but to his understanding, what she lost in height she made up for in speed. “Lord Barrow had us check here. Your scent has changed.” there was something accusing in Marvin’s voice.

“Interesting,” Walter frowned as Marvin started patting him down. His keys were taken from him and he pushed to sit on some picnic tables. Kristen placed a cup of tea in his hands and another wolf he didn’t know well placed a blanket over his shoulders. “I didn’t… I know the basics but not much after,” he offered, drinking deep.

“I see,” Kirsten hummed, feeling his forehead. “Did you know it was going to happen then?”

“The thing or last night? The thing, no. Last night spiralled out of my control,” Walter answered truthfully. He was starting to tremble less now. The cup was warm in his hands and things were beginning to sink in more. Lord Barrow had called favours in to find him. That was going to cost. “Do you have a knife?”

“Don’t need them,” Marvin snorted. “Why do you want a knife?”

“You haven’t you noticed my hair?”

“ You’re not cutting it here,” Kirsten shook her head. Her fingers ran through it and pulled it out of the blanket. Walter could feel her fingers already picking out leaves and twigs. “I’ll braid it for you. We need to stop at the den before taking you to Lord Barrow. You need a shower. I can get Sophie to cut it for you.”

Walter closed his eyes and nodded. The wolves were to be his jail guards for the moment then. “My phone is dead. Water got to it.”

“We’ll have a burner ready,” Marvin noted.

They waited in silence, the wolves chatting among themselves as Walter drifted. Marvin was sat next to him, acting as a heated bookend and keeping him upright. Kirsten didn’t bother trying to brush his hair, just divided it and got to work taming the mess. Walter knew there were other people in the park but chances were the collection of rough-looking bikers were keeping them away for the moment. They were good people. The sort who would get rid of a body for you at a moment’s notice. Unlike Lord Barrow or the many other fractions, they were unlikely to expect a life debt for it either. Simply a favour in turn. Unless those favours started adding up too much.

“Come on,” Marvin hustled him into a car that had pulled up, tossing the keys to someone getting out. Kirsten kissed his cheek before leaving him to Marvin and whoever was driving. Marvin’s arm was strong over his shoulders, keeping him pressed against him. Marvin was one of Alec’s former fancies. It was nice having someone familiar as he drifted.

Lord Barrow wasn’t a monster. He would want someone with Walter’s powers. The cost was going to be steep and Walter was frozen in the midst of it all. Until he faced Barrow there was no telling what was going to happen. What was going to be taken, or if he would be breathing at the end of it all.

“I let Alec know you’re alive,” Marvin said softly. “He’s on his way to the den. Is he being clingy again?”

“Down to three fancies. One is likely to leave soon too. The other, I’m not sure about. I think he’s lost interest.” Walter explained. Alec hadn’t been worrying about Charles leaving, just him and Tristian. “And now I’m in trouble so …”

“He’ll be on the hunt again,”

“Is he ever not?”

Marvin laughed and tightened his grip again. It stayed warm and tight. “I’m not sure how you put up with it,” he murmured. “My wolf was going mad by the end of it. Too many different smells on him. Maybe if they had been consistent…”

“He’s Lord Barrow’s favourite. Or at least, one of them. Lord Barrow is happy to give me to him. If I did not want it, Lord Barrow wouldn’t, I hope. Coping is interesting. Alec is rather open with me about who he’s with. He was sending pictures of him and Tristian last night before the incident,”

“That’s improved then,”

Walter laughed, opening his eyes and looking at Marvin with fondness. He could see the doubt in Marvin’s eyes. Marvin’s wolf may not have been able to deal with Alec anymore but Walter wasn’t so sure his heart was free from Alec’s mesmerizing eyes yet.  “You should be proud. You leaving him affected Alec more than him being clingy to everyone else. Not many of them can claim that.”

Marvin looked slightly uncomfortable but didn’t let go of Walter. He shifted, cupping Walter’s face and bringing them somehow closer than before.“Your right eye has changed,” he breathed softly. “It’s green now, not blue.”

“Ah,” Walter grimaced, pulling away.  “My blind eye is going to stick out more,” he sighed and rubbed his forehead. With his eyes being blue, the pale fog over his left eye was not noticeable unless someone was glazing into it too deeply. He hadn’t been too worried about this eyes changing, last bloomers didn’t normally but nothing about this was normal. “Just perfect.”

The snort of laughter from Marvin and the driver made him glare at the wolf he could see. “You still look handsome, Walt. You’ll be fine,” Marvin promised.

Alec was waiting as they pulled into the wolf compound. The fae practically bouncing on the spot. Marvin had barely got Walter out before Alec was on him, jumping on him and holding tight. Walter held Alec up in the air and used Marvin as support as his knees almost collapsed. Marvin’s hand was on him.

Alec was crying, that wasn’t a good sign.

Alec was taken from him, someone plucking him from Alec complaining loudly but Marvin was too busy pushing Walter in the building. Alec was close behind fast, grabbing Walter’s arm and clinging. The alpha appeared, a large solid man who took one look at the three of them, sighed and point them in a direction. Walter almost laughed. There was a weary acceptation to the look. Only Walter was in the middle of this particular mess and wanted nothing to do with it all.

Then, the three of them were left alone in a bathroom with a massive bathtub and a fair size shower. The wolves were big fellows and their homes were designed as such. Marvin turned the shower on and the bath, starting to get the area ready.

“Clothes off is usually a good idea,” Marvin teased, winking at the two of them.

“Need help?” Alec asked. Mascara was smeared over his cheeks, his lips plain and his hair was messed up too. His hands were clinging to Walter’s arm still.

“Sure,” Walter smiled at the man. Whether Alec was nervous because Barrow was about to kill him or because Tristian had declared he was leaving too was uncertain but something had upset the fae. Alec pulled his rags off, Marvin taking the ruined clothes off him and putting them in a bag.

“Good things about doing this here, we have plenty of spare clothes,” Marvin smiled brightly.

“Yours,” Alec said firmly.

“Al…”

“Yours,” He repeated, looking at Marvin. Marvin faltered but nodded and left the room. Alec hugged Walter again and pressed a kiss to his neck. “Don’t lie to uncle, Walter. You’re on thin ice. It’s tempting when he asks things that are too intimate, too deep but you have to, Marvin,” Alec pleaded.

“I know,” Walter nodded. “I won’t, I promise.”

“I’m fae, Walter. You know what that word means,”

“I know. I promise I won’t lie to Lord Barrow, Alec. I meant what I said. I’m not planning to go like Rick,” Walter leant done and kissed Alec’s lips. He could taste mud from his cheeks in the kiss but Alec was gripping too tightly to care. Hands grasping his neck, not minding the state he was in; Just wanting his warmth and love. Just saying, ‘I’m here’. It meant everything to Alec and the warmth in Walter’s chest, let him know it was just important to him too.

Next

Taming the rage

TITLE: Taming the Rage

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 56 

AUTHOR: lokilover9

Original Imagine: Imagine Odin tells Loki that he has to marry and it’s you. You’ve hated him for years. Every time he sees you in the palace he smirks knowing all the duties you’ll have to perform as his princess, making you cringe. He isn’t exactly fond of you either, but can’t help looking forward to the challenge.

RATING: Teen

NOTES: Chapters will be longer now as much will soon come out in the open. Hope you enjoy! 😉

On the same day Loki was dunking Erika unwillingly into the river, Frigga approached Odin in a private room of their chambers back at the palace. “We need to talk.”

Already suspecting what it was about, his defenses went up. “If it’s about Loki, I’ll deal with him as I see fit Frigga.”

He attempted to walk away, but she rose her voice to him. “Your way is unjust and harsh and I wish to know why you see it necessary?”

“Unjust?” He asked.

“Yes. Why won’t you leave him alone?”

“You think me stupid enough to risk that at a time like this?” He yelled. “I wish to leave the throne knowing this realm will be safe for Thor to run without thinking he may be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to…”

“To what?” She yelled even louder. “He’s done nothing to provoke trouble so why must you?”

“I just told you why Frigga!”

“He’s not a threat damn you!”

“And I told you before, that’s your opinion!”

Frigga looked him straight in the eye. “And here’s ‘my’ opinion about something else. I don’t see the man I wish to retire with so concerned about his realm, as much I see him hurting his son.”

“If I could trust that ‘son’, maybe I’d be more focused on retirement!”

“You can trust him, yet all it seems you’re attempting to do is bully him into temptation!”

He went quiet with a guilty looking expression and her heart sank. “Oh Odin, are you?”

“He must be tested Frigga to assure we are all safe!”

“Tested? You tested him all his life and look what that lead to!”

“What the hell are you saying?” He spat. “That I forced him to take the actions that lead to his imprisonment?”

“No, you didn’t lead him by the hand, but think of the desperation he must have felt to impress you in order to take them. All he ever wanted was your love and approval, the same that you gave to Thor. Yet he never received it.”

“That’s nonsense! He had it damn good considering what his fate could have been.”

Frigga stared at him, bewildered. “So you brought him here believing he should have been grateful for whatever he could get? Tell me you had better intentions than keeping him as a simple bargaining chip for peace?”

“And what do you think would have become of Asgard, should we have let Laufey’s son one day rule it?”

“Damn you Odin! He never saw himself as Laufey’s son! Why do you not understand that? When learning of his true heritage, what did he do? He killed his biological father so he’d no longer be a threat to Asgard! He killed Laufey so you wouldn’t see ‘him’ as a monster like Laufey because he’s always loved ‘you’ as his real Father!”

“His actions were for no other reason than to gain the fucking throne woman! How could you not see that?”

Frigga shook her head. “Had you have paid him more attention, you’d have learned long ago Loki knew his chances at the throne were next to none. He understood the line of succession. All he wanted was the same admiration and respect you gave to Thor and never understood why he couldn’t earn it. Have you ever once considered how it would feel to be him? To have spent your entire life questioning why you never measured up, then to learn of the deceit behind why?”

“And what of you Frigga? You lied to him too.”

Her fists clenched. “I did that because my husband ordered me to! By the time I’d gained enough courage to stand up to you, I’d long since believed him my own and ‘never’ wished him to think any different. Imagine how he felt when the one whose love he’d fought the hardest for, told him his true birthright was to die! How could you have said such a thing?”

He went quiet again, holding his angered glare and Frigga took a deep breath before speaking calmer. “Listen to me Odin. You have angered and hurt me much recently, but I still love you and have been looking forward to our retirement. I also love ‘both’, of our sons and want nothing but peace amongst our family. If you can’t learn to trust Loki again, how can I trust you once Thor is King, to devote all your attentions to us?”

“I’d like to trust him Frigga, however…”

“There is no need for ‘however.’” She firmly stated. “You know there’s valid reason to believe in Astas word. You must leave Loki alone.”

“And if I do not?” He curtly asked.

Frigga’s eyes widened. “Odin, you know of her predictions. If you continue instigating him, the result could put all nine realms at risk and the consequences disastrous. Now I’m going say this one last time. Leave..Loki..alone.”

With that, she left the room and Odin dismissively waved her off. ~~~~~~~ A couple more days went by with Loki and Erika quite enjoying their time alone. They made a lot of love, hiked, fished, swam, shared many laughs and talked about much. One morning after a hike, Loki was fishing while Erika rinsed out some things nearby in a bucket.

She was very quiet and he noticed. “Something on your mind?” He asked.

She smiled softly, continuing with her task. “I really hope you and Thor continue to get along once we return.”

“That would be nice.” He replied, tossing his line again. “Although Odin may disagree.”

“I’m sorry he treats you as he does Loki.”

“Yes well, maybe once Thor becomes King, Mother will convince him to vacation in their retirement and he’ll be less of a thorn in my side.”

Catching a bite, he began reeling it in.

“I wish we could stay a little longer, I like it here.” She said.

“That would be nice too, but we mustn’t stir the shit storm Darling. Odin’s just looking for an excuse.”

Erika tossed the dirty water and Loki moved to drop his fish he’d caught in the bucket. After unhooking it, he wiped his slimy fingers down her cheek and she cringed, backing up towards the river. “Oh gross!”

“Eh he he he. What’s the issue? You’ll be eating it soon enough.”

“Not until you clean it again. The water in that bucket was dirty.”

He followed her to the water’s edge. “As you wish. Shall I throw you in while I’m at it?”

“Very funny.”

She squatted to rinse her cheek when they both froze at the sound of gunshots ringing off in the distance.

Loki moved fast, pulling Erika behind the massive tree near the water’s edge. He tried listening for more, but the spare horse had begun frantically struggling against its restraints. “There must be hunters nearby, stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the tent for my Seidre.”

While they spoke, Oliver and Isabella started struggling and Loki thought the spare had triggered them. He’d tied him a few trees over from the two as Oliver hadn’t taken to him well. After placing a magic shield around Erika, he stepped out calming them with magic and was about to do the same to the spare, when screaming and more gunshots came from the same direction.

Then out of nowhere, two large wolves jumped at the spare and Erika watched as the rest seemed to occur in slow motion.

Loki immediately placed a protective shield over the other horses, then produced two large daggers and flung them at the Wolves necks. His precision aim struck their jugulars and as they choked and started backing away, Loki went for the smaller one first, snapping its neck in seconds.

The other viciously eyed him, struggling to snarl as blood gurgled in its throat while it backed away. Loki held it’s glare, slowly removing the dagger from the neck of the first and whipped it towards the animal’s heart. He was almost to his feet as it struck, when turning to see another lunging towards him from the left and attempted to raise his arms in defense. It’s teeth sunk deep into one through his tunic and before having a chance to kill it, an agonizing pain shot through his opposite calf when another even larger, attacked and tried yanking him to the ground.

Moments into this fight, Loki heard a cry like nothing he’d ever heard in his life. It startled the wolves into releasing him and in seconds, they were flying backwards many feet above the ground. He watched them strike large trees and yelp as their bones crushed then fall in heaps to the ground.

He turned to see Erika standing in the center of their camp and his mouth fell open. Her pupils were tiny and the yellow in her eyes so intense, it was bleeding into the whites. Her face was reddened in anger, fists clenched at her sides and she trembled as strands of her hair still swaying from the air she’d created, settled on her cheeks and shoulders.

Her eyes glanced wildly over each animal then scanned the surrounding area and not until Loki spoke her name a second time and limped towards her, did she begin to snap out of her trance.

“Erika, it’s alright.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment until he spoke again. “Darling, please come back to me?”

Behind him, she noticed the spare attempt to move as it laid in the grass. “He’s suffering, you have to kill him. I’ll get you’re Seidre so you can do it humanely.”

She darted off and Loki went to the animal, leaning to stroke its mane and knew Erika was right. It’s injuries were too extensive and once handing him his Seidre, she asked that he make it disappear after, then went back into the tent. It only took him minutes and he found her inside, pulling apart their first aide kit.

Without turning, she pointed at the bed. “Sit.”

“It’s done and I’ve sent them ‘all’ away, alright?”

“Take your shirt off. Or is the wound on your leg worse?” Her voice was shaky and she began tearing open bandage wrappings.

“Did you hear me?” He calmly asked.

She spun around with her eyes still settling. “I heard everything Loki! The horse being attacked, the sounds those wretched beasts made when they tore into your limbs! Only when becoming enraged was I able to break your damn shield! I know it was to…”

Still a bit crazed when retrieving his Seidre and the kit, she hadn’t looked closely at his leg until this moment and her face paled. The wolf had dug deep into the muscle and torn downwards, leaving a large opening a good six inches long and she knew beneath his pant leg, there had to be pieces of flesh hanging.

“Holy shit!”

His arm wasn’t much better and she grabbed at the first aide supplies in a panick. After she tightened a clean towel around his arm to help the bleeding, Loki used magic to remove his lower pant leg and her eyes widened.

“We can’t stay here!” She cried. “I don’t have enough supplies to care for these wounds! You need to see Eir!”

Loki squeezed her hand. “Erika, I need your help. Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She slid her hand away, going to her knees. “Stop it! You’re bleeding too much, I need to tend this!”

She was trembling and Loki tilted her chin up. “Listen Darling, you’re right. We need to leave, but you must remain calm. Can you do that for me? Please?”

She nodded and went to work, cleaning and bandaging him up as best she could. Loki then used magic to change their clothes and cover up his dressings with clean towels. “If there’s more of them, the less blood they smell the better. Come, you need to wash up a bit.” He watched as she cleaned her hands and face in the river, then began to pack up. “We need to travel light so pack only food, the first aid supplies and some extra clothing. We’ll be back before sundown and I can send others for the rest tomorrow.”

“What about those gunshots and screams?” She asked.

“I don’t know what that was. Hopefully no hunter accidentally shot another. I’ll use my Seidre to keep a shield around us, so we’ll be fine”

“Were wolves ever a problem when you camped here as a child?”

“Not that I know of. I stopped coming in my early teens, but Thor continued and never said anything of it. They could have come from anywhere.”

Erika decided it best to use the toilet before they left and Loki kept a close eye out while sitting atop Oliver.

She came out and when hearing a noise in the nearby bushes, started running while looking over her shoulder. Loki was about to speak up when she tripped over a small log and landed in some short, yet thick bushes. She was trying to get up fast when he yelled out.

“It was only a passing deer.”

She looked up in his direction to see him smirking. “You pulverized two wolves without a second thought, then run from a deer?”

Erika narrowed her eyes. “Shut up Loki.” Not until she stood did she notice a long tear in the sleeve of her upper arm. The cut beneath started bleeding and she sighed. “Oh great!”

“Which horse did you pack the first aid kit on?” He asked.

“You stay put, I’ll get it.”

Loki’s brow furrowed when she removed her shirt. “That’s a deep cut.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s you I’m worried about.”

Loki hadn’t realized they were out of disinfectant and large bandages until she used small ones. “Shouldn’t you clean that first?”

“We’re out of disinfectant and I’m not removing these so you can conjure any. We’re leaving.” She wrapped a small towel around the wound and after he bound it with magic, redressed and mounted Isabella.

They made it back before dinner and upon reaching the palace doors, Erika had guards help Loki from Oliver and one helped get him to Eirs. She took him in immediately and returned to Erika a short time later to explain. Both wounds would need stitches, but his leg would need many after a major cleaning.

“Are you in pain?” Eir asked. “I’ll need my assistant for Loki, but I can give you something while you wait.” Erikas appearance with her disheveled curls, torn shirt with blood down most of the sleeve, still soaked at the cut, and partly muddied pants, wasn’t what concerned Eir. It was how she sat curled up in the chair, knees to her chest with her arms wrapped around them and how her eyes appeared dazed when she looked up to reply.

“I’m fine.” She insisted, then looked off into the distance again.

Eir hesitated for a minute, wondering if Erika would accept something to calm her instead. It was a minute too long and Erika frowned up at her. “Eir, tend to Loki please?”

“Very well.” Eir hurried away and Erika sat in silence with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something about those screams in the woods felt off, yet she couldn’t understand why? Then a short time later, a young guard entered the waiting area looking distraught.

The second he noticed her, he nodded in respect and approached. “Lady Erika, you’re back. Might I ask if Prince Loki is with you?”

She stared at him confused, knowing Frigga hadn’t revealed to anyone they were gone, then politely replied. “Loki is in the Palace, yes. Who are you and why are you asking?”

He breathed a sigh of relief, yet still looked nervous. “Please excuse me for being so forward.” After introducing himself as one recently hired by her father along with another young man, he continued. “Please, can you tell me if you’ve seen the other guard in your travels?”

Now Erika was more confused. “Our travels?” She asked.

“Yes Lady Erika, you see…”

As he spoke, she began trembling and slowly unfolding herself in the seat. Once hearing enough, she stood and the guard began backing away.

“If you’re still here when Eir comes out, tell her I’ll return later.” She calmly stated.

Staring into her yellowed eyes, he hastily nodded. “I will.”

Erika then left and began marching down the hall…..

Premier League 2019-20: What are the trends of the season so far?

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Premier League 2019-20: What are the trends of the season so far?

We’re only days into September but more than 10% of the 2019-20 Premier League season has already been voraciously consumed.

Some things, like Liverpool and Manchester City pulling away from the rest, seem only too familiar.

But others, like the longing gaze at the video assistant referee (VAR) decision on the big screen and the new goal-kick rule, seem utterly new.

What, then, are the key trends from the opening few weeks of the season?

VAR has had less of an impact than you might think

The establishment of our new VAR overlords in Stockley Park was always going to make for an intriguing period but despite some high-profile reversals in the opening few weeks, it seems the officials have been determined the league’s new system of justice should not have too major an impact.

Who can forget the 2018 World Cup, which saw 29 penalties, shattering the record for a single tournament, as VAR honed in on grappling and barging?

This season, in the Premier League, there have been only nine spot-kicks awarded (a third of them to Manchester United), which is below average for the past 10 seasons.

Indeed, back in 2012-13 when video referees were the stuff of science fiction, seven penalties were awarded on the opening weekend alone.

It’s a similar story with red cards, with the five this season being only half as many as at this stage two seasons ago, and four fewer than last term.

How seasons compare after four weeks Season Penalties Red cards 2010-11 14 9 2011-12 15 7 2012-13 15 6 2013-14 11 5 2014-15 5 5 2015-16 8 11 2016-17 15 2 2017-18 5 10 2018-19 14 9 2019-20 9 5

Overall, of more than 30 incidents that have been played out on the big screen so far, only six decisions by the on-field officials have been overturned.

Intriguingly, two of those have ruled out goals for Manchester City striker Gabriel Jesus (away to West Ham and home to Tottenham) and those have been the interventions that have driven the most debate about the new system.

Tiny signs that the furious arguments may settle down as the season progresses were seen in matchweek four as only three incidents went to VAR and all of them backed the referee’s decision.

Good officiating or reluctance to cross to the leafy judgement palace of Stockley Park?

Maybe we need VAR for the VAR.

Brighton love playing out from the back as much as Man City

Another change for the Premier League (and football in general) in 2019-20 is the new goal-kick law.

Previously the ball had to be played outside of the penalty area before being touched by a team-mate, and in the long-ball era of the 1990s and before, this was not an issue.

A Mitre ball, pumped up harder than the surface of one of Jupiter’s moons, would be “distributed” upfield by a goalkeeper in remarkably high shorts and play would commence in the immediate vicinity of the halfway line.

Now goalkeepers can stroke a short one inside the box (I posit that this is the most unsettling visual change to football since the backpass law in 1992, it’s certainly taking longer to get used to than the one-man kick-offs) and stretch the play.

Proportionally, Manchester City’s Ederson jointly leads the way in short passes from goal-kicks with Brighton’s Mat Ryan (69%), but the Albion man heads the division in terms of raw numbers, with 22 of his goal-kicks being played to a team-mate inside the box, putting him just ahead of the north London pairing of Bernd Leno and Hugo Lloris.

At the other end of the spectrum, Watford’s Ben Foster has hit almost as many goal-kicks (two) to the other penalty area as he has in his own (three).

A few other goal-kick highlights include:

All of Ederson’s goal-kicks are either stylistic penalty-box modernism or absolutely gigantic pitch-length knocks. Truly a man for all seasons.

Liverpool’s Adrian really likes left-back Andrew Robertson.

Wolves keeper Rui Patricio is one of four keepers yet to attempt a goal-kick to a team-mate inside the box, along with Sheffield United’s Dean Henderson, Newcastle’s Martin Dubravka and Burnley’s Nick Pope. Patricio also loves the right-hand touchline, hardly befitting a man in the number 11 shirt.

West Ham’s Lukasz Fabianski tried a short goal-kick once but didn’t enjoy it and went back to the old style.

Salah really isn’t selfish

Sadio Mane and Mohamed Salah tied for the Golden Boot on 22 goals last season, along with Arsenal’s Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang

The most memorable image of last weekend was Liverpool forward Sadio Mane’s fury after his substitution at Burnley.

The apparent cause was Mohamed Salah’s decision not to pass to his team-mate, which makes you wonder if sharing the Golden Boot last season was a source of irritation rather than collegiate pride, and has led to the resumption of one of 2018-19’s most facile debates: is Salah selfish?

Given that Salah has scored or assisted 77 goals in 78 Premier League appearances for Liverpool, and that this is the first time in the club’s top-flight history that they’ve won their opening four league games for two seasons in a row, it is fantastically unlikely that Jurgen Klopp cares one bit.

Even so, is Salah selfish? Well, there’s no definitive way of judging this but a reasonable proxy is surely the ratio of big chances created by a player to the big chances he’s taken himself.

Of course, there’ll be plenty of the former where the only real option was to pass to a better-placed team-mate, and lots of the latter where he himself was in that position just described, but even so, a deviously selfish player’s ratio of created-to-taken would surely be unbalanced, and as the table below shows, Salah’s is anything but.

Player (August 2018-now) Big chances created Big chances for himself Ratio

Premier League only

Ryan Fraser 29 8 3.6 chances created to chances for himself David Silva 19 11 1.7 Eden Hazard 18 18 1 Mohamed Salah 17 36 0.5 Kevin de Bruyne 17 1 17 Andrew Robertson 16 0 – James Maddison 15 8 1.9 Trent Alexander-Arnold 15 1 15 Raul Jimenez 14 21 0.7 Callum Wilson 13 32 0.4 Raheem Sterling 13 27 0.5 Gylfi Sigurdsson 13 16 0.8

Hats off to the departed Eden Hazard, who managed to achieve a zen-like 1:1 rate last season, but Salah’s ratio of one big chance created for every two for himself is the same as Raheem Sterling in the same period, and few people are calling the Manchester City man greedy.

Andrew Robertson and Trent Alexander-Arnold appear on this list of most big chances created, naturally, but where are Roberto Firmino and Sadio Mane, presumed victims of Greedy Salah’s Monstrous Appetite?

Firmino’s numbers are very similar to Salah’s, with 10 chances created, and 21 for himself for a ratio of 0.48, but Mane’s are nine created and 29 for himself (0.31), meaning that in this semi-scientific study it is the supposed victim of the selfishness who is the least generous of all.

In truth, though, those numbers just reveal how stellar Liverpool’s front three are. Double up on one and the other two will destroy you. Divert all your resources to stopping them and watch as you open up oceans of space for the two full-backs.

In attacking terms this is gluttony more than greed.

It’s probably too early to look at the table. Maybe

If you believe those who can remember the old days then not only did nobody even glimpse a league table until mid-autumn but even expressing an interest in how the division was shaping up was an actual criminal offence.

The late 1980s was a world where live television coverage of England’s top flight only started in October once the clocks had gone back, on the genuine reasoning that people would only fully concentrate on First Division football once the opportunity for gardening had been reduced.

Now we luxuriate in the table at half-time on the opening day, and why not. The three highest points totals in English top-flight history have occurred since May last year so not looking at the standings early on is tantamount to missing the first act of a play.

As we learned above, Liverpool have won their opening four in consecutive seasons for the first time (and only the fifth time overall), while City have averaged 9.2 points in their opening four games this decade, last losing against Mark Hughes’ Stoke back in 2014.

Ten points from four has been enough for Pep Guardiola in each of the past two campaigns, so the two-point gap to Liverpool won’t be concerning him yet.

Elsewhere, this season was the first since the 1950s to see 15 or more teams on exactly one win after three games and the first time since the early 1980s that there had been 19 or more teams with at least three points after three games.

After getting thumped 5-0 and 4-0 respectively on the opening weekend, West Ham and Chelsea are showing signs of bouncing back.

No team has let in five in their opening game and finished in the top six since 1913-14, while the last team to let in four on the first day and win the title were Everton in 1984-85.

Tottenham, meanwhile, have already drawn as many league games – two – this season as they did in the whole of 2018-19.

What does it all mean? At this stage, I’m afraid it, er, may be too early to tell.

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More Than Life...

Continuing from here More Than Life Chapter Two

Lance tried to get Keith to talk because it was something Lance was very good at. He tried to get him to talk about himself, about his life, about the Blades of Mamora. He tried to get him to give him some pointers about sword play, brandishing the weapon he’d appropriated during the battle at Garsiwn. He talked because, Pidge suspected, he just liked to hear the sound of his own voice. But it seemed talking wasn’t something Keith was very good at at all.

Of course he’d only agreed to their accompanying him reluctantly so Pidge wasn’t really surprised that he didn’t want to build any real kind of rapport with them. Lance had eventually given up and had resorted to playing a travelling game with Hunk instead.

“Are you animal, mineral of vegetable?” Hunk asked with a sigh. Lance seemed to ponder for a moment. “I’m thinking…animal…” “Actual or mythical?” “Mythical.” “Is it a dragon?” “Nope.” “Basilisk?” “Try again.” “Griffin?” “Nuh-uh.” Lance shook his head. “And you’re running out of guesses. Ask something to narrow it down.” “Fine.” Hunk sighed, obviously not that into the game. “Mammalian, reptilian or avian?” “Huh?” Lance blinked. “Does it have fur, scales or feathers?” Hunk clarified. “And that doesn’t count as a question.” “Fur.” Pidge tuned them out, focusing instead on their newfound, well, she couldn’t really call him a friend. Ally, perhaps? All she really knew about him was that he had no love for the Galra, even though he probably was one. Though, she had a feeling it went beyond their slaughter of his brotherhood. She glanced back to where he was bringing up the rear of their little group. He’d let his chestnut stallion, Palgan, she’d learned in one of his brief, chattier moments, set his own pace. As the day drew on she noticed he seemed to get more and more unfocused. The sky, at least what could be seen of it through the canopy, had taken on a distinctive pinkish tint when he slid from Palgan’s back and headed off into the trees. “Hey!” Lance exclaimed as he noticed. “Where are you going?” The trio exchanged a quick glance before following him. He wasn’t moving very fast, in fact he paused, allowing them to catch up, before leading them to a crumbling structure of stone and wood. An abandoned cottage deep in the woods and partially reclaimed by it. “We’ll camp here for the night.” He said. There was a slight edge to his voice, an anxiousness that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t tell me the big, bad, Mamorite is afraid of the dark?” Lance teased. “Do you have any idea what kind of monsters roam these woods when the sun goes down?” He countered. “If you want to live long enough to get through this forest you’ll listen to what I say.” “I AM a hunter, remember?” Lance growled. “And what have you hunted?” Keith shot back. “Rabbits? Deer? Have you ever faced a pack of hungry wolves? In the dark? With no way of knowing their numbers or exactly where they all are?” The colour drained from Lance’s face. The Mamorite had a point. Lance had never actually hunted at night. And they were far deeper into the woods than he’d ever been. Not that he’d admit it. “And there are worse things out there than wolves.” Keith’s voice softened as he looked away into the trees. “Uh…I’ll rustle us up some dinner before it gets dark.” Lance offered. “Rabbits or deer.” “I’ll check the perimeter.” Keith nodded. “Set some snares so we know if anything comes calling.” He turned to Hunk and Pidge. “If you could take care of the animals?” “Sure.” Hunk took the offered reins from him. He ran a gentle finger over the snowy bird’s feathers, perched on the horse’s saddle, as the bigger man led the pair towards the structure. “And get some rest.” He called after him. “We’ve still got a long way to go. We’ll be leaving at first light.” ~~~~~~ “So…” Lance mused as he tore a mouthful of flesh off the rabbit he’d managed to catch before the light had faded from the sky. “Do you think it’s a Galra thing or is he just a jerk?” “He’s not a jerk.” Pidge glared at him. “He’s…” she frowned, not sure how to finish. He WAS surly, kind of unfriendly, but he wasn’t really a jerk. Was he? “The Blade of Mamora were betrayed and murdered by the people they’d sworn to protect, right?” Hunk asked. “That’s gotta give anyone some serious trust issues.” “And we did kind of invite ourselves along on his little one man crusade.” Pidge added. “He’s probably just used to being on his own.” “Yeah, okay.” Lance conceded. “I guess he’s just lacking social skills, but…” he frowned. “Where the hell is he, anyway? He was going on about how dangerous the woods are after dark, and he’s still out there.” Palgan let out a reverberating snort that drew the trio’s attention. For a moment they thought it indicated Keith’s return, but when the horse started pawing the ground nervously they knew it was something else. With a quick, wordless exchange, Hunk tossed an old blanket over the fire to extinguish it before the trio crept up to the low stone wall that made up the front of their overnight accommodation. Using it as cover they each angled themselves up just enough to peek into the clearing in front of it. A tiny man, he was even shorter than Pidge, stepped from the trees, sniffing the air. His attire and odd hairstyle marked him as Galra. He was flanked on either side by two much larger, regular looking Galra in full battle armour. “I knew I could smell something.” The little one said. “Roast rabbit. He can’t be far.” “That tripwire was definitely a Mamorian tactic.” One of the others nodded, laying a hand on the sizeable dent on his breastplate. “Imagine if we’re the ones to bring in that filthy little half-breed?” The little one grinned wickedly. “We won’t be stuck in pathetic clean-up detail, that’s for sure.” Lance crept away from the wall, staying low, fingers inching towards his recently acquired sword. “What are you doing?” Hunk hissed at him. “There’s only three of them.” He whispered, looking back. “Two and a half, really. We can take them.” “That would be an extraordinarily bad idea.” It wasn’t a voice any of them recognised. “What the hell…” Lance began as he turned towards its source. “…looooohhhh….” his tone and expression changing to flirtatious mode mid sentence as he saw the speaker. Hunk and Pidge exchanged a knowing, exasperated look. Though, they couldn’t really blame him. She had to be the most beautiful woman any of them has ever seen. Her hair, short and roughly cropped, appeared to be the colour of the moonlight that offered the only illumination. Her dusky skin making it, and her sapphire eyes, appear even more luminous as she crept from the shadows to join them at the wall. “The Galra are touched by darkness.” She said, her eyes fixed on the armoured trio beyond their hiding place. “They are far more dangerous at night.” “So what do we do?” Hunk asked. “They’re gonna find us!” “They will if you don’t shut up!” Pidge growled. “I wouldn’t worry.” The newcomer smiled, a smile so entrancing it reduced Lance to a sighing bundle of uselessness. “You have a friend in these woods.” “We do?” Pidge questioned, maybe a little too loudly as three Galra heads turned in their direction. “What was that about shutting up?” Lance snapped, lunging for the sword. “Now we’re gonna have to-” He was cut off by a deep, rumbling growl. It was like nothing any of them had ever heard before. Even the Galra stopped in their tracks, turning slowly towards its source. It wasn’t a wolf, the sound was too deep, it belonged to a much bigger animal. And the strange, reverberating quality? Maybe the mythical creatures Hunk had been naming earlier weren’t so mythical after all. A pair of luminous eyes ignited in the underbrush as the creature they belonged to emerged from the darkness. It was enormous. It had a broad face surrounded by thick dark hair-like fur and a flat muzzle reminiscent of a cat. Lips curled back to reveal a set of very long, very sharp, dagger-like teeth as it growled again. As it moved into the clearing, all silent and slinky, it really did look like a cat, if a cat could be the size of a horse. It was sleekly muscled, built for the kill. Its tail was long and sinewy, with an obvious tuft at the end. “What the hell is that?” Lance breathed as the Galra backed away from its approach. “Manticore.” Hunk gasped. Its jaws gaped open as it let out a thunderous roar that shook the rafters and showered them with dust. The sounds that followed the roar would haunt their nightmares for weeks to come. “Oh, no.” The beauty covered her mouth as she rose to her feet. She threw one leg gracefully over the wall and was about to swing the other over when Lance grabbed her arm to stop her. “What are you doing?” His eyes were wide with fear. Fear for her, fear of the creature. “You can’t go out there with that…that…thing!” His eyes flickered past her to where the monster was hunkered down by the fallen Galra. She covered his hand with her own, smiling reassuringly. “He’d never hurt me.” She slipped from his grasp and moved towards the creature. It…he, how did she know that thing was a he…raised his head as she approached, glowing golden eyes fixed on her, teeth bared. “Shhhhh.” She held her hands out in front of her in a placating manner. The massive head dipped to one side, making the animal look strangely curious. The jaws closed, the eyes soften. No, the entire creature soften as she reached out to cup his jaw. He let out a low, somehow sorrowful rumble as she placed her forehead against his. She was whispering to him as she ran her fingers through his thick, dark mane, though she was too far away for any of them to make out what she was saying. Some kind of spell maybe? Was she a witch? Everything about the situation seemed bewitching and surreal. The creature sank to the ground with a loud thump. The woman wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his fur. They could hear his breathing even out, saw her smile as he curled around her and began to rumble soothingly. He really was just like an oversized cat. The woman didn’t make any kind of attempt to move, she just snuggled into his furry body. Soon they were both sleeping peacefully, quite comfortable on the hard, cold ground. The trio pulled each other into a tight embraced, each more than a little frightened by everything they had just witnessed. There was no way any of them were getting any sleep tonight. ~~~~~~ Pidge awoke with a start. She was still pressed up against Hunk, who was snoring quite loudly into the rafters. Lance was curled up on the other side, drooling quietly onto Hunk’s shirt. The arm that was slightly beneath the largest of the three was a little tingly. She flexed her fingers to get the blood flowing, yawning and stretching out the kinks. It was only then that she noticed the blankets dropped over the three of them. She could hear the crackle of a nearby fire, the wonderful smell of something cooking. Was it mushrooms? She slipped out from under the blanket, tucking it under Hunk as the big man continued to sleep. “Rough night?” She just about jumped out of her skin. Keith was sitting on a fallen log, poking at the fire with a long stick. A generous fry up of venison, some kind of tuber and, yes, mushrooms, threaded alternately on slender skewers, sizzled over the heat. Where the hell had he been all night? They really could have use his help with the Galra and the… She glanced around the clearing. The creature was gone, as was the woman. The bodies were nowhere in sight, but there was a mound of freshly dug earth. Had he buried them? “I got you some breakfast.” He gestured to the fire with his knife. He speared a piece of meat and offered it to the bird, perched quietly on his shoulder. She stopped preening her snowy feathers to nibble at the morsel. “Thanks.” She said as she sat down, reaching out to take one of his skewers. She chewed thoughtfully on her food, watching silently as he fed the bird. There was something so sweet about his interactions with the creature. He chuckled slightly as she tugged playfully at his dark hair. Her eyes widened. Dark hair…white feathers… White hair…dark mane… One missing all night… One mysteriously appearing only after the sun had set… Magic and weirdness and nightmarish happenings. “By all that’s holy.” She whispered. “Are you alright?” Keith frowned. She looked at him, at the bird perched on his shoulder, both staring back at her with strange, almost unreal eyes. His not quite grey, not quite blue, not quite violet but somehow all three at once. The bird’s in subtle, graduating shades of blue, from pale aqua to the deepest sapphire. “How long?” She asked. “What?” He frowned. “How long-” her eyes flicked quickly from one to the other “-have you two-” back and forth, back and forth “-been…” She trailed off. What was it exactly? She was a person of logic. She didn’t hold much faith in magic and monsters and that kind of thing. But she couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. “…cursed…?” She finished, her voice uncertain. Keith let out a nervous half-chuckle which cut off quickly. He looked away and she could tell he was trying to come up with some kind of explanation or denial. “What makes you think…” he began. “Oh, come on!” She snapped. “We meet you yesterday, in broad daylight, with a one of a kind white-feathered bird with strange blue eyes that you’re a little too protective of. You get really anxious just before sunset then disappear all night, when, coincidently a beautiful silver-haired woman with the same blue eyes appears and hangs out with a clearly very dangerous animal that’s not even indigenous to these parts who she very calmly states would never hurt her before curling up together for the night.” He just blinked, obviously stunned, the bird still playing with his hair in a mirror of the woman the previous evening. Pidge shrugged. “It’s not really that hard to figure out.” He looked away, absently stroking the bird’s feathers. “So how long has it been?” He sighed before looking back at her. His eyes were filled with such pain, sorrow and loss it almost made her want to cry. “How long is forever?” She looked away, uncertain of what to say, what to do. Should she say something comforting? Offer him a hug? She was saved by a sudden outburst from their, until then, slumbering companions. Blankets went flying as Lance sprang away from Hunk, embarrassed to find himself in such a compromising position. For his part Hunk sat up and scratched at the front of his shirt until he found the slobber patch and pulled a disgusted face. Lance’s calmed down somewhat when he noticed Keith. “Where the hell were you last night?!” He demanded as he stepped over the crumbling wall. “We could have been killed by that monster!” “You mean the monster that took down the Galra who probably did actually want to kill us?” Hunk queried as he rose to follow, drawn to the fire by the smell of breakfast. “If it wasn’t for that gorgeous woman who calmed it down it probably would have come after us as well.” Lance reasoned. “Where is she anyway?” He asked, running a hand through his hair in an effort to make himself look more presentable. “She was so into me.” The bird let out an indignant shriek and puffed out her feathers. Pidge covered her mouth to stifle her laugh, her eyes sliding to look at Keith to see a slight smile curl the corner of his mouth. “Please.” Hunk scoffed around a mouthful of food. “She was more interested in the manticore.” “It wasn’t a manticore, Hunk.” Pidge sighed. “Manticores aren’t real.” “What was it then?” Hunk asked. “It sure looked like a manticore.” “It was a lion.” Keith said. They all stopped eating to look at him. “Do you think I was gone ALL night.” He gestured to the ground. “And the tracks give it away.” “A lion?” Hunk echoed. “Aren’t they from…well…a long way away?” “Must have escaped Zarkon’s menagerie.” He shrugged. Pidge looked at him, considering his off-hand comment. It might not have been far from the truth. “You weren’t kidding when you said there were worse things out there than wolves.” Hunk looked towards the trees. “What about the woman?” Lance asked. “Did you see the woman?” “No.” Keith shook his head. “I didn’t see the woman.” He stood up suddenly, quickly enough to startle the bird on his shoulder. She spread her wings, shifting her weight to reposition herself. “Eat up.” He said. “That patrol will have been missed by now. They’ll be sending others to look for them. We best get moving.” He walked towards the ramshackle cottage. “I’ll get Palgan ready.”

Grey NoteS

I have not come to teach, rather to remind. 

For we must not give our opinions of truth.

Clock watched

Pillow soft, as I toss

I cannot sleep this night

Through terror, dim-lit souls surrender

Called away with silver fingers

Lately, left with panic manifested

Dark tombs, which surpass original thought

Wolves prowl all around met by silent bliss

Wouldn’t you like to be seen for who you are?

Lanterns in the sky will guide your path.

Easy to feel alone at times, but there is always one to pick you up.

Getting trapped in my head

Look out the window, fresh air.

The answer is always yes. The trick is finding the one who gives it.

Airport orange juice says it best, “good in, good out.”

To be…

Time is an investment of the heart

Speech, a cruel charade

A thick mire, where many lonely prisoners lie

Held at hand, but holds control tighter than a child-to-mother

She tells us when to go, dictates when we come.

This sweet illusion, we give so quick our souls

Morning (west coast)

Cool grey clouds hung up on wires

Cast a coddle body

Mornings autumn breath, stirring the leaves

Lungs of a crippled woman

Lovely whispers whirl

Canty speech allures me out of bedtime clothes

Morning (East Coast)

Moist breath, fascinates olfactory senses

Precious blossoms all around

New rays from the east reflect a deep green pond

Bowing to the red ball

Seafarer

Salty clanks of sea bells

Far travelled passengers prepare for an aquarian voyage

Past down the southern point, never to return

An heirloom of the setting sun, a sacred relic of a gaudy look

A passerby, or of native blood, cannot escape the solemn roar

colossal white walls purge the sky

Massive domes ignite a shrine

Carefully posed in tryptic glow

Fabrics woven children 

Plastic yellow chapels

Litter shores

Odd partition 

Feel the seas low groan

Road to Rampart

All vessels bleed to the turned-neck beat

High-speed metal teeth

Commerce centered Babylon

Painted children’s faces

Chills the heat of high-class traffic

Determined mission fixed

To indoctrinate into loving visage of a planet removed

Ones they will never meet, certainly never feed

The games to play for keeps

The Owl

Seen a face on my way home

Saw it in the road

And numbered certificates of ones own fate

Have become all but too familiar

And when the vision of the eye has befallen all of thought, and attention hard to redirect

With tension deep within the fabric

A shear-cut satin film distorts and means to sever

Don’t have to like a word i speak

But if you find the nectar sweet, 

i do implore you take an honest taste.

College

A balancing act

Caffeine fueled adrenaline

Mind preset, muscle spasm

Largely caused by procrastination, 

even a sunny day sets too early

Leaving behind all days work

What you know is what you have been told

With streets walked and words talked

Do not have to invest in a soul, but you will lose your time alone

Nothing in particular, everything in mind

White Wave

A word would not leave to bitter a taste,

Aroma only a reminder

To feel this fierce, to release a grain of sand

And time will do as it always may

No incantation of ecstacy or grief

Simply and subtle, like that of good taste

The ocean’s opals, and lion’s mane

With material shed and life at it’s basic

Thoughts sent away i’m left with gratitude

A life spent if fear is left.

How glorious a day!

The chrysalis of potential awaiting springs blossom

Why accept a broken string?

Baffled, showed me beauty

Never saw a picture, only felt a feeling

Heaven sent Angels’ greeting, 

When I choose, I soar

I have not lied

I left the wire perched

He showed me how to love you

Live a life questioning who can i help today

Who can i love today

How can i show grace and mercy

Remember you were bought at a price and are loved

Not a political game, a simple i love you

Nothing expected in return

Only more gifts granted for obedience

A good leader learns to lead through obedience

The chasm

You were not sent to plunge the chasm

A cool tone, silent lips are a better leader than most

Let them know who you are

With shame forgotten, and lessons learned, respect is paid

Lay yourself down

You are your brother’s best man

Reflections of a catholics candle

You said you wanted love the most

You said your missing him the most

Am i host or but a ghost

Where does your blood call home?

98% drop out. Keep at it

If your good, you will have work

Daylight come, daphodilia daze

Ancient uttering a sacred praise

We live and breathe in a world of ancient discussion

We have not created a modern society for ourselves

Our roots go back to ancient times

The fair-hair mare

What a novice

A special banquet on a golden plain

A portion for the king

Bring down thunder hear the swears apportioned to the rightful heir

Candid practices tell me more

I want to see you love

Please can i hold it close

I need it now

I will

There is no big stuff

No argument to tear us apart

No word to draw a tear

No attitude to set a day on edge

Time is on our side, and ours to enjoy

Let it all flow

Let love settle and grow

Nature’s Lovers

To the nature, Lord of fire

Every man she did inspire

Mother nature Queen of ice

Everyone who loved her died

Caring mother, shamed whore

Both good and evil men she borned

Wind and fire, destroyed by water

Time was her favorite daughter

To end in death, forgotten laughter

Cross of martyr endless slaughter

Forgiven children dear departed.

Concerning present consumption of energy

There is a big movement towards finding an alternative energy source to power our current and future growing need for power. All the methods of deriving power through wires, manifolds, and other apparatus are far too complex, and filled with unnecessary complexities. The future of sustainable energy is not a question of new technology, but rather an ascention of culture.

Sometimes i write to see the ink leave the pen, other times to speak

Words hold all the power

They are key to the mystery

People fade like the grass

You can know, because you can think

These sounds weigh pounds

You will remember only what you want

If one knew everything, he would remain silent

The universe came as a traveller 

Human health, the main concern

A reminder to believe, and time is fake

That is enough to sum it up to sum

He died to prove the same pursuit

Would lead a better world

To tend to those need tending

Simply because were here

If what your making is better than whats out there let it out

Remember this and always remember

Do not be fooled by a kiss

Take an honest bite and honest look

Does it bring out the best 

If it does not, why is that?

Is love to blame or just yourself

Do not be shy and do not hide

They are out there and they love you the way you are

If its them you must fight, be kind, patient and smile

Bring honor to there majesty

You have learned so much, come so far

Bore the burden

Seen the cards

Laughed a bit

Left a tear

Met oneself

Walked out on fear

In just a few numbered years

Oh stem oh leaf

Inspired flower

Seen you every day sometimes every hour

To hear a voice believed out of power

Now I’ve forgotten and fruit turned sour

I could have simply tried harder

To fear

Frozen, kept in a frost

Clouded eye of way

Face you, overtaker

Be honest in my prayers

You stole my friends

Stole my days

Sucked them all away

Now i must face you overtaker

Forever cast you

Its not all for all to see

Candle light, days rest

When garden tended 

Rise were stars and given true

When work and struggles life grandest pleasure

The world transforms how fortunate

after all one life was given

And chosen have we now

And choose again we will each day

Fear exists in the chest and head

And love is truly free

Amidst the question to all who listen

It perplexes

Hard like stone or mystics vexes

Beneath the sun we seek perfection to run around each to their messes

But in the end deemed it fair

That all would wonder a selfish share

Some chose folly others prayer

Though answers found, I’ve heard them rare

Pacify it would be out on the field

On my way home it then appeared

And with my perception cleared

Enjoyed all things i once feared

Formation reconstruction of patience everlasting

Settles statements aligns passions more random than dynamic

However fractal when divided, love is the constant

Fear of loss is perhaps the most debilitating sickness

   JUST have a good day.

Sun sending seeds

Monsters fingers slowly creep, holding the mountains tightly

But sun always breaching through shows colors yellow blue

On tangerine and down the hill through mist a monster on the left he comes from the lake

Theres a way to let things go

Its not fair, but thats life

Let it all fall like a grain of sand back into the surf

night walk, sudden movement

Mice are lead under the moon

To keep watch of baker’s bread

A torn portrait borders faithful watchers and whispered myths of mystic diction

Cradled by a long-stood pillar

Lavish purple fishes

Cantered lemon kisses

Boyhood fostered memories

Cold remarks affliction

Ample reasons ready

For swimmers tiny eyelits

Quartered seasons prisons a restful incantation

Patient mortals on an ancient porch

Fair laid and blissful caverns are ellipses of the iris to bear

Simple wisdom a portal

Fortunes bastard children indirect relations misinformed passions kept secret resurrection

As days hours grow bleak and childish relics carefully are tucked away, lavender and black as pitch is night a cardinals path

Leagues of allies stored in memories deep, point to a savior, capitol magistrate.

you read, and think my thought

WHAT HAPPENED ABOUT THE STATUES

"WHAT an extraordinary place!" cried Lucy. "All those stone animals - and people too! It's - it's like a museum." "Hush," said Susan, "Aslan's doing something." He was indeed. He had bounded up to the stone lion and breathed on him. Then without waiting a moment he whisked round - almost as if he had been a cat chasing its tail - and breathed also on the stone dwarf, which (as you remember) was standing a few feet from the lion with his back to it. Then he pounced on a tall stone dryad which stood beyond the dwarf, turned rapidly aside to deal with a stone rabbit on his right, and rushed on to two centaurs. But at that moment Lucy said, "Oh, Susan! Look! Look at the lion." I expect you've seen someone put a lighted match to a bit of newspaper which is propped up in a grate against an unlit fire. And for a second nothing seems to have happened; and then you notice a tiny streak of flame creeping along the edge of the newspaper. It was like that now. For a second after Aslan had breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back then it spread - then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licks all over a bit of paper - then, while his hindquarters were still obviously stone, the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stone folds rippled into living hair. Then he opened a great red mouth, warm and living, and gave a prodigious yawn. And now his hind legs had come to life. He lifted one of them and scratched himself. Then, having caught sight of Aslan, he went bounding after him and frisking round him whimpering with delight and jumping up to lick his face. Of course the children's eyes turned to follow the lion; but the sight they saw was so wonderful that they soon forgot about him. Everywhere the statues were coming to life. The courtyard looked no longer like a museum; it looked more like a zoo. Creatures were running after Aslan and dancing round him till he was almost hidden in the crowd. Instead of all that deadly white the courtyard was now a blaze of colours; glossy chestnut sides of centaurs, indigo horns of unicorns, dazzling plumage of birds, reddy-brown of foxes, dogs and satyrs, yellow stockings and crimson hoods of dwarfs; and the birch-girls in silver, and the beech-girls in fresh, transparent green, and the larch-girls in green so bright that it was almost yellow. And instead of the deadly silence the whole place rang with the sound of happy roarings, brayings, yelpings, barkings, squealings, cooings, neighings, stampings, shouts, hurrahs, songs and laughter. "Oh!" said Susan in a different tone. "Look! I wonder - I mean, is it safe?" Lucy looked and saw that Aslan had just breathed on the feet of the stone giant. "It's all right!" shouted Aslan joyously. "Once the feet are put right, all the rest of him will follow." "That wasn't exactly what I meant," whispered Susan to Lucy. But it was too late to do anything about it now even if Aslan would have listened to her. The change was already creeping up the Giant's legs. Now he was moving his feet. A moment later he lifted his club off his shoulder, rubbed his eyes and said, "Bless me! I must have been asleep. Now! Where's that dratted little Witch that was running about on the ground. Somewhere just by my feet it was." But when everyone had shouted up to him to explain what had really happened, and when the Giant had put his hand to his ear and got them to repeat it all again so that at last he understood, then he bowed down till his head was no further off than the top of a haystack and touched his cap repeatedly to Aslan, beaming all over his honest ugly face. (Giants of any sort are now so rare in England and so few giants are good-tempered that ten to one you have never seen a giant when his face is beaming. It's a sight well worth looking at.) "Now for the inside of this house!" said Aslan. "Look alive, everyone. Up stairs and down stairs and in my lady's chamber! Leave no corner unsearched. You never know where some poor prisoner may be concealed." And into the interior they all rushed and for several minutes the whole of that dark, horrible, fusty old castle echoed with the opening of windows and with everyone's voices crying out at once, "Don't forget the dungeons - Give us a hand with this door! Here's another little winding stair - Oh! I say. Here's a poor kangaroo. Call Aslan - Phew! How it smells in here - Look out for trap-doors - Up here! There are a whole lot more on the landing!" But the best of all was when Lucy came rushing upstairs shouting out, "Aslan! Aslan! I've found Mr Tumnus. Oh, do come quick." A moment later Lucy and the little Faun were holding each other by both hands and dancing round and round for joy. The little chap was none the worse for having been a statue and was of course very interested in all she had to tell him. But at last the ransacking of the Witch's fortress was ended. The whole castle stood empty with every door and window open and the light and the sweet spring air flooding into all the dark and evil places which needed them so badly. The whole crowd of liberated statues surged back into the courtyard. And it was then that someone (Tumnus, I think) first said, "But how are we going to get out?" for Aslan had got in by a jump and the gates were still locked. "That'll be all right," said Aslan; and then, rising on his hind-legs, he bawled up at the Giant. "Hi! You up there," he roared. "What's your name?" "Giant Rumblebuffin, if it please your honour," said the Giant, once more touching his cap. "Well then, Giant Rumblebuffin," said Aslan, "just let us out of this, will you?" "Certainly, your honour. It will be a pleasure," said Giant Rumblebuffin. "Stand well away from the gates, all you little 'uns." Then he strode to the gate himself and bang - bang - bang - went his huge club. The gates creaked at the first blow, cracked at the second, and shivered at the third. Then he tackled the towers on each side of them and after a few minutes of crashing and thudding both the towers and a good bit of the wall on each side went thundering down in a mass of hopeless rubble; and when the dust cleared it was odd, standing in that dry, grim, stony yard, to see through the gap all the grass and waving trees and sparkling streams of the forest, and the blue hills beyond that and beyond them the sky. "Blowed if I ain't all in a muck sweat," said the Giant, puffing like the largest railway engine. "Comes of being out of condition. I suppose neither of you young ladies has such a thing as a pocket-handkerchee about you?" "Yes, I have," said Lucy, standing on tip-toes and holding her handkerchief up as far as she could reach. "Thank you, Missie," said Giant Rumblebuffin, stooping down. Next moment Lucy got rather a fright for she found herself caught up in mid-air between the Giant's finger and thumb. But just as she was getting near his face he suddenly started and then put her gently back on the ground muttering, "Bless me! I've picked up the little girl instead. I beg your pardon, Missie, I thought you was the handkerchee!" "No, no," said Lucy laughing, "here it is!" This time he managed to get it but it was only about the same size to him that a saccharine tablet would be to you, so that when she saw him solemnly rubbing it to and fro across his great red face, she said, "I'm afraid it's not much use to you, Mr Rumblebuffin." "Not at all. Not at all," said the giant politely. "Never met a nicer handkerchee. So fine, so handy. So - I don't know how to describe it." "What a nice giant he is!" said Lucy to Mr Tumnus. "Oh yes," replied the Faun. "All the Buffins always were. One of the most respected of all the giant families in Narnia. Not very clever, perhaps (I never knew a giant that was), but an old family. With traditions, you know. If he'd been the other sort she'd never have turned him into stone." At this point Aslan clapped his paws together and called for silence. "Our day's work is not yet over," he said, "and if the Witch is to be finally defeated before bed-time we must find the battle at once." "And join in, I hope, sir!" added the largest of the Centaurs. "Of course," said Aslan. "And now! Those who can't keep up - that is, children, dwarfs, and small animals - must ride on the backs of those who can - that is, lions, centaurs, unicorns, horses, giants and eagles. Those who are good with their noses must come in front with us lions to smell out where the battle is. Look lively and sort yourselves." And with a great deal of bustle and cheering they did. The most pleased of the lot was the other lion who kept running about everywhere pretending to be very busy but really in order to say to everyone he met. "Did you hear what he said? Us Lions. That means him and me. Us Lions. That's what I like about Aslan. No side, no stand-off-ishness. Us Lions. That meant him and me." At least he went on saying this till Aslan had loaded him up with three dwarfs, one dryad, two rabbits, and a hedgehog. That steadied him a bit. When all were ready (it was a big sheep-dog who actually helped Aslan most in getting them sorted into their proper order) they set out through the gap in the castle wall. At first the lions and dogs went nosing about in all directions. But then suddenly one great hound picked up the scent and gave a bay. There was no time lost after that. Soon all the dogs and lions and wolves and other hunting animals were going at full speed with their noses to the ground, and all the others, streaked out for about half a mile behind them, were following as fast as they could. The noise was like an English fox-hunt only better because every now and then with the music of the hounds was mixed the roar of the other lion and sometimes the far deeper and more awful roar of Aslan himself. Faster and faster they went as the scent became easier and easier to follow. And then, just as they came to the last curve in a narrow, winding valley, Lucy heard above all these noises another noise - a different one, which gave her a queer feeling inside. It was a noise of shouts and shrieks and of the clashing of metal against metal. Then they came out of the narrow valley and at once she saw the reason. There stood Peter and Edmund and all the rest of Aslan's army fighting desperately against the crowd of horrible creatures whom she had seen last night; only now, in the daylight, they looked even stranger and more evil and more deformed. There also seemed to be far more of them. Peter's army - which had their backs to her looked terribly few. And there werestatues dotted all over the battlefield, so apparently the Witch had been using her wand. But she did not seem to be using it now. She was fighting with her stone knife. It was Peter she was fightin - both of them going at it so hard that Lucy could hardly make out what was happening; she only saw the stone knife and Peter's sword flashing so quickly that they looked like three knives and three swords. That pair were in the centre. On each side the line stretched out. Horrible things were happening wherever she looked. "Off my back, children," shouted Aslan. And they both tumbled off. Then with a roar that shook all Narnia from the western lamp-post to the shores of the eastern sea the great beast flung himself upon the White Witch. Lucy saw her face lifted towards him for one second with an expression of terror and amazement. Then Lion and Witch had rolled over together but with the Witch underneath; and at the same moment all war-like creatures whom Aslan had led from the Witch's house rushed madly on the enemy lines, dwarfs with their battleaxes, dogs with teeth, the Giant with his club (and his feet also crushed dozens of the foe), unicorns with their horns, centaurs with swords and hoofs. And Peter's tired army cheered, and the newcomers roared, and the enemy squealed and gibbered till the wood re-echoed with the din of that onset.

2015- 2016 Short Story

 (Beauty and The Beast & Red Riding Hood story mix)

   The sun made the dirt road seem light, but the wind was challenging, egging on autumn. Gwen walked with her father’s hand intertwined with her left hand, and a basket full of baked goods in her right. She all but slightly turned her head to admire her father. Not for his appearance for he was a short pudgy man, with dark brown hair barely gone gray. All his facial features were rounded and full, his nails clipped short, his hands calloused from years of working with mechanics. Overall, his physical appearance didn’t give the hardworking man justice. He was a determined eccentric person often described as syncretic because of his obsession with innovations and inventions. His aspiration in life was to be a famous inventor, but he has had no opportunities, making his hard labor seemingly only childish.                        

Gwen and her father were walking a long distance in a large forest to get to Grandmother’s house. Gwen visited Grandmother every month, sometimes on multiple occasions. Gwen’s mother was never around and Grandmother took her place. Grandmother has always adored Gwen and spoiled her beyond capacity. Their relationship fell nothing short of love. Gwen would even walk to grandmothers when in need of a simple hairdo. Grandmother would brush her long black hair till it was knot free and pin straight reaching her middle back. All the while complimenting her endlessly on her full lips and high cheekbones, stating how beautiful she was. Every time Gwen would grow out of her size Grandma would hand sew her a new red hood to replace the previous one. Gwen’s red hood was her favorite article of clothing. It reminded her of her favorite character in a novel, a fierce woman she wanted to prosper like.                                                                                   

  Once the pair were halfway through the forest the sun started to set, making the shadows from the treetops more evident. The wind started picking up speed, sending cold shivers throughout Gwen’s body.                                                   “Let’s hurry dad” Gwen ushered. Out of the corner of Father’s eye he saw a patch of red roses and hurriedly jogged toward it, letting Gwen’s hand fall away.    “Where are you going?!”  Gwen exclaims.                                                                     “To pick a rose for grandma, so she won’t be upset that we’re late” father replied. Gwen’s face scrunched up in disapproval. “Well we’re already late. Let’s go”.                                                                                                   

 When they finally arrive at Grandmothers, its dark and Gwen’s red hood didn’t provide much warmth against the freezing weather. Gwen comfortably let herself in without knocking and her father followed her. Candles are lit illuminating the room and casting shadows on the walls. The aroma of cinnamon scented the cottage. Gwen placed the basket on Grandmas’ tiny table, while father called out for Grandma. There was no response.                            

  “Do you think she went to sleep, too bored to wait any longer?” Father questioned.                                                                                                                       “Maybe, I’ll go check” Gwen answers hoping Grandma will only be reading one of her stories again, and not asleep. Grandmas’ bedroom door squeaked as Gwen opened it. It’s too dark to see anything, but she can hear the wind howling and feel the draft from the window. “Grandma?” Gwen whispers.                               “My dear, come here! I found a letter Grandma wrote saying she went to the gardens. Do you know where that is?” father exclaimed, startling her.                            “Yeah dad, I know where the gardens are. We’ll go together.”                   Gwen turned around and walks towards her father. She glanced at his hands, then looks again, startled.                                                                                                  “Oh my god! Look at what you’ve done!”                                                  Father followed her eyes to his hand which the red rose is enclosed in. The once beautiful rose was bent and squashed. Multiple petals missing- ruined. “Oh.” Gwen pried the flower from his grip and held it gently. Trying to explain himself, he stammered over his words managing to say “Cold… balled my fists…sorry…for Grandma…really sorry.”                                                                            “It’s fine dad. Let’s go find Grandma.”                                                     The weather only worsened by the minute. Any thoughts of a few more weeks of summer disappeared. When Gwen and her father arrived at the garden, they called out for Grandma. If Grandma was there she wouldn’t have heard them. The wind stole their voices and nothing could be echoed in the dark. Several pairs of yellow eyes were lurking in the bushes. Low growls escaped the creatures’ mouths.                                                                                       “Maybe she was on her way back and we just missed her on the path our way here.” Gwen suggested.                                                                                                  “Yeah, let’s head back she’s obviously not here.” Father agreed.                  As Gwen stepped over a pumpkin two wolves jumped out and were inching her back. Her screams were also silenced by the wind. More and more wolves materialized from the undergrowth. Father’s shouts which sounded no more than a mere whisper, urged Gwen to pass him her hood. Her fear made the simple task of untying the string difficult. Her hands shook violently, her eyes already pricked with unshed tears. Gwen threw the blood red hood. Once he had the blood red hood in his possession he ran, yelling for Gwen to do the same. The wolf pack chased after him with the exception of two that chased Gwen. Her long legs pounded against the dirt and cracked twigs.  She thought of her father who had risked his life for her. She only hoped to live to thank him for it. Her speed is no match to wolves, so when she slowed down from exhaustion she barely had enough time to turn and see a six foot long grey wolf lunging at her. Its long sharp teeth bared, and it’s threating yellow eyes glowing. The second wolf was also closing in.                                                                          

 But before she could be torn to shreds an even larger creature appeared. The large creature took the wolf mid-air and threw it against a hard tree trunk. The second wolf scurried away whimpering. Gwen fell to the floor pleading for mercy, having no more energy to run. The large creature picked her up and slung her over it's shoulder despite her protests. The force knocked the rose out of her hand. As it whisked her away it’s foot crushed the rose leaving the remaining petals to rot.     The large creature was even scarier than the wolves. The beast stood at six foot three, was completely made up of muscle, and had light brown fur. Its fur coating its entire body, but the odd beast wore black pants and a dark red cape. The beast had tusks of a wild boar, the mane of a lion, the tail of a wolf, and the eyes of a human. Its eyes were unarguably the strangest part of the beast, they were light blue. The type of blue eyes that were a trap, a maze, you get lost in them and can never find your way out. You end up drowning in eyes like that.                                               

The beast carried Gwen to a clearing from the forest leading to a castle. Once they entered the castle, the beast gently dropped Gwen like a hot potato. It looked at her and opened its mouth as if to speak, but instead ran away. Gwen stood in the empty foyer her only company the strong stench of mold and the abundance of cobwebs. Before she could even fully ponder her possibilities of action, two irritated voices rang out. One stating how somebody’s wrong and she could be the one, the other voice stating how no girl would love a guy that abducted her from a forest. The two voices continuously went back and forth. “He didn’t steal her; he saved her, from a pack of wolves.”    

“Then he ran off, he ruined his chance.”  

“He didn’t ruin his chance, just think positive.”  

 “Positive?! First impressions are everything!”                   

Gwen had had enough and yelled out “Hello! You two please come help me I must get back. My father is in danger!”  The voices finally revealed themselves from the shadows. The more cheerful one of the two was neither tall nor short. He was an average height but very thin, quite lanky with a sharp nose and almost no lips. He was a dark blonde, his hair curled in the front, the rest straight and pulled back into a ponytail. The more cynical voice on the other hand was much shorter. He was top heavy, and a ginger. His short hair curled on the sides, he also had a long thin mustache.                                                 

 “Hello young maiden, I am Anwar a pleasure to meet you. And this is my companion Anson. Now, it isn’t wise to leave, for the wolves come out at night, as you may have already noticed.” The lanky one spoke.                                    “Then I will leave first thing in the morning.” Gwen said with finality.                      “Very well, Mrs. Harp will lead you to your chambers” Anson replied reluctantly.       A woman appeared with a little boy in hand. The woman was stout and had a stern motherly look on her face as she addressed the child to calm down. The child was bouncing up and down, swinging his arm back and forth and looked as though he was holding his tongue. The boy was blonde like the woman although she did have gray streaks. As they approached Gwen, she started to wonder why they were here and why a castle with so much potential was dirty.                    “Hello dearest, I am Mrs. Harp and this is my son Joshua. Nice to meet you.”        “ I’m Gwen. Mrs. Harp, do you live here? Do any of you live here?”                     “ We do live here. We live here because we are cursed to stay in this castle until-                                                                                                                         Anson cut her off “This is of nothing to be discussed with us you may ask prince Nicoli if you must know.”                                                                                                     “Yes, ask prince Nicoli. We should be on our way, yes?” Mrs. Harp concurred.  As they walked to Gwens room for the night she asked the mother and son questions. What is on the other side of the castle? No matter, just know you mustn’t go there. Why don’t you clean the palace? There is no need to, no-one ever come here. Is prince Nicoli the beast? Yes. Gwen asked how old Joshua was. He cheerfully said 7. Afterwards he talked Gwens ear off and he started to grow on her. When she arrived at her door she thanked the two and said goodnight, but not fully closing her bedroom door. Once all the candles throughout the castle were off, Gwen lit her own candle and headed down the spiral staircase. She went to the other side of the palace and saw that it was completely abandoned. She found many doors ajar with nothing worth seeing in them. Trying the last door she opened it and saw the beast- prince Nicoli- hunched over a pedestal with a glowing rose hovering upon it. Prince Nicoli looked up and growled. Unfazed Gwen said “What is that?”  Gwen focused on the beast only. As he continued to growl telling her to leave, her expression only hardened and she stood her ground. “What is the rose for?” Gwen asked again.  He bared the rest of his teeth, compelling her to leave him alone. An unhumorous staring contest ensued, a competition for authority. Both unwilling to back down. “Please, explain to me what this is all about. Please.”  The beasts’ angry demeanor wavered. He wanted to be trusted.  So he told her about how he was a selfish prince, that cared for no-one but himself. How he was putting the kingdom in danger so a witch cursed him to be as ugly on the outside as he is on the inside. Anson, Joshua, Mrs. Harp, and Anwar were his assistants and they are like his family. The witch cursed them to be bound to this castle until the curse is lifted. He told Gwen how he has until every petal falls off the rose to uplift the curse. He uplifts the curse by finding someone that will love him for what he’s now become. He needs to revive himself from the inside out, to make his soul beautiful again. “Would you like me to bring over some maidens? I’m sure one would love you” Gwen offered. Nicoli only looked away and told her to go to sleep.                                       

 In the morning she went downstairs to eat breakfast with everyone. When she arrived she saw it was only prince Nicoli and herself as she was told the others were busy. Nicoli was having a tough time eating. He tried to hold a soup spoon but it was too tiny and he could barely grasp it properly. He could barely eat, food just ended up on the table. Gwen noticed this and rose from her seat and walked to him. He didn’t even notice her, too busy trying to bring the food to his mouth. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her curiously. “It’s okay to eat without the spoon. We can just slurp it together”.  When she went back to her seat she didn’t pick her spoon back up to eat. As they ate breakfast together two petals fell from the glowing rose.           

After breakfast Nicoli immediately fled to another room. Gwen followed him and saw an enormous library with such an abundance of books. She felt as though she was in heaven. She loved to read, just like her grandmother. At the thought of her grandmother her mood instantly turned sour, she had no idea where her grandmother was and she was here, being happy over her books. “Is something wrong?” Nicoli timidly asked her.                                           

 “Yes somethings wrong! My father and grandma are missing! They could be dead for goodness sake!” Gwen cried.                                                                      “What’s your favorite book?” Nicoli asked, hoping to get her mind off of her missing relatives. That one question alone got Gwen sadder. She told him about her favorite book and how her grandma sewed her red hood just because of it. Gwen told Nicoli how every year she got bigger Grandma would have a new hood sewn just for her. Gwen also described her night out in the garden with father. How they couldn’t find Grandma and father saved her life by taking her hood. She thanked Nicoli for saving her life, something she said she should’ve done earlier and is eternally grateful for. Nicoli managed to get her mind off of her relatives and purely on books sooner or later. They even had the same favorite book. He explained to her that’s why he wears his red cape. He loves the main character because she is so strong and reminds him of his mother. They talked till the sun went down, and Gwen couldn’t decide if she even regretted it.                                                                                  

 During the night Nicoli went out to the forest to search for Gwen’s father and grandmother. He searched all throughout the forest for hours nonstop. When he finally found something, it was just Gwens hood. It was six hours later in the night and the hood was destroyed. He hurried back to the castle and gave Mrs. Harp the hood for her to fix. During the day he kept on stalling Gwen from leaving and she didn’t stop him. They had animated conversations all throughout their time together. Gwen played games with Joshua, and even discussed matters with Anwar and Anson. At dusk Mrs. Harp gave Nicoli the hood and it looked as good as new. Nicoli went to the library where Gwen was sitting on the window seat reading. He held the red hood behind his back, and brought her attention to him by clearing his throat. She looked at him curiously.         

 “I have a present for you, because you have been so kind to me.” Nicoli says sheepishly.                                                                                                         Gwen stood up and eyeballed him as he takes the red hood from behind his back. When she saw the hood she bolted to him and jumped up to embrace him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Gwen murmurs. “Is my father ok? Did you see him”?                                                                         

 “No, I only found your hood.” Nicoli said.                                                               “Oh”. Gwen replied. “Still, thank you though”.                                                         Gwen stayed another night. Mrs. Harp prepared a delicious dinner that night, so everyone gathered to eat together in the dining hall. Long draped navy blue curtains were pulled perfectly, to let in the right amount of light to be reflected off the chandelier. The scents of a thousand foods filled everyone’s nostrils’. The only sound was the grumbling of stomachs waiting for the cue to eat. Gwen gazed at Nicoli as they waited and couldn’t see how him of all people could’ve been egotistical. When Gwen looked into Nicolis’ eyes she saw innocence. She saw a young boy with no proper guidance on how to rule a kingdom. A house being constructed improperly because of the lack of blueprints.                                The next morning Gwen understood that she needed to leave. She needed to go and see her father, and hopefully her grandmother as well. Just as Gwen was about to walk out her bedroom door, amping herself up for the sad goodbyes, she saw a hand slip an envelope under the door. She bent down to pick up the golden laced envelope. She opened it carefully, in hopes to not rip the pretty paper. Her father could use it in one of his inventions. The words enscripted in the letter described a beautiful ball with spectacular food and friendly guests, but in need of a princess. Gwen had received an invitation to a ball, her very first ball, and as the princess.                                                         

At six o’clock Gwen went down a hall she never explored before. It led her to the ballroom. It was more than the invitation had led it on to be. She had to walk down a wide light pink- peach-ish staircase. The staircase had a wide faded red carpet in the middle, as if many feet have walked upon it. Directly across from the entrance was a wall of only windows that reached the ceiling. On the left and right of the room there were wide windows on the top of the walls. Below them were marble and golden walls, with columns all around holding light blue almost grey curtains. The ceiling was a magnificent painting of children playing in clouds. The room was nothing like anything Gwen had ever seen before.                  Nicoli wore a long blue buttoned jacket with black pants and white shirt. He had filed his claws and nails, and even brushed his mane. He wanted to make an effort for Gwen, knowing this was her last night with him. He wanted to make sure she remembered him. When he looked up to see Gwen walking down the stairs he was certain he’d been beaten. She looked stunning, way more elegant than him. Gwen’s hair was so long it reached her mid-back, her black hair was impeccably straight, and her bangs made her eyes stand out. She wore a yellow dress with a corset like top and layered outward bottom. The ends of her dress were embroidered with white lace and the middle of her dress had a droop pattern around in a darker yellow color. Nicoli could only think of how lovely she looked. When she spotted his position in the large room she smiled kindly and Nicoli’s heart fluttered at the gesture. She was too pretty.    When Gwen’s foot fell on the last step Nicoli extended out his hand for her to take. She placed her tiny hand in his large hand and he escorted her to the middle of the ballroom. A piano began to play and they danced gracefully in sync. The two danced to their hearts content. When the pianos tempo slowed down they stepped closer together and barely danced. Gwen placed her head down softly on Nicolis chest and just listened to his heartbeat. Nicoli was startled at first, but then visibly relaxed and wrapped his arms around her. They let their breath go in sync, their hearts pounding from the proximity. They held each other till the end of the song.                                          

 Afterwards Nicoli led Gwen outside on the balcony. The faint sound of the piano in the background. Gwen and Nicoli sat down on the balcony side concrete. “You look amazing.” Nicoli finally says.                                                     

 “Thank you. You do as well.” Gwen replies.                                                  

  “Will you come back after you leave?” Nicoli asked the question he had been wondering all along.                                                                                                “I don’t know.” Nicolis face dropped all hope disappearing after those words.    “You don’t have to lie. If you don’t want to come back you could’ve just said that.” The beast replied coldly.                                                                               “I’m not lying Nicoli. I just don’t know right now. Why can’t you understand that?” Gwen said without looking at him.                                                            

 “Gwen, I need to know if you’ll come back.” Nicoli pleaded.                                    “Why?! Why does it matter so much to you if I come back or not? Maybe I will maybe I won’t, it doesn’t matter right now!” Gwen exclaimed rising from her seat.                                                                                                               

 “Why can’t you see why this matters to me?! I need to know if you’ll come back because I need to know that you love me! I love you, and I need you to love me back!” Nicoli rose from his seat his voice growing in volume.  Gwen froze and stared at him in shock. Nicoli stormed off hardly mumbling ‘goodnight Gwen’.       Gwen was gone before the rest of the castle could wake up. She left letters for everyone expressing her gratitude and thankfulness for their kindness. Nicoli had the shortest letter out of everyone. Gwen complimented Mrs. Harp on her cooking, Anwar on his charming personality, Anson on his organization, and Joshua on his ‘perfect childness’. Gwen walked with her red hood on, her hair on either sides of her face. Trying to take her mind off of her and Nicolis’ conversation the night before, she counted each step she took. Gwen wasn’t sure if she loved him. The thought of being in love quite honestly scared her. She missed him though. She wanted to look into his blue eyes and cuddle him and run her fingers through his fur. But was that really love? Gwen stepped on a purple bonnet and it threw her concentration off. She realized that the bonnet belonged to her grandmother and instantly became worried. To her right she saw wolf paws and followed them. The trail continued for a while so she started running, getting more and more anxious by the second. The only thought running through her head was ‘where is my grandma?’ She paused as she saw a cave and saw thirteen wolves asleep inside. There was dried blood on the rock floor and in a corner bones. Gwen had seen enough, she blindly started running back. She couldn’t think anymore. Her grandmother is dead. A wolf pack killed and ate her grandmother. Gwens eyesight was blurred by her tears. She sobbed as she ran; hoping to wake up and this all have just been a nightmare.                     When Gwen made it back home it was night. She went into her house and went to her father’s door. She heard him talking to himself “Please, god bring her back. Let her be alive. Please. Please.” And more mumbling she couldn’t make out. When she opened the door father was on his knees in a praying position. She went up to her father and hugged him. “I’m home dad. I’m home.” They cried all night. They cried because they thought the other was dead. They cried because they were not. They cried because grandma was dead. They cried because this could not be undone.                                             

The first week Gwen was home the rose lost fifteen petals. The second week Gwen was gone the rose lost nine petals. The third week Gwen was away the rose lost seven petals.                                                                                     

  All three weeks Gwen was home she didn’t stop thinking of Nicoli. She thought of how she misses him so much her heart hurts. She thought of how she wished she didn’t yell at him. Gwen couldn’t stop feeling empty without Grandma, and Nicolis absence made it worse. Even her father could tell something was awry. One morning Gwen went into the village and borrowed a horse from an old friend and rode to Nicolis’ castle. She opened the castle doors and walked in the palace. She called out, but heard no response. She looked in the ballroom, her room, the dining hall, the kitchen; everywhere. She found no-one. Gwen went to the room with the magic rose. She saw Nicoli in the corner of the room on the floor. He looked defeated. The scene made Gwens’ heart crack. “What are you doing there? Didn’t you hear me calling out for you?” Gwen asked concerned               “I heard you. I just thought you’d eventually give up and leave. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Nicoli said carelessly.                                                        “I would never give up on you. Why are you here?” Gwen said sincerely            “I’m waiting. I’m waiting for my death.” Nicoli said lazily.                                     “What?! No you’re not going to die! What are you talking about?”                         “ The last petal Gwen. I’m going to stay like this forever, so I might as well be dead.”                                                                                                                      “ You stupid you’re not going to stay like this forever, I love you.” Gwen whispers late. The last petal falls from the rose and the stem descends from the air. The glow burns out and Nicoli is still in the corner of the room.                 

But Nicoli is no longer a beast. He is a human again. He immediately hugs Gwen his arms no longer engulfing her but surrounding her. He spins her around, a smile on both of their faces. They laugh and take a moment to really admire each other for their beauty inside and out. They put their foreheads against each other and Gwen cups his face in her hands and sweetly kisses him. When she pulls away she looks into Prince Nicoli’s eyes and he gazes into Princess Gwen’s.            

The End.