Gruff stood guard in the cold mountain air. Despite the call of sleep, Gruff stood watchful, a lone sentinel, a dark protector. For his master had gifted him with a precious seed of the ko-fi.

The mountain provides, Gruff thought. He had seen no way to cultivate his own supply of the Ko-Fi and his master had simply given him one. He had not asked or expected. It was given freely.

Truly his master was noble.

Like his old one.

Memories stirred of an older man who would let him sit by the fire on the cold mountain nights. Not that Gruff had needed it of course, his fur was thick and his coat lustrous. But to turn down a hearth fire invitation was ignoble.

Gruff glanced down at the pot. No growth yet. Perhaps just a few minutes before it sprouted. That was the way of plants after all. They grew plentifully, replacing themselves when Gruff wasn't looking. There were always more plants whenever he sought them, and they grew back all sneaky like. Not honourable like goats, yet stealth had its own merit in certain situations. A goat wouldn't partake of it but merit could be recognised for other creatures without his fearsome horns.

Something skittered in the trees and Gruff frowned. Seeing only the night and hearing only bird calls, Gruff returned to his vigil. He settled into the steady breathing of earlier, and felt the ko-fi energy still in his veins. Weaker, as though it halved in strength every few hours. He carefully tried to capture it, lest it run dry.

Gruff did not wish to return to how he had been before. He had been somehow....less. His coat still shiny and his horns mighty. Yet less...for a goat.

Gruff shook his head and refocused on the essence of ko-fi. How could one cultivate without banging one's head against a rock wall though? There was no rock around here, the dirt was too wet, and he dared not leave his vigil.

Flapping in the trees this time. A flash of colour in the night as something darted out of sight.

Gruff stamped his hooves. He sneaked a peek at the coffee plant which had not grown still. Truly, would it take all night to bear fruit?

Gruff contemplated his hooves. He stamped them against the earth and tried to circulate his energy to them and to the ground below. The mountain would provide.

Where had he first heard that? He should remember, yet so much of his life was like looking at a fog bank. Gruff eased his tension by closing his eyes and circulating energy to his hooves, chanting his mantra.

The mountain provides.

Yet his new master had said that it was good to grow. What wisdom lay in that statement. Certainly his coat and horns grew every season. He had grown large on the mountain, yet stopped growing at some point. He sensed the ko-fi in his body fading slowly, though it left behind change.

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What if it was not just Gruff that needed to grow. What if the plants, sneaky though they be, needed to be taught to grow? What if they could also become goat-like? A strange thought indeed.

Yet sneaky things were everywhere.

A swift sound cut the air, and Gruff's eyes snapped open. A flash of dark wings and a brightly coloured beak and then Gruff was spinning, kicking out with his hind legs.

The bird cut out of the way, darting past Gruff. It skimmed along the ground before darting through the trees. Gruff's eyes tracked it darting between trunks, trying to evade his keen sight.

A swoosh and Gruff spun again, a second bird, brightly coloured beak and black body, darted at his coffee bean pot. It snagged it and heaved. The birds wings beat furiously, trying to haul the pot away.

Gruff locked eyes with it and saw something it recognised. An intelligence that the other beasts of the mountain lacked, even the monster of the canyon. The core of energy behind his horns resonated with something in the birds breast. A keen energy akin to his own, though it was faded and weak.

Gruff chased after the bird as it hauled his pot. The first bird swooped in and joined the second, increasing the flight speed. Yet even with two of them they could not fly higher than the tree canopy, each bird barely a foot long.

Gruff could not catch them. He tried leaping off the trees but his fine hooves could not gain traction on the bark. He felt his body fatiguing the longer the birds kept up the chase. He had to catch them but how?

Memories came to his mind, piercing through the grey shroud.

A kind faced man in his fifties sat underneath the waterfall. The water crashed down on his wiry shoulders, still strong with the days of farm work not yet behind him. A cheeky grin always sat on his face, even in meditation.

The man whistled on a leaf, a piercing note that rang out into the trees and river. A flock of birds, brightly coloured with yellow beaks flew into the air, scattering from the sound.

The old man, Blinding Leaf, for that had been his name, grinned. He blew the leaf in his mouth out into the winds and it caught fire, scattering glowing embers on the wind.

'I like seeing them.' Blinding Leaf said, pointing at the birds. 'We called them toucans where I came from. They even made them a mascot for a delicious breakfast food.'

Gruff had listened intently as his old master told him a story of the Two-Cans and their glorious coloured rings, that were mixed with milk.

'I like sitting out here, even if I can't touch the sky, my notes can.

'Its easy to miss home when I sit on this lookout. But whenever I miss it most, well...the mountain provides.'

Gruff nodded. Seeing the wisdom of his old master. He darted through the trees, giving up precious seconds of the chase to rip a leaf off a tree. Holding it between his teeth, Gruff curled the leaf to the right position and circulated the last remnants of his ko-fi energy from his horns down to his throat. He sucked in a deep breath of air and pushed it out past the leaf.

For two can play this game, and the mountain provides.

A piercing note cut through the night and hit the two-cans with a vibrating timbre. It was a proud note, and resonated of the mountain's heights. It was a note that would cut through the mists of the canyon, and be called from the top of the cliffs. His own version of his master's technique.

The Deafening Leaf.

The two-cans squawked and dropped the pot, their flight going awry. One tumbled off into a set of branches and the other tumbled into the ground. Gruff leaped forward and caught the pot in a diving tackle. His heart pounding Gruff held up the ko-fi pot.

Where a single bud had started to sprout.

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