After spending one final day on the rejuvenated field to monitor the crops and keep watch for predators, signs of sprouts satisfied Brenloru enough to continue their journey. Advised by Rint, they continued southeast towards the place of yellow rocks.

“You know, I really liked how your tiller turned out, gentlemen,” Festelda commented. “I was hoping you could sharpen a few more, much shorter sticks for me. For a project I’m working on.”

Brenloru swung his massive antlers as he looked over his shoulder at her. “Sure, I think we can manage that at camp tonight. What do you have in mind?”

“I’d like to work on some proximity defense…” she said dismissively. “Something to disable threats before they get too close.”

“I’m intrigued,” Brenloru said.

“I was impressed to see that you at least excel in healing dirt, moose,” Reblex teased.

Brenloru swung his antlers to shoot a nasty glance at the ram. “At least I can hold it together when –”

Dahj was unable to focus on the conversation that followed as they made their way to the closest tree line. It felt as if the Designer’s appendage was humming from within its pouch. He retrieved it for inspection. It was. Turning it over in his hand, he noticed that movement would no longer cause it to crumble in his hand. Cracks were far less noticeable, and it was gaining a healthier, deep green color as opposed to the once pale grey complexion of the tentacle.

Dahj stopped dead in his tracks, impressed with the results. “Bren… look at this,” he said slowly, keeping eye contact on the humming appendage.

“It’s gaining its strength back,” Brenloru said as he joined Dahj in inspecting it, now turning it over in his own hands.

“You don’t think, because of the interaction with the prairie dogs?” Festelda guessed.

“That’s exactly it. The appendage was present for an admirable act in a unique representation of the land. If that doesn’t recharge the Designer, I don’t know what will,” Dahj said excitably.

“So, we’ve checked ‘valley’ off the list, then?” Reblex inquired optimistically. Even the cranky ram was pleased to witness progress so early in the journey.

Dahj nodded with a smile and delicately returned the writhing appendage to his hip pouch.

***

“You’re doing in on purpose,” Brenloru said after dodging another branch released by Reblex

“Doing what?” Reblex replied, suppressing a giggle.

“Letting the branches go as I approach.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like me to hold them aside for you as you pass, ma’am?”

Another branch whizzed past Brenloru’s cheek. Its velocity caused needles to be released, scattering the ground.

“We’ll see if anyone patches you up next time you’re injured, ram,” Brenloru said.

“What, a patch of dried moss?” Reblex mumbled.

The sun still had a few hours left in the sky, but the group’s fatigue had been catching up with them. Reblex had grown irritable from the repetitiveness of the seemingly endless trees they wove through and had taken to releasing his frustration on others. Perhaps their appetite for the journey had been too big for their spirits.

Along their path throughout the graveyard-like forest of fallen trees and severed branches, the Guardians had gathered an abundance of suitable sticks for Festelda’s project. Utilizing rocks that had shattered into sharpened edges, they honed the ends into pointed tips before turning them over to the crafty raccoon. As she took to assembling her new invention, Dahj and Brenloru retired to a nearby river to reflect on recent events.

“Tell me more about your time as a moose,” Dahj said as he skipped a stone into the river. “What made you this great leader?”

“To be honest, I don’t really know,” Brenloru replied with a sigh as he stared at the rushing water. “I suppose I learned from my father. He had a way with small herds of cows – something about the reach of his call. As you probably know, moose are solitary animals. We generally carry through life by ourselves. Gathering moose from different regions of a massive forest can be quite difficult, and mating season can be an especially tricky time of year. It is critical that moose find each other during a short window of time, while avoiding the threat of predators to reproduce. He always had the best interest of the species driving him, however.”

“So, you learned to do the same?” Dahj asked.

“Not exactly. My leadership was different,” Brenloru replied. “I come from an area much, much further north than you and I originally met. If you think it gets cold where you were raised, you have never experienced the north. One year was particularly bad – it caught us all by surprise. Started earlier in the year than normal, and lasted longer. There was nothing more to eat under the frozen tundra, and it felt as if it was never going to end.” Brenloru slid off the rock he was perched upon to approach the river.

“Originally by myself, I began recruiting others to follow me,” Brenloru continued. “It was difficult at first; as it was not yet the time of year to be gathering for reproduction. Our instinct told us to be alone. However, as I traveled, I was only met by starvation – and individuals of my own species freezing to death. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

“Even if I had to push moose out of the snow with my own antler rack, I finally persuaded them to move. Eventually, the larger the herd I led, the easier it was to convince others to follow. We used every ounce of energy that remained in our bodies to head south until we felt any warmth in the air. Many split off from the ‘herd’, returning to their nomadic life style. This is when I established my ‘refuge’ area I mentioned just before my death.”

“Inspirational.” Dahj muttered.

“Heh. I knew you would make fun of it. That’s why I keep these things to myself,” Brenloru replied dryly. He retrieved a pebble from the shore and tossed it into the rushing river with a curved pitch.

“No, truly. Your species was facing extinction in your region, and you acted – plain and simple. Not only that, but you called others seeking a more hospitable environment once you settled there,” Dahj said with a smile. Brenloru was more than deserving of the title of ‘Guardian’ in his eyes.

“Guys! Come look!” Festelda called back from the resting area.

Reblex rolled his eyes as the two approached. “What is that thing gonna stop anyway? I would just stomp on it.”

The tool sitting on the ground looked like a jaw made of wood pried wide open, with teeth sticking straight up. The wooden spikes crafted for Festelda lined the circumference.

“It’s a foot snare,” Festelda claimed excitedly. “I used naturally elastic vines. They attach to this small pedal in the middle. When stepped on, it will snap shut, forcing the spikes into the encroacher’s ankles! Let me demonstrate.” She used a long stick to prod the middle. The trap snapped shut. Teeth alternated between each other, breaking the stick in half where they met instantly.

“Even if the predator keeps moving with the trap around their ankle, it should draw a noticeable cry from the pain, along with letting plenty of blood,” she claimed. “It will help fortify our nighttime defenses.”

“You are quite crafty. I am proud of how quickly you are filling your role as a potential Guardian, Festelda. The Designer will hear about this,” Brenloru said. “Just remember, for protection only,”

Festelda responded with an excited nod before patrolling the encampment. To the north, south, east, and west, she placed four of her fresh traps, lightly concealed under fallen leaves and loose sticks. The Guardians slept a little deeper that night, relaxed by peace of mind.

***

The following morning, the group rose with haste and took off in strides, muscles and minds rested. As they neared the end of the forest they had been passing through, Festelda fell behind; distracted by familiar landmarks through the region. Large boulders, patterns of trees, and the grade of a specific hillside made her feel like she knew the area quite well.

“Wait, please. Slow down,” she called from behind the group. “I recognize this place… It all looks so familiar. I… I grew up here. In this very forest.”

“What are you on about? Just looks like a forest,” Reblex said between huffs, catching his breath through his nose.

“This… is the forest where we would play hide and seek. The river you hear to the west is where we used to get water! And… and here… this is where my brother fell out of the tree learning to climb!” Festelda recalled confidently, skimming the forest to confirm she wasn’t crazy. “Humor me. Please, just follow. I have to see if any relatives are still in the area.” She took a sharp left and headed towards the sun.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

***

“Here,” Brenloru said, stopping to inspect a small pile of feces on the ground. “Raccoon droppings… and footprints of your species leading this way.”

“Oh, yes, you’re correct. Thank you, Bren,” Festelda said as she examined the area for more clues. Various trees had small scratches from the claws of her species. Patches of pine needle-covered soil were disturbed from the traffic of tiny feet. How could I not recognize it until now… she thought. I promised myself I would never come back here.

Her loyalty to her family pulled her deeper into the forest. “I’m leaving you three here. I need to do this next part myself,” she said, appearing worried.

“Wha- the… the sun just rose! We’re never going to make any progress on this wild goose chase if we keep stopping for various side projects!” Reblex exclaimed. His cheeks flared red.

“I’m sorry, Reb. I truly am. But I need to visit them. Please, take some more time to rest up. Then no more stops, I promise!” she called while sportily backpedaling. Maybe things have changed, she thought. The ache in her stomach disagreed. Hopping over a protruding root, she took off in a jog. Or maybe… they’re not even here anymore.

***

Festelda paused in front of a large boulder wearing a smile. She knew this place well. Approaching it, she was forced to tilt her head back to retain vision of the very top. It towered over her. White specs dotted the granite monolith. Chips and chunks had fallen from the eroding rock due to physical abuse and weather patterns, although it was the same rock. She could never forget this landmark. As her neck became stiff from the strain of fully tilting her head back, memories flooded through her mind. Racing relatives around the base, keeping watch for predators from the top. She even recognized some of her own claw marks – permanently imbedded in the stone when she had attempted to scale it at a younger age. It was one of her favorite places to play as a child.

“Fez?” a flat voice called out behind her. She whipped around and grasped the handle of one of her daggers.

“Little Fezzy!?” the voice rose.

A male raccoon, only slightly taller than her, had snuck up to investigate the mysterious visitor. He possessed no weapons other than his own claws. Slightly overweight, his demeanor expressed no ‘stealthy’ qualities. His grey chin was matted, stained a darker tone from dried blood.

“Demrus,” she said, narrowing her eyes on the raccoon, lips pursed. Her grip loosened.

“You’re back. You’ve changed your mind?” the pudgy raccoon inquired.

“Heh. I was passing thought. Just paying a visit,” she replied flatly.

“Look at you, little sister. All grown up! You look so professional; like a hired assassin!” he ran up and wrapped his arms around her. His pudgy belly impeded him from fully wrapping his arms around his sister. Although related, Demrus displayed the typical, darker shades of a raccoon.

Festelda patted one of her sibling’s shoulders, keeping her other arm at her side.

“How’s mom and dad. The rest of the family?” she said after a brief pause, the rock behind her still on her mind.

***

Festelda and her brother entered the small encampment they had been raised in. Small lean-tos were crafted from mud and sticks, built against the base of various wide-trunked trees, but most shelters rested on large branches, looming above their heads. Raccoons from this year’s litters chased each other around the bases, letting out loud squeals and baring their teeth when caught. Elders watched while fiddling with nuts still trapped in shells with their small hands. One older female looked up and dropped the nut she was trying to crack in her back teeth with a gasp.

“Fes...telda! Oh, dear, welcome home honey!” Her mother rushed over to embrace her. Average height for an aging female of their species, she too carried a little extra weight around her middle. Her color, however, had held quite well. Generally, at her age most of the animal’s fur had greyed. Festelda did her best to not give any credit to her mother’s dietary choices for keeping her looking so young.

Trying to keep a straight face, a tear welled in Festelda’s left eye as she held her mother for a moment.

Festelda’s mother forcefully pushed her to arm’s length. “Have you eaten, darlin’?” she asked with a smile on her face. “Come, come. The spring berries are excellent this year. They pair with the birds returning for spring quite well.”

Festelda gave her mother a stern look.

“Oh, well, right. Sorry sweetheart. Just the berries for you. Come, your father should be sitting down with some now,” she said, forcing a smile. Canines were exposed under her curled lips. Festelda winced at the sight of the left tooth, which was only half the length of the other. It had probably been broken in an attempt to bite through bones.

She followed her mother through the camp, subtly scanning the living area with scrutiny. Her stomach cramped again. Bodies of birds littered the base of a tree, lazily pushed into a small pile while others remained in the very spot they had been dined on. Snake skins had been peeled off and disposed of on the forest floor. Bones of small rodents were scattered the dirt. She had to take awkward strides forward to avoid stepping on a corpse as her mother simply kicked others to the side.

I can see why they’ve gained so much weight, she thought with clenched teeth. Don’t have to go nowhere, don’t have to do nothin’. Just wait for dinner to wander into camp.

The putrid smell of the camp made her mouth water. She wanted to spit. It reminded her of an above-ground graveyard. Perhaps an area in the forest where a species would dump their dead after a vicious assault from multiple predators. These were not suitable living conditions for the young.

To grow up and think this is okay… I just want to wrangle them up. Take them to the Homestead and teach them it’s perfectly sustainable to live off the land, she thought before spitting to her side. The bubbly saliva landed on the skull of a rat. It splashed directly on its forehead before slowly dripping through the empty eye sockets. Great. And now I’m cursed for spitting on the dead.

“Gave up on cleaning, no?” Festelda asked.

“Oh Fez, don’t mind those. The winter snow has recently melted, revealing them all!” her mother laughed nervously. “It’s on the to-do list.”

Together they approached a simple table, crafted from a fallen log in its exact resting place. Its bottom half had been burrowed out to form a long, shallow arch to allow diners to sit at the edge, using rocks as chairs. Slowly decomposing, it offered not only a place for raccoons to dine, but acted as a meal itself for new growth such as mosses and ferns attached to its sides.

Currently occupied by an elder raccoon, whom was too involved with the meal before him to acknowledge Festelda’s presence. He was considerably more obese than the other inhabitants, and the once-black hair around his mouth and eyes had turned a faded grey. As he looked up at the pair in front of him, he loudly removed a small bird bone he had been sucking clean from his mouth. He tossed the bone – ridden of everything but tendons – on the ground behind him while wetly spitting out a few small feathers.

“Oh… Festelda, dear,” he said in a raspy voice, laboring heavily to stand from his rock seat. The lids of his eyes hung wearily. “Come, let me look at you. You’re beautiful, darling…”

“Hey, dad.” Festelda replied with the same flatness as the greeting for her mother.

“What changed your mind, sweetie?” her mother said in the kindest tone she could muster. “Spring is here, and the new generation has arrived. They’re such cute cubs, you’re really going to like them. With your father’s age catching up with him, we’re really going to need a lot of help showing them the land. You know, no one else can get berries from as high as you can!”

“I’m not back,” Festelda said stubbornly. “Just stopping by to check in. See if anything has changed. Clearly it hasn’t. In fact, I think it’s gotten worse.” Her temper was rising. She wanted to leave immediately. The sight of her family consuming raw flesh sickened her.

Younger raccoons poked their heads out from small nests constructed at the ends of branches where they met the tree. Built from sticks and old tufts of fallen fur, they were dome-shaped with a small entrance hole. Generally, only the young were kept here, allowing extra defense from predators in their early life. After inspecting the disturbance below, the young would toss remnants of their finished meal to the forest floor. Small bones, feathers, or inedible skins were thrown from the small wood holes, followed by squeals to demand additional raw sustenance.

“How was your winter, dear? Did you head south?” her father asked as he wiped blood from his face using the back of his hand.

“Winter! Dad, I’ve been gone for years,” she replied.

Her father’s eyes widened, surprised by the news. “Years? No, no. I remember. You wanted to head south to study flora… You’ve always loved plants, you know,” he replied through slightly watering eyes.

“Your aging mind misleads you, dad…” Festelda replied sharply. “I left quite some time ago based off of the decisions of the camp regarding your diets.”

The old raccoon’s stomach rolled as he leaned back on the rock he had been perched on, dumbfounded by the news he was receiving.

“You know, Fes,” her father said, changing the subject. “It really would be much wiser for you to return home. No trees across the land grow taller and fuller than they do here. Important for protection against the rising threat of the predators…”

“Ha!” she cut him off with a forced laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

“We’re not predators, Fes. Really…” her father replied, stuttering. “More of… scavengers. Just like we have always been. We do not go out hunting in a concerted effort to kill. However, if something should land in, or wander into our camp…”

“That doesn’t justify taking something’s life for a meal,” Festelda replied flatly.

Demrus caught up and plopped down on a stump at the table next to his father before immediately digging into a freshly caught rat. They had been easy to find, as they were attracted to leftovers and trash littering the camp. He pulled back his lip and bit into the rat's neck, still alive. The rat released one final loud shriek as a spurt of blood splattered on the table in front of him.

Festelda shuttered and removed herself from the table.

“Demrus… please!” his mother said as she got up to chase Festelda.

“What?” he said, rolling his eyes. “She's the one that left in the first place…”

“I can't be here,” Festelda said calmly, pausing again near the massive boulder. “You have all made terrible decisions.”

“Fez, sweetheart,” her mother pleaded. “You have to understand. This was never a decision. We have been… altered. As if driven by an unknown force with an insatiable taste for meat. I've been doing my best, you know.”

Festelda scoffed and shook her head. “Still? More excuses. Nothing has changed… You can’t keep blaming the past on choices you continue to make, mother.”

“I'm serious!” she pleaded. “I only eat berries and leaves in the morning. Limit meat to one meal a day. But, it's hard, you know… I watch your brother, your father, the rest of the camp consuming delicious flesh, and I just can't help myself! You know we’re not carnivores. We’re omnivores.”

“Even the children! I saw them… tossing bones and skins from their nests. You’re blaming nature, when it’s the fault of their nurturing… They see what you consume, then they adopt the same diet! This can only change if the new generation is to –”

“Festelda!” a pair of cubs cried out from behind her, running up excitedly. “Is this aunty Festelda we’ve heard about? Let's play tag around the rock!” they shouted, grabbing her arm as they jumped up and down.

“It's called willpower, mother,” Festelda said, shoulders drooped, looking at the young cubs. “Nice to meet you, little ones. Tag! You're it!” she poked one of the cubs in the arm. They both took off running in circles around the boulder.

“You know why I can't stay here,” she said softly to her mother. “I won't witness this descent into savagery.”

Tears welled in her mother's eyes. She didn’t reply as Festelda gave her a final hug and turned to head back into the forest.