Bund, the Leonin
The lion's eyes followed the clouds as they drifted across the newly awakened sky. Bright streaks of purple and green just barely visible as the sun began to burn the last vestiges of night away. The eyes, pouncing from dwindling cloud to dwindling cloud, jumped once more to the tip of the mountains to the North. A low growl emanates from his stomach and two deformed claws grab his stomach.
His clawed hands are deformed and twisted. The left pinky points out like it was horrifically broken and never properly set. The two fingers adjacent are disjointed by an extra joint elongating them past the others. While the forefinger has been misaligned in the socket and clicks horribly when it moves. His other hand mirrors the first’s continuous pain.
He looks down the tree that was his perch for the night at the ground below. The morning sun creates a dappled, shimmering dance of light through the forest’s canopy. Wildflowers and leaves slowly undulate, moved by the gentle wind coming from the mountains. An erratic movement catches his eyes and a smile slowly dawns on his face.
The lion stretches out his arms and legs, in slow, languid movements before jumping the ten feet to the forest floor. One of his eyes twitches in irritation as he notices that one of his claws has started to poke out of his boot. The figure at his feet can’t clear the irritation from this new frustration.
Looking at the sky once more he winches again as he starts to move his hands in slow circles. Dark green energy slowly builds up as his hands move. Spasms and twitches periodically shake the building magic. The magic slowly starts to seep into his eyes and understanding sparks behind his bright yellow eyes. He looks once more at the brightening sky with a cocked head.
Absent-mindedly, he runs a hand through the white fur coating his arm. He looks down and notices a small piece of bark snagged in the fur of his leg not covered by his tattered clothing. With a snort of disgust he uses one of his elongated fingers to flick the offending sliver out of his fur. He then began a careful examination of himself. He drags his nails through his fur in a soothing repetition, licks the end of his right forefinger and begins to smooth his eyebrows, and finally picks through his tail of off white fur.
His self grooming completed, he begins to walk through the forest. His steps are calm and carefully placed as he moves through the undergrowth, following deeply rutted game trails. His tail swishes lightly as he walks narrowly missing the edges of bushes and trees but never scraping along the ground or hitting one of the obstacles strewn throughout his path.
After a few minutes of walking, the lion jumps off the path and continues walking between a line of bushes. Early morning sunlight glimmers through the trees and bushes separating him from the small pond a few yards away. He walks along a few tree roots and steps through an area clear of bushes and trees to step up to the lake. A thin ring of mud circles the outside of the lake. The lion pauses as he looks at the sordid mud pit. He calmly backs up and takes a few branches from the ground near an old tree and lays them out in the mud. He then slowly walks along the laid branches to the water’s edge. A careful examination of his face reveals nothing in his off white fur or blemishes in his teeth. A face, which barely twitches as light plays along the ridges of his eyes, stares back.
With a final flick of his fine whiskers and a cupped palm of water, he gets up and makes his way back across his makeshift bridge. The branches and twigs barely shift and crackle as he paws his way back over the mud.
His daily ablutions over, he stretches once more as his eyes turn back to the area he spent the night and the twitching figure that he imagines is still there. A small satisfied smile steals over his face one more as a few teeth creep into view.
Stolen novel; please report.
A breeze from the mountains kicks his heels as he begins moving south. His nose twitches as the smell of rain, cedar trees, and cold swims through the air towards him. This new gust of wind carries and pushes him along the animal trails towards a small settlement a few hours walk away.
Yandle, the Badgerfolk
“Badger folk are not adverse to danger, but attempt to mitigate trouble at every possible turn” quoted the old badger to his son. The badger man’s fur was a startling black and gray color that gently began to turn white around his eyes to form a stripe of white along his back. “Let's break that down and discuss each individual part of that adage. Afterwards we will begin relearning the fundamentals of chiseling techniques for opal stones.” The man began to adjust his green sleeves that are covered in minute workings of gold thread. “You really need to pay attention this time. Now, as you know badger folk have faced plenty of danger throughout our history. Remember, in 1347 the great badger Roan Stripeback, a distant ancestor I’ve been told, thrashed a contingent of dwarven vampire spawn during the Vampiric Wars of the 1300s. Why, there was another badger, not an ancestor, as far as I know who…” the badger began to wax as a solid thunk was heard from the opposite side of the table.
A younger badgerfolk’s head began to repeatedly thunk against the table. A small dish of blueberries, water still clinging to them, began to move shakingly towards the edge of the table with each new thud of the young man’s head. The younger badgerman was dressed similarly to his elder. A green tunic that just covered his broad back.
“Yandle, that is not appropriate, nor is it called for,” intoned his dad for a brief moment in between discussing one ancient dead badgerfolk to the next.
Yandle’s head continued to thunk against the table.
“Yes, but it certainly seems to help,” he replied in between the table’s shaking the blueberry dish closer and closer to the edge of the table. “Dad, I’m thirteen. (THUNK) I’ve heard everything there is to know about the great (THUNK) heroes of the past and their amazing deeds. And, you know (THUNK) that I’m only going to be middling at best when it comes to (THUNK) cutting gems.”
“Son…..,” the father started as he gently pushes the hanging blueberry dish back to the center of the table, “your mother and I want to instill in you a passion for those heroes that you have heard all about. Yes, you might never own your own shop, but your mother and I could easily see you going out like those old heroes of ours and make a name for yourself.”
“Dad, this is Thornacre. No one ever truly leaves,” said Yandle with one large paw holding up his head from its most recent thud against the table. “When is the next shipment supposed to go out, again?”
Yandle’s father’s eyes bore into him as he answers, “We just got back from the last shipment two weeks ago. Besides, you’ll be setting off by yourself on those shipments sooner than you think. Patience is a virtue to be treasured. For instance, when applying proper chiseling technique to an opal one mus… (THUNK)... must apply patience when waiting for the gem to settle after (THUNK) hitting a flat area with a proper (THUNK) thirty-six degree angle when using the 4 mm (THUNK) chisels.
Light bloomed into the room as the door leading outside opened up to admit a female badgerfolk. Her dress, a light blue with flowers of white embroidered into the flowing hems. The white fur around her eyes more pronounced than the old man’s but slightly more spring in her step than her seeming age would suggest.
“Yandle, why don’t you go play with the neighborhood kids?” Said the woman with the light from the open door still framing her squarish body.
“Yea…” Yandle started.
“After, helping Mrs. Johanson with weeding her garden,” the badger woman cut in.
Yandle’s shoulders slumped as his legs carried him out the door and past his mother. As he walked past her he leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his head as he passed.
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Yandle’s steps cause short lived plumes to burst into being as the corners of his lips raised slightly. A few minutes passed as his gaze followed the ruts and dust trails in the road, a tangle of smaller trails within the larger road that he is walked. The memories of his younger self floated away as he watched the rolling countryside. Soon enough his normal frown returned as he continued his walk towards Thornacre.
Anod and Bibbie, the Unlikely Brothers