Fenrir's Story - Chapter I [by eirinym]


This series will contain multiple facets of categorisation. Each post will be appropriately tagged as best as I can categorise it.

In the beginning, being feral, Fenrir has no name, but later on will be given one. I chose to use his name from the beginning as it helps for continuity purposes.

Chapter I: From the Wilderness

Fenrir was born to a feral mare, one who exhibited the clear hallmarks of a smarty.

‘EEEEEEEEEEEEE! BIGGES POOPIES!’ She screamed as each of her foals began to come out, panting in agony and anticipation. Many forevers later, she heard the chirps of several foals coming from behind.

‘Babbehs? Heaw babbehs! Mummah am hewe! Bestest mummah wiww hab bestest babbehs!’

Inching herself around slowly, she made her way to the chirping foals scattered in the afterbirth, and began licking them clean to get a better look at all of them.

‘Mummah wuv babbehs, mummah gon wook aww babbehs, dun wan no poopeh babbehs.’

As she cleaned and got a picture of all of the foals, she was becoming very sad, but then she finally saw her, the bestest babbeh. ‘Bessus babbeh! Su pwetties! Mummah wuuuuv bestest babbeh. Aww udda babbehs poopeh, nu wan. Take miwkies fwum bestest babbeh.’

She proceeded to coo and sing to the bright blue foal who looked just like her. She picked her up, and placed her gently between her front legs to hold and clean. The other foals were chirping and trying to crawl looking for the mother who had turned her back to them, content to hold only her bestest babbeh.

‘Mummah wuv bestest babbeh, miwkies aww fo bestest babbeh, huggies aww fo bestest babbeh~’ she sang to the little foal.

Fenrir’s mother was this mare. He and his siblings were barely born, and had only found milk once before she noticed her bestest babbeh, suckling in the mere minutes they had before she knew their appearance, still matted and bloody from their birth. They were beginning to get hungry and managed to make their back to their mother, before she noticed, and rebuked them.

'Stupeh poopeh babbehs, nu wan ‘ou!’ Why were they such bad babies? She paused for a moment, remembering that desire burning inside her for babies. 'Buh aww babbehs… ’

Her mind tried to understand what compassion was, but it was very difficult. She only knew she loved babies and especially the bestest baby. ‘Otay! Poopeh babbehs can hab miwkies buh nu tiww bestest babbeh dun’ she said as she puffed out her cheeks. ‘Fwuffy am bes’ smawtie! Onwy fwuffy mummah am such gud smawt!’

The days passed and the foals began to open their eyes and start talking and playing with each other, and asking their mother for hugs and milk. Fenrir was playing with his sister when she began to talk with him.

‘Bwudda, am weewy hungies, wai mummah no gib miwkies tu babbehs?’

Fenrir replied, ‘Bwudda nu kno, mummah say babbehs am poopeh babbehs.’

His sister began to tear up at this, her stomach growling. ‘Wiww bwudda at mummah fow gib miwkies tu gud babbehs?’

‘Wiww twy, bwudda wuv sissy and aww bwudda an sistah’, he replied.

They stopped to hug for a moment and Fenrir went to ask his mother for help and food. The feral mare had been neglecting all but one of her foals every day since their birth. Fenrir and one of his sisters—the eldest, were the first to open their eyes and begin to talk. Each day since they could talk, one of them has been reminding their mother they exist and that they need help, much to her annoyance, as it disturbs her singing and coddling time with the ‘bestest babbeh’.

‘Mummah, babbehs aww need miwkies again. Am sawwy mummah, babbeh kno am onwy poopeh babbeh but babbehs wuv mummah! An babbehs wuv aww bwudda and sistah too, nu wan hab wowst tummy huwties.’

Fenrir asked her quietly and humbly, even though he didn’t know that concept, he knew he should not anger her, and remembered that she said all her babies were bad except for the one she called ‘bestest babbeh’. She turned around and glared at him, then growled 'Stoopeh poopeh babbeh, wai ‘ou bad babbeh, ‘ou am not bestest babbeh. Onwy bestest babbeh get bestes’ miwkies!’

Fenrir began to frown and his eyes watered. He was so hungry, as were all of his siblings. He knew there was nothing he could do though, as before when he insisted, his mother told him to be quiet or get ‘wowstest sowwie hoofsies’.

‘Otay mummah, poopeh babbehs wiww wait fow bestest babbeh, am gud babbehs fo mummah’ he replied, slowly dragging himself away.

'Gud, nao go ‘way poopeh babbeh, mummah need gib huggies an wuv fow bestest babbeh, mummah am gud mummah. Wiww gib wastest miwkies fow poopeh babbehs wen dun’ she gloated, as though she were too generous.

After hours of cooing and singing and feeding the bestest babbeh, she finally let them have the meagre leftovers. Out of a total of seven foals, two were exceptionally small and weak. They had to get help from their siblings to reach their mother to feed. But, somehow, perhaps due to the extreme negligence of their mother, they all became very close and tried to help one another, possibly because they knew without each other, they had very little chance of surviving.

Day after day, this was the routine. Six of the smarty mare’s foals would sleep in dirty leaves far away from their mother while she cradled her prize foal in her fluff, safe and warm, and full of milk.

One day, though, Fenrir could never forget.

It was a day like any other, and what was to come would catch this entire fluffy family unaware. The bestest babbeh began to terrorise the other foals. She thought of them as play toys because her mother said ‘dem aw poopeh babbehs. Aww fo pway an taik poopehs fwum bestest babbeh. Gib gud poopehs fo mummah on poopeh babbehs.’ Thus, the foal began to treat them as her own personal property. And, as was the usual case, though the foals were now old enough to eat solid food, she still got milk from her mother, never eating anything but that. The rest of the foals had been eating grass and whatever nuts and berries they could find as their mother had stopped feeding them as soon as she could. Sometimes they’d be forced to eat up the shit from the bestest babbeh either by their mother, or because they had nothing else to eat.

'Dum poopeh babbehs, 'ou am nu fun. Wan pway, ‘ou am be baww fo smawty bestest babbeh! Taik sowwie poopehs, dummeh!’ the foal barked at two of her siblings who had until just now been playing together in the grass. Coming from their mother, she charged at them, kicking the younger colt in the back as though he were a toy. Shocked at his crying and lack of appeasement, a natural response was none less than shitting on him.
‘Nu, nu wan sowwie poopehs, babbeh wuv sissy, pwees be nais sissy to babbehs’ one of them cried. She continued to shower the foals with rancid shit, disgusting from all the milk the mother was still feeding her. They cried out, asking for their mother, tears streaming down their faecal full faces.

‘Dummeh poopeh babbehs, bestest babbeh am maik gud poopehs, du wat bestest babbeh wan!’ their mother responded clearly annoyed, their call for help completely ignored.

Fenrir and the eldest sister sat watching the sad scene play out as it always did. They knew nothing would change, they knew their mother would never care about them. All she cared about was her prize foal. As they watched ‘bestest babbeh’ laughing and playing, pushing their younger siblings, they heard a noise coming from the bushes. They usually sat a short distance away from the other foals in order to watch all of them and make sure they didn’t go ‘splorin’. Their mother had told bestest babbeh that it wasn’t good for her to do because she was the bestest and needed ‘be safe wid mummah’, and that let them knew it was a bad idea.

But that noise kept getting closer, and it began to scare them. They didn’t know what it was because they had never heard it before, but it sort of sounded like when they would play ‘hidies’ in the bushes.

‘Bwudda, wat bad noiwsie, am scawwed’ Fenrir’s sister asked.
‘Bwudda nu kno sissy, buh need pwotec bwudda an sissah, cud be munstah’ he replied.

They rushed over to their siblings who were cuddling in a fluff pile and warned them of the approaching noise. They got scared but they all held each other tightly and told their mother ‘Mummah, fwuffies am scawwed, heaw bad noisies fwum bushie.’

'Dummeh babbehs, mummah no caew. ‘ou am stuppeh babbehs, nu kno nuffin’.
Bestest babbeh puffed out her cheeks in agreement. ‘Ya! Dummeh bwudda an sistah, poopeh babbehs nu kno, am smawty babbeh, and bestest. Kno wawts!’

Suddenly, a large coyote came prowling out from behind the bush, its mouth watering at the tasty morsels lying before it. Their mother began panicking immediately, for she and the bestest babbeh were closest to the coyote when it appeared.

‘SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!’ she shouted, running ramshod over her own foals, crushing two in mere moments. Bestest babbeh was on her back, but began slipping off as she was bucking and panicking, running from the coyote as quickly as she could.

‘Mummah, bestest babbeh am fawwing, hewp, hewp!’

The mare was completely oblivious thinking only of her own safety as she ran, or waddled, as fast as she could away from the coyote, the trail of destruction in her wake. As the foal slipped off, she plummeted to the ground, breaking one of her legs.

‘Eep, eep, eep!’ she cried. ‘Wowstest huwties, mummah, sav bestest babbeh! Nee huggies!’

But her mother was long gone now, abandoning her foals the second she was threatened, allowing them to be eaten instead of her. Even the bestest babbeh was abandoned, illustrating the miniscule depths of protective instincts this mare could mustre. She liked the bestest babbeh because it reminded her of herself, and having any semblance of superego being quite rare in fluffies, personal experience is their primary source of motivation. A pretty fluffy that the mother sees herself in will be a bias that some fluffies cannot resist. Aside from the conditioned fear of alicorns to artificially inflate their value, this predilection blossomed in some mares—especially those from pampered lives with human owners.

The coyote took note of the bestest babbeh, chirping and squealing, wriggling in pain and unable to move. He snapped her up in his jaws, breaking her neck and devouring her in seconds. If Fenrir could have understood irony, he probably would have cracked a smile. But this was no time for that, two of his siblings already crushed by his stupid mother’s own hooves, he had to try and save his remaining sisters and brother. He and his sister took their siblings’ scruff in their mouths and tried to pick them up, nudging them from their frightened huggies, to get them to run away.

‘Huwwy bwudda an sissah fwuffies, nee wun! Bad munstah wiww gib wowstest huwties an foweba sweepies!’ Fenrir shouted.

But the coyote’s attention was now on them, having finished off the plump and tender bestest babbeh mere moments before. Those fluffies were the best ones to eat, he knew, because they had no idea they could be defenseless. Most of the parents will run and leave their children behind, which means the younger—more tender—easy to eat young will be easy prey. The coyote leapt towards them as Fenrir and his sister tried to drag their siblings along. Their siblings were crying and having trouble moving, being ‘tu scawwed’ and having ‘scawdie poopies’ causing them to slip as they attempted to move their tiny legs.

Fenrir’s sister couldn’t hold on to hers, the foal slipping from her mouth repeatedly. Finally, she too slipped and fell. 'Bwudda, nee go, dun wowwy bout sissy, save udda babbehs! Sissy wiww pwotect ‘ou!’ she cried.

But Fenrir couldn’t abandon her, and he tried to push his siblings into the nearest bush. Unfortunately it was too far, and the monster coyote caught up and flung all four of them apart. Fenrir landed on top of a nearby bush, passing out from the impact. His sister was thrown against a tree trunk, breaking two of her legs, and several ribs. She tried to cry, but was in too much pain. Eventually she too succumbed to unconsciousness—in this case, due to the pain. Neither saw the final horror of their last two siblings being devoured by the beast.

The coyote searched for them for a few minutes, but somehow couldn’t locate Fenrir or his final surviving sister. He returned to devour the squashed carcasses of the foals their mother squashed to death, and left.

Fenrir eventually woke up, and realised he was still alive. He soon remembered that his siblings were in trouble and leapt his way down from the bush to search for them. When he realised that he saw no signs of the ones he and his sister were carrying. Noticing only bloodstains remaining where his brother and sister were squashed by his mother, he knew none had survived.

He was alone.

‘Am hab suu manneh saddies, aww bwudda an sistah aww gon’ Fenrir sobbed. But as he sobbed he noticed more sobbing; somewhere nearby, there was the sound of crying. He knew he had to look, perhaps there being a remote chance one of his siblings survived.

Walking towards the sound, he realised it sounded like his sissy. 'Sissy, am dat ‘ou? Is bwudda, bwudda am hewe!’

She responded ‘Bwudda, am sissy, am hab wowstest huwties, weggies nu can moov, tummy hab wowstest owwies too.’ Fenrir approached her and noticed two of her legs were bent in a weird way, and looked like when bestest babbeh would give sowwie hoofsies.

‘Am otay sissy, bwudda wiww hewp an wiww go find nyu safe pwace tugedda.’ He began to move under her, and as softly as he could, lifted her on his back. With slow, gruelling movement, and the last of his world on his shoulders, they set out to find a new home.

Next Chapter: Chapter II


I’ve been writing this story for weeks on Reddit, and eventually decided I prefer using this site, so I’m editing a bit and publishing it here, if you’ve read it already no worries. Those who haven’t, I hope you enjoy!


It’s a good start. I’m looking foward to where it goes.


Oh, this breaks my heart but I love it sO


Fenrir just steals my heart. I will fight anyone that tries to harm him.


Interesting start. Does a good job of establishing the two characters. I’ll definitely keep reading.

The only thing that seemed off to me was that the coyote didn’t eat the mother. Flufflies are notoriously slow and she would have probably provided a better meal.

The idea of a mother going so far into “bestest babeh” mode that she relegates the rest of her litter to “poopie” status is interesting. I may want to give that type of scenario a try at some point.


I think at this point the coyote knows how many fluffies there are out there, and doesn’t bother to chase her because the babies are way easier.

Add to that the fact that she scurried off as fast as she could, and he just couldn’t be arsed.

But, well, plot devices and all. That and sometimes weird luck happens for some people, or even fluffies.


Fair. I figured this was for the set-up more than anything.

It’s a problem I run into often, and why I redraft so much. If something is lucky I like to acknowledge it in some way. If I can spot a way to tone down the implausibility (ex: drop the coyote’s age and imply that it would be nervous to attack the adult fluffy) I do.

That’s not to say the scene doesn’t work or anything. Part of it might’ve been assumptions on my part. I pictured a scavenging coyote who was starving and not just hungry. If it’s just snacking having eaten it’s full earlier that day why even waste the effort? Reflection like that only comes after though. It’s important to have that context so the intended meaning is carried but it’s hard to do that without excessive tangenting and running into the opposite problem.

Sorry if I’m rambling. I deal with this problem myself so it helps to hash out my thoughts.

1 Like

I understand. When I write I am more likely than not to begin extending things until it becomes too bloated. So, when writing this story so far I’ve often taken moments to ignore fully going into detail for the sake of brevity. There can be any number of reasons why something occurs a particular way in a story. The salient ones do receive my attention.

But I usually have to remind myself of the axiom for writers - if you can leave it out without it affecting the story, you don’t need it.

This was the first chapter, too. As I go on I try to be more detailed, but, I do my best. My current chapter I’m working on is tripping me up with details and how to incorporate them so that it flows and has a decent impact.

I’ve been frustrated by some stories lately, and a bit depressed, too. Not helping my output.


It’s a process, and it gets harder the further in you go. I don’t have the solution to that myself but when my own story starts frustrating me I like to take a step back and consider all the options at my disposal. If my story is any indication, people are very forgiving when you experiment with the things that interest you. And for my effort I now have a much clearer picture of the arc I want to pull off.

This story you’ve written looks very promising. I look forward to continuing it.


Thanks, and yeah it really helps having a clear goal. My story is already more or less complete in my mind, I’m just ironing out the route to that goal.

Yours is one of the stories that doesn’t frustrate me, so I too will continue checking in as you progress. I think it’s quite good/interesting. Realised I should add that part.


dawned on me that I first read all this before I had an account
please excuse what will seem like a barrage of likes


Oh no. People might see this now that it’s back at the top and read it. Our little secret is exposed! I hope there’s not a student flood of people finding this for the first time and finding themselves sucked in! :rofl::smiling_face_with_three_hearts:


I’m glad some people like it, it encourages me to continue. Though I still don’t really feel happy about my writing, maybe it’s not that uncommon though, feeling like one can always do better.

I’ll keep trying though.

Also @Karn thanks for commenting, you can always ask questions or give thoughts and I’ll try my best to respond, even if it doesn’t happen right away. :slightly_smiling_face: