Every feral fluffy wants one thing more than anything: A safe place to live where they can raise their families and live peacefully. Most areas out there are anything but. You have the cities where man made machinery and humans themselves will make quick work of the defenseless creatures. The suburbs aren’t much better with violent humans and their pets running about. In fact, fluffies are more likely to die in the suburbs while feral than they are in the cities.
But what about the rural areas? Well they aren’t much better than the other two. There are even scarier animals and humans that are willing to go to greater lengths in order to protect their crops.
All isn’t lost for the fluffies though. There’s a place that’s safe for them. A place that’s local only to this particular area. It’s known as the Garden of Fluffden. Nobody knows where exactly it is or how to get there.
The story goes that somewhere deep in the forest is an isolated location that’s different from all the others. The forest is like any other Northern Hardwood forest in the area made up of by an assortment of broad-leaved trees. It’s a lovely sight that one can find themselves getting lost in as the beauty of nature overtakes them.
Venturing further into the forest will lead to a grassy area surrounded by smaller trees. These trees appear to be miniature versions of the same trees that make up the forest. One might even give them a closer look and notice bizarre features on these trees. Their shape is unlike that of any other tree. It’s almost animal-like in its shape. You would have thought that somebody carved these themself and then left. Your assumption would be wrong when hearing the tree emit a goofy giggling noise.
A pair of eyes open at the front of the tree and the bark-like exterior rapidly disappears to be replaced by fluff of different colors. These are a subgroup of fluffy pony that are considered the most mysterious and the only one humans don’t like to mess with. These are plant fluffies.
These particular fluffies are of the White Oak Tree breed of plant fluffies. In fluffy form they look like a regular fluffy with its stomach, legs, and back carrying the fluffy fur they’re famous for. The top half of their body is covered in the leaves of a White Oak Tree. These particular fluffies are on the younger end at fifteen years old. They can live up to one hundred and fifty years old, much shorter than that of a real White Oak but still longer than any fluffy or human for that matter.
“Ebwyfwuff! It am time to cum ou!’ The smarty of the group calls out. Unlike normal fluffies, plant fluffy smarty’s are the elders of the group and this one is thirty years old. He stands among the other plant fluffs at ten feet. Again, much shorter than the real plant he’s designed after but much taller than any fluffy or human would ever be. The other plant fluffies open their eyes and revert to their fluffy pony form. It isn’t just the White Oaks that are fluffies. Every flower, mushroom, shrub, and herb begin to take the form of a fluffy. There are even regular fluffies among them that run around and play while the plant fluffies emerge.
A light breeze comes through the forest and gently pushes against the branches of the plant fluffy mares. The wind blowing through the leaves creates a whistling mummah song that the plant fluffy mares sing to their young.
“Peep! Cheep! Mummah! Babbeh hab bestest sweepie time pichaws!’ A little fluffy sapling chirps. His little leaves have begun to take form and he proudly looks up at his mummah.
”Dat am gud babbeh,” she says happily. “Bestest sweepie time pichaws am gud fow sapwing fwuff.”
The regular fluffies run up to the plant fluffs and greet them as usual. They were all once abandoned or abused ferals who felt like they had nowhere to go. What brought them there was the haunting sound of the mummah sound echoing through the wind. They followed the wind and it led them to the garden. Here they could raise a family and stay safe from any animals or human monsters looking to hurt them. Nobody could ever find their little safe place either because the tree fluffies would create a circle around the ferals to block any views of them.
”Wud fwuffies wike nummies?” Asks a fluffy with white-button mushrooms growing out of its back.
”Yes pwease!” A feral replies. They take a nip from the mushroom and smile as the flavor fills every corner of their taste buds.
Off in a corner are various flower fluffies playing huggie tag with each other. Sometimes when they hug a seed is exchanged and grows on their backs, creating a miniature garden on them. Even the local animals have found the fluffies to be safe. Young squirrels have made their homes in the branches of some of the larger tree fluffs as have many birds.
The bright times are the most peaceful with the ferals playing as the tree fluffies provide cover from the sun.
“PEEP! CHEEP! Wai am twee fwuffies so big? Babbeh wan be big fwuffy tu!” A little fluffy foal asks the plant smarty.
The plant smarty gazes down at the tiny foal with a benevolent nod. “Twee fwuffies haf tu be big. Pwotect aww fwuffies and each otha. Wan fwuffies tu be safe fow aww fowebas.”
The foal stares up at the wizened fluffy with wide eyes. He is still only a foal and has so much more of his life to live and he knows that any amount of living he’ll be doing will never catch up to that of the smarty tree fluff.
Eventually the clouds above begin to get darker and the tree fluffs sense that a storm is on its way.
“Ebwyfwuff get unda smawty!” The tree smarty calls out. The ferals all look over at the leader as he pushes all four of his feet onto the ground. They start to sink further into the ground as the leggies turn into roots that bury themselves deep into the ground. His fluff begins to harden as it gradually turns into bark. The other tree fluffs follow too, as do all the other plant fluffs. Meanwhile the regular fluffies are hiding underneath the smarty in his tree form.
“Cum babbehs! Sky wawa bad fow babbehs!” A mare calls out to her children.
It may be bad for them but it’s good for plant fluffies. The rain soon falls and each plant fluffy gives out a sigh of relief as they absorb the water.
”Teehee! Wub sky wawa!” A number of them chuckle while the rain goes on.
The storm continues until the night when the fluffies are asleep. One would think that the darkness of the forest would terrify the ferals but they have no need to worry with some of the plant fluffies being of the Jack-O-Lantern Mushroom subgroup. Their natural illumination acts as a nightlight for any fluffy’s scared of the dark.
Winds continue to blow through, creating more soft tunes for the fluffies to sleep to. One would see the sight before them and understand it as being a sort of heaven on earth for the feral fluffies. Surrounded by all kinds of plant life and protected from the elements by nature. No human has ever been able to find this garden. All we know is that it’s a local legend told by the ferals. One that inspires hope and a sense of survival in hopes of reaching the paradise known as the Garden of Fluffden.