I’m personally sad nobody pointed out at least one of the hints I gave, even if it was in the comments! Sad times that nobody got the hint. the best option here was to fight, but I put “recommended” next to staying put because it would derail a lot of plans. Don’t know if you noticed, but I’m collaborating with someone.
SPECIAL POV: SWORD, the herd leader of might (also a professional asshole)
You raced down the tree, and see some caretakers running away. You were just interrogating a crazed mare that, for some reason, was eating other fluffies. Water, your son’s special friend, wanted to come with, but she was assigned to keep the crazed mare where it was supposed to be.
You race to the center, and see a fluffy with a sharp horn and massive wings, with… blood!?!? ah well, you have dealt with a pair hunting pals before, this shouldn’t be different, and it doesn’t look mature enough for babies. It notices you, and smiles.
” ‘Ou nu scawed ob Wook? Dis gun be guud den!”, clearly a fight challenge.
You hear the plop of your son assuming an aggressive stance next to you, and can see him smiling. He was wanting something more than a cakewalk, and this is his first hunting pal he’s fighting.
”metaw, fwank.” you softly order him. He nods and feigns an escape, and you see cinnamon trying her best to look threatening and protect the babies, even though she’s tiny and shaking like one of those bugs. Shoot, you are gambling more than you would like to.
”fwuffy namesies am swowed, da hewd weadeh, an’ ou hab a choice. ‘Ou can weabe an’ wun, ‘ou can join dah hewd, ow ‘ou can hab foweva sweepies ow wots ob huwties.” you try to say in a regal and authoritative tone, “ ‘ou am nu fwend, an dis hewd am known fow its weadah’s stwength, su pick nicwy”
“Wook hab Pack, an’ Wook nu wun. Mummah an’ Ashaw say hewp Janie an’ Jessie bwing in fewaw hewd. and dat wat Wook gun du, Nu gun join Hewd ob nu-pack fwuffies, an’ nu gun weabe wess Mummah say su. Bu’ if fluffy weada wan gib Wook huwties, den Wook gun gib eben mowe.” he snarled, strange to hear a fluffy snarl. Also, feral? Never heard that word before. You can hear the monsters barking up a storm behind him, as well as two humans shouting stuff. If you can take this down, you might be able to actually repel the invasion, a LOT is at stake here.
You frown of disappointed, always have fluffy-eating-fluffies wrecked havoc on your herd, and you even managed to convince a hunting pal to kill a rival neighboring herd, but this adolescent one has made his choice.
You see your son get into position and say “hmf, if dat am ‘ou choice, den wet me teww ‘ou wittle babbeh somedig, nebah dwop ‘ou guawd”. You charge head on, while your son flanks the rear.
His reaction was to flinch, then donkey kick at your son, who shrugs it off like you trained him to. However, he pointed his sharp horn at you, threatening to impale you, declaring “Wook am nu wittw babbeh! Wook am Pack secon’, an’ gun do wat Packweader Mummah teww Wook tu du!”.
You, on the other hand, er… hoof, had started fights where the opponent has done this before, and you slammed down on the horn. You wanted to say ‘never give your opponent opportunities’ but you don’t have time.
Your opponent yelps, he probably never had THIS happen before. You don’t have this luxury of a horn, being an earthie, but it lets you grow to impeccable sizes, as you are significantly taller than this, this monster.
Your caught off guard when wings began to smack you. You close your eyes, most hitting your armor and one even knocking off your metal crown, but it doesn’t stop your hold on the horn. However, you feel the horn getting loose, and pull away last minute as the tip rakes across your stomach.
He continues with the momentum, and you quickly get back on all fours and knock him, sending him on his hind legs and to you son, who is preparing one powerful donkey kick.
WHAM
Rook is sent on his back. You pin down a wing, and try to rub in your age a bit more. “ ‘ou am babbeh, ‘ou am tu widdle tu hab special fwen”
What happens next was new, rook swung all his weight onto one side. You hear a CRACK as you loose balance. You regain balance and look at him, his wing now limply at his side. He backs off a little and makes a pained attempt at a defensive stance, clearly he hasn’t been hurt severely. He snarls like a cornered animal.You check your son, he is beside you and smugly smiling a cocky smile.
“Wook nu foun’ wight speciw fwiend yet, bu’ speciew huggie pet stiww gun hab Wook’s babbehs.” your opponent says in between snarls. Pet? Is that like an enfi toy? Well, it doesn’t matter, as you see metal, your son, recklessly charge. You do the fluffy version of a facepalm and sigh deeply. Metal ALWAYS gets carried away. You’d think a near death experience would make him learn, but guess not.
He yells his battle cry, apparently trying to rub something in “Hah! Metew aweady hab speshaw fwen, an metaw am witteler Dan ‘ou!”, and rook dodges with more effort than necessary, and kicks metal in the hindquarters, breaking off the rock plate. But, metal didn’t stop, using the momentum to help him turn around on the spot, and keep charging. He slams the side with the uninjured wing with his hoofs, a clear attempt to dislocate that other wing. You just sit there, knowing what will happen next. Rook hisses, and metal goes for a stomp on the front right leg.
You know the the underbelly isn’t protected, and metal has exposed his belly. You run in, but are stopped by an ivory fluffy with green feathers, you don’t have time to look at detail, or deal with this fluffy, so you completely sidestep him. He gives you a contemptuous look, before panting out ” Gwowy gun…gun fun huwties… for huwt bwudda” clearly roughened up by a determined tiger. You don’t got time, and you hear a SNAP, signature of ribs snapping with metal making a loud groan of pain. You redouble your charge, and almost mindlessly and lethally stomp on the neck, before a truck hits your side and you immediately fall unconscious.
well. That was a marathon, for me at least. Water soon fell out of the tree when the cannibal fluffy seized the moment, and tried to break free. Both mares were injured with broken legs. As for the special friend of sword? Dead, died trying to protect iddy biddies from the doggos.
Next chapter will have multiple polls, be ready.
