Smarty
Three bright-times spent walking. Three bright-times closer to the new safe place, or so the brown Lookie-fluffy says, anyway. Neither you nor the toughies can really trust him, but you haven’t had much choice in anything since the humans attacked. All that’s left is hope, and even the smallest shakiest bit will do.
At the very least, the brown Lookie-fluffy still hasn’t lured you into a trap laid by bad fluffies, monsters or even worse. He’s also managed to take you through areas that have more nummies than you’d expect; who’d complain about that? With the last three bright-times being peaceful (no monsters, no forever-sleepies sticks in the distance, no bad things whatsoever) and you could almost relax a little.
But that’s not an option.
‘Smawty,’ Leaf says quietly
‘Wat?’
‘Am Smawty tinkin boud Wookie-fwuffy tuu?’
You nod.
‘Wat tink he doin? Wat tink am wong?’
‘Smawty nu knu.’ And you don’t like it. The brown Lookie-fluffy hasn’t said much to anyone since you left the big den, especially not you or the toughies. These past three bright-times though, he’s been even quieter. That worries you; something inside you, something that must have listened to Daddeh and the old Bestest-toughie closer than the others says it’s a sign. A bad one at that.
‘Tink dah Wookie-fwuffy am-’
‘Nu knu,’ you stare at the Lookie-fluffy, walking ahead of you with some other toughies, Hoofie among them. The Lookie-fluffy hasn’t so much as looked back the whole bright-time. Does that mean something? Does everything? Does anything?
‘So, wat du?’
‘Nu wet Wookie-fwuffy tink Smawty an Weaf knu wat he doin. If he doin sumtin,’ you add. ‘Jus keep goin, an wait.’
‘Otay…’ It doesn’t sound like Leaf’s likes your plan. What else can you do? The Lookie-fluffy might not be trying to trick you. The problem is how hard it is to tell either way; you’ll only know for sure if something happens, or doesn’t. ‘Weww, how wong am gun keep goin?’
‘Bit wongah,’ you say. ‘Knu fwuffies nee stahp fow nummies an wawa an huwties. Bud nu am gun get tu nyu safe-pwace if keep doin dat.’ Two stops; one in the middle of the bright-time, the other to sleep. That’s what you can afford; all the herd could afford since… Sigh. Just focus on the forest, on getting the herd through this.
Things carry on just the same as the past bright-times, without any bad things happening to ruin everything. You do your best not to think about it but, just how much more can the herd take? It can’t be much more than-
‘Smawty,’ Leaf says, louder this time.
‘Wat?’
‘Tink am gun nee stahp soon. Am goin swow nao.’
‘Sigh Smawty knu dat. Jus bit wongah. Den can stahp.’
‘Yes, Smawty.’
You hear something mumbled under Leaf’s breath but it’s not worth confronting him over it. A fight won’t do anyone any good and you’re the smarty; Leaf shouldn’t forget that. So, when he speaks again you almost snap at him, but you should have guessed it would have been important.
‘Smawty heaw dat?’
‘Yes…’
It’s coming from up ahead, the direction you’re heading. Carefully you check for signs other fluffies have heard it too. ‘Hmm…’ If they have, they’re not showing it.
‘Wat tink dat am?’
You think hard; it’s, well, it’s not something you heard when the humans came or during any monster attack you can remember. ‘Nu knu…’ Admitting that hurts and embarrasses you, not to mention makes your scardies worse. They’re already tingling in your leggies and it might not take long for them to hit your thinkie place.
‘Wait…’
‘Wat?’
‘Weaf tink… Tink, dat…’
‘Wat?’ It was harder than time. You don’t think you can manage a third-
‘Weaf tink dat sound wike wong-wawa.’
Long-water, huh? Yes, yes it does sound like a long-water. The scardies start to back off. A long-water isn’t too worrying. If anything, it’s good news. At least the herd can fix their thirsty-hurties once you stop, since you’re hearing that way. ‘Yes, Smawty tink dat tuu.’
‘Id sound wike big one,’
You don’t respond to Leaf because, well, what can you say to that? What does it matter if a long water is big or small? So long as you can fix your thirsty hurties and don’t have to go cross it.
XX
You need to learn not to hope for too much. Or maybe anything.
‘Dat am wat Wookie-fwuffy say tu Hoofie an oda toughies,’ Hoofie says, standing ahead of the toughies guarding the Lookie-fluffy. ‘If wan get tu nyu safe-pwace,’ Hoofie sighs and turns his head, ‘nee go ovah dewe.’
You follow his gaze to what might be one of the worst things you’ve seen during this bad sleepie-picture of a trip. A gap in the ground, way, way too big to jump over, with an angry looking long-water at the bottom of it. You haven’t gotten close enough to see just how angry, but you can hear clearly enough. So far the only good thing is there’s a spot not too far away where it’s safe to drink.
Turning back, you face the Lookie-fluffy; ‘Dummeh hav tinkie-pwace siwwies?’
‘Nu,’ he says. ‘If wan get tu safe-pwace, dat am way nee go.’
'An how dummeh tink hewd gun get ovah dat?!’ You point at a forever sleepies tree laying across the gap. It may be big enough for a fluffy to walk over and there’s an easy way on. But going by the looks of it, you’d sooner trust a kitty-monster to keep you safe.
‘Id be otay if nu wet tuu many fwuffies wawkies on id!’ The Lookie-fluffy yells back. You’re about to smack him when Leaf steps between you.
‘Smawty, wait. Wookie-fwuffy; how wong id take tu get tu pwace dat am mowe safe tuu get ovah dah wong-wawa?’ Please be a good answer.
‘Tuu wong,’ The Lookie-fluffy says. ‘Dewe am oda pwaces dat way, bud day take tuu wong tuu get tu.’
‘How wong am tuu wong?’
The Lookie-fluffy snorts. ‘Wookie-fwuffy see wat happen few bwighttimes go. Knu wat gun happen if yu teww hewd dis gun take wongah dan yu say!’
‘He am wight, Smawty,’ someone offers.
‘Shud up!!’ You yell, more at everyone than just that toughie. Stepping away from the others you take a few deep breaths to calm you thinkie-place and your maddies. You should have known things were going too well. That doesn’t change what a dump, stupid idea it is to walk over that tree! So, is this the Lookie-fluffy’s plan to get back at you?
It’s a good a plan as any, especially since that toughie (whoever it was) is right. There’s no way you can tell the herd this trip suddenly got longer again without the risk they’ll give up and run away. But won’t asking them to walk across that tree cause the same thing? You wouldn’t want to do it, not unless there was no other choice. Which, there isn’t. Sigh Will the herd accept that?
‘Smawty,’
Your first instinct is to shout at Leaf to go away, but that won’t help and he’s only doing his job. ‘Wat?’
‘Weaf nu wike dis tuu, bud nu tink dewe am oda way.’
‘Wat if Wookie-fwuffy wie? Wat if dewe am oda way?’
‘Nu tink he am.’ Before you ask Leaf how he’s so sure he adds ‘Hoofie aweady say he giv dah Wookie-fwuffy speciaw-wumps stompies if he wie.’ Not much, but it’s something.
‘Sigh So wat Weaf tink shud du?’
‘Go ova dat twee,’ he says. ‘Hewd nu can du oda tings. Weaf tink nu shud wet hewd see id yet, id make dem tuu scawdies. Onwy when gun go ovah dah twee.’
Yes, you didn’t even think that far ahead. ‘So, maybe wet hewd stay back dewe an fix huwties, den go ovah dat twee nex bwight-time?’
Leaf nods. ‘Yes, Smarty. Dat am best ting can du.’
The best thing of all the terrible horrible things to choose from. ‘Otay, den dat wat gun du.’ You turn. ‘Take dah Wookie-fwuffy back; nu wet him get way ow twy scape.’
‘Yes, Smawty.’ Leaf turns to go but pauses. ‘Wai Smawty nu fowwow? Wai goin dat way?’
‘Jus wan wook at id,’ you call, heading for the tree. ‘Be back soon.’ Without another word Leaf goes and collects the toughies and Lookie-fluffy, marching them back to where the herd is. All but one, though you don’t notice at first. You’re too focused on the tree. You’re no Lookie-fluffy yourself or even know much about trees. This one’s been forever-sleepies a long time, though. That much you can tell. You’d it tap on it to find out more, but you almost don’t want to know.
‘Tink he twyin twick us?’
Doing your best not to seem surprised, you look at Hoofie. ‘Maybe. Jus nu knu.’
‘Weww, Hoofie make suwe he go fowewa-sweepies if dis am twick.’
Good to know. ‘Tank yu.’
He nods, adding after a moment’s silence. ‘Smawty nu wan hewd go ovah dis ting.’ That wasn’t a question; guess you’re not too good at hiding what you’re feeling.
‘Sigh Nu.’
‘Hoofie nu wan du id tuu,’ he admits. ‘Bud nu waned du wots of tings.’
‘Mmm,’ That’s how things are out here; no way around it, and no sense sticking around here any longer. ‘Wets go back nao.’ Hoofie nods, and falls into step behind you.
Flashback
The mare, roughly middle aged by fluffy standards knelt with her ear pressed against the belly of her heavily pregnant herd mate. The dam, her mate and two toughies waited nearby in total silence, or as best they could manage. This task required concentration and more importantly, quiet. After roughly two minutes which felt like an eternity to the creatures, the older mare stood and turned to the nearest stallion, a black unicorn with a deep orange mane.
‘How am day?’ The stallion’s words were even, face impassive.
‘Ewyting am otay, Smawty,’ the mare said. ‘Bud, id sound wike day am gun cum oud soon.’
‘How soon?’
The mare paused, deep in thought. ‘Fwuffy tink, id be, two an two bwight-times…’ Experience was a fine teacher even for fluffies, but their best guesses were just that; guesses.
‘Fwuffy am suwe?’
‘Maybe…’ The mare said, ears lowering in anticipation of a stern rebuke or worse. The Smarty rarely did so, and never to her. But the mare remembered the old smarty, and habits died hard…
‘Otay. Fwuffy can go nao.’ He tuned to the toughies. ‘Yu tuu.’
‘Yes, Smawty,’ the mare said. The toughies merely nodded and followed her. With a small level of privacy back, the Smarty stepped forward and knelt down close to his mate. ‘Babbehs am otay,’
The dam nodded; her joy at the good news was obvious, but tempered by the herd’s situation. ‘Day am gun cum oud soon, tuu. An nu have safe-pwace.’
‘Yes,’ The pair sat in silence for the next few moments. Though he didn’t give any outward sign, the Smarty was consumed with worry. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to move his herd from where they lived with so many pregnant mares. But there hadn’t been a choice. His scouts heard the noises, saw the tall figures walking in the distance. Humans were close to the herd’s home and the risk of another disaster was too great. They’d barely survived the last attack, thanks only to the bad luck of some foals who’d slipped away to have fun and found horror instead.
‘Am… Wat happen, i-if…’ The mare’s words trailed off, but the Smarty could tell what here fear was. The life of ferals in the wild, though better than their urban cousins in many ways, was a combination of luck and brutal arithmetic as much as they understood it. If the herd couldn’t take care of new born foals, well, a quick death under a hoof was infinitely better than the other options. Not if the Smarty could help it, though.
‘Fwuffy pwomise keep babbehs safe, Speciaw-fwend,’ the Smarty said. ‘Fwuffy pwomise.’ He had reason to be confident; the transition from Summer to Autumn had just started and food was still reasonably abundant. At the very least no one in the herd was going hungry, and those mares who were nursing were producing milk. Another littler would be a strain, but not an unbearable one. Still, if they didn’t find a new safe place soon…
Well, that was a problem for another day. A more immediate one was where the party he’d sent ahead was, and what they’d-
‘Smawty!’
In a flash, the stallion was on his hooves and turning to face the voice. Seeing it was the green Next bestest-toughie he’d sent in the part, fear pricked at the Smarty. ‘Wat am wong? Wat fwuffies find?’
The Green toughie took a deep breath to gather his thoughts and gave his report as best he could. ‘Tuffies find, find pwace whewe bawkie-munstahs num fwuffies,’ he said quietly. ‘Knu which way munstahs go, so hewd gun be safe.’
The Smawty nodded. ‘Gud.’ Before he could speak, though, the green toughie went on.
‘Bud, sumtin happen.’
The Smawty’s eyes narrowed. ‘Wat?’ On the inside, her harnessed the sudden rush of fear, morphing it into determination and anger.
‘Uh, Id, i-id am bout Bestest-tuffy.’
Another jolt of concern, one the Smarty found harder to wrangle shot through his belly. ‘Wat happen,’ he asked slowly. The Green toughie hesitated, until the Smarty spoke again; ‘Nao.’ The volume didn’t change but the green toughie recognised the edge in his superiors voice.
‘U-uh, Tuffies find babbeh dat was fwom fwuffies dat get nummed. Was gun, gun giv id fowewa-sweepies bud, bud…’ Despite himself, the green fluffy trailed off again.
‘Smawty gun giv yu sowwy-hoofies if yu nu say wat happen.’
‘Dah Bestest-tuffy stahp id!’
The Smarty’s eyes narrowed, confusion furrowing his brow. ‘Wat Tuffy mean?’
The Green toughie tried to think of a good explanation, but nothing formed in his mind. Finally, even though it risked a beating, the Green toughie said ‘Tuffy tink Smawty shud see.’
XX
No beating came, though the Smarty promised one if this proved a waste of time. Once arriving at the scene, however, the Smarty understood a little better the Green toughie’s insistence. Of the forward party, most were huddled in a loose group some five or six fluffy lengths from the Bestest-toughie. One of the Next-bestest toughies grey breathed heavily, interrupted by the occasional cough. He’d been hit in the gut, hard, and with the others cast wary glances at the Bestest-toughie.
Turning his gaze in that direction, the Smarty saw his second in command lying on his belly, forelegs in front of him with head held over them. His one good eye stared at the other toughies, cold and resolute, almost daring them to step forward. The Smarty just barely grasped the situation when the Green toughie reported to him. Seeing it for himself finally made things clear.
He knew what it meant when fluffies held her forelegs out like that, head tucked over them; any fluffy would, though, none would ever expect the Bestest-toughie to have a reason to do so. Well, apparently he had one now. Without further hesitation, the Smarty strode forward, using the sow confident walk he’d perfected over a life time. It conveyed authority and purpose, and diffused most protests or defiance before they could even develop.
The Smarty doubted it would have the slightest effect here, thought.
‘Bestest-tuffy,’
The Large brown fluffy didn’t respond, continuing to stare straight ahead at the others.
‘Bestest-tuffy!’ The Smarty repeated, stepping closer. ‘Wat happen? Wai yu giv dat Nex bestest-tuffy huwties?’
Again, no response. This wasn’t normal, not even close.
‘Yu teww Smawty wat happen nao, ow-’
‘Day nu givin dis babbeh fowewa-sweepies.’
The suddenness caught the smarty off-guard, but he didn’t let it show. ‘Wat Bestest-tuffy mean?’
‘Day nu givin dis babbeh fowewa-sweepies,’ the Bestest-toughie repeated, voice low and even.
‘Wai day nu givin dat babbeh fowewa-sweepies?’
‘Bestest-tuffy nu wet dem.’ The brown fluffy said, finally looking to the side and fully acknowledging the Smarty’s presence. ‘Bestest-tuffy nu wet anyone giv dis babbeh fowewa-sweepies.’
Silence descended over the scene, as the black unicorn and brown earthie stared one another down. Even crouched, the Bestest-toughie still met the Smarty’s gaze at eye level. The unicorn’s expression gave not the slightest hint or tell, but for the first time in a while he was at a complete loss. Had this been any other fluffy in the herd, even a toughie or Next bestest-toughie, things would be simple, mere presence and authority solving the issue.
The Bestest-toughie was different.
Of all the fluffies in this herd, the Bestest-toughie was the only one who followed the Smarty only because he wanted to. The large fluffy didn’t fear punishment of any kind, not beatings and certainly not exile. That would be bad enough in this situation, if it weren’t also for the fact he was a fighter and killer without peer in the herd.
A fluffy who’d murdered the Smarty’s father and family.
That the Smarty ordered the killings and by his actions gave the herd a better life was irrelevant. If the Smarty didn’t play his cards right in this moment, it could very well cost his life. ‘Wai Bestest-tuffy say nu can giv dat babbeh fowewa-sweepies?’ The Smarty kept his voice even and calm, devoid of anything that could spark a fight they couldn’t afford. It seemed to work, judging by the silence which followed.
‘Cause nu can. Bestest-tuffy nu wet dem. Nu wet yu.’
The Smarty waited, considering the Bestest-toughie’s words and how he’d spoken them. There was no threat, just a simple statement of fact. The foal wasn’t going to die under the large fluffy’s watch, no matter the cause.
‘Bestest-tuffy knu hewd hav wots of babbehs.’
‘Yes.’
‘Knu dat id am hawd fow dah mummahs tu giv dem aww miwkies.’
‘Yes.’
The Smarty sighed inwardly. This was a headache he didn’t need; when the Beset-toughie decided on something, nothing could budge him from the choice. The only non-violent solution was keep the foal, logistics be damned. Briefly, he considered fighting. The Bestest toughie was lying down, front legs occupied. A quick strike to the head, probably his good eye would be the best start. It wouldn’t be enough to win, not by a long shot, but it would buy time for the Next bestest-toughies time to rush over and help. Which they would.
How many of them would die, though? More pressing, would the Smarty die? He had no clear successor, family or other wise. Quickly it dawned on him; it wasn’t worth the cost.
‘Can Smawty see id?’ The Bestest-toughie didn’t respond, stating ahead with the same blank expression. ‘If Bestest-tuffy wan keep dat babbeh,’ he said, ‘den id nee be gud fow hewd. Yu knu dat.’ That was a risk, but the Smarty couldn’t afford to show weakness, least of all to a fluffy who could easily kill him. Eventually, though, the Bestest-toughie nodded and, slowly, pulled back his forelegs and head.
‘Peep! Peeep!’ The foal stirred, suddenly robbed of the tiny shred of comfort it’d been enjoying. The Smarty examined the foal as best he could; going any further now would be pushing his luck. The foal looked thin, not shocking given it had likely gone a day, maybe more without feeding. That privation showed in it’s movements, duller and more weak than most foals, But, the fact it could move and cry at all wasn’t anything to sniff at. It was certainly strong to last as long as it had, but one could only tell so much by looking.
‘Smawty wan wook cwosah,’ he looked at his second in command, without threat but with all the authority he could muster. Hidden, though, was the hope no extra promise or assurance the foal wouldn’t be harmed was needed. At first the Smarty’s fears seemed founded, with the Bestest toughie staying resolutely silence. Slowly, very slowly, the Bestest-toughie stood and shuffled back, staying in range to easily leap back in if needed.
Taking no noticed of the Bestest-toughie’s implied threat, on the outside at least, the Smarty stepped forward and, slowly and deliberately, turned the foal over on the ground.
‘Peeep! Peeeep!! Eeeee!’ The foal squealed and cried, struggling quite well for his condition. Beyond that, the Smarty saw no deformations or growths that would lead to a foals’ abandonment or death at birth. Carefully the Smarty knelt and breathed in through his nose. A mix of dirt, stale amniotic fluid and waste filled his nose, but not the foul runt scent.
So, the foal was healthy and vital, deprived as it was. Judging by his size, much larger than foals normally were, he’d likely grow to the same size as the Beset-toughie. Another toughie of his size, strength and in time skill would be a boon to the herd, one not many others enjoyed. More might follow after the foal grew and had a family of his own, since the Beset-toughie had never shown interest in the idea. And, and the Smarty was less willing to abandon this foal by the minute.
S**igh. Without meaning too, without even trying in fact, it seemed the Bestest-toughie had convinced the Smarty to take the foal in. ‘Fine, Smawty say dis babbeh can stay,’ he told the Bestest-toughie as the large fluffy pulled the foal back into a protective embrace. 'Bud yu am gun wook aftah id. Yu nee make suwe id be gud fwuffy fow hewd. If nu du dat, den Smawty am gun giv id fowewa*-*sweepies!’
To the Smarty’s announcement and part threat, the Beset-toughie simply nodded. He stood then, gently picking the foal off the ground with his mouth and placing it on his back. Though the foal squealed in panic before settling back into his new father’s fluff, the Smarty was impressed with how well he’d done something he had no need to do before. Without a word, he turned and headed in the herd’s direction.
The other toughies looked on in silence, watching the Bestest-toughie leave the area, until…
‘Wat yu dummehs waitin fow?! Get back tu hewd nao!!’
Spurred to action by their leader’s voice and the threat of violence under it, the toughies stood and trotted after the Bestest-toughie. On their way back the Smarty reviewed the past few minutes’ events; had he made the right choice? Would the herd in time have another powerful defender, or would this lead to problems he couldn’t predict?
All questions and problems for another day. though.
Tree
The sleepie pictures won’t stop, no matter what you try. Calling them sleepie pictures isn’t right, though, not when they’re happening when you’re not asleep. Happening when you’re walking, eating, drinking, resting and, like now, when you’re trying to keep watch for monsters in the dark-time. You try to focus, looking for movement or shapes in the dark where there shouldn’t be, noises different from what’s normal.
No matter hard you try, the pictures creep back in. Sometimes they rush in, other times it’s so slow you hardly notice until the voices and what happened is all you can notice. Once you’ve forced the pictures back you have no idea how much time has passed and, more scary than that, what you’ve missed. Even scarier though, is you don’t seem to care what you might have missed. You know you should, but you just don’t feel it.
You can’t feel it.
And if you don’t, can’t feel that, what are you even here for? Why are you keeping watch, and why should you be? Why should a toughie who doesn’t care what he might have missed be working to keep other safe? Maybe it would be better for everyone if you just walked into the forest and let whatever might happen, happen.
They’d be better off. They’ll be safer without you to cause problems, force them to back track and look for you, or otherwise cover for the dumb, dumb things you’re doing. They won’t have to look for as many nummies, or big enough places to sleep or-
Snap
Fluff stands on end and you get to your hoofies, all without thinking. You’re not completely useless just yet it seems. But it’ll hardly help, since you weren’t paying attention to know where that sound came from! Though, if you had to guess it sounded like-
TWACK
The impact knocks you sideways off your hoofies to the ground. You open your nummie-place but the only sound that comes out is some kind of coughing. On the ground, everything you were ever taught comes back. Even though your breathing seems broken somehow, you try to scramble back to your hoofies and face whatever attacked!!
It’s not enough. Before you can even get one hoofie down something presses down hard on your neck, hard enough to make breathing impossible instead of hard. So, is this it? Did a monster sneak up on you while you were distracted? Looks that way, and it’s not like you can blame anyone but yourself. In what should be the scariest moment of your life, things get quiet and, far away, you guess? All you have are questions.
Will this hurt? How much, and how long? Do you still feel anything after going forever sleepies? Will you wake up somewhere else? Will, will whatever’s going to happen just happen alre-
‘Dat was easy,’
It’s, him? How did-
‘Big Wed nu had be cawefuw. Big Wed wet yu heaw dat bwanchie.’
He did? Why would he-
‘Twee nu wud wet dat happen befowe. Big Wed newa sneak up on Twee before. Nu oda fwuffies du id.’
…He’s right. He’s completely right. No one’s ever ‘Hwurrk…’ pressed, on your neck that hard, before…
‘Nao, Big Wed am gun wet yu get up, an Twee am gun say wai am wike dis. Ow Big Wed giv yu huwties tiww yu du.’
You could hold out, there’s almost nothing Big Red could do which would make you say or do anything. But you have to want to, and you don’t. What hurties you have from being hit don’t come close to the heart hurties creeping up from deep inside. Almost without thinking you nod as best you’re able, and Big Red takes his hoofie off your neck.
It takes a while before you can stand, a while after that before you feel able to talk. Once you can, the wordies start pouring out.
Authors note; future and conclusions
So where the fuck have I been?
Welp, it was certainly my intention to get back to writing within a month, maybe two after I announced the hiatus. That clearly didn’t happen. I won’t spend a half dozen pages justifying my absence when all I need to say is life’s shit and it keeps getting in the way.
Now then, about the future of this series for those who still care.
I am not abandoning Kerry’s Story, it will have a definitive ending. However, it will not be the ending I had in mind, which means retooling the plot between now and then. With any luck I can bring this series to an end that’s at least conclusive.
How long until the end? I’ll do my best to end it this year, though I have to rebuild my writing routine from scratch at this point. Having that end goal will help.
Anyway, I guess we’ll have to see how well I stick to my word.