Flashback
Dozens of generations living by Evolution’s bloody rules on average gave feral fluffies a significantly higher tolerance for death and violence compared to their domestic cousins, and even urban ferals. Above the average feral were toughies, the guardians of the herd. Trained to defend against rival herds, protect their herd from monsters that stalked the forest and in general enforce the smarty’s laws, toughies were expected to be strong, brave and not rattled by the everyday brutalities of feral existence.
The six which, along with a lookie-fluffy formed the vanguard of a migrating herd, were all that and more. Each was a veteran of numerous fights and monster attacks and half were members of what might be called the elite guard; “next bestest-toughies,” in the herd’s language. Even for these hardened ferals, the scene they’d found managed to turn their stomachs.
Not long before they’d arrived, some fluffies had set up camp near these bushes, thinking it a safe refuge. They’d thought wrong, judging by the mangled corpses spread over roughly half a meter; mauled body parts, the remains of entrails and organs, and strips of fluff. The grass and lower parts of the bushes were covered in blood. Despite that, enough unstained fluff remained to figured out at least two fluffies had been here. One of the toughies noticed with a heavy hard, a smaller scrap of fluff a different colour to either of the adults. There could only be once explanation for what happened.
‘Dewe was mummah an daddeh hewe,’ one of the toughies, green all over, said in a low voice.
‘Mmm,’ another agreed. ‘Den bawkie munstahs find dem, an day du dis.’
‘Dummehs.’ A third added. What happened was no doubt tragic but none present had any sympathy, not for the adults at least. No sane feral would dare give birth in the forest outside a safe-place if they could help it. Danger was everywhere, and the cries of a foaling mare attracted it like few other things could.
‘Tink dah mawe was housie fwuffy?’ The green toughie asked.
‘Yes,’ the third toughie nodded. ‘Onwy housie fwuffies du dis. Day aww am dummehs.’ Ferals, especially those who’d lived in the wild for many generations, had low opinions of domestic fluffies.
‘Tink oda one cum fwom hewd dat say mawe nu cud be his speciaw-fwend,’ the second toughie spat. ‘Den day an dewe babbehs get fowewa-sweepies when-’
‘Shud up.’ The voice was low, almost soft, but stopped all conversation dead. The three toughies looked to the one who’d spoken, ears lowered and expressions apologetic.
‘S-sowwie, Bestest-tuffy.’
Bestest-toughie, a name reserved for the most accomplished and trusted of all the herd’s fighters. The one who wore the title in this herd was especially deserving. Just over a half as much bigger than the normal fluffy, a stronger and more skilled fighter than any other toughie by a wide margin, the brown earthie commanded respect and obedience by presence alone. Turning his head, the Bestest-toughie fixed his gaze on the three; without exception, each flinched.
Intimidating enough by itself, the Bestest-toughie enjoyed an advantage over others in the form of his scared and damaged eye. Every member of the herd knew the scar came from a cat, kitty-monster to the fluffies. The mere mention struck fear into the hearts of even toughies. Cats were a bogyman, striking from the shadows and disappearing as fast, usually with a screaming foal in their grasp. Adults were no less vulnerable, so to have a fluffy who survived such an encounter-
‘Tuffies knu bawkie-munstahs du dis. Whewe am day nao?’
‘Weww, day nu am hewe nao,’ the green toughie said, then to cover saying the obvious quickly added ‘a-an dis boo-boo juice nu am wet nu mowe, so day nu be hewe fow wong time.’
‘Day nu weft hewe wong time go,’ the second toughie corrected. ‘Dose, tings,’ he pointed to a coil of intestine, ‘am wet.’
‘Bud dah bawkie-munstahs stiww nu am hewe nao. An if day num dese fwuffies an dewe babbehs,’ nu tink day gun twy huwt hewd.’ The green toughie argued.
The Bestest-toughie nodded slightly, not disagreeing with the idea but not committing to it either. ‘Wookie-fwuffy,’ he called to a brown pegasus. ‘Wat yu tink?’
‘Dewe am bawkie-munstah twacks hewe,’ the scout said. ‘Tink sum go dat way.’ The others followed his hoof.
‘Nu am gun go dat way, den,’ the green toughie said to no one in particular.
‘Dat am wight.’ The lookie-fluffy took a few steps to the right, avoiding the worst of the gore. ‘Dewe nu am twacks ovah hewe, so dis am way hewd shud go.’
‘Bud nu am gun bwing hewd hewe,’ the Bestest-toughie looked to the bloody remains, unmoved by the carnage. ‘Day nu nee see dis.’
‘Y-yes,’ the lookie-fluffy knew that was painfully obvious, but wouldn’t dare say so out loud.
‘Otay, nu tink tuffies nee be hewe nu mowe,’ the third toughie announced. ‘Shud go back tu hewd nao.’
‘Yes,’ the Bestest-toughie agreed, turning on the spot to lead them back to the herd. Before anyone could move, though…
‘Wait,’
All present stopped and looked at the green toughie. ‘Wat?’
‘Tuffies heaw dat?’ he asked, voice low. As one, the toughies went quiet and concentrated on what they could hear.
‘Tuffy nu heaw anyting.’
‘Yu suwe yu heaw sumtin?’
‘Bestest-tuffy heaw id,’ the large fluffy looked toward another stand of bushes not far away. ‘Id am ovah dewe. Yu tuffies,’ he pointed at the green toughie and the grey one standing next to him. ‘Fowwow Bestest-tuffy.’ The two next bestest-toughies followed without comment, approaching the bushes with admirable stealth for creatures never intended to live in the wild. A couple of meters out from the bushes, the vague sound became clearer.
‘Cheep. Cheep…’
‘Dat am-’
The Bestest-toughie silenced the green toughie with a glance and the trio kept up tier slow, cautious approach. The cries grew louder but not by much; the foal, for only a foal would make those noises, didn’t sound in good condition. Barely a foot from the bushes the toughies stopped; the Bestest-toughie looked at the green one and nodded to the noise’s source.
Nodding back the green toughie crept forward, concealing his fear as he pushing parts of the bushes aside with his head. What followed was a moment or so of silence with the green toughie staying perfectly still. ‘Wat tuffy see?’ The Bestest-toughie asked.
‘Id am babbeh.’
‘Huh? Weawy?’ Despite what he heard the grey toughie found it hard to believe a foal could survive long enough to be found, never mind after what must have been his family was slaughtered not far away.
‘Tuffies can cum see if wan.’ The grey toughie hesitated but stepped forward after the Bestest-toughie walked immediately. Arriving either side of the green toughie, both peered down and saw. A foal, two days old at the very most, lay alone in a make shift nest. Though, nest would be generous, even by the often times spartan standards of ferals.
‘Weww, dat am babbeh,’ the green toughie said.
‘Yes,’ The grey one said flatly. Then more interest added ‘Id am big tuu.’
‘Su, id cum fwom does fwuffies back dewe?’ The green one asked, looking over his shoulder to the carnage a dew meters away.
‘Tuffy tink so.’
‘Bud wai am id ovah hewe? If bawkie-munstahs cum hewe, does fwuffies nu cud bwing dis babbeh ovah hewe tu sabe id,’ The green toughie looked to the carnage, the space between it and the refuge. ‘Tuffy nu undewstan.’
‘Tuffy tink knu.’ The grey one turned around. ‘Does fwuffies ovah dewe, Tuffy knu how one of dem was housie fwuffy?’
‘Uh-huh,’ the green one nodded.
‘Tuffy tink she hav dis big babbeh, bud nu waned id cause she tink id am big poopie-babbeh.’
The green toughie snorted. Though the infamous hatred for “poopie-babbies” wasn’t completely absent from ferals, it almost never persisted in any herd that lasted more than a few months. Herds with longer histories had divested themselves of the prejudice completely; every fluffy regardless of colour was a precious resource, and brown and other “natural” coloured fluffies made far superior scouts. ‘Bud den, wai am id ovah hewe?’ The green toughie looked back to the bushes. ‘Wai dat dummeh mawe nu giv id fowewa-sweepies if she hate id?’
‘Maybe hew speciaw-fwend du id.’ The grey toughie suggested. ‘Maybe he tink dis babbeh cud be gud tuffy fow sum hewd.’ It made sense, and the grey could see how some herds would accept or at least tolerate housie fluffies if useful foals were part of the deal. In his herd it was rare, but not unheard of.
‘So, shud tuffies take dis babbeh back tu hewd den?’ The green toughie asked. ‘Be gud if hewd hav oda big tuffies wike Bestest-toughie,’ he nodded at their superior to make the point. Neither him nor the grey toughie notice the imposing fluffy had spent their entire conversation staring down at the foal, silent and unmoving.
The grey toughie thought a moment, then sighed. ‘Id be gud if hewd hav oda big tuffies, bud…’
‘Wat?’
‘Dah nyu mummahs awedy hav babbehs dat nee miwkies, an nu am gun be wots of oda nyu mummahs dat can giv miwkies.’ The green toughie swallowed, remembering the massacre at the safe-place before their previous. More than half the herd’s mares who were late in pregnancy at the time died or presumed taken by the humans who’d attacked. That meant they were as good as dead to the ferals.
The green toughie let out a long breath; So…’ but never finished his sentence. He didn’t need to.
‘Id am bettah dan wettin kitteh-munstah ow oda munstahs find id,’ The grey toughie turned back to the bush; he looked down at the foal, still struggling and calling out to the strange voices. He could tell the foal was strong even after what had to be a long time since his last taste of milk, assuming he’d had any. If things were different, they would have taken the foal back in a heart beat and done everything they could to help it grow big and strong. As it stood, with the herd on the run and with plenty of other foals to look after as best they could…
‘Sigh, Tuffy am sowwies, babbeh,’ he said, before lifting a foreleg to deliver his mercy.
SMACK
Tree
These sleepie-pictures won’t stop. It’s worse, actually; they’re happening more often, just about every second time you go to sleep. They’re confusing and blurry but you recognise the voices. Somehow, you remember what happened. The important parts at least; who did what, and why.
You just wish it would stop already. You can’t be thinking about any of that right now. There’s too much to worry about without your thinkie-place bringing all this stuff up from who those where to distract you! You can’t afford to be distracted, not when you need to keep everyone safe. You have to keep watch for bad fluffies, monsters and humans, while helping to find nummies and water and places to sleep and making sure no one gets lost!
Just what is your thinkie-place, well, thinking when it does things that distract you from doing all those jobs*?* What’s more important than your job as a toughie?! What could possibly be more important than keeping everyone safe from, from…
Where, is everyone?
Why can’t you hear anyone walking up ahead? Everyone’s being as quiet as possible, but you can always hear who’s walking in front at least! Come to think of it, there’s no sign anyone came through here before you. None. C-could, something have… No, no if something took everyone you would have heard! And been taken with them!! But, if a monster or something worse didn’t take them then, then the only explanation is…
‘Ulp’
You’ve lost them, while you were distracted thinking about your strange and scary sleepie-pictures; how could have been such a big dummy?! Even if you’re still young, you or all toughies shouldn’t have made such a stupid, stupid mistake!!! Worse than making it, you don’t know how long you’ve been making it, not even close!
You hurt your thinkie-place doing it, but can’t remember where and when you last noticed anyone!!
This, is bad. It was bad enough being out here with only slightly more fluffies than you can count. Now it’s just you, unless you can find the others, and that’s not likely. You’re alone, lost, no idea where the others are. This is very, very bad.
Thinking through the situation your heart and breathing speed up, faster and faster making your scardies worse! Pictures flash through your thinkie-place, all the horrible things that could happen to a fluffy out here; to a fluffy like you. Your leggies tingle, buzz, then lose feeling and start to shake. Similar happens to your head and thinkie-place, you’re on the edge of collapsing.
Daddeh’s voice stops you.
‘Tuffies nu can be scawdies. If tuffies am scawdies, hewd nu can be safe. Den tuffies nu can be safe.’
The wordies, so loud and clear it’s like he’s right next to you, snap you out of the worst of it, but it takes a lot of effort and careful breathing to calm down enough to think. Okay, okay, you’re alone in the forest. Now what? ‘Uhh…’ Well, needing find the herd, or a new herd before the cold-times hasn’t changed. Above all else, you have to make that happen. How?
Well, same as before. Only now you have to be extra careful. There wasn’t much standing between you and monsters before. Now you only have yourself. Sleeping will be the biggest problem, with no one to keep watch you have to make absolutely sure to pick somewhere monsters can’t find you. That’s a problem for later though. For now, you should pick a direction and-
Rustle
…Something’s out there. Where though, and how-
Snap
Shivers run down your back. That was closer than the first sound. If you hear anything else that’s-
Rustle
Louder. Whatever it is, it’s moving closer. That means it knows where you are or at least a good idea. It must have noticed you while you were standing still, busy realising what a mess you’re in. Well, too late to hate yourself for being a dummy. That can come later, if there’s a later. Pushing that to the side, you dig in your hoofies and face the direction of the noise.
Getting ready to fight puts more scardies at ease; it’s familiar and, even if you’re about to face something horrible, makes you feel in control. As the sounds get clear enough to make out as steps, scardies and other unhelpful feelings melt away; you’re a toughie, waiting to do your job the best you can until you can’t anymore. Your leggies, moments ago ready to give out are tense, ready at a moments notice to make the first leap at what’s coming. It doesn’t mean you’re sure to win, but you’ll have a better chance.
Moments pass and the approaching sounds get louder; now you can narrow down the rough spot it’ll come out. You shift your body so you’re in perfect position to leap. Leaves and branches twitch, softly at first but more and more as the thing draws closer, moments away from appearing. This is it, time to fight. Almost in slow motion, a larger branch twitches then moves, pushed aside. You tense, ready to leap in to the attack and,
‘Hupt…’
You catch yourself too late to stop your leap completely and stumble forward, over your front legs and falling into a awkward pile. ‘Bwahg, KAff kaff, gasp’ You can’t help from breathing funny, knowing full well it’ll make you look more of a dummy.
‘Hewe yu am.’
Scrambling back to your hoofies, you look Big Red in his see-places and try to speak, only for nothing to come out. You try, but even before your thinkie-place gets to work you realise there’s nothing you can say, nothing that’ll excuse getting this lost. Especially not when it’s him you’re talking to.
‘Nu tawkies, dummeh,’ Big Red makes a point not to use your name. ‘Jus fowwow Big Wed. Ewyone waiting fow yu.’ He turns and starts walking, without a single pause to make sure you’re following. You scramble to follow, like you’ve just been told off by an older toughie. Maddies spike in your chest; Big Red after all isn’t that better than you! He’s not even a next bestest-toughie.
He also didn’t get himself lost when he should know better, like you did. Despite the maddies, they can’t shake that feeling, that you’ve made a big, big mistake and deserve whatever you get…
Smarty
‘Wat tuffies hav tu say?’ You’ve done this plenty of times when you still had the safe-place and even more now the herd is without one; you’re up to once each dark-time. Barely a moment passes before Leaf starts talking.
‘Tings, nu am gud nao, Smawty,’ he says, sounding sorry he told you. ‘Weaf an nex bestest-tuffies heaw fwom wots of fwuffies. Day gettin mowe sweepies aww dah time, an dewe huwties nu am gettin bettah.’
‘Id am dah weggie huwties,’ Hoofie adds. ‘Onwy wookie fwuffies an nummie-findahs wawkies dis much. Day sayin day hav bad weggie huwties nao.’
They’ve been saying it for much longer you’re sure; it’s just now they’re saying it out loud.
‘How bad am aww dah weggie huwties?’
‘Nu knu,’ Hoofie says. ‘Dah wittwe fwuffies an big babbehs cwy boud dem dah most. Bud Hoofie tink big fwuffies’ huwties am dah wowstest. Big fwuffies jus nu say.’
‘Day sayin id nao,’ someone adds.
‘Dat wai Hoofie say day hav dah wowstest huwties, dummeh.’
‘Nu caww odas dummehs,’ you snap, trying to think at the same time. Your own leggie hurties aren’t making it easy…
‘Am sowwies, Smawty,’ Hoofie says before carrying on. ‘Bud id stiww nu am gud. Hoofie nu knu how much wongah hewd can keep goin tiww huwties get tuu bad.’
‘Dat am wight,’ a dark yellow toughie says. ‘An if hewd du get tu new safe-pwace befowe den, id stiww be bad.’
‘Wai?’ You ask.
‘Cause nummie-findahs stiww nee go find nuff nummies fow dah cowd-times. Day gun nee find wots weawy fast.’
‘Oh.’ If the Next bestest-toughie thinks you’re a dummy for asking such an obvious question, he’s not showing it.
‘Weww, hewd stiww nee keep goin,’ someone else says. ‘Nu can be oud hewe when dah cowd-times cum.’
‘Id nu am gun mattah if get tu nyu safe-pwace an nu can get weady fow cowd-times cause aww dah huwties am tuu bad’ the yellow toughie says. ‘Maybe id be bettah if jus stay in pwace dat am otay an wait. Munstahs nu cum oud in dah cowd-times, an hewd nu du anyting.’
‘Dat am dummeh idea.’ Leaf says
‘Id nu am mowe dummeh dan gettin tu safe-pwace an nu can-’
‘Shud up.’ This time it’s Hoofie that calls for quiet, not you. That wouldn’t have happened if the old Bestest-toughie was still here. These talks have changed since you, lost him, and you’re not sure you like it. But it’s just another problem to solve later, if you get a “later.” ‘Id am dummeh ting tu keep tawkin wike dis. Smawty, Hoofie wan go get dah wookie-fwuffy.’
‘Wai?’
‘Cause he knu how wong id take tu get tu safe-pwace. If knu dat, den knu wat shud du.’
'How dat dummeh knu how wong it-
‘Go get him,’ you tell Hoofie, cutting off the yellow toughie. ‘Nao.’
‘Yes, Smawty,’ Hoofie gets up and heads to where the lookie-fluffy is being kept. Luckily it’s not long before all of them, Hoofie, the lookie-fluffy and some other toughies are back.
‘Wookie-fwuffy,’ you ask right away, ‘how much wongah tiww hewd get tu nyu safe-pwace?’
‘Fwom dis pwace?’
Why, why did he ask that? ‘Yes, dummeh! Teww Smawty nao.’
The lookie-fluffy cowers, but manages to recover quickly. ‘I-id take, thwee an thwee bwight-times fwom hewe.’
You rise off the ground a little, excitement and hope coming into your body for the first time in a while. Can it really only be that many bright-times until-
‘Maybe id onwy take dat wong fow yu,’ the yellow toughie starts, ‘bud dewe am wots of fwuffies wif weggie huwties. An aww does wittwe fwuffies an big babbehs nu can move fast wike-’
‘Den how wong id take den?’ You say over the yellow toughie. ‘If id take thwee an thwee fow wookie-fwuffy, how wong fow hewd?’
The lookie-fluffy stares at you a moment before looking to the ground; you notice the fluff on top of his head bunch up, so at least his thinkie-place is working hard. It takes a while for an answer to come, and you don’t like it when it does.
‘Maybe, maybe id take hewd thwee an thwee an thwee. Maybe mowe bwight-times if weggie huwties get biggah.’
Everyone quietly thinks about the Lookie-fluffy’s answer, what it’ll mean for the herd and what’ll take to make it happen. ‘Otay. Take wookie-fwuffy back nao.’ Hoofie nods and leads them back to the spot. ‘Otay, tuffies knu how wong id am gun take nao.’
‘Yes,’ Leaf says.
‘Dat am stiww wong time,’ the yellow toughie says.
‘Bud knu how wong hewd nee keep goin. If ewyone knu when gun be at safe-pwace,’ Leaf declares, ‘den id be easy tu deaw wif weggie huwties, cause day knu when id be ovah.’
He’s got a point; the worst part of this journey is not knowing when it’ll finish. Long as they are, you can at least tell when the cold-times are at their worst, and when they’re nearly over. Knowing there’s only a few more bright-times, okay, more than a few, left until you’re at the new safe-place, it can’t hurt. But, can everyone go for that long?
‘An wat boud fwuffies dat nu can keep goin dat wong?’ The yellow toughie asks before you have the chance. Hoofie answers;
‘Dat am easy; day nu get tu nyu safe-pwace.’
No one talks for a while. You’re surprised he’d say it out load like that, but maybe you shouldn’t be. Hoofie isn’t one to shy from saying scary things, and there’s no time to pretend out here. ‘Weww, dat am how tings am,’ you say, and why not? No point pretending otherwise. ‘Smawty teww hewd wat happenin next bwight-time. Hoofie, take dah wookie-fwuffy back.’
‘Yes Smawty,’ he says, leading the lookie-fluffy and other toughies back to their spot.
‘Dis am ovah nao,’ you say to the others. ‘Nex bwight-time, hewd keep goin.’ Getting up and turning to go you expect the others to keep talking and hammer you with questions. No one does. Maybe they’re too scared to question you or, more likely, they don’t see any point. Either this next part will take you to the new safe-place, or it won’t work. What’s the point arguing?
Walking from the meeting spot to your family’s nestie for the dark-time you have a quick look at the rest of the herd. Almost everyone other than toughies are asleep, and no one looks like they’re having nice sleepie-pictures. This has been a long, hard journey; you’ve lost fluffies and taken plenty of hurties besides. Is it really close to being over? It’s hard to believe, but what other choice is there? Daddeh wouldn’t give up, and you can’t let yourself either.
Only Gred is awake when you get back to the nestie. Careful not to wake anyone, though you’re not sure he could, Gred gets out of the nestie and comes over. ‘Wat Daddeh an tuffies tawkies boud dis time?’ He asks this question a lot; a lot of times you don’t answer or find another way to avoid the question. Not this time, because you actually have something good to tell him.
‘Daddeh an tuffies tawkies boud how much wongah dis gun take,’ you tell him. ‘Dah, wookie-fwuffy say id nu am way tu nyu safe-pwace nao.’
For the first time in so many bright-times you see Gred smile; ‘W-weawy? Hewd gun be at nyu safe-pwace soon?’ The excitement on his face and in his voice are hard to miss, almost impossible. But Gred still manages to keep control and not yell too loudly. Relief and a little pride wells in your tummy; Gred will be a great smarty one bright-time, better than you probably. So long as you give him the chance to be.
‘Yes, Babbeh; id stiww gun be wots of wawkin, bud knu when id gun be ovah nao.’ Hopefully.
‘Dat am gun. Dat mean hewd be safe gain.’ Gred says, still smiling. But it fades as he turns back to the nestie. ‘Can Gwed teww-’
‘Nu. Wet dem sweepies nao,’ you tell him. ‘Can teww ewyone in dah bwight-time.’
‘Otay Daddeh, Gwed undewstan.’ He can’t hide all his disappointment but at least he understands.
‘Gud. Id am sweepies time nao,’ you tell him, walking to the nestie. ‘Gun nee wots of sweepies fow nex bwight-time.’
‘Otay Daddeh,’ Gred follows you to the nestie and carefully gets back in; no one wakes up, which is good. Having too many sleepies won’t help anyone. Once settled it doesn’t take Gred long at all to fall asleep, and you’re not far behind him. The last thing you think before falling asleep is hoping, again, the lookie-fluffy is telling the truth.
XX
‘Huwwy up! Hewd nee be weady soon!’
‘Jus hav aww dah nummies nao. Am tuu hawd takin dem.’
‘Nu wan wawkies gain!’
So far its a usual bright-time; the herd gets ready to leave, with the nummie-finders bringing in what they can and the toughies gathering anyone who’s not moving fast enough. You should be ready to move pretty soon, though it never feels quite soon enough. ‘Bestest-tuffy!’
Leaf appears by your side within moments; ‘Smawty,’
‘Ewyting am otay? Hewd gun be weady tu go when Smawty say?’
‘Yes, Smawty. Dewe stiww am sum nummie-findahs dat nu cum back yet, bud day be hewe soon.’
‘Wat if day nu cum back?’ You and Leaf stop, turning to the fluffy who asked; he’s a Next bestest-tuffy, though, and doesn’t shrink back. ‘Wat hewd du if day nu cum back? Hew-’
‘Smawty say wat hewd du if dat happen,’ you tell him. ‘Yu jus make suwe hewd am safe an weady tu go. Undewstan?’
‘Yes, Smawty,’ The toughie nods, heading off to do just that.
‘Wish dummehs nu wud tawkies boud dat…’ you mutter.
‘Huh?’
‘When does nummie-findahs cum back,’ you say, loud and clear, ‘yu teww dem Smawty wan tawkies tu dem.’
‘Yes Smawty!’
‘Gud. Nao go way.’ Leaf trots off without a word; he, like every decent toughie knows when it’s time to stop talking and leave you alone. Once he’s gone, though, you’re tempted to call him back or go kick that next bestest-toughie. Nummie-finders not coming back, of all the things you don’t want to think about. You can’t afford to lose anyone, anyone right now. It’s scary, almost impossible to consider, but you might not have the fluffies you need to get through the cold-times as is. All you can do is hope.
Luck, at least a small bit of it, is one your side this bright-time. Not long after talking with Leaf another toughie runs over; ‘Aww dah nummie-findahs am back, Smawty. Nex Bestest-tuffy am-’
‘Aww hewd wisten nao!!’ Leaf yells over the toughie and everyone else. ‘Id am time fow dah Smawty tu tawkies!!’ That’s more wordies than he needs but who cares? Fast as you can manage you trot to the highest point you can find, a small forever-sleepies tree, and turn to face as much of the herd as possible.
‘Hewd wisten tu Smawty! Smawty an tuffies knu whewe nyu safe-pwace am, an nao knu id nu am wong way nao!’ Most expressions you see are hard but a few hopeful looks spring up here and there. ‘Smawty knu wots of fwuffies hewe hav wots of diffawent huwties. Jus nee keep goin fow sum mowe bwight-times, an hewd be safe gain!’ Looks shared between fluffies and hopeful mutters greet the news. ‘Aftah hewd hav nummies, gun keep goin! Dat am aww!!’
Keeping it simple, you jump from the tree and start to move off. But, someone has other ideas.
‘Fwuffies nu am goin!!’
The wordies bring everything to a complete stop. Slowly, you and most of the herd turn to face the voice. A dark grey and green fluffy stands at the head of a small group, what looks like two families and three fluffies on their own. After a moments silence, you step closer. ‘Wat fwuffy jus say?’
‘Fwuffies nu am goin!’ The grey fluffy says again. ‘Nu am gun wawkies mowe, nu am gun fowwow Smawty!’
Before you have a chance to respond Leaf and Hoofie are by your side. Neither of them attacks, which is probably the best thing right now. ‘Am yu twyin be biggest dummeh?!’ Leaf yells.
‘Smawty jus say wat hewd am gun du, an yu am in hewd.’ Hoofie adds, not as loud but just as mad as Leaf. ‘Dat mean yu nee du wat Smawty say.’
‘Nu am gun du wat Smawty say nu mowe,’ the grey fluffy says, apparently not scared. Not yet, anyway. ‘Yu jus makin hewd wawkies fow nuting! Dewe nu am nyu safe-pwace!!’
‘Dewe am, dummeh!!’ Leaf yells. ‘Wat dummeh tink hewd am wookin fow?’
‘Nu knu, bud id nu am nyu safe-pwace! Wat boud oda pwaces hewd been? Wai nu does pwaces?!’
You’re not sure what he means, though it can’t be the big den where the barkie monsters were. He’s probably talking about the places you’ve stopped each bright-time. If he thinks those would have made good safe-places…
‘Fwuffies nu am gun wawkies wif hewd nu mowe! Nu am gun be in hewd nu mowe!!’ Stunned silence meets the grey fluffy’s wordies, and it’s no surprise why. This hasn’t happened before, not as far as you can remember. Refusing to to what the smarty says out loud, no matter what that might be, it just doesn’t happen. Not until now, anyway.
‘Den wat am gun du?!’
‘Yu bettah stahp bein dummehs befowe tuffies nee du sumtin,’ Hoofie warns. ‘Tink; dewe am wittwe fwuffies wif yu. Wan dem get huwties?’ The grey fluffy yells something but your focus is on the herd. You’ve never manged to see clearly out the corers of your see-places, but this time the scared looks are clear as anything. Everyone’s casting scared looks at each other, scared at what might happen.
Scardies, the empty, cold kind well in your tummy, spreading to every corner of your body. This is bad, very bad.
One wrong move, one wrong thing said and there’ll be a fight. At worst, it’ll end with one or more fluffies going forever-sleepies. You can’t let that happen, but you can’t let these fluffies leave either; you need them. The herd needs them! And, they need the herd. Hmmm It’s not a perfect plan, maybe not even a good one. You have no idea if it’ll work either, but what else can you try?
As the shouting fight between Hoofie, Leaf and the grey fluffy continues, you take a deep breath and step forward. Within the first few steps they’ve stopped talking and everyone’s focus snaps to you. You can almost feel the scardies press in and wash over you from all sides, and it’s impossible to block them out completely. The grey fluffy focuses his attention on you; for the first time you see a hint of scardies on his face, but he doesn’t back down.
The few steps you take feel like a trip through the forest; at each moment you fear hoofie, Leaf or even all the toughies taking it as a sign to attack. If they do, can you call them off in time? You doubt it; best you can do, it seems, is talk and hope for the best. Picking a spot not too close or too far form the grey fluffy, you do exactly that.
‘Yu an odas can weave hewd, if dat am wat wan du. Smawty nu twy stahp yu.’
Scardies turn your tummy into a pile of rocks once the wordies leave your mouth. But, it works.
‘H-huh? Wha?’ The grey fluffy’s see-places widen, the strong stance he had going awkward.
‘Smawty nu gun stahp yu if wan weave,’ you repeat, speaking slower to make sure he hears. ‘Smawty onwy wan get hewd tu nyu safe-pwace. Nu nee fwuffies dat nu wan du dat ow hewp.’ This time the grey fluffy doesn’t respond, his nummie place just opening and closing with nothing coming out. ‘So, if yu wan go, Smawty nu du anyting. Nu wan yu hewe if yu nu wan hewp.’ You pause, letting the wordies sink in.
‘A-ah… W-weww den,’ the grey fluffy starts, ‘den dat am wat gun du! Fwuffies gun weave an, an den…’ He trails off. Seeing the one chance you’re gonna get, you jump on it.
‘An den, wat? Wat am fwuffies gun du?’ You glance past the grey fluffy and looks at the others. ‘Smawty onwy see thwee an thwee an two big fwuffies, wif babbehs.’ Turning your gaze back to the grey fluffy you ask ‘Wat fwuffy gun du oud dewe? How yu tink gun find nummies?’
Maddies flash over his face ‘F-fwuffies find nummies wike awways find dem, d-dummeh!’
‘An how am gun du dat an keep does babbehs safe?’ You ask. ‘How gun keep dewe mummahs an daddehs safe?’ You risk another step forward. ‘Yu nu hav tuffies wif yu. Smawty nu knu if yu fwuffies can fight, bud yu stiww nu am tuffies.’ The grey fluffy’s hear-places twitch; he’s trying hard not to drop them. ‘Fwuffy nu am dummeh; yu knu wat am oud dewe. Yu knu wat day du if day find fwuffies.’
He tries, he really does, but the grey fluffy can’t keep the scardies from his face. No matter what he says or how he acts, he knows what’s out there and what’ll do if it finds him and the others. Sensing you’re just about to win, you take one more step forward. ‘So, if fwuffies tink can go oud in fowest an be otay, den du id. Smawty wan go tu dah nyu safe-pwace, an yu am stahpin dat.’
Without waiting for the grey fluffy to answer you turn and walk back to Hoofie and Leaf. Half way there, you make one last move. ‘An wememba,’ you look back to the grey fluffy and those behind him, ‘dah cowd-times am stiww cumin. Tink yu can be weady fow dem?’ After lingering just a moment, you keep walking. ‘Weww? Wat am hewd waitin fow?!’ You yell. ‘Am gun weave soon!’ That breaks the herd out of their scardies; all activity starts out again, like it hadn’t stopped to behind with.
Not long after, when the herd is setting out again, you notice the grey fluffy and those who were following him in line with the others. There’s not a hint among them they still want to leave. At least for now.
‘Wat wan du wif dem, Smawty?’ Leaf asks. ‘Day say day waned weave hewd. Nu can du nuting boud dat.’
He’s right, but ‘Nu can du anyting.’
‘Bud-’ Hewd nee find nyu safe-pwace. ‘Oda tings nu mattah if nu hav dat.’ You tell him. ‘Smawty an tuffies deaw wif dat an oda tings when hewd hav nyu safe-pwace. Undewstan?’
‘Yes, Smawty,’ Leaf says, unhappy but understanding full well.
With another major problem held off for the moment, you lead the herd back to the forest.
Shelter
“The best laid plans of mice and men can still go wrong.”
“No plan survives contact with the enemy.”
“Man plans, God laughs.”
There had to be at least another half-dozen quotes that said the same thing, but knowing them wouldn’t make Kim feel better.
Her plan was to have the captured ferals processed within the first two to three days of their arrival. There was certainly a logic to letting them settle for longer, but each day they waited raised the risk of a freak outbreak burning through the barn. In the early days fluffies were fairly immune to disease, but more and more viruses adapted to their chimera genetics with each year. Flu, as usual, was the worst.
Aside from pathogens, there was the fact that “letting them settle” really didn’t accomplish much, not any more. Most ferals that turned up in shelters these days were the product of many generations spent living in the wild. For nearly all of them the first humans they saw were exterminators. Letting them settle for half a year would hardly make processing any easier.
Not to mention, for each day the ferals spent in the barn, they burnt a bigger hole in Second Chance’s bank account. The sooner Kim had them ready for sale the better. So, when two volunteers needed for processing to be possible let alone run smoothly called in absent, one from sickness and the other from a car wreck, Kim could almost feel the financial loss.
‘The only good upside was buying a few bottles of rum didn’t make things worse,’ she’d later joke. Though, the delay would provide at least one other upshot. Dimitri had asked for a week off to catch up with his brother and the crew he worked with. Had Kim’s plan gone ahead as intended he would have missed the whole of processing. But, since of the delay due to lack of man-power…
‘Hey, you got your week off.’ Kim told a none too pleased Dimitri when he returned to find out three was still a barn load of ferals to process.
‘You couldn’t wrangle a few replacement volunteers?’
All Kim could do was shrug and sigh; ‘Those were the replacements.’
‘Fucking A…’ Annoyed as the man was, his farm upbringing kicked in. ‘Well at least those half bored kids can’t fuck up too badly if I’m here to watch em. Alright, whenever you’re ready boss.’
A week and a half after Kim intended, processing finally kicked into gear. Around the usual breakfast time, Kim Dimitri and one of the volunteers entered the barn, carry cages in hand. The first few minutes were relatively peaceful; the ferals expected the usual routine of feeding and release into the yard and waited patiently though still tense. The peace lasted as long as it took to get the first few into the cages.
‘Screee! Nu put Fwuffy in dewe!’
‘Nu wan be in dat ting gain!! Nu wan nu wan!!’
With that, the noise and chaos typical to processing filled the barn. Ferals jumped and scrabbled at their pen walls, desperate to escape the approaching danger. Others sheltered in corners, hoping against hope it would conceal them or otherwise save them somehow form whatever the humans had in store.
‘Screeee!! Nu wan! Wet Fwuffy go!! EEEEE!!’ A Cobalt and tan colour stallion struggled in the volunteer’s grip as she tried to get the terrified creature from pen to cage without incident.
‘It’s okay little guy,’ the volunteer said in the most soothing voice she could muster. ‘I’m not gonna hurt-’
‘Save it!’ Dimitri called from a few pens away. ‘Nothing you say can calm these things down when they’re like this. Just get em loaded safely!’
Chastened, the volunteer loaded the stallion into one of her cages and grabbed another, trying to shut out the heat leaking out from her collar. Despite the pandemonium things were progressing well; ten minutes in saw a little under a dozen cages filled. ‘Start loading these on the trolley,’ Dimitri told the volunteer. ‘Anymore than this we’ll start tripping over em,’
The senior got to it, moving cage from barn to the trolley outside the two doors. She worked as fast an carefully as possible, keen to make up for her earlier perceived mistake. On each trip, she made sure to bring back an empty cage, sometimes two.
‘Kid’s keen,’ Dimitri commented.
‘I heard the top schools are harder and harder to get into these days,’ Kim said, plopping a terrified mare into a carry cage. ‘Hell, even community colleges are raising their standards.’
‘Glad I didn’t have to deal with that.’
‘You think working a farm twelve hours a day is easier than getting into a university with degrees worth a damn?’
Dimitri thought a moment; two complete families later he answered ‘Call it a draw, if it’s twelve hours in the summer. Anyway,’ before Dimitri could continue, the volunteer called from the front of the barn.
‘The trolley’s full!’
‘Okay,’ Dimitri got up and walked to the front. ‘You stay here and keep loading. I’ll bring this back quickly as I can.’
‘R-right away!,’ The girl yelled as she rushed to help Kim.
‘Way too jittery,’ Dimitri muttered to himself, but seeing how well the trolley had been stacked added ‘good worker though. Alright,’ Grasping the trolley’s handle, Dimitri took a deep breath and pulled. Slowly at first, the cage laden trolley inched forward to a chorus of terrified yells and screams. Once again, Dimitri was happy for the massive 500 pack of ear plugs he’d won at a bar raffle a few months ago. ‘Best third place prise in human history.’
Progress between the barn and main building was steady but slow. The block behind the shelter looked flat to the naked eye, but had a very slight downward incline. You couldn’t feel it on foot, but pulling a loaded trolley was another story. ‘Feels like I’m hauling this fucker up a mountain pass,’ he breathed, realising not for the first time he’d been off the farm too long for his own good.
Pulling the trolley long ways against the building Dimitri went for the door, only for the second volunteer on duty and Tim meet him there. Both came out and grabbed a cage along side Dimitri and carried them inside. ‘We’ve got a lot of space in the exam room,’ Tim explained on their way, ‘but we’ll spill into the hallway soon enough.’
‘Worry about that bridge when we get to it,’ Dimitri told him. ‘And make sure you let us handle it, you’ll have your hands full here anyway.’
‘Not fucking kidding about that,’ Tim had fresh memories from last year’s processing, and that was when he was assisting, not running the show. ‘Here we go,’ he said, placing the cage on the exam room floor along with the other two.
‘I’ll need…’
‘Evan,’ the volunteer offered.
‘Evan to stay here and help me now. Sorry.’
‘Whatever you need to do, Tim’ Dimitri assured him. ‘I can handle unloading just fine.’
‘W-wait,’ Evan started.
‘For what?’ Tim asked.
‘Well it’s like, I dunno anything about vet stuff, so I figure it’s best I-’
‘You just stay here and do what I ask you too, alright?’ Tim was being blunt and he knew it, but wasn’t in any mood to negotiate roles. Certainly not with a teenager who Tim was 95% sure was only volunteering here because his crush was too. ‘Otherwise this day’s gonna be twice as long as it needs to be.’
‘Alright…’ Evan said, resigned to the exam room. Time nodded, relieved and feeling slightly, ever so slightly better.
‘Okay, grab a bottle of calming spray from the box and spritz these guys.’ Tim said, pointing from an open box along the far wall to the cages. Evan followed his hand, then looked to Tim. ‘It’ll make things a lot easier for them and us,’ he said before Evan could say whatever he’d been planning. ‘And don’t use too much; that box needs to do the whole barn.’
‘G-got it,’ Evan went for one of the bottles and Tim readied himself for the long march ahead. He made a last check of his work space; he had everything he needed, in some cases more, all of it in perfect order even if that organisation wouldn’t last an hour. Returning to the cages, Evan sprayed the first in line; the three mares quickly turned groggy and went from dashing about to stumbling. Evan stepped back, shcoked at the sudden change.
‘Th… T-they’re okay, right?! That, stuff doesn’t-’
‘It’s fine,’ Tim assured, making a conscious effort to keep his voice even. ‘All that spray does is make them, drunk, basically.’ There was a full explanation about good old Hasbio’s meddling and information uncovered in the Hippo-king leaks, but now wasn’t the time for the full espose`. ‘Do the others then come over to the table and help me.’
Evan did as he was told, spraying the next cages and rendering the occupants more complaint and safer to handle.
‘Okay, time for our first customers.’ Tim grabbed the nearest cage and moved it close to the exam table. ‘Come here, I’ll need your help for this.’ Opening the cage, making sure he didn’t give the panicking fluffies inside a chance to slip away, Tim grabbed a mare by the scruff and lifted her out.
‘Screee!!’ Though under the spray’s effect the mare managed a decent struggle, but Tim’s grip was sure and he got it to the exam table without incident. The colour wasn’t one he was familiar with; if he had to guess, Tim would have called the colour burnt bronze. Bet some breeder will want it. ‘Alright Evan, I’ll do all the hard stuff. You just hand me what I ask for. Got it?’
‘Yeah,’ Evan said.
‘Alright. Let’s start with that torch,’ Tim gestured to one of the side benches. While he waited for Evan to fetch what he needed, Tim pressed record on his phone. ‘Fluffy #001, dark orange-brown to bronze earthy mare, looks about 3 to 4 years old,’
‘Nnnnn… N-nnnnn…’ The mare kept struggling under Tim’s hands while he searched for non-obvious wounds or parasites. The spray couldn’t completely suppress the creature’s fear and desire to run, but it was dulled enough that the fluffy couldn’t summon the strength or coordination to seriously try.
‘No parasites present, small scar behind the left ear, possibly a wound from foal-hood. No tender spots or sites of pain found,’ Tim paused in his commentary to take the torch from Evan. Holding open the mare’s eye lids, Tim carried on. ‘Pupils dilating normally,’ he said, ignoring how the fluffy’s eyes darted from side to side. ‘Left eye appears slightly cloudy, possible scar from infection.’
After the mare’s eyes, Tim moved on to it’s mouth, ears, nose, making observations as he went. Finally, Tim got to the mare’s hind quarters. ‘Mare appears to have had least one litter, though likely no more than three.’ I used to think people were nuts when you said you could guess how many foals a mare has had by… ‘Based on observations, recommend selling as breeding stock.’ Time scribbled as much on a card and stopped recording.
‘Okay, get me the clippers, injection gun and a green vial, the IPA and some gauze.’
‘IP, what?’
‘The clear bottle with IPA written on it,’ Tim set the torch down on the exam table, fighting the sudden urge to toss it at a wall, or his assistant. Grabbing the clippers as they were offered, Tim shaved a small patch of fluff from the mare’s neck. The skin was in decent condition for a feral, always a good sign. Next, he sprayed the area with IPA and wiped it with gauze. Based on the amount of oil and grim that came off, Tim gave the area a second clean to be sure.
‘Why are you doing that?’
‘You always sterilise the skin before you perform an injection.’ Didn’t you ever get a damned flu shot? ‘It also helps keep the auto injector clean. And before you ask, doing this with disposables would be too expensive.’ And cruel and unusual punishment to boot. Putting the bottle and gauze aside, Tim loaded the vial into the auto injector, primed the device and gave the mare a shot of broad spectrum vaccine.
‘Eee!’ The mare yelped and wriggled, but hardly enough to be a hazard. ‘Alright, she’s finished for now,’ Tim marked the mare’s fore head with a red dye marker. ‘Put her back in the cage and pass up the next one,’ Tim instructed, cleaning the auto injector with a spurt of IPA. By the time Evan put up the next fluffy, another mare, teal and dark red Tim was ready to go.
One down, a little over 300 to go…
XX
When he woke up Tim hadn’t looked forward to processing at all, especially since his main helper would be a volunteer he was fairly sure only wanted to meet girls. After the first fifty fluffies, though, Tim felt a little better. The kid had tried Tim’s patience more than once, but he had to admit Evan manged to keep up a good pace and rhythm once he’d warmed up. The pair were working through the ferals at a good pace, about one every two to three minutes.
That still meant they’d be working overtime, but Tim tried not to think about that.
‘Alright, next fluffy,’ Tim cleaned and readied the auto injector while Evan hoisted the next fluffy in line, a blue and red earthy stallion. ‘Alright,’ Tim hit record and ‘Fluffy #086, blue and red earthy stallion, no older than 2 years,’ Tim ran his hands over the fluffy’s body, checking for wounds and parasites; like some of the previous fluffies, quite a few more than usual actually, the stallion was relatively free of parasites. Only one tick under the right front leg came up in Tim’s exam. He was ready to move on, when he felt something on the fluffy’s back.
‘May have something here,’ Tim felt around the stallion’s shoulder’s carefully, feeling out the anomaly under the skin. ‘#086 seems to have some kind of sub-dermal lump near the shoulder blade.’ Don’t tell me it’s a cyst. No, too hard. Tumour? ‘Hmm…’ Tim shifted his hand to the right, and found an answer. ‘Ah, I get it now.’
‘Huh?’
Tim stopped the recording; ‘This fluffy isn’t an earthy, it’s a pegasus. Or was. Or, still is, whatever.’
‘How do you know?’
‘There are two lumps under the skin where it’s wings would be,’ Tim pointed at the area near the fluffy’s shoulder blades.
‘So, what happened to them?’
‘Well, I’d say another fluffy ripped them out.’
‘What?’
‘Pegasus wings can be pretty fragile, and if they break in the wild they tend not to heal properly,’ Tim explained. 'Hell, even in domestics it’s tricky. Anyway, sometimes ferals rip the wings off pegasi if they’re badly injured.
Evan let out a breath through pursed lips; ‘Harsh,’
‘Nature’s harsh. Anyway, enough fluffy lessons,’ Tim got back to the exam and had the pegasus examined, vaccinated and back in the cage in short order. ‘Alright, pass me up the next,’
XX
Processing the ferals took until 8:30 in the evening; part of that was due to the volunteers having to leave at 5, but mostly to the sheer volume.
‘This shit is the one thing I’m not gonna miss when ferals stop camping in the cull zones,’ Dimitri said, packing the last carry cages back into storage after they’d been pressure cleaned.
‘Won’t we keep pushing those cull zones out, one way or another?’
Dimitri through for a moment; ‘Maybe. Lotta towns aren’t really growing much these days, though.’
Kim shrugged. ‘I just get the feeling it’ll happen, at least in some places. Just because it’s not for profit doesn’t mean someone isn’t making money, right? All the money from accommodation, food and ammo…’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ Dimitri admitted ‘In some of those towns the people have the mayor’s office by the balls. Alright, that’s the last of them.’ Dimitri made sure the last stack of cages was secure, then closed and locked the storage room door. ‘Which means I’m outta here,’
Sure you don’t want to stick around for the paper work? Kim was half temped to ask out-loud, if the answer wouldn’t have been “No fucking way in hell.” ‘See you tomorrow then,’ after think about it, Kim added, ‘Well, maybe.’
‘I’d say maybe too. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.’ Dimitri said, stepping past Kim and walking down the hall way. ‘Later,’ he waved over his shoulder.
‘Later,’ Kim returned the wave then went to the staff room. Waiting there was the coffee machine, freshly cleaned, and a fresh bag of her all time favourite brew on hand. There was a mountain of paper work to climb thanks to the day’s efforts, and the sooner she started the better. That being said, exactly what she could get done would be very negotiable. Kim wasn’t far from falling asleep as it was, and any attempt at serious work would see her asleep at her desk.
There were always the mindless tasks, though.
‘Sorting documents it is,’
300 plus A4 sheets of paper, each representing one of the fluffies donated by the culling crews. In the top right corner was a colour sticker; green, yellow, red and black, they decided or were at least were a rough guide to each fluffy’s fate. Green was adoptable and cottage breeder, yellow meant non-human services, red were reserved for industrial breeding while black meant un-salvageable. Four colours, four groups of fluffies. Though, like always, Kim hoped this would be the year no blacks came up. ‘Lets do it then,’ Kim sighed, sorting through the thick pile. ‘Red, red, yellow, red, yellow, yellow, red…’
The first forty pages were standard, for the past few years at least; a mix of yellows and reds, leaning on the later. No greens yet and, sadly, one black. Each new sticker revealed built a little more disappointment. Even five years ago there were at least half green stickers in each stack. Half of each group suitable for new loving homes. These days, this year in particular, Kim wondered if it would even be a quarter, or a fifth.
Though the idea had been passed off as ridiculous, feral fluffies were indeed growing more intelligent and suited to the wild every year. More and more, ferals defaulted to fear and wariness of humans rather than innate trust as Hasbio intended. Part of that could be chalked to the cull teams and garden variety abuse, but the biggest factor was simple; fluffies who lived in the wild now had lived there for generations. The wild was what they knew, and what they were comfortable with.
The practical consequence was, simply put, less money. Service fluffies, properly trained and disciplined were nearly as valuable as adoptable grades, but Kim needed to sell seven to eight, sometimes nine red grades to make up the difference. Still, what could be done? You couldn’t fight nature, and if feral fluffies learnt to avoid humans all together, well, it wouldn’t keep them safe but it was a better deal than the first years had been.
‘That’s just the way of it…’ Kim mumbled, putting three reds in a row and one yellow into their piles. Both were looking about even. Not encouraging, but at least there was still only un-salvageable. ‘That’s gotta be a record. If it lasts…’ It did, though there were four reds in a row. Kim was almost surprised when the next two were yellow, and, ‘Whoa,’ the three after were all greens. ‘Shit,’ she held the three sheets in front of her. 'Can’t remember the last time I saw that. ’
It was perhaps because of the surprise that Kim looked at the sheets more closely than usual. Three fluffies, all young enough to be born that year. Reading the foot notes, Kim noticed they were sibblings. Following from that, ‘These must be the parents.’ Kim looked at the previous two yellows. One, she noticed was a pegasus with no wings. ‘No way he’ll want his back touched.’ There were only a few ways feral pegasi lost one or both wings; none were pretty.
That would a problem for another day, same with breaking families apart and sending each fluffy off to their new and likely final home. Putting all the sheets in the right pile, Kim got back on task.
Big Red
Once the dark-time starts you check on Tree.
Good news, for once, he’s still asleep under the bushie he crawled under when you reached this spot; sure he’s got a lot of sleepies, but no way it has nothing to do with not wanting to talk about what happened to his daddeh. You should have forced the issue before he had a chance, though.
Getting lost on the march, forcing you to double back and look for him, leaving the others behind. Lots of things could have happened in that time, not one of them good. You’ve been feeling more and more maddies toward Tree lately, but this is something else all together. This isn’t just putting himself in danger; he put everyone in danger. And, for what?
Fresh maddies, hotter than usual bubble up from your tummy. There’s a twinge in your leggies, they want to march over to that bushie, drag Tree out and give him sorry hoofies until he acts right. You would give in and do that, you want to more than almost anything. There’s no time for it, though; the dark-time’s here, and you need to keep watch.
‘Dummeh,’ you say under your breath, making for a post you’ve picked out. It lets you see quite a bit without being seen yourself. Sure, maybe there are things out here that can see better than you, other monster even, but it’s better than nothing.
‘Big Wed,’
You stop and turn to face the voice; what does All Mummah want? ‘Wat? Big Wed nee go wook fow bad tings nao.’
‘Aww Mummah knu dat.’ Then why is she- ‘Dis am impowtant, an yu nee wisten.’
Despite being annoyed at her holding you up, a twinge of scardies threads through it. All Mummah of all fluffies telling you something is important, well, what if it has something to do with-
‘Big Wed nee tawkies tu Twee.’
And the scardies are gone.
‘Big Wed knu dat,’
‘Bud nu du id. Nu tawkies tu him when he fight dat kitteh-munstah. Nu du id befowe he go undah dat bushie, aftah he get wost.’ You need to force your nummie place to stay shut. You couldn’t say something to that if you tried. ‘Twee nu am gud. Nu fwuffy am gud, bud he am wowstest,’ All Mummah continues. ‘Awmost wose his dis bwight-time. Wat if dat happen gain an nu can find him?’
Again, you’ve got nothing. Absolutely nothing.
‘Big Wed nee tawkies tu Twee,’ All Mummah says, harder and more urgent. ‘Twee nu am gun wisten tu oda fwuffies. Onwy yu.’ She’s’ right; outside you, the Bestest-toughie and the smarties, Tree doesn’t listen to what other fluffies say. ‘An if nu find oud wat am wong and fix id,’ All Mummah trails off but she doesn’t need to finish.
‘Big Wed du id,’ you tell her. ‘Bud nee go wook fow bad tings nao.’
All Mummah looks at you for a while. You expect her to nod, say okay and leave. Instead, ‘Du id soon.’
Turning, you head for the spot you’ll keep watch this dark-time. Except, you’ll also have to figure out how you’ll get through to Tree.
Runny
‘WICKIE!! WUNNIE GUN GIV YU SOWWIE HOOFIES TIWW YU NU CAN TAWKIE NU MOWE!!!’
‘Dat nu was hoomins twyin giv fwuffies huwties! Day-’
‘TIWW NU CAN TAWKIES NU MOWE!!! DAT AM WAT GUN DU TU YU!!!’
‘Speciaw-fwend!!’ Sky yells. ‘Yu nu am hewpin!!’
She’s right, you know she’s right. Your babbies haven’t calmed down since you came back from, wherever the humans took you and whatever they did to you!! Everyone, you, Sky your babbies, every fluffy you’ve seen have a small bit of fluff missing (the place itches, too!), and strange, colour spots on your head!! The humans did something to you there, did something to all of you! But you can’t remember what!!
You were in the strange boxy thing (cage is what the humans called it), trying escape and keep your babbies safe and as calm as possible, all at once. Next thing you know you were… You don’t even have wordies for it! It was like, being really dizzy and really, really sleepies. But, not able to actually fall asleep! Whether it was from your scardies or not doesn’t matter, it was a horrible feeling all the same!!
Bad enough you needed to go through it, but that wasn’t enough for the humans; they had to do it to your babbies as well!!
‘Scawies!’
‘Wat day du?! Fwuffy nu knu wat munstahs du tu fwuffy!!’
‘Mummmah!!’
They’ve cried since you were put back here, and nothing you or Sky have tried makes it any better. Not being able to help your babbies even a little bit makes everything so much worse. All the hurties, scardies. saddies and maddies, there’s no way you can keep them inside. They have to come out, and they’re going toward Ricky!! Because why not?! The dummy wants to try and tell you humans aren’t actually that bad, that they want to help you!!
‘WICKIE!! HACHEW!!! DUMMEH!!! BAD FWUFFY!!! BIG, DUMMEH POOPIE DUMMEH!!!’
If you could get over this wall, get to Ricky, not even the Bestest-toughie could get save him!
‘Speciaw-fwend!!’
There Sky goes again; trying to stop you doing the wrong thing, while doing what you should be. But you only want to yell at her!! Doesn’t she understand what’s happened, why you’re nothing but maddies and scardies?! Besides, why would you yelling and shouting make things that much worse? EVERYONE’S YELLING AND SHOUTING!!!
‘JUS HEWP FWUFFY GET OUD!!’
‘GUN GIV AWW DOES HOOMINS FOWEWA-SWEEPIES!! AN DOES DUMMEH FWUFFIES DAT HEWP DEM!!!’
‘HEWWWP!!! HEWP FWUFFIES!!!’
‘WHEWE DOES FWUFFIES DAT HEWP HOOMINS?! WHEWE DAY GO?!?’
It’s been non stop since the humans brought you back here, but you don’t blame anyone for it. How could you? How could anyone?
Part of you can’t help find something funny about this. Last bright-time things seemed, not good but at least nothing as scary and horrible as this! Now, now, you can’t expect anything less from-
CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.
‘Screee!!’
Three loud noises. Not as loud as forever-sleepies sticks, or the big metal monsters. But in the barn, thye seem bigger and louder than the entire world.
‘That’s enough!!’ That voice; you haven’t heard it much but you’d know it anywhere now. It’s the big human. Hearing that, knowing he’s close by and clearly not happy takes the wordies and maddies right out of you. You, and everyone else in the barn. ‘Carrying on like that ain’t gonna make anything better!’ Right after those words all the small sky-balls overhead go out, replaced by the dark ones. ‘Sleep it off.’ The big human says, followed by the noise of the barn closing.
With so much noise stopped so suddenly, the next few moments are strange and scary. The silence is so complete and sudden, in a strange way, it’s loud! You can almost feel it, pressing against your hear-places. At the same time, the feeling goes out of your leggies, then other places. The pressure on your hear-places becomes a buzzing, ringing noise; you’ve heard that before, but not as loud as now.
Over the buzzing, though they’re so faint you can’t be sure they’re real, you hear voices from other fluffies close by. Unlike just a moment ago, they’re small, quite, full of scardies, impossible to make out. ‘W-wunnie,’ You don’t recognise the voice until you hear ‘S… S-specaiw fwend,’ a moment later. Turning, you see Sky and your babbies. Even in the dark, it’s easy to make or their see-places, wide open. Sky’s nummie-place opes but no wordies come out, no noise at all so far as you can tell.
You get the message well enough, though; it’s just a matter of forcing your leggies to take you over there. It takes all your strength and will, but manage to put one leggie forward. The next step is a bit easier; not by much but you’ve learnt to take what you can get. Each step that follows gets a little easier; once you reach the nestie it feels as easy as walking through wet-dirt.
Sky and your babbies don’t say anything and you don’t either. Even if you wanted to, the scardies see to that. All you can manage is to lie together in a tight fluff pile, and try your hardest to fall asleep.
XX
Waking up, the first thing you noticed was the quiet. There wasn’t one voice, not one fluffy talking; you could be sure you and your family were the only fluffies left. That was until Ricky’s voice came over the wall.
‘Wunnie, am yu dewe?’
Carefully, quietly as possible, you stepped over to the wall; ‘Yes,’
‘Otay,’ Ricky’s answer was just loud enough to hear. You expected something else but it seemed he only wanted to make sure he wasn’t alone. You still want to flatten his special-lumps, but you can understand not wanting to be alone. Especially not here.
The quiet seemed to last a good part of the bright-time, though it couldn’t have been that long at all judging by when the humans came in. It’s never too long after you wake up that they come. By then a few braver fluffies started talking again, asking each other if they were still there, often more than once before going back to talking and crying about what the humans had done. Once the barn doors opened, it all stopped again.
Not a noise could be heard while the humans did their usual things; nummies, water, cleaning out the poopie places. Except for the fact you weren’t let out of the pen while they did it this time. How you or the rest of your family manged not to make scardie-poopies or pee-pees you’ll never understand. The humans didn’t do plaything other than that (though you expected something else horrible at any time) and soon enough they’d left. It took a lot longer for sound to return after that.
‘Den if day nu was twyin huwt fwuffies, wat wewe hoomins doin?’ You ask over the wall.
‘…Wickie, nu knu. Bud, tink wememba owd hoomin mummah, doin stuff wike id.’
What kind of an answer is that? ‘Wike wat? Wunnie nu wememba wat day du, dummeh. Day giv aww fwuffies tinkie-pwace siwwies.’
‘W-weww…’ Ricky starts, but trails off immediately. It’s just as well you’ve been kept in the pens all bright-time, which means a wall between you and Ricky. You’re about ready to smack him. ‘Owd hoomin mummah say… She du ting tu fwuffies dat giv huwties, bud say dat id keep sickies way.’
‘Huh?’
‘Dewe am tings dat give fwuffies bad sickies. Owd mummah say fwuffies nu can see dem, bud day giv sickies. Sum times day giv fwuffies weawy bad sickies an, make dem go…’ Ricky trails off again, but you can guess well enough what he was going to say.
‘So yuw owd mummah giv yu wittwe huwties dat mean yu nu get sickies?’
‘Yes.’
‘An Wickie tink dat dese hoomins du dah same ting?’
‘Y-yes…’ He says, less sure.
‘How knu dat?’ There’s a long pause between your question and Ricky finally answering, long enough you start to wonder if he’s decided not to answer at all. Another reason to wish there wasn’t a wall between you. Finally though,
‘Cause, dah pwace whewe wickie nu hav fwuff hav same huwties dat ting owd mummah did giv.’
That’s it, huh? That’s all he has to go on? You’ve felt more than a few things in the forest giv you hurties that felt like whatever the humans did to you, your family and everyone else. You’re pretty sure those weren’t trying to help you.
‘Wunnie nu knu. Stiww tink hoomins jus twyin twick fwuffies.’
Ricky sighs loudly, but it sounds more from sleepies than maddies. ‘Den wat Wunnie tink hoomins gun du? Wat Wunnie tink fwuffies shud du?’
You’re not prepared and can’t answer right away; you’ve got ideas for both, but you’d rather not say any of them. Thinking about it is bad enough…
‘Sigh Wickie nee go back tu famiwy nao.’ He says, before you have a chance to speak, to answer him or other wise. Without anything better to do, you do the same and head back to Sky and the babbies.
Author’s note
This is a heads up to inform everyone KS is going on hiatus for the foreseeable future. My region of world just suffered it’s worst flooding ever. My attention will be needed elsewhere for some time, and I doubt I’ll have energy to spare for this story.
Sorry.