A
I’m rooting for you, mom D:
You are a vixen.
You make a home out of the wooded areas surrounding the lifeless city of men, your den nestled into a small thicket crowning a soft hill. From there, you can see the trees that shelter them. You’ve always felt strange when you look at them, and the way they bend. You might even pity them, if you were capable of such a thing. Something so grand, beautiful in its own right ( you’ve made a nest within the roots of redwoods before, and thus you are forever indebted to them. They are part of you, and part of them. ), twisted by what you can only assume is man’s dark magic.
The way men practice magic is different than how you know it. You’ve always found that strange too - as though they were using something not fully theirs, and they were doing it wrong. The same feeling you get when you slither into a farmer’s coop, and make off with his hens.
But these were thoughts for another time. You must hunt today.
You are a mother of six kits. This is not your first litter, nor is it even the largest you’ve had before. It is, however, the first you’ve raised alone.
You have stayed true to your mate since your very first litter, and he has always provided well. Together, you have successfully raised dozens of young cubs. You see your children from time to time, but you do not recognize them now. You treat them as strangers, and they are driven from your home ( though a tiny part of you keeps you from harming them. They are strangers to you, but your subconscious tells you they are too precious to harm. ). You taught them well, and they are all quite clever.
You and those you raise are particularly good thieves.
The men take your lands, and thus you take their livestock. You have slaughtered lambs, hens, ducks, young calves, barn cats, pups left for just a moment by their mothers. Once, you even scavenged from a horse too lame to defend itself. You do not these things out of malice - the words “karma” and “revenge” mean little to you. You do them because you are hungry, and so too are your children. Now, more than ever.
Your mate has not returned. It has been three days, and you can feel your belly growing all too empty. Your kits are not yet weaned, but you know you must eat for them, if not for yourself.
It is time to hunt.
- A. You will raid the farmer. You have done this countless times, and you are good at what you do. It is easy prey. That is, if the farmer has not grown wise to your tricks.
- B. You will try the marsh. It is still a wild place, free of the threat of men, but there is something uneasy about it. You may be safe from humans, but you’re not all that certain it is free of threats of a different sort.
comment bellow with A or B. At around 10PM EST tonight, I will tally up the votes and post the next portion of our story.
wc:504 / art by jfight
Why deviate from what works? When you finally set out, it is toward the farm.
The path you take is familiar, and you find comfort in this. It is enough to calm the turmoil in your stomach, the anxiety eating away at your gut as you cannot help but to feel your mate’s absence particularly hard tonight. You hear the soft mewling of your kits when they realize you’ve gone, but you press onward regardless. They will perish if you become too sentimental.
Thick trees yawn above you, their branches intertwining and blotting out the pale moon’s light. You do not need it anyway. You were built for the night. You were built for this: slinking about in the dark, taking what was not yours to take-
There is something following you.
You freeze ( every part of you: your limbs, your heart, the blood in your veins even ). Your ears swivel atop your skull in an attempt to pick up the sound of what stalks you. You didn’t see it, or hear it. You felt it. Still feel it now, like the trees themselves had eyes and each one bore a needle sized hole into your pelt. You listen, look, and wait.
… Nothing.
Your hackles have not yet settled, but you set out once more regardless. The feeling lingers, but you are eventually able to push it to the back of your mind.
The farm is dimly lit by fire light, but you know the man sleeps now. He has left the duty of sentinel to his hound, which typically would be of concern. She is just as keen as she is large, and you have watched her tear apart things far larger than your own. You have a shared respect for one another, equal in almost every way, but there is one thing you are undoubtedly more skilled at than she.
The hound has just whelped her first litter.
In typical new mother fashion, she is attached to them more than she should be, and neglects her duties as a result. You know that she is tucked away beneath the farmer’s home, curled around her young pups, and there is very little that could draw her from that spo-
There is something following you.
Again you listen, and you look, and you wait. And again, there is nothing.
You grow anxious, and focus on the task at hand.
- A. You try the chicken coop. Most of the farmer’s defenses exist here, as it is the place you most often raid. The coop is on the edge of the property, but the farmer has grown clever with his traps.
- B. You try the rabbit hutch. It is closer to the dog, and you’ve only done it once before - but that could work to your advantage as well. It is unlikely the farmer has put up snares there.
comment bellow with A or B.
wc:476 / art by jfight