The Write Kind of Enemy

751 words (excluding headlines)

A foe writefully so

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"Your majesty, your majesty! I write this letter with great haste as there is a terrible attack upon Forttrail! We don't know how many of... these unknown enemy lines there are, but it's entirely urgent that you send help our way!

Signed your most loyal subject, R̸̡̨̰̠̙̖̃̾̉ͅe̸͍͖̐̑̄̓̄͜͝i̷̮͖̤͙͂̃̐͐̚͜͝-̴̪͎̖̘̯̍̽̓-̷̨͎́̐-̴̥͍̭͓͂̒̅͑-̸͉̯̰͈̠̣̞̂́̋͌-̶̧͚̝͔̿̇."

Underneath a shiny red hoof, a letter asking for help was being observed and had a shadow cast over it by three horns just as red as the hoof. There's absolutely no proper introduction to this letter-- what is this chicken scratch?! The bearer of the triple red crown of horns found much offense to the very existence of such an insult to formal writing, and a crimson glare intensified thinking this would've been read by a noble! Such offense was obviously noted by the bite mark in the corner of the letter where the sender's name used to be. Nothing was left but smeared ink and the jagged tear, however the red hoof reader would never forget the name that was written.

Finding the write friends

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A couple hours later, Tybalt was bored of everything after not being able to get any clues about this writer. As such, he burst out his parents' house with his father trying to chase him down.

"CHILD! CHILD!!!!" his father screamed. His dad had the most powerful wings and angry face muscles any pouflon could want, but the red-hoof bloom left this fiery pouflon in the dust, all the way into the mountains in fact.

Hunting through several caves, he spotted his good buddy Sergio hidden away under a pile of gems Sergio loved napping under.

"I say!! Sergio!" the bloom barked.

"What?! You?! What do you want?! What have you come here for?!" the little vespire snarled after being startled out of his peaceful slumber.

"Have you seen that running rainbow lately around these parts?" the bloom inquired.

"Ah, yeah, just a few moments ago--" Sergio didn't get to finished his sentence before this wild animal randomly pummeled him before running off.

Off the red-hoof child soared, leaving his grumpy friend to struggle going back to sleep. Deep in the underground, a different geode was shouting at this high-powered bloom, but not with words. The little bloom was having a blast tugging his vespire target around by the vespire's golden-tipped tail.

"AAAGH!!" an obviously angry Eon shouted. He had just about kicked the relentless bloom about fifteen times in the face, yet Eon was unable to stop the shake down this bloom put him through.

After the bloom calmed down, or at least turned Eon into a flattened fluffy rug, he vented to Eon about the writer he wanted to hunt down.

"Yeah, you couldn't find a fish if you were surrounded by a school of them. Bet you can't figure out where this trail's at, garden chomper," Eon laughed.

"Huh? How very dare you doubt my abilities, Eon, I'll be more than equipped to find this insult to the existence of written language."

You got that write!

---

Several years later, the red reader, now old enough to travel on his own with his parents' permission, wandered into the bustling city of Forttrail.

"Ah, I have no seen this... 'Reinhold', nor have heard of him young bloom," answered a guard this child voiced his concerns to.

"Are you quite sure? I've heard whispers about this 'Reinhold' attempting to overthrow the royal here again and again," Tybalt, the crimson-eye child's name was, asked.

"Reinhold?!" a squeaky voice cried out from over the brick fence. Revealing herself, a sparkly pouflon gawked at Tybalt and said, "Reinhold, why that pouflon! He is no older than you look to be, and what's this about overthrowing again? Reinhold being at it all over again, this rascal!"

Tybalt, after all this time, realized his predetermined enemy of terrible writing was none other than a bloom just like him! "Absolutely atrocious! You mean to tell me there has been a bloom spreading much lies and panic around these parts?"

"That would be an understatement, my dear child. Gosh, the local guards used to view him as a mere pestilence when he started spreading alarming letters around, that was... until he wrote a convincing letter that brought over an entire fleet of enemy soldiers. To banish a child, would it have been entirely cruel?"

Tybalt was astonished to hear someone with handwriting that looked as if someone wrote in their sleep could cause this much trouble. Perhaps pouflons were more gullible than Tybalt had imagined they were when he first started exploring...