Autumn King’s [Tidings Part 1]

“I wouldn’t want to be caught empty handed…”

The words resound through the ears of a young man who looks down, as he always does, at his blue paws. Step, step, step, one after the other, plodding along with a malaise that only the onset of winter can bring. But it’s not winter yet, and now Soren has been tasked with this, whatever this is. Finding a gift fit for a king— they’ve got to be joking, but he’s heard whispers of such happenings before. There’s no end to the whims of these beings with great power, and while Soren prefers to keep out of such affairs he finds this one difficult to sidestep. 

What could possibly happen if he doesn’t manage something good enough? What makes something good enough? Is there even such a thing as enough, for a King? He shakes his head as he walks, caught up in an internal dialogue as usual. The chilly autumn wind picks up, and he takes a moment to adjust his scarf before his little blue paws are moving quicker. He has to get home, has to sleep this off, he thinks— 

“Oof!”

“HEY! Watch it!” A passing bab snaps at him before her large purple tail is all he can see. He didn’t even get to apologize for running into her, but everyone seems to hold the same distracted fervor now that the King has made his invitation known. 

It’s dark, which says little to how late it is this time of year, but for Soren the hour doesn’t matter. It’s dark enough to get some sleep, so sleep he will get. He lays his head upon his well worn pillow, stares at his paws and imagines them— imagines himself— in a different world entirely. Sleep comes quickly; he falls into it as easily as slowing his breath. Darkness envelops Soren, abstract shapes floating around and calling to kind various people or places until, finally, with some amount of finesse, Soren is able to concentrate and shape his dream the way he wants. 

It’s not autumn here. It’s late spring, early summer. The grass is lush and full, and there’s a warm breeze running over his fur. He still wears his scarf, but it doesn’t overheat him. He seems to be alone, but he knows better. He looks down at his paws, crossed over one another, and focuses— or, more accurately, tries not to focus. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do for this one,” Soren says to nobody. 

“Oh? What’s on your mind this time?” Nobody asks in return. Soren’s ears lift and he turns to the yellow bab now lying next to him, mirroring his position and smiling back at him as he does every time. 

The two touch noses, their customary greeting, and Soren is finally able to relax and take in the peaceful hilltop environment that they build together in their sleep. He tells his other half about the events of the last few days: the arrival of the Autumn King, the invitation, and the expectation placed upon him and every other invited party. 

“Well,” the other bab starts. “He wanted that one guy’s fish. Just a jar? That’s not too big an ask.” Soren shakes his head. 

“Yes but he makes those from scratch every year. They’re, um… artisanal? I don’t do that; don’t make things.” There’s a pause, and then the other bab lets out a hearty laugh. 

“You? Don’t make things?” He asks, gesturing around their whole fabricated world with one yellow paw. Soren blinks at him in surprise, ears falling back, and he purses his lips. 

“I, I mean…,” Soren starts, sheepish. “I guess… but, but how am I supposed to,” Soren gestures with his paws, cupping them together, “To make something you can… put? In a box? And wrap? To give to someone in the, the waking world?” 

In the pause proceeding, the other bab simply looks at Soren with a gentle smile. Soren frowns, swallows hard, and looks back to his paws. 

“I guess I can try…”  

And one by one, the leaves on the trees surrounding their little hilltop begin to turn yellow, orange, and red.