The Huntress's New Prey

Stalker the bobcat glanced at his partner, considering her. What an inferior animal. Her limbs were lithe, not muscular like his. She screamed weakness, practically begged to be used and then discarded. "Huntress, darling. Come here. I have something I want to say."

His partner looked up at him from where she lay in the corner of the cave they resided in. Huntress stood and stretched her limbs, letting loose a yawn. "Yes?"
           "No, come here, as I requested."

Huntress curled her lips back, revealing sharp fangs, but did as she was told, striding towards Stalker where she stood silently waiting.

"Darling, I am famished. Be a good wife, heh, a good female, and kill something for us to eat," said Stalker. His eyes drooped as he spoke with exhaustion.

"I am not your servant. If you're hungry, go and kill something yourself."

"But I have you, my darling huntress. It's your job to kill the food. I protect the den and you hunt." Really, was that so difficult to understand? She must be inferior in both body and mind. How weak.

"Fine." Huntress wandered out of the cave and into the sunlight, growling with displeasure as she walked.

Perfect. Soon, Huntress would return with fresh meat. It was the ideal situation. She did all the work, and he gained the benefits.

Stalker waited, growing more impatient by the hour. Surely, she would return soon. Huntress was efficient, a spectacular predator, despite her weak body and mind. It was strange for her to take so long.

The sunlight streaming in through the cave's entrance gave way to darkness as night fell upon the land.

Exasperated, Stalker stood up from his spot in the cave and wandered into the night. Suddenly, a body collided against his, knocking the breath from his lungs. His eyes widened in horror as sharp claws tore into his chest and his partner's fangs ripped open his neck.
           As Stalker lay dying in a pool of his own blood, Huntress stood beside him. With a laugh, she said, "Tonight, my dear, I hunt for the buzzards."

The Bear's Fight

Get the monsters, rip out their hearts. Charge through the forest. Anger. Let your anger guide your unstoppable rampage, as you charge forth into the ranks of the invaders. Look at them. Watch as they swing their tools of metal. Ignore the attacks. Ignore the blood. Press on. Close your jaw around the creature’s neck. Squeeze tightly and end its existence.

            You are a bear. Fight like one. Let none stand in your way. Ignore the sting of the creatures' fire-scream-sticks, roaring like thunder with each blast of lightning fired. It can kill you, but not yet. Rip through the creature’s chest with savage abandon. Let its entrails run red, spill out. Crush its head with your mighty foot.

            More of the creatures have arrived. Roar and charge them. You are a bear. They are small. Weak. Trample them under foot.

            Ignore the pain in your gut. It’s only a wound. It will heal. You can’t see. They’ve blinded you with a chemical. Something unnatural. Flail your claws; stand on your hind legs. Look large. Look threatening. Scare them away.

            It’s not working. Their fire-scream-sticks are erupting, blasting away your flesh. Stand back up. Don’t remain on the ground. Ignore it. Ignore your blood seeping away, staining the soil red. Try to move. Lift a paw. Do something.
            But it’s too late. The creatures have won. Die calmly. Embrace the coldness of death. Die with dignity.

Threnody for Earth's Wishes

Moon gazed at Earth, remorse swelling in her heart of stone. It had been far too long since she had last heard his voice. But it was his choice to remain silent, to lose his energy, all for the sake of his children.

Billions of years ago, Earth had been a cold place, just like her. But he had always wanted more, dreamed of greater aspirations. And so, he devised a plan to focus his life energy on something Moon did not quite understand at the time. Creation.

At first, it had been harmless experimentation. Earth grew oceans on his surface, and let the magma at his core pour out in geysers. But he remained unsatisfied.

Moon tried to please him, tried to reassure him that all was fine the way it was, but Earth insisted on the glory of his vision. Life, he explained, could be crafted with his energy.

And so, the very first cell was given substance, clinging near the heat geysers residing on the ocean floors. Moon applauded his efforts, for surely, it was a wondrous deed. And for a long time, Earth was happy.

But he grew restless with the passing time. He told Moon of his vision, a land where complex organisms roamed his surface, creating a web of life. Nothing, he believed, would compare with the satisfaction of granting billions life.

Moon pleaded with Earth to see reason. His life force was so strong. Why sacrifice it for countless lesser lives? But he remained steadfast in his ambition, refused to be swayed by her words.

More complex creatures began to roam Earth's surface, great reptilian beasts, and some even possessed feathers. Moon reluctantly conceited that they were magnificent creations. 

Nevertheless, it tore her heart to see her love slowly grow weaker with each new creature birthed. Earth's speech began to slow and his wisdom fade. The sight of her decaying love enflamed a rage deep in Moon, a rage she was not fully comfortable with. But the violent emotion conquered any doubt, and in her fury, she seized an asteroid from the stars and hurled it at her love.

Earth bellowed in pain, but his screams only encouraged Moon. After all, she did it for his well-being. A great shroud of dust covered his surface, blocking his precious creatures from the sun's rays. They perished by the billions. 

And yet, after all the death Moon had inflicted, she was left empty. Her love had reduced her to a monster, forcing her own ideals onto Earth.

Moon yielded to his wishes that fateful day, when Earth shuddered and gave the last of his life force to his creation. She would protect the creatures, not out of love, but out of remembrance for a lost love torn asunder by envy.

The Black and the White

            By the color of their fur, they declared each other enemies. The black-furred rabbits and the white-furred, brothers and sisters of the same breed, yet their hearts held nothing but disdain for their brethren.

            The two colors put vast swaths of land between their communities, refusing to pass within the borders of the other colors land. Those that did were met with only violence. The meadow they dwelled in was large, bordered on all sides by great trees. Often, the rabbits of different color would assemble on the very opposite sides of the meadow, only to gawk at one another and hurl insults, promoting nothing but hatred.

            But then one day, a threat entered the meadow. The threat took the form of an immense snake, whose coils stretched a great distance across the land; with a wretched hiss, the scaled fiend declared his name. Hatred.

            Twisting his way through the long grass, Hatred devoured rabbits of all colors, feasting indiscriminately. Fleeing was futile, for the snake slithered too fast. Fighting proved worthless, for his scales were too thick to damage. The rabbits rallied against the great beast, but without the two colors cooperating, their resistance proved futile.
            Soon, naught a rabbit remained in the meadow. Hatred had consumed their entire breed, leaving none to carry the memory of the black and the white.

The Great Hunt

            The disease crippled their bodies beyond recognition, leaving their flesh to hang in rags by their sides and their blood to coat their once white fur. The bloodied, they were called. But it hadn’t always been so.

Once, they were a clan of mice living in the heart of the forest, but now, they had been forced to the very outskirts of the land they loved. The disease had ensured their fate as outcasts.

            But hope remained in their hearts, for a cure had been found. One of their members, a wizened mouse of advanced age, had stumbled upon a gold-skinned frog resting in a pool of water contained within a fallen leaf. The frog had been small, small enough for the mouse to quickly dominate in the fight that ensued.

            The mouse soaked his skin in the slain frog’s blood, cleansing the disease from his body. For the first time in years, the old mouse saw the white of his fur and the smooth skin underneath, no longer decaying.

            It was a miracle.

            The clan of mice seized sharp pebbles and set out to hunt the gold-skinned frogs. The cure in sight, they knew their chance for freedom from misery had arrived.

            Though nimble, the frogs could not out pace the mice. The mice cornered them against trees and buried the frogs beneath a rain of stones, or when desperate, even savaged the amphibians with their rotting teeth.

            The frogs begged for mercy once they realized the extent of the devastation being wrought on their kind. But their pleas fell on deaf ears. Too enraptured with the promise of a cure, the bloodied harvested the blood of the frogs, bathing in the crimson liquid.

            Then one day, when the mice went out to hunt, there were no gold-skinned frogs. Only skeletons remained of the rare species, pale tributes to an extinct race.

            The no-longer-bloodied gathered together, to strategize about the future of their clan. With the frogs extinct, there was no cure for their ailment, but it mattered not. The last of the mice had been cured. Or so it seemed.

            Time passed, and the familiar traits of their affliction gradually returned, until soon, the disease violently erupted amongst their ranks, this time claiming the lives of those it struck. Within days, the entire clan had succumbed, their bones mixing with those of the gold–skinned frogs.

To be Loved by a Wolf

Sleet the lone wolf stalked forward on four paws, sniffing the air. His quarry was grievously injured, leaving a thin trail of crimson blood in her wake, a bright contrast with the green grass of summer. But his eyes only served him minimally. His nose did the real work, tracing an invisible path of blood particles hovering in the air. But even more so, his nose traced the stench of his quarry’s dirtied fur, just over the cusp of a looming hill.

Sleet was close to Mad Hare. So close.

As Sleet surmounted the top of the hill and gained a full view of the valley below, immediately, he noticed a peculiar sight. Despite her injuries, Mad Hare danced through the meadow, leaping and bounding, twisting and turning. The sight held an odd beauty. As if in a dream, Mad Hare twirled through the tall grass, the weeds and the flowers. Everything focused on her, watched her. The trees seemed to lean in her direction. The birds halted their songs and watched in stunned silence. Even the sun seemed to shine brighter around her, as if she had captured its attention.

Sleet bared his teeth, emitting a low growl of triumph. His quarry loomed completely exposed. An opportunity had presented itself, an opportunity Sleet knew he must grasp, if he hoped to rest easily at night. The ground tore beneath his paws as he rushed forth, towards Mad Hare.

A shadow loomed overhead; the other predator had spotted the tempting morsel. The shadow belonged to a great eagle, the same one responsible for Mad Hare’s injuries. Time was not on Sleet’s side. He knew how fast the eagle could strike.

Redoubling his efforts, Sleet desperately hurried forward, keeping both eyes focused on Mad Hare. There was nothing he could do to stop the eagle from reaching her first, but maybe he could snatch her away before the eagle carried her off.

The eagle seized Mad Hare with his outstretched talons, his wings beating downwards in dramatic fashion, halting his flight a mere foot from the ground. Sleet collided with the bird, snapping his jaws at the eagle’s neck.

They wrestled on the ground in a flurry of violence, each vying for domination. Through the corner of his eyes, Sleet noticed that Mad Hare had halted her dance and watched the struggle, her head tilted askew as if in contemplation.

Ignoring the talons digging into his sides, Sleet wrapped his jaws around the eagle’s neck and bit down. His tongue lapped up warm blood as his fangs lacerated tendons.

Dead, the eagle fell from Sleet’s jaws.

Mad Hare regarded him with wide eyes. “You came for me.”

Sleet laughed bitterly, falling to the ground where he lay on his side, painfully gasping. The eagle had torn great swaths of his fur away, tearing at the flesh and vital organs below. He shot a look at Mad Hare. “Did you truly doubt my devotion? You may be a rabbit, but I am still your guardian, my love.”
           Mad Hare leaned in close to Sleet, letting her body collapse onto his. They breathed as one, neither moving as the sun vanished beneath the horizon and darkness overtook the land.

Authority of the Enforcer

Shifting through dirt, Mole worked on his ambition; a vast subterranean tunnel network. It represented his passion, his entire life, all that he lived for.
            It was his pride and joy.

The tunnel network stretched for miles, connecting separate sections of the forest. He planned to open it for the other animals of the forest that were wary of traveling in the open. The mice, the shrews, the voles, they would all eagerly thank him for his generosity.

Mole clawed at the dirt in front of him, carving his way through with taloned feet, creating a tunnel the width of a tree trunk. He squirmed and wiggled, gaining traction as he battled to maneuver and navigate in the enclosed space.

A voice shouted from up above in the surface world. Too muffled to comprehend, Mole ignored it. He rarely concerned himself with the lives of those above, only emphasized with those in danger of becoming prey.

The voice continued to shout, a strange mixture between hiss and growl. To Mole's immense surprise, it started to become more defined, as if it were coming closer. 

The ground above vibrated and clumps of dirt fell, landing on Mole, partially burying him beneath its weight. Panicking, Mole dug faster, trying to put distance between him and whatever was above. Clearly, it knew Mole was there, knew that by digging, it would find fresh meat to devour.

A claw scraped away the tunnel's roof, revealing a glimpse of sunlight. "Little mole, do not flee. I have a proposition for you, my morsel."

Mole stammered in fear. "Wha-what are you?" He stopped digging, for it was too late. He was at the creature’s mercy.

"They call me Enforcer. A fitting name, considering I'm a grey wolf. Now, listen closely, and listen well. I will not eat you, if you but heed and obey my will."

"A-and th-that is?"

"This is a marvelous tunnel network. Yes, I know all about your plan. You told a mouse about it a week ago, and before that mouse satiated my appetite, he told me of your vision. Very generous, I must say. Too generous.

"You see, little morsel, we live in a world where generosity is useless. But a talent such as yours should not be wasted. And thus, I have a proposition for you.

Complete your tunnel network; open it up to those who would have use for it. But do not offer this service for free. Instead, have each patron swear fealty to Serpent."

"Serpent?"

Enforcer laughed wickedly, a long, drawn out growl. "Yes, Serpent. If you haven't heard of him, I suggest you stop crawling in the dirt for days on end."

Mole tried to sound brave. "And if I-I refuse?"

"That would be a foolish decision, little morsel. We both know you're smarter than that."

"F-fine. I'll do as you say."

"Excellent. Serpent will be most pleased."

The Perplexed Oak

As wind swept through his branches and caressed his leafs, the Oak Tree felt himself sway with its gentle push. A content sigh escaped from the cracks in his bark, for what more could the world offer him, the tallest and widest tree in the meadow? His branches spread far, a majestic canopy lording over all around him; the foxes that nipped at one another during playful dances, the squirrels and the birds, their chattering and chirps tranquil music carried on the breeze. Even the wise owl swore fealty to his majesty, diving from his branches in the pale moonlight at her prey; little woodland mice that built homes nestled in his roots.

            But one day, after the harsh winter’s snow had melted away and the world once again erupted into life, the Oak Tree noticed with astonishment a curious sight. Snuggled in a nest resting between two of his branches, two darling songbirds sang in unison. A vibrato quivered in their tones, carrying with it a perplexing hint of something else.

            “Little birds, why do you sing so curiously?”

            “Mr. Oak, we are in love,” they sang in unison.

            “Love? What is this word? I have never heard it before.” And he spoke the truth. For though his knowledge was vast and his vocabulary grand, the Oak Tree had never before heard a word filled with such elusive meaning. He puzzled the word over, swirling it in his mind. L-o-v-e. Love. “Why, what an enigma! Little birds, you must help me discover the meaning of this strange word.” 

            They blinked in confusion. “But Mr. Oak, don’t trees know what love is?”

            “No. We trees know of many things, the joy of sunlight, the pleasure of spreading our branches far, and hatred of the axe. But never in my long life have I fancied to know the meaning of this new word.”

            The male bird considered his reply for a brief moment. “Love is, well, the feeling of providing for someone special.”

            “So do I love those who make use of my shade?”

            The female bird perked her head up. “No, it’s something more than that, Mr. Oak. Love is a feeling of dedication, of caring for another bird and your young.”

            “But I do not care for the other trees. They are all far away. Nor do I know my young. The wind and squirrels take my seeds and disperse them throughout the land. Surely, there must be something else to this emotion you feel, this word called love.”

            The birds sang to one another, trying to devise a means to help the Oak Tree. Finally, they relented. “Mr. Oak, why don’t you ask the squirrels?”

            “Little birds, what an excellent suggestion! Little squirrels, I have a question to ask of you.”

            Two inquisitive heads peaked out from a hollow in the Oak Tree’s trunk. “What is it, Mr. Oak?”

            “The little birds sang a song, a song filled with something unlike anything I have ever heard before. They called it love.”

            “Love?” asked the male squirrel. “What do you want to know about love-I mean, how could you not know about love-don’t be absurd, don’t be ludicrous, one as old and strong and large and powerful as you must know what love is.”

            “I wish I did, little squirrels. But I have no knowledge of this word.”

            The male squirrel’s eyes widened. “Well then, Mr. Oak, allow me to officially inform you-though really, how can you not know what love is-it’s inside all of us.”

            “Tell me then, what is love?”

            The male carefully considered his answer for a moment, scratching his face with his front paws in contemplation. “Love is the feeling of being with a lady squirrel-a nice one with wide hips and a large, fluffy tail.”

The Oak Tree’s branches moaned and creaked. “Then love is only a result of physical desires?”

The female squirrel chattered, “No-no-no-no-no-no. Ignore my silly husband-he’s a tad bit foolish. Love is cuddling in a warm den, far from the winter’s snow and the jaws of foxes.”

“Love is a feeling of security? Then why go through the trouble of using the word love, when many other words suffice? You creatures of flesh are truly bizarre.”

“But wait Mr. Oak-the most bizarre animals approach now-maybe they can help,” said the male squirrel.

The female squirrel chimed in. “He’s right-look at them, walking on two legs and talking in their strange language of grunts.”

The Oak Tree regarded this new couple. Humans, he knew they were called. He understood their tongue perfectly; had to, lest an axe catch him unaware.

“Honey, honey,” said the man. “Remember this tree, remember when we played on its branches?”

“How could I forget? It was the perfect moment.”

The Oak Tree had given up on recognizing humans long ago. Hairless creatures, filled with malice. But perhaps they too knew the meaning of love.

He called to them, but they gave no response, too involved with each other to heed his voice. Then he shouted.

The man looked into the woman’s eyes and said, “It sure is windy today. Listen, do you hear the tree branches creaking?”

“Why yes, I do. How odd, how profound; but come here my darling. Or is the wind more important than me?” asked the woman while sitting down, leaning against Oak Tree’s trunk.

 The squirrels gossiped excitedly. “The two-legs don’t even understand the voice of the tree-how barbaric-why, how rude!”

And the birds sang in unison, “Though they claim to create progress, they’ve shunned the greatest gift of all. Behold the tragedy, Mr. Oak. They shun and ignore you.”

The woman pointed at the songbirds. “Listen to them! How beautifully they sing, and only for us! Our own little choir.”

The Oak Tree called forth, “Little humans, please help me, for you seem in love. Help me understand what it is, this emotion reserved for creatures of the flesh.”

But they ignored him.

“We have to remember this moment forever,” said the man.

“How, my darling?”

Smiling, the man proudly drew a red pocketknife from his pant’s pocket. “We can immortalize our love in the oak tree!”

With mirth and careful hands, he carved a heart encircling initials. The Oak Tree groaned his protest, but the man ignored the rattling branches, the clenching roots. And when he finished, he clutched his honey’s hand, and together they wandered away from Oak Tree, their laughter echoing throughout the meadow.

Sore and exhausted, the Oak Tree thought long and hard. Had love led them to stab a knife into his bark? What a savage deed, a horrific deed, to be performed for something positive. Then perhaps it was false, perhaps the birds and the squirrels and even the humans had deluded themselves; all of them enslaved to a violent emotion.

“Love is useless, the origin of evil,” said the Oak Tree. “You creatures of the flesh can keep it to yourselves. I want no part in such a hateful emotion.” 

The Battle for the Forest: Part 1

            The sound of marching feet drowned out the screams of those trampled underfoot. Serpent’s army of peacekeepers had mobilized. Turtles and tortoises, frogs and toads, salamanders and lizards; Serpent’s army consisted of all manners of amphibians and reptiles.

            Not all of them came from the local forest. A battalion of crocodiles, promised wealth and glory, marched at the head of the legion. Those who strayed to protest the army’s advances were swiftly dealt deathblows and shoved out of the way. There would be no stopping Serpent’s ambitions, not without a considerable toll.

            Serpent lay coiled on the back of the largest of crocodiles, a massive beast stretching as long as a fallen tree. A golden coin tied to the tip of his tail, Serpent’s favorite trinket, caught the rays of the sun beating through the forest quite nicely.

            Regarding the animals watching the army’s march, Serpent lifted his head. “Denizens of the forest, the time for fear is not now. Rather, now is a time for rejoicing. We are at the cusp of a new age, an age waiting to be seized and dragged into reality. An age where humanity holds not power, and the forest is free from their taint. Stand out of our way, and no harm will come to you, for you are not our prey.”

            “And how do you plan on opposing the humans?”

            Serpent gazed towards the source of the voice: an eagle, smaller than average, but certainly an eagle. He motioned for the crocodile he rested on to stop. “And who are you?”

            “I am Chickadee. While your goals seem noble, isn’t there another way? Look at what you’re doing. Obliterating all who stand before you, even fellow forest dwellers. And if you do succeed, what then? With such an army under your control, and a clear lust for power, I fail to see how you won’t take advantage of the situation.”

            Clever bird. If he posed a threat, he’d have to be eliminated. But for now, Serpent would wait. Not all threats bloomed into problems. “I assure you, I have no intention of using this force to repress the forest. Rather, I intend on liberating it from humanity.”

            Chickadee tilted his head. “Your words are meaningless. For the good of the forest, you will be stopped. Attacking the humans will only draw their resentment. We wouldn’t survive the massacre.”

             Serpent intended on just that. But he kept the thought to himself. “Then wage war against us. I know of your battle against the hawks. And despite your victory, I am unimpressed. So come, fight against us. We’ll be patiently waiting on the edge of the forest.”