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Let me tell you a story: Tree Crane Crumble


Not the best story teller unless it was about himself, Blue Blood figured it was worth a shot.
"Hrm... Have you knowledge of why the cliff side weakens and falls apart after the first thaw?" He motioned to a distant ledge.
"It's due to tree roots rotting from the cold, and when cranes, hawks, bird return for spring, they gather on the tree, sending them down. At least, thats what happened to the one near my home a few winters back."

Let me tell you a story: Twig, Songbird, Crumble




In an action that would surprise absolutely nobody, Watch Me had abandoned his own booth in order to chase a fine looking Acha through the busy winter market, leaving Prize alone (give your pity to those kin given performance prompts from an unhappy Prize). He’d lost his quarry but stumbled across the story telling area instead, something he was absolutely certain he was good at. He made up the story to plays all the time!

“Oh, a personal, hm? Well, let me think.” The Kiokote stood proud, eyes squinted in thought. “Ah, yes! Of course. Gather around!” He looked around, as if expecting a group to have already settled in to hear him talk and seemed disappointed when there wasn’t one.

“I’ll begin anyway. This is a while back now, when I first came to the swamp. I’d just arrived and I was glad to be away from the plains. Horrible place. Well, one day as I was walking along I heard the distinct snap of a twig. Hello, I cried! But there was no answer, then up I looked and there sat a songbird. It was beautiful creature and I tried to befriend it, mimicking its song.

It was a rather silly bird however and it flew away. When I followed I wasn’t quite paying attention to where I was going and oh it’s just a small detail but I was next to a river bank and it might have crumbled underneath me. I plunged into the water and was saved by the most magnificent creature in all the land. An Acha so sublime I-“

“Watch Me!”

“Never mind, I have to go. Toodle-oo!”

The Kiokote returned sheepishly back to his booth under Prize’s frowning gaze.

Let me tell you a story: Berry, Kiokote (m), disgust A personal story, was it? This would be a treat. Streams of Silver smiled. "I suppose I should tell you, then, about the first time I met a Kiokote– he was a buck, newly come to the Swamp because of the terrible flooding. He gawped at me for a little– he was sunstruck– and then tried his best to hunt, but the waters were bogging him down and he could barely find his footing, let alone catch anything.

"I tried to offer him help– but he refused, and found himself to a bush of berries, helping himself to some with a declaration that he didn't need a doe to hunt for his supper– and found himself to be sick on them, because they were far from ripe. Eventually, he consented to share the dinner I caught, and we shared stories with each other. He left without so much as a goodbye, and never offered a word of thanks... probably to save his pride."

"Have I," began First to Strike, "got a story for you."

Let me tell you a story: sun, female zikwa, cold

"So I was wandering around with Grumble - as I am wont to do, ya know, I'm just that kinda guy - on a nice, sunny day. That part's normal." He shook his head. "Then this zikwa jumped at me, and I was like woah, and I stepped on Grumble's paw! I had to find him so many berries to make up for it. It was the worst. The. Worst. The worst part is? The only thing she said was that winter was coming! Of course winter was coming - it was cold!"

DBC aroused from his slumber and yawned softly

"Ah... I'm sorry. I appear to have slacked off. Forgive me. I would like to hear a story of any genre. You may pick it as you please."

Well, that was awfully nice of him!

23 December
Let me tell you a story: ( Clouds ), ( female Acha ), ( Hate )

The same zikwa that showed up a while ago crawled above ground again as he had yet another story to tell.

"Have you heard of a story of the acha who hated clouds?" he asked Death Brings Change, not really waiting for an answer or response.

The girly acha loved sunshines and rainbows but whenever the sky became cloudy, she would turn angry and start screaming at the sky to make the clouds go away.

Sometimes when she knew that she could not win, well she would simply dig a long tunnel like hole and hide in there until the clouds have passed. It was strange for most days were full of clouds and she would starve herself, refusing to witness the things in the sky.

That's when I come in. I would look for her and feed her grubs and mushrooms. If she died, well, the caveworms would have a feast down below where I live..."

stars, Kimeti (m), Crumble

Rumbling in thought, Breaks Bones thought long and hard about how to explain a story with what he was given. Then he thought of something simple.

"Do you know why buck kimeti do not sparkle like stars unlike the does?" He asked, snickering.
"Because if they tried to be just as beautiful they would crumple under the knowledge that they'd never be as bright at their counterparts!" He gave a deep laugh as if it was such a wonderful joke of a story. "Thats just how the Motherfather made them! Does always sparkle likes stars, bucks just kinda... eh."

"Eh."

Let me tell you a story: sun, male zikwa, burp

"What'm I choosing?" mumbled Whistle blearily. He'd much rather be with his home tribe, in all honesty - but, well. He wasn't, was he? Well, maybe this was a learning experience.

Actually, if it was a story - maybe the zikwa wouldn't mind a bedtime story?

But he couldn't really think of one that fit the, uh, themes. "Um - so. There once was a very punctual zikwa. He was sweet, dependable, and loved the ancient tradition of passing on lore. Every morning he woke with the sun and walked through the caves to seek out answers, and every sunset he went to sleep again - even when he could not see that the sun was setting. But it was the only thing he knew how to do. Certainly, he could forage and eat and drink - but he never did anything for himself. It was always the work, and learning new stories, and remembering them, and passing them on. He was a very dull zikwa."

"Once, he'd been set the task of helping a brood mother teach her children the tale of the MotherFather and their eggs. He told it with great gravitas, of course, but the next day, none of the foals remembered a whit of it. So he did it again, telling the story exactly as he'd first heard it - preserving every bit of authenticity.

"Of course, his retelling was still a bit dull. The foals fell asleep, or decided to play while he droned on and on. The next day, he still could not remember it.

"Well, of course he told the story again! But he was very unfortunate: just before visiting the foals, he ingested a large meal in preparation. Just as he got to the crane's hatching - well. He couldn't help it! He burped.

"But that was the catalyst, see. The foals all sat up and paid attention - and the next day, perhaps they couldn't have recited it verbatim. But they all remembered the eggs hatching.

"Thus, the zikwa learned the value of spontaneity."