Colorists Love...DRABBLES FOR FREE TICKETS!

[So Long Gay Bowser]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MONSTER!
Kin Name: Waltz of the Damned
Drabble: They were such a lovely little family. The mother, a first-timer, devoted to helping her mate rear the children. The father, his second clutch, was so delighted to see them grow up. And the little ones, oh, they were so lovely. Bright-eyed, bushy tailed. They were going to do wonderful things for the swamp someday. Nestled in with the lovelies, Waltz of the Damned crooned to them softly, sweet songs and lovely words of things they needed to question.

‘Why doesn’t our father love you?’

‘Why are you looking at other does besides mom?’

‘Which one of us is your favorite?’

Innocent enough from the mouths of babes, but it was grating. The doe grew distant, quiet. The father grew resentful. Their warm conversations of camaraderie grew cold and frigid.

‘Why do you spend more time with my brother?’

‘How come you aren’t as pretty as Waltz?’

‘Do you even love us at all?’

Perfect! Perfect! The whispered doubts, the nagging thoughts. When the doe came to her, broken and miserable, Waltz soothed her gently. Leave, she told her. He doesn’t love you, he never has. He’s been flirting with me all the while! And so she left.

Then on time came the buck. I can’t look at them, he sobbed. They remind me of her. And oh, wasn’t it tragic? Waltz cried with him, offering him a shoulder to lean on. I’ll tend them, she promised. I’ll love them as my own. And so he left, too.

And when the children asked, Waltz of the Damned told them her truth: Their parents had never loved them at all. Grow strong, she told them. Grow strong, and hunt them down. Make them pay for leaving you.

And then she herself left, laughing all the while.

Goodness she was a perfect little monster.  

[NymiiNym]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF DRAGON!
turtle, ocean, chicken, magic, creation, dragon, mushroom, firewater, smash, monster, running, beauty
Kin Name: Little Lady
Drabble: She'd done it. Finally, in her many months of traveling and intense pondering she had found one of them. She stared at the small beast, sitting perfectly still on her haunches as her tail flipped gently behind her at random intervals. Scales? Check. Sharp teeth? Check. Slit eyes? Check. Wings....? Not check, but she assumed the small creature was simply a baby and would, eventually, grow into the wings she heard plenty about.

What was actually before her was a small baby crocodile, but did she know that? No. This was not a simple and non-magical creature in her eyes. No, this was a dragon. A creature of lore. She finally had done the one thing she always needed to do, and now, armed with this tiny creature, she could prove to the world that magic was real. Yes, the world around her was diverse and full of splendor, but the impossible was possible in her eyes, and she was keen to reveal it.

The question was, where was the parent? This creature looked tiny. Wee, but absolutely able to leave a mark on her if she handled it wrong. Surely, the parent was somewhere nearby. Wouldn't she see something said to be massive in size already? Was the baby alone? Abandoned into the world? A frown touched her features before she leaned down, cautiously casting a glance over the being. How would she end up taking them home? What would happen if she simply seized it at this very moment? She doubted, sincerely, that she'd walk away without a mark, and home was far from her current location. There had to be a compromise....

She'd get this little dragon home, somehow.  

[NymiiNym]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF CHICKEN!
turtle, ocean, chicken, magic, creation, dragon, mushroom, firewater, smash, monster, running, beauty
Kin Name: Goodbye
Drabble: He awoke to the sound of clucking, eyes peeking through a murky cloud of sleep as he blinked back the rays of light. A groan exited his lips, rolling into a sigh at the very last second. He recognized the abrupt and crude sound, fighting back the instinct to roll his gaze over until curiosity won, head snapping towards the offending harmony. He was met, face to face, with a plump bird, feathers ruffling in alarm when their gaze locked.

A chicken.

Of all things MotherFather could have awarded him, he had been blessed with a hen. His tail smacked against the earth, twitching in a sporadic and impulsive harmony as he offered the poultry a scowl. Where it had come from he could not fathom, but here it was, basking in the glorious sun and consuming what little rays had peeked through the canopy and blessed him. A childish huff escaped Goodbye as he raised a hoof, pushing the hen further from him. The rewarding and offended cluck caused a smile to spread over his features, eyes fluttering into a roll.

"Then do not wake a sleeping kin." He hissed between clenched teeth, jaw relaxing long enough to emit a soft yawn. The chicken, perhaps perplexed, offered a questioning cluck before waddling off into the nearby bushes, leaving the napping Goodbye to return to his dreams.  

[NymiiNym]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF SMASH!
turtle, ocean, chicken, magic, creation, dragon, mushroom, firewater, smash, monster, running, beauty
Kin Name: Beast of a Burden
Drabble: He was growing increasingly irritated with the doe before him.

Beast of a Burden had no desire to listen to her perpetual whining, ears flicking flat against his head before swiveling upright as his forced smile broke into a sudden grimace. He had made the mistake of spending the evening with this doe, and now he was gaining a lesson in choosing his partners wisely. She had, from the crack of morning, began a discussion he had absolutely no interest in contributing to. Something about a future she deemed possible between the two. Children had been mentioned, lifemating following, and eventually it ended in a serenade of babbling he had checked out of.

Eventually, time stood still as he considered how to escape both the situation and her. She had been enticing the evening before, but now he was stuck in this affair and he needed out. His eyes flicked towards the assortment of berries she had retrieved him for breakfast, tail lashing in a distinct rhythm. He wished nothing more than to smash the berries. Perhaps smash her against the ground and flee if that was what it took. He did not commit to this, and her increasingly growing volume had become grating at best.

The world snapped.

His hoof smashed against the berries, face contorting into a twisted grin. He ground his hoof against the offending berries, head tossing back to examine her as her voice silenced. Satisfied, he kicked the crumpled and deflated berries back to her unceremoniously, passing by her without a word uttered between the space. That was his answer.

She didn't utter a word or protest as he made his leave, her shoulders pulling into herself as he vanished from the clearing.  

[NymiiNym]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF BEAUTY!
turtle, ocean, chicken, magic, creation, dragon, mushroom, firewater, smash, monster, running, beauty
Kin Name: Tweet
Drabble: Her breath shuddered as she examined the field before her, trembling past parted lips as she stared in awe. One was hard pressed to discover a time when Tweet was silenced, but this precise and impossible moment had been birthed. She stood before the field of flowers, allowing mother nature to entrance her into a lull. Not once had she seen such a beautiful sight, and she sincerely doubted she ever would again. The setting sun kissed the field with a wave of orange hues and pink rays, bouncing off faded petals and illuminating the air around her. Words failed her, and she'd never again be able to replay the beauty before her. No words could express what she had been blessed with, and no kin would understand her words. Nothing could convey what she had witnessed, and Tweet drank it eagerly up. This was hers for now. This moment belonged to her and her alone. She sunk into the earth, resting her head against her limbs gratefully. A muttered praise left her lips before she drank the sight before her, tail lashing as the sun continued its descent. There she would stay until the last wisps of light left. Night settled, and Tweet allowed the field to be her bed for that night.  

[Jun D]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLE!
Kin Name: Little Poison
Drabble:
She supposed she could hardly blame them. Ever since those strange, drifting spectral turtles had popped up in the Swamp, with their ghostly flippers and their glowing eyes, it had been hard for everyone to look at their old, ordinary, solid, stomping (well, ambling, more like) land tortoises quite the same way. She'd heard whispers here and there of Kin tying their most attractive hardshells to the trunks of trees in the glowiest of copses, hoping for a magical tryst in the middle of the night to yield ghostly, glowing turtle eggs. So far nothing had come of it, and, she privately suspected, nothing ever would. One had flippers, the other had feet. One look like they'd washed ashore from some faraway sea and hadn't noticed they'd shuffled off this mortal coil and so kept going, body left behind; the other looked...decidedly landbound. Genetics could be weird sometimes, but this, she thought, was probably a bridge too far.

All the same, when she'd run into a clandestine huddle of glassy-eyed bucks and does, crowded around a land turtle that – was that a...yes it was a flower crown – a land turtle that they'd decked out in the finest fineries one could deck a turtle out in (it was already starting to consume the flower crown), Little Poison just turned on her heels and walked right out of there. There was no point telling a bunch of weird turtle cultists that the odds were not in their favour.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF CHICKEN!
Kin Name: Only the Ashes Remain
Drabble:
It's not that Left wanted a chicken. They were cute enough, but he'd already had (exhibit A) one turtle that was good for nothing but eating, and (exhibit B) one eaglehound that was good for nothing but smashing things, albeit accidentally and very earnestly. His track record with pets obviously wasn't what you would call stellar, and everything about the fat little birds that his father had so proudly managed to domesticate spelt trouble to him in vicious little pecks. (He'd seen how they treated Pull Through...and the Totoma loved them.) So it wasn't that Left wanted a chicken. But they were cute enough...and how could he resist when his father deigned to entrust him with one?

She really was pretty cute, he thought, as he stared at his new acquisition, all plump and fluffy and feathery grey – not unlike his own grey pelt. And she was rather placid for a hen, all serene and softly clucking. It's not that Left wanted a chicken, but he was not displeased...and so the only thing left to do was to name her. He'd take his time with it, he thought, to find the perfect name for a creature he hadn't really wanted but was rapidly growing on him (it was early days yet, but she already felt definitely an improvement over the other two). It would be a good one, befitting her majesty (ah - he was rapidly sinking in deep).

It took almost a full week before he realised that Best had been quietly and insidiously training her to respond only to Fluffy.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF BEAUTY!
Kin Name: Plainsong
Drabble:
What is beauty to a doe who cannot see, who never saw, who had no intimation of what sight was? What is beauty to the foster parents of that doe, who daily marveled over her pale pelt and her luscious hair, locks like spun silk that gleamed in the sun and tumbled near to her feet? What is beauty to the rather worried foster parents of that doe, who daily marveled also over how incredibly terrifying she could look, with her glass-orb eyes and the slight snarl-frown of one who, unseeing, always approached the world with some innocent bewilderment that somehow translated into terrifying badass zombie ghost bride? I mean, the effect was not entirely unpleasant – it certainly had unique quality to it that particularly attracted a certain sort of Kin – but it was definitely terrifying.

"About our dear Plainsong...perhaps if we placed a trinket or two in her hair, it would soften her look," one remarked to the other. And so they took down some of Vexed's best hunts, and wove white feathers into her hair. The result was very becoming, truth be told, but no less terrifying because it now looked like she could have single-handedly hunted all birds into extinction.

"How does it look?" she asked, her voice soft and lilting like a bird herself.

They looked at each other and shrugged, "Beautiful."

Terrifyingly beautiful wasn't really a lie, and what is beauty to a doe who cannot see.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MAGIC!
Kin Name: Only Tonight
Drabble:
Somewhere in the desert there is a cactus. Sometime it will bear one bud. Slowly the bud will swell to flower. On some night, that flower blooms. Queen of the Night, they call it. Queen of one night only, then it dies. But somewhere, some night, another flower blooms.

She doesn't remember the desert – or, at least, she doesn't remember the desert by day. She remembers cool sands, an endless sky of sparkling stars. There are not so many stars to be seen in the Swamp – rarely patches of sky so uninterrupted by the whispering crowns of tree after tree that the constellations could form a canopy. She doesn't remember moving across the desert, but she must have, she had not always been of the Swamp. She is a child of the desert, born of a cactus flower – but she only remembers cool sands, and the endless sky of stars. Everything before the Swamp is like a dream. When she came, then she was born again.

Somewhere in the desert, there was a cactus, and it only bore one bud. The bud swelled to flower, and one night, that flower bloomed. Thence she emerged, Queen of the Night. One night only, Only Tonight. But she did not die, and that is a sort of magic.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF SMASH!
Kin Name: Remain
Drabble:
At first, nothing would seem amiss, not a stone out of place, not a blade of grass disturbed – but then, in the dark, it was always harder to tell, and if you laid with her, you laid mostly in the dark. She was a doe of darkness, that much was obvious, her pelt rock-brown, from the phantom skeleton to the lizard-like tail, long and flicking; glow like diamonds studded the her frame, glistening – she was a doe of the dark, and quite beautiful that way. And nothing would seem amiss, not a hair out of place on your hide.

Nothing would seem amiss for the longest time, and life in the darkness would seem sweet enough – what of it if you did not see the sun? Her diamonds glittered like the stars and it was fine. The damage was slow, slow and steady, the breaking insidious, and nothing would seem amiss till it was too late.

For when she took, she took whole, slowly, piece by piece, but eventually whole – bit by bit you broke, bit by little bit, till you were all broken, broken all up inside and it finally showed outside where nothing had seemed amiss for ages, smashed into diamond dust.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF DRAGON!
Kin Name: Starscream
Drabble:
Swamp knows what manner of stories put such notions into her head – for she was impressionable enough, despite her fairly shrewd mind, and, in any case, the sneers and jibes she invariably flung the tellers' ways – but one day she arose and announced to anybody who would listen (about three mongeese, a foxbun, and a couple of errant bucks who looked at each other in confusion), "I, Starscream, shall undertake a heroic journey to slay a dragon."

Well, alright then.

She spent the next few days repeating this announcement to anybody who would listen (more hapless animals, and a few random Kin who tried their best to avoid eye contact and hightail it outta there), and doing absolutely nothing about it – but much to everyone's (i.e. those who did not manage to hightail it outta there before she found them – or who actually lived where she had temporarily staked as her Swamp-given right to loaf) surprise, one fine morning she was actually gone.

It was a few weeks later before she finally (unfortunately) returned to these stomping grounds, and she did seem rather the worse for wear...or...well...at least...her hair seemed rather tossed...and...

Did you slay a dragon? they asked, with growing suspicion.

She had the cheek to flush, "Uh, well, not in so many letters words...but dragon meat is pretty fantastic."

(Hit her up. xoxo)

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MUSHROOM!
Kin Name: Trip
Drabble:
Trip kept his head down, rooting methodically through his shelves. Swamp, what he would give to take a bite and complete his task in his usual pleasant cloud – but this was a job he needed his acuity for. Damnable. He spat a silent epithet and continued his search. It was in here, somewhere, amongst his fine wares, that deadly invader – just the one, he thought, he hadn't seen another. But, ah, that day, he had been high. Still, he thought, likely just the one, and one was more than enough to kill.

I should have let it, he bitterly thought, then shook it out of mind. That was not his way, to be so bitter...but nothing about that had been his way. To take her into his heart, to care...to be left behind. She was gone when he'd come back that day, destruction in her wake (as was her way), a few shelves smashed, by accident or design, he did not know. He'd come back with a blessing and she was gone.

That was months ago. He hadn't seen her since. He would, he had the sense, never know his children. And now every last damned deathcap reminded him of her.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF FIREWATER!
Kin Name: Shaken
Drabble:
In response to Stirred's query (accompanied, at least, by an appreciative whistle), Shaken said only "I don't know, you tell me," but it was said, as was his wont, with such biting disdain that it was plain to see it was, indeed, as pure as it could get. It had taken work – so much work, over many moons, but it was a thing of beauty. The strongest yet that he'd extracted, and he'd made many a knock-out in his shadowy laboratories.

Stirred laughed, watching appraisingly as Shaken carefully tipped every last drop into the vessel.

"It's a secret," Shaken hissed.

*******

To be very honest, he didn't really think that Stirred had actually told, but he was also completely unsurprised – completely furious, but completely unsurprised – when the vessel proved completely empty the following morning. He was also completely unsurprised that about eight tribe members were staggering about upon their duties complaining of a persistent headache they didn't know how they could have possibly got they must have been working too hard, five tribe members were variously ill around the watering holes (inciting many complaints to Rise, especially from the cleaning crew, who protested most strenously that six times in one day was six times too many), and three tribe members had completely failed to show up for work.

He was also completely unsurprised that Stirred was one of them.  

[Jun D]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF OCEAN!
Kin Name: Distant Tidings
Drabble:
"What is a trip, a slip, a torrent of bits, a streak of streaming mercury? What is unending, undying, unplumbed, unfathomed, unfathomable, fathoms deep and foaming? Unending, without end, the horizon looming, always looming, untouched, untouchable, undying, eternal? What is the sea – what do you see? – what can be seen, what is the ocean?

"What is untouched, unknown, unplumbed, unfathomable? What is pursued, what is pursuing, what is untouched, unfathomed – what can't I fathom? What can't I catch, pursue, pursued, achieve – what can't I know? Why am I always chasing? What is a dream?

"What is a self? What do I know? Nothing. There was a dream. I had a dream, before a self – what did I see? I saw the sea – the ocean, unending, undying, unfathomable, fathoms, fathoms and fathoms and fathoms and fathoms deep. I knew it, when I knew nothing. I knew – what did I know? I knew it was home.

"What is a home? A self, a knowing, a knowing you're home – a nothing. Nothing, nothing. I saw a sea, I knew the ocean. The ocean is home – yet, home is nothing.

"Before I had a self, I had a dream. I saw the sands, the snows, the plains; I saw the Swamp. None of these were fathoms – they were nothing to me. Then I saw the ocean. I woke in sands, and now I had a self, but sands were nothing, they were not home. I walked on sands – I learnt to walk on sand, and once I learnt to walk, I learned to run. I learned to run on sands, and sands I ran, I ran and ran till I ran out of sands. From sands I ran until I ran on plains – plains roll, did you know? Did you know that plains roll? I ran on rolling plains till there were no plains left to roll. And then it was the Swamp, and for a while the Swamp felt unending – I still ran, but there was so much Swamp to run. I danced, I laughed, I riddled, I wept – I met, so many I met, that I laughed and riddled – I ran. I ran and even the Swamp must end, and where it ended, I saw the sea.

"Do you know how it feels to see the thing you've dreamed of for so long? Do you know how it feels to see the sea? Do you know how it feels to know the ocean – do you know the ocean?

"I had a dream before I had a self, I knew the ocean then, and it was home. And now I knew the ocean, lapping waves beneath my hooves, fathoms – fathoms deep. I was home.

"And home was nothing."

He always stopped here, abruptly, turning his head aside, eyes far. As if, if he saw far enough, to the sea, beyond the sea – unending, undying, unplumbed, unfathomed fathoms – he could finally see that shadow, that last part of his dream, that made home mean home again. Until then, there was only the ocean.  

[Jun D]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF CREATION!
Kin Name: Shush
Drabble:
When she was young, when she was very little, Shush used to wonder how her mother felt the night the seed was planted that would grow into her. Had she been happy? Content? Resigned? Had something happened that would give the seed no eyes?

Her mother had been a Kiokote, like any other Kiokote, fleet of foot and keen of sight. Her mother's daughter saw nothing, but at least she was still fleet of foot.

Had something happened that night? Shush wondered, very small, a filly tucked against her mother's warm body, the doe's chest gently rising and falling in slumber, if the punishment was her mother's or hers.

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, my darling, her sweet mother used to say, her sweet mother, who took her blind child to safe, shallow streams and taught her what the water was, the light of my life, who took her blind child into the sun and taught her light.

She said it so, and so much, that Shush never quite dared to ask her how she'd felt that night - but then, she was well aware, she never was told who her father was.

Many years later, her kind, sweet mother long gone, she met a buck, and he was already dying. He was kind, like her mother, gentle and soft. He knew he was dying, and so did she. She did everything she could to forestall it, but so did she.

One night, it happened very naturally, for in long, slow death, there oftentimes came dignity, and with dignity comes grace, and grace begets love. She was as happy as she'd ever been, and at the same time already grieving, because they both knew the end was sure to be near. She'd wondered then, a grown doe pressed against the slowly withering body of the buck she loved, gently shuddering breaths that hurt to draw, if that was how her mother had felt. If that was why she never knew her father. If he was already dying as she was being made.

Later still, when the gentle buck, too, was gone, and she was screaming, silent, but screaming, bearing down, when she gingerly nosed the ground till she found the one sac, the one thing left intact, alive, and carefully laid her cheek against it, she wondered even more so if this was how her mother had felt:

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, darling, the light of my life.

And she wept, because she was not her mother, and the gentle buck had been dying, and she feared her darling child, not from an egg but from a sac like her father before her, too would die. She wept like she had never wept before, and she had wept before so many tears, over her sweet mother, her kind buck.

This little life that they had made.

Her sweet mother had died, her gentle buck had died, this one small life she would not let die.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MONSTER!
Kin Name: Shush
Drabble:
Legend tells of big, bad wolves, giant, hulking creatures of yore, sharp of tooth and claw, stained red within a massive pelt, black as sin. Legend says they prowl just off the paths that Kin daily tread, skulking in the dark wilderness, flashing slavering fangs like a red smile, a beckoning to the sweetest of fillies – sweetest in flesh, that is. Legend says to beware of the big, bad wolf, to be good, to be nice, to be obedient, most of all, to your parents, and listen and do just what you are told.

Legend tells of strange, swimming Kin, Kin as four-legged and fine-muzzled as any other Kin, except they lurked in pools and lakes, and their hair was as long and dark as tangled seaweed, that they were called Kelp – Kelpies, by those who knew their true nature. Legend says they were as four-legged and fine-muzzled as any other Kin, but they lurked in pools and lakes, and rose from the depths with their kelp-dark hair, as winsome as any fair doe or buck, and invited their victims to a dip in the pool – once you entered, once you touched their glassy hide, never again would you be seen. Legend says they thirst for flesh – your flesh, so fear dark waters.

Legend tells of handsome bucks and beauteous does, pale of face and dark of eye, who slept as if the dead by day, but blossomed into the whitest blooms at night, full of life. Legend says they speak words like any Kin, but move with far more grace than any ordinary Kin could ever muster, like gliding, like their hooves did not quite touch the floor. Legend says their presence was intoxicating, like the finest fermented juices you could hope to find, but not quite as intoxicating as your blood to their hungry, sucking mouths, once they'd opened up your throat with sharpened teeth. Legend says, fear strangers.

Legend tells of the Weeping Lady. Shush's mother had told her all the stories, but this is the only one that she can tell. Legend says that she is always weeping. Legend sometimes says she has no eyes. Legend says you hear her quiet weeping in the night, legend says you see the moonlight off her flowing hair. Legend says if she comes upon you, it is too late. But legend also says she just mouths, "Shh." Legend says she eats the little children. But legend says she leads the little children – little lost children, legend says, led out of darkness by her "Shhh, shh, shhhh." Legend says that she is a monster. Legend also says she is a saint.

Shush's mother had told her all the monsters, but this is the only monster she knows, the Weeping Lady. And she alone knows that there are no saints, only monsters, and the Weeping Lady is the biggest monster of all. She leads lost children, but it is all the same whatever she may do – everything the Weeping Lady touches dies. Everything the monster loves must die.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF RUNNING!
Kin Name: Shush
Drabble:
She runs from the past, from the plains, from the the cruel hooves, the jeering words that greeted her from herd to herd as her mother tried all ways she could to eke out a living for her sole blind daughter. She runs from her mother – not her sweet mother, her sweet mother who taught her all she knew through touch and taste and smell, no need for sight – her mother's corpse, that she felt one day, first warm, then cold, and always red, and still she doesn't know what came, that day, what came that took her sweet mother away. She runs from her gentle buck – he was not red the day he left, just grey, just soft and cold and grey, like the taste of ash in your mouth, the taste of ash and tears. She runs from the child she had to leave and – oh Swamp – what she would give to be able to run back.

She runs from big, bad wolves, from kelp-strewn Kin, from handsome bucks and beauteous does, sharp of tooth, all red – she runs from none of these, these monsters are not real, would that they were, she'd run towards them. She runs – she is the Weeping Lady, and that is what the Weeping Lady does, she weeps, and runs.  

[Zuchy]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLE !
Kin Name: "Made up kin," In The Grass
Drabble:

Four leathery legs wobbled and flailed at the sky, fruitlessly trying to dig in and find purchase with claws. The turtle--or was it a tortoise? In The Grass was young enough to be uncertain about the difference--rocked back and forth on its back, clearly unable to right itself.
In The Grass tilted her head as she considered the scene. Now here was a puzzle. What had happened to the turtle? They were in an area of scrubby open land, with no trees or especially high rocks nearby. There was nothing the turle could have fallen from. Had it perhaps been picked up by some hawk or eagle, then dropped? No, there was no sign of a crater or disturbed ground from an impact.
What there was....were faint tracks from another kimeti, leading up to, around, and away from the turtle.
Grass crouched down and stared into the black eye of the turtle. Somebody had flipped this turtle over, played with it for sport, moved on, and...left it like this. It was a hot day. If the poor thing did not die of exposure, a predator would find it. There was good eating on a turtle. In The Grass had enjoyed a few in her time.
That was no way to die. Not feeble and terrified on your back, waiting for the end to come.
Grass flipped the turtle over, nudging it onto her back to carry. There was a watering hole they could both rest at not far from here.

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF FIREWATER!
Kin Name: "Made up kin," Stomped Fruit
Drabble:
Every day, for the past week, it was the same routine. The newly adult buck trotted up to the hollow where the irascible old Totoma, Stomped Fruit, could be found. "Is it ready yet?"
"No, it's not ready yet. It needs more time.
"Can I check?"
And Stomped Fruit would sigh heavilly, shaking his head head, and get up to his hooves. "Look, whippersnapper, I'll show you."
And old Stomped Fruit would lead Day Lily into the back of the small cave, where it was not too hot, and not too cold, and push the turtle shell aside that covered the carved out stone hollow. Inside was a mix of the purest spring water, honey, and the ripe berries and other fruits of late summer.
"Listen carefully. What do you hear? What do you smell?"
Day Lily inhaled deeply. "It's...starting to smell sour under the sweet. I hear something...fizzing?" His ears flopped up in excitement. "Doesn't that mean it's firewater now?"

Stomped Fruit stomped one hoof on the ground for emphasis. "No! The fire has only -just- begun to eat up the sugar in the fruit and honey to fuel itself. It's still too sweet. If you want it fizzy, you keep feeding it sweet things for the next week. And if we want it strong? We wait until that almost completely stops. Making good firewater takes patience."  

[So Long Gay Bowser]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF RUNNING!
Kin Name: Keepsake
Drabble: Children. She’d had children. The one thing Keepsake had promised herself she wouldn’t do until she was ready, and she’d gone and done it. Five of them, all in need of a mother’s love. All in need of the love and affection she’d so desperately craved as a foal. And wasn’t that bittersweet? How often she’d cried, wanted someone to love her… and she couldn’t even give that to her own children.

From the distance she’d watched them take their first steps, hunt their first meals. They grew so quickly before her eyes, without ever knowing she was there. And it killed her. But she wasn’t a mother, she couldn’t be. She had no love for herself, let alone someone else. Keepsake was trying so hard with Heritage, to learn how to love… and yet all the love she had, she kept for herself.

One of them- the one son- had nearly spotted her. He looked up from the grass, eyes curious and searching. And rather than meet him… she ran. She ran as she had her entire life. Her lean body wracked with sobs, and Keepsake pushed through the underbrush and away from the life she couldn’t allow herself to have.

She would run, and run, and run until she was ready.  

[So Long Gay Bowser]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF BEAUTY!
Kin Name: Nearly
Drabble: What a shame it was that he couldn’t have children with bucks. Does were so jealous, so catty. They weren’t the most beautiful creatures of the swamp. No, that title went to bucks. Thick muscles, barreled chests… oh, Nearly could just keep all of them. Not that he would tell them, of course. It wouldn’t do his image any good to just bat his eyelashes at any buck that wandered on down his way. Half of the fun was just leading them on. The game of flirting, smiling coyly, and vanishing before they could actually get a hold of him.

Now does? Does, you could get to stick around. All you had to do was give them young. It was pathetic. Groveling, really. He was the only one who needed to be soft, and doted on. They took away his precious, beautiful bucks.

This one in particular… this was a looker. Wild hair, dark eyes. Yes, PLEASE, and that was all Nearly could think. Shame about the does crowding around him. On their own, Nearly could convince this buck he’d never need to look at does again.

When he walked by, Nearly gave tall dark and handsome a growl and a wink. All females aside, it was nice to know there was still beauty left in the world.  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MONSTER!
Kin Name: Welcome Home Fair Hunter
Drabble: Fair Hunter had for so very long thought herself a monster. A misshapen mutant, suitable for the hunt and the hunt alone. She’d gone years without letting herself feel anything but the joy of the chase and the thrill of the kill- and she’d assumed that this was monstrous behavior, that only a monster would do such a thing. Growing up, she was fierce; she had defined herself by a prickly ferocity, knowing that only anger and snapping jaws would keep other monsters at bay. You didn’t see monsters in families; they were too self-destructive for that. Monsters could only think of themselves, for the moment a monster thought of anybody else, that was a weakness. All monsters have weak spots, and it’s the discovery of these weak spots that eventually leads to their death. Some monster hunter comes along and slays them; whether this is literal or metaphorical depends on the monster. Monsters exist to be vanquished; this is the only way out from being a monster.

But then along came another monster of sorts, and then she’d had to question everything.

At first she’d found her unwanted partner nothing but a nuisance; a baby bird, fallen from the nest, too helpless and pitiable and ultimately pathetic to develop any real skill. She’d treated her with contempt, not knowing what had really happened, not knowing anything about her- and then when the truth had come out, the fury she’d expected dissipated and turned into concern. Monsters didn’t feel things like compassion and concern and maybe- just maybe- some strange form of love- but then there she was, having these feelings.

She’d be her monster, if only she asked. The moment her own monsters came sniffing around, Fair Hunter would spring to task. Her teeth were sharp; her instincts sharper. She was more than content to be a dog at heel if her friend needed her particular talents; though the kimeti was more than talented herself. Though it wasn’t often she admitted it, mind; she was far more covert than anybody would expect. Or perhaps it wasn’t covertness, but rather a sincere ability to not be a monster. She feigned innocence, hiding her own monstrous upbringing behind a cheerful smile; she’d clawed her way out of monsterhood simply by choosing to be better. She’d changed things; there was nothing resigned about her, nothing her will couldn’t break against itself. And as Fair Hunter watched the swamp shimmer in the moonlight, the shallow waters still and quiet, a thought came to her.

Perhaps… perhaps neither of them were monsters. Hadn’t she herself chosen to be better? Even if it had been kicking and screaming, hadn’t she learned introspection and emotion in the time since her friend had fallen into her life? Perhaps all there was to slaying the monster within was making a choice- and it was a choice she hadn’t really known she’d made.

There was no trouble tonight. She could sleep well knowing that the true monsters, while out there, were nowhere near their haven. There were no monsters in her bed. Not anymore.  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF FIREWATER!
Kin Name: Ramble On
Drabble: Ramble On was a mushroom enthusiast, but he felt that he was horribly misunderstood. It wasn’t intoxicants he sought out, but the unbridled joy of communicating with the Motherfather in the purest of ways, even purer than the dreams that came during the night. There was nothing salacious about it; he wasn’t a stumbler mush-mouth, but saw his excursions into the unconscious as something deeply spiritual and far superior to any form of true intoxication. This was something sacred and holy… there were other ways of achieving the dream-state, but none of them allowed actual unity.

Like, for instance, that awful, awful fermented fruit juice. Firewater, he’d heard it called- though it was nowhere near as pure as fire nor water. You might as well call it “addlepated head shrinker juice” or “this will make you sick” or “you will regret everything you’ve ever done that led you to this point.” He’d only had it on a few occasions; the first at a harvest festival long ago, when he was naught but a foal. He and some of his playmates had squirreled away a turtle’s shell full of a drink they’d been shooed away from; wanting, of course, to taste the forbidden fruit, they drained it. He remembered feeling light in the head, then weak at the knees, then divesting himself of his meal from earlier; and judging by the reactions of his friends, this wasn’t an uncommon feeling. The retching had been the worst of it, chased by a headache of incredible magnitude. He’d tried it again as an adult, but while not quite so adverse, the tooth-hurting sweetness tinged with that angry sourness was enough to put him off after a sip. He didn’t understand why kin enjoyed that feeling; to be helpless for helplessness’s sake (as opposed to being helpless and at the mercy of the Motherfather for the sake of communion) was simply ridiculous.  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF DRAGONS!
Kin Name: Returns to Nothing
Drabble:

What did it mean to be a dragon? Returns to Nothing thought about this a lot, and while he knew there was a hypothetically correct answer of just and strong and true, he knew the real answer. Dragons supposedly breathed fire. There were legends, but the small creatures known as dragons couldn’t do that. No, there was only one creature that could produce a flame, and he didn’t know anything as just or strong or brave or simply wonderful as they were. He thought, of course, of his beloved salamanders.

His little dragonhearts. His ickle, precious, smoochy-woochy widdle dragonhearts. He had a special relationship with them; while his tribe revered them and held them to the highest honor, he really spent time with them and cared for them. There were two he looked after, and they were both the most beautiful and majestic things he’d ever seen. He couldn’t imagine anybody looking at a salamander and just seeing a little crawling, creeping animal- though it was true, they did crawl sometimes. They were such sweet little treasures; when they were cold, they were delightful, but when they lit up, they were spectacular. Truly things of glory and majesty. One only had to look at a salamander in its flaming glory to understand what it meant to be a dragon. They were so noble and pure; they had no pretense and understood themselves so well. To be a salamander- to be a dragon- was to have that utter lack of self-centeredness and that total self-awareness; the contentment to live in the moment and the courage to flame proudly when needed. They were a beacon, a signal fire, a watchtower all packaged into a scaly body. They were the best thing in his life, no questions asked. His care was a sacred task, a mission truly worthy of being his life’s work. Anything his little dragons needed was his to sacrifice- and he loved every moment of their shared existence.  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF OCEAN!
Kin Name: Half Truth
Drabble: Half Truth had never seen the ocean. In all her long years of roaming, she’d not once made her way down to the shore. She’d heard about the ocean; heard about the endless expanse of water that just went on forever. She didn’t understand how that wouldn’t drive a kin mad. She’d dreamed of it once- she’d dreamed of a kin who had become one with the ocean.

Her dream had begun on a stretch of sand- she would normally call it a riverbank, but it was so much wider and the sand was fine, smooth, silky grains. There were shells, but they weren’t all like snail shells. Some were smooth and flat; like clams but bigger. They were bleached white by the sun, nearly all of them; the small, slimy creatures that had called them home were long-dead, eaten by the sinister birds that circled and squealed in the sky, clacking their yellow bills like a threat to all those who walked below. The sun was merciless; while it could be oppressively humid and hot in the swamp to the point where heatstroke was a concern in the summer months, the sun that crowned the ocean was different. It hated. It burned her nose and made her eyes water; she wanted to lie down and close her eyes, but the sand, as silken as it was, was unbelievably hot. She was viscerally aware she wasn’t in her own body, but the body of another; an old, old kimeti, knees knocked with age.

She knew there was nothing left for her; she was vividly aware she was going to die on this stretch of abandoned beach with only the birds and their rank, sour fish smell to mourn her. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want a funeral party of shrieking feathers and pointed beaks. She didn’t want the heat to take her, didn’t want her last moments to be falling to the sand. She didn’t want the sharp shells digging into her ancient, creaking knees as she toppled and sank to be the last thing she felt- so she stepped into the water.

It was cool, oh so cool. Though the sun beat down on it, the water held a deep purple coolness as it lapped thirstily at her feet. It was so inviting, so gentle and wonderful. Though she knew that there were strong tides further out that would sweep her to sea, this shallow water was calm. She stepped deeper and deeper. She trod on a pansy shell and felt it crunch beneath her hooves; there were many others, its loss would not be felt.

Would hers?

She was not afraid to die here. This was something she’d chosen- she’d made the choice to rejoin the infinite. Her tail streamed behind her as she went deeper and deeper into the water; eventually, she wasn’t walking, but swimming. She wanted to go peacefully, though she knew that perhaps her body would betray her and give fight; but she was old and frail and perhaps this would not happen. As her face disappeared beneath the waves, she shut her eyes and smiled. She felt home, and soon she was swept out without a trace. The infinite ocean continued as if she’d never been there.

Half Truth had woken up with the taste of salt in her mouth. It hadn’t been pleasant, but then… it hadn’t been a nightmare, either. It just… had been. Like the ocean. It didn’t matter how you felt about it, it was just there, a mirror for the infinite void.