[Drabbles] Zodiacal Solos

[Tiarana]

The Old Mountain - Swamp Gas - 667 words
There are seven stones standing in a wide, empty field.

"I'm telling you, mate, you'd be a fool not to check this out," the acha whispered conspiratorially to his suppertime companion. "I've got this information on good authority, passed down from Black Dog himself."

"Oh yeah?" Swamp Gas whispered back in kind, interest piqued. He was quite sure Black Dog never existed - or at least, never passed down any information about treasure - but a wild goose chase sounded like just the thing to get the blood pumping.

"Information like this doesn't come cheap, of course," the acha grinned at him. Swamp Gas pushed the last dried fish over to his conspirator and nodded for the acha to continue. The acha licked his lips and started, "It goes like this..."

-----

The acha's directions were vague and convoluted. Swamp Gas had carefully sketched the route in the mud the night before, but by the light of day he was not confident that even he, a master tracker familiar with the area, could follow them. Not that it mattered. It was about the adventure, after all.

"Head south from here to a brook that whispers quietly over pebbles and leaves, then turn towards the tree with two crowns and walk in that direction until you stumble across the badger's sett. Then turn towards the setting sun and walk until you find the field with seven stones. Dig at the center of the stones to find your goal," he quoted from memory. "Nothing to it at all!"

Swamp Gas found the whispering brook easily enough (he thought, probably), but ran into a dilemma with the tree with two crowns. There were no less than seven trees with two crowns clearly visible from his location. The only thing he could do was try all of them - or keep trying them until he got bored, at any rate. And, wait a second, if this was Black Dog's lost treasure, why would that badger sett even still be there? In the first place, the swamplands were largely too spongy for badgers to build underground setts anyway! Swamp Gas laughed heartily, already quite sure he'd been taken for a fool, and marched towards the first tree. He reached it without stumbling, so he retraced his steps and headed for the second. And the third, and the fourth, until - eureka! He put his hoof squarely in a hole in the ground. It was deep, but didn't smell like badgers. Good enough, thought Swamp Gas.

The sun wasn't setting yet, but Swamp Gas knew which way to point his nose. He headed west with determination for a while, until he found a lake full of fat geese just waiting to be ambushed. "Surely, these geese are the treasure," he mused as he sneaked closer to them and finally burst out of the reeds to grab one squawking bird by the neck. He neatly snapped the goose's neck and slung it across his back for suppertime.

Swamp Gas continued west for a while, but he didn't want to range too far afield - the acha had assured him the treasure would be fairly near-to-hoof - so eventually he turned and started wandering aimlessly. He wasn't expecting much more than to eat his goose and go home, so when he found the empty field, his jaw dropped. And when he found there were seven stones standing in the center, he hopped into the air with excitement.

"Alright, Black Dog, let's see what kind of treasure you've got," Swamp Gas said and eagerly started digging at the center of the ring. But soon, the hole started filling with water. After a frustrating half hour of bailing out water, Swamp Gas frowned at the ground and knelt down to drink. And gave a whoop of delight.

Gemstones and food Black Dog might not have had, but all kin knew the greatest treasure was fresh water. "That old dog could have just told me he found a good source of clear water," Swamp Gas laughed as he started to pluck feathers off the goose.  

[Tiarana]

The Mangrove - Wasp - 504 words (not including totally ripped-off half of song lol)
A sweet doe sings a song of lost love.

Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow,
Like fragile, tiny shells,
Drifting in the foam.

Little playful foal,
Come singing home,
Strong healthy buck,
Comes singing home.

The song was one of reunion and joy, but the doe sang with a voice that dripped with sorrow. She was strikingly beautiful, and Wasp found himself unable to take his eyes off her even while the kin around them grew quiet and subdued. But the spell ended as quick as it began, the doe stepped down from the makeshift stage and disappeared into the crowd, and the party rumbled back to life around him. Still, Wasp could not take his mind off her or her melancholy song.

He didn't catch sight of the doe again until he spotted a pale figure leaving the clearing. Wasp quickly excused himself from his friends and hurried after her. "Wait!" he shouted. "I, err...I wanted to talk to you."

"Yes? What is it?" she said.

"That song you sang was so beautiful. You have a lovely voice. But why did you sing so sadly?" Wasp flushed. "I mean, I don't want to pry. It's just that it's normally such a cheerful song..."

"Oh, well..." she said, hesitating for a moment. "I..."

"Oh, I knew it. I'm being rude," Wasp moaned.

"It's ok, really. I just wasn't expecting a question like that out of the blue." The doe laughed. "I...lost a son. I sing that song in remembrance of him."

Wasp sighed quietly. Now he regretted asking. "I'm sorry for your loss, and sorry for asking, too. I was just being nosey."

The doe shrugged noncommittally. "It was a long time ago. Now if you'll excuse me..."

"Right," said Wasp. "Have a good night."

He couldn't get the encounter out of his mind. He thought about it all night. He'd been exposed to death before, of course, but never considered the kin left behind. "Life is precious and fragile," he declared to his mothers the next day. "Our time with the ones we love is a gift. I love you, mom, and you also, mom. And even you, Dear Sweet Turtle. And you, and you, and you-" he said to his siblings as they walked by, until the turtle bit his ankle.

"You're acting weird, kid," said Ash.

"Right," he said, suddenly self-conscious. Then he came to a decision. He would hold a big party to show his appreciation for his family and friends. Not that there weren't elaborate parties every night, but this would be his party. He set to work, gathering refreshments (he didn't feel like hunting just then), preparing proper decorations, and running around inviting all the friends and family he could think of. He even tried to dress up Dear Sweet Turtle with a lovely flower decoration, but the turtle promptly ate it. Finally, evening arrived, and with it the first guests (who didn't live in the same clearing Wasp did, that is). Wasp settled in for a night of fun and friends and family, a night like any other, but with a new appreciation for the kin around him.  

[Tiarana]

The Twins - Nightingale - 255 words
The birds are out and curious despite the cold.

"It's cold. Aren't you cold, Courser?" Nightingale poked at the ground with a hoof. "Look, even the swamp's frozen."

Courser rolled her eyes. "Come on, mom. You're the one who said we should come out and play in the snow." Snow didn't often last long in the swamp, but the frozen pools were covered in a thin layer of it.

"I know I said that, but...I didn't realize it would be so cold." Nightingale shivered. "And it's icy and slick. Be careful where you set your hooves."

"Yes, mother," said Courser obediently. She thought her mother would probably have more difficulty keeping her footing than she would, but she didn't say that. "Well, since we're out and about, we might as well gather some food. Look for some of those big squash."

Nightingale sulked a little, but they were already outside of the relative warmth and safety of their burrow. She nosed at the snow. "And it's wet!"

"We do live in a swamp, mom. Besides, this does happen every year. Why are you acting so surprised?"

Nightingale blushed. "Well, you forget, when it's warm...you know."

The pair wandered aimlessly for a while, stopping to admire the icicles hanging from trees and the way the snow collected on spiderwebs, and peering up at a tree that had proven slow on the uptake. Frost gilded its leaves in fanciful patterns. Eventually, Courser found some squash and heaved the vine over her shoulder with some ineffective help from Nightingale, and then they scurried back home.  

[Tiarana]

The Hunter - Dreamthief - 339 words
In the dream you turn and see no shadow behind you.

Dreamthief tossed and turned fitfully. A nightmare, she was having, but she wanted to see the end of it, not wake herself up in the middle. It was an ill omen, and she couldn't - wouldn't - allow herself to wake with the message only half-delivered. She wasn't a foal anymore, to run scared from shadows and monsters.

In the dream, she relaxed on the bank of a long, serpentine river that wound its way across the plains from the mountains to the north to the swamp in the south. The Greater Snakebend, she remembered idly. Not the most creative of names, but it was an old river, named by ancient kin in uncounted years past.

A shadow fell across her, and she turned to look at the source, but nothing was there. Dreamthief stood up, frowning, and suddenly the quiet croaks and buzzes of frogs and insects on the river rose to a crescendo. She whipped around to look at the water and stumbled backwards in surprise. The river had become an inky black shadow, writhing with frogs and waterbugs, oozing slowly out of its banks.

Dreamthief stepped back as the mass brushed against her hooves, then turned and galloped away from the river. She wasn't a foal to run scared from monsters, but she wasn't interested in being swallowed by them either. As she ran the shadow overtook her, and she skidded to a stop. She turned to look back for the source of the shadow again, and found only the ground, suddenly bare, the inky black river in the distance inching slowly across hill and dale. The kiokote looked up at the sky, and realized the air was filling with a thick, black dust.

She turned and ran again, not stopping this time, but there was nowhere to hide. The dust filled her lungs, choking her, and she woke up gasping. She looked at the sky just to make sure there were no sinister clouds above her, then she stood and began her journey to the Greater Snakebend.  

[Tiarana]

The Father Star - Dogrot - 523 words
Cooking a rejuvenating soup.
WARNING: gross freakin kin alert

Believe it or not, Dogrot is an incredible chef when it applies itself. As long as one doesn't mind a little putrescent meat and ground maggots in their meals, they are sure to find the dishes placed before them to be savory and rich, flavorful and unique, with strong bouquet and stronger effects on the digestion. Not that Dogrot ever shares its food. Dogrot is, in fact, aggressively defensive of its food, and threatens any kin or animal that approaches while it is eating. Dogrot rarely actually eats, however, often going for days ignoring the rumbling of its stomach and that light-headed feeling that accompanies it. Wherever Dogrot developed the idea of "cooking," as it were, no one can say; perhaps it had observed other kin in the act. It certainly has no firm idea what it is doing, other than enjoying bashing disgusting things with other disgusting things.

Dogrot's favorite meal is, of course, corpse a la Dogrot. The preparation of corpse a la Dogrot is simple. First, find the stinkiest, rotting, dead animal available within a 20-mile radius. Second, roll in it. Third, lick the bits of corpse and maggots off one's pelt, then realize one is actually very hungry, and consume the rest of the decaying flesh. Finally, spend the rest of the evening gnawing on the bones. This is Dogrot's most basic recipe, and its staple food. How Dogrot fails to die of the many medical conditions inflicted by the consumption of rotten meat is an enduring mystery of the swamp.

When Dogrot is in the mood for something fancier, it turns to all the herbs and plants of the swamp to create corpse chili (of course, Dogrot did not actually name any of these dishes). Dogrot first tenderizes the meat, through the previously described method. Then it gathers leaves and roots and berries and nuts from any plants near-to-hoof, and mashes them together on top of the meat. Then the entire mixture is either left to dry in the sun for some hours or buried underground before later being consumed. The addition of random plants is sure to be more potent than rotten meat alone. The result varies in edibility from "gastrointestinal distress" to "likely dead by morning." It should be noted that, while Dogrot never actually dies from its food, it is only rarely unaffected by its meals. Most food passes through Dogrot so quickly, in one direction or the other, that it doesn't have much time to absorb the toxins - or the nutrients.

Finally, for variety, there is the soup du jour. A simple soup with complex flavor, starting with a base of stagnant, brackish pond water. In small pools the water is often already seasoned with frogs and fish eggs and strange insects. To this base Dogrot adds shredded meat and bones and nearby plant life. Then it splashes around in the pond for a bit before remembering what it is doing. Finally, it drinks the broth, which is somehow agreeable to its digestion most of the time. After eating its most nutritional meal in weeks, Dogrot often lies down and takes a long nap.  

[Tiarana]

The Half-Bloom - Murkcrow - 532 words
Work is too hard, better to just lie down and take a nap.

His family was getting large, he noticed. "His family," though it was actually Stalker's family, mostly, and his mother's family, too. He'd never had the family of his own that he wanted (or, well, didn't really want one way or the other, but at least a boyfriend, come on). Murkcrow counted off relatives in his head. His mother, three sisters, five brothers...Stalker, if he was feeling generous, her five offspring, which, after all, he had raised, her five offsprings' offspring, too many for him to even remember. Endless grandchildren and great-grandchildren until there were kin wandering the swamp who had no idea who he was at all. Suddenly he felt very old. And somewhat depressed. He'd spent plenty of time caring for Stalker's kids and even grandkids, but of his own line...well, none of his siblings had ever had any offspring, and certainly not himself.

Well, maybe he'd never had any nieces and nephews to harass with curmudgeonly uncle antics, but he still felt fatherly pride to think on the five kin he had raised. Families in the swamp were built on less.

But now, now he was thinking it was too noisy around. His mother had finally pushed his older sister off on some tribe or other, and taken up with another herself, but the number of children - he thought of them all as children, for various reasons - who popped up to see him on a regular basis had increased rather a lot. And all of them were here today. There was Stalker. There were Tree Skeletons and Swamp Gas. There were Swamp Gas's kids, Dogfight, Bad Dream, and Moonrise. There was Wasp, a great-something of someone, he couldn't quite remember. His brother Nightwake had even shown up, for some reason.

They were mostly entertaining each other, so Murkcrow thought he could just lie down and ignore them. But Nightwake barely knew them, so finally Murkcrow walked over to his brother to see what he wanted.

"Well, I'm trying to build a better shelter," Nightwake said, carefully edging around the throng of kin descended from Stalker. "It's a bit too much to handle by myself."

"Well, I know just the kin to help with tasks requiring strength." Murkcrow turned to the group. "Hey, Swamp Gas! Uncle Nightwake could use your assistance. And your muscley son, too."

Swamp Gas and Dogfight walked over and started talking to Nightwake about what he required, and soon all three of them left to get to work. Murkcrow nodded approvingly. Three kin gone, and he'd manage to avoid having to help. It would be harder to get rid of the others, though.

"Hey, Wasp," he called, figuring most of the rest of them would follow Wasp anywhere. "How about you and the other young'ns go get us some food." Wasp nodded and the rest of the group wandered off with him, leaving behind the two most antisocial of the bunch, Stalker and Bad Dream.

"I'm taking a nap," Murkcrow announced to them. Stalker would do...whatever she did when he was asleep, and Bad Dream wouldn't do anything Murkcrow told him to do anyway, but he also wouldn't bother Murkcrow while he was sleeping.