That One Dragon
... or, as I like to say, That One Annoying Best Friend Of Mine.
A oneshot about the stump pets; specifically, the first (and probably only) one I found.
Rusaviia
... or, as I like to say, That One Annoying Best Friend Of Mine.
A oneshot about the stump pets; specifically, the first (and probably only) one I found.
Rusaviia
~
I met her in the spring, during the Orient Isles' famous Cherry Blossom Festival.
Really, I like to say it's Steve's fault. That stump (who, certain people say, moves from place to place) named Steve started all of it. That stump and the obnoxious Ceremonial Dragon who is really an otter and quite the liar, Rusaviia.
It's spring, as I said before, but this happened in early spring. It was when the Orient Isles were flooded with tourists and visitors, when the Cherry Blossom Festival was in full swing, when a lucky traveler could wait in long lines for almost exactly fifteen minutes and perhaps find something waiting for them on the stump. Locals swore the stump only appeared during their festivals- and only during this one- so it must be magic and lucky.
Me, I'm the cynic. I sometimes say a prankish rune does it every year, just for the kicks. But who can explain the offerings that appear for the travelers? Who does the precise and exact timings of one offering per person per fifteen minutes? (And if you can explain that, kindly explain to me how the stump doesn't go up in flames after I trip on its roots and drop one of the candles I found, would you?)
Actually, maybe I'm not so cynical. I kinda do believe in the moving stump. But only because it's fireproof.
The locals say it has to be fireproof. When I asked a young girl helping at the shrine why, she giggled and told me I should know why.
"Why?" I asked again. "Because there are lots of klutzy travelers like me?"
She laughed harder. "No, silly, it's because of the dragons that appear on it! It wouldn't do to have Stevie go boom just 'cause someone upset their new pal!"
"Wait, wha-"
"Avatri, can you help me with this incense, please?" someone called. "It's not burning correctly."
"Okay~" she called back, and just like that, she'd gone. And everyone else- the young Shrine Maidens, the working locals, the experienced travelers- were too busy to tell me just what she meant about upsetting pals.
I started visiting the stump regularly. It was rather generous, giving me enough offerings to make a few friends at the shrine in the meadow. I heard several rumors that occasionally, creatures would appear on the stump- lucky servals were among the most coveted- and stay with their finders, even traveling away from the Orients with them.
I'd never seen evidence for that. Honestly, I didn't quite believe it until my sixty-second trip to Steve the Giving Stump.
An orange-white otterling, bedecked in beads and little lines of red paint, appeared on the stump before me. She was a female, judging by the way she stood, and a curious one. She looked up at me with an inqusitive tilt of her head, jaws slightly parted.
"How lucky!" cried the Overseer-of-the-Stump. (I believe this is a job among the locals; every time I visit, there is an announcer telling me that I've found something or I haven't, because I can clearly not tell by myself. Their main function, however, is to keep the lines of visitors moving peacefully.) "A creature appears before you on the stump! You should take her up, milady, and carry her home!"
The otterling snorted quietly. "As if I was a damsel in distress? No thank you, I'm inclined to walk." She hopped off the stump and set off at a moderate pace towards the east of the Meadow- towards the town. She got a good three yards or so before she turned and scolded me.
"Don't just stand there, you're holding up the line," she said, and kept going.
I had to run to catch up with the snarky otterling. She didn't even look up as I skidded into step beside her, trying not to spray pebbles onto her pelt. Whatever you call me, you may accurately say I have the elegance of a drunk swan- that is, none at all.
"Well, you run quickly," the otterling muttered. "Didn't think you'd catch up so fast."
"I have long legs," I point out.
"I was sure you'd trip over 'em."
I didn't know what to say to that. We walked to the inn in silence, and not the companionable kind.
She led the way up to the third floor and to my room (for a few days, anyway). It didn't occur to me to ask her how she knew where I was staying. She opened up my traveling case, tugged a blanket out of it, and proceeded to make herself a little nest beside the pillow of my bed. With deft paws she removed her ornaments, placed them in a neat row alongside the windowsill, and curled up to sleep.
"Well, get on with it, you need rest, don't you?" she growled.
It then occurred to me that I'd been standing in the doorway watching her prepare for sleep, standing quite still. The otterling half-opened an eye, probably to see if I was still standing there.
"Aren't you going to be traveling to the stump and poking around the fields tomorrow? Sleep, moron, you'll need it."
The half-opened eye shut, and I assumed she was asleep. I readied myself for bed quietly, so I wouldn't wake her (and suffer through a tongue-lashing), and slid into the bed beside her nest.
"Took you long enough."
I jumped. I have discovered since that it is very, very possible to jump- or at least twitch- in surprise in near every position imaginable.
"I told you to sleep," she continued, voice abrasive as ever. "You going to listen?"
"Sure, sure." I yawned in spite of myself. "Yeah, I will."
Even though I was tired, I wanted to know why she wanted me to sleep so badly. Was she going to do something while I was so vulnerable? Maybe stump-appearified creatures attacked their humans at night. Maybe she just hated me and wanted to be rid of me.
In any case, I only pretended to sleep. An hour crawled by, then another. I started wondering of this was worth my sleep.
But then she moved.
The otterling stirred, rustling blankets, and I cracked an eye open. She stretched, yawned a tiny yawn, and got up, advancing towards me.
She was going to-
- curl up and sleep on my shoulder.
She stayed there, perfectly balanced, for quite a while. When I was very sure she was deeply asleep again, I reached out with my index finger and stroked her head, tentatively.
She was not as asleep as I'd thought she was.
"What're you doing?" she snaps, raising her head, with all the usual bite in her voice. "Didn't I tell you to sleep?"
"Why are you on my shoulder, then, if you want me to sleep?"
"You only ever sleep on your left shoulder, this's your right one."
She's correct. I don't ever sleep on my right shoulder- or anywhere besides on my left side, anyway. "How did you know that?"
"Because I'm your 'lucky best pal', dammit," she growls, quoting the Shrine Maiden from before, "and I'm gonna do a good job of it. Now shut up, and sleep, so you can go prancing around tomorrow."
With that she huffs and flops back down, pushing her muzzle into my shoulder. She mumbles, so I feel rather than hear her next words: "It might even be fun."
~
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