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by Ville Meriläinen

“How could someone who’d gained the trust of two wild beasts through the virtue of her kindness have caused a calamity this vast?”

The wasteland opened before us, cold and bleak like we’d stepped inside a predator’s eye. Blue Girl sat on Huntress’ back, shoulders drooping, the hem of her dress ripped at the knees. She’d be fine tomorrow. Until then, the wolf would gladly ease her burden.

Blue Girl had a smile to cut glass and enough heartache to kill a man, but we liked each other well enough and were useful to one another, so we journeyed together. Huntress and I cared for little else but staying alive. She had lost her cubs when escaping the fire that took her mountain, and now wandered the earth looking for them. My reason was more selfish: I simply enjoyed living, even when there was nothing to live for. Blue Girl helped by letting us eat her arms before we lay to sleep, knowing the flesh would regrow by the morning. In return, I had promised to bring her to Charnel House, the one place where she might find the end of her own search: Blue Girl wanted to die.

“I see nothing but burnt earth for days to come,” Huntress said. Our paws raised clouds of dust and ash with every step, but to the omnipresent smell of smoke clung an undernote of a coming storm from the clouds at horizon’s edge. “Are you sure this is the way?”

“Positive,” I replied. “I can feel it in my bones.”

Huntress hummed, a growl deep in her throat that never failed to make me uneasy. The great wolf was a kind creature, but murder remained etched deep in the grooves of her face.

“I think I can walk now,” Blue Girl said. Her voice was hollow, legs crusted with dry blood. She’d cut them coming down the mountain and bled so much I’d fretted a rock would give her the surcease we could not.

“You stay where you are,” Huntress said. “Maybe you can walk, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

“Won’t you carry me as well?” I said. “I could sit on her lap. I’m far smaller than she.”

Huntress returned a sideways leer. “Careful, fox. If you’re so lazy, I could carry you with my teeth.”

I bared mine into a grin, though her comment nearly coaxed a whimper out of me. “I thought it a sensible suggestion. Your stride is longer than mine, and swifter without me slowing you down.”

“Were that a problem, I’d sooner leave you behind.”

“Now, now. How would you find Charnel House without me?”

“I’m not convinced we’ll find it with you. You might as well be making us run in circles to keep getting fed.”

“Don’t be wicked, Huntress,” Blue Girl said.

“She’s only teasing, dear. We’ve grown inseparable, she and I.”

Huntress snorted at that. “I’m more attached to her than to you. We’ll part ways at the House as agreed.”

“Don’t be wicked,” Blue Girl said, more firmly. “Promise me you won’t abandon him when I’m gone.”

“I’ve not given up on my cubs, girl. I doubt he wants to join my search once he has no feeding hand to bite.”

Huntress glanced at me, as though expecting a remark, but I saw no reason to antagonize her. She was certain the cubs lived, could feel their closeness in her marrow the same way a murmur in my own pulled me towards the demise the girl yearned for.

It was ironic that, out of the three of us, I was the one drawn to Charnel House. I would have been thrilled to be deathless like Blue Girl, but she wanted nothing more than to escape. Huntress and I had found her after she jumped off a cliff so high she’d been a dot atop it. She came down like a falling star with a tail of silk, but got up from the crater as though she’d only tripped.

She spoke in her sleep sometimes, blaming herself for the way the world was, but that was an absurd notion to entertain. How could someone who’d gained the trust of two wild beasts through the virtue of her kindness have caused a calamity this vast?

I gave the girl a look from the corner of my eye. She met it with a wan smile, cutting through fur for a pluck at my heartstrings. I refused to believe she was guilty for the way the world was, but the child had seen something that had broken the spirit within an unbreakable body. When she smiled, none of the defeat lacing her bearing showed.

Wind drove along the drifts of ash around us, and as we climbed a mound, I noticed the broken ribcage of a small beast poking out of it. For a moment, I felt sorry for Huntress—I was sure her cubs were gone, starved by now even if they’d somehow lived through the end of the world. I caught her glimpsing at the bones as well, and set my gaze ahead when our eyes met and I saw the bared pain in them.

“Fox,” said Blue Girl, interrupting my musing. “Would you tell me more about Charnel House?”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to hear you speak. It’s too quiet.”

“Hmm. Have I told you how grand and beautiful it is?”

“You have.”

“What about the lands surrounding it?”

Blue Girl tapped her lip in thought. “You say there’s still grass and that the milk on the leaves makes you forget your worries.”

“Then what of the people who used to live there?”

“They were as grand and beautiful as the house, but turned it into a home to death, and now only an old crow dwells there.”

I smacked my mouth. “Sounds like you know as much as my stories do.”

“Oh.” She fell quiet for a minute, then asked, “Would you like to play a game?”

“Are you after my name again?” I chuckled. It was a difficult sound to produce, but it made her smile a little brighter. “Go on, then.”

“Is it… Redtail?”

“No.”

“Whitepaw?”

“No.”

“Firefur?”

“You’ve tried that.”

“Nuisance?” offered Huntress. She earned only a flat stare for it.

Blue Girl went on to fill the silence with her guesses, but I rejected them all. Truth was I didn’t have a name, never knew I was supposed to until I met her. With only the three of us, ‘fox’ was just as good, but I had decided to claim she’d guessed correctly once she landed on one that sounded nice in my ears. I thought she’d done the same; we’d started calling her Blue Girl because she was a girl and her dress was blue, but Huntress had told me it wasn’t a proper name.

I suppose I understood some of her desire to learn mine, as names seemed to have power of which I hadn’t known either. It was only after we named her that we learned to understand her, though we had walked together for some time by then.

“One of these days,” she huffed, after her tone reached the peak of vexation, “I’m going to learn it, you know.”

“I’m sure you will,” I said with a chuckle. Annoyance lingered on her features, turning the ensuing smile impish.

We came to the bank of a dry river. A stream still ran through the bottom, but if we went down, the sides would be too steep to climb back up. Even so, Huntress leapt off the ledge without hesitation, padded to the stream and lapped from it with such vigor she might’ve been trying to drain it altogether. I hopped after her, and once we’d drunk, looked around for a way out.

“Should we spend the night here?” Blue Girl suggested. “I’m tired and you could drink as much as you want.”

Huntress said, “A sound plan. I’m parched.”

“Well then,” I said with a yawn, “make us a fire, dear. I can do with some shuteye.”

She headed off to gather scattered pieces of wood. The wood was charred, violently splintered; the wasteland’s birth had created a storm unlike any before, and fire and lightning had decimated the lush forests once ruling the lowlands. Everywhere we went, we found nothing but grey earth, as though it had been sucked dry to the last drops of life. We had passed no other beasts on our way, only skeletons so fragile they turned to dust when we tried to gnaw on them.

Left to her own devices, a somber air soon overcame Blue Girl. Huntress noted it as well and went to join her, tattling about this and that to pull her out of her thoughts. I sat on my haunches, watching them pick up and pile the wood.

Once she was warm, Blue Girl would let us eat. I wasn’t hungry enough for it not to sicken me, and so I watched them in brooding silence. What did it say about us, helping her towards a fate neither felt she deserved, using her body as sustenance on the way? Yes, the limbs would regrow—but that only meant we fed on her pain.

These thoughts passed as the flame grew and drowsiness settled in, as they did every night. I was a firm believer in one’s own freedom, and so it was not my place to deny her any choice concerning herself. Huntress felt much the same. Besides, we could do nothing but follow her: finding no one else meant we had none to rely on but each other, and the wolf’s kindness wasn’t limitless.

Thus, in order to help each other for another day, we ripped the flesh of Blue Girl’s arms until she passed out, and when they were picked clean, nestled against her in an effort to balance the suffering we inflicted with affection.

I woke up to raindrops pummeling my nose. Blue Girl was still asleep, mended hands folded under her head. I stretched out of the nook of her bent knees, jowls shaking with a yawn. Huntress was gone. Blue Girl was easily upset if we weren’t here when she woke up, so the wolf often used the early hours for scouting and returned at dawn. I suspected she’d left to look for a way up.

I returned to Blue Girl after drinking. The rain had washed her feet; the dress had mended with the skin, dampened from periwinkle to a deeper shade. She shuddered when I lay beside her.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, still asleep. “I have mothered ruin.”

I reared my head for a look at her. Poor dear. She was too young to have mothered anything, much less anything this awful.

She might’ve cried in her sleep, or maybe it was rain. I didn’t dare lick her face for the risk of waking her, and so I only nuzzled against her throat for some more rest. It was always strange to be so close to her; her body looked as soft as a child’s was meant to be, but her meat was sinewy and her stomach taut with muscle. She pulled me closer and cradled me in her arms until I dozed off.

My dream took me to Charnel House. Mist hung over pale grassland, where the house sat amidst a copse of skeletal trees. I had overstated its beauty. Maybe it had been a place of splendor in the past, but now it was like its lone inhabitant, scraggly and diseased, so far as a house could look diseased. Cracks ran over windows like cataracts in the crow’s eyes, pillars were chipped and thin like his legs, murals on the walls had faded as his feathers had lost their luster. It was where dead things went to die, so the story said, so why not Blue Girl?

“Hello. Are you bringing a visitor?” cawed the crow when I approached. He perched atop the open door. It was too dark to see what was inside.

The crow’s familiar tone seemed odd, but, being fully aware I was dreaming, I decided to pay no mind to little lapses in logic. “I don’t think I should.”

“Your task is only to guide her here. She will decide whether to enter or not.”

“She is misguided.”

“That, ultimately, is irrelevant,” said the crow. He swooped down onto the porch and pointed his wing towards the dark house. “This is where she belongs. This is where she’ll be happy. You know this.”

“Do I?”

The crow nodded. “You only don’t know you do. You would if you knew her name.”

“Do you?”

“I know all names.”

I cocked my head at that. “Do you know mine?”

“Of course.”

“Ha. You don’t even know I don’t have one.”

I thought I read a grin in the way the crow’s beak parted. “You think yourself clever, my friend, but every creature has a name. Come to Charnel House and I will tell you. You may then enter as well, should you wish to follow her.”

I awoke then, startled by the crow’s horrid offer. The dream faded as I blinked in light and shuddered away its memory.

“Good morning,” said Blue Girl. She had propped her head against a restored arm and scratched the nape of my neck. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“I dreamt of Charnel House.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Neither, I think.”

She moved to scratching behind my ear when I fell into silent thoughts. “Is something the matter?”

I let her pet me for a moment. “Blue Girl,” I said, pausing when she found the good spot. She hummed to spur me on. “If you go inside Charnel House, you will die.”

She smiled. “I think you’ve mentioned that, yes.”

“I won’t come with you.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I need you to know that.”

Her brow furled, though she still smiled. “What on earth has come over you, silly?”

“I don’t want you to go inside alone.”

“Everyone goes to death alone, fox.”

“But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t have to go at all.”

“Oh, fox,” she said, sighing as she stood. “Not this again. Won’t you come find Huntress instead? With that, at least, you can help me.”

“Is she not back yet?” I said with surprise. It was unusual for the wolf to stay away for this long.

“She left just before you awoke,” Blue Girl said. “She found a way up, but that was awhile ago. We should catch up.”

Blue Girl and I jolted when a howl reached us. She faced me with fright. “That must’ve been her. Come! She may need us.”

We hurried down the ravine, Huntress’ howls growing more panicked as Blue Girl started running out of breath. The bottom turned muddier and muddier until we found the wolf—neck deep in it. The wall had crumbled; rocks formed a path gradually submerging as it reached her.

“Help me,” she whimpered. “I tried to climb up, but the wall couldn’t carry my weight. A stone pushed me in and my foot is stuck beneath it.”

I dashed for her, but stopped when she cried, “Be careful! There’s a pit. My feet reach the bottom, but it’s too deep for you.”

“Can’t you push the rock aside?”

“I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re too far for us to reach,” Blue Girl said, face twisted with worry. She picked up a stick, poked the ground until she found a way around the pit and held the stick out for the wolf. “Here. Maybe I can pull you out with—”

The stick crunched and broke when Huntress bit for hold. Blue Girl raised the splintered end and frowned before tossing it away. She hemmed, felt the mud with her foot, then reached out her arm. “Bite down. I have a good foothold here.”

“You’ll break like the twig.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

Huntress hesitated. I had no wisdom to offer save for, “It’ll grow back.”

The wolf said, “It is one thing to hurt you to live, but I don’t want to do so for nothing.”

“Do you think you’ll never sink?” replied the girl.

Huntress gave a whimper before parting her jaws. Blue Girl cried out when they closed on her forearm, groaned as she gritted her teeth and leaned back. She held herself up with her free arm as her feet sought the hold hidden under mud. Blood spurted onto Huntress’ nose, but the girl persevered. Her wail rose into a scream until Huntress let go and Blue Girl tumbled backwards.

“Why did you—?” she shrieked, cutting herself off when Huntress climbed up and shook mud off her fur. She limped to Blue Girl, rear leg twisted, and licked the row of puncture wounds on the girl’s arm

“Thank you,” said the wolf.

Blue Girl smiled through tears. The smile wilted when she faced me, and I realized horror must’ve shown on my features. “What’s wrong, fox?”

“You’ve said nothing when you let us eat. I thought you were used to the pain.”

She pressed her lips together, averted her eyes, and shook her head.

Huntress looked away from her, at me. “How far to Charnel House?”

“Three days.”

“I can go without eating for three days.”

“You don’t have to,” Blue Girl said. “It’s fine, really—”

“I will do you no more harm, girl,” growled Huntress, “and I’ve half a mind to turn around, carry you to the mountains and raise you as my own, away from this awful place.”

“And what would that solve?” I said. I did my best not to cower when she swung towards me. “You’d leave one wasteland for another, and sooner or later you’d hunger again. All you’d do would be to prolong her suffering, making a home above the valley of cinders where you keep the last living creature as your pet and prey.”

Her growl deepened. “Are you saying you accept her resignation now?”

“It’s not our place to decide her fate, Huntress.”

“No,” she admitted, after a long, long spell of consideration. “But it is my choice not to eat her. I will not be used for penance any longer.”

“Nor will I,” I said, and faced Blue Girl. “And I stand by what I said before. You’ve a good heart.”

Blue Girl bowed her head, placed her healthy hand on the side of Huntress’ neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”

We were able to climb up over the pile of rocks Huntress’ fall had made. Her injury did nothing to our pace. She’d already had to slow down for us to keep up—now she merely had to do so a little less.

* * *

The wasteland turned from an even plain into an uphill climb. On the plateaus we found more skeletons, human instead of animal, as though a necropolis had been unearthed. The ground was soft, once fertile, perhaps, and I wondered if they’d been field hands who’d worked the lands around Charnel House.

Every time we passed such boneyards, Blue Girl kept her gaze fixed on the overcast and allowed Huntress to carry her. The wolf never complained for the added weight on her leg wound, just as Blue Girl tried to hide the wounds on her heart from us.

On the third morning, we found the first signs of life since our journey began. Grass grew thick on the slopes, wet with dew.

“Don’t touch it,” I said, when Blue Girl fell behind to inspect the pearls of milk gathering on the leaves. “It’ll take away the pain in your arm, but also everything else. We’re almost there.”

Charnel House waited atop the final climb, where the land leveled and the grass grew taller. The cooling evening raised the milk into mist, making even Huntress complain of feeling lightheaded. It was cold here; the chill of death wafted from the house like  exhalations from the netherworld.

“Girl, I don’t want you going nearer,” Huntress growled. Her fur bristled. “You don’t belong here. Turn away.”

“Please,” I tried. The mist numbed my thoughts, making my feet pad on by their own accord. “She’s right. I’ve made a grave mistake. I never should’ve brought you here.”

“But I see it now,” Blue Girl said, voice drowsy. “It’s beautiful.”

I saw it too, the shimmery gloss appearing on the house’s surface, how it seemed to radiate in the glow of a waning sun. Even I felt an attraction to the place, so much greater than before. The gentle hold in my bones hummed a gentler invitation, asking me to cross the threshold.

“Please don’t go,” I whimpered. “You are a kind creature, sorely needed in this world. If you went, there might be no one else left but Huntress and I. Neither of us have half the heart you do.”

“But, fox,” said Blue Girl. “I made the world this way. I don’t deserve to dwell in it. Don’t want to—”

“You cannot have!” I snapped, steeling my mind to dash to her and step in her way. “My dear girl, why do you say these things? Why do you not see how sweet you are? We are beasts—had we been alone, I would have abandoned Huntress to drown in the mud. And she? If we had stayed together this long by the two of us, nothing I could’ve said would’ve deterred her from eating me. Is this not true?”

“It is,” Huntress said. “You have tamed us, girl, made us caring by caring for us. If you wish to step inside, it is your right, but I will not bid a fond farewell. I will grieve for a life thrown to waste.”

“You don’t understand,” Blue Girl said, with chilling patience. “This is my share. Remember me as a fool if you must, but move out of my way.”

“A fool is the last thing I’ll remember,” I said.

The girl did not reply, only stepped past.

“Ah, hello,” said the crow sitting atop the open door. “How good to see you, at long last. Come in.”

“Thank you,” said Blue Girl. She turned, folding her hands over her front. Warmth pulsed in my breast, and I feared her smile had cut so deep if I spat the grass would turn red. “Fond or not, I bid goodbye, my friends—”

“Not you, silly chit,” said the crow. He swooped down and hobbled past her to Huntress. “Come, come. It’s time to go.”

Dumbfounded, Huntress stared the crow down. “I’m going nowhere. It’s the girl you want.”

“She?” The crow darted a look at Blue Girl. “She couldn’t come in if she wanted. She’s alive.”

“So am I.”

“How could you be, when the forest burned around you?”

“I survived.”

“How?”

“I…” Horror flashed on her face, then fury settled in. In a snarl, she said, “Step back, crow. I will not be tricked. I must find my cubs.”

“You did, Nastasha. You found them in your den, where their charred bones rest with yours.”

A pang boiled the blood Blue Girl’s smile had freed. My chest was afire, as was Huntress’—afire and worse, by her look. She turned to me with an expression of desperation, and I met it with some of my own. “Her name is Huntress,” I said, words rolling off an unfeeling tongue.

“‘Huntress’ is no name. It is a title.”

The wolf whispered, “Nastasha.”

I whispered, “Nastasha.”

“That is her name,” said the crow, “and now she remembers.”

Nastasha took in a deep breath she released as a long, wailing howl. Her fur seemed to give off mist. To my shock, I realized it was smoke.

“My friends,” she said, voice frail and ethereal. “I do remember. I must go. I don’t belong here.” She came to us, gave Blue Girl’s face a lick. “My cubs were gone—but they hadn’t moved. I found them slain when I brought them food. When the fire came, I could not bring myself to leave them.”

“I’m so sorry,” Blue Girl said, scratching the wolf’s jaw.

Nastasha came to me, prodded my nose with hers. “You guided me here.”

The crow studied us with an amused twinkle in its eye. It hadn’t spoken of Blue Girl in my dream. That blasted fiend had told me I was leading the wolf to her doom, and I’d been too much of a fool to understand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She looked long at me, until I thought a smile appeared in her lupine features. “I forgive you.”

“It’s time to go,” said the crow. Nastasha nodded and padded towards the open door, stopping at the porch to face us for the last time. Her fur had burned off by then, skin melting, bone showing. She did not make it all the way inside; a gust of wind blew her ashes into the darkness.

When she was gone, the murmur within my marrow calmed. The pull, however, forced my legs into motion, and it took effort to force them rigid and keep myself standing in place. Blue Girl still regarded the empty space Nastasha had left, but the crow noticed my struggle and said, “Your duty is done. You can go as well.”

This drew a gasp from Blue Girl and made her wheel about. “Not you, too?” she sniffled.

“Dear girl, no one loves being alive as much as I,” I said, with a scolding look at the crow.

“You remember why you had to guide her, yes?” said the crow.

“That does not mean I belong here.”

“No,” the crow admitted with a nod, “but—”

“Stop.”

He cocked his head.

“Are you about to tell me my name?”

The crow nodded again, and I went to the weeping Blue Girl. She knelt to rub my ear, brushed her nose with the side of her palm.

“Would you like to guess first?” I said.

“Is it…” Her voice came out creaky. She cleared her throat and furled her brow. “Huntress’ name was Nastasha.”

“It was.”

“Then yours might be something closer to mine than one from a fairytale, too.”

“It might.”

“Is it… Phillip?”

“It is not.”

“Is it Henry?”

“One more try.”

She sucked on her lip, brows knitted, inspecting me as though trying to see it hidden somewhere on my face. “Is it Ichabod?”

The tiniest grunt fled a chest gone perfectly rigid. I was flushed with memories, how I had tried to plead the wolf to spare me—because, with a full stomach, I was unable to escape her.

I forced on a smile, straining muscles that weren’t meant to move in such a way. “See? I knew you’d guess it eventually.”

“Ichabod,” she whispered, wiping her eye. “Ichabod, Ichabod, Ichabod.”

I licked her fingers before facing the crow. “Do I have to go? She would be all alone.”

“You’ve atoned,” he said. “It’s your choice, but you know you don’t belong here.”

“Atoned?” said Blue Girl.

“We are beasts,” I answered, “and beasts are cruel to one another.”

“I don’t think that’s true. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

“Why are you so quick to believe the best of us, when you don’t see the good in yourself?”

She licked her lower lip, straightened herself. “Crow,” she said. “When I named him in my thoughts, I could hear him speak. When I learned his true name, I saw the bite marks on his throat. If he knew mine, could he see me as I do?”

The crow nodded. Unease tickled my neck, as though a wraith petted me where Blue Girl had a minute ago.

“Dear Ichabod,” she said, sitting on her knees. “My name is not Blue Girl. It is Evelyn.”

Between blinks, Blue Girl grew from a sweet little creature into a woman so beautiful I thought her radiance might blind me. I gasped for breath, unable to move my gaze from this sun with a hand resting on my ear. Her voice had deepened, each phrase flowing like a song.

“Charnel House was my home,” Evelyn said, “before we befouled it, my family and I, with our desire to become everlasting. We ate the shine of the sun and turned into a pale remembrance of itself. We drained the earth of verve to enhance our own. We stole the lives of creatures to stretch mortality into eternity. And I, I am the worst of us all.”

“Why?” I said, though I didn’t want to hear the answer. I wanted to hear her voice again, heart aching from being deprived of it for only a pause.

“I am a kinslayer,” she said, calmly, as though stating any mundane fact. “My family became the death of a planet, but I became the Death of Deaths and took from them their shine and verve and long lives to reach true immortality. When I left to enjoy my newfound godhood, I learned its price. In my desperation to find something still alive, I wandered so far I could no longer find my way home.” She closed her eyes, shuddered a sigh. “I lost my way for countless lifetimes, but wherever I went, I found nothing but ruin. Sometimes, I came across animals who had survived—though I now suspect they all were like you and Nastasha, tied too closely to this world for me to devour. After I had let them eat, I woke up alone. None of them were as devoted to living for the sake of living as you, I reckon.”

She trailed off into a hum, scratching the good spot. Her touch sent shivers through my body. “I thought I’d have to live alone until I met you,” she went on, quieter. “I’m glad we did meet, though neither of us got what we wanted. It seems that, in the end, I stole what was dearest even from you.”

“I don’t believe you. You are my friend. If you had the powers you claim, you would have used them for good.”

“If you were a cruel beast,” she said, and her smile eviscerated me in a way it hadn’t come close to before, “why do you cling onto the good in me?”

“I couldn’t go to my demise knowing you, too, were a wicked creature.”

Her hum turned inquisitive. “Ichabod, I’ve confessed to you because I want you to go to your demise without burdens.”

I pricked my ears at that.

“I sought to die here because I was weak and lonely, and afraid you’d leave me like all the rest,” she went on. “Now that I know I cannot do that, I have something else in mind. I will walk the earth and return everything I took. I will give away my shine so that stars may glow at night. I will let rivers run wild and unrestrained. And,” she tapped my nose, “I will make sure every forest I raise has a fox as its little prince.”

“You can do that?” I said with surprise. “Do you promise?”

She hugged me tight. “It will be difficult, but I swear it on this good heart of mine.”

“Then,” I said once she let go, “I think it is time I left.”

“Goodbye, Ichabod. I won’t forget you.”

“Goodbye, Evelyn. I’ll try not to forget you.”

I padded towards the house, no longer frightened. At the porch, a ghost of uncertainty crossed my thoughts, and I paused for one last look at her. “Please turn away. I don’t want you to see me change.”

“Won’t you feel lonely, with no one to see you go?”

“Everyone goes to death alone, Evelyn.”

Evelyn bowed her head with a mirthless laugh. “Of course.” She spun, and when the crow glanced at her, I dashed into the shadow a pillar cast. After a minute, she asked, “Ichabod?”

They couldn’t see me hiding, and the crow said, “He’s gone.”

Evelyn turned, gazing up at the house. “Good. I don’t want him to see me, either.” She lowered her gaze, looked towards the entrance for so long I thought she had spotted me, but then asked, “What did he atone for?”

“I don’t know,” said the crow. “He did something that caused the wolf to resist you, something that bound her soul here, and theirs together. It left them half-eaten; you took their lives, but left their bodies walking. Every creature yearns to find where they belong, but she was too distracted by the grief of her last moments to find her way here, and he could not be free until she was.”

Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself and looked at her feet. When she raised her head back towards me, even from a distance, I saw her tears.

“Did you truly not notice your companions were spectres?” the crow went on.

She brushed her face and hardened her expression before turning. “Don’t be snide. Your eye was always sharper than mine. It was the one thing I couldn’t take from you.”

“Mm. I will go as well, now everyone is accounted for.”

My heart sunk when she replied, “I think that’s for the best. No creature should have to walk this earth anymore.”

“But you will. If you went through that door, nothing would happen. Death herself can’t die.”

She sighed. “I feared as much, but my feet are tired. I think I’ve earned some rest.”

“I see,” the crow said, sweeping a look at the house and the plains. “For what it’s worth, I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Evelyn.”

“Goodbye, Tristan. Bring my love to mother and father.”

The crow hobbled away from her. When his claw touched the threshold, I witnessed him shed his feathers and turn into an old, withered man. As he stepped inside, he grew younger, handsomer, until he faded into the darkness.

Evelyn had sat down to inspect a blade of grass she’d plucked. “Please, don’t,” I whimpered to myself when her lips parted. She did not hear me; the bead of milk rolled off the leaf to touch the tip of her tongue. She began to hum softly, plucked another and drank its milk. A dull iron cloud took away the luster of her eyes.

Head hanging, I approached the door.  Evelyn’s only lie was one of kindness, and it made her prior honesty regarding her vileness hurt all the more. She had taken what was most precious from me, but it was not my life. I had lost both my friends.

As the shadows sheltered me, I began to feel lighter, at peace with all the deeds I had come to feel shame for when I learned kindness from Huntress and Blue Girl. I wondered if Huntress’ forgiveness was for unwittingly tricking her into coming here, or if she knew I had killed her cubs. It wasn’t an act of evil, only self-preservation. I was hungry, and thought to kill them young so they wouldn’t grow to hunt me.

At the precipice between this world and the next, I stopped to listen to Evelyn’s humming. I heard no beauty in her voice anymore. It had turned into breathy, discordant notes, and ceased altogether when I walked into Charnel House, where dead things went to die.

 

* * *

Originally published in The Death of All Things

About the Author

Ville Meriläinen is a Finnish university student and award-winning author of speculative fiction. His short fiction has appeared in various venues online and in print, including Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, Pseudopod, and Abyss & Apex. His musical fantasy novel, Ghost Notes, is available on Amazon.com.

by Hannah Montine

“Every decade or so, Turtles visited the Vault of Souls to acquire Soul Seeds for a new generation.”

Finnigan wanted the weight of a world on his back. It was his right, his responsibility, his entire reason for existence as a Cosmic Turtle. Why couldn’t Grandfather Bumi understand that?

“I do understand, Finn,” Grandfather said. Being several billions of years old, his intuition into the thoughts of others was all but omniscient. “Nonetheless, you are young and growing still. A world is a tremendous weight to place on a young turtle’s back. We would not want you to crack under the pressure of Soul Seeds planted too soon.”

Hmph, thought Finnigan. Was not a world a tremendous weight to place on an old turtle’s back? And yet Grandfather swam swift and strong through the eternal sea of stars, carrying a world of shining skyscrapers. Tiny aircrafts driven by tinier mecha-humanoids trafficked that skyscraper world.

Finnigan wanted that with every fiber of flesh and shell: to safeguard fragile lives, to whisper wisdom into their dreams, and skirt them safely around the fathomless depths of black holes.

Hadn’t he already proven he could cultivate an acceptable habitat, even if the flora was limited to various shades of, erm, pink? If Grandfather had his way, Finnigan would be ancient before he was granted permission to spawn even a bunny. He didn’t want to be old and wrinkled with only a bunny to show for his efforts.

Grandfather chuckled a deep, rolling chuckle. “Be patient, Finn, be patient. Worlds are not built in a day.”

Finn didn’t have time for patience. He wanted a world of his own, and a world of his own he would have, so there.

* * *

Every decade or so, Turtles visited the Vault of Souls to acquire Soul Seeds for a new generation.

When the time came, Finn zoomed alongside Grandfather. “Let me fetch your new Seeds this time, Grandfather.”

“Now, Finn. Securing Soul Seeds is a tremendous responsibility—”

“Yes, yes, I know. How better am I to learn?”

Thoughtful silence fell. Something twinkled in Grandfather’s eyes. Stardust, maybe. “How better indeed.”

The interior of Finn’s sunset-pink shell tingled with excitement. But he mustn’t get ahead of himself. He mustn’t think about his brilliant idea, because if Grandfather heard—

Swim, don’t think.

Although Grandfather needed only four thousand souls, Finn swam to the Vault Keeper, an ancient turtle with a neck two times too long, and requested, “Four thousand and one, please.”

The Vault Keeper squinted at him. “No odd numbered requests permitted. Thank you.”

“What? There is no such rule.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“See here, young hatchling, you are Bumi’s grandturtle, and Bumi only ever procures four thousand seeds. Thus, four thousand and one is an odd number.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.” Finn slapped his fins against his shell. Old turtles and their rules. What could he say to move things along? Oh yes! “Grandfather needs extra because one of his clankers short circuited, you see. It started shrieking “Incinerate!” and blasting its fellows to smithereens. It was a horrible business. He doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Oh? Really?” The Vault Keeper’s squint turned suspicious.

Finnigan scrunched his neck to make himself as small and innocent as possible.

Finally, the Vault Keeper unlocked the tremendous vault atop her shell and measured out four thousand and one seeds. She scooped them into a bag and finned them over with a stern glare. Fin peeked between drawstrings. Each seed was tiny, warm, and pulsing with its own inner light.

“Do remind Bumi he has only a year to return any damaged seeds for recycling,” said the Vault Keeper. “Next!”

Inside, Finnigan cackled with glee. He executed a tailspin, shedding stardust from his fins. His great idea was working!

* * *

Planting a new generation required concentration. So much concentration that Finnigan encouraged Grandfather to shut his ancient eyes and allow the currents of time and space to carry him along while he attended to details.

“I’ll wake you if the universe combusts or something,” Finnigan promised.

“And are you expecting a combustion of some sort?”

“Um, no.” He thought hard about the opposite of combustibles. “I only thought you would enjoy the shut eye.”

“Such touching concern for my old eyes. I’ve never known you to be so considerate, Finn.” Grandfather smiled the smile of an old dodderer who knew far too much.

Finnigan fought the itch to shrivel into his shell like a hatchling. Instead, he stretched his neck long and proud. “What dutiful grandturtle doesn’t concern himself over his grandfather?”

Grandfather hummed thoughtfully, and with one last stroke of his time-etched fins, shut his eyes and drifted.

Finnigan counted ten heartbeats before breathing a sigh of relief.

On my own at last, he thought. Time to cultivate a habitat and dust off the soul recipes.

He turned his mind inwards, seeking the creative core that beat at the heart of all Cosmic Turtles. First, he must cultivate an atmosphere within a protective dome. The dome swelled bubble-like from his shell, glistening with faint rainbow light. Next came a turquoise sky and frothy pink clouds.

Pink, why was it always pink?

Taking a deep mental breath, Finnigan exhaled a honey scented breeze into the dome, making clouds tumble. He woke fields of silver-blue grass. Trees sprouted: trunks ivory, fluffy pastel leaves dancing in the wind.

Pastel? Fluffy? Pah. He’d sort it later.

Finnigan hacked out riverbeds and squeezed cyan raindrops from the clouds. Air, water, food, blah, blah, blah. These things were but empty trappings without the real prize.

At last, the Soul Seed.

He rolled his seed between his forefins, reveling in the faint thump thump of life within. How to begin? Some turtles nurtured their humanoids from seedling to sentient flesh over a tedious length of years. Others flung their seedlings to life with a dramatic boom.

Finnigan did love a good boom, but Grandfather was far from deaf. Quietly, he retrieved an ancient scroll from the depths of his shell. He unrolled it, skimming various recipes he’d collected over the years.

Domestic Bunny. Every young turtle owned this most basic of recipes. Boooring. He skimmed on. Murderous Mosquito, Stripey Tiger. Aha! Creative Humanoid.

Ten seeds a piece! Surely humanoids were not that complex. Ugh, he had only one seed. Maybe a bunny was the only-

Wait. Whoever said he had to use just one recipe when a dab of Cosmic Strength Goop could fuse two species into something new?

Invigorated by his brilliance, Finnigan conjured ingredients from both recipes and got to work. In went Humanoid Figure, a Quart of Inquisitiveness, followed by Cuddly Cotton Tail, Twitchable Nose, and Essence of Hop. For color he added a splash of Liquid Rainbow, because a common gray bunny-humanoid would look very queer amidst the predominant pink of his habitat.

Between his fins, the seed floated like a tiny planet, ingredients swirling around before fusing with bright pops of light. Soon it spun too fast to follow.

Wait till Grandfather sees this, thought Finnigan with a snicker. As soon as the seed sprouted, he’d show Grandfather exactly how ready he was to be a proper Cosmic Turtle.

Gently, he planted his seedling in a lush little garden, and watched, and waited.

* * *

Three galaxies later, Finnigan was tired of waiting. How long did it take soul seeds to sprout? Grandfather’s new generation had popped into existence twenty stars ago!

He debated the risk of swimming within eavesdropping range of Grandfather for about two seconds before zooming to catch up.

“Ah, Finn. How is your flora pigmentation problem coming along?”

“Still pink.” Finnigan had explained his new habitat away as an experiment to improve color variation. “Grandfather, how do you make your seeds grow so fast?”

Stroke, stroke, languid stroke went Grandfather’s fins. His eyes slipped closed and he hummed beneath his breath.

Why was Grandfather falling asleep again? He just woke up!

“I am not sleeping, Finn. I am listening.”

“No, you aren’t. I asked you a question.”

“Yes, but did you wait for an answer?” One of Grandfather’s dark eyes opened. “Every seed is unique. Some require sunlight. Some require cold. You must listen attentively in order to interpret their wants and needs from dreams.”

“Isn’t there a faster way to make seeds grow faster?” Finnigan huffed. But then a magnificent idea struck. “Wait. You do more than listen through dreams. You communicate through dreams. You could command a seedling to grow faster!”

Grandfather gave a thunderous laugh. The skyscrapers in his dome shuddered. Tiny sirens shrieked, “Warning, warning, earthquake!”

“What’s so funny?” Finnigan smacked his fins together. His idea wasn’t silly.

“You must understand, Finn: commands never go quite as we Turtles expect. Dreamspeak is a wibbly wobbly business. Your intention suffers much from interpretation, which is why gentle nudges are best.”

Gentle nudges my tail, thought Finnigan. Grandfather was simply jealous of his genius.

Again, Grandfather laughed, and the little sirens wailed, “Warning, warning, aftershock!”

* * *

Every chance he got, Finnigan shouted, “Grow, grow, grow!” into the haze of his seedling’s dreams. Every time he did, a new bunny aspect sprouted.

First came a pair of mottled rainbow bunny ears. They swiveled. They twitched. They kept beat as Finnigan hummed a tune of encouragement. Next, a nose popped through the topsoil, followed by a furry head. Mostly bunny, but with a humanoid’s forward-set eyes.

Finnigan cheered.

The bunny twitched its nose, wiggled its shoulders, and lurched halfway out. Pausing, chest heaving, it plopped its chin on a pillow of flowers, and then seemed to realize those flowers belonged in its mouth.

“No snacking yet. You’re almost done!” Finnigan said.

Wiggle, wiggle, lurch, lurch. Harder and harder the bunny clamored. Finally, it burst forth, showering dirt and clumps of grass.

“Woohoo!” Finnigan did a tailspin. When he leveled out, his bunny was clinging upside down to a tree branch, wide-eyed and trembling. Oops. Maybe he should just clap from now on.

Gently, he ushered the bunny back to earth. It wobbled on kangarooish legs. He burbled a brook to tempt it toward water, and rubbed his fins in glee as it drank. At last he was a proper Cosmic Turtle. He couldn’t wait to show Grandfather.

“Grandfather, Grandfather,” he would say. “Behold, I made a bunny.”

And Grandfather would reply, “And where did you get the seed to make a bunny?”

Oh, right, thought Finnigan. Um. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Grandfather just yet. Although his bunny possessed a fully-furred adult body, it was still young. Young enough to be transplanted elsewhere if Grandfather deemed him an unfit caretaker.

Hmph, Finnigan would show him! He’d be the best caretaker ever! First, he blossomed a trail of honey-sweet flowers to guide the bunny into the rich heart of his garden. Here, sweet melt-on-the-tongue fruits dangled aplenty. Veggies flourished amidst wildflowers. Fountains gushed aquatic music. His bunny lacked nothing.

* * *

For a bunny that lacked nothing, the bunny moped a lot. Oh, it nibbled fruits. It munched veggies. It sat on pebbled shores and splashed in the water. But it also spent hours kneeling in front of everything from trees, to flowers, to each individual blade of grass, and squeaking. Stranger still, it sat there waiting as if expecting the stupid plants to squeak back. When they didn’t, its ears flopped low, its cottontail sagged, and it moped around, sighing and plucking petals off flowers. Finnigan had worked hard on those flowers! Why was the bunny destroying them?

Stars. What if I got a damaged seed?

How to tell? For all he knew, sighs and flower mutilation were a normal side effect of combining bunnies with humanoids.

Growling under his breath, Finnigan kicked off in the direction of grandfatherly humming.

“Back again, Finn? Has the universe combusted after all?” Grandfather cruised along the gravitational currents of a balmy star, warming his new seedlings.

Aha, thought Finnigan, there’s a sneaky way onto the topic.

“If anything’s combusting, it’s your seedlings.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re awfully close to that star, Grandfather. Aren’t you worried your seedlings will get damaged?”

He gestured to where a mecha-man sat on a rooftop, gazing absently at a blank metallic canvas. Click, whirr went its steely forefinger, reconstructing into a laser-point pen.

“Oh, that’s merely an artist fishing for inspiration,” Grandfather said.

With a whirr, click, the mecha-man’s telescopic eyes extended, zooming in on the sky in Finnigan’s direction.

“Oooh, that cloud looks just like a turtle!” He began laser sketching a turtle-shaped cloud in a startling shade of pink.

Hmph. That clanker needed its visual wiring checked.

“Rest assured, Finn, everything is progressing as it should.”

“But how do you know?”

Grandfather opened one eye halfway. “I am a very old turtle. Very old turtles know everything.”

“Prove it. How many colors in a rainbow?”

Grandfather explained.

“Where do Soul Seeds come from?”

Grandfather explained.

“What’s the meaning of life?”

Grandfather explained.

“Why would a soul sigh and mutilate flowers?”

“That is a difficult question,” Grandfather said. “Perhaps you could provide more context?”

“Um. Bunnies, for example.”

“Ah, yes, a fine example.” Something twinkled in Grandfather’s eyes again. “In bunnies, I suspect those are symptoms of loneliness.”

Loneliness? Really? It was so simple! Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Well, it isn’t a thing we turtles think of often. We can swim to the edge of eternity and still meet fellow turtles traversing nearby. But imagine there were none. Imagine yourself the sole turtle in space.”

Pffft, no turtles, no rules. Sounds stellar.

But then Finnigan remembered the time he’d gotten lost in the Nebulous Nebula. No warm stars. No asteroids to race. No grandfathers to swim alongside. The vastness of space, alone, pressed upon him till he wanted to squish deep into his shell.

“Precisely,” Grandfather said. “Souls are not meant to be alone.”

Finnigan’s fins drooped. Sustaining another bunny was doable, but acquiring a second soul?

“Oh no!” shrieked the mecha-man in Grandfather’s dome. He leaped off his chair and dabbed desperately at a drool of molten metal. No use. “Ruined. Everything is ruined!”

He banged two fists against the canvas. That laser pen flared bright red.

Pew pew! Lasers streaked skyward, piercing clouds and pinging off Grandfather’s dome with a hiss and a sizzle.

Grandfather winced.

“Um. Are you sure that clanker isn’t damaged?” Finnigan asked.

Grandfather sighed something about never again mixing laser-capable appendages with emotional artists.

Wait. That was it! Unstable, er, damaged seeds got recycled.

Slyly, Finnigan sidled close. “Maybe you should have The Vault Keeper take a look.”

Again, Grandfather sighed. “Edna is a galaxy out of the way now, Finn. It would take me days.”

“Pffft, it’d only take me half a day.”

Really, Grandfather got more stardust in his eyes than any turtle Finnigan knew.

“Very well, Finn. Thank you.”

A glow suffused the mecha-man, snuffing his moans. Up he floated, a wisp of light, morphing into a seed between Finnigan’s forefins.

Yes! Finnigan somersaulted in excitement.

 * * *

Unfortunately, if planted straight away the seed would sprout unchanged, which meant Finnigan had to endure what felt like centuries waiting in line for the Vault Keeper. Why had he come at rush hour?

By the time his turn arrived, grumpy purple storm clouds churned inside his dome. “Tune up for Bumi, Mecha World.”

The Vault Keeper conjured narrow-rimmed spectacles perfect for glaring through. “You again.”

“Yes, me.”

“Hmm. You are being uncommonly helpful to your elders of late.”

“Is it so hard to believe helpful might be my natural state?”

“Yes.” The Vault Keeper relieved him of the seed and busied herself inspecting it from every angle, unraveling it to peruse the genetic code, once, twice, thrice.

Finnigan’s purple clouds ballooned into giant magenta ones. “Could you hurry it along?”

“Rush begets ruin, hatchling. These sort of things may take days.”

“Days!” Lime lightning flashed. “Grandfather’s in a hurry.”

Slowly, The Vault Keeper tilted her spectacles at an accusing angle. “Is he? How very unlike him.”

Finnigan shut his mouth and rumbled internally until she finally did whatever she did and finned the seed over.

“Be sure this is returned to Bumi. Seeds reared by an Elder Turtle develop intrinsic traits that can react unpredictably outside their home environment.”

“Obviously. Where else would I deliver it?”

“Where else indeed,” said the Vault Keeper with a frown that suggested she had a very good idea of where.

“Thanks!” Finnigan swiftly retreated.

 * * *

The Vault Keeper suspected him. She must. But did she suspect him enough to seek out Grandfather for confirmation? He couldn’t risk it.

After planting his second seed, Finnigan kept busy running errands for any irritating old turtle he could, in hopes of convincing her he was, in fact, naturally helpful.

“Are you feeling well, Finn?” Grandfather asked when Finnigan returned to his side wheezing and shaking in his shell.

“M’fine,” he managed. Errands usually did not exhaust him this much, but he was fine. After the eleventh time he delivered someturtle’s seeds for recycling, the Vault Keeper had ceased giving him suspicious looks and gone back to ignoring him.

“Why would Edna be giving you suspicious looks?”

Oops. Finnigan scrambled. “Oh, um, I keep pestering her to hurry and repair your seed.”

“There is no great rush, Finn. Are you certain you’re well? You look quite peaky.”

Finnigan opened his mouth to reply, but yawned instead. “Actually, I’m really tired. I think I’ll drift for a while.”

Eventually Grandfather swam on ahead. Finnigan hadn’t had a speck of time to himself during errands. He had missed the second bunny’s sprouting, though he knew the two had met: happy thumpity-thump-thumps jangled his shell.

Fatigue faded as Finnigan peeked into his bunnies’ world. He followed the sound of happy squeaks.

The mottled bunny splashed in a brook.

An answering squeak sounded from a treetop. Out bounced a pink bunny – dratted pink again! – and somersaulted into the water. Together, the bunnies splashed and played.

Excellent. Maybe now I can finally show—

Something else squeaked from a nearby bush. Out sprang a pint-sized bunny with chubby cheeks, followed by a second, followed by a third.

Wow! Second generation! Finnigan squealed with happiness. Just wait till Grandfather saw this. But first, he’d better cultivate more flora. No trouble. There were only five… eight… um, wow, eleven. He’d just—

Wait. How did his bunnies spawn a second generation independent of new soul seeds? That didn’t happen. Did it?

This conundrum nibbled at the back of his mind as he squeezed fresh rain from clouds and tickled tender greens to life. Baby bunnies ate a lot. By the time they finished one meal they were hungry for another.

This is exhausting, Finnigan thought, ushering a few last heads of cabbage into existence. Thank the stars replenishing flora could happen subconsciously, otherwise the bunnies might have starved before he found them. Maybe those errands weren’t what drained me, after all.

Once, he and Grandfather had passed a turtle that had given too much of itself to its world. Ice glazed its open eyes and glinted on every scale. What remained of its world lay buried in snow.

But that only happened to turtles too old and feeble to go on. He was young. He could manage thirteen bunnies.

* * *

Except when next he checked, a rainbow of bunnies frolicked everywhere: adults, tweens, babies. Argh! Why had he commanded them to grow faster?

Pew pew pew! A fluorescent beam seared through the canopy and singed Finnigan’s dome. Ouch! What now?

From deep in the garden, the pink bunny dragged a swath of leaves, stretched between sticks, into the pool of light created by murdering the canopy. There it sat, arms crossed, thumb stroking chin. Red flickered in its eyes.

Oh no. Is that—

Fzzzt! Lasers punctured the makeshift canvas, scorching tree trunks behind. The bunny jerked, glancing from ruined canvas to sizzling trees, and smiled a slow, buck-toothed smile. Up it bounced, knocking canvas aside, and began scorching pictographs of mecha-bunnies into every tree.

No! It’d set the garden aflame! Finnigan woke a lashing rain. Wind roared. Bunnies fled to their burrows. Even the pink bunny retreated, for now.

Oh, Stars. How am I supposed to handle a laser-eyed bunny?

Worse, as the bunnies drank, munched, and made merry, water levels sank. Trees dug deeper for nourishment. Tingles and aches pricked Finnigan’s fins, followed by cold, followed by numbness.

Within weeks, another generation joined the chaos, and every one of them possessed eyes of flickering red.

* * *

Even shriveled into the deepest, pinkest depths of his shell, Finnigan shivered. He’d spent thirty stars examining recipes for any reason his bunnies had super-productivity powers. Nothing. Plus the evil cotton-tails bounced all the time. They had all but jangled his bones to soup.

“Finn?”

Neck aching, Finnigan poked his head out. “Yes, Grandfather?”

Concern wrinkled Grandfather’s wrinkles. “Are you still feeling poorly?”

“M’fine.”

Grandfather laid a leathery touch on Finnigan’s head. “Fine, indeed. Whatever are you doing to tax yourself so?”

Heat flushed him from the inside out. He couldn’t tell Grandfather now. Not with everything in chaos.

“Tell me what, Finn?”

Stars, he couldn’t even not think a thought properly.

“Um,” said Finnigan. Grandfather wore the attentive expression of one who would not swim away without answers. “Well. I have been researching.”

“Researching what?”

“Recipes.”

Grandfather’s worry-lines smoothed into grin-lines. “Still thinking of your own world, I see.”

“Just planning ahead. But, um, I think mine are defective somehow.”

“How so?”

He finned the recipe to Grandfather, hoping maybe Grandfather would notice something he missed. But after a brief perusal, Grandfather said everything seemed in order.

But something wasn’t in order!

“Now, now, Finn, no need to shout. This is a perfectly sound recipe. I’ve used it often myself to patch together minor hybrid species. Helps with speedy population.”

Speedy population?

“Wait.” Finnigan un-tucked his fins and flapped them wildly. “What about soul seeds? You need soul seeds to populate!”

“Not for a beginner level species, Finn. See here.” With a loud clap of old forefins, Grandfather conjured two illusionary seedlings. He finned them into the shape of bunnies. They bounced together, producing a second boom, and then separated, slightly diminished in size and luminescence. As the glittering dust of the explosion cleared, a trio of baby bunnies wiggled to life. “Beginner level species sacrifice of themselves to forge a new life. That is why parents gray before the norm, you see.”

Finnigan did see. Worrywarts pebbled beneath his scales. “Um. How do you stop them from booming so much there’s no room left to boom in?”

Grandfather chuckled. “Leaping ahead yet again, are we? You’re too young to worry about population management. That comes decades into a successful seeding of species.”

“But—”

“Now, less talk, more swim. We’re nearing Pandora’s Blackout, and I’ll not have you surfing the gravity tide this time, young hatchling. Such antics give an old turtle palpitations.”

Finnigan swam alongside Grandfather in a daze. Surf the gravity tide? He couldn’t even muster the strength for his signature tailspin.

* * *

Turtles swam along the outskirts of Pandora’s Blackout: adults carrying flourishing worlds, younglings who whooped as they surfed the gravity tides, and hatchlings riding atop their parents’ heads.

One youngling shouted, “Finnigan, come play!”

Oh no, he couldn’t be seen like this! Finnigan scrunched into his shell and darted behind Grandfather, who cast a bemused glance back at him.

“Playing hide and seek, Finn?”

“Not really,” he muttered.

Something sparkled in Grandfather’s eyes. “I do hate to see you glum. Very well. I suppose you may surf a smidgen. If you beat me to yonder dwarf star.”

At that, Finnigan perked. Grandfather never raced him anymore. He used to, back when Finnigan was too little to outrace the moon orbiting Grandfather’s dome. Since he’d gotten bigger, however, Grandfather rebuffed every plea for a race with the claim he had eaten enough stardust for one lifetime, thank you.

“But I always beat you,” Finnigan said.

“Always is not always as definite as you imagine.” Grandfather raised his voice. “Or are you worried an old turtle might best you?”

Other turtles glanced their way.

Oh-ho, so Grandfather was feeling frisky, was he? Ha. Finnigan tested his fins. He wiggled his tail. Excitement for a race, however brief, dulled his aches. Maybe a quick zoom across the gravity tides would invigorate him.

“Ready?” Asked Grandfather.

“Readier than you.”

“Go!”

Finnigan kicked off, pumping hard and fast. Naturally he shot into the lead. Stars blurred on his right. The Blackout loomed dark on his left. Turtles cheered in the distance.

Here comes the gravity tug. The first wave yanked him so hard his joints popped. He wobbled. He flattened his fins out. Whew. Better.

Another pull jerked him askew. Stars spun. No! Pounding his left fins, he leveled out, panting. Why was this so hard? Bunnies didn’t weigh that much.

With a slow thwump of tremendous fins, Grandfather glided alongside him. “What’s all this huffing and puffing, Finn? Did you eat too many starfish earlier?”

“No.” How had Grandfather caught up to him? Grandfather never caught up to him.

Grandfather chuckled and stole the lead. “Come along, Finn, stop dilly dallying.”

Hmph! Telling me not to dilly dally. I’m the fastest turtle around.

“Finn, what are you doing? That is the wrong direction.”

What? No it wasn’t. He was swimming straight after Grandfather. He pumped his weary fins in a rapid swooomph-swoomph guaranteed to propel. Despite this, Grandfather’s lead grew, and grew, even when he flared his fins wide for a sudden halt.

Gravity snagged Finnigan at his core. Jerk, release, jerk, release. Oh no. Behind him now, the black hole yawned larger than before. Fear zapped his nerves. He kicked harder. But the tide dragged him back, back, back.

“Finn!” Grandfather pivoted sharply. The skyscrapers in his dome shrieked the shriek of tortured metal. “Dive to the side.”

Finnigan tried. He lurched right. He lurched left. Gravity snapped him back again and again. Painful crrrracks split a tiny patch of his shell. Shrill bunny squeals rang from his dome.

“I can’t.” He panted. “It’s too strong.”

Every black hole horror tale he’d ever heard popped into his head: tales of turtle’s shredded to fleshy lumps, of broken worlds and darkness and death.

“Grandfather!” Finnigan cried.

Grandfather charged faster than a meteor, so tremendous he eclipsed entire constellations. The shocking ba-ba-ba-ba-boom of his fins flung bolts of stardust into space.

He’s going too fast to stop. We’ll both get sucked in!

Grandfather slammed his fins wide as he whooshed by beneath. Had he overcompensated? Was he lost to the hole?

“Not at all, Finn. Rest easy. I’ve got you.”

Something bumped the underside of his shell. He peeked. Grandfather swam beneath, supporting him as he had not done since Finnigan was a hatchling freshly climbed from the Shores of Time.

Finnigan had never been so happy to feel like a hatchling. He draped trembling fins over Grandfather’s head. No doubt his bunnies were quaking in their burrows. His trembles lingered even when they reached calm space amid cheers from surrounding turtles.

“What happened, Finn?” Grandfather’s slow rumble was a massage to a jittery soul. “You’ve never been caught in a gravity tow before.”

“Oh Grandfather.” Finnigan hunkered deep into his shell where his voice echoed. He couldn’t lie anymore. He didn’t want to. “It’s these dratted bunnies! First there was one, then there were two, then they just went boom and multiplied by the billions! I can’t sustain them all. I tried, but I can’t. They’ve sapped my strength and cracked my shell.”

“Hmm. And how did you acquire a billion bunnies?”

Finnigan explained everything: how he had failed as a Cosmic turtle, as a caretaker, and as a grandturtle.

“Well, I’m not pleased, Finn. Not in the slightest.”

Finnigan flushed so pink the inside of his shell glowed. This wasn’t how he’d wanted his bunny reveal to go.

“Nor I,” said Grandfather. “But I am glad you finally told me.”

“Wait.” Finnigan poked his head out and gaped upside-down at Grandfather. “You knew?”

“I am a very old turtle, Finn. Very old turtles know everything. Now, let’s get your shell patched up. You will apologize to the Vault Keeper. No ‘buts,’ you will do so. Then you can drift and listen while an old turtle learns you a few lessons.”

Hope sprang to life.

“You can fix me? And my bunnies?” He didn’t even mind if the pink ones stayed pink and laser-capable so long as they weren’t so many.

“Yes, Finn. We can fix you both.”

* * *

Apologizing was not Finnigan’s favorite activity.

The Vault Keeper eyed him severely over her spectacles. “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson, young hatchling. There is good reason worlds are not built in a day.”

“So a wise turtle once said.” Grandfather shared a conspiratorial eye twinkle with the Vault Keeper. Finnigan felt quite ganged-up-upon.

Once patched up, however, he felt as light as light!

“Woohooo! I’m alive!” He did a triple tailspin and moon-walked around a meteor. No aches! No pains! Watch out, universe, Finnigan Turtle was back in action!

“Come now, Finn. Time for a lesson.”

“Coming!” said Finnigan, and abandoned action. He drifted quietly as Grandfather detailed recipes for plants to calm the bunnies and weather cycles to increase the growth of habitat. There was much to learn, but Finnigan listened in rapt attention and did everything Grandfather said, as slowly as Grandfather said, because he had no desire to experience anything like that bunny epidemic ever again.

 

* * *

About the Author

Hannah Montine hails from South Carolina, and every sweltering summer, dreams of migrating to Alaska. Much of her life has involved living and working on one type of farm or another. She is a human jukebox, a savior of overly-adventurous lizards, and a graduate of Odyssey Writing Workshop.

by Alexandra Faye Carcich

“Now Queen, the Wolf nosed through dandelions and kale.”

The animals hushed as the foreign princess entered the cathedral. They whispered, “What will the court do with this flesh eater on its throne? Can any animal be safe again?”

She was a wolf princess from the kingdom of carnivores.

The King, a white bull goat, waited at the altar. His red, silk cape draped over his back and tail, pooling on the mosaic floor under hoof. A Raven perched on one of the King’s gilded, curling horns. As advisor to the crown he was against the treaty which tied prey to predator in matrimony. But the King desired a lasting peace between their lands, and, with little forethought arranged to take the princess to wife.

The Queen-to-be dragged a train embroidered with a lion and unicorn intertwined; their respective nations’ symbols united in an embrace. Three little dogs carried the train in their mouths. Chosen for their size — none larger than the Raven — they accompanied the princess as her handmaids. Throughout the wedding ceremony, the Raven rode the King’s horn, playing the third party to the King’s marriage.

Princess and King stood side by side at the altar where the Bishop Ox asked if this goat would take this wolf to wife. Bride and Groom faced each other as the Bishop passed the ribbon around their forelegs, tying them in marriage. The Wolf stood silent and erect. There was about her the ominous stillness of the hunter waiting in the forest, biding her time. The Goat’s chin whiskers wagged as he chewed the cud, come back up from breakfast. He disgusted her, but she terrified him.

The marriage banquet was served in feeding troughs in the great hall. Now Queen, the Wolf nosed through dandelions and kale. She smelled the rabbit who had brought the greens to table and salivated, longing for that meat instead. Beside her, the King chewed with a sideways motion, grinding his teeth across each other in passing. The Queen’s stomach growled. Reluctantly, she licked up the grass and swallowed. Later during the dancing, while the bull cow stomped his feet, the Queen vomited in the corner. The Raven croaked, bringing her to the King’s attention. Watching, the King was disgusted that she did not follow his example, chewing his food and swallowing it again.

Every day the Queen hungered. She watched the mice that made her bed, the horses as they practiced their arming battles, the monkeys while they cleaned the royal residence. Her handmaids were more successful, showing no ill effects of their vegetarian diet. At court, they ran between hoofs and under bellies without bothering any animal but the rodents. Their mistress, on the other hand, retained the lurking presence of a predator and moved as if she was stalking her next meal. On one occasion, the gentry collectively startled when they realized a wolf had sneaked in among them. A gazelle sprang over the heads of the company, while birds flew up in a cloud of feathers. A rabbit, kicked in the head and caught behind, let out its death scream. The Raven did not startle; he never startled. Blinking twice, he tilted his head and watched the chaos before stabbing at insects between the stone tiles.

After the Advisor squawked in the King’s ear, the latter summoned his wife. Appearing before her husband, the wolf salivated, as she often did, considering his tender, sedentary flesh. King Goat — advisor on horn — told the Wolf that her presence at court intimidated the other lords. To help them forget their fears and not think of her as a danger, she should give up her grey fur coat. For the sake of the treaty between their realms, he hoped she would comply.

Stripped of her fur, the Queen was cold as well as hungry. Her husband bestowed her with silk and satin in all colors, while her fur lined his royal mantle. Bald, her grey skin became dry and wrinkled like a rhinoceros. The little dogs huddled around their mistress at night to keep her warm.

The Queen conceived. Her hunger increased as her belly swelled with new life. In the morning, she licked her lips when the curtains were pulled back. The mice startled when they saw their historic enemies, the dogs. Her handmaids lost control over their instincts when the mice fled. They ran, yapping, after them. One little dog caught a mouse in its mouth and shook it back and forth until its neck broke. Blood dripped from her chin. The Wolf Queen curled her lip, exposing her teeth, and growled long and low. Both mice and dogs scattered. The little dog dropped its victim on the floor. The mice went directly to the King’s Advisor.

There were two consequences to the incident. The Queen had to give up her own teeth, to prove she would never harm any of her subjects. Her meals were stewed so she could lap them up like an elderly beast. The other consequence was that her handmaids disappeared. When the Queen went to inquire of the Raven in his tower, he wore her teeth on a string around his neck and pulled the meat off the bone of a small creature. There were two more skeletons in the corner.

“These were already dead,” he explained, “Trampled. . . And no, I do not know where your handmaids are. We sent them home to your kingdom some time ago.”

Soon after, the Queen whelped a cub. As she licked him clean, his spots became clear. The leopard cub began to suckle. The court fretted that the prince was not one of them, but such can be the result when creatures of different kinds join together. The King came to see his son, chewing, as ever. He lowered his head to sniff the cub. His Advisor fluttered from horn to the goat’s back side, farther from the mother wolf. The Leopard Prince yawned, exposing his little pointed teeth. The King’s eyes bulged off either side of his bony face. A kangaroo attendant came forward to take the prince to be nursed by a surrogate, but the Queen curled around her cub, flattened her ears, and growled. None of which had the same effect without teeth or fur. Hopping back, the kangaroo looked to the King. He conceded that for now it was healthy for a cub to be nursed by his mother.

As they left the chamber the Raven said, “The Prince of herbivores cannot be raised by a carnivore for long. Give him to me, so that I may tutor him in our ways.”

The Queen brought the Prince to court five weeks after the birth. The Leopard Prince trotted beside his mother looking around at the host of creatures gathered. The court stirred around them. All the animals whispered that a carnivore must not be crown prince and heir to the realm. A predator could never be king of the herbivores. But what good would it do to have him suckled by the cow? Even if the prince’s claws as well as his teeth were removed, he would still think like a carnivore. As evidence to all, the cub pounced on his mother’s tail and bit it with his tiny teeth. The Wolf shook her tail free and rolled the cub under her feet onto his back. She licked his belly before lifting him to stand. The eyes of the horse rolled back. The deer’s white tail raised, ready to flee. A bull stamped his warning.

As the Prince was presented to his father, the Raven squawked into the King’s ear that the cub was his mother’s child.

“This is your son,” said the Queen to the King.

She pushed the prince forward with her nose. The Prince looked up with amber eyes and fixed on the Raven flapping from one of the Goat’s horns to the other.

The Raven reasoned that there was nothing more to be done, even a carnivore without coat or teeth still desired flesh. There was nothing even the King could do. Were not they all flesh and blood to such as these? The Queen should not be allowed to remain; she never should have come. Take the prince away. Give him to the Raven to raise up into the next king.

In truth the Wolf was very hungry.

The Leopard Prince’s eyes followed the Raven.

“Mama,” he said, “Is it to eat?”

The Raven shrieked his outrage while all the court gasped.

Defurred and defanged the Wolf had been singled out as villain, as the sole representative of her kind. Now she had a son who could not yet defend himself, who, despite all protests, was heir to the throne.

Mother Wolf sunk down low, close to the ground, her eyes locked on the Raven. She hung her head as she stalked to the throne. The Raven dropped down to the edge of the dais to scream his imprecations in the Wolf’s face. His necklace of teeth chattered around his neck. Then the Wolf sprang forward and caught the Raven in her mouth. He was slow to take flight, glutted with dog meat and overconfident. She shook him back and forth, biting down again and again. The Raven flapped and struggled with his feet clawing the air. He stabbed toward her face, grazing her nose. The Wolf shook him back and forth until she heard his bones crack. Throwing the Raven to the floor, she reclaimed her teeth, while the Prince began to eat his first meat.

The King Goat lost his cud. The court of prey animals panicked. Even though they outnumbered her, she was a wolf in their midst. They fled in every direction, running over each other. The Goat leaped forward off the dais, but his fur lined mantle caught on arms of the throne. He bit at the clasp, but before he could free himself, the Wolf caught him by the throat and brought him down to the ground. She lifted the crown in blood drenched teeth and placed the crown on her son’s head.

Together, mother and son ascended to take the throne and ruled the united animal kingdom.

 

* * *

About the Author

Alexandra Faye Carcich lives in New York and works as a cake decorator. She loves combining her passion for history, fairy tales, and her pet dog into fiction. Her work has been featured in Timeless Tales, Ariel Chart, Enchanted Conversations, Gingerbread House Lit Mag, and most recently here in Zooscape.

You can read her poetry and follow her writing progress on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alexandracarcich/

Our good friends Riley, Jesse and Retcon join us for a big roundup of news, plus live Patreon shoutouts!

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Link Roundup:

• Comedy Central furry dog park
  • Main Tweet
  • Related Tweet 1
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  • Related Tweet 3
• Telegram design flaw allows number reveal brute forcing
• How to send an ‘E mail’ – Database – 1984
• A Fox In Space – Clip – Zero Tolerance
• Eurofurence 25: ‘Fractures in Time’ – con report
• Monetizing Furry Drama
• Furries to occupy castle in the UK’s Wild North
• Furry Bible Stories?
• Joaquin Baldwin tells Shaq to pay his artists
• Mike Monteiro – “Fuck you pay me” (PT Br)

News:

• Florida Man Who Didn’t Flush Toilet Threatened Griping Friend With Machete: Police
• Anti-Vax Mom Asks for Prayers after her child is Vaccinated
• Unruly Cow Invades Upper Class Neighborhood
• DARPA Are Searching For An Underground Bunker And We Aren’t Really Sure Why

[Live] MacBoom Pro

Wonderlust, a canadian studio produced this adorable short for an unnamed client that apparently didn't use it. So adorable. "The Plot - A boy with muscular dystrophy and his dog go on an adventure of discovery in an old spitfire plane."
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Photo Dragon on Telegram

Better late than never, here’s a look at a cool happening from July.

I was reminded to put out the story by a writer from Vice, who just asked me for help to talk to members of the SoCal furry community in L.A. She’s happy to meet in person, and she was nominated for the fandom’s Ursa Major Award in the past. Please drop me a note to get in touch with her.

Dave Dutch (Dax Yeena) led the furry plans for San Diego Pride. I was tipped by Joe Bear, a fur I know to be as friendly as a whole parade by himself. I told Dave about organizing the furry float for S.F. Pride, and he mentioned interest in doing L.A. Pride. I thought it was a nice idea to bring furs from SoCal and NorCal. At this rate, parades will have to tell them to let humans have a chance!

I tipped Dave Dutch to talk to the ALSAOCC (Dogbomb’s charity) for a parade. And for S.F. Pride I even tried asking Margaret Cho (a prior Grand Marshal) to be a guest of the furries. It could happen — she did an interview with me. She was busy on tour this year, but there was an actual reply so asking again is smart.

Here’s Dave Dutch’s chat with me.

How did San Diego Pride go for the furs? 

It absolutely went off perfectly! So many people showed up and were all excited to be there!

Who got it going, and can you talk about particulars, like how much effort and cost was it and will it be bigger next time?

Well for 7 years I lived in Maine with my mom. She wasn’t the most supportive to me for being LGBT… but she was supportive of me being a furry. So I found out the second year living in Maine, that Portland Maine was having Pride Parades. I wanted to go, but I was always gone during it until my final year being in Maine, when I graduated high school, my local furries were going to be in the parade and suit there. I wanted to go, I told my mom about it… that was the first time I really felt bad for being transgender. I’ve heard hurtful things before, but hearing them said to me days before pride, it really brought me down. I never went to pride until San Diego Pride 2017. I went with my dad and step mom, I have never been happier. I loved seeing everyone in the parade and all the supportive people. 2018 was when I discovered the San Diego furries, I went to some of the meets and didn’t feel like I was fitting in too well. But I got to know JarJar and his partner Rasmus, then from them, I got to know everyone else.

2018 Pride was right around the corner and I though “hey why don’t we get a small group and go?” I wasn’t planning to be in the parade, just going in suit and watching it. But so many people entered my chat group, all under the assumption to be in the parade. I tried to get us registered but since it’s last minute I missed the registrations. I ended up passing everything to Chance Dragon. I felt bad but everyone that went seemed happy. I wanted to try again, this time I started early. I revived the chat being used previously, informed everyone about it, and set up a donation box at meets. In one day I raised $212 for just registration alone. Registration for us, non profit organization, was $100. The rest went towards renting our truck. Truck rental I set to be $400 and sure enough we made that goal. With $100 left over towards next years Pride Parade.

I’m the one who put all this together for the furries in San Diego Pride. I had help spreading the word, and of course the amazing Steve/Labrat was our driver. For cost, everything was mostly done by donations, like registration and truck rental. The water, Gatorade, ice and granola bars that I brought, were because of my dad and step mom who wanted to help us out. Decorations I paid out of my own pocket. The canopies on the truck were from Chance Dragon. Everyone who showed up early helped to set up the truck.

As for next year, I really do hope a lot more people will show up. From what I could tell that day, everyone is excited to do this all again.

Who went and what did you do? Did it bring any new furries out? Get any good reactions from the crowds? 

The majority of our chat group attended with special guest Rascal Jackal. As for doing anything, we mostly decorated the truck and socialized. There was a group photo taken with everyone already at the staging area. For new furries, we did have someone who just moved to San Diego two weeks ago. They were beyond happy to be in the parade with all of us.

The crowds all knew who we were. Furries. It’s become something so recognizable now that everyone instantly got excited to see us. I never heard people cheer for us as loud as they did at Pride. We were loved by the crowd and for the very energetic furs (myself included,) we just wanted to interact with as many people as we could.

What are the plans for next time?

Definitely try to make it bigger and better. I’ll be reaching out to more people for San Diego Pride Parade 2020. I want to be the one that can make this happen every year. I want new furs coming out to see our group, be in our group, and know that things are okay. That who they are is okay, that here’s so many people just like them who support them.

There are so many furries supporting them as well. I want it to be known, I didn’t walk the parade for myself. I walked the parade with my transgender flag, for all the transgender furries out there who are scared to come out. You’re going to be okay no matter what you are in the LGBT+ community. I’ll walk for you every year.

Congrats to all of you, nice turnout for first time. They will get to know you if you go back!

Driving the San Diego Furries at the Pride Parade was an honor for me to support my Furries and the LGBTQ community. – Steve/Labrat

Now, an interesting little media moment…

A problem about being on TV in S.F. Pride

Pride started with a riot, and now it gets criticism about mainstream “rainbow capitalism” and respectability politics.

When I organized for S.F. Pride, there was one minor issue. In past years the furries were put next to a nudist group, so the TV cut to commercial. Some furries had family at home waiting for hours to see them who missed out. The group put their heads together to suggest dressing decent enough to be on TV. But that felt against the reason for Pride for a fur who went in head, paws and speedo in the past, and this year wanted to go topless with a “trans vixens are vixens” sign. We chatted to make them happy, they marched and it was great.

A problem about NOT being on TV in San Diego Pride

Watch the video and what the announcer says.

Aww! Sorry San Diego Furries. The first appearance at #SanDiego Pride didn't get much love. https://t.co/eyhwtHGBC5 But I already interviewed the group organizer so there will be good attention here, and there will be more appearances and better looks. #SDPride #Pride pic.twitter.com/IIuBSzq773

— Dogpatch Press (@DogpatchPress) July 15, 2019

I was told that 10News was just there for the views, and NBC 7 did the official broadcast. Dave Dutch said:

When we passed NBC 7 announcers, they were excited to tell everyone “here come the furries showing their pride. Look how cute they are.”

One fur was mad enough at being slighted by 10News to talk about suing. I chatted with them about how TV air time isn’t a right that can be taken by discrimination… it’s their channel and they didn’t make a contract. So nicer reaction could happen by impressing them, or debunking bad info if it happens, but not starting a fight.

It’s really about how the furries felt in front of the crowd, and it sounds like things are going to get better and better.

Dave Dutch/Dax Yeena

Like the article? These take hard work. For more free furry news, please follow on Twitter or support not-for-profit Dogpatch Press on Patreon.

...really this is the only outcome you can expect. Humans ruin everything.
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Check out this fantastic thesis film by Casey McDonald [1] from the 2019 graduating class from the School of Visual Arts [2].  I love the watercolor backgrounds and the well crafted foley.  So many animated shorts can fall flat in sound design and this one is quite nice. Also, I seem to have something in my eye now. (Thanks goes out to Sysable for this one) "In this story of kindness, acceptance, and the fear of being left behind, a friendship takes flight as a mouse that wants to fly and an injured bird cross paths. Final film from the School of Visual arts. I directed, background painted, animated, and did about half of the cleanup/coloring myself! The rest was handled by my awesome team in the credits. Thank you to Colin Andrew Grant for the fantastic score, and thanks to SVA for the two grants that helped me produce this film!" [1] https://caseyanneimation.myportfolio.com/ [2] http://www.sva.edu/
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You may remember that some time ago we talked about Marvel Comics’ Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur. Well now Animation World Network have a very interesting announcement: “Disney Channel has ordered Disney Television Animation’s Marvel’s Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, an original animated series based on the Marvel comic books. Laurence Fishburne and Helen Sugland’s Cinema Gypsy Productions (ABC’s Black-ish), Marvel Animation & Family Entertainment, and Emmy Award-winner Steve Loter (Disney’s Kim Possible) are all on board as executive producers. Jeff Howard (Planes) and Kate Kondell (The Pirate Fairy) will serve as co-producers and story editors. The series follows the adventures of 13-year-old super-genius Lunella Lafayette and her ten-ton T-Rex, Devil Dinosaur. After Lunella accidentally brings Devil Dinosaur into present-day New York City via a time vortex, the duo works together to protect the city’s Lower East Side from danger.” We’ll let you know when we find out a premier date!

image c. 2019 Disney Channel

Ok, not 100% furry really Genndy gets a free pass today because it's Genndy and he also has here a caveman riding a dinosaur.   I gotta say he managed to take everything UPA ever did do it one better and then take on the style Alex Toth (Herculoids, Space Ghost) and just take it over the top. (Also, Genndy... are you trying to work out all your Hotel Transylvania/Popeye [1] frustrations?) Fang, his dinosaur is a mom! [1] https://www.slashfilm.com/why-hotel-transylvania-director-genndy-tartakovsky-left-popeye/
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You all knew we were getting another one of these but this one is direct to the new Disney streaming service.  In a lot of ways this is the equivalent to the old 90s direct to DVD films. This one at least doesn't look like the emotional road accident that was Lion King as they are actually doing more expression in the faces and dogs do naturally express more in ways humans just get. Let's hope all the majority of these remakes just go directly to streaming.    
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Today we have the privilege of talking to Tantroo, editor at the Flayrah furry news site. We talk non-fiction writing, the news cycle, and his personal channel and works. Check out Tantroo's YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQuPWclhbt_krujQKpR0Hsg Or follow him on Twitter: https://twitter.com/Tantroo_McNally Read news on Flayrah.com: http://www.flayrah.com/ Find us on Twitter: @South-Afrifur, https://twitter.com/southafrifur, on Tumblr, http://south-afrifur.tumblr.com/, and on Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/southafrifur Also, for more local news, check out the Zafur forums! http://forum.zafur.co.za/

Out now from Graphix we have Catwad Volume 1: It’s Me, a new full-color graphic novel. The publisher says this: “From New York Times bestselling author Jim Benton, meet Catwad! He’s blue, he’s a bit of a grouch, and his best friend is a dim-witted cat named Blurmp who can see the bright side of anything. From pizza and computers, to love and happiness, this crabby tabby has a funny take on just about everything, and he’s not afraid to share it.” And his story is available now in paperback from Scholastic.

image c. 2019 Scholastic, Inc.

A big roundup to catch up after the break, plus our realization of how fortunate we are to be a part of a culture that doesn’t need brocery shopping.

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Link Roundup:

• PretzelzCoyote tweets about losing his hands
• Cool furry sims mod
• Adult Swim furry bumper
• Verizon sells Tumblr
• Geeky license plate earns hacker $12,000 in parking tickets
• Great Big Story documentary about Cicada 3301
• A Buttplug Hacker Talks Security, Consent, and Why He Hacked a Buttplug
• Zootopia mascots doing silly things
• Sony Buys Spider-Man Developer Insomniac Games
• Kate Interviews Fur-Suit Enthusiast Who Got On The Track At A NASCAR Event This Weekend
• Why Hasn’t Netflix Announced a Release Date for ‘BoJack Horseman’ Season 6?
• Sin City Murr Con is the first Las Vegas convention to be 18+, kink friendly, adult furry convention
• Self-service beer, wine pours coming to Rosemont mall
• Guy Fieri Encounters Furries at County Fair
• Disney+ Rolls Out First Posters for ‘Lady and the Tramp’, ‘Noelle’, and More
• Snuggle a Raccoon While You Sip Your Coffee at Ukraine’s Raccoon Cafe

News:

• How a Cooling Vest Invented by a Furry Made Its Way Into the U.S. Military
• Men Are Afraid That Recycling And Reusable Bags Will Make Them Look Gay, Study Shows
• Men Can Have Better Friendships. Here’s How
• Area 51 Motel Worried about not having enough Potta johns
• Person Wearing TV Torments Virginia Town By Leaving TVs On Porches

[Live] Brocery Shopping

Recently Previews let us know about an interesting development: “Avery Hill Publishing are delighted to announce they are joining forces with comics powerhouse Comic Book Slumber Party to publish the next installment of their British Comic Award nominated series – Deep Space Canine. Life in space can be tough – and when you’re balancing a hydro-herb habit, mysterious intruders and an impending reunion, things get even tougher. Luckily, Space Commander Greasy is not alone, and with the help of her best robot pal, Cybernetic Unit Normally for Troubleshooting, she (and her ship) might just get through the next 24 hours in one piece!” This feminist science fiction anthology comic features a plethora of artists and styles, and now it’s finally available in North America.

image c. 2019 Avery Hill Publishing

A furry cozy management game about dying? I expect tears to be shed playing this game,. that Deer spirit looks amazing. This is coming to Xbox Game Pass for PC and Console, Xbox One, Windows PC. "Coming to PS4 in 2020! Spiritfarer is a cozy management game about dying. As ferrymaster to the deceased, build a boat to explore the world, care for your spirit friends, and guide them across mystical seas to finally release them into the afterlife."
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This is a weird one but I find it really interesting when the art world bumps into furry sideways. This trailer is for SC99 which is an art book to celebrate 20 years of the Madrid based studio Serial Cut [1]. This book will have different covers that they have been revealing one at a time until a final film that comes out in September. This trailer is for this furry synth player named Robeerope in his all his surreal furriness. "Robeerope is the hairy third member of “The Wireframes” who plays synth, though we must admit, not very carefully. Emo at heart and clubber by soul, he is a huge fan of old school sailor tattoos, however, he can only adorn himself with heavy ropes since his furry skin doesn’t really allow for tattoos. As a kid, he had some issues showing his fur, particularly at the pool since the other kids didn't have any fur yet, and he had enough for them all. But now he feels good with himself… having a huge fan club for being a member of “The Wireframes” certainly helps. In the SC99 Film, aside from playing synth, he will also activate a mechanism which will make the props look really ‘tasty’." [1] https://serialcut.com/
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If you’re a talking animal on social media, Furry Twitter is the place to be. And if you aren’t on there yet, or if you’re new, it may seem like a perplexing jungle of stunning art, cute fursuits, drama, social commentary, memes, nature videos, hitting on corporate mascots, and crazy happenings with a huge fandom of friends who have fun like nobody else. Finding the good stuff could use a guide to bushwhack through the wilderness. Wouldn’t it be cool to get an article series about entertaining and well curated accounts? These ask the account owners just a few questions about what they do. Enjoy whether you’re new, or like learning more about stuff you already love.

Previous ones:

• Great accounts to follow: Unintentional Furries
• Great accounts to follow: Furries Out of Context

SHADOW RACCOON is the Certified Cuddly proof that anything is more adorable with a British accent. I’m sure that’s nothing special for his friends, but I’m in California and I just want to give him a hug until he goes “I can’t breathe” with it, OK? Shadow made it here because – He’s nice – He started tagging me (good idea!) – He does fun and wholesome videos – and I like giving notice for a smaller furry creator who is working hard to earn it. Saying to follow Adler Eagle (who is super nice and wholesome too) makes me happy to spread his good taste. Even if it comes out of a trash can.

Oh look, who's inside, it's @shadow_raccoon ! pic.twitter.com/8eatjcY3lN

— Toxicoow (@Toxicoow) August 10, 2019

(Dogpatch:) What’s the story of your account – was there anything that inspired you to start it, is there anything special about how you direct the content, and what’s it like to run in general?

(Shadow Raccoon:) I have two main online presences in the furry fandom – My YouTube channel and my Twitter account.

It was just before Christmas 2017 that I decided to start my YouTube channel, going live with it in 2018. Initially it was just me, on a sofa talking about movies and how “raccoon friendly” they were. These I cross posted to twitter at the time as I felt more people would see them. The quality wasn’t the best and we shot the videos with my phone; however I had fun producing them and people enjoyed watching them.

Soon though I found myself wanting to expand outside of this and beyond into more general furry topics. So I started to make videos covering a vast range of subjects and not just movies – everything from a comedic sketch comparing 2003 in the fandom to 2018 to videos covering Furry Commercials. Every video has a furry aspect to it. I have over 100 videos at time of writing and whilst theres a few I’m not a fan of, I generally am happy with what I have created over the years.

It can be quite stressful running the channel from day to day, writing scripts, editing and filming can be quite tiring. I usually spend 2 or 3 evenings a week at least editing the videos; and a good part of most Sunday mornings filming.
Finding inspiration for new videos can be difficult too! – I keep a (very) long list of ideas for new content – I try to keep it furry focused and offer either something new, or a new twist on something that has been done before. I always aim to keep my videos fandom positive and upbeat and engaging.

I’m pleased with the growth of my channel – Ive recently crossed the 5000 barrier and my views are consistent. My personal goal is to get it to 10,000 as that will allow me access to YouTube space which has some cool places to film. A lot of it now is getting the word out and making the channel known; something that is hard what with the algorithms on YouTube and the like.

The response and feedback from my channel has been fantastic. And with the support of my Patreons; and the furry fandom in general I am spurred to keep on creating new content and entertaining others. Nothing cheers me up more on a rough day than a comment from someone saying that a video made them smile.

The story of my twitter account is a little different to YouTube. I first created an account in 2016 at the recommendation of a few people to see what was going on in the fandom. Originally I wasn’t sure on Twitter. My real life counter part had never really figured it out or found a use for it.

However in the furry world I found it to be a lot more engaging and fun. For a good while I used to post a LOT of raccoon photos; usually with captions. My brag was that I had a folder with over 100 raccoon photos in it on my computer for this purpose. Twitter was also the first time I started to interact with other furs; well along with Telegram of course. It’s been a great place to get to know people.

Once I got my first full fursuit my twitter activity changed a bit, I stopped posting random raccoon photos so often and started focusing a lot more on fursuit photos and stuff about myself and my character. This proved to feel a lot more fulfilling and is still how I post today. I like to think its a great place to keep up to date on what I am up to and to follow the adventures of a raccoon. It’s also a good accompaniment to my YouTube channel.

Would you like to talk about who’s behind the account?

Shadow Raccoon is a red, silver and gold raccoon. He has changed a bit from my original design, which started off with black as the main colour and no gold. I’m glad I made the changes to my character over time, I couldn’t imagine him without the gold now. Always excited, sometimes a little sarcastic and always a friendly face.

I chose a raccoon mostly due to the fact that I’d been playing a lot of Sly Cooper games at the time and had been googling what a real raccoon was like. We don’t natively get Raccoons in the UK; so to me they seemed incredibly fascinating and a little exotic! It wasn’t until a few years after becoming Shadow Raccoon that I even got to see a raccoon; they are mainly in zoos or wildlife parks here – and it just so happened to turn out there is a wildlife park down the road from where I live that has a raccoon.

I’ve always tried to make my character seem positive, and not too serious. I wouldn’t say I’m 100% toony; but I’m far from being a realistic raccoon.

I tend to refer to myself by my full name – Shadow Raccoon, primarily because there are soooo many fursonas called Shadow and it’s hard to tell who is who if you just say “Shadow”.

My first fursuit was made by my partner Theadore Rabbit, and together we build the bodysuit. I used to wear a pineapple hawaiian shirt to cover up our slightly wonky sewing. It was a fantastic suit and I had many fond memories in it, it’s the one I started my channel and twitter account with so it’s very sentimental to me.

In 2018 I got my current and better known fursuit was made by Made by Mercury. It is her first raccoon and I am super pleased with how it came out – I honestly can’t picture what Shadow would look like made by anyone else. Originally I was going to go for Plantigrade, and it was about a month before she started work on my suit that I made the change to Digitigrade. Possibly the best choice ever.

I like to think I am very approachable and I am usually more than happy to offer hugs and pose for photos and selfies when asked; just don’t ask me to climb on anything – whilst raccoons are known for being very agile, I am one raccoon that is not. I ate too much pizza!

I’m frequently found fursuiting at London Furs meets; I try to get to as many of these as I can with Theadore Rabbit but some weeks life happens lol. I’ve been to Southampton fur meets in the past too and want to get to another again some time so people could possibly spot me there. Conventionwise Confuzzled is my big con, always aim to do that – I’ve gone to JFTW the past few years too, and got to MFF in late 2018 also. In 2020 I will be going to my first convention in Canada, at Furnal Equinox. Very excited to fursuit in the world capital of Raccoons!

What are some of your greatest hits and why?

On YouTube, my most successful video to date is still my 2003 vs 2018 fandom comparison. I’m not sure why that turned out to be such a success – its certainly not a serious; factual video but the topic really engaged people and is still often the video people reference first when they meet me. Also learnt a lot from it in the comments!

Other than this my furry commercials videos always seem to be popular – It’s a topic I love discussing and its quite fun to look at how engrained anthropomorphism is in the world around us. These videos are always a LOT of fun to make even though I have to do a lot of research.

Another popular video is the Bunnys Vs Birds challenge – this involved getting my partner Theadore Rabbit and friend Regdeh together; to create a battle for who owns easter. We collected over 20 videos from various birds and bunnies across the internet; including Adler the Eagle to put together a video where everyone made a case for why Bunnys or Birds represent easter best. Was a very ambitious project and took quite a lot of planning. However the end result is a lot of fun and its one I like to rewatch!

On twitter, Ive found a photo of me booping a screen always makes for a fun tweet and looks good on other peoples timelines; thus getting lots of interaction from others. My most successful tweet though still remains when I did my own version of that guy and girl meme after Midwest Furfest sold out in seconds. People sure love memes!

Would you recommend any other good furry accounts?

There’s a few accounts I think people should check out – Firstly, do check out my partner Theadore Rabbit’s account – you’ll get lots of fun bunny stuff on his twitter; and he is starting out on his own YouTube channel too where he looks at old cartoons. I do also recommend following Toxicoow on twitter too – Lovely guy and I have to say he is easily one of my favourite animators in the furry fandom. He recently made me a fantastic animation where I jump out of a bin haha. And finally, if people aren’t already following Adler the Eagle; they really should, he has to be one of the most positive upbeat people in the fandom and is really entertaining too!

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