Post by singlesadact on Dec 8, 2017 16:43:26 GMT
Ouch!!! That might not be a good thing lol... But I do know for dogs chocolate is deadly, just like booze is deadly to cats. There's even special "dog chocolate" available so canines can have a treat without being poisoned. Anyway, no rest for the wicked, or those plagued wi PTSD...
Eyepatch & his crew stealthily guided Cabailleron under the starlit sky as a crescent moon shone above them, forcing them all to keep to the shadows. Even at night, without a full moon, it’s possible to be seen, & it’s also possible to be heard; & none of the party wanted Drooler’s remaining band of hyenas to know they were coming. Like most creatures of this world (except cats who find it too poisonous), hyenas were fond of a few drinks, & the raiders sincerely hoped the resultant stupor of said creatures drowning their sorrows would take the edge off of their usual ability to sense trouble. The raiders, to a one, had all ceased drinking after their initial conversation with Cabailleron, who was of course stone cold sober, & every single one of them was able to keep quiet, not even allowing the slightest snicker at the fate they were about to bestow on Drooler’s party to escape their muzzles. The stars were beautiful, & Cabailleron saw many familiar constellations up there he used to help him at least figure out what direction they were heading in. Slightly north of north-east, he reckoned, with more than a few detours to keep away from whatever bonfires were being burnt by animals still partying, which fortunately weren’t too bright as many had been abandoned to fizzle out to glowing embers & ashes. When food is tight, as it apparently was here, the animals staved off their hunger pangs by other means, of which drinking & partying was the firm favourite. For hyenas though, revenge was a very close second to this, hence the suppressed delight in every one of the raiders as they crept through the shadows. Cabailleron noticed there’d been more detours within the last few minutes, as the number of bonfires had increased. Surely this had to mean they were entering a settlement! Eyepatch tapped him on the shoulder, making him whirl his head round, whereupon the hyena whispered in his ear:
“We are now on the outskirts of Drooler’s village. Reform.”
Reform meant the hyenas, & Cabailleron, were to move from here on in single file; each stepping precisely in the paw-prints of the previous member. Cabailleron was near the front so his hoof-prints could be eliminated by the multiple pressures of hyena paws following behind him; but not at the front, so the first body seen, if seen they were, was that of a hyena; & in dim light all hyenas look the same, even Eyepatch with his distinct face markings which gave him his name. Not another word was said as the raiding party slinked along like a long python, heading quietly for the centre of the village & the drinking huts, where hyenas too drunk to walk to their homes slept off their indulgences. Cabailleron remembered being shown Eyepatch’s own village’s huts: simple buildings with padded mats & blankets to keep the sleeper warm, as clear skies mean cold nights, even in Africa. And as Drooler preferred to live by the coast, where the boats were kept & drink limits were in place; it meant the boozers in his village were a good distance from his home, & he was a regular user of the huts. Finally they saw the huts in the dim light of a huge fizzling bonfire, almost gone down to ash, but still giving enough light to see, as both hyenas & Cabailleron have excellent night-vision. In hot countries some things are just easier to do at night, & the locals usually sleep through the hottest part of the day. Cabailleron was used to this, being of Briennese ancestry & having spent a good part of his own life in assorted countries around the world. Silently the raiders moved round all the huts, dropping off the rearmost three at each one, so Cabailleron ended up outside the second-last with Eyepatch himself & another hyena, while the leading three moved on to the last one. When all the raiders were in position, Eyepatch struck a small flint thrice. The scrape & sparks of the flint were the signal: three, two, one... meaning each group of three burst into their hut at the same time as all the others. And burst they did! The doors of every hut flew open, followed rapidly by each trio of raiders rushing in to surround the sleeping pads within. Every single one was occupied by a slumbering hyena, crashed out in a drunken stupor. Each trio grabbed each occupant roughly, dragging him outside towards the bonfire. A few woke sluggishly as they were dragged, while some others were roused by the intrusions. Most however slept on, oblivious to what was going on until they nearly burned themselves in the glowing embers of their party bonfire, by which time none could do a thing about their predicament, bound & gagged as they were. Some of the raiders grabbed torch sticks & thrust them into the embers, to illuminate the faces of their captives. It wasn’t long before Cabailleron spotted Drooler, trotting over to the scum & glaring at him.
“Remember me?” he taunted the prisoner, whose eyes widened in shock at seeing that Pony again. “I see you do,” Cabailleron continued, ice & venom in his voice. “Well let me reassure you, you won’t forget me in a hurry, even if I do grant you a quick death.” Cabailleron then began to kick Drooler in various parts of his body. Remember he’s a Pony, & Ponies have a very powerful kick. Cabailleron was also wearing his hoofboots, which not only protect a Pony’s hooves, but also can strike a very nasty blow. Drooler’s screams of torment at the agonising kicks roused the rest of the captives to more wakefulness, which didn’t help them one bit. For as Cabailleron kicked Drooler, Eyepatch & his raiders were equally brutal to the rest of the prisoners. Some of them cried with the pain, & many more groaned & screamed. The one thing worse than being kicked by an equine is being flayed by a hyena; a thing all hyenas know for a fact. Hence the two members of Drooler’s party not sleeping in the huts rapidly made themselves ex-members, agreeing to join Eyepatch’s band instead. Better to do that than suffer the fate of what remained of their old band.
Do didn’t have a good sleep either. Excitement, then exhaustion, had made her last few slumbers dreamless, except of course her drunken stupor the night before. Tonight though she was neither exhausted, having spent a good part of her day resting in either Cloverfields or the wagon, nor excited, already having been here for more than a full day, nor drunk. So what the pain of her injuries didn’t do to disrupt her sleep this night, the nightmares of her past experiences, especially the most recent ones, did with a vengeance. When she wasn’t tossing & turning to make herself comfortable (hard to do when you’re sore), she was doing so due to the torment in her mind; as sharks dove out of the water for her, storms raged all around her & wolves leapt out of trees & bushes, their teeth covered in blood. All the while the orca grieving call sounded loudly & clearly, while calves grew sick & died. Many creatures, humans included, relive horrible events from their past in their heads, especially during sleep. This is called PTSD, & Do had known plenty of the T – Trauma, on this adventure alone. So this night she was restless, injured emotionally as well as physically. Finally, in the dark of the night, Do gave up trying to sleep & groomed herself before heading out of her room to the guest lounge, where she found Cress, worriedly checking his hooves.
“Couldn’t you sleep either?” she asked him as she looked at the barely-there nubs where cattle normally had healthy hoof-ends, which seemed to be developing some sort of fungal growth.
“That Braising ambush!” Cress sighed. “It brought too many bad memories back. And on top of that I’m getting hoofrot!”
“Braising? More cattle-curses? And you really don’t want to know what my nightmares looked like either! I’m not even sure I want to look at my wing!”
“All the more reason to check it out,” Cress noted. “And aye, Braising is a cattle-curse. I’m surprised Anvil hasn’t said it yet...”
“His favourite seems to be Brisket,” Do allowed herself a smile as Cress removed her wing bandages to check her injuries.
“Well I’ll be Fried!” Cress stared at her wing. “This thing’s Minced! I’ll see what we can do about it, though of course...”
“I know, no Milk...” Do sighed sadly this time.
“BRISKET!” came a distinct shout from a cattle-stall.
“Anvil!” Do & Cress stated in unison, grinning at each other. And sure enough, while Cress was salving Do’s wing, Anvil indeed joined the pair, his bandages all in a tangle & half of them not covering what they should.
“Good thing there are plenty of medical supplies here!” Cress observed. “Looks like we’ll be using a lot!”
“Is it even possible to close your eyes for a minute without hearing “Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine” all the time?” Anvil wanted to know.
“You mean the orca grieving call?” Do wondered.
“The most horrible sound in the world! Yeah, that!” Anvil confirmed. “It went right through my head that night, & it hasn’t really gone away since! And now that ambush is Mincing my head something terrible!”
The others confirmed they too were having nightmares, so had come down here, where Cress had decided they should pay attention to their injuries, so at least one of the R’s of Rest & Recuperation could be sorted out. Eventually though, all three, having bandaged & salved each other, with Cress’s hooves having been soaked in a warm wash, crashed out on the cushions they’d sat themselves on. Nuzzle, coming down later due to her own nightmares, saw them there & busied herself with bringing blankets to cover the sleeping trio, which of course took longer than usual as she only had one working foreleg. Then she too salved & redressed her leg & her other injuries before returning to her bed.
Eyepatch & his crew stealthily guided Cabailleron under the starlit sky as a crescent moon shone above them, forcing them all to keep to the shadows. Even at night, without a full moon, it’s possible to be seen, & it’s also possible to be heard; & none of the party wanted Drooler’s remaining band of hyenas to know they were coming. Like most creatures of this world (except cats who find it too poisonous), hyenas were fond of a few drinks, & the raiders sincerely hoped the resultant stupor of said creatures drowning their sorrows would take the edge off of their usual ability to sense trouble. The raiders, to a one, had all ceased drinking after their initial conversation with Cabailleron, who was of course stone cold sober, & every single one of them was able to keep quiet, not even allowing the slightest snicker at the fate they were about to bestow on Drooler’s party to escape their muzzles. The stars were beautiful, & Cabailleron saw many familiar constellations up there he used to help him at least figure out what direction they were heading in. Slightly north of north-east, he reckoned, with more than a few detours to keep away from whatever bonfires were being burnt by animals still partying, which fortunately weren’t too bright as many had been abandoned to fizzle out to glowing embers & ashes. When food is tight, as it apparently was here, the animals staved off their hunger pangs by other means, of which drinking & partying was the firm favourite. For hyenas though, revenge was a very close second to this, hence the suppressed delight in every one of the raiders as they crept through the shadows. Cabailleron noticed there’d been more detours within the last few minutes, as the number of bonfires had increased. Surely this had to mean they were entering a settlement! Eyepatch tapped him on the shoulder, making him whirl his head round, whereupon the hyena whispered in his ear:
“We are now on the outskirts of Drooler’s village. Reform.”
Reform meant the hyenas, & Cabailleron, were to move from here on in single file; each stepping precisely in the paw-prints of the previous member. Cabailleron was near the front so his hoof-prints could be eliminated by the multiple pressures of hyena paws following behind him; but not at the front, so the first body seen, if seen they were, was that of a hyena; & in dim light all hyenas look the same, even Eyepatch with his distinct face markings which gave him his name. Not another word was said as the raiding party slinked along like a long python, heading quietly for the centre of the village & the drinking huts, where hyenas too drunk to walk to their homes slept off their indulgences. Cabailleron remembered being shown Eyepatch’s own village’s huts: simple buildings with padded mats & blankets to keep the sleeper warm, as clear skies mean cold nights, even in Africa. And as Drooler preferred to live by the coast, where the boats were kept & drink limits were in place; it meant the boozers in his village were a good distance from his home, & he was a regular user of the huts. Finally they saw the huts in the dim light of a huge fizzling bonfire, almost gone down to ash, but still giving enough light to see, as both hyenas & Cabailleron have excellent night-vision. In hot countries some things are just easier to do at night, & the locals usually sleep through the hottest part of the day. Cabailleron was used to this, being of Briennese ancestry & having spent a good part of his own life in assorted countries around the world. Silently the raiders moved round all the huts, dropping off the rearmost three at each one, so Cabailleron ended up outside the second-last with Eyepatch himself & another hyena, while the leading three moved on to the last one. When all the raiders were in position, Eyepatch struck a small flint thrice. The scrape & sparks of the flint were the signal: three, two, one... meaning each group of three burst into their hut at the same time as all the others. And burst they did! The doors of every hut flew open, followed rapidly by each trio of raiders rushing in to surround the sleeping pads within. Every single one was occupied by a slumbering hyena, crashed out in a drunken stupor. Each trio grabbed each occupant roughly, dragging him outside towards the bonfire. A few woke sluggishly as they were dragged, while some others were roused by the intrusions. Most however slept on, oblivious to what was going on until they nearly burned themselves in the glowing embers of their party bonfire, by which time none could do a thing about their predicament, bound & gagged as they were. Some of the raiders grabbed torch sticks & thrust them into the embers, to illuminate the faces of their captives. It wasn’t long before Cabailleron spotted Drooler, trotting over to the scum & glaring at him.
“Remember me?” he taunted the prisoner, whose eyes widened in shock at seeing that Pony again. “I see you do,” Cabailleron continued, ice & venom in his voice. “Well let me reassure you, you won’t forget me in a hurry, even if I do grant you a quick death.” Cabailleron then began to kick Drooler in various parts of his body. Remember he’s a Pony, & Ponies have a very powerful kick. Cabailleron was also wearing his hoofboots, which not only protect a Pony’s hooves, but also can strike a very nasty blow. Drooler’s screams of torment at the agonising kicks roused the rest of the captives to more wakefulness, which didn’t help them one bit. For as Cabailleron kicked Drooler, Eyepatch & his raiders were equally brutal to the rest of the prisoners. Some of them cried with the pain, & many more groaned & screamed. The one thing worse than being kicked by an equine is being flayed by a hyena; a thing all hyenas know for a fact. Hence the two members of Drooler’s party not sleeping in the huts rapidly made themselves ex-members, agreeing to join Eyepatch’s band instead. Better to do that than suffer the fate of what remained of their old band.
Do didn’t have a good sleep either. Excitement, then exhaustion, had made her last few slumbers dreamless, except of course her drunken stupor the night before. Tonight though she was neither exhausted, having spent a good part of her day resting in either Cloverfields or the wagon, nor excited, already having been here for more than a full day, nor drunk. So what the pain of her injuries didn’t do to disrupt her sleep this night, the nightmares of her past experiences, especially the most recent ones, did with a vengeance. When she wasn’t tossing & turning to make herself comfortable (hard to do when you’re sore), she was doing so due to the torment in her mind; as sharks dove out of the water for her, storms raged all around her & wolves leapt out of trees & bushes, their teeth covered in blood. All the while the orca grieving call sounded loudly & clearly, while calves grew sick & died. Many creatures, humans included, relive horrible events from their past in their heads, especially during sleep. This is called PTSD, & Do had known plenty of the T – Trauma, on this adventure alone. So this night she was restless, injured emotionally as well as physically. Finally, in the dark of the night, Do gave up trying to sleep & groomed herself before heading out of her room to the guest lounge, where she found Cress, worriedly checking his hooves.
“Couldn’t you sleep either?” she asked him as she looked at the barely-there nubs where cattle normally had healthy hoof-ends, which seemed to be developing some sort of fungal growth.
“That Braising ambush!” Cress sighed. “It brought too many bad memories back. And on top of that I’m getting hoofrot!”
“Braising? More cattle-curses? And you really don’t want to know what my nightmares looked like either! I’m not even sure I want to look at my wing!”
“All the more reason to check it out,” Cress noted. “And aye, Braising is a cattle-curse. I’m surprised Anvil hasn’t said it yet...”
“His favourite seems to be Brisket,” Do allowed herself a smile as Cress removed her wing bandages to check her injuries.
“Well I’ll be Fried!” Cress stared at her wing. “This thing’s Minced! I’ll see what we can do about it, though of course...”
“I know, no Milk...” Do sighed sadly this time.
“BRISKET!” came a distinct shout from a cattle-stall.
“Anvil!” Do & Cress stated in unison, grinning at each other. And sure enough, while Cress was salving Do’s wing, Anvil indeed joined the pair, his bandages all in a tangle & half of them not covering what they should.
“Good thing there are plenty of medical supplies here!” Cress observed. “Looks like we’ll be using a lot!”
“Is it even possible to close your eyes for a minute without hearing “Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine” all the time?” Anvil wanted to know.
“You mean the orca grieving call?” Do wondered.
“The most horrible sound in the world! Yeah, that!” Anvil confirmed. “It went right through my head that night, & it hasn’t really gone away since! And now that ambush is Mincing my head something terrible!”
The others confirmed they too were having nightmares, so had come down here, where Cress had decided they should pay attention to their injuries, so at least one of the R’s of Rest & Recuperation could be sorted out. Eventually though, all three, having bandaged & salved each other, with Cress’s hooves having been soaked in a warm wash, crashed out on the cushions they’d sat themselves on. Nuzzle, coming down later due to her own nightmares, saw them there & busied herself with bringing blankets to cover the sleeping trio, which of course took longer than usual as she only had one working foreleg. Then she too salved & redressed her leg & her other injuries before returning to her bed.