HOME | DD

Description
Catnip
Featuring Bannon
Midsummer, Year 756 of the New Age
Silverthorne, the Ash Plains

The morning report had included an unusual detail.

A mountain lion had been spotted by a young scout skulking around the Ash Plains. A mountain lion! Caracals and jackals, sure… But a mountain lion this far from the Iron Hills? Pssh. Bannon had his doubts, but had taken the information with straight-faced sobriety and had promised to keep an eye out on his rounds. Surely this ‘threat’ was simply the result of an eager and inexperienced scout’s overactive imagination. Young soldiers often saw things in the heat; mirages and other shapeless threats. The real threat this time of year was dehydration. That and sweating so much you couldn’t help but stink.

Bannon sauntered in a slow circuit around the main body of the herd as he had for most of the afternoon, the dry grass crunching underfoot as he drifted by. If he squinted, he could make out the mass of grazing fawnlings through the shimmering heat waves in the distance. Everything seemed fine. His patrol had been uneventful, save for the appearance of an angry chittering ground squirrel that had scolded him for stepping too close to her nest. In a word: boring. Definitely no mountain lion sightings to speak of. Bannon scoffed to himself at the thought. Silly kid, probably had just seen the grass blowing in the meager breeze, or something.

His shift was nearly over. The sun was just above the peaks of the distant mountain range. When the bright orb touched them, another soldier would come out and relieve him of his duty for the day. Bannon looked forward to that. Maybe he’d find a nice dirt hole to wallow in. It’d feel good to roll and scratch his withers in the coarse soil; to rub the itchy places where the sweat of the day had dried and irritated him most. Maybe even find the time to smile at the girls. Rut was nearly here, and it was never too early to plant some ideas in the minds of a few pretty does. He sighed and glanced again at the sun longingly. It wouldn’t be long now---

Something heavy hit his side, knocking the wind from him and making the big stag stumble and gasp. Before he could get his wits about him, the agony slipped tendrils into his brain. Claws raked his back and sides, and he felt a set of wicked teeth sinking into his cresty neck. Yowling in surprise and pain, instinct and training took over, and he whirled, trying to dislodge the weight on his back. The animal – he was sure it was some kind of animal – lost its footing, and began to slip. It dug its claws deeper into Bannon’s hide so it wouldn’t be flung away. Scrambling, it found itself riding the beefy stag backwards: its front claws finding purchase in his muscular back, while its belly rested neatly between his branching antlers. Its back claws, it discovered, could scrabble at the stag’s neck and broad shoulders.

Bannon snorted and danced. He leapt and twisted in the air like a bronco, to no avail. He was blinded by the animal’s bulk as it hung between his antlers and in front of his face. He bit and tore at the beast’s inner haunches, but was rewarded with only a snarl and deeper claws.

Then the memory of foxes came to him, seemingly unbidden.

In the winter, the small canines would prowl over the snow with large ears and eyes trained intently on the ground beneath them. They’d pace and scuttle to and fro and finally, when there seemed no rhyme or reason to their movements, they’d high in the air and graceful as a swan, would dive feet and face first into the deep drifts. More often than not, they’d come back up with a vole in their jaws.

It was the diving that Bannon remembered now. Sucking in a breath that he hoped wouldn’t be his last; he leapt high into the air. Crunching his eyes closed against the oncoming impact, he angled his body so that’d his momentum would carry his head and shoulders all the way to the ground.

The beast yowled as it was crushed between the solid earth and Bannon’s antlers. Instantly, it released its grip on him and fell back.

Heaving for breath and frothy with sweat, Bannon clambered to his feet and skittered backwards, away from his assailant. It was only now that he saw the beast for what it was: a mountain lion!

“Well, I’ll be.” Bannon drawled between his panting.

Shaking his head and already feeling himself growing stiff from his wounds, Bannon could only gape in wonder at the odd sight. What had driven the creature so far from the Iron Hills? Hunger? Illness? Desperation? It was a mystery. He’d report it to his commanding officer. Maybe they’d send a team of scouts to check out the Iron Hills and see if anything was unusual, if it was deemed important enough. Then again, it might also be chalked up to one loony lion and not worth the effort of an investigation.

A moment later, another soldier came hurtling towards him and delivered him from his thoughts. He pulled up short when he noticed Bannon’s sorry state and the now dead lion sprawled out a few yards away. “Wh-what is this?” he stammered.

Bannon shrugged and then winced. He was bleeding from multiple scrapes, claw marks, and bites, but he was sure the wounds were superficial. Everything seemed to be working, in any case. “Beats me. Some kid scout deserves and apology, though. And maybe even a promotion!”

“Well, I’m here to relieve you.” The soldier announced, his eyes still keen on the corpse of the mountain lion. “You’d better get back to the herd and report this. And maybe have a healer look at those scratches.”

Bannon nodded tiredly and managed a smile. He wouldn’t bet his dirt bath tonight, but at least he’d have a story to amuse the other soldiers.

Description
Catnip
Featuring Bannon
Midsummer, Year 756 of the New Age
Silverthorne, the Ash Plains

The morning report had included an unusual detail.

A mountain lion had been spotted by a young scout skulking around the Ash Plains. A mountain lion! Caracals and jackals, sure… But a mountain lion this far from the Iron Hills? Pssh. Bannon had his doubts, but had taken the information with straight-faced sobriety and had promised to keep an eye out on his rounds. Surely this ‘threat’ was simply the result of an eager and inexperienced scout’s overactive imagination. Young soldiers often saw things in the heat; mirages and other shapeless threats. The real threat this time of year was dehydration. That and sweating so much you couldn’t help but stink.

Bannon sauntered in a slow circuit around the main body of the herd as he had for most of the afternoon, the dry grass crunching underfoot as he drifted by. If he squinted, he could make out the mass of grazing fawnlings through the shimmering heat waves in the distance. Everything seemed fine. His patrol had been uneventful, save for the appearance of an angry chittering ground squirrel that had scolded him for stepping too close to her nest. In a word: boring. Definitely no mountain lion sightings to speak of. Bannon scoffed to himself at the thought. Silly kid, probably had just seen the grass blowing in the meager breeze, or something.

His shift was nearly over. The sun was just above the peaks of the distant mountain range. When the bright orb touched them, another soldier would come out and relieve him of his duty for the day. Bannon looked forward to that. Maybe he’d find a nice dirt hole to wallow in. It’d feel good to roll and scratch his withers in the coarse soil; to rub the itchy places where the sweat of the day had dried and irritated him most. Maybe even find the time to smile at the girls. Rut was nearly here, and it was never too early to plant some ideas in the minds of a few pretty does. He sighed and glanced again at the sun longingly. It wouldn’t be long now---

Something heavy hit his side, knocking the wind from him and making the big stag stumble and gasp. Before he could get his wits about him, the agony slipped tendrils into his brain. Claws raked his back and sides, and he felt a set of wicked teeth sinking into his cresty neck. Yowling in surprise and pain, instinct and training took over, and he whirled, trying to dislodge the weight on his back. The animal – he was sure it was some kind of animal – lost its footing, and began to slip. It dug its claws deeper into Bannon’s hide so it wouldn’t be flung away. Scrambling, it found itself riding the beefy stag backwards: its front claws finding purchase in his muscular back, while its belly rested neatly between his branching antlers. Its back claws, it discovered, could scrabble at the stag’s neck and broad shoulders.

Bannon snorted and danced. He leapt and twisted in the air like a bronco, to no avail. He was blinded by the animal’s bulk as it hung between his antlers and in front of his face. He bit and tore at the beast’s inner haunches, but was rewarded with only a snarl and deeper claws.

Then the memory of foxes came to him, seemingly unbidden.

In the winter, the small canines would prowl over the snow with large ears and eyes trained intently on the ground beneath them. They’d pace and scuttle to and fro and finally, when there seemed no rhyme or reason to their movements, they’d high in the air and graceful as a swan, would dive feet and face first into the deep drifts. More often than not, they’d come back up with a vole in their jaws.

It was the diving that Bannon remembered now. Sucking in a breath that he hoped wouldn’t be his last; he leapt high into the air. Crunching his eyes closed against the oncoming impact, he angled his body so that’d his momentum would carry his head and shoulders all the way to the ground.

The beast yowled as it was crushed between the solid earth and Bannon’s antlers. Instantly, it released its grip on him and fell back.

Heaving for breath and frothy with sweat, Bannon clambered to his feet and skittered backwards, away from his assailant. It was only now that he saw the beast for what it was: a mountain lion!

“Well, I’ll be.” Bannon drawled between his panting.

Shaking his head and already feeling himself growing stiff from his wounds, Bannon could only gape in wonder at the odd sight. What had driven the creature so far from the Iron Hills? Hunger? Illness? Desperation? It was a mystery. He’d report it to his commanding officer. Maybe they’d send a team of scouts to check out the Iron Hills and see if anything was unusual, if it was deemed important enough. Then again, it might also be chalked up to one loony lion and not worth the effort of an investigation.

A moment later, another soldier came hurtling towards him and delivered him from his thoughts. He pulled up short when he noticed Bannon’s sorry state and the now dead lion sprawled out a few yards away. “Wh-what is this?” he stammered.

Bannon shrugged and then winced. He was bleeding from multiple scrapes, claw marks, and bites, but he was sure the wounds were superficial. Everything seemed to be working, in any case. “Beats me. Some kid scout deserves and apology, though. And maybe even a promotion!”

“Well, I’m here to relieve you.” The soldier announced, his eyes still keen on the corpse of the mountain lion. “You’d better get back to the herd and report this. And maybe have a healer look at those scratches.”

Bannon nodded tiredly and managed a smile. He wouldn’t bet his dirt bath tonight, but at least he’d have a story to amuse the other soldiers.