Project Dream Preview, Chapter 2

‘Tween wooden blinds, sun rays beset, “another,” Alo stroked his eyes, “dismal day…—ah!” the drained, clay canister was tipped, “my head…urgh…” 

Though the great room slightly crawled underfoot, t’ward the windows, Alo managed to stagger: playful cubs were buried ‘neath fresh snow by two equally amused shovelers.

 “Focus,” he bowed to flick through a pedestalled book, “…calamity, noun: an immense misfortunate, disaster.”

“…Time’s lost,” it hissed within, “upon inferior vows…”

Forth, he flipped: his claw chancely landed, “cuspid,” his fangs were felt…then the frays of absent pages, “t-today…but a brief session…” 

Fervently, Alo scratched at his mired man, but spared a hand to pick yesterday’s attire from the littered foyer and gather the slain quarries; he, however, reeled from the doorknob…as he feared, his exit drew sev’ral stares…

“How lowly they speak…” it echoed, “who may condemn…?”

“Not I…” Alo lowered his sight, yet his folded ears elude few loudly whispered derisions…

“Greetings, Alo!” behind the counter, cleansing a fine blade, lounged a hickory Kodiak Ursine, faintly battered and salted silver, built large, framed wide, “you’ve a delivery?”

Alo glanced about: no others were present, “hello, Bono,” he perked, “I do, though t’is modest.”

“Show me.” 

“I—” he toiled, “hunted for days…Winter has set, but I should’ve found more…never has Keenda’s Weald been so barren…”

“I see…”

“So…may I have my note…? I owe Elan a minor debt…”

“Hm…Alo, the slain are few, they must be butchered for a fair appraisal; forgive me, but we can’t stir suspicions,” he shouldered the husks to the back room, “be undismayed, I’ll be swift.”

“Alright…t’was pleasant to speak–” 

“Oh, wait.”

“Yes?”

“They ordered a word…one urgent…please, tread lightly…”

“I…I will…” Alo recurred to the slushed roads, “what could they possibly want…?” he sulked past markets and numerous humble, yet reverent shacks (some conspicuous spectators clung to their offspring while others intently stared), “I want naught more than payment,” he stalled afront the tall, grand entry, “…remember……breathe—”

“Are you deaf, runt?!” an Ursine barged through, “make way!”

Alo fumed, his nostrils flared—his right arm faintly trembled—

“What lies…” it hissed mid-pursuit, “within the Clearing…?”

…Against every urge, Alo began to peter, “…focus…I’m here for the Chief…” 

He redirected, instead, t’ward the receptionist, “h-hello,” he approached with poorly masked trepidation, “I-I was summoned…?”

“Good morn, runt. I heard you troubled my mate and scion last night.”

“–Uh…t’was…a long hunt…few catches—I…I was fatigued, but it won’t transpire twice: forgive me and offer Elan, Hodee especially, my sincerest apologies.”

“Ugh, I’ll consider it,” their quill flicked upward, “you know where they’re found.”

“Thank you…” 

Decoratively molded flights and prolonged halls were traversed; despite avoidant, atimes cynical passers, Alo patiently steeled himself to meekly knock upon the most highly coveted chamber.

“Enter!” the hinges faintly creaked, “oh, finally: Keenda’s runt,” draped in fine hides, “answer me,” the Chief riffled through scattered files, “how long was your hunt?”

“…Days slip,” Alo drew, charmed by the scars embedded in their desk, “among the trees—”

“Well they crawl for us. T’was nine days—rumors say you captured but one deer–” 

“Hares too,” the Chief glared from their documents, “p-prey is scarce, why? I know not.”

“I doubt Nature’s to blame.”

“Then…who…? I hope not the Ursine in Holon–” 

“Ugh, with each hunt, you bear less; I’ve realized your antics—you thought they’d elude me?”

“Antic? N-no–”

“You recall the agreement, yes?”

“I do.”

“Excellent…for a time, I was deceived: last Summer you seemed adept, but Keenda’s one-fifty strong; one deer a week is not enough.”

“What more must I prove, Chief?”

“Competence, yet yours was lost ‘longside skill: a shame…though I expected no less of a runt,” their gaze roamed t’ward an unfurled, olive-ribboned letter, “I’ve hired a new hunter: he arrives tomorrow.”

“A-…a new…? T-…tomorrow…?…You…you sent word long afore my prior hunt?!”

“Be grateful he permits runts—”

“Permits!?” 

“I recommend you become…eh…more presentable—”

“No…you’ve no right: t’is my kin’s lodge—you defile tradition!”

“These are desperate times–”

“I’ve provided years without fail!”

“Not recently.”

“Another mouth’ll not restore the ravins!!”

“Tame. Your. Temper!”

“Chief, I-I’ll find a means, I’ll–”

“You’re mistaken, runt, we convened not to debate: leave to welcome your newest of many colleagues or you’ll be welcome no longer.”

“B-but, I—”

“Leave!”

…His teeth gnashed and temples throbbed; behind the slammed door, his faint curses were partly concealed.

“My newest…of many…?” his tears were desperately fought, “they’ll…they’ll oust me. Oh, end this woeful day…” 

Prematurely numbed of the undesired attention, Alo drifted homeward, directly through the devastated kitchen to the pantry.

 “Pickled fruits…vegetables,” its sparse contents were rearranged as if new would appear, “I hunger for stew.”

“How thankless…” it hissed within.

“…Ugh…t’isn’t meat…although,” a jar’s seal was broken, “t’will do,” he fished for berries, but the discontentment transferred to his toes, which wandered about the lower shelves, “…oh…? What’s this…?” he squinted, “is it…Elan’s brew…? Oh, I forgot!” the jilted fruit spilt over the counter, “t’is been years,” the cork was popped, “eugh, easily three…should it—?” his nose instinctively reeled, “…well…t’is liquor…” 

Somewhat conflicted, Alo swirled the vessel: the shutters were shut and his clothes were shed. Sparks tenderly kissed with tender, afore they were slipped beneath new logs in the great room’s metallic dish.

“Ugh…” afront the newborn flame, most of the acidic, fetid sum was sipped, “eugh,” his innards churned, “…oh…yes,” his fingers sluggishly flexed, “how potent…from this slumber…I wish not wake…”