A Vicious Name (Sleet)

[lorki]

Her bandaged paws gathered up a pile of dust off the road, playing it would seem, like many beasts her age would. She sat cross legged, ignored by the rambunctious small horde that was settling down around the fire. They’d learned in the weeks since her arrival that no amount of invitation would entice the young ferret near the flames, even as the weather grew dryer and colder as the seasons ebbed towards winter.

She sat just inside the light cast by the large fire, card games and gruff joking boomed while she gathered up the dirt and patted it down again. She built up a dome, like a sad dirt model of her old home and poked a small hole with her claw for the door. Her paws searched the pockets of the oversized jacket that hung off her small frame, she pulled out three small carved figured that roughly resembled two ferrets and fox, she set them carefully outside the pile of dirt and sat back, staring down at the little diorama of her dead life.

“Sleet.”

She didn’t seem to notice the large beast that approached her, the wolf that had wandered away from the fire to check on her scowled, “Sleet.” He said, a bit louder this time, “Sleet, dis bowl is burnin’ a ‘ole through me paw.”

Large black eyes snapped to attention suddenly, the little ferret raised her head and looked over her shoulder, “Oh… sorry.”

“Still can’t ‘ear yer own name?” The wolf smirked and placed the bowl on the ground in front of him.

“I’m just not use to it,” she admitted softly, truth be told the name was too harsh for her... but then again all of their names were harsh. They must all be made up, no baby could be born under such a vicious name. Her eyes cast a displeased look on the soup, “I’m not really hungry.”

“Aye, yew nevah are. Eat.” The hulking creature turned away from her, “its damn freezin’ o’er ‘ere.” He growled, half in a complaint, half in an attempt to make her move towards the rest of the group by the fire. It didn’t work, he returned alone.

The eight year old he left behind made a face at his back and turned back to pocket the small figurines. She kicked her legs out, bandaged from foot to knee, and destroyed the dirt hovel. She rolled herself over so that she faced the soup and the group of vermin shouting and laughing with one another beside the fire. The wolf that had come to deliver her food was caught up in a very high stakes game of chess (a pile of jewelry and gold gleamed beside the rock where they played.)

Sleetfang lowered her gaze and brushed her face off with one paw, her fur still stank of smoke and burnt… well, burnt ferret. She looked down at the steaming bowl of thrown together soup, it certainly appeared to me mostly water and not much else. She reached out and touched the bowl tenderly with one paw, she quickly recoiled away form the heat. As the drinking vermin around the fire grew more and more rambunctious and the night grew later she sat over the bowl, waiting for the soup to grow as cold as the air around it.

[lorki]

“So, d’you remember ‘em much?” The dark furred fox asked as he laid out the line of knives on the ground.

“Who?” The gray ferret tilted her head while shedding the large red coat.

“Your family,” Shougur the fox spoke blankly, without much emotion… in fact most of the things he did were without emotion.

“Oh… No, not really… it was awhile ago,” she lied, bending to pick up one of the small knives. “This is what you use?”

“Aye, looks small, I know,’ he picked up one himself and tossed it into the air, catching the tip between two claws. “You wouldn’t tink it could do much… Bu’ when you get dis in the right spot, Sleet, it’ll turn a beast inside out.” He let the weapon fly, her eyes couldn’t follow it until it sunk into the middle of a knot in a tree.

The ferret shifted uncomfortably, she had seen the aftermath of Shougur’s weapons before. “I… I don’t think I should-”

The fox glared down at her, “Grinner tol’ me how you feel ‘bout dis. Truth is it don’t matter. Learn to use someting or get your head taken off by some vermin huntin’ squirrel er whate’er.” He paused, seeing how a sickly look had come over the young creatures face. “Well y’don’t have to kill ‘em. Disablin’ works just as well, Girlie. You could also-”

“Talk to them?” She chimed in meekly.

This suggest was met with a sharp scowl, “from a distance, sure. It works with some of ‘em… Or you could always hide ina cave for the rest o’your life, see how well tha’ works out for you.” Her brow furrowed, he rolled his eyes, “defense, Sleet. Look at it tha’ way.”

“Fine.” She shifted the knife around to hold it how Shougur had and flicked her paw forward, the knife stuck into the tree’s trunk.

The fox looked down at her, brows raised. “You’re gunna be good at dis.”

---

Two years later Sleet forced herself to stand stoically beside the fire that burned up the small pile of bodies. The flames engulfed not only Shougur but also the wolf that had brought Sleet into the horde years earlier. She was alone, the rest of the beasts having dispersed to fight each over the dead creatures belongings. Shougur’s knives were already lined up around Sleets waist; she wouldn’t need much else.

She felt as if, in some sick way, she might as well watch the fire take up what small piece of family she’d managed to cling onto again. It seemed like a curse that whatever she might grow close too would end up as smoke and ash. She’d done a foul job of protecting what she loved, once again.

The warm winds shifted direction, blowing a plume of smoke towards her. She turned swiftly and swiped her pack off the ground, clinging it to her chest she stepped quickly and silently away from the fire and into the darkening forest.

Ryoke, they’d called him, and recognizing his face had stricken her useless… but it wouldn’t when she found him again. At hardly thirteen years old Sleetfang was going badger hunting.

[lorki]

Outside wind was howling and part of Sleet resented the cob walls around her. Any other beast might see it as a blessing to be inside but for the past seven years Sleetfang had spent her winters in the cold, huddled under branches, heavy cloaks and the occasional makeshift shelter. She couldn’t remember the last time she spent more than mere moments indoors… that or she simply didn’t want to.

But there she sat, carefully positioned on the far side of a round table, a small fireplace across the room from her and a chair on the other side of the table were the only other things in the room. Thankfully the fire was out, earlier the wind had whipped down the chimney and blown sparks about the room causing Sleet to nearly burst out the little rickety door behind her. Now she was calmer, although edgy. It was strange for her to hear the wind but not be chilled by it, hear the patter of light raindrops but not have the water stringing gently on her face.

The curtained door to the side of the room shifted and another beast stumbled in. With his fur blown about messily and sticking out in all directions the tall dark ferret quickly began pressing particularly unruly patches of fur down with his paws. “Damn wind,” he growled, reaching over to pick a still steaming glass of water up from where it sat beside the recently snuffed fire.

Sleet let a small smirk fall over her face as he mumbled some more unpleasant things about the weather before taking a seat across from her and setting the glass on the table. “Yew cold?” He asked, gesturing with his paw for her to take the glass.

“oh… no, not at all. Actually I’m very comfortable.” It was true; the room itself was far warmer than Sleet could have ever hoped to feel if she was sitting outside in this storm.

“Yew know, yew make it difficult ta be hospitable,” He scowled at her, taking a sip from the glass, “I try t’feed ye, offer yew place ta stay an’ how long has it been? Yew still sit there like ye tink I’m a d**n idiot.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms, “It’s been a little less than a week, and I never thought you were anything but a partial idiot, Pharro.”

“Huh,” he copied her motion, “yeah well ye oughta be a bit thankful at least.”

“I am,” she stressed, raising her brow with the words, “I can’t help it, I’m not use to this.”

He shrugged, “yer difficult, I can deal with that.”

Sleet rolled her eyes, her newest friend… well, if fact her first friend for quite some time, had the same moodiness as she. In fact the two were nearly copies of one another. Each apparently indifferent to the other until some certain words or actions issued an unusually emotional response. In the few days that she’d known Pharro the two had managed to get into a vicious fistfight, sob uncontrollably together and laugh hysterically at the most mundane things. She wouldn’t admit how much she enjoyed it.

“Do you cook, by any chance?”

Sleet’s head jerked up, peering in interest at him, “Cook?” Well… the answer would have been yes if he’d asked eight or so years ago. “I… I haven’t in a very long time. And I don’t really want to with…”

“The fire,” he nodded wisely, “that’s fine, I jus’ wondered. I can’t, that’s fer d**n sure.” He chuckled to himself, looking with a strange longing at the fireplace, as if wishfully thinking it would pour out a delicious meal for him. “I miss it,” she murmured.

They were quiet while a particularly loud roar of wind shook the tree’s outside along the pathway. Sleet leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, head on her paws. “Me too,” she agreed in honestly. He could sympathize with her, he was alone. Sure he was filled with sorrow rather than with anger, he kept alive his families business and hospitality rather than turning to vengeance as she had… but he could at least sympathize.

Her dark eyes watched his stormy gray ones, they’d taken on that distant look that lonely beasts eyes often took. Sleet had heard that eyes were like looking into a soul, but their souls were alone. Grimacing at the thought she reached across the table with one paw and tapped it against his. “Listen, I’ve got an idea.”

---

“Vigorously, Pharro, vigorously!” She shouted, making dramatic stirring motions with her arms, “You’re going to let it burn on the bottom! If you ruin this meal I will ruin you!”

“I’m stirrin’!” He growled, whipping the wooden spoon around the large metal pot over the fire.

“Good, okay, add in the spice only half… I said only half, Pharro! Ugh! Stir faster!”

Pharro shot her a withering glare, “when did yew become a slave master?” He snapped

“Sorry, sorry. Could you please add in the rest of the vegetables now?” She grumbled in a sickly sweet voice, “And just keep stirring but take it off the fire in a few minutes.”

Pharro tossed in the last handful of vegetables. Sleet had had to improvise while setting up for their ‘home cooked teamwork meal’ and complained all through the vegetable selection that there were none of the right kinds. As far as Pharro was concerned it looked perfectly nice, it was taking on a thick stew-like consistency. He glanced over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out at Sleet who was staring anxiously from across the room.

Using a thick wood stick he pulled the pot away from the flames and set it on the hearth. He turned to Sleet, “does it look a’right? Tink the pie’s done too?”

She nodded and he stuffed the stick into the brick oven over the fireplace, pulling out a surprisingly well-formed pie. “I’m so proud,” Sleet grinned, stepping close enough to pat him thoughtfully on the back as he set the pie down. “And now we just wait until all of it is cold. And then we eat it.

The look of horror that covered Pharro’s face would have supplied enough humor for Sleet to go months more without a single giggle. She tried to keep a straight face to convince her friend she was serious but the intense displeasure all over his face was too much. One corner of her mouth twitched upwards.

“Oh good,” he sighed in relief, “that’s a horrible joke, Sleet!”

She grinned widely and backed up to sit at the table. Pharro, smiling slightly and shaking his head, proceeded to fill two bowls with soup and two glasses with water and set them at the table. He sat down and looked across the table at her, “Cheer’s fer givin’ terribly harsh diretions… but they must’a been good, cause we got this.”

She hung her head and chuckled, “fair enough, cheers for following them and stirring as vigorously as a weak little ferret could.”

“Oh, the wit,” Pharro said dryly, holding up his glass to knock it gently against hers.