[Crossover] Teaser #4
What’s more embarrassing than a Fox getting chased through the woods by a pack of rabbits?
That would be “the Fox getting caught.”
I try to focus on that as motivation. If I’m embarrassed, I’m less panicky.
I grab a big branch and use it to throw my momentum into a sharp left turn. As I do, chips of wood fly through the air near my head, followed by a sharp crack from way behind me.
Great. One of them has a rifle. Like the claws and swords weren’t enough.
The turn throws them off a bit, buying me a little time. Most rabbits are sprinters, not endurance runners, and I know the woods here pretty well. If I can keep ahead of them for a little bit, I might have a chance. Vivia, please, let me have at least a chance.
They’re still making occasional squeaks and un-rabbitlike snarls, but there are no words. As bizarre as it seems, the beasts chasing me are only rabbits, not talking Rabbits. How did someone get them to use a gun, never mind hunt in packs? There’s something deeply wrong here.
I slide a bit going down a slope, then leap across Tilden Brook. If I were to cut left and follow it, I’d get back to the main road, but I don’t dare. They’d have me quick on that straightaway. Instead, I jump over the fallen tree and head for the brambles. The bushes are thin, and my leathers keep them from scraping anything sensitive, though at one point they almost snag my messenger bag.
I’m halfway through the brambles when I realize that’s where they wanted me all along. The bushes start writhing and the way behind me closes. The way ahead opens and I can see where they’ve been trying to get me. I skid to a halt and end up on one knee, panting.
In the clearing on top of the bramble hill, someone is waiting for me. She has two others flanking her, a chipmunk and a deer (both the two-legged kind), but I can tell she’s the important one. It only takes me a moment to match her to the description I’ve heard: tattered blue robes, scratched-up mirrored sunglasses, hood half pulled over her hissing, writhing “hair.”
I’m so screwed.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Therry,” she says with a distracted air, as though I was on time for an appointment but it wasn’t really important. “I have a few questions about Tilden village, if you don’t mind.”
And she knows my name too. Great. I catch my breath, manage to rise, and ask, “Am I guessing right? You’d be the...” (don’t say Mad, don’t say Mad) “...the Witch of Enlim, yes? You’re a long way from home.”
Everyone’s heard those stories about the clever Fox who talks his way out of trouble, or tricks it into letting him go, right?
I’m not that fox. I’m just a courier.
“Tell me about the mayor of Tilden, Therry. How long has he been gone? Will he be back soon?”
I’m confused. This is public knowledge, but even still, I’m not sure if I should tell her, so I hesitate. She raises one hand significantly toward her glasses--just a few inches, but I get the message anyway.
“Uh. He’s on a retreat or something? Couple weeks gone, I think. I wasn’t there when he left.”
I feel terrible, but I’m just a courier, not some kind of hero. I’m trapped, and full of panic, and I desperately want to get out of this.
She smiles, but her hand stays where it is. “Good, thank you. And the town well, is it still blessed?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about! It’s not as though I Iive there. I try to say so, but I stumble over my words.
She nods anyway, seeming even happier. “Oh, yes, you’d know if it weren’t. Good, good.” Her two companions, or guards, stir restlessly, and I can hear the rabbits gathering outside the bramble patch. She turns to the deer and mumbles something, and it runs off, leaping a low part of the brambles.
They’re only beasts, not talking Animals, and she’s magically Speaking to them. Not only talking to them, but controlling them. It’s one of the worst crimes against Vivia, black magic and heresy.
I feel sympathy for them, even as deep in trouble as I am. Beasts deserve better.
Before I can consider this further, she turns her attention back to me. “Last question, Therry. Is the sign over the inn’s front door still broken?”
I have no idea why she’d ask this. Bewildered, I just nod.
“Good. All set, then,” says the witch. "Thank you, you’ve been very kind.”
I’m totally at sea now. “Um. Can I go then? I… still have this delivery.”
She shakes her head, suddenly going somber. “Oh, I’m sorry, little one, but I’m afraid you’re going to be late this time.”
The glasses come off. Her eyes are red. I don’t remember anything after that.
That would be “the Fox getting caught.”
I try to focus on that as motivation. If I’m embarrassed, I’m less panicky.
I grab a big branch and use it to throw my momentum into a sharp left turn. As I do, chips of wood fly through the air near my head, followed by a sharp crack from way behind me.
Great. One of them has a rifle. Like the claws and swords weren’t enough.
The turn throws them off a bit, buying me a little time. Most rabbits are sprinters, not endurance runners, and I know the woods here pretty well. If I can keep ahead of them for a little bit, I might have a chance. Vivia, please, let me have at least a chance.
They’re still making occasional squeaks and un-rabbitlike snarls, but there are no words. As bizarre as it seems, the beasts chasing me are only rabbits, not talking Rabbits. How did someone get them to use a gun, never mind hunt in packs? There’s something deeply wrong here.
I slide a bit going down a slope, then leap across Tilden Brook. If I were to cut left and follow it, I’d get back to the main road, but I don’t dare. They’d have me quick on that straightaway. Instead, I jump over the fallen tree and head for the brambles. The bushes are thin, and my leathers keep them from scraping anything sensitive, though at one point they almost snag my messenger bag.
I’m halfway through the brambles when I realize that’s where they wanted me all along. The bushes start writhing and the way behind me closes. The way ahead opens and I can see where they’ve been trying to get me. I skid to a halt and end up on one knee, panting.
In the clearing on top of the bramble hill, someone is waiting for me. She has two others flanking her, a chipmunk and a deer (both the two-legged kind), but I can tell she’s the important one. It only takes me a moment to match her to the description I’ve heard: tattered blue robes, scratched-up mirrored sunglasses, hood half pulled over her hissing, writhing “hair.”
I’m so screwed.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Therry,” she says with a distracted air, as though I was on time for an appointment but it wasn’t really important. “I have a few questions about Tilden village, if you don’t mind.”
And she knows my name too. Great. I catch my breath, manage to rise, and ask, “Am I guessing right? You’d be the...” (don’t say Mad, don’t say Mad) “...the Witch of Enlim, yes? You’re a long way from home.”
Everyone’s heard those stories about the clever Fox who talks his way out of trouble, or tricks it into letting him go, right?
I’m not that fox. I’m just a courier.
“Tell me about the mayor of Tilden, Therry. How long has he been gone? Will he be back soon?”
I’m confused. This is public knowledge, but even still, I’m not sure if I should tell her, so I hesitate. She raises one hand significantly toward her glasses--just a few inches, but I get the message anyway.
“Uh. He’s on a retreat or something? Couple weeks gone, I think. I wasn’t there when he left.”
I feel terrible, but I’m just a courier, not some kind of hero. I’m trapped, and full of panic, and I desperately want to get out of this.
She smiles, but her hand stays where it is. “Good, thank you. And the town well, is it still blessed?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about! It’s not as though I Iive there. I try to say so, but I stumble over my words.
She nods anyway, seeming even happier. “Oh, yes, you’d know if it weren’t. Good, good.” Her two companions, or guards, stir restlessly, and I can hear the rabbits gathering outside the bramble patch. She turns to the deer and mumbles something, and it runs off, leaping a low part of the brambles.
They’re only beasts, not talking Animals, and she’s magically Speaking to them. Not only talking to them, but controlling them. It’s one of the worst crimes against Vivia, black magic and heresy.
I feel sympathy for them, even as deep in trouble as I am. Beasts deserve better.
Before I can consider this further, she turns her attention back to me. “Last question, Therry. Is the sign over the inn’s front door still broken?”
I have no idea why she’d ask this. Bewildered, I just nod.
“Good. All set, then,” says the witch. "Thank you, you’ve been very kind.”
I’m totally at sea now. “Um. Can I go then? I… still have this delivery.”
She shakes her head, suddenly going somber. “Oh, I’m sorry, little one, but I’m afraid you’re going to be late this time.”
The glasses come off. Her eyes are red. I don’t remember anything after that.