Bee Dumb and Daring [Seasonal, Solo]

He was on the rampage, a stealthy one. A week of planning had passed since his sister Aoife had been mauled by the dastardly bugs in the log, and it had been spent in planning – between distractions of chasing skinks, woodland bunnies and butterflies – his revenge.

Now he stalked through the wooded hillock’s flank, spotting the occasional bug here and there, following it for a few minutes, and abandoning the chase when a more likely looking bug caught his mismatched eyes. While his quest was single minded, his attention span proved fickle. He was, at least, focused on bugs that buzzed and flew.

She’d been hitting a log with a stick, right. Looking around, he spotted a stick, deciding maybe he could recreate her path. His parents would probably be two parts mad and one part proud of his quest’s purpose. He was defending his littlest sister’s stung – literally – pride and honor.

He wielded the stick, smacking the trunks of trees, tottering three-legged along, listening until thock, suddenly changed to thunk when he struck a downed log. And bugs! There were lots of bugs. Buzzing in and out in a busy, buzzy swirl of industrious activity. His nose twitched as he caught the smell of something seriously pleasing, and he edged closer, stick still gripped in on paw, ready to swing.

It was the spot, alright, and the army lay before him. His hackled bristled, sabered puppy canines gleaming with a sense of fury. How dare these bugs invade Valhalla. How dare they harm his sister? He worked himself up in the face of a great army of bugs that had taken on his sister and defeated her, sent her fleeing for her life. Made her cry! They would pay.

A growl purred in his throat, deep in his chest, and he imagined it rumbling like a great thunder cloud. He’d heard the thunder rolling above the hillock and the plains a few days ago. His mother had taken him and his siblings far enough out to watch the lightning show, and let them enjoy the rain that had come down in a deluge.

In reality, his growl was all pup, high pitched and… to be honest, it was adorable to any outside perspective, given they liked children to begin with.

His paw tightened on the stick, claws unsheathing with a scrape against the wood as he launched himself forward with a shout of furious bravado. THWACK! He dealt the log and opening a ferocious blow, and then reeled back and brought the stick down on the hive again with all the power he could in his little frame, fur blazing like a bonfire.

That was about all the blows he got in, because all the sudden the air was filled with an oppressive, heavy thrum. The air was full of them—the army had come pouring out after him. And he hurt! Stings riddled his form, countless stings!

Alright, maybe he only got about five to start with, but the count would only grow, because he refused to be cowed and dove for the log, snapping and chomping and slapping and – yes, yelping. But between the yelps were shouts of rage and determination. Bugs died by the dozens in his jaws— by the twos, whenever he could catch one. But his paws, though they reaped the consequences, dealt more damage, and he soon was upon their castle wall, front paws diving into the hive and claws ripping through the comb.

Each time he had a pawful, he ripped it free and hurled it as far away as he could. He could hardly see by now, and his gums felt like… like puffball mushrooms, ready to burst at a single poke. But he kept on, in the thick of battle. His sister’s honor would be avenged.

The battle raged for minutes, hours! But finally, he came away with a prize in his teeth and booked it, his vengeance wrought. Oh, but he hurt. Yet he couldn’t stop now. There was one last thing to do.

He stumbled and staggered back toward the den, peering through nearly blindly swollen shut eyes as he went, jaws firmly clamped on the prize. The bees had stopped chasing him, the buzzes faded and gone. He left the ruins of a once fine army behind, and the carnage of a great battle.

He limped and hobbled, and he was so swollen up that he was almost unrecognizable. But he was stubborn, determined, and pushed on. AT one point, he fell into the stream, and sought to keep his head above the water, not wanting his token to get wet. Thankfully, he was successful, and the cold, cold water was a balm to the hot, swollen throb of his whole body.

He refused to cry, refused to wail or whimper. And finally, when he stumbled into the ravine, found Aoife and stopped in front of her, balloon-faced but proud, he dropped the token at her paws and squeezed up a smile… okay, and drool.

“I got them.” drip.

Right after that his mother came out and he was pretty sure the noise that strangled its way out of her throat was almost a shriek before it morphed awkwardly into a shout for Paladin. He was to endure a long, long lecture, both about attacking a bee hive – those were bees? – and about going off alone, and that bees aren’t enemy armies.

When he was older, he’d probably wince at the memory of this day, but in the moment, right now, today… he was proud of his accomplishment and satisfied that he’d defended his littlest sister.

WordCount: 940

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think