Saturday, June 29, 2013

A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf (Chapter 2)

Well, I've been a bit pre-occupied with things this past week, but funny enough I've managed to push out another chapter. Anywho, in this installment of "A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf": Agatha must find out what Mayor Middleton has to say about her encounter with the Middleton children! Now, enjoy the exciting conclusion of A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf! An adventure of cute furry animals! Enjoy! (This time, there is much more consistency within the character names and such... Hopefully better than last chapter.)




Agatha Oakeyes could hardly believe that Richard had the time to fish with Autumn drawing so near and Winter only a stone's drop away after that, but she knew that he had other ways of making money. Rumors poured into her mind, memories of gibbering gobs and flapping mouths from when the hare first came to the town. Some spoke of words like: "sellsword" or "assassin" even one child had gone so far as to concoct a story of a hoard of gold sitting in the basement of his hovel. Granted, no one had ever set foot inside Mr. Richard Camp's hovel, nor did anyone know where he was from, nor how he came to live in Highleaf, nor even how old the hare was. With a neatly trimmed face, groomed whiskers, and a fine color to his fur, one might assume he was barely in his thirties or even twenties, but that was hardly the case, Agatha herself assumed the hare to be at least in his late thirties, but was not closed to other assumptions.

As Agatha marched herself down the winding cart road towards the center of the village, the soft breeze picked up, blowing against her striped face as the leaves chimed in to sing her a merry tune. She sighed as she heard the dreadfully loud shouts of the mayor and her father as he neared their home. A massive live oak tree that had found itself half-buried in the side of a hill was prime housing for her father and her, the leaves still a verdant green in the evening sun made the badger smile as she stepped up to the solidly wooden door, turning the knob and pulling it to her though netted Agatha the full brunt of the rage enclosed.

"Damn you, Agatha!!!” screamed a portly hare looking grey than the sky does on most rainy days. A one-size-too-small silk vest pulled tight around his belly doing little to flatter his rotund belly, and a fuming tobacco pipe sitting in the corner of the hares mouth reassured Agatha that it was indeed Mayor Middleton of Highleaf.

"Yes, Mayor, how can I be your 'humble servant' today?" Agatha said in her most sarcastic tone she could muster.

"This is the last straw! You struck my children!"

"Someone best! They go around like sneak thieves along the river and they might get gutted by curs!"

"That very well may be, but my children are not yours to punish!! This is the last straw! Time that you dare harm my children!! The constable will be spoken to about this!"

Agatha heaved a sigh as she listened to the usual rant of honor, dignity, and order, her eyes rolling in their sockets till they fell on the weathered face of her father. Agnar Oakeyes, once the mightiest warrior in the Kingdom of Arimus, Lord Grand Marshal over the armies of the King, The Badger known as Diremaw, widower, and now aging legend was to be added to his most recent of titles. The old Badger was even bigger than Agatha, standing a foot taller than most hares would with ears high, but his body was stooped from age, his brown eyes had long since lost their blood lust, and had grown into a soft shade of maple. While Agnar may have been growing older he had never stopped growing wiser or stronger, but he hid those facts well, save for the wisdom, which he shared to all that would listen. Agatha even remembered the time when Prince Hagen, now King Hagen came to have tea with her father, discussing what they should do concerning an issue with diplomatic issues.

Agnar heaved a sigh and clapped a large paw on Mayor Middleton's back. His paw dwarfing the poor Mayor's body as the old badger spoke in his softest, yet most authoritative tone, "Charles... We've been through this forever; we both know that if you simply talk to me about the situation, then I can insure that this never happens again."

Agnar turned his steely gaze from Agatha's eyes, glaring almost like a bear staring down a predator that had wandered into his cave. It sent a cold shiver down Agatha’s spine, but still they both maintained their emotions, despite Agatha knowing that her father was far from pleased. Mayor Middleton sighed heavily as he began to pace about the small breezeway just inside the doorway of the Oakeyes home. His lips sucking and puffing out clouds of smoke before finally he spoke again, “Ahh…I’m not mad at Agatha, Agnar, it’s just that I don’t know what to do anymore…”

Mayor Middleton turned his gaze back to Agatha, heaving another sigh, his grey eyes now soft and placid rather than filled with rage as they had been moments before, “Agatha, it’s not that I don’t want you punishing my children, nor do I want you to not teach them a lesson…Hell! I want you to get those hellions in line, but Agatha, my wife is the one who keeps telling me that you are dangerous…”

Agatha hardly knew what to say; this was the first time that Mayor Middleton’s wife had ever been brought up in conversation concerning Agatha’s relationship with the Middleton children. Even Agnar appeared to be taken aback by this new turn of events, but the old rabbit continued as he took his pipe in hand, running a furry finger along the pipe’s extravagantly carved stem, eyeing the smoking tobacco stuffed in the horn of the pipe like it were something mesmerizing. The silence was thick, tangible, and very awkward as the three stood in the Oakeyes home with no one intending speak first till Agnar spoke up in his soft yet booming voice, “Charles, tell me what you want done and we will do well to repair any hurt feelings, Agatha, if need be, will apologize and make reparations.”

Agatha’s gae shot to her father as her face took on a look of shock and disbelief as her jaw dropped open then snapped shut before standing tall, she was a clever girl, clever enough to know when she needed to shut up and take her medicine and when to protest or speak her mind. A trait, her father said, that she got from her mother. Her dark brown eyes turned a placid and calm gaze towards Mayor Middleton before Boeing her head, "I submit to any decision you make of my punishment."

While it was quite often that Mayors would pass judgment upon crimes in most small communities, Highleaf was far from small, but not at all big. As Mayor Middleton had put it in one of his long winded but ever poetic mid-summer's festival speeches, "We meager people of this humbly-meager township do well to see the failures of the metropolis and the greatness of the hamlets". Highleaf had its magistrate and it's judge and even it's guardsmen, but it was no match for a city the likes of Pinewall to the East or even Dun Moraspian in the North. King’s Peak was the closest of cities with major authority, but even that was a two day hike even when taking the shortcut through the Deadwoods to the North-West. Mayor Middleton put the mouthpiece of his pipe back between his lips, sucking softly on the wooden tube as he thought for a long moment before looking back to Agnar with a strong gaze.

“Agatha Oakeyes, I hereby sentence you to serve as tutor and lady-in-waiting to my children for the next two months. During this time, you will serve them with all the patience of your lineage and hopefully teach them of the necessity of manners and respect.”

Agatha could feel her heart begin to race as she gripped tightly at the air by her sides, her fists clenching around invisible, incorporeal clubs that she wished would manifest physically for a moment. Her anger subsided almost immediately as her fathers calm, collected voice filled her ears, “Hah! A wise man’s punishment if I ever heard one, Charles! Both sides benefit from the other, but no one really loses anything save for her sanity! Bwahaha!!”

The old badger’s booming laughter filled the house as the aging hare nodded with a satisfied smile, “Oh! But it will be even better than that. Agatha, dear, I’ll pay you for every day of work, I promise you that… You’ll not come out of this experience empty-handed, but I want you to also try and teach my children some… Errr… Self-defense…”

Agnar’s booming laugh fled the house as he turned his gaze back to the rotund rabbit, “Are you certain of that, Charles? Agatha’s not unprepared or without knowledge of fighting, but don’t you think it a might bit early for your children to learn the ways of war?”

There was a pause in the room, Agatha was still looking between the two old men, seeing who would speak first in the silence of the house, Agnar simply stared into the old hare’s eyes, and Mayor Middleton simply stared back.

“I think it best… These days, with the Wolves coming down from Hound’s Hill, I doubt that anyone would be safe without even a basic knowledge of fighting… Seems like everyday we are drawing closer and closer to war…”

The rabbit’s voice was cut off by a gruff cough from the old badger as he raised a paw to his old friend, “Of course, Charles, she will teach them and keep them safe for now, but now’s not the time to get into the worries of old foxes. What time shall she begin her work?”

As if coming out of a daze, Mayor Middle ton shook his head and looked up to Agnar’s hulking frame one last time before stuttering out a reply to his question, turning his head to Agatha as he spoke, “I expect her… you over promptly at ten, any later and I might be forced to take this matter up with the magistrate.”

Agatha nodded her head then bowed low to Mayor Middleton, “Of course, Mayor, I will be there as the sun is right in the sky.”

Mayor Middleton turned and patted Agatha on the shoulder just as she began to right herself, smiling to her as he passed and lit his pipe with his free hand, “Agatha, I thank you for this. You are a much better person than I could ever be.”

Her eyes flashed a soft glint of annoyance over shadowed by understanding before smiling to the hare, “You do me great honor with your words, I simply hope that I live up to them.”

With that, Mayor Middleton said his goodbye to Agnar and flopped his large feet out of the house, Agatha taking the sudden departure as her chance to heave a sigh of relief and turn back towards her father who was breathing heavily.
“Father?!”

Rushing to his side, Agatha held his paw in her much smaller hands and looked into his eyes as his other paw crossed over his chest, “Urrrk… Damndable rabbit… His yelling about the Magistrate and my baby girl got my heart pumping… Fetch me some water, Honey Suckle.”

Agatha smiled at the nickname, knowing that if her father used her nickname rather than her real name it meant he was far from being angry or upset with her. She quickly walked towards the rather deeply dug cavern of a room that served as the kitchen and pulled from a shelf a clay pot with a leather handle strapped around it’s lid, noting that it’s contents were almost completely full as she brought it into the dining room where her father sat in a large arm chair, “Father! You haven’t been taking the medicine that Father Andrew prepared for you!”

The old badger scoffed at the mention of medicine, patting his chest with a fist before letting out a cough, “This badger is strong enough to take on five hundred wolves without breaking a sweat! He doesn’t need medicine, he need battle!”

Agatha rolled her eyes at the stubborn nature of her father, knowing that she had inherited this dreadful side of her father and mother with double it’s effectiveness as she pressed the jug of medicine into the large paw of her father, “Drink up, you old fool, that’s what you told Father Andrew when he was here last time, and what happened?”

The two looked to each other and spoke the exact same thing at the exact same time, “He gave me medicine.”

Both badgers chuckled at their awkward relationship as Agatha gently rubbed a clawed paw through her father’s thick grey fur on the back of his arm, “Come on now, Papa, you have to drink the medicine… For me.”

Now there was a moment of silence as father and daughter smiled at one another with the love only such devoted of fathers have for such caring of daughters and vice-versa, till Agnar heaved a heavy sigh and smiled, “Aye, you know, Honey Suckle, you remind me more and more everyday of your mother. Ancestors rest her spirit. I hope you find a good man one day, one that will take better care of you than your father did of your mother…”

Agatha’s paw caressed her father’s paw, consoling the old badger as she shook her head, “Now, now, none of that, you old fool, you know what happens when you start crying…”

Agnar raised the jug of medicine to his lips and tossed it back into his mouth, drinking the bitter juice with a disgusted look contorted across his face as he attempted to shake the taste from his mouth by shaking his whole head. Agatha giggled at her father before patting the back of his paw and turning back away from him, wiping her eyes free of the tears that had begun to gather just in her eyelids.

“Agatha, I want you to teach those children everything I taught you, but I want you to do one thing… I want you to teach them The Way of the Sword; I fear that teaching them The Way of the Stone will only get them hurt if they do try to learn it…”

Agatha turned on her heels, staring at her father with a look of slight disbelief as she heard her father coddling the two hellions of Highleaf. “Are you sure? The Way of the Stone will be much easier…”

Agnar’s booming voice rose up as he shot a silencing glance to Agatha, “Do as I say, Agatha!”
Agatha took a step back, bumping her backside against the wooden table in the center of the room as she stared up at her father’s hulking form before he continued what he was saying earlier, “The Way of the Stone is for us Badgers, only we are strong enough to handle it, but Rabbits… They are weak, better suited for arrows and swords than for maces, axes, and hammers. Now, off to bed, Honey Suckle.”

Agatha lowered her gaze from her father’s and gave a nod, “Yes, Papa, good night.”
Agnar heaved a soft sigh of weariness as he watched his only daughter descend the ladder next to the entryway down to her room under the roots of the live oak, “Good night, Honey Suckle.”




Many miles away, in King’s Peak, trouble seemed to already be brewing as the moon rose high in the night sky, King Peter VI, the Swift, lay in his room, his head resting upon a pillow of the finest of silks as his grey fur was cloaked in the wolf skin blankets of his royal bed. His dreams plagued of terrible sights: of villages burning, his citizens being slaughted by wolves, but even worse than that, he also dreamt of his youngest son, Demeter, running for his life. The old Fox-King trembled and shook before finally jolting awake and looking to the heavy pine doors of his bedchamber, his wife, Scarlett starting awake just as he did comforted him with a nuzzle of her head against her King’s neck, her soft voice whispering soft words to him as he breathed heavily, “It’s nothing but a dream, my King, nothing at all but night terrors…”

King Peter sat on the edge of his bed and heaved a heavy sigh before looking up to his wife’s face, “I’m sorry, my Queen, but it just all seemed so real and so frightening…”

There was a moment of silence as the two embraced one another, the moon filtering in through the slender window granting enough light to see the worry in King Peter’s eyes before his wife buried his head in the fur of her chest and whispered softly into his ear, “Tell me what was so frightening in your dream, my love.”

King Peter thought a moment before pulling his head from his wife’s loving bosom and stared her in the eyes, adoring those beautiful green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in any light at all, the reason he had fallen in love with her in the first place, and smiled.

“I dreamt that my kingdom was burning, that my citizens were being slaughtered like sheep, and that my Demeter was in danger.”

Queen Scarlett giggled as she stared down into her husband’s blue eyes and shook her head, “Who in all of Esterel, would dare strike at the Kingdom of Peter Arimus the Swift, the sixth of his name? We are the mightiest in the land, our armies could strike at any point we choose in a matter of days.”

King Peter’s brow furled as he lowered his gaze to the stones just past his wife’s body, his mind thinking diligently at the thoughts that had been produced by his dream before looking back up to his wife, “The Wolves of Hound’s Hill.”


Wednesday, June 19, 2013

It Was Just a Pillow

Last week I was off visiting my nephew and enjoy his company so I never was able to sit and write, so I just may post multiple posts this week as a sign of good faith. For now though, I give you a bit of un-rhyming, unhappy prose that I've titled: It Was Just a Pillow


It was just a pillow.
A cotton filled, cotton bag, with a cotton cover around it. Admittedly it was longer than normal pillows, a body pillow, but it was no body... It was just a pillow.

I knew it wouldn't be excited to see me, sad to watch me leave, kiss me good night, shout at me when I made a mistake... It was just a pillow.

I knew it wasn't going to cuddle with me during movies, or wipe the tears from my eyes, it wouldn't hold my hand, or eat dinner with me by candle light... It was just a pillow.

Every night as I laid in bed, I would reach for that pillow, that almost human thing, and I would pull it close knowing that it was just a pillow.

Even when I coughed and groaned, as sickness took hold of me, I pulled that pillow to me ever so tight knowing that it was just a pillow.

Even as the storms came and made me whimper in cowardice, I clutched the pillow ever tighter, knowing that it was just a pillow.

Still I wish it could be more, I wish my pillow could speak to me and sing soft words. I wish my pillow would hold me in it's arms as I cried. I wish my pillow would listen to my woes and offer advice. I wish my pillow wasn't just a pillow.

I wish I could sleep without wondering what my life will bring. I wish I could dream without looking into the fears of my heart. I wish I could dance with a lover as the world ends. I wish for once I could just let the world in. I wish my pillow wasn't just a pillow.

But none of that will ever come to pass because it's nothing real. It has the luxury of not feeling my punches, hearing my screams of frustration, I didn't want to see it as such, as just a beaten cotton bag, but my heart still broke knowing it was just a pillow.

Friday, June 7, 2013

A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf

So, I had this random thought the other night whilst trying to figure out what I should write for my second blog post, and an idea, like lightning, struck my brain. Very few fantasy books out today are like the classic adventure novels that we had in school. This story is inspired by Brian Jacques, one of my personal favorite authors. Any of his fans out there that read this, you will obviously pick up the similarities quickly, but I assure you, this all my own words and thoughts. I could never steal from Mr. Jacques, let alone try to copy from such a great writer and pass it off as my own. So, here is the first chapter of "A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf"! Leave comments (I'd love to see what you think of it!), share with friends, subscribe, and promote my words to the world!! - Graue

(It might be a bit long to read all in one sitting, I suggest copy-pasting this into a word document for later reading, or even just printing it out. Happy reading!)





As the cold wind licked across the windows of the small hovel in the old oak tree, Mr. Robinson poked at the fire in his fireplace with the pig iron poker held firmly in his fur covered hand. The cool weather was far from pleasant for the older hare, but the fire was warm enough to fill the hovel with a comfortable warmth. As he replaced the poker into it’s cast iron rack next to the stone fireplace, he turned and upon the surprising sight of his two children standing not but a few feet behind him, he jumped and shouted before calming himself.


“My word! You little heathens... What are you two doing up at this hour?” Mr. Robinson’s voice shook as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his cotton vest. His children simply beamed up at him from their spots on the floor, sitting on their haunches, his daughter, Alysia, clutching an old leather bound tome in her paws tightly. Her blue eyes sparkling at him from beneath her soft, fuzzy brown fur as one both of her long floppy ears draped down her back. Her nightgown matched her brother’s pajamas in a blue lily covered pattern which dragged behind her as she walked. Her brother, David, sat on his haunches next to her with his hands clutching one another in a pleading manner. His ears were far less cooperative than his sisters as his right ear stood straight up and his left ear had the habit of flopping over his eye, which he would swat away only to have it return to covering his face once more.


“Papa! Will you read us one of your stories?” they chimed in together, a harmonious ring of both high pitched voices filled the large ears of Mr. Robinson as he stepped forward and placed one large hand on Alysia’s head while tugging the book from her outstretched arms. “Oh? One of MY stories? I think we might be able to hear one before you go to sleep, but you have to promise me you will go to sleep.”


The two bunnies jumped with joy before scampering off towards the back of the hovel towards two large beds tucked away in a smaller alcove which was guarded by a steep set of stairs and a low ceiling that rewarded Mr. Robinson’s lack of attention with a solid blow to his skull. He grumbled a curse at the low ceiling before continuing further into the room. Both children had already buried themselves within the heavy blankets as Mr Robinson pulled a chair from it’s place against the wall and sat down on it between the two beds. His large rump caused the old wooden chair to creak noisily as he sat, eliciting a giggle from his children as he grumbled and shook his head as he mentally added the chair to his mental list of things needing repairs.


“So, you want to hear one of MY stories, hmmm? And which one would you little hellions like to hear, hmm?”, his gruff voice carried within the small hovel as he opened the leather book and read over a few lines on the page he had opened it to, listening for the answer of his children.


“We want to hear about Richard of Highleaf!” both bunnies chimed in at the same time, Mr. Robinson chuckling as he heard their answer and closed the book with a grin on his face.


“Oh, you want to hear a story about Richard of Highleaf, eh? Well, I suppose we can go through his venture outside of Highleaf before bed...” Mr. Robinson said as he scratched at his well-combed beard adorning his chin.


“Well, it all starts off on a warm, sunny, Summer day, many moons ago...”





Richard of Highleaf was not always known as Richard of Highleaf, the hero, but rather he was simply known as Richard “Long Ears” Camp. His soft grey fur shimmered in the midday sun as his abnormally long ears lay draped down his back and lightly dusted the ground with the tips. His dress was rather meager, even for a farmer in the valley beneath Highleaf, the city in the mightiest tree in the forest of Mirthwood, the capital of the land that stretched for miles known as the Kingdom of Arimus. His shoulders held up the suspenders that held up his knee high, badly worn trousers, a pair of dirt covered sandals adorning each foot as a bandana kept his ears swept back behind his body and out of his face.


He usually tended his land, watered his crops, and then would take a nap till it was time for dinner, but today he decided that the weather was just right for fishing. With rod over one shoulder and bucket in his hand, Richard clopped along the dirt road towards the river, his sandals catching every rock they could find and giving them a loud clack against them. Richard smiled up to the birds in the trees, the butterflies floating along on the gentle breeze, and flashed a big grin to the other creatures he passed. Just before he had reached the turnoff to the river, Agatha Oakeyes stepped in front of his path and shook her head at the young hare.


“And where do you think you are going, ‘Long Ears’?” her maw snapped at the young rabbits nose only inches from her sharp teeth as he lowered his eyes to the dirt and began to make up a story about where he was headed, hoping to keep Agatha, the angry badger that she is, out of his hair. One thing he did not mind was how pretty Agatha was today; mainly the dress she had picked out had caught his eye, but he also enjoyed seeing the interesting ways Agatha would wear her hair; which today was tied into a pair of buns that sat just behind her sharp ears. Her facial fur a stark white striped maw with black streaks travelling from up her back looked like they had been painted on her fur rather than a natural occurrence.


“Lovely day, eh Agatha?” his soft voice carrying up to the badger’s ears as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head, “You’re going fishing aren’t you?”


“Fishing? Me? Now, what gave you a silly idea like that, Agatha?” Richard spoke, softly chuckling as he rubbed the back of his head with a free paw before Agatha touched the fishing rod he had gripped in his other paw tightly.


“Ah, right, kind of hard to miss that I suppose... So? What’s wrong with a rabbit going fishing? It’s not like I’m going to keep them...” Richard gave his excuses knowing that Agatha would hinder his progress if he didn’t give her a reason not to suspect him of slacking off.


“Did you get your chores done?” the broad chested badger asked, her throat giving forth a low growl as she spoke. Richard sank away from the hulking form of his badger friend and leaned back slightly as he rubbed the back of his head more with his free paw, a common thing he did when he didn’t want to be bothered. Agatha could already tell she would get no further with hounding her rabbit friend. She gave a gruff grumble of annoyance before shaking her head at the hare, turning towards the path to the river and leading him towards the beach. “If you’re going to be down by the river, you should at least have someone with you in case of currs. They seem to be out and about far more than usual this summer...”


Richard couldn’t help but smile at his friend as he followed the badger down to the waterfront, both of them checking along the banks for signs of tracks or intruders into their fine town, but found only traces of notable tracks. As Richard set up his fishing spot, complete with his wooden bucket serving as a seat, and his sandals laying beside that same bucket as his feet rested in the cool splashing water of the river; Agatha watched the hare cast his line and sit contentedly on his seat with not a single care to worry his mind. Richard however, had little to worry about, he had his farm, he had enough money to keep himself feed and warm in the winter, and most importantly he had no enemies. Agatha, as harsh, stubborn, and ever infuriated as she was, still was among his short list of best friends. She kept him in line, kept him on his toes, or so she liked to tell herself.


The soft mumbling of the waves of the steady river were lolling Richard’s eyes closed, but he still turned and flashed Agatha a smile from where he sat, not surprised to see Agatha’s body laying on the grassy hillock just a few feet away from him. Her head was propped against a tree trunk, her dark brown eyes watching as the fish swam around Richard’s unbaited hook. Richard smiled to Agatha who simply shut her eyes and let the sunlight bathe her face in it’s warmth. Richard simply returned his attention to the fishing line before he heard Agatha’s voice bellow from behind him soft enough that it would not startle the fish, but loud enough to carry over the river’s musical voice, “You would do much better if you put a worm on the hook... Fish are not intelligent, but they are more than smart enough to not bite a hook without a reason.”


Richard chuckled and pulled up his line, digging his fingers around a rock next to his feet and pulling it up to reveal a large juicy worm awaiting it’s sacrifice upon the hook in the name of Richard’s fishing enjoyment. The worm wriggled before giving up as Richard tied the worm about the metal hook and cast it back into the water.


The afternoon was a warm one, it drove both friends’ eyes to the point of shutting in a fit of weary napping, but Richard simply sat on his bucket, casting his line out and reeling in fish one at a time. It seemed like a decent enough afternoon, no real reason to have any worries, but there was still a strange ominous feeling deep within the Badger’s mind. She rolled over onto her side for a few moments, her leaf-green dress draping her body as she finally opened her eyes once more and noticed the dark shadows prowling about the far bank. Reaching as slowly as she could for a stone right next to her hand, she clutched firmly in her fist, almost crushing the rock into pebbles as she prepared herself to sit up and launch the projectile if needed to stave off any Currs that might make an attempt to have Richard for their meals. A minute passed without any action from either side. The shadows sitting, staring, all the while Agatha’s mind doing the same, watching, staring through slitted eyes, as her heart began to quicken, beating like that of the drums of the war bands she remembered from her childhood.


With all the swiftness she could manage she bolted to her feet and let loose the stone she had clutched tightly till then at the bush just in front of the shadows, hearing a dull thud as though she had hit flesh as a loud, high pitched voice pierced the quiet river bed, “OWWWWW!!!”


As she threw the rock, Agatha could already feel her body bounding towards the other bank of the river as quickly as she had ever ran grabbing the first patch of fur she could see from behind the bush and pulled it up to eye level. In her grasp though, hung a young hare whose ears were being pulled on by a much larger male rabbit. “Let go of her!” the male rabbit shouted as he  tugged on her ears even harder, eliciting a loud shriek from the young female hare as she was now the tugging rope in a tug of war between two powerful arms.


It took Agatha a moment to finally recognize the two long-eared rabbits as Jack and Jane Middleton, the son and daughter of the town’s mayor, and without much warning she let them both loose and watched as they tumbled backward over one another. Richard's voice could be heard laughing heartily at the sight of the two young bunnies tripping over themselves as they tried to stand upright while Agatha loomed overhead with arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes glaring through narrow slits at the two mischievous hellions.


"Jack! Jane! You two little ruffians get home to your mother or I'll take you both over my knee! Don't you realize how dangerous it is in the forests with all those mangy Currs about?" Agatha's booming voice lecturing the two bunnies, but doing little good. The two bunnies scrambled to their feet and bounded off towards the Northern side of town, their fluffy tales peeking from under their trousers as Agatha nodded to her good job of putting the two most spoiled children in the town in their place.


One thing that could be counted on when one entered the village of Highleaf was firstly: they were going to witness at least one act of mischief or mayhem from the Middleton children; and secondly: that Agatha was the only person in the village willing to stand up to the two brats as well as their father. Anytime the two children crossed the line around Agatha, she would take them both over her knee, and sure as clouds are white, Mayor Middleton would come to Agatha's home and the two would fight over parenting skills till the late hours of the evening. The Mayor had threatened many times to send Agatha to the local magistrate, but always the matter was resolved by the end of the night. Surely though this time would be no different.


Agatha looked down to the hem of her dress and heaved an annoyed sigh as she lifted her skirt and crossed the river for the second time. It hardly mattered that she had lifted her skirt though as Agatha had already made her dress wet with rush through the river only moments before. As her feet stepped onto the reasonably dry soil she continued up the river bank to Richard, whose face was still adorned with a laughing smile, his lips still spewing the raucous laughter with as much restraint as he could muster. Which after having seen Agatha Oakeyes tiptoeing through the water with her skirt raised like a prissy church mouse marm, one would have very little restraint left to keep themselves from laughing. Agatha growled from deep within her throat at the laughing hare, "keep laughing, boy-o, and I'll toss you right into the river!"


This of course made Richard laugh even more before slowly regaining his composure. Breathing heavily as he had now completely forgot about the fish pulling at his line and simply pulled the line and his catch out onto the beach. Tossing his collection of fish into the river except for the last small bass, which he handed to Agatha with a grin, "Sorry, Agatha, no harm intended, but I just couldn't help but laugh because you know that Mayor Middleton will most certainly pay you a visit."


Agatha snorted at the hare's reminder of her regular meetings with the father of the two most spoiled children in the entire kingdom, but it hardly mattered at this point.Even now, Agatha and Richard were steadily hiking back to Richards farm house, the badger's arms still crossed across her chest as her eyes scanned the tree line for any more dangers that may lurk within the shadows of the leaves. Richard however was simply strolling, his lips pursed as he whistled a merry tune as his feet swept him rather quickly done the dirt road before him. As they neared the shoddy wooden fence surrounding Richard’s single field of carrots, corn, and potatoes, Agatha turned to Richard and gave him a quick nod, “Well, I got you home, I must be getting back to mine...”


Richard interrupted the badger with a flashy grin as he pulled the rather large rock bass from his hook which still hung from his line and tossed it to her. Agatha quickly raised a paw to catch the slimy fish, gripping it by it’s tail and nearly dropping it twice before holding it with her claws.


“A beaut of a fish, for a beaut of a badger, eh? Well, good evenin’, Agatha.” Richard called back as he turned about on his heels and proceeded into the farmhouse. Sure enough, the sun was beginning it’s slow slide into the darkness of night, crossing the tops of the trees, and in the distance the bells of the church mice could be heard ringing in the far distance, signalling the end of the work day for their own workers. Richard simply stepped into his house and pulled the door to behind him. Now, as with everynight, he was left to his silent hovel of a house, dug into the side of a hillock, on the border of the outer township. Here, in his home, he could live the life his neighbors knew nothing about. With a deft paw he pulled a chunk of flint and tender from his trouser pockets and struck a light to a candle that rested on the wall next to the door. The spark grew into an ember, the ember into a flicker, and the flicker into a flame.


That small flame would not have been much light for most, but to RIchard, it did well enough as it shown off of the gleaming surfaces mounted on each wall, reflecting back into the center of the room off of swords, breastplates, and shields that he had gathered over the course of his life. Some of his own making, some of others, some with stories, some waiting to create a story of their own. It was here where Richard of Highleaf would sit, every evening and would read his books, sharpen his swords, polish his armors, and practice his swordplay, knowing that were to ever need it again, he would certainly be able to use it. Yet he still hardly looked at his display pieces, knowing that he had hidden his best arms and armor for safekeeping.


Richard took the candle holder which firmly held the lit pillar of wax in it’s brass confines and carried it to the dining table in the middle of the hall where his gleaming armory was displayed. His home of course was of simple design, like most rabbit holes, Richard built his home around this center point ten feet below ground. The room he now stood in had enough of a ceiling to offer even Agatha or her father, Tibernius, a wealth of headroom to stand in. The table sitting in the middle of the hovel had been built by Richard himself inside the rabbit hole, filling up a good portion of the room and making the room virtually impassable except were one to skirt the edges. North of this room was the kitchen with a simple wood burning stove that emptied out just under the treetops, it had no doorway between these two rooms and was only separated by a short wooden wall with a counter that looked out into the dining room. To the East was Richard’s bedroom, this room not quite as large as the main room, but still large enough to offer a snug fit to a beaver. In his bedroom was only a chest where he stored his clothes and the rather large wooden bed with a leaf-stuffed mattress, cotton pillows and blankets, and a single skylight that would wake him at exactly sunrise every morning. To the West was Richard’s study and drawing room. Both of these rooms were identical to the bedroom in size, decoration, and comfort, but both were separated by a small hallway between them which was only about two feet high and a foot wide, a stoop even for Richard. WIth the entrance to his humble abode looking to the South, the only rooms unaccounted for were the basement which could only be accessed from the kitchen and his bedroom, both accessible by ladders that took the rabbit several feet deeper into the earth. This was the home of Richard of Highleaf, it was no mansion, but it was his home.


Richard walked into his kitchen, pulling from his larder a half-loaf of bread and carrying it, the candle and a bottle of wine back to his study where he retired for the evening. Entering his study, the rabbit sought the immediate comfort of his heavy, velvet armchair that sat directly in the center of his study, a desk was at the chairs back taking up all but enough space for two more rabbits and a small chest of drawers containing maps, letters, and a few scrolls containing contacts from all over the kingdom. As he sat himself in the armchair and took a bite from his bread, a swig from his wine bottle, and finally opened his book he had left sitting on the arm of his armchair he could feel the weight of his earlier adrenaline rush lift from his shoulders. Agatha had scared him far more than even he thought possible when she rushed across the river and straight to the bushes. She had been reckless, but the fact that she had tried to defend him made him smile slightly. His mind entertaining the thought of a rabbit courting a badger, but quickly dismissed the idea and returned to his book, but just as he took a second bite from his loaf of bread there came a knocking at his door, heavy, loud knocking.

Monday, June 3, 2013

The First Post is Always the Hardest

Well, it is currently 1:10 AM as I begin writing my first blog post... Ever, really...

It's interesting how I've sort of joined a new journey of technological self-discovery via my iPhone thanks to my recent uses of twitter (which before yesterday I had only posted on once a month) and Instagram which I joined in an effort to seek out the world I had so readily shucked off, like a coat that had grown too hot and heavy as I walked the desert and now long for as the night grows cold around me. So, this blog will serve as my notepad for all of my own works, this will include poetry, essays, speeches, short stories, fan fictions, original stories, and anything else I deem worthy of public view.

Through this blog I hope to open up my writing to a much larger audience, a more diverse critic source, and of course to simply push myself to write more frequently and regularly. I hope to be able to post more than haikus when the time comes that I actually post, but I believe, with some discipline,   I will be able to push myself to posting chapters and epics in the near future. Who knows? Maybe this will lead to a publisher.

So, before I take my leave and try to get some sleep (however much my headache will allow) I will leave you with a poem I wrote a while back which I am very confused by, I wrote it to see how many lines I could rhyme in a rhyme scheme based off of: "A, A, A, A, B, B, B, B, ...". I don't know how I feel about it, but people seemed to like it, even if it has no real inner meaning to me.

I call it.

Mindless Midnight Mutterings

Of fairly written words I write
Are never spoken or seen recite
As if to shun my ears in spite
I simply must sigh and go into the night

Problems arise as though they should
Liken burial shroud or priestly hood
If ever one answer fit I would
Surely ceasing to be a problem should

On larks wings I place these queries
In hopes of returns and solid theories
To ease me of these numerous wearies
And end this poem in this series

I pushed it as far as I ever have
To see what could be given salve
Those problems that exist halve
And become ever more uncertain paths

Written upon this electronic stone
Here shall I ever sit and groan
As my soul will always be on loan
I know I'll never be truly alone

Yet here the world sees me bide
As I lay here quietly on my side
Looking upon the expanse so wide
Ever waiting for that solemn chide

A lovely world created for me
One that only I will get to see
As if I were meant to always be
That boy who defied destiny.

Writing, writing, writing and more
Never looking towards the door,
Yet beyond the window I see the shore
And yet I never hear the waves' roar

In my bravest moment I sit and cower
Tasting the sweets long gone sour
Sitting up here alone in my tower
All I can do is groan and glower

How I wish I could set my own sail
Taking to the sea by way of whale
Never knowing if I shall succeed or fail
For now I shall begin the close of my tale

Letters of black and lines of white
Parchment holding my heart tonight
Won't you bring my wish to light
And grant me that joyous gift of sight

Cradled in my tiny bed
Pillows hold my sleepy head
Dream of worlds never bred
I remember words never said

Hopefully you enjoyed that, and if you did, subscribe to the blog or write a comment about what you think of the blog! Oh, and this doesn't count as the post for this week, so make sure to check back for a new, original, authentic Jeremy Graue post!

- Graue