The Little Field

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Mistermafio -> The Little Field (10/25/2011 18:28:35)
Chapter 1 - Horse Horse was, as his name would suggest, a horse. He was not special or smart. Nor was he strong or fast. Not more so than other horses, at least. Horse was, as far as Horse and the rest of the world were concerned, quite mediocre. He liked it that way and did, therefore, never try to change it, or himself. Horse was small, the size of a pony in the third of fourth year of his life, and Horse was old. Older than any full-grown horse he'd ever met, at least. Though he couldn't say he had met a lot of horses. He couldn't say he had met a lot of anything, really. Well, flies. But flies don't count, not when you're a horse. Horse was brown and white and had long manes that weren't ever flowing in the breeze. Because they were too sticky, and untamed. The man who had tamed them had given up long ago, for he was a human, and he too was old. But Horse did not complain, he was not a vain horse. He couldn't be, not really, not without at least ever seeing himself. Which he didn't. But even if he could, Horse would not complain. For even though it wasn't entirely by choice, Horse was not a vain horse. Horse had lived out his days on a little patch of earth he had called home for quite a while now. It had grass, and a place to shelter from the rain. It had been big enough to run and jump around in, back when Horse still ran and jumped. And now it was small enough to enable Horse to saunter from edge to edge without getting tired. To the north of his little patch of land was a road, though luckily not a busy one. A lost wanderer would walk by from time to time, mostly to return a short time later, either looking flustered, furiously checking a map, or whistling innocently like he had planned to do this all along. To the east lay a row of trees, followed by another, and another. What lay beyond that, Horse didn't know. Though the occasional visitor he got had called it a 'forest', and Horse suspected it would involve trees in some manner. He didn't quite like the forest to the east, it was home to strange noises in the dark of night. Horse had decided quite some time ago, after his first night here, actually, that that particular side of his little patch of earth would be used only in emergencies (such as it containing the only patch of shade on a particularly sunny day, when the forest was less scary anyway). The south and west belonged to the farmer that owned Horse, and contained the exit and entrance to his little patch of land (to the south), and the western wall of an old barn that had been filled with all sorts of livestock long ago (to the west). Horse had been here all his life, and all his life Horse had been alone. Sure, he would get visitors from time to time. Wild cats and dogs, foxes and birds, even other horses would visit his field from time to time. And Horse would talk with them, and get to know them a little, and then they would leave. Sometimes to seek freedom, mostly to seek food. All his life, there had been only one constant, the farmer that fed him and took care of him. He had seen this man grow old, he had seen him happy, and he had seen him sad. But never had Horse spoken to him, Horse had tried, but the man never replied to his inquiries. Or, if he did, the things the man heard seem to be quite different from what Horse said. Much more, inspiring... Much more personal. Horse had never had a friend, never needed one either. Horse had himself, and his little patch of earth. Horse was brown, and small, and mediocre. But most of all, he was content with his life. Simple, easy, and boring. Horse smiled, in as far as horses smile, shook his head and walked over to the north side of the field. Unaware that his life was about to be changed forever.

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (10/27/2011 8:43:45)
Chapter 2 – Goose It had been a warm and sunny day on the little field. The kind of warm day that Horse knew to be a prelude to quite a lot more warm and sunny days. Horse had always liked this time of year, well, he had mostly liked it. He had liked the morning, which was quite chilly, but had smelled and felt so promising and optimistic that no creature actually felt the cold. All too preoccupied with preparing for the coming heat. He had quite liked how the temperature that morning had slowly, but steadily, risen. From chilly, to quite comfortable, to slightly hot. But soon enough, his enjoyment of the rest of the day was hampered by the one creature everything in the world could, quite truthfully, agree on to be the worst creature in the world. The flies. Now, to say the common fly is the worst creature in the world with such conviction would quite probably hurt the feelings of a whole lot of other creatures. Spiders and crocodiles, lions and mosquitoes, sharks and bears and a whole pantheon of equally scary and dangerous creatures would protest to this decision. And, in a most individual aspects, they would be quite right. Flies are in no way more annoying than mosquitoes, or scarier, or more dangerous than any of the creatures mentioned before. And would probably not even be in the top ten of worst creatures in the world, if it wasn't for the constant mocking. The mocking, and the singing. The song of the flies has been heard and hated by every creature the world over. Though flies like to pretend it is a delicately patterned sound, with variation and interesting sounds. In reality it is nothing more than one, continuous, never ending buzz. Which flies are so used to making, that they have no problem carrying on a conversation during it. Which brings us to the mocking. The mocking of flies is best described using an example of it. Such as the group of flies that had gathered around Horse this fine afternoon. “Look at him, old and worn out. Soon we will feast on his corpse.” Hundreds of small voices echoed through a constant buzz. “You have nothing, you never will. You are old and alone and deaf. Your life has been wasted, never have you seen the world beyond this puny little field, and never you will.” The voices seemed to take on an annoying undertone of glee, as flies are want to do, when they think they've got you. “Look at you, Horse, with your stupid name. What kind of horse calls himself Horse anyway. Your name is as boring as you are. It would be more boring, but that doesn't really seem possible.” Horse ignored the flies, he always did. That's the funny thing about flies, when they are about you your whole life, you get used to them. They never get less annoying, but they do get less hurtful. Eventually. He had been enjoying the warm day and cool breeze, and had been ignoring the flies, for most of the day. As it was early in the year, and while warm, the days were still quite short. When he heard a sound behind him, the sound of the gate to his little field getting opened and closed again. When he turned around to investigate, eventually, he saw the back of the farmer just disappearing out of sight. Then he saw what the farmer had left in his little field. The creature was almost completely gray, except for a bright orange beak, and covered in feathers. Horse had seen things resembling it many times before, mostly high in the sky. Once a group of them had landed in his little field, but had flown away before he had the courage to ask them their names. This one seemed different though, it was fatter, and a bit bigger, and it moved with the stiffness and dignity of something that had already lived most of it's life. It moved the same way Horse had started moving not very long ago. “Hello,” said Horse “I'm Horse. Pleased to meet you.” The gray thing looked up at him, almost shocked, as if it hadn't seen Horse until Horse spoke. Then sighed in relief and said; “hello, I'm Goose. The pleasure is all mine.” From behind Horse hundreds of voices laughed, or buzzed, and said mockingly: “Hello, we are flies, we have absolutely no creativity either.” Horse and Goose ignored them. For they were flies, and flies are meant to be ignored.

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (10/27/2011 19:56:27)
Chapter 3 – Silence After sharing these first words, an almost unnatural silence had fallen over the little field. The sort of silence only found in conversations nobody wanted to have. The kind of conversation in which both parties frantically searched for topics to talk about, yet found nothing more interesting then whether or not the weather outside was nice. It should be said that this silence was not unexpected. After all, there are not a lot of things a goose and a horse have in common. Therefore it is generally understood that, should the two ever meet, they would probably have very little to talk about. Both Horse and Goose knew this, and as they were old enough to have lived through a great many uncomfortable silence, they didn't really mind it either. Which might have been great for them, but to any casual observer the silence would have been maddening. And what is maddening to anyone, is especially maddening to flies. In fact, they found the silence in the field to be so uncomfortable, they only increased their singing and mocking. Talking about their mothers, how ugly the two looked, how they had to be insane to want to call themselves either Goose or Horse, and how there clearly had to be something wrong with the kind of creature that can withstand such intense a silence. They sang, and they mocked, and in the way of flies they got ignored completely. After what seemed to the flies to be nearly a lifetime (and indeed, for some of them it was), but was in fact just a few hours Goose was the first to break the silence. “Well...” He said tentatively, not sure if his comment was welcome, but damn sure he wanted to say it, “it's getting dark. I'd better go to sleep soon if I am to wake fresh next morning. I will bid you goodnight, mister Horse.” ”Oh great, he's calling him mister now.” He began to walk towards a particularly inviting patch of grass, preparing for a good night's sleep, when Horse answered. “Goodnight to you too, mister Goose, and sweet dreams.” The reply caught Goose off-guard. He had made it a habit of his to politely wish his fellow animals a good night's sleep quite some time ago. But Horse was the first one to actually answer him as a gentleman would. Goose smiled and wondered, without voicing his wonderment, if horses actually dreamed. He didn't, neither did he know of any animal other than humans who did, but alas, who was he to judge. On the other side of the field Horse had similar thoughts, he didn't dream either, but he had heard the expression once a long time ago and had been waiting for an excuse to use it ever since. Both creatures were too caught up in their own minds to hear the mocking voice of the flies cringe: ”In Beelzebub’s name, it seems we have found two farm animals who fancy themselves fancy. Shall we just go and get you two a pair of top hats and monocles? Or would that be too tacky?” This manner soon became tradition, as the horse and goose went through their days. Each morning they would greet each other politely, and each evening Goose would go to sleep and bid Horse good night. The rest of their days spent in silence or, if you prefer, spent actively ignoring the flies. Who had gotten more annoying and much louder as they kept getting more and more frustrated with the everlasting silence. The smarter flies had given up a long time ago, and flown away in search of a more sane and healthy place. Leaving only the die-hard flies, who had made this whole shebang into a very personal thing indeed. Screaming insults and buzzing as loudly as they could (they had given up on calling it singing, for even they found the sound annoying now). Many had given their lives, but the only effect their screaming seemed to have was on themselves. And so the days passed, two creatures standing in the middle of a small field, with the loudest swarm of flies this side of the equator. Together they watched the days lengthen and the sun get warmer as spring turned into summer. Together they sat in silence. But not for long.

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (10/28/2011 19:44:55)
Chapter 4 – Friendship Early that summer, Horse had been getting quite comfortable with his new partner and their respectful, mutual silence. Though a thought had started to fester itself in the back of Horse's brain, the kind of thought that plants itself deep within a mind. Only to be forgotten and re-discovered time and time again. The kind of thought not even the most hardy horse could keep to himself: curiosity. It had started when Horse was treading around the little field one summer's morning. He had seen Goose and his thoughts absentmindedly dwelled towards his new companion. How he had seen creatures like him before, geese they called themselves. Only every other occasion he had seen the gray and orange birds, they had done what birds tend to do. They had flown. Either many miles over his head, or quickly away from him as he was merely approaching them for a friendly conversation. Horse had not put a lot of thought into this fact before that summer's morning. But after the realization hit him, he could not ever let it go. Not completely. Try as he might, he did not seem able to imagine a reason for Goose's incapability of flight. At least, not a logical one. Horse did not confront Goose with this information though- as Horse was, and had always been, a polite horse. And the question was not his to ask. Still though, Horse had noticed. He had not been able to unnotice it quite to his satisfaction yet, when he was sauntering around the field a few weeks later. Little did Horse know though, Goose was having similar thoughts of his own. Goose had seen quite a lot of horses in his day. And had always thought them large, majestical creatures. Horse, however, did not look like Goose remembered horses to look. First of all, Horse was quite a lot smaller than the horses he grew up with. Goose had speculated this to be largely because of his own increase in size, but that would hardly account for the shear difference between memory and reality. Unless, of course, Goose had turned into a giant some time before meeting Horse, and just not noticed. The second thing Goose was thinking about, was Horse's tendency to saunter around lazily instead of frantically spinning around and putting himself and others in quite imminent danger. This too was highly unlike any of the horses Goose had seen before. Not to say he didn't enjoy a little quiet, but it certainly put a dent in the goose's expectations of the world. Goose too carried his questions with him for just a few days too long, afraid to ask them. As for Goose and Horse, as for all gentlemen (be it man or animal) of the world, the fear of being rude far outshone the fear of living without answers. After all, restraint is what separates the civil, from the frank. It was Horse who's charade faltered first. He had been resisting the urge to ask for too long. Damn civility, damn restraint, he needed to know the answer and he needed it now. “Tell me, mister Goose,” he started, suddenly (and to the joy of countless flies) breaking a silence many weeks in the making. “You claim, and look, to be a goose. Still I have yet to see you fly away from this place and towards a better future, like so many of your kin seem to do.” He looked at the gray creature, his expression a mixture of joy and shame. Though it is tough to read the expression on a horse's face, so this detail managed to slip right past the goose. Whom returned the question promptly with one of his own. Talking over a muffled buzzing, yet sarcastic, answer the flies had already started providing. “I shall tell you why I am unlike my kin, mister Horse, if you will tell me why you are so unlike yours. It seems a fair deal.” Goose made sure to have his answer sound as nice as possible, without offending, or attacking his new friend. Whom he had started calling friend the second he knew the Horse was interested in his life too (not that many seconds ago). The horse grinned and began to speak, slowly and with merit: “I am indeed not like my kin, and never have been. My mother was a strong mare, resilient and fast. My father was a work horse, bred for power and courage. I was to be a horse fit for a king, instead I turned out to be rather more fit for kid's birthday parties than kings. Provided the king spoken off is not of child's size and weight. I am not smart or fast or strong, but I am still alive, and that seems to be what counts these days.” Horse paused and looked at Goose, the weight of a thousand world's seemed lifted from his chest. This was something he had not shared in a long, long time. Horse felt much better about himself, and his life, when Goose began to speak. “The man who took me here, the farmer. He acquired me on a marked. I was for sale to be slaughtered, when he saw me and bought me. I had been fearing for my life since I was a wee little chick, and that day was no different. The farmer did not kill me however. Nor did he eat me, for that matter. He took something much more valuable to me than my life, my flight, and threw me in here with you.” A silence filled the field, not even violated by the song of the flies. A silence lasting several seconds, or several years, depending on who you'd ask. Before the Goose continued: “and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Goose smiled, though Horse would not know, as geese lacked the lips to actually show they smiled, and continued a little more sheepishly; “I was lucky to find a friend, in these twilight days of my life.” Horse too smiled, and replied happily: “So was I, my friend, so was I.”

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (10/30/2011 8:34:22)
Chapter 5 - Cats Horse had always thought time was supposed to pass quickly, when you were with friends. Yet this summer seemed to go on forever. He and Goose would wake up on first light every morning, greet each other like they did that very first day, and saunter around the little field together. Talking about their long lives, which gave them more than enough material to talk for a long time indeed. They would walk around in the hot summer's sun, enjoying the occasional breeze, until it got too hot for them to bare. At which time they would go lie in the shade at the edge of the woods to the east, which Horse had forgotten his fear off entirely, after Goose had explained to him what a forest was and how nothing dangerous could be found in there. At least, not in this part of the world. They would lie and they would talk, and nothing in the whole wide world could disturb them. Not the weather wearing them down with either heat or rain, nor the flies whom had taken on their task of mocking everything the two friends said with a renewed sense of urgency. Their lives were as perfect as the days were long, and this summer had some exceptionally long days. The scene in the little field, with the Horse and Goose walking and talking together, and the flies enthusiastically singing their song and mocking every word had not gone completely unnoticed though. Every long dusk that summer, when the shadows in the forest lengthened and darkened and the world bathed in an everlasting twilight, two bright yellow eyes stared at the two friends from those long and dark shadows. The eyes belonged to a cat, who had wanted to name herself Cat, but her owner had called her Felix instead. And the name had stuck, much to her dismay. Still, she knew that if her name was the only thing about herself she should be unhappy with, her life would be pretty great. And her life was, according to her, pretty great indeed. She was slender and quite petite, even for a cat. Her fur was well groomed at all times and colored the blackest of midnight-blacks. All the way from the top of her head, to the tip of her tail, except for one little bright white spot, on her chest below her neck. She called this her beauty mark, and had always been particularly proud of it. Sticking it out for all the world to see on every occasion. Cat, who was called Felix, but secretly still called herself Cat, had come about the little field on one of her frequent hunting trips through the forest next to her home. She had just caught the juiciest of mice when she heard voices coming from behind a line of trees. Not having much more interesting alternatives she decided she would eat her meal while spying on the voices. After all, what is there to say in this world a cat like her has not the right to hear. She discovered soon that the voices belonged to a rather unseemly Horse, who looked like the last time he was groomed was before Cat was even born and a slow old Goose. Oh, and some flies, though even Cat knew those are to be ignored anyway. Cat played with the idea of eating the goose for a while, but decided it was too big and too old. It's meat would taste terrible, and anyway, it would not be good for her figure to eat all that in one sitting. Plus, she decided after listening to the two for a little longer, there probably is no way she could get to the goose without angering the horse. The two seemed to be quite close friends. The kind of close friends that can saunter around all day, telling stories, or talking about nothing in particular, yet enjoying every second of it without good reason. Cat thought about this, she never had this kind of friendship. The closest thing she had friends were the wild cats in the forest. And that friendship was quite limited to them not attacking her on sight, but first hissing and giving her a chance to escape. When Cat was done eating that first day, she walked away. Proud not to have that kind of over-the-top dependence on anyone. But no matter how proud she looked on the outside, which was very proud indeed, in her mind she could not let go of the idyllic sight of the two friends in the little field. Sauntering around, talking about nothing during a long summer's day bathed in twilight. She returned the next day to spy some more, and the day after that, and every day after that one for most of the summer. When slowly she started to realize something quite atrocious. Something she could not admit to, yet knew to be true. The cat called Felix, whom called herself Cat, was jealous of an ugly horse and old goose. Something had to be done.

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (10/31/2011 9:43:35)
Chapter 6 – Scheming The cat called Felix had started scheming not long after this realization struck her. She was quite good a scheming, all cats were, but she was especially. It just came naturally to her, she grinned to herself. She was walking through the woods towards the little field, like she had done every day for the past few months. To spy, to scheme, and quite possibly to act. As her plan was very nearly done. It was not a difficult plan, but she had to do quite a bit of acting to pull it off. No worries though, she had always known that she was a great actor. After all, she got her humans to feed her and pet her and care for her every single day. Just by being her. As she walked through the woods, she kept an eye out for any movement or smell that would suggest there was something to eat around. She always did. After all, before anything else, she was a huntress. And today, she got lucky. In the foliage to her right she sensed a quick movement. From the corner of her beautiful green eyes she saw a gray streak of fur, which she instantly recognized to be a rat. A big, juicy, rat. Her mouth watered at the thought of the feast she was about to have, as she bowed down and entered hunting mode. Many people believe cats to be proud, maybe even slightly vain, animals. The kind of animal that is obsessed with keeping itself clean, refuses to listen to even the most basic commands, and will always find a way to seem graceful even in quite ungraceful surroundings. Those people would be right, about eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent cats are either hunting, or eating. And as anyone who has ever seen a cat hunt or eat can attest to; not even cats can pull that off and look cool. At least, not all the time. The cat called Felix had managed to look quite mysterious and poised as she sneaked up on her prey. She had even managed to add a certain flair to the moment right before she pounced. What she had not done, however, was manage to keep that gracefulness as she hurtled towards the ground, her prey running away from under her claws. Nor had she looked particularly cool as she landed, face first and empty handed, on the ground. As she looked up she saw the rat run away triumphantly. Followed quickly by a flash of red and white coming from the nearby bushes and catching the poor rodent by its tail. “Hello there, Felix.” A deep and intrinsically mysterious voice said, with an air of amusement in its voice. “I see the hunt is going as well as usual.” The red and white tom-cat smirked, his scarred face crumpling in what might be described as a smile, but might as well have been an angry frown. But was probably neither. The strong claws of the cat threw the rat into the air, where a quick sweep of the other claw threw it back down to the ground. Killing the critter instantly. Most cats had a tendency to play with their food. It was generally considered to be a nice thing to do. Food could escape, if it was smart enough. And at least it got to enter its next life knowing it had served as a source for entertainment before its death if it wasn't smart enough. This cat didn't play with his food, he killed it. There was no room for wasted meals in his life, nor was there room for kindness. This was the sort of cat, other cats feared, and now he was smiling at Felix. “I've seen noticed you've taken a liking to my neck of the woods, little Felix.” He said, pacing around the smaller cat, rat in mouth. “One could start to think that maybe, just maybe, you would want to take what's mine. What I fought to call, quite rightfully, My neck of the woods.” His voice sounded menacing now. No hint of compassion, nor of anger. This wasn't a threat, this was a warning. Felix stumbled over her words as she replied: “No, no, it's nothing like that Tom. I didn't mean to take your land, I still live where I've always lived. I'm just... Well, I have to travel through here to get somewhere I need to be. You see.” Tom nodded; “The little field with the horse and the bird.” He eyed her suspiciously. “What exactly do you want from those two? I've looked, there is no way you could get to that bird without angering the horse.” His eye drifted away from her, slightly losing focus, as if the cat was thinking about things he had dreamed about before he added: “It would be such a catch though, wouldn't it? The biggest bird ever killed.” Felix looked up at Tom, smiling meaningfully. The first part of her plan was coming together quite nicely, she pondered as she waited just long enough for the male cat to get curious. As she had planned, though, he quickly eyed her again before he said: “But you have a plan, don't you Felix? You always did have a plan, that's why I've always liked you best... Sister.”

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (11/1/2011 21:44:41)
Chapter 7 – Liars It had been a long and interesting day for Horse and Goose. They had talked about their lives before they had met each other, about the differences between horses and geese, and their mutual love for nice warm days like this one. Both of them had lied down in the grass that afternoon, feeling like they had learned something new. And both of them had wondered if they would ever have any viable reason to know the things they had learned. But even though neither could think of any reason, other than impressing strangers (which they both agreed was a bad reason to know things), they felt satisfied with their day. The flies around them had had a busy day as well. They had sung with pride, and had thought and uttered the best zingers about how Horse and Goose were old and slow, and thus surely would have a lot to tell about their lives before they met, a lot of boring stuff, that was. About how the day was neither niece, nor warm; it wasn't nice because the flies were stuck with Horse and Goose, it wasn't warm because... Well, because it wasn't. Not like those stupid furred idiots would understand. And the greatest insult of all, about the biggest difference between horses and geese... Well, they had forgotten quite what they had said, and since nobody else paid them any attention the joke was probably lost to the ether. But it was a great joke, really. Horse nor Goose had heard any of the flies' zingers and jokes, and if they did they managed to not show any sign of either amusement or anger. Though, it should be said, the one about the difference between horses and geese would have made both of them laugh. It was that good. And so the day seemed to settle, as most days did, with the sun sinking down to its resting place. Bathing the little field in twilight. Horse and Goose argued a little about why the sun did that. Horse figured it was a final parting gift, the most beautiful hours of the day happened right at the end. Goose argued it was just light reflecting off of dust and other particles in the atmosphere, creating the spectacular light. Horse disliked these arguments, as Goose always seemed to know a way to take the magic out of his life with his explanations. So when an excuse to change the subject entered the field, Horse was secretly quite glad he got out of that argument before he could actually lose it. The excuse Horse saw was the figure of a slim cat sheepishly entering the field. Her fur was mostly midnight-black, except for a white patch beneath her neck. As she approached the two friends, both of them had decided this cat looked like it was called Felix. They would have been proud of themselves and their respective cat-naming expertise, had the cat called Felix been truthful. She was not. As, when she reached the two friends she smiled a devious smile that could also have been a self-righteous smirk and said: “Hello, my name is Cat. Pleased to make your acquaintance. You would not per chance be able to assist me?” Cat's voice was distinctively feline, the kind of bitter-sweet high-pitched question that could melt a bulldog and seduce a bear. Though since Horse and Goose were neither bulldog, nor bear, neither of these things happened. Instead, Horse just replied to her question in a calm and reassuring voice. “Hello, my name is Horse and this is my friend Goose. The pleasure is all ours. Tell us what you need, and we'll see what we can do.” And after a moment's consideration, and a quick glance at his friend, he added; “Though I must say, we are both old and tired. Do not assume us to be good help for our looks.” ”If she would assume you to be anything for your looks, it would not be good help. Though she might think you to be an old rag, horse, and be more right than it she were to call you a horse.” The flies smirked to no one in particular. So no one in particular listened. The black cat who called herself Cat, but was actually named Felix looked up at the Horse. She did her best to look as fragile and cute as possible, and was succeeding quite well (of course). She waited the customary seven seconds, for dramatic effect, and then offered in her most begging tone of voice: “I just want a friend.”

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (11/2/2011 19:59:50)
Chapter 8 – First impressions Cat had expected the Horse and Goose to fall for her act, sure. After all, she was Cat, the gifts of chatter and wit flowed through her veins. She had not, however, expected it to be this easy. She had prepared herself, to act hurt and disappointed in the inevitable denial of friendship she was bound to receive. Or at least to plea to Goose, and sow the seeds of distrust, should the horse get aggressive. She had not, however, thought Horse would respond to her statement by smiling down on her, and saying; “I can make no promises, but we could try and see if we hit it off. You're more then welcome to stay here for the night, at the very least.” That was it, no distrust, no anger, and no questions asked. The smile Cat used to respond to this statement was one of malevolence and calculated slyness. Horse did not know this, though, and thought it to just be a smile out of happiness. Which had led Horse to believe he made the right choice. He smiled to himself and lay back down on the cool grass, relaxing and taking in his newest friend. As Horse did so, he listened to Goose's footsteps on the grass as he walked over to them, and to Goose's voice as he asked: “So, Cat. Tell us about yourself.” Character studies had never been Cat's strong suit, but when her pride and plan were on the line, Cat had more than enough motivation to keep herself going. She rattled over the facts she had made up; her mother had died at birth, she was raised by her mother's sister until there was no more room in the small barn, she had set out into the world to find the kind of love she never quite got from her step-mother and -sisters. It was a heart-breaking tale, and she wove it with the intensity of the first violinist in a particularly intensive Bach piece. By the end of her tale, she was sure, even her own brother would've felt sorry for her. And he hadn't felt sorry for anyone other than himself in a long time. She knew the naïve Goose and Horse would not be able to resist her charm either. And she knew right. By the end of her story, Horse had to stop himself from crying, Goose just had to stop crying. Even the flies weren't as rude as they could be. All of them truly did feel sorry for this creature. It was Horse who first broke the silence after Cat had finished, if you considered constant buzzing and sobbing a form of silence. If you didn't, Horse just was the first to speak. “That is quite the life you've had, dearest Cat. I don't hope it burdens you too much. I do not think there is a lot we can do to lighten the mood now, nor do I feel it very appropriate to do so. And seeing how the sun itself has nearly disappeared beneath the horizon...” He eyed Goose as he said this, calling it the horizon had been his concession after their last round of bickering. In turn, Goose would stop explaining why it was called that, and not 'edge'. It had not been Horse's best concession, but it did give him the quiet he needed to sleep that night. And sleep would always be more important than semantics. “I feel it would be wise for us to seek our beds too, this night. When we wake in the morning, we'll be refreshed, and our minds and hearts cleared.” What was said, was as quickly done, and after uttering a polite well-wishing for the night both Goose and Horse found themselves very quickly, very fast asleep. Cat had pretended to do the same, but she had no intention of sleeping yet, not while the night was young. So, after waiting for the goose and the horse to be well away from the waking world she got up and quietly walked back to the forest. She hadn't had much time to hunt today, and she had started to get hungry about halfway through her story.

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (11/7/2011 14:35:52)
Chapter 9 – Cruel world The following weeks were not very much unlike the weeks before that. With the only exception that, instead of an odd duo, the little field now housed an odd trio of characters... And a bunch of flies. The summer had reached it's summit, and was starting to slowly wind down. Days stopped getting ever longer, and instead started shrinking back to normal day-size. This saddened Horse, for he knew what would be coming next. “Things always die.” He sighed one day, as he felt a great sadness looming over him. “When the summer is done, things start dieing.” He explained himself to Goose and Cat's confused faces. This was all Horse had said all day, and after another deep sigh, it didn't seem he was planning to say very much more. This statement had a profound effect on both Goose and Cat, though the effect would prove quite different indeed for both of them. Goose felt sad, and pitied his clearly troubled friend. Resulting in a deep longing to make Horse feel good about life once again. He dealt with this feeling by walking over to his friend and, to the best of his abilities, lay a comforting wing over his head. As Goose's mother had always done for him when he was but a chick. Despite the obvious logistical problems, this was the best he could do. Cat, on the other hand, felt a deep sense of joy and fulfillment. Her plan had started to work. Finally all her talks to Horse in the wee hours of the night, when Goose was already vast asleep, started to pay off. It had proven a challenge to get Horse to listen to her, as she explained the wonders of the world away one by one. But Goose had helped, being of scientific mind his explanations of the way the world really worked made sure Horse really had no-one to turn to on this matter. It is easy to disillusion someone who has a lot of illusions, when all his friends disagree with him. And it is even easier to make someone who knows himself to be right in something explain the reasons he knows he is right. It is hard, however, to do this without either one of the two noticing. But Cat had pulled it off. She watched, rather proudly, as the Goose walked to the Horse and tried to take his friend under his wing. She waited a little while, before walking over to the two and slyly saying: “Well, he is right, isn't he Goose? Things do die in the winter, don't they?” Goose looked at the Cat, like a teacher would look at a student. Provided this student was a Cat, and the teacher a Goose. “Well... Yes. But, it. Well, you see...” Cat considered watching the Goose struggle for words one of the most entertaining things in the world. Almost as entertaining as playing with your food, though not quite, of course. She disliked people who were smarter than she was, and Goose did very much like to pretend he was. She secretly smiled at the goose in front of her, before he continued: “Most things indeed do die in the winter, my friend. But without their death, it would be impossible for a new generation of trees and creatures to be born.” Strangely, learning about the necessity of the world's cruelty did not cheer Horse up one bit. But Goose kept on trying, Cat kept on smiling, and the flies gathered around the trio kept on buzzing. Though even their song sounded sadder than usual after Goose was done, or maybe they had been sad before, and no-one had noticed.

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (11/7/2011 14:37:34)
Intermission – Felix That night the cat who called herself Cat, but was actually named Felix, was stalking through the woods as usual. As she was hunting for some food to eat her mind fluttered back to her childhood, as it often did. She was born with three sisters and two brothers in an old, nearly abandoned shack. Her mother was the pet of the family that owned the land the shack was on. She didn't remember much about the first weeks of her life, how could she? She was blind and deaf and not nearly as beautiful as she was now. It wasn't til she was weeks old, and starting to look much more like herself, when the family discovered her and her brothers. The youngest child, a female, had found them while playing 'hide and go seek'. A game she and her siblings had also played, though they had called it 'stalk and maim', after it's true purpose. At first things seemed wonderful, the little human adored her and her brothers. Rightly so. And for the next few days, life seemed even better than it had seemed before. The human would bring them food and play with them and pet them. All she asked in return was for them to be what they already were, perfect. Mother allowed most of it, though she seemed particularly nervous every time the girl came back. As if she was expecting her to come back differently. Then, after those few magical days, her mothers fears turned out to be right. Cat could still remember her mother's pained look as she stormed into the little shack. From behind her a deep human voice muttered something along the lines of: “What has that foul beast produced this time?” Followed by the high-pitched voice of her human, pleading: “Please don't kill all of them again daddy. I could take care of a few more! They don't even eat that much!” She didn't know what the conversation meant back then, and figured another friend had come to play. All of her siblings did. And as they rushed towards the door, and the voice, her mother did the best she could. Grabbing Cat and her brother Tom in her mouth and hiding them away behind a shed. Both of them handled this differently. Cat knew Tom was smarter than she was back then, maybe that was why he was the way he was today. Because Tom understood what was about to happen. Cat just figured this for a game of 'hide and go maim', the variation on the real game they played with the human. For whatever reason though, both kittens stayed quiet. Even when the nice man lifted their brothers and sisters from the ground, one by one. Even when the little girl's pleading turned into crying. Even when their siblings were dumped in an old bag and it was tied shut. The brother and sister remained silent. “Hey there, Felix. How is your little plan coming along sister? Are we closer to killing the bird yet. I'm getting hungry.” Tom's gruff voice startled Cat. She shook her head wondering how long she had been there and, more importantly, how long Tom had. “Everything is coming along nicely, brother. You will get your food, and I will get to ruin the lives of those two bastards. Just you wait a little longer, I've almost got them now.” Tom nodded, looking pleased with himself. He stretched, Tom was a big cat; strong, large, and dangerous. He had always been that way, Cat remembered. Well, after that faithful day, anyway.

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (11/8/2011 11:18:01)
Intermission two - Horse's lament This world is bleak and meaningless, filled with anger, hate and death. Nobody truly loves another, more than they hate the thought of being left. Not a person in this world is really smiling, it's all just chemicals in brains. There is no beauty and no magic, all this life is truly tragic, for there may not be much devils but there are certainly no saints. The sun does not shine for us, it hardly even cares. She just sits there in her sky-palace, asking people to come visit, then burning all who dare. The stars we see at night are dead, and those that aren't, dieing. And should a new star be born, no one could even hear him crying. And horses live alone, as they are born, and eventually will perish. And every friend you'll ever make, will do the same, and the world could simply not care less. What is the point of being, when all you are is old and dumb?

Mistermafio -> RE: The Little Field (11/15/2011 10:04:24)
Chapter 10 – Raining Cats and Cats The summer was nearly over, the days had shortened drastically and the nice cooling showers the rain had provided all through the past few months had gotten a lot less nice and much more cooling. It was while Cat, Horse, and Goose were sheltering themselves beneath the treeline when they suddenly realized the flies had gone. They didn't know how long the flies had gone, nor did they know why they had gone or whether or not it had anything to do with them. They just knew that the one thing they had felt to be universal all through that summer had gone. And even though they knew this was nothing new, and the flies always left around summer's end, the three of them felt surprised and -in a way- abandoned. “Well, there you go;” Horse said “as I have said before: everything eventually leaves me.” Cat grinned as Goose sighed. Both of them had been talking to Horse extensively the past few weeks. Goose hoping to cheer his friend up, Cat hoping to drive her enemy to complete desperation. The flies had noticed this, before they left. And, had anyone paid any attention to them, they would have noticed that the realization that both Can and Goose basically told Horse the same thing was one of the reasons they decided to leave. Sadly, nobody did pay attention to the flies, because- well, why would they? Horse himself, in the meantime, was working through his mood himself. Listening to what his friends had to say to him, agreeing, and drawing his own conclusions from it. He'd nod as Goose told him how beautiful a scientific world was. Completely orchestrated by simple rules, with limitless possibilities for good. And he'd nod as Cat told him how cold and ruthless the scientific world was. Completely directed by simple rules, with limitless potential for evil. At first, knowing the things he knew saddened Horse. Then, it saddened him even more. But one morning, not too long ago, Horse had awakened to see he wasn't sad anymore. This didn't make him happy, though, instead of sadness he just felt nothing. His mind had been a blank slate ever since, completely free of emotion. He knew that he would've disliked this, had he still been able to dislike things. But he hadn't, so he didn't care. Ever since that day, nodding and thinking was all he did. He'd nod when his friends spoke and he'd think about what he heard and he'd think about how he felt about it and his mind would remain blank. Not happy, not sad, just blank. It was excruciating. Or should have been, at the very least. The feeling of surprised abandonment the flies gave him, was the real thing Horse had felt since that morning. But the feeling hit him hard, harder then he could bear to acknowledge. Horse felt his heart tear from his chest, as he said what he thought. And when he saw the reaction his 'friends' responded with he knew it was true. “And it seems you either find me stupid, or amusing, for saying so!” He yelled to the two creatures next to him. Horse was angry now, he didn't quite know why, but he knew he was. And he was glad he was, any emotion -even a bad one- was better then no emotion at all. But this anger burned deep, and hard, and Horse knew not what the next emotion he'd feel would be. But he knew he didn't want it to be regret. So Horse got up from under the trees and ran to the other side of the little field; which was nearly big enough for a horse to find a bit of privacy from a Cat and a Goose. Goose had already gotten up to go and talk to Horse when Cat stopped him. “We should give the big fella some peace 'n quiet, don't you think?” She said, in her most trustworthy and wise voice. “Sure, I guess, but this field is not big enough for us to give him the room he needs. You know that, Cat.” “Then why don't we give him some more room? We could go for a little walk through the forest, give the big fella the time to calm down a little.” Cat smiled. Goose shrugged. “Sure, what could go wrong.”

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