Excerpt: Nivalis - The Falterland War

With an expression of intense interest - which is to say, boredom so mind-numbing that one could concentrate for hours on the most mundane of objects - Keinruf flicked the beetle back into the sunlight. The poor beetle fanned its wings, twitched, rolled over, then finally collected itself and scampered for the shadows once more. There Keinruf let it be a moment or two, before once again flicking it back into the sunlight.

It was a most unlucky specimen of darkbeetle, having been trapped in the house during the migration period, and now simply trying to live out the rest of its unfulfilled life in the shadows - much like its young tormentor.

Occasionally Keinruf would look up from his pastime, out the window at the fields beyond the house grounds, at the young Thorbis meandering around drunkenly. Part of him was envious of those outside, helping with the crops and cattle, but another part of him was smug and gleeful that he alone could simply sit inside and relax. What would make the sun season even more pleasant, he decided, would be if he had a kugellied, or one of those little lizards to wrestle with. He would have to ask his father. After all, surely he would be more interested in his son's development than how much it cost for a pet or an instrument?

The dark seasons were infinitely more enjoyable. Not only was there all of the outdoors to romp around in, but the adults had more time to teach him things. Then suddenly it was too bright and hot and all anybeast cared about were the harvests. He could not even ask to borrow a book! What would be the point, when he could only figure out half the words?

Until the change of seasons once more, he had nothing to occupy his time but what his maid called him to help with, which always involved clothing. Currently she was out hanging their wash; his paws still itched from the soap. Before supper she would bring them in, and he'd have to help put them away and mend any stitching that had come loose in the washing process. Then it would be eat, curl up to sleep - if he could - wake up, and start the process over again.

Dreadfully, dreadfully boring.

Keinruf flicked the beetle again - too hard. The insect skidded over the edge of the desk, fell with a sharp crack to the floor. Immediately Keinruf leapt onto the desk, knocking his chair askew, and crouched, paws at the edge and tail swishing, peering down for the beetle. The nape of his neck twitched irritably from the hot sunlight suddenly pouring into his fur, but it did not last long; the beetle began to scuttle off, and Keinruf leapt after it headfirst.

He caught it in his mouth, but at the cost of smashing his nose into the floorboards. The rest of his body fell so that he would have been upside down, on his back, were it not for him twisting the right way at the last moment.

Unfortunately, the landing stunned him momentarily, and the beetle crawled out of his mouth and, sensing more danger now than it had earlier, began in earnest to escape towards the darkened hallway. Keinruf crouched, narrowed his eyes, and leapt after it just as it rounded the corner of the doorway - otherwise, there'd be no challenge. And challenge was more than half the fun.

The next challenge, for instance, required that he pursue the beetle between the maid's legs, dodge the tipping basket of laundry, make it down the stairs without further injury to his nose, reach out his neck, bite down softly and -

"Keeeeinruf!"

- not get yelled at. Drat.

Keinruf shot a guilty look towards the top of the stares, the beetle squirming halfway out of his mouth. Then he bolted.

The maid came crashing down after him, the basket of laundry forgotten. Looking over his shoulder, Keinruf let the beetle tumble out of his mouth and changed course; the look on her face was something furious.

His father's old bow hung above the fireplace, stringless and always at the ready. With a wriggling of his hindquarters, he bound towards the mantlepiece, gouged the wood with his claws and kicked frantically at the bricks below. Before he could grab the bow off its hooks and make off with it again, the maid had caught up with him, and yanked him off - and the bow as well.

Immediately he set up a wail:

"I vos only playink! Don't vhip me! Don't vhip me-hee-heeee!"

Hanging by the scruff of his neck, he was carried back upstairs and deposited in his room once more. He cowered on the floor for a moment before risking a glance up; the maid was still there, holding the bow behind her back, frowning thoughtfully. Keinruf weighed his options. Then he scampered up into his hammock and whimpered.

"Pick a paw," the maid said.

Keinruf stopped snuffling immediately. Pick-a-paw - the age-old "you're either going to get a treat or nothing" offer. It had never been used for punishment before, in his experience.

"Left?" he hazarded.

There was a moment's pause of shuffling behind the maid's back, and Keinruf saw the bow shift noticably. Suddenly, she grinned and lunged at him with her left paw - it was empty, but he tried to evade it anyway, because the claws were wiggling.

He hated tickles.

"Oh, I can't stay mad at you, you're just too cute! Who's a cutey, then? 'Oos-a-cootsie-den?"

Keinruf kicked her.

"Oh, now, that is just rude! I ought to whip you for that," the maid scolded, holding her jaw with both paws. The look on the kit's face, however, had her doubling up with laughter once more. She left him alone, went to pick up the laundry from the hallway.

Keinruf sulked in his hammock. Unless he found that beetle later, there went his last hopes of something interesting happening this season.

"Come now, Keinruf - help me fold these," the maid said, peering 'round the doorway. "And I'll let your father know you've been good today, and he might let you have second helpings."

Despite the fact that Keinruf was always allowed second helpings, he rolled out of the hammock. One never knew when improper behaviour would lead to the suddeen lack of seconds.

As he followed the maid out across the hall to the laundry room, however, their progress was halted by the sound of a door closing below. Both their ears perked, and Keinruf looked up imploringly at the maid, who nodded. "Oh, all right. I suppose I'll manage on my own." Tail high, he turned and all but tumbled down the stairs, squeaking in delight.

Floyd! It had been three seasons since his older brother had left, but his impact on the househole had not been forgotten. Floyd never had learned how to close a door quietly like a civilized beast.

'Civilized', hah. Keinruf still didn't understand what it meant, but apparently if you weren't civilized you got sent off to do interesting things involving rifles and, from what Keinruf recalled, trying to shoot old jars off a fence. He was still a bit sore about that - it had gotten so boring watching Floyd try to hit the jars that he'd gone back inside, just to miss the last round exploding the glass.

"Hey, you! Votta you a-gotta me?" Keinruf demanded by way of greeting, in his small yet surprisingly raspy voice.

Floyd had all ready collapsed into the main sitting room chair, and did not look up as Keinruf toddled forwards and shook his legs, tugged at his tail. He seemed to be asleep, and no amount of prodding would wake him. Keinruf went to the window and, standing on tip-paw, just managed to peer outside. Father was still out in the field, herding a particularly unruly Thorbis. He'd just have to take matters into his own paws, then.

He climbed onto Floyd's lap and sat there, waiting for his elder brother to wake up. Oddly enough, it was not quite as warm as he remembered it being. Floyd's face, too, was quite different, longer and thinner, the sheen gone out of his fur, and his whiskers cut short. There was a particular darkness around his closed eyes, and a crust of yellow around his nose and the corners of his mouth. His uniform, once so clean and straight, was rumpled, with odd stains here and there, although it also had some shiny badges pinned to the front now.

One particularly large red stain on the front caught Keinruf's eye, and he placed his paw on it. It was warm, but not greatly so, and still rather damp. He brightened up at this. Damp meant it would be easier to get out. Well, wouldn't that be a surprise for Floyd! Waking up to find his uniform nice and clean again.

Keinruf immediately began tugging at the buttons, his tiny claws having a bit of trouble shoving them back through the holes in the tunic. At one point something rather slimy slipped out from inside the uniform, and, thinking it was a worm, Keinruf squeaked and tumbled backwards off the chair.

The maid came running at this noise, and soon her shouting had drawn his father from the field.

He didn't cry. That was one thing that had bothered him somewhat, when he thought back upon the moment. He seemed to be the only beast who hadn't cried.

Instead, he just looked at the rifle leaning up against the fireplace. Then, as nobeast was paying attention to him, he gently took it into his paws. It would be his, he decided. Floyd had promised to bring something back.

And it was just as well that Floyd had died the moment he sat down; otherwise the whipping Keinruf got for accidentally firing it off into the back of his head would have been far more severe.