Fast Fiction: Fippy's Revenge (Part 1)

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The flame reflected in the eyes of Fippy Darkpaw as he strode back and forth behind the campfire.

"Hear me now, my fellow knolls. The newly raised structures at the water's edge spell our doom. I see the fog of their diabolic industry poison our skies. The rancid stink of their city infiltrates our burrows. And soon, the giants will come for our young, our treasures, and our pelts!"

Fippy raised his scepter. "We have stayed hidden amongst the dips and boulders of Blackburrow for long enough. To continue to do nothing would be folly. Now is the time to strike, and strike we shall. Here, at dawn!" The scepter struck into dirt. There was no sort of map or schematic drawn into the dirt. It was just dirt. The two knolls sitting on a log on the other side of the campfire knew he meant Qeynos.

The thinner knoll, Wilx Whiskerhunt, motioned toward Fippy's scepter. "I think you woke it up, again."

Fippy looked down. It wasn't as much a scepter as it was a severed young tree branch with a turtle tied to the end of it. Tiny clawed hands and feet stretched out from the shell and worked in a scuttling motion. The bulbous little head protruded and snapped drowsily at the air. Fippy reached into his satchel and presented a paw full of grains for the turtle to nip at. Wilx and the fatter knoll, Rorph, knew better than to challenge the legitimacy of the scepter. They were afraid of being bitten by the turtle, and Fippy was the least predictable knoll they knew. He was one of the older knolls around, who liked to stoke the burrow's youth. Everyone else, including the elders, tended to describe Fippy as being a little 'off.'

The rest of Blackburrow slumbered peacefully. Some snored, some yelped, some ran in place in their sleep. Fippy's speeches didn't bother them much anymore. They had heard his incessant rants on humans and war night after night, and had grown accustomed. It was practically a lullaby.

Rorph stirred, a stupid grin rose under his half closed eyes. "That was a good story, Fippy."

"It wasn't a story, Rorph! I am the last of clan Sabretooth. We do not idle ourselves with mere stories!"

"I like the sabretooth stories too, Fippy. You is too hard on you-self. You's a good story teller."

Fippy scoffed. Rorph was the dumbest, and the fattest knoll in Blackburrow. No one, including Rorph, knew his last name. It was generally accepted that he was the abandoned runt of one of the families. He liked Fippy though, and Fippy liked having an audience.

Wilx looked bored. Every night it was 'attack at dawn, attack at dawn.' They never attacked anything at dawn. By dawn Fippy would have ranted all night and fallen asleep with the others. It was the trio's routine. Wilx spoke up, "Do you think we can sneak over to the ogre camp tomorrow Fippy? They always have something cooking and it always smells so good."

Fippy turned a hateful eye on Wilx.

"Ya know, before we attack. At dawn. Maybe a little before dawn while the ogres are still asleep?"

Fippy dropped his gaze. "I suppose we could. It does smell rather good. But then we attack!"

"Right. Of course. Then we attack." Wilx's mouth was already watering.

"Mmm, this story is making me hungry." Rorph swayed on his log. He'd be asleep soon and eating something delicious in his dreams.

To be continued...

Go to Part 2 - 4 minute read

This story is an original work and has not been tailored to any market research.
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