Fast Fiction: Fippy's Revenge (Part 2)
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The fire was dying down. Fippy realized his moment was over. Wilx and Rorph had had enough. "Get some rest, you two. Dawn will be upon us soon, and we'll need all the strength we can muster." He curled himself up next to the warmth of the dwindling fire and laid his snout flat to the ground as his heavy grey lids blinked close.
Wilx followed suit. His long tongue slid across bristly lips at the thought of tipping one of the ogre's large cauldrons over.
A thud sounded as Rorph fell backwards off the log. His feet stuck into the air as he lay on his back, his face content and simple as he snored.
Gydar Briartrot awoke at dawn when all the other knolls rested asleep. Gydar's snout was unusually long but, beautifully so. His eyes always appeared squinted and calculating. His frame was average for a knoll's, and his limbs tended to hug his quietly powerful core. He was at home on his feet, climbing, crawling, and moving in a heartbeat to evade the unpredictable danger that follows a true-spirited adventurer.
The whispers circulating through Blackburrow reached his alerted ears. It was time to check out these ogres and their fragrant pots of steaming stew. He dropped from behind a boulder to behind another; silently moving down the rocky hills to the edge of the plains. Slow plumes of smoke gathered above the ogre camp half a mile away. A twinge of fear rolled along his skin. The serrated short sword strapped to his back by strands of frayed rope fueled his confidence. No one knew how he had come by that sort of weapon. It was a part of his persona and, he hoped, a marking characteristic of the legendary Gydar Briartrot that bards of all races would sing of. He snorted and moved out from cover in his famed trot across the plains.
Fippy lay awake staring at the high cave ceiling of Blackburrow. The ever-flowing sound of water crashed in the distance melodically. He had been restless throughout the night. Nightmares of mocking shadows and rage had acted as theives to his peace. It was a strange morning. One devoid of any groggyness. The stillness of the morning air worked on his nerves. Some instinct compelled him. He spoke what was seemingly stuck in his mind. "Gydar..."
The bastard would surely be well on his way to robbing Fippy of his moment of glory. Just as he had done so consistently in the past. So many times had Fippy looked the fool against Gydar's roguish nonschalant manner. The more Fippy thought of him the more hatred bubbled within. That damn spawn of family Briartrot, handsome and cunning. He who would strut into Blackburrow while Fippy stood with crossed arms watching the females go into heat on Gydar's arrival. And worse, the scoundrel always had mysterious gifts that brought whimpers and squeals of love from all corners of onlookers. And even worse were the silent looks of pride on the elders' faces whenever the arrogant fleabag would return from one of his fabled journeys. No more. Not this time.
A clawing noise broke Fippy of his focus. He turned to see the turtle at the end of his scepter dragging the shaft behind it in search of a meal. The call of duty had spoken. Grains were removed and presented. Joints crackled and stretched. A greasy paw slid down Fippy's ever-wrinkled snout. He yawned, and shook his pelt free of dust and sleep. The other two knolls lay unconscious. Fippy couldn't wait on them. There was no time to lose. This was his day. To finally claim what was his. By the gods, this was the day of Fippy's revenge.
To be continued...
