little kings and hoppy things

Skoll Haskel · 11-14-2011, 10:17 PM

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for big brother! / +424

Skoll Haskel put things into four categories. One was for boring things, though very few objects fell into this category, as all it took was an imagination to make things interesting. One was for wolves, divided into the sub-categories of “family” and “maybe you should think twice about eating their tails.” The others in the pack reacted to his constant pouncing and biting with different reactions, but as a general rule, his family was safe to eat. Another category was for fun things, such as balls and chewtoys and flowers and anything else that could be made into a game if you worked hard enough at it.

Then there was a final category, one for things that absolutely perplexed him because they didn’t fit anywhere else. And the long-eared, twitch-nosed creature lolloping across the grass fit into that.

What was it? Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention as much as he should have, because this thing tickled at his mind and told him he’d seen it before. He recognized prey animals only as nice piles of regurgitated or cut-up meat that he’d been eating since starting to be weaned. And then there were horses (“chevals,” he called him, in his special brand of Frenglish), but those were more like wolves in that he could differentiate between them.

No, he’d seen these hoppy creatures before, and they all could have been the same thing as far as he was concerned. The same hoppy, weird, distant, good-smelling little thing.

Skoll whined quietly as he hunkered down in the grass. His urge to chase was stronger than ever, though he couldn’t quite understand the urge. The last time he’d gone hunting with his family he’d fallen asleep, and he’d forgotten most of that day. Right now he was wide awake, though, and trembling, and wanting so much to chase after the weird creature.

A minute passed—two minutes. The tantalizing smell of the hoppy thing made his mouth water, and subconsciously he made the connection to food. Maybe he’d chewed on a leg of one of these things before, though it looked different and more fun to chase attached to a body.

The pale boy inched forward, paw over paw, keeping his belly low against the ticklish grass. Smothering a giggle—or evil, plotting cackle—he wiggled his butt and stared the hoppy thing down. It straightened, nose a-twitch and ears akimbo, and it was then that he remembered.

“Rabbit!” Skoll screamed, and he ran at the animal just as it fled, startled by his loud epiphany.

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