A Night of Burns
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to  EOCostello
Thumbnail by  tegerio, color by  Major Matt Mason


Eight



Every creature in the Shining Land that bears hooves, feral and anthro, knows what a hoof-stamp means when it’s accompanied by a harsh snort.

So I did what I felt at the time was an appropriate course of action; i.e., I screamed like a doe-fawn and ran like a demon from the Netherhells was after me. Which, I think, might have been the case.

I could hear the huge black-fleeced ram’s hooves pounding the wet earth as it thundered down the hill after me while I concentrated on getting as much distance between his horns and my whitefur as I could.

The landscape was laced with several gullies of varying widths and depths, and after vaulting over a couple of them the germ of a plan presented itself. I put on a burst to gain some distance, dove into a gully and quickly formulated the Gramerye to camouflage myself. I then imitated a feral fawn and curled up, making myself as small as possible.

[Killer Diller] leaped clean over me and gradually I heard his hoofbeats recede into the distance. I waited until I couldn’t hear him anymore.

I had dispelled the camouflage spell, stood up and started brushing myself off when I suddenly froze and looked over my shoulder. He was standing less than two yards away, an unhealthy gleam in his beady little eyes. I realized then that I was up against one of the most dangerous creatures in the Shining Land.

A clever sheep.

So, I took to my hooves, and after giving me a couple yards he gave chase. The race, however, was brought to an abrupt halt when I felt a heavy impact against my arse, followed by the sensation of flying.

I have no idea how far I flew, but I hit a muddy low spot in the meadow with a Splorp! I went arse over rack at least twice before sliding a good ten yards and coming to rest. I dimly heard a snort and waited for the inevitable.

Which didn’t come. Instead I heard a howl and the sound of running feet, not hooves, and one mud-caked ear flicked when I heard a voice call out, “Sergeant! He’s o’er here!”

I clawed my way to all-fours and had finally gotten to tottering hooves as a few other members of the hunting party came trotting up. Among the group of wolves was at least one of my fellow roebucks. One of them said, “[And is it so, gracious Master, that the Sixth of His Name must now share his cognomen of ‘Mud-Magnet’ with his sire].”

After hawking and spitting out a pawful of mud, I bade him in Elfhamian to pack it in before wiping my eyes and looking around. “Sergeant MacGonagall?”

“Here, Sah!” the big wolf said, shouldering his way through the crowd. “Och, ye’ve seen some sport, Master, an’ no mistake! ‘Twas well ye had yon ram distracted.”

“D-Distracted?”

“Aye! Whilst he was chasin’ tha, we got enough sheep ta provide a fine feast!” MacGonagall said in a pleased tone.

“An’ e’en some fer th’ Lady Windimere and th’ boys,” another added.

“That’s . . . good, I guess,” I said, and yelped as strong paws, wolf and roe, suddenly grabbed me.

“Three cheers fer th’ Master!” one shouted, and at each “Hurrah!” I was tossed into the air and (mercifully) caught before being carried from the field and across the river to the Vale.

As we neared the Master’s Lodge I heard the Wolf Queen laugh. “Show me the way to go home, / I’m tired and I want to go to bed,” she sang before saying, “You know, you should have had him wrapped better if you wanted carry-out.”

Before I could tell her to shut it, MacGonagall said, “Th’ Master did well out of it, he did, fer his fairst hunt an’ getting’ bluided proper. Not fairst bluid, mind, but ‘tis th’ principle o’ th’ thing. Gained a lot o’ face.”

A derisive snort. “Lucky for him. Look at the face he started with.” She laughed again. “How much of the face-gain is nose?”

“Shaddap,” I said as I was put back on my hooves a few yards from my front door. I took a step and stopped.

[Little Toy] stood framed in the doorway, drawing something on a piece of paper that she turned toward me, showing a much-bespattered roebuck with a huge X over him. I nodded at the minkess automaton and started muttering cleaning cantrips to get the mud, blood, and grime off me and my clothes. When I was judged clean enough, [Little Toy] allowed me in the house to the sound of a few more cheers from the wolves and bucks.

It was still an hour or so before lunchtime, but my stomachs were the farthest thing from my mind. The various aches and pains in my hooves, legs, whitefur and everywhere else demanded precedence.

A few moments later I was immersed in a steaming tub of hot water, a magically-chilled ice pack on my head and a snifter of persimmon brandy within easy reaching distance.

The skull of my grandfather sat beside the brandy decanter, and again it looked like he was grinning at me. While it was quite possible that there was some sort of magick-link between the decanter and the skull, I didn’t want to dwell on that right now. I had enough aggravations.

I took a sip from my snifter. "And they called it sport,” I muttered. “I'll never understand wolves."




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