FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The forest shone a deep bronze, the dawn light pierced the dense canopy of birch, pine, and spruce in sparkling rays. The bracken seemed to reach for the light, so often starved of it deep in the forest. Broad patches of lavender, and tiny sprouts of snowdrop followed suit, reaching for the rays, blue and purple beacons against the tide of orange.

Even the shimmering blue waters of the Saukko Lake, which snaked through the gently sloping hills, had frozen into solid amber. Not a thing disturbed the glassy surface, not even a ripple amongst the reeds that shrouded the shore.

It was mornings like this that Sakara rose so early for, before even the birds began their chittering chorus. He woke before the weary sun had lifted its head over the horizon, silently slipping out of bed and warming his waterskin of tea on the hissing pile of embers in the heart of the Lavvu.

While it warmed, the fox slipped his head through the entry flap of the Lavvu, a tall, narrow shelter of warm reindeer skins stretched across slender wooden ridgepoles.

The fur on Sakara's cheeks bristled as he squeezed his head through the flap. There was no mist in the air, nor dreadful damp clinging to every surface, and yet it was still chilly. Curse the cold, there was no escaping it in the northern forests, even at the height of summer, when you could lounge naked in the sun all day.

The fox slipped back inside, scruffing his cheeks vigorously. There was always something to spoil a beautiful dawn such as this. He wore only a hareskin loincloth, perfectly acceptable when wrapped in a heavy sleeping sack all night, huddled with little Kuveli. The little fox sought only to steal his big brother's warmth, not that Sakara minded.

He rounded the fire to the opposite side of the shelter, swiping an imposing auroch hide from a pile of furs and leathers tucked against the hide walls. He hurled it over his shoulders and wrapped it around his body as a makeshift cloak, so big it dragged in the dirt, leaving a dusty cloud in his wake.

That was much better. A cozy smile formed on the fox's face. Freezing was no longer a concern for him, warm was already filling his cloak. At this rate he'd die of dehydration!

Now, with sufficient coverings, the fox gathered his waterskin from beside the embers. It was a simple thing made from a deer's stomach, Sakara untying the sinew string that sealed it closed. He brought the waterskin to his chest, trying to keep it warm as he quietly tiptoed past Kuveli, still swaddled in blankets. Sakara spared his little bud a glance, then brushed through the Lavvu's flap and out into the fiery-orange forest.

He pulled the auroch hide tight around his body, one paw protruding from the shroud of fur that doubled the fox's size, clutching the warm waterskin of tea.

Sakara drew a deep breath of the crisp air, taking in the many scents of the forest. There was the sweet scent of succulent red lingonberries that clung to a patch of berry bushes besides their camp, the acrid stench of cold wood ash from a days old bonfire, and the most wonderful scent fresh scent of pine needle.

Oh, that was the stuff. As satisfying as waking up to the mouthwatering scent of roasting meat, the forest air brought with it a feeling of clarity that could only be matched by the depths of the deepest lake, or from the peak of the tallest birch.

The fox tipped his head back and took several gulps from his waterskin, greedily inhaling the steaming broth of pine needles and mint leaf. It was a perfectly refreshing beverage for a perfectly refreshing morning. It washed away the awful, tangy taste that clung to his tongue every morning, blasting his throat like a blizzard from the distant tundra, leaving a minty freshness clung to the fox's yellow teeth and throat.

Rinsing-off the last of the contents, he refastened the waterskin and tucked it back under his cloak, then turned his gaze on the boundless wilderness all around him.

His arctic-blue eyes were narrowed as he took it all in. As much of it as he could through the dense forest, at least. Even in the blinding glare his keen eyes could catch the skittering of small game in the undergrowth. One thrush in the bracken caught his attention first, a silhouette the size of a large rock, except... It was no rock! It had long ears, a snowdrop tail, and long hind paws.

In fact, the silhouette was a fat, white rabbit shuffling through the bracken. Sakara's tail stood upright, his heart beating just a little faster. He crouched down, pulling in his cloak so it didn't land with a woosh and scare the poor thing away.

He stayed like this, still as a standing stone, just watching the rabbit as it stopped to nibble at leaves and patches of moss. They were skittish things, but this one paid no mind to the watching fox, not even as it disappeared behind the berry patch and a cluster of birch trees.

It couldn't have been very old. As fat as it was, Sakara could have fitted the rabbit in his cupped paws. Maybe keep it in his bag as a pet, if it wouldn't panic and run at the first opportunity. Probably for the best, the horses would get jealous.

Then a shadow passed over the camp, casting Sakara into a half-light. He immediately turned his gaze to the sky, and beheld the silent hunter circling overhead.

A great horned owl, with spotty black and brown feathers and wings each as long as Sakara's arm.

Yet, despite its size, the horned owl soared as silently as a feather on the wind. And just like a feather it slowly drifted down, eyes fixed on the rabbit in the brush. Not even the drying rack creaked as its great talons hooked onto its flimsy wooden frame.

Sakara raised an eyebrow, his heart beating harder still. He could feel blood rushing through him, coursing through his veins, warming his stiff limbs in preparation for a hunt.

He slipped a paw underneath his auroch cloak and ran his fingers through the dirt. His sharp, vulpine claws scratched the surface, finding nothing but discarded flakes of flint and useless pawfuls of shale.

Maybe he should just go for it, but at last he brushed over a hefty pebble. His fingers slowly curled around its smooth, slate surface and soundlessly extracted it from the dirt.

The owl's gaze shifted down suddenly. Although a fierce hunter of the sky, it was not above scavenging like the lowly crow. Its golden gaze fell upon the proud collection of preserved pike fish that dangled from the drying rack by their tails.

The horned owl must have thought it a lucky catch! Free fish just sitting there, and big ones too. A summer feast. Not if Sakara had anything to say about it.

The owl splayed its wings wide, leaning forward to swoop upon the dried fish, its body as tense as a bowstring. Those deadly talons itched to snare a good meal, alive or dead, it didn't matter.

Sakara splayed his own legs, clutching the pebble tight as he stretched back his arm and narrowed his gaze on the wouldbe thief. He could feel energy surging to his limbs, the deafening silence of the forest growing distant as he took a deep breath.

The fox sprang to his feet, leaping forward in one bounding motion. His arm sailed over his head as he slugged the pebble at the owl, which had lept off the rack at the sudden appearance of the fox.

The pebble twirled and tumbled through the air, yet it sailed true. It closed the distance before Sakara could draw his breath, and before the owl could beat its mighty wings to escape.

Thok

The whole rack shuddered as the pebble smashed into it. A terrified screech followed, muffled by a flurry of wingbeats. The owl swooped low to the ground, then soared over the tall reeds along the lake, leaving only a scattering of tawny feathers drifting calmly around the rack.

Sakara breathed a sigh of relief, his strength routing almost as fast as it had appeared. He let himself fall upon one knee and wipe his brow, taking a moment to breath. He then rose and shuffled groggily over to the rack, taking time to inspect its lashings. None appeared to have come loose, but the fox reached out and lazily shook the whole thing, just to make sure it wouldn't fall to bits in his paws.

Sakara glanced up at the sky, scattered feathers still floating back to earth. Thank the spirits, there was no way he would have hit that on his own skill. The fox felt a tenseness in his chest. What if he'd caught the poor owl in the skull? It could have had young, or a mate. Not to mention angering the local spirits with needless bloodshed.

He reached out and plucked a feather from the air, wondering when the owl's last meal was. He hoped it would be okay, they weren't weak creatures by any means, and it was summer after all. Things didn't just starve in summer, it was the seasons of plenty.

He couldn't do anything about it now, sucking in his breath and letting the guilt fade away. In its place returned the peace he had felt not so long ago, one granted only by the appeasement of the spirits.

The fox untensed, cracking a relieved smile. If the spirits were willing to grant him this peace, they must not be angry. He knew the owl would be cared for.

Sakara tucked the feather behind his ear, then turned his attention back to the drying rack. The dried pike was all still there, thankfully, he couldn't even find a missing scale as he held each one up to his face.

Perhaps this was a good sign to finally bring them in. They were as good as done anyway. The downed the last of his tea and began to untie each fish from the racking, cradling them under his arm. Safe from the watch of curious crows and ravenous rats as he muddled back to the shelter.

Brushing clumsily through the lavvu's flap, Sakara entered the shelter. He was about to shed the cloak and leave it by the wayside, but caught himself before he could shirk it from his shoulders. Little Kuveli lay right next to him, still sound asleep.

The poor boy had enough trouble sleeping, he didn't need big brother tripping over his own clothes and surprising him with a startled yelp and a sudden thump.

Sakara bent his knees, catching his breath in his throat as he creeped over to the remains of the fire. He began to hang the fish from the frame of the Lavvu, as they always did to give the otherwise rotten fish a nice, smoky taste. Besides, there was no time to uncover the winter stash, lest his perfect view of this golden dawn slip out of reach.

Finally, the auroch hide slipped off his shoulders, coming to lay as a discarded heap in the corner of the shelter once more. The fox then gathered his clothes from beside the sleeping spot, slipping into a pair of horsehide leggings which he lashed to the belt of his loincloth. Next he fastened a leather sheath to his belt, a trusty deer bone knife tucked safely inside.

These would often be enough for any warm summer's day, but his brief expedition outside had made the fox wise to the chilly morning breeze. He needed something more, just an extra layer to keep the wind off his back.

Blue eyes scanned the Lavvu for an answer, and quickly found it in the form of a well-worn sleeveless tunic. It was hanging from the Lavvu's frame, a relic of a previous winter. It had seen plenty of use, scarred with countless last minute repairs: random stitching and odd patchworks.

Aside from its rough edges, it didn't look bad. The colour of deerskin matched the fox's own fur, not to mention the bone fastenings on the front. He could open it up later on, when the forest finally warmed under the intense sun. Something Conor had suggested from the clothes of his blood kin.

Sakara brought the tunic to his nose and sniffed, thinking back to last fall. The musky aroma of old sweat and faded woodsmoke, and that precious hint of the hyena's carefully crafted stench. A shiver went up his spine, his tail standing erect as he was brought back in time.

The crunch of dead leaves under paw, out hunting one last time to make sure that winter went without hunger and desperation. Conor had sheltered with the brothers that fall, and the fox could recall nothing but laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling whenever they were together.

He could feel it now, just faintly, as he snuffed Conor's scent from the tunic. How he missed the hyena, his rare laughter and stories of his land, so far away. The fox wrapped his arms around the tunic, even the memory of his coarse fur, and the firm muscles beneath, made the fox's loins stir.

They would see each other again. Sakara knew they would, without a doubt.

Sakara acquiesced after a few more moments, giving up blissful memories as he pried the scent away from his nose. With a sigh, he threw the tunic over his head, then tied a loose cord around it, making sure it didn't rub uncomfortably against his belt.

Last, but not least, were his footwraps, simple things made from patchwork leather strips. In his rush, the fox would have jumped into his footwraps, wrapping the patchwork leather around his boney feet and rough pads as fast as he could.

And with those footwraps firmly under his soles, Sakara started for the Lavvu's entrance. He stepped around the fire one last time, reaching out and whipping the leather flap aside, light flooding into the shelter.

But he hesitated.

There was one thing he'd nearly forgotten, a step that couldn't be ignored. Sakara glanced over his shoulder at little Kuveli, still wrapped snug in layers of furs and hides, wheezing as his nostrils flared and drool dripped from his hanging jaw.

It just wouldn't have been right to leave without saying bye to his precious little bud. The fox reached into his tunic, his paw rummaging around under the surface for a few moments.

He revealed the horned owl's feather, twirling it between his finger and his thumb as he held it in front of his little brother. And with a steady paw, taking great care not to wake Kuveli, the older fox knelt at his brother's side and tucked the feather behind his ear.

He ran a thumb across Kuveli's cheek. It Caught on a knot in his unwashed fur and Sakara froze. The seconds dragged as he held his breath, his little brother letting off an exhausted groan before rolling over and...

Sakara exhaled, his brother ceasing to wake. He retracted his paw, better not to push it, then uttered his thanks to the Great Horse Mother under his breath.

"For keeping us safe, I am forever grateful. When you summon me to your side in the otherworld, I will ride without hesitation." He muttered, pressing paw flat against his chest, then raising it towards the rook, and the boundless sky beyond.

Satisfied, the fox rose to his paws, offering his little brother a loving smile before he snuck under the tent flap. He glanced back one last time, then sealed the entryway.

His footwraps padded lightly over the loose dirt as he made his way through camp, passing the smoldering campfire and the empty drying rack. With Kuveli behind him he began to jog, moving as swiftly as the breeze that ruffled his fur.

There was a dense layer of reeds and cattails that flanked the lakeshore on his left. They were so thick that the fox could not see the water that lapped at their roots. Later he would need to gather some and work them into solid bindings to mend a ripped leather cord on one of the snares, at least until he could soak some branches instead.

There was a gnarled, old alder on the edge of camp which Sakara made straight for, a gap in the reeds presenting itself in the alder's shadow. Just as the fox had left it.

Atop the reeds was the weathered hull of an old oak dugout, a cord hooked to its prow and tied firmly to the old alder. After once getting stranded sunbathing on the rocks, Sakara took no chances. Mooring the dugout meant he didn't have to haul it into camp and back, saving himself the trouble of a sore back and a miserable night's sleep.

Sakara jogged to the alder, stepping over a pair of wicked three-pointed fishing spears and a handful of wicker fish traps. He snatched the cord, fiddling to unbind the knot and liberate his craft from the rough earth it rested upon.

Once it was loose, he took the cord and skipped around the tree like an excitable child chasing their tail, unwinding the lengthy mooring from its anchor. Once, twice, three loops of the old alder before he draped the loose cord over his shoulder and made for the dugout.

The collection of cord grew as he went, picking up the slack and draping it over the shoulder with the rest. He cracked a smirk, with this much leather cord he might as well have strung a tightrope across the lake.

Sakara jogged to the dugout and hurled the cord into the prow, then skirted along its midsection and, gripping the hull with both paws, heaved the craft with all the strength of his twig-like arms. The fox grit his teeth and puffed out his chest, the hull scraping against the flattened reeds and the many pebbles they concealed.

Then, with a gentle slosh, the dugout began to rock gently, becoming easier to push as water lapped at the hull. And Sakara kept pushing, even as he brought his footpaw down with a mighty splash, sparkling water scattering from his step and soaking through his leggings. He pushed further and further, the water first reaching his ankles, then his knees.

His footpaws began to sink into the silty lakebed, that should be far enough. The fox grunted, hauling himself onto the dugout and skillfully vaulting over the side of the hull.

At long last, he was lakebound.

Sakara made himself comfortable, or at least, as comfortable as he could get on a solid, oak hull. It would help if the dugout didn't sway sickeningly this way and that whenever Sakara made even the smallest movements.

A crudely-carved paddle was tucked against the inside of the hull, the blade facing backwards or, what would have been forwards on his last excursion. Sakara plucked it out and flicked it around over his head, his right paw gripped it just above the blade as he pushed against the reeds.

It took only a moment, and then he emerged onto the shimmering amber waters. The sunlight streaming down from above, warming his furred cheeks once again. He sighed, the beautiful colours had faded somewhat as the sun had risen higher in the sky, the dawn making way for a warm summer's day.

The reeds closed with a hushed swishing behind the dugout, followed by silence. A silence so absolute, it was known only to come when the forest spirits were at peace. There was nothing to stir them from their rest, and provoke their incessant chittering.

Sakara closed his eyes, nostrils flaring and chest heaving as he took a deep breath. The flurry of odors was long gone, replaced by the sweet scent of pine needles, as soft as a bed of spruce twigs.

Minutes passed, his face turned skyward, eyes closed, but he had to move on eventually. The fox leaned forward and dug the paddle into the docile surface of the lake, ripples of liquid amber spreading around it in perfect circles.

He pushed his way daintily through the water with one long stroke of the paddle, then flipped the paddle over and dipped it back in. Stroke one, two, and again, stroke one, two. Over and over, the land growing gradually distant behind him, the details becoming hazy as he aimed the prow of his craft, not at the opposite shore of the lake, but a tiny island that hugged its edge.

The sun was growing higher with each stroke of the paddle, all while the fox's arms grew weaker. He could do it, he knew he could, and if he couldn't... He could always take a break and enjoy the view. Although, as good as the gold-speckled trees looked, it wasn't worth the risk of dropping his only means of propulsion.

Thankfully it never came to that, and Sakara soon found himself weaving between the black rock that jutted viciously from the deceptively calm waters, and the little island with a lone sapling that funneled him towards his destination.

Suddenly, there was a terrible grinding sound as the dugout rode over a ring of pebbles, concealed under the opaque golden-coloured water. Sakara swiftly dropped the blade of his paddle into the water and pushed over them as quickly as possible. The dugout struggled, but ultimately obeyed, and soon the grinding of the pebbles was replaced by a soft thunk.

Landfall.

Sakara rose quickly, dropping the paddle and leaping out of the dugout. He did not land with a splash, but with the damp scrunch of grass under footpaw. He snatched the cord from the prow and hauled with all his might, dragging the dugout onto the grassy islet.

Once it was safely out of the water, the fox wheeled around and beheld what he had rose so early to reach.

An Old Oak. older than any tree he had ever seen, and yet she was as green as a spring sapling.

Sakara huffed, then took another deep breath through his nose. Even her scent was fresh, not a hint of rot or decay. A beautiful old thing, she had been the sole occupant of this grassy islet since before he and Kuveli had ever laid eyes upon this lake.

That was, until several summers ago.

Sakara glanced to his right where, hanging over the edge of the island, on a platform of lanky roots, stood a young oak. The Old Oak's kin, it must have been, for the bank opposite was a dense thicket of spruce. No gust of wind or peckish bird had brought that seed to this islet.

He stood and pondered the little oak sapling for a moment. Perhaps he could call it... Little Bud!

He snorted at the idea, Kuveli wouldn't take too kindly to that. Although, it wasn't like that had stopped Sakara in the past. Something would come to mind, he was sure of it, a name for the Old Oak's own blood kin, or... Sap kin, he supposed.

The fox looked back at the elderly oak. There would be time to think about it while he admired the view. And so he fastened the dugout's cord to the old oak, making sure his dugout wouldn't escape.

Then, he began to climb.