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Heard it on the Grape-vine.

© Tsumi Moogle '12

Characters © themselves.

The path had certainly changed, in those past months. From its bright and fresh bloom in the spring when he had arrived, where he had found that frog, bigger than a bull.. through to the shifting haze of steamy and dry heat in the summer that had seen him nearly run afoul of an alligator, just as the village had mentioned. And now into the cooler days of autumn. The leaves of the faint path, noticeable only by those that walked it, hued red, yellow and orange. Fluttering occasionally to the ground, they made the trip a little surreal, if not exquisite. They had assisted, too, in his helping the cousins of the foster village that was so diligently training him in their ways of hunting. A snake that Freji, the older moogle who had taught him most of what he now knew, had eluded the experienced hunter's attention, and nearly caught him.

Tsumi was proud, and albeit modestly, was justly so. Even if the thing had managed to coil him up instead. He recalled without a hint of a blush, his cousin mentioning (as he pulled him free from the depths of the creature's gullet), that a snake of that size would have needed more than one moogle to ward off, or kill. (And it had. While Tsumi had struggled against its wringing muscles, his cousin had fetched the rest of the hunting team to save him.)

It was strange to him. The things he would have missed before. Taken as normal markings, or not even markings at all, before now. The tracks that were half hidden, but now stood out clear as day to him. Foot prints. His own, and the other hunters. Hooves, of the deer that hurried through the early autumn mornings. Standing, the mog adjusted the furs about his shoulders. The head of the large bear whose pelt he wore draped over him. The story of its defeat eluded him as he looked around, ears twitching. The sound of wildlife, albeit faint, was telling: Everything was fine here.

Everything, except the faint growl of his own stomach.

Looking down to it, and resting a hand over his trim middle, the mog sighed a little. He had certainly come a little farther than usual, to be thorough with his check. He had started being so, since the snake incident. Turning to return down the path he had made, the tree he had marked a small ways away, the pink moogle paused. Something tickled his nose. A curious scent. An enticing scent. The sweet, yet subtle tang was drawing. In a way it almost reminded him of-

'Kupo nuts..?' Tsumi whispered to himself. Rare as they were at home, they were all but a myth, out by this village. He was by far a better botanist than hunter, even trained. If he found a kupo-nut tree, he would certainly be able to cultivate it. His footsteps lead him a little windingly. The scent leaving just the barest hints of a trail in the cool air, needing Tsumi's full attention to trace.

After near twenty minutes of easing through the unwalked forest, he stepped through a small curtain of leafy vines, and smiled. It was no kupo-nut tree. That was for certain. Whatever sort of tree it was, he had never seen it before. A tall thing, it sat amidst a glade, almost all its own, save a strange, rounded stump, perhaps of another tree that had been cut down, with low-hung branches, thick, and curious coloured leaves of a near purple hue. The odd flower peeked from amidst the leaves, as did a number of thick vines, looped here and there, some rested and buried in the earth. Perhaps roots, like a Banyan tree. Pretty as it was, and interesting, the moogle's senses drew his attention at last, to one of several fruits, hanging from one of those thick vines. Its skin was fuzzy, like a peach. And each fruit was nearly as large as a grape-fruit.

He considered, as he eyed the fruit over. His cousins would assuredly have mentioned such a thing if it were poisonous. Such an enticing tree, even with colours like this, would have been something of interest, even without the smell.. It could draw most anyone in towards it. With another nagging groan of his stomach, the moogle looked the tree up and down, and grasped at the fruit with both hands, letting his spear rest by the trunk nearby. 'Thank you for the fruit, kupo.' He murmured as he twisted and tugged, drawing the heavy fruit down with a faint crunch of its stem.

Settling on the stump, before the tree, Tsumi sighed as he got to work gently peeling the fuzzy skin back, revealing remarkably rich red flesh, with that tangy scent hitting him all the stronger. Tucking into the fruit, he began to sate his hunger, chrrling keenly as a faint breeze ruffled the leaves overhead. Its flavour was as delicious as its scent hinted. Rich, yet curiously subtle, tangy, without being overbearing. There was something among the flavour, varied, and so far placed from the flavour of most fruits he could think of. It was almost savory, but it only added to the rich flavour washing over his tastebuds.

Working his way inwards, the mog groaned a little bit. The fruit was so good, yet it sat rather heavily. Eying it over, he gave it a firm twist, and with a faint struggle, split it in half. Certainly the village would love something like- The moogle froze as he stared down at the two halves of the fruit. Among the rich red flesh in one half, there sat the most bizzare seed he had ever seen. Starting to tug it out, the pink mog swallowed, lifting it to his nose to smell. He squeezed it gently between thumb and finger. It had give. Not like the hard shelled seeds he knew of. In many regards.. it was rather like his own pompom. And looking up to said pompom, he gasped as it pulsed red.

And something jabbed him in the rump, making him yelp and jump to his feet. Reaching about, he tugged out the odd barbed shape of a small dart. Not made by hand.. but seemingly.. natural. Staring at it, the mog swallowed, looking around, and pausing as he stared at one of the nearby flowers. Almost innocently swaying in the breeze. But at its heart, there were no stamen. Only.. a couple of small darts, like the one he held.

As he went to step back, the mog gasped, as he found his rump-cheek, formerly smarting from the dart, feeling fine. ..No, not fine. It was.. asleep. Numb. And it made him topple over with a yelp. He started scrambling anxiously. Feeling the bear-skin unfolding and falling off his form as he made for the edge of the clearing, he yelped again as another sharp sting momentarily lanced his leg, and in moments, had it dragging as a dead weight as the pink form struggled frantically to haul himself by hand to safety.

There would be no crying out for his cousins. Freji was off to the east, at the swamp. Keia was south by the cliffs. They could not possibly hear him if he shouted at the top of his lungs. Several more darts zipped through the air, mercifully missing the young moogle, as he crawled. And reached for the vines he had eased through. Grabbing one to try and get to his feet, he instantly knew more than those flowers was amiss. The vine had sprung to life, like an undulating snake in his hand. And the others had awoken with it. To his touch, they responded, surging, looping and roping about his arms, indeed hauling him up, but not to his feet as he so desperately wished. They drew him higher in the air, turning him about, and binding him up in a fenzy of cool, creaking flesh, making him yelp and struggle as best as his half-lamed form could. Even if it was beyond hope to think that anyone would hear him, Tsumi drew breath to scream for help, before those vines, as if feeling his intention, looped quite casually around his muzzle, sealing it shut and stiffling his frantic scream.

A scream that elongated with renewed fear as he stared from his position several feet above the glade. The ground was roiling, writhing.. and those vines were lifting from the soft earth, centered around the bizzare 'stump' he had sat on. A stump that was unfurling, baring aged, brown petals that rolled aside the two halves of eaten fruit, that released newer, larger, yellowed ones, followed by more still. The sight would have been beautiful, were he not in such a terrifying position. A position of being centered over the plant's middle. As its largest petals, snow-white, and spanning several feet in length a piece, settled in place. The quivered with evident anticipation, and Tsumi could only imagine what for.

He did not have long to imagine, though, as the vines laid his form out on the white petals. They were, like the vines, cool. They held a scent, far softer, gentler than the fruit that had drawn him to the place, and even for his unbridled terror, he could tell the smell had something to it, as the fight was draining from him. A slight poison, perhaps. Or maybe it was a result of the darts that had hit him.. Whatever the cause, he could barely twitch a muscle, where he lay. The vines trembled a moment or two, before slowly unwravelling and drawing back.

Staring to the sky beyond the leaves of the strange purple tree, the moogle realised the tree was not a part of the flower at all.. it merely looked like it. A marker, perhaps in and of itself.. And closing his eyes, his jaw, weighing as though a hundred pounds, barely moved as he wheezed, trying valiantly, but futiley to call for help. The best he could manage were the tiniest whisps of breath. Whimpers so quiet, he was not even sure he had managed to cry out at all.

The flower's petals quivered again. The broad centre of the flower gently stirred. Stretching outwards to bare a hole at its heart. A gap that exhuded a thick, heated waft of air. A sickly smell clinging to it. The smell was followed by a trio of tendrils that slid fluidly from the depths of the flower. Its stamen proper, perhaps. They wound themselves gingerly about the pink moogle's middle and began drawing inwards with suprising strength, but slow pace. Folding at the middle with ease, given his flexibility, Tsumi could only whimper as his hips, then his back and thighs sunk into the heart of the flower. Drawn into the pressure of the slowly flexing tunnel below.

Moments trickling into minutes, the moogle's trip down this things apparent 'gullet' was agonizing. The tendrils drew him in, until just his head and feet stuck free, sitting awkwardly, bared to the world. But as he found strength slowly beginning to return, the poison wearing off, the petals trembled a third time, and began to close up. Those broad, white, silken lengths folding over, curling in the most intricat manner. Pressing down over his head and his exposed soles, they gently squeezed him down as they blocked out the sight of the glade. The sunlight, diffused through those petals, grew fainter as the darker, coloured petals began closing in next. Pushing down further on the trapped moogle with each successive layer of foliage, until it had returned to its original shape, so akin an odd little knobbled stump in that modest clearing, leaving no sign of the boy, save his cousin's cloak, and his hunting spear.

Within the cloying, sticky embrace, his own breath and body heat warmed the plant and the air. Making it readily hotter within, as the tendrils squeezed, wrung, and slowly deposited the little moogle in a looser space. Illuminated only by his pompom's red glow, he could tell its walls were green. Barely textured, as though he had ended up in the depths of some huge bulb. The tendrils released, and slithered from sight somewhere below Tsumi's trapped form, leaving him panting in the thick, sweetened air, barely aware of his fur darkening for the sweat budding under it.. or the trickle of some curious liquid within the pod.

Despite having barely any room to move, he tried his best. Trying to push against those walls, panting and crying out as loud as he could. The walls refused to yield, and instead, began to undulate in oddly rythmic motions. The walls seemingly ringed, or perhaps enwrapped by vines to emulate a churning motion. They squeezed in around the moogle's form, wringing him gently, kneading and tumbling his small form about, making him all but yell in terror, finding that budding pool of sticky liquid beneath him, clinging into his fur, and making those exposed portions of his skin, tingle..

It was several hours, before his cousins returned to the village. Keia first to return, with little to report. Sightings of condor were few. Unsuprising for autumn, but still good to hear. A couple others returned with similar reports, with Freji bringing up the rear, looking about.

'Well, No more alligators, and a number of the ponds are beginning to frost over. We can probably start lightening the patrol around the east, kupo.' He smiled to the hunt-leader, his sister, Keia.

'Did you meet cousin Tsumi on your way back?' Keia asked with a small frown, met with a shake of Freji's shaggy head.

'He is swift nowadays, he is usually back before me, kupo.'

'But there is no sign of him. Where was he stationed?'

'To the north-west, kupo. The forest. There is nothing out there. That snake from a few weeks ago would have a lot of territory.'

'And he has been doing remarkably well recently-' Keia froze. Her eyes widening a little. '...The sting-seed is out that way.' She murmured to herself. 'We haven't had an issue for so long..' the auburn mog trailed off, frowning as she shook her head. 'Go and look for him, Freji. Even if he is doing well, he is still a tender-foot, kupo. I knew I should have partnered him with someone.'

'Sister..! He probably just got himself lost!'

'All the more reason to go look for him! Go find him, NOW!' Barked the older Moogle, glaring her younger brother down until his cowed form hurried back from the cave, on the path out northwest. Grumbling through the path, the brown moogle followed the tracks of his cousin.

'Falls prey to several frogs, nearly gets bitten in half by an alligator, tried to befriend a warg, and then that fluke with the snake.. And Keia gets herself all worked up about him.' Freji murmured darkly. 'More trouble than he is worth, a hundred times over. He is no hunter.' He hissed, his pompom glowing broodingly a moment, as he paused. He looked along the tracks, and frowned. They veered off the path.. Out towards.. '...Kupo-nuts.' the brown moogle muttered, hurrying through the trees. The smell of the sting-seed faint. Fainter than usual. Never a good sign.

Coming to a halt several minutes later, the hunter eyed the vines that wrapped about the glade. The flowers along its inner-wall.. closed. It was 'asleep'. 'Double kupo-nuts!' Freji cursed, scrambling through the vines. They would not rouse. Not for days if-

He froze as he stared over the glade. The sealed petals firm in place. And the vines looking full. More than full, they were laden. Freji's ears lay as he regarded the fruit on the vine. The few pieces of some unfortunate creature that had apparently stumbled across the plant. ...And several, faint pink fruit nearby, nearly as big as his fist each. Shaking his head, Freji picked up the fallen bear-skin, and then the spear laying against the tree-trunk nearby. Eying the fruit once more, the brown moogle reached up, and plucked one, taking a bite of the rich, delectably sweet, strawberry flavoured fruit.

'Mind the sting-seed, cousin Tsumi.' Freji murmured lightly, turning to pad back to the village, with the smallest of grins spreading over his face.