A Mighty Tale

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Jaspar Fuzzy-Breeks eased himself along the tunnel. Framed in the entrance, Lágr Rope-Bearer sat oblivious. The ground schuffed beneath Jasper’s feet, but Lágr seemed not to hear.

Almost at the tunnel’s mouth, Jaspar paused. Everything was still.

He eased his haunches and leapt.

His paws wrapped around Lágr’s throat. They rolled, each on top then underneath. Jaspar drove his back paws over and over into Lágr’s stomach.

Suddenly, Lágr shot free, his head slipping from Jaspar’s grip.

A rope-muffled shout echoed as Una the Deep Miaowing leapt away, Lágr dangling from her by the rope.

Jaspar leapt.

Then strolled away.

Feud

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Una the Deep Miaowing sat upon the highest of high spots in Ut-Garden. Fugl Bloody-Shirt’s raids became more common by the day. She must prepare herself.

Legs drawn up, she wrapped herself in her tail. She had lain in wait. She had left and then returned hoping to catch him glutted with spoils. Yet each time, he had slipped away as if he knew she was close.

There must be an answer. Strength of self filled her, but inspiration did not.

Standing silently below, Jaspar Fuzzy-Breeks marvelled at the brilliance of her strategies, but wondered why she spoke them aloud.

Raiding the Giant’s Horde

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Jaspar Fuzzy-Breeks, Jarl of Sofar, Chare, and the Boxen Isles, stretched. Winter had come to Ut-Garden, bringing cold and damp to the very sill of his hall. And, as they did every year, the thumb-giants had failed to drive it back.

Una the Deep Meowing counselled yowling at the winter, but Jaspar favoured a different course. He would sleep until the thumb-giants opened the door of Nom. Then he would feast and fight until the hour when the thumb-giants settled back onto their resting places.

The moment they did, he would steal the thumb-giant’s heat.

And then sleep some more.