lina1313

Penelope was so excited to finally have a free day to relax at the beach. A vacation would be a welcome change from her daily routine, and she was quick to accept when her friend Romulus invited her to visit Green Coast Bay. Although she’d been warned that the beach would be seeing the Flibb migration son, the perky kemata wasn’t worried. She was already having daydreams about chasing the waves and poking around in tide pools. The cool kemata suggested they meet up at a midway point, then travel to the beach together the rest of the way. Penelope was on board for that, and packed up extra snacks for them to share throughout the day. With all her beach gear packed up, Penelope headed out to meet Romulus at the crossroads. “Hey Rom!” Penelope smiled and ran the last few yards to meet up with her friend, “The weather’s looking great today, I can’t wait til we get to the beach!” Romulus smiled and nodded, gently guiding Penelope down the trail to the beach, “It is lovely today, and

Scipio slammed open the door to Gravitas’s home, “I messed up!” The normally quiet treatling slumped against the doorframe, panting with fatigue. “You? Messed up? That’s rare.” Gravitas replied, smoothing down her ruffled fur and stepping over toward Scipio, “What happened?” The treatling held up a hand and offered a rolled up parchment to the gravity stygian, “This...” Gravitas leaned her head in close enough to accept the parchment into her personal gravity bubble, and manipulated the sheet until it was open and spread out in front of her. The parchment had bold red lettering at the top reading ‘Wanted’, with a somewhat blurry picture of Scipio taking up the bulk of the page. Gravitas squinted at the picture, then read the bottom, “One thousand shadow tokens for returning Her Majesty’s crown.” The stygian dropped the wanted poster and deadpanned, “You what.” Scipio staggered the rest ofthe way into Gravitas’s home and locked the door behind her, “It was a mistake!” The treatling

Once upon a time, there was a bright and sunny path cutting through a dense thicket. All along the thicket were signs of varying ages staked into the ground. “Turn back!” Proclaimed one sign, the lettering carved deep into the wood with a sharp blade. “Go around!” Said another sign, pointing to a wide dirt path winding its way around the perimeter of the thicket. The folk from the neighboring towns spoke of this thicket in cautions tones. Although the stories tended to differ in severity and details, the tone was always somber. Generations passed the tale of the thicket down each generation, careful to instill a healthy fear of taking the path straight through. Travellers, however, needed far more convincing. “What’s so bad about a simple shortcut through the woods?” They would say, carrying in their expressions a high amount of suspicion on the old folk tales. “The are no wolves in those woods. No bears, nor wildcats. Why should we listen to such tall tales?” The travellers