Yrucrem91

“Oh my God, Zach, there’s a bear in the cabin!” The words cut into my near-sleeping mind from the other half of the open sided cabin. Adrenaline gushes into my veins, and just as quickly the tired, still waking up half of my brain stems the flow, like a bleary hand on an alarm clock. The other Scouts in my troop joke around a lot, and I know that Kyle is the worst of the bunch. Shouting about a bear in the cabin would be his idea of a prank. There’s no reason to get worked up about it this late at night. Then I hear the growling. Deep and throaty like an engine, but much hungrier. Oh. Crap. Bear! One of my hands grabs the zipper pull of my sleeping bag and yanks it down, the other hand flashes out into the darkness and returns with a headlamp. Fight or flight? Some corner of my brain decides which way to direct the flood of adrenaline; my already keen night vision sharpens, my heart and lungs spool up like jet turbines. Bears run faster than humans. Flight is pointless. Choice made. I

“Um, Mister God?” “Yes, Dorian?” God replied with a smile on His eternally radiant face. “Well…Nevermind,” Dorian said. “I had something to ask, but…it’s not important.” “Go ahead.” Dorian nodded, swallowing and considering his words for a moment. “When I was little…I lost my favorite plush toy…I was so upset, I didn’t stop crying for days…” God nodded, indicating for Dorian to continue. Dorian sighed, once again thinking how to arrange words into something resembling his thoughts. “My parents even tried…getting me another toy that looked the same…But I knew right away it was just a replacement, not the same one…the new one still had the tag, and didn’t have the stains or other marks in the right place, didn’t have the name written on the bow around its neck…” Dorian sighed. “I even prayed, asking for the original Lambert to be brought back—that was his name, Lambert…” He said with a bit of a blush. “But, he was never found or returned to me…why not? Was it just not something worth

The kitsune sat herself down in midair, six tails swishing behind and below her, and looked at the mask in her hands. It was carved, though it was hard to say if it was wood or something else—it had properties of wood, shell, ceramic, even metal, but wasn’t quite like any of them either. It was an artistic rendition of a fox face, at once both very different and very similar to the face of the one who held it. It was, after all, her face now. Kitsune, as beings of magic, had their own long standing traditions and culture, and since kitsune were practically immortal, those cultures and traditions had lasted for thousands of years. One of them was how they symbolized their wedding. While humans exchanged rings, and dragons gave necklaces to their chosen partner, kitsune carved masks for each other. In that way, a married kitsune would show the world, not their natural face, but the representation of how their true and dear love thought they looked. It was a bit odd to think about that

“Anything you can do, I can do too! Anything you can do, I can do better than you-u-u-u!” Taunted Coyote, god of chaos, tricks, and mischief. Many, many tried to prove him wrong; every time, whatever they did, Coyote would mimic perfectly—or, if he had seen something before, he would do it better. Coyote knew many, many secrets; most, he’d gladly reveal to show that he knew, or to cause trouble. One secret though, greatest of all, he would never, EVER tell anyone. This great secret was that, though Coyote could copy anything, try as he might, he couldn’t do anything he hadn’t witnessed first. If someone climbed the highest, most unreachable peak, Coyote would laugh and do it as well. If he saw an unbeatable monster defeated, he would beat another monster the same way. If someone outran light, traveled through time, whatever it was, Coyote did just like they. But Coyote couldn’t do anything first. He could draw, but only what he’d seen put on paper. He could speak, but never say a word

“Heh, I always know right where to find you when it rains,” Zen said, floating up over the edge of the roof and touching lightly down. “Well, is it a good thing that I’m so predictable? Or no?” Lilly asked, turning to look over at Zen. She sat among the rooftop gardens, leaning against a greenhouse. She stood up and shook herself out, spraying some of the water from her thoroughly soaked golden-blonde fur and hair, and her shirt and shorts as well. “I suppose that depends,” the taller human said, coming over and taking a seat next to his canine companion, who settled down again. “What brings you up here? Because if it’s that you’re sad or something…” Lilly shook her head, less vigorously this time so she wouldn’t spray Zen with rainwater. “Nothing of the sort,” she said. “I used to think that rain was dreary and sad, and when I was first learning about God, I heard that rain was from Him crying…it was a long time before anybody told me a different, happy perspective about