Chapter 3

I can't believe my writing used to be so short. Most of this is what I classify as a short story.

  "What's for dinner mom?" Flattle asked as the trio walked into the kitchen and sat down.

  "River salmon and spice root soup with fresh bread. I added extra spice root" his mom replied while she put the meal into bowls.

  Flattle turned around and asked,"Okay, what's the big occasion."

  "Why does there have to be an occasion for me to make my son's favorite meal?"

  "Because it also was dad's favorite meal. You never make this unless there is something going on,"

  Flattle's mom turned around and looked at him directly."You know that sound carries in this house." She brought the bowls over to the table and set them down. "And I do believe that Moss is right about your head. What were you thinking?"

  "Is that the question of the day? Your the third person to ask." Flattle said.

  His mom sat down at the head of the table with Moss and Flattle to her right and Moac to her left. His mother said grace and they began.

  "Although, you, Flattle, are right too. Something needs to be done about the wolves. Which is why, like Moss said, you should go see the elder. I know you don't think he's alive and your worried about how I would manage-"

  "Well, yeah I'm worried."

  "First, son, do not interrupt your elders. Second, I'm a grown otter. I can take care of myself plus there are plenty of others in the village who can help. But back to what I was saying. I think you should go on a quest to the elder. I want you three to leave tonight. I'm going to give you each enough supplies to get to the elder and back. Finish your meals quikly and eat heartily. This may be your last home cooked meal for a good while. I'm going to start packing.

  As they ate their meals, they all considered the journey ahead. They all were silent looking to the dangers ahead. They considered what they would use for weapons. The only weapons among the three of them were Flattle's and Moss's slings. Those wouldn't be very useful in hand to hand combat. When they finished their meals, they went up to Flattle's mother's room.

  As they entered, they saw the large bed where Flattle's mother and father used to sleep. When Flattle was about six, Flattle's father had been the family fisher, but his fishing boat had turned over and he became entangled in the weeds at the bottom of the river. He was found by some of the other fishers but by then it was too late. Now only Flattle's mother slept there.

  There was a dresser on either side of the bed. Flattle's father's dresserhad been emptied and his most special belongings were placed in a chest at the foot of the bed. The chest was opened and some of the items had been taken out. One of the items still in there was his fishing pole that he had used on the day he drowned.

  "Flattle, would you and Moac go get the chests in your rooms?" Flattle's mom asked

  "Sure. Why?" Flattle answered.

  "Never mind that now. Just go fetch them."

  "Yes ma'am"

  As they went to retrieve the chests, Flattle's mom talked to Moss ,"Moss, take this haversack downstairs and fill it with the veggie pastries, scones, apples, cheese, and rolls. You'll need them plus the jugs of blackberry cordial and the bag of candied chestnuts for Flattle."

  "Candied chestnuts? You know how hyper those make me." Flattle said.

  "Energy of that type can be used well in battle. Use them wisely," his mom replied.

  "Ach, doont yew worry aboot him. Ah'll kep em froom the lad," Moss replied.

  "Good. Now go and put them in the sack," Flattle's mom commanded.

  "Here's the chests, mom. What do you want with them?" Flattle asked.

  "First set them on the bed. Then I'll open them and tell you." His mother replied.

  She opened up the chest from Flattle's room first and took out his reed flute. His father had carved it when Flattle was around three. Its wood was white and had great sound quality.

  "Why are you taking that out? I haven't played that for years," Flattle questioned.

  "Around a campfire, a good song can always lighten the mood. You should be able to play still." His mother replied.

  "Ok, then why are you putting them in dad's old travel sack? That meant so much to you two. You would take it whenever you two would go camping for a night."

  "Because its not doing much good to anyone sitting around here. If you are going to be traveling for a while, you always need good bags for supplies. I'm also putting flint and a steel dagger in here for lighting fires. Be careful with these. The dagger can also be used for self defense. And there is one more thing I have for you." She showed him a cloak. It was black with a large hood and had signs of much use, but it was clean. "This was your father's. He would wear it whenever we would go camping. He would use it as a pillow for us or use it to shield us from the rain. It was his favorite garment."

  Moss came back up with the filled rations bag."Good timing, Moss. Other than the rations sack, I also have a rod for you to carry as a weapon. I used it when we went camping as a walking stick. In fact, I found it by a river we camped by one summer. It is the hardest staff I have ever found and is very hard to burn." 

  "Thank yew, ma'am." Moss replied as she took the staff. "Ah'll take good car oaf et as if et weh mah own."

  "Now for you, Moac. In Flattle's bag I have put and empty book and writing utensils. My gift to you is the commision of writing a journal of your journey. Now, I believe you are all eady for what lies ahead." They descended the stairs and stood by the front door. Flattle's mother stepped back and looked at the three of them. Then she rushed back to Flattle and hugged him so hard he couldn't breathe.

  "Mom, my side!" Flattle wheezed.

  "I'm sorry. I just can't help it. Your leaving and I don't want to lose you," she sobbed.

  Flattle gently hugged his mother back and rubbed her neck. "Mom. Look at me," he commanded.

  She looed up at him and responded,"Yes, son?"

  "I promise, I shall return," He stated. His mother stepped back and the three of them left, each with their own gift from Flattle's mother.

  "Isn't that what your father said that day?" Moac asked.

Author's Note

Ah, the early stages of writing, the frightful nightmare of incomplete stories and disastrous style. Hey, everyone has to start somewhere, and this is where I started.