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“Fireside Meeting After the Holiday Feast” by Friends of the Fireplace (part 2 of 2)
Today’s story is the second and final part of a collaborative piece, with contributions by Renee Carter Hall, Thomas “Faux” Steele, Frances Pauli, Nenekiri Bookwyrm, Ziegenbock, K.C. Shaw, Vincenzo Pasquarella, and Rob MacWolf. The stories presented here all appeared in “Happy Howlidays! A Furry Flash Fiction Christmas Anthology” available from Thurston Howl Publications and edited by Vincenzo Pasquarella.
Last time, a mysterious fellowship of almost-familiar but unnamed storytellers gathered, by more than ordinary means, around the fireplace after a holiday dinner. As they began to exchange stories, a contest emerged, to see who had brought the most bittersweet story that still ended on a hopeful note. But before he began, one of them confessed a concern about the story he was about to tell.
Read by Solomon Harries, the Cuddly Badger Dad, Leuna, your internet half-creature, Dralen, the Dapper Dragonfox, and Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.
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https://thevoice.dog/episode/fireside-meeting-after-the-holiday-feast-by-friends-of-the-fireplace-part-2-of-2
Transcript
You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:Today’s story is the second and final part of a collaborative piece,
Speaker:with contributions by Renee Carter Hall,
Speaker:Thomas “Faux” Steele,
Speaker:Frances Pauli, Nenekiri Bookwyrm,
Speaker:Ziegenbock, K.C. Shaw, Vincenzo Pasquarella,
Speaker:and Rob MacWolf.
Speaker:The stories presented here all appeared in
Speaker:“Happy Howlidays! A Furry Flash Fiction Christmas Anthology”
Speaker:available from Thurston Howl Publications
Speaker:and edited by Vincenzo Pasquarella.
Speaker:Last time, a mysterious fellowship of almost-familiar but unnamed storytellers gathered,
Speaker:by more than ordinary means,
Speaker:around the fireplace after a holiday dinner.
Speaker:As they began to exchange stories,
Speaker:a contest emerged,
Speaker:to see who had brought the most bittersweet story that still ended
Speaker:on a hopeful note.
Speaker:But before he began,
Speaker:one of them confessed a concern
Speaker:about the story he was about to tell.
Speaker:Please enjoy, “Fireside Meeting
Speaker:After the Holiday Feast”
Speaker:Part 2 of 2. “Is something wrong?”
Speaker:asked the fireside companion, carefully.
Speaker:“I don’t think so?
Speaker:Probably not?” The veteran badger seemed unsure,
Speaker:“I’m just worried about something.”
Speaker:All the storytellers leaned forward toward him.
Speaker:It wasn’t often, after all
Speaker:that trouble, even possible,
Speaker:could reach a place like the fireside.
Speaker:The badger made eye contact with each, until the werewolf,
Speaker:when he glanced away.
Speaker:“I guess I thought that we were,
Speaker:like… separate? Like, we find stories or even witness them,
Speaker:we collect them, we share them.
Speaker:The one I ran across, I think…
Speaker:I think is something more.
Speaker:Something that worries me.”
Speaker:“How about you tell it,” offered the equine charmer, “and we’ll see.” Irma Menedez was known throughout Abeja County for her no-nonsense proprietorship of the Pebble Crick Diner Across From The Route 57 Amoco
Speaker:(yes, that was all on the sign.)
Speaker:She was debating whether to close up for the night.
Speaker:It didn’t snow in the desert highlands often.
Speaker:But when it did, it was serious about it.
Speaker:But then the door swung open to admit a puff of snow,
Speaker:a tired-looking wolf in an ill-fitting hooded jacket.
Speaker:Behind came a javelina in a parka,
Speaker:a ski mask sized for his stubby tusks,
Speaker:and colorful mittens.
Speaker:“That you, Jared?” the cacomistle shut the Dickens paperback she’d been reading
Speaker:—not the best Spanish translation, in her opinion,
Speaker:but cheap at least.
Speaker:“Sakes, what’s you and your friend here doing out on a night like this?”
Speaker:“Oh, uh,” the wolf apparently realized he was the topic of conversation,
Speaker:“hullo!” “Well, I mounted the snowplow on the pickup, there,”
Speaker:Jared stepped past the wolf, took a seat at the counter,
Speaker:“Don’t think the county’s even got a real snowplow.
Speaker:I was coming down the canyon road when I saw this fella!
Speaker:Hitchhiking, if you can believe it,
Speaker:in this weather!” Irma looked critically at the wolf.
Speaker:“I know,” he shrugged,
Speaker:“But when you only got one way to get somewhere,
Speaker:doesn’t make much difference how difficult it is.”
Speaker:“Difficult?” she snorted and tightened her apron strings,
Speaker:“Downright suicidal!
Speaker:No, you don’t argue; you sit and warm up.
Speaker:I’m getting you a coffee at least, maybe something hot to eat.”
Speaker:“I don’t exactly have any-”
Speaker:began the wolf, but Jared cut him off before he could say ‘money.’
Speaker:“Arguing with her won’t do no good, man,”
Speaker:the javelina said. “Best accept your fate.”
Speaker:The wolf’s next five minutes were occupied with a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and sausage patty.
Speaker:Jared and Irma debated how bad the snowstorm was,
Speaker:how long it had been since they’d seen a worse one.
Speaker:The principle measure of which, they determined, was whether Irma had to fire up the cast iron wood stove.
Speaker:Since that glowed cheerfully in the corner
Speaker:—dreaming of the days when this building had been a general store for the flood of impoverished, dream-drunk gold prospectors
Speaker:—the verdict was ‘pretty bad.’
Speaker:“If you won’t ask for payment in money,”
Speaker:the wolf interrupted once there was nothing on his plate but syrup,
Speaker:“would you accept a story?”
Speaker:They both blinked at him.
Speaker:But when Irma nodded,
Speaker:more out of confused politeness than anything,
Speaker:the wolf began: “Many ages ago, the Cold Host marched down from the frozen north.
Speaker:They were armed with spears of ice.
Speaker:Their hearts were cold,
Speaker:their blood was cold.
Speaker:For they were all those who had been lost in winter,
Speaker:never to be seen again.
Speaker:Foremost of these was The Conqueror.
Speaker:Some said he was a king.
Speaker:Others said he was a god. I would
Speaker:say, I think, these were the ages where there was but little difference between kings and gods.
Speaker:Whichever he was, where he went,
Speaker:winter followed.” “In one valley in their path lived three clans.
Speaker:One clan, the Goose Clan,
Speaker:was determined to flee.
Speaker:Further and further south,
Speaker:as need be to stay ahead of the Conqueror.
Speaker:Though they feared what would happen when they came to world’s end and found no more south to flee to.
Speaker:Another, the Bear Clan,
Speaker:was wealthy with great lodges of warm hearths and well-stocked cellars.
Speaker:They determined to seal themselves up within to wait out the passing of the winter warriors.
Speaker:But the Opossum Clan
Speaker:was not swift enough to flee,
Speaker:nor wealthy enough to take shelter.
Speaker:So they had no choice but to fight.”
Speaker:“Their greatest warrior had been blessed by the gods with a holy sword,
Speaker:which when swung through the air would spark flames, like steel on flint,
Speaker:of every color imaginable.
Speaker:This gave the warrior courage, for maybe the flames would be hot enough to melt the winter of The Conqueror and his host.
Speaker:But they had also been cursed by the gods.
Speaker:Some say by other gods,
Speaker:some say by the same who had blessed them.
Speaker:Whichever it was,
Speaker:the curse was to know always the place and manner of their death.
Speaker:It was in single combat against a mighty foe whose weapon was winter.
Speaker:As you might imagine,
Speaker:this cut The Warrior’s courage back down.”
Speaker:“Nonetheless, when the day came,
Speaker:and the cold host crossed the river,
Speaker:The Warrior of the Opossum Clan met them alone,
Speaker:sword blazing with many-colored flames.
Speaker:Three times they faced The Conqueror in combat;
Speaker:three times did the flames gave him pause but did not stop his advance.”
Speaker:“At last, The Warrior and The Conquerer charged upon each other’s blades.
Speaker:A great burst of colored flames swallowed them,
Speaker:and when it passed,
Speaker:both were gone. Winter faded,
Speaker:and the cold host withdrew,
Speaker:and slowly spring returned.
Speaker:But those three clans,
Speaker:every winter after,
Speaker:would see the many-colored flames in the night sky,
Speaker:and thank the memory of that Warrior,
Speaker:Every year, once the longest,
Speaker:coldest night passed,
Speaker:they would hang lights of every color in all the trees.”
Speaker:“And they say,” finished the wolf,
Speaker:nodding up at the Christmas lights strung around the corners of the ceiling.
Speaker:“That's where lights like this first came from.”
Speaker:“Well,” Jared scratched his chin, trying to think of something better to say than, ‘it
Speaker:sure was an interesting story.’
Speaker:“Where’d you hear that one, honey?”
Speaker:Irma said, leaning forward with a coffee refill.
Speaker:“Oh, I get around.
Speaker:But no, thank you,” the wolf waved away the carafe, got to his feet.
Speaker:“Time I was on my way.”
Speaker:Before either of them could say
Speaker:‘Wait, what? How?’
Speaker:or ‘I didn’t hear a car pull up’
Speaker:or ‘You won’t get far in this weather!’
Speaker:he’d reached the door,
Speaker:pulled it open. The bells jingled.
Speaker:Outside lay peaceful snow-draped foothills,
Speaker:far from the desert canyons,
Speaker:sunset sky untroubled by blizzards.
Speaker:The fallen snow was stained every shade from saffron to crimson by the evening,
Speaker:and below in the distance were lights,
Speaker:plumes of smoke, and welcoming voices.
Speaker:The wolf looked over his shoulder,
Speaker:waved. The door shut behind him.
Speaker:Outside it was night.
Speaker:The blizzard raged on.
Speaker:The Pebble Crick Diner Across From The Route 57 Amoco paused in stunned silence.
Speaker:Neither the cacomistle, nor the javelina moved for a long moment.
Speaker:Finally, Jared broke the silence,“Aint
Speaker:nobody ever gonna believe this.”
Speaker:“Sure won’t,” agreed Irma.
Speaker:“Will make for a hell of a story, all the same.”
Speaker:“I guess,” the badger finished,
Speaker:“it’s not anything to do with the contest.
Speaker:It just worries, me, though…
Speaker:that was you, right?”
Speaker:Now all eyes turned
Speaker:to the Werewolf Hitchhiker.
Speaker:“A wolf, hitchhiking, someplace nobody should’ve been hitchhiking.”
Speaker:The badger seemed powerless to stop,
Speaker:“But when he gets somewhere a fire is burning,
Speaker:he tells a story there,
Speaker:and as soon as he does,
Speaker:he can leave to some place
Speaker:that isn’t anywhere near where he just was.
Speaker:That was you,
Speaker:maybe last year, maybe the year before,
Speaker:doing what we do, what I did to get here.
Speaker:The story I heard was about
Speaker:you.” “Is that,” the werewolf hitchhiker took a deep breath,
Speaker:“a problem for you.” “It’s just…
Speaker:I thought I’d gotten away.”
Speaker:The badger sighed. “The world was where the stories came from, where they happen,
Speaker:but I wasn’t there anymore. I was out
Speaker:here, where the stories are told. But if you’re
Speaker:in the stories, then…”
Speaker:he trailed off. The fireside companion rested a paw on the Badger’s shoulder.
Speaker:“What if there’s people out there telling stories about me?”
Speaker:The Badger tried to shrink into himself for warmth.
Speaker:“Then I’m sure,” answered the dog,
Speaker:“they’re good stories.
Speaker:We don’t stop being a part of the universe by telling stories about it,
Speaker:but that’s ok. Taking you out of
Speaker:things… that’d be robbing you of your own story.
Speaker:And I wouldn’t do that to anyone,
Speaker:even if I could.” For a moment the only sound in the room was the crackling of logs.
Speaker:“Well,” said the draconic fox,
Speaker:“looks like you had something to put into the contest after all.”
Speaker:“I’d say he’s in the lead,” added the tradeswolf.
Speaker:“Sorry for freaking out a little,”
Speaker:the badger accepted another cup of cocoa from the werewolf.
Speaker:“Don’t worry about it,”
Speaker:he assured him, “Now! Who’s next? Let’s get back to business!”
Speaker:“I’ll go,” the cybernetic alleycat volunteered,
Speaker:“if you get me more cocoa too.”
Speaker:“It’s supposed to snow tonight!”
Speaker:Ms. Chestnut’s voice was chirpy as she passed Miranda.
Speaker:“It smells like rain to me,”
Speaker:Miranda said, but the squirrel was already talking to the postmistress and didn’t hear her.
Speaker:Miranda wondered if everyone she spoke to thought,
Speaker:“Of course she has a slow voice. Badgers are slow.”
Speaker:She hoped not. She browsed the selection of greeting cards.
Speaker:She never knew what to get her friend Daisy for holidays.
Speaker:A card didn’t seem like enough,
Speaker:but Daisy always claimed she didn’t want gifts.
Speaker:The funny cards weren’t actually funny, and the serious ones were too sappy.
Speaker:Miranda wished she could draw her own,
Speaker:but unlike Daisy she wasn’t an artist.
Speaker:She was too embarrassed to even try.
Speaker:She settled on a cute card with a pair of kittens on the front, one calico and one gray tabby.
Speaker:“So what if we don’t look alike?” it said.
Speaker:When she flipped it open, it continued inside,
Speaker:“We’re best friends forever!”
Speaker:Miranda smiled. She bought the card and a stamp, and spent a couple of minutes trying to decide what to write.
Speaker:She wanted to say something
Speaker:profound to mark the occasion
Speaker:and let Daisy know she was thinking of her.
Speaker:But they’d been friends since childhood;
Speaker:profound statements felt out of place.
Speaker:Finally she just wrote,
Speaker:“Happy Solstice! Here’s to a great new year.”
Speaker:On her way home, Miranda sniffed the cold air carefully.
Speaker:The sky was white, with bare tree branches looking like claws pointing out the clouds.
Speaker:It definitely smelled like rain,
Speaker:but if the temperature dropped enough,
Speaker:it might turn to snow.
Speaker:She loved rainy nights, loved feeling snug in her burrow’s bedroom while rain pattered on the ground above.
Speaker:Snow was even better.
Speaker:She hurried home and spent an hour gathering more kindling, even though her burrow’s entrance chamber was already stacked with enough firewood for the rest of winter.
Speaker:Solstice was still a few days away.
Speaker:Daisy liked going to the village gathering so Miranda went too, even though it
Speaker:bored her. She preferred the excitement leading up to the holiday.
Speaker:She and Daisy had made wreaths from holly and cedar branches last week,
Speaker:shouting with half-laughter, half-resentment as the prickles found their paws even through heavy gloves.
Speaker:The badger was mixing cake batter in the kitchen when someone knocked, followed immediately by Daisy shouting,
Speaker:“Are you home?” Miranda called,
Speaker:“In the kitchen!” She filled the teakettle and set it on the stove just as Daisy bounded into the room. As always, Daisy brought an air of excitement with her, which Miranda imagined as an invisible lantern glowing around the rabbit.
Speaker:Daisy was ordinary to look at, with plain brown fur and rather short ears, but her energy and good cheer made her
Speaker:beautiful. “I got your card,”
Speaker:Daisy said. “Thanks!”
Speaker:“Already? I just sent it a few hours ago.”
Speaker:“The postal service is on fire this time of year. What are you making?
Speaker:Can I help?” “You can grease and flour the pan.
Speaker:Here’s an apron.” By the time the cake was in oven, Daisy had
Speaker:managed to get flour everywhere, including a smudge on her cheek.
Speaker:She was full of plans for the new year and talked enthusiastically, waving her floury paws around.
Speaker:“The class starts next
Speaker:month. You’ll join me, right? I’ve always wanted to learn how to weave.”
Speaker:“I’m not very good at crafts,” Miranda said.
Speaker:“Piffle! Just think of all the cute things you can make for your burrow.”
Speaker:Daisy roamed around the kitchen, scattering good cheer like the solstice sunrise.
Speaker:“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try,”
Speaker:Miranda said. “Good, because I already signed us up.” Daisy laughed. They talked and drank tea while the cake baked, then ate cake with more tea.
Speaker:They sat at the small kitchen table, since the other rooms were chillier without a fire going.
Speaker:Miranda heard the patter of rain overhead.
Speaker:Once they were full of tea and cake, Daisy insisted on doing the dishes.
Speaker:“You cooked, I’ll clean.”
Speaker:“At least wear gloves.
Speaker:Your paws will get soaked.”
Speaker:As Daisy washed up, with Miranda drying, the rabbit returned to her talk of next year’s goals.
Speaker:“I feel like this is my year,” she said.
Speaker:“Do you ever feel that way?”
Speaker:“Sometimes.” Miranda wanted to explain that right now, with them both busy together in the kitchen and the short day turning into a drizzly evening,
Speaker:she was contented.
Speaker:It was better than any future success.
Speaker:“I’m going to make some changes this year,” Daisy said.
Speaker:“I’m going to dance more,
Speaker:do lots of new things,
Speaker:make new friends.”
Speaker:“Don’t forget your old friends.” Miranda smiled to show
Speaker:she knew that would never happen.
Speaker:“About that,” Daisy said, looking thoughtful.
Speaker:She turned off the water and tugged the gloves off.
Speaker:Miranda’s contentment vanished
Speaker:in a pang of worry.
Speaker:Was this Daisy’s way of telling her that an artistic rabbit needed more interesting friends than a homebody badger?
Speaker:Daisy said, “We’ve been friends for a long time,
Speaker:right?” Miranda nodded silently. “Well,
Speaker:one of the things I’m going to do this year
Speaker:is tell people how I feel about them.
Speaker:I’m going to start now.”
Speaker:Miranda set the last teacup in the cupboard with trembling paws.
Speaker:She glanced at Daisy and noticed her twisting her apron’s hem as though nervous.
Speaker:But Daisy was always confident.
Speaker:The rabbit said,
Speaker:“I think we should be more than just friends.”
Speaker:They stared at each other.
Speaker:Daisy’s brown eyes were white-rimmed with fear, as though she was afraid she’d said the wrong thing.
Speaker:Miranda relaxed and smiled.
Speaker:“I’d like that. I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time,
Speaker:but I didn’t think…” Daisy smiled too.
Speaker:“See? This is going to be our year!
Speaker:The rain’s stopped too.”
Speaker:Over the lingering scent of cake,
Speaker:Miranda detected a change in the air outside.
Speaker:“I think it’s snowing.”
Speaker:She held her paw out and Daisy took it,
Speaker:her slim paw warm in Miranda’s larger one.
Speaker:“Let’s go see.” “Oh, I don’t know if that one counts.”
Speaker:The tradeswolf was not too occupied with putting another log on the fire
Speaker:for some critical discourse.
Speaker:“I didn’t see much bitter in that, myself.
Speaker:Very sweet, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but-”
Speaker:“Well I don’t agree,”
Speaker:hummed the astronaut.
Speaker:“It just concentrated the bitter and the sweet into two characters, you know?
Speaker:And then gave them a happy ending.”
Speaker:His fluffy antennae quivered as he finished his cider.
Speaker:“None of the other stories did that.”
Speaker:“Well,” the well-dressed vulpine dragon spoke up,
Speaker:“You haven’t heard them all yet.”
Speaker:Dasher steps into line
Speaker:for the last time.
Speaker:She is ready first, as always.
Speaker:First into the traces, first to leave the ground.
Speaker:First to place her tiny split hooves
Speaker:against each sloping rooftop.
Speaker:She has been the leader for long centuries,
Speaker:but she is done with it now.
Speaker:She is ready – tonight –
Speaker:to be free. Impatience makes her dance.
Speaker:The others are jostling and playing games.
Speaker:Dasher remembers she was like them once,
Speaker:caught in the magic,
Speaker:happy to serve. She stamps into the snow, her frustration muffled
Speaker:by the soft perfection of it all.
Speaker:Winter wonderland.
Speaker:A place outside of time.
Speaker:She wants to hurry.
Speaker:The bells along each harness sing to her of freedom.
Speaker:The steamy breath of the others fills the chill air,
Speaker:and Dasher thinks of the year when she first discovered
Speaker:she was a prisoner.
Speaker:She drifts into the memory as the reindeer team –
Speaker:finally – steps into line. ***
Speaker:A record blizzard engulfed the western coastline,
Speaker:and their stops had been riddled with hazards.
Speaker:Icy rooftops, zero visibility, and the ever-pressing need to cut corners.
Speaker:To hurry when hurrying should have been out of the question.
Speaker:Dasher leaned into her harness with her customary dedication.
Speaker:They’d left the city behind four stops back, and the houses spread quickly into estates and –
Speaker:eventually – farms.
Speaker:There had been a birth this year,
Speaker:a new stop added to their overflowing schedule.
Speaker:Dasher led the way to the roadside attraction with unflinching determination.
Speaker:Landed with precision atop the trailer roof,
Speaker:though she’d never alighted there before.
Speaker:The sleigh rocked behind her.
Speaker:Her team settled in after a short bout of prancing,
Speaker:an adjustment of straps and harness.
Speaker:Dasher’s eyes drifted closed, for she had learned to steal
Speaker:each moment of rest between flights.
Speaker:“Sleeping on the job?”
Speaker:A soft voice spoke from inside the blizzard. Dasher
Speaker:blinked, picking out the outline of an animal that had no business being atop the roof.
Speaker:“Goat,” she said. “Reindeer,”
Speaker:the goat shook herself, revealing a jet-black pelt.
Speaker:It was white again in seconds.
Speaker:“How did you get up here?”
Speaker:Dasher lifted her nose and sniffed,
Speaker:catching the aroma of musty hay, green grass, and soft dirt.
Speaker:“I go where I want,”
Speaker:the goat said. “From the barn to the field to the house.
Speaker:Eventually, over the fence and into the wide world.”
Speaker:She had a bony frame,
Speaker:hips that seemed to poke through her flesh, and long sloping shoulders.
Speaker:Her neck curved stiffly up and back,
Speaker:but her eyes were soft.
Speaker:Huge, dark pools, steady amid the chaos.
Speaker:“You’re a pet,” Dasher said.
Speaker:She hadn’t meant it as an insult, but the goat flinched and bleated.
Speaker:“And you’re a servant,”
Speaker:she said. “Tied to your master by a silly string of bells.”
Speaker:Dasher stamped one hoof.
Speaker:The others would not speak,
Speaker:would not argue when their leader could battle for them.
Speaker:She felt their fury, though.
Speaker:It vibrated through the lines that tied them together.
Speaker:“I go where I want,”
Speaker:the goat repeated,
Speaker:“and you go where you’re told.
Speaker:told.” “Our job means something.”
Speaker:Dasher summoned the words at last,
Speaker:but they rang hollow in the face of the goat’s derision.
Speaker:“A servant is still a servant.”
Speaker:The black face turned from her.
Speaker:The goat danced to the very lip of the roof.
Speaker:Before she leapt,
Speaker:she called back in a voice that would haunt Dasher for the rest of the year.
Speaker:“But as servants go, you’re quite pretty.” ***
Speaker:The whistle sounds, and Dasher throws herself forward.
Speaker:The team follows her lead.
Speaker:There is a moment of resistance, a weight
Speaker:dragging against them,
Speaker:and then the sleigh obeys.
Speaker:Her legs churn through the snow.
Speaker:They pull. They rise.
Speaker:They are airborne.
Speaker:Tonight, the blizzard is a gentle caress.
Speaker:She feels the promise at the end of her journey
Speaker:and flies as if the world below them is on fire.
Speaker:They make good time.
Speaker:They stop and start and stop again while their leader dreams of desertion. ***
Speaker:The goat was on the rooftop waiting for her the next year.
Speaker:Dasher’s chest squeezed in relief at the sight of her.
Speaker:For twelve months, she’d been replaying the pet’s argument, and prepared an explanation in advance,
Speaker:a list of all the glories of her position.
Speaker:When she recited it, the team shivered in support.
Speaker:The goat only chuckled and leapt from the roof,
Speaker:vanishing into the night like a shadow.
Speaker:Like a wild thing, for all the fences that encircled her.
Speaker:The next year, she was back.
Speaker:Dasher stared into her dark eyes and said nothing.
Speaker:She outlined the shape of the goat, again and again,
Speaker:noting the twitch of her short tail,
Speaker:the shaggy fur at the back of her hocks, and the curve of each split hoof.
Speaker:She would keep that memory for the next year,
Speaker:an image to pair with the goat’s voice. ***
Speaker:“It’s a nice dream,”
Speaker:the goat said on their fourth meeting.
Speaker:“You shouldn’t feel bad about it.”
Speaker:“I don’t,” Dasher said a little too defensively.
Speaker:“I mean,” the goat continued,
Speaker:“as long as it’s your dream.”
Speaker:Dasher blinked at her.
Speaker:Lately, her dreams had been full of the goat.
Speaker:For years, her thoughts circled and twisted around the bony black shape,
Speaker:the soft voice,
Speaker:and those dark eyes. “I dream of freedom,”
Speaker:the goat said. “I would have gone last year, you know.
Speaker:I only waited…” “For what?”
Speaker:Dasher held her breath.
Speaker:Her heart fluttered.
Speaker:But something heavy thudded against the roof, the sleigh rocked,
Speaker:and the goat was gone. ***
Speaker:Dasher spots the trailer,
Speaker:and her mouth goes dry.
Speaker:She is afraid the goat has gone, that she has taken too long,
Speaker:flown too slowly.
Speaker:Her harness is loose, and it chafes her pelt,
Speaker:rubbing the fur the wrong way.
Speaker:She has endured this because it is necessary if she means to slip free of it.
Speaker:If she means to run.
Speaker:For twelve months, she’s dreamed of it,
Speaker:but she worries the goat did not wait for her.
Speaker:There is no snow tonight.
Speaker:The world has turned
Speaker:uncharacteristically warm.
Speaker:Still, she shivers, descending and dragging a worried gaze over the roofline with her heart in her throat.
Speaker:Does she see a shadow moving there?
Speaker:Does she hear the whisper or only imagine it?
Speaker:“It’s about time.” It is.
Speaker:And as soon as the weight is gone from the sleigh –
Speaker:as soon as she can –
Speaker:she will slip free of her fetters.
Speaker:She will prance to the edge of the roof
Speaker:and leap. She will dream
Speaker:her own dream. The shadow steps out to meet her, and Dasher is ready to run,
Speaker:to be free, to gaze into those dark eyes
Speaker:forever. “Oh, that’s pretty strong!” The werewolf sounded excited.
Speaker:“The rest of us started with bitter and
Speaker:added sweet, but that just WAS bittersweet, right through!” “Don’t
Speaker:congratulate me yet!”
Speaker:the well-dressed fox snorted.
Speaker:“Our host still has to go!”
Speaker:“Still,” maintained the stallion,
Speaker:“It’s a high bar to clear!”
Speaker:The dog stared thoughtfully into the fire he’d kindled
Speaker:before he began. “Bonjour?
Speaker:I’m here about the mailer?”
Speaker:A distinguished-looking blue jay in a weathered canvas trench coat
Speaker:stepped through the entrance of the unassuming building at the stated address, 2, Rue de la Paix. Glancing downward at the festive advertisement clutched between his talons,
Speaker:he examined the art deco St. Nicholas that promised the latest fashions
Speaker:at fire sale prices.
Speaker:“Anyone? J’aimerais de l’aide, s’il vous plait!” “Inspecteur LeBleu! So good you could make it.”
Speaker:Standing on a gilded bronze platform that loomed over the spacious atrium,
Speaker:a devilish Holstein cow
Speaker:stepped out from the shadows.
Speaker:Her crimson dress matched the vertical ruby strands on her choker
Speaker:that conjured an image of her throat being slit.
Speaker:“A convincing trap, no?”
Speaker:“Countess LaVache! I should have known this advertisement was too perfect!”
Speaker:Ducking behind an artificial Christmas tree
Speaker:wrapped in aluminum tinsel,
Speaker:Jacq drew his trusty revolver.
Speaker:It seemed that the hunt for the perfect gift for Misha,
Speaker:his handsome Soviet otter,
Speaker:was destined to be never-ending.
Speaker:“How dare you interrupt my Christmas Eve shopping!”
Speaker:“I couldn’t let you have all the fun!”
Speaker:The Countess smirked
Speaker:as Jacq peeked out between asbestos-dusted branches.
Speaker:Following a powerful glow from the incandescent spotlights,
Speaker:he was instinctively drawn to an eighteen-karat gold cigar holder
Speaker:inlaid with Baltic amber.
Speaker:“It’s a shame that you won’t be around to enjoy the sales!
Speaker:Get him, boys!” Jacq was already on the move as a pair of goons in ash gray suits
Speaker:leapt over the jewelry counter.
Speaker:Snatching a cardboard package of blown glass ornaments off the shelf,
Speaker:Jacq tugged one free
Speaker:and hurled it like a fastball at a lynx drawing a semiautomatic pistol from his holster. “Gah!” There was a tremendous clink as the colorful ball exploded against his muzzle,
Speaker:leaving his cheeks studded with turquoise shards of glass.
Speaker:Grabbing a candy cane as long as a yardstick,
Speaker:Jacq wrapped the crook around the lynx’s ankle
Speaker:and sent him sprawling.
Speaker:“You will not disabuse me of my desire for a bargain!”
Speaker:Rolling behind a nutcracker worthy of a Tchaikovsky score,
Speaker:Jacq used the hardwood barrier to stop the bullets fired from the tiger’s underpowered FN 1906 handgun.
Speaker:The blue jay tore the figure’s sword free as he was pelted with splinters from a projectile
Speaker:that tore through the nutcracker’s shoulder
Speaker:much too close for comfort.
Speaker:Though he was skilled with edged weapons,
Speaker:Jacq elected not to showboat as the tiger smashed through a display of sterling silver menorahs to reach him.
Speaker:Once in range, Jacq hurled the sword like an Olympic javelin
Speaker:straight at the stripes crisscrossing his chest.
Speaker:“Putain!” Jacq’s aim was off,
Speaker:sending the sword wide so that it pierced the meat of the tiger’s shoulder.
Speaker:Pistol clattering to the floor,
Speaker:the henchman managed to wrap his paw around the blood-spattered handle
Speaker:just before Jacq
Speaker:knocked him flat with a hefty candlestick.
Speaker:“Only two goons? You’re getting sloppy, LaVache!”
Speaker:“That was merely the first window of the advent calendar!
Speaker:A mere amuse-bouche if you will.”
Speaker:Clapping her black-spotted paws together,
Speaker:LaVache summoned four more goons, each bearing a Thompson submachine gun.
Speaker:Jacq threw himself down
Speaker:as the ladies’ perfume section around him exploded into an olfactory cacophony.
Speaker:The overpowering mélange of musk and floral odors
Speaker:smelled exactly like the wolverine nun
Speaker:who disciplined the pupils during his time in école élémentaire.
Speaker:Just like he’d done during the worst of the fighting at the Somme,
Speaker:Jacq crawled infantry-like on his forearms and knees
Speaker:as the roar of automatic weapons buzzed in his ears. “Quel bordel,” he muttered under his breath.
Speaker:There was a blessed pause as the goons stopped to reload.
Speaker:Seizing the opportunity, Jacq hurled himself behind the jewelry counter.
Speaker:Using the reflection off the polished glass to spot his target
Speaker:—a musk deer positioned behind a mannequin in a pinstriped
Speaker:suit—Jacq emptied his Modèle 1892 revolver’s cylinder
Speaker:in the goon’s direction. Rat
Speaker:-tat-tat! The musk deer toppled over into the mannequin, sending his companions scrambling for better cover.
Speaker:Fishing a gold 100-franc coin from the inner pocket of his suit jacket,
Speaker:Jacq slapped it down on the counter before snatching the cigar holder free.
Speaker:“Get him, you idiots!”
Speaker:The Countess gestured with a crystal-tipped rod
Speaker:as Jacq used a speed loader
Speaker:to refill his revolver.
Speaker:Snapping the cylinder back into place, he laid down covering fire
Speaker:as he retreated toward the winding Père Noël’s Wonderland.
Speaker:Artificial snow drifts provided him with abundant cover
Speaker:as he scrambled past twinkling fairy lights
Speaker:and garlands of holly.
Speaker:“He’s getting away!”
Speaker:“Did you really think you could corner the great Inspecteur LeBleu!?”
Speaker:Strategically shooting out the incandescent wrought iron street lamps
Speaker:that lined the avenue leading to Père Noël’s throne,
Speaker:the blue jay drew his collar up to conceal his plumage
Speaker:as he blended into the shadows.
Speaker:“Over here, stupide!”
Speaker:Jacq called, throwing his voice to seem as though he were deep inside the maze.
Speaker:Pressing himself up against a faux gingerbread house with papier-mâché icing
Speaker:embellishing the walls,
Speaker:Jacq let the goons jog past him
Speaker:before slinking toward the side fire exit.
Speaker:Using the butt of his revolver,
Speaker:the blue jay smashed the chain lock with a sharp crack
Speaker:before charging out
Speaker:into the frosty Parisian night.
Speaker:Taking a furtive look back into the department store,
Speaker:Jacq started off toward the nearest police callbox to report the incident.
Speaker:Although Countess LaVache would undoubtedly have left Atkinsons by the time backup arrived,
Speaker:he could at least add to the list of charges against her.
Speaker:“Jacq? What the hell are you doing out here?”
Speaker:As an icy blast ruffled Jacq’s feathers,
Speaker:a Soviet-made ZIL-107 sedan screeched to a halt beside him.
Speaker:Rather unexpectedly,
Speaker:it was Misha who threw open the rear suicide door.
Speaker:Jacq took the otter’s paw
Speaker:and slipped into the luxurious leather interior with a muted squeak.
Speaker:“Up to a bit of late-night shopping, perhaps?”
Speaker:“Oh, it’s nothing too exciting.”
Speaker:A piece of spent brass dropped onto the lambswool carpet
Speaker:while Jacq dusted his trench coat off.
Speaker:Misha cocked an eyebrow
Speaker:as Jacq casually slipped the gift deeper inside his jacket.
Speaker:“But I think I’ve just found the
Speaker:perfect Christmas gift for you…”
Speaker:“I can’t say,” the equine charmer sounded unsure,
Speaker:“as I see anything bitter in that at all.
Speaker:Fun, sure, and very definitely of the season, but as far as the little
Speaker:contest goes…”
Speaker:“Well,” shrugged the fireside companion,
Speaker:“I don’t find I have much taste for bitter.
Speaker:Or for contests. Howabout we say I recuse myself?”
Speaker:For a moment there was no sound but the crackling of logs.
Speaker:Then one by one—the astronaut, the alleycat, the tradeswolf, all the rest
Speaker:—all recused themselves and their stories from competition as well,
Speaker:till it was unanimous.
Speaker:Which, after all, everything deserves a chance to be unanimous at least once in a while.
Speaker:Usually, of course, the storytellers would vanish,
Speaker:as mysteriously as they had come,
Speaker:once the stories were exchanged.
Speaker:But this was a special occasion.
Speaker:So there were more drinks,
Speaker:and more stories,
Speaker:and news exchanged of absent friends and the doings of multitudinous worlds
Speaker:that touched only at these firesides.
Speaker:And of course it wouldn’t be a holiday without songs.
Speaker:When the plan’s fallen through, /
Speaker:and all hope’s fallen too,
Speaker:/ and the rent’ll be due on a desperate age Injustice systemic / and fearful polemic / in times of pandemic when futile wars wage.
Speaker:Is it too much to ask /
Speaker:when I put on my mask, /
Speaker:or my headphones, to bask
Speaker:in the worlds that could be
Speaker:That just for a moment /
Speaker:I may feel at home at / the fireside,
Speaker:alone but together with thee? The voices, together, seemed something transcendent and ecstatic,
Speaker:something eternal,
Speaker:something outside the world and free of it.
Speaker:Seemed something not wholly real:
Speaker:or perhaps, real in a different way than things like matter
Speaker:and energy, than like stoplights and bills and plumbing, are real.
Speaker:But that is perhaps not so extraordinary.
Speaker:Could not the same be said of any two or more voices, raised together in song?
Speaker:So let us all near be, / if only in theory: / the voice that we hear, the companions we hold Even as the song concluded,
Speaker:voices began vanishing,
Speaker:one by one. And long may we dwell here
Speaker:The tradeswolf, the stallion, the veteran…
Speaker:the moment one’s eyes were not on them,
Speaker:they were gone, propelled on their next journey by the harmony behind them
Speaker:like wind in a tall ship’s sails. And all will be well here The astronaut spread his powdery wings,
Speaker:the dragonfox his scaly ones.
Speaker:or so I’ve heard tell, here
Speaker:The LED blue of the alleycat’s eyes was visible a split second longer
Speaker:than she herself.
Speaker:where stories are told.
Speaker:Finished the voice
Speaker:of a dog. After a moment there was a thump from the direction of the front door.
Speaker:“Not gone yet?” the fireside companion turned. “Well,” the werewolf hitchhiker wrestled with the laces of a pair of heavily insulated boots,
Speaker:“these things take a while to put on.
Speaker:It’s cold out there, after all.”
Speaker:It was, the fireside companion agreed,
Speaker:indeed cold out there.
Speaker:“Thanks for reassuring the new guy,”
Speaker:the werewolf looked out into the night.
Speaker:The stars had withdrawn,
Speaker:and the kind of soft, gentle, relentless snowfall
Speaker:—the kind that emanates its own unique kind of holy silence
Speaker:—had taken their place.
Speaker:“I guess I get a little…
Speaker:caught up in the journey, sometimes.
Speaker:It’s good to know there’s someone watching his back.”
Speaker:“And yours!” “Fine,” the hitchhiker sighed through his nose.
Speaker:“And mine.” “Isn’t that the whole point,”
Speaker:the fireside companion raised a quizzical ear,
Speaker:“of these sorts of meetings?”
Speaker:“That’s more’n I’d know,”
Speaker:the werewolf admitted,
Speaker:“maybe I’ll have found out by the next one, though.
Speaker:Anyway, I’ve got a ride
Speaker:to catch! Take care of yourself!”
Speaker:“Happy holidays!” The fireside companion stood in the open, lighted doorway
Speaker:and watched his last guest strike out into the winter.
Speaker:After a moment there was only a trail of footprints,
Speaker:that stopped abruptly in the middle of the road,
Speaker:slowly filling with fresh snowfall.
Speaker:And at last the dog shut his door for the night.
Speaker:He unplugged the tree,
Speaker:took dirty dishes to the kitchen,
Speaker:and knocked apart the fire.
Speaker:The room went dark as the flames,
Speaker:denied the heat of mutual closeness, guttered out.
Speaker:And then he set aside the poker to go to bed.
Speaker:But he left an ember or two banked, and glowing. There’d
Speaker:always be another fire,
Speaker:another time. This was “Fireside Meeting After the Holiday Feast”
Speaker:Part 2 of 2. Contributed stories were
Speaker:“We Traverse Afar”
Speaker:by “Rob Macwolf,” read by Solomon Harries,
Speaker:the Cuddly Badger Dad.
Speaker:“Snow” by K.C. Shaw,
Speaker:who hosts Strange Animals Podcast when she’s not writing,
Speaker:read by Leuna, your internet half-creature.
Speaker:“Dash Away” by Frances Pauli,
Speaker:who writes the Kelpies Forever series,
Speaker:read by Dralen, the Dapper Dragonfox.
Speaker:And “Christmas Shopping at Atkinsons”
Speaker:by Thomas “Faux” Steele,
Speaker:an attorney with a passion for short fiction,
Speaker:read by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.
Speaker:You can find more stories on the web
Speaker:at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker:Happy Holidays, and Thank you
Speaker:for listening to The Voice of Dog
