Sorry for the wait.
I've had more important things to do besides writing fanfiction. Sob. ;.;
Anyway, the beginning of this (in italics) is a flashback-type thing. I'll try to put one before each chapter until the memory is done.
Btw, i'm pretty sure a young male steef would be called a stag, but i'm not sure.
---Chapter 25---
The air was cool and damp up in the Wampus Mountain Chain. The mountains were always cold, steamy and dark here; sunlight rarely penetrated the thick clouds and even thicker pine needle leaves.
A large group of steef sat around a fire as the evening drew to a close. They were seperated from the rest of the village by a thick belt of fir trees; they were students with their teacher, four years into their training to become steef Guardians.
Their teacher was engaged in an important lecture on how to avoid steef hunters, which none of the students were actually paying attention to. Their teacher was an old, grizzled male by the name of Shandock. He had wiry, greying fur and hard silver eyes. His assistant was a short, chubby female steef named Siba who had an exessive-compulsive desire to keep everything perfect all the time.
"Now if they catch you," Shandock continued, making motions with his hands for added emphasis, "Don't struggle. Wait until they think you've given up, then run. Don't fight, run! If they catch you they'll-"
"We know!" A rebellious young stag from across the fire yawned. "They'll chop off our heads and stick em' on a wall, we've heard it before."
Shandock stiffened visibly, his eyes blazing with hate. "Oh, you've heard it before, have you?" He snapped, standing up. Siba looked startled.
"Shandock, its not a good idea to-"
"Quiet!" He snarled, rounding on his assistant. She looked shocked and hurt. "They need to know this."
He paced around the fire, slowly approaching his students.
"So they'll cut off your head. But do you know what they do with the rest of you? Do you?!"
He reared up on his hind legs and kicked the ground, sending dirt flying in all directions. His students jumped back, startled by his sudden outburst.
"They'll skin you and make your fur into rugs. They'll chop up your liver and make it into canned soup! They'll take your left over skin and make it into steef jerky...
"Shandock, stop!" Siba demanded. Shandock, however, didn't stop.
"They'll grind up your hooves and make them into glue. They'll take your bones and polish them into ivory for spoon handles and expensive figurines. And if you're extra lucky they'll boil your fat and make it into candle wax! Do you want that? Do you?!"
"SHANDOCK!" Siba roared, standing up. She no longer looked fat and innocent; she looked bulky and threataning, 200 pounds of muscle and bone. "There's no need to fill their head with this... this... nonsense!"
They didn't know it, but somebody else had heard their conversation; a young, darkly furred little fellow with bright amber eyes. He backed away in horror, trembling at what he had just heard. He bumped into something behind him, swung around, and screamed.
"Cyren!" A voice boomed, grabbing him in a headlock. He wailed in horror as the steef dove her knuckles into his head, giving him a noogie.
"Asio! Stop it!" He cried. The steef around the fire saw him and laughed at his foolishness.
"What were you doing here?" The steef demanded, dropping him. He stared up at her, his eyes full of fear. She was tall and heavily muscled, and looked as though she would've been beautiful if it weren't for her tough, bulky body. Her russet-brown hair was cut to a boyish length, and she had a crystal stud piercing on her bottom lip. She was one of Shandock's former students, and one of the handful of female steef he had trained.
"Well?"
Cyren sniffled. "I was just exploring. Really!"
Asio grabbed him by the sholder and pulled him up. "You shouldn't listen in on their conversation. And besides, you shouldin't be up this late. Mom'll kill you if she finds out you were here by yourself."
"Dont' tell her, Asio!" He pleaded. "I won't do it again."
Asio scooped him up easily and placed him on her sholder. "I won't tell her. But if she asks where you were, you have to tell her."
She bolted into the forest with long, easy strides. Cyren watched the trees flash by as she ran, melting into one massive, dark blur.
"Is what Shandock said true?" Cyren asked. "Do they make us into glue sometimes?"
Asio sighed and skidded to a hault as she caught sight of the village up ahead.
"Its not important," She said, setting him down and ruffling his fur. The phrase 'its not important' was commonly used in their family, and pretty much meant 'I don't want to explain because you won't like what you'll hear.'
"Now get back to the village. I have to return to the lesson."
She smiled down at him in a sisterly manner before vanishing back into the forest. Cyren walked back to his family's hut, contemplating what he had heard.
-----
Willie tapped his foot impatently, surveying his gang. Half of them were sitting, exhausted from standing in the summer sun. The other half were eagerly loading their weapons and talking about what they would do with their share of the money from the steef heads.
Bo had been little help; he always complained, was lost easily, and was terrified of the chugglers leisurely drifting by the wetland shore. Willie would have to kill him later to ensure he got most the loot.
He checked his watch.
"Time's up!" He roared at the fortress. "Hand over the steef or we'll get them ourselves! We don't show mercy and we don't take prisoners!"
A grubb's head quickly appeared over the walltops. It called down at them:
"Okay! We're coming out now! Don't shoot!"
Willie chuckled; hell, this was easier than he thought it would be!
"Just give us another minute or two... please." The grubb finished. Willie shrugged.
"Hurry up, then! I'm losin' my patience."
-----
Mola looked down at the cloth bag held limply in his hand. It thrashed wildly as its contents struggled to escape, causing Mola to flinch.
"Do I have to?" Mola asked pleadingly, staring up at Charlotte with wide, blue eyes. Charlotte nodded.
"Stop complaining. It could be worse... you could have to... erm..." Her voice trailed off as she realised that it was impossible for Mola to be in any more danger than he already was. Mola wimpered, his bottom lip twitching. Charlotte grabbed his head and turned him around.
"Stop staring at me like that!" She demanded. "There's nothing I can do! Besides, you're not being cute, you're being creepy."
"Okay!" Ophelia said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They don't suspect anything. Go now!"
Mola groaned loudly, tied the bag around his waist for safe keeping, and ran towards the wall. He crawled through a small hole in its corner and vanished into the small forest by the side of the wetland.
Ophelia clambored up onto the walltops and poked her head over the wall. "One more moment," She said cheerily, ducking down before they could reply, She motioned for her grubbs to come. The grubbs stood in a tight arrow formation behind the gate, their eyes wide and their sholder's tense. Charlotte loaded her rifle and sighed.
"Hurry up, Mola!" She muttered angrily to herself.
Minutes passed. Willie was becoming more and more agitated, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. Charlotte could tell that he needed all the self-control in his body to keep from destroying the fortress right there and then.
Finally Charlotte spotted a small shape running towards the group of outlaws as fast as it could. She sighed when she realised it was Mola.
Mola skidded to a hault about twenty yards from the outlaws. They turned and started at him, looking confused, but not worried. One lone grubb wasn't a threat to them. Mola waved frantically at Charlotte (who waved half-heartedly back) and untied the bag from around his waist. He threw it, but it fell short of his target. Grumbing angrily, Mola ran over, picked up the bag, threw it again, and took off in the opposite direction.
A curious outlaw Nailer stepped up to the bag and kicked it. It flip-flopped over itself and rattled noisily to a hault. The nailer shrugged, bent down, and tore open the bag, chuckling to himself about how ridiculous grubbs could be.
His critisism soon gave way to steady screams as a horde of angry stingbees filled the air, enraged from being kicked around in a bag. They swarmed the banks of the river, attacking everything they could sink their stingers into. Outlaws ran around, roaring in terror as the onslaught continued. Two of them collapsed in the dirt, dead and covered in large red welts. Others fainted from loss of blood and swollen wounds all over their bodies.
"Get that grubb!" Somebody roared. Half the gang took off after Mola, who was screaming and flailing his arms as though he were on fire.
"Its just a buncha stingbees!" Willie roared, knocking an outlaw flat with his rocket launcher. "Stop bein' such babies!"
As if on cue a stingbee shot forward and dug its stinger in his foot, causing him to yelp. "Ouch! Dammit!" He cursed. "That it, grubbs! I'm blowin' this place to da ground! You had your chance!"
He turned to his crew. Half of them were gone, still chasing Mola, who had long since vanished into the abandoned Clakker mines. Willie roared death threats and a much longer string of profanity as they followed Mola away.