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TigerTails Radio Season 12 Episode 51 Join the Discord Chat: https://discord.gg/SQ5QuRf For a full preview of events and for previous episodes, please visit http://www.tigertailsradio.co.uk. See website for full breakdown of song credits, which is usually updated shortly after the show. Some music provided by https://audiograb.com/u/XimerTracks Some music provided by http://spoti.fi/NCS Backing music by Sanxion7.

Check out this furry adventure game.…

In a futuristic “light cyberpunk” world where animals have replaced humans, privileged citizens live under a dome protected from the ambient pollution while others struggle to make a living outside. Brok, a private detective and former boxer, lives with Graff, the son of his deceased wife. Although he could never elucidate her accident, recent events may shed some light on an even more tragic outcome… one that may be linked to their own existence.

Will they be able to withstand the threats of this corrupted world and face their own destiny?

 

When Classic Adventure meets Beat ’em Up! Coming 2021 on PC + current and new gen consoles. Play the free prologue! BROK the InvestiGator Prologue

BROK the InvestiGator

F3, or the Furry Film Festival recently announced the dates for their virtual screening event slated to be held on 19 December. This year, YouTuber Majira Strawberry, filmmaker Ash Coyote and Twitch streamer Kiit Lock will be in attendance at the judge panel. There will be a total of five awards presented compared to last […]

It’s been 10 months since the WHO declared the coronavirus a public health emergency, and so far almost a hundred furcons globally have announced postponement until 2021. They have been faced with many challenges due to the virus, and recently because of it one furcon announced closure. FA: United, a furcon based in the US […]

We were looking for something else, and we came across this completely by accident! Hidden Dragon is a new animated feature film that’s due this year, according to the IMDB page. We don’t know much about it, but the production crew names are mostly Chinese while the voice actor names are mostly western, so it’s an international production. “In a magical undersea world where dragons rule and humans are feared, a naive young dragon forms an uneasy alliance with the sea’s greatest enemy – a human girl.” We don’t know if they’ll successfully get it out this year, but it should be coming soon.

image c. 2020 Magic Hill Animation

MOOBARKFLUFF! Click here to send us a comment or message about the show!

Quoise Raccoon joins us this week to discuss many things in an orderly but random manner!  We have way too much fun with cheese puns, talk a bit about VR for cons and hugs, do some fast food follow-up, and just what IS Onomatopoeia? Bearly and Taebyn look forward to your joining them. 

Support the show

Thanks to all our listeners and to our staff: Bearly Normal, Rayne Raccoon, Taebyn, Cheetaro, TickTock, and Ziggy the Meme Weasel.

You can send us a message on Telegram at BFFT Chat, or via email at: bearlyfurcasting@gmail.com

Bearly Furcasting #32 - Quoise Raccoon, Too Much Cheese, Math

Papabear,

IHey! I'm back and with a question, does it matter if i have for instance: a non- binary sona, or a trans one? - even tho I'm cisgender, does it change anything, i wanna stay christian, but its just a fursona! right? ?? (no offense to anyone lgbtq, i support you.)

Lacra (age 11)

* * *

Dear Lacra,

Fursonas are a way of expressing yourself and/or experimenting with different identities. Sometimes, fursonas express who we would like to be in an ideal world; sometimes, they express who we really are but are afraid to be or are too shy to express; sometimes, they are a way to experiment with other identities of all types. I've known furries who are male but their fursona is female (and vice versa), and furries who are straight might explore being bi or gay in their fursona.

Fursonas are just playful ways to experiment and explore and rejoice in being you or to take a break from being you. Oh, and you can be Christian no matter what your gender or sexuality, so don't worry about that. Anyone who says you can't has not listened to what Jesus really said.

Create a fursona who is whatever you like them to be. That's the fun of being in this fandom. And while you do that, your fursona might surprise you and teach you things about yourself you didn't know or want to admit.

Be what you wanna be, dear. And have fun with it!

Hugs,
Papabear

I’m not crying, you’re crying.  I’ve only been to one MFF last year and I miss it so much this weekend.

Lets hope next year gets better.  In the meantime you can visit this hotel in VR:

https://vrchat.com/i/lexi-likemazen-43bdd

 

MFF: I miss you all (2020)

A cute bug themed thesis film from Cynthia Dávila-Chase.

A ladybug crosses a street. A short film I completed shortly after finishing my thesis at the Laguna College of Art and Design in roughly two weeks.

Punch Buggy

Heya! Anyone know of a good Usenet/AFF archive, other than Google Groups? Internet Archive https://archive.org/download/usenet-alt/alt.fan.furry.mbox.zip/alt.fan.furry.mbox only goes back till 2000. btw im doing this for a little project.

We stumbled across this announcement from Deadline: Back To The Outback, a new animated feature due from Netflix in 2021. “In the movie, tired of being locked in a reptile house where humans gawk at them like they’re monsters, a ragtag group of Australia’s deadliest creatures plot a daring escape from their zoo to the Outback, a place where they’ll fit in without being judged for their scales and fangs. Leading the group is Maddie (Isla Fisher), a poisonous snake with a heart of gold, who bands together with a self-assured Thorny Devil lizard Zoe (Miranda Tapsell), a lovelorn hairy spider Frank (Guy Pearce), and a sensitive scorpion Nigel (Angus Imrie). But when their nemesis — Pretty Boy (Tim Minchin), a cute but obnoxious koala — unexpectedly joins their escape, Maddie and the gang have no choice but to take him with them.” Hmm… sounds a bit like an Australian version of Disney’s The Wild — remember that one? Anyway, we’ll know more when Reel FX brings us the film next fall. (Can’t help wondering if some of this is about making up to Tim Minchin for his aborted film Larrikins.)

image c. 2020 Netflix

Ok, this honestly made me laugh out loud.

Godzilla vs Kong is a full CGI best animated shortfilm – parody of classic action movies and their stereotypes. We love Kaiju monstes and Kvg is a tribute to the monsterverse ( with some humor ). This is an independent short-film made without a budget, brought to you buy HUPE!animation. If you liked KVG, this is the another monster shortfilm, from the same director.

Godzilla vs Kong 2020

Hello there FWG members, it’s time for another monthly newsletter! Let’s get right down to business, shall we?

Usually, I save the part where I directly talk to you all until the end but we’re switching things up this month. I don’t want to talk about money, but I’ve got to bring it up. It isn’t free to keep the guild running. We are moving to becoming a 501©(3) and between running a convention and the Cóyotl Awards costs add up. Plus we have web hosting and a new logo… You get the picture.

The guild has never made mandatory dues and does not have plans to do so in the future. However, the guild keeps going thanks to donations from our members. A lot of you enjoyed Oxfurred Comma and the guild having more activity this year, and hope you will consider showing some support if able (2020 has been a hard year, we all know it).

If you can, please consider donating to the guild. We accept donations on paypal.

That’s all from me folks, we’ll show off the open markets and such as usual but until next time, stay safe, stay well, and I’ll see you next month. 

– FWG President Linnea Capps

Pre-Orders This Month:

• Dude, Where’s My Pack? from FurPlanet

Remember to submit to our Promotion Tip Line to have your books included in this section.

You can find all of the open markets for furry writing in our Furry Writers’ Market! Currently, these markets are open:

• The Howling Dead (Deadline: December 15th, 2020)
• Can You See Us Now? (Deadline: January 1st, 2020)
• Difursity 2 (Deadline: January 1st, 2020)
• iPawd – A Furry Music Anthology (Deadline January 10th, 2021)
• Beast Volume 1 (Deadline: March 1st 2021)
• Fur-Miliar Spaces (Deadline: March 15th)
• The Fox Spirit Book Of… Love (Deadline Unlisted)
• #ohmurr (Deadlines Ongoing)

From the graphic novel by Cornelia Funke (Inkheart,Ghosthunters) comes a movie that is nothing like How to Train Your Dragon…. I’m sure.

….Please ignore the title font.

Firedrake, the young silver dragon, has had enough of constantly having to hide in a wooded valley. He wants to show the older generation that he is a real dragon. When humans are about to destroy his family’s very last refuge, Firedrake secretly sets off on an adventurous journey with forest brownie Sorrel. He wants to find the “Rim of Heaven”, the dragons’ mysterious haven. On their quest Firedrake and Sorrel encounter Ben, an orphan and stray, who claims to be a dragon rider. While Ben and Firedrake make friends quickly, Sorrel becomes increasingly distrustful and tries to get rid of the orphan at every opportunity. But the unlikely trio have to learn to pull together, because they are being hunted by Nettlebrand. The evil, dragon-eating monster was created by an alchemist with the aim of tracking down and destroying every dragon on Earth…

Trailer: Dragon Rider

I had my suspicions from the title that this book was going to be kinky--and it was--but I knew after reading the first chapter that there was going to be so much more to it. This isn’t to say writing kinky stuff is a bad thing. In fact, I quite enjoyed the interactions between Will the dalmatian and Anne, his mistress. They were fun, mysterious, and daringly beautiful. Being with Anne served as a striking contrast to his stressful job as a fireman, where every call may be the last, especially in a city that’s losing its sanity.

“Fire Branded Leather” by F. Gibbs is about Will, a dalmatian who works as a fireman in V-town, one of the last cities remaining after the Cataclysm. With his best friend Davies, a cougar, he stands as second-in-command beneath a verbally abusive bull by the name of Masterson. After a day of getting yelled at for not following the government’s new orders, Will goes home and responds to a personal ad from a lady in her mid-thirties. One date leads to another and the two figure out together just how nice it can be to devote yourself to another. This newfound self-confidence gives Will the power he never knew he needed, but is it enough to stand up to Masterson and keep V-town from burning to ashes?

I really enjoyed this story! It was well-written, balanced, and pretty solid. I enjoyed the characters, especially Will and Davies. Will had good character development; Davies was funny. The tone shifted smoothly from depressing to empowering and nothing felt too jarring or out of place. Moments of action felt exhilarating and moments of vulnerability felt a little uncomfortable and awkward, like they should. It was entertaining from beginning to end, but there were some slightly confusing things.

First, Anne. Don’t get me wrong, she’s supposed to be a mysterious character who lives by her own rules, but there are a few points in the story where she does “things” to Will that make him “better.” These “things” are never explicitly stated, which leads to my confusion. Normally I’d cast them aside as just side effects of devoting yourself to someone else, but these were things that changed Will physically. One example of this is his endurance. Before meeting Anne he has limits: he can’t run that fast for too long, and he can’t breathe in too much smokey air before becoming fatigued. After Anne does something to him, he suddenly can? These weird things didn’t distract from the story all that much, but they did linger in my mind for quite some time. I simply chalked it up to the newfound self-confidence he got from Anne, which works because (spoilers) it also gives him the inner strength to stand up to Masterson. I would have just liked them to be a little more clear.

Second, the world confuses me a little bit. The Cataclysm is mentioned a few times and serves as an anchoring point in the city’s history, but I never fully understand its effects. A story doesn’t need to dive into every aspect of worldbuilding, but I was confused on why there wasn’t more about the history because it seemed like the anti-human riots that were going on were an indirect result of whatever the Cataclysm was. This left a bit of a hole in my understanding of the world, especially because a big part of Will’s motives in the story came from his mother being human. What little information I have about the Cataclysm makes me think that humans had something to do with it. Additionally, Anne mentions time and time again that this world isn’t ready for something. It’s a good thing to say if you’re trying to be ominous, but it just seemed like there was more that could have been said. With all that being said, it didn’t distract from the story too much.

Though there were some things about the story that were ominous or confusing, it was really easy to take in the world as it is. Not only that, but the way F. Gibbs uses the strengths and weaknesses of certain animal species is really fun to read about. I love the imagery of a fireman cat scaling a wall, or horses pulling the fire carriages. Had no idea what the fox character was doing there, but maybe I’m just supposed to come up with my own interpretation…?

This book would appeal to adults who are curious or open to the idea of anthropomorphic animals and/or sexual kinks. This book isn’t overly explicit or detailed about these moments, but they are in there. More importantly, the effects of these intimate moments are shown throughout the book. So keep an open mind and happy reading.

Fire Branded Leather by F. Gibbs

TigerTails Radio Season 12 Episode 50 Join the Discord Chat: https://discord.gg/SQ5QuRf For a full preview of events and for previous episodes, please visit http://www.tigertailsradio.co.uk. See website for full breakdown of song credits, which is usually updated shortly after the show. Some music provided by https://audiograb.com/u/XimerTracks Some music provided by http://spoti.fi/NCS Backing music by Sanxion7.

Welcome to Issue 9 of Zooscape!

Creativity… expression… transformation…  These are ways to be true to yourself.  Through creativity and expression, discover who you are in the first place, and once you know, hold tight to the truth of yourself, or transform yourself into the the person you’re really meant to be.

All of the stories in this issue are about characters discovering who they are, holding firm to their principles, or finding ways to become who they’re meant to be.

Maybe by reading them, you’ll find a part of yourself.

* * *

The Good Smell by Tim Susman

The White Deer by Ian Madison Keller

Shadowbox on the Tundra by Gretchen Tessmer

Hope, Unrequested and Freely Given by Brent Baldwin

Song of the Raven and Crow by Avra Margariti

The Sleep of Reason by Michael H. Payne

The Dragon Maker by Amy Clare Fontaine

Self-Expression by R. C. Capasso

Travelling Along the River Bend by Lena Ng

* * *

As always, if you want to support Zooscape, we have a Patreon.  And we continue to be open for submissions!

by Lena Ng

“Such an afternoon is perfect for writing.  The warm air, the relaxing breeze, the sunlight itself puts me in a creative mood.”

The sun bathed the river with its glow.  The water glinted back in merriment, flirting and winking to all that it encountered.  Time slowed and breathed, it meditated and did not hurry the hours away, but flowed onward as the river itself.  The reeds bent in the lilting breeze, murmuring sweet conversations and delicious secrets to their companions.  The larks sang intricate melodies, their joyous hearts shaping the lyrics.  The lavender air refreshed the spirit and was moderate in its mood.

The brown ferret, a furry poet, lay back on the dory and dragged his paw in the clear, reflecting water.  He had been writing since he had learned how to write and had formulated some ideas on how the process worked, how to bridge the immense gulf between thought and communication, and how to avoid falling into an abyss.  His sharp face held inquisitive, good-natured eyes, a pointed, wet nose, and a mouth turned upwards at its corners. Small dimples dotted the plumpness of his cheeks whenever he smiled, which was often.

“Inspiration,” he said, “it is here all around us.”  He licked the end of his pencil stub and drew spiralling doodles on his notepad.  His stubby tail curled slowly from one side to the other.

His fat companion, the marmot, more dreamer than writer, nodded in agreement.

Ferret continued.  “Have you ever seen such a pleasant afternoon?  Such an afternoon is perfect for writing.  The warm air, the relaxing breeze, the sunlight itself puts me in a creative mood.”

Ferret’s doodles took the shape of a cupcake with a cloud of icing and a cherry at its peak, one that he looked forward to having at his tea.  He twirled his whiskers and batted away a curious dragonfly, its iridescent wings shining green and gold.

The marmot again nodded, though more from nodding off in the afternoon sun than in agreement.  His chin rested on his ample belly and his breathing whistled a little between his teeth.

“I say, Marmot,” said Ferret.  “Are you listening to anything I’ve just said?  This is important if you want to become a writer.”

“What, what?” said Marmot, sputtering a little, startled but trying not look like he had been caught off-guard.  His ears perked upwards and he struggled to focus his eyes, although they were naturally a little crossed.

“I said,” said Ferret, a little bit louder.  “Oh, never mind.”

Marmot blinked twice then yawned, stretching his arms out.  His stomach gurgled.  “Can we talk about this after we’ve had our tea?  I can’t concentrate on an empty stomach.”  He straightened his waistcoat which, judging from its tightness, could not have guessed that his stomach was ever empty, and patted the carved wooden buttons.

“Well,” Ferret began, a reluctant note in his voice.  “I wanted to start on the outline of a story.  The one I was telling you about earlier about the tulips and nightingale and—–”

Marmot’s gurgling stomach interrupted him.  His eyes glazed and drifted, as though he were thinking of steak pies on parade.

“Alright,” conceded Ferret.  “Though after tea, I really must put some work in.”

“Of course,” said Marmot, now fully awake and ready to agree to anything.  He seized the oars and steered the dory towards the river bank.  He docked the boat and with a surprising nimbleness for one his size, jumped from the boat onto the land.   The boat rocked dangerously.  Ferret gripped the sides of the dory and shifted his weight to avoid tipping over.

“Hold on there,” said Ferret.  “Watch what you are doing!”

Marmot was oblivious to anything but his stomach.  “Do you think that I’ve brought enough food?  I would hate for us to be hungry.”  He leaned over into the boat, gripped the handles of the picnic basket and, using the strength of his legs to push his weight backwards, hauled the basket onto the shore.  The picnic basket, a large brown wicker almost the size of Marmot himself, was packed full.

“Oh!” said Marmot, landing on his rump.  He rubbed his hands together and his eyes twinkled.  With reverence and heightened anticipation, Marmot opened the lid.  He took a moment to feast his eyes on the delicacies held within while a dreamy smile alit his face.  He pulled out a red and white checked tablecloth and unfolded it.  He settled himself onto its middle.  He stuck his head into the basket.

“Shall we start with the savouries or the sweets?” said Marmot, nose so deep in the basket it were as if the basket had grown two legs and a tail.  “For savouries, we have bread with lots of butter, small steak and kidney pies, pickles, smoked salmon, sharp cheddar, and stuffed olives.  For sweets, there are apricot, blueberry, and strawberry preserves, cherry cupcakes, melon cubes, rose-water infused macaroons, orange scones with heavy cream and petit fours.”

Marmot took out each of the dishes from the basket.  Ferret stepped out of the boat and sat on the edge of the blanket since after the food was laid out, there was not much room remaining.  Out came the ivory bone china, the crystal flutes with twisting, delicate stems, the silver-plated utensils with vine scrolls on the handles, along with the beverages, the sparkling rose wine, the fresh peach juice and pink lemonade.

“So many delicious things, I don’t know where to start,” said Ferret, eyes overlooking the meal.  A robin tilted its head at him and hopped a few steps, as if to help him to decide.

“Hmmm,” said Marmot, mouth already full of jam and bread.  They tucked in, each having a little bit of everything, then repeating in case that they had missed anything.  They ate in companionable silence.  They could not have wanted anything more in life but the good food in front of them, in the company of a good friend, and the simple pleasure of a sunny afternoon.

After they had finished eating, Marmot poured sweetened tea from a large, battered thermos into the delicate china.  Ferret sighed and stretched out onto the blanket.

“I must get some work done. Let me go over my notes.”  Ferret ruffled though the leaves of his notepad, dismayed upon finding doodles of cherry-topped cupcakes, strawberries, purple-stemmed Symphyotrichum puniceum, and a crooked-looking weather vane.  He yawned.

Marmot looked up from his tea and sniffed the air.  “Rain’s coming.  Tomorrow smells like it will bring a thunderstorm.”

“Good,” said Ferret, decisively.  “Rainy weather is perfect for writing.  No other distractions.”

With that, he put down his notepad, turned over onto his stomach, and closed his eyes for a nap.

 

* * *

Originally published in ARTPOST Magazine.

About the Author

Lena Ng dwells in Toronto, Ontario. She tiptoes at night so no one knows she’s awake. She has short stories in four dozen publications including Amazing Stories, from Australia, Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom. “Under an Autumn Moon” is her short story collection. She is currently seeking a publisher for her novel, Darkness Beckons, a Gothic romance.

by R. C. Capasso

“Oh yes, everyone would see it.”

Arnold stood back, his chest heaving. “There. That’s it. Finished.” The rising sun cast soft light over his night’s work.

His mother tried to be supportive.  “The individual pieces are beautifully constructed.”

“And?”

His expectancy made her throat constrict. “It’s just… ”

“Say it.”

Her voice was low. “They don’t connect. The gaps… ”

He nodded. “Exactly!”

She took a breath. Without meaning to, she dug all four paws into the leaf-strewn bank. “The water runs right through.”

His beautiful large teeth gleamed as he smiled. “Completely. The flow is perfect. Unimpeded. The viewer sees it at once.”

Oh yes, everyone would see it. Birds flying overhead. Fish under the surface, slipping around the odd shadows where there should have been one large solid block and a lovely pond. Their fellow beavers… She would have to avoid her friends for a bit, but what were friends compared to her son?

His breath came fast. “You get it. Don’t you? The commentary on the meaning of our lives? We think we build solidly. We think we’re in control. But actually Life and The Truth slide past our feeble piles of sticks.”

Her eyes moved from one small mound to another. Five little disconnected damlets, none of them doing their job. “I suppose the committee… ”

Arnold rose on his back paws, swaying a moment, the sleek fur on his belly glistening from his last plunge into the stream. “It’s what I promised them, and more. Two clusters more than I’d sketched in my proposal. This will be the making of me. More grants, maybe a fellowship.”

He squinted against the sun and turned to face the stream, his tail thudding lightly on the ground. “Unless the meaning is too obvious…”

She smiled, her heart warming despite herself. Did it truly matter if she understood? Her son was an artist, and this installation meant so much to him.

Did the stream really need just another ordinary dam?

 

* * *

About the Author

R. C. Capasso has been composing stories since learning to read. R.C. loves animals but has a special affinity for cats and dogs, many of which have shared her life. After a career in education, R.C. devotes time to cooking, writing, travel, and learning languages. Previous stories have appeared in Literally Stories, Bewildering Stories, Long Story Short, and Fiction on the Web.

by Amy Clare Fontaine

“Sometimes her dragons slithered, wingless, into the room, curled up in her lap, and hummed the song of rain on rooftops.”

Griselda made dragons out of words. No one knew how. One moment she’d be hunched over her desk, scribbling furiously, only stopping occasionally to dip her quill or suck on it thoughtfully, her chin lifted and her eyes somewhere else. And the next moment, a blizzard would blast the door and windows open. A beast with icicle wings and a snowdrift tail and eyes like wistful memories of summer would roar into the room, gnashing teeth like sickle blades and thrashing through the walls.

Griselda’s husband Antonio looked on in awe from the door, tendrils of frost in what was not quite a beard, willfully locking his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Antonio learned quickly to shut his mouth and simply watch. If he so much as breathed too loudly, Griselda would gasp and startle, and all at once the winterbeast, the storm, and any damage to the walls, floor, and ceiling would vanish like a dream. So her husband kept silent while she wove her dragons, as silent as he could in the presence of such majesty.

Sometimes her dragons set the room aflame, trailing whirls of desert dust and a seductive, unquenchable thirst. These dragons conjured dunes to be climbed, camel hooves baking on hot sand. Sometimes her dragons slithered, wingless, into the room, curled up in her lap, and hummed the song of rain on rooftops. Sometimes her dragons looked like wolves, all fur and sleek angles and muscle, and their shrill cries were the equal opposite of thunder. They made his ears bleed in the best way.

Always, her dragons were beautiful.

One night, as they sat down to their childless supper, to the scarred oaken table, to half-spoiled chicken and hard bread and ale as thin as water, he asked her the question that marked the beginning of the end.

“Why do you show no one your dragons?”

She covered her mouth in shock. “You saw?” she whispered. Her voice rose to a shout, and she glared at him. “You saw?!”

He did not shrink from her.

“You have a gift, Griselda. I think it should be shared with the world.”

She picked up her fork and waved it threateningly in his direction.

“They are my dragons,” she hissed, steam trickling out from between her teeth. “No one else’s.”

Helplessly, he held up his hands. “All right! If you say so.” She simmered down. “But if you ever wanted to share them,” he continued quietly, “I would support you. Completely.”

She sank back into her seat, her brow furrowed and new shadows under her eyes. “I hope you will support me regardless.”

The remainder of their meal passed in silence.

Griselda started locking the door to her study in the evenings when she went upstairs to work. But now and then, when Antonio passed the door, he heard rumblings, claws clacking on wood. Wisps of steam leaked out from the crack beneath the door. It killed him, until one night he could stand it no longer. Using a simple cantrip he had learned from the old wizard in the marketplace, he picked the lock and flung open the door.

“Griselda!”

He saw nothing unusual. Just his wife, sitting at her desk.

“Hello, Antonio, my love.”

Tears filled her eyes like a looming dragon-storm. When he glanced at the parchment before her, he saw that it was blank.

Antonio sighed. “Griselda, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have intruded.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to forgive.” Rising, she looked into his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should share my dragons.”

Slowly, he crossed the room, taking her hand in his own.

“Are you sure? I hope you aren’t saying this for my sake.”

She smiled, her eyes like wistful memories of summer, and squeezed his hand.

“Not just yours. Ours.”

The next day, she started selling dragons at the market. Antonio made her a stall of cheap wood and a wobbly table on which to write. She sat at the makeshift desk as he roved the market, loudly calling to passersby.

“Ho! You there! For a mere two coppers, my wife will make you a dragon! Any kind of dragon you’d like!”

At first, he was met with narrowed eyes and scornful laughs. But then the first customer, a little girl who had lost her parents, requested a dragon. A teal dragon of forest and sea.

And Griselda began to write.

A teal dragon spiraled down from the sky, smelling of salt and fish and pine trees. It crashed into the girl like a wave and licked her face with its catlike tongue.

The crowd gasped and the girl giggled. People flocked to Griselda’s stall. And the old wizard selling simple cantrips was put out of business forever.

Griselda wrote people dragons. Noble dragons. Cute dragons. Deadly dragons. Wise dragons. Dragons of granite and dragons of gold. Dragons of water whose droplets shivered as they moved. Singing dragons and braying dragons. Dragons as large as houses or as small as kittens. A rainbow, a menagerie, an army of dragons. Each disappeared when Griselda put down her quill, leaving her customers begging for more. They quickly ran out of parchment at their little stall, but the stationer down the street gladly gave them reams more in exchange for a dragon of his own.

By the end of the day, Griselda and Antonio had more money than they had ever seen in their lives. More than enough to buy dinner at a fancy restaurant. Antonio laughed merrily over his mead.

“Dear Griselda! You blew them away!”

Griselda smiled wanly in her brand-new satin dress, gazing toward the bard strumming in the corner.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m glad.”

Antonio’s face fell. “What’s wrong, my love?”

She growled and shook her head, not meeting his eyes.  “Nothing!” she snapped, slamming her fist on the table.

Time stopped for a moment. Then the ambient chatter and music resumed.

“Griselda, please tell me.”

She gazed into his eyes. Her eyes were like barren winter boughs.  “They are not my dragons,” she said, so quietly that she could barely hear herself.

Antonio did not hear. “Come again?”

“They are not my dragons.” She stared into her glass of dark wine. “They are not alive.”

Antonio frowned. “What do you mean, love? They seem more than alive to me!”

She sipped her wine broodingly.  “I give the people what they want. But these dragons are chained. They do not see it. You do not see it. But I do.” Her eyes shone wetly in the candlelight. “My dragons are wild. They appear for me whenever and however they choose. I do not try to control them. If I did, they would abandon me.”

Picking up her fork, she impassively prodded her charbroiled steak.  “Those creatures I made in the market came on command. They are crass and inelegant. Simpering shadows.” She stabbed the meat violently. “They are not dragons. They are whipped nags.”

Antonio watched her lift the forkful of steak, then put it back down on her plate, untouched.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. We don’t have to do it again. We’ll go home tomorrow.”

But that night he sighed contentedly in their palatial hotel room after they made love in a bed fit for royalty. And he turned under the silken sheets and closed his eyes with a happier smile on his face than she had ever seen there. Long after he fell asleep, Griselda stared wide-eyed at the expensive unicorn tapestries on the walls, replaying memories of the day in her mind. His enjoyment of the mead, the meal, the luxurious bedroom, the fine new clothes. She decided then and there to keep chasing shadows.

The next morning, the crowd preceded them to their stall. Griselda continued to write her dragons on demand. Minor flaws in their patterns started to emerge: a torn wing, a missing claw, half a face dissolved into thin air. But the delighted customers hardly noticed. Nor did Antonio.

But then trumpets sounded, and hooves rang across the cobbles, and the crowd parted to let the king himself through the square, with much marching and banner-waving and bugling, pipes and whinnies and drums. Four of the king’s servants set his palanquin down in front of Griselda’s stall, bowed, and stepped back.

The king rose and stood before Griselda. Not a person breathed in the square.

“Griselda Feathersbane,” the king proclaimed.

Griselda slowly bowed, as did Antonio beside her.

“Rise,” the king commanded.

They did.

“Mrs. Feathersbane, every soul in the kingdom has been gossiping about your power.” The king examined Griselda’s rickety stall. “Naturally, I had to come see it for myself.”

Griselda nodded, willing her legs to stop trembling. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The king’s face was serious, his tone formal.  “I order you to make me a dragon encrusted with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds that glint as brightly as the sun, blinding all those unworthy to look upon him. A proud symbol of the wealth and prosperity of our nation.”

Griselda nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I’m not finished.” The king narrowed his eyes. His entourage of servants, soldiers, and performers quivered behind him. “The dragon will be taller than the spires of my castle. His teeth will be as long and as sharp as my sword. He will melt armies with his breath, and he will not disappear. And he will answer to me and me alone.”

The king studied Griselda. “Can you do this?”

Griselda looked into the king’s eyes for a long time, afraid of his gaze but more afraid to look away.  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The crowd murmured. Antonio patted her arm. “You can do this,” he whispered in her ear. He stepped back as she sat down before her parchment. The square fell silent.

Taking a deep breath, she began to write.

At first, no sound emerged but the scritch of her quill on the parchment. No monster spiraled out of the sky.

But then there was a faint, wheezing cough. Then a thousand shrieks and frightened, stumbling footsteps. Griselda stopped writing and looked up. She stared.

An inky, vaguely dragon-shaped creature staggered through the screaming, fleeing crowd toward the king, coughing raspingly. Its legs were stumps. There were just indents where its eyes should have been. Phlegm dribbled from its mouth. Its ribs poked through its sides. It was the size of a dog, and it could not fly.

The king cried out and backed away from the creature, which kept shuffling towards him like a desperate, dying thing. Rasping, coughing, keening.

At last, in a flash of darkness, it was gone.

Everyone stared at the king. At the empty space before the king. At Griselda.

Rising from her chair, Griselda tore her parchment in two and walked away.

* * *

No one knew where Griselda went. After a futile attempt to pacify king and crowd, Antonio raced back to the hotel to find her gone. No note, no information from the man at the front desk. But the earnings from the market were missing. And so was Griselda’s rumpled old dress.

Folks said that Griselda, fearing the wrath of the king, had used her profits to purchase the fastest horse money could buy, a steed with a splash of unicorn blood in its veins. They said she fled to the country, where she changed her name and eked out an existence on some crumbling farm. They said she never spoke another word, too frightened of the monsters that might crawl from her mouth.

Only Griselda knows the truth. That she rented a room of her own in a rundown inn on a dead-end street. That she went upstairs to that room, locked the door, sat down at the dusty desk with a stick of charcoal and a scrap of paper.

And then, alone, she flew.

 

* * *

About the Author

Amy Clare Fontaine is a wildlife biologist who’s chased wolves in Yellowstone, hyenas in Kenya, and fishers in the northern Sierras. She is the author of anthropomorphic hyena novelette Beyond Acacia Ridge and young adult fantasy novel Mist, as well as numerous short stories and poems. Her interactive novel Fox Spirit: A Two-Tailed Adventure has just been released by Choice of Games. You can find her published works and WordPress blog at www.amyclarefontaine.com and follow her on Twitter at @fontainepen.