M.S. Davidson
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SIDE STORY: Fetch!
🕑 Added 2025-10-17 14:00:11 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note: This story takes place at the Winters' Ginseng Farm
Red's muscles bunched as he watched Ben's arm draw back, the orange leather ball clutched in those wonderful fingers that gave the best scratches. The afternoon sun caught Ben's dark hair, and Red's tail—just the one visible for now—wagged so hard his entire rear end swayed. This was it. This was going to be The Throw.
Ben's aura flared blue, just a little—and the ball launched.
Red's eyes tracked the leather sphere as it sailed over the treeline, and... somewhere into the forest beyond the farm's borders. His person had thrown it very, very far.
Perfect.
Red barked once—a sound of pure joy—and exploded into motion. His paws churned up dust as he tore across the field, sailing over the fence in a leap that would have made Ben gape if he'd been caught doing it. But Ben had already turned back to the dirt, probably assuming Red would be gone for a while.
He was right.
Red loved many things. He loved the way morning dew felt on his paws. He loved when Katie—Ben's friend, who smelled like flour and sugar and cheese buns—snuck him treats when Ben wasn't looking. He loved the warm spot on the bed and the way Ben unconsciously reached down to pet him all the time.
But more than almost anything, Red loved a good hunt.
The ball's scent trail hung in the air like a beacon, leather mixed with Ben's unique smell—something like copper and sunlight, and… almonds? Red's nose twitched as he followed it, bounding through the underbrush with an enthusiasm that sent small creatures scattering.
Ben reminded him of his first bond, so very long ago. Before the towers had grown cold and distant. Before dragons had forgotten how to laugh.
That person had been kind too, had thrown sticks instead of balls, had shared meals even when food was scarce. But Ben... Ben was even better. Ben talked to him like he mattered, even before their bond had formed properly. Ben never forgot dinnertime. Ben had stood between him and those mean officials at the white city, hand protective on Red's head. And he had protected Red from the nasty voidspawn.
Ben had shown Red that hope still existed—that dogs had endured, and flourished with Humans.
There was no one better than Ben.
A rabbit burst from the bushes ahead, and Red almost—almost—gave chase. But no, ball first. Ball was sacred. Ball was the mission.
The scent trail led deeper into the forest, where the canopy grew thick and the underbrush tangled. Red's tongue lolled out as he ran, pure doggy bliss in every stride. The tower spirits were happy these days. Red liked that. But Ben couldn't hear them yet, not properly. But they sang happy songs now. They remembered joy, just like Red remembered being more than just a dog. They even welcomed Red back into their towers again, which felt good.
But thinking about that made his head hurt, and there was a ball to find.
The trail curved around a massive boulder covered in moss—
Red skidded to a halt, ears perking. That wasn't just any moss. That was Silverthread Moss, the kind that glowed faintly and smelled like ash. And crouched beside the boulder, carefully harvesting it with practiced movements, was a Floran.
The bronze-skinned figure's white hair seemed to glow in the sunlight as he worked, placing each delicate strand into a woven basket. He smelled of earth and growing things and very strong alcohol. Edward Aldertree—Red had met him before. He had helped against the giant beaver monsters that Ben had fought. This was a good person, too!
Red almost continued past—the ball's scent was nearby—when the forest went wrong.
The birds stopped chirping. The air grew thick. And sliding through the underbrush with unnatural silence came death in scaled form.
Three snake monsters, maybe four. Red's hackles rose as the massive snakes emerged from the shadows, each as thick as a log, their red eyes gleaming with malevolent intelligence. Their scales shifted color, adapting to the forest floor, making them nearly invisible until they moved. These ones seemed different, and they smelled really bad.
The Floran noticed too late.
The first strike came from above—a snake that had been coiled around a branch dropped like a falling tree. Edward threw himself sideways, his basket scattering precious moss across the forest floor, but the second snake was already there, jaws unhinging to reveal dagger-sized fangs.
No.
Red moved.
The silly, goofy, ball-obsessed dog vanished. In his place stood something ancient, something that remembered when the towers were young and the First Ones were still learning to shape reality.
Fire erupted along Red's spine—not the orange-red of normal flame, but something deeper, older. White-hot fire that remembered the first sunrise, that had witnessed the birth of stars. His body grew, muscles expanding, and one by one, his tails unfurled. Seven of them, each wreathed in that primordial flame, spread like a war banner.
He caught the first snake monster mid-strike, jaws clamping down on its throat. The snake's scales parted like paper. Red shook his head violently, the way he would with a rope toy, if that rope toy was meters-long and trying to kill someone. The snake's body whipped through the air, smashing into trees, before Red released it to slam into a boulder with a wet crunch.
The second snake tried to coil around him—a fatal mistake. Red's fire didn't just burn; it obliterated it. The monster shrieked, a sound that should have been impossible for a snake, as white flames consumed it from the inside out. It released him, trying to flee, but Red pounced, bearing it to the ground. His tails swept out, each one moving independently, wrapping around different sections of the serpent and tearing it apart effortlessly.
The third snake, smarter than its companions, tried to retreat. Red's head snapped toward it, and he moved—like he simply existed at a different point in space. His jaws found its spine, just behind the head, and bit down with the force of inevitability. The creature went limp instantly.
The final smallest snake made a desperate lunge for Edward, who stood frozen against the boulder, eyes wide with shock.
Red's condensed fire breath slammed into the snake with an explosion of heat. The shockwave from his mouth blew a hole in the ground towards the snake. The monster was surgically disintegrated from the head until about halfway down its length as what was left flopped wetly to the ground.
Oh yes. That friend with the dumb haircut, Malcolm, had the best ideas about how to improve fire.
Silence returned to the forest, broken only by Edward's ragged breathing and the soft crackling of dying flames on snake corpses.
Red stood there for a moment, seven tails still deployed, fire gradually dimming. His head turned toward Edward, and in those ancient eyes was intelligence that belonged to no mere dog—a weight of aeons, of battles fought before many even had words for war.
Edward's mouth opened, closed, and opened again. His voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper. "You're... Ben’s familiar?"
Red's nose twitched. There—just past the dead snake. Leather and Ben-smell.
The ball!
As quickly as it had come, the ancient presence vanished. Red's tails dissolved into smoke and memory, his body shrinking back to normal dog proportions. He bounded past the stunned Floran, tail—singular now—wagging enthusiastically as he nosed through the underbrush.
There it was! The ball had rolled into a hollow between two roots, a little muddy but otherwise perfect. Red scooped it up in his jaws, the leather familiar and comforting against his tongue.
He turned back to Edward, who still stood frozen against the boulder, and tilted his head in that universal dog expression of "Why are you being weird?" His tail wagged harder, and he play-bowed, front legs stretched out, rump in the air, the picture of canine innocence.
Then, ball secured, Red turned and began the journey home.
The trek back took longer than expected. He had the ball! Ben would be so proud! But the sun had set by the time he reached the farm's borders, and the walls of the Estate had been lit with lantern orbs.
He took a different route back, following a creek that wound toward the fields. The water felt good on his paws, still a little warm from the fire he'd channeled. A few fish darted away from his splashing passage, and he briefly considered trying to catch one, but no—ball. Ball was more important. Ball was the mission.
As he crested the final hill, the back door lay quiet under a blanket of stars. The evening had grown late, later than Red had realized. His adventure had taken most of the day.
Red padded up to the building, ball still clutched carefully in his jaws. The front doors were closed, but Red knew the trick—Ben had shown him how the latch worked, though Ben probably didn't realize Red had been paying such close attention. A quick jump, a careful paw movement, and the door swung open with barely a creak.
The building was dark and quiet, filled with the sleepy sounds of nighttime. Red's paws clicked softly on the wooden floors as he navigated through the familiar hallways. Past the kitchen that still smelled faintly of lots of new dinner smells, his nose told him. And he'd missed it! Tragedy! Past the indoor fish pond, up the stairs, avoiding the third step that always creaked.
Ben's scent led him down the hallway to the bedroom. The door was ajar, and Red nosed it open carefully, peering inside.
There was Ben, asleep in bed, one arm thrown over his head in the way he did when he was really tired. And next to him, Katie, curled on her side, her flour-and-sugar scent mixed with lavender.
Red's tail wagged, though he kept it quiet. His people were here, safe, sleeping. Perfect.
He padded over to the foot of the bed, then carefully—so carefully—he leaped onto the mattress. The bed dipped slightly, and Ben stirred, eyes fluttering open in the darkness.
"Red?" Ben's voice was thick with sleep, confused. "Where have you been, buddy? I was worried..."
Red dropped the ball onto Ben with a wet plop. Mission accomplished!
Ben sat up slightly, fumbling for the ball in the darkness, and let out a soft laugh. "You found it? Good boy."
Red's tail wagged harder, and he decided, plopping down between them. Katie mumbled something in her sleep as Red determinedly wedged himself between the two people with a contented huff.
"Red, no—" Ben protested, but Red was already deploying his secret weapon: the sad eyes. Even in the darkness, they were effective.
Katie woke enough to laugh sleepily. "Just let him stay, Ben. He's had a long day, apparently."
Red's tail thumped against the mattress in agreement. He stretched out, making sure to claim as much space as possible, his back pressed against Katie and his paws pushing slightly against Ben. This was much better. Maybe Ben would fall out of the bed again and give Red more room.
Ben's hand found Red's ears in the darkness, scratching in that perfect spot. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
Red huffed contentedly as he licked Ben’s face. He was a good dog. He'd found the ball, saved a person from monsters, and secured the best sleeping spot in the house. The spirits hummed their approval in the distance, a melody only he could hear.
As his people settled back into sleep, Red allowed himself one small yawn. Tomorrow, maybe Ben would throw the ball again. Maybe not quite so far, but that was okay.
After all, Red loved a good hunt. Almost as much as he loved this—the warmth of his people, the safety of home, the simple perfection of being exactly where he was supposed to be.
Somewhere in the forest, Edward Aldertree was probably still trying to make sense of Red going all-out. But that was his problem.
The King had returned to Ark.
Comments
Nim
Who is a good boy? Red is a good boy! Red is also some other things. But that doesn't matter right now.
Phillip Berry
Hell yeah! Looking forward to reading this later!
