Merle & The Brere

‘Must I say more!? Brrr’ snarls the black bear, ‘then, just with brevity. Every bagful of my eats is my blesssing from the ether’.

Merle stands three meters from the bear. The strange musk that’s she sprayed is both for battle & seducing men. Is this my battle? Merle’s mind is stops running when the massive black bear begins to lick it’s own lips. By now, the desire to run shrank for some reason. She bravely emerges murmerings.

‘I’m rite. The more I’m rite the better it is for every being in Minefell. Brere I stand for myself, not men. Even if it means I bleed. Isn’t it myth that blood runs thickest among familiars? Brere the brunt…’ Merle’s tone trembling slightly.

The bear stares with a violent glare. It’s sillouhette in the evening hues more beast like then ever. Brere retalliates with prowess ‘I bet there isn’t much out here by the rim…for mung-folk to enter this late means there is a mission to slay me.’ His button snout twitches. Standing up on both legs, Brere slams back to the mud.

‘I must sputter and bark, make men like you run from me. I refuse to be meat’ Brere bows his head in anguish. Then, rustling. Behind the brambles. The big branch of the felled tree shunts to the mud ground. The rays of both violet and purple surround a dark mark. It stifles Merle & Brere with its sensory madenings. This did not belong in Minefell or any realm they thought to be existing.

It sings the most elegant melody, resonating for miles. The beast and the girl slur their movements. Moment by moment they drift into a sleepy state. Brere remembers just how blissful a good nights rest could be, but manages to blurt, ‘If I smell you… my end…better run.’ They both smack the mud. ‘before I… Slam you with my slipper!’ The melody ends. The mammals enter their slumber.

The end.

By The Myth Maker.