This is the account of two creatures, and more, all of them very different but alike in certain ways. Just as we all are, eh? But, we will talk more of that later. Now you must listen to my account of the kitchen maid and the wanderer, the bard and the thief. Go to the kitchen and get enough food from the good Friar for at least two days; this story will take much time to relate to you. Hurry!
Fligg the bard sat by the fire, playing and singing. He was a thin, scrawny fox, with gray-blue fur, a small jingling jester's hat and a small melodeon. He wasn't the brightest of creatures, and delighted in finding the most ordinary, boring things.
"Rum tum tum,
Fiddle-y-dum,
Rum tum tum tum!
She sat on a tussock,
And ate all the food, yum yum,
Ate all the food yum yum
Ate all the food
She sat on a tussock,
And ate all the food,
Ahhaaahaaaaaaaate ahallllllll theheeeeeee foohooohoohooooooood!!
He came up besi—Gaaak!"
A huge paw, the size of a large plate, picked up Fligg deftly by the scruff of the neck and shook him unmercifully.
"Shut that gob o' yourn, can't a beast get no sleep?" The paw swung Fligg around until he was face-to-face with the biggest, most evil looking ermine he had ever seen. Being relatively new to the gang didn't help Fligg much in the way of knowing the usual moods of the beasts in the camp.
"Uh…er…well…uh…huh?" He whimpered, trembling uncontrollably.
"Shut! Yore! Gob!" The big ermine roared, sending spit flying into Fligg's face.
"S-sorry, sir! Won't do it agin!"
The big ermine stared long and hard at Fligg's scrawny figure, and then threw him forcefully down into a big bramble bush.
"Ow…" Fligg muttered, struggling to get free.
"Wot's that, want more?" The big ermine eyed him nastily, leering. "No, sire, I've had enough!" And Fligg scrambled away.
"Hurry! We need more o' that shrimp'n'hotroot soup those otters are always cravin'. Malady, get those scones out of the oven! Mowg, please go get those barrels of October Ale out of the cellars; tell Bluetip I sent you. Azaelia, get yore paws outta those books and help me make this Mossflower Wedge!"
"Yes, Friar Durin," said Azaelia, reluctantly putting a large tome down and hurrying to help. "What with yon feast going on, you need all the help you can lay paws on!"
"Sure is right, young'un," answered the Friar dolefully. "There's not enough food here to feed that famine-faced hare for tea, let alone a feast!" Seeing the look on Durin's face, the young black ferret could not help but to burst out in laughter. "What's so funny?" The good Friar asked, causing more hoots of merriment. Soon the whole kitchen had dissolved in laughter, exulting in the happiness that would not, could not last.