Nyika breathed in the briny sea air as she stepped outside. Unlike most cats, Nyika loved living a near the ocean. True, she was no otter, but whoever said a cat couldn't love the smell of the ocean, the fresh-caught fish, the sound of the gulls squawking (even if they squawked a little too much)?
The cat looked out to the docks, where the fishing and trading ships were moored. Nyika rather liked whenever the trading ships returned. The otters and weasels and other beasts often asked her to help unload the ships. She quite often wished she could go sailing with them, see what was out there.
Maybe someday, I will. But for now, I suppose I better get going, 'fore ol' Dorian has my tail fer being late.
The cat headed down the cobblestone road. The streets were already filled with Dibbun hedgehogs and weasels and mice and hares and such, playing Warrior, sticks clacking against each other, their parents shouting warnings of "Be careful!". Nyika sidestepped a hedgehog as his stoat companion backed him into the cat's path.
"Watch it you, or ye might just have t' deal with th' Warlord Nyika!" she playfully teased as she passed. The Dibbuns simply giggled.
Many newcomers to Karravale were often surprised to see woodlanders and vermin living together peacefully. As far as Nyika knew, the little village had always been this way. Of course, she knew that wasn't the case, but she'd never stop to ask the history of the place. She'd been born here, and only went as far the little river in the woods just past the farmlands, and everybeast here, furred or feathered, was treated equally and without suspicion. That wasn't to say there weren't fights between beasts, but never over anything too serious.
As the cat reached the marketplace, she could pick up snippets of conversations as the beasts at their stalls advertised their wares.
"Fresh-caught fish for sale! Fresh-caught fish for sale!"
"Get yore veggertibbles here!"
Nyika headed for a food stall. "Four eggs, half a loaf of honey bread, and two pints of October Ale...and two fish, t' go, please."
"Surpintly, Miz Nyika! Cooming roight up!"
Why can't some beasts learn to talk normal?
After a about a half hour, the mole had Nyika's order cooked and on a tray. "Fifteen pounders."
The cat paid for the food with a nod. "Thanks."
"You just make sure ol' Dorian gets his brekkist, burr hurr. Doan't goo spillin' et!"
"I won't. Bye!"
Nyika made her way past the general store, which sold clothes, blankets, ropes, and the like, and was adorned by flowerbeds by the door. The cat knew the place well, for she was good friends with Fiora. The cat had met the vixen from ol' Carrough's school.
Wonder if the old mouse is still teaching there.
She'd for some reason always thought Fiora would become a Seer, or a healer, or perhaps a cook. She was always good at cookin' an' herbal cures.
Finally, the cat made it to the forge. "Morning Dorian!"
"You're late," the badger rumbled.
"Blame Mister Fenrow. I can't make the mole cook any faster...unless you'd like your breakfast burnt."
The badger grimaced at the thought. "Well, um, let's just eat it before it gets too cold. We've got orders for quite a few broadswords, and a few daggers as well."
Nyika nodded. "Yes, Master."