A Yordle in the Snow

"Today's the day I find that hero."

Poppy meditated on her daily motto as she cleared the snow off her armor. It was a quiet and cold morning, the hollow she burrowed herself into had its entrance sullied with snow overnight; The comfortable hole she'd crawled into no longer looked it's part and the beckoning rays of sunlight bleeding through the entrance looked more inviting than usual. She packed up her camping supplies—a cooking pan and a wooden spoon― into a bindle with her twice paper thick blanket and used her hammer as the stick before throwing her grubby cloak around her shoulders.

The little blue dot poked her head out of the burrow and peered around. Pines as far as the eye can see; she peered off into the distance and smiled. A great kingdom awaited her. Not just any kingdom, her kingdom. Home. Demacia. Her big head plopped back into the hole and after a few short lived grunts she sprang out of the snow with gumho. Hammer first.

The ground shook as the hammer gently kissed it. Poppy pulled the hammer in closer and studied it for a moment. The handle was as long as she was tall while the head was as big as her own body. A decent size for a hammer.

I promise Orlon, I'll find that hero. I hope you're watching me, because here I go!

She pulled in the hammer with a prayer, swung it over her shoulder, and took a deep breath before trotting off.

She spent the morning plucking berries off the trail and fantasizing about that hero until early in the afternoon when she spotted a spry treat. A chocoberry tree. Hark, it wasn't barren either; a blessing, Poppy's only ever had one when it fell off a fancy guarded caravan, and it was due time for another taste of the high life.

She rubbed her tiny chin. A trio of gold plated fruits were up there and the minty sting bled into her nose even from 10 feet below. I gotta have it, she decided, and she began concocting an elaborate plan.

But, the yordle lost her patience after a solid 30 seconds. So instead, she began tossing rocks to the treetops, desperate to knock down the fruit from their wooden pedestal.

What's the harm in a bruise here or there? As long as I get a bite, it's all smiles.

2 hours had passed. Nothing. Sweat dripped from Poppy's face and her arms were on their final bouts. But the fruits still hung. Untainted. She clenched her little jaw with frustration. She decided to use her final gambit. She unbuckled her buckler‒promptly named Shieldy‒kissed it, spun around to catch momentum, and discus threw it at the fruit. It whizzed through the air and Poppy's eyes shone with determination, though, only for a split second.

CRACK!

When she regained consciousness the brisk air had already cured her sweat and she was shivering. She lifted herself from the ground and held her throbbing head. The last thing she remembered was seeing stars. She gasped when she glanced up at the Chocoberry tree, the fruit were gone, but as her gaze dropped there they were. The three fruits on top of her buckler, well placed directly under their hanging spot.

"Aw, shieldy you shouldn't have!"

She knelt down and began chewing into the first oily fruit. Its chocolate juice could heal all ailments of the soul. However, something felt amiss.

She rubbed her forehead and winced in pain as it throbbed with a new lump. It wasn't until she was halfway on the second fruit that she stopped to look down at the last one sitting on top of her buckler. She picked it up and investigated it.

Man that must've been a pretty good shot, huh?

She squinted and she saw her murky reflection in the gilded portions of the buckler. Her purple eyes stared back with vertical slits. Something was amiss. The yordle's pupils thinned as she focused her attention into the reflected world. There was a shadow standing on the branches behind her. She quietly gulped. Minty tang chilled with her senses.

She said nothing and grabbed the last fruit off the buckler, making sure to not take her view off the shadow, and stuffed it into her mouth. She drew her hammer slowly and placed it by her side. No reaction. She reached over her shoulder with the buckler and hooked it to her back, and swung the hammer over her shoulder before abruptly spinning around to face the branches. Gone. Only the sound of the clanging pan in her bindle. She shook her head and marched onward, sucking the fruit along the way carefully listening in between the notes of the clanging pan to the sound of the rustling pines.

Dusk was approaching. Poppy had been pretending to not notice the shadow of a lithe figure hopping from pine to pine quietly. When she stopped, it stopped, when she took a shortcut, it took a shortcut, and when she stopped to take a break, it rounded her stealthily. It occasionally crept closer. But, the creature didn't reveal its presence. At this point she wasn't too bothered by it. It may be well camouflaged at this time of day with the orange rays staining the snow and all, but a sneaky's not a sneaky when the sneak isn't sneaky anymore, or something like that. She rubbed her forehead gingerly. She knew that eventually she'd have to deal with the problem, but she could always do that later, there was a bigger problem at hand, getting back to Demacia.

I hate this place, too cold. This is no place for a yordle. No. No yordle would be caught in the Freljord. Except me. But, a yordle like me was never like the rest anyhow.

She reminisced about how she even ended up in the Freljord in the first place, a frozen taiga with eternally covered alps that have never seen spring. She grumbled about chasing a rumor of a mighty beast last spotted in Uwendale near the northern Demacian border. A perfect bait for the slayer.

A mighty slayer; a mighty beast slayer. He was rumored to carry a hammer such as she. It must be him for whom she must deliver the hammer. And yet, all she found was snow. No beast. No slayer. Snow.

Alas, to make things worse, in her chase she forgot to swipe any cozy winter boots or a better pair of mittens for her hands. Worseso, no mittens for her large pointed ears, not that any human would even know how to knit those anyways. Still, she chugged along without a break in her stride. She refused to go home empty handed; She refused to let the late Orlon down. She furrowed her little brow and tightened her long red scarf. Wherever there's a mighty beast, there's a mightier hero on his way to slay it.

Small clumps of snow fell behind her, and Poppy's ears twitched ever so slightly. Her little tag along was clumsy. She tried her hardest not to smile, any quiver of the lip revealed her small resounding snaggletooth. She had to remain stoic.

No one surprises a yordle.

The light of the sun began to wane, and the shadow still stalked. Poppy was growing impatient; an attack was expected, she could just toss them away with ease, but night was falling and she had to sleep, so she hatched a plan.

She found a comfortable little tree barren of snow underneath and she trotted over in a slow gait. She sat under it, undid the blanket tied to her hammer and let out a nearly convincing yawn before wrapping herself up in the thin fabric. After a moment she let out a shoddy snore with the hammer laying by her side. She heard soft steps crunching in the snow. The steps slowed their pace, and her heartbeat quickly caught up. A gangly shadow began to loom over her signalling her time to strike.

She sprang up, rushed to grab what was nearest, opened her eyes and exclaimed her excitement.

"AHA!"

Within her grasp was the orange wisp that stalked her. Another Yordle. However, this one's thick clumps of orange fur outpaced her velvet blue complexion; He was a male. There was something off, however, she couldn't quite place her finger on it, something subtle. Tusks protruded from his lower lip, and the only thing he wore was a ragged piece of cloth at his waist. She had him by the wrist as he was crouched. She finally caught his gaze.

His eyes. They were not normal eyes, in fact they were not like any eyes at all. In his head, under his brow, were black orbs with even blacker slivers in the center. They stared coldly at her, filling her with a creeping dread. If eyes are a window to the soul, then perhaps this creature has no soul. She could not tell what they were looking at, but she had the sensation that perhaps they were looking at her. But, how could she prove it?

"Well," She began with a lump in her throat, "looks like I caught myself a little ferre- I mean weasel!" She stumbled over her words trying to add a playful tone to her voice and play off the situation.

Maybe I'm looking at him wrong. I mean, he hasn't bit me. Yet.

"Sorry little guy. I don't have time for tricks or playing games. Go back to Bandle City and leave me alone, will ya? I don't have time for yordle antics. Serious business."

She gave the Orange yordle a gawky smirk as she held him by his trunk of a wrist hoping for an obedient "Yes ma'am!".

After a moment of silence, the crouched yordle finally stood up and slightly fixed his posture. Poppy's faux smug demeanor receded as this yordle tore his hand away from her grasp. A feat any other yordle would fail, or even attempt, to do.

She sized him up. He was still hunched over, yet, to her memory, he's head and shoulders above most of the yordles from Bandle City, as was she. She wondered if he was any larger than her even.

He straightened himself more and cocked his head at her gaze. He scrunched his eyes and stepped a little closer. Poppy was frozen. She was stronger, braver and more brazen than the rest of the yordles in Bandle City. Yet, she found herself reaching for the hammer on the ground. And then his tusks, shimmering in the light, began to move.

"Tana? Tana you?"

His words were choppy and his accent aberrant. Tana. She pondered his words for a moment, there was some familiarity with Tana.

"No. Not Tana, I'm Poppy."

She chuckled nervously and pulled her hammer out, planting it in the ground beside her, then leaned on it with tense shoulders. The strange tusked yordle without warning reached out with his paw-like hand. He gingerly took her ear into his warm paw and began rubbing the edge of her long knife ear. Flustered, she instinctively pulled away and pulled her unoccupied arm back.

"Gnoppy?" he muttered before a loud thump caved him inwards.

"That's right, don't think just because I have pigtails I can't defend myself, so do us both a favor and scram!" She quickly turned around flushed, in both ears and face. She began her track hammer in hand, ready to send him flying if he stepped any closer. Then she heard something whistling in the air.

THUNK

Poppy stopped in her tracks as quick waves of pain echoed in her head. She quickly turned back around and saw the yordle catch a pale white boomerang. She tightened the grip on her hammer with a furrowed brow. The Yordle unleashed a series of incoherent gibberish, balled up fist and all.

"Why I oughta-"

As soon as her words began to escape her lips, she noticed something. A fog began to roll in. Incredibly thick, a terrible omen, to be trapped in a fog with a foe. She faced him and her eyes widened. He seemed somewhat larger, is this a trick of the fog? She wondered. A shout echoed in the forest and he went silent. Poppy recognized the voice, it belonged to a particularly annoying yordlette.

Is she doing this?

"Gnaaar!" She heard off in the distance, though this time it came from another yordlette that caused her a more discomforting dread.

"Gnar?" She muttered. She turned her gaze back at the yordle. But he was gone. A quick surge of panic ran through her veins and she quickly spun around desperately.

She scanned the surrounding area for the yordle. The pines that stood over her as protectors were now harboring a demon, threatening to fall inwards and trap her for his predation. And her nearby surroundings were covered with fog, blending into the snow to form the perfect blank canvas for endless possibilities. For the first time in many years she was afraid.

A rustling from a nearby pine ripped her attention and she saw a shadow hopping the trees. It was him, and he landed on a branch. Somehow the fog hadn't surrounded him.

She stared at him for a moment, and her eyes began to strain in an unfamiliar way, is he glowing? She thought. A faint red aura emanating from him, staining wherever he touched. In fact, the snow he touched didn't even crunch, it quickly emancipated into a fine mist. A strange fluorescent tiger pattern revealed itself from his fur.

As if he could tell she was looking, Gnar turned his head to look at her. He stood in front of the full moon with ears curved like horns in its reflection. He stared at her cocking his head as his tail swayed gently side to side.

Poppy felt uneasy in his gaze and pulled her hammer closer to her body. She wanted to avert her gaze, but she couldn't dare to look away. Then, for a split second, she caught a glimpse of it. The black portals to the abyss in his eyes that stared back at her were being pinched. Closing in on the darkness, gazing back at her, were a pair of flambeau smoldering beautifully with black slivers in their center.

And with a twitch of the ear, he vanished, lost to the pines.