((Yay! I'm back with more of the weird taleas for Northern-South Glen, it is a small little village near Southsward. Not in, near. Again, I own Thistle and NSG+inhabitants, and SlipLock is a friend's. BJ owns the rest.))
"Well, Thistle, what do you suggest we do?" SlipLock gasped as she ran to pick Dappledew up.
"How am I supposed to know! Wait, fire feeds on oxygen, meaning that if we just clear the house of airnever mind"
Tears welled in Dappledew's eyes, and SlipLock patted her head absentmindedly. "It's only a LITTLE fire" The tall ottermaid shoved the wailing mousebabe into Thistle's arms and darted around the fire. She yanked a blanket off of a sofa, and set it over the steadily growing flames. Then, she began doing something that Thistle wasn't familiar with.
"Slippy! What in Martin's name are you DOING? You look like a mad hare who has eaten too much sugar!" Thistle gasped.
The ottermaid in question shot a glare at Thistle. "This, I'm jumping on the blanket to put out the fire. Do I look like that?"
"Oh. That's a good idea. Why didn't I think of it?" She launched herself onto the blanket with vigor, still wrestling with Dappledew in her arms. Scorch marks covered the once blue quilt, but the fire had vanished.
Eyes wide, Slip Lock asked, "Should we lift it?"
"Uhh"
"I'll take that as a yes."
The otter whipped the quilt-remains off with a flourish. Horror crossed Thistle's face, and remained there. "We" she murmured.
Mrs. Fuschia Greysky-Woodwind's perfectly sanded hardwood floor was now ashen black. Dappledew was open mouthed with horror. Apparently, her pyromania had been cured.
"Throw rugs?" SlipLock gulped.
"No," Thistle moaned.
"Fiwe nokk me fwen' annymore," Dappledew whimpered.
Thistle and SlipLock had the sort of friendship where each could almost tell what the other was thinking with a look in their eyes. With one glance, Thistle and SlipLock had a plan in the making. "You start packing the rations, I'll make the ransom note!" giggled the mousemaid.
"UhI thought we were running away, not being kidnapped!"
"SlipLock, it takes imagination and a brain to think of these things, and I have both!"
The ottermaid skipped around the cottage, gathering what remotely looked like food. Not much was left from the feast, but what was was interesting. Half baked cookies littered the kitchen table, with what looked like raisins in their gooey depths. Beakers of strange cordials sat next to them. SlipLock gulped down a few sips of one and almost choked. "PHWOAR! These are really really bad!"
Mr. Rulleth Greysky was a food inventor, an unsuccessful one at that. Fuschia barely put up with his weird creations. No matter how bad it was, though, he never gave up.
SlipLock, with one last distasteful look, slipped all of the concoctions in a burlap bag that hung over the counter.
"If we don't find berries or sommat on the way, I'll die!"
Thistle, on the other hand, was having a tremendous amount of fun with the ransom note. So far, it read:
Deer Wood wynds,
I hav takn ur dotters wit me. Duu not x pect tu git them bak uhnlez yew giz me lotsa shinee thinz. I taknz ur food tooz.
Luv Annonimuz beest.
She'd like to see them decipher THAT. Scrawled in unintelligible handwriting with atrocious spelling, it was nearly unreadable. Cackling with pleasure, Thistle left it perched in the window in plain view.
"All ready, Slip?"
"Yeahthis beast makes the weirdest food!"
"I heard Aunt Fuschia talk about someone like that"
"Dadee, dadee!"
"Mystery solved."
Thistle exchanged the mousebabe for the ration sack, and threw open the door. "No more absurd family!"
The threesome waltzed out of the village with giggles and loud "Hush"es.
