Archive of Our Own ^beta

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…When it all began, I ran into Essa back in the corridors of ChronoDune™ Inc. as I was walking along to my port, and Essa was just…running. Whatever it was that has happened to her, back in the sector of Peryton, it was enough to get even through her seasoned skin.

Make no mistake, I have views about Essa – for someone from Peryton she is certainly subdued, but then again, it is a practical view to take within ChronoDune™ - we tend to conflate our seasons together: one moment it’s winter, the next – summer, then it’s autumn, and finally we’re back to winter again. What has happened to spring, where have we misplaced it, I do not know, and I am afraid to write to the upper management to ask. Actually, we are all afraid – unlike our counterparts from Peryton, who actually dwell close enough to the actual Olympus to learn what rumors are coming down and who sometimes can actually ask the upper management to learn as to what is going on down, or rather – up there for real. Hm. Maybe I could ask Essa about spring? But first-

“What got you so worked up?” I asked even as I helped her up: she was not running this fast, and she did not smack into me that hard, but she still lost her footing and almost fell; certainly lost her tablet and almost smacking her head against the wall… “Hunting wolves are on your trail or something?”

“More like a swarm of smarmy vultures, ravens and magpies, making all the noise,” Essa replied bitterly. “There are five major tears in the narrative that we can determine, and a big metaphorical grizzly bear sniffing around one of them already, and what do they do? They dismiss me!”

“Well, naturally,” I pointed out. “You’re a lab worker; you do all the theory and everything else is done by other people – field agents, mostly, but still. The end. You rang the alarm bell, your hands and conscience are clean, what is missing?”

“I don’t know,” Essa said bitterly. “Maybe it’s the matter that Shawn has given me an exercise bike for a birthday gift-“

“Wait,” I raised my hand. “Your birthday? It was yesterday or tomorrow or today or in the recent chronological vicinity?”

“Yes!” She said excitedly. “It was! It was my birthday, and I wanted us to go to Kims’ department to petition us for a baby – instead, he got me an exercise bike!”

I thought this over. On one hand, I barely knew Shawn – I barely know Essa, and I knew Shawn less than that, on the other hand, male solidarity and all, and I barely knew Essa, so why should I get involved in their mess? Essa – and Shawn - did not have a child yet. Bully. As a determined bachelor this was one topic that I had no qualifications to discuss; plus, when I received my appreciation award it was a treadmill of some sort, and I certainly got my mileage out of it until time had run out for it – literally – and I had the option to apply my superiors for higher-ranking missions to receive enough of… everything that I needed to fix the damned device and give it a new life. I am a chaotician. I do not do predictable and straightforward, and I work at the Xaos sector of ChronoDune™ because it suits me – and vice versa. My superiors can certainly foresee what choice I make and can try to influence me… or not. Case in point – my defunct treadmill. It makes a most formidable conversation piece ever.

…Oh wait, I do not do conversations, outings and innings, and so on, and so forth. Long live the treadmill, put otherwise, and I continue to do my missions as I always did – for the sake of chaos rather than money or other manifestations of order…

“Right,” I told Essa. “An exercise bike? One that’s got a limited amount of life, or existence, or something-?”

“Yes,” Essa nodded solemnly. “It just eats all those credits-“

“You’re coming with me.”

Essa stared. She never looked particularly owlish – she did have contact lenses rather than spectacles, for example – but right now she did do her best to look like an owl right now.

“Why?” she finally managed.

“Well, how are you going to start maintaining your new acquisition?” I raised an eyebrow. “I know a bloke who got a Peryton-level TV – it was dead before the year was out and he needed to acquire a lot of things to resurrect it – and it cost money, and it means working overtime, emphasis on working.”

“Which is what I do,” Essa snapped.

“Yes, but field work costs more,” I did not back down. “Think you will be able to keep it running on your current salary? And for long? Or are you just going to throw it out once it dies?”

Essa stared at me for a good long while. “You’re from the Xaos sector, aren’t you?” she muttered. “I cannot see the future… the time lines are all tangled…”

“Is it one of the five tears that you’ve been talking around?” I produced the address of my destination – the one that I have been assigned to earlier today. I should have been getting there by now, but time has a very fluid meaning in the corridors of ChronoDune™, even moreso than space does.

Essa took a good long look. “Maybe,” she drummed her fingers. “Perhaps. Can we go there and see for ourselves what does it look like?”

And so off we went.

…Now, as far as my missions go, this one started at a fairly mundane place – a garden enclosure of some rich- someone rich, (and did I mention that I really do not like the rich?), complete with a pond. The pond was huge, with reinforced walls and appropriately oversized lily pads floating on top of the water, with large, pale pink flowers blooming alongside them. Very lovely.

I pulled out my packet, one that was given to me for the mission, and scattered its’ contents into the water. I beckoned to Essa, and she followed suit. Where did she get her packet? I always have several spares, whenever I get a partner. I would like to claim that I am an incredibly complex and unpredictable character and what else have you, but the fact is that ChronoDune™ demands that everyone and everything, (we have some odd types working here, I can promise you), has it in extra – just in case a mission that is supposed to be solo becomes, well, not a solo one. Have I mentioned that me working at ChronoDune™ is based largely on the benefits of me being an agent of chaos, not on any other reason? No? Well, here you have it, then – I work at ChronoDune™ because it permits me to be an agent of chaos, not for any other reason. Remember that!

…Meanwhile, Essa just mutely followed my lead – first with the packet, and then-?

Then we just sat down and concentrated. Yes, slipping into a trance is not easy, even when you got your helmet on your head, but we managed. The miracle! We managed, and followed the flakes as they sank into the water and dissolved there – with our minds. And then we got contact.

A pair of eyes set in striped black and yellow armored skull blinked, and a crocodile-like reptile began to rise to the surface even as its body began to be subtly restructured, albeit temporarily. The second reptile in the pond – bigger and heavier, clad in duller scutes of dull and light grey – also blinked and followed its neighbour, flicking its tail almost lazily but catching up to its’ smaller neighbor almost instantly, shifting and transforming bodies irrelevant.

Slowly, we surfaced to the surface, amongst the giant lily pads. “Now what?” Essa muttered to me via telepathy.

“Now we chaos-“ I didn’t finish, as one of the locals – a human, thank Chaos – stumbled through the trees, visibly bleeding and collapsed, fading fast.

“Casey!” Essa yelled out to me, even as we broke contact with the nano-modified reptiles and raced to the victim. “He’s dying! Please help-?” she trailed away, seeing the first aid kit in my hands. “Um-“

“You’re so lucky that Chaos is benevolently inclined towards him,” I muttered as we dragged our saved person into our time-travelling apparatus.

“Of course-“

“Plus, it’s one of us – there’s no orderly reason as to why a person with a wound done by an Austro-Hungarian Hussar saber has ended up here, in a completely different time and place.”

Essa just stared – this is no lab work, of course, but this was also the deep end, true – and followed my lead.

TBC?

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... After a long time spring came, eventually, and the snow did melt. A badger came out of its’ barrow, though it still was sleepy. It sniffed around, shook its’ heavy winter coat, looked around with its’ beady eyes. Only a distant cousin to the bear, it’d hibernated the winter away all the same. The badger scratched at its’ sides: it was time to moult, but right now it just shrugged the kinks from its’ spine.

And then the badger went off to hunt - for frogs and beetles beneath the roots in the moss. The badger hunted, ate and drank -and then it went back to its’ dry home, dug deep beneath the surface.

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Behold the boar, the wild pig!

Throughout the wild woodlands it roams wherever it wants. If it wants acorns, it gets them. If the boar wants to wallow, it does. The boar will swing its’ head and twisted tusks and it’ll uproot anything - period.

The wild boar is even more badass than its’ feral Razorback cousin. It will swing its’ tusks like an axe to uproot trees, it will cut down a wolf, swinging them like twin sabres. Even a wild brown bear won’t mess with the boar without a good reason!

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A lynx lurks in a dark forest, next to a sylvan path. Though a cousin of the house cat, it’s more of a large dog in size. A lynx’s tail is short, its’ ears got tufts on tips, its’ hide is mottled. This lynx in question is lying on a tree branch, waiting... Don’t go past this tree, or the lynx will get you. It will lunge at anyone, straight from the tree!

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Once upon a time there was a bad-ass bear.

Why he was a bad-ass? Just look at him eating raspberries- he wasn’t taking one berry at a time, slurping down an entire bush at once, only bare branches were left!

Aren’t you greedy, Mr. Bear! Aren’t you formidable!

Beware, though- no one is insured from a stomachache in the wild.

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A fox was hunting during winter - for hares, mice, rabbits, etc. Once upon a time, it came across a hare, and promptly began to chase the latter. The hare fled past a stump without paying attention... and a really big great horned owl was sitting there. It saw the hare and took off, slamming the mammal into the snow, pinning it down. Only... this wasn’t the Mesozoic, The age of reptiles and birds, for the fox, which had generated its’ own burst of speed, had half-leapt and half-slammed into the owl, knocking it off the hare.

A great horned owl is just as formidable as its’ relatives, the eagle and the snowy owl are, but the red fox got a really good grip this time...

When the noise ended, the hare looked out of its’ snowy pit and the first thing it saw was the red fox, busy plucking and eating the big bird. It shot the hare a look over a bloody muzzle, and the hare fled, leaving the fox in the field by itself with the prize. It may be the Cainozoic now, aka the age of mammals, but the mammals weren’t quite equal to each other either.

End

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In winter, a hare’s coat is both warm in texture and white in colour. As a consequence, it saves the hare both from frost and from hunters. Winter snow is as white as a hare’s coat. Try to find it! And while you do that, the hare will flee and be gone.

Left to its’ own devices, a hare will chew branches, nibble the bark, however bitter it will be. It is waiting for the warm summer. For the summer is a time of plenty, especially for food. You are free to choose. If you want - choose the clover, if you want - choose the fresh grass, any flower...

...that said, the canny hare should leave human gardens alone, no matter how tempting the local carrots and cabbages may be!

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Once upon a time, when a red fox and a hare were busy with an eagle-owl, a different bird, a great grey owl, was sitting on a different tree at a different spot where the forest met the open field, and it too was busy hunting.

Any owl is meta - they got soft feathers, silent wings that make no noise whatsoever; their talons are twisted and sharp- no one can escape from them, not a mouse, not a squirrel, not a sleeping bird. This particular great grey owl was hunting mice.

...It is still late winter and mice are hidden from sight by a thick layer of snow, but an owl’s hearing is sharp enough to penetrate it, and the great grey owl has specifically long legs to reach through the snow. There! There a mouse is scurrying. The owl spread its’ wings and launched a spectacular aerial attack right through the snow.

The snow exploded. This particular mouse made its’ winter home in a bear’s den, and the owl, unwittingly, scored a perfect hit on the bear’s nose. (It was hard to reach, but those long legs and sharp talons are good for something).

The still mostly asleep bear wasn’t amused. With one shake of its’ massive head it was free, with one snap of its’ huge jaws it snapped the owl up and sank back beneath the snow to wait for the proper end of winter. The end.

PS: Oh, and the mouse was in another corner of the den, sleeping its’ own nap in its’ own home, lined with the bear’s fur because it was small enough to get away with this - but that’s another story.

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A black grouse male is a very handsome bird. Its’ tail is shaped like a lyre, the bird itself is black, save for the really red brows; it got short legs, all covered in feathers as if they were boots to prevent winter chills.

During the brief winter day, the black grouse sits on a birch, plucking its’ seeds; when it wants to sleep, it just falls, head first, into a snow bank! It rotates there a couple of times, and makes a snow room, where it rests for the night.

...And in spring the black grouse cocks show-off. They hop, fight and sing songs. One may warble like a lyre throughout the woodland! And another may coo like a dove!

End

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BROWN DRAGONS

Being flightless, but endowed with supreme burrowing skills, the brown dragons tend to dwell in deserts and semi-deserts, where they hold at least advantage over their flying cousins. Despite their ferocious intelligence, the brown dragons know how to avoid the other dragons as well, and consequently there's many a female of blue and brass dragon-kind that returned one day to find her eggs crashed or her hatchlings slaughtered.

Brown dragons' lairs are usually a series of tunnels and caverns, dig deep underground, but with a series of boltholes that lead closer to the surface instead. Brown dragons tend to avoid particularly rocky or stony soil, so consequently they're found in various dungeons only rarely (unless imprisoned there by the Cult of Dragon or a similar organization).

Brown Dragon Identifiers

A brown dragon's face usually bears an expression of single-minded ferocity and almost never-ending hunger. A brown dragon's head is elongated, particularly its jaws, with a series of bumps and hornlets located at its' back and lower jaw. The brown dragon's neck is long, powerful, and bumpy: before it attacks, the brown dragon folds its' neck in a letter S-position, and releases it like a spring when pouncing on prey or foe.

The body of a brown dragon is well-developed, with long, powerful limbs, big, slightly flat feet and a powerful tail that is very effective as a slapping weapon. Its' wings, however, are nothing more than flaps of skin, useless both for flying and gliding, nothing more than skin-covered bones. There is no explanation why the brown dragons' wings got reduced so completely, but some scholars believe that the wrath of the chromatic dragons' supreme deity, Tiamat, has something to do with it.

The scales of a wyrmling brown dragon are of a sandy colour, matching completely with the surrounding sands of the desert. As the dragon ages, its scales appear to bleach, until the oldest wyrms appear to be almost white in colour.

Habits

A brown dragon tends to eat everything that comes across its path, from livestock to beholders. Usually, it attacks from below, from beneath the cover of sand, trying to pin its prey with its jaws and then drag it underneath the sand, where it'll suffocate. If it cannot do that, then the brown dragon will attack its prey directly, biting and clawing, slapping with its tail and using its breath weapon in close combat.

Brown dragons are not particularly discriminating when it comes to treasure: they often pile it all together: gems, coins, magical artefacts, etc. However, they are aware of every single piece in it and will pursue whoever stole from them until either they or their robber is dead.

Brown dragons tend to be not very social, but mating pairs often mate for life, and their children often remain in touch with them, treating their parents with difference and sometimes even coming to their aid when summoned (especially when fighting other dragons is involved). The female brown dragon lays her eggs in sun-warmed sand, and both parents guard their clutch ferociously, retreating only if overwhelmed completely (and sometimes not even then). The offspring begin to make their own lairs by the time they're juveniles, but remain in touch with their parents for the majority, if not the rest, of their lives.

The brown dragon is highly aware of its surroundings. They have a highly developed tremorsense, enabling them to pinpoint most attackers at a distance of up to 450 ft. The older brown dragons are powerful spell-casters, and even their innate spell-like abilities are dangerous: old and older brown dragons are particularly fond of summoning air elementals to aid them in battle if their foe is particularly tough. Their wings are useless even for attacking, but they can disembowel a horse with just one bite.

Despite their ferocity, most brown dragons are not unreasonable creatures and can be persuaded into a temporary alliance, especially if horsemeat is involved. Some of them even display neutral tendencies, and can release their victims to go, especially if bribed with something edible or valuable for a life in a desert. Most, however, prefer to eat their prey rather than converse with it, so if going against a brown dragon, one must prepare for some heavy losses in a sudden battle.

(This brown dragon was based on the version appearing in "Monsters of Faerun" 2001)

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What is this loud drumming in the forest? Who is drumming so loudly here? Why, there they are, all mottled, with a red cap. It landed onto a pine tree, grabbed the bark with its’ talons, supported by the stiff tail, and began to jump upwards. It found a spot where there was a grub beneath the bark, and began to drum with its’ beak... It ate the grub, flew on, drummed on the bark some more... - it flew away even further, its’ drumming is barely audible now... It still sounds like a drum, but that’s no drummer, but the woodpecker bird.

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Beware, ye wild horses the zebras! Beware, ye speedy antelopes! Even ye beware, great-horned buffalos!

The lions are abroad!

Thunder seemingly thundered, rolling through the Savannahs and scrublands . The lions Roared, the lions snarled. Everyone else hid.

Aside from the elephant, the rhino and the polar bear, the lion is the king of the beasts. Their teeth are strong, their claws are sharp, and the mane is thick.

Who’ll get eaten tonight, you know?

PS: Remember the lynx from an earlier chapter? The lion is its' distant cousin. Which is the better cat, though? Do tell!

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As far as penguins go, they are a bird breed apart. They fly through the water, not the air. They dive and flap their wings under water so fast, that they are able to catch up to fish. On land, penguins too move in a peculiar manner: they slide and walk horizontally. From a distance they look like people in black and white suits.

Once, a ship came to shores of a land that might have been Antarctica or Africa, (there are penguins in Africa too). The crew wanted to go ashore when they saw that an entire army assembled there! They hesitated, but still moved closer. Suddenly, as if on command, the entire army dove head first into the water. Only then did the crew realize that they were dealing not with other people, but with penguins.

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Once upon a time, there lived a merrow in the northern sea, and she had a mermaid cousin, with whom she didn’t get along.

“How will I ever get myself a handsome fisherman, if you are scaring them all away?” She would ask when the two would meet... occasionally. As far as the two cousins went, the mermaid was the more feral one, and both cousins knew this. Thus, the mermaid was dismissive of her cousin, until she wasn’t.

“You’re lonely?” She suddenly asked during one such occasion, starting them both, if truth be told - the lives of the two cousins rarely crossed and they had nothing to talk about... usually. “Fine. Go to the Whale bay tomorrow - there you’ll meet someone, I’m certain,” she muttered, and with a flick of her tail, she was gone.

The merrow thought this over: she and her cousin didn’t get along, but nothing more, so why not to follow her advice? Plus, there were no bad rumours about the Whale bay, just some odd ones, and so the merrow decided to cooperate, and swam to the Whale bay to reach it by tomorrow...

...As far as the two cousins went, the mermaid was faster, but the merrow had more endurance, and so she had no problems in reaching the Whale bay by the designated time. What she found there was a large but obscure bay, rocky and out of the way, which provided shelter both from sea storms and prying eyes. “A girl could enjoy living here,” she muttered to herself.

“Glad that you approve,” someone sarcastically muttered, and the merrow was grabbed, unceremoniously, across her waist. “Kara, I told you- wait. You’re not her.”

“...” A merrow is stronger than how they look, when compared to humans; right now, our heroine was grabbed by a very large sea troll, and wisely said nothing, she just Made some vague noises, lest the troll ripped her in two.

“Crossbones.” It was Kara and her partner, a merman of her own species. “Behave. This is Kara’s estranged cousin, and we’re in a special place.”

“Fine,” the sea troll reluctantly muttered, as he left the merrow go. The latter wasn’t done herself, (her cousin set her up with a sea troll, really?), when she felt something big move through the water and decided to cooperate. This was the right choice, for thisly she got a prime spot to observe the whales arrive, for this was their birthing ground, (hence the bay’a name, you know!).

For some time the foursome observed the semi-sacred event, (except for krakens and their kin, most sea-dwellers hold the whales in high regard for their strength and wisdom), and once it was over, the whales began to sing, in gratitude, for keeping the sharks and orcas out. (We’re talking killer whales here and not orcs - orcs don’t like water actually).

The whales sang of the north, where it’s snow and ice all year round, of the south, where it’s hot constantly, and of everywhere in-between. And then they were done, they said good-bye in the whale tongue, and left for the open sea, from which they came.

The foursome were left to their own devices once more.

“Now what?” The merrow muttered to no one in particular.

“Let’s go to our place and celebrate!” Her cousin said brightly, and somehow everyone complied and did just this, but that’s another story.

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And now this is the cockatoo. This parrot bird is sitting on its' tree, playing with its' crest, opening and closing it, opening and closing. In-between this activity, the variant parrot is entertaining itself with sound mimicry: it oinks as a wild pig in the forest, growls like a wild beast in its' lair, and whistles like a songbird on the tree across. The cockatoo is a great imitator!..

Like the rest of the parrots, the cockatoo can learn to speak human languages - from English to Russian to French and beyond. Whether or not it will cognitively understand as to what it is speaking, is another story.

...There was once a cockatoo that learned even to sing songs, so this bird clearly got talent, if nothing else!

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...A hippopotamus hates to walk around on its” stumpy legs. It gets sunburned very easily. But when The rains come - beware. The hippopotamus will raid crops, and what didn’t get eaten will get trampled instead. And then it’s off to the river - not unlike its’ whale cousins, the hippopotamus is an aquatic beast.

...Once the hippopotamus reaches water and relaxes, it will prance around - it’s much more maneuverable in the water, than on land. It will swim and dive down to the river’s bottom, and then it will open its’ maw, huge, like a briefcase, and make a sound worthy of a river horse.

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An orangutang is an atypical great ape. It lives in Asia, not in Africa, as the other great apes do. It is reddish in colour, and not black. It lives on tres and not on the ground. But like all the other great apes, (and also humans), it’s very smart.

Many people in non-European countries have myths and stories about people, who used to live like people, until they stopped. For one reason or another they abandoned the human society and went to live in the wilderness, where they became apes (and monkeys). It’s just a myth. But it’s still impressive.

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Just like their ape cousins, monkey look like people - wizened old people, that is. However, their hands look quite human, while their feet... look like their hands. Monkeys can scratch, and grab things, and fight with each other using all four of their limbs.

...All day long, the monkeys travel through the tree tops. They cry, and they fight, and they jump from tree to tree. Woe betide, if such a horde comes across someone’s garden! They will destroy everything and scatter it around; they’ll not so much eat, ad ruin everything.

(PS: so, who do you like better - apes or monkeys?)

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In the Arctic, it’s snow and ice for half a year, and swarms of biting gnats for the other. You cannot reap hay there, or sustain horses and cows, especially in winter. Only the reindeer can function there. It knows how to shovel snow aside to get to the moss below.

Whose milk people drink in the North? Reindeer’s.

Who pulls their sleds? The reindeer.

Whose meat do they eat? See above.

People can’t survive without them in the Arctic.

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A walrus is a big and heavy beast. It looks like a bag of blubber, but got plenty of brawn too.

A walrus has two ivory tusks jutting from beneath the bristly moustache. It got flippers instead of feet, too. A walrus is an aquatic beast.

A walrus will dive deep and graze on the sea floor like a cow on a meadow. It eats seaweed and mollusks, and once it’s done, the walrus will emerge, grab an ice floe or the shoreline with its tusks and get out of the water completely. It will lie down and sleep.

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The polar bear is the king of the Arctic. His hide is warm, inaccessible to frost. The thick hide doesn't get water-logged. The polar bear is unaffected by frost, by snow storm, by wind, by icy water.

The polar bear wanders hither and yon through the ice and snow; when he catches something - a fish or a seal, it eats them and immediately goes to sleep, right there on the ice.

And when the polar bear wakes up, off it goes again. It looks around, it smells around, whom to catch, whom to eat again. It dives well, runs fast, swims easily. It won't stay hungry for long, it will eat something.

PS: Do you remember the brown bear from an earlier chapter? Which of the two bears comes across better?

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In the jungle, branches are breaking, trees are swaying. It’s the rhinoceros, one of the biggest beasts of the modern world, passing through . It’s ignoring thorns and spikes, bushes and stumps. Rhinoceros’ hide is thick, like true armour - arrows will break, spears bend. Only bullets can get through.

...As a result of that, the 5 modern rhinoceros species are varying from endangered to extinct in the wild. The horn size varies from species to species, but all of them are hunted for it, regardless of where they live, in Africa or Asia...

It isn’t surprising, then, that the rhinoceros is a suspicious animal, with an explosive temper!

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Once upon a time, there was a dog, who lived in the kennel. Though the kennel had no furnace, the dog's fur kept him warm, and since he did a good job of keeping various thieves and blackguards out, he was well-fed as well...

"Screw this!" said the dog as he looked over the author's drabble take of him. "I'm a dog! Man's oldest companion and best friend! Surely, I could get something bigger than just a drabble - a story, maybe, or a sequence of them..." He looked around, as he scratched himself behind an ear in a thoughtful way. "Maybe I could do some sort of a crossover, even..."

The dog looked around; he sniffed around and he walked around the enclosure of his drabble, which was supposed to be a yard. He tested the borders of his drabble, examining the entire fourth wall concept, until he got the idea of the lay of the land, so to speak, and he also tried to figure out as to where his story was going to go, because he also felt kind of lonely, (domestic dogs are social animals, as is their close cousin the grey wolf, and don't like to be by themselves, period), until he finally made a decision.

Once upon a time, there was a cat, who lived in the house. She caught a mouse in the cellar and was rewarded with milk, while her kitten, who was too young to appreciate milk properly - her mother could always give it to her fresh - was busy playing around the house, being a nuisance to everyone else, but a lovable one...

...And then the window into their room slash house opened wide, and the dog looked inside. "Hello there, neighbor!" he spoke in a particularly dopey way, which was typical of overly enthusiastic canines. "Doing anything currently?"

"Hello!" the kitten called back cheerfully. "Hi there, neighbor! And what are you doing?"

"Young lady!" the mama cat was far more defensive and less enthusiastic. "Behave yourself! And you," she turned to the dog, "what are you doing? The human owners will catch you at any moment-"

"Nuh-uh," the dog didn't back down. "There are no humans, not right now - the author didn't put them into their drabbles, not yet! Anyways, I am going to break borders through our original fandom and another one - could you two please come along with me? It'll be lonely on my own-"

The mama cat looked decisively unimpressed by the dog's plea - cats and dogs don't constantly fight, but neither do they always get along, plus unlike dogs, cats are individualist creatures and don't do large social gatherings...unless they want to, (and there's catnip involved. When there's catnip involved, all bets are off).

"I don't know, mister," the kitten spoke up suddenly. "Mama doesn't really like to travel and to have adventures. Maybe you can come in and play with me - I mean, with us, instead?"

The dog thought this over for a bit. "Sure!" he finally agreed, and jumped into the house through the window, right onto the carpet, where he gave himself a good shake, shaking himself clean. Well, cleaner. The kitten giggled and imitated him to an extent; the mama cat just stared.

The dog stared back. For a while the two grown-ups just looked at each other, clearly trying to establish some sort of a telepathic communication slash argument. The kitten just looked at them, feeling kind of worried - she didn't like it when the grown-ups fought.

"So where are we going?" the mother cat suddenly changed her tactics.

"Yay! We're going on a trip!" the kitten mewed enthusiastically. "Thank you mama!" and she hugged her mom.

"Yes, well, even a trip is better than having our... neighbor here," the older feline mewed. "Also, where are we going?"

"Oh, I got it all figured out!" the dog replied brightly, as he reached out and pulled the fourth wall between this original fandom and the next one...

"...Wow, where are we?" the kitten mewed delightfully as she pranced around the grassland - literally. Well, no - literally speaking they were in a savanna, complete with long grass and trees that were more tropical than the ones that grew in the forest that was located beyond their village...

"In Africa," the dog said brightly, as he sniffed around one of the trees in question. "Smell, or see, this one? It's an acacia tree-!"

"Yay!" said the kitten and immediately began to climb it. Her mother was far less amused.

"You!" she told their new acquaintance. "You! You man! Do you know as to who lives here?"

"Your relatives?" the dog suggested brightly, as he pointed out to a lion in the distance. (So far, the latter was more interested in a herd of zebras and was ignoring the disturbance, not that the smaller mammals minded that, king of the beasts and all).

The mother cat looked at the king of beasts in question and her ears went flat. "You!" she switched her attention back to the dog. "You! You bachelor! You bachelor man! You self-designated bachelor- dog-! You!"

"Mama!" And the kitten (of whom the mother cat had kind of forgotten, cough), fell from an acacia branch - she didn't have too much experience at climbing trees yet, and right onto the dog.

There was a pause as the trio tried to get their bearings together, because reasons. "See, mommy? I landed on my feet, as a big cat!" the kitten said brightly, switching her mental gears really easily, and doing her best to sound innocent, too.

The mother cat wasn't impressed - mothers often aren't. That said...

"Right," she spoke finally. "Let's go and walk around here for a while - gently. We can play and all, but do so quietly, and without making a commotion. Understood this, both of you did?" she asked, sounding a bit like the older version of Yoda, (not the new baby one).

Instead of commenting on this, however, the other two just nodded in understanding, and this was that: the not exactly dynamic trio went on for a walk through the acacia grove and had a lot of adventures, both here and elsewhere - but that was another story.

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Once upon a time, there was a mother rabbit, and she had two little bunnies...

The mother rabbit in question was not happy. The dog in the backyard was scary enough, (especially for a little rabbit), but the presence of cats was something else. True, the older feline preferred just to sit on the kennel roof, while her kitten played with the dog, but a mother rabbit is a worry-wart and couldn’t help herself, safety of an enclosure or not.

“Shouldn’t something be done about them?” She asked her neighbour, (a domestic pig, incidentally).

“Feel free,” the swine replied, as she went through a hole in the fence. “Personally, I am off to talk to my wild cousins - good luck!”

“Aren’t you worried about the humans-?”

“Silly rabbit - our story has no humans, at least not so far!” Commented the pig and left, leaving the rabbit family behind.

The rabbits just looked at each other, but before they could reach any conclusion, in popped their wild cousin, the hare.

“Yo! You!” He called out to the cats and the dog. “Where’s the lynx from our plot line?”

The mother cat just jabbed one of her paws in the direction of the hole through the fourth wall, (from the previous chapter).

“Is she coming back any time soon?” The hare pressed on.

The mother cat gave him a flat look.

“Oh good,” said the hare, “since I was worried.” To further emphasize his relief, he turned around and jumping into the rabbits’ enclosure. “Hey there, cousins,” he told them brightly. “Want to hang around?”

The bunnies looked at their mom. “Fine,” their mother relented. “But let’s not get carried away, or our swine neighbour will come back or something!”

“Done,” agreed the hare, and the foursome went to the local vegetable garden, (which was located not far from the pigsty, actually), but that was another story.

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…The donkey stood in the overgrown field. Somehow, he got to be tied up, even though there were no humans around.

“Hello, Mr. Donkey,” the kitten said cheerfully, even as the other animals held back due to the donkey’s incessant cries of “Hee-haw!”. “Are you hungry?”

The bigger animal actually stopped shouting and gave the kitten a look. “...Shouldn’t the two of you be inside the home, anyhow, or has the author decide to put humans into our story after all?” He finally asked, somehow sounding more British than the other animals did, (they sounded more American).

“No, but if you give the girl a ride I’ll set you free anyhow,” the dog replied cheerfully, instead of the kitten.

The donkey gave him a flat look: “I like to see you try,” was what he said.

The dog exchanged looks with his new friends. “Do it,” the mother cat finally said. “We might as well see beforehand.” So the dog complied.

...The leather cord burst with a snap. The donkey came free, and began to prance around, channeling his inner horse. (The horse in question was actually nearby, having some sort of a race with the hare and his rabbit cousins - who knows why?) The dog backed down, wincing, and actually looking hurt. The mother cat rolled her eyes, muttered something about men in general, and began to lick the dog to make him feel better.

“Mr. Donkey?” The kitten asked again, sounding insistent.

The donkey stopped prancing like a colt and gave the trio a thoughtful look. “Fine,” he replied at last. “A promise is a promise, after all, even though I am rather hungry...”

“Oh men,” the mother cat sighed, as she went through the hole in the fourth wall and rolled several baobab fruits briefly later. “There! Will they do?”

The donkey ate the fruit. “...Right,” he said some time later and carefully allowed the kitten to climb onto him. “Let’s give you a ride, shall we?” And this was what he did, while being gentle, and keeping on the horse - but that’s another story.

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Sadly, everything must come to an end, and that included the kitten’s ride, as it began to rain.

“...Right,” said the dog, after the four of them, including the donkey, looked into the house, and decided that going in there was a bad idea, because reasons. “You two Want to Wait it out in my kennel?”

The mother cat actually had no problems with that, but-

“Can we join in?” The hare suddenly asked, startling them. “Our youngsters don’t do the rain so well either, and the missus has views about the enclosure in the rain...”

Before either the mother cat or the dog could reply, the horse did, (and in a British accent for some reason):

“You all can stay in our stable instead; the two of us actually need to have a private talk...”

Since the rain was turning out to be a brief but a strong one, the smaller animals readily agreed and in they went, leaving the hoofed duo outside.

“Sorry for not freeing you earlier,” the horse awkwardly told the donkey.

“...The only reason as to why I am not going there are them,” the donkey pointed to a clutch of chicks, swarming around the mother hen, as she ushered them into the currently empty kennel because of the rain. Somewhat surprisingly, a black grouse cock was helping her with that.

“Glad to see that he is settling down - maybe,” said a cow, startling the other two. “Nice to see that the author is getting their shite together in regards to our story.”

“You’re not connected to Deadpool, are you?” The horse skeptically asked.

“Nope!” The cow lied through her teeth. “Now what about that hole in the fourth wall?”

“Why should we tell you? You ignored us until now!”

“Well...” the cow glanced inside the house, where the lion and the lynx from the earlier drabbles were having tea - apparently the author was in a somewhat “Animal Farm” state of mind. “I was actually looking for someplace more sane-“

“Excuse us,” the donkey and the horse told the cow and went inside to talk to the other animals about that - but it was another story...

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The chase was long and very lively. The Dilophosaurus, which became independent only a little while ago - until recently, he had lived with his mother, and fed and hunted alongside her, but now it was time for him to become an independent grown-up - was fleeing quite quickly from a herd of Anchisaurus, a species of pro-sauropod dinosaurs. At this moment in time - it was the early Jurassic, around 200 MYA - the pro-sauropods were only humble forerunners of the great reptilian giants that would arise on the planet 50 million years in the future from now, but speaking of 'now'? The Anchisaurus herd numbered easily a dozen dinosaurs, and the Dilophosaurus was on his own.

...True, under normal circumstances, the situation wouldn't have been too difficult, the numbers wouldn't have mattered: a Dilophosaurus would ambush the pro-sauropods with their attack and the dim-witted herbivores would flee, while the theropods feasted. The Dilophosaurus of this story did exactly that, but the Anchisaurus herd by accident fled in his direction, and now he had to run away instead.

At the edge of his sight the Dilophosaurus, (unlike the later theropods - Allosaurus, Tyrannosaurus - the Dilophosaurus' eyes were located more to the sides of the head), noted some movement there and instinctively jumped in this direction.

He made it just in time. A pack of Megapnosaurus, smaller distant cousins of the Dilophosaurus, appeared on the scene: apparently, the nominal pack leader tried to ambush the bigger carnivore, while the latter was distracted, and the rest of Megapnosaurus followed... The leader had missed, it had only stirred up the rest of the pack in vain, and confused the Anchisaurus even more: the pro-sauropod herd sharply shifted the angle of their race and fled in a different direction...

And the Megapnosaurus looked around and were confronted by the Dilophosaurus, which had recovered from his fright, listened to the noises in his stomach, and realized that he was hungry - and therefore angry. Megapnosaurus numbered many, Dilophosaurus - only one, but he was the bigger and stronger dinosaur here, and in the early Jurassic, when the dinosaurs were only beginning to evolve into the upcoming lords of the planet, this was enough. The Dilophosaurus charged at the nearest Megapnosaurus and tore into it literally, eating it while the smaller theropod was technically still alive. The remaining pack of the smaller carnivores fled...

...Many millions of years later, when the paleontologists, who were running the dig, made a discovery - petrified tracks of pro-sauropods, and of one or two species of theropods, plus theropod, (of single or several specimens?), bones scattered all over the territory in question. The discussion about just what had happened here went for a long time...

End

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Out of all the true dragons, the sand dragon is one of the least known. This powerful dragon lives in the warm, and even hot, wastelands of the world, in environments such as deserts and steppes and prairies. Like its cousins – the brown and the brass, the blue and the red and so on – the sand dragon grows in strength and size and power as it ages, from a tiny hatchling, to a giant-sized great wyrm.

The sand dragon is decisively chaotic on the draconic axle of good and evil; it is always unpre-dictable, and also is a loner, unlike some other true dragons. It is intelligent – more so than a white dragon is, for example – and is capable of complex social behavior and interactions, espe-cially when a male and a female sand dragons are courting each other, but otherwise it prefers to stay away from other intelligent creatures and live in its’ network of lairs and tunnels; sometimes, if a sand dragon does feel lonely, it may bring a colony of vermin – even giant vermin, such as giant ants or some similar creatures – to live alongside it, and flourish, while the sand dragon feeds them scraps of its’ meals and feeds its own ego.

…Like the other true dragons, the sand dragon has a dragon-sized ego, but unlike, say, a blue or a red dragon, the sand dragon is aware of this and adjusts its behavior when dealing with ‘lesser creatures’ accordingly. Of course, it is never known as to just how it will actually adjust the atti-tude, but that is another situation entirely.

What is almost always certain is that the sand dragon confronted by a PC party is a loner; very rarely it will have its partner around, and maybe some of its’ offspring – no more than 6, but usu-ally no fewer than 3. This will make any situation only more complex – interacting with a single sand dragon is hard diplomatically; several of them is more like impossible, especially since the sand dragons will always drag the discussion in different directions either for fun or because of their egos – not even the sand dragons themselves know which is which.

…On the other hand, the usual interactions between sand dragons and the ‘lesser creatures’ are straightforward: the sand dragons raid them. Mostly for food, for while the sand dragons can survive on almost anything in their wasteland homes, they prefer to feed on meat and similar sub-stances, usually animals, but anyone can go in a pinch. They do not dismiss any treasure either, but do not collect it as intently as some other true dragons do. (They do not mind being bribed with treasure, however). This is usually where the PCs come in.

The sand dragons are intelligent creatures, and unpredictable, but they are not evil, not as the chromatic dragons are. They do not like making elaborate schemes and tend to live ‘in the now’ without making many allowances or having many concerns for the future. Of course, since they are dragons, and dragons of the sort that begins to be very large from the young adult age to older ones, there’s a good reason why they don’t have many – few creatures can defeat a sand dragon as soon as it becomes an adult or older, and as the sand dragon ages, the number of the creatures grows fewer yet. Most of them are other true dragons – the sand dragon prefers to avoid the blue dragon, but it will do its best to drive the brass dragon away, if the two live in close proximity to each other.

…However, the PC party that is likely to confront the sand dragon in your game is unlikely to have any dragons among their number; there may be half-dragons, but most half-dragons aren’t as impressive as their dragon parents are, not at first anyhow, so the sand dragon isn’t likely to be impressed by them, (unless it knows their dragon parent and suspects that the half-dragons are on its’ behalf), so here’s what one should know about confronting sand dragons:

- They are burrowers and can move almost as fast under sand as they do above it. Given their affinity to their wasteland homes, sand dragons are unlikely to go aboveground unless the PCs drive them out, but will prefer to stay beneath the surface, and attacking the PCs from below.

- The sand dragon does not like to use spells, but it got an impressive array of spell-like abilities to use before it utilizes its’ spell repertoire. Even just a juvenile sand dragon can use the haboob spell-like ability at will, and as the sand dragon grows older, it acquires more impressive spell-like abilities yet. However, it can use them only a few times per day, or only just once per day, so it prefers to save them as a coup de gras after wearing down its opponents with haboob and its breath weapon.

- The sand dragon’s breath weapon is a cone that deals bludgeoning damage, (in game terms). The sand dragon prefers to use it as often as possible, so the PCs should have good reflexes and good reflex saves to half the damage at least. Any fight with a sand dragon will turn into an en-durance fight, with the sand dragon liable to break and retreat whenever it strikes its’ fancy. Unlike the brown dragon, with which it sometimes gets confused, the sand dragon can fly, and will do so, if necessary, or if it decides to change tactics and attack the PCs from above instead, so the party should prepare for some of more traditional dragon tactics and technics; unlike other true dragons, the sand dragon doesn’t often snatch or rend its opponents, but it still can do so, and its tail slap isn’t something that can easily be shrugged off.

…And so, this is the sand dragon. It embodies the desert – its’ relentlessness and unpredictability, its’ harshness, but sometimes – its’ life-giving oases. It most certainly isn’t a good dragon as the metallic dragons are, but it can be reasoned with, and negotiated, and sometimes – even be-friended, though that usually ends badly for one of the parties involved. It can also be a good final boss monster for your PCs’ desert-based campaign.

End

(The sand dragon is based on D&D 3.5 e. 'Sandstorm' 2005 book).

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Second only to the mountain landwyrm in size and strength, the desert landwyrm is a patient, evil beast and a very powerful dragon. Usually, it is found only among sandy deserts, where their yellow-brown coloration creates a perfect camouflage; to increase it further, the desert landwyrm often half-buries itself in the sand as well to better launch its sudden ambush attacks.

This creature is a loner, but not because of food requirement – for its gargantuan bulk a desert landwyrm can fast for a long time – of its temper. This neutral evil dragon-kin barely tolerates its mate during the brief mating season; when it is over, the smaller desert landwyrm leaves as quickly as it can.

3 to 6 eggs are laid and hatched in about 18 months. The female keeps an eye on her clutch, but leaves the incubation to the solar heat: the eggs are buried on an appropriate depth in the sands and clay for them not to be baked or fried. After several more months the young hatch, dig their way to the surface and scatter, before their mother finds and eats them.

They stay together for the first few years of their lives, but as they grow in size and strength their relationships fray and they eventually establish territories of their own, independent of each other, or die in the process.

A fully, or even half-grown desert landwyrm has few enemies. The blue dragons, of course, are the foremost among them, using their breath weapon and wings to rain death upon the desert landwyrm from above. However, a sufficiently big and experienced desert landwyrm can utilize its sandstorm attack to blind and ground a blue dragon, where the fighting will continue on a more equal level than most blue dragons would like. (Brass dragons, it should be noted, do not even try to challenge a large desert landwyrm, but prefer to stay out of its way, or – hire adventurers.)

In some parts of the world, where deserts meet plains, the desert landwyrm may encounter its smaller cousin – the plains landwyrm. One on one a plains landwyrm has no chance of defeating its’ desert cousin, but a pack of them, numbering from 3 to 6 plains landwyrms (and sometimes even more) can easily drive a solitary desert landwyrm away. However, the truth is that the two relatives encounter each other only rarely; the plains landwyrm find the sands of the deserts too loose for running, and the desert landwyrm finds the grassy land of the plains too hard to dig effectively through it, and thus they avoid each other’s habitat and each other.

However, in the north, where even deserts may get snow in winter, the desert landwyrm may meet another one of its cousins – the tundra landwyrm. Only slightly smaller than the desert landwyrm (and still much bigger than their plains-dwelling cousin), the tundra landwyrms prefer to hunt in pairs, pinning down their game and draining its blood. If a desert landwyrm is sufficiently sluggish and sleepy, the tundra landwyrms may overpower even it. That, however, happens only rarely – not only the tundra landwyrms dislike venturing so far down south even in winter, but if a desert landwyrm isn’t sufficiently sluggish and sleepy from the cold, it will strike back, driving off or even wounding its tundra-dwelling cousins.

Beyond other dragons, the only enemies’ desert landwyrms fears are flash floods and adventurers. Both strike unexpectedly, without much warning can overpower any, but the biggest desert landwyrms and are often accompanied by brass dragons, who try to utilize their breath weapon and wings while the desert landwyrm is at a disadvantage and cannot rear up to snatch the smaller dragons from the sky.

For the adventurers’ part of the conflict, acquiring the back up of a brass, or even a blue, dragon is one of the best advantages when fighting a desert landwyrm. These gargantuan beasts might be slow, and rely on their frightful presence to intimidate and shake-up their opponents beforehand, but they are also immensely powerful, their jaws and claws pack powerful bites and punches, capable of breaking backs and caving ribs, and their sandstorm ability can blind and weaken their smaller opponents enough for the desert landwyrm to deliver a final blow, so sand goggles are also necessary.

As are food and water supplies. Desert landwyrms often lair in very desolate places, not just due to their depredations, but also initially, so a chance of foraging (unless you are a dragon that can eat inorganic material) is very slim.

Due to their gargantuan size, desert-related adaptations and immense physical strength coupled with the frightful presence, desert landwyrms must be confronted only by the most experienced and battle-hardened adventuring groups; anything else will most likely be suicidal.

Desert landwyrm first appeared in 3.5 edition of Draconomicon, 2003

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By the standards of the dragon-kind, the elemental drakes are something of an enigma – nobody knows for sure what to make of them. On one hand they clearly demonstrate the dragons’ elemental tendency, actually taken to extreme: besides the elementals themselves, few creatures have closer ties to the raw elements (and paraelements) than the elemental drakes. On the other, the elemental drakes fail to demonstrate any of the ‘true’ dragon’s powers, such as powerful breath weapons or their aptitude with arcane magic. This makes many dragon scholars wonder, or even assume, that the elemental drakes are a side branch from the main dragon family tree, and one that split off fairly early in the dragon evolution, so to speak.

(It should be noted that some exceptional elemental drakes may invest in psionics, and often achieve a fair amount of proficiency with them; more on that later.)

As for the water drakes, they are some of the better-tempered elemental drakes: they do not purposefully seek their ‘lessers’ to despoil or dominate, and would rather be left alone, if given a choice. They also spend less time sucking-up to more powerful creatures, such as sea serpents or topaz dragons, and are more inclined to deal fairly than their relatives – fire drakes, ooze drakes, etc. They tend not to attack without provocation either.

That is not to say that a water drake won’t attack if it thinks that it can get the upper hand over its opponent quickly enough, but this still happens less often than in case of other elemental drakes.

The other main difference from most of other elemental drakes is the water drake’s tendency to bear live young, rather than eggs: the females of this species give birth underwater, and their newly born offspring already can breathe underwater, fly, swim and even move on land. They do not take care of their young, though, so many of the newly born water drakes perish from all sorts of creatures, from black dragons and dragon turtles to giant sharks and octopuses.

In combat, a typical water drake’s tactics are simple: grab a creature and pull it underwater (or out of water) until it suffocates. If a creature is amphibious, or too big to be pulled under (or out), the water drake goes into a fury, biting, clawing and tail slapping its opponent, until it the latter is overwhelmed; however, if the opponent is too formidable (a dragon turtle or an adult sea serpent) the water drake will flee instead and fight only if cornered.

If a pair or a larger group of water drakes is encountered instead of a single specimen, this tactic does not change, save that the water drakes attack en masse without any coordination or coherent utilization of their drenching power – the power to extinguish non-magical fire sources. Then again, any fire on the Elemental Plane of Water usually is magical, making this ability of the water drake useless. On the Material Plane, near coastlines and islands, it is more so, but many of the water drakes encountered there are exceptional specimens: older and bigger than most of the water drakes (advanced to at least 19 HD) and are often trained psionicists, favoring the telepathy discipline.

Consequently, they are usually more formidable than their smaller cousins are, and often prefer to attack from a distance, using their psionic powers instead. However, they are also more reasonable and are more willing to negotiate than their younger relatives do, as well.

Overall, a water drake is a typical monstrous denizen of the depth – not the biggest or strongest, and certainly not the meanest. One on one it may provide a challenge, but a group of well-prepared adventurers will usually cause it to flee. This makes it a well-suited monster to be put against a low-level group of adventurers, however, and it should be used accordingly.

The water drake first appeared in the 3.5 edition of Draconomicon (2003).

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End of the Jurassic, 150 MYA

The end of the Jurassic. The heat in the Morrison Valley. Slowly, shaking the earth with their heavy tread, go the current lords of the planet - the sauropod dinosaurs. Many of the dinosaurs are known for their great size, but the sauropods, even when put against them, look like real giants.
The Sauropods that have come and went back beyond the horizon are Camarosaurs. At 15 m in length they are not the longest of sauropods, there will be (and there are) dinosaurs that are larger than the Camarosaurs are, but they are not yet here; however, the Camarosaurs have also disappeared right now
However, who is here? A nine-meter male Stegosaurus, for example. He went into the channel of a dried up river and strenuously dug in it, digging up water, or at least - wet soil.
The Stegosaurus is built like a bus, or even like a tank. On his back are plates, on his tail - spikes, a battle mace: just try to without touch! Only the head is a letdown: it is a small one, and looks at the world with a dark and dim view, without much interest in anything. Right now, though, the nostrils are flaring: the Stegosaurus smelled water.
He sniffed. He dug. Hard to say if that is dirty water or wet dirt, but the Stegosaurus is glad: he got on the knees of his forepaws, and began to drink it greedily: in the heat of day, any drink is good news.
Though he was thirsty, he was not alone for long: the Stegosaurus heard the trampling of legs, he jumped onto his own legs, began to look around, waving his tail-mace, sniffing the enemy and looking out.
But no, there is no one, only a family of Dryosaurs stood nearby, waiting for their turn for water.
A Dryosaurus is small, the size of a human, and agile, and with big attentive eyes, not like the Stegosaurus, but rather the opposite. Both dinosaurs from the family of ornithischians, but long ago, in the depths of centuries (but most likely at the end of Triassic and the beginning of Jurassic), they divided: the ancestors of Stegosaurus remained quadrupedal, covered with armor, heavy, and the ancestors of Dryosaurus remained bipedal, lightweight runners.
... Moreover, the Stegosaurus has not let it go, his head looks around, and the tail is waving more and more: do not approach, watch out! The Dryosaurs themselves became worried, looked around: where is the enemy, where does it come from?
From the ambush, that is where. He crept up via the coniferous grove and the steep riverbank, a six-meter dinosaur – the Ceratosaurus. He crept up, prepared an ambush, waited for the moment. And he waited, but now he is charging!
And the Dryosaurs fled from him. Even faster. These herbivorous dinosaurs know that if they run away from the Ceratosaurus for 100-200 m, he will not pursue them anymore, will fall behind them – he is too heavy!
Boom!
The Stegosaurus, for all these events, had his own point of view – albeit a nearsighted one. His nose is sharp, he smelled a predator, but as to who exactly ran past him, the Stegosaurus did not understand. He took and swung his tail instead - right onto one of the Dryosaurs. The latter was knocked dead at once: the tail of the Stegosaurus has four spikes, each 60-90 cm in length, and the force in this tail is considerable: if the Stegosaurus did not kill the Dryosaurus with a spike, then he just killed the smaller herbivore by slamming it into the river channel.
And the Ceratosaurus was right there. Keeping one eye on the Stegosaurus, the other - on the escaped (and survived) Dryosaurs, he picked the dead dinosaur up and swallowed completely. And then he went about his business.

The surviving Dryosaurs ran far away, though not for long - they are light-legged. They ran into a grove, lay down in the shade and lay down there - tired and hungry they were.
And then the earth went shaking!
These are the Camarosaurs; they came out of the horizon, and into the grove. They are hungry, too. However, for them this trouble is easily corrected: their heads are level with the crowns of trees; they came up, and began to pick foliage and needles from the trees.
An appetite of a Camarosaurus is excellent, but its teeth are flawed: each tooth is not a tooth, but a chisel. Such teeth do not chew anything, here are the Camarosaurus do not chew to begin with: whole their food is swallowed: their bellies will digest anything, plus, in advance, they’ve swallowed river stones slash pebbles - all for better, faster, easier digestion.
... And the fact that they have food dropping from their mouths, it is not really important for the Camarosaurs: the sauropods are stupid, even by the standards of dinosaurs.
However, the Dryosaurs are actually quite smart: they jumped onto their feet; they ran up to the Camarosaurs, their "crumbs" the Dryosaurs ate until they were sated, although they still want to drink.
And then the earth is shaking again!
This is one of the Camarosaurs, a little lower than the others in height, could not completely reached the crown of the tree, and so it stood up on the hind legs, and put the front legs onto the tree - and it broke!
... A little Dryosaurus was not crushed, by the way. They ran away from the potential danger, again to the dried up river, they closer, began to look.
No problem. No one. The Ceratosaurus is gone, his lunch has been digested, and the Stegosaurus has gone too – he had drunk his fill, apparently. Only on the horizon, something is swirling and it is not the long-awaited clouds that may finally on the way, nor just some pterosaurs’ flock.
However, the Dryosaurs are still afraid, even though there is no Ceratosaurus - what if someone new will come up? Moreover, they still want to drink...
Therefore, they came up with an idea: they started drinking one by one. Some of them drink from the pit that the Stegosaurus had made, others stand at the top, look around the neighborhood, to see if the enemy is waiting.
No problem. No one. Only for a moment, a shadow closed the sun and a weak breeze blew. The Dryosaurs grew alerted. The breeze blew harder, began to turn into the wind - and it blew away the Dryosaurs away – they ran away, i.e.

... And in the evening, it rained.
The stengers of the heavens opened up, and everything in the area is blue-black in color, only lightning the white, and thunder rattles-up accolades. The Stegosaurus woke up, his tail waved, the dinosaur cried and coughed: new time is coming; the Camarosaurs are gone back over the horizon.
But the Apatosaurs are coming out from behind the horizon. A Camarosaurus is 15m long and an Apatosaurus is all 23. Up to the crowns of trees, their heads they do not put, at the level of shoulders the food is found. However, when your shoulders themselves are at five to six meters in high, is that not something?
There are the Apatosaurs, Earth is shaken as they move, every dinosaur in this herd weighs 16 tons - no wonder they are still nicknamed ‘Brontosaurus;, thunder lizard: when such a lizard will knock foot on the ground, what will come, if not the most thundering thunder?
Even the Stegosaurus heard it, turned, and trod from the grove: this is a battle he cannot win, and he does not need it: Apatosaurs are peaceful dinosaurs, and they eat other food than Stegosaurus does, it is more high-growing, things that the Stegosaurus cannot get - and there is no need. The rains have come, the time for abundance has come!..
The Ceratosaurus heard to the heavy nose of the Apatosaurs’ steps. He got up on his hind legs, and roared low and long, forget the Stegosaurus! This roar is not simple: the Ceratosaurus is glad for his territory: if other Ceratosaurs decide that this dinosaur is weak, they will come to his territory, will take it away. It is unbearable for this Ceratosaurus, so he roars.
However, there are other predators in the Jurassic period that can eat the Ceratosaurus himself. It is unbearable for the Ceratosaurus, too, and he roars for another reason, too. Moreover, those predators are here already. They have followed the Apatosaurs.

All night it rained, and the rained washed the sky clean. By morning, the sun woke up and the whole plain lit up. And there, everywhere, are fresh greens, but there is no grass: not yet had it appeared on the planet. However, ferns and horsetails, cycads and ancient conifers, are found in abundance. True, those that got under a Camarosaurus tooth or paw will not be helped, but the other plants bloom and thrive.
The Stegosaurus saw, or rather – smelled it. Blood flowed into his plates on the back, he twitched them, his feet stomped, he spun, began to blow-cough with his throat pouch: where are you, ladies and girls? Au! The Bachelor is here!
Female Stegosaurs’ had not yet appeared on the horizon, only the Dryosaurs ceased grazing, stared at the Stegosaurus’ theatrics – with one eye. With the other eye, they looked out for enemies, where is the Ceratosaurus?
And he is already here, on the other side of the Apatosaurus herd. With one eye, he squinted at Dryosaurs, with the other - on his enemies.
And the enemies are already here, after the Apatosaurus herd they came. Torvosaurs they are called and Edmarkias: Of the Allosaurus, they are distant relatives. Allosaurs on the average in length are 10 meters, and Torvosaurs - 11 meters, and they be stronger, perhaps, than the Allosaurs are, and the Ceratosaurus does not even come close.
The Apatosaurs do not care about all these meters: they are even larger than any of their neighbors are, even than the Camarosaurs, and on the brains’ standard – they are even dumber. All they care about is what they can eat: when they are this tall and heavy, the Apatosaurs should eat all the time, because they roam all the time; if they had lived settled lives, all the local vegetation would be eaten and the sauropods themselves be dead in a matter of days.
The Camarosaurs, by the way, also roam for the same reason. Right now, they are not seen here, they have gone over the horizon, for fresh food.
Moreover, the Torvosaurs, too, roam, after the Apatosaurs’ - they eat the sauropods. Moreover, they also eat other dinosaurs, one of them saw a Ceratosaurs, and it lunged at the smaller carnivore
And the Ceratosaurus also ran - either after the Dryosaurs, or just to run away. The Dryosaurs fled away from it, under a herd of Apatosaurs’, running fast, fast! The Ceratosaurus behind them also ran too under the herd, even faster! And one of the Torvosaurs behind him also ran under the herd, but... At an angle.
A Torvosaurus is bigger and more massive than a Ceratosaurus is: at a straight distance, it would have caught up with the smaller dinosaur via acceleration, but at an angle - no, this does not work, there maneuverability is not the same. Here it got stuck in the Apatosaurus herd and became crashed.
And the Apatosaurus stood on its hind legs, as a Camarosaurus would stand in front of a tree and stepped on the Torvosaurus! It crushed the theropod almost in half, and then left, along with the rest of its’ herd.
The rest of the Torvosaurs lingered: they ate their late relative. Cannibalism this is called, or - meat is meat!
Even if it is the meat of a relative.

As to where the Dryosaurs have ran away, the Ceratosaurs has no idea - in the muddle of sauropod legs and among the new greenery these dinosaur hid themselves, the theropod sought them and failed to find. Actually he did not even try, just lay on the ground to catch his breath.
Suddenly - rustling in the thickets. Who is there, in a word? The Ceratosaurus rose to his feet.
And this is a charmer of his kind; you can see she came to his roar. The Ceratosaurus saw her, immediately jumped to his feet, waved his tail, nodded his head, and they became acquainted. The new friend is only glad of that, in response to him she waves her head, tail too, thus the acquaintance took place, and the brave couple went into the bushes as to not annoy the Stegosaurs, who are nearby. The latter are actually standing on the bank of the river (no longer dried up, but even very full-flowing), each other is sniffing the other, and they are wagging their tails
In short, spring has come and life is continuing!

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Blue color is the fifth color. Blue is the color of water, of weather, of power of the storms, of water above in the air, and below, right beneath and among the ground, as it flows and spreads and saturates.

Blue is the color of life, of nourishment, of plentifulness – of time when there is plenty to drink and plenty to eat, as the formerly dry earth is fertilized by water coming from above and flowing through it, even from below. Blue is the color of death, of storms, of destruction – of time when torrential rains and pounding waves come onto land, washing it away, washing it all away into its dark, sunless, still depths.

Blue is the color of Spinosaurus – glaring eyes and snapping jaws from beneath the water’s surface. It may not be as popular as the big duo – Giganotosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex, but it is just as formidable as both of them are, just as big as either of them, if not bigger. Like them, it too has killer jaws, but its’ jaws are fish traps, they catch slippery fish, not cut and dry terrestrial animals; they hold, but they neither crush nor slice. Unlike Giganotosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex, Spinosaurus has big forelimbs as well; well-developed forelimbs that can both slide with powerful claws and help the hind legs to move Spinosaurus on the ground; unlike Giganotosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex, Spinosaurus is no giant killer bird, but a crocodile, a crocodile that thinks that it is a sailfish – and is as deadly as both a crocodile and a sailfish are.

Blue is also the color of Elasmosaurus – the archetypical sea snake…just treaded through the body of a sea turtle. Like Spinosaurus, this marine reptile has glaring eyes and snapping jaws, but it never comes ashore; its’ entire life belong to the color blue, to the sea, which it surfs, rising and falling with the crests of the waves, as winds and rains pelt it from above and lightning flashes amethyst on its back and flanks. Its’ head and jaws are a perfect fish trap, Elasmosaurus’ entire life is spent in movement, a constant journey for food and mates – it even rests on the waves, never seeking dry land. Spinosaurus is a river, treacherous and unpredictable, yet constrained by the dry shores; it might flood and overflow them for a while, but it always returns from whence it came. Elasmosaurus is a sea, just as treacherous and unpredictable, yet dry shores never con-strain it, they only border it, and what will be, will be. Que cera – cera.

End

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Green is the fourth color. It is the color of forest, of vegetation, of abundance and life – but also of excess, of rot, of overwhelming and death.

Green is the color of plants and all things growing, rising towards the life-given sun until it reaches to its maximum point – and beyond, obscuring the sun and the sky, turning a friendly competition into anything but, casting deep shadows over the land, so that nothing new can grow and everything living stagnates in the middle of luxury.

Green is the color of Allosaurus – glaring eyes, slashing teeth beneath delicate crests, pointed at you through the tangled trees of the dense forest, through which his slim body can slide with ease. Though nowhere as prominent as the big duo – Giganotosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex, it is a formidable carnivore on its own, slipping and sliding between trees, shrubs and vines, snapping with its’ teeth, slashing with its’ claws, harassing and haranguing its’ prey until it gives up and dies. Allosaurus is not a straight-up fighter as Giganotosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex, but a sly rogue, a strategist, often bringing down prey that is as tough or tougher than it is – a giant killer bird that pretends that it is a tiger.

Green is also the color of Tylosaurus, the great dragon of kemp. Like Allosaurus, this mighty marine reptile has piercing eyes and slashing teeth, as it waits for its prey to come into the great kemp underwater forests, where it lives. Its’ life is dedicated to the color green, just as Allosaurus’ is, but if Allosaurus’ green is the green of the land, which may be mighty, but still ebbs and flows with the rhythm of land, it waxes and wanes with the passing of time, just as all life on dry land does, then Tylosaurus’ green is the green of the sea, which is permanent, stable, eternal. Nothing waxes, nothing wanes, nothing moves, nothing flows in a kemp underwater forest, of which the Sargasso sea, the graveyard of the sea-ships is the biggest – and Tylosaurus, which slips and weaves through kemp strands with belying ease is its’ caterer and care-taker, devouring and dealing with the would-be intruders in its green underwater kingdom with ease!

End

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Red is the sixth color, the youngest, but certainly not the least. It is the color of fire, of blood, of death on sun-scorched rocks, but it is also love, of passion, of new life conceived. It is the color of fighting and fighters, of struggling, winning and losing.

Red is the color of rock. It is both puerile and sterile, it is exposition, starvation, abandonment – but it is also the color of blood, of life-giving blood, and even more life-giving fire. With fire, there can be death. Rock is bone, scorched by fire, scorched by sun, which is the father of fire. With fire, there always be life, always warmth, always heat, which is friendly and petting – until it is too much.

Red is the color of Ceratosaurus – glaring eyes, ripping teeth, beneath a goring horn. Ceratosaurus is nowhere as big as the great duo of Giganotosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex are, but it got teeth and jaws to rip, claws to slash, horn to gore. Pound for pound, it is scrappy, resilient, a fighter, using both brute strength and raw cunning to get around, to bring prey down that is bigger than Ceratosaurus itself is. Ceratosasurus is at home among the near-empty canyons; it walks and stomps, weaves and stalks. It is a killer bird and a land crocodile rolled into one.

Red is also the color of Liopleurodon, the great hunter of the deep-sea rifts. Like Ceratosaurus, Liopleurodon is all about power – long teeth to hold and to crush, powerful jaws to grasp and shake. The red of Ceratosaurus is the red of dry land, it is vivid and mighty, but like all on land it is subject to time, its’ times comes and goes, following the path of the sun, the measure of time. The red of Liopleurodon is the red of the sea, of the deep-sea rifts, where underwater volcanoes and geysers erupt, where lava flows, casting an angry red against the darkness of the sea. It is timeless, endless, a part of the planet itself, and nigh unstoppable, just as Liopleurodon itself is – the rifts’ lord and hunter, second to none.

End

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Yellow is the first color, the oldest, though admittedly not the greatest. It is the color of earth, of sun, of life that they give, but also of death, set in the middle of the sun-baked drought. Both fertility and sterility, life and death, are encapsulated in this color.

Yellow is the color of earth, of ground itself. Neither water nor fire, on its’ own earth is blank, little more than dust in the wind that will choke to death anyone that is caught in its’ grasp. Earth combines with the other elements, however, becomes the foundation of life and civilization, as this elemental team nourishes the more organic life forms.

Yellow is the color of Carnotaurus – smashing feet, crushing jaws, blazing eyes beneath a couple of proud horns. Carnotaurus is smaller than Tyrannosaurus Rex and Giganotosaurus are, but it is just as tenacious, just as vicious. A creature of the wide-open plains, which embody earth itself, it will run down and overpower any creature of its’ size or bigger, dragging them down and crush-ing them with its powerful and robust jaws and teeth…

Yellow is also the color of Dunkleosteus, the reef snapper. Like Carnotaurus, Dunkleosteus is all about power and speed – the great tail that allows this primeval fish its’ great bursts of speed, the mighty jaws, armed not with teeth, but with slicing plates of sharp bone. Carnotaurus is strong and fast for its’ size, and so’s Dunkleosteus, and pound for pound, it is the more massive one out of the two, a great hunter of the time that was before the dinosaurs roamed the world...

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Late Cretaceous, Madagascar

The great big island of Madagascar during the Late Cretaceous was a seasonal place; during the wet season, it was quite tolerable to live, but during the drought, it was excessively harsh. Even the big carnivores, even the king of Madagascar, the great abelisaur Majungasaurus, was feeling the pinch, feeling the hunger, and it was making this dinosaur angry.

To make matters worse, this particular Majungasaurus was a female, with a couple of chicks to feed, so it was particularly angry, and hungry, and short-tempered. True, it had found a long-dead carcass, a relatively filling piece of carrion, but even that was being contested by a flock several Rahonavis, bird-like theropods, much smaller and more fragile than an adult Majungasaurus – but the clamor they were raising could attract bigger, stronger carnivores… and they did.

Another Majungasaurus, a male, appeared on the scene, more than capable of challenging for the carcass feeding right. It glared meanly at the female – maybe the newcomer had sired the female’s chicks to begin with in the past, it did not matter: Majungasaurus was not a very social dinosaur.

Not willing to risk injury, the female withdrew, with the chicks following, however reluctantly. One of them, bolder or dumber or more reckless than the rest of its’ siblings, risked stealing another bite.

The male Majungasaurus, not willing to share, snapped angrily at the youngsters – and unexpect-edly, the chick’s mother came rushing back, its’ jaws opened wide.

Like all abelisaurs, a Majungasaurus is a relatively short and stocky theropod, much more com-pact than a carnosaur, such as Carcharadontosaurus, is. Whereas the latter aimed to slice and let the opponent bleed to death from thousand teeth cuts, a Majungasaurus aimed to hold, to grip and to crush.

There was more at stake than feeding rights for a carcass – for reptiles, including dinosaurs such as Majungasaurus, meat was meat, even of a relative, and cannibalism was common. Hence was what the female Majungasaurus was attempting…with ‘attempting’ being the key word as the male dodged the snapping jaws, went down low, and slammed the top of its’ head into the female’s body in a powerful ascending blow.

…A Majungasaurus’ head is not really in the same league’s as a boneheaded dinosaur’s (i.e. a Pachycephalosaurus), but it was still solid, and bumpy, and slightly horned, and being butted with it hurt: the female staggered backwards and collapsed onto the hard sandy soil, fight gone out of it for the moment.

The chicks surrounded their mother, chirping in concern, even as the flock of Rahonavis began to move closer towards the scene, now hoping that something might come their way.

The Majungasaurus male roared in anger and irritation, and the Rahonavis scattered once more, leaving the bigger predators to their own devices.

The Majungasaurus male inhaled once more, exhaled through its nostrils with a loud snort and withdrew from the female, returning to the carcass, upon which it began to feed, (while still eyeing the female). It did not have to worry – the female had learned its’ lesson and wouldn’t challenge slash attack it anytime soon.

Some meals are just not worth the trouble.

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TARTERIAN DRAGONS

Tarterian dragons are tricky and unpredictable, caring for nothing, but cruelty and malice, of which they are capable in great numbers. They dwell in the Tarterian depths of Carceri, often serving as wardens for demodands, tanar'ri and other powerful (and evil) outsiders that dwell on that plane as well.

Consequently, the tarterian dragons often nest in various towers, fortresses and strongholds, as opposed to the caves high in the Carcerian Mountains, but in either case, they prefer to possess high ground, just as many other dragons, both planar and non-planar do. They also prefer to avoid other dragons, especially other planar dragons, if they encounter them, especially on neutral ground (planes).

Some of the tarterian dragons are relatively reasonable creatures and can be negotiated with, but the greater half is too selfish and cruel for that, preferring to take what they can, and spoil what they can't, if given a chance.

Tarterian Dragon Identifiers

A tarterian dragon's notable feature is a long, semi-transparent crest on its neck and the back of its head, vaguely resembling the crest of the green dragon. On the forehead, the crest somewhat recedes into two or three long, forward-facing spikes, useless for attacking, but often applied to show-off between the tarterian dragons themselves during courting.

Other than the spikes, the head of the tarterian dragon is relatively smooth, with a pair of deep-set, glowing green eyes and a rather long, vaguely horse-like snout that the tarterian dragon often sticks into various nooks and crannies in search of prey.

A tarterian dragon tends to smell like a corpse, even while it is alive. A hatchling is born completely grey, to match the stony soil of Carceri. As it ages, bands of bluer colour begin to appear, and so the older tarterian dragons are usually covered in alternating bands of greyish and bluish colours.

A tarterian dragon's legs are especially long, but relatively thin: this dragon prefers to attack from the air, using its breath weapon and jaws first, following by a tail slap from its long, spiked tail, and the legs are used mainly to grasp the weakened prey and carry it into the air, where the dragon drops it for the final blow.

The ridge on the tarterian dragon's neck reduces into spikes (relatively short ones) on its back and tail. The spikes at the end of the tarterian dragon's tail are especially long and thick, allowing it to produce especially nasty slaps in a fight. The tail itself is long, but rather thin and not particularly powerful, so the vicious spikes at the end of it have to make-up for the lack of the physical power as well.

Habits

A tarterian dragon is often on the prowl, flying on its wings, seeking any prey or intruders. The wings of a tarterian dragon are often tattered from the plane's powerful winds, but the dragon itself is relatively light-weight (by dragon standards), so the tattered appearance and condition of its wings doesn't slow it much.

Although the tarterian dragon does not have the air subtype, the tarterian dragon spends more time on wing than on foot: the stilt-like legs with the long talons of this dragon do not allow it to move particularly fast, especially on flat ground.
In a fight, the tarterian dragon prefers to use its breath weapons, followed by physical attacks from above: it rarely uses its spell-like abilities, mostly to divide (and to conquer more easily) its opponents, and it learns new spells (or takes ranks in a class) even more rarely.

Although they're often chaotic, a pair of tarterian dragons usually remains constant with each other for several years, if not decades, regularly producing clutches of eggs. If the dragons are not wild, but are in employ of other natives of Carceri, their older offspring may settle alongside them as well, forming impromptu colonies that take care of its own, especially in face of greater threats.

The courtship of tarterian dragons is an elaborate affair, resulting in a dancing flight in Carceri's skies aimed to test the endurance of each dragon, its determination to make, and its flying skills. Such flights can last for hours, sometimes even days.

(This tarterian dragon was based on the version appearing in 3.5 edition of Draconomicon, 2003)

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Across the multiverse, there are many types of golem, and the rope, or the hangman, golem is one of the more obscure ones.

CONSTRUCTION

As evident by its’ less gruesome name – the rope golem – this golem is made out of ropes or cords, and quite a few of them: up to 1250 gp worth in total. The ropes by themselves are not too expensive; it is the saturation in the alchemical slash magical concoctions that make them appropriate and prepared for the golem creation per se that is.

More ironically, the treatment process is only the beginning, as this golem’s body and shape, (usually humanoid than any other) requires both Craft (weaving) and Use Rope skill checks, and few magic-users, of any school, have appropriate amount of ranks in those skills, so often some outsider specialist, (with ranks in the expert NPC class, for example), is required to create the golem further.

Finally, there’re the spells themselves – in the rope golem’s case, they’re the animate rope, geas/quest, limited wish and polymorph any object; as a rule, the caster must be at least of a 16th level to make the rope (or the hangman) golem come to life.

USE

Now, the rope golem is animated, and looks like a tall humanoid with a featureless face, albeit with two eyes that glow from the depth of the twisted ropes. What next?

Well, now you got yourself a formidable guardian, appropriate to stymie even mid-level PCs with several nasty tricks.

COMBAT

First, the rope golem might be vulnerable to fire, but like the rest of the golems, this construct is immune to most spells, spell-like abilities and supernatural abilities that allow for save resistance, but the rope trick spell actually paralyzes the rope golem for 1 round, (no save) – but this spell is a fairly obscure one and isn’t very likely to be available immediately at hand, so the rope golem is quite secure from this threat.

(Incidentally, the animate rope spell actually invigorates the rope golem, or rather – hastens it, as the haste spell would, for about five rounds: can be useful to know).

Secondly, this golem is a shapeshifter of sorts, and can unravel itself into a mass of tangled ropes. In this manner, it cannot attack, but it gains fast healing and can recuperate after a fight, or prepare for an ambush for the next party.

As for the combat, this golem is a straightforward fighter and assassin: it tries to grapple its opponents, and if it gets an improved grab hold on its’ foe, then it can either constrict or strangle the latter, hence its’ other name – the hangman golem. Moreover, it can create a literal whirlwind of ropes that allows it to make a single slam attack against each opponent within 10 ft. In this manner, it cannot use its’ improved grab ability, but often this is compensated by the rope golem’s greater reach – it is a construct of Large size, that takes up a 10 ft. space and has a 20 ft. reach, quite a bit more than an average PC adventurer has.

CONCLUSION

A rope (slash hangman) golem is good sneak/surprise opponent against mid-level PCs with its damage reduction and fast healing. Its’ unusual take on immunity to magic may stump even experienced adventurers, and its’ grisly look may unnerve them. In short, having a hangman golem is a good addition to any final boss’s arsenal, (especially for the more mid-level than high-level RPG games).

End

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There are plenty of various types of golem in the multiverse, and the mud golem is one of the lesser known of them. It almost strides the border between the constructs and the elementals, as it appears to be a humanoid mass of mud that is twice the size of an average human PC.

CONSTRUCTION

As it is self-evident, the mud golem is created out of mud, though not just any mud would do. Rather, the mud must be augmented by the caster’s magics…or collected from some magic-rich area from the start. A lot of it is required as well – about 1000 gp worth of material, (not even magically augmented mud is too expensive – it just mud after all).

To construct the mud golem as a physical object, before the appropriate spells must be cast, re-quires a sufficient number of ranks of either the Craft (sculpting) or the Craft (pottery) skills, and neither of those skills appear very often in a skill set of a high level spell caster, (to create a mud golem you must be of a 14th level at least), so either the caster in question must become a specialist themselves by this point in the campaign, or hire an outside specialist to achieve this. (It is up to the GM to decide which route to follow or what else have you, cough).
Finally, to animate the golem for real, the spell caster must, well, cast qeas/quest, limited wish, polymorph any object and transmute rock to mud to bring the mud golem to life, (or to the surrogate appearance of one).

Now the mud golem is complete and is ready to serve.

USES

The mud golem is a guardian, first and foremost; his atypicalness is that it is more suited for a role outside, in the great outdoors, than inside, as some other golems – such as the better-known clay and flesh golems – are. As such, and because it is made from watery mud, the mud golem actually has ranks in the Swim skills, (i.e., it can swim in the water without breaking apart), and it can hide – despite of being a Large construct - in mud quite well. Hence, most often mud golems are set to guard alongside water bodies, often with muddy or silty shorelines as well.

COMBAT

A mud golem is largely a straightforward combatant – it seeks to slam its’ opponents with fists, and then engulf them into its body, where the latter has a good chance of suffocating, seeing how there’s no air in the mud golem.

A better strategy is ranged combat when dealing with a mud golem, but like most golems, the mud golem is immune to all spells, spell-like abilities, and supernatural abilities that allow spell resistance, but-

-But the transmute mud to rock spell slows the mud golem, (as per the slow spell) for 2d6 rounds, (no save), and a stone to flesh spell negates its damage resistance, (DR 10/adamantine and bludg-eoning) for 1 round. (Most energy spells appear to be ineffective against the mud golem, and the transmute rock to mud spell actually allows the mud golem to regain all of its lost hps – a typical mud golem usually has about 112 of them).

In addition, the mud golem has a breath weapon – a 15-ft cone of slippery mud, usable every 1d3 rounds. The effect of this breath weapon is akin to the grease spell, plus everyone hit by it gets blinded for 1d3 rounds as well. (Save DC 17 for both effects, the save DC is Con-based). Considering that an average mud golem is a Large construct, with a space and reach of 10 ft. each, this makes fighting this construct rather tricky and makes the mud golem a worthy opponent for even a mid-level PC party…

CONCLUSION

The mud golem may be ignored and forgotten given its’ lowly origins, but it is a formidable opponent in its’ own right and can stand up for itself even against a mid-level PC party, since its’ CR is 11. It lurks at the edge of land and water and when it attacks, like all golems, it is relentless.

End

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Alongside the mercury and the mist dragons, the steel dragon is the third dragon that seems to have originated on the world of Faerun™ - or perhaps not. Other scholars claim that it had originated on the world of Greyhawk™ - but it does not matter. For from wherever the steel dragon had come from, it is in a class of its’ own.

For a start, it shares traits with both the widespread metallic and less-wide-spread ferruginous dragons, but is not considered to be true kin to either. For while both of these major groups of the dragon family tree have members who can change their shapes into those of other beings, they also have members that do not – but the steel dragon can. From the day it is born as a wyrmling, it can change its shape – a feat that puts it on an equal footing with such powerful true dragons as the gold and the silver. Yet, while the gold and the silver dragons have the air of haughty arrogance and/or superiority even while they are young (they may be well intentioned, but their delivery of those intentions is something else), the steel dragons do not. Rather, they do their best to blend into the settlements of civilized races, such as humanoids, and tend to shun the more clichéd dwellings of dragons, such as caves. Verily, the only other dragon species that goes to these lengths is the deep dragon, or the drow-dragon, who dwells deep, well, underground, but prefers to live around the settlements of such beings as dwarves, duergar, and drow. The steel dragon is not unlike that, though it does not live underground, but on its surface, along humans, elves or half-elves most often. There, it makes their business its business, often creating several successful personas, usually amassing an impressive amount of wealth that it keeps...in a bank or several, not unlike a human, say. Often it has private property too – and the human-like aspects of its behavior are not just restricted to business, but also to pleasure: a steel dragon enjoys good food, music and company as well as an ordinary person; in fact, some of the stories about dragons kidnapping maidens and the like are based on steel dragon courtships gone wrong (or right). Half-steel dragon hybrids are quite common on many dimensions, including the aforementioned Faerun™; not unlike their dragon parents such half-dragons boast a breath weapon of acid...and a resistance to poison, rather than immunity to an energy type.

As for the courtship between the steel dragons proper, it can be a varied affair depending on the dragons’ individuality: it can vary from quiet and dignified to exuberant, depending on the dragons, though it should be noted that the steel dragons tend to pick mates that compliment them (casual dalliances and relationships are something else) for they tend to mate for life, remain loyal to each other (in the long run), and raise their children together. As far as dragons go, steel dragon hatchlings are very needy (almost as needy as mist dragon hatchlings) and are quite reliant on their parents for mental and emotional support. (This is why steel dragons usually do not form long-term relationships with other species of dragons, though it can vary on individual basis, of course.)

Speaking of the steel dragons’ relationship with the other dragons – they usually tend to keep them away, at arm’s length, so to speak. They get well along with the other good-aligned dragons (and even neutrally aligned), but they tend to drive the evil dragons from their territories, often employing adventurers via their magical disguises and/or intermediaries. As a consequence, most PC parties tend to end up being employed by a steel dragon than going against one.

Again, the only dragon canny enough to turn this strategy of the steel dragon against it is the deep dragon, but it and the steel dragon encounter each other only rarely, and actually tend to ignore each other – there is something in their mutual presence that makes both deep and steel dragons simply uncomfortable with each other. Shadow dragons too are often clever and cunning enough to get to a steel dragon directly via their magical ties to the plane of Shadow, so a conflict between a shadow and a steel dragon often results in a ‘true’ dragon battle, both of physical power and that of magical, as the steel dragon’s versatility is challenged by the shadow dragon’s shadow magic specialization. Often such a night goes for hours, and it takes nightfall or daybreak to properly tip the scales in favor of one dragon or another.

As for non-dragon characters, who seek to challenge a steel dragon, they should remember the following:

- It is a dragon that is really good at pretending otherwise. A campaign that involves a steel dragon should also involve many lesser adventures, that have the adventurers deal with secondary threats and obstacles, and they should become aware of a steel dragon’s true draconic nature only gradually, as the distance between them and the dragon shrinks. Even so, some doubts should remain - about the dragon’s species, perhaps, just to further deepen the players’ confusion.

- It is a dragon with many allies, and many of those allies are not summoned or conjured, but are true friends of the dragon. Some may know the steel dragon’s true nature, the others may not, but they will likely do not care if they do, for a steel dragon is still a force of good for the community it resides for (usually, though there can be variants).

- It is a versatile dragon. Some dragons prefer melee combat, others – more ranged. Some prefer a more magical sort of battle, others less so. The steel dragon can do all and any of them, choosing its approach depending on what sort of enemy it is dealing with. (And it should have plenty of time of learning about the PCs as the game campaign unfolds.)

And so, this is the steel dragon – versatile, clever, and very human-like in its behavior. Hope that you will have fun using it in your campaign!

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In the morning, lark does sing,
In morning, watch sun swing.
To sing, the lark flies to the sun,
Hence why the lark is songbirds’ king.

The nightingale this does not accept,
He waits for evening moon to intercept.
And as soon as the moon arrives,
The nightingale sings – what a surprise!

The fairy said: “What silly birds!
Their silliness denies all words!
Before the dusk, there is the dawn –
A king for the evening, and king for the morn!”

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Different Depictions: Storm Giants

Easily 5 to 6 m in height, the storm giant in their full splendor cuts an impressive and imposing figure, but also a rare one, since they are relatively introvert and don't come into contact easily. Unlike most giants, they aren't the descendants of the Jotuns from the Norse nome; rather, they claim to be descendants of the titans and gods of the Greek nome instead. This is certainly true, and during Gold, Silver, and Bronze ages of this nome they had been its undisputed rulers (though in part because there were no dragons or similar beings to properly challenge their rule), and while the storm giants themselves claim that their rule was benevolent, the myths and legends of the ancient Greeks (and to a lesser extent - of their neighbors) show more capricious and unpredictable beings, who generally looked down on the lesser races, and didn't always got along - several of the myths show the mythological analogs of the storm giants fighting either other giants or each other.

The climax of this rule came during the Trojan war: when the Greek city-states warred (largely together against Troy), so did the storm giants - with each other. It was a rather long and brutal war, and it largely depleted the inherent magics of the ancient Greek nome: its borders came crashing down, opening it to other nomes - Roman, Egyptian, Persian/Parthian, etc. This development also signed the demise of the storm giants' power over the 'lesser races': as the ancients Greeks first conquered the Persians and then themselves fell to Rome, their old deities faded, as the surviving storm giants broke off their contact with other races and gradually faded away...

...only to resurface in the American south. It is unknown how and when did they make their trip across the Atlantic, but given the fact that many storm giants possess powerful magics, specifically suited to travel overseas and the like, it probably wasn't too hard. Initially, the storm giants had settled in what are now the south-east U.S. states, which still boast the main population of storm giants in the modern world, where they recovered their culture, which is still similar to what they once had, save that they are still more introvert than their ancestors had been, and don't get along with sentient races unlike various animals, often amphibious, such as the American alligators, who are often found alongside the storm giants - but they are more like pets, rather than proper friends and companions, unlike in case of the other main North American giant - the stone giant. The latter, it should be noted, don't get along with the storm giants, for the storm giants are normally twice as tall as the stone giants are, for one thing. For another, while the stone giants prefer to live on the mountains, (such as the Rockies or the Appalachians), the storm giants prefer to live in the lowlands, as a rule - near water, i.e. in places that the stone giants prefer to avoid.

Furthermore, while the stone giants often prefer to avoid people, (though there are exceptions), the storm giants tend to get along well with them, (though there are exceptions and limits). Their magics allow them to change size and to fit-in with humans and similarly-sized races (more or less). They don't try to dominate as their cultural ancestors did in ancient Greece, but they still don't avoid them as the stone giants tend to do.

Lately, there are rumors that the Greeks are planning to invite the storm giants back to their native homeland. So far, the storm giants aren't responding to this sort of suggestion, period. They're quite happy staying in the U.S., and aren't planning on leaving it, yet.

End

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Among the various creatures that inhabit the multiverse, the chimera occupies a peculiar place: at the edge between dragons and dragon-kind, and the magical beasts of a somewhat more mundane nature.

The chimera is well known to most monster hunters, sages and other learned people: it is a three-headed monster, a unique creature even among monsters, most of which have only one head, (the ettin has two, the hydra – five and more, but they are of a unique bend themselves.), and one of those heads is that of a dragon.

Here elaboration is in order. The original Chimera, which haunted the country Lycia and was slain by Bellorophont, did indeed have three heads – but none of them was draconic. Instead, that third head (the first was that of a lion and the second of a goat) was that of a serpent.

Now, theories abound as to why a serpent head of the original chimera became that of a dragon instead. The Cult of the Dragon is a likely culprit: their wizards, clerics, and wearers of purple often experiment with various monstrous beasts, including the more advanced version of the chimera – the dracimera, so perhaps they were responsible for the initial transformation of the chimeras as well.

Another theory is that some god resurrected, or recreated the original chimera, making it part dragon, rather than part snake, to make it even more formidable – and it was already formidable from the start. Whatever the theory, the chimeras began spread and flourish – relatively so. They are solitary and territorial beasts; they mate infrequently and are rumored to be able to reproduce without any mating at all.

The chimera is a glutton and will eat anything and anyone it can. Although it looks part dragon, it generally does not have a hoard – it leaves the valuables of its victims lying around...unless it works in tandem with some other monster, or even a dragon...something that the canny adventuring parties should be aware of and adjust their approach accordingly.

On its own, a chimera is a frightful adversary. The original Chimera preferred to hunt on the ground, but its descendants can fly as well, albeit at a slow speed. They prefer to attack from ambush, whether from the ground or air, utilizing their multiple heads to bite and gore their enemies until they are dead. They prefer to use their breath weapon when attacking from above, trying to inflict maximum damage while staying out of range of return attacks: this is why they attack spell casters and ranged weapon specialists first.

However, despite their multiple heads, the chimeras are rather dim – Bellorophont killed the original monster by rammed an ingot of lead into its throat until the beast choked and died – and its descendants are not any smarter or quicker to react. Thus, when going against a chimera, a PC party should be well-stocked on healing spells as well as shield ones, and prepare for a series of fast ambush attacks that end quickly – unless cornered or grounded, the chimera would rather flee than fight to the death.

The problem is that the chimera despites its relative power and physical prowess may be a minion of a greater adversary, like the Cult of the Dragon, or even a dragon, who may use the chimera to cover up their own attacks. Thus, a black dragon Tohvittumrhoth uses a chimera named Ergatul to further confuse her enemies and cover up her own ambushes and ravages – and if adventurers go forth, they will find themselves out of their depths, for Tohvittumrhoth is a mature black dragon and a more formidable adversary than a mere chimera; her ties with Cult of the Dragon make her even more difficult to defeat.

On its own, a chimera is just a mid-level monster and relatively easy to defeat. When it is work-ing with allies – or a master – it becomes much more formidable.

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There are many theories regarding the origins of the landwyrms – wingless cousins of the true dragons that come in many shapes and sizes. Some claim that they arose because of dragon-Fay interactions; others – that they are related to elemental drakes, a rather large and varied group of dragonkind in their own right. Still others claim that the landwyrms are not true dragons, but rather spirits of the land – plain, desert, hill and so on; that explains their differences in shapes and sizes as well as in their powers (but not in their attitude to other life forms – almost always it is nasty and vicious).

Of course, that is only a theory, but the landwyrms appear to prove it true at least to some extent; for example, the mountain landwyrm, named after the biggest land feature there is, is also the biggest member of the landwyrm family (though perhaps not the smartest or the nastiest).

A fully-grown mountain landwyrm is a colossus of brute strength, clad in rocky hide so thick that not even claws and teeth of a true dragon can do much damage against it. It lacks a breath weapon of its own, but can emit a thunderous roar, similar to that of the dragonne, but much more powerfully; thankfully, the mountain landwyrm can use that power only once per day, but often that is enough for the landwyrm to win the day and the fight.

Fortunately, it seems that beyond this roar the mountain landwyrm has no spell-like abilities of its own, and its relatively low (for a dragon) IQ usually prevents it from becoming a sorcerer or a wizard; however, some exceptional mountain landwyrms became fighters or barbarians instead, further augmenting their already prominent physical prowess.

The other advantage when dealing with mountain landwyrms is that they are loners, and tend to avoid company of their kind (let alone other creatures). That is not to say that they aren’t encoun-tered in a couple or even a group of 3 to 6 mountain landwyrms, but in this case only the most suicidal of adventurers would dream of attacking them all at once.

On their own, however, mountain landwyrms are manageable, especially if the adventurers have help from their gods (or perhaps have an archmage for a patron); even so, usually they try to drive away mountain landwyrms from their lands (preferably back to the mountains from which they came or into a rivalling kingdom), rather than killing it, even though doing that would establish the adventurers’ reputation for centuries to come.

On the other hand, mountain landwyrms also tend to breed every once in a century or so, and their eggs tend to take even longer to hatch; undistinguishable for rocks at a first sight, they often may lie in shallow caves high in the mountains in plain sight, protected by their camouflage and their mother’s presence (and also by their size and strength of their shells).

When they hatch, the juvenile mountain landwyrms are much more ravenous than their parents are, and will often depopulate the mountainside upon which they were hatched, devouring any animal, monster or plant life that they find tasty, including their weaker brothers and sisters. This trait is followed by the adult mountain landwyrms, who also eat their younger kin, including their own offspring: this keeps the number of mountain landwyrms in check and ensures that only the biggest and the strongest landwyrms survive to adulthood.

Beyond each other, the mountain landwyrms have few enemies; not even the oldest red, gold and silver dragons tend to attack these colossi for though clumsy, mountain landwyrms show a remarkable aptitude for snatching and once their enemies are caught, they are at mercy of the landwyrm’s great strength and even greater appetite.

The mountain landwyrm is almost as big as a mountain and is about just unfriendly. It is a good thing, then, that it prefers to remain in its uninviting home.

The mountain landwyrm first appeared in 3.5 edition of Draconomicon, 2003.

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As ages and eons go by, the draconic family tree tends to change little; these creatures may not be gods, outsiders or elementals, but they are nigh immortal, almost unchanging, and practically eternal – good or bad, dragons are more rigid than fluid in some areas of their existence… unless something chaotic comes along.

In the dimension of Krynn, of ‘Dragonlance’ fandom, that ‘something chaotic’ had been the Father Chaos himself, the primordial father of the gods, the good, the bad and the neutral. Initially ‘merely’ chaotic, his long imprisonment in the Greygem shifted his allegiance as well as point of view to downright nihilistic, which is when the frost dragons’ troubles started.

…Actually, on a certain level, this was when the frost dragons started, period, as a modest clan of white dragons encountered the imprisoned Chaos in the Greygem, and it transformed them into grey dragons instead. (In game terms, think white dragons just with slightly different statistics, nothing more). Transformed and rejected by Takhisis, (aka Tiamat), the grey dragons fled and were not seen on Krynn again until Father Chaos was freed for real. Unable to resist his call, the grey dragons sought him some time after the entity had created his fire dragons, being of living flame and oblivion.

It is unknown just how the fire dragons came to be, for when the gods had defeated their Father and Grandfather for the last time, the fire dragons withdrew and largely vanished from Krynn and from multiverse; it is possible that they died out, but all dragons and dragon-kind are hardy beasts and it is more likely that the fire dragons have survived somewhere beyond the gaze of Krynn’s gods.

With the frost dragons, the situation was somewhat different, as Chaos didn’t create them from scratch, as he did with the fire dragons, but rather took the approached grey dragons and by fusing them with some of his minions – the so-called frost wights – he turned them into the frost dragons, his ‘other’ minions instead. (His other-other minions?)

Unlike the grey dragons, the frost dragons do not look like the mainline white dragons; instead, they look like living ice sculptures, with black and cold eyes that belie their chaotic evil nature, especially in case of the oldest frost dragons that look almost iceberg-like, despite their physical prowess.

Yet deep within the frost dragons remained ‘true’ dragons at their hearts, unlike the fire dragons, who had nothing but Father Chaos’ will. Thus, once Chaos fell and the fire dragons collapsed, (metaphorically speaking, at least at first), the frost dragons fled instead, fleeing to other universes, other dimensions that hosted dragons, where they settled in cold, out of the way places, such as mountaintops and the like, and began to breed true.

A frost dragon isn’t all that different from a white dragon, save that it is much more formidable; with Chaos’ defeat, their power of oblivion no longer functions (unless you’re confronting one of those wyrms back on Krynn), and they are no longer entities of annihilation; rather, they are entities of frost and cold instead.

Like all dragons, frost dragons can eat anything, but they do prefer live prey, at least when they are young. As such, the frost dragons’ parents – and the frost dragons are obsessed at survival, and as such they are very good parents, much more so than many of the older chromatic dragon races – tend to hunt either the local wildlife or go down the mountainsides, (or just further south or north, if they are lairing at the poles instead), and hunt live prey, including sentient humanoids, instead.

A frost dragon raid is a very thorough affair as these beasts are paranoid, especially by dragon standards and tend not live any witnesses alive. They also tend to eat any clues of their presence in the neighbourhood, alive or dead, for the same paranoiac reasons. They also love to eat – they enjoy this process as it reminds them that they are living beings once more and not merely minions of Chaos… even if they still have the chaotic subtype for the game terms, though they are not outsiders (in game terms).

…Naturally, they also have the cold subtype, which means that while they are immune to cold and vulnerable to fire, heat and sunlight does not bother them; in fact, for being evil dragons, frost dragons really enjoy playing with each other in the sunlight, watching how it sparkles upon their hides. They can look ridiculous in such circumstances… but they still can be deadly.

Like almost all dragons, frost dragons have a breath weapon – a cone of cold, which is now identical to what their white dragon ancestors did… unless you are on Krynn, in which case it still deals not just cold damage, but 1 point of Cha damage per each age category of the frost dragon in question.

The frost dragons also emanate an aura of cold, making it hard for the unprepared to fight them in a melee combat, (especially if the PC party is still low-level enough), and like their white dragon ancestors, they can icewalk, (think spider climb, but only on icy surfaces). They can cast spells, (juveniles or older), have damage reduction and spell resistance, and adult and older ice dragons have innate spell-like abilities…that don’t have anything in common with ice, snow or winter. Instead, these abilities are clairaudience/clairvoyance, which allows a frost dragon to spy slash scout from some distance, and also confusion, chaos hammer, and word of chaos that they use quite effectively, especially against paladins or similarly lawful opponents.

…Frost dragons tend to lair and live in out of the way places, as it was said before, so it can be hard for a PC party, (especially an inexperienced and/or unprepared one), to find them. They also tend to get rid of all of the witnesses in a fight, so a fight with a frost dragon usually means a fight to the death, on Krynn or elsewhere, so prepare to fight it with a lot of back-up plans and a thorough strategy!

This, then, is the frost dragon, initially of Krynn, but now of the multiverse. Maybe.

End

This version of frost dragon is based on Dragonlance’s™ ‘Bestiary of Krynn’ (2004).

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Among the main giant races, the stone giant remains one of the greater enigmas, as it is neither common enough to be well-known, nor rare enough to be truly interesting to the anthropologist, especially in the Old World.

As a rule, most of the giants trace their ancestry to the half-fabled Jotuns of the Norse nome, starting with the fire and frost giants, and ending with the ogres and trolls. The stone giant, some scientists claim, is one of the links in that chain of descent, standing just above the hill giant (in more meanings than one) of the giant descent into barbarism and savagery. The wizarding communities of Hogwards, Beauxbatons and other enclaves are especially supportive of this theory for reasons of their own.

Others, however, claim that the stone giant is not so much as a link than an alternative road, (to use mixed metaphors): some time in the past the mutual ancestor of him and the hill giant had parted ways...geographically speaking: the hill giant had remained in Europe, where it became, well, the hill giant (and maybe also the ogre, some specialists believe), while the stone giant had moved to North America, where it had become the stone giant of the modern times.

The stone giant is one of the smaller giants, taller than the average human, ogre and hill giant, but still shorter than most of the other true giants all the same. Their skin is grey and stone-like, giving them the look of an elemental being rather than that of flesh and blood. The fact that their elders often tend to learn elemental magics themselves only further deepens the illusion.

Like the human native Americans, the stone giants are a tribal race, with the more powerful and wise elders (compared to an average stone giant) leading any given tribe. They are common over most of North America, but more so in the West than East or South, as they dislike lowlands and wetlands and prefer to live in the mountains (especially the Rockies), where it's rocky and dry, as they prefer it to be.

The stone giants hadn't fared well with people, and prefer to avoid them as much as it is possible. They are not particularly fond of the other giants, especially the shadow giants of the South America, who sometimes used to come up north, and raid stone giant tribes' settlements. For their own part, stone giants prefer to co-exist with nature, often acquiring animal pets and companions in their lifetime: they are especially fond of the American black bears, and a stone giant tribe may have several bears in their camps as pets and trusted allies.

Stone giants do not like the concept of reservations very well, and often leave them, wherever possible. Some vanish into the wilderness and become one with nature, (so to speak), while others can be seen in American cities, where they make a living - at 3-4.5 m tall they do tend to stand out in the still predominantly human crowd.

Maybe because they are so naturally grey, stone giants often like to dye or tattoo their skins with various colors, giving them a very unusual appearance from one individual to another. They tend to avoid other giants and their ideology, especially the frost and the fire giants, but on occasion they have been known to get along with the storm giants, especially since the latter are the only other giants who had been living in North America en masse for a long period of time and don't agree with other giants' ideology either (by and large). They still prefer animal companionship to that of other sentient beings though, so if you disturb or startle a stone giant in the wilderness...things could get nasty.

End

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The supernatural dogs that an adventurer may encounter during his quest are many. There are the infamous hellhounds, fire-breathing dogs that make popular guards for red dragons, fire giants and devils. There are the shadow mastiffs and their lesser-known cousins the vorr – unpredictable save in their cruelty, with the power to skulk in shadows unseen, striking when you least expect to. There are the yeth hounds, tireless trackers, who never stopped unless they are “made to”. And then there is the death dog.

At a first glance the death dog is a very intimidating monster – a double-headed canine that delivers a nasty disease with any bite. Moreover, it hunts in packs, and a pack of those monsters can be troublesome to higher-level adventurers – deadly for the lower level. The death dogs are not particularly intelligent (two heads or not), but they are cunning and can often coordinate their attacks with each other. Working as a team, they will attack from behind, trying to hamstring their prey while the pack leader will deliver the final blow from the front. Other times they will attack face on, making as much noise as possible, trying to intimidate their prey. They can make ambushes, but their usual method of attacking is a long, drawn-out pursuit until their prey succumbs to disease or exhaustion – and then it is devoured, dead or alive.

Despite their cunning and pack prowess, death dogs have plenty of weaknesses. Though they have two heads, their intelligence is barely higher than that of ordinary wolves or wild dogs, and though they are magical creatures, they have no resistance against spells or even non-magical weapons (though on occasion a death dog pack leader will be an axiomatic, anarchic, or most likely a fiendish creature as well). If the adventurers stand their ground and counterattack with weapons, spells, or even non-magical fire, a pack of death dogs will break away their attack after several attempts (usually no more than 4 or 5) and flee without looking back – these creatures are cunning, but they are also cowardly.

They are also relatively weak and feeble-bodied: though their bites are nasty (and carry disease) they also don’t deal much damage beyond the disease and can be warded-off by a good suit of armor: death dogs don’t have any other attacks and from a player’s perspective they don’t have many hit points either – one or two good blows are enough to kill any death dog.

Because death dogs are quite vulnerable on their own, they prefer to live in packs, and like the more ordinary canines they give birth to live young. Female death dogs with puppies usually make an out-of-the-way lair and their partners feed them for several months, until the puppies’ eyes open and they can stay by themselves. It is at this time that they are usually captured (or taken away) by other, bigger monsters or even unscrupulous villains, who want to possess a monstrous-looking guard dog. On their own, in the wild, death dogs live for no more than a couple of decades – and maybe even less in captivity or on duty, as they get killed either by adventurers or their own masters.

The most famous of death dog watchdogs was Orthus, who guarded the blood-red cattle of the triple-bodied giant of an ogre, Geryon on the island of Erythrea beyond the world of men. Yet though it was larger than an average death dog, Orthus was still no match for the great Hercules, who felled him with a single blow. (Geryon himself took three.)

Death dogs that have fiendish – or other extraplanar – blood in their veins are more formidable still – when Perseus went to the land of the dead to defeat Medusa, he had to slay her watchdog first – another oversized death dog that had anarchic blood in its veins for it was immune to Medusa`s petrifying gaze. Yet again, though that death dog was able to kill one of Perseus’ men, it was quickly slain instead.

Death dogs make difficult foes for lower-level parties, and if they are sufficiently advanced (to Large or Huge size) and have extraplanar blood in their veins (or perhaps are part fiend, dragon, etc), they can be hard to defeat even for experienced adventurers and heroes. Nevertheless, be-tween the relative physical weakness for their size and their low-level IQ, they seldom take very long to be defeated either.

“Death dog” was first featured in 3.5 Fiend Folio (2003)

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Out of the many beasts that fill the air, the dire hawk isn’t the best known one - after all, it’s a mere bird...but with an attitude to match!

To begin with, unlike its smaller mundane cousins, the dire hawk is a big bird: 1.5 m long with a 3-m wingspan, its attitude is justified- like the other birds of prey, it’s territorial and doesn’t tolerate any rivals that aren’t dragon-sized or so; even eagles tend to avoid a dire hawk’s home range; if they, smaller hawks and falcons start vanishing, then it’s a sure sign that a dire hawk is in town, and that’s not good, as dire hawks easily take livestock as prey and even smaller humanoids.

...Yes, ordinary dire hawks are still animals and can be dealt with just like any other ‘varmints’ are, but given their size, strength and power of flight, many farmers find themselves hard-pressed to defeat them, and so they turn to the adventurers, and they don’t come cheap. At least not the high-level ones are, and low-level are another story, even they might struggle against a dire hawk.

An ordinary dire hawk isn’t armed with anything beyond its beak and talons, but given its strength and their sharpness, they can still hurt, especially when put against a halfling or a gnome - thus either a curing potions or the presence of a healer in the party is a must, when fighting a dire hawk, especially a wild one.

... On the other hand, the dire hawk in question may be someone else’s animal companion to begin with, and a trained dire hawk is more than just a powerful ambush predator; it can execute commands, sometimes quite complex ones, and will be even trickier to defeat, especially with its master’s support, (and possibly even spells). Therefore, some sort of a strategy when fighting against a dire hawk is a good idea.

Finally, the dire hawks are especially protective when they are at their nests, with eggs or hatchings in them - then they often fight to the death, and an unscrupulous PC might find themselves outmatched by the parent birds - like many dire animals, dire hawks reproduce and mature slowly, so every egg and chick maters for them, as they do for protective rangers and druids... so defeating the hawks might only be the start of the adventure...

And that’s that for the dire hawk, a small part of a big game world.

End

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A dark, gloomy passageway,
Like a thief, I'm on my way,
Scold myself, am barely breathing,
So not to frighten off these,
Who are sleeping long ago,
These, but whom nevertheless,
In whose I room secretly I desire
To glance...
To see...

How the insomnia in this hour of night,
Changes, you, unsociable, your appearance and your might,
To whose ideas you're enslaved?
By whose ideas people are your prey?

There's a small cross on my breast,
Look at it, and see the rest,
That on you, it's capable
To change quite a lot
Many books I read indeed,
Many tricks have been my meat,
Don't even to attempt from me your secret hide!
This I saw!

How the insomnia in this hour of night,
Changes, you, unsociable, your appearance and your might,
To whose ideas you're enslaved?
By whose ideas people are your prey?

'Tis a pity, that back then you wouldn't believe me,
That in fact your newest friend is not like everyone!
All alone with him you were,
Knowing naught for ever more...
That he's dangerous for all, you gave not a damn
And you fell!

To a wizard, who's real,
Ruining folks like you, it's his deal!
As a doll, during the night,
He can govern you!

Everything takes place as in a terrible sleep.
And so back to safety I must creep!

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All of this was a long, long time ago.

This was at the beginning, and at the beginning there was chaos. Boundless, boundless, formless, it spread from the beginning to the end, and then… something happened in it. Order was conceived in chaos, and chaos began to be divided after all – into air and land, water and flame. Life was conceived in chaos - and Mother Earth, Mother Gaea, came to be.

Mother Earth stretched itself from edge to edge, and she divided the entire other world into top and bottom halves. And beneath mother Gaea laid gloomy Tartarus, and there Mother Night, Nyx, came to be. But meanwhile Gaea gave birth to Pontus the sea, and she gave birth to woodlands and mountains, fields and plains, and she gave birth to Uranus the Sky. The Sky, the mountains and the Sea were born from Gaea and they have no father.

And powerful Uranus the Sky fell in love with Mother Gaea. From their union came Hemera the bright Day and the three Cyclops fathers – Arg, Steropes and Brontes – came from the union and so have the three hundred-headed and hundred-armed giants, the hecatoncheires, and finally, from that union came the six first titans and six first titanesses. Mother Gaea smiled, looking at their children, but Uranus frowned sternly, he did not like them at all. Uranus imprisoned his children in the depths of Tartarus, and from the injustice of this act, from the grief that arose from that act, from Mother Earth's salty maternal tears, a new metal, adamantium, was born – the metal that was greater than all other metals.

And the three eldest Cyclops – Arg, Steropes and Brontes – told their brothers and sisters:

"We can, o our brothers' hecatoncheires and titans, o our sisters-titanesses, forge from the adamantium metal a sickle that will bring down our father, Uranus. But who will wield it?"

But the other children of Uranus and Gaea were silent, only the youngest of titans, the fair-haired Chronus, said finally:

"I. I will take it."

And so the first Cyclops-blacksmiths began to forge the sickle from the adamantium. Sparks and shards of metal spread from their first forge throughout Tartarus. All-seeing Night, Nyx the Dark looked at this deed, smiling her mocking smile, and she breathed upon these sparks and shards, and from them the other Cyclops, smaller and weaker than their three forefathers (but looking just like them), came to be, and from the smoke and the stench Erebus, the eternal gloom of Tartarus, was born.

The Cyclops, children of Gaea and Uranus, worked long and worked hard. Their children – the lesser Cyclops – aided and assisted them. Their brothers and sisters looked at this in wonder and marvelled, only the young titan, Chronus, looked at the creation of the lesser Cyclops with envy, since he did not know how to create as the Cyclops did. But no one saw this, only Nyx the Dark, herself invisible and inaudible, saw this - and she stayed silent.

And the Cyclops finished their creation, and with a bow they gave to it to Chronus. Chronus took it silently - and his face was gloomier than the face of Erebus, and he went upward from Tartarus. Rocks lay in heaps on his way - Chronus cut them with his sickle, and the first avalanches fell upon Mother Earth. Tangles of everlasting roots blocked his path – Chronus cut through them with his sickle, and the first dead trees fell onto Mother Earth. Paths of underground rivers lay in his paths – Chronus cut through them with his sickle, and rivers dried out on Mother Earth, and the first drought came forth into the world.

And Chronus came into the middle-world, he straightened out to his full, titanic height, he yelled with the full power of his voice, calling their father to battle. And Uranus frowned, and daylight faded, and thunderstorms and blizzards, winds, storms and clouds, came to battle with Chronus. But Chronus swung his sickle once, cutting the foul weather apart with it, and Chronus waved his sickle twice - and the first rainbow was born into the world, blood of Uranus was spilled, straight from his cloven body, and his blood came into the middle-world.

This blood fell into Pontus the Sea, and white foam boiled in the sea, and from it came the fair Aphrodite, the powerful goddess of love. She danced on the waves of the sea – and the first love came into the world.

This blood fell onto Mother Earth, and Mother- Earth conceived from Uranus for the last time: she gave birth to nymphs - dryads, hamadryads, and all the others, and she gave birth to giants, the last, passionate theomachists, she it gave birth to three Furies, three winged virgins, Aphrodite's terrible sisters.

And some of Uranus' blood was spilled into Tartarus - but at that time from there emerged powerful titans, and beautiful titanesses, and here they beheld Aphrodite's wonderful dance, and blood boiled in them from desire, and blood boiled from desire in Chronus. But his blood was poisoned by his envy, and he waved his sickle – Mother Earth, Gaea, shuddered, and the exit from Tartarus was brought down - neither the powerful hecatoncheires nor the artful smiths the Cyclops could leave from there. And Mother Earth said to three Furies:

"You there fly there, I do not know where, and you bring here Nemesis!"

The Furies flew unseen and unnoticed by the celebrating titans; the Furies flew to the western edge of the middle-earth, there, where the kingdom of Night was located. And they exclaimed in loud voices:

"Mother Dark Night, you release Nemesis into our world!"

Nyx the Night said nothing to them, but only smiled. And the Furies exclaimed once again:

"Mother Dark Night, release Nemesis to help us!"

Nyx the Night still said nothing, only smiled. And the Furies exclaimed for the third time:

"Mother Dark Night, by the command of Mother Earth, release Nemesis to aid us – to punish perfidious Chronus!"

Nyx the night smiled for the third time, she only clapped her palms - Nemesis, the daughter of Night from the blood of Uranus that was spilled into Tartarus, came to the edge of the world. And then Nemesis flapped her eagle wings, she flew after the three sisters to the middle-earth.

And there was a celebratory feast – as wide as the entire world. Aphrodite-Love was dancing throughout the entire world, wherever she only looked, wherever she would just flap her fair wing, [new, unprecedented life came to be – the oceanids and the nereids, the phaeacans and the centaurs, the satyrs and the fauns, the tree-folk, Lapiths, and the Amazons, and many, many others. Yet, as titanesses and titans danced Aphrodite's dance, they too gave birth to many new other titans - Helios and Selene, Astraia and Eos, and many, many others.

Chronus danced, and he danced with his sister Rhea, the favorite of their mother Gaea. But, invisible, Nemesis-Retribution flew by him in the guise of a cuckoo; she sat on a hill before Chronus and cried:

"Chronus, Chronus, you are powerful, you rise above the clouds, as the head of Uranus fell off, so will yours!"

Chronus shook and the Furies were already here as well! Sister Alecto was disguised as an eagle owl, she sat on the left side of the titans, and she started to bellow:

"Hoo, hoo, boo, boo! All earthly is only dust and ashes! You were carried upwards by wind, by wind you will fall back into Tartarus, hoo!"

Sister of Megara was disguised as a black raven, she sat on the right side of the titan and she cawed:

"Caw, caw you have a flaw! You conquered Uranus, and before long your son will conquer you, caw!"

Sister Tisiphone was disguised as a black woodpecker; she sat on top of Chronus' head and began to drum it! The titan's mind grew dark, and fear with envy boiled in his veins, darkened his eyes, yet alas - no one saw this, no one heard it: Aphrodite of the sea, the white swan, has blocked everyone's ears, covered everyone's eyes!

And Chronus, the conqueror of Uranus, went mad. And here Rhea came to show him their eldest daughter – Chronus swallowed her. Afterward he swallowed their other children, two sons and two other daughters. And a third son was born to Rhea. And here to her came the whisper:

"Rhea, you can keep your last child! Hide him on Crete, in the mountains of Gaea with their ancient magic! You can ask the local nymphs, the nurses of the Curetes, for aid! Take care to save your last child from Chronus!"

And Rhea listened to that whisper, and she heeded this whisper's advice. Maybe, it was indeed a whisper of Mother Earth, who wanted to help her favorite, and possibly that it was the whisper of Nemesis. But Rhea obeyed that whisper, and she hid her last child in the Cretan mountains, and to her husband she gave a fake, a stone covered in diapers - and no one saw that, dark night has hid that, and Chronus then fell asleep, tired, contented.

But people say that Nemesis, in the guise of a swallow, flew away from Chronus' palace, she flew off and came to the cave of Zeus, son of Chronus and Rhea, grandson of Uranus and Gaea. Was that so or not - no one knows, but Zeus, son of Chronus, grew in his cave not at a daily, but an hourly rate. And after growing up, he said:

"Not for a son of Chronus to sit like a rock in the cave – time for me to go and meet my father –Chronus, to look at other gods, to show off myself."

He said that - and disappeared, dissolved in the dark blue of the Cretan skies. But soon a new cupbearer appeared in Chronus' palace, ever smiling, with locks as white as clouds and with eyes the color of celestial dark blue. With a white-toothed smile he gave wine to the guests of Chronus, to titanesses and to titans, and he reached Chronus as well. Recklessly did the titan drink the dark wine – and trembling with his entire body he spat - and spat the stone out. The stone was spat far away – it flew through one-half of the world, it fell accurately into the world's middle, and came right through the middle-world: it went through Hades, the land of the dead, and the dark Tartarus, and this stone, Omphalos, the navel of the world, reached even the great Abyss!

And Chronus, maddened by Nemesis and the three Furies, drank again. Trembling with his entire body - he spat out two of his eldest sons, Poseidon and Hades. They landed flew away – Hades landed in the land of the dead, Poseidon – in the realm of Nereus, the ocean.

And the madman finished drinking the remainders of that cup. His innards shuddered, he spat out his daughters, he collapsed in unconsciousness - and off his arms and his head departed the Furies, the dark birds, they circled once around him, and following Nemesis, they left the palace. And therefore no one saw the fall of the daughters of Chronus. Of Demeter as she fell among clear and wide fields of wheat, of Hestia - into the burning center of the palace, of Hera - straight in arms of Zeus.

The mighty son of Chronus, Zeus, grabbed Hera tightly, and from that unexpected weight he stamped his foot - throughout the world that rumble was heard, it reached even the underworld. The powerful hecatoncheires were roused by that rumble, their hands rose as numerous as rivers, and they cleared their way from Tartarus, created by Omphalos! They went into the light, and after them came their brothers the Cyclops, the blacksmiths of underground world, and they brought their nephews their gifts.

To the eldest son, to Hades, came the helmet of the invisibility: whoever bears this helmet is invisible to the gods, and people, and monsters. To the middle son, to Poseidon, came the trident, the cold lightning: the trident goes to one side - sea will boil with storms, and if it goes another side - the calm will fall onto the sea. But to the youngest son, to Zeus, son of Chronus, came the royal sceptre – the deafening thunderbolt, intolerable for all in the terrestrial and celestial worlds. Only the subterranean Cyclops and the powerful hecantocheires, only Nyx the night and Erebus the gloom do not fear it.

And Zeus waved the thunderbolt and Chronus fell from his mountain palace, his brothers, who fled from his palace, were brought down further along the road as Chronus fell downwards. Once more rose the hands of the hecatoncheires, they grabbed their brothers the titans, they took away them down into Tartarus - to the end of time, with the songs of Nemesis-Retribution singing in their ears: "What you reap is what you sow!"

Three times then flew Nemesis in the guise of cuckoo around Zeus and Hera. At their feet, then grew a copper tree with silver leaves and gold apples - whether Gaea, Mother Earth grew it, or whether the Cyclops had tried once again. Zeus the hero accepted this miracle-tree as his and Hera's gift. And people said, that before their wedding night Hera ate one such apple - and from her union with Zeus came Hephaestus, the first blacksmith and the expert of all the ores, and Ares, the first soldier, who sent numerous souls to uncle Hades into the land of the Dead, and Eris, the goddess of Discord. But that is another tale...

Chapter Text

The puma was back. Well, technically, he’s never gone away, we just went our separate paths, but now he was back, and at a worst time for everyone too.

“Do you like venison?” He asked as I approached to confront him, flat-footing me completely. Didn’t know that he had in him.

“What are you talking about?” I blinked. “The pampas deer aren’t worth our time, and the pudu- even more so...”

“I am talking about the red deer-“

“Never heard about them.”

“Yes - humans didn’t bring them to the jungle just yet...”

“Oh,” I grimaced. “One of those-“

“Yes! Really big and strong, and of their stags started to harass me, and he brought a posse, and he’s driving me away-“

“And how do I fit in?” I couldn’t help but to ask.

“He is in your weight bracket!” The puma snapped, even as we began to descend from my family’s hideout. “Can’t you try him for size-?” He fell silent as I glared at him, and then I saw the stags. Much bigger and stronger than the pampas deer, and yes, their antlers looked capable of inflicting serious damage - great bony masses of prongs and spikes. Their legs also looked strong, and their hooves - solid and sharp.

“And who are you? What are you?” Their Apparent leader Asked, trying to sound in charge, but with a clear note of concern as well. The rest of his party, the 3 other deer stags, looked even more uneasy.

“I am from the North, and what are you doing here, harassing my neighbour?” I flicked my tail in the puma’s direction.

“My lady-love sent me here to teach him a lesson- not to mess with us!” Their leader brayed again. For a wild male in his prime, he certainly sounded like one of the domestic donkeys. “Me and my friends will drive him away, will drive you away, if you interfere! There’s no one-“

“Humans with guns and traps,” I said quietly, startling the stag leader into silence.

“They don’t come here very often, this is a national park, we all have to get along,” one of the other stags said quietly, as they carefully backed away from their leader.

I flicked my tail in the puma’s direction. “Don’t Care!” Their leader proclaimed once more, actually moving forward. Me and mine, we certainly weren’t at home any more. “Both of you be gone!” He lowered his head, stabbing forwards with his antlers... or at least that was the plan, before my own Forepaws and claws Slammed into his head, stunning him, and subduing him for me to bite through his skulls, long spiny antlers or not. It was over.

I shifted my grasp on the corpse and carried it home. The other stags didn’t try to stop me.

***

“That was amazing!” Unfortunately, the puma didn’t leave - just what was his issue? Before he could continue, however, we’ve arrived, and I dropped the carcass, just in time, as my partner finally looked out, looking exhausted. Upon seeing the somewhat strange-looking meal, she gave me a tired and grateful smile, tore off a haunch, and dragged it in.

“Um,” the puma said.

“My partner. Gave birth to our next litter. Exhausted and hungry. Wait until you have your own,” I shrugged as I lay down to rest, (and to let our daughter from the previous litter play with my tail. Don’t judge me).

The puma still didn’t leave. “Humans with guns?” He asked instead, as he lay next to us.

“Me and mine will be leaving soon - you pumas can live anywhere, but us jaguars don’t do cold,” he actually asked a good question.

“Can I come with you? There aren’t any pumas here , but me and One-Eye, and he’s crazy ever since he lost it!”

I just looked at him. “We’ll see.”

TBC?

Chapter Text

BRAINSTEALER DRAGONS

Brainstealer dragons are little known, enigmatic, and deadly. Rarely, if ever, seen on the surface, they seek power most of all, and are known little to other races – and even to most of the gods. Most are cold, calculating, and appear to be almost mechanical in their approach to life and its pleasures, but some have a cruel, sadistic, unpredictable streak in their character instead.

Brainstealer dragons prefer to dwell deep underground, away from the other dragon races. They only come in contact with one other dragon species – the deep dragons. For reasons unknown to anyone other than the brainstealer and the deep dragons, the two races abhor each other on sight; as soon as one becomes aware of the other, he or she does their best to kill the other dragon for good, or die trying.

Brainstealer dragons sometimes come into contact with the shadow dragons. Conniving, as well as rather small and cowardly by the dragon measure of things, the shadow dragons usually submit to the brainstealers and do their bidding, often profiting from the brainstealer's superior plots, even though they also betray their allies as soon as the tide turns against them.

Brainstealer dragons make their lairs in underground caves. Usually, such caves are natural occurrences, but sometimes the brainstealer dragons enslave other beings using their psionic powers and make them dig-out a spacious subterranean chamber instead. If the cavern was made by nature, it often may have water, running or not, in it: the brainstealer dragons like to wet their hides in cold underground waters as well as hunt for small cave fish, crayfish and salamanders that live there. If the chamber is artificial, there may not be water, but there won't be any other distinguishing features either: the brainstealer dragons often consider art and artworks as frivolous and useless pursuits of the mind and ignore them in favour of practicality.

Brainstealer Dragon Identifiers

Brainstealer dragons are poor fliers at best (and clumsy at worst), their small wings all but useless in the air and downright useless as weapons (unlike the other dragons).

A brainstealer dragon's head ends in four long and rubbery tentacles that can reach to a great length in the older specimens. It lacks jaws per se (and thus it lacks a proper bite attack as well), but hidden in the tentacles is its' mouth – a round opening lined with grinding teeth and a simple tongue.

A brainstealer dragon doesn't have any horns, ridges, or frills on its body: this creature is smooth and streamlined, and can squeeze its great, albeit rubbery, bulk through cracks and crevices that appear far too small and uncomfortable for this being to dwell in.

At birth, a brainstealer dragon's scales are pale purple in colour. As the dragon ages, its scales darken in shade, until they develop a plum-like colour by the young adult stage. A very old brainstealer dragon appears to be almost black in colour. A brainstealer dragon's eyes are great white and lidless orbs, often luminous in a great wyrm or older.

Brainstealer dragons have a strong, unpleasant, acidic odour.

Brainstealer dragons' wings are little more than fleshy layers of skin, almost useless for flying. They are supported by a trio of phalanges and an upper alar limb, as the wings of other winged dragons are, but these bones are relatively thin, weak and fragile, unable to support the brain-stealer dragon's bulk in the air for too long. (That may be another reason why brainstealer dragons almost never come to the surface.)

By contrast, both the deep dragon and the shadow dragon, which may come into contact with the brainstealer dragon have large, well-developed wings and are decent flyers – a fact that they often use when fighting a brainstealer dragon for territory or for power.

Habits

A brainstealer dragon's manipulative nature forces it to seek out other creatures – due to its large size and distinctive appearance, it often needs proxies to carry out the more delicate parts of its plans. Consequently, a brainstealer dragon is often found surrounding by minions and reluctant or unwilling allies, as well as such things as astral constructs that do its bidding (and fighting) for it.

Curiously, one creature that brainstealer dragons don't try to enslave or overpower is each other. Cold, dry and dispassionate, the brainstealer dragons treat each other with politeness and courtesy, firmly determining the reach of each other's territory and its borders, and adhering to them completely. They rarely, if ever, form alliances, save for too powerful enemies (a drow or an illithid city or a non-brainstealer dragon), but they never become enemies either.

It is little known about brainstealer dragon's courtship and egg-laying, and the existing sources tend to contradict each other. Basically, two brainstealer dragons get together to lay their eggs, but only one - the female - guards the laid clutch. However, some sources claim that the male stays in contact with the mother of his offspring via psionic powers and will readily come to her aid if she and her clutch end up in danger.

Brainstealer dragons are not picky eaters, though they prefer to eat brains of other creatures first and foremost. (Hence their name, of course.) If brains are scarce or insufficient to sake their hunger, the brainstealer dragons will eat the rest of the body, or anything else, no matter how small, big, or brainless – their powerful stomach acids will dissolve anything. Unlike other dragons, though, they prefer not to eat inorganic foods, since their teeth are too small and weak to effectively grind such meals into bite-sized pieces. (If, however, dealing with coins, or gems, or similar objects, small enough to be swallowed whole without chewing, the brainstealer dragon will eat them with minimum hesitation, of course.) However, they are not particularly voracious, and may go for months without food, until they feel hungry enough to hunt or to eat their own minions.

When building hoards, brainstealer dragons prefer coins and gems to objects of art and jewellery. Unlike most other dragons, they are not particularly possessive and may give away parts of their hoard to be used to further their goals. However, they also expect their allies and minions to share this attitude and to give away their look or earnings to further the brainstealer dragon's goals as well.

In combat, a brainstealer dragon – especially a relatively young and small one – is at a disadvan-tage when compared with other dragons. It has neither bite nor wing attacks, and prefers to attack its foes from an ambush, using its powerful mind blast weapon to stun its foes into submissiveness, before lashing out with its tentacles to begin extracting their brains.

However, a brainstealer dragon is also a powerful psion (sometimes even taking ranks in that class to augment its natural powers), and often spends a lot of time on developing strategies aimed to use these powers – both natural and learned – to the dragon's best advantage. An adventurers' party that came unprepared for such psionic attacks (the brainstealer dragon tends to favour the telepath's path) will likely to end up as food for the dragon instead, their brains extracted to feed the dragon's hunger.

(Brainstealer dragon first appeared in Dragon magazine No 337.)

Chapter Text

STYX DRAGONS

Styx dragons are bizarre, grotesque-looking creatures that in many ways appear to resemble sea serpents and linnorms of the Material Plane than dragons, either planar or not. Contrary to their serpent-like appearance, however, these creatures are capable of moving on land just as quickly as they can move through the water, but despite possessing small wings, they cannot fly, and prefer to live (and hunt) under water, rather than on land.

Styx dragons prefer to make lairs themselves, by digging deep burrows in the banks of the river Styx, where they primarily live. Although the Styx dragons are aquatic, they are decent burrowers, and often throughout their lifetimes, they make long, complex lairs in which they live and store treasure, unlike their main rivals, the Styx linnorms.

Styx Dragon Identifiers

A Styx dragon has a long, snake-like body with a beak-like head, a pair of small, but powerful forelimbs, a pair of vestigial wings and twin tails that trail behind. A Styx linnorm, on the other hand, lacks wings altogether, and it possesses only a single tail, just as the other linnorms do. It is also relatively shorter and stockier than the Styx dragon, especially the older ones.

A Styx dragon's head ends in rather beak-like jaws full of rather small (for a dragon), uniform-shaped teeth with which this dragon bites its prey neatly into pieces: these teeth are as sharp as sword blades or spear tips. It also has a long, fin-like crest throughout its body length (gradually shrinking and vanishing at the beginning of its tails), as well as a pair of horns growing on each side of its head.

A Styx dragon lacks hind limbs altogether, just as the linnorms do; the only other planar dragon that has a similar body plan is the Styx dragon's good counterpart, the Oceanus dragon, but the two cousins rarely, if ever meet, and moreover the Oceanus dragons lacks forelimbs as well, plus its head is anything but beak-like.

A Styx dragon smells of dirt, decomposing flesh and disease – in short, it smells the same as the waters of river Styx itself.

Its twin tails (no other dragon, except for the fang dragon has twin tails, and the fang dragon doesn't look anything like the Styx dragon) are long, sinuous blades, rather like the whip-daggers used by exotic weapon masters and various cultists. When hunting rather than fighting, the Styx dragon often uses its tails to wrap them around its prey and drag it underwater, to finish the latter at the dragon's leisure.

A hatchling Styx dragon has scales of a dark, dull brown colour. As the dragon ages, its scales brighten in colour until they become rusty red in the older wyrms. The Styx dragon's eyes are always glowing with a lurid yellow light and so their true colour is unknown.

Habits

Styx dragons eat anything that they come across in the waters of the Lower Planes, especially various fiends with whom they fight for territory. Often, after killing its prey, the dragon lets it rot to improve the flavour from its point of view.

Styx dragons keep hoards, usually consisting of the possessions of its prey, often of a magical nature. They tend to keep their hoards in a relatively good condition and tend to known what it consists of: a fool-hardy hoard robber of a Styx dragon will earn its enmity and will be likely to be chased by it until one of them dies or the dragon recovers its properly. Only the demon lords and the archdevils are immune from that sort of prosecution, but even they prefer not to get involve with the Styx dragons without a good cause: the Styx dragons have a long memory just as other dragons, and never miss an opportunity for revenge.

Styx dragons are quite territorial, and often mate to mutually expand their hunting ranges. A mated pair of Styx dragon tolerates each other, but each dragon prefers to sleep in a separate chamber, though they often pool their hoard resources together as well.

Female Styx dragons bear clutches only rarely, but both parents take care of their offspring, until they reach the juvenile age, after which they are turned out to take care of themselves.

(This dragon first appeared in 3.5 edition of Draconomicon.)

Chapter Text

One of the stranger and less-known sentient races of the world, the girtablilu or the scorpionfolk has little press, either good or bad – and that is not unexpected. Like the other tauric races, they came into the world either via divine wrath or demonic favor; the few texts that mention the scorpionfolk usually involve them being created by dark, chthonic demon-gods as warrior-minions. The demon-gods are gone by now, but the girtablilu had remained, eventually moving away from their initial homeland of Middle East towards the more hospitable land of India and its environs.

A girtablilu is an impressive sight. An average member of this race can easily reach 4 m in length and weigh over 300 kg, though there are sightings of particularly powerful girtablilus that are even larger than this. This is comparable with some of the other tauric races, such as the centaur of the southern Europe and the Balkans, who is often lumped or paired with the girtablilu (but only in textbooks) as some sort of a European counterpart to the latter. This is done largely because while from the waist down the girtablilu looks like a giant scorpion, from the waist up, they look rather human-like, not unlike the aforementioned centaurs. This similarity, however, is superficial – for while the centaur women feed their children with milk just as human women do, the girtablilus do not: their babies are born already much more mobile and independent than the human children are, and from the moment they are born, they can feed on whatever their parents and their tribe are feeding, albeit shredded and mulched by their parents at first.

...Of course, the centaur children too become more mobile and independent than their human counterpart do, but they still grow at a slower pace than the scorpionfolk young do, and like the humans, they do not shed their skins. The scorpionfolk do: although from the waist up they look human (though they do miss nipples on their breasts), they do not have any bones, but instead rely on their exoskeleton, just as the scorpions, which are often found alongside their distant, and greater, kin, do.

The scorpions are something else, yet again. The girtablilu can communicate with them, not unlike how the druids and similar specialists can communicate with birds of the air and beasts of the field, but unlike them, the girtablilus’ gift extends to scorpions alone, though some of the scorpionfolk become very adept with the vermin in question, and use them as attack dogs or guardians for their tribe. Mindless, or nearly so, sneaky if small and tough and resilient if large, scorpions can be powerful allies, especially if their girtablilu handlers are there to help them co-ordinate their attacks.

By themselves, the girtablilus are even more formidable, combining the physical prowess of the aforementioned scorpions with human intellects; even if left to their own devices, the girtablilus tend to begin to form relatively solid societies, they begin to make both weapons and various utilities, and they clearly care for each other, for their children, and for their scorpion pets. Sadly, they are more reserved towards other races, though in history of India the scorpionfolk had often battled alongside their human neighbors, utilizing sword and dagger, whip and chakram to powerful effects, and they had no problems in learning how to use firearms as well. Their bodies may be large and powerful, but they are also dexterous and maneuverable: the girtablilus cannot run as fast, as, say, the centaurs, but they have very quick reflexes and can dodge faster than one would expect from beings of their size and bulk.

As for their racial history, the scorpionfolk generally do not divulge much. They claim to have been brought forth as servants of gods, both bright and dark, but claim that some time shortly after the Great Flood their masters vanished as such, and the girtablilus were free to be their own people – and they did so by moving eastwards, by finding their new homeland in India.

It is generally not hidden that at first the new arrivals were cared little about and mistrusted by the native races of the peninsula, but the girtablilus were tough but not deliberately cruel; aloof, but not unreasonable, and quite willing to be hired both as mercenaries and otherwise, so eventually, by the sixth century or so the girtablilus became a part of the Hindu society, and often served as negotiators between the peninsula other natives and the ‘outsiders’, especially the sphinxes, who often found the scorpionfolk to be more reasonable and level-headed than humans were. Of course, it did not mean that the sphinxes disliked dealing with humans as they spread to south Asia; in fact, this is one of their current concentrations of population, but all the same the fact is that the humans, the scorpionfolk and the sphinxes have a very complex relationship in that part of the world.

Elsewhere it is more straightforward: most humans (and similar races) tend to be wary towards the girtablilus, who often prefer to live on their own. Their body shape makes it hard for them to fit into the modern society...except in India and Southeast Asia, where the sight of scorpionfolk going sideways via walls to avoid the worst of the crowds on the streets is a common sight. The girtablilus have become a part of the modern society after all, and for the moment they are quite content with their share.

The girtablilu first appeared in Pathfinder Bestiary 3.

Chapter Text

In the dark, silent Sheol
Lies the race of Nephilim,
They shan't climb up a wall,
They do sleep, but do not dream.

Their memory is at the gate,
It does stand, it doesn't lie.
It will wait at any rate -
An hour, year - the Lord will decry.

In the black underground desert
Deceased caravans lie and sleep.
And eternal strongholds do stand in lieu of a dessert,
Like eyes in forgotten countries they peep.

Chapter Text

A golden tree was bowing,
To the sand before the sea
A maiden was tied to it,
As her brothers turned to flee.

"Oh brothers, what are you doing,
That's not how it's done in the world!"
"Be quiet, sister, for you're destined,
To marry the Sea Serpent by father's word."

"Oh brothers, if that is so,
Then at least tell me good-bye!"
"And happy we'd be to do so,
But now we home must fly."

A golden tree was bowing
By the wind to all ends of the world.
The maiden was alone –
And she cried until her eyes hurt.

And look! – now the red sun was sinking –
Sinking into the now-dark sea.
A young knight approached the maiden,
Her rescuer-to-be.

From his horse he dismounted easily,
Gave her his harness and whip.
"Oh, don't cry maid, you'll be saved yet,
And first, for a bit, I must sleep."

And so he lay, and so he slept,
While the maiden shivered from cold.
And the sun had almost sunk now,
And the sea was growing bold.

It turned all foamy, and hissed,
And pounded on the shore.
"Oh, wake-up sir, something is amiss,
I ask you, sir, please arise!"

A great wave arose, and forwards surged,
And what glowed in it? Serpent eyes?
"Oh, wake-up, sir," the maiden urged,
"I ask you, sir, please arise!"

He did not hear, he was asleep,
And so the maiden wept,
A heavy tear – and down her cheek,
Unbidden that tear crept.

Upon her rescuer it fell,
And that tear was heavy as lead,
And the knight jumped up with a sudden yell,
And he struck off the serpent's head.

A golden tree, heavy with stars,
Was bending under the sky.
A maid and her knight, married by the church,
In a holy union lie.

Chapter Text

The dragons’ family tree consists not just of dragons, but of their relatives too, both close and distant. Some of them look similar to the true dragons, while others almost do not look like dragons at all. The swamp wyrm, gluttonous and cowardly, is one of the latter.

The swamp wyrm, depending on whom you ask, lies either at the very root of the dragons’ family tree, or it is such a distant offshoot that other dragons and co. cannot even relate to it. It looks similar to the linnorms, but unlike them, it lacks all of its limbs – at a first glance it is little more than huge serpent, albeit with a dragon-like head.

The reality is somewhat different. The swamp wyrm may be an evolutionary dead end, or a truly degenerate branch of the dragon family, but it still retains some of the dragons’ trademark intelligence, which enables it to survive for a long time and to acquire plenty of experience to go with it.

As a rule, swamp wyrms do not like to leave their swamps behind, but contrary to their massive girth, they are almost as fast on land as they are in the water. They prefer to ambush their prey when it comes to drink, bursting from the depths with a burst of speed, but if that fails they can often pursue their prey for quite some distance away from their home before giving up.

Once the prey is caught, the swamp wyrm will either swallow it whole or bite into it and wrap the rest of its body around, killing by constriction and their body secretions. (See below.)

Unlike the linnorms, swamp wyrms tend not to attack well-defended, especially large, settlements, but they can be devastating against parties encountered in the wild. As a rule, swamp wyrms are divided into two species: the knucker and the guivre. The knucker has a chilling breath and is covered in equally chilly secretions; the guivre, instead, breathes fire and its skin is burning to the touch – beyond that the two species are similar, save that the knucker lives in warmer climates and the guivre in the colder.

Swamp wyrms are solitary creatures, just as the linnorms and landwyrms are. The males and females seek each other out roughly once every 150-200 years, and the matings are brief and brutal, as a typical swamp wyrm lives in an area that can endure only his or hers depredations, not of the two of such huge monsters at once.

The female returns to her own swamp, where she lays several dark leathery eggs. They are laid in the swamp wyrm’s lair and the female watches over them, until they hatch. The hatchlings are tolerated for the first few years, but eventually the female drives her offspring away or eats them, whatever comes first. After that, she spends several more years recovering her strength and then she is ready to mate again.

Swamp wyrms do not hoard as much as other dragon-kind, even the linnorms, do, but they do collect bones, horns, antlers, as well as anything metal- or stone-related from their victims in their lairs; over the years, this can amount to a rather respectable hoard.

Swamp wyrms are kings of their swamps, but nothing else, which makes a rather small kingdom. Even so, they are often prosecuted by chromatic dragons (mostly of green and black variety) as well as by swamp landwyrms, which are considerably bigger and stronger out of the two. Such prosecutions usually end with the swamp wyrm being driven away from its home or killed, so the swamp wyrm actually tends to keep a low profile, especially if there news of any dragons or dragon-kin around.

The swamp wyrm can be considered a reasonably powerful challenge to low and mid-level PC parties. Its cunning and wisdom, as well as knowledge of the terrain and amphibious lifestyle can be more dangerous than its brute strength and breath weapon, but, conversely, high-level PC par-ties shouldn’t have any problems dealing with this draconic monster.

Note: the swamp wyrm first appeared in Dragon magazine #182

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And so, I have watched the Paleologic premiere video- about Elasmotherium, the ‘laminated beast’. Therefore, what about it?

First, the Elasmotherium- and there were several species, not just one - weren’t true rhinos, but their close cousins. Fair enough, for ecologically- and superficially- the two sister groups come off very similar to each other: yes, the Elasmotherium were grazing specialists, but so are the modern white rhinos, (there are two subspecies - yet), with their low-slung heads and wide lips & mouths, so the Elasmotherium weren’t too atypical from the ecological point of view.

To elaborate, perhaps unnecessarily: there are still 5 species of modern rhino, but except for the white rhinos, they are more of browsers instead of grazers. Their grazing lifestyle makes the white rhinos different from the other rhinos- but what about the Elasmotherium?

Second, the Elasmotherium may not have horns; actually, the horns alone are different, since the rhinos have them on their noses, while the Elasmotherium had them on the crowns of their heads. There’s less cave art and similar evidence for them than for some other Ice Age mammals, but it is there, and it shows the Elasmotherium with horns, rather than hornless. Plus, their fossilized bones imply that they had huge heavy horns on their heads as well.

Finally, given that the Elasmotherium died out so recently, there’s a chance that humans may have encountered them - and this was one source of inspiration for the unicorn myth. Yes, the Elasmotherium was probably about as ‘friendly’ as their rhino cousins can be, but keep in mind that the aforementioned rhinos can be rather horselike in appearance, (ever saw a black rhino run, for example? Its’ trot is surprisingly horselike), and second, while in the West the unicorn was a mild and gentle creature, in the Middle East, the one-horned beasts were brutish and fierce instead, especially the beast called the Karkadann, which the scientists declare now to be a fictional descendant of the modern Indian rhino instead, but who knows?

The Slavs too had their monstrous unicorn - the so-called Indrik-beast; its’ depictions are vaguer than the karkadann’s, but it too had a single horn, a robust body, (more like a bull’s than a horse’s, cough), and a fiery temper - a rather unicorn-like creature gone rhino-like. Was it also inspired by the Elasmotherium? Who knows…

Anything else? Well, if the Elasmotherium would still be around in the Modern times, it would have been quite interesting, though given as to how the humans are driving the modern rhinos to extinction ? This rhino cousin might have gone extinct anyhow instead. And so far, it is not much in the modern media- save for the “Prehistoric Park” mini-series, I have not seen the Elasmotherium at all, (and on that show, it was depicted- and acted - like a modern bull rhino, BTW).

So, I guess that this is the end of our talk about the Elasmotherium for now. Cheers.

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People say that the landwyrms – strange relatives of dragons, who are flightless and are usually far weaker than their true dragon kin are – take on the character of the land in which they live, from mountains to plains. Some scholars even go as far to say that the landwyrms are degenerate dragons, who became reduced to near animal state by a curse – or curses – of some deity, who had cast these dragons from the sky and took away their wings. Whether that is true or not, the tundra landwyrm, found in the extreme cold lands of the poles, certainly impersonates the first statement.

Like tundra in winter, a tundra landwyrm is white – the witnesses usually describe its color as ‘dirty ivory’. It sprouts a pair of horns on its head, and its talons are armed with blunt, but powerful, claws that allow the tundra landwyrm to dig long tunnels in the frozen polar soil. Its body, too, is sinuous and serpentine (though not as much as that of its swamp-dwelling relative), permitting the tundra landwyrm to move both through its tunnels and deep polar snow in winter with a relative ease.

Like tundra in winter, a tundra landwyrm saps warmth and life from its victims – a rarity among dragons and dragon-kind (the vampire dragons, undead monsters, are an exception). Like the other landwyrms, the tundra landwyrm is an ambush predator, pouncing on its victims from cover, and draining their blood. (The deceased, incidentally, do not become undead, after this.) The tundra landwyrm is certainly not averse from eating the flesh and bones of its victims as well, but it is primarily their warmth and blood that it is after.

During the polar winter, the tundra landwyrm is a ruthless and relentless hunter, stalking and following its designated victims with a purpose and a determination. It is also methodical, but reasonable, and can be bought off – usually with a life sacrifice.

In spring and summer, however, the tundra landwyrm presents a different side to its character: it retreats into its burrows, where it hibernates, until the snow returns, and all of the biting and annoying midges and gnats vanish. If disturbed at this time, the tundra landwyrm is a whirlwind of claws and teeth, tearing and biting its opponents into pieces...before going back to sleep.

As a physical opponent, the tundra landwyrm is formidable; some exceptional members of this species even acquire ranks in barbarian or fighter classes; most usually, however, they just grow to truly colossal sizes; but regardless of that, all tundra landwyrms are as vulnerable to magic, as any lesser creature is, for they have none of their own.

Well, almost none, for like the other landwyrms, as well as the true dragons, the tundra landwyrms have a genuinely frightful presence, one that requires a truly stalwart heart and iron will to endure, before the tundra landwyrm closes the distance and tears into its foes with teeth and claws.

But other than the frightful presence the tundra landwyrm has no magic, or even a resistance to spells. Rather, it is highly resistant to the cold that permeates its polar home in winter – and this causes it extra irritation during the polar spring and summer, and is pointless against magic, wielded by the humanoids that inhabit the tundra – and by the white dragons.

The relationship between the two species is particularly tempestuous, as the landwyrms and dragons cannot coexist peacefully and do their best to drive each other away, or even to kill each other. White dragons can fly and use magic, but the tundra landwyrms are usually big and strong enough any white dragon that isn't old or older, and furthermore, pound for pound, they are braver than the white dragons are; when such confrontations occur, they can go either way.

With humanoids – especially adventurers – battles tend to go differently, as these opponents tend to use fire and magic in combination, making their attacks more powerful and painful to the tundra landwyrm – and just like the tundra itself, the tundra landwyrm doesn't retreat from a battle until it is too late, and it is slain or subdued – but only the most powerful frost giants prefer to attempt the latter. Lesser beings – humans, orcs, and goblins – that live in these lands often prefer to worship the landwyrm or to assume that it is a herald of some local god, but they are usually wrong, and the landwyrm is just cooperating with them in order to fill its belly; when they are right, then the tundra landwyrm is even more powerful and formidable than it usually is, and requires a different strategy to be defeated, other than to close the distance and hack it with swords and axes, or to zap it from afar with spells, until it stops moving. Such creatures are best left to the DMs to be designed as they see fit.

...This, then, is the tundra landwyrm – an unpredictable, relentless, merciless and foolhardy stalker of the northern, snowbound lands. Only the strongest adventurers can defeat it – as they can defeat the tundra itself.

End

The tundra landwyrm first appeared in the 3.5 edition of Draconomicon. (2003)

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Paleologic's second episode aired recently; it was about the giant reptile named Sarcosuchus. So what?

Let's start with the obvious: the series' premiere about Elasmotherium had a better feel to it, it was more exciting somehow, but the Sarcosuchus episode was still good. However, what about the extinct reptile itself?

For a start, Sarcosuchus technically wasn't a crocodile; instead, it was their evolutionary cousin; even 'The Complete Guide to Prehistoric Life' had acknowledged it way back when. This book is important, for technically it was a catalogue of all of the extinct species featured in the entire 'Walking with...' series made by BBC/Impossible Pictures, of which I'd been a fan. (Impossible Pictures were re-absorbed into BBC, BTW). It was mainly a picture book for adults, in a manner of speaking, yet it still had plenty of textual information, and the Sarcosuchus entry acknowledged that it wasn't a close relative of the modern crocodilians, but rather their distant cousin. What next?

Getting back to Paleologic, the Sarcosuchus' episode also revealed that the skulls of this species showed that Sarcosuchus began its' life as a fish-eater, (as did most other members of its' immediate family, the Pholidosaurids), it would eventually move-on to hunting bigger creatures, such as the dinosaurs. This was implied in the 'Walking with...' series, more precisely - in 'The Land of the Giants' episode of the 'Chased by the Dinosaurs' series, (starring Nigel Marvin), and shown more openly in BBC's own 'Planet Dinosaur': in both of these series, Sarcosuchus harassed and hunted the juveniles of the various sauropods, including Argentinosaurus of South America and Paralititan of Africa. For a while during the Mesozoic these two continents were one, but then they split, but they still had animals that were more similar to each other than to those of the north instead; Sarcosuchus, apparently, lived on both of those landmasses instead. (Though yes, each landmass had its' own species of Sarcosuchus and not one and the same).

Keep in mind, that not everyone agrees with the theory that Sarcosuchus was a dinosaur hunter, a sort of a giant-sized version of the modern Nile crocodile; some scientists claim that it couldn't do the infamous death roll of the modern crocodiles and alligators, which made Sarcosuchus' prowess at hunting land animals somewhat suspect, but then again, in Africa, at least, it lived during the early to middle Cretaceous, when the future Sahara desert was a swampland instead, and the fish-hunters flourished.

...Yes, Sarcosuchus had had some contact with the Spinosaurus as well, though it is unknown of what sort; in 'Planet Dinosaur' the duo were shown avoiding each other during a drought, but nothing else, and so far, there's no RL evidence of their interactions with each other, (or at least, I haven't heard about it). Anything else?

Sadly no. Paleologic spent most of its' episode on Sarcosuchus comparing and contrasting it to the modern saltwater crocodile; why the saltie and not the Nile croc, I don't know, though admittedly, the latter does appear more rarely in the Western documentaries in general, admittedly. Maybe the saltwater crocodile is just more popular there, I don't know. Either way, I still have enjoyed watching the second episode of Paleologic on Youtube, and wish this series the best of luck.

End

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The latest update from Paleologic introduced, or reintroduced, the Thylacosmilus, the marsupial sabretooth of the Cenozoic epochs gone by. Ergo, what about it?

First, a needed revelation: this is one of my favorite prehistoric mammals, but I still find it very confusing; so do many other people, including the show's narrator, apparently, as the episode - after the necessary disclaimer and paid ad - wandered all over the topic.

Second, I want to shout-out to Mauricio Anton for his work 'Sabretooth' - when I first read it, it was one of the most complete works on the sabre-toothed synapsids that I've ever come across, and one of the best illustrated ones ever. Sadly, since then, I've also read Donald R. Prothero's guidebook to the prehistoric mammals, (and the modern ones too), and the man all but pointedly ignored 'Sabretooth', giving his own spin on the sabre-toothed synapsids instead. Paleologic, however, clearly has read, or skimmed, at least some of Anton's book, as it clearly used the more general info on the sabre-toothed carnivores to bulk up the specific Thylacosmilus information.

Third, this isn't a bad thing, as the official scientific community finds Thylacosmilus to be much more confusing and complex than initially thought; it is no marsupial mimic of the placenal carnivores, (such as Smilodon and Machairodus), but has clearly done something different with its' life - its' claws were non-retractable, like a bear's rather than a cat's, and the sabres of Thylacosmilus were quite different from the other sabres - pause.

...There's no single uniform style to the sabre-teeth; even the placental mammals in question, such as the sabre-toothed cats, had two or three kinds of sabre-teeth, and the mammal-like reptiles, such -as the gorgonopsids, who also were sabre-toothed, had a different type of dentition altogether. As such, while Thylacosmilus stands out from the rest, it doesn't stand out as much as you may expect from watching the Paleologic video; but on the other hand...

On the other hand, the sabre-like teeth of Thylacosmilus were better aimed to drag and rip than to slice, apparently. The wear and tear were another difference between it and Smilodon, (for example): in Thylacosmilus' case, they had no roots, and grew repeatedly throughout the mammal's life, just as the incisor teeth of the modern rodents' do. The latter, however, are chisel-shaped, are found in both top and bottom jaws, and they don't just gnaw other objects, they gnash against each other as well to wear down when not in use. Thylacosmilus only had teeth in the upper jaw, so it did something different than the rodents; of course, its' bottom jaw had special flanges that acted as sheaths for the sabre-teeth in life, so maybe the marsupial wore down its' teeth when not in use in this manner?..

Of course, the problem is that people still don't know much about the Thylacosmilus, hence the wandering nature of the episode. With Elasmotherium, things were clear-cut - it was a rhino cousin, and the Sarcosuchus episode kept itself together by being relatively short, but the Thylacosmilus episode?

...And that, of course, is the main point of the entire issue - the Thylacosmilus remains too unknown, too familiar and too strange at the same time for the modern people; hence may be why this animal doesn't appear in too many popular shows as opposed to even the Elasmotherium and the Sarcosuchus - even as a fossil, it is too unpredictable and too odd for the general populace to accept it - yet. In the future, that may change, but for now? We're at this story's end.

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“Ow, ow, ow!” The bugbear grunted as a cleric adventurer healed one of his arms with an appropriate spell. Well, sort of, since she was a low-level cleric still, and her spells weren’t that powerful yet.

“This won’t work, whatever you are playing,” the bugbear snapped, once the spell ran its’ course. “I am still evil, still a-“

“It isn’t the point,” the healer replied. “As a good-aligned character I still need to do this, because it is the right thing-“

The bugbear opened his mouth, looked his interlocutrix right in the eye, and closed it, clearly thinking about something.

“Ah, there you are,” the other two adventurers joined their companion and her patient. “Glad to see that you are in one piece.”

“You should have seen the other guy,” the bugbear muttered.

“We had, in a manner of speaking,” the half-orc of the party said conversationally, just as a terrible cry shook the treetops of the forest. “And it had survived you, and it was a black dragon wyrmling, and its’ mother is the local dragon matriarch-“

The bugbear just hit his head against a tree, muttering something in his native language.

Another cry came from above. Clearly, the dragon mother was not giving up yet.

“We need to go,” the adventurers’ leader spoke brightly. “You coming or leaving?”

And the bugbear cooperated.

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The Paleologic aspect of Animalogic continues, albeit with a new twist: DD has started to host it on top of anything else that she does. Well, more power to her, but what about the episode itself?

This time, the YouTube show talked about a more obscure animal - the Proailurus, which might’ve been the first true member of the cat family tree, including the modern species. Unfortunately for everyone involved, there are few fossils of Proailurus, especially in North America, hence the Paleologic episode generally talked about the early cat evolution in general, done in the style of PBS Eons; as such, it was short and straightforward, talking not only about cats, but also about their relatives - the civets and etc.

Yes, there are two branches of the true carnivorous mammals - one has the dogs, bears, weasels and raccoons, while the second has the cats, hyenas, mongooses and civets…as well as the endemic Madagascar carnivores; the biggest of them, the fossa, even looks a bit like a cat, but it is a more basic carnivore model instead. It is endangered and needs human help to survive, or it might die out as the Proailurus did.

The Proailurus itself…yeah, so far everyone can only guess as to how it lived, though there is some indication that it lived in the tree tops rather than on the ground. Unfortunately, such facts on their own are not very exciting, and a YouTube show like Paleologic needs excitement, so the Proailurus got only a short episode - and a short review. Ah well, maybe things will improve for it in the future, as more of its’ fossils will be discovered and more facts about its’ life and ecology revealed. For the moment, however, we are done.

End

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Let us talk briefly about hyenas. PBS Eons have recently released yet another one of their YouTube videos, this time about the hyena evolution, but somehow I do not think that they have done those animals justice. Therefore, let us talk.

For a start, people tend to get an incorrect idea about the modern hyenas because of the reasons listed below.

To begin, we must put all of the four modern and existing hyena species into a row, from the biggest to the smallest: we got the spotted, the striped, the brown and the aardwolf. Though we have not professional biologists, but if we look at this quartet, we get to see that the spotted hyena stands out from the rest of its’ kin. Why and how?

First, because it is spotted, while the other hyena species have stripes. Seriously, the striped hyena is named after its’ coloration pattern, while the aardwolf looks like a miniature version of the striped hyena, and the brown hyena may be mostly brown, but it still has some stripes, albeit mostly on its’ legs; still, they’re stripes, not spots.

Second, the spotted hyena has a differently shaped jaws and muzzle from the other three species: it is shorter and broader than in the other three species. This is more than justified: the structure of the spotted hyena’s jaws and skull, as well as its’ postcranial skeleton is what gives it strength and power to crush bones and to get through flesh so easily; the spotted hyena is the stereotypical bone crusher, put otherwise.

The other hyenas, conversely, well… The aardwolf has become an obligate insectivore instead: it feeds only on insects, mostly social insects such as ants and termites; it has lost most of its’ teeth, though its’ canines are still large and formidable for its’ size – the aardwolf uses them for defence.

…Yes, this is a reference to the Thylacosmilus, the marsupial sabretooth. Initially it was thought to be a marsupial counterpart to the better-known sabretooth cats such as Smilodon, but now it is known that Thylacosmilus led a very different lifestyle, which just do not know which one. Maybe it was an atypical insectivore such as the modern aardwolf…or the bat-eared fox – more about that below.

Anyways, the striped and the brown hyenas are more formidable than the aardwolf is, but they still fall short to their spotted cousin – and they look much more canine, or maybe lupine, than the spotted hyena does, (whose appearance is pretty unique in the mammal kingdom). The same can be also said for the aardwolf, who is called a ‘wolf’ for that reason: it does look like a wild dog of some sorts on the surface. More succinctly, while the spotted hyena does not look anything like a wild dog, the other three species do.

In behavior, however, the situation appears to be reversed: the spotted hyena is a pack hunter, just as the wild dog species are, while the other three hyena species are not. Fair enough, but how do they live?

In family groups – small in the case of the aardwolf, larger in the case of the striped and the brown hyena, but whereas the spotted hyena is loud and brash and in your face, the other hyena species are shyer and more retiring and aren’t encountered by humans very often. (Especially the aardwolf, for the obvious reason). Consequently, while most people know of the spotted hyena, (especially thanks to Disney’s Lion King Movie from the 1990s and beyond); the other three species of hyena tend to be more overlooked, especially by the non-scientific crowd. What next?

…The hyenas are accused of having lost to the dogs in the evolutionary race. There’s some justi-fication there, as only the striped hyena occurs outside of Africa; the brown hyena in particular is restricted to the countries in the African south, and is a rather shy animal when compared to its’ spotted cousin, but…

However, what an evolutionary win is? From a human point of view, (and we don’t have anyone else’s, ‘cause we’re still the only sentient species on planet Earth, regardless of what the Yetis and co. think), this means that your species continues to thrive, if not outright flourish, on the face of the planet, and here the hyenas…well, make do – they might not be as widespread as the wolves are, but…

However, if we look at the wild dogs, which have supposedly beaten the hyenas, then we see a picture that is not too different from the hyenas. The pack-forming canines are not all that numerous: we got the wolf, (whose main success is in the north, where there are few other large carnivores, save for bears, and the bears are more omnivorous instead). There is the African wild dog that is not found outside of Africa, the dhole, which lives mostly in Southeast Asia, and the Australian dingo, which is found only in Australia, and whose taxonomic status is still debated – is it a wild dog or merely a ‘feral’ one? The rest of the wild canids, including the jackals of the Old World, the coyote of the Americas, and the singing dog of Papua New Guinea tend to live in much smaller family groups – just as the non-spotted hyenas do. So, what does prevent the hyenas from leaving Africa and succeeding elsewhere?

…Because they have already succeeded in Africa, that is why. The non-human mammals, as well as the other animals, tend to lack ambition, especially in human terms; whereas humans often cannot be sated until they have it all, the other mammals can get along with each other under the sun; yes, the prehistoric hyenas have existed outside of Africa and now they’re gone, but so’s their world; the prehistoric wild dogs might’ve displaced them at one point, but now they’re also largely gone; all that’s left are the people, (and the domestic dogs, but they’re something else), and they’re the ones keeping the hyenas, well, subdued, and the same goes for the wild dogs.

The bat-eared fox, incidentally, is the canine counterpart to the aardwolf: it is bigger than fennec, (made famous by the Zootopia movie), but not unlike the aardwolf it lacks most specialized adaptations of a ‘professional’ insectivore, save for teeth and extra-large ears. It lives… alongside the aardwolf, actually, but it does not outcompete the hyena, cough. Therefore, I feel safe to say that the concepts of the canine success and hyena failure are coined human terms and thus should be treated with a grain of doubt when applied to the actual animals.

End

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Getting back to Paleologic, this time the episode was on one of the more iconic Ice Age mammals - the giant ground sloth, aka Megatherium. Sometimes it is called a megathere instead, but it is a more generic term, covering some of the Megatherium's cousins as well: they too were large, but not as big as Megatherium itself. Ergo, so what?

Well, for a start, the episode was longer than the Prionailurus one, with a more rounded script. That isn't surprising - as a more modern fossil, (yes, it sounds paradoxical, but there you are), the giant ground sloth was, or is, better studied than the Prionailurus is, as there's more material to study from. The fact that that material is of a better quantity and quality also helps, and then there are the burrows: apparently, the giant ground sloths were known to dig them, as the scientists admit. Of course, I remember that in the 'Raptor Red' (1996) novel, the author - Dr. Horner - has also made the same speculation about Segnosaurus, a cousin of Therizinosaurus, and so far there's no indication that those dinosaur cousins did that, but the giant ground sloths apparently did. What next?

My first meeting with the Megatherium was on the fifth episode of 'Walking with Beasts' (2001), (which is still one of my favorite series up to date), where it successfully drove off a Smilodon clan from their kill, killing one of the saber-toothed cats in the process, because on WWB Megatherium was shown as a scavenger, (not unlike the modern black and brown bears). This, apparently, was proven incorrect by now - there's no indication that the giant ground sloths ever ate animal matter, live or dead, in their fossil remains.

Another TV show that also featured ground sloths was 'Wild New World', (2002), only this show didn't feature Megatherium, but rather its' cousins: Eremotherium (ep 3) and Nothrotheriops, or the Shasta ground sloth, (ep. 2). While they were smaller than Megatherum was, they were still quite large and they lived a lifestyle pretty much identical to Megatherium - aka, an obligate herbivore with only minimum excitement.

...There were some other series, mini-series, and what else have you that featured ground sloths of one type or another, but I am beginning to digress; my points is that a) Paleologic still depends on Wikipedia for its' script material, and b), that ground sloths weren't too exciting; they were exotic, certainly, but not exciting: left to their own devices they would just graze or browse all day long, with less inner species' social interaction than the modern African elephants do, for example. As such, I think that I'll quit while I'm ahead, and wait for the next episode of Paleologic to surprise me.

...I still enjoyed the Megatherium episode though.

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...While the origins of most of the humanoids can be traced to the destructions of the Norse or the Greek, (less often – to the Roman or the Egyptian) nomes, the orcs have no such luck. Not unlike the humans, they seem to have evolved naturally, and not unlike humans, they generally do not like nature.

…There are plenty of differences between humans and orcs, not even going for the obvious. At the current time, the popular consensus is that while the humans have evolved from chimpanzee-like apes, the orcs have evolved from baboon-like monkeys, next to the humans, and they do not like them. This dislike is reciprocated, especially in Africa, the so-called ‘cradle of humanity’, and as such, the orcs have largely vanished from this continent. Instead, they have moved north – into Europe and beyond.

It is unknown when orcs have begun to grow so overwhelmingly xenophobic; some scholars think that the disappearance of the Neanderthal might have played a role. As it is, while the humans interacted with the other races, however reluctantly, the orcs did not – rather they left the land, took to the water, and became a seafaring race instead.

This sort of a choice did not allow the orcs to become entirely isolated, but it certainly prolonged it. It had also turned them into something of a race of explorers; it is possible that they have discovered the New World long before other Old World inhabitants did; but it also turned them into a race of pirates and buccaneers, one that halted the spread of the other Old World inhabitants into the New World as well.

Throughout their entire history, the orcs did their best to keep their naval superiority ahead of anyone else, and for a long time they generally succeeded, as the natives of Africa and Eurasia had plenty of things between each other to keep busy. In times, orcs even built their own enclaves – mainly along the rivers of Africa, South America and Australasia. They even adopted the bull shark as their sacred animal and worship it still, for it is an adaptable fish, equally at home in the fresh water as well as the sea. Because some of their worship included live sacrifices, this did not improve their standing with the rest of the world either.

This situation began to change in the 17th and 18th centuries, when the New World of North and South America was discovered, and the Europeans in particular began to challenge the orcs for naval supremacy. This conflict went for decades, and in the end was won by the invention of steam-powered ships – the xenophobic orcs just could not invent or create anything equal by themselves, and so they conceded defeat, however grudgingly.

The two World Wars came and went, and the orcs have begun to recover. They are still xenophobic, but the old camaraderie of the other sentient races, created during the Napoleonic wars, have started to break down, giving the orcs a more equal footing against their enemies once again. Perhaps one day they will seize their superiority once more and rule the seven seas anew.

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...Among fish, just as among mammals, (and the other tetrapods), are species, which are capable of moving through the air via active flight or gliding. Those are flying fish, which live in the equatorial and subtropical waters. They have extremely long front flippers, a long narrow body, and an equally long anal fin, where the lower fluke is longer than the upper is.

...When pursued by aquatic carnivores, the flying fish head for the surface at a great speed. Temporarily folding their front fins, they energetically work with their tails, and then, with several strong blows, they raise their bodies up and away, while opening-up their front fins. The result is, perhaps, the most basic of vertebrate flight - the flying fish move through the air - forwards - as if they were arrows, fired from a bow, as they glide on air currents that are reflected from the wave surfaces, and these air currents move the flying fish to a distance up to 150-200 m.

...BBC has shown the flying fish several times, (and always narrated by Sir David Attenborough, because the latter is the man!); in one segment, the flying fish escaped from the dorado, (also known as dolphin fish and several other names), only to be eaten by the frigatebirds instead; in another, the flying fish were shown spawning instead, but this activity had its' own hazards, as it seems that the flying fishes' eggs are sticky, and several of those fishes became entangled and died in those strands. It's a tough life being a flying fish, apparently!

Chapter Text

Welcome to this exciting episode of Prehistoric Warriors! In this instalment we will examine the two contenders to the honourable title of the terror bird: gastornis, the bone-crushing terror of the Eocene jungles, and phorusrhacos, a dinosaur-like carnivorous bird of the Pliocene.

First up, the gastornis! Also called the diatryma, this bird easily tops 2.15 meters in height; its primary weapons: a huge skull and beak, easily reaching 45 cm. in length. It is too big and heavy to fly, but it does not need to: in the jungles of the early Eocene America and Eurasia that it calls home, it is the alpha predator that can outfight and overpower any mammalian competition that it comes across... right before it feeds on their remains.

As an ambush predator, the gastornis does not possess the stamina of a marathon runner: rather, it is a sprinter that is capable of short but powerful bursts of speed that is needed to run down its prey through the forested landscape. Once its prey is within reach, the gastornis will catch it in its beak, shaking it to the death in its vice-like beak-grip... unlike its opposition.

The phorusrhacos. Meet the gastornis' chronological replacement, the one that outlived him by at least 30 to 40 million years. At 2 to 3 meters in height and boasting a beak and skull reaching 60 cm. in length at average, the phorusrhacos truly seems to be the gastornis, next edition, but that similarity is superficial, for while the gastornis was the alpha predator in its environment, the phorusrhacos is not. It is a less alpha, more adaptable creature, able to survive by scavenging the prey of its main competition, the sabre-tooth cats, both placental and marsupial.

When it does not scavenge, the phorusrhacos hunts independently, using its long legs to run down prey: herbivorous mammals of various size that live in South (and also North) America that it kills with blows of its beak. Unlike the gastornis, the phorusrhacos is a long distance runner of plains and prairies, able to catch up with such fleet-footed prey as primitive horses, camels and litopterns with ease, but are those the right tools to go against its slower prototype, the gastornis?

Height for height, the phorusrhacos is the taller bird... but primarily due to its long legs of a long distance runner: unlike the gastornis, it can run for a long time, sustaining the fast speed necessary to catch up with its fleeing prey, but gastornis won't flee from a fight. An inhabitant of the jungle, it does not spend its days in a nomadic existence, settling down only to nest, but it has a daily territory that it patrols day after day, ready to meet all the challengers, including the others of its kind.

This difference in habitat is the key difference in the two birds' appearance, and the main reason why phorusrhacos is taller than gastornis: when one is living inside a crowded, tangled jungle, a long, snaky neck and equally long legs of a phorusrhacos are actually a disadvantage; a gastornis, being proportionally more compact and stocky would actually have an advantage should the two contestants meet in crowded, rather than in the open, conditions.

But perhaps phorusrhacos has a secret weapon: the wing spurs. Both birds have short, vestigial wings, useless for flight, but in phorusrhacos' case they bear claw-like spurs that might make all the difference if the two birds go for close quarters combat. To do that, however, phorusrhacos must come truly close to its opponent, and that may give gastornis the advantage.

Just as the legs of gastornis are shorter and proportionally more muscular than those of phorusrhacos, so is its' neck, and its beak is like a pair of giant pincers, a vice, or a pair of hatchets, designed not to rip through the flesh like that of phorusrhacos, but rather to smash through it and bone. The bones of both combatants are hollow, as it is usual for the modern birds, and with gastornis' trademark move: grasp, squeeze and shake its prey until it is completely dead: this beak provides a powerful incentive to avoid tangling with the gastornis up close.

And maybe that will not be necessary. The neck of phorusrhacos may not be as stocky and powerful as that of gastornis, but it is longer, more dexterous, and the beak of phorusrhacos is hooked like a falchion or a scimitar blade, perfectly designed both to nail its prey like a hooked hammer or rip apart its flesh at a distance safe from its flailing victim.

Physically, both of our competitors are equally terrifying, each in its own way, but there is another hidden aspect we must consider before releasing them to battle each other: the so-called X-factor, how would they behave if faced with each other?

Both birds, of course, are long extinct in the recent time, but each of them has cousins whom we may meet in the wild... or on a farm. Gastornis itself might've died out without leaving any direct descendants, but its cousins didn't. Their descendants are the game birds, such as the grouse, the pheasant and the peafowl one hand, and the water birds - ducks, geese and swans - on the other. Both groups have domestic, as well as wild, species, and both are known for their fighting spirit. Though generally not exclusively carnivorous, the males of such birds can become fierce fighters, especially in the mating season, when they go at each other to battle for territory and mates with beak and wing, sometimes resulting in severe injuries for the loser.

Phorusrhacos didn't have any direct descendants either, but its' evolutionary cousins live in modern age as well; sometimes they even come into contact (a peaceful one) with some of gastornis's water-dwelling relatives - these are the seriemas, the cranes, the coots and similar water birds. More carnivorous overall than the game birds and ducks and their kin, they are also shyer than they are, and prefer to settle their interspecies disputes with displays, some of which - as in case of the cranes - can be quite elaborate.

To recapitulate: the gastornis is a powerfully-built ambush carnivore that belongs to a proud line of fierce fighters. The phorusrhacos is more slender and faster on the move, and is a better hunter. What about their intelligence?

Here, perhaps, the phorusrhacos has some advantage over gastornis, for it was a relatively more modern bird, and had to run down its prey using more advance strategies than the gastornis, for whom the hunting strategy was probably limited to ambush: in a tropical jungle, there's almost always a place to hide, even if you're a flightless bird as big as a human being. That said, it must be pointed out that the modern cranes and their kin are not particularly intelligent birds, and are also less adaptable to their surroundings then ducks and geese and swans (who can exist both in fresh water and sea), as well as the game birds (who can live practically everywhere on dry land, from the Arctic tundra to the steppes), so by all means if the phorusrhacos was smarter than the gastornis, then not by a big margin.

To recapitulate, both flightless birds are powerful creatures of terror: gastornis - the powerful ambush hunter of the jungle, with beak strong enough to crunch through bone; phorusrhacos - the fleet-footed hunter of the open spaces with a flesh-ripping hook for a beak. The phorusrhacos is probably the better hunter, but gastornis is probably the better fighter. Neither bird probably possesses overly high intelligence, and both were probably belligerent and liable to fight if provoked. Let's bring this battle on.

...Phorusrhacos begins the battle by confronting gastornis who had brought down a small animal at the edge of the jungle and more open scrubland. It tries to intimidate the smaller bird by ruffling its feathers to exaggerate its size, and by showing off its wing claws. The more belligerent gastornis isn't impressed and would begin its own intimidate moves in a relatively similar manner. After several moments of impasse, phorusrhacos would try to bully the smaller bird away using its beak, the same way how marabou storks sometimes fight off the smaller vultures off the carcasses in modern Africa. Unlike a vulture, however, the gastornis is not impressed and it charges at the phorusrhacos in a direct confrontation, as it would when confronted with its main rival - another gastornis.

Unlike another gastornis, however, the phorusrhacos would not meet the charging gastornis face to face, but would dodge around, and use its longer neck and beak to inflict a wound on the gastornis. A lesser opponent would probably end the fight then and there, but the gastornis is built sufficiently strongly to endure it, and it would charge the phorusrhacos again, who would not be able to get away from the gastornis in time (this time it would be a charge over a shorter distance), and the gastornis' beak would snap shut on one of phorusrhacos' wings.

The beak of the gastornis is very strong; the wing of phorusrhacos would be almost destroyed by such a bite. Being flightless, however, the phorusrhacos would be able to escape from the gastornis this time and flee into the scrubland, its longer legs giving it the advantage in speed.

The gastornis, however, would not follow. A more territorial and possibly less intelligent bird than phorusrhacos, it would mostly forget about the other bird and return to finish its interrupted meal in peace instead. The phorusrhacos, however, isn't finished yet - barely smarter than the gastornis, it would return to finish the fight as soon as it had recovered. This time, it charges the smaller bird, using its bigger head and beak to hammer a blow into gastornis's side, using its long neck to gather momentum.

The gastornis is staggered and badly wounded, but it's not defeated yet, and the belligerent temper of many a drake and rooster urges it to fight on. It charges the phorusrhacos, and at this close distance the other bird's longer reach is useless: the gastornis dodges the phorusrhacos' next blow and clamps its jaws shut on the phorusrhacos' long neck. The powerful beak of gastornis can snap open spines of mammals, bones that are thicker and harder than the neck bones of birds that are relatively light for their size, and the phorusrhacos drops dead at the gastornis' feet - now it's all over. Gastornis, relatively short, compact, and proportionally powerful is the winner for the title of the terror bird!

Chapter Text

Getting back to Paleologic, we are still talking about terror birds here, (see the previous chapter), since this is what this week’s episode was about. Again, so what?

Firstly, the term ‘terror bird’ is something of a lay term used to apply to a family of flightless car-nivorous birds also known as Phorusrhacidae, or the Phorusrhacos, (the name of the type species, this is). Even such famous paleontologists of history, such as Josef Benes, talked about Phorusrhacos, and Zdenek Burian painted several depictions of this infamous avian monster. But-!

…But contrary to the show’s statements, the terror birds didn’t have the isolated South America to themselves; there were placental carnivores there, actually, but since they were related to the modern weasels, bears, raccoons and pandas instead of cats and dogs, (which came much later), the latter tended to be more of omnivores and didn’t compete with the terror birds. Conversely, the terror birds had to worry about their flying counterparts, including Argentavis, which is one of the biggest birds that ever took to the air: an Andean condor on steroids, it clearly would not hesitate to drive the flightless terror birds from their kills if it wanted to.

In addition, there was also Purussaurus, an extinct genus of giant caimans, easily comparable to the Mesozoic Sarcosuchus and Deinosuchus in size – up to 10 m in length, the adults of this genus especially wouldn’t be impressed by the terror birds and would easily ambush and eat them, especially at the water’s edge, where the crocodilians still rule, even in the modern times.

Getting back from the water and back to Paleologic, the terror bird episode has also mentioned the Psilopterus terror bird, alongside the group’s heaviest hitters – Kelenken and Titanis. Unlike the latter two, the Psilopterus genus had the smallest species of terror bird, (known to the modern science): no taller than 70-80 cm, and no heavier than 5-7 kg, the Psilopterus terror bird was not very different from the seriemas, highly likely.

The seriemas, of course, represent the last living family of the Cariamae order, which also contains the extinct terror birds. They are a sister group to the falcons, the parrots, and the passerines, (or the songbirds) – not to the cranes and co. as it was thought in the past. That said, the seriemas’ behavior is not unlike that of some of the more terrestrial wading birds, or, more accurately yet – to the secretarybird of Africa, (which is not really related to them at all), and, physically, they are far less imposing than their extinct terror bird cousins had been. Yet so what?

Let us now turn to the mass media instead. I first met the terror birds in 2001’s ‘Walking with Beasts’, ep. Five, which dealt with the Pliocene South America – there the terror birds, were shown co-existing both with the native mammals, and with the arrived species – i.e., Smilodon or the sabre-toothed cat. Impossible Pictures, which had made WWB in the first place, in 2006, would release the ‘Prehistoric Park’ mini-series; in the fourth episode, they further elaborated on the issue of terror birds and sabre-toothed cats: first they showed how the Smilodon drove the terror birds to extinction, and then they died-out themselves; it may be the most dramatic episode of the entire mini-series, but we digress.

Impossible Pictures’ aside, the terror birds also appeared in such documentary series as ‘Prehistor-ic Predators’ (2007) and ‘Monsters Resurrected’ (2009), where they were studied and depicted to their full dramatic effect, or at least their most formidable species, Kelenken and Titanis, were. When it came to the must less impressive Psilopterus, Paleologic was the first to talk about it; why?

For the same reason as to why the seriemas get only a passing mention in most of the terror bird related documentaries: they are also physically unimposing. The terror birds are, or were, physically formidable – a mixture of modern birds of prey and ratites. So are the seriemas, but on a much smaller scale, so they are usually overlooked in favor of their extinct cousins, which have become famous, or infamous, through their physical prowess, (the scans of their skulls showed that they weren’t the smartest avian dinosaurs on the block). Hence, which is probably why Pale-ologic decided to talk about the terror birds in this week’s episode to begin with.

...I still enjoyed the terror bird episode and am looking forward for the next eps to come.

End

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Let us briefly talk about the cryptobranchid, or the giant, salamanders of Asia and North America, simply because they are in their own suborder. Pause.

There are three suborders of the tailed amphibians, aka newts and salamanders, and the overwhelming majority of them belong to the Salamandroidea suborder; the only exceptions are the sirens of the south-east North America, (USA), and the aforementioned giant salamanders and their relatives, (more on them below).

The sirens’ differences from the rest of the salamanders are obvious: they are probably the most neotenic of all the tailed amphibians: not only they have external gills, but they also have only front legs – no hind ones. Pause.

Whereas in frogs and toads it is the hind legs that develop first, in newts and salamanders it is the front ones instead; plus, their tadpoles have external gills, while the frogs and toads acquire internal ones very quickly; the legless caecilians, the final group of the modern amphibians, also seem to have external gills, but they are much less known than the other two, so they will be mentioned only in passing – wait.

Getting back into the mists of time, the thing is that the modern amphibians only began to appear around the time of the K-T extinction 66 MYA; before then, especially during the Palaeozoic and the early Mesozoic, completely different groups of amphibians ruled. The thing is that while ini-tially paleontologists went with a linear P.O.V. and proclaimed that amphibians evolved from the fish, and reptiles – from the amphibians, by now it is clear that these statements are much vaguer than scientists have initially imagined.

Yes, the initial land vertebrates have evolved from fish, (as there were not any other vertebrates), but these days scientists tend to classify those early semi-terrestrial semi-aquatic animals as ‘tetropods’ and prefer to differentiate them from the amphibians because of reasons. Ditto, right now the actual ancestors of the reptiles is unknown; the reptiles have appeared back in the Carboniferous, (as shown in ‘Walking with Monsters’, for example), though they were small at that time – about the size of the modern lizards on average, (but, again, they weren’t really related to the modern lizards and snakes at all); yet they were already differentiated from the amphibians. However…

However, for a while, in the late Paleozoic, there were the so-called reptilomorph amphibians – amphibians that had reptile-like traits in adults, but their young still had gills and lived in water… and why should not they? The amphibious way of life – when the young and the adults of the same species have different… everything and thus do not compete with each other – is clearly advantageous, as the amphibians’ evolutionary history, from the Devonian to Recent demonstrates; however…

However, somewhere along the line, things have diverged at least for some tailed amphibians, as they evolved neoteny, a condition where juvenile traits persist into sexual maturity. Actually, neoteny is present in several groups of animals, including insects, so let us for now focus on the tailed amphibians: for them, neoteny is when a species has both sexual maturity and external gills, (with the sirens going one-step further, as we already said). However, the giant salamanders are a different story.

Why? Because while they are mostly aquatic, (as the neotenic amphibians are), their adults lack external gills. Yes, their young hatch underwater, have external gills, eventually grow legs…but unlike the axolotl and the mudpuppies, their gills disappear with sexual maturity; instead, they grow skin folds and the like to extract oxygen from the water instead, which is a different story altogether – but what it is?

To recapitulate, metamorphosis came before neoteny – for a while, there was no obvious reason to evolve the latter, but when it did… either the giant salamanders were too late, apparently, as plenty of other salamander groups and subgroups had, and so the giant salamanders couldn’t ‘fit in’… other the giant salamanders were too early: they began to stick to a mostly fully aquatic lifecycle before the other salamanders evolved neoteny, and since there was no competition, they flat-out didn’t evolve it, as there was no need for it. What next?

While throughout Earth’s history there were plenty of giant salamander subgroups, right now, there are only three species around – one in North America, and the other two in Asia. The American hellbender is the smallest of the three – no bigger than 70 cm long, about the size of a small child at best… but the bigger species of North American mudpuppies don’t grow over 48-50 cm long, so, obviously there’s some other factor at work, since the Japanese giant salamander reaches 150 cm in length – the size of a small adult – and the Chinese species – reaches 180 cm, which is the size of an average adult instead. Pause.

Let us get into the ecology of the giant salamanders instead. While they might be vaguely associated with the crocodiles, they really are not. The crocodilians divide, among other ways, into two broad categories: narrow-snouted fish-eaters and broad-snouted ambush-hunters of land animals. By contrast, the giant salamanders live most of their life underwater, and they do not ambush land animals, yet their heads and snouts are shore and broad instead. Therefore, whom do they resemble instead?

Why, the catfish, and especially the wels catfish – one of the biggest freshwater catfish species of them all. Just as the giant salamanders, the wels catfish is active mainly at night; it hunts by swimming along the river bottom, sensing the prey with its whiskers and swallowing them whole. The giant salamanders’ don’t have such as advanced whiskers as the wels catfish does, but neither does the burbot, (another fish), and it does the same thing too, but being around 1 m 24 cm in length, (in the size range of the giant salamanders, cough), it just cannot compete with the wels catfish size-wise. Where are we?

Ah yes, entertaining my theory that the giant salamanders, (also known as the ‘primitive sala-manders’ in some nomenclature, while the other, non-siren salamanders, are known as the ‘advanced salamanders’ instead), are the ecological analogues of the wels catfish instead. The hell-bender lives in the Eastern United States, where there is not any natural analogue of the wels, and, again, it is the smallest living member of the cryptobranchids. The Japanese giant salamander lives alongside the Biwa catfish – a wels catfish variant… which is endemic to a single lake only, and the Amur catfish, which is around the size of a large burbot instead, so the Japanese giant salamander can handle it.

As for the Chinese salamander, this is where things get murky. These days, there are actually two species of this amphibian: the Chinese salamander proper, and the South China giant salamander; both species are critically endangered, (i.e., in a much worse state than their Japanese and U.S. cousins), and there may be more species of the giant salamander living there – they just have not been identified and confirmed by the scientists yet. Still, the Chinese giant salamander species’ complex is struggling – from habitat destruction, water pollution, harassment from humans, hybridization with the Japanese giant salamander…and maybe from the competition from the introduced wels catfish? Who knows!

One last thing. The kappa. In one of the RM episodes, our main man JW went to Japan to con-front the Biwa catfish and the Japanese giant salamander, which he proclaimed to be the root behind the kappa legend. With all due respect, JW, but on this occasion you’re a flat-out wrong; the kappa was never depicted as even vaguely salamander-like, but as a turtle-like humanoid instead. Therefore, that is that.

For the moment, though, we are saying good-bye to the giant salamanders.

End

Chapter Text

Paleologic has come back earlier this week with a new episode, this one on the Thylacoleo, the marsupial lion. Ergo, since the JWD film already paleontologically marks this week, let us talk about Paleologic as well.

This episode is notable, firstly, is that DD has narrated it once more. Again, it seems to be her show & YouTube channel, so it is her call, so let us end this. On the other hand, getting onto the Thylacoleo itself, we come to an interesting phenomenon: this extinct mammal’s weakness is its’ strength!

…To elaborate, what is the shared trait of all of the prehistoric animals that were featured on Paleologic, up to date? They are all well known, and you can find plenty of information about them on Google or Wikipedia, to name the most obvious ones. The Proailurus is the odd one now for the moment…hence why its’ episode was about 5 minutes long on average, when the Thylacoleo episode was 8 minutes long, for comparison.

Unfortunately, the other side of the coin is that while the Proailurus episode contained at least some new information, for some people, the Thylacoleo episode – not as much. The Thylacoleo is very famous by now, it has appeared in some prehistoric documentary series and mentioned in other; people know about the marsupial lion by now and they know things…information about it too. This week’s episode of Paleologic didn’t tell anything exactly new about the marsupial lion – but then again, while not exactly JWD, this series aims to entertain, rather than to inform or to educate people, so bully for them!..

One other thing in regards to the Thylacoleo episode is that the Paleologic team tried to use visuals, done in the PBS Eons’ style. However, as to why I know not – the two YouTube channels are not connected in any manner, so maybe Paleologic is just trying to make itself look more professional or something – it is anyone’s guess right now.

Otherwise, this is it. The Thylacoleo itself is known by now; people know certain things about the marsupial lion even if they are not professional paleontologists, and the Paleologic episode presented this common-law knowledge in a very fun YouTube episode – I’ve enjoyed watching, for one.

End

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Paleologic has delivered yet another episode – one about the giant prehistoric snake, Titanoboa, and it is one of its’ best episodes up to date. Why?

Firstly, the subject: Titanoboa has a reputation already, but, ironically, it is still less-studied than the Thylacoleo was, for example. Again, why?

Because its’ fossils are preserved more poorly than Thylacoleo’s were, for one thing. Titanoboa lived after the dinosaurs, true, but it lived almost immediately after them – during the Paleocene/Eocene, which was just the very beginning of Cenozoic, the age of mammals… and its’ climate was still more like that of the Mesozoic than of the modern time period, (aka the Recent). As such, fewer fossils of Titanoboa were able to survive till the modern times, simply because they had to last through a greater time period than the later fossils did, and because the conditions weren’t very fossil-friendly during the time and place, when Titanoboa has lived.

The ecology of Titanoboa is something else – it lived when planet Earth was still largely a green-house planet – the climate was warmer, wetter and more tropical; it was almost more oxygen-rich, allowing such creatures as reptiles and fish to grow to gigantic sizes; the birds and mammals would grow bigger later.

Does anyone remember the ‘Walking with Beasts’ TV series? It was a follow-up to the ‘Walking with Dinosaurs’ series, but while WWD (and the 2022 ‘Prehistoric Planet’) focused on dinosaurs and the rest of the Mesozoic reptiles, WWB focused on Cenozoic and the prehistoric mammals that appeared then, (and also now – the Holocene and Recent are also a part of the Cenozoic, technically). Anyhow, the first episode of WWB, set during the early Eocene, featured Gastornis, also known as Diatryma, a large, extinct relative of the modern ducks and chickens. The punchline? That even at that time the Gastornis was already dying-out: its’ heyday had been the Paleocene instead, when there weren’t any large carnivorous mammals, such as the creodonts and the mesonychians, (featured in the 2nd and the 3rd episodes of WWB), to compete with them – once the mammals began to produce their own giants, (and that happened by the late Eocene, as a matter of act), Gastornis and its’ kin died-out. The terror birds, (introduced in the 5th episode of WWB), managed to survive up to Pliocene at least because they lived in South America, which was separate from the rest of the world for a large part of the Cenozoic, and once it did join-up with North America, the terror birds, (and quite a few other species of indigenous South American fauna), disappeared… Where does this leave Titanoboa?

Why, alongside Gastornis, to put it roughly – just like that bird, Titanoboa was a creature of a hot wet world, where it lived in the waters and swamps of what would become South America in our times. Once the world began to cool down and dry out, Titanoboa found itself at a disadvantage: like the modern anaconda snakes, (to which it is only distantly related – its’ closest boa relative is the modern boa constrictor and its’ immediate cousins instead, and they are terrestrial, unlike the anacondas), it was an aquatic reptile, and on land it was rather unwieldy and slow instead.

Here is the thing. Gigantism is only relatively advantageous – a giant animal is tough and power-ful, but it is also slow and unwieldy, especially on land, and a smaller, but more maneuverable opponent can win, if it maneuvers itself into a right place and is able to land a critical hit at a vulnerable spot, like the neck or a flank… Titanoboa was big and scary, but by now scientists believe, that not unlike Spinosaurus, it wasn’t a giant killer, but more of a fish-hunting specialist, and once the giant fish of the Paleocene began to die out, so did Titanoboa…

And where did it leave Paleologic? With another good episode, to be succinct. Whereas in case of Thylacoleo the narrative merely repeated some same old same old facts, here it, well, does, to a point: since Titanoboa’s facts are not as well known as Thylacoleo’s are, the Titanoboa episode was able to come across as an enjoyable success instead. Hooray!

…Moreover, I have enjoyed watching the Titanoboa episode – but that is beside the point.

End

Chapter Text

Paleologic continues to deliver; this time, it was an episode on the Thylacine, also known as the Tasmanian tiger.

What can be said about this episode? It works. It works regardless that a good chunk of its’ time, at first, was taken over by a promo ad of cat food or something; it works because the Thylacine is famous these days
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Why is it famous? Hard to say – because it is charismatic, because it is misunderstood, because it is a symbol of Australia… and most assuredly, not a wolf. Rather, it is a close cousin to the numbat, a marsupial anteater, and a distant cousin to the kangaroo and the koala – and just like a kangaroo, it was able to jump on its’ hind legs alone.

No, really, it could! The Thylacine’s skull may be wolf-like, save for some anatomical differences, apparently, but its’ post-cranial skeleton was much more marsupial-like instead, and, apparently, the Thylacine could, on occasion, sit up on its’ hind legs and jump like a kangaroo – when chasing its’ prey, or fleeing from danger.

…The same is said, as a matter of fact, bout another extinct marsupial carnivore – the Thylacoleo. Just as the Tasmanian tiger, the marsupial lion had hindquarter skeleton features that show that it could stand on its’ hind legs alone, while using its’ tail as the last part of the ‘tripod’. Whether or not the Thylacoleo – just as the Thylacine – was a competent jumper, capable of going at it with the kangaroos, is another question.

Keep in mind that the two carnivores were only distantly related – the Thylacine is a ‘true’ marsupial carnivore, a Dasyromorph, relative of the Tasmanian devil, the quolls, and a few others, including the already-mentioned numbat, while the Thylacoleo was a member of the Diprotodontids, a close cousin to the koalas and the wombats instead. Those Australian urban myths of the drop bears, the carnivorous koala versions? They might be sightings of the modern marsupial lions instead – but no one has proved that they actually exist…

The same can be said about the Tasmanian tiger, obviously – there’d been unproven sightings and rumors of its’ existence since, well, ever – but never any concrete proof; some scientists feel that the Thylacine died-out later than its’ official date, but it still died-out – but they don’t like to talk about it for their own reasons.

And as for resurrecting the Thylacine in a Jurassic Park manner? I have no idea what to think about it, but somehow, ever since the case of Dolly the sheep, scientists tend to be close-mouthed about just how successful cloning actually is, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed about it.

…Anyhow, I’ve enjoyed watching this episode, so that’s that.

Chapter Text

Paleologic continues to deliver – sort of; this week’s episode was about Megalania, the biggest lizard of the Cenozoic, (so far). I would like to say – the biggest lizard ever, but the truth is that the mosasaurs’ of the Mesozoic were even bigger and more massive than even Megalania was. So what?

So, here Paleologic ran into some trouble – again. Not only people have studied, examined, and written about Megalania a lot, both professionally and otherwise, but they’ve even made a ‘proper’ documentary about this lizard, back in 2009, an episode of the ‘Monsters Resurrected’ named the ‘Giant Ripper’ – and Paleologic has utilized this episode quite a bit.

Let me rewind a bit. The information about Megalania was recycled already, as ‘Monsters Resur-rected’ utilized the Australia-based episode of another show – ‘Monsters We Met’, 2004. That show talked about as to how humans have caused mass extinctions since the end of the last Ice Age of the Pleistocene, until, well, now – and Megalania was shown to be one casualty of human domination of the planet.

Fair enough, but in 2009 ‘Monsters Resurrected’ challenged this opinion by suggesting that Megalania may’ve died out from different, not exactly human-caused causes. This was some-thing new, something different, and it gave MR an edge over its’ competition, (whatever it was), whereas Paleologic…

Paleologic – for all of its’ aspects – never really tries to be anything ground-breaking; it is a dutiful retelling of the already approved information; it may be so with the rest of Animalogic’s shows, but at least there there’s nothing to compare the videos with professionally – the various narrators of Animalogic tell in various new and exciting ways the various info about the various modern animals and plants, (and maybe fungi too – I can’t remember right now), and that’s it. You want something more substantial, you can find it yourselves… and people do not often care about the harpy eagles or the Amazon River dolphins that much to motive themselves for a prop-er online search. The prehistoric animals are somewhat different matter – any prehistoric animal, a dinosaur or otherwise, often becomes a fairly popular and discussed subject online, so before long it acquires a following – a fan following – of some sort and people begin to argue and talk about it quickly because it is exciting!.. Where were we?

Nowhere much, truth to be told. When Paleologic went for the Elasmotherium for its’ premiere, it worked, because the Elasmotherium was much less known than the Megalania, (proportionally). Sadly, since then, Paleologic avoided such ‘obscure’ creatures, (save for the Proailurus – re-member that episode?), and played it safe with fan favorites…

Regardless, good luck to it with its’ future episodes.

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Paleologic continues to deliver; the latest video is about Spinosaurus, because of course it is! Just as the Megalania from the previous Paleologic episode, Spinosaurus was a part of the ‘Monsters Resurrected’ series, albeit it is even a more formidable prehistoric beast than the Megalania had been.

So, what about the Spinosaurus, first of all? Paleologic again delivered, by talking, or rather – by paraphrasing this dinosaur’s Wikipedia article, but there are some things that I feel that I can add about the big S.

…The main thing that people tend to overlook about Spinosaurus is that it wasn’t an isolated animal; just like the raptors and the T-Rex, it had a biological family of its’ own… but the other spinosaurids are talked about far less often; the main exception here is the Baryonyx, which is talked about…in the conjunction with the big S.

Life being what it is, the dramatic irony here is that the Baryonyx is only a distant cousin to Spinosaurus: it is certainly a spinosaurid, but it belongs to its’ own family, separate from Spinosaurus, and it looked subtly different as well.

No, I am not talking about the Baryonyx’s smaller size, (relative to Spinosaurus), or its’ lack of a spinal crest – instead, I’m talking how each of Baryonyx’s forelimbs had a single oversized claw – think a raptor’s claw, but on the forelegs rather than the hind ones. Neat?

Anyhow, in the older times, (i.e. 1988-1999), the Baryonyx was often depicted as a quadruped, albeit with a mammal-like rather than a lizard-like stance. Of course, whether or not it was so in RL, we know not, not at the moment, at least. What is next?

Well, aside from Baryonyx, the big S had other relatives – relatives that lived at the same time as it did, in the early Cretaceous. Oh, yeah, I forgot – if Spinosaurus and most of its’ kin lived during the early Cretaceous, Baryonyx lived during the late Jurassic instead. It also lived in Europe – in modern Great Britain, to be more precise, and that is important, because it is atypical. Why?

Because during the Mesozoic, when Pangea broke up, it formed two landmasses. Europe, Asia and North America formed one – the Laurasia. Africa, South America, Australia, Antarctic formed another – the Pangea. Thus, whereas the north had such reptiles as the T-Rex, the raptors, the ankylosaurus, the ceratopsians and their cousins, the hadrosaurs, etc. – the south did not. Instead, it had most of the Cretaceous sauropods, as well as the carnosaurs – Africa had Carcharodontosaurus, and South America – Giganotosaurus and co., and the abelisaurs – Africa had Rugops, Madagascar had Majungosaurus, South America had Carnotaurus, and also – the spinosaurs? Yes, actually – Africa had Spinosaurus and Suchomimus, whereas South America had Irritator and maybe some others.

How did those dinosaurs look like? While they were more closely related to Spinosaurus than to Baryonyx, they were more similar to the latter, both in size and in the lack of the spinal crests; but the fact is that Spinosaurus and its’ relatives, both close and distant, all looked similar to each other: they were built like wading birds/crocodile hybrids, they were clearly specialists, and they specialized in an aquatic-semiaquatic direction: primarily fish-eaters. Spinosaurus might’ve been big enough to hunt land animals as well, but its’ relatives, both close and distant, were about half its’ size, so they probably stayed away from the land carnivores – the carnosaurs, (such as Carcharodontosaurus and Giganotosaurus), instead. Bigger than a T-Rex indeed!

…However, this is actually the next punchline – the JP3 film had done the big S a peculiar ser-vice – it introduced it to the West as the dinosaur carnivore that was ‘bigger and better’ than the T-Rex. Since the US is actually very proud of the T-Rex, the JP3’s kill of the Rex by the big S cut it to the quick, and so the Western paleontologists began to study and examine the big S for real – and you know the result: by now, both the big S and the big Rex have equally large Wikipedia articles… which brings us back to Paleologic: I honestly wonder as to who they will talk about next.

…It will still be enjoyable to watch, though. Probably.

End

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The elands - and their relatives the giant elands - are the biggest modern antelopes in the world. They're around 2 m in height. They weight around 1 metric tonne in weight. Their corkscrew horns are over 1 m in length...

The elands are antelopes of the semi-open plains, where trees and shrubs don't form a solid jungle, but more like copses dotting the more open plains, (the African savanna to be precise). However, the biggest species actually do live in the jungles of the Central Africa instead.

Even the lions are wary of the elands, and don't dare to attack them during the broad daylight: these mighty antelopes got horns that are as sharp as rapiers are.

From the outside, the eland looks like a massive and slow-moving beast. When it is walking or running, it looks more like a cow than an antelope. Moreover, the elands aren't inherently hostile animals, but peaceful, and are easily tamed/domesticated. In the not so distant past, such semi-domestic elands were kept in various national parks, (including ones outside of Africa), and they were treated - and milked - as if they were domestic cows. Their milk, incidentally, was very nutrituous, and even various medicines were made from it.

In short, the elands are the complete opposites of the gazelles, (including the one starring in the not so distant 'Zootopia' movie, remember?).

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I am a porcupinefish

I was a human once. I swim through the streets of the sunken city of ys with my fellow fish, (i.e. ex-humans).

I was a human once. Now, I am a porcupinefish. The city of ys was human once, but now it's sunk beneath the waves, and only sea-creatures dwell in it. We were human once. Now we're not.

Our princess was a human once. Now she is definitely not. She is a mermaid now. She still has hands opposable thumbs. I am a porcupinefish. Opposable thumbs and hands are not mine now.

Sometimes, I feel jealousy of our princess, who sunk our city beneath the waves, and made it from a human city into a clearly non-human one; and these times, I want to confront her. She is a mermaid, after all, and I am a porcupinefish.

...And then I see her true face, I remember that she had sunk our city as part of her deal with the devil, and inflate myself with water, so that my spines pop-out and I am no longer considered being a soft and an edible target.

Sometimes, it isn't so bad being a human polymorphed into a porcupinefish. Sometimes, this means that you may last long enough to achieve salvation.

End

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Paleologic continues to deliver: this week’s episode was about the Megalodon, of all things.

Let us start at a distance: what WAS Megalodon?

The RL Megalodon was a giant cartilaginous fish, a member of the shark branch of the family, as opposed to the chimera or the skate/ray branches. It was the biggest fish known to science, and as all sharks, it was a carnivore; the modern evidence shows that it fed primarily on the baleen whales of its’ time, (Miocene through Pliocene), in a matter not unlike how the modern great white sharks feed on the modern seals and sea lions.

Next: Was Megalodon special?

The answer, of course, is both yes and no. Aside from its’ extra-large size, Megalodon was just a shark, i.e. a real life animal, (ok, fish), which was a part of the natural world, and it was not any more special than the rest of its’ contemporary animals were. Just like the other modern sharks and co., for example, Megalodon ate, slept, and bred-

-Ok, we are generalizing. In Megalodon’s case, the breeding, as well as the subsequent growth of the Megalodon pups took place in the shallow seas that were located between the North and the South Americas; once the two continents formed into one, those warm shallow seas vanished, and Megalodon was hit where it really hurts – in its’ youngsters. This was combined with the continuing cooling of Earth – during the Eocene, the planet was as warm as it was during the Mesozoic overall; by the Pleistocene, Earth was in an Ice Age; and during the Miocene and the Pliocene, it was heading in the Ice Age direction… pause.

Now, Earth lost its’ megafauna only now, during the Holocene, when humans drove them into extinction, but the matter of fact was that the general trend was heading towards smaller sizes even before that; during the Mesozoic, the situation was different, but during the Cenozoic, the biggest beasts lived during the Miocene, (i.e. Paraceratherium and co.), just when Megalodon was living, and when Pliocene and Pleistocene came around, the beasts began to shrink, on the average. The result? Smaller modern mammals, (and other animals), even before humans came onto the scene and upset everything. What is left?

Megalodon died out around five MYA, because the world changed too much. The warm American shallow seas vanished, as did the smaller baleen whales that used to feed on. The survivors would evolve into the modern giants, such as the fin, humpback, and the blue whales, but Megalodon would be unable to handle them, especially since the modern killer whales – the oceans’ top predators of the modern times – were also appearing at that time: Megalodon was simply made obsolete.

So, what else is left?

On one hand – its’ teeth. Megalodon’s skeleton was cartilage, and it does not fossilize well; its’ teeth – just as the other shark teeth – actually do. They show that Megalodon was much bigger than the modern great white shark, but… nothing else. People had to put together its’ physical appearance and its’ ecology based on circumstantial evidence, and that is tricky at best… plus there’s the fact that humans don’t really need the real life Megalodon – not when they got their imaginary giant shark, period.

See, on the other hand, Humans have imagined sharks (and whales) as giant sea monsters since the Biblical times, (such as Jonah and the whale tale), way before they even knew that Megalodon had ever existed in real life. The scientists may proclaim that the giant shark died out only ‘recently’, just 5 MYA, but such statements don’t make anything better – until those worthies reveal their personal time machines that allow them to travel to such past times to make it seem ‘recent’, such statements don’t matter at all – 5 million years ago, or 65 – Megalodon is still gone for good, but because it’d fit so well into humanity’s imaginary fish-shaped sea monster, (Mon-stro from the ‘Pinocchio’ franchise says hi), it still remains in demand in monster fiction, and will remain there for a good long time yet. Paleologic did do a good job with its’ Megalodon episode, but, conversely, what is left? The T-Rex, maybe? Only time will tell.

It was still a good overall episode, though.

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Paleologic continues to surprise and deliver, as this week’s episode was about the Dunkleosteus of all things. This fish, (also known as Dinichthys), was featured on the first two episodes of the ‘Walking with Sea Monsters’ trilogy, (made by Impossible Pictures in 2003), but little else, to my knowledge. What next?

The episode itself was quite good, as team Paleologic did its’ best to make the giant extinct fish appear exciting – and because Dunkleosteus was a giant extinct fish carnivore the size of a modern school bus, they achieve it; I’ve certainly enjoyed watching it.

The Dunkleosteus itself… this week’s Paleologic episode had compared it to the Megalodon, but that isn’t quite right; the giant shark was still better than ‘the Dunk’ was; why?

Because, the baseline answer, is that the Megalodon was a more derived fish predator out of the two; it existed in the Miocene and the Pliocene, aka the Cenozoic, (about the same time that our direct ancestors descended from the trees and became our direct ancestors – they just didn’t know about that yet), whereas the Dunkleosteus lived during the Devonian, aka in the middle of Paleozoic instead. So what?

So, again, if you compare the two fishes the Megalodon just comes across as the better predator – mostly. It may be a cartilaginous fish, but it was still more modern than the bony Dunkleosteus was, (see their times of existence in the paragraph above). More precisely, Megalodon lived during tougher times and it had to be tougher (and smarter) than Dunkleosteus was. Another pause.

Proportionally, the Paleozoic was longer than the Cenozoic is, so far, but while that might be because of the human P.O.V., we do not have any other, (Nessie and Yeti do not want to share theirs right now), so we have to stick with this, and in this timeline P.O.V. the Devonian was more plentiful and less climatically tough than the Miocene and the Pliocene were; that climatic toughness was one of the main causes of the Megalodon’s extinction in the long run, actually.

Secondly, whereas Megalodon usually hunted marine mammals, (up to smallish prehistoric baleen whales), Dunkleosteus hunted smaller and weaker prey – fishes and invertebrates, (since nothing else existed on Earth in the Devonian anyhow), and so, its’ great size was almost overkill from an ecological P.O.V.

There was another animal discussed on the Paleologic that’d done a similar thing during its’ time – the giant snake Titanoboa, which became a giant because the climatic conditions favored it, and because it could, as a cold-blooded animal. While it was a giant, it was also a specialist, specializing in fishes, tortoises, and similar animals, as its skull and jaws show. Dunkleosteus too had a specialized jaws and skull, though its’ specialization was to enable it to eat as much as possible, as quickly as possible: it had no teeth, just giant bony plates, great for shearing, but little else; and it was so big, that it could swallow many of its’ smaller prey just whole, without any shearing or chewing at all.

…Sadly, great bulk also meant a great appetite, even by the standards of cold-blooded animals, and once the climate began to deteriorate, and Earth entered another mass extinction, Dunkleosteus just died out, just as the rest of the placoderms did. (Placoderms being the group of bony fish/vertebrate animals that Dunkleosteus belonged to, scientifically speaking). When the next time period of the Paleozoic – the Carboniferous – rolled-out, the placoderms appeared to have already vanished.

…Yet so had the Megalodon, and so did the rest of the animals featured in the Paleologic channel, (for the obvious reasons). What is left are fossils, obviously, and various online features about the extinct fishes and other animals. Paleologic deals in the latter, (you can buy the former online and otherwise), this episode was certainly good to watch, and I have enjoyed it.

That is all, folks!

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In this week’s episode of Paleologic, the topic was Andrewsarchus, one of the least studied mammals of prehistory. Ergo, what is the point?

First, the episode was good. However, why was it good? Because Andrewsarchus is underrepresented both in official paleontology and elsewhere, because there is so few fossils of it! Indeed, practically every discussion, official and otherwise, about Andrewsarchus, involves its’ discoverer, the scientist and explorer, Roy Chapman Andrews, both because the man had been formidable, (in a positive meaning of the word), and because there is so little material of the Andrewsarchus itself to talk about. Consequently, the great beast jumped from one mammal group to another; when I first read about it, it was put together with the creodonts, a group that included Hyenadon, (a prehistoric carnivore that appeared on several TV programs by now) as well as Oxyaena.

…Contrary to how its’ name sounded, this mammal looked neither like an ox nor a hyena; rather, it was built like a modern cat or a marten, and occupied a similar ecological niche during its’ existence. Like all the other creodonts, it died out without any modern descendants. Back to Andrewsarchus?

Well, it also died out without any modern descendants…at least direct ones. Indirectly, though, is a slightly different story. 2001’s ‘Walking With Beasts’ mini-series placed Andrewsarchus with mesonychids rather than creodonts, making Andrewsarchus something of a whale cousin. Pause.

…I know that I am being unnecessarily sidetracked and all, but this is an important point: the artiodactyls, or the even-hoofed animals, (deer, antelope, etc.), are more closely related to the cetaceans, (whales, dolphins, etc.), than to the odd-hoofed animals, (horses, rhinos, etc.). The mesonychians, (including the ‘titular’ Mesonyx), are actually a sister group to that ‘biocomplex’, (i.e. the even-hoofed animals and the cetaceans), and not a part of it – and the Andrewsarchus?

By now, (i.e., 20+ years since the release of WWB), the Andrewsarchus has been relegated yet again, apparently – it is no longer a mesonychian either, (remember, it was initially misidentified as a creodont?), but rather a sister species to the entelodons, (aka ‘the killer pigs from Hell’), and together they’re the closest extinct relatives to the hippo-whale group, (both existing and extinct). Funny how life works, eh?

…Sorry to get involved in taxonomy, but the fact is that it is the most concrete aspect of Andrewsarchus – there’re too few fossils of it found yet, so all the reconstructions of it are equally sketchy…which is why any information about it becomes interesting and new, so hooray for Paleologic! It made a new, and an awesome, episode, fair and square. I certainly enjoyed watching it.

End

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And now, Paleologic is back after a prolonged hiatus, talking about the tully monster, or the Tullimonstrum, of all things.

All I can say is kudos about that – the Tullimonstrum is an obscure prehistoric animal, no one is still sure if it was a vertebrate relative or not, and if it wasn’t, was it related to the mollusks, to annelids, or to something else.

Several factors complicate the Tullimonstrum’s classification. For one thing, it does not look like anything else that exists or existed on Earth; it looks more like an alien from the ‘All Tomorrows’ franchise. For another, it was found only in the U.S. state of Illinois, possibly implying that it had a limited range to begin with. Of course, it lived during the Carboniferous epoch – much earlier than when the first dinosaurs appeared on Earth, so it is pointless to make any theories – they cannot be fully proved or disproved successfully, not yet.

True, there are plenty of theories of what the Tullimonstrum was, or rather – wasn’t, as they all got disproved over time, so for now the Tullimonstrum remains ‘a mystery wrapped in enigma’, or whatever that type of thing is called, simply because… it isn’t too exciting – it is unusual and even unique, but exciting? Not so much. As such, Paleologic gets kudos for talking about it – un-til now it talked about the prehistoric megafauna and mostly giant mammals of the Cenozoic at that – so the Tullimonstrum is a clear break in the pattern. In addition, the fact that Paleologic made the narrative about the Tullimonstrum authentically exciting is worth extra kudos – I have really enjoyed watching this episode.

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Let us talk about something else: bears. Yes, the wild mammals that inspired Winnie the Pooh and Paddington Bear, among other characters.

There are currently eight species of bears found in the world, so, in the spirit of 2023, let us have a face-off between just two bear species: the sun, or the Malaysian bear, and the moon, or the Asiatic black bear.

Where, and how, to begin? The sun bear is one of the smallest modern bears, right there alongside the giant panda. It is about 120-150 cm long, (the tail, less than 10 cm long, does not count), and weighs about 35-80 kg. Those are dimensions of a large dog breed, put otherwise.

The moon bear is somewhat larger out of the two: it is about 120-180 cm long, (plus an equally short tail), and weighs about 65-150 kg; the American black bear may not be much bigger, but it is certainly quite a bit heavier than its’ Asiatic counterpart, up to 400 kg heavy – but we’re talking about the sun bear instead.

Physically, the two bear species differ in that the sun bear has a yellow patch on its face and chest, while the moon bear has more of a white napkin on its’ chest. In addition, despite the similar-sounding names, the moon bear is more reminiscent of the sloth bear instead – but we are digressing.

Habitat-wise, the two bear species are similar: the sun bear lives in the tropics of Southeast Asia, whereas the moon bear lives further up north, in South and East Asia instead, where the climate is more temperate instead. Regardless, the two bear species behave more like each other, than like the sloth, the American black, or the giant panda bears: both are tree-dwelling animals, which feed upon… what?

The tropical sun bear is more of a specialist, (though not as much as the giant panda): it eats fruit, honey, termites, ants, beetles, bees, and their larvae. The temperate moon bear is more of a generalist, as it eats vegetation, fruits, nuts, insects… and big, hooved mammals, including domestic livestock. There’s a reason as to why it is considered more closely related to the American black, the brown, and the polar bears than to any other modern bear species, you know?

Lifestyle. The sun bear is one of the more arboreal of bear species: it finds most of its’ food (see above) in trees, and it finds escape from its’ own predators in trees, in particular humans and tigers. It actually got a big attitude for its’ small size and can usually hold its’ ground against such smaller carnivores as big snakes and leopards.

The moon bear spends more time on the ground than the sun bear does, but moreso than the brown or the American black bears do, for comparison. It even hibernates in trees sometimes, for it lives in a seasonal climate, especially in the northern half of its’ habitat. It is less aggressive than the sun bear is, but proportionally it is the more stronger and powerful bear species out of the two.

Weaponry… Both bears are armed with teeth and claws, but the moon bear has more powerful teeth and jaws, out of the two, as it eats more red meat in its’ food rations. By contrast, the sun bear eats more of softer, squishier foods, such as honey and fruits, where less chewing is required. Hence, it does not have such impressive teeth and jaws, and actually looks a bit like an anteater, with its’ extra-long tongue. It also has an extra-large jaw gap, but while it looks cool to us humans, the other animals are not as impressed by it.

The moon bear, on the other hand, has teeth and jaws typical of a bear: it is a relatively large and powerful omnivore, and so its’ teeth and jaws are designed to handle tougher stuff than just fruits, insects and honey.

The paws and claws, on the other hand, (pardon the pun), are more similar between the two bear species, as both are, well, tree-climbing bears and their limbs have evolved along similar lines: strong, powerful, with claws that are reminiscent of grappling hooks.

Combat style? Also reminiscent of most, if not all the bears: stand upright and pummel each other with the forepaws and claws. Teeth and biting are more secondary, (though still important, obviously) – and so, which bear would win?

I am still going with the Asiatic black/moon bear. While the two bears are mostly equally matched, the Asiatic black bear shows an edge, however slight, over its’ sun bear cousin. The sun bear may have a better fighting attitude, but among the animals, size and physical strength often matter more, and the moon bear would just be better able to absorb the physical punishment of its’ tropical cousin than vice versa. Still, opinions may differ, and I’m open to listen to them.

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Paleologic continues to deliver, as this week’s episode talks about the gorgonopsians, a group of stem mammals that were also the world’s first sabre-toothed predators in the history of the planet.

Let me try to elaborate. Gorgonopsians are some of my favorite animals. They were stem mam-mals, aka the Paleozoic representatives of the group that consists of mammals in the modern times. They were built like mammals rather than like reptiles, including legs that were located straight beneath their bodies rather than sprawling to the sides and they had differentiated teeth, such as the incisors and the canines. In fact, as far as Mauricio Anton and his cohorts are con-cerned, the gorgonopsians were the world’s first sabre-toothed predators, as I said above.

…Of course, these days Mauricio Anton himself seems to have been shovelled to a side, and his work on the sabre-toothed carnivores has been officially forgotten. Good for them – not. However, the morale is that the classification of sabre-toothed carnivores is still tricky even by the standards of paleontological classification… back to Paleologic?

Paleologic itself continues to be true to itself: it takes its’ info primarily from the Wiki and resells it as its’ own. Then again, it is only a YouTube channel of intermediate success, neither more nor less, aimed at a nonprofessional audience, so why should it go an extra mile? Especially since…

Especially since as far as depictions of the gorgonopsians go, they tend to be underwhelming when compared to the Mesozoic reptiles. No, let me rephrase this: by now, the animals of the Paleozoic – aka the Time before the Dinosaurs – are well known by the members of the Western society, and have been represented quite a few times, but never on a scale that the prehistoric reptiles of the Mesozoic, (aka the dinosaurs and their contemporaries), or the prehistoric mammals of the Cenozoic, have been. In part, this is because their fossils have been found, preserved and re-constructed far less often and less successful than the more modern ones, and in part, because they are less popular than the more modern extinct animals. In addition – even now ‘paleontological books for dummies’ tend to lump all of the Paleozoic animals together…just as they do with the other extinct animals. However, with the Mesozoic crowd, it is simple – we got land-dwelling dinosaurs, winged pterosaurs and the various marine reptiles as the main crowd; in the Cenozoic – we got various extinct mammals in the same position, (yes, I’m generalizing, I know); but in the Paleozoic? This lumping cannot be done so easily.

Here is just a ‘surface’ look: in the Precambrian, we got no multicellular life, no anything. In the Cambrian – we got the first invertebrates… and also the first chordates, which would eventually evolve into the first vertebrates. In the Ordovician, the invertebrates reach their first peak, as the first mollusks – including cephalopods – and the first arthropods, such as the sea scorpions appear. The same can be said about the Silurian… and then we have the Devonian, aka the Age of Fish in the water, and the first giant plants on land. After the Devonian – the Carboniferous, when we got giant land arthropods…and also fairly large land vertebrates as well. We also got the first reptiles, but they are small. Finally – the Permian, when we got the first reptiles, the first stem-mammals, (or the mammal-like reptiles), and who knows what else, an age that ended in a Permian-Triassic mass extinction, one that laid path for the Mesozoic… The point here is that the Paleozoic was a mixed bag, and so was its’ fauna: it included both the Tullimonstrum from the last Paleologic episode as well as the gorgonopsians. No wonder that while Paleologic prefers to discuss Cenozoic – or Mesozoic – animals’ one name at a time, it dealt with the Paleozoic gorgonopsians as a solid group of animals. Fair enough and kudos to them for the episode, as I have honestly enjoyed it.

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So, we got yet another episode of Paloelogic – this time it is about the Platybelodon. What can be said about it?

It worked… but it worked because the extinct elephant cousin in question is not all that known to the public – but also because the Platybelodon is very weird.

What was this prehistoric beast? It was a cousin of the modern elephant, but unlike them, it had four tusks, two in each jaw, and the lower ones were much more massive than the upper ones. In my childhood, the theory was that Platybelodon a semi-aquatic animal, (remember Moeritherium from the second episode of WWB?) and it used its’ oversized lower tusks and jaw to scoop-up aquatic vegetation upon which it fed. Now, however, further studies have disproved this theory and revealed that the Platybelodon was more terrestrial, and it used the aforementioned lower tusks and jaw as scythes to feed upon more land-growing plants, I guess? Anyways, elephants are weird. What else?

…This is actually the gist of my entry here: elephants are even stranger than people credit them for. They began as semi-aquatic animals, (Moeritherium), but quickly moved onto land, and from there they flourished even more so: these days the only elephants that survive live only on land. Their close cousins the manatees and the dugong live only in the water, though.

The elephants, the sea cows, and the rodent-like hyraxes form one-half of the Afrotheria mam-mals; the other half consists of the African insectivores: the unique aardvark, the tenrecs of the island of Madagascar, and the elephant and otter shrews and golden moles of the African main-land. They all look different from each other, but they are all a family, (well, a clade).

The elephants’ uniqueness here is that they got a trunk and tusks, (and so do the sea cows, just on a much smaller scale, proportionally), and they used to be competition to the ‘true’ ungulates – the even- and odd-toed herbivores. Elephants themselves are not ungulates, their toes may be hoof-like but they are not hooves, and their legs are built differently from most ungulates: they walk only on their toes, while the elephants put down their entire foot. That is natural, for while the ungulates bet mostly on speed, the elephants went for size and strength… and they lost not because of that, or because of the human evolution, (the Platybelodon, for example, died on 5 MYA, much earlier than the first human ancestors came down from the trees), but because the ungulates have more effective digestive systems. Does anyone remember the show ‘Inside Nature’s Giants’? It went from 2009 to 2012. The first episode showed an Asian elephant; the fourth – a giraffe, and it was shown that the giraffe has a much more efficient digestive system than the elephant. Moreover, the giraffe is not even the most derived herbivore – at this moment in time that rank belongs to the ruminants, namely the antelopes and the wild cattle, (the deer are something else). They – and the rest of the ungulates – have simply outcompeted the elephants and their now-extinct (immediate) relatives: out of the modern elephant species, two – the Asian and the African forest – live in jungles, where there are fewer large herbivores – and only the African bush elephant lives in Africa’s open plains, able to compete with the rest of the herbivores because it is the biggest of them by far. The African white rhino may be the second biggest, but the African bush elephant overshadows even it – but that is another story.

Our story, meanwhile, says that the elephants became outcompeted by the ungulates – the human factor came later, during the last Ice Age, when the ‘apocryphal’ elephants were down to mammoths and mastodons, and they were flourishing mainly in the New World, where the ruminants were, and are, much less varied than they are in the Old World. In the Old World, the heyday of elephants ended during the late Miocene/the beginnings of Pliocene, when the even-hooved mammals – the artiodactyls, such as the antelopes, the giraffes, and the bovines – began to truly flourish. The elephants used to be much more varied and derived from their modern appearance; they held different econiches, but it did not matter: the smaller and more versatile mammals, (including humans), drove them to extinction…eventually. The Platybelodon, who began this entire entry, was one of these casualties.

…However, the woolly mammoth, its’ cousins, and the American mastodon, vanished because of a somewhat different situation – but that is a story for another time. For now, I will just admit that I have enjoyed Paleologic’s Platybelodon episode and end on it.

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The Paleologic aspect of Animalogic continues to surprise and to deliver: this week’s episode is about the Hyaenodon genus.

Here is the bottom line: someone had pulled out the short straw, since not unlike the actual hye-nas, the Hyaenodon tends to be the underdog in the realm of representation. Among the hyenas, only the spotted hyena is represented more or less regularly in the modern mass media, (and I am not just talking about the TLK representation and the like), but ironically, it is the odd one out of the surviving four – but we digress.

If among the modern hyenas the situation is as above, then for the team Hyaenodon, they already got their moment of fame, in the ‘Prehistoric Predators’ TV series, (American TV series, aired in 2007 or so), in the episode ‘Razor Jaws’, which was dedicated entirely to the Hyaenodon, and which – from then and until now – was the only online… mmm… compilation of the info about the H-genus. However, so what?

Good question. The ‘Prehistoric Predators’ series aside, the best layperson source of information on this prehistoric animal is the Wikipedia, and there the information is remarkably unhelpful and generic. Hence, the Paleologic had to spin – for about 11-12 minutes – a bunch of generic info about the H-beast, while doing their best to make it sound interesting. They succeeded at doing that, even if they had frequently referenced the modern hyenas – but eh, as you call your boat, so it will float, you call a mammal Hyaenodon, you will have the actual hyenas coming up; and also, the Paleologic team had utilized ROM, the Royal Ontario Museum, as a source for the actual Hyaenodon fossils. Kudos for that to them!

…The episode itself though left an odd taste in my mouth: it is quite impressive how the Paleo-logic team was able to make a new episode out of old information while leaving their own, cus-tomized mark, upon the info, but at the same time, it is rather depressing as to how little new in-formation has actually been made about the Hyaenodon and its’ kin. Ah well, this is not Paleo-logic’s fault – they had a tough case on their hands and they made it work. The episode was quite enjoyable, too.

End

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Paleologic is back, and this time it’s talking about Daeodon, the world’s biggest entelodont of all times - it’s the size of a modern American bison, (as opposed to the European one). Now what?

Now, last time, when talking about Hyenadon and its’ relatives, I also talked about the lack of enthusiasm of the narrator and about the peculiarities of the episode’s contents. This time the narrator is different - guess it wasn’t just me complaining - and the peculiarities remained, but because the episode went only for 8 minutes and at least two of them were spent on advertising the Curiosity Stream, the peculiarities aren’t as noticeable anymore. Anything else?

…Daeodon, Better known as Dinohyus, the Terrible Pig, is discussed in detail in one of the Prehistoric Predators’ episodes, so check it out. Here, the Paleologic’s narrator goes through the beast’s ‘biography’ in a Matter of minutes, while trying to focus on the so-called Bone Wars, while telling everything and nothing about the Daeodon - and why should they?

Everything of importance about this entelodont genus, (the beasts were first introduced in the third episode of WWB, By the way), was said already by the Prehistoric Predators’ episode narrator and all that’s left for us is to be impressed just how smoothly the Paleologic’s narrator did their feat, (see the previous sentence). Therefore, I am going to end this mini-rant for now and focus on something else for a change. I had enjoyed the episode though, for sheer audacity if for nothing else.

End.

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There are several varieties of the so-called heavenly bodies. There are the stars, including Sun, and they have plenty of their own variations, but we won’t talk about them this time.

There are ‘proper’ planets. So far, 3. Versions are known - hard planets like our Earth that still have a molten core, gas planets such as Jupiter or Saturn, and ice planets like Uranus and Neptune. The latter two type are built differently from Earth, but they still have a core and a surface, among other features.

…Asteroids and planetoids usually don’t have such traits - rather, they are completely solid. Asteroids, in particular, tend to stay in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter and not go anywhere. Still, there are theories that some of the satellites, such as the Moon, may have been asteroids that had escaped from their belt and got caught in the gravity fields of planets - or in case of Pluto, of the Sun.

Meteors are a part of the meteoroid group. They are the ‘falling stars’ that fall to Earth but burn up in the atmosphere. What does land on the ground are usually called meteorites instead; they are big - one of them caused the K/T extinction - but proportionally they are still smaller than the asteroids are.

Finally, there are comets. They are not solid rock but more of a mixture of rock and ice. When a comet comes close to a star, such as the Sun, the ice begins to melt, and various materials, such as vapours and gases, form a tail behind the comet. When the comet flies away from the stellar slash solar heat, it freezes once more and the tail vanishes.

…For now, this is it. Thanks for reading.

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There are 8 species of modern bears. The brown and the polar bear are the best known, with the American black bear being the third, but there are more bears.

The giant panda is the most ancient modern bear, pardon the pun. It is also the smallest, with the Sun bear of the Southeast Asia being the second. The giant panda’s most famous for being a panda; for a while it was even considered to be a raccoon instead; now it is reconfirmed as a true bear, while its’ namesake the red panda is placed in its’ own family.

The spectacled bear of South America is the last of the short-faced bear lineage. While the latter was a scavenger and a carnivore, the spectacled bear is much more herbivorous, preferring to live in mountain forests, away from the jaguar and the puma. Unlike the giant panda, the Sun bear, and the sloth bear of the Indian peninsula, the spectacled bear is quite capable of killing and eating other animals, from small lizards and rodents to livestock, which are much heavier than it is - but the bear breaks their backs with its paws easily enough.

Mind you, many bears eat a mixed diet - the exceptions are the giant panda that eats only bamboo and some other plants, the polar bear that eats only meat, and the sloth bear that eats only termites and ants. Everyone else is a generalist.

The polar and the brown bears stand out in another way too - they are the least colourful bears, dressed in monochrome brown and white. Ok, the polar bear’s fur is actually transparent- it just reflects light in such a manner that it appears to be white, but otherwise it has transparent fur and black skin. Cough. Where were we?

The brown and the polar bears are most closely related to each other than to any other bear species. During the Ice Age, there was a polar bear subspecies, ursus maritimus tyrannus, which was even bigger and stronger than the modern animal is - and the modern polar bear, standing upright, can look an elephant in the eye. …The elephant would probably win this face-off, but if the polar bear gets a lucky shot-

The other bears are much smaller and have more variety in their color- usually they are black with white markings on their faces and/or chests, the giant panda is more extreme, but still par for the course; the American black bear can be cinnamon-brown or creamy-white as well as black, but it usually has a white spot on its chest regardless.

On the other side of the Pacific, in Asia’s Far East, the moon bear is also a black bear that has a white patch on its chest and has a golden-brown color morph. It is more lightweight than the American black bear is, and is a better tree-climber for it had to deal with Amur tigers and is rather outmatched by them. The local brown bear subspecies - not so much. The Sun bear however is the best tree-climber among bears and being the size of a large dog breed it also avoids tigers and other local predators.

The sloth bear of India is not very large either, but since it breaks into termite mounds that are very hard, it is much stronger than it looks and has the attitude to show for it. Tigers and leopards usually avoid this bear and go only for its cubs.

By contrast, the American black bear had only the cougar and the grey wolf to worry about; humans have killed most of the wolves in North America still, and the cougar doesn’t hunt bears; the black bear still prefers to avoid. The local brown bear subspecies don’t like their black cousins either, but they live mostly in northwest North America and elsewhere the black bear doesn’t worry about it.

The polar bear, on the other hand, hybridizes with the brown, and the offspring appear to be fertile, a rare case for hybrid animals- but there are only a few cases of humans meeting them in the wild still. As the global warming goes apiece, this may change.

Humans are affecting bears as well, by hunting, polluting but also by protecting the animals. Let us end on this note, shall we?

End

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Skunks make-up the bulk of the Mephitidae family; the rest are the so-called stink badgers from the islands of southeastern Asia.

There are 4 Main types of skunks - the spotted, the striped, the hooded and the hognosed. All of them are similar to each other, the striped and the hooded even belong to the same genus, and all behave similarly - black and white animals of night and twilight that dig in the ground and feed on animal rather than plant food.

The spotted skunks stand out in being spotted rather than striped; their spots are solid white color unlike a leopard’s rosettes, for example. The rest of the skunks are more striped instead, though there is some variation in the proportion of black to white.

The striped skunk is the most northern species, living in Canada as well as in U.S. The most southern are the hognosed skunks that live in Central and South America rather than in the North one.

There are no true skunks in the Old World; the stink badgers are their relatives, but little is known about them; they are quite obscure animals. Contrastingly, the zorilla and the rest of its’ immediate relatives are weasels and not true skunks at all, but they do a very accurate skunk imitation in the good old Africa regardless. Indeed, the skunks’ trademark coloration is used by many members of the weasel family, including some of the biggest - the honey badger and the wolverine. Forget the weasels - the Tasmanian devil of Australia is a marsupial and thus no relation to skunks and weasels at all, but it too has a black and white coat.

The reason as to why the skunks are coloured thusly is obvious - their formidable spray, but many members of the weasel family, the mustelids, have a similar means of self-defence, including the wolverine; but most of them rely on their ugly temper instead. The raccoons, which also have some black and white color in their fur don’t have stink glands, though they are related more closely to skunks and mustelids than to bears and dogs, for example.

Despite their stink, the skunks are not invulnerable - cars run over them, sometimes, and some natural predators, such as the great horned owl, eat them as well. They also make surprisingly popular pets, however, so let’s end on this note instead.

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A brief word about Calypso from the Odyssey. Until the more modern times, Calypso was relatively obscure, though now, thanks to the modern media, this situation is changing.

Calypso is the daughter of Atlas, the titan who holds up the sky in the west, (sunset). She is also the mistress of the island of Ogygia, and a hostess of Odysseus due to divine will and intrigue. This makes her something of an anti-Penelope, as the Odyssey is a novel of Odysseus’ travels to Penelope… from Calypso, among other people.

Both Penelope and Calypso are in charge of an island, so to speak, but Penelope’s Ithaca is populated and lively and humane, while Calypso’s Ogygia is empty and wild and has no one, but her and Odysseus, and the latter doesn’t like it; he made his choice and is going to Penelope instead.

However, Calypso is never a villain in the novel; the gods don’t like her too much because she is a part of the titans’ clan, but they are still polite to her, (or at least Hermes is, but that silver-tongued rogue is someone else)… She also helps Odysseus when he makes his choice, (and the gods back it up, yeah), and the two part amicably enough. The fact that Odysseus runs into trouble after her has nothing to do with Calypso…

Few more things. Odysseus runs into Circe before Calypso, but those two characters are different enough - Calypso may be a glorified hermit, but Circe certainly isn’t, she has her own people, her own society, and she never tries to marry Odysseus officially. Unofficially is another story; there is a remnant of a myth, where the two had a son, who eventually came to Ithaca, killed Odysseus, married Penelope and gave Telemachus his own mother Circe as wife - Joffrey of Westeros should take notes…

Calypso has no myths about her like this, she just faded into background until RR, as well as the PotC, picked her up and modernized in different ways. Circe, meanwhile, is cast as a stereotypical witch, nothing more, but that is another story.

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Let us talk briefly about the Phaeacians. No, they are no Phoenicians, as some versions – such as the classical Konchalovsky’s – seems to imply. What are they?

Elves.

No, wait, hear me out. After leaving Ogygia and Calypso, Odysseus encounters Poseidon, who does his best to drown the wily king of Ithaca, and almost succeeds, until a minor marine goddess named Leukothea intervenes and saves Odysseus from an immediate death – and then the man survives the drowning of his raft and swims manually through the seastorm to the island of the Phaeacians, named Scheria. So what?

First, it establishes Odysseus as a man of strength and stamina, as well as of wit and resourcefulness, a true hero, put otherwise. Given that he is facing an uphill battle back home, he will need all of these qualities.

As for the island of Scheria and the kingdom that is located on it… right. There are theories that in real life, it is the island of Corfu, but I am not going there, that is not important for Homer’s ‘Odyssey’; what is important is that it serves as a gateway of sorts. See, if you read the original poem, you will learn that Odysseus fell asleep under two olive trees – one wild, the other domesticated; the ancient Greeks and Romans differentiated between the two easily enough and treated the two somewhat differently, but here the two trees serve as a boundary – Odysseus is leaving the wild, untamed world of Ogygia and co. behind, and is entering the civilized society once again, embodied by Ithaca soon enough. However, whereas Ithaca and its’ society are real and realistic (at least to Homer’s initial audience of his Greek contemporaries), the island and the so-ciety of the Phaeacians are idyllic and almost utopian; something of a Heaven on Earth, put otherwise.

…The concept of a perfect society, located on an island, or a series of islands, was part of a Greek, (and to a lesser extent – Roman), society – it’s Atlantis, of course, a perfect human society, lost beneath the waves for unknown reasons; the last take on this discourse was underdone by professor Tolkien himself – I’m talking about the Silmarillion, especially one of the last parts, which discusses the fate of Numenor, the greatest of kingdoms of Men, built by the greatest of Men, before they fell into darkness, and their island was destroyed.

Let me elaborate a bit, since professor Tolkien is just as formidable an author as Homer. He was many things, and one of them was anti-industrialist; trees and forest, in particular, play an important part in his world building. In LotR, ents and huorns were very important in the victory of goodness; they destroyed the forces and fortress of Saruman almost single-handedly – and another important tree was the White Tree of Gondor, which, in turn had been a sapling of the Most Important Tree of Numenor. Indeed, for a while, Numenor had plenty of trees and forests upon itself, but then Sauron/Gorthaur was ‘captured’ by their forces, and once he arrived on Numenor, he practically took over; under his manipulations, the Numenorans turned against the gods and began to worship Morgoth instead; they destroyed the trees and became much more industrialized; they began to suffer and to lose the divine favor they’d previously enjoyed – and so Sauron made them go to war against the gods; the end result was a literal transformation of the world, in which the domain of gods and the domain of mortals became almost completely separate, only the swan-headed ships of elves could go between the two – but let’s get back to Homer.

Now, Homer’s island of Scheria is much smaller in scope and influence than any incarnation of Atlantis ever had been, but just like it, it is perfect – there is no violence, no war, no hardship, or anything else unpleasant. It is a perfect society, and it should be noted that while a male king rules this island kingdom, Alcinous, his wife queen Areta and daughter princess Nausicaa are just as important in their society, and Odysseus himself first befriends the daughter, and then the wife, before going to the king himself.

Enter Wakanda. In this fictional world, princess Shuri, and the queen mother Ramonda are just as important and powerful as T’Challa and his father T’Chaka are, or rather were, since all of them, save for Shuri, are dead. MCU also has its’ own Atlantis now, but so far we haven’t seen much of it, plus we’re talking about Wakanda here – it may not be a literal island, but given how it is separated by some sort of a wall from the rest of the world, including the rest of Africa, it just as well can be. In MCU, Wakanda is an embodiment of Afrofutur-ism – but we digress.

The point here is that Marvel’s™ Wakanda is beginning to open up to the rest of the world, while the canon Atlantis has disappeared, and Scheria ended-up being blocked from the world of men by Poseidon – after the Phaeacians’ ship delivered Odysseus to Ithaca, and came back to the harbor, Poseidon transformed it into a cliff, separating Scheria from the mortal world…

However, that said, the Phaeacians gave Odysseus many rich presents when he left them, because he was that important, and they were that generous and hospitable. Regardless, they never feature again in the poem – they practically vanish with the first Ithacan sunrise (as elven and leprechaun gold tended to do in British and Irish fairy tales – cough, elves, cough)… and in a sense, they do. After arriving on Ithaca, Odysseus returns to the real world of humans, where magic is almost non-existent. ‘Almost’ is a key word here, as it still plays a part – Athena, for example, uses her divine powers to disguise Odysseus as a Bronze Age hobo, but that is a different story. For now, let us just agree that after leaving Scheria, Odysseus returns to the mortal world where sword, rather than sorcery, makes the rules, and leave it at that.

Chapter Text

When Odysseus just set sail from Troy, he immediately began to deviate from the course to Ithaca – he and his fleet went to raid the tribes of Cicones’ first. They lived in Thrace, in the north of the Aegean Sea, and are one of the historical characters/locations in the Odyssey; as such, they are used as justification that Odysseus had wandered through RL Mediterranean sea and its’ environs, rather than elsewhere. That is a reasonable theory, but Odysseus’ next encounter, with the Lotus-eaters, challenges it quite directly. Let me try to elaborate.

The Lotus-eaters are some of the less-represented characters/locations in the ‘Odyssey’, because there is little exciting or exotic about them – at least to modern people. There is even discussion as to what their lotus was – and whether Odysseus went to Egypt, or to India, or elsewhere to meet them and the lotus. Fair enough, but in actuality, the Lotus-eaters were a more ancient (and restrained) version of the pre-Tolkien version of ‘fair folk’ (elves and fairies): both groups had delicious meals in their lands, but mortals (such as Odysseus and his crew) couldn’t eat them without taking precautions, because otherwise, they risked staying in the fairy lands forever and this is what almost happened to Odysseus’ crewmembers who did eat the lotus – they wanted to stay with the Lotus-eaters forever. Odysseus dragged them back to his ships by force.

This is another point that I want to make here – the relationship between Odysseus and his family on one hand, and the rest of the islanders of Ithaca on the other, is outright hostile; the islanders don’t care for Odysseus, or his parents, or his son, too much – the situation with queen Penelope is somewhat dif-ferent, but we won’t get to it right now – right now let’s talk about Odysseus and his crewmembers instead. In case of the Lotus-eaters, Odysseus did not shy to use force to keep their affected by the lotus members in line, but in case of the cicones, he was helpless.

Let us expend. The cicones may or may not have been allies of Troy during the Trojan War, and the raid of Odysseus and his men might have been one of the final accords of the Trojan War – or it just might have been a glorified pirate raid instead. In any case, after their initial success, Odysseus’ forces got busy with drinking and looting, and Odysseus was helpless to keep them in line. Meanwhile, the cicones recovered from their initial defeat, new, fresh forces arrived – and Odysseus’ men were pushed back into the sea, with each ship of the fleet losing up to six men. This starts, first, a pattern: from now on – and do not forget, this Odysseus’ own narrative – in almost every conflict Odysseus’ men will be in the wrong, and he will be in the right. Second, however, this does not entirely disguise the state of affairs – Odysseus and the members of his fleet do not trust each other very much. Why is another question, but do not trust each other they do. This state of affairs will continue until the end of their mutual journey through the Elfland, when Odysseus will lose all of his underlings and end up at Calypso’s island – but that is another story.

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Continuing the narrative of Odysseus, we come to the island of the Cyclopes, and especially Odysseus’ number one nemesis, Polyphemus.

Where to begin? Off the top of my head, there are at least two types of Cyclopes – one was the siblings of the Titans, the smiths of Zeus’ thunderbolts, and Poseidon’s trident, and Hades’ helmet of invisibility – some sort of deities, put otherwise. Then, there's the type featured in the ‘Odyssey’ – little more than ogres, with their main distinguishing characteristic being the single eye, (rather than any other amount – you never know with ogres!).

Now, the Cyclopes that Odysseus met was named Polyphemus, and he was a son of Poseidon. This demigod status did not prevent Polyphemus from ignoring the laws of hospitality, and turning upon Odysseus’ men, he killed and ate some of them. Pause.

Let us start from the beginning. In a manner that is atypical for him, Odysseus admits that he was the one at fault here, by ignoring his underlings’ advice, and going into the Cyclopes’ cave to investigate. Moreover, he stayed and waited for the giant to return home, (he was not there initially, he was herding sheep or something), to demand some sort of a present reserved for guests. Odysseus acted as an arrogant entitled jerk here, assuming that having several of his soldiers alongside him, (we are talking superior numbers here), would be enough to carry the day. He thought wrong – though he was outnumbered, Polyphe-mus was just too big to be defeated through sheer strength of arms, and so Odysseus had to resort to trickery instead.

He got Polyphemus drunk, and when the Cyclopes promised that Odysseus was going to be eaten last as a returned favor, the wily man told the giant that his name was Nobody. This trick paid off – when the blinded Cyclopes called-out for help, his neighbours would not come, as they assumed that it was a literal Nobody who hurt and harassed Polyphemus, and their neighbour was just being a drunken idiot as usual instead.

…And then, when Odysseus and his fleet actually got away from the giants’ island, (which may or may not have been Sicily), pride, or hubris, got the best of Odysseus once more, and he told Polyphemus his true name. This gave the giant power over Odysseus, or rather – it gave the giant’s father Poseidon power over Odysseus, and he used it to put Odysseus into troubles and hardships of all sorts, until Odysseus arrived at his homeland of Ithaca as a Bronze Age hobo – but that is another story.

Right now, what matters to us is that it is Odysseus’ own fault for being so ate to return after Troy – he broke one of Elfland’s rules: he gave away his real name to one of its’ inhabitants, and so he suffered from whatever curse that in-habitant put upon him – and unlike his underlings, Odysseus did know better.

And second? This happened only because Odysseus became cocky and arrogant enough to make this mistake – something that he will do his best to remedy in the future, but it will remain more of a mixed bag than Odysseus would’ve liked – still, he learned from his mistakes and did his best to improve his performance.

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After the Polyphemus’ event, Odysseus’ (mis)adventures continued. First, he ar-rived at the floating fortress of Aeolus, the patron of the winds. Aeolus is a murky character in the Greco-Roman myths – there are several (about three or four) characters of the same name, each one with a different story about them, plus the winds in the Greco-Roman myths are often independent agents. The Aeolus we are talking about, the king of winds, is the son of Hippotes, (whoever that is), and is featured primarily in the ‘Odyssey’ and the ‘Aeneid’.

…In the ‘Odyssey’, (let us leave ‘Aeneid’ alone), Aeolus is a… elf-king, who gives Odysseus a gift – a bag of winds. Leaving the modern connotations alone, (to call some a ‘windbag’, for example, is an insult), this is a straight-forward case of a fairy bargain gone wrong – if Odysseus had been able to keep all of the winds in the sack he would’ve come home to Ithaca in half the time it took him in the canon, and all of his men and ships would’ve survived as well. But fall asleep he did, his men unleashed the winds, and Odysseus ended up back at Aeolus’, who turned upon him, and dismissed Odysseus, and that was the end of that story segment.

Again, this is a fairy bargain gone wrong, not unlike the story of Orpheus and Eurydice: the brave musician hero succumbed to his inner demons and lost his love to the afterlife for good. If he had not, he and Eurydice would have made it back to the world of the living, the happy end. Instead, the end is decidedly unhappy: Eurydice remained in the underworld, and crazed worshippers of Dionysus killed Orpheus, for he turned sour and unpleasant after his double loss – and Apollo, for Orpheus might have been his son from one of the Muses – turned the worshippers of Dionysus into oak trees afterwards. Everyone died, put otherwise.

For Odysseus, his story was not that much better than Orpheus’ – he did not die, though it was very close many times, and he did win his throne back, but…

…But here we come to the other aspect of Aeolus’ story – the rift between Odysseus and his men: the latter just do not trust Odysseus, at all, and would rather get rid of him, even before the mess with Polyphemus and Poseidon. Why?

Because Odysseus is not a good man – he is strong and tough, cunning and clever, but he is also proud, even arrogant, and he is autocratic – he is a king, and his subjects are just that, his subjects. Odysseus is ruthless towards the non-noble Greeks, and sometimes against nobles as well, (such as the suitors, spoiler alert). His men are quite aware of it, and they do not like it. Even in the beginning of their ‘Odyssey’ there already are tensions between them and their leader, as Odysseus’ narrative regarding the cicones and the Lotus-eaters show – and now things came to a head, as they cost Odysseus and themselves a chance to come home early… and Odysseus lets it go… because he understood that he was a hair’s width away from a good old fashioned mutiny, in which he could easily be sent overboard via an oar to the neck, or be strung up a mast via a rope on the same neck… after which his fleet would end up home quickly enough, for Polyphemus and Poseidon had cursed him specifically, and not everyone else.

Keep in mind that at this point in the narrative Odysseus is the leader of an entire fleet of ships, not just a single vessel – if his underlings decided that they had enough of Odysseus and his captaining style, they would overwhelm and get rid of him quickly enough; numbers tell, heroics or no heroics… but Odysseus would deal with that sort of situation later, on Ithaca. Right now, though, in the Elfland, he has to deal with something else – the Lestrygonians.

Who are the Lestrygonians? They were a tribe of man-eating giants or savages, often depicted as natives of Africa by the Europeans. In reality, we have no idea as to how they looked – they were man-eating giants, they seem to have two eyes rather than just one as the Cyclopes did, and they had their own city or settlement, named Telepylos (or something else, it isn’t important).

On a certain level, the Lestrygonians are the dark reflections of the Phaeacians – if the latter are an idyllic human society, the Lestrygonians are the dark dys-opian one instead, for cannibalism was a big no-no for the ancient Greeks and Romans, for all of their own flaws. Still, the Lestrygonians’ main contribution to the ‘Odyssey’ is that this is a mid-point in Odysseus’ journey – from a captain of an entire fleet he became a captain of a single ship, and his travels were nowhere near being over yet…

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Paleologic is back this week with an episode about Quetzalcoatlus the pterosaur. This may be marking a shift in the show as until now it talked mainly about the extinct Cenozoic animals instead, but who knows?

The animal itself was one of the last, and the largest, pterosaurs known to science, (so far). It was starred on the 2nd season of ‘Prehistoric Planet’, so it really needs no introduction.

The episode itself… did just that, as it talked about the pterosaurs in general for the first half or so. Pterosaurs were archosaurs, close evolutionary cousins both to the crocodilians, (extinct and existing), and the dinosaurs (including birds), but they were neither.

The ancestors of the pterosaurs themselves are unknown to science, at least there was no official declaration of its’ discovery by scientists, so that’s the official story. The first pterosaurs of the late Triassic and early Jurassic, (i.e. Dimorphodon) had muzzles, jaws, and teeth. By the late Jurassic, they had toothed beaks instead, (i.e. Rhamphorynchus). However, at the same time, a different model of the pterosaur emerged, such as Pterodactylus, which had toothless beaks – and short tails, and it was that model that would survive until the end of the Mesozoic, represented by Quetzalcoatlus, Pteranodon, etc.

Was the pterosaur evolution drive by the birds? Hard to say. Birds – well, avian dinosaurs - began to emerge in the late Jurassic, for a while they were no match for the pterosaurs, and they did not even try. However, during the Cretaceous in general the pterosaurs began to die-out until at last there were only the sea-going specialists such as Pteranodon and Nyctosaurus, or the semi-terrestrial carnivores and scavengers, such as Quetzalcoatlus and Hatzegopteryx. The pterosaurs’ clock might have simply ran out, though there are rumors of a pterosaur-like cryptid living in Africa – the Kongomato. However, lately it seems to have fallen out of fashion, and there was never any specific evidence about what it was, or if it is even real, so there is that. The same goes for the rest of pterosaur-like cryptids, such as the Ropen – there is never any significant evidence that they are pterosaurs that survived into the modern times, or that they even exist for real at all.

The Quetzalcoatlus itself, however, was quite real, with the past tense being the key term here – it died out during the K/T extinction, and the Paleologic episode did do it justice. I have enjoyed watching it.

End

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After Aeolus and the Lestrygonians, Odysseus and his men ended-up on Aeaea, the island of Circe. So, what of it?

Well, this does mean that Odysseus’ adventures in the Elf-land continued. After a bunch of ogres, embodied by the Cyclopes and the Lestrygonians, the Elf-land throws something different at them – an enchanting, enrapturing witch, which turns men into swine… using an enchanting wine. Oink.

…Ok, it is situations like these that make the ‘Odyssey’ somewhat hard to take seriously; the deleterious effect of booze upon people and especially their mental facilities was known, probably, since the Stone age, aka before the time of Homer, so the odds of Homer’s audience listening to this part of team Odysseus’ misadventures with barely considered snorts and laughter were quite high.

Is there anything that draws special attention for us? Well, on one hand, this is an ‘Odysseus rescues his men despite everything’ story. Once again, we have Odysseus’ underlings, behaving in ignorance of the laws of the Fay folk, and becoming transformed into pigs for their pain, and on the other we got the heroic, and magnanimous, Odysseus, who rescues them from the goodness of his heart… and also wins the heart of Circe… after he threatens her with his sword.

Let us try again. In this particular episode, Odysseus is aided directly to Hermes, who either instructs him to pick a certain herb from Circe’s island, or gives it to Odysseus directly, and with this herb – moly, which some people believe to be a wild onion or garlic – Odysseus is immune to Circe’s magic booze. Have to admit, that after you chow down on a bulb of either onion or garlic, booze just is not the same than without that action beforehand. With the help of Hermes and the other gods, Odysseus is able to overpower Circe and have her return his underlings to their old human forms – and they now were even in better physical shapes than before.

…All of Odysseus’ underlings eventually die way before reaching Ithaca, so one has to wonder what was the point of them being improved by Circe after being pigs. Was there some alternate version of the ‘Odyssey’ where they did return home, and not just their leader?

Then, there is Hermes. We first meet him in the ‘Odyssey’ when he comes to Ogygia and tells Calypso that it is time to let Odysseus go back to Ithaca. Circe and Calypso are often confused or conflated, since their role in Odysseus’ journeys are the same: they are an alternative to Penelope, their islands – an alternative to Ithaca, an alternative home for the almost-endless wanderings of Odysseus. But no, our hero-king is stalwart and resolute in his quest to go home!

…In some semi-apocryphal versions, Circe and Odysseus had a son, Telegonus who eventually would come to Ithaca, kill Odysseus, and marry Penelope, while Telemachus, (aka Odysseus’ legitimate son from Penelope) would marry Circe instead. This is just one of semi-apocryphal conclusions to Homer’s second poem where Odysseus comes to a bad end instead – clearly, the ancient Greeks, (and never mind the Romans and their Italian descendants) did not like Odysseus very much – but that is another story.

In this narrative, however, after staying on her island for a year, (with Calypso, it was much more, but then again, Odysseus has lost much more and had more motivation to stay with her than with Circe, even though even Calypso’s charms eventually wore thin) – enough time to conceive a son, incidentally – Odysseus and his men ventured on, back on their trek to Ithaca. Before they could do that, however, they had to make a side trek first – straight into the Underworld…

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…When we last saw Odysseus, the canny king of Ithaca was being a guest on the island of Aeaea, of the witch-goddess Circe, where he rescued his men from being pigs. Now, after a yearlong break, he was about to go on, onwards on his journey to Ithaca, leaving his hostess behind.

Leaving aside Circe’s own state of being after Odysseus’ visit – we’ve discussed their potential mutual son when we’ve discussed Odysseus and Circe proper – there’s the fact that before Odysseus and his remaining crew left Circe’s island for good, they had to go to the Underworld and have Odysseus speak to the specter, or shade, of Tiresias the seer first.

Now, what is there left to mention? First, in some versions, Odysseus and crew went not to the vestibule of the Underworld proper, but to the land of Cimmeria instead, where they did their necromantic sacrifice. Yes, R. Howard’s land of Cimmeria, the homeland of Conan the barbarian, was partially inspired by this land. In real life, it might be the peninsula of Crimea, a piece of land that has become one of the reasons behind the unofficial war between Ukraine and Russia since 2022. Initially, it was inhabited by the so-called Crimean Tatars, who were some of the last remains of Genghis-Khan’s great force in the West, a race that had nothing to do with either Russians or Ukrainians, but they have faded into obscurity during the Soviet period… and this is all I want to talk about on that topic.

Back to Odysseus – regardless where he arrived, he made a sacrifice and began to receive shades of the deceased as visitors. This section of the ‘Odyssey’ shows Odysseus’ bravery in face of death and ghosts; it also compares Penelope to her cousin Clytemnestra, and has some philosophy too…

Right, let us try again. Among the dead, Odysseus meets Elpenor, yet another one of his crew who died and who had to receive his funeral rites still. Spoiler alert – he does. Then, Odysseus met his mother, who was alive when he went to Troy, but died while he was away. Next was Tiresias proper – he is an important part of Greek myths overall, but here he just gives Odysseus some much needed instructions and information about proper actions and behavior in Elf-land, so he is the ‘wise old sage’ of the story – check. The main divergence is that Tiresias is a ghost here rather than a live person – kudos to Homer for delivering variety.

Next, we got Agamemnon – Clytemnestra killed him already in this version of Greek mythical history. I say ‘this version’, because in the ‘Odyssey’ there’s no reference that Orestes and his sister Electra will kill Clytemnestra and her lover – a cousin of Agamemnon and Menelaus – and take over Mycenae. Rather, here Clytemnestra and her lover would reign on, period. Well, at least until Menelaus and Helen sorted out things in Sparta, most likely, but we digress.

…No, not really – here Homer contrasts Clytemnestra, who turned onto her husband while he was away, with her cousin Penelope, who remained faithful to him, (at least in the canon interpretation). Let us accept this for now and move on.

After Agamemnon, Odysseus met Achilles, the central character of the ‘Iliad’. Achilles’ thing was that he had a choice – he could live a long and obscure life, or a short and famous one. In the ‘Iliad’, he chose the latter, (in part because of Patrocles’ meddling, cough). Here, however, in the ‘Odyssey’, Achilles says that he was rather live million – or just one - obscure but long life/lives than one short and glorious one – aka the direct opposite of what was going on with him in the ‘Iliad’. This allows some literary specialists to propose that there were at least two Homers – one who wrote the ‘Iliad’, and the other who wrote the ‘Odyssey’, and the two authors/people had their polemics via their works, among other things. Since, as a person, Homer is only slightly more real than Odysseus is, I got nothing to say here; there’s a theory, for example, that the author of the ‘Iliad’ was a man, and of the ‘Odyssey’ – a woman, but, again, I’m leaving this discussion to literary experts instead…

Back to Odysseus? Speaking of leaving, after meeting Agamemnon, Tiresias and co., he witnesses a veritable catalogue of deceased Greek celebrities – apparently, he was that high in demand, or at least – his bloody sacrifice was. Things got so out of hand, says Odysseus that he had to leave, lest Hades and Persephone, the rulers of the Underworld, would send the shade of Medusa the Gorgon after him. Yes, it is that Medusa – the one who was slayed by Perseus. Yes, as a monster there is reason to doubt if she would have a shade to go into the Underworld – but then again, Odysseus saw the shade of Hercules as well – yes, the same Hercules, who became part of the Olympian pantheon instead: he was split into two, or something… Since this part of the ‘Odyssey’ is narrated by Odysseus to the Phaeacians, (remember?), maybe the king of Ithaca was hitting the local sauce a bit too much instead.

However, sober or drunk, Odysseus did leave the Underworld, gave last rites to Elpenor, (remember him?), and after one last party at Circe’s, left her as well. New challenges awaited him – but we will talk about further misadventures of the king of Ithaca another time.

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Paleologic continues to change its’ direction: last time it talked about Quetzalcoatlus specifically and the pterosaurs in general, and this time it spoke about the mosasaurs’ in general and about Mosasaurus specifically.

Thanks to the JP/JW franchise, people know about Mosasaurus a-plenty, (though sometimes it gets’ conflated with its’ American cousin – the Tylosaurus: Mosasaurus lived more over the territory of modern Europe instead). Thus, it is not truly necessary to go into detail about Mosasaurus & Tylo-saurus, and the mosasaurs’ in general…

In fact, their episode of Paleologic did a good job of this, discussing the mosa-saur evolution in a sufficient detail, (for a video that is just under 8 minutes long, anyway). It also used some footage from videos made by a YouTube user named Julian Johnson Mortimer – good for both of them.

This brings us to the video itself, and it was good. It featured a variety of images and clips, and the narrator did a good job of, well, narrating – they didn’t sound too bored or uninterested in their subject, as it was the case with the creodont video: either they or the Animalogic/Paleologic channel are more interested in dinosaurs and their contemporaries than they were in prehistoric mammals, especially of the Cenozoic variety. (The mammals of Mesozoic were different – they were more like the modern platypus and echidna than any other beast, in a certain sense)… Good for them!

...The video had been quite enjoya-ble, anyhow, and I continue to wish Paleologic and the rest of Animalogic’s creative team good luck

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After Odysseus left Circe’s island, his misadventures continued. Pause.

Many people, even those who know Greek myths surface-deep, often know that Odysseus has met Circe, (check), the sirens, and the duo of Scylla and Charyb-dis, (alongside Polyphemus the Cyclopes, of course). Therefore, let us have a brief talk about them.

First, the Sirens. Contrary to later depictions of them as either bird-women or, well, mermaids, in Homer they were ordinary-looking women, without any overt animal traits of any sort, who… were not seducing Odysseus with their looks, but were tempting him with knowledge instead. That is quite justified, since Odysseus was always known for his wit and mind, so what should he be tempted with, but with knowledge?

…Odysseus was also known for his pride/arrogance/hubris, and it did not fail this time either: while his crew plugged their ears with wax, (provided by Circe), he did not – he tied himself to the mast and allowed himself to listen to the sirens’ song. On one hand this allowed Odysseus to achieve the impossible once again – to listen to the sirens and survive, but on the other, the sirens didn’t give him any information at all, but just flattered his ego, and not even in a way that Odysseus had enjoyed it. Anything else?

Well, the sirens’ deadly reputation. It is not undeserved – among their other duties, they were the servants of Kore/Persephone, the queen of the Underworld and the wife of Hades. Now, Odysseus was already in the Underworld, so it is quite likely that he barely missed meeting the sirens the first time around in all of the fog. Now, however, he passed them wide and clear, and sailed on. Scylla and Charybdis awaited.

With this duo, things are also clear enough: Charybdis was either a giant whirlpool or a monster embodying a giant whirlpool that swallowed ships and everything else whole. Scylla, on the other hand, had different depictions, but in Homer’s version, it was a giant female monster, immortal, with twelve legs, as well as six heads and necks, and each head had jaws, studded with a triple row of teeth. It, or she, lashed out with all of those heads, jaws and teeth, and killed/ate six of Odysseus’ crew.

If the number sounds familiar, that is because it is: Polyphemus also ate six of Odysseus’ crewmembers. Clearly, the number six had a special meaning in the times of Homer. On a more serious note, if Charybdis was a whirlpool, then Scylla was a reef, or at least Homer’s Scylla was; in the versions of Virgil and Ovid, this was a rather different being, with much closer ties to Circe. This may be important, as what we know about Scylla and Charybdis, as well as about the sirens, comes not only from Odysseus, but also from Odysseus informed by Circe, and honestly, both of those characters have a ‘specific’ relationship with truth – but Here, in Homer's ‘Odyssey’, the Sirens, Scylla and Charybdis play roles of random monsters/obstacles, set to frustrate the hero, and for the hero to defeat them, which Odysseus does – at least for a while… The variety here is that the monsters, well, do not die as they do in modern RPGs, but only because they are immortal, of course, for otherwise Odysseus would have taken them down, for sure.

…As a matter of fact, unlike, Hercules, Perseus or Theseus, Odysseus does not really do any monster slaying, he saves his butcher’s bill for his fellow humans – but that is for later, when he comes home to Ithaca. For now, though, he has one last Elf-land island to steer clear off – the island of the Sun, but that is a story for a later time…

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And so, Odysseus’ narrative has almost ended, as he, in his memories at Phae-acians’ court, has arrived at Thrinacria, the island of the Sun, Helios.

Helios is not one of the most known gods of the Greco-Roman pantheon. He was an embodiment of the sun… until Apollo, or rather – Phoebus Apollo – replaced him…while remaining mostly a god of art and music…divine interactions and definitions sometimes are quite weird…

In the ‘Odyssey’, however, Helios’ position is straightforward – he is a bitch (in a non-sexual way, though)!

Let us start from the beginning, however. Throughout this part of the narrative Odysseus makes it clear that it was all his crew’s fault – he wanted to go through the headwind and pass the island, but his crew mutinied and landed on the island, where they were stuck. The gods – the fey-folk – were cheating, but who cared? Odysseus, for one, was praying to them… so the gods, (apparently) put him to sleep, and while he slept, his crew killed and ate some of the solar cattle, which caused Helios to throw a tantrum to Zeus, who promised vengeance, and so the Thunderer, well, smote Odysseus’ ship and crew with thunder and lightning. Pause.

One doesn’t want to mitigate Odysseus’ loss and tragedy that he had experi-enced, but it must also be noted that throughout this narrative the king of Ithaca does his best to convey to his audience, (the court of king Alcinous, remember?) that everything that had happened wasn’t his fault (™), it was the fault of his crew, while he, Odysseus, is a man beyond reproach, (™), or something among those lines…

Also, however, the gods, as depicted in this part of the narrative, act not like how people could expect them to act and behave. More specifically, Helios here is a pissy bitch of the non-sexual variety, throwing a tantrum in front of Zeus, who promised to appease him by killing Odysseus’ crew – and Zeus did. More succinctly, here the Olympians come across less wise and godly, and more petty and vengeful – and Helios, in addition, was apparently unable to confront (and punish) Odysseus and his crew directly, which is unusual, since he is also a god, and a powerful one, (i.e. a sun god). Something is going on here behind the scenes – or maybe Odysseus is just serving his hosts a thick slab of his trademark baloney, as he tends to do… Who knows?

What we do know is that after Odysseus lost his last ship and minions, the current took him back to Scylla and Charybdis, but there was a fig tree (!) growing on the steep slopes of their gorge: Odysseus grabbed it and hanged-on while Charybdis swallowed the water and the impromptu raft he clung onto – and then the whirlpool monster spat it all out and Odysseus sailed on – onto Calypso’s island. Odysseus may be many things, but quick-witted/fast-thinking, and tough/durable are two of them.

…We have discussed Calypso and her island before – for Odysseus they were an anti-Penelope and anti-Ithaca, and he made his choice and went forth back to Ithaca. He ran into some trouble though, but never fear, the Phaeacians are here! They will deliver him home safe and sound and all will be over!

…Or not, but that will be a different story.

Chapter Text

While Odysseus was busy with the Phaeacians, his son Telemachus was not idle as well. When we last saw him, he was leaving Ithaca for – help, probably, but officially to seek news of his father, the king Odysseus.

First, he, (and disguised Athena alongside him), went to Nestor, the wise old king of the mythical Greeks. The man was a famous warrior in his youth, and had fought in the Trojan War, alongside – Agamemnon, (arrived home safely, died there), Ajax, (died on the way home), Menelaus, (arrived home safely, and remained alive), and Odysseus, (never returned home, status unknown).

…A point about Ajax. In the good old Greek tradition of several characters sharing a name, there were two warrior heroes named Ajax who fought in the Trojan War. Both died. However, the first – Ajax the Greater – died after losing an argument to… Odysseus, in regards as to who is going to get the arms and armors of the late Achilles, (forged by the smith-god Hephaestus himself). Ajax lost the argument, (naturally), went mad, killed a herd of cattle, (the Greek myths were weird in this matter), recovered his wits – and committed suicide from shame.

Meanwhile, Ajax the Lesser survived the Trojan War, went home, got caught in a storm, climbed a coastal cliff and showed the gods the finger.

“The nerve!” said Poseidon, (yes, Odysseus’ archnemesis among the gods), and swung his trident at both the hero and the cliff, shattering both. The end of Ajax the Lesser.

Back to the main narrative. After failing to be reassured by Nestor, Telemachus went to the court of Menelaus and Helen. Yes, the same Helen that instigated the entire war, the femme fatale of the ancient Greeks, and so on. She deserves a discussion of her own, but here, she opts to stay in Menelaus’ shadow as the latter tells Telemachus their own story: after leaving Troy, they parted ways with the fleet of Agamemnon, (who arrived home with his mistress and was killed by his legitimate wife)… and became marooned in Egypt for about 8 years or so, until they captured a sea-god named Proteus, who helped them arrive back home instead.

Now, there is a version of the story, where ‘Proteus’ wasn’t a Greek sea-god, but an Egyptian (human) pharaoh. In this take on the tale, Paris and Helen stopped in Egypt on their journey from Sparta to Troy. Proteus, the king of Egypt in this version, wasn’t amused, but confiscated Helen, (as well as the Spartan treasury), from Paris… and kept them for the duration of the entire Trojan War… and Greeks besieged a Helen-less Troy just because…

Right, some of the Greek leaders, especially Menelaus himself, truly could’ve been that dumb, but the others, such as Odysseus, certainly weren’t, and if there wasn’t a Helen in Troy they would’ve figured it out before too long, and resolved everything much sooner than how it went in the canon. However, the bards and co. had to keep Menelaus in Egypt for a long time, because of politics.

Agamemnon was Menelaus’ brother and the High King of the Achaean Greeks. Clytemnestra was his wife and also Helen’s twin sister. However, whereas Menelaus remained loyal to Helen, Agamemnon cheated on Clytemnestra, and in general treated her much worse than how Menelaus treated Helen. The result? Clytemnestra took a lover – a cousin of Agamemnon and Menelaus, and when Agamemnon returned home, to Mycenae, the pair killed him, and took over Mycenae.

However, Agamemnon and Clytemnestra had several children before the Trojan War began. One of them, Iphigenia, was lost to Artemis, (while jumpstarting Agamemnon’s feuds with his wife and Achilles in the process), but the rest were alive and well enough, and their son, Orestes, would inherit the throne of Mycenae, while killing their mother and her lover, (their uncle), in the process. This story is well known, but we are talking about Menelaus here, correct?

…Menelaus was in Egypt. Why? Because as Agamemnon’s brother, he ‘out-ranked’ Orestes and the other immediate claimants for the Mycenaean throne. If he was in Greece at that time, he would’ve got it, by right or by force, and given Helen’s ‘merry’ life in the good late old Troy, odds are that the entire romantic narrative of her and Menelaus would’ve fallen apart… and the bards – they didn’t want that, so – Egypt.

Back in Greece, Telemachus learns from Menelaus and Helen that their daughter Hermione (hello, Ms. J-Ro!) is marrying the son of Achilles. As it was said before, several Greek heroes share a name, (i.e. Ajax), but this character is different: he has two: Neoptolemus and Pyrrhus. Why and how come is unknown. What is known, however vaguely, is that in some myths Telemachus would later on kill this character and marry Hermione herself. Given how Helen’s life was full of deceased suitors and husbands, this is not surprising. Given the reputation of the men of the House of Laertes, this is not surprising. However, given that in the other myths Telemachus would marry Circe the sorceress, and Circe’s son would marry Penelope, (and Odysseus would be dead by now), let’s consider this narrative apocrypha rather than canon – and in the canon Telemachus is taking his leave from Menelaus and Helen and is moving on…

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..After learning from the goddess Athena that the suitors planned to ambush him when he was returning to Ithaca, Telemachus sailed under the cover of night, landing in a hidden port and in safety. His father, meanwhile, was doing the same thing, with even more supernatural helps – the Phaeacians. When he left their island, he was wide-awake; when he arrived at Ithaca, he was sound asleep. This is par for the course for humans going back and forth from the Elf-land; the Phaeacians, from their inborn tact and diplomacy, did not wake him, but rather left him there, with all of their gifts, and sailed home. Bad idea.

See, as it was discussed earlier, in the episode of Helios’ cattle, the Greek gods in the ‘Odyssey’ were bitchy as a default, and Poseidon in particular had especially dark and brutal temper: when he learned that Odysseus did arrive home, he blew his top and threw such a tantrum in face of Zeus and co. that the latter said:

“Go and have your revenge upon the Phaeacians instead.”

Poseidon, naturally, obliged: he went to the Phaeacians’ harbor and when their ship arrived there, sans Odysseus, he promptly petrified it. Pause.

No, this is correct: Medusa and her Gorgon sisters were not the only beings in the Greek myths who worked with petrifaction – the Greek gods themselves did, it is a part of Ovid’s ‘Metamorphosis’ cycle. However, there are different types of transformations, and petrifaction there, here and elsewhere is a metaphor for death: Poseidon killed an entire ship and its’ crew, so naturally, the Phaeacians never helped mortals again, (at least officially), as the cost would be so high.

Odysseus, meanwhile, was not having the best of times either, as the goddess Athena decided to troll him, apparently, and covered the entire coast of Ithaca in fog, before appearing before him disguised as a young shepherd, and asked Odysseus, as to who he was.

Odysseus, for his part, fired up his brain, plugged his mouth there, and spun such a yarn, that Athena, after revealing her true godly self, proclaimed that Odysseus has almost her fooled, (i.e. the goddess of wisdom), and as a reward she disguised his majesty as a Bronze Age hobo and told him to win his kingdom back. Odysseus promptly went to his loyal pig herder, (Circe sneezed back in the Elf-land), where he was met first by his loyal old dog, Argus, who recognized him despite Athena’s disguise, and then by his son Telemachus, to whom Odysseus revealed himself and swore that they’ll win their island kingdom back and then Odysseus went to his palace. Pause. Are we going too fast?

It is a tricky question to answer. In most adaptations, (such as Konchalovsky’s), the bulk is taken by Odysseus’s travels through the Elf-land, and his conflict with the suitors gets the short end of the stick. However, in the original novel, this conflict actually is the main event – Odysseus’ narrative of his Elf-land adventures is more of a prequel instead; Odysseus’ travels have taken years, true, but the events of the ‘Odyssey’ cover a matter of days instead. This appears to be Homer’s signature move: the ‘Iliad’ also talks about years of conflict, but itself covers only several days or weeks. Back to Odysseus?

Right, on a more magical note, mortals often age after they leave the Elf-land because time there and in the mortal world runs in two different ways. On a more realistic note, Odysseus left Ithaca with a flotilla of 12 ships, fully crewed, and he arrived with… nothing, (the gifts of Phaeacians faded away into nothingness, as elven gold does do, sometimes). Why should the good Ithacans care for him?

Answer: they do not. Remember how Odysseus almost had a ship rebellion sev-eral times in his odyssey? Well, he is going to face one now – the people of Ithaca want to replace him with a new king, and his wife, Penelope…

His wife, Queen Penelope, had been the alpha-female of Ithaca all these years, especially after her mother-in-law died, and her father-in-law retired to live a private life, (abandoned by everyone, with a hearty 'good riddance', it seems). Even in the canon reading there are signs that she had managed the suitors well enough, but now things are changing: Telemachus is coming of age and is no long allowing his mother to boss his around easily, and the suitors are growing bolder or more desperate, pressing Penelope to marry one of them at last. Penelope may be a cousin to Helen, the queen of Sparta, and Clytemnestra, the High Queen of Mycenae, but she needs to remarry Odysseus or marry someone else quickly, if she is to keep her status as Ithaca’s top female in the future – and everyone, including Odysseus, knows this.

Odysseus has started his odyssey in the novel from Ogygia, a pristine wilder-ness and an anti-Ithaca – he left it behind, and now he has left the Phaeacians with their civilized utopia behind as well. Now his odyssey has brought him to 1) his home island of Ithaca, 2) his pigsty, (Circe sneezes in the Elf-land once more), and 3) his courtyard, while being disguised as a hobo all this time, because if he isn’t disguised, the good Ithacans will kill him. Probably on sight, too.

Why? Because Odysseus is a bad leader of men… and not such a great king. He lost 12 ships with all of the crews and he got nothing to show for it, not even elven gold. In the Bronze Age, especially for such a small island as Ithaca, that was a big loss of men and ships. Odysseus has to seize/re-take his royal power and he must do it quickly and decisively, or else he and his entire house (family bloodline) will be lost. In addition, as it is known, the ‘Odyssey’ shows as to how he does it – but we will talk about it in the future.

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Odysseus came home. What happened next?

First, he was recognized by his old dog, Argus, who upon seeing Odysseus died happy - he was that old. All that sustained him was Argus’ love for his master, and now that Odysseus was here, Argus could move on. The end for him.

In other news, yes, he shared his name with Hera’s many-eyed giant minion, who also died, but otherwise the two characters have nothing in common. What is worth noting is Argus’ love for his master, and that he de-facto gave Odysseus his blessing to move on - into his former palace.

‘Former’, because it was taken over by the suitors, who did what they want… unless queen Penelope told them otherwise: she told them to come and they came, she told them to go and they left - but recently this began to change; Penelope could no longer control them as well, and her control over Telemachus was fading too, as he curtly told his mother that he is the rightful king of Ithaca and he would prove it. Penelope now had to be either the mother-in-law to the next queen, something that she didn’t like, or else marry a new king.

Fortunately for her, the old king and her rightful husband was already in the palace, disguised as a Bronze Age hobo. In this cunning guise, he was mocked by the suitors, for they were idiots of this piece, and fight another hobo, named Irus, (a male version of Iris, the rainbow messenger of the gods), for the right to stay in the palace. Naturally, Odysseus won, for it is his journey, and he was still travelling.

No, seriously, he was. He came to his island, to his estate, to his courtyard, to his palace, and he bypassed all the obstacles, such as they were. For a further example, while Telemachus was removing all the weapons from the halls so that the suitors would not be able to fight back when the time came for revenge, Odysseus ex-nurse, Euryclea, was washing his feet, and recognized an old scar on his leg, and Odysseus had to take her down, or else he’d be undone. Such is the glory of Odysseus!

On a more somber note, 1) is that Euryclea was also Laertes’ slave, (the father of Odysseus), and also, possibly, his concubine - but because Ithaca was so small, it couldn’t afford to have more than one prince, and so Euryclea had no children of her own, but loved Odysseus instead. And 2), is that Homer continues to mix the high with the low, tragedy, (I.e. death of Argus) with the low, (I.e. Odysseus’ fight with another hobo) - and Homer does it very skillfully too. What a literary genius!

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This week, Paleologic talked about Helicoprion, an extinct shark relative, and it did a good job of it too.

How was it good? Helicoprion was exciting-looking with its’ tooth-whirl, and so the bulk of the 8-minute episode was about those teeth, but otherwise, this fish hadn’t had much of a role in the Paleozoic seas - it swam around and ate prehistoric relatives of the squid, which still had external shells, hence why this tooth-whirl evolved - to break through the shells. Helicoprion was bigger than a modern great white shark, but also skinnier, and so I would bet on the modern shark to win a fight; plus it probably has a more complex behaviour out of the two.

Despite surface similarities, Helicoprion was not a shark, but a shark relative, more closely related to the modern ratfish or chimeras, which live in deeper waters than sharks do and are much less exciting. Helicoprion was more formidable than they are , but not by much - yet team Paleologic was still able to make it sound exciting for 8 minutes straight, so thank them then, for it was an exciting and enjoyable episode. Can’t wait until the next episode, too.

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The final part of the ‘Odyssey’ goes like this: bloody.

Let us wind a bit back, to Odysseus’ journeys in the Elf-land. There, he had met the cicones, whom he killed, (some), and who were real. Then – the Lotus-eaters – no victims. Polyphemus was blinded but not killed. Aeolus was peaceful. The Lestrygones – Odysseus was lucky to escape with his life and his last ship. Circe – some violence, but no death. Sirens and the sea monsters – Odysseus was unable to kill any. The sun-cattle – also none, and Calypso was like Circe – no death. The point here is that compared to the heroes of the older generations – whether famous like Perseus or Hercules, or more obscure, such as Cadmus – Odysseus did not slay any non-human monsters at all. But then he arrived at Ithaca.

What happened there? We have discussed it already, previously: Odysseus began to stealthily infiltrate his palace and estate, while disguised as a hobo all that time, because otherwise, he would be dead. The gods – or at least goddess Athene – was on his side, however, and so Odysseus began to implement his plan fully. First, he removed all the weapons from the suitors’ immediate vicinity. And then, he got Telemachus to have their wife and mother, Penelope, to put 12 axes in the feasting hall, and then bring Odysseus’ bow and arrows.

Why? Because it was the final challenge: whoever strings the bow and fires an arrow through the holes of all the 12 axe heads, wins Penelope and Ithaca. It was a straightforward challenge and all of the suitors failed it, revealing, (to Odysseus and his inner circle, as well as to Homer’s audience), that they were not up to par to Odysseus. Telemachus, of course, could have strung the bow, winning his kingdom, but because it was not part of the plan, he threw the challenge – and then Odysseus, still disguised, came over and asked for his turn. The suitors were outraged, naturally, but Telemachus was almost done with them, and he got his disguised father to the bow and arrows.

With his first shot, Odysseus won the challenge. With the next shots, the killings began, as Odysseus began to take down unarmed suitors. The men begged for their lives, promising Odysseus money and other prizes, but Odysseus did not listen and killed them anyways. Some of the palace’s servants were suborned by the suitors during Odysseus’ travels and brought them weapons, but it did not matter: none of the suitors were up to match Odysseus and the king’s men: Odysseus killed them all, not just because he was better armed, but because he was a better fighter and killer than they were. Odysseus, Telemachus, and their crew killed both the suitors and the servants who supported them; adaptations often skip over the latter, but in the ‘Odyssey’ itself you can read all about the casual sadism that Odysseus inflicted on the latter. Why?

Because underneath it all, Odysseus was terrified himself: he had only a smattering of support, and no one more. If anyone – a suitor or one of their minions – had escaped and warned the citizens of Ithaca that their rightful king returned, the citizens would rally and kill him and his loyalists instead. This did not happen, however – Odysseus’ plan worked.

The end? No, for then came Penelope’s turn. Upon hearing of the slaughter and hearing that Odysseus did it, she came out, greeted Odysseus, and ordered the surviving staff to move their bed to a different bedroom.

Odysseus was indignant: their bed was made from a rooted stump that was impossible to move. Penelope smiled, and proclaimed to everyone that yes, this was Odysseus, her king and husband. Not that she had much of a choice, after her peccadillos with the now-deceased suitors on one hand, and with the fact that if Telemachus became king, Penelope would be just the queen mother, a second or third string at best, and she does not want that, not this woman. Instead, she recognized Odysseus, and the duo had had sex in their bed, (leaving Telemachus on the corpse clean-up crew, apparently).

This is where most adaptations of the ‘Odyssey’ end: Odysseus reunites with Penelope and Telemachus, everyone else is dead or irrelevant, the end. Homer however, was more realistic, and here’s how ‘Odyssey’ actually ends: using yet another trick, Ithaca’s royal family fools everyone else – for a while – into think-ing that Penelope has chosen one of the new suitors, and the rest of them are busy partying at the royal palace. The royal family, meanwhile, goes and visits Laertes, Odysseus’ father, who has been living a humble life of a peasant all this time. Of course, Laertes was delighted to see his family reassembled. However…

By that time, the rest of Ithaca’s citizens uncovered the truth – Odysseus was back, and he already has slaughtered most of the island’s noble youths and prominent/rich citizens, and the citizens had had enough: they got their armor and weapons and charged at Odysseus and his family, planning to get rid of him once and for all. It was shaping to be the ‘night of the suitors’, take two, but, in the canon, Pallas Athene intervened one last time, (in the ‘Odyssey’), and brokered a truce between the house of Odysseus, and the rest of Ithaca’s inhabitants. More cynical people may suspect that Telemachus didn’t visit Helen, his mother’s relative, (and wife of king Menelaus), just for info regarding his father, but also to acquire support against the suitors in order to acquire his kingdom, and it worked, as now the Spartan ‘green berets’ arrived and pushed the rebellion against Odysseus and Telemachus into the sea. Whatever happened, happened, and Odysseus and his family reigned happily ever after on Ithaca. All that is left are some apocrypha, vague echoes, which suggest that Odysseus still had some issues to work through after he came home, but that is another story.

End?

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PaleoLogic continues to pleasantly surprise – this week’s episode was about the extinct sperm whale, Livyatan, which was a distant relative to the modern animal.

The Livyatan is something of an enigma – on one hand it is considered a rival to the much more famous Megalodon, a giant whale that bit back to the giant shark. The Megalodon itself suffers from overblown fame and from the fact that it is conflated with a general mythical giant shark that never existed; the Megalodon did exist, obviously, but it was a different critter from what humans imagined it to be.

The Livyatan on the other hand has a different problem – it is being undercut: the people like the concept of a giant super-shark so much that they do not like the idea of it being the underdog at all. Moreover, the Megalodon has become something of a franchise lately, and that franchise does not really include a possible rival, aka the Livyatan, (even though the latter’s own popularity and acceptance among the public is growing after all); the upcoming ‘Megalodon 2’ film features the giant deep-sea squid as ‘the other monster’ instead.

…Back to the Livyatan itself. The episode about it worked, though it was mostly about its’ comparison to the modern sperm whale, how is it different. How is obvious: whereas the modern sperm whale is a squid specialist, the Livyatan hunted other whales, (presumably baleen whales), instead, and it might have competed with the Megalodon for the same resources.

The modern sperm whale is mentioned here because this week’s PaleoLogic’s episode, while supposedly about the Livyatan, talked a lot about the modern sperm whale as well. This might be for the above-mentioned reason – Livyatan tends to be underrepresented in the modern culture and the research about it is less numerous and available than about its’ shark nemesis, but the modern sperm whale is interesting as well – as are its’ much smaller and more obscure relatives, the kogia toothed whales, but that is a different story. For now, let us just agree that the Livyatan episode managed to work and be interesting, and let it be. It was fun to watch, after all, and that matters.

End

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...The dragon dispassionately looked at the visiting scholar. “I got to say, Dr. Agnis, that you have been a great guest; it isn’t very often that my kind gets treated respectfully by you humanoids.”

“Mmm,” the woman in question nodded, politely, (she became aware that her host liked to push and prod at the social boundaries just to see what would happen a while ago). “I’m glad to see that I’ve made a good impression… and I got a feeling that it is time for me to leave, less I outstay my welcome.”

“Nonsense, nonsense, your welcome wasn’t outstayed, it was just the right amount of time,” the dragon shook their head, (let us just assume that it is pointless to guess a dragon’s gender; it matters only to the other dragons anyhow, and they keep their own council on that topic). “I’m so pleased that you have visited, have a nice day!”

“Right back at you!” Dr. Agnis nodded sagely as she finished packing her belongings, (and quickly too, for the obvious reasons). “The weather has cleared up as well, I see, so have a nice day!”

“Thank you!” the dragon came across as genuinely pleased here. “And since you’ve been so polite and everything, here’s a little parting present!” They gave Dr. Agnis a – weasel. At least it was not a live one, but one made from (appar-ently) cheap tin, gilded with fake gold.

The good doctor just smiled, (and the smile even came across as authentic), and left, after saying good-bye one more time.

End

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…Sometimes, life as a travelling scholar can take an interesting twist – sure, you get to travel the world, see new sights, meet new people, experience, well, new experiences… but right now Dr. Agnis was having all three rolled into one… but it wasn’t a very good one – rather a very-feral-medusa one.

Dr. Agnis has heard of the snake-haired humanoids before, mostly in association with dragons and their skills – the sentient reptiles might have had a claw in creating the mythological monsters in question, but she has never seen one before. Sadly, she could have lived without seeing one ever – or ever again, for that matter.

In part, the snake-haired monster looked human, especially above the waist, as the medusa had a torso, two arms, a head and a neck, (also two draconic wings, complete with the knowledge of how to use them, but who was counting?) – but below the waist it was a slightly different matter, as the good doctor wasn’t sure if the medusa had a snake tail there, or it was just her clothing, for the latter just wouldn’t sit still, yet whirled around the menghirs, looking crazy, (and also blurry), and sounding rather feral, hissing and snarling.

Someone cleared his or her throat. The medusa abruptly stopped flying through the air, (at great speeds and maneuverability too, it could be added), and landed, revealing that she did have legs beneath her waist, and what Dr. Agnis theorized was a tail was actually a dress – a long, flowing one, probably not very practical for outside excursions, but given that the medusa could shoot thunderbolts for her eyes, (petrifying ones, too), she could get away with this. Probably.

“Here, Essa, are the feminine products that you’ve requested me to get,” the new arrival spoke grouchily, clearly not impressed by the medusa… and everything else associated with her, including her classical physical proportions, cough, now that she was no longer acting like a crazed beast.

“Thanks, mate, you’re a gem!” she said cheerfully, sounding practically human, with nary a bestial note in her voice, took the bag, (which did smell of female hygiene products downwind), and spreading her wings, took off into the air, and quickly vanished from sight among the clouds.

There was an awkward pause. “Just so that you know,” the newcomer told the good doctor conversationally, while still not facing her, “Essa’s here is married, happily enough.”

Dr. Agnis said nothing.

End

Chapter Text

Dr. Agnis and her new companion were nonchalantly making their way to-wards the local train station; however, they were not in any rush. The weather was nice, (though it was supposed to change by nightfall, as weather tends to do in most of the multiverse dimensions); the scenery was picturesque as well – a field on one side, a river on the other – and Dr. Agnis knew, and composed, plenty of songs on both subjects, and right now, she was utilizing slash singing plenty of them indeed!

“Nice travelling with you, doc,” the ChronoDune™ employee said brightly; “it is a turn of good fortune that we’ve met, and no mistake!”

“Shouldn’t it be counterbalanced by a turn of bad luck or whatever you people of chaos believe into?” the scholar asked, half-serious and half-flirtingly.

“…I’m fairly sure that we already have stumbled into it,” her interlocutor replied, as he pointed at a figure hovering over the field, next to the train station; (one train has already departed, the arriving train was only before the horizon, Dr. Agnis was in no rush and on no schedule, and neither was her companion) – a small hawk or a kestrel of some sort.

“…It’s just a bird,” Dr. Agnis protested to make a point: “it is just hunting for mice or rabbits or bugs…”

The kestrel stopped hovering and fell straight into the cereals growing on the field, vanishing in them completely, as if sinking underwater without a trace.

“It just discovered and caught something,” the scholar repeated herself, with a trace of doubt in her voice. “It’ll fly out any minute now…”

The bird did not. In fact, there was no indication that there ever was anything in the sky just moments before.

“Right,” the ChronoDune™ agent said sourly, (even as he picked up the pace – and so did the dragon scholar). “Just how important are you for people to keep a look-out for you, discretely?”

This time, Dr. Agnis said nothing.

End

Chapter Text

I daresay I love my horse,
And I take care of it, of course:
I comb its’ mane both down and up,
I comb its’ hair, and I ride it: “Giddy-up!

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This week’s PaleoLogic episode was all about the Deinotherium. Contrary to how its’ name might sound like, this animal was not a relative of the dinosaurs, but rather a mammal, an extinct cousin of the modern elephants. In fact, there were several deinothere species on Earth at one time, but now they are all gone, some cryptid rumors from Africa regardless.

How the deinotheres stuck up against the modern elephants? Size-wise, they were smaller only than the Indricotherium/Paraceratherium… the giant hornless running rhino was, aka right there with the biggest mammoth species. Unlike them, however, the deinotheres were much less hairy, and their primary distinction from the mammoths and the modern elephants were their tusks: unlike their cousins’, the deinotheres had their tusks in their lower jaws, pointing downwards, not upwards. It is thought that they used their tusks to scrape bark and etc. off trees; their trunks were shorter and thicker than the modern elephants’ are, for comparison.

The deinotheres’ brains are another story: they were smaller than the modern elephants’ brains are, so the deinotheres were proportionally less intelligent than the modern elephants are – probably. The truth of the matter, as we may or may not have talked about earlier, when talking about Platybelodon and its’ branch of the family, is that the proboscideans, the mammals that includes the modern elephants and their extinct relatives, (including the deinotheres), were less efficient at digesting plants than the artiodactyls – the even-hooved mammals, (antelopes, giraffes, deer, etc.) are. A nature show called ‘Inside Nature’s Giants’ once compared droppings of a giraffe with those of an African bush elephant, and the giraffe’s droppings had much less undigested plant matter than the elephant’s had, which is why these days there are only 3 elephant species left on Earth…

…and four species of the giraffe. Actually, the giraffe classification is kind of complex, and not very connected to the deinotheres, so let us not go there this time. Instead, let us go back to the TV – where do the deinotheres fit in there?

Not very well, I’m afraid: they only starred – as far as I’m concerned – in Impossible Pictures’™ ‘Walking with…’ series; the fourth episode of ‘Walking with Beasts’, where several members of one of that species group harassed a troop of Australopithecines, human ancestors, and briefly at that, and in the first two episodes of ‘Walking with Cavemen’, where the stock footage of WWB was used. PaleoLogic’s episode on these extinct mammals just might be the third time that these prehistoric mammals were used ‘professionally’, even if online rather than on TV, but still, kudos to PaleoLogic for featuring the deinotheres in their episodes.

The episode itself was quite enjoyable, focusing on the deinotheres’ tusks, their overall appearance, and their post-extinction history. It was evenly balanced, properly spaced, and interesting to follow. PaleoLogic needs more episodes like this one, as it was both fun and educational to watch, (unlike some other, earlier episodes of this series). That is all for Deinotherium and its’ crew, for now.

End

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So, what is wood?
Well, my fine dude,
It’s animal paths,
Fleeing from man’s wrath.

Pine and oak trees,
Wild legume and peas,
Grass that’s so soft,
Owl that’s aloft.

Silvery-clean air,
Brown grizzly bear
A babbling, clean brook,
And nary a spook!

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So, what is a meadow? –
Good question, Mr. Bledow;
That place is full of flowers,
Delivered by May showers.

This space is far and wide,
A bird there can glide;
The sun is shining bright,
So everything’s all right.

The poppy there is red,
The grazing goat – quite rad,
And until autumn comes,
There’s plenty of sheep’ bums…

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What is a field?
Good question, Cooperfield!
A freedom for the horses,
And no need for courses.

The wheat is so yellow,
The rye is so mellow,
The oats are for goats,
The millet’s… not for boats.

The mice are busy scurrying,
The lizards are quite worrying;
The horses have back,
To give another whack

At cereals; the birds flying,
Quite high and none of them are dying;
The field just does not end,
So bugger off, you fiend!

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And what is a river?
Just ask Mr. Beaver,
Or maybe Ms. Otter;
They’re ready to slaughter

Each other? Oh my!
The waterfall will cry,
Reflected in the sky,
So let’s give peace a try!

There’s an angler,
With their hook a-dangler;
On river’s floor – crayfish:
It’ll make a tasty dish…

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PaleoLogic has surprised me by airing an episode today, i.e. Tuesday, rather than on Friday, but that is ok – the more, the merrier. What is was about?

Bears. Well, prehistoric bears, to be more precise, and the course of the bear evolution. This is a cool subject, but I cannot say that I have liked PaleoLogic’s take on it – the narrative went all over the place, front and back, in a non-linear matter. Oh well, different stokes for different folks, and since PaleoLogic made it work – sort of – more power for them.

On the other hand, the episode did not just stick to bear evolution, but rather tried to take everything bear-related and combine it together in about 10 to 11 minute episode. Aside from the numerous extinct bear species, there are also eight different existing bear species, each one unique, and most are endangered, so to combine all of them into a single video at once does not appear to be a workable choice – but PaleoLogic gamely tried, while mentioning the polar/grizzly (brown) bear hybrids on top of everything else. The polar and the brown bear species are sister species, and are related more closely to each other than to the rest of the bear clan, so it isn’t too surprising that the two species produce hybrid offspring, which is also fertile, (unlike the mules, for example), but it is a warning sign that the world is changing, and polar and brown bears are coming into contact with each other despite their ecological differences, so something has to be done, before one of species, or both of them, have died out. Given how humanity works, I would not count on this.

Back to the video itself, it does show something of a change – not only was it aired on Tuesday, but it also talked about an entire animal lineage, rather than a single animal, i.e. Elasmotherium or Titanoboa. Moreover, again, this episode talked about both extinct and existing animals, rather than just about one or another. Consequently, I am really rapt by PaleoLogic’s latest episode, and wish them the best of luck…

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Recently, I came across a question: could hyenas (modern species), survive in Australia? Pause.

This is actually a trickier question than most people realize, for there are four modern species of hyenas, and all of them are different from each other.

The hyena in question was the spotted hyena, the biggest modern hyena species, and the actual outsider out of the four. Taxonomy is one thing, and from the ecological point of view, the spotted hyena is not just the biggest, but is also the most social and obvious hyena; unlike the other three, it is a pack hunter and a successful one at that; it is able to exist alongside lions and leopards, among other factors. However, this success comes… not so much with a price, as with a specialization: the spotted hyena is a ‘big-game hunter’; it feeds on antelope, gazelle, zebra – big herbivorous mammals that are in small supply in Australia.

…In reality, Australia has more herbivores than people tend to believe: aside from the native kangaroo species, there are also introduced animals: deer, donkeys, horses, sheep, goats and cattle, as well as pigs, (domestic, feral or wild – it is not entirely clear), and also camels and elephants. One really does not associate the last two animal species with Australia, but they are found there. They are also found in Africa, true, but spotted hyenas do not hunt them, on average – the elephants are too big, while camels are found in the Sahara region, where the spotted hyenas cannot survive. Their striped hyena cousins do, but they are different beasts from the spotted hyenas’ altogether.

Let us go back to the hyenas in general. The spotted hyenas’ success may have come at the expense of the other three species: these are more solitary, nocturnal, and shy animals than the spotted hyena is. The aardwolf (two subspecies) belongs in a different family than the other three hyena species are, but behavior-wise, it has more in common with the striped (five subspecies) and brown hyenas than the spotted hyena does. All three mammals do not form packs, eat small to medium prey on average, the aardwolf is actually a termite/ant specialist, and don’t come into public eye as often as the spotted hyena does. There are plenty of termite species in Australia, so with a bit of luck, the aardwolf could make it there, and since the aardwolf is under a meter long, (including the tail), about 50 cm tall, and is a shy animal that tends to avoid people, it could probably survive in Australia easily enough.

Conversely, the spotted hyena probably would not – it is a big animal, powerful and strong with an appetite to match, and it lives in large, social, complex packs…hunting large mammals, as it was said above. As it was also mentioned, Australia does not really have such mammals… unless they are livestock…and we know how humans feel about wild carnivores hunting their domestic animals, so no, as long as humans live in Australia, the spotted hyenas do not have a chance there.

The last two hyena species, the brown and the striped, have a better chance than the spotted hyena does. Unlike the latter, those two species are desert specialists, and Australia has plenty of deserts. Proportionally, Australia is drier and has less regular rivers than Africa does, and that is important, because just like the lion, the elephant, the gnu and the cheetah, (to name a few), the spotted hyena needs to drink regularly, and when it cannot, it has a problem. Australia has fewer rivers than Africa does, and even fewer savannahs, so the spotted hyena would have problems there even without a human factor.

Meanwhile, both striped and brown hyenas can survive without a regular water intake, (though they still need it); the striped hyena is the only modern hyena that is found outside of Africa, not just in the Sahara region, but also in Middle East, Central Asia and India – and everywhere it lives, it prefers to stick to wastelands and deserts, active more at night or at twilight, than during the day.

With the brown hyena, it is the same story; the main difference is that it is found only in the deserts of southern Africa instead. Both of these hyenas avoid humans and are active… around the clock, actually, but preferring the dark to the heat of the desert day. Whereas the aardwolf eats only insects, and the spotted hyena is a big game pack hunter, the striped and brown hyenas eat anything they can eat, more animal than plant, but they are not meticulous and will try almost anything. South Africa in particular is not unlike Australia in terms of ecology and climate, so the brown hyenas has a good chance of living in Australia, and not crossing paths with humans at all. The striped hyena is more likely to contact humans for food – scraps and poultry and livestock, not unlike how red foxes, coyotes and raccoons do it in the Northern hemisphere.

…In fact, part of the hyena’s bad rep overall might be a conflation of the striped and spotted hyena species – but that is another story. Here and now, the point is that hyenas in general can survive in Australia, no problem, but the spotted hyena is the least likely out of the four species to do so.

End

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Animalogic – ok, its’ PaleoLogic aspect – continues to deliver: yesterday, (August Friday 18th), it had another PaleoLogic episode, about the Barbary lion, of all animals. Ergo, what can be said about it?

Admittedly, I do not think that the Barbary lion exactly deserves its’ hype: yes, the lion is ‘the king of the beasts’, but this title’s bestowed on it by people, and the big cat in question doesn’t always live up to it.

The Barbary lion specifically is – what? If the lion in general is a big cat, native to Africa and Asia, (this days, the country of India specifically), then the Barbary lion was a northwestern population of the big cat. More specifically, the lion – these days – is split into two subspecies. One lives in southern and eastern Africa; the second – in central and western Africa, and the Asian lion population is also a part of it, as was the Barbary lion. Thus, the Barbary lion is not a separate species or even subspecies of lion; it was just a distinct population of the (northern), western, and central African lion population. What next?

Well, as the Asian lion shows, this lion subspecies – Panthera leo leo, as stated by Captain Obvious – shows more plasticity and changeability than its’ southern & eastern cousin does. More specifically, the Asian lion population lives in smaller prides/family groups than the African lions do, and physically, it is also smaller and less imposing than the African lions are. The Barbary lion, on the other hand… also lived in smaller family groups/prides than the other African lion populations did – possibly in response to anthropogenic pressure – and its’ mane was… large, full, and impressive, especially from human P.O.V..

Right, the human factor. To the people of Africa, Middle East, and Europe, the lion was one of the most impressive wild animals, especially since it could be easily associated with the sun, another important human symbol, especially in the monotheistic faiths. (The ancient Egyptians, who were polytheists, were more restrained in their promotion of the lion – it was important, but their number one god, Horus-Ra, had a falcon for a sacred symbol, and not the lion). Elsewhere, it was different: in India and South-East Asia, this role is more of a tiger’s or an elephant’s position; in the north, it is the bear’s, (though the Siberian tiger also leaves a mark), and in the American tropics – the jaguar’s. That said, the lions – especially the African populations – are usually more obvious and noticeable than the animals mentioned above, who also live in forests/jungles and can be hard to notice if they do not want to be. So are the lions, of course, but since they live in the African savannahs, (I am leaving the Asian population aside for now), they can be found relatively easier than, say, a tiger in the Asian jungle, so that matters also. What next?

Right, the Barbary lion population was specialized, just as the Asian lions are. If the latter live in jungles, and their social behavior is more reminiscent of their tiger and leopard cousins (for various reasons), then the former lived in the Atlas Mountains and foothills, and their behavior was less social than that of the other African lion populations as well.

The reason behind that is multifold. Human pressure was a large part of it, but also, there is the fact that in the African savannah the lion has to contest with several other carnivores – the leopard, the African wild dog, the cheetah and the spotted hyena, to name a few, and most of them are social pack hunters as well. One on one, a lion – especially a male lion – can overwhelm any rival, (except for the Nile crocodile, but as a rule, these two prefer to avoid each other instead), but as BBC Dynasty series, showed, for example, the carnivores of the African savannah hunt in numbers instead, and so the lions had to become social. That brought on new benefits and challenges, but these days lions in Afri-ca are the world’s biggest social cat species. (The others being the cheetah, and probably the jaguarundi from the American tropics). That said, living species hate being typecast, so there is always some room for plasticity in them, especially if the circumstances change. Social lifestyle is good for the African savannahs; for the African mountains/foothills and the Asian jungles not so much, and so lions differed, (or differ), from each other accordingly. What next?

Scientists agree that the Barbary lions are extinct, at least in the wild, but some might survive in zoos or similar places, especially since from the genetic P.O.V. they are just lions, a population of the (northern)-western-central African lion subspecies group; they don’t have any specific genetic traits to distinguish them from the rest of the subspecies, and as for the physical ones… Right, the mane. A lion’s mane is a status symbol, an indicator for his masculine fitness, (lionesses do not have manes). (Only the male lions have manes, hence ‘his’). That is it. Yes, a mane is important, as it indicates the levels of testosterone and other hormones in a lion’s body, but that is important primarily to the other lions and lionesses, to humans – not so much, (plus captivity sometimes affects lions in strange ways). As such, it is possible that Barbary lions, or their descendants, are still hanging around, albeit in captivity, as the PaleoLogic episode had ended, on a jauntier note.

The episode itself was well done, even if I am not one of the biggest fans of lions – they already got video coverage, both in fiction and in documentaries. Still, technically, Barbary lions may be considered to be ‘extinct’ and/or ‘prehistoric’, and that’s good enough for PaleoLogic; it delivered, even if the narrator was rather lackluster and lacking in enthusiasm – the last time I’ve heard a voice that bland was when PaleoLogic was discussing the hyenadon and the rest of the creodonts, so clearly there’s also something going behind the scene, (like the rotation of the narrators, they change every few weeks at least), but that is another story.

For now though, let us thank Animalogic/PaleoLogic for them delivering two episodes about extinct mammals in one week and move on.

Chapter Text

And now, everyone, a brief word about the tatzelwurm.

…What exactly is a tatzelwurm? That is a good question, as no one has a specific answer, or maybe everyone does. The first tatzelwurm depiction I saw had been from the 19th century or so; it depicted a black cat/snake ‘hybrid’ attack-ing a hog while some panicked people stood in the background. The swine looked monumental, a pinkish-white block of muscle and fat, and it clearly was the stronger beast out of the two. True, tatzelwurm might be venomous, but in RL, domestic slash feral swine eat… rattlesnakes, among other creatures, and it is doubtful that the tatzelwurm is more toxic than a rattlesnake is, even if it is real… so what the point is?

Well, first, I always felt that in a minute or two the swine would shake-off the cryptid, and launch its’ own counterattack, which would result in the cat/snake hybrid being badly outmatched here. The second, if the tatzelwurm is a cat/snake hybrid, then it isn’t real at all, right? …Yeah, about that. There is no standard depiction of this beast, period.

Leaving aside all the RPGs, which do not care if there is any basis behind a cryptid’s supposed existence; the tatzelwurm’s images go all over the place. There’s a snake with a pair of muscular forelegs, a critter with a body of a skinny lizard (with all four legs) and a head of a cat, albeit one with a crown, there’s a snake with a head of a mouse or a weasel, a fat lizard with a head of a rooster, (the basilisk, take two), and one from 1887, which makes it look like a skink. Wait, what?

That is a good question. Skinks are not cryptids; they are a group of RL lizards that are usually found elsewhere than Europe, though. In addition, the tatzelwurm is supposed to have only one pair of legs – the front one. Think the skullcrawlers from the latest Kaiju-verse, just much smaller, (but possibly venomous). Therefore, what is the point?

First, the venom aspect of the tatzelwurm might be the most suspect of it all – people, especially Europeans and their cultural colonial descendants, tend to associate venom with almost every reptile that isn’t a tortoise or a crocodile, (and there’s some justification, too). Leaving venom aside, the tatzelwurm abruptly looks like a snake-lizard hybrid, and a single pair of legs is quite acceptable. Why?

Because there are legless lizards and lizards with just a single pair of legs, aside from the regular four-legged types. The skinks in particular have short fat legs that can be easily overlooked if a person is frightened enough, and some species of skinks, when cornered, can put on quite a scary show, (though they usually lack the bite to match the bark). Otherwise, well, there are legless lizards, but tatzelwurms usually shown to have the front limbs, so what we are left with?

…There are the sirens, which are mythical monsters, yes, but also a group of North American salamanders that have no hind legs, but have external gills, which can be confused for a crest or a crown if seen suddenly. Still, there is no indication that sirens ever came to the Old World, (and their distribution in North America is quite limited), so we go back to reptiles.

There are lizards, (or lizard cousins, classification can be tricky), that have only front legs – the worm lizards. There are over 200 species of them, and they are found in Europe too, as well as in North America, for example. They are no more venomous than many other lizard species are, but as I said before, fear is a powerful magnifying glass, so it is quite possible that an unassuming reptile, a lizard or a lizard cousin, got transformed into a new version of the medieval basilisk that no one took serious in the 19th century – and that is what the tatzelwurm actually is.

End

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What is migration?

It is a human term that… has several meanings, actually; in biology, it applies to animals, (birds, mammals, etc.) that make large-scale movements; in anthro-pology, it means… the same thing, just defined as physical movement of hu-mans from one region to another. So what?

So nothing. All animals move, (though some species during only a portion of their lifespan), and yet…

There are three types of behavior regarding movement. Some animals don’t really move from their established territory – a portion of the sea floor, for example, or a tree – either at all, or during a part of its’ life. Most of such creatures are invertebrates, who move around only as larvae, (i.e. barnacles), or adults, (i.e. butterflies). These animals move around only to disperse and avoid competing with their parents/offspring, but nothing more, and are homebodies at heart.

The second group of animals, move around, but not too much: the monkeys (and apes) in the tropics, or sparrows and crows in human cities are an example of that. Whereas the animals of the first group do not travel too far on their own, (and are usually invertebrates), these animals are usually vertebrates, and they move around… proportionally further than the animals of the first group do, but their roaming range isn’t too big – it is just within a patch of the South American or Asian rainforest, for example.

It is the third group of animals that is normally considered migratory – animals whose movements cross national borders or even circumnavigate the globe, as in case of birds, (especially seabirds). Other animals, including gnu, fruit bats, and reindeer do this sort of migration, just on a proportionally smaller scale. Next what?

The human factors. In the past, some human cultures were nomadic, especially in sub-Saharan Africa and in central Asia, and even some native North American cultures. Perhaps some still are, but in the modern times, especially the West, such behavior is considered somewhat atypical – among humans. Among animals it is admired, (road trips, anyone?), and perhaps it is envied – a bit.

Here is the thing. Both migratory and sedentary lifestyles have their advantages. Leaving animals’ aside, for humans, a sedentary lifestyle means developing a rural, and eventually an urban, civilization, as we know it. A nomadic lifestyle could also create a culture, if not a civilization, but for the modern people, especially in the West, nomads are more often associated with destruction of civilization, largely due to such historical characters as Genghis-Khan and Tamerlane: these people were associated with nomadic cultures, such as the Turco-Mongols, and their reputations are dark, perhaps rightfully so – but that is people. For them, especially for those in the West, a nomadic lifestyle is rather negative and/or primitive than positive, and so it is discouraged in favor of a more sedentary lifestyle. Sadly, a sedentary lifestyle is no panacea; if taken too far, it has its’ own problems, and-

Meanwhile, for animals, there is no connection between a nomadic lifestyle and destructive/negative associations; instead, humans, who often cannot leave as animals do, feel something like envy in regards to the (perceived) freedom of animals to move around. In reality, a migratory lifestyle is the ultimate endurance test and a population check – by continuously moving around, an animal species, (say, an Arctic tern or an African zebra), keeps its’ numbers down, while winnowing out the weaker members at the same time, nothing more.

…There are alternative solutions to migration; one of them is the population crash: in some other species, such as lemmings, (small vole-like rodents), or the American snowshoe hare, (the Eurasian species – not so much), there are ‘lean’ and ‘plentiful’ years, where the number of specimens in a species goes up and down, and so do the numbers in the other species, such as the Arctic fox and the snowy owl, for example. It looks quite dramatic…but the number of specimens in a migratory species, such as the Arctic tern or the wild caribou also goes up and down – the difference here is that their population cycle takes a year, whereas in a case of the American snowshoe hare it takes several years for a population to boom and bust.

So, in conclusion: migration is one of several instinctive behaviors that evolved to keep a population in check and to distribute it over a distance to keep competition within a species to a minimum. Sometimes it is down subtly, (see above), but other times, as in case of fish such as salmon and eels, quite directly.

…And sometimes, in case of some migratory species, such as fish, some populations stop migrating at all – and change, especially physically, but that is another story.

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PaleoLogic continues to roll, this time with the velociraptors, and this episode was another good one.

What was it about? No, that is simple – it was about the velociraptors, stars of the JP/JW franchise. The good aspect of this episode is the amount of information – yes, the information is still from the Wikipedia, primarily, but it still works, for, well, the velociraptor is a popular person… err, dinosaur, these days.

Is the information very new? Not exactly, the Wikipedia is still available to most people in the world, but these days people tend to be kind of lazy and tend to ignore the obvious even when it is, well, obvious, so PaleoLogic’s info should be a welcome diversion to them, if nothing else – and PaleoLogic’s aim is to entertain as much as it is to inform, after all.

The dinosaurs of the JP/JW franchise are almost their own beasts these days, almost as much as the Megalodon of the works of fiction is, though unlike the latter, the ‘raptors’, the T-Rex, and etc. of the JP/JW franchise are treated as fictional creatures, and not like some-thing real, as the Megalodon is – the fictional shark, and the real-life extinct fish these days are two different entities. This is because people can still imagine that the Megalodon still exists, (even though it clearly is not), while the dinosaurs…

Ok, the dinosaurs still do exist, in the character of birds, but keep in mind that birds are theropods, (ok, so had been the velociraptors), but also they’re quite specialized theropods – yes, the power of flight. During the Mesozoic, specifically the Cretaceous, there were many theropod groups that were experimenting with flight, but only the true birds, (and/or their immediate ancestors) made it through the K/T extinction for reasons that are not quite clear to scientists yet. Where were we?

Ah, yes, there are some rumors of non-avian dinosaurs surviving on Earth, mostly in the African jungle, but they are actually sauropod dinosaurs, (presumably), which are quite different-looking from theropods such as velociraptors… ahem. Where were we, again?

That PaleoLogic did do its’ job, that is where. It informed/educated its’ audience about the velociraptors, how it actually looked, behaved (probably), and so on, while entertaining the audience at the same time. The episode was both enjoyable and scientifically accurate, and that what actually matters with such shows as PaleoLogic.

End

Chapter Text

And so, PaleoLogic’s latest episode came out… about crab evolution. Wait, doesn’t this sound familiar?

It does. A while back, PBS Eons released their own episode about exactly the same thing – crab evolution. It was a successful release, as several other paleontological YouTube channels jumped onto the bandwagon and released their own takes on the crab evolution angle – fair enough. However, this was a while ago, and PaleoLogic only took it on now, while using a bunch of images from the PBS Eons’ episode…which left a bad taste in my mouth – and then, for the second half of their episode, PaleoLogic’s number one narrator, Ms. DD, talked about horseshoe crabs mating, while discussing the crab evolution and so on.

The crab evolution itself… Listen, all of those sources amount to – so far – to the following: crabs are crustaceans from the order Decapoda, (ten legs). Decapod crustaceans consist of shrimps, (including prawns), lobsters, (as well as crayfish), and crabs. The crabs, furthermore, divide into ‘true’ crabs that have four pairs of walking legs and pincers, and ‘fake’ crabs, that have pincers and only three pairs of working walking legs, (the fourth pair is reduced and is often useless). So far so good, but this Is less about convergent evolution and more about closely related groups adapting a similar, practical, body shape for greater success over competitors. So, where do the horseshoe crabs come in?

Horseshoe crabs are also arthropods, true, but they are more closely related to spiders and scorpions, aka the arachnids. Unlike them, however, the horseshoe crabs do not have any comic characters named after them; moreover, they do not particularly look like crustacean crabs, unlike their cousins the scorpions and the false scorpions, (the latter lack the venomous stinger of the former). If one wanted to talk about convergent evolution – use them in comparison to the crabs, not the horseshoe crabs!..

And, oh yes, the horseshoe crabs’ ancient history: they appeared sometime during the Mesozoic, the Jurassic period to be more precise, and since then they have not changed. That is quite remarkable, true, but it has nothing to do with convergent evolution, or with crabs (crustaceans), which do not have too much in common with the horseshoe crabs, (sad face).

Therefore, what are we left with? Half a rip-off of another YouTube show’s episode, half a live action footage of horseshoe crabs mating season, a realization that the two halves do not really combine together well, no matter how Ms. DD attempts to do precisely that, and another realization, that there’s some live-action drama behind the overall Animalogic channel, and it is leaking into the episodes. Sad, and rather disappointing. Crab evolution, my foot!

Chapter Text

There is an article in the ‘Scientific American’ Sep 2023 issue, discussing sauropod dinosaurs and as to why some of them got super-big. The author proclaims that it is a mystery; I am no paleontologist, but I feel that I have a theory, here: it was a number of factors.

Why do animals do anything? Moreover, why do they evolve in the wild? To secure an advantage over competitors and predators/prey; a bigger body size is par de course here.

What are the advantages of being big, (super-big)? You get access to food sources that are unavailable to other herbivores, and predators are not as big of a threat to you, (pun intended). Conversely, though, you also need more food than the other herbivores do, and carnivores will eventually evolve their own adaptations, physical or behavioristic, that will even the score between them and a super-big herbivore. Let us widen the query.

What are the factors that allow the initial growth of super-size? An abundance of food, plant matter in the sauropods’ case. Wait. There is an arms’ race between plants and herbivores, just as there is one between them and the carnivores. In addition, just as some herbivores, (i.e. African [and Asian] elephants), get big to escape predators, (i.e. African lions and tigers), so do some plants get big in an attempt to ‘escape’ the elephants, (such as the baobab trees). The twist? This strategy does not work on all of the levels: under right conditions, elephants can bring down a baobab tree, (literally, topple it over), while a pride of lions can bring down an African elephant, (again under right conditions and circumstances). What is absent here?

Space. The more space there is, the more individual specimens of any given species occupy it. True, it does not necessarily mean getting big: a pine tree in a forest grows tall and thin, with its’ top high above the ground – a pine tree in a clearing grows shorter and squatter, with its’ top spread out wider than its’ crowded counterpart’s… but we digress. The point of this discussion is that just as modern elephants, (and baobab trees), got big because of several factors, so did the prehistoric sauropods…and trees, (or tree-like plants), that they ate. What else?

Right, not all of the sauropods evolved into super-sized plant eaters, some remained smaller. What about it?

First: sauropods evolved as bulk-feeders: their teeth and jaws were not designed for chewing, but for stripping foliage from branches, and for uprooting other plants whole. Another part of the reason as to why sauropods became the largest of the dinosaurs, extinct and modern, was because they had to become big to accommodate large and massive digestive systems that were almost constantly busy, because foliage, (as well as grass), isn’t very nutritious at all, and it has to be consumed in large amounts to satisfy not just hunger, but nutritious requirements of an organism.

Well, yes, but again, not all of the herbivorous dinosaurs got so big: even Jurassic ornithischians, such as Stegosaurus, never got as big as the sauropods did. That is correct, and it is competition again: by becoming big, the sauropods overshadowed their competitors: they could feed in places unavailable to the bird-hipped herbivores, and they were relatively immune to attacks to such theropods as Allosaurus, Torvosaurus, and Saurophaganax. That said, there was differentiation between the Jurassic sauropods themselves: some, like Diplodocus, were longer than they were tall, and their hips were taller than their shoulders – these dinosaurs could sit down on their hind legs alone, (forming a tripod with their tails), and be, well, construction cranes.

Other sauropods, like Brachiosaurus, were taller than they were long, and their shoulders were taller than their hips. They probably could also form a fulcrum tripod, but less well than Diplodocus and its’ relatives could, not that they needed too – they already were tall, taller than Diplodocus normally was.

Finally, there were less specialized sauropods, such as Camarasaurus, which were neither too tall nor too long, but just big, and fed on whatever Diplodocus would feed, but less well, and on whatever Brachiosaurus would feed, but less well. What is the moral?

We move on from the Jurassic to the Cretaceous and the world of the dinosaurs’ changes. The single super-continent of the Triassic and part of the Jurassic is gone, there are now two landmasses, Laurasia in the north and Gondwana in the south, and they are splitting as well. In the north, sauropods are practically gone, with some singular generalized species, such as Alamosaurus, remaining. In the south, they are flourishing, however…

However, Gondwana would eventually fall apart, as did Laurasia. The latter formed Eurasia and North America; the former – Africa, Australia, Antarctic, and South America, and it is in the last continent that the sauropods would reach their last peak of variety. Why? Because there were fewer bird-hipped dinosaurs in South America than elsewhere. In Africa and Australia, for example, there were such dinosaurs as Ouranosaurus and Muttaburrasaurus, smaller plant-eaters that were intermediate between the earlier iguanodonts and the true hadrosaurs, (like Edmontosaurus). If the sauropods depended on their guts to grind down and digest their food, the bird-hipped dinosaurs, (and especially the hadrosaurs and their kin), had more effective chewing systems than the sauropods did; they were better adapted to digest the new plants, (the first flowering plants appeared in the Early Cretaceous, just as the sauropods began to disappear), and they were able to outcompete the sauropods – just enough for them to die-out first, before the theropods and the bird-hipped herbivores, and before the K/T extinction.

In South America, it was slightly different. There, the sauropods remained dominant herbivores, and they began to compete with each other. As a result, some became extra-large, just as the African bush elephants are today , in proportion. Others remained small; some, like Amargasaurus developed spiny crests, while others, like Saltasaurus, evolved bony armor, reminiscent of Ankylosaurus and co. These adaptations were defense mechanisms against their predators – carnosaurs, (Giganotosaurus and co.), and abelisaurs, (Abelisaurus and co.). Did they work…technically they did, though most paleontological texts give-off a feeling that the South American sauropods died-out before the K/T Extinction, again. Also, the biggest sauropods of them all, such as Argentinosaurus, never developed any bony armor or spikes or anything – it was too big to need this sort of armor, and not even the biggest South American theropods, (Mapusaurus, Giganotosaurus, etc.) were able to take it down…unless the circumstances were just in their favor.

Pause. We have come full circle. A learned person, a publicator in ‘Scientific American’ proclaimed that there is no idea as to why some sauropods became super-sized. For the same reason that some of the mammals did during the Ce-nozoic – to get advantage over their competitors, over their carnivores, and over their food source… and at the same time, to keep themselves alive and breed-ing, because bulk-food feeding comes with its own catches. Not such a mystery after all.

End

Chapter Text

Paleologic is back… this time, with an episode on the K/T extinction. Sigh. This subject has been discussed all over the mass media. In Impossible Pictures’ WWD (and to a lesser extent in ‘Prehistoric Park’), it was shown as a very dramatic event; in ‘When Dinosaurs Roamed America’ it was more of an endnote of the film; in ‘Last Day of the Dinosaurs’ it was something of a drama; in ‘Jurassic Fight Club’ it was practically sadistic, as Dinosaur George and his crew explained just how exactly each dinosaur died. Paleologic, meanwhile, treats the entire subject as a near-joke, and since they are mostly independent, that is fair enough, but…

…but all of the previous episodes of the series were treated professionally enough, without any slapstick humor; there had been jokes, but they were more restrained and tasteful. In this week’s episode – not so much. What gives?

On another level there is another change – previously, Paleologic at least tried to treat its’ episodes on the species’ level: i.e., each episode usually dealt with one species or so. The K/T extinction event is a much broader subject, so talking about it makes a shift in the series’ overall tone too… a shift that was lost/obscured by all of the near-slapstick humor. Seriously, are there some behind the stage processes that we are unaware of, but are beginning to affect the entire project cluster?

It is not impossible, though if this is the case, Animalogic handling it much better than MCU’s AoS did, for example. Still, we are digressing… only not. The K/T extinction was discussed repeatedly over mass media, and there is nothing particularly new to add. Therefore, let us just conclude on a note that this was one strange episode of Paleologic, and move on.

PS: And one more thing. The celestial body that'd smashed into Earth at the border between the Mesozoic and the Cenozoic epochs and produced the K/T extinction wasn't an asteroid, it was a meteorite. To wit: a meteor is your run-of-the-mill shooting star: it looks pretty or scary, but burns-up in the atmosphere and doesn't reach the ground. If it does reach the ground, then it is a meteorite instead. Both of them are called meteoroids by scientists these days, and both are classified smaller than asteroids are, just a meter wide at most. Asteroids are considered to be 'minor planets', though they lack a core of a 'true planet', I suppose. There are also comets which also lack cores, and are composed of ice, rocks and frozen gases; when they pass close to a star, such as the Sun, they begin to melt and produce their tails; they either melt and vanish completely, or get away from the stars and re-freeze. I'm not entirely sure as to what'd smashed into Earth at the end of the Mesozoic, but I'm also not sure that it was an asteroid, as Paleologic proclaimed on this episode. Ah well, this doesn't have too much to do with the actual K/T extinction, so there!

Chapter Text

Paleologic’s victorious tread continues to return – sort of. This week’s topic of discussion was Arthropleura – sort of.

To get it out of the way, Arthropleura was a giant millipede of the Carboniferous period; if anyone has forgotten, this was a time when giant invertebrates ruled the land. Why?

This is actually a trick question. On one hand, the oxygen content in the air was higher than what it is now, and so millipedes and centipedes, insects and spiders, and other invertebrates, (but primarily arthropods rather than mollusks, for example), could afford to be big.

On the other, the landscape of the Carboniferous was primarily a giant tropical swamp, and so Arthropleura and co. ruled not so much over land, as over a mixture of land and water. What next?

Impossible Pictures’ has shown Arthropleura and its’ neighbours – Meganeura, Megarachne/Mesothelae, and Pulmonoscorpio not just once, but twice: in ‘Walking with Monsters’ and ‘Prehistoric Park’. In the first case, Arthropleura fought a giant amphibian and was defeated, in the second, it was brought over to the modern times, but we digress.

The point here is that Arthropleura is treated as a part of a package deal by paleology programs, and Paleologic is no different: here Arthropleura was discussed alongside Meganeura and Pulmonoscorpio. Fair enough. Paleologic is not having any breakthroughs here. Where, then?

…In a corroboration with another YouTube channel – of Lindsay Nicole, this time. I am not the biggest fan of the latter, even though Ms. Nicole got amazing style, but it can be somewhat overwhelming for me, sometimes. The corroboration with DD was something else, however – on Ms. Nicole’s channel the two women discussed the Cambrian time epoch, the very first epoch in Earth’s history that has concrete proof of life; It is the time period, when strange beings such as Anomaloric, Haikouichthys, and the trilobites flourished – and more. Anyone who wants to know more about the Cambrian animals should check out Ms. Nicole’s video channel. There the duo cooperated well enough – Ms. Nicole talked about the Cambrian animals; DD – about the Cambrian extinction, (yes, there was one in Earth’s history, apparently). So far so good, but on the Paleologic episode the duo didn’t mesh as well, for both talked about the same topic – Arthropleura, Meganeura and Pulmonoscorpio – albeit in different layouts; it’s a repetition, reiteration, or something among those lines. What next?

Nothing. Working together, DD and Ms. Nicole were able to create something new, and (relatively) exciting to watch. Good luck to both of them, and to their future collaborations. (There are kinks to iron out, though). That is all.

Chapter Text

Paleologic seems to have come back, and on this week’s episode, it talked about the mustelid evolution. For those who are not aware, it meant all of the modern, surviving, and extinct badgers, weasels, otters and kin.

Mustelids are a part of the caniform branch of the carnivoran tree, but proportionally, they are the most recent and the most derived. Currently, the scientists believe that the caniforms evolved as follows, from the most ancient to the most modern, (and the extinct groups such as the bear-dogs, don’t count): the true dogs, the true bears, the pinnipeds, followed by the red panda (and its’ extinct cousins), the skunks (and their relatives), the raccoons and their relatives, and finally the mustelids. They alongside the procyonids, (aka raccoons and cousins), can be considered to be the most derived caniforms, and they certainly got the variety to back it.

Alternatively, not, as from a physical point of view the mustelids tend to be long-bodied and short-legged. The American marten and the fisher, for example, stick to trees, while the weasels and the American mink prefer the ground, (and in case of the mink – the water), but all of them are built pretty much the same. With the bigger mustelids, the situation is somewhat different – we got the North American river otter, which is built like a dachshund, again, but also the American badger, which is much blockier than the previously mentioned species, and the wolverine, which is much less specialized than any of the previously mentioned species, again. The kicker? The wolverine is one of the most ancient modern mustelid species, period. Its’ closest relatives are the mentioned fisher, which looks more like the martens, i.e. a tree specialist, and the tayra of South America, which acts and looks more like the fisher than the wolverine. So, what is the point?

…That the mustelid evolution went from big to small, from generalized to specialized. Cats and bears seem to be made from the same mould, the main difference is the size; hyenas and (wild) dogs – ditto, though the dogs, especially in South America, have some variety, but still… and then we have the little guys. On the dog side, we are focusing on the mustelids, which tend to be tubular, because any other body plan died out. On the cat side, we have the… mongooses, many of which also have the same body plan, but not all.

Therefore, what is the difference, for a layperson? Well, the mongooses are found only in the Old World tropics; though the term ‘mongoose’ isn’t quite correct – the proper term is ‘viverrids’, which include mongooses, genets, binturongs, though probably not the Madagascar carnivores, fossa and kin, some of which are also called ‘mongooses’. The term ‘mustelid’ is much more homogenous from the taxonomic point of view. (Also, the viverrids are a part of the feliform, not the caniform, branch).

Second, the distribution: while the mustelids are more often associated with the north – northern Eurasia and North America – they are also found in the tropics: in Africa, the American tropics, and even Asia, (though there the viverrids overshadow them). In contrast, the viverrids are found only in Africa and Asian south instead – i.e., the mustelids are more successful than their feliform counterparts are… What next?

The ‘true’ mongooses, the herpestids, have something that mustelids, for all of their variety and success do not: a social life structure that enables them to survive in the African savanna. Some success is not measured by geography, it appears – and this brings us to Paleologic.

From a technical P.O.V., this episode was a dutiful reiteration of the extinct mustelid species, including a modern-lion-sized prehistoric otter. Honestly, other YouTube channels, such as PBS Eons, have already done videos on this subject, and there is a feeling that Paleologic used some of that video footage for their own episode – when they just were not re-airing their own footage of the wolverine, (the RL animal, not the comic-book mutant human). Fair enough, but even this take on the mustelids did not hide the fact that the mustelids tried to steal the spotlight from cats and dogs, bears and hyenas, but failed, and now they’re relegated to the margins – tree-tops and rodent burrows underground, and also freshwater bodies, in case of otters, (two species live in the sea instead. The pinnipeds think that that is cute). From one point of view, they are a success. From another – they are more of marginals, but in any case, they are here, (they are formidable), and they are here to stay.

…The episode itself was satisfactory enough, so more power to Animalogic, assumedly. Go them, eh?

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Let us talk about giraffes and their relatives, just because.

The modern giraffe…consists of no one has a definite idea of how many species of the modern giraffes there are: an 8, a 4, and a 3-species family trees are pro-posed, and so far, not a single one out of them has won, all three theories are equally valid. That said, all of the giraffes are the world’s tallest mammal; they all are browsers, and eat leaves and other parts of trees and shrubs rather than grasses and other herbaceous plants. This is important, as grasses tend to re-grow after they had been cropped by such mammals as the zebra, whereas tree leaves… also regrow, eventually, but at a much slower pace than how the grasses do. Therefore, many African savanna trees have evolved… some, as the acacias, have spines and symbiotic relationship with ants, (rather than termites), while the baobabs are flat-out huge and can handle the giraffes through their sheer size and bulk… eventually. Still, we digress.

Regardless of how many species of the modern giraffe there is, the modern okapis are represented by a single species, the, well, modern okapi. It is also called ‘the forest giraffe’, ‘the zebra giraffe’ and the like, but scientifically, it is named Okapia johnstoni. It is smaller, or rather – shorter than the ‘true’ giraffe of the African savanna, which means that it is less specialized than its’ cousin (cousins?) is.

Why? Because – proportionally – the okapi has a more varied diet than the giraffe from the start. It, too, eats foliage rather than grasses, as does the giraffe… but it does so because there is far fewer ‘true’ grasses in the jungle where it lives. The grasses are plants of open spaces, because in enclosed spaces bigger plants – shrubs and trees – block out the sun, and the herbaceous plants that live in forests – whether temperate or tropical – are more shadow loving than their grassland counterparts are. …Yes, this is generalization, but you get the point. Back to the okapi.

Again, it eats foliage and other parts of trees and shrubs, (the non-woody ones), and has many similarities to the giraffe, but because it lives in a proportionally more abundant and varied ecosystem, it is smaller and less derived than the giraffe is. In addition, there are fewer big herbivores in the jungle, as opposed to the savanna, and they tend to be smaller in size – the okapi, the African forest elephant, the forest antelopes, the pygmy hippo, even the non-white rhinos of the world – they all are smaller than their savanna-dwelling relatives are. In part because they’re living in tighter conditions, in part – because there’s less competition between the species, and fewer big predators as well – out of Africa’s ‘big five’, only the leopard enters the jungle, and it doesn’t appear to be attacking okapis regularly, for example, or giraffes for that matter. As such, the okapis do not need to get as big as the giraffe, as the giraffe’s size – or height – protects it from the leopards, lions, etc. (Moreover, the baobab’s size protects it from the giraffes, elephants, etc.). What next?

From the close relatives, to the more distant ones – the American pronghorns, the last members of the giraffes’ sister group. However, it is known as ‘the American antelope’ and ‘the pronghorn antelope’ among other monikers, this mammal – Antilocapra americana – is much less derived than the ‘true’ antelopes of the Old World is, and proportionally, it is much more closely related to the giraffe and the okapi. That said, physically, ‘on the outside’, the pronghorn is reminiscent… of the gazelles of Africa and Asia.

Eh, ok, gazelles are antelopes, in a matter of speaking. However, they are also antelopes that evolved for speed; they are light-bodied, long-legged and gracile, as opposed to something like the eland, which is built more like a cow, quite robust, or even the gnu, which is more of an endurance marathon runner instead. The American pronghorn, however, is also a marathon runner, having evolved in a time period when North America had its’ own cheetah species, (more closely related to the puma than to the modern Old World cheetah), and cheetahs are the ultimate sprinters – but we digress. These days, North America has no cheetahs, but what it does have is an Old World civilization that restricts’ the pronghorns’ (and the bison’s’, the peccaries’, etc.) prairie habitat, causing their populations to plummet regardless, much more efficiently than any cheetah would be able to… However, for us, what is important here and now that while the ‘true’ giraffe is a savanna foliage specialist, and the okapi is a jungle foliage generalist, the pronghorn is a prairie grass generalist instead. Is there anything left?

Actually, yes – the chevrotains or the mouse deer. Contrary to their names, the ‘rest’ of the deer are not close relatives of these mammals; the ‘true’ deer, and the musk deer, are much more evolved than the chevrotains are.

Let us try again. Among the modern ruminants, two groups stand above the rest. One group are the bovids – antelopes and gazelles, wild cattle, sheep and goats. Moreover, the second group are the deer. There are the ‘true’ deer, which consist of two subfamilies – the American deer, (with some exceptions, such as the moose, the caribou and the roe deer), and the Old World deer, (with some exceptions, such as the wapiti). The second family are the musk deer, (6 or 7 species), which are the sister group to the ‘true’ deer. Moreover, the mouse deer/chevrotains?

…They are much less derived than the ‘other’ deer – in fact, the rest of the ruminant artiodactyl mammals – are, and proportionally, they are much more closely related to the giraffe, the okapi and the pronghorn.

What do chevrotains look like? Tiny, vaguely deer-like animals with hooves, but without antlers. Some have also proportionally big canine teeth, superficially like the much bigger musk deer. (Actually, the musk deer are quite smaller than the ‘real’ deer, but they are still quite bigger than the mouse deer). They live in jungles – one in Africa, the rest – in Asia. That is because in Africa, their niche is taken over by the antelopes, i.e. the duikers and the Neotragus species, but that is another story.

Anything else? Right, the water chevrotain – the outsider that lives in Africa, rather than in Asia – is omnivorous, the others are less so, and all are found close to water. Put otherwise, not unlike the giraffe, the mouse deer are specialized – they have a very specific econiche in which they live, and this enables them to survive, avoiding competition with more derived herbivores. Only not, for in Africa that same econiche is taken over by those more derived herbivores – small jungle antelopes, such as duiker, and so only the water chevrotain Hyemoschus aquaticus is able to survive there, by being the most aquatic and most omnivorous out of them all. As Po the giant panda told the snow leopard villain of the first ‘Kung Fu Panda’ movie, “there’s no ultimate secret”, there is no ultimate solution to anything.

Let us conclude. On our narrative about the giraffe, we met four very different types of even-toed mammals. As we look at them, we see the giraffe, browsing from the treetops of the African savanna, the pronghorn, grazing on the grasses of the American prairie, the okapi, who is eating the leaves in the African jungle, and the mouse deer, which are scurrying through the undergrowth of Asian, but also African jungles, eating various general plant matter. They all look different from each other, but all are also more closely related to each other – proportionally – than to any other plant-eating mammal. This, then, is the wonder of evolution.

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A question was asked – who would win in a fight, a dragonfly or a wasp? Here is the short answer – it is a trick question!

As a starting point, the two insects are built quite differently. Both, of course, have the same insect body plan: an abdomen, a thorax with 4 wings and 6 legs, and a head with eyes, jaws, antennae, and whatever else insects have there. Beyond this generalization, however, a dragonfly and a wasp are built differently.

A dragonfly is built for speed. It is the cheetah of the insect world. Unlike the tall cat, however, a dragonfly has endurance as well as speed, as it spends all of its adult life flying around, looking for food and mates. Dragonflies are not territorial… unlike their damselfly cousins, which are: males of those insects have a perch/an established territory, and they keep each other out of it, but damselflies are not as good fliers as dragonflies are. Moreover, we are talking pri-marily about dragonflies here.

Wasps are more territorial, meanwhile. There are two main wasp types: the solitary and the social, and here we are talking about the social species, such as the paper wasp and the hornet. They are as carnivorous as any dragonfly is, but are also social, while dragonflies are not.

What is more important, though, is that while dragonflies are built for speed, as the cheetahs are, the wasps and hornets are built for strength instead, (as the lions and tigers are). Moreover, not unlike the lions, wasps are known to cooperate with each other, though along different lines than those of the vertebrate lions. To wit: while wasp nests are more numerous than the lion prides, the bonds between the lions are stronger, because, well, the lions live longer – for years, while in temperate climates wasps die at the end of fall/beginning of winter – only the wasp queens survive. (I.e. the wasp analogues of the bee queens).

…The dragonflies, it can be argued, do not fair much different: they also die in winter, and only their eggs, or larvae, survive the winter. Unlike the wasps, however, they do not have a pupa stage: when they are ready to transition from water to air, they crawl out of the water onto a tall cattail or reed, and burst from their back – literally: the skin on their backs bursts, and the adult dragonfly crawls out of its’ last larval skin. Alien xenomorphs, top that.

Getting back to our face-off, the dragonfly can fly, well, rings around a bulkier wasp, but unless it is really bigger than the wasp is, it will not tackle the wasp, and we are talking literal tackling here.

A wasp hunts with its’ sting, (in a manner of speaking): when a wasp finds its’ prey, (a spider, a caterpillar, a honeybee – it is different with different wasp species), it jumps onto its’ prey and paralyses’ it with the stinger. Then the wasp takes its’ prey to its’ nest, where it either feeds the prey to the larva, (as the social wasps do), or puts it into a storage, and lays its egg, so that the larva would eat the spider/caterpillar/etc. later, (as the solitary wasps do).

Meanwhile, dragonflies have no stingers – they just rush at their prey, seize it with their legs and eat it. The legs of dragonflies are hairy and spiky, useless for working, just fine for perching, and when the dragonflies fold them, their legs form a fine net/basket for catching insects such as mosquitoes and butterflies, but against powerful wasps – not so much. Venomous stingers aside, wasps and bees are just too heavy and strong for dragonflies, and the dragonflies do not mess with them.

Robber flies sometimes do. Despite being, well, flies, and as such, related to houseflies and mosquitoes, the robber flies live more like the dragonflies, being active hunters, especially as adults. A scientist once put a robber fly against a bumblebee. For a while, the former seemed to be gaining the upper hand, until the bumblebee unleashed its stinger and went on the counterattack. The rob-ber fly quickly played possum and the bumblebee got away. Considering that the robber flies have a venomous bite of their own, and the dragonflies do not have it, the fight between a dragonfly and a bumblebee – or a wasp, for that matter – would have been over even quicker.

Therefore, getting back to the initial question: who would win, the dragonfly, or the wasp, the answer is the wasp. However, since a dragonfly would never tackle it, this answer is theoretical overall.

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On the African savanna, it is a cat eat cat world sometimes, such as now, when a pride of African lions cornered a cheetah mother and her cubs. The cheetahs, of course, are incredibly fast, and the mother cheetah has already outran the lions, but her cubs-

-But her cubs are actually here, with her, (well, a bit behind, but still. Semantics). One, two, three. All three of them. Hooray, but who had the lioness, (well, a lioness), pin down?

It is a ratel – a honey badger, instead. It is smaller than a cheetah, let alone a lion, but what it lacks in size, it makes up in attitude, ferocity, and even strength. Moreover, the lioness did not pin the honey badger all that well in the first place, and given the honey badger’s almost weasel-like skill of being able to, well, weasel out of tight spots, it went onto a counteroffensive, and it was not amused.

The lioness didn’t really meep or yell for help, because lions don’t do that, as a rule; instead, she and the honey badger rolled around for several moments, until the lioness was able to shake the honey badger off of her and flee. The rest of her pride was already leaving, because fighting a honey badger just is not worth it, not even for a lions’ pride.

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Once upon a time, there was a leopard, whose latest nighttime escapades left him feeling still hungry. So, what was he to do, now that it was daybreak and all? That is right, he found the remains of someone else’s meal, and decided to expropriate them instead.

This was a mistake on the leopard’s part, as the meal belonged to lion pride, and one of its’ members have taken this meal from this same leopard last night. The lions’ had not finished it yet, so the leopard could consider this some sort of a karmic comeuppance… but the lions disagreed, and ambushed/surrounded the leopard in the middle of his latest scheme.

…The only reason as to why the leopard did not immediately die was… that he immediately launched a counteroffensive, repeatedly hitting several of the lionesses at once – and the gender role was important here; in many cat species males overpower the females on average, but in case of the lions, especially so, much above the average, (at least in Africa; in Asia it may not be so). In addition, speaking of the leonine genders? The male lion of this bunch was coming up quickly, and the leopard had no chance to fight-off him, given their overall differences…

A certain giggling sound changed the setting of the situation, as several spotted hyenas abruptly arrived on the scene and demanded their share of the meal. The lion pride disagreed, possibly forgetting that unlike leopards, spotted hyenas lived in packs almost as formidable as the lion prides…

Things, as they tended to happen in this neighborhood, escalated quickly. The leopard, in particular, found himself sitting in a tree once again, still hungry, but also alive, at least. (He was not starving just yet, fortunately). Down on the ground, meanwhile, most of the lion pride was fighting the hyena pack and losing, as the pack was dragging the meal away, while the lions were suffering from some bleeding bite damage already…

The only odd one out was one of the lionesses – perhaps the same one, who had ruined the leopard’s previous night: she was currently sitting in the same tree, looking not very comfortable, but still better off than the rest of her pride was…

Though they are cats, obviously, lions and tigers are not big on the tree climbing, unlike most of their relatives. Still, need makes an old woman trot, and if pressed hard enough, even a cheetah can climb a tree, although it will be unhappy in this regard, and a lion is somewhat better tree-climber than a cheetah is, though a worse one than a leopard is.

In any case, at this moment, both the lioness and the leopard ignored each other; in a tree, a leopard is in fact better off than a lion is, but given the overall circumstances, a rematch right now was not the best idea…

(Suggestions on where to go with this?)

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Once upon a time, there were the Rocky Mountains on America’s West coast, and they harbored plenty of animals. A solitary puma/mountain lion/cougar was one of them; it had spent the last winter rather hungry, and right now, it wasn’t ravenous, but the next thing before it; the puma wanted some suste-nance, and it didn’t care as to who, or what it needed to end for the puma to eat.

A smell came on the late afternoon wind – the sun had not sunk yet, but it was low enough on the horizon, and it was still early spring, so the days were still quite short – and it was a smell of carrion. Good enough for the hungry puma, so off went the big cat.

It slunk through the early spring woodland – still traces of snow around, but nothing more – until it came almost on top of the carcass. …Unexpectedly, it was still fresh, but the puma did not care. It went forth.

The alpha male wolf, big bad, leader of the pack, who was already feeding on the deceased deer stag, did not care either. It, or perhaps he, charged at the big cat, teeth snarling, and fury in their gaze.

The two animals were evenly matched, their sizes and physical attributes largely even. Like all of the cats, pumas had functioning claws, sharp and retractable, whereas a wolf’s claws are useless in a fight, but this wolf did not care, plus it got the first bite on the puma, and it was a painful one, as well!

The puma was not as confident as the canine was, it managed to pull itself out of the wolf’s jaws; it wasn’t hurt too badly, but it hankered down and did its best to frighten the wolf away.

The wolf did not care – it charged at the puma once more, landing another bite on another one of puma’s legs. However, it is never a good idea to corner a cat; a housecat in this situation turns, essentially, into a lion, and a mountain lion is something else. It reared up, pulling the wolf upwards and slammed the other animal hard with several of its’ claws, fully released and extended. The result is not unlike being slapped with a paddle, which is further equipped with several sharp, sharp hooks. The wolf became briefly stunned, and the puma bit its’ neck with all of its biting power.

A puma and a big grey wolf are similarly sized, but whereas a wolf’s jaws are designed to rip and tear, a puma’s set is better designed to bite down and hold on – and if it lands on the throat, a cat’s bite can be impossible to shake off.

This was pretty much as to what had happened here – the wolves in the north-western North America are the biggest grey wolves in the modern world; in another time, the puma might’ve been the one on the ropes, but here and now, it secured a grip on the canine’s throat, and didn’t let go, till the wolf stopped struggling.

Well, this particular wolf, that is – the rest of pack that was approaching the fight scene even as the sun was finally sinking beneath the horizon was something else, and their combined howling was not very friendly or inviting to the big cat.

The puma did not care. It actually did catch its’ dinner, after all, and though venison would have been a tastier meal, there were more wolves coming between it and the puma. Therefore, the puma opted to cut its’ losses and leave.

Together with its’ new dinner.

Leaving the venison for the rest of the wolves.

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The great goddess Demeter, who gives abundance to earth, had taught the mortals how to treat the fields right as well. She gave to the young prince Triptolemus the fertile grains of wheat, and he was the first mortal to personally plough his field thrice and throw the fertile grains into the soil. The field, blessed by Demeter herself, gave a rich harvest. Via a magical chariot, driven by winged serpents, Triptolemus, by Demeter’s decree, visited all of the lands and taught their inhabitants the art of farming.

Triptolemus also came to the distant land of Scythia, where Lynchas was the king. He, too, was taught the art of farming. However, the proud king of Scythia wanted to be known as the mentor of farming instead, he planned to kill Triptolemus and steal his fame. Lynchas decided to kill the great Triptolemus when the latter was asleep. However, Demeter did not allow the crime to happen. She decided to punish Lynchas for breaking the laws of hospitality and for assaulting her protégé.

When, at night, Lynchas stalked into the chamber, where Triptolemus was sleeping, Demeter turned the king of Scythians into a wild cat - a lynx – just as he was raising his dagger to strike.

Lynchas, after becoming a lynx, vanished in the dark woods, and Triptolemus, mounting his flying chariot, continued to visit countries one after another, teaching everyone there the great gift of Demeter – the art of farming.

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Once upon a time, there was a widower, who had a daughter, and a widow, who also had a daughter, and after some time, they decided to marry. (What a surprise, I know!)

Since this is that sort of a fairy tale, after some time, the widow/stepmother and her daughter began to harass the widower’s daughter, because of course they did.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so,” the father of the girl in question decided, and married her off to one of the better men in their town, whereupon the new wife became a new mother too soon enough.

“Ok, no, I don’t think so either,” the new wife’s stepmother also made a decision, and when both her new husband and her stepdaughter’s current husband were out of town on business, she went to visit her stepdaughter and the latter’s baby, whereupon she turned the poor woman into a wild animal – say, a leopard – causing the later to flee for her life – while the stepmother transformed her own daughter into the likeness of her stepdaughter, set her up in the new household, and returned home, declaring (privately) that the matter was finished now.

And it probably would have been, save for one lose end – the hired-help-nanny of the new baby. She was too scared to confront the witch, so instead she began to take her newborn charge afield, calling out to his true mother. The latter would come out from the woods or fields, become – temporarily – human once more, nurse the baby, and leave, donning her beast shape once more.

The ‘surrogate mother’, incidentally, was more of an Anastasia than a Drizella; more dim than actually malicious – she literally had no idea of what was going on, and was doing her best to keep herself not flat-footed. She was neither succeeding nor failing, but what matters here was that she was completely unaware of what was going on behind her back, period.

The transformed girl’s father was also quite oblivious, his new wife told him that her daughter became married to a tribe out of town, and that was the end of his matter, as far as he was concerned. His son in law, however, was of a more suspicious and alert nature and he soon enough figured out that his baby’s nanny was taking the latter out daily, on a regular nature, with his wife being completely unaware of it. Therefore, he set forth – on the sly – to see for himself as to what was going on, and he saw – everything.

He saw everything, and was completely unhappy that several women made fool both out of him and his father in law. Therefore…

Therefore, the witch-woman either was executed or ran out of town, depending on who was telling the story and the son-in-law rejoined his original wife, after burning her animal skin, with the witch-woman’s daughter surviving, albeit at a much-diminished social status… The story is over.

Only, if there is a rumor that the witch’s stepdaughter still regularly runs out into the wild, into the fields and forests, where she walks in the shape of an animal once more, while her stepsister and former nanny – now the major-domo of the husband’s household - run the household for her much more efficiently, do not believe it. There is a great big black leopard slash panther in the forest who says that that is not so after all.

End

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Can lions survive in the South American jungle? Yes, but with caveats.

When one thinks of a lion, one naturally thinks of the African savanna alongside it. This was before the ‘Lion King’-90 movie, practically since the Biblical times. ‘The King of the Jungle’ may be the lion’s official royal title, but all the same, it is depicted as an inhabitant of wide-open spaces instead. However…

Aside from the African lion, there is the Asian lion – it is still around. It may number only a few dozen animals, (no more than a couple of hundred, really), but it is still around and it lives in the Gir forest. Forest, rather than savanna or steppe. Consequently, while it looks quite leonine generally, there are important differences between it and the African lions.

Ok, the situation is more complex than how it sounds. First, genetically speaking, the Asian lion population is part of the lion subspecies that lives in western and central Africa; the lions of southern and eastern Africa are a separate subspecies from the above. The extinct Barbary lion, which lived in North Africa, was also a part of this subspecies, most likely; there are talks as to how it might still survive in zoos, circuses, and similar places, but somehow this talk amounts to nothing; idealism may be idealism, but when it comes to rewilding big cats and other alpha predators, nothing going. (Considering how bad the introduction of African cheetahs in India went down, this might be good thing, in fact). Where were we?

…The other point here is that lions are more versatile than just ‘rulers of the savanna’ shtick. There were lions living in the (fringes of the) Sahara, there are lions that live (in the fringes of the) Kalahari, there’d been lions living in Europe even in the Antique times, and also – in the Middle East, and finally, the only other lions that are still surviving – the Asian lions of the Indian woodlands, which even have some secondary anatomical differences from the African lions. Put otherwise, the lions just might make it in South American rainforest, but this brings us to behavior.

Behavior-wise, the Asian lion is, again, broadly similar to the African lions, but not so much in the details. In Africa, lions live in big prides, where it is 2-3 males (on average) on top, many more females below them, and their mutual cubs. In the Gir forest, the Asian lions live in similar structures, but on a smaller scale by an order of magnitude, because everything is smaller in the forest than in the savanna, basically put.

Here is the scene. Those wide-open spaces of the savanna? They allow animals to get physically big; bigger than their forest analogues. The food for the herbivores in the savanna is at least partially grass; grass is tough to digest, it is nature’s bulk food, you need to eat a lot of it to sate yourself. Same for tree leaves, of course, but they are harder to access than grass is, they do not regrow as fast as grass does, and trees usually have not just foliage on them, but also fruits or flowers, aka variety. Grasses and sedges – not so much. This variety in food, as well as harder accessibility to it, means that the forest herbivores are smaller and less bulky than their savanna (steppe) counterparts are, and the same goes to the sylvan carnivores that feed on them in turn – and this brings us back to the lions.

The Asian lions feed… well, sometimes they attack domestic livestock and the like, which doesn’t improve their relations with the locals, but in the wild they prefer to eat bigger animals, such as the local deer, which they bring down using pride tactics, but on a smaller scale than their African counterparts do. (It is a cycle, really). Those tactics give the Asian lion an edge… over the leopard; the Bengal tiger is another story, but those two animals do not meet in the wild, at least not officially. The smaller and weaker leopard, probably the most solitary/anti-social big cat does defer to the lion, (as it does to the tiger), but what about the jaguar?

Size-wise, jaguar is lighter than the lion and the tiger, but in length it is about the same size as a lioness is, which makes him larger (and heavier) than a leopard, and as it is known, it is much more powerful; it packs a punch (or a bite) well above its’ weight. A tiger, who is basically the next upgrade of the same model established by the leopard and the jaguar, would be able to handle a jaguar… eventually; a lion, especially a smaller and weaker (relatively speaking, but still) Asian lion might not. If the Asian lion, (which is better adapted to living in jungles/rainforests/woodlands than the African species), or the tiger, (just not the Siberian one, for the obvious reasons), is introduced into the South American ecosystem, there would be conflict and a chain reaction. The jaguar might be smaller than the lion and the tiger are, but it is still a superb triathlete, in swimming, climbing, and running/jumping; if the tiger and especially the lion will try to treat it as they did the leopard, they might be in for a nasty surprise.

As for the other South American carnivores… the South American puma prefers to avoid the jaguar already, trying to live in places where the bigger cat doesn’t like to, such as the Andes mountain, so it won’t be too affected, and most other mammal carnivores of South America are too small for the lion and the tiger to compete with; and as for the reptiles…
Yes, the modern South American herbivores (we’re still talking mammals here) are on a smaller size too, when compared to the mammals of the Gir forest, but not so much; the Asian lions should be able to learn to deal with them… possibly by shrinking in social units some more…and that could bring them on the same level as the jaguar… which punches well above its’ weight. Oh dear.

…Yes, that is also a reference to the fact that unlike the lion (and to a lesser extent the tiger) the jaguar also eats large reptiles, both caimans (crocodile cousins), and anacondas (aka the water boas). This specialization could decrease the competition, as unlike it, the lions have been known to succumb to crocodiles; (we are talking African lions and Nile crocodiles, but still), but the odds are still too close to predict.

(As for South America’s another top carnivorous mammal, the giant otter, it is even more aquatic than the jaguar, so it and the lion/tiger should not have too many conflicts, but who knows?)

So, to wrap it up. The Asian lion (and the tiger, just not the Siberian tiger), can survive in the South American rainforest, but it is a tricky situation, and there are caveats and conditions from the start, (though fewer in case of the tiger). Therefore, as to how this introduction would go down, and especially in the long term, is anyone’s guess.

End

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Once upon a time, there was a woman, a talkative and a garrulous woman, who drove her husband and her daughter up the wall – and she knew it. She knew it, and she would (or could?) do nothing about it, because she was that proud and arrogant and self-centered. That was unpleasant enough, but it wasn’t actual evil, now was it?

Well, no, until it rather was, as one day the woman demanded of her husband that he would kick their daughter out of their household; the husband, naturally, refused, and so the woman went into an overdrive, investing everything she’s got into vocal volume, until at last their daughter left of her own volition… and went to an abandoned homestead not far away from her old home, (but still off the main road, and in the woods).

She settled there, cleaned-up the building’s interior, fixed-up the building’s exterior as well as she could, took a stock of her remaining inventory and after making a meal, called-out into the woods outside:

“Whoever’s in the woods, whoever’s in the dark, call out, come out, I got supper waiting for you!”

For a while, there was nothing, and then the local puma spirit responded: he disguised himself as a rich merchant-trader out of town, and began to… visit the lonely young woman on a regular basis: he would come one day, he would come another day, he would always bring presents, he would always flirt and court and what have you – it was a living. (Cough).

…And then back home the young woman’s mother changed her mind, because of course she did, and demanded that her husband brought their daughter back. The husband readily complied, went to visit on the girl, (he had an idea where she went, because she left him a note), and picked her up, and brought her home. Moreover, their wife and mother, who came outside to greet their daughter with one of her usual monologues, took one look at the latter’s new goods and property, and immediately switched onto a compliance mode – but that was another story. (Guess she could switch attitudes after all).

End

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Once upon a night, a big cat burst into a baboon troop – at night. The cries, the noise, the squealing – it all lasted nearly until the very morning, throughout the darkness of the night. However, the morning came.

As the sun chased away the darkness of the night, and the baboons licked their wounds and scratches, (and not just metaphorical either), and counted how many of their number were missing – but fortunately for them, there was only one… they could actually smell him (in a manner of speaking) on the wind, as well as the big cat who did do him in.

…There was a pause, as the baboon realized that they could actually smell him (in a manner of speaking) on the wind, as well as the big cat who did do him in. Now, most monkeys would promptly flee from such a mix, but baboon are not like the most monkeys – they are much bigger and brawnier than the other monkeys are, (even their close macaque cousins), and, moreover, those baboons were the chacma baboons, some of the biggest baboons around. Rather than scared, they were angry, and so they went forth.

They found the spotted killer quickly enough – the big cat was lying in the grass, on top of the mostly eaten baboon. That was the last straw, as baboons lose their temper readily – and this troop blew up as dynamite; they began to jump and down, howling and shrieking like a pack of souls from Hell.

The juvenile lion, still having remnants of cub spots in its semi-adult coat got up and snarled, trying to fluff his still-short mane. As an up and coming king of beasts, he demanded royal respect – instead, the dominant baboon and his immediate subdominant lieutenants charged him, hooting and shrieking, grabbing and biting, and as top monkeys they had plenty of power behind their bite, and quite impressive teeth – especially canine teeth – as well. The juvenile lion’s semi-adult snarl/roar became a decisively juvenile cry for help as the big (semi-big) cat became overwhelmed.

Help arrived, as the juvenile’s mother, (followed by her sisters), charged onto the, scene, snarling and roaring herself – and purely by accident a rock thrown by one of the juvenile or female baboons, (they were hanging back, supporting the troop’s males, and not just morally), hit her in the muzzle. The lioness was momentarily stunned, the rest of her pride – also surprised, (they weren’t used to dealing with baboons), and saw, the baboon troop, after realized one final, deafening, shriek of defiance, fled into the safety of the trees, leaving the battle-field to the lion pride… but it was a pyrrhic victory, if a victory at all.

The juvenile lion’s mother licked his wounds; fortunately, the juvenile's condition was better than how it looked; and the pride quietly and quickly left the baboon territory behind them. Lions do not really specialize in dealing with primates, this is more of a leopard niche, and one of the leopards – who lost his baboon prize to the lions last night – was eying them from his own hideout. Leopard are amazing hunters and killers, even by cat standards, and this leopard didn’t stay hungry for long either – he found, killed and ate a small antelope later that night without any leonine harassment, but… lions and leopard hate each other; lions tend to kill leopards whenever they can catch them, but catching a leopard isn’t easy, even for a lion pride; and leopards hate lions right back. Normally, of course, a leopard would not mess with a lion pride at all, but… this lion’s pride had a hurt juvenile, and a lioness that was also worse for wear… and the leopards are superb opportunists, among other things…

The lion pride was going to have an exciting night of their own, tonight.

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There was once a witch, who lived in a jungle, but also in a house made out of wood and vines. More specifically, she had a house and a yard, with a fence and a gateway, (and a gate), and on top of the fence were decorative monkeys. Every evening, the witch would go out and do her nightly mischief from dusk and until dawn. Meanwhile, once the sun would go down and the night would fall (and the moon would came out), the monkeys would come to life, and do the monkey business that other – normal – monkeys did during the day instead. Then, once dawn would break, and a new day would start, the witch would return home, and command her monkeys, and they would go back on top of the fence and become decorations of wood and vine instead.

So far so good, but one morning the witch failed to return, because she was defeated at last by some heroes, (who may or may not have been the Madrigals), and so the monkeys were still on their own when the morning came and they could see the sunrise for the first time in their lives ever!

…However, since monkeys are not unlike humans in some regards, the monkeys argued and (almost) fought instead, first, before splitting into two – one-group fleeing from the sunrise into the jungle, and the other fleeing onto the treetops to embrace it. Therefore, it was only the second group who got to see the sun for the first time in their lives, and they were so overwhelmed by it, that they – metaphorically – embraced it and erupted into a chorus of hoots and howls: they became the first howler monkeys, (because the story takes place in South America, rather than Asia or Africa), who would wake up the jungle every day in the morning because of their awe and love for the sun.

In addition, the other group of the witch’s monkeys? They became the first night monkeys instead, and are still the only true monkeys that are active at night instead of the day. They and their howler monkey cousins have never met since the witch’s defeat.

End

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Among the worlds found in the multiverse, Krynn is known best for its dragons – metallic and chromatic, which tirelessly serve their divine masters, Takhisis and Paladine, in the epic struggle of good and evil. Yet, found in their shadows are other dragons and dragon-kin, maybe less spectacular than the iconic beasts, but still interesting in their own right.

The amphidragon is one of them. It is unknown from where this beast had come from, and if the dragons and their divine masters and allies know, they keep quiet. The reason for that might be simple embarrassment, for the amphidragon is a very ungainly and homely beast. It is built like a giant toad (the great wyrms of this species can be truly gargantuan in size), but with dragon wings (that are vestigial and useless, however), skin that is partly scaly at least, and an ability to breathe acid (similar to black, green and copper dragons) from birth.

Those are features that relate the amphidragon to the true dragons; that and its tendency to grow in power (at least physical – the amphidragon is not the brightest of beasts) from birth to death. However, here the main difference of amphidragon from the rest of dragons is located: the amphidragon undergoes metamorphosis. Whereas the young of the other dragons is very similar to the adults, save for size, magical powers and such external features as horns and frills, the young of the amphidragons resemble tadpoles of the mundane toads and frogs, growing their more dragon-like traits – legs and wings - only later in life. This caused some scholars to propose that just as frogs and toads, newts and salamanders are only distant cousins of the reptiles like lizards and snakes, so the amphidragon is not really a dragon, but a result of parallel evolution, a very distant cousin to the rest of the dragon family instead.

This may be so, but an amphidragon still shares many of the dragons’ traits, including making lairs and hoarding treasure. These creatures, sadly, not only breathe acid, their skin is acidic to touch, and so few of their treasures last long. Instead, an amphidragon often becomes a hazard and a menace along the seacoasts and freshwater bodies that it lairs, so adventurers are often paid instead to defeat the amphibious menace. What’s more, there are rumors that the amphidragons have left Krynn and are currently settling in other words, staying out of the way of other dragons, but little else, creating trouble and problems in other worlds by now.

In physical power (augmented by sheer repugnance) an amphidragon is a formidable opponent, launching ambushes from underwater or from the forest undergrowth, breathing fire, biting and clawing until the fighting is over. The older amphidragons have spell-like abilities and are smart enough to learn spells of their own, but they are never as powerful in magic as they are in melee, so when dealing with an amphidragon (often recognized by their powerful stench) an adventur-ing party should utilize its spellcasters (and ranged fighters) before going into the melee with their opponent.

The extra complication is in the amphidragons’ life cycle; just like other dragons, they grow throughout their lives, going from a wyrmling, which can be defeated by a neophyte party to a great wyrm, which can be a challenge to the greatest heroes. Use it wisely!

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Part I – Late Cretaceous (post-meteorite)

(North America)

The tyrannosaurus family was hungry. Normally, that wasn't such a rare occurrence: lately the plant-eaters were dying out quickly, and by now the predators had to chose between bony and well-armoured triceratopses and ankylosaurs – hardly an ideal prey for a pair of dinosaur parents who had hatchlings to feed and protect...

As the carnivores hid at their observation points, however, new characters appeared on the scene: a herd of alamosaurs, the last long-necked sauropods in the world. Usually rare in these parts, this particular herd had gone off its usual track by the semi-apocalyptic storms that ended less than a couple of days ago.

The adult tyrannosaurs stared at the passing herd very hungrily, but they still weren't hungry enough not to realize that a full-grown alamosaurus could probably outfight them both, and as for the whole herd...

But a herd is a social organization, composed of both beginning and end. In this particular case, the end consisted of several alamosaurs that weren't as fit as the ones before them, and it was at one of them that the tyrannosaurs struck, as if they were a pair of great grey lightning bolts. They came upon the smallish alamosaurus both from left and right, separating it from the rest of the herd in case of the other sauropods coming to its assistance.

They shouldn't have worried, however. Unlike the triceratopses, the alamosaurs' brains were nowhere as advanced to realize that one of their own was being threatened, let alone to come to aid of one of their own. That didn't mean, however, that alamosaurus was defenceless: it was big, it could trample its enemies, and it had a whip-like tail that looked like it could inflict plenty of damage even up a tyrannosaurus if it made a solid hit.

The tyrannosaurs, however, had one crucial advantage: they were smart, smarter than the alamo-saurus at any rate, and they worked together. Consequently, the male tyrannosaurus struck the first bite at the sauropod's hindquarters, pulling it downwards with all of its bite strength.

Instinctively, mostly due to pain, the alamosaurus complied, exposing its abdomen, and then the female T-Rex struck, effectively disembowelling their victim. The alamosaurus collapsed, gurgling, and the adult tyrannosaurs, after summoning their young, began to greedily feed after a long while.

Around them, the Cretaceous forest was coming into life, as the other plant-eating dinosaurs could see now the passing of the immediate danger...

It was several hours later. The tyrannosaur family slept in the shrubs some distance away, their bellies full after a prolonged period of hunger, but the alamosaurus carcass wasn't neglected, oh no. A small flock of quetzalcoatluses, many of whom had had wings tattered to one extent or another, were feeding on the carcass, relatively quietly, quite aware of the tyrannosaurus family just a short distance away. They had been following the sauropod herd for some time, waiting for one of the dinosaurs to die from any natural causes, and right now their answer has been granted – after quite a period of time, admittedly...

But quetzalcoatluses were relatively intelligent and social creatures, and once their hunger was sated they began to communicate with each other, emitted rather harsh, loud cries. That was a miscalculation, for the adult tyrannosaurs, having lost hatchlings these winged marauders in the past, reacted by awakening immediately, rising to their full height and emitting threatening growls.

On the ground, a quetzalcoatlus, no matter how mature and strong, is almost helpless against a tyrannosaurus, let alone a pair. Seeing such a pair, they scattered, most of them taking to the sky. Some, however, miscalculated and fled on foot, deeper into the woods...

Fortunately, the tyrannosaurs didn't pursue them...

Once inside the forest, the grounded pterosaurs took a breather, especially since they weren't pursued. They weren't in danger of being attacked, and they weren't particularly hungry, so they took a breather and a look around. The big trees were beginning to recover from the monstrous thunderstorms, as were the other plants, and through them, something was moving – an ankylosaurus. Unlike the triceratops herds, which decided to follow the alamosaurs away from the predators, the ankylosaurs were too slow and heavy to migrate, and so they remained there. The dense undergrowth and the sylvan shadows were also making these low-slung reptiles even harder to notice, so the ankylosaurs felt themselves to be reasonably safe and well-fed under these circumstances.

But have the circumstances changed? This ankylosaurus didn't think so: even as hatchlings these dinosaurs were too bulky and well-armoured for the likes of even the biggest pterosaurs, and this ankylosaurus was no hatchling, so the quetzalcoatluses opted to ignore it – mostly. The ankylosaurus responded in kind, returned to its browsing of low-growing vegetation, with various small creatures fleeing away from its heavy tread.

And right into the pterosaurs' darting beaks. Quetzalcoatluses were optimistic feeders, always eager to eat anything small and helpless that came across their paths. Nor were they completely helpless on the ground – far from it, they were able move as fast as the ankylosaurus if they wanted to...which right now they didn't.

Instead, they followed the ankylosaurus at a leisurely pace, snapping small tidbits and generally grooming each other, ignoring their relatives as the latter circled over the tree tops, seeking to rejoin the herds of the migrating plant-eaters – and the predators that were beginning to follow them...

Or not. Some of the tyrannosaurs were juveniles, often separated, permanently, from their parents. These dinosaurs were too gracile to attack herds of triceropses, let alone the sauropods at all, and so they ignored them, seeking out smaller prey, such as freshwater crocodiles and terrapins, grounded pterosaurs, juvenile ankylosaurs – and mammals that had finally emerged from their burrows in quite significant numbers. It was a rather tough and sparse meal course, but the orphaned juveniles managed to survive on it, ignoring the more delectable but far tougher herds of migrating herbivores – and remained in their old territories.

(Asia – Far East)

And on the other side of the Pacific, different kinds of dinosaurs were busy grazing on the recovering plants – charonosaurs the hadrosaurs, relatives of the North American parasaurolophus who wasn't able to survive the semi-apocalyptic storms caused by the exploded meteorite. Being the most gracile of the Cretaceous plant-eating dinosaurs, the hadrosaurs weren't able to survive the massive storms that shook the western hemisphere, especially north of the equator. In the east, however, the charonosaurs were able to find shelter and have been able to endure the storms, while their neighbours – the Asian sauropods, ceratopsians, ankylosaurids, and therezinosaurs perished in the cataclysms.

And now the charonosaurs were reaping the rewards: plenty of greenery, and no competition, save others of their own kind. Hadrosaurs, however, were social dinosaurs, even more so than the ceratopsians or sauropods. Most conflicts were settled with displays aimed to determine who was bigger and stronger of the two herd leaders, and sometimes it didn't even come to that: the two herds would graze and sometimes merge into one (or one would split into two) without even any posturing – and so the charonosaurus herds grew.

But that hadrosaur paradise had its predators too: the troodontids saurnithoideses who too survived – the last of the carnivorous dinosaurs of Asia. They were versatile dinosaurs, though much smaller and gracile than the now-extinct tyrannosaurids of Asia – but they hunted in packs. A pack of these smallish raptor-like dinosaurs could easily bring down a single hadrosaur, even a full-grown one.

Hadrosaurs, however, were social dinosaurs as well, with strong limbs, keen senses and quite impressive (for dinosaurs) communication skills: as soon as one of them noticed a stalking saurornithoides approach it, it began to flee, calling out to its kin. The other charonosaurs responded in kind, and soon the whole herd was fleeing – but for one of them this strategy proved to be no salvation: a feathered flash came down from a tree, hit in the side of the neck, and brought the charonosaurus down with a sharp, short shower of blood.

The saurnithoideses were clever, cunning dinosaurs, always eager to try new strategies. In this particular case, one of them tried to attack the charonosaurus herd from a tree – and succeeded. Now it and its partner had plenty of meat to feed them. These troodonids are smaller, far smaller than a T-Rex, and the same amount of meat can last them for a long amount of time. Consequently, for all of their skilful ambushes and innovative thinking, they tend to bother charonosaurus herds much less frequently than tyrannosaurs bother the herds of their prey in North America. Sometimes they even share it with others of their own kind.

Of course, the troodonids have their own problems, mainly scavengers. The quetzalcoatluses of Asia didn't survive the thunderstorms created when Helen's clones had exploded the meteorite in the atmosphere, and so there aren't any giant wings blocking the smaller dinosaurs' sun anymore. Instead, there are plenty of small birds, both toothed and toothless, who are eager for a bit of hadrosaur meat, provided that they don't mind taking risks that one of the troodontids will take one of them for a meal instead.

There are mammals too, but the troodonids are hunting them for real, possibly more often than the hadrosaurs: these meals are smaller, but there's less risk of getting killed by them. In North America, mammals are being hunted too, but their hunters at this point are primarily juvenile tyrannosaurs and grounded quetzalcoatluses – less efficient hunters than the smaller and nimbler troodontids.

In Europe, however, there were no dinosaurs left, and there is nothing reptilian to hunt the mammals actively, for the migrating herds of charonosaurs, followed by slowly increasing packs of saurornithoideses, haven't reached that part of the world just yet. But the situation there isn't perfect just yet: under the now-sparse shadow of the dinosaurs new creatures are growing, not just mammals: birds and reptiles

To be continued...

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What if the unicorn was real?

Let us first figure out which unicorn we are talking about. There is the Kirin (or the Quilin) from the Far East – a strange creature, looking like a dragon or a chimera than a unicorn. There are the karkadann, the al-miraj, the shadhavar, even the sirrush of Middle East – all dangerous, unpredictable creatures, all armed with a single horn. There was the sea unicorn (also called the campuchurch). And then there is the unicorn of Europe – the white horse-like creature with a single horn, a beard, cloven hooves, and a gentle (at least towards virgins) disposition, a wondrous yet imaginary creature.

The unicorn was a mythical beast that could be found only in the realm of imagination... and it had dwelled there since the antique times, as it was the ancient Greeks, who introduced the unicorn to the West in their natural history works. Fair enough. But if the unicorn was real, what it would be like?

The European unicorn lived in the forests rather than on open grasslands and steppes, which makes its similarity to the horse superficial. The horses, just like their closest relatives, wild donkeys and zebras, have evolved to live in the open – grasslands, prairies, etc – for the last 24-25 million years: that is a lot of time to get perfectly adapted to living outside the forests, and an equally long amount of time to become unable to live in forests whatsoever. The European unicorn, on the other hand, appears to have lived largely in forests (in part because initially Europe, especially in the west, was covered in forests) and did not really care for open spaces. So – no relationship to the horse, at least in behavior.

If the unicorn would not behave like a horse, what it would behave like? The antelopes, whose horns are cloven, are more versatile and adaptable in their behavior than wild horses are, but they too, prefer to live in the open, or at least in the mixed terrain; most of the antelopes that live in jungles are small, very shy, and in case of the African duikers, they don’t even look like ‘proper’ antelopes at all.

Conversely, the deer, who live in North America and in northern Eurasia, a very happy to live in forests, and they tend to form herds, similar to how horses (and antelopes) live. Since the unicorns live in forests, they certainly could have behaved like deer.

What does that entail? For one, it would make the unicorns not very good at being ridden, unlike horses. Certainly, one can ride a deer in the horse-like manner, but not for very long, and the experience would not be enjoyable for either the rider or the deer. The horses had been evolved by people to being ridden since the Copper Age, probably, while the deer were not. You can train caribou/reindeer to pull a sleigh, but that is not the same.

While the deer are not very good beasts of burden or transportation means, they are semi-social creatures, similar to horses in this regard – females may form small herds, while the stags (just like the stallions) live mostly on their own, joining the females in autumn only to mate. Both stags and stallions become really hostile at this time, intolerant of each other, really; this time the when the herbivores have jousts between each other. This could be considered non-canon for the otherwise gentle unicorn, but it could also occur largely ‘off scene’, away from human eyes, and so the legend would remain unspoilt (mostly).

If the unicorn behaved like the deer, what would it be related to? There are several options. It can be related to the deer, but in that case the unicorn would not have a horn, but an antler, which would be shed in winter, and re-grown anew in spring and summer – but a unicorn without a horn (or antler) is not really a unicorn.

Being a forest animal, a unicorn cannot be a horse – but it can be a rhinoceros. Modern rhinocer-oses are large, massive animals, but they are much more adaptable than horses are: the modern species live both in dense jungles, open spaces, and in mixed terrain, unlike the horse and the zebra. What is more, in the distant past live a branch of rhinoceroses, called the running rhinoceroses: relatively small and slim fleet-footed creatures, built more like horses than modern rhinoceroses, and the unicorn could be the last member of this family, actually evolving the horn alongside its more robust cousins as a feat of parallel evolution.

(Or it could be a cousin of Elasmotherium, a close relative of the woolly rhinoceros, whose horn was on top of its head to begin with. However, Elasmotherium was very much a ‘modern’ rhinoceros – large, robust, ill-tempered, near-sighted, etc., so it is not a popular choice.)

The problem with this theory is the hooves: the unicorn is an even-toed animal, two toes/hooves per foot, while the rhinoceros and the horse are odd-toed animals, with either three or one hoof per foot.

The last candidate for unicorn’s cousin is the antelope – as it was said above, the antelopes have evolved more flexible in their behavior and anatomy than horses and zebras, and they can live in forests, or at least in jungles, unlike the horses or zebras, and most of the larger species at least live in herds, just as horses, zebras and deer do. The unicorn can be a European (the one and only) species of antelope, that evolved as a forest, rather than steppe-dwelling animal, to avoid competition with horses, and who became so popular with people because of their gentle appearance. (The deer, thanks to such books and films like Bambi, have the same popularity).

As a final twist, or alternative, the even-toed animals have a subfamily in their ranks, called the Caprinae, or the goat-antelopes. This subfamily contains most of mountain sheep and goats of Eurasia and North America, as well as the musk-ox, the strange Asian plant-eaters called the takin and the serow, of which little is known, even though they are quite real, and also the chamois – a very lithe and graceful animal that looks somewhat like an antelope, but not really, and which lives in Europe, so the unicorn can be its’ low-land forest-dwelling cousin instead.

In any case, the real-life unicorn is shaping to be a superficially horse-like animal with deer-like behavior, and roots among either the antelopes, or the goat-antelopes – an even-toed, rather than odd-toed animal, overall. That could still work, but one question remains: how would it fair in the real world?

The answer to this question is trickier. The modern translations of Bible, especially the English versions, speak of the unicorn – in the Old Testament. There, the original word was re’em, a word that is supposed to mean a species of wild cattle instead, as 20th century’s specialists have figured out. They also think that those wild cattle were a species called the aurochs, a real-life animal and the ancestor of the modern cattle, which lived in northern Africa, Middle East, Russia and Europe, and which had died out by 1627.

The aurochs was an impressive creature, powerful and fierce, favorite prey of noble hunters wherever it lived, and also a potential inspiration for Russia’s unicorn-like creature called the Indrik. This cousin of the unicorn was much more unpredictable and powerful, behaving more like the wild cattle...or the rhinoceros, leading some people speculating that it was based on the last specimens of Elasmotherium, an Ice Age species of rhinoceros, which could have died out during the historical times instead, just as the aurochs did.

And odds are, so would the unicorns. Yes, people would give them magical powers, especially to their horns, but that would not be a guarantee of immunity from hunting and poaching. Conversely, in real life, the unicorns would be hunted precisely for the reputed healing power of their horns, and they would eventually vanish altogether...perhaps leaving behind their domesticated descendants, as the aurochs did. Even so, just as domesticated cattle are not aurochs (the physical traits can be bred back, the behavioral – not so much), so the domesticated descendants of the unicorn would not be unicorns. Rather, they will be domestic animals that would be bred, more likely, for meat and milk as the cattle and reindeer are, rather than labor or grace or speed, as horses and domestic donkeys are – hardly a better end for the once proud and elusive unicorn of myths and legends, a beast of the moon (just like lion is of the sun). Perhaps the real life ending of the unicorn – a solid staple of myths and legends and the fantasy genre – is better?

End

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, having grown hungry, (and it was winter), a certain vixen was trotting through the woods, looking for something to eat, (or for someone to catch), when something stinky and rather sticky fell before her nose. Raising her head, the vixen saw that the substance in question has leaked, in a manner of speaking, from a great horned owl who flew past her, having caught a hare, (also with a goal of eating it), and having seen the vixen, he couldn’t help but to joke from a high position downwards, in order to emphasize his superior hunting skills.

“Right, you know that this means war!” the vixen told no one in particular and followed the avian upstart, and the latter was in no hurry to fly away himself – a winter day may be sunny, but it still short, and cold, and there were no crows, ravens or magpies anywhere – and so the owl sat on some tree, which wasn’t too close to the forest edge, but one could still observe the field beyond the forest from it all the same. (It is winter! The trees are standing bare!)

The great horned owl sat. Looked around. There was no foxes anywhere. All right then, it is time for dinner-

…And then someone BARKED into his ear (metaphorically speaking, not literally).

The great horned owl jumped into the air from fear and surprise… and forgetting that he was, in fact, a bird and could fly, he landed butt first into the snow. The latter was deep already, and so the great horned owl just sat in it. He sat in it, and looked around – where was up, where down, where sky, and where the trees?

…This was, in fact, a good question, and not so simple to answer – the winter storms stirred up the fallen wood, they twisted and bent the trees with the power of wind and the weight of snow – and so the vixen was able to climb tree with no effort: it wasn’t too simple, but not too hard either. She climbed and she barked at the great horned owl – and so the latter fell down, as it was said already. Therefore, now he sat and looked around, stuck in deep snow…

The vixen, meanwhile, approached the hare – it remained on the tree, and she bit it: was it tasty or could she do regardless? The hare was still alive, it jumped into the air from the new bite, but since a hare is not a squirrel, it fell down too – right onto the great horned owl.

A vixen is not a squirrel either, even if they both have similar coloring: from surprise, it fell after the great horned owl and the hare, downwards. Thus, they both fell – the hare to the left, the vixen to the right, but she immediately charged at the hare once more! The latter was not that stupid, it immediately fled. Immediately both vanished in the woodland – it was regular occurrence for both of them. Only the great horned owl remained – he blinked stupidly in the snow, trying to understand: what had happened here?

End

Chapter Text

It was dark now. Big Paul, a veteran sheepdog, was already at guard, guarding the sheep. (Hey, what did you expect?) It was still relatively early after sunset, so everything was quiet, though not too quiet, and Big Paul could already smell someone familiar.

“Red,” Big Paul called out to that specific someone. “Come out of the grass – I can smell you!”

“Yes you can,” Red, a male red fox, did look out of the grass, though he kept his distance, given the size difference between himself and Big Paul. “So what? I am not harassing your sheep, and there are not even any lambs. Piss off!”

Big Paul frowned. “This is what I want to talk to you about,” he told Red. “Everyone and everything seem to be more on edge lately than normally; is it because of the dry spell, or not-?”

Big Paul did not finish, as a breeze brought a wisp of a scent to him – bobcat! Big Paul had his own opinion of the wildcat – unlike red foxes, bobcats were quite capable of killing even adult sheep, (if they got lucky), and this particular bobcat, after Big Paul barred her path, went after him, and almost killed him, if the sheepdog hadn’t been able to break out of her grasp and bark a frantic alarm, bringing forth his master with the gun. The bobcat got away, regardless, and Big Paul was in no hurry to relive this experience, and so he immediately whirled around, ready to bark an alarm – but there was no sign of the bobcat.

A dry branch cracked under a heavy foot – this was no fox or even wolf, let alone a wildcat. Big Paul whirled back – Red was long gone, it looked like – and came face to face with a bear.

“Hello,” he said evenly, trying to keep his voice from shaking and himself from backing away. Big Paul succeeded at this, mostly.

“A dog,” the bear – a black bear rather than brown, but it did not matter here, not particularly – did not sound impressed, for his part. “A sheepdog. Step aside, dog, for I want to eat a sheep”. Even as he was speaking, the bear was standing upright, upon his hind legs, giving himself a further height advantage – one that was uncalled and unnecessary, in Big Paul’s opinion.

Big Paul took a deep breath. “I cannot let you do this,” he began, when the bear grabbed him with the forepaws and lifted the sheepdog up to his own eye level.

Looking into the bear’s eyes, all but glowing from insanity and hunger, Big Pau realized that this was it, the end of the line, he was going to be eaten alive in the line of duty, and the bear’s grasp of him over the ribs was so firm that Big Paul could not even bark a warning-

The bobcat came flying out of the night, a ghost of grey and reddish-brown colors. She dug all of her claws into the bear’s shoulder and bit down with all of her disproportionate might into the bear’s ear.

The bear roared – and unlike the bobcat, he was overly loud… or maybe it was just Big Paul’s opinions, as the infuriated giant flung him away. Still, every cloud has a silver lining, theoretically, as the sheepdog’s master appeared on the scene and discharged his gun.

The bear dropped.

On all fours.

The gun in question was loaded with small shot, more suitable for smaller animals such as foxes and bobcats, (also the occasional hare, squirrel, and gamebird, but due to his loyalty, Big Paul ignored his master’s lapses), not so much for wolves or deer, and certainly not for bears.

To make matters worse, the bear’s hide was covered in all sorts of things, from pine needles to pine tar, and so he felt the shot, but little more – and so he charged at Big Paul’s master.

It took every bit of the sheepdog’s strength and speed to slam into the bear, only for the better to slam him away with barely a recognition before biting into the master’s gun – hard. With a fading sight, Big Paul was barely able to register-

BAH

-the herd of sheep, led by the rams, slamming hard into the bear’s flank, knocking him over and trampling him.

“Say what?” was the last thing the sheepdog thought, before he fainted.

Epilogue…

It was night once more. Big Paul – bandaged over the ribs – was standing watch over the sheep once more. The sheep, the entire herd, were in their enclosure once more. Red the red fox was sniffing around the neighbourhood once more.

“What happened?” Big Paul asked the fox now that the bear seemed to be gone.

“After I helped the muzzles open the sheep gate, the sheep charged and trampled the bear, distracting him long enough for the rest of the humans to arrive and deal with him,” Red replied.

“The muzzles?” Big Paul blinked as he looked around – and sure enough, there was the bobcat, flanked by two or three younger and smaller versions of her. This was not the best situation Big Paul wanted to be in.

“Bah!” one of the younger rams bleated through the fence of their enclosure. The bobcats immediately whirled around and stared at him – and the ram promptly fled from the fence.

“Listen,” Big Paul sighed. “For better or worse, I owe you one, so here’s some advice – don’t.”

The bobcats immediately whirled back to him. Unlike the ram, the sheepdog did not back down. “Listen, me and my master, we aren’t alone right now, we got back-up because of the bear attack,” he pointed, with his muzzle, at the human dwelling – lights and human voices were coming through the window, and two younger and less experienced sheepdog were playing next to it. “You won’t be able to handle everyone, especially with a sheep-“

“The summer is a bad one, and a dry one. There’s almost nothing left to eat now,” the bobcat vocally responded to Big Paul for the first time since they learned of each other, and her voice was emotionless and dry. “We have to eat or we’ll starve.”

“It is out of my paws,” Big Paul said sadly, even as he sat down onto his haunches and howled. “Ahoy there, Big Dog in the Sky! Can you help them – can you help us out, please?”

The wind picked up. It blew through the skies, bringing storm clouds with it, and then they burst with rain. The rain washed away the dust and the dirt, invigorating the plants and the small animals – frogs and toads, newts and lizards, mice and voles. When it stopped, night flowers were opening, moths were flying around, and everything felt more invigorated and lovely already.

“…I didn’t expect this to happen,” the sheepdog told his interlocutors, but they were already gone.

End?

Chapter Text

…If we go to Africa from Asia, we can find the last two ape species. They are the gorilla and the chimpanzee.

The gorilla can grow to 2 m and more in height! It weighs 200-350 kg! Its’ hand span is almost 3 m! It can grab an elephant around the stomach! Only a small distance will prevent the gorilla’s hands from reaching each other.

The gorilla is bigger than the lion is. It is also stronger than the lion.

However, it is not a carnivore. It does not attack anyone first. It lives in peace. It eats tree leaves and various herbs. This sates the gorilla.

It might look scary, but the gorilla is friendly.

End

Chapter Text

The Arctic fox is a prince of the Arctic! Normally, it dwells in the Arctic tundra, but when the frost chains up the polar seas with ice, the Arctic fox ventures out, looking for Santa.

The Arctic fox is white in winter. Thus, it is hard to be found in the winter snow. Still, in the animals, the winter fur is bluish-grey, smoky-brown, or even black. However, despite the color, they are all the same Arctic fox species instead.

The summer fur makes the Arctic fox look like the cross variety of the red fox. They are brownish during this time of the year. Only on the belly, the color is lighter. A humble clothing, perhaps, but it matches the color of the summer tundra, when the snow and ice are gone, and everything else is exposed.

The Arctic foxes love to dig burrows, they dig a new one every year. Not that they have any choice here. Where to hide from the cold? In a burrow. Where to raise the kits? In a burrow. …True, the Arctic foxes often have to make do behind some boulders or between some tussocks. A burrow cannot be dug just anywhere – not in rocky soil or in a swamp, for example, and the Arctic tundra has both of those landscapes during the summer. (The global warming is not helping either).

An Arctic fox’s litter can have up to 10 kits. The male Arctic fox helps the female to rear and to feed them. He brings them food, and when a stranger approaches, he runs interference the best he can, by running around, and barking, and distracting the potential foe.

The Arctic foxes are in motion over the tundra day and night. They catch and eat small Artic animals: lemmings, hares, mice. They will eat fish if they can catch it. They follow the polar bears as jackals follow the lions in the African savannah and eat-up the scraps.

In addition, if there is more than enough food, the Arctic fox will cache it, hiding the excess so that no one can figure out that it is there. The Arctic fox itself does not have a faulty memory; it will come back and eat the cached food later.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time in ancient Hellas there lived a king named Sisyphus. He ruled in Corinth (let us say), and seemed to be a normal king - he developed and strengthened the fleet, trade, and all that stuff there - if not for one thing: he loved to invite people to visit him, and there he killed and robbed them. This was a direct violation of the laws of hospitality.

Among the Olympians, these laws were under the jurisdiction of Zeus himself, and he usually communicated with mortal male Hellenes by means of his thunderbolt, so it seemed that now all that would remain of Sisyphus would be a pile of ashes and maybe a pair of smoking soles, but either Sisyphus was someone's son, or someone's lover, or the son of someone's lover, or the lover of someone's son, or the Thunderer de-cided to dedicate this decade to Hera, and ignored his mortal affairs – the point is that Sisyphus remained alive and unrepented. The other Olympians and other gods were somehow not interested in this nasty Sisyphus, so it turned out about the same as in some children’s poem about a table: they entrusted it to a bull, but in the end, it was an ant who had to take the rap for it. The same was here, in this case - no matter whom they entrusted it to initially, in the end it was Thanatos, that is, the ancient Greek personification of death as such, who had to take the rap.

“Thanks a lot,” Thanatos said to Hades. “I barely manage to stay on schedule, and now I have overtime!” And he added such words that not every censor would let them through. Hades, however, ignored them - where would Thanatos go, he is an enslaved chthonian – and so Thanatos went to Corinth, to Sisyphus.

He arrived there, knocked on the palace door... “Hello,” he says.

“And you too, don't get sick,” Sisyphus answers automatically, and then begins to ask in his turn: “And why are you here? My time has not expired yet, I have not finished the job, and Corinth has not gotten off its knees.”

“And you are being called away ahead of schedule,” answers Thanatos. “Get ready! I am already behind schedule, and I have not had a vacation since the Golden Age...”

“So what is the problem?” Sisyphus objects. “I have your vacation right here, in this chest.”

“What?” Thanatos was surprised and climbed into the chest. Sisyphus kicked him. The chest slammed shut. Thanatos found himself on vacation for the first time since the Golden Age. Mortals stopped dying. The gods were surprised, and especially Ares, the god of war, whose domain now looked not bloody, but comical.

“This is not right!” Odin declared from Scandinavia. “My einherjars got to this first! Make yours die, or else – I’ll take you to court for violating the divine copyright!”

“Right now I will,” Ares yelled back and began to sort it out. Considering that all the brains in the ancient Greek military affairs went to Athena, this was a limited farce in its own right, but somehow our war god eventually reached Corinth and Sisyphus, and freed Thanatos from the chest, i.e.

“Thank you very much, for the first time in my immortal life I rested,” Thanatos said to Sisyphus.

Ares could not stand it, and opening his mouth, declared that Thanatos should get back to work, laying out all this in the style of a drunken army officer...

“Yeah, I get it,” Thanatos reacted to this speech, and kicked Ares, sending him to Olympus in a knockout - show off in front of Aphrodite, damn it! In addition, Thanatos himself, having finally taken Sisyphus to the underworld, went about his business.

“And what should I do with you?” Persephone asked Sisyphus, since her husband was busy with something.

“Let me go back to the mortal world so that I can finish all my business and establish funeral sacrifices for myself,” answered Sisyphus. (What else did you expect him to say?)

“Okay, go,” the good queen Persephone allowed and she herself went about her own business. She did them. Finished them. Redid them. She looked around, and Sisyphus... was back here, actually.

“What are you doing here?” Persephone asks him again.

“In fact I have done everything I had to, my life is up, and here I am once more,” Sisyphus replies. “Where else can I go?”

Persephone looks around - in one direction is Thanatos, his face like a brick, drawing something with a stylus on a papyrus. In the other - her husband Hades is walking, approaching:

“Here is a stone for you,” he says to Sisyphus, “and now you will roll it up and down this mountain.”

Sisyphus took the stone - you cannot argue with Hades or deceive him - but how he rolled it - history is silent about it. Officially, he stopped only once - when Orpheus came to Hades for Eurydice.

Orpheus was supposedly the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope, or her sister Polymnia, or the mortal maiden Menippe, and it is not known for sure about Apollo. He was the best singer in Hellas (except for his brother Linus, but even less is known about him). He had a wife, Eurydice, but the trouble was that she died from a snakebite and ended up in the underworld...

“That is fixable,” said Orpheus, and he went there too, while still alive

He came there. They dismissed him - either back to the world of the living or just dismissed him. That is not important, what is important was Orpheus’ response:

“I see,” said Orpheus, and he took his harp with the same expression on his face that Rambo and Terminator had when they took out their machine guns. “Now I am going to play music.”

Moreover, he began to play. Cerberus, naturally, howled with his three dog throats, Charon the ferryman - with one, but even louder. The Furies-Erinyes and other demons - do not lag behind. The sinners stopped suffering in Tartarus. The righteous man – enjoying Elysium. There is nothing to say about the crowd at the Asphodel Fields. Only Hades and Persephone themselves stood firm.

They come to Orpheus:

“Demigod, why have you come here?”

“So that I can play music to you every day from 9 to 5,” Orpheus replies, “until you give me your wife back!”

Persephone said: "Mama!" and fainted onto her husband. Hades did not believe her regarding Demeter, but he gave Eurydice to Orpheus - on the condition that until they left their kingdom for good, he would not look at his wife. Or-pheus agreed, but something went wrong, and Eurydice returned to Hades.

Orpheus, naturally, also hurried back after her, but the entrance to the underworld was now closed tighter than a bear's rectum in winter, and he had to go back without success.

In addition, what does Sisyphus had to do with it? Well, whose stone do you think Hades blocked Orpheus' path with? With general approval, by the way, because Orpheus and his music were enough for everyone at one time. In addi-tion, what did Zeus order... and he did not order anything... oh yeah, he ordered Ixion to be launched across the roof of the underworld in a burning wheel, so that the mortal would know how to make advances to Hera.

Hera, in turn, claims that nothing happened between her and Ixion, it was all Nephele - What Nephele? Yes, the new goddess of the clouds, of course! ("Seducer, where are you? Hello!") What, centaurs? What centaurs? Horse-men, who? Moreover, what are they? Demeter and Poseidon even have a son - the horse Arion...

“What horse? What horse?” the immortal Thunderer clutched his heart. “Brother Earthshaker, Sister Corn, what are you doing? Did you order over the counter Viagra?”

“What kind of implications are these?” Poseidon and Demeter were indignant, and... Everyone forgot about Sisyphus... About Orpheus too, and he, the poor fellow, wandered all over Hellas and sang songs about unhappy love, and mostly about same-sex love, between two men rather than women, and - he came across the Bacchantes, followers of Dionysus. They were not virgins, as the followers of Artemis were, they did not appeal to their god, but simply tore Orpheus to pieces, and he did not have time to gasp, as he again found himself in the afterlife with his Eurydice, this time - according to all the rules.

True, for Hades and co. it turned out to be a "six of one, half a dozen of other" situation - from the joy that her Orpheus was with her again, and now forever, Eurydice emitted such a high note that it was no worse than Orpheus' music, and it didn't stop there - Orpheus ended up in the afterlife with his harp, so...

... So Hades didn't start to reflect here, but simply sent this tandem, that is, the musician and the singer ... somewhere, and so far away that since then we haven't heard anything about Orpheus and Eurydice ... Sisyphus, meanwhile, sits/lives on his mountain, together with a stone and some Fury, who hides there from the music of Orpheus and the singing of Eurydice...

PS: Oh, Odysseus said that he saw the torment of Sisyphus (and Tantalus, but that is another story)? Well, he said many things! He said that the sun god is Helios, not Apollo! Trust him less! He has a mind of his own!

Chapter Text

Winter came - light, with little snow, but still winter. Artemis, the eternally young and tireless goddess of the hunt, naturally went hunting by following tracks. She rarely hunted like that, usually proceeding more on her divine en-husiasm alone, but - why not? The immortal goddess doesn't care about winter and snow (especially in the Balkan version) - why isn't she an elf, Legolas, one wonders? Moreover, she has a (moon) bow...

In any rate, Artemis went hunting. She went left, and then went right, all to no avail! The threads of the tracks were tangled among the fields and roads! Even Artemis herself could not gather them together! She herself only got lost... well, not exactly lost - you can always return to your native Olympus if you’re an Olympian - but the day went somehow awry, neither here nor there, only her mood got worse...

Artemis sat down under a pine tree - there still was not a soul in the area, neither animal nor human - and in her current mood, she knocked on the pine tree:

“Is anyone alive here?”

“Yes,” they answered from the pine tree. “Me.”

Artemis, (glad that she was immortal, otherwise she would have died here, of a heart attack), raised (very, very slowly) her eyes upward. To the top of the pine tree. There sat the sweet-sounding Orpheus, pretending to be a woodpecker: he himself was in a colorful motley of clothes, his hat, in particular, was red, and his nose was sharp. He was Artemis's nephew, by the way - the son of Apollo from the muse Calliope. What did he forget up there?

“I am catching inspiration!” The divine singer answered Artemis self-importantly (after his father Apollo, of course). “Look, listen! I have lost Eurydice, the tender flower of my soul...”

In addition, he began to play! Moreover, he began to play so sweetly, that everyone listened with rapt attention - the creatures, the grass, the trees, the stones, and everything else. Artemis, as a full-blooded goddess, was stronger, however, she somehow came to her senses relatively quickly; once she did, she saw: around them was everyone else - the creatures, the grass, the trees, the stones, and everything else. What kind of hunting, especially sport hunting, could be done here - it will be either a banal beating of animals, or something else.

Artemis cursed, almost squealed, as if someone had poured salt onto her metaphorical tail, and went to Olympus - straight to Apollo. He, meanwhile, was by himself - in a break between all sorts of muses and nymphs. He saw Artemis and was surprised, even so naturally:

“What are you doing here?”

“Calm your son down!” The goddess of the hunt barked in reply instead.

“Which particular son?”

“Orpheus! What for is he playing music right now?”

“Oh! Playing music? That is just right!” Apollo was delighted, took out his own harp and began to play.

He did this in vain: as a musician, he was even better than Orpheus was, but Artemis had already listened to Orpheus enough today and had developed either an immunity or an irritation to music: instead of listening with rapt attention, she turned into a golden-antlered doe and galloped towards Apollo! He - away from her and away from the palace grounds, in the form of a horse - a golden-maned one. He was in front, Artemis – in the back, and Hercules came towards them, (not on purpose). He had already accomplished his 12 major labours (and many other smaller ones), ascended to Olympus, became the gate-keeper god of the aforementioned Olympus, and the husband of Hebe, the god-dess of eternal youth on the 1 hand, and the son-in-law of Hera (Hebe was her daughter from Zeus) on the other. ...So now Hera, in order to spoil Hercules' life and mood, only had to go to visit her daughter and be in her element, and she knew how to do that!..

Therefore, Hercules and Hebe are going to his mother-in-law's for some family holiday, and Apollo, in foam and soap, is about to rear up! Hercules extended his hand to him, Apollo rested his horse forehead against it, stopped, and Artemis, who did not see Hercules and Hebe because of her brother, flew into him from behind, as they say, "under the tail", up to her deer shoulders. They were stuck. What next?

“I say, son-in-law, daughter,” said Hera, approaching with the rest of her family (only Zeus, her husband and father, as usual, was having an affair somewhere and with someone on the side), “when I wanted you to give me a surprise, I did not mean this at all; however...” and she looked at the resulting "sculpture" with a feeling of deep satisfaction: Hera (like her entire family, by the way) did not like the children of Zeus from the Hyperborean goddess Latona.

“...And now what?” She added when she decided that the pause had dragged on too long and Hercules might decide that she really liked the random "gift" (which she did).

“Well, will Hephaestus create a monument to this moment as a keepsake?” Hercules suggested a little shyly. Hercules didn't like Apollo after his setup with the oracular predictions: the first time, when it came to his first 12 labors, it was so-so, but then, when Hercules accidentally killed his friend Iphitus, Apollo (and his oracle Pythia) decided to decide this, that, and to return Hercules to Eurystheus in a new way. Hercules got angry, snatched the Pythia's chair from her, drove everyone away, and declared that now he would rebuild everything here in a new way, a decent one, and not by cronyism, corruption and bribery.

Apollo arrived. He looked around with disgust and slapped Hercules. Hercules scratched his cheek, looked at the sun god, got into a boxing pose (boxing was actually invented in ancient Greece, although it was very different from its modern descendant), and slapped Apollo right back in the face, after which he went off to get his equipment. Apollo blinked, returned his facial features to their old place, returned them to their old shape, and took up his infallible golden sun bow - and then it turned out that Hercules, while Apollo was restoring his appearance, had taken out his own bow, with his own arrows, which were soaked in the poison, or bile, of the Lernaean hydra, dangerous even for immortals, so who would now be carried out feet first became an open question.

...And then Iris, the messenger of the gods (and the goddess of the rainbow), fell from the sky, ahead of her own squeal, with a sandal mark on her backside, and in her hands a letter slash scroll from their royal father, the great Zeus, which stated in black and white that son Hercules must put aside his pride (not yet according to the rank of dreams!) and obey his brother Apollo, while son Apollo must stop slacking off and do everything honestly, and not as his left sandal and right heel wanted. The brothers, so to speak, "made peace", and Hercules was sent to three years of correctional labor to Queen Omphale, and that was a completely different story... but an unpleasant residue remained after this showdown with Apollo, and now it seems he has made it known...

“And you know what? I will, in fact!” Hephaestus got excited, pulled out the necessary equipment from nowhere, and began to make the first sketches of the future statue.

Hephaestus did not like Apollo after the latter told Hephaestus that Aphrodite was cheating on Hephaestus with Ares: it seemed like he had done a good deed, but only after that everything went wrong for Hephaestus - he divorced Aphrodite, and she began to have affairs with other gods - and with the same Ares, and with Dionysus, and with Hermes, etc. - even more than before, and what about Hephaestus? Only a bitter residue remained in his soul, and an irritation with Apollo: and who pulled his tongue, and why, and now it has apparently surfaced...

“Boys, this is a good idea, but not entirely,” Hera said thoughtfully. “We will go another way!” And she took out a selfie stick. Well, yes, yes, yes, in the ancient world, mortals were not mature enough for selfies, but we are talking about the ancient gods, and even more so about Greece, where, as one classic said, "there is everything in Greece"...

“So it is not necessary?” Hephaestus clarified about his new creation in bronze weighing many stones.

“Why not? It is necessary!” said Hera, who did not love Latona or her children, and did not respect Latona either: although the latter lived on Olympus, though more on the outskirts, Zeus did not listen to her opinion, and the fur-ther time went, the more distant he himself became towards Latona.

“Well, if it is necessary, then it is necessary,” Hephaestus did not argue with his mother any more (also because Hera's hand was heavy, yes), and continued making his sketches and drafts. Considering that neither he, nor Hera, nor all the others were in a hurry (only Zeus could hurry them up, and he was not on Olympus right now), all this could have gone on for quite a long time, but then a new, unexpected face appeared on the scene (no, not Athena. She was standing in hiding behind a tree, radiating condemnation of the execution of the twins, but did not interfere - Ares is one thing, and the whole family, including Her Majesty Hera, is another, so Athena did not open her mouth here, but thought about how she could get her own selfie of this situation). The face was Norse, red-haired, and rather specific, or something.

“Loki,” Ares exhaled. “What are you doing here? You should be with your own people!”

“And I am paying you back,” the Scandinavian answered, pulling out a rather large barrel of alcohol from behind his back. “And what do you have here?”

“The twins are in trouble,” Ares answered curtly (but he took the drink).

“I see,” the Norse god answered, casting a critical glance at them. “Listen, Your Majesty, can I take them from you? In addition, I will give you a giant horse instead...”

“Well, take them, and we will see what happens,” Hera answered rather skeptically (she had never particularly liked the Norse gods). Loki nodded, changed his appearance a little (this was his signature move), and, having shuffled and reshuffled the twins, made something like an eight-legged horse out of them, after which he jumped on it, gave him spurs under the ribs, the horse with Loki soared above the clouds, and - they were gone.

“And now what?” Everyone turned to Hera. “They are, of course, ugh, but still, ours too - yes?”

“I will think of something,” Hera promised. It did not sound very convincing, but she did come up with something - but that was a completely different story.

Chapter Text

The fox is bored.

The fox has failed.

The fox has failed in catching the hare, or the gnome maiden, or anyone else that she was supposed to catch for her meal, (and cook them, of course, she isn’t a savage, you know?), and all that she has left now is a loaf of bread, (fine, two loaves, but she’s saving the other one for a rainy day), and a big pot of vegetable soup.

The crane is walking past her home, some distance downwards.

The crane looks rather gloomy himself.

The crane probably failed in courting the heron yet again.

“Hey, wading bird!” the fox calls out to her ex-friend. “How’s life?”

“I’ve seen better days,” the crane does not try to be rude, but then again, he never is. Alternatively was, to be more accurate. Still is not, it looks like. “What’s it to you?”

“Got a big-ass pot of hot vegetable soup and bread,” the fox continues, as she produces the objects in question. “Care for a hot meal?”

The crane gives the food a long look – like any lonely bachelor, regardless if animal, bird, or human, he is always open to a free fresh meal. “Sure!” he confirms this, “just let me get my big eating utensils!”

He does.

For a first short while, the mismatched duo of bird (ok, dinosaur, but also bird), and mammal are just eating quietly – it is a late summer afternoon, or perhaps even early summer evening, but the sky’s overcast, so it is already quite gloomy; there’s also a distinct smell of an upcoming rainstorm in the air, and at this time of the year it is going to be a long one…

“You aren’t even up to any mischief,” the crane finally breaks the silence; (he never liked it anyhow).

“Even foxes get tired, and it’s been a long week for me,” the fox replies.

“I haven’t heard-“

“Talk to the owl – they hear everything, and I do mean everything-“

“The owl and I aren’t on the speaking terms at the moment,” the crane confesses. “They treat what I have with the heron as some sort of a joke,” he paused. “Maybe for the owl, it is. I do not find it funny-“

“Do you even find anything funny?” the fox asks despite her better judgement, waving her own spoon in the air. It is different from the crane’s, but then again, the duo are different from each other, period. (Both obviously and not so much).

“Eh, some of your jokes aren’t bad, when you control yourself and aren’t being cruel,” the crane confesses.

There is a bit of an awkward pause between the two.

“I’m a trickster and a fox,” the fox points out the obvious. “Going for the throat is what I do.”

“And how is it working out for you?” the crane does not back down, (but then again, neither of them would, during an argument).

The fox does not reply with words, just lights the lamp over the table – night has fallen while they were dining.

“Are you going, staying, or should I call the owl to help you get home?” she asks.

“…I’m sorry for being a bad guest,” the crane admits after a pause. “You got me hot food and I threw your flaws in your face. How about I help you clean-up in-stead?”

The fox eyes the crane with one of her eyes and her house with the other. She hates cleaning up after herself. She needs to start doing this at this point.

“Fine,” she makes a decision that is only partially reluctant. “You can stay.”

The crane stays for the night.

End

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a mama goat, and she had three kids – First, Sec-ond, and Third, (let us call them this for the duration of the story). The four of them lived in a humble hut, and every day the mama goat would leave to get food and what else have you, and the kids would be left on their own, behind a closed and locked door.

Every day, too, the mama would warn her children – “Don’t open the door un-less you can hear that it’s me”, and the youngsters would listen to hear advice. Therefore, it went on, until one day…

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Children, it is I, your mother! Open the door!”

“You don’t sound like our mother, you’re a dog! We shan’t open the door!”

“Humph! We’ll see!” and the dog went away.

Some time later, there was another knock.

“Who is it?”

“Children, it is I, your mother! Open the door!”

“You don’t sound like our mother, you’re a jackal! We shan’t open the door!”

“Humph! We’ll see!” and the jackal went away.

Some time later, there was another knock, much louder and stronger than the first two were.

“Oy! Little goats! Open the door and let us in!”

“No! You’re not our mother-!” the little goats shouted.

“All right then, we’ll do it the old fashioned way,” spoke their interlocutor; he took a deep breath and he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew their house down.

“Urp!” spoke the little goats as they beheld the wolf behind this action – he was bigger than the dog was, more muscular than the jackal, and he was eying them in an unfriendly way. “Run!” and they ran.

“Get them!” the wolf commanded the dog and the jackal (who had been stand-ing to the left and right of him, because they were the ones who got him involved), and the duo pursued the little goats. The latter would’ve been in so much trouble, if they haven’t ran into their mother, who immediately counterattacked, knocking the dog and the jackal into a nearby ditch, so that was the end of it…until the family in question arrived at their home, and realized that it was gone, technically speaking.

“It was the wolf!” the little goats bleated as they pointed to the animal in ques-tion – he was lying on a hillside nearby, smoking a pipe and generally looking every bit a carefree bachelor, ignoring their foursome. The latter was probably what really got the mama goat’s… goat, and so she went up the hillside and jabbed the wolf in the side.

“You!”

“Me,” the wolf agreed as he eyed the angry mama without too much fear, (un-like how the dog and the jackal would, for example). “What?”

“You blew our house down!”

“Yes. Commission the three little pigs to build you a new one!”

“…Ever since they helped the princess built this hotel of hers their rates have skyrocketed beyond our reach! You blew it down, you re-build it!”

“Oh?” the wolf put away his pipe and bag of tobacco, took a deep breath and got up. Full upright, he was rather towering over the goat, and his teeth were sharp, and jaws – strong. “Will I? Can’t you ask your ex-“

“He’s a useless randy old goat in every sense of the way! No, buddy, you broke it, you fix it-!”

There was an awkward pause, as the wolf looked straight into the mama goat’s eyes. “All right,” the wolf spoke without too much amusement in his voice. “I’ll fix it, and you and your kids will make me dinner, ‘cause I am rather hungry, understood?”

“Ok,” the goat nodded in response, meekly enough. “We will. But no cheating or cutting corners-!”

“You can’t be fixed, it seems,” the wolf sighed. “See you soon!” and he trotted off the rebuild the house, which he did. Rebuilt it, and it was as good as new, if not better. In addition, the wolf got a good dinner for it, for which he was thankful, (though mostly on the inside). Moreover, that was the end of the sto-ry, until the mama goat had to leave again, leaving her children unsupervised again, only not.

“No,” said the wolf as he was sweeping the bones out of his own cave, (rather than a house as in the case of the goats). “Absolutely not.”

“Please!” the mama goat clearly was stubborn. “It’s not like you’ve anything better to do-“

The wolf showed her his broom. “Please! I can help you clean up your man-cave in half the time-!”

“You just aren’t going to quit, are you?”

“No! If Princess Charlie can persevere and succeed in fighting off the Exterminators, then so can I-!”

There was a pause as the duo just looked at each other.

“Fine,” the wolf relented. “What’s good for Princess Charlie, after all…? Let’s see what happens next.”

Therefore, they did.

End

Chapter Text

Animalogic’s supplementary series, Paleologic, is back. This time, it talked about Kaprosuchus, the ‘boar-croc’. I am tentative to talk about it more, simply because if before Paleologic had its’ own host and everything, now it is more of Ms. DD, talking about various animals and displaying her art.

‘Various animals’ is the key concept here – Ms. DD already talked about… the Permian period, introducing and discussing very briefly all the more famous animals that’d lived during that time. The beginning and the end of the Permian were quite different from each other, so this sort of generalization is kind of annoying and misguiding, but it has nothing to do with Kaprosuchus, so let us move on.

Of itself, the Kaprosuchus episode was a dutiful and a thorough retelling of the Wikipedia article of the genus. (It is a genus with a single species – the titular one). Ms. DD covered everything in the article, including the more modern remaking of the ‘boar-croc’ from a terrestrial into a semi-aquatic species as its’ closest relative the Mahajangasuchus was. Fair enough, the two cousin species lived in the mid-Cretaceous, when theropods were well established and dominating the carnivore niche; the crocodylomorphs at best would be black-backed jackals in that landscape – no match for theropods like Spinosaurus, Carcharodontosaurus, or Mahajangasaurus, or even their cousin the Sarcosuchus, which is one of the biggest crocodylomorphs of all times.

To be more specific, crocodiles refer to modern crocodiles, such as the saltwater and the Nile crocodiles, as well as to their smaller cousins. Crocodilians include both them and their modern cousins – the gharials, alligators and caimans. In addition, crocodylomorphs usually refer to the crocodiles and alligators’ extinct cousins, which are a much more diverse group. They include Prestosuchus, which was one of the first crocodylomorphs ever, had longer limbs than any of the modern crocodilians, and had a wicked hooked overbite. They include Postosuchus, which was a four-legged version of the T-Rex; Metriorhynchus, which, conversely, was one of the marine crocodylomorphs; and the abovementioned Sarcosuchus, which was a crocodylomorph big and strong enough to go head to head with some of the meat-eating dinosaurs at least – as did its’ North American counterpart Deinosuchus. Pause.

Crocodiles, their modern cousins and their extinct ones, are archosaurs. There are three main major groups of archosaurs. The oldest one are the crocodiles and their cousins. The second are the pterosaurs, (which are all extinct now, vanishing at the end of the Mesozoic). Moreover, the third are the dinosaurs, including the modern birds. Birds and crocodiles are cousins, but only distant ones and they have more differences than similarities, (but there are some similarities too, both physical and behavioral). Anything else?

No, not really. The episode was thorough and professional, but little more. Whatever is going on behind the scenes in Animalogic is done, and Ms. DD seems to be the winner. I still enjoyed watching the Kaprosuchus episode, mo-reso than the Permian one.

End

Chapter Text

Every once in a while, a situation can go horribly sideways, even if you think that you know all beforehand.

On an African savanna, (perhaps in the southern country of Botswana), a lone bull African bush elephant was tramping along, feeling on top of the world maybe, but certainly minding his own business – mostly. When you are the modern world’s biggest land animal, anyone’s business can become your business, and vice versa.

Nearby, a cantankerous bull white rhinoceros was taking a mud bath. A near-sighted beast at best of times, right now he didn’t have the best of times, and all that he could see was a vague blur, really – maybe an elephant, maybe not. Regardless, the rhino jumped up, snorted, stomped his feet, and readied his horn.

The elephant flared his ears, blew his trunk as a trumpet, but the rhino was having none of it – he charged.

A rhino’s fighting strategy is simple, and regardless of the species, (there five official rhino species in the world), is the same – charge and thrust slash gore at the foe. In this case, the much smarter elephant anticipated this charge, (or just knew about it before hand), and swerved out of the way to avoid the attack, but…

…but either the elephant was just a bit too slow, or this particular rhino was just too fast, but the rhino’s attack connected… with one of the elephant’s legs.

The horn of a white rhino can reach up to 120 cm in length, which is about 30% shorter than an elephant’s tusks, but still a considerable weapon; the speed, achieved by the agile rhino, did not hurt either. The elephant’s skin, thick and durable, parted as if cut and the rhino scored an indirect hit.

Being gored by a rhino’s horn is painful, even for an elephant, and the transference of the rhino’s momentum didn’t help either: the elephant swerved and stumbled, shaking and trying to disentangle himself from the rhino – and it worked, in a manner of speaking: the rhino’s horn broke free from the elephant’s leg, and the rhino, skidding several meters away from his opponent, landed on his hindquarters, shook his head, clearing it from the cobwebs and anything else… and then fled, with chips and pieces falling from his horn.

A rhino’s horn isn’t bone – it’s keratin, more similar to what makes hair or fingernails on a cellular level. It was going to regrow. The elephant, meanwhile, fell with a loud thump, (and a crack), and did not get up again, his body stiffening, instead, in the sun.

…A short while later, a pride of lions (of both genders and of several ages) came onto the scene. Gingerly, carefully, they made their way to the falling giant, ready to bolt at any minute – an elephant can kill even a lion with one good blow…but this blow never came. Rather, the lions settled around the deceased, communicated with each other via sounds and whiskers, and then bit in.

An elephant’s hide is thick and strong, but a lion’s bite is quite powerful, and these lions had plenty of time. They dug in.

End

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a young woman, Ms. Crystal Breeze – that was the name that she used on Instagram and the other mass media – and she was married. Moreover, there was a baby girl in her life now too. In addition, her old weight did not return, due to her carefully, well, taking care of herself during her pregnancy, (and of the then-unborn baby too), so congratulations on her success, right?

Well, yes, kind of, though her MM profiles were getting fewer likes these days, but she was getting tired of being an influencer and perhaps she should become a housewife after all, and-

“Ouch!” a mosquito bit her. CB slapped at it, of course, but the mosquito was gone, flying back towards the family’s roses, (located in the family’s garden, obviously). Oddly, a moth was flying close to him, and the two insects made sounds that almost sounded like a conversation – approximately so, that is. CB was having a career crisis, not going insane, after all…

Wait. Where did the mosquito come from? Slowly, almost dreading as to what she would find, CB made her way to the garden’s fishpond, surrounded by trees – oak and ash and olive… CB loved olive trees and the olives that they bore, (obviously), even though it was not a part of her online persona… Screw her online persona! Her family loved her regardless of it, right?

A harsh croak ruined her musings: CB looked up, and there was a bird next – a truly big bird nest of truly big birds – or perhaps they were actual pterosaurs. …Of course not, they were herons, in fact – great blue herons – and right now they were being harassed by several American crows, (in a manner of how raptors would harass Tyrannosaurs back in the Mesozoic, no doubt – family feuds remain strong and constant even after millions of years). The crows were making a racket, the herons – less so, but both clans were ignoring the human way down below, and CB really didn’t know what to do about them – the smell of bird droppings and the remains of fish – both her family and from the nearly wild river – were quite malodourous. Clearly, something would have to be done, but what-?

CB suddenly became aware of a weight on her ear. She reached out – and heard buzz. Startled, she whirled around, and saw a lizard eying her – supposedly – in a hungry manner.

“Excuse me?” she asked the lizard haughtily, hoping that it would not turn into a dragon, but the lizard just scurried away, out of her line of sight. (Then it turned into a dragon, but only lizard-sized one, FYI).

CB blinked and realized that the weight on her ear was gone. She instinctively looked around, and saw the moth and the mosquito buzzing around one of her olive trees – but they couldn’t be the same insects, right? She turned away from them, only to see a pair of dragonflies shouting at a black ant for ruining their date.

CB blinked, took a deep breath – that was a mistake as the smell of birds, and dead fish, and who knows what else hit her like a sledgehammer – and fainted instead.

TBC?

Chapter Text

The human, Ms. Riley, entered the clearing in the jungle via her own portal. She was tall, and bronzed, and fit – stronger than her lithe frame would make you believe. Her companion and co-worker – Kiva the gorilla, dwarfed her, however. Though Kiva was just as female as Riley, and therefore – no silverback, she was still big, brawny, and formidable; on all fours, she was almost as tall as Riley, who was standing upright. (Unlike humans, the gorillas do not like walking upright unless there is a good reason to do so).

“Ah, there you are,” said the elderly, but wise, orangutan, (named Bob, ironically enough), as he sat in a yoga pause on a thorny shrub. “You two are the last ones here – something interesting came up?”

“No, just regular gossip,” Riley admitted sheepishly, even as Kiva looked around and up. Riley, (and Bob too, for that matter), also looked up – and saw the last two members of their little party.

Zippy was a chimp, (a common chimp, not a bonobo – the bonobos so far were not sending their representative here yet. Pity). Normally one of the most inventive out of the five, she was currently jumping and swinging through the trees like some ordinary monkey, having the time of her life, trying to catch-up to the last member of the quintet – Flash the gibbon, the most junior, (at least until the bonobo representative arrived) member too.

…Unlike the other four, Flash did not like to boast of his intellect, not usually, but he often kept Zippy focused, he helped Riley with footwear and with the bipedal P.O.V., he helped Bob with male solidarity, and he even knew entertaining stories that Kiva liked. Overall, Flash was fitting-in fine.

“So,” Riley took charge. “Are we ready to begin?”

The answer was a unanimous “Yes!” as Flash and Zippy joined the others on the ground at last.

“Then let us party!”

TBC?

Chapter Text

The human was back. Well, at least the sea birds thought so and conveyed it with their alarm cries – Jo herself was not so sure. Being a siren, a being of alternative evolution, she was a being of water, and her senses, keen, well, in the water, were rather blunt and much more restrained on dry land, or even just out of the water, where Jo was, well, little more than another fish. It was annoying, it was outright humiliating, and the human’s presence just made it worse.

…As a rule, humans and sirens did not mix – humans could not survive in the water for long, while a siren on land was terribly vulnerable and at risk of dying themselves. Put it like that, the two species rarely met, and when they did…

Well, normally, the siren’s beguiling song was enough to determine whether it was a success or disaster – for the siren. Humans, in general, cared little for sirens and did their best to get rid of them – or drive them away, but that sounded less romantic: “And then I barely escaped an angry mob” sounded so much better and dreamier than “And then I barely escaped the pest controller”, you know?

A sudden burst of squawks, caws, and similar sounds came from behind her; Jo frowned: was something wrong?

“Hey you, you airhead! Get out of the water!” the human was back and they were running down the slope towards Jo at an ever-increasing speed. “Get out of the water, you-!”

“What did you call me?” Jo hissed and jumped onto dry land – and at the final moment, even as she was launching herself, something touched her tail, and it burst with an extreme, fiery pain. Her launch turned into something else, and the only reason as to why she did not hit the hard, (but grassy) dry ground was because she hit something – or someone – else.

“Ouch!”

“Help me!” Jo rasped, (without her using her magic, her voice was raspy and not at all attractive – Jo hated that). “Help me!”

Something fell onto her face, onto her eyes, even as the human adjusted their grip on Jo and lifted her up…

Jo blinked, as for the first time in her life she could see clearly outside of water, (because she had glasses on for the first time in her life). Instinctively, she looked down on her tail: a thick scar, purple from poison burn, was swelling already, and her scales were falling away almost before her eyes, leaving behind only the soft skin and flesh, vulnerable both to touch and to dehydration. She looked out to the sea – she knew already what could have done it to her, there was only one true suspect – and with her newfound sight, she saw the bell of a colossal jellyfish – almost as big as a kraken - emerging from the sea surface. Even though Jo was still alive, this was the beginning of her end, as far as she was concerned…

“My home! My tail! My life! Help me!” Jo whispered and fainted.

TBC?

Chapter Text

The Mediterranean Sea was not placid. Rather, it was roiling, as angry winds were whipping wavy water into a foaming frenzy, the seabirds were shrieking as they flew above, and beneath the water a couple of thresher sharks (relative-ly small size too) were whipping a shoal of herring into a tightly packed ball with their trademark long tails.

Something moved in the distance, in the deeper waters – a silhouette of another shark, but not a thresher: it was much too large, much too massive, and with a differently shaped tail. Regardless of those features, the new shark was moving quite quickly, closing the distance between it and one of the threshers at quite a speed, its’ jaws opening wide and fast, and its’ teeth – serrated and sharp.

The great white shark – for that what this shark was – is quite fast for its’ bulk and much more formidable than the thresher sharks are. But it actually isn’t at its’ best at catching other fish – it prefers to hunt seals, sea lions and the like – and it showed right now: the thresher shark dodged the much bigger fish at the last moment and even whacked the great white with its’ tail.

The thresher shark is much more vulnerable than the great white is, but its’ trademark tail – almost as famous as the hammerhead shark’s head – is one of the most powerful fish tails in the modern world: a small fish is stunned by it, and even a great white shark felt it, as its’ motion carried past the smaller thresher; it took the great white a few moment to stop, before it whirled around and charged – straight at the tightly packed herrings.

The herrings scattered, as the great white bit down hard on huge mouthful of the small fish. Blood and scales filled the water like a cloud. When it faded, the surviving herring were gone. So were both of the thresher sharks. Sometimes not even a great white gets what it aimed for.

Chapter Text

It was late afternoon. The songbirds were still singing, the butterflies were still plentiful, but so were the shadows now, contrasting sharply with the sunlight.

…The queen Eliza emerged from the temple, her sun-blonde hair a sharp contrast to her dark brown eyes. Beneath the robes, behind the blinding smile that shone as brightly as the sun itself, muscles bulged beneath the sun-tanned skin, hinting openly at a strength that could rival the great beasts of the field; this was the kingdom’s most known secret.

Many teenage girls were training their bodies in secret, hoping one day to be-come as powerful as the queen herself was.

As Eliza strode through the temple path into the royal palace, the populace, plebeian and patrician alike, cheered at the sight of their beloved and beautiful leader, ignoring both the sun that was slowly going down, behind the trees now, and the crescent moon that was rising.

In the temple’s shadows, Lyra the head priestess smiled slyly, a sparkle in her twilight-green eyes. Her plan was progressing nicely; soon the kingdom would be hers and her faith’s, Eliza and her physical strength – a mere vessel that would open the doors for Lyra and her divine masters.

Chapter Text

On the seashore, its’ sand turned ever more golden by the late afternoon sun, a single tree was growing, glowing in the aforementioned sunlight, shaking in the wind – usually.

Right now, it was rather shaking from the cries of a desperate young maiden, beautiful, (who looked like a Greek version of Elizabeth Olsen) and statuesque, as she was chasing down a wagon, driven by, well, horses, but steered by her brothers, (the family resemblance was there, but nothing else).

“Why did you abandon me, brothers?” the maiden shouted, revealing that she had an impressive set of lungs too. “This is most unseemly!”

“Sister, submit!” the brothers yelled back, showing that some family resem-blance was more than just skin-deep. “Our father has given you up to the sea dragon as his wife!”

“Fine!” the maiden’s shouts were growing desperate. “Let’s at least have proper good-bye!”

“No, sister!” the brothers’ reply was faint in the wind. “We’re returning home to our stepmother!” Thus, they were gone.

The maiden, whose name was Sophia (let us call her that) sat down on the damp sand of the seashore, in the tree’s unsteady (and almost useless) shelter. The winds were blowing to and fro, the sun was beginning to set into the sea, setting it afire (metaphorically speaking), and an armed and armored knight, (looking a bit like Benedict Cumberbatch), rode up to her on his steed.

“Oh, there you are, just as (insert name of Sophia’s stepmother here) said you would be,” the knight said cheerfully. “What is your name? Mine’s George!”

“Mine’s Sophia,” the maiden blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking a rest under your protection,” the knight – George – said brightly. “Wake me up if there’s trouble!” he tied the horse to the tree, put down his helmet, and fell asleep in Sophia’s lap.

For several moments, Sophia opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, until she figured out that the weather grew unnaturally cold, and the sea at the western horizon turned black. In fact, the sea was foaming, and hissing, and whipping at the shore.

“Oi, George, wake up!” Sophia hissed into her new friend’s ears. “I don’t like what is going on!”

The knight did not react; Sophia looked back at the sea – and saw that a giant wave was rushing to the shore, and there were serpentine eyes present as well. Now Sophia really did not like what she was seeing, so she shrieked – truly loudly by her standards – and now the brave knight woke up, jumped onto his feet and drawing his sword, he smote the sea dragon down.

“Yes!” Sophia jumped on the sea sand in genuine joy. “You saved me! Now we’re going to get married!”

The knight opened his mouth to say something, but Sophia’s stepmother and stepsisters, who were there all along, (cough), promptly cut him off (metaphorically) and helped him and Sophia go to church and be wed.

Don’t you just love successful conclusions?

(Oh, and the remains of the sea dragon fell back into the sea and were gone).

End

Chapter Text

Once upon a time…

Once upon a time, a leopard acquired his daily meal – a warthog – and climbed up a tree for his daily, well, meal.

Enter – upon the scene – a lion pride – lionesses and cubs, but no male lions, (fortunately for the leopard). They roam around, seeking their own daily sustenance, and finally locate the dead warthog in a tree.

Lions do not climb trees too well by feline standards, but one of the lionesses put in the extra effort required and soon enough she reached the warthog. Thrice the body mass of a leopard, she did not expect him to put a resistance – and he did not: hissing and growling, he climbed further up the tree, where the heavier lions could not follow. Still, he did not go too far up either, but stayed proportionally nearby, snarling and bristling.

The lioness, who was about to dig into the warthog, was not impressed, and tried to slap the smaller carnivore away. She missed, but the leopard, who instinctively slapped back, because a lioness is not as intimidating as a lion, period. His strike landed and from the sheer surprise, as much as anything, the lioness lost her footing and fell onto the rest of the pride. The result was something of a chain effect as the lions panicked and scattered all over the local savanna.

The leopard grabbed his kept prize and went to another tree. He really did not want another narrow escape from the lions.

End

Chapter Text

Elara, a cartographer of ephemeral wonders, had heard whispers on the wind of a hue so elusive it was said to be woven from moonlight and dew. The legend spoke of a specific incantation, a secret whispered by the very earth itself: "...To find silvery blue, circle a patch of lupine. Keep your eyes close to the ground..." Clutching her worn leather-bound journal, its pages filled with sketches of iridescent fungi and singing stones, she found herself in a meadow ablaze with the violet spires of lupine. Beside her, Finn, a gnome with eyes like polished amber and a beard that seemed to hum with forgotten melodies, adjusted the tiny, crystal-tipped probe he carried. He was a collector of atmospheric anomalies, a connoisseur of the intangible. "The air feels… expectant, Elara," he murmured, his voice a low thrum. "As if the very fabric of probability is thinning here." Elara nodded, her gaze already sweeping the dewy ground, searching for the faintest glimmer.

As Elara meticulously circled the densest cluster of lupine, the world around them began to warp. The familiar scent of damp earth and blossoms intensified, morphing into something akin to ozone and stardust. The lupine stalks shimmered, their violet deepening into an impossible indigo. Then, a ripple, like heat haze on a summer road, distorted Finn's form. He pointed, his tiny finger trembling. "Look!" he gasped. Not a single butterfly, but a swirling vortex of them. Not just any butterflies, but Karner blues, their wings beating with a rhythm that resonated with the very pulse of the planet. They were not simply flying; they were painting strokes of pure, liquid moonlight onto the air, each beat leaving a fleeting, silvery-blue afterimage. One particularly bold flutterer, no bigger than Elara's thumb, landed on her outstretched finger, its wings humming a silent song that Elara felt deep within her bones.

Suddenly, the butterflies coalesced, their collective shimmer forming a portal, a window into a sky that mirrored the one above but was now painted with nebulae of emerald and sapphire. Elara and Finn exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. The silvery blue was not just a color; it was an invitation. With a shared breath, they stepped through the luminous threshold, leaving behind the lupine-dusted meadow and venturing into a reality where the ephemeral was tangible, and the impossible, a mere starting point. Whee! Karner blue butterflies! In addition, with them, Elara and Finn were on their way to discover even greater, stranger hues.

Chapter Text

The setting sun dripped honey gold across the fields as Arthur sat on his porch, savoring his evening tea, a generous splash of milk swirled in its depths. He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet aroma. Then, a swoosh of wings broke the peace.

A magnificent long-eared owl, with eyes like polished amber, landed on the porch railing. "Hello," she hooted cheerfully, "old friend. Can I have some too?"

Arthur blinked. "Uh," he stammered, "this is the first time I've met you. Since when are we old friends?"

"Eh," said the owl, tilting her head, "you're not entirely wrong, but I am hunting and getting rid of the mice off your pasture regularly! Consider it payment in kind."

Arthur, a man who considered logic his greatest weapon, narrowed his eyes. "I think that you're bluffing!" he declared. He had seen precious little evidence of any owl patrol.

"You're on!" said the owl, ruffled. With an indignant hoot, she abandoned her alleged hunting grounds for the dense forest.

The moment her shadow vanished, the field exploded with squeaking revelry. The mice, emboldened by their newfound freedom, threw a full-blown rave in the clover patch. Unbeknownst to them, their underground dance floor was directly above bumblebee nests. The relentless stomping caused the tunnels to collapse.

The bumblebees, understandably furious, abandoned their home en masse, buzzing off in search of more stable pastures. Arthur's clover, usually a vibrant purple sea, began to wither, unpollinated. Bessie, his prize-winning cow, noticed the distinct lack of clover in her diet. Upset, she stopped giving milk.

Arthur, now facing a tea-less future, panicked. In a moment of ill-advised desperation, he gave Bessie an invigorating shot.

Bessie, feeling extremely invigorated, promptly tore through the fence and stampeded into the forest, bellowing her bovine frustrations. Arthur, aghast, chased after her, only to find a scene of utter devastation. Bessie, in her energized rampage, had demolished the owl's home tree, leaving it a pile of splintered wood.

The owl, perched forlornly on a different branch, looked dejected. Guilt washing over him, Arthur took her home. He built her a makeshift roost in his attic. True to her word (or perhaps motivated by revenge), the owl began a ruthless campaign against the emboldened mice.

The mice, once again fearing for their lives, stopped harassing the bumblebees. The bumblebees, sensing the danger had passed, returned to their clover patch. The clover thrived. Bessie, content with a balanced diet once more, produced plenty of creamy milk. Arthur, with a sheepish grin, shared his tea with the owl, who, truth be told, found the constant supply of milk and mice a rather agreeable arrangement. Therefore, balance was restored, all thanks to a cup of tea and a very opinionated owl.

Chapter Text

Esmeralda "Essie" Squirrel sighed dramatically, flicking a half-eaten spruce seed with disdain. "Honestly," she muttered, "another one? I'm practically turning into a pinecone!" For weeks, she had been plagued by the monotony of the treetop diet – nuts, seeds, and the occasional carelessly discarded bird crumb. Essie yearned for something different, something…adventurous.

Her gaze drifted downwards, beyond the familiar branches and needles, to the damp, dappled forest floor. There, amidst the fallen leaves and mossy rocks, grew a vibrant array of mushrooms. Not just the drab brown ones, but scarlet caps, creamy parasols, and delicate orange trumpets. A culinary wonderland!

With a newfound determination, Essie began her descent. It was a slow, cautious process. The ground was a foreign land, filled with unknown scents and scurrying creatures. However, the promise of fungal delights spurred her on.

She nibbled cautiously on a small, puffball-shaped mushroom. Delicious! It had an earthy, nutty flavor, a welcome change from the usual fare. She sampled a bright yellow chanterelle, finding it peppery and invigorating. A cluster of oyster mushrooms proved surprisingly savory, almost like…well, she was not sure what they were like, but they were certainly a treat!

Essie was in mushroom heaven. She hopped from one fungal delicacy to another, her bushy tail twitching with delight. Then, she spotted them – a cluster of crimson toadstools, their polka-dotted caps gleaming in the filtered sunlight.

"Ooh, they look rather…festive," she thought, licking her lips.

As she reached out a paw, a deep voice boomed, "Hold it right there, Ms. Squirrel!"

Essie nearly jumped out of her fur. From beneath the largest toadstool emerged Todd, a grumpy-looking toad with moss growing on his back. "Those, my dear," he croaked, pointing with a webbed foot, "are toadstools. They are decidedly not for eating."

Essie’s ears drooped. "But they look so…"

"Hallucinogenic," Todd finished. "And besides," he added, a touch of wistfulness in his voice, "where would I sit if you ate all the toadstools?"

Essie looked at Todd, then back at the tempting toadstools. She considered her options. A slightly upset tummy versus a grumpy, homeless toad? The decision was surprisingly easy.

"You're right, Todd," she said sincerely. "They are rather perfect for sitting. I wouldn't want to deprive you of your favorite spot." She smiled, though the pang of mushroom longing was still there.

Todd, surprised by her sudden compliance, puffed out his chest. "Quite right. There are plenty of other delicious fungi in the forest. Just leave the toadstools to the toads. A vital part of the ecosystem, you see."

Essie nodded sagely, already eyeing a cluster of boletes a few feet away. She knew, with a newfound respect for the forest's delicate balance, that her culinary adventures could be both delicious and responsible. Besides, she thought with a satisfied twitch of her nose, the boletes smelled divine. The toadstools were safe, Todd was happy, and Essie Squirrel had finally found a little variety to her menu.

Chapter Text

Clara hummed a tuneless melody as she steered her broomstick through the inky sky. Beneath her, the town of Oakhaven slept, its cobblestone streets bathed in the ethereal glow of a full moon. Perched on her shoulder, Amberr, a magnificent tawny owl, hooted softly, her yellow eyes scanning the rooftops.

"Almost there, old friend," Clara whispered, patting Tawny's feathery head. "Just three more deliveries tonight. And then, hot cocoa!"

Clara wasn't just any witch. She was Oakhaven's Midnight Delivery Service, specializing in those little magical necessities that simply couldn't wait until morning. A forgotten ingredient for a crucial potion? A lost charm for a restless child? Clara was there, punctual and discreet.

Her first stop was at old Mrs. Gable's cottage. Tawny, with her impeccable night vision, spotted the glow of a flickering candle in the window. Clara landed silently on the porch, leaving a small phial of Dream-Dust by the door, as requested. Tawny gave a satisfied hoot, confirming the drop was complete.

Next, they swooped over to the apothecary, where Clara deposited a bundle of shimmering Moonpetal herbs, carefully wrapped in enchanted silk. The apothecary always needed these for his calming draughts, and a late delivery meant cranky customers in the morning.

Their final destination was the most intriguing. A small, unmarked cottage nestled deep within the Whispering Woods. The request had been vague: "One sprig of Silver Willow, urgently needed." No name, no explanation.

As Clara landed near the cottage, Tawny ruffled his feathers nervously. A strange energy hummed in the air, different from the usual woodland magic. Clara cautiously approached the door, placing the Silver Willow sprig on the doorstep.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, revealing a young woman with eyes as bright as the stars. She snatched the willow sprig inside, her voice barely a whisper. "Just in time," she breathed. "Thank you..." She glanced at Clara, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, and then slammed the door shut.

Clara, unnerved but curious, exchanged a look with Tawny. "Well, that was... interesting," she murmured. As they soared back towards Oakhaven, she couldn't shake the feeling that her midnight delivery had just played a part in something far more significant than she realized. Perhaps being Oakhaven's Midnight Delivery Service meant being involved in more than just forgotten ingredients and lost charms. Perhaps, sometimes, it meant playing a small role in the grand tapestry of magic itself.

Chapter Text

The flickering candlelight danced across the exposed beams of the 'Whispering Pines Inn' as Aulus finally drifted off to sleep. He had arrived late, soaked from a relentless drizzle, and the warm fireplace and hearty stew Lucretia had provided were potent lullabies.

However, sleep was a fickle friend that night. A creaking floorboard startled him awake. He peered through the narrow gap of the slightly ajar door, half-expecting to see a wandering cat. Instead, he witnessed a sight that defied reason.

Lucretia, normally a picture of rustic charm in her floral apron, stood bathed in moonlight filtering through the window. In her hands, she held a cloak, seemingly woven from the softest, most luminous feathers Aulus ever saw. As she draped it around her shoulders, a transformation began. Bones shifted, features sharpened, and a pair of magnificent, amber eyes widened. In moments, Lucretia, replaced by a majestic barn owl, which silently swooped out the open window and disappeared into the inky blackness of the surrounding woods.

Aulus, stunned into silence, barely dared to breathe. He lay awake for the rest of the night, replaying the impossible scene in his mind. Was it a dream? A trick of the light? Nevertheless, the lingering scent of wood smoke and…something else, something wild and untamed, told him it was real.

The next morning, Lucretia served him breakfast with her usual warm smile, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her guest witnessed her secret. Aulus managed a strained smile in return, unable to bring himself to mention what he had seen.

As he prepared to leave, a single, downy feather, almost pure white, lay on the floor near the fireplace. He could not resist. He tucked it into his travel journal, a tangible reminder of the magical night.

He departed in peace, as suggested, but a gnawing curiosity tugged at him. He felt a profound sense of wonder mixed with a quiet dread. He knew, instinctively, that taking the feather was not just taking a souvenir. It was a connection, a bridge to a world he was never meant to see.

Weeks later, Aulus found himself inexplicably drawn back to the Whispering Pines Inn. He could not explain it, but the feather seemed to hum with a silent urgency. This time, however, the inn was deserted. The windows were dark, the door ajar, and an unsettling silence hung in the air. He found a note tacked to the door, written in Lucretia's familiar hand: "The woods call. The cloak is missing. Come find me."

Chapter Text

Halloween was over. Discarded holiday decorations still decorated the fronts of the houses and their backyards, while the waste bins were full of discarded wrappers and the like, but the streets were empty, things were back to normal.

In the suburban parks, the noise level too was back to its’ normal level, but the foliage of the trees, shrubs, and the like was largely gone now, as November began for real, and winter was soon coming. This was further emphasized by the blowing of a chilly north breeze, as it brought the first clouds from the north, making the morning murky and overcast, (unlike the previous week).

Up on one of the trees sat Elle, the resident long-eared owl, and surveyed the once more empty lands around her, as well as the remaining layer of the holiday litter, (quite substantial, by the standards of the late autumn).

“Hey, Elle!” Poof, the peregrine falcon, commented brightly as he landed on a branch next to her. “Survived the crazy night?”

Elle made a general noise of disapproval – the two birds were always awkward around each other – and moved deeper into the tangle of the branches. Well, tried to – this tree’s branches were not too tangled, to be honest.

“Elle, come on!” Poof was not giving up. “Stop being so stand-offish, for a change. Winter is coming, the small birds are leaving, and we got to move!”

Instead of replying, Elle began to shape-shift – that is to say, she began to adjust her posture and feathers to appear either tall or thin, or big and mean – she had not decided upon which shape she should take.

“Youngsters!” called-out a wise old raven as he flew by. “Instead of flirting with each other, you should look behind you – winter might be coming early this year!”

Both of the birds of prey did what the raven suggested – and saw not just the arriving snow flurries, but also the also-arriving snow owl, bigger, stronger, and heavier than either of them – and it did not look like the sharing type.

That tore it, really – Elle abruptly lifted herself off the tree branch and into the air, flying south earlier this year. Feeling rather relieved, the falcon followed her. In a matter of minutes, they were gone from their summer hunting grounds.

End

Chapter Text

…A short-eared owl was sitting at the edge of a forest marsh, looking at its’ shadow in the light of the afternoon sun. (This owl is not afraid of daylight, as, say, the tawny owl is). It was currently looking at its’ shadow, too.

“Look at my shadow!” it hooted to no one in particular, (it just liked the sound of its’ own voice). “It’s so long! So big! I must be just as big as my shadow is! I am a modern dinosaur!”

As the owl hooted, a goshawk, a much bigger bird, flew by. It noticed the owl and gave it an old one-two. The owl did not enjoy it one bit, and barely survived.

Morale: a shadow is no substitute for reality.

Chapter Text

The first hoot of the evening hadn't even faded when Elle, a vibrant long-eared owl with plumage the colors of sunset, swooped down to the familiar oak tree at the forest's edge. Perched there, as always, was Shea, her cousin, a short-eared owl whose feathers were the color of faded parchment. Elle’s prominent feather tufts bounced as she landed. Shea's, barely noticeable, remained stubbornly flat.

“Shea! Honestly, must you always hog this tree?” Elle exclaimed, her voice a sharp, surprisingly loud trill.

Shea turned her heart-shaped face, fixing Elle with a bored stare. “And must you always be so...garish? I’m perfectly comfortable here. Besides, this is the best spot for spotting voles in the open meadow.”

“Voles! How utterly pedestrian,” Elle sniffed, puffing out her chest, her vivid orange and black feathers shimmering in the twilight. “The real delicacies are deep in the woods. Juicy beetles, plump grubs…things with…flavor.”

Shea shuddered. "Flavor? They sound disgusting. Besides, you can't see anything under those dense trees. It's all shadows and tangled branches."

"Shadows are where the mystery lies, Shea! Where the adventure is!" Elle countered. "You wouldn't understand. All you care about is staring blankly at fields, waiting for something to practically jump into your talons.”

Shea huffed. "Efficiency, Elle. It's called efficiency. Not everyone has the time to chase after imaginary adventures in a dark, damp, and probably spider-infested forest."

Their arguments were legendary. It was always the same: Elle extolling the virtues of the deep woods – the vibrant life, the complex ecosystems, the thrill of the hunt. Shea, in turn, defended the open fields – the clear lines of sight, the abundance of easily catchable prey, the peaceful simplicity. One argued that the vibrant colors were necessary, the other that a muted palette was all it took. Even the slightest difference became the source of contention, their feather tufts being a visual reminder of their polar opposite personalities.

Tonight, however, the argument took an unexpected turn. A distant crackling sound echoed through the air. Both owls went silent, their heads swiveling, listening intently.

"Fire," Shea whispered, her usually placid eyes wide with alarm. "Coming from the deep woods. Elle, your home..."

Elle felt a sudden chill, despite the warmth of the evening. For the first time, she saw genuine fear in Shea’s eyes, not just disdain for her lifestyle.

“We have to do something,” Elle said, her voice losing its sharp edge. “But… I don’t know what.”

Shea, surprisingly, seemed to have found an answer in this moment. "The wind is blowing the smoke towards the river. I can follow the edge of the fields. I know all the paths.” She paused. “You know the woods. If we work together, we can guide the other animals to safety. Lead them away from the fire."

Elle stared at her cousin, amazed. For once, Shea wasn't judging, wasn't criticizing. She was…helping.

“Alright,” Elle said, a hint of a smile gracing her beak. “Alright, Shea. Let’s do it.”

For the first time, Elle and Shea would use their differences not to argue, but to save their home. The night promised to be long, but perhaps, just perhaps, a little common ground would be found among the smoke and the flames.

Chapter Text

The exit from the caves was marked by the sounds of falling water, and indeed, there was a waterfall, whose waters were marked with starlight, and who smelled fresh – as in fresh water, that is.

The waterfall fell into a small pool that pooled around a small, rocky islet, (pun intended). There, a maiden was sitting, half-concealed by the jutting rocks, mostly undressed, with long hair the color of burnished copper. Her green eyes – one obscured by the falling hair – were acutely and alertly observing the neighbourhood. She was humming something that sounded very attractive, but the words were hard to discern.

Someone else – relatively small – was splashing in the shallows around the islet, keeping to the shallows, where the water was warmer, (it was late autumn and it was felt). Their elder kept an acute eye on them in the deepening dusk: The sun was setting quickly now, and the weather was turning cold. (It was supposed to rain tomorrow).

I came to the edge of the pool and coughed, trying to catch their attention. It worked, so to speak: two faces swung to face me, and the elder began to hum with even more effort – literally: she was not in the best physical shape, not even the evening dusk could hide it right now.

I took a deep breath and blew the first notes of my own, on my hand harmonica – they sounded edgy and sharp in the twilight. The humming abruptly stopped, and the singer looked as if she had chocked on her own tongue – and once she spat it out, she would come ashore and teach me how to ravish and ruin music, thank you very much!

Quickly, I began to tune more notes, hoping that the attitude would improve, while my partner quickly pulled out the food lure, hoping that it would work. It did, in fact – the youngster swam towards me, clearly more than a little inter-ested in my harmonica, while her mother desperately swam after her, bad physical shape or not.

The youngster reached us first regardless, grabbing for the harmonica, while looking innocent with those eyes of her. Speaking of eyes? Her mother had one missing – clearly, they fled to our parts not because they wanted to…

The full moon chose to rise at this moment – clearly, sunset was over, the night was in its’ reign fully – and abruptly my blood turned into quicksilver (and silver). Transforming under the full moon is never fun and always painful, the rest of the month be damned. When it was over, I was all pins and needles, and not in a good way.

The baby siren, however, was staring at me still, trying to get my harmonica. I glared at her – seriously, now I was the one with the bigger, sharper teeth here – and she blushed and abruptly shifted from a fish-girl into all girl.

Seriously, standing under a full moon, staring at a scantily clad preteen girl is wrong on so many levels that I just let her have the harmonica and climb onto my back. Same for her mother, who shapeshifted much more painfully – the missing eye really affected her.

My partner and their clan just let it slide – but then again, they are the Dobhar-Chu, the otters that can grow to the size of lions; an otter the size of a lion is not fun to fight, not that we fight, good neighbors make good fences and all that…

The point is that I carried the youngster and her mom to my home and put them to bed. Then I rather collapsed myself – full moon transformations are so exhausting…

TBC?

Chapter Text

Pandora, bless her weary soul, had found a semblance of peace. After centuries of being that Pandora, the one who unleashed chaos, she’d settled into a quiet existence, tending a small garden brimming with forget-me-nots and chamomile. Her only real irritation? Helen of Troy, her eternally blonde, eternally dramatic neighbour.

Helen, clinging to the faded glory of her legendary beauty, still believed she was the center of the universe. Every morning was a grand entrance, every cough a tragedy worthy of a sonnet. Pandora, with the patience of someone who'd witnessed the rise and fall of empires, usually just sighed and offered Helen some chamomile tea.

But today, Helen was insufferable. She was staging a melodramatic "falling out" with the local baker over (allegedly) under-baked sourdough. Accusations of treason, declarations of ruined lives, the whole nine yards. Pandora's carefully cultivated serenity shattered.

“Enough!” she snapped, her voice surprisingly sharp. Before Helen could launch into another tirade, Pandora, drawing on powers long dormant, subtly manipulated the air around Helen, twisting it, pulling it, until the blonde drama queen was…gone.

The silence that followed was blissful. Several neighbours peeked from behind curtains, then gave Pandora grateful nods. It turned out everyone had a Helen story.

Pandora, however, felt a pang of guilt. She retrieved the ornate jar she'd kept locked away for centuries – the jar. And there, miniaturized but still impeccably coiffed, was Helen. But beneath the bravado, Pandora saw fear. Real, genuine terror.

"Helen," Pandora said softly, her voice muffled by the jar's thick glass, "I'll let you out. But only if you promise to...mend your ways. To stop treating the world as your personal stage."

Helen, stripped of her audience, was a mess. Tears streamed down her face, smearing her makeup. She wailed, not with theatrical flair, but with the desperate sound of someone truly lost. "But…what else am I good for?" she sobbed.

Pandora sighed. "You can be good for kindness. For empathy. For helping others instead of just demanding attention. It starts with admitting you're not always right, Helen. Can you do that?"

Helen looked away, pride warring with fear. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Finally, barely a whisper, "I…I don't know how."

Pandora smiled, a sad, knowing smile. "Then," she said, unlocking the jar, "we'll start there." The jar opened, and Helen emerged, blinking in the sunlight, a long road of humility stretched out before her. Pandora knew it wouldn't be easy, but for the first time, she saw a glimmer of genuine hope in Helen's famous blue eyes. Maybe, just maybe, this legendary beauty could learn to be something more than just a legend.

Chapter Text

The pearly glow never faded. Not at dawn, not in the echoing halls, not even in the deepest, darkest corners of Olympus. Helen, the woman who launched a thousand ships, was perpetually bathed in it. It was the light of her perfection, a gift… or perhaps a curse, depending on the day.

She was, as the gods intended, a masterpiece frozen in time. Her skin, alabaster smooth; her eyes, a startling violet; her lips, eternally curved in a serene, almost ethereal smile. The ultimate objet d'art. And utterly, desperately, bored.

She drifted through the eternal gardens, the nectarine scent of the ambrosia blossoms doing little to alleviate the ennui that gnawed at her divine existence. The gods admired her, of course. They paid her lip service, told her tales of her legendary beauty. But they didn't see her. They saw the idea of her. The tragedy, the catalyst. Not Helen herself.

Her thoughts, as they often did, drifted to Penelope. Penelope of Ithaca. Her cousin. Penelope, who wasn’t blessed (or burdened) with such blinding beauty. Penelope, whose face, Helen remembered, bore the marks of worry lines and the soft creases around her eyes that came from years of laughter and, yes, tears.

Penelope, who aged.

Helen closed her eyes. She remembered a childhood visit to Ithaca. Penelope, already a woman, tending her olive groves. The earthy scent of the oil, the calloused hands that held Helen’s own smooth, pampered ones. Helen had been captivated by Penelope’s quiet strength, her unwavering loyalty.

Now, in her eternal state, Helen understood.

Penelope’s story, though not as loudly sung, was ultimately more resonant. A husband lost, presumed dead. Years spent fending off aggressive suitors with cunning and weaving. A love story sustained by hope and fidelity.

Helen had been a prize, a pawn in a game played by kings and gods. Penelope had been a fortress, a steadfast beacon in a tempestuous sea.

Sometimes, staring at her own flawless reflection in the still waters of the nymph's pool, Helen would whisper a silent wish: to trade the eternal prison of her perfect beauty for one single day in Penelope's weathered, yet infinitely more fulfilling, shoes. To feel the sun on her face, the earth beneath her feet, and the embrace of a love earned, not decreed. A day filled with the imperfections that made life, and Penelope's life especially, so beautifully real.

Chapter Text

The wind howled, a banshee’s cry at the edge of the world. Athena, clad in gleaming bronze, gripped her spear, the polished metal biting into her palm. Here, where the wine-dark sea bled into an endless, swirling grey, lay the desolate island of Seriphos. Her destination. Her fear.

She hadn't felt genuine fear since, well, ever. Yet, every gust of wind whispered Medusa's name, and the very air seemed to vibrate with a power that dwarfed her own. She, Athena, goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare, was outmatched.

Medusa. Once a beautiful priestess of Athena herself. Now, a monster, her hair a writhing mass of venomous snakes, her gaze a petrifying curse. A curse Athena had helped to inflict, twisting Poseidon's transgression in her temple into an eternal damnation. She'd justified it as necessary, a righteous act to cleanse her sacred space. Now, the echo of that justification felt hollow against the dread that gnawed at her immortal soul.

Exile to Seriphos was meant to contain Medusa, to neutralize her. Instead, whispered reports from nymphs and satyrs told a different story. Seriphos, far from a prison, had become Medusa's domain. The sea around it churned at her whim. Strange, mutated creatures stalked the rocky shores. And the sheer power radiating from the island was palpable, a suffocating blanket of ancient, titanic energy.

Athena landed on the black sand, the grit stinging her ankles. She scanned the bleak landscape. No temples, no cities, only gnarled, petrified trees, their branches forever frozen in grotesque postures. Her handiwork.

Suddenly, a voice, laced with scorn and a haunting familiarity, echoed from the heart of the island. "Athena. Come to gloat? To admire your masterpiece?"

A figure emerged from the shadows, taller than Athena remembered. Even from a distance, she could feel the oppressive weight of Medusa's gaze. But there was something else, something new. A regal dignity, a quiet confidence that radiated from her being. The snakes on her head hissed, not in mindless fury, but in a coordinated, almost intelligent, chorus.

Athena raised her spear, but her hand trembled. She had come to eliminate a threat, but now she understood. Medusa wasn't merely a monster. She had adapted. She had learned. She had grown. And in her exile, she had tapped into a wellspring of power older and deeper than even Athena could fathom – the lingering echoes of her Titan ancestry.

"Medusa," Athena's voice was strained. "This ends now."

Medusa tilted her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Does it, Athena? Or is it just beginning?"

Chapter Text

The request came not from a king, but a princess. Admete, daughter of Eurystheus, possessed a spirit as fiery as the belt she desired. It wasn't mere vanity; she wasn't interested in simply owning the magical belt. Admete, acutely aware of the whispers that dogged her father's reign and Heracles' servitude, believed the belt of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, held more than just mystical strength. She envisioned it as a symbol of peace, a bridging of the gap between the civilized world and the fierce warrior women.

Heracles, weary of his labors, nonetheless bowed to the royal decree. He sailed with a hand-picked crew, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of the Amazon's brutal reputation. They landed on the shores of Themiscyra, bracing for war. Instead, they found Hippolyta curious, intrigued by the tales of Heracles' exploits and the strangely serene request relayed by the stoic hero.

Hippolyta, seeing no deceit in Heracles' eyes and believing in Admete's potential for peace, agreed to hand over the belt. She admired the princess' vision. The exchange was to be a formal ceremony, a testament to newfound understanding. But Hera, ever the jealous guardian of Olympus and Heracles' sworn enemy, saw only an opportunity to sow discord.

Disguised as an Amazon warrior, Hera spread rumours among Hippolyta's tribe. She whispered that Heracles planned to enslave them all, that Admete's peaceful intentions were a lie to lure them into complacency. The Amazons, notoriously quick to anger and fiercely protective of their independence, were instantly incensed.

As Hippolyta prepared to present the belt, a war cry erupted. The Amazons, now believing themselves betrayed, attacked Heracles and his men. Chaos reigned. Heracles, despite his peaceful intentions, was forced to defend himself. A fierce battle ensued. He fought with his legendary strength, but the Amazons, fueled by Hera's lies and their own warrior spirit, were a formidable foe.

Realizing he couldn't win without bloodshed on a scale he refused to contemplate, Heracles made a desperate decision. He confronted Hippolyta, pleading with her to see through the deception. Hippolyta, despite the chaos, still sensed truth in his voice. Together, they exposed Hera's treachery.

The revelation stunned the Amazons. Hippolyta, furious at being manipulated, demanded Hera reveal herself. The goddess, her ruse exposed, vanished in a flash of divine anger. Humiliated and chastened, the Amazons laid down their weapons. Hippolyta, reaffirming her trust, presented the belt to Heracles, not as a prize of war, but as a symbol of broken barriers and the fragile promise of peace, a testament to Admete's vision. Heracles returned to Mycenae, not just with the belt, but with a story of unexpected understanding and the heavy weight of Hera's enduring animosity.

Chapter Text

The salt stung Clytemnestra's eyes, but she refused to blink. She stood on the ramparts of Argos, a lonely figure against the unforgiving dawn, the endless expanse of the Aegean stretching before her. Ten long years. Ten years since Agamemnon had sailed for Troy, ten years of whispered rumors, of gnawing anxiety, and of a simmering rage that threatened to consume her.

Her hand tightened on the cool stone, the phantom weight of Iphigenia's small hand resting within it. Iphigenia. Her beautiful, innocent daughter, sacrificed to appease the gods, a pawn in her husband's insatiable ambition. Agamemnon had sent for her, promising a marriage to Achilles, a glorious future. A cruel, deceitful lie.

She remembered the screams, the animal terror in Iphigenia’s eyes as she was dragged to the altar. She remembered the chilling indifference in Agamemnon's face, a face hardened by the lust for victory. The memory was a poisoned barb lodged in her heart.

Years passed. The city whispered, gossiped, judged. They saw a grieving queen, a wife abandoned. They did not see the fury that burned beneath the surface, the careful planning, the meticulous dismantling of her husband’s power base. Aegisthus was a useful tool, yes, a lover perhaps, but never the master of her destiny.

The signal fires blazed. Troy had fallen. Agamemnon was returning. A bitter triumph rose in Clytemnestra's throat. He expected a fawning welcome, a grateful wife. He would receive a different kind of homecoming.

She greeted him at the gate, draped in the finest robes, a mask of serenity etched onto her face. The scent of incense filled the air, masking the metallic tang of blood that hung heavy within her heart. Cassandra, the Trojan prophetess, clung to Agamemnon’s side, her eyes wide with terror, babbling prophecies no one understood. Clytemnestra felt a flicker of pity, quickly extinguished. She knew what Cassandra saw, what was to come.

Inside the palace, she led Agamemnon to the bath, the ritual cleansing before the celebration. As he lowered himself into the water, exhausted and triumphant, she struck. Not with a hesitant blow, but with the practiced force of years of suppressed rage.

"This," she hissed, her voice trembling not with fear but with righteous fury, "is for Iphigenia."

The deed was done. The cycle of violence, perhaps, would never end. But in that moment, standing over the lifeless body of her husband, Clytemnestra felt a strange, terrible peace. She was no longer a grieving wife, a discarded queen. She was a mother avenged. And she would face whatever came next with her head held high.

Chapter Text

The salt air whipped Phaedra's hair across her face as she stood on the clifftop, the Aegean Sea a restless, shimmering expanse below. Crete, her island kingdom, felt a lifetime away, a suffocating memory of silk robes, elaborate rituals, and the unrelenting gaze of her mother, Pasiphae, forever tainted by the monstrous secret she kept hidden.

She'd fled to Troezen with Theseus, her husband, hoping for respite, for a chance to breathe clean air and leave behind the courtly intrigues that had choked her spirit. Yet, even here, peace eluded her. Theseus, ever the hero, was absent, chasing after glory, leaving her in the care of his son, Hippolytus.

Hippolytus, with his sun-kissed skin and unwavering devotion to Artemis, was everything Theseus was not: pure, untainted, and breathtakingly beautiful. And Phaedra, against her will, against her very soul, found herself consumed by a forbidden, agonizing love.

She fought it, tooth and nail. She fasted, prayed to Aphrodite for deliverance, and even self-flagellated in the dark corners of her rooms, desperate to exorcise the demon that had taken root within her. But the desire, like a stubborn weed, only grew stronger, its tendrils wrapping tighter around her heart.

One sweltering afternoon, overcome by a feverish delirium, she confessed her love to Hippolytus. The words tumbled out, a torrent of shame and longing. His reaction was immediate, visceral disgust. He recoiled as if burned, his eyes blazing with righteous indignation. He swore silence, a promise Phaedra knew he wouldn't keep.

Despair overwhelmed her. She could not bear the thought of his contempt, of the scandal that would engulf her name, of Theseus's wrath. She knew what she had to do.

Before dawn, she penned a scroll, accusing Hippolytus of attempting to seduce her. Then, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, she took her own life, leaving the scroll to be discovered. Her last act was one of tragic self-preservation, a desperate attempt to control the narrative, to salvage some semblance of dignity from the wreckage of her desire. As the sun rose, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Phaedra fell silent, a victim of passion, circumstance, and the cruel whims of the gods. Her death was not an end, but the beginning of a terrible tragedy that would consume all those she held dear.

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The air in Olympus crackled not with divine power, but with restless boredom. Nine figures, shimmering in hues borrowed from sunsets and starlight, sprawled across a cloud, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the latest mortal creations.

"Another epic about a hero slaying a hydra? Yawn," Calliope, Muse of Epic Poetry, drawled, tossing a handful of ambrosia grapes into the sky.

"And this… a sonnet about unrequited love involving a shepherd and a particularly woolly sheep?" Erato, Muse of Lyric Poetry, wrinkled her nose. "Seriously?"

Melpomene, Muse of Tragedy, sighed dramatically. "Nobody appreciates true, gut-wrenching despair anymore. It's all sunshine and… well, sheep."

The grumbling intensified. They, the Muses, inspiration incarnate, were being ignored. Celebrated, yes, but understood? Never.

"Enough!" Terpsichore, Muse of Dance, leapt to her feet, her energy contagious. "We've inspired millennia of stories. It's time we had one!"

A chorus of agreements erupted. But who would tell their tale? They needed someone… receptive, brilliant, and perhaps a little desperate.

They settled on a struggling writer named Anon, plagued by writer's block and mounting bills. Through a carefully orchestrated series of coincidences – a spilled cup of coffee leading to a lost notebook, a chance encounter with a rare, inspiring wildflower – the Muses guided Anon to a secluded grove on Mount Parnassus.

There, bathed in the ethereal light, they revealed themselves. Anon, understandably, fainted.

Upon waking, however, and after copious amounts of nectar, they listened, captivated. The Muses spoke of their triumphs, their rivalries, their frustrations, and their unending love for the art they inspired. They revealed the weight of their immortality, the joy of witnessing human creativity blossom, and the subtle sadness of being forever on the periphery.

Anon, inspired and overwhelmed, wrote. They wrote until her fingers ached, until the sun rose and set countless times. They wrote of the Muses' dazzling beauty, their complex personalities, and their vital role in the human experience.

When they finally finished, the Muses wept tears of pure starlight. The story wasn't just about them; it understood them.

Anon's tale became a legend. Finally, the Muses had their own song. And sometimes, when the wind whispers through the olive groves of Parnassus, you can still hear them humming along.

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The humid air hung thick in the Argive plain, heavy with Hera’s displeasure. Io, now a sleek, white heifer, grazed listlessly, her mournful moo a constant lament. Argus, the hundred-eyed giant, never blinked. Fifty eyes surveyed the field at all times, a living, breathing surveillance system designed to thwart even Zeus himself.

High on Olympus, Zeus fidgeted. His conscience, a rare and unwelcome visitor, gnawed at him. "I can't bear to see her like this," he muttered, summoning Hermes. "You must free Io."

Hermes, ever the pragmatist, considered the task. Argus was virtually unbeatable by force. He needed a different approach. He smiled. "I have an idea, Father, but it requires… finesse."

That night, under the silvery gaze of Selene, Hermes visited her temple. He explained his plight, and the goddess, amused by the situation, willingly lent him her lunar sickle, its blade shimmering with potent sleep magic.

Disguised as a simple shepherd, Hermes approached Argus' field, a humble panpipe tucked under his arm. "Greetings, Argus," he called, his voice laced with innocent curiosity. "A long night watching sheep? Let me play you a tune, a story perhaps, to ease your burden."

Argus, ever vigilant, regarded him with suspicion, but the lure of respite, even fleeting, was too strong. "Very well," he grunted, settling his massive form against a rocky outcrop.

Hermes began to play. His music was enchanting, woven with tales of Olympian triumphs and mortal follies, each note subtly laced with Selene's sleep-inducing magic. As the music flowed, Hermes narrated stories as old as time - tales of love, loss, and the unending cycle of the moon. The eyes of Argus grew heavy, one by one flickering closed like extinguished lamps.

When the last eye had succumbed to slumber, Hermes drew the lunar sickle. The blade, cool and silent, ended Argus' endless watch with a single, swift motion.

Io, startled by the sudden release, lowed in confusion. Hermes gently touched her with his caduceus, easing her bewilderment. "Patience, little one," he whispered. "Your trials are not yet over, but you are free from Argus' gaze."

He gathered Argus' fallen eyes, each one gleaming like a captured star. He then ascended to Olympus, not with triumph, but with a measured pace. He sought out Hera, finding her in her garden, surrounded by her magnificent peafowl.

"Great Hera," Hermes said, bowing low. "I have done as Zeus requested. I have freed Io. But I offer you this, as a tribute and an apology." He presented her with Argus' eyes.

Hera, initially furious, softened as she looked at Hermes. She knew Zeus’s character well, and had no delusions about the longevity of his regret. She also knew that the quick-witted Hermes, of all her husband's children, had the most respect for her, a relationship she valued.

With a flick of her wrist, she commanded the eyes to settle upon the tails of her peafowl, transforming them into shimmering constellations. "Let these birds," she declared, "Forever remember Argus' vigilance, and let their beauty serve as a constant reminder of the consequences of infidelity." She smiled, a small, almost imperceptible smile. "You are forgiven, Hermes. Your ingenuity, as always, is… admirable."

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The setting sun bled across the dusty plains, painting the modest village of Morass in shades of orange and crimson. The air hung heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and the rising tide of evening. Most villagers were already inside, bolting their doors against the rumored dangers of the night. But Philemon and Baucis, their faces etched with the wisdom of a long life lived close to the earth, still tended their small garden.

Two travelers, cloaked and weary, approached their humble dwelling. One, tall and imposing, with eyes that held the glint of the heavens. The other, nimble and quick, with a playful smile that belied a sharp intelligence. They asked for shelter, their voices rough from travel.

Without hesitation, Baucis invited them in. Philemon, though a little hesitant at first – resources were scarce – echoed her sentiment. “Come, strangers. Our home is small, but our hearts are open.”

Inside, they offered the best they had: crusty bread, watery wine, and a place by the crackling hearth. Baucis fussed over the guests, while Philemon, though initially reserved, regaled them with stories of their life, their struggles, and their unwavering love. Something remarkable occurred during the meal: the wine jug, no matter how many cups were poured, remained miraculously full. And the embers in the hearth blazed brighter, casting dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

The travelers, revealing themselves as Zeus and Hermes in disguise, explained their journey: they had sought hospitality throughout the village, only to be met with scorn and distrust. Only Philemon and Baucis had offered kindness. As punishment for their cruel reception, Zeus announced, the village would be swallowed by a swamp. But Philemon and Baucis, for their unwavering hospitality, would be spared.

As the gods spoke, a tremor shook the ground. The sky turned a sickly green. A torrent of water erupted from the earth, engulfing the homes of the villagers who had turned the gods away. Their screams mingled with the cacophony of squawks as, transformed into herons and other waterfowl, they fled the rising tide.

The small cottage of Philemon and Baucis remained untouched. Before their astonished eyes, it morphed into a magnificent temple, gleaming white under the darkening sky. Zeus offered them a choice: any wish their hearts desired.

Without hesitation, they chose to remain guardians of the temple, to serve the gods and continue offering hospitality. And they wished to die together, at the same time, so neither would have to live without the other.

Zeus granted their wish. Years passed, filled with service and devotion. One day, standing before the temple, Baucis felt her feet take root. Beside her, Philemon experienced the same strange sensation. Silently, they embraced as bark began to encase them. Baucis transformed into a graceful linden, her fragrant blossoms scenting the air. Philemon became a mighty oak, his sturdy branches reaching towards the heavens. Their trunks entwined, a testament to their eternal love and unwavering hospitality, standing watch over the temple, a silent reminder to all who visited that true wealth lies in kindness and compassion.

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Eurystheus, King of Mycenae, smirked. "Heracles," he drawled, "For your third labor, I require the Ceryneian Hind. Alive, unharmed. And without offending Artemis, its sacred protector. A truly impossible task, wouldn't you agree?"

Heracles clenched his jaw. Eurystheus's taunts stung, but he refused to rise to the bait. This wasn't a contest of strength; it was a test of wit. He knew harming the Hind, with its golden antlers and brazen hooves, was unthinkable. Artemis's wrath was legendary. He needed a different approach.

Heracles tracked the Hind for a year. He followed its delicate prints through the Arcadian forests, observing its habits. He learned its fondness for a particular spring, fed by glacial melt, its playful interactions with the forest creatures, and its deep connection to the moon. It became clear: this wasn’t just an animal; it was an embodiment of the wild, a living prayer to Artemis.

One crisp autumn evening, bathed in moonlight, Heracles approached the sacred spring. He didn't stalk or threaten. Instead, he sat at a distance, playing a soothing melody on his lyre. The Hind, initially wary, became curious. Its ears twitched, and its golden eyes focused on the figure amidst the trees.

For days, Heracles continued his serenades. He spoke to the Hind in gentle tones, explaining his plight, his respect for Artemis, and his desire to fulfill the King's impossible demand without causing harm. He offered no promises, no traps, only honesty and music.

Finally, the Hind approached him. It lowered its head, nudging the lyre with its soft muzzle. Heracles felt a surge of hope. He understood. It wasn't about capture, but about trust.

He explained that he needed to take the Hind briefly to Mycenae as a proof of his task completion. He swore by Zeus, Apollo, and Artemis herself that he would return her unharmed immediately after. The Hind, seemingly understanding the gravity of his oath and Heracles's pure intentions, nodded once.

With the Hind's consent, Heracles guided her toward Mycenae. He kept his promise. Upon reaching the city gates, he presented the Hind to a dumbfounded Eurystheus. Before the King could even formulate a new torment, Heracles, fulfilling his oath, released the Ceryneian Hind back into the wild.

Artemis, watching from the heavens, remained silent. Heracles had proven that strength wasn't always the answer, that respect and understanding could achieve what brute force never could. He had succeeded, not by capturing, but by earning the trust of a creature both sacred and wild. And in doing so, he had earned a far greater respect: Artemis's silent approval.

Chapter Text

Dust coated Demeter’s sandals as she trudged through the Boeotian countryside. Every rustle of leaves, every bird's song sent a shard of hope through her, followed swiftly by a crushing wave of despair. Persephone. Gone. The thought was a constant, gnawing ache.

She stopped at a grimy tavern, hoping for news, any news, of her daughter. Inside, a group of boisterous men were loudly playing dice. A greasy-haired stableboy, no older than Persephone, bumped into her, spilling her meager ration of water.

"Watch where you're going, old crone!" he sneered, wiping the water from his tunic. "You look like you've lost something. Perhaps your wits?"

Grief, simmering beneath the surface for weeks, erupted. Demeter’s eyes flashed. She wanted to shrink him, to make him small and insignificant, like the anxiety that chewed at her soul. "Be small! Be insignificant!" she roared, channeling a fraction of her divine power.

But grief clouded her judgment. The earth thrummed, not with the subtle hum of transformation she intended, but with a raw, uncontrolled surge. The stableboy screamed, his form stretching, scales erupting from his skin, wings unfurling from his back. In moments, a magnificent, terrifying dragon filled the tavern, smashing through the roof with a deafening roar.

Demeter gasped. A dragon! This was the last thing she needed. She vanished in a swirl of wheat stalks, appearing a league away, disguised as a humble travelling merchant. She watched the terrified villagers flee from the smoke and fire billowing into the sky. She had to fix this.

She found Cadmus, a Phoenician hero known for his courage and cunning, camped by a river, (looking for his own sister, Europa, who'd been kidnapped by Zeus - but he didn't know this yet). "Brave warrior," she said, her voice roughened. "There's a beast terrorizing the countryside. Slay it, and the kingdom is yours."

Cadmus, ever ambitious, ever willing to do something different than to continue his fruitless search, accepted the challenge. He tracked the dragon to a spring near Thebes. After a fierce battle, he plunged his spear into the beast's heart. The dragon crashed to the ground, its death throes shaking the very earth.

True to her word, Demeter (still disguised) vanished, leaving Cadmus to be hailed as a hero. He married Harmonia, a demigod; founded the city of Thebes, becoming its king. And because Cadmus was a smart man, he brought the wisdom of his homeland with him: the Phoenician alphabet. He taught it to the Greeks, laying the foundation for a new era of knowledge and communication. Though unknown to Cadmus, Athena, watching from Olympus, saw the potential of his gift, and later refined and expanded upon it, creating the Greek alphabet as we know it.

Demeter, meanwhile, continued her desperate search, unaware that her desperate act had inadvertently shaped the very world she walked upon. The dragon was dead, but the seeds of a new civilization had been sown in its wake.

Chapter Text

Hestia, goddess of the hearth, knelt before the central fire of a small, unremarkable village. Unlike her siblings, Zeus and Poseidon, Hades and Demeter and Hera, she found no glory in thunder, tides, or power. Her realm was the home, the heart of community, the steady flame that warded off the encroaching darkness.

The villagers, weary from a meager harvest and burdened by whispers of raiding Centaurs in the north, barely noticed her presence, disguised as an elderly woman in simple homespun. They were too preoccupied with their anxieties. But Hestia saw their quiet desperation. She felt the chill seeping into their homes, a coldness more profound than winter. It was the chill of despair.

One young girl, Sara, approached cautiously. Elara’s mother had died in childbirth recently. The family home had become very cold since. Sara offered Hestia a meager piece of honey cake, her eyes mirroring the dying embers of the hearth in her own house.

"Thank you, child," Hestia murmured, her voice like the crackling of dry wood. She accepted the offering, and as she did, she felt the faint, almost extinguished, spark of hope within Sara. It needed tending.

That night, Hestia visited Sara's cold home. She quietly rekindled the hearth, not with a grand display of divine power, but with gentle encouragement and the skillful arrangement of dry tinder. She taught Sara how to coax the embers into a warming flame, how to listen to the wood as it burned, how to feel the life pulsing within the fire.

"The hearth is more than just warmth, child," Hestia whispered, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. "It is a focus. It is a place of connection, of memory, of hope. Tend it well, and it will tend to you."

The next morning, Sara’s father returned from the fields, his face etched with worry. He stopped short as he saw the fire burning brightly, chasing away the gloom of the home. He saw Sara tending to it, her face alight with a newfound purpose. The honey cake that was given to Hestia was replenished that day.

The warmth from Sara's hearth radiated outwards, touching the rest of the village. Neighbors came by, drawn by the light and the aroma of cooking, sharing stories and offering support. The chill of despair began to recede, replaced by the shared warmth of community. Even the whispers of the centaurs, harpies, and sirens seemed less menacing when faced with the collective strength of the hearth.

Hestia, still disguised, smiled quietly. She knew her power wasn’t in battles or pronouncements, but in the subtle art of kindling hope, one ember at a time. She was the goddess of the quiet strength, the unsung hero of the home, and in the heart of the village, her flame burned bright.

Chapter Text

The Aegean sun beat down on the rocky shores of Ithaca, turning the sea into a shimmering expanse of sapphire. Odysseus, newly returned and still disguised as a beggar, sat huddled against a crumbling wall, observing his palace. The suitors, those gluttonous vultures, were at it again, their raucous laughter echoing across the courtyard. Frustration simmered within him.

Suddenly, a rustling sound. He looked up to see a wizened crone hobbling towards him, her face a roadmap of wrinkles.

"Lost, old man?" she croaked, her voice surprisingly strong.

Odysseus grunted, playing his part. "Lost my way, and my home," he rasped.

The crone chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Homes can be found again, if one is clever enough." Her eyes, though clouded with age, seemed to pierce right through him. "But cleverness alone is not enough."

Odysseus felt a prickle of unease. He knew that look. He knew that voice. He knew her.

"Athena," he breathed, his disguise almost slipping.

The crone, or rather, the Goddess of Wisdom, smiled faintly. "Indeed, Odysseus. I have watched you scheme and suffer, and I have aided you where I could. But there is something I cannot do for you, something only you can achieve."

Odysseus straightened. "What is it, my patron goddess?"

"You must forgive them, Odysseus. You must forgive the suitors. Slaughtering them will grant you vengeance, yes, and secure your throne. But it will not bring you peace. It will only breed more violence, more sorrow. Break the cycle, Odysseus. Show them mercy."

Odysseus stared, incredulous. "Forgive them? After they have ravaged my house, abused my wife, plotted my son's murder?" His anger flared. "They deserve to die!"

Athena's face hardened. "You speak of justice, Odysseus, but what of wisdom? What of understanding? You are a king. A king rules with both strength and compassion. Can you find it within yourself to offer mercy, or are you only a warrior thirsting for blood?"

She paused, her gaze intense. "This is my test, Odysseus. Not a test of strength or cunning, but of character. Prove to me you are worthy of your throne, worthy of my favor."

With that, she vanished, leaving Odysseus alone with her impossible demand echoing in his ears. The suitors’ laughter grated on his nerves. Could he really forgive them? Could he sacrifice the sweet taste of revenge for the uncertain promise of peace? He closed his eyes, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders, knowing that the fate of Ithaca, and his own soul, hung in the balance. The path to a true homecoming, he realized, might be even more treacherous than the journey he had already endured.

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The stench of burnt offerings and blood clung to Alecto’s bronze sandals as she descended into the world of mortals. The wind, usually a playful whisper through the olive groves, howled in her wake, carrying the echoes of screams that were as much a part of her being as her snake-entwined hair. Her task was simple: hunt down Orestes, the matricide. Yet, tonight, the simple act felt like dragging Tartarus itself behind her.

Alecto wasn't born from love, or even from the more primal urges of the Gods. She and her sisters, Megaera and Tisiphone, sprang from the blood of Uranus, spilled when Cronus castrated him. Vengeance incarnate. It was their sole purpose, woven into the very fabric of their existence. But tonight, the weight of that existence felt crushing.

She found Orestes cowering in a temple, clutching a statue of Athena. Purity defiled by guilt. Alecto’s eyes burned with the fire of righteous anger, yet… something flickered beneath. A pity, perhaps? A fleeting understanding of the despair that drove a man to murder his own mother.

"Orestes," she hissed, her voice a chorus of the damned, "the Fates have decreed your suffering. No temple, no god can offer you sanctuary!"

He whimpered, a sound that grated on Alecto’s ears, usually only filled with the satisfaction of inflicting pain. This time, it felt different. Hollow.

She lunged, her whip of scorpions lashing out, but instead of striking, she hesitated. The echoes of countless victims, their pleas for mercy, their anguished cries, resonated within her. The weight of their suffering pressed down, blurring the line between justice and torment. Was she truly serving justice, or merely perpetuating a cycle of endless pain?

Alecto paused. A moment, an eternity, hung in the balance. Could she, a Fury, deviate from her ordained path? Could she choose to not inflict suffering?

Athena descended, a blazing beacon of divine power. "Furies," she commanded, her voice resonating with authority, "yield! Orestes seeks judgement, not eternal torment. Let the laws of men decide his fate, not the relentless cycle of blood for blood."

Alecto, weakened by her inner conflict, recoiled. She felt a tremor, a fundamental shift within her being. Perhaps, perhaps, there was another way. Perhaps, even a Fury could learn to choose. With a final, venomous glare at Orestes, Alecto ascended back into the shadows, the echoes of screams following her, but now, a whisper of hope mingled within the torment. The burden of vengeance remained, but tonight, it felt ever-so-slightly lighter.

Chapter Text

A big beaver, the size of a small dog, surveyed his domain and that of his family with a critical eye. The dam, constructed painstakingly over the last few months by them all, gleamed under the crisp Canadian sunlight. The pond it created reflected the towering pines like a shimmering, watery mirror. The beaver puffed out his chest, a true expression of pride. "A fine piece of engineering," he muttered to himself, gnawing thoughtfully on a piece of birch bark.

Unbeknownst to the beaver, nestled in the thick reeds at the edge of the dam, lived a family of voles. There was Mama Violet, Papa Victor, and their five squeaking youngsters. To them, the beavers wasn't just... beaver; rather, they were benevolent, if completely unaware, gods. Before the dam, life had been a constant scramble for survival, dodging the ever-present shadows of hawks and the slithering threat of snakes in the unpredictably flooded riverbanks.

Now, thanks to the beavers and their incessant chewing, the pond provided a stable, safer environment. The water level was consistent, predators were kept at bay, and plump, juicy reeds flourished, providing ample food and shelter. Mama Violet often told her children stories of the "Great Beavers," legendary figures who controlled the water and ensured their survival.

One day, little Vinny Vole, the most adventurous of the brood, decided to explore beyond the reeds. He scurried along the dam, his tiny heart thumping with excitement. He even dared to scamper right past the massive, mud-caked tail of one of the beavers, which twitched occasionally as the latter dreamed beaverly dreams of logs and dams.

Vinny, emboldened by his daring escapade, decided to offer his thanks. He gathered a particularly plump, juicy reed and, summoning all his courage, scampered up to the beaver's tail.

"Thank you, Great Beaver!" he squeaked at the top of his lungs, offering the reed.

The latter, jolted awake, jumped a foot in the air. "What in tarnation was that?!" he exclaimed, spinning around. He saw nothing but a blur of brown fur and a tiny, insignificant reed lying at his feet. "Must be the wind," he grumbled, dismissing the incident. He picked up the reed, examining it with his large incisors. "Not bad, actually," he mused, and promptly devoured it.

Vinny, watching from a safe distance, beamed with pride. A beaver had accepted his offering! He raced back to his family, chattering excitedly about his encounter.

Life continued peacefully by the dam. The beavers, oblivious to the silent adoration of the vole family, continued to maintain their magnificent dam and lodge. And the voles, safe and secure in their reedy paradise, lived out their lives, forever grateful to the big, lumbering beavers who had unknowingly become their benefactors. The harmony between the beavers and the voles was an ecosystem created from oblivious benevolence and silent gratitude.

Chapter Text

The air in Rhiannon's sun-drenched kitchen was thick with the scent of sugared almonds and barely concealed disappointment. 59 years young, and three phone calls – three answering machine messages – had left a bitter taste in her mouth. "They're busy," she murmured, more to herself than Rosa, who was expertly frosting a mountain of cupcakes.

"Busy being ungrateful," Rosa replied, her voice surprisingly sharp. "Don't you worry about them, señora - I mean, Ms. Rhiannon. Look at this room!"

Rhiannon did. (After again sneaking a look at Rosa - when she last saw Rosa, the latter looked worse than Rhiannon did, while being 10 years younger - but now Rosa looked her true age at best. Rhiannon felt almost jealous).

The room, meanwhile, did hum with life. Daisy, her granddaughter, was a whirlwind of glitter and giggles, her two friends, Lucy and Nancy, close behind, stringing up paper lanterns with youthful abandon. Lena, Daisy’s stepmother and Rhiannon’s true daughter in spirit, was orchestrating the chaos with a grace that belied the flour smudged on her cheek - and an enthusiasm tha belief her age (3 months older than Rhiannon, but you would never guess by Lena's almost perpetual optimism). "Almost party-ready, Rhiannon - I mean, mom!" she chirped, giving her a warm hug.

(As it was pointed out by Daisy, if Lena was Daisy's stepmom on paper and a mom in real liffe, then Rhiannon could certainly be Lena's stepmom on paper and a mom in real life. Neither of the women objected to Daisy's idea too much or too long).

The youthful energy was infectious. Rhiannon found herself smiling beforer long. The girls presented her with hand-painted cards adorned with crooked lettering and overflowing with love. Lena gifted her a framed photograph of the six of them, including Rhiannon, taken earlier this year, a moment frozen in time where genuine happiness radiated from all of their faces. Rosa, ever practical, offered a collection of her famous herbal teas, each blend tailored to a specific ailment (or a particularly difficult daughter).

As the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, a knock echoed through the hallway. Rhiannon, surprised, opened the door to find a handsome gentleman with silver hair and a bouquet of vibrant sunflowers. "Rhiannon," he said, his eyes twinkling, "Happy Birthday. I hope I'm not intruding."

It was Dr. Max, her new love interest, whom she had met at the local library. He presented her with a first edition copy of her favorite poet and she blushed.

As Max and the others gathered around Rhiannon, singing "Happy Birthday," the absence of her own daughters faded into the background. Here, in this room filled with laughter, love, and genuine connection, she had built a family stronger than blood. She finally admitted that blood didn't always make a family. Love (and loyalty) did.

Meanwhile, miles away across the state in a national park, a painted tortoise stubbornly munched on wild flowers, a cross spider spun a web with obsessive precision, and a honey bee buzzed angrily against a pane of glass. They were unaware of Rhiannon's happiness, oblivious to the karmic justice meted out by Margarete, another one of Rhiannon's new friends, (and the guardian of Nancy, Daisy's friend) the town's witch (not that she admitted it officialy, but almost everyone realized it on some level). The spell, cast with a sigh of "they deserve it," was all but permanent. They were destined to live out their days as representations of their selfish natures, forever forgotten and unseen, unless they realized their flaws and repented - highly unlikely. Rhiannon, meanwhile, never knew of her friend's intervention, perfectly content with the family she had built for herself.

Chapter Text

The Namibian sun beat down on the ancient camelthorn acacia, baking the dry creek bed below. But high in its thorny branches, life bustled. This wasn’t just any acacia; it was home to a social weaver colony, a colossal nest woven of grass and twigs, looking almost like a thatched village suspended in the air. This particular nest was legendary, known among the weaver birds as the “Sunstone Haven” for the glint of quartz pebbles woven into its southern-facing wall.

Inside, amidst the constant chirp and flutter, lived a young weaver named Kiko. Unlike his peers, Kiko wasn’t obsessed with the endless cycle of nest maintenance. While others tirelessly stuffed new grasses into already overflowing chambers, Kiko dreamt of exploring the vast, sun-scorched land beyond the acacia.

One day, he overheard a conversation between a pair of rosy-faced lovebirds, Left and Right, who had taken refuge in a vacant chamber. “The desert flowers are blooming near the Etosha pan!” Left chirped excitedly.

“A riot of color after the meager rains!” Right added.

Kiko’s heart fluttered. Desert flowers! Color! He’d only ever known the beige and brown of the dry landscape surrounding the Sunstone Haven. He knew the dangers: snakes, hawks, and the relentless heat. But the image of vibrant blooms was irresistible.

That night, under the shimmering starlight, Kiko made his decision. He confided in a speckled starling named Astrea, known for her sharp eyes and even sharper wit. "Astrea, I need your help. I want to see the flowers."

Astrea, initially skeptical, was won over by Kiko’s earnest plea. "Alright, little weaver bird," she squawked. "But you'll need a guide. The desert isn't kind to the unprepared."

The next morning, as the sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, Kiko and Astrea slipped away from the Sunstone Haven. They followed the dry creek bed, guided by Astra’s knowledge of the landscape. They dodged a lurking cape cobra, thanks to Astrea’s keen eyesight, and found water in a hidden hollow rock, remembered by Astrea from her previous migrations.

Finally, after a day of arduous travel, they reached it. The Etosha pan's edges blazed with wildflowers: crimson, sapphire, and gold. Kiko had never seen anything so beautiful. He flew among the blooms, overwhelmed by their fragrance and color.

He returned to the Sunstone Haven a changed bird. He still helped with the nest, of course, but now he shared stories of the flowers, inspiring other young weaver birds to dream of the world beyond their woven village. He even convinced some lovebirds to bring seeds back, planting them near the acacia, adding splashes of color to their little corner of the Namibian desert. Kiko, the Sunstone Weaver, proved that even within the biggest nest on the planet, there was always room for a little bit of adventure, and a whole lot of beauty.

Chapter Text

Deep in the sun-baked heart of the Australian outback, where the earth throbbed with heat and the eucalyptus trees sighed in the wind, lived a family of termites unlike any other. The Gnawlings, as they were known, weren't content with a merely impressive termite mound. Oh no. They dreamt of a colossus, a monument to termite ingenuity that would make them legends.

Queen Glenda, a fiercely ambitious matriarch with a body size to match (she towered over the other termies), instilled in her workers a relentless drive to build bigger, better, and higher. "We shall surpass the Mighty Mountains of Mount Tom Price termites!" she'd declare, her antennae twitching with determination.

Their efforts were, to put it mildly, chaotic. While other termite colonies focused on structural integrity and efficient tunnels, the Gnawlings added unnecessary turrets, spiraling staircases that led nowhere, and even a miniature ballroom filled with meticulously chewed wood shavings. Their mound grew, yes, but not necessarily well. It teetered precariously, threatening to collapse with every gust of wind.

Then came Fred, a human journalist with a penchant for the peculiar. Fred, perpetually clad in khaki and armed with a notepad and a slightly battered camera, was researching termite architecture for his novel. He stumbled upon the Gnawlings’ haphazard masterpiece in the process of doing that.

Initially, he was baffled. "It's… ambitious," he stammered, scribbling furiously. But as he observed the Gnawlings at work, he also saw their passion, their unwavering dedication, and Queen Glenda's infectious enthusiasm. He began interviewing them, using a modified stethoscope and a lot of patience to decipher their clicking language.

Fred's article on Glenda's termite family, "The Gnawlings: Termite Titans or Tottering Towers?" became a sensation. His photos of the bizarre mound, complete with its miniature ballroom and precarious turrets, were captivating. People flocked to see the Gnawlings' creation. Even the other, rival, termite colonies were grudgingly impressed.

The Gnawlings didn't quite achieve the "biggest mound" title – the Mighty Mountains still held that honor. But they achieved something far more significant: fame. Their story, immortalized by Fred, resonated with people. It was a testament to the power of ambition, even when slightly misguided, and the beauty of collaboration between species. Tourists even began leaving tiny bits of wood, perfectly shaped for miniature ballrooms, at the mound’s base. The Gnawlings finally had their masterpiece, not just in size, but in the hearts of those who marveled at their quirky creation.

Chapter Text

The Nile shimmered, reflecting the morning sun as The Sultan's Delight, a Turkish mercantile vessel, eased into Cairo's bustling harbor. Captain Omar, face flushed with apparent exertion, barked orders to his crew as they secured the mooring lines. The air buzzed with anticipation. Silks, spices, furs – the promise of exotic riches hung heavy in the humid air. Merchants jostled for prime positions on the dock, their voices a rising tide of haggling before the first crate was even unloaded. The curious children were everywhere, as this was the first mercantile ship of the season, and it was a big one.

High above the human frenzy, perched on the minarets of mosques and the crumbling walls of the city, the storks of Cairo observed. They were no ordinary birds. Generations of storks had witnessed empires rise and fall along the Nile, their sharp eyes and keen minds absorbing secrets whispered on the wind. Old Stork Baraka, his feathers the color of aged parchment, watched with particular intensity. His dark eyes narrowed, focusing not on the shimmering silks, but on the faces of the sailors.

He saw it. The tell-tale rash, small red spots blooming on the cheeks of several seamen. Plague. He knew it instinctively. A plague that had ravaged parts of Anatolia, now smuggled within the folds of fine cloth and the holds of The Sultan's Delight.

Baraka stretched his wings, a powerful six-foot span casting a brief shadow on the crowd below. He clattered his beak, a series of sharp, urgent clicks that echoed across the harbor. The other storks joined him, their cries rising in a discordant chorus. Klak-klak! Klak-klak! The sounds were frantic, desperate.

The humans, however, heard only the familiar clatter of storks. "Good luck for the city!" a water vendor shouted, tipping his fez in mock deference. A small boy threw a date pit at one of the birds, laughing as it scattered the pigeons.

Baraka watched, his heart heavy. He dipped his head, then with a mighty beat of his wings, launched himself into the air. The other storks followed, forming a swirling, agitated cloud above the ship. They circled, rattling their warning to deaf ears. They landed on the ship's mast, flapping their wings and jostling for position to be heard. But the captain, too preoccupied with the arrival rituals, saw them only as a nuisance. He shooed them away, cursing their persistence.

As the first bale of silk was lowered onto the dock, Baraka knew. The plague had arrived. The beauty and wealth of the exotic goods were merely a gilded cage concealing a deadly passenger. He and his kin could only watch, powerless, as Cairo unwittingly welcomed its doom. Their mournful rattles, lost in the clamor of commerce, were the only lament for a tragedy yet to unfold - but soon now.

Chapter Text

Kimiko, a Siamese cat with an air of perpetual disdain, was draped across the sun-warmed wooden bench, paws tucked neatly beneath her. Her emerald eyes followed Sarah, a hyperactive Boston terrier, as she zipped across the emerald lawn like a furry, white blur. 'Honestly,' Kimiko thought, each syllable dripping with feline boredom, 'this is dreadfully dull. I could run faster than that… probably. Yes, definitely. I'm bored, I'll run on the lawn.'

Meanwhile, Sarah, while fueled by an endless reservoir of canine enthusiasm, was beginning to feel the burn. The sun was high, the chasing of butterflies surprisingly taxing, and her tiny legs were starting to protest. 'Woof! Gotta… gotta catch… gotta… nap!' she thought, panting like a steam engine. 'I'm tired, I'll rest on the bench.'

And so, driven by boredom and exhaustion respectively, the switch commenced.

Kimiko, with a dramatic stretch that rippled through her sleek body, launched herself from the bench. Landing silently on the grass, she took off. Not with Sarah's frantic, bouncing energy, but with a smooth, elegant glide. (No, really.) She was a bicolored missile, a blur of feline grace, dissecting the lawn with practiced ease.

Sarah, seeing her opportunity, veered sharply towards the unoccupied bench. She scrambled up, circled thrice to arrange the perfect position, and promptly collapsed in a furry heap, sighing contentedly. The warmth of the wood seeped into her tired muscles, and Sarah closed her eyes, basking in the sun's golden rays.

Now, the tables had truly turned. Kimiko was a streak of bicolored fury, effortlessly outpacing invisible foes on the lawn, her tail held high like a regal banner. She reveled in the sensation of the wind in her fur, the feel of the cool grass beneath her paws. She was the hunter, the queen, the ruler of all she surveyed – which, admittedly, was mostly dandelions and ant hills.

And Sarah? Sarah was snoring gently on the bench, dreaming of chasing squirrels and burying bones. She twitched in his sleep, a tiny, blissful smile gracing her muzzle.

The absurdity of the situation didn't escape the notice of Rosa, who was tending her employers' roses nearby. She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I’ll be,” she murmured to herself. “Never thought I’d see the day Kimiko ran more than Sarah.”

Kimiko, overhearing (because cats always hear everything), paused mid-dash. She glanced at the sleeping Sarah on the bench, then back at Rosa. A flicker of something that might have been amusement – or perhaps just indigestion – crossed her face. She then resumed his run, a little faster this time, as if to prove a point. The lawn, after all, wouldn't conquer itself. And a nap? Well, that was for dogs.

Chapter Text

Hiroshi, or Hiro as he preferred to be called, wasn’t much to look at. Amongst the dazzling coral and flamboyant angelfish of the Ryukyu Reef, he was, well, a beige-ish pufferfish. Unremarkable. He couldn't puff up into a spectacular spiky ball like some of his brethren, either; his spikes were short and stubby, almost endearing rather than intimidating.

But Hiro had a secret. He was an artist. A sculptor, a landscape architect, a visionary… all disguised beneath a seemingly ordinary exterior. He channeled all his energy, all his anxieties about being unremarkable, into creating the most breathtaking nest the reef had ever seen.

This was the mating season. He needed to attract Fuji, a pufferfish with scales that shimmered like polished jade and eyes that held the wisdom of the ocean. He was hopelessly, utterly smitten.

Hiro worked tirelessly, day and night. He flapped his fins, creating ripples to carefully sweep the seabed clean. Then, using only his fins and a meticulous mouth, he carved geometric patterns into the sand. Concentric circles spread outwards, like ripples of love radiating from his tiny heart. He used darker sand, carefully gathered from beneath a rock overhang, to accentuate the lines, creating striking contrast.

He decorated the ridges with crushed shells, carefully selecting those that caught the light just so. He scavenged colorful algae, arranging them in swirling patterns that mimicked the currents. He even managed to weave a tiny, delicate archway of seagrass at the entrance, painstakingly attaching it with a sticky secretion from a sea cucumber he'd... well, let's just say he'd negotiated with it.

Other pufferfish watched him, their expressions a mixture of amusement and pity. "Look at Hiro, trying to impress Fuji with his…sandcastle," they'd murmur. Hiro ignored them. He was creating something beautiful, something that represented the depth of his feelings.

Finally, after weeks of relentless work, it was finished. The nest pulsed with subtle beauty, a testament to Hiro's dedication. He hovered nervously, waiting, hoping.

Then, she arrived. Fuji, her jade scales shimmering in the filtered sunlight, drifted towards him. She circled the nest, her eyes, indeed filled with oceanic wisdom, scrutinizing every detail. Hiro held his breath.

Finally, she paused, looking directly at him. Hiro, bracing for rejection, puffed up as much as he dared, which wasn't much. Fuji didn't laugh, nor did she look away. Instead, a slow smile spread across her face.

"It's… beautiful, Hiro," she said, her voice a low, resonant hum. "You put your heart into this, didn't you?"

Hiro, speechless, could only nod.

"It's more beautiful than any shimmering scales or impressive spikes," Fuji continued, nudging him gently with her snout. "It tells me everything I need to know about you."

And with that, Fuji swam into the heart of Hiro’s extraordinary, sandy creation, signifying her acceptance. Hiro followed, his heart overflowing. He might not have been the flashiest pufferfish in the sea, but he was, without a doubt, the luckiest. He had created beauty, and in doing so, he had found love. And that, he knew, was the most special thing of all.

Chapter Text

Mortimer wasn't just a mole; he was an architect of the under-earth, a maestro of the molehill, a visionary in the velvety darkness. His tunnel system wasn't merely 183 meters long; it was a sprawling, interconnected metropolis of soil, a testament to his tireless digging. He called it "Mortimer's Magnificent Maze," though, of course, nobody but Mortimer ever heard it.

For years, Mortimer thrived in his solitude. Each new tunnel was a carefully considered addition, each chamber a testament to his architectural prowess. Some were for storage, packed with plump earthworms and juicy grubs. Others were galleries, lined with shimmering mica flakes he’d unearthed, reflecting the faintest hint of moonlight that seeped through the soil. And then there was the "Grand Ballroom," a colossal (for a mole) cavern, which he used for… well, he wasn’t entirely sure what it was for, but it was impressive nonetheless.

His life was a rhythm of dig, eat, contemplate, and occasionally polish his collection of shiny pebbles. He cherished the silence, the cool earth against his fur, the feeling of mastery over his subterranean domain. The other creatures, the earthworms and beetles he occasionally bumped into, were mere background players in his grand opera.

Then came the Spring Equinox.

A strange scent, a musky fragrance, drifted through the tunnels. It disrupted his perfect symmetry, his carefully planned schedule. It was... female. Mortimer, normally so collected, became a frantic, furry blur. His digging became erratic, his galleries abandoned. He forgot about polishing his pebbles.

He followed the scent, deeper and deeper into the maze, until he reached a tunnel he'd never seen before. It was narrower, less meticulously planned, almost… haphazard. And at the end of it, he saw her.

Millicent.

She was digging, of course, with an efficiency that almost rivaled his own. But unlike Mortimer's pristine tunnels, hers were cluttered with loose soil and half-eaten grubs. She looked up, blinked her tiny eyes, and grunted.

"You Mortimer?"

He stammered, "Y-yes! And you must be Millicent! I've heard... well, smelled... so much about you!"

Millicent sniffed the air. "Heard? You live miles away, old timer. Anyway, my tunnels connect to yours now. That means you stop leaving your pebbles in the middle of my foraging routes."

Mortimer, the maestro, the visionary, the architect of the under-earth, was speechless. Millicent was… practical. Utterly, unapologetically practical.

He eventually managed a weak, "Of course, Millicent. Whatever you say."

And so began a new chapter in Mortimer's Magnificent Maze, a chapter filled not with solitude and carefully planned tunnels, but with shared meals, the occasional argument over grub storage, and the slow, grudging acceptance that sometimes, even a maestro needs a little… collaboration. After all, even the most magnificent maze is better with company - even if that company rearranges your pebble collection.

Chapter Text

Zef is walking through the Whispering caverns once more, the stones, the bones, and the puddles beneath his heavy boots. Once more, there is golden treasure around him, as well as the remains of those who went after it – some are bones, some are stones, and some are soot on the wall.

Zarina, the big Amazon who is walking alongside Zef, is clearly having a tougher time with this: she is grasping Zef’s wrist with all of her considerable strength, while weeping and muttering a mantra of some sort under her breath. Given how she was stumbling and Zef was the only reason why she was still standing, Zef really did not want to call her out.

…And then he saw the little mage, Falina. She… looked better than his brother had at this point; she was still recognizable, still had humanity left… “Deep down, I’m selfish as everyone else,” she was weeping, “deep down, I know that we’re the same…” Her body, now skin and bone – and scale, and venomous spine – certainly looked not unlike how his brother did look – and Zef had had enough. The fact that he almost could hear other silence manifesting in the distance – crawling, slithering, rustling sounds – was not helping either.

He shifted and grabbed Zarina where no man dared to touch her before, he would bet. Abruptly, Zarina stopped weeping and stared at him with her old self coming back – but Zef gently adjusted her gaze at Falina instead. “She needs to be taken out of here now,” he snapped even as he moved towards her. “Start helping or else-!”

Zarina moved fast, her old self returning, her despair vanishing, but Zef was ready, and the pair ran in tandem; Zef grabbed Falina by the scruff of her neck, Zarina, with her heavy leather gloves – by the tail Falina’s legs fused into, and the pair ran back towards the entrance/exit, carrying the mage, leaving the dragonite stone behind them. The other sounds intensified, but the treasure remained undisturbed, the geas was not broken, Zef and Zarina had an advantage – and so they burst out of the darkness and into daylight undisturbed.

There was a burst of white light, stunning them both briefly, and when it faded, Falina stood on her own two legs, looking entirely human. “What did you do?” she screeched, standing on her own two legs, looking not thankful. “What did you do?”

“Rescued you,” Zef gave Falina a look. “Should we have slain you instead?”

“Yes! No! Maybe!” Falina abruptly sat on the forest floor. “I- I am Falina. I am – I am – I was – I thought I was – but I am the same as everyone else, just as selfish, as prideful, as weak-“

“What do you know about weakness?” Zarina said flatly – it was the first time that Zef heard her being anything but professional to the other woman. “In that damned cave I was helpless! The gold, the gold, the gold! I would have abandoned you and all of the principles that made me for just to touch it and to roll in it! I had to hold his hand,” she pointed to Zef, “as a baby holds her mother’s arm, or else I would’ve just rolled there among the coins like a pig through the mud! The man now owns me, as a man owns a common woman, for without him I would’ve failed on all costs.”

“You know,” Zef began, but Zarina was not done:

“I owe him for you and me,” she told Falina, “and the only repayment this sort of debt can be is a child. Listen,” she told Zef, looking for all purposes like a common young woman, about to be married against her will, “I will be,” she choked, “please give me time to prepare-“

“How about,” Zef said slowly, (really, this was not where he was going, and he did not like where it was going, but)… “We discuss this at my castle instead? Because I think that even leaving the magic stone behind hadn’t placated the cave’s new guardian – I swear that I hear something else despite the two of you-“

The two women fell silent and listened themselves. “I don’t hear anything,” Zarina said slowly, “but I think that I smell something in the air, and I don’t like it. I daresay we do need to leave before nightfall. Let’s pack and leave this place.”

The ground trembled slightly and something seemed to flare deep within the cave.

“My brother, I’m afraid,” Zef said quietly. “Unlike our mage he succumbed to dragonite completely.”

“Why isn’t he destroying-“ Falina trailed off. “You stopped him. How come you didn't succumb?”

“I was too stubborn, too angry at the world, never invested in the sin of greed," Zef looked away. "When we came into the cave I didn't know what I wanted, and so I just forced my way through, just as I have this time. My brother, on the other hand? Became a dragon of some sort; I stopped him, with this sword – but apparently he is still around,” Zef muttered. “Any ideas-?”

“We need to get to the castle and resupply,” Falina said firmly, “and, moreover? I apologize for being an ingrate. I just, I just-“

“-Need to make a choice. Remain a selfless mage? Become a selfish bitch? Choose something else?” Zef said brightly, causing Falina to turn red, and not from embarrassment.

“Yes!” she snapped angrily. “Now let’s go!”

Looking rather bemused, Zarina and Zef followed suit.

TBC?

Chapter Text

The humans were leaving. They accomplished their biggest trick yet, and were just leaving, this world for the new one. They were packing all of their belong-ings, inventions, and paraphernalia onto their wagons and what else have you, and going through the portal in an orderly fashion.

“So much for them – who needs them?” one of the Amazons muttered.

Zarina, one of the queen’s personal bodyguards, looked to see who the speaker was, but the latter remained humbly anonymous, just a voice in the crowd.

Well, not exactly a crowd – practically all of the Amazons gathered to see what was going on (besides the obvious), looking their most impressive and most… them. They did not exactly know why – the human throng was going some distance away from them, but… the occasion demanded it, they felt. It just did.

“So much for their civilization,” someone else muttered. “This is a bluff-“

“No, it’s not,” queen Aglaia didn’t raise her watch that much, but all of the Amazons stilled as they saw the rest of the humans arrive in their boats, and they weren’t alone – sleek, scaly bodies were breaking the surface of the sea, revealing more human-looking faces and torsos.

“You promised to take us with you,” a siren’s silvery voice was heard clearly despite the distance, as it often happened. “Please! We promise to repay your goodness with our goodness, your kindness with ours…”

The humans stopped, one of them said something to the sirens, and they began to pull them out of the water and put them into water barrels with wheels – and the sirens did not mind too much. They weren’t protesting, they were co-operating, and-

“The fish-folk have their belongings too,” one of the queen’s advisors said slowly. “Whatever the humans are doing, they’ll have a piece of it too.”

There was an uncomfortable pause that was broken by-

“-You heard it from the Amazon’s mouth, girls!” someone else spoke loudly in the Common tongue, (and it was not one of the Amazons either). “The scaly-tailes are leaving where they think we are too afraid to follow! Shall we prove them wrong, girls?”

“Yes, Celaeno!” came the raucous chorus. The Amazons looked up, and saw harpies – a whole lot of harpies, unusually packed up with their belongings, swoop down towards the portal, (and it seemed to be shrinking), and the throng that was going through it. They were flying (pun intended) the white banners of peace and truce – and it was working, as they got to fly through without being harassed… and yes, the portal was shrinking as the throng was almost gone.

“Right,” queen Aglaia said briskly. “Is there anyone else around-?”

“No,” came the collective reply.

“Then pack up and rush lest we get left behind-!”

They almost did. Fortunately, Amazons are always fast packers, (in this occasion, it was extra fast), and their loyal steeds are even faster. Together, they beat the rush and burst through the portal at the last moment.

(Well, actually, the portal held long enough for them to go through before it was turned off. However, the Amazons’ version was grander).

They landed on the soil of a new world, just in time to see the first sunrise. The sun came up, warming human and Amazon, siren and harpy alike…

And it fell good!

End

Chapter Text

...The sweat beaded on Alistair's brow, mingling with the dust of the pampas. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of mud across his forehead. He had done it. He had actually managed to capture Myrmecophaga tridactyla, the giant anteater, without seriously harming the magnificent beast. Now it lay, sedated but breathing steadily, in a specially designed net.

"Took you long enough, eh, gringo?" a voice called out, laced with amusement.

Alistair grinned, relief washing over him. "About time, Isabella! Thought you'd gotten lost again."

Isabella, astride a surprisingly placid brown cow named Buttercup, ambled into view. She was a whirlwind of energy, her dark eyes sparkling beneath the wide brim of her straw hat. She was also the only person for miles who knew the terrain, the animals, and most importantly, how to wrangle them.

"Lost? Never! Though Buttercup here did have a brief staring contest with a particularly judgmental armadillo," she chuckled, dismounting with a prac-ticed ease that belied the cow’s ungainly appearance.

"Right, let's get this fella back to camp," Alistair said, gesturing to the slum-bering anteater. "The sooner he's settled the better."

Isabella sized up the situation. "Sedated, good. However, lifting him? Even for two, that is a challenge. Especially onto...Buttercup."

Alistair looked at the cow, then back at the anteater. "It's the only way. The Land Rover is miles away. We can lash the net securely to Buttercup's back. She’s stronger than she looks."

Working together, they carefully positioned the net, easing the anteater onto Buttercup's broad back. The cow shifted slightly, giving Alistair a nervous glance, but Isabella soothed her with a gentle hand and a soft Spanish lullaby. Ropes were threaded and tightened, securing the net until it was snug but not constricting.

“Ready?” Isabella asked her voice serious.

Alistair nodded, though a knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. This whole expedition felt like a ridiculous, improbable dream. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t wake up midride and decide to go for a stroll.”

Isabella grinned. "Don't worry amigo. Buttercup knows the way. And if he does wake up... well, that's why I brought my lasso."

She winked; climbed back onto Buttercup, and with a gentle nudge, the unlikely caravan began its journey across the sun-baked plains. Alistair walked beside them, constantly checking the net, a mixture of trepidation and exhilaration coursing through him. He had captured a giant anteater. Now, he just had to get him safely back to London. Somehow, with Isabella and Buttercup by his side, he actually believed he could.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a bird, a little bird, a drab little bird, and she hated that. Therefore, she did what any intelligent songbird would do – she went and talked to the wise old owl (during the day).

During the daytime, the wise old owl was just that, (as opposed to the nighttime, when everyone hid from her and locked the door instead). Therefore, the little bird approached her with no fear, but respectfully enough. “Good morning,” she said brightly.

“And good morning to you too, little bird,” the owl replied. “What brings you here? Come closer so that I could hear you properly.”

“I’m tired of being drab,” the songbird said far away from the owl. “How can I be as colorful as the other birds?”

“Fly to the Great Lakes in the east,” the owl replied even as she shifted her posi-tion – she could not see in daylight too well, but she could hear just fine. “Drink their water and you’ll be just as blue. But beware the guardian fox – she just might eat you-!”

“Thanks,” said the songbird even as she hightailed out of there – you just did not tempt an owl if you were just a songbird. “I’ll remember that!”

In addition, she did. More specifically, when she arrived at the Great Lakes (in the east), the first thing she did was to look around for the fox – and there the fox was, lounging on a rock and giving the bird a pointed look.

The bird took a deep breath and landed delicately near the fox. "Greetings, Miss Fox," she chirped, her voice as sweet as berries. "What a beautiful lake! Are you enjoying the scenery?"

The fox raised her head, suspicion gleaming in her eyes. "Who are you, little bird, and what brings you to the Great Lakes?"

"I am but a humble traveler," the bird replied innocently. "I've heard tales of the Great Lakes' extraordinary water, said to bring good fortune to those who drink from it. I'm hoping for a bit of luck myself!"

She continued to chatter, praising the fox's intelligence, her beauty, and her splendid domain. She told stories of faraway lands and sung simple, charming songs. The fox, normally ready to strike, found herself surprisingly entertained. The bird's words were so smooth, so flattering, that they soothed her usually sharp edges.

As the fox listened, shortly lulled by the songbird's cleverness, the latter edged closer to the water. With a quick dip of her beak, she drank deeply.

A jolt of vibrant energy surged through her. Her feathers shimmered, then transformed, blossoming into the breathtaking blue of the lake itself. She was magnificent!

The fox, realizing she had been outsmarted, roared in fury. She lunged, but the first bluebird, swift and energized, soared into the air, laughing with joy.

Defeated, the fox rolled around the sand of the lakeshore. It stained and colored her fur red, making her the first red fox.

Therefore, the little gray bird became the first Bluebird, a symbol of joy and beauty. Meanwhile, the cunning fox, outwitted by her, became the first Red Fox, a reminder that there is always someone smarter in the wings. The Great Lakes remember, and the woods still whisper their tale.

Chapter Text

The midday sun beat down on the cobblestones of Atheria, baking the very air. Eleanor's face, already flushed with its natural, almost ember-like hue, was now a raging inferno of crimson. Her dark, braided hair whipped around her as she rounded on Beatrice, her voice a ragged shout.

"I told you, Beatrice, I needed the Sunpetal dew before noon! Now the enchantment's unstable, the Glimmerweave could unravel, and it's your fault!"

Beatrice, dressed in a calm, forest-green dress that seemed to absorb the heat, stood her ground. Her own hair, a cascade of honey-blonde, was neatly pinned back. She waited, a gentle smile playing on her lips, as Eleanor's tirade reached its fevered peak. The air around Eleanor visibly shimmered, a heat haze radiating from her core.

Finally, Eleanor gasped, clutching at her chest. "I... I can't..."

Beatrice, without a word, held out a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside lay three iridescent pills, each glowing with a faint, calming blue. Eleanor snatched them, swallowing them dry. A tense silence hung in the air.

Slowly, almost visibly, the red receded from Eleanor's face. The fiery intensity in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a soft, almost apologetic light. Her shoulders slumped, the tension draining from her body.

"Oh, Beatrice," she whispered, her voice now a soft murmur. "I... I'm so sorry. I don't know what gets into me sometimes. Thank you... thank you for being so patient."

Beatrice moved closer, placing a comforting hand on Eleanor's arm. "It's alright, Eleanor. I know it's not you. The fire spirits are strong, and your heart is even stronger. We just need to manage the flame."

She led Eleanor to a nearby fountain, its water shimmering with captured starlight. "Here, sit. Let's cool down a bit. We can redo the enchantment later. It's not the end of the world, even if it feels like it."

Eleanor sat, her red skin still radiating a gentle warmth against the cool stone. She leaned her head against Beatrice's shoulder, breathing deeply. "I don't deserve you," she murmured.

Beatrice chuckled softly. "Nonsense. Everyone deserves a friend who understands their inner demons, especially when those demons have a tendency to set things on fire."

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the Atherian rooftops with hues of orange and gold, Eleanor felt a sense of peace settle over her. The pills had done their work, the fire within her subdued, but the warmth of Beatrice's friendship was a constant, comforting flame that would never be extinguished. She knew she was lucky to have her, the calm against her storm, the anchor in her fiery soul.

Chapter Text

The kitchen hummed with the gentle chaos of a family breakfast. The scent of melted cheese and buttery toast mingled with the bright tang of orange juice and the earthy aroma of Steve’s coffee. Normandy, her face dusted with egg yolk, was surreptitiously slipping scraps of scrambled egg under the table to Buster, their golden retriever, who responded with grateful tail wags that thrummed against the wooden floor.

Ashley, perched at the end of the table, scrolled absently through her phone while murmuring reminders to ten-year-old Thomas about his spelling test. The warm brown and yellow hues of the room – from the floral wallpaper to the inherited oak furniture – usually brought a sense of comfort, a feeling of being enveloped in sunshine. But today, they felt…more stifling.

Steve stirred his coffee, his gaze fixed on the windowsill. A vase overflowed with cheerful white and yellow daisies, but his attention was drawn instead to the pair of cardinals flitting outside the window. The male, a breathtaking flash of crimson against the muted colors of the early spring garden, pecked at a bird feeder, eating the last of the bird feed of the winter months. Beside him, the female, a more subtle blend of browns and greys with only a hint of red on her wings, watched him patiently.

“Look at the cardinals, kids,” Steve said, his voice a little too loud, (hoping that he wasn't going to say the wrong thing again). “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Normandy, now finished with her covert dog-feeding operation, popped her head up. “The red one is showing off again,” she giggled.

Thomas, oblivious to any undercurrents, simply nodded, shoveling fruit into his mouth. Ashley, however, glanced up from her phone, her eyes meeting Steve’s across the table. A silent question passed between them – one laced with the unspoken anxieties that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

Steve knew what she was thinking. The cardinals were a real life metaphor right now. He, the vibrant, outwardly successful one, consumed by ambition and driven by a need to provide. And Ashley, the steadfast, supportive partner, her own dreams subtly dimmed by the demands of family life.

The female cardinal hopped closer to the male, nudging him gently. He responded by sharing a seed. It was a simple act, a moment of quiet tenderness, but it resonated with Steve. He realized he had been so focused on being the bright red bird, the provider, the protector, that he had forgotten to appreciate the quiet strength and beauty beside him.

He reached across the table and took Ashley’s hand, her skin soft against his. “How about we take the kids to that art museum you mentioned this weekend?” he said, the words feeling surprisingly clumsy.

A small smile touched Ashley’s lips. “I’d like that,” she replied.

The cardinals continued to flit outside the window, their presence a reminder that even in a world of browns and yellows, even amidst the pressures of daily life, there was always room for a splash of red, and a shared seed. The unspoken worries hadn’t vanished entirely, but they felt a little lighter, a little less daunting. The breakfast table, suddenly, felt a little brighter.

Chapter Text

Peregrine, the peafowl, puffed out his iridescent chest. His train, a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, and gold, shimmered in the morning sun. He strutted past Corvus, the crane, who was visiting, and also meticulously preening his simple grey feathers by the water trough.

"I," said the peafowl, his voice dripping with smugness, "am colorful, and you're drab and gray. Look at the envious glances! Even the farmer’s wife admires me."

Corvus paused, tilting his long neck. "I," the crane replied, his voice calm and measured, "can fly in the sky, and you can't leave the confines of your farmyard. While you are admired on the ground, I soar above, seeing the world beyond these fences."

Peregrine scoffed. "The world? What good is the world? All you see is more…grey! Nothing as magnificent as this!" He fanned his train again, the colors vibrating in the air.

Corvus sighed, extending his elegant wings. "Beauty isn't everything, Peregrine. I can see storms brewing miles away, guide lost travelers with my calls, and migrate thousands of miles each year." He paused, then added, "Besides, I find the soft, varied grays of the dawn sky quite beautiful." And he left.

For days, the feud continued. Peregrine flaunted his plumage, boasting about the children who pointed and gasped at his beauty. Corvus, in turn, spoke of the freedom of the skies and the vastness of the world he explored.

One afternoon, a wildfire erupted in the distant hills. The smoke billowed towards the farm, casting a sinister orange glow. Panic gripped the animals. The hens clucked frantically, the pigs squealed, and even Peregrine let out a distressed cry.

Corvus, perched high on the barn roof, surveyed the scene. He knew the fire was headed their way, and the farmer was nowhere to be seen.

Without hesitation, Corvus launched himself into the air. He flew towards the nearby town, his distinctive call echoing across the fields. He circled the marketplace until he caught the attention of the townsfolk, guiding them back towards the farm with his insistent cries.

The townspeople arrived just in time, helping to evacuate the animals and save the farm from destruction.

As the smoke cleared and the farm was safe, Peregrine approached Corvus. His flamboyant feathers seemed duller, his arrogance diminished.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “You…you saved us all.”

Corvus simply nodded. “My ability is different from yours, Peregrine. But it's just as important. We each have our strengths."

Peregrine, looking at the crane silhouetted against the now-clear sky, finally understood. He might be beautiful, but Corvus possessed something even more valuable: the ability to help, to protect, and to connect the farm to the world beyond. He was beautiful in his own way.

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Suzy, a whirlwind of ten-year-old energy, surveyed her domain with a pink-stained grin. Balloons bobbed, streamers shimmered, and even the garden gnomes wore tiny pink tutus. Her two fluffy Samoyed puppies, Princess Fluffbutt and Sir Snugglesworth (or Snuggles for short), sported pink ribbons and panted happily, tails wagging furiously. This was it: the ultimate pink splash party!

Meanwhile, next door, a different kind of party was unfolding. Suzy’s mom, Eleanor, a woman of impeccable taste and a slight aversion to all things sticky, was hosting a sophisticated garden soiree. Canapés glistened, champagne flutes sparkled, and polite conversation filled the air. Eleanor, resplendent in a floral dress and a pearl necklace, hoped her guests wouldn't notice the distant shrieks of joy and the distinct sploosh sounds emanating from the neighboring yard.

The two parties existed in a tense equilibrium for about fifteen minutes. Then, the inevitable happened.

It started with a stray water balloon, propelled with the enthusiasm only a group of sugar-fueled ten-year-olds could muster. It soared over the meticulously manicured hedge and landed, splat, right in the middle of Mrs. Abernathy's elaborate hat.

A collective gasp rippled through the sophisticated gathering. Mrs. Abernathy, usually a picture of composure, let out a small shriek.

Suzy, realizing the gravity of the situation, shrieked even louder, "Water balloon fight!" and charged the hedge, followed by her pack of giggling friends and the two eager, pink-ribboned Samoyeds.

The hedge, which had previously served as a symbol of polite separation, became the front line of an epic battle. Children pelted unsuspecting adults with water balloons. Snuggles, in a burst of excitement, snatched a cucumber sandwich off a silver platter and ran off, pursued by Princess Fluffbutt, who wanted a bite.

Eleanor, initially mortified, watched the chaos unfold with a mixture of horror and amusement. Her carefully planned party was dissolving into a pink-tinted, water-soaked free-for-all.

Then, something unexpected happened. Mr. Henderson, a notoriously stuffy lawyer, caught a water balloon. Instead of scolding the culprit, a mischievous glint appeared in his eye. He filled the balloon at the nearby fountain and launched it back over the hedge, hitting young Timmy square in the chest.

A cheer erupted from both sides of the hedge.

Eleanor, seeing the smiles (and the wet hair), decided to embrace the chaos. She grabbed a pitcher of lemonade (pink, of course) and crossed the boundary line. "Alright, everyone," she announced, "let's make this a real party!"

Soon, adults and children alike were engaging in a full-blown water balloon war. Champagne flutes were traded for plastic cups filled with pink lemonade. Canapés lay forgotten as everyone laughed and splashed, united by the unexpected joy of a pink, wet, and utterly unforgettable birthday celebration. The pink peril had triumphed, turning the prosecco predicament into a surprisingly successful fusion.

Chapter Text

Normandy adjusted her slightly-too-big, golden tiara, wincing as a strand of her blonde hair tickled her nose. The tiara, once belonging to a princess according to the antique shop owner, was now her magician's headwear. It felt a lot more powerful this way. The blue wallpaper of her room, patterned with tiny white stars, seemed to shimmer in agreement.

Everything in Normandy's world was blue. Her bedspread was a deep cerulean, her clothes were various shades of indigo and azure, and even Finn, her betta fish, swam languidly in his sapphire-tinted bowl. Outside, the summer sun blazed on emerald lawns and emerald leaves, a stark and unapologetic contrast that Normandy usually ignored. Today, though, the vibrant green felt…inspiring.

"Okay, Cheddar, Operation: Amazing Audience Applause is a go!" she announced to the orange tabby cat sprawled across her lap. Cheddar, whose fur resembled a melted cheese puddle, blinked slowly, his amber eyes half-closed. He was not known for his boundless enthusiasm.

Normandy hopped off the bed. "The Great Normandy and her magnificent feline assistant, Cheddar, will now astound you!" She swept a blue velvet curtain she'd hung across the doorway, revealing a makeshift stage – a small, blue-draped table littered with glittery blue wands and a slightly dented blue top hat.

Her first trick was the vanishing treat. Normandy held up a tuna-flavored treat, Cheddar's absolute favorite, and placed it under a blue handkerchief. With a flourish, she whisked the cloth away. The treat was gone!

Cheddar, however, remained unmoved. He knew perfectly well that she'd simply palmed the treat. He’d seen her do it a hundred times.

"Bravo!" Normandy said in a booming voice, clapping her hands together. Cheddar gave a long, dramatic yawn.

Deflated, Normandy sat down on the edge of the stage. "It's no good, Cheddar. No one will be impressed with a disappearing treat and a bored cat."

Cheddar stretched, then hopped onto the stage and began batting at a loose thread hanging from the blue tablecloth. Suddenly, Normandy gasped.

"Cheddar! That's it!" she exclaimed. "The thread! The green thread! We can make it change colors!"

An idea sparked in her mind, brighter than the summer sun. She could use her love of blue, and the contrast of the green outside, to create an illusion. Green thread transforming into blue silk! It would be magical, unexpected, and utterly…Normandy.

Cheddar, sensing her excitement, purred and rubbed against her leg. Maybe, just maybe, this magic show would be a little more interesting after all. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get an extra tuna-flavored treat out of it.

Chapter Text

The aroma hit you a block away – cinnamon, vanilla, and that indescribable 'baked happiness' smell that only Clara's Corner could conjure. The bakery glowed, a beacon of warmth against the grey cityscape. Inside, the brown decor, in shades ranging from rich mahogany to comforting caramel, served as the perfect backdrop to the explosion of colour that were Clara's creations.

Clara herself, a mountain of a woman with a smile as wide as a watermelon slice, stood behind the counter, her bright pink hair a cheerful contrast to her crisp, professional baker's whites. She was holding court, a small gathering of children captivated by her tales of the mischievous gingerbread men who occasionally tried to escape.

"And then, little Leon, he almost made it to the park! He was wiggling under the door, you see," Clara boomed, her voice a warm rumble. Leon, a boy with bright eyes and mismatched socks, gasped. A young mother, her baby strapped securely to her chest, chuckled along with the story. An elderly gentleman, cane resting beside him, nodded approvingly as he waited for his usual sourdough.

Clara knew her customers, each and every one. She knew Raya loved the raspberry tarts, that little Sam always wanted extra sprinkles, and that Senora Pillar Rodriguez preferred her croissants a day old. She understood that Clara's Corner wasn't just a bakery; it was a haven.

One afternoon, a sullen-looking boy named David shuffled into the bakery. He usually bounced with energy, practically vibrating with excitement over the colourful cupcakes. Today, his face was clouded with worry.

Clara, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. "David, my dear, what troubles you?"

David mumbled something about failing a math test. Clara listened patiently, her large hand resting gently on his shoulder. "Math can be tricky," she agreed. "But you know what always helps? A little bit of perspective... and a whole lot of sugar!"

She led him to a corner table and presented him with a freshly baked sugar cookie, decorated with a miniature version of his favourite superhero. As he nibbled on the cookie, Clara explained how even the greatest heroes face challenges, and that failing was just a chance to learn and grow.

By the time he finished the cookie, a small smile had returned to David's face. He might still have to study, but he felt lighter, buoyed by Clara's kindness and the sweet magic of Clara's Corner. As he skipped out the door, Clara beamed. She wasn't just baking pastries; she was baking joy, one treat, one conversation, one pink-haired hug at a time.

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The sun dripped gold onto the checkered picnic blanket, warming the oranges and juice boxes nestled there. Normandy, all elbows and knees at eleven, shrieked with laughter as her younger brother Bryan, a gap-toothed whirlwind of seven, tripped over a particularly tenacious root, his popsicle flying from his hand. "Butterfingers!" she teased, before darting off after a monarch butterfly with wings like stained glass.

Their parents, Steve and Ashley, watched from the blanket, amusement softening their faces. Ashley sipped her iced tea, the condensation beading on the glass. "Remember when you were the butterfingers?" she chuckled, nudging Steve with her elbow. He grinned, recalling a particularly disastrous ice cream cone incident from their own childhood.

Meanwhile, chaos reigned a few feet away. Their scruffy dog, named 'Wiggle,' joined the butterfly chase, barking with glee. He weaved between the children, his tail a furry metronome keeping time with their joyful shrieks. Bryan, undeterred by his popsicle loss, was now determined to catch the elusive butterfly. He lunged, missed, and tumbled head over heels into a patch of wildflowers.

Normandy, momentarily distracted by Wiggle's antics, finally managed to net the butterfly. She held the delicate creature gently in her hands, marveling at its intricate patterns. Then, with a soft whisper, she released it, watching it flutter away to join its brethren dancing in the summer air.

Bryan emerged from the wildflowers, his face smeared with pollen and dirt, but his spirit undampened. "Did you catch it?" he asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

"I did," Normandy replied, "but I let it go. They're happier flying free."

Bryan considered this for a moment, then nodded sagely. "Maybe I can catch a ladybug!" He scampered off in a new direction, Wiggle yapping at his heels.

Steve unfolded himself from the blanket and walked over to Normandy. "That was very kind of you," he said, ruffling her hair. "You know, kindness is even more beautiful than a butterfly's wings."

Ashley joined them, handing Normandy a fresh popsicle. "He's right. And besides," she added with a wink, "there's always more popsicles."

As the afternoon wore on, the picnic continued, punctuated by laughter, the buzz of insects, and the contented sighs of a family simply enjoying each other's company under the warm summer sun. Even Wiggle seemed to sense the specialness of the moment, settling down at the edge of the blanket, his head resting on Steve's shoe, a loyal guardian of their shared happiness. The simple act of sharing food, sunlight, and laughter was creating memories that would last long after the last popsicle was finished and the checkered blanket folded away.

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The air held a whisper of change. The heavy, humid blanket of summer had lifted, replaced by a crispness that hinted at autumn. Sunlight, softer now, painted the family's vegetable garden in a golden hue. Arthur, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms tanned from months of labor, carefully plucked a vibrant red tomato from its vine. Clara, kneeling beside him, gently unearthed a cluster of potatoes, their skins still dusted with earth.

“Look, Arthur, these are beautiful,” she said, holding up a handful. “Just like Mrs. Higgins' award winners last year.”

Arthur chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Don't get any ideas, Clara. This is for stew, not ribbons.”

A few feet away, Tiffany, a whirlwind of dark pigtails and sticky fingers, was supposedly collecting berries. A scattering of half-empty baskets sat abandoned around her, testament to her dedication to quality control – primarily tasting. Her face was smeared with purple juice, and a blue butterfly, seemingly unfazed by her presence, danced around a still-flowering dogwood.

Barnaby, the family's scruffy terrier mix, ambled over to Tiffany, tail wagging hopefully. He sniffed at a particularly juicy-looking berry that had rolled onto the ground. Tiffany, giggling, offered him one. He took it gingerly, then looked at her with an expression that clearly said, "More!"

“Sharing is caring, Barnaby,” she announced, popping another berry into her own mouth.

Clara watched them, a soft smile on her face. “Arthur, remember when we first planted this garden? Tiffany could barely crawl.”

Arthur nodded, his gaze softening as he watched his daughter. “Seems like yesterday. Now she’s practically a little wild woman.”

He stood, stretching his back, and picked a single, perfect sunflower head. "Here, Clara," he said, handing it to her. "For the kitchen table."

She took it, her fingers brushing his. "It's perfect, Arthur. Just perfect."

The breeze rustled the leaves overhead, sending a shower of yellow petals onto the ground. The air was filled with the sweet scent of ripening fruit, the earthy aroma of freshly dug potatoes, and the faint perfume of late-blooming flowers. Tiffany, her berry-gathering temporarily abandoned, wandered over to her parents.

"Mommy, Daddy," she said, her voice full of the earnestness only a little child can possess, "Can we make pie tonight? Berry pie, with all the berries!"

Clara and Arthur exchanged a look. "Sounds like a plan," Arthur said, picking Tiffany up and swinging her gently. "The best berry pie the world has ever seen." And in that moment, surrounded by the bounty of their labor and the love of their family, they knew it would be.

Chapter Text

The crisp air bit at Fira's cheeks, painting them a rosy pink. Behind her, the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains, dusted with snow, formed a breathtaking backdrop. Before her, Grandma Nova, a whirlwind of energy despite being 60+ years, clapped her mittens together, her eyes twinkling.

"Alright, you two! Ready for the adventure of a lifetime?"

Fira and her brother, Al, exchanged nervous glances. Dog sledding sounded exhilarating, but also a little… daunting. Especially when the "professionals" Grandma Nova had hired looked like they’d wrestled bears for breakfast. A muscled woman named, appropriately, Helga, with braided hair, ice-blue eyes and a voice that could cut through a blizzard, gave them a curt nod.

"We’ll take good care of them, Nova. You just enjoy the scenery."

In the mid-ground, to the left, a lopsided snowman, complete with a carrot nose and twig arms, stood guard over a frozen lake. People zipped across the ice on skates, their laughter echoing in the crisp air. A small hockey game was in full swing, the puck flashing like a tiny black star.

Helga introduced them to the team: a pack of Alaskan Huskies, each one eager to run. They barked and strained against their harnesses, a symphony of anticipation. Al, ever the pragmatist, peppered Helga with questions. Fira, meanwhile, cautiously approached a particularly fluffy husky named Aurora. Aurora nudged her hand with her wet nose, and Fira's fear melted away.

Soon, they were off. Anna and her partner, Milo, guided the two sleds. Fira and Al gripped the safety bars, their hearts pounding in time with the dogs' rhythmic panting. The world blurred into a kaleidoscope of white and green as the dogs surged forward, the wind whipping past their faces.

Fira laughed, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the landscape. It was exhilarating. She looked back at Grandma Nova, who stood at the edge of the clearing, waving and beaming. For a moment, everything felt perfect: the sun on her face, the thrill of the ride, the magnificent mountains looming in the distance, and the joy of sharing this incredible experience with her family. This was more than just dog sledding; this was a memory being forged, a story etched in the snow, a moment they would all cherish long after the winter had faded.

Chapter Text

The velvet top hat, slightly lopsided from years of being a cat bed, sat squarely on the card table. Tiffany, biting her lip in concentration, gave Jeffy a final pep talk. “Remember, slow and steady. Pretend you’re pulling weeds, not rescuing a hostage!”

Jeffy, usually brimming with boundless energy, was a nervous wreck. His magic show, a grand spectacle years in the making (mostly in his head), was about to debut for his toughest audience: his family. His parents sat on the floral-patterned sofa, amusement dancing in their eyes. His little sister, Lily, perched on the armrest, clutching a well-loved stuffed dragon. And scattered amongst them, the three family cats, Mittens, Shadow, and Whiskers, provided a furry, unpredictable peanut gallery.

"Abracadabra!" Jeffy shouted, his voice cracking slightly. He plunged his hand into the hat, feeling for the warm, slightly thumping form of Leon, the white rabbit borrowed (with considerable groaning) from Mrs. McRitchie down the street.

The first attempt yielded nothing but a shower of glitter and a crumpled playing card depicting the Queen of Hearts. Mittens batted at the falling glitter, sending it swirling through the air.

Jeffy cleared his throat. “Ahem. Sometimes magic requires…patience.”

Tiffany suppressed a giggle. This was precisely why she was here. To keep Jeffy from completely imploding. “Try again, Jeffy! Remember what we practiced.”

This time, Jeffy pulled with agonizing slowness. Leon emerged, but not in the regal fashion they'd envisioned. He was halfway out, his ears flattened against his head, his back legs still stubbornly refusing to cooperate. He resembled a furry, disgruntled cork being extracted from a bottle.

Shadow, the most adventurous of the 3 cats, saw an opportunity. With a swift leap, he landed on the card table, nose twitching inquisitively at the exposed rabbit hindquarters. Bartholomew, understandably panicked, gave a mighty kick. The hat tipped, sending playing cards and a rubber chicken cascading onto the floor. Lily shrieked with laughter.

Jeffy, flustered but determined, finally managed to extract Bartholomew entirely. The rabbit, now free, hopped directly into Mrs. McRitchie's prize-winning begonias, conveniently located next to the sofa.

Chaos erupted. Leon nibbled on petals. Shadow stalked him with predatory grace. Lily tried to catch both. Mr. McRitchie tried to stop his sister from saving the cats from Lily.

Despite the pandemonium, Tiffany saw something beautiful. Everyone was smiling, even Jeffy, who was now covered in dirt and rabbit fur. It wasn’t exactly the grand illusion he’d planned, but it was undeniably magic.

"Well," Jeffy said, grinning sheepishly, "that was...different."

Mrs. McRitchie, pulling Leon from the begonias, chuckled. "The best magic is the kind that makes us laugh."

As the evening drew to a close, and Leon was safely returned to Mrs. McRitchie, Jeffy admitted his magic show wasn't a success. But surrounded by his family, bathed in the warm glow of the living room lamp, he knew he had something far more precious. Real, messy, perfectly imperfect magic.