Information


Peren has a minion!

Tundra the Top Goose




Peren
Legacy Name: Peren


The Glacier Irion
Owner: Pureflower

Age: 12 years, 1 month, 4 weeks

Born: January 29th, 2012

Adopted: 12 years, 1 month, 4 weeks ago

Adopted: January 29th, 2012


Pet Spotlight Winner
October 27th, 2014

Statistics


  • Level: 52
     
  • Strength: 62
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 87
     
  • Books Read: 74
  • Food Eaten: 1
  • Job: Mr. Manager


I hate this frozen wasteland that stretches on endlessly and extinguishes hope as easily as it has my tiny, pathetic fire. It’s been hard enough to find timber, stumbling through powdery white mounds on frozen feet. This cave is my salvation now.

How I long for the sweet scent of pine and the sheltering boughs of a real forest! All the world’s treasures aren’t worth a night of the bitter cold and treacherous loneliness an arctic traveler must endure. It seemed a glorious career to explore lands unknown. Hatchling that I was, I signed up for this expedition, unaware of my companion’s fatal flaw. His peculiar fascination with heights proved his undoing. There are chasms throughout this barren land that shine with colors too beautiful for words. I could still hear his screams hours after he disappeared from sight. Most of our supplies went with him.

Maybe he was the lucky one. A rush of air, a flash of brilliant light, and this cursed journey would be over. I can’t quit though. I won’t give my employer the satisfaction of pocketing the second half of my fee. I was smart enough to demand half before my departure. Good thing I don’t have it on me, or this would be the most expensive fire I’ve ever built.

* * * * *

I was planning to leave my shelter today. The cartographer back at base camp will be underwhelmed if the only description I bring him contains the dimensions of this cave. That is, until I woke this morning to a blizzard.

My world has been reduced to three walls. A stone ledge above the entry keeps the worst of the snow outside but nothing can keep out the cold. I have to stab the thin crust of snow that tries to build over my smoke hole. If the smoke doesn’t manage to suffocate me the lack of a fire will freeze me solid. My firewood is running dangerously low but I know that even the few feet I must crawl to reach the nearest tree grove could leave me wandering off the edge of a cliff in a storm like this.

The man who hired us provided a device that could alert us to building storms along with a portable heater. I was carrying neither when my partner went down. Of course.

I have food enough to last me two days. Three if I eat sparingly. Blizzards out here can last a week. I can’t help looking at my package of jerky strips with longing, but this is not the time to indulge a craving. I know I should not sleep but I’m tired and the swirl of the snow is almost hypnotizing.

My dream is so stunningly real that for a moment I hear the whistle of dear Gram’s teakettle. It takes me a moment to get my bearings and recognize the creature that is truly hissing. Round black eyes glare into mine as I lunge to my feet with a snarl.

I must have slept for a while for the wind’s forces have lessened. The goose begins to address me in a series of honks, flapping his wings in frustration when I stare back blankly. I speak Raptor fluently and know a few Songbird dialects, but I’ve had little reason to learn Goose. They’re such fickle birds, always following the warmest air currents. I can make out enough to determine that he has been keeping the fire alive while I slept and that it was his beacon when the storm overcame him.

I clack my beak twice, the universal Bird sign for hunger. He swivels his neck to hiss at the weather then narrows his eyes at me. Without as much as a honk of farewell he flies out.

Oddest bird I ever met. I know the time has come to take stock of what I have left. Two cans of beef hash, a packet of dried fruit and another of meat, and one undamaged canteen of water. I take a sip and shudder at the coldness. Perhaps it would be best to warm the cans first. Not that the flavor is likely to improve but with my luck the meat is frozen through.

As I’m trying to devise a way to cook my dinner without burning my paws off the goose returns with a small leather pouch filled with red berries. Looking me in the eye he clacks his beak twice, hisses, and begins to preen his feathers. The meaning’s clear enough. He’ll provide me with rations for my promise not to eat him. I shove aside a mental image of roast goose on a bed of turnips and nod my agreement.

The blizzard lasts another three days and my strange new ally keeps his word. When I prepare to set out he gives no indication that he wishes to leave and I am glad. This whole expedition may be a wild goose chase, but I will no longer make it alone.

Credits:

Profile by Ziva

Story by Pureflower

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