Information

Pukah has a minion!

Sweetroot the Flour

Pukah
Legacy Name: Pukah

The

Custom Cream Kanis
Owner:

tendril

Age: 7 years, 6 months, 2 weeks

Born: October 11th, 2016

Adopted: 7 years, 6 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: October 11th, 2016

Pet Spotlight Winner
September 27th, 2023

Statistics

Level: 4
Strength: 11
Defense: 12
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 7
Books Read: 7
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Manure Processor

CREDITS

profile template (c)

helix (get it)
overlay by

Shiny
story by

tendril
background found here

Mud squished through the toes of her long furry feet. The summer sky had invited rain and the rabbit was trying her best to enjoy its company. The wheels of the cart squeaked as she trudged along to the market. The trail between her woodland home and the village center was short, but on days like today, she wished it was shorter. She enjoyed the rain for her flowers in the meadow, but she did not relish in the slippery tree roots that nearly tipped her cart nor the puddles which coated the bottoms of her trousers in layers of mud, no matter how high she cuffed them.

Despite the rain and mud, Pukah always felt there was something special about these woods, but even still, they were not quite home. By now, this trail had heard all about her lapin homeland. It had heard of the pumpkin fields and the cozy cellars. It had heard of the spring celebrations and field races. The trail had even heard of how she needed something different than all of those things, although it broke her heart.

The rain became a sprinkle, and Pukah sighed with relief as she had nearly reached the market entrance. In that moment, the breeze sighed too. A gust of wind flopped the canopy on the cart over Pukah’s eyes, causing her to trip. Now even the knees of her trousers were coated in mud. She huffed. It wasn’t until she stood up that an arrangement fell from her cart. The flowers landed face down, covering every inch of the petals in mud and leafy debris. She scurried to pick up the fallen pitcher and dolefully tossed the flowers aside. As she picked it up, she noticed the pitcher had a large crack. Her brow rumpled. Maybe if she turned it to just the right angle, no one would see the fracture? Or perhaps she could make a few trades for a new pitcher? She’d have to find a way to fix it.

Finally, the rain said goodbye to the sky. Pukah looked up to observe the lingering grey clouds that dragged above. It seemed the sky already missed the rain’s rapport. She could nearly hear it whisper “come back soon.”

The village market was carved into a meadow at the edge of the forest with tendrils of trails sprouting off here and there in every direction. Nearest the treeline was a series of homestalls - more permanent vendor constructions with homes attached to the stalls of goods - hence the name. Smells of buttery breakfast and freshly brewed bean-tea oozed from their seams. Pukah strolled into the market under a sign that read:
“Welcome to Meadlock”.
She was relieved to be out from the veil of dripping leaves and into the clearing. She was the first traveling vendor to arrive, and she parked her cart in her favorite spot; she had a view of the tall grass that waved in the wind and of the tiny thicket that fizzed with bees and beamed with multicolored florets. Hurriedly, she took her handkerchief out from her back pocket and wiped the mud from her pant legs. Her lips crinkled into a pinched pout at the dirt that remained. As she began to fold her handkerchief back into the shape of her pocket, she remembered that she had chosen a special one today. The square of cloth had been given to her by her mother. It was a gentle peach color, and clearly worn. It had wiped her mother’s brow and dried her mother’s tears. She held it tenderly in her paws until the moment was interrupted with a loud “Good morning Pukah!” from one of her fellow merchants that had just arrived. She shoved the handkerchief away and returned the gesture.
“Hi there! Good morning!”

Pukah began to tidy her cart for the day ahead. She rolled up the canvas canopy, arranged the vessels of blooms, and hung a wreath of wildflowers for display. She gazed over every pitcher, pot, and kettle of blossoms, inspecting them all one by one, including the one she’d have to find a way to fix. The blooms sat proudly in their wildness. Among them were the feathery doveweed, soft and curly butterbells, and feral lace saucers. She smiled at them, as if extending a greeting, and fluffed them up here and there. Finally, she pulled an apron the color of mustard from a drawer in her cart, and with the tying of its bow behind her, her day began.

By mid-morn, the market had filled with the fervor of come-ers and go-ers. A tangled troupe of performers had framed themselves near the market center playing playful tunes. Hungry baskets sat at their tapping feet. Figs, peppers, shallots and such, were tossed to them offhandedly.
Pukah’s neighbor shouted “Fruit and veg! Fresh fruit and veg!” amongst the clamor.
Bundles of vibrant mustard greens, cobs of corn with silky tresses, sparkling blackberries, and soft, velvety peaches filled the shelves of his cart. Three cobs of corn traded paws with half a dozen eggs. The merchant took a sip of water from the flask on his hip before shouting again. Pukah did not find that it suited her nor her bouquets to shout.

By noon, Pukah’s first customer had arrived. She was a short and round badger with dark and gentle eyes. She wore modest clothes with bits of visible mending here and there, and her coat was clean and freshly brushed.
“I’ve just had a niece” she spoke around a smile, “what do you suggest for such an occasion?” Pukah withdrew a bouquet from a copper kettle on her shelf. A merriment of stork lilies, lamb’s tail, feverfew, and tea flower paired together for the perfect posy. The meline aunt paused in admiration for a moment before offering Pukah a speckled loaf of bread in exchange for the bouquet. She agreed and wrapped a soft woolen string around the flowers’ stems. As her customer walked away, bouquet in hand, Pukah lifted the loaf of warm bread to her nose. It was freshly baked and smelled of barley, beckoning back to Pukah’s childhood. She smiled and held the memory in her mind for a moment, smoothing it over like a worry stone. From the cart drawer which she’d drawn her apron, Pukah pulled out a small basket. She placed the bread in the basket, then pulled her hankie from her pocket and tucked it around the bread, making sure only the clean side touched it.

A few hours passed in the bustling market before a tall porcupine approached Pukah’s cart. He was already smiling, making his nose resemble a large piece of round licorice. It was his wife’s birthday, he explained, and together they were celebrating her completed quest around the sun. He babbled on about her for many minutes, leaving Pukah little time to say much other than “oh yes, of course” and to sprinkle in smiles. For the chatty husband’s wife, she chose a vibrant arrangement: ginger roses, sweetroot, golden myrtle, and lace saucers. He grinned in agreement, then placed a small jar of rose honey on her cart’s ledge and walked off.

Time began to seep into the market and turn it a golden hue. Pukah joined the other merchants in packing up their carts for the evening. She tucked each pitcher, pot, and kettle into its place for the journey home, then unfurled the canvas canopy to cover them. The market became dotted with rugged presents that were waiting until the next morning to be unwrapped. Pukah picked up her cart from her favorite spot and began home along the trail that knew her secrets.

When Pukah arrived at her overgrown cottage that sat snuggly in the special woods, she noticed a package at her door. She swiftly scooted the cart to its resting spot then scampered back to her door on her tiptoes. She stared at the parcel for a moment before picking it up. It was an ambiguously shaped bundle and wrapped in a grey-blue woolen fabric. Tied around the bundle was a creamy yellow yarn that wrapped and knotted back onto itself time and time again. As she disentangled the soft and squishy string, she could feel within her chest a buzzing excitement. Carefully, she withdrew the gift from its blanket of wool, and noticed within it was a roll of parchment sticking out from the spout. She unrolled it. It was a message from her mother: We received this the other day and thought of you; hope you can use it! Love and miss you so much.
- MamaPukah’s eyes felt warm. She gazed at the gift she held in her hands - a pitcher.