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Slaughter At Stringybark Creek

Chapter Six

(c) Cederwyn Whitefurr

24th August, 2017

All Rights Reserved.

Over the course of the next couple of hours, Lachlan told the strangers his whole story – how he'd witnessed his mother's murder, how he met Clanton, and everything – listening attentively, Feredwyn's ears slicked back, and more than once she sympathetically reached over and patted Lachlan's trembling paws, giving him reassurance and comfort, whilst Owen appeared suspicious and standoffish. Every so often, Feredwyn would go to administer more medicine to Clanton, before she returned and poked at the fireplace – a sparkle of hot cinders and ash whirling up the chimney.

“Hell of a story - “ Owen grudgingly growled, as he stood and turned away, then looked back over his shoulder at Lachlan, who slumped in the roughly hewn chair, hanging his head and emotionally spent. “Oh, I don't doubt you at all – I've had my share of...dealings with that man."

Owen's fists clenched, his hooflets digging into his palms, before Feredwyn stood and placed a comforting paw on the Stallion's shoulder, then lightly squeezed.

“It's not right - “ Owen growled, as he turned about and pulled Feredwyn close to him. “How can he get away with murder – openly – without someone standing up to him? How many of our kind have suffered and continue to suffer – under his cruel attentions? He murdered Penny's family – would have killed her as well - "

Lachlan looked up, a look of confusion on his muzzle, as he frowned.

“Penny is our – daughter..." Feredwyn answered. “Our adopted daughter – obviously, as much as I love Owen, the great big gentle giant he is - “

Feredwyn broke the pall of gloom, by playfully slapping Owen on the chest, he grunted and wrapped his feathered forearms around the slender Whitetail and pulled her close. With that, the mood was broken, and everyone seemed to stop being strangers – and at that moment, they become friends.

“I'm going to kill him - “ Lachlan whispered, as his splayed fingers contracted, the hooflets scratching on the timber.

“You're..." Feredwyn blinked, then disengaged her husbands grasp, turning around then walking back and leaning on the table, her nose inches from Lachlan's. “You're joking...I know why you want revenge – Goddess knows I'd be the first to understand – but he – he has the entire township under his heel. He has spies everywhere, I'm certain of it – and if what you have said is true - “

Owen began to laugh, but a sharp glance from Feredwyn silenced him.

“He would gun you down in the street the second he got a sniff of you – if – you were lucky...it's obvious, he doesn't care a damn for us – our kind I mean - “ Feredwyn sighed. “You go off half-cocked and you'll wind up in an unmarked grave...like so many others. You think you're the first to harbour thoughts of wanting him dead? I'm sure others have tried – but violence isn't always the answer to a question."

“He - “ Lachlan roared, standing to his full height and slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the tin dishes.

“Sit down!" Feredwyn spoke quietly, barely a whisper, but Lachlan sat as if his knees had been shattered, a stunned look in his eyes.

“Witness the power of a wrathful Doe - “ Owen chuckled softly. “Feredwyn may be short – by our standards – but she could make the most ferocious of predators whimper like a puppy. I have no doubt."

“How - “ Lachlan began, disbelieving and shocked.

“It's – a gift - “ Feredwyn shrugged, then smiled shyly.

Outside, the first chirps of the morning chorus began, and Owen grunted and glanced out the window, where the hint of dawn was just beginning to lighten the dark sky into a faint gold.

“I guess none of us are getting any sleep tonight - “ Owen muttered, as he walked over to the door and retrieved a large hat, slapping it onto his head. “Plenty of work to do young Colt, so we best get at it, you look like you know your way around a farm, it'll be nice to have some strong, willing muscles to help out..."

“Clanton - “ Lachlan began, torn between his gratefulness at finding acceptance and a place to stay – and his reluctance, fearing he was going to bring them nothing but trouble and suffering.

“I'll look after him – he seems to be resting now, God's know he could use it, go on, he'll be – well – I can't say fine, but I'll look after him."

Placing a paw on Lachlan's shoulder, Owen steered the young Colt out the door, chuckling.

“Finer lady you'll never meet - “ Owen's voice trailed back as he pulled the door closed behind him.

*

Lachlan soon got back into the swing of it, chopping wood, hauling water and helping out with a multitude of tasks that a farm never seemed to have an end of. Owen was still a little wary of Lachlan, but the younger Equine proved his strength and worth, and by the end of a long, tiring day, Owen had developed a respect for the heart that beat in Lachlan's chest.

“You're almost as strong as I am – and at a guess, about half my age! I'm impressed Colt, truly – you're going to be a strapping stallion one day!" Owen commended him, giving Lachlan a resounding slap on the back, the sweaty fur making a squelching sound.

“Urf...thanks, I think - “ Lachlan grunted, nearly knocked forwards by Owen's strength.

“Hah, we'll make a stallion out of you yet, youngster. You've already got the musculature and stature – now, you need to train the body and strengthen it. Look at me, I used to be such a scrawny weed of a colt, but my father was a Blacksmith – and he made me the stallion I am today!"

With a theatrical pose, paws on hips, Owen flexed and posed, showing off the iron like musculature beneath his paint coat, and Lachlan admitted to himself, Owen was definitely in excellent condition physically.

“Come on, let's get cleaned up – Feredwyn's probably got dinner ready, and I don't know about you – but a hard days work, gives me an appetite – and she man be many things, but a bad cook is not one of them. You've earned your meal this day youngster, I'll give you that!"

Lachlan laughed weakly, feeling the tension in his back and shoulders, but it wasn't unpleasant, and he admitted he would like a nice home cooked meal, and for the first time since his mothers death, he genuinely felt loved and comforted...

*

Sgt MacGoven reeled out of the tavern, his uniform half unbuttoned and reeking of spilt alcohol. He staggered then clutched at the hitching post, his body weaving and unsteady. Thankfully, those few anthropomorphic townsfolk who might have been on the street, had been forewarned that the Sargent was on a bender – not the first time – and they'd made themselves scarce. Grasping at his pistol holster, the Sargent swore and snarled, before staggering down the street – fuelled with alcohol and rage – and just looking for an excuse to take out his feelings on someone.

Frustrated with the lack of victims to exercise his drunken rage upon, he whirled about and pulled the pistol from his holster, then laughed drunkenly and fired off six shots, still pulling the trigger until the hammer fell on empty cylinders.

“Plenty..." Growled the drunken Sargent. “Where that come from! Come on you...godless beasts – I'll take you all on...all at once, or one at a..."

Staggering, he swore and ranted, then laughed before swaying and crumpling onto the dusty street, unconscious before he hit the ground. Nobody come to his aid, as slowly Stringybark's populace emerged from businesses and their homes – some looking piteously at the passed out Sargent, but most snorting in disgust and apathy – more than one wishing he'd just die of alcoholic abuse...

With a sigh the young Constable Filly stood outside the police station, before she flattened her ears and shook her head, knowing the Sargent would be in an even more foul mood when he woke up. Walking slowly towards him, feeling the eyes both curious and unfriendly in equal numbers, she crouched down and gripped him under the arms and half carried, half dragged, him back to the police station. Here, she unceremoniously dumped him on a crude cot in one of the cells, so he'd sleep off the alcohol binge.

Questioning why she did it, she sighed again and ran a paw over her head. He was hated and feared – but as the Senior Police in this town – it was unbecoming to leave him sprawled in a drunken state on the streets.

“It'd be so easy..." She whispered, her eyes narrowing in rage, as she suddenly blinked, then seen her paw clutching the cocked police issue pistol, merely inch from the back of the Sargent's head. As a shiver rippled through her paint coloured fur, she swallowed then gently lowered the hammer and then dropped the pistol back into her holster and went back outside, both frightened and aroused at the thought.

As she sat on the chair just outside, she stared down at her paws – one brown and one white like a glove, and found them trembling, before she squeezed them into fists and fought to control her emotions – it took her longer than she had thought, but finally, she opened her eyes and found herself facing and assembled group of nervous townsfolk – both human and anthropomorphic.

“We can't live like this!" Wailed a young Vixen, wringing her black gloved paws.

Murmurs and mutters, some agreeing, some angry, rumbled through the crowd like a midsummer thunderstorm.

“What do you mean?" Inquired the filly, as she tipped her cap back, her own thoughts turned inwards and only half understanding the words and mood of the people.

“We demand you do something – he's getting worse, just yesterday, he assaulted some of us, surely you can send a message to the Capital, get someone to sort this out, it's getting out of control." Someone else added, their voice rising in anger. “You're the police – you're meant to serve your people, protect us, care for us..."

Quickly, the mood turned from sullen to angry, and the filly found herself in one of her worst nightmares – more and more town people began to arrive, some curious, some emboldened by the veritable wave of anger and resentment that was building. Many of them had suffered at the hands of the Sargent – most of them anthropomorphic people – who were good, kind and gentle, people who had never done a criminal act in their lives.

“What do you think I can do?" Wept the filly, her own emotions overwhelming her, as she clutched her head in her paws and wept. “Do you think I don't know what you suffer? Do you not see me for who I am? What I am? I know his anger well – he hates our kind...but if I sent word with the stage coach, it'd be months before we got a reply – if we got one at all! See past the uniform – I'm just like you, just because I'm a police horse – doesn't mean I'm immune to his cruelty and depravity!"

“Do something – or we'll do it for you - “ Snarled a elderly wolf, as he stepped up onto the porch and sized up the diminutive filly.

“Step away!" She snarled, her anger overcoming her fear, as she stood almost nose to nose with the wolf. “By order of the police, step away now!"

“Or what?" Sneered the wolf in contempt. “You'll do what? You're under his jackboot, just like the rest of us..."

Seeing the potential for a flash-over of anger and fear that could result in a riot, the filly stood her ground, drawing on her training to lend strength to her words as she stepped up onto the chair, then raised her voice.

“I am fully comprehending of what we all suffer – be we human or anthropomorphic! I will do what I can, but my own hands are tied – but I promise, I'll do whatever I can to help, I live here too – I'm one of you – no one should have to live in fear and subject to cruelty and violence such as what he draws on us. I'll send word this very afternoon – but – do not expect a reply any time soon. Now, please...step away....go about your business, let us not turn on each other, but let us join together and present a united front, both human and animal, for together we are stronger than alone!"

For nearly ten minutes, the tension held, before one turned and walked away, then another – then two, then a group, then slowly, the situation defused and only the wolf was left, glaring at the filly, who met his predatory gaze and held it, her own icy stare almost daring him to do something. Finally, with a disdainful snort, he turned and began walking away, as the filly watched him, her body quivering with the fear induced adrenaline. A sarcastic clapping was head, the quiet clap...clap...clap, and she stepped down off her chair and turned, seeing an old man, dressed in fine clothes, a heavy drizabone over this, and kid-skin gloves over his hands, as he looked at her, an unmistakably sarcastic sneer on his face.

“Mr Patterson - “ Began the filly, as she smoothed her muzzle fur with her paws, then shuddered.

“Fine - “ Patterson spoke his voice soft, but filled with unmistakable menace. “Speech young one...futile, but a fine speech all the same. Come, walk with me..."

Patterson began walking, is body aged and frail, but the strength of his personality like a girding armour around him. Effortlessly, the filly kept pace with him, her curiosity aroused, but she also gazed about, expecting trouble.

“You're a fine police horse - “ Patterson grunted, and she thought she detected the hint of sarcasm, but it was well veiled and she couldn't be sure. “Naive, but fine none the less. What do you know about Stringybark?"

“It was founded sixty-two years ago when - “ She began, then he waved a gloved hand dismissively, silencing her.

“So you know nothing, what do they teach your – kind - “ This time, Patterson's veiled sarcasm shone through like a bonfire.

“Sir - “ Whispered the filly, her anger flaring. “I am a member of her Majesties Police Force, you will treat me as such, and accord me respect and politeness, as becoming one of my status."

With a snort, Patterson spat on the ground, then glanced sideways at her.

“You're an upstart young filly, who thinks because you carry a pistol and wear that uniform – a uniform I might add – that you never earned the right to wear..."

“Sir, I respectfully repeat - “ She growled, ears slicking back as he intentionally needled her with his biting words.

“I don't give a fuck what you think!" Patterson snarled. “I built this town, you hear me? I built it from the ground up, with my own blood, sweat and tears. I own this town, not you, not any of you...freaks...you live here under my sufferance! This used to be a fine town, growing from a single log cabin I built myself – then becoming a small trading post – then on to what it is now! Then, thirty years ago – your kind – began to come here. I won't lie, I don't like you, and I despise your kind – all of you! You're an abomination against God almighty, and I wish he'd smite you down where you stand!"

“Your resentment is duly noted, sir." Replied the filly, making sure her own barb was set deep, and seeing the glare of loathing he shot her, she knew it had. “My people, and were are a people – have just as much right as any human, to live here – or anywhere else we choose! My kind evolved just as your own did, for centuries, we existed side by side – I do not doubt there is bad blood between our people, but we worked long and hard to forge bonds of trust, respect and peace between our different people. Why can you not acknowledge such? Are you so bigoted, so filled with hate and loathing? Can not see how your own culture has expanded and been strengthened, as my own has, with our amalgamation?"

“How dare you speak to me such, like you're my equal!" Patterson raged, his face turning crimson.

“I am your equal – according to the constitution of this country, we are to be accorded all rights, privileges and respect due any human – even one as hate filled and racist as you! I do not despise you, I am above such petty emotions – maybe that is one thing, my people have over humans? We grew and evolved, put our hatred and anger behind us – predator and prey alike – learned to live side by side...even marry each other! Some humans have intermarried with us - “

“Abomination! Beast!" Patterson screamed at her, spittle flying from his lips. “If I had a gun I'd - “

“You'd what?" Inquired the filly, one furred eyebrow cocking. “I believe, sir, threatening a Police officer is a punishable offence – but I am not a vindictive horse – I'll overlook this, as a heat of the moment outburst... Now, as I was saying, some humans have intermarried with my kind – and have beautiful, healthy relationships. Of course, offspring of such is impossible – yet they live, work and love each other, as the God's themselves intended."

“There is only one God!" Patterson raged, his fists curling at his side, before he stabbed a kid-skin gloved finger at the Filly's chest.

“According to whom? Whilst my people adopted your customs, mannerisms and other things – we have our own beliefs on the God's and Goddesses, and this too, has been the accepted normality for centuries. We do not proselyte to your people – even if some of yours do to ours...that is irrelevant to our immediate concern. Now, with due respect Sir, I bid you a good evening, and nothing shall be noted in my logs about the incident today – nor your threats upon my personage."

Dismissively the filly turned and walked away, leaving Patterson seething with rage and disbelief, even as the sun set over the distant mountains. She had dared shame him in public, and he silently swore, she would live to regret this slight – one way or another...

To Be Continued...