RIDE THE LIGHTNING
Part 1 - Winter Storm
By the Light of the Silvery Moon
By the light of a Silvery moon, an Owl and a PussyCat ghosted through a winter wonderland.
The Owl flew high-cover on silent wings while making less sound that a whisper.
.
The PussyCat was on point making no more sound than a shadow.
.
Traveling with them was an old centaur making rather more noise.
.
The graybeard almost stumbled. He used his staff to avoid a tumble.
“What ya thinkin ‘bout so hard there BlackBoy? Are you day dreaming? You need to pay more attention to what you are doing, old man. I’m getting tired of fixing your broken bones.” Snarked Gretchen good naturedly.
“Um..Yeah..sorry. I was thinking about how this all began” Said the old man. She had a point, he thought. He should be paying more attention to the here and now.
“I’d like to know about that.” Bubba..the pussycat... said. He was a little bit ahead of the old man and definitely out of earshot. They communicated via BoneFone.
“I would like to hear that story too.” Maverick, the Hoot Owl requested from high above, also via BoneFone.
“Count me in,” Gretchen said, she needed no BoneFone “ I was there, in a manner of speaking, but I’d like to hear what happened, from your point of view.”
“Tell us a story! You like to tell stories. That’s what truckers do!” the three of them cajoled him, as would children, which is what they were.
“Where do I start?” he teased them. They had him dead to rights. He did love to tell stories to his children. His recent life experience would make a good ‘un.”
“Duh..” Snarked BubbaCat, unseen in the dark. Bubba was a black panther and he blended into the night. “Start your story like you always do. Say ‘This is a No-Shitter!’ ”
“Then fill in the middle..” Said the Owl to the Pussy Cat, in complete agreement, for a change.
“…And continue to the end”…Gretchen ended, always getting the last word in, typical of females.
“Ok…since you three have twisted my arm.” he grinned
“The time has come,
To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings.”
He could almost hear eyeballs rolling so hard they were apt to fall out of their sockets and bounce across the ice and snow, just as he had planned.
Bubba said indignantly “Will you just Stop That?”
Maverick said with exasperation “ Forget with the poetry already?”
Gretchen just groaned...the highest praise of all.
Time to change the subject. He loved messing with their minds.
“What’s the weather look like from up there, Maverick?” He asked the Owl.
“I’d say a storm is blowing in.” The Owl hooted “probably gonna have a foot of new snow by morning.”
“Can you confirm or deny that Gretchen?” He asked.
“Oh yeah!” she stated. “Maverick’s estimation is conservative. I just now looked at the weather channel and crosschecked the forecast seven ways from Sunday on the internet. A huge storm is definitely blowing in. If we ONLY get two foot of new snow I’d be flabbergasted. Some say it might be the worst storm in centuries. Lots of thunder snow is predicted as well as high winds and very cold temperatures.”
“We better lay in some vittles then, no telling how long we might be snowed in.” He replied. “Hey Maverick…you see anything?”
“What ya want?” the owl asked. “I see food and food eaters. I can eat either one. All the same to me.”
“Food of course” the centaur said. He knew what the owl meant. He was NOT speaking of plants. Vegetables is what food EATS. “Let’s not bother fellow carnivores if we can avoid it.”
“Got cha” hooted the owl. “Wolves are a little stringy anyway. How bout a nice big Moose? I see an older Bull not far away.”
Key word is OLD…He thought. Past his prime. The owl wouldn’t have mentioned age otherwise. The bull might not last out a bad winter, hell it MIGHT not last out this storm. Even so the old bull probably had enough meat on him for their immediate needs.
“That works. Vector me toward him please?” He asked the owl. The Owl did so.
“Bubba..that critter is likely half a ton of bad temper. I know how you like to hunt but we don’t have time. Not only that but the risk/reward ratio is adverse. I can’t have you getting hurt. I’m going to take it. I’m going to bring it down. You can butcher if you like.” He informed the cat as they moved toward the Bull.
Bubba did not agree. He tried to argue. “ You’re hogging the fun! Besides that…It’s not fair shooting it. There’s no sport in that!”
“We’re not hunting for sport. This is for meat. That extra protein might come in handy real soon.” he said gently..
Bubba wasn’t the least bit happy. He loved the thrill of the hunt. He wanted to chase the Moose. He wanted to pounce upon it and kill it. Hunting was fun. It was in his blood. He could probably do it too. He was a big boy, over 200 lbs of rawhide, muscle, teeth and claws. It didn’t matter. His Father, the centaur, had said no. That settled it. Bubba was an obedient child. He didn’t complain any more..
It wasn’t long before the Bull Moose was in range. “In range” did not mean close. As a matter of fact it was on the other side of a hill in a small clearing among tall trees. There was nothing near except for an owl.
Owls are no threats to a half ton Bull Moose so it was not alarmed. It felt secure. That was a mistake. Maverick floated on the breeze keeping the Moose in sight. On the other side of the hill, out of sight, the centaur launched a micro-missile from his SmokePole. The intelligent projectile homed in on the Moose using data from the forward observing Owl. The deadly missile hit the Moose right behind the shoulder, penetrated, and exploded with just enough force to instantly destroy it’s heart.
The big old Bull had not even known that it was in danger. It died painlessly. One second it was browsing….the next second he was dead, and fell silently to the ground. Instant kill. It never even twitched. Intelligent Micro-Missiles, and a high flying forward observers make hunting dead easy.
Pardon the expression.
The Old GreyBeard, in spite of ‘help’ from the Panther and the Owl, quickly field dressed the bull where it had fallen. Before the job was done he once more addressed the Owl.
“Find us a place near by that would make a good long term camp?”
“I’m on it.” The Owl launched once more into the sky “I’ll get back with you on that in a minute or so.”
He did that. Before the field dressing was completed the Owl had provided the location of a good camping spot. Working together the Centaur and the panther devised field expedient travois to carry the carcass. In minutes they were on their way. Shortly they arrived at the the spot the Owl had found. Good thing too. The wind had picked up and it was beginning to snow.
Sideways.
The Centaur provided shelter quickly. He touched the butt of his staff to the ground and held it vertical. It began to lengthen, from both ends. One end extended higher than his head. The other end embedded itself firmly into the ground.
Then the staff began to smoke, or rather to release fog. Oddly enough the fog was unaffected by the increasing wind. Almost immediately they were all englobed in a bubble-cloud of diamond-fog. Faster than it takes to tell, a dome had formed around them, complete with a floor, and a field dressed Bull Moose carcass hanging from the ceiling.
The dome was solidly anchored to the ground, air-tight and well insulated with aerogel. It would have kept them warm by body heat alone. They cheated, the robotic centaur body began to radiate heat. All the snow that was inside melted and drained away. Soon it was dry and toasty.
When they were comfortable they began to butcher the bull.
“Ok...we’ve got nothing but time now” Gretchen said “You promised us a story”
“You got me there” the old man said. Children needed stories. He began to tell them as story as they worked.
“This is a no-shitter. I was there for part of it and so were you.” he said.”Not the beginning. It began a long, long time ago, and far far far away. I don’t know how long ago or how far away but it was considerable.”
“The first part of the story is sad. It’s about a young girl….. I’ll call her Autumn, for no particular reason. I don’t know her name and never will. Autumn will do” he said.
To Be Continued
I hope you are enjoying this
Yarn
.
Perhaps you might also enjoy
Other Books
that I have written.
.
AND
.
Follow me @everittdmickey
.
So Come on Down!
Sit a spell.
I got the Coffee on.
Disclaimer
The Hobo Picture is a Public Domain image from
Samantha at the Worlds Fair
by Josiah Allen's Wife (Marietta Holley)
Illustrated by
Baron C. De Grimm published by
Funk and Wagnall's Company 1893
.
The Badges are graciously provided by @elyaque
The Giphs are from GIPHY
and.
Unless otherwise noted
All other Illustrations are from
Pixabay
By the light of a Silvery moon, an Owl and a PussyCat ghosted through a winter wonderland.
The Owl flew high-cover on silent wings while making less sound that a whisper.
.
The PussyCat was on point making no more sound than a shadow.
.
Traveling with them was an old centaur making rather more noise.
.
The graybeard almost stumbled. He used his staff to avoid a tumble.
“What ya thinkin ‘bout so hard there BlackBoy? Are you day dreaming? You need to pay more attention to what you are doing, old man. I’m getting tired of fixing your broken bones.” Snarked Gretchen good naturedly.
“Um..Yeah..sorry. I was thinking about how this all began” Said the old man. She had a point, he thought. He should be paying more attention to the here and now.
“I’d like to know about that.” Bubba..the pussycat... said. He was a little bit ahead of the old man and definitely out of earshot. They communicated via BoneFone.
“I would like to hear that story too.” Maverick, the Hoot Owl requested from high above, also via BoneFone.
“Count me in,” Gretchen said, she needed no BoneFone “ I was there, in a manner of speaking, but I’d like to hear what happened, from your point of view.”
“Tell us a story! You like to tell stories. That’s what truckers do!” the three of them cajoled him, as would children, which is what they were.
“Where do I start?” he teased them. They had him dead to rights. He did love to tell stories to his children. His recent life experience would make a good ‘un.”
“Duh..” Snarked BubbaCat, unseen in the dark. Bubba was a black panther and he blended into the night. “Start your story like you always do. Say ‘This is a No-Shitter!’ ”
“Then fill in the middle..” Said the Owl to the Pussy Cat, in complete agreement, for a change.
“…And continue to the end”…Gretchen ended, always getting the last word in, typical of females.
“Ok…since you three have twisted my arm.” he grinned
“The time has come,
To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings.”
He could almost hear eyeballs rolling so hard they were apt to fall out of their sockets and bounce across the ice and snow, just as he had planned.
Bubba said indignantly “Will you just Stop That?”
Maverick said with exasperation “ Forget with the poetry already?”
Gretchen just groaned...the highest praise of all.
Time to change the subject. He loved messing with their minds.
“What’s the weather look like from up there, Maverick?” He asked the Owl.
“I’d say a storm is blowing in.” The Owl hooted “probably gonna have a foot of new snow by morning.”
“Can you confirm or deny that Gretchen?” He asked.
“Oh yeah!” she stated. “Maverick’s estimation is conservative. I just now looked at the weather channel and crosschecked the forecast seven ways from Sunday on the internet. A huge storm is definitely blowing in. If we ONLY get two foot of new snow I’d be flabbergasted. Some say it might be the worst storm in centuries. Lots of thunder snow is predicted as well as high winds and very cold temperatures.”
“We better lay in some vittles then, no telling how long we might be snowed in.” He replied. “Hey Maverick…you see anything?”
“What ya want?” the owl asked. “I see food and food eaters. I can eat either one. All the same to me.”
“Food of course” the centaur said. He knew what the owl meant. He was NOT speaking of plants. Vegetables is what food EATS. “Let’s not bother fellow carnivores if we can avoid it.”
“Got cha” hooted the owl. “Wolves are a little stringy anyway. How bout a nice big Moose? I see an older Bull not far away.”
Key word is OLD…He thought. Past his prime. The owl wouldn’t have mentioned age otherwise. The bull might not last out a bad winter, hell it MIGHT not last out this storm. Even so the old bull probably had enough meat on him for their immediate needs.
“That works. Vector me toward him please?” He asked the owl. The Owl did so.
“Bubba..that critter is likely half a ton of bad temper. I know how you like to hunt but we don’t have time. Not only that but the risk/reward ratio is adverse. I can’t have you getting hurt. I’m going to take it. I’m going to bring it down. You can butcher if you like.” He informed the cat as they moved toward the Bull.
Bubba did not agree. He tried to argue. “ You’re hogging the fun! Besides that…It’s not fair shooting it. There’s no sport in that!”
“We’re not hunting for sport. This is for meat. That extra protein might come in handy real soon.” he said gently..
Bubba wasn’t the least bit happy. He loved the thrill of the hunt. He wanted to chase the Moose. He wanted to pounce upon it and kill it. Hunting was fun. It was in his blood. He could probably do it too. He was a big boy, over 200 lbs of rawhide, muscle, teeth and claws. It didn’t matter. His Father, the centaur, had said no. That settled it. Bubba was an obedient child. He didn’t complain any more..
It wasn’t long before the Bull Moose was in range. “In range” did not mean close. As a matter of fact it was on the other side of a hill in a small clearing among tall trees. There was nothing near except for an owl.
Owls are no threats to a half ton Bull Moose so it was not alarmed. It felt secure. That was a mistake. Maverick floated on the breeze keeping the Moose in sight. On the other side of the hill, out of sight, the centaur launched a micro-missile from his SmokePole. The intelligent projectile homed in on the Moose using data from the forward observing Owl. The deadly missile hit the Moose right behind the shoulder, penetrated, and exploded with just enough force to instantly destroy it’s heart.
The big old Bull had not even known that it was in danger. It died painlessly. One second it was browsing….the next second he was dead, and fell silently to the ground. Instant kill. It never even twitched. Intelligent Micro-Missiles, and a high flying forward observers make hunting dead easy.
Pardon the expression.
The Old GreyBeard, in spite of ‘help’ from the Panther and the Owl, quickly field dressed the bull where it had fallen. Before the job was done he once more addressed the Owl.
“Find us a place near by that would make a good long term camp?”
“I’m on it.” The Owl launched once more into the sky “I’ll get back with you on that in a minute or so.”
He did that. Before the field dressing was completed the Owl had provided the location of a good camping spot. Working together the Centaur and the panther devised field expedient travois to carry the carcass. In minutes they were on their way. Shortly they arrived at the the spot the Owl had found. Good thing too. The wind had picked up and it was beginning to snow.
Sideways.
The Centaur provided shelter quickly. He touched the butt of his staff to the ground and held it vertical. It began to lengthen, from both ends. One end extended higher than his head. The other end embedded itself firmly into the ground.
Then the staff began to smoke, or rather to release fog. Oddly enough the fog was unaffected by the increasing wind. Almost immediately they were all englobed in a bubble-cloud of diamond-fog. Faster than it takes to tell, a dome had formed around them, complete with a floor, and a field dressed Bull Moose carcass hanging from the ceiling.
The dome was solidly anchored to the ground, air-tight and well insulated with aerogel. It would have kept them warm by body heat alone. They cheated, the robotic centaur body began to radiate heat. All the snow that was inside melted and drained away. Soon it was dry and toasty.
When they were comfortable they began to butcher the bull.
“Ok...we’ve got nothing but time now” Gretchen said “You promised us a story”
“You got me there” the old man said. Children needed stories. He began to tell them as story as they worked.
“This is a no-shitter. I was there for part of it and so were you.” he said.”Not the beginning. It began a long, long time ago, and far far far away. I don’t know how long ago or how far away but it was considerable.”
“The first part of the story is sad. It’s about a young girl….. I’ll call her Autumn, for no particular reason. I don’t know her name and never will. Autumn will do” he said.
To Be Continued
Yarn
.
Perhaps you might also enjoy
Other Books
that I have written.
.
AND
.
Follow me @everittdmickey
.
So Come on Down!
Sit a spell.
I got the Coffee on.
Disclaimer
The Hobo Picture is a Public Domain image from
Samantha at the Worlds Fair
by Josiah Allen's Wife (Marietta Holley)
Illustrated by
Baron C. De Grimm published by
Funk and Wagnall's Company 1893
.
The Badges are graciously provided by @elyaque
The Giphs are from GIPHY
and.
Unless otherwise noted
All other Illustrations are from
Pixabay