“Gideon, I’m scared," said Gabriel.
“You’re not the only one.” Gideon said placing his hand on his sword.
Despite the new world being a bland color, the three newcomers retained their natural colors from head to toe. Once the moment of shock wore off, the three ventured further into the world. It was hours, or so they thought, and none of them were thirsty, hungry, or tired. This strength, that could only be by God‘s provision; supplying all the needs of His servants, giving them the urge to go on for hours without tiring. Suddenly Samson tilted his nose in the air and took a sniff. He blew the aroma from his nostrils as if the very smell disturbed him.
“Smoke,” he said taking another whiff of air, “Very close too.”
“Are you sure?" Gabriel asked, " I don’t smell anything.”
“A wolf’s nose never lies.”
♦
The smoky smell led them to a small town. Its muddy streets and old buildings invited a sense of emptiness as the inhabitants hung about leisurely with little to do and little to look forward to. The smoke, accurately deduced by the wolf, hung heavy over the town like a veil springing from the crudely made chimneys. Crude would have been a perfect term to describe the villagers; there was no sense of joy anywhere. Creatures were spirit broken in some shape or form and the abjection on their faces was just as heavy as the constant smoke from the chimney stocks. At first none of the villagers paid any attention to the four strangers in town, but that did not last for long. Suddenly there was a murmuring among those who saw them. Eyes quickly focused on the colorful strangers.
Gideon noticed that a gang of five began to walk towards them. He told his friends to move faster, but their escape was soon obstructed.
A skinny weasel, a jaguar, two bobcats and a large wart hog (whose height being on all fours was as tall as the seven foot Samson) were the band of creatures that stopped the three warriors in the middle of the street. The weasel took up the unpleasant, and destructive practice of puffing on a pipe, and the habit took its toll by rotting his teeth.
The weasel smiled to reveal his abused choppers. Gabriel flinched from the sight of it.
The weasel, noticing the rabbit’s action, placed his pipe out of view under his cloak
“Well, well," said the weasel coughing, "top of the night to you. Who might you all be?”
“We are just passing through,” Samson said, “please allow us to pass. We don’t want nor do we bring any trouble.”
The first bobcat, who stood by the weasel, flashed his knife for all to see.
“So you don’t say!" replied the jaguar, "What’s your rush? Stay in town for awhile- we’ll give you a tour of the place. The graveyard will be the first, and the last stop.” he said with a sneer.
“You and your nose, Samson," Gideon said, " that's the last time we trust it."
“I said I smelled smoke not trouble.”
The weasel was the first to advance toward the three. He particularly had a itch for Gabriel’s jacket.
“That's a nice jacket, black hare, I think its time for it to have a new owner." replied the weasel.
The weasel went to grab the hare, but Gabriel pushed him away. The weasel stumbled back into the arms of his comrades, and then regained his footing; his knife came apace
from his side. Gideon and Gabriel pulled their blades .
“Want to fight, eh?” said the weasel.
“I guess they do want trouble after all,” the jaguar said with a snicker.
The villagers, who could see or was in earshot, ran to the scene inciting the fight.
Fighting was always a pastime in that town and seeing blood spilled was always a wretched way to pass the time in the nightly world. Growling, snarling, and bared teeth left little to the imagination of what was to come next. Among the crowd and standing in the back were two dogs. One was a lazy-looking Chow-chow. He was wearing a dingy cloak and he was equipped with a battle axe. To his left was a Papillon. This little fireball was wearing a helmet with two horns sticking out of the sides like a hat a Viking wears in stories. He wore a cloak that covered his upper half and around his waist was a series of four daggers. The little dog took a swaggering stance as his friend knelt down to him.
“So what do you think?”
“I think its time to take a nap,” said the little dog, yawning.
“No not that- the fight.”
“Oh! Well if I were a betting dog, I’d say the weasel and his gang pummels whoever is there. It should be a good fight. I do like a good fight,” the Papillon said rubbing his hands together.
“I’m going to get a better look," said the chow chow.
Nothing much had been going on. The weasel and his friends were still eyeing over the bunch of creatures in their midst. One of the bobcats tried to stab Gideon , but the rabbit swung his sword, keeping the cat at bay. By this time the Chow-chow had made his way to the front of the crowd. When he saw Samson, he pushed his way back to his friend.
“Peppi, come quick, a fellow canine is in trouble.”
“A bulldog, a Retriever, a–”
“A wolf,” said the chow chow.
“Well,” said the Papillon rolling his eyes, “ I suppose we can help him, we being cousins and all.”
Before you can read the end of this sentence, the little dog and his comrade pushed their way between the gang, standing in front of the three with weapons in hand. Everyone was surprise to see them.
“Get out of the way, mutts!" shouted the weasel, " This is our fight. If you don’t want your blood to stain the ground, I suggest you get lost and stay lost.”
The papillon stuck out his tongue to deride the weasel’s threat, which did nothing more but to incite one of the gang members to draw forward. The bobcat lunged at the papillon. It wasn’t much of a fight. Before the bobcat could do anything, the dog threw his dagger into the cat with such skill and a dash of style that the crowd was almost inclined to applaud.
"It would behoove you," replied the papillon slowly, " to back off."
After seeing the quick disposal of the bobcat, the rest of the gang wasted no time in relinquishing their murderous pursuit under hollow threats, but the wart hog, before leaving chocked a smile and made haste to some unknown destination.
“Empty threats from empty heads," said the papillon, holding his nose high in the air, "
The stand off was over. The crowd, disheartened that only one was killed, returned to the mundane drudgery of nightly life. Only the dogs and the three strangers were left in the muddy street. The papillon retrieved his dagger and took a look at the strangers in town.