Rayven Firebrand sits at his table smoking his pipe and having a pint while staring out of the open door of the hill and thinking “Here we are on Samhain. The foals are getting their candy and having fun traipsing around the neighborhood. Time is drawing close. Are you ready for your grand arrival? Are we? I will find you. I will bring this matter to a close. I will prove you to be nothing more than a cheap fake trying to use a legend to disguise your theft. A reign of dishonorable crime that I will bring to a stop. You and others like you disgust me. Preying on the innocents by trying to use their superstitions against them, but you will find that this time was a mistake. I will defend my home.”
From his seat at the table, Orion pricks his ears to try to make out Rayven’s soft mumbling. He finds little luck, but despite, knows just what the ranger is thinking about. He looks towards his brother and sighs quietly. Orion trusts him, and holds fast to his belief that the myth is only a myth – maybe only more strongly now that the ranger seems to doubt himself. Deep within his breast, however, an unsmotherable twinge of fear flickers, despite the mountain of trust and confidence which has been piled upon it with hopes of dampening.
The young taur shakes the distraction from his mind, and notices that in the moment he had managed to break the small candy which he had been trying to wrap. Sighing again in frustration, he pops the shattered candy in his mouth and picks another from the pile to continue working on.
Meanwhile deep in the forests of Centauria
“The time draws near, jackalope. Look at all the lovely candies that these children are loading themselves down with.”
Jack retorts, “I still feel nervous about this place. I don’t know if we should proceed here. Many other places we can hunt.”
Sharp Claw pecks at Jack’s head, “Still mewling like a weak little coney. You are demi. One in which has been blessed by a great faerie ruler. Act like it.”
“You mean cursed by you damnable bird,” snaps back Jack.
Sharp Claw peck and Jack’s head again harder than normal. This time he felt it through his hat
“Hold your tongue, jackalope,” hisses Sharp Claw. “You are lucky you still have your life.”
“As you keep reminding me,” responds Jack.
“Just remember your purpose, jackalope. You stole from us, now you steal for us.”
“A simple mistake that will haunt me until the end of my days,” Jack says with a defeated expression.
Sharp Claw glares at Jack then says, “The time draws near. You will get the candy and deliver it as you are bid to do then you will have six whole months to be this whiny little coney that I am quite frankly growing tired of.”
Jack looks down and sighs, “Aye.”