Leape

This is a work in progress.

by Sarah Thompson

more chapters are constantly being added - here are the links to all the currently written chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

1

In which a cannibalistic book eats a child

The Compiler smiled down at the desk, tome in her hands. Thoughts came in and out of her mind, whisking everywhere, as she considered what could happen to it.

At least I'm young and I can protect it.

A thought crossed her mind and her brow furrowed, as she wondered what she was to do. There's a lot of blank pages near the back... I never anticipated not being able to fill the whole book.

A small smile crossed her face. At least I still have space to write. But for now... editing. She groaned at the thought of editing all the pages she'd already written*.*

And so, she opened the book to read what she had already written. A flash appeared. And she and the tome were gone.

***

The book was large and dusty, with a broad, flat, cover, its edges tattered, the inside empty. It was a dull brown color, and Penn Leape wondered if perhaps it had been left there by accident.

He frowned, then looked over at the other books that awaited patiently on his cart, ready to be reshelved.

Why did I sign up for a book job anyways? Penn sighed, putting the book on the cart, alongside the others.

Being a librarian- or, technically, a librarian's assistant had its perks. You weren't surrounded by people all the time. You could take breaks often. But it also had its disadvantages. You truly weren't surrounded by people, and rarely was there anything interesting that happened.

One was surrounded by dusty books that were rarely opened- and Penn guessed they hadn't seen the light of day in ages- and left to their own means, sorting through old ones, occasionally seeing new ones, trying not to die of boredom as the sortage of books commenced.

Penn shelved the first book on the cart- The Adventures of Tom Sawyer- and carried on. The book had been checked out by an older man, one with very little hair and large, circular, glasses. He always seemed to have a mint with him- which Penn had refused several times over whenever he had been offered one- and smelled, generally speaking, of rubber and metal. Which was weird because Penn figured he mostly stayed at home sitting on his porch, but maybe he had some sort of rubber-metal perfume. Which would be odd, but whatever floated his boat was fine.

The floor creaked with every step and the old trolley the books were stacked on squeaked as the wheels turned. Once. Twice. Three times. Constant squeaking was emitted from the wheels, but Penn had learned to ignore it.

Sunlight came in through the arched windows of the library, filtering in through the dust-covered panes and onto the creaky wood floor of the huge building. For such a small town, it was odd to find a building as large as the library, but it was said that the founder of the town- David Arthurs- had wanted a huge area where the farmers and the blacksmiths and the cobblers could read and explore the literary world.

The next book was plain- which was unsurprising since it was rather old. It had a bluish cover, becoming paler near the edges. This one's been well-loved, Penn noted with a surprised humph. It had no design at all, and the cover was painfully empty, nothing to fill the vast space.

Penn shelved it without thought, moving on to the next area. Two books belonged there, one, a brown and green color, small vine-like patterns adorning the top of the first, the second a smallish book, also with a plain color, although this one a red which Penn was surprised had held up to the test of time.

Two books remained on the old cart, one, the ancient tome Penn had found earlier with the frayed edges, and another, this one more modern. The book covering had gone missing, leaving only a well-loved cover with only a slight indentation where the title would be, leaving Penn to guess the name.

He ran his fingers over it, touching the rough, but comforting cover, the dips of the title catching the tips as his fingers moved along. There weren't many pages in the book, Penn realized with a frown, which meant it must've been a kid's book... or a short story. One or the other.

I don't think novellas were a thing back then... he thought with a slight frown before feeling his way over the cover again.

Turtle, he thought with slight amusement, chuckling at the thought. I wonder who wrote this. And who named it. A thought of a group of people in an office, discussing titles filled his mind, and he couldn't help but smile at the scene that played out in his mind. One of the brainstormers, in a black-and-white suit stood up, a grin on his face, before shouting his idea. "TURTLE!" he cried, to which a huge round of applause followed. The walls of the building fell down, and Penn saw what looked to be an award being given to the man whose idea had resulted in the title, and tried not to cause too much of a ruckus in laughing.

I bet that's exactly how it went, the boy thought, brushing a lock of dark hair out of his face, then, when the curly piece wouldn't stay put, he resorted to blowing it- or trying to- out of his face repeatedly, a practiced habit of his.

He pushed the cart back to where he usually sat- behind a large, old, desk, indentations from where someone had pressed down too hard on the paper when writing evident- and flopped down on the swivel chair which made a satisfying squeak at the added weight.

He took up the ancient book, blowing it off, dust swirling off like smoke, going up into the air, the plume so thick Penn gave a cough, waving it away expertly, before he started to open up the book.

And then his world looked almost like a kaleidoscope, colors dancing across his vision, shapes flying from one end of the library to the other, a silver light blooming across his sight before everything was still. Absolutely still.

2

In which said child gets yeeted by a ninja

A world blossomed before Penn's eyes, vibrant colors filling his vision. It was night- an odd reality to Penn, as it'd been only mid-morning where he had been before- and a pale, white, light was cast down from a huge moon, its glow filling his vision, casting a creepy light on a well-managed garden.

Bushes, flowers, and trees were everywhere, separated by cobbled pathways. It's peaceful here, Penn thought, looking around. At least, that's what his thought was before he heard the voices.

"King Arthur has reigned this land long enough," growled one, near enough to Penn for him to be worried. I bet he has a sword he guessed, ducking down behind a large rose bush.

"Right? He needs to go," spat another, whom Penn was able to see. He was a thin man of short stature and had a small goatee, a glint in his eyes.

"We needn't worry. The Sorceress has a plan," the other one rumbled, deep voice filling the small clearing where the two stood. Penn's brows furrowed. I can't see the other one...

"Still," the thin man said, looking away then back at his companion, an icy anger in his eyes. "If the Sorceress cannot escape the King's" -it was spat as if it were a curse, which Penn suspected it was equivalent to for the skinny man- "dungeons, we must interfere. I believe it's time to take the palace by storm."

A dangerous look crossed the short man's face as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Or... we could kill the queen."

Penn leaned forward, eyes wide. He had heard of King Arthur- of course, he had, most everyone had heard the name before- but hadn't heard he had a queen by his side.

Is this how the plot's supposed to go? He wondered, before he was knocked down to the ground, shoulder slammed against the stones, head barely avoiding hitting the hard pathway.

"Quick, Hamond!" the small man spoke, his voice having risen an octave. "I hear a trespasser- let us speak more in private."

The sound of footsteps leaving seemed to make Penn's attacker relax- but only slightly.

The person wore a dark outfit, a mask covering their eyes, a black shirt and pants making the mysterious assailant blend in with the darkness.

"What are you doing here!?" the person exclaimed, glaring angrily at Penn. "You're not supposed to be here! Unless..." the person paused, voice softening at the last word. It wasn't a harsh voice, like whomever this Hamond was, nor was it like a snake's, as the thin man's was. It was... light. Soft, even. And very British.

"I- I just found myself here," stammered Penn, having not expected this question. What were you to expect when a ninja attacked?

"Where's the book?" demanded the person, voice but a whisper. A loud one at that.

"What book?" Penn asked, giving her- for he believed the ninja was a she now- an odd look. He barely remembered what he had had for breakfast that morning. How was he supposed to remember a book? He worked in a library, for Merlin's sake!

"The book," the girl said slowly as if willing him to understand "that brought you here."

"Oh. That book. Dunno," said Penn with a shrug, the girl giving an exasperated sigh.

"You buffoon! Do you know how long I've been here!? What year even is it back in reality? Surely it's been twenty years- maybe even thirty since I was drawn into the manuscript–" she cut herself off sharply, giving Penn a look that could only be described as an odd mixture of anger, desperation... and was that loneliness?

She straightened up, carefully taking off the hat-like covering a ninja might wear. "My name," she began, giving him a matter-of-fact stare that could pierce one's soul "is Lady Lethia. I come from the sovereign kingdom of the Scots. And I would appreciate it, sir, if you would lend me your assistance in returning to reality."

"Uh. What."

Lady Lethia gave a frustrated noise. A growl? wondered Penn, unable to put his finger on what the word would be.

Wait. What. 'Unable to put his finger on what the word would be'? What does that even MEAN!?

WHAT. WHY ARE MY THOUGHTS- STOP THINKING IN CAPS!

Penn barely- hey!- resisted the urge of sitting down on the ground and rocking back and forth, whimpering like a kicked puppy- argh!- annoyance crossing his face.

Lethia sighed. "Really, Joe?"

Penn frowned. "Joe?"

"Joe," she said, nodding. "It's not like you've told me your name or anything." Penn thought a moment, trying- stop. narrating.- to figure out what exactly Lethia meant. She brushed some of her fluffy blonde hair having fallen in her face.

Finally, Penn relented, letting go of his previous thoughts- STOP!- and answering her plea for a name. "Penn Leape," he said, nodding slightly, putting on the charm- I was NOT doing that, Narrator-!

Lethia regarded him with a thoughtful, slightly guarded, look on her face. "Well," she said after a moment. "I can't say it's a pleasure to meet you. After all, you're rudely interrupting my mission."

A mission? HEY! STOP NARRATING MY BRAIN!

**No. **The thought came into his mind, not exactly a voice, but more a... subconscious knowing. Who are you!? He recieved no answer. Penn gave an annoyed grunt. Lady Lethia's foot tapped against the ground.

"Are you done yet, O Buffoon of Leapus?"

"It's Leape," spoke Penn, an odd wave of defensiveness coming over- stop!- him.

"Great. Now that we've established who we are, please give me the tome," said Lethia, scarcely holding in annoyance. "And then leave."

"... No."

A frustrated growl- that's what the word was!- came from Lethia. "So HELP ME! Why are you SO FRUSTRATING!?"

"Dunno, it's a talent I have." Stop putting words in my mouth! I'd never say that!

You just did. Now, continue on with the story, Penn. Again, it came into his mind without his trying. What's WRONG with this world!? Penn huffed before starting to climb a tree. He was going to see if he could find a portal thing to get out of... wherever he was. Like a monkey, he scampered up the trunk, swiftly moving from branch to branch, the large tree’s boughs strong and steady, holding his weight easily.

"What are you doing?" asked an annoyed voice- Lethia's- a tapping sound following. Her and her foot tapping, thought Penn- who was being annoyingly narrated by an annoying narrator!- rolling his eyes.

"Well?"

"I'm jumping off this tree."

It'll hurt you more than me. I don't care! Maybe I’ll end up falling through the ground or something.

"Really, Penn," spoke Lethia, a voice of reason, staring up at him. "You're going to jump out of the tree for what? Glory? Fame?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Penn. What!? No! I want to go home!

Lethia sighed, shaking her head. "Obviously, you're new at this whole medieval knight thing. That's not how it works."

Penn paused. "How do you know?"

Lethia raised a brow. "I've grown up here, Penn. It's not like I could ignore the facts." Penn glared at her before starting to shimmy down the tree. At least I'm not wearing a skirt.

"Fine," he said, reaching the ground. "But I have questions."

A shadow of a smile crossed her face before she fixed her expression. Weird... stop narrating!

"Apologies, I have no answers."

"I didn't even start to ask--"

"No. Answers." She ended the conversation quickly.

"Okay then..." Penn said with a slight frown. She's suspicious- you know what narrator? I'm ignoring you! How's that feel, huh? How's it feel? In your FACE!

Fine by me.

An annoyed look passed over Penn's face and Lethia gave a sigh. "Well, it's not like I could stop it. It always happens."

Without his realization, a swirling vortex of colors appeared. Yellow and purple and teal and red and thousands of other colors passed over his gaze, the tangent scent of oranges overwhelming his senses.

"Lethia..?"

"Go with it!"

A bright flash filled his vision his body suffered from shock. HOLY SEACOW- wait, seacow!?

3

In which Leapus almost dies… again.

The freezing water would’ve been a shock to anything, especially Penn’s once-warm body. All the heat was sucked out of him, along with the warmth and the breath from his lungs.

Titanic!? The panicked thought crossed Penn’s mind as he floundered about in a circle, frantically moving his arms, trying to stay afloat.

“You good there, Leapus?”

Penn looked up to Lethia, who was still dressed in her ninja suit, blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She wasn’t even trying to hold back a smug smile on her face, and her raised eyebrow was a dead giveaway to what she thought of the whole situation.

She stood, feet covered in eskimo-like boots that came up to her knees, warm-looking fur insulating what looked like the inside and the rim of the tannish boots.

Still floundering in the water, trying to keep breathing, Penn could only shake his head. With a sigh, Lethia reached out a hand to help him out. A second passed and Penn didn’t take her hand, and she gave another sigh.

Within moments, her ungloved fingers closed around his arm, yanking him almost completely out of the water.

Maybe she is a ninja… Penn idly thought as he stared up at the darkened sky. All his senses screamed at him to get up and get a blanket, but all he could do for the moment was breathe in the chilly air of wherever he was, allowing relief at being alive to flood his senses.

“Get up,” Lethia said, giving a grunt as she grabbed his arm, hauling him to a kneeling position. “Oh, come on!” she gave a frustrated shout into the crisp air, hesitating for a split second before hugging him around the middle.

“What are you–” Penn started, before being hauled to his feet by the at-least-a-foot-shorter girl, the breath being squeezed out of him.

As he stood, an aching feeling spread throughout his joints, a chill running down his spine as the beginnings of a breeze flew past him, then shivering violently as a swift wind decided to reroute from its intended course and throw itself at the two.

“Wh-what do we-we do n-n-now?” he asked, clutching his arms to himself, wet sleeves clinging to them, beginning to freeze. “It’s not l-like a search p-party will b-b-be out here–.”

Lethia gave a scoff. “Just you wait,” she said, foot tapping against the ground, eyes going between the dark water Penn had been yanked out of and the icy land around them.

And then, a sound erupted across the windy plane of ice and snow. It was a mixture between a fog horn and an ohooga horn, trumpeting across the snow-covered landscape.

What now? Penn wondered as he stared across the snow, squinting his eyes against a blinding stream of light that was coming at him. I’m too young to die!

A swift glance beside him showed that Lethia had her arms stretched above her head in a Y shape, and was staring directly into the harsh golden-white light of whatever was coming towards the two.

“GREETINGS!” Lethia called over the wind, the hood of her seemingly spontaneously-appearing coat firmly pulled over her head. “WE COME IN PEACE!”

More lights appeared, coming from the general direction of the first two yellow-white lights.

… Light alien children? Penn couldn’t help but shield his eyes, squinting and turning his head away from the lights for a moment. What next, screaming octopuses?

The larger of the lights cut off, leaving the smaller, more independent, lights– what Penn thought to be flashlights– alone. There were four of them in total, all moving by themselves… but in something like a formation.

Within moments, Penn and Lethia were surrounded. Lethia’s face held a pleasant smile while all Penn could do was give a pleased grimace. We’re not dead yet! Score!

One of the people– at least, that’s what Penn assumed they were– held up a flashlight in Lethia’s face, staying back a safe distance.

“What do you think you’re doing here!?”

Lethia gave a soothing smile. “We found ourselves wandering about the Ice Planes, apologies, we didn’t realize we were trespassing.”

One of the flashlight handlers stepped back a little, a surprised look on his face. I didn’t think the Arctic– or Ice Planes, or whatever she called it– had landowners…

“Well,” said the first one, who was still shining the flashlight in Lethia’s face, a hood covering his head, “it’s not exactly every day that you get little kids out here.”

Penn opened his mouth to object to the little kids thing– he was, after all, not exactly little– but was shot a look by Lethia that clearly translated to don’t talk or I’ll shove your face full of electric eels.

“Yes, well,” said Lethia back, spreading her once-more mitted hands out in a helpless gesture, “there aren’t any markers that say this land belongs to anyone. Please–” she cast a pleading look to Penn, blue eyes soft, although an icy harshness glittered somewhere in the back “--my friend fell into the water. You of all people know how cold it is– please help him.”

“No,” said the first flashlight wielder gruffly. “We do not help outsiders.”

“But–” Lethia began, a pleading look plastered on her face. She’s acting, Penn realized, and with a quick glance to the first person, realized he had no idea. Pride grew in his chest as he thought about how he knew for sure she was acting.

“Commander, you know we can’t just leave them here–” began another of the flashlight wielders, stepping closer to Penn, a defiant look on their- her- face.

“Rimani,” spoke the commander firmly, shooting her a look. “We do not. Take care. Of outsiders.”

“But what about Inam the Valiant!? Wasn’t he an outsider once?”

“Rimani!” said the commander sharply. “We do not take in those who are not of the Tribe. Now stay out of this.”

Rage sparked in Lethia’s gaze but she held back biting words– just barely. “Please,” her voice was raised above the wind, pitched higher than it normally was, cracking at just the right time.

She looks desperate.

The commander seemed to bristle, although that could’ve been the fur of his hood being blown in the chilly wind.

I’m cold, Penn’s mind complained. Me too, brain. Me too.

“Why? Why should we allow you near the Tribe?” The words were spat out, the commander seemingly angrily asking the question.

“Because,” said Lethia, still shouting over the howling of the wind, “we are like Inam, who your companion–” she flicked her hand to Rimani, who looked a bit unsure of herself under the shadow of her hood “--mentioned. He needed help– and we do too.”

A silence settled over the group. The commander’s eyes burned into Lethia’s, which were pleading, although not teary. A minute passed before the commander spoke.

“We will allow you into the Tribe. For now. Any funny business, any messing about, however, and you go straight back here. And you have to help.”

Lethia nodded quickly, head bobbing up and down enthusiastically. This… is not the Lethia in the last world, Penn concluded, giving her an odd look before being elbowed in the ribs by her. Yes it is– Penn stifled a groan, nodding as well, although less excited.

“Come,” said the commander, giving a slight nod. “We must be going in order to get back before dawn.” … We’re in the Arctic? It’s wintertime? Probably? Won’t it stay dark?

He gestured to the snow sled-ski-thing the four had arrived on, turning off his flashlight in the same second as he turned on the headlights of the sleek automobile.

Lethia and Penn were herded into the back of the craft, the four guards in the front, silence covering the group like a puffin sitting on its egg.

At least we’ll be safe, Penn thought, but it was more a question than a definitive statement.

4

In which Penn abandons Lethia for tourism

Penn felt himself… change. It wasn’t like, oh no, I’m going through puberty, or anything. It was more like he, himself, was changing, internally. Instead of feeling bored all the time, he found himself getting excited by… weird things. For example, the lure of seal hunting… excited him. Back home, it wouldn’t’ve at all– he would’ve preferred reading, or just staring and watching paint dry. Even watching grass grow would’ve been better back home.

But here, in this new, weird, world, he found himself wanting to go seal hunting. Of course, he was expected to, as he and Lethia had been told very sternly that they had to help. And so, Penn did.

Looking out over the white-washed plane of ice and snow, there wasn’t anything that was terribly remarkable; mainly it was sheets of pure white that reflected the (albeit limited) , but Penn thought– and was pretty sure– that he’d seen a few polar bear cubs playing before their mother, who was large, even from a distance, pulled them into their snow-and-ice-created den.

“Let’s go,” said the Commander from the night before, whose name turned out to be Horace, which seemed an odd name for a commander that lived on a frozen planet, but that worked.

“Where?” Penn asked immediately, standing up from where he had been sitting, turning his gaze from the rugged landscape to Horace.

The man looked down at him from his vantage point of six feet, icy eyes matching the tundra. “Seal hunting.”

There it was again. A thrill at the idea of seal hunting. I don’t even like seals! He thought, brows furrowing together.

“Here,” said Horace, half-throwing, half-handing a thick, winter coat to Penn. “Put this on. You’ll meet up with Cayto soon enough.”

A picture flashed before Penn’s eyes, only lasting a second while he had been blinking, but clear as day.

Out on the ice sat a boy, maybe fourteen, a dingy fishing rod in his hand, obviously homemade, staring at the ice hole dejectedly. Dark hair fell into his eyes, looking something like a bowl cut, almost, but not quite, with plenty of hair grown out underneath where the bowl would be. It was hard to tell, however, because of the hood that covered his head which sheltered him from the wind and the snow… but also from anyone else.

He looked peaceful, in part, because of the peaceful landscape, and as he stared down at the ice hole, Penn couldn’t help but wonder why exactly he was fishing like that—everything else in that particular “realm”, as Lethia had called it, was relatively high-tech—when he could be seal catching or even something else.

Penn was snapped out of his thoughts about the fourteen-year-old by a hand waving in his face.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, ice kid!”

It was Horace. Penn looked up at him again, putting the heavy coat on. He blinked innocently up at the Commander. “What?”

“Let’s go. It’s well past dawn.” The sky was still dark, stars glittering above the windswept landscape where the polar bears had been minutes ago.

“It’s dark outside—?”

“It’s dark outside because of that seal-forsaken sun! There’s winter months, when we don’t even see a minute of daylight, and then there’s the summer months, when the planet floods.”

“I’m sorry, the planet floods?”

Horace ignored his question. “We’ve wasted enough time, let’s go,” said Horace gruffly, leading the way out of the camp.

It was ringed with igloos, something Penn wouldn’t’ve guessed would happen on Earth, but then again, there wasn’t a planet that flooded completely in the summer, either.

Lethia and some other ladies sat, working at some seal meat which was… well, dead, trying to get enough for the day, at least, to feed the people of the tundra.

The entrance to the little camp was guarded by a couple of the same people that had circled around Penn and Lethia the night before—they called themselves Rangers—, carefully guarding the camp, eyes alert. Even if only a snow hare stirred, they would know.

Out of the camp Penn and Horace went, travelling by snow speeder, something like the one from the night before, only an evergreen color, its treads speeding over the ice with a speed Penn hadn’t thought possible outside of Minecraft.

They arrived to a spot that seemed to be more inland than where Penn and Lethia had spawned—for lack of a better word—the night before. Horace stayed on the snow speeder, feet planted firmly on the floorboard-like-things of it, near the gas pedals but not on them.

“Here’s your stop, boy,” said Horace, ever gruffly. “Get off. I don’t see Cayto, but he’s bound to be here somewhere.”

Penn got off the snow speeder and looked around the flat landscape. It was snowy and slightly hilly, and he imagined there were probably polar bears nearby. “So, I’m supposed to just—”the revving of the engine cut him off, and he turned to look back at the Commander, who was now about ten feet away.

“What a weird kid Cayto is,” Penn thought he heard the man mumble to himself before he revved his snow speeder like a motorcycle once again and sped off.

Penn was left in the wilderness, staring around at the frozen landscape around him. I guess I’ll just die, he thought to himself as he started to walk around. That was the least he could do for himself—if he were to perish, at least he’d have moved from where he stood.

Snow was much the same anywhere he walked, however. It was packed and slick and there was a ton of water underneath it. Dark shapes moved under the water, reminding Penn of that one Hobbit movie he’d seen, and, remembering the ending, he tried his best to ignore them. Then he spotted Cayto.

He looked exactly like he had when Penn had had his brief eye-vision. He sat, staring into the water, dark hair in his face, eyes glued to the hole in the ice. Penn was pleased to see that he did not sport a bowl cut, and instead had shaggy hair that couldn’t help but fall in his face. Cayto didn’t look up as Penn came forward, and seemingly didn’t notice him, until Penn said something.

“Are you Cayto?” The boy looked up, revealing dark brown eyes.

“Why?” he asked, hook still dangling in the water. “Who sent you?” he asked, giving Penn no time to answer the previous question.

“Because I was told to come out here and help you… although I expected something more…” Penn gestured, “seal-ish.”

Cayto gave a chuckle. Then his face broke into a grin and he laughed. “Haven’t seen a ton of other tribes out here. Wasn’t aware you guys knew this place existed.”

This gave Penn pause. “Tribes?”

Cayto quirked an eyebrow. “You’re unfamiliar with them?”

“Well, yes,” Penn admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “I should probably know about them, though, right?”

Cayto shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. They’re not very happy with eachother, though.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, yeah. The Tribe of the Moose hates the Hare Tribe’s guts. And then we have the Squid Tribe and the Whale Tribe, who have decided to ally against the Caribou Tribe…” Cayto shivered beneath his thick winter garb. “Don’t want to imagine what’d happen if they got into a war. I definitely wouldn’t want to be sucked into it.”

A smile lit up his face again. He seems glad to have some company… Penn noted. “Seriously, though,” the younger boy said conversationally, “what tribe are you from?”

“Well,” began Penn, searching for words. “I’m not really from… any tribe.”

Cayto regarded him with an emotionless expression. Silence hung in the air like humidity. “I see,” he said after a moment, nodding, “you really aren’t lying.”

“No… why would you think I was?”

Cayto was silent for a moment more. “I don’t trust people around here,” he said finally. “But I guess you’re not politically involved, so I can semi-trust you.”

Awkward relief flooded over Penn. “That’s good,” he commented, standing whilst the boy sat. Cayto took a deep breath before standing up, pulling his hook out of the water.

“Let’s try introducing ourselves again, shall we? I’m Cayto, from the Tribe of the Seal, welcome to the Planet.” He held out his mitted hand for Penn to shake.

Penn reached out, grabbing it firmly. “Penn,” he said in introduction. “Thanks for the welcoming.”

Cayto gave a wry smile. “You’re welcome. Wanna see the floating ice?”

The invitation was fast, but Penn had to admit it was well-placed. “Sure,” he said after thinking for a second.

Cayto took out a heavy-duty string from his pocket, wrapping it around the homemade fishing rod quickly, along with an old rag-looking-thing, before picking up the box he had been sitting on that presumably held his tackle. Then, with a look to Penn, he said, “Let’s go.”

Cayto’s quick tour of the Planet was… incredible would be the best word to describe it. The two walked past a glade of trees that were covered with frost and looked a bit like evergreen trees from Earth, although their needles were much more rounded at the end and weren’t like actual needles. Snow covered their tops and they glittered with frost.

“The trees aren’t rooted in anything except for ice,” said Cayto in explanation to how the trees grew. “It’s not like they could grow anywhere else. I mean, the last person to dive into the ocean was Inam, and he was straight from the depths anyways.”

The words puzzled Penn but with all that was going on, he had no time to answer. They soon reached the “floating ice”, as Cayto had put it (although Penn figured that’s what the whole planet was, anyways), which was magnificent. Spires of ice reached into the air, grabbing for a cloud or a star or anything, really. Their counterparts, the stubbier of the towers, were planes that ranged from an inch to a mile in the area you could actually walk on. The moon glowed through the ice, creating an eerie glow… but Cayto seemed to feel just at home with it all.

He took a back path up a spire, and, to Penn’s surprise, there were bridges connecting the ice spikes.

“Home, sweet home,” Cayto spoke softly, wandering about his igloo on top of the spire—because of course, Penn reasoned, a person who lived on whatever planet this was, had to have an igloo (although he doubted that was true in the real world).

A dinner of fish that had been trapped in Cayto’s tackle box was hardy, the smoked creatures a reminder of home. At least it’s not octopus guts or anything. Penn stayed with Cayto for a few more hours, until the familiar tingling feeling passed through his limbs and a swirl of colors appeared in all hues, although, Penn noticed, they were mainly blues and greens. He glanced over at his friend as the colors engulfed him, and noticed his back was turned. I don’t want to go! he thought before he was whisked off into who knew what world.

5

In which Penn discovers herbivores eat plants

The air whistled by Penn’s ears as he felt he was falling. A shriek was heard beside him.

“I HATE THIS SO MUCHHHHHHH–” with that Lethia disappeared within a layer of clouds.

I am SO dying, TERRIBLE LIZARDS, I’m so DEAD, Penn thought, not questioning the “terrible lizards” part, because he fully trusted the Narrator.

ARGH, thought Penn with a grunt of annoyance glaring at the pinkish-orange clouds as they passed him, or rather, he passed them. I have GOT to get rid of you, weird space alien!

He paused. … Space alien?

With that, he slammed into the ground at full force. But it was… soft? A strange sound echoed through the air, not unlike the roar of a chainsaw. But… it sounded more animal-like.

Dragons!? Penn wondered, eyes clamped shut, the scent of pine wafting up his still-touching-the-ground nose. With a groan, he raised himself up onto his knees, brushing pine needles and debris off his face, noticing a very still Lethia standing beside him out of the corner of his eye- in changed clothes, once again.

“Lethia, what is this pla–” he was cut off by a strong grip on his shoulder, and looked up to see Lethia, feet planted firmly on the ground, safari-like boots coming up to about mid-shin, a khaki boy scout-looking uniform replacing the black ninja suit she had worn earlier.

“Shh,” she hissed to him, eyes watching the trembling bushes and ferns just a few yards from the two. They shivered, a sure sign something would come out of them, and Penn felt a chill of fear.

It was stifled quickly by warm, moist, air being breathed down his neck. Lethia’s eyes were locked on the bushes, and it seemed like she wasn’t paying any attention to anything else– including their surroundings.

“L-Lethia?” Penn croaked, voice shaking, waves of fear replacing any calmness that may have resided in him.

“Shh, Joe! I’m working on making sure we don’t get eaten,” she growled back, still at Penn’s side.

“Too late,” Penn whispered, slowly turning around, the warm air coming down his throat still. It tousled his hair, warming, and then chilling, him to the roots. He was already sweating— a side-effect of wearing heavy winter garb in an otherwise humid environment— but it was a cold sweat now, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.

His gaze caught on scales. They were a muted sea-green color, the chest of the thing slightly paler, a shade lighter than the overall color of the creature. As his eyes went up the thing, he realized it had no wings; it wasn’t a dragon. An overgrown lizard? He wondered, staring at the thing in awe. The creature’s head was elongated, a crest at the back, sort of like a horn, but much less sharp, and more curved, arching towards its back. Penn’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up at it, and as it looked down at him, its large, dark, eyes blinked slowly, as if trying to register him.

“HI,” the voice came from on top of the lizard thing. Lethia screeched, whirling around in a panic. Penn jumped backwards. “Oh, c’MON, I’m not THAT scary,” the voice said, wich Penn registered as the first time he had ever heard someone roll their eyes via their voice. A clicking of the tongue came from the voice, and the creature squatted, almost, and off got a small human.

She was wearing khaki clothes, not unlike Lethia, with boots that were a bit big for her and were tied tightly, coming up over the half-way mark on her shin. “I’m Maizie! I’m eight years old,” said the girl, giving a toothy grin, pulling her baseball cap off and giving a bow, as if she were in the middle ages.

Penn blinked, surprised at the gesture. She’s eight…? And she’s riding a… what is that thing?

As if answering his thoughts, Maizie grinned, gesturing to the creature beside her. Upon closer inspection, it was striped with light purple, giving a sort of prehistoric rainbow zebra vibe. “This is Partricia! Well, her name was Parcy– she’s a parasaurolophus after all– but then she had her kid so…” Maizie trailed off, and the bushes rustled again.

Lethia inched closer to Penn, close enough that if Penn were to move an inch right, their shoulders would be brushing. She was never this scared in the arctic world! What’s wrong with her now?

Out from the bushes came a small creature, not unlike his mother, Partricia. He was small, and his horn-crest wasn’t as developed, but was growing straighter than his mother’s. “Oh, THERE he is! Party’s been looking for him all afternoon.”

Penn looked up at the leafy foliage above them, the pine trees reaching up into the pinkish sky, the fluffy clouds tinted pale yellow and orange, a sure sign the sun was to set soon. The sound of a crunching of pine needles brought him out of his thoughts, and his eyes wandered over to Partricia the parasaurolophus, who was munching on the brownish-red needles on the ground. He felt a nudge on his leg, and looked down to see the small parasaurolophus bumping against it, as if he were a dog begging for food.

Maizie’s eyes wandered over to the tiny dinosaur, and she gave another of her contagious grins. Pushing her glasses up onto her nose and running her fingers through her chin-length pine-colored hair, she gave a little laugh at the creature as he foraged about the ground. Penn plucked a leaf from a low-lying shrub and held it out to the dinosaur. With a happy chortle that was not unlike a bird’s, it tromped over and grabbed the leaf out of his grasp scale-coverd, bill-like mouth brushing against Penn’s hand, the soft tongue of the adolescent parasaurolophus lapping all the leaf-scent up.

Penn glanced over at Lethia, who was looking around, a strange look on her face. She wasn’t paying attention to Maizie or to the dinosaurs or to Penn, and was instead searching for something, as if she had left something important behind.

“Hey, lady!” called Maizie, who was casually leaning against Partricia. “You good?” The simple question from the eight-year-old brought Lethia back to reality.

“Yes. Very much so. Now if you’ll excuse my companion and I, we should be going.”

“Well, thataway is where the brachiosauruses hang out, and then that way is carnivore cove, where the baryonyx like to hang out– wouldn’t recommend going over there, they might mistake you for an overgrown fish–” Lethia’s face was rather stoic, to her credit, although a slight glimmer of indignation showed in her eyes for a second “--and the choppers live over there, so…” Maizie trailed off, once more adjusting her pink glasses.

Lethia, at the mention of the “choppers” looked as if an electrical impulse had passed through her. “Choppers?”

“Oh yeah,” said Maizie with a shrug, slipping a harness over the small parasaurolophus’s head and situating it on him so he couldn’t get out of it without help, “they came from another planet. Said they needed lumber. What they didn’t say was that their planet only has vegeterians—which, like, eugh, why would you be only a vegetarian?— and they figured they’d take back some dinosaur meat for them.” A deep sadness passed over her face, an emotion Penn hadn’t thought the sparky eight-year-old could feel. “They’ve already gotten a lot of the iguandadons, and I would bet they’re gonna go for the protoceratops next.”

Penn’s heart started beating faster, an excitement filling him. That’s new, he thought to himself, wondering where the sudden emotion had come from. He knew he shouldn’t’ve been feeling it, after what Maizie had just said… but still….

“So wait,” Penn said, making fast hand motions as he spoke at a million miles a minute. “You’re saying that this is a planet of… dinosaurs!?” He tried to quench the excitement in his voice as he spoke, but he was already consumed with it, almost like a burning fire.

“Uh, yeah!” Maizie said, eyes brightening up, face once again happy. Penn wanted to do… something in delight. He didn’t know what, but there were dinosaurs and they were alive and they were adorable.

A buzzing sound filled the air, sounding dangerously close to the group. Maizie’s eyes widened and her brows furrowed, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“We gotta go– the buzzers are coming!” And with that, she started running off as fast as she could, followed by Partricia and her dinoling, leaving Penn and Lethia no choice but to follow.

The blonde looked at Penn just as he looked to her for advice on what to do. Penn shrugged in response to Lethia’s blank stare. “I mean… do we really have a choice?” he asked, starting off after Maizie, looking back to make sure she was following every once in a while, leaving the sound of the buzzing as quickly as possible.

Soon, a structure loomed up in front of the group, the two dinosaurs sticking close together, Maizie leading the way, and Lethia tromping through the last of the underbrush to where Penn stood, near huge, wooden, doors.

“What is this place?” Lethia asked, looking the doors up and down, inspecting from afar the neatly-kept shrubbery at the sides of the walls.

“This,” said Maizie proudly, turning around to the two and spreading her arms as if she were unveiling some great feat of artwork or opening a new building, “is the care center!” She mumbled something under her breath, something unhearable by the hooting of the smaller dinosaur to his mother– a sound almost like a brass instrument, coming from his small crest. His mother hooted back, the sound richer and deeper than her son’s.

Penn, who had been caught up in the two’s strange conversation, was pulled out of his thoughts by Maizie announcing the doors were open and that the five had better get in there before the night fell over the planet.

“What happens when night comes?” Penn asked, looking around the compound-like-thing, where dinosaurs milled about, most heading towards shelters, which were made of leaves and wood. The night was indeed coming, darkness beginning to shroud the compound, small clusters of oversized berries and high-tech lamps emitting soft yellow light, the dinosaurs heading off to bed. It looks like a mixture of Jurassic World and a kid’s book, thought Penn, who had read the original book the movies were based on.

Maizie cast Penn a serious look as the five headed into a large building which was also made of wood (something she later informed the two was “iron wood”, which was very hard to come by and was stronger, in fact, than iron), with long hallways and the echoes of dinosaurs coming from various alcoves, where the creatures rested. “When night comes,” she said ominously, as she kept walking, “that’s when the buzzers comes out.”

“What’s a buzzer?” Penn asked curiously, unaware what she was talking about.

“Did you hear the buzzing sound as we came in? The thing that sounded a bit like a swarm of bees?” Penn nodded, and saw Lethia doing the same out of the corner of his eye. “Those are buzzers. They’re actually humans, but thanks to ‘new, advanced, super-cool technology’—” said the brunette, rolling her eyes and doing air quotes “—they’ve used up all the resources on their own planet, and now there here to take ours.” She scoffed, a scowl on her face. “They wouldn’t’ve chosen this planet if they knew there were dinosaurs here– in fact—” she said, face turned slightly red at the enraging thought “—they’re not even allowed here, but they put all their fancy-shmancy tech here, and their leader is a stuck-up allosaurus, so they’re still here. Trying to harvest the ironwood trees.” She gave a bitter laugh, a triumphant grin gracing her face. “S’not as if they’ll be able to harvest them. Takes special equipment for that.”

A silence hung in the air after Maizie’s explanation. If we’re in different book dimensions… this must be the plot of this one. ‘An eight-year-old saves the dinosaurs from alien humans trying to harvest trees’. Now that’s a book I’ve never read. The thought came and went and the silence stretched on. Penn took the moment to drink his surroundings, the interior of the large place was well-lit, and the several alcoves where the dinosaurs lived seemed to have adjustable lighting. Small screens were near the enclosures, which told specifically what type of dinosaur was there, what its name was, and seemed to adjust the lighting. Several different species of the creatures were there, ranging from small triceratops-looking-dinosaurs—the label said “protoceratops”, the type Maizie had mentioned earlier, which was basically a small triceratops without the horns and a frill that was about as long as its snout— to larger, more odd-looking dinosaurs, like the “oryoctodremeus” who had smallish spikes on its back, and long arms and legs, and stood at about six feet. And his name was Ham Sandwich.

By the time Penn started to tune back into reality, he found Maizie and Lethia having a civilized conversation about… fashion. Maizie nonchalantly opened the door to a large room which housed several bunkbeds, with windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and a view out onto the courtyard where the dinosaurs had been before, milling about.

“We’re back! This is the bunkroom, and over there, in that nest—” Maizie pointed over to a bed in the corner, where blankets and pillows were scattered about the unmade “—is where I usually sleep, and y’all are welcome to any other beds you see. Also, Penn, there’s a separate bunk room for dudes, which is, like, just the room over from here, on the left, and there’s some extra clothes, so you can get out of that… coat? I think it’s called a coat. So. Yeah. Anyways.” And with that, Maizie disappeared into another room within the girls’ bunkroom, to do who-knew-what.

Lethia blinked and turned to Penn. “I think… it’s probably time to sleep?” she said questioningly, a different air than the accusatory one she had worn when she had first met Penn surrounding her.

“Probably,” said Penn with a nod, starting to head out of the room. Lethia glanced around the bunkroom, with its neatly made beds, before coming closer to Penn, and whispering in his ear.

Penn’s eyes widened, and he looked around the room. “You mean… when you first got here this was…?” He trailed off, gaze catching on the different beds and randomly scattered furniture.

Lethia gave a nod. “It wasn’t here. So I have no idea what the plot will be… so please, for the sake of both our lives, consult with me before you do something overly idiotic?” She held out her hand for a shake, to seal the deal.

Eyeing her hand, the boy hesitated. Well, what are you waiting for? The Narrator’s voice sounded through his mind, not audibly, but clearly not himself asking the question. Finally, Penn spoke: “Only if it’s the same for you— no risky stuff before we talk first.” Lethia hesitated, but nodded, and Penn gave her hand a firm shake.

“It’s a deal then,” said Lethia, and then after a moment, she stepped back, nodding once more in a final way. “I’ll be off to bed, then. Goodnight, Leapus.”

A smile crossed his face. “‘Night, ninja lady.” A chuckle escaped Lethia’s lips as she walked off towards the window and Penn shut the door to head to the boy’s bunk room, the snuffling and hooting of dinosaurs a comforting, exciting, sound that vibrated through his very bones, and indeed his joints as well, an exhilarating feeling coursing through his veins. I can’t wait for tomorrow, he thought, as he opened the door of the boy’s bunk room and chose a bed.

6

In which Penn gets spooked by a compsagnathus

Penn woke up to the most chaotic sight he had ever seen. A large, sandy-colored dog— a labrador retriever, if he knew his dog breeds— was pouncing around the room, a semi-twisted sheet around its feet, barking excitedly, jumping up and down like a trapped rabbit. It was fleeing from something Penn hoped he never had to see again: an underwear-draped raptor that looked harmless, and yet was nipping at the dog’s heels as if the two were playing. To add to that, there was a cacophony of dinosaur noises coming in through an open door, mixed with the burning smell of eggs.

Running a hand through his dark hair, Penn propped himself up on his elbows just as the lab decided to leap onto his bed, fleeing the mostly-blinded raptor who scampered around the room in a frenzy.

That’s one way to start the morning… Penn thought, stifling a yawn and looking around the room. The lab’s slobber consistently dropped onto the comforter of the bed, coming at regular intervals. The brownish-green raptor had finally shaken the pair of firetruck red underwear off its head, scraping its claws against the floor, giving its eye a good lick, like a lizard, before scuttling under the bed to haunt Penn’s dreams. He shuddered, pushing the idea out of his brain, moving his gaze away from beneath the bottom bunk of the room.

The lab turned its attention to Penn. Panting, the dog’s drool got all over the bed covers, tail wagging as his entire backside shook. A smile stretched over Penn’s face, and he got the impression he was grinning like an idiot. I never liked dogs… but this one… his thoughts trailed off, as the familiar voice of the Narrator whispered in his mind something about character development.

The door nearly flew off its hinges as it was opened, and a safari-looking guy fast-walked in. He wore clothes similar to Lethia’s—that looked quite like a boy scout uniform— but they were camouflage. He hadn’t noticed Penn in his hurry, and as his leathery boots thumped against the ground, he had an air of absent-mindedness about him. The man dug through a trunk that Penn hadn’t noticed the night before, muttering stuff under his breath all the while.

He turned around and was about to walk out of the room before his eyes widened and he saw Penn. He nearly dropped what he was holding— some sort of a large metal band— and gave a surprised shout.

“Who are you!?” he yelped, grabbing hold of the ring and holding it close to his chest. By now Penn could see his facial features clearly. His reddish-brown hair was neatly trimmed, the remnants of a beard on his face. He had large eyes— not unlike Maizie’s— that were green-brown, and he carried himself almost like a cat, slinking around, yet incredibly hyperactive.

“Um,” said Penn, unsure how to respond. What am I supposed to say, I decided to live in your basement? “Hi?”

“Maizie never mentioned there were two of you! Welcome!” He spread his arms wide as if showing off the bunk room. “I’m Philip Callaham! Maizie’s…” he paused, counting on his fingers. “Cousin!”

Penn gave him an odd look. Philip gave a sheepish smile. “Technically we’re third cousins— my great-great-grandma is the same as hers—and I never get to introduce us—me? us? her? who knows— to anyone, like, ever, so it took a sec to figure it out.”

Penn nodded slowly, considering it. That makes sense… I think. He was yanked out of his thoughts by the other boy’s chatter. “... I have a lot of chores and stuff I gotta do today, but you’re welcome to come with me if you want, although Belinda might not be too happy… but she’s old and can barely walk anyways, so we should be good to go and her hearing’s not great. Whattaya say? Wanna come?” A mischievous grin had spread across Phillip’s face. Penn had to think about it.

Am I even up for socializing right now? The sound of the Narrator’s voice caught him off guard, but he swiftly ignored the snark of it. No, I think I am— besides, I don’t like you, so why would I follow the plot? A dramatic gasp came from the Narrator, and he couldn’t help but smile, which acted as a catalyst for Philip’s.

“So, that’s a yes?” he asked, eyes lighting up, excitement much like a ten-year-old being told he’d get ice cream.

“Sure,” said Penn before his stomach growled, the dog at the foot of the bed giving a bark in response.

Philip’s gaze leapt to the lab. “Sir Richard Owens!” he cried, dashing over to give the dog a good behind-the-ears rub. “You’re supposed to be guarding the chickens!”

The dog fixed his master with a questioning gaze as if he didn’t understand the command. Philip sighed. “You’re the best-trained animal here. Not as if we could ask Lassie for help, anyways.”

Penn’s brain halted in its functioning for a second. “There’re other animals than dinosaurs on this planet?”

“Uh, duh. What, you think we’d eat terrible lizards for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

“Wait you eat—”

“No, no, there are other animals here. Like chickens and dogs and… well, actually, that’s pretty much it, but last week there was some excellent pterosaur jerky which Maizie helped with, so that was good. But you seem hungry! So let’s eat some eggs!” Thus and so, Philip started out the door, leaving Penn and Sir Richard Owens the labrador retriever to follow him.

Thankfully that day’s breakfast wasn’t dinosaur eggs— it was freshly collected chicken eggs from the coop outside. Penn hadn’t had time to talk to Lethia— he was told she was helping Maizie with oiling a few ankylosauruses, whatever that meant, and was glad he wasn’t around to mess with the scaly, armored things.

After breakfast, Penn half-followed and was half-dragged along behind Philip, who excitedly motioned and labelled each dinosaur at the place, almost instinctively knowing their names. The two passed through the same halls that Maizie had led Penn and Lethia through the night before, only in the sunlight, thanks to the window-like fixtures on the ceiling that let the warm beams through, Penn could see them better.

They seemed to be sectioned off according to their kind, many let out of their enclosures into a grassy meadow, dotted with small mounds of sand and pools of water. Ceratopsians— triceratops and protoceratops, mainly, although Penn spotted a few with what looked to be styrachosauruses, which looked similar to the triceratops, only instead of the vibrant reddish-brown, a pale teal, spotted with brown graced their hides. Their horns were different than the triceratops’ as well, with fourteen large horns framing their frill, alongside the nose horn. They were quite frightening, but according to Philip, were very gentle creatures. Apparently a group of them— which Philip had called a herd— had adopted a pachycephalosaurus at one time and raised it into believing it, too, was a styrachosaurus.

Meanwhile, a few duck-billed dinosaurs, not unlike Partricia and her son (whose name was apparently Trooper), were at the water’s edge, watching warily as a few of the young chased eachother excitedly. A few young sauropods, or long-necked dinosaurs, watched the playing triceratops, one of which’s leg was bandaged, as if it had broken, the other possibly being a support friend to it.

The field with the dinosaurs in it was cool, but what was cooler was where the carnivores were kept. Surprisingly enough, there wasn’t a whole lot of noise in the carnivores’ individual enclosures, where they were kept apart for “safety reasons” as Philip explained. The duo, followed by Sir Richard Owens, who happily was wagging his tail and giving an occasional angry look at a misbehaving dinosaur, passed several of such enclosures, where wary dinosaurs with various ailments were kept. Finally, the two reached the large enclosure at the end, where a few senile-looking carnivores lived.

“This,” said Philip proudly, keying in a pin to unlock the door, “is the Oldies’ Room. Because, y’know, there’s old dinosaurs here.” Penn looked around the room, spotting many shrubs and whatnot, and was surprised to see it wasn’t really a room, but a mostly-enclosed space; there were patches where nets which looked to be made of tightly bundled, dark brown, string, whose gaps Penn could probably wiggle through if need be, let in the bright sunlight. Under many of those laid older-looking dinosaurs. Their colors weren’t as bright as their younger relatives’, and more often than not, those that did have horns had broken and jagged edges to their defensory weapons.

Under a particularly large patch of sunlight, in a shallow pool of water, laid a large dinosaur with milky brown eyes. Its pupils were grayish, and she didn’t look like she could see very well. “BELINDA,” called Philip, walking towards the creature with a swagger in his step. The sail-like thing on her back rose and fell with each deep inhale, and she gave a huff of greeting as Philip approached.

“Hey, girl,” said the older boy, crouching down in the water, petting Belinda. Penn cautiously edged forward into the water, his borrowed waterproof boots and other clothes he’d been loaned after breakfast. Belinda gave a feeble roar at Philip’s voice, nostrils quivering, allowing the teenager to pet her.

Moments later, at Philip’s beckoning, Penn’s hand rested on the scaly spinosaurus’s nose. It felt like a scene straight out of How to Train Your Dragon. Belinda was surprisingly well-behaved. She even nuzzled against Penn’s fingers. It was nearly six, according to his internal clock, but the hours worked differently on the dinosaur planet. According to Philip, there were eighteen hours in a day, instead of the twenty-four Penn had grown accustomed to and held so dear.

Philip’s neck snapped up from where he had had his nose touching the dinosaur’s. Penn heard him curse under his breath.

“Not again,” he muttered, dashing off, leaving Penn to run after him. Sir Richard Owens, who had been lounging beside a burnt-and-aloe-smothered carnotaurus, who also seemed to be enjoying the sun. Sir Richard looked up, blinking innocently, meeting Philip’s gaze. “Stay. Watch the oldies.” The dog nodded in understanding.

Huh. What a smart— “C’mon!” And with that, Penn was dragged behind Philip as he ran past the carnivores, most of whose heads were perked up at the sound of the dinosaur.

“What- what type of dinosaur is that?” Penn yelped, being dragged along behind Philip.

“Can’t tell! We have to find him, though, it sounds like he’s near the chickens—” Philip was entering the pin for the herbivores’ section, where Penn had learned the omnivores also were housed, and gave a shiver “—don’t wanna relive the chicken shortage of two years ago.” As the door opened, Philip flew through the opening, Penn having no choice but to follow.

Within minutes, the two were outside in the slowly-setting sunlight. “We’ve got to get him AWAY from the chickens!” cried Philip, running off once again. Maybe I should’ve listened to the Narrator… there wouldn’t be as much running… Penn thought as he jogged after Philip.

Yes! You should’ve!

Penn grinned, despite the situation he was jogging into. But there wouldn’t be as much excitement! And with that, he rounded a corner, ending up at a chicken coop out behind the main building where there were quite a few feathers scattered about, a few chickens freaking out, and a trail of blood.

Shoot… thought Penn, looking at the trail of blood, eagerness having left him. Should’a, would’a, could’a, the Narrator’s voice said, and, if the Narrator had been an actual person, Penn thought there would’ve been a smirk on whomever it was’s face.

Philip was already running off into the pines. “C’MON! We have to AVENGE THE CHICKENS!”

Penn mentally facepalmed, but followed quickly. He was on high alert, and everything seemed to spook both himself and Philip. Once or twice, there was the chattering of what sounded like a squirrel, but turned out to be simply a compsognathus, which scampered by quickly, its long neck straining after some small prey, whip-thin tail snapping from side to side in quick, jerky, movements. It disappeared quickly in the underbrush, and the two continued onwards.

The trees stretched up to the sky, their wiry limbs reaching out to one another, the quickly onsetting dusk combined with the clustered pine needles casting a darkness on the two. It became hard to see, which wasn’t helped by the mist rolling in through the trees. A buzzing noise filled the air, and a chill came over Penn, and his arms prickled with goosebumps. Philip was ahead of him by only a few feet, but Penn could barely see him. The two began to slow down, Philip pausing more frequently to look around for any signs of slain chickens, to find nothing.

“We… should probably get back,” Philip said, pulling his hat down further on his head, a slightly sheepish look on his face. “The chickens are probably still alive and thriving and anyways—” he stopped talking at Penn’s stiff expression, a worried look on his face. “What is it?”

“Do you hear that?”

Philip paused. “No. Hear what?”

“I don’t know. Something feels… off.” Penn shifted from one foot to the other. Goosebumps already dotted his arms. Goosebumps dotted his goosebumps. A chill settled fully on him.

“Well, it’s not like—” Philip stopped talking within a millisecond. “I feel it.”

A deep sound came upon the forest. It shouldn’t have echoed, but it did. It was low and dangerous, like a tiger’s snarl. Penn slowly turned around. He looked up in the trees. Two yellow, slitted, eyes glowered down at him.

A roar erupted from the creature’s maw, shaking Penn to his very core. He could hear nothing, could feel nothing, but his pulse and his feet hitting the pine needles. He was aware of Philip’s hand on his arm, and when it let go, but he kept going.

The dinosaur was behind him, chasing him, gaining on him, and then it didn’t matter. Air whistled past Penn’s ears, and he could hear again. He had leapt off a cliff in his haste, stupidly, unthinkingly, and as he plummeted to the waves below, his heart seemed to freeze and time seemed to stop. And things went down.

7

In which Penn falls in loveeeee…

Penn’s nose was painfully smashed against the ground. Again. He was, at least, alive, and he was very thankful for that. His finger twitched and he regained consciousness, eyes opening up slowly to take in the dimly lit room.

From his vantage point on the floor, he observed the small room. It was concrete-walled and smelled vaguely of dirt. It was a concrete chamber with a wooden barn-like door that looked misplaced at its entrance. The walls were painted a stark white, and a few lamps were stationed around the room. One or two pictures adorned the wall and a bed sat neatly in the corner, its blue comforter a pop of color in the otherwise colorless room. Moving his head and looking to his other side, the beige carpet scraping against his nose, Penn spotted a burnished bronze panel of buttons and switches which was nestled behind an antique-looking rocking chair, where Lethia sat, scribbling something in a notebook.

Seeming to notice his gaze on her, Lethia finally looked up, giving a smile when she saw Penn. “Finally! You’re awake! That took you long enough. It’s been, like, twenty-three minutes. And this is one of my favorite worlds.”

Penn sat up, a wave of dizziness flooding over him. Rubbing his temples, he looked around the room, trying to orient himself again. He noticed Lethia was in her ninja suit again. “Where exactly… are we?”

Lethia beamed. “A holding cell! So much nicer than Arthurian prisons, by the way, and there’s a change of ninja clothes on the bed,” she said, talking at a mile a minute.

*What… time period is this?* Penn wondered to himself, unsteadily getting onto his feet and heading over to the bed, picking up the ninja outfit experimentally. The fabric was dark and Penn almost expected to see a black belt with it, although he saw none.

Immediately, the Narrator’s voice piped up in Penn’s brain. He had to stifle a groan at her voice. He had recently found that it had grown feminine, to the point where it sounded like a twelve-year-old girl’s. **Relax! Take some time to chill out here— nothing to worry about!**

Penn bit back a snarky comeback. *Who even* are *you!?* he asked the Narrator. A laugh ran through his mind.

**Don’t worry about that, I have valuable information about this time-period-slash-genre.** The upbeat sound of the Narrator’s voice filled his mind. He waited a minute expectantly, before the Narrator spoke again, **Well? Do you want to hear it or not?**

He hadn’t realized he was expected to answer. *Um, yes. If it would quite possibly keep me alive and away from danger, then yes, info would be appreciated.*

Penn could imagine a grin spreading across the Narrator’s face, if she had one, which he doubted, since, as far as he knew, she was part of his imagination. **So! There’s no details in the book about what time period this is—** *there’s a book!?* **—duh, what do you think you were dumped into? *Let me finish talking, please.* It’s steam-punk, and there’s sci-fi and weirdos involved. **

Penn gave a grunt at the information. At least it was helpful. Sort of. *Anything I need to be worried about? For now, at least?*

There was a pause as the Narrator seemed to be thinking. **Nothing I can… wait, actually, be careful of that lady who’s about to come through the door, I don’t remember her being in the plot anywhere—**

*What lady coming through the—* the barn-like door opened, and a woman walked through. She looked to be in her younger twenties with her hair piled on top of her head in a ballerina-type bun, a fierce look on her face. Her gaze was commanding, sharp as an eagle’s. The only thing that broke the image of an army drill sergeant was the rose gold glasses that rested on her dark face, with their slight pink tint to the lens.

“Well,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. We can’t have *another* person dying on the Ninjas’ hands, can we?” She had a defiant air about her as if she had broken all rules and everything about society, completely trashing norms that were expected of her and throwing away any and all guidelines she had been given in the past.

“I suppose introductions are called for.” She strode over to Penn, petite frame making her much shorter than him, so she had to look up. Her dark brown eyes met his and she stuck out her hand in greeting. “Agent Gabrielle,” she asserted with confidence, clearly expecting Penn to speak.

Taking her hand and giving it a firm shake, Penn said— with much less confidence— that he was Penn Leape. She nodded thoughtfully. “Is Penn a nickname for something?” she asked, slight curiosity in her voice.

Penn let her hand go, thinking. “I don’t *think* so,” he responded after a moment, “but I may be wrong.” A slight blush crept onto his cheeks although he tried to hide it and he felt his heart quicken, a bashful feeling washing over him. Lethia was looking at the two from her chair, ninja hood pulled down, the notebook open on her lap. A knowing look was on her face, a small smirk gracing it, a look that Penn hated, because it meant she knew things. Dangerous things.

Gabrielle nodded once again. “Well, Penn Leape, welcome to—” she gestured with her hand “—the main base for the Ninjas. I assume you’ve heard of us? Or perhaps you’ve been on a ship your whole life.”

Penn shook his head no, to which Gabrielle looked slightly surprised— and a little bit happy— before she started to talk once again. “The Ninjas are a group of *peaceful* revolutionaries, who, for the most part, disrupt cultural norms…” she trailed off before picking up the ninja suit off the bed “like women wearing pants and hope to one day cause a change in society.” Under her breath, she muttered something more, but Penn couldn’t hear her, and wasn’t, quite frankly, sure if he had wanted to.

“You may either decide to put on the suit and stay here,” she paused, as if allowing Penn to think for a moment, “or you may head back up to the real world. Although I will warn you, if you decide to stay here, you’ll be put to work. But it’s all up to you.” She shrugged, eyes flitting to Lethia quickly.

“It seems your friend has already decided to stay here. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, you may choose to go a different route.” The Narrator’s voice immediately filled Penn’s mind, jabbering excitedly.

**Oh my GOODNESS, you HAVE to head out, I just saw the CUTEST bird, and the CUTEST GUY TOO—** Penn firmly shut the Narrator’s voice out of his mind; he didn’t care much for her gushing about a cute guy. Gabrielle’s eyes were locked on him as she clearly awaited his decision.

*To stay, or not to stay… that is the question.* Penn thought deeply about it, before resorting to the oldest trick of the book: using the duck song to choose.

*… And he waddled away, until the very next day.* His brain landed on leaving. It was a quickly-made decision, but with Gabrielle’s gaze burning into him, he would risk it. It was awkward anyways.

“I’ll head up to the surface,” he said nonchalantly.

“WHAT!?” Lethia burst out, slamming her notebook and the pen which was sandwiched between the pages shut. “You’re LEAVING!? That’s so UNLIKE you, you’re HEADING UP!?”

It took a moment for Penn to register Lethia’s outburst. “... Yes?” he said tentatively, rethinking his life choices.

Lethia sat down. “I’m all for it, let’s go,” she said, a grin crossing onto her face. “You’re finally learning to chill! Took you long enough!” She stood up again, turning to Gabrielle, who stood facing Penn still, an unreadable gaze on her face. “Gabby, want me to swap out the ninja suit for something else?”

*“Gabrielle,* and we don’t usually issue out used suits, so it’s yours to keep. There’s a bin on the first floor if you want to use some of the things in it.”

“Great!” Lethia shouted enthusiastically, leaping up, and, her excitement contagious, a small smile beginning to form on Penn’s face.

“Well then,” said Gabrielle giving a nod. “I’ll have to escort you out; we can’t have people who aren’t part of the Ninjas knowing exactly where we’re based.”

“Can’t the government— or whoever you guys are against— just like, scan the ground or something…?” Penn trailed off, confused once again. The Narrator’s voice started to speak up again, but Lethia’s finger was against his face, in a shushing motion, the Narrator immediately becoming silent.

“Shhhh,” she said before she started off. “It’s steampunk, remember?” And with that, she followed Gabrielle out the door. Penn did likewise, stepping out into the hallway, the ninja suit in his arms, still dressed in his safari-like uniform from the previous story.

He looked around him at the corridor, which was painted a dark blue, footsteps echoing off the walls. After about a minute of walking and passing minimal ninja-cloaked people, the trio reached the end of the hallway, going across a concrete room. There wasn’t anything in there, except for stairs that led up to a gear-encrusted latch that Penn assumed opened up into the outside world, a chest of a bunch of dress-up clothes, and a lever that was probably meant to open the latch.

Lethia was already excitedly rummaging through the chest, pushing neatly-stacked clothes out of the way, to the fury of Gabrielle, who wore a barely masked expression of deep anger. Penn walked forward at a normal pace, having regained his basic walking capabilities, and arrived at the chest.

It wasn’t a very remarkable chest; it held quite a few clothes, but only that. Its outside was dark wood with golden brown metal on the corners that framed it, giving it a rather steampunk vibe… not that Penn knew what to expect from the word “steampunk”.

Lethia shoved some clothes in Penn’s arms. They smelled vaguely of lavender, with a pinch of cinnamon mixed in. It made Penn feel like he was a candle at Bed, Bath, and Body Works, but it reminded him of home, so he was alright with it.

Having been directed to a changing room by the ever-helpful Gabrielle, he examined the clothes for the first time. Instead of the khaki-colored safari clothes he had been wearing up until then, the clothes were old-fashioned, with all the buttons and suspenders attached.

A blue button-down shirt was the centerpiece of it all. Over that Penn assumed he was to wear the dark gray vest, paired with some dark gray pants… that had bright green suspenders attached. All it meant was that Penn was to wear his vest buttoned up or something at all times, so nobody caught sight of the pear-green atrocities that went over his shoulders. On top of the whole pile was a gray hat, which, if Penn remembered his history lessons correctly (and he did), was reminiscent of a newsboy’s hat from the 1900s.

He stepped out of the changing room, opening the latched door with slight difficulty (the gears looked to be stuck), the dressy shoes on his feet slightly scuffed and a little big. Across from him, on the other side of the room, Lethia stepped out of her booth, an ecstatic grin on her face.

A skirt went down, just below her knees, dark red socks reaching up to meet it. She wore a shirt similar to Penn’s, although its mint green was a good change from the warmer shade of blue to keep from clashing with the dark blue of her skirt. On her watch was a small, yet fully operational and very fancy-looking watch with gears galore. She looked like she was from the 1900s. Sort of.

Gabrielle stepped forward, two black blindfolds in her hand. “Put these on if you will, please,” she said, handing them out to the two.

Tying it securely, Penn felt Gabrielle’s hand on his back, pushing him forward, then it left for a moment and the screech of a lever being pulled down and the clanking of large gears was heard. Gabrielle pushed the two forward, and out into the remarkably smoke-free air. It was fresh and clean and Penn’s lungs heaved with happiness at being out of the stuffy basement that was the Ninjas’ base.

Penn untied his blindfold and felt it snatched out of his hand as his arm hung limp. His eyes were on the city and everything in it. The sky was a cloudy gray, but the air was clean. The roads were cobbled and a little dirty, not unlike what he imagined nineteenth-century New York to look like. Large, gleaming, ships hovered high above the spiraling metal towers of the city, plaster buildings in his sight line every now and then. He couldn’t take his eyes off it for minutes. When he turned around finally to thank Gabrielle, she was nowhere to be seen. He felt a twinge of sadness in his chest before he was nudged by Lethia’s elbow.

“Welcome,” she said with some extravagance, stepping out into the crowded streets, “to the grand city of Dawnward!”

8

In which Person A falls for Person B, but Person B is too oblivious to realize it

Dawnward was a seaside city, with bridges and shops in all the right places, people crowding the dirty, cobbled, streets. Women rushed by, their dresses reaching their shins, at least, children either trailing behind them or with their hands grasped tightly. Men sometimes passed by, their arms hooked with a lady’s, their heads usually crowned with a top hat.

It took a whole day of walking to get into the inner city, with how big it was, and by then, Penn just wanted to sit down. His feet hurt. And he was tired of walking. He kept glancing around at the city with awe, but awe was not something that would make your feet feel un-sore from walking all day in uncomfortable shoes.

Most of their outfits looked like what Penn imagined men and women would wear in the late 1800s, but some nearly made him take a step back in surprise. Two young people— a brother and sister, twins, if Penn thought right, were on the side of the road, each doing acrobatics. The boy, looking to be around eighteen, was expertly strumming a quick tune on a ukulele, a grin on his face, black suit only a shade darker than his hair. He looked completely content with playing his instrument while his sister—also in a tuxedo, a top hat atop of her head, both red— juggled several balls up in the air. A showman smile was across her face as she casually juggled balls in the air, moving about as if it were nothing.

Quite a few people glared at the duo as they walked by, but a small crowd was gathered around them, cheering every time the girl did an impossible trick with the juggling balls, a collective laugh rippling across the group when the boy headed them back into a cloth bag.

The two were quite content with their business, and Penn found himself almost drawn to their show, instinctively, to see what happened next. Suddenly, Lethia grabbed his arm and threw herself into a shop, plastering herself against one of the many bookshelves in it.

Gasping for air, her eyes darted about wildly as she took in her surroundings, firmly having pushed Penn against one of the sturdy bookshelves in the shop. Penn opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but she put her finger to her mouth and gave him a stern look.

“Oh— my— word—” Lethia huffed, still gasping for air, trying to calm herself down. She ran her hands over her long hair, trying to flatten it out, as it’d gotten quite staticky in the run over. Lowering her finger, she cast an annoyed look behind her and out the window. “I HATE those guys,” she furiously whispered at Penn, who felt sorry for whomever those guys were.

“Who are… ‘those guys’?” Penn whispered back, brows furrowing, more questions already crowding his mind.

Lethia gave a sigh as if Penn knew nothing. “Those guys are—” she cut herself off as low voices came from the counter on which sat the cash register. Stealthily moving back, she motioned for Penn to follow, until they were out of whomever was speaking’s view.

“I’m serious, Theophilus! We can do something about it! You know I’m no environmentalist, but… I mean, seriously!”

The person who had spoken was short and stocky, with curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. Freckles covered his face and partially up his arms, and when he spoke, he was fully animated, as if he were from a cartoon. The person he was speaking to shook his head, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Marcus, that simply won’t work. We can’t risk it. You know how they are,” said he with a wary look around, voice low as he spoke, although Penn got the feeling he was usually quite soft-spoken most of the time. From his close-cropped dark hair and his umber skin to his lanky form, he looked like a volleyball player, the only thing ruining the image being his late nineteenth century clothing he wore.

Marcus gave a groan, rocking back and forth, an annoyed air about him. “Theo! C’mon! This is our chance— your chance— at making a change! Think of the dragons! Think of Ella!”

At the mention of this Ella, Theophilus stiffened, taking in a deep breath. “Marcus, the answer is—” Lethia stepped out from behind the bookshelf, a small smirk on her face.

“Perhaps I could be of— Penn get yourself out here—” she yanked Penn out of his hiding place, where he stumbled into full-sight of the two “—assistance?”

Marcus gave a yelp and threw himself over the low counter, peeking over it once he was behind it. “Who are you!?” he asked, only his fingers and from his eyes up visible. Theophilus’ face was stoic and impossible to read, to Penn’s dismay.

“We are— Penn, get back here— here to help you!” Lethia exclaimed, firmly holding Penn’s arm to keep him from escaping.

“Yes, that,” Penn said quickly, struggling to get Lethia’s hand off his arm, trying to pry her fingers off. He wanted to hide… and maybe buy a book. But mostly hide.

“Why were you eavesdropping on our conversation?” Theophilus asked, stepping forward a few steps. His brows furrowed, demeanor quickly changing from stoic to slightly irritated/wary.

“Well, I—” Penn began, before Lethia unlatched her hand from his arm, spreading her hands in a peaceful way.

“We’re here to help. You’re part of the Ninjas, right?” she spoke calmly, approaching slowly. At the mention of the Ninjas, Marcus’ eyes widened even more and he looked around frantically as if searching for listening devices.

“Marcus, at ease,” spoke a new voice from the back doorway, from which the two boys had entered. “This one is no threat.”

Marcus’ brows furrowed. “No threat!? She just—stepped into the middle of a very important conversation!? It looks like she’s a threat??”

The girl shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. “Look at her arm closely. Closely, Marcus.” Marcus squinted his eyes, finally reeling back in surprise.

“You’re—you’re with us!” he said finally, eyes wide.

Lethia gave a nod, her attention turned to the girl who had spoken up in her defense. There she stood,  the one who had spoken, ebony hair pulled back into a bun. An assertive air was about her as she stood, hands on her hips, daring Lethia to make a move toward her. When Lethia didn’t move, she started forward, reaching out a hand to shake Lethia’s.

“Elizabeth Regent. I take it you’re a new recruit to the Ninjas?” The question was straightforward enough and her tone was agreeable, but her amber gaze was startling and cool.

“Yup,” Lethia answered quickly, nodding. “I’m Lethia, by the way— and that’s Penn.” She jabbed her thumb at Penn, who was looking off in the distance, contemplating his life choices. … I really should’ve eaten that sandwich before we left.

“Nice to meet you. This is Marcus Caus and my—” Elizabeth hesitated a moment. “Friend, Theophilus Kane Knightly,” she spoke, having thought for a split second, gesturing to the two boys. Theophilus gave a friendly nod, while Marcus hopped over the counter to shake Penn’s hand.

“It’s been a second since we got to have new recruits! I can show you around and—” he was cut off by the ever-stoic Theophilus clearing his throat.

“Marcus,” he said in his baritone voice, eyes darting from Lethia to Penn, “Lillian will be arriving soon.” Marcus gave a long sigh, before casting an apologetic look to Penn.

“Sorry, dude,” he said, using slang that thoroughly surprised Penn. “Gotta get ready for Elizabeth’s sister to come.” With that, he grabbed a broom, casually sweeping the floor, intermittently glancing at Lethia and Penn, who stood there awkwardly while Theophilus and Elizabeth had a hushed conversation. A moment passed before Elizabeth gave the two a bright smile.

“So! We’ve decided you can stay,” she said, clasping her hands together. No smile graced her face although Penn figured she wasn’t planning to kick them out. Lethia started to get openly excited before she continued her sentence. “On one condition. You don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard… and you go on the quest with us.”

“Yes! That was the plan,” Lethia said, energy lacing her every movement. “Obviously, we wouldn’t tell anyone. That would mess up you guys’ organization. Right, Penn?”

Penn nodded thoughtfully. “Right. If we did tell someone—” the bell above the door that only worked fifty percent of the time rang, and Lethia leaped around, reflexes as fast as a ninja’s. At the door stood a girl, who, aside from her naturally tan skin and eye color looked nothing like Elizabeth, who Penn inferred was her sister.

Her brown hair was wavy and about down to her waist, incredibly fluffy even down to the tips. She had an adventurous look about her, spurred on by her grin, the effect amplified by her clothes. She wore an ankle-length yellow-and-pink plaid skirt and a pale pink shirt, not unlike Lethia’s, only with small puffs at the shoulders. She had a small, eccentric-looking watch, with gears protruding from every possible surface, and a leather satchel was slung over her shoulder. She was clearly ready for action.

“Elizabeth!” she near-shouted with excitement. “It’s been AGES. Okay, it’s been a week. BUT AGES.” Elizabeth gave a smile at her sister’s greeting, reserved, but pleasant, Lillian’s excitement seemingly contagious.

“Lillian, meet Theophilus— he’s the one I’ve told you about—” Theophilus gave a small smile, giving a cordial wave to Lillian “—and here’s Marcus!” Marcus, who had finished sweeping, took a hat off the top of a bookshelf, where he’d stashed it.

“Mornin’, Lillian,” he said, walking up to her with a slight swagger. He stuck out his hand to the slightly taller girl, introducing himself as, “Marcus Caus, keeper of the books!” He took much pride in his position, and Lillian was listening. Really listening. In fact, she seemed to be hanging on every word.

Penn took a quick glance over to Lethia who… oh wow. A grin was plastered over her face and she looked almost like she would explode. A look of pure happiness was on her face, her brightly shining eyes giving it away.

“... You good?” Penn leaned over and whispered to Lethia, who gave a grunt, clearing her throat, before she straightened out her dress.

“Me? Oh yes,” said Lethia, eye still on the two, who were chattering, “I’m just fine. Doing absolutely fabulous.” Penn slowly nodded, not quite sure what to make of Lethia’s odd mood. He was saved from having to say anything else by Elizabeth’s voice.

“If you three will follow us,” she said, nodding to her newly arrived sister and then Penn and Lethia. “We have much to discuss.” With that, she disappeared down a dark stairway, which was illuminated by a singular, yellow, lightbulb.

First, Theophilus followed, and then Marcus, Lethia following after Lillian, leaving Penn to take up the rear. He stepped into the stairway, closing the door as he was instructed by Marcus, before heading downward.

The room he entered had a few couches and a fluffy chair, alongside a soft rug and many, many, bookshelves. Three walls were covered with wood, almost as if the room was constructed above ground, the planks reaching from floor to ceiling. There was a singular accent wall was painted a bright teal color, something surprisingly modern, but homey nonetheless.

“Take a seat, any seat,” said Marcus flopping down onto a chair, much like any other seventeen-year-old boy would do. “There’s drinks and stuff in the wall if you want some…” he trailed off. “Or if you don’t, Theo said his mom made cookies.”

Theophilus’ face turned red at this statement. “Marcus— first of all, I made the cookies, second of all there’s so much wrong with that statement, I cannot even begin to correct it.” Marcus cackled in response, to which Lillian gave a grin, clearly trying to hold back a giggle. Marcus didn’t notice.

Five minutes passed before Elizabeth emerged from a hidden door in the basement’s wall. “Okay,” she said, sitting down beside Theophilus, who had saved her a seat. “We have much to discuss.”

“Right on,” said Marcus, bopping his head in agreement. “What’s the first order of business?” he asked as he ripped open a bag of potato chips, labeled Saratoga Chips, passing the bag around.

“The first order of business—thank you, Theo—is to talk about the quest.” A dramatic gasp came from Marcus, who got a scolding look from Theophilus, which he promptly ignored.

“A quest?” Penn inquired, a feeling of something-bad-is-going-to-happen in his stomach. He glanced at his watch, realizing that he had about thirty seconds before the two poofed, thanks to Lethia’s poor time-management skills.

“A quest,” said Elizabeth seriously, leaning forward conspiratorially. “We have to save the city before it explodes. Which starts with saving a dragon and getting its advice.” And just like that, Penn and Lethia disappeared within a split second.

9

In which Penn looks in a mirror, but it’s not a mirror, and they’re flirting!?

Penn was quite pleased by the fact that he did not find himself smashed face-first into the ground. Lethia bounced on her toes, curly blonde hair fluffing up, as if triggered by excitement.

“Chapter two,” she said with a grin, looking around at everything. Chapter two!? Penn thought with a panic. WHY ARE WE ONLY ON CHAPTER TWO, I’VE BEEN IN HERE FOR LIKE A WEEK!?

The semi-soothing voice of the twelve-year-old narrator filled Penn’s mind. ‘Lax, bro. Penn blinked.

I thought we were in Medievalland? A tsk came from the narrator, and Penn could feel her mentally rolling her eyes.

**Nope. Well, yes, but actually no. You’re in Medievalland, I’m in your head. Now focus. **They seemed to be at the outskirts of a medieval town, the white-washed walls of the buildings stretching up two or three stories, the expanses of white intermittently broken up by black beams of wood cutting across them. The thatched roofs reached up to the cerulean sky, where an outcropping of clouds hung dramatically over the small city. Plains stretched out beyond the large town, clusters of wanna-be forests dotting the large expanse of grass. Fields lined the long, dirt path that wound throughout the bright green plains, their pale gold heads catching the sun perfectly to turn them gold.

Lethia brushed off her skirt—which had changed between stories—and stalked forward through the streets. They were bustling with activity, with random people, horses, and varying farm animals traveling along the cobbled roads. Vendors hawked their goods, children played games in the streets, and animals brayed loudly, all combining into an orchestra of chaotic cacophony.

Penn hadn’t walked ten minutes before Lethia once more grabbed his arm—Not again, he thought with despair—and with ninja-like stealth dove behind a few barrels.

“Wha—” he began before his moody companion clasped her hand over his mouth, hissing almost silently about guards.

Penn peeked up from where he had been thrown in the mud behind the barrels to catch a glimpse of said guards. The Narrator’s voice filled his mind.

LANCELOT!!!!1!1!1!11! she cried in his brain, the word followed by about a thousand exclamation marks following it. With a final squeak of excitement, the Narrator quieted down, an exhilarated buzz filling his mind as he watched the two guards, eyes darting from one to the other.

He realized with a start that they weren’t merely guards—they were knights, each half-armored, seemingly looking for something.

There were two of them, one wearing a light green tunic with dark brown leggings, a hose Penn’s mind helpfully informed him—or was it the Narrator?—, a sword in his scabbard, carrying a deep blue shield with a silvery boar on it in his left hand. His arctic blue eyes searched over the streets, hawkish in nature, and he rubbed his stubble-covered chin as if in deep thought.

The other, who was slightly shorter, wore a pale red tunic with a similar hose to his friend’s, but carried a different shield. The Narrator in Penn’s mind gave another excited squeal, and Penn could imagine her jumping up and down in her excitement. The second knight’s shield was a dark blue as well, although its tone was cooler, with a golden spotted cat on it. Its claws reached up into the air as if to snatch a bird down, a fierce and determined look about it that Penn could imagine on the auburn-haired knight when in the midst of battle.

The duo’s gazes flitted about, going from house to house, from barrel to barrel, from— “You there! Show yourself!” the red-tuniced one called, dramatically looking to the barrels from which Penn and Lethia peeked out from behind. His voice had a distinct French accent, however faint, a juxtaposition ot Lethia’s British one. It made him all the more intimidating. With a sinking feeling, Penn gave a start as beside him, Lethia, who had somehow changed clothes, once again, and wore a white-and-green dress outfit, stood sheepishly up.

“Hiii…” she trailed off, giving Penn a quick look that roughly translated to get your face up here. Penn slowly rose, a small shock of surprise coursing through him when he realized the knights said nothing about his eighteenth-century clothes. A quick glance down, however, revealed an odd, glitch-like quality to his clothes, going from mostly eighteenth-century clothing to a quickly-fleeting flash of whatever-time-King-Arthur-was clothes.

*Huh… that must be what the book people see—*he was cut off, however, by the Narrator’s dry voice informing him of the time period.

Mid-1300s.

Huh?

The time period? Mid-1300s.

… Oh. Unable to think of what else to say, Penn looked up from his flashing clothes and to the two knights. To his surprise, all the tension had left their faces.

The green-clad one—the one the Narrator jovially declared was Lancelot— “Finnian!” he exclaimed, the tension easing from his face. It took Penn a moment to regain himself, surprise lacing the tome-traveller’s features. The silence stretched on until Lethia sharply stomped on his foot.

“GREETINGS,” Penn said, a little loudly, refraining from elbowing Lethia even though he really wanted to. He tried again: “Uh. Hi?”

The red-wearing one—who the Narrator informed him was a knight called Bors, who was supposedly from France—gave an amused smile, running a hand through his chin-length, ebony, hair. “Who is this fair maiden you’ve come across?” he asked, the slightly amused look on his face as he watched Penn’s trying-to-make-sense-of-life facial expressions.

Lethia took the opportunity to introduce herself, curtsying in proper medieval manner. “Lady Lethia,” she spoke clearly, a smile gracing her face. “And you are?”

The knight laughed, throwing his head back. “You must not attend many tournaments! I am Sir Bors de Gannes of the Round Table!” A squirming feeling filled Penn’s stomach and his eyes darted to Lethia, who had a very happy smile on her face.

Lethia’s face calmed down, a slight smile still upon it. “Indeed, I do not. However, I tend to do so in the future,” and with that, Penn figured out why his stomach felt weird. The two were flirting.

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, he thought, desperately trying to get away from the thought. They’re flirting!?

The two’s faces glowed as Penn and Lancelot stood there, the former more awkward than the latter. Finally, the smiles died down to only a flicker of a grin, and Lancelot addressed Penn.

“Finnian!” he spoke, as dramatic as a theatre kid, “We have business to attend.” Penn had nary a clue what business this was, but he did not want to take part in it. He was, in short, totally against the idea of being lanced to death on a horse with armor and a thousand people watching. He desperately tried to think his way out of the situation… to no avail. Plus, Lethia wasn’t helping, she was smashing the life out of his foot.

Squeezing his way out from behind the barrel, Penn followed behind Lancelot and Bors, who led the way. Suddenly, Bors made a declaration: “We shall have to see Lady Lethia at another time!” Penn’s brows furrowed in uncertainty. Are you just gonna… y’know… leave it at that? he wondered, watching the young knight with deep confusion.

Lagging back behind the two, Penn cast a look back at Lethia, who shooed him onward, rolling her eyes at his concerned facial expressions. I’ll be fine, she seemed to say as she turned her back to him, making her way into a crowd of people.

… I’m so dead, thought Penn as he followed the two knights. Upon coming up closer to the two, he could make out more details about their faces. Lancelot was older than Bors, clearly, as evidenced by the few silver strands of hair mixed in with his otherwise reddish-brown head of hair. Lancelot’s face, also, looked older than Bors’, as if he had seen more battles, despite the distinctive scar that went over Bors’ left eye (which, it should be noted, that although Penn thought it looked sick, it probably hurt).

Walking on throughout the cobbled streets, Penn found they were getting closer and closer to the city’s center. Of course, he wasn’t really sure if it were a city, but by the buildings that got fancier and fancier as they got closer to the illusive center of the city, where Penn had read there was a huge castle, where the King Arthur lived.

As they neared, Penn took in everything, from the colorful-topped towers to the neatly-stacked stones that created the castle’s outer walls. Dude, thought he, brushing a shock of his dark hair out of his face, eyes wide with awe, they have a wall… inside of another wall!?

Penn had changed in many ways since his librarian’s assistant days, yet this was not one of them.

A moat surrounded the cerulean-roofed castle, dark, greenish-blue water settled calmly in the deep trench. Peering over the side of the drawbridge as he walked across, Penn could have sworn he saw some sort of water dragon leaping in the small waves, but chalked it up to his imagination when it disappeared.

Camelot’s castle—or, more accurately, King Arthur’s castle—was just as magnificent on the inside as it was on the out. Everything looked like it was a fairytale world, from the lush green lawns of the estate to the multi-colored tapestries on the wall.

GREAT SCOTT! The Narrator exclaimed in I’ve-just-had-an-amazing-idea, the sound of her voice echoing through Penn’s head.

W-what? Do I want to know your ide—

YOU HAVE TO ASK WHERE THE ROUND TABLE IS, PLEASEEEEEE the Narrator’s voice chimed in once again.

I—maybe. And since when was ‘great scott’ an old English thing? Receiving no answer from the usually-loud Narrator, Penn sighed. “Um,” he began, catching the attention of Bors, who dropped back some. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the round table is, would you—?”

Bors grinned. “Finnian, you’ve been down there before! Granted, it was just once, but you went down there! And even for your usually very reserved nature, you were really into it.”

Penn blinked. “Uhhh,” he managed to say right as Sir Lancelot turned around. A great whoosing came from his cloak as it moved around with him, the Knight’s absolute epicness amplified by the great structure the trio stood in.

“Finnian!” said he, the sound of his feet hitting the carpet drowned out by his booming voice. Why is he so loud!? Penn wondered before his new knight-master-jedi-person spoke once more. “I believe it is time for your Latin lessons! Of course, the reason we’re here is due to the King—” he moved his hand so it was resting over his heart at the mention of Arthur “—whose library has several scrolls Joyous Gard does not.” Penn nodded slowly, realizing Joyous Gard was probably Lancelot’s castle after a moment of intense thinking.

As Penn walked into the huge, looming, library, he was reminded of his own at home. Home… the word sounded odd, even just in Penn’s brain.

You know, said the Narrator as Penn took in the blue-and-gold color-schemed library, looking at the tomes and thickly-bound leather volumes, if you can complete this whole… story thing, you can go home.

And? Penn thought back, walking slowly over to a huge, oaken, table, where a book was laid out, presumably for him to read.

If it takes less time for you to complete it, the less time it’ll take for you to get home.

Realization dawned. So you’re saying… if I can get this book done in less time than it’s actually supposed to take… then I can get home sooner?

The Narrator stayed silent, which Penn took for an affirmative answer. He sat down at the table, settling in for a few long and confusing hours. Since that brief phase when he was twelve when he had decided, for however short a time that was, to be an archaeologist, he hadn’t tried reading or studying Latin.

He stared down at the book in confusion, when out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Slowly looking up, he saw himself. Dark brown, nearly black, hair, curly yet well-kept as ever, and brown eyes that could change whenever they wanted to, to a shade slightly lighter, to a green one might see an olive sporting. A few freckles dotted his round face, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He wore a blue tunic, a sword at his side. Wait… I don’t have a sword, so who’s that—

“Hi,” said the mirror-image, giving a little wave, voice a similar tone to his own. And that’s when Penn realized that this wasn’t a mirror.

10

In which a bunny decides to give a heart attack

Penn stared in shock at the mirror image of himself. “Who… are you?” he wondered aloud after a minute of surprise.

The boy in front of him broke into a grin—and this was where Penn noticed a difference. Penn had never needed braces—or, rather, he had never wanted them, and his two front teeth were perpetually slightly turned inwards, angled at each other. It was ever so slight, barely noticeable, but Penn could see that the other boy’s teeth were perfectly straight.

Lucky duck… he thought, brushing a shock of hair out of his face. The boy in front of him stretched out his hand to Penn, friendly and open.

“I’m Finnian, son of Angus, Duke of Ebonshire. And it looks as if you’ve fooled everyone here into thinking you’re me. Got a secret?” This last part was said with a wink, and a snort of laughter sounded from behind Finnian, where Lethia popped up.

“Finn!” she cried with a smile, elbowing him. Finnian cast her a slightly surprised look, but returned the grin.

“What? It’s a valid question!” He turned his attention back to Penn. “On a more serious note, I’ve been informed you guys need some help—finding some sort of murderer?”

Penn slowly nodded, Lethia bobbling her head along. “Yes! Like I told you, the Queen’s life is in danger and—” she was cut off by a strict look from Finnian.

“Don’t mention that here. If the Queen really is in danger, I wouldn’t put it past a guard to be the one to be the threat. There’s been some… unrest in the Kingdom recently.” Finnian’s gaze flickered towards the shelves of books behind Penn, not focusing on any of them.

Is he having a flashback!? Are we gonna go back in time or what*?* Penn wondered, watching Finnian closely. The Narrator’s voice echoed through his brain, a chortle and half-scold coming along with an explanation that, no, this “incredible King Arthur book” would not have such a childish thing in it. The Narrator thought very highly of the author, whoever it was.

Finnian’s gaze cleared, and he locked eyes with Penn again. “What do you know about the people you saw in the garden? I was going to go out there last night, but my gut told me no—it’s unfortunate I wasn’t there to take down the murderers themselves.” He scowled down at the table, contemplating what could have happened.

Penn cleared his throat, somewhat apologetically. “Finnian—”

“Finn. Just call me Finn.”

“Finn, what if Lethia and I figured out who it was who was going to kill the Queen, and then you could go on with your normal civic duties?” Penn asked finally, gesturing at the last bit, trying to get the words out of his brain.

A violent headshake came from Finn. “Absolutely not—” he leaned forward, lacing his fingers together, a hardened look about the squire “—if there’s going to be some mystery solving, I plan to be helping with it. Especially if it’s involving the Queen.” Penn thought he heard his mirror murmur something about how “that’s what Sir Lancelot taught me, anyways”, but didn’t comment.

“So…” Lethia trailed off, an excited air slowly building up around her. “We’re gonna solve this mystery together? Who’s going to kill the Queen?”

Finn grinned, excitement swallowing up any fear or hesitation. “Let’s do it.” With that, he plunged his hand in the center of the table, Lethia putting hers on top of his before both of their gazes flitted to Penn.

This could go really bad, really fast… he thought, trying to rationalize the whole situation still.

Hey! You remember what you said last time, right?!

… Last time?

**In the steampunk world! You were all ‘I’m gonna bReAk ThE rUlEs” like an insane person. When’s that rule-breaking attitude gonna come back on, huh!? Where’s your courage? Your fight? Your spunk!? **

Penn’s eyes widened at the Narrator’s attitude. Courage? Fight? Spunk? You’re talking to a hockey player—not me.

A sound erupted from Lethia. “Penn-delum, you have to decide. This or that. Fight or die. Remember what I told you earlier? About getting home soon?” This was the final straw.

With a sudden movement, Penn’s hand joined the other twos’, and he gave a final nod. “Let’s do it.”

Finn stood up, a somewhat joking air about him. “Aight, I’ll get the sword.”

Both Lethia and Penn started. “Sword!?” Penn cried, yanking his hand back from the table.

“Yes,” Finn said, sounding more like a question than an answer, giving the two a quizzical look. “Whenever one puts his hand into the middle, the hand is cut off, as a promise of what is to come to those who oppose said person.”

Penn shook his head with such violence, he was sure it looked as if it looked like he were a ragdoll. Finn burst out laughing. “Kidding! Kidding—wanted to see what you guys would say. I’ll go get some parchment.”

Lethia cast a small smile over her shoulder to Finn, who had left the room, sinking into a chair. “Imagine… having a huge supply of parchment, whenever you needed.”

“Imagine?” Penn asked, slight confusion wrought across his face. “Lethia, have you ever been to the twenty-first century?”

The fluffy-haired girl cast Penn a critical look. “Penn, I’m from the 1400s. It’s not like I could just time-travel back and forth.”

That… would be actually pretty sick— Penn had time to think, before the Narrator interrupted his thoughts, her normally carefree and funny attitude replaced by an unusual stiffness.

That simply will not work, Leapus.

Penn swallowed, feeling a little bad for bringing up the topic of conversation, even though he had heard about her time period. At that moment, Finn rushed into the room, a huge rolled-up parchment in his arms, the type one might draw a map on in order to plan an attack strategy.

“You guys ready for battle strategy practice!?” he cried with excitement, throwing the parchment onto the table and lighting the candles and lanterns in the room.

When nobody exclaimed back with extreme excitement, Finn paused, looking between the two with confusion. “Sooo… the weather… eh?” He attempted a weak laugh, eyes still darting between the two.

Lethia waved her hand through the air dismissively. “Nothing, nothing, Finn. Let’s just—focus on what’s here right now. Eh?” Finnian nodded with excitement.

“Let’s do it! Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m going to give you both a crash course on everything that’s happened since…” he paused, scratching his head, considering from whence he would give a crash course. “Oh! Since I was born. And maybe a couple hundred years before that. We’ll see.”

With that, he spread out the paper, putting colorful rocks on the edges to hold the parchment’s furled-up edges down. He pulled a small bottle of ink from his pocket, beginning to speak. “Long ago, when I wasn’t even born, there was a sword in a stone. The legend goes that whoever pulled that sword from the stone would become king. Well, one day….”

⚇⚔⚇

By eleven o’clock, Penn was passed out from sheer exhaustion. He hadn’t had much time to rest the last week, and Finn stopped teaching about the history of Camelot soon afterward, he was told, due to Lethia’s always-returning yawns.

When he woke up, he found Lethia standing, brushing off her dress, with Finn leaning against a shelf, contemplating the mysteries of life.

“Mornin’,” Penn mumbled groggily, looking up from where he had collapsed on the floor.

“Good morning to you, as well,” Lethia said, giving him a nod. “Finnian, he’s awake, it’s time to go.”

Finn snapped out of his thoughts, straightening his blue tunic, before walking over to help Penn off the floor.

As Penn stood up, brushing himself off, trying to rid the dust of his clothes, he noticed they had finally changed to stay consistent with the time period. They didn’t flicker from blue to yellow, modern-er to medieval. They stayed the same, a yellow tunic and brown pants, with normal-looking shoes. Ish.

Penn ducked, barely missing an apple that was hurled his way. He looked at Lethia with surprise, eyes wide.

Finn handed him the apple, brightly red as if in a picture book. “You could have killed me!?” Penn said finally, looking down at the apple in his hand.

Lethia gave a long sigh. “Penn Leape,” she began, starting up for a long lecture. “Honestly there’s not—” she was cut off by Finn.

“Guys? Let’s not fight? Please?” he asked, a pleading smile on his face, looking between the two. “I really wanna get to the bottom of this mystery, fast, ‘cause I care about the Queen… can you put off your fighting for now?”

Immediately, Lethia nodded, agreeing with him. “Right. The Queen should be saved—let us embark!” And with that, she fast-walked out the door. Penn picked up a bag he had been lent by Finnian, beginning out the door, followed closely by Finn.

The squire led them out into the bright afternoon sunlight and to the garden where Penn had been with Lethia, what seemed weeks ago.

“This is where you saw them?” Finn asked, looking around.

“Yup!  Right here,” proclaimed Lethia, walking over to a large, empty, courtyard bit in the garden.

“And you’re sure they were plotting to kill the Queen?” Finn asked, clarifying the small detail for the twelfth time,

Slowly nodding his head, Penn gave a quiet “mhm,” looking at the spot and remembering the painful tackle Lethia had given him upon finding him. He rubbed his shoulder, which had hurt for days afterwards.

Finn strode forward to ask Lethia more questions, such as what the men’s voices sounded like, about how yey high they were, and the like. Penn’s eyes, meanwhile, were drawn elsewhere.

At first, he thought it was a mirage; he stared and squinted at a small outcropping of carefully-trimmed bushes and flowers, beautifully modeled to look just so. When the thing didn’t disappear, Penn blinked once more, before his eyes fully focused on it.

A small, white, bunny—no, a hare, *Penn’s mind informed him—*sat in front of the rose bushes, ears twitching as it seemed to listen in on Finn and Lethia’s conversation. Its large, brown, eyes locked with Penn’s, and it blinked, giving an inquisitive head tilt. Then, it charged at Penn, right at the swirling color vortex that was beginning to form around him.

11

In which we hear what the Fox says

Penn was hit back by the hare, his fall being cushioned by a snowdrift. Shooting up from the pile of snow—which, surprisingly, only came up to his middle—Penn looked around frantically, looking for the furry, white, fiend who had leapt into him, knocking him over.

Two deep brown eyes locked with Penn’s own before the infernal creature blinked and disappeared into the snow-covered everything that was the forest.

Giving a grunt of annoyance, Penn struggled to stand up, before a gloved hand reached out to him. Deja vu? He wondered, looking up to see Lethia’s sky-blue eyes watching him curiously. “Gettin’ up, Leapus? Or am I going to have to hold out my hand forever?”

Quickly, Penn took her hand, the duo making an effort to haul him out of the snow. He brushed himself off quickly, giving a small shiver as a bit of snow melted under his shirt, the cold water chilling him to the bone.

Cayto’s gaze flickered back to Penn from where he crouched behind a thicket, gazing forward at the camp of another tribe, where snow-covered huts stood, bluish smoke rising from a fire set in the center of the clearing. People milled around, skinning hides and doing their everyday work, the little ones playing casually, chasing each other around.

Penn watched, a small smile coming onto his face as he remembered his childhood with fondness when sudde— “And what might you be doing here, spying on the fox tribe camp?” Penn gave a small yelp, jumping up and trying to get out of whomever it was’s grip, which was firmly on the hood of his pelt coat.

Polar spirits! My clothes finally did the Lethia thing! Penn stared into his captor’s green eyes, icy and angry, boring into Penn’s skull. His blond hair was short-cropped and hidden mostly under his heavy coat’s hood. He had lifted Penn an inch off the ground, large frame menacing and strong, a scowl sewn deeply onto his face.

“Well!?” he demanded, bringing Penn’s face closer to his own, to the point where Penn could smell the older boy’s breath. “Uhmhnah—” Penn began, trying to explain as best as he could. Is that deer jerky!? I swear, that’s deer jerky, isn’t it!? The thought, accompanied by a snort from the Narrator, crossed his mind, the scent of the blond boy’s breath wafting up to his nose.

Cayto dipped his head, making a Y shape with his fingers. “Esteemed hunter of fox tribe, we mean no harm, we simply mean to—” the fourteen-year-old fisherman was cut off by a scoff and an eye roll from one of the other hunters in the group.

“Enough with the formalities! We’ll take you straight to Grandfather Krio straight away. He can decide what to do with you.” The one who had spoken’s voice was deep, his ebony hair shortly-braided hair hidden partially under his hood, dark eyes casting a hostile stare to the trio.

Cayto stepped back a bit, bumping into another hunter behind him, this one with sleek red hair, tucked behind his ears and a face smattered with freckles. He raised a brow at the fourteen-year-old, who quickly scrambled away.

“Let’s go, then,” said the one holding Penn’s coat, still lifting him off the ground, if only ever so slightly. A sigh came from Cayto, who held out his wrists as if to be handcuffed.

The one holding Penn’s coat scoffed. “We don’t bind and capture our captives—they go willingly or die.” Lethia raised a brow at this, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms, an air of disbelief about her.

“Really, Lithander. You would kill a human? The Code forbids it.”

Snark edged the deep-voiced one, who gave a roll of his dark brown eyes. “Look who’s talking, the little girl who trespassed onto sovereign Fox Tribe territory.”

“Enough! Girl, it’s Lisander, and the tribes are fighting. The Code is null and void. Haven’t you heard about the conflict between the Tribe of the Meese and the Hares? Just last week, a child was slaughtered,” Lisander spat out the last word, a look of disgust coming onto his face as he dropped Penn, who stumbled a bit in trying to regain his footing.

Lethia’s face remained stony, although she took a barely-perceptible step back. “E-either way, Salamander,” she began, crossing her arms yet again, “that’s not how law works.”

Lisander scoffed, raising a brow at her before nodding to his hunters. “Take them to Grandfather. He’ll decide what to do. Alex, take this guy, Russell, with me, and Jonas… you take the girl.” Lethia flashed Lisander an offended look as he started off along with Russell—the one with the jaw-length red hair that was tucked behind his ears—into the forest, presumably to terrorize a few squirrels.

The force in your voice really sells me on wanting to go talk to Grandfather and your will to live, Penn thought sarcastically, rolling his eyes as well.

So brave. So fierce. So majestic. The Narrator’s voice echoed in his mind sarcastically and Penn stifled a laugh, to which Alex—the deep-voiced one—gave him a scowl.

A boy who Penn hadn’t noticed stepped up to Lethia, about eye-level with her, gangly form making Penn think he was around fifteen or sixteen. Lethia scowled at him, to which he shrank back a little, looking a bit sheepish.

“This way, lady…” he trailed off, emerald eyes looking down at the ground in a shy sort of way. Lethia started forward, thickly-insulated boots crunching against the snow. Cayto followed somewhat reluctantly, and the group was brought into the Fox camp as if they were prisoners—which, Penn reasoned, they were.

‘Least we can’t die! A small, confident, voice in Penn’s brain sounded.

Ohhh, yes we can, the Narrator argued back, the two going back and forth, like a ping-pong ball.

Penn mentally gave a facepalm, shushing the two, deciding to take in the surroundings. The Fox Tribe camp was large and busy. For a planet that froze and flooded, there was a lot of greenery. A warm fire shot up from the center of the camp, large in size, rainbow in color. Blues and greens and pinks and yellows licked the wood beneath it, which, although charred, resembled the stubby pine-like trees Penn had observed on his miniature tour with Cayto. Huts were scattered about, made of the same sort of wood, curved in nature. Snow caked the outer frame of said houses, and Penn realized with a start that the huts could be used as boats, if only they were to be flipped over.

… Ice spirits, these guys are smart, was all he managed to think, before a figure stepped out of one of the largest center huts, the one nearest the fire… if one could called the colorful flame that. The figure was large and hunched over, its muscled form laden with animal furs. The person’s face was weathered, with a large, hawkish, nose and eyes to match. He looked stoic and firm, as if, in a family, he were the stricter of the two parents.

Cayto made a Y with his hand, nudging Penn and Lethia to do the same. Brushing a strand of her long, blonde, hair out of her pale face, Lethia cast Penn a look that clearly instructed him to make a Y with his hand as well. Obliging, Penn did so, waiting expectantly for the fur-covered man’s response. He gave a short nod, before starting back into his hut, gesturing for the trio to follow.

A silence hung between the trio, before Cayto made the first move, starting forward and shattering the all-too-fragile quiet.

The hut was well-lit, with various wood-built things scattered around. A cot was in one corner, with a few baskets scattered around, a small, brightly colored fire in the center, alongside a couple of chairs. It looked like a weird, rustic sort of office. With rainbow fires.

“Sit,” the old man commanded, gesturing to a few chairs in a corner. “We shall speak.”

Penn followed Cayto who strode confidently over to a chair, sitting down carefully, before leaning forward with anticipation for the old man to speak. The chair Penn found was somewhat comfortable, its green cushion square and tough, while the frame of the reddish-brown chair was sturdy and curved as if it were made for a polar bear. Or something.

My brain… the description… it hurts… Penn managed to think before the old man began to speak.

“I can tell,” he began, settled in the chair comfortably, his hood down to reveal grayish-black, straight, hair, that fell into his face, his face creased with crinkles, scrunching up with every word, “that you are from the Seal Tribe. Your coats smell of it. And, it seems, you are here on business. So please, expand on that idea.” He gestured with his leathery hand, pale blue eyes boring deep into Cayto’s soul, it seemed.

It was the old man equivalent of a teenage girl screeching with excitement to “spill the tea”.

“Uh,” Cayto began, now in the presence of “Grandfather”, at a loss for words. “Well, it’s really a long story and I’m not one for summarizing, so my companion will have to speak.” With that, he gestured wildly at Lethia, who immediately straightened, giving Cayto a glare, before she drew her words together to speak.

“Long story short, we’re trying to stop a war,” Lethia managed after a second of thought. Grandfather straightened, eyes narrowing into slits.

“And you decided to encroach onto sovereign Fox territory to do so? Why would you not focus on the Tribe of the Moose or the Hare’s tribe?” He sat stiffly, watching the trio, waiting for an answer.

Cayto’s eyes flicked to Lethia’s, whose gaze drifted to Penn. They obviously had not thought of an answer. Do or die, the western cowboy bit of Penn thought, and he took a deep breath.

“The Tribe of the Fox is quite possibly the most organized of the tribes, sir,” he said, fidgetting slightly as he spoke to the old man, whose features slackened slightly at the high praise. “And as such, we need help. The Moose and the Hares have been fighting. It’s common knowledge. But—last week, was it?—a child was killed. This has to stop.”

Grandfather leaned back in his chair, posture relaxed finally. He looked at Penn carefully, as if seeing him for the first time and taking in the boy. Unfortunately, Penn could not read minds and simply sat there somewhat awkwardly—hey!—I speak the truth—under the old man’s critical gaze.

“So, what do you say?” Cayto piped up, leaning forward in anticipation.

The old man paused as if thinking.  “I will bring it up with the Council,” he answered finally, before clearing his throat to keep from dissolving into coughs, “but for now, you may stay in the Fox camp. I believe we have some work we could put you to. There is a Council meeting tonight, and I will ask them what they think. You are dismissed.”

Cayto dipped his head, grabbed Penn and Lethia’s forearms, and dragged them out of the hut, having given a hasty thank-you and goodbye to Grandfather.

We’re all dead, the Narrator deadpanned, sarcasm and a roll of her eyes sounding in her voice. Penn wasn’t sure if he disagreed with her.