Bjorn De La Follis part 1 of 4

“Who allowed this slug to slither from his indigent bog? For I appoint but little time to be devoted to the creatures who slither without any legs to carry themselves at the pace required to pass time. They will more often than not, so much more often that I am very much convinced of it, talk in such a leisurely yet Loquacious manner that I cannot help but grow weary and jaded in about ten minutes of our time spent together. Please remove him from my burrow at once.” And with this harangue from Emperor Strigiformeous, two sparing sparrows lifted the leaf beholding the slug, and jumped on tip toe out of the Owl’s burrow. The Emperor, now being alone and free to conduct himself as he pleased, nestled into his nest of the finest freshly fallen broken tree branches gathered the previous dawn, and needles of the perfectly lightened brown pine which had begun to scatter his forest’s floor most to his liking. He currently resided in the hollowed boxwood tree that stood on the southeast shore of Fort Loudoun Lake, which was the most sheltered from the sun at this time of year. In just another six sun rises, he would be moving to the hollowed boxwood tree to the south, and would perhaps ask for a nest made of the greenest pines instead of the slightly brown, for the ones under his body of fluff currently were not poking him enough.

The sun had finished setting about four hours past, inferred from the darkness and alacrity of his forest, which was presently at its finest tuning. Our Emperor was peering from the slightly steep hill on which his perch was perched, his head neither down nor up, at the whole of his forest’s floor, discerning fanciful Cervidoe from the dampened blackberry bushes, clodhogs whom were more like clods than most animals seemed to notice, and the occasional candid fox who would chance to fawn at their reflection in the moonlight by the edge of his lake. “Though the moisture from my beauteous Fort Loudon may be clinging onto the air as the spider does his web during rainfall, I will still watch for thee Urseous, though that is just the name those who tremble at your feet know ye for, for I will always insist your rightful name is Bjorn de la Follis.” He then ceased speaking aloud so that he could channel his entire concentration onto the forest community (and also because of the love he possessed for great tirades that avoided sounding like the serpentes’ and the mollusk’s Oratories, which he liked to think displayed his ability to be precise and focused.)

Owls have the outstanding yet eerie talent of quieting their minds in able to concentrate them, assimilar to the stillness a fresh hunt induces in all of the roots and surrounding trees. {Leaves cease jangling, pines stop jiving, even the flight lampooners with bushy tails often are still and dare not a muscle to move (until their bodies grow too cold and then they have no other choice but to dash away through the spaces of the branches; in fact their feet slapping the stems of leaves is the first noise a witness will hear proceeding a kill)}. And this is what one can discern of the owl’s mind, whose entire intent is on surveying his landscape and hunting the occasional mouse.

Tonight Emperor Strigiformeous was the most in tuned to the rustling of Bjorn de la Follis, though he had many other things to accomplish during the night as accustom to his incessant agenda; he allotted no time for slothfulness. He had decided to set aside hunting until he spoke to Bjorn, the black bear who had been trespassing limpidly between Rulers’ lands, regardless of their sovereignty, and was currently stationed two miles from The Emperor’s property, inside of Randugo Rock Cave. The cave had in fact been declared forbidden to all animals in the forest because of its nefarious history. The story of this sinister and infamous cave will be recounted later, for there shant be chance to stray from Emperor Strigiformeous’ mind at this current time, due to its toiling like the snake does when she buries her eggs in spring. His eyes were so strained and yet at ease, his hearing so fretted into the forest, that we should watch and hear his thoughts, as opposed to hearing and watching from our own perspectives as witnesses. If ye question why, do recount the fog which enchanted his forest at night, and created two mystic versions of one forest; The first being the level closest to the ground, in which fog entwines and shrouds the floor dwellers in her grasp, and creates in them stupors similar to that of torpid nightmares; and then there is the level who carries those high enough above the mist, whose inhabitants, with the help of the three face luminary, can see so incredulously clear from the skinniest of branches down to the thickest, and further below to the settled leaves and pine needles, (which is where the mist is as thick as slime on the frog) and where beauteous bountiful bundles of lady ferns and Guelder rose imbed themselves. This they perceive in the period of the night in which the most serine yet sharpest bites occur, and all of this placidity and its’ quality of intermittently collapsing into pandemonium, stings the mist with poignant tremulous ambiance, and acts like gun powder to our Emperor’s animal instincts. This uncanny atmosphere is one for birds of prey, as they breathe the cold moist air and move wherever they please in swift premeditated and graceful movements. All of these qualities present themselves in the relationship between Emperor Strigiformeous and his forest, making him the most accurate account of the nights which occurred while Bjorn de la Follis was residing in Randugo Rock Cave, and what effect his presence had on our protagonist’s once stolid forest.

Now that we are on the same page, let us continue to writhe and jostle, as one must to accomplish anything in the woodland, into the brilliant mind of our favorite downy feathered friend as he gazed upon the inhabitants below.

Fifteen prances away from the river bed, sitting upright in a patch of tall blue grass was a red fox by the name of Candido. He appeared to be sorely licking his paw, more in a piqued indignant manner than as if he had been hurt, because his tongue slid across the surface of his forearm in long violent jabs as if a knight brandishing his sword after some unfair misfortune. His eyes were focused forward, as in a trance but still cognitive of his surroundings, awaiting to pounce on any creature he fancied he could over power. As it is known in the jungle, no underbrush will stay fresh long, and just on the breach of the river bed and the forest’s tundra sprung a bullyfrog, whom bellowed a strident “Hello” every time he landed anew. Upon the bullyfrog’s shout saluting his ears, the fox struck the frog in such a way as to push him up into the air, where after summersaulting three times, he splashed into the shallow end of the lake amongst the pebbles and grainy sand. Candido startled once more at the splash, and recoiled in disgust from the water that splattered upon his nose and the guffaw that exploded from the frogs gaping mouth as he surfaced.

It would just so happen, as abides by the jungle law that if there are 3 beetles on top of a leaf, there are seven underneath, that at that moment two sparrows, having been unable to contrive from a slug to where he would like to be dropped off as the Emperor had ordered, were settling to leave him at a most lovely spot where the water had barely ceased to lap the land, and were at that moment just a tail’s height above the ground to the left side of Candido. He eyed their descent with great scrutiny, and lowered his head to be able to get a better look at the underbellies of these hovering creatures. Between them, glowing in the fog were two antenna of a brown spotted slug seated upon a vibrant orange leaf in splendid leisure. The light emitting from his antennae was so intense the smog that would customarily sheathe the slug, had dissipated, and Candido in an instant was flabbergasted, his ears perked forward as they had never been even after spying a portly rodent. The sparrows, now landing on the tips of their talons, slightly angled the leaf downwards as to expel the slug, to which the slug spewed this lamentation: “Ye twittering creatures who I fear are unable to understand the words I speak, for surely I have done all of the talking, and ye have barely managed to utter two syllables. How little your kind cares for us Mollusks, acting as if there is no time in your life to enjoy a single day thoroughly, we have always believed you occupiers of the endless sky are envious of the mollusks capability of living in peace whilst still progressing. Ye deject us without ever experiencing a wink of the gaiety you all have come to disrespect us for, and all the forest creatures know, the proof of the pie is in the eating of it.” Now, you may have read this sentence the first time at a pace with which you read the prior page, but I must remind ye of the slug’s unfortunate trait which at once induces a strong dislike for the sticky beings as it would in you if you re-read his speech at such a pace that you yourself reading may get distracted and forget which word is next before ye can say it. In fact, thirty minutes had passed since the slug decided to open his mouth, and so the sparrows had long since flown off, Candido wandered behind a bush nearby, and the bullyfrog’s bulging eyes fixated on the slug’s glowing antennae as he followed. Fearful of the bullyfrog’s intent, the slug proceeded to declare the following words:

“Of course, when I say to eat the pie, I mean merely to sniff it from afar as though a bashful deer to a charming doe, because eating the pie would of course harm the berries, and why would you want to destroy something so favorable to your persons?” The frog held no resolve to swallow the slug, for although he branded himself the tormentor of all things small, he was most delighted to gaze upon the green shining antennae which were allowing all near to see through the fog. Candido, during our slug’s latest pronunciations, had made his way back over to where the two were seated, and fashionably lied down as to not tread on his tail, about two body lengths behind this most curious scene, as had a doeyeye, two deep-rooted turtles, ten rowdy mosquitos, and from afar their Emperor hooted at the somewhat compelling show taking place in a small clearing below him, despite the time it had taken for the slug to speak, though the many minutes had coerced his head to bow into the soft white ruffles on his chest.

Candido was the first to reply to what he assumed was an angelic apparition, sent from heaven to help his kin distinguish the forest floor during this abysmal vapor. “You must recognize joy upon many of our faces, for we have never had the privilege of seeing further than a whisker’s length from our noses until the very moment you stemmed from the sky, upon the very guards of the Emperor. How can we welcome you, most magnificent mollusk?” To which a turtle added “Why don’t we accommodate him as we would wish to be if we were him, and proceed from the fundamentals of what we know of an extravagant standard. For I am concerned that if we wait for him to finish his response we will all grow melancholic and sluggish by the third word!” The turtles wisdom is one most imperative to the life of the forest floor thought the owl, and as the anecdote states:

‘Though their head’s may seem lost to the mist,

Don’t forget of what material a turtle’s shell is

For what may appear a golden stone,

May well be all that was ever known.

And before ye laugh, ye rudimentary spore,

Remember his age exceeds yours by threescore!’

The animals all eagerly agreed with the turtle’s suggestion, and collaborated to hoist the luxuriant orange leaf onto the fox’s back so as he could transport him to the most cherished brook, which was often swarming with ascetic snails, slugs and raucous mosquitos. The owl watched their procession clamber around some bushes up the lake shore a little way, to where the earth split into slippery crevices of tiny pools of water and white and dark green speckles of moss. All who joined the march appeared slightly green to the Emperor, and the Owl finally pondered, losing some of his focus, how it was this ordinary slug could glow as the Starflies who never leave the lake’s sand do. Lo! Thought the Emperor, much more radiant than the Starflies!

Upon the foxes back, the slug looked most like royalty, and when the mosquitos picked him up using all of their thirty arms, they seemed to be more enchanted than Randugo Rock Cave. The exact spot onto which the mosquitos were acquiescing was a tawny hill overlooking a creek that pirouetted up and around various sizes of dark grey rocks and protruding tree roots. By the time the leaf touched down gently on top the hill, many more creatures had begun to surround the green shimmering antennae, so much so, muted mice were now beginning to chance their way into the open lea, though they stuck close to the highest jutted tree roots, their twitching noses and twiddling fingers never ceasing their shuffling as their eyes scoured the scene. A raccoon had also joined this mollusk’s audience, and he stood in the very back, on his hind legs, with his side up against a cedar tree furiously biting his nails and waving his head back and forth as if he could not find a good view which of course he had, since he was amongst the largest to attend, and the bigger the animal the further back he stood, so as the forest floor turned into an auditorium of sorts, with the shining slug at the center of its stage. The mist had cleared for the one hundred animals who had assembled to behold the resplendent slug who at the moment was adjusting his skirt through vexing pulsations, astounding the creatures of the forest. What a remarkable moment to bear witness to! Thought the Emperor, who concluded that the whole affair so lavish and yet ostentatious, that he had failed to keep in mind his pursuit of Bjorn de la Follis.