the brave little kitten
tagged: fiction
This week is a little different from my usual rambling; I had an anonymous person ask me to tell them a bedtime story on fragsturztaube, and decided to fulfill their request. Initially I just wrote a beginning, but more users (or perhaps the same from before? whoâs to say 
) have asked me to continue the story.
I figured it might be good to have it archived somewhere for safekeeping, so this week, please enjoy what Iâve completed so far of my story of âthe brave little kitten.â 
Once upon a time, there was a brave little kitten who loved to gather mushrooms in the woods near his home. One fine day, a beautiful bird with long black feathers flew down and told the kitten his grandmother was in danger. This kitten didnt know of any grandmother, so he wasnât certain he could trust the old crow. However, his conscience wouldnât allow him to leave a helpless old woman in danger, so he asked the crow to take him to her. The beautiful black bird took off flying while the kitten followed, gathering any medicinal herbs he happened to see on his way (just in case).
After some hours of journeying, the kitten came to a clearing deep within the woods. A perfectly-formed ring of mushrooms were growing in the center of the clearing, but other than that there seemed to be no one around. The kitten looked up for the crow, but it seemed as though he had mysteriously vanished.
As the kitten searched, he noticed the sky was darkening â it was becoming night. The brave little kitten looked all throughout the clearing, carefully avoiding the ring of mushrooms, and gathered sticks for a fire. He built himself a pad of thick moss to sleep on, and wove leaves together for a blanket to keep him warm. Laying down for the night he began pondering, âWho was that old bird and why would he have brought me here? There is no old woman, only these odd mushrooms!â
After thinking and thinking and thinking some more, the brave little kittenâs body grew weary and he began to drift off to sleep.
ââ»â§
Deep in the thick of the night, the kitten stirred, waking up when he began to hear a sound like music. he rubbed his eyes and sat up, looking around himself in bewilderment. the soft sound of flute notes echoed throughout the clearing, but he couldnât see a musician playing anywhere at all. âMost curiousâŠâ he thought to himself.
Getting up from his bed of moss and leaves, he took a stick from the campfire, whose embers were beginning to cool, and fashioned himself a torch to look around with. The sound, he realized, seemed to be emanating from the middle of the clearing, close to the ring of mushrooms.
The little kitten held his torch high and ventured closer to the ring of mushrooms, cautious to make no excess noise since he wasnât sure from who or where the music was coming. He looked up high, and he looked down low, but he couldnât see a musician still, though this spot at the edge of the mushroom ring was where the melody seemed to be the loudest.
Being something of a forager himself, the little kitten knelt down by the mushrooms, carefully balancing his torch so as not to graze the dew-laden grass at his feet, and set about inspecting the mushrooms making up the oddly-perfect ring. He poked, prodded, sniffed at, and tapped the mushrooms gently, one by one, to see if he could place what sort they were. There was barely any smell at all, only a faint cloverlike scentâvery odd for a mushroom to haveâand they were firm, but flexible, making a satisfying âthwockâ sound when tapped. The color was like nothing heâd ever seen (in a mushroom, anyhow) before. At first glance they were a soft, fuzzy greyish-white color, but upon closer inspection, they held an iridescent sheen that reflected the dancing lights of the torch he held in his hand. These were certainly something quite special.
The little kitten had heard about perfectly formed rings of either flowers or fungi, and to be cautious around them, as they were supposedly gates to the fairy world. Being a young man of the earth and learned in herbology, he didnât place much stock in those sorts of fairy stories used to frighten children or goad them into behaving. Perhaps it was the ink-black darkness of the cool spring night that enveloped the area, or that he was in a clearing he did not recognize, but he was feeling a little less brave than usual. He decided to play things safe and picked up a small stone from the clearing and tossed it gently into the circle, to see if anything might happen.
Gently lobbing the stone toward the ring, he watched as it disappeared, and heard no sound as itâŠwell, would have landed, but he never heard it land, so he couldnât be sure if it even did. The grass inside of the ring was the same dew-covered grass that lay at his feet, but it was sparse enough to where the stone should have made a sound upon contact. Most curious.
Around this time, the soft flute melody that had been pouring out ever-so-slightly louder from the ring began to quiet. The clearing was calm, with only the crackle of his torchlight and the sound of lazily chirping half-asleep crickets audible. Rubbing his heavy eyelids, the little kitten padded back over to his moss-laden bed, placing the stick that had served as his torch back onto the dying campfire, and decided he would lay down for the night.
âWhatever is going on in there, it would be safer to explore tomorrow,â he said aloud to no one in particular. the day had been long and his body grew weary, his heavy eyelids fighting him despite his piqued curiosity.
âWhoever is playing that flute can wait.â He lay down, covering himself with his woven leaf blanket once more, and drifted back off to sleep.
ââ»â§
In the morning, the kitten yawned, stretching as the sun beamed down from the sky, warming his face and waking him ever-so-gently. The clearing in which heâd spent the night was still whisper-quiet despite the dawn, as if the creatures of the meadow either hadnât yet awoken or were awaiting some sort of signal to begin their day.
Stomach grumbling, he set about foraging for some breakfast. He found two small wild shallot bulbs, and had happened upon some alliums and dandelion greens, which wouldâve made a lovely salad, when he noticed a bush bearing strange pearlescent white berries over near the ring in the center of the meadow.
Having never seen anything like these, he thought to himself that he should investigate, and perhaps later journal what heâd found, describing the bush in detail. At a cursory glance, one might have mistaken the pale berries for white currant, but looking closer, they were translucent and reflected a myriad of colors - one moment reflecting teal, then another golden, and from another angle still, magenta. Like tiny prismatic orbs, the berries glistened in the sun most invitingly.
The kittenâs stomach growled, protesting in hunger. It did not wish to wait for him to find a stream to wash the roots and vegetables heâd found; it cried out for those attractive, radiant berries.
As he reached out his paw, he heard a familiar sound, like soft music. âWhere have I heard this familiar sound?â he thought, paw hanging near the bush, close enough to grab a handful of breakfast. Suddenly the previous nightâs happenings flooded his mind. In his hunger he had forgotten about the late-night music. In truth, he had wondered if it even happened at all, or if it was simply a dream. However, the same familiar melody was here now, emanating from the bush at the center of the mushroom ring which held the berries he so desired.
When had he moved into the ring, he wondered, grasping a branch and plucking off a small bunch of the pearlescent fruit. He didnât recall crossing the line of mushrooms which he had so carefully avoidedâŠwell, that is, until now.
Ever the cautious lad, he held the branch, dripping with the juice of a single burst fruit near his face despite his rumbling stomach and set about investigating the strange fruit. He sniffed, sniff sniff, and a perfume like sweet nectar in summertime flooded his nostrils. Honeysuckle and muskmelon, he decided the scent evoked. He touched the juice smeared on the branch, or perhaps stem, and waited a few moments. His fur only felt sticky, as was to be expected. No burning sensation or blistering. That was promising.
Touching his sticky paw to his wet little kitten nose, he waited again, growing more and more tortured by the symphony his stomach was currently conducting. Again, nothing changed, he just had a sticky spot on his nose. In spite of himself, his tongue found its way from his mouth and absentmindedly licked the sticky juice from his nose. Wincing, he though, âah, if i get poisoned nowâŠâ he trailed off, âIâll only have myself to blameâ.
But the feared poisoning never came, only the watery-sweet flavor of the glassy berries. He could control himself no longer, and began devouring the fruit happily, occasionally letting out little mewls and happy chewing noises.
In his delight, he hadnât noticed a small frog playing a calming melody from a flute at a pond near his feet. As if awaking from a trance, he finished the glittering fruit and looked around for the source of the lovely tune, his eyes eventually setting upon the amphibious musician.
The little kitten had never seen a frog wearing a pointed pink hat before, but now that he thought about it, he wasnât sure heâd ever seen one play a flute eitherâŠor any instrument for that matter. And was that pond there before? He couldnât be certain that heâd noticed it before now.
His little kitten tummy rumbling again, he reached back for the bush and its jewel-like fruit, breaking off another small bunch. âWell, iâm not sick yet, soâŠperhaps it will be fine,â he thought to himself.
What did you think? I wrote this on a whim at an anonymous request, but people have told me I should keep it somewhere to show others, and what is a blog if not a perfect place for such a thing!
I hope you enjoyed this, and I look forward to perhaps finishing it!
published: 2025.03.16
by mana
