These tracks… too thin for any dangerous snake and too straight for any of the others. Another parallel line just to the left of the first, with the steps of some creature between the two lines; all signs pointed toward this being made by a beetle-drawn merchant cart. It must've been a lucky break that they had left after it snowed rather than before, since any evidence of the path would have been lost.
Orpek stood, groaning as he balanced the weight of his large pack on his back. It would be a blessing to drop this pack somewhere and not think about it for a while. Luckily, merchants meant society. Merchants also meant thieves, predators, and the occasional runaway beetle, but they mainly meant society, which usually meant a warm place to wait out the cold snap.
Originally, he was following the directions of a wanderer he shared camp with two moons ago, which would've guided him around the great hills he saw in the distance, but these tracks came from somewhere else, still towards the hills but more centrally. Weighing the options, the weight of his pack tilts the decision in favor of investigation.
As the sky grew pink and orange, Orpek arrived at the foot of his unknown destination. What stood before him was the humongous stump of a tree, bark drizzled with the honey of sundown, flanked by the two massive hills.
A voice with no apparent owner called out, "Halt! State your business!"
“If I am not welcome here I will leave. I bear no ill will towards suspicion. These are strange times.” Orpek looked up, up high quizzically, wondering if he'd be afforded shelter tonight as his breath dissipated into the air. The hills seemed even more undesirable by the layer of snow that blanketed them, much higher than what he was willing to deal with at this hour. Orpek watched in silence as many tapered pennant flags hanging from the top of the stump fluttered in the chilled breeze. These mice clearly weren't afraid of attracting at least some attention. With cracks climbing all about the surface, no doubt there were hidden windows, vents, and outlooks dappled all throughout, along with the three-mouse tall wooden gate nestled between two hefty beginnings of roots, all that was left to suggest the tree once subsisted on its own. Orpek was more interested in the life that subsisted within the trunk now, however.
The voice that called out to him before piped up again. "You can spare me the grovelling, mate. We're not some rinky-dinky burrow, y'hear? This is Fort Tincture! We're not afraid of one musty-dusty old rat!" Orpek allowed himself a sigh, but otherwise held his tongue. It usually wasn't worth it, especially when a warm place to sleep was on the line. Plus, an unanswered question danced on the back of the gate guardian's voice.
"May I enter, then? I swear to not be a burden and be out of your hairs when the frost remembers its place."
"Yeah, yeah sure whatever. You've just gotta let us know your allegiances before we let ya in."
"I have no allegiances other than to those I can assist on my journey," he said, standing a little straighter, feeling the pride of a wanderer swell.
"Rat wax in yer ears, mate? I'm not talking 'bout some namby-pamby met-y-phorical nonsense! I'm talking 'bout yer guild!"
Orpek slouched back down to resting position. Despite how unwelcoming they could be, he'd often found gold within the thorny walls of cities. Push on. "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with the local guilds," he adjusted the wooden armor on his shoulders. It was loosened in the last… encounter. "Please, enlighten me."
The unseen voice called out again, "It's pretty simple, either you're with the pinks or the greens. Just pick one and you can go from there."
Something about this made Orpek's gut grumble. It had been a long time since he considered himself part of a larger whole. Too messy. "I am deeply sorry, guardsman, but I cannot make such a choice with no other knowledge."
The voice scoffed. "You've got plenty a'knowledge! Just make a judgement off the two of us!" Before confusion could set in, two verminous faces popped out from a crack just above the gate. On the left, a grey-haired mouse wearing pink-tinted glasses, and on the right, a red-haired mouse wearing a green bandana over his ears. Had they both been there the entire time?
The mouse on the left spoke first. "You did know you were talking to two people, right?"
Orpek blinked two bloodshot eyes and chose to swallow his words.
Two pairs of non-bloodshot eyes widened and looked at each other. First the right, "Can you believe this, mate?" then the left, "Can you?" back to the right, "The dizzy-izzy had no clue, not a one!" They turn back towards the somewhat embarrassed rat.
"My deepest apologies. I am grey in my hairs, and my ears aren't what they used to be. I've served as a neutral party in the past, perhaps I could play a similar role now?"
The mice appeared to mull this over. One glanced to the sky, much darker than when this exchange began. The stump had a more indifferent feeling to it now, the dead wood blocking Orpek's path.
The left mouse sighed, "Look, wanderers usually just go past here and stay in Pipidae. We're not accustomed to someone with no knowledge of the guilds. You may enter."
Orpek bowed his head, "My thanks. Wh-"
"But!" exclaimed the mouse on the right, "You'll need to make your allegiances known soon, especially before you try to leave. Not many inside who'll even talk to you without a color. Too risky."
The two faces slipped back inside. Orpek tapped his tail stub against the ground, half in anticipation and half deep in thought. He wasn't quite sure what happened just now. Certainly something strange. Quite strange. He'd learned to not be surprised, and yet sometimes, there are some he's met that manage it anyways. The unlikely stir that preceded his allowance into the fort caused a worry that laid itself upon Orpek's mind like a wet leaf. Mice he could take a guess at understanding, maybe even befriending, but how to go about courting colors?
As the gate closed behind him, Orpek was met with something he had never quite seen before. Yes, the air smelled of pine, perhaps spruce, and tiny flecks of wood floated through the air, spiraling down to eventually become one with the path beneath the feet of Tincture's residents. The middle of the stump was completely cored, like an apple, with continuous wooden, railed pathways wrapped around the edge of the walls. Peering upwards and downwards, there must've been five or six levels to the entire fort, each one bustling with dozens of mice, the murmur of disconnected conversations creating a singular whole. Along the pathways were homes and businesses flush with the sides of the stump. These were all things that could've been guessed or expected, but what Orpek was surprised by was the colors.
Not just pinks and greens, although those were prominent. Everywhere one looked, linens and cottons and furs and every other cloth that could conceivably be colored were draped, worn, adorned, embellished, hung, assimilated, or dressed all about the fort. Not just usual colors either, these were the most vibrant colors Orpek had ever seen. With the residents bustling by him, Orpek must've witnessed a full rainbow at least thrice. Flags and banners and buntings embellished the railings, hanging down and reaching across the core of the stump, creating a quilt of the air. As a pair of mice wearing the brightest blue vests Orpek had ever seen passed by, he noticed flags similar to the ones hanging outside the stump. Before the design was hard to make out, but now the simple silhouettes of a, of course, pink mouse and green mouse with a sharp line between them decorating each flag. These mice were nothing if consistent at least.
Along with the vests, bandanas, hats, shirts, and more, there was also a significant amount of glass. Small baubles used as necklaces, bracelets, and tail ornaments. In front of one business, a small glass sculpture of what looked to be green berries sat in the corner. Inside, two larger mice handled a saw, cutting back and forth and back and forth over a newly-collected block of ice. To their left, a business with pink flags adorning the doorway contained a family of five dicing allium bulbs. One mouse picking up a bag of allium and another picking up a small pallet of ice turned out of the openings and came face-to-face, pausing. The image of a doe in the minuscule moments before dashing away after he snapped a twig was brought to Orpek's mind. Just as soon as it was thrust upon the mice, the moment passed and they hurriedly went along their ways with nary a word.
Deep breath in, the taste of simmering discontent was heavy in the air. At least, it was palpable to an outsider like Orpek. This fort may protect from the stray fox or owl, but the macabre he has witnessed on his journey still has made its way here, strange guardsmen not enough to keep distrust out of their kingdom. Orpek reached for the ghosts of his whiskers in thought, and started when he found they still were not there. Reminders of that grimness existed everywhere it seemed.
Eventually, his wandering brought him to the lowest level, where the roots thinned and hard, packed dirt, often pockmarked with tunnels that inevitably led to homes with the typical intricate wickerwork bedecking each and every one. Although, this time many were woven with colored fabrics. In the center of the space, a sizable forge blazed with about half a dozen mice and one frog, not necessarily a rare sight in a vermin city, busying themselves around it. The air shimmered like a spectral stream, the way the fort managed to stay warm becoming abundantly clear. As Orpek ambled towards them, the frog's vocal sac expanded before they released an extended breath into a metal pipe. On the other end of the pipe was a molten bubble of glass, expanding in response to the frog's efforts. A mouse rushed up to support and shape the growing bulb, wearing specialized water-soaked, berry leather gloves to handle the heat.
A mouse with bright amber eyes, a black, square-ish cap adorned with two patches (the colors he's come to expect), and a couple several drops of cooled iridescent glass dollops hanging haphazardly throughout their fur, perhaps unintentionally, glanced up and locked eyes with Orpek. They handed their tools to another mouse shadowing them and approached Orpek.
He stopped short of what seemed to be the perimeter of bustling, and bowed to the approaching glassblower. "Artisan, your flames warm this hollow both physically and spiritually, no doubt bringing joy to many. What is your name?"
The mouse gave a courtly nod in return. "I am known as Tinuk. Thank you for your kind words, stranger. What should I call you?"
The rat rose to his normal height. "Orpek, if it pleases you. And your colleagues, what are their names?"
A second nod, this time of respect. "My colleagues are known as Polip, Wrant, Oleg, Mosstip, Trench, and Mollin-of. What can we do for you? I notice you carry no burden of hue. An odd sight here."
"The odd ones at the gate allowed me entry to give me time to choose a hue. Admittedly, it brings me no comfort to ally with one group over the other. I see you possess both insignia. Also an odd sight, I presume?"
Tinuk plucks his cap off the top of their head, revealing large ears that had been tucked beneath it. They stared at the patches, lips pursed, then spoke. "Yes indeed, an honor," their voice lilted, as if the word was a question, but continued, "Offered to just myself and the dyemonger." They pointed towards a seemingly filled-in tunnel marked with wickerwork through a jerk of their head, then gingerly folded their ears back to replace the cap. "Before you ask, there's no path for one like you to receive such an exception. We've only received the ability to serve all who reside here because they've agreed our work is too specific, skilled, desired, or whatever else to sacrifice the benefits of our craft."
Orpek thought for a moment, a plan forming in his head, and leaned towards the glassblower. "The people here care quite a lot about your work. Why not push fo-"
Two paws, Tinuk's paws, flew up immediately. "I'll stop you right there. It's simply not my place. Despite what it may seem, I am not some authority here, I- I- I barely even have a clue about why the mice here are so divided. I only moved here just a short time ago. The glass, as myself and my fellow artists love it, is more of a bauble for the rest of Tincture." They sigh, then say defeated, "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
They turn away. Orpek felt his plan dissipating as soon as it was created, at least until Tinuk paused and looked back towards the wanderer. "You seem an honorable sort, otherwise I wouldn't send you her way, but if you really want to try to change things, talk to the dyemonger. She's a recluse, doesn't come out of her home as far as anyone has ever witnessed, and she only allows a single mouse in whenever she's due a delivery of supplies or needs a bit of help. She's already taken her delivery for today, try catching her tomorrow." They tipped their hat to the puzzled rat. "I wish you luck."
Orpek yawned, chipped teeth on display. After the talk with Tinuk, he had found an unoccupied den to pass the night away. The night's passage did not come easily, however. Something about the situation, it unnerved him, stole his sleep. Surely, others would be disturbed by this culture of division being forced upon them. The glassblower had resigned themselves to it, content with the forge, but Orpek was no glassblower. The heavy weight on his belt, the nail almost dragging in the dirt like a tail, was evidence enough of that.
The rat stood, shadows embracing him as old friends, as he waited near the entrance to the dyemonger's home the next day. The glassblowers were arriving for work that day, unaware of Orpek's discerning eyes. Something he hadn't noticed among the hustle of the glassblowers the day before surfaced. Two mice arrived, both only wearing pink. A moment later three mice, adorned in green entered the space. The groups walked familiar paths, avoided crossing, to separate work benches and began to prepare for the day. Each mouse doffed their colors and replaced them with a patch similar to Tinuk's. As an hour passed, and the rest of the workers (including Tinuk) arrived, Orpek witnessed in shock as a delicate dance invisible to the untrained eye took place. Despite donning the two-tone patches, each animal deftly avoided those they opposed outside of the forge. Separate tools, separate glass, separate fires all placed in such a way that the workers never would once need to interact with the others. Only Tinuk crossed the unseen lines. Deeper than I thought, Orpek huffed. Focus on the task at hand.
Soon enough, a young mouse with a walking stick and a collection of small bags approached the doorway. The way he holds it catches Orpek's eye. Not like a walking stick, more like… he was using it to sense anything in front of himself. Orpek's head tilted just slightly upwards. Of course. He's blind. A chuckle escaped Orpek's throat. How very interesting.
The blind mouse tapped on the door quarce. Twice, then a pause, followed by the other two knocks. Surprisingly, the dirt itself hinges open, and the mouse slipped into the darkness. Now's the chance and Orpek takes it, dashing along the side of the wall, quiet quicksteps carrying him towards the doorway. The dirt, achingly close to becoming flush again, instead was interrupted by a clenched paw in the door, Orpek's paw. He winced in pain at the speed the door embraced his paw, promising to nurse the wound later.
"Please, pardon my rudeness. It is my understanding that a great dyemonger lives here. Is that correct?"
A sharp intake of breath. The small crack in the door wasn't much in terms of allowing light into the den, so he could only see the faintest outline of a rodent, likely another mouse due to the size. Strange and strong scents made their way towards the outside air as well, blocking any other insights Orpek might've learned. A voice, not the blind mouse, spoke, "Well I supp- yes this- this is my home, yes. I'm the dyemonger. What is- my name is Yvell, what's yours?"
"Orpek. Your work precedes you. I'm honored to be in the presence of one who has honed their craft to such a degree. May I come in? I'd like to discuss something important."
The voice from the other side, responded sheepishly, "Ah, oh, I don't think that's a good idea. You should probably go, and I don't want to waste your time, an- and a few colored clothes aren't nearly as important as a warrior anyhow."
"There is nothing sweeter than making another feel beautiful; this nail has done nothing of the sort."
The voice began speaking faster, seemingly trying to end the conversation, "Well, you're very kind but I'm sorr- I apolgi- I'm sorry, but I can't let you in." The figure moved slightly farther down the tunnel.
Normally he would have let things lie, but energy bolted through his old bones. "Wait! I have no allegiances to the causes of this fort. This dedication the other people here have to colors mean nothing to me. My loyalties lie to something greater."
The figure approached again, hesitant. Something he said must've piqued her interests. "How can I know to trust you?"
Orpek unsheathed his nail and dropped to one knee, holding it ceremoniously in front of himself. "I come from the West, where promises are seldom given and kept. Know the weight with which I say this: I swear upon my mother that I bear no ill will nor grim intention towards you or anyone else within Tincture's walls. I am in need of your help."
A moment passed. Then another. Orpek slowly stood. Another moment. He began to sheathe his nail. And anoth—a flurry of movement, dirt door fully open, never saw it move, dark mass slingshotting out, no time to draw nail, too many arms, hair embracing fur, the glint of a fang—
Then darkness.
He was inside the tunnel now, his eyes completely unadjusted to the sudden change. Orpek took three deep breaths. One to confirm life, the next to calm the nerves, the final to draw his blade. He whirled around, delicately poking holes through the dirt door behind him, pin-beams of light poke through in response, and landed back into his resting stance. The heat of the forge came with the light, prickling his back like the flutters of a hummingbird's wings.
"Show yourself," he growled. Orpek didn't necessarily need to see what he was fighting, just the movement. There was enough light for that now.
There! On the right, a leg as thick as a greatnail shifted, but not towards him. Was it really possible a predator lived right under the noses of the residents of this fort? Or was there something stranger happening?
Yvell's voice came from further down the tunnel, saying, "I've taken a chance on you, Rat. Please, leave your weapon at the door and we can speak more candidly." There was a light hissing on the undertones of her voice now.
Orpek calculated the chances in his head. He had no reason to expect harm apart from the violent way he was brought into the den. After all, that mouse had to be in here too. Slowly, he placed the nail leaning against the wall, careful to block view of it as he propped his tail behind the handle. Just in case.
Out of the sombre black, barely illuminated by the pinpricks of light, arose a sight Orpek had not seen in quite some time. Hairy body, with knees arching above the body, blank eyes, and two large venom-filled fangs.
Tarantula.
"What of your promise, Orpek? Ready to throw it away already?"
She didn't speak it as a threat or a taunt. It held truth as well, despite the context he wasn't being a courteous guest so far. "I do not appreciate being tossed around like a woodlouse in a game of catch. But, I keep my promises."
She tilted her whole body slightly to the left, as if to think, then spoke, "Very well then. Come with me."
A short trip down the tunnel, which Orpek quickly learned was fully lined with almost invisibly, smooth spider silk, led to a wide open space. The smells, which slowly rose as they moved down the tunnel, were at their must pungent. Fermenting grapes, boiling grains, melting nuts, smoke, and various other scents Orpek couldn't place, best he could describe as toxic fumes, all assaulted his nose, watered his eyes, and hackled his fur. Countless glass and ceramic pots and tubs sat above low flames, the smoke directed up into the dozens of ventilation shafts above. Wicker baskets full of the strangest variety of natural items he'd seen in one place were shoved and hung in every spare space possible; right by the entrance were what looked like avocado pits, dried lemon zest, and spare teeth. In one corner stood the blind mouse, using his cane to nudge the last of some beautiful fabrics off of a drying line directly into his large bags held open underneath the falling pieces.
When they both entered the room, the mouse turned around, cinching his pack. Orpek silently watched as Yvell plucked a mouse-sized puppet from a hook above the tunnel exit, not very detailed but serviceable, and began to manipulate it with four of her legs. The young mouse held its (Yvell's?) hand as they had a short exchange before he took his leave.
Orpek broke the short silence, simply asking, "Why?"
The spider sighed. "I kno- You know how it feels. If you could, wouldn't you trade your form away as well?" Orpek thought about this. He wasn't sure.
"Besides, finding a blind mouse who was interested in dyemongering was a labor in itself." A leg swooped over Orpek's head, plucking a lid from a pot so Yvell could take a better look at the contents. "Come here and help me. My materials are lightly timed and the next cycle is coming up."
It had seemed that the young apprentice had dropped off many forms of strips of linen, flags, clothing, and furs that the people of Fort Tincture wished to be dyed. A scale resting behind the clothes line Orpek had not noticed before was where Yvell scrambled to first, beckoning for Orpek to carry a collection of progressively heavier weights over towards her. It was unclear why the weights weren't stored by the scale, but Orpek didn't think to ask. Placing the weights opposite the cloth was almost a formality, as she guessed the exact correct combination of the crudely carved flint weights for Orpek to place on the first guess.
Yvell leaned towards Orpek, almost conspiratorially, "Y'know, many would think dyeing starts with, well, the dye, but that's not necessarily true if you want it to last. First we must mordant the cloth. Gather some cream of tartar from the casks while I gather the bran."
The casks in question were dug into the walls, lids tightly shut upon them. After taking a hesitant whiff, the source of the fermenting grape was, without a doubt, coming from here. Using a wooden paddle, Orpek scraped the inner sides of the barrel, careful not to slosh any of the liquid out, collecting the tartar into a wooden bowl.
A return to the scale, where Yvell was already waiting with a bowl of wheat bran. "Could you possi- would it be possi- is it alright if you could take some shavings of alum?" Gesturing behind her, another unseen object behind a corner was a large, almost as large as Orpek, crystalline structure.
"Of course. I'm amazed with the way you've utilized almost every corner of your den." Orpek instinctively reached for his nail to scrape the crystal, found it not there, then took up a metal shovel nearby to do it instead.
"Well, you should've seen the place when I first started, it was much smaller. Any- everytime I needed more space because of the growing demand over my head I just dug out some more space. It's not that impressive."
"Many would wish for a lived-in home such as this. How long have you lived in Fort Tincture?" They moved back to the scale, Yvell taking the scrapings and pouring them into a mortar & pestle, rapidly grinding them into a fine powder.
"Ah, well I was around for longer than that name. Not a clue who came up with that. I suppose it is better than just 'The Stump' but I feel like it had its charm to it, but uh," she became engrossed in her work again, rapidly switching out weights to a tenth of the cloth weight, which she poured the alum to match, then a seventh percent to match the tartar, and finally a fifth percent to match the bran. A whirlwind of legs and hair and material and weights, but controlled and intentional. Yvell could be a great nailwoman if she wanted, Orpek thought.
"If you were here for that long, could you recount the story of the guilds? No one has had a straight answer so far."
Yvell took the smaller portions of materials and carried them to the center of the simmering pots, Orpek retrieving the various pieces of cloth and following along. "Well, in my opinion it's fairly foolish — can you hand me that cheesecloth, right by the puppet? That's it right there, thank you — b- but I could tell it." Yvell poured the alum into an already simmering pot of water, and began to stir. "Two clans laid claim to the stump, with no way to tell who had done so first. The two leaders of each clan decided a contest would only do. The clan to forage the most of a certain berry would prove their superiority for survival and thus deserve the new homestead." She moved on to a second tub, placing the bran into the cheesecloth and soaking it on the edge, like a sort of tea. "After a day's passage, it came time to count. However, disaster struck, as a hungry fox came upon the large gathering of mice. Suffice it to say, the fox was no longer hungry after that day. The remains of the clans hid within the stump for many days. They wished to never repeat the mistake of gathering to count berries again, so they decided to coexist, but separately."
Orpek placed the cream of tartar within another cheesecloth as directed, scarred and ruddy hands imperceptibly shaking at their delicate task, and placed it in another prepared pan. "That's it? The bitterness of death not even enacted by either group has carried a rivalry for this long?"
She shrugged, a miniature wave as each set of shoulders followed slightly after in sequence. "Mice things, I suppose."
"Don't you think, that as someone who carries such influence," he gestured to the various accoutrements strewn about the den, "You could do something about—"
"Quick, quick I have a pot waiting for the cloths as well." Orpek frowned, but did as he was asked. Yvell took a lid off another alum pot, and he gingerly placed the assorted clothing within the water compound.
Orpek opened his mouth to try again, but she was already across the room, pulling linens out of a new pot, squeezing them out of their water, and placing them in an older bran bath. The rat approached and took the rest of the linens out, and flushed them of water with one strong twist, then gingerly placed them in the wheat bran tea. He looked into her eyes, two versus eight, red eyes sliding over the black of the eight, and somewhere deep down saw twinges of fear.
"Would they bring harm to you?"
"I don't- no, they wouldn't."
"Would it hurt your livelihood?"
"No, no."
"Wouldn't you be more fulfilled if—"
"Well, uh- you- don't you- wouldn't you like to see the dyeing process now? Thats up next, has to be done, can't be not done, better get to it," she stammered, dashing over to a collection of furs in a bath of tartar. "I'll tell you the story of my secret ingredients or, or how about the day the name changed to Tincture? I'm in that one! Or how about—"
Orpek leaned down, and took the pad of Yvell's front leg in his paws, urgently whispering, "It is not the stories of the past that I desire, but action of the present. Let me tell you of that."
"I'm sorry. If that's what you came to ask help for today, that's not what I can do. My art, once it leaves this home, is no longer mine. I hold no pow- sway over it," she spat, scuttling over towards strange mouse-sized bottles at the very back of her den, made of a material Orpek had never seen, filled with brightly colored pigments. Holding a small dish, she pressed against the purple bottle, more purple than he had ever seen in one place, allowing just an oil-like drop to fall into the dish. Then, just as soon as she collected it, she dumped it into a nearby boiling pot, along with a small bunch of grapes.
"Yvell, surely you know that if you decided it, no animal could be a pink or a green, or any color for that matter. You are the most skilled artisan I've ever had the pleasure to witness, much less assist in their work. I can see your care for your work, tell me, do you see your pieces as art, or as product?"
The shy sound of dozens of simmering pots filled the air, nothing else to speak over them. Orpek stared into her eyes, but now he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Best laid plans, as Orpek has often found, hinge on but a single decision.
Ideas and conflict flashed through his mind, crashing into each other, forming lines of logic and then cutting in front of those lines. He decides to push.
"When I practice my art, the wounds I give to others, to the land, to those I try to protect, they are not separate from me. I carry them all, whether moral or a failure. I implore you, give yourself the chance to be selfish with your textiles, your life."
Yvell slowly moved over to a final pot, filled with pink liquid, and began fishing out clothes. "I believe you know the way out, yes?"
It had been a week since Orpek attempted to persuade the dyemonger. Since then, he had stayed mostly to himself in the free den he managed to acquire for the time of his stay. Could he have done anything differently? Absolutely. But did he want to? A harder question to answer. According to talk he acquired, or eavesdropped if one wanted to be accurate, the frost had fully melted away for now. Orpek had nothing tying him here, so it was time to put Fort Tincture behind him.
Slinging his pack on after checking its contents, Orpek reflected on his plan. Or at least, his lack of a plan. He had not thought of any other more elegant solution to get past the guards on the opposite gate for the stump, which likely left him with either bribery or trickery, both of which he was loath to use. He stretched, feeling a few joints pop and crack. No time like the present, he supposed.
Walking out of the tunnel, the murmuring Orpek had become used to sounded, strange. Louder but at the same time whispered. He sped up, hand placed on the hilt of his nail, just in case.
The sight that met his eyes was nothing short of glorious. The previous well-ordered imagined quilt was weighed wildly down by a cavalcade of new additions. Clothing of all sorts was draped across the strings, vests and bandanas and undergarments all fluttering proudly in the breeze, buntings and flags and pennants were tied together, their supports straining against the pull, and rainbow silk strands were flung every which way. However, the most noticeable change, the one that couldn't be avoided no matter where a vermin were to look, was the pink and green. Patterned in stripes, polka dots, swirls, gradients, and much more that Orpek couldn't make out from where he stood, were all manner of cloth, linen, furs, and now silk string added to the mix represented in every which way possible. Every business, every home, every railing, every other step on the ground was met with a mixture of colors. The odd tower of bubbly glass decorated the walkways as well, serving as a central point for strings to fly to and fro with flags hanging and clothes draping. It was pure, colorful chaos.
The reactions of the residents were interesting to watch as well. Some stood with mouths agape, others talked rapidly with their fellows about the drastic overnight changes. One mouse angrily tore down anything they could reach, while another pocketed a few examples. Children were pushed back inside by their parents while others who had slipped past ran through the street using the flags as capes, oblivious to the controversy they unknowingly embraced. Most interesting of all, Orpek saw individuals from opposite guilds… talking. Two mice chuckled together looking at the way their flags had been tied into an impenetrable ball. Others were arguing, assigning blame. Two others chatted in the open as if this was the first time they felt comfortable to do so.
"Ahem."
Orpek spun around to find the form of Tinuk waiting for him, the drops of glass in their fur in completely different positions. Orpek wasn't sure if this lent support to them being intentionally placed or not.
Tinuk continued, "Well, I don't know what you said to her, but when Yvell sent for me the way she talked sounded like one of her continual fires had been lit under her own ass. Hard to believe she managed to complete all this in just a week."
"I can imagine," said Orpek.
"She asked me to find you before you left, to give you her thanks. She didn't want to hear it when you first said it, but she really needed a conversation like that." From their side, Tinuk picked up a bundle of rope dyed in what must be twenty or thirty different colors and shades. "This line of rope was used by Yvell to test new colors for many years. She'd like you to have it."
"What a pretty thing," said Orpek, holding the rope as though it, too, were made of the thinnest, airiest bubble-glass. "What a wonderful thing."
Tinuk tipped their cap once more to Orpek and dashed off, dodging dirty glances and compliments from the impassioned residents of Fort Tincture. Still somewhat in awe of the gift, Orpek made his way to leave.
Slipping out the back entrance was easy enough, the two guardsmen were distracted ogling all the new scenery. All that work just to avoid wearing a color, he joked, shaking his head to himself. Maybe he was the one stuck in old patterns. Whatever he was, now he was back on the path, back in his element. It felt good.
Orpek looked down at the rope still in his paws, and smiled. To new beginnings, Yvell.