Victor gazed his eyes down at the letter before him. On the table was the last letter his brother Darcius had sent him that month. He could imagine the shaggy Donkey’s face at the moment, his charming smile and obnoxious laugh evoking wonderful memories of his childhood. Older than him by four years he was a strong man but wasn’t the brightest one at that. Victor ran his hoof through his scruffy mahogany chin hair and adjusted his glasses. He then read the letter silently to himself:
Dearest Brother Victor,
The fight at the border of Talon and Mikal has reached a breaking point. Men and Animals are starving and have no supplies, no clothing or shelter. I feel this might be my last letter to you, for we are also running out of paper and ink. My comrade, Buckleaf, you remember him don’t you? Ah, the great Fox he was! Died last night of the flu. No one heard him ask for help or anything. He had seemed fine all week and all the sudden his life was snuffed out like a candle. He fought bravely for us but we cannot hold a decent funeral for him. Too many of our own are dying. We lost count at around five hundred bodies. Most of them were soldiers but a few were women and children caught in the crossfire. It wreaks havoc on one’s mind, having to pick up those bodies and just dispose of them like they were garbage. We were lucky enough to be able to burn some of them but others some decided to just dump into the rivers. No one says anything about it.
Victor couldn’t believe the words he had just read. He could almost hear Darcius’s baritone voice speaking softly now at a whisper within the realms of his mind now. He had heard news of the war from the sanctity of his home but now hearing it from his own brother was just an atrocity. He closed his eyes for a second to imagine the remains of those poor Animals and Men but quickly opened them back up. The image in his head was too graphic for his own mind to handle. How could Darcius handle such conditions? He asked himself. Victor continued to read the rest of the letter, preparing himself for the worst.
I know none of the men will admit it publicly but going through the kind of hell we have to go through really puts a toll on our souls. I remember one night waking up to a fellow soldier crying in his sleep. I tried to ask him the next morning what caused his pain but he just wouldn’t speak of it. He just forced me to leave him be and, being the Donkey that I am, I decided to respect his decision. I’ve killed men, Victor; I’ll coldheartedly killed them without any second thoughts. And what for? For the strength of a minority, for our rights? Not like I don’t support the cause but this is getting out of hand. We’re killing people, Victor. I didn’t want things to go down like this. None of us did.
I suppose this’ll be the last letter you’ll ever receive from me. Don’t bother sending one to me; I don’t know where the bloody hell I am. Just try to be safe. Arm yourself. You’ll never know when you’ll need to. There are people I’ve heard of. They’ll hurt people like you. They hide within the shadows, working silently and secretly. Don’t trust anyone. Tell mother and father where I have gone and that they’ll never see me again. I love you, my brother and I trust you to not go out looking for me. What you’ll find won’t be pretty.
Sincerely,
Darcius
Victor put the note down and rubbed his forehead. How could his brother simply say goodbye like that? He wished Darcius had more time, a chance to come back and speak to Victor one last time. He wondered to himself if he’d ever see him again. The image of his brother being shot and killed filled his mind. Victor stared out the window into the darkness of night. He tapped his hoof on his desk, thinking. Tap. Tap. Tap Tap. Looking back down at the letter he stuck in neatly back into the envelope it was sent in. He knew the chances of seeing his brother were now slim. In the back of his head he could just hear his father’s voice. “I knew you should have joined to fight the cause,” he would say. He hadn’t stopped saying that since Darcius left to fight. Now he could picture his father’s face, his silver whiskers on his chin dripping with tears. Darcius was the older of Victor’s two brothers. His younger brother, Marquis, lived in Tynotel with his parents, still being no older than the age of sixteen.
Victor pulled open a drawer and took out a fresh sheet of paper. After he set that in front of him he dipped the tip of one of his hooves into the inkwell in front of him and began to write. Unlike many other ungulate Animals, Victor’s family had been taught penmanship at an early age. His father was an educated man and one who certainly wanted his children to be as talented as any human being. Victor’s handwriting was delicate and flowed like water against the paper. He decided to write his parents and dear Marquis a letter regarding Darcius. As he began to write the first few words he asked himself why Darcius would send this information to him. He took a moment to scratch his head with a hoof and then continued to disclose information about Darcius and the war. His mind also couldn’t wrap around what he had said. Don’t trust anyone? Who exactly was he implying? Victor had heard of such secret groups, people who worked under the guise of innocence to strike at any time, both on the side of good and bad. A few people had been suspected of being terrorists from time to time but none had been capture nor imprisoned. Where had his brother heard of this information? Or was he warning him because he too was involved in this kind of blasphemy? Victor honestly believed that terrorist groups like that were not only ridiculous but also a tad bit strange. He had heard from the newspapers that most terrorist groups were going after the main generals of each army from both sides but no one had succeeded in killing either of them. Besides how would killing them solve anything? Victor stopped writing halfway through the letter and thought about it for a second. The army of either side would have no order, no way of advancing. They would be stuck and easy prey for the other team.
At that moment Victor’s thoughts were drowned out by a bolt of lightning, followed by a loud boom of thunder. He let out an audible groan of frustration. “When the bloody hell did it start raining?” This meant that he’d have to wait till morning to send the message to his family. It was almost as if Mother Nature herself was trying to deter him from telling his parents of the tragic incident at hand, as if taking his brother’s advice and trusting no one. Once finished writing he sealed the letter in an envelope and set it on his desk. He then picked up the candle off his desk, using both of his hooves, got up, and walked out of his study and down the hall to his bedroom. He changed out of his clothes and simply into a pair of boxers. Setting the candle delicately on the dresser beside his bed he got under the covers and took off his glasses. He blew out the candle and closed his eyes, resting his head on his pillow. As he drifted into sleep his mind was filled with gruesome images of innocent slaughter and crushed souls.
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The next day Victor went downstairs to open up shop. He worked at a small bookstore called Burofsky’s Books, named after himself, Victor Burofsky. Wearing a brown jacket and bowtie he walked down the stairs and into the shop. In between his hooves was his letter for his family in Tynotel. Holding the keys in his mouth he reached down and delicately slid the keys into the lock and twisted them, having years of practice, and opened the door with his elbow. Once outside he flipped the sign on the door from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’ also with his elbow. He then walked outside and over to the mailbox beside his shop. Managing to put the letter in his mouth he then opened the mailbox using one of his hooves and slid the letter into the mailbox. The town of Shiretown was slowly awakening around him as the sun had risen a third of the way over the horizon. The ember glow flooded the city like a flashflood. A young Monkey on a bike road around, a bag filled with newspapers on his back, throwing each one towards the door of each house he passed. The first one to exit a house was an old Goose. He picked up the newspaper and walked back inside without a single word. As the Monkey rode over by Victor he slowed down a bit and Victor walked up to the young lad. With a greeting he handed Victor the newspaper. He thanked the boy and walked back into his shop. The Monkey rode back up on his bike and moved a little more quickly this time, trying to get to the other houses in town.
Shiretown was a quaint town. It was surrounded by green rolling hills that seemed to stretch for miles on end. It was mostly a farming town but a few people like Victor owned their own businesses to make a living. Shiretown was one of the towns closer to the capital, Ohanzee, in the middle of the country. Shiretown was west of Ohanzee as well as most of the other towns in the country and finally stopping at the coast of the Pachua sea. To the east was the Havva Mountains, a wide mountain range covered with snow and bordering the Amari Sea. They ran all through the two countries of Mikal and Talon.
Victor walked into the shop and walked behind the counter, the newspaper still in his hooves. He sat in a lounge chair by a bookshelf behind the counter and began scanning through the news. Of course there was information about the war but Victor often didn’t muddle himself with such things unless they seemed important. There was no new information regarding the soldiers at all on the first page, something that hadn’t happened in a while that month. There was the usual nagging of how hungry the soldiers were and the devastating conditions they were in, but it wasn’t like any of that was news to anyone outside the war. They had heard about it for months on end and everyone had done what they could to provide them with the things they needed, but of course finding the troops was a challenge. They could often report the well-being of the troops when they occasionally stopped within a town around the border to rest but they never told of where they would go next. Victor supposed that it was fear for being caught by armies in Mikal or people who could be working underground for them. He flipped the page gently and continued to scan the newspaper. Same topics as usual; jobs, economics, etc. Nothing ever truly interesting ever occurred. Victor wondered if Mikal was like Talon in its ways of economics, government and such things. Humans couldn’t be that different from Animals, right?
That’s when his thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening. Arriving in an old blue gown and an apron was dear Abby Cluck, a Chicken and old neighbor of Victor. Abby was old, the gray feathers appearing slightly around her neck and head. Her husband was a farmer and owned an apple orchard in Shiretown. She walked in holding her purse and waved a wing at Victor. He smiled and waved back, setting down his newspaper and walking back in front of the counter to greet her.
“Good morning Miss Cluck,” he said cordially. “Lovely morning, is it not?”
“Aye, it is,” she said. Victor walked over to a table in the corner of the shop and Miss Cluck gladly followed him. The two sat down across from each other, each one surrounded by huge bookshelves filled with everything imaginably. The windows in between the bookshelves were colorful stain glass windows, the light from the morning sun oozing out from them. The table shined like a rainbow as they sat, catching Victor’s eye for a second before he continued his conversation with Abby Cluck.
“So Miss Cluck what brings you here this morning?” Victor asked. Abby shifted a bit in her chair before continuing to speak. She seemed nervous.
“Nothing much deary,” she said. Victor laid a hoof on the table and looked at Abby. Her eyes were looking at the table, almost appearing to be hypnotized by the rainbow of colors coming from the stain-glass windows. He tapped his hoof twice on the wooden table, making Abby jump a little in her seat.
“Nothing much, eh?” he said.
“Well,” she began. “I heard that the troops that just arrived around Nukpana have left. There were about sixty casualties out of the two hundred men. Even if that isn’t that much, they’ve lost a lot of men over the past couple of months.” Victor got up out of his seat and went behind the counter to one of his bookshelves. Miss Cluck remained in her seat, her eyes now looking back at the ground with a look mixed with concern and fear. When Victor came back he held a scroll, delicately held between his two hooves. It was old with age and seemed to have not been touched for a while. He unrolled the scroll and it was revealed to be a large map. It was a map of the continent of Kazumi, and a line was drawn almost exactly through the middle. To the north was Mikal and to the south was Talon. Victor smacked a hoof onto the border on the spot where Nukpana was located. After a moment of staring at the map while he was submerged in thought he lifted his hoof and rested his head upon it, staring at the map in silence.
Whenever Victor was silent he was thinking. Many people say that actions speak louder than words; for Victor not only did actions speak louder than words but silence spoke louder than words. An old Hen like Abby Cluck knew that by now so she respected that and left him to his thinking. Victor, being the owner of a bookstore, was a very bright Donkey. He was an intellectual and knew more about math, science, literature, geography and history than the normal Animal knew. Whenever a book or even a piece of writing was held in front of him he’d read it with vigor and wouldn’t put it down until he was completely done reading it and digesting every bit of information.
Finally Victor looked back up at Abby. “Miss Abby,” he began. “do you know exactly where the troops from Nukpana are marching off to?”
“Haven’t heard a word of it.” Abby Cluck explained. “Why the hell does the blasted government keep us on our toes like that? They report deaths, yes, but why not at least tell us where our children, our husbands, our brothers died?” That statement left Victor troubled and somewhat angered. If she had read more, he concurred, she might’ve understood that they need to protect themselves. However he did not let Abby Cluck’s ignorance get the best of him. She was an old woman, after all, and she couldn’t think properly.
“To keep the living safe,” Victor proposed. “I mean think about it, Miss Cluck. It isn’t that hard for a soldier from Mikal to snag one of those newspapers and then heaven knows what could happen to those poor soldiers. As if they aren’t going through hell enough,” Victor tapped his hoof on the map again for a few seconds before continuing, pondering the other variables at hand. “Also word has gone out that people working underground are among us, disguising themselves as us.”
“Good heavens!” Miss Cluck was alarmed by this startling information. “Are you quite sure, Victor?”
“I’ve heard from some reliable sources, but honestly I believe its complete rubbish.” he stated. Abby Cluck stared directly at the table and had a troubled look on her face. It took Victor a second to notice that not only did she seem troubled but she was trembling. He put a hoof on her wing gently and looked at her with his mahogany eyes.
“Miss Cluck,” he asked. “is something wrong?”
Abby took a second to speak. She answered in a soft and frightened voice. “Victor… there’s something else I came to tell you about. This morning, while I was walking out to get the morning paper, I noticed a woman who had seemed to be here before. She was wearing a maroon cape and had a hood covering her face. At first I assumed that she was simply a relative of Dr. Hendricks, the Mouse doctor on the other side of town. She looked sort of like a mouse; she had pale skin and a lithe frame. I could only make out her eyes, really, but I saw a hand. Eyes as green as emeralds and skin as pale as the snow on the Havva mountain tops. I waved to her kindly but she turned and walked away from me. She didn’t seem like she belonged here,” Abby Cluck looked the other way and out the window for a second before looking back at Victor. “Victor, do you think she’s…?”
“Oh that’s just rubbish Abby,” Victor rolled the map up and carried it back over to the bookshelf. He talked as he walked. “I can assure you this; don’t let this whole terrorism nonsense make you into some type of lunatic. We’re nowhere near the war front, I’ll assure you, and if there really were spies and terrorists they’d be working over there by the borders. How do you know if the girl wasn’t just confused or sick?”
“Or perhaps,” Abby Cluck interrupted. “she didn’t want to be seen?”
“Enough of this nonsense Abby,” Victor walked back and stood behind his chair, his hooves resting on the head of the chair. “If you wish to speak of such ridiculous notions then I insist you go elsewhere. If you would like to talk about important, more logical matters then you may gladly stay here.” Abby Cluck cocked her head to the side and stared at him with a sense of confusion.
“Why are you so quick to conclusions, dear?” she asked him. “Why do you assume that there are no terrorists among us?”
“I believe there aren’t any because none have ever been found. If a terrorist showed up among our mists and it was proven true then I’d gladly believe that girl was suspicious and get her out of town as quickly as possible. But sense no one has found one why should I even suspect this poor Mouse of any crime?”
Abby Cluck didn’t know how to respond to that question. Victor sighed and shook his head. The poor Chicken must’ve been going mad. It wasn’t rare at her age for people like her to become paranoid. So close to death and yet still lively. Those moments of life are the times when one clings to life the most and want whatever is in their way to be removed immediately. Abby Cluck simply got up and walked over to the door. Her wing was on the handle as she turned to Victor and spoke on last time before leaving.
“I’m just worried, deary,” she said turning her eyes to the floorboards. “Everyone seems to be talking about war nowadays, about rebellions, about revolution. It’s a scary thought to imagine one’s world being so quickly that they can’t comprehend it. So quickly that when things go bad their lives are flipped upside down. I don’t want that to happen to ya, Victor dear,” Abby Cluck explained. Victor smiled softly at the kindness in Abby Cluck’s heart. “Just be careful for me, alright love?”
“Alright,” Victor said with a soft chuckle. “I will. I promise I will.”
“Good. Good day to you then deary,” Abby Cluck walked out of the bookstore without another word.
Victor sat down back at the table, puzzled by the predicament he was in. Both Darcius and Abby Cluck had just warned him of the threat of people working under the surface. At first he considered it to be rubbish but now that people close to him were worrying he didn’t exactly know how to respond. He still believed his assumptions about the mysterious female Abby Cluck had witnessed in the morning was true, and wasn’t going to stop believing it that easily, but couldn’t help but ask himself that if, hypothetically speaking, Abby Cluck was right and that was indeed a terrorist what would a terrorist be doing in a small town such a Shiretown? Hiding in secrecy, or waiting to strike? Did they know more about the soldiers in Talon than the people in Talon themselves knew?
At that moment Victor got up and walked over to one of the bookshelves in the other side of the bookstore and used both hooves to grab one off the shelf. On the other side of the store were clear windows that showed the town square. It was surrounded by small businesses, like Victor’s bookstore and Dr. Hendricks clinic and in the center of the square was a magnificent marble fountain that spewed sapphire water into the small pool below it. Children danced and played in this during the hot summers and older children read books and mingled around it. Victor looked out the window and saw a woman sitting by the fountain. Covered in a large, maroon cape, a hood covering her face she stared at Victor’s shop for a second. Victor looked at her and at that moment the two pairs of eyes met, mahogany pools meeting emerald ones. He could vaguely see her skin and it was just like Abby Cluck described it; pale and white as the Havva mountain tops. He wondered if he actually saw her or if it was just a coincidence that their eyes met. He shook his head and carried the book to the table. As he sat down to read, he could not get her eyes out of his head. They had him hypnotized not by their beauty but by the look of fear and intent behind them.
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That evening Victor closed his shop early because of a violent storm that had set in. The wind roared and screamed so loudly that it was harder for Victor to even lock the front door. Rain pattered against the windows, hitting them like small rocks. He was sweeping the shop that night, illuminated only by a candle and the occasionally streak of lightning. Once down he put the broom in the corner and grabbed the candle with his hooves. As he walked up the stairs he thought he heard a knock at the door. Assuming that it was simply the rain he continued to walk up the old stairs, each stair creaking in a different pitch as he walked. Once in his bedroom he sat on his bed and yawned. Just before he got up again to change he heard three loud bangs against his door. Now he knew that the sound was certainly not rain but a poor Animal caught out in the cold rain. He grabbed the candle and walked back down the stairs. Victor put the candle down for a second to grab the keys with his mouth that rested on the counter. He then carried both towards the door with little grace as he struggled to keep the candle in his hooves. He finally decided that the best thing to do was to put the candle down. He delicately put it on the table in the corner, illuminating a portion of the room. Victor then unlocked the door with the keys (still in his mouth) and opened the door.
Standing in the doorway was a woman who was soaking wet. It was too dark to tell what she was wearing but it appeared to be a cape of some sort. She was shivering violently and sniffled. Victor squinted his eyes for a second, trying to get a better look at her. The woman walked in quickly, pushing Victor aside with little care. As she stood in the candlelight that was the moment he saw one thing and one thing only.
Emerald green eyes.
It was her.
). Also, your dialogue is quite good, but could use some polishing - the advice I give to everyone on this point is to read the dialogue out loud and see what sounds natural to you.