Fishback
the (former) Cat stepped through the mystical doorway and on the
other side, he found a swamp.
“Aww, this quest stinks,” he said and pinched his nose, grateful that his awkward new human form at least had nose-pinching going for it. “Not just water, which all cats hate, but dirty water too? How is any of this supposed to help me learn to enslave all mankind to my cat-ish whims?”
He poked cautiously at the water with his toes. The green film of algae and decaying leaves sloshed a bit, then washed back toward the shore. Blech.
“No matter,” said Fishback. “I'll just climb these trees and-”
But he found he could not climb the trees, for his claws did not poke out the way he wanted them to, nor did they retract. They just sat there short and useless on the tips of his fingers. He tried leaping to the higher branches, hoping to grasp on the way he had seen monkeys do, but he couldn't get more than a quarter of his height off the ground. He sighed. Back when he was a cat, he could jump atop things five times his size. As a human, he could barely jump over his own feet.
“They can't jump. They can't use their claws,” said Fishback. “Those poor humans can't do anything.”
He shrugged. He wouldn't be able to traverse the high, beautiful overarching canopy above him, but he could still use his last water-bending spell to walk across the swamp. With a few magic words the former cat had learned from the god of boxes, the waters parted before him. He would cross this swamp and learned to bend men to his feline will one way or another.
“Aww, this quest stinks,” he said and pinched his nose, grateful that his awkward new human form at least had nose-pinching going for it. “Not just water, which all cats hate, but dirty water too? How is any of this supposed to help me learn to enslave all mankind to my cat-ish whims?”
He poked cautiously at the water with his toes. The green film of algae and decaying leaves sloshed a bit, then washed back toward the shore. Blech.
“No matter,” said Fishback. “I'll just climb these trees and-”
But he found he could not climb the trees, for his claws did not poke out the way he wanted them to, nor did they retract. They just sat there short and useless on the tips of his fingers. He tried leaping to the higher branches, hoping to grasp on the way he had seen monkeys do, but he couldn't get more than a quarter of his height off the ground. He sighed. Back when he was a cat, he could jump atop things five times his size. As a human, he could barely jump over his own feet.
“They can't jump. They can't use their claws,” said Fishback. “Those poor humans can't do anything.”
He shrugged. He wouldn't be able to traverse the high, beautiful overarching canopy above him, but he could still use his last water-bending spell to walk across the swamp. With a few magic words the former cat had learned from the god of boxes, the waters parted before him. He would cross this swamp and learned to bend men to his feline will one way or another.
Originally
mailed to B. Bowser of Brandon, Mississippi
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