Fanfiction for Root: A Game of Woodland Might and Right
“Oh, fluff!” exclaimed the crow as he ran up the hill. “We forgot our stuff at the door!” A few black feathers and a loose document fluttered behind him, having slipped out of the folder tucked under his uninjured wing.
“Oh well. Run!” said the raccoon, lugging a long, boxy case by the handle with one paw.
Thwip! An arrow flew towards their backs, coming from the small squad of Marquise soldiers chasing close behind them. The vagabonds had neither the numbers nor the weaponry to defend against the soldiers.
The raccoon instinctively ducked upon hearing the sound. The arrow whizzed closely over her head right after it grazed the top of her satchel, tearing it open and letting several cans of sardines spill out.
“Nails!” the raccoon called out to the short black cat ahead of them. “Let’s get a hiding spot!”
Nails hurriedly spotted a gap in the trees further down by the hilly, leaf-covered path and jumped in, her small stature allowing her to squeeze through with little struggle. She poked her head out and waved the other two towards her, leading them back into the dark, dangerous depths of the Rootward Forest.
The cat cleared her throat. “They’re not… gonna dare to chase us in here,” she rasped.
The three vagabonds panted as they stumbled through the forest in search of a safe corner to rest in. Although the trees had already shed some of their foliage ahead of the winter, the canopy was still dense enough to shroud the interior of the forest from the sky. The afternoon sun could barely reach down to dimly illuminate the tangled forest floor, thick with gnarled, ancient tree roots that offered scarce spots for secure footing.
The trees at the edge of the Rootward Forest were like walls, keeping the towns and paths confined tightly to their clearings, away from the wilderness. Those five or six or ten elite Marquise soldiers wouldn’t dare tail them into the Rootward at the risk of being caught in some hazard, getting lost, or finding themselves in front of a bear. In contrast, the three vagabonds knew these woods as their shelter and were familiar with its hostile terrain. Even without their weapons, the depths of the forest would be an adequate defense.
The crow, raccoon, and black cat dashed into the shadow of a ravine, their footsteps masked by the rustling of dry leaves as the wind blew through the trees. This was a good time to take a breather — they had run from the barracks in the middle of town all the way back into the Rootward Forest.
Anders leaned back against the ravine wall, sliding down into a sitting position. “Ellie.” The crow adjusted his scarf around his shoulder, fashioned into a sling to hold his injured left wing. “Who was that dead cat, anyway?” he wheezed between heavy breaths. Crows weren’t well-suited to travel purely on the ground.
The raccoon shrugged, laying the case down at her feet and plucking a leaf out of her sweater. “I dunno. You can find plenty of dead animals around when a forest-wide war is going on.”
“We did it,” Nails called out hoarsely, coughing up a puff of blue dust. She looked more disheveled than usual, with blue blotches staining her trenchcoat and ragged black fur. “Hahaha. We did it!” she sighed in relief, scratching at the itchy powder stuck to her fur. “Now what?”
Turning lazily in the chilly autumn breeze, the old windmill sat in the middle of the much newer barracks grounds and towered over the cat and fox guarding the gateway in.
The two guards tensed up upon seeing three animals approach — clearly vagabonds who had been scrounging around in the forest, given all the leaves and burrs caught in their clothes. The raccoon among them carried an incapacitated cat on her shoulder, flanked by a smartly dressed crow and a short black cat.
“Hold it!” stated the guard fox, crossing halberds with the guard cat. “State your business.”
The raccoon spoke up, struggling to hold onto the cat.
“Greetings, sirs,” said Ellie, straining under the weight of the body. “We— urg—”
“We caught you a traitor.” The crow stepped forward, casually doing up a button of his jacket. “Ex-Lieutenant Antoine Labrèche of the Marquise Militia? Wanted for feeding intelligence to the Eyrie Dynasties?”
With the tip of the halberd, the guard cat poked the body slumped over Ellie’s shoulder. The tail flopped limply. He gave Anders a silent glare.
Anders turned up the palms of his wings, opening them slightly in a friendly gesture. “Oh, come, now,” he cooed. “We’ve all seen the wanted poster around town, right? Dead or alive? This is one of those two choices.”
The glares continued.
Anders dropped his friendly smile. “Look. There’s a gentlecat by the name of Le-roo in there that can vouch for us.” He gestured past the gate to the wide stone building extending out of the windmill. “This isn’t the first bounty we’ve claimed.”
The two guards exchanged looks, their expressions unreadable with their helmets obscuring their eyes.
Uh oh, awkward. Anders had been in the vagabonding game long enough to know to maintain his cool under pressure, though. “Le— Le-roo? Monsieur Le-roo?”
“You’re looking for Leroux?”
“Yes! Yes, him. Le-roo.”
“Okay. We’ll get someone to fetch Leroux,” said the fox. “You’re not coming in with your weapons, though.”
Nails dropped the crow a discreet comment from behind. “Your accent sucks.”