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More from AllMadHere
This story is less intense than the two previous portions, but it still marks an important point in the relationship between these two lovers.
Part 1 > http://www.furaffinity.net/view/15091783/
Part 2 > http://www.furaffinity.net/view/15252794/
Brooke shuddered as the blast icy air blew past her. Snow carried by the wind flew up her thick-woven winter cloak and landed on her back, chilling her further. All around her, the Abbey grounds were knee deep in snow with more falling from the clouds every moment. The pond had long been frozen over and the trees from the orchard had lost their leaves and stood bare for almost two months.
“I hate this season,” Brooke stuttered, her teeth chattering in the cold.
“Really? Winter is my favorite.” Dagen said from beside her.
Brooke and Dagen had volunteered to fetch iceberries from the orchard. Iceberries were small, red berries that grew only in the colder months. Though Redwall had plenty of stored fruits, vegetables, nuts, and other food preserved from the autumn harvest, having something fresh to eat in the cold, bitter months helped to life everyone’s spirits. When the kitchen staff had asked for someone to collect a basket from the orchard, Dagen, the sole volunteer, had offered to go retrieve them. On his way out, he recruited Brooke as his helper.
Simply leaving the Abbey had been challenging enough. The wind had blown drifts taller than a badger against most of the Abbey, including the doors. Even with a few other otters pushing against the doors, they hadn’t budged, so Brooke, Dagen, and a few moles had jumped from a first floor window onto the drifts below. While the moles worked to clear the snow away from the entrance to the Great Hall, the two lovers trudged through the mounts of white powder toward the orchard, where the iceberries practically glowed red against the snow-covered ground.
Gathering the berries had not been difficult, as they were easily visible, and the cold had motived Brooke to move more quickly than she normally would have. Dagen, however, seemed to take his time. After spending much more time in the cold than Brooke wanted, the two managed to fill the basket which both otters held between them.
“How can you like winter? It’s cold, windy, and there’s no place to swim and we have to stay inside most of the time. It drives me crazy.”
“I don’t know. I’ve always enjoyed feeling a cold breeze against my fur. It’s sort of like being in the river, plus these thick cloaks keep me plenty warm.” Dagen indicated the thick, crimson cover that he had grabbed from his room before heading outside. “You aren’t exactly naked either.”
The deep green cloak that covered Brooke had been a present from Dagen at the harvest feast that had occurred in the autumn.
Brooke laughed. “Of course you would enjoy wearing clothes.” Unlike most otters, Dagen had never been comfortable without clothing, a trait that Brooke found both admirable and hilarious.
Dagen remained solemn. “I don’t deny it.”
“Regardless,” Brooke shivered, “let’s get inside and close to a fire. My whiskers are practically frozen already.”
Without warning, Dagen let go of his side of the basket, picked up a pawful for snow, and threw it at Brooke. The ball of pure cold hit her on the shoulder and broke into a thousand pieces, most of which landed on her neck. Brooke shook from the sudden jolt from the icy projectile. Slowly, she placed the basket on the ground and turned toward her lover.
“Brooke, I’m sorry,” Dagen apologized, worried he had upset her. “I was just messing around, I didn’t mean to…” A ball of snow to the face cut his voice off. After he had wiped the snow from his eyes, he saw Brooke smiling and holding another snowball.
“If I were you, I’d start running.”
Dagen ducked underneath Brooke’s next snowball and threw a few in return. The two otters laughed as the snowy ammunition flew back and forth between them. After a few minutes of dancing around each other, Dagen darted forward and lightly tackled Brooke, dragging her into the snow.
The two continued to roll around in the snow, playfully fighting until Brooke pinned Dagen beneath her.
“I could get out of this you know,” Dagen panted, almost out of breath, “but I like the view from down here just fine.”
Brooke smiled and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “You love me, right?”
“Of course I do.”
Brooke pulled Dagen close to her face. “Then get me inside and next to a fire,” she said sternly.
Dagen grinned and stood up. After he helped Brooke to her feet, he retrieved the basket of iceberries from where it had rested during the snowball fight. Carrying the basket it one paw and taking Brooke’s paw with the other, Dagen escorted her back toward the Abbey.
When the two otters reached the doors, they found the moles had already finished clearing the snow and had gone inside. Dagen opened the door for Brooke and followed her inside.
In the entryway, Dagen helped Brooke remove her cloak and hung it on a hook next to his own. Brooke stretched her arms, glad to be free of the cumbersome garment. Even in the winter, Brooke dressed light, wearing a simple blouse and skirt that would be more suited to the summer. Dagen, in contrast, wore trousers and a thick tunic.
As Brooke raised her arms to stretch, Dagen grabbed her around the middle and pulled her close. “So about that fire…”
“And what have you two been doing?” a strong female voice said from behind them.
Dagen and Brooke turned around and saw Dagen’s mother with her paws on her hips, wearing her usual apron. Before either could answer her, she continued, smiling and shaking her head.
“Look at you! Soaking wet, fur mussed up, covered in snow. Take a brief detour coming back from the orchard?”
“Well…” Dagen looked sheepish, “there might have been a brief snowball fight and wrestling match, but we got the berries.”
“Well, you managed that at least,” Dagen’s mother sighed as she pulled a hand towel from her apron pocket. “Let’s get that face dry.” She rubbed the towel across Dagen’s face as he tried to pull away.
“Ouch. Mum, watch it! That’s my eye. Mum, stop it. I’m not a kit, I can dry myself.” Dagen managed to push his mother’s arm away and hand her the basket. “Here are the berries. Brooke and I are going to go find a fireplace and warm up. See you at dinner.”
“At least give your mother a hug before you disappear.”
Dagen stepped up to his mother, whose head only came up to his chest. He put his arms around her and had to bend over when she gave him a kiss. “Love you, Mum.”
“I love you too, Wriggler.”
“Mum!” Dagen groaned and rolled his eyes. “Do you have to call me that?”
“It’s cute.”
“I’m not a kit, mum. It’s embarrassing.”
“You’ll always be a little kit to me.”
“Frien can be your little kit. He acts like it most of the time, anyway.”
“Oh, be nice to your younger brother.”
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
Dagen and Brooke walked through the Great Hall and started toward the Redwall dormitories, looking for an unoccupied fireplace.
“I keep forgetting how much I like your mother,” Brooke mentioned to Dagen.
“Yeah, I love her, but she keeps forgetting I’m an adult.”
“She just wants to hold onto her sweet little kit forever,” Brook said in a cutesy voice, pinching Dagen’s cheek. “My mother is the same way. The dress she made me for my last name-day had too many frills and too much lace.”
“I suppose she means well.”
“That’s what I thought….Wriggler.”
Dagen groaned and rolled his eyes again. “Don’t you start calling me that too.”
“Maybe I should. I’ve had you wriggling beneath me a few times…”
“Not so loud!” Dagen hushed her. “Somebody might here.”
“Okay, okay.” Brooke quieted down. “So what’s the story behind it?”
Dagen sighed. “When I was young, I used to twist around in my sleep. My father said I was wriggling like a trout. The name stuck from there. I’m just glad that they didn’t decide on ‘Trout’. What about you? Any childhood pet-names from your parents?”
Brooke’s ears turned red. “Umm…Leech.”
Dagen laughed so hard he thought he would fall over. “Your parents called you Leech!” he managed to gasp out between fits of glee.
Brooke punched Dagen on the shoulder, convincing him to stop his chuckling. “I never wanted to leave my mother or father. I clung onto them all the time. Even after I learned to walk, I’d still be latched to one of their legs.”
“I don’t think I’ll call you that.”
“You better not if you want to keep being a wriggler.” Brooke nuzzled Dagen’s cheek. “Now let’s go find a fireplace.”
Each floor of the dormitory had a small common room with a fireplace in it. Because most creatures were awake and working, Dagen had hoped at least one would be more private. The first floor commons proved to be full, and the two otters had to dodge around the stream of creatures entering and exiting. Young ones dashed around, forcing the larger creatures to step over them (how did they move so quickly on such short legs?). A few of them wanted rides on Dagen’s shoulders, and he was happy to oblige. The tiny creatures, some of them little more than babes, squealed in delight from the impressive height. After each young one had been given a ride, Dagen and Brooke left to find another fireplace.
The second floor commons was far less crowded, but still occupied, so the two continued to the third floor.
Thankfully, the common room on the third floor was empty and had a fire going. Dagen grabbed a few cushions from a corner of the room and tossed them in front of the fire, followed by a large, soft blanket.
“Honestly, I’m warm and dry already, but I wouldn’t complain about snuggling by the fire.”
“Neither would I,” Brooke replied.
Brooke lay down first and rolled onto her side, facing the fire. Dagen got down behind her and tried to lie parallel to Brooke so that they were spooning. When they both were comfortable, Dagen covered them both with the blanket and put one arm around Brooke’s middle, pulling her close. He used his other arm as a pillow for the both of them. As the two lay together, Dagen felt warmth filling his entire body. He couldn’t tell if it was the heat from the fire or from Brooke, but he didn’t care.
The two loving otters rested in silence for a while, watching the logs in the fireplace slowly turn black and break into embers.
After what felt like an eternity, Dagen spoke up, almost whispering. “Brooke, I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replied sleepily.
“I mean it. I love you more than anything else. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you marry me?”
Brooke turned around so she was facing Dagen. A smile filled her face and tears formed in her eyes. “Yes. Of course I will. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
Dagen leaned in and tenderly kissed Brooke on the lips, allowing their tongues to briefly touch. When they parted and Dagen opened his eyes, he saw that Brooke was crying. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you?” he asked, concerned.
“No,” Brooke shook her head, tears still falling. “I’m just so happy, just so…I love you.”
Pulling her close, Dagen whispered into her ear again. “And I love you. For the rest of my life, every single moment. I love you.”
As the two otters resumed cuddling in front of the blazing hearth, they started dozing. Between the cozy fire, his new fiancée, and the warm blanket, Dagen was certain he would fall asleep.
“Dagen,” Brook spoke quietly.
“Yes?”
“I think I’m beginning to like the winter.”
Part 1 > http://www.furaffinity.net/view/15091783/
Part 2 > http://www.furaffinity.net/view/15252794/
Brooke shuddered as the blast icy air blew past her. Snow carried by the wind flew up her thick-woven winter cloak and landed on her back, chilling her further. All around her, the Abbey grounds were knee deep in snow with more falling from the clouds every moment. The pond had long been frozen over and the trees from the orchard had lost their leaves and stood bare for almost two months.
“I hate this season,” Brooke stuttered, her teeth chattering in the cold.
“Really? Winter is my favorite.” Dagen said from beside her.
Brooke and Dagen had volunteered to fetch iceberries from the orchard. Iceberries were small, red berries that grew only in the colder months. Though Redwall had plenty of stored fruits, vegetables, nuts, and other food preserved from the autumn harvest, having something fresh to eat in the cold, bitter months helped to life everyone’s spirits. When the kitchen staff had asked for someone to collect a basket from the orchard, Dagen, the sole volunteer, had offered to go retrieve them. On his way out, he recruited Brooke as his helper.
Simply leaving the Abbey had been challenging enough. The wind had blown drifts taller than a badger against most of the Abbey, including the doors. Even with a few other otters pushing against the doors, they hadn’t budged, so Brooke, Dagen, and a few moles had jumped from a first floor window onto the drifts below. While the moles worked to clear the snow away from the entrance to the Great Hall, the two lovers trudged through the mounts of white powder toward the orchard, where the iceberries practically glowed red against the snow-covered ground.
Gathering the berries had not been difficult, as they were easily visible, and the cold had motived Brooke to move more quickly than she normally would have. Dagen, however, seemed to take his time. After spending much more time in the cold than Brooke wanted, the two managed to fill the basket which both otters held between them.
“How can you like winter? It’s cold, windy, and there’s no place to swim and we have to stay inside most of the time. It drives me crazy.”
“I don’t know. I’ve always enjoyed feeling a cold breeze against my fur. It’s sort of like being in the river, plus these thick cloaks keep me plenty warm.” Dagen indicated the thick, crimson cover that he had grabbed from his room before heading outside. “You aren’t exactly naked either.”
The deep green cloak that covered Brooke had been a present from Dagen at the harvest feast that had occurred in the autumn.
Brooke laughed. “Of course you would enjoy wearing clothes.” Unlike most otters, Dagen had never been comfortable without clothing, a trait that Brooke found both admirable and hilarious.
Dagen remained solemn. “I don’t deny it.”
“Regardless,” Brooke shivered, “let’s get inside and close to a fire. My whiskers are practically frozen already.”
Without warning, Dagen let go of his side of the basket, picked up a pawful for snow, and threw it at Brooke. The ball of pure cold hit her on the shoulder and broke into a thousand pieces, most of which landed on her neck. Brooke shook from the sudden jolt from the icy projectile. Slowly, she placed the basket on the ground and turned toward her lover.
“Brooke, I’m sorry,” Dagen apologized, worried he had upset her. “I was just messing around, I didn’t mean to…” A ball of snow to the face cut his voice off. After he had wiped the snow from his eyes, he saw Brooke smiling and holding another snowball.
“If I were you, I’d start running.”
Dagen ducked underneath Brooke’s next snowball and threw a few in return. The two otters laughed as the snowy ammunition flew back and forth between them. After a few minutes of dancing around each other, Dagen darted forward and lightly tackled Brooke, dragging her into the snow.
The two continued to roll around in the snow, playfully fighting until Brooke pinned Dagen beneath her.
“I could get out of this you know,” Dagen panted, almost out of breath, “but I like the view from down here just fine.”
Brooke smiled and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “You love me, right?”
“Of course I do.”
Brooke pulled Dagen close to her face. “Then get me inside and next to a fire,” she said sternly.
Dagen grinned and stood up. After he helped Brooke to her feet, he retrieved the basket of iceberries from where it had rested during the snowball fight. Carrying the basket it one paw and taking Brooke’s paw with the other, Dagen escorted her back toward the Abbey.
When the two otters reached the doors, they found the moles had already finished clearing the snow and had gone inside. Dagen opened the door for Brooke and followed her inside.
In the entryway, Dagen helped Brooke remove her cloak and hung it on a hook next to his own. Brooke stretched her arms, glad to be free of the cumbersome garment. Even in the winter, Brooke dressed light, wearing a simple blouse and skirt that would be more suited to the summer. Dagen, in contrast, wore trousers and a thick tunic.
As Brooke raised her arms to stretch, Dagen grabbed her around the middle and pulled her close. “So about that fire…”
“And what have you two been doing?” a strong female voice said from behind them.
Dagen and Brooke turned around and saw Dagen’s mother with her paws on her hips, wearing her usual apron. Before either could answer her, she continued, smiling and shaking her head.
“Look at you! Soaking wet, fur mussed up, covered in snow. Take a brief detour coming back from the orchard?”
“Well…” Dagen looked sheepish, “there might have been a brief snowball fight and wrestling match, but we got the berries.”
“Well, you managed that at least,” Dagen’s mother sighed as she pulled a hand towel from her apron pocket. “Let’s get that face dry.” She rubbed the towel across Dagen’s face as he tried to pull away.
“Ouch. Mum, watch it! That’s my eye. Mum, stop it. I’m not a kit, I can dry myself.” Dagen managed to push his mother’s arm away and hand her the basket. “Here are the berries. Brooke and I are going to go find a fireplace and warm up. See you at dinner.”
“At least give your mother a hug before you disappear.”
Dagen stepped up to his mother, whose head only came up to his chest. He put his arms around her and had to bend over when she gave him a kiss. “Love you, Mum.”
“I love you too, Wriggler.”
“Mum!” Dagen groaned and rolled his eyes. “Do you have to call me that?”
“It’s cute.”
“I’m not a kit, mum. It’s embarrassing.”
“You’ll always be a little kit to me.”
“Frien can be your little kit. He acts like it most of the time, anyway.”
“Oh, be nice to your younger brother.”
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
Dagen and Brooke walked through the Great Hall and started toward the Redwall dormitories, looking for an unoccupied fireplace.
“I keep forgetting how much I like your mother,” Brooke mentioned to Dagen.
“Yeah, I love her, but she keeps forgetting I’m an adult.”
“She just wants to hold onto her sweet little kit forever,” Brook said in a cutesy voice, pinching Dagen’s cheek. “My mother is the same way. The dress she made me for my last name-day had too many frills and too much lace.”
“I suppose she means well.”
“That’s what I thought….Wriggler.”
Dagen groaned and rolled his eyes again. “Don’t you start calling me that too.”
“Maybe I should. I’ve had you wriggling beneath me a few times…”
“Not so loud!” Dagen hushed her. “Somebody might here.”
“Okay, okay.” Brooke quieted down. “So what’s the story behind it?”
Dagen sighed. “When I was young, I used to twist around in my sleep. My father said I was wriggling like a trout. The name stuck from there. I’m just glad that they didn’t decide on ‘Trout’. What about you? Any childhood pet-names from your parents?”
Brooke’s ears turned red. “Umm…Leech.”
Dagen laughed so hard he thought he would fall over. “Your parents called you Leech!” he managed to gasp out between fits of glee.
Brooke punched Dagen on the shoulder, convincing him to stop his chuckling. “I never wanted to leave my mother or father. I clung onto them all the time. Even after I learned to walk, I’d still be latched to one of their legs.”
“I don’t think I’ll call you that.”
“You better not if you want to keep being a wriggler.” Brooke nuzzled Dagen’s cheek. “Now let’s go find a fireplace.”
Each floor of the dormitory had a small common room with a fireplace in it. Because most creatures were awake and working, Dagen had hoped at least one would be more private. The first floor commons proved to be full, and the two otters had to dodge around the stream of creatures entering and exiting. Young ones dashed around, forcing the larger creatures to step over them (how did they move so quickly on such short legs?). A few of them wanted rides on Dagen’s shoulders, and he was happy to oblige. The tiny creatures, some of them little more than babes, squealed in delight from the impressive height. After each young one had been given a ride, Dagen and Brooke left to find another fireplace.
The second floor commons was far less crowded, but still occupied, so the two continued to the third floor.
Thankfully, the common room on the third floor was empty and had a fire going. Dagen grabbed a few cushions from a corner of the room and tossed them in front of the fire, followed by a large, soft blanket.
“Honestly, I’m warm and dry already, but I wouldn’t complain about snuggling by the fire.”
“Neither would I,” Brooke replied.
Brooke lay down first and rolled onto her side, facing the fire. Dagen got down behind her and tried to lie parallel to Brooke so that they were spooning. When they both were comfortable, Dagen covered them both with the blanket and put one arm around Brooke’s middle, pulling her close. He used his other arm as a pillow for the both of them. As the two lay together, Dagen felt warmth filling his entire body. He couldn’t tell if it was the heat from the fire or from Brooke, but he didn’t care.
The two loving otters rested in silence for a while, watching the logs in the fireplace slowly turn black and break into embers.
After what felt like an eternity, Dagen spoke up, almost whispering. “Brooke, I love you.”
“I love you too,” she replied sleepily.
“I mean it. I love you more than anything else. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you marry me?”
Brooke turned around so she was facing Dagen. A smile filled her face and tears formed in her eyes. “Yes. Of course I will. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
Dagen leaned in and tenderly kissed Brooke on the lips, allowing their tongues to briefly touch. When they parted and Dagen opened his eyes, he saw that Brooke was crying. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you?” he asked, concerned.
“No,” Brooke shook her head, tears still falling. “I’m just so happy, just so…I love you.”
Pulling her close, Dagen whispered into her ear again. “And I love you. For the rest of my life, every single moment. I love you.”
As the two otters resumed cuddling in front of the blazing hearth, they started dozing. Between the cozy fire, his new fiancée, and the warm blanket, Dagen was certain he would fall asleep.
“Dagen,” Brook spoke quietly.
“Yes?”
“I think I’m beginning to like the winter.”
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Otter
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 20.1 kB
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