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A Night of Burns
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to
EOCostello
Thumbnail by
tegerio, color by 
Major Matt Mason
One
The kilt felt comfortable, and the jacket fit very well. I examined my reflection in the mirror and carefully adjusted the glengarry to a slightly jaunty angle. Prince Erik had worn it like that, and I liked the look, although it’d fail the King’s Regulations.
“That looks good on you, Westersloe,” and my ears went straight out as I whirled. The kilt flared as I spun, requiring me to half-bend over and slap my paws down on the fabric to keep it from getting too far above my knees.
Anastasia was grinning at me as I got over my surprise, and my dear mate tipped her head to one side. “Hmm, ready access. What’s worn under your kilt, Westersloe?”
“[Mate-precious],” I replied, “you know perfectly well that everything’s in perfect working order.”
“If it's in perfect working order, that's the only part of him that is,” the Wolf Queen helpfully supplied as she came up behind Anastasia.
“Shaddap,” I said.
My dear wife was still in a teasing mood. “What do you have under there?”
“If you have to ask, love, after all these years,” and after making sure I had the angle judged right (no sense in flashing the Wolf Queen; she wouldn’t appreciate it) I flipped the kilt up a little to show I was wearing clean small-clothes under the pleated plaid.
My wife smirked before chuckling, “Spoilsport. But I see you followed your mother’s advice.”
“As all good fawns should,” I said.
The Wolf Queen was eyeing the ensemble critically. “I wonder why they gave that to you,” she said.
I shrugged. “Elves Don’t Lie, I’m a little mystified about it myself. I mean, I know that the Wanderers like me for letting them settle in Trans-Elfhame after you led them here, and the ex-Prisoners all have families down there now. It’s a nice gift, but in what the Weavers’ Guild calls an ‘Elfhame plaid?’” I eyed the wolfess. “Do you know anything about it?”
She shook her head. “You’re no help today,” I grumbled. She ignored me.
We all turned as Anastasia’s maid, Nippy softly cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” the ermine said.
“Yes, Nippy?” Anastasia asked.
“There is a Sergeant Seamus MacGonagall at the front door, asking to see the Master.” The three of us, roe deer and wolfess, glanced at each other.
I said, “I’ll go see what he wants,” and eased past my mate (just in case she wanted to reach under my kilt) and dodged past the Wolf Queen (just in case she tried to knock the glengarry off my head) and followed Nippy down the stairs.
It occurred to me while I was walking downstairs that I’d never heard the Sergeant’s first name before. He was the highest-ranking of the ex-Prisoners since Prince Erik returned to the Gray Horde and married his sister Lucretia. Based on his last letter to me, the happy couple had two cubs, both boys.
The rest of the wolves I’d taken prisoner at the Glittering Isle had settled on the other side of the [Stranger’s River] with a large group of semi-nomadic wolves that the Wolf Queen had encountered some time ago. Wolves plus wolfesses equal cubs; even I knew that. I also knew there was some traffic in letters going up and down the Great North Road after Prince Erik’s repatriation, but I had little idea of the subjects of the correspondence.
This being Elfhame just after the New Year, the weather was cold and there was some snow here and there on the ground. Sergeant MacGonagall, an older wolf with the ramrod-straight mien of a career sergeant, stood stolidly on the front doorstep with [Little Toy] gazing at him. The minkess automaton was clearly making sure that the wolf didn’t attempt to cross the threshold without wiping his feet. He was dressed in plaid trews and a heavy coat, and he took off his hat and bowed as soon as he saw me. “Master,” he said.
“Sergeant MacGonagall,” I said, and when he straightened I asked, “What brings you up here? Is anything wrong?”
“Nae, Master, an’ Alpha bless ye fer askin,’” the wolf said. He managed, somehow, to stand up straighter. “I’ve coom up t’yer big hoose t’gie ye a budget o’ news,” and he glanced at [Little Toy], “an’ I’ll nae be dirtyin’ yer floors, Miss.”
[Little Toy] swished her tail and nodded, while I said, “Fine, let’s step outside and have a talk.” He moved back to let me go past him, and he fell in beside me.
Elves Don’t Lie. I’ve never worn a kilt before, and at first the warm woolen fabric kept the cold out. When the breeze freshened, though – well, if I had a tail, I would have been flagging.
Sure it was chilly, but overall the winter hadn’t been very severe, and Elfhame was beginning the New Year on a good note. There was plenty of food, and no one had either died or left to go on their Long Walk. King Adler was still on his throne, Fuma bless him.
By order of the King and his brother, my liege-lord Prince Roland, I was still “on assignment” in Elfhame. Likely with a scrawled "And STAY THERE!" added by Crown Prince Gawain.
MacGonagall smiled tolerantly at my reaction to the weather. We walked a few yards from the Master’s Lodge and I asked, “What is on your mind, Sergeant?”
“Tha’s th’ first thing, Master,” the wolf said. “We – me an’ t’lads – we’ve been talkin’ ta our kin down in t’Duchy, ye ken, an’ it’s a hard go, an’ no lie.”
“I can imagine.” When word reached the Gray Horde that the force sent to capture the Glittering Isle had been taken prisoner, the Grand Duke at the time had declared them all dead. “Prince Erik said you all could go back, if you wanted.”
“Aye, ‘tis so, but ye ken we’ve accepted our lot, as t’Alpha willed,” MacGonagall said, “an’ we’ve all found mates from t’Wanderers,” and he grinned at me, “as I’m sairtain ye already know.”
I chuckled. There’d been a bit of a population explosion down in Glenallid, almost matching the number of fawns born in Elfhame since the Regeneration.
“So th’ lads an’ me, we had a talk wit’ them as run the Wanderers,” MacGonagall said, “an’ it’s decided we’ll set up Glenallid as a proper settlement.”
“Well!” I said, and smiled. “I wish you all the best of luck.”
“An’ I thank ye, Master, but there’s mair.”
“Oh?”
He gave me a sidelong look. “A village needs a laird.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to
EOCostelloThumbnail by
tegerio, color by 
Major Matt MasonOne
The kilt felt comfortable, and the jacket fit very well. I examined my reflection in the mirror and carefully adjusted the glengarry to a slightly jaunty angle. Prince Erik had worn it like that, and I liked the look, although it’d fail the King’s Regulations.
“That looks good on you, Westersloe,” and my ears went straight out as I whirled. The kilt flared as I spun, requiring me to half-bend over and slap my paws down on the fabric to keep it from getting too far above my knees.
Anastasia was grinning at me as I got over my surprise, and my dear mate tipped her head to one side. “Hmm, ready access. What’s worn under your kilt, Westersloe?”
“[Mate-precious],” I replied, “you know perfectly well that everything’s in perfect working order.”
“If it's in perfect working order, that's the only part of him that is,” the Wolf Queen helpfully supplied as she came up behind Anastasia.
“Shaddap,” I said.
My dear wife was still in a teasing mood. “What do you have under there?”
“If you have to ask, love, after all these years,” and after making sure I had the angle judged right (no sense in flashing the Wolf Queen; she wouldn’t appreciate it) I flipped the kilt up a little to show I was wearing clean small-clothes under the pleated plaid.
My wife smirked before chuckling, “Spoilsport. But I see you followed your mother’s advice.”
“As all good fawns should,” I said.
The Wolf Queen was eyeing the ensemble critically. “I wonder why they gave that to you,” she said.
I shrugged. “Elves Don’t Lie, I’m a little mystified about it myself. I mean, I know that the Wanderers like me for letting them settle in Trans-Elfhame after you led them here, and the ex-Prisoners all have families down there now. It’s a nice gift, but in what the Weavers’ Guild calls an ‘Elfhame plaid?’” I eyed the wolfess. “Do you know anything about it?”
She shook her head. “You’re no help today,” I grumbled. She ignored me.
We all turned as Anastasia’s maid, Nippy softly cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” the ermine said.
“Yes, Nippy?” Anastasia asked.
“There is a Sergeant Seamus MacGonagall at the front door, asking to see the Master.” The three of us, roe deer and wolfess, glanced at each other.
I said, “I’ll go see what he wants,” and eased past my mate (just in case she wanted to reach under my kilt) and dodged past the Wolf Queen (just in case she tried to knock the glengarry off my head) and followed Nippy down the stairs.
It occurred to me while I was walking downstairs that I’d never heard the Sergeant’s first name before. He was the highest-ranking of the ex-Prisoners since Prince Erik returned to the Gray Horde and married his sister Lucretia. Based on his last letter to me, the happy couple had two cubs, both boys.
The rest of the wolves I’d taken prisoner at the Glittering Isle had settled on the other side of the [Stranger’s River] with a large group of semi-nomadic wolves that the Wolf Queen had encountered some time ago. Wolves plus wolfesses equal cubs; even I knew that. I also knew there was some traffic in letters going up and down the Great North Road after Prince Erik’s repatriation, but I had little idea of the subjects of the correspondence.
This being Elfhame just after the New Year, the weather was cold and there was some snow here and there on the ground. Sergeant MacGonagall, an older wolf with the ramrod-straight mien of a career sergeant, stood stolidly on the front doorstep with [Little Toy] gazing at him. The minkess automaton was clearly making sure that the wolf didn’t attempt to cross the threshold without wiping his feet. He was dressed in plaid trews and a heavy coat, and he took off his hat and bowed as soon as he saw me. “Master,” he said.
“Sergeant MacGonagall,” I said, and when he straightened I asked, “What brings you up here? Is anything wrong?”
“Nae, Master, an’ Alpha bless ye fer askin,’” the wolf said. He managed, somehow, to stand up straighter. “I’ve coom up t’yer big hoose t’gie ye a budget o’ news,” and he glanced at [Little Toy], “an’ I’ll nae be dirtyin’ yer floors, Miss.”
[Little Toy] swished her tail and nodded, while I said, “Fine, let’s step outside and have a talk.” He moved back to let me go past him, and he fell in beside me.
Elves Don’t Lie. I’ve never worn a kilt before, and at first the warm woolen fabric kept the cold out. When the breeze freshened, though – well, if I had a tail, I would have been flagging.
Sure it was chilly, but overall the winter hadn’t been very severe, and Elfhame was beginning the New Year on a good note. There was plenty of food, and no one had either died or left to go on their Long Walk. King Adler was still on his throne, Fuma bless him.
By order of the King and his brother, my liege-lord Prince Roland, I was still “on assignment” in Elfhame. Likely with a scrawled "And STAY THERE!" added by Crown Prince Gawain.
MacGonagall smiled tolerantly at my reaction to the weather. We walked a few yards from the Master’s Lodge and I asked, “What is on your mind, Sergeant?”
“Tha’s th’ first thing, Master,” the wolf said. “We – me an’ t’lads – we’ve been talkin’ ta our kin down in t’Duchy, ye ken, an’ it’s a hard go, an’ no lie.”
“I can imagine.” When word reached the Gray Horde that the force sent to capture the Glittering Isle had been taken prisoner, the Grand Duke at the time had declared them all dead. “Prince Erik said you all could go back, if you wanted.”
“Aye, ‘tis so, but ye ken we’ve accepted our lot, as t’Alpha willed,” MacGonagall said, “an’ we’ve all found mates from t’Wanderers,” and he grinned at me, “as I’m sairtain ye already know.”
I chuckled. There’d been a bit of a population explosion down in Glenallid, almost matching the number of fawns born in Elfhame since the Regeneration.
“So th’ lads an’ me, we had a talk wit’ them as run the Wanderers,” MacGonagall said, “an’ it’s decided we’ll set up Glenallid as a proper settlement.”
“Well!” I said, and smiled. “I wish you all the best of luck.”
“An’ I thank ye, Master, but there’s mair.”
“Oh?”
He gave me a sidelong look. “A village needs a laird.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Deer
Size 120 x 106px
File Size 59.6 kB
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