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A Night of Burns
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to
EOCostello
Thumbnail by
faust1173
Four
Yes, I felt the need for a drink, but I limited myself to one. It takes a lot of alcohol to get an Elf drunk, so this was little more than a bracer.
I also decided to get into the clothes sent to me by the [Guild of Weavers], with a clean white shirt to go along with the tweed jacket, plaid kilt and the glengarry that I’d been gifted as a sign of my nomination as the Laird of Glenallid. I almost decided to carry my short-staff openly at shoulder arms, but instead tucked it into my Elfintory just in case I needed to bash a few people over the head.
Speaking of which . . .
“I didn’t know there was a fancy dress ball somewhere,” the Wolf Queen said tartly, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. “Let me guess, you’re the comic act?”
“No, that’d be your job,” I said, shouldering past her and heading outdoors.
Amazingly for an Elfhame winter, it wasn’t raining or snowing. The sky was a clean blue with some clouds and the sun was shining. I wasn’t going to jinx it by saying anything aloud about it, but thanked the Lady and asked Her to please let it hold until I got this business over with.
Dennis was waiting for me, a portfolio containing the documents in his arms. He divined my frame of mind from my expression and said, “Look on the bright side, Master.”
“And what’s that, Dennis?”
“No one will throw overripe persimmons.”
Yes, there was that small mercy.
Glenallid had grown from the Wanderers’ encampment of gaily-painted ant-drawn wagons. There were a few half-timbered buildings grouped around a central square, with several houses and shops nearby. There was a main road, and from the pile of stones and sawn timbers by the ford it was obvious someone was planning to build a bridge, probably for foot or hoof traffic, over the river to connect the village to the rest of Elfhame.
There was one building that I guessed was consecrated to the Alpha, with a message board erected beside the door. “Okay,” I said to Dennis, “Affix the copies of the Charter and the Deed to the board, and we can get out of here.”
“You sure, Master?”
I tried not to grind my teeth. “Just do it, please.”
Dennis did the job with a short application of Gramerye to essentially make the papyrus part of the wooden boards. He turned away from the message board and stiffened. “Um, Master?”
“What?”
He pointed, I turned, and I felt my ears droop at the sight of every wolf, mel, femme and cub, in Glenallid standing around the village square, looking at us.
And smiling.
Not really anything any deer, feral or anthro, really likes to see. It’s usually a moment accompanied by ear-flattening and tummies-clenching. “Er,” I ventured.
Sergeant MacGonagall stepped forward and asked, “An’ is it so, Master, that ye weren’t plannin’ on readin’ th’ Charter out?” He glanced around at the other wolves. “Not all here ken th’ Standard.”
I suppressed a sigh, gestured for Dennis to take the Charter off the message board, and after casting an amplification cantrip on my throat, began to read the new village’s charter aloud.
As soon as I began, all the mels doffed their caps if they were wearing one, while all the wolfesses drew their shawls over their heads and bowed their heads. I guessed that the gestures of respect weren’t necessarily for the King, but for me.
I took this philosophically. I live just across the river; the King’s quite a lot farther away.
I wrapped up, and lowered the document. MacGonagall gave his compatriots a long glance before turning to me with an almost vulpine level of Shifty Look. “Ye say yer authority cooms frae th’ Deed o’ Gift,” he said.
“Er, yes,” I said.
“An’ could ye, Master, tell us what’s in it?” He glanced at his fellow villagers. “Jist so we all know it, richt, everyone?”
‘Everyone’ laughed.
This time, I didn’t bother to suppress the sigh. I’d noticed that as I read out the Charter in Standard, several wolves were translating for those who only understood Wandersprach. At least I wouldn’t have to excuse myself to get a table to hide behind.
A very young wolfess, maybe ten summers old, walked up and offered me a cup of water. “Thank you very much,” I said. She curtsied and headed back to her mother. After moistening a dry throat, Dennis gave me the Deed of Gift and after clearing my throat again I began to read aloud.
The first parts of it were fairly standard, and I saw quite a few wolves nodding along. It was when I got to what Estvan would call “the fun bit,” I saw the Wolf Queen, wings manifested, standing alongside Sergeant MacGonagall.
I paused. “Why are you here, wolfess?”
She smirked. “Just making sure you say all of it.” I rolled my eyes and resumed.
All the wolves laughed when I got to the point where femmes had the option of either curtsying to me or showing their breasts. The mels among the Wanderers raised their brows and exchanged glances with each other, but appeared confident that, as a roebuck, I wouldn’t damage any family honor by, er, seizing the moment.
I managed to get through the entire list of the Master’s various privileges without getting pelted with anything, and for a moment there was a silence.
A silence broken by MacGonagall shouting, “Three cheers fer th’ Master o’ Elfhame! Hip, hip!”
“HURRAH!” all the wolves shouted.
“Hip, hip!”
“HURRAH!”
“Hip, hip!”
“HURRAH!”
And all the mature female wolves of Glenallid, arrayed in age from just beyond their maturity to the oldest, flashed their tits at me. It was an impressive display, Elves Don’t Lie, and more impressive because it went from left to right like a wave, and when the oldest wolfess closed her blouse she turned to go back to her wagon and flicked her tailfur at me.
The others laughed while my ears went straight down.
Dennis was replacing the Charter and the Deed on the message board as Sergeant MacGonagall gestured for quiet. “Master o’ Glenallid,” he said with a broad grin, “there’s through th’ Alpha’s Grace,” and here he nodded at the Wolf Queen, “enough families an’ cubs so we can revive a custom frae th’ Grand Duchy.”
“Apart from investing me as laird?” I asked.
“It’ll part o’ th’ same dinner, that o’ Burns Night.”
I blinked. "’Burns Night?’ Is it named for a person?"
"Nae."
"I hope you're not planning on setting fires - "
"Nae, Alpha lick tha face, Master.” MacGonagall waved the thought away as the other ex-Prisoners chuckled. “Th' nacht celebrates the great gift o' t'Alpha to Her cubs, namely, th' gift o' language ta score off their fellows."
My ears went up. "So . . . 'burns' as in - ?"
MacGonagall’s smile broadened. "Insults, aye."
[url=]<NEXT>[/url]
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to
EOCostelloThumbnail by
faust1173Four
Yes, I felt the need for a drink, but I limited myself to one. It takes a lot of alcohol to get an Elf drunk, so this was little more than a bracer.
I also decided to get into the clothes sent to me by the [Guild of Weavers], with a clean white shirt to go along with the tweed jacket, plaid kilt and the glengarry that I’d been gifted as a sign of my nomination as the Laird of Glenallid. I almost decided to carry my short-staff openly at shoulder arms, but instead tucked it into my Elfintory just in case I needed to bash a few people over the head.
Speaking of which . . .
“I didn’t know there was a fancy dress ball somewhere,” the Wolf Queen said tartly, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. “Let me guess, you’re the comic act?”
“No, that’d be your job,” I said, shouldering past her and heading outdoors.
Amazingly for an Elfhame winter, it wasn’t raining or snowing. The sky was a clean blue with some clouds and the sun was shining. I wasn’t going to jinx it by saying anything aloud about it, but thanked the Lady and asked Her to please let it hold until I got this business over with.
Dennis was waiting for me, a portfolio containing the documents in his arms. He divined my frame of mind from my expression and said, “Look on the bright side, Master.”
“And what’s that, Dennis?”
“No one will throw overripe persimmons.”
Yes, there was that small mercy.
Glenallid had grown from the Wanderers’ encampment of gaily-painted ant-drawn wagons. There were a few half-timbered buildings grouped around a central square, with several houses and shops nearby. There was a main road, and from the pile of stones and sawn timbers by the ford it was obvious someone was planning to build a bridge, probably for foot or hoof traffic, over the river to connect the village to the rest of Elfhame.
There was one building that I guessed was consecrated to the Alpha, with a message board erected beside the door. “Okay,” I said to Dennis, “Affix the copies of the Charter and the Deed to the board, and we can get out of here.”
“You sure, Master?”
I tried not to grind my teeth. “Just do it, please.”
Dennis did the job with a short application of Gramerye to essentially make the papyrus part of the wooden boards. He turned away from the message board and stiffened. “Um, Master?”
“What?”
He pointed, I turned, and I felt my ears droop at the sight of every wolf, mel, femme and cub, in Glenallid standing around the village square, looking at us.
And smiling.
Not really anything any deer, feral or anthro, really likes to see. It’s usually a moment accompanied by ear-flattening and tummies-clenching. “Er,” I ventured.
Sergeant MacGonagall stepped forward and asked, “An’ is it so, Master, that ye weren’t plannin’ on readin’ th’ Charter out?” He glanced around at the other wolves. “Not all here ken th’ Standard.”
I suppressed a sigh, gestured for Dennis to take the Charter off the message board, and after casting an amplification cantrip on my throat, began to read the new village’s charter aloud.
As soon as I began, all the mels doffed their caps if they were wearing one, while all the wolfesses drew their shawls over their heads and bowed their heads. I guessed that the gestures of respect weren’t necessarily for the King, but for me.
I took this philosophically. I live just across the river; the King’s quite a lot farther away.
I wrapped up, and lowered the document. MacGonagall gave his compatriots a long glance before turning to me with an almost vulpine level of Shifty Look. “Ye say yer authority cooms frae th’ Deed o’ Gift,” he said.
“Er, yes,” I said.
“An’ could ye, Master, tell us what’s in it?” He glanced at his fellow villagers. “Jist so we all know it, richt, everyone?”
‘Everyone’ laughed.
This time, I didn’t bother to suppress the sigh. I’d noticed that as I read out the Charter in Standard, several wolves were translating for those who only understood Wandersprach. At least I wouldn’t have to excuse myself to get a table to hide behind.
A very young wolfess, maybe ten summers old, walked up and offered me a cup of water. “Thank you very much,” I said. She curtsied and headed back to her mother. After moistening a dry throat, Dennis gave me the Deed of Gift and after clearing my throat again I began to read aloud.
The first parts of it were fairly standard, and I saw quite a few wolves nodding along. It was when I got to what Estvan would call “the fun bit,” I saw the Wolf Queen, wings manifested, standing alongside Sergeant MacGonagall.
I paused. “Why are you here, wolfess?”
She smirked. “Just making sure you say all of it.” I rolled my eyes and resumed.
All the wolves laughed when I got to the point where femmes had the option of either curtsying to me or showing their breasts. The mels among the Wanderers raised their brows and exchanged glances with each other, but appeared confident that, as a roebuck, I wouldn’t damage any family honor by, er, seizing the moment.
I managed to get through the entire list of the Master’s various privileges without getting pelted with anything, and for a moment there was a silence.
A silence broken by MacGonagall shouting, “Three cheers fer th’ Master o’ Elfhame! Hip, hip!”
“HURRAH!” all the wolves shouted.
“Hip, hip!”
“HURRAH!”
“Hip, hip!”
“HURRAH!”
And all the mature female wolves of Glenallid, arrayed in age from just beyond their maturity to the oldest, flashed their tits at me. It was an impressive display, Elves Don’t Lie, and more impressive because it went from left to right like a wave, and when the oldest wolfess closed her blouse she turned to go back to her wagon and flicked her tailfur at me.
The others laughed while my ears went straight down.
Dennis was replacing the Charter and the Deed on the message board as Sergeant MacGonagall gestured for quiet. “Master o’ Glenallid,” he said with a broad grin, “there’s through th’ Alpha’s Grace,” and here he nodded at the Wolf Queen, “enough families an’ cubs so we can revive a custom frae th’ Grand Duchy.”
“Apart from investing me as laird?” I asked.
“It’ll part o’ th’ same dinner, that o’ Burns Night.”
I blinked. "’Burns Night?’ Is it named for a person?"
"Nae."
"I hope you're not planning on setting fires - "
"Nae, Alpha lick tha face, Master.” MacGonagall waved the thought away as the other ex-Prisoners chuckled. “Th' nacht celebrates the great gift o' t'Alpha to Her cubs, namely, th' gift o' language ta score off their fellows."
My ears went up. "So . . . 'burns' as in - ?"
MacGonagall’s smile broadened. "Insults, aye."
[url=]<NEXT>[/url]
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Deer
Size 76 x 120px
File Size 59.7 kB
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