A Night of Burns
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to  EOCostello
Thumbnail by  tegerio and  Major Matt Mason

Five


On the face of it, this didn’t bother me too much. Having visited the Grand Duchy of the Gray Horde, witnessed a game of Insults, and participated in a lupine football game, the idea of hurling insults at dinner was well within the Grand Duchy’s ‘Beat or Be Beaten’ ethos. “Will there be betting involved?” I asked.

The sly look was joined by a smile. “Mebbe,” MacGonagall said. He favored me and the Wolf Queen with a glance and a deferential nod to the latter. Again, I was on familiar territory here. Elfhamian roebucks will bet on anything, up to and including farting contests, and I know the Gray Horde wolves are also very sporting furs.

But I sensed there was more to this. “So that’s it? Just a game of Insults?”

“Och, nae, Master!” I was assured. “Tha’s investiture an’ th’ Insults are jist th’ start! There’ll be a fine dinner as well, with all invited! Och, I recall ane when I was a cub – there was haggis fer all, and the aqua vitae flowed like water, it did.”

My ears stood straight out. “Haggis?” I asked cautiously.

The Wolf Queen’s ears perked and she started looking very interested. “Haggis?” she asked hopefully.

“Aye,” the wolf said.

At the mention of haggis, I gulped. I'd been exposed to this supposed delicacy on the journey to Crag of Dens, and the smell was decidedly off-putting to a herbivore. The Wolf Queen, on the other paw, had an unhealthy gleam in her eyes and was trying unsuccessfully not to drool.

“I was given a herbivore style of haggis, in Crag of Dens,” I began.

MacGonagall waved a meaty finger. “Nae, nane o’ that. ‘Tis a proper haggis’ll be set afore tha, Master, an’ after toastin’ it with aqua vitae tha’ll carve it, and eat it in sight o’ all present.”

“Ah! Dinner and a show!” the Wolf Queen said to me in Elf-Mind.

I ignored her.

And imagined the betting.

“I take it that everyone will be invited?” I asked. “From Elfhame, as well as from Glenallid?”

“Aye,” the wolf said. “Which means that we’ll be huntin’ sheep fer th’ haggis, an’ as Master – “

I raised a paw. “I get it. Let me know and I’ll be there.”

MacGonagall thumped me on the shoulder. “There’s a braw fellow, an’ fit ta be our Laird!”


***


I left Dennis Horne to talk with MacGonagall and the new village elders about things like taxes and such, and I started walking back to the ford. When Dennis tried to object about the consultations, I pointed out again, “I may be out of the Vale on Imperial & Royal business. You, on the other paw . . . “ He’d gulped at that, especially at the thought of his wife finding out that wolfesses were baring their breasts at him.

Case in point, one young wolfess of maybe twenty who was headed to the market paused and opened her blouse at me. I doffed my glengarry, trying not to react. Although, Elves Don’t Lie, she had a nice pair.

Walking beside me was the one wolfess I could guarantee wouldn’t bare her breasts at me. “Don’t think I’ll show you my bosom,” the Wolf Queen remarked.

See?

“You’ve seen it before,” she added.

“Yes,” I said, recalling Artemisiaford, “and I wasn’t impressed then, either.”

One of the stones in the ford lifted under my hoof, making me stumble and fall in the water as the Wolf Queen daintily stepped past me and headed back to Elfhame. Pissy wolfess.

By the Lady, that water’s cold when you’re wearing a kilt.


***


After applying some drying cantrips to my fur and kilt (and a slight warming cantrip for under the kilt - cozy!) I headed back up to the Lodge. “Well!” Anastasia said as I fastidiously wiped my hooves under the watchful gaze of [Little Toy] and came indoors. “How did things go?”

“Predictably,” I replied. “Dennis is still down there to sort out the taxes and such. I suppose I should consider adding cheese to the persimmon jam shipments.” I decided to refrain from telling her all about the ‘Burns Night’ festivities until I judged the right time had come for that.

Anastasia looked thoughtful. “You know,” she said, “I’ve never seen how cheese is made.”

I nodded. Most roe deer are quite happy to enjoy cheese, but I’m sure most have never bothered to see how it's made. “Same here,” I said, “and if I’m sending any south I should really see how it’s produced so I can vouch for it to the Royal Skunks.” I gave her a thin smile. “And since I’m supposed to be their laird, I’m sure whoever’s in charge will be happy to show us around.”

My precious mate nodded. “And you keep complaining you know nothing of Statecraft.”

“I don’t. I just want a quiet life.” Anastasia laughed at that, and after a moment I had to concede it was a very silly thought.

The next day I stopped by Dennis’ office at the [Royal Bank of Elfhame] building, where to my surprise I saw a young wolf seated beside my steward, his fingers flicking across an abacus as he did his sums. “Good morning, Master,” Dennis said. “This is young Witold,” he said, and the young wolf smiled at me. Great head for numbers, and I’m taking him on as an apprentice alongside my fawn.”

“So Witold will be working for Glenallid, as Young Dennis will be for Elfhame?” I asked. Dennis nodded and I said, “That seems fair, and a good idea. Speaking of good ideas, the [First of Eldest] and I want to go into the village and see how cheese is made,” and I saw Witold’s ears perk. “Yes, Witold?”

“My Da’s a member of th’ Guild, Master,” the young wolf said. “I’ll go tell him,” and he gave Dennis a questioning look.

My steward sent him on his way with a wave and a smile, and Witold put up his quill, inkpot and practice ledger before leaving the building at a run. I was about to say something and paused. “’Guild?’”

Dennis nodded. “The Guild of Cheesemakers. Mostly wolves, with a few old gaffers from Elfhame who still recall how to make it.”

“Oh.”




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