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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
Eleven
The Wolf Queen leaned over and gave Ooo-er a lingering kiss before picking up her cup of aqua vitae and straightening up. “I’ve been asked by all the femmes of Elfhame and Glenallid,” and she nodded to both sides, “to offer the Toast to the Men – and, to be strictly fair, some of you deserve to be toasted. Although it’d be a shame to burn down this hall to provide a good enough toasting-fire.” She paused and the femmes applauded before she turned her gaze on Ranulf. “I applaud your bravery, because you have to sleep sometime.”
Some of the mels laughed, with even a few bucks smiling at her words as she began to figuratively warm to her subject. However, she was also succeeding in keeping her mouth from stepping high, wide and handsome in front of her brain, eyeing the numerous cubs and fawns in the audience.
“We must first acknowledge all of the things mels are good for – but I doubt any Elf lives long enough to think of one of them.” She regarded a few of the roebucks. “Seriously, I can’t fathom how the does put up with you, because I’m sure they’re at risk for brain damage by sleeping beside you.” One or two does allowed themselves smiles at this, while the wolfesses laughed.
“Your skill at woodcraft is legendary, but you make rolling pins for your wives to bash you over the head with. True marvels of stupidity – and that brings me to you,” she said, turning to look at me. “You’re a perfect example – of what, I’m not sure about. You’ll go far someday. And I hope you stay there.”
Anastasia laughed at that. I just sat there and took it.
For now.
“Tonight is in honor of the Alpha’s gift of language; again, something that’s quite thrown away on you lot,” she said. “My honest advice, and Elves Don’t Lie, is stick to belching and farting to communicate, it suits you better. So here’s to you,” and she downed her aqua vitae before sitting down to general applause.
Some folks’ ears went up, others flattened, and more swiveled at the discordant squall of a baglute and a door swung open. A wolf wearing Elfhame plaid stepped in, playing a slow and possibly stately tune on the instrument. He was followed by a wolfess carrying a tray on which sat a steaming lump. Behind her, others came in with trays heaped with more haggis. The ones with the taut skin of a sheep’s stomach were served to all the wolves, while others wrapped in puff pastry were given to all the cervines.
The baglute player stepped aside, playing a final flourish as the haggis he had escorted in was placed in front of me. My aqua vitae was topped off, and Sergeant MacGonagall got to his feet before I could. The wolf had been hitting his aqua vitae, and he adopted a pose that I and several others in the room recognized; namely, that he was about to deliver an Oration.
I hoped he’d keep it short. I didn’t want to find out what cold haggis tasted like, meat or not.
He cleared his throat and recited in a clear voice:
“Good fortune to you : Honest and rotund
Best and happiest : Of all sausages
Chief over them all : You take your place
You who are worthy : Days’ worth of accolades
The tray groans : Beneath your tasty bulk
Rounded and swollen : As a maid with child
Delectable aroma : Like fine perfume
Amber dew distills : From your many pores
Great Alpha, who : Has all Elves in Her care
Providing all Her cubs : Their daily fare
When the prayer-howl : Rises into the air
‘Tis haggis we want : Is our solemn prayer!”
The Sergeant bowed to me as everyone applauded. “As ye’re our Laird, Master, do ye ha’ th’ fairst taste.”
I could feel every eye watching me as silence descended and I drew my new dirk. After a moment admiring the workmanship on the blade, I took a fork in my other paw to hold the haggis in place and stabbed deep. A curl of fragrant steam arose, causing Anastasia to ease a few inches away from me.
After laying the casing open I dug in with the fork, and the silence broke as several voices, wolf and roebuck, made themselves heard.
“Do it, Laird!”
“[Do you take care, Master, to use the stomachs-guarding cantrip, lest what you eat seek repatriation.]”
“’Twill do ye nae harm!”
I favored everyone with a long look after I scooped some of the haggis’ innards up with my fork. Although every fiber of my being urged me to rebel, I raised the forkful to my nose, sniffed, and then shoveled it into my mouth. I took my time chewing before tipping my head back and ostentatiously swallowing.
I then repeated the operation, again and again, taking a sip of aqua vitae at times between servings until the casing was empty. A few roebucks and wolves had taken hourglasses from their Elfintories and were staring back and forth at me and at the falling sand.
“You’re – you’re not using Gramerye, are you?” Anastasia asked.
“I am not,” I declared, “and Elves Don’t Lie.” At my declaration a wolf began to clap his paws. A wolfess joined him, and slowly the applause grew until it was general and joyously loud. “It’s quite good,” I added, although I privately thought someone had used a heavy paw with the coriander.
Everyone else started eating, with Anastasia praising the taste of the vegetable filling in her haggis. One wolf-cub balked at eating the mashed turnip and potatoes served with his meal, and yowled as his mother fetched him a clip to his ear. “Do you mark how the Master has eaten his vittles?” I heard his mother say. “Do you not know there are hungry cubs in Vulpitania?”
“Well, send it to them,” and the cub yowled again.
I resolved to dole out some maple sugar candy to all the children the next day. I suppose Anastasia would call that Statecraft.
Ooo-er seemed very taken with the textures in the filling, while the Wolf Queen was already asking for seconds.
“You didn’t apport it straight into Windimere’s stomach?” my wife asked and gave me an interested and horrified look as I shook my head. More than a few of the bettors were also giving me the eye as various times ran out and I hadn’t shown any sign of distress.
One roebuck seated near the Wolf Queen shifted in his seat, and the wolfess turned to him. “Yes, very apt,” she said with a deadpan expression despite her nose wrinkling. “Eloquent, even.”
The night was passing very convivially, with more rounds of aqua vitae as some of the does and wolfesses collected sleepy cubs and fawns and took them home.
I was taking another sip of my drink when the door of the mead-hall suddenly banged open, revealing one of the bucks assigned as part of the Watch. I was on my hooves immediately when I saw the expression on his face. “What the Netherhells, Fergus?” I asked.
“Master,” Fergus gasped, panting for breath, “the [Sheaf] – the [Sheaf of Arrows] – “
“What? Out with it!” At the name of their favorite watering-hole and hideout from their mates, the other bucks and not a few wolves were getting to their hooves and feet.
“The [Sheaf of Arrows] is under attack!”
[url=]<NEXT>[/url]
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to
EOCostelloThumbnail by
tegerio, color by 
Major Matt MasonEleven
The Wolf Queen leaned over and gave Ooo-er a lingering kiss before picking up her cup of aqua vitae and straightening up. “I’ve been asked by all the femmes of Elfhame and Glenallid,” and she nodded to both sides, “to offer the Toast to the Men – and, to be strictly fair, some of you deserve to be toasted. Although it’d be a shame to burn down this hall to provide a good enough toasting-fire.” She paused and the femmes applauded before she turned her gaze on Ranulf. “I applaud your bravery, because you have to sleep sometime.”
Some of the mels laughed, with even a few bucks smiling at her words as she began to figuratively warm to her subject. However, she was also succeeding in keeping her mouth from stepping high, wide and handsome in front of her brain, eyeing the numerous cubs and fawns in the audience.
“We must first acknowledge all of the things mels are good for – but I doubt any Elf lives long enough to think of one of them.” She regarded a few of the roebucks. “Seriously, I can’t fathom how the does put up with you, because I’m sure they’re at risk for brain damage by sleeping beside you.” One or two does allowed themselves smiles at this, while the wolfesses laughed.
“Your skill at woodcraft is legendary, but you make rolling pins for your wives to bash you over the head with. True marvels of stupidity – and that brings me to you,” she said, turning to look at me. “You’re a perfect example – of what, I’m not sure about. You’ll go far someday. And I hope you stay there.”
Anastasia laughed at that. I just sat there and took it.
For now.
“Tonight is in honor of the Alpha’s gift of language; again, something that’s quite thrown away on you lot,” she said. “My honest advice, and Elves Don’t Lie, is stick to belching and farting to communicate, it suits you better. So here’s to you,” and she downed her aqua vitae before sitting down to general applause.
Some folks’ ears went up, others flattened, and more swiveled at the discordant squall of a baglute and a door swung open. A wolf wearing Elfhame plaid stepped in, playing a slow and possibly stately tune on the instrument. He was followed by a wolfess carrying a tray on which sat a steaming lump. Behind her, others came in with trays heaped with more haggis. The ones with the taut skin of a sheep’s stomach were served to all the wolves, while others wrapped in puff pastry were given to all the cervines.
The baglute player stepped aside, playing a final flourish as the haggis he had escorted in was placed in front of me. My aqua vitae was topped off, and Sergeant MacGonagall got to his feet before I could. The wolf had been hitting his aqua vitae, and he adopted a pose that I and several others in the room recognized; namely, that he was about to deliver an Oration.
I hoped he’d keep it short. I didn’t want to find out what cold haggis tasted like, meat or not.
He cleared his throat and recited in a clear voice:
“Good fortune to you : Honest and rotund
Best and happiest : Of all sausages
Chief over them all : You take your place
You who are worthy : Days’ worth of accolades
The tray groans : Beneath your tasty bulk
Rounded and swollen : As a maid with child
Delectable aroma : Like fine perfume
Amber dew distills : From your many pores
Great Alpha, who : Has all Elves in Her care
Providing all Her cubs : Their daily fare
When the prayer-howl : Rises into the air
‘Tis haggis we want : Is our solemn prayer!”
The Sergeant bowed to me as everyone applauded. “As ye’re our Laird, Master, do ye ha’ th’ fairst taste.”
I could feel every eye watching me as silence descended and I drew my new dirk. After a moment admiring the workmanship on the blade, I took a fork in my other paw to hold the haggis in place and stabbed deep. A curl of fragrant steam arose, causing Anastasia to ease a few inches away from me.
After laying the casing open I dug in with the fork, and the silence broke as several voices, wolf and roebuck, made themselves heard.
“Do it, Laird!”
“[Do you take care, Master, to use the stomachs-guarding cantrip, lest what you eat seek repatriation.]”
“’Twill do ye nae harm!”
I favored everyone with a long look after I scooped some of the haggis’ innards up with my fork. Although every fiber of my being urged me to rebel, I raised the forkful to my nose, sniffed, and then shoveled it into my mouth. I took my time chewing before tipping my head back and ostentatiously swallowing.
I then repeated the operation, again and again, taking a sip of aqua vitae at times between servings until the casing was empty. A few roebucks and wolves had taken hourglasses from their Elfintories and were staring back and forth at me and at the falling sand.
“You’re – you’re not using Gramerye, are you?” Anastasia asked.
“I am not,” I declared, “and Elves Don’t Lie.” At my declaration a wolf began to clap his paws. A wolfess joined him, and slowly the applause grew until it was general and joyously loud. “It’s quite good,” I added, although I privately thought someone had used a heavy paw with the coriander.
Everyone else started eating, with Anastasia praising the taste of the vegetable filling in her haggis. One wolf-cub balked at eating the mashed turnip and potatoes served with his meal, and yowled as his mother fetched him a clip to his ear. “Do you mark how the Master has eaten his vittles?” I heard his mother say. “Do you not know there are hungry cubs in Vulpitania?”
“Well, send it to them,” and the cub yowled again.
I resolved to dole out some maple sugar candy to all the children the next day. I suppose Anastasia would call that Statecraft.
Ooo-er seemed very taken with the textures in the filling, while the Wolf Queen was already asking for seconds.
“You didn’t apport it straight into Windimere’s stomach?” my wife asked and gave me an interested and horrified look as I shook my head. More than a few of the bettors were also giving me the eye as various times ran out and I hadn’t shown any sign of distress.
One roebuck seated near the Wolf Queen shifted in his seat, and the wolfess turned to him. “Yes, very apt,” she said with a deadpan expression despite her nose wrinkling. “Eloquent, even.”
The night was passing very convivially, with more rounds of aqua vitae as some of the does and wolfesses collected sleepy cubs and fawns and took them home.
I was taking another sip of my drink when the door of the mead-hall suddenly banged open, revealing one of the bucks assigned as part of the Watch. I was on my hooves immediately when I saw the expression on his face. “What the Netherhells, Fergus?” I asked.
“Master,” Fergus gasped, panting for breath, “the [Sheaf] – the [Sheaf of Arrows] – “
“What? Out with it!” At the name of their favorite watering-hole and hideout from their mates, the other bucks and not a few wolves were getting to their hooves and feet.
“The [Sheaf of Arrows] is under attack!”
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<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Deer
Size 120 x 106px
File Size 61.5 kB
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