Showdown

  

The foothills were beautiful this time of year. Snow doffed the mountaintops. The lowlands, too, had taken much of the same, so heavy was the winter weather. He was a gnome of the meadows. He preferred the flat land, though the beauty of the mountains kept him within its vicinity.

 

He’d been out on a hunt. With his wife and two youngsters at home he had duties to fulfill and was eager to do so. He had geared up and departed home in good spirits the day before. He enjoyed the wilds, even an overnight in the cold winter. The challenge of a hunt and the victorious claim, when lucky enough to obtain it, and he usually was. He had bagged a turkey! A bountiful welcome he’d receive at home within the hour.

 

The bird was larger than he, heavier, too. But he was a strong one, this gnome, and had tethered the bird’s feet and was dragging it behind him. When your prey is larger than you are the transport options after the hunt are limited. That’s when a serious situation presented itself.

 

Rumors amongst his colleagues did abound of this troublesome quadrant. He’d usually strayed wide, but was anxious to get home before dark and thought it worth taking the short cut. The cat that now stood before him at 20 feet changed his mind. But it was too late to backtrack. The answer now would be forward and it would be contested. Thoughts of family at home raced through his head. What would be their fate should he fail to return. Such thoughts were not helpful and were suppressed to make room for more practical machinations.

 

The gnome, not a tall fellow, even by gnome standards, stood 1’ 6”. His eyeballs were almost exactly at the same height with those yellow sinister orbs belonging to his feline foe. He quickly did some mental calculations. If this were a typical house cat this would be no more hassle than brushing off the unwanted attention of a mouse. House cats with their over confidence, lack of strategic capacity and comfortable bulk from too much lap sitting and treats. This cat, however, this one was not of that ilk. He could tell by the way it moved, clearly doing it’s own calculations from where it stood, quiet confidence and practiced know-how. A worthy opponent, but hopefully not too worthy. If the gnome were to survive this encounter, he’d need to be on his game.

 

The cat’s tail flicked back and forth mischievously. This told the gnome all he needed. This encounter would not be noted by truce or agreement, but decisive action.

 

Without breaking eye contact he dropped the rope from which the turkey was attached. He furtively reached behind his back with his right hand for an arrow. His quiver skillfully placed for just such trained hand movement and accessibility. The bow was already in his left. ‘From this distance I’d have time for only a single shot. Even then, with the furry coat it may not even penetrate far enough to have an effect.’

 

Without having time to complete his thought the cat made the first move. It was rapid and confident, two steps and one mighty leap. The gnome, a well-trained hunter having accumulated years of experience had learned to remain calm when circumstances rendered him the hunted.

 

He fired off the arrow at the cat’s underbelly. Without waiting to see if the arrow would penetrate the thick furry belly, his instincts taking over, he tossed the bow aside, took two steps forward to put himself directly into the cat’s landing spot. He had just time enough to pull the blade from his belt. With two hands he held the point directly out and up waiting for gravity to do the hard work. The force of the landing was like a lightning bolt. He was knocked flat on his back and hit his head on the hard, icy ground. All went dark.

 

He didn’t know how long he’d been out. He was very warm and had difficulty breathing as if there was a weight on him. He slowly came to recall his situation. He pushed and rolled out from under the cat. He was groggy and his pantaloons were covered in prodigious amounts of blood. He stood, feeling around briefly for injuries. Feeling none, counting his blessings, he stood up tall, all 1’ 6” tall. Having lost his cap in the melee he felt a chill on his balding head. The cat’s eyes open, death-leaking vocalizations emanating from its mouth. The pads of its front paws were slightly opening and closing out of synch, a waning death tic. It was breathing, but that wouldn’t last. There remained no fight in this valiant beast. He reached underneath, pulled out his pointy hat, unflattened it best he could and put it back on his head.

 

With one swift swing of his axe the tail was severed. The cat vocalized its pain, but there was no retribution, its fight had gone out. Still twitching he tucked it into his tunic, a plaything for the little ones.

 

He gathered his gear and resumed walking. There had been rumors of many gnome colleagues being lost to this area. He proudly thought the source of those tales of the missing had been extinguished. He looked at the cat as he walked passed, but did not bother looking back once beyond. It was dark now and family awaited.

 

 

[Inspired by illustrations by Jakub Rozalski, ‘Competitors’ and ‘Furry Demon.’ (https://twitter.com/mr_werewolf_art/status/868455942714785792?s=20)]

-klem