The Gnome arrowed the moose in late afternoon after days of stalking it through the rugged mountain terrain. It hadn’t been an easy hunt, but after one glimpse, he couldn’t get the idea of those paddles adorning his hut out of his mind. And the size of the hindquarters on the beast assured him that the effort would be well worth it.
He knew he’d have to make quick work of gutting and quartering the meat, and quickly got to it. As the golden light of the sunset faded into darkness, he lit a fire to facilitate his knife work and hopefully discourage any hungry scavengers from disturbing him.
As he finished hanging the massive moose quarters in a tree and stood back to admire them, draped in the distant glow of the flames and moonlight, his stomach growled. He’d be eating well this winter.
With a long walk out ahead of him, he decided to have a quick meal before starting the trek to his hut. He grabbed the crimson heart he had pulled from deep in the cavity of the moose and, using his bloody fingers and knife, began to break it down. He started by removing the arteries atop the organ and trimming away the waxy fat that encased it. Then, he followed the lines of the arteries to easily slice it into three large steaks.
He sharpened a stick and wove the meat through the skewer until he was satisfied it would stay put during cooking. He then pulled a small pouch of mushroom dust from his pants’ pocket and thoroughly seasoned the meat.
The Gnome crouched low beside the fire and held the stick so the meat began to cook over the hot coals. The smell of the meat charring over the heat of the fire made his mouth water immediately. He rotated the stick to ensure even cooking, but his patience was dwindling. The heart steak nearest the end of the stick began to curl up, and the Gnome quickly swiped it up, juggling the steaming meat in his unoccupied hand.
Still too hot, he greedily bit into the steak, scorching the insides of his mouth but reveling in the warmth and explosion of flavor. Rich, earthy seasoning, enhanced by the kiss of flames, enveloped the tender, slightly irony flesh of the heart. The Gnome let out a satisfied *mmmm *and quickly devoured the rest of the steak. He sat back and, as he finished cooking and eating his supper, marveled at the cloudless starry night and toenail moon that hung lazily above him.
With a full belly, he decided it was time to get moving. He loaded the backstraps, tenderloins, and skull onto his pack. The paddles stuck out so far that he’d have to be careful walking out of the timber. Again, he marveled at how such a massive creature had moved so casually through the tight trees, downed logs, and steep terrain. Unaccustomed to having such a wide load, his journey would not be quite so effortless.
Before thoroughly putting out the fire, he decided to light a torch to guide his way home. The Gnome had excellent vision, but the moon was slight, and he didn’t want to risk tripping and breaking off a tine. With a heave, he shouldered the heavy pack and, torch in hand, began to weave his way down the mountain.
His every step was calculated, but his progress was slow. Without such a burdensome pack on, he’d be walking in double time. But eventually, he made it out of the steepest country and decided to stop by a familiar lake for a drink and a quick break. The galaxies reflected in the glass water, and the Gnome took a moment to be thankful for the stillness and serenity in such a majestic place.
Realizing he didn’t have much longer to walk, the Gnome loaded back up and set out once again. When he reached the distant shore of the lake, his torch shone on a sign that hadn’t been there when he walked in over a week before.
“Public Land For Sale,” the sign read. The Gnome read it again in disbelief. He continued to stare at it, and disbelief turned to disgust. Disgust turned to fury.
He set the sign aflame with his torch. He stood and watched it burn until nothing was left but cinders. Then he poured some water over them to ensure they wouldn’t spread and huffed with a sense of relief.
He chuckled to himself. They could try to sell this land, but they’d have to get past The Gnome first. And the giant trolls that dwelled in the mountains. And the fairies, as small as they were, could release fury like no other. All the creatures, mythical and otherwise, that relied on this land would never stand for this. And they sure as hell would put up a fight.
Want to celebrate the Gnome in all his glory? Click here to get the Warden of the Wild Gnome T-Shirt. We’ll be dropping new shirts and stories every month to commemorate the Year of the Gnome.
Read the full article here