I sat in the tree (Patreon)

and stared at the blazing inferno that had once been the village of Bunkirk. The sheer scope of the carnage was breathtaking. I had grown up thrilling to the tales of Irenaeus laying waste to his enemies, but now that I had seen it actually happen, it didn't seem quite so glorious.

I admit, I wanted to be rid of Bunkirk and its annoying citizens ... but not this way! Despite all the trouble the rabbits had caused me over the years, exterminating them ALL, including women and children, was something beyond Unseelie. It was pure evil! Irenaeus' foes at least had the chance to fight back! I could feel the last little bit of affection I had for Zandar rapidly waning. I wasn't merely horrified by what she had done, I was ANGRY! This senseless massacre would probably be attributed to me! My reputation was bad enough already!

I removed my bunny costume as Zandar came striding grimly out of the blazing ruins. I was ready to lay into her with a verbal thrashing, but then realized it would probably make her happy to know that she had upset me. The only way I could punish her right now was by taking away whatever victory she thought she had won. Since I'd likely be blamed for this disaster anyway, if I let her think that she had done my bidding by wiping out all the innocent bunnies, that would deflate her in an instant. Considering how much she hated me, it would really ruin her mood if I showered her with compliments too. Subjecting Zandar to these kinds of Wiles wasn't exactly Seelie, I suppose, but Fuma knows she DESERVED it!

As Zandar approached the tree where I was sitting, I began to applaud sarcastically. "Oh bravo. Well done, my dear," I called. "I could hardly have done that better myself. And might I add, you look more ravishing than ever, Zandar, my sweet."

Zandar was, of course, stark naked ... slightly singed ... and perforated with a dozen small wounds which were probably the result of being blasted with buckshot. Still, to a scion of Irenaeus there was something oddly alluring about her, even now.

Without saying a word, she flung her gore-encrusted sledgehammer at me. It was a truly impressive throw, even considering how pumped full of adrenaline she must have been.

"WHOA-HO-HO!" I cackled as I dodged out of the way. I had to appear in-control and unperturbed, even though she nearly knocked me from my perch. "My, you ARE feeling feisty, aren't you?"

"Come down and let me kiss you, lover," she snarled nastily.

"No," I refused petulantly. "I don't think you mean it."

"How did those rabbits know you, Squire Young?" she demanded. (Keep in mind that, as part of long-standing elvish tradition when dealing with lowfolk, I had taken up the habit of letting everyone assume I was Lord Randall, and had never actually gotten around to telling Zandar my real name.)

"They didn't," I shrugged. "It was a glamer. Something you would've learned, had you stayed."

"Where is my daughter?" Zandar demanded.

"Let's hope she wasn't hidden in that village," I quipped with sudden inspiration, as I gestured toward the smoldering remains of Bunkirk where nothing remained alive.

Zandar's expression told me that my jab had hit home, and she instantly regretted her violent rampage. Maybe next time she would think twice before murdering an entire village of lowfolk!

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