Well, hello everyone! I’m writing this fantasy that I’m not sure if I want to post, but my friend read it and she was confused on one description of mine, so I’m going to post the passage in my story that she got confused on and I would like you to tell me if there’s too much detail to tell what’s going on!

And just so you all know, the girl’s name is Rosemary and she lost her mother to a car accident and currently she just ran away from home (but don’t worry she’s not troubled or anything) and she’s sleeping in a tree house so the scene below is her dream.

An unpleasant aroma met my nose. The oddest smells were found around where I laid on the cold gray cobble stone. Stale wine, animals, garbage, and the smell of apple pies surrounded me. Then something struck me and I panicked. Why could I smell all of these things that humans were associated with but hear a pin drop?

I slowly moved my hand away from my body across the rough stone without opening my eyes. I was afraid that if I wasn’t quiet something would jump out at me. Suddenly, I couldn’t extend my hand any further. I had touched some sort of splintery rough texture, almost like wood. I carefully opened my eyes. What was the worst it could be?

My eyes widened and I couldn’t move; I was terrified. I thought of screaming, thinking that someone would have to hear me, but everything seemed too deserted. I finally moved my gaze to what my hand had touched and the creature followed my gesture, its own eyes equally wide. My hand rested on the creatures brown nail. Its hand, with which it belonged, was like a cat’s paw; only the top was infested with sharp brown points on long fur.

It looked painful and annoying but the thing that owned it didn’t seem to mind one bit. Then, slowly, its yellow eyes that once held fright softened and now showed me curiosity. I relaxed, realizing that this poor thing had no intention of hurting me. I smiled.

“H-hello...,” I said sitting up.

“Human aren’tcha? I thought all of you were going to the gathering. You look familiar, do I know you? Of course not, no, no. Oh dear, you gave me quite a fright and I’m supposed to be used to all of this,” the creature, which sounded male, shook his hands in the air disturbing my placement on them. “After years of working for the king himself you would hope to think I’d have some common sense about me!” I looked up at him not expecting what had just happened.

“Speaking of common sense let me introduce myself. My name is Niatruc (pronounce knee-a-true-c) Lortnoc. Are you okay? You don’t look so great.” The creature extended a long winged arm to the barrel next to him and removed a tray of apple pie and a tin can. He, then, precariously placed the can on a jutting stone from under the barrel and, almost out of nowhere, took a jack-knife and sliced the pie in half. Then he put the knife back wherever it cam from and placed half of his slice of pie in his mouth.

I gaped as the thing before me chewed ever so greedily. He swallowed the half that was in his mouth then scarfed down the rest. This creature was no bigger then a bob cat and no taller then my thigh. It had a tiny head and even smaller mouth, now covered with pie crust. When he finished eating he peered down to me from his perch on the neighboring barrel that held the pie and looked from me to the pie that was still in my hands to the can.

“Eat,” said Niatruc and I obeyed. I took a small bite of my pie and grimaced. It was nothing like my mothers old apple pie. It was sour and cold and contained a few spices I could not identify, and that worried me. To help the pie go down I reached over to the tin cup and took a grateful swig.

But, as soon as I did, I regretted it. Along with the pie the milk was sour and chunky. I spit it out all over my pie and sprayed Niatruc as well. A moment of silence passed as he licked hi feathery fur clean.

“Wasn’t the pie okay? Or was it the goat’s milk?” So that’s why the milk tasted so foreign in my mouth; it was from a goat.

“No, I drank too fast,” I lied. I couldn’t just insult him when he offered me his country’s food; it was disrespectful. “I’m not really in the mood to eat anymore. My throat is bothering me to much,” I added a cough for effect. After all, politely declining food for health reasons was a different case entirely.

“Are you sure? He eyed me suspiciously.

“Positive.” He grabbed the pie and wolfed that down in seconds. As he did so, I stood up, brushed off my clothes, and waited politely for Niatruc. As I stared down at him, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“Niatruc, forgive me for sounding rude, but, I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

“Ah, ma dear,” he stood up broadly on the barrel and puffed out his chest, “that is because my kind are only found in Perthia and we like to keep it that way.”

“I’m sorry, but, what is your kind?”

“My kind,” he flashed his jagged teeth, “my kind is called Monthresels, unknown to mortals and unknown to half of the immortals in the world too.”

“Does that mean that you have powers?”

“Of course! What do you take me for, a monkey?”

I scanned over his body. At the top of his head he had two cat ears, which were an orangey brown. Next came two wide yellow eyes, eyes that looked familiar. I could only make out a little more of his head because it was covered with that beautiful feathery fur. But, beneath it I could see a small crevasse where the mouth was.

Further down Niatruc’s body were his arms, the most interesting part about him. At the top, by his shoulders, his arms broadened like eagles wings. As the wing traveled down his arm it became narrower, finally making room for a wrist and a clawed splintery paw. Then below his eagle torso were two replica hind legs of a cheetah, but without the fierce spots. Instead, the fur part of feather fur chest dominated his legs with short wisps of hair knotted together to form a thick pelt. Niatruc was defiantly not a monkey.

“No, you’re not even close. You have beautiful feather fur.”

“Thank you,” he bowed slightly, “but you might want to know that here we call ‘feather fur’ ferx. If you say that to almost any other creature in this kingdom you would never be able to speak again, to say the least. Creatures here are the most sensitive, but kind if you respect them. That’s one quality that makes us Monthresels so rare. We have an understanding about us.

But don’t get me wrong, we’re an understanding lot when help is at our door, but with other matters, such as, mortal habits, I wouldn’t know. It’s something you’ll learn of course,” he paused for a moment, “have you come to Perthia to stay? How did you find this place? Travelers don’t wander here everyday, after all our portal isn’t open to just anyone.”

“I’m not sure. One minute I was sleeping, and then I became a ghost and saw my dead mother and then I slipped back into my body while I was still a ghost and somehow ended up here.”

“On the king’s name,” whispered Niatruc, his eyes so wide they looked like they would pop out of his socket any minute, “my dearie! Your mother was the one! And now you’ve come and you’re going to alter history forever. The king of course will be furious but not as much as Anastasia.”

“I don’t understand. What did my mother have to do with anything? How did you know her?”

“Everyone knew your mother. We must talk, and to the king. Anastasia has spies everywhere because she’s waiting for the prophecy to come true. We can’t talk here. Follow me.”

With that Niatruc raced down the street, then stopped for me. Hesitantly, I followed after him, where he soon pounced off his hind legs and caught himself with his wings and flew inches from the ground. I trailed behind him with much effort trying to take in the land as best I could. The stale wine, animals, garbage, and apple pie no longer smelt strange.

Katt