The Peach Thief and the Talking Lumikit

Zearon stood on the edge of the village, his stomach growling like an angry beast. The smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and sweet fruits wafted through the air, and he nearly drooled.

“I need food,” he muttered. “Real food. Not bats, not bulls, and definitely not dragon-spit meat.”

The village was quaint, filled with wooden houses nestled among towering trees. The air was warm and peaceful, with elves walking calmly about their day, chatting and smiling. Zearon’s stomach growled louder, and he wandered further into the village.

That’s when he spotted it—a tree brimming with golden peaches, each one glowing like a tiny sun.

“Oh yes,” Zearon whispered, his eyes wide. “Jackpot!”

Without a second thought, he crouched down, leaped into the air, and grabbed a branch. He yanked peach after peach, stuffing them into his mouth with no regard for decorum.

“Best. Day. Ever,” he said between bites, juice dribbling down his chin.

Suddenly, a loud shout broke his feast. He turned just in time to see a blur of motion—a boy, about his age, sprinting toward him at full speed. Before Zearon could react, the boy accidentally slammed into him, sending him flying off the branch.

“Hey!” Zearon yelped, landing on the ground with a thud.

The boy didn’t stop to apologize. He kept running, muttering something about being late.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Zearon said, springing to his feet. “You knock me out of my peach heaven and think you can just run off?”

Zearon took off after the boy. With his small but speedy Lumikit legs, he caught up quickly and leaped onto the boy’s back, tackling him to the ground.

“Pinned ya!” Zearon declared, grinning triumphantly.

The boy twisted under Zearon’s weight, wide-eyed. “What the—what are you?!”

“I’m the guy you just body-checked!” Zearon retorted. “And for the record, that hurt!”

The boy stared at him for a moment, then raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to! I was in a hurry.”

Zearon climbed off the boy, crossing his little blue arms. “In a hurry for what?”

“I need to speak to the chief elf,” the boy explained. “It’s urgent.”

“Chief elf, huh?” Zearon said, rubbing his chin. “Where there’s a chief, there’s a feast. And where there’s a feast, there’s food. Count me in!”

The boy blinked. “Uh…what?”

“Never mind,” Zearon said, waving him off. “Carry on.”

The boy hesitated, then took off running again. Zearon followed at a distance, his nose twitching as he picked up the scent of freshly baked bread.

The chief elf’s house was a grand, towering structure built into the largest tree in the village. Zearon slipped through an open window and found himself in the kitchen, where a banquet of food was laid out on a long table.

“Oh yeah,” Zearon said, his eyes gleaming. “This is it. This is the dream.”

He dove into the food, devouring everything in sight. Roasted vegetables, glazed meats, spiced pastries—nothing was safe.

“Best. Day. Ever,” Zearon mumbled again, crumbs flying from his mouth.

He was halfway through a plate of honeyed rolls when he heard voices coming from another room. Curious, he crept out of the kitchen, licking honey off his paws.

The voices grew louder as he approached a grand hall. Peeking around the corner, he saw the chief elf—a tall, regal figure with silver hair—and the boy, who was gesturing wildly as he spoke.

“...and if we don’t do something soon, the village will be overrun!” the boy was saying.

The chief nodded gravely. “The saber-tooth tigers have grown bolder. Their leader is cunning and ruthless. We are no match for them.”

Zearon froze. Saber-tooth tigers? That sounds…bad.

“They’ll destroy everything if we don’t stop them,” the boy said, clenching his fists. “I’ll fight them myself if I have to!”

Zearon snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Unfortunately, he said it a little louder than intended. Both the chief and the boy turned to look at him.

“Who’s there?” the chief demanded.

Zearon sighed and stepped into the hall. “It’s just me. Don’t mind me—I was just eavesdropping after raiding your kitchen.”

The chief’s eyes widened. “A…talking Lumikit?”

The boy looked equally shocked. “You can talk?!”

“Yep,” Zearon said, puffing out his chest. “And I can do a lot more than talk. Like, for example, help you with your tiger problem.”

“You?” the boy said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re…tiny.”

“And you’re…squishy,” Zearon shot back. “Those tigers would eat you for breakfast.”

The boy bristled. “Hey!”

“Am I wrong?” Zearon asked, smirking.

The chief held up a hand to silence them. “Enough. If you truly wish to help, Lumikit, then we will accept your aid. But this is a dangerous task.”

Zearon shrugged. “Dangerous is my middle name. Well, actually, it’s ‘Hungry,’ but you get the point.”

The chief gave him a long, appraising look. “Very well. We’ll discuss our plan tomorrow. For now, rest.”

“Great,” Zearon said, turning to leave. “But, uh, you might want to restock your kitchen first. Just saying.”

The chief frowned, but Zearon was already gone, heading for the nearest soft patch of grass to nap on.

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