Strays

Cory and Whiskey rest side by side in the brush near the treeline of the direwood. Whiskey is alert, resting her weight on one knee with her eyes closed as she listens for any sign of change.   Cory sits with his legs crossed, lightly picking at the grass and leaves.   It's dead quiet. It always is in the direwood, as if the wind itself is afraid of stirring what slumbers there.   Cory rests his chin on his closed fist, propping his head up. He lets out a long, melodramatic sigh that sounds even louder in the unnatural silence.     "Can I help you?" Whiskey asks, her eyes still closed.   "I thought we were hunting," he replies.   "We are."   "Oh, I didn't realize." He nods and the boredom closes in once more. He then whispers to himself, "Hot damn."

34.8…billion. That's how many chickens were alive when the world ended. Then you have the two billion cows, half a billion pigs, one point two billion sheep, and just over a billion goats. That's just the livestock. Add one billion dogs and an equal number of cats, fifty million horses, 6 million alpacas, with just over 7 million llamas and you have quite the menagerie of domestication.   Strays present a uniquely human problem. That is to say humanity caused the problem. When the world ended, the number of domesticated animals was massive. Most of these animals would perish, primarily livestock. Most couldn't even leave the facilities they called home. The ones that could live on, as do all those released into the wild by those who meant well but had absolutely no idea how bad of an idea it would be.   The term "stray" is used when describing any of the hundreds of species, including both plants and animals, that humans domesticated. These animals are often considered pests by most. Cows roam the world in herds over a thousand strong, crippling the growing flora everywhere they go. Massive mobs of malicious chickens haunt the very dreams of farmers everywhere, known for digging up and consuming the seeds they sow.

Strays were always a problem for some. Humans kept tabs on stray cats and dogs, for example. It was when the food industry collapsed that it truly reached new heights. So many of these animals are capable of devastation. They continue roaming unchecked, humanity having decimated the population of most apex predators in the name of community safety,   It gets worse. With the presence of the direwood, these animals are smarter; better than before. They know to avoid cities, so even the rainbows can't be trusted with the task of maintaining the balance. They're known for being mischievous, but many appreciate their existence. Everyone needs to eat. Most of these animals can be caught and butchered, feeding communities who happen to know the process.   Then you have the Strays that wander deeper into the woods. Dire strays are dangerous. They're bigger, smarter, and more aggressive. Some are mutated abominations that can't be eaten or domesticated. They simply have to be put down to ensure they don't spread their mutations.

While they're a nuisance, they rarely pose a problem for those that know how to handle them. Standard strays can be easily thwarted by a decent fence, and few would say no to a good grass fed steak.   The only real problem is actually hunting them. It's unsafe to use weapons. As such, those who live in the world resort to clever and complicated traps to do the deed for them.   A single trapper can feed an entire community with a good day's work. Some try to rehabilitate them, such as the stray shepherds. They guide the herds, care for them, and in return, they are always a day's work away from a bounteous feast.

The stars dance, soaring through the multicolored evening sky like grains of insects sifting through neon rain. The residents of Boring gathered outside of Dread Romantic, each given the promise of a hot meal.   Blankets lie spread out on the ground, with families sat upon them. A barrel of lemons sits nearby, its contents cut into halves and squeezed into a large vat of water and sugar. There was a strange summer-in-autumn air that lingered even after the sun faded from view.   Corey stands before a massive cast iron pot, tall enough to meet him at the hip. A fire burned beneath it as he stirred its contents with what appeared to be a small boat oar. The nameless residents toss in their contributions. He sees diced onions, bell and cayenne pepper followed by white rice. Corey added his own, tossing in celery and garlic with Mavis standing to the side adding seasoning by the handful.   He marveled as It all danced around the generous chunks of chicken and pork, the broth slowly evaporating. He covers the pot as the dish bubbles.   He helped fill the bowls as they came, one by one in a single file line. He takes note of their faces, sees their worries and troubles as they pass by. He always gives a smile and when it came time for him to enjoy a meal of his own, he filled a wooden bowl and joined the others around the fire.   Their faces changed. How quickly a full stomach makes all feel right in the world. Even Toby looked in higher spirits than before.