Once upon a time... a forest cradled in a jagged mountain range blanked over the wild beings within. In this forest, many of the animals were capable of great things. Some of them were very much more than they appeared. They had their own names, their own communities, and even their own aspirations. They were the Ferals of Ridgehaven.

Creatures of pride and brilliance, the feral beasts held a spark in them not shared by other animals within the forest. They comprehended nearly the same way as the humans. For the feral beasts, there was more in the world than just raw instinct.

Still, these were wild beasts. Predators still hunted down their prey. The ferals and the animals were no different in that way. It was only in rare or dangerous times that the ferals would come together in a truce. A great understanding between them ensured the safety and trust between ferals. No animal was to harm another at the unions. Territories and mates and food were honored and ignored. All were safe to speak freely and without worry.

On a warm summer’s eve, while the moon and the stars flooded the land in full luminance, the animals gathered in a clearing. A river churned around rocks somewhere in the dense trees. Otters traipsed through the vibrant green grass as their damp, slick fur glistened silver in the light. Foxes sauntered out of the clearing’s edge. Hawks and eagles and owls fluttered onto their perches in the pines. Song birds joined them in the aspens. Lizards and wolves and rabbits and frogs and deer formed together.

With dignity and grace that he held as proudly as he did the crown of antlers on his head, a large bull elk stood on the edge of the clearing where the earth naturally raised him above the other ferals.

“I do not think I need to remind any of you that the humans have begun their travels to our forest. Their ‘campers’ and their ‘tents’ are already dotting the human trails near the falls.” The spite in the elk’s voice was harsh, though not unexpected, especially at the mention of the human objects. “Some of you think that mingling the humans is fun and games. However, we ferals must avoid them more so than our animal kin.”

“And what are you going to do about it, Charger?”

Heads turned upwards and to a rotted and gnarly tree, dead for ages. Knowing something, but seeing nothing on it stirred whispers from the critters in the clearing. Many turned to look in all directions, bewildered by the spectral voice. More so as a scoff of irritation ripped through the night sky. A healthy pine neighboring the dead arbor held the mysterious speaker.

“You all have been listening to the coyote’s stories too much! Just because I’m a raven, does not mean I will perch on the gloom.”

“Ah, Luster. You are quite right. See what happens when one gets too near to the humans? We become distracted. And where is Nightcrier?”

“He prefers the name ‘Fable’ now.”

“Bah! A title that further spoils him,” cried an old horned sheep.

“All he does is fill anyone that listens with human lies and habits! He’s a disgrace!” spoke a well fed grouse.

“Doesn't stop for a bite, it seems either,” added a fox, while his eyes stared down the poultry. Despite the certainty of not being prey, a series of flustered clucks came from the hen.

A she-wolf pawed at her fiesty pups. “He rather chew your ear off with a story than fill his appetite,” scoffed a she-wolf. She pawed at her feisty pups as her packmate kept one young wolf from chomping on a terrified chipmunk. “It's setting a bad influence on our young ones!”

“How odd! The boy must go hungry often with that behavior,” whispered a mother bear loud enough for all to hear.

“He makes up lies, too!”
“Plays juvenile pranks.”
“A pest!”

“Now, now,” intervened the bull elk in an elevated voice. “Let ‘Nightcrier’ speak for himself. Where is he now?”

“You may continue speaking behind his back, though his back is no where near here. Fable has noticed the tents and has taken the opportunity to lay in on some of the campfire stories.”

Ripples of whispers spread around the gathered beasts. Charger scowled and darted his eyes around the crowd. A heavy huff from his chest wasn't quite enough to settle the mob.

“Hush!” he bellowed with his elk bugle. “Luster, how do you know of this?”

“The coyote and I spoke not long before you called us all together. He had no wish to partake tonight- seeing as how he isn’t well liked. He figured he’d take his chances with the gun wielders. Oh my, is that a growl I hear, Charger?”

The elk snorted, steam wafted into the air. A low grumble quickly died in his throat, but his scowl remained. He peered through the crowd, all looking at him; their leader had been rattled.

“Oakclaw, my close friend,” he said, addressing a ghostly horned owl, “use your special night eyes and find the mangy canine. We’ll stop him before he meddles with those damn humans! The rest of you return to your homes. We will continue in a few nights.”

Meanwhile... on a dirt road, cleared by humans for their own travels, a lone coyote followed the path given to him, towards the glows that he knew as fires. While most animals of the forest feared it, Fable knew that humans were drawn to them like moths. Tonight, he would join them.

A gentle breeze swept over him, as he walked joyfully towards the sounds and smells that the human campers donated to the gentle night air. He had emerged from the forest and moved into a meadow. On the other side, the forest began again, but with the columns of smoke and cries of laughter. Guided by the beacons, the coyote journeyed with purpose and excitement.

Yet, a peculiar and familiar scent paused the coyote’s steps. His ears perked behind him before his head swiveled around to face the same direction. He turned and casually waited for his follower to join him.

Pine needles snapped under the hurried feet. The sound could be heard through the trees as it approached. It was soon out of the forest. Tall blades of grass were parted at the beginning on the field. The visitor stopped; studied the coyote. Then, it dashed! Suddenly the feral was on him and jumped out of the grasses and onto the trail. A small figure had appeared and gazed up at Fable.

“Hello, Sandpaw,” spoke the coyote with a genuine friendliness.

A slick, brown furred otter with a cream colored underbelly approached the coyote without enthusiasm; almost timid.

“You know I don’t like being called that, Fable. You said you’d find me a name like yours.”

“I’m searching, friend! I was going to visit the humans tonight to get ideas.”
Fable smiled at his friend with a slight wag of his tail. Sandpaw started to walk beside the larger animal. Fable continued down the road towards the laughter and warm glows of fire. His pace was slower with his friend next to him, but he enjoyed the walk much more now. With his genuine kindness he asked, “what are you doing out here?”

“I want to hear the human stories with you.”

“How’d you know I was coming?”

“Luster. She told me you sometimes get lonely at these.”

“She did?” he asked solemnly. “So you came to keep me company.”

“That, and I’m curious. Are we going to be in danger?”

“I might be. Humans don't really like coyotes. You’re cute, though. They’ll use their light things on you.”

“Huh? What... what do the lights do?” asked the otter in a nervous voice. He stopped and watched a plume of smoke over the camps, cautiously. Fable nudged the otter, gently with his nose.

“They let the humans see the same image over and over again. It wont hurt you, but makes a very bright light.”

“Oh,” whispered the otter. He spoke to himself and seemed to be rolling over thoughts in his head. “Well, I’d rather avoid those. They sound annoying.”

Fable smiled and nodded as they continued along the clear dirt trail once more. His smile did not waver, either. While there were many coyotes in Ridgehaven, Fable was the only feral he knew of. It got very lonesome having no one to share his stories with. They were at the bottom of a slope that moved upwards into the trees and the campgrounds. A soft breeze swept the grasses in a gentle dance across the meadow.

As the coyote gazed over the gentle sways and flows in the bushes and grasses, he whispered sweetly. “You and Luster are good company.” Sandpaw had his eyes towards the small lights canvassed over the deep blankness of night. They twinkled and winked above.

“I like the stories you tell us. And you’re friendly.”

“I just enjoy sharing the stories I hear from humans. I haven’t imagined any stories of my own, yet.”

“Do you plan to?” asked the otter. His gaze did not waver from the night sky.

“Oh yes! I love stories. I want to feel what it’s like to create one. Sometimes when I hear a new story, I get so excited and want to do something of my own.”

“I wonder what it’s like to be so passionate about something?” wondered the otter, stopping. His voice held a weight of sorrow and longing.

Fable looked down at the river otter still facing upwards. A chuckle escaped the coyote, yet the otter’s stare only darted around at the stars and moon. Fable turned and gazed alongside him.

“I believe you do.”

They stood there, not moving as plumes of smoke wafted over the camps. Distant stars continued to shine through the smoke, defying the thick mist that tried to cover them. Fable’s desire to find a camp to sneak to and listen in on the stories mixed with the desire to explore the night’s blanket with his good friend. However, several scents carried on the east moving wind tickled his nose. He turned around towards where the otter had emerged, waiting.

A crown of bone glowed through moonlight like spectral claws, trying to grip the air. The figure that wore the crown was motionless. Even though the dark masked his face, Fable knew that Charger was building in rage. The coyote also knew that the elk was afraid to step into the meadow.

A familiar and friendly scent blotted out the elk’s as a dark feathered raven, her feathers with a lunar luster on her smooth obsidian coat, settled on the coyote’s head. “Hello, Luster. You’ve brought me quite a lot of company tonight. What’s the occasion?”

“Naughty Coyote. You would rather listen to human fairy tales rather than listen in on how you’re a disgrace to ferals? I can’t fathom your logic.”

“Ah. I’m certain Charger was doing fine enough without me. Probably the same ‘ole speech I get every week,” said the cheerful coyote. He had no intention of hiding his remarks from the elk; rather he propelled his voice more than needed. “Too bad he’s shy about talking with me.”

A loud snort came from the trees before the elk cautiously trotted out to the other three. Oakclaw flew out shortly after him. She settled on Charger and stared blankly at Fable and Luster.

“Stay out of the camps, Nightcrier,” warned the elk in a significant voice.

“Well he got right to the point, didn’t he?” asked the coyote, chuckling. “Get it? Point?”

“I got it, but don’t want it,” sighed the raven, pecking at the white tip of the coyote’s left ear.

“You two show no signs that you understand what you are doing. What’s worse, you’re bringing more ferals into your foolish acts,” spoke the elk, blandly.

Charger looked down at Sandpaw with the same significance he carried in his voice.

“What are you staring at, Otter? There is nothing up there!” lectured the bull.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s quite a lot of something up there,” smiled the coyote.

“No riddles, mutt.”

“What’s the matter, Char-”

“I saw a flying star!” interrupted the otter, excited.

“Ooh! Make a wish!” yipped the yote.

“Make a what?” asked the otter, finally taking his eyes off the night sky.

“A wish is what humans make when they want something to happen. But they’re special. You can only make wishes if something happens; like a shooting star. You ask the star for anything you want, and with luck, it comes true! But you can’t tell anyone what you wish for.”

“Nightcrier! Enough of your lies and stories. They’re getting excessive and wild,” bellowed Charger.

“I prefer ‘Fable.’ And my stories serve a purpose, and it is not ill-natured.”

“How about we shorten your name and call you ‘Nigh?’” clucked the raven.

“I thought you were on my team!”

“Why would I be teamed with a coyote?”

“Cause we’re cute and innocent and always abused?” asked the coyote with an overly toothy-grin. Luster replied with a nip to the ear and took to the air and flew off into the trees away from the campers.

Fable turned around and started to march on towards the campground. Sandpaw casually followed a bit behind.

“Well, goodnight, Charger. Thank you for the useless advise!”

A fierce snort and a split-second sprint by the elk cut off the coyote mid-step. Fable was forced to jump back in defense as the elk brought his rack down like a horned wall, blocking Fable and Sandpaw from the camps. Sandpaw seemed to freeze at the sight. Fable’s hackles raised and he growled. Oakclaw, having lost her perch, resided in the grass, masked and hidden.

“I wont let you jeopardize the other ferals, Coyote!”

“So you’ll attack me? Maim me for trying to hear children’s tales? They don’t harm the ferals, Charger. They enrich the forest! They give us more beauty to enjoy. I don’t provoke or speak with the humans. If they catch me, I run to my den. So what do you care?”

“Because you are responsible for tempting other ferals! A whole forest full of animals trying to hide in human camps would be far too dangerous for us. If you wish to risk your life listening to human gibberish, do so. But leave your ‘fables’ to yourself, Nightcrier.”

“After what you’ve experienced, Elk, I’d think you’d be more open to the stories I tell. Don’t try to act like it didn’t happen. You’re overly proud, Charger, but you are not a liar. Yet.”

Fable continued forward. He passed right by Charger without any fear. Sandpaw quickly followed, giving Charger a large breadth. The elk skulked and breathed heavily before leaving the meadow and returning to the forest. Oakclaw did not follow. Nor was she in the grasses, as far as Sandpaw could tell. He trotted faster, having to keep up with the frazzled coyote now.

“Don’t be upset, Fable.”

There was a long pause as the coyote slowed just enough to keep pace with his otter friend. His fur still remained ridged and his tail swayed impatiently. It wasn’t until he managed a deep breath that he spoke.

“I’m sorry, Sandpaw.”

“I don’t understand what you said to him. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you some other time. Now I just want to lay down and listen to the humans.”

Sandpaw nodded and they finished their walk up the ridge and into the campgrounds.
Sandpaw moved cautiously and Fable moved directly. Not far from the meadow, the coyote led them to a broad and tall tree. It’s trunk rugged with bark and smelling of pine sap. The roots arced from the ground, stretching to the sky vainly. A hole, large enough for a dog to fit through was delicately chiseled into an entrance.

Fable prodded Sandpaw with his snout. The otter crawled down the hole with hesitation and a timidness that came from his baser instincts. Fable was a good friend, but going underground in front of a coyote was not very otterly. Fortunately, he could walk through with no problem. The burrow was large enough that the only thing that encumbered him was the darkness. Fable, however, had to wiggle his way on his belly. It wasn’t long before an opening presented itself to the otter. Sandpaw peered out shyly.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” whispered Fable from behind. His tail thudded the sides of the burrow in his happiness.

“Where are we?”

“A secret nook I made to help me listen in on humans. I can get real close to this camp and they don’t know I’m here. If you go out a bit more, it opens up more. It’s safe.”

Sandpaw couldn’t see any details on the coyote’s face; the little bit of light only showed the fuzz on his cheeks and ears. Still, Sandpaw knew Fable was grinning wider than ever. The burrow opened up under a tangle of roots from another large tree. Moonlight seemed hesitant to enter, keeping both friends engulfed in the haze of darkness. However, the woody smell of smoke invaded the nook.

Otter and coyote ears perked up to hear between the roots. Human voices nearby triggered more excitement from the latrans. Fable laid down under the roots, curling his tail around him. From his position, Fable could stare out at the humans while masked by the tree and the darkness. Sandpaw settled down between the roots; a slim beam of moonlight graced over his face, and he once again became transfixed with the sky above.

The humans at this camp were sitting around their fire with their attention on the alluring warm glow. The children giggled and sat on the ground with flat slabs with odd markings and pictures on them. It was then that Fable noticed something odd about their fire.

“It’s not as large as most,” he said to himself. Sandpaw turned around and looked at Fable. The otter didn’t say anything, and even without his features visible, the coyote knew what he was being asked. “Most humans light bigger fires and cook things or tell stories over them. That one is almost dead.”

“What are they holding?” asked the otter, pointing to the slabs with markings.

“I think they call those maps. Except those look weird. And they keep looking up...”
Both ferals gazed up into the night sky. This time, the otter did not seem as transfixed. Without really knowing why, they were both on alert, staring out as if they were being hunted. While distracted with watching above, a loud splash and a hiss like a giant serpent caused both ferals to jump. The coyote hit his head on the roots and growled as he put a paw around Sandpaw to keep him there.

“Don’t go! We’re okay.”

Sandpaw squirmed and wiggled out of Fable’s grasp with ease. His figure disappeared through the hole and was gone. Alone, the coyote sighed and shook his head. The knock he received from the roots held a dull, painful beat. He soon settled back down with his head between the roots. A heavier smell of smoke greeted him, and he noticed there was no more glow from the where the fire had been. Only flickering embers, desperate to breath once more. For Fable, this meant the end of storytelling. The night was over, and he had terrified a friend.

The thump on his head still irritated him, and he remained in the dirt, waiting for the ache to diminish. He patiently listened in as the humans giggled and began rearranged their camp. Some of them had their strange nests on the floor. They laid there with the maps and stared up into the sky. Soon, an adult human’s voice carried above the children’s.

“Does everyone have their charts?” asked the elderly human male. A small chorus of the children answered him then giggled.

“Good. Now first, we look for Orion. Everyone look for the three bright stars in a row!”

Fable peered out and stared at the sky. Sure enough, he spotted three bright stars that seemed to share each other’s company. A false smile crept across the coyote’s muzzle. Sandpaw would have loved this...

“Alright,” chuckled the old man. “Now use your charts to help you find the ones that look like spoons!” And coyote once again looked into the sky, remembering once seeing those strange eating utensils humans used. “Can anyone guess the name of that constellation?”

Later that night... far from the pillars of hazy smoke, or the loud laughs and cries of humans, or the shadow-shaping pyres, flowed a calmly trickling creek. Softly howling pines and clattering aspen added their own music. To this rhythm, the slick splashes of animals breaking into the water created a symphony.
A great crown emerged from the dark forest and towards the water. Proud steps paced their steps to it’s edge. Without losing any of his poise, Charger took his drink and rustled his hooves through the dirt. Before he could finish however, he broke his stride. Glistening fur caught his eyes.

“Oh. Otter,” he said, sounding bored. “I’m surprised you’re not soiling other ferals’ minds with human lies.”

“I didn’t stay for the story,” answered Sandpaw. His chin rested on his front paw and he stared at the water without any light in his eyes.

“I see. Well, at least one of you has the courage to act as you’re supposed to.”
Sandpaw turned his head to face away, still staring at nothing.

“This forest gives us everything we could ever want. Why should we even try to look for anything more?” he continued. “One day that Coyote will be shot. It will be his own fault, too.”

“At least he’ll die about to hear a story, or having just heard one. He’ll die happy.”

“He’ll die without purpose! Rather than die in a way that benefits the forest, he’ll be some... some story for a human! Ha! The irony.”

“The what?” asked Sandpaw, finally stirred.

“Nevermind! Just keep in mind that the forest has its own system. It shouldn’t be altered.” A stomp of his hoof, and the elk turned and returned to the forest.
Sandpaw watched, and turned his gaze up. Oakclaw watched from a towering pine, but turned her head to face something. Without a word, she unfolded her wings and leaped into the air and disappeared into the tree tops.

“Are you okay?”

Sandpaw turned to face the bashful coyote, laying at the edge of the water’s bank. It was on the opposite side of the creek as Charger, where the trees were bunched much closer. Fable’s ears were bent down, his tail motionless, and his eyes watery.

“I’m alright. I don’t know why I ran, though.”

“Human things used to scare me off like that, too. I didn’t mean to run. It just kind of made me. Instinct.”

“Yeah...”

“I wish you had stayed. The humans talked about the stars.”

“Really? What did I miss?”

Fable grinned and his tail wagged lightly. He moved onto a boulder in the creek, nearer to Sandpaw. He rolled onto his back and looked up, followed by his friend.

“Well, apparently the humans like to make shapes out of the stars. I didn’t hear why they do it, though. See? Those three ones are part of some human that died by a scorpion. And there are a bunch of stars that make dippers. I couldn’t find them, though. I didn’t have a chart.”

“Dippers?”

“That’s what they called them. The Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.”

The otter gave a bubbly laugh and smiled widely. He stared up at the sky, trying to see if he could find the dippers himself. Something in his eyes caught Fable’s and coyote nudged the otter with his nose.

“You’re Dipper.”

“Huh?” asked the otter, blinking.

“Your name? The one I promised? How about Dipper?”

The otter looked up at the sky and tilted his head in different ways. His mind worked out the idea and he smiled.

“I like Dipper,” he said, brightly.

“I do, too,” said Fable.

“Which is your favorite star?” asked Dipper.

“They all look about the same to me. Some just blink more.”

“I like the red one over there,” whispered the otter, pointing with his slick tail. A smile graced his face. One that Fable had never seen before, but Fable only stared at Dipper with confusion. Confusion turned into fright, but Dipper was too engulfed in the brilliant night sky to notice. They both stared up, but only one was really watching. A blur awoke the coyote. Something across the sky.

“There! Another shooting star! Hehe. I got my wish, already. You should take this one, Fable.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Go for it!” cheered the jubilant otter. So the coyote clenched his eyes and he wished, as best as he could. It was his first, and he hoped he was doing it right. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up at the stars. Dipper watched him with a wide smile. Fable did his best to smile back.

“Maybe it takes time.”

“I think so. It took me all night to get mine.”

“You seem happy, Dipper. More alive, too.”

“Hehe. My wish came true.”

“What did you wish for?”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to tell it?”

“It already came true, though, right?”

Dipper thought for a moment and giggled. And Fable received a true smile.

“Yup! I guess so.”

“So what did you wish for?” he asked, his tail wagging.

And Dripper gave a content sigh right before he said, “My name.”