Thursday, February 20, 2014



It was late afternoon, and Gren was lounging in a comfortable padded chair near the fireplace in the main hall of the Forgotten Layers Inn. His arms dangled over the arm rests and his feet were splayed out towards the crackling flames.

?Uhh . . . I can?t chop another piece of wood. Boy I can?t wait until winter is over.?

Wearily, he lifted his head and glanced behind him, wondering if it was worth the effort to leave his cozy spot and get himself a Broot. He thought about it for a few seconds and gave up. Silas the cat was curled up in a ball, snoozing next to him.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and startled by the sudden noise, Gren lifted his head again too look and see what caused it. Standing at the door was an old man with long, lavender colored hair, and the same color beard. His wrinkled face bore the mark of someone that had worked outdoors for most of his life. His brown coat and pants looked disheveled, and his pale purple eyes searched the main room of the Inn for signs of life. They finally landed on Gren.

?Is this a tavern?? The man asked in a gruff sounding voice.

Gren blinked for a moment, then answered. ?Uh, *Yes* sir, this is the Forgotten Layers Inn.?

?Well, I could use a drink. After what I?ve been through.?

?Certainly, sir, let me just get the proprietress . . . ?, he said, pointing over his shoulder to the gardens behind the Inn.

?I need somethin? *now*, son, I?m dying of thirst over here.? The old man stomped over to the bar, and sat heavily on a stool, rubbing his forehead.

Gren looked apprehensively at the man, then down at Silas who was still napping on the floor.

?Can?t you . . . ? Gren made vague gestures with his hands, trying to will Silas into turning into Jeremiah and taking care of the customer. Silas barely lifted one eyelid to stare dispassionately at Gren, then went back to snoozing. Gren gulped.

?Uhhh . . . ?, he started, his voice cracking, ?Sure, let me just . . . ? Gren hurried over behind the bar, and put on one of the bartender aprons hanging near the sink. Izira never wore one, but Gren was trying to seem official. ?Alright. Welcome, sir. What did you have in mind? We?ve got a nice Root Beer, called Broot, I highly recommend.? He said hopefully.

The old man blinked at Gren. ?Root Beer? Naw, I need the hard stuff. Hmm, this seems to be sort of a high class establishment here . . . ?, he said, peering at the shelves of bottles containing fancy liquors. ?How about a Metropolitan??

Gren?s eyes bugged out. He was going to have to mix a drink? An alcoholic drink? ?Uhh . . . ? his voice wavered again, as his eyes darted around, looking for some answer. Then he saw Izira?s book on beverages under the bartop. He brightened considerably. ?Certainly, sir! Let me just bend down here and get you a nice glass . . . Funny name, a ?Metropolitan?, but all drinks have funny names, I guess, heh . . .? he said, stalling for time, as he frantically flipped through the pages. ?Yes, funny name for a drink that is . . . three parts brandy . . . .two parts sweet vermouth . . . half a teaspoon of sugar . . . and a dash of bitters! Bitters?? Gren blinked and swallowed. ?Bitters! Hah, yes, of course.? Gren?s hands moved nervously around as he rose up again, and began to take the required ingredients off the shelves. The old man was giving Gren an odd, sideways look the whole time.

?So, are you workin? hard, or hardly workin?? Eh heh heh. Well, you know what I mean.? Gren smiled at the man as he poured the brandy and vermouth into a glass.

?No. I don?t know what you mean.? The old man said blankly.

?Heh, uh yes. Well, I?m just trying to make conversation. It?s my first day, you know.? Gren said, a bit abashed.

?So I noticed.? The man replied, looking at the drink nervously.

Gren added the sugar and a dash of bitters. Then he held up a brightly colored straw. ?Gotta have a mixing straw if you want to mix a drink! Heh.? With a little flourish of a straw, he twirled it in the drink, then pushed it towards the man on a napkin. ?There you are sir!? Gren smiled nervously.

The old man looked between Gren and the drink several times. Cautiously, he took a swallow, and rolled the liquid around in his mouth with a contemplative look.

Gren watched hopefully, with his hands clasped to his chest.

?A bit heavy on the brandy.? The man commented.

Gren?s face fell.

?But I *like* brandy.? The man finished with a smile.

Gren smiled broadly and relaxed visibly. ?Oh thank God. Well.? Gren sat down on a stool on the bartender?s side. ?My name is Gren. Nice to meet you. What?s yours??

The old man lifted his gaze from his drink, as if thinking about the answer. ?Nathan?, he replied.

Gren thought about what Nathan said for a moment. ?You?re not hurt, are you??

?Naw, just a bit rattled is all. But that?s life if you?re a Food Runner. Sanctuary is in desperate need of the supplies we bring in. Every shipment counts.?

?I?m sure they do. Hey, I think I remember there being a spare wheel in one of the sheds out back. I could give it to you, if you need one.?

?Really? I can pay you for it.?

?No, that?s alright. We?re here to help those in need. And the drink is on the house too. Consider it a gift to a worthy cause.? Gren wasn?t trying to speak for Izira, but he knew that?s what she would have done, and that was the purpose of the Inn.

?Well, that?s right neighborly of you. Thanks.? Nathan brightened some.

?No problem. I?ll go get it for you as soon as you?re ready to leave.?

?I couldn?t stay for long anyway, I just wanted to get a drink to steady my nerves. I need to get back to my horse and wagon.?

?Alright, I?ll find the wheel and meet you out front then.?

Nathan nodded and smiled, rose from his stool, and walked outside. Gren put on his grey Ranger?s cloak and went through the kitchen and out into the gardens behind the Inn. He rummaged through the shed and found the wooden wheel he had remembered, and hefted it onto his shoulder, taking the spare axe in case he?d need it. He told Izira where he was going to be, then he met Nathan on the front porch.

?Now let?s see if I can retrace my steps.? Nathan looked on the ground, there had been a light dusting of snow the night before, and his footprints up to the Inn could clearly be seen. ?It shouldn?t be too hard.? He grinned, then both men trudged into the forest, following Nathan?s tracks.

About fifty yards later, Gren gave off those shimmering blue lights that signaled he had left the Inn?s realm. Nathan gave Gren an odd look. ?What was *that* all about, son??
Gren shrugged slightly. ?Maybe I?m just part firefly and don?t know it.?

?Ain?t that peculiar.? Nathan observed, still giving him an odd look, but he said no more about it.

As the lights died down, Gren noticed the change in color as he entered what Nathan had called ?Creosa?. The forest had trees that physically were similar to evergreens, but the bark was almost white, and the needles were a pale purple color. The snow on the ground was vaguely pink.

?My wagon should be just over this next hill. We should be quiet, in case any Pyroalites are sneaking around.? Nathan said in a hushed tone.

Another fifty yards over the hill, and they came upon Nathan?s wagon. It was made of a pearly colored wood, and Gren could see boxes and crates piled up in the back. The left rear wheel had broken apart, and Nathan had propped it up with a log.

?Hope this brown wood don?t stick out like a sore thumb, but I?ll have to make due.? Nathan helped hold the wheel up to the axle, while Gren used the back of the axe head as a makeshift hammer to drive it into place.

?That should do. Hey, one more favor, can you help me check some of my boxes? They got banged around some when I lost my wheel.?

Gren nodded and climbed into the back. They rifled through some of the boxes to make sure the contents were still intact. There were odd shaped fruits, pinkish colored eggs (some broken), and large jugs of a purplish opaque liquid that Gren assumed was a kind of milk. They shifted the boxes around to make them more secure for the rest of the wagon ride, and lashed them down with the canvas and rope.

Nathan smacked his hands together, then smiled at Gren. ?Well, that?s that. Thanks for your help and your time, young man.? He reached his hand forward to shake Gren?s. Just as Gren began to extend his, an arrow flew from the woods and embedded itself into a crate merely inches from Nathan?s head.

?Pyroalites! Get down!? He cried, then jumped from the back of the wagon and onto the driver?s seat. Nathan?s horse had reared back on its hind legs as arrows began to fill the air. Gren fell face first onto the wagon and covered his head, defensively. Nathan grabbed the reins, and gave them a crack, sending the horse off into a gallop through the woods to escape the danger.

As the night grew darker, Gren poked at the fire with a stick to keep the flames up. Glancing up at the stars that dotted the purplish sky, he saw three pink, glowing moons giving off a hazy shine in the cold, winter air. Gren wondered how he had gotten into this situation. Glancing off to the west, he wondered if he?d be able to find his way back to the Inn and Izira. He could picture her face in his mind; her brown hair with the coppery highlights, her amber brown eyes, the way she batted her eyelashes at him when he told her something that touched her heart. He was going to miss having breakfast with her in the morning. He thought of how she would make two eggs and bacon and the plate would look like it had a smiley face. He chuckled gently.

Just then, out of the woods, a small, furry creature came walking up to the fire at a brisk pace, as if he belonged there. It looked like a raccoon, except its fur was pink and white striped, and its ?mask? was purple.

?I tell ya, pal, it?s as cold as a #@%$ out here. Cold as a witches? #@%$. Man.? The creature was rubbing its front paws together, then plopped down on a log next to the fire. It held its paws out as if to get warm.

Gren blinked rapidly at the creature, its sudden appearance and intrusion was so unexpected he failed to prepare himself in case it attacked, although it didn?t look like a threat to him, regardless.

?How ya doin? there, slick?? The creature said to Gren, as if acknowledging him for the first time. ?Ahhhhhh? It leaned back a little as the fire began to ward off the chill.

?Uh . . . I?m fine.? Gren replied, still bewildered.

After an awkward pause, the creature stared at him. ?What, what?s the matter, aren?t you gonna ask how *I* am? What kind of a host are ya, anyway??

Gren looked off to the side for a long moment, then back at the creature. ?I?m sorry. How are *you*??

?Yeah, I?m fine too, thanks for asking.? It said with a touch of sarcasm. ?So, you got anything to eat around here, or what??

Gren gave the creature another bewildered look, before glancing around to see if any of his and Nathan?s supper was left. Several strips of what Gren hoped was Beef Jerky was left on Gren?s plate, so he picked it up and handed it to the animal.

?Hey, thanks, pal!? The creature grasped the plate in his little paws and started gnawing on one of the strips. ?Most people just tell me to scram or beat it, you know? Nobody?s got any manners these days. But you. You . . . ?The creature wagged a finger at Gren. ?You?re one of the good ones. I can tell these sorts of things.?

Gren smiled softly. ?I?m one of the good ones, huh??

?Sure, pal. So what?s the matter with your friend there??

Gren glanced to Nathan. ?He was shot with arrows. I?m trying to get him back home.?

?Eh, that?s too bad. What?s Creosa comin? too, right? So I guess you and him live in that big city a few miles up the road, huh??

Gren figured the creature must be talking about Sanctuary. ?Eh, yeah. Well, *he* does. I just met him today.?

The creature lowered his mostly eaten piece of Jerky and stared at Gren. ?You just met the guy? And you?re gonna take him in *there*? You?re a better guy than me, pal.?

?That?s not necessarily the truth. I just kind of . . . acted without thinking.?

?I know what you mean. Happens to me all the time. Just yesterday, there was this big apple pie sittin? on Missus Beeman?s windowsill. I just hadda have it, you know? It was worth gettin? chased by her two bulldogs and almost gettin? hit with her broom.?

?Uh, yeah.? Gren gave it an odd look. ?Sometimes I wonder if it?s worth all the trouble I get into. Helping people like this.?

?Look, pal. I?m a raccoon.? He placed his paw to his chest for emphasis. ?I do what raccoons do. I run around the forest and get my next meal wherever I can find it. *You* do what you do. And you are . . . ?? The raccoon glanced at him inquisitively.

?A Ranger.? Gren answered.

?. . . a Ranger. Whatever that is.? The raccoon waved his hand around, dismissively. ?You do what Rangers do. You do what you gotta do. You know what I mean??

?I think so.? Gren offered, still looking a bit puzzled.

?Good, I?m glad I could help.? The raccoon stood up from the log and began to walk back into the forest. ?Thanks for the meal, pal. Good luck to you.? He waved a piece of jerky over his head in farewell.

?Good evening.? Gren replied, although the raccoon was already trekking through the woods again.

Gren sighed and leaned back against his own log. ?Do what you gotta do.? He smiled a bit, then watched the crackling fire.

Gren was nearly thrown from his seat as the wagon rattled down the slope and onto the grassy plain. Desperately, he reached forward and grabbed the reins as the raiders followed in hot pursuit. When he grabbed them, his first instinct was to rein the horse in and make for the woods, but then he saw the bewildered faces of the Pyroalites in the camp as they stared at the runaway wagon coming straight at them. Only once chance now, he thought. With a hard shake of the reins, he urged the horse onwards, towards the city gates. The Pyroalites were now scrambling to do something to stop him, tripping over themselves and pulling out bows to try and cut him down. Gren ducked his head and prayed the element of surprise would be enough to make it to safety. Nathan was shielded by the majority of the crates from the arrows that now began again in earnest, but Gren was going to have to protect himself somehow. He reached behind him and grabbed a lid off of an oaken crate, and held it up behind his head and back as an improvised shield. Soon the rhythmic sound of missiles embedding themselves into the wood filled Gren?s ears, as well as the hoof beats of the raiders that were closing in. Open the gates! Open the gates! Gren pleaded in his mind.

Just as Gren thought the raiders had caught up to him and were about to jump into the wagon, the large, pearl colored gates of Sanctuary swung open with a loud creak. Dozens of lavender haired warriors in crystal looking armor charged out, and set up a firing line. A volley was loosed, and their arrows sailed over Gren?s head to slam into his pursuers. Grunts and cries of pain now drowned out the hoof beats, as Gren and the precious cargo sailed through the defenders of Sanctuary and past the open gates.

?Whoa, whoa, whoa!? Gren cried, pulling on the reins to get the wounded, frothing horse to stop. Gently he lowered his makeshift shield, which had a number of arrows protruding from the back. His hand was red and cut from where he gripped the reins, but other than that, he was miraculously unhurt.

?You mind tellin? us what *that* was all about, eh?? Said one of the purple clad soldiers, who ran up to calm the horse.

Gren got into the back of the wagon and pointed down. ?Your runner, Nathan, is wounded badly, and needs medical attention.?

?Bring a stretcher up!? The soldier called. Two men came running. They all loaded him onto the stretcher, and carried him to one of the many houses of healing used to treat the army.

Behind Gren, the soldiers had finished re-closing the gates. Workers had appeared and were hurriedly offloading the cargo, carrying the crates to underground storage bunkers.

?Come with me.? The soldier that originally addressed Gren said. ?My name is John. You can tell me what happened on our way to see Nathan.?

Gren told John about how Nathan had stumbled upon the Inn. John didn?t seem to believe that Gren was from another world, much as Nathan hadn?t, so Gren didn?t press him about it either. He told him about the wagon ride, Nathan getting wounded, and the ride through the Pyroalite encampment.

?You?re lucky to be alive. Thank you for bringing in the supplies, and for bringing Nathan back to us. This siege is going badly. It?s only the Food Runners that keep us going at this point.?

?Nathan said there was a secret tunnel. Couldn?t you and your people escape through it??

?We could. But we?d be giving up our city. Our values. Our way of life. We?d be nomads with no place to call home.?

?You?d be alive, at least.? Gren offered.

?Is it worth being alive if you lose yourself??

?I know what you mean.? Gren understood.

Gren and John walked into a wide tent that served as a temporary hospital for the defenders of Sanctuary. They walked over to a cot where Nathan was being attended to by several nurses and a doctor. A woman in her thirties, and a young girl and boy stood next to the cot.

?Do you think he?ll pull through?? John asked the doctor.

The doctor was busy finishing the bandage on one of Nathan?s wound, and slowly shook his head no.

Gren grimaced, and knelt down beside the wounded man. ?Nathan, its Gren. Can you hear me??

Nathan?s eyes slightly opened, and he offered Gren a pained smile. His words came out soft and weak. ?Hello, Gren. I see you?re still breathing . . . too bad I won?t be for very long . . . ? His smile turned wry.

?Now don?t say that, Nathan, you can pull through this . . . ?

?It?s . . . too late . . . for this old man. But . . . at least I got to see . . . . my city . . . my daughter . . . my grandchildren . . . . one last time. Did you see them? My grandchildren??

?Yes, Nathan, they?re standing right here. They?re beautiful.? Gren said.

Nathan tried to swallow and wet his mouth. ?Drink . . . can you get me . . . something to drink??

?Sure, hold on.? Gren saw a bottle of brandy that the doctor must have been giving to the patients as a makeshift anesthesia. Quickly he poured some into a paper cup and held it up to Nathan?s lips, while propping his head up a bit.

Nathan took a small sip, then coughed. ?That?s . . . heavy on the brandy.? Nathan tried to joke. ?But . . . I *like* . . . brandy . . . ?Slowly, his facial muscles relaxed, and his eyes went glassy, as he finally passed away.

The doctor put his hand on Gren?s shoulder, and Gren gently laid his head back down against the pillow. Nathan?s daughter and grandchildren began to weep, as Gren backed away, to let them grieve.

?Forgive me, Gren, you?ve already done us a great service in returning Nathan and the supplies. But this could end the siege, free my people. It may be asking a lot, but you would be saving countless lives, and our way of life.?

Gren thought about it for a long moment. He thought of Nathan shot with arrows, and his family crying over him. He thought about Izira, her worry and concern over him going off to war. He thought about the purple city and the people within, trying to deal with the siege and still go about their daily lives.

?I?ll do what must be done.?

John got a grateful, relieved smile on his face. ?Thank you. Let us go and see the mages. We may still have time to do accomplish this today, there?s still several hours before noontime.?

Finishing their meal, John quickly led Gren up the street and towards the center of the huge city. They came to a cluster of houses near the base of one of the great towers, and John ushered him through a doorway and into a nearby laboratory. Inside, several Creosans were running around scribbling notes on clipboards while staring at gauges on a labyrinth of clear pipes that houses a glowing pink liquid. The liquid seemed to be going through the room and up through the roof, probably into the massive towers. John got the attention of one of the men in a white lab coat, who curiously walked over to them.

?Ben, I found someone that can deliver the cube for us. This is Gren, the gentlemen who brought Nathan in a few hours ago.?

?I say.? Ben squinted through his glasses at Gren as if analyzing a specimen. ?Well, he certainly fits the description of who we?re looking for.? He put his hands next to Gren?s eyes, and began stretching his skin and pulling Gren?s eyelids back. Gren stood there awkwardly under the examination.

?Right then. Here?s the plan we came up with. We have several captured Pyroalite outfits, and chemicals that can simulate their war paint. We will lead you through the secret tunnel, then you will make your way to their camp. They have checkpoints set up, to guard against spies, but you should have no trouble getting through. From there, you have to insert yourself into their ceremony. Hopefully that won?t be too difficult, as they prefer maximum participation amongst their soldiers. There?s a certain point in the ceremony when the soldiers stop, and fall to the ground, towards the fire. We think this is the best time for you to throw the Cube in, so you will not be as visible. Speaking of the Cube . . . ?, he moved to a table, opened a metal box and withdrew a milky white cube, ?You merely have to press this side, and count to three, like a hand grenade.? Ben made a motion with his hand as if throwing the Cube for emphasis.

?Now, let?s get you ready.?

Two of the burly guards grabbed Gren by the shoulders and shoved him over towards the shaman.Gren didn?t have time to react, so he tried to hold still and not cause any trouble. The old man narrowed his eyes had turned a milky shade of blue, peering into Gren?s as if searching for something. The shaman poked and prodded Gren?s temples.

?Something peculiar about this one . . . ?The shaman mumbled.

One of the guards who must have been in charge glared at the shaman, then Gren. ?Are his eyes purple??

?Well, no . . . ?the shaman begin, still jabbing at Gren?s cheeks. ?But look at the cheekbones, his forehead. Where do you come from, son?? He asked Gren.

?Uh . . . up north?? Gren threw out an answer on the fly.

?North, huh, that would explain it. Let him through, you?re holding the line up.? The head guard said, grabbing Gren by the shoulder.

Roughly shoved past the shaman, who was still glaring at him, Gren hurried through the mass of soldiers and towards the roaring bonfire. I?ll have a heart attack later, he thought. The soldiers were forming up in a large group in a circle around the blazing pyre. Some shamans were busying themselves tossing fresh wood upon the flames, while others were going around to those gathered, giving them last minute instructions and checking their war paint.

?Remember?, a pockmark faced shaman said to Gren, ?Step right, step right, arms up, step left, step left, arms up, fall down. Don?t mess this up like last time.?

?We wouldn?t want that. The last time the gods got angry at *me*, woo!? Gren looked heavenward and shook his head in agreement.

The shaman nodded vigorously and found someone else to prepare. Finally, the head guard from the checkpoint yelled at one of the shamans and pointed at the sun, which had risen to its apex in the noon sky. The old shaman nodded and raised his hands trying to quiet the assembled Pyroalites.

?Fellow worshippers of the gods of fire! We are gathered before this great inferno once more to ask the gods to bless our noble siege! To once again find favor with our warlike endeavors! Let the ceremony begin!?

With grunting and chanting, the soldiers surrounding Gren began to take up the curious dance that the shaman had taught him. At first, not used to the steps, Gren tried to keep up so as not to attract suspicion. Right, right, arms up, left, left, arms up, fall down; at first they moved slowly, then quickly built momentum as they began to find their rhythm. I?d better do this quick, Gren thought. No telling what could happen if I wait too long.

Once Gren felt comfortable enough with the movements, he reached into his armor and wrapped his fingers around the Cube, watching the shamans carefully for the right moment to act. He saw an opening, as most of the shamans were looking elsewhere, and as he fell to the ground, he whipped the Cube out. Pressing the ignition side, and lobbed it into the great fire. A raucous whooshing sound blared over the din of chanting, and a spiraling, freezing wind consumed the flames. Within seconds, the bonfire looked like a tremendous pile of ice and snow. The shamans gaped in horror, while the soldiers cried in dismay and frantically fled in all directions.

?The gods have abandoned us! We must flee! Run for the trees!? The soldiers wailed.

?Wait! Stop running!? The shamans desperately waved their arms and tried to calm the crowd, but it had become a mass stampede for the forest. Gren was caught up in the mayhem and tried to stay on his feet and not be trampled.

The old shaman with the milky blue eyes was gawking at the milling, fleeing soldiers and his gaze fell upon Gren. He pointed emphatically. ?There! The one with the cheekbones! It must have been him! I told you he looked peculiar!?

?Portal? Hey, take it easy there, pal, I think the blood must have rushed to your head in all the excitement. There ain?t no portals around here.?

?Yes there is! I stepped through it to get here! With the man in the wagon, remember?? Gren was still rapidly twisting his head around as if trying to find a familiar landmark.

?Calm down, you?re gonna give yourself whiplash! Alright, let?s say, hypothetically, there?s this ?portal? ?, the raccoon makes the quotes gesture with his fingers. ?All you have to do is just go back to the wagon track and follow it the way you came.?

?Yeah, but where?s the wagon track??

?Hah. Luckily for you you?re talking to a genuine citizen of these here woods. Seeing as how you were nice enough to give me a meal, I suppose I could repay the favor by showin? you the way.?

Gren looked visibly relieved. ?Thank you. Well, that?ll get me started, at least.?

?Don?t give it a second thought?, the raccoon said, waving his paw. Gren leaned down and hoisted the animal up and behind him on the horse.

?That still means I?m going to have to figure out where along the track the portal was.?

?We?ll cross that bridge when we come to it.? The raccoon stately confidently.

They set off through the forest, the animal helpfully pointing out landmarks and steering them down paths until they came out on the wagon track. They rode for several miles, trying to find some sign of where Nathan had parked his wagon the previous day. Gren peered hard into the forest, then suddenly his eyes lit up.

?The broken wheel! Of course, I should have remembered that.?

Sure enough, next to a large rock along the road were splinters of the smashed wheel that led off into Nathan?s hiding spot where he had propped his wagon up to go find help. Gren followed them until he found the area where he had helped him put the new wheel on. Luckily for him, the snow was still on the ground in this part of the forest. He dismounted and followed his tracks from the day before up over the hill and down into the dense trees. He handed the horse?s reins to the raccoon.

?Here, find him a good home.?

The raccoon stared at the reins, then at Gren. ?What am I, an animal shelter? Ah well. There?s a farm a mile or so up the road, I?ll just leave him there.?

?Thanks?, said the horse.

Gren blinked. ?You talk too, huh??

?Doesn?t everybody?? The horse replied.

Gren chuckled lightly. ?Alright, the portal should be right around here. Thanks for your help?, he said to the raccoon.

?Yeah, don?t mention it.? The raccoon was looking at Gren with that odd tilt to his head, curious to see if this portal he was talking about was real.

Gren nodded, then slowly trudged forward, following the footprints in the snow, until he vanished in a burst of blue lights.

The raccoon?s eyes got wide. ?Whoa. The guy was on the level. Rangers are sure strange fellas.?

?What?s a Ranger?? the horse asked.

The raccoon shrugged his furry shoulders.