The wind crashed in the trees, ripping loose twigs, leaves and unwary owls.

I braced myself against the gale, doing all could trying not to lose my balance as looked for a safe place to hole up and shelter from the blistering wind. I found a small dip behind a fallen tree, and seeing no other place to hide; I crouched down and huddled beneath my cloak, letting the tree take the punishment. I laid my bedroll out and nibbled a hunk of bread, shoving my feet inside my pack.

I woke up to the sun streaming through the trees, illuminating the devastation the wind had wrought. Around me lay torn branches, bent trees and a couple of dead rabbits, killed by a falling branch.

I thought about picking the rabbits up and using them to make a nice hot breakfast, but they didn’t have much meat on them, and their deathbed was a pile of deadly mushrooms. So I dug a lump of cheese out my pack and sat, munching it and wondering what to do next.

I had been sent out to find and kill something by the end of the week to have in a roast. On reaching that mouth-watering vision, I picked myself up and set off to find some deer.

I found a small herd in a clearing and watched as they happily chewed grass, unaware of the fate that awaited one of their number. I wondered if I should kill one now, or take a gamble and wait for an easier opportunity to bring one of the creatures down.

As I was expected to be back the next day, I decided to string my bow and slowly move around the edge of clearing, hidden by the trees, as I scanned the herd for a suitable target. I set my sights on a small buck, and drawing my bow, I looked down the arrow shaft, pausing to take a deep breath, I let the arrow fly. The arrow struck the buck’s heart killing it instantly.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed the stag a little way off behind it. Obviously, the stag didn’t like its young being shot at, and with a bone shattering roar, it lowered its black antlers and charged!

As the beast hurtled towards me at a terrifying speed, I turned and ran for my life.

I grabbed a low lying branch, and swung myself up into a tree, panting as the stag roared and butted the tree beneath me. Realizing it wouldn’t give up, I drew my bow and shot the stag in the chest. It shuddered wildly, then collapsed and lay still. Drawing my hunting knife, I jumped down from the tree and prodded the massive corpse with my foot. The stag didn’t move, so I set off back to the clearing. The herd had fled, leaving the dead buck behind. I walked over to the corpse, and set about skinning it, stowing the hide inside my pack, then I began the task of removing the meat from the bones. Putting the heavy load in my pack, I quickly buried the bones, and then walked back to where the stag lay. I repeated the process, but also hacking the head off, wanting to take it home to show my parents. I also quickly dug a hole to place the rest of the meat in, as a stag and a buck would too heavy to carry.

I set off at a brisk pace, whistling cheerfully. When night fell, I made a fire and cooked some of the meat, wolfing down the delicious, hot meal. When morning came, I woke to the usual bird calls and rustling as the forest started to wake up. I groggily got to my feet and began walking along the stony track, and within a few hours my house came into view in the distance. I quickened my pace, eager to be home. When I arrived I walked in through the kitchen door to the delicious smell of fresh bread.

“I’m home!” I called out as I started unloading the meat onto the table.

In a few minutes my father walked in, and hugged me hard in his great arms.

“So how was your trip son?” He asked.

“It went very well, actually.” I replied, gesturing to the meat on the table.

He looked at the pile of meat and asked, a note of fear in his voice:

“Where did you get that head?”

I quickly filled him in of my narrow escape, “What? You killed the last Blackpine Protector? Oh this is bad. This is very, very bad…” He turned away, mumbling something.

Confused, I asked “What are the Blackpine Protectors?”

“The Blackpine Protectors were a herd of deer that, in the Old Times, would guard the legendary fort of Kandallar. They were named after Dorino Blackpine, an Elven mage who first charged them with guarding the fort after rescuing the herd from a pack of Strutan wolves. They would warn the soldiers in the fort of attackers by roaring incredibly loudly, and running back to the fort with unnatural speed, to receive messages to deliver to nearby settlements and kingdoms warning them of the attack.”

I nodded. The one I had killed was strangely fast and its roar had been extremely loud. We sat in silence for few moments, then:

“Pack some food and clothes enough for both of us to last a week.Don’t ask me where we are going. We haven’t much time. Oh, and bring your bow.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, disobeying my father’s command.

“To the Seer, if you must know.”

A wave of apprehension swept over me as I thought of the Seer: as grumpy old woman who wore enough strange charms to buckle the knees of an elephant, and carried a grimy old stick. She lived in a cave, deep into the forest, which she only ever left to deliver babies, heal the sick, and to gather a particular type of fungus that she claimed helped her see into “the Otherworld”. Everyone in the village knows that those mushrooms are hallucinogenic and make you feel either really ill or put you into a REALLY relaxed state. Whenever you went to the Seer about something, she would probably shriek like a harpie and foretell your gruesome and untimely demise. And if this something was anything to do with users of magic (mages, necromancers, witches etc.) , then you probably would die a horrible death.

Grabbing the saddlebags, I packed 3 loaves of bread, half a cheese wheel, some of the venison from the hunt, the seasonings and herbs, a flint and steel, some apples and some clothes, mumbling little chrams under my breath that were supposed to ward of evil spirits. When my task was completed I ran out of door, pausing only to grab the tack for our horse, Bella, and dashed into the stable, where I found her munching on on some hay, with a look that seemed as though she was determined to eat all of our feed. After putting on her reins, I added the saddle and the saddlebags, and led her out of the stable and tethered her to a post on the fence, then went back inside to collect my bow, arrows and hunting knife.

The England vs Paraguay Match

We were all sat on the sofa, watching the violent football match on the TV screen before us. Paraguay were turning nasty. They were taking their socks off and trying to shove them into Michael Owen’s mouth. It was half time. Then a message flashed across the screen. It said: “DAVID BECKHAM HAS BEEN STRANGLED! The football player sneaked a double-vodka into his water bottle, and in his drunken state strangled himself with his captain’s armband.” Then the commentator’s voice came back into existence. “Sven-Goran Erikson has picked a ferret named Cheese to be the new captain. OK, the players are back on the pitch. Aaand, here they go! (PEEP!) Cheese is on the offense. Ouch, that’s a nasty tackle. Cheese gets past, ducking and weaving. SHOOT! AND IT’S A … save. Uh-oh. Children, look away. Cheese is now mauling the Paraguay goalkeeper. Ooooo, that has got to hurt, I hope that poor man doesn’t want to have children, because he’s not gonna be able to. Cheese has gone on a rampage! Everybody run! What the…?”

“There’s a SWAT helicopter, hovering over the pitch. It seems there is a sniper in it, firing at Cheese. Nice shot! Cheese is down. No he’s not.Oh, that isn’t good. He’s gone insane. Now Cheese is making short work of the helicopter (BOOM!) Now it’s raining cookies. It’s a miracle! Cheese is eating the cookies. Into the cage now. Good little ferret. Phew, I’m glad that’s over.”

“OK, back to the game. Rooney is going for the goal! Hang on, isn’t he supposed to have a bad foot? Rooney’s down! He’s grasping his foot in agony! What an idiot. He couldn’t just let his foot heal. Michael Owen’s flying forward, he’s going to score… He’s missed! The ball has gone straight through the stadium and off to Timbuktu! It has suitcases and everything! (Aaaaaaaaargh!) What the? I heard a scream just then. That can only mean one thing. Excuse me for a moment. (Oi! turn that horror movie off and watch the game!)

“Sven has picked a new striker for this penalty. What is this guy doing? He’s picked Cheese to be the new striker! GOAL! Cheese is going mad. He’s running around squeaking! Right, I’m going home. I can’t take much more of this. Bye. Ouch. Who left this thing that looks like part of the floor here? Ah well. Never mind. I’ll find out later. See you all lateeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!” (Whoops. I forgot I cut a piece of the floor out at half time. Mwuhahahahahahaha! I am the floor cutter monkey! Fear me, you mere mortals!) Hang on. How did I become the commentator for this match? Oh yeah! The TV pulled me in a great big flash of green light. I told Mum that electrician was dodgey, he had a really shifty look about him. Maybe it was the black cloak and mask… I dunno.

(Here is the comment my English teacher left: Cheese? Cheese the ferret? Well, this is such a daft story, I don’t know whether to laugh along with it or despair at it!)

Cheese the Ferret is a fictional (I want a real ferret named Cheese, but Mum won’t let me have one) character I created in the random part of my brain (which is about 80% of it) for an English essay in Year 7. He first appearance was in a story based the match between England and Portugal (I think it was Portugal, I’ll have to dig out my old English book) in the last World Cup. The story was a mixture of randomness and extreme animal intelligence (on Cheese’s part) with a dash of violence. It started off with David Beckham strangling himself with his captain’s armband, and eventually it warped into something that needs new words to describe.

So, if that just left you with more questions than you had to start with, then wait for the first story (it’ll probably be written by Saturday at the latest). For those of you who know who Cheese is, then the story will be just as strange as the last. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

I’m not used to blogging as I’ve never had a blog before, so things will be a bit random/boring/rubbish until I learn what I can do.

So for the time being I’m going to just toy around with the tools and stuff.