1. The Inn at Hima

The snow-covered Himamountain held a cottage with a colorful sign that said: “Come in, there’s room for everyone!” That turned out to be a lie when Himnib tried to enter with his herd of one hundred sheep.

The cottage sounded lively, but not full. Several lights burned, several were still off. The voices inside were closer to whispers than shouting.

Outside, a snow storm raged, and Himnib could barely even see his own white sheep against the white backdrop.

And so he quickly stepped inside, smiling.

The smell of warm vegetable soup and freshly baked bread greeted him. Normally, he’d live off of his own herd, but that had become nearly impossible. His animals produced less milk and meat than ever, because they could barely eat themselves. The First Conflict had left behind a black hole at places that should have contained large fields of grass. Just as it left behind a black hole where Himnib’s species had once built their kingdom: the Bearchitects.

After days of grueling travel he’d finally conquered the Himamountains. And, hopefully, a hearty meal.

The next few words were the last ones he needed right now.

“We are closed,” a snow leopard said.

He laid before the counter. One that his Bearchitects had surely built. Behind that counter stood the owner of the inn: a Yak with black fur at his back and an explosion of black curls on his head.

Himnib looked at the Yak for support. The only sound in the inn came from his walking cane, tapping the wooden planks as he continued walking. Four of his sheep also hopped after him; he pushed them back out the door without looking.

“But the sign clearly says—”

“We are closed to your species,” the leopard sneered.

The owner grabbed a piece of parchment from the counter and fumbled to get it inside a barrel. He wanted to grab a second object too, but Himnib had already spotted it. A ball of metal and wood, carved by a skillful artist to be shaped like a leopard. The rope attached to it had snapped, but still hung around the leopard’s neck.

Himnib stepped closer, his cane now tapping table legs.

The back of the ball contained a name: Lazpard.

“But you are a Companion!” he said cheerfully. “Companions are known for their hospitality and helpfulness! Surely you don’t want me to tell my best friend, the Wise Owl, that you have refused—”

Lazpard sighed and scratched a wooden plank with his nails. “Fine! Fine. Come in.”

The Yak continued cleaning the counter. He seemed nervous, which means he only increased the mess. “Yak yak, everyone is welcome! Come in, come in.”

Himnib had heard about a group of jackals who made fake Companion Necklaces. They pretened to be Companions precisely because everyone trusted them, because they had ended the First Conflict mostly peacefully.

Every animal species had one official Companion. One animal who had approved of the peace accords. They were regularly called to the Council of Kame to vote on a new law. This meant hundreds of votes. But it felt a lot more fair than “the gods decide”.

But no, this was no fake Companion Necklace. He knew that for sure—because he had one himself. And his species was the only exception to the rule.

Despite Lazpard’s aggressive expression, he remained a Companion. Himnib trusted him.

“Come on, woolly friends! Come on in!” he yelled back out the door.

He was getting old. The black bear leaned on his walking cane and refused to walk back out and push every single one of his sheep inside.

A few snow leopards eyed the herd with hungry eyes. They complained about an “idiotic number of sheep” and that it “would never fit”, then jumped through the glassless window and left the inn.

The Yak sighed as he watched the sheep pour in, one after the other. They pushed the tables into the corners to make room, and it still wasn’t enough.

Lazpard’s face spoke volumes: see, this was a stupid idea. Himnib didn’t see the problem. Nice and soft, right? And warm and cozy?

He thought it as the final ten sheep jumped over others, like bouncy balls, to end up on the windowsill.

“Well, you see,” Himnib said. “Sheep are far more intelligent than you think.”

Two sheep missed their jump and ended on a houseplant, tangled up in its vines. They decided to eat the plant instead of walking away.

“Well, not all are equally intelligent.”

Yak smiled as he lit fires in small baskets glued to the walls. Partially for light, partially for warmth against the snow storm that kept attacking and shaking the roof.

“Where did you learn that?” Himnib asked. “Are you one of those new beings that can do magic?”

“Nok nok, just an invention from the Gosti. Yak yak, they call themselves Primas now and moved to the Aparant River. Think themselves superior.”

Yak’s eyes narrowed. “But when I accidentally set a house on fire, yak, I was punished severely by the Council! Twenty years in jail, never return and—”

Lazpard growled. “Watch your tongue.”

Himnib wanted to ask more questions, but Yak fell silent and anxious.

“Hand over your cane,” the host said eventually, “and your other possessions. Yak, if you’re here, you can stay the night. As long as you pay.”

Himnib gave away his satchel. It contained items made of wool and his final bottles of milk. Creating clothes was similar to building homes, he’d told himself. It was smaller, and you had to be more careful, but he still proudly called himself a Bearchitect.

Someone had to do it.

But his walking cane would not go anywhere. Why did the Yak pull objects off of the counter? Why was he so anxious? Why were they whispering? What was written on that parchment?

His hungry sheep had started on the wooden planks inside the wall by now. There was no use telling them to calm down.

Lazpard used his nail to pick food rests from between his sharp front teeth.

“And what brings a Bear Companion all the way to Hima in a snow storm?”

So he knew! That made Lazpard’s treatment of him even more odd. “Looking for places where the flowers still bloom. Looking for other Bears.”

Lazpard scampered. “Ah yes, well, then maybe you shouldn’t have spread across the entire world like a bunch of ants.”

“Ants? The Council gave the Bearchitects permission to have multiple Companions, because—”

“—you believe you can just walk anywhere you want and eat other animal’s fields. Walk away from your duty as Companion, walk away from the mess you leave behind.”

When their territory was destroyed, the bears were spread out. They helped build homes and start the first cities on all continents, especially now that they’d invented how to grow food where you were, using seeds and gardens. When the First Conflict ended, all the bears were stuck in other countries and not allowed to cross borders.

Because that was the new rule: from now on, you needed to officially ask permission from a Companion before visiting a new territory. Very hard to do when your own territory is lost. Even harder when you were a shepherd who visited a new territory every day.

This cottage had to be near the border between Kina and Foenix. Himnib really didn’t have the time to look for the boss of Foenix to ask for permission first.

He didn’t have to study the walls for long to make this point. “We built this pretty cottage. We built all the cottages for everyone!”

His nail followed some of the elegant carvings of flowers and landscapes. This had to be the work of Bunjo—he made no ugly things.

“You know what I can’t do?” Lazpard growled. “Thanks to your cottages and homes? Hunt. Live underneath the moon. Catch prey myself and eat it myself.”

Yak grew even more anxious. Himnib pet the sheep next to him and whispered something in their ears.

That was another rule from the Companions. In certain areas, nobody was allowed to attack or eat each other. Only out there—in the Wilderness, they called it—you could live the way animals used to live long ago. A rule they’d copied from the gods, which meant half the world automatically hated it anyway.

“Then go and live in the highest mountains, if you really want,” Himnib said.

“Oh, yes, I will. But I have some matters to resolve first.”

Two sheep rolled forward like ninjas, bumped a barrel onto its side, and grabbed the parchment that flew out of it. Lazpard placed his paw on it, pressing the paper into the wooden floor.

The Yak disappeared through a side door.

Himnib’s sheep tried to overwhelm Lazpard with their numbers, but a leopard is big, strong, and entirely in his right to kill a few sheep out of “self defense”.

“Leave him alone,” Himnib said loudly.

Lazpard looked back, ever so briefly, to see if the sheep would listen.

Himnib swung his cane to remove the grey-dotted front paw from the parchment. His other claw reached for the paper, but a leopard’s tail slapped it away. Lazpard used his front paws as boxing gloves, while Himnib’s cane twisted and turned rapidly, creating an impenetrable shield.

He wasn’t the strongest bear anymore, but he remained a bear. He could match Lazpard’s strength and pull on the parchment just as strongly.

And so the parchment split into two.

Both animals lost their balanced and rolled backwards, into opposing walls of the hut. Himnib’s landing was softened by twenty sheep; for Lazpard they merely made a gaping hole.

The leopard scrambled to his feet, disoriented, then jumped through the window.

Himnib was left holding the other piece of the ripped parchment.

Proposed Law #1826: shepherds are also bound to Law #2. We have turned a blind eye for years as they kept switching territory. No longer! The worst offenders should be punished for all the years in which they walked our lands and ate our fields without permission. All Companions have until Marta the 17th to vote.

Marta the 17th. That was close.

The parchment held hints to a second Law that Lazpard would be holding right now. The thought of what it might entail scared him.

In the darkness he found his satchel and opened the door to the outside. The storm immediately grabbed his fur and yanked it every which way, as thick snowflakes glued his eyes shut.

“Woolly friends, my apologies, we must immediately get back on the road!”