#my sibling chose this one and ooof

[kenconffetti]

Megop Week 2023 - Day 1 - Loyalty or Betrayal

(I'll let yall decide who betrayed who😌💔)

[heretherebedork]

Hey me gain 🌸

You a definitly right, Yok feeling betrayed, because he doesn't know.

And him just looking so devastated and defeated made me tear up. All the trust he has put in Dan, just to being "betrayed" even when he tries to help them. It will get hard for him to forgive (if he does) and may heart aches for Yok. This poor little soul, but also Dan, who knows that he has lost something so beautiful. My sibling and I talked about Dan possible getting killed, and Yok meeting Dan's parents at the funeral as a closer for the mention of them.

Also as someone said on here, they are all pawns in the hands of this system, who were allowed a bit of rebellion. And I like that allegory,

I just don't know how they want to close all of this in one episode.

Oh and I just saw your Pok Tong background(???) love them so much. Been stuck on episode 3 of season 2 and don't really want to continue. While some couples are good the rest just makes it hard to want to watch, also I have a lot to do.

Dan knew that he was making a choice that Yok would struggle to forgive. But he also knew he had to make that choice to protect Yok and his parents and everyone else. Dan's priorities has to be their lives over their philosophy and he would never chose otherwise. No matter how much it might hurt, no much how much it might make him ache and destroy his heart. Because Yok alive and angry is better than Yok dead.

Ooof, the idea of Yok meeting Dan's parents at the funeral is painful, realistic and... hopefully something that only happens in a sadistic fanfic. Seriously.

Oh, yes, this part of the story is about how much power matters and how power is all that matters and that, in the end, what they're doing is only the smallest part of what needs to happen. It's honestly terrifying to watch these people just.. walk into the show and reveal that they know everything and that they could destroy it all without hesitation. Ooof. That was rough.

This show is hurtling towards an end that I am very unsure of... but it's definitely going to end.

(Oh, yes, PokTong are my BABIES and the only couple that survived season 2 with any semblance of my enjoyment. Don't... don't bother with season 2. It's not good. It's really, sincerely not good.)

[vanimeldes]

can you elaborate a bit what made you divorce from asoiaf/got as you say?

Ooof, so, after the G0T finale, I think my reasons should be obvious, but you also mentioned the books and yes, I lost my interest in books too and I will try to not make this answer too long, but in the same time, to convey all my thoughts on this matter.

*Putting it below cut because.... when I`ll explain the problem of Martin`s fans later, you`ll understand why*

It`s amazing that just a year ago, AS0IAF was my second favourite franchise ever, second only to Tolkien legendarium, but even then, I didn`t love it for the fantasy elements in it, but rather for its characters and some twists and how Martin does forshadowing and writes the dualistic nature of the human being, but...as I read other fantasy series that do these four things AND have fantasy elements, I paused a bit and thought that these series would be just as popular, if they had popular adaptations such as G0T. But I got that AS0IAF was the first that had the opportunity to be adapted and I accepted that. Yet the show highlighted (and in some cases, amplified) some of the very big issues of these books and yes, D&D have many things to be blamed of, but it`s not as if they didn`t have a basis for their fuckery in the books. Martin is just as guilty. So here we go.

1. I am not sure if Martin has ever seen a 13 year old girl, but he writes grown-ass men having fixations and being sexually attracted by Daenerys and Sansa, two prepubescent girl. Martin would call it the gritty realism of the medieval times, but last time I checked, he was writing fantasy, not historical fiction. Fantasy means you can do what you want in your world, so even if you are inspired by the medieval times, it`s still YOUR fictional world and no one will question your research or accuracy if you want to have a female character married when she is at least, say, 18, not FUCKING 13. Not to mention that even in our real world, child brides existed but, guess what, in most the cases, both spouses waited until the wife reached a certain age (16 or older) to consummate their marriage. @eyes-painted-with-kohl explained in the notes of one of my posts and even gave an example or two. I can think of Isabella of France and Edward II. They were married when she was 13 (according to some historical evidence)/16 (according to others). Yes, I know he was homosexual, but he still needed heirs, so they still had children...4 years later, when she was 17/20.  

2. In this same vein, the treatment of his female characters (with the exception of Arya and, maybe Catelyn) is egregious. Daenerys and Sansa are sexualized by the male characters (don`t get me started of the bullshit that is S/ansan, because The Hound is still a murderous man who is aroused by a 12 year-old girl, who invaded her personal space and even pointed a knife to her; do not get me started on book!Jorah, who is a creep). Cersei is paraded naked on the streets and needless to say that during the walk of atonement for an adulterous woman in medieval times, she was never stripped naked; she only had her hair shaved and walked BAREFOOT. That`s it. What Martin did to Cersei is just disgusting. We are shown how Arianne uses sex to have Ser Arys help with her plans and it is implied that Margaery uses sex also. I get that sex is Cersei`s mechanism, but you have two more feminine (this is important) women in power and both of them explicitly use, or are implied to use sex as a mean to gain that power. I get Brienne`s point, her treatment bothers me the least, but it`s annoying from time to time how most of the other characters see only her ”ugliness” and nothing else. Of course, this is the result of the heavy patriarchy in Westeros world that I will discuss in the next paragraph.

3. The heavy patriarchy in Westeros world is nowhere similar to the patriarchy in the medieval times, and that was Martin`s choice and his only. A clear example is what was dubbed the Dead Ladies Club, namely a group of dead female characters whose only purpose was to serve as object of desire for one or more men, to give birth AND to die (gruesomely in some cases). Joanna Lannister is meant only to further fuel the enmity between Tywin and Aerys and Tywin`s hatred towards Tyrion. Elia exists solely to die gruesomely and motivate Doran`s desire for vengeance. Lyanna (the most explored dead lady still exists mainly to give birth to Jon and to be one of the reasons behind a war started by men. Rhaella exists solely to be raped by Aerys and give birth and die. Ashara Dayne exists solely to commit suicide. Ned, a POV character, spends chapters thinking about his father and siblings and never to his mother. Martin had the audacity to say that Tolkien himself didn`t left notes about Aragorn`s mother, but Tolkien had an entire story when Aragorn`s mother and her impact of his life is explored (more than his father, for that matter). The heavy patriarchy serves as reason for the utterly disgusting right of the first night (read Fire & Blood for more). I am not so versed into history as @mydaylightruyi who discussed this, but I too know that in our real world, this practice was a MYTH. But GRRM made it very present in his world because of reasons I guess. 

4. The racism is just rampant and disgusting and even I didn`t notice all the racism until I read @polysorscha `s insights. There`s a to be discussed here, mainly about the portrayal of the Dothraki and how they are reduced to barbaric rapists - interestingly, they are supposedly inspired by Huns, but guess what: the Huns formed a very permisive society, where any religion and culture had its places, where women were very respected and, while cruel  in the European people`s POV, were never....like THIS. 

5. The rape cultures. The Ironborn. Similarly to the Dothraki, their culture is reduced to pillaging and rape. That scene when Euron conquers that castle in the Reach ( I forgot its name) and how he had the daughters of that lord stripped naked and serve his men the meal, and how his men started raping them was....honestly, I wish I could have skipped this chapter. I still read fantasy books written by men more than I read fantasy books written by women, but never in my life did it occur to me to read something like this in a novel that is so hailed for fantasy (?) and realism (???????). I`m not saying that things like that didn`t happen in our cruel history but, again, Martin writes a fictional story. He could choose not to include the rampant violence against women, cultures whose practices are reduced to this utterly gross things, racist and orientalist elements, but he chooses not to. Why? I don`t know. I am not sure I want to know. And Victarion`s POV...oh boy. Or Theon, in ACOK, when he literally rapes that Kyra girl after takes Winterfell. Not only that it`s very disturbing, especially coming from a character that is supposed to be redeemed in some way (yes, I know how he`s been through in ADWD and I also know this is meant to be his redemption arc, but I personally still can`t get over this). And in the same time, while we`re still at the redemption discussion, Theon will surely undergo a redemption of some sorts, Cersei (a female character) will most likely be killed by her lover/brother, who will strangle her to death, most likely while he will embrace her, without a second chance of a droplet of redemption. 

6. I love Tyrion and I love Tywin but in the same time, I acknowledge their misogyny, but Martin chose to write them as misogynists, but in the same time, writing them in such ways that they are inherently labelled as „badass”. He also says that Tyrion is his favourite, but his POV is utterly misogynistic. The reason he kills Shae is because she dared to sleep with his father, but let`s unpack the things a bit: she was a former sex worker with no power, who was forced by the most powerful man in Westeros. She had no choice. She couldn`t refuse him. Yet, for Tyrion, she is ”the lying whore” and that`s it. We are given no chance to try to see the things from her POV (I am not implying that she should have been a POV character, but Martin should have written Tyrion considering for a moment what other choices Shae had). 

7. I discovered that Martin straightly ripped-off many plot points and themes from another series who isn`t half as popular, sadly. 

8. Last, but not the least, the snake pit that is THE FANDOM. You know, as much as I tried to stay away from its toxicity because „it`s just an internet thing, it can`t affect me”, it did affect my online experience in ways that I hadn`t imagined. To sum up, if you don`t like a character or hate another, you are  a pariah. You are dumb because you don`t understand that character or you are a misogynist (because, sadly, this discourse is mostly about the female characters). If you dare to voice up your thoughts about a certain event and/or a certain character and tag your post as #asoiaf or #asoiaf meta (you know, because this is it to me: a meta; plus, I want to have an ordering system in my blog so that whenever I want to look for a certain post in a certain topic or fandom, I would only look into the tag) or #my meta (highlighted „MY” because this is also important, as in it`s MY OWN PERSONAL OPINION), and those thoughts happen to not fit into the general consensus of the „great AS0IAF bloggers” (namely those meta writers with many followers who sound like they already read TWOW and ADOS), you are trashed and called an idiot. Granted, I met enough great people, meta writers included, in this fandom, and it was a real pleasure to chat with them, but I also had bad experiences with others and idk, I thought we were all mature people, but the way they reacted can hardly be described as mature. And in the same point, it`s just funny to see the hardcore Martin stans reacting in front of the clear evidence that Martin isn`t half as original as they thought (see 7) and acting like they are personally attacked.

Ok, it took me an hour. There is a lot more to discussed, but I got bored and I honestly want to shut the door to this fandom forever. To answer another question, yes, I will be reading the last two books  if when they will come out. I invested many months in this series not to finish it. I`ll probably block all the ASOIAF-related tags to avoid any interaction with its fandom during those times.

[yougottalovegameofthrones]

Safe and Sound Pt.2 (Robb Stark x Reader)

A/N: I got some pretty great feedback/requests for a second part, so here I am. :)  For those of you requesting a part 2 in the comments, Idk if you follow me, so I will tag you in this post since you were all interested in reading a part two lol: @wonderboygenius @htariq @itsallthesamee

Once again, it’s not all canon, but I think that this was the perfect way to wrap up this little short series. And yes, I know the time jump is not the same. I wasn’t exactly sure how long certain events had been since the Red Wedding. But I’m just making it work.  In my next update (most likely Almost Home pt. 4) , I’ll let you know more about my schedule for updating.  Until then... have a great weekend and rest of the week!

-M <3

----

Months after the Red Wedding...

Third Person POV

After the events of that bloody night, in which Robb Stark’s men and his pregnant wife were slaughtered, the castle of Walder Frey was rather silent. Of course, Roose Bolton was declared Warden of the North, which wasn’t a surprise as it was being told that Robb Stark had in fact perished amongst his men and wife.  But besides the tragic half truths that were being spread, nothing else had happened, as of yet.

House Frey had made it’s position in this war clear, and with who they chose to pledge their allegiance to.  The North gladly wanted to see the demolition of this house and everyone in it, and Walder Frey had little worry for it in the time being. 

He sat at his table, watching as a servant girl approached with a plate of meat pie in her hands.  “You’re not one of mine, are you?” 

“No, my Lord.” 

“Didn’t think so.”  Walder Frey’s eyes wandered down her body before adding, “Aren’t you pretty...” 

The girl winced slightly as she felt his hand come in contact with her ass, but chose not to say anything as he turned back to his food. 

“Where are my damn moron sons?” He spat harshly. “Black Walder and Lothar promised to be here by midday!”

“They’re here, my lord.” The servant girl responded softly. 

The old man frowned, before grunting. “What are they doing? Tell them to come here, now.” 

“But they’re already here, my Lord.” She adds, a slight smile on her face as he looks around the room in confusion. “Here... my Lord.”  The servant gestures towards the food on his plate. 

Hesitantly, his fingers gently pull away the bread crust from the top of his pie, and his eyes began to fill up with confusion and fear as he identifies what looks to be a finger in his slice. 

“They weren’t easy to carve.” A new voice caused the old man to look up, seeing Robb Stark making his way towards the table, his knife in hand.  His eyes were dark, and his grip on his weapon was tight. “Especially Black Walder.” 

Walder Frey’s breathing increased rapidly, and he looked in bewilderment at the servant girl beside him. In a single motion, she reached down and pulled off the mask, revealing her true identity. 

“My name is Arya Stark.” She started calmly. “I want you to know that. The last thing you’re ever going to see is two Starks smiling down at you.” 

The older man stood up from his seat in a half hearted attempt to escape, but it was too late. Arya pulled the man back down in his seat, and held his head still in her arms. “Would you like to do the honors, brother?” 

“Gladly.” Robb nodded grimly before looking down at Walder Frey, struggling weakly to free himself from his sisters grip. He shook his head slightly, before beginning to speak. “You took everything from me, so it’s time for me to return the favor.” 

With a simple flick of his wrist, Robb quickly slit the man’s throat, watching as blood spurted out of his neck and as it began to stain his clothes. His mouth was parted in a soundless cry for assistance, and could only watch helpless as the two Stark siblings smiled solemnly down at him as the life ebbed from his body. 

Eventually, his body ceased moving, and Arya looked at her older brother. “Did this help you?”

“It’s good to know that I was the one who ended his miserable life.” Robb replied, cleaning his knife and putting it away while his eyes remained on Walder Frey’s bloody corpse. “But it doesn’t bring her back, as much as I want it to.” 

“I know I never met her.” Arya placed her hand on his arm. “But I know that she did not deserve to die like this.” 

“No. No one does.” Robb whispered, his eyes watering with tears at the memory of her death. All of the blood, the panic in her eyes as she struggled to fight for her life in his arms, and when she breathed her last. It all rushed back, all at once. 

“Hey.” He glanced over at his little sister, her eyes filled with empathy. “Do you want me to take care of the others on my own?” 

“No.” Robb shook his head, before turning towards the door. “I owe them a visit myself.” 

---

Catelyn Stark waited anxiously on top of her horse a safe distance away from the castle. The two of her children explained the plan multiple times to her, assuring her that they would return to her safely. But the fear that remained inside of her only escalated when watching the two of them disappear inside of the castle. 

Her second eldest, Sansa, sat on a horse next to her, as the handful of guards sat behind them on their own horses. She glanced to the side, seeing her mother fidget with the reigns as her gaze was focused on the castle ahead of them. “Mother, they are going to be alright. Arya’s plan will work fine.” 

“Last time I entered that castle...” Catelyn started coldly, her gaze not shifting. “I was promised guest right by this House, sealed with bread and salt. And yet, our men were murdered like they were nothing, and Y/N was sentenced to death for nothing more than falling in love with my son and being with child with his heir. Who knows what the Frey’s will do to them if they are caught.” 

Sansa reached over and touched her mother’s gloved hand, causing the oldest Stark to turn her attention. “They will come out. It hasn’t been that long. I’m sure-” 

“Look! I see them!” One of the guard’s interrupted, and both of the women looked forward to see the two Stark children galloping towards where they waited. 

Ayra began to converse with Sansa in a quiet but exhilarated tone, while Robb trotted leisurely over to his mother. His eyes were gentle and sad, and after a moment of silence, he began to speak. 

“I killed him.” 

“I’m glad it was you.” Catelyn looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “And I know they are too.” 

His demeanor almost broke at the mention of you and the child, and he looked away before he could let any tears fall. 

“Why don’t I feel better?” He sniffed quietly, before looking back at his mother. “I killed Walter Frey. I killed the man and the people he held dear to him. Shouldn’t that have been enough?” 

“You lost the love of your life, Robb.” She replied gently. “The pain doesn’t just go away, even if you get your revenge.” 

“When does it go away?” 

“I don’t think it does.” Catelyn smiled sadly. “It just gets better the longer time goes on. Just like your fathers death for me.” 

“All we can do is remember.” Robb’s eyes flashed over to his youngest sister. She glanced back at the castle. “Remember this day, and remember who we have lost.” 

“Indeed.” He sighed, and looked back at his mother before adding, “I suppose we better move on, then.” 

Catelyn nodded gently, before urging her horse forward, followed by her two daughters and the guards. At the end, Robb remained where he was, gazing out at the castle where he had lost his wife and child only months ago. 

“I miss you.” He whispered softly into the silence. “And I know there is nothing I can do to bring either of you back, but I love you both. His whole house is gone, and as long as I live, no other house will bring down the name of the Starks. I only wish you were here with me.” 

Robb swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. “I don’t know exactly where you are now, but I pray that you are both safe and sound. I will see you again, maybe not in the near future, but someday. And I can’t wait till I do.” 

Catelyn called his name from the top of the hill, and Robb sighed. “I have to go now, love, but I hope that you know how incredibly loved and missed you are.” 

With that, the young wolf kicked gently at his horses sides and galloped away from deadly castle and towards a better future with his family. 

--

A/N2: Ooof. I wrote the majority of this from 1-3 am, so if it’s bad, I apologize. XD

[birdsofchristmas]

Chapter 3: A Moose in the Hoose

My aunt and uncle are city folk by origin, though you could hardly tell from their outdoorsy lifestyle punctuated weekly by drives to the mountains outside Banff and Canmore, excursions to Thailand and South America, and shelf upon shelf of books on skiing, mountaineering, and paddling.

It makes sense that the house they chose to live in had just the right balance of city and nature. Last year they’d bought a house in a new development in Northwest Calgary previously occupied solely by herds of moose, white tailed deer and elk. A 20 minute walk from their property reached down to the mighty bow River, fed by glaciers by way of lake Louise and winding through the busiest metropolitan areas of downtown.

“Hands over your heart for the mighty bow” my uncle was often known to say everytime we drove over a bridge from one river bank to the other, telling us stories of the Blackfoot who had settled and hunted and fished in the foothills, pointing to a few clearings where archeology students from the university of Calgary had found evidence of their habitation.

Like it or not whenever you settle down to build a place to call home something or someone is always displaced to some degree. In Vancouver when new condos are built residents in the former run down buildings are sent packing, sometimes to homelessness and other times to a cycle of one insecure housing arrangement to the next.

Further out towards suburbs and outlying bedroom communities trees and forests are the ones displaced. One day you might find yourself walking in a meadow enjoying solitude in nature, the next a mysterious sign with pictures of new houses and roads appears on the edge of the forest property, by the next year the forest is all but disappeared and replaced with scores of new single family houses, in a neighborhood named after the very forest areas demolished to accommodate them- names like “Maple Meadows”, “Eagle Mountain Ridge”, or “Aspen Grove”.

You don’t have to look too far back to realize the truth that for every settling there is an unsettling. In the case of my aunt and uncle’s neighborhood it was the home of a large population of moose being redeveloped. On the bright side it meant if I wanted to see a real live moose up close I wouldn’t have to look very far, or stray too deeply away from my family to do so.

This past winter was their 3rd year on the property, and I was visiting again for Christmas. “Well, nature always finds a way,” my uncle was telling as we drove out of the airport, “When we first moved here there was a controversy because the development was built right near a forest known with hundreds of moose. But now they’re starting to move back in because all the places they eat are here- see if you look to the right here, all those bushes have twigs and rosehips the the moose eat, it’s amazing really a creature that big survives just eating twigs!”

We drove past rivers, natural ponds and rolling hills while he continued, “And you see those patches of aspen trees? The reason the tree trunks are all dark brown near the bottom and still white on the rest is that elk and deer come along and eat the bark, and they can only reach up the tree so far!”

The development couldn’t have asked for a more respectful or appreciative couple to call it home as my aunt and uncle. At some point in every conversation we’d had since they’d moved in the topic of a new animal they’d seen or story they’d heard about the area’s history would come up.

When we arrived at the house my aunt greeted us at the door with coffee. It was early in the morning and she was off to work at their post office while my uncle was on his way to his carpentry work. I rested at the house, took a long nap, and woke in the early afternoon for a walk.

It was -23 and chilly. There was daylight and full visibility but I could hardly see the road. In my mind I’d decided this was less a walk and more a mission to locate the wild moose populations and befriend them. I’d start by introducing myself from 200 metres away, the next day I’d move 180 metres away, slowly making my presence known and creating a sense of familiarity until one day like Jane Goodall’s communing with chimps they would welcome me as one of their own.

I don’t know why I thought this plan would work for finding moose or elk, it hadn’t worked so far with raccoons, rabbits, or coyotes, and had only marginal success with cats and dogs. I spotted a few moose but didn’t get nearly close enough to be regarded as anything even close to familiar. Plus with the cold and wind chill my patience dwindled quickly. At one point I was tracking a set of hoof prints in the snow in a clearing. I walked about 10 feet into the clearing when my left foot broke into a patch of ice sinking knee deep in seconds! I caught myself and fell flat on my face with an OOOF, turned on my back and dragged myself to the shore half-soaked and muddy.

It just figures it was my real foot that fell into the ice, the foot that still feels cold and pain and stubbing and sharp pebbles in the carpet and frostbite! My fake foot meanwhile sat happy and content in a dry shoe the whole way back to the house.

I must have been walking for close to an hour before I fell in the ice because it felt like hours walking home chilly and embarrassed. Was I lost I wondered? No, it’s just over that hill… over the top of the hill there were more hills, more houses, more streets and cars and former wildlife habitats because everything in Calgary looks the same! Having learned my lesson from many previous visits and countless hours being lost I turned on my phone, opening the GPS and google maps. My heart sank as I realized I’d walked 6km in the wrong direction.

My heart sank further when I dragged my feet into the driveway when I also realized I’d forgotten to close the double doors at the rear of the house. Then I noticed there were two sets of footprints in the snow leading to the backyard. There were my footprints and what looked like ones belonging to a clown walking on stilts… with hoof marks…

Now I’ve heard the expression ‘like letting a bull loose in a China shop’ sometimes used to describe my siblings and I in a candy store, but I’d never heard the term 'like letting a moose loose in the kitchen!’ I’d probably just assume the moose would cook brunch and watch a hockey game because I have a strange imagination.

When I walked carefully and quietly into the house and into the kitchen I did not see a moose cooking brunch or watching hockey. I saw a moose trying to open a cupboard with his nose.

The moose must have thought I was a wolf when he smelled me, because at that point he tried to find the nearest exit and use it as such, first slamming his 450 pound body against a wall then bouldering towards the living room! I ran through the kitchen down the hall and upstairs to safety secure in my hope that mooses didn’t know to climb stairs!

I knew the only way to release the moose back into the wild would be to scare him out through the back doors, but that I would probably lose my life doing so. But how do you scare a moose? I knew the way to scare a black bear was to make a ton of noise, the way to scare a cougar was to open your jacket and make yourself look big, the way to scare a cat was turning on the vacuum, and there was no way to scare a grizzly bear so the best thing to do if I saw one up close was to make peace with God.

I took off my coat and paced back and forth in the hallway upstairs trying to think of what to do. Meanwhile the moose casually sauntered back into the kitchen and went back to work on opening the cupboard.

I decided eventually the best idea would be banging a pot until I could open the double doors and scare the moose out, only I couldn’t reach a pot since the moose was occupying the kitchen… then I remembered there was a stainless steel heron ornament in the corner of the staircase I’d bought my aunt as a housewarming gift. I didn’t have a wooden spoon upstairs either, so I opted for my bamboo toothbrush instead.

I crept down with stairs with the heron in one hand and the toothbrush in the other, slowly at first, then I started stomping and yelling in a mad rush to face the forces of nature head on and prevail! Shocked and wild-eyed the moose barreled back into the living room and in a burst of energy I bolted into the hall leading to the back garage door pounding the open switch and rolling under and out into the front yard!

My pace never broke as I rounded the house to the front picture window. I looked up, huffing and puffing, and there in the window was the moose, calmly and serenely beginning to eat scraps of evergreen off the Christmas tree. I banged on the window but the moose didn’t stir an inch. I tried the front door and it was locked, so I ran back to the garage door, arriving just in time to hear a wooden thud as the automatic gear had closed it. I stomped towards the double doors in time to hear them slam closed too, blown shut by the wind leaving me stranded in the cold. I reached for my keys and remembered they were in the left pocket of my coat!  

When animal control arrived I was turning almost blue except for my prosthetic leg which was a consistent silver shade from the titanium and carbon fibre. One of the neighbors had called the RCMP telling them he had seen a crazed man running out of the house yelling and waving a sharp looking metal object. At first he thought it was a domestic dispute until he saw Bullwinkle sitting in the front picture window contentedly picking away at the Christmas tree, and if mooses could smile and chuckle I was sure the moose was doing that too.

And just as you’d imagine how the aftermath of a bull in a china shop would look, the clean and meticulously tidy house looked just like a giant moose had bumbled through it, made himself breakfast and fell asleep in the living room before being lead back to the woods, complete with muddy hoof marks on the carpet and scrapes on the wall from the wild heron. My aunt eventually returned home to see me sitting in the back of a police cruiser in the driveway, trying to warm up and think of how I was going to explain this to her and my uncle.

I imagine the moose had every right to tromp through the house uninvited. In fact there’s a good chance the moose was born in the very yard the house was built. Perhaps he recognized the smell of the soil, or the way the breeze rolled off the plains towards the lawn, down a certain series of hills before settling down in a location that catches a certain amount of good sunlight, where the best tasting rosehips for miles just so happened to grow well in abundance. The moose may have remembered the spot from his childhood, returning there as often as the sun rose to rest in the shade of the new house. And lucky him that day, the owner of the house left the door open inviting him in.

I felt that day I was a guest in the moose’s house instead of the other way around. I was happy to enjoy the moose’s hospitality, even happy to return to meet him again on occasion, meeting his family of other young mooses who would grow to regard my aunt and uncles’ neighborhood with the same instinctive fondness their ancestors had, before any of them had ever heard of humans or front lawns or rows and rows of nearly identical houses lined with lights on every tree.