The Wizard of Whitetail Woods III
Chapter 4
Admiral Biscuit

Having hands was a mixed blessing. The Wizard remained conscious after KitKat bitch-slapped him, which wouldn’t have been the case if she’d whanged him upside the head with a shod hoof.

“Focus on what’s important here. I’m supposed to be a pony, okay. And the only way I’m going to get to be a pony again is if you can whip it out and get it hard.”

He shied away from her, muttering under his breath about sneaky bones.

“Come on, man, get your shit together. Ik ben het zat om vast te zitten als een slet en vast te zitten aan je zielige reet. You got what you wished for, didn’t you? Kasvattaa palloja, Jesus Christ.”

“Would you stop switching languages on me at least?”

“No.” She crossed her arms.

“This is hardly condusive to getting a rise out of me.” The Wizard would have done whatever the equivalent of popping a collar is, except that he was on his back on the ground in a bathrobe with an extremely pissed off and extremely naked supermodel nee pony crouched over him.

“You’re supposed to rise to pressure,” KitKat said. “Else what’s the point of a Wizard at all? When we were chased by timberwolves you had no problem getting it up and doing what needed to be done, so what’s wrong now?”

“That you’re considering murdering me?”

“So? You think the timberwolves didn’t have the same thoughts in their walnut brains?”

“I don’t know. I’m just muddling through and doing the best I can, okay? I didn’t ask to be a wizard, that just came to me.”

“I bet that’s what the unicorn said, too.”

“Shut up.”

KitKat let out a long sigh, finishing by blowing her bangs up. “You’re right. I’m losing track of what’s important. We need to get the magical mcguffin; everything else is a distraction. I’m letting my temper get out of hoof. Let’s start over, shall we?”

“Yes.”

“Please turn me back into a pony.”

💦

Every teenager ever fantasized about Lara Croft wearing just a little bit less on her excursions through the wilderness. The mere thought of it was enough to send teenage hormones into overdrive, to produce a result.

The Wizard was fully aware of that fact. He was also aware of the irony of who he’d transformed KitKat into. (She wasn’t, because while she could speak English fluently, she couldn't read it.)

One would have thought that seeing her traipsing through the woods, naked as the day she was born—except now in human form rather than equine—would be more than enough. The sway of her hips, the flounce of her hair, the way she had her saddlebags hung off her shoulder because obviously she couldn’t wear them pony-style any more. The string of curses under her breath every time she stepped on something sharp. The way her hips swayed and her boobs bounced with every step despite her attempt to restrain them.

It should have, but the Wizard knew that she was harboring a desire to dismember him, possibly in order to steal his bones; more likely because she was still mad that he’d turned her into a human.

Either way, dismemberment was dismemberment, and he was invested in keeping his member membered.

The two of them had come to a mutual agreement that they would continue on the adventure at hand—at hoof was how she described it, despite lacking four of them—and as soon as he got in the mood, he’d point his spitstick at her and turn her back into a pony.

He’d been agreeable since it was hard to be otherwise with a saddle axe against his throat, but deep down he was expecting that there’d be a plot twist.

💦

For her part, as the day wore on, KitKat just wanted things to return to normal. She was stuck with the Wizard, she’d signed a contract to that effect and was honest enough to honor it. That was the cost of civilization. And she really did want to get to the end of the adventure and find the mcguffin and then let the future bring what it brang. She tried to ignore the pain in her unshod feet or the constant chill on her furless body and the back pain Playboy tits caused. She kept shifting her carried saddlebags around in the hopes of finding some way that they were comfortable to carry, even knowing in her heart that there wasn’t.

She kept holding out hope that the Wizard’s ding-a-ling would perk up, the sooner the better.

As fate would have it, it did, and not in the way either of them could have expected.

💦

Kukka was a skunk.

Kukka had always been a skunk, and knew little outside that lifestyle. She snuffled around looking for food and sometimes a mate and generally ignored the world at large except when it came close enough to require her to raise her tail as a warning. She knew the woods like the back of her paw, and she had nothing but contempt for bears who attempted to open hanging foodbags like pinatas when clearly the correct way to nom the tasty treats inside was to spray the carriers of the foodbag in the hopes that they’d drop it and scurry off to anywhere else that didn’t smell like a skunk’s ass.

As plans went, that was surprisingly high on the scale of effectiveness.

There was little she could do when the bag of food was already hanging, and thus she’d snuffled around the camp and moved on. If the stick had been longer and the bear had managed to break the bag open, she might have tried to stink him off, but it wasn’t, so she didn’t.

Now, though, her food was moving, carried along by a biped who was going in circles through the forest since she’d cheaped out and gotten her map in exchange for Cheerilee-Os boxtops, which anypony with any sense would know was worthless. The fact that it came pre-antiqued ought to have served as a clue; if that wasn't enough, the fact that the compass rose had east and west reversed ought to have been obvious. Or, for that matter, the fine print at the bottom which indicated that it was not to scale and not to be used as an aid to navigation.

Remember how I said the skunk wasn’t essential to the plot? Well, I lied.

Kukka wasn’t exactly clever when it came to plotting out an ambush; her life mostly consisted of muddling into situations, spraying stink everywhere, and waddling back out of the cloud of miasma in a ‘heroes never look back’ manner. In her mind, the bullet points of her plan were nothing but question marks, ending with ‘get food.’

That was sufficient.

💦

KitKat could have smelled her coming from a mile away, except that like all her other pony attributes, her nose had been turned into a senseless beak that was practically scentless. The Wizard was still focused on the hypnotic sway of her bare fundament and also didn’t notice the skunk before it was too late.

As a result of this, Kukka managed to get both of the as they crested a small rise in the forest. One moment, the way way clear; the next moment, a flagged tail and a skunk’s butthole, and then they were fleeing.

The Wizard shrieked like a little girl. KitKat, who was the more ambivalent of the duo, took it in stride, dodging the primary blast and in her hasty but orderly retreat, sidearming a wheel of sharp cheddar at the skunk.

It wasn’t the outcome anypony, anybody, or anymephitidae could have hoped for, and yet at the end of the brief scrum, the Wizard got the karma he surely deserved, KitKat dodged the worst of it, and Kukka dragged a kilo of cheese back to her burrow.

💦

Differences of opinion drive us apart, while a common suffering can bring us together, and so it was with KitKat and the Wizard. Both of them fled the scene in tandem, despite the fact that one wanted to dismember the other, and the other knew that the other other was filled with bones. 206 of them, in fact.

💦

It’s said that adversity builds character.

In this case, adversity built an orderly retreat. The pair beat feet back the way they’d come, away from the skunk scent and beyond. Presently, they were faced with the damn dam—it was dammier than ever, owing to a colony of dam beavers who had worked tirelessly to patch the damn hole.

In fact, they retreated back to where they’d begun, the Mareiott on the edge of the forest.

Author's Note

Lick a toad, see the future.