The day was cold.

The pond was frozen, had been frozen for weeks. A cold, glassy surface, unyielding under your feet, no matter how hard you stomped. You’d tried breaking the surface with rocks, with an unwieldy branch, and by stomp stomp stomping, but it was no use. There was no pond. The chickens, always fun to disrupt, refused to leave their hen house, where you could not go, and the farmer’s dog had chased you off the porch when you’d tried to invite yourself in for tea.

It was unacceptably boring.

The farmer did not believe in clipping wings, a sensible fellow, but you did not have an inclination to fly away, not truly. You had a warm nest in your cozy coop, and were well-fed. There were, under normal circumstances, plenty of diversions on the farm that kept you entertained: visiting school children who were fun to chase, farm hands to visit, the visitor’s table, where you would be fed lettuce and kale by the pretty human there.

No, you did not want to fly away, but you had no intention of spending another day huddled in your coop. If the old centaur did not see fit to provide you with amusement, you would simply have to find your own. The day was cold, but the sun was bright, reflecting off the snow-covered ground; bright enough that your hooved keeper was squinting when you crept past him, heading towards the road. It wouldn’t be your fault, after all, if mischief might find you on your travels.

You were simply a goose.

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The Cambric Creek community center was a bustle of activity. Sandi Hemming surveyed the space with a satisfied smile. Paper hearts of varying size hung from the ceiling, a curtain of pink and red, courtesy of the high school’s drama club, and lace doily hearts–cut by the junior garden club–graced the long refreshment table. Punch made by the astronomy society, hors d’ oeuvres provided by the planning committee…the Hearts and Candy Social was going to be a fun, family-event, and Helene Gregor had nothing to do with it.

The Gregors had been out of town when Sandi had pitched the idea to the committee, and she’d successfully kept the majority of her planning under wraps, keeping a vague “HCS” on the calendar, working diligently to partner with the various school and community groups until she had the majority of her work done. When Helene had announced her grand idea of a Valentine’s Day party, Sandi had almost combusted in joy. The look on the other she-wolf’s face, when she learned of Sandi’s event, already planned and largely executed, had provided the kind of satisfaction that Sandi she knew oughtn’t feel, but she simply couldn’t help it.

Now the community center was nearly transformed, she already knew the kids and their families were going to have a blast. The concept of Valentine’s Day was largely unknown outside of the small group of humans who lived in Cambric Creek, the human-adjacent were community, and the elves, whose Day of Hearts celebration was close enough to Valentine’s Day festivities that they were nearly interchangeable. The tiny, heart-shaped treats and personalized cards were bound to be a hit with the different species of children who’d never experienced the holiday.

“Sandi, what happened to the cards for the kids? We need to start getting them passed out.”

Boxes of Valentine cards had been purchased weeks ago, enough for each child to receive one in their small favor bag, along with boxes of small conversation hearts. The cost of admission to the event was to bring cards to give away, but this way each child was guaranteed to receive something.

“They should still be in the same bag with the hearts,” Sandi called out distractedly from where she organized the stack of red and pink plates.

“That’s what I thought,” the small goblin vollied back, checking beneath the table, “but the bag isn’t here…did you move it? It was right here just a bit ago, I know I saw it.”

The bag was not there. It was not behind the table, nor was it under the table. It had not been moved to the punch table, it had not been placed in the hallway.

It was gone.

Sandi felt a ripple of the wolf move up her spine, a red mist settling over her eyes. Sabotage! Helene Gregor. She had slipped in and taken the bag of Valentine cards, jealous that she’d been shown up and petty enough to stoop so low, Sandi was sure of it. Spiteful, vindictive bitch…

“What are we going to do?”

She could deal with Helene Gregor later, she thought, gritting her teeth. Right now, she needed to do what she did best—take control. The big city that bordered Cambric Creek had a large human population, and would have the supplies she would need to replace.

“Take my credit card, go to the big supercenter off the highway, just rebuy everything.”

The little goblin woman gathered her purse with a nod, quickly scooting out the door. She did not have time to think about Helene Gregor right then, Sandi reminded herself. There would be time for revenge later.

She would make sure of it.

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Silva slowed as she crossed the parking lot that morning. The security guard was outside of the gatehouse, waving his arms and shouting at something that was just out of sight, a curious sight indeed. As she approached, the subject of the guard’s ire came into view.

A fat little goose waddle across the lot, seeming determined to enter the building. Silva stepped over the scattered remains of candy conversation hearts and a torn open box of Valentine cards, pausing when she reached the sidewalk where the goose was.

“Careful, that thing’s a real asshole,” the guard called out. “He’s already stolen a lunch and tripped Varek as he was coming out.”

Silva pursed her lips. She didn’t approve of such crass language at the office, and Mr. Varek was, in her opinion, the sourest satyr she’d ever encountered. “Serves him right, probably,” she mumbled, crouching to the ground. “Hi, little goosie. Are you a very long way from home?” The goose was probably from one of the area farms, she thought, was probably frightened and hungry, and was certainly not the nasty name the guard had called it. Digging into her work bag, she popped open the lid on her salad, pulling out several croutons, scattering them on the ground. Sure enough, the goose honked and tucked in appreciatively. Silva patted its silky head before rising, moving into the building unmolested.

There were flowers already on her desk.

She hadn’t been expecting anything, not really. The Elvish Day of Hearts was a minor celebration day, not a true holiday; and besides, she reminded herself, she didn’t have a boyfriend. That didn’t keep a smile from splitting her face at the sight of the lush english roses, white and ivory and peach, soft and fragrant, nothing at all like the dark red and pink blooms her human co-workers exchanged on this day.

There was no card, but there was no one else who would have sent them.

Silva didn’t expect him to answer the phone. The restaurant would be busy that night, and she’d already heard all about the bottle service contest they were having from Cymbeline and Thessa, how the reservation book was already full. When his lilting accent trilled unexpectedly in her ear, she smiled again, heart beating in triple time.

“I’m just calling to let you know you’ve got some serious competition,” she sighed into the phone, walking to the break room to put her salad in the fridge. “I got some beautiful flowers this morning. There was no card, so obviously its a secret admirer.”

“What a mystery,” Tate breezed, “but you’re singing to the echoes, dove. I’m certain you’ve plenty of secret admirers.”

“Hmmm, maybe so…it’s too bad this one didn’t leave a card. They’d probably get lucky, they’re really nice flowers.” His musical laughter warmed her as she peered out the window. In the parking lot beyond, the little goose was chasing the guard, hunched as he waddle-ran, wings flapping, and she laughed aloud. “There’s a goose in the parking lot,” she giggled into the phone. “I think he’s terrorizing the security guard.”

“I wish I were a goose,” Tate sighed, and Silva laughed again at the unexpected sentiment. “That’s the life, dove. Hissing at children, biting people who get too close, stealing bread…when I do those things, I get told I’m an unfriendly, unbalanced grump. If I were a goose, I’d just be acting like a goose.”

“Well,” she smiled, turning away from the amusing parking lot tableau, “if you decide to get transfigured, let me know so I can be one of those pretty little ducks with the green feathers. If you run into anyone who looks like a secret admirer, tell them I love my flowers.”

His low laugh tightened her stomach as she moved back to her desk. She’d be smiling all day, she thought.

“Happy Hearts Day, dove.”

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She knew it was going to happen an instant before it did.

Road debris, probably from the construction truck she’d been following just before getting off at the Cambric Creek exit, after driving along the endless line of orange barrels down the highway, a construction project that had been ongoing for nearly two years. She’d squealed in distress when the car rumbled over the unseen debris, feeling the tell-tale lurch in her front-left tire once she’d left the highway.

They were spending the holiday at home. Lupercalia celebrations had a tendency to devolve quickly, and she’d participated in enough of them in years past to know she did not want to bring Anzan to one.

Her mate was…possessive, to say the least. A festival where the men ran through the crowd naked, whipping the women in their path before coupling off to perform the great rite beneath the sky, ensuring fertility in the coming year, would likely not rate very highly on Anzan’s to-do list, regardless of the holiday spirit.

She’d never before met someone as intense and unsmiling as her chosen partner, but she wouldn’t have him any other way.

She remembered well, the night she’d cajoled him into coming to the grocery store with her. He had odd notions of relationship roles, feeling a deep-rooted responsibility to provide for her, despite the fact that she’d always been independent. Drider culture, she understood, but understanding did not equal acceptance.

“We need to do things like this together,” she’d admonished when he’d assured her she needn’t worry about going out, that he’d procure anything she needed. She’d regretted her insistence not long after they’d entered, when she ran into a familiar face almost immediately.

The tall moth who’d looked at the attic apartment, before Anzan had moved in, had been in the produce department, had greeted her with a smile as they reached for a bag of apples at the same time. The conversation had been brief and superficially friendly, but she’d felt Anzan step up behind her silently and read the growing panic on the mothman’s chiseled face, only able to imagine the way the huge drider was likely glowering at her back. The arrival of the pretty human from the local farm had blessedly diffused the situation as she’d wrapped her arms around the moth’s arm, smiling blithely.

Taking Anzan to a festival where ritual sex was the expectation would be a recipe for disaster, one she was not keen on experiencing.

The wind was biting as she stepped from the car, popping the trunk release and leaving the door open as she walked around to survey the damage. The car was already listing into the slush, and she groaned in despair. Check for the spare, then call roadside assistance. This was a frustration, not a disaster, she reminded herself, lifting the trunk. It took several minutes to free the compartment where the spare tire and jack were stored, but they were there. See? It’s not so bad. Anzan had insisted on some observance of her holiday, after she’d explained what it was. Their anatomies allowed intimacy, but were not complimentary enough to allow offspring to be in their future, something for which she was grateful.

“That doesn’t mean you should not observe your feast day, little bug,” he’d said seriously. He was making her dinner, and they would enjoy their own version of a fertility ritual, he’d promised.

If she ever got home.

“It might be up to thirty minutes, miss,” the operator informed, as she walked back around the car to the open driver’s door. Thirty minutes isn’t terrible. You’ll be home before dark. The temperature would soon be dropping, as the sun went in. At least you have heated seats, she thought, reaching for the keys, which were no longer in the ignition.

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“C’mon! Get out of here!”

Trapp felt like an idiot. He’d been waving a broom at the stupid goose for close to half an hour, and the damned thing was still squawking and flapping at the top of the firehouse, completely unperturbed by his shouting.

It had been an aggravating day.

A toilet in the firehouse had backed up sometime during the night, and he’d arrived that morning to the overwhelming smell, as well as the mess. His favorite mug had been dirty in the sink, and not in the cupboard where he’d left it, and the milk carton put away with barely a splash.

One might have assumed that growing up in a big family with a slew of brothers meant Trapp was used to such indignities, but one would have been wrong. Some of his peers at the firehouse acted like they’d been raised by wolves, an ironic thought for a werewolf to have, but it was true.

Tonight would be better, he told himself. It was Valentine’s Day, and he’d made reservations at his girlfriend’s favorite restaurant in town. Flowers had been purchased, along with a little stuffed wolf, in place of a typical teddy bear, and fancy chocolates were waiting at his house.

Stereotypical as hell, but he was looking forward to a romantic evening, just the two of them.

A particularly loud honk from the crest of the building pulled his attention once more. The damned thing seemed to be deliberately honking in his direction, leaning over and shaking its white behind. “Stupid goose,” he grumbled, giving up the futile task.

The rest of the day passed without incident…until Anderson had fallen sick. The frogman had come in that day already looking a bit wan, pretending he couldn’t hear the chief over the damned honking goose the chief when he’d pointed out Anderson’s pasty grey color, assuring Trapp he was fine when the former mentioned he seemed a bit sluggish. When he’d begun projectile vomiting late that afternoon, no one was surprised.

It was quiet, Trapp realized as he watched Anderson’s car pulling out of the lot, his wife having left work to retrieve him. For the first time in several hours, it was quiet.

The goose, at last, had left.

Trapp didn’t have time to dwell on the good fortune, as the alarm sounded, splitting the air. Bodies mobilized, gear quickly pulled on, and he tucked his long legs back, trying to stay out of the way.

“Hemming! Suit up, you’re going out on this.”

Trapp stared uncomprehendingly at the big orc. “I-I’m not even on today. I’m covering house duty for Wyrdlowe. I have plans tonight!”

“I know you do, you’re suiting up to go out on this call, because there’s a fire and you’re a damned fireman.”

Motherfucking fuck fuck FUCK. He needed to call his girlfriend, needed to tell her that he was being called out, that hopefully he wouldn’t be too terribly late…his phone was gone. His phone, which had been sitting on the small table next to his coffee cup on the edge of the garage, was gone. Trapp knew it had been there only minutes earlier, when he’d whirled around to argue with the chief.

A distant honk came from somewhere down the street, and his head snapped up, just as he stepped on an unseen set of keys, nearly rolling his ankle. This day can’t possibly get any better…

He needed to call his girlfriend, he’d just have to do it from…Trapp froze, feeling his neck color. He didn’t know her number. It was completely ridiculous, but it was true. Without his cellphone, the only number he could call from memory was his parent’s house.

He was certain, as another distant honk echoed, that the fucking goose was laughing at him.

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.

“Darlin’, I’ll be pulling up in two minutes.”

Lurielle smiled, examining her lipstick in the mirror. “Sounds good, I’m almost ready. Come in and feed Junie when you get here, I’ll be good to go in ten minutes.”

She’d made them reservations at the restaurant they both liked in Cambric Creek’s little downtown, and knew that Khash had bought her something nice. He hadn’t said as much, but he’d been acting exceptionally pleased with himself for the past two weeks. She had a suspicion he’d purchased the opal and diamond earrings she’d admired in a shop window in the city; an unnecessary extravagance, but not one she was prepared to argue over.

If someone would have told her last Day of Hearts, as she’d sat wrapped in an afghan, stuffing her face with popcorn and watching horror movies, that this year she’d be in a happy, fulfilling relationship with a generous, funny, handsome orc, she would have choked on her kettle corn.

She heard Khash’s car pulling to the driveway several minutes later, as she shimmied into her dress, heard the slam of his car door…and then a yelp. Lurielle looked up, blinking. Was that Khash? A minute went by, then another, and then…another yelp, clearly her boyfriend’s voice, followed by the slam of his car door once more.

As she moved down the hallway worriedly, she heard a curious honk.

Khash was there in his car, peering out the window anxiously. Standing between him and her front door was a fat, white goose.

“What on Earth—” As soon as she opened the front door, the goose turned tail excitedly, beelining for the stoop. “Oh! No you don’t!”

Lurielle slammed the door before the  bird could invite itself in, and glared out the small, square window. The goose waddled back to its position on the walk, facing the car in the driveway once more. Her phone, expectedly, began to ring.

“Are you going to rescue me or hide in your car all night?”

“Bluebell, that thing went right for my giblets!”

The image, coupled with the way Khash had yelped, caused an unladylike snort to burst forth, which she quickly tried covering with a cough. “Babe you need to shoo it away. We have reservations in a half hour, and it takes fifteen minutes to get there. We don’t have time to dawdle.”

“Why don’t you just come to the car? We’ve got to get a move on, no sense in coming in to waste time.”

Lurielle pursed her lips. “Did you just suggest to your girlfriend that she should shoo away the goose? While you watch?”

“Darlin’,”

“What would Granddaddy say?”

She knew it was playing dirty, but invoking the memory of her boyfriend’s much loved and lauded grandfather was a sure way to convey that she meant business.

“Bluebell, that’s low.”

Despite his protestation, she watched as Khash slowly opened the car door. The goose, for its part, hunched over, shaking its tail feathers as though it was preparing itself. As soon as the towering orc stepped from the around the car door, the goose launched. Lurielle wheezed in laughter as she watched her huge, strapping boyfriend back up in a panic, crying out when the goose snapped at his prominent backside.

Three more times Khash attempted to get to the door, and three times the goose attacked, attempting to get a mouthful of round orc ass each time. On the fourth attempt, the goose chased him all the way around the car, and Lurielle quickly opened the front door, ushering him inside and slamming the door on a flurry of honking feathers. Khash was panting. Her laughter quickly consumed all attempts at speech, and she collapsed against his broad side, wrapping her arms around him.

“This is not funny. Do you know there are going to be goose bruises all over this fine specimen of Orcish manhood? Do you even care, darlin’?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m an excellent nurse. Take those pants off and let me see what I’m working with, I’ll throw a pizza in the oven.”

She leaned up to kiss his scowling mouth as he huffed. “We have reservations.”

“Yeah? Did you happen to mention that to your little buddy out there?”

“This isn’t the way I wanted the evening to go, Bluebell.”

Lurielle tugged his open collar, forcing his big head down until she could reach his full lips. “Why not? Everything I need for a perfect night is right here. Now get those pants off.”

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Callum glared when he saw a familiar waddle coming over the lane.

That little bastard

It wasn’t the first time the goose had gotten out, and Cal was surprised that he’d not gotten a call from the police that the little terror was holding up traffic on Main Street. It was fond of stealing papers from children’s backpacks when they visited the farm, and once, last summer, he’d managed to get as far as the community center, blocking the entrance on the night of a committee meeting.

“Excuse me, are you supposed to be just wandering around as you please?”

The goose, being a goose, did not answer, but flapped its wings happily as it approached. Cal reached down as the white feathered head bumped his hocks. “Hmm, no trouble this time? You were just out being a good boy?”

The goose honked in agreement. He had been a goose, and no one could expect more than that.

“Hmm, a likely story. Well, c’mon…let’s make you some sweet potatoes and then get back to the coop.”

It had been, the goose decided, a good day. He’d made new friends, tasted new things, and dropped all manner of things into the storm drain, his favorite off-site activity.

Tomorrow would be another day, the goose thought, another opportunity for adventure, another opportunity to be a goose.