A KNIGHT IN FURRY ARMOUR

It had started out a nice day, but unexpectedly it began to rain. She had left the house without an umbrella -- as could be expected, doing so was an invitation to disaster at this time of year -- and by the time she had finished shopping for the fabulous hotpot she intended to fix for dinner, the rain was coming down steadily.

Fatty pork, lamb slices (ooh, so yummy!), plus yauchoi, little baby bokchoi, and daumiu. Plus some of the clarified turkey stock from Christmas! And cilantro. Lots of cilantro. Along with ginger, it helps digest the fatty meats. With overloaded bags she waited under an overhang till the rain passed.

Unfortunately it just got worse. From a medium level steady drub it progressed to a downpour, then a bucketing, torrential inundation.
It just wouldn't let up!

By the time it hit tropical cloudburst with sheets of water slashing down in walls of wetness, she was drenched. Indeed, the overhang shielded her head somewhat. But the splatter-back bounced upwards and in, and soaked her through three layers of clothing.

No, not cold. But very wet. Her home was on the other side of the hill.
A slog of monumental proportion in this weather.
And there were no taxis!

A short stocky figure trudged up the street. It carried an umbrella far broader than its height, almost mushroom like, and though the rubber boots were shiny wet, the rest of its space seemed from a view through silver pillars of rain like it might be warm and dry. And fluffy.
Fluffy is good. Always.

Hard to tell. Walls of rain cascaded down, all was obscured. She was reminded of an illustration in one of the Paddington Bear stories.

As if in a delirium, she joined the stout figure under the umbrella.
No words were exchanged, but the beast knew exactly where she needed to go, and walked her there.

She rushed up the steps, so very glad to be home. Soon, warmth, dryness, a thick fluffy towel, and a comforting hot cup if milk-tea!
Plus, perhaps, some nice buttery almond short-bread cookies.
Or marzipan chocolate! With crumbled walnut!

"Would you...?"

She turned to invite the badger in. It was the least she could do. But to her dismay, he was already half way up the block. In the brief moment that she had not been paying attention, he had wandered off, and loaded up a pipe. A whisp of fragrant smoke marked his passing.

Mr. Badger turned and waved briefly, then rounded the corner.

She resolved that the next time they met, she'd ask him in.

And make sure that there were plenty of cookies.

She was certain he liked cookies.

And that was correct.

He did.




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