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    Chapter 38


    The Nut Crackers


    It’s starting to feel like a weight on my


    chest—the constant taming, bonding, soul-binding. Hell, even the naming is


    getting to me. Back on the farm, I had it simple. Cows? Easy. Cow One, Cow Two,


    however many I had. Chickens? One through thirty, all the same. Practical.


    Straightforward. Not like this.


    But here? Everything’s different. Every creature


    I bond with has expectations. They want names, attention. Some of them act like


    they’re waiting for me to come up with some grand title, like it’s a royal


    ceremony. Back on the farm, Bessie was just a cow. She didn’t need a title. She


    was food. Here? If I mess up, I’ll hear about it for weeks.


    And then there’s Shaq’Rai. She’s relentless. Like


    a bloody drill sergeant. Sometimes I think she must’ve been a slave master in


    another life. She’s obsessed with the whole “domination” thing. Keeps reminding


    me I’m supposed to “rule” these creatures. As if I need to dominate them to


    bond. Every time I tell her, “Not happening,” she just scoffs like I’m being


    stubborn.


    I’m barely keeping it all together. Now, I’ve got


    a squad of squirrels. Five of them. And not just any squirrels—female,


    magic-infused, forest-dwelling squirrels. Every time I try to think of a name,


    my head spins. What the hell do I call them? Back on the farm, it was easy.


    One, two, three. Not here. Not now. Every creature needs meaning.


    That’s when it hit me.


    I finally got those lady squirrels to accept me.


    It took patience, a few treats, and some quiet encouragement. Now they’re part


    of my “team”—or, as Shaq’Rai would put it, my “minions.” So, in my infinite


    wisdom, I activated the Master and Apprentice system. A squad. A team. And


    because the whole thing was so damn ridiculous, I named them: The Nutcrackers.


    I slapped my knee at the thought. I cracked


    myself up—probably more than I should. At least I still had a sense of humor in


    all this chaos.


    But the names? God, that almost broke me. What do


    you name five magical, ass-kicking woodland creatures who live under your roof


    and follow your every command? The pressure was unreal. But I did it. Each name


    had to fit. It had to match their tiny, fierce little warrior souls.


    The leader, of course, is Luna. She’s the one who


    keeps the group together, the natural alpha. At first glance, she doesn’t seem


    afraid of me. The others still eye me like I’m about to turn into some monster,


    but Luna? She just watches, sizing me up, deciding if I’m worth her time. And


    she’s not even that interested in Twitch, which caught me off guard. Most


    squirrels obsess over anything new, especially if it’s not a threat. But not


    Luna. She’s got more important things on her mind.


    If I had to sum her up, Luna’s like that


    no-nonsense friend you need when you’re out. The one who cuts through the


    nonsense, calls you out when you’re about to settle for less, and has your back


    when you’re about to make a mistake—like hooking up with the wrong girl. I’ve


    seen plenty of those types during shore leave, keeping us guys in line, making


    sure none of us went too far. In a way, I feel like I already know her. Like


    we’re on the same wavelength.


    Her fur’s simple, a soft gray-brown that blends


    right into the forest. But there’s this patch over her chest—her bust, if I’m


    being honest—that stands out. It’s white as snow, cutting through the rest of


    her fur. The way it curves, drawing attention to her chest, almost makes it


    look like a crescent moon. It’s too perfect to miss. The symbolism isn’t lost


    on me: a crescent moon, watching over the pack. Luna.


    It fits. She carries herself like moonlight—cool,


    calm, always in the shadows. And when she needs to, she’ll shine brighter than


    anything. It’s a name you don’t give lightly, and looking at her, I see why it


    suits her so well. There’s power in her silence. She doesn’t need to bark


    orders or puff up her chest. Luna just is.


    Then there’s Pounce. The finicky one. Honestly,


    she’s a bit much. Always on edge, her eyes darting around like she’s one twitch


    away from losing it. But it’s not just the world that sets her off—it’s Twitch.


    She’s got this thing about him. Every time he moves, it’s like she has a


    meltdown. One twitch of his muscles, and she’s down for the count. Her legs


    buckle, and boom—she’s out cold, collapsing like she’s been hit with a wave of


    fainting energy. It’s not subtle. She drops with a dramatic thud, squealing a


    little as she turns into a ball of fluff.


    So yeah, I named her Pounce—and trust me, I’m


    waiting for it. Any second now, she’s going to spring on him. It’s only a


    matter of time before she can’t hold back and leaps onto him like—well, like a


    damn cat. You can see it in her eyes. The half-smirk, her tail twitching like


    she’s ready to pounce. It’s inevitable.


    Pounce is... plain. Too plain, honestly. Her


    fur’s just a soft mix of gray and white—fluffy but nothing special. Not like


    Luna’s crescent patch or the other girls’ quirks. She blends in, easy to miss


    at first. But then she does something like faint every time Twitch moves, and


    you get it—“Oh, that’s Pounce.” Her advances are impossible to miss—tail


    fluffed up like she’s in some romance novel, eyes wide and doe-like, staring at


    Twitch like he’s the last piece of cheese on Earth.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    It’s ridiculous, really. But kind of endearing.


    I’m not sure if I should be worried or just grab some popcorn and watch the


    show.


    Chatter. The third one. I didn’t name her that


    because she’s loud—hell no, she’s too subtle for that. I called her Chatter


    because she knows how to get under Sprocket’s skin. Trust me, that little


    mechanical squirrel doesn’t know what hit her. While the rest of us focus on


    the mission, Chatter’s busy poking at Sprocket’s intellect. Always critiquing,


    always reminding Sprocket who’s really in charge. It’s like watching an


    engineer spar with a philosopher—one’s all numbers, the other’s thinking on


    another level.


    I’ll give her this—Chatter’s got the brains.


    Smarter than Sprocket, smarter than most creatures I’ve met in this world. She


    keeps the squad grounded, stopping us from spiraling into chaos with her logic


    and insight. It’s like she can see the entire picture while the rest of us are


    stuck on the edges. Her mind’s sharp, always two steps ahead, catching patterns


    in the smallest details. She works with a quiet elegance—effective,


    calculating, never flashy.


    Her fur? Soft as a cloud. But it’s not just the


    fluff that grabs your attention. It’s that tail—damn, it’s a masterpiece.


    Braided, but not just any braid. This thing’s got finesse. It wraps around her


    waist like a belt, the ends curling back to rest on her back. It’s like her


    tail’s an artwork, adding to her mystery. The way it moves when she does—it’s


    hypnotic. She’s got it under perfect control, like she has with everything


    else. Quiet, but in charge.


    And those glasses? Don’t get me started. I’m


    pretty sure she wears them for effect, but damn, they make her eyes look like


    they’re constantly analyzing. She has that “I’m smarter than you” vibe, but


    it’s not obnoxious. It’s subtle, calculated. Every glance, every flicker of her


    eyes, feels like she’s reading you, taking mental notes, storing information


    for later.


    The real kicker? That thick white line running


    down the middle of her fur. It’s bold, sharp, from her head to the tip of her


    tail. A clear line of distinction. I don’t know if it’s a birthmark or just the


    way she’s built, but it stands out.


    The fourth one’s Quill. She’s always scribbling


    or doodling in the background. Or so I thought. For the longest time, I figured


    she was some over-achiever, jotting down notes on everything—squad movements,


    tactics, progress. You know, useful stuff. Turns out, she’s just... doodling.


    And when I say doodling, I mean doodling.


    One afternoon, I glanced over her shoulder,


    expecting to see a battle plan or strategy. Instead, I found a sketch of me.


    Not exactly me, though. No, it was me... with a body that looked like a


    knock-off version of Twitch. All wiry, over-muscled, with a face that barely


    resembled mine. It had everything—the twitchy energy, the freakishly ripped


    limbs, and don’t even get me started on the expression. It looked like a


    cartoon version of me, but with Twitch’s body. I didn’t know whether to be


    flattered or freaked out. Probably both.


    I stood there for a moment, trying to process it.


    Finally, I couldn’t help it. I leaned in and whispered, “Psst... Ish? That


    you?”


    She blinked, looking so confused I almost


    wondered if I’d said anything at all. Then she turned, tilting her head like I


    was the one being weird. “Huh?” She raised an eyebrow, completely puzzled.


    Well, damn. Looks like Ish’s boons didn’t stop


    with the humanoid types. I didn’t know they could carry over to... whatever


    Quill was. She looked like a critter, sure, but none of my “minions” were


    anything you’d find on a regular farm. And now that I think about it, this


    whole thing’s starting to feel like I’m... monster ranching some furries. It’s


    a little strange when you really step back and look at it. Is it too late for


    HR training?


    I shook my head. Whatever. It was just Quill


    being Quill. She wasn’t hurting anyone, except maybe my sanity with her odd art


    habit. But hey, at least she was creative. And in the end, who could argue with


    the results? Quill had her own way of doing things.


    The last one, Velvet, stands out for a few


    reasons. First, her name. Velvet comes from the color of her eyes—this deep,


    rich purple that practically glows in the light, like someone took the darkest


    shade of violet and polished it until it sparkled. They’re the kind of eyes


    that pull you in without you even realizing it. Subtle, but impossible to


    ignore.


    Now, Velvet’s fur? It’s not like the others. It’s


    straighter, sleeker—like she’s had a full-body makeover. Honestly, she and


    Quill must have personal hairstylists. None of the wild, messy fur that the


    others have. No, their fur lies flat, almost too perfect—like they just walked


    out of a spa. Doesn’t have the same rugged, natural feel as the rest of the


    squad. Velvet and Quill? They look like they belong on a high-fashion runway or


    in some enchanted beauty salon. It’s like they stepped out of a world that’s


    too pristine, too curated.


    But don’t be fooled. Velvet’s still wild


    underneath that polished exterior. There’s a grace to the way she


    moves—elegant, almost predatory—fluid, calculated, always watching. She doesn’t


    try to fit in or please anyone. She just does her thing, stays in the


    background, and observes. It’s like she’s above all that.


    Once the naming was done (thank God), I threw


    them into Twitch’s Master class. Not sure what that actually means, but


    Shaq’Rai says it’s a fancy way of saying the girls will get boosted experience.


    Whatever. Shaq’Rai talked about it like it was a big deal, but all I cared


    about was keeping them alive while they gathered resources. If Twitch can keep


    them safe, it’s a win. Twitch can hold the line while the others focus on what


    we need for the next step in this monster-taming mess.


    Simple. Effective. And hopefully, it’ll give me a


    damn break. Let the girls grow while Twitch handles the tough stuff. I’ve got


    enough to worry about without sweating every little detail.