Chapter Text
A red cloaked bug listened to the waterfalls’ song as she sat on an exquisitely crafted iron bench. The fuzzy bodies and delighted voices of fleas surrounded the avid philanthropist, lulling her to sleep.
However, the sleepy bug—called Hornet by nearly everyone she met—was roused from her waking dream by the troubled murmurings of Fleamaster Mooshka. The responsible flea wrung his hands so much so that Hornet wondered if he might end up tearing them clean off.
“Fleamaster,” Hornet began, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “What worries you so?”
Head hung low, Fleamaster Mooshka turned to face his honored guest. “You see, Miss Hornet,” he explained, “A large flea—the largest of us all, in fact—has neglected to groom its coat and found itself with numerous knots. These knots can only be removed by slicing through the root very near its skin. However, if we remove so much fur, I fear the flea will find it difficult to stay warm.”
A flea without its fur? Hornet shivered at the thought, a flea lacking its fur is a tragedy of disastrous proportions. “Is there anything I can do to assist you and this unfortunate flea? Perhaps I can provide sharp needle and steady hand to cut off the clots of hair, if nothing else.” Hornet suggested, disturbed by her own words.
“No, no, we can handle that perfectly well,” Fleamaster Mooshka responded, “It is the flea’s temperature I am most concerned for. We are entering the season in which we fleas most rely on our ability to store heat within us and our fur is an important component in that.”
Hornet tilted her head to one side while a flea beside her nuzzled her arm. “This flea you speak of, is it not then in need of a cloak?”
Fleamaster Mooshka gasped, his eyes wide. “Of course, Miss Hornet! How had I not thought of that sooner? Except…” Mooshka trailed off, his antennae drooping down in front of his face.
“Except?” Hornet inquired. A pungent smell wafted from the nearby pot of FleaBrew, bubbles floating away from its yellow depths as if in disgust.
“If only we had the means or knowledge to create such a thing, I would have begun the process right this instant. But I have never once, in all my time as a Fleamaster, been faced with this particular problem,” Fleamaster Mooshka lamented, his gaze temporarily drawn to the long, gleaming object at Hornet’s side. One end sharpened to a deadly point and the other boasting a small yet practical loop, Hornet’s beloved needle was a far cry from any weapon the dutiful flea had ever seen. “That’s it!” Fleamaster Mooshka exclaimed, startling the fleas resting alongside their red cloaked savior. “Please, Miss Hornet, help us humble fleas once more and sew a warm cloak with your splendidly large needle. I must admit, we have no more gifts to offer you at this time but I must make this wish all the same.”
“Of course,” Hornet promptly replied, “I will do as you request and construct a cloak befitting this flea.” The red cloaked bug reluctantly tore herself from a pile of sleepy fleas and brandished her needle.
“Wonderful!” Fleamaster Mooshka exclaimed. “Thank you Miss Hornet, we wish you the best on your quest.” The fleas’ red cloaked savior gave the Fleamaster a quick nod before rushing off toward a nearby Bellway. Large maggots drenched in sewage water gnashed their massive teeth, threatening to swallow the swift bug whole as she slunk past them with ease.
A vast cavern of rusted bells greeted Hornet upon her arrival at the bellway. However, it was no sooner had they rung their hellos than they were ringing goodbyes. Dashing toward the Bell Beast, Hornet barked out an order and set off on a quest for the perfect cloak.