Elter’s Piano Stool Hunt

Elter the bear slumped at Lord Sitka’s kitchen table, his fur still ruffled from sleep.

Across the room, his bear wife, Hazel, hummed to herself, experimenting with breakfast for the kids. He didn’t ask what it was. He’d learned long ago that some things were best left unknown.

But today wasn’t just any day.

Today was the day.

The day he finally hunted down that blasted, runaway piano stool.

Lord Sitka had been whining about his backs war with a normal chair for nearly a year now—“Oh, Elter, my spine! Oh, Elter, my posture! Oh, Elter, I’m far too handsome to be hunched over like a goblin!”—as if he was some ancient wizard on the verge of collapse.

The man was barely forty.

And besides, this wasn’t Elter’s fault. The stool had a mind of its own.

It had done this before.

One time, he’d had to chase it in a full-speed bear sprint through a forest. It had been steep. He had tumbled down a few mountains. His bum had jiggled all the way.

And now, groaning at the thought of another potential bum-jiggling experience, Elter shoveled another bite of cereal into his mouth and closed his big, tired eyes.

“The day’s not getting any longer, Elter!” Hazel called.

Elter grunted. His little furry chest heaved dramatically, but he picked up the pace, shovelling down his food before his wife decided to "help" him out the door.

Trudging to the entrance hall, his paws padded against the wooden floor.

“Good luck, Elter!” Lord Sitka’s voice rang from his office.

Elter rolled his eyes. The man was a wizard. A powerful one. He could have summoned the stool. He could have put a ball and chain on the ruddy thing. But no. That would have been too easy.

Instead, it was Elter’s job to go galavanting after a sentient piece of furniture like some kind of furry fool.

Shaking the thought away, he stepped outside and took a deep breath of fresh air.

Then, with the energy of a bear determined to get this over with, he bolted down the street, jiggling all the way.

The graveyard loomed ahead.

Too creepy.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” he screamed, barreling through the graves at full speed.

Somewhere behind him, a cranky voice groaned, “Shut up, it’s far too early!”

Elter ignored it. He wasn’t stopping—not until he was deep enough into the bordering forest that the graveyard was a distant, non-haunted memory.

The trees thickened around him as he ran, his paws thudding against the soft earth. The morning air was crisp, but his fur was already damp with effort. Eventually, as the eerie hush of the forest settled over him, he slowed his pace.

A clearing appeared up ahead, just off the beaten track, dappled in soft golden light. He trudged towards it, huffing and wheezing, and finally came to a stop, paws on his knees.

He had survived.

For a moment, he just stood there, catching his breath, letting his heartbeat return to something that didn’t feel like it was trying to escape through his ears.

Then, cautiously, he took a step forward—

And promptly caught his foot on a tree root.

With an undignified yelp, he flailed, tripped, and WUMP-WUMP-WUMP-THUD—tumbled head over paws down a steep bank, rolling in a blur of brown fur and startled grunts.

He landed in a heap at the bottom.

Flat on his back. Staring at the sky.

"Great," he muttered, not bothering to move.

Lord Sitka was definitely buying him luxury honey for this. Manuka. The top-shelf stuff.

The kind that came in tiny jars with gold lettering and made you question your life choices when you saw the price tag.

Just as he was mentally tallying how many jars would be sufficient compensation, a rustling sound pricked his ears.

He froze.

Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head, heart thudding again.

Ghost? Demon? Lord Sitka, deciding to supervise in person?

No.

Worse.

It was the piano stool.

Glossy black. Stuffed cushion. Sitting there as if it hadn’t just made him crash down a hill like a rolling dumpling.

It lingered for a beat—almost smug.

Then, in an instant, it bolted.

Elter groaned, rubbing his face with a paw.

Today was going to be a very long day.