WOVEN SECRETS E-Book

Mario Draxl

• Herausgeber: via tolino media
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Woven Secrets Liora Series– Book One An animal fantasy about hidden wounds, silent strength, and the power of healing. Border Village – a sleepy town at the edge of the world, full of odd creatures, big dreams, and the best pizza around.** At its heart: Ricco’s “Pizzeria Olé,” a meeting place for raccoons, badgers, parrots, and bears who prefer arguing about dough over politics – until one day, a stranger appears: a silent cat who begins working behind the counter without saying a word. No one knows where she came from. No one learns her name. And yet, she changes everything. At first, it's just her quiet presence, her watchful gaze, her uncanny sense for finding order in chaos. But soon, strange things begin to happen. Sounds in the night. A trembling deep beneath the sea. And a strange glow above the old tree near the borderlands – the one where, long ago, an ancient spider spun a web that still holds. It has endured for over 900 years. While some whisper, others deny, and a few begin to plan, something dark draws closer. Something more than rumor. What is it with the beetles that suddenly appear everywhere – and what is the silent cat hiding, whose behavior no one can ignore for long? A modern animal fable about community, trauma, rescue – and the quiet power to change everything without saying a word. The first volume of an epic tale set in the Borderlands – full of humor, depth, quiet magic, and characters you won’t forget.

Leseprobe

 

 

"WOVEN SECRETS"

by Mario J. Draxl

Book 1 of the Liora Series

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Texts: © Copyright by Mario J. DraxlCover Design: © Copyright by Mario J. Draxl – drawing enhanced with AIPublisher:Mario J. DraxlRosengasse 18A 6063 [email protected]

Foreword

Every story takes place in a certain place and time.Some unfold in many places, across many times - and some at a single point in the vast space between fantasy and reality.

Our story, too, which begins here today, takes place in a time and a place. But where exactly? That’s hard to say.It could be a world far, far away.Or an Earth - like planet just next door.Perhaps it’s even our own world - just in a different time.A time before humans existed. Or long after they disappeared.

What we do know: Animals live in this world.They don’t live alone, not wild and without order, but in communities - in kingdoms ruled by queens or kings, or in democracy - like unions with presidents and ministries.

They talk to one another. In languages that vary from continent to continent.They walk upright, wear clothes, argue, love, cook, and dream.Some live in cities full of technology, others in villages with ancient trees, and still others deep in untouched nature.

And no - there are no horses. At least, no one has ever seen one.

In this first volume, we only get a small glimpse of this world.But maybe that’s enough to paint your own picture - and to dream a little.

Welcome to the Borderlands.May the journey bring you joy.Mario J. Draxl, May 2025

Introduction

Ricco Rat was on his way home.A home he hadn’t seen in over twenty years.He didn’t know what would truly await him there - whether everything had changed, or whether it had all stayed the same.More than two decades ago, he had left that home to visit his father in the capital of the continent, in Miramont.Now he was on his way back - to an uncertain future.His luggage was light - just a backpack - but his mind was full of plans.

As Ricco Rat finally crossed the border into his homeland after all those years, a narrow, winding path led him through gentle hills glowing in the golden light of late afternoon.The grass swayed softly in the breeze; ancient, solitary trees rose here and there, standing like silent sentinels watching over the Borderlands.The dusty road, scarred with ruts from the rain, wound past fields that stretched to the horizon, where dark barns and low stone houses dotted the distant landscape.

He carried only a light backpack slung over his shoulder, his stride relaxed but purposeful.His clothes were simple but well - kept - comfortable, dark blue trousers made of sturdy fabric, a light linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a light vest over it.In his job, which had taken him across half the continent of Albionis, he’d always had to wear strict chef’s attire - with apron and toque, often tight and stifling in sweltering kitchens.But now, he enjoyed the freedom to dress as he pleased - in his favorite clothes: neat, but not excessive.He liked order, but not fussiness.

When he first caught sight of “his” border village in the distance, he stopped.The familiar houses looked smaller, more clustered than in his memory.The village, which had once been his whole world, now appeared as a cozy patch in a much larger universe.The houses, mostly wooden, were plain - many weathered, some freshly painted.In the windows, the light of the low - hanging sun glinted back at him.

Ricco briefly thought back to what it had been like when he left home.The last year he had lived in Border Village - also known simply as “the village at the border” - he had stayed with his uncle.Not long before that, his mother, who had raised him on her own, had died suddenly and unexpectedly, falling from a ladder while picking pears.She died instantly.So it had only made sense that his uncle, a good man, took him in.

But when Ricco Rat turned fifteen, he wanted to travel to the capital to visit his father - a father he knew nothing about, except that he was wealthy.Ricco wanted to borrow money from him, to fulfill his greatest dream in Border Village: to open his own restaurant.He had cooked with his mother a few times at home, and had always felt at ease doing so.

But the visit to his father turned out to be disillusioning…

Miramont was a city of marvels and wealth.You could see it everywhere - in the gleaming carriages, the sprawling gardens, the broad boulevards lined with lanterns and magnificent villas.And at the very center, at the highest point of the district, stood his father’s house.A palace of dark stone, with tall windows, iron gates, and a courtyard filled with marble statues.Yet despite its outer grandeur, a strange feeling clung to the estate.The shutters were crooked, as if they had never been properly opened or closed.The doors creaked as Ricco pushed them open.The air smelled of stale smoke and spilled wine.

Then he saw him.

His father sat in a heavy leather armchair by the fireplace.His clothes were expensive but rumpled.A dark doublet with golden buttons - some hanging a little loose - a shirt that had probably once been bright white, now slightly yellowed.His paws were adorned with rings, his claws unkempt.A carafe of fermented berry juice - “berry wine,” as they called it in Miramont - stood half - empty beside him.

“Ah… the... boy.”His voice was sluggish, dragging.He blinked lazily up at Ricco, as if only half realizing who stood before him.

Ricco stifled a sigh.He had hoped for much from this meeting.Maybe his father would embrace him, help him make his dream come true.Instead, he seemed barely interested.

“You look like your mother,” his father muttered, took a sip from his glass, and grimaced slightly.

Ricco took a deep breath.“I want to open a restaurant. I need your support.”

His father laughed - a rough, tired laugh.“A cook, huh? I already have three. Food is something you buy, not something you make.”

Ricco clenched his jaw.

The rooms around him were stuffed with splendor - precious rugs, heavy drapes, golden candelabras.But the furniture was dusty, the wood scratched.The once - grand wealth had lost its shine, just like the man who lived here.

“I just need a bit of capital. Seed money. I’ll pay you back.”

His father waved him off.“No. I don’t fund daydreams. If you want to succeed, you have to make it on your own.”

Ricco stared at him.“You didn’t earn your fortune yourself. You gambled for it.”

A shadow flickered across his father’s face.For a brief moment, he looked alert, as if the words had struck him.Then he downed the rest of his glass and leaned back.

“Luck is a gift,” he murmured. “If you don’t have it, you’re lost.”

In the three or four days Ricco stayed with his father, one thing became clear:His father had no regard for him.He wouldn’t support him.Because his dream - of becoming a chef, of opening a restaurant - was ridiculous in his father’s eyes.Not a single gold ducat of his vast fortune was Ricco’s future worth.

Furious, Ricco left.He couldn’t return to Border Village - it would’ve been a disgrace.Before leaving, he had proudly and loudly proclaimed that he’d return as a famous chef, with plans and enough money to start his own restaurant.Now, a failure, he couldn’t go back.So he had only one option: to move forward.

Ricco had never been to Miramont before, but he knew it was the most progressive city in the entire realm.The central continent of Albionis had once been a kingdom - like many other realms on the southern continent, where great cats ruled as kings and queens.Tigers, lions, leopards - they all still had their own kingdoms there.But Albionis had changed.Today, no king ruled here, but a president with ministers governed the city and its surroundings.

There was progress - tremendous progress.Almost as soon as Ricco set foot in the streets of Miramont, he encountered one of these marvels: the so - called telephone.Animals could use it to talk to each other across great distances, without seeing one another.To Ricco, who came from a simple village, it felt like magic.

Printed newspapers were everywhere too.On street corners, vendors shouted the latest headlines, while passersby tossed them coins in haste.

The streets were lit by lanterns - powered by gas or with dancing oil flames.And there were bicycles.Countless bicycles.They clattered through the streets, and before Ricco knew it, he was nearly run over by one.At the last moment, he jumped aside, his backpack swinging into a wall.The rider, a busy hedgehog in a vest and cap, barked, “Watch it, kid!” and vanished into the crowd of cyclists.

Ricco shook his head and gathered himself.He had more important things to do:To find his way out of this city - away from his father’s house.

He left the estate with an empty purse - but a clear decision:He would build his life on his own.Without that man.Without his money.

And years later, when he returned to claim his inheritance, he knew one thing:He wouldn’t spend a single day in that house.

Now, on his journey back home, he thought about the road that had once been ahead of him - and was now behind him.

Back in Border Village, progress hadn’t reached the same heights as in Miramont.Most animals still cooked in ways natural to their species - with fire, hot stones, or other methods passed down through generations.

For instance, there was an ancient spider in Ricco’s village who had made her home in a tree and somehow learned to control fire just enough to heat the kettle she needed for her tea.No one knew exactly how she did it, but it worked.

Still, society was changing.Educated animals living in cities and villages walked upright, spoke with each other, and wore clothes.Some would drop to all fours in certain situations - if it was more comfortable or instinctively made sense.

But then there were those who lived in untouched nature.And there were many of them across the entire continent.They moved on all fours, spoke little - if at all - and wore no clothing.

Ricco knew that, deep down, they weren’t so different from the others.And yet… something was different.The world was changing, and he could feel it.

And Ricco knew he wanted to be part of that change.He wanted to help shape it in a way that left no one behind.No one should be alone.He knew that for sure.

His mind was full of ideas about how to make that happen.And one of those ideas was his own restaurant.

So now he wandered through the city of Miramont - a city of marvels to him.As he made his way through the streets, the final conversations with his father still echoed in his head - or rather, the arguments.

His father had never cared for him or his mother.He had made his fortune in Miramont, the city of wealth.The root of that wealth was a massive mountain filled with diamonds and other valuable resources.Almost everyone in the city was well - off - but his father was the richest of them all.

Not because he was hardworking.But because he was a gambler.He had won his entire fortune - through sheer, unimaginable luck.

What shocked Ricco the most, though, was the state in which he had found his father.He drank fermented berry juice - “berry wine,” as they called it - and in rather large quantities.When Ricco visited him, the old rat was hardly sober, his speech slurred, his steps unsteady.

Ricco wanted to be anything but like his father.He didn’t want much - just a few ducats to build a modest life for himself.But his father had refused him even that.

Lost in thought, Ricco left the city.

His first year of apprenticeship began at a humble inn at the edge of a forest.It was a rustic building with dark wooden beams and shutters that stayed open during the warm summer months.The scent of freshly baked bread, seared meat, and fragrant herbs drifted through the air as Ricco stepped in for the first time.

The innkeeper, an old bark beetle with weathered, chitinous skin, looked him over skeptically.

“Got any experience?” he asked in a gruff voice.

Ricco shook his head. “No. But I want to learn how to cook.”

The innkeeper nodded slowly.“Then start at the very beginning. Cut vegetables. Chop onions. Season. Make salads. Every day. For weeks. Once you can handle that - we’ll talk.”

And so his training began.He learned how to hold a knife properly, how to finely chop herbs without crushing them, and how crucial good timing was in cooking.After months of chopping and seasoning, he was finally allowed to prepare his first dish - a simple soup.

The guests praised the flavor.The innkeeper clapped him on the shoulder.“Not bad, kid.”

But Ricco wanted more.

He moved on to a bustling trade town filled with countless food stalls.There, he learned the art of quick cooking - how to work under pressure, how to whip up a delicious dish with just a few ingredients, and how to balance flavors perfectly.

This sharpened his instincts for aromas.He experimented with exotic spices, learned new recipes from traveling merchants, and discovered his love for dough.The city’s skilled bakers taught him how to turn a handful of ingredients into airy, crispy bread - a lesson that would later lead him to pizza.

His next stop was a fishing town on the coast.There, he worked in a tavern where massive stone ovens roared with heat.He learned how to make the perfect dough that could withstand high temperatures, how to control fire, and how to use fresh ingredients to create dishes that tasted like the sea.

An old turtle chef showed him how to bake thin, crispy flatbreads - an early form of pizza.It was this experience that led Ricco to dive deeper into doughs, toppings, and baking times.

Years later, his journey took him to the southern lands of the central continent, where he finally uncovered the secret of the perfect pizza.In a small but well - known pizzeria, he trained under an old raccoon master in the high art of pizza - making.

“Pizza isn’t a meal, Ricco,” the master said. “Pizza is an art. It’s not just about the dough or the toppings. It’s about balance. The heat. The air. The feeling.”

Here, he perfected his technique:He learned how to roll the dough out thinly without tearing it.He discovered that tomato sauce was a science in itself - not too sour, not too sweet.He experimented with different types of cheese until he found the perfect flavor.He practiced tossing the dough, spinning it in the air to make it evenly thin.The villagers watched him with fascination as he shaped the pizza with skilled hands and slid it into the glowing stone oven.

After a while, his master realized Ricco was ready.

“You’re not just a cook, Ricco. You’re an artist. It’s time for you to go your own way.”

With this blessing and a head full of recipes, Ricco set out for his next destination - to continue chasing his dream.

The scent of roasted meat still lingered in the air as Ricco wiped his knife on his apron.The evening in the small harbor kitchen had been quiet - the fire in the ovens low, the last guests leaving with full bellies and satisfied smiles.It was a good place. Not luxurious, but honest.Here, he was no lord, no nobleman - just a cook. And that was exactly what he wanted to be.

But that evening, someone entered the kitchen who didn’t belong there.Two men in dark, immaculate vests, with stern faces and straight backs.

“Ricco Rat?” the older one asked.

Ricco felt his neck tense.He knew instantly who had sent them.

“Yes,” he replied coolly, wiping his paws on a kitchen towel.

The younger one stepped forward. “Your father wishes to see you.”

A bitter smile flickered across Ricco’s face.“He wishes to see me? After more than twenty years?”

The older man gave a stiff nod. “He’s dying.”

Ricco stared down at the knife in his hand.Years had passed without him sparing a single thought for his father.And now - now he was supposed to return?

He sighed deeply.Then he laid the knife aside, grabbed his bag, and left the kitchen - without looking back.

The two men who had come for him had been persistent.They had searched for him for three years - because Ricco had left no fixed addresses, drifting from town to town, working here and there without leaving a trace.He wrote no letters, kept no contacts.

But now he stood once again before his father’s estate.

Miramont had changed little.The wide streets, the ornate lanterns, the lush gardens of the wealthy.His father’s house still loomed over the city like a dark palace - a monument of stone and gold.

But as Ricco passed through the heavy iron gate, an eerie stillness hung over the place.The servants stood in the shadows, the curtains were drawn.The air smelled of old cigars, of stale wine, of a life that had long since passed.

“He died two days ago,” said the lawyer who awaited him.His voice was matter - of - fact, professional, devoid of emotion.

Ricco simply nodded.

He hadn’t known what he would feel.Anger? Grief? Relief?But as he walked through the grand entrance hall, surrounded by gold and luxury, he felt only emptiness.

His father’s body had already been taken away.There was no final moment, no final words.Only this house, full of wealth - and the realization that it meant nothing.

The lawyer led him into his father’s study.A dark room lined with tall bookshelves, heavy wooden furniture, and a bar stocked with fine spirits.On the desk lay parchment - the will.

“Your father left everything to you. There are no other heirs.”

Ricco glanced around the room.The carpets were expensive, the furniture exquisite.But dust clung to the corners, and half - smoked cigars rested in the ashtrays.His father had lived in opulence - and slowly decayed within it.

A servant opened a safe.Piles of gold, gleaming jewels, documents of land ownership.

“Your inheritance, or at least a small part of it,” the lawyer said calmly.

Ricco stared at the wealth before him.All of it had been won by his father - not through hard work or talent, but through sheer luck and reckless risk.

His father’s lawyer informed him: Ricco was now the richest rat in the land.

Again he said: “Your father left everything to you. There are no other heirs.”

Ricco couldn’t believe it.Him? Wealthy?

He had no idea what all his father had owned.As the lawyer read out an endless list of properties and assets, Ricco barely listened.

Finally, he asked just one question:

“How much do I need to open a restaurant? Did I inherit enough for that?”

The lawyer furrowed his brow. “Well…”

A servant approached the large safe.A small mountain of gold coins was brought out.Behind it, more glittering gold and gemstones.

The lawyer nodded. “That should suffice.”

Ricco thought for a moment.“And how much would you need to maintain the house, pay the staff, and make sure I can come back anytime?”

The lawyer exchanged a glance with the servants.Another, slightly smaller pile of coins was taken from the safe.

“That’ll last at least ten years.”

Ricco nodded. “Good.”

Then the lawyer sighed and smiled slightly.“If you haven’t read it, Mr. Rat - you’ve just granted me full power of attorney to manage and grow your estate. I’ll ensure nothing is wasted. Your inheritance will remain secure and ready - whenever you return.Through this contract, I receive a small salary - but only if I actually grow your fortune. And rest assured: I will do everything in my power to make sure you never run out of money - and that I get my share!”

Ricco wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not.

But he did know one thing:Now, he could finally go home.

With a light backpack full of personal belongings, a heavy pouch full of coins, and a head full of ideas, he set off.

Back to Border Village.

Then he placed his hands on the table, looked the lawyer firmly in the eye, and said:

“All right. Then it’s all mine.But I won’t live here.”

And with a pouch full of gold and a head full of new plans, Ricco left his father’s house - for good, or so he thought.

Ricco Rat Returns

When Ricco finally crossed the border into his homeland after all those years, a lump formed in his throat. The familiar hills, the narrow paths between the fields, the river that split the village in two - it was all still there. But was it still truly home? The village seemed smaller than he remembered. Back then, as a boy, it had felt like the entire world. Now it seemed more like a cozy patch in a much larger landscape.

His eyes wandered over the houses. Here and there, he spotted familiar faces - but they had changed. Wrinkles, greying fur, slower movements. And then there were the younger ones - faces he had never seen before.

The villagers’ first glances fell upon him. Some stopped in curiosity. Others furrowed their brows, trying to remember.

“Ricco?” a voice finally called out.

He turned around.

Mrs. Badger, the old baker, stood in front of her shop with a loaf of bread in her paws. Her little black button eyes widened.

“Well, I’ll be! Ricco Rat! Is that really you?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Mrs. Badger. It’s me.”

She hurried over immediately. “My word, you've grown up! Goodness, how long has it been?”

“A very long time.”

“Your uncle - bless his soul - talked about you for years. He always said, ‘My nephew will come back when he’s ready.’”

Ricco lowered his gaze. So his uncle was gone.

“How long ago...?”

“Three years,” she said softly. “He always hoped to see you one more time.”

Ricco nodded slowly. That hurt. He had wished his uncle could’ve welcomed him home one last time. But life had made other plans.

“So… what brings you back?” Mrs. Badger asked at last.

Ricco’s expression brightened. “I’m staying. I’m going to build something.”

“Oh?”

He nodded and glanced toward the empty plot of land on the edge of the village. This would be the place where his dream came to life.

Ricco stood with his arms crossed on his plot of land. An empty stretch of earth, scattered with bushes and old stones - yet in his mind, he already saw his restaurant rising there. He knew exactly what it should look like - not just a simple pizzeria, but a welcoming place where everyone would feel at home.

He began measuring the ground. Three large round structures would form the heart of it - one for the ovens, one for the guests, and one for storage and the kitchen.

But the villagers watched him with skepticism.

“He just got here and he's already digging like a lunatic,” muttered an old mole.

“Maybe he’s building himself a private burrow?” someone laughed.

But Ricco stayed undeterred.

With a small team, he began leveling the ground. The mouse triplets helped by drawing an exact map of the site.

“The walls go here!” shouted one.

“And the entrances there!” added the second.

“And don’t forget the windows, or it’ll get stuffy!” said the third.

Meanwhile, the bears hauled heavy stones for the foundation, the otters fetched pebbles and sand from the river, and the birds monitored the progress from above.

Stone by stone, the walls rose higher. Ricco made sure the building wasn’t just sturdy, but also cozy. Not a cold stone structure - but one with warm wooden beams, windows with colored glass, and a large communal table in the center of the dining room.

The Ovens – The Heart of the Pizzeria

After a few days, the three massive ovens stood tall. They rose from the ground like ancient structures, domed and lined with firebricks to retain heat perfectly. When he lit the first fire, a small group of animals gathered around him, watching skeptically as the wood caught flame.

“What’s that supposed to be?” asked a fox.“An oven,” Ricco replied proudly.“That’s a huge oven… what do you need something like that for?”Ricco grinned. “For the best thing you’ll ever eat.”

The Interior – Where Comfort Meets Function

With the walls and ovens finished, the next step was furnishing the space. The tables and chairs were built by the bears, crafted from heavy wood meant to last forever. The mice wove wicker baskets for bread and herbs, while the raccoons built the shelves for flour, oil, and spices. Mrs. Badger donated an old copper bell, which now hung over the door and jingled cheerfully whenever someone entered. Dried herb bundles hung from the ceiling, and a large stone arch separated the kitchen from the dining area. Ricco had thought of everything.

The Big Challenge – Water and Light

But there was a problem: water had to be brought in. The village had a well, but fetching water constantly was a chore. So the otters, using their know - how, constructed a simple pipeline system made from bamboo that brought water straight into the kitchen.

Lighting was another challenge. Ricco opted for a mix of oil lamps and candles, which cast a warm and inviting glow throughout the space.

The Final Touch – The Grand Opening

Ricco hadn’t made any big announcement. No sign, no advertisement, no loud invitation. He simply lit the fire and let the scent of freshly baked dough drift through the village.

And that was enough.

Soon the first curious animals stood outside his place - hesitant at first, then increasingly bold.“What smells so good?” asked a fox who happened to be passing by.“Come in and try it,” Ricco said with a smile.

It didn’t take long before every table was filled. The first pizzas came out of the oven, and when the old mole took his first bite and said,“Not bad… maybe I’ll stay in this village a few more years if we’ve got food like this,”Ricco knew: he had made it.

Even General Wuff showed up - not because he was hungry, but because he wanted to know what kind of “strategy” was unfolding in the village. The dough was crispy, the cheese stretched in long strings, and the toppings gave off the scent of fresh herbs. One bite - and the guests were hooked.

“Ricco… I never knew food could taste like THIS!” marveled Mrs. Badger.“It’s like… like… a little piece of heaven on your tongue!” a young mouse cried out in delight.

Ricco grinned. It was a success. He knew he belonged here. That he was doing exactly what he had always dreamed of.

The tables were empty. The plates were washed. The fire in the ovens glowed softly, fading. Ricco stood outside his restaurant and looked out across the village. It was quiet. Only the chirping of crickets and the gentle rustling of the wind kept him company. He took a deep breath.

He had done it.

After all those years, after all the setbacks and detours - here he was. In his own restaurant.

He glanced across the street. For a moment, he thought he saw someone standing there - a silhouette in the shadow of the night. But when he blinked, there was nothing.

He shook his head and smiled at himself. Maybe he was just tired.

He didn’t know that someone really had been watching him.

But that’s a story for much later.

Elmar and the First Pizza Delivery Service

Ricco loved the early morning hours.Before the sun had even risen fully over the village, he was already on his way to the market.He had a special bicycle with a large basket in front, where he loaded fresh vegetables, fruits, and other goods.He pedaled over the cobblestones, nodded to the market women, and haggled skillfully for the best ingredients.It was a ritual - one that reminded him why he had come back in the first place.

But that morning, a call came in.Mrs. Badger.“Ricco, my boy… I wanted to come by the pizzeria today, but I can’t.”“What’s wrong?”“Oh, I twisted my foot. I only meant to fetch some firewood, but now I’m stuck here with a swollen paw and can’t get out.”Ricco paused for a moment. Then he said, “No problem. I’ll bring something to you.”He packed a fresh pizza into the basket of his bicycle and pedaled off.

The Spark of an Idea

When Ricco returned, he saw Elmar the old mail carrier standing grumpily outside the pizzeria, sipping a coffee.“Morning, Elmar!” Ricco called.The old donkey raised an eyebrow. “You making house calls now or what?”Ricco laughed. “Mrs. Badger can’t walk. What was I supposed to do?”Elmar grunted in agreement.

And that’s when something clicked in Ricco’s mind.“Hey Elmar… you know every street around here, right?”“Ha! Every street, every house, every dog and every mouse!”“And you still like riding your bike?”Elmar snorted. “Kid, I’m a retired postman. I’ve ridden a bike my whole life. My legs don’t know anything else!”

Ricco grinned. “How about delivering pizzas for me? Two hours in the evening. Nothing major.”Elmar took a sip of coffee and thought it over.He was retired, but his coins barely stretched far enough for a good life. And two hours in the evening? That sounded doable.

“What’s the pay?”Ricco shrugged and named a number that popped into his head.Elmar’s eyes widened - it was more than he used to make in an entire month as a mailman. And now? For two hours a day?Elmar pretended to consider it for a long time.Then he grunted, “Deal.”

Elmar and the First Pizza Delivery Service

When Elmar returned from his first delivery, he found Ricco hunched over a piece of paper. A scrap of parchment, covered in crooked handwriting, read:✦ RICCO’S PIZZAS – NOW DELIVERE TO YUR HOEM! ✦"If you are hungri and cant come, Elmar brings the pizza! Just tell Ricco! It only costs a few extra coins and the pizzer will be ther soon."

Elmar flattened his ears. “Ricco… you’re one hell of a cook. But writing’s not your strong suit.”“Hmph.” Ricco crossed his arms.“Let me handle this.” Elmar grabbed a fresh sheet, picked up a quill, and began writing:

RICCO’S PIZZA DELIVERY SERVICE!Fresh. Fast. Straight to your door!Our courier Elmar brings your favorite pizza – hot & delicious!Just call the pizzeria and place your order!

Then he made copies of the flyer - with help from the mouse triplets, who eagerly pitched in to replicate them. By the next morning, every doorstep and mailbox in the village had one of Elmar’s flyers. And that very evening, the first real delivery went out.

A few days later, Elmar the donkey was pedaling hard. His long ears bounced with each push as he puffed through the village. The old bicycle creaked under him on every hill - just as old as its rider, but at least as tough. Today was his birthday. But instead of relaxing in his little stable, he was out delivering pizzas to supplement his pension. “A body at rest will rust,” he muttered, though his left knee was already groaning suspiciously.

In his delivery box sat a particularly large arugula pizza, its smell wafting constantly into his sensitive donkey nose. He kept glancing at the box, as if the pizza might grow larger when he wasn’t looking. “Must be for someone special,” he murmured, and pedaled even harder. The pizza was haunting him - big, juicy, covered in fresh arugula - and his stomach growled audibly.

But as he delivered the pizzas one by one, he frowned. There was no address sticker on the arugula pizza. Maybe the tag had fallen off? Maybe a mistake? He thought briefly about calling the pizzeria, but… phone calls? Small talk? No thanks.

His final customer was already waiting: General Wuff - an old, distinguished German shepherd who still stood as straight as in his prime. His house sat atop a cliff, as though guarding the sea. Elmar knocked cautiously on the heavy wooden door. A second later, it flew open with force. The General stood there, immaculate in his uniform, medals gleaming, his bushy mustache barely twitching as he said, “Ah! The pizza lad! Punctual as clockwork!”

He took his pizza, pressed a few gleaming coins into Elmar’s hooves, and disappeared inside. The door slammed shut like a cannon blast. Elmar blinked. That was it for today. He was done.

Or so he thought.

Because the arugula pizza remained.

A strange gift?

He sat down on a rock, let his legs dangle, and looked out over the dark sea. The waves slapped lazily against the cliffs, as if they couldn’t decide whether to attack or retreat. His stomach growled again. Maybe it was a mistake? Or… maybe a birthday present?

He smiled. The thought pleased him. He flipped open the box lid, breathed in the warm scent, and took a generous bite. The crust was perfect. The arugula peppery. He closed his eyes. Bliss.

Until a sharp bark rang out behind him.

Elmar froze.

Slowly, he turned around - and there he was: General Wuff, arms behind his back, coat flapping in the wind, mustache stiff as his glare.

“Soldier! What are you doing with my arugula pizza?”

Elmar swallowed - literally. “Uh… well… there was no address label… I thought…”

The General stepped closer. His gaze stern, but sparkling with something Elmar couldn’t quite place. Then, without a word, he pulled a brass - colored rotary phone from his coat pocket.

“Call.”

Elmar sighed. He was a born follower of orders. With trembling hooves, he dialed the number. He expected a scolding. But instead…

A cheerful Happy Birthday rang from the receiver.

His eyes widened. “What…?”

Surprise!

The General grinned broadly, making his face look even more chiseled, and wordlessly opened the door to his veranda.

There stood a table. Set for two. The plates gleamed in the light of the setting sun, and steam rose from a pot of tea.

“A soldier shouldn’t spend his birthday alone,” Wuff said simply.

And that was it. No speeches, no sentimental nonsense. Just that one gesture.

They sat. They ate in silence. But it wasn’t awkward - it was the silence of warriors who didn’t need many words.

The pizza tasted better than it ever had. And when Elmar, after his third slice, asked, “Why?” the General simply replied, “Camaraderie, my boy. I’ve learned never to underestimate it.”

That was the beginning of a deep friendship.

So the evening could have ended - two old souls gazing out at the sea, at the dark waves murmuring in the distance. No grand speeches, no fuss.

But then Elmar’s eyes caught on a strange construction standing on a wooden tripod at the edge of the terrace.“What’s that odd sculpture?” he asked curiously.General Wuff smirked and tapped the device with his paw.“That, my dear friend, is no sculpture - it’s my seer’s glass. And it’s more than just an ordinary telescope. It can turn in every direction. Want to give it a try?”

Intrigued, Elmar stepped closer, pressed his eye to the glass, and gasped in surprise.“I can see everything so much closer! That’s incredible! Where did you get something like this?”

General Wuff leaned back, folded his paws behind his head, and began speaking in his rough voice.“That’s a long story, my friend. It was back when I was still an admiral at sea. We were sailing with a crew of twenty - five sailors and two officers through uncharted waters. Among them was a simple sailor - a dark - furred cat, quiet but brave.”

He paused, as if to replay the scene in his mind.“One day, that cat asked to jump overboard. No sooner had he asked than he leapt. ‘Man overboard!’ someone shouted, and we all rushed to the railing.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---