Lox and Mouin

Trickster gods and vain creations. A wolverine named Lox and a bear named Mouin.

Step into my sauna said Lox to the bear. I can make you white as the great gull.

Mouin wanted it. In the hut of fire and stone, the bear weakened. Let me out, he cried. Lox was no fool. It was better to be trusted. You’ve begun to change, he said, pointing to the strip of white in the bear’s fur. You need more time. Mouin hesitated but stepped back in and waited, squirming and reeling. Let me out he said again. Lox ignored him. Moments later, the bear was dead.

In the afterlife where all creation meets again, Mouin asked why. You were too vain for your own good, said Lox. And they ate dinner together.



“What is it?” asked the Commander, Krim. His one eye observed the tiny human between his claw-like fingers.

“It’s called a politician, Sir,” said Ebluk. “The only earth comparison is a Baboon.”

Krim sniffed the creature. It stunk.

“Well, put it in a jar and let’s go. What intervention is recommended?”

“Ships computer recommends a female dominant species to take over. Lions perhaps.”

“Fine. Throw them in.”

Ebluk tapped the device. Five lionesses appeared in the large white structure. They returned to the ship. No one heard when the screaming stopped.