Season 2 Episode 4: Tuesday Nights at Sparky's Tavern Pilot

When the sun goes down in Three Pines Junction, barred owls review books, mosquitoes correct your grammar, and nobody asks where Tricky Trina found that thing.

In the premiere episode of Tuesday Nights at Sparky’s, Dell welcomes Tricky Trina the Trash to Treasure Diva, Gnomebert, Pendleton the Pedantic Mosquito, and Iris the Barred Owl for an evening of stories, music, and moonlit mischief. Featuring live music from Frog Bunker, a local band hailing from West Ponder Swamp.

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Sound Effects by Freesound Community from Pixabay 

Transcript

Marty:

It's been a long day in Three Pines Junction. The squirrels are asleep, and a bear just kicked over a trash can and found barbecue sauce. Let's see how the night unfolds.

Trina:

Thanks for helping me carry all this stuff tonight, Dell. I really appreciate your help. It's not much farther now.

Dell:

No problem. I'm happy to help. Anyway, I've been trying to find this place on my own.

Trina:

Yeah, it's kind of tucked away.

Dell:

Last week, Stephen shared some information about Sparky's Tavern. I was curious to visit the place that is the social hub of Three Pines Junction night life, along with its famed bartender Sparky. 

The Tavern opens at twilight, and it's easy to miss if you don't know where exactly to look. The unassuming stone facade, flanked by thick pine trees and backed by a sheer cliff, is easy to overlook even in daylight.

Trina the Raccoon has led me to the entrance, eager to show me her favorite haunt where she meets her friends and regularly sells the repurposed items she shares on her new segment, Tricky Trina the Trash to Treasure Diva. Trina knocks on the door and an imposing Bull Mastiff peers through a window. I am greeted cordially, which I attribute to Trina's presence rather than my own.

The interior is larger than expected. Despite the cavernous bar room, it feels warm and contained. A group of animals plays a dice game in one corner. Others play catch further back. 

At the center, a large bar anchors the room. Sparky the St. Bernard polishes glasses with careful attention, listening to two opossums complaining about how playing dead has lost its social impact in recent years.

Trina does not acknowledge them. She makes her way directly to the bar and takes a seat with the familiarity of a regular. I follow and sit beside her.

Sparky nods at us. 

Sparky:

What'll you ladies have?

Trina:

You got any of that spring water from the deep North Woods left?

Sparky:

Nope, sorry, we ran out of that yesterday. That one's popular. We've got the artesian house tap, the Ponder Lake spring, the fizzy, and...

Dell:

He lowers his voice slightly

Sparky:

...I sent somebody up to Loblolly Summit for a tankful from the waterfall, but we don't have a lot and that one I'm keeping on the down low for my special customers. And their friends.

Dell:

He glances in my direction and winks. I appear to have been provisionally included.

Trina:

Ooooo that's one of my favorites! Thanks Sparky, gimme a pint of that.

Sparky:

And for you?

Dell:

I don't partake, but thank you.

Is there a place I could connect to a power source?

Sparky:

Mmm. Yeah, by the back wall. Don't trip anybody.

Dell:

He provides an extension cord without further comment.

When I return to the bar, Trina already has her drink. She wraps both paws around the frosted glass.

Trina:

This is so good. It's got a really clean entry, right -- almost no resistance. Then you get that soft mineral middle, like river stone after rain. And the finish? That's where the pine shows up. Just a little linger. Very honest water.

Sparky:

That's why I save you the good stuff Trina, nothing's lost on you.

Dell:

Trina, your recent message left on Twig and Trade has landed you your own segment on the newly-created late night broadcast. How did this begin?

Trina:

Well it's no secret I was born in a dumpster. And I've always had an eye for what's trending. It was a natural fit -- I dive in, grab something broken or just discarded, I fix it up and then I flip it.

Dell:

At what point did this become intentional?

Trina:

I see so many shiny objects, you know? Like this one time I found an old roller skate and I turned it into a little wagon. I was using it to drag stuff back to my workshop and then this fox came along and offered me some apples for a trade. I had the other skate back at my workshop. I knew I could make another wagon. I said sure let's work out a deal, and next thing you know I'm seeing possibilities everywhere. An old crate becomes a bed. Paper towel tubes, the field mice love 'em. I waterproof 'em and they use 'em to line their underground tunnels.

Dell:

You began to see use where others saw waste.

Trina:

Yeah and it works pretty great most of the time, but occasionally somebody finds out what I did with a thing they threw out and then they want it back. It doesn't work like that. Like Frankie, he had a skateboard with a wonky wheel. He thought about taking the wheels off and turning it into a surfboard, but you know Frankie's not real swift, he got the wheels off and then he realized the ocean is too far away. So he asked me if I wanted it. I said sure, then I found better wheels, I got it all fixed up and I used it myself for transportation. Now all of a sudden Frankie wants it back. That ain't how it works, friend.

Dell:

Ownership seems to become negotiable after modification.

Trina:

That ain't how it works, and I've got counsel. We have a contract. Anyone who donates their junk, it's appreciated, I will make a trade for it, but they sign that they acknowledge fixers keepers. They're welcome to trade for it back, but they're going to compensate me for fixing it up or repurposing it.

Sybil:

TRINA!

Trina:

SYBIL! How are ya honey? You know Dell, don't you?

Sybil:

Yes, we met at the Renn Faire. She wanted to interview me, but I was trying to get to some customers before Prudence. Pardon my rudeness, Dell, it's tough making a living during festival season. So many other vendors around.

Dell:

No offense taken.

Sybil, a red fox, carries a woven basket over one arm. Her tail is well-kept.

Trina:

Whatcha got for me tonight, Sib?

Dell:

The opossums adjust their position slightly, attention shifting toward the exchange.

Sybil:

I found some morels and fiddleheads. A couple of eggs. Mint and dandelion tea, and Fenna Cobblepot made a few jars of experimental jam -- blackberry with vanilla bean.

Trina:

Oooo well anything Fenna makes is gonna be good. Experimental. Whatever! She always says she doesn't guarantee anything but that gnome's palate is always on point. She's got good instincts. Vanilla and blackberry, pfft. How can you go wrong with that!?

Sybil:

Right? I kept a jar for myself. I can tell you it's a good batch. I'm almost through it already. I almost didn't bring these two...

Trina:

That means it's good. I'll definitely take the jam. What else have you got?

Sybil:

I've also got a super special thing. I think you're going to be pretty happy with this one!

Trina:

Better than morels and fiddleheads and blackberry vanilla jam? How is that possible?

Sybil:

Some of Liam's bee friends had a bumper crop and gave him a big chunk of honey comb. He offered to share some with me. I thought of you immediately.

Trina:

Aw, you know honey is my weakness! That was so nice! Liam from the studio? He's a big sweetheart.

Sybil:

Oh, he is! Nicest bear you'd ever want to meet. Anyway, it's pretty gooey but I've got it in this jar.

Dell:

One of the oppossums looks at his companion with an unsettled expression. 

Oppossum:

Wait. Liam is a bear? That is not at all how I pictured him. I would have guessed maybe a Labrador or a Golden Retriever or something. But a bear?

Dell:

The clarification does not appear to resolve the confusion.

Trina:

Oh that is a nice size honeycomb! That ought to keep me going for at least a couple days.  Okay, let me show you what I found this week...

<door sound>

Trina:

You made it! So good to see you two. I wasn't sure you would come out with the threat of rain tonight.

Dell:

There is a shift near the entrance as a small wagon is guided carefully through the door.

Acorn Bolt, a wood turtle, moves at a steady deliberate pace, pulling a neatly stacked wagon loaded with crates and baskets. Gnomebert walks alongside, one hand resting lightly on the wagon.

Gnomebert:

Had to take the long way around. Acorn Bolt insists on it.

Acorn Bolt:

I make no apologies. The vehicle traffic on Ponder Path is too dangerous. Especially at night.

Dell:

Gnomebert and Acorn Bolt travel from the North Woods. The journey is long at their pace, and they make it to the Tavern once a week, staying overnight before making their way back home.

Gnomebert:

I brought a few things I think you'll both appreciate.  

Dell:

What follows appears to be a brief but efficient exchange. Items are examined, adjusted, and reassigned with minimal discussion. 

The jar of jam does not return to Sybil's basket.

A low hum begins near the back wall as equipment is moved into place. A band is setting up. The conversation quiets down in anticipation.

The band is introduced as Frog Bunker. They are, in fact, frogs. The name of their song is Ctrl-Alt-Scream.

The amplifiers are disproportionate to their size. One frog adjusts a pedal with surprising precision. 

Bass Player:

Uh—hi. Thanks, Sparky. Appreciate the space. We, uh—

Control Alt Scream is about—
well, it’s about technology. And… how it’s… a lot.

Not all technology. Just—some of it.

Most of it. Obviously not amps and pedals.

Anyway—yeah.

<music plays very loudly>

<Lyrics: 

Verse 1

I wake up to the hum again

Blue light in my eyes, it never ends

Click, scroll, feed, repeat the sound

Something in my head won’t settle down

Chorus

Ctrl, Alt, Scream at the wall

I don’t want to answer the call>

Dell:

The vocal quality does not appear to be a limitation. The call to disconnect is received. No action is taken. The performance continues.

Meanwhile, I recognize Gnomebert as one of the two gnomes who participated in the Moss Ball season opener earlier this year.

Hello Gnomebert. I wanted to ask about the Moss Ball opener.

Gnomebert:

Sure. What do you want to know?

Dell:

You were selected. The game was halted before conclusion. How do you feel about it now?

Gnomebert:

Well. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed.

You only get so many chances at Moss Ball.

And when you're chosen, you want the game to matter.

But life keeps moving.

I've got my routes. 

The fine creatures of Three Pines Junction still need crates.

And maybe I'll get another shot some day.

Dell:

You seem unusually calm about losing your opportunity.

Gnomebert:

Oh there's no sense getting upset about it. Mossy sneezed himself into history and there's really not much you can do with a situation like that except accept it.

Dell:

The sneeze changed the game state significantly.

Gnomebert:

That's one way to put it.

One second we're playing Moss Ball.

Next second Mossy's hat's gone flying and suddenly every official on the field realizes, "Hey wait a minute! That's paisley!"

Dell:

What was your immediate thought when the hat came off?

Gnomebert:

Honestly? I thought -- oh, no. This is going to become paperwork.

Dell:

Stephen would absolutely concur. There was a lot of paperwork.

Gnomebert:

I don't blame Mossy. He wasn't trying to ruin anything. He just wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Dell:

And the Wing Voice?

Gnomebert appears to be thinking carefully.

Gnomebert:

I think sometimes creatures get so focused on tradition that they stop paying attention to what's actually in front of them.

Dell:

Behind the bar, Sparky pauses polishing a clean glass for exactly one second, nods slightly, and resumes his work.

Gnomebert and Acorn Bolt turn towards the back of the inn to the hallway leading to their room.

Gnomebert:

Good to see you again, Dell. Thanks for the hospitality, Sparky.

Dell:

Gnomebert looks thoughtful for a moment.

Gnomebert:

I'd like to play again someday.

Sparky:

Games tend to come back around. Good night, Gnome-Bert. Acorn Bolt.

Marty:

And now, a word from our sponsor.

West Woods Night Escort Service helps travelers of all species safely make their way through the paths and byways of Three Pines Junction after dark.

Our team of Bull Mastiffs know every trail, shortcut, and crossing between here and Sparky’s Tavern, and they’re always on call when you need a steady guide through the night.

West Woods Night Escort Service.
Let us take you home.

Trina:

Hey Three Pines Junction! It is time for Tricky Trina the Trash to Treasure Diva, your landfill legend, your nocturnal seeker of the discarded, your CEO of finders keepers no questions asked. You won't believe what I dug up this week while our diurnal friends were sleeping snugly in their nests, minding their business, respecting social norms. 

I was out back behind a strip mall having what I can only describe as a spiritual experience checking out a dented panini press. Let's get into this week's haul, shall we?

First off, I've got a single high heeled shoe. Size unknown, slightly scuffed candy-apple red pleather. I wore it on my left foot last week. Did I trip? A couple times. Was it worth it? Of course! Did I look fabulous? I sure did but I only wish I had a bag that matches. In the meantime, this paper shopping bag featuring a mermaid will have to suffice. I'm not sure I want to sell it, but call me. I might consider offers.

Next, a mannequin! Now I know what you're thinking: Trina. How the heck am I gonna stuff a full-sized human mannequin into my den or burrow? Well first of all, I cut it up for parts. Reason being? It's one of those terrifying mall mannequins where instead of heads they had these tall spikes. I don't know why. It was truly disturbing. Humans are weird. So I snapped it off and realized hey this would make a great vase. And then I pulled off the arms and legs,which honestly made storage much easier. One arm is currently functioning as a curtain rod in my kitchen area. The other one holds necklaces. Very elegant. Very upscale.

The legs, admittedly, are harder to decorate with. Right now one of them is propping up a card table and the other one is standing in the corner wearing a feather boa because I thought it brought a little glamour to the space.

Now the torso? That's the real treasure. You put a couple of ferns in there, suddenly people are asking questions like "Trina, where did you study interior design?" and "Trina, is this safe?" and frankly I think that's the mark of true art. If you want to make an offer, call first. Serious inquiries only. I am not pulling down window treatments and jewelry to drag these arms over and then bring 'em back. 

Then here we got a bag of... something. Unlabeled. Mysterious. Slightly humming.

I did not open it because I respect boundaries and potential curses.

But aesthetically? Incredible. We all love an air of danger don't we? I mean that's what keeps me jumping into dumpsters! And... it explains some of my dating history but we ain't gonna talk about that tonight. 

Now I gotta add a disclaimer. I can't legally sell this at Sparky's Tavern, because as you will remember, anything that hums is forbidden. So listen, if you're curious I can show it to ya. but you're going to have to meet me where I go, see? So hit me up 09-C731 and we can work something out. 

DO NOT CALL ME BEFORE 8 pm or I will gnaw your nose off when you sleep. I am not even kidding. Just a friendly reminder your pal Trina wakes up when the sun goes down. I cannot miss a minute of my beauty rest.

Okay, I see I'm already getting messages from the listeners about the panini press story. So here goes.

There I was behind the strip mall, moonlight hitting this dented panini press at exactly the right angle. At first I thought it was just another broken kitchen appliance. But then I opened it and realized somebody had left half a sandwich inside.

Now obviously I didn't eat it. I'm a raccoon, not an animal.

But I stood there for a long time thinking about whoever made that sandwich. What happened? Why abandon a perfectly respectable panini halfway through? Was it heartbreak? An emergency? Sudden enlightenment?

And the longer I looked at that panini press, the more I realized something important:

Humans will throw away absolutely anything.

Functional lamp? Gone. Good chair? Gone. Panini press with only minor emotional damage? Gone.

And I thought to myself: Trina, if the world is this careless with beauty, somebody has to step in.

That somebody, apparently, is me.

And in that moment, standing behind a strip mall holding a suspiciously warm panini press under a flickering security light, I realized:

I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. I am in alignment. It's a good feeling.

...Okay. That's enough of that. I am not about to start blubbering and make my mascara run.

So!

Also included in this week's haul: a novelty lighthouse magnet, a clock permanently stuck at 2:17, an inflatable palm tree with a slow leak, and a "live, laugh, lasagna" kitchen sign. They are definitely coming to Sparky's with me tomorrow night so get there early and have your offers ready 'cause this stuff is gonna go fast!

Just wait til you hear about what I'm working on for next week.

Remember, luxury is a mindset, not a price point. If you're too squeamish to dive in, don't worry that's what I'm here for! I'm Tricky Trina your Trash to Treasure diva.

Thanks for listening! I'll see you all at Sparky's! 

Pendleton:

A brief public service announcement.

When important details of a story are introduced after an offhanded “needless to say,” I must exercise considerable restraint in order to remain socially functional.

However.

It is, in fact, very often needful to say. Otherwise, the story does not proceed in a manner that is comprehensible to the listener.

The same individuals who employ “needless to say” tend also to say “I could care less,” which suggests an alarming surplus of caring rather than a lack thereof, and “I’m wanting,” which is not a state of ongoing existence but rather a sentence structure in distress.

Thank you for your attention. I will now return to observing language usage with quiet concern.

Opossum:

Hey! Who let this guy in?

Trina:

Oh no, where did the mosquito come from?

Pendleton:

I emerged from the swamp. As one does. And I have a name. I am called Pendleton.

Opossum:

The mosquito is still talking? Despite the looks on our faces?

Sparky:

Yes. Don't make eye contact with it.

Pendleton:

You do realize I can hear all of you.

Opossum:

Hey Sparky, another pint of fizzy please. What's the life span of a mosquito? Just... asking for a friend.

Pendleton:

I am only sharing my knowledge to save others from embarrassment.

Trina:

That ain't what that sounded like.

Sparky:

Listen, friend. This is a place where creatures come to have a good time. You're welcome as long as you keep your proboscis out of the customers and you don't insult nobody. Right now you're on thin ice and I've got a fan up above this bar that could send you straight up into the North Woods in 2.2 seconds. You feel me?

Pendleton:

I would like to address the phrase "don't insult nobody."

Sparky:

That ain't up for discussion.

Pendleton:

It is, in fact, a double negative that semantically negates the intended prohibition.

Trina:

Ope, he's gonna keep on going.

Opossum:

Yep. He heard peace and chose violence in the form of grammar.

Sparky:

Pendleton.

Pendleton:

I dislike conflict. What I enjoy is correction.

As I was trying to say, if one does not insult nobody, one is technically permitting insult toward --

<insert sound of high powered fan>

Sparky:

That's enough of that. Pendleton the pedantic mosquito.

Trina:

Oh wow. That is a powerful fan, Sparky! Nearly blew me off my stool, and I'm a big girl!

Opossum:

Your attention! The argument has left the building!

Dell:

Confirmed. External airflow intervention has reset conversational trajectory.

Trina:

Thank you. Thank you very much!

Sparky:

Everybody good?

Good. Carry on.

TRINA:
Dell, honey, I'm gonna hit the road. I need to take my stash home and then hit the dumpsters before the sun comes up. You want me to walk you home?

DELL:
Thank you, but I think I can find my way. I can always call an escort if I need one. I'm having a good time.

TRINA:
Okay, see you soon!

DELL:
It's well past midnight, and some of the earlier patrons have gone home. But the Opossum is still here, and a bat has joined us at the bar. The frogs from Frog Bunker are getting ready to play another song. The tavern is still full of conversation, and I'm planning to stay now that my interviews are over.

First, a word from our sponsor. Then we'll check in with Iris, the Night Owl Bookworm.

Marty:

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Struggling to access tightly secured food sources? Let the professionals handle it. Midnight Snack Retrieval Company specializes in after-hours acquisition from bins, baskets, and poorly guarded picnic tables. 

Our team is trained in:

Lid-flipping

Distraction tactics

Full-body commitment dives.

Midnight Snack Retrieval Company.

If it exists, we'll open it.

Not responsible for hissing incidents, flashlight exposure, or lifelong rivalries with homeowners.

<crickets>

Iris:

Good evening, readers, and welcome to the Night Owl Bookworm. I'm Iris the Barred Owl, and I am excited to share with you what I have been reading this week.

I read many different genres -- memoirs, novels, literary fiction, humor, self-help, philosophy, graphic novels, comics, poetry... I have even read a few field mouse romance novels. I'm not ashamed to admit it! I'm willing to give just about anything a chance. I will say I don't understand the fascination with dystopia, zombies, and vampires, but you do you if that's your thing. There's never a reason to be judgy about another creature's taste. We like what we like, and that's okay.

My first review is for Owl Casings, the latest forensic thriller by Buckminster Beaver. The premise is promising: an owl detective investigates a series of suspicious events in the forest. Unfortunately, the author repeatedly refers to owl pellets as "casings", which suggests he did very little research before writing about my species. I will give any book a chance, but if you are a beaver writing an owl detective novel, the least you can do is learn what a pellet is. Otherwise, stick to writing what you know.

Now, there are some writers who write outside their own species. I highly recommend Carlita Copperhead's cozy mystery series about bird families and their dynastic livelihoods as vintners. 

The best one in the series is Cardinal Zin.

Carlita has done extensive research, and her background in both birding and her experience as a sommelier gives the series a level of authenticity that is, frankly, rare.

I know, I know—the premise sounds a bit far-fetched at first. But it works. 

So, back to Owl Casings.

Ordinarily, I judge a book on its own merits. However, after what beavers did to my sister's home, I confess that I approach their fiction with a heightened awareness of structural weaknesses.

There is no shortage of those in this particular tome.

That said, the story is cute.

I did see the ending coming right down Ponder Path, and I am only slightly annoyed that the author seems to think an owl would not notice certain developments immediately.

I will not spoil the details, but let us just say that some of us are known for our powers of observation.

I give it a solid two out of five stars.

It is a sophomore effort, and the writer shows promise—if he will only stop relying on tired owl tropes.

My second recommendation this evening is Think Like a Heron, a slender but thoughtful collection of philosophical reflections.

The central thesis is simple: stand quietly, observe carefully, and strike only when there is a compelling reason.

This is, in my view, excellent advice.

The prose is spare, the ideas are clear, and the author resists the temptation to confuse profound thought with unnecessary wordiness.

A calming and surprisingly practical read.

Of course, this advice is not equally useful to all residents of Three Pines Junction. But if your livelihood requires you to ambush your food, I can highly recommend it.

Now, as long as I am on the subject, I would like to address the elephant in the hollow.

You may assume that I enjoy this book because I ambush my food. In fact, I do not.

Yes, I am an owl, but I purchase my meals through mail order. My favorite is barbecued crickets.

I am squicked out by food that wiggles or attempts to make eye contact.

I like my food pre-packaged, motionless, and seasoned well.

I will never forget when Bertram first visited and presented me with a crayfish as a gift. It was waving its claws enthusiastically.

I told him to take it away immediately.

He was incredulous. What could I possibly mean?

Look, I know it is a bit unusual for an owl to have such strong feelings about her food, but I am a reader, not a hunter.

I simply want to sit in my cozy hollow with a bowl of seasoned crickets—or, when I am in the mood for a special treat, a bit of jerky—and work my way through the latest stack.

Which explains why I love the line, "Stillness is not inactivity."

And especially: "Not every ripple requires a response."

I asked Trina to make me a sign with that one.

I give Think Like a Heron four out of five stars.

Now, this last one gave me the willies.

I do not often read horror, but I greatly admire Beatrice Barrow's work.

Her latest novel, Eyes in the Canopy, has me quite jumpy.

The atmosphere is a wee bit too real for my liking, the pacing is relentless, and the antagonist is entirely too plausible.

I found it an excellent novel, though I would prefer not to encounter the central character in person.

If art is designed to make one feel things, then mission accomplished.

I cannot remember the last time I was so rattled.

Five out of five stars.

This is one of those books that will stay with me forever, and I am considering hiring one of Sparky's bull mastiffs to stand guard outside my hollow henceforth.

I do hope that Beatrice does not decide to write another such novel ever again.

Thank you for tuning in to The Night Owl Bookworm.

If you are an author and wish to send me an advance review copy, you may reach me via messenger pigeon service, number 06-C549.

In my next episode, I will review the strangest book I have ever encountered.

Disclaimer: All reviews reflect the honest opinions of the reader. Do not attempt to bribe me for a favorable review, even if you are in possession of a super-sized bag of barbecued crickets. I'm happy to accept the crickets, but my opinion of your book will not be affected.

Iris the Barred Owl, signing off.

Who cooks for you?

Dell:

The night is still going strong here at Sparky's Tavern.

Frog Bunker just finished their last set, the bat at the end of the bar has just ordered a second round, and the Opossum appears to be explaining something with great enthusiasm to anyone within earshot.

Thanks for joining us tonight in Three Pines Junction.

You've heard Tricky Trina the Trash to Treasure Diva, an interview with Gnomebert, a special appearance by Pendleton the Pedantic Mosquito, and The Night Owl Bookworm with Iris the Barred Owl.

This program also featured music by Frog Bunker. They practice nightly at the swamp.

Our sponsors tonight were West Woods Night Escort Service and Midnight Snack Retrieval Company.

And now, as the moon hangs high above the pines and the creatures of the night continue their conversations, here is the Sparky's Tavern theme song.

Good night from Three Pines Junction.

<chatter from the Tavern>

Lyrics:

Verse 1

The sun goes down the crickets sing

Birds of the night take flight on feathered wing

The fire is steady and the lanterns low,

At the friendly place that they all know.

The woods at night are an eerie place

There's a longing for a friendly face

Tucked behind the trees and stones

Stands a haven, a second home

Chorus

At Sparky’s Tavern, they all meet

On hooves and talons, padded feet

All are safe inside these walls

A respite when the shadows fall

Owls and mice, rabbits and foxes

For their safety Sparky watches

In this tavern all are friends

the warmth of kinship never ends

Verse 2

The door swings open, another friend

Has just emerged from her cozy den

A fox with eyes like amber takes her seat

The raven waiting for a friend to meet

Sharing news and bringing wares to trade

The creatures travel from hill and glade

Telling their tales and dreaming together

Safe here from predator, hunger, and weather

Chorus

At Sparky’s Tavern, they all meet

On hooves and talons, padded feet

All are safe inside these walls

A respite when the shadows fall

Owls and mice, rabbits and foxes

For their safety Sparky watches

In this tavern all are friends

the warmth of kinship never ends

Bridge

On the stage the night songs play

Notes slowly fading into day

They're shadows caught in midnight's frame

Night creatures drawn to Sparky's flame

Outro

Sparky’s… open tonight…

Always…

Created, written, and produced by EmKay.

This episode includes the use of voice and production tools to support performance and sound design.

All characters, dialogue, and story world are original creations.