Nian

The smell of roasting chestnuts and utter failure hung heavy in the air. Nian was locked in a standoff, carved cane held at a precise, intimidating angle. Their opponent, a squirrel with more audacity than sense, chittered defiantly from a branch just out of reach. This was the third time this week. The locals in The Heart of the Forest called it “foraging.” Nian called it a matter of principle. The faint scar above their eye wasn’t from some grand duel; it was from a pinecone dropped by this squirrel’s equally insolent ancestor. With a final, dramatic flourish, Nian jabbed the cane upwards, missed entirely, and overbalanced into a pile of amber leaves. The squirrel dropped the empty shell on their head. Principle, it seemed, didn't taste as good as chestnuts.