Nibbles

"It speaks. It bounces. It is golden. And it is much too large. Please stop asking me to explain."

— Seraphis Nightvale, Librarian of the Last Home

Nibbles is, unavoidably, a hamster. An ordinary hamster in every respect — golden fur, white belly, twitching whiskers. Ordinary, except for the scale. She is the size of an elephant. She bounds through the Garden like a runaway siege engine with fur.

She grins. She giggles. She squeaks loud enough to rattle shutters. And no matter how absurd it appears in writing, the creature exists.

The Voice in Your Ear

The first time she speaks, one assumes ventriloquism. The second time, madness. By the third, one must accept that the piping, cheerful voice begging for more carrots is indeed hers.

Nibbles talks constantly: to Jack, to the other mounts, to anyone within range. Her tone is always childlike, always earnest, always loud. One does not so much converse with Nibbles as endure her endless enthusiasm.

Rumours of Cities Flattened

Before arriving at the Inn, Nibbles belonged — allegedly — to a threadwalker. Records suggest she once levelled cities, bent reality, and scattered armies. No one explains how or why; no one dares ask her directly.

She is smaller now. I suspect by her own choice. She could be larger — she has been larger — but Jack would not approve. So she bounds through the Garden at “only” elephant scale, content to squeak for carrots and flatten haystacks in play.

What troubles me is not her restraint, but its condition. If anyone were foolish enough to harm Jack, I suspect the pretense of smallness would end. The consequences of that are best left unimagined.

Jack’s Shadow

Where Jack is, Nibbles follows. She treats him as her big brother, calling for him constantly, clinging at every opportunity, and ensuring no task in the Stables is ever done in peace.

His Aura, overwhelming to patrons, has no effect on her at all. She meets sparkle with squeals, charm with chatter, and treats his princely presence as nothing more than proof he should give her another carrot.

He accepts her entirely. To Jack, she is not absurd. She is simply Nibbles.

Enthusiasm, Weaponised

Nibbles is affectionate to the point of danger. She rolls happily through haystacks, “plays” in ways that uproot trees, and greets friends with enough force to flatten fences. What she considers gentle can upend a cart.

She never notices. Her cheer is inexhaustible, her energy relentless, her devotion unquestioned. She is the eternal little sister, magnified to an unsettling scale.

Final Consideration

Nibbles is impossible to ignore and more impossible to explain. She is too large, too loud, too golden, and too cheerful for her own good. She does not belong in the Stables, and yet she defines them.

Her restraint is terrifying precisely because it is chosen. She bounds, she squeaks, she obeys him in all things. If Jack were harmed, the mask would fall away, and cities would end.

I do not enjoy considering it. Which is, I suspect, the point.