Disclaimer: Rights to Animorphs and its respective characters belong to the respective parties.
A/N: And that's it. Over Four Years, off and on, I devoted to this monster. And it's done!
Here's a little Special Extra, a little Elfangor childhood piece that explains Veyoup.
It would rain soon. At the moment, the sky was cloudy, but in a few patches the suns shown. None of this was especially important to the creatures around. Hoobers crawled and tangled in the flowers and trees, and two adult Andalites were bent over a work console, reengineering designs for more efficiency, if it was possible. Their attention was torn between their work and the small Andalite that was weaving under them and through their legs, not so much desperate for attention as that at age when it was enough to merely wish to be by his parents.
He wasn't old by any stretch of imagination. His size alone would attest to that, able to walk under their bodies with hardly any stooping or bending of eyestalks, and he was more fluff than fine fur, more eyes and ears than face, and more legs than anything else. He didn't speak cohesively, projected nothing but basic emotions and desires, and tripped far more often than either his parents had heard a young one doing. Even still, he was the pride of his parents' hearts.
He continued weaving under them, sometimes stretching his stalks so they rubbed their bellies, dragging his hands and petting their fur as if to make sure they were solid, and tangling his tail around their ankles and sides.
‹Little One, please be still,› Mother chastised gently, one eye monitoring his movements. ‹We are working.›
‹Leave him be,› Father scolded playfully. He was still amused by his young son and had not nearly reached the limits of his rather generous tolerance.
He did still, advancing to their workstation, stretching his arms so his hands could grip the edge, extending his stalks so his eyes could barely see what they were working on. He watched as they handled the small instruments and buttons.
Annoyed that he could not see as well as he wished, he approached closer and carefully set his front hooves on the bar. Upper torso leaning back and balancing with his tail, he shakily used his reserves of leg strength and pushed himself wobbly up, gaining perhaps six inches, his weak arms keeping him steady.
He watched a little longer, then grabbed a tool, lost his balance, and would have tumbled if his father's tail hadn't arched to his leaning side. His hand quickly regained its purchase, and his tail shifted, and for a moment, he just stood and made sure he was steady. Once that was sure, he proudly handed over the small tool, ignorant of the fact that had his father's tail moved from his side, he would have fallen quite hard.
Father smiled and took the object. ‹My thanks. Go play, Little One. Shoo.› With his tail, he gently scooped the small Andalite up and set him on his four hooves before batting his away.
He stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure if he wanted to leave the side of his parents, but he was a generally brave little one, and he bounced away, stumbling only a little. He dashed about in the grass and, in an effort to imitate his parents, attempted to rear back. He lost his balance quickly and fell straight to his side. He rolled to his stomach quickly, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed his fall. When he was sure, he leaped up and pranced away, the disastrous fall fading into memory.
It started to drizzle and he ran in the rain. Upon finding a puddle of water, created mostly by his mother's watering device, he jumped happily to make a large splash of water and mud, both that coated his legs and underbelly. He jumped in it several times before movement caught his eyes, and he stalked over the flowers, slowly, carefully.
Then he leaped into the bed, an act that would displease Mother when she saw what he had done. From his entrance, the nest of hoobers sprang out, hopping every which way, and he quickly found his hooves and ran after one, and then another when it sprang into his path.
There was no logic to his chase, more a diverting of attention. He slid often on the wet grass, getting wetter, muddier, and slippery in the growing waterfall.
He had been chasing one especially springy hoober around the lodge, when he slipped on the graded incline downwards and tumbled with a roll, hitting hard the main supports. He lay stunned for a few moments, breathing deeply to combat the various pains that sprang from his body. Once he seemed recovered, he carefully stood. Under the mud he could see blood and his bravado trembled, and he made to dash to his parents. He did not get far, because with a yank he found himself on his stomach. Looking backwards, he saw his tail wedged firmly into the support. He pulled and pulled again, then moved back and kicked the beam with his hind legs. Again and again and again and he tried to break free, but nothing helped. His tail was firmly embedded.
The rain fell harder and it got muddier, sucking at his hooves, and the Andalite grew scared. His tail wouldn't get free! He was stuck! Neither of his parents were within sight, and he was hurt all over. Panicking, he pushed and kicked and batted the support, and slowly it tilted until one good yank caused it to fall to the ground with a rather painful twist of his tail. Along with the beam, the roof tilted down greatly, dropping a waterfall onto the little Andalite's head.
With terror and pain and desperation, he got to his hooves, slipping, and tried to rush around. The beam was heavy and he was getting nowhere, for it straightened and was hard to drag through the grass, and his tail did not like being turned such a way.
Where were his parents? He wanted them right now! He didn't like being alone.
He tugged his tail again and kept walking. However, he didn't have to get very far, because he heard familiar hoofbeats and brightened considerably when Mother and Father appeared, both drawn by the flash of emotion.
They stared, blinked in surprised at the mess their Little One had made.
‹Oh, you are Veyoup, aren't you, Little One?› Father sighed, both exasperated and amused. ‹You will be lucky if you don't share his fate.›
‹Hush! How can you find this funny? Come, help me with the roof, before this rain gets even harder.›
And, to the little Andalite's shock, they ignored him and started to repair the roof. He whined, because now the rain was getting very heavy and he did not want to get wet anymore, the drops were hitting him too hard and stinging his eyes.
In what really wasn't that long but seemed like eternity to a little Andalite, his parents returned their attention to him, amusement mixed with empathy.
‹Our poor Little One,› Mother soothed, stepping over him to shield him from the worst of the rain. ‹Look at your stalks. Oh, and your knees and elbows. You are hurt everywhere, aren't you?›
‹And he's stuck quite well!› Father added, chuckling. ‹I would almost say he tries, but no Andalite can be purposefully uncoordinated and unlucky. I'm going to have to cut him out.›
‹Do be careful.›
With her own tail, Mother held her son's tail steady with a firm pressure, and it was necessary. When the youngest saw that his father's blade was heading straight for his, he screamed in panic and wrestled, pushing against his mother and ignoring all their calming words and presence. He slipped and twisted under her, and then he was free and he twisted away.
He had been surprised and analyzed his newly-freed tail, and then understood what his parents had done, and he went back to them, tangling under them lovingly again.
His father laughed, while the mother sighed at the mud being spread about her person. ‹What shall we do with you, Elfangor? You are the clumsiest Andalite I have ever heard of.›
‹What of Veyoup?› Father teased, brushing his son's head.
‹He will never be allowed anywhere, because others will chase him away! We might as well change his name, for he most certainly have Veyoup's spirit.› Mother sighed. ‹How is he to be well, if he cannot even run properly?›
Father smiled. ‹He is young. Trust me, he shall be great. In time.›
Mother looked down at her son, her muddy, sopping wet, bruised little Elfangor, their little Veyoup. ‹In much time.›
Her husband had to agree.
Elfangor, with the understanding of a child, didn't understand. It was enough that his parents were by him, and that his tail was free.
A/N: And That's All Folks! Really! Thanks for reading!
And there, Chan, it's up! So that means it's finished!