A day in the life

By Strega

It was an hour after sunrise and the druid was making his way down the road.  An early riser, he'd been up for two hours, long enough to eat breakfast, stow his sleeping roll and gear on Thistlefur's harness and climb aboard his mount. Today he was off to Rand Towne, most populous of the Five Villages around the mountain. 

Like the mountain itself it was named after Sir Randall, the knight who led the effort to clear the area of monsters.  When he and his band drove off the green dragon who claimed the area a century ago settlers arrived and five small communities sprouted on the road that ringed the mountain.  Each was named after a member of the band - Rand Town, Adelburg and so on.

A few years back woodcutters made deep inroads into the forests of the mountain but the Druid's arrival changed that.  He correctly pointed out that without trees there would be floods and landslides whenever a strong rain fell on the mountain and events soon proved him right. He'd lived in the woods of the mountain ever since, periodically emerging to make a circuit of the ring road and offer his services to the villagers. 

His ability to predict the weather, tend to crops and treat illness made him a valuable asset even if you left out his magic. A powerful druid is a very useful thing to have around in a rural area and so his eccentricities were tolerated, or in some cases even welcomed.  One of those eccentricities was the two-ton badger he rode.

The druid smiled as a horseman appeared ahead of him and cursed. The man's horse didn't like the sight of the druid's mount at all and the druid nudged Thistlefur with his knee. The enormous badger flicked an ear and moved to the side, leaving most of the gravel road to the rider.

"Oh, I've heard of you, sir druid," the man said, and waved as his nervous horse carried him past.  The wide-eyed animal didn't know what to make of a badger the size of a cart but Thistlefur ignored the horse save to give it a speculative glance.  She had eaten a few of them, after all, but she wasn't about to attack one for no good reason.

"Good girl," the druid murmured, and stroked the long fur of her neck.  A druid has a great deal of control over his animal companion but Thistle's gentle nature was her own.

Rand Towne was the only one of the five villages to have a proper city wall.  He should know, he and Thistlefur helped build it.  As he approached the gate he saw they were building a watchtower outside the walls as well, and that's where he met Sergeant Silow.

"Ho, druid," the militiaman said, and from the speculative way he looked at Thistlefur the druid knew something was up. That and the fact the man was leaning on a shovel.

"Sooo," Silow said casually, "Badgers dig, right?  They're like a walking mass of shovels."

That was accurate enough.  A badger's claws are hollow on the underside to scoop dirt out of a hole as they dug. Even a normal-sized badger can dig faster than a man can shovel. The druid need only look at the half-dug foundation hole for the new watchtower to know what the sergeant wanted.

"I can't dig your hole for you, Silow," said the druid.  "You and your men probably got assigned this job for being drunk on duty again." The druid gestured toward the small crowd of sweating militiamen in the hole.

"We can pay," the sergeant said, and the druid laughed.  

"Really?  On your salary? You know I'd do it if the captain asked, but not just on your word."

"Now hold on," Silow said.  "Yeah, its a punitive detail.  But the captain wants it done fast too.  I bet your badger,"

"Thistlefur," the druid said.

"Thistlefur could dig out that hole in half an hour.  It'll take us days."

"I have business in town," the druid began, but he paused as one of Thistlefur's ears swiveled. He was not surprised when the guard captain appeared.

"Silow," said Captain Tyler, "Go put your men on break.  I've got another project for you."

The sergeant shot the captain a suspicious glance, probably sure he would end up doing something even less pleasant, but orders are orders.

"He is right," the captain said when Silow was out of earshot.  He reached out and scratched Thistlefur's ear with the complete lack of fear of a man who had seen children laughing and playing between the badger's forepaws.   "We do need that done as soon as possible.  Could I prevail upon you to dig us a foundation for the tower?"

"Bandit troubles?" asked the druid, and touched a heavy, clanking bag that hung from the badger's harness. "I'm surprised."

"Your badger and the fox can't eat them all," the captain said.  He glanced around to make sure no one could hear what he said next.  "I have a bandit I'm supposed to hang later today.  If you ask Thistlefur to dig me my hole she can have him."

"What do you think, girl," the druid said, and scratched the badger between the ears.  "Bandit for lunch?"

Thistlefur perked up at the idea and as soon as the druid and captain got the harness off she set to digging.  It was an impressive sight. Dirt came flying out of the hole as she excavated a volume equal to herself in just a few minutes. She finished the foundation so quickly the captain had her extend it to one side and even dig out a trench along a low section of the town wall to effectively increase its height.  Eventually Thistlefur wearied of this (to her) minor exercise and shook the dirt from her long fur.  As they buckled the harness back on her she shot the captain an expectant look.

"Aren't we a clever girl," said the captain as he scratched her cheek.  "Let's get you something to eat."

They followed the captain and after the officer dismissed the guard he showed them a man tied hand and foot.  Many scars and tattoos showed his history of violence and vice but they only had a moment to study it.  The moment the captain stepped aside a long-clawed forepaw stuffed the man unceremoniously into Thistlefur's maw.

This was not the first time a dangerous prisoner disappeared into the badger and the captain watched approvingly as Thistlefur tossed her muzzle upward, bolting the man down with three quick heaves of her head.  For a moment a set of kicking legs hung down on either side of her lower jaw, one toss later it was just a set of naked feet and then the badger stretched out her nose and swallowed.  A great swelling moved through her cream-colored neckfur and was gone.  So large was Thistlefur and so long her flank fur that the bulge created when the hapless bandit arrived in her gut was not even noticeable.

"Good girl," said the druid, scratching her between the ears. Thistlefur belched, licked her chops and leaned into the scratching.

"We just caught him this morning," Captain Tyler said.  "But you can't dawdle with his sort.  He's escaped twice before. If you hadn't been by I would have hanged him and burned the body by noon."

They both watched bemusedly as her flank-fur twitched.  The man was putting up such a struggle that her pelt moved even through her meal was buried under all those layers of muscle, hide and fur.  Not that it would save him.  Soon enough the twitching stopped and if it caused Thistlefur any distress at all she didn't show it.

"Too bad Hialfi wasn't by on his mail run," the druid said.  "He can always use a free meal." 

"Eh," said the captain.  "I suppose."

"What?  You have something against the fox?"

"I tolerate him," said the captain in a tone that said he'd prefer not to have to do even that.  "He's our mailman.  Sometimes he works other jobs, as when he lifted stones to set into the wall. But I don't like him coming into town."

The druid shot the captain a disbelieving look.  "You let Thistle inside the walls and she can't even talk."

"Thistlefur," said the captain, and the badger ignored him, aware she was being talked about as opposed to being talked to.  A druid's companion is much smarter than a common animal.  "Doesn't walk around with the tip of a dick hanging out."

"That's not his fault and you know it," the druid said.  "He wasn't originally a foxtaur.  His lower body has a mind of its own. You might as well complain about a horse or someone's dog doing that."

"And a few months back a wanted man, a gnoll, escaped.  He was a friend of the fox's and I am sure he helped him get away somehow."

Thistlefur grunted as she rose to her feet, her shoulder pushing the captain aside. "Sorry," the druid said with a smile.  "She doesn't know how big she is sometimes." He waved as the badger carried him toward town.

"Good girl," he said again, ruffling her neckfur.  "He doesn't mean anything by it. It's his job to not trust anybody."

Thistlefur put her ears back for a moment to show just what she thought of how the captain treated Hialfi.  The foxtaur was a friend of theirs and for Thistlefur, more than a friend.  Few local creatures could give her a rogering like the foxtaur and she was always happy to see him.

"Bounty board, dear," the druid said, and Thistlefur hung a right just short of the town gate.  Built up against the wall here was the caravansary and just outside the gate of the caravan stop was a wooden board with an awning to keep the rain off the wanted posters.  The largest of them drew the druid's attention, with its sketch of a swarthy, tattooed man.

"Wanted, fifty Wheels," said the druid.  He smiled, knowing that beneath the saddle and horse blanket he sat on, and the fur and hide and muscle beneath that, the bandit on the poster was being consumed by Thistlefur's digestive juices.  "Fifty gold. Not a bad reward." 

Unfortunately they couldn't claim it for any number of reasons. First, the captain's actions made it plain that the bandit's fate must remain a secret. Second, to claim the bounty Thistlefur would have to cough up her meal and he wasn't sure she would or could.  He'd never asked her to do that before and while he had a great deal of control over Thistlefur it didn't extend to forcing her to do unnatural things like vomit on command.  

Third, and most importantly, you didn't feed your friend - for she was not his pet, she was, among other things, his friend - a meal and then ask her to throw it back up.  Thistlefur earned her lunch and she'd get to keep it.

He patted Thistlefur's neck.  "At least you got a meal out of it."

Another poster was of interest and the druid nodded.  He might not have a body, but he had the next best thing.  A few minutes later he was showing a guard lieutenant at the gate the distinctive armor mentioned on the poster.  

"Where's the body," asked the man.  The druid shrugged and glanced down at his mount. 

"Of course, that was a few days ago," he said.  "By now all that left of him is some fat on her flanks and badger -"

"Right, right," grunted the guard, and gave the druid a chit good for twelve gold pieces at the exchequer.  The most common gold coins used hereabouts were called Wheels and were both large and heavy, but that was fine given how much they were worth.  One Wheel was worth twenty silver Lunars and a couple of silver would buy you a nice inn room or a good meal.  Not that he needed an inn room with a nice warm badger and the shelter of the trees.

The druid steered Thistlefur through the gate.  Part of what he'd said was a lie but the bandit really was dead.  He'd just gotten a trip through a different digestive tract than Thistlefur's.

He didn't go inside the town walls often but Thistlefur was a distinctive sight well remembered by the locals.  Adults smiled and waved and two children popped out of an alley and trotted alongside. They laughed as they grabbed the badger's long flank fur and were dragged along the dusty street.  It probably hurt a bit but Thistlefur pretended not to notice.

Just inside the gate was the sign for Salvage House, where you could buy used gear and sell equipment whose owners didn't need it any more.  You could sell such things at the caravansary too but you got a bit more here. The shops at the caravan stop were open to people banned from the town, though, which included a surprising number of mercenaries, caravan guards, adventurers...and, the druid was beginning to realize, Hialfi.

The large, clanking bag hanging from the badger's harness contained 'things whose owners didn't need them any more' and the druid gestured to two strapping teenagers who hauled it off the harness hook and hefted it onto the counter. He flipped them a copper each.

"More bandit leavings?" The man behind the counter was grizzled and scarred, a retired adventurer himself.  Piece by piece he pulled the armor out of the bag and looked it over with a craftsman's eye.  

"That's right, Oslo," said the druid.  Thistlefur bent her short legs and settled down on her belly.  Rather to his amusement there was once again a familiar face on a wanted poster nailed up next to Oslo's window.

"Oh, him," Olso said, following the druid's glance.  "I heard they caught him."

"If you say so," said the druid, who knew exactly where the tattooed man was at the moment.  By now the tattoos and scars were digested off, anyway.

Oslo nodded, still going over the contents of the armor bag and a second one from Thistlefur's other side.  The merchant glanced with scant interest at some badly maintained weapons in the bags, then returned to assessing the armor.

"Ten or eleven men," he said at last, "From the gear.  Quite a meal for your badger."

"She doesn't eat every bandit and monster we kill," the druid said good-naturedly. "Just a lot of them."

"That fox sold some stuff at the caravansary a few days ago," Oslo grunted.  "I'm glad they don't let him into town.  Like I'd give him the time of day.  I've heard the song."

This wasn't the first time the druid heard someone speak Ill of Hialfi here in Rand Towne.  For whatever reason the foxtaur didn't have as good a reputation here.  The root of it was that Hialfi was desperately poor most of the time and actively hunted bandits and intelligent monsters for food.  There were more of those than there were deer and the druid didn't blame him but it sat ill with some townsfolk. The foxtaur's reputation of fucking anything with a pulse and the guard captain's dislike of him didn't help either.

Thistlefur grumbled irritably behind him but the druid kept his mouth shut.  In the Five Villages Hialfi had quite a good reputation...except here, apparently.  It wasn't that they didn't trust him, they just didn't like him.

Oslo raised an eyebrow as he looked a helm over.  "Did you know this was magical?"

"Really?  I didn't, and I checked." The druid leaned over the counter to look at it.  It was a plain enough piece, a bascinet whose owner had long since completed a trip through a foxtaur.

"Well, it is," Oslo said, reinforcing the impression of honesty the druid already had of him.  "My counter," he said as he waved at the assortment of armor strewn over it, "has spells woven into it to detect these things.  Even minor or concealed enchantments.  Was someone wearing it?  Don't want to just put it on, it may be cursed."

"I don't recall," the druid said, having not actually been the one to catch the bandit who had it.  "Can you identify the enchantment?"

"Cost you a hundred silver," Oslo said.  

The druid shrugged.  "Take it out of my total.  Any enchantment at all should be worth that much unless it's a fake." Some mages took a perverse pleasure in putting false auras on items. Worse still, some badly enchanted items developed malicious qualities, like armor that attracted hits instead of deflecting them.  Even cursed items were usually worth a few gold to someone, though.  People collected the things or arranged for enemies to find them.

Oslo carried the helm over to a case, which he unlocked to reveal a book so massive it'd take two strong men to lift. The book was already open and he set the helm on one blank page.  The druid was not surprised to see symbols appear on the opposite one.

"Helm of comprehending languages and reading magic," Oslo said.  He thought for a moment.  "Give you a hundred and fifty gold for it.". When he picked the helm up the page turned by itself to reveal two new blank ones.  The druid knew that once a page turned it could not be turned back.  Books like this were common features in shops but they were not cheap.

"No, I'm keeping that," the druid said.  "Too useful in my line of work, you know."
"Right then," Oslo said with a shrug.  "Thirty gold for the rest of it."

"Normally I'd haggle," the druid said.  "But you didn't need to tell me the helm was magical.  Thirty it is."

"Maybe you already knew," Oslo said, "And were testing me to see if I'd tell you. Man could lose his license trying to cheat customers like that."

The druid waved the comment away.  "Let's just compromise and say you're an honest merchant.  I'll see you next time I'm in town."

"Forty-two gold and a magic helm.  Not bad," the druid said as he turned to Thistlefur. The badger had a suspiciously innocent expression and the druid poked a foot into her long flank-fur.  "Out, or you'll get stepped on."

When the two giggling teenagers had emerged from her fur and scampered off  - the druid didn't ask what they'd been doing in there - he climbed into the saddle. "Gate, dear."

He'd accomplished all he planned to in town and after another brief stop at the bounty board to see if he'd missed anything interesting the druid signaled Thistlefur onto take to the road once more.  It was a two day trip to the next town by badger but he was in no hurry.  There were various farmsteads to stop by and see if they had need of his services.

By noon he'd visited the first and around two in the afternoon a second, the Warrens family.  As their name suggested the Warrens were gnomes, a little race even smaller than halflings  or praka, and their home was burrowed into the side of a hill. Something like twenty members of an extended family lived and worked her and Papa Warren was happy to see the druid.

"I appreciate you stopping by," he said when the druid had finished checking the well water and looking over two pregnant cows, finding no problems.  The assessment of family health for the various two-foot-tall residents was similarly positive. "I don't have much to give you..."

"You don't have to give me anything, Papa," the druid said.  Several gnome children no larger that one of Thistlefur's toes were playing around the big badger. "People pay me when they can, but its a courtesy, not a requirement."

Papa lowered his voice so the children wouldn't hear.  "There is one thing.  One of my plowhorses is worked out.  She's no good to me any more and when I tried to pasture her with the riding horses they fought.  Maybe Thistle would like her, though."

The thought of gnomes riding a horse amused the druid but the subject was serious. "I can take her off your hands, Papa.  I promise Thistle will be quick."

"Her name is Mabel," Papa said a few minutes later.  "She's been a good horse." Mabel was old, tired, and knock-kneed.  It pained the druid to see an animal reduced to this but farmers need draft animals.  Refusing them that was refusing to let them farm.

The druid led the old gray horse away while Papa distracted the children.  Mabel had seen Thistlefur a hundred times and didn't object to following in the badger's wake.  It saddened the druid that this trust would be suddenly betrayed but there was nothing else for it.  Papa couldn't support Mabel and there even he could only offer a quick end.

When he'd ridden Thistle off the road into a quiet grove, Mabel obediently following behind, the druid slid out of the saddle and gave Mabel's mane one last stroke.  A minor spell calmed the horse and she was all but unaware of what followed.

"Thistlefur," the druid said, and the badger, who was watching alertly over her shoulder, took a sudden step back.  The druid gave Mabel a nudge and the horse obediently stepped forward, dazed by the spell so she did not see the badger's tail flag upward or the wet folds of Thistlefur's carnivorous sex expand to meet her.

There was a squelch and the Druid looked away.  When he looked back Mabel's head and neck were gone and the confused horse shifted her hooves uncertainly. Pacified by the spell she didn't realize what was happening even as the enormous badger let out a rattling growl and pushed back against her. The shove unbalanced Mabel and she sat down on her rump, an unnatural posture for a horse that the druid had seen only once before.

That horse, too, had been in the process of being sucked into Thistlefur's nethers. The fur around the badger's sex rippled and she let out a hiss as her internal muscles gripped Mabel and drew her deeper. As she sat back even the barrel body of the horse began to slide in, disappearing into the wet folds of her distended sex.

This was all his fault, the druid knew.  There was nothing wrong with Thistlefur enjoying sex but her ability to suck in and digest people and animals was all his doing.  It had seemed reasonable: make it so the dragon lover she had at the time couldn't impregnate her by changing her so she digested anything that ended up in her womb.  Giving her sex the ability to suck and pull was an afterthought but one the dragon greatly appreciated.  

Later he realized that an entire man would fit into her sex and it amused the druid to feed ne'er-do-wells to his badger this way. It wasn't until she sucked in a whole centaur that he realized his mistake.  Sometimes her sex got a grip and simply swallowed people who'd done no wrong.

Thistlefur chattered lustfully, standing back up with the Mabel's  fast disappearing rump protruding from her sex.  Her vulva was shrinking back toward its usual size as it swallowed the horse whole.  Mabel, still stunned, kicked futilely as she was drawn in.  Thistlefur let out a long growl and clawed the ground, her haunches shuddering, then relaxed as the horse was sucked in.  For the third time the druid watched a set of hooves disappear forever into his companion's sex.  

Their iron horseshoes would make it out more or less intact, either spat out of her sex once Mabel was digested or perhaps making their way through the internal connection into her intestines to be shat out along with Mabel's fur and other indigestible bits.

Unlike the bandit she swallowed earlier Mabel was more than big enough to swell Thistlefur's belly.  There was a brief kick or two beneath the fur as the confused horse succumbed to the lack of air and then it was over.  It was as kind an ending as a worn-out plowhorse might hope for in this harsh world but the druid still felt a twinge of guilt.

Thistlefur, more a creature of passion than himself, felt no such regrets.  Sated and relaxed she settled down on her newly fat middle to rest.  It didn't matter whether she swallowed you whole or sucked you into her sex, the result was the same.  It simply changed which part of her body digested you.

The druid considered the position of the sun in the sky and decided on a nap.  They need not adhere to any particular schedule and Thistle could use some time to begin digesting this larger meal.

As if to punctuate this point Thistlefur's sex let out a long burp.  It was not a sound one expected to hear from a pussy but most pussies don't swallow people whole. The druid unbuckled Thistle's harness and slid it off and the badger took this as a cue to sprawl out on her side.  The druid sat back against her chestfur and a massive forepaw with its forearm-length claws slid around to snuggle him close.

The straps and bags of Thistle's harness lay nearby and the druid reached touched the roundness of the magic helm where it bulged out of a rucksack.  It wasn't his only magic item. He carried several and had more squirreled away in various hidey-holes.

"We have a pretty good life, Thistle." More money than he needed, people who liked having them around, good friends and a good companion...

Thistlefur's long muzzle appeared over his shoulder.  She was looking at the bag too.  Full and sleepy, she still let out an unhappy whine.

"I know." The druid stroked her cheek.  "I've been thinking about it.  Here's what I think we should do." He explained, and the badger, who was even smarter than most people realized, nodded.  She didn't understand every word but she knew names and feelings...and what she thought about people mistreating her friends.

Two hours later, long enough for the now plump badger to recover a bit from her meal of horse and for the tattooed bandit to be well on his way through her guts, they set off down the road. The druid had an idea.

The next farm on their route was that of the Wainwrights, an old couple with only one son.  Their small farm was much diminished from its heyday and they didn't use their old and quite large barn at all.  Thus Verne Wainwright was very happy when the druid offered to buy it for a generous sum of gold.

The druid looked the barn over, gave Verne another couple of gold to arrange for some repairs to the structure, and continued on his way.  It was a long and fairly eventful day but it wasn't until a week later that the seeds planted bore their ultimate fruit.

On that day a week after Thistle's meal of horse and man he and the badger returned to the barn, now repaired and repainted, and settled down to wait.  He'd dispatched a message by raven and had a good idea where the recipient was at the moment - one benefit of being a druid is the animals and even the woods talked to you if you bothered to ask - and it was no surprise when his long-legged friend trotted into view an hour later.

"Hola," Hialfi said, and sat back on his haunches.  The foxtaur was just about as massive as Thistlefur but his tall gangly frame was over twice the height of the low-slung badger. He looked around the small farm.  There was little to see, just a one-room cottage and a few garden plots.  The only thing that stood out was the barn, painted bright red and well maintained.

"Not that I mind stopping for a bit," the fox said.  "But is there a reason you called?"

"I have something for you," said the druid.  Thistlefur awoke from her nap and watched the foxtaur with bright-eyed attention.

"What, in the barn," the big fox said.

"Sort of," the druid replied, and watched as Hialfi padded over to open the door. Inside the barn was one long room, high enough for even a sixteen-foot-tall fox to walk upright.  Yet there were signs it was meant to be a home.  A big wood stove was at one end and the amply sized pile of straw for sleeping was clean. Barrels held water and there was even a set of cabinets with latches large enough for Hialfi's huge hands to operate.

Hialfi blinked.  He was not a dull fox but it took him a moment to process the situation before turning to the druid.  "Why?"

The druid sighed.  "Because I made a mistake." He pulled a heavy purse from his belt and threw it to Hialfi.  The fox's already startled expression became even more so when he looked in and saw all the gold.

"There's got to be a hundred gold here," he said.  In fact it was over a hundred and fifty.  "Why?  You don't owe me anything."

"Yes I do," the druid replied, and Thistlefur growled an affirmative.  "I added up all the money I made from you paying to visit with Thistlefur.   One of the helms you gave me last week was magical. That's where the bulk of the money came from."

He still had the helm, but he'd compensated the fox for it out of his savings. "Thistlefur," the druid said, and scratched the badger's ear, "Is not my property, or my pet.  She's my friend.  She chooses her own lovers and it was a mistake to make you pay to visit with her. I picked up a bad lesson from a dragon who paid to visit her. Hopefully this makes is right."

"Oh," Hialfi said.  "So this..." he looked at the barn.

"It's yours," the druid said.  "The Wainwrights will continue to work the farm and keep an eye on it, but the barn is yours.   When you want a place to hole up out of the weather you don't need to huddle under a tree.  You have a home, if a simple one."

Hialfi sat back on his haunches, weighing the gold in his hand.  It was more money than he'd ever had before, by a considerable margin.  The druid could see the fox's mind working as he considered how to spend it.

"Maybe you can get a bow made," the druid said.

"I was just thinking that," Hialfi replied. The fast-moving fox was perfectly suited to archery but until now was reduced to using a sling, thrown spears or the bolas he made. Bows were expensive and one big enough for the fox would cost far more money than he'd had until now.

"But again," Hialfi said, and looked at him keenly, "Why?"

"I was in Rand Towne," the druid began, and Hialfi nodded.

"Ah, I see.  They don't like me much there.  I try to keep my nose clean but they don't like monsters and they see me as one."

"If you need to sell anything else there, just bring it to me," the druid said. "They think I get gear from bandits Thistle eats.  They don't need to know that some of it comes from you."

"I don't know what to say except 'thank you," Hialfi said.  He looked down at the druid and smiled.  "So thank you. Thank you both," he said.  "Because I bet Thistle had an opinion on the subject."

"Yes, she did," the druid said.  He spent a moment unbuckling the big badger's harness.  Despite her size there were only four fasteners and they were all on one side.  It didn't take long for him to slide it off her.  "Thistle, would you like to help your friend break in his new home?"

She was already on her feet, and Hialfi happily followed her into the barn. The big badger was flagging her tail up to invite him as the fox shut the doors.

"So," Father Wainwright said as he walked up.  "A barn big enough for two, eh?"

"Hialfi has many lovers," the druid replied.  "I'm sure you've heard the song. Most of them are monsters he mounts because his body tells him to.  Thistle he comes to of his own free will. If she could talk, I think they'd be mates.  As it is, they're just lovers.  And very good friends."

Father Wainwright nodded.  For a change Hialfi was mating out of public view.  You couldn't see what was happening past those barn doors.  You could definitely hear it, though.