Ficlets

Phineas stared at the fire, holding his bottle fondly. “They caught Tots, today.” Although his tongue was thick, it was grim. “That makes five this month.” He counted on his fingers.
“Four, love,” Daccora corrected. “You’ve counted Gref twice.”
“No matter!” He cried. “How long are we to remain passive? Our numbers decrease everyday!”
“I don’t mind that,” a man chuckled. “That means I get more coins in the market.” Some of the others agreed. But Daccora’s jaw clenched.
“Oh? So, I guess then, you don’t mind if we turn Blue in?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t mean any harm.” The man sniveled. A deep rustling could be heard in the forest behind them. At the flash of silver, the Merry Coroners were on their feet.