Sings-to-Trees was the sort of elf that the other elves find a little embarassing in their dedication to nature. He loved all earth's creatures, even the stinky and vicious ones. He could wax eloquent about the majestic buzzard, the worthy slime mold, the noble carrion fly. He used every part of the buffalo, including bits that the buffalo might have preferred he throw away. He knew things about compost that compost itself was previously unaware of.
Even he, however, had to admit there was something unloveable--maybe the foul odor, maybe the low IQ, quite possibly the tendency to bite its own head off as a defensive response*--about the festering dodochicken.
One day at the coffee shop, I was doodling a classic fantasy elf for a change, and something about his expression led inexorably to his buddy, the festering dodochicken.
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*Its somewhat novel reasoning was that nothing could possibly hurt it if it took itself out first.