Every story has a beginning for Evan.
It begins in a quiet apartment filled with half unpacked boxes,
a new city waiting just beyond the door, and a small dog with
more excitement than patience. Prague in late autumn carries a
certain hush, streets slick with rain, trees shedding their last
leaves and parks where neighbors gather with their dogs as the
evenings grow shorter. It is here, in Havliko Visati,
that two pots cross for the first time, one man searching
for belonging, the other steady in his routine, and between
them, two dogs chasing after a single yellow ball, the first
thread in a story neither of them expects.
This is Autumn Tales chapter 1, The yellow ball.
Evan had only been in Prague for a week, but it felt longer.
Not in the way that meant comfort, but in the way time
stretches when you are waiting for life to begin.
His new apartment was proof of it.
Tall windows that led in a cold kind of light, high ceilings
that made his footsteps echo, and half in packed boxes,
leaning like unfinished thoughts.
He had imagined moving abroad would feel cinematic, exciting.
Instead, it was quiet. He ripped open another box, the
tape snapping loud against the silence, and found an assortment
of mugs wrapped in crinkled newspaper.
He pulled one free and turned it over in his hand.
Ah, a chipped handle. The last thing he'd packed, the
first thing to greet him now. Setting it on the counter, he
muttered under his breath. How on earth am I going to
unpack all this? Behind him came a rustle and a
snort. Cucumber.
His King Charles Cavalier had stuck his nose deep into another
open box, tail wagging with abandoned.
The little spaniel was Tri coloured, patches of chestnut
over his eyes, black along his back, wide on his chest and
legs, and entirely convinced that everything ever knowned was
worth sniffing. His floppy ears brushed the
cardboard as he dug deeper, and when his paw hit paper, the
crinkle startled him into a playful bark.
Evan laughed despite himself. That's not your toy stash, you
know those are my books. The dog ignored him, as dogs do,
busy cataloguing the sense of a life that had been folded and
shipped across town. Evan leaned against the wall,
rubbing his temples. He was 28, a teacher transferred
from a school he had just begun to feel at home in, and now
what? A stranger in a city that still
felt like it belonged to someone else.
He dropped on to the nearest unopened box and pulled out a
notepad. Lists always helped.
Lists turned chaos into something he could fold, sort,
cross off. The pen tapped against the page
before he began. OK, priorities.
Groceries, detergent, A lamp that doesn't flicker.
His voice trailed off as he wrote, but the scratching of the
pen filled the silence. He thought of the lesson plans
he should be drafting for next week, the names of students he
hadn't met yet, the staff room where he'd be the newest face.
He pushed the thought away and wrote down something simpler.
Rug, maybe? A clock for the wall behind him.
Cucumber patted across the floor, nails clicking softly.
The dog sniffed at the radiator, snorted at the draft under the
window, then circled back to the front door.
A sharp bark broke the quiet. Evan didn't look up, not now.
He scribbled another line. Umbrella.
The November rain had already taught him that much.
Another bark, louder this time than the sound of claws against
wood as cucumber scratched at the door.
Evan sighed, lowering the pen. You're serious, We've barely
been here an hour. The cavalier barked again, tails
smacking against the wall in triumph.
Evan looked around at the half empty boxes, the half finished
list, the half lived room. He could keep unpacking.
He told himself he could be responsible, sensible.
But then he glanced at Cucumber, ears perked, eyes wide, body
practically vibrating with expectation.
The decision wasn't his anymore. All right, He said, pushing up
from the box. First walk Winds apartment can
wait. He clipped A leash to Cucumber's
collar, the familiar Jingle ringing through the hollow
apartment. The little dog spun in a circle,
nails scratching the floor, nose already pressed toward the door.
Evan grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and opened the
door. Cold air rushed in, carrying the
faint hum of the city voices in check rising from the stairwell,
the distant bell of a tram sliding past on the street
below. For now, the list could wait.
The boxes could wait. Even the job could wait.
Today, Prague would meet Cucumber first.
The air outside bit sharper than Evan expected, carrying the damp
weight of November. He pulled his coat tighter and
let Cucumber tug ahead, nails clicking against the stone steps
that wound down from the apartment.
The neighborhood was alive in its own gentle rhythm.
Bicycles clattered past, their bells chiming like punctuation.
A tram screeched faintly as it curved along the rails at the
end of the street. Voices drifted through the crisp
air. Chet, mostly, but every so often
a thread of English caught his ear like a lifeline.
Prague didn't shout the way some cities did.
It hummed. Its charm was quieter, waiting
to be noticed. Evan let his eyes catch on the
little things. Raw tire and balconies strung
with yellowing vines, old wooden doors painted in peeling colors,
and the warm fog that spilled out each time a cafe door
opened. He slowed near 1 corner where a
chalkboard leaned outside a cafe, the words scrawled in both
Czech and English. Dog friendly coffee to warm your
hands. A stainless steel water bowl sat
beside the door, half full, proof enough that dogs were more
than welcome. A small Tedier barked from
inside, then disappeared under a table as its owner shushed it
with a laugh. Across the street, a different
sign promised soup of the day mulled wine.
At another window, Evans spotted 2 retrievers sprawled under a
table while their owners talked over steaming mugs.
Cucumber paused, nose pressed to the glass, tail wagging as if to
say, here, this one. Evan smiled faintly and tugged
him along. Not today.
The boxes were still waiting, and so was his list, but it was
good to know these places existed, corners where he might
sit one day. A coffee in hand, Cucumber
curled at his feet and not feel like such an outsider.
The streets narrowed as he walked, cobblestones uneven
under foot, until the trees of Havalekovi's Saudi appeared
ahead, their branches stripped almost bare.
The park lay spread out beyond the gate, voices and laughter
carrying on the wind and the sound of dogs barking in every
direction. Cucumba pulled harder on the
leash, straining toward the promise of grass, freedom, and
company. For Evan, it was just another
walk, but for Cucumber, it was the beginning of everything.
The stone steps curved down into the park, slick with fallen
leaves that glistened after the morning rain.
Evan paused for a breath, taking it all in heavily.
Kovisadi stretched wide before him, a sloping hillside carved
into paths and trees, the last of the autumn gold clinging
stubbornly to the branches. The air was sharper here,
carrying laughter, barks and the faint pop of a tennis ball
against wet grass. Cucumbers.
Ears perked at the sound, his entire body leaning forward as
though his leash were the only thread keeping him tethered.
Evan unclicked it and barely had time to say go on before the
little spaniel took off, his tail a blur, his paws scattering
leaves behind him. Around him, the park was alive
with routine. Neighbors clustered along the
path, their voices a mix of Czech and English, sharing
coffees from paper cups while their dogs darted around in
chaotic freedom. A shepherd mix bounded after a
stick, 2 beagles barked at a lab who ignored them completely, and
everywhere leashes dangled from wrists or coiled in pockets.
Because here, in this corner of Prague, the rules belong to the
dogs. Evan shoved his hands into his
pockets and let the tension of the morning slip from his
shoulders. For the first time since
unpacking, he felt lighter. Watching cucumber tumble into
the fray, Ears flopping was enough to make the empty
apartment seem less important. Boxers could wait.
Lists could wait. This.
This was the point of it all. The moment Cucumber hit the
grass, he became a streak of fur and ears.
He bounded into the grass with the eagerness of a dog who
believed the whole world had been waiting just for him.
Leaves scattered under his paws, his tail curled high like a
banner as he darted toward the heart of the field.
That was when Evan saw him. The golden retriever, larger,
heavier, moving with the kind of confidence that came from
knowing exactly how the game was played.
A ball sailed in an arc above the grass, bright yellow against
the Gray sky, and the retriever launched after it, legs
stretching, chest forward, the image of joy.
And right beside him, too small to be a rival but bold enough to
try, came Cucumber. The cavalier stride was shorter,
his ears flapping wildly with every bounce, but he chased as
if the whole contest were his to win.
In a tangle of fur and excitement, both dogs skidded to
a halt, noses pressed into the grass, tails wagging furiously.
They sniffed, circled, bumped shoulders, then dove into a game
that seemed like they'd known each other all their lives.
Evan jogged forward slower, his breath catching from the cool
air, and that's when he noticed the mend.
Tall, broad shouldered jacket collar turned up against the
chill. His posture was relaxed, but his
eyes were fixed on the retriever with a steady warmth, the kind
of gaze that spoke of years of routine.
He bent, whistled once, and the golden trotted back toward him,
only to be pulled sideways again as cucumber barreled after him,
refusing to let the game end. The man looked up, and for a
moment, his eyes caught Evans across the field.
A flicker of recognition passed between them.
Not familiarity, not yet, but the unspoken acknowledgement
that came when dogs decided on friendship before their owners
did. Evan hesitated, fingers
tightening in his pocket. He offered the faintest smile,
quick and uncertain, before Cucumber's bark tore through the
distance, demanding another chase.
The golden retriever obliged. And just like that, the park
belonged to the dogs. The game stretched on, the ball
arcing and tumbling, paused drumming against the soil.
Every throw drew a chorus of barks and laughter from the
edges of the field, where owners called encouragement in Czech
and English alike. Evan drifted closer, drawn into
the orbit of the golden retriever and his steady
companion. The man's hand lifted, a bright
yellow ball pinched between his fingers with an easy throw, its
sword spinning high above the grass.
The retriever bolted, muscles rippling, but Cucumber launched
to refusing to let his new friend win alone.
They reached it together, rolled in a heap, and then, as if
conspiring, both bounded back, the retriever with the ball
clamped firm in his jaws, Cucumber bouncing alongside like
he'd been the one to fetch it. The man crouched, ruffling
retriever's fur as he pried the ball free.
His laugh carried low and warm, the kind that came easy.
Evan caught it and felt something loosen in his chest.
Then Cucumber, ever the opportunist, made these
movements. With a triumphant Yip.
He darted forward, snatched the ball from the man's hand, and
held it hostage in his small mouth.
He didn't run away with it though, not yet.
Instead, he stood proudly, tail wagging furiously, as though
demanding applause. Evan flushed, stepping in
quickly. Sorry about it.
His words trailed, embarrassed, but the man only chuckled, eyes
crinkling at the corners. Same, he pretends to bring it
back, then circles me until I bribe him with a treat.
The ball dropped with a wet thud at their feet.
Cucumber shook himself, satisfied.
The silence that followed wasn't sharp, just a quiet gap where
introductions belonged. Evan shifted his tote higher on
his shoulder, then nodded toward the retriever.
He's beautiful. What's his name?
SUNY. The man's hand brushed over the
dog's head as he spoke. Evan hesitated, then smiled
faintly. And this is Cucumber.
The man blinked, surprised, and then his mouth curved into a
grin. Cucumber.
Evan rubbed the back of his neck.
It sounded clever at the time. He doesn't seem to mind.
And the little cavalier barked once, triumphant.
The man's laugh settled into the space between them.
Not mocking, just amused in the kindest way.
It suits him. He said at last.
Evan felt his shoulders ease. For a moment, the cold air
didn't feel quite so sharp. The throws kept coming, though
the air had shifted. Shadows stretched longer across
the field, the chatter of other owners fading as one by one they
clipped leashes and drifted toward the gate.
Only a handful remained, their voices carrying soft and far in
the cooling air. The man lifted the ball again,
his arm steady, The motion practised.
The retriever bounded forward, then, to Evan's surprise,
stopped short. Golden fur brushed against his
leg as the dog pressed close, tail wagging with earnest
insistence. Evan looked at him, hand
brushing the collar. The brass tag caught the fading
light across it in large, bold letters.
Sani. Evan smiled under his breath,
murmuring the name aloud as though trying it on his tongue.
Below it, at smaller, was a line of numbers, and just above the
digits, the word that snagged Evans attention.
Danielle. So that was his name.
Meanwhile, the ball rolled idly in the grass, forgotten.
Cucumber darted after it, ears flying.
His cavalier bounded across the grass, pries gripped tight and
made straight for the bench, where Evans tote lay slouched
open with a surprising determination, Cucumber nose to
flap aside and drop the ball neatly inside.
Then he shook his ears and trotted away as though nothing
at all had happened. From across the field came
Daniel's voice, warm and firm, sunny.
At once. The retriever turned, bounding
back toward him with eager strides.
The moment between them broke as quickly as it had formed.
Evan bent to gather the strap of the tote, too distracted with
clipping the leash and stuffing his notebook inside to notice
the faint new weight. His mind was already on supper,
on the walk home, on what errands tomato would hold.
But cucumber wasn't finished. He patted across the grass,
small paws deliberate, and planted himself squarely in
front of Daniel. With perfect posture and
gleaming eyes, he sat, tail sweeping the ground like a
metronome, the universal language of I know you have
treats. Daniel blinked down at him,
surprised, then laughed softly. You've got nerves.
His hand dipped into his pocket. Meanwhile, Sonny pressed close
at his knee, whimpering faintly. Still puzzled by the vanishing
bull, Daniel ruffled the cavalier, rewarding the boldness
with a scratch that made Cucumber tilt his head
blissfully. By the time Evan looked up,
leash clipped farm, he saw only the end of it, his dog charming
another stranger. Embarrassment pricked his
cheeks. He lifted a hand in a small
wave, offered the man a faint smile, quick, polite, uncertain,
and called softly. Come on, Cucumber.
The little dog bounded back, pleased with himself, while the
tote at Evan's side swung with its secret.
Daniel crouched to stroke his head, the retriever sighing,
ears drooping, still searching the grass for what was lost
around them. The part grew quieter, the last
voices fading down the path. The ball was gone, the stranger
was gone. Only the crisp rustle of leaves
remained until Daniel's voice carried after him.
Not loud, not insistent, just simple, almost casual.
See you around. Evan glanced back only briefly,
a shadow of a nod, before he disappeared through the gate
with Cucumber trotting at his side.
The apartment door swung shut with its familiar weight, but
tonight the sound felt different.
Daniel said, his keys in the dish, loosened his scarf, and
let Sunny bound past him into the flat.
Normally, the retriever would trot straight to his spot by the
couch, flop down, and wait for the evening to begin.
But not tonight. Sunny went to the basket
instead, nose buried deep among the toys.
Plastic clattered, ropes tangled.
He pawed out a red ball, sniffed it, then let it roll away
untouched. A green one followed, then a
chewed rope tug. None of them earned more than a
glance. His tail drooped, golden fur
losing its usual sweep. Daniel crouched beside him,
brushing a hand gently over his ears.
What's wrong? His voice was calm, but the
retriever's quiet wine tugged at something deeper.
Daniel's brow furrowed. Wait, were you looking for the
yellow 1? He patted his jacket pocket,
half expecting to feel the smooth shape there.
He picked up one of the old balls and rolled it across the
floor. It bounced once, stopped near
the bookshelf. Sunny didn't move.
He only looked back at Daniel. I steady.
As if the point hadn't been made clearly enough, Daniel exhaled,
rubbing his palm over the dog's back.
That yellow one, huh? I'll buy you a new one.
But Sunny only pressed closer, head leaning into Daniel's leg,
then turned his nose toward the door.
A soft sound rose in his throat, not loud, not demanding, but the
kind of plea Daniel had never been good at ignoring.
For a moment, he resisted. He stayed kneeling there, hand
resting on the retriever's head, reminding himself it was just a
toy, just one ball out of many. But son.
His tail flicked once, then stilled again.
His eyes lifted, patient, hopeful to knowing.
The Neesi gave the fir a final brush.
All right, just once. We'll check, but don't blame me
if it's gone. The retriever rose at once, ears
high, tail wagging with sudden urgency.
Daniel clipped A leash, pulled his jacket back on, and stepped
out into the cool night. The park was hushed, emptied of
its daytime chorus. Only the rustle of leaves and
the faint echo of traffic beyond the trees remained.
Daniel let Sonia lead him to the field, but the grass was dark,
the benches bare. They searched a while, circling
paths, scanning shadows. Nothing, no bright yellow gleam
waiting in the dirt. Back at the apartment, Sunny
followed reluctantly, steps slower now.
Daniel sat on the couch, tugged the retriever close and reached
for the brush. Long, steady strokes moved
through the golden fir, each pass gentling the dog's restless
body. Sunny sighed, curling down
beside him at last, though a faint wine still lingered at the
back of his throat, Daniel Bentlow, pressing his forehead
briefly to the retriever's warm head.
We'll find it, he whispered. Don't worry.
But the words carried softer than they were meant to, because
Daniel wasn't sure if he was talking only about the ball
anymore. The stairwell smelled faintly of
dust and old stone, the kind of scent that clung to historic
buildings. By the time Evan reached the 2nd
floor, his toe dug a line into his shoulder and his breath
carried a quiet edge of fatigue. Cucumber, however, trotted
proudly at his side, leash slack, tail swishing as though
he'd won some private game. Inside the apartment, the air
was cooler, filled with the cluttered silence of a place not
yet lived in. Boxes crowded the walls, half in
packed stacks, leaning against one another like impatient
reminders. Evan slid his shoes off and
nudged the tote aside, already thinking about what to tackle
next. Cucumber dotted straight for the
boxes, nose twitching, weaving between cardboard edges with
little huffs of excitement. Evan pulled one toward him, the
one scrawled in marker. Cucumbers, things at last,
something useful. He dug through it, pulled out
the small dog bed, and set it down in the corner.
Cucumber leapt into it instantly, circled once, then
flopped down as if it were a throne.
A satisfied sigh left Evan's chest.
Progress. But not ten seconds later, the
cavalier was up again, troding back, whining sharp and
insistent. Evan rubbed his forehead.
Oh, dinner, The dog barked once confirmation.
Evan dragged another box closer, flipped it open.
Sweaters, another, books, he cursed under his breath.
Not this one. Cucumber barked again, louder
this time, nails tapping impatiently against the floor.
All right, all right. Evan reached for the water bowl
instead, filling it from the tap and setting it down.
Here, drink first while I find it.
Cucumber sniffed, looked at the water, then back at Evan.
Another bark, sharper. Evan groaned.
You're impossible. He went back to the stack,
digging deeper until his hand closed on the crinkle of a food
bag. Relief rushed out of him.
The sound alone transformed Cucumber.
The cavalier broke into circles, tail whipping like a flag, Paul
scratching A staccato bead against the floor.
Evan laughed despite himself, pouring the kibble into the
dish. Cucumber lunged forward,
devouring it with single minded joy, tail swishing the whole
time. When he was finished, he slapped
noisily at the water, then patted back once to check on
Evan as if granting forgiveness. Evan leaned back against the
nearest wall, still surrounded by towers of boxes.
You're going to run this place, aren't you?
Cucumber yawned, already climbing into the bed again.
Within seconds, he curled small, a warm bundle of fur, and
slipped into sleep. Heaven watched him for a long
moment, the sound of his dog's quiet breathing filling the
apartment more fully than any furniture could.
Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth softened into a smile.
The night stretched ahead, cluttered, uncertain.
But with Cucumbers snoring in the corner, it didn't feel quite
so empty. In one apt, a golden retriever
side against his owner's lap, still restless for the ball that
had gone missing. In another, a Cavalier spaniel
curled into blankets, belly full, the sound of his sleep
filling a space still crowded with boxes.
Two dogs, two men, one city settling in tonight.
Neither of them knew how quickly a simple game in the park would
pull their lives closer together.
But tonight, the threads were already tied by a single yellow
ball tucked quietly away. This was Otum Tails chapter 1,
the yellow ball. If you enjoyed this chapter,
don't forget to follow and subscribe to our channel for the
next chapter, where a lost toy finds its way back and perhaps
something more begins to take shape.