South Wind

By SolegaleMoon

Chapter 7

Kugel had spent the past two days looking for Bulstead or his mother. At first, he had sat hour after hour, waiting in the same tree. Time had never passed so slowly. Only his solid faith in the ability of Bulstead kept him there. Bulstead had promised that they would find him. They would come. He knew it. And so he waited through the remainder of the night and long into the next day.

But when the sun began to set and still there had been no sign of any living creature. Kugel could take it no longer. With shaky paws and uncertain steps Kugel ventured forth from his waiting place. Perhaps they had not expected him to have run this far into the woodlands. He would go back to the settlement. Everyone would be there, sick with worry over his whereabouts. After a tearful reunion they would all take a late supper and a much needed rest. Yes, that was what would happen.

With this happy thought the young squirrel tried to remember in which direction the settlement lay. Was it north? South? Southwest? A tear began to form in the little squirrel’s eye. He was lost. Kugel brushed away the tear and shook his head. No, he was not lost. He was certain the settlement lay to the south. And if not, well…he wasn’t going to think about that.

And so the stouthearted youth put the setting sun to his right and marched steadily through the woodlands. To most, the peaceful forest would have been restful, but to Kugel the silence was foreboding and eerie. The smallest rustle made him jump, half with hope and half with fear. Was it his family? Was it vermin?

It was in this unhappy fashion that Kugel spent the next two days. After a night’s march to the south, he decided he must have gone a bit too far to the east and corrected himself by marching due west. But no, that produced no settlement, so he tried north. And so on and so forth until if he hadn’t been lost before he certainly was now. Luckily, he had been taught enough about survival in the woodlands that finding food was not much of a problem, although it slowed him down and took him off his decided path. Still, after two days of nothing but apples (for it was late autumn) and strange roots, he was hungry.

The morning of the third day found Kugel sitting next to a small spring in low spirits. He munched on an almost rotting apple from a young tree and tried to keep from crying.

“Bulstead wouldn’t cry,” the young squirrel reprimanded himself as another fat tear spilled down his cheek. “Bulstead would be brave. Mother would want me to be brave. Grelay…” But that was the breaking point. Kugel hung his young head and let the tears silently flow in despair.

He had sat there a fair while when he heard—laughter? Kugel quickly lifted his head and strained his ears. Yes! Voices! Laughter! The settlement! He had found it after all.

Without another thought he picked himself up and sprinted towards the welcome sound. Finally he would be home! He did not have far to go. Over the rock, through the bushes, around the tree, and—Kugel tripped over his own paws in surprise. Instead of the settlement he found himself staring at a fearsome group of thirty or so vermin.

Chapter 8

Kugel’s legs folded under him; his heart had stopped. He had run into the enemy! The vermin looked just as shocked, if not as scared.

“What we got here? Hm.” A strange creature stepped out of the ranks of vermin. He reminded Kugel of a weasel, but was stouter. His stiff fur was yellowish-gray with a hint of black, and he was dressed in a long maroon robe. Necklaces of bone, golden armbands and colorful tattoos covered his body. He walked with a confident strut and his head swayed from side to side in a hypnotizing way.

“Heh. Looks like a little squirrel got lost in the woods,” he said with a chortle. His voice was rich and dark, like well-aged elderberry wine. “Where do you come from, treerat?”

Despite his dangerous situation, the headstrong Kugel’s anger flared. “I’m not a rat!” he spat at the strange creature.

“Hoho! The brushmonkey’s got spirit! I like that, even if he is just a pup. Come, puppy, what’s your name?”

By this time Kugel was really at a loss. Brushmonkey? Kugel didn’t know what it was, but he nevertheless resented it. Somewhat self-consciously, he looked around at the other vermin. Weasels, stoats, rats, a couple foxes and the odd pine marten greeted his gaze. Kugel’s heart began to fail in him but he tried his best to stay firm since it seemed to be working.

“M’name’s none of your business,” he mumbled. Like lightning, Kugel’s interrogator grabbed him by his tunic and held him aloft, staring him in the eyes.

“I respect your spirit, pup, but I don’t have time for your games. What’s your name? Where do you come from? What are you doing here? Answer me and be quick about it!” He shook Kugel roughly. Wisely, the squirrel decided to answer.

“M’name’s Kugel. I live in the woodlands. I’m lost and I can’t find my way home.” Kugel was dropped to the ground but he managed to catch himself.

“Hm, pity. Could’ve used you if you’d known where your home was. Still, you may be worth somethin’.”

A rat ran into the midst of the strange scene. ”Captain. The shrew’s picked up the trail again.”

“Excellent!” came the reply. “Yalto, bind this one and bring him with us. Mind he keeps up—we’ll know if he’s any good by the end of the day. Move out!”

The strange captain sprinted off after the rat, followed by all the vermin. They hacked away at branch and bush, creating a trail of destruction as they thundered through the forest. A lanky ferret grabbed Kugel and bound his front paws behind him with a thick rope. Next came a noose around the neck and yet another loop of rope around the arms and middle.

“Now lissen, pup! You’re gonna run, and run ‘ard, unnerstand? Iffen you fall, the noose’ll strangle ya. Iffen you don’t run, you’ll ‘ave a likkle talk with me knife. Got it?” Eyes wide with terror, Kugel nodded. “Good. Now run!”

Kugel took to his heels and ran like he had never run before. Every once in awhile, the ferret’s blade tickled his back; more often than not, Kugel tripped over a root or a rock or his own feet, in which case his air supply was cut off. Scratched, bruised, and battered, the exhausted Kugel followed the vermin band. When he could think of anything other than pain and exhaustion, he thought of home. If these were the vermin that had attacked the settlement, then what had become of all who lived there?

To Be Continued…