by Dan H Kind
Chapter 3
A Scurrying, a Scampering, a Flapping of Wings
Deep in the reaches of Tranquil Forest Park there was a scurrying, a scampering, a flapping of wings—and a group of shadowy figures converged by a bubbling spring nestled within a picturesque glade. They huddled together like some monstrous football team, whispering and glancing over at the spring. Each of them carried at least two empty water jugs in their paws, hands, claws, extremities, protrusions. Smoke coiled into the sky.
“Would you please take off those magical fire-leggings, you decrepit old man? Not only are you going to set the forest ablaze, you’re leaving charred footprints everywhere!”
A low-lying collection of wiry hair and wrinkled skin mottled with burn scars reached down and removed from its person a pair of rainbow-colored leggings, the brilliant hues shifting and swirling underneath the fabric. “I always forget to take 'em off. As you said, I am Old Man. Finally, after all these years, the senility must be kicking in. I got those leggings from Sun himself, you know.”
“Caw, caw, caw, we’re all old, you idiot,” cackled a winged, feathered figure perched on a branch above. “I, Raven, stole the light from that hoarding old man at the beginning of Time, and with it I created the sun, the moon, and the stars. So I guess you ran into Sun sometime after I created him.”
“Not so impressive, bird-brain,” rumbled a hulking figure with long floppy ears and a twitching pink nose. “Back in the Dawn-time I tried to capture my own shadow, who kept following me around all the time, in a snare . . . [twitch, twitch] . . . and caught your buddy Sun instead!”
“Who gives a bloody carcass, Rabbit,” growled a lanky silhouette with mangy gray fur and bloodshot eyes. “When it was I, Coyote, who first gave fire to mankind?” Coyote snarled. “But nowadays that jackass Prometheus gets all the credit for it!”
“Nothing but cheap parlor tricks, the whole lot of it!” hissed a bulbous figure hanging upside-down from a glistening strand of webbing. “I, Iktome, once tricked a giant, man-eating monster that was going to devour me into revealing its weaknesses, and because of me this beast dropped dead of terror and I saved humanity!”
“Well, I created the Earth, human beings, and all the animals, too!”
“You did not! I did that!”
“Neither of you morons did that, because I did that!”
“Liar!”
“You’re the liar!”
“You’re all liars, every one of you!”
The party broke into bickering and arguing, and everybody started yelling and gesticulating with various bits of themselves. But before the fists and magic spells started flying around the woods, Rabbit reached down into a pink fanny-pack around his waist and threw a small gray pebble into the midst of the madness. There followed an explosion that singed every last one of the arguers, who had been pushing, name-calling, and screaming obscenities at the top of their lungs.
The bickering slowed to a crawl, and then to a stop.
“We could argue about these things for all of . . . [twitch, twitch] . . . eternity, but this is not the place. You never know who, or what, might pop up around here.”
Sobered, the figures peered about the glade, which remained empty of beings. Nearby, the spring bubbled away with fervor, as if fueled by some underground well of fizz.
“He's right,” said Coyote. “Let’s just fill up these jugs and get out of here. Thank the Great Spirit this is the last night we have to do this grunt work.”
The meeting of the minds adjourned, and each member walked to the edge of the effervescent pool. In turn, they filled their empty jugs to the brim with the water of the spring. Then there was a scurrying, a scampering, a flapping of wings—and the only sounds were the flutters and flitters of nocturnal nature, and the liquid whisper of the gurgling spring.