“Assembly,” he gasped. “Listen to you! So serious! So formal! Haw-haw-haw-haw-haw-haw!”
“It’s no use,” Prowler told Ginny. “He’ll never go along with us. And if we leave him behind, he’s sure to follow us and cause mischief once the meeting has begun. There’s nothing else to do. I’m afraid you’ll just have to … chew him up.”
Right then the strangest thing happened. From above all our heads, something came streaking down and struck Bandit’s head with a solid whack. His laughter ceased abruptly. Ginny, Prowler and I began looking around as Bandit rubbed his head. Then a second whack struck him in nearly the same spot. Dazed and with somewhat crossing eyes, he continued to rub his head until a third and final projectile struck the soft tip of his dark nose.
“Oweee!” he howled, moving both paws to console his poor nose.
“Laugh at that!” said a shrill little voice. “What do you have to say for yourself now, eh?”
We all looked up into the tree from where the newest voice had come. The owner of that shrill voice turned out to be a twitchy gray squirrel. Sitting on a branch close to the tree’s trunk, his fluffy tail twitched behind him as he clutched something small and round between his tiny paws. That small something, I realized, was in fact an acorn—one of the projectiles he’d employed to calm Bandit’s fitful laughter. A quick glance around revealed three more such acorns strewn around us in the snow, where they’d landed after making solid contact with Bandit’s hard head and soft nose.
“You hid on them,” said the squirrel to Bandit in his squirrely, chattering way. “But this here is my tree, see? And I hid on you. Knocked you on the noggin, too. Ha-ha!”
To this Bandit gave no reply, but Prowler took the opportunity to sit back and have a good chuckle, holding his rounded belly as he laughed.
“No matter how sneaky you are,” Ginny remarked, “there’s always someone sneakier.”
“Sneaky and well-supplied,” said the squirrel, twirling the acorn. To bandit he said, “Shall I put this away, or have you need of further persuasion?”
“Away,” Bandit answered sulkily, still rubbing his tender nose, wearing a glum, defeated expression.
“Now that the situation is under control,” Prowler whispered to me, “this might be a good time to get out some more of those peanuts. To celebrate with, I mean.”
You’re a hungry one, aren’t you? I said, smiling down at him.
“I can’t deny it,” he answered. “And so are squirrels. A job well done deserves a reward, wouldn’t you agree? Just as a good outcome deserves to be celebrated.”
I began removing my mitten as we all stood watching the branch. Then the squirrel disappeared for a second or two into a hollowed out knot in the tree, then reemerged again. Before I could dig out a handful of peanuts, the squirrel politely asked me to hand him the acorns lying about our feet.
Sure, I answered, and Prowler quickly gathered them up and handed them to me. From him I handed them up to the squirrel, one at a time.
“There,” said the squirrel after putting away his final acorn. “I like everything to be in order before I leave my tree. Coming home always feels all the better that way. And there’s no sense wasting good supplies. Am I right?”
I’d say so, I replied.
The squirrel then scurried down the trunk, hopped over to where we all were gathered, and in a twitchy, unable-to-sit-still manner, he sat straight up at attention before me.
“This,” announced Prowler, “is Twitch.”
“Ginny I know,” said the squirrel, nodding towards her. “But you, her boy, I have not formally met.”
I’m Ethan, I said. I live at the inn.
“The place I know. It was your name I did not. Hello, Ethan, Ginny’s boy,” he said with a wave of his paw.
Nice to meet you, I said.
“And you,” he returned.
“Now, about those peanuts,” Prowler whispered, giving my knee a little pat. “Nothing builds friendships like a few morsels shared in good company.”
Ginny sighed a frustrated sigh. “Is food all you can think about?”
“That, Miss Ginny,” Twitch intervened, “with all due respect, is easy for you to say. As many times as I’ve looked through the windows of that large place you live in, I’ve rarely seen your food bowl without ample provisions. Winter is now upon us, and the nights are getting colder. Those of us without overflowing bowls need all we can get to see us through.”
“True, true,” chimed Prowler. “Well said, my friend. I couldn’t have argued the case better.”
I don’t mind sharing, I said.
“It’s not that,” Ginny said. “Time is my concern. We do have a meeting to attend, if you’ve not all forgotten. And the longer we stand around, the more apt the boy is to get a chill. Once he gets a chill, it will be all but impossible to warm him again.”
“True as that is,” Prowler argued carefully, “is it not also true that food helps one to stay warm on a cold night?”
“Well played,” said Twitch, nodding in agreement. “Impressive.”
“If we are all to be walking and then meeting for hours to come,” Prowler continued, “we are better off—make that muchbetter off, in my small opinion, to have food in our bellies to sustain us along the way. Once the Earthkeepers arrive and the meeting begins, I doubt we’ll have much time for snacks. So with that fact fresh in mind, where it may appear that I am only thinking with my stomach, I am in fact being mindful of very crucial practicalities. It could be a long while before any of us have a chance to eat again.”
As Prowler was speaking, I noticed the way Ginny rolled her eyes at him. Other than that, she made no indication to stop me from sharing. So, promptly I began handing out a round of peanuts—one to Twitch, then Prowler, and finally to Bandit, who swiped his gift from me while giving me without thanks and then took a few steps away to eat it. Ginny took one of the nuts from my shell after I cracked it, and we all stood there, a strange little group, huddled together in the shadows crunching on peanuts in the middle of the night.
It was a very funny silence after the commotion and conversing. Glancing around at everyone, once again I couldn’t help but wondering if I was dreaming some ridiculous dream, possibly the result of watching too many cartoons. But then I reminded myself that my conversations with Ginny were not imagined. Nor were the individual personalities of each of these animals imagined. Nor the feel of their tiny paws against my own fingers as they took the peanuts. As strange as it all was, it actually seemed to be happening.
Soon enough the quiet moment passed, broken first by Prowler’s voice.
“It would be best,” he said to Ginny, “to meet next with the owl. From his own beak I heard him say that he wishes to meet your boy.”
Me? I said.
“There are no other boys named Ethan here tonight,” replied Prowler.
How does an owl know me?
“Know you?” said the raccoon. “I never said that he did. But he is rather old, arguably the most well-informed resident of these woods, and he knows of you by reputation.”
“Let’s get moving,” Ginny said. “If I’m not mistaken, the owl’s nest is in the big oak tree just over the back side of the hill.”
“Right you are,” Twitch confirmed, twitching all over as he spoke. “I know this because it is a place I am careful to avoid, depending on the owl’s moods, if you get my meaning.”
“I do,” Ginny said.
“On that basis,” he said, holding out his tiny paw in the direction we should proceed, “would you be kind enough to lead us on our way?”
“Of course,” Ginny answered. She then turned to me and said, “Come along, Ethan. We’ll be going off the trail from now on. Watch your steps, and stay close to me.”
We then proceeded up the hill, Ginny in the lead, myself close behind, Twitch and Prowler scurrying along behind me. Bandit sulked along at the tail end of our little march.
A few minutes of steady walking brou
ght us to the crest of Raccoon Hill. The going was easy for the animals, and not terribly difficult for me. Twitch the squirrel spent some time hopping along the ground, but every few yards he would zip up a tree trunk and hop from branch to branch. I watched him each time and thought how fun it would be to climb trees with such ease.
Then suddenly he paused on a branch of a large maple tree and called, “Hello, hello, Barky.”
“Yes, yes,” A voice soon answered. It was a voice like Twitch’s voice, but even more shrill and pitchy. It seemed to be coming from somewhere deep in the maple tree.
“Barkrunner’s tree, this is,” Twitch said, looking down at us. “I assumed he’d be ready and waiting to join us. But don’t worry, he shouldn’t keep us waiting too long. Very speedy, he is.”
“Patience!” came Barkrunner’s voice from within the tree. “Let a fellow secure his house before leaving. You know how it is.”
“Ah, yes,” said Prowler standing at my side. “Barkrunner is a particularly nervous squirrel. Most squirrels are nervous and jumpy, just as most raccoons are considered silly. But this squirrel, you might say is more than nervous. He’s paranoid.”
Paranoid of what? I asked.
“Of being robbed, of course,” answered Twitch. “Some of us have been the victims of theft in the past.”
“Some of us,” said Barkrunner, as his reddish little frame suddenly appeared from a small knot in the maple, “have been more than victims. Some of us, namely me, have been cleaned out of whole stores of our winter supplies.”
“Don’t blame me,” said Bandit from a few feet behind me, where he sat slightly detached from the rest of the group. “I’ve stolen nothing from you since the summer before last.”
“I’ve not forgotten,” answered the red squirrel. “No, no. But more recently as this fall I’ve lost many pine nuts from my stash points. As a result I’ve been forced to expand my nest and store everything high off the ground. I have, yes, yes. Quite inconvenient. And as for being paranoid,” he said directly to Prowler, “wouldn’t you—”
“We’ve no time for this discussion,” Ginny said over the red squirrel. “There are larger issues to be dealt with tonight. If you are coming with us to the meeting, Barkrunner, please join us now.”
Barkrunner stared sharply at Ginny. “And I suppose you pay no mind to the security of your big nest, eh?”
“No one will rob you tonight,” Twitch assured Barkrunner. “There is too much going on.”
“Oh, and I guess you speak for the bear now too?” said the red squirrel to the larger gray.
Bear? I said to Ginny.
Relax, she replied silently.
“The bear can’t even fit his nose through the doorway of your nest,” Twitch assured Barkrunner. “That’s assuming he hasn’t yet gone to sleep for the winter. The last I saw him, he was so incredibly fat he could barely waddle. My friend, the snow is falling. You have nothing to fear from old Mr. Bear.”
“Well, well,” chattered Barkrunner, looking back and forth from his nest to the rest of us standing by watching him. “Good news, good news! But it changes nothing, no. What’s stolen is stolen. Gone forever. My stash has been compromised, and I cannot forget. If I let down my guard, I could easily be cleaned out. Then what would I eat? Dry leaves? Acorn shells? And furthermore, I—”
As Barkrunner was talking, I felt a little jab against my leg. I looked down and realized that Prowler was nudging me to get my attention. Without having to be told I quickly guessed what he was thinking. I removed my mitten and retrieved a peanut from my pocket.
Instantly Barkrunner ceased his speech the moment the peanut came into view. He stared at me, his little nose wiggling fast to take in the unique scent.
For you, I said, stepping up to the tree and holding it out to him.
“Is that,” Barkrunner sniff-sniffed. “Is that?”
A gift for you, I said. It’s a peanut. They’re very good.
“That, I can attest to,” said Prowler. “Very good. Beyond good. Wonderful.”
The red squirrel started down the maple trunk. I stepped closer, expecting him to reach out and take the peanut from my hand as the other animals had. But next thing I knew, he had jumped the short space between myself and his tree. Landing on my outstretched arm, he scurried up my wool coat until he was standing on my shoulder, looking me square in the face from only a few inches away.
“Hold still,” Ginny told me, because in my surprise I’d started to move backwards. “Don’t trip and fall.”
“Hmm, he looks honest enough,” declared Barkrunner after a moment’s study of my face.
“He is,” said Prowler. “We’ve all enjoyed his gifts this evening.”
At that the little squirrel descended my arm, which by now had begun to drop, as I was no longer holding out my hand. When I felt the peanut being pried from my fingers, I released my hold. Quickly Barkrunner jumped to the tree, and rather than enjoying his gift at once, he ran up the trunk to safely stash his prize for a later time.
“Does that satisfy you?” Ginny asked the little squirrel when he reemerged from his knot in the tree.
“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” replied Barkrunner. “Piles of peanuts I’d need to replace the pine nuts I’ve lost. But it is a kind gift, for which I am grateful. Thank you, little human. Thank you much.”
You’re welcome, I said, smiling at the wily little red squirrel.
“He’s called Ethan,” Twitch informed Barkrunner.
“Ethan,” said the red squirrel. “As you’ve heard, I am Barkrunner. My thanks again, yes, yes.”
Before anymore distractions could take place, and before any further conversation could ensue, Ginny got us marching again. We moved over the crest of the hill and deeper into the woods down the back side. Now and then I glanced up to see Barkrunner, skipping along trees and branches along the way. As Prowler had said, he certainly was a nervous little squirrel. He touched the ground only when necessary, preferring the safety of the trees. As for me, I was doing well enough on the ground. Being so short, I found I could sneak well between bushes and saplings, duck under branches, and in general do well to keep up with the animals that were far better suited for traveling in the woods. I still didn’t understand the reasons for the meeting we were marching to, but with all these new characters I was meeting, I was having a wonderful time getting there.
***
“You’re doing very well,” Ginny told me. We had stopped partway down the backside of the hill as we descended into the valley.
I’m getting warm from all this walking, I told her, tugging at the collar of my coat.
“Don’t unzip it,” she said. “You’ll be very glad for the heat once we stop walking.”
Something caught my eye as Ginny spoke. I raised my gaze from her to a huge tree just downhill of us. It must have been hundreds of years old.
“That’s him,” I heard Prowler say. “Old Talon, the eldest owl in these woods.”
From the dark outline of the huge tree, I could see movement on one of its massive lower branches, which was almost straight across from where we stood. The shadow of the owl grew wider as he opened his wings. With barely a sound he left the branch, swooping slightly in an almost straight course toward where we all stood on the hillside. He alighted on a rotted stump just a few yards from us, carefully folded his sprawling wings, tipped his head, and focused on me with unblinking eyes.
“Good evening, Talon,” Ginny said, standing proudly at attention close by my side.
“Who?” the owl hooted. “To-who is this? The, woo-hoo, boy of the innkeeper?”
“He is,” answered Ginny. “His name is Ethan.”
The innkeeper? I asked, partly to Ginny and partly to the owl. You mean my dad?
“The same, the same,” answered the owl. “I am Talon, the Great Horned Owl, My ancestors and I have been watchers of these w-w-woods for a great many seasons. Greetings, boy.”
Hello, I said in return, feeling him star
ing at me. Take my word for it—to have an owl stare straight at you like that with his big owl eyes can make you feel very strange. In my nervousness I began to wonder if I should offer him a peanut.
“Woo,” hooted the owl. “He is certainly one of the special ones, I see. He speaks with his mind to all who might hear. Like his father, he is.”
“Yes,” Ginny confirmed. “Without having been taught, he speaks clearly and honestly with his mind, and he listens more closely than any human I’ve met.”
“True, true,” said Talon in his brooding manner of speaking. “He is both innocent and kind, I see, and I see well indeed. He will do very well before the Earthkeepers.”
Before who? I asked. And what did you say about my father?
“Before the Earthkeepers,” said the owl. “Woo-who else? And as for your father—”
“Allow me to explain,” Ginny said. “Please.”
The owl hooted, tipped his head, and conceded.
“You have been summoned to the meeting tonight,” Ginny explained, “because your father was unable to hear the summons. He should have, but sadly he has heard nothing now for years and years. It is he who should be here tonight, not you.”
You mean?
“Yes. Your father used to hear and speak as you do, but now he has forgotten how. And because you can hear, the animals will all be expecting you to relay their wishes to your father. It won’t be easy for you. Not easy at all.”
I was speechless as I stood considering her words. After a pause Ginny then regarded the owl.
“There is only one problem,” she told him. “Where the boy speaks perfectly and at ease with us now, he struggles to speak clearly with the other humans, even his own family. In fact, it has become such a problem for him, for these past few years, he’s rarely attempted to speak at all. Deeper into his own thoughts he has delved, disregarding much of the world around him. This will cause difficulty in regard to getting the message to the innkeeper.”
Talon made an agitated, fluttery sound similar to that of a dove. He tipped his head from side to side, staring very hard at me with his spooky eyes.
The Earthkeepers Page 4