Rollo Learns the Truth About Himself
The Growing Time sun thawed the pond ice, and warmed the grey-blue water to blue-green. The pond weed was sprouting. Slowly, Theobald began to un-hibernate, drifting to the surface. At first, his thoughts were vague—his mind still dormant—then his eyes saw the sunlight filtering through the water, and he remembered how much he loved this moment, this coming back to life. Reaching the surface, he was confused to find the water level had dropped, but then remembered that Beryl Beaver had been asked to damn the lower end of Grand Pond which flowed into his.
He was looking forward to the warm days ahead. Now quite ravenous, he hoped to find some young trout in the pond; he knew he’s have to wait a few moons to taste frog. Then he remembered his ordeal, and fear pulsed at his bowel, his eyes quickly searching the undergrowth at the edge of the pond. Continue reading
CREENHEAD THE WOODCHUCK
With snow banked up against the entrance of the Bark Burrow, Manley felt protected, snug, and able to enjoy the barks in peace. No one had come into the Burrow for days, even the Weasels seemed to have forgotten him. Surrounded by barks; with the few dried worms and beetles he had stored, he could spend all day sitting under the light of the shaft at the back, reading. Late one midovernoon, however, just as he was starting to feel drowsy, he heard a strange, brittle voice.
“Hey Joe, you got my bark?” Continue reading
to An Understanding
Malcolm peered across the meadow. At almost any distance, his brother was a blur—but he could see the shape of Melwin’s rack and snout, and what looked like a rather large beaver.
No doubt Melwin was giving this poor beaver the benefit of his so-called wisdom. Malcolm was continually amazed that animals even asked Melwin for advice. Couldn’t they see through him? Obviously not. Occasionally, Melwin’s advice proved useful, but it didn’t make him sagacious. Lucky, maybe. Yet animals hounded the meadow to seek his brother’s counsel, even asking Malcolm where the ‘wise moose’ lived. Malcolm once told a chipmunk that he was the ‘wise moose’, and the chipmunk returned a day later to scorn him by raising his tail and thrusting his rear at him. Melwin wise? He had to laugh. Continue reading