(Author's note: I'm currently editing this story and making it better. I am also writing the sequel at this point. This chapter was edited 2/8/2018)
Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high.
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue.
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.
Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops.
That's where you'll find me.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly, birds fly over the rainbow,
Why then - oh, why can't I?
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow,
Why, oh, why can't I?
-Lyrics by E. Y. Harburg
Love Makes You Crazy
Chapter One: Somewhere
By Emilou
Once again, Rudy's jaws snapped at his tail, so close to the weasel that Buck could smell the dinosaur's breath and feel the wind from the snapping. The reverberations from the giant feet stomping the ground put a bounce in Buck's running.
"Whoo ah! Come an' get it," Buck shouted as he took to the trees, flipping from one trunk to another and waving the tooth knife like a bull-fighter with a red cloth.
The thundering lizard roared at the memory of his missing tooth, determined to avenge the empty space in his gums. However, the giant beast didn't notice where he was going as he was too focused on his target. As Buck slipped through a crevice in between two rocks, the dinosaur couldn't react fast enough. His head followed the weasel, becoming stuck in the crevice.
Roaring in frustration, Rudy tried to wriggle free.
"Sorry, boy. Maybe next time." Buck saluted with a wild grin. He didn't linger; Rudy would be free within a minute. There wasn't much daylight left, and he had to get home. He checked the leaf package he had tied to his back was still secure before making a beeline to his log home.
The hollow log was a cozy place; covered with lichen, moss and mushrooms; it was camouflaged in the think jungle so no predators could find him. Sure, it wasn't as great as living in the treetops. It hadn't been his idea to move to the jungle floor, but he'd do anything for love.
Knocking on the outside of the log, Buck straightened his eye-patch, dusted his fur and slicked back his head with a little saliva. Oh, yeah. He looked good. As if hearing someone say "Come in," Buck opened up part of the log that acted as the door and presented the package to the other occupant.
"Honey, I'm home," he announced, his presence disrupting the fireflies that lived on the walls and lighting up the place. He bent down to one of the chairs he had carved and kissed his pineapple wife.
As if electrocuted, he straightened up in surprise. He was always surprised with how ugly of a pineapple she was, but today she was ugly and mad.
"I know I'm late. I had to go to the other side of the valley to get the pine-nuts you wanted," Buck explained. He paused for a while. "Yes, that's the only place to get 'em. I told you that when I left this mornin'."
Another pause.
"Well, I could have been back earlier if I didn't get your pine-nuts," Buck argued. "I just. . .I did. . .I was goin'. . . Yes, I ran into Rudy. No, I didn't mean to. I told you, he's trackin' me. An' if I don't go to see him, he'll get lonely. What? No, I don't love him!" Buck threw his paws up in the air, frustrated by his wife's words. "You never liked Rudy. You never tried to understand him."
Buck sat back on his haunches, pouting. Listening to his wife, one eyebrow lifted. "Say wha? Our anniversary? Since when?" He stood up, surprised. "Three months! Since when is that an anniversary? No, I didn't forget. It's just three bloody months. No, I won't lower my tone. Let the neighbors hear. . . Fine, I'll just go to bed, too."
With his face wretched with irritation, he picked his wife up in his arms and marched off to the bedroom after he knocked on the wall to let the fireflies know to turn off their luminescence. He put the pineapple on the leaf bed then dropped onto his side, pulling the covers up over both of them.
"Good night," he muttered grumpily. After laying in the darkness for a moment, his anger started to subside. Timidly, he looked over his shoulder. "Are you still awake, babe? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," Buck apologized, sitting up and turning to his significant other. "You know, I work hard every day just for you. I love you, babe."
His wife's expression softened a bit.
Buck's face brightened. "I forgive ya, babe. Look at that. We just made up," he said with a smile. Then, seductively, he put a hand over the leaves sprouting from the pineapple. "You know what that means, eh luv?" He lifted his eyebrows in an enticing way.
Seeing his wife's reaction, he pulled his hand away. "Oh, you have a headache? Oh, that's too bad. Well, you should get some sleep then," Buck suggested, trying not to look too disappointed. "I'll see you in the mornin'. Good night." He kissed her lightly before laying back on his side.
And even though Buck was tired from his excursions, he couldn't sleep. He adored his wife very much, despite her unfortunate looks, but he couldn't help but think that some of the magic from their lives had drifted away. While he tried to think of a way to make it up to her, his thoughts danced away from his pineapple love to what awaited him tomorrow in the jungle, the thrill of not knowing where the next danger lay in wait for him and if Rudy could manage to take vengeance on his missing tooth.
Above the ice sky that hid the dinosaurs' and Buck's world, many other animals, both big and small, took shelter for the night. One particular large family of minks was getting ready for the night's rest in a burrow that wasn't used to so many creatures. Excitement was in the air as they spoke of events that would take place in the next few days.
But for one, it wasn't such a happy occasion.
"Tundra, how many times must I tell you, wrap your tail up in leaves so it won't get dirty," a motherly voice called through the burrow.
Tundra sighed. "I don't see why. You'll just make me wash it again tomorrow before the rehearsal."
"Darling, a mink should take pride in her fur. We have one of the best in all the world," Tundra's mother said as she touched her daughter's chin. "Be grateful you weren't born a ferret."
"If I was, maybe I'd actually have had a normal childhood," Tundra grumbled.
"Your childhood was normal. It was just like mine."
"I wouldn't call playing only on leaves outside, brushing my fur one-hundred strokes before bed and sleeping with my tail in a curler a normal childhood. I swear, mom, you should have been called in for child abuse."
Tundra's mother laughed as if this were a regular joke. "You'll thank me later, darling. Once you've married that handsome hunk of a mink two days from now, you'll be so happy."
"How can I be happy with him?" Tundra asked, looking sad. "I've never talked to him before, only sat next to him at one of your boring dinner parties."
"Have you seen him? If your father wasn't alive, I'd marry him," Tundra's mother chuckled and sighed like a young mink in love.
"I can't believe you said that in front of dad," Tundra said in disbelief, giving her father a sympathetic glance.
The reddish mink smiled shyly at his daughter. He looked as if he wanted to say something to his daughter, but his wife beat him to it.
"Oh, tosh. He knows I'm joking, don't you?" she said with an indifferent wave of her paw. She didn't wait for a reply, but continued on. "Oh, you'll look gorgeous against the white snow. I always thought that it was a shame that you took mostly after your father, but now that you're grown up, you're quite stunning."
Tundra gave her mother a small smile, knowing that this was the best compliment her mother could give. She looked down at her coat, a reddish-brown color. Her father's fur.
"Of course, you got my eyes and tail. You'll make that husband of yours very happy," her mother continued.
Tundra's spirits fell again. What about my happiness? she asked her mother silently.
"I think I'll go to bed early," Tundra announced, hoping to avoid any more depressing conversation with her mother.
"But you didn't visit with your cousins or aunts or uncles. They came all this way to see you," her mother complained.
Tundra's eyes drooped; she didn't think she could take any more "family moments". She feigned a yawn. "I'm sorry, but I'm so tired. I'll see them tomorrow." She kissed her mother on the cheek, then did the same for her father. "Good night, Daddy."
Her father gave her a loving smile and touched her face delicately, but didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
As Tundra moved down the tunnel, she ran into two more minks, this couple quite elderly. Both where gray-touched from age, but the male still had a hint of red, much brighter than Tundra's color. The male used a gnarled twig to walk, but still needed help from the female.
"Going to bed without seein' us, are ya?" the elderly male mink asked with a wink.
"Grammie! Pop-pop!" Tundra cried out, hugging them. "I didn't know you'd arrived."
"I'd never miss my little granddaughter's weddin'," Grammie said. She wiggled something around in her mouth, then spat it out on the ground.
Tundra looked down at the couple with care. She loved her father's parents very much. But even with an expression of love, there was still sadness in her eyes.
"What's the matter, honey?" her grandfather asked.
"Oh, it's nothing," Tundra answered, not wanting to upset them. "It's just pre-wedding jitters."
"Jitters nothin'. I knew it. This arranged marriage was a bad idea," her grandfather growled angrily. "Don't worry about it. I'll knock that mink so hard he won't be able to make it to any weddin'."
Tundra laughed, "I just might have you do that."
"Oh, there's my little girl's smile," her grandmother said, pinching Tundra's cheeks even though the female mink squealed about it hurting her.
"I'll do it. You just say the word, honey," her grandfather promised, raising his cane as if the mentioned mink was standing before him.
"It's not him that's the problem," Tundra admitted, her tongue loosening after a good laugh.
"Then what?"
Tundra felt embarrassed about discussing this with her grandparents. "Well. . .it's just that, I was kind of hoping that I would do more before I got married," she revealed, rubbing her arm conscientiously. "I mean, like an adventure. A real one where I'd have to survive by my wits and get to see the world. Just like in your stories," she said with a smile. But then she lowered her head. "I guess that's gone and past."
Silence fell for a moment, then her grandmother tilted her head back with a groan, one paw touching the bridge of her nose as if with a headache. "Oh, dear. It's happenin' again," she said dramatically.
"Are you okay, Grammie?" Tundra asked worriedly. Perhaps the long journey had been too much for the old gal.
"I'm havin' a vision," the elderly mink gasped, grasping for Tundra's paw.
Tundra's grandfather winked at his granddaughter. His wife was famous for having "visions," especially at parties. Most of her visions involved gruesome deaths for the person who happens to be close by.
"I'm seeing. . .I'm seeing. . .Oh, child. Your death! It's not clear, but I have a feeling that you'll die in pain; it'll be slow and agonizing," her grandmother said mysteriously.
Tundra rolled her eyes. "Grammie, I know. You've been seeing my painful death since I was three."
"But that's not all," the elderly mink added, looking Tundra in the eye. "Before you die, you'll have the grandest adventure any mink has ever had." Smiling warmly at her granddaughter, the female patted Tundra's paw. "Don't worry. Everything will turn out as it should."
Tundra felt a warm shiver crawl up her spine. It was like the feeling one gets when they know something bad will happen, but completely opposite, like luck had run its fingers through her fur.
"Okay, that's enough excitement for you, sweetheart," Tundra's grandfather determined, taking his wife's paw. "I think it's time to get Grammie to bed. Look at her. She's shakin'."
"That's you that's a shakin'," his wife growled. "But I guess those visions do take a lot out of me." She gave her granddaughter one last hug. "You sleep well, my lovely one. You do look jittery."
"Maybe I'll come in and tell you a story of Captain Firefur, the Ice Pirate," Tundra's grandfather said with a dashing grin, which might have looked menacing if he still had all of his teeth. "It'll be the last time I can tuck in my little girl."
Tundra wanted that so much, but she was afraid if she said anything more, she'd start to sob. And not the happy "I'm about to get married" tears.
"No, it's fine. Goodnight, you two," Tundra declined the offer.
Tundra watched them go with a loving eye, for two reasons. The first being that her father had been their only surviving kit, and Tundra their only grandchild. But even so, neither her father nor herself had been spoiled, just loved unconditionally. When they were around, she felt special. Second, she was jealous of the love they had for each other. She would love to grow old with someone special just like them. Tundra turned into her room, her head held higher. Perhaps tomorrow, she'll meet that special someone. Maybe this arranged marriage is for the best.
Buck left his house quickly. His wife had once again brought up why he had to go out all the time, and once again he had to explain his job: foraging, hunting, surveying the territory, protecting her from dangers, you know, everything they needed to survive. But she just complained why he couldn't do that stuff at home. He had quickly retreated once her back was turned, rushing into the fresh air.
By Rudy's right claw, he loved that ugly pineapple more than. . .well, more than a lot of stuff, but nothing came to mind. But he loved her nonetheless. He wished that she would be more understanding about who he was and stop nagging him to call her every hour.
A roar sounded throughout the valley.
Buck smiled, gripping his tooth knife. "I'm comin', big guy," he whispered, taking off through the trees.
The grove of trees housed minks of all sorts of shapes, sizes and colors. Many were from Tundra's family, but there were unfamiliar faces mingling within. She guessed that these were her fiancé's family. Their judgmental expressions made her nervous as if the jury were still deciding on a verdict. And to make things worse, the mink she was supposed to marry tomorrow had yet to arrive.
"Here's our happy, happy bride-to-be," a sarcastic voice called from the crowd.
Tundra turned with a bright smile as she recognized the voice. "Frost!" she cried and rushed to her favorite cousin. "You made it."
"Of course. I gotta be here to make sure this male is good enough for ya," the sassy mink said.
Frost had been her best friend since they could open their eyes, and her presence reassured Tundra. Even though her cousin was from her mother's side, Frost had a level head and a sardonic attitude. She looked like a perfect angel with her snow-white fur, but she established herself as the black sheep of the family by rebelling against the family's snooty ways. If anyone knew if this wedding was a bad idea, it would be Frost.
"I'm so glad you're here," Tundra said, hugging her cousin as if she were a life-line.
"Is it that bad?" Frost gasped, loosening her cousin's hold.
"You have no idea. I think I'm going crazy here. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, or if I'm just nervous or something else."
"Calm down. You're rambling," Frost ordered. "Listen, do you remember when we were kits and our cousins thought we were crazy when we wanted to run away from home, and live with prairie dogs and have all sorts of adventures."
"Yeah," Tundra recalled, her mind going back to simpler times which calmed her down.
"Well, if you ever wanted that dream fulfilled, now is your last chance," Frost joked. "There's no turning back after tomorrow."
"What should I do?" Tundra asked, her brain shutting down with anxiety.
"First, stop acting like a chipmunk in a wolf's den. You're making me tremble just watching you." Frost lightly slapped her cousin's cheek. "Second, think of walnut pie."
Tundra loosened up. "Mmmm, walnut pie."
"Now, tell me what you want to do," Frost said quickly. She expected a light to turn on in Tundra's eyes, but only received a blank look.
"I don't know?" the bride-to-be said timidly.
Frost sighed.
Suddenly, the crowd of minks started to talk loudly, some jumping up and down to look over the rest of the crowd. "The groom is here," a voice called out, others repeating it for the benefit of all. The crowd parted and let in a brackish-colored mink, tall and full-bodied – which for a mink meant well-fed, not too heavy but with a healthy layer of winter fat. He walked with his eyes half-closed as if he found the party boring. He stopped in front of Frost and Tundra, looking them over.
Tundra recognized him from her mother's dinner party because of his expression. She hoped that his face wasn't permanently like that. However he didn't seem to recognize her.
"This her?" he asked a prudish-looking mink beside him who could only be his mother. "You've got to be kidding me. She's not much to look at." His claw pointed at Frost, who widened her eyes as if she were ready to brawl if Tundra didn't hold her back.
"Not her. The other one," the mother sniffed.
The male looked Tundra up and down, looking more pleased. "Yeah, I can get used to that," he said, leaning into Tundra's face and wrapping a paw around her shoulders. "Hey, my name is Rocky, as in I Will Rock Your World. Maybe after the rehearsal dinner we can go somewhere and rehearse for the honeymoon as well."
Tundra froze at his words, conscientious that others could hear him.
"Let's get this party started," Rocky shouted, getting a cheer from the crowd. As he moved away, he told Tundra, "Mmm, nice tail. Save it for me, okay?" and slapped her on the backside.
Tundra squeaked in protest, but any words she wanted to say remained silent. All her senses closed up, her ears shutting out all sound. She saw Frost's mouth moving, saying something to Rocky, and the crowd put their paws to their mouths in horror.
The sun reflected off the bright snow, bringing out those who slept through the night. While most nocturnal animals would be heading to sleep by this time, two night-dwelling mammals found enjoyment in being out in the sunshine. Since their "sister" had found her significant other, the two opossums had abandoned their night life to a more mammoth lifestyle. And it wasn't like they kept a strict sleeping schedule anyway.
Crash and Eddie, from the moment they opened their eyes from hanging on the tree branch, were a pair of energy-packed marsupials that lived in the moment. At times, their rambunctious, devil-may-care attitudes were too much for Ellie to handle. Today was one of those times, and she yelled at them for winding up Peaches right before her nap. Taking the hint, the brothers searched for someone else to bother.
The twins bounded across the snow, throwing snow balls at each other and trying out new stunts that ended with bumps and bruised heads. It wasn't long before Eddie spotted a large crowd of mammal bodies gathering in a glen of trees.
"Hey, Crash. What's going on over there?" Eddie asked, pointing at the crowd.
Crash followed Eddie's finger. "Are those minks?" he asked with tilted head.
"Really? Minks?" Eddie asked in surprise. "They must be having a party. I hear minks throw posh parties."
"Yeah, with honey covered nuts and fresh fish," Crash added, feeling his mouth water.
"And eggs. They usually have eggs," Eddie drooled, licking his lips.
As the two dreamed of the wonderful foods that were served at high-class parties, Crash formed a plan, his eyes glinting mischievously.
"Dude, I totally have an idea," Crash confided. "We're totally going to crash that party."
Eddie gasped. "Like they're going to let us in, the snobs."
"It'll totally work. Here's what we do."
Soon the two marched up to the group of minks, noses in the air and faces showing how little they cared about everything in general. Just as they entered the glen, a pair of large minks who looked like they were formed from rocks stepped out and stopped the opossums.
"Where do you think you're going?" one mink bouncer asked.
Eddie looked uncertain, but Crash didn't drop his act. "We're going to the party."
"No, you're not," the bouncer informed him with a sneer.
"But we were invited," Crash said confidently, stabbing the mink in the chest with a claw. He shook his paw, certain it was sprained by the gesture.
"Yeah," Eddie back his brother up with confidence. "We're expected. So, let us through."
"No, you're not," the same mink repeated.
Crash straightened his back to his full height, which barely made it to the bouncers' chests. "Listen up, you. . .you. . .dung brains. If you don't let us in, you'll be in a lot of trouble. We personally know the birthday boy."
A few seconds later, the opossums found themselves sailing through the air from being tossed out, landing in a deep snowbank.
"Oh, that was great, Crash. Brilliant plan," Eddie yelled sarcastically while nursing his sores.
"I said I had a plan. I didn't say it was a good one," Crash admitted, brushing the snow off his pelt. "It was probably an anniversary. My mistake."
The two left without another thought about the party. . . at least for the time.
For once, Buck looked for Rudy, instead of the other way around. He needed a distraction, and Rudy was the best therapy he could ask for. After tracking the baryonyx, he ambushed the dinosaur by jumping down from a tree and landing right between his red eyes.
"Hallo, Rudy. Miss me?" he asked, pulling on the dinosaur's eyelid and letting it go with a snap.
Rudy tossed his head and roared in pain. Never in any dinosaur's life had there been such a great nuisance in such a little package.
Buck held on as Rudy thrashed around, whooping and hollering in ecstasy. Now this was a ride. Finally, his grip slipped, and he shot into the air. From an aerial view, he watched Rudy look around suspiciously for the weasel. As Buck descended, he grabbed a vine before crashing into the ground, swinging alongside Rudy's face.
"Come an' get me, ya big chicken," Buck shouted, swinging away.
Rudy charged without hesitation.
Buck's swinging had taken him into a part of the land he called The Cracks of Agonizing Pain. He liked the sound of the name, even though sometimes he giggled at the word "cracks". But it was no joke; it was a deadly area if one wasn't careful. The cracks in the earth would shoot a geyser of hot water right under you. It could melt the fur off you.
"Do you want a lovely snack, Rudy?' Buck shouted at the charging dinosaur. He jumped off the last vine as the trees ended, diving for a good-sized rock. Turning to face Rudy, Buck positioned his choice rock onto a crack-line.
Rudy plunged his jaws at the weasel, unaware of the trap. Right when jaws were about to snap over the tiny mammal, a geyser torpedoed Buck's rock right into Rudy's mouth.
Buck laughed maniacally. He wasn't sure if the plan would work when he thought it up. Good thing it did or he'd be dead. But that was half the joy of being with Rudy. Luck was a gamble each day.
Since it proved to work, Buck continued to bombard the baryonyx with more geyser-powered rocks. Since the rocks were pebbles to the thunder-lizard, the barrage only made Rudy angrier, red eyes so hot, they burned.
Buck needed bigger ammo. Looking around, he spotted a tree that was halfway fallen over because of rotten roots. One or two good pushes would put it in the path of a geyser crack. Sending off a few more rocks at Rudy, Buck raced to the rotten tree, crawling to the top and stomping on the trunk. Each jump pushed the tree lower.
With the attacks abated, Rudy saw Buck distracted with the rotten tree and moved in for the attack.
A few more good jumps against the tree, Buck felt the rest of the roots give way, and the trunk tumbled over. By the tremors in the ground, Buck knew the albino dinosaur was close enough, and he bolted.
Just as Rudy's neck stretched across the fallen trunk, the geyser went off, pushing the tree with incredible speed at his neck. The impact caused him to fall backward, shaking the earth with his weight. Rudy wheezed, his windpipe bruised and swollen from the blow.
Buck puffed his chest out in pride as he surveyed the damage. By Rudy's reaction, the carnivore wouldn't be getting back up anytime soon.
"Better luck next time, mate," Buck called with a mock salute before looking for his next adventure.
If only Buck knew how his influence indirectly sent another off on an adventure. If only Buck knew that not all his geyser-powered rocks hit Rudy, but some flew off into the sky, reaching as high as the layer of ice that separated the dinosaurs from the rest of the world.
The guests at the wedding rehearsal stopped as Frost's choice of words burned their ears. Some mothers even placed paws over the ears of younger minks in case more dirty words followed.
Tundra's grandfather nodded his head as he smacked his gums as his wife added in a loud voice, "Dang straight, he is."
The air erupted in a gust of voices, some accusing, some defending, some apologizing, some claiming that Frost was just using a figure of speech.
"Frost?' Tundra said in a small voice, feeling violated as the memory of the male mink's paw on her hide lingered.
"What is it?" Frost asked concerned.
"I know what I want," Tundra timidly replied. "I want to run. I want to get away from here. I'm tired of this being what's normal in my life. I can't take it anymore. I know it may sound crazy, but anything else, even something radically different, would be better than this. I don't want to end up one of them."
"That's the way, girl," Frost cheered, looking proud of her cousin. "That's your heart talking. You go out there and have that adventure. I'll distract them." Frost disappeared into the crowd. She found a mink she knew, one with a quick temper, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, that guy over there just said that your sister is so ugly that she should never have children."
"What?!" the mink shouted, immediately running to the other mink and throwing a punch. "That's for my sister, jerk!"
While minks may feel they are higher and better than every other animal on God's earth, that didn't stop their wild-side from taking over. In a pinch, minks can be ferocious, especially when a sister has been insulted. A fighting spirit aroused in the crowd; the fight infectious. Within the chaos, nobody noticed as a single mink ran away, trembling from fear and excitement.
She had finally done it. She had escaped. Tundra could feel freedom saturating her entire body. She no longer had to worry about her looks, meddling mothers and eccentric family members. She could do whatever she wanted, go where she wanted and say whatever.
Tundra slowed down. On the other hand, she also had to worry about food, shelter, predators, weather, and many other factors that could leave her a dead mink. But a free mink nonetheless. That thought alone gave her confidence that she could make it in the real world.
Suddenly, a loud crack happened beneath her feet, as if something hit the ice she was standing on from below. But that was impossible, wasn't it?
Tundra looked down to see spider-web lines crackling around her toes. How thick was the ice? Would it hold her? Carefully, she shuffled her paws along the ice, but more spider-web cracks formed.
"Great," she muttered to herself. "Not even two minutes free, and I'm going to die."
Was this the painful, agonizing death her grandmother foresaw? Did she see her granddaughter falling through the ice, falling into below zero temperature water and either drowning or freezing to death? The thought of either made her tremble, which weakened the ice even more.
A loud crack resounded followed by Tundra's screams. As she fell, she grabbed onto the edge of the ice, digging her claws into the cold surface. If this happened to Tundra last week, she would have climbed to safety with some effort. However, due to her wedding, her mother had her claws trimmed to neat stubs. It was a luxurious gesture, but not one for those who wanted to live in the wild. Her claws weren't long enough to prevent her from slipping.
"Help! Someone help me!" she cried. She hadn't run far. Maybe someone from the party could hear her. But the longer she hung onto the ice, the more her hopes disappeared.
With one last attempt at hanging on, her paws slipped. She fell into the misty void. It was surprising how slow everything went at that point, and she wondered when everyone would miss her, when Frost would realize she wasn't coming back. She wondered who would eat her wedding cake and why it was taking so long for her to fall into the water. Turning her head, she gasped at the sight beneath her.
Green everywhere; mountains and lakes, steam rising from volcanoes and creatures moving across the land. It was like she had fallen into a whole different world, and she wondered if she fell through the ground or out of the sky. Whatever it was, the beauty had captivated her so much, she forgot that she was falling, and death was coming closer to her every second. Once the realization of her mortality returned, every strand of fur on her body puffed out, and she screamed in horror. She did nothing but scream, her body not seeing the use in anything else.
She only stopped screaming when the ground did a curious thing. It moved away from her. She closed her mouth, studying the ground. Was it any different than her ice world? Did it occasionally move away from you? It was almost like she was flying.
Then she felt the pressure on her tail. Looking up, she saw a giant, featherless bird with sharp teeth had her fluffy tail in its beak. Once again, Tundra felt more curious than concerned about these strange events. It took her brain several moments to work out this problem:
Featherless bird + scales = dinosaur. Dinosaur + sharp teeth = carnivore. Carnivore + tail in its mouth = I'm dead.
The screaming continued.
This was definitely the slow, painful death her grandmother predicted. It totally fit.
The dinosaur soared onward, trying to ignore its prey's wild screaming. She wouldn't have to listen to the mink's last utterances any longer. Her nest was near, and her children were hungry.
Tundra paused for breath as they approached a nest of leaves and twigs that sat on the side of a cliff. As the dinosaur's shadow fell, miniature version of Tundra's captor squeaked and squawked while opening up hungry maws.
Oh, so this is my agonizing death, Tundra thought, watching the baby dinosaurs. I'm going to be ripped apart until I'm nothing but a tuft of fur on the side of their nest that will eventually be carried away by the wind. Tundra felt pride on how the last seconds of her life reflected a hidden poet. How tragic that she wouldn't be able to share such beautiful thoughts with anyone.
Then she started screaming again.
Buck saw the pterodactyl even before he heard the screaming. He had the habit of glancing at the sky regularly; you never know when one of those featherless buzzards would swoop down and try to get a weasel snack. But by the screaming, he knew he had nothing to fear from that dinosaur.
"Poor wretch," Buck muttered, recognizing a fellow mammal by the fur. But that was life. Carnivores had to eat something.
But then something close to kinship to the mammal hit his heart. He hadn't seen another creature with fur since that strange herd came by some time ago. Saving their friend sloth was probably the most fun he had in ages.
"Well, maybe it'll work a second time," Buck thought, ideas of a new adventure dancing in his little weasel mind. He clamped his knife between his teeth and ran off on all four paws toward the pterodactyl's nest.
Tundra thought it was funny what her mind imagined moments before she was about to die. She could feel gobs of saliva soaking her fur with foul-smelling liquid. Mother would be so mad that I let my coat get so dirty and messed up before I die, she thought. After all, one must look fabulous for their own funeral.
The tiny razor-sharp teeth of the babies came closer and closer as the mother lowered the mink down.
Instincts finally kicked in, telling Tundra what to do. She crawled up her own tail and hugged the adult pterodactyl's beak for dear life. Okay, so her instincts were a little rusty.
Surprised that her baby's dinner was now hugging her face, the mother dinosaur let go of the mink's tail.
Freed, but not safe, Tundra jumped off the pterodactyl and onto the dusty ground of the aerie. Looking for an escape route, she saw that all options were going straight down a cliff-side. In a quick second decision, she raced down the steep slope, gravity pulling faster than she could run. She tripped, rolling down the cliff and barely snagging a lone bush that stubbornly grew in the rocky terrain.
With a shrill cry, the pterodactyl mother dove at Tundra, ready to retrieve her hungry babies' meal. Hovering as best she could, she extended her clawed feet to snatch the mink.
In the moment that Tundra closed her eyes and expected to be pierced by talons, something extraordinary happened. A deep battle cry rang out, then an astonished squawk from the predatory dinosaur. Opening her eyes, she watched with mouth gaping open as a weasel wrestled with the flying dinosaur in mid-air, whooping and laughing.
The weasel harassed the winged creature, riding her like a bucking bronco before jumping off with a flourished flip and landing on the bush next to Tundra. "Ready to go, mate," he said, grabbing her scruff and pulling her to her feet. "Get ready to jump."
Jump where? Tundra thought, her mouth too paralyzed to speak. She realized the weasel meant off the bush, she released the bush in exchange for a death-grip around the weasel.
As the weasel left the safety of the bush with Tundra in tow, the mink's mouth paralysis miraculously cured to allow her to scream as they dropped fifty feet. Her eyes locked onto the ground where her broken body would eventually lay for the scavengers to feed on.
The weasel, looking cool and collected, merely pulled out a knife fashioned from a tooth (from what, she didn't want to know) and rammed it into the side of the cliff, leaving behind a long scar as it slowed their descent.
"This is where the ride stops. Please be careful as you exit the vehicle," the weasel said in a pleasant tone.
Tundra, who had her whole body pressed against the weasel and her tail wrapped around him, felt surprised that she wasn't dead. With the ground a mere three feet away, she timidly disengaged herself from her rescuer and dropped to the ground where she crouched in a trembling ball.
The weasel braced his hind legs against the cliff to pull his knife out, then landed deftly by the mink. "We should skedaddle. That dang buzzard will be circling for her dinner," he informed. When he noticed the rescued mink remained curled in a ball, he poked her with the hilt of his knife. "Well, come on then."
When Tundra saw that her rescuer was jogging away, her instincts kicked in again, sprinting on all fours. She was a blur that shot past the weasel.
"Whoa, I didn't mean that fast," the weasel called out from behind her.
But Tundra didn't heed, she just wanted to get away. At the first sight of a shadowy hollow under some tree roots, she darted into the darkened niche. While her body had stopped moving, her heart pumped faster than a gazelle, her lungs heaving from the exertion. Her nose twitched continuously, sniffing for any sign of danger. She clutched her tail like a child who had a bad dream.
Thinking she was safe, her body started to calm down. Her muscles relaxed.
When a head appeared suddenly in the opening of the tree hollow, she squealed and curled up into a ball, hoping for a quick death.
"I've seen some fast runnin' in my life, but I think you'd leave 'em all in the dust," the voice of the weasel echoed through the hollow.
Tundra, still quavering, unraveled from her ball to finally get a good look at her rescuer. He was a spotted weasel, looking fierce with his unkempt fur, eye patch and jutted jaw that showed his sharp teeth. As a minkling, she had heard stories about wild weasels and their ferocity. They were cunning and often stole food from others.
So why did this weasel save her from certain death?
"You're a nervous fellow, aren't ya mate?" the weasel asked, leaning back against the hollow log lazily. "You sound like a rabbit, quake like a mouse, an' look like a pig's wallow, but what are ya? I'd guess ferret, but ferrets are dirty fighters. That buzzard back there wouldn't have had a chance."
Tundra glanced at her pelt curiously. As the weasel suggested, her fur was covered with mud from pterodactyl saliva and dirt from rolling down the cliff. Twigs and debris littered her fur, and she could tell she had some bald patches on her tail. Never had she felt so. . .un-mink-like.
Feeling safe, Tundra crept closer to the weasel. "I. . .I'm a. . .a. . .mink." She couldn't prevent the stutter.
The weasel's ears raised in surprise. "Well, I'll be. A female mink. Didn't expect you in my neck of the woods." He gave her a wild smile, showing almost every tooth in his mouth. "You're the sorriest lookin' mink I've ever seen. I guess that explains the shakin'."
Tundra felt embarrassed, unsure if he related her cowardice to her species or gender or both.
"You're a long way from home, mink. I suppose you'd like some help gettin' home," the weasel suggested.
Relief flooded over her. She nodded tiredly.
"We'll that won't be a problem. We'll just head for the cave an'. . . Ah wait. Scratch that. I destroyed that way out," the weasel said with a chuckle. "An' I don't think there's another way. Wait, how did you get here anyway?"
Feeling her heart sink at the weasel's words, Tundra barely registered that he asked her a question. Knowing she couldn't explain without stammering, she pointed upward.
"Wha? From the ice sky?" the weasel asked in amazement, his eyes glancing up. Then he laughed, slapping his leg. "No wonder you're shakin' like a frozen rat. That must have been quite a fall, wasn't it Angel?" He chuckled at his joke.
Remembering the fall, Tundra's body shook even harder, the results of too much adrenaline.
The weasel scratched his chin, studying Tundra with a critical eye. "Looks like I'm stuck with ya until I can figure out how to get you home. Until then, you'll have to follow my rules. It's a dangerous place here, and you'll do what I say to survive."
Tundra nodded readily.
"Rule #1: Always listen to Buck," the weasel said sternly, holding up one digit.
Tundra stared at him blankly, unsure of that rule.
The weasel's stern face dropped. "Buck is me," he explained, pointing at himself.
Tundra nodded readily, the world making sense.
"Rule #2: There is no rule number two," the one now named Buck said seriously, circling Tundra as if inspecting her. "And Rule #3: Do Not Panic! Do you understand?"
Tundra nodded, eager to do her best. She loved being alive.
"Alright then," Buck said, straightening and smiling confidently. "Off we pop." He took a step to leave the hollow log, but didn't get far when he felt a tug on his back end. Looking behind him, he saw Tundra holding onto his tail like it was a lifeline. Buck rolled his eyes. "We're going to need to take more than baby steps if we want to be home by nightfall, Angel," he told her, pulling his tail out of her, surprisingly strong, grip.
"Sorry," Tundra muttered, embarrassed. She had panicked when she saw Buck leaving her and grabbed it subconsciously.
"Come on, Angel-girl," Buck insisted impatiently. He grabbed her paw, yanking her onto her feet and leading her out of the hollow log.
At first, Tundra's legs felt like slush beneath her, and Buck practically had to drag her through the jungle. After a few minutes, her strength returned, and she matched the weasel stride for stride. As she shadowed the weasel, keeping hold of his paw for reassurance, she continuously scanned the jungle with her big, blue eyes for any sign of danger, her ears pivoting erratically at the unusual sounds. She was the picture of absolute caution.
"Relax, Angel-girl. You're safe with me," Buck reassured, forcing the mink to loosen her grip. "I can handle anythin' that comes our way. Don't worry."
That didn't ease Tundra a bit, even after seeing what the weasel could do. Even though he was larger than her, his size wouldn't intimidate anything bigger than a sloth.
Yet his words did comfort her. She almost felt like she had stepped into one of her grandfather's ice pirate stories, off on an incredible adventure. Buck easily fit into the scenario with his accent, rough talk and bravado.
"At least anythin' but Rudy. If he showed up, coo, we'd be in a tight spot," Buck said congenially.
Tundra clung to the weasel as her imagination poured through the terrifying possibilities of what a "Rudy" was. As if she weren't scared enough from that ominous notion, the sky suddenly turned dark, sending her into a fit of trembling.
"Ah, blast it. Is it that time already?" Buck growled, looking at his wrist – although Tundra didn't know why – rather than the ice sky. "Boy, time does fly when ya havin' fun."
"What was that?" Tundra asked, her ears flat against her skull as she gazed up at the sky.
"It's night time, silly," Buck answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "It falls rather abruptly down here. One of the disadvantages of livin' below the horizon. Looks like we'll have to make camp, Angel-girl."
Tundra didn't like the sound of that. "O-out in the o-open? C-can't w-we find a b-burrow to sleep in?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"We could," Buck said with a shrug. "That is, if you want to sleep with snakes. Might be fun."
When Tundra's expression showed how horrified she was about this idea, he laughed.
"Ah, I'm kiddin' ya, Angel. We'll sleep up in the trees. It's much safer than the ground." Buck sized up a tall tree, then nodded. "Up, then." He sheathed his knife on the vine wrapped around his torso.
Tundra tested the rough bark nervously. If she wasn't able to hang onto the ice ledge, could she climb the tree with her clipped nails? Seeing that she had little choice in the matter – unless she really did want to sleep with the snakes – she did what she could. Gripping the trunk instead of clawing her way up, she managed a foot after a minute.
"What's the hold up, Angel-girl?" Buck asked. He had climbed back down to her level head down so they were nose-to-nose. The strange angle gave Tundra vertigo even though she wasn't too high up.
Tundra felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Here was a kind stranger helping her, and she couldn't even climb a blasted tree properly. "It's my claws," she muttered, not being able to meet Buck's one eye. "They're trimmed."
"Bloomin', you really did fall from heaven, Angel. You're about as prepared for this world as a snowflake," Buck grumbled.
"I'm sorry," Tundra whispered, feeling as useful as a rock.
Buck shrugged. "I guess there's no other way. Jump on me back."
"What?" Tundra gasped in surprise.
"If ya want to climb yourself, be my guest, but it'll take all night. I won't wait for ya," Buck warned. "So what's it gonna be?"
Fearing being left alone more than loosing face, Tundra took him on his offer.
With the mink secure on his back, Buck started back up the tree at a fair pace. Tundra knew she couldn't be a light weight since minks liked to eat a lot, so she was impressed by the weasel's strength.
Once on a high enough and sturdy branch, Buck announced in a light tone, "There ya go, Angel. Safe an' sound, for tonight at least."
With the adrenaline rush gone and a temporary sense of security falling over her, Tundra crawled across the branch carefully. Being a burrower and having a cautious mother, she had little experience with trees and thus trod softly. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully to her rescuer.
"Ah, think nothin' of it, Angel. We still need to find a way home for ya," Buck said, dropping into a reclining position. He watched the mink curl up and wrap her long tail around her body. "That's at least if Rudy doesn't find us. Well, good night."
With Buck silent, Tundra noticed the scores of exotic and creepy noises around her. She wished to fall asleep quickly, but the symphony of dread kept her eyes wide open, darting one way to another. She felt that if she didn't watch every direction at once, something would pop out and grab her.
"Hey, what's the matter?"
Tundra nearly jumped at Buck's voice.
"You havin' trouble sleepin'?"
She nodded, feeling like a pest to the weasel.
"I know the cure for that. How about a bedtime story?"
Before Tundra could say whether or not she wanted one, Buck began his tale about when he fell into a raptor's nest. He described the predatory dinosaur in vivid detail, which, in Tundra's mind, came from one of her own nightmares.
"Luckily for me, mommy raptor wasn't home. Unlucky for me, a couple of scavengers were raidin' the nest," Buck explained, setting up the story. "They wanted nice, juicy eggs to crunch into; instead, they got a whole lot of Buck to deal with."
For the next ten minutes, Buck regaled Tundra with his battle with the scavengers, including dramatic reenactment with knife in paw. The mink watched with fearful eyes, wondering the whole time if any dinosaurs could climb trees. But after a while, she felt lulled into the story as if it were a tale like the ones her grandfather would tell. In fact, Buck's narration wasn't all different from the ice pirate ones, except there were dinosaurs instead of mammal predators, raging mammoths and strange humans.
"They didn't see me coming as I ricocheted against the sapling and snapped back at them. They were sure surprised when this weasel popped back into their faces," Buck said excitedly, wrapping up his story. "I then dodged away from one snapping jaw to another until I had 'em all tied up in a knot. Probably took them all day to free themselves. True story."
"C-can those dinosaurs. . .can they climb?" Tundra asked, trying not to tremble.
"Oh, don't worry your little mink head, Angel-girl. Nothing can get you tonight. Ol' Buck will keep watch," Buck reassured her, reclining against the trunk. "You get some sleep."
Feeling fatigue pulling her down, Tundra yawned. Her body relaxed, and her eyelids became heavy.
"Buck?" she called out softly, needing to say one more thing before the world of dreams claimed her.
"Yeah?" Buck responded in just a soft of voice.
"You never asked what my name is," she said, her own voice sounding distant.
Buck smiled. "Alright. What kind of name does an angel have?"
"It's Tundra," she said, her mind finally submitting to unconsciousness. It may have sounded crazy, but she felt safer now that the weasel knew who she was.