Life's Strange Roads

A story of betrayal, heartache, losing and finding yourself, living with what you've got and trusting where the road takes you.

Dropping to a lower bow, the squirrelmaid pawed her dirk handle pensively, listening as pawsteps sounded on the floor of vegetation below. They were coming, even the youngest squirrel of the tribe could hear them.

Zealak Silverdirk's eyes flashed snidely at the shapes moving below. The black squirrel would soon drop from the trees like the others and scatter the ambush formation. It was almost time.

The signal of a wood-pigeon call sounded, and soft thumps soon indicated that the hunted were now the hunters.

Screams and curses filled the air as the squirrel-tribe located the intruders. Zealak showed no quarter as she hacked and stabbed her way through the enemy. Spotting the dim figure of a ferret, she threw her dirk like a spear, which landed into the creature's back. No sound came from his lips as he fell, and the black squirrel rounded on an attacker with her reddened blade.

By the time the moon began to set, the vermin were well away from the camp.

The squirrels assembled by an ornate chair carved right into the trunk of a gigantic oak tree. There were two hundred of the fighting squirrels in all, counting the elderbeasts when they were in their prime. A middle-aged, pot-bellied, graying squirrel occpuied the seat, staring at his army of able bodied creatures.

At a nod from the squirrelking, a younger male stepped beside the throne and spoke aloud over the sounds of the night. "As I'm sure you all know, the vermin have been vanquished. They have now discovered that we're a force to be reckoned with."

Cheers and hoots followed this remark. The fat king coughed angrily and the fighters quickly settled.

"Very few injuries occurred during this stealth attack. Luckily, nobeast was fatally hurt and none were taken captive." More cheering. "Without our great king's guidance and the army's quick wit, we would have been all slain."

Near the back of the croud, Zealak snorted at the last comment. The king was as dumb as the wood he sat upon, and the army could barely operate without severe threatenings and lashings, acccompanied by training expeditions that lasted for two days about the simpliest manuevers.

Now most would find that with any army, training was necessary, but this was a hopeless bunch. In the days of old, far better plans were thought out, sieges and raids were prepared for. The only thing keeping the squirrels from their own destruction was their constant discipline.

Zealak Silverdirk was one of a kind. From her black fur to her ice-blue eyes, her physical appearance was not a welcoming one. Her attitude was far less inviting. Rebellious to her commander's orders, she was lashed many times for her insubordination; most uncommon in any soldier of the High King Ashscruff. She challenged the wit and authority of anybeast, and was a social outcast from everybest in the tribe.

She had heard many names for herself. From "Insane Brushtail" to "Stupid She-Squirrel". But Zealak hardly ever noticed what they called her and who said it. She only reacted when her intellegence or her strength was directly challenged.

She wasn't one to be taken lightly, as when she did talk, it was not just to hear the sound of her voice. She had plenty of time by herself, but although it was unbenounced to every squirrel, she did have a friend.

He was only a hermit vole named Brutty. She went to visit him as the sun began to set, and nobest was the wiser on where she disappeared to. He was old, but full of wisdom. He could uplift her dampened spirits with as little as a smile. Zealak spent a lot of her time with him, and, since he lived on the other side of the island, most creatures would not see her until noon.

But one day, something had gone terribly wrong. She went to his small dwelling as the sun went down, like she always did. The black squirrel would give five taps- two at once with a three second pause inbetween and the last very softly, to denounce that this was her and not any old creature. But, when the door did not open after a full minute, Zealak began to get suspicious.

Even though Brutty was old, he could still get up to the door. She pounded for a short time upon the oak wood. Seeing that he was not going to answer, she slid her thin blade through a crack on the side of the wood. Lifting it slightly, she heard the small lock pop open, and she nudged the door open with her scared paw.

The scene before her was undisturbed. Nothing was out of place. There was no sound whatsoever. Nothing creaked and she did not hear the kettle of tea her old friend always had boiling. Approaching a back room, probably his bedchamber, the squirrel opened the door slowly and loudly. Nothing happened. She saw the old vole in his bed. But his plump stomach did not rise and fall like that of a creature during sleep.

It hit her hard; like a bolt of chain lightning had found it's way underground and struck her. Brutty was dead. She felt no emotions, only drained of energy. Her only friend was gone, though it gave her some comfort that he only died in his sleep.

She lifted him from his bed and craddled him in her arms, like a mother with a small babe. She carried him outside and placed him down on the grass by his small garden of flowers. Everything was blooming and beautiful.The flowers ranged from pale cream to deepest red. Peonies to wild roses. Taking up a small shovel and setting aside a piece of stone, Zealak began to dig.

When the job was done, she took the stone and inscribed upon it; "Brutty. A great friend and a wise vole. He will be sorely missed by me". Most would assume that "me" would mean that he had a wife, but Zealak would always know that she was the writer. It was a painful memory for her; Brutty had always been kind to her and taught her many things, like how to read and write, and how to navigate while using the stars.

Every few days now she would wander back to his gravestone and tend to the flowers he loved so much. Zealak Silverdirk did not know much about plants and taking care of them, but she began to learn as she went along. If any creature ever wandered as far over the island as the female squirrel did, sometimes, they might hear her muffled sobs, portraying her grief and broken heart the stars. Her only friend, now lost to her.

But, strangely, she did have a friend. She would probably never know that she might have had a friend on the island if she had just opened up and been kinder, but she would only realize this later. So much later that it wouldn't even matter.

To be continued...

Yes, I did start another story (shame on me for not continuing others yet), hoping to see if anybody would be interested in reviewing it. This was actually based on a really thin version I had made less than a year ago. Zealak, is kind of based on me, but only in some ways (since I live in a democracy, not a monarchy, and I am OBVIOUSLY not a squirrel).

What's that? It's lame to write a story where you are the main character in the form of a creature? Well, that's where you're wrong! Animals are so much easier to write about (don't ask me why, they just are), and they can fit better into their character roles. Plus, it's pretty cool to imagine a sword weilding creature, eh?

Well, I hope you'll all consider reviewing when you are finished. I need helpful hints and compliments (Did I just rhyme unintentionally? Uh, I hate that!), so don't be afraid to voice your NONFLAMING (stress on the "NON") opionions through a review.

Wow, that was long. Oops! I think I spoke to myself a little bit too much there. Oh well...

Zealak Silverdirk