Gone Nuts

Even the gods love jokes. -Plato

It had been an easy winter in Nottingham. Too easy some would say. The reason for this statement would almost have to come from the over abundance that was around the villages and towns. To an outsider that statement would sound ludicrous - no one can ever have too much during these hard times. However Nottingham did and it came in a reddish brown form that scurried about the shire, disrupting the food stores for man as well as grain for beast. Squirrels.

Yes, that's right, squirrels. Nottinghamshire was over run and outnumbered by little bouncing climbing fuzzies. Things were getting so bad that Lord Malcolm of Locksley had organized a squirrel hunt - something that had never been done before - to thin the population. The dogs were being prepared and the hunt was set for a late eve, this eve in fact. Every village was a buzz - including the youngest members. Some of the latter were more excited than others…

"Come on Much!" Robin called over his shoulder.

Poor Much lagged behind, as he was the carrier of all the 'equipment.' He stumbled but managed to hang onto the multitude of nets, arrows, bows, slings, and the satchel of rocks. "Master Robin, what is the point of this?"

Robin pushed past a limb and held it aside for Much to pass. The young Lord did not answer his friend right away and Much knew better than to pry - especially since Robin and his Father, Malcolm, had had a falling out earlier in the day. The Lord of Locksley had told his son that he was too young to accompany the men on the squirrel hunt. And Robin, despite a prolonged attempt at begging and arguing, lost. So the young lad had decided to take matters into his own hands and had forced his friend along on their own squirrel pursuit.

It's not that Much was overly fond of squirrels - they were rather chittery chattery little pests, always getting to the good nuts before he himself could. They had cheated him out of many a nut bread or nut pastry - it was high time they got their just desserts. Much just didn't want to be the one to end their frolicking. He didn't want to have to face Robin's little almost sister, Rebekah - that child loved every creature from the simplest slug to the dearest deer.

Robin made certain that they were quite a ways away from Locksley before he told Much to drop the supplies. Robin grabbed up his bow and arrows, galloping off into the undergrowth and pointing Much in the opposite direction. Much sighed but obediently picked up his handmade sling and a bag of pebbles. The sling was not well crafted, it had been Much's first attempt at making one and though he triumphed over the twine and wooden art it was not a fine example of a deadly weapon. The sling would still fire despite its being cockeyed, however the aim was questionable to say the least. Robin would make short work of the squirrels with his practiced art of archery - Much on the other hand…

Much cursed at an innocent log that made him trip, alerting all the opponents that he was about. He quietly muttered about the abandoned treats waiting for them at Locksley Manor or even at Mother Binder's - if they had ventured there instead. Though the villagers couldn't always afford to pay Lynne Binder, the local healer and midwife, in money - they did substitute her services for supplies and Much never went hungry when they stayed over there. And that was saying something.

The boys spent a lot of time with the Binder family - especially when Robin's Father was away on extended business. Not that the staff of Locksley couldn't watch the twain, but Lord Malcolm recalled one particular incident that had ended in complete chaos. It was afterwards that the Earl had decided never to leave them without two parental figures to be accountable to.

It was also common knowledge that Lynne Binder had been midwife to each of their Mothers and treated the two lads like her own sons and allowed them to play heartily with her own brood. The Binders had even been willing to take Much in when his Uncle had been killed. And though he ended up living with Lord Malcolm and Robin, Much felt a deep sense of gratitude to the kind family.

The young blond looked up past the trees and into the welcoming blue of the sky - that's when he saw it. A reddish blur that scurried up a thick trunk. Much, seeing his quarry, darted after it. Unfortunately he lost sight of it, as the squirrel blended into the wood so well. The opportunity having been lost, Much kicked at a pile of leaves. They scattered through the air, mimicking his hopes and dreams.

Letting his shoulders slump, Much plopped down on a forgotten stump to ponder why he wasn't more assertive with his Master. It was in the silence and solitude of his thoughts that the young three and ten year old heard a squeak. Much instantly lifted his head from where it rested on his hand to listen better. His newly perked ears heard the noise again - squeak.

Much decided to use another faculty besides his hearing and began to dart his eyes around the immediate area. That's when he saw the squirrel, clinging to the bark on a downward slant - just looking at him. Ever so slowly Much leaned down and picked up his sling and a pebble. Then he gently stood even though a set of beady eyes blinked back at him. Much could feel sweat trickling down his back as he aimed his weapon.

His arms shook as he focused on the squirrel and then, without further hesitation, Much closed his eyes and fired. He heard a muffled 'ping' and then silence. The young lad popped open one eye and surveyed the area, in surprise the other sprung open as well. For, on the ground, by the tree, laid a squirrel - hit by his missile. Much gave a whoop of joy and leapt into the air. The former action did create quite a start and Robin came racing up next to him.

"What happened!" Robin hollered, glancing about to see what the danger was.

Placing his hands proudly upon his hips and holding his head erect Much replied as haughtily as one might, "I, Master Robin, got one.

"Oh," the other youth responded simply.

Much's face fell instantaneously. "Well - well, don't you want to see it? Arnt you glad for me, Master?" Of course he was, Robin told him while he snooped around looking for anymore victims. Yet his seeming disinterest made Much sick at heart. Why, hadn't he been the first to snag a squirrel? Wasn't it an honor that he caught one with just a simple sling? Why, it was practically David and Goliath reincarnated! Surely that deserved some credit!

Crestfallen, Much dejectedly walked over to the lifeless squirrel. Ever so slowly he stooped and took hold of the fluffy red tail, lifting the squirrel up. Much stood and stared at the inert critter and, oddly enough, he could sympathize with it - his heart felt the same way, dead.

Much was still fretting on his circumstances when his hand twitched involuntarily. No - wait… That wasn't his hand that twitched… It was…

Much did something else involuntarily - he screamed, the undead squirrel screeched, and Robin jumped at the commotion and hollered himself (though he didn't know what for). In his panic, Much didn't think properly and kept tight hold of the squirrel's tail while it flipped and flopped clawing and biting at him. Much shook his hand wildly in an attempt to loose the crazed animal, though this endeavor was impossible while he was still gripping it himself.

The blond boy continued to yell as the squirrel bit down and drew blood. Regaining his own scattered wits, young Robin of Locksley ran over to assist his friend but ended up standing completely aghast at the goings on. The action of Much continuously flailing his arm about brought Robin back to his senses and he took hold of the assailant himself.

"Let go!" the would be helper screamed - practically in Much's ear from their close proximity. It took a few more commands to get Much to relinquish his hold on the squirrel, and when he did Robin was left holding down the castle. Not caring that it had passed from one pair of hands to another the squirrel continued on it's rampage - snarling and growling with the angriest chittering that either boy had ever heard.

Having seen his friend be torn to bits, fortunately Robin instinctively let go of the fluffy tail. Unfortunately, the squirrel did not let go of him and scuttled up his arm. Robin reached and tried to snatch the critter as it made its way towards his unprotected face. Seeing the giant hand come at it, the squirrel took an alternative route and scurried down Robin's back.

Robin threw both hands backwards in an attempt capture the renegade. Still gripping his vest with little sharp toenails, the squirrel raced around to his stomach. Getting rather alarmed, Robin spun around several times in vain attempts to seize the squirrel. The young lad was, by now, really unnerved and had no idea what to do. The squirrel, on the other hand, had more wits at this moment and ran down Robin's pant leg, onto the ground, and into the bushes - yelling an angry tirade along the way.

Robin stood, arms and shoulders sagging, eyes slightly glazed over, and his breathing ragged and short. He shifted his gaze onto Much who, at that moment, was wringing his hands in short quick twists. There was a danger in Robin's eyes as they steadily blinked at the blond lad. Slowly, the frayed boy walked over to Much and, laying a hand upon his shoulder - rather too tightly one might add, said, "Next time, make sure it's dead." Much nodded his head hastily and watched as Robin stiffly walked back into the forest to reclaim his own hunt. Much looked to the heavens, Why me?

After several hours of diligent effort, both boys (Much included) had snagged about a dozen of the pests and had them piled in two sacks. "Master," Much began, falling into step next to Robin. "What are we planning to do with them?" Robin smiled broadly, that alone frightened Much. Swinging his sack to the ground, Robin opened the twine and pulled out a squirrel and held it proudly out in front of him. Much took a step backwards - he didn't do dead things well.

It was Robin's turn to speak and he stated grandly, yet with an aura of sneaky impish intent, "We, Much, are going to quietly place these things in a slew of trees in the woods right by Locksley. Of course we'll have to drag them around the ground to leave a trail."

"A trail?" Much gulped, this sounded bad.

"Right! Then after we set them in the trees, all the men will come out with the hunting dogs, right?"

Much nodded dumbly, his mind frantically trying to figure a way out of this mess.

Robin went on flamboyantly - practically bouncing he was so excited, "Well the dogs will smell these squirrels 'cause it'll be so obvious. Then they'll start howling and baying at the squirrels that are already dead! And we, Much, will be in a nearby tree watching the festivities! It'll be great!"

Much didn't know what could be so festive about watching a bunch of dogs go wild over some dead squirrels. He remained silent and still for several contemplative moments until Robin broke his thoughts with a demanding 'Well?' Much snapped to attention his stomach and head churning, and then fatally blurted out the first words that prompted themselves to his lips, "Yes Master Robin." In horror he clamped both hands over his mouth, what had he said? Still grinning, Robin slung his sack back over his should and began to saunter towards Locksley, whistling a tune as he went. Disconsolate, Much drug his feet after him - wishing that he though more before he spoke.

Much grimaced as he gingerly picked another squirrel out of the satchel, he was on his fourth one and dreading the task of getting on his hands and knees to haul the limp body across the earth. His breeches were dirty from the damp ground and he had pieces of leaves slowly working their way into his shirt sleeves.

Robin didn't seem to be quite as bothered by the undignified rather gruesome act - but of course he had revenge on his mind and therefore a purpose. The brown haired lad was on his seventh one, moving with such speed and diligence that his brow glistened with sweat. Much sat up on his knees and wiped his own forehead with his sleeve and heaved a large sigh. He jumped when he felt something on his shoulder, his thoughts instantly suggesting that another resuscitated squirrel had perched there. He was relieved to find that it was only Robin's grimy hand.

"You're not done yet?" Robin said, exasperated. Much shook his head. Robin continued, "Here, give me that one - I'll finish, and you start with the last one." The squirrel was plucked out of Much's hand and Robin scampered up the nearest tree, delicately placing his squirrel on a limb. Clinging to the branches, Robin smiled at his idea and hence at the squirrel. He looked down and saw Much flinch as he lifted the last remaining squirrel into his hands. Robin's face shone - there was going to be an extravaganza tonight!

Robin had his shirt pulled into his mouth and his hands covering that in order to keep him from laughing. Much sat next to him, a grim look on his face. For Much knew some things that Robin refused to acknowledge at this time: that they would be caught, that they would be punished, that they would be sorry, and that they wouldn't get supper.

Robin kicked his legs as they sat on the tree limb when he saw the lit torches start coming from the direction of Locksley. The men folk ran behind the excited dogs. The hounds, having been properly trained, were waiting till they got the scent of their intended pray before they began to howl - giving away their positions. Robin's anticipation grew - as did Much's dread. The lights grew closer and the dogs bellowed and bayed, Robin could hear his Father's voice call out, "They're onto something!" All the young Earl could do was bite his shirt and try to keep from laughing out loud. The squirrel hunt would be in ruins - all the living critters would take cover and never show their faces.

Much watched the activity with a strange feeling in his stomach - whether it was worry or hunger (he had missed lunch) he didn't know. He did know that this venture would only end badly… He felt his arm being shook as Robin drew his attention to the dogs below - they were gathering around a dozen trees, each with an already deceased squirrel in them.

"I see one!" Lord Malcolm of Locksley called out, the thrill of the rather unusual chase getting the best of him. He had readied his net and was prepared to knock the animal out of it's sanctuary. Malcolm knocked against the branch, causing the tree to shake and toss it's would be occupant to the earth. Robin bit his shirt harder as he watched his Father pounce on the squirrel.

Scooping the reddish woodland animal into the net, Malcolm examined it. He blinked several times before the realization of his discovery finally took hold. Had the fall really killed it? he wondered.

"Master Malcolm!" a voice called to him. The Lord turned and looked to see Thornton, holding his own net with a skeptical look on his face. Lord Locksley ran over and lifted an already dead squirrel out of Thornton's net. When he was called to examine the third 'catch' Malcolm thrust the animal back into the mesh. He bellowed loudly to be heard over the din the hounds were causing, "What's going on!"

That's when it happened. One of the dogs, who had already fetched (or so it thought) a squirrel went over to another tree. It turned it's large expressive brown eyes heavenward and saw something. Two soemthings to be exact. One of them was waving a hand at it, telling it to come or shoo the dog wasn't sure - but he thought that the master ought to be aware of the situation. It let out a long howl.

Robin slapped his hand over his face in disgust while Much bowed his head in shame - caught! It was then that Malcolm looked in the direction that the dog was baying. His steely eyes climbed the large greenwood until they came across something. There, on a limb, was Robin and Much. In an instant something began to rise in Malcolm's stomach. He had no doubt as to who was behind the dead squirrels and he hollered angrily, "Robin!" At this one exclamation, both boys slowly descended their perch and stood before the irate man.

Much considered his circumstances, and the one positive conclusion that he came to was that he had developed a utter hatred for squirrels. Under normal conditions most normal people would have blamed Robin, but Much was a loyal soul and he could not find fault with his Master. Try as he might the culpability rested on the squirrels - whom he now loathed. Much swore silently that one day those little pests would have their comeuppance!

Now, Robin was not beyond realizing that this might have been a bad mistake. Yet when he measured his impulsive plot against the punishment he found that it would be well worth it. And, despite the oncoming confrontation he had a self-satisfied smile on his face, which seemed to completely appall his friend - not to mention his Father.

With a sinking feeling, both lads noticed the multitude of glaring eyes that were pointed in their direction. Every man there was livid - for not only had this particular hunt been wasted but all the advance preparation that had been done. Amidst a wave of grumbles, Malcolm said through gritted teeth, "What, in the name of the King, have you done?" He knew well enough that although he was a lenient Father, his son knew better than to behave in such a way.

Sucking in a breath of air, Robin put on a show of bravado in an attempt to rescue his friend and himself from a switching, "We were just playing a joke."

Clenching and unclenching his fists was the only way Malcolm could keep himself from lashing out at the two lads, who were well old enough to know better, "What are you two turning into? Fools? Making everything out to be a game? Playing till the sun sets at everyone else's expense?"

Though he knew this was one battle that he would not be winning, Robin felt he deserved to get another word in, "We happen to have great faith in fools - don't we Much?" Robin attempted to mimic the hound in making his eyes work wonders on his fuming parent - Much stood there nodding in bewildered agreement.

The Lord of Locksley rubbed his furrowed brow with one hand, "Robin, at this moment I don't consider that faith. That's self-confidence."

A/N Well… DO tell - how was it? I would love to find out and it would really make my day! And yes, the last bit at the end was something similar to what the great poet, Edgar Allan Poe is credited with saying - I couldn't resist. ;)

This story was a little awkward to write, being as how I had a pet flying squirrel for over eight years… Much's little 'chickens' have always bothered me to some degree…

And, I don't know if anyone here likes Star Trek, but I kinda pictured the "Great Tribble Wars" when I wrote this.