A bird screeched and his eyes opened. His heart raced at the unexpected noise that disturbed his slumber. His eyes tried penetrating the perpetual darkness without success. No other sound came to his questing ears. He laid his head down and closed his eyes.
Twigs snapped and a beast grunted. He raised his head from the moldy debris he used as his bed. His ears listened to the unknown intruder while it moved outside his hiding place. He held his breath for a moment, wondering if the beast knew where he slept. He focused on the grayish curtain that waived outside, its color reminding him of his mother's fur. He burrowed deeper within the debris until only his ears remained exposed. After a short pause, he fell asleep.
Some songbird greeted the dawn, and another replied. Their musical notes awakened him. He raised his head and examined his wooden den. As he stood, he rested his back against the wall. The morning had changed the gray curtain he saw last night into a nearby tree bedecked in its autumn coat of gold. Sunlight now crossed the threshold, illuminating his sleeping chamber. Nothing else hid within the place.
Brushing whatever leafy loam clung to his fur, he approached the opening. He leaned outside the bore and gazed upward. A clear sky promised a sunny day. He did not have to stoop when he stood before the opening since it was higher than he was tall. Fear had him step back. He hesitated, and then he moved to the very edge of the bore.
His eyes scanned the surrounding forest while his fingers groomed his facial fur. He removed whatever debris clung to his garment. When he had cleaned himself as much as he could, he searched the surrounding forest. His ears detected no sound other than the birds that woke him. A quick sniff revealed nothing.
"I'm still here, Mother," he shouted.
No sooner had he uttered those words than he reached up and grabbed his muzzle. His eyes darted from side to side while his ears twitched. He received no response.
"She's not coming, not after what happened yesterday," he said.
He backed out of the tree bore, his clawed feet seeking purchase in the rough bark. He started his descent. Whenever his one foot moved, another half dozen links to a chain slid out of the hole. Halfway down, the chain accelerated until the last link tumbled out of his sleeping chamber. He found himself yanked off the tree by its weight.
After his undignified tumble, he brought the great bush that was his tail to the front and picked out whatever dirt had gotten on it. For the first time, he gave vent to his frustrations, "Stupid chain." He gave the piled links a mighty kick, which only resulted in him stubbing his toe. He hopped about on one foot while repeating his two-word mantra.
He gazed up at the hole where his mother hid him, knowing he could never get back. Not with this chain attached to his leg. Once again, his paws felt along the smooth metal cuff and the first few links. Like mother, he could find no means of removing the hobble. He dragged his foot forward until he stood next to a narrow dirt trail.
"Mother said when dawn's light reaches within the tree, return to this path. Face the sun and turn to the side with the chain. Follow the trail until the dirt path becomes one of stone and go wherever it leads." He paused. "Must do what mother said or she will beat me with a stick."
Again, he spoke mother's final words. He wanted the sound of his voice to act as a siren's call and was willing to suffer her anger. He repeated her command one more time in his loudest voice. The quiet forest only confirmed his greatest fear. He lingered by the path as he inspected his surroundings. He trudged down the dirt trail with a leaden heart.
He wanted to move faster, but the chain hampered him. Mother measured it back on the ship. It stretched three times his height in length and weighed half as much as he did. Try as he might, he could not ignore it. Dragging the chain didn't work. He had not gotten beyond sight of the tree where he slept before he stopped. He gathered the heavy chain in his arms, but after two or three wobbling steps, dropped it.
"Why did Master have to put this thing on me?" he whined.
In his frustration, it took time to figure out a workable solution. He draped the chain over his shoulder. With some of the chain on him and the rest stretched out behind, he could travel at a very slow pace. For the remainder of the day, he pushed onward.
Trees laden with fruit taunted him as the chain prevented his paw from reaching even the lowest branch. When he approached such trees, he searched the ground for whatever appeared fresh. He tried dining on berries, but they tasted far too bitter. He tried swallowing the tart berries whole, and his stomach rebelled. In one mighty heave, he retched much of what he had eaten that day.
Darkness obscured the path and he reclined on a patch of dry grass. Every unfamiliar sound made his heart beat a little faster as his imagination conjured frightening images. He tried keeping awake, but after such a long hike and with an empty stomach, blessed sleep soon claimed him.
The sun rose and he stretched. Progress remained slow and he tired easily. Now the pain in his head matched the one in his belly. He plucked a few berries, which he discarded when he tasted them. With grim determination, he shouldered his chain and continued following the dirt trail.
"Mother said this dirt path would turn into stone. Mother is always right. Must do what mother said or she will beat me with a stick."
Just saying those words aloud made him think. He knew mother loved him. So why did she threaten him with a stick? He tried to do whatever she said.
"I wish I had something to drink."
The path he followed made a sharp bend, which obscured the trail until he made the turn. When he did, he laughed. A wide stream flowed across his course. Like an oasis in a desert, the water called to him.
With great joy, he flopped into the water face first. His laughter echoed through the forest as he raised his muddy muzzle from the cold wetness. That laughter turned into howls of pain as something within the water bit his arm. He scrambled from the stream, confusion clouding his expression. His eyes searched for the cause of his injury.
In the water, several large fish swam. As they passed near the shore, he saw the teeth. At least he learned these fish attacked any creature foolish enough to enter their watery domain. They reminded him of something from the ocean voyage he and his mother took.
"These waters have sharks. That one sea rat said they would attack any creature that fell in the sea and they did." He took two paces backward, putting some distance between him and the stream. "I saw what you did to that ferret when he fell into the sea. Almost got me too, but I got back to the land. Sharks are only in water."
So close and for all intents, the water remained as distant as the moon. With the fish patrolling near the shore, he couldn't drink. He sat for several moments pondering what he should do. While he sat, a breeze ruffled the plants along the shore.
It took him several moments to realize that his thrashing in the water snapped many of the reeds lining the shore. The broken stems waved with the others. For several long moments, he just stared at the vista before him. Something about the reeds bothered him. He plucked one.
Upon examination, he saw the reed as hollow. He rolled the reed in his paw, his fevered mind trying to remember why that would be important. Then he gave a giddy laugh as he approached the stream. The sharks still patrolled the shore, waiting for him to reenter their realm.
He placed the end of the reed into the water; the squirrel sucked. Coldness filled his mouth and he swallowed. The sharks continued to swim about the reed while he drank his fill, unable to harm him. Such ingenuity made him laugh. That sound rebounded through the forest, which startled several birds. Once he stopped laughing, the birds resumed their serenade.
That momentary distraction ended when he realized this path crossed the stream. If he stepped into that water, the sharks would attack. The memory of the shark attack had him check his arm. He saw the bloody patch of skin and considered himself lucky. He flexed his arm, pleased that no blood flowed from the wound.
Whenever he had such a hard problem, mother always solved it. This time, he had to find some way across the stream without her help. A heavy chain would keep his head below water. Shallow water and a rocky bottom might snare his chain, which would expose him to attacks from the sharks. He recalled the pain from just one bite and shuddered thinking what a school of such predatory fish could do. Even without the sharks, he could not last too long without food if the chain wedged itself between the rocks and he couldn't free it.
His mother's words came back to him. "If you must choose a different direction, always turn towards your chain."
He turned. He pushed through the foliage, his progress slowed as he fought to keep his chain free of the undergrowth. His course followed the water against its current, which allowed him a constant view of the stream. It remained too wide to cross. He pressed onward in spite of the fever that still muddled his thoughts.
Up ahead, a rotting log spanned the stream. Perhaps the tree's collapse happened during a harsh thunderstorm. Maybe the weight of a mighty snowstorm toppled it. Then again, age could have done it. It didn't matter. The tree had collapsed. Instead of its lofty boughs scrapping the clouds from the sky, it now provided a means of crossing the shark infested waters. He rushed as fast as the chain would allow to the natural bridge.
Even resting on its side, the trunk towered over him. At the back, he did find an easier way onto the natural bridge. After several aborted tries, he managed the climb. He sat atop the log, panting from the effort of dragging the chain. A quick dash and the stream would be behind him.
Still, he hesitated. Fear kept him there. If the long chain fell into the water, he would drown. He gathered the chain into his arms. Even standing still, the weight made him wobble. An unsteady step forward and the chain played out of his paws. Its weight yanked him off the tree. He didn't even have time to squeal. He spat out the sandy grit that coated his muzzle.
Once again, he climbed onto the tree bridge. He gathered both his courage and the chain. Inch by inch, he crawled across the bridge. When he got as far as he dared from the piled links, he would pull them closer to him. The onset of darkness did not deter him.
With his back to the opposing shore, he had no idea how far he moved. He would shift backwards as far as he dared and then draw the chain closer to him. Several times the links started to fall off one side, which had him lunging for the chain. Little by little, he retrieved it until it sat in a stable pile before him. He continued his shuffle atop the tree bridge.
The chain slipped over the side. Just as his mind realized this, the weight of the chain pulled him off his perch. He fell hard on his chest, the wind driven from his lungs. He rose to a four-paw stance, his chest hurting. His eyes followed the path of his undignified descent and then the wooden bridge. He had crossed the stream. Too exhausted to celebrate his victory, he curled up next to the tree where he slipped into a deep sleep.
When morning came, he still felt ill. With the stream and its sharks behind him, he searched the area for food. Though he found none, he did locate another dirt path going in the same direction as he traveled before he encountered the stream.
Good fortune smiled on him as the path soon widened. Now the trailing end of his chain no longer snagged on every branch or irregularity in the terrain. He shouldered the chain and leaned forward. When the dirt changed to grass, he stepped out at a much faster pace. Hungry and feeling lightheaded, he continued following the trail as he searched for the stony path mother described.