Chapter 1: A Mole in the Wild Wood

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A/N: Welp, it seems I've begun another fic idea, because I obviously don't have enough WIPs atm, so here's the wild wood mole au that I have been promising/threatening for a while. I'm trying out a more casual narration style, so apologies for any tonal hits-'n'-misses. The fic title comes from me indulging in my love of scientific names, and comes from the Latin for "wild/wood mole".

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There is a phrase along the Riverbank. It goes as such:

'Which was wild first – the wood or the wooders?'

While this is usually asked in a rhetoric capacity, specifically on the nebulous chronology of something, it does not change the matter that it does, in fact, have an answer.

It was the wood.

The Wild Wood was the kind of wood that you could tell remembered being tamed once upon its history and had resented the indignity ever since. It was not the kind of wood that made its way onto postcards with a 'wish you were here' greeting overlaid on it, and one could only imagine that if any such postcard were to be sent that the recipient would take it as a warning and start packing their bags and a change of identity immediately.

It was dark and dim, even in the height of summer. It had a canopy that was knotted so thickly that the only sunlight to struggle through was in the form of fleeting skylights where ancient trees had finally fallen, and any such discrepancy was hastily smothered in the desperate surge of new growth. Darkness pooled in its depths and lurked in the corners. It hoarded shadows like an old man gathered blankets in winter.

Its paths were no better; they were twisting and treacherous creations, vicious in their misleading ways. They overlapped and backtracked. They offered false trails that looked friendly in one light, but abruptly unfamiliar in another, oft only switching after one had traversed too far to retrace their steps. And they never, ever looked the same as they did on a map.

It was, in short, the kind of wood that any individual who had ever laid eyes on a wood before would read as the equivalent of a big flashing sign saying 'visitors NOT welcome'.

All this is a rather roundabout way of expressing just how very much most animals knew to give the Wild Wood a wide berth, and just how surprised the residents were to find a mole wandering into its depths.

None more so than the Chief Weasel, who hadn't kept his place atop the hierarchy through being easily surprised.

"What," he asked, "is that?"

His second-in-command – who, through some unfortunate misunderstandings, had acquired the nickname of 'Lesser' – raised his mug and said, somewhat bemusedly, "Tea, Chief."

"No, idiot. I meant that."

Lesser's gaze followed the Chief's gesture across the expansive, if dingy, room and settled on the small animal also nursing a fresh cup. Lesser turned to the Chief with a face that implied he was beginning to rethink what had evidently felt like a good plan half an hour ago. "I would've thought you'd recognise a mole, Chief."

The Chief pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting briefly. "Of course I know what a– the point is, what is he doing here?"

"Judging our décor by the looks of things," came the candid reply.

"Why did you bring him here?" the Chief clarified through gritted teeth.

"I found 'im wandering through the Wood, all lost-like, and I–"

"And you what?" the Chief echoed in Dangerous Tones. "Decided to invite him back for a spot of light supper? Do you think we're running a helpdesk?" he demanded. "A lost 'n' found for the directionally-challenged? We don't invite animals back to tea – they are tea!"

"Well, sure," Lesser agreed loyally, "only, well…"

"Only what?"

"OnlyImayhavelostmyglasses," Lesser mumbled.

The other second-in-command – a stoat who had held onto the name of Cheryl partially through luck, but also because she threatened violence on any Wild Wooder who offered alternatives – joined the conversation. She could smell trouble a mile off, and doubly so when her peer and rival (although rival for what, nobody could agree on) was on the receiving end of it.

"I keep telling yer that you should keep 'em on a string," she offered.

"I ain't putting 'em on a string."

"You could have a pair of pince-nez," she continued. (She wasn't entirely sure what pince-nez were, but her mental image was of librarians and little old ladies reading murder mysteries and felt sufficiently patronising.) "That way yer won't lose them when you prop 'em on your head."

"That was one time!"

The Chief cut across them before they could really get going. "And what has lost glasses got to do with a mole?"

Lesser managed to squeeze one last glower at Cheryl before refocusing on the Chief. "He helped me find them. It didn't feel right to, you know, scare him off after that. Anyway," he added, trying to turn the situation even vaguely around in his favour, "it isn't all bad. Might not be such a bad idea to have a mole."

"We can't have a mole as a Wild Wooder – else any old animal's gonna want to join. What next – carol singing field mice? Why would we even want a mole in our ranks?"

"I dunno. They're underground animals, right?" Lesser hazarded. "He's probably got good night vision."

Cheryl leant in. "Could be useful. No one ever suspects moles."

"That's true," the Chief said. "Everyone knows moles are above suspicion."

"Or below it," said Cheryl. She motioned vaguely. "You know, on account of their being underground."

The trio watched the mole leap back in shock as he knocked over a mostly-dead plant that no one had remembered to water in the last month. He guiltily glanced around and then gingerly set it back. A few more, almost tangibly rueful seconds passed by, and he scurried off to the kitchens, returning quickly with a jug of water.

"Jumpy little fellow, ain't he?" the Chief remarked. "Still, it ain't just any animal who'll wander into the Wild Wood."

It didn't occur to him that the reason that a mole might enter the Wild Wood might have less to do with bravery and more to do with inexperience. Or, rather, too much experience. For, you see, the Wild Wood was dark and dank and deceptive in its paths, and these were all things that the mole had encountered in abundance underground. So while for a neighbouring Riverbanker, the Wild Wood was best left to its own (presumably nefarious) devices, the mole felt quite at home among the shadows.

None of this occurred to the Chief Weasel however, so he yielded to the begrudging respect for this undergrounder who didn't have the common sense to not walk into the lion's den. "Fine, he can stay – but he's your responsibility," he added to Lesser. "So don't go letting him dig through our walls, or whatever it is that undergrounders do for entertainment."

"Sure thing, boss."

They approached the mole just as he was getting into a rather enthusiastic conversation with a stoat over what sounded like low-light gardening tricks. The stoat saw the oncoming arrival of the Chief and his second-in-commands, and hastily excused himself as he recalled his exact position in the Wild Wood hierarchy.

"We have decided," the Chief announced imperiously, "that you can stay."

The mole looked up with an expression that implied he hadn't realised his ongoing presence had been under debate. "Oh?" This was all quite bewildering for the mole who had, from his perspective, simply helped an animal find their glasses during a spontaneous springtime walk, and was now apparently being enrolled into… well, he wasn't quite sure yet. "How generous," he ventured.

"Yer should count yourself lucky!" Lesser told him. "It ain't just any animal who gets to stay here!"

"Not for longer than lunch, anyway," Cheryl said with a shark-like grin.

The Chief leant in with a too-wide smile. "So you're sticking with us, ay?" Although his words had the ring of a question to them, his expression belied that any offer of hospitality from the Chief Weasel was not an offer wisely refused.

The mole glanced at the sharp-toothed offer and decided that, by this point, if he was in for a penny then he was in for a pound (and, besides, he was as curious as a cat in a dairy as to how this little adventure would pan out) and nodded.

After all, this was a lot more exciting than spring cleaning.