Shame
Reepicheep's training throughout the next two years was long and tedious. "Difficult" is not the right word to describe it, for Reepicheep excelled at almost every challenge. He practiced dueling, balance, swimming, climbing, and participated in many battles of wit. When his head was cool, Reepicheep was excellent at solving problems and winning others to his side, but sometimes his good sense was blocked by a vehement desire for adventure and peril. He was known to behave quite impetuously. One such occasion, Greenthreep confronted his son.
"I am quite sure," said Reepicheep stiffly, "that whatever rumor has reached your ears, it is grossly exaggerated."
"Oh, is that so?" Father said with a soft chuckle. "I suppose it's an exaggeration that you disturbed the entire class and forced other Mice to pick sides in a duel that wasn't even supposed to happen. Care to explain?"
"Yes sir, and with pleasure. Some members of the class were under the false belief that their tails could not be utilized in such a way as to draw their swords from their belts. I disagreed most strongly and decided that this class needed revolution! How am I ever to defeat Lord Gezparrow without practical methods of incorporating all extremities—including tail—into battle? Thus I set up sides—the revolutionaries and those opposed. We dueled! Revolution!"
"Whoa, slow down!" said father, throwing his paws up. "Firstly, you are going off the deep end with this heroic revolutionary verbalization. Secondly, who in the world is Lord Gezparrow?"
Reepicheep looked surprised and disconcerted, "Gezparrow is a villain in my…imagination," the Mouse muttered. "I suppose I allowed my daydreaming to affect my performance today. I apologize."
Father smiled fondly. "It is fortunate, Reepicheep, that we Mice do not judge one another by performance. Such love and grace may not always come to you in the outside world."
Just then the Chief called them both from outside. The teenage Mouse and his father emerged from the Burrow. It was a cool, cloudy day and little breezes were playfully whispering in the treetops. The melodic dong of the birds had ceased since that morning, when the threat of rain had not been so ominous.
In the Glade, Reepicheep was surprised to see Sarclaw the Wolf next to the Mouse Chief. The sandy-colored canine was panting as he had run a long way, and his mysterious golden eyes seemed to be scanning everything at once.
"Our friend Sarclaw says that there is a warrior meeting tonight at the Dancing Lawn," said Rhevercheek. "I know Greenathreep is reluctant to let his son come, but what better experience for Reepicheep is there? Of course, we need the father's consent."
Reepicheep looked at his father with a plea in his eyes. Nothing sounded more appealing to him than a gathering of real warrior talking about real battles.
Greenatreep sighed, softly nodded, and said, "You may go. Pray, though—do nothing rash."
"Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Reepicheep's rodent face was beaming with a smile.
That night, Reepicheep and Rhevercheek walked foot beside the reserved Sarclaw. The Wolf continually offered to let the Mice ride on his back, but Rhevercheek refused. When Reepicheep asked why, the Chief answered in a whisper, "Sarclaw is an outsider. We must always strive to prove ourselves to outsiders, lest they misunderstand us."
Reepicheep did not wholly understand this, but he forgot about it when he saw the Dancing awn. It was a beautiful little field surrounded by rocks and trees. There was an ancient-looking Well and a place to build a bonfire in the center of the Lawn. Gathered here were three Mice representing other tribes, a Dwarf, and four Wolves. Reepicheep, Sarclaw, and Rhevercheek took a seat among the half-circle of creatures, twelve in all. After a solemn drink of water from the Well, they began the meeting.
"All Narnians in this sector of the Shuddering Woods who wish to fight the Telmarines have been summoned here tonight." So began Sarclaw, who was Alpha Wolf of the pack. "There are four small bands of freedom fighters in the vast Shuddering Woods, and several more up north and to the east. This unit has been meeting every few months for the past ten years, and it seems that every year, more warriors desert us. In our circle I see not a single fawn, Centaur, nor Minotaur. Those loyal to the cause are deeply appreciated." The Wolf's gaze turned to Reepicheep. "I would like you all to introduce yourselves to the Warrior Rhevercheek's star pupil, Reepicheep."
The wolves obeyed immediately, telling Reepicheep their names and skills; then the Mice introduced themselves as the last survivors of three desecrated tribes. The Dwarf was black-bearded and taller than average, and he called himself Thumtikk. He also announced his desire to help come up with a detailed battle strategy.
Sarclaw shot a cold glance at the Dwarf. "We shall see about that." This somewhat discourteous remark was followed by a cold silence. Reepicheep wondered why Thumtikk was being treated so poorly. He suddenly felt very insignificant, a mere newbie not taken seriously by all these diplomatic, superior warriors.
The last warrior to introduce himself was Anglefur the Satyr. His voice was both rich and hoarse at the same time, and made one think of the color burgundy. "The fawns may think it is best to wait and listen—but I say fight! The Telmarines slew my love, Fairor the Dryad. Not in vain will she have fallen!" He beat his hoof on the ground in an impassioned rage. Satyrs were well known for being lascivious lovers, even with creatures not of their own kind.
When he heard Anglefur's story of loss, Reepicheep suddenly felt sympathy. "I suppose you have all suffered as deeply as I have suffered," he said aloud. "I understand how you feel when you lose someone—at times one must lay aside all cares to have a moment of grief and tears."
Rhevercheek nudged his pupil. "Try not to seem so feeble!"
Anglefur spoke up to Sarclaw on the matter of strategy. "We do not need fancy plans; we only need to kill as many Telmarines as possible!"
"Pardon me," Reepicheep interrupted rather sharply; "the point is not to cause more death. It is true that violence is necessary, but our goal should not be revenge."
The Satyr's large goat eyes came alight with wrath. "What would a little pipsqueak know about our goals?" he snapped. "If you are under the impression that my love's death is meaningless—" he indicated his short sword.
"Enough, Anglefur," Sarclaw interceded. "Now before we can begin talking about plans, we need to hear the reports about the Humans."
"Blast the report!" Anglefur scoffed. "Let's set their towns on fire!"
"Although I am in favor of immediate action," said Reepicheep, ignoring the whispered warnings of his elder, "I do not think arson is the best option. I was always taught to be extremely cautious of fire. Perhaps if we were to use a quieter attack, but one just as lethal—such attacking them in their very barns and beds, for instance!"
The Dwarf Thumtikk raised a bushy eyebrow. "We would have to be careful of mousetraps if we went into the barn."
Not picking up on the sarcasm, Reepicheep said, "Well, yes, that is most considerate of you. Traps can be quite dangerous—"
An outburst of laughter from the Wolves and the Satyr followed this remark. "Don't be scared, little Mousey; we'll protect you from the Telmarines and their Tomcats," Anglefur laughed. "Are you sure fire isn't a good plan?—we could toast some cheese," one Wolf teased. Sarclaw smiled at the Mice and said, "You should bring along this little jester more often!"
His whiskers stiffening and his face burning with embarrassment, Reepicheep felt utterly humiliated. He was furious at the same time. "I am not a jester!" the young Mouse squeaked ferociously. "I am a warrior!"
The group laughed even more. "At least you'll be able to scare the housewives," they joked.
Rhevercheek grabbed Reepicheep's arm and pulled him out of the circle of warriors. "Please excuse us," the chief said to Sarclaw. At a brisk pace, he led Reepicheep out of earshot of the others. "What are you thinking, Reep? You caused all the Mice sore embarrassment!"
"Let go of me," Reepicheep snapped, pulling his arm away. "It's your fault for bringing me to this wretched meeting, where every word out of my mouth is ridiculed!" He thrashed the grass with his paws, furious. Still, he tried to calm down by listening to the sound of the crickets chirping.
"…I'm sorry Reepicheep," said the Chief at length. "I never should have brought you here without first explaining thoroughly. It has taken the Mice many years to earn respect as warriors, and if we do not go to great lengths to prove this we will be considered useless. In this world, people judge by the physical, not by the heart."
Reepicheep smoothed out his whiskers, still irritated. "Is there anything else I need to know?"
"You need to know our causes. Mice fight for freedom—and a fair chance. That Satyr is driven only by revenge, so it's best not to raise the question of his deceased beloved. For the most part, the Wolves want a clean start for their families, but they also happen to be deadly warriors."
"What about Thumtikk the Dwarf?"
Rhevercheek was looking over his pupil's shoulder at the council. "They have a prejudice against Dwarves, but we can talk about that later. We must return to the meeting."
The Mice hurried back to the other warriors. Once again in the presence of so many critical watchers, Reepicheep cringed on the inside. On the outside, he could feel his body become more rigid, and the pale-colored tufts of fur above his eyes sank into a grim position. He felt all wrong, hurt and angry at the same time, as if there was a wild hurricane going on in his heart.
Sitting on his strong haunches, Sarclaw said, "We just finished sharing our reports about the Telmarines. We'll brief you two on the subject quickly. Thanks to a few squirrels, namely Pattertwig, we have gathered a lot of information. The Telmarines have a vast population, about half of which is spread out in little towns from the southern border to here to Ettinsmoor. However, there are three places of concentrated populace in Narnia; it is here we find the second half of the inhabitants, including the here the armies and government. These three cities are the Ettinsmoor conurbation, the Town of Beruna, and the very castle of the King.
"And you feel that we must strike one of these municipalities?" asked Rhevercheek.
Sarclaw shook his shaggy head. "That would be brave, but foolish. What we have learned about these cities is that they hinder our freedom fighting more than a dozen smaller towns. So there is only one thing to do right now: we must make sure the Telmarines do not make more of these great castle cities. With their futuristic ways of constriction, they can put up three more cities in a decade."
"Then our mission is clear," said the Dwarf decidedly. "We must start making plans at once."
Reepicheep's attention strayed from the meeting. All he could think about was the laughter of these warriors and they way they had insulted and judged him. The great hopes he had of becoming a hero were starting to look dim. Rain began to fall on the Lawn, and the meeting slowly broke up. As Reepicheep and the Chief walked home, the latter was pleased, and the former sorrowful.
I can't believe it, Reepicheep thought. This is really what the outside world is like.