Disclaimer:I do not own anything related to 'Ice Age' other than my OCs.
Note: FABCHICKXO, I hope you don't mind if I borrow your title for my chapter. If you do mind, I'll change it ;)
Sorry folks, but this was just an idea I came up with. It'll appear in future chapters too, but what I'm apologizing for is the shortness of this chapter. None of you might get it yet, but in the end you will, so no worries.
Campfire Stories, Chapter Ten
A great number of animals huddled around the campfire; armadillos, turtles, even birds such as condors on the trees. The ones that stood out the most was the female mammoth in the back of the group, two petite possums, and a saber cub that sat in front of the campfire. They all surrounded a story teller, an old weasel, a very old weasel. He sat on the surface of a flat rock; the campfire creating a silhouette of his shadow on the wall of rock behind him.
He shakily drank water from a small bowl with one hand, as he kept his cane made of branch on his lap to keep from falling. He set the bowl down, and wiped his mouth dry, and continued with the story...
"The end."
Or, that's what everyone thought.
Awes, and sounds of disappointed animals echoed throughout the campfire. The weasel chuckled raspily, adjusting his old dried up leaf eye patch before taking his cane and raising it, gesturing for the animals to sit back down.
"Alright, alright..." he said, softly, but loud enough for the animals to hear, "I will continue the story, in one condition." He raised up a shaky index finger.
"What is it, grandpa?" the saber cub tilted his head in curiosity.
"Riddle me this," he brought his hands down, "where... does courage come from?"
The children raised their paws and wings, hopping up and down and stretching their limbs farther so they'd be pick. The weasel didn't pick any children. Instead, he pointed a shaking finger at the female mammoth in the very back, and then let his hand drop slowly to his lap again.
"What do you think, lass?" the weasel questioned her calmly, "Where does courage come from?"
She didn't hesitate, and answered kindly, "From the heart."
One of the opossums scratched their head, "I always thought it came from your fist when you're about to punch someone."
The saber cub rolled his green oculars, and everyone else turned back to the storyteller.
The weasel chuckled, "Yes, it came, from the heart..."
"Why?" asked the same possum. The other possum just slapped his forehead in embarrassment.
The weasel sighed heavily; those two possums were as annoying as their parents were. But fun, nonetheless. A great sense of humor as replied, "If you'd let me continue, lad, I will tell you."
Everyone grew silent, for the weasel to continue.