"The White Paddler" Episode 1

Pinehollows, capital of the Mouseward of Willow Pointe

A colder than normal wind blew through Willow Pointe as the sun hid itself behind a large patch of gray clouds. Without the sun on his blond fur, Larson Glimmers shivered slightly and pulled his pale yellow cowl a little higher over his face (pulling it up as a his hood would be much too preliminary since it was just the beginning of Fall) as he hurried to the Great Hall in his hometown of Pinehollows, capital as it were of the Mouseward of Willow Pointe.

Larson kept his head down as he adeptly weaved in and out of other mice carrying on with their daily activities. He just did not have the time to chat with fellow mice who might want him to relay his latest exploits, for the message he received yesterday from Chief Bitterberry was brief and to the point. It stated to be at the Great Hall to meet with him immediately after Rest'send. 

Every day, for the four hours of midday when the sun was at it highest point and gave daytime predators clear vision to spot the mus, all mice went home or found a shaded hiding spot to hide away and rest until it was safer to go about their business again. It was common to setup meetings after Rest'send before any work done during dusk.

Larson knew from previous meetings - which, of course, were no fault of his own - that Chief Bitterberry does not tolerate tardiness. But today, Larson had rested a little long and had to make up time rushing to the Great Hall or he would be late.

A perfect spot in a pine root hollow for a mushome

For the size of community that Willow Pointe was, the Great Hall at Pinehollows was an impressive building. Most homes of Pinehollows - as the name suggests - were in the hollows of the roots of pine trees that were pushed up above ground due to rocky ground. But unlike the other buildings of Pinehollows, the Great Hall was built at the base of a lone, extremely mature oak tree, whose ancient, gnarly bark created architectural details unlike any other structure from here to Dandelion Downs.

A quick glance ahead to locate the Hall told Larson he still had more distance to cross than he preferred, and he had few precious minutes remaining to cross the village square. Another glance straight ahead gave him all he needed to assess the oncoming merchant wagon traffic which filled the needle-covered floor of Pinehollows and the timing he’d need to maintain his pace and with a clear path to the front door. Larson was a quick and nimble mouse and a few bounding steps later he was on the doorstep of the Hall.

“I’m just going to make it,” thought Larson as he reached his paw out to open the ornate wooden-carved handle. Another smaller paw shot out from the left side of Larson’s periphery and grabbed the Hall door handle before he could.

“You’re going to be late.”

Larson shot a glance in the direction of where the other paw came from and then allowed his eyes to travel up to a reddish, almost orange-furred, bespectacled vole standing there.

“I could say the same for you,” Larson replied as Kilbey still held the door handle, a wry smile forming on his face.

Kilbey pushed up his glasses with one finger . “Hey, the message was for you. Bitterberry told you to bring a friend, and you picked me. It's not my errand.”

“Chief Bitterberry,” began Larson, as if to emphasize that the vole should’ve used the title, “will be fine but if you don’t open this door then, yes, Aldous will indeed be peeved. And his message said to bring a friend you can trust. Maybe I should rethink my choice.”

The mouse and vole briefly stared at each other as if to see who would blink first. Then they broke into a hearty laughter.

*****

Three years ago...

“We’ve never been out this far before,” shouted Larson, trying to avoid the snap back of grasses as Kilbey moved through them ahead of him and surprised at how fast those little vole legs moved his friend ahead of him.

“You've never been out this far. And, where's your sense of adventure?” Kilbey responded, only half turning his head around to keep one eye focused forward. They had been out halfheartedly crayfish hunting, one of their favorite pastimes, along one of the smaller creeks that met with the Willoway River. A they got closer to the river, Kilbey had heard something up ahead near the riverbank that sounded like an animal in distress, a high-pitched honk, and urged Larson along to help.

“What if it’s not hurt? What if it’s tricking us to make us come closer and you’re running headlong into a trap,” Larson was quickly losing sight of Kilbey though as a mouse and a year older he was taller and faster.

“Hurry I see it,” Kilbey replied back. “It’s…it’s a…a gosling!”

Kilbey stopped to catch his breath and wait for Larson to catch up. “Hmmm, a gosling,” he thought. He adjusted his glasses that had been knocked askew from the grasses whipping him in the face. “Usually the mother goose should be around if its gosling is in trouble.” Kilbey’s mind was racing faster than his legs could’ve ever taken him.

Larson, a few steps behind, replied between breaths. “Is the mother nearby?”

“I don’t see it anywhere. Will you get over here?” Kilbey called back, his voice now quivering from concern rather than exhaustion.

Larson caught up and could tell Kilbey was clearly worried. He could virtually see the thoughts running through his head. Kilbey was indeed running through somewhat of mental checklist. “So, a stuck gosling, no mother in sight…” As he put the pieces together, Larson brushed past him to make his way closer. Too close.

“…and a shouting mouse and vole. Larson! Get out of there,” screamed Kilbey.

“Hurry! Its leg is wedged between two rocks. I’ve almost got it out, no thanks to you!” Larson replied, unmoved by Kilbey's plea.

Kilbey reached a speed he had no idea he was able to attain. In one swift movement, he burst out of the field like a pole-vaulter and launched his walking stick directly at Larson and the gosling.

Snapdragon lunges at the gosling and Larson

In that instant, the river surface exploded and the horned and scaled head of a snapping turtle shot out of the water straight for the gosling’s head. But when it tried to bite down its large, powerful maw was filled with the stick Kilbey had thrown. As Kilbey hoped, the stick wedged in the turtle's mouth and lodged it open. The turtle thrashed about trying to free the stick.

In the commotion, Larson fell backwards with a large splash into the shallows of the rocky riverbank. Whether Larson got the gosling free, or the fear of being eaten roused him to free himself, the gosling's foot popped free. Flapping wildly to try to escape, the gosling pushed Larson down into the water as it used him to push off and half fly, half leap its way to safety on the shore.

The now murky water filled with silt and stirred up algae washed down Larson’s face as he raised himself up. He couldn't see where to step to get up the slippery, rocky river bank and he heard the thrashing of the snapper behind him. It wouldn't take long for the strong jaws of the turtle to snap the stick and be on them again.

Larson felt a hand grab his. “Come on, before old ‘snapdragon’ comes back. He won’t be happy. He usually doesn't miss with such an easy target as a stuck mouse... I mean gosling.”

Larson tugged on Kilbey’s smaller paw and finished pulling himself out of the riverbank water, nary a word uttered. The two climbed back up on shore and shook their fur out, then lay down in a spot of sun to dry out.

Finally, Larson broke the uncomfortable silence, “I had everything under control.”

A wry smile formed on the vole’s still-bespectacled face, “Of course you did.”

The two laughed and began heading back to Willow Pointe as it would be dinnertime by their return. They decided to keep this particular adventure to themselves.