i n s t i n c t -------------------------------------------------------------------------- April 19th, after sunhigh, near Mushroom Farm “Remind me again why we’re headed towards the carnivorous stoats and weasels?” I sigh. The blue jay, Loyd, has not stopped pestering me even though we’re almost already there. “Look,” I say, turning to face him, “I’m not going to pretend I know how it is with birds, but some of my siblings and some moles are there - and no birds were supposed to be there until the Harvest started. Which means they have no idea about the stoats and weasels. Someone’s gotta warn them.” “But why am I here?” asks Loyd, who, to be fair, has been flying behind me for a good half-mile or so. “Because I need you for something. Actually, can you fly in through the avian entrance to the Main Burrow and grab that birch-bark sheath on the hearth?” “I stayed for this?” Loyd mutters in disbelief. “No,” I say, “You stayed because I actually have a plan for once. And I need a bird and you came when I blew the grass stalk.” “A plan… for once? Oh great. That’s reassuring.” He rubs his beak under his wing, something birds do when they’re frustrated. I only know this because he’s doing it right now. Nevertheless, he flies off towards the Main Burrow, still dutifully echoing the alarm for any stragglers to hear. I take this time to myself to try to think of an actual plan. Don’t get me wrong; I had one. But it’s always best to have a Plan B, especially when dealing with weasels. They’re like cute skinny foxes with needle-sharp teeth that you don’t see - unless they want you to. Like I said. You can’t just waltz in there with some bravado and wits and hope to scare them off… even if that’s what my original plan was. And it still is. Besides, what Loyd’s bringing back will help my case. It’s a shard of moose horn that I tied very securely to a good-sized stick. I’ve been using it as a dagger, and nobody knows the difference. Even if they do, I can always tell them I took it from the moose myself. It’s not my fault if they take it to mean I killed the moose. “Here,” says Loyd, and said moose-horn dagger clatters to the dirt. “Now would you mind explaining what you’re planning?” “Simple. You go and announce me like I’m this big-shot warrior, I walk in and they go ‘Wait she’s a bunny’, you get Collin, Bailey and the rest away, and I jump over their heads and into the harvest cellar. Which I happen to know to be a pantry and tunnel to the Main Burow’s pantry. You fly in their faces and be all ‘Beware, vermin!’ And then we live happily ever after.” Loyd scuffs the drawings in the dirt I’m using to further illustrate my plan. “That’s a horrible plan, but it might work. And that’s enough for me.” He flies off yet again, but this time in the direction of the vermin, yelling, “Run whilst you still have two feet to stand on! I warn you now, leave before she comes!” I smother a laugh and walk towards the bushes, where I can leap impressively from once the time is right. (I wrote this next part after it all went down, as I couldn’t bluff to be a warrior and write in this confounded notebook at the same time) “She’s laid low the moose of moosiness! Radishes all over Brockmoor tremble in fear at the mention of her name!” One of the stoats, a lean one with a small head and thus small brains, grunts, “Wot’s a radish?” “Oh,” says Loyd, sweeping his wings dramatically, “Only one of the biggest predators to ever walk the earth! You’re lucky you haven’t met one yet, stoat. And the moose of moosiness! She laid him low too, no doubt about that!” “That sounds like just a moose ter me,” protests the stoat. “Shows how little you know,” says his fellow stoat. “I think I’ve heard of that un. He was a beeg moose, with antlers bigger than yer face!” The other stoat feels his face. “But ain’t a moose’s antlers already bigger than me face?” Now’s my chance. I make a big show of striding in, dagger out and chin high. I hold up the dagger. “Oh really? Well then tell me why this bit of his antler is bigger than your face.” “Ye just proved me point though,” says the now thoroughly confused stoat. “Are you Artemis the Fierce, Scourge of Brockmoor?” asks a weasel, gnashing his teeth with every word. I glare at Loyd and try to nod haughtily. The weasel bursts out laughing. “Lookit here, fellas, an’ tremble before the mighty rabbit! Ooh, I’m a-shivering in me boots, yes siree!” I back away and jump, landing on the unfortunate stoat who didn’t get the point of my dagger, pun intended, and slash the hilt of my dagger at his friend. The weasel laughs. “My companions might be felled easy-like, but I’m not gonna lose to a rabbit!” He lunges, claws out and teeth sparkling, dangerously blinding in the dappled sunlight of the farm. I twist out of the way a second too late, and I feel needle-sharp claws rake my hide, and I twist mid-twist, kicking the weasel’s paw away.
(cont from above) I have a split second to grip my dagger tighter and wonder how in the name of Brockmoor I’ll get out of this without drawing blood, and without breaking the food chain, and then it’s my turn to lunge. The weasel’s eyes widen; he wasn’t expecting me to full-on attack him. I bet he thought I would back away like a good little rabbit because I’m too scared of breaking the food chain. Let him think what he wants, I’m not full-on attacking him. I run straight for him, yes, with a dagger in my paw, but I’ve been jumping and leaping all my life. It’s kind of what rabbits do. So it’s really easy to twist and whack my moose-horn dagger at his teeth, but I’m still not expecting the small fang to fall out. Or the drop of blood to fall, though I barely register it. The weasel grins despite the circumstances. “So you’ve got some fight in you. So what. You’re still a scared li’l rabbit. Besides, you don’t have the guts to do anything to me. Don’t think I didn’t see you twist and avoid hitting my face. Heh, but you drew blood. I bet you’re too scared to eat meat, though.” I don’t know where he’s going with this, but I don’t exactly hear anything past ‘You’re still a scared li’l rabbit.’ If that’s how every predator thinks of us, I’ll show them something they’ve never seen before. I grit my teeth, the insult still ringing in my ears. “I’ll do it,” I say, not even remembering what exactly I’m going to do. His grin turns wild as he pulls out a hunk of meat, seasoned with rosemary and mint. I’m training to be an Herbalist. I know my herbs. It’s, like, mandatory. Oh, wait. He wants me to eat that? That’s what I agreed to? Just no. I won’t, I can’t, I- ‘Scared li’l rabbit’ I grit my teeth again - at this rate, they’ll be little stubs if they aren’t already - and grab the meat before I can debate it anymore. I stare at it for a second, hating myself for doubting what I’m about to do. The weasel laughs. “You’re all talk, rabbit. No substance. Ha, I bet that-” I don’t hear what he bets, because I’m trying to swallow the bite of meat. It’s all fleshy and warm and it actually doesn’t taste half bad. Now I want more, but I’m savouring both the taste and the look on the weasel’s face. “Here that? This rabbit drew blood and ate meat, and we’ve got witnesses to prove it!” I glare at the weasel, and then it occurs to me that he’s speaking to someone. I turn around slowly. Collin, Bailey, and the rest of the molecrew are staring at me. I feel my spirits sinking with each face I see. Fear. Anger. Worry. Sympathy? I can’t tell, but it’s all there. Loyd hasn’t flown away. Instead, he’s sitting on a tree branch and positively glaring at the squirrel who’s starting up a chant. I twitch my ears. “She broke the food chain! She broke the food chain! Hee hee hee! She broke the food chain!” The other squirrels take up the chant, and it echoes around the Farm. “I did it to save their lives!” I argue, pointing at Bailey and his crew. “My work here is done. Been a pleasure sparring with you, rabbit.” The weasel strolls away, whistling and laughing. I have half a mind to chase him, but a wizened old rabbit walks into the Mushroom Farm, looking over the sea of faces. His eyes land on me. “Artemis Jacques, yes?” I can only nod. It’s Old Pa Marigold. His family helped build the Main Burrow. It’s rare to see him at all, never mind out here. He fixes us with a cool stare and says, “The Glade. Come.” The rest of us only stare after him. He turns and glares at us. “All of you. Come on now, I’m not getting any more enthusiastic about being here.” I don’t understand. The Glade is where we go only when something big is about to happen. I fall back and wait for Loyd. “What’s going on?” I ask, even though I have the inkling of an idea as to what might be happening. “Well,” he says, gliding overtop of me, “I know you did it to protect them and stall for time, but you did break the food chain. I couldn’t care less, but they’re so worked up over it that they’re holding a trial for you.” “They what?!” I yelp, because that almost never happens, and when it does, it’s for something really serious. But I guess breaking the code we live by, the one set of rules we follow, well, I guess that might count as serious. I pick up the tooth and shove it in the bag I keep the notebook in. A memory of this day, even if I don't know how it'll end. I take a deep breath, hold my head high because if I don’t, Diane will be all smug at me, and I walk into the Glade. (end of entry) -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Words: 1794 Time: 40-ish minutes -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Entries: First: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/538635109/ Next: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/544407331/ -------------------------------------------------------------------------- just look at the huge shadow Artemis is casting in the thumb- i literally foreshadowed