"Roan's First Days"

Part 1

 

The young chipmunk turned to look upon his mother for the last time.  She stood tall and brave at the base of the oak tree where they had made their home, her sharp eyes locked solely upon him.  Roan stared back her, taking in his mother's countenance.  Only her chin quivered.  He was the last of her little ones to leave.

 

Roan at last looked away and hurried up the path that led to a little grove of persimmon trees.  The young chipmunk had grown fat over the summer, nearly twice the size of some of his siblings.  His white stripes flashed along the length of his muscular back as he ran, hinting at the massive specimen he would one day become.

 

He skidded to a halt at the edge of the grove.  Squishy, orange, sickly-sweet persimmon fruits lay scattered here and there among the autumn leaves.  Roan cautiously stepped into the small, natural clearing in the center of the grove and sniffed the air.  There was a subtle scent beneath the smell of damp leaves and rotting fruit, something musky and unknown to him.

 

His eyes darted to a sturdy twig.  The chipmunk pricked his ears and listened for danger, but the little grove was quiet.  He inched forward cautiously and bent low to retrieve the twig, grasping it tightly with both paws.

 

The strange odor grew stronger as it filtered into the grove from the north.  Roan squinted, bracing himself for whatever might come his way.  At the far end of the clearing, a small pattering ruffled the leaves, paused, then stirred them again.  The chipmunk focused all of his senses on the base of a large persimmon tree.  Within moments, a lithe, serpentine creature slithered into view.

 

Roan's heart pounded. 

 

It was a weasel.  And it carried the corpse of a gray mouse in its jaws.