"Roan's First Days"

Part 3

 

The weasel lunged, mouth open and teeth bared. Roan struck hard with his twig staff, landing a blow to the beast's face and knocking it off balance. The predator shook its head and backed away, startled that its prey fought back.

 

The young chipmunk worked his way to the center of the clearing, careful to keep his staff aimed at the wicked creature should it lunge again. The weasel snarled and edged forward, giving Roan a wide berth at first. It sniffed the air, eyeing the large chipmunk as it began to circle.

 

Roan gave a sharp warning bark, which made the weasel pause, and the beast sniffed the air once more before making its move. Suddenly, the circular path it had been tracing tightened, and Roan found himself being stalked at much closer quarters than he liked.

 

The creature gnashed its teeth, and Roan whacked its nose with the tip of the staff. The lanky beast shook its head and staggered backwards. Roan lunged and struck again. The weasel growled and snapped at Roan's staff, unable to wrench it away from him. Roan took a half-step forward, and just as the beast opened its maw to snap again, the chipmunk gathered all of his strength and plunged the tip of the twig staff deep into the roof of its mouth.

 

The weasel's eyes grew wide, and the black pupils dilated as the life force drained from them. Roan buried the butt of the staff in the ground, and the weight of the weasel's body drove the staff into the soil just enough that it remained propped up, the weasel hanging in midair like a macabre scarecrow. 

 

Roan stared at the beast's face. In one quick move, he inhaled deeply, then hawked a wad of spit into the weasel's unblinking eyes. The phlegm-laced saliva dripped down the lifeless orbs and mingled with its short fur.

 

Roan wiped his mouth with his paw and turned away.

 

Victory was his.