"Roan's First Days"

Part 4

 

 

Roan trudged out of the persimmon grove. It would never make a suitable home for him, for it reeked now of death. He had killed an enemy here. The weasel's corpse stood propped up on its death spear, staring after him with glazed, unseeing eyes as the chipmunk walked away without a backwards glance.

 

The little grove gave way to a small wood of young, gangly trees. They offered little cover from the coming winter, so Roan ignored this place and made for the sound of water.

 

The trees grew larger here, and clumps of grass sprouted up among their roots. Roan had nearly reached the edge of the wood, for he could see a vast field of gently waving dried grasses just beyond the trees. The sound of water was loud. To his right, the ground sloped sharply downward, and he followed an old rabbit trail down to a narrow gravel bar.

 

A little stream babbled happily in front of him, having carved its way through the gray limestone eons ago. The water was clear and free from silt. Roan scanned the bank. A small outcropping of stone jutted out on the other side. Above that stood a rather large sycamore tree, one gnarled root crawling over the edge of the rock shelf and reaching the water. Roan could see the entrance to a burrow at its base.

 

The chipmunk glanced upstream and spied a fallen branch that spanned the quiet brook, joining one side to the other. He bolted for the makeshift bridge and hurried across, finding himself at the mouth of the burrow within moments.

 

He sniffed the air and pricked his ears for sound. The burrow smelled of mice, but it was an old smell. And beneath that, there was another scent he couldn't quite place--a scent he hadn't encountered before.

 

Roan braced himself for danger and peered inside...