On Just Such a Morning
|
|
Stories |
|
The Narflbots continued unpacking the Strange Contraptor for the rest of the day. Afterward, there was much scurrying around. They were constructing something horrible, and seemed nervous about being in a wild wood. They did not like the forest.
‘Good,’ Pata-Pikki thought. He was glad that they were uncomfortable. They were not welcome here. But both Pata-Pikki and Hoopy were curious. Hatch flew back and forth between their window and the meadow, reporting what she saw. Fire flared, and beepings of machines came from the construction. It was nest-building time. This intruder was destructive and worrisome, and was building something right next to her home. “What about my fledglings?” she peeped in an alarmed chirp. “They will forget their songs and know only scratchings and beeps.” She hit low notes, showing her concern. “Patience, dear Hatch,” Pata-Pikki woofed, trying to console her. “We’ll show them whose forest this is!” Hoopy growled. “Wait a bit; this will all change, Hatch. Don’t worry about your fledglings!” He snarled with consolation when he understood what she was saying. He began scratching violently in sympathy. Pata-Pikki’s eyes grew large with concern for Hatch’s sadness and the deep scratch marks on his polished wooden floor. As the sunlight faded from the meadow, the Strange Contraptor sprang to life. All the Narflbots eagerly trooped single file into its mouth, and the door slammed shut with a loud snap. The Contraptor’s legs straightened, and the whirly at the top spun. Then the Strange Contraptor flew straight up into the sky. Pata-Pikki and Hoopy threw caution to the wind and ran outside. The Strange Contraptor rose quickly and then zing - off it shot, in a straight line traveling west. “There they go, for now,” Pata-Pikki squeaked in relief. “Let’s investigate!” barked Hoopy, calling over his shoulder. Out he ran, straight across the meadow toward the Narflbot’s construction. Pata-Pikki who followed him, felt uncertain. He didn’t want to rush up on it. Gradually he stopped. “What’s the matter?” Hoopy barked, turning back. “They likely have a guard alarm of some sort,” Pata-Pikki responded quickly with a low howl. He knew what to expect from Narflbots; he had learned it from frightening experience. “Of course!” Hoopy snarled, looking a little worried. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Pata-Pikki sat down in the meadow with a disturbed look. Something was moving; it was not the grass that blew in the light breeze, but something else. “Quiet,” he softly whined. Hoopy dropped to the grass. Pata-Pikki did the same. It was almost dark now. Gradually his eyes moved up to the upper rim of what seemed a cage. Suddenly he saw the motion sensors guarding what was inside. Rovers! They seemed to be looking down. The two Scrufflings remained motionless, not wanting to attract the Rover's attention. In Pata-Pikki’s experience, Rovers could see in many directions but could not move. Somehow, the Narflbots that monitored them responded to a quiet warning they made. He crawled up next to Hoopy. “Rovers!” he whined, voicing his concern. Now he knew that something, or someone was being guarded. This was a cage. He felt compassion for the creature inside, encased in something blue. “That creature needs help,” Pata-Pikki whispered. A soft breeze ruffled the fur at the bottom of his ears. “The forest,” whispered the wind in a soft, brushy voice. Motioning for Hoopy to follow him, he crawled into the forest. Once under cover, they dodged oak trees and birch, jumping low currant and raspberry bushes. Climbing over large boulders and around forest growth, they soon stood directly under Hatch’s tree. Now the Rovers could not see them, but they could see what lay at the bottom of the cage.
0 Comments
The flutter of birdsong whistled in Pata-Pikki’s memory. Accompanying it was a persistent squeaking of branches against the tree where he lived. The wind was trying to get his attention. It moaned as it blew across his front door in the massive oak tree. Irritated at the interruption, he set down the gouge he was using on the wooden tablet. He was recording the notes of the song he had heard from an unusual bird the day before. Instead, he ran up the steps, circling the trunk inside. His grass muffler and woven bark pants felt good in the cool air.
The small dog-like creature, a Scruffling, stopped and peered from the bottom most window next to the lowest branch. His view was of the meadow and the forest beyond. The wind hit his black whiskers and flipped his long black ears into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. What was happening? He suddenly felt afraid. Shaking his ears out of his eyes, he approached the window again, this time cautiously. Then he saw what the wind was trying to convey through The One Who Lives. A Strange Contraptor, one of the flying machines of the enemy, had landed in the meadow, and he hadn’t even heard it. It sat with telescoping bird-like legs on its silver haunches. Its cubical bulk rested on the grass, and the whirly on top moved only slightly. Shaggy-looking Narflbots, long creatures with thin legs, arms, and furry bodysuits for warmth, moved in and out of the tall doorway. They carried metal boxes on their heads while balancing them with long arms. The sound of whirring noises and beeps filled the air. “Narflbots! What are they doing? They are a long way from their city, and in our forest! What are they up to?” Pata-Pikki narrowed his eyes, twitched his nose, waited, and watched. He was curious. ‘What are they doing?’ The wind whispered something; “What?” Pata-Pikki whined. The north wind spoke with an extra sigh and whisper, which was part of its language. The south wind was much easier to understand, but it was winter. Pata-Pikki had trouble with the long-drawn-out sighs of the north wind. He shook his head in frustration, pausing; and listened to his heart. The One Who Lives, usually far away, was here. Pata-Pikki felt warmth and His presence. The One Who Lives wanted him to be watchful and investigate. A feathered nuthatch landed on the tree trunk. Hanging upside down, it looked in the window and chirped. It was just a little bird and a curious one. “Pata-Pikki, Pata-Pikki, where are you? Narflbots are in our meadow!” “I see them, Hatch! Shh, not so loud. We don’t want them to think we care. I wonder if Hoopy knows. Fly to his cave and tell him. I’ll keep watch and see what they are doing.” “Nothing good will come of it- all their boxes with noises and whirrings, how irritating and loud,” peeped Hatch with indignation, fixing Pata-Pikki with the sharp glint of her eye. “Tell Hoopy to hurry,” Pata-Pikki called softly after Hatch, who flitted away into the depth of the forest. Pata-Pikki remembered when he and Hoopy were pups. Hoopy maintained an unusually long name, Hoop-Hop-Hark-Oona, given to him by a distantly removed aunt. Pata-Pikki and the Forest-Beings called him Hoopy instead. With all honor due to his great-great aunt, it was much easier to say and made it far easier to get to the heart of a conversation. Pata-Pikki paced up and down inside the trunk as he waited Hoopy. His mind kept returning to the exciting bird song and conversation he was translating, while at the same time, he worried about the Strange Contraptor in the meadow. Happily, he soon heard scratching and scraping at the hole's entrance in the trunk’s base. He ran down the stair to his front door. A bowlegged Scruffling, who looked somewhat like Pata-Pikki, stood in the entryway with a white, bristly mustache, a barrel chest, and earmuffs of cattail fluff on top of his floppy white ears. “Narflbots!” Hoopy growled. “Why don’t they stay in their kingdom?” Angrily, he scruffed at the floor with his hind feet as his tail curled tightly. “Mind the entrance, Hoopy!” Pata-Pikki cried in alarm, looking pleadingly at him with his dark brown eyes. “Every time you come in, you make the door larger and deeper. Soon even Bar-thur, the bear, will fit inside.” Suddenly coming to the point, Pata-Pikki barked “We need to do something! The One Who Lives wants us to be watchful; we may need to act. The Narflbots are up to no good.” |
Stories...
|
RSS Feed