On Just Such a Morning Chapter 1 The Narflbots

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.”
​