Nonna continued to walk up and down and stretch. “My body feels tingly, but I can feel my legs and arms. The feeling of shock and numbness is wearing off.”
Pata-Pikki whined, “Can you run? They will search for you.”
“They must not find me! I’ll run - I can run for my life!” Nonna cried.
Collecting their equipment, Pata-Pikki stowed the ropish into his pack, and off they ran into the depth of the forest. Overhead, they occasionally heard the hum of Strange Contraptors searching. They ran over hills and valleys, climbing fallen rocks and logs, splashing across icy streams, increasing their speed with the recovery of the use of Nonna’s legs in the hope that Strange Contraptors would no longer venture in their direction.
Suddenly Pata-Pikki held out his arms and barked softly, “Stop!” He motioned for silence. A quiet breeze had warned him they were in danger. Above them, they heard a faint pinging.
“What?” growled Hoopy softly.
“Look around you!” snuffed Pata-Pikki quietly, pointing upward.
To their horror, above them was the silver bottom of a Strange Contraptor. What they had initially thought were trees were the Strange Contraptor’s bird-like legs. Its feet pointed east. The metal cube stood among the top leaves and branches of the trees.
“It must know we are here,” whispered Bar-thur in a low rumble.
“They will be pouring out in a minute.”  Hoopy softly snarled.
“Be still!” whispered Pata-Pikki. ‘Have mercy on us!’ he said deep inside. ‘We are in trouble.’ Pata-Pikki felt a wash of peace soothe his agitation. Somehow, the Narflbots were unaware of them.
“It seems The One Who Lives wants us to be at peace," Pata-Piki whispered softly.
“Let’s sit and wait it out,” Nonna chirped back. “I have the same sense–they don’t know we are here.” She sat down, pulled her red hair behind her neck, and stared at the flying machine suspiciously.
Hoopy dug a shallow hole, pulled something out of his pack, and began chewing it. Flur-Ella looked at Hoopy’s root with interest and pawed through her bag. Finding a Scruffling stick, she chewed on it. Pata-Pikki offered one to Nonna; she nodded her thanks.
“I wonder how long we will have to wait?” Flur-Ella sighed silently to herself.
They sat in silence. Occasionally, they heard quiet whirrings, hums, and beeping above them. Morning turned into the afternoon -suddenly, a loud hum came from the interior of the Strange Contraptor. Buzzing, chimes, and roars hovered around them.
“Do you think they are coming out?” Bar-thur gruffed as quietly as he could, adjusting his muffler. His ears lay back along his head; his eyes narrowed as he looked out from under furrowed brows.
Nonna listened like she was listening to something they could not hear. “No,” she whispered, “they are moving to a new location.”
Unexpectedly, the Contraptor’s bird-like legs telescoped up, bent, as if a giant bird was springing into the air to fly away. Instead, the Strange Contraptor began walking through the trees, crushing vegetation on the ground, and tearing off branches. It turned and walked north. They could hear it moving through the forest. Birds flew up, crying and sounding the alarm.
“Now,” said Pata-Pikki, “south! Move softly.” A breeze sighed around his head in affirmation.
The Forest Beings dropped to their four feet as they descended downhill and southward, as Nonna hunched over, keeping a low profile.
They resumed their easterly direction after they had reached a canopy of trees. Climbing, they topped a ridge and dropped into the forest’s shadows again. At last, they stopped by a stream as dusk gathered around them.
“Nonna, can you see in the dark?” Pata-Pikki asked, pulling his muffler tighter.
“No, unless we have a bright moon.”
“Then we will pass the night here. We know the Narflbots dislike darkness; they will not search at night.” They sat under a tree and shared their food.
 
 

 
“She is a pretty creature,” Flur-Ella snuffled, looking at her. “I have never seen a Wilding. She looks like a Narflbot but has no metal parts.” There was a way of being that seemed light, full of motion and intricacy, significantly different from a Narflbot. Long reddish-orange hair covered her head and fell abundantly across the grass. A green suit of a skin-like fabric covered her body, circled her waist, and fell below her knees in its length. On her feet were brown coverings that ended at the top of her ankles. Her hands and face were a soft, earthy hue.

“She doesn’t look dangerous,” wuffed Hoopy. “We will have to carry her, and Bar-thur, you are the only one that can do that.”

Pata-Pikki sniffed her face and touched her with his paw. “Yes,” he agreed.

“Can we strap her on my back?” Bar-thur asked.

Pata-Pikki looked in his bag. “I have some grass rope here,” he said, pawing through roots and bark slabs. A writing tool fell out on the ground, which he set carefully back inside.

Bar-thur, the bear, knelt on the ground, and the three Scrufflings slid the Wilding onto his back, wrapped the grass cording around many times, and knotted it. They tested it.  She seemed secure.

Flur-Ella warned softly, “The sky is growing light in the east.” 

They entered the forest, following the rising sun with the Wilding on Bar-thur’s back. Breaking out of the trees, they crossed the Lowland Meadows, traveling on four legs to improve their speed. Down they went into the Boggish Brack. They were glad to have the cover of the vines and scrubby leaflings over their heads. Light flashed off ponds, and cattails rose from the boggy, foggy places as the sun climbed in the sky.

The Wilding made low moaning sounds. “Do you think she is all right?” snuffled Flur-Ella with a worried expression.

“Keep moving,” barked Pata-Pikki. “We need distance!”

When they reached the eastern side of the Brack, they rested in the shadow of a dense vine.

Suddenly, they saw a flash of light followed by an enormous ‘Ker-whoomph.’ The loud sound continued between lulls, echoing across the hills as the ground shook. Thick growth cut off their view of the forest, but an evil burning smell came to their nostrils, and fine ash sifted through the leaves onto the ground, confirming the burning of the forest and undergrowth. They heard the roar of flames.

Pata-Pikki felt a great sadness overwhelm him. Unhappy memories flooded his mind of troubled times as a pup. Now, his beautiful home in the tree was a smoldering stump or gone, and so were his records of bird conversations and songs. The forest was burning. The Narflbots dropped fire from the air. How could the Scrufflings counter their flying machines and explosions? They looked at one another with an understanding of their losses, and tears filled their eyes. It was a comfort to remember Meem’s words for the Scrufflings, The One Who Lives desires they live in peace.

“Where to now?” Bar-thur finally said gruffly, clearing his throat.

“We keep moving,” Pata-Pikki whined in sorrow.

Hoopy stretched out toward the sunshine that lay in the tall grass beyond. “Nothing above us,” he growled, “but smoke.”

“Follow the sun!” Pata-Pikki barked.

As Bar-thur got to his feet, the Wilding moaned again. “Look at the cord and be sure it is still tight enough to hold her,” Bar-thur bumbled.

Hoopy checked and nodded with an affirmative growl. As he stepped into the sunlight, they heard a Strange Contraptor overhead. The Scrufflings froze as they heard it fly over the meadow and into the trees before them. It made a wide circle and flew back in the direction it had come.

Pata-Pikki uttered a low growl as Hoopy stretched carefully into the light again to see where it was going. “We had better stay under the vines for cover,” Hoopy whined in a low tone.
“We can follow the line of the bog and go towards that hill,” Flur-Ella pointed out.
Pata-Pikki nodded at her wisdom, and in a zigzag fashion, they followed the bog into the valley. A stream issued forth from the Brack, and a line of trees grew along its edges.  High cliffs rose on either side. They followed the stream, which ran a distance, and poured into a waterfall, forming a deep, rocky pool. Clambering down the fall’s edge, they listened and watched for a sign of the enemy.

The Wilding on Bar-thur’s back made sounds and moved. “We will have to stop. Perhaps she can walk now?” Flur-Ella snuffed, wagging her tail.
Bar-thur lay down on the grass beside the stream as the three Scrufflings untied her. She slid off the bear’s back to the ground.

“Water?” she said distinctly, beginning to raise herself to a sitting position. The Scrufflings and Bar-thur looked surprised that she knew their language and were temporarily speechless. “May I have some water?” she asked again.

“Of course!” Flur-Ella barked. Flur-Ella pulled a hollow wooden cup out of her sack and rushed to the stream. She dipped it in and brought water to the Wilding.

“Thank you,” the Wilding said softly, sounding like a bird singing. She turned towards them. Her mouth moved up into a curve, and her eyes lit up. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Are you better?” Pata-Pikki woofed with concern. His deep eyes took her in. ‘Yes,’ he thought, feeling his question deeply; there was something special about her. The One Who Lives had a great love for her.

“I don’t know if I can walk. My legs are numb.” She pushed herself upright. “If I can get my feet working, maybe I can,” she said, stamping her feet and running her fingers through her red-orange hair.

Bar-thur got to his feet. “Thank you for carrying me!” she said, patting his nose. “Where are we?”

“We are traveling east from our forest,” Pata-Pikki woofed. “It will be safer further east.”

“We are going the right way. My home is to the east!” the Wilding said. “My name is Nonna.”

Hoopy stood up and bowed so low his long ears nearly touched his toes. He introduced each in the company to Nonna. 
Flur-Ella woofed at Nonna, “How was it that the Narflbots trapped you?”

“I live in a valley in the Rocliffs to the east. We are farmers and live hidden, protected by The One, the High King, Yeshua. The Narflbots have tried to find us, but they cannot. To enemy eyes, our valley is invisible. They see the Rocliffs as impassable canyons, as I heard one of them describe it.”

“Then it is no wonder that they seem to search in the same direction that we travel. We had a Strange Contraptor go over our heads as we were in the Brack,” woofed Hoopy. 

“I was looking for the Farmer Man, who makes and repairs wooden plows. Ours, over many years of use, has a broken part. The Farmer Man bends wood and makes wonderful useful tools. He may have been a Narflbot that escaped or a Wilding that grew up with them, as he has many metal parts to his body, both inward and outward.” 

“Growing things and making beautiful gardens, such as I have rarely seen, is his delight. Before the Smothering Fire, there must have been many gardens like his. Our books show gardens and unusual plants that must have grown then.”

“What is a book?” barked Hoopy.

“It is a collection of knowledge or stories, on paper, bound together,” Nonna responded.

“I want to see a book; do they taste good?” Hoopy persisted.

“They are not for eating,” Flur-Ella gruffled aloofly. “They are for understanding. I have heard about books.”

“Go on with your story,” coaxed Bar-thur.

“I wandered too far to the west looking for the Farmer Man and directly into a patrol of Narflbots. That place has many old metal beeping boxes in it. They gather those things to make their machines. Some had wandered into the wood looking for water and surprised me. They froze me with one of their pointing sticks so I could not run from them or hide. They steal and make our women and children their own, as they have neither.”

“The head of the patrol sent me to the High Narflbot for questioning because I was near the eastern border. They questioned me, became angry, yelled, and kicked me, but I did not answer. Then they shot my head at the neck, here.” Nonna pointed to the back of her neck. “I remembered nothing after that. I am thankful that you freed me. You spoke of a forest; they must have carried me there.” She smiled at them. Her eyes were alight, and her joy was infectious. “Thank you for your help!”

“You are welcome to come to my home in the fortress of the cliffs that protect us. Mihael is the name of my home. There are other communities as well.” said Nonna. “I understood your talk about your forest. You and the others have given up a lot to help me. Perhaps I can help you. Will you come with me?”

“Thank you for this invitation. At least we will see you safely home,” Pata-Pikki gruffed.
 

 
“Are you ready, then?” Pata-Pikki asked the forest creatures who had gathered around the tunnel. Looking down, he saw a small rabbit at his feet. “Whose rabbit-ling is this? Find your mother, little one.” A young mother rabbit hastened to the front and pulled the small one by the paw back into the group, reminding her to stay close.

“You have your wears, your food?” Pata-Pikki resumed, “Have you planned where you are going? Our group will take the Wilding to a forest to the east.”

“A grievous thing is before us.” He studied them with his deep brown eyes. “This forest is dear to me, to all of us. I cannot take my research barks. Losing so many rare bird translations seems a step backward.  But the One Who Lives knows what is best for us as a community.”

They looked at the cage, the cause of their grief. The Wilding lay directly in the center. “Poor thing,” Hoopy said.

The blue plastic tube encased the Wilding, who was barely moving, except for the rise and fall of its chest. Pata-Pikki paused; his mind drifted into his heart. Speaking to The One Who Lives, he asked, “Guide us. Help the Wilding. Once the Narflbots know what we have done, we must make great haste." 

"May the One bless all of us who travel.”
 He gave a low bark and said, “You should go. The Rovers will sound an alarm, and the Narflbots will be on us. Dear friends, be of good heart; we will meet again,” Pata-Pikki woofed. “Bar-thur, Hoopy, and I will be enough to take the Wilding to a place where it can find its way home.”

“Can I be of help?” snuffled Flur-Ella, a Scruffling of the dog family, wearing a jacket of woven marsh flowers. Long eyelashes swept over her sparkling, warm eyes. A tan mustache and floppy ears added beauty to her face. She was a far-removed cousin of Pata-Pikki’s.

“Flur-Ella is good at little things,” gruffed Pata-Pikki aloud. “Yes, this is good. She will travel with us.”

Pata-Pikki looked down and saw the same young rabbit looking up at him. “What is your name, young one?” he asked. “Lou-me,” came a small whiskery voice. “Lou-me, find your mother and stay close to her, or you will get lost. We will have time to talk when I see you again.” Pata-Pikki smiled at her. “Be careful and mind your mother, youngling.”

The Forest Folk melted back into the forest with sad eyes at their departure.

Pata-Pikki motioned to Hoopy, and together they entered the deep underground tunnel that the gophers, rabbits, red fox, Hoopy, and Bar-thur had created. Soon they stood in the darkness at the end of the tunnel. Pata-Pikki, asking The One Who Lives for discernment, made the secret sign on the dirt ceiling with his paw.

“This is the place, Hoopy. Carefully see if you can make a hole. Remember the Cold Burning Light is above; when the Wilding drops through the floor, run with it. The beam should disengage, but sometimes it stays connected. The Burning Light is painful; it will freeze us on the spot if we do not hurry.”

Hoopy began to claw gently at the dirt ceiling above them while dirt fell to the floor. 

“I feel something here, Pata-Pikki. There is a buzzing like angry bees!”

“We are underneath him, then. It is the Cold Burning Light! Let him fall through–there is no other way. We will remove the dirt from under him. If you feel any pain at all, you are too close.”

“I will start here if you take the other side. By The One Who Lives, may the Wilding fall through before we dig too far in--be wary of the Burning Light.”

They started taking soft swipes with their paws and knocking away the dirt ceiling while crumbles of dirt rained down on them.

Hoopy motioned for Pata-Pikki to stand back. As he did, suddenly, with a crash, a long, blue-wrapped object tumbled through the ceiling. Hoopy and Pata-Pikki reached for it and pulled with all their might, dragging the creature towards the opening of the fifteen-foot tunnel. They whined as they ran, for the Cold Burning Light scorched as they pulled the Wilding down the tunnel toward the exit. Suddenly, the pain left them. Setting it down, panting, they stooped over and examined the thick blue plastic case with a small hole in the face area for breathing. They could see no other opening.

Hoopy shook his head in disbelief, “How will we get it out of that?”

“There has to be a way!” Pata-Pikki barked.

They reached the tunnel's opening and pulled the Wilding up into the forest.

Bar-thur and Flur-Ella came close and looked at the blue film-coated Wilding.

“How will this come off?” Bar-thur growled, and then surprised at what he was seeing, he said, “I have never seen a Wilding before.”

“I can chew the blue skin off at the foot, and maybe it will peel?” gruffed Hoopy.

“What is this?” Flur-Ella pushed a tiny pink button on the heel of the blue case that encased the Wilding. Suddenly the blue case moved in different directions and folded itself into a small package, spitting out the Wilding inside. “Don’t touch the package,” Pata-Pikki cautioned as Hoopy bent to pick it up. “I don’t trust it. It may have some trick to it; we do not know. The less we have to do with the implements of the evil Narflbots, the better off we are. They have devious devices built within their machines.” 

“Look,” said Flur-Ella. “This Wilding is a daughter, not a son!”