On Just Such a Morning Chapter 5 The Boggish Brack

 
“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.