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Brush and Sniff

by mwalimu

The sun made Berek squint as he stepped out of the hut. "Thanks for letting me visit."

Detar stuck his head out, and they touched muzzles. "Thanks for stopping by."

Berek started toward his home. The village of Rundel-gadu was home to a couple hundred wolves, making it small enough that it was a short walk from anywhere to anywhere. The sights and scents along the way back to his parents' hut were all familiar to him, comforts he had known his whole life. Fires burned in open pits between the huts, tended by elder wolves as they talked and watched their cubs at play. A she-wolf beside one repaired a basket, while three males around another cleaned coneys from their traps. The meat would make fine meals, and the skins could be used for clothing or blankets.

There were no coneys today at his hut. Brak, his father, had a creel of fish he was cleaning while his mother Char and his little sister Shan prepared the herbs that would flavor it. "Did you have a good visit with Detar?" Char asked.

"I did," Berek replied, taking a seat beside his father. "He showed me some of the leather work he's been doing and shared some jerky."

"What else?" Brak handed him a scaling knife.

The younger wolf took the knife and reached for a fish. "We talked about pen-tura and moon of passage."

Berek recalled the conversation. He had asked to play with Detar's water wheel, and Detar had been reluctant because it was his pen-tura, which made it very special to him. "You never play with it anymore," Berek had said, but Detar was a couple of years his senior and Berek knew he mustn't disrespect a wolf who had completed his moon of passage.

"Pen-tura was a happy time, the happiest I thought I would be," Detar had said. "But moon of passage is something to be proud of."

Berek hadn't been too sure. Detar had his own hut now, but ever since going on his moon of passage, it seemed like Detar always had more important things to do. "Moon of passage sounds scary."

Detar had put his arm around the younger wolf. "Don't worry yourself over moon of passage. Your pen-tura is near, your last chance to enjoy being a kid. Rather than fretting over what's ahead, just have fun and enjoy it."

Berek held the fish against a flat rock and began cleaning scales off it. "He asked what I want for my pen-tura."

Brak looked up. "What did you tell him?"

"I said a water wheel like his would be okay, or maybe a mallet ball set," he murmured and scraped. "There's something I want more, but I was afraid he'd think was stupid."

Char perked her ears. "And what do you want most for your pen-tura?"

Berek shrugged, and turned the fish over to work on the other side. "I don't think it's something I can have."

His mother leaned over beside him. "Tell us, and let us decide."

Shan stopped chopping herbs and tried to listen. Berek glared at her. "You'll think it's silly," he said to his mother. "Can I whisper it?"

Char gave Shan a warning glance. Shan frowned but dipped her muzzle and went back to chopping. Char leaned closer, and Berek whispered his secret wish. Her eye ridges rose, and she turned to him. "That's different. I wouldn't say it's silly, but I don't know if it's something we can get you."

Brak finished filleting a fish, now obviously curious. "What does he want?"

Char stepped over and whispered to him. Brak's tail stopped, then resumed a slow wag. "That's a tough one," he said as Char returned to her herbs.

Berek handed him the fish, scaled as cleanly and almost as quickly as if Brak had done it himself. Char smiled. "Do you remember what a mess he made of the fish the first time he tried to help?"

"He got better at it," Brak observed.

Berek let out an exasperated sigh as he reached for another fish.

* * *

Itchit and his best friend Chatta could not resist frolicking along their way as Tintch, Itchit's father, led them back toward Nesting Rock. "Watch this!" said Itchit, darting for a nearby tree. "See that branch? I bet I can leap up to it!"

"Stay close!" warned the elder squirrel. "The wargen have been setting traps. I barely escaped one this morning."

"We know," said Itchit. "The wargen traps are easy to spot once you know what to look for."

Chatta glanced around. "Just check for their scent, and don't go after nuts that look too easy," he said.

Tintch chattered and flicked his tail warningly. "Never think it's easy. The wargen are clever, and when you think you've outsmarted them, you might end up as a wargen meal."

"Wargen don't eat squirrels," said Chatta.

Itchit twitched his tail. "Yeah, they catch and eat rabbits, and there's always lotsa rabbits, so they leave us squirrels alone."

Tintch turned to them. "The wargen have left us alone before, but make no mistake. Wargen will eat squirrels if they get hungry enough." They continued forward.

Tintch froze, so Itchit and Chatta did too. "The path here is disturbed. Wargen have been here. They might be close."

"Then which way should we take?" asked Chatta.

"We can go around this way," said Itchit, starting down a side path through the undergrowth. "Let's go." He ran ahead of the others...

...and froze on the spot. "The ground here feels funny."

"Why is that tree bent way over?" Chatta asked, looking at a young tree beside the path.

"I'm scared," uttered Itchit, fighting the urge to twitch his tail.

"It's a trap!" Tintch chattered, spotting a taut rope attached to the tree. "Get out of there! Carefully!"

Itchit was still frozen in his tracks. "How do I..." He started to move one foot and felt something crackle beneath his feet. "I'll take a big leap away from this spot." He tensed his back leg muscles.

The instant he pushed off, something gave way beneath his feet. They heard several loud snaps, and the tree sprung upright, pulling up a bag that closed around Itchit much faster than he could have hoped to leap clear of it. "Dad! Chatta, help!" he cried as he flailed about inside the bag, clawing and struggling to find the opening, but the rope had pulled it closed like a noose. "It got me!"

Tintch scrabbled up a nearby tree. "Chew your way out," he said as he positioned himself to make the leap to the bag, which still swung from the tree. "I'll get you down." He was about to leap but didn't get the chance before he spied something that stopped his heart. "There's a warg coming fast. Keep trying to get out, son."

Tintch and Chatta had to retreat to a safe distance as the warg took hold of the bag, with Itchit inside. "Help, it's got me!" he continued to cry. "Dad! Chatta! Get me out of here!" But there was little they could do as the warg unfastened the rope from the tree while Itchit continued to struggle. It dashed off in the direction of the wargen village.

"Get back to Nesting Rock," Tintch told Chatta. "I'm going to follow!" He took off running as fast as he could behind the warg, traps be damned. "Itchit!"

* * *

Night had fallen on Nesting Rock, which was actually several boulders that lay among the grove of oak trees the squirrels called home. The squirrels were gathered around Tintch and his mate Pertat who were inconsolable. Getsh, an elder maiden, spoke. "The wargen have turned against us. For many seasons, they have let us forage in peace, giving us little reason to fear them. But now they have taken to setting traps, and yesterday, Itchit was caught."

Tintch's tail flopped listlessly behind him. "I followed the warg that trapped him as best I could, all the way to the wargen village," he said. "It was hard to keep up, and once it reached the village, I lost track of it. I came as close to the wargen village as I dared and could not hear Itchit or find his scent. It would have been too risky to enter the village without knowing where they took him."

Getsh continued. "The best we could hope for is for Itchit to escape on his own. A day has passed, and he has not returned, and wargen don't wait that long to..." She closed her eyes and couldn't finish the sentence. "As much as it pains me to say this, I fear Itchit is lost to us."

As Tintch and his mate wailed and sobbed, another spoke. "What are the rest of us to do now that the wargen are trying to trap us?"

With a sigh, Getsh responded. "We have two choices. We stay here and learn to avoid the wargen and their traps, or we leave and seek out a safer place."

The other spoke again. "We have already lost Itchit. The wargen are clever, and if we grow wise to their traps, they will try new ones until they catch us, one by one. If we are to survive, we must leave here."

There were murmurs of agreement as Tintch and Pertat continued to whimper. Getsh gave several flicks of her tail. "Then it is decided. We move on."

* * *

The mood was jubilant as the fire radiated warmth to the many friends and family who had come to share in the festivities. The pen-tura ceremony included many stories of Berek when he was younger, most told by his parents. Though their bellies were full, the smells of the wonderful stew prepared by Char and his aunt Morna still lingered in the air.

"We have heard many tales of young Berek, but he has many more yet to be lived," said Brak. He turned to his son. "This eve we celebrate your pen-tura, the last of your childhood. It is your time to treasure the joys of youth while you still can, for your moon of passage is but a few seasons away."

Berek beamed. "Thank you, Papa. Mama and Auntie too. Your meals are always the best."

Brak made a hand signal to Druk, the village woodcrafter, who stood opposite the fire. Berek noticed the gesture and watched in anticipation as Druk slipped away in the direction of his shop. Trying not to look too anxious, he looked around and smiled at the others around the fire circle. Moments later, Druk reappeared, carrying something large with a cloth draped over it, which he handed to Brak. "And now for the best part of all," said Brak, bringing the gift to place it before his son.

All eyes were on Berek as he studied the mysterious gift. Berek's ears perked, and his eyes went wide when he heard a scratching noise from beneath the cloth. With his heart beating faster, he reached out to lift the cloth away to reveal a cage. "A scurri!" he howled with delight. "You got one! Thank you, thank you!"

There were cheers and murmurs from others. Shan came forward, brow creased in confusion as she leaned in for a closer look at the cage. "You wanted a scurri for your pen-tura? You're weird."

Berek ignored his sister, eyes glowing as he studied the animal. "He's so cute! He's not even full grown." The scurri was shivering, huddled in the middle of the cage with his big bushy tail wrapped around him. "Look, he's scared of us. All us wolves around. No wonder he's afraid."

Detar stepped up behind Berek. "That's an unusual pen-tura, an animal. Do you know how to take care of him, what to feed him?"

Berek's eyes never left the creature. "I've watched them out in the trees. Scurries eat nuts and seeds and greens. And maybe other stuff. I'm gonna take good care of him!"

Brak reached in to rub his shoulder. "Whatever you do, be very careful that he does not escape. You have no idea how hard it was to catch one, and if he gets away, you might never catch him again."

Druk crouched beside him. "Scurries can chew through almost anything. I had to build that cage out of some of my hardest wood. It should hold him, but you can already see where he's tried to chew through."

"I'll be careful," said Berek.

"If you get tired of him, you can eat him," taunted Torka, his younger cousin.

Morna boxed Torka's ears. "That's not nice!"

Berek glanced up only briefly, then spoke to the scurri in soothing tones. "Don't worry, I'll protect you. No wolf's gonna eat you!"