With a Wonder and a Wild Desire

[Revel]

"We ought to take th'left path."

"Don't be thick. We'll take the right path."

"Which is th'left path, I tells ye!"

"No, that's the wrong path!"

Revel growled. "Chivvers! Take both th'paths, you stupid beasts, just get on with it!"

The weasel, Greenfang, yipped as Revel jammed her paw into his back from behind. He limped out of her reach and leaned against the wall, glaring daggers at the other three scouts.

Damask and Rath had split up earlier, to follow the sound of water. It was generally agreed that while the water had to come from somewhere and ended up somewhere else, it was unlikely the route it took was safe for anybeast to swim, and so it was pointless for them all to follow the same passage when there were others to explore. The rest had kept together, testing the passages one at a time. All had been dead-ends until now.

"She's a point," Bellona said. "Birch, go with the stoat. I'll keep an eye on this one." The dormouse jerked a claw at the glowering weasel. "Can't trust them together. One of us, one of them."

"Fine by me," Birch said, heading down the right-side tunnel.

"Watch yerself, stoat," Greenfang said. He spat on the ground contemptuously and nodded after Birch. "She's a feisty one..."

The weasel was nervous; Revel was only too glad to get rid of him and his overpowering scent. It was odd, Revel noticed. As strong as weasels were on the nose, she couldn't detect any fear from the fuzzy mouse at all.

"A fine trouble," she scoffed, shaking hear head. She followed the squirrel.

The tunnels were dusty here. Glancing behind, Revel saw their pawprints clearly. Here and there little tifts sprinkled from the ceiling, rolling down the curved walls.

"Do hurry up," Birch called, "I can't see a thing without your torch."

The squirrel slapped the wall in frustration and frowned at the torch in Revel's paws wistfully. Revel found the creature's antics amusing. It almost seemed to be sulking, then it would perk up and trot a few more paces forward before growing moody and kicking at rocks.

"Oh... great."

Revel stopped just short of bumping the squirrel and singeing its tail with the torch. After but a moment's consideration, the stoat raised the flame - but Birch moved off again. Revel saw now that the passageway once again forked in two. Birch peered into the leftmost one, her neckfur bristling. Revel thought she saw something in the grey shadows and moved in to investigate. Birch put a paw on her shoulder.

"Please don't."

Revel turned to look at the squirrel, and was hit full-force by that lovely stench. The mighty Birch was afraid!

But then, so was she. Her tail ached something fierce; new tunnels were not to be trusted. If Revel's past experiences had taught her anything, it was that somebeast else should go first.

Their consternation was confirmed as something clattered inside the tunnel. Their heads snapped to look, but saw nothing. The torchlight did not extend far enough. Without another word, they took the right path again.

"If I just had my hammer! I could just bash my own tunnel through here..."

Revel wasn't paying attention any longer. She had not eaten since the coconut, which had gone straight through. She had thought she'd smelled food down these passages, something warm and sweet, but now it was gone. The further they went from the intersection chamber, the colder it grew, the air still and damp. Dust gave way to dirt gave way to slickened stone. Birch's fear still lingered heavily around them; Revel's breath increased in pace.

"Think it's the water?" Birch said, taking notice herself. "I don't hear it."

Revel kept silent. Was it just her bent tail, or was this place starting to edge her nerves? Like clay between her claws that wouldn't come out, or scraping her whiskers up against rough bark by accident. It set her spine a-tingle. An unreasonable urgency quickened her steps. Revel's hazy memory harkened back to the mole runs of Southsward, when she and other young vermin would sneak in and pilfer baked goods in the dark. But it was more than that. She felt like a kit again, alone in the den on a stormy night. Scared that she'd been forgotten, and yet comforted by the familiarity of home all the same.

It came to her gradually: It was the smell after rain: "Yikker-chip."

"What's that?" Birch asked, cocking an ear back. "You need a kerchief or something? You shouldn't hold sneezes in, or your nose will blow off, my pa always said."

Revel stared blankly until the squirrel shrugged and turned back to the task of exploration.

Birch picked up a rock and held her arm out, marking the wall every few paces with a tooth-grounding scrape. After a few of these, the squirrel stopped and examined the white scar, and then dashed the rock against the wall a few more times. She began to grin, and turned to Revel.

"That look like a squirrel to you?"

The stoat stared. It did indeed look like a squirrel, if squirrels were made out of white sticks.

Birch drew more lines, her tongue sticking out and one eye squinting as she admired her work.

"Hm... almost." She drew a half-circle on the side of the main stick opposite the tail, then poked the rock into the torch, at the base of the flame. Applying the ash to the wall, she made a black smudge on the end of the tail.

"There. What do you think?"

Revel very nearly said, 'About what?' Instead, she looked closer at the drawings.

"'s me."

"Yep. If anybeast comes this way, they'll know it's us who were here first. Clever, huh?"

"I'm not that fat!"

Revel glanced down at herself. The bottom of her tunic was coming apart at the seems, chafing her fur constantly. She put a tentative paw on her stomach. It was larger than she remembered it being just a week ago.

"You just keep telling yourself that," the squirrel snorted. "Here, gimme that."

It took Revel a few seconds before she realized she was no longer holding the torch. The squirrel had taken it, and was off down the tunnel again, her bushy tail wagging in a taunt.

Instincts kicked in at last. Birch gave a whoop as Revel began running after her. A tricky curve in the passage was the squirrel's immediate undoing. In the time it took to navigate around it, Revel had caught up and tackled her from behind.

They tussled briefly, the torch flying away in the flurry of fisticuffs, only to gutter out against the wall. Birch yelped in pain as Revel's teeth cut through her footpaw; she kicked back hard, catching the stoat's chest and sending her rolling away.

"Oi! You idiot, what are you doing? You could just ask for it back! Oowww... I'm bleeding! Tch, where's the light?"

Birch, still laying on her front, grabbed for the torch and blew on it gently, willing the embers back to life. A sudden weight on her back sent her chin cracking against the floor again, and sharp pains tugged at her neck. The squirrel gasped, claws scraping against the stone floor as she fought to get away.

Revel let go, having missed anything important, only managing to catch hold of the squirrel's nape. She spat out a tuft of fur and went in for another bite, but Birch twisted around in that moment of freedom and brought her little rock down - hard.

Revel blinked. She was laying on her back in the dark. Her head hurt - the bruise from Eliza's oar felt like it had cracked open. She could smell blood, some of it her own, and could feel a trickle down the side of her head. She didn't waste time wondering how long she'd been out for.

The question of intelligence had no say in the matter anymore. This went beyond hunger pangs or instinctive games of cat and mouse - or stoat and squirrel. The wicky treerat would die.

She got to her footpaws, sniffed twice, and then was off.

They had spoken of badgers and hares, of otter holts and mole tribes. They had spoken of the fear that overcame them at the sight of these adversaries thundering toward them. They had used the word "dull" to describe it. A dull fear. A blind panic.

Revel never understood what they had meant. The fireside stories held no bearing on her experiences in life. She had never been in proper battle, or faced up to foes who had an advantage to her. She knew fear, but it was not what they said it was. This fear was sharp, bright and fiery. It filled the tunnel ahead of her, was drawn into her lungs, filled every breath with wild desire. It seeped into her blood until she, too, felt haunted. The stoat had to resist every instinct that told her to look behind. There was no eagle there, no badger. The fear she felt was not her own, she knew. The panic was not blind, but her guide.

That snuffling noise was just her imagination.

The squirrel must have been growing tired. Stumbling paws echoed through the tunnel more often, invisible clawmarks skid further around corners. The blood drips became less erratic, more frequent. The glow reflecting off the walls grew stronger. This was now a dangerous race against life itself, and the squirrel wasn't keeping up. Revel was gaining.

A cul-de-sac. The torch lay flickering on the ground; the squirrel looked dazed, as if she hadn't seen the wall until it was too late. Revel stepped into the light.

The prey ran up against the wall, scrabbled in vain hope for some alcove above, and finding none, whirled to face its hunter. Paws pressed up against the rock behind it, still searching for something, another rock, anything - then at last came forward, balled up into little fists. As if that would offer protection.

Revel growled her challenge. It was met with more fear - oh, it came at her in waves with every ragged, heaving gasp from the squirrel! The heady scent saturated the air between them. Every step closer that Revel took was a step deeper into bliss.

She picked up the fallen torch and held it aloft, illuminating Birch's wide-eyed face.

"D-don't come near me! Stay back!"

"You 'urt me, squirrel."

"Of course I did! You were practically biting my footpaw off, you nutter!"

Revel's stance, at first coiled and dangerous, became uncertain.

"I don't like nuts," she said.

"Neither do I," Birch said, sensing an opening. "Horrid, crazy beasts they are. Now, a good pecan or acorn or cashew..."

Revel tilted her head.

"'s just babblin'. Why can't you beasts ever make any sense? 's not that 'ard to speak normally! That one, Sailtail, 'e's worse than a mole! What's wrong with you squirrels?"

"Excuse me? There was nothing wrong with me! Not until you bit a hole in my leg."

"I ought to finish up an' kill you," Revel whispered. "Don't care about no truce. I'm 'ungry! That's what matters! I'm 'ungry now! Chivvers."

"Revel - it is Revel, right? - look, just back away. Sit down. You're giving yourself hiccups. We're supposed to be finding a way out. This is a dead end here. Just... put the torch down, or... or, no, you keep it. That's right, it's your torch."

"Phaw. A fine trouble..."

Revel leaned against the wall, wiping at her face with her free paw. Why did it have to go and sound so reasonable now?

"When we get out, we'll go fishing. There's bound to be fish in the pond, right?"

The stoat groaned, drooling a little at the thought of smoked salmon. Her stomach rumbled just then, louder even than her earlier growl. She put the torch down carefully and massaged her taut belly, murmuring.

Birch began to slide inch-by-inch along the opposite wall, attempting to get by Revel while the stoat was distracted. She was just beginning to reach for the torch when Revel snapped her head up, her cheeks clearly wet.

"It 'urts so much. I can't wait!"

"What, are you having them now?" Birch recoiled, her senses momentarily confused by the idea of the stoat giving birth here, of all places; she ended up slinking back into the cul-de-sac. Noticing this, Birch cursed.

Ignoring the squirrel's incredulous remark, Revel pushed away from the wall and faced her, licking her lips.

"Just 'cause you're smart doesn't mean I can't still kill you," she said, her voice airy and sure. She took a deep breath. "Woodlanders do it all th'time. An' once you're dead, it doesn't matter, does it? You're just meat. Chivvers! I figured it out." The stoat smiled hugely. "I figured it out."

"N-now see here, I'm not..."

Revel pounced. Birch flung her arms up and ducked, screaming.

It seemed to go on for an awful long time. The squirrel stopped screaming and opened her eyes, although at first she hadn't realized she had. The torch was dead.

And Revel was gone.