The Shaping of a Helpless Joy

[Revel]

A harsh gale furrowed waves in the stream, littered the shore with stolen leaves. The sky was darkening, bringing promise of rain. All around, the trees cracked and howled dirges of fiddle-song as branches scraped one another and tortured wood bent against the grain.

Inside the vole's cave, this symphony was muted. The vermin crowded the walls of the main chamber, facing their leader. Bruscus reclined in the wicker chair, rocking gently, eyes closed. The stoat's tail flicked every so often.

"We'll bring th'chair with us," he said at length. "I like it."

The old rat with his stick, Sorefoot, delegated the task of transporting the chair to two younger vermin and followed Bruscus further into the homely cave.

"Now, about Revel," Sorefoot said. He waited for Bruscus's nod before continuing. "I think we should go after 'er."

"Eh," Bruscus said, waving a dismissive paw. "Bothersome."

"She took out all three voles 'erself, aye, an' shoved th'last inter th'oven! It's still in there."

Bruscus investigated the oven, snuffling and poking at its contents with his knife. Sorefoot tottered around the kitchen table and took a seat. The air felt heavy and damp, though the kitchen itself still carried the wonderful smell of roast meat.

"Smells like woodpigeon," Bruscus grunted. He pulled the stone tray out of the oven and set it on the table. Sorefoot grimaced and looked away.

"She'll come back. She's sweet for you. Gonna kill us, I bet."

"If she's gone, she's gone."

Sorefoot shook his head. "She's not right in th'head. Forgot your orders, forgot our plan, Bruscus. But like as not she's gonna remember us. An' she'll be back."

"We can take 'er," Bruscus said. He sawed off the remaining back leg and held it up to his nose. "One maid - what's ter be scared of?"

"She ain't no maid."

Bruscus shrugged and took a bite.

* * * * * *

Revel started awake at a crack. Her immediate thought was of thunder, but no rolling yawn followed. The wind was in a frenzy around her, buffeting acorns across the ground and cutting swathes through the canopies above. The only rain so far was that of leaves.

The stoat huddled closer to the oak, kicking at the loam beneath her for more room. A chill crept up her back as she curled herself towards the oak, folding her limbs over her stomach for protection if not warmth. She thought to slumber more, until the storm passed; this was as good a shelter as any.

Another crack sounded, and this time she knew it was a branch breaking away from the old oak. She glanced up, worried. If it fell, where would it come down? Close to the trunk, or far enough away that she would be safe? It was impossible to tell.

Somewhere in the wood, she heard a shriek of some hawk in distress. Revel grunted in satisfaction. She had no love for the predators of the air. But the frantic calls spoke of the storm's strength.

She made a decision.

Digging away at the loam further, her claws began to encounter harder dirt and rocks. She scratched and tore at the earth ceaselessly, shifting it away from beneath the giant roots. The wretched screeching of twig and bark somewhere above her spurred her on, until at last she had a hole she could squeeze into. Once inside, a few more pawfuls of dirt were shifted out to form a pitiful barricade against the rubble being flung into her face by the wind.

As if having waited for the stoat to finish this task, not one, but two branches crashed to the ground. Revel shut her eyes and bit back a cry of fright. A bark-stripped javelin pierced the ground just inches from her hidey-hole.

It felt hours later that the wind began to let up. Revel napped again meanwhile, waking only briefly to note that rain was beginning to patter against the grass and roots. There was little cover from the treetops now the wind had done its work to make life miserable, and an hour or two later her hole began to fill, sending her out to be washed in the weather.

She stretched and arched her back, flicking her tail and splaying claws. She smelled rot on the air, mud and death mixed together in a fine stew. And just a faint whiff of egg.

She was hungry.

Revel followed her nose, and her earlier suspicions were confirmed: the hawk's nest lay ravaged, two eggs broken, one cracked. The young, half-formed, were sullied by mud and insects. She took the third egg and made off with it tucked under one arm, and headed in the direction where the moss grew thickest on the trees, north. Away from Bruscus and his gang.

It stopped raining just before sunset.

"Bother," Revel said. She patted her stomach and thought back on the events of the morning. "One more try, mm? He smelled funny any'ow." The stoat's muzzle wrinkled in remembrance. Bruscus had not liked to wash often.

"We'll find another one. Don't worry. Don't worry..."

The woodland was damp from the storm, and the sky now darkened considerably. Her footpaws were weary, laden with mud between the claws and pads. Revel sniffed at her egg in disgust. It would do much better cooked, but she had no high opinions of her ability to find dry wood before the morrow.

Lifting the crack to her lips, she sucked the liquid inside, licking at any drops that tried to sneak around the edges of her mouth. A light bash against a tree opened the egg the rest of the way. She took the young horror and bit into it, making a face. But food was food, and she cracked the bones into mulch and swallowed even the last talon.

This did not satiate her very well. In another hour she would be panging for more, and foraging in the dark was not her idea of a good time. What she wanted... what she needed was that vole.

If only she hadn't merely snacked! A good, dense meal, that was the trick, with a side of cheeses and juniper grog. The cravings ought to let her be then.

Revel poked around a little more in the gloaming, then settled in a small ditch beside a gorsebush. The clay was slimy from the rain, but warm, and out of sight from the usual forest paths. She slept soundly.

* * * * * *

Morning came, and went, and the afternoon ambled along behind it. The gentle autumn sun dried the rain and dew and turned the mud to stiff, crusty dirt once again. After a lucky snack of chestnuts, blackberries, and a dozing cricket, Revel was well on her way once again.

The forest was calming and peaceful, in that unsettling way after a good storm. Branches littered the bushy pathways, creating a tangled maze between trees. Birdsong drowned itself in its own white noise. Dollops of leaves clung together on the ground, slyly hiding puddles from view. More than once Revel startled herself by splashing into them, getting her muddy paws soaked so often they became unburdened. The stoat grinned at the clean air, and stomped delightfully through the larger puddles. A spring burbled up, and she drank her fill and dabbed it in her face until her nose felt it would drop off from the chill.

By mid-noon the trees began to thin out, giving way to countryside. Revel had never been north of the forest before, but she thought she recognized a few of the hillsides as being covered in crops.

"Oh, fancy," she said, and laughed in her luck. Was that corn on the horizon? She hoped so. Corn made a lovely stew.

Her face darkened then, thinking back to Bruscus and his gang. Sorefoot was persistent. Even if Bruscus did not agree to have her killed, Sorefoot would remember. He would spread rumours, and they would grow quickly among the gangs and clans. There was no going back now.

Her future, her safety, lay in the north. She wondered if, by leaving the forest, she had traveled to the fabled Mossflower. She hoped not. Southsward had always been kind to her needs.

Her joy at the sight of the fields now considerably less, the stoat made her way into the vale. The sun was pleasant on her back after yesterday's storm, and her energy felt boosted with each accidental bee she inhaled. Her speed increased from a trot, to a run, to a rolling frollick. Having crested a small hill, she now descended the other side most ungainly, giggling to herself all the while.

This cavorting did not please her stomach however, and she frowned at it as she lay at the bottom of the hill.

"Oi, stoppit. Now what? One thing after th'other with you, isn't it?"

Revel got to her paws slowly and started off again, this time keeping her pace steady. She felt mildly queasy, as though she might throw up - yet ravenous all the same. Food! Always the highlight of her day. But there seemed very little to eat around here. The bushes were sparse and mysterious, and the copses of trees looked bare.

Her spirits soared at the sight of a cottage not far off, tucked away between hills with its own fields spread around it. The closer she drew, the more details presented themselves: a brown shape puttering about in a garden, a puff of smoke from the chimney, farming tools lined up under the eaves, flowers in the windows. As she watched, a second brown shape came around from behind a hill and greeted the one in the garden, and they both went in. Revel's neckfur bristled as the smell of stew wafted her way.

She selected a rake from the wall and crept around the side of the cottage to the front door, which was open to let the breeze in.

"Oh!" she said. "'Edgehogs."

The pair seemed to pause, too shocked by her sudden appearance to react. Revel stared at the table and the bowls set out, considering something. Woodlanders generally didn't make very appetizing stew. They completely left out the meat. Stupid creatures.

Revel soon came to a solution that pleased her.