A New Beginning

[Timbones Oldburrow]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Timbones Oldburrow sat amongst the red dust and dehydrated stalks that once constituted his family's crop field as he watched the sun set. He felt like one of those dried husks - old and used up, ready to be torn apart and blown away by the wind at a moment's notice, off to some unknown destination. This sensation was made all the more depressing by the fact that he was only eighteen seasons. His life was supposed to be full of potential and vigor, and he knew that well. His Aunt and Uncle reminded him quite often enough. They had faith in him - a faith that he knew he would probably never fulfill, and if he managed to, it would be by the grace of nature or the goodwill of others. Still, he put on a good face - it was sometimes difficult to keep up the act so as to fit in with his caretakers' expectations, but at least it kept everybeast happy.

Most everybeast, anyway.

Inside the young ground squirrel raged a storm of emotions: regret, resentment, confusion. He knew he wasn't where he was supposed to be in this stage of his life. Why wasn't he like all of the other young beasts that left home, dug their own burrows, found a mate, and had a joyous Giving Ceremony over their first dozen or so pups? Well, a dozen would be a little much for the first season, he'd prefer more along the lines of seven or eight. No matter; that wasn't going to happen any time soon and it didn't take much thinking to figure out why.

He pulled down the baggy right sleeve of his thawb, revealing a scrawny, pawless stick that served as an arm.

"You always did serve your purpose well," he mused. "Kept me from getting ahead of myself in life eh?"

Tim took a deep sigh of dust-filled air. If he had only listened to his parents, none of it would have ever happened. It was his fault they had died (along with his seven siblings and a couple of cousins that were staying the night) and he would forever hold himself responsible, even if no other beast would. A simple, childish mistake - but one that would take a lifetime to pay for. Since most of his family members had not survived the war, Tim was adopted by Norris and Olna, who had lived in a country burrow far removed from the hotspots of war. Olna was doting - she considered her nephew an invalid, incapable of undertaking the most mundane of daily tasks including dishwashing, laundry, and heaven forbid cooking ("You'll burn off what you have left!" was a common exclamation in the Oldburrow homestead).

Uncle Norris was much his spouse's opposite: he took a paws-off approach to Timbones, and in fact spent much of his time away from the burrow on prospecting expeditions. Once he reached sixteen seasons Tim would be allowed to accompany Norris on his treks, when the old man's temper would allow it. Still, such an occasion was not without much preliminary fretting and fussing from Olna, who made sure to provide the obviously impractical Oldburrow men with overstocked baskets, bags, and packages of supplies, instructions on how to cook meals and wash clothes on the trail, and safe-route suggestions. This was of course quite frustrating to Norris, particularly the route suggestions, and made the idea of bringing Timbones along much more arduous and less attractive. Norris's preferred exit strategy was to casually drop the idea of going on an expedition several days before he intended to depart, and then to slip off in the night or early morning before Olna had awakened (a challenge in itself) - but having Tim tag along would complicate this escape, not to mention leave Olna alone in a state of panic and vulnerability. Still, those few expeditions that he had had with his Uncle were the only times that Timbones felt he had some agency over his own existence. Even then, he generally lacked the confidence to take matters into his own... paw. For this "Tim"idity (as his personality was monikered) Uncle Norris resented the lad all the more. Still, the trail served as a bonding exercise for the two fellows, and Timbones lamented that he hadn't gone on more trips with the old man.

For all of Olna's doting, there was one sphere of life in which she allowed Timbones to experience some freedom: beast mastery. Olna was quite conflicted at first; she acknowledged the importance of passing on her ancestral practices... but her adopted son was so frail, so unprepared, so traumatized. How could he possibly handle such a daunting task? In the end it was Norris - after tiring of listening to much complaining and fretting over the issue - that convinced Olna to commence with training, but with the stipulation that they wait until Timbones was "old enough." Once he had reached the mystical satisfactory age - which turned out to be sixteen seasons (around the same time he bagan trekking with his uncle) - Tim's livelihood started to improve. Unfortunately, this would not last as a wild gopher incident nearly destroyed the homestead, and from that point onward Olna would tighten the reins on even Beastmastery studies. It had thus been awhile since Tim had faced a real challenge - the last few years had been dedicated to domestic animal husbandry: caring for the family's beetle supply and taming small creatures within the homestead's vicinity. Tim was thus surprised - intimidated even - when Olna entrusted him with the full array of her ancestors' secrets. But he was determined to prove himself worthy and capable; not only for his Aunt's sake, but for his own.

Timbones looked over his shoulder at the bag that lay beside him - the charmisack. It was sturdy, rigid, and cylindrical, and carried all the equipment necessary for a Beastmaster to be successful. Whistles, hooks, staves, lassos, charms, traps, bait, and a selection of bizarre vials containing the most mysterious substances, to be used only by the most experienced of Beastmasters. But today all Tim needed was a thin metal rod. He slid it out from the bag and took a dried cornstalk from the field. It was time for a final practice run before his departure.

Timbones strode out to a clear patch of ground; there were no stalks (save for the one in his paw) but it was just as dusty as anywhere else. He drove the metal pole into the parched ground, and held the stalk vertically across his face. The squirrel closed his eyes and meditated for some time. Finally, when he felt that he was ready, he began to dance in a circle around the pole.

Footpaws stomped down into the dirt, and the dead stalk waved to and fro like a paint brush, producing swirling patterns in the dust. The thudding of paws and rustling of dead leaves caught the attention of a nearby spiny lizard, who paused to observe the strange ritual.

"Huh huh huh, crazy squilel," he chuckled.

Tim danced on unphased, keeping his eyes shut and swaying around and around the pole, dipping and bobbing and jumping to an unheard rhythm. The cornstalk brushed the ground, stirring up clouds of dust and creating many spiraling circles around the performer.

"Huh huh huh! Silly, sillybeast, ya can't sweep alla desert away huh huh  - need a bigger broom! Huh huh huh huh... HUH?"

The lizard's heckling trailed off as he noticed the dirt within Tim's radius begin to shift and break up. Little mounds were forming all around the ground squirrel, who somehow sensed the change under his feet and leapt skillfully onto the pole. He perched there peacefully on its top, one foot atop the other, eyes still closed, cornstalk grasped in paw and pointed at the sky. The squirrel's nimble acrobatic ability and balance were just about as stunning as his summoning performance.

The audience of one watched in amazement as the soil around the pole became alive with wriggling nightcrawler worms. Tim finally opened his eyes to survey his handiwork, and a smile crossed his face. He slid down the pool and began to collect the slimy creatures in a pouch around his waist, and was halfway done before the spiny lizard managed to shake himself out of shock and call out.

"Hey kiddo - how ya dew dat?"

Tim plucked a particularly juicy worm and tossed it underpaw to the lizard. "Practice!"

The paws of Timbones Oldburrow would pound the desert sand once more that night - but for a very different reason.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well near midnight under a moonlit sky as footpaws pounded across the sand, leaving deep imprints that were subsequently obliterated by the endless train of scaly flesh that followed in the squirrel's wake.

"Sssstop running ssssquirrl - there issss no hope..."

Timbones's heart pounded so hard his chest ached. He was just managing to keep a narrow margin between his singed tail and the snake's gaping mouth. The charmisack weighed heavy on his back, but he would not dare abandon the ancestral relics it contained.

Tim had made at least two critical errors that night, not including the nervous consumption of six whole apple tarts before departure. No, the first big mistake was going off the beaten path in search of Uncle Norris - supposedly, the old man had gone off to seek the advice of an Interpreter in the town of Sandsline. A travelling cactus mouse had informed Tim that the town would only require a short detour from the path to Kango's current campsite. In a moment of youthful pride and impermeability, Timbones decided that he would locate his uncle for one last goodbye - maybe they could discuss "old times" together over a pot of campfire coffee. Tim really missed those prospecting treks.

The snake was not far behind - he could hear her scales sliding across the sand.

Just keep running, just gotta keep running...

If only he were a smarter and more assertive beast, he never would have gotten into this mess. He didn't even know why he was still holding the putrid vial of blood - he tossed it away where it splattered on some rocks and scared an acorn weevil into hiding.

"Why do you have the blood of one sssso old... I wassss hoping for a sssslow ssssupper... I have eggssss to tend to back at the nessst..."

Idiot! I am such a fool!

The second (and most egregious) mistake was to use the vial of blood from his charmisack. Blood was one of the Beastmaster's most powerful tools, more powerful even than water when used in the right situation. A group of pika children wanted to see a real Beastmaster ritual performed and, not settling for the average worm summoner's dance or crow call, demanded a spectacle. In truth, Tim had no idea how the red liquid was supposed to be used; this was an advanced technique presumably described deep within the pages of Auntie Olna's journal. But being an agreeable fellow, he obliged the pushy pikas with a mock-ritual song and dance routine, spattering some drops of blood here and there for dramatic effect. He did not expect his antics to actually result in a summoning - let alone that of a massive diamondback rattlesnake.

What was I thinkin'? I didn't respect the blood! No time to worry about all that now - just gotta run!

Tim leapt over a small rocky ledge, tumbled in the sand, rolled, sprang up, and continued running. The snake slid down the ledge with no effort - constantly pursuing, never breaking pace.

"There issss nowhere to go ssssquirrel..."

Tim looked up to see what the beast was talking about. The chase had led into a rocky gorge and dry riverbed - ahead was a precipitous drop, once the site of a glorious waterfall. But it would surely be a deadly squirrel fall. Tim's paws squelched in moist sand and pebbles as he ran, slowing his pace while the snake slithered on unhindered. At any other time the discovery of water (even as scant as this was) would've been a godsend.

"I tasssted sssoggy hare near here jusssst lassst week... and now the water isss all but gone... ssssoon I will have ssssmashed ssssquirrel if you don't ssstop..."

Tim couldn't stop. His eyes darted back and forth, desperately surveying the canyon walls for any way out. And then he saw it - a crevice in the rock. It could be a dead end - it could be his grave. What kind of a fool would hide from a snake in a cave? But there was more chance of survival there than there was doing a high-dive into a dry riverbed. Timbones veered a sharp left, kicking up pebbles into the snake's face as he did so.

"Acssskpt! I dessspissse ssssand! You cannot sssurvive in that tunnel ssssilly squirrel!"

"Prove it!" Tim shouted as he dashed into the darkness. It was a narrow tunnel on a downward slope, but he had no choice but to follow it.

Nearer and near to the Darkness of the Deep Sand... But perhaps she's given up...

A hiss echoing down the tunnel proved otherwise.

"You go down and down to your grave ssssmall one..."

Yes, if only I could have flown up like a bird!

No sooner had he said this than the ground came out from under the squirrel's paws and he found himself falling through the air. He landed in a bank of wet sand.

Tim quickly got to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large cavern which, judging by the bed of sand and large rocks, the river had once flowed through quite aggressively. Moonlight shone down from a gap in the ceiling, illuminating a tall rocky outcrop - the way out! He scampered towards it, but something snagged his footpaw and immediately reacquainted his muzzle with the sand. He rolled over and was faced with the devilish face of his pursuer emerging from the wall above.

"Thissss issss a good placcce for a niccce quiet ssssupper..."

"I agree, but it aint' gonna be me t'night!" Tim retorted.

"You ssseem rather ssssnagged..."

The squirrel looked down to see that his footpaw had become tangled up with the rope of a buried sling. He scratched frantically at the cord, but to know avail, his ankle was snared.

No, c'mon, not like this, not like this!

The snake slithered carefully, procedurally, out of the tunnel, and stopped halfway down. hanging like a great and deadly vine, amber eyes fixed on the helpless squirrel.

"You tire sssir sssquirrel... I can help you ssssleep forever... consssign your missserable life to the dussst... that you may ekssspierence eternity with your loved onesss...."

She began to sway rhythmically in the air, getting closer and closer to Timbones, who was doing his best to ignore the mesmerizing dance by chewing through the rope. Finally it snapped. Tim whipped the sling from beneath the sand, smacking her in the face with it and flinging dust into her mouth.

"AAACKSSIPIT! SSSERIOSSSULY? A SSSSECOND TIME!!!

The brief distraction was all that Tim needed; he scurried up the rocky ledge and stood atop the stone pillar overlooking the gallery. The opening was directly overhead but nearly out of reach -  by standing on tip-toes and stretching his body to the limit, he managed to grab hold of the hole's edge. He could feel the cool night breeze on his fingers. But that was all he could do - for he had but one paw, and no upper body strength worth speaking of. From below, the snake laughed (Tim didn't know they could do that) at the pitiful sight.

"Sheh sheh sheh sheh... Well now that issss ssssad... isssin't it?"

She slithered to the foot of the pillar, and began to coil around it like a demented spiral staircase, cackling all the while.

"SHEH SHEH SHEH SHEH Mmm yesss... I haven't had thissss much fun in sssseasonssss!"

"If only..." Tim panted, "I was stronger... I could pull myself up..." his mind raced against the encroaching rattler for a solution. "Or a little taller... or a little lighter!" That was it - the charmisack! How could he leave it though - the accoutrements within were to be his calling and future, not to mention the ticket into Kango's Clan. The sack was to be his very livelihood... but one thing was sure: he couldn't have a livelihood if he didn't have a life.

Tim unslung the charmisack and balanced it upright on the stone, lining it up with the opening on the roof. The bag was almost as tall as he was. He looked down at the awful drop that awaited if the plan didn't work. "This is crazy..."

"Sssssay hello to Sssscythefang sssquirrel!

The pointed head appeared over the edge just as Tim scurried up the sack and leapt to the opening. Scythefang watched as two footpaws dangled in space - she reared back to strike.

"YOU'RE MINNNNE!"

The paws pulled themselves up just in time. Scythefang's spade-shaped head shot up halfway through the opening, and then became stuck. She could see the silhouette of the antelope squirrel running full tilt over a rise and into darkness.

"We'll meet again for ssssupper ssssquirrel! Jusssst sssee how far you can sssscurry!"

Timbones did just that. He did not look back. The combination of escaping death and no longer being burdened by the charmisack resulted in a feeling of joy and liberation. The wind in his fur! The open sky! Life! Freedom! Liberty! And oddly - no regret whatsoever about leaving behind the charmisack. "I guess I'm supposed to feel bad about that-" Tim told himself as scurried over dry bush and sandy flats. "But who asked me if I even wanted to be a Beastmaster in the first place?"

Perhaps he could start a new life! The thought was exhilarating. After all, Olna didn't expect him back home, Norris was gone, and it wasn't like the Kangoites were waiting for him. In fact, maybe he could still locate his Uncle, and the two could live like happy old bachelors.

The trouble with this plan was that Tim no longer had a sense of his position. The cactus mouse had told him that Sandsline was "Someways north of the canyon." Or had he said south? It didn't really matter - Tim couldn't tell which way was which anyway. All that mattered was that he was alive - beyond that, he had survived. In a roundabout, foolish way, he had proven himself. Sort of. It was a close call... and it was his mistake in the first place. But Olna always said that "You'll know yer an adult when ya can fix yer own mistakes witout others dilly-dallying over ya." That statement always seemed rather ironic coming from her muzzle.

Adult or not, Tim recognized the gravity of his current situation: he was lost in the desert, with no supplies, no water (he had "temporarily" given his canteen to those little pika brats), and not even his Beastmaster tools. He could very well perish before the sun rose. But it didn't matter. Because for the first time in his life, Timbones Oldburrow was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~