Squirrel
01-27-09, 09:23 PM
Closed to Garwocket (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?p=138880#post138880)!
Diamonds and dynamite
Come in small packages.
Everything was brighter here.
Even the Squirrel didn’t even really know what -exactly- she was comparing everything to.
She only knew that the ash tree beneath her claws was a healthier grey, the sky peeking between the vibrant green leaves (greener than the grass on the far side of a full score of fences) was bluer than a nest of robin eggs.
Not that she knew much about robins’ eggs. She only knew that they were common, and that she had to be careful around them, at the risk of getting whupped upside the head with the wings of an angry mother bird if she ventured so much as a claw’s-length too close.
Ratatosk scurried up the branches of the World Tree, a sheet of fine parchment clenched tightly between her white teeth. NÃ*ðhöggr hadn’t told her what was on the parchment, the old snake, and now it itched at her mouth like an ant through her fur.
She didn’t like the serpent - not anymore than she liked his foe, the eagle who wouldn’t trust her to know his name, or his sycophantic little hawk friend, Veðrfölnir. The birds were only better in her mind because they didn’t gnaw things. The last time she’d carried NÃ*ðhöggr’s insults had been right before the wily old snake had eaten through the last root.
…everything had become quite strange after that. She didn’t remember much, but she did remember being older. Older, colder, wiser, and a great deal more wet.
The rapid juxtaposition of memories made the young squirrel pause on a particularly thick branch, black eyes glittering. How can I remember being older? That doesn’t make any sense.
“It doesn’t, I know.” Ratatosk clambered off her branch head-first, hanging by all four paws to see who had spoken to her, the corners of her small mouth turned down around the parchment. The hart that had read her thoughts raised his head, massive horns narrowly missing her perch. “You need to learn to think like the Æsir, little leafrat, and less like the mortals.” One amber eye winked at her before the hart turned. “Next thing you know you’ll think time is static, and then…” The hart ambled off, shaking his great head, clearly implying that this was a fate worse than death.
Ratatosk watched him go before she scurried back onto the branch to rest on her haunches. She had heard that before. She had, quite possibly, heard that hart tell her that truth before. Her paws went to the parchment, pulling it free of her teeth and clutching it close for a moment, heart beating against her narrow chest. The roll of paper was damp, notched where her teeth had pressed, and…
She hurriedly unrolled the paper, eyes falling on the big, black, clumsily etched runes.
“Reading other people’s letters isn’t nice, you know.” The voice that interrupted her sounded like poetry and madness and death, all wrapped into one vocal tone that, somehow, didn’t sound nearly as terrifying as its description did. Ratatosk gave a startled little jump, hastily rolling the paper back into its scroll.
“Um. No, m’Lord, wouldn’t dream of it m’lord, I didn’t-”
“Ah, Ratatosk.” The hand that reached up and closed around her belly non-too-gently (though, it must be said, non-too-roughly, either) was warm and rough and smelled of raven and mead.
Half her mind instantly streamlined, turning to a chorus of put me down, put me down, putmedowndowndown on instinct alone. She fought the fear, delicate frame quivering as she sank her claws into the thick fur of her tail. NÃ*ðhöggr’s note lay forgotten on the tree branch as Odin held her to eye height. “Do try and remember my attributes, will you? I know you are younger this time, but I am known for cunning. A little petty mail fraud every now and then never hurt anyone…” The god’s sole eye twinkled merrily, but Rat couldn’t stop the tremors that shook her whiskers as she nodded. Odin sighed. “I came to speak to you.”
No, really? Rat kept the dangerous thought in her mind as she tried to regain her dignity by grooming her tail, glittering eyes still fixed on the god’s scarred face. I thought you were looking for Duraþrór…
“Don’t take that tone with me, leafrat.” Rat’s throat moved in the smallest of gulps as she sat up straight, paws drawn to her belly. Odin’s face hadn’t changed, nor had his voice, but something still gave the impression that he was displeased. That same something seemed to soften as the god began to walk. “You are, as I said, younger this time.” Rat barely noticed as the ground beneath the god’s feet –far, far beneath her limbs - changed from thick ash-bark and golden-green leaf to a bridge of tri-colored flames and light.
She was too busy watching the ravens the old god had on each shoulder. They were watching her back, far too closely. It took some considerable effort to hear the god’s next words.
“I really think you may need more experience.”
Rat let out an undignified squeak of protest that made the ravens caw derisively. “M’lord! I have been nothing but a perfect courier, I can make the journey from Niflheim to the eagle faster than nearly anyone,” she paused to nudge a claw to her forehead in a respectful salute, “barring yourself, m’lord, and I never lose my footing, and I don’t usually read the messages, and-”
“This isn’t a punishment, my little one. Think of it as a chance to expand your horizons.” The god moved his hand out, over the edge of the bridge. Rat cringed closer to his hand, feeling her heart race, and feeling quite certain of one thing: This didn’t happen last time.
“You’re right.” Odin’s hand, quite suddenly, simply wasn’t there anymore. There was nothing but air and she was doing nothing but falling. “But, then again…you were older last time.”
***
Ratatosk uncurled with a start, almost toppling out of her perch as her body woke –convinced she really was falling - long moments ahead of her mind. Her claws sank deep into the rough bark of the ordinary oak, and her tail twitched almost uncontrollably until things solidified in her gaze. Trees – ordinary. Not the massive, world-width of Yggdrasil. Sky – grey and overcast and only visible when looking up. Ground – a mere twenty feet below her, decorated in cobblestones and a horsecart.
The squirrel sat on her haunches, leaning one paw against the tree to reassure herself that she was really there, and glared up at the sky. “For the record, m’lord, I don’t like this.”
The sky remained silent, aside from a single crash of thunder. The big, black raven on the branch next to her did not.
“Cckraw?”
“Oh, shut up.” Rat searched the wide branch quickly, uncovering her hat and her bag from where she’d buried them beneath a layer of twigs and leaves. “I didn’t ask you for your opinion.” She donned the cap, pulled the bag across her shoulders, and eyed the raven. “You stay put, I should be back soon.”
Then she was off down the tree, head first.
It had been a month since she’d woken up in the middle of some wide plain, nothing but her bag and a new hat to her name. A month, since Odin had unceremoniously cast her off the world tree and into some world so different, and so (she suspected) insignificant that it wasn’t even named in the lore. He hadn’t even sent her to the Middle Realms! He’d sent her somewhere unnamed! Of all the ungrateful…!
She tried to keep those thoughts to herself, smoothing her indignation-spiked fur with her tongue and her paws. If Odin could hear her, it might take him even longer to pull her home. She might wind up living here even longer.
The sky continued to threaten precipitation without actually doing anything as the red squirrel made her slow, skittering way towards the center of the city. It had taken her some time to discover its name –Scara Brae, she knew now- after arriving. Most of the locals had reacted oddly to a talking squirrel. It had taken a few seemings before things had finally become clear, and a few attempts at being eaten.
Granted, once I figured out to avoid the ones that smell like insanity, she thought, rather proudly, everything worked out alright.
She came to a stop beneath a shrub. The shrub was across a path from a small signboard, covered from top to bottom in sheets of parchment, paper and tanned hide, each with a message of some form or another written on it. Some gave rewards, gold and rare items listed beneath the message in bolder letters. Some of them simply had help needed, ask so-and-so. There were too many to choose from…
So Rat wasn’t going to choose. She simply slipped her trusty blowpipe from her bag, followed by a dart, and took one step further back, spinning in a tight circle. She lifted the pipe to her mouth the second she stopped - and blew the dart as hard as she could without aiming, eyes squeezed shut.
“Aiiiiouch!” The high shriek had her scurrying further beneath the shrubbery, peering out to see a man in crimson cloak and green tunic-and-hose hopping up and down on one leg, clutching his other shin. “I been stabbed, I ‘ave! Ouch! Ouch! Ow-”
Someone smacked him upside the head as he caterwauled, a second someone divesting him of his cloak before he managed to catch his balance, holding his head now instead of his leg.
“Sorry, mate!” The cloak-thief called back to his stunned victim, “Ancient Akashiman remedy for leg pains!” His cackle reminded Rat of her raven. She had to smirk, just a little bit, though she felt sorry for the man she’d hit…
He limped off now, muttering about bees and guttersnipes, leaving a bit of paper on the board in his wake. Rat waited until he was out of sight before she bounded over to peer up at the board. Her lips moved as she read the simple writing, so different from the runes she was accustomed to.
“…Scourge, hmm, that’s not a nice word, don’t like that word, but…reward…I like that one…wonder why there’s no name…” She tilted her head, one eye squinting closed before she turned to the thing standing next to her, a thing that she could have sworn hadn’t been there a moment before. “…What’s a ‘toolbox,’ then?”
Diamonds and dynamite
Come in small packages.
Everything was brighter here.
Even the Squirrel didn’t even really know what -exactly- she was comparing everything to.
She only knew that the ash tree beneath her claws was a healthier grey, the sky peeking between the vibrant green leaves (greener than the grass on the far side of a full score of fences) was bluer than a nest of robin eggs.
Not that she knew much about robins’ eggs. She only knew that they were common, and that she had to be careful around them, at the risk of getting whupped upside the head with the wings of an angry mother bird if she ventured so much as a claw’s-length too close.
Ratatosk scurried up the branches of the World Tree, a sheet of fine parchment clenched tightly between her white teeth. NÃ*ðhöggr hadn’t told her what was on the parchment, the old snake, and now it itched at her mouth like an ant through her fur.
She didn’t like the serpent - not anymore than she liked his foe, the eagle who wouldn’t trust her to know his name, or his sycophantic little hawk friend, Veðrfölnir. The birds were only better in her mind because they didn’t gnaw things. The last time she’d carried NÃ*ðhöggr’s insults had been right before the wily old snake had eaten through the last root.
…everything had become quite strange after that. She didn’t remember much, but she did remember being older. Older, colder, wiser, and a great deal more wet.
The rapid juxtaposition of memories made the young squirrel pause on a particularly thick branch, black eyes glittering. How can I remember being older? That doesn’t make any sense.
“It doesn’t, I know.” Ratatosk clambered off her branch head-first, hanging by all four paws to see who had spoken to her, the corners of her small mouth turned down around the parchment. The hart that had read her thoughts raised his head, massive horns narrowly missing her perch. “You need to learn to think like the Æsir, little leafrat, and less like the mortals.” One amber eye winked at her before the hart turned. “Next thing you know you’ll think time is static, and then…” The hart ambled off, shaking his great head, clearly implying that this was a fate worse than death.
Ratatosk watched him go before she scurried back onto the branch to rest on her haunches. She had heard that before. She had, quite possibly, heard that hart tell her that truth before. Her paws went to the parchment, pulling it free of her teeth and clutching it close for a moment, heart beating against her narrow chest. The roll of paper was damp, notched where her teeth had pressed, and…
She hurriedly unrolled the paper, eyes falling on the big, black, clumsily etched runes.
“Reading other people’s letters isn’t nice, you know.” The voice that interrupted her sounded like poetry and madness and death, all wrapped into one vocal tone that, somehow, didn’t sound nearly as terrifying as its description did. Ratatosk gave a startled little jump, hastily rolling the paper back into its scroll.
“Um. No, m’Lord, wouldn’t dream of it m’lord, I didn’t-”
“Ah, Ratatosk.” The hand that reached up and closed around her belly non-too-gently (though, it must be said, non-too-roughly, either) was warm and rough and smelled of raven and mead.
Half her mind instantly streamlined, turning to a chorus of put me down, put me down, putmedowndowndown on instinct alone. She fought the fear, delicate frame quivering as she sank her claws into the thick fur of her tail. NÃ*ðhöggr’s note lay forgotten on the tree branch as Odin held her to eye height. “Do try and remember my attributes, will you? I know you are younger this time, but I am known for cunning. A little petty mail fraud every now and then never hurt anyone…” The god’s sole eye twinkled merrily, but Rat couldn’t stop the tremors that shook her whiskers as she nodded. Odin sighed. “I came to speak to you.”
No, really? Rat kept the dangerous thought in her mind as she tried to regain her dignity by grooming her tail, glittering eyes still fixed on the god’s scarred face. I thought you were looking for Duraþrór…
“Don’t take that tone with me, leafrat.” Rat’s throat moved in the smallest of gulps as she sat up straight, paws drawn to her belly. Odin’s face hadn’t changed, nor had his voice, but something still gave the impression that he was displeased. That same something seemed to soften as the god began to walk. “You are, as I said, younger this time.” Rat barely noticed as the ground beneath the god’s feet –far, far beneath her limbs - changed from thick ash-bark and golden-green leaf to a bridge of tri-colored flames and light.
She was too busy watching the ravens the old god had on each shoulder. They were watching her back, far too closely. It took some considerable effort to hear the god’s next words.
“I really think you may need more experience.”
Rat let out an undignified squeak of protest that made the ravens caw derisively. “M’lord! I have been nothing but a perfect courier, I can make the journey from Niflheim to the eagle faster than nearly anyone,” she paused to nudge a claw to her forehead in a respectful salute, “barring yourself, m’lord, and I never lose my footing, and I don’t usually read the messages, and-”
“This isn’t a punishment, my little one. Think of it as a chance to expand your horizons.” The god moved his hand out, over the edge of the bridge. Rat cringed closer to his hand, feeling her heart race, and feeling quite certain of one thing: This didn’t happen last time.
“You’re right.” Odin’s hand, quite suddenly, simply wasn’t there anymore. There was nothing but air and she was doing nothing but falling. “But, then again…you were older last time.”
***
Ratatosk uncurled with a start, almost toppling out of her perch as her body woke –convinced she really was falling - long moments ahead of her mind. Her claws sank deep into the rough bark of the ordinary oak, and her tail twitched almost uncontrollably until things solidified in her gaze. Trees – ordinary. Not the massive, world-width of Yggdrasil. Sky – grey and overcast and only visible when looking up. Ground – a mere twenty feet below her, decorated in cobblestones and a horsecart.
The squirrel sat on her haunches, leaning one paw against the tree to reassure herself that she was really there, and glared up at the sky. “For the record, m’lord, I don’t like this.”
The sky remained silent, aside from a single crash of thunder. The big, black raven on the branch next to her did not.
“Cckraw?”
“Oh, shut up.” Rat searched the wide branch quickly, uncovering her hat and her bag from where she’d buried them beneath a layer of twigs and leaves. “I didn’t ask you for your opinion.” She donned the cap, pulled the bag across her shoulders, and eyed the raven. “You stay put, I should be back soon.”
Then she was off down the tree, head first.
It had been a month since she’d woken up in the middle of some wide plain, nothing but her bag and a new hat to her name. A month, since Odin had unceremoniously cast her off the world tree and into some world so different, and so (she suspected) insignificant that it wasn’t even named in the lore. He hadn’t even sent her to the Middle Realms! He’d sent her somewhere unnamed! Of all the ungrateful…!
She tried to keep those thoughts to herself, smoothing her indignation-spiked fur with her tongue and her paws. If Odin could hear her, it might take him even longer to pull her home. She might wind up living here even longer.
The sky continued to threaten precipitation without actually doing anything as the red squirrel made her slow, skittering way towards the center of the city. It had taken her some time to discover its name –Scara Brae, she knew now- after arriving. Most of the locals had reacted oddly to a talking squirrel. It had taken a few seemings before things had finally become clear, and a few attempts at being eaten.
Granted, once I figured out to avoid the ones that smell like insanity, she thought, rather proudly, everything worked out alright.
She came to a stop beneath a shrub. The shrub was across a path from a small signboard, covered from top to bottom in sheets of parchment, paper and tanned hide, each with a message of some form or another written on it. Some gave rewards, gold and rare items listed beneath the message in bolder letters. Some of them simply had help needed, ask so-and-so. There were too many to choose from…
So Rat wasn’t going to choose. She simply slipped her trusty blowpipe from her bag, followed by a dart, and took one step further back, spinning in a tight circle. She lifted the pipe to her mouth the second she stopped - and blew the dart as hard as she could without aiming, eyes squeezed shut.
“Aiiiiouch!” The high shriek had her scurrying further beneath the shrubbery, peering out to see a man in crimson cloak and green tunic-and-hose hopping up and down on one leg, clutching his other shin. “I been stabbed, I ‘ave! Ouch! Ouch! Ow-”
Someone smacked him upside the head as he caterwauled, a second someone divesting him of his cloak before he managed to catch his balance, holding his head now instead of his leg.
“Sorry, mate!” The cloak-thief called back to his stunned victim, “Ancient Akashiman remedy for leg pains!” His cackle reminded Rat of her raven. She had to smirk, just a little bit, though she felt sorry for the man she’d hit…
He limped off now, muttering about bees and guttersnipes, leaving a bit of paper on the board in his wake. Rat waited until he was out of sight before she bounded over to peer up at the board. Her lips moved as she read the simple writing, so different from the runes she was accustomed to.
“…Scourge, hmm, that’s not a nice word, don’t like that word, but…reward…I like that one…wonder why there’s no name…” She tilted her head, one eye squinting closed before she turned to the thing standing next to her, a thing that she could have sworn hadn’t been there a moment before. “…What’s a ‘toolbox,’ then?”