SHELTER

 

The insects crawling over the leaves above sounded to me like a thundering herd of buffalo. Overhead, one or two birds dove sharply to catch prey or fallen fruit, the feathers of their wings whistling as they descended. No other animals were visible. Walking through the brush, I found myself longing for a friendly face—even the faces of those who had warned me against my current choice of housing. I meticulously avoided dry twigs and dead foliage; in this stillness, the noise of a single snap would carry a great distance. I stooped low, ensuring my shadow and profile would not give me away. The silence reassured me, yet I dreadfully feared their return.

As I made my way back to our home, I carefully scanned the space closest to the entrance. The knot of fear in my chest did not abate until I finally slipped past the threshold, squeezing my body through the narrow opening. The sharp, tight bend in the key passage was a deliberate design; it successfully foiled the access of anyone bigger than us. Indeed, we found this new dwelling much safer, even if food was scarcer to find.

My dear mate was waiting for me inside. She tried hard to hide her dread regarding my dangerous foraging trips, but it was written plain across her face. I rubbed her back and gently groomed her brown hair to ease her anxieties. I called her Fuzzy. She always pretended to dislike the nickname, but she melted my fears away as we held each other in the dark.

Later, I waited until everything outside grew completely silent before continuing my current project. My digging, slow and muted, produced very little noise. We desperately needed another secure entrance to our refuge; the mere idea of having our only exit blocked struck absolute terror into our hearts. I kept scratching through the earth toward a spot that suddenly rang hollow. Perhaps I had finally found the breakthrough I was seeking!

A sudden, sharp crash caused me to shudder in the tunnel. I immediately interrupted my task and sniffed the air, whiskers twitching. No, it was not them. They could not dig very well. Still, I suspended my work for a long while just to be safe.

When I finally broke through the barrier later that night, I did not find the awesome woods where I so often forged. Instead, I stepped directly into an entirely unknown territory. A vast, flat plain completely devoid of plants stretched out before me. Suddenly, the pungent, overwhelming smell of food dazed my senses, guiding me forward.

Then, without warning, the gaze of the inhabitant fell upon me.

We stared at each other, utterly paralyzed. Panic pinned my limbs to the ground. Once, when we had hidden in an old mansion full of forgotten books, I had seen illustrations of enormous, mythical monsters—but none of them were as colossally huge and dreadful as the creature standing before me now. Afterward, I could not even remember how I scrambled backward, jumping frantically into the jagged, fresh hole I had just dug.

Once the initial fright subsided, I began to roam that unexplored space with extreme caution. The giant beast ate there frequently, but it was fastidious, rarely leaving behind a single edible crumb.

A few days later, Fuzzy told me about a strange, bright green package that had been left directly outside our new exit. A dark premonition washed over me, and I strictly warned her not to touch it.

The next morning, I ventured out early to look around for food. While searching, an ominous, thrashing sound echoed from the tunnel, and I dashed home as fast as my legs could carry me.

When I burst into the nest, Fuzzy looked faint and unsteady. She was moving dully, her coordination entirely gone. She gazed up at me, her eyes filled with a terrible, silent angst. I froze, paralyzed by fear and the agonizing inability to help her. She slumped backward onto the earth. Her legs quivered weakly in the air, and her long, tawny tail gave one final twitch as she died.