by T K Foster
The next morning a big yellow sun glared down from a light blue sky upon four campers who continued to sleep circled around the smouldering remains of a fire.
From the eye level of a small, very inquisitive and very hungry desert mouse, the scene appeared very quiet and very safe. Although the blanket covered lumps did make some rather odd noises, as well as heave up and down with their breathing, the mouse scurried in amongst them with barely a glance backwards. The dirt beneath his feet was pebbly and slightly damp from the little morning dew which had gathered just before sun up, giving him the perfect opportunity to lick several rocks and get enough moisture to constitute an essential drink, before latching his claws into one of the blanketed lumps and climbing to higher ground. Up there he could survey his surroundings. Just a short distance away there were four burros talking quietly amongst themselves; one raised its nose in his direction, but he paid it no mind. What did appeal to his senses was the plate of sloppy leftover food sitting beside the smouldering camp fire.
The little desert mouse sniffed the air and preened his whiskers before taking a wild dive back to the ground. He ran but tripped on a sharp stone, cutting his foot. Blood seeped out quickly and he bent down on his haunches to lick the wound for a short moment before making the short dash once more toward the plate of food. Almost there he slipped atop the very pebble he had intended to pull himself up upon and flew across the rim of the plate where he landed with his front feet and nose embedded in a congealed pool of reddish brown gravy.
“Yuck!” he gasped, before licking his lips and tasting it.
“Yuck!” he repeated immediately afterwards.
Toward the middle of the plate was a large chunk of carrot, but he would have to wade his way through the gravy to get to it; so he did. He got to his feet and tip toed as best he could through the murky reddish brown pool toward the bright orange vegetable.
The carrot was soft on his teeth.
He smiled.
Cetra, who had in fact awoken at the same time a small mouse had been glancing around from atop of Barret’s covered hip, was still giggling beneath her blanket from the first time the furry animal had taken a tumble in the dirt. She tried not to disturb the mouse but Cetra’s wide eyes had the astonishing ability to capture the attention of even the smallest of creatures.
“Hey!” said the mouse, pulling his nose from the hole he’d chewed into the side of the soft orange vegetable. He looked at her and sniffed the air.
“Hey yourself,” she said back and pulled the blanket away from her face.
The mouse buried his nose again in the hole and took another mouthful. He continued to eat, having decided that the big eyed girl was not a threat.
“How is your breakfast little mouse?” Cetra asked.
“Lovely....” he said, spitting orange flecks across the plate.
Appearing slightly embarrassed he raised his front paw to steady the girl from speaking again until he had eaten his fill.
“Oh, of course,” she said, “I am very sorry, I did interrupt you. Please continue.”
That said, and several hands later, the mouse, having indeed had his fill, waddled toward a large rock and struggled to its rounded peak.
“Good morning,” he said with a contented smile and a rub of his now expanded belly.
“Good morning little mouse. My name is Cetra.”
The animal stood on his back legs and raised a paw to the girl.
“I am Rod,” he responded, “Rod Dent, happy to meet you.”
Cetra reached out and took the extended paw between her thumb and finger, shook it once and let go. She pushed the blanket aside and sat up crossing her legs.
“I am very happy to meet you too, Rod,” she said, “Are you thirsty?”
“A little, a drop of water would be nice.”
She reached for her canteen and poured some water into her cupped palm.
“You may have to climb onto my hand, Rod,” she said calmly, “are you alright with that?”
Rod bravely, though awkwardly, leapt onto Cetra’s long fingers and began to drink.
Thus a bond was created.
It was discovered that Rod was alone on this wide plain. Sure he had friends, but no real family. He was a nomad, a wanderer, he scurried around and around. Cetra invited him to come along with them, if just for a while.
“You can ride on my shoulder,” she said, “because I do not have a pocket.”
Rod was grateful for the invitation.
“Thank you my dear, that would be splendid,” he said and proceeded to carefully run up Cetra’s outstretched arm and perch himself up on her shoulder.
A short time after that the other three woke up and grumbled about the brightness of the sun shining in their eyes, burning them, and making Billy sneeze. They ate breakfast, a large grain cake of sorts, noticed the mouse on Cetra’s shoulder and commented on it, then gathered the packs together for their continued journey.
As before, Briar rode up front. He was a bit disgruntled and slightly embarrassed at having been thrown by Baby once more into the dust, and he had a right mind to smack the burro in the head if he’d been able to reach at all without having to jump. Jumping was not a strong point for Briar; his small rounded body was simply incapable of facilitating the action.
Up next rode Barret. He was still chuckling at the image of Briar flying to the ground.
Billy and Cetra rode side by side at the rear.
“You do realise he’s having a lend of you?” Billy said.
Cetra turned and smiled at him questioningly.
“The mouse...! Rod Dent...? Come on.”
“What do you mean Billy?”
Rod, who had latched onto the back of Cetra’s shirt to come across from one shoulder to the other, now looked directly at Billy.
“First name Rodney, family name Dent, what is so hard to understand about that, young man?”
“Rod Dent.... Rodent...! Don’t you see? Don’t you get it?”
Billy stared at their bewildered faces.
“Ugh,” he sounded in disgust and trotted ahead and away from their ignorance.
It wasn’t too long into the day, an approximate 2220 hands for that matter that they came to the bank of a sandy flat. Across the flat and far into the distance they could see a rise, or a cliff face, and to each side a sea of continuous sand fed into the horizon. There was no sign of life, except for a lone vaulthawk circling high above their heads; which was just a big, ugly scavenger bird, but it had beautiful wings and perfect gliding prowess.
Obviously Baby was the first to stop, being at the front and all. Stern, having approached from behind and become so involved in the mood of their slow and droll trek through the wilderness, continued on only to plunge his nose into the rump of his little brother, which sent Baby stumbling forward and beyond the threshold of sand. To Baby’s horror his front hooves penetrated the gritty surface and dug in deep; which in effect also sent Briar flying forward and over the burro’s head to land face first in the sand.
This simple though clumsy event received a chorus of laughter and a cheer from Cetra who announced excitedly, “You are funny, Briar.”
Briar on the other hand got to his feet, spat sand and waded his way back to hard ground. He did not utter a word, though the entire episode did serve to highlight the following rather important information:
“Soft sand,” Barret said matter-of-factly.
“Why does it matter?” asked Cetra.
“The burros will sink into the sand as they walk,” Barret answered.
There was a sudden shuffling of hooves and an awkward glance between the four brothers.
“Where exactly are you taking us, Briar?” Billy asked.
Briar wiped the last of the grit from his mouth before responding. “Up there,” he said and pointed toward the cliff beyond the sandy flat.
“Ok then, let’s get going.” Barret was now impatient and prompted the burro beneath him to move forward. The suggestion to walk across the
sand though was not at all in Stern’s best interest; he refused to move, as did his brothers.
“Not going across that,” the burro said sternly, “there’s evil afoot in there.”
Barret glared down at the burro’s head which had turned to look at him. “This is no time to be disobeying your master and start speaking now,” he said.
“Do you see Ballders around anywhere?” Stern retorted.
“You’re just a burro,” Barret spoke commandingly. “You’ve all been entrusted to us, so you’ll do what we say.”
“Get lost you big topey,” Baby yelled back hard and jumped up and down several times while he snorted.
In the sudden din that followed tempers flared and male voices dominated. Briar and Barret were able to find that once already lost common ground again and toss their differences aside, Baby and Stern found themselves defending the very essence of their burroness, and Billy and Tap remained unheard in their gentle attempt to promote peace.
Apart from all this carry-on, Shovel stood quietly to one side and allowed Cetra to brush the hair between his ears with her fingers. He was quite oblivious to all else, his eyes were closed and his lips curled; so when Cetra gently prompted him with a nudge of her knees to move forward and onto the sand he simply, and almost hypnotically, obeyed.
It wasn’t before they were a good few lengths in that the commotion behind them suddenly stopped and a familiar older brother’s voice broke the moment’s silence.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Stern shouted, his voice cracked with the pain of his brother’s betrayal.
“Don’t do it bro,” Baby added, “You’ll die out there.”
Yet Shovel continued on, each step sinking into the sand further than he would have preferred, but all the while never bothering to turn back to his brothers.
“You are very brave Shovel,” Cetra spoke softly to her burro, her fingers stroking the backs of his ears now.
“Yes indeed,” Rod complimented, “you have done this company a great service.”
“Nooo....” Shovel shook his head lazily, “I’m just tired of being bossed around by them all the time. They think they’re so smart, but I can make up my own mind. Who are the scaredy ones now?”
“Good call, young man,” Rod praised commandingly. He stood tall and clenched his paw at the sandy path which lay ahead. “Soldier on.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
