Chapter 29: Wars Are Nuts (Patreon)

Author’s note: Hey guys

The adventure continues . . . enjoy!

Chapter 29: Wars Are Nuts - link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/102886988

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Chapter 29: Wars Are Nuts

Less than two handfuls of nuts was hardly enough to fill me up. But up there on the branches of the walnut trees, there were more than enough of them growing to last me at least a week. The question was how to get them down. The nuts were too high for me to reach, and I couldn't even remember the last time I had climbed a tree - if ever.

'But wasn't I . . . ? No!'

I was not a beast, let alone a tree-climbing cat.

Still, as much as I didn't like the notion, it was worth a shot. Who knows, perhaps one of those bestial instincts of mine would kick in, and I would be up there in a heartbeat. But deep down, I couldn't help but think it ridiculous. If I were a tree climber, I'd know, right?

Were the doubts my instincts warning me? Well, perhaps.

Either way, I didn't get more than half a meter up the trunk before I slid back down to the ground. The bark was too smooth, and my hands lacked the squirrels' claws to latch on with. Annoying, but so were the little buggers watching me with amusement from the treetops.

Not one to give up, at least not when it came to food, I tried jumping, even flapping my wings to get higher. But all the lower branches I might grab onto remained out of my reach.

'Shitty tree, move,' I groaned silently, kicking the trunk in an attempt to shake the tree. None of the nuts fell down, though. All that foolishness got me was a sore, shaky leg and the mocking squeals of squirrels, hurting my pride.

'Just you wait.'

Letting out a low growl, I gave them the middle finger and looked around for something to throw at them. 

'Ha!'

Or better yet - throw it into the branches to shake off the nuts.

Finally, having what sounded like a solid plan, I gathered a supply of thick dead sticks to throw, and with vengeance on my heart, I hurled the first one into the branches. Not my best throw, but it did the job. The branches shook, and more than a dozen nuts fell to the ground - much to the displeasure of the squirrels, of course. They shrieked, furious, the meaning clear enough: fuck off, this is our tree.

Well, I couldn't care less. 

There were more than enough nuts for all of us, and I was bloody hungry. So hungry, in fact, that if I had a way to start a fire, I'd dare one of those squirrels to come closer. Luckily for them, not keen on eating raw meat - and not really knowing how I would actually catch one, either - I resumed throwing the sticks.

Soon, I was sitting in front of a pile big enough to fill me up for the day.

To crack all the nuts open was a hassle, but hunger was a b . . . well, a relentless bitch, and so one by one, I smashed them between my shackles, separating the shells from the surprisingly juicy kernels. Sure, eating only the nuts was . . . nuts, but the more I ate, the more Sage happily wagged behind me. 

It was turning out to be not such a bad day, after all.

I had water close by, the beast in my stomach was almost silenced, and I was sitting outside in the middle of a green field sprinkled with little white flowers. What more could you ask for, right?

Well, some clothes for starters. Shoes would be good, too - and a bed, with a blanket and a roof over my head. That would be great - so great, almost like being back home. Yeah, home; I would love to get back so much. I would LOVE to hug my dad and my brother and have them hug me back. It would be awesome to be able to play with Sage, my ferret, again, and . . . 

" . . . yeah, yeah, don't worry," I said softly to my bushy tail that wrapped around my neck. "I like playing with you too."

'Oh . . . '

The moment the words left my lips, it hit me how awkward that sounded. Luckily for me, there was no one to hear me except the birds high in the treetops, the mossbears somewhere in the forest and the pair of squirrels squeaking from the crown of a walnut tree.

'The bloody heck?'

Looking up into the branches, I counted half a dozen pairs of eyes, giving me a death stare.

'Were there always so many of them?'

Probably. 

My nut gathering must have brought the others out of their nests. Then why did I get this weird feeling on the back of my neck? The branches rustled slightly, and two more squirrels popped up, just like the rest of them, staring murder at me. Then, two more pairs of eyes appeared.

Startled, I pricked up my ears, looking around at the nearby trees. Their branches much higher than those of the walnut, rustling slightly, were full of squirrels hurrying over. Like a swarm of rats, they landed on a tree, a source of food that I dared to take from them. 

Yet, not a single nut fell from the tree.

Impressive - and all the more reason to be cautious of the more than a hundred small creatures and their tiny claws and teeth. With my instincts screaming 'danger' at me, I kept my eyes on them, and when they all started squealing in chorus, I took a step back, ready to pounce - or flee.

Go away!

Our tree!

Not yours!

Get lost!

While not as easily understood as in the case of the horses' neighing, the meaning of their squeals could not be clearer. I was not welcome here. Unfortunately, as much as I'd prefer to, I couldn't back down. Firstly, my annoying bestial pride wouldn't let me do that, and secondly, after tasting the nuts, I wasn't about to live on moss.

And so, when their squeaking grew in volume, I growled back in the same manner, standing my ground: 'Scram! Get out of here!'

No, you!

Our nuts!

Then, without any warning and while I was baffled by the fact that they somehow understood me, the hundred-plus squirrels stormed me. I growled, roared, and screamed, trying to get them off me as they bit and scratched, defending their tree. In a heartbeat, my dinner spot turned into a vicious battlefield, with neither side gaining the upper hand, annoyingly. The squirrels were relentless, and no matter how many I threw away, they always came rushing back.

Their courage was remarkable - and vexing, so vexing.

I tried hard to fight the urge to really hurt them, to stop the pain of hundreds of claws tearing at my skin by spilling the buggers' blood. More than enough of it had already stained my hands. Nevertheless, slowly but surely, rage welled up in my chest, suffocating me and giving me shivers. That feral feeling deep inside was all too familiar to me.

Panic tightened its grip on my heart. I had to do something, quickly, before . . . 

The beast snapped.

"Enough!" I roared, startling not only the squirrels but myself as well. The bestial might swept through the forest along with my voice.

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