horror.
“Heading to the pet shop,” Ben said as he stomped over the pine needles, climbing toward a large yellow oyster mushroom that glowed in the shadows ahead.
“You can’t just march around like that,” Bushmaster argued. “You have to be careful. Hop, stop, and look. Hop, stop, and look.”
“At that rate, it will take all day,” Ben argued.
“Perhaps,” Bushmaster said, “but remember, the shortest distance between two points is getting there alive.”
Ben said impatiently, “My teacher says that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.”
Bushmaster grunted in disgust. “I’d like to see your teacher walk a straight line through a field of weasels.”
“All right,” Ben said. Ben hopped forward a few steps, hid beneath a wild daffodil, and made a big show of peering around. “Whew,” he groused. “I made it two feet alive. Hope I can keep it up.” He darted forward three hops—enormous bounds that only a jumping mouse could manage—and pretended to evade an owl, zigzagging until he reached a pile of pine needles. Amber’s anger started to rise, but she kept her mouth shut.
East took them away from Ben’s house, through a stand of fir trees, and down a rolling hill. In the predawn, it was spooky. The shriek of some hunting bird shattered the darkness, and every shadow under every crooked bush and crouching tree was filled with menace.
Vapors rose from the ground, like the ghosts of woodlands past, and broken limbs on the forest floor seemed to twist like dazed snakes. The mice climbed down into a valley where green moss grew and mushrooms sprouted from the moss, white as snow.
Amber trembled in fear as she wound her way beneath the umbrella tops of the mushrooms. She considered her plan. Old Barley Beard had told her that she was destined to free all of the mice in the world someday.
Today is the day, she thought. I’ll reach the pet shop and free my friends, fulfilling the prophecy.
But in doing so, she’d lose Ben.
Will I never be able to use magic again after that? she wondered. It seemed unlikely.
Amber had to come to grips with the fact that once Ben was human, she’d just be a common house mouse. Or at least one with a spear, she mused, grinning wickedly.
As dawn filled the sky, the sense of menace faded and the world displayed its wonders. They reached the edge of a meadow—a real meadow, just like old Barley Beard had dreamed of. There, the mice climbed a small madrone tree, whose peeling red bark revealed a honey-colored layer of pith beneath, and sat under its waxy green leaves as Amber took her first good look at the world.
The meadow was filled with lush green grass, morning glories opening their white petals to the world, golden daffodils, and wild mountain blue irises springing from the ground.
In the distance, Amber could see a shining disk, rising pink above the purple mountains and the morning fog that filled the Willamette Valley.
“That’s the sun,” Ben said. “We just head toward it.”
Oh, Amber thought. It was like a lightbulb back in the pet shop, only this one brightened the whole world.
Down in the meadow, her eyes caught the movement of animals. She saw cottontail bunnies bouncing playfully at the tree line, and by a small pool of water, a stately animal stood. It had some branches stuck on its head.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s a deer,” Bushmaster said, “with his antlers in velvet. With rabbits and deer in the meadow, that’s a good sign. There shouldn’t be any predators around.”
“Hooray,” Amber cried.
“We should have a song,” Bushmaster said, “to give us peace of mind on our journey.” And so he sat on the limb beneath the bush and sang in a loud, clear voice:
The trail is long and lonely,
And soon I’ll reach the end,
In sunlight or in shadow,
I’ll come to you, my friend.
When death is at your doorway,
And there’s no one to defend
In day or utter darkness,
I’ll stand with you,
“Heading to the pet shop,” Ben said as he stomped over the pine needles, climbing toward a large yellow oyster mushroom that glowed in the shadows ahead.
“You can’t just march around like that,” Bushmaster argued. “You have to be careful. Hop, stop, and look. Hop, stop, and look.”
“At that rate, it will take all day,” Ben argued.
“Perhaps,” Bushmaster said, “but remember, the shortest distance between two points is getting there alive.”
Ben said impatiently, “My teacher says that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.”
Bushmaster grunted in disgust. “I’d like to see your teacher walk a straight line through a field of weasels.”
“All right,” Ben said. Ben hopped forward a few steps, hid beneath a wild daffodil, and made a big show of peering around. “Whew,” he groused. “I made it two feet alive. Hope I can keep it up.” He darted forward three hops—enormous bounds that only a jumping mouse could manage—and pretended to evade an owl, zigzagging until he reached a pile of pine needles. Amber’s anger started to rise, but she kept her mouth shut.
East took them away from Ben’s house, through a stand of fir trees, and down a rolling hill. In the predawn, it was spooky. The shriek of some hunting bird shattered the darkness, and every shadow under every crooked bush and crouching tree was filled with menace.
Vapors rose from the ground, like the ghosts of woodlands past, and broken limbs on the forest floor seemed to twist like dazed snakes. The mice climbed down into a valley where green moss grew and mushrooms sprouted from the moss, white as snow.
Amber trembled in fear as she wound her way beneath the umbrella tops of the mushrooms. She considered her plan. Old Barley Beard had told her that she was destined to free all of the mice in the world someday.
Today is the day, she thought. I’ll reach the pet shop and free my friends, fulfilling the prophecy.
But in doing so, she’d lose Ben.
Will I never be able to use magic again after that? she wondered. It seemed unlikely.
Amber had to come to grips with the fact that once Ben was human, she’d just be a common house mouse. Or at least one with a spear, she mused, grinning wickedly.
As dawn filled the sky, the sense of menace faded and the world displayed its wonders. They reached the edge of a meadow—a real meadow, just like old Barley Beard had dreamed of. There, the mice climbed a small madrone tree, whose peeling red bark revealed a honey-colored layer of pith beneath, and sat under its waxy green leaves as Amber took her first good look at the world.
The meadow was filled with lush green grass, morning glories opening their white petals to the world, golden daffodils, and wild mountain blue irises springing from the ground.
In the distance, Amber could see a shining disk, rising pink above the purple mountains and the morning fog that filled the Willamette Valley.
“That’s the sun,” Ben said. “We just head toward it.”
Oh, Amber thought. It was like a lightbulb back in the pet shop, only this one brightened the whole world.
Down in the meadow, her eyes caught the movement of animals. She saw cottontail bunnies bouncing playfully at the tree line, and by a small pool of water, a stately animal stood. It had some branches stuck on its head.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s a deer,” Bushmaster said, “with his antlers in velvet. With rabbits and deer in the meadow, that’s a good sign. There shouldn’t be any predators around.”
“Hooray,” Amber cried.
“We should have a song,” Bushmaster said, “to give us peace of mind on our journey.” And so he sat on the limb beneath the bush and sang in a loud, clear voice:
The trail is long and lonely,
And soon I’ll reach the end,
In sunlight or in shadow,
I’ll come to you, my friend.
When death is at your doorway,
And there’s no one to defend
In day or utter darkness,
I’ll stand with you,
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