Up a Tree

Scrungle stood, watching the knights slowly shrink in the distance as they travelled north along the King’s Road. He then turned and made his way into the forest. The sun was hidden almost immediately by a thick canopy of leaves. Moving slowly at first, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light, it didn’t take long to move with confidence once they had adapted. For such a tall creature, he made very little sound. Scrungle’s tapering, wedge-like legs barely crunched the leaves on the forest floor. Being as malleable as he was, he could traverse the forest and its interior rather quickly. Other creatures went about their business in the underbrush, but it was still relatively early, and no one was really up for conversation.

After some time had passed, he came upon a small clearing. A spring bubbled up from the ground, water trickling away to join a larger river down the slope. The soggy ground was ideal for a patch of brown and beige fungi to grow. Their long stems and wide caps shaded the ground beneath them. Stooping low Scrungle let his nose snuffle around the fungi. It didn’t smell of anything. Learning from his earlier mistake, he stood straight.

“Hello? Is this anyone’s home?” His hesitant voice telepathically shouted into the clearing. No reply. He bent again, grabbed one of the fungi, and started to absorb it. Mushing the fungi around his body, the taste was delicious. Within a very short period, Scrungle had eaten the lot.

“Ah, good breakfast.” He said to no one in particular. After he had finished the patch of mushrooms, Scrungle caught a murmur of barking and growling drifting through the trees. He wasn’t sure where the sound was coming from and didn’t want to find the origin, so he set off to try and find the Kings Road again. Scrungle wasn’t much of a forward planner. Some would say he lived in the moment. He just did the things that made him happy, believing everything would turn out fine. And for Scrungle, this was often, if not always, the case. So, he simply turned and walked back in the direction he thought he had come.

However, he was heading in the completely wrong direction. The more he tried to steer clear of the sounds of growling and yapping, the louder the snarls and barks became. As if an unseen hand was guiding his path, nudging him gently towards the sound.

Now he could hear a mixture of commands being shouted. Before he registered what happened, Scrungle walked out of the trees into a little clearing. A small pack of wolves was circling a lone oak, barking up at the branches. Scrungle stood still, and then one of the wolves noticed the new arrival and stopped barking orders.

“Fellas, we’ve got a visitor. Fellas! Fellas, will ya shut up?” Said a grey-white wolf. He was the biggest, and Scrungle got the distinct impression he was the leader. The barking and snarls tapered off, one by one the wolves looked at Scrungle, and Scrungle looked at them. They were all the same colouring, some fur darker than others, but all from the same pack.

Scrungle did a quick head count and came back with the number four. He then did another count using his fingers and came back with four again. He was pleased that the count stayed the same and that the number of wolves was under seven, as he only had six fingers.

“Hello,” he said, adding a customary tentative wave. The wolf that had seen Scrungle first ears pricked up, then walked over. He moved with a lithe grace that Scrungle thought wouldn’t look out of place on a catwalk.

“I understood that. Not often do we come across someone we can talk to, but we saw the egg first, and seeing is nine-tenths of the law.”

The wolf didn’t sound threatening; he was just tired. Scrungle didn’t say anything in reply, just slowly dropped his stick-like hand.

“Mate. We are starving, and it’s a good size egg for an omelette.” Saying this, the wolf then sat down and started to scratch his left ear with his back paw.

“Go away, I’m not an egg!” Said a squeaky, high-pitched voice from somewhere up in the tree. One of the branches quivered, shaking the leaves.

“That’s what an egg hiding up a tree would say.” Growled a demure-looking she-wolf.

“Can we have capers with the omelette?” Said one of the wolves. His eyes were independent of each other. One pointing left the other right. Like marbles in a sock.

“Where the bloody hell are we going to get capers from, you nugget?” Said the she-wolf.

“The grocer.” Replied the wonky-eyed wolf.

“A grocer? Who’s going to put a grocer’s shop in the middle of the woods? What’s the footfall going to be? A lost traveller, Hansel and Gretel, The cast of the Blair Witch?”

“I like capers.” Said the wonky-eyed wolf.

“I like thrillers with lots of plot twists, but that doesn’t help anyone does it.” The she-wolf’s tone was exasperated. Scrungle had the distinct impression that the wonky-eyed wolf was a bit on the dim side. While this exchange about the need for a remote woodland grocer was going on, the last wolf had come over to Scrungle and started sniffing him up and down. Scrungle felt a little self-conscious but had showered the night before, so he was sure he didn’t smell too pungent. The wolf sniffed some more, then licked one of Scrungle’s stick-thin hands.

“Have you just eaten chicken thermidor?” asked the wolf.

“I was sitting next to a knight who was eating it.” Said Scrungle.

“My, my. Lucky for some.” Snarled the now-annoyed wolf. “Haven’t eaten in three days. Got a banging headache.” Added the wolf.

“Go away, Leave me alone.” Said the small voice from up the tree again.

“Come down. Don’t make us come up there.” Said the leader. He had taken his place back up at the base of the tree and gave no indication he had any inclination to try to climb it.

“Olives, then?” Said the wonky-eyed wolf. Who then tripped over a gnarly root. The she-wolf rolled her eyes.

“The same thing you tit. Where are we going to get olives?”

“Grocers.” Said the wonky-eyed wolf.

“Go away!” Said the squeaky little voice. The she-wolf looked up at the tree.

“I’m so hungry…” She groaned. Scrungle thought about the little voice and then looked around at the wolves. He didn’t want the little creature to be eaten by a pack of wolves if it didn’t want to be eaten. Regardless of whether it was an egg or not, the wolves started barking again and telling the creature in the tree to come down.

“I’m so hungry.” Said the she-wolf once again, pacing around the tree’s trunk and whining. Scrungle suddenly remembered all the food he had saved from sitting with the knights at the picnic table.

“Oh, I have food!” Said Scrungle. The wolves stopped at once and came straight over to Scrungle.

“You have food? I did hear you say you had food?” said the desperate pack leader.

“Yes, Yes! I forgot, you see. It’s in my pockets.” Scrungle started pulling out the food that he had saved from his plate earlier while sitting with the knights, Scrungle tried to put it out in a nice picnic display with plates, napkins, and a chequered cloth.

The wolves, on the other hand, had a different idea and quickly dove in and ate everything Scrungle could produce. He even found a forgotten chocolate cake. It had gone a bit hard, and he could not, for the life of him, remember when he had put it in his pocket, but the wolves didn’t mind at all. Scrungle did attempt to put a nice ribbon around it and present it on a cake stand, but had no chance as the wolves just got stuck in and demolished it in minutes.

Although the wolves did not wait for the niceties of presentation, they made sure that each of them had an equal and fair share, even the wonky-eyed wolf. He would stop eating and then stare off into the middle distance for no apparent reason, a gormless, almost frightened look on his face. As if he’d been accosted by the intrusive thought of his grandmother, whisking cake mix naked. But then, one of the wolves would shout out his name, and he would start happily munching away again, without a care in the world.

When every crumb and every morsel of food had been devoured, the wolves rolled onto their backs one by one. The day was beginning to warm up, and the little glade they were in seemed like a wonderful place to relax for a moment.

“Oh, thank you; that was amazing.” Said the wolf with the cat’s grace and the air of an alpha leader.

“Can you tell me your names?” Asked Scrungle.

“Of course.” Said the wolf, “I’m Snickers; top dog, obviously. That’s Melody.” He flipped an ear in the direction of the she-wolf. She was on her back letting the sun warm her belly.

“The one with a keen nose for chicken thermidor is Al, and the one with the need for capers is Wonky.” Both the wolves barked their names and then went back to relaxing.

“Is there really an egg up that tree?” asked Scrungle, looking up into the branches.

“Oh, hey, I had totally forgotten about that.” Said Snickers. He sat up once again to investigate the tree. Scrungle followed, and he could make out a little, orange, egg-shaped figure hiding in the foliage. It did look egg-shaped, but strangely jagged as well.

“Hello, are you an egg?” Said Scrungle.

“I’m not an egg!” Squeaked the voice.

“I’m Scrungle Bungus. What is your name?” He said to the quivering shape up the tree in what he hoped was a gentle tone.

“Are you going to eat me?” Asked the voice. The foliage shook to give the statement emphasis.

“I am not. I only eat fungus. I can ask the wolves if they are still wanting to eat you, however,” replied Scrungle. He turned to the wolves.

“What do you reckon, pack?” Said Snickers.

“I like eggs, but to be honest, I’m good for now.” Said Melody. Her voice was kind of sleepy sounding. Wonky the wolf was snoring gently and didn’t answer.

“I’m easy.” Said Al. Snickers looked at Scrungle. “You can tell it that we aren’t going to eat it.”

Snickers then stretched out, turned around in a few circles, and curled himself up to sleep. Scrungle walked a little way around the tree to see if he could get a better look at the egg-like creature.

“Have they gone?” Said the anxious voice.

“No, but they did say that they weren’t going to eat you anymore.” Scrungle looked around at the wolves.

“And I think they have all fallen asleep.” A few moments passed, then the tree branch shook a little. Amongst the green leaves not too far from the ground, a little, round, orange egg shape scuttled slowly along its length. The creature’s stance was very wide, so it kind of hopped from one foot to the other. Scrungle guessed its height was between a foot and a foot and a half. It had a sharp nose pointing off at an angle and soft, round black eyes. There was a nervous tension about it. Like a youth theatre play about wasps.

“Are you with them?” said a squeaky voice nervous. It pointed downward to the ground below with a stumpy limb.

“No, I was looking for the King’s Road. I came into the forest for breakfast. I am on a quest, or so some knights I met seem to think I am. I was going to the city of Plombree to talk to a group of sorcerers about magic mushrooms. I, um, got a bit lost, you see.”

With Scrungle talking and the wolves no longer barking and growling, the little creature had begun to relax, their shape becoming less jagged and more orbular.

“I’m Peetles.”

“Nice to meet you. I am Scrungle Bungus.”

“I want to come down now, please.” Said Peetles. Scrungle looked around. The sun was higher, dancing beams through the leaves. Golden pockets of light played over the forest floor. And as far as he could tell, the pack of wolves had all fallen asleep.

“I think it’s safe to come down.”

“Promise you aren’t going to eat me.” Said Peetles, their shape becoming ever so wobbly again.

“Promise.” He replied. Peetles relaxed and tottered back towards the trunk of the tree. Like Scrungle, Peetles wasn’t designed for climbing, and almost immediately lost their footing and fell. Scrungle just stood and watched as they tumbled with little grace toward his face. Then hit Scrungle squarely between the eyes. Scrungle, being the consistency of marshmallow, softened the impact for Peetles. For a brief moment, the impression of Peetles’ body was imprinted on Scrungle’s face. Peetles tried valiantly to grab the long white nose of Scrungle to slow their descent, eventually slipping off the end and onto the ground.

To Scrungle, it looked like Peetles had gone a bit spiky again. Shaking with anxiety, their body dancing about. Looking around to see if any of the slumbering wolves had woken up.

“Which way are you going?” Peetles whispered, their eyes large in their orange head.

“That way.” Said Scrungle. Sticking out a thin arm in the direction he thought the King’s Road was. Peetles, with surprising speed, headed off with a sort of waddling bounce in the direction Scrungle had pointed.