The Fight

The Fight

Chiptooth hid behind a large fallen branch, its wood was soft from rot and it smelled musty. He held his spear tightly in his paws, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Leaving the safety of The Great Pine was always tense for any Red Clan squirrel, danger lurked behind every rock, under every log, and hidden in every shadow. His small dark eyes were wide as he searched for predators and his ears were focused on anything that might suggest a menace. It was quiet. The sun was dipping low in the horizon, elongating the shadows, deepening them, making it easier to hide but harder to spot dangers.

He scurried to a log smelling of fresh moss and concealed himself among the tall grass that grew along its edge. He had a hidden stash of nuts and seeds buried just ahead, beside the next stump, he had to gather his food before the snows came. The way looked safe, Chiptooth didn't hesitate. He strapped his spear to his back and ran on all fours; he jumped, leaped, scurried, and climbed with the athleticism of a young squirrel and quickly made it to the stump; he paused only for a moment to catch his breath before climbing the stump, digging his tiny claws into the old wood and made it to the other side.

It was gone! His stash was gone. A freshly dug hole was all that remained. His nuts, his seeds, everything, all the food he needed to feed his family through the winter was gone, all of it. He had other stashes of food, of course, but this was by far the largest, the most important, the others wouldn’t be enough.

Chiptooth felt his heart sink; he didn't know what to do. He never dreamed that this stash would be found, he had hidden it so well, at least he thought he did. He was worried. The food was important, he needed it. He played with his thick tail, a nervous habit he had since he was a child, his eyes darting around the forest.
The food he had in his nest had already been picked through. He had already paid the Gliders when they took their “tribute;” annual payment to be allowed to continue to live in The Great Pine with his family.

The Gliders were bigger than Chiptooth and the other Climbers, but the Climbers were more clever. Chiptooth knew that if he had all the food that he had collected throughout the summer in his nest, the Gliders would have taken a lot more than they had; they wouldn't have left him with enough to survive. They’d probably kill him if they knew how much he had hidden from them, nearly a dozen stashes around the forest. He knew that it was a dangerous game to play like this, but as it was, he had just enough food for his family to survive the winter, but that included this stash.

He had to do something, part of him thought of just collecting the rest of his stashes and returning home, but he had two kittens and a mate at home. No, he couldn't return home with so little. He had to either find who took his food and get it back or find more. It took him months to collect the food he had here, there was no way he could collect enough before the snows fell.

He sniffed the freshly dug earth around the hole and the surrounding area hoping to glean who could have taken his food, but he didn’t recognize the scent. There were tracks though. He followed them, pulling his spear from the harness. It was sharp and sturdy. He had chewed the branch until it was the right length and thickness, he chipped the stone until it was the perfect size and sharpness and tied them together using rope he made from soft bark. His dad taught him how to make the weapon when he was a kitten, and when his children grew he would teach them as well. It was for defence only, never intended to hurt or kill out of anger, only necessity. Some days it was hard though.

When the Gliders had come into his nest he wanted to stab them right through their guts, to kill them all. They were taking food from his family. He didn't of course. Milkeye led the Gliders to his nest; he was one of the largest gliding squirrels Chiptooth had ever seen, and he frightened him more than any other squirrel he had ever met. He had several large scars that ran down his face where another squirrel racked him during a fight, destroying one of his eyes; it made Chiptooth feel uneasy even to look at him.

But Chiptooth didn't stab him or any of the other Gliders that came for his food, instead, he submitted, laying on his back, exposing his soft underbelly and waited as they took half of his food storage. The Gliders were stupid and predictable. They would always come around the same time every year to collect tribute from the Climbers, and Chiptooth would always submit; they would always take half of what they saw, assuming that was everything. The Gliders never knew about the stashes of food; they were stupid.

The tracks leading away from the hole were from a squirrel, faint but definitely there. He sniffed them and began to follow. The ground was thankfully soft. It was late in the year, the smell of winter was just over the horizon and the air was already beginning to grow teeth. His breath was beginning to frost in the air as the sun disappeared behind the edge of the earth.

He followed the tracks with blind determination, forgetting about the rest of the world around him. When he lost sight of the tracks he would follow the scent until he found them again. The trail led through the forest, always on the ground, leaving deep prints that Chiptooth, in spite of being an unseasoned tracker, could easily follow. The soft moist earth was cool under his paws and allowed him to move silently. He followed for some time, the sun had turned a deep crimson and was preparing for its evening sleep when he found the end of the trail. True fear seized him when he looked up for the first time and saw where he was.

He stood at the base of The Great Pine of The Grey Clan squirrels, right in the heart of enemy territory. There were two great pines that towered high above the other trees that were as thick around as a hundred full-grown trees. In each one lived a squirrel clan, the Reds and the Greys. The two clans have been at war for generations. With their territories stretched as far as Chiptooth could see. It was dangerous for a squirrel to be in the enemy's territory like he was now.

He thought about turning back and going home. If he did that his wife, his children, or himself will not survive the winter, someone would starve. Before he could lose his courage, he dug his claws into the bark and began his climb. There was a nest nearby, he stuck in his head and sniffed; the smell was wrong, these weren't the ones that stole from him. He moved on. There were nests everywhere. Chiptooth knew how dangerous this was, climbing the enemy tree, peaking in every nest. If he was seen, they’d kill him without hesitation; if it wasn’t for the missing food he would never go near the Grey’s tree. He was incredibly lucky that night had fallen, few squirrels would be out this late, fearing to leave the protection the nests offered. Even Gliders feared to venture out after dark. Owls hunted at night.

This was it. The smell from the nest was the same as the one from his stash. He burst in, giving no warning. He saw his stash piled in the middle of the nest as if it had only arrived a moment before; it hadn't been hidden yet. A male and his mate huddled around a kitten. The baby was young, really young, still blind and hairless pink.

For a moment Chiptooth wondered if he had the right nest. This was just a climber trying to feed his family, like him. He hesitated. The grey squirrel didn't. He pulled a stone knife from his belt, held it above his head and attacked, launching himself full speed at Chiptooth. Chiptooth scrambled for his spear on his back but he was too slow. He managed to knock the knife out of the way with his empty paw but the grey squirrel slammed heavily into him, the momentum forcing the two of them out of the nest. Chiptooth grabbed blindly at something, anything to stop the fall. All he found was air.

The two squirrels fell out of the tree, their furry bodies tangled together, the black ground racing up. Chiptooth felt the wind rush past him, rippling through his fur as he spun uncontrollably to the earth. He hit the ground with a whoomph as his breath was forced out of him all at once. The earth was soft, cushioning his fall, but it still hurt. Chiptooth laid on the moist soil and dead leaves trying to catch his breath. He moaned and slowly rolled to his side. The grey squirrel was breathing heavily but also alive.

Before Chiptooth could catch his breath, the grey was already on his feet. His knife was already in his paw. Again, he threw himself recklessly at Chiptooth. He rolled away as the grey stabbed his knife into the ground. Chiptooth fought to pull his spear free, struggled against the straps. The Grey sliced at him, Chiptooth fell backwards, avoiding the attack. The spear ripped free from the harness but fell from his paws.

Chiptooth still felt disoriented from the fall. He thought of turning and running back to his tree, but he needed that food. He turned to fight, lowering himself on all fours. He hoped that the Grey was as winded and weak as he was from the fall. He waited for the attack, he didn't wait long. The Grey charged, Chiptooth launched himself in the air, diving headfirst over the Grey. Chiptooth's gamble paid off, the Grey's reflexes were slowed by the fall. The grey sliced at Chiptooth hitting only air.

Chiptooth landed on his front paws, rolled, and finished beside his spear. He snatched it up and stabbed at the Grey just as he went for one final attack. The sharp stone tip tore through the Grey's belly, spraying blood and spilling his guts onto the ground.

Chiptooth paused only for a few seconds, looking down at the Grey Climber before climbing back up the tree. He found the nest easily again. The grey’s mate was still holding her baby close to her chest. The nest was about the same size as his own, maybe a little smaller, but not by much. There was soft bedding made of chewed wood and dried leaves for sleeping and extra rooms for food. There was a food stash besides his own, but it looked picked through like the one in his own nest. They have to pay tribute just like the Reds.

There wasn’t much food, but it would be enough for the female to survive the winter as long as she nursed the kitten until the spring thaw. There wouldn't have been enough with the male. He packed his stolen food into a sack he wore on his back and filled his cheeks with what wouldn't fit.

Gingerly, he stepped out into the night, fearful of Greys, and of owls beginning their nightly hunt, then scurried back to his own great pine. His mate was waiting for him when he returned. Without any explanation, Chiptooth emptied his found stash from his sack and cheeks, completely refilling their food stores. Knowing he had enough food to feed his family through the winter, Chiptooth curled up next to his mate and children and slept soundly.