Chatterbox: KYNGDOM™ Archive

{A tale of friends and migratory flights}

“Mere!” Isador called out to her friend.

“Coming!” the otter called, running up to the top of the waterfall. Isador was perched in the boughs of a rowan tree by the falls.

“You’re so slow, Mere. Why don’t you just grow wings, like any sensible beast?”

“I wouldnae be an otter if I ‘ad wings, Isa. An’ b’tween ye an’ me, I rather like bein’ an otter!”

“Of course Mere would love being an otter. All that splashing about,” Isador joked. Mere threw a twig at her half-heartedly.

“Say, ‘ave yer folks said anythin’ about that migration?” Mere asked. A few months ago, Isador had mentioned her parents talking about migrating for the winter this year, which would make Isa absent for a good portion of the year. Mere hoped the Wrens weren’t migrating.

Isador hopped on one foot, and then the other, stalling. “No,” she lied. Her parents had made up their minds. This summer was to be their last season near the Estuary. In the fall, they would journey south to the Badger-Shore, where the hot weather lasted year-round. And they did not plan on returning.

“Ah.” Mere leant back against the tree trunk. The friends were quiet for a minute or two, until a voice broke the silence.

“ISADOR!” It was the wren’s mother. She fluttered down beside her daughter on the branch.

“Well, hello there, Mere,” the bird greeted her.

“Good-day tae ye, Mrs. Oliane.” Mere bowed formally.

“Sorry to tear you two apart, but we really must be getting back to the nest. Come along, Isador! Nice to see you again, Mere!” The birds flew off. Mere remained by the falls for a while longer, swimming in the river and returning to the holt with several dace hung over her shoulder.

——

“Isadooooooooooooorr!” Mere called for the umpteenth time that day. She had been hanging around by the falls for the greater part of the morning, and Isador had yet to show. Mere was growing worried, although she tried not to show it. ‘Maybe she’s out fer the day, or somethin’. She wouldnae just…leave an’ not tell me, would she?’

In the evening, Mere heard heavy pawfalls on the ground. “Heya, Bear,” she said without turning around. The old badger chuckled.

“Greetings, young Mere,” intoned Bear the Wanderer. “What keeps you here so late, if I may ask?”

“I was waitin’ fer Isador tae show up, an’ she ne’er did,” Mere explained.

“Isador?” Bear’s brow furrowed in thought. “Didn’t she and her family leave sometime last moon?” They paused, recollecting the events. “Yes, they did leave. Several weeks ago, I believe. I was out for a stroll, and I happened to spot them. Said they were going south, and planned to spend the rest of their days in the sunny climate.”

Mere’s face fell. ‘By the tempest, she did leave wi'out a goodbye.’

Bear noticed the change that came over the otter. “She didn’t say goodbye?”

Mere shook her head. Bear hugged the otter tightly as her body wracked with sobs. “She dinnae e’en say goodbye, Bear! She dinnae e’en say goodbye!”’

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For a year, Mere lived down by the falls. Bear visited now and then, when they could spare an hour or two to just sit by the falls with the otter. One morning, she found a hawthorn flower (which the otters called Ramsblossom) outside her door.

‘Well the tempest must pity me greatly fer my ma tae creep back ‘ere an’ place a Ramsblossom at my door,’ she thought.

On the first day of spring, Mere decided she was done waiting for Isador. She demolished her hut, and stood at the edge of the falls, her body streaked with blue and red river clay. She laughed, and with a running start, jumped over the edge.

She landed in the water, laughing as she surfaced. Bear had told her that some of the earliest estuary otters used to jump over the falls. Mere hadn’t been sure that she’d survive it, but she was more than willing to take the risk. To Mere, her survival over the falls was a sign. She was ready to go back home.

“Mere! Yer back!” Ryun Bullbrook embraced his daughter.

“Good thing, too! Ryun used tae bother me tae now end whinin’ about when ye’d come home, or if yer okay.” Feyul Bullbrook approached, and began to wrestle his granddaughter, in true otter fashion.

“Arrr, dinnae be tellin’ fibs, ye old furbag! Yer missed me too!” Mere said as she wrestled the older otter. After a few minutes they parted, and Mere went around to greet the rest of the holt.

Mere still spent most of her time by the falls. Many evenings they talked with Bear, and she stayed overnight quite a few times. With Bear’s help, she rebuilt the hut, but didn’t move back in. She helped watch the kits when it was her turn, but didn’t go on any of the hunting trips, saying that she hunted better alone. Sometimes she would let Bear join her, partly due to deference to the old badger, partly because they just wouldn’t leave.

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“Bear, do ye think I’ll e’er ferget ‘er?” Mere asked one evening.

“No,” the badger replied. “You were friends for a long time. In time the wound of her departure will heal, if you let it. But it will take time.”

“Would you tell me about the other otters, the ones who founded this place?”

“I’ll tell you a better story. All the stories from this place are too similar, too much about bitterness and lost friends. No, I’ll tell you of another place, where the larders are always full, and weary travelers are always welcome.”

“Sounds a lovely place. Does it exist? Is it still around?”

“Aye, it does exist, and will most likely do so until the end of mousekind, if not longer. It’s a great sandstone building, it’s spires and bell tower rising into the sky, visible for miles. And it is called Redwall Abbey.”

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(I really love the Redwall books too much.)