There Was Nothing He Could Do

Paddle was a mysterious Pekin duck. He never really said much to most of the woodland creatures. And he spent most of his time with Grizzle, a giant but young brown bear. Grizzle had protected Paddle ever since he can remember—ever since he broke his right wing when he was still a duckling. It eventually healed, but only in a way that made it so that he couldn’t fly.

However, he could swim and waddle very efficiently. He was strong and fast—and could cover long distances in a short amount of time. After he picked up the sack of fish that Beaver left behind, he headed back north up the river, toward Crystal Falls, to then go far east following the foothills near the forest and a little through Shade Swamp. This would eventually land him at the cave in which Grizzle lived. And though he was confident our family of four would not return to their campsite for quite a while, he was altogether unaware of the trials he himself would face on his way back to Grizzle’s cave.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

When Hoot took off south toward the human territory, he started at treetop level with his flight. Being a Great-horned Owl, he of course had excellent vision and could see things from a much higher distance; but he was also getting older and wanted to make sure he could spot any sign of Misty’s whereabouts.

It was quite a journey south, as he had mentioned to Squeak before they left. Sometimes he would stop for a rest and perch on a tall tree, perhaps eat something for nourishment, and then fly off again. It was a good fifty miles total from their campsite all the way as far south as one could safely go into the humans’ territory, performing a thorough search throughout the land, and then return home. And that was quite a distance at Hoot’s age. He was not alone though. As he traveled south he would not just look for Misty or signs of her presence, but he would stop and chat with the other animals to see if they perhaps had seen her.

Making conversation with other large birds was easy enough. Hoot would run into other owls, some falcons, an occasional hawk. The only birds that weren’t very helpful were vultures. To be clear, none of them knew where Misty was or had even seen signs of a skunk. But the vultures weren’t even interested in listening to Hoot’s dilemma. They just shrugged their shoulders and didn’t offer an answer at all. Of course, vultures weren’t known for their friendliness or helpfulness. But it still seemed rude.

However, when he wanted to talk to some of the smaller animals, like squirrels and chipmunks, he wasn’t as successful in getting full conversations with them either. Most of them would run into their homes scared while others would remain hidden in their homes but yell at him from inside—pleading for him to leave immediately. Of course, they did not know Hoot personally and had no idea he didn’t plan on eating them. So they had all the reason in the world to hide from him—despite his promise that he meant them no harm.

Thankfully, some brave creatures, upon hearing his pleas for help before he landed near them, would stay put and wait for him to ask his questions.

“I haven’t seen a skunk around these parts—at least not since the Great Storm,” remarked one oversized squirrel with his three little kits playing tag behind him.

“And before the Great Storm?” Hoot inquired more precisely.

“Well, there were a couple families that lived about two miles east of here. But ever since the storm, I’ve not seen any of them.”

“And you have no idea of what happened to them?”

“Died in the storm most likely. At least, that’s what I heard. … Although…” he started to reach further back in his mind. “I do remember hearing about one of the kits surviving.”

“Boy or girl?” Hoot pressed.

“I can’t say that I remember, or even knew to be honest. … I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s alright. Thank you for the help you’ve given. I’m much obliged,” Hoot remarked as he took off continuing his search south, following the Sway River further toward the human territory.

As the sun began to set he searched to find a place to spend the night. Thankfully, one such place appeared quite readily. An empty—or so he thought—eagle’s nest. It was conveniently located just north of Little One’s River, which made for a great resting spot. Once he crossed that river he would effectively be in the human territory; so he’d much rather sleep in that safer place. He settled down there and began preparing his mind for tomorrow’s task.

He would have to fly across the Little One’s River toward Blossom Falls. He would stay east of the Sway River, but planning strategically, he would fly as far south as he could toward the human houses and make a speedy, but very cautious trip east toward the end of the island. After that he would travel back west to the Sway River, but on that trip he would be further north. He would continue this zig-zag pattern until he was back at Blossom Falls. And the further north he got, the less danger he would be in from the humans.

As he finished his plans for tomorrow, he thought about how poor Misty must be feeling—without her family. Or did she come back already? This was such an emotionally difficult situation. Reflecting on this, he then turned his attention to Squeak and Beaver—praying for them, and thinking of how they were doing in their search.

Beaver, for his part, was getting tired. He had three lakes to visit in order to see if Misty had gone for a swim. The main problem was they were fairly spread out. Lake Corgo was the smallest in perimeter, but the deepest of them all. It was also the furthest east. As they discussed in their plan, Beaver decided to start with that one and then work his way back home to camp.

At first, you might be tempted to think (especially if you have your map), “Wouldn’t it be easier if he searches Lake Newell first, then Lake Diamond, and then Lake Corgo? If Misty is at either one of the first two, Beaver would find her much quicker.” And that makes sense. However, not only was Lake Corgo the furthest, but it was also the lake Misty enjoyed the most.

Though not as old as Hoot, Beaver was a little older than Squeak and Misty; and traveling through the woods was not as easy for him as it used to be.

However, due to the location of Lake Corgo and their camp, it wasn’t strictly east, but more southeast. And this was actually helpful for Beaver, because as he made his way southeast, he eventually came to Little One’s River and was able to swim almost the entire rest of the way.

Yet, even with swimming, it took him quite a while to arrive. And when he did, strangely, the lake was vacant. It usually was the least visited out of the three lakes. But generally there were some ducks or deer that would stop by from time to time. At present, however, Lake Corgo didn’t just look empty. It looked abandoned! It was as if no living creature had ever or would ever set foot near it. This gave Beaver a slight chill as he thought of all the potential things that could have or might have happened to Misty.

“Oh Creator, let it not be!” he cried out in prayer, but resolved to not stray from his mission. As he cautiously approached the lake, he was determined to make some of his greatest dives. And great indeed they must be, as Lake Corgo had a depth of thirty feet. Obviously Misty would not be able to dive down that deep. But Beaver needed to be able to prove to himself, and his family, precisely what he was certain of in his own heart—that Misty’s body was not at the bottom. But there was only one way to know for sure.

Though the evening had started to set in, Beaver thought it best to do his search of this lake before the end of the day, and then find a place to rest for the night.

As he first dove into the lake, he swam to the middle, and went about a third of the way down just to get acclimated to the water. He took a couple laps around the perimeter, which took no time at all, and then swam toward the middle again. His plan would be to dive straight down as fast as he could to see how far down he could make it in one breath. Of course, his hope was that he’d be able to make it down, search for a couple yards, and then come back up. But he wasn’t at all confident that would happen (and, unfortunately, for good reason).

“All right,” he said aloud to himself: “For Misty!” And taking a deep breath dove as hard and as fast as he could toward the bottom of the lake.

As for Squeak, he made his way north with a determination he had never felt before. As mentioned previously, he loved all his family equally, and yet he felt a particular closeness with Misty. Maybe it was because she was the only girl, or perhaps because she was the latest to join them. Maybe it was because she was the most playful and enjoyed a good practical joke every now and again. Maybe it was all those reasons and many more. Either way, she was the closest thing he ever had to a sister—at least since his mouse family left him during the Great Storm; and he loved her dearly. He was not about to let her get captured or hurt or any other way taken from him without putting up the greatest fight he could.

So he sprinted as fast as possible toward the northeast along the path she would typically come from when she returned from previous midnight walks. Oh, those midnight walks! What was she doing? And why was she always so secretive about them?

Squeak couldn’t think about that now. He had to stay focused on looking for signs of her or where she had been. But it was hard not to reflect back on those nights when she would leave:

“I’ll be back soon, Squeak” Misty would say with a smile, in her soft sweet voice. “I’ll only be gone for an hour or two.”

“And why can’t any of us come with you?”

“It’s private. But I’m not up to any trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. I promise.”

“But what do you do when you’re away?”

“I told you. I can’t tell you anything about it. Not yet.”

“Then when?”

“I don’t know. Maybe tonight when I get back” …

The memory began to fade, as Squeak realized he had been running full out for over three miles. Thankfully he was nearing the marshy area before the mountains and could get a drink to refresh himself. He started to take a big gulp of water that had accumulated on a leaf, as he continued to ponder his memories:

“How was your meeting?” Squeak asked sulkily one night upon Misty’s return.

“What meeting?”

“I know you’re not alone the whole time.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because every time you come back you look like someone who has just had the most wonderful dream, and then they woke up to find that it was their real life the whole time.”

“My goodness, what a description! I can’t lie—it’s actually how I feel. … But how does that mean I must have been with someone else?”

Squeak sat there for a few minutes, not wanting to say what was on his mind. Ever since he watched his mouse family float down the river on a raft without him, he struggled with thinking he was lovable—lovable enough to stay with at least. He put his thoughts aside and asked plainly, “Are you leaving us?”

“Squeak, no! Never! … I could never leave you! Or Beaver, or Hoot. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because you’re obviously meeting with someone else on these secret midnight strolls you take.”

“Let’s say I am. And I’m not saying that I am or am not. But I want to play this out with you. If I am meeting with someone on these occasional walks I take, why does that have to mean I’m leaving you?”

“Eventually you’ll have to choose, won’t you?” Squeak asked as his voice began to clearly portray his fear. “You can’t stay with two families. Eventually you’ll have to choose one. And when you come back to us with that glow about you—with…with that dream-come-true look you have; how would you not choose whoever it is you’re meeting?”

Misty’s eyes began to drop a tear of joy, never fully realizing until just now how much Squeak loved her. “Oh Squeak! My sweet, dear brother! Do I look so truly amazing when I come back here?”

Squeak nodded.

“Did you ever wonder then—if I am meeting with someone, or even several someones—what I might look like to them when I come from spending time with you?”

Taken aback, Squeak wasn’t sure how to respond. Did she mean to say she had that same glowing look after spending time with him?

“Perhaps,” began Misty, “I go to these meetings to confirm again and again how deeply committed I am to my family. To you!”

Squeak woke up. He had been asleep a full half hour at the marsh. Or was it a swamp? Its name was Shade Swamp, but most of the creatures of Woodland Haven always referred to it as “the marsh.” Hmm… “Misty!” Squeak said aloud, waking himself from his distracting thoughts.

After ensuring he had had enough water for his continued journey northeast, he noticed the forest was pretty much ending into the lower hills of the mountains. Up ahead were several caves. Surely if Misty had come this far, she would have visited one of the caves for shelter if it was too dangerous to come back right away.

And then he noticed something in one of them. A fire!

A fire! A fire! Of course, that must be her! She’s the only one he knows who can start fires. This is terrific! Squeak ran as hard and as fast as he could to the cave with the fire, which was actually much further away than he initially thought. By the time he got there the sun was well on its way down, and he was very tired from all the running. But he did make it, which was truly an amazing feat!

When he finally arrived, as the darkness of the evening began to set in, he approached the cave carefully. He peered in and saw—or thought he saw—what appeared to be a skunk-sized animal huddled over the warmth of the fire.

“Misty?” he called cautiously. “Misty, is that you?”

There was no answer. Squeak approached more slowly as the sense of this situation began to feel increasingly precarious. Surely Misty would have answered. But maybe she just couldn’t hear him…?

“Misty?” he called out again.

“There’s no Misty here,” said a soft but powerful voice behind him, and now blocking him from leaving the cave.

Squeak gasped and briefly closed his eyes—not for fear of his life but for fear of what that voice might mean to Misty’s fate. For though he had never seen one before, he just knew that was the voice of a fox.

Without turning around, he replied, “Do…do you know where she is?”

“What difference does that make? What relation does my knowing or not knowing where this Misty is have to you?” the voice answered as his words echoed through the cave.

There was a brief silence followed by Squeak responding quietly but firmly, “I’m not afraid of you!”

“Well…that’s good,” the voice answered, “then why don’t you turn around and face me?”

“Because I don’t want to fall into one of your traps. If this isn’t Misty, who is it?” Squeak respectfully demanded, keeping his eyes on the skunk-sized creature huddled over near the fire, thinking that once he turns around, this animal that is not Misty will attack him.

“The question unfortunately is not who he is, but who he was” the voice answered, “And I assure you, unless Misty was an adult, male raccoon, this was not and is not Misty.”

Being both relieved and terrified at the same time, while keeping his voice steady Squeak replied, “Did you kill him?”

To this the voice simply said “Turn around, and we can talk about it.”

“I know who you are,” Squeak said as he began to turn around—only to see yet another shadow instead of the physical form producing the voice with which he was conversing.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. There’ve been stories…about a…”

“Yes?”

“About a fox. A dangerous fox known for his stealth. And I’ve fallen right into one of your traps, haven’t I?”

“Hah hah hah...” chuckled the voice in a sort of teasing way. “I would like to think myself that clever and say, ‘Yes,’” he continued. “But I’m afraid not. … However, how can you know? … Whether I say yes or no, would you believe me?”

“Well, I…”

“No,” said the voice, stepping out of the shadow and into the light of the sun (as it was now setting completely) confirming Squeak’s suspicions of who he was, and now very purposefully making himself a barrier between Squeak and the outside of the cave. “You know who I am. And I know who I am as well, along with all the things they say about me. … I am a fox. And so if I say you’ve fallen into one of my traps, or that I know where some animal you call Misty is, or that I’m going to eat you—even though honestly, you’re so small that I wouldn’t be tempted to eat you. … No matter what I say, it’s going to be very difficult to believe me, isn’t it? Because the one thing you’ve been told about me—your whole life—is…what?”

Squeak mumbled something softly under his breath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat it?” the fox asked.

“No one . . .” Squeak started and then trailed off with a mumble. Then seeing he was not going to get anywhere until he spoke the whole sentence, he cleared his throat and declared, “No one can trust a fox!”

“Ahaaa…indeed. No one can trust a fox. So if that’s the case, then why ask me for any information at all?”

Squeak was unsure of what to say or do at this point, as he reflected on the fox’s words. His whole life he was told that no one could trust a fox. But if that were true, then what information would he really hope to gain from talking with this fox? For no matter what the fox told him, he would have to assume it was not reliable.

But then again…the fox had proved himself reliable with some things already. For as Squeak turned around from facing the fire, he did notice that the dead body near the flames was indeed that of a raccoon. And—again, though Squeak was small—the fox so far still hadn’t tried to eat him. So that was a good start. Alas, still unsure of what actually to do, Squeak had to do something, so he just said the first thing he could think of: “Should I trust you?”

The fox was surprised by this question but didn’t hesitate to respond, “Of course you should trust me. You may even find me the most trustworthy animal you’ve ever met. But if you’re smart, you’d also stay cautious. For right now I’m on a dangerous journey.”

“A dangerous journey?” Squeak replied, sounding as if he was in disbelief, though he wasn’t.

“Hmh,” the Fox muffled under his breath. “Yes. A very dangerous journey. When you look at what’s next to the fire, wouldn’t you assume my trip has been dangerous enough—so far at least?” The fox stopped to hear the silence, as he knew the mouse wasn’t going to answer. Then he continued, “Either way, which piece of information is more pressing to you? The details of my journey? Or the whereabouts of your friend you call ‘Misty?’”

“My friend, of course!” Squeak interjected with no hesitation. “And she’s not just my friend. She’s my sister!”

“A tiny mouse with the sister the size of a raccoon. Interesting…”

“She’s not a raccoon. And I really need to find her. So could you please either tell me where she is, if you know, or let me pass by and be on my way?”

The fox sat on his hind legs and looked thoughtfully at the scared little mouse. Then, as if nothing Squeak had just said mattered to him, he simply responded, “I think not.”

Squeak was surprised and exasperated, but there was nothing he could think of to reply in this instance. So the fox continued.

“At least…that is…I won’t let you pass tonight. The sun is already down, and the night birds in these parts are very keen on eating anything they see—even tiny, tiny mice.”

“And what about tomorrow?” Squeak insisted. “Will you let me go tomorrow?”

“I don’t intend to keep you from your quest, little one. But you really might be interested in helping me with mine—if you don’t think it’s too dangerous that is.”

“I can’t!” Squeak declared, somewhat frustrated that the fox seemingly didn’t understand how much finding Misty meant to him. “I must find Misty!”

“Ah yes,” the fox spoke reassuringly. “I know. But did you ever even think to ask who I might be looking for on my journey? … While I’m not looking for your sister, I do believe I’ll soon come across a friend of mine who knows the exact location of your missing skunk.”

Bewildered by what the fox said and how Squeak had never told him his sister was a skunk, he found himself unable to speak. Then all of a sudden, the fox moved to the side of the entrance of the cave in order to let the wind in just enough to blow out the fire. And although Squeak could see just fine without light, the fox clearly would not let him escape. “Good night” were the last words Squeak heard him speak. And in an instant, the cave went dark, and there was nothing he could do.