The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves (84 page)

“
I am afraid we will not
be traveling anywhere this day.”

“
Why, Mr. Patas?” inquired
Kenai, closest to the rabbit-man. Her gravelly voice echoed
throughout the cave.

“
Because, great Canine, a
storm of great fury rages just outside these warm confines,” he
began. “A storm so powerful and hateful, none of us, not even the
mightiest of the Fist, could survive long exposed to its’
tempestuous forces. We are stuck here, it would seem, for the
foreseeable future.”

“
Fuck!” howled Andrew,
dropping everything he had been holding in his arms. He stalked off
toward the back of the cave, longing and misery getting the better
of him yet again.

Even from the distance
between them, Mikalah could still manage to hear his
sobs.

Andrew was already sick of
the Melded World.

I don’t blame
him.

~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼
}>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

Snowbound

Day Two, Friday, 7:30
am…

He left the cave for the
second time in as many minutes, uncomfortable over being the bearer
of such disappointing tidings. Unable to bear the despondency in
the chamber, he thought it prudent to check the weather again. It
was important his initial ascertainment was confirmed, at least to
him it was. The moment he stuck his head around the heavy furniture
pad hanging across the portal of the cave, though, he knew his
first assessment had been spot on. The wind was shrieking like a
banshee, driving the snow horizontally with such force, he could
barely make out it was snow in the first place. In the narrow
passage leading from the cave, the air swirled, eddied, like a
handful of mini-tornados, forming and un-forming right before his
eyes. There were deep drifts, piled against either side of the
rocky formation. Ahead, beyond the great boulder concealing the
cleft leading to their sanctuary, it appeared as though a solid
sheet of white was blocking the way beyond. The violence of the
storm made it impossible to pierce, even with eyes as powerful as
his. He could feel the cold radiating toward him from the landscape
itself. This was, by far, the coldest temperature he had felt in
the Melded World to date.

There was no chance of
survival out there now.

No, we are going nowhere
this day
, he grunted internally as he let
the thick blanket fall into place behind him. The wind and
precipitation in the cut of rock where he stood was tolerable
against his thick coat of hair and hide, though he did let his ears
droop closer to each side of his head to conserve his warmth, just
in case. Slowly, he eased his way forward against the outer rock
face to see if he could discern anything in the forest. He managed
no more than a few steps, realizing it was no use. The wind was
getting stronger, the temperature of the air was dropping
surreptitiously further. The snow began to sting against the small
portions of skin exposed on his face. He knew it was a fruitless
task. The storm was too strong.

Hopefully too strong for
the enemy as well
, wished the rabbit-man
as he stopped moving forward, glancing around to see if there was
anything else he might be able to do to improve their situation.
Any advantage they could garner would be most welcomed.

He glanced at the snow
beginning to gather along the bottom edges of the passageway. His
nose twitched as he contemplated what to do about it. He was a
little agitated over the nervousness surging through him, keeping
him from thinking clearly. He frowned, remembering another time in
another place where he had not a care in the world, where the very
idea of being uneasy was totally ridiculous. He leaned back against
the icy boulders, the images of his cage springing to life in his
mind’s eye. Once more, he could feel the warmth of the sun against
his fur, stroking ever so gently against his covered skin. There
had been nothing to worry or fret about back then, only play and
food and drink, and the occasional petting session from one of his
many masters. He recalled how Elena had often twirled his ears and
scratched them to calm him down when one of the others was cleaning
out the bottom tray of his cage where all of his droppings fell. He
had liked those times when all it took was a soothing voice and a
comforting touch to make the world right again. His masters had
cared for him deeply and made sure he was safe, always.

In the height of summer,
when the temperature soared, they would come out and spray him with
a misting water bottle. They would do this every other hour during
the hottest parts of the day to ensure he stayed cool and didn’t
overheat. In the winter and the rainy season, they would cover his
cage with blankets and old towels to make sure they cut the chill
of the wind and the wet spray of the rain out of his cage and off
him as well. Every morning, one of them had always popped his or
her head out of the back door to greet him, to talk to him briefly,
to let him know his masters were thinking of him and soon one of
them would come out to feed him. Sometimes, they would bring fresh
lettuce or one of the many different stick-like treats covered in
grains and kernels he liked so much. Three times a week, they came
out with his ambrosia – large, bright orange carrots that he could
smell the moment they were brought from the house. In seconds, he
would be driven to near madness with the anticipation of tasting
one of those succulent roots. He would leap and bound about the
cage with much enthusiasm, making whoever was about to feed him
giggle with delight. The cage door would open, the carrot presented
to him and he would waste no time. He would quickly, almost
aggressively, grab the carrot away with his large front teeth. He
would take it to one of the remote corners of the cage and eat to
his heart’s content. Sometimes, he’d gorge himself until his
stomach felt like it was about to burst. He hadn’t cared, though.
Back then, life had been simple, surviving was easy when everything
was handed to you, when you weren’t in your own care. He hadn’t
been intelligent enough to know the difference. Being tall, able to
walk upright and wield an intellect infinitely more vast than
before were advantageous. Of that there was no doubt, but still,
having no worries was a must easier way to exist.
It still wouldn’t be
living
, you floppy-eared
buffoon…

Mr. Patas stood there
looking over the clusters and lumps of snow, wondering what to do
next. He couldn’t decide. All because of this gripping, neurotic
fear, that seemed to freeze him into immobility. The only thing
coming to mind was – as the saying went – ignorance was indeed
bliss. Nothing mattered when you didn’t know it was supposed to
matter in the first place.

From behind him, out in
the frozen land where the storm raged, there came a loud crackling
sound, followed by a resounding thump. Something very heavy and
large smashed onto the ground.

Instinctively, Mr. Patas
trained his great ears in that direction, though nothing was
visibly discernible beyond the great boulder. He could hear the
distinct crack and snap of wood breaking, and immediately surmised
one of the tall pines surrounding the immediate area must’ve
fallen. He shook his furry head to and fro despondently, for with
every passing minute the tempest seemed to grow worse.
It might be days before we leave this place.
Something will have to be done before too long
, he realized, wondering what the Guardians were going to do
about it.
At least they have plenty to
eat.

“
Mr. Patas is everything
alright?” came the loud peal of Kenai’s voice over the howl of the
wind. Her huge brown eyes displayed concern and curiosity at the
same time. “My mother was inquiring about you within.”

Mr. Patas smiled with a
brief, self-conscious grin, rubbing his hands together before his
chest, letting his ears droop once more. “I just needed to confirm
whether or not my earlier assessment of the storm was accurate.
After seeing how crestfallen the Guardians appeared once I
announced we wouldn’t be leaving the cave any time soon, I
just
had
to make
sure,” he replied almost shyly, though it was difficult to convey
shyness when the air was screaming all about.

Kenai glanced around, her
eyes lingering at the thin slice of visible sky the longest, then
her head came back down to consider Mr. Patas, a compassionate look
about her.

Mr. Patas could sense she
was sympathetic to his discomfort, through the thread-like, mental
connection existing between them because they were of the same
Fist. She already knew he was a sensitive being.

“
And what say you now,
Rabbit-man?” she asked with a twist of a jowl, clearly knowing the
answer.

Mr. Patas sighed and
smiled thinly. “I was right, great Canine, even now the storm grows
in strength and malice. There is no way any of us could survive
long in such a ghastly gale. Not even the enemy would fare well I
deem. For the time being, it seems as though both sides are at a
standstill.”

“
That is a good thing, is
it not?” inquired Kenai, tilted her head to one side.

“
Yes, despite the fact the
Guardians wanted to move decisively and as soon as possible, I
think it might be a good idea to hunker down and regain our
composure and strength from the traumatic, if not tragic,
occurrences of this past day,” Mr. Patas commented with a nod or
two.

“
I agree, my friend, but
why come back out to double-check if you knew all of this already?”
Kenai stepped forward, her eyes bright despite the dark clouds
above.

The rabbit-man half-turned
to the side, his hand coming up to his nearly non-existent chin,
his long thin fingers feeling through the longer fur growing there.
“I just hate to see them disappointed more than is necessary,
Kenai. They have gone through so much. They are upon the verge of
comprehending the responsibility they now must bear. With the fate
of so many in their hands, it just bothers me to see them
unnecessarily saddened. They do not need added negativity in their
lives right now.” His voice filled with genuine remorse.

Kenai empathized with her
fellow
Fistian
,
but this was the Melded World and it was the Great Maelstrom
hunting them now. “This task will be fraught with hardship, dismay
and, quite possibly, death, Mr. Patas. Even though the children
will suffer from time to time against our hopes and desires, we
must always show strength and courage, if we are to be of any real
assistance to them. We are the Fist, formed from the Fingers of the
Light, my good friend. We will always be at the side of the
Guardians, fighting the Storm until the ancient Snowman is cast
back into his world for all of time,” explained the bear-dog, her
tone determined but forged in kindness and assurance. “We cannot
rest until this is accomplished. We must see this through. Even if
it means we must be strong on the children at times, then so be it.
We must always show them the good in any event, if we are to
prevail here.”

Mr. Patas looked at the
snow-strewn ground in deep thought, still rubbing at his hairy
chin. He peered over at Kenai, from the corner of his eyes, through
the cascade of white flakes. “You have within you, Kenai, the
ability to be a great Fist Leader one day.”

Kenai howled with laughter
at that. The massive barrel of her chest heaved with great breaths
of joviality as she pointed her chin skyward.

Mr. Patas smiled broadly
at the display.

After a few minutes,
Kenai, still gurgling with the odd chuckle, uttered, “I think I
still have a long, long way to go before I am anywhere near that of
my mother, Fist-mate.”

“
Not as long as you would
think, great Canine,” retorted Mr. Patas. He was quite serious now,
looking at her more directly than before. His head was tilted
downward as if he wished for his thoughts on the matter to be
considered.

Kenai continued to rumble
with giggles. “Well, nonetheless, Mr. Patas, you are at least most
kind for saying so.”

“
And thank you for your
words of advice and encouragement,” he stated, almost too quietly
to be heard above the wind.

“
You are most welcome… So,
now what are we about out here in the cold?” she asked glancing
around.