Rina Heisel - Journey Beyond the Burrow

To Rob, Lily, and Izzy...

the greatest companions in any adventure

CROUCHED IN PERFECT STILLNESS beneath a toadstool, Tobin sniffed the air. Wet, with a faint metallic odor.

A storm was coming, a big one. Lightning for sure. Not a good day for a mouse to venture too far from the Great Burrow. Tobin lifted his nose to the breeze again, performing the junior weather scout procedures dutifully: Sniff the air. Search the air. Feel the air.

He didnt even need all three steps today. The odor of rain was obvious, the clouds sat heaped in the sky like a row of giant bears, and as for feeling the airhis tan-and-black speckled fur was already clumped together from the humidity. For the third time that afternoon, Tobin rubbed his cheeks, fluffing out his fur and whiskers. After all, whiskers used properly are a fine-tuned sensory tool. Drooping whiskers cant do their job.

Speaking of which... Tobin sighed. He had a job to do, and he was only halfway done. Junior weather scouts needed to deliver their reports, too.

From beneath the cover of the toadstool cap, Tobin looked toward home. The Great Burrow hunched against the earth like a giant tortoise shell: a perfectly sculpted mud clump conveniently located beside an unruly patch of blue thistle. Hidden to the untrained eye, a dozen entrances dotted the Great Burrow, carefully concealed by knots of moss and dangling roots. It was important to always use different entrances, exits, and paths while going in and out of the Great Burrow. So important, in fact, it was an official Rule of Rodentiathe survival code for all mice of the burrow.

Rule #7: A predictable path provides easy pickings for a predator.

Tobin chose an entrance he hadnt used in a while, left sidejust behind a patch of crabgrass. Next, he ticked through the age-old mental checklist taught to all youngling mice:

Scan the sky. Done. No birds of prey.

Scan for ground predators. No trembling grass.

Scan the breeze. The scents are safe: clover, thistle, and honeysuckle.

The muscles in his hind legs twitched.

Go!

Tobin ran, darting a zig, then zagenough to throw off a pouncing predator. With a final leap between blades of crabgrass, he was inside the safe confines of the Great Burrow. He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark inner tunnels. Only then did he tread toward his familys quarters. Memories of his morning crept into his thoughts, and his paws slowed.

Nothing but chaos waited at home. Why did his dad have to tell all the neighbors the pinkling was coming today? Now their den was packed with Eldermice waiting for baby news. But at least his weather scout status gave Tobin an excuse for fresh air, as he offered to make as many trips as the Eldermice wanted.

Because nothingrepeat, nothingexcites Eldermice like new babies and a weather report.

In fact, word about his mother going into labor spread quicker than a brushfire. That very morning, Eldermice from all corners of the burrow had begun showing up with gifts of bedding for the newborn and extra seeds and berries for Mom. And his parents, being so gracious, said they could all wait for news right there, in his familys Gathering Room.

As Tobin rounded the last bend in the tunnel before reaching home, he could hear the chatter of guests already bouncing off the mud-and-pebble-coated walls. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to be the center of a lot of attention. He wasnt wrong. Tobin, youre back! Is the rain coming?

Any lightning yet?

Think youre getting a baby brother or sister?

Tobin raised a paw, thankfully the dozen or so eager Eldermice grew silent (though it seemed a challenge).

The air, Tobin began, is getting thicker by the minute, and its loaded with ozone, so therell be plenty of lightning. And the clouds are growing tall, but no rain yet.

Someone called from the back of the room, The cloudswhat shape?

Tobin fought a smile; he had a good answer for this. The shape? Like a row of giant hunched-over bears.

Some Eldermice gasped, others looked around with concern. Lots of head shaking. Tobin couldnt help the little chuckle that shook his shoulders. Eldermice and their drama. Its a summer storm, not a blizzard. Now, a blizzard, thats something to worry about: food buried under snow, exit tunnels sheeting over with ice...

What about the birds, Tobin?

Tobin cleared his throat and continued. The birds are already sheltering. He paused. Had he covered everything? Ah, one more thing. And I have no idea if my mom is having a boy or girl.

Heads nodded and the elders seemed satisfied. Tobin rose onto his hind legs and surveyed the crowd. A narrow gap opened between furry bodies and Tobin caught a glimpse of the hallway to his room. Maybe, just maybe, he could escape for a few minutes.

Just then, someone tugged his tail. Tobin turned to see Aunt Grebbas toothy smile. Speckles of yellow pollen dust clung to her whiskers, and when she spoke, the scent of dandelion pounced off her breath.

Theres the big brother! She clapped her front paws together and then began tickling the chin of an imaginary newborn. A teeny-tiny little pinkling, all wrinkly, with those itsy-bitsy, curly whiskers. Are you excited Tobin?

Tobin nodded, glancing back at his narrowing escape route. Sludge. The crowd was filling in.

And your dear mother, Aunt Grebba continued. With the burrow being so full, younger moms like yours just dont produce big batches of babies anymore. Every pinkling is so precious.

Uh-huh, Tobin answered politely.

Tsk-tsk. Grebba clucked her tongue. That was a real heartbreak, last spring.

Tobins breath caught in his snout. He snorted, swiping a paw across his muzzle.

Last spring...

Grebba clutched a paw to her chest. Your poor sweet mother.

Tobin grabbed his tail and squeezed. Just nod. Think of something else. Shell think youre listening.

Your mother was so amazing through it all, really. Always put her best face forward, truly dignified.

Tobin nodded. Remember that dead trout Wiley found yesterday? Rancid as buzzard breath.

And now here she is, giving it yet another try. Aunt Grebba patted his head. Such courage.

Rottenest fish ever. And that skunk still ate it...

Oh dear, silly old auntie, prattling on. Aunt Grebba shook her head, snapping Tobin from his foul memories. No need to dwell on unpleasant things.

Suppose not, Tobin answered.

But this weather. Aunt Grebba continued to prattle, the fur on her nose standing up. Now theres something to talk about. Bit of a squall heading our way, eh?

Yeah. Tobin looked up and inched backward. I should take my post by the window.

Yes, yes dear, Aunt Grebba mumbled, nodding until something caught her eye. She looked at Tobins face as if shed only just noticed him. You gave a fine report, Tobin. You always do. Grebba gently took his clutched paws into hers and massaged them loose from the crushing grip on his tail. There now, thats a bad habit, tail grabbing. Grebba then turned away to find the nearest available Eldermouse to chat up.