RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

                       With The Squirrels

 Yoshi woke at the first pale hint of dawn, sniffing the cool air with his sharp snout as he blinked his small, black eyes. Hunger stirred in his stomach like a tiny stone rolling downhill.
“Surely Thumbelina had a fine meal last night,” he thought, glancing about for her familiar shape. But when he saw no sign of her shell among the roots and shadows, he called her name. The forest only murmured back. It was still half-dark beneath the trees, their branches holding the last shreds of night.
 A hare hopped lightly between the trunks, pausing now and again to listen, ears quivering like little banners in the dimness. Yoshi nearly called out to him to ask after the tortoise, but the creature suddenly startled at some unseen sound and darted away into the deeper gloom.
Then Yoshi felt a chill of realization steal over him, quiet but certain as the fading starlight.
Thumbelina was lost.
“Where am I to seek her now?” he wondered, and the thought stung him with equal parts worry and wrath.
He pressed on through the forest until he came again to the clearing where the fox had once met the tortoise. The place lay bare and silent, and its emptiness unsettled him. A tremor of fear passed through him, for it seemed the sort of spot where unseen creatures might spring forth from the shadows. So he skirted the edge rather than cross its open heart, and soon was swallowed once more by the deeper wood.
 Here the trees grew taller, older. Great oaks rose like an ancient wardens, their roots thrust into the earth like the gnarled hands of giants. Broad-crowned beeches stood among them, pale-trunked and smooth, catching what little light filtered through the canopy.
 After a short while, Yoshi startled a mouse asleep among the roots of an oak. He caught it swiftly, ate, and moved on. As he went, a thought crept into his mind: Thumbelina could not have travelled far. She was slow of foot and fond of rest. Likely she had feasted and then curled up to sleep not long after.
With this hope stirring in him, Yoshi turned back toward the ancient forest.
 Suddenly there came a faint rustle beside him. Someone—or something—was hurrying through the underwood. A red squirrel leapt into view between the trees, her great and bushy tail streaming behind her like a banner of autumn flame. A hazelnut was clutched firmly in her little mouth. When she reached the spot where the hedgehog lay hidden, the creature settled back upon its hind legs and set to work upon its prize. Swift and deft were her teeth, and in a heartbeat the shell was broken cleanly, the pale kernel slipping out whole as though by some small woodland craft.
 Yoshi knew well enough the ways of squirrels, yet he held his breath and lay still. For these nimble folk were notorious chatterers, and he feared that one sharp cry might rouse the forest and summon unfriendly ears toward his secret refuge.
 But alas, the very moment the squirrel swallowed the hazelnut, she darted straight at him.
“Ouch!” she squealed in sudden fright, and in the blink of an eye she scrambled up the nearest tree, her sharp cries echoing through the branches without a pause.
Yoshi gazed after her, bewildered.

“You know that I am no foe of yours, do you not? Why all this clamour?” he asked gently.

“Because you are so ugly. Oh—oh, how terribly ugly!” the squirrel wailed. “I shall call my kin, and we will chase you from this place at once. This forest is ours. You will steal our hazelnuts, the ones we have stored for the winter!”

“I do not eat hazelnuts,” the hedgehog said, trying to soothe her fears.

“And can you climb trees?” she demanded from her high perch, peering down with bright, suspicious eyes.

“And that I cannot do,” said Yoshi, shaking his head. “As for this forest, it is no home of mine. I came into it unwillingly, and by no choice of my own.”
“I still don’t believe a word of it, and I must fetch my folk,” said the squirrel, springing from branch to branch with quick, and rustling leaps.

 In a little while Yoshi found himself hemmed in by a dozen squirrels. They perched upon the surrounding boughs, bright-eyed and bristling, and showered him with questions as swiftly as falling leaves.
 So he told them—told the whole tale from beginning to end: how the great eagle had carried them off into the high and empty sky, and how he and Thumbelina had wandered astray thereafter, lost beneath the long shadows of the wood.
 The squirrels were at once curious and wary, peering down with bright, restless eyes. At length, however, they seemed satisfied, and an old squirrel—one with great tufted ears like little tassels stirred by the wind—climbed nimbly down the trunk. He addressed Yoshi with solemn courtesy and said that his household wished to aid him, offering to guide him to the deep roots of the ancient oak where they made their dwelling.

“It is near enough,” said the elder squirrel. “I live there with my sons, grandchildren, and even my great-grandchildren. My name is Uncle Fuzzball, and this black-furred lass who first caught sight of you is my daughter, Squeaky-Hazel. Mind yourself around her, for she is a notorious mischief-maker.”

“For now my only task is to find my friend,” the hedgehog replied anxiously.

“You shall stay with us—and guard us,” declared Uncle Fuzzball with a firmness that allowed no easy refusal. “Hidden among the roots of the oak, where our chambers twist and mingle, you will keep watch for those thieving neighbors who steal our food. And should any strange creature draw near, you will give the alarm, and we will see to the rest. In return, we shall feed you well with nuts and fruits, eggs and all manner of woodland fare. Our storehouses are piled high with wild pears and apples, walnuts and acorns. As for your missing companion—leave that burden with us. We shall lend our help in finding her.”
 Yoshi lingered in hesitation, pondering the offer for what seemed an age, yet the hope that the squirrels might guide him to Thumbelina at last swayed his decision. With a quiet sigh, he nodded assent.
The squirrels led him to a venerable oak, its trunk gnarled and scarred with the passage of countless seasons. Round holes pocked the bark—doorways to the squirrels’ hidden homes.

“Eight families dwell here,” said Uncle Fuzzball, his whiskers twitching. “They quarrel and chatter, as young folk are wont to do, but you may pay them no mind… all are true of heart.”

 Yoshi made his resting-place at the roots of the oak, hollowing a small nook for himself. He pondered the many ways to seek Thumbelina, while the squirrels, mischievous and restless, came to him without a pause. They brought apples, or, with playful naughtiness, flung twigs snapped from the boughs. Uncle Fuzzball scolded them gently, but the younglings paid little heed, their eyes alight with impish delight.
 As darkness fell, the old squirrel approached Yoshi, his eyes bright in the fading light. “Be wary,” he whispered, his voice trembling like dry leaves. “Keep watch and raise the alarm should any beast draw near. Tonight, it may be the beech marten who comes, or perhaps the owl—our grim adversary—may pass close by. Mark him well, for he is a murderer. Yet fear not entirely, for I shall speak with my brother across the forest. He is a steadfast friend to the Nightingale, the night swallow that knows every secret of these woods. Through him, we shall find your companion.”