Beasts of New York

Part 2: Chapter 5 - Journey to the North

White

Patch howled with pain. Something was tearing at his left hindleg, his poisoned leg, the leg that already burned as if with fire. And there was nothing he could do about it. He was too weak to move, too powerless to do anything but suffer.

‘I’m sorry,’ a gentle voice said. ‘I’m so sorry. I have to open it to let the poison drain. It’s your only chance.’

Then teeth ripped at his flesh again, and Patch screamed again, until his mind could withstand the pain no longer, and he passed once again into darkness.

The next time he awoke there was food in front of him, a soft, moist maple bud so close that all he had to do was reach out a paw and sweep it into his mouth. But he couldn’t move. His body would not follow any commands at all. He was paralyzed, frozen in place like a statue. His left hindleg was made of agony, and his breath was fast and shallow.

‘You’re awake,’ the gentle voice said, and something hopped into the elm bark before him. Another squirrel. Patch tried to see who it was, but he could not even move or focus his eyes. All he could make out was the other squirrel’s white paw as it gently nudged the maple bud into his mouth. Patch couldn’t even chew, but the bud slowly dissolved in his mouth, as his mind dissolved into darkness.

The next time he awoke to teeth ripping and slashing at his left hindleg again, and it hurt even worse than before, but he could not even scream. This time the merciful darkness did not come. The pain seemed like it would never end.

‘I’m sorry,’ the gentle voice said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

The next time he awoke he was shaking uncontrollably, and the other squirrel had to work patiently for some time before it was able to nudge the maple bud into Patch’s mouth. But his leg hurt a little less.

The next time he awoke he was able to reach out feebly for the maple bud and flower petals before him and eat them himself as the gentle voice said, ‘Good, good.’

The next time he awoke he ate a whole acorn that had been left beside him, and was able to rouse himself enough to look down at his wounded leg. It was still grossly swollen and painful, but it was no longer bleeding black ooze. The other squirrel was nowhere in sight, but he could smell her, his senses were returning too.

The next time he awoke he smelled her nearby, and he was ravenously hungry, he had to devour both the acorns beside him before he was able to think of anything else. After eating he thought that if he had to, he might be able to stand, although the effort would surely be ruinously painful.

‘You’re better,’ said the gentle voice from above him. ‘You’re going to live.’

And a small female squirrel with pure white fur, pink eyes, and a half-severed tail descended a branch and stood next to him in the wide crook of the elm tree in which Patch had lain for days.

‘Who are you?’ Patch asked, amazed.

‘I am White daughter of Streak, of the Runner clan. Who are you that asks?’

‘I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe,’ Patch said. ‘What is your tribe?’

After an uncomfortable moment White said, ‘I have none.’

‘Oh,’ Patch said. ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

In his fever he had asked a profoundly thoughtless question. Albino squirrels were believed tainted, cursed by the moon. They were cast out from their families and tribes as soon as they reached adulthood, and shunned for the rest of their lives. They were very rare. Patch had seen only one before in all his life, an older female, when exploring the territory of the Northern tribe, at the very edge of the Center Kingdom.