Lost Amongst Many

Chapter 8

I spent a few more hours in the cage, and Jerome was given clearance at a safe distance. Rob himself let me out, still a little bleary-eyed from the funeral just an hour beforehand.

He herded Jerome and I out of the gate. Jerome changed, and so did I. We returned to our normal selves, and faced an angry King.

"Now leave. Both of you."

Jerome looked torn. "Why me? Why do I have to leave? Rob-"

"Go!" He snapped.

Jerome tucked tail and ran, half-brushing tears off his face.

"Now do you see what you have done?! He will not trust anyone! You just burned his bridge! That is irresponsible and rude. You hear?!" I ran after Jerome desperately.

I found him sitting in a tree, shaking and upset. I could not climb so well, and I knew he would bolt if I got too close. I stayed on the ground, but called up the redwood he was on to talk to him.

"Are you okay, sir?"

"I- I think so, creeper. You know what this means."

"I do, sir. Nothing violent, I hope?"

"Correct. I will spare him. He was grieving, but I will not forgive nor forget the disrespect and rude nature. Walk with me, creeper. We shall return to a pack nearby."

"Yes sir."

We walked for a few miles, stopping once for lunch and rest. I collected raspberries from a nearby bush, and Jerome caught himself a hare from the same bush. I had scared it, and Jerome- well, you get the idea. We found the pack- rather, the pack found us.

A rustling in a hedge set Jerome on edge. He picked himself up onto his toes and claws, then dragged me up into a tree, claws digging into my scruff. I pulled away, and was set carefully into the branch above Jerome. A young bacca cub emerged from the hedge, and was soon followed by the rest of the pack. One turned its nose up to the trees, and barked like a dog at Jerome. The pack turned on the single member, and Jerome's expression lit up. He barked back, startling the majority of the pack below.

The pack rose in a cheer, and the cubs climbed up. Jerome leapt down, and I curled in on myself, afraid of heights and alone. An older bacca rose to my height in the tree, grabbed my scruff, and brought me down gingerly. Below, I was deposited on the back of the bacca who had brought me out of the tree, and the pack ran on, Jerome leading.

I held its fur for dear life as it kept pace of approximately 50 miles per hour. They stopped, and I was taken buy the sheer number of baccas around me. An entire clearing, about 100 acres, was full of them. I could see young, middle age, elder, and a big tree stump- probably fifteen feet in diameter- with a mound of dirt shaped into a lounge chair. Not a single occupant of the clearing dared to even touch the stump- let alone the chair.

"Woah. Sir, this is- beautiful."

"I knew you would like it. This is the home of so many, I lost count a decade and a half ago. That was only a few weeks before I left. There are so many more I have never seen. This is how we tell if there are poachers around so we can stay on alert if need be."

"Poachers?" In all my time observing the language, I had never come across the word.

"Illegal hunters. They tend not to have boundaries on what they do and do not kill. A lot of the time, baccas get caught in the crosshairs."

"Wow. Sir, how will you regain order?"

"Simple."

"How?"

He loped up to the stump, and flopped in the lounge chair. The entire meadow went silent. Then, a simultaneous howl went up in celebration for the return of their alpha.