Willodeen: Chapters 17–22

In the front of the room, seated at a long, low table, were five men and one woman. Connor waved, and a man gave a curt nod. His father, no doubt.

As we settled, a gavel pounded, and the sound echoed in the rafters. “The council meeting will now commence,” announced the chair, an older gentleman with wild white hair and an immense mustache.

As we settled, a gavel pounded, and the sound echoed in the rafters. “The council meeting will now commence,” announced the chair, an older gentleman with wild white hair and an immense mustache.

“The agenda for today,” said Thaddeus, “is one thing only, as we all well know. Our livelihoods are in jeopardy, and our winter may be bleak indeed, unless we determine what has happened to the hummingbears we all love. This year things appear to be worse than ever.”

“The agenda for today,” said Thaddeus, “is one thing only, as we all well know. Our livelihoods are in jeopardy, and our winter may be bleak indeed, unless we determine what has happened to the hummingbears we all love. This year things appear to be worse than ever.”

Miss Rossit held up her hand. “A fortnight ago I saw two hummingbears. They were flying south. I watched them pass right over the riverfront willows and keep going.”

Thaddeus grimaced. “Anyone else?” The crowd was silent, but not for long.

I moved to stand, but Connor took my arm and pointed to a sketch he’d been working on. It was Duuzuu, soaring through the clouds. It was a good likeness, although it made me wistful, knowing Duuzuu would never fly like that again.

Several blamed the councillors, although it wasn’t exactly clear what they’d done wrong. Others said we’d angered the heavens. A few even blamed nature herself for letting us down. And one gruff gentleman carrying a walking stick blamed plain old bad luck.

“I’ve got me an idea. Seems there’s plenty of coin in the village coffers—”
“Actually,” Mr. Burke interrupted, “that’s not the case,” but Otwel forged ahead.

“I’ve got me an idea. Seems there’s plenty of coin in the village coffers—”
“Actually,” Mr. Burke interrupted, “that’s not the case,” but Otwel forged ahead.

“Go ahead, Mr. Borwan. You were saying something about pests?” said Miss Rossit. She had a skeptical gaze I appreciated.

Some part of myself, watching the following moments unfold, was shocked. I could see my red face, my frazzled hair, my clenched fists. I could see the crowd, too, aghast at this interruption from a mere child.

“In light of this digression, perhaps I should remind us all,” said Thaddeus, “that we are assembled here to discuss why the hummingbears are failing to return.”

Of course, my treacherous tears arrived as soon as the heavy door closed behind me.

A stone fountain fed by a nearby stream had survived the fire. It featured a hummingbear, spitting water into the air, the base black from its brush with the inferno.

The old carousel nearby sat motionless. For the most part, it had escaped the fire’s wrath.

I sat next to the sole blue willow in the square that had come through the fire unscathed.

Leaning against its smooth-barked trunk, I removed Connor’s puzzler from my pocket. The twirling tusks. The strange tail. The homely snout.

For a long time, I let myself weep.
Angry tears, indeed.
They held no magic. Just despair.

The meeting finally ended, and I watched the villagers streaming out of the hall. I wondered if they’d come to any decisions. What plans could they really make? To hope with more fury? To bicker with more energy?

I sat there for a long time, letting the sun soak in, waiting in vain for it to warm my heart. After a while, I gave up and headed home.

Her head turns. She sees something. An animal with long, red head fur and four appendages.

A pungent aroma fills the air. It is full of worry and warning.

I didn’t dare move.
I couldn’t bear to frighten the trembling animal away.
The familiar scent of scared screecher wafted my way.

The square was deserted, save for a lirkmunk who chittered in annoyance at the smell and ran for the safety of a nearby thicket.

Behind me, down toward the river, villagers were setting up stalls to sell their wares for the Faire, ever hopeful.

But it was a huge leap, a giant chasm of a leap, to think that one thing had turned into the other. That was not how nature worked. Baby screechers didn’t just suddenly appear out of thin air.

Even when they were young, I had to admit that screechers were odd-looking animals, and this one was no exception. Still, when she tried to take a step and tumbled onto her tail, it was awfully charming. Her tusks weren’t much to look at, and her tail bristles seemed more delicate than threatening.

I took a flying leap off the carousel, stretched out my arms, and trapped the baby screecher under my coat. If she’d been any bigger, her shrieks of outrage would have been deafening.

I did, however, see Connor. He was hammering a wooden stall into place. A stack of his hummingbear puzzlers sat nearby in a large willow basket. Quickly I averted my gaze, but not before he noticed me.

A moment later, Connor had joined me, moving in tandem with my stride. He was breathless, his face anxious.

Connor and I looked at each other. Breathless, dirty, sprawled in the road. “Good work,” I said, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

Connor peeked under my coat. The baby attempted a winsome snarl.

I swallowed. The baby screecher skittered back and forth in the basket.