Woodland Tales E-Book

J. S. Allen

• Herausgeber: Bluedrake Books
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

What happens when a young wolf wishes his pack away? Why are the creatures of the wood acting so strange since that new bush appeared? Can a crow really become an owl? 
The answers to these questions and many more can be found in this collection of six classic style fables sure to delight children and adults alike.

Leseprobe

WOODLAND TALES

By J. S. Allen

ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR:

Sauragia

Journey to the Red Mountain

Dedication

To Susan Satterfield.

Thanks for your patience and words of encouragement.

Copyright

“The Otter Kit Streamer” first appeared in Shorelines: A Publication of Student Creativity edited by Moriah Zacharias. Copyright © 2016 by J. S. Allen.

“The Buck” first appeared in Shorelines: A Publication Celebrating Student Creativity edited by Andrew Shepherd.

Copyright © 2015 by J. S. Allen.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2022 by J. S. Allen

Cover Art: Detail from A Hare in the Forest by Hans Hoffman

First published in 2021 by J.S.A. Books,

an imprint of J.S.A. Media

This edition published by Bluedrake Books,

an imprint of Ash Tree Media,

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data

(Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)

Names: Allen, J. S., author.

Title: Woodland tales / by J.S. Allen.

Description: [Belton, Missouri] : Bluedrake Books, an imprint of Ash Tree Media, [2022] | Interest age level: 007-012. | Originally published: J.S.A. Books, an imprint of J.S.A. Media, 2021. | Summary: "A collection of six classic-style fables for children"-- Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: ISBN 9781956619065 (paperback) | ISBN 9781956619089 (ePub)

Subjects: LCSH: Conduct of life--Juvenile fiction. | Families--Juvenile fiction. | Animals--Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Conduct of life--Fiction. | Families--Fiction. | Animals--Fiction. | LCGFT: Fables. | JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Legends, Myths, Fables / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Fairy Tales & Folklore / General.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.A4386 Wo 2022 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.A4386 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]--dc23

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Contents

The Magic Plant

The Otter Kit StreamerBirds of a FeatherThe BuckA Cub's WishThe Turtle Who TriedAbout the Author

The Magic Plant

T

histle was in a bad mood. While the world around him was sunny and bright, a storm cloud of anger hovered above the young hare as he bounded aimlessly onward.

“Looks like Heather’s got his scut in a knot again,” remarked a squirrel as Thistle passed by underneath.

Heather, Thistle’s sister, was a very fastidious hare who liked everything in its place. She was always sure to point out when he did something wrong, and almost never praised his efforts when he got something right. His sensitive nature did not take her criticism well, and this frequently led to rows between them.

It was following one such row that Thistle had run away on his current jaunt to let off steam.

“Who’s she to tell me my form is dirty?” he muttered to himself as he went. “It’s my form!”

He slowed his pace a little as he came nearer the river. After all, he was quite mindful of where he was going, whatever Heather might say to the contrary. He stopped beside it and stared into the water for a while. Its steady, serene flow always had a soothing effect on him. He turned and lolloped along its bank with no particular destination in mind. His senses were ever alert for danger, as there was said to be a fox in the area who liked nothing more than the taste of long-eared leapers like him. The fox was more active at night, though, so Thistle felt reasonably safe.

Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. His ears went rigid and he stood upright. Spreading out before him was the largest, lushest bush he had ever seen. Its leaves were as green as could be, and its crown adorned by little purplish flowers. It seemed harmless enough, though he did not recall it being there a couple weeks ago. It must have grown up rapidly since then from the seed that some bird had unintentionally planted.

His stomach gave him a rumbling reminder that he was famished. His sister had so upset him that he had forgotten to eat this morning. Seeing that none of his usual fare seemed to grow around here, he cautiously approached the strange bush. He sniffed it first. Nothing threatening there. He ventured to lick it. Again, nothing seemed wrong. So, plucking up his courage, he bit off a leaf and chewed it up. It was a tad sweeter than he was used to, but otherwise quite delicious. He waited a moment after swallowing to see if any ill effects manifested themselves. None did. So, with newfound peace of mind, he took another bite.

At least she won’t rob me of my breakfast! he thought with satisfaction as he chewed. He then set about devouring the plant with alarming alacrity.

Heather watched with a mix of anxiety and anger for her brother’s return. She was anxious because deep inside she loved Thistle dearly, and worried for his safety when he was off on his own. At the same time, she was dreadfully angry with him for causing her so much concern. All she had done was say his form was a dirty, dishevelled disgrace and called him a silly twit. He really was far too sensitive. As old Thornbush put it, he had a “delicate nature.” He had also reminded her on more than one occasion to be a little more aware of others’ feelings, and she earnestly tried at this. Even now she told herself that she had been a bit harsh on Thistle.

“He’s just a silly buck, after all,” she told herself. “What would he know about keeping a form clean?”

She sighed. Maybe just this once she would let it be. As soon as Thistle returned, she would go up to him and apologize. The idea was almost foreign to her proud mindset, but it put her at ease.

As it happened, she had not long to wait, for Thistle came bounding back to the clearing a moment later. She approached him to deliver her speech.

“Thistle,” she began. “I just wanted to say...”

But she got no further before Thistle threw his forepaws around her.

“I’m so sorry, sis,” he said with a big smile. “You were absolutely right. I’ve been such a slovenly twit.” He said this with almost a chuckle.

“That’s very nice, Thistle, but would you get off?” She pushed him brusquely away.

“Righto, sis. I’ll go home straight away and sort everything out.” He yawned. “Right after I’ve had a nice little kip.”

“But it’s only midday!” said Heather, a tad puzzled.

Thistle paused on the way back to his form, and with a stupid giggle replied, “I love you, sissy!” He then bounded away, leaving Heather at a complete loss.

Sissy! He hadn’t called her that since they were mere kittens. And what had he eaten to give his breath that strange sweet smell? Overall this was an oddly pleasant turn of character for her brother, but she wasn’t completely sure she liked it.

Things were fairly quiet for the rest of the day. Heather went about her usual business of eating, organizing, and chatting with her squirrel friends on the fringe of the forest. She saw nothing more of Thistle until much later as the sun was going down. The sky was turning purple when she heard the voices of fellow herbivores approaching from the tree line. Rising from her prone position, she looked in the direction of the noise.

She was shocked and annoyed to find it was none other than Thistle and some of his rabbit friends returning late from a romp in the woods. What a foolhardy lot they were! Did none of them recall that a fox prowled the forest this time of day? She would have none of it, and went over to give them a good talking to.

They stopped in front of her and Thistle spoke.

“Hi there, sis! How are...”

“Don’t start that talk with me, you stupid twit!” Heather broke in. “You know how dangerous it is after dark in the trees, what with that fox about. And what’s worse, you put your friends in danger!”

“Aww, sis, I was just showing them...”

“I don’t care what you were doing! You ought to know better. Shame on you, Thistle!”

If Heather had expected her words to have any impact, she was sorely disappointed. They paused a second, then burst out laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks. Heather was stunned. Such harsh words from her would have made Thistle angry any other time, but here he was laughing like an idiot.

“Didn’t I tell you she was great?” he spoke to his friends. “Always looking out for me, she is.”

“She’s just superb!” said the only other hare in the group, reaching out to give her a friendly pat.

“Get off, you!” said Heather, giving him a not-so-friendly swat across the face. He backed away chuckling.

“Well, thanks Thistle,” said the eldest of the rabbit siblings. “That was just a suuuper lark! We’d best be getting back to the warren now.” He grinned. “If I can remember where we put it, that is.”

“All right. See you ‘round, then.”

The three rabbits and the other hare headed off into the undergrowth. Thistle once more lolloped off to his still unclean form, claiming he was absolutely spent. Heather shook her head and went back to her own form, seeing there was naught she could do to make him listen in his current state. She drifted off in her tidy little niche to await the morning.

The following day passed in much the same way, save for the fact that Thistle awoke with a splitting headache. He passed by Heather on his way into the wood.

“Morning, brother,” she said, trying desperately not to chide him on his shabby appearance. “Care to try some clover?”

“Please, sis, not so loud,” moaned Thistle, tugging his ears and covering his head with his paws. “My head hurts something awful.”

“Why? What did you do to it?” she asked, hiding her concern with callous indifference.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s almost like a log landed on my blooming bonce!”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing, sis. There’s a plant in the woods I found that should make it feel better.”

“A plant?”

“Yeah. Down by the river. A big bushy thing with pretty little flowers on top. Several of them, actually.”

“Well, look out for that fox while you’re there.”

“I will,” said Thistle, continuing on his way. “See you later, sis.”

Heather was halfway tempted to follow him and see this plant for herself, but decided for once to show restraint. That was his concern, not hers. She went back to her grazing without a second thought, rather proud of her self-control. When she saw Thistle later, he was looking much better, albeit walking with a lazier gait, and was going out to meet with his friends again. She cautioned him against venturing too far that night, but he just laughed and told her not to worry before hopping on his way. But Heather was getting very worried. She decided to go and see Thornbush that afternoon.

Thornbush, frequently referred to as Thorn, was a wizened old hare who lived on a down near the forest’s western edge. His wisdom was renowned among the long-eared community, for he had lived a long time by the standards of any rabbit or hare. He was actually a distant relative of Heather and Thistle: one of their mother’s great uncles or some such. At any rate, she was going to see him on account of this plant she was hearing so much about. The more she learnt about it, the less she liked it.

She arrived at Thorn’s just as the sun was beginning to sink. The grey-furred hare welcomed her warmly and invited her to dine with him as they conversed. She explained about the plant based on what she had heard and seen, and described her concern. Old Thorn took her words in with the utmost attention, then assumed a very serious air.

“What does this plant look like?” he asked.

“Well, Thistle said it was kind of a big bush with little flowers on top. There are more than one, in fact.”

“You are right to fear this plant, Heather,” said Thorn gravely. “For it is a very bad thing to find in any forest.”

“I agree,” said Heather with a smile. “It makes Thistle and his friends act completely loopy. More than usual, I mean.”

“Worse than that, it is downright dangerous. It makes one extremely lethargic.”

“Letha…what?”

“It makes one very tired to the point that he doesn’t feel like doing anything but lie about all day and night and act silly. It can get so bad that one’s sense of danger becomes dull, and predators can snatch him up without a fight.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Indeed, it is. And its effects tend to spread. So often a young herbivore tells his friends how wonderful it is and urges them to try it. Soon they can’t stop either, and tell their friends how great it is and so on until the entire community is turned into living corpses, unable and unwilling to take care of themselves. Even predators can be affected when they consume the afflicted creatures.”

“Then we have to stop it!”

“That is not so easily done, I’m afraid. Those who are under the spell of the plant are not inclined to quit eating it on a whim. In fact, the more they consume, the more they want. Their appetite becomes insatiable after a time.”

“I’ll see how much that brother of mine wants when I get done with him,” said Heather, speeding off homeward. “Silly twit.”

“Good luck, Heather!” Thorn called after, waving a paw. He sighed. “Ahh, the vigour of youth.”

Heather barely heard Thorn’s last words, being already halfway down the hill. She sped back home as only a hare could, arriving just in time to see Thistle part with his rabbit friends again. She ran right over to him and opened up without mercy.

“You awful, imbecilic twit! Have you any idea what you’ve done?”

“What do you mean, sissy?”

“Your magic plant, stupid!” explained Heather brusquely. “It’s dangerous!”

“No it isn’t,” replied Thistle with an exaggerated headshake that almost threw him off balance. He corrected himself with a giggle. “It makes everything just wonderful. Why, even you don’t look half bad anymore.”

He recoiled at the forceful smack his sister dealt him. Even with his feel-good plant he could be mighty cheeky. Under most circumstances, Thistle would have instantly recognized that he had pushed her too far and stopped fooling around. As it was, his wits were so dulled by the plant that he simply rubbed his throbbing nose and smiled his stupid smile.

“Looks like you could use a bite of the plant yourself. Help you calm down.” He hopped off homeward. “See you tomorrow, sis!”

Heather was dumbstruck. Only once had she ever struck her brother with such force, and that had made him sulky for a week. Now all he did was laugh and go home to sleep off his magic plant. Old Thorn had been right. There was no reasoning with those under the spell of its leaves. She returned dejectedly to her own form, dreadfully worried for Thistle, but at a total loss as to what she could do to help him.

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