Ice and Arrows (D9 plot)

Being a squirrel was difficult work. It was tedious, hoarding the nuts and berries in a tree trunk until nothing but the frost on the ground was left. You constantly had to scamper back and forth during the summer months, picking up haphazard little scraps of food. Always holding it in your paws, you would be tempted to nibble at whatever food it was (lets say a cranberry in this case) and take in the scenery. But, no. A squirrels job was never done. Ever. Even if the winter was short and brisk, and the frost on the ground was gone by the time January ended, it still was absolutley needed to keep as much as you could. Who knew? Maybe the winter could extend into the mere summer months of June, freezing the branches. But, it was a day in the squirrels mind.

Well, the squirrel didn't have a name. And he was just dandy with that, running back and forth between trunk to trunk, collecting each bit of food he could find, then bringing it back to his particular tree (A lofty oak tree with large leaves and a smell of slight decay) and rummaging back out from the top of the waxy leaves, landing on the dirty ground with a slight thud, his little brown, furry paws scaling the dirt with a natural, instinctual thing. Referring to himself as Squirrel was a habit of his. He had always known he was a squirrel, and that other person was a squirrel, but he has always called himself Squirrel, for lack of a better name. He could of named himself something unique" Ash, Smoke, Fire, Inferno, Flame. All of those names sounded pretty awesome. Hell, they sounded like names that could bring bad omens to his perfect little oak tree in the perfect little place he lived it. And he liked that perfect little oak tree. He did.

His oak tree had been something he fought savageley for, his own resentment towards the mere chipmunks that had lived in the tree previous. It was a perfect tree, in retrospect, with plenty of room and places to rest your paws. But in no way, NO WAY would he give up the perfect tree to chipmunks. Chipmunks, dirty, dirty chipmunks, with their greasy fur and their rat tails, Squirrel regarded them as lower-class citizens, always throwing them to the bottom of the barrel mentally. Sure, they could be his cousins but they were the redneck cousins nobody associated with except for Grandmother.

That was why when Squirrel was pacing across the forest that day, he was agitated. His tree had been taken over by chipmunks and he was not a happy camper. He looked up to see a large arrow perched on somebodies shoulder, and he blinked, running up the tree that the chipmunks now dominated. No. Way.