Guerrillas in the Glen
Gordon Stearns

Chapter 4
The Wondrous Glen
page 1 of 3

The days had grown hotter and longer. No longer was the creek a swollen torrent. Cutting through the soft murmur of the calmer water there came the cheerful humming of a high-pitched voice. Figan skipped along the creek, continuing to hum and enjoying the beauty of the glen as he did every morning.
In nature, he sensed a marvelous intelligence and unity of purpose. Figan scampered towards his special rock - a huge, round boulder only a few feet off the creek bank. He leapt through the air, landing on its broad surface. His voice rose shrilly as he jumped and whirled for the sheer joy of it. Everything came together for him in a magical rush - - the sun's warmth, the perfumes of the forest floor, the games of the water. Afterwards he relaxed on the rock's warm surface, watching the squirrels in their morning acrobatics.

His cheerful smile suddenly vanished. He peered about uneasily.
"Mmm-Hmmm!" Figan exclaimed. "Something's wrong here." He had the distinct feeling that somebody was watching him. The fur on his back bristled. His body tensed. Had the humans finally found them? Then his eyes caught a movement high up in a nearby tree. Swiftly Figan was on his feet. A dark form clinging to a vine swung down towards him. But as the mysterious figure landed on the bank, it slipped and sprawled kicking and yelling. Long sharpened sticks spilled from the quiver slung over its shoulder. While Figan doubled over in laughter, Hyde scrambled to his feet.

" How you doing, Hyde?" Figan greeted, trying to control his laughter. "Are you doing your exercises?"

" I not scare anybody," grumbled Hyde in his gruff, raspy voice. "Nothing to do here anyway. I sick of this!"

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Guerrillas in the Glen Copyright 1997, 1998 Gordon Stearns
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