Not based on true events

There were tiny eyes staring at her. Yes, indeed, tiny eyes were watching her while she was at her desk. And the “ she” of which I speak is Charlotte L. Young, and she was at the precise moment observing in her study botanical specimens which she had previously grown. And all the while, those tiny eyes gazed at her, and those tiny eyes were attached to a fluffy butter-ball of a body, one which had come in unobserved through the open window. It was early spring at the time, with the snow yet upon the ground, and the thermometer declaring that it was yet below zero. But Charlotte believed in the goodness of fresh air, and shivered no longer in its blast from beside her. But her sister had a differing opinion, and before long, her arching petty voice called up: “ Charlotte! Charlotte! Close that window this instant! Charlotte!” Who could not fail to hear that demanding voice.  Surely not Charlotte herself. At the sound of it she stood, and shut the window fast and then turned to do the same with the second. But in that moment, she found herself confronted by the keeper of those eyes. Was it a dog? Was it a cat? Was it a spider? No, indeed, it was a bat, a round, roly-poly Hoary Bat. “ Now, where did you come from?” exclaimed Charlotte gently when their eyes met. “ No, you must not stay here.” And she reopened the window, and proceeded towards the little creature, hoping to shoo it outdoors through one of either exits. But, though it took to wing when she came too near, and fluttered about in circles in the room like a mad thing, the bat positively refused to vacate the property. “ It’s almost as if it is avoiding the windows!” observed Charlotte with frustration, gasping for breath as she  chased the mammal frenziedly about. But try as she might, it refused to leave, turning at sharp angles whenever it came near a window. Perhaps it was weary of the cold outside? Perhaps it liked the ceiling onto which  it now clung, and from which it had refused to move, though Charlotte was directly beneath it. At that auspicious time, the voice of the sister burst out, and never  had it been so irritating to Charlotte as it now was. “ Charlotte!!” she cried curtly, “ Close those windows!” With no better plan in mind, Charlotte did so, and, with a glance at the contented bat again roosting above her, declared “ Welcome to Bat Inn!” in a tone which hinted that she was not quite pleased, But the Hoary Bat was pleased, yes, indeed! For it now closed its little eyes and fell happily a-slumber. 

Not based on true events

This legend concerns what once was a hare, a hare inhabiting South Africa. Thus does the legend begin:

It was springtime in the wilds of Africa, and new blood coursed through the veins of every creature. They felt suddenly refreshed and energized, but none more than Ped the hare. He could barely retain the excitement he felt at the approaching warmer months, and could be seen leaping high into the air in his exaltation. But one day, this celebration halted, and he grew quiet, for word had come to him that someone else had arrived with the spring. At the name of Adustus, the approaching Side-striped Jackal, he blanched, when Lani, the Fiscal Shrike uttered its syllables. And the name was said more often as the jackal drew nearer. Ped never overcame his fright at the news, and is pale in the face up to this day because of it. But his terror grew immense when he heard that Adustus was in his very territory, and his heart bounded like himself when one day he came nose to nose with the sleeping jackal. When Adustus’s opened that instant, he gave yelp of surprise, but he soon took advantage of his good fortune, and gave chase. At first, Ped lopped rabbit-like in quick zigzags to escape his foes, but as the chase went on, Adustus gained ground until he was suddenly upon the hare’s tail. Through grasses, over grasses, passed lions, beneath giraffes they went until finally they came to a dead halt. At least, Ped did, for there before him was an immense rhinoceros, already spouting angry steam at the hare. But Adustus had other ideas, and again taking advantage of his chance, he snapped at Ped’s tail, and held it fast. Ped gave a screm, which caused the rather cowardly rhino to rear its bulky body and gallop pounding away. Ped immediately followed its example, but his tail was yet within the jaws of his captor. He bounded forward and found himself pulled back. He bounded again, this time with only his hind legs upon the round to give better leverage. The tail was yet caught, and Adustus chuckled to himself in expectation of the meal ahead.  But it was not to be, for, with one great bound, Ped’s tail stretched, and pulled so taunt, that Adustus’s teeth ached. Had he a choice, or even a chance? No. With a smack, he let the tail free, and went rolling backwards in the grasses in consequences. Ped immediately took his own chance, and with his tail lengthened, his fur lightened, and his paws tucked beneath his breast, he leapt away kangaroo-like across the savanna and eventually into the safety of his burrow.

Not based on true events

The calls of tropical  birds sounded all around Rusune and her brother as their boat swayed lazily down the river. A glistening emerald snake coiled upon a branch far above watched with interest as they passed. Chattering monkeys scolded them, bees buzzed threateningly as the siblings swept on past their nest. Yes, everything was wonderful--at first, that is. But then Rusune caught sight  of her brother, and there was an awful impish look in his eyes. There, straight before them, was a Eurasian Moorhen. She beheld him quicken the pace of his oar strokes, and saw him come up behind the bird. Before she could oppose him in any way, she watched, in her utmost distress, as he shot out his hand and snatched the ebony bird neck. It gave a cry, Rusune gave a cry, and her brother but laughed. But not for long, for even as Rusune was pounding the man with her fists, even as he said “ What ‘s the matter with you? I’m not hurting it!” there came up a great grey paddle from the river bottom. Then, with a watery whack! it fell furiously upon the hand  which gripped the struggling bird, and with  a yelp of pain, the brother set the poor fowl free and it immediately took to the air. Now, Rusune’s cry was that of jubilation and relief, but it soon stopped when the oar dipped under the water again, and popped up beside her. There were fishy eyes and fishy fins behind it, for indeed the paddle was attached to a fish. Too overcome with gratitude to think of what she was doing, Rusune unconsciously put her hand upon the paddle with a word of thanks, and the fish shook it as one may shake hands with another. Then, with a ripple, the paddle vanished to the depths, and Rusune’s heart was full and glad within her as they journeyed back to the hut. Her brother’s hand and pride, though, was sore for a long, long time, and never again did he torment a wild thing. No, never.

Not based on true events

Rusune lived in an unknown time at an unknown place which had never been discovered by any explorers until now. And even in this tale, the whereabouts of her homeland are obscured in obedience to her will. She lived with her mother, father, and older brother in a charming hut of reeds by a lazy river. Indeed, Rusune dearly loved her mother and father, but her brother not so much. He gave her boat rides in the slow river, and she enjoyed them greatly, but if he encountered any living thing, Rusune’s pleasure  fled in an instant. For though he was kind to her and to his parents and to his neighbours, he was cruel to every other living thing. But one day, a living thing taught him a lesson and this is how it began. One fine day, when the wind drove the misty air before it with a gentle hand and cooled an otherwise sweltering day, the brother of Rusune came into the hut in high spirits. He had been hunting, not only for game but also for edible plants, and he had brought with him enough food for several days. Rusune, who was weaving a mat in one quiet corner, looked up and smiled. She never minded his hunting for a meal. Rusune’s mother took from him the game and his father complemented him on his skill. The brother, though, took no notice, but bounded to Rusune, and to her utmost astonishment, pulled her from her seat, and began to  swing her about the room. “ It is such a day!” he laughed, “ Such a day! A little sister should not be cooped up in here! Come! Let us go in the boat.”  Then, with a saving remembrance, he suddenly turned to his parents who looked on in pleasure. “ You can spare her, can you not?” said he, and they both nodded their assent. Thus, without another word, the brother dashed out of the hut door with his sister behind him.  “ It is very much a fine day” thought Rusune  gratefully as they bounded through the rubbery leaves outside, and onto the edge of a sharp bank. There, they halted, for floating below was their small bark, tied to one of the dangling creepers which hung over the cliff-like outcropping. It was gently bobbing from side to side as if dancing with excitement, and the reflections of the water played upon its side. With a cry of glee, Rusune’s brother leapt into it, and lifted his sister over the embankment and into the boat alongside him. Both felt their hearts fill with the thrill of the adventure, and without further ado, the brother shoved the boat from the bank and they were off!

To be continued...

Not based on true events

Why we made the crossing was more than I could guess at the time. The crossing of which I speak is that which we made across the Great River a couple months before I came out of cubhood. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Coyote, seemed unable to talk of anything more all the time before our trek, and I soon became curious about the importance it held in their minds. Eventually, though, I wearied of the talk, and it was on that day that we set forth from our home in the woods. The snow was crisp and soothing beneath our paws, crackling like dried leaves in fall as we went. Indeed, it was fall: the fall of winter, for the days were swiftly growing in length. My parents, therefore, hastened to cross the river before the ice melted. We trotted along at a bounding rate until we at length burst forth from the woods and stood upon the river bank. There was a strange air which met my nose as I gazed forth at the flat plain plane of the river, so calm and peaceful in winter as it was treacherous in summer. But returning to the subject of the scent, I dropped my nose to the ground where it was strongest. What was it? “ Ah!” said my father, noticing my interest, “ What you smell is the bones of a fish which I caught last year. Nasty tasting beast it was, but it was a lean year and one could not be too choosy.” And with that, he cantered off onto the wide river, with my mother following him and me bringing up the rear. I was still uncertain about the safety of the river. And well I might be, for, after a few yards, my father set down his paw and a rending crack could be heard. Halting, with his heart pounding mightily no doubt, he cautiously eased back towards us, and glanced from left to right.  “ Perhaps we came too late?” inquired my mother meekly, but my father shook his head.  Then, he began our march once more, and  made a wide circuit about the perilous spot with us following in his tracks. At length, we reached the opposite shore to my great relief, and it was, at first sight, as empty as the one we had left. But then I noticed queer little clumps of snow that dotted the blank world, and beheld, to my amazement , one of these clumps hop straight into the air like a spring. I gave a yelp of astonishment, which my parents immediately hushed. And so we stood there as still as sculptures, witnessing the most unusual spectacle which I had ever beheld  in my life. It was an immense company of Arctic Hares which we were watching, all standing suddenly upon their feet like so many cartoon rabbits, and without further ado, they set off! It was like a race of tiny white kangaroos, it was, with their silly ears bobbing, and their fore-paws held stiffly forward. My eyes grew wider than their heads as I gazed dumbfounded at the multitude of hares going along so comically upon their hind-legs without a care in the world. Further and further they went without stopping until I could only just see their bobbing forms crossing the river forks beyond. “ What were they doing?” I gasped out when the last had vanished from my sight. “ Making their crossing” replied my father, and with that, we turned our tails, and idled back across the river.