Janglur Swifteye sat at the edge of a well-worn trail, his back against the broad trunk of a fallen elm, savoring the calm summer night. He was an unusual squirrel, half as tall again as most of his species, with dark terra-cotta fur, untypically long and thick. A huge bush of tail added to the impression of his size. Beneath the fur Janglur’s limbs were hefty and robust, with a stomach of considerable girth, which his mother constantly chided him about. His eyes were hooded and long-lashed, giving the impression he was always half asleep. However, anybeast who knew Janglur Swifteye was careful not to be fooled by his air of easygoing idleness. He was renowned as a quick and dangerous warrior, immensely strong and wise in the ways of battle. But there was another side to him: he was also an obedient son, a dutiful husband and a fond father. In the woodlands behind him his family slept in their little traveling tent, his mother Ellayo, his wife Rimrose and Songbreeze, the daughter who was the apple of her father’s eye.

From beneath half-closed lids Janglur Swifteye watched, missing nothing. Clusters of flowering dock nodded lightly against gnarled oak trunks, orange-berried arums and spiking flowered sedge swayed lazily between elder, chestnut and sycamore trees, nocturnal insects trundled or winged their various ways through the darkened forest. From somewhere deep in the thickets a nightingale warbled its short rich trill. Janglur whistled a reply to it on his reed flute, aware that somebeast was creeping up behind him. The only move he made was to blink away a midge from his eyelashes. He knew who the intruder was by the way she approached. Janglur chuckled.

“I hear ye, missie. Couldn’t sleep, eh?”

His daughter Songbreeze climbed slowly over the elm trunk and slid down beside him.

“Nobeast could ever surprise you, old Swifteye. Phew! It’s far too hot t’sleep and Grandma’s snoring like a score of hedgehogs after a feast.”

Janglur winked lazily at her. “Huh, listen who’s talkin’. Y’should hear yourself snorin’ some nights, drowns yore grandma’s poor efforts out completely.”

She shoved her father playfully. “I do not! Young squirrelmaids don’t snore, ask Mum.”

Janglur snorted softly. “Y’mother’s worse’n both of you put together.”

The nightingale warbled its short melody again. Janglur picked up his reed flute. “Listen t’that feller, thinks he can sing. Come on, Song, show him.” No creature who knew the tall pretty squirrel ever used her full name.

Janglur played a brief introduction, then Song’s voice rang out with such sweetness and clarity that a tear coursed its way down her father’s cheek. Her voice never failed to move him.

“Flow’rs of the forest

Are bright in the spring,

Wake with the dawn

Hear a lone skylark sing.

Brooks gaily babble

O’er hillsides so green,

Streams ripple secrets

Of what they have seen,