When I was sixteen seasons old, and I had lived with the mole family longer than I had my actual parents, my life changed once again. This time however, the change was positive.
I had reached that stage where I couldn’t seem to go for five minutes without having an argument with someone. No matter what I said or did, someone found offence in it and would take it personally. Equally, they only had to make a comment in the wrong tone of voice and I’d explode in their face. Patrice, Yan and I, normally such good friends, seemed to constantly be angry with one another, or irritable or upset. Mitzi and Eepee had been half driven out of their minds by our fighting. Their once peaceful burrow had been transformed into a battleground as three young individuals tested the water of adulthood.
Usually, our arguments were short and insignificant, forgotten the instant a distraction or common view was found. Occasionally however, we had all-out wars, with shouting, slamming of doors and tears. After such fights, we all needed an outlet for our anger. Sometimes we took it out on an innocent party, which often made things worse. But more often than not, all three of us would storm out of the burrow and head in opposite directions. Patrice would go for a swim in the nearby estuary, using the cold water to cool her head and make her think clearly. Yan would march straight into the woods, raving and spouting out loud as if talking to somebeast, while really only the rocks were listening.
I would go for long runs along the shore, powerful hind legs churning the sand and waves beneath my paws while I ranted and fumed inside my head about the injustice of it all. As my thoughts calmed, I would slow my speed and by the time I was perfectly settled I would come to a full stop and sit down for a while to rest and think. The angrier I was, the farther I went, since I needed more time to release my frustration. When I was sufficiently calmed down, I would walk slowly back the way I had came, thinking about nothing in particular.
All three of us, Patrice, Yan and I, arrived back at home much more peacefully than we had left, and more repentant. We would say we were sorry, and that would be the end of the argument for a while. Usually, there was peace in the burrow for a few days afterward, until something started us up again.
I don’t recall exactly what the fight was about that day, only that it ended in Yan committing a cardinal sin – calling me a weasel. For obvious reasons, ever since we were young it had been viewed as the penultimate insult. (“Bunny rabbit” and “long ears” rated high on the list for me, but nothing beat the W-word.) I had growled in rage and paraded out of the house, pausing only to aim a kick at the offending badger. His shout of pain echoed in my ears as I ran along the well-known path towards the sea.
The distance was small, and soon I was racing the waves. The tide crept up the beach to wet my footpaws but I hardly noticed as I belligerently splashed along. Droplets flew up behind me as the miles passed. The noise of the sea, and my all-consuming anger meant that I didn’t notice another beast approaching from the opposite direction.
WHAM! I remember feeling a force across my chest as though I had hit a solid brick wall. Two runners hitting each other directly face on at full speed and force is a very painful thing. As stars exploded in my head, I was thrown backwards into the sea.
I hit the crest of a wave as it came up onto the beach. The ice-cold salt water revived me, as well as filling my lungs and, for a few seconds, my world. I came up soaking wet and sputtering. “Sp…sp..putooie!” I spat the offending salt taste from my mouth as I choked and coughed for breath. I still had no idea what had caused the force that knocked me over.
A little distance away, I was suddenly vaguely aware of another beast doing much the same as I was. Then all awareness was thrust from me as another wave covered my head. This time I emerged with a clear head, and very clear idea to give whomever it was a piece of my mind.
But he spoke first. I found a tan paw thrust in my face and heard a cheery voice exclaiming, “I say, miss, I am so sorry! Let a chap help you up there, wot wot!”
“Yes, you can bally well help me up! You should know better than to ram a gel like that, eh, I could have been drowned!”
Leave a Reply