Getting to his feet, he stretched stiff limbs, twisted at the waist to crack his back, and smiled down at the squirrel. He didn’t feel like Catskill was translating. He didn’t feel like the squirrel was actually speaking with human language. It didn’t seem to matter.
What has the hole done to me?
“Harm me not,” the squirrel said. “I am in service to the hidden queen of be-leafed halls.”
“Uh-huh. I wouldn’t harm you, friend. I’m happy to meet you.”
The squirrel cocked its head.
“Is there a town nearby? Where can I find more humans?”
The squirrel scratched beneath its belly-mouth and looked skyward with all three of its eyes.
“Hmm? A riddle? The mill is nearest.”
“Not a riddle. Just need directions.”
“I see. As you wish. Walk downslope to the river. Shun the ford. Keep the close bank. Follow it north to the mill. Your pace is unknowable, but perhaps you shall reach it before the dawn.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“I…that is…you are…quite welcome.”
Green nodded, swallowed the bitter taste, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked down the dark slope. The world was dim, but the moon and stars made walking possible. The squirrel called after him.
“You shall not see the squirrel queen, yes? You shall forget that I spoke of her?”
Green waved a hand.
“Already forgotten.”
“As well you should,” the squirrel muttered to itself and raced up a nearby tree to disappear among the latticework of branches.
If not for the past few months, the interaction with the squirrel would have felt like a conclusive departure from reality. Now, it seemed strangely natural. And yet, something was off. Green frowned up at the vivid sky and wondered what his mentor would say.
“Data. Go and find out.”
He had no sense of the geography of the area, but “downslope” was an easy enough direction to follow. The mountain felt like the mountain he had walked with Valentina, but the sky told him his journey home was not over yet.
He made an intentional effort to reach toward Catskill in his thoughts and found a profound stillness. Not quite nothing, but not the connection he’d had ten minutes earlier. The landscape didn’t seem as dark as before he reached for the wolf. There was something there, something that waited near the strange, distant oak he could sense, but not reach. He could tug on that thread once he had seen to his immediate survival.
He walked through uncertain woods and heard the chiming of little metal gears in his mind. Mr. Reynard sat at a table in the corner of Green’s thoughts, working on a picture of a clockwork osprey clutching a clockwork fish in its minute-hand talons. He looked content, just sitting by to keep him company.
In the mental image, Green reclined in a hospital bed, watching his friend work.
“Hey, neighbor. Are you a part of this world?” Green asked.
Mr. Reynard winked, but did not answer.
A cloud shadow fell on the window and Green’s imagination was seated on the cot in the cabin.
Valentina entered with toast, smiling her wicked witch smile. Dancer ducked in behind her.
A comforting, monstrous wolf with a great bare skull like a weathered hunk of driftwood sat beside the cot and an oak seedling in an indigo pot decorated the rag moth’s table.
I am alive and I am moving forward.
He found the river as night began to fade from the eastern sky. Soon after, he found the mill. The look of the place, coupled with the antique brilliance of the departing stars, shed new light on the situation. Green’s heart pounded.
