Children's Book/s Career Path Highlights Galore, Or pg. -29-

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***Be a 'Fairy-See,' not a 'Pharisee'

“Fairie” [poem]

by poet Eck, C. T.

Fair lady to fairest of women shown

Far-off fetched a fairy to fee phenominal

Not otherwise to fool a would-be fan fantastic

Have leave for a fortnight she could show now you know

Always something   there   to remind me

With her own maw under pillow it was not a baby tooth a thread pulled over and again

She was never a baby and since she was the only fairie clan none else paid coins

Though she would simply bury her whole head away from noise pollution or jeze-bells

She got an “F” only for “fair-ie” but also an “A” for “awareness” planting seeds & bulbs

Free me to find her sitting legs crossed

At a leaf stem for flower fuller bud shut inward

Fancier near clear see-through wing edges the wind seams moving veins like leaves

She will open to me before the petals move

Spells her name Fjari Queene Faerie to mess successfully

That her real name is Arienne she only tells in her presence as presents a given giving

Her worst critique became her best friend rolling Roxelle a pin head angel clan

Her nostrils quick to flare as she holds her stare

Her nose tip flutters like hummingbird wings beat

If butterflies could mutter that has how her singings feat

Takes in air a crunch held inside crush on who to meet

Speaks sprightly sauciest less sass not very smug nor a sap but pert

Is it not her fine skill that lets her fly?

Or her own tender found reaches why?

Got her channel no numbers spying spa space styles

And her riles help her float in stretching a try tie

Notice her chameleon color change by

You would only hear her here before she goes bye

Hemisphere eyes of the deep dragonflies be causal to calm, like her

Those fairy tinker toys forming in little heart’s recesses bring being scene

Once she had a golf tee for a table in the presence of her enemies

Sporting monsters and villains whether ninjas weathered or fiends

She does not saunter but gaits straight against fate

Those ribboned accessories almost as glittering as her bushy hair

When she arouses to alight it stills no accident it is not to allure

Teach fairy her influence is as craved jeweled light

She maybe less brilliant but certain all around bright

Sweet tirade only mentions scarcity of melancholy

Future spans past as present ‘till gifty bests hide her talented story

Twirl in front to bend behind whisking next

She does not live in a tree knot nor neither a bird nest

Though she will sleep beauty rest in forest wood’s keep

The moss and the moist dew serve her requirements

The warrior’s bandanna-map tale folds over her vale betterments

The one blood of all nations means the mankind race is singular fashion among style

Finish a tribe ascribed those abide rewind these fasting forward paws pause frame slow-

mo when no money may grow

She nips the mist with a fist equipped

Nicer recorder for poor-fair-good-excellent grading intersperses her accordion according 

Tilting a whirl she never nerves a skip to have her going slip

On task without rehash telling time tanks only if she may weep

Some what went awry the day she snagged her right hand wing

So she left the veins and coloresque pale pattern disentangle right back from the branch 

bunch

Transparent at will without patent patient for sure a surreal fire spire

Link blinks in reel to dance then greater than makes her stance any much real in hunch

Did you feel her sharp smile chase your face?

Would you talk back to her firm form tiny stack?

 . . .
Only not lonely bit-by phony that you might slight where take be fake

What wears wiles houghing less where biz is beyond besides a courting of praise?

“Wwho” by a bird, angels with a word, folklore circa the absurd 

She only smarts to shade intellect the pains heavens gain planned

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=by Author C. T. Eck=

 CHAPTER 1
 

Skidander lay there in the mid-day sun rolling on the grass. He was concentrating on cracking open a big acorn, and had been working at it for most of the morning. However, it kept jumping and shooting away from him because he was using the nutcracker somewhat upside down.  This was before he had read the instructions on how to do it just right.  Finally, he grew altogether overwhelmed, overly frustrated to say the least, to the point of jumping furiously up and down upon the blasted seed, getting no further to the center though.
 

Just then, Rathruff the chipmunk, a somewhat more knowledgeable fellow than he, renowned for his wonderfully superb and most excellent memory, came meandering by. So Skidander stopped all of a sudden-like, attempting to look nonchalant. He could entertain better self-control as a squirrel than he otherwise let on. Rathruff casually scooped up the acorn and planted it within his elastic cheek. Skidander nonverbally retorted to fidgeting with his little paw, cleaning it quickly and proficiently.
 

Certainly, Skidander was behaving unusual, even as far as squirrels were concerned. He now conversed with Rathruff, who had since cracked open the nut and was busily chewing it. J-j-j-d-j-j-g-g-j-j? Skidander spoke in short, controlled bursts of thought, his words sounding much like bullets streaming from an oozie. This, however, was not the reason others shared the opinion that he spoke strangely, for everyone knows that to be the way all squirrels communicate (few have heard them, but anyone can observe one of them doing so from even a far way off; jabbering away with their jaw as squirrels have grown accustomed to do so much these days). To the field and forest animals, Skidander was understood well enough, since they all spoke a common speech, despite minor differences between the kinds of creatures. He chose to incorporate a thick British accent into this forest’s dialect, which had often made him the object of the chirping of the sparrows. Those same sparrows usually sang their words by the way. His fragile ears were often pinched also by an occasional swallow, taking time to swoop down like the wind from its dancing through the skies.
 

CHAPTER 2
 

Skidander had an ordinary childhood. As far as it was concerned, it was a good one (because it was ordinary and for the fact that he could expect anything that ordinarily happened to squirrels to also happen to him simply for the reason that he also happened to be a squirrel), and so he was happy doing his ordinary childhood things each and every day of his childhood and knew it was good to be ordinary. He experienced some excitement along the way, which have now become his adventures to him. They were not very many or great compared to some, but to Skidander, they were the best adventures because he got to live through them all. One could even list those same adventures as “exploits.” They were that grand.
 

His early life first started getting really exciting and enjoyable once he dropped the assumption he could fly. The only reason he felt he could in the first place was because his cousin, Spunker, had “flying” squirrel blood in him and could gracefully soar in between the tree tops and over amazingly long distances before landing. When Skidander went to imitate Spunker once, he fell very quickly, landing on his side, dislocating his shoulder in the process. Now if Spunker had attempted the very same leap, from that very same branch out of the reach of all others less one high one, he surely would have faired far better and almost certainly continued safely on.
 

It is true that even squirrels as skilled as Spunker sometimes miss their mark, but Skidander was clearly out of his league that day. He should have realized he was not nearly ready or even remotely prepared for such a grand notion. He had not even been sure if he had “flying” squirrel blood in him, much less the ability to take on such a challenge. If Dr. Beavers had not known the proper way to rub some dirt on his shoulder (that is another way besides casting to heal bad wounds), Skidander might have had one of his limbs on backwards for life. Imagine that! Certainly the disadvantages would outweigh the advantages in a case such as that. How could he run the same or even scurry across tree branches at all, not to mention “flying” like Cousin Spunker?
 

 CHAPTER 3
 

Skidander usually had tended to learn the hard way; however, he deeply tried to learn without hurting himself from then on and was for the most part successful (there are some things squirrels must learn for themselves, such as balancing and agility, for instance, which helps them to move efficiently through the tree tops). He now knows better than to leap at branches just for the sake of being like Spunker. He did have a scar from then on where his bone had torn his fur, but it has since grown better, thanks to Dr. Beavers.
 

He also has a multi-shaded stripe throughout his soft, puffy tail, due to an event of rather extraordinary occurrence. Several seasons ago, Skidander was trying diligently, attempting to make himself comfortable on a particularly scratchy tree limb: turning, flopping, and switching back and forth in all sorts of positions, in order to rest well and properly.
 

Later that night, still uncomfortable and definitely unsituated, he went to remove some annoyingly sharp twig which had in some way or another become lodged in his tail. He could not nudge it away with his paw, so he swung back his head and bit right into it as to break it off, which was actually a wire of the tree’s Holidaylights he had not bothered to notice earlier. Veriffft! Sipppt! Gaazhiddt, dit, ditt! Alarmed, Skidander shot nearly a dozen feet strait into another tree and slid down the trunk all the way to the ground. I can tell you he lay there stiff and perplexed and smoking (just a bit) for a good length of time.
 

Yes, he was indeed quite perplexed after all, on how he was where he now was and just how, if it could be logically determined, he had arrived there so very instantly. He replayed the event, this wonder of wonders as it was, in his head again and again, each time cringing from the thought of it all, until, at long last, he gave up guessing what had happened. Although for the next day or so afterwards, he was randomly subject to electric-jolt repercussions every now and again.
 

CHAPTER 4
 

It was not too long, though, before he inquired with Detective Marielle Mole, who was skilled in analyzing various occurrences. The detective discovered Skidander had been struck by lightning, a most sobering occurrence, a light way to put it, according to Mari, who had once witnessed the event as it took the life of a collie dog, who was tied to “one of those yard-long leashes,” as she described it. Apparently, the bolt had struck the metal pole which the apparatus was fastened to, traveled across the length of rope to the pulley device, down the actual leash, into the dog house, on unto the poor, unsuspecting mutt, where: poof! Hot diggity dog! Sizzling like fluffy bacon on a breakfast pan; frizzling like hairy veggies on a stir fry; snap, crackle, popping like yelping puffed-rice cereal: that shocked dog lay more fried than extra-crispy recipe barbeque chicken. Therefore, Mari advised Skidander to be truly thankful that his fate had not been the same. For, he had been unusually fortunate in his own experience.
 

They both sniffled as each shed a small tear or two for the collie dog lost to lightening. Such an occurrence was truly disrupting no matter what the timing or occasion.  So Skidander was at least relieved to understand what it was that had happened to him that night, and despite his sincere request unto Miss Mole to not have her mention the tale to anyone, the word about it somehow traveled speedily throughout the area and the entire region knew of it all too soon. So goes many-a-tale.
 

That was perhaps the one and only time he ever was still for more than a moment, for he was always twitching. The most composed state an onlooker would notice him as was whenever he would gather himself to wet back his fine fur over his tiny head, between his tiny ears, using his tiny paws. For a young squirrel must look the best he can, otherwise treacherous hawks and owls may mistake him, with their keen sight, to be ill or wounded, and thus easier prey, because of a sudden unkempt grooming. Then there was the matter of the Friday evening dances with the maiden squirrels, but we need not go further into that. He really could not sit still for more than...well, he just had to constantly fidget about. Some thought he had a nervous disorder, or even suffered from unpleasant seizures, but this was hardly the case. That was simply the way Skidander was and always had been. It was chiefly due to his many mishaps and perils, that he was such a bold character; and even these were usually not of his own fault, but rather a product of the less-than-ideal predicaments he found himself thrown and plopped down into. Such was the encounter Skidander had with electricity.
 

 CHAPTER 5
 

The entire Enlightening Incident, as it had come to be known among the folk around those parts, was the cause behind the unfortunate appearance of Skidander and his tail in particular, for he has since had more in common with the skunks in outward show than with his fellow squirrels. This was of course the reason his family gave for dubbing him “most unfamiliar, charred and foul-smelling one.” Although he did not reek anywhere near as badly as the skunks and their awful stench, his aroma did contain a somewhat overbearing resemblance to singed fur, and rightly so, as we can well understand. It was not long before Skidander was put out of the common tree trunk. While his Pa and Mum, Skidad and Sway, were disheartened, the die was cast. He then went to exist among the skunks, regrettably so. Nevertheless, he could visit his good parents every now and again as the noble Squirrelly Council had voted towards.
 

Even the skunks were careful to allow him to join their clan, mostly because of his twitching behavior. But since he was found in appearance as a skunk, they soon forsook examining his squirrelly maneuvers. They wrote the matter off, rationalizing him as being pestered by some sort of parasite, most likely.
 

“Must be a wood tick somewheres on his back side,” pondered one fellow. Thus people today now label a person with a recurring and uncontrollable physical action as having a “tick.” It obviously all stems back to this time, but you have accepted all that now, have not you.
 

CHAPTER 6
 

It was a time before Skidander was able to make certain any friendships among the skunks, both because he himself was wary of really becoming more like them (aside from just looking like them and smelling awful), and also because the skunks in general did not speak the same forest dialect. However, he soon found that skunks are much more likable than otherwise, and wondered why nobody else had come to realize this before he had. Also, before he had half a chance to adapt to the skunk’s special dialect, he made a friend. Skidander had made a new friend! As is often the case with friend-making, two individuals must have something of a common ground, a sort of like-mindedness about each of them.
 

Such was the case with Skidander and his brand new buddy, Pinkerdon. Pinkerdon Stinks was his whole name, and although it may be borderline offensive to us, it was a name noble among skunks, much like Washingtonmay be to us. Pink, as he was affectionately called by those close to him, spoke with a thick Scottish accent (so thick, his words often got stuck in local farm ventilation shafts and air filters, and they even used some of the juicier phrases to wedge open nearby shop keepers' doors and the like). So, despite the language barriers, you see, Skidander could make sense, with ease, of Pinkerdon’s conversation because of his own experience with his own chosen accent.
 

“Ripe bloodae mornin’ foh burrowhin’, eh? Mae thinks ey’d rethar frolick amon’ te draagonflaes dun bay te brooke!” Pink would pour out into the air his thoughts like great billowing clouds of smoke up into the atmosphere.
 

“Say, chap,” Skidander replied that first time, “quite fine prop of a speech you’ve been a-thriving on there!” That’s precisely how the two of them met, and have been carrying on ever since – thickening up the air. Most mornings, they converse so much, a fog builds up on the hillsides around them, and some folk know it as evidence that the both of them have just passed through.

 CHAPTER 7

At times, they would get to arguing (mostly concerning who started an argument and exactly how he had), which usually resulted in chasing all around in hopes of giving the other a noogie (it is a most dreadful happening to receive a noogie, so they always expended the very last bit of energy before giving in). Skidander always had to ultimately flee Pink’s strength if he hoped to bypass a particularly dastardly noogie because Pink was the considerably bigger one of the two, and if Skidander did not get in a quick noogie before Pink knew what nooged him, he lost all hopes of giving him one at all.
 

Whenever Skidander ran, it was never in long, even strides like a horse when it gallops, but always in a jerkily fashion. This also made it near impossible for Pink to catch him. He would take off, quick as pressured water from a plugged spicket, then achieve a fast stop, halting abruptly like a dog running out of a length of leash (but with utmost control at all times), only to jolt off again in another direction. Even if Pink did manage to catch up, he would then end up tripped up and altogether falling over Skidander, who never let Pink fall on him, but just sped off, just escaping his reach and out of his grasp to see him tumble over onto the ground.
 

This all happened at enormously ridiculous speeds and was quite the spectacle to watch (especially to be a part of). When Skidander used his twitching energy to run away from Pink (something rather productive, at least for the time being), he could harness it to control his limbs to reach ludicrous speeds, the type of which Pink could not compete with, regardless of his superior size. Those were the dynamics of their chasing games, or at least to the farthest extent they ever aspired.
 

It would usually end as Skidander ran up into the trees, with Pink calling up, “Cheat...yau cheater!” as loudly as possible.
 

This, however, more often than not awoke nearby possums, who always squeaked back something together and just as loud, “Shad ap, all you blustering, foul menaces!” So then they would politely stop their fun, for fear of being awakened by the same sort of means by the possums later that night, when the roles would be reversed.
 

But this was not without first shouting, “Bat Rats, Bat Rats, grumpy sleepy Bat Rats!” (with their accents, of course) as they ran off together, dodging the nuts and pine cones the possums would bitterly throw until they were out of range (and maybe one more after that, thinking, “that’ll teach ‘em!”). It never did, though, and if they got hit with a few too many projectiles, or if Skidander was badly tripped up by a possum as he fled away through the branches, Pink would return later when they had all settled back down (or is it up?) to sleep and spray a bit here and there to remind them not to be so serious next time.
 

CHAPTER 8
 

During these highly enjoyable times, their daily pastimes mostly consisted of bothering hungry pooh bears, temporarily frightening sheltered hobbits as they came out of their shelters, as well as giving the Otter Gang a run for their money. Skidander and Pinkerdon and often some others had traveled all over the region before too long, in search of nothing short of adventure, instead of the haps hereabout. However, those two adventurers strictly stayed in their familiar neck of the woods, and for good reason, since they had to be home again each night. Everybody knows there is no place like home!
 

They hung around with the raccoons because they were tough and did not care much about foul-smelling folk (they are into poking through garbage you know). That is, they hung around long enough to consider that those same raccoons started to steal Farmer MacDouble’s corn. Then Pink and Skidander realized Farmer MacDouble needed it more for himself (and, besides, it did not taste as good uncooked and rough—kind of like the cold, left-over garbage scraps too). They had also heard of what had almost happened to the rabbit Cottontail and knew from his example not to provoke any farmer, especially Farmer McGregor, who has a nasty reputation for being out to get the likes of them.
 

Skidander did not mind eating the food those same farmers put out for the birds, at least when he could get it, because he had always shared his food with the birds and knew they would not miss a little seed when there was much an abundance of it. Besides, Skidander wasn not overly good at cracking nuts, and when berries were scarce, bird seed sure beat eating grass or as it else were garbage scraps.
 

 CHAPTER 9
 

It was around this point in the squirrel’s life that Skidander took on the role of an official adventurer, beginning to explore areas on the fringes of the fields and forest where he made his home (among the skunks, no less, keep in mind). To become a true explorer, he must leave no stone unturned. In other words, Skidander felt he had to be nothing short of absolutely thorough. He wanted to either prove that it was “a small world after all,” or learn that he had met his match by trying to stray from his familiar neck of the woods. He had even made an official bronze badge to pin on his fur coat; however, it proved too heavy as he speedily leapt and bound between the tree branches.
 

He intended to memorize everything, everywhere as he went, only to later draft up all the appropriate maps (if he really could remember it all by that time in perfect actuality). In addition, he planned to tell no one of his original idea: this endeavor would be without Pink’s help, or any other creature’s for that matter, according to Skidander. It was primarily for this reason that Skidander chose to depart after dark, seeking one starry night to pay a visit to what the locals referred to as the cave labyrinth.
 

At first, Skidander thought to ask a bunch of lounging bats (nice and friendly ones, not to be unsafe by any means) “hanging” out in the forest-top canopy if just a few of them might locate the very highest tops of trees. Bats have a way of determining that, he had been told. Actually, he had been advised by many-a-friend that bats outmaneuver and exceed the abilities of the rest of the forest creatures by using a special, imperceptible “sound” blast. Not to be feared, and with their help, Skidander could follow up there over the entire forest to see where it reached or even ended. But then it hit him, as he daydreamed (even though it was night-time), that those bats would most likely seep out the story—the story of Skidander’s exploits, and before they had barely begun.
 

CHAPTER 10
 

Thank the heavens Skidander was not already up at the forest’s high-peak as he daydreamed all of where he was to be; otherwise, not paying attention, he might have had the opportunity to fall from that great height. Without bat’s wings, or even without wings the likes of Spunker’s, Skidander would in all probability have had a worse accident through a fall than that of his Enlightening Incident. Temporarily putting his “batty” notion (of trying to scope out the world) behind him, he returned to his searching for the notorious cave labyrinth. To have lived through it would be a feat surpassing many-a-rival.
 

Once inside the cave labyrinth, not only would Skidander have to make sure he did not doze off (because it was to be already well past his bed-time) before he may return back, but he also would have to be aware of the various pit-falls. There were sure to be the ranks of creepy-crawlies to try to avoid, as well as a host of unusual and unpredictable, although not altogether insurmountable, navigational difficulties. These were sure to include spills into water pools, slips down wet tunnels, close calls with slime and grime, as well as outright encounters of the dark kind.
 

It was still twilight, between sun and moon, as it was neither bright with light nor overshadowed by nightscape. Skidander would have to find the cave labyrinth at least before the black shroud of sky rolled away the day. Right about then, in the distance, he heard a barely noticeable breath, breathing “Wwhoo.” Before thinking twice, and knowing just what the call sounded about, Skidander headed for cover. It was Night-Owl!
 

But Skidander did not know this area of the greater forest well enough to temporarily barge into someone else’s home. He had to move fast enough to get out of Night-Owl’s range, but not too quickly as to alert Night-Owl of his presence. Then, another even louder sound struck at Skidander’s perked-up squirrel ears. It was the bats!
 

They had collectively become aware of Night-Owl as well and were on the move. The next thought to hit Skidander’s mind made his brain hit a brick wall. He even stopped running and ducked behind the nearest tree trunk in the mesh of forest-cover. Did not the bats all live, or at least “hang” out most of the time, in the caves. He could possibly follow the noise, the multiple flapping of their mammal wings (and perhaps a bat-screech or two), to some kind of cave entrance, accomplishing two goals at the same time. Skidander could both escape the threat of Night-Owl and also get himself to an entrance of the cave labyrinth!
 

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**Remaining Chapters 11 - 28 following; please Scroll-down.

**Purchase upon Release, for combined story-time with Alternate Ending, & Short and Long Version/s.

Thank-you in advance for your interest and investment. So glad to share.

=by Author C. T. Eck=

CHAPTER 01

     “It’s going to take a measure of humility kiddo,” slanted the rested voice. “I didn’t stress humiliation because for the strong reason that humility is rewarded - that is to say, therefore exalted in due timing -; however, humiliation can and shall be avoided.” Krisc listened attentively but did not know how that was to be at the time of the conversation – how was the attention up and at the words of the conversation? “I know you’re listening, and this news is the reason why I can tell you. Now…,” but a door slammed and disfashioned that speaker’s charitable felt love towards the little man. Krisc was holding still to be fit and realized that even care takers sometimes throw fits, so he spoke less, or seldom, and often right there in that position managed to overcome derision, apprehension, and confusion all at once.

     Krisc was aware and had some such keen apt towards responsibility that he lent to himself it was his duty to be a leader type. Though of who or for what he did not yet know of. Krisc spent it, unwittingly staid by sincerity, on being friendlier with teachers of all “classes” than they could fancy why.

“You knew when you were young,” gladdened Krisc Koinsengle to the suit-dressed voice, by the way equally dressed to the hilt in as much of a standing spiritual fashion “on the right” (or, that is, as much as peace provided inside) as of the outside or “left” bold apparel that was worn both tastefully and…, and it matched well. “That there is time for what takes time,” paralleled Krisc to even more than one or two things or pairs, indeed a plurality of what both is worked on and what is sought after, again by many angles. The someone was not one Krisc could name that day or would come to remember later in his young life when he began to think back to overviewing where he had been, and who with.

     “And so, humiliation is like a pulling of a baby tooth, with how your smile looks emptier upon the missing tooth, but…humility is the foreknowledge that a permanent tooth is on-way and all of the gap in one’s mouth is beyond pain now and of the feeling up to the task you do not work on by yourself.”

     “Yes, your mouth fills in the new teeth, one at a time usually,” sought Krisc, “yet, all the while everything’s going to be growing at all the same instants behind the scenes and despite the more noticeable missing one tooth.” Both of each of these quandary speeches in the room came from speakers who knew and had severally grew through severity at designated intervals at young encounters with growing pains or normalities that seemed less pleasantries and more some distinguished devilries. “You knew when you were young,” founded Kris over, “that you must listen, to learn but also to lean on the precision of precisely what was trying to be meant…”

     “Are these your colors? I do believe to think that bold red with the white trim does you…not just very special and well, but both marvelously and in a spectacularly splendid way! Oh and you mustn’t (should not) provide explanation for with either my youth or yours, for now here that you are young, and younger than my own children who are altogether almost done with the schooling of their youth,” hinted the voice at length, continuing that “learning comes after schooling and upon how what one does with their schooling had it go in a made-up direction of the mind or else a certain resilience about repose.” All this was said is as much a smile of nonverbal posture of communication as was this worker’s position of vocation he occupied the grand occasion of on this fine day.

     “Am I old enough to be humble?” offered Krisc.

     “That’s what about,” and the voice paused. “When you are young you want to grow up, and but if you make it to be full grown, as one gets older, you or they might get appreciative how it was before and yearn for youth, again, for the same chances maybe at different times, to better themselves.”

     “Then humiliation is ground away if you ascertain humility – apart from wishing for well-wishes,” spoke Krisc well.

     “Are you making sure I am listening to myself, Krisc?” pondered the thinking wheels of the sparing voice, soft-spoken under his breath, “that’s quicker to listen than to try an’ speak conceited, or as that is, get selfwise in wrath,“ said now with a chuckle in a way from between his teeth.

     “I know you’re concerned too for time – the time today to ready,” put Krisc, “it is if you listen there you can sense the forever – an eternity ahead that has been heard of at all,” and Krisc shivered and spinned around as he stood regarding, making it seem like he spun without being perceived as doing so.

     “Does that ever mean I get the last word?” recorded the constrained voice steadily, “I’ll give it to you, the best is yet to come only because somewhere someone knew, really, how the days were to happen…indeed one on at a time, until eternally (supposedly never gotten to no matter how far you go into eternity and the eternal is still in front) every good thing that we happed upon were not advantages only until the world of value looked beyond to the roles of virtue,” and at that the new suit was fit, fared an exquisite, pristine example of sorts, and as he went on to finish also his speedy speech, the voice placed, “heaven is not virtual, for even the world is verifyably, well you are enlightened I can hope…” There at that they kept silent for a moment, as in hearing no noise but only the ring of slience, an eternity of its own. They shared their own well known smiles to celebrate good conversation and a very successful tailoring session, as they escaped to the open hall to bring Krisc over to his guardians, showing his own new suit framed within his own sparkling eyes’ esteem, focused on the estimation he might give.

CHAPTER 02

     Among these things, to learn humility, to be appreciative for the days of youth and like youth (even childhood beforehand), and then to notice the eternal is by seeing heaven over earth (but like earth, heaven is real), young Krisc Koinsengle helped shape the landscape of his own life only by seeking the brilliant horizons of others’ provision. For all this and toward all this, Krisc spoke kindly, and decided to take up a kind sort of work on this wise: he had learned to read and was ahead at the start. It was how he learned or maybe it was how he cooperated. It was the time of the Reformation and God’s Books were being discussed from not only what they were as holy scripture but how they supported the mercy and justice of the peasants.

     Krisc, having found the book called, or by, The Preacher, learned a thing or two, actually more than a few things, but especially that the north and the south, how trees fell this or that way, were references respective of being saved or not, saved unto heaven or lost and worse in “the pit.” Evenly so, and as a tree lies where it falls either to the north or to the south, there it will be, he decided to be less religious nor neither spiritist, likened sloppy to him if every thing was not alike to the things he noticed, he also decided to be a wood cutter and live within the shanty boys towns, traveling as he went. In America there were cow boys but before that there were “Indians” around about the buffalo herds, but The Preacher said there was nothing new under the sun, and thus so-and-so in the 16th Century (1500s for those who put things generally and numbers specifically together), and well before, there were tent or bunkhouse dwellers who felled trees as woodcutters. Today we now used to call them lumberjacks, a traditional business of those who took pride in their physical strength, and as a masculine craft, and as the skill with axes and cross-cut saws, all in the wood, though it was dangerous, rather difficult, nevertheless low paying, and particularly intermittent as a seasonal occupation. Krisc Koinsengle took the opportunity to be kind to the lesser trees and, knowing even these do not all fall north, thought as he worked of the “trees of men” falling, and at that like The Preacher said of both the wise and fools facing falling (the dying, in plainer terms, then towards where they will be thereupon, afterwards). Though Krisc avoided the confrontations that sprang up all too often at these jobs, he also did not mind the primitive living conditions, though he very much chose a resistance, specially as a believer, to modernization.

     Then it was that he began to wrestle with these things of resistance and of such to modernization. In saying of wrestling, Krisc since then began to look like a modern wrestler, thought not too very big, and but he had with him large arms and long legs, and his signature soon became to also wear big shoes or black boots, in all around all the seasons. By the time he turned 16, he tried to shave and exhorted his Scandinavian countrymen (at least that’s where the loggers were) that it was explained to him by teachers in his life up until then that the first shave and the first few shaves were important to how to open your face to how your future face hair would form. Notably if one only shaved where the hairs started out, and not a full, total shave, it would affect how some would grow in throughout life, or so it was thought and taught. By the time he had his first beard in, he was glad to grow it in and did not shave often again. As it shown in the sun like bronze, there was raven black underneath, and even a few boldened blonde hairs nearer his smiling mouth. Through and through, Krisc looked tough and it even prevented him entering a fighting mode more than many times, being with the rough and tumble folk, as they spoke. He would just smile and look ahead to beyond that day, eternally as it were.

CHAPTER 03

     Some said of Mr. Koinsengle that, very much and very well, he exhibited a strong kind of kindness as a man. As he went through life he was not just motioning through these the motions. His strength was his kindness, which he felt went beyond patience, or passing longsuffering. That longsuffering was a thing he attributed to being God’s utmost attribute, that curiously combined his famous love and his power when those about him cry holy, Holy, HOLY. Once longsuffering is noticed, kindness blossoms, but by the long time before it tests to fall like a flower, the rest of what lovingkindnesses go through is expressed and satisfied. This and the love that it is never fails, or so Krisc grew to learn all of on his own and confirmed every place he found exactly reason just like this in the “new” scriptures, whether from the latest printing of the times he was living in and through, or was it also from the -new- Testament. Sure to be both or the same, as it was the better to best from the same.

     To his thorough take of things, Krisc someway kept thinking that he would not make it through his life. Would he see enough days to gain middle age and far away elderly life, much less high, half way through or so to thirty-something? He thought on this very often, fairly much daily, and in thinking in these terms gathered that it was not a feeling. So he tried bitterly to not dwell on this that was doom gloom that mostly preoccupied him. Also he came to himself one cold night between feeding the fuel to the wood burning stove, that he was not embittered unless it was already cold out. There was some sort of connection that what was bitter cold around about him in the elements and what he was likely likewise having happen to him on the inside, all throughout.

     Things that would happen to him only in the freezing weather had him second guessing himself, and then he knew it was something somewhat to be overcome from the inside out. Generally, to gently overcome was his goal against this gall, which was to him stalling his posture. The best thing he could refer to rest his mind in peace was to simply smile as he walked in humility to garner warmth. That was his set of keys, his starting smiling. Then he would have a peppermint and it would haunt him over again, for he had once or twice or moreso thought that his life would only endure like a piece of peppermint candy, lasting a little and then gone.

     It went on a while like this, until one blessed day he received a goodlier thought over above these natural and supernatural combinations that unlocked his thoughts free from restraint on these bitter, waxed cold matters, “the peppermint taste stays on one’s breath long after the candy dissolves!” yipped the whisp of Krisc’s inner conflict, a hopeful thought against false thought. Eureka! Mr. Koinsengle startled beside himself as he started to laugh, but it came out as “Ho, ho” instead of “Haa, ha” or “Hee, He” as he kept himself back a bit. He was about to say “Ho-ly” but cut it short twice in a polite, caring way to not contradict by meaning anything less than deserving of what its worth meant, truly holy. Holy! Krisc allotted it was not of his days to be a blasphemer, and to starkly differentiate such poor use of taste. Going on from peppermints, which he refigured made his cheeks supposedly rosier than ever when he had one after meals, every single nighttime.

     As he would drift off to sleep, his rest time was at a reasonable good hour as the night shroud of the dark sky shifted to switch the day out, and off - excepting the starry spacescape. Was the best sleep before midnight, really? There with moon slivers between moon phases, it never seemed to cycle him or scare his cause to care. Krisc would remember his fellow laborers nicknames as he went to sleep…perhaps I need a new name…too. What to call, what to call? “Shall I pick a nickname myself or should I let someone else?” Krisc configured as he contemplated. Since he was a saint, accordingly, affordingly, as he believed and knew he were to go to the “place” prepared for him of his God, he would call himself Saint, but what, saint what? Gladly and sprightly he shortened the term “nickname,” seeing it was the shortened form of a given name. What Krisc sought was of this sort, a nickname of Saint Nick. Only he went on to choose Saint Nicolas, just in case some clever clever one may realize his riddle. Only it was not to be overly riddling, to be sure, but are not all riddles just like that? Besides, it had a nice sounding to it, all the while before he would tell just anyone, or quite let anyone know.

     He kept it as secret, as he could. As at any such time he almost let it slip out, he would press his front finger on the side of his nostril, just to keep his wits about him. This would remind him, at the same time he would not stir up himself to say he was now Saint Nicolas, or was that Saint Nico-lad. He was happy to be a gentleman and not a delicate lady, all the while meaning to be a lady’s man, should he take a wife once he should marry. For now the woodcutters were all men. There were events to event, and Krisc held these few to many aspects in his heart, daily, nightly. There were some things he knew and some things he only saw, among his peers, and in himself at first.

     What he learned by talking as the trees were felling, was that he had far more memories of his very young childhood than his logging team could tell of their own lives overall. Though Krisc quietly hoped and wished in himself to find another or any part of several that grew to gain this preponderance looking, not inward but backward, not without insight, but not all in hindsight nonetheless. Thus was a matter of reflection, that was helped the most by reading, but came to him at set intervals either before sleep came or early in the morning. Krisc always wanted to find what was that he found could be shared in similar experiences from others. What Krisc stumbled over was that for various reasons and in leads of circumstances, most of the many around him were sometime impervious or did not wish for more than dreams for tomorrow above what they were present-ed. Krisc “Saint Nicolas” Koinsengle was more visionary, and would prefer to find things out, why things ticked, the reasonableness of purity. As much as he could, he would see himself in his youth, and behind him now, from his very young years to his “here” (whereas he made it!), as paying attention. He knew that he watched for himself and that he shall know very good things about his path or role.

      For now, he would not stay up at night to much worry, or to relearn any less off of lively life. Though it occurred to him that if, perhaps, once a year, he would stay up, it might event a way why he stayed clear of missing out of plans his vision entailed for his world.

CHAPTER 04

     Indeed it was more about the world about Krisc, both rich and poor at the same time, than it was about his heart. He realized quickly that his heart could be deceived, away from his provision source, what they were to call Providence in America sooner now on the history table timeline. He knew even riches could corrupt, but also knew that poverty was more dangerous than timber cutting.

     Where the snow falls to land, the snow is, the snow accumulates. Have you ever noticed that rain can come at unexpected times, sometimes much needed after drought? The drizzle dazzles or the plenteous pours. Rain may be a burden or a Godsend, but snow is albeit appreciated all the way. Perhaps this is because of how many types of snow there are. It is said that Eskimos have many many words for snow, differentiating depending on how it falls or how it sets, all up to their hearing of it as they see it. We can suppose with each other that we could do the same. If Adam of old named the animals, perhaps the rest of us throughout history’s errands can name a few things ourselves. Try iced snow, the kind that falls sharply. Try slush that melts and yet does not melt in the soup of the slush. Try bright light snow that sparkles both as it falls and also as it stays on the bare tree branches. So many kinds, so several times to watch it float abruptly over, through, and upon the landscape, us, and the surrounding horizon is a truly good memory.

     What was on for Krisc Koinsengle was multiplexed, now well beyond what he could do to pull himself up by his own bootstraps or do as he would strikingly flex his muscles or do to just walk over the next hillside. This, it was simply beyond all this and more. That Scandinavia was very cold was an understatement. Well known to the region was that while Iceland was rather grown over and cultivated a lot, Greenland was really all ice. This was a double reverse, a backhanded move on the playing field. What Krisc had to do was find new work, for the lumberjacking, as we call it today, was sporadic and a meager living versus a modest living or a high calling, at that, at the least. Krisc could either go on with this and wear out late in life, or somehow do something somewhat ingenious and retire early. Those of these, were not exactly his heart, though. Besides, the world he so wanted to leave a little better than he found it was always before him.

     It was, this was, not a matter of changing the world, for he knew straight quite well that heaven was over all, and many things that happened either or both good and bad were a design to bring success. In the middle was the test, the details, the mountain peaks were only above and the terrain would only be known enough as one traveled it down under.

     It was now time for “Saint Nicolas” to try something new. This was to be, an expedition. There were to be more of these, only Krisc had one thing on his mind, and it was this one first expedition. One at a time. Whether how many ever he would vacation on within his lifetime, he was far off and away yet to decide. This, the present expedition was right ahead of him and it was time he left, before the woodcutting season returned. He knew where he was going, as usual, at best innately, at worst covertly, inconspicuously, nonchalantly, or was each either side of the scene an abiding strength? He would coast down the coast, and because life can oft “go south” he agreed with his opponents “within” and determined to overcome not only worry but doubt, going south for the poemlike quality but what is more for the heat, as it were warmth. Fears would be released, like spare cargo from a stormed ship, though Krisc knows the lovingkindnesses he possessed and confessed were like the mast post of the same ship. Furthermore, Krisc was going beyond this or these and would travel slow and steady, across the terrain, and instead of by sea. The seas would seize him was his rationale, and for reason’s sake, he had persuaded a small lot of crowd to accompany. His goal: he would take a wife on the way or on the way back, by the way. Krisc found that was his to find, and that the taking would prove in the making of, the trip.

CHAPTER 05

     There was the accompaniment. Would they come to follow like ducks or swans in a row, or would they each be about business as they came and went and reconvene to rendezvous each nightfall? It was one of those things where the ends would justify the means, albeit the interviews left much to be desired, whereas none of these groupers knew quite what measure of hardness this trip would event and not least to mention how very long it were to errand. There were around about a dozen questions spliced sorted ways, or far away less, what time thereabout the mister was not a match. Krisc Koinsengle was looking for masters, in our day what we would call experts.

     So far Krisc had gathered that he would, or should, procure much much less to make up the traveling band. Upon hiring five new hands, he discontinued and changed his mind to grant them all leave, howsoever, one rambunctious though polite and high mannered shorter fellow turned on his heels and proceeded to present himself in giving thanks, not only for the opportunity but to find occasion to persuade “Nicolas, a Saint” of the other half of what he was to be worth. Aspects and angles that were never assorted or ascribed by Krisc were abruptly brought forth and filled in. At that, then, and just to top it all off, the eager and big hearted though tough character charted new ground and concluded to conceive that his having strengths he possessed from his youth, was able to also enlist his twin brother, who was equally as freeing with his respective accomplished acumen of repertoire. These twins were the cream of the crop, and disregarding that they were shorter than most, nevertheless, they rationally seemed to be willing to put forth work twice as bold.

     Now if you knew Krisc “Saint Nicolas” Koinsengle like he himself knew he would gently assert his choice chance at finding and taking an exemplary ladyluck, you might sideways garner that he could pick for his team with the best of them. It was no joke that Krisc had no planned intention to involve an inclusion of maybe a dozen or more or less even at a half a dozen working men. This were his secret, that whoso would speak back, in a good way, ever so rough or harsh, that Krisc on his own was looking for such a way to entreat them to identify the principled position of the constellation of his companions for this round trip packing endeavor. Thus was his encounter of expectation for the prospect of the people he should care to use.

     “My twin does not often speak, but I speak for us, and even now, he is out about business the whiles I negotiate with you Saint Nicolas” spurted Edwin Than, as he had introduced himself a span earlier. Not that Krisc dared ask if this pair were dwarves, but Meister Than explained that they were able bodied and quick witted even though his own growth was stunted as a youth. His brother was also stunted some, but they were about the same size and ate about the same portions, and then he went on to say that they considered themselves more elvish than any other designation, for whatever Nicolas, a Saint, took it for. The conversation was progressing and a level of early trust was being built. Krisc knew in himself that Edwin and Alvin were not only what he would require but more than he could wish. Krisc cared not for paying for so many, for his coins were fewer too.

     Farther down the pronounced and heard open correspondence, Edwin explained that they would not see much of Alvin, but that he would be in and out even when the group would be about a task or at rest nightly. Edwin claimed that there was important business to conduct and even an assignment of this caliber never took precedence. Krisc was not disappointed and tried not to show that he would smirk and simply kept up a smile. For all he knew, this was a strength, and as one to not show weakness even if such arose, he usually escaped worry and purposed to keep listening until later on when questions might answer themselves. Saint Nicolas was not about to have a lapse, and it certainly reaffirmed over and again that this was to be an effective, warming, capable pair in these whose names even rhymed. With the hire, Krisc ceased for the day, and as he anticipated the departure date, he saw more of Edwin and still had not seen Alvin, once. It reminded him of the Messiah Star wise magi men followed as course to the Christ child. Edwin was shining, and starlike to be sure, but Alvin was always to be coming on at some continuously reapproximated time interval like an infant that demanded overall family oversight. According to Krisc’s habit, he did not consider Edwin a liar even at these stressing, trying preparatory hours of days remaining.

CHAPTER 06

     Krisc would still seek at least one more for the entourage, for a total of four now, like a band of musicians in total, and decided to see how handy Alvin was before another dearly set of survey sessions were to come for a travel hand. Besides, there were supposedly only three wise men on that famous journey for a new King born for becoming Savior, and on his own keeping up on ahead in this expenditure, he was to bring home one more set of feet than what he was to leave with, being his new life wife. Surely someone from the logging shanty town would hear more and “invite himself” for a change of pace and a grace.

     From the dire due of becoming and being into lumberjack work, Krisc knew about traveling for a living to a new place. Not only so, but Krisc knew how to get around in travels formidably enough. He had made the plans and studied the durations it would require, and now what was left was not the itinerary but the inventory, for what to take along in bringing what this task of a trip would have for a use. After reassuring himself that someone from the lumberjack loggers would notice more, to find one more a place among this resort to a plan of family specifics for Krisc, he equally determined to be on the lookout as he passed through the ongoing days. Even the nights would present opportunity, for sure, and in the mix of all of this. Another question remained, of why was or would this be necessary; or were there not many to plenty of kind women nearby for his own ladylove?

     The answer was in the fact the woodcutters had a culture that favored masculinity and took a pride of sorts in this traditional business, one of physical strength and of axes and as you can hear here a little on it. Like any job, one learns by doing most often, in the actual of the real. This lumberjack loggers field also favored individualism. As such, Krisc was taking this step in the off-season of what was certain as seasonal to take a step that would move all the seasons of his life. Would he also switch vocations, knowing that many people hold different jobs at various times in their lives long?

     Like a tree for Christmas Holiday that was snowed over white, all the branches or steps of Krisc’s life up until now led him to this next departing. He had assumed at first that he would return, and was reconsidering how he very much might put down to set up elsewhere, but not anywhere, for he was caring enough to be thoughtful and considerate in his own wake of will. In snowy season of winter delights, Krisc wished, deliberately, wrappings of tinsel with the ornaments, or in other words, he thought the world of the likes he had for marrying, alike to that God so loved the world, a most famous attribute of God. A reason Krisc “Saint Nicloas” Koinsengle continued to devote his life to godly pursuits, that is the things that make for a godly lifestyle habit, was that he remembered reading “let each man have his own wife” among “let each woman have her own husband” whereby he read what a man of God led him to, the pair of books in which this passage was within.

     It was from of the man of God Krisc asked to be the officiator who should marry him together with the wife he was to take. It was a load off his mind to find some realistic leader who should take a liking to this Reformation and marry a budding family type man, and Friar O’Rorke was too good at what he was about. More than organized, farther than responsible, this revered O’Rorke claimed that he need not be revered as a reverend because that would mean much the opposite. He knew others should maybe say so of him, instead of himself formulating his own cause, for the Christians were first called so by their neighbor countrymen in effect. He cared more for what needed doing, and had a voice that matched his name which resounded as a spiced up roar even when he talked under his breath, and next to all of this, he had a wife of his own that was sympathetic to his views religiously: she believed him as he said. Once a week they would each pick a random chapter, though systematically over time to be fairly enough thorough, in the printed scripture verses and see just whether what the talk of the town and with what else of the news would match up to what O’Rorke was to speak and preach. Meanwhile Krisc set O’Rorke up to be not too busy not to marry him. Needless to saying much on it, O’Rorke thought Krisc already had someone in mind. Upon hearing that Mr. Koinsingle was in searching for a Mrs., he sent a young man with him who was not old enough to train under a knight, but along well enough to be an altar boy. He was a knave of sorts but not an youth as unskilled as one would think, for he reported of himself that he learned quickly any thing he was to take up.

     Now Krisc had plenty of helpers with him. Krisc Koinsengle himself was rather young and were it he could tell approximately how old Edwin and Alvin were (should he yet meet Alvin, who was always never around), not excepting the newest young lad, who was also surnamed O’Rorke, by the first name Oelke. Krisc, who was not one to joke, nevertheless, thought a round of “Uh, oh” O-elke O-‘Rorke. It was not a curse he was reassured, for more than sometimes doubling up or either doubling down was a proving sign the somewhat was of God upstairs. It would be two weeks or more before the journey ensued, so each made their respective plans.

CHAPTER 07

     These, things and guys, were, really were, working out for good. Saint Nicolas, who we know as Krisc K. was preparing down to the start blocks, and was forgetting to eat, both because he was busy and busier and also because due to having so very little leisure to sit and eat something, he missed a meal or five here and there. Someone asked him, and he said he was in transition, or “a time of transition” in any case, and they left it at that, for whatever reason, or whatnot.

     Near the evening Krisc would stare ahead at the horizon and look for a time when both the sun and moon were out together. The stars were great, he thought, but there’s way too many to count, so why bother. He was not into astronomy, knew it could be used for good, and knew those who meddled with it were mistaken. Let’s see, he would think, one sun, one moon, not too overbearing. We know when noon is and we can tell when the new moon is. He stayed ignorant, or so people thought, until he said to the small crew that he consulted with someone who studied these things for an occupation. “There’s more than the North Star,” Krisc said affirmingly, “but you do not have to know all the constellations!” As he thought, he drifted into a trance of sorts as he sat on an upright log seat.

     Saint Nicolas could see a vision from his own past instead of a view of the future. There were waves around the edges ever so brushingly and he saw a young girl he was friends with as a youth. Though he could not hear what she spoke, he could barely remember what scene it was from. It was outside, for the envisioned landscape, and he noticed it was an overcast gray day out. It was just her talking, and she was in front of some white smoke, where something was cooking in the background behind her. Where was this? He recognized the lass and could almost smell what was roasting. Then he recollected it was at a fishing trip, but not in winter. That was it. You may be thinking, that was it! What was what. Saint Nicolas pulled himself through and breathed a heavy rather relieving cold breath that he could see with him, in front of him, or around him. As he thought on his cold breath, he wondered much how the icy breath resembled the vision or vice versa, at that remarkably. He raised an eyebrow, and pushed his hands on his lap, and his eyes opened, widened.

     “Here’s a cookie,” said someone as they walked up, “Here have a cookie, Krisc.”

     “It takes all sorts,” cheered Krisc, “and the alls of everyone give me pastries, delicacies, and dainties.”

     “Today it is cookies,” spilled the character.

     “Will this be such a tradition?” reflected Krisc, “and are you the ‘cook’ of this ‘cook-ie’?”

     “It is from, her,” the gentleman said, as he motioned across the yard to an aproned lady, younger or so he thought as she was half turned around and her hair was hiding her face as she faced him on the move, sort of in a spin, or was that she had just moved a wee bit.

     Right about as Krisc put the cookie in his pocket, he spoke “there’s more where that came from; one cannot eat every cookie that was ever a cookie that cooks cook of cookie batches. Tonight it may be cookies and, I suppose, a good pie.”

     “If that is how you feel,” optioned the woman, “here is a high hi where there is a good-bye,” and she stayed turned.

     “Afore you might return,” stayed Saint Nicolas, “be that made an alike like of a high, and a good buy, with what I can pay, already today,” as he has trying to make good on her food as he also saw and heard her as she once spun.

     Soon that evening these two continued their shenanigans, schematics though they were for moments. As Olivia, her name she called before him, took his large red overcoat, she placed her hand in his coat pocket, to find the cookie that was put earlier in, or what was it then?

     “You will not find it,” lent Saint Nicolas, “I brought it out to eat with what you have for tonight’s, the meal you offered.” At that, and by the way that he was sideways of her, he began to move the same said cookie narrow lengthwise from his beard and lips to the end of his jaw and the beginning of his ear. Saint Nicolas was just making it seem to look like he was eating it, and besides, this cookie was a smaller round of a cookie, and a kind that did not crumble much as it was handled, pocketed, and the like.

     “You shall pay for that,” saying like she knew, and Olivia knew both that Saint Nicolas was to purchase for tonight’s course, and could not help noticing that her guest thought he was the only one of them there who should care he still did not eat the cookie. Yet there were lighthearted chuckles floating about the entry room, and smiles cracked on most every face present. Were they just glad to be warmed again, inside from outdoors, or were they warming up to each other?

     “You know and no pick pockets allowance, ma’am,” decried Saint Nicolas as he spied out her, out from of his peripheral depth perception, nearly nearby around a house post.

     “Would you rather I went with going to your pocket while you wore it,” she suggested but hesitant to speak again, waiting to see if Saint Nicolas considered her a pick pocket, even abradingly. Krisc was silent for a moment he could not get out of, then he would, though wound up, as so up he was.

     “So what did you put something in it then?” went asking Saint Nick, enamored stammering that they each could tell what the other was doing, and were feeling.

     “You will find your monies returned, at the least what tonight’s was worth, should you pay as you say, for a friend’s holiday cooking, and the good-buy pie” Olivia stood without an exclamation, for she kept her tempers as she kept her wits.

     The two enjoyed their new company, sparsely among the grouping. Krisc hoped to learn soon that people were not getting wind that he was leaving, looking for a lady to marry. Krisc got that wish because he did not open his mouth much and that no one either asked his business for being busier (he was usually a busy body, though not in that sense, for he had purposed himself with a workability) and as he spent the late evening laying up configuring what he saw before he met this fine-mannered lady, he had another vision before the candle was out, but he spent the about-midnight-hour speculating and calculating and conflating what these should be on. Krisc was then full of sweets and the visions together opened a new chapter in his life to live.

CHAPTER 08

     At such place of preparation coupled with risen expectations Krisc held advantage. He knew he was to travel, and mustn’t be quick about it, but simply had to be quick on his wit, and plan it, but not too quick, as to make too much haste. This was belief, to believe. Krisc’s advance was that he had his share of solvable problems, and that these held solutions was a given for his taste for temperance. At that very moment he was looking at a fireplace with a chimney and took this view in. Krisc noticed that, how everyone does, that the smoke has a place to go to keep the heat in and keep the air clear simultaneously and by the same convention, a chimney. What about if he could whisk away quick, like smoke. Like up a chimney. There he remembered, recollecting how he had more than once been in charge of a roast cookout and had walked through the smoke where at one point he could not see his surroundings and then a moment or so later he was in front of a crowded landscape, with all the participants eaters awaiting with their own looks of expectations as they prepared for the meal, only by waiting for feasting, while Krisc Koinsengle made the succulent feast.

     Whether those liked his roasting that day, left Krisc feeling fulfilled either way, though knowing all were filled with food. Krisc often wondered if he were meant for more giftings, maybe other than seasons’ meals. Also, perhaps it had something to do with the seasons too, seasons themselves, or some specific special season.

     Today, with the new visit yesternight, he received another surprise with another new day: Krisc got a letter by mail. He was going to put it in his pocket and see to it later, but later on would not do today, so he looked at the envelope today. Envelopes were hand-written and did not only seem to show how a person felt when they penned the mailing, but revealed a writer’s care for it getting to the right place, by making the right letters write the right way, for who they were and how the person getting the letter might get to like, and so, Krisc himself liked much to see how the letters – on the letter – penned and scribed and flowed, and sometimes, sometimes, they glowed, to him, to Krisc Saint Nicolas.

     Well then, he saw it was from the child clerk at the local cattle farm. Apparently, then as he opened it with a rip, and a rip again, Krisc saw it was a notice, coming on for the Christmas Holiday. “Milk delivery for Christmas Day would only come if each household told if they were to still be in town for the holiday.” As it explained in one more line that people travel the most for Christmas, and if no one will be home, then to please let the farm know, by checking a line on the mailing to leave for the Manus Farm, when they come by to knock with the milk. Signed by Yieevs Manus Farm.

     Krisc had been planning to be gone at Christmas, both because he could blend in with the traveling caravans, and also because, since he was single, he would not be missed much by his fellow loggers and their families. Or perhaps they were like him, and their respective families were a country away, or likely just townships away, or then again maybe many many miles of travels away. Yes, Krisc was from Newfoundland, European version. The loggers were now in the Scandinavia, and Krisc’s work placed him not only away from his family home, but a lot of a lot away, in the North of Scandinavia of out from the center of Europe. For now his travels might take him, well any nearer place, though definitely another new place. What he felt was that he should try Spain, either within the travel itinerary or at the conclusion of the travels. This had become a major hint for him.

     But, by the today of today, Krisc Koinsengle’s heart was on milk of all things. Why he liked milk so, he thought, was because it went with anything, or everything. Then again, small kids would drink it by itself. For him, it went with his cookie cakes and, well, everything, anything like that he also liked a lot. Once in a while he would get a platter sized cookie, and thought, why didn’t I think of that first? It was to be for the loggers to share, but because Krisc was good at explaining stuff, he seemed to get into one for himself one night. It was dark sky cover, and he ended up eating the whole thing, because there were more than one of a few for all the loggers. Of course, he had milk too, a liking his favorite at that, for reasons we have been through just now. After that he would only eat one cookie at a time, because he did not just figure that too much of a good thing was overmuch, he knew he would get sick of the sweets if he did it every month, or when those that cooked for the loggers treated them to – platter sized cookie cakes. MMm milk. Mmmmm cookies, giant for the gang. MMmm!

* * *

**Remaining Chapters 9 - 12 [to be 28 total upon right write work load] following; please Scroll-down.

**Purchase upon Release, for combined story-time with Alternate Ending, & Short and Long Version/s.

Thank-you in advance for your interest and investment. So glad to share.

=by Author C. T. Eck=

CHAPTER 09

     There was a lull in the preparation, or that would be preparations, except that Saint Nicolas was doing this all by himself. As he was working, he discerned he was neither behind nor getting ahead. It took a little while more and still a while more than that, and Krisc realized full well, all of why he felt he really met a snag. He also remembered at the same time yet, how it was that he would have to build a level of trust with the total personage he was to have along with him on “this trip around,” or as he succinctly but sufficiently had it noted as – “this round,” simpler then soberly so. For the reason because Krisc had traveled before, though not extensively and much of the ways only for work’s cause, he enabled a championing of vision to view what was remaining, that is, the future, at least of his own life, and if he, Krisc, should get to live it out.

     This was not the visioning he encountered and enjoyed to employ in helps of his “vision” of what is being at becoming, that is addressing this account of his early life before those that would read it, would it ever get written by an author. Part of his plan was not to do an autobiography. Krisc brought an understanding to his life plan goals that included what he had read about others, and knew a couple things. One, read the last chapter of biographies first, and if you still want to read someone’s whole life story, go on, keep up, and so do. The other thing was that Christ Jesus was like this too, where his words tell of his life being in the scriptures before he got to the son of man living, being born a person. There in the holy scriptures Jesus’ main things may have been at the end, like the gospel and The Revelation, but these were also the beginnings, the gospel of the New Testament and the Revelation inside history. Then it was that before the gospel and before The Revelation, God in Christ was exhaustively active just the same. Sometimes in the middle of things, a reader like Krisc, picked up on that this Jesus was the Beginning and the End. So doing the reading had Krisc Saint Nicolas Koinsengle level with his own lifetime, but lived day on by day on in view of these days and where they might be in just a few more days of days. Krisc wanted to live like this, and had vision holding. Krisc supported himself and with vision, generally.

     Vision was for all sorts of things. On the side of things that most would be listing as vanity, Krisc was thinking of cookies again. His thought was on these lines – if a piece of cake was the make up of the cake as a whole, then one cookie, being still from a batch of cookies or at the least a sheet of cookies, could be one huge cookie. This was if one was the type of person to eat an entire cake or a plate of cookies. Krisc’s goal for one-at-a-time could be an estimated evolving into, say two cookies as only one bigger cookie. He was not getting away with anything, but Krisc also knew he may need to improve how he did do the managing of improv, short for improvisation.

     On the wide side, striven to retain composure and, by collecting himself, to remain calm in life’s storms, he was determined to much more relent the wild side, so to claim doing well for himself. Was it the wise get wiser and the strong may get stronger? Krisc Koinsengle knew the little he understood would likely not be enough, and coupled with this the run of graced days was about a calculated risk. ‘Never the same problem twice’ was his stake. For the due Krisc shied away from philosophizing, he picked faith and figured on proving it, but kept this with himself, to himself. Preaching was foolish, but preaching saved, so one had better do it in a bettering way, and left it to the Friars or who else might join on about.

     As Saint Nicolas went about the remainder of the divided days, he was known for after-meal candy cane experiments. Basically, and for all practical purposes, his nose likes candy canes. Whereas he would taste them each and all, they were all pretty much the same taste – just as they were more fancy and sparkled. The taste though would go deep into his breath and clear his nose, as the peppermint would freshen his breath and feel like it was filling his lungs and sharpening his throat when he spoke. He would break them at times, but let them melt mostly, or tried not to chew them up quick. That he liked them the same as peppermints was evident. Due their cane shape he would hang them on things, on the bed post, and most oft, from his pocket. Alas the habit had begun to build character, in him, this Saint, Nicolas.

CHAPTER 10

     So highly self-aware without being overtly selfish, Mr. Krisc Koinsengle knew in himself as he came to himself that it be high time for scheduling the meeting that was to be the rendezvous before the roll out, oncoming sooner than the group likely held in expectation. Krisc was not the greedy type and his kindheartedness was sure to show though his styled smiles. In no time Krisc reserved Friar O’Rorke’s Haven Hall and invited the lot of his group of few fellows over. This was to be the start of a good thing. Now, it was well past Harvesttime when as he told the newer acquaintances of preparing for a decision to move out, and to know to get and be ready. Those around about and coming along were all of the Than twins, Edwin and Alvin, as well as the lad Oelke O’Rorke. Oelke himself had to obtain leave from the local stables where he oversaw the plowing oxen. Krisc was the one to already have shared the many varied stories of plow power, which Oelke told to show and tell over other group dinner events in town. The twins, Krisc also learned, were descended from the Minsk Clan of Denmark and were dwarfs likened to elves. Their native tongue was Danish and they also knew enough of French. Krisc knew some Spanish and passing through Spain was one of their destinations. When they all hunkered in, in the early evening, those two twins taught never lightly on their respective vows of secrecy to how Alvin kept himself busier daywise. Thus far, so far, Krisc was unknown by face to only Alvin, and of the three guests, he guessed they could be courtly and cordial enough to make the whole place comfortable in a benefited composure and an allowed discipline.

     Krisc had heard of people with very short names getting alternates with differing suffixes or otherwise some custom names getting butchered to much briefer accounts though similar and overarchingly so. Mostly, last names like “Than” did at times not spell quite the same in Census polls, so they were abruptly changed. The recruits were not rookies, and but there was no propaganda in the program. Preponderance was relinquished, even down to their given birth names and there were no excuses in the exercise of free will, good will, and full counsel. The flow of influence in between the guests-turned-travelers at the meeting knew that they knew that they knew spending their leisurely though legendary exploits together would become into stronger ties like that of family.

     When they were all gathered and come together, Krisc first reported to them that he had rented for the trip’s duration a logging-use covered wagon, that looked like an open sleigh with the top down, from none other than long-time bunk house buddy Patrick McGowan, whom Krisc had worked side-by-side with for over a decent decade. Edwin chimed in by describing his best friend twin Alvin as a classic to Krisc and gang, who had never once seen Alvin ever beforehand. Better to make no reputation than to gossip, making less than little of the small man. Proper enough and goodly all the way. What ensued was a moderate length meet that discovered Krisc’s general and specific plans to the hearkening trio, who would be well able, more so than, to assist and benefit the goal of godspeed for Koinsengle’s travel venture. Suppose it to say, if this came down, Krisc reassured them each and all, the offset pressure to perform would cause the saved to rise high.

     The Den they were in was not too dark as Wait Staff stepped in to check on the group. Oelke recognized him right away and exclaimed to the guy named Clarence about having clearance to continue. A round of tea drinks were provided from a large tray. None were conflated and the vicinity soon began to sparkle spiritually, to a grown glowing reception. Edwin and Alvin were thought to be everywhere, in everything of the discussion, though they kidded, “Where are we, now here nowhere?” or “What are we doing here?” as a funny, aside. Krisc spoke steadily albeit softly in the roomed décor, ensuring the magic word was of none such nonsense, for enchantment and / or divination were surely not had nor wrought. Nonetheless, there was certainly definitely the magic of a master magician, like that of Daniel of old and in a good way by no means evil-minded nor double-tongued. Krisc handled the room and commanded the presence of his ordered purpose.

     They were to be gone from home for an unspecified timeframe, allotted only by leaving during the end-of-the-year Holiday season. Many to most should be traveling on business or vacationing at the exact same time, so they could count on blending in. There would be no, none nomad manual for these this time. Krisc had the keys on ring. The twins had the compass to share by. Then the map would be on Oelke’s person. Their high rule would be their link to each other and as they were keen on getting to know all the mannerisms, quirks, and strengths of the others within this itinerary and inventory. Would it be hard to say good-night at the same time it would be easy to get up quick? Then Krisc leveled having sweets was seen as a quantity check above the quality of the overall cargo. Every good thing in them should be based in basis of basics, whereas Krisc would buy pastries and kringles galore to stay cheery in the Winter. Yes, it would not be at the height of Winter, evenly so. The brisk cold was sure to cuten Krisc’s round rosy cheek bones throughout the entire season, whoa. Krisc was to wear the same color clothes he preferred, with a red coat with white trim, and his trusty black boots, while the co-travelers were to don green tunics as well as rich cloaks. The code words for ‘Yes’ and else ‘No’ were to be ‘Yule’ and ‘Noel’ if they were to say all that to say this, said about without saying on. If they ever got in any trouble the passengers besides Krisc could be hid in bigger baskets like Apostle Paul once was, to save his life in that point of history. There is nothing perpetrators could do in such as case, no pun intended. The plans were coming around, and the group soon rested content in their knowledge and perused wisdom from above that they put to fair use. From credit to debit, the quartet from out of the highlands of civilization’s affliction furnace, for reason to and daylight for all their bread and water cues and uses, they collectively really had nothing better to do than take the trip, and make it true, this dream. From beginning to end, they would have to leave fresh flesh behind, and simply and sincerely keep up with what they could best abide for the ride.

     Krisc Koinsengle put the finishing touches on the end of that day’s meeting with sharing his own family background, as a going means to be friendly instead of mean. His was a Navy Dad, named Andrew. He was always adding more to do “And” this “And” that was Andrew. Bessandra Draught was his mother, whom Andrew always claimed was d’right one. He had no brothers or sisters, and that was what he credited for taking liking and receiving wishing for his own children, hence his now journey to take a wife spouse. Somewhat along the same lines, he had no nemesis, and his father’s bothers were his business until he passed shortly after his grandparents, of which both sides lived with the family as he grew up. Andrew died young, falling over like the felled trees Krisc made a livelihood by. Both his Da and Mum were no longer around and how he remembered his Pa was by their similar stomachs of men’s guts, which each shook like a bowl full of jelly, as well as his readings having him gathering much more about other holy scripture cause things. Foggy memories as a young lad of his Dad’s retold destiny were where history’s names were not as important for their own stories’ gaps today. Before the task came to a close of composite completion, the so-called friends poked fun of Krisc Koinsengle because of the pair of two K’s in his parallels of nick and sir names, again, just for fun to break even more ice in closing. All’s fair in both love and war, and also poverty of traveling. The night was not tried too late nor were they all over tired. Krisc would make the final preparations of prayers and supplies as they each settled themselves for what was sure to be one great adventure, the likes of which they shall always remember. Sooner than they could well keep track of and even before they took off, they too would be back someday, God willing – Ho-Ho-Home!!! 

CHAPTER 11

     The next step: the second mile. It was to be a saint’s sight, right on. We already know Saint Nicolas was not fully dressed without a smile, and now, behold, he simply just had to share it, fair and well, as he was accustomed and used to achieving. Right immediately after the finer scheduled meeting he said “Farewell” to the twins, Edwin and Alvin, and took Oelke aside. He was polite and Oelke not only complied but gladly so, enabled by Krisc to listen up, as he was always quickened to. What a youth, and Krisc knew what he had to say was all about actions over words, and refigured that being a good example would be rightly served to Oelke besides the points he was to drive home. Krisc Koinsengle prayed silently in the in between moment, that his speech would not only be understood, and but literally sink down into Oelke’s ears.

     First things first, Krisc lent and reassured Oelke that he would not keep him too very overly longer, and that both could still be back at rest for the night in no time. Their hearts were knit even before the exploits to arrive in their experiences found grace to exist. Just before the travels Krisc wished for at least Oelke to come to grips with all of what life before, during, and after should entail, and with a father as a Friar, Oelke already contained enough in his heart to both or either realize and acknowledge that they that stand for nothing fall for anything, and that if we like as stronger together yet fail to plan, we plan to fail. The inevitable default defeatism that plagues many to most was already cast at bay with and by Oelke, and Krisc knew this was that it was it.

     Krisc started again, though perfected beyond just at a perfect scene and giving tense. “There may be so many kinds in the world to make the world turn so they say,” he emphasized, “and though there be marauders and evil workers all along the way of evil men and seducers, let yourself in your youth create room for your Creator and establish this way I say, at guarding your heart against anything not for being to becoming Kingdom minded, in you before it does appear in the world at large,” at how Krisc got the less desirable out of the way before the better bested. Diligence was due in life and Churching, saying so was this pair that Oelke respected and honored, evenflow. If it was to be, it was up to them each, so to get out of their own ways did not only seem wise, but understood, prudent, equitable. Oelke’s first knowledgeable response dealt was to rescind that it was not schedule, neither routine, nor organizing or order, but the response time to boot. Krisc clicked his heels as they both stood to their feet for an interim stretch. 

     Now came the really good part, no negativity, mere magnificence over fancy. Tell me how much the truth has, was the spirit of their simultaneously sharpened fervorous effect. “Yes,” Krisc reasserted “both life and Churching apply in this: leave it a little better than you found it – clean up as it were, or in other words, bring to these your all, your Sunday best, in dress and smile and smarts and scope, in a landscape the sky would abide, again what would otherwise be scaled poor without you or your assistance.” The gist was to have Heaven’s ability to make up the difference and take it to the next level even better than it otherwise would have been without you in the first place. Oelke repeated the matter once again right back at Krisc and explained he grappled with this at his age when several in the community already severed themselves from doing the same in the sessions of Service lessons, preached to save. They two agreed the key was you yourself (which ‘yourself’ Krisc tongue twisted as ‘yours elf’ and got by nonetheless with a knowing and a nod from of Oelke), by what you bring in your heart, soul, strength possessing the enough (that some doubt!) to make up this affect of goodness and the glory.

     It worked. Don’t be numb in the for-fun art of balancing work and play, don’t project a screened scream, don’t connect with any who shouldn’t suffice, protect your life and eternity in and before the fact, don’t expect parlor questions, suggest answers but stay neutral if you don’t know at the moment you cannot get by all at once. Do not let it alone, lead as you are led, service option opportunity away. Onward and upward, make it so, so good that your own excellence improves and increases. Someday somewhere be someone to help and deliver as God does, as for now you, me, we may not quite be in the quiet work that God ordained us for. Moreover furthermore, know in yourself as you come to yourself that you have the God-given glory power rights to overcome and to have those that hear you, like us here with each other this day, save themselves as they grow from newbirth. Teachably teachability was the whole point, going as you go, not only what you wish (Krisc was so good at this, believing and fulfilling) or what could be done (Oelke’s talent to be sure, especially in furthering Krisc’ s own heart, life, and world, loyally and haply). To not limit all the while in the knowing knowing limitlessness is impossible without the Man Upstairs. It sincerely translates in both the life and Churching that they each held dear, less dreading fear, more revering honesty and humility.

     Oelke waited patiently, with much patience, until nearly almost afterwards, and did forebear to be a-questioning Krisc, and with a single lonesome question, he right there and then gathered the fortitude and gracious gumption to forge ahead and go ask. “I know you’re buff Mr. Krisc, and you do not typically tend to biff up, much and such,” forwarded Oelke finally, “so, I shall inquire, about my associate’s Alice’s voicing, haunting me with harping: will I let it be, let it be, or what not, of the lot of it?” Krisc showed and told him, “we all have knowledge and we all have a gift, one Christ-kind in this manner and another proper property in that; therefore for this strong reason be quite quiet.” What Krisc meant to mean, without being mean, was for Oelke to be an example of going to the top and to the head of the table upon musical chairs – just as Krisc shall be exemplary to him, Oelke may look to Krisc as he looked up to Heaven’s God, and mutually follow on along in one spectacular spiffy diversity of intensity of generations, and so it shall be. It was this friendliness by showing friendly that life colors were to so fly under live colour. ‘Tis was anything but the tilt-a-whirly-giggle, so Krisc buckled his black belt in a pal-apaloosa sense of humor, whose which spirit’s trouble never altered the joy the small world after all could not take, in either sense.

     It proved acceptable enough to speak face to face, and Oelke’s gratitude made up for Krisc's deliberate delineation or else tough love peacemaking. Both their fathers had raised them exceptionally well, and as that meeting got them ready for the trip, this pep talk prepared them for the company to be kept. Now less than nothing was left to steal from their collective save. The thing to remember was this was that what some either sat on the back pew at Church backsliding or similarly by a Courtroom guffawing, or worse, leaving the plural light of integrity and uprightness to walk in the ways of darkness, a slippery disaster in the false sense that, but all or these their works deeds those sinners albeit publicans did, were for to be noticeably seen of by men. Those spiraling downward could not tell the truth, in the sense of saying it so, and in the regard of not recognizing it in order for themselves to be recognized, ignorance without the bliss. In the end, it was not advice alone, and but should, or would, or could be taken to the faithing Bank exchange and beyond. Krisc did not need to put his foot down, and Oelke neither required masking his maneuvers or endeavors. Before they exited they knew youth of eternity is here, to take ahold of in this life: make the days a presence so the present is a present, too to yours and for yours of you, you being you all the while others be. These two free were free to make of themselves what God’s Book and their own Books from of God’s poetry as it were (psalms, really) combined to recreate, rule of the new. Even Edwin with mystery-man Alvin were cool for the condition and calm for the call. To be or not to be was not the question, for it assumed overmuch unawares; it was the answers in the answering that let them collect themselves as they answered afore they went to speak, in at for true belief.

CHAPTER 12

     The quartet’s meeting was thick throughout, even upon the extra event afterwards, and but the good fellas’ discourse both timings did the trick. Those of these were altogether the recourse of the resource, again spent wisely. The themed thesis against being for boredom was ‘bettering life and Churching by being me’ accordingly from saint to disciple, youngling Oelke listening attentively and but never alarmingly to not-so-fatling Krisc, all okay. Overall and at a glance, it was a ‘you be you, I be I’ type of stage set as well as at the shadow casing of faceless forms of people and places and other things altogether within the imagery of chamberless open eyes, widened at each other all the while looking inward respectively albeit sharpened civilly at a citizenry of chivalry on championing. Any else was no less how that forgiveness may be a hard sell right at the bettering-by, but without forgiving harshness hits above and through. In it all both Krisc Koinsengle and the whole lot of ‘em, they handily harbored esteem and encouragement towards one another, and then they not only got along great but also knew far enough to neither gainsay greed nor accept false allotments. Today oncoming and the tonight following would alway of necessity be ongoing for the steady livers among the staked fakers, although every one grand new day makes a great new way, plus a fresh start by a bigger fair keen ability. Also, the youth’s trouble venting about with double-tongue voiceover was nothing that was not ever before under the sun, even while not that much such fun. Maybe all it could use was a pun, punctual at that, and off they went, onwards and upwards.

     Yes this the greet meet of now once again friends showing friendly, told it was a seen sign over a felt fall. They had all walked away afore having more and more abundant increase of that this was. Now that it was over, this just in: goodness versus evil intent, meant the only thing required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. These, in the stead, were setting their hearts to do something, so good. Bootstrapping put it this way (and Krisc has some of the best black boots) - there’s about ten thingys going this ol’ world if you really do do your study-searching; the masses of peoples are content (or so they think) with about two; over up in Heaven, maybe there’s more, like 27 or somethings; God knows if so and hints to us all oft enough on contentment and belief, and then also haunts with His Holy Ghost the remaining remnant of those accepting obedient.

     What’s more, there’s quite a quiet about a lot more trivial lore and myth, intermingled in the books and works purposed in the same worlds’ ends. Only not lonely bit-by phony that you might slight where take be fake. What wears wiles houghing is less where biz be beyond besides a courting of praise. “Wwho” by a bird, angels with a word, folklore circa the absurd, keeps some of us busier despite the divisiveness of deceit.  Take from the Easter Bunny to Fairies: either only smarts conjecture to shade intellect the pains heavens gain planned. It thereby comes around the major macro mountain to the minor micro minute uses hands of the saved ones the world’s alls are for. Nowadays it were Winter, and snowmen eat snow, Krisc supposed predisposingly, because they are what they eat. Howsoever frosty the frost is, is not it still the stuff that makes icicles hang on?! Back a step or pedal, said Giant Easter Bunny silly rabbit, eggs aren’t just in Spring. There at the tulips’ petals colors times four or more are in store galore, no sore to stare.

     While many to most every any Holidays have their own colors, this month it was near the red and green of Christmastime, celebrated maybe by a rather unprovable tradition of timing in near December Solstice, and but right before the next year’s kick-off of New Year’s Day, by about only a week. Now Krisc knew how to both give the sense when reading and also how to ‘read between the lines’ at the literal heart of the matter. Nonetheless, symbolism spreads apparent besides spiritual applications and physical approvals. Due the doing of the reformed do, Mr. Koinsengle found not only a save for his life, but precious perspective of possibilities and performances of God in His word. In between from of new things general writings to old things of the scriptures, pleasant news in either sense has this way with him of pleasing. Productivity ensued, and every work from Krisc’s job vocation to his faith profession held a purpose and a worth that made work along worship the height of pressing on all along the way. For this strong reason, he reasoned during this Season, to let as many of us as are mature have thus such so a mind, and if in anything else, more or less, one of us thinks otherwise, that even will God reveal to him, you or Krisc to himself, or so as he thought. This Krisc has thunk as muchness as he mightily might. For instance example, he lept when he labeled locale in famous ‘Ephesians’ Book the giving gifts to men of Christmastime Nativity in there in Chapter 4 (chapters as known though not there originally initially, nor verses), upon yet another stark discovery the same day of Ephesians’ standout mention of Easter / Resurrection Sunday again over in Chapter 5, which saying on of “awaking and arising, dead sleepers, to Christ-light,” or the firstfruits of the resurrection in Christ’s first coming, certainly a lively real life then Ministering foundation, and now an established Churching. This Krisc Saint Nicolas only shared when with an open door, and sometimes, some days in the years since transitioning from the world, once of age so to speak, he would even look an outlook to perceive the asking for an answer. The hope he experienced and entertained, was beyond the basics and his progression was oft perused by his countrymen besides just himself. He was one of the glorious ones that asked wisdom from above, for hearing of it in the first place and from the new start.

     Today, and after upon a stretch from getting up early from the prior evening, the small group was sooner to endeavor the expedition of young life, theirs each and together-by. Krisc was to sing praise some more in the Churchhouse and first at bathing, giving thanks at the remembrance of the holiness and name from Heaven. For a moment passed by another moment, and in Heaven’s favor was the life he did not once take for granted. When if Friar O’Rorke waved them off even sooner than they might come to expect, they likewise would more than likely achieve their estimation of not just enjoying an untrite trip, and then getting Krisc closer than he’s yet been to attaining a help meet spouse wife. There should be a Mrs. next the Mr. Koinsengle before too longer, and with the planning meeting in hindsight, Krisc and the boys (they were all young enough, and Krisc young himself, for now) made themselves ready for a move as merry as the Christmas Holiday they were accompanying. Again today, Krisc fastened the large buckle of his black belt in preparing for the preparation and grabbed a huge sack for what we shall see is even more than in the packing for the journey that was to be the main stay of his manly manners maneuvered. Krisc twinkled his eyes with knowing looks wide awake as he fluttered his mustache and flared his nimble nostrils and moved his ears up an open notch in anticipation of participating in what, as he went to now, he exercised more than five senses in expecting as much and above the otherwise normal expectations. Just, what was in store, from new hints to ancient origins, he resonated a reasoning rightly.

* * *

**Purchase upon Release, for combined story-time with Alternate Ending, & Short and Long Version/s.

Thank-you in advance for your interest and investment. So glad to share.

=by Author C. T. Eck= 

CHAPTER 11
 

“It’s gotta work!” Skidander screamed silently as he regained his momentum. Reassured, he continued to hear the bats, noticing they were apparently swinging to the right. Skidander went around to the right, passing trees of all dimensions, scurrying over large exposed roots, and jumping up a length of terrain.
 

“Is there jest no one else out here?!” reasoned Skidander to himself as he realized he was on too high of ground. The bats continued on, this time straight ahead. Skidander slid down below, but feared that Night-Owl had already spotted him just earlier. “Could he keep up with the bats?” and “Where, precisely, had Night-Owl gone?” were two of the several hyper-questions racing through his poor-little-squirrel head as his legs began to run by themselves, since he was almost too afraid to run himself. Something was coming up.
 

“I sure hope my hopes won’t be dashed here, because I definitely do not want to become owl-pellets by sun-up,” was Skidander’s last impression before hearing leaves rustle way up above within a whistling sound. It had to be Night-Owl! Oh, no!! The bats were still within reach, and began to steadily move toward ground level more and more. Skidander did not know whether the cave’s entrance (there was to be only one choice tonight: the way the bats would choose to use) was higher or lower than ground level. While he had assumed it would be nearer to the forest floor, he begrudgingly admitted it could somehow be high up as well.
 

Skidander had to decide quickly, figuring Night-Owl would not let his chance for a fit, tasty squirrel to slip by. Just then, he heard one bat, then two, then four screech (or was it just all echoing around him as he hurried in fury). But it did not sound like an ordinary screech. It all resounded in Skidander’s tiny ears as..."Flyyyyyy!!" Were the bats trying to help him on or themselves? The only way he could fly, since he did not possess wings, was to ascend higher and try to jump further and further as he had in time past.
 

 CHAPTER 12
 

The bats kept screeching incessantly. Night-Owl began his descent with a resonant swoosh. With a dose of courage, Skidander resolved to follow his ears and the thought in his heart to go higher, not what he saw or the racing of his pulse. He would meet the bats through the trees. Up a wide barked tree he scratched, leaping onto the first large branch. It was as if the bats were on his side now. They flew lower; Skidander climbed until they were almost at the same height.
 

Skidander danced left, then left, left more, and right again. In his mind, Night-Owl would not be able to guess his next move. He forgot, momentarily, that Night-Owl had the higher ground and much better eye-sight than anticipated. Amidst the varied confusion, a third great noise entered the race. It was the rushing of water. It was lots of water, so much so that it engulfed both the sounding of the bats and the nearness of Night-Owl.
 

Skidander was running out of places to run. The bats shot strait for. . .the water of all things. Skidander shot his gaze back for a split second and. . .Night-Owl was to sink his talons into his back within five seconds or less. Now, with a conversion screen, the bats raged into the pouring water. [Five]...one slip and Skidander was to be the main course for the meal! [Four]...no turning back for Skidander no matter what! [Three]...listen to the bats, and fly, Skidander fly! [Two]...Skidander pushed off another and another branch and leapt using all his power as Night-Owl’s wings enwrapped the whole of him as they both streamed through the air. [ONE]...water flew everywhere, Night-Owl pivoted violently backwards, and Skidander broke through what seemed to be an entire colony of bats. Bam, bats, bamm, bam, bam, bats, more bats, oh no, Bam. He hit the floor of whatever this new place was.
 

As he skid across the wet ground, it dawned on him, “Ohh, it’s a waterfall!” After a well-deserved breather of about what must have been seeming ten full minutes, Skidander looked up and saw all the bats and more so, clinging around behind the waterfall. He was about to ask whether this was indeed an entrance or even the only entrance into the cave labyrinth, and as he opened his shivering wet jaw, all the bats started screeching again and all at once (or so it seemed). It was then that Skidander knew he was to get no answer to his question, and even if it was blurted out; it would not be heard over the bats and wouldn’t be heard by the bats. Perhaps they were still upset from all the bamming; bamming into the bats. The plan at hand was to go onward, onward to wherever this waterfall entry was to lead. With Night-Owl prowling on the outside, anything on the inside seemed somehow more worthy.

CHAPTER 13 (Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure) look for “=” at chapter break

Skidander dashed back and forth again and forth and back some more, as squirrels do. It was dutiful, to him, but to the bats it might have been bothersome unless they were sleeping during the day. For now they just winked with peering bat eyes as they perceptively flew in and out of each others’ mingled and intermixed presences. Though it was noisy from the waterfall, Skidander could tell there was more in the air, alas from the bats. Senses.

What seemed sensible was for Skidander to scurry up one side of the cave. For the reason that it was not muddy there, though it was damp everywhere, Skidander refigured that he could climb upwards and outwards like on all-so-familiar tree bark. Then and there a bat eyed him “real severely” at precisely the same moment Skidander realized full well that going up was not going to get him outside. See to it, he recollected himself less dizzy but all the more frantic. The entrance was far above through the water, and only the bats could do it just so.

The rest of the dark room was deeper than Skidander thought, but also narrower than he anticipated. So and so as Skidander attempted to gaze and acquaint himself with this supposed neutral area made him realign his view over and over again. How now did those bats have room? Why try to skid more than once down the jagged and wet wall and lessen chance to proceed. There was need for a cause for a break, and also for Skidander to cease to shiver enough for some strength to stand both his engaged victory and his narrow safekeep. Skidander paused, and then, and then, just at that his tail pop-puffed up just as big as he is and dried in the moment of a trite thought that was not too trivial but neither tempted.

Right about then at about the same instant the bats had settled down to…hang, hang out I suppose. Skidander took the hint that they were to get warm again the whiles they dried even more like he was, too. There as Skidander stilled, he turned ever so imperceptively to stare into the boggly wink of one of the bats, there approaching next to him with its wings balancing open as it hopped closer.

“Hey, who??” Skidander queried, but he knew without a thought. Skidander dared not fold his arms, and as an alternative put one of his two limbs on his hip. Quickly but not to be noticed much, Skidander haunched down on all fours and spun all the way around once. The near bat proceeded to congratulate Skidander by clasping his own two hands, that were already lifted up with his wings, snug together and move them together around his beady head as he intently looked to smile just all the more. Skidander got it and he knew all the bats knew he should know he was saved and safe. Hooray! Again the nearer bat took both of his sides and wings to stretch and reveal what Skidander should know. There was, by where this bat’s wings’ tips shared, a water flow, below.

Oh, through the chasm, and Skidander knew it would befit well. Then again, would he have to hold his breath, or for very long? A swimming squirrel, who would have caught thought!?Meanwhile the bats got rowdy again, meaningfully moreso. The bit Skidander understood from them is that they would be apt to get him out the waterfall from inside out of this bat cave and if Skidander would not bemoan a bunch of them politely picking him up, flapping their many wings together, to go ahead and toss him back out the way he arrived within. The very near bat grinned gladly and Skidander also appreciated his options. So Skidander now had a corresponding choice to wisely activate, though Night-Owl was likely dangerously awaiting somewhere just outside. What the one bat meant they meant collectively altogether, to go get a new exit via the stream head, though the bats might help Skidander again through the waterfall somehow. How to, and of which, were the questions Skidander anticipated, and the choice fascinated him too.

= s k i p to Chapter 17 if you have Skidander float about and out the stream head…; 

s k i p to Chapter 14 if you have Skidander brave against the trial of Night-Owl (this is the Alternate Ending to Skidander Squirrel’s story)…

CHAPTER 14 (Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure) look for “=” at chapter break

Skidander was not tired, but though he tried to get back out the waterfall, the task left him rightly daunted. The bats had an idea though and as they started helping him one or two at a time, Skidander saw just what to do. The collective bats’ wings were strong enough to hold the waterfall fall from watering in a space for Skidander to seep back out, through to the forest canopy, again.

The bats were quieter as they concentrated. Skidander knew this to be opportune, that he also knew though to be a peril unparalled, to him. For the bats, they did very well to gap an opening not too low neither too far up in the waterfall, and Skidander began to fidget in preparation. It was going to be like a circus lion leaping through a flaming hoop, only Skidander squirrel squared the fire was on the other side, not in the jump.

With a clean, positioned, and sided grab on the cave wall for a split second, Skidander triple jumped from the cave floor to the cave wall and to out the bat(s) makeshift forest-view escape, or was that an escape that should require further finesse, some fight. The beginning of the triple jump and the middle were each ordinary, those of expert squirrel jostle, but again the part three had some of the bats reacquire a wall perch of sorts as they went back in to the cave, and many others thoughout to the night skyscape. The one bat who was sensing about Skidander on the cave floor, near Skidander as he lept and bounded and catapulted back through the waterfall (batty opening), was about, yes was, the only bat making a fuss as that bat echoed something higher than a mouse squeak but more less than a hawk craft call. Skidander was very sure the friendliest bat was saying something to him.

Two things happened immediately as Skidander affixed to a near tree trunk’s scattery rough bark. Skidander was pondering afterward what the friendly bat stated, but Night-Owl had perceived it too. This went something like this. Skidander had a vision of Night-Owl, though Night-Owl was nowhere in sight, thought on thought. Skidander heard Night-Owl’s wing feathers ruffle-rustle as if the two of Skidander and Night-Owl were just next to each another. He, Skidander, quickened to know that Night-Owl heard the bat friend from out of the waterfall, but what the standing bat was saying to Skidander was perhaps meant only for Skidander. Skidander heard it again in his squirrel head just then. “Come…something.” Then it was on his ear, “come through,” but did Night-Owl hear it and now it meant that Skidander has to use this knowledge to escape not the waterfall, but Night-Owl.

Bats do not often echo to squirrels, preempted Skidander. This bat was a friend, Skidander kept. The bats now that went out of the waterfall were not waiting for Skidander to figure it out. They were echoing again, and moreso. Come, through, Skidander multiplied the meaning. Night-Owl could see Skidander, but Skidander could not see Night-Owl. The bats “saw” every thing all at once. Night-Owl was quiet enough, to anticipate his meal and to make sure of if it would be Skidander, a squirrel snack. “Come through” to Skidander was not a one time thing, and this was the thing Skidander would use.

The one trip back, one triple jump out of the waterfall was the one bat friend spoke to Skidander then, and greater than this was the outside bats’ saying on and on for Skidander right then. Night-Owl had an interpretation on the whole in a while, and the wind changed. Skidander spiraled the tree trunk, about a few quick-breaks as he turned and turned and turned, and stopped thinking, to start following the bats, as he had at the run from Night-Owl away to the cave by the waterfall way in. Skidander could hear it, Night-Owl’s wings extended all the way out; Night-Owl was about to leave his perch. Skidander stood on his haunch on a tree branch, a big enough one to go to another tree from. Those bats were circling back as Night-Owl, in the air, picked Skidander out of the forest growth.

Off in the forest, oft, Skidander knew all the animial kinds had places they stayed. Though this partition of the forest, all these tree holes and dug dens under the leaf cover this time of year, were not known. Skidander listened to the bats, because of the friend bat and it was time to come through with the bats. Just at that, most of the moving bats hung on a tree over against Skidander peeking through many trees and, like the bat echos, perceived the precise spot the bats hung, then headed right there, in a trust to why.

Once upon the same tree, those tough bats were hanging out and pointing down. These were two trees, together and right tight between them was an opening big enough, or was it small-fit, for squirrels. Skidander skid in, out of the reach of Night-Owl for good, and the bats were slyly smiling just the same, on a readying to rising, anywhere they may roam. Meanwhile Night-Owl was high in the moonlight, soaring, and whether he was really hungry or only spending the night out, Night-Owl was neither dangerous nor in sight, upon Skidander’s new escape.

What Skidander then knew was that this was a good tree place of more than one use. Skidander could hide here from Night-Owl reaching him, but the bats, who were hanging upside down, pointed or seemed to be pointing, downward. The dual tree cove was also a hatch into, were it some creature’s den. Skidander peered in to the tree-between, betting in himself for if he could tell something of this. The bats were smiling, or is that just how bats appear, no fear, or not affected. Someone woke underneath. This was a den all right, and soon in that very night Skidander found out that this was the second, or at minimum some other, entrance into the cave labyrinth, good to go into and exit too, different some from what the bats had in their waterfall cave.

Skidander noted the location, had of that he was onto something, and contrived for a second if he would ever even enter the labyrinth of the cave, or keep track of where it led or what it was good for. For now, there were at least two ways in and out, both found but one easier. Those happy bats happed to help Skidander thus far with “cave labyrinth” goings. Whether Skidander would “come through” the cave labyrinth would be for time else conceived. Skidander was sufficed, safe for good in this forest’s section, and Skidander, satisfied from himself, got excited about what about not just forest directions, but under the forest, as he could play with his friends during the day, or hang out at night as well. Very good and well done, for Skidander Squirrel’s would wood.

= “Alternate Ending”: T H E

                                                        N

                                                        D

CHAPTER 15 (Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure) look for “=” at chapter break

Then it was that Skidander, sleepy and winky, stilled himself still for a length of a while, though he stayed daydreaming. For how long it might well be, Skidander hisself will have to perform for us at these moments of storying. These scenes has Skidander recollecting his own rehash of a waking surprise in a day Skidander squirreled through and all about, now only in the past couple, that is to say a few, weeks ago now. This was still Skidander, but Skidander daydreaming, and until Skidander wound more altogether awakened.

To this new day, it was yet night, and within some caves. The chamber of his visage kept his furr-kempt tiny head strangely unaware of stark difference between the darkened surrounding caves and Skidander’s own sleepy head. Skidander was up, that is upright, to say the least of how his animal body position arrayed, at a haunch, with a fevered glance. Skidander at trance envisioned somewhat he had already lived through, previously. For Skidander’s story here it is verily a new bit.

Girl squirrel Thetre skid once, and there she was, next tree over to Skidander. Seeing Skidander had just then finished down some water, he figured Thetre might be thirsty too. “Has your morn drink been thought on, Thetre (they knew who each other were)? “

“You know I like coconut milk, Skidander?” Skidander always queried her on palm trees, how that they were what birds who flew south chirped of. Skidander knew what Thetre was right around the corner of getting at. Thetre liked to like, like she liked Skidander.

“Nuts, and coconuts as you like, are for squirrels,” Skidander emphasized to assert. “Of what all ails, I alike like as you like,” Skidander dared, going on about which, “now not to ache my luck, I will to lurk on to lock a look of life in a lump less my limb encounter…!”. Skidander paused when as he knew about just what Thetre might, doing in her own maneuvers of endeavors.

“Find me, Skidander, founded, where I leap as the land should lend such lark in much laud without lack, afore your limb heals (I’ve and we’ve all heard, Skidander!),” Thetre half sang as she dangled from the same trunk, in reflection of Skidander’s beady eyes. “Shall I see you inside summer beside the stream bested?” Thetre told to taunt.

“Would the wood now know, Thetre,” Skidander called back from under her ‘own’ tree, “the dreaming stream is to find again a waterfall, the like is love.” Little did Skidander encounter by that timing that the labyrinth waterfall was to become an interference of inference of his life adventure, that of value and of more laud of Thetre than Skidander would believe if he and her could keep it straight, directed around about all they started to share.

“What in doing do we share, Skidander,” as if Thettre told what Skidander was tinkering thinking, “as long as we care so, and so ‘der’.” This was Thetre girl squirrel’s abrupt call to short the conversation, knowing Skidander-der liked to too (he should by the time he went into more of the daylight). These two loved to rebound and drill each other on their l-l-like, where they did not only hide in the tree branches, but in the layers of similar starting words as of “like” then “love” and today several others all the way to “limb” because the whole forest has heard of Skidander’s encounter, apparently, evidently, hauntingly but taken a liking, nonetheless. Skidander and Thetre had to leave now, in that order, under cover of noon clouding, for what they liked to be founding. For Skidander it was his adventure, and Thetre heard more and more, and as Thetre grew, they waited though not assuming, only dreaming their sure stream, as they liked to have it squirrelly-whirrled in themselves.
 

= c o n t i n u e to Chapter 16, straight ahead following immediately

CHAPTER 16 (Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure) look for “=” at chapter break

Of the adventure: Life has to be more than adventure, though the adventure is what it has. Skidander accomplished that he had somewhat to find to achieve, and Skidander knew at least of which that what Thetre liked and what he liked were along the same line.

Pink wound to help Skidander think thunkings, then all those he met and knew and Thetre too helped to help. Skidander refigured Thetre could be found throughout whenever it was ever he jabbered with his Skidad and Sway, that he liked also to call his squirrel folks by their proper names. Thetre was next to him, in the forest, and in his paw across his heart; she was not over him, and he having come over to her neck of the wood should be a keep in Thetre’s own contrivance.

Skidander started to see the big picture. The place he was, the forest, was a whole place, and the place of the forest was placed somewheres in the countryside, and all the places Skidander having been connected more and connected more, until Skidander would gather from all sides and angles and found that direction was in the directions. “Very directed directive,” he can hold his little limbs and tiny head in a pure squirrel way, “Skidander, you detect all direction one way to say there is directive in the directions.”

Now Skidander’s shadow would move by the time of day, and dear Skidander would see to it how direction was shown from above, the sundaylight all the way down to him, Skidander. This, it was foreshadowing of what his adventures were more than, that his directive was in the directions. Skidander was not about hints and directions for cooking or gimmick readings. The directions he configured were on the land, in the ground; Skidander’s directive was everywhere Skidander went, and so Skidander’s adventure and his directive (directions as he went) were interlinked and Skidander himself had a lock on his life. Where else a like in Thetre, what a luck to live, and Skidander meant in view of both the same like and the life he squirreled (we would say walked) about, in and through, all the way from up above to, well, Skidander. For now Skidander was in the trees, getting a becoming direction within the directions. Likened in front of him, Skidander by now noticed that more and very much more light was reverbating off of the surrounding cave walls and walls, but could not tell the way out except when a very near animal hole showed a way back out and it was, again, very near. Skidander thanked and scurried up out, to where, Skidander would find out in the while, and Skidander smiled on top of smiles.

= s k i p to Chapter 27, and finish the story at 27 -28 for “Short Version”

 CHAPTER 17
 

Ski-dan-der hesitated right before he hurried, slid, and bounded into the running water. There no sooner had he plopped in that then it was he was underneath for a second or was that a few seconds, and, and then he was deposited on a level recourse edge of the cave. The thing was this thing of water travel was over before it began and was like when people dive from off a diving board to simply grab the ledge ladder afterwards.

As it was time to dry off once more, now the moonlit walls from the dim light beyond the waterfall eased Skidander’s way. On, and on, he went until at long last he could not last any longer. When Skidander realized the forest creatures did not call the local caves a labyrinth in vain, he did not feel as bad when he knew he was caught in a seemingly endless maze of turns, ups, downs, and returns. Then Skidander noticed one more haunting observation. He halted his pace. The cave labyrinth was spookily quiet. More than that, it was and had become entirely silent since his entrance earlier that evening. Skidander figured he was so far inside the labyrinth, the outside noises ceased to be. If he was not so spent, sleep-deprived and exhausted from heavy travels, Skidander would have been scared out of his wits. Was there really anything to fear though?
 

So Skidander lay down...for just a moment...or two; you know, a ten-minute nap...and no more. He yearned this would cut it to regain enough strength and stamina to re-enter his quest.
 

Skidander did drift off into sleepy land, but it did not seem long, and the case has it that he could tell about how very long he slept. He lay half-way in dream-land and half-way in reality, the cave-reality at that. At first, he envisioned food, lots of food, and, no wonder; he was quite hungry again by this leg of his journey. This almost became a nightmare as none of the food reached him, only passing by to gaze upon as it were.

CHAPTER 18 (Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure) look for “=” at chapter break
 

However, Skidander ended up dreaming somewhat about where he found himself: actually the opposite of the cave labyrinth, which was mostly in pitch black darkness. Only an occasional bit of moonbeam would bounce within the mazed corridors from time to time. In tonight’s dream-realm, Skidander visited a family of polar bears (there was a Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and one Baby Bear, cute and fuzzy and—well, you get the picture). As the night vision went on in seemingly unending continuance, Skidander’s dream went where some kind of a time warp paralleled. It went along the lines of the Bear Family sharing in a disagreement which turned into a dispute and further turned into a rolling brawl. Then, the paradox of it all was when the dream-story returned to start over at the beginning again, as the flip of a coin.  The Polar Bear Family’s disturbing discussion (be sure to note that they are always shouting because they are trudging through a blizzard!) went along this narrative:
 

Papa Bear: Brrr, it’s cold out today!
 

Mama Bear: No, it’s not that bad, dear...(aside to Papa)...We mustn’t let Baby lose heart in these our travels!
 

Papa Bear: Well, it’s still cold!
 

Mama Bear: At least be more quiet about it!
 

Papa Bear: It’s freezing out here!
 

Mama Bear: Shhh! No it’s not!
 

Papa Bear: Yes it is!
 

Mama Bear: No. It’s Not!
 

Papa Bear: YES IT IS!
 

Mama Bear: No!
 

Papa Bear: Yes!
 

Mama Bear: No!
 

Baby Bear: (to all) They’re cold to each other!
 

Papa Bear: No!
 

Mama Bear: Then you concede it’s not cold out!
 

Papa Bear: No!
 

Mama Bear: No, you don’t concede, or No, it’s not cold out?!
 

Papa Bear: No, Baby was wrong!
 

Mama Bear: Yes! Let’s stay warm to each other!
 

Papa Bear: Brrr, it’s cold but not that cold out today!?
 

And on the story went, someway repeated over and again, until...
 

Skidander slurredly spoke in his sleep, “brrr...it’s cold...but not that cold out….today.” With a wink...blink, blink, he awoke! As he rubbed the “sand,” or shall we say “snow,” from his beady eyes, he became aware the quarreling of the polar bears was only in his head, and not in his bed. Skidander momentarily thought upon its meanings. He concluded that the disputes correlated with the blizzard: the growing and receding of the Bear Family’s feud directly paralleled the repetitive bluster and calm of the snow storm in his dream. It was a complete bright-white backdrop overshadowed with shiny white figures. The result was a scene of white, entirely white, and nothing but white.
 

How ironic for one who had just lived through the literally darkest part of his heretofore brief life. Even squirrels partake of night dreams where they would rather be somewhere else besides where they find themselves in the real of reality. In Skidander’s case, his dream was the white of his wishes as opposed to the black of his circumstances.  And since many to most squirrels are gray it all evened out by the time he woke.

 

= s k i p to Chapter 15 if you have Skidander live awake through a daydream (this is a shortened version of this Skidander Squirrel’s story)…; OR

= c o n t i n u e to Chapter 19, straight ahead following immediately, if you have Skidander go the long way home from out of the cave labyrinth to his life calling (this is the longest version of this Skidander Squirrel’s story)…

 CHAPTER 19
 

For now, he was damp and proceeded to shake himself of the water pellets as he had seen dogs of all kinds do the same. Before he had the chance to think about how desperate his stay in the caves had become, poor young Skidander heard a not-so-distant noise. He was still too groggy to be at all afraid. After another almost instantaneous movement beyond him, a shrill voice pierced the former repose.
 

The noise that followed was not too loud, to be sure; just the same, it had so startled Skidander as to make his short fur stand on end much like a black cat’s is prone to do. Skidander’s spine shuttered as a light, harmonic voice echoed around him nearby.
 

The words seemed to surround Skidander, engulfing his ears, which had since become temporarily used to hearing the silent nothingness within the labyrinth. Entrenched in paralysis (later to be dismissed as part self-induced and part other-worldly—altogether unnecessary to say the least), he had no choice but to hear...of all things, a compliment.
 

“You’re lucky,” rebounded off the cave walls, likewise penetrating into Skidander’s head, “few outsider creatures dare to venture inside this mega-maze and live to discover the Exit.” Skidander wondered why such a wonderful voice even existed in a supposedly empty place. He also gathered “outsider creatures” referred to any animal listed in the field and forest world (above, at this point, so he guessed). Besides the vast assortment of bugs said to reside inside the labyrinth, Skidander could not decide who the spark-of-a-statement might belong to. Exactly who had come and gone in and out of the caves? Now to think of it, what was he to do concerning his own new-found predicament? Furthermore, what was he to make of that sudden-like voice and the “Exit” it spoke of?
 

Each of these questions made Skidander’s stomach feel a bit squeamish. He was also feeling a bit slow for a squirrel. To make up for all this, Skidander began to “think on his feet” as he got to his feet, quickly picking up his end of the conversation. To respond to someone you cannot see takes nerves of steel; nerves Skidander might have once possessed, had he not dumped himself inside the bowels of this present piercing darkness.
 

“I’ve only been here a wee-bit of a while, yau know,” quivered Skidander’s bursty recoil.
 

CHAPTER 20
 

After a moment of pause, as well as further busy movements (closer as it seemed), a few more uplifting words resounded, “Although you talk in your sleep more than you listen, with luck, no one but me heard you!”
 

Was this reassurance for Skidander or a plea of insurance on the speaker’s part? Skidander was blustered for a second and abruptly resonated back, “Exactly how far did yau stretch your reach of eavesdropping?”
 

Another instant passed, and then the voice returned, “By my luck, I know your name is Skidander.”
 

Skidander did not wait this time, adjudicating back, “A fair thing by now would be for us to have a two-sided introduction,” knowing his own eyes were not growing any more accustomed to the ever-so-very thick lack of light-luster, which would perchance let him look upon his speaker.
 

A full minute or so went by as Skidander stood amazed at this “softly-loud” one’s preference to wait before answering. A herald arrived eventually, boldly declaring, “Luckily, the ranks of my colony did give me a name: by more than chance I am called Luckly Splunkler.”
 

Skidander pretended not to be pensive, even though he really was filled with thought, and flew the phrase, “Can I call you Luckly?!”
 

Luckly hardly pondered this once before volleying back, “By sheer luck, you may!”
 

“Great!” echoed on and off the walls by Skidander, “Besides, I’ve got a cousin named Spunker, which sounds much too much like the other half of your name.”
 

“All’s well that ends well. . .even names, right?!” countered the one dubbed Luckly.
 

By this time in their conversation, Skidander became aware that the veiled voice, now known to belong to Luckly, was almost right next to him. This gave Skidander the heebie-jeebies; he did not like the fact that Luckly was so near because he could not see in the dark to tell what kind of animal Luckly was. For all Skidander knew, Luckly might have been a snake...or something...anything...worse! Just what kind of creature roamed freely in a pitch-black labyrinth in the first place? In any case, they had not spoken to each other for more than a few seconds, so Skidander thought of what he could say.
 

* * *

**Remaining Chapters 21 - 28 following; please Scroll-down.

**Purchase upon Release, for combined story-time with Alternate Ending, & Short and Long Version/s.

Thank-you in advance for your interest and investment. So glad to share.

=by Author C. T. Eck=

 CHAPTER 21
 

Right at the exact moment Skidander opened his tiny squirrel jaw to ask, “Sso, whaat bringss yaou herre,” Luckly chimed in with precisely the same question. No sooner had one begun and finished their inquiry than the respective other had as well.
 

They each uniformly started answering back again at the same time, “Sorrry, yaou firsst....”
 

This time Skidander, with his naturally gifted speedy reflexes, realizing they were stuck speaking together in such a manner, immediately took the bull by the horns so to speak, and interjected another few thoughts.
 

“Not only will I ask what brings yau here, but first let me know just whatyau are, as far as creatures go, that is,” sought Skidander.
 

“I’m mostly a cave dweller as far as creatures go,” responded Luckly.
 

“Very well, chap, but being as close as yau are to mae, what’s to say yau won’t be devourin’ mae anytime soon?” Skidander replied. Skidander was ready to fight back tooth and claw at a nano-moment’s notice, realizing at the same time that flight (or running away) was near impossible since he could not see anything in the impenetrable darkness of the labyrinthine caves. There was absolutely no depth perception whatsoever.
 

“Oh, come on now, friend; what’s to say I wouldn’t have already made a feast out of you all the while you were sleeping?! Remember how I heard you there talking in your slumber?” remarked Luckly.
 

Skidander felt embarrassed for both being concerned about the matter in general and also for accusing Luckly. So Skidander came back with, “My sincere apologies, Luckly; so you must belong down here, huh?!"
 

“Like I said, I dwell in these caves, but my home is near the Exit,” returned Luckly.
 

“Ah yes; that’s where I need to be heading; yau must know the way then,” mentioned Skidander with intrigue.
 

“I was about to let you in on that secret plus one other. . .and then you’ll know what kind of creature I am too,” alluded Luckly.
 

Skidander was speechless when he knew that Luckly was going to share a precious secret with him. “I wonder whattype of animal Luckly happens to be?” he thought perceptive-like.
 

Just as Skidander was about to interrupt his own overinundating with some statement, Luckly proudly proclaimed, “Behold my ability to overcome the night and its shroud of darkness. . .let there be light!”
 

CHAPTER 22
 

Then without warning, the surrounding cave and other nearby caves came to life, brightening up with a spark of light from right above Skidander’s little head. Light bounced everywhere he could see, and then, a split-second later, it was dark again.
 

“Now, look up!” commanded Luckly.
 

“WOW, you’re a firefly,” remarked Skidander as the cave walls redounded with light again. Just then, as Skidander rolled over in awe and amazement, laughing just a bit at his fine fortune, Luckly whistled long and loud.
 

“I’m calling for a few of my friends,” informed Luckly. Soon that cave room was filled with voices of varied conversation. Most of Luckly’s fellows were astounded and perplexed to find no less than a squirrel in the labyrinth. Before too long Luckly addressed the curious crowd with a prolonged, “Shhhhhh; listen up for a minute my comrades. If we can all work together in this, to help our new friend, named Skidander, get out of this here labyrinth with his life, we’ll save the day (or should I say save the night), and become heroes of sorts,” Luckly suggested.
 

After a brief consultation with much shrill sounding chattering, the lightning bugs came to a consensus. “We’re all in,” came the collective reply. Skidander was beside himself with glee; he was going to get out of this alive yet!
 

“Hooray for today!” shouted Skidander. He shook the muddiness off from himself and began to look around. He already knew which way to go because the fire flies had formed a big lit-up arrow pointing to the cave to the left, just ahead of him.

 CHAPTER 23
 

For the next what seemed like nearly an hour, the kind bugs produced their special lightning light, making clear arrows directing where Skidander was to go. Whenever Skidander slipped up from going onwards and upwards through the caves, a little laughter would take place among the fireflies, but Skidander did not mind all that much. He was just overall happy to be escaping the labyrinth. He took no thought for any bragging rights once he was to get out though, for it was not through his own ingenuity or expertise that he found the Exit. It was rather by the opportune aid of Luckly and his lightning bug pals.
 

“Yau guys keep laughin’, but try an’ remember, yau all can fly and I have to but climb,” scolded Skidander. More chuckling resulted. “I guess these bug-a-boos can’t help it; it must be in their nature, like laughing hyenas or something,” recollected Skidander to himself as they neared a different looking cave which contained moonlight.
 

“And here’s your exit, indeed the Exit of the infamous cave labyrinth,” exclaimed Luckly after a short pause.
 

“I give you a million thanks, Luckly and friends. . .oh, thank you,” Skidander offered with tears of joy in his eyes. “But how do I get way up there,” he equally set, for this last cave Exit was very tall and seemingly insurmountable.
 

“You should be able to shimmy up that rope with your squirrel’s claws, Skidander,” taught Luckly.
 

“Sounds promising, Luckly; will I ever see yau again,” Skidander sobbed just a bit in expectation.
 

“By sheer luck, you may!” Luckly said with excitement.
 

“I sure hope so, because otherwise I would have probably been left for dead in the caves,” recounted Skidander. As he began to skillfully, almost playfully, climb up the thick rope, the moonlight grew brighter and brighter, until he approached the round top of what apparently was a well’s mouth. “Thanks again!” echoed Skidander’s gratitude down through the cylindrical tube of brick. “I made it,” he thought as his head hit the well’s bucket by accident. “Yikes, watch it there,” Skidander told himself after the fact.
 

He found a pile of fallen leaves, covered himself with a few of them, and rested, waiting until the morning rays of sunshine the next day. Visions of the night’s escapades floated through his brain as he drifted off to sleep for the second time that night.
 

CHAPTER 24
 

The next morning some ants hauling food supplies for their local ant colony woke Skidander as they traveled over Skidander’s make-shift bed of leaves. “Where, where am I,” Skidander asked himself in a sort of hazy daze. Neither asleep in dream-land nor fully awake, Skidander began to push and brush the leaves off of him. The resulting work helped to wake him up to the point he realized why he was where he was, even if he did not recognize just where it was he was to begin with.
 

Granted Skidander was never in this part of the forest before, he still had a sense of direction. His internal compass, if you will, had him on the move just as soon as he got his bearings. His keen sense of smell told him much of what was nearby as well.
 

Skidander could smell some raspberries over in a close-by field clearing. First he re-checked the well’s opening for any sign of Luckly and his fire fly fellows. However, they were long gone. Off he bounded towards the raspberry patch for the breakfast he required. Run-and-hop, run-and-hop as his squirrelly manner was to move along.
 

This was a wild patch of raspberries, so as soon as he arrived at the lot of them, he began to eat. After a few minutes, he was feeling full, enough to burp a bit. Now he was thirsty.
 

He perked up his little ears and heard a brook in the distance. Off he bounded once again. When he got there he took in a deep, long refreshing drink of cool stream water.
 

Suddenly his bliss was interrupted by a harsh croak or two just downstream. “What’s that sound?!” Skidander tried to guess. It was followed by more croaks and also some bizarre squeelish-squawky sounding noises. He decided to incorporate his stealth maneuvers to quickly and quietly approach the commotion quite aright.
 

Around one tree, over through two more trees, and finally, through a thicket leapt Skidander. He put his back up against a particularly wide tree trunk, and stuck his head out around the side of it. Straining his tiny ears to hear what was going on; he seemed safe enough where he lay undetected, but of course.
 

 CHAPTER 25
 

He could now both see and hear the conversation between what seemed to be a huge blue crane and a little unusual-looking bear. The bear was stranger than any bear Skidander had ever seen. It was all black and white, having large, distinctive black patches around its eyes, over its ears, up its legs and across its round bear body. “Exactly what kind of bear is that?!” Skidander thought out loud as he scanned the surrounding area for the cub’s mother bear. Who knows if it was just around some round of trees, looking for a nice meal of squirrel? Skidander lie ready to pounce up any tree at a moment’s notice to evade the uncanny and unscrupulous mama monster bear.
 

It was too late. Skidander blew his cover by thinking out loud. Both the black-and-white coated baby bear and the tall crane turned full around to see their eavesdropping neighbor. “Who’s there?” squeaked the bear as the crane peered intently through the thicket.
 

Skidander froze. What if there really was a mother bear someplace close to the baby. Nevertheless, he gathered all his courage and strength up at once and broke through his paralysis.
 

“Who said something?!” croaked the towering crane as the baby bear fearlessly sprinted towards the sound on all fours, ready to clobber the intruder.
 

“Look, I’ve got jaws of steel as well as opposable thumbs with claws,” screamed the little guy as he bare his sharp bear mouthful of fanged teeth.
 

“Yeah, but I’m a whole lot faster than the likes of yau!” informed Skidander as he readily bounced up the tree he formerly had his back to. Once he made it up to a large and long high branch, he skillfully leapt over to a second tree’s limb. “See, you’ll never catch me or even catch up, and even Mr. Crane there won’t be able to fetch me down, seeing his cumbersome size,” vaunted Skidander.
 

The baby bear leaned speechless against the tree trunk Skidander had originally went up and seemed dumbfounded at the new-found stalemate of affairs. “Well, the clever squirrel’s got us in a dead-lock, Panderoora,” struck the crane. “We might as well get back to our dispute of territory. Leave the squirrel alone and see what becomes of him,” informed the croaking crane.
 

CHAPTER 26
 

Skidander was surprised how what just happened, happened to happen so very quickly. He decided to stay where he was in the forest canopy and listen to what the two antagonists had to say to each other. He smiled knowingly, because he knew he was without their respective reaches, up too high to care or bother a whim. Skidander sat with his arms (or front legs, depending on how you view them) crossed under him. He looked a bit like the Cheshire cat grinning away way up there.
 

“Alright then, I already told you Grimmm, I marked this entire area with my scent to claim it as my own territory,” squeaked Panderoora, which is the small bear’s name apparently since the crane addressed him as such.
 

“That’s absolutely unnecessary, since I’m already in charge of this region as the keeper of the pond,” assured Grimmm, which is the bird’s given name. “Every creature throughout these whereabouts knows I oversee both this local marshland and the plain as well as the main pond,” Grimmm went on. “Do I need to call together my enlisted references? It doesn’t matter how much of this area you mark with your scent, Panderoora; I’ve patrolled it for years by flying through its borders and then some. Besides all that, I eat the snakes and other baddies who trespass these parts, keeping it free of offenders!”
 

“You call those qualifications so great, Grimmm? Just who do you think you are anyway?!” imposed Panderoora.
 

“Well, I happen to be one of the Great Blue Herons, that great. My family lines are drawn way back in these parts, as far back as thousands of years back. We were named by Adam himself in the beginning of the creation, even before the great flood. And what, may I presume are your qualifications, the benefits you will bring to this realm?” demanded Grimmm.
 

“I was told by my parents that I am one of the last surviving Giant Pandas in existence on this planet,” indulged Panderoora as he continued. “Am I what the world of men call endangered!; and ‘tis rightly so, for we are extremely few in number, even in captivity.”
 

“Wait just a minute, Panderoora,” interrupted Grimmm. “You don’t think to say you’re giant, do you?! That’s quite ludicrous, seeing your stature,” jeered Grimmm.
 

“I happen to still be a cub, and besides, how do you think I escaped from between the bars at the Zoo?” Pandora showed plainly. “It’s because I’m just a baby Giant Panda of sorts. It wasn’t but a few weeks ago that I was pink and about the size of the thickness of one of the bamboo shoots my parents are so fond of chewing on,” Pandora further revealed.
 

“Hold your horses, Panderoora; now I know why I didn’t think you belonged altogether in these parts,” croaked Grimmm in retrospect. “You won’t even be able to survive out here once you hit adult-bear-hood. If your parents live almost exclusively on bamboo, and there’s no bamboo at allin this particular forest, by the time you require it, you’ll be forced to go without it, and then what will happen to you, my little Panderoora?” outlined Grimmm. “Just what have you been living on so far and for how long?” doubly asked the Great Blue Heron.
 

“You don’t have to stand in doubt of me, Grimmm; I’ve been not only surviving, but thriving on nuts, berries and whatever I can find under the sun,” proudly proclaimed Panderoora. “I would have tried to catch a fish or two, but it seems you herons (among other fishing birds) depopulate the pond’s stock to an excessive degree!” incited Panderoora.
 

“Sounds like you’re on a squirrel’s diet, minus the fish which you haven’t caught any of anyway,” examined Grimmm. “By the way, I think he (that pesky squirrel) is still up there, and he’s listening to us. Who’s to say he won’t claim this territory too,” guessed Great Grimmm good enough.
 

CHAPTER 27
 

Skidander shifted his body weight on a sturdy high tree limb when he heard Panderoora the baby panda and Grimmm the great blue heron refer to him. Little did they know he was far from home and that his own “territory,” if you could call it that, was not nearby. As he uncrossed his tiny front paws and sat upright on his hind legs, he decided to direct a remark or two their way.  “I thought I’d seen it all, until I saw you panda-what-who; a giant panda even as a youngling of that type is certainly a peculiar creature, at least to gaze upon,” Skidander threw his words down to the two debaters. “I dreamed of some all-white bears (they’re called polar bears I believe) only recently, but you take the cake, my young acquaintance. And I thought the skunks were the only creatures that were colored black and white together,” Skidander portrayed.
 

“Before you do go on and on about happenstance, I have to tell you that I don’t recognize you as belonging to these parts, because the forest ends here at this brook and from here on out is only marsh for miles. Squirrels do not belong in marshes you know,” Grimmm explained.
 

“Yeah, so what’s your story,” Panderoora chimed in.
 

Skidander did not want to allude that he did not know where he was. At least he did not know where he was going to next later on that day. He was simply fulfilling his dream of being an explorer, an official adventurer.  He kindly relayed this information to Grimmm and Panderoora down to the last detail. He told them of his adventures up until that point, including the cave labyrinth, which they had a hard time believing, even though it was all most true. Grimmm and Panderoora were astounded at all Skidander had lived through and accomplished, although he was simply a common squirrel. From the mishaps to the friendships to the victories, it all seemed one huge blur of adventure to them.
 

Grimmm and Panderoora extolled Skidander for all of this, including highly praising his story telling talents; but when they heard about how he wanted to draft up maps for the region, they got especially excited, a liking because this was it, just now how Skidander was up to something productive.
 

“Once you map out places around here, the animals wouldn’t have to disagree as much over disputed territory, like Grimmm and I have today,or did you well know,” assured Panderoora.
 

“Yes, and we could learn all sorts of things, like where creatures lived, and make new friends like we have today,” reassured Grimmm. For, while these three conversed with each other, Grimmm and Panderoora had put aside their temporary differences and became friends instead of adversaries that morning. They all agreed to help Skidander with his mapping endeavor for the surrounding landscapes, minus a labyrinth Skidander meandered summed up by many foresters, even at, at the least, a deliverance.

= c o n t i n u e to Chapter 28, straight ahead following immediately

 CHAPTER 28
 

It was too late for Skidander to resist enlisting others’ help, for he realized he could, in his small size and Grimmm’s enormous size, fly on the back on Grimmm’s body as he flew overhead, giving Skidander a bird’s eye view of the areas he wished to map. Besides, Grimmm could not fly and write at the same time.
 

Not only that, but they conceived an awesome plan together to return Panderoora safely to his current Zoo home, despite the fact that it was not his natural habitat, or only a captive residence. Since Panderoora in these stages growing and growing was so small of stature (despite his grand notions of being a grown-up fronting “bear”), he could also easily fit on the back of Grimmm’s extensive wing span and be flown overhead, above the city and back to the Zoo. They would have to do it under cover of night, otherwise they might be found out in broad daylight.
 

According to Panderoora, he was still small enough to squeeze and slide through the cage bars whenever Grimmm would deliver him back to the Zoo locale. It would be better off this way, since Panderoora would receive all the bamboo he would ever need while back home at the Zoo. He was beginning to miss his parents at this point in his own adventures anyway, for he was still but a lad, whatnot as one little panda, just the same giant.
 

Skidander soon wished to return home to his neck of the woods, to visit his Pa and Mum, Skidad and Sway, again. This is not to mention his old pals, especially Pinkerdon. This was not without first bringing with him rolls and rolls of elaborate maps of his finished work of his home forest and surrounding region all the way to the city of men. This of it could make up his life between Skidander’s parents and show his squirrel ways should stay still on the back of Grimmm, all of which Skidander sure would. As he grew older, he reveled in what he had shared with his fellow creatures and everyone hailed him as the true adventurer he was.
 

It was sometime after all this took place that the folklore story of how storks deliver babies came to be. Even though it was just a baby (giant) panda delivery this time around, the news somehow, someway got out that a stork (we know it to actually be Grimmm the Great Blue Heron) delivered it. Of course, we know that it probably only happened once and that it was not a new-born baby panda. The rest is just a fairy-tale as far as explanations go.
 

So if you ever see a great blue heron flying high and swift, squint your eyes and try to see if you can see a smaller squirrel on his back. Sure as sure can be, it would be old Skidander still making maps of your own town in his own squirrelly way.
 

Now go out and fulfill your own daringly dutiful dreams of your own lively adventures and do not forget to document your travels someplace, sometime along the way. By mapping routes and regions, Skidander Squirrel’s saving of other young creatures from strolling or sauntering sure should. Is that why most forest folk seem to know just what they’re up to? Both or either: helping or living, Skidander Squirrel would.

 

T H E

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:: General Guide ::

^ To assist guardian readers (parents, grandparents, babysitter) though the “Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure” portion/s of “Skidander Squirrel’s” readings-story (a children’s story for the young-at-heart), here are two things to know, as a hint and then also a Chapter Map like Skidander Squirrel would, but here this author C. T. Eck, for us, any of you preferring. First, the “Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure” has about two turns inside the bigger 28-chapter tale called “Skidander Squirrel’s” that provides a distinct choice between a “Short Version” and “Expansion Version” of the same children’s story, but first has about an “Alternate Ending” on the way. The Chapter Map is this: read from the opening chapter One (1) to chapter Thirteen (13) not matter what, and then if you would like to do the “Alternate Ending,” choose-your-own-adventure to finish at chapter Fourteen (14). Otherwise, choose-your-own-adventure to chapter Seventeen (17) and chapter Eighteen (18), where then the “Expansion Version” follows from proceeding chapter Nineteen (19) all the way the main end at chapter Twenty-Eight (28), OR meander the “Short Version” at the choose-your-own-adventure finishing chapter Eighteen (18), back into chapter Fifteen (15) through Sixteen (16), and then the same finale at chapters Twenty-Seven (27) and Twenty-Eight (28) , a continued choose-your-own-adventure. This is simpler yet than a whole-throughout choose-your-own-adventure on every chapter break, as may be is a traditional choose-your-own-adventure, however, this inclusion as instead only a “Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure.” Thanks for whatever trip you plan with mapping Skidander, in more than one sense, and that you may read any or each of all the twists, herein shown on ahead.

^ Several, some   

some uncounted or so grand total, questions are for this general parent guided children’s story and / or for the young-at-heart. Divided up into 28 mini-chapters, this exceptional (A+ ?!) “Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure” tale helps those approaching to reading the whole story by breaking it up in case you leave some for later. There are a few words on the “bigger” side; that is, the vocabulary level scale for Skidander’s adventures proves to be more advanced, but not overly so. With plenty of “life and living” subjects to discuss, based on events sprinkled within this super story, an adult reader may want to be creative and start a discussion (afterwards would work fine, or before, to pay attention about as you read). The young-at-heart of all ages will appreciate and comprehend this fun and enjoyable fiction.

00: Question:

[not from any one given chapter] Yes, I was surfing the Internet on my big screen television, via YouTube about ‘animals’ and ‘squirrels’ were there with crows and some other video footage. What I quickly learned that I had not prior picked up was that there was one squirrel critter that was all white (presumed ‘albino’) and some other another squirrel that was completely black. So, I have never seen those before, anywhere. Perhaps needless to say, many to most squirrels are gray (Skidander! minus the electrifying alteration) and that also some squirrels be reddish, and but not as bright as a raddish. May this or does this tend to describe the verity creativity of our faithful Creator, that makes room for the same creature type, here squirrels, to be multi-varied and openly differing at least in colorscape, in a way, again as designation description/s of just how awesome the Creator is, knowing He created order and but in that order made room for just plain decent differences in such a good way that these make life, nature, and even YouTube even better and more fun? Gray, red, black, white, is that all; now color a page of on your own, squirreling, at your best behest. 

01: Question:

[from chapter 1] These forest creatures spoke a common speech, most often of the region’s dialect, with minor differences, and some sang their words. What do you make of your common language, and do you appreciate the variations, in English for example if this is your own native tongue, like this writer on this “Skidander SQUIRREL’S” story comes to us as (English)? If you are multi-lingual, how much more do you appreciate that?

02: Question:

[from chapter 2] Skidander is reported of his ordinary childhood, or it is young-squirrel-hood. What do you make of the child years of your own life, or of these children this “Skidander SQUIRREL’S” story is read to? If your own childhood either was or was not ordinary, what would make it even more ordinary (if it already was some, or could use a dose of “ordinarily” haps)?

03: Question:

[from chapter 4] This “Skidander SQUIRREL’S” story told of how Skidander did not want a matter repeated, yet it was shared all the more. What do you make of tale/s that are told even when they are not supposed to be? If you do not want to talk about something or a dear one near to your heart tells you not to say more of a matter, is it important to keep it secret, or does it still get disclosed?

04: Question:

[from chapter 7] Skidander and Pinkerdon were into their fun. What do you make of not being so serious in calling others names (though this is not of their proper name/s, only what of calling them of various descriptors)? If you do not like to be called names, do you also not like to call others names as well?

05: Question:

[from chapter 8] Skidander did not steal the Farmer’s corn, even though an accompaniment group became tempting to him as they stole. What do you make of deciding not to steal in the first place? If you ever stole something somewhat, could you make up not to steal more?

06: Question:

[from chapter 9] By this time in “Skidander SQUIRREL’S,” Skidander is become official adventurer, badge and all, or so. What do you make of being adventurous? If you like to venture places, what adventures are there for you?

07: Question:

[from chapter 10] Skidander planned ahead by esteeming what to avoid, should he go to the cave labyrinth. What do you make of making out your way ahead of time? If there is a view of peril/s, how much more or less important is it to plan well?

08: Question:

[from chapter 11 - 12] Skidander has a hard fought victory in the chase to escape Night-Owl. What do you make of thinking while on your feet, on the move, that is, versus planning ahead alone? If this is too intense, would you or would you not read it over again?

09: Question:

Do you like these as Pocket-Choose-Your-Own-Adventure/s? Did you know there are a total of three varying journeys throughout Skidander SQUIRREL’S story? These comprise all of a longer version, also a shortened version, and one alternate ending. 

10: Question:

What other or any questions have you made up during “Skidander SQUIRREL’S”? For instance example [from chapter 18], how does the essence effect of Baby Bear’s (inside Skidander’s dreamscape) -perception- for towards both his parent Bears together reassist in altering their family’s collective day out, plus did Baby Bear save-the-day by making a simple statement that got the ball rolling to spark his own parents’ reconciliation, whereas without him they (Papa Bear and Mama Bear) might not have done any much about their concern/s?

11: Question:

What do you make of the title for this multiple-story, “Skidander SQUIRREL’S”?  Know it is regarding the possessive case usage with ‘’s’ and is meant to be of his, ‘Skidander’s’ though not necessarily “skedaddling” along as all squirrels hap and do their respective due. Here, ‘SQUIRREL’S’ is in all caps, to connotate stressing this is indeed a squirrel story, albeit of one, adventurer Skidander! 

12: Question:

Skidander Squirrel would what? What of your wood (home, route, region)?

DEDICATION:

Hereby “Skidander SQUIRREL’S” story is dedicated to Carthage College, because as this author’s first higher education class act, on “seize” (or, that is, “C’s” – not “seas” though Carthage is on a great lake), is for some of named though fictitious creatures inside this story, and that having often been slightly altered herein, preempted to preclude, for altering usages, less than the actual original perhaps ongoing or, at that time of schooling, some likely previously existing places or organizations, and as for bearing no prevailing involving resemblance to those things that this at-times-rewriter happed, visited, or used by, so lately thought on for a story. “Skidander” got started as a squirrel story for a Carthage College: Fantasy And Allegory class enrollment assignment.

© Copyright 06042017 C. T. Eck. All Rights Reserved.  [Update 10172023] 

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**Purchase upon Release, for combined story-time with Alternate Ending, & Short and Long Version/s.

Thank-you in advance for your interest and investment. So glad to share.