FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

. . . . .

The morning air was sharp and sweet. It filled Mark's lungs and made him draw in a deeper breath before sighing it out. This had to be what the world smelled like before cars, planes, trains and any number of modern inventions that belched out pollution had come to pass. It was a world that made him lean backwards and simply savor the fact that he was alive. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that he had managed to survive being hunted by terrifying creatures that melded man and beast both. He hadn't succumbed, he had ran and even went through trees as if they were nothing more than another roadway. He grinned to himself at that memory. If he took away the fact that he was being chased by creatures intent on eating him, it would have given him a thrill. But the strange wolves had added an element of fear to it.

Thinking of the wolves turned his attention towards Kitch. The squirrel was eating with surprising daintiness across from him and glanced up as if realizing the attention was focused on him. His new friend flashed buck teeth and made a motion for Mark to continue eating. They'd camped deeper in the shelter of the opposite shore overnight. Kitch had made it clear that he wasn't up to continuing on and had been shivering from the water that soaked his fur. Even now his tail still looked a bit damp, but the rest of him was fluffy and had been smoothed down. They were lucky that they'd managed to escape without being torn apart and without serious injury.

"Well, it's not bacon and eggs, but it's something." He sighed a little and stared at the flat stone that held his 'breakfast'.

Kitch had come in at dawn with a sack full of what he assured Mark was food. It was a collection of things that didn't look all that appetizing. There were several white straight roots that almost looked like wild onions, but a cautious nibble had proved them to be more akin to turnips. There was a clutch of berries that were swollen and nearly past the point of sweet ripeness, a few hard nuts with a bit of dirt still clinging to them and strips of flaky bark. He hadn't wanted to try the bark, but the squirrel had been adamant that he at least nibble it. Tasting it hadn't improved his impression of it. It tasted like bark, but at least was soft enough that it hadn't caused him problems getting it to a pulp. The only thing that saved it was the fact that it filled him up better then what he had been eating.

It was a sparse breakfast compared to what he was used to, but he didn't really care all that much. It was something to keep him going as he followed Kitch to wherever the squirrel was leading him. He had thought it over through the night. He didn't know where he was or how to get back home. Part of him wanted to go back to where he'd come through at and try to wait it out. If the forest wasn't crawling with wolves that's exactly what he would have done, but going back there now was suicide. Instead he tried to sooth himself with the knowledge that he was taking the next best course of action. He could find a place that was secure and return to the edge of the forest to see if anyone came out looking for him. It was the next best thing to a plan.

Kitch seemed to be puzzled by him. Several times he had lifted his eyes to find the squirrel watching him solemnly. The strange brown eyes were intense and seemed to hole a wealth of intelligence. Not that it was all that surprising. The squirrel was obviously as intelligent as a person. He knew enough to be able to talk and think. He could plan and learn. Mark didn't know where he was being led, but his hope was that it would be the creature's home or village or whatever squirrel's here called a home. He needed to gather his wits and figure out what he was going to do here.

"Hani et iy Haanu." Kitch chattered and set down the rock he'd been using. He stood up and gestured with a paw that Mark should do the same. "Marrck, etta.. etta, Marrck."

Kitch spoke slowly and the human sighed a little bit. There was nothing he could do to pick apart what the beast was saying. It made no sense. He knew that 'etta' apparently meant follow or come here, but he had no idea what the rest of it meant. He set his rock down beside him and stood up before dusting his legs. The pants had taken a beating and were stained from their run, but there was no helping it. He was not about to run around the forest naked with a human sized squirrel. He just couldn't do it. It was best for him to keep his clothes on and keep what was left of his possessions as close as he could. Not that his possessions were that much to brag about. He had his wallet, key card, a bit of change and a crumbled bit of paper that had a few notes on them.

Kitch grinned with a flash of his buck teeth and gestured before turning to start into the heavy overgrowth. Mark blew out a sigh and followed behind him without a word. Apparently they were going to start moving for the day. It was good, he'd been anxious to move. They were near the river still. He could hear the rumbling of the waterfall in the background. The wolves hadn't crossed the bridge, but that didn't mean they couldn't. He wasn't positive how smart they actually were when all was said and done. They could be quite intelligent and the bridge was off limits for some strange reason or they could elevated wolves that didn't trust anything that was made of logs wrapped together. He just had no idea.

Kitch hadn't seemed concerned. Mark had tried to pantomime the wolves coming over the bridge in the night to kill him, but it had been to no avail. The squirrel had given him a confused look and shook his head to signify he didn't understand. When Mark had growled to imitate a wolf Kitch jerked back and chattered, seemingly upset. There was no help for it. The creature obviously understood the wolves, so Mark had to be content with the fact that the wolves weren't going to come over the bridge and that they were safe for the night. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. The squirrel chattered another 'etta' and Mark pushed his way through the thick overgrowth to keep the thick red tail in front of him. It was going to be a long damn day.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Mark's thought proved entirely accurate. He pushed his way into a strange world that was partially a field and partially a swamp. It was filled with wet patches and thick mud that would suck one's legs down if he wasn't paying attention. It took him nearly an hour of struggling through the muck for him to realize that he was going to lose his shoes. He made Kitch stop and pulled his boots off. He then tied the lacings so that he could hang them over one of his shoulders where they wouldn't get lost. The squirrel had looked amused at his bare feet, but hadn't offered a chattered comment. Instead they pushed through the damp marsh while Mark struggled not to think about what his feet were sinking into. He did so by trying to classify the ecosystem around them.

At first he was able to tag the name 'wetlands' to the area easily. It wasn't quite a swamp, but it still had enough marsh and water to hold a thriving ecosystem. It wasn't one he was used to, though. He didn't see much in the way of reptiles or amphibians, but he could hear the sound of various insects. Some were familiar, the chirping of a cricket or the drone of a cicada, but some were entirely new to him. He hadn't spent much time outdoors so he wasn't entirely certain that what he was hearing was a species he couldn't find in his world or if they were just new to him. Either was possible. The thoughts distracted him as muck pushed all the way up to his knees and sank between his toes. Kitch had a far easier time of it as he leapt and bounded lightly over the unsteady ground.

The wet lands gave over to something firmer as they pushed through it. They entered another forest that ringed the marsh and he was shocked to see massive pine trees standing above him. They were just as large as the trees he had seen when he first arrived, but their bark was a pale grey and slightly papery. Kitch allowed them to rest and he tested the bark curiously. It peeled just like a birch tree's bark did, but it clearly wasn't a birch tree. The needles were thick and heavy with some nearly as wide as his finger tip. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was confusing, frightening and thrilling all at once.

Kitch slipped away just long enough to return with a skin, that looked like the bladder of an animal, filled with sweet cool water. As Mark drank he noticed that his new friend was cracking nuts deftly against a rock. He felt a moment of amusement that he wasn't using the powerful buck teeth, but he wasn't about to complain. He certainly would have been a little squicked if he would have had to eat nuts cracked open by an animal's teeth. The nuts proved to be a form of almond that had a sharp bitter flavor as if they weren't quite ripe. But, it was better than nothing and the meal that they had had when they started out hadn't been nearly as filling as he was used too. He was allowed enough time to eat a handful of them, enough that the worst of his stomach's grumbling settled.

The pine forest made it almost impossible to tell the time. It was as if they walked through a world of near constant twilight. The darkness was only broken up by spears of sunlight that spilled down between the branches in lances that glowed golden in the light. It was disorienting for him not to see the sun above him, but Kitch seemed perfectly at home. The red furred body relaxed and his tail was curled in a way that almost looked jaunty. Mark wanted to ask where they were going and how far, but it was useless. Pantomime was good for small things, such as eating or drinking, but on a larger scale they didn't understand each other. He couldn't think of a good way to even gesture for the time except for tapping his wrist as if he had a watch.

I somehow doubt they have watches here. _ He sighed to himself and looked at the primitive garb that his guide was wearing. _I hope they at least have a needle and thread for my clothes. I can wash them and maybe even repair them.

_ _

Kitch seemed to have the same idea about the useless act of pantomiming. He gave Mark looks and gestured when he had to, but the rest of the time he was entirely quiet. And entirely quiet meant that Mark couldn't even hear his paws against the needle strewn ground. He could hear his own footsteps and they were lumbering things even without his wet boots on. There was little wonder why the wolves had hunted him down so swiftly and easily. They must have heard him the moment he'd come out of the portal and woken up. He was just lucky that they were[I1] a vocal tribe and that he'd heard them with enough time to make an escape.

The forest gave way to something more normal towards the end of the day. The sun slanted west at an angle that made the beams of light that broke through the pine trees illuminate the entire forest in flashes of color. The squirrel seemed to become tense as they pushed out of the last of the white barked trees and into a forest with smaller trees with a normal style to their bark and leaves. The sound of birds chattered overhead and the pine carpeted floor gave way to rocks, dirt and branches cast about. It was rough enough that he made the squirrel stop and shoved his feet into the wet mucky boots. They were cold and uncomfortable, but that was better than ending up with a sharp stick through the sole of his foot. Kitch seemed nervous as he tied his boots on and glanced around from side to side with his fingers playing against his bow.

"Why are you nervous?" Mark asked in frustration. He stood up and stomped his feet to make sure the boots were settled.

Kitch gave him a blank stare and when he didn't try to pantomime what he wanted the squirrel just gave a bob of his head and started to walk again. Mark couldn't help but feel the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. There was something wrong here. His guide was nervous about something and he was nervous enough that he didn't bother hiding it or, perhaps, he couldn't hide it. That could mean any number of things, but most of them didn't bode well for Mark.

What if we're passing through more territory with wolves in it? A tremor of fear uncurled in his stomach and his mouth felt dry. If there are wolves, wouldn't there be cougars or some other big cat? Those can be even more deadly and aren't half so clumsy.

_ _

The wolves were terrifying, but his mind was all too willing to bring up an image of an equally horrifying large cat. Mountain lions could and did kill people easily. They could climb and dropped from trees to take their prey unaware. Wolves counted on their speed to run down what they wanted to eat, cats counted on their silence and their ability to make a swift killing blow. Mark glanced up at the high tree branches nervously and walked faster to catch up to Kitch.

"LONSHA!!! LONSHA ET HOMMAH HAANU?" A voice erupted from above them and the sound of straining wood echoed around the forest.

Kitch stiffened and threw himself backwards so that one arm pushed back against Mark's chest and backed him up firmly against a tree. The line of the furred body pressed against his own while the small creature curled his lips back to show bright white buck teeth. His eyes flickered over the forest as several more creaking noises came from above them. If he hadn't heard Kitch's bow straining when it was drawn, Mark would have never guessed what the sound was. Now he knew. Bows were being drawn around them to accompany the voice that had called out to them. Kitch's body was stiff and tense, but he didn't reach for his bow or his arrows.

"KITCH! KITCH NERRICK! KITCH EN MARRCK!" The squirrel called their names back to the voice. And the world around them erupted with squirrels.

Mark swallowed as the swift creatures dropped down from the trees and spilled over dead logs with their bows drawn and their arrows centered towards him. They weren't quite aiming at Kitch, but it was hard with the squirrel obviously taking a protective stance around him. The squirrels were red and grey, though even the grey had a faintly reddish hue to them. He saw smatterings of darker colored beasts were mixed in, but all wore the same style of clothes as his guide. Their eyes were hard and watching him with open hostility while their lips were curled back to expose large front teeth. It was an obvious threat display.

A larger squirrel came down from the tree just to one side of them, but he didn't have a bow. He gripped a knife between his teeth and was nearly a hand taller than the rest of the group. His fur was so dark a red that it was almost black, but the sun hit it to reveal crimson highlights over the coat. His eyes were bright black and, strangely, weren't focused on Mark. He was glaring at Kitch as he came up to two legs and took the knife out of his mouth and came close enough for Mark to see that the creature had a splash of white fur running along his stomach. It was a scar of some sort, and looked as if something had tried to gut him.

Kitch trembled slightly and then stood up before chattering out so swiftly that Mark couldn't even pick out the words. If the squirrel drew in a breath, he didn't feel it, instead he tried to speak as rapidly as possible. The entire speech was peppered with 'Marrck'. Mark tried not to stare at the large male that confronted them. The creature looked hostile and ready to slit his throat if he were given half a chance, but he didn't make a move. He watched Kitch who gestured wildly and came to an end to his speech with a desperate glance back at Mark. The man tried to smile at him, to be reassuring, but it was impossible. He couldn't end like this! Not when he had just survived being hunted by wolves and the terror of trying to get across the river.

"Rika en oslo." The male spoke the words in a clipped way that could have been anything from 'kill them' to 'and then what?'.

The only indication Mark got that it was a positive sign was the fact the warriors facing them relaxed their hold on their arrows and dropped their bows down. They were looking at one another and glancing at him with confusion. That didn't bother Mark at all. If they were confused, they weren't killing him. Kitch stepped away slowly and gave him a look before holding out one of his paws. He hesitated a moment, but a glare from the large dark squirrel made him hold the paw that was being offered to him. It was warm, so much warmer than his own, and the edge of soft fur along the palm tickled against his bare skin. Kitch flashed him a smile and gave his arm a tug as he stepped away. Whatever had happened, he'd at least survived the inspection. He could only hope this meant that they weren't going to try and kill him later on.

~ ~ * ~ ~

­­­They didn't kill him. Instead they walked barely two hundred yards before stepping into a ring of trees that held houses in their boughs and around the base. A path, the first path he'd seen since coming to this world, was made between the ground level huts. Though, hut didn't quite match what they were. They weren't houses or tents, they were a strange mingling of all of them. The wood was paneled on the outside of them and made to pattern exactly like the trunk and hung down at sharp angles around the base of the trees. For one wild moment, Mark thought that they looked like skirts on the trees, but then he saw the solid wooden doors that were set into them and squirrels passing through them easily as they came out to stare at him.

The squirrels. There were squirrels everywhere. They came in every shape and color and size. They were everywhere that he glanced. He saw large bodied males that had thick ruffs of fur around their necks and towered over Kitch. He saw slight females that were impeccably groomed and brushed so that their fur gleamed in the light. He saw toddling children that gamboled and played, but only stopped to gawk at the parade made of himself and Kitch. They came in every color he could possibly imagine. Some were dark jet black and others were smoky grey, some were copper colored like a newly minted penny and others were so pale they were almost white. And the colors didn't stop there. There were also unnatural colors.

They passed by a group of males, young males Mark realized, who had their fur splashed with white that wasn't natural. Their fur was bleached out into patterns that ran along their arms and chest. One of them was working a dye into the white portions, but there were plenty of examples of a fully dyed squirrel. The females in particular had blue, green and gold tinted in their fur. He was a bit flustered to realize that the females also didn't wear a top. They wore a thicker loin cloth that was more decoration then utility, but their breasts were bar. He had to turn his eyes away and concentrate on walking without stumbling from all the distractions he was being offered. They were being led somewhere, but wherever it was, Kitch was comfortable with it.

They didn't walk alone, they were surrounded by the males that had taken them. They formed a loose square that kept Mark in the middle in a way that said that they didn't trust him. Or perhaps it was just a way to make sure that the squirrels wouldn't crowd him. As they walked through the village he was aware that they stared at him. They poked their heads out from buildings, they leapt on tree branches overhead, and they bolted about with streaks of color faster than he could follow with his eyes. The only thing that kept him from trying to leave the place entirely was Kitch's hand firmly gripping his own. His friend looked a bit strained around the eyes, but when Kitch caught him looking he flashed Mark a reassuring smile.

They finally ended up at the only building in the entire place that wasn't built around the base of a tree. It was a massive looking cabin that could have comfortable held several families without any trouble. The guards spread out and the scarred one chattered to Kitch before gesturing to the door. His guide grinned a bit and gave his hand a tug to pull him into the darkness of the door way with every evidence of relief. Perhaps his tension wasn't from something that they were going to do to Mark, but from the amount of people staring at him.

"Haanu, Marrck." Kitch gestured around the place with a smile. "Haanu."

"Haanu." Mark agreed and nodded his head a bit, but when he glanced around he didn't see what exactly the word meant.

It could have meant house, the name of the village, the name of the building or even home. Did Kitch live here? The interior of the cabin was closed off with walls that made a neat room with several padded cushions spread around as well as something that looked a bit like a chair set in one corner. It wasn't that impressive, but it was interesting to see that there were hints of more hides here. He'd been a bit thrown off by the fact Kitch refused to shoot the wolves or even harm them. He assumed that they weren't hunters. The only thing he'd seen that had been taken from an animal had been the water bladder, but even then he wasn't entirely positive.

There was a thick spill of fur on one of the chairs, while another held a padded leather seat cushion that was sewn with something that looked like leather. His eyes were drawn more to the massive antlers that created the base of much of the furniture. He'd seen moose antlers and caribou antlers. Both animals had massive antlers, but these left them in the pale. They were easily taller than he was and the tines averaged the thickness of his wrist. Whatever had been killed for them or had shed them must have been a giant among deer. All of them were the color of aged ivory that tipped towards dark brown at the peeks. He could only hope that they belonged to deer who were ancient enough to be the exception rather than the rule when it came to antler size.

Kitch deftly pushed him into one the chairs with a grin and dropped down beside him. Mark glanced back and stifled a grin as he realized that the seat had been designed with a curved back so that the thick tail didn't get pinched. He could feel the same curve behind him, but he had nothing to support there so it left him feeling uncomfortable in the chair. He shifted a little bit and wiggled until he found a comfortable spot. A soft snort of amusement made him glance up to see the scarred male that had brought them in watching with a slight smile on the edge of his muzzle.

_Well, at least he's not jabbing his blade at me. _ Mark thought with relief and continued to look around the room.

"In etta, Marrck.." Kitch chattered and stood up as a small squirrel boy poked his head out from a door way. "In.. Etta..."

The squirrel made a pushing motion with his hands, obviously trying to tell him not to follow. Mark frowned a bit but nodded his head and made a show of settling a bit more firmly in the chair. Kitch responded with a grin and bobbed his head before padding through the door and shooing the young one in front of him. Obviously the lad had come here to summon his friend, but that left him in the room with the strange male who had been threatening them. He flicked his eyes towards the silent guard and fought the urge to squirm with discomfort. There was something about the heavy featured face that made him think of someone older and adept at fighting. It was the sort of face that a boxer might have after years of being in the ring.

As he thought about it, he realized that most of the males that had gathered around him had looked larger and a bit heavier of body then Kitch had. They had been taller than him as well as heavily muscled. He tried to think of the ones he had passed in the village and realized that many of the obvious males had been more defined then his rescuer. It wasn't that Kitch looked like a child, but he had the slender build of a younger male. He didn't have the years on him that would turn the slender strength into real muscle that was designed for fighting or hard work. How old was the squirrel? Did they age like humans or did they age like squirrels? He didn't even know what a squirrel aged like. Rats only lived a few years so he assumed squirrels did as well. That was clearly not the case here.

_Just stop thinking about it. _ He thought to himself and gave himself a shake. He'd find a way to figure out what was going on here in the end. For now, he tried to distract himself by studying the room he was in.

The walls weren't bare. In fact, they were lovely. Metal had been hammered into the wood to create swirling designs that were definitely artistic. He couldn't quite make out what the designs meant, but they were still lovely to look at all the same. Dark metal had been hammered next to a paler copper that was polished until it glittered in the buildings dim light. It traveled all the way around the walls in a continuous flow that didn't look like it was ornamental. It didn't have the feel of being pleasing to eye, it had a feel of being entirely deliberate and holding some meaning that escaped him. He knew that mankind's early ancestors painted on alls, so why shouldn't primitive squirrels do the same thing? What would matter enough to a squirrel to put on a wall?

"Marrck." The scarred male growled out his name and he jumped a bit. The big male gave a gesture as if trying to get him to stand.

Mark saw movement by the door and hastily scrambled to his feet. It was just in the nick of time. A set of guards came through the door wearing what looked like rough tunics. It was the first real clothing he'd seen since stepping foot in the village. They were a matched pale grey and carried a set of spears with gleaming coppery tips and wooden bases that were inlaid with more polished copper. They moved quickly and quietly to either side of the room and stared at the wall instead of at him. They didn't say anything or even stare at him the way the others of their kind had. It became obvious why when two more squirrels followed. One was instantly recognizable as Kitch. He carefully carried an intricately carved bowl in his paws and walked slowly as if afraid to spill what was in it.

The other squirrel was something to gawk at. He was obviously an older beast and he leaned with his shoulder on the boy that had come in earlier. His fur was a thick creamy white that showed a slightly golden hue at the tips. His ears had tufts of fur like Kitch's, but they were longer and more pronounced. His muzzle was silver with age and there were lines that were etched there that none of the others had shown. The stranger wore a simple loincloth, but this one was made of supple leather and was decorated with a fringe of beads that looked more like seeds and nuts then something that had been created simply as a decoration. But it was his eyes that made Mark flinch. They were ruby red. Both the pupil and the iris were nearly the same shade of red. He'd seen albino squirrels in his time, but it was a shock seeing those bright red eyes in something so large and vaguely human looking.

"Etta... etta..." The old squirrel beckoned with a thin looking paw. Mark swallowed and stepped forward nervously. But Kitch gave him a reassuring grin.

"Uh... hello, sir. Thank you for your hospitality." He spoke awkwardly. The beast wouldn't know his language!

"Kitch, en Hannu et frenri lonsha." The oldster turned towards Kitch who stepped forward and bobbed his head up and down.

"Marrck en Kitch," He stated firmly and then chattered a string of words so fast and garbled that Mark couldn't pick out. The oldster nodded.

"Marrck, rangar et hannu-nein." Kitch came forward as the old squirrel spoke and lifted up the bowl to him with a grin on his face. It was reassuring and expectant.

Mark stared at it for a moment and then back up at his friend with a nervous flick of his eyes. Kitch grinned and mimed putting the bowl to his lips and drinking before offering it back to Mark again. He took it with a bit of reservation and stared at the bowl. It was carved like the shape of a walnut, but only half of it. He could feel the wrinkled carvings against his fingers as he took the weight and nearly sloshed whatever liquid was in it over the edge. It almost looked like milk, but it was too watery to actually be milk. It didn't have a dairy smell to it either. He didn't know what it was, but Kitch continued to make motions like he should drink it.

He frowned a bit and glanced back to see the albino squirrel watching him with patient eyes. Was he supposed to drink it to show he wasn't here to harm anyone? What custom was it? He felt blind in a society that he did not understand. It was frustrating, but he didn't have any choice in the matter. They might get offended if he didn't drink it and he'd lose an ally like Kitch. With a sigh he lifted the bowl up to his lips and hesitantly tipped it back so that the liquid splashed his upper lip. It was warm, not cold at all.

He drew in a breath, prepared for the worst and took a slow sip of the stuff. He was half expecting it to be some bitter plant extract, but was pleasantly surprised to taste a warm sweetness spread along his tongue. It tingled slightly and almost tasted like vanilla. Kitch's paws touched his hands to help raise the bowl and he swallowed several mouthfuls of the stuff. It warmed his stomach and was almost as good as the sweetened milk his used to have as a kid. It certainly wasn't the foul brew he was expecting! When he tried to lower the bowl Kitch moved to take it away from him with a smile on his lips and his tail twitching back and forth. That was the last thing he saw before a cramp ripped through his stomach.

Mark cried out and stumbled forward. His stomach twisted in protest at what he'd drank while his mind was washed over with a wave of dizziness. He heard Kitch chattering something, but it sounded far away as his legs gave out and dropped to the ground. What had they given him? Was it some sort of poison? His stomach was rebelling violently against it while his head started to spin. The world around him roiled and bucked beneath him as if he were on a boat. He wanted to be sick, he was going to be sick. The pressure grew around him and weighed down on his head as he remained on all fours trembling slightly. Kitch's hand touched his back and suddenly the pressure reached a peak and his ears popped as if he had suddenly come down from a great height.

"...just breath, it will be over soon, Marrck." A voice was speaking softly as a furred paw rubbed against his back.

Mark lifted his head to stare at the red squirrel, "Kitch?"

"Marrck." Kitch's voice was warm and the paw stroked up against his back. "You are alright, you are safe. You are alright..."

The words echoed strangely in his ears. English, the squirrel was speaking English. He tried to hold onto that thought, but it was too late. Darkness rolled over him and he felt his arms going out from under him as it took hold. He heard Kitch from a distance calling for Teeka to come and check him. What had they given him to drink?