shrews, carried a spear made from a single needle. Now they climbed up on top of the rock, and while many of their enemies still hid in the shadows, the mice and voles strode up into the sunlight, their spears glinting like lightning.
It was an impressive army, Amber decided. For days now, every vole in the meadows had been coming to join her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, carnivores and other bloodthirsty critters,” Ben shouted, “I present to you the Great Wizardess of the Wood: Amber!”
Amber tried to still her shaking legs. Her heart pounded wildly. Drawing a deep breath, she scurried up the rock, taking little mouse leaps to get there.
She was so nervous that she slipped halfway up and fell to the ground.
Oh, I bet I look stupid, she thought.
Then she scrambled back up the rock, grabbing at lichen, pushing with her feet, trying to ignore the crowd.
From the crowd came a good deal of hooting, jeering, grumbling, and growling; the coyotes and raccoons were especially bad tempered. They eyed the mice, and Amber could tell what they were thinking: I’ll bet I can take those mice whether they’ve got spears or not.
Amber reached the top of the rock and raised her front paws for silence. A hush fell over the group.
She wanted to show them some magic spell, something impressive like what Lady Blackpool had done to the fleas, but she couldn’t think of anything. Besides, she wanted to save her powers, in case she needed them.
Ben had wandered around the woods, but Amber didn’t really know how much magic energy he had managed to store. She wouldn’t know, she realized, until she had to use it.
Amber got straight to the point. “Fellow creatures of the fields and forests,” Amber said. “I have invited all of you here for one reason, and one reason only: all of you have been known to eat mice.”
At this, there was an indignant cry from the caterpillars near the front row. “What do you mean? We don’t eat mice.”
In a mild tone, Amber peered down and said, “Yeah, but you’re creepy, especially you hairy ones. How do you get your hair to stand up like that? Some kind of gel? It’s frightening if you ask me.”
Some other caterpillars, the fat green grubs with blue, thorn-shaped growths on their tails, cried out, “But we don’t have any hair!”
“Yes,” Amber said in a patient tone, “but you’re ugly. I don’t mind a little fat, but green fat?”
“I may be a worm today,” one of the green caterpillars shouted, “but I’ll be a butterfly someday! You’ll look up, and you’ll be confounded by my beauty.”
“Oh, get real, you loser!” Amber said. “You’re nothing but a big, fat, green maggot.”
“Uh—” Ben whispered into Amber’s ear. “Caterpillars do turn into butterflies.”
Amber was so shocked that she nearly fainted. It wasn’t that she was stupid. It was just that she was young. There’s only so much that you can have learned at ten weeks of age. “Really? Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?”
Amber bowed her head and shook it. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she apologized. She continued. “In any case, I’ve come to give you all a warning. I’m taking over the world. And from now on, there’s a new law in the forests and meadows. It’s called, ‘Be nice to mice.’ That means no biting!”
The weasel near the front grumbled, and he blinked a few times as if he were about to have a mental breakdown. From among the coyotes, someone howled, “Come on, guys, let’s rush ’em. They can’t get us all!”
“Yeah,” a raccoon shouted. “Let’s rush ’em!” Suddenly, dozens of growling animals lunged at the mice.
Amber raised her paw and clenched her fists. The offending animals shot up into the sky like rockets, all aimed toward each other, and then crashed in a huge jumbled mess about twenty feet up in the air.
They fell back down with a thud, and lay in a tangled heap, dazed and groaning.
“I can too get you all,” Amber said.
It was an impressive army, Amber decided. For days now, every vole in the meadows had been coming to join her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, carnivores and other bloodthirsty critters,” Ben shouted, “I present to you the Great Wizardess of the Wood: Amber!”
Amber tried to still her shaking legs. Her heart pounded wildly. Drawing a deep breath, she scurried up the rock, taking little mouse leaps to get there.
She was so nervous that she slipped halfway up and fell to the ground.
Oh, I bet I look stupid, she thought.
Then she scrambled back up the rock, grabbing at lichen, pushing with her feet, trying to ignore the crowd.
From the crowd came a good deal of hooting, jeering, grumbling, and growling; the coyotes and raccoons were especially bad tempered. They eyed the mice, and Amber could tell what they were thinking: I’ll bet I can take those mice whether they’ve got spears or not.
Amber reached the top of the rock and raised her front paws for silence. A hush fell over the group.
She wanted to show them some magic spell, something impressive like what Lady Blackpool had done to the fleas, but she couldn’t think of anything. Besides, she wanted to save her powers, in case she needed them.
Ben had wandered around the woods, but Amber didn’t really know how much magic energy he had managed to store. She wouldn’t know, she realized, until she had to use it.
Amber got straight to the point. “Fellow creatures of the fields and forests,” Amber said. “I have invited all of you here for one reason, and one reason only: all of you have been known to eat mice.”
At this, there was an indignant cry from the caterpillars near the front row. “What do you mean? We don’t eat mice.”
In a mild tone, Amber peered down and said, “Yeah, but you’re creepy, especially you hairy ones. How do you get your hair to stand up like that? Some kind of gel? It’s frightening if you ask me.”
Some other caterpillars, the fat green grubs with blue, thorn-shaped growths on their tails, cried out, “But we don’t have any hair!”
“Yes,” Amber said in a patient tone, “but you’re ugly. I don’t mind a little fat, but green fat?”
“I may be a worm today,” one of the green caterpillars shouted, “but I’ll be a butterfly someday! You’ll look up, and you’ll be confounded by my beauty.”
“Oh, get real, you loser!” Amber said. “You’re nothing but a big, fat, green maggot.”
“Uh—” Ben whispered into Amber’s ear. “Caterpillars do turn into butterflies.”
Amber was so shocked that she nearly fainted. It wasn’t that she was stupid. It was just that she was young. There’s only so much that you can have learned at ten weeks of age. “Really? Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?”
Amber bowed her head and shook it. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she apologized. She continued. “In any case, I’ve come to give you all a warning. I’m taking over the world. And from now on, there’s a new law in the forests and meadows. It’s called, ‘Be nice to mice.’ That means no biting!”
The weasel near the front grumbled, and he blinked a few times as if he were about to have a mental breakdown. From among the coyotes, someone howled, “Come on, guys, let’s rush ’em. They can’t get us all!”
“Yeah,” a raccoon shouted. “Let’s rush ’em!” Suddenly, dozens of growling animals lunged at the mice.
Amber raised her paw and clenched her fists. The offending animals shot up into the sky like rockets, all aimed toward each other, and then crashed in a huge jumbled mess about twenty feet up in the air.
They fell back down with a thud, and lay in a tangled heap, dazed and groaning.
“I can too get you all,” Amber said.
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