Bad Bone Bound for Glory
The descent from the Desperate Ridges took Bad Bone longer than he expected. He arrived at his home village just as the festivities of Clear Water’s Day were drawing to a close. Conducting the group of furred creatures on the difficult route had been slow going. He was shocked to see how much the creatures he led had been degraded by their experience with the Jays. What had once been some of the foremost climbers and adventurers of the Hedgelands were now a bedraggled band of ‘scramblers and shriekers’ as Bad Bone saw them, scarcely able to move without fear.
He had to constantly shout encouragement to one or another that had suddenly frozen up with fright. “Come on, my stout hearts! There’s Salamander Nuggets and Squint Buns a-waiting! There’s dancin’ and hollerin’ in the streets! Frog’s Belch Ale for all if we make it back before Clear Water’s Day is over!” Little by little, the tiny band made its way down.
Leading the ragged band into the village square, Bad Bone did not expect much of a reception. For him, it was simply another mission completed successfully. But for the families of the furred creatures he had rescued, he was a hero.
Grateful families of the long-lost creatures flocked to meet the new arrivals. Joyful mothers, fathers, siblings and neighbors raised their tankards and mugs to celebrate the return of their loved ones. Surrounded by good company and as happy as could be, Bad Bone abandoned himself to enjoying the fun. Not sparing the Salamander Nuggets and Frog’s Belch Ale, he was especially touched when a wee little Lynx, happy to have her older brother returned, offered him her Squint Bun. Bad Bone was very happy.
The festivities went on and on, ever more raucous and spirited. One creature after another offered a toast to Bad Bone’s health in honor of a rescued loved-one. Frog’s Belch Ale flowed faster and faster. “Here’s to Bad Bone, liberator of my own dear Thudwit!” a Fox yelled, raising his mug high. “And here’s another for Smidtoker, my long-lost son!” an Otter cried. “Hurrah for Bad Bone!”
Wild singing broke out, with the entire crowd wailing half-tangled verses of a ballad they made up:
Ho-ho, have you heard the news, me Hedgie?
Bad Bone is bound for glory,
Ho-ho, hug him and rock him and bowl him over,
Bad Bone is bound for glory,
Ho-ho, one more day and the High One’s a-callin’
Bad Bone will be a glory story, glory story—
Bad Bone will be a glory story.
Completely lost in the frenzied celebration, Bad Bone was taken with the sloshing of ale, until something distracted his attention for a moment.
He glimpsed a familiar Wood Cow and her father passing down a side alley just to his left.
“Helga!” Bad Bone shouted after the old friend who had once made him his fine wooden longbow. “Helga! Wait!”
“Hush, old scout!” a Goat standing near Bad Bone muttered, emphasizing the comment with a sharp jab in Bad Bone’s ribs. “You don’t dare acknowledge the expelled ones.”
Until that moment, Bad Bone had not known the content of the proclamation scrolls he carried to the Messenger Jays for delivery. The High One’s decree was known only to the Keepers of the Light until it was made public on Clear Water’s Day. Bad Bone had not returned in time to hear it read.
“The Wood Cows expelled?” Bad Bone asked the Goat. “How can this be? What have they done? Surely the foolishness of one Wood Cow does not condemn the rest to suffer?”
“Old scout,” the Goat replied in a hoarse whisper, “you dare not raise such questions too loudly. It’s dangerous. Let it be good enough to be a hero for rescuing these beasts from the Jays. Let the rest of it be as it will!” The Goat’s harsh look made Bad Bone grow quiet.
The sudden feelings of shame and sorrow he felt were lost on the Goat and the rest of the happy revelers. Bad Bone, however, no longer joined in the joyful partying with the same gusto as before. His horror at having participated so significantly in a deep wrong against his old friend could not be easily shaken off. Feeling small and weak, as if his great strength was ebbing away, Bad Bone walked slowly away from the revelry, wanting to pour out his tears in private.