A swift wind blew through the cold pine forests on a tall mountain. Most of the mountain’s inhabitants had left, south for warmth and sun. However, one beast remained. A small squirrel, only six or seven seasons old, huddled in a small dugout in a cavity of an oak tree. His bushy tail wrapped around him like a vine. Every now and then, a small head would peek over his legs, and you would see flashing golden eyes, full of a fire that made you feel brave. This was Riltalear, the squirrel with no past.
Rilt, as he called himself, could stand this forest no longer. The pine trees were bare with the wind and cold, and the sun shone on the plains below, near the ocean. A lingering memory of a soft pair of arms gently holding him, near the sea, urged him to visit the ocean. The squirrel loitered for a few moments, then sprung out of the oak tree. Rilt rummaged through a pile of clothing in the dugout, and pulled out an old, tattered cloak. Quickly putting it on, he climbed the tree, to the fifth branch up. There, there was a cunningly made wooden door, covered with bark. He pulled it open, and inside was a small sword and shield, with strange markings on it. Rilt had always supposed this was his name in a different language. He silently closed the small door and climbed down the tree.
Rilt strode to the edge of a small cliff, and raised his nose into the air. Catching a whiff of salt and water, he took off down the mountain.
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“Hold that tiller steady, you clumsy oaf!”
A distressed rat adjusted his hold on the wooden handle, and yelled “Aye, aye, Admir’l Casorn!”
A tall ferret, Casorn, strode over to the rat, Meij. “Ah, just git yore hide off’ns the deck, you slobberchops!” The rat murmured something and slowly stood up.
A deep bass voice called “Ya heard yore Admiral, now git yore sorry hide offa this deck, Meij!”
There was a change in the rat’s behavior, it was no longer nagging, but was quick to respond. The rat leapt up and ran down the cabins.
“You, Fawpak, you’d better do a better job than yore matey here! Git over here and watch the tiller!”
Fawpak, another rat, bowed and said, “O’ course, yore Majesty, King Cammaje!”
Cammaje, a tall, stocky pine marten, towered over all his beasts, ferrets and weasels as admirals, and rats and foxes as soldiers. His dark brown fur glistened in the sun. His fleet, the Mangabey Fleet, had sailed the seas for close to a month now. The crew was getting restless, and the soldiers rebellious. According to his navigators, they were off the maps. The Eastern lands were gone, and they were past the point of return. He thoughts, though, were interrupted by a fox’s cry from the crow’s nest.
“Land ho!” the fox on duty shouted.
Cammaje dashed to the ropes and pulled himself up to the nest. He saw it, to the south west. “Change course! West by southwest!” he bellowed. Fawpak scrambled to change the tiller’s course.
Cammaje turned back to the land sighted. Already, it was getting larger. It was a rolling plain, and on either side, the land elevated, then disappeared. In a few minutes, he could make out a mountain in the background, and cliffs near the shore. He smiled inwardly.
In a few days, they were near enough to shore that Cammaje could make out a cove, surrounded by cliffs. Inland, there was a tall hill, surrounded by gently sloping grassland, which gave away to forest. Relieved that he was finally landing, Cammaje went to sleep in his cabin.
The next morning, he awoke to his anchor dropping, and voices calling for longboats to be lowered. The pine marten dashed up to the deck, and oversaw the boats. His fleet was lined up along the coast, and boats were being lowered. The two admirals stationed on each boat were overseeing the fleet go to shore. Cammaje waited for the last boat, then leapt on and paddled with the rest of the rats and foxes.
The horde lined up on shore. The rats and foxes were grouped in sections of twoscore each, led by their admirals. Cammaje stood on an overturn boat, looking over the entire horde. “You are the Mangabeys! We conquer all!”
“We are the Mangabeys! Find, fight, conquer!”
A small squirrel went unnoticed. His name was Rilt.
