The Familiar Road

He opened his eyes. Smack dab on the double yellow. The pavement was rough and cold. A fallen leaf lay atop his body. Standing, he shook off the leaf. The nearby trees were beautiful just a few days ago. Now? Nearly barren.

This was the third time he had died this week. It took a little bit out of him every time. When he was younger, he could die every day and be ready to do it again in hours. Now dying practically ruined him for the rest of the day.

Climbing to his paws, he shambled across the pavement. He reached the rocks. His head felt a bit wonky. A huge beast zoomed by, nearly hitting him. Resisting the urge to fall over dead again, he rushed into the long grass.

He’d die for a rotten apple or a few ticks. Another wave of dizziness swept over him just thinking about dying. Pausing, he lifted his nose and sniffed the air. The smell of the fallen leaves was a treat to his nose. There was something else. A fox was nearby. Keep going or climb a tree?

He was getting so close. Yesterday it was a dim tug. After a day’s travel, the demand that he push forward was almost too much to bear. Enough to risk a fox? A fox wouldn’t care if he were alive or dead. He would be a meal regardless.

The forest was dense here. There were leaves everywhere. A couple of trees had fallen nearby, close enough for a desperate dash. There was a maddening tug for him to continue straight ahead. He had become aware of another tug further on to the right of where he was heading.

He was quite good at directions. His mistress had been very patient with him and taught him left, right, north, south, east, and west. He had given up much of his natural abilities because of years with his mistress. His brothers and sisters would make this trek using their natural skills. Except. They wouldn’t be doing this. It wouldn’t be necessary. He needed to do it because he would be dead if he didn’t make it. The mistress could protect him even when she was miles away. Now she was gone. He needed another mistress.

He was so close. A hill lay in front of him. He moved tree to tree, brush to log. His heart was pounding. Each step brought a sharper scent of the fox. Just a little further. Safety may lie just ahead. If he could make it there. He reached the top of the hill.

Standing in a bush, he looked down into the field below. It looked like a building. He couldn’t make out much more. He desperately wanted to push forward. Just ignore his nose. Ignore the strong smell of fox. No. No. He needed to wait. He climbed a tree. Time to wait for nightfall. His vision was better when it was dark. Great even.

The moon hung low, bright and yellow. A small gray ramshackle cabin sat in a field. Smoke drifted from the chimney into the cool autumn sky.

He crept down the side of the old pecan tree. Each claw found a foothold in the bark. As quiet as a Tennessee whispering wind, he slipped down the trunk. One last look toward the cabin. There was a candle glowing in the window. Woodsmoke was smooth in his nose. He dropped the last few feet to the forest floor.

He crept through the thickets in the moonlight. Each step jostled leaves. A fragrant smell of fallen leaves wafted around him. It was always a wonder that others couldn’t smell his steps as he could. Pausing at the edge of the field, he stopped.

The door opened. A fox burst out on the front porch. Immediately, he dimmed himself as the fox paced on the front porch. His mistress cast upon him a reservoir of magic that protected him much like when she was alive. It hid him from many predators. Dimming would work against magical predators. Without the ability to dim himself, he would stand out like a bonfire to the fox and the witch who stood now at the door.

A normal predator would allow him to sip from the reservoir to dim himself. This was a magical predator. A deadly one with many gifts. This drained the reservoir like water flowing over Niagara Falls.

The fox scanned the field. The fox lifted his nose in the air. Moving back and forth, back and forth. The watcher dimmed himself a little more. His reserves were perilously low.

The fox leapt from the porch. He charged away from the watcher, stopping at the tree line opposite. He began a slow arc through the grass, never straight, never hurried. The slow trot brought him close, closer. He stopped so close that he was almost within tail’s reach.

The moonlight reflected off the fox’s silver fur. Peeling his lips back, a soft growl came forth. His teeth glinted. The opossum that his mistress called Roadkill sat in stone silence. Roadkill’s desire to find a new mistress had driven him right into the fox that he had caught scent of long ago.

Roadkill kept his breathing as normal as possible. The dimming helped keep him camouflaged. Even some heavy breathing could be hidden. There were limits. The rising panic in him pushed that limit. Roadkill pushed down his instinctive demand to die. This fox wouldn’t fall for it. Not for a single second. He would be at Roadkill’s throat in seconds.

Was it an evil witch? Was this fox the familiar to an evil mistress? Not sure. Some good witches were predators. The sheepdog amongst sheep. He didn’t want to test it. When the door wafted open, there was a smell of burnt herbs, iron, and decaying flesh, the smell of death-magic. Rare were the spells that sheepdog-type witches would use with that odor. Many were the spells that an evil witch would cast with that odor.

“Come!”. The command came from the silhouette at the door. After a moment's hesitation, the fox turned and ran toward the door. Abruptly, the fox stopped. His head turned, looking behind him. The fox’s eyes, for the first time, fell directly upon him. Ever so slowly, his entire body pivoted. Not once did his eyes slip away.

Roadkill’s mind raced. Where could he flee? This fox would run him down in an instant.

“COME!” A command so insistent that Roadkill almost obeyed the command. The fox instantly turned, running to the door without looking back. Roadkill took a deep breath, slowly fading into the tall grass.

Roadkill retreated to the opposite side of the hill. He paused just long enough to orient himself toward the only other potential safe haven. It was a dim feeling. It would be a long night. He may not have enough essence left to hide himself from normal predators. He waddled toward the pull.

The sun encroached upon the evening sky. He had shambled through forests, fields, and backyards. His magical reservoir was dry. Squandering things was apparently his specialty. The encounter with the fox drained him nearly dry.

The evening journey was a highlight reel of using his wits. He carefully skirted coyotes on the hunt. A great horned owl didn’t spot him as he carefully made his way to a nearby ravine, where he was able to sneak by undetected. His wits were the highlight, but his wits had reached their end. When walking through a backyard, a big dog charged him. He dimmed himself. That used up the last of his reservoir.

A little further. All night. A little further. His paws hit something hard. He took a few more….

MWAAAAAHHHH! The blast hit like a hundred thunderclaps. Wind slammed him flat, gravel biting his belly. Heart pounding, he took a quick inventory. Everything intact. He staggered to his feet, stumbling forward.

HONNNNKKK. SQUEEEEE. He stepped onto gravel as another beast thundered past the spot he was standing just a breath ago.

The beacon was tantalizingly close. Close enough that he was taking foolish chances. The beacon spell was another gift of the mistress. She had cast that and the reservoir spell to assist him on his journey. It lit the way to those who were adept. Humans whom he could serve and who could protect him. He was of amazing benefit and a good companion to the right human. The beacon was limited. It would expire eventually. He had to hurry.

He took a deep breath. No more hurry. Not now. He couldn’t see well right now. He was exhausted. He walked along the pavement, looking, looking. There. An abandoned human building. He would rest there. Maybe, until dark. His nose rose to the air, and he sniffed. A faint smell of deer and dog. Nothing present now. He shuffled under some boards. Underneath the building, it was dark and cool.

He woke. Exhaustion was a good sleeping potion. His head poked out. The sun was getting low in the sky. The sun would be setting soon.

Roadkill started his march. It was close now. He was fairly certain the human had seen him. After a brief glance, the human entered a building. Scurrying past the building, he found himself on the bank of a river. The beacon was across the river.

He looked down at the river. It was wide. Too wide? Not sure. He could swim. He was a pretty good swimmer. He waddled his butt to the left. He waddled his butt to the right. Allowing a full studied view of the river. There was a bridge to the left. Bridge or swim?

The water was low. The water gurgled lazily. Many moons had passed since he had swum. Let alone this far. He turned and started shambling toward the bridge. The walk to the bridge was mercifully uneventful. Relaxed even.

He scampered up to the bridge and peeked across. It was looooonggg. There was a human on it staring out across the river. The human had long hair. He was pretty sure that was a female trait. So close. The longer he waited, the more humans could appear. Off he went like a herd of turtles.

He had covered about three-quarters of the distance to her when she looked his way.

Her eyes got as wide as saucers. She screamed once, high and sharp, and bolted.

Roadkill had a moment of panic himself. What had she seen? Roadkill looked behind him, nothing. He sped up a little more. Panic rising in his throat. He didn’t want whatever she saw to catch him. He had closed the distance on the girl. They were nearing the end of the bridge. He was quite close now.

She looked back again. Shrieking impossibly high, “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD”, while finding another gear.

Maybe it was a giant black bear. He hadn’t seen it. But his vision wasn’t the best in this light.

He had almost caught up to her when they reached the end of the bridge. She turned right and ran downhill toward a human building. He ran forward and quickly hid behind a trash can. Roadkill crouched behind the trash can, catching his breath, watching the girl disappear.

He peeked out. Nothing. It must have turned off somewhere? Jumped off the bridge? He wasn’t certain. He was too close to have a bear eat him. He turned to the right. The beacon was just ahead.

The sun had nearly set. Roadkill decided to wait for darkness. He had barely completed the thought when, BZZZZZZ, and everything lit up. He hated that humans seemed to always have light around them. He inspected the route ahead.

He could be as swift and sneaky as a fox. He took a breath. Click, click, click, click. He scampered from door entry to a barrel, from barrel to a tree. He scurried on until he reached his destination. A large building with a large open platform out front. He could see chairs, a swing, a ceiling of blue, and, strangely, there were fans on the ceiling.

Roadkill was patient.Ensconced in this bush even an eagle wouldn’t find him. What would he do if this mistress were bad? How could he tell? The lights went out. He plopped down on the ground. Waiting.

Everything was illuminated by the dawn.

A man came outside. He sat on a chair and began rocking back and forth. He held a cup in his hand. The liquid in the cup gave off steam. He knew it was a man because he had a short beard. The man sipped his drink and stared off toward the rising sun.

This man was the magnetic pole that was drawing him here. What should he do?

Two humans walked by.

“Good morning, Joe, Susan. You are early today,” the man called out from his chair.

“We have an early appointment, Gabriel,” the woman replied.

“You guys are dedicated. You are welcome to a coffee. On the house.”, Gabriel offered.

“Maybe after our appointment,” and with that, they ran off.

Gabriel returned to his coffee.

Roadkill watched as a man left the building with boxes in his hands. A woman who appeared to be running from something stopped abruptly and started talking with the man called Gabriel.

Finally, Gabriel was once again alone.

Gabriel set down his coffee. “How long are you going to hide out there?”

Roadkill looked about.

“I see you. You fairly lit up the bush last night. That can only mean that your wizard or witch passed away, and it is just you. I’m done with my coffee. I have business at hand. You would appear to be the first”.

Roadkill took a deep breath, tentatively leaving his hiding spot. Somehow, Gabriel managed to look at him intently and reassuringly at the same time. Up the steps to within a foot of Gabriel. This man was clearly a wizard, calm and sure of himself.

Gabriel reached down and pulled at his collar. Gabriel started laughing. Roadkill couldn’t imagine why he was laughing.

“Well, Roadkill. It is a pleasure to meet you. I have a sense of what you can do. You seem… friendly. What you offer doesn’t mesh well with my skills.”

Roadkill almost wept.

“Ahhh… I can see you are disappointed. I have never seen an opossum cry, but you look like you could. I have never actually seen an opossum as a familiar. You must be quite remarkable.”

Roadkill turned to leave.

“Hold on, friend. I didn’t say I couldn’t help. I am friends with many. One friend keeps a shelter for familiars in your predicament. You aren’t the first, you know. Come with me. I may have something for you inside. Stay close. I don’t want you to frighten my guests.”

Roadkill followed him toward the lighted door. For the first time in weeks, dying didn’t seem so certain.