“Well, here it is, my birthday. At least I only have one a year. But do those kids notice? No! Not so much as a gill of grasshopper gas. Do they care what I feel, think, am? Not one pinch of pith pills! Right! The whole world would be better off without kids. So all I say is, keep kids to the rear, blow wind, and turn on the fan!”
With such thoughts and words churning in his mind, Ereth rushed on. Once, twice, he passed a rabbit, a squirrel, a vole, but when they saw the mood the porcupine was in they retreated quickly, not willing even to call a greeting. After all, the creatures of Dimwood Forest knew Erethizon Dorsatum quite well. Very few had any desire to interfere with him when he was in one of his bad moods—which was clearly the case that morning.
The old porcupine pressed on, his mind taken up by a careful composition of the things he hated, the insults he had endured, the slights he had suffered. The list was very long. The more he recalled, the grumpier he became, and the faster he hurried on.
It was an hour before Ereth allowed himself to pause. All his emotion and running had quite worn him out and made him ravenous. Spying a young pine tree, he scrambled over to it and began to peel away the outer bark, then chew on the green layer underneath.
“Good, good,” he babbled as he gobbled. “This is more like it.”
Suddenly he lifted his nose, sniffed, and frowned. “Squirrel-splat soup! The air has changed.”
It was true—the air was different. It had become crisp and had a deep, tangy smell. And now that Ereth thought about it, the days had been growing shorter, the nights longer. It was only a question of when the first snow would arrive.
“Seasons,” Ereth thought to himself. “Boiled bat butter! Just when you get used to one way, everything changes. Why can’t things ever stay the way they are? Phooey and fried salamander spit with a side order of rat ribbon. I hate change!”
More than ever, Ereth was convinced that he needed something to mark the day. But what? It had to be something special. Something just for him. Then, in a flash, he knew exactly what would please him most. Salt.
Just to think about salt turned Ereth’s longing into deep desire and dreamy drools. For Ereth, salt was the most delicious food in the whole world. He could shut his eyes and almost taste it. Oh, if only he had a chunk! A piece! Even a lick of salt would salvage the day. No, there was nothing he would not do for the smallest bit of it.
The old porcupine sighed. Since no one else was going to pay attention to him, he owed it to himself to find some birthday treat, and salt was the perfect thing. But where was he going to find any?
Though Ereth, with his great knowledge of Dimwood Forest, knew exactly where he was, finding salt was quite another matter. He considered New Farm, a place where some humans kept a whole block of salt in the middle of a lawn. Once, when the block had shattered and fallen to the ground, Ereth had gorged himself for days. Though truly fabulous, that salt was long gone. Moreover, when the humans replaced the block they put it at a height convenient for deer—not porcupines.
“Deer dainties!” Ereth snarled with contempt. “Why couldn’t they have put the salt out for me?”
So the question remained, Where could Ereth find salt?
Then Ereth remembered: on the far northern side of Dimwood Forest was a lake. Long Lake, the animals called it. On its shore humans had built a log cabin. Rather crudely constructed, it did not even sit on the earth, but on a platform a few feet off the ground. The cabin was used rarely, only when humans wanted to hunt or trap animals. Every year brought frightening stories of deer, fox, and rabbits, among others, being killed, hurt, or maimed by these humans. Hardly a wonder that the cabin—though more often than not deserted—was a place the animals of Dimwood Forest avoided. Just thinking about it made Ereth shudder. And yet . . .
As Ereth also knew, these humans often left traces of salt on the things they used. Sometimes it was nothing more than a smear of sweat on the handle of a tool, a canoe paddle, or an odd bit of clothing like a hatband. These objects were often stored in that space beneath the cabin.
Scanty though these tastings were, they were tempting enough for Ereth to venture to the log cabin now and again to satisfy his salt cravings. Once he had been rewarded by finding an almost full bag of salty potato chips. That was a day to remember.
Hardly a wonder then, that just the possibility of finding even a lick of salt stirred Ereth.
He looked around. Overhead loomed the great trees that kept the ground dim and gave the forest its name. Such sky as he could see was gray, while the sun itself seemed to have turned dull. White mist curled up from the earth’s murky nooks and crannies.
“It’s almost winter,” Ereth told himself. “This may be my last chance to get salt for a while. Besides,” he reminded himself yet again, “it’s my birthday. I deserve something special.”
Even so, the porcupine hesitated, all too aware of the risks involved. Fooling around with humans, especially if they were hunters or trappers, was risky.
“Bug bubble gum,” he swore. “What do I care if there are humans at the cabin? Nothing scares me.”
With that thought Ereth continued making his way in a northerly direction toward Long Lake, the cabin, and the salt.
CHAPTER 3
Marty the Fisher
AS ERETH RUSHED ON he passed beneath a particularly large oak tree. So quickly did he move by it, he had no notion that two dark eyes were looking down at
