Shrew’s Transformation

Shrew’s Transformation 1

Long ago, when time was still young, rats and shrews were kin. They shared the same soft, rounded snouts, eyes bright and curious, and a scent of the earth itself clung to their fur. Their days passed in harmony, for the land was generous and every heart was content.

Then came the Great Famine—a skeletal hand that stretched across the land, stripping fields bare, thinning streams to trickles, and turning fertile ground to dust. Hunger gnawed at every belly. In this hour of trial, two champions arose: Akpanekpu, a rat known for cunning and tireless energy, and Pofu, a shrew of unmatched industry and daring. The tribe chose them to venture beyond the safety of their home in search of food where none seemed to remain.

With grim resolve, the pair first crept into the royal cottage, slipping like shadows through the cavernous kitchen of the king. There they gathered what scraps they could and returned under cover of night, their small sacks a fragile hope for the starving tribe.

But scarcely had they delivered their burden when new whispers stirred: a great ship, heavy with food, had docked at the Babbling Brook, dangerously near the dreaded Witches Creek. Rains had drowned the road in mud so deep even the king’s carriage could not pass. The royal workers, helpless against the flood, had dragged the precious crates of food to the creek’s edge.

The tribe’s chiefs forbade any venture near that cursed place. “The Witches Creek devours the reckless,” warned Chief Ahmed, newly raised to leadership. “And their tavern and cabin must never be entered. No good comes of dealings with witches.”

But Akpanekpu stood tall, his eyes fierce. “We cannot starve while food lies within reach. Pofu and I are the tribe’s finest scouts. We will go, take what we can, and return before dawn.”

After a long silence, Ahmed sighed. “So be it. But tread with care. Let Mkpudikpu, spirit of old, shield you from harm.”

That very night the scouts bound themselves in woven raincoats stiff with mud, laced their heavy boots, and slipped into the storm. The path led them at last to a makeshift barn where the king’s supplies lay stacked. The air was thick with the perfume of food, a cruel temptation.

“Take the left,” whispered Akpanekpu. “I’ll take the right.”

Pofu crept aside, nose quivering. The scents rushed upon him in a dizzying flood—the smoky savor of cheeseburger, the sweetness of peanut pie, the warm, nutty crispness of roasted almonds. These were not the humble smells of roots and grains he knew. This was something otherworldly, something that would change him forever…

To be continued...