Rooch and the Branch Drummer — Every day, before the sun warmed the stone cliffs, Rooch climbed to the same fork of the gum tree and nibbled the crispest dawn leaves. Read the full story →
Every day, before the sun warmed the stone cliffs, Rooch climbed to the same fork of the gum tree and nibbled the crispest dawn leaves. The air smelled sharp and minty, and the bark felt cool under his claws. He never went past the bent branch that creaked over the open drop. Until one morning, a huge green cicada burst from the leaves, rattling like a tiny tin drum. “Smoke is climbing!” it buzzed. “Tell the bellbirds!”
Because of that, Rooch leaned beyond his safe fork and saw a gray thread rising from the far dry grass. Because of that, he had to reach the outer leaves, where the bellbirds nested and the wind shoved hard enough to flatten his whiskers. His paws squeezed the branch. Crackle, swish, rattle—the cicada drummed beside his ear. Rooch did not feel brave; he felt small, furry, and very awake. Still, he crawled forward one claw at a time and called, “Smoke!”
At last the bellbirds burst upward, ringing their bright notes across the escarpment until the ranger below looked up and ran for help. Rooch backed into his leafy fork, nose twitching in the minty air. If you spot his paw gripping the branch, you’ll know exactly where his first brave step began.
