Chapter 2
Fred was a snake, green and long who traveled like a moving letter ‘S’ George was a turtle, covered in a beautiful protective shell. George was slow of movement and thought, while Fred was clever but not wise.
So it was that a raven traveled through their forest, collecting bits of twig and twine and bangles and jangles trailing and secreting them away in places only he knew. He was a collector, and often he would trade what he had for the new, exciting and different. Sometimes, he offered bright coins for what he had not. George chewed his precious grass, and meandered among the wide spaces between the forest trees. Every so often he would lift his head at the sound of the raven wings, and gaze at the black bird’s flight above even the tallest tree.
Fred’s eyes were captured by the bright coins. He had food, yes. His hollow, where he curled up at night was safe. But the coins drew him. He observed how the raven would offer them for what he did not have. It made Fred feel that there must also be something he did not have. Perhaps, if he had a coin, an entire world of glittery shiny somethings would be available to him. But only if he could just have coins to trade for them.
So one sunny day, full of the smells of spring and the sun which called the flowers to grow, he decided to bring up the topic of coins with the raven.
“Mr. Raven, sir, how do you do?” Fred offered, cautiously.
“Quite well, sir. The light glistens on the tips of the grasses and sparkles on the creek’s current. It makes me feel sure that the world is full of treasures to find.” The raven shifted its wings and turned its glossy black eye on Fred. “Don’t you find this to be true?”
Fred didn’t know how to respond exactly, so he plunged on, “I see that you have quite the collection of shiny bits and bangles. It seems to be a hobby of yours.”
“Yes...yes, it is. I bring them out, shine them up, admire how light reflects on them, and then tuck them away.”
Fred continued, “But there is one type that is different. Most seem so admired. But this other type--well, you dispense with them so freely, even though, to my untrained eye, they are just as golden and shiny as the rest.”
Raven favored his other foot and seemed to inspect his wing. “Ah, you have seen the coins. My friend, these are the tokens of my esteem, for I only trade them with other--shall we call them collectors?--who have found the exceedingly rare item.”
Fred’s red tongue flickered in and out for several seconds, as he thought, because he really wanted the coins but did not know what would be valuable enough to earn the Raven’s coin. Finally, he ventured, “Have you seen anything here, in this corner of our woods, that is sufficiently rare to attract your attention? I could help you, for I know this land well, and perhaps we could arrange a deal.”
If ravens could smile, this would have been the time. Instead, he took his time and swiveled his majestic black head so that his eyes could take in all around him, as if looking for such an item. But in truth, he already knew what wanted. So it was that his gaze fell upon the slow moving form of George, basking in the warmth of the sun on a rock near the edge of the creek.
“Ah, yes. I have heard that the inner side of the shell of a turtle, if properly polished, shines in a rainbow of colors. But I have not been able to add such a shell to my collection, for the dear turtles seem decidedly attached to them, if you take my meaning. Why, such a shell would be worth more than a single coin--maybe as much as two or, I dare say, even three.” With his beak, Mr. Raven extracted such a coin from the depths of his features and the sight of it filled Fred’s visions. It took a few moments for him to recover.
Now Fred had never been able to determine why George needed his shell. Certainly many other animals seemed to get along just fine without the shell. And it seemed to him that much of George’s frustrating slowness of movement was due to his having to carry such a cumbersome item on his back all the time. So it seemed to Fred that he would be doing George a service by separating him from the shell. Oh, and he would get the raven’s coin too!
Slithering over to where George basked, he went straight to the point, “George, would you like to fly?”
“Fly?” George answered slowly, his head coming up so that his eyes could see the fine form of Fred fidgeting on the short. “Fly?” he repeated.
“Yes, George, fly. Have you never wanted to soar through the air? LIke a bird?”
After what seemed forever, George’s face lit up with wide eyes, “Yes, Fred. I want to fly!”
“Good, good. You just leave everything to me. Do what I say and you will be the world’s first flying turtle!”
It took the rest of that day for Fred to convince the beaver at the pond (for the price of one fish) to lend him a sturdy branch and position it on rock at a angle. Then he went in search of George.
“George!”
George was downstream a bit, just exiting from the gentle current of a wide place in the creek. He lifted his head slowly, looking around in an arc. “Fred?”
“George, would you like to fly?”
“Oh, yes, Fred. I would love to fly. Up in the sky!”
“Come with me. I can help you fly. The beaver helped me set something up for you.”
So George trundled after Fred, upstream to where one end of the log rested against the ground.
“You just climb up here on the log. Then, you should give me a few minutes, but you will certainly fly.”
George climbed slowly up the log. He was no stranger to logs, since turtles often rest on sunny branches and logs in the creek when they want a bit of warmth. Soon he was ready, and called out Fred’s name.
In the meantime, Fred had climbed up to the other end of the log. “Ok, George, here we go!” And he looped his tale around the log and dropped. But he had badly underestimated the amount of weight it would need to make his impromptu teeter-totter to work. Eventually he convinced the beaver to return and slap his tail against the log and George was flung into the air.
As the beaver slapped the log, the one end of the log jerked down and the other end, where George sat shot into the air, pushing George himself up in a wonderful arc. “WHEEEEEEE!” he shouted in pure joy.
Fred slithered after him, hoping that the impact would jar loose George’s shell from his back. But when he got to the place where George should have come down, a rocky beach along the creek bed, nothing happened. Fred scanned the sky, dumbfounded.
But there was Mr. Raven, cawing in laughter. In his claws was George. “Foolish little snake. Why give you coin when I can take this turtle for myself.”
“No! George! No.” George himself was unaware of what was being said, he was still so enchanted with flying. “I CAN SEE FOREVER!”
“Mr. Raven, you are a cheat. You take what is not yours.” But Mr. Raven ignored him and continued to circle Fred and taunt him, sometimes dipping down to come almost within his reach and other times climbing up near the tips of the pepperwood trees.
Fred scrambled back up the shore to where the log rested. Promising yet another fish, Mr. Beaver maneuvered the log back in position and Fred put a rock on the other end. At just the right time he shouted “Now!” and Mr. Beaver slapped his broad flat tail against the log, shooting the rock into the air. Mr. Raven squawked in surprise as the rock tagged him from behind, and he let George fall.
“I’M FLOATING!” George shouted (as loud as turtles can shout, which is really not very loud), “I’M SO HAPPY…..glub.” That last sound was what he said as he hit the water. But a few minutes later he popped his head above water and made his way to shore.
Later, as he sat munching grass and meticulously tucking each leg within his shell, he turned to Fred, “Fred?”
“Yes, George.”
“Thank you for the best day ever.”
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