The Squirrel

Link to article: The Squirrel.

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Worship keeps a god alive. His joints may creak and his bones may ache, but he was alive as long as someone kept him alive.
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+ The Squirrel
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Ratatoskr had always believed that with age came wisdom. Now, with his snout painted white, he knew better. With age came little more than joint pain and a deep-seated desire to nap. His days of scampering up and down the Tree delivering messages to the divine had long passed. Those who were still alive no longer had need of him, and his old joints would never allow him to make such a trip.

So he had settled into a new routine. He would rise every morning with aching bones and scamper down the tree he called home. It was no Yggdrasil, no. It was but a humble oak, perhaps even less impressive than those around it. Still, that made it gentler on his exhausted body for the times where he did have to climb and descend it. Following his descent, he would walk towards the altar where his final acolytes would offer him worship in the form of a single peanut, which he would gleefully claim before scampering off somewhere to enjoy.

Worship keeps a god alive. His joints may creak and his bones may ache, but he was alive as long as someone kept him alive. He no longer had the recognition he once held. The whispering in his ears from those praying to him or offering him praise had vanished over the years. Still, the two aged men who offered him his daily peanut were his worshippers, and he their patron. He had claimed them as such.

Today, much as any other day, Ratatoskr claimed his tribute and scampered off. Just as he was able to shell his worship and drink deeply of it, he felt something strange. A indescribable feeling within him, almost like a static burning. He shook himself, scratching a paw over his ear, and did his best to set the strange sensation aside as he consumed his prize. Once his belly had been filled, he found that the sensation had vanished. He stretched, and with tired eyes he returned to his tree.

------

The joy of a daily routine is that it breeds familiarity. He knew that many gods grew disillusioned with this, the endless mundanity of repetition, but for one such as him who had never held a large cult to begin with, it was comforting. He knew his acolytes would always be there, and he knew he'd always walk away with tribute.

So he arrived at the altar as always. He would smile, if he could, as one aged man wrapped an arm around the other. It was charming, the affections mortals showed one another. Still, he was here for a reason. He held his arms out, watching as the men smiled and chuckled at one another, and received his peanut.

Scampering off once more, he was overcome with the odd sensation once more. It was more defined this time-- a burning deep within his soul. He doubled over, overcome with sudden pain. Gripping his head he cursed in a silent voice to no one in particular. How dare these sensations interrupt his feasting! This was a very important part of his day! Didn't these disquieting sensations know who he was? He was...!

...He realized that no name was coming to him. He searched his mind desperately, pouring through what years worth of memories had remained, only to be met with silence. Name? Name? What was it...? He felt his body heave and shudder as he clawed at something that no longer existed.

Eventually he shook the empty sensation away. No matter. He still had tribute. Shelling his peanut, he filled his stomach once more, and the emptiness was gone. He didn't need a name, anyway. He still had worshippers, that was more than many others could say after all.

------

The next day, he only found one of his worshippers at the altar. There was a profound heaviness in the air about him, the man's eyes red and tired. Still, a sparkle returned to them when he saw the squirrel arrive as expected. He could see the man's mouth moving, speaking... something. He couldn't understand. Virus? Hospital? The man seemed upset, and the squirrel remained to listen as best as he could. A god must listen to the woes of his worshippers. What kind of god would he be if he didn't? He had always been good at listening, after all.

As always, his listening was rewarded with fresh tribute. Today's offering was especially high quality, the shell covered in a dusting of salt. A truly rare prize indeed! Greedily, he scampered off to enjoy his treat, but stopped right before he began the process of shelling it. He waited, expecting the sudden pain to overtake him once more. Eventually he did feel something, but instead of the same soul-shattering pain he had felt prior, it was little more than a slight burning on the back of his hand. He looked down, and saw a small patch of flesh begin to fizzle.

There were many things he knew he should have felt then. He should've felt afraid, he should've felt agony, he should've been overtaken with dread. Instead he felt... peace. This was going to happen eventually, he had known this since his youth. He was blessed after all, to have lasted as long as he had at all. In the moment, his mind went to his worshippers. Would they miss him? Would they notice he was gone? Certainly he was as much a part of their routine as they were his. Would they keep him alive in memory?

Many questions danced in his head as he savored his peanut. Despite everything, it still filled his belly and soul.

------

The squirrel had always been a creature of habit. It knew where to go for food, it knew what to do to get it. Every day it arrived at the same bench, expecting the same two gentlemen who would cast a smile and a peanut its way, and then it would scamper off. Today confirmed the routine had changed, however. Once again only one man was at the bench to meet it. The squirrel in all its acuity could tell something was wrong. His eyes were dark and red, and tears flowed down his cheeks as he sat slumped over on the bench.

The squirrel knew that it should simply leave and search elsewhere, but something inside of it told it to comfort the man. It felt kinship to him. So the squirrel edged over to the man, and with creaking joints it climbed onto the bench and sat beside him. The man seemed shocked at first, and then a slight sparkle returned to his melancholy eyes. He chuckled, and handed a peanut out to the squirrel. The squirrel, in turn, took this gift.

This time, however, it stayed. Shelling the nut, it sat and enjoyed its treat next to the man. The man, in turn, watched the squirrel enjoy the gift. It was a small thing, but it was enough to take the man's mind off of his troubles. Hesitantly, the man reached a hand out to the squirrel. The squirrel eyed this motion with caution, but eventually set a tiny paw into the man's hand.

The two sat for but a moment, listening to the world around them in quiet contemplation.

Eventually the nut was finished. The squirrel looked to the man one final time. It knew the man was important to it. It didn't remember why or how, but it knew that much. It nuzzled the man's hand, then scampered off. The man waved goodbye to the strange creature one final time.

On its way home the squirrel collapsed to the ground. Looking down it watched as its paw continued to fizzle and slowly fade away. This continued with its legs, its body slowly fading away piece by piece.

And it would smile if it could. It was ready. As its head faded away, it cast one final thought to the men who had been so kind to it until the end. The two who had noticed it and honored it until it was gone.

It would be okay. It had been a good life.

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The Squirrel

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