Grandmother’s Story, Part 2: Of Caverns and Burrows

“Baranthet, don’t forget to bring Lin inside! Skywatcher says it’ll storm tonight.”

The boy looked up from his book and out the door, to where Lin was busy munching on some leaves, a reward for a hard day’s work pulling Grandmother’s wagon to and from the market. Lin was gentle enough, but Baranthet never liked being too close to the old protoceratops—he was worried she’d nip him with that sharp beak of hers—and so he usually tried to get out of feeding her or giving her baths. Plus, she never listened to him.

“Lin! Time to come inside!”

Crunch crunch crunch. Lin seemed altogether more interested in her leaves than in listening to a young bookworm, and honestly, who could blame her.

“Lin!”

The second attempt went predictably.

“...Lin?”

He was just embarrassing himself, now. But he had an idea. He dashed back inside to his cupboard, rummaging about until he found a small wooden whistle with “#11” scratched into the side. There were still some splinters where he needed to sand it down, but it should work. He went to the door and blew the whistle, and though no sound came out, Lin looked up from her trough. Baranthet made a note—#12 would have to be a little bit bigger—before trying again. Success! The old protoceratops ambled to the door, Baranthet nervously giving her a wide berth as she entered.

No sooner were Baranthet and Lin inside than fat raindrops began to plink against the roof and splash in the pond nearby. Grandmother was already ambling around the tiny house and closing the windows. “On a day like this, I think a story would be best,” she said with a knowing smile. Baranthet sat on the cushions and drew a blanket over his knees.

Art by Mayra Luna

“Once, epochs and days ago, there was a snake who lived in a cave. There are many kinds of snakes—biting snakes and hissing snakes and squeezing snakes—but he was a singing snake, or so he would’ve been, if only he could sing. While every other snake in the cave sung every morning, their voices bouncing off the cavern walls in the most beautiful harmonies and shaking the cave’s crystals until they glowed to light up the cavern for the day, this snake stayed silent, embarrassed about his terrible voice.”

Baranthet squirmed under the blanket, thinking of how he usually mouthed the words when it was time for music lessons at school and hoped nobody noticed, not even the one teacher who always seemed to be able to tell when you snuck a handful of candied peanuts in between classes.

“The silent snake never joined his brothers and sisters in the morning, but it’s not as if he minded all that much. There were so many other things to do in the cave that he enjoyed, like heating himself on the rocks that were always warm from the earth’s heartbeat. But he did feel, sometimes, like he was missing something.

“The days went by like this, the silent snake always not-quite-all-the-way happy, until one day, the Warden of Caverns and Burrows came. It was a very big day for all the animals in the cave, not the least of all because the warden was very big, and it was decided that the singing snakes would welcome her with a song (she was a wonderful singer). All the snakes were very happy at this great honor, except for the silent snake.”

Baranthet squirmed even more under the blanket.

“All the snakes lined up, even the silent snake, and as they all began to sing, it became very clear that the silent snake was the only one not joining in. He felt terribly out of place, but the warden saw him and had an idea. She began to dance along to the song! And although it was known far and wide that the Warden of Caverns and Burrows was a wonderful singer—” here Grandmother winked at Baranthet, “—she was a terrible dancer. Terrible.

“The animals in the cavern weren’t sure what to do, for nobody wanted to tell THE warden how bad she was. But still, the warden danced on, for it is the duty of a warden to inspire the creatures under their charge and help them be the best they can be. The silent snake laughed, and the laugh shook his body from his head down to his tail. And as it did, he realized something: his tail made a sound when he shook it! His heart soared, and he shook his tail and shook it, adding beats and rhythms to the snakes’ song for the first time ever, pushing it to new heights! The rattling snake—for that was now what he was—had a place in the cavern’s song all his own now, and never left himself out again.

“And ever since that day, after every Migration, the Warden of Caverns and Burrows has always been one who lives wild and free, following their heart and inspiring their wards to do the same. Remember, Baranthet, that the animals of nature are free to do as their instincts please, and that freedom must always be honored.”

Baranthet looked to his side, where Lin was snoring, and gave her a tentative scratch. He noticed she had a bit of mud behind her frill, and he thought he should give her a bath in the morning. “It seems like it’s going to rain all night, Grandmother, so maybe you could tell me about the next…”

But Grandmother was somehow already in the kitchen, stirring the stew for dinner.

“That, my little explorer, is a story for another day.”

About The Author

Grandmother

For the first chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.

For the next chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here