“He’s mean enough to fight,” offered Tinderbug, “but he always hides behind others to do his dirty work. The thought of Scratchclaw winning gives me the willies. I hope Hustlefoot wins tomorrow.”

  “Of course you do,” said Puff, “You’re a brown squirrel. He’s your champion. And I hope Sir Pattercloud beats him when they fight for the championship…just like last year.”

  4

  Council

  The lower limbs of the Great Tree were jam-packed with gray squirrels of all shapes and sizes and ages. They included fat squirrels, skinny squirrels, old ones, and young ones. At the center of all was Sir Pattercloud, who stood next to Crinklehat. Sir Pattercloud lifted his left paw, trying to quiet Clan Gray’s loud chittering.

  “Quiet! Quiet please. The meeting will now come to order,” said the Knight Captain in a commanding tone. The chittering fell off but didn’t stop. Puff, sitting off to the side, cringed because he knew what was coming next. Sir Pattercloud had two main moods, alternating between kindness and strict order. Luckily, he was almost always kind to Puff, who could feel the next line coming before he heard it.

  “Listen here, you rabble of nut-chasing crazies, if you don’t calm down I will personally ferret out all your secret acorn stashes and eat them myself!” Some squirrels gasped. Everyone went silent. Sir Pattercloud cleared his throat.

  “Good. Now that I have your attention, I’d like to give the floor to the honorable Crinklehat, Clan Gray elder and head of the Council of Squirrels.”

  Crinklehat, leaning on his twigstaff, hobbled forward. The elderly squirrel had a completely white chin and a single whisker that was bent in the middle, humorously pointing straight up.

  “Hello to the assembled of the great Clan Gray. We are here on the eve of the Tournament of Oaks, where the rulership of the squirrel clans shall be determined. As you know, for the longest while, Clan Gray has won the tournament. But nothing is guaranteed in life, so once again Sir Pattercloud will be representing the Grays as their champion.

  “As tradition dictates, the lower two clans will battle first. The winner of the fight between Clan Brown and Clan Black will then challenge Clan Gray. As in all tournaments, quarter will be given1 when asked for as honor and tradition call for.

  Puff tapped Sir Pattercloud on the arm to get his attention.

  “What does quarter mean?”

  The knight leaned closer to Puff. “It means that you can stop the fight if you feel you’ve been beaten.”

  Puff nodded his head in understanding as Crinklehat continued.

  “I will now field any questions from the clan. If there are none, I shall see you all at the gathering place on the ‘morrow. When the sun meets the horizon, the champions of Clan Brown and Clan Black will battle.”

  There was a dull murmur amongst the assembled squirrels. Puff looked around. No one seemed to be asking any questions, but he had one.

  “Excuse me,” said Puff, but no one seemed to hear him over the din of squirrel conversation.

  “I have a question,” Puff said as loudly as he could, immediately regretting his decision, as all eyes moved to him and the entirety of Clan Gray seemed to go mute at once. Crinklehat turned slowly to face Puff.

  “Yes Puff, Squire to the Knight Captain. Ask your question.”

  Puff swallowed hard. He could feel everyone’s attention on him.

  “So,” he started, summoning up the courage to continue, “I don’t trust Clan Black. What would happen if honor weren’t upheld? If a champion didn’t follow tradition?”

  Crinklehat began laughing. At first it was a silent chuckle. Then it got louder and louder, and soon all the squirrels of Clan Gray had joined in the laughter. All except Sir Pattercloud, who remained stone faced.

  “My child,” responded the elder squirrel, “honor and tradition are what hold the clans together. Without those things, it would all fall apart.”

  Squirrels continued to laugh. Puff’s cheeks burned, both from embarrassment and anger. His whiskers and ears pulled back, revealing his emotions. Puff wanted to yell and hide at the same time, wishing to be anywhere but here right now. He could feel tears forming, but he fought them back. Instead, Puff shrunk back into himself, hoping all would soon forget his question.

  Eventually, the laughter subsided. There were no further questions for Crinklehat, so he adjourned the gathering. Members of Clan Gray scurried away in all directions, probably in a quest for more acorns. Puff felt a paw on his shoulder. He looked up.

  “Squire Puff.”

  It was Sir Pattercloud.

  “You asked a very important question.”

  It seemed Sir Pattercloud was in one of his benevolent2 moods again.

  “Whether others can see the importance of your inquiry is another topic entirely.”

  “But what about Clan Black?” Puff blurted out, upset. “What does their leader care about tradition? He doesn’t respect anything!”

  Sir Pattercloud squeezed Puff’s shoulder reassuringly.

  “Clan Gray has won the Tournament of Oaks for as long as I can remember, and more times than any other clan. As long as I’m Knight Captain, you won’t need to worry.”

  Puff secretly hoped Sir Pattercloud was right, but he had seen up close what the Blacks could do. What they had done to other squirrels, like ones who were unsuccessful in trying to sneak cherries from their territory. Despite the Knight Captain’s assurances, Puff had his doubts. He had ventured into Clan Black territory enough to know they didn’t operate the same as the other clans.

  5

  Tournament

  The tinny sound of miniature trumpets filled the air, marking the beginning of the Tournament of Oaks. As tradition dictated, it was held at dusk in a corner of the park that was mostly hidden from prying eyes, except for the occasional chipmunk, like Nibs.

  Branches and limbs of the surrounding trees were covered with squirrels, segregated by clan colors. Clan Brown on one side and Clan Black on the other. Gray squirrels were seated in the middle.

  Puff stood next to Sir Pattercloud taking in the spectacle of the opening ceremonies, including a parade of squirrel musicians and dancers. He wasn’t sure where Tinderbug was, probably seated with her friends from Clan Brown. Strictly speaking, chipmunks weren’t allowed at the event, but he was sure Nibbles would sneak a peek from somewhere. Puff could see acorn bets being placed at a furious pace by squirrels wagering on the upcoming duel.

  Last year’s challenger to Sir Pattercloud, Hustlefoot the Second, was Clan Brown’s champion once again. For years, Scratchclaw had let other members of his clan volunteer to fight, but the embarrassment of last year’s events changed things. The entrant from Clan Black, Hissdribble, had run away after being hit squarely in the mouth by Hustlefoot’s clenched paw. Puff was worried, since no one outside of Clan Black had ever seen Scratchclaw fight. No one knew what to expect.

  He tried to push his concern away. Hustlefoot was a proficient swordsman, almost as good as Sir Pattercloud. In fact, Puff often squired when the two champions would spar together.

  Crinklehat, serving as a neutral party, was leading the opening ceremonies. The loser of this match, a representative of either Clan Brown or Clan Black, would referee the championship round. The elder of Clan Gray stood in the middle of the assembled squirrels, an open area hidden under the boughs of a stately pine, situated in a copse1 of trees away from the prying eyes of park goers.

  “Hello squirrels of Clan Brown and Clan Black! May honor guide your swords and may victory bless your champion!”

  Puff sat there wondering to himself exactly how much honor Scratchclaw had. He guessed it wasn’t much. Puff shivered at what happened to the last squirrel Clan Black had caught sneaking cherries from their territory.

  Scratchclaw’s beady eyes shone black through the visor of his rusty helmet, the bottom of which was cut open to reveal his long, yellowed teeth. The champion and leader of Clan Black was adorned in a motley array of armor, made from scraps of metal and aluminum foraged from the sewers. Rumor had it those pieces were provided by the Guild of Rats, who inhabited the storm tunnels under the city. The black squirrels had relationships with any number of unsavory2 groups.

  The pride of Clan Black was the Darkblade, a charcoal-colored, wicked two-handed sword with nasty jagged edges that was used in the Battle of Crimson. That was when Clan Black finally won its freedom from Clan Red, the oldest of squirrel clans, long gone from these lands.

  Scratchclaw cut an imposing figure, the kind that would give young squirrels nightmares. He had clumps of missing hair from mange, a skin disease, and in other places his fur was matted and dirty. Puff didn’t know if Scratchclaw could fight, but one couldn’t ascend to leader of Clan Black without being formidable in some sort of way.

  Across from Scratchclaw stood Hustlefoot the Second, a noble warrior squirrel with thick gray-brown fur and a proud demeanor. He was outfitted in the traditional acorn shell armor of his clan, polished to a dull shine. His right paw held the Brynblade, a longsword that had been with Clan Brown since its founding. In his left paw, he held a small shield called a buckler made from a large acorn cap. Clan Brown embraced tradition, and their champion was an expression of that. While Sir Hustlefoot was a decent-sized squirrel, he was shorter on his hind legs than the leaner, lankier Scratchclaw.

  Chittering grew louder amongst the assembled squirrels as excitement built for the start of the tournament. Both champions were supposed to shake paws before their match, but Scratchclaw slapped Hustlefoot’s extended paw away and made a nasty hiss. A fight almost broke out in the branches of the pine tree between members of Clans Brown and Black.

  Puff turned to Sir Pattercloud. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “Don’t worry, Squire Puff,” said Pattercloud reassuringly. “No matter what happens, everything always has a way of working out in the end.”

  6

  Defeat

  The ring of steel on steel rang out. The crowd gasped.

  Scratchclaw had brought the Darkblade smashing down in a devastating attack. He snarled, baring his long, yellowed teeth at his opponent. Hustlefoot parried with the Brynblade, but the impact had sent him stumbling backwards.

  He tried to regain his footing, rear paws digging into the dirt, as the leader of Clan Black pressed his advantage. The match had been one-sided since the beginning and Scratchclaw had been on the offensive early.

  “Hustlefoot looks slow with his sword out there today,” Sir Pattercloud said under his breath to Puff.

  “Should we be worried?” asked Puff. He was afraid Pattercloud would pick up on his fear. Squires were supposed to be strong.

  “Hustlefoot is a solid swordsman, but he just hasn’t faced someone as vicious as this. However, anger like Scratchclaw’s can open one up to mistakes.”

  “I hope you’re right,” replied Puff, just as another loud clang reverberated through the air.

  The champion of Clan Brown was on the defensive. Scratchclaw had continued to press the attack, and Hustlefoot hadn’t regained his composure. Scratchclaw attacked again, and the brown squirrel lifted his arm to protect himself. There was a loud crack as Darkblade bit into the acorn buckler. Hustlefoot yelped in pain as the two-handed sword cleaved the buckler and tore into his arm underneath. It was a vicious wound.

  Members of Clan Black chanted and howled. Many brown squirrels raised their paws to their mouths, silent. Puff grasped Pattercloud’s arm in alarm, looking up to the champion for reassurance. But Sir Pattercloud’s face revealed nothing. He was focused on the match.

  Sensing his opponent weakening, Scratchclaw snarled and came at Hustlefoot again, swinging sideways wildly with the Darkblade. Even injured, and though his sword arm wasn’t up to the task today, Hustlefoot’s feet were still quick. He backed out of the way, and Scratchclaw’s momentum swung the black squirrel around.

  Hustlefoot took advantage and raised his sword, stabbing the Brynblade into a gap in the back of Scratchclaw’s armor. The black squirrel howled, a mix of pain and fury. Clan Brown supporters erupted in cheers, chittering and clapping.

  Scratchclaw hissed and backed up for the first time in the match. Hustlefoot’s body language quickly changed. He gripped the Brynblade and held it in front of him, his injured arm hanging loosely at his side. He feinted with his left foot. Scratchclaw flinched. Hustlefoot had his mojo1 back.

  The champion of Clan Brown was a smooth and practiced fighter, a master swordsman who had been knocked out of his rhythm by the sheer aggressiveness of Scratchclaw. But he looked in control now and came at his opponent with a series of attacks. Scratchclaw appeared frustrated. It was hard to parry with the two-handed sword, since it was heavier to wield than the Brynblade.

  Hustlefoot swung at Scratchclaw with a quick horizontal slash, and the black squirrel was slow to counter, bringing the Darkblade up late to defend. But Hustlefoot stopped his attack mid-swing and pulled back, before extending his front paw and stabbing forward with the Brynblade. Scratchclaw was out of position, and the tip of Clan Brown’s longsword plunged into its opponent’s armor. The members of Clan Brown jumped to their feet, cheering wildly. Puff jumped up and down, applauding with his paws.

  Scratchclaw winced in pain and dropped his sword, backing up reflexively. Chants of ‘yield, yield!’ filled the air. Hustlefoot stopped for a moment, expecting his opponent to concede. Scratchclaw hissed and went for his sword. The flat of the Brynblade swung down and smacked Scratchclaw’s paw away. The tall black squirrel hissed again in defiance.

  The chants of ‘yield’ continued as brown squirrels cheered excitedly. Members of Clan Gray were doing the same. There was no love lost between them and Clan Black. Scratchclaw made a nasty squeak as Hustlefoot advanced slowly, sword in front of him. Blood showed from underneath Scratchclaw’s armor and he stumbled. His right leg gave out, and he went down on one knee. Hustlefoot pressed his advantage and moved forward. He pointed his sword toward Scratchclaw.

  “I ask you to yield,” said the brown squirrel loudly, over the hoots and hollers of Clan Brown.

  Scratchclaw’s eyes filled with hatred. In a flash of movement that was almost too quick to catch, the black squirrel lunged and grabbed Hustlefoot’s sword arm to pull him forward, while simultaneously jamming his other paw into Hustlefoot’s armpit.

  “Never!” screamed Scratchclaw.

  Hustlefoot’s eyes went wide and he dropped the Brynblade onto the dark soil. The crowd gasped. Hustlefoot stumbled backwards, pawing at his armpit. A knife could be seen sticking out, wedged under Hustlefoot’s arm. Puff was in shock. Blood began to flow. The champion of Clan Brown was mortally wounded. The members of Clan Brown went silent as those from Clan Black made vile sounds.

  Crinklehat was at a loss for words. Scratchclaw went to retrieve the Darkblade. He fetched it and found Sir Pattercloud in the crowd with his eyes.

  “You’re next,” spat Scratchclaw.

  Puff, aghast2, felt a lump grow in his throat. He looked up at Sir Pattercloud, expecting him to respond, but the Knight Champion of Clan Gray simply turned and walked away.

  “You won’t be long in this world!” yelled Scratchclaw maniacally3, as Sir Pattercloud left without saying a word.

  7

  Lost

  Puff woke up in his drey, a kind of nest many squirrels made for themselves and lived in. It was situated in the nook of a great oak’s branches high above the ground.

  It was early. He stretched out and yawned. Luckily, the sun was still low in the sky which meant Puff had enough time to devour an acorn or three. He felt a bit better than yesterday, but Hustlefoot’s fate still hung heavy on his heart. The brown squirrel had been a proud and noble champion, and Clan Brown was collectively in mourning. Unlike Sir Pattercloud, Hustlefoot had taken no squire.

  Since yesterday’s circumstances were so out of the ordinary, Crinklehat had put the Tournament of Oaks on hold for a day. Many members of Clan Brown could be seen moping around the park or simply sitting in their nests, unable to face the truth of what transpired.

  After finishing his three delicious acorns, Puff decided to lie back down for a moment. Before he knew it, he had dozed off again. He awoke with a start a short time later and panicked, unsure of how much time had passed.

  In a rush, Puff climbed out of this nest and down the side of the oak tree. The members of Clan Gray lived in an area of the park that was populated with many oaks, so it was easy for Puff to jump from tree to tree without touching the ground. He reached Sir Pattercloud’s home quickly, but to his surprise, Pattercloud wasn’t there. Puff knew he was a little behind schedule, but the knight had told his squire to meet him that morning.

  Puff searched the area nearby, but the champion of Clan Gray was nowhere to be found. This was very unlike Sir Pattercloud, and the heavy feelings from yesterday began to creep into Puff’s thoughts. In fact, something began gnawing at his stomach.

  After approaching and asking a number of squirrels about Sir Pattercloud with no luck, Puff headed out in earnest to find Crinklehat.

  Sitting in the shade propped up against a majestic elm, away from the prying eyes of park goers, was the elder statesman of the grays, with his brown pointed hat pulled over his eyes. Puff hastily bounded over the minute he spotted him.

  “Crinklehat!” he yelled, huffing. “Crinklehat!!!” The little squirrel was out of breath and the old squirrel was hard of hearing.

  The elder gray squirrel opened one of his eyes. Slowly. Seeing it was Puff he closed it again.

  “Yes? What does our little squire require?”

  “Umm, sorry to bother you, but uh, I can’t find Sir Pattercloud.”

  “Is that it my dear boy? You can’t find him? You look like you’ve worked yourself into a tizzy.”