Mythical Juice

He crawled on the wet soil; his tiny feet leaving even tinier steps and prints in the soil behind him. Thump thump thump, dozens of tiny feet marched onwards.

“Rain is nice! Rain makes plants juice up!” Fenrik spoke to himself excitedly. Off to the side a column of ants marched to the beat set by their own march. Their song echoed through the forest in a rhythmic hum. Hard workers they were. But also, a problem for the rest of the ground dwellers, for they often claimed the juiciest of plants as their territory, and hardly anyone could put up a fight against their authority. Although at the same time, if you found yourself on their good side, you had their protection, so long as you did not interfere with their feeding and nests.

The marching column of the leafcutters led in the same direction Fenrik was headed, this made him rather anxious.

‘Could it be? Are they after the same plants? The famed spinach that had been spotted further South? No, that’d make the competition far too fierce!’ He was concerned, but there was no knowing without checking. The bugtelligence was bugged, the fruit flies did not update the status of the new discovery since the break of dawn.

‘Unreliable!’ Mumbled Fenrik under his breath. 

Off to the side the stems of grass swayed wildly. Fenrik gasped and rushed for cover, he climbed up a blade of grass and hung off of it, watching carefully as a hunting spider parted the grass forest. It stopped suddenly and felt the ground for vibrations, seeking its next prey, its gaze focused in the direction of marching ants. Fortunately for Fenrik, the marching column of ants provided a great cover for him and other insects, and protection too. The spider went on, avoiding contact with the ants. The colony was far too much of a threat for a single spider. Fenrik let out a relaxed sigh as he watched the stems of grass sway out of the way of the spider as the creature distanced itself. He returned onto his track and continued onwards. Occasionally a fruit fly would buzz overhead, a random centipede would rush by in the grass, or a ladybug could be spotted hanging out on the tall stems of grass, basking in the sun.  A blade of grass hung low over the track he was on, on it, upside down, hung a ladybug.

“Greetings traveler! Where does though venture on this fine morning?”

Fenrik paused to look up at the ladybug. Lifting himself up on his hind legs.

“Howdy m’lady! I seek the spinach plant for it is said its juices are the sweetest of all.”

The ladybug watched the caterpillar beneath her.

“I thought your kind much preferred the harder, juicier plants, rather than the softer sweeter kind?” 

Fenrik frowned a little.

“Uhmm… what does thou mean by ‘your kind’? I am a dogepillar! Sucker for sweets! I love slurping up the sweet juices of a plant’s stem.”

The ladybug pondered over the said statement. Her gaze wandered the creature’s body. ‘No matter how I look at it, a caterpillar is a caterpillar.’ Until a crack in its mandible caught her attention. ‘Oh… Poor thing. It can’t chew through hard leaves.’ 

The ladybug’s voice turned softer.

“I see. Venture onwards till you find the sphere of horrors! Turn hard left and go for the inedible stem with red flat-fruit swaying atop it. Then aim for the tree of ancestors, the plant you seek will be to your right, beyond the grand-mounts of the Tredrassil!!” She explained it to him.

He nodded.

“Bugtelligence did not provide this intel!”

She chuckled.

“They’re busy feasting upon the fruits!” 

Fenrik ventured onwards and shortly after found himself by the sphere of horrors! Something massive slithered past it in the grass. The grassy forest fell silent. Crickets and cicadas fell quiet. The sphere shook, and a bone chilling hiss filled the void of silence. From over the sphere protruded a face. The head of a monster, a beast of nightmares! It’s split tongue, twice longer than Fenrik himself, flicked. Fenrik froze in place, in the open, he was petrified of the monstrosity that was scanning the area around him. The monster’s gaze fell upon him.

“Whossss goess theres?”

Fenrik’s eyes fixated on the monstrer’s sandy brown eyes with a slit for an iris, its body was hundreds of times larger than his own. It raised its head higher and slithered over the sphere, coming closer to Fenrik.

“I… uhm.. I am a … sucker…”

The snake leaned ever closer, it opened its mouth and flicked its tongue, flashing its massive fangs while at it, a tired yawn followed right after. A tiny amount of venom shot out of its fang. The ground sizzled from it, the snake ignored the tiny presence in front of it and slithered past.

“Notsss you! You’sss not a ssssnack!” 

The snake slithered off into the unknown, into the dense forest of grass and lush greenery.

‘Phew… okay… th…that explains the name… Sphere of h..horrors… Nobody ever t..told me the beast of the Backyardia, the great serphent, resideth within it.’ His body still shivered from the encounter with the monster. The infamous creature, though the majority who encountered it, got away unscathed. 

“Turn left now!”

Fenrik reminded himself and ventured onwards, toward the inedible, pristine, white stem, stories of which haunted the insects of the Backyardia for generations. A stem so perfect and white, so alluring and mesmerizing, yet completely inedible. Stories tell of brave adventurers that tried to bite through the mighty bark to get to the ungodly juiciness inside, but none have ever succeeded. 

At last, he arrived at it. The pristine and perfect white stem. It glistened in the sun’s rays. Over on the horizon, far in the distance, Fenrik could see the tree of ancestors. Its grandiose silhouette, lit from behind by the sun made it look ever more magnificent, phenomenal, almost unbelievable. The tree is where many go to find their peace, or to evolve.

He watched it with joy in his eyes.

“Grandiose!”

From beyond the white stem emerged a battle-torn ant.

“Het away from mhine!”

Fenrik backed away slowly, startled by the sudden appearance of the scarred ant that had a missing eye, antenna and 2 missing legs.

“I planned not to even attempt a bite of the pristine stem. I hardly could, my mandibles are weak…” He responded.

The ant snapped its mandibles at the caterpillar.

“Gho!!”

He aggressively suggested.

“Yes… yes of course!”

Fenrik left swiftly, setting course for the tree. Although night time was coming, and soon he’d need to find a place to rest. 

That night he slept atop a twig, high above the grass, in relative safety, at least from those that crawl. He had a dream that could better be described as a nightmare, one he had hoped was not a premonition. In the nightmare he encountered the great sky beast, a god of death that was feared by all. The mere mention of its brown feathers was enough to cause a panic among the ground dwellers of the Backyardia. A discovery of one of the god’s feathers would cause the area to be vacant for weeks. Truly a creature of nightmares, far more terrifying than the great serpent, the beast of Backyardia! For unlike the great beast, the god of death enjoyed feasting upon the ground dwellers such as himself.

Dawn broke at last and chased the darkness, along with nightmares, away. The warmth awoke Fenrik, and he was back on track to savor the sweet juices he so desired.

Something pushed him forth, made him desire to reach his destination as soon as he could. As if an instinct was telling him that his time was limited. Pushed forth by that he marched onwards. Uneasiness mixed in with anxiety, fear and confusion as to what the instinct was telling him instilled a sense of urgency within him, motivating him to overcome all and any challenges he may encounter on his uneasy journey.

He slurped a bit of dew along the way, and ventured onwards, toward the tree of ancestors. The tree was a home to the wisest creature in Backyardia. The protector of secrets, the friendly guide to all the secrets of the yard, a squirrel. A tribe of ants also lived in that tree, and occasional sky horrors would visit it. While it was a sacred place, it was also a place of many dangers. But the risk associated with the journey seemed insignificant, when compared to the desire to savor the sweetest of juices, and his fear instilling instinct that pushed him forth.

His tiny feet carried him onwards. Step after step, dozens of tiny steps soon turned into thousands, but his resolve only grew stronger. As he got closer to the grand mountains of the Tredrassil the forest became ever livelier. More and more creatures were seemingly heading the same way as him. However, along with increased traffic, the dangers grew. Everybody knew that a large collection of ground dwellers would be a likely target.

A colossal shadow eclipsed the sun. From high above, a shape began its descend. Fenrik’s body froze in place. All creatures in the area scattered, running for their lives, both small and large, for none stood a chance against the god of death. The destroyer of families and entire colonies! A mighty flap of its massive wings sent loose soil and debris flying everywhere, along with few fortunate would-be victims that got sent flying to safety. Its talons sank into the soft soil. Its screech was deafening and terrifying. As though a demon had emerged from hell, and informed all in the area of its presence. The bird was upon them, and hungry it was. But Fenrik wasn’t the target, not just yet. Its mighty beak, at the speed of light descended into the ground. A moment later, a pained scream echoed through the otherwise silent forest, as a small nymph got eaten. 

Fenrik swallowed audibly. He knew that before long, the god will notice his presence. ‘Run, but where?’ The grass was sparse in this part due to the tree’s roots. ‘It’s distracted! Run you fool! Run!’ His many legs carried him at a speed he never ran at before. He rushed for the dense grass, but before he could get to it, the creature of his nightmare, the god of death, the sparrow, leaped over him, and landed in his path. Its beady black eyes, like an abyss, stared at him, studying him, sizing him up to determine how good of a meal he would make.  All hope was lost. Just over there, to his left, he could see the grand mountains, and the vast open fields. Right there, there it was, his goal. But almost no one could survive an encounter with the god of death.

His fate was predetermined, he was destined to become a meal today. He closed his eyes, accepting his destiny.

“Purrhaps you could use a helping… Paw.”

Spoke a sassy voice behind him. From the forest far beyond his vision, an even larger shape leaped out, it was: the hunter of gods, the protector of the forest, the playful trickster, the god slayer, the purrfect one. The hunter leaped to his aid. A shape of a cat eclipsed the sun this time, a moment later, the hunter landed, attempting to catch the god of death in a final prison of claws.

But the god was no easy prey. He flapped his wings and took flight, dodging the hunter just barely, losing merely a few feathers in the process. 

“He-he-he, feline fine, little fella?”

Spoke the same sarcastic voice from before. Fenrik turned to see a big, mighty, marvelous in its appearance, round almost like a sphere, slightly fuzzy and yet absolutely gorgeous, bumble bee. The bumble bee buzzed and shook his fuzzy butt at the caterpillar below.

“Well, I best bee on my way little fella. Lured him here to fight the god I did, but now I must lure him away, for the great hunter likes to toy with you lot. Catch you later!” 

“Thank! YOU!!!” Called out Fenrik to the bumble bee that was already flying off, buzzing loudly and flying circles to distract and lure away the great hunter of the Backyardia.

And such was his encounter with the famous brave flyer and navigator, Buzz Notyear! Fenrik, relieved to have survived the encounter with the ever so terrifying god of death, took but a moment to mourn the death of the nymph he had witnessed, before venturing onwards to the great mountains. He traversed the vast open fields, along with dozens of other creatures, all of whom were rushing to the mountains, or what was beyond them. And together they climbed the colossal peaks of the garden. And at last, they were rewarded, before them a heavenly platter was unveiled. Fruits and vegetables of all varieties, but in disarray. A mighty storm broke many of them a few nights prior. Tomatoes laid on the ground, ants harvested them in haste. Broken branches and cracked stems leaking sweet delicious juices could be seen all throughout the garden. ‘This is it!’ Rejoiced Fenrik and rushed forth. 

He reached his goal, and as he rejoiced and gulped the delicious spinach juice from the crack in the stem, savoring every second of this passing joy, a playful song filled his ears, making him slurp in rhythm.

🎵 Let’s soar above the clouds and wing it! The god of death shall come and bring it!

Tweet dreams are made of chirps and feathers! And we shall feast upon this togethers! 🎶

Once his gluttony was satisfied, Fenrik crawled up the stem in search of the uncanny bard that made his feast ever more enjoyable. Upon the highest leaf of the spinach plant sat a gorgeous butterfly. He spread his wings and played with the gentle gusts of wind while singing the silly song.

“And then he sha…” The butterfly stopped abruptly after noticing movement behind it, and turned to see a caterpillar that had just climbed up to the same leaf.

“Aha! Welcome, brother.” 

“Brother..?” Replied Fenrik with a hint of confusion. Crawling ever closer to the butterfly that lowered its wings to avoid accidentally flying off.

“Yes! We’re siblings!” Fenrik’s gaze wandered the body of the creature before him. A butterfly. Slim body, large, gorgeous wings, proboscis instead of mandibles.

“How?” Inquired Fenrik curiously.

The butterfly turned to look over the garden, and the vast forest that Fenrik had to traverse to get here.

“How beautiful, isn’t it?”

Fenrik glanced over it.

“Us ground dwellers rarely get to see these views. It truly is magnificent.”

The butterfly chortled lightheartedly at the comment.

“You will in due time, young one.” 

Fenrik’s gaze returned to the butterfly.

“What does that mean? I’m but a ground dweller, a crawler at that, and with a cracked mandible” He explained, his body trembled.

The butterfly nodded.

“I assure you; life will become a fluttery soon for you.”

The strange sensation filled Fenrik’s heart. The sense of urgency, as if time was running short. These words resonated with that strange feeling; fear filled his heart.

“What do you mean? I feel my end encroaching!”

The butterfly swung one of its many legs up and brought it gently down upon Fenrik’s back, patting him, caressing.

“So, it has begun? You can feel it? The sense of impending doom?”

Fenrik shuddered, his eyes were wide, filled with fear and terror.

“Yes! My end is nigh!”

But the butterfly’s voice remained calm and quiet.

“Nonsense, ‘tis but the beginning, young one. What you sense is not the end, but a beginning of your new chapter, as one like me.” 

Fenrik gazed upon the butterfly.

“Like you?” He inquired.

“Yes. No longer a crawler on the ground, but a flyer of the on high. Bringer of joy and happiness. Bring forth to the world the reason to fight. We are the messengers.” The butterfly proclaimed and proudly continued his speech.

“Our very existence is proof that even the smallest, and most seemingly insignificant, and irrelevant, can become among the most beautiful and admired creatures in this world.” The butterfly finished, and spread its massive wings, stretching.

“Be brave and one day, take flight along my side.” 

Fenrik’s sense of fear was extinguished, replaced by new found admiration and resolve.

“I… I shall!”

The butterfly winked at him and leaped off the leaf, taking flight, navigating the gusts of wind. Fenrik’s instincts told him it was time.

That night Fenrik cocooned off of the leaf of the spinach, and the morning after, emerged out of it no longer a ground dweller, but a messenger from the skies.

A magnificent monarch, a flyer.

No longer limited to slurping juices due to his injured mandible. No longer crawling on the ground and fearing for his life. He was now a new born legend of the Backyardia. His name became known to all the ground dwellers. But despite his new found freedom, he never abandoned the Backyardia to explore new lands. He remained within the comforts of what was familiar to him, pollinating the garden alongside the bees and Buzz.

Audience prompts for this tale

• I want to hear something about existential crises of a caterpillar that thought of himself as a dogpillar

• As time is recently a big problem for me, I’d like to have time some kind of impact to the story. Being it a deadline or some kind of currency or something

• I like it when a character has some sort of underlying insecurity that motivates their actions.

• The protagonist has a lisp and they wear the most colorful clothes.