This is a story of long ago, when the creatures of the Isles built wonders and their works reached from the soil of the land to the clouds above the mountains, to be bathed in the light of the sun and moon both. In that time there lived a young and ambitious red squirrel, who carried himself with pride from his paws to his tufted ears. He was a trader, the son of traders and the grandson of traders before him. As was the way in those olden times, his fortune lay in the riches of the Isles and the toil of other creatures. Ever did he keep his kin near, though not in flesh but in relics of metal and gemstone, heirlooms passed from hand to hand that bore the weight of generations long past. These he held very dearly, and would go nowhere without such that he could always feel that his family were watching over him. At times he felt almost as if he could hear the whispers of those who had had these treasures made, who had held them just as he now did.

And so when he made plans to embark upon a great journey to grow the fortunes of his family, he bore with him three cherished heirlooms; for luck, for wisdom, and for the silent hand of his ancestors to guide him on his way. On his hip he strapped a weapon, a curving sweep of metal hammered by the great smiths of the Isles in that age, which is said to channel the lightning of the greatest of storms and strike down upon any which stood in his way. To his shoulder he hoisted a great, carven box of wood and precious stones, with a cunning and intricate lock. This was the family strongbox, large enough to stuff with the spoils of trade and wrought with the arts of that age to always find its way back to those that it belonged to. And these things the Squirrel took, along with barrels and crates of fine wares and other bounties of the Isles, and he packed them all into the hold of his greatest treasure, a gleaming ship made of wood and gold, spelled by the magics of the Isles to move under its own power without sail or oar or yoke. And once all of these things were safely stowed away the young Squirrel spoke a prayer to his ancestors, asking them to watch over him on his journey. And he set out beyond the Isles, to seek his fortunes.

His ancestors seemed to smile upon him, and the Squirrel found all that he had sought out in the lands Beyond. Soon his holds lay bare, but the family strong box was full to bursting with glittering stones and the coins which so fascinate those from Beyond our shores. Content in his success and certain of the favor of Fate, the Squirrel ran his hands over the smooth-hewn wood of his enchanted ship, which faithful as ever turned upon the tide and set its course for the Isles. With a heart full of gratitude, he murmured his thanks to kin and ancestors alike, whose unseen hands had steered him true. With that, he lay down to rest, dreaming of his home and the accolades of his family, whom he would soon return to.

In the night a great fog rolled over the sea, and the air became strange and thick. The surface of the ocean was whipped into frothing waves, and the Squirrel awoke suddenly to the ship being tossed and turned about. Running up to the deck he gasped at the frenzy of the waters, and cried out, “Ancestors! What is this strange misfortune that has befallen me?” And to his wonder the fog roiled and from it stepped three creatures, born of mist and the spray of the sea. Up limped another squirrel, gray of fur with great drooping whiskers. Down from the gray and darkling sky flapped a cardnal, feathers drifting from its wings to vanish like smoke on the wind. And lastly a rattlesnake coiled up from the sea to loop its coils about the edge of the boat.

“You have called, young one, and so we answer,” said the gray squirrel, and the serpent nodded its head in acknowledgment. “For we have been sent by the Isles, to see if you may yet be guided back to home.”

Rapt, the squirrel bowed low to each of the misty creatures in turn. “What must I do, grandfolk? And why are you appearing to me now, when you have not ever before?”

“The Isles have decreed a great change,” chirped the cardinal, “and those who seek our shores with wickedness in their hearts will now find only destruction. You will be tested, and if you fail you will be lost to the sea and skies, never to return to your home.”

“But you have come to guide me true,” pleaded the Squirrel. “Surely you will see me safely home.”

At this the spirits said nothing, but the gray squirrel and rattlesnake disappeared in a swirl of fog. “This you must do on your own, young one,” the cardinal intoned, “or else you will not be deemed worthy. Know this though - to win through, you must let go of that which you hold most dear.” And with that, she was gone.

As the Squirrel gazed out on the uncertain sea, he felt the stirrings of fear in his belly at the thought that his ancestors would not be able to help him. But he squared his jaw, vowing, “Then I shall prove myself worthy to join them!” And he set a course for home as best as he could.

The fog was thick however, and above he saw the flash of lightning, and heard the growl of thunder all about him. Again and again it came, faster and thicker, until it seemed like the bolts would strike him down and send his ruin sinking to the depths. With little time to think, he grabbed up a coil of rope and climbed to the highest mast of his ship. There he swiftly tied his gleaming weapon at the peak, pointing skyward in challenge to the skies. No sooner had he scampered back down than the world flashed white, and a sound like the end of all things swallowed squirrel and ship.

Cracking open one eye, the squirrel feared for the worst. Before him the weapon stood scorched and ruined, but still his ship sailed on as the growl of the thunder rumbled in its wake. His eyes swam from the blinding light, and after-images danced - spots, patterns, and suddenly the coils of the rattlesnake appeared. The Squirrel cried out. “Grandfather! Is this what I must do?” But he blinked again, and the snake was gone.

The day continued on, but the light of the sun barely lit the depths of the great fog. A wind sprang up, and the Squirrel hoped that perhaps it would blow the mists and spray away. But the wind only served the thicken them, and push the bow of the ship this way and that. The magic of the boat sputtered and churned, and the Squirrel cursed the skies and seas which seemed to constantly batter at him and prevent any forward progress. At his words the winds re-doubled, until the ship was forced back the way it had come. The Squirrel quailed, shouting to the sky, “I am sorry I spoke so! What must I do? I only want to see my home again! Ancestors, what must I do?”

His words were snatched away by the wind, even as a flurry of feathers swirled by on the breeze. A few snagged in the Squirrel’s fur, tugging him forward a step before blowing away once more. Drawing sudden inspiration, he scurried down into the depths of the ship, drawing forth several large stretches of cloth from his stores. These he hauled into the rigging, cutting and tying until they hung from the masts like great, fluttering wings. He cast about for somewhere to tie them off so that they might catch the wind, and his gaze snagged on the figurehead at the prow of the ship. There a likeness of the cardinal proudly gazed forward, the eyes gleaming like lamps to light the way ahead. Rushing forward he wrapped the lines around the carving, but the wind howled and the figure splintered under the strain, falling away into the waters. Gritting his teeth, the Squirrel threaded the lines through the base of the figure and yanked them taught. The sheets billowed and filled with the might of the wind, and the ship was yanked forward to plow through the choppy waves even as the glow of magic which imbued it sputtered and died. He thought he caught a glimpse of a feathered shape soaring between the flapping sails, but once again it was gone as the ship’s enchantments failed, plunging the ship into darkness.

Disquieted, the Squirrel kept watch as the ship continued into the graying twilight. Soon the mists and shadows sat thick about him, and he grew afraid that he would lose his way, for there were no landmarks upon the sea, and through what few gaps he found in the clouds the stars were strange above him. An idea began to gnaw at him, and striding to his cabin he brought out the strongbox stuffed full of treasures from Beyond. “It will always find its way back to us,” he murmured to himself, before peering all about into the deepening gloom. “But I shall lose all that I have gained on my journey! How can I honor my ancestors, my family, without these riches that I have earned in their legacy?”

The shadows seemed to deepen even further, and the Squirrel quaked in fear as what seemed like eyes and maws gleamed in the depths. Scrabbling at the box, he pried and tore and loosened until the great lock came free, its inner workings sparking with magic in the gloom. Turning away from the box, now overflowing onto the deck, the Squirrel bent low over the mechanism and chewed his lips in concentration - for he knew only a little of the magics that made the box, had relied his whole life on the labor that others had put into this and so many of his other treasures. Frowning in concentration, he coaxed the magics of the box to reach out, to guide him to the rest of his family and their native shores. At last a tiny needle, charmed by his efforts, twirled to point unerringly into the dark. With a shout he leapt to the rudder, so long unused to the paws or talons of any creature, and turned the boat to follow the pointing of the needle. Even as the boat came about, a great swell arose from the sea and washed across the deck, rushing over the box and its spilled treasures. The Squirrel cried aloud in dismay, but he knew that to leave the rudder now would spell his doom. He could only watch as the box, and its contents, slid swiftly across the deck and into the ocean below.

All through the black of the night the Squirrel stayed at the rudder, guiding his ship as the needle swung back and forth. Misgivings sheeted down his fur like the rain that soaked him, but he squared his shoulders and they dripped off of him to stream away into the night and spray. He knew not what he would tell his family when he returned to the Isles, nor if he would ever see the shades of his ancestors again. His thoughts were only on this moment, the ocean ahead, and his drive to return home.

At long, long last the dawn broke along the horizon behind, and before him the  endless mists at last parted to reveal a green and living shore. Sunlight gleamed on bright grasses, and his heart soared like the tiny shapes of birds rising in the morning winds far away. He was home. 

“Oh ancestors,” he breathed, “Here is beauty I never found in all the treasures from Beyond our shores. Our home, green and growing in the sun.” And in the last wisps of the fog that rolled out before him he saw the gray and ancient squirrel, whiskers fluttering in the winds that beckoned him onwards towards the Isles. And such was the way of it that he returned home to the land of his people, rich in wisdom and sure that his ancestors watched over him for the rest of his days.