The Three Mouse Chieftains

There once was a field as large as a nation.

There once was a field as large as a nation. The field had tall grasses, medium grasses, and short, finely groomed grasses. Among the three kinds of grasses lived a nation of mice and among the mice lived three mouse chieftains.

One was from the tall grasses, wore his fur long and his yew leaf trousers hiked up high around his middle. His mice all tried to imitate their chief, some with matted fur and droopy pants, some with slicked fur and tight shorts where trousers should have been.

One was from the short, well-manicured grasses. His shirt was made of the finest inchworm silk. He wore a top hat refreshed from flowers each day. The top hat was widely found on his mouse followers, although none kept their flowers as fresh as he managed.

The third mouse was from the grasses that were well-tended, planted in rows and not left to grow wild. She wore a vest knitted from dandelion fuzz and wore shoes made of nut husks. While her shoes were made from a rare nut found only in the short grasses, other mice in her region wore any old nut husk they could find. Their unsteady gaits led some to speak unkindly of their silly shoes but this did not deter them.

They were all admired in their grasslands for their fashion sense and ridiculed by mice in the other regions for their silly costumes.

Each of the chieftains had allies in all three grass zones, although each chief drew most of their support from the grasslands of their birth. But this is where they found their differences, although they were all indisputably mice.

Each of the three mice believed in a different being that would save the mice in their mousey realm from predators, save them from being the bite-sized morsels they so obviously were to any creature with fast feet, fluttering wings and sharp teeth or beak.

Each being in which they believed was as difficult to discover as the wind on a still day or the sun at night, yet each mouse believed firmly that theirs was the being that would protect them.

Each chief had known a mouse who had seen or spoken to or heard from the being in which they believed, although none of them had seen or spoken to or heard from the beings themselves.

They were all completely devout in their beliefs and privately ridiculed the other chiefs for believing the fantasies they believed.

The mice overall were a mixed bunch. There were black, gray, brown, and white mice, each with their various shades of fur to make them unique to their families and friends and some of their acquaintances. There were also a lot of mice with mixed furs, gray patches on their white bodies or white patches on their gray bodies, white noses on brown mice and black noses on white mice, mixed colors on their tiny toes too.

The mice did what mice had always done.

They visited each other in their separate grasslands and had cups of tea with their tiny chunks of cheese and nibbly bits of nuts.

They talked to each other about what their relatives and friends and neighbors were doing and spent too much time sharing their suspicions about the mice from other regions, their silly beliefs in laughable magic creatures, and their illogical love for the tall, medium, or short grasses in which they made their homes.

When they visited, some of them secretly fell in love with different furred mice than their own fur kind and, with a rapid wriggle of their noses, whiskers, and chubby flanks made baby mice a dozen at a time.

When their neighbors and mates were not looking, the females would eat some young but that was an accepted practice, although no one wanted to discuss it except in whispers.

Every five years, the mice in all three grasslands would start talking about expeditions to find their protectors.

The mice in the short grasses wondered where the Golden Mole might be. It was said to be as large as one hundred mice and so heavy with gold that it crawled through its tunnels laden with its riches and with its compassion for the mice it shielded from enemies everywhere. Conjecture rose to a heated level, with certainty emerging from all quarters and confusion being the only sure thing. The chief heard all the stories and smiled to himself, preening his shirt to ensure that it was as lustrous as new. He kept his thoughts tucked behind his tongue.

Talk amongst the mice in the tall grasses started as whispers among friends and became a cacophony of speculation: where might the flying squirrel be hiding and how might it be found? The mice known for the finest long fur and best trousers swore amongst themselves that they had seen a shadow hover between the moon and their burrows only last month and that the shadow, rather than being dark was suffused with silver light as if the moon had been amplified by the squirrel’s wide wings and powerful frame. The less fortunate tall grass mice doubted these rumors but said that they had heard the wings slip through the night wind like a sigh and heard a celestial chirping like raindrops on rose petals or the high burbling sounds that come from a brook.

The chieftain in the middle grasses gathered all her wisest, all the silliest, and all the most reasonable mice together in a giant circle. It was time for a chat about the black swan that guarded them. Of course, all of the mice had seen the wonderful swans flying above on their mysterious missions to wherever they went. They saw the lovely white swans on the ponds among the rushes and on the lakes among the rocks. But they had only heard from their ancestors about the black swan that had graced them with its presence at some time in the remembered past. It was the size of a standard swan but so black that light disappeared around it. When it flew, its wings sang a melody so long and so deep that it took a week for it to echo off distant mountains and return to their ears. Or so the stories went.

The mice in the short grass posted sentries at all the holes that could hold a mole.

The mice in the tall grasses kept their eyes peeled for shadowy squirrels and ears keen for sighing wings.

The mice in the middle grasses surrounded the ponds and lakes, dipping their bare feet in the cool water and watching beyond the rushes and around the rocks.

Many reports came in about shadows and sounds, golden rumbles and silver flight, long melodies and disappearing light. But none of them spotted anything they could distinctly say was their protector beast, the one who would keep their predators at bay, during night and day.

A faction grew among all the mice in all the lands that were sick of the promises of a sighting, saddened by the stories from long before they were born, stupefied by the huge number of rumors without any proof.

As happens when factions form, there were factions within the factions.

Some of the mice from the tall, middle, and short grasses now believed in a gryphon (although there were as many spellings as there were regions), a ferocious creature with the body and tail of a lion, the wings, talons, and head of an eagle. Why they believed that such a creature would protect them is unknown to this day.

Some of the mice from the tall, middle, and short grasses now believed in a gorgon, a pale, hairless monkey with a head covered in snakes instead of hair and the tusks of a wild boar. If the gorgon saw you looking it in the eyes, your little mouse body would become a stone and wear away into pebbles and sand as time went by. Why any of them thought that a creature with serpent hair and tusks ten times the size of any mouse would be their friend was unknown… or those who once knew were now stones and could not say.

And some mice from the tall, middle, and short grasses now believed in a unicorn, a beautiful creature with the whitest fur, a silver mane, and a spiral horn growing out of its forehead, a gossamer beard growing from its chin. It was said to be a shy and peaceful creature but some said they admired it for its temperamental nature and fearful stamping of the ground, capable of crushing to tiny pancakes scores of mice with a single cloven hoof during a single tantrum. But its believers believed and that was all there was to it.

While it was clear to all the mice that the ancestral protectors were quite peaceful, even to the factions that embraced these new creatures with their alarming potential for causing harm, a vote was called to see how many of the mice from all the realms wanted to do away with the old myths and start fresh with the new ones. The vote was set for the day and night between the full moon and the waxing first quarter moon.

The full moon came and days were counted down to the waxing gibbous moon, four days out.

When all the votes were counted across the short, middle, and tall grasses and the chieftains, who had been reluctant to have the vote in the first place but relented to a popular notion like most chiefs will, had been informed of the results, a meeting was called in each region.

The tall grasses had voted overwhelmingly to embrace the air as their new protector, for it was everywhere and already sustained them (well, except for the hawks and eagles who swooped through the air and took them off to be pecked at by their young).

The short grasses had found a supermajority wanted the earth and all its stones to be their new protector, for it supported them as they scampered about and gave them places to hide from all their predators (well, except for the snakes who found them wherever they were).

The middle grasses, who believed their chieftain the wisest and most respectful of the three chieftains, had voted for water as their new protector, for it was safely contained in ponds and lakes and provided them with vegetation for their meals and sustenance for their bodies (well, except for the fish and frogs who lived within it and would grab them from land or as they swum and gulp them down in one bite).

And so, it came to be that the old protectors were set aside and the new protectors became the friends of all the mice, for they all saw the wisdom in these choices.

Until, one day, the golden mole, the flying squirrel, the black swan, not to mention the gryphon, the gorgon, and the unicorn, all showed up and demanded to know why they had been abandoned to these elemental beliefs.

While the old triumvirate watched, the gryphon leaped into the air, swooping wherever a mouse could be found on open ground, which was quite common in the short grasses. Soon, all the mice with top hats and silk shirts were torn with claws and gnashed in beaks and only a few mice remained in the short grasses. White, brown, black, and gray, mottled fur and solid fur, white noses, and black toes, all were consumed with the same fury by the ferocious new creature while the golden mole sat by on its fat belly with glistening fur and smiled.

The gorgon, with its monkey legs, snaky hair, and boar-like tusks scuttled about in the tall grasses, turning mice to stone, then picking them up, one by one, throwing them far into the air, watching them crash to the ground and turn to pebbles and sand and memories. The flying squirrel skittered about in the air above, dodging the stones thrown skyward and chirping to itself about the mayhem it saw below, its silver shadow the last sight of many mice.

Then the unicorn pranced through the middle grasses, rearing back, whinnying like lightning and stomping like thunder, turning the terrified mice into pancakes and blending them into the mud that unicorn hooves make of the earth around ponds and lakes. His spiral horn, silver mane, and gossamer whiskers were the last sight the poor mice had before becoming nutrition for the next generation of middle grasses. The black swan grimaced a little as fate was revealed but it quickly became numb to the squeaks that emerged from the well-kept rows of middle grasses. She took to tucking her head beneath her light-consuming wings and napping until the dreadful noise was done.

When the disaster was done and the six protectors gathered to survey what had happened, they realized that no mice were left to believe in them. They were shocked by what their precipitous actions had wrought and felt regret growing in their breasts, for none of them were bad as such, just as none of them were really quite as good in the way the mice had thought them to be.

As they stood, their heads bowed in thought, the earth shuddered, the sky became dark with clouds, and lightning pierced the air. It rained, not in drops or torrents or buckets of water but in nations of water falling all at once. The earth opened in jagged tears and hot, gooey rock poured from within, meeting the water and rising in steam to block the sun and the light from the gibbous moon.

The grasses were all drowned—tall, middle, and short—and the mud became rock through which no grasses would grow. The mole, the squirrel, the swan, the gryphon, the gorgon, and the unicorn were all struck by lightning as they drowned and the world became a place with only three living things remaining: the air, the water, and the earth.

Or

Hyperbole

Tiny

Ancient

(nota bene: As I was searching for an appropriate mouse photo for the featured image, I discovered that a parody version of Homer’s Illiad was written in ancient times called The Battle of Frogs and Mice or batrachomyomachia. The German translation is called Froschmäusekrieg or The Frog-Mouse War. Many other translations exist of this “epic” and there are some terrific illustrations of the frogs and mice going at each other. One complete translation can be found here and on other sites. This did not form the basis of my tale but I found it fascinating nonetheless and thought I would share.

Author: makingsenseofcomplications

I have an academic background in literature and, separately, science. My career has been in industry in positions of increasing responsibility assisting in the drug development process - one of the most amazing intellectual pursuits of the human mind, among many other amazing intellectual pursuits. I am interested in films, philosophy, history, art, music, science (obviously), literature (also obviously), some video gaming, human behavior, and many other topics. I wish there was more time in every day because we have a world that is full of amazing phenomena that are considered too superficially by too many. Although my first and last names are fictional, I think I believe in all of the stuff you read here, although I retain the right in perpetuity of changing my thoughts about anything written herein.

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