A Pinekin Pilgrimage

Maru squealed as he threw himself from the wooden box and plummeted into a soft pile of snow. The chill overwhelmed his little body immediately. As he tumbled out of the snow, he squealed and rolled head over tail, until he landed on his rump and could shake his head. His tail fluttered to rid himself up the extra snow, then he jumped to his four legs and braced himself with a wide stance. Head lowered, tongue out, Maru wriggled his back half, his tail, then charged into another tuft of snow.

He popped out the other side with a chilled cry and leaped into the air. An excited shrill. As he landed again, he sunk slightly into the snow, but quickly pulled himself out. Light as he was, he had no trouble prancing on top and moving further from where his travel group was. Further into the forest. Maru walked with as big of steps as he could manage, leaving behind tiny foot prints in his wake. It was enough for those watching after him to see where he was going—but it wasn’t unusual for Maru to walk off. He always managed to come back, and chasing him down had never amounted to much, as small and slippery as he was.

Maru continued weaving his way through the snow until he finally made it through the tree line. Firmly in the forest, a little line of moving green immediately caught his eye. He cooed with interest, croaked, and ducked lower into the snow. His kind didn’t hunt for anything more terrifying than bugs, but he’d met others who did and mimicked their methods. With slow, measured steps, Maru approached the little green line to find that they weren’t simply moving green shapes, but pinekin waddling along in a perfect line.

Curious, Maru chirped and sat up straighter to see better. The little lights on the top of their heads bobbed with every step, and they made quiet chittering sounds as they carried on. A few of them broke from the line when something shiny or bright caught their eye in the snow. One wandered further from the line, entranced by a bright red berry. Maru saw the same berry and perked up on his hind legs. The pinekin picked up the berry, then pressed it against its fluffy pines, but the berry fell. Again, the pinekin reached for the berry, and again it fell.

Slowly, Maru moved closer. Too worried about the little red berry, the pinekin didn’t notice. It tried for a third time as Maru had nearly approached, but a sound from the distance stole both of their attentions. The other pinekin called to the lone one, drawing it away from the berry and back to the group. It waddled away with its arms out spread to keep balance in the snow while Maru plopped back by the little berry bush.

He huffed quietly and looked at the berries, then the pinekin as they gathered around each other and huddled close. Their little stars seemed to glow a little brighter as they waited together and regained their energy and warmth. When they were finished, they spread back out into their line and continued. More intrigued than he’d ever been, Maru readied to follow. Before moving, he swiped a couple of red berries to carefully store in his mouth, regardless of how much he longed to eat them.

The pinekin were no larger than Maru, so he had no issue keeping up as they wandered further into the forest. They weaved around rocks, around trees, and around large, insurmountable clumps of flowers or grass. In their wake they left little footprints, which Maru followed by planting his own feet in each depression. He hopped along but always kept his eyes forward so he could anticipate which way to turn and what obstacles to avoid.

Before long, their path introduced a slight incline, but they persevered. So did Maru. He pressed on, even as his little legs began to hurt, as his curiosity was brighter than even the pinekin stars. He bounced after their footprints, walked, and ran, only able to stop when his determined curiosity took another turn. The same pinekin from before broke away from the group when something in the snow caught its attention.

At first, the group didn’t notice and continued walking, so Maru paused at the fork in the snow. He could continue up, following the pinekin to see where they would stop, or he could see what had enraptured the lone pinekin so. After a few heavy seconds, Maru tilted towards the lone pinekin as it leaned into the snow.

In the snow, the pinekin found a few flowers which had already been plucked and left behind. It grabbed one, enamored with the bright purple petals, and draped it around its neck. The moment it straightened up, the flower slipped back to the snowy floor. Again, the pinekin tried to wear the flower like a necklace, and again, it fell back to the snow. Dejected, the pinekin flopped back in the snow with a sad thump.

Before Maru could move, the group of pinekin chittered from further up the hill. They’d realized their missing companion and came back—a warm realization, that it wouldn’t be abandoned, but a sad one, too, as the pinekin had no choice but to move away from the flowers.

In its absence, Maru rushed in and dropped by the flowers. He dropped the berries and rolled them in the snow to do away with his slimy saliva before turning his attention to the flowers. While he didn’t have opposable thumbs or real fingers yet, he had learned to do plenty with a sticky tongue.

He pulled the flowers out and picked the nicest three to lay out in a circle. Each one, he tied to the next, until the three flowers made a necklace. With the others, he attached the berries to the necklace. Then, he snapped it up and rushed after the prints in the snow.

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When Maru caught back up to the pinekin group, gloflies had gathered around them and halted their progress. As the gloflies’ glowed, so did the pinekin. Bulbs and stars. But to the gloflies, they were the same, so they fluttered close, only for the pinekin to chitter and shove them away. They only returned, drawn in by the bright pinekin stars.

Maru mustered his strongest, deepest croak as he charged. He leaped towards the gloflies to scatter them from the pinekin. As they tried to gather again, Maru croaked his biggest, scariest croak—still high-pitched and small, but enough for the gloflies to pull away. They didn’t try for a third time, instead flying back into the forest from whence they’d come. Finally, the pinekin were in peace, and they all deflated with sudden relief.

The most inquisitive of the pinekin group, who had previously been the most distracted, strayed again from the group as they all plopped exhausted into the snow. It approached Maru with a tilt of the head and a small, sheepish noise, which drew Maru’s attention. He still panted from his sudden burst of energy, but seeing the pinekin close and unafraid made him smile. Eager for this new experience, Maru met the pinekin halfway.

It chittered. Maru squeaked back, then ducked his head to let his makeshift necklace fall to the snow. Excited, the pinekin waddled over and took the necklace, then proudly stuck its head through the middle and let it drape around its shoulders. With its little arms outstretched, the pinekin spun around in a circle to show off its new decoration, and Maru bounced to show his approval.

They had moved away from the forest, allowing Maru to see further. The path ahead of them was long, towards the mountain in the distance like the stories said. Seeing the full extent brought little Maru flat to the snow. After a moment to consider, he made the choice everyone in his traveling group knew he would—it was time to head back. He stood with a joyful chirp, happy to have made a friend, then turned the way he’d come.

He walked for a moment, bouncing from one set of snow prints to the next, before he realized his steps weren’t the only he heard crunching back down the hill. Maru stopped, turned, and perked up at the sight of the same decorated pinekin hurrying down the hill after him.

It jumped the last of the way down the hill and waddled forward, arms out for balance, until it came to Maru’s side. With a gleeful chirp, the pinekin made its new plan clear. Maru welcomed his new companion. They swayed together, waddling back and forth as they tried to cover the same prints in the snow that led them all the way out into the wilderness. The pinekin made their pilgrimage every year, but the pinekin was just as interested in something new as its new friend.