Page 108 of Prince of the Northwest Forest
Ugh, I’m always left out. “What’s it saying?” I ask, bumping Kalle’s shoulder, which I realize is higher than it was lastsummer. Dammit. He must’ve had a growth spurt. Not that I’m jealous.
“He. And trash talk. As usual.”
“I mean, we know humans weigh more than squirrels,” I say.
“That’s not what he’s talking about.”
Rather than continuing across or turning around, the squirrel dances backward across the rope to the trunk of the tree it started from. It chirps some more as it climbs up the rough bark to a branch. I’m pretty sure it’s judging us.
“Can you translate?” I ask.
My best friend pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do I have to?”
I shrug. “I mean, no, you don’t. I’m just always curious what the animals are saying.” My eyes lock on Kalle’s dark, warm ones. His thick, glossy hair is growing long and hanging in his face a little bit.
Kalle relents, smiling. “The squirrel’s name is Preston, and he said, and I quote, ‘Dude—I mean, Your Highness, I’m going to show you this one more time. See? I can cross the rope backward. It’s all in the balance.’”
I start laughing. “He’s so disrespectful of you. What’s the squirrel word for ‘dude’?”
Kalle makes a chittering noise, and Preston whips his head to look.
I attempt to mimic the sound, which makes Preston chirp some more and Kalle start laughing.
“Did I do it wrong?” I ask.
“Yes,” Kalle says, with a smile. “You said ‘Milk Duds.’”
“Why do squirrels have a word for Milk Duds?”
“No idea. But”—he does the chittering again—“that’show you say ‘dude’ in western gray squirrel. Some of the other squirrels use a different dialect.”
“And you understand them all?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“And they understand other animals?”
“That, too.”
I shake my head, marveling at the forest magic. I wish I could talk to animals. That ability is a hallmark of the royal family and certain aristocracy, though, and I’ve got no noble blood whatsoever. My parents are divorced, and my father is one of the castle cooks. While I live in the closest city, Princedelphia, during the school year, I spend my summers here in the kitchen with my dad.
Or, as much as possible, in the woods with Prince Kalle.
Preston motions with his paw. “Guess it’s my turn,” Kalle says. He takes off his sword and scabbard—left over from his lesson a little while ago—and walks over to the slackline. Holding onto the trunk of the tree, he sets one foot on it, then hoists himself up so he’s standing on the rope.
I suck in a breath. Even balanced precariously on a rope, Kalle is handsome. I’m never going to get over my attraction to him, am I?
Stop. He’s never shown any interest in youthat way.
He’s wearing his usual outfit: a tan tunic, dark brown breeches, and knee-high boots. I fucking love his boots, but I’m not sure they’re going to be the best for balance and grip.
I got the idea to do this after seeing a slackline on a college campus I toured, but here in the Northwest Forest, they don’t have the same kind of rope, and I didn’t have the money to buy one and bring it with me. Prince Kalle’s staff made him a special rope that’s pretty close, and his squirrel friend agreed to teach us how to balance on it.
Holding out his hands, Kalle takes a quick step on the rope, which is bouncing up and down in response to his weight. He takes a few more hurried steps but is eventually thrown from the rope when it sways too much and he loses his balance.
Preston chitters, and Kalle growls at him. A marmot comes up and nonchalantly waddles across the rope. Both Preston and the marmot look at Kalle like “I can’t believe you can’t do this.”
I try not to laugh at my best friend, but it’s hard not to.
