Odin, guided by the grand performance of the aurora borealis, trotted along the trail that headed north, leaving far behind the undecided souls in limbo. Punga was weary; the little cricket had spent the previous night and day comforting Odin while pressing him to decide which path to take. To sleep throughout the night was against his nature; nevertheless, he was now exhausted and disappeared into his friend’s beard.
The aurora’s splendor in the night sky, ablaze in orange and crimson, soon spiraled into total blackness. Odin, with his decision made, now felt confident. Unfortunately, in the dark his imagination and its trickery played with his mind. Maybe, just ahead he would stumble off a steep cliff, falling through emptiness, his friend Punga hanging on for dear life. He was sure he saw, high above his head, and woven throughout the treetops, cobwebs delicately draped across the branches. In such a web, he was certain there would be eight glowing eyes belonging to a hairy spider with powerful jaws and serrated fangs. Dropping down, she would wrap him in sticky silk, bite and paralyze his body, and then consume his life fluids to feed her babies.
Punga’s loud snoring brought Odin back to reality. Forgetting that Punga had been awake all the previous day, he wondered why his little cricket friend seemed to be having a difficult time obeying his nocturnal instinct and waking to the darkness. As he hurried his pace, Odin longed for the kind moonlight to make her appearance. She would help him spot the spiders he was certain hung from the trees.
Hesitating, and in her own good time, the sumptuous moon leisurely emerged from behind a dark curtain. Her light illuminated the narrow path riddled with zigzagged turns and rugged dips. Odin was grateful for the moon’s shimmering light as it chased away his dread of the dark.
Fickle, as a moon can be, her generous glow was short-lived as she skipped away, her backward glance leaving behind scattered moonbeams. Odin fought to control the fear tightening in his throat while he watched shadows dart across his path. Was his own shadow following and playing tricks on him? Ahead, in the moon’s dim rays, he saw twisted tree trunks lining the path; bent with age, they bowed low. A rush of air passed Odin’s face and sent the tree’s frail branches rippling. Their leaves trembled as if a malicious forest spirit threatened them.
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Had Punga been awake, he would have wondered about the curious shadows that dashed across their path and the restlessness of the cool breeze. He surely would have been aware of the night-songbird’s silence. Most assuredly, he would have heard the snake’s ever-slightest slither. But he was in a deep sleep, buried in his friend’s beard. Odin, his ears picking up only the sound of his bare feet beating the ground, was unaware of what was about to happen.
Dark and pitted with holes, the path hid the snake’s mottled black scales in spite of the faint sprinkle of moonlight. Odin did not see the small, mean snake sliding from side to side out of the rocky recess. But the snake, flicking its tongue, picked up Odin’s scent and body heat. Armed with salivary glands that harbored poison in grooved fangs, the young and inexperienced reptile would attack the warm flesh of any mammal.
Pain, sharp as a lightning bolt, shot through Odin’s ankle. His startled cry and jumping about rudely jolted Punga from his sleep. Punga quickly crawled out of his friend’s beard and looked down just in time to see a baby snake meandering off the twisted path into the thicket. The sweat gathering on Odin’s skin and his slurred speech told the story—a rattlesnake had bitten Odin. The little cricket knew the bite of a baby rattler was more toxic, since they cannot regulate their venom. The little snake most assuredly unleashed a dangerous dose. His friend was in serious trouble.
Punga scrambled to the top of Odin’s head. Hanging on, he scouted the horizon searching for any sign of life. His keen night eyes spotted dense smoke billowing up and hovering above the forest’s treetops. Punga shouted at Odin, telling him there was help in the direction of the smoke. He heard Odin’s heavy breathing and tried to keep him calm. Limping along, Odin listened to his friend’s instructions and followed the aroma of burning spruce.