Mr. Rabbit was the first to recover. He sat up and put a paw to his tender head. His ears were ringing and his vision was blurry. After a moment spent collecting himself, he stood and walked over to the nearest of his companions, Deloris Squirrel. With a sigh of relief, he found she was breathing. The others were starting to stir too. It seemed that the blast had only stunned them all.
“What the hey-ho was that?!” Nebraska Rooster was squatting near the blast center. “What happened to Crimson Hen?”
“That,” said Mr. Rabbit. “Is the most important question.” He scanned the area carefully as the Gray Squirrel was just coming to. “There’s no sign of her. Not a feather.”
The Gray Squirrel put that piece together. “That must mean she wasn’t blown to pieces.”
“Hey!” shouted Nebraska Rooster. “I don’t care for your tone there.”
“Oh, uh, no offense, Nebraska . . . I just meant, you know, she probably wasn’t, you know . . . uh . . .” The Gray Squirrel struggled to articulate what he was saying.
“Oh I get you, my dear,” said Deloris Squirrel. “You mean, Crimson Hen might have survived whatever that was.”
“Yes . . .” said Nebraska Rooster slowly. “That would make sense. If she were harmed by the blast, there would be some evidence of her . . . um . . . difficulty.”
“Say what it is, Nebraska,” chided Deloris Squirrel. “If she’d been hurt by the blast, we’d see bloody feathers all over. But there aren’t any. And so . . .” she turned to the group. “It’s a safe bet she’s been teleported to a remote island or blasted into some other dimension or . . .”
“Or into a different time,” the Gray Squirrel said gravely. They all looked at each other. They were worried for Crimson, but the same thought crossed each of their minds: Well, here we go again!
The Continuing Adventures of Crimson Hen 