It seemed a long walk home. Relin shook his head, trying to clear it of the clouds left by the ale. "Are they right?," he wondered aloud. He smiled grimly and leaned up against a lamppost to let the spinning subside.

"Now here's a fine mess," he thought to himself. "Me just a peasant, freshly ripened to nineteen years, with my own house and a fine business selling flowers to the nobles. I've got it all. All but. . . love."

He took a deep breath and started down the street again.

"Be reasonable," he said aloud. "Logical, Relin. You only met her four days ago. You delivered some flowers. That's all. And she answered the door. Oh yes, those fine, sparkling blue eyes. That straight, raven-black hair. The finely sculpted cheekbones, the way her lips formed into such a perfect smile. . . " He chuckled a little. "Logical. You delivered some flowers, she answered the door, gave you a smile, and that was that."

Or was it? Hadn’t there been a sparkle in her eyes, a sudden intake of breath? And that smile . . . not the smile offered to a simple peasant man delivering flowers.

"And hasn’t she been in my every dream?" he whispered aloud. "My every thought?"

His eyes caught movement, and he looked over to see Marta, the baker's daughter, looking over at him with her eyes opened wide on her plump face. He grinned.

She shook her head, wrinkled her nose, and kept to her route.

"Yes, I’m talking to myself!" he called out after her. "Tight-laced little wench."

He bit at one lip and peered up into the stars. What, he wondered, can I do to tell her of my feelings?

He stopped suddenly, his eyes going wide. "I've got it! I'll write her a letter! A letter to melt her heart-butter onto my bread! Listen to yourself, Relin! A poet and a muse, born to be! She’ll be yours before you know it!"

His toe caught on a cobblestone, and suddenly he stumbled forward, his grin transformed into a look of bewilderment. There was glass just ahead. A huge window, and then he careened up against it, his hands pressing against the cold glass.

"Lucky you didn't go right through," he breathed to himself. "That would've been a crash." He blinked. "Wow! Look at that."

It was the village Trade and Goods. There were old books stacked inside, and a few swords, and second-hand clothes, and good wool blankets. And there, just behind the glass, sat displayed a wooden head, adorned with a velvet cap. And around its neck was a fine platinum chain, at the end of which was affixed a smooth, green pearl.

He stared. "Pretty one, that. That's the sort of thing to win the heart of a noble girl. But pricey, I'll bet. Very pricey."

He sighed and turned toward home. "Such gifts aren't for you to give, Relin. You'll just have to settle with a well-scribed poem."

And he made his way home to his soft-sheeted bed.

Now as you may have guessed, Relin wasn't the most gifted of writers, but he set himself down the next morn with a fine sheet of parchment and a good quill, and two hours later his masterpiece was being sent by courier up to the lady's home. He did his best to set the whole matter out of his mind, knowing that if he dwelled upon it, the sun would move very, very slowly across the sky.

He watered his plants, and pruned them carefully, and hummed a little tune as he worked. When he did think about his letter, he thought about how it had been quite well written, and how eagerly she would reply.

The next day passed, and he made three deliveries of roses and one of mums, and went home with a good purse of gold. But no reply missive was there.

A chill feel began to creep over him that night, but he consoled himself with dreams of what her letter would say, of how she might include a romantic bit of poetry, and perhaps even some small token, like a locket of her hair. That wasn’t too much to expect, was it?

When a knock sounded on his door the next day, he rushed over and eagerly turned over the envelope.

"Aha!" he cried, much to the startlement of the courier. "Aha!!"

And he pulled on his boots, and ran at top speed to the tavern, his "aha's" turning head after head.

He stumbled into the tavern and nearly fell into a chair at Shane's table.

"Breathe, Relin. Easy now."

"I can't," Relin gasped. "Look!" he panted. "Look at this!" And he thrust out the envelope.

Shane frowned, reaching out and peering at the front.

"From Lady Emina to Relin of Peregrine Hold." Shane looked up. "How formal."

"Formal?! Give me that!"

Relin scowled and carefully examined the seal. It was of pink wax, and bore the emblem of a butterfly.

"A butterfly," he said quietly. "Do you see that, Shane? The symbol of love taking flight."

Shane raised his eyebrows.

"She wrote to me, Shane. This letter. It's from her."

"I can see that."

Relin nodded. "Lady Emina," he said, looking earnestly at Shane and nodding seriously.

"Yes, Relin. Lady Emina. Why don't you open it?"

Relin nodded, and with utmost care peeled the seal from the envelope.

"You're going to keep that?" Shane asked.

"Oh yes." He opened the top of the envelope and smiled. "There's parchment inside, Shane."

"I'm guessing it's a letter, Relin. Mayhaps you should read it."

"Good idea."

He slipped it free, set the envelope aside, and carefully unfolded the letter.

"Read it out loud," Shane suggested.

"Right. Here goes."

And he read.

Dearest Relin,

I do indeed recall your delivery to my door. The flowers were lovely. And your poems, I dare say, were beautiful. No one's ever written me poems before! Well except for professional courtiers, that is. But I am not currently interested in a romance, and in any case, would insist on keeping any future romances within the bounds of my social class.

"Ouch," said Shane.

"Ouch?" asked Relin. "What do you mean, 'ouch'?"

"I mean she spurned you, my friend."

"Spurned me? What are you talking about?"

"I guess I'm referencing the 'I'm not currently interested in a romance,' and the 'keeping romances within the bounds of my social class' parts. Just some little hints she dropped."

"Excuse me, but did you happen to miss the 'Dearest Relin' part, or the 'no one's ever written me poems before' part, or the 'with sincerity' part? I mean, are you blind? Or just jealous?"

Shane blinked. "Relin, are you sure that ale's not still lingering in your head?"

"Funny, Shane. The message of her letter is quite clear, I think. She likes being chased, you see? Hence the compliments on my letter and my poems. And everyone knows that a girl pushes away a little at first. She needs to know she's worth it, you see? What I need to do is something even more extravagant. Something to shock her out of her normal way of thinking. Something to dazzle her and let her know I'm serious." He sighed and looked out the tavern’s window.

"You know," Relin said, "my favorite part of her letter was that reference at the end. The one about how after we got married I'd be of the same social class as she is."

Shane looked at him as if he had gone mad.

"Relin, she turned you down."

"I've got it!" said Relin. "The pearl! I've got to get her the pearl!"

That afternoon Relin sat at his kitchen table, engaging in his favorite pastime. From the time he had first bought himself this little house, each day had seen him perform the same little ritual.

Carefully he cracked a walnut open and set it on the table. Then he sat back to watch.

The two ebony eyes peeked up over the edge of the window, settled on either side of a delicate pink nose. The tiny ears twitched.

"There you are, my friend chipmunk. Have a bit of late lunch."

It leapt inside, scooped up the nut, and stuffed it into one cheek. Then it turned, flicked its tail, and was gone.

Relin set out another nut.

A moment later the chipmunk returned, peering at him from the window's threshold.

"What should I do, little chipmunk? I've got to win Emina's heart. I've got to. You see, she's beautiful. And has this smile that makes the whole day seem good. She’s all I can think of! Surely you’ve felt like this for a girl before."

The chipmunk cocked his tiny head.

"She’s . . . she’s my destiny."

The chipmunk darted in, picked up the nut, stuffed it in its cheek, and darted off again. Relin waited patiently until the face appeared once again.

"So there is this pearl, you see? A green pearl, on a platinum chain. Very pretty. Something that would get her attention, you know. Make her see that I'm not just a peasant who doesn't have any gold. I’m a florist! I grow flowers. I’ve a good and growing business!"

Once again the chipmunk ventured in, took the gift, and retreated out the window. And once again Relin patiently waited to start the conversation again. When the little face emerged over the sill, he smiled.

"The trouble is that it costs eight hundred silver. That's a lot. I've got eighty right now, so I need. . . um. . . seven hundred and twenty. Now the man at the Trade and Goods told me he'd hold it for a moon, but no more. Which means that it's time you graduated from getting free board, my little friend. You've been officially hired as my teacher. I'm going to take your example, and stash every coin I earn. If I do it loyally, I figure I can have the gold by the moon's end, and the pearl will be mine. And then Emina's heart not far behind."

The tail twitched, the chipmunk leaped inside, and was gone a moment later.

Relin sighed. "Guess that's all for today, chipmunk. It's going to be a hungry moon. I'd best conserve my nuts."

And he pulled the windows closed.

The next moon was indeed a hungry one. The first passage saw Relin eating all the goods he had in the house. Bread dwindled as the last of the butter was scraped from his wooden butter-board. The cream ran dry quickly enough, but the apple cider he had been saving lasted well into the second passage. On the third passage he was beginning to look a bit lean, and people were starting to talk.

"What's the matter, Relin. You sick or something?" they would ask, not stepping too close.

"Saving gold," Relin would reply with a smile, ignoring the grumbling protestation from his belly. "Saving gold."

The fourth passage was the most difficult. He was eating grain he had bought at the Horse and Bridle shop, boiled in water for breakfast, dry in a bowl for lunch, and seasoned with rose hips or nasturtiums from his greenhouse for dinner, the whole lot mushed into a sort of stew. But his hunger seemed nothing next to the visions of his Emina, her dark hair swirling in the winds of his mind as she smiled and laughed, her hand in his, the both of them running barefoot through fields of daisies. He made his nightly prayers to Adrian, God of Love, and threw in a morning prayer, a late morning prayer, an afternoon prayer, and two early evening prayers as well, just for good measure.

And at the end of the moon, he walked proudly into the Trade and Goods.

"Hello there, Darren. I've come for the pearl."

"Ah, my lad, and I've held it faithfully."

Relin smiled. "Here's the eight hundred silver then."

"Good. Deal done."

And Relin left for home with a skip in his step, the pearl dangling from his hand.

How softly green it was! How fine and delicate the chain! How deeply it would penetrate into the very essence of her heart, turning her affections toward him. Toward him!

Now, he thought to himself, it is only to consider how I shall give it to her. Send it by courier? No, what if it was lost? I can hardly trust it to a stranger. Deliver it myself? No, no. Too forward. Have Shane deliver it? Absolutely not. She'd be appalled at his ill mannerisms.

Relin stepped inside, laid the necklace carefully down on the kitchen table, and walked over to the cider cask. He knocked on it experimentally. It sounded quite empty.

With a frown he took his mug, held it under the spout, lifted the edge of the cask, and turned it open.

A few trickling drops emerged, wetting the bottom of his cup.

He smiled, drank the single swallow happily, and turned to regard the necklace, for his mind was hatching a plan.

He was just in time to see the tail flicker once, and the end of the platinum chain slipping over the windowsill.

"Aaaahhhhh!" he cried, and he leapt across the table, his mug breaking on the floor. He stuck his head out the window and cast about. There he was! Disappearing around the edge of the house, still dragging the chain, the pearl making a round bulge in his cheek.

With a wild and desperate cry that would have set a banshee to blushing, he threw himself out the front door and stumbled around the edge of his house. But the chipmunk was nowhere to be seen. He ran about the yard, looking everywhere, searching every tree and bush. But it was gone.

"Gone!" he cried, falling to his knees. "Adrian, why have you forsaken me?!! Why?" He sputtered twice, let out a sob, and fell to the ground, weeping pitifully.

An hour later the house was quiet, except for the barely audible grinding of teeth and small, whispered curses made through clenched jaws.

"Go ahead, you little, miserable thief. Come and get a nut, you detestable little yellow-toothed overgrown mouse. Go ahead. Take what's left of my measly wealth. Take the cursed nut!"

The chipmunk obliged, as always, slipping inside and picking up the nutmeat.

"Good," Relin hissed, staring out through red-rimmed eyes. "Now go on back to your secret lair."

The chipmunk slipped out the window.

With a cry Relin heaved to his feet, letting his chair fall backward onto the floor. He burst out the door and scrambled around the edge of the house. But again, the chipmunk was gone.

"Aaargh!"

He peered about fiercely, brow furrowed, searching the trees near the road, the length of stone foundation blocks along his house, the fence that kept the neighbor's horses corralled. But there was nothing.

"Quieter this time," he soothed to himself. "You scared him. That's all. Calm. Quiet." And he went back in, righted the chair, and set out the nut on the table.

Again the chipmunk came, and this time, as it made its way out the window, he got up quickly but quietly and sped around the edge of the house.

He stood, silently. His shoulders trembled just a little as he looked out over the empty yard.

"That's it," he said. "This is war."

It was thin silken cord, dyed bright green. Usually he used it to bind together bouquets, but now it was being assigned to quite a different role.

Very carefully he placed thin sticks on either side of the window, and between them he strung the silken cord in a lasso. He ran the end under the table, sat upon the chair with the cord in his hand, and placed the bait - one of the usual pieces of sweet nut-meat.

"Now," he said, "come for the nut, my little thief. And I'll tighten this lasso about you, and let you drag the cord all the way home. And then I’ll follow. Simple. Elegant. And soon enough I'll have my pearl back."

But when the chipmunk came this time, he hesitated at the threshold.

Relin's narrowed his eyes.

"Come on," he urged quietly. "Come and get the nut."

The whiskers twitched.

"Come on," he whispered. "Don't get all suspicious now. There's your nut. Get it!"

And just like that the chipmunk did. It leapt over to the nut, picked it up, and looked at Relin with its dark eyes. Relin smiled and nodded eagerly.

"Alright, you little betrayer. Go on home."

The chipmunk turned, took two hops toward the window, and Relin yanked on the cord with a cry of glee.

"Ha HA!" he cried. "I've got you!!"

The hapless chipmunk started in surprise as the lasso tightened around its tail, and with one bound it disappeared through the window. In his excitement, Relin completely forgot to let go, and felt a tight little jerk followed by a sudden looseness.

"What?!" he shouted, and he sprang to the window's edge. There, dangling below him, was the tightened noose, a tuft of fur held in its grasp.

"I see," Relin said quietly, and set his mind to the next plan.

Relin shook the last of the ink from the bottle, and watched in satisfaction as it pooled out to fill the shallow baking pan. He set it under the window and carefully set a small pile of nuts right in the center.

Again he sat back and waited.

At last the dark eyes appeared over the top of the sill.

"Welcome, little rat-tail. You're not cold down at your bottom, are you?"

The fur-bared tail twitched.

"Look at all these nut-meats. Mmmm. Don't they look. . . tempting?"

The chipmunk watched him with a wary eye, but Relin saw it gather itself to leap down onto the table. And then, all at once, it did.

There was a splashing of ink, a startled protest from the chipmunk, and it slipped as it tried to turn around. Splattering ink everywhere, it leapt onto the sill and disappeared, leaving the nuts behind.

Relin smiled.

Out he went, and sure enough, at the bottom of the window was a mass of black ink. And from it, little black chipmunk-prints leading off toward the street. Relin fell to his knees and began to crawl, peering carefully at the ground.

"There," he whispered, finding another track. One by one he followed the little prints, no more than black smudges, as they moved in little leaps across the ground. All the way out to the roadway, and up the side of a tree, into a little hole at just about Relin's height.

Relin smiled. "Now, little rat-tail, you are mine."

With grim determination he walked back to his tool shed and brought out a heavy, double-headed axe. "Alright, rat-tail. You and I have a little appointment." He walked back over to the tree.

He hoisted the axe, swung, grunted, swung again, and then gazed in satisfaction at the good chunk he had removed from the tree's side. He grinned wildly and raised the axe over his shoulder.

"You're comin' down, tree! A little sorry you decided to shelter thieving old rat-tail, aren't you?" Wood flew by his head, and little chunks caught in his shirt. "I know you're hiding in there, just gloating over my pearl. Well guess what? It's not yours. It's mine!"

"What are you doing?" asked a man's voice.

Relin blinked up, wiping some woodchips from his hair. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"That tree is property of the village of Peregrine Hold. All these along the roadway are. You can be fined for damaging it, young man."

"Fined?"

"Fined."

Relin sputtered. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small movement, and there, not a few feet away, he saw two dark eyes peering out from a hole in the ground.

"Fine then," he said. "Not a problem. Sorry."

The man nodded. Relin smiled back and stomped off to his tool shed.

"Tricky," he said. "You almost got me in trouble. But not quite. Not quite. And now I know where you really live."

He threw the axe to the ground in his tool shed and took out the shovel. For a moment he gazed upon it.

"Good. Here we are then." And out he went. He set the shovel's tip into the ground just where the hole was, and stepped down on it hard.

He tossed a shovel full of dirt behind him, and then another, and then another. Sweat broke out over his brow, but he could see the hole leading down and to the side, and he kept digging a trough through the soil. And then. . . and then! Yes! His shovel went down easily, and when he lifted it out, there was a mass of nut-meats and acorns and grain.

"Ha!!" he cried, and he fell to his knees, thrusting his hands down into the soil, taking out handful after handful of nuts and beetle-shells and grasses. "At last! My pearl! Where is it!?"

"In the name of Edana, what are you doing?" asked another voice.

Relin froze. He looked slowly over his dirt-covered shoulder to see Shane gazing down at him. Relin smiled weakly.

"Uh, hi."

Shane nodded grimly. "It’s true," he said. "What everyone’s saying. You’ve gone mad, Relin. Look at yourself."

Relin did. He was covered in dirt. He did his best to wipe his hands on his pants, but only managed to smear the dirt around.

"Just looking for something," he managed.

"Right," said Shane. "This doesn’t look good, Relin. Everyone can see you out here. Go in and wash yourself up."

Relin nodded. "Yeah, I will. In just a bit. Really, I’ve got to get something out of here."

Shane frowned. "It’s your life, Relin. But it’s getting a little embarrassing, you know?" With that, Shane went away down the road, shaking his head.

Relin snorted. "What does he know about it? He’s not in love."

He reached in again, and fished out the last of the den's holdings. But search as he might, there was no pearl, and no platinum chain.

Shaking, quivering down to his toes, Relin slowly turned red.

"That's it," he whispered. "You know what, rat-tail? Forget the chain. Forget the pearl. All I've got in mind is chipmunk stew."

It was later that afternoon when Relin sat again at his kitchen table, once more in clean clothes. Next to him was a bowl, which he intended to use to capture the little beast. And before him was a pile of the last nuts he had in his pantry.

Relin appeared composed, but within him burned a terrible vengeance, and visions of roasting chipmunks dominated his thoughts.

"Come to me, rat-tail. You are mine."

He sat, patient, the only betrayal of his true emotions a slight trembling in his hands. For a long while he sat, his mind possessed, his eyes locked on the windowsill.

I've scared him off, he thought. He won't come back.

And at that very singular thought, he did.

There were the eyes, dark and glossy, there was the bare-tipped tail flicking back and forth. The long, dark stripes running down the length of the body.

"Look," Relin whispered. "Look at all these nuts. There must be . . . twenty of them. Good, sweet nuts."

The chipmunk hopped down onto the table and approached cautiously.

From the edge of the table, Relin's hand moved ever so slowly, his fingers touching the edge of the bowl.

The chipmunk moved closer, and Relin's hand wrapped around the bowl.

The chipmunk's whiskers twitched, and Relin took in his breath, waiting for the perfect moment.

The chipmunk reached the pile, and sniffed out at the nuts. Relin tensed.

And a beautiful female face framed itself in Relin's window.

Relin gasped, and the chipmunk darted out past the woman's startled features.

"Em. . . Em. . . Emina. . ." Relin stuttered.

She smiled broadly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "You're feeding the chipmunks! I scared it away!"

Relin blinked, managing to nod slightly.

"I've just come to tell you that we need some more flowers for a party." She grinned shyly and looked to the side. "And," she said more softly, "to say that I've been hoping you'd send another letter."

"Um, uh, really?"

"Of course," she said, and blushed slightly. "I mean, that was really sweet." She gestured down to the pile of nuts. "But I never dreamed I'd meet a man sensitive enough to feed the chipmunks by hand. You must really love animals, to take the time to develop such an intimate relationship. That one was even injured, by the look of its tail. How caring of you!"

Relin blinked again.

"Have you been feeding it long?" she asked.

"As long as I’ve lived here," he replied.

"I love animals, too," she said, and rewarded him with another beautiful smile. "Could I come in and see your flowers?"

Relin smiled.

"Of course."

He hopped to his feet and let her in through the door. As he guided her toward his greenhouse, he glanced over at the opened window and the pile of nuts.

They would be gone, he knew, when he next returned.

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