Ice House Groundhog III
The groundhog king craned his neck around the edge of the dark column. Well, craned might be an exaggeration. He blubber shuffled his mass to one side such that his meaty marmot head could swivel far enough to gaze down the overgrown corridor. Bramble snakes and desiccated tree limbs wove a lattice of intrigue across the shadows.
Doubt crept into his sturdy frame.
A change was coming in the weather. The duties of his kingdom beckoned. The ratcheting fire of the stone wall blow machine echoed that sentiment and sounded more distant than what would have pleased his tiny ears. The corridor could wait. Adventure would come again with the warmth of the sun.
A subtle shift in the wind gave the groundhog pause. His nose twitched and his mouth flooded with saliva. That smell. It was a pastry ring! A sweet coated hole that tasted of forever! The king’s head swung back and forth, savoring the scents, gauging the risks. It had been so long since the last pastry ring, and a low gurgle in his guts decided it. He would venture forth and claim the ring and return with it for a den celebration.
There was a path. Traveled by many from the looks, but not very recently by the markers. Still, the king felt comfortable walking on well trodden ground, and his bulk scuttled forward. The chosen path paraded along the chain link as well, and one of his den holes came very close to paw. The groundhog couldn’t imagine why, but the sight of the safe tunnel only a scamper away was eagerly disconcerting with the mesh of chain barring his way. His resolve faltered once more.