Mother Dearest...

The field mouse dove under a rotting, moss carpeted log, foiling the stooping sparhawk, who flew off after a petulant claw strike on the soft wood of the fallen willow. With a final, wailing call, the hawk vanished into the sun, and the field mouse decide it was prudent to hunker down for a while. He had a job to do, and he could not do it dead, after all.
Farah would be so upset if he died! That would mean he had failed, and she had said it was a very important message he had to deliver.
He drifted off into a fitful, wary sleep, conserving his precious energy. He roused himself as the sun sank behind him, to the west, and he cautiously surveyed his surroundings. Nighttime was unexpectedly dangerous for a field mouse. He had to be wary!
He scuttled off to the east after a final perusal of the surrounding forest. Birkwud had very little in the way of mercy for field mice, and great care must be taken by them in order to survive for any reasonable amount of time. He was determined to deliver Farrah's message.
Like darkness within shadow, he flitted between hiding spots for the rest of the night, pausing to sleep as the sun broke over the horizon. He was making good time! if he kept it up, he would be finished by tonight.
He dozed off.
As soon as the sun set, he was on the move again, continuing east but bending a little to the south, now. He had to cross the river.
He climbed a large oak, with long branches sticking way out over the river and into the branches of a tree beyond the rushing water. With any luck, he would be...
He froze. He didn't know what it was, but something made him hold tight to that tree branch and not move a muscle, as a shadow moved above him. Still as a moonshadow, he was, and that is what he did for the entire time a still groggy barn owl walked along the branch above him, beginning his own evening with a stretch and a yawn. With a low hoo-hoo-hoo hoo-hoo, it dropped from the branch and ghosted away into the darkness on wings of silence.
The field mouse made a break for it, running from one tree to the next, jumping from branch to branch, making the long trel across the wild river below. The tree branches swayed treacherously with each step he took, but he clung tightly and carried on. It was then that he heard a triumphant cry from above, and with ice flooding through his veins he knew the sparhawk of yesterday had found him. So, he did the only thing that he could do.
He jumped into the water below.
He fell for what felt like a long, long time.

---

The field mouse, while no aquatic animal, could indeed swim. He never would have considered himself a strong swimmer, but the effort he put into that swim was, in a word, heroic. And just as he was pulling himself from the water's cool embrace, a rustle of air above him alerted him to danger, and he threw himself down a hill without even looking. Owl and sparhawk, both stooping for the field mouse simultaneously, collided mid air, and were (thankfully) so busy fighting each other for a little while that the field mouse was able to run his final sprint, collapsing into a silver haired woman's shadow with as valiant a squeak! as he could muster. He was so winded, he was sure he was going to pass out; but no matter! The tiny piece of parchment was delivered to the two legged silver haired woman. The one who always threw out extra seeds for his kith and kin that lived near her farm. Farrah had been very insistent that the message be sent to her. To Silver, because the son was being watched. The word Arathorn, written in a precise ornamental script, adorned the top of the folded slip.