Bentari imagined his mother and father waking up in the dim light of dawn and becoming angry that he was not there on his bed-mat. He smiled. He thought of them for good reason as he dangled beetles by their flailing legs down to the adolescent hedgehog on the ground below.

“Poor, little Needle,” he whispered.” If only you had a mother and father like mine. You’d be sharing breakfast with them right now and laughing instead of mooching from me.”

Bentari liked to get up early in the morning. He liked to be awake when his mama and papa were still asleep. He had fun pretending to steal away from the hut where they lived. He really didn’t need to sneak out. His mother and father would allow him to go because they knew that he could take care of himself even though he was only six-years old.

Bentari liked to be out of the hut before the sun came up. Then he could visit with some of his animal friends who only came out of their nests and dens at night. Once the sun came out these friends were back in bed and not even Bentari could find them.

Today, Bentari made it. Mama and Papa were left fast asleep in their bed. And the sun was still asleep, too. The hills far to the east were not even starting to glow from the sun’s first light.

The sleepy village was a cozy mystery to the boy. No matter how many times he made this early escape, he was always thrilled by the difference that darkness gave to his neighborhood huts and gardens. All day long the village was bustling. But in the quiet time at night’s end, the pathways were still. The air was cold. The fires were out. The village was silent.

Only forest night sounds drifted over the village like a lullaby from the sky. Bentari knew that song, too. He hummed the cricket’s chorus. He whistled the warbler’s tune. He chattered along with the restless colobus monkeys who were early risers among the monkey clans. Bentari’s singing sounded so much like the animals that they recognized him and had become his friends.

Through the dark night’s last grip on the forest, Bentari made his way north to his favorite playground—a small savannah where the trees and stargrass shared the landscape, providing room and board to the broad panoply of life that roamed its range and borders.

With dawn still lingering beyond the mountains far off in the east, its glow cast a faint yet welcome shimmer upon the scene that greeted Bentari as he emerged from the forest.

He rapidly assessed the sounds and smells around him. Then he darted for his perch. He long ago had claimed a low-limbed silver oak as his personal lookout. He dashed through the stargrass so rapidly that he bolted right up the slightly inclined trunk and gained a hand-hold on the lowest branch. In one motion, he swung his lithe little body up and landed cat-like upon his throne.

Now he was all ears, and the very first animal “hello” he heard was Needle whose soft snorting hunting noises told Bentari a little friend was close by.

“Ch-reee-a-ree. Chree-chree,” Bentari softly sang the cricket’s song that he hoped would draw his friend nearer.

“Unh, unh,” the hedgehog’s soft snorting gave away its approach. The delighted boy’s twinkling eyes could spot the slightest motion in the gloaming darkness, for he knew exactly what to expect and where the dullest sounds told him it would be.

“Oh, Needle! Here’s a meal fit for a chieftain!” Happily, he tossed the beetle to the scruffling, quilled hunter, and gladly he watched the small beast crunch down its last meal of the waning night.

Bentari was young, all right. Yet he had lived long enough to learn the little hedgehog’s tale—and it was not as happy as one might hope for the appealing round mammal with its shiny black eyes and pointed little nose.

Bentari had witnessed the life-cycle spun out by these solitary predators. He knew they only paired to mate. He had seen mothers care for the young for a month or so before turning them out on their own. And he had witnessed adult males during times of drought when the customary insect prey was scarce. When survival drove them, Bentari knew, they would resort to eating baby hedgehogs. That was why young hedgehogs grew up fast and went their way and tried to avoid falling prey themselves to the scavenging of their own elders.

That is why Bentari often sought out young friends like Needle—because he wanted to make life easier for the wee and helpless young who did not have caring mothers and fathers like his. And he didn’t want his friends to resort to the survival brutality that might befall them if times got really hard.

Just then, with dawn breaking earnestly over the lea, both Needle and Bentari heard the louder scruffling of a band of warthogs in the vicinity.

They both knew these warthog sounds. Their presence did not bode well for lingering within the range of smell when these stout prowlers were scavenging for their own breakfast.

“Go to bed now, Needle!” Bentari urged his friend unnecessarily. For the satisfied hedgehog was making legs toward his den with good haste for one whose legs were very short.

“Good-bye, Needle!” And with that, Bentari made his own speedy retreat back to his village and home—and breakfast.

Images: African hedgehog[1] and warthog[2] and the tree at dawn

[1] Image found online with no source noted at: http://www.awf.org/wildlife-conservation/hedgehog

[2] Image found online with no source noted at: http://www.awf.org/wildlife-conservation/warthog