A gentle breeze caressed Nigel’s cheek as he stood in the park feeding the pigeons. The small feathered ruffians pecked greedily at the crumbs scattered around his feet, oblivious to the coming storm that was about to engulf Nigel’s life.
You see, Nigel was a completely ordinary bloke on this otherwise extraordinary day. He was a cubicle jockey — a 9 to 5 warrior wrestling with spreadsheets and TPS reports in the concrete jungle of London. But little did he know that his mindless routine was about to be obliterated by a twist of fate SO preposterous that fiction writers would deem it too ludicrous to put to paper.
As Nigel bent to toss another handful of crumbs, something furry and light as a cumulus cloud landed squarely on his thinning pate.
“What in the bloomin’…” he exclaimed as a burst of something from his hair clouded his vision.
When the strange particulate rained down, Nigel was staring into the beady eyes of a squirrel. Not just any squirrel, but a squirrel wearing the regal crimson cape and silver breastplate of a knight!
“Salutations, good sir!” The squirrel piped in perfect King’s English, straightening the plumed cap atop his head imperiously. “I am Sir Flufferton, Defender of the Bushy Tails, Retriever of Acorns Most Tasty, Vanquisher of Raptors, et cetera, et cetera.”
Nigel’s jaw dropped halfway to his old penny loafers. Had he accidentally inhaled something illicit lurking in the shrubbery? Had someone slipped hallucinogens into his morning cuppa? Because there was simply no logical explanation for the tiny knight gesticulating wildly with his minuscule sword that was now standing on his shoulder, having the approximate dimensions of a common tree squirrel.
“You there, are you quite alright?” Sir Flufferton’s helmet dipped in concern at Nigel’s dumbfounded expression. “You appear a touch peaky. Do you mayhaps require a splash of wysteria and dandelion tea to revive your spirits?”
“I…you…wh…how…?” Nigel sputtered incoherently, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone string together a sentence befitting His Majesty’s English language.
“Do not be afraid, my good man,” Sir Flufferton proclaimed boldly, fur rippling over his miniature chest plate magnificently. “While my dominion may be yon verdant Chiswick Park, my oath is to assist any denizen who crosses my path. If you find yourself in need of aid, I am at your humble service!”
Nigel couldn’t believe his eyes or ears. A tiny talking squirrel knight dressed in the splendid regalia of yore had not only dropped onto his balding scalp, but was addressing him as jovially as the Lord Mayor himself! It was all too much to process rationally.
“C…can you repeat that?” Nigel finally gasped. “I’m afraid I’m dreadfully muddled at present.”
“Of course, of course!” Sir Flufferton replied with a gracious harrumph. “I am Sir Flufferton the Intrepid, Knight of Chiswick Park! I am sworn to protect my leafy domain and all those who wander through its borders. If you seek succor, you need but ask! My lance is beholden to the just and pure of heart.”
At that proclamation, Sir Flufferton drew his diminutive sword and flashed about with it in a dazzling display of prowess. Truthfully, the tiny blade looked less like forged steel and more like a sharpened twig, but the gallant knight’s passion was undeniable. Nigel watched utterly transfixed as the fearless squirrel bounded from his shoulder and began fencing with the empty air itself.
“You see, despicable blackheart?” Sir Flufferton bellowed with gusto as he jabbed and whirled. “No sinister force can stand against my skill with the blade! I shall defend this helpless muttonhead unto the very end!”
Nigel felt an inexplicable urge to defend his honor at the glib ‘muttonhead’ remark, but the bravery of his puny squirrel bodyguard admittedly roused his respect more than offense.
Just then, a raucous screech rang out that made Nigel’s head snap skyward. There, swooping menacingly from a nearby oak, was a massive falcon! The bird of prey sliced through the air with wicked curved talons extended, its sights set directly on Nigel’s furry benefactor!
“Ha! So the vile Viscount Falco springs his trap at last!” Sir Flufferton growled, crouching in readiness. “Come and face me then, dishonorable buzzard! I’ll send you flapping back to your scurrilous mistress before you can attempt another duplicitous ambush!”
The falcon screeched a reply that surely only its intended recipient could interpret as it angled into a dive. Nigel gasped and sprang back as the razor-sharp talons stabbed toward Sir Flufferton, only to be deflected at the last instant by the knight’s flickering blade. The two mortal foes went crashing to the grass, a tangle of feathers and fur, exchanging claw swipes and acorn arrows!
Nigel watched the epic battle unfold before his disbelieving eyes. Sir Flufferton was out struck time and again by the falcon’s slashing talons, but the indomitable squirrel refused to yield. Blood dripped from a dozen tiny lacerations in his russet fur, yet the brave knight fought on undeterred.
When an opening presented itself, Sir Flufferton released a volley of acorn projectiles from a hidden side quiver. The falcon squawked in rage as the miniature missiles pelted its feathered hide, allowing the knight to roll through its legs and spring up behind in a dizzying counterstrike.
“Huzzah!” Sir Flufferton cried as his trusty twig sword jabbed home, drawing an ooze of blood from the raptor’s flank. “Taste cold oak, thou perfidious harpy! My blade shall deliver swift justice to your vile kind this day!”
The enraged falcon screeched defiantly and renewed its aerial assault with a series of dive bombings that flung dirt and grass every which way. Sir Flufferton met each swoop with a flurry of twirling parries, never faltering, despite his injuries worsening. Nigel gaped in awe, realizing his role was to bear witness to this epic conflict between feather and fur.
When the dust finally settled, the two combatants lay battered and panting a few feet apart. The falcon fixed Sir Flufferton with a hard glare, weighing whether to risk another attack.
The squirrel knight dragged himself upright, rivulets of crimson staining his gleaming armor. He leveled his twig in warning, and his eyes narrowed to match his enemy’s piercing stare.
“Begone from this place, knave,” he wheezed through a mouthful of blood. “This park…shall not be defiled…by the schemes…of you and your ilk!”
The falcon sized up the squirrel’s resolve for a long, pregnant pause. Then, with a final indignant shriek, it unfurled its mighty wings and banked into the sky once more. Nigel’s hands flew instinctively to shield his face as the falcon’s ferocious wing beats scattered debris in a torrent of wind and fury.
And just like that, it was over. Sir Flufferton watched the raptor’s retreating form dwindle into the horizon with grim satisfaction.
“Nicely handled there, old bean,” Nigel offered once he’d recovered his composure. “That was jolly impressive swordsmanship, if I do say so myself. You’re quite the courageous little blighter.”
“Think nothing of it,” Sir Flufferton murmured modestly as he cleaned his blade on a tuft of grass. “For I am but a humble defender of all that is good and just in this…oof!”
To Nigel’s alarm, the stalwart knight wobbled precariously and tumbled over in a heap, sword slipping from his paw. Nigel rushed to scoop up the tattered hero, fearing the worst. But Sir Flufferton merely gazed up at him with weary triumph in his beady black eyes.
“Sir, you’re badly wounded! Let me fetch a spot of help at once before-”
“Nay, good Nigel,” the squirrel whispered, his shallow breaths growing slower. “My mortal duty here is complete. I have vanquished the dishonorable Falco from our peaceful park at last.”
“But surely you jest!” Nigel sputtered as hot tears sprang to his eyes unbidden. “You can’t simply expire like that after everything you’ve done! Who shall guard us from such vile rapscallions in your stead?”
Sir Flufferton managed a frail chuckle as his life’s flame flickered. “Why you, my dear muddled muttonhead, you shall.”
“B-But how?” Nigel questioned helplessly. “I’m an accountant, not a knight! I haven’t the foggiest clue how to go about protecting anyone from conspiring falcons and the like.”
“The knowledge… shall become clear…” Sir Flufferton murmured faintly, his paw pressing something into Nigel’s hand with the last of his strength.
Nigel’s breath caught in his throat as he peered down at the object — a solitary acorn gleaming gold like the sun itself.
“Upon consuming…the sacred nut…” the fallen knight wheezed, “…my power shall be bequeathed to thee. I regret only that…I cannot tarry…”
Nigel watched in stunned silence as the brave squirrel’s eyes dimmed to a glassy sheen. His tiny chest stilled forever beneath his dented breastplate.
“…to tutor you myself,” Sir Flufferton breathed his last in a contented sigh. “But I have faith…Sir Nigel. Much faith.”
Nigel knelt in the grassy clearing, cradling the fallen Sir Flufferton in disbelief as the weight of the brave knight’s final words settled upon him. He was to be the new defender of Chiswick Park — him, a buttoned-down accountant without a lick of combat training!
He gazed at the glittering acorn clutched tightly in his palm, mystified by its apparent significance. Could the dying squirrel’s claims of bestowing his power be true? It seemed utterly preposterous, and yet a part of Nigel innately understood that he must consume the sacred nut, or Sir Flufferton’s sacrifice would be in vain.
With a deep, steadying breath, Nigel brought the acorn to his lips and bit down decisively. The crunchy golden shell immediately flooded his senses with the richest, most vibrant flavors he had ever tasted, with notes of honey, hazelnut, cinnamon, and a dozen other indescribable nuances exploding on his tongue in delectable waves.
As he chewed and swallowed, the effervescent essence began to tingle through his body, from his taste buds to the tips of his toes. A peculiar warmth blossomed in his chest and rapidly expanded until Nigel felt like he might burst with novel energy.
Then, without warning, an immense shock jolted through him like a lightning strike! He gasped and convulsed from the searing power, toppling backwards onto the grass as scintillating sparkles erupted across his vision.
When his senses finally rebooted, Nigel blinked up at the verdant canopy above in utter bewilderment. He flexed his fingers experimentally, except they didn’t precisely look like fingers anymore. In fact, they appeared to be miniature paws coated in soft russet fur!
Nigel scrambled into a sitting position and gaped down at his body — or what used to be his body. His arms, legs, and torso had all transformed into those of a squirrel! A metallic glint drew his eye to the gleaming knight’s breastplate, now adorning his tiny chest.
“Wh-What in the name of…?” He started, only to gape further as the voice projecting from his mouth belonged to that of the dearly departed Sir Flufferton!
As realization dawned, Nigel scrambled over to the nearest puddle. Sure enough, staring back at him from the rippling surface was the visage of a knight-squirrel with a sweeping plume on its helmet. The sacred acorn’s power had well and truly transformed him into the Defender of the Park.
“By the hairy thread balls of Saint Nutworthy,” Nigel breathed in his new high-pitched timbre. “I’m…I’m Sir Flufferton!”
The levity of his predicament boggled his newly squirrel brain. How could this even be possible? He struggled to process the unfathomable transition from mild-mannered Nigel to the legendary warrior rodent he now embodied.
As if seeking clarification, Nigel grasped the acorn cap that now sat askew on his furry head and turned it over to examine the interior brim. There, inscribed in a tiny, flowing script, was a phrase that crystallized his purpose.
“‘Squirrellitum, defendimus.’ We squirrels defend,” he read aloud slowly. “Egad, old bean! That nutty old knight wasn’t joking after all.”
With a newfound sense of duty girding his loins, Nigel-now-Sir Flufferton sprang upright and snatched the fallen twig sword from the grass. He twirled it deftly in his paw and seamlessly fell into an en garde stance as the skills of swordsquirrely unlocked within his heightened instincts.
“Right then!” He proclaimed, screwing up his resolve. “If I am to be the new Protector of the Chiswick Woodes, no more shall any scoundrel falcon or miscreant predator roam unfettered! From this day forth, I shall honor Sir Flufferton’s noble sacrifice and defend our verdant kingdom with every ounce of valor and fortitude in my being!”
With that solemn vow to uphold his new sacred duties, Sir Flufferton spun on his heel and scampered off into the underbrush, new grand adventures awaiting the intrepid knight-squirrel. He was no longer a mere accountant destined for dreary cubicle tedium — he was a woodland superhero reborn to safeguard the peace and prosperity of Chiswick Park!
As for how he would possibly explain his spontaneous, small furry transformation to his wife and kids, well… that was a conundrum for another day.
