Rust did not have words. He had action.
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As the fire red squirrels continued their rampage, the city of London found itself in the midst of a catastrophic blaze. On September 2, 1636, a great fire broke out in a bakery on Pudding Lane, quickly spreading to engulf much of the city. The fire red squirrels were seen scurrying through the streets, their fiery fur fanning the flames and fueling the inferno. Rust did not have words
One young female, her fur a softer russet, understood. She followed. Then her brother. Then a wary old male with a scarred ear. Rust led them not in a straight line—straight was death—but in a weaving, downward path, keeping the wind at their backs, jumping from stone to stone where fire could not run. As the fire red squirrels continued their rampage,
When they emerged, the forest was a smoking skeleton. But the river had saved the outcrop and the meadow beyond. Rust shook the water from his fur. The russet female touched her nose to his. Around them, the other squirrels began, cautiously, to dig for wet tubers and unburned acorns.
Behind them, the pine grove exploded. The heat was a physical hand, shoving them. A wave of cinders rose into the sky like evil fireflies. Rust’s whiskers singed. His tail felt aflame. But the river was now in sight—a brown ribbon of salvation.
Below is a full article detailing the historical context of squirrels in 1636, connecting the "Red" and "Fire" (signifiers of history and displacement) elements.