by Colin Dann
‘He’s a proud creature,’ Fox remarked when he and Vixen stopped one evening to watch. ‘Look at the way he carries himself.’
‘Yes,’ Vixen agreed. ‘He seems to realize even now he has no real rivals. It’s in his bearing.’
‘There will be some challengers,’ Fox answered her. ‘It’s in the nature of things.’
‘My only concern is that he won’t interfere with our way of life or our friends’,’ Vixen said, voicing Fox’s own fears. ‘It’s been so peaceful since the departure of the huge hunting Cat.’
‘We’ll keep ourselves to ourselves,’ Fox vowed. ‘No creature can take exception to that.’
So the Farthing Wood community went about their business as usual without upsetting anybody.
Badger had had a tenant for much of the spring in his set, and an unlooked-for one at that. Because of the long period of wet weather Adder had set up home in a dry spot near the mouth of one of Badger’s tunnels. He had not asked permission and Badger was too old and polite a friend to object. But when a drier patch of weather set in and Adder showed no sign of wanting to leave, Badger began to make some pointed comments. It wasn’t that Adder was there all the time. He couldn’t be. He had to go out to catch his food. Yet the way he used the set as his base, constantly returning to it as if he had some kind of right, really got under Badger’s hide.
One bright morning when the snake didn’t seem at all disposed to stir Badger said: ‘Why don’t you go for a sunbathe? I thought you didn’t like temperatures too cool?’
Adder grinned enigmatically. ‘There’s quite enough warmth to suit me here, thank you, Badger,’ he replied.
‘Isn’t it time you ate?’ Badger hinted. ‘I don’t think you’ve moved for days.’
‘I don’t need to hunt every day,’ was the reply and Adder coiled himself up even more comfortably. ‘I suppose you couldn’t spare a few more of those dry leaves for this corner?’ His tongue flickered in and out as he savoured the smell of the bedding.
‘No, I couldn’t,’ Badger said shortly. ‘I’m not your housekeeper. I didn’t mind sheltering you during the constant downpours. I like company. But there are times when I also like solitude.’
Adder ignored him. He merely stared straight back at Badger with a blissful expression on his face. Badger lumbered away, growling to himself.
Later Mossy visited his ancient friend via one of the mole’s connecting tunnels that led straight into the set. Badger immediately began talking about Adder as if Mossy had been there all day. ‘He’s taken up permanent residence here,’ he complained. ‘Snakes should find their own burrows. What am I to do, Mole?’
Mossy didn’t consider he was in a position to advise. ‘You’ve known Adder much longer than I,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t dream of –’
‘And then, what do you think?’ Badger continued without listening. ‘He wants his bedding provided. He always had the cheek of all his kind but this time – well!’ He lapsed into peevish mutterings.
Mossy thought it best to change the subject. ‘Have you seen Tawny Owl recently?’ he enquired.
‘What? What? Owl? No, I haven’t. What of it?’ Badger answered irritably.
‘I met Weasel earlier. He says he thinks Owl’s disappeared. No-one’s seen him since – um – well, since . . .’
‘Since what?’ Badger snapped.
‘Since the young foxes badgered him,’ Mossy finished and tittered nervously.
‘Very amusing, Mole,’ Badger commented humourlessly. But he was interested. ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked.
Mossy explained. ‘Weasel told me the tale. He was involved too. He admitted it. They’ve been goading Tawny Owl because of his solitariness.’
‘Nothing wrong with solitariness,’ Badger replied at once. ‘I’d relish it.’
‘That wasn’t quite what I meant.’ Mossy went on to describe the circumstances.
‘Oh,’ said Badger. ‘I see. Poor old Owl. Why treat him like that? And he’s disappeared, you say? Disappeared where? To another quarter of the Park?’
‘Weasel says not. It seems Whistler hasn’t seen Owl flying over any part of the Park for ages.’
‘Well, we can’t let this rest. Perhaps he’s keeping to his roost. He could be ill.’
‘None of his favourite haunts are occupied. Whistler’s been to look. Weasel is convinced Owl’s left the Park.’
Badger was really concerned. ‘Oh no. That would be awful. Driven out like that! I hope the young foxes have been –’
‘They’re very upset about it,’ Mossy interrupted. ‘Weasel told me.’
Adder had heard the voices coming from Badger’s far chamber. He put two and two together. ‘The bird’s gone searching for a mate,’ he hissed under his breath. ‘How absurd at his age.’
Badger trundled up the tunnel to give Adder the news.
‘I heard,’ Adder said abruptly. ‘Well, Badger, I think we can look forward to a long absence from our friend Tawny Owl.’
‘How can you be so unfeeling?’ Badger demanded.
‘Not unfeeling; just realistic,’ Adder answered, quite unperturbed. ‘Old Owl’s not exactly a glossy-plumed youngster, just out of the nest.’
‘I shall speak to Fox,’ Badger said determinedly. ‘We must do something. Bring Owl back.’ He lumbered away.
‘And how do you propose to do that? Sprout wings?’ Adder called after him sarcastically.
Mossy followed faithfully in Badger’s footsteps for a while. Adder watched them go. ‘I suppose they’ll mount a search,’ he muttered. But the topic of Tawny Owl had reminded him of a search he had been contemplating making himself now that there was dry summer weather. He had expected – perhaps had even hoped – to come across Sinuous in his wanderings. But he hadn’t done so. Adder had a feeling, though, that he knew one place where he could find her. It was a favourite spot of the she-viper’s, near the stream. So, despite his comfortable surroundings, he issued forth from the set into the sunshine.
Since the death of the Great Stag the stream had generally been avoided by the Farthing Wood animals. Without actually giving voice to their feelings, the stream had become for them a place of portent. That the stag had died on its banks was like an omen. It gave the site an air of mystery. Whistler was unable to fish there. And the long wet spell had made it unnecessary for use as a drinking place. However, all this was immaterial to Adder as he slithered over the ground, bent on his rendezvous.
Sinuous detected his approach before he saw her. She was sunning herself on a mossy patch amongst the new young ferns. She lay on slightly rising ground. She observed Adder a few metres distant, his tongue darting incessantly as he sought for her scent. Sinuous allowed her face to take on the typical grin of the snake; a sort of leer. She was pleased and a little flattered Adder had come looking for her.
When Adder was close by, she said: ‘Our trails cross at last. I’ve been wondering why it hasn’t happened before?’
Adder slid to an abrupt halt at the sound. He didn’t wish it to be too obvious that he was on a search. He looked up and saw Sinuous on her couch of moss. ‘I haven’t been in these parts for a while,’ he told her.
‘I’m well aware of that,’ Sinuous answered. ‘What brings you here now?’
‘Oh well, one has to go somewhere,’ Adder said dismissively.
The she-adder’s grin broadened. Her tongue picked up Adder’s scent. ‘Have you been travelling in a hurry?’ she asked archly.
‘Um – well, not particularly,’ Adder fibbed. ‘But my movements are always more lively on a warm, sunny day.’ He moved closer. ‘The wet weather kept me rather under wraps, as it were,’ he joked.
‘And in all that time, didn’t you spare a thought for me, Adder-of-the-blunt-tail?’
The snake pondered his reply. He had thought about her, though only intermittently. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘I think about everyone and everything from time to time.’
‘Non-committal as ever,’ Sinuous summari
zed. Her tone changed. ‘It’s been so quiet here. Almost lonely. Ever since the stream . . .’ She did not complete the sentence.
‘Since the stream what?’ Adder prompted.
‘Became out of bounds.’
Adder considered. ‘You were going to say something else at first, I think?’
‘No – o,’ Sinuous said slowly. ‘No, not really. Only that it’s as though the animals have become afraid of it.’
‘Because of the Stag’s death?’
‘There may be more to it,’ she suggested.
Adder held her gaze. Was she giving him a warning? ‘I don’t plan to swim there,’ he informed her.
‘No. Nor I. But there are creatures who are more partial to watery pursuits than we snakes. Toads, for instance . . .’
3
Familiar Terrain
BY THE TIME Badger was discussing the bird’s where-abouts with Fox and Vixen, Tawny Owl was far away. He had met with no luck in any nearby woods or copses and so had flown on further. Prey was easy to find and so were places to roost during the daylight hours. But his quest for a partner proved elusive.
It wasn’t long before certain features of the landscape began to strike chords in Tawny Owl’s memory. This was because he had travelled over it before, from the opposite direction, on the epic journey to the Nature Reserve – oh! so long ago. He began to recall events that had occurred at certain places which he now recognized, or what had been said by one of his friends at a particular spot. It was uncanny. Many of those friends he remembered were now gone. Yet they seemed to live on in this countryside. He perched in an oak and looked up at the gleaming sky. He seemed to see Kestrel, hovering, keen-eyed, a speck in the blue, spying out the land ahead. What a flier he had been! An aerial acrobat.
Tawny Owl shook the memories away. He must concentrate on the present and on his new purpose. He rested and as he dozed he dreamed. He dreamed of his old home and his birthplace in Farthing Wood. And at dusk he awoke with a jolt and with a new idea. Why shouldn’t he fly back there? Retrace the animals’ historic journey? Back to their beginnings, to the place of their forefathers. Of course it would be changed, massively changed. He knew that. But whatever was left, whatever was there now, still enshrined the old home they had all shared all those seasons ago. And perhaps there was still a corner with a few trees where he could stay awhile and survey the new landscape. What a story he would have to tell on his return to White Deer Park! And somewhere on his journey, over all that wide expanse, he would be bound to find that special companion to fly with him . . .
The more he thought, the more excited Tawny Owl became. He felt younger in spirit than he would ever have dreamed possible again. But he needed to be cautious. For he wasn’t young. He must fly within his capabilities; not take risks nor indulge in any foolishness. There was plenty of time. He was very pleased with himself and he flew a little loop around the oak tree to celebrate. His stomach, however, soon reminded him of the necessity of keeping his strength up and he set himself without further ado to obey its commands.
His hunting techniques were born of long experience. He knew where to look and listen for shrews and wood mice. Soon he had caught and eaten enough to sustain himself. Then he flew well above the tree tops towards a much higher landmark that loomed on the horizon, a shape blacker than the dark sky that surrounded it. Tawny Owl had recognized it and now flew unerringly towards it. It was a church tower.
Flying high as he was he naturally headed straight for the open belfry. He landed on a stone sill and glanced around. ‘I’ve been here before,’ he murmured. It all seemed so familiar. This church had been the Farthing Wood party’s last sheltering place before reaching White Deer Park. Owl’s head swivelled round and he looked out at the sky. The stars glittered.
‘I’ll shelter here again,’ he decided. ‘It’s an ideal spot. No-one to disturb me here.’
He watched the night sky pensively, his thoughts turning once again to those long-ago events inside the church during the animals’ previous visit. Presently dawn glimmered in the east. Tawny Owl’s head drooped. He shifted his talons, then closed his eyes. He was soon asleep.
But he wasn’t allowed to sleep for long. Because there were other occupants of the church belfry who, in the gathering dawn, began to return there from their nocturnal hunting flights. And they objected to the presence of a large bird at their roost.
Tawny Owl half awoke as something zipped past his ear. He opened one eye but saw nothing. Then the little snap! of noise came again. Now he was quite awake. He was curious. He opened both eyes fully and looked around. Against the pale backdrop of the lightening sky he saw a number of small darting creatures crisscrossing on their different swooping flights. Occasionally one would dart directly at the church tower, then veer away at the last second. More and more swelled these numbers. Some came close enough to Tawny Owl to glance at him but none of them dared do more than chatter at the intruder, before they flitted away again. The big bird of prey unsettled them. They were angry, but wary of him. Tawny Owl realized he had usurped the resting place of a colony of bats.
The tiny animals fascinated yet irritated him. He admired, as only a bird could, their flying dexterity. But he wanted to sleep and the bats made this impossible. Evidently they wished to sleep, too, during the coming daylight, yet none of them was sufficiently bold to enter the belfry. They chivvied and chided him, but Tawny Owl refused to be dislodged. They buzzed around and past him in a miniature aerial bombardment.
‘Will you stop this annoyance?’ he cried at them. ‘I’m staying put.’
The bats paid no heed but continued their dive-bombing.
‘I just want to sleep,’ Tawny Owl hooted. ‘Can’t you leave me alone? You’ll get no rest either!’
‘Fly away, begone.’ ‘Move away, leave our roost.’ The bats shrieked at him in their tiny high-pitched voices.
Tawny Owl lost his temper. He launched himself from the stonework and swooped into their midst, scattering the animals briefly before they resumed their skimming, skipping flights all around him. Wherever he flew they followed him. But he could never catch any. They could turn and bank in a fraction of a second and reappear a moment later in a different spot. All around the sky the bats darted in varying patterns and directions, never colliding and never settling.
Aggravated as he was, Tawny Owl watched their effortless skill with wonder. He felt himself to be clumsy and cumbersome by comparison. He didn’t relish being outshone in the field of flying. Disgruntled, he returned to his perch on the stone sill. The bats resumed their skirmishes. Tawny Owl moved further inside the belfry and perched on a rafter. He put his head under his wing and tried to ignore the animals’ squeals and squeaks. It was in vain. His patience was now entirely exhausted.
‘How dare you keep this up!’ he thundered. ‘Do you know who I am? Tawny Owl from Farthing Wood!’ He waited for the expected result of this piece of information.
The bats, however, had either never heard of him or treated the news with disdain. Their behaviour changed not at all.
‘This is intolerable,’ Tawny Owl moaned to himself. ‘First I’m driven away from the Park by insults and goading. Now I’m starved of sleep by puny little creatures no bigger than a vole. What have I done to deserve this? I won’t be driven out!’ he declared finally. ‘I want to rest!’ he screeched. ‘I don’t want to eat you. I want nothing to do with you! If I can ignore you, can’t you all just do likewise?’
For a brief period the bats stayed outside the belfry, their movements less frantic and antagonistic. They seemed to be communing with one another. Then, chattering and muttering together, they flew into the belfry and began to hang themselves upside down, one by one, from their favoured roosting spots. Their little long-eared heads turned all in one direction as they gazed at Tawny Owl.
At last one piped up: ‘How do we know you won’t eat us while we sleep?’
Tawny Owl fixed the tiny furry creature with his enormous eyes. He re
alized the bat’s face was up the wrong way so he tried to accommodate him by twisting his own head as far as he could in order to meet his eyes. In doing so he very nearly toppled from his perch. The sudden movement startled the bats and they began to leave their places and dart about again.
Tawny Owl was beside himself. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ he begged. ‘Calm yourselves, please. I can’t hang upside down like you so we’ll just have to talk to each other the – er – wrong way up, if you see what I mean.’ He waited until they were more or less settled again. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t eat bats. I couldn’t catch you if I wanted to. And as for eating you while you’re asleep, how could I do that if I’m asleep myself?’
He looked around at the little bodies, each of which seemed to be swaying gently from one leg. ‘I’ve already eaten,’ he rejoined to doubly reassure them. ‘I’m not hungry. Only weary. I sleep through the daylight hours just like you. When it’s dusk I’ll depart. Is that a bargain?’
There was a barrage of squeaky voices. Then one rose above all the others. ‘We won’t bargain with you,’ the bat said, ‘because we can’t trust you. We don’t know who you are. So one of us will stay awake all day in case you mean to take advantage. That’s our answer.’
‘You’re silly little creatures, all of you,’ Tawny Owl said derogatorily. ‘I always keep my word. Haven’t you ever heard of the Oath of the Animals of Farthing Wood?’
There was silence. Owl took this as assent. ‘Well, the Oath can be extended to any other animals we choose,’ he informed them grandiosely. ‘So if I extend the Oath of Mutual Protection to you, your safety is assured, isn’t it?’
None of the bats chose to respond. Most of them hadn’t the faintest idea what the bird was talking about. Some of the older animals did have an inkling of the legendary Oath that Owl was referring to, though they didn’t understand enough to realize how it could be applied to the bat community. So silence reigned as they tried to puzzle it all out.
