by Colin Dann
Silence was the one thing that Tawny Owl craved. In a trice he had fallen asleep while the diminutive animals kept themselves awake by their perplexity.
The sun rose steadily in the sky. Tawny Owl slept. Many of the bats still fidgeted. The sun reached its zenith. Tawny Owl slept on peacefully. Some bats shifted their skinny wings as they watched him. The sun slipped slowly down to the horizon. In the afterglow Owl awoke refreshed, stretched his wings and awaited dusk. When it was quite dark he prepared to fly on. All around the belfry tower the suspended bats were fast asleep. Tawny Owl left the church behind with a chuckle.
The lights of a nearby town drew him onwards. He flew well above its buildings and when he had crossed it he looked for another landmark to guide him. The distant but steady hum of heavy traffic reminded him of his direction. He flew over some farmland and alighted in a tall ash whose late-opened leaves were still a fresh new green. From here he could see the dazzling lights of the motorway traffic streaking across the foreground like miniature shooting stars. But the terrifying dangers of such a man-made obstacle as this great highway were no barrier to a bird. Tawny Owl looked on almost scornfully. All at once his reverie was interrupted. An owl had hooted from another tree. Or was he mistaken? He strained his ears to catch a repetition above the roar of the machines. Sure enough the call was repeated.
Tawny Owl replied with the answering call. ‘Keewick.’
The stranger owl’s next call was nearer at hand. Tawny Owl located it amongst a stand of poplars planted as a windbreak at the border of a field. He was confident the calling bird was a female and that she had noticed him and wanted him to come closer. So he obliged.
He alighted on the neighbouring tree to where the other owl was perched.
‘I’ve been watching you,’ said the bird who was indeed a female.
‘Watching me?’
‘Yes, for quite a while. I saw you roosting at the church building and your battle with the bats.’
‘Battle!’ Tawny Owl exclaimed contemptuously. ‘There was no battle. Only a minor irritation.’
‘Your flight is very purposeful,’ was the next observation.
Tawny Owl took this as a compliment. ‘I’m on a journey,’ he explained.
‘A journey? To where?’
‘To an old territory of mine.’
‘What for?’ the female owl enquired. She sounded intrigued.
‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ Tawny Owl replied. ‘I’m flying to an old hunting ground I used to frequent.’
‘Is the hunting good?’
‘I don’t know any more. It used to be when I lived there. But there have been changes.’
‘Then why go back there? Can’t you find what you want round here?’
Tawny Owl was struck by the aptness of her question, innocent though it was. ‘That depends,’ he answered with a sideways look at her that was intended to be full of meaning.
The female owl didn’t notice the significance of his expression. ‘Depends on what?’ she fluted.
‘Well – you know.’ Owl ruffled his wings impatiently. ‘Certain things. How much of the terrain is occupied and – er – by whom . . .’
‘What difference does that make? Can’t you defend yourself?’
‘Of course I can!’ he answered huffily. ‘I meant, is the area fully marked out and – er – claimed?’
The female owl looked at him for a long time before answering. ‘Now I see why you’re returning to your old area,’ she surmised. ‘You haven’t paired.’
This was a sore point with Tawny Owl. He shifted his stance and the slender poplar branch rippled elastically. ‘No, no, I haven’t paired,’ he admitted grumpily.
‘Small chance round here for you then,’ the female informed him. ‘You’d better press on.’
Tawny Owl glared. ‘But you – you were calling. Where is your mate then?’
‘Collecting food, I hope,’ she answered. ‘He’s been gone a long time. My babies are almost fully fledged. They’re always hungry. They never stop nagging for food so I’ve been trying to hasten his return. They’ve eaten all we’ve brought them.’
The last thing Tawny Owl wanted to hear about was the details of other owls’ family life, especially in his present predicament. He hastened to be gone.
‘I must be on my way,’ he muttered and leapt from his branch.
‘Where do you head now?’ she called after him.
‘Farthing Wood,’ he hooted, ‘if it’s still there.’ He tarried no longer but sped straight for the motorway. The female owl watched with beak agape. Abruptly she concluded just whom she had been addressing. The Farthing Wood Owl!
4
Trey
BADGER’S CONCERN ABOUT his old friend Tawny Owl’s disappearance was shared by Fox and Vixen.
‘To think of one of the elders of the Farthing Wood community feeling himself forced to quit the Park!’ Fox bemoaned. ‘It’s outrageous and Pace and Rusty must be reprimanded. They may think they’re grown-up foxes but their behaviour shows otherwise. I shan’t take them to task myself. Their own parents have that duty to perform.’
‘But in the meantime, Fox, what can we do to get Owl back?’ Badger wailed. ‘I think he’s too old to go off scouring the countryside on some fool’s errand such as this.’
‘Don’t worry, my dear friend,’ Fox answered. ‘We’ll think of something.’
‘Does Owl actually plan to stay outside the Reserve?’ Vixen queried.
‘As far as I can tell he intends not to return until he has someone to accompany him,’ Badger replied. ‘I think Weasel could tell you more about how all this arose.’
‘Weasel? Yes,’ Fox mused. ‘He and Owl always had their differences, didn’t they? Seemed to have a penchant for needling each other unnecessarily. But Weasel ought to know better than to joke about vital things like pairing off. You say he’s partly to blame, Badger?’
‘Yes, I’m sure of it. He couldn’t have foreseen the result, of course,’ he added, trying as ever to smooth things over.
‘I think we should have a word with Weasel,’ Fox asserted. ‘The onus is on him to help in this matter. Come on; he’s bound to be around close by.’
There was no difficulty in finding Weasel but he didn’t prove to be very disposed to help.
‘What can I do?’ he asked them coolly. ‘Tawny Owl’s simply gone off in a huff. He’ll be back soon enough when he’s recovered himself.’
‘Really, Weasel, I don’t know what you were thinking of, talking to him the way you did. You know how touchy he is,’ said Fox.
‘I wasn’t to know he would go to such lengths,’ was Weasel’s answer. ‘Do you think I’d have said a word if I’d known he’d be so nonsensical?’
‘You always have enjoyed teasing him,’ Fox recalled.
‘Yes, but . . . well, he’s never reacted so extremely before, has he? It’s no use worrying yourself, Fox. Nor you, Badger. We’re past the age when we could mount missions of rescue.’
Fox looked at Weasel’s grizzled fur with a wry expression. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Our colouring complements each other.’ He was only too aware of his own greying coat. As for Badger, he hadn’t even regained his breath.
‘But we can’t desert Tawny Owl, can we?’ Vixen pleaded.
‘We haven’t done so, Vixen,’ declared Weasel. ‘He’s deserted us, hasn’t he? Purely in a fit of pique. There’s just nothing to be done – except wait. Even if we were still our young adventurous selves it would be quite impracticable for mammals to go searching for a bird.’
‘Oh dear, he could be far away by now,’ Badger wailed. ‘And I don’t think he’s any better equipped than we are to deal with the perils outside the Park.’
‘Of course he is,’ Weasel said kindly, trying to comfort. ‘He has wings to carry him above any danger. Now don’t fret. I’m certain we shall soon see –’ Weasel stopped suddenly. He was looking away over their heads at something in the background. The others followed his glance.<
br />
It was Trey the large white stag that Weasel was looking at. And Trey was looking at them. He was on his own. He stood stock still and stared haughtily. Then, with a proud toss of his head, he began to step sedately towards them. He was a fine powerful-looking beast.
‘You’re some of the old travellers who came here long ago from another place, if I’m not mistaken,’ he said without preamble. He had a harsh voice.
‘Yes,’ said Fox. ‘We are.’
‘You realize, I suppose, we only tolerate your presence here, we don’t invite it?’
‘Tolerate? Presence? What are you talking about?’ demanded Fox. ‘And who’s “we”?’
‘The herd, naturally.’
‘Oh, you’ve been elected to speak for all of them, have you?’ Weasel interjected sardonically.
The stag gave the tiny animal a contemptuous look as if such a midget wasn’t even worthy of an answer. ‘I am now the natural leader of the herd,’ he said, addressing the two foxes and Badger, ‘and therefore I wish you to understand your position.’
Fox ignored the last remark. ‘I should have thought some of the other stags might have something to say about whether you’re the natural leader?’ he suggested. ‘That’s if I have learnt anything about the pattern of a deer herd’s behaviour during my time in the Park.’
‘Who is there to challenge me, Trey?’ he asked boastfully. ‘I am a royal stag. Have you ever seen antlers as splendid as these?’
‘Yes,’ Vixen replied coolly. ‘The Great Stag, your precursor, had finer ones in his heyday.’
Trey glowered. But he was honest enough to admit, ‘He was a superb specimen, it’s true. But,’ he added, ‘his heyday was over long before he died. Now he’s gone things will change – and not just in the herd.’
‘We’d like to know about these changes,’ Badger spoke for all of his friends, ‘since we live here too.’
‘Exactly,’ Trey said. ‘You live here too. We deer have allowed all you smaller animals to do just that, whereas in reality this Nature Reserve was set aside for us alone. We gave the Reserve its name. The Park belongs to us. Do you think for one moment, if it hadn’t been for such a rare and valuable white deer herd, that this area of land would have been reserved for paltry common or garden creatures such as yourselves?’
The animals were open-mouthed.
‘You don’t answer me,’ prompted Trey.
‘We are dumbfounded by your arrogance,’ Fox answered the stag. He drew himself up. ‘I’m old now,’ he said. ‘But I also have authority and am respected in this Park. Your ancestor would never have spoken to me – or any of us – like that. I’d like to see you brought down to earth. You’ll have rivals, sure enough, in due season. Then perhaps you’ll find brute strength is more than a match for conceit.’
‘The only thing I shall find,’ said Trey, ‘is every foolhardy rival running from my lowered antlers, one by one. And I mean to be not only the leader of the deer herd but Lord of the Reserve. So you must stay in your corner of the Park, all of you. I want no interference with my herd’s grazing. The most succulent shoots, the sweetest grasses, the tenderest leaves are ours alone. Smaller creatures must make do with our leavings. Otherwise you’ll be permitted here no longer. So tell your friends the rabbits and hares and suchlike to keep clear. You’ve all had the run of our Reserve for too long. And what have you brought us in return? Nothing but mayhem: a succession of dangers in what was once a place of tranquillity. You Farthing Wood animals are our Bad Luck.’ With that he turned on his heel and walked away with a distinct swagger.
The friends were speechless. They could find no answer to Trey’s accusation. At last Vixen murmured, somewhat defensively, ‘I’m sure the rest of the herd don’t see us that way.’
‘Of course they don’t!’ Weasel exclaimed vehemently. ‘“Bad Luck” indeed.’
Fox said: ‘We’re going to have trouble with that animal. I know it. “Lord of the Reserve”,’ he quoted. ‘A rather premature claim, I feel, but it gives us all an indication of his intentions. I don’t know what he meant about dangers and mayhem, do you?’ He appealed to his companions.
Badger surprised them. ‘I have an inkling,’ he admitted. ‘It’s something that’s been in my mind from time to time.’
‘What, trouble that we’ve brought to the Park?’ Weasel demanded angrily.
‘No, no, Weasel, of course not,’ Badger pacified him. ‘It’d be more true to say that trouble seems to have followed us.’
Fox looked serious. ‘Go on, old friend,’ he urged. ‘Let’s hear your thoughts.’
‘Well, I’ve often considered the irony of our lives here,’ Badger resumed. ‘Maybe you have too. After all, we journeyed here over hostile terrain, at great risk to ourselves the whole way, believing we were coming to a safe haven in the Nature Reserve. All along, during that arduous journey, it was that thought that buoyed us up. Yet it’s been far from a safe haven. The first winter after we arrived we nearly starved to death. Then there were the poachers shooting at all and sundry, but particularly the deer. So Trey was right about that danger. Somehow we struggled through that winter to find ourselves the following spring involved in a war with other inhabitants of the Park led by Scarface. To cap it all, last summer a huge hunting animal prowls the Park, picking off its victims at will without any of us being able to mount any resistance to it. If we’d wanted a life of constant adventure and hardship we couldn’t have chosen a better site! Quite honestly, I sometimes wonder if it wasn’t more peaceful in Farthing Wood.’
‘There’s a lot of truth in what you say,’ Fox avowed. ‘The important thing though, surely, is that we’ve survived all of it. And the reason for that is that we’ve pulled together; helped one another. It wasn’t like that in Farthing Wood. We were all following our own paths. The Farthing Wood animals were brought together by our journey in a unique way. We had one common aim. And that spirit has continued ever since. For that alone we should rejoice we came to White Deer Park. And I think some of our beliefs have been passed on to our descendants. The dangers that have occurred here would have occurred anywhere else. There’s no such thing as a sanctuary entirely free of danger for wild creatures. Not anywhere.’
‘The stag Trey seems to think otherwise,’ Weasel observed.
‘He’s blaming us for a set of coincidences,’ Fox answered. ‘We weren’t responsible for inviting danger here. The poaching men with their guns came because this is a Deer Park, not because the animals of Farthing Wood chose to take up residence here.’
‘The thing is: what do we do about his threat?’ Weasel asked, ‘I don’t intend to be intimidated. I’ll go on roaming the whole area of the Reserve. Why should we be holed up here? It’d be like the Great Cat’s thraldom all over again.’
‘It won’t make any difference to me,’ Badger said. ‘I hardly venture further from my set than the nearest meal. Unless I need to see you dear friends. But even that I find taxing these days. My sight’s so bad . . .’
‘Yes, we know,’ Weasel cut in before Badger developed the theme. ‘But I really don’t think the threat was aimed at an old creature such as yourself.’
‘We’ll continue to live our lives as we choose to,’ Fox said resolutely. ‘Trey’s a powerful beast and could be a formidable adversary. But his words may all be bluster. His apparent dominance of the herd may have gone to his head.’
‘What of the smaller animals?’ Vixen prompted. ‘He mentioned the rabbits and hares.’
‘We’ll warn Leveret to be cautious and to spread the word,’ Fox answered. ‘But we’ll call Trey’s bluff.’
‘We’ve been diverted, haven’t we?’ Vixen reminded them. ‘We never did decide what to do about Tawny Owl.’
‘Yes, we did,’ Weasel contradicted. ‘Wait for him to return. That’s what we’ll do. I bet he’d love to think he’s put us all in a pet by his absence.’
‘Perhaps Whistler will sight him somewhere,’ Fox said. ‘He’s such a silly old owl someti
mes.’ He sighed. ‘But Friendly must reprimand the youngsters. They look up to him.’
There was nothing more to discuss and the friends parted.
Over on the other side of the Park, Leveret, the young hare, was munching the juiciest stalks he could find, oblivious of the altercation with Trey. Every so often he raised himself on his hind legs amongst the tall grasses to scan his surroundings. His prominent eyes and sensitive ears were invaluable in detecting the slightest hint of an alarm. His speed, like that of his father, the Farthing Wood Hare, was legendary. Nothing in the Park could catch him, not even the deer. Not that they tried to do so. Prior to the old White Stag’s death, the deer herd had lived equably with its neighbours. And it might have been because of this that Leveret was not quite so alert all of the time as he would have been outside the Reserve.
The grasses and vegetation, generally, were particularly lush that year in the Park, thanks to the long rainy spell. So there was more than enough for everyone. The insect population thrived and there was a glut of caterpillars and grubs. The birds found food easily for their nestlings and the Park’s inhabitants enjoyed a period of plenty. Trey, however, was not content with this. He wanted to be acknowledged by all as the paramount being of the Reserve’s animal kingdom. He therefore lost no opportunity to enforce this idea. Whenever he could make his presence felt he did so in some way, sometimes bullying, sometimes threatening. The animals resented this but there was nothing they could do about it except long for the stags’ rutting season.
There came a day when, because of his familiarity with the deer and his belief in their inoffensiveness, Leveret was, quite literally, caught napping. He had made his couch in the softest, greenest area of grassland and, since he hadn’t sought out his Farthing Wood comrades recently, he was quite unaware of the risks he was running as he lay amongst that choice verdure. The sun was warm on his back, the air balmy; he slumbered peacefully. But a movement, a rustle of the grass and Leveret was instinctively awake. He opened his eyes. A huge white head bearing massive antlers confronted him. Leveret at first wasn’t disturbed. Just another member of the deer herd, he thought. Then he noticed the stag’s expression. It was not a friendly one.
