by Colin Dann
Holly was excited. ‘Would you? Would you really?’ she asked.
‘Just see if I don’t,’ he answered grimly, but inwardly he smiled. He wondered how she would manage the affair.
That night Holly didn’t see the elusive bird. Tawny Owl’s inward smile broadened. The next night and the night after that were the same. Owl was beside himself with glee. But Holly was deliberately lulling him into a state of unpreparedness. On the fourth night, as they skimmed together over the gardens searching for mice, he was on the point of remarking that his rival seemed to have given up when she suddenly startled him with cries of: ‘There he is! There he is!’
Tawny Owl nearly plummeted to earth in his astonishment, but managed to correct his flight to save himself. ‘Where?’ he gasped breathlessly.
‘There, look! Do you see where those new man-dwellings are being built?’ She indicated by changing direction.
‘Yes, I – I think I do.’
‘He’s skulking over there!’ she screeched. Her cries were so convincingly raucous that for a moment Tawny Owl almost believed he could himself make out something in the distance. Did he see a fluttering figure?
‘Quickly!’ Holly urged him. ‘He’ll be gone.’
Now there was no choice for him. He had to fall in with her plan or appear cowardly. He flapped his wings hastily, increasing his speed, and zoomed towards his objective. Holly watched him with satisfaction.
Tawny Owl was really flying fast. He hoped that if a rival were around the bird would be frightened off by his purposefulness. But there was no rival around and Tawny Owl blundered straight into some almost invisible netting that flapped in the breeze, entangling himself and landing with a thump on a partially laid and unhardened concrete driveway that the netting had been erected to protect. As he struggled to free himself from the nylon mesh his talons and wings became daubed with gouts of thick wet cement mix. He got himself into the air. Now he knew very well there had been no other owl. He was furious with Holly for playing games with him. As yet he didn’t realize the full extent of the plight he was in. He only knew his wing feathers were tacky and uncomfortable and that he couldn’t move them as he wished. He felt strangely out of balance as if one side of his body was heavier than the other and it was most difficult for him to steer the course he wanted. He lumbered awkwardly back to Holly who had just pounced on a mouse.
‘You can bring that back to the roost for me!’ Tawny Owl cried imperiously. ‘I’ve done your bidding and look at my reward.’ He exhibited his cement-coated talons. ‘I’ll do no more hunting tonight – neither of mouse nor owl!’ He bumbled his way to the beech in a sort of zigzag motion. He found it impossible to fly straight. He landed with extreme awkwardness, his plastered claws encumbering his ability to perch safely.
Holly obediently brought him her most recent kill. She thought he deserved it. She didn’t understand his predicament yet and believed Tawny Owl was only grumpy because he had soiled his plumage when he fell.
‘You and your stupid stories!’ he berated her. ‘There never was another owl, was there?’
Holly replied by meekly laying the dead mouse within his reach.
Tawny Owl was hungry and tore mouthfuls off the carcass so that he could continue his tirade in between swallowing. Usually he disposed of a mouse whole. ‘I don’t know what fun you’ve been having at my expense,’ he snapped, ‘but I can tell you it’s over. No doubt you think there’s no fool’ – gulp – ‘like an old fool but you’ll find out that Tawny’ – gulp – ‘Owl from Farthing Wood is nobody’s fool!’
‘Oh, it’s not a game,’ said Holly. ‘You’ve got me all wrong.’ She looked at him with her huge round eyes. ‘I only wanted to tell if you were in earnest about me and our keeping company.’
A shaft of brilliant moonlight penetrated the clouds and illuminated the entire tree. Now she saw the sorry state Tawny Owl was in. ‘Oh, what a mess,’ she commiserated with him. ‘I’m so sorry you fell. I had no idea there was such a trap.’
‘Neither had I,’ Tawny Owl remarked ruefully. He was partially soothed by her words. ‘I may as well admit it – I’m too old for such capers. For the time being you’ll have to catch enough food for both of us. I feel as if I couldn’t fly at present to save my life.’
‘I’ll go at once,’ Holly said willingly. ‘I owe you that much. You stay here and rest.’
Tawny Owl watched her disappear over the gardens. She was absent a long time. Once or twice he tried his wings but each time he nearly overbalanced because his encrusted talons prevented him from gripping the branch properly. When Holly finally did return, carrying three mice in her beak, Tawny Owl could hardly move at all. It was as though his wings were encased. He felt weighed down and almost rigid.
‘I don’t know what I’ve done to myself,’ he blurted out. He sounded scared. ‘I seem to have lost the use of my wings. I think I may never be able to fly again!’
10
The Tainted Stream
SINCE THEIR MEETING in the Hollow the Farthing Wood animals and their dependants had continued to visit the Pond when they needed to. However they were sensible about it and took pains to ensure first that Trey was not in the vicinity. Meanwhile they began seeking out some of the other stags. Fox’s message was received with varying responses. Most of the stags were indignant at Trey’s presumption.
‘Drive me out of the Park? He wouldn’t dare go that far,’ said one.
‘This Reserve is for all the deer, no matter whether one is stronger than another,’ said a second.
Some of them were disbelieving. ‘How do you know his intentions? He’s made no such threat to me,’ one questioned.
‘Preposterous! The Warden would never allow it. He has to look after the entire herd,’ remarked another.
Another saw the impossibility of it straight away. ‘How could Trey do it with a fence all around the Park’s perimeter?’ he demanded.
There were others who were obviously intimidated already by Trey’s commanding presence. ‘I have no quarrel with him.’ ‘I’m no contender to be the Great Stag’s heir. Trey won’t bother with me.’
But all in all the animals succeeded in at least implanting the idea in the male deer’s minds that one of their numbers had too low an opinion of his fellows. This naturally rankled and, slowly, a general resentment of Trey’s air of superiority began to build up. Fox still hoped that when the time was ripe the haughty stag might find he had assumed too much.
The summer sun shone on the Park and dried out the puddles and pools that had lain so conveniently close to Badger’s set since the rainy season earlier in the year. As the stream was still shunned by his friends, Badger realized that before long he too would have to make a trip to the Pond. It would be a laborious journey for the old creature. His sight was now very poor and his legs were stiff and often ached, especially when he tried to be too energetic. But he had to drink like everyone else and one evening he stood just inside his set entrance, sniffing the breezes and vainly attempting to detect a hint of approaching rain.
‘It’s no use,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I shall have to make a move. Everything around here’s as dry as can be.’ And he shuffled off in the direction of the Pond. He hadn’t gone far when he halted abruptly. ‘This is silly,’ he said. ‘The stream’s much closer. How do we know there’s anything wrong with it? I could go and look for myself anyway.’ He didn’t turn round at once. He was in two minds about it.
‘Suppose I should find something wrong there?’ he pondered. ‘Then it would be even further for me to go across the Park to the Pond. It’s a nuisance the stream’s the opposite way. Oh dear, now what shall I do?’
In the end his own curiosity as well as comfort decided the issue. He headed for the stream. It was a close muggy evening and Badger was soon tired. He was glad when he could see the stream in the distance because by then he was very thirsty indeed. When he reached the nearest bank he stood and looked at the water for a long time. The stream was low
and slow-moving but, apart from that, didn’t appear to be any different from usual as far as Badger could make out.
‘Of course my eyes aren’t the best judges in the world,’ he told himself. ‘I’ll just go down the bank and see if the water smells as it should.’ He grunted as he stumbled down to the stream’s edge. He sniffed carefully and methodically. His sensitive snout had lost none of its powers. He raised his striped head. He was still uncertain. There was nothing definite and yet . . .
‘I’ll just go a little way along to see if anyone else is drinking,’ he decided.
It wasn’t long before he did indeed hear the sound of an animal drinking. It was a dainty quiet lapping, not at all like the noisy habit of a fox, for instance. He peered ahead but it was too dark for him to see what creature was there. He hurried on. He wanted to talk to any animal who might know something he didn’t. But all at once the sounds of drinking ceased.
‘Don’t go!’ Badger called. ‘Whoever’s there – please wait. I’d like to speak to you.’
There was silence. Badger didn’t think the animal had moved off. He heard no noise of its departure. He guessed it was waiting to see him before deciding if it was safe to remain.
‘It’s only me – old Badger,’ he reassured the animal. He shuffled on.
‘All right, I’ll wait,’ the animal called back. It was obviously satisfied it was not in danger.
Badger could tell from the voice it was a rabbit’s, but not one he knew well. The rabbit came into view. When it saw Badger it paused on the lip of the bank. Its body was taut, ready to spring away hastily if necessary. Badger came puffing up. ‘You – you were drinking?’ he enquired.
‘Yes.’
‘Notice anything strange about the water?’
‘No.’
‘No funny taste or – or – anything?’
‘No.’
‘Well that’s a relief,’ Badger sighed. ‘It’ll save me a lot of effort anyway.’ He headed straight back to the water’s edge and bent his head. He took a couple of laps.
‘He’s not around, is he?’ the rabbit suddenly asked nervously.
Badger raised his head. ‘Who’s “he”?’
‘The – the deer,’ the rabbit answered. ‘The massive one with antlers like oak branches.’
Badger was puzzled. ‘No-o,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s no deer around here. Are you referring to the stag called Trey?’
‘I don’t know his name but – he’s mean and aggressive. He drove me off.’
‘Off what?’ Badger asked.
‘Off his territory, he would claim,’ the rabbit replied. ‘That’s why I came here to drink. It’s been so dry, hasn’t it? I had to come here. I didn’t want to. The others said it was a risk, but what was I to do? It’s water, at least, even if it is . . . is . . .’ It didn’t finish. Its voice died away.
Badger was alarmed. ‘Is what?’ he gasped.
‘I don’t know,’ the rabbit said. ‘There’ve been stories. Birds dying here and – and – I don’t know what else.’
Badger guessed the situation now. ‘You were prevented from drinking at the Pond. That’s it, isn’t it? So you came here?’ His questions were urgent.
‘Of course. I told you. I wouldn’t have come here otherwise.’
‘What about the others in your warren? They have to drink, don’t they?’
‘They were lucky. They got back from the Pond in time. I was the last. He – he was standing there like a sort of sentry as if he’d been waiting for me.’ The rabbit coughed.
‘What’s the matter?’ Badger snapped sharply. He was on edge.
‘Nothing. I – I’m not sure,’ said the rabbit. ‘Just a sort of – tickle.’
‘A tickle?’
‘Yes. My – my throat feels sort of hot.’
‘You’d better get back to your burrow,’ Badger advised him.
‘I will, but now I feel so dry again. I must have another drink.’ The rabbit ran towards the stream.
‘Don’t!’ Badger called. He was full of dread. But the rabbit was heedless in its desperation to get to the water. It drank deeply. Now Badger waited for something awful to happen. He was in a turmoil of expectation. The rabbit turned and ran up the bank, seemingly none the worse. It ran straight past Badger as if it had forgotten him entirely. Badger hastened after the animal. He wanted to keep it in sight.
The rabbit, of course, was far fleeter of foot. In no time at all it was lost from sight. Badger forced his aged body into a shambling run. He was desperate to see what would become of the rabbit. His weak eyes probed the darkness. For a while he saw no trace. He didn’t even know if he had taken the right direction. But then, all at once, he knew he had. He glimpsed the rabbit ahead. The unfortunate creature had slowed almost to a halt and was staggering about uncertainly as if it had lost its sense of balance. Badger lumbered up, gasping hoarsely.
‘What – what . . .’ he wheezed, but he was so short of breath he could manage no more.
The rabbit muttered: ‘The burning, the burning . . . I – I’m –’ It began to shake uncontrollably. It couldn’t keep its feet. It toppled over and lay still. Its eyes stared up into Badger’s face. It was dead.
Badger’s sides heaved painfully. He stared back at the lifeless eyes in horror. Eventually he got his breathing under control. ‘The stream’s a killer,’ he whispered to himself in the utmost dismay. ‘I’ve drunk from it too. Oh, why was I so foolish? Better to have tired my legs out going to the Pond than this! What shall I do now?’
He tried to recall how much of the water he had drunk but he was in such a state of shock and anxiety he couldn’t be sure. He only knew he was still extremely thirsty, as if he hadn’t drunk at all. ‘The rabbit had a raging thirst, too,’ he wailed. He tried to calm himself but it was difficult. ‘Pull yourself together. An old animal like me behaving so stupidly! I can’t last for ever anyway. I was lucky to come through another winter,’ he reasoned. Yet it was hard for him not to feel frightened.
‘It may be too late,’ he went on, ‘but I must try to get to the Pond. If I drink some clean water it might . . . yes, yes, it might help.’ He felt better now he had made the decision and he wasted no more time. With a last glance at the poor dead rabbit he trotted away. He could think only of filling himself up with untainted water. All thought of Trey, and why the rabbit had gone to the stream to begin with, had vanished from Badger’s mind.
Several times on the way he stopped to regain his breath. He felt very alone and wished heartily for a friendly face to appear. But he saw no-one until he reached the Pond and then it wasn’t someone who was friendly at all.
It was growing light by the time he got to the pond-side. He pushed his way through the sedges and reeds and lowered his muzzle thankfully. He began to drink.
There was a sound of pounding hooves. ‘Stop!’ bellowed a deep voice.
Badger looked up. The stag Trey was galloping round the far side of the Pond towards him.
‘You’ve no right to be here!’ thundered Trey. ‘This is not your area. I know where you come from.’
Badger was astounded. But his keen thirst overrode every other consideration and couldn’t be denied. He bent again to lap.
Trey was infuriated. ‘Do you defy me?’ he boomed. He lowered his antlers threateningly.
‘I’m an old animal. I have to drink where I can,’ Badger reasoned.
‘There are other places.’
‘No. There aren’t,’ Badger answered. He was beginning to feel unwell. Why wouldn’t the stag leave him alone?
‘I know your area. The stream is closer for you,’ Trey contended.
‘The stream is tainted,’ Badger growled. His discomfort made him bold.
Trey took in his words. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked more evenly.
‘Didn’t the Great Stag die there?’ Badger cried irritably.
‘He was old – like you,’ Trey replied. ‘His time had come.’
‘A pity for us all,’ Badg
er remarked. He was tired of bandying words with this domineering animal.
Unknown to the two of them a third animal had appeared on the scene and was watching them carefully. It was Plucky the young fox who was homeward bound for his earth. He crept closer without being noticed.
Trey bridled at Badger’s remark. He thought he would teach this insolent old creature a lesson. As Badger tried once again to assuage his thirst, Trey cried: ‘As you’re so determined to have the water, perhaps I can help you reach it!’ He directed his antlers at Badger’s rump and prepared to butt him into the Pond.
Now Plucky guessed the stag’s intention and, regardless of any danger to himself, ran up with fangs bared. As Trey ran forwards the young fox caught one of the deer’s hind legs in his teeth and gave it a severe nip just above the ankle. Trey’s headlong career towards Badger was obstructed but not altogether prevented. The full force behind his antlers was impaired, luckily for Badger. But the amiable old creature still received a considerable clout and he shot out towards the centre of the Pond. Now Trey pulled up and, as the startled Badger struggled to keep his head above water, the stag turned his attention to his attacker. His leg smarted painfully. He saw the youngster whose impudence was beyond belief.
‘This time I’ll make you pay!’ roared Trey.
Plucky raced round the edge of the Pond with the stag on his tail. The fox feinted and changed direction like a hare, dashing this way and that. Trey’s bulk was far less manoeuvrable. He couldn’t catch the fox any more than he had Leveret and his anger was at boiling point. Plucky kept an eye on Badger in the water while he zipped this way and that. Badger was swimming gamely and was aiming for the opposite side. He had swum more than halfway across the Pond and the Edible Frogs who inhabited this spot most of the time were urging him on. Badger was so tired he was deaf to all their cries. Now Plucky began calling.
