by Colin Dann
‘Yes, I’ve gained some weight,’ Bold admitted. ‘But it’s an awfully long trek on only three sound legs.’
Robber re-arranged his wings and looked thoughtful. At length he said: ‘I’ll keep you in sight as you go. Then, if you ever should need help – ’
‘I’m most grateful,’ said Bold promptly. ‘I have to confess I was rather hoping you might say something of the sort.’
The two separated momentarily as they spotted some human figures walking close by. Robber flew back to his tree-top while Bold found cover amongst some undergrowth. When the coast was clear again the fox emerged to ask his friend to alert Whisper to their new situation. Robber flew to the earth’s entrance hole and ‘cawed’ repeatedly until Whisper responded. She came at a run and jumped over the wall.
‘Our cue to leave, it seems,’ Bold said to her.
‘Yes. We must hide up until dark.’
‘We’ll go to my old hideaway,’ Bold decided. ‘Robber, will you scout around and see if it’s safe to proceed?’
The crow flew off at once and returned quickly. ‘If you come now, you should be under cover before any fresh danger appears,’ he announced.
Bold led his mate back towards the playing fields and the familiar tangle of shrubbery and undergrowth in the old waste-plot. Robber left them with a parting ‘I’ll look for you tomorrow’. The hours to darkness dragged by while Bold and Whisper tried vainly to sleep, their minds too aroused and full of thoughts of their undertaking. Only as the still-early dusk began to descend did they fall into an uneasy doze.
During the night they awakened to the screeches of a pair of owls calling through the trees. They looked at each other significantly.
‘Time to go,’ said Whisper.
‘Time for one last sustaining meal?’ Bold queried. He was thinking of Rollo.
Whisper knew it. ‘Very well, dear Bold – if we’re quick.’
Rollo’s greeting was as boisterous as ever but the foxes’ restraint told him the news he had been fearing. For the last time he silently pushed his meat dish across the yard. The three animals ate with glum expressions. There was no time to talk afterwards. They made hasty but warm farewells and the pair of foxes disappeared into the night. Neither cared to look back, for they both knew that poor Rollo would be standing by his fence, gazing after them with the wringingly forlorn expression he had been wearing ever since he had heard their plan.
They travelled steadily and noiselessly. Bold tried to ignore his bad leg and Whisper, of course, allowed him to set the pace. By dawn they had put the neighbourhood of the town behind them and were on the fringes of open country once again. A dark patch of woodland beckoned them to their rest. The murmurings of town life reached them still, but so muted as to enhance the new peacefulness of their surroundings. The night’s frost, as yet undispersed, nipped at their skins and they huddled together for warmth. A delicious languor overcame them and they slumbered gratefully.
The next morning Robber followed their direction. He knew which route Bold would take. Unerringly he flew into the clump of trees that sheltered them, saw their sleeping bodies and vanished again. Now, for the bird, too, the sojourn amongst town-dwellers was over.
That night Bold and Whisper needed to hunt for food for the first time in many days. It was February and the last month of what had been a relatively mild winter. Food was still by no means abundant. The weight of their effort was necessarily undertaken by Whisper. Bold had passively to accept a lesser role and he did so almost thankfully. The difficulties of once more finding sufficient to eat meant that their travelling time was restricted. So their progress did not advance much before daylight threatened again. In this way, almost by fits and starts, the first week passed.
Bold was not displeased with their slow pace, as in that way his injured leg was not overtaxed. However, by the end of the week, Whisper was visibly fretting.
‘We must make an effort to speed up a bit, Bold,’ she urged. ‘We’ve come such a little way!’
‘Don’t worry; there’s no need,’ replied Bold, who had the benefit of his knowledge of the distance to the Nature Reserve. ‘We have to take time to eat.’
‘It’s not the eating, but the hunting, that takes the time,’ she corrected him. ‘If only there were some way of reducing it.’
‘There isn’t,’ Bold said flatly. ‘It was your decision to travel in the winter when food isn’t plentiful.’
‘I know. I know. There’s no way round it, I suppose. But I can’t help getting concerned.’
‘Trust my knowledge – we shall do it.’
‘Of course I trust you,’ Whisper said tenderly. ‘I shouldn’t complain when it is you who are finding it most difficult.’
The next night they were close to the farm where Bold had killed the bantam cock. There was no such rich fare for him and his mate on this occasion. They caught what small creatures they could, dug up some roots, and were glad to get them. Bold led Whisper to the hedgerow where earlier he had been dug out of his earth. He told her how he had only escaped death by a hair’s-breadth of unaccountable human whim. They decided to lay up in the shrubbery during the daytime. Robber was still following them, but kept to his plan of not approaching while things went well.
Now that the pair of foxes were in an area of farmland, there were scraps and pickings to be had for a little less work. This pleased Whisper who then, naturally, tried to force the pace a little. Bold uttered no objection but simply gritted his teeth more firmly and hung on. Now, when the time came to rest, he was prostrate with exhaustion. Yet still he did not demur. As luck would have it, the weather came to his rescue.
It was the middle of February and it seemed that only now was winter about to release its worst on the countryside. The temperature had been steadily dropping and now there was a savage, new bite in the air – such as had not been felt all season through. It was as if it had been held in reserve to inflict the greater hardship when it was most unexpected. Ice formed on every small puddle, each twig was rimed with white and, at last, the snow fell in earnest. It began at night and continued around the clock. Coupled with the strong wind, it was impossible to withstand. Bold and Whisper found what protection they could amongst some holly and shuddered miserably as the wind moaned over the land. Snow was piled up against any large obstacles in drifts, and overall its mantle was spread to a depth daunting even to the largest and longest-legged of would-be travellers – Man himself.
While the wind raged and the snow fell Whisper accepted the impossibility of moving. Indeed, she tried her best to enlarge a rabbit burrow to give them more shelter, but the ground was now so hard that she could not manage to make more than a sort of depression in the soil. Here she and Bold cowered, burying their faces in their brushes, while their backs gathered snow enough to bury them. When the blizzard abated at last, Whisper was eager to press on, however tardily. Bold looked at the scene before them with more than just misgiving.
‘It would be madness at present,’ he declared.
‘But if there’s no alternative?’
‘There is an alternative,’ he argued. ‘We look for better shelter and take cover until there’s an improvement.’
‘But think of the time we might lose,’ Whisper persisted.
‘Better that than losing our lives,’ Bold answered grimly, ‘and those lives not yet begun.’ This latter remark tipped the balance as far as Whisper was concerned and she gave in.
‘Perhaps you are right, after all,’ she said. ‘But it mustn’t be a long stay.’
Bold didn’t answer. He was content to let things take their own course while they were at the dictates of the weather.
‘I’ll see if I can find a more promising shelter hole,’ Whisper volunteered. ‘We do need to go underground.’ She left Bold in the hollowed-out ‘form’ and went deeper into the little wood. Under the trees, albeit with their bare branches, the snow was less thick than in the open. Nevertheless her search was not an easy one. At each step,
her feet sank about ten centimetres and moving around, even here, was laborious. She realized Bold had been more sensible than she. A deserted hole, not quite filled and disguised by snow, lay under the half-exposed roots of an oak tree. It was just about large enough inside for the two of them and, before returning to her mate, Whisper scooped out the unwanted debris from the interior.
She and Bold were soon esconced safely inside, heartily glad to be out of reach of the worst excesses of the winter elements. The main thing on their minds now was, of course, food. But first they slept.
When they awoke it was daylight. The wind had dropped but more snow had fallen and the wood was shrouded in silence. By the entrance to their hole, which was nearly blocked up, lay a few, poor scraps. Whisper was puzzled but Bold knew at once how they came there.
‘Don’t you see – it’s Robber!’ he exclaimed. ‘Even in these conditions he didn’t forget us. And I bet he went short himself to spare these morsels. He’ll be facing the same difficulties as any other creature.’
‘How on earth did he find us?’ Whisper wanted to know.
‘No doubt he’s had his sharp black eyes on us all along,’ Bold answered with amusement. ‘I’ll just go a short distance and see if I can spot him.’
Bold made his way to the edge of the wood and looked out. The sun shone; the air was fresh and very cold. The landscape spread before him was a sea of brilliant white. Trees and clusters of vegetation were festooned with sparkling decoration as bright as diamonds. He was dazzled. Against that gleaming array, even the smallest bird’s movements were plainly discernible. Their dark, darting little bodies stood out in startling contrast. Bold looked for a larger black shape among the snow-clad branches. He saw it. He took a few hesitant steps into the open, hoping it was indeed Robber he had spied. As if he had been waiting for a signal, the bird came winging down directly towards his friend.
‘Hallo, Faithful,’ said Bold good-humouredly.
‘Aha! You must have found my little offering?’ Robber said and uttered a croak of pleasure.
‘I want to tell you not to concern yourself with us,’ Bold said, ‘because, my dear friend, you will have your work cut out feeding yourself.’
‘It’s certainly become very difficult all of a sudden,’ Robber concurred. ‘Just when we looked forward to the spring, too. But I do want to help. Now you’ve come this far you can’t turn back and – well, finding food in this situation is a pretty daunting task.’
‘It is,’ said Bold. ‘But Whisper and I have holed up in the wood here whilst we can go no further.’
‘I’m going back to the town,’ Robber rejoined. ‘It’s safer to be near humans at times like this. Then, as soon as I strike lucky, I’ll be able to bring something for you – and more worthwhile than this time.’
‘No, Robber,’ Bold said flatly. ‘It’s too far for you to fly to and fro for our benefit. I couldn’t allow myself to be so beholden to any creature, and I know how Whisper would feel about it.’
‘A long way by foot, yes,’ agreed Robber, ‘but less far as the crow flies!’
Despite the joke Bold remained serious. ‘Please, let’s say no more about it,’ he said. ‘Whisper and I will cope. It’s different from when I was alone – she’s not handicapped in any way. And I’d be far happier knowing you have only the worry of looking after yourself.’
‘So be it,’ said the bird. ‘I won’t press the point. At least I know where to find you while this weather continues. And, once it’s over, I shall return to open country – for this must be winter’s last fling.’
‘Good luck go with you,’ said Bold.
‘The same to you,’ returned Robber. ‘I shall be thinking of you.’ Bold made his way back to Whisper’s side. They divided the scraps of food between them and tried to sleep again. But their appetites had only been aggravated by the little they had eaten and sleep was next to impossible. They lay in discomfort, sometimes cat-napping, until it grew dark.
Then Whisper said: ‘I’m going to see what I can find.’
Bold said: ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I can do more on my own. I’m sorry,’ she went on, knowing Bold would feel this deeply, ‘but I really think there’s more chance that way.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ he said with resignation. ‘I’d only hold you up.’
When she had gone, he pulled himself out of the hole. He scratched around in the snow and chewed at some stalks of grass in a desultory manner, wondering about their chances of reaching his birthplace. Whisper came back quite soon.
‘We’re in luck,’ she said. ‘Follow me.’
Bold stumbled in her wake, his spirits raised. She took him to a glade in the wood which she had discovered was rich in bluebell bulbs. She had dug up quite a quantity of them. Bold looked at the little white bulbs with a sense of irony. In these conditions, such miserable fare could assume the proportions of riches unknown. Whisper had already started eating. She looked at him with irritation.
‘Don’t turn your nose up at them,’ she said. ‘They may be all that’s standing between us and starvation!’
—— 18 ——
A Lack of Patience
The halt in their progress enforced by the appalling weather proved to be a mixed blessing for Bold. His appetite, like Whisper’s, was never properly satisfied, but his bad leg was rested. The lull in their activities was a good thing from that point of view. The leg had a chance to recover from the strains recently imposed upon it, and the pain seemed to subside. Five days passed with no letup in the icy conditions. For Whisper, these were five more days lost. On the sixth day the temperature rose a few degrees. She went out of the wood to test the ground for travelling. The reverse of her expectations occurred. During the coldest temperatures the snow had frozen each night and become compacted and firm underfoot. Now it was thawing ever so slightly and, consequently, was softer and more giving so that it was more taxing to walk on. Disheartened, Whisper reported her findings to Bold.
‘We must be patient,’ he told her.
‘I’ve tried to be,’ she answered, ‘but it’s difficult for me. I’ve seen a previous winter, Bold. You haven’t. There will only be a gradual change each day. The snow might take days to disappear.’
‘We needn’t wait for it to vanish altogether,’ Bold said encouragingly, trying not to think of himself. ‘I’m committed to this venture as well, don’t forget. I’m responsible for getting you to that Reserve.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Whisper softly. ‘You must forgive my anxiety.’
‘Of course I do,’ he said. ‘And I do understand, Whisper.’
The next night they resumed their journey. The ground was sticky, slippery and toilsome. After only a short distance Bold’s bad leg ached and, when he paused, the three good legs trembled from the strain. He licked his lips but said nothing. Whisper also refrained from comment. On they went again. Bold’s pace grew slower and slower; his limp more pronounced. The beneficial effects of their five days’ rest were undone in a couple of hours. Yet he struggled on grimly, and without complaint. They came to a slight rise in the land. Even for Whisper the task of pulling herself up it when, at every step, the slush caused her to slip back, was awesome. For Bold it was torture. He could exert no pressure on his injured leg to get a grip and so he was left to flounder on three. By a supreme effort of will he reached the crest of the slope where he promptly collapsed.
Whisper looked at him in anguish. ‘Oh, Bold!’ she wailed. ‘What have I done? We shouldn’t have started – I’ve been so foolish!’
Bold tried to put on a brave face. ‘Just need a . . . breather,’ he muttered. But Whisper knew better.
‘I shouldn’t have forced you – oh! oh! we should have waited.’
‘You didn’t force me,’ he replied. ‘I said not to wait longer.’
‘No, no, it was my fault,’ she insisted. ‘My over-anxiety . . .’
‘Whisper . . . no use being wise . . . aft
er the event,’ Bold murmured. He tried to stand, staggered, and fell on his side.
Whisper was beside herself. They couldn’t stay where they were, yet how could she assist him? She lay down next to him and nuzzled him; then licked at his face.
‘You must take cover,’ he said to her painfully. ‘Before daybreak . . .’
‘I can’t leave you here alone, in this exposed position,’ she protested. ‘Anything could happen!’
‘I’ll be all right. A bit longer to rest . . . then I’ll follow you,’ he answered.
Whisper licked at his bad leg – at the hole in his thigh left by the cruel pellets the previous autumn. It was a vain but loving gesture, and Bold appreciated it. For a while longer they lay together silently. There was no wind. The air was mild. Presently the sky began, almost imperceptibly, to lighten. Somewhere a solitary bird uttered a few sleepy, burbling notes as if it were talking to itself.
‘Go!’ whispered Bold.
The vixen stood up and shivered. Her coat was saturated by the melting snow. She gave herself a shake and regarded Bold anxiously. She looked around for the nearest point of cover. There was a copse poking through the greying expanse of snow on the horizon. She knew Bold’s chances of getting there were nil. ‘I’ll stay,’ she told him. ‘There’s no cover.’
‘I may be injured and exhausted but I’m not blind,’ he answered her drily. ‘You must head for that copse – for the sake of the cubs,’ he added tellingly.
‘But . . . but . . .’
‘It will be light soon,’ he said emphatically. ‘Whisper – you must go.’
‘I shall come back for you at dusk,’ she said hopelessly. She really didn’t think she would see him again – alive.
Bold said: ‘I’ll join you when I’m ready.’ His voice sounded hollow.
Whisper went, with many a backward glance.
When the sun was fully up, Bold again hauled himself to his feet and tottered a few steps as he tried to estimate the distance to the copse. He knew he could never get across even a quarter of it. He looked around the wintry vista. Luckily, there was no sign of any large creature abroad. How long could he hope to remain un-threatened on that rather prominent knoll? It was essential for him to move from there to a place of greater safety. But where?
