The Farthing Wood Collection 1 Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  The Adventure Begins

  Dedication

  Preface

  1 Otters Abroad

  2 Torment

  3 No Playfellow

  4 Changes

  5 Omens

  6 One Trick Too Many

  7 Aftermath

  8 The Otters’ Plight

  9 The Trout Farm

  10 Sickness

  11 Choices

  12 Another Victim

  13 The Last of the Otters

  14 By the Great Beech

  15 Stout Fox’s Request

  16 A Morass

  17 Fear and Regret

  18 The Otters’ Secret

  Epilogue

  In the Grip of Winter

  Dedication

  1 First Signs

  2 First Snow

  3 First Losses

  4 The Search for Badger

  5 What had happened to Badger

  6 Conversations

  7 A Meeting

  8 Recovery

  9 Old Friends, New Friends

  10 A Question of Loyalties

  11 An Expedition

  12 A Raid

  13 Live and Let Live

  14 A New Danger

  15 The Trap

  16 One Good Turn …

  17 … Deserves Another

  18 Two Friends Return

  19 Thaw

  20 Whistled Off

  21 Home or Away?

  22 Life Goes On

  Also by Colin Dann

  Copyright

  The Adventure Begins

  To Caroline Roberts with much appreciation for many years of enthusiastic support and advice

  Preface

  The air was quite still. Starlight bathed the frosty ground with silver. The woodland seemed to be drowsing in the silence of a winter’s night. A lean fox trotted noiselessly beneath the trees, seeking shelter before sunrise. A vixen’s cry – one he recognized – caused him to halt suddenly, then change direction. He answered the cry with three short yaps.

  The vixen was standing under a huge beech tree, her body pressed against its smooth grey trunk. She too was lean; leaner than the fox. She called again. The fox ran towards her.

  ‘I need your help,’ said the lean vixen. ‘Just as before.’

  ‘Good,’ the lean fox replied. ‘I’m glad you thought of me.’

  ‘It’s for a different reason this time,’ the vixen said. ‘Come and see.’ She led him through the Wood to a clearing. In the clearing several animals were darting about, chasing one another playfully. These were otters. The foxes stood and watched them for a while.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Lean Fox asked.

  ‘They are,’ came the answer. ‘The otters. This is my hunting territory. I’ve told them to leave, but they only mock me.’

  Lean Fox turned to look at his companion. She was regarding him steadily; expectantly. He turned away again. ‘They don’t appear to be doing any harm,’ he murmured.

  ‘Of course they’re doing harm,’ Lean Vixen corrected him irritably. ‘They’re snapping up all the voles. What am I to eat?’

  Lean Fox’s eyes widened. ‘Otters? Killing voles?’ he queried in surprise. ‘Why would they do that? They’re fishing animals.’

  ‘How do I know why?’ the vixen barked. ‘Because they’re hungry, I suppose. I thought you’d be some help,’ she added disappointedly.

  ‘Well, I …’ Lean Fox began awkwardly. ‘You know, otters are special creatures, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh, not that old story again,’ the vixen sighed. ‘That’s all we ever hear. Well, what am I to do then? Starve?’

  ‘Isn’t there anywhere else you can go? I mean, there are voles and mice throughout the Wood. Plenty for everyone.’

  ‘It’s difficult poaching another fox’s territory,’ Lean Vixen replied. ‘Besides, what’s to stop these precious otters scouring other areas once they’ve laid this one waste. They’re lethal hunters. I’ve seen them in action.’

  Lean Fox felt he had to do something. The vixen was relying on him. He trotted forward. As he approached, the otters stopped gambolling for a moment and looked at him. They showed no fear.

  ‘Why must you take our prey?’ Lean Fox yapped boldly, aware the vixen’s eyes were on him. ‘Don’t you have enough of your own?’

  The largest otter, a mature adult and a sleek, healthy-looking animal replied airily, ‘No, we don’t, although what business it is of yours I fail to see.’

  Lean Fox’s hackles rose. ‘It’s my business because voles are a fox’s staple diet,’ he growled.

  ‘Really? How interesting,’ the sleek otter answered sarcastically. ‘Perhaps you’d better improve your hunting technique.’

  The younger otters giggled in a kind of high-pitched whistle. Lean Fox tried to chase them away. They began to show off, tumbling and somersaulting and leaping around, but always keeping well out of his reach. The otters had a wonderfully fluid kind of agility. Lean Fox returned to the vixen’s side.

  ‘I don’t think there’s much I can do at present,’ he muttered. ‘They simply make me look foolish.’

  ‘Something will have to be done,’ Lean Vixen declared. ‘Why should foxes give way to these … these … animal clowns?’

  There had always been otters in Farthing Wood. They lived on the fringe of the woodland along the banks of the stream. There they made their homes and dived for fish and frogs and mussels. Over the years their numbers had steadily declined as the resources of the stream – and indeed the pond – had dwindled almost to exhaustion. But as long as there were otters, however few, Farthing Wood was safe and the site protected from development.

  These otters enjoyed a special status because they were the only ones to be found over a wide area. Local wildlife groups had campaigned hard, and successfully, for their preservation. The otters knew they were special and they made sure all their neighbours knew it too. They were far from being the most popular of creatures. When they turned to hunting on land because of the shortage of aquatic prey, there was bound to be resentment.

  The crucial decision had been taken by one of the most experienced females. She was a mother of three cubs, none of whom was getting enough to eat. One evening, instead of leading her youngsters out of their holt to the stream, she headed for the woodland. The cubs were puzzled.

  ‘The water! Where’s the water?’ they chattered to each other.

  ‘Hush,’ their mother quietened them. ‘Aren’t you hungry? Of course you are. Well, we must try our luck elsewhere.’

  The cubs began to treat the outing as an adventure. They bounced along behind their sleek mother, whistling excitedly. The darkness of the Wood, however, affected their high spirits. The cries of unfamiliar night creatures reached their ears. They fell silent. There was a rustle of dead leaves and Sleek Otter, the mother, pounced suddenly. The youngsters surrounded her. A vole dangled lifeless from her jaws. Sleek Otter dropped it amongst her cubs.

  ‘The first of many,’ she said. ‘This wood’s alive with prey.’ She watched the cubs sniffing at the unusual food, unsure of its taste. ‘You’ll soon get used to it. You’ll have to,’ she added. Her rippling body bounded forward again.

  The cubs juggled with the dead animal, tossing it from one to another. Finally one of them ate it, chewing the vole on one side of the mouth as with a fish.

  ‘Good,’ the cub whispered and smacked her lips. The three cubs rejoined the hunt.

  Sleek Otter’s expertise proved to be deadly to any mice, shrews or voles who were scurrying through the leaf litter that night. These little animals had accustomed themselves to the threat of fox
es or stoats. But the swiftness and acrobatics of the otter party were something new to them. They didn’t know how to escape these new hunters. All four of the otter family caught prey and their appetites were more than satisfied.

  ‘Fish or no fish, we shan’t starve,’ cried Sleek Otter.

  The cubs took up the chant. They felt pleased with themselves.

  And this was when Lean Vixen, who was hunting that night too, first encountered them. Her astonishment at seeing her territory invaded by otters made her lose her own quarry and she went hungry.

  ‘Clumsy fox,’ shrilled the cubs. They had witnessed her bungled attack on a young rabbit which had managed to reach the safety of its burrow. Lean Vixen growled and she bared her teeth.

  ‘Pay no attention to her,’ scoffed Sleek Otter. ‘She wouldn’t dare to meddle with us.’ The otters ran on, under the nose of the vixen who gaped after them. Moments later Sleek Otter killed a shrew without apparent effort, as if to emphasize her superiority. The cubs giggled with delight.

  ‘We shan’t starve,’ they squealed. ‘We shan’t starve.’

  Lean Vixen watched angrily as Sleek Otter’s antics produced four more voles for her cubs to enjoy. The sight of the otter family gobbling up prey from her own preserve made the vixen very angry.

  ‘Haven’t you space enough to hunt around your den without stealing from me?’ she barked.

  As if by way of an answer Sleek Otter snapped up a fieldmouse and ate it herself with elaborate pleasure. ‘We’re not stealing anything,’ the mother otter retorted. ‘The mice are here for any hunter to catch. It’s not my fault you weren’t skilful enough to catch them first.’ She turned and called to her cubs. ‘Come, youngsters. Let’s go for a swim.’ The otter family went on their way, chattering and laughing merrily.

  Lean Vixen shivered in the cold night air. ‘They’ll be back,’ she told herself. ‘I need some support.’

  Other otters joined the hunters in Farthing Wood as the winter progressed. They really had no choice. Fish large enough to satisfy their appetites were increasingly difficult to find. Frogs, their other mainstay, were in hibernation and would mostly be hidden until the spring. So the competing foxes, stoats and weasels began to suffer. They couldn’t keep any part of the Wood for themselves. There seemed to be otters all over the place, seizing their quarry before their very eyes.

  ‘You and me,’ said Sly Stoat to Quick Weasel, ‘are fools. Look at the way we’re being cheated. And what do we do about it? Nothing. No wonder those otters are so scornful.’

  ‘Don’t you have a sneaking admiration for their ability?’ Quick Weasel asked. ‘Otters have such style. But you’d better talk to the foxes. They’re in a very ugly mood.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Sly Stoat grunted, ‘although they appear to me to be as hypnotized as you are by the whole display. If there’s going to be trouble I’ll be on the side of the foxes. We ought to drive those slippery customers right back into the water where they came from.’

  ‘You creatures are so envious, aren’t you?’ a voice said behind them. Smooth Otter, a big male, had heard every word. ‘You ought to be grateful to us, all of you. We otters are the protectors of Farthing Wood. Why is the Wood untouched? Because of us. We’re very special animals. Humans daren’t meddle here. We’re the only otter colony for miles around. So as long as we choose to live here with you, you’re safe. Remember that!’

  ‘How can we ever forget?’ Sly Stoat complained. ‘You never cease to ram it down our throats!’

  ‘Stoat has a hasty temper,’ Quick Weasel chipped in. She was a little scared of the dog otter who towered over them. ‘He didn’t mean everything he said.’

  Smooth Otter laughed hollowly. ‘I imagine not,’ he grunted, staring fiercely at the stoat. Then typically, his mood changed and he began to dance around them playfully. ‘Try and catch me,’ he cried.

  Sly Stoat turned away in disgust. ‘I’d rather catch myself a meal if you’ve no objection,’ he answered sourly.

  The foxes were certainly planning to act. ‘They overlook how vulnerable their young ones are,’ Lean Vixen said. ‘Just let me get hold of an otter cub! It’d be worth a whole clutch of voles. I’m not going to stand idle any longer,’ she vowed.

  A badger, an acquaintance, was party to the foxes’ discussion. ‘We shouldn’t take that attitude,’ he cautioned. ‘There must be a fairer solution. We all have to get along somehow.’

  ‘Tell that to the otters,’ yapped Lean Vixen.

  ‘Yes, it’s easy for you to talk,’ said Lean Fox. ‘You badgers aren’t affected by this … this …’

  ‘Theft,’ Lean Vixen finished impatiently.

  Kindly Badger looked from one fox to another. ‘I’m surprised at you all,’ he said mildly. ‘You’re clever animals, you foxes. You live by cunning. How is it one of you at least hasn’t managed to outwit mere otters?’

  There was silence. It seemed the badger had touched a sensitive spot. Then Lean Vixen said, ‘I’ll use my wits on them all right. I’ll think of some way that’ll halt them in their tracks. They won’t be so full of themselves – you’ll see!’

  For a while nothing changed. The otters continued to lord it over the other animals in Farthing Wood. They even treated the conflict over food as a sort of game. The other hunters were made to look awkward and second-rate. A group of otters would work a patch of the woodland, taking everything that came their way – mice, shrews and voles – then move on to another area. Although they hunted independently, the effect was the same. Stoats, foxes or weasels struggled to gain a mouthful or two. And then the otters began to taunt them.

  ‘You’re not in the same league,’ Sleek Otter laughed as Lean Fox lost a fieldmouse he had been trailing to the otter’s superior agility. ‘You’ve no flair, you see. No wonder humans pay you no attention.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ snapped Lean Fox.

  ‘Ask yourself. Why haven’t the humans moved in here? They’ve done so everywhere else.’ She paused to eat the mouse. ‘You foxes,’ she went on with her mouth irritatingly full, ‘are common creatures like the weasels and stoats. Humans disregard you. They ruin your homes and habitats and build over the top of them. But not here. Why? Because of us. How fortunate you are to have us in your midst.’

  ‘You can go too far,’ Lean Fox snarled. ‘I’ve heard threats. Watch out for your youngsters!’

  ‘Pooh. You’d never catch us,’ scoffed Sleek Otter. ‘Just you try!’ And the otter family raced away through the darkness in a looping sort of movement, the mother at the front and the cubs in a line behind, for all the world like a kind of serpent’s tail.

  Lean Vixen was plotting revenge. She knew roughly where the otters had their lairs and she wanted to teach them a lesson. She intended to strike at the cubs. When she knew the otter population was absorbed with its hunting she slipped along to the stream-side and, in the evening shadows, followed Sleek Otter’s scent to a hollow tree that stood by the bank. Lean Vixen sniffed all around. A cold wind blew, ruffling her fur. She could see no entrance to the otter family’s holt, but their scent was so strong she knew their den must be somewhere inside the hollow tree. Growling low in her throat she decided to hide herself nearby and lie in wait for their return.

  ‘You’re in for a little surprise, my slick friends,’ she muttered and chuckled at the thought, lying down amidst a tangle of dry rushes. Water lapped at the edges of the dead vegetation as the stream glided past. Lean Vixen waited patiently, ears cocked for the slightest sound of movement along the bank.

  Nothing. Only the wind sighing in the leafless boughs of the Wood and the dry rasp of reed-stems around her. Lean Vixen yawned and shivered slightly. Suddenly upstream there was a series of splashes. The vixen turned her head. There was no sign on the dark water.

  ‘A fish jumping,’ she grunted.

  But, beneath the surface of the stream, Sleek Otter and her three cubs were swimming silently to their holt entrance underwater. They pulled themselves, dripping, into t
heir den inside the hollow willow and shook themselves vigorously. Lean Vixen heard the chatter of the cubs and sprang up in amazement. She ran to the tree. The otters’ voices were unmistakable. They were safe inside their den and she had been outwitted. She snarled. The chattering ceased abruptly, then broke out again.

  ‘Mother, I heard a fox!’

  ‘So did I, so did I. It’s outside.’

  ‘Take no notice,’ Sleek Otter answered them. ‘Let it snoop. It’ll gain nothing,’ she added in a raised voice for the vixen’s benefit.

  Lean Vixen knew she was powerless and she spun round angrily. She looked at the stream, then back at the willow, and all at once she realized how the otters had bypassed her. She crept down the bank and peered closely at the icy water, leaning far over as she tried in vain to locate the otters’ secret entrance. Moments later something bumped hard against her from behind and she was tipped forwards, plunging helplessly into the stream.

  A whistling screech of laughter followed her fall. Lean Vixen recovered herself and, as she struggled to keep afloat, she recognized Smooth Otter who was prancing gleefully on the bank. The dog otter had returned from hunting, had seen the prowler and had deliberately run into her, pitching Lean Vixen into the water. Now, as the vixen began to yap angrily, other otters arrived to taunt her.

  ‘Fox in the water!’ one cried. ‘Can’t seem to swim, can it?’

  ‘Stiff as a piece of wood,’ another answered. ‘Doesn’t move its body at all.’

  ‘Isn’t it slow, its legs hardly move,’ commented a third.

  ‘Small wonder it can’t catch anything,’ Smooth Otter laughed. ‘It’d take all night to cross a field!’

  Lean Vixen was seething. While she had no pretensions to being a skilful swimmer she prided herself, like all foxes, on being speedy overland.

  ‘You – you smarmy, conceited pu–pup–puppies!’ she roared, kicking out furiously for the bank. She wanted to tear into them, bite them, snap at them, anything to vent her anger.

  ‘Let’s teach her to swim,’ suggested Sleek Otter who had left her holt again to join in the fun. Her cubs dived and splashed around the vixen, spraying her with water and goading her all the more. The other otters hustled into the stream and Lean Vixen was surrounded by bobbing, dipping bodies that seemed to appear and disappear again in a bewildering variety of places. They jostled and pushed her away from the bank. Then they grasped her legs with their horribly sharp teeth and pulled her underwater, only releasing her when her lungs seemed about to burst.