The Farthing Wood Collection 1 Page 7

  ‘We shall all die out here,’ he said simply. ‘And very soon. There is one other option. You must both know what that is.’

  Long-Whiskers looked at him longingly, as if begging him to take the decision for her.

  ‘The other option,’ said Sleek Otter, ‘doesn’t exist as far as I’m concerned. For me there’s no going back.’

  Lame Otter and Long-Whiskers exchanged meaningful glances. They both understood the choice was made.

  Sleek Otter understood too. After a period of silence she said quietly, ‘Don’t persuade me to come with you. I wish you well. But I – I shall be a lone otter with, I think, a better chance of cheating danger.’ She was putting a brave face on it. They all knew that and there was nothing more to say.

  At dusk the three otters moved. Their first priority was to find food. Whereas before Sleek Otter had taken the lead in exploration, Lame Otter and Long-Whiskers realized now they must rely on themselves. They deliberately took a different direction from Sleek Otter, parting from her without a word and aware, as she was, that they would never see each other again.

  ‘You’ll have to do the hunting,’ Lame Otter said to his companion. ‘I’m useless as a predator’.

  ‘I know,’ Long-Whiskers answered. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Lame Otter limped behind. Suddenly Long-Whiskers turned and said, ‘It would be best if you lie low while I’m on a hunt. We need to practise stealth if we’re going to eat and –’

  ‘And I’m clumsy? Yes, I’ve got the foxes to thank for that,’ Lame Otter interrupted bitterly. They were both at once reminded of the perils that would have to be faced back in Farthing Wood. ‘I’ll go back to where we left the sleek one,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where else I can lie hidden.’

  Rain began to fall heavily as he returned to the overgrown garden. The evening was cool and the grasses and wet soil smelt sweet. The shower brought frogs and toads out of hiding. The garden, long untended, had provided a perfect refuge for them. Lame Otter was exhilarated. He ignored the foul-tasting toads and pounced on a frog that squatted only a few centimetres away. This success lifted his spirits, but the frogs were able to leap considerable distances and afterwards he never quite managed to get close enough before his prey vaulted beyond reach. He longed for Long-Whiskers to return. He knew that here she could have rounded up a good meal for them in no time. The one frog he had been able to eat had tasted delicious and he was impatient for more.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he fretted as he watched with exasperation while the frogs themselves seized their own prey in the shape of slugs and worms, although he went hungry.

  Suddenly, noiselessly, Long-Whiskers was beside him. She had brought no food. ‘Quickly, come now,’ she whispered. ‘I ran into some humans and only escaped in the nick of time.’ She was quivering with fright. ‘One tried to grab me. They’re after us – they’re carrying traps and bright gleaming lights that shine all around like huge stars.’

  ‘But-but,’ Lame Otter stammered, looking at the frogs with regret, ‘there’s food here. Can’t we hide?’

  ‘Not here,’ she hissed. Even as she spoke Lame Otter heard human voices, and abruptly the garden was swept by powerful torch-light. Long-Whiskers leapt in alarm and raced away.

  ‘There it is!’ a man cried, seeing her movement.

  ‘There’s another!’ came a second voice as Lame Otter was bathed in light, cowering back amongst the greenery.

  The men came crashing into the garden, intent on capturing the animals they had been seeking for days. Fear clawed at Lame Otter’s heart and lent speed to his limbs. A net was thrown at him, but he dodged it and scrambled clear, running as he had never run since receiving his wound. He was oblivious of any pain; his injured leg seemed to respond to his desperate need to escape.

  ‘Catch it!’, ‘Stop it!’ human voices cried as the men thrashed about, trying another throw of the net. But Lame Otter had found darkness again and, using its merciful veil, he raced away as though all the foxes in Farthing Wood were after him.

  Long-Whiskers had run towards the railway embankment. She could think only of the deep black interior of the hollow log and wanted to wrap herself in its protection again. Her fur streamed with water. She took great gulps of air as she ran, straining every muscle to reach her goal. But, before she could find sanctuary, a train – a monster of speed and light – came rushing, as she thought, towards her out of the gloom. She reared up, changing tack, and ran along the crest of the embankment, parallel to the railway line. The train disappeared. Long-Whiskers continued to run blindly. The embankment dropped down to a road which crossed the line at that point. A few cars were crawling over this level crossing. The barriers had just been raised following the passing of the train. Long-Whiskers slowed and hesitated. She seemed to recognize the road as the way to escape the rushing monsters. She pattered across the line in the wake of the vehicles and then veered away through an orchard that bordered the embankment on the opposite side.

  Lame Otter had seen her dark shape illuminated on the crest by the lights from the train windows, and he struggled to keep her in view. He was so fearful of losing her with all that would entail from that, that the shock of the humans’ sudden appearance became of secondary consideration. He trailed her to the level crossing and then, on the other side, could find no trace of where she had gone next. He called her urgently.

  Long-Whiskers had paused to draw breath. His plaintive cries reached her ears. Joyfully, and with relief, she answered. Lame Otter hobbled towards her. Now that the immediate danger was averted, pain reclaimed his senses and his pace became agonizingly slow. She was waiting for him under an apple tree whose boughs were awash with blossom.

  ‘Brave creature,’ she breathed compassionately. ‘You saved yourself.’

  ‘At some … cost … I’m afraid,’ Lame Otter gasped.

  ‘We’ve escaped them for now,’ Long-Whiskers resumed. ‘But they won’t give us up if they think we’re still in the area.’

  ‘Then we … must leave it.’

  ‘Tomorrow. You can go no further for the present.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Rest here while I look for a refuge.’

  ‘Don’t go far,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Only as far as is necessary,’ she assured him.

  Lame Otter collapsed against the trunk of the apple-tree. His legs trembled violently from his exertions. He wondered if he would even be able to move as far as the nearest hiding-place. No human sounds were evident and he fell into a sleep of exhaustion.

  He was wakened by Long-Whiskers’ gentle nudges. It was a while before he could recover himself and recognize what was happening.

  ‘Some luck at last,’ she was murmuring. ‘I’ve found a pond in the next field. There’s plenty of cover and there are water-fowl and a moorhen’s nest. We can take shelter and feed ourselves at the same time. There’s nothing like the savour of tender young nestlings.’

  Lame Otter looked at her dreamily. ‘I have a feeling,’ he said, ‘things are about to change for us.’

  The otter pair hid themselves thankfully amongst a thick growth of water-irises. How could they know that the humans they had evaded meant them no harm? That they actually would have delivered them to their old home by a much safer and quicker route? To the animals, these men with their brilliant lamps and their nets seemed terrifying. As for Sleek Otter, she had bolted into a drainage ditch where she lay quaking until the humans had disappeared.

  Meanwhile Farthing Wood held its breath. Nervous Squirrel’s agitated cries of ‘S-strangers in the Wood’ were heard more frequently. The tranquillity of the woodland was disturbed regularly by the cold, calculating humans whom Sage Hedgehog had first witnessed. They took a particular interest in the grassland surrounding the Wood, returning to it at intervals, and giving the appearance that they were in their clever way taking its measure.

  ‘Too close for comfort,’ Jay screamed as he flew overhead. And the Wood’s inhabitants trod wari
ly and quietly until they were left alone again.

  Lean Fox said to his vixen, ‘The Wood is uneasy. Every creature is on tenterhooks. Sickness is rife and men come spying. Things were less fraught when the otters were here.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Lean Vixen rounded on him. ‘There was constant friction. At least these men don’t steal our food. We’re of no interest to them at all.’

  ‘I think you’re mistaken,’ Lean Fox said quietly. ‘If we’re of no interest, why do they continue to return here?’

  ‘Who knows? Who cares? As long as we can hunt and keep our cubs free from sickness, that’s all we need to concern ourselves about.’

  The sickness was spreading, claiming more victims. Quick Weasel and Wily Stoat had died and other animals throughout the Wood were now suffering. For some creatures it became increasingly difficult to know where to hunt and what areas to shun.

  Stout Vixen, whose cubs would soon be born, saw her mate arrive from his foraging with nothing.

  ‘How can you come into our earth carrying nothing?’ she berated him. ‘This is the second occasion. Perhaps I should hunt for myself?’

  ‘You certainly have the greater skill,’ Stout Fox replied magnanimously. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried everywhere. The rabbits are becoming much more wary and you know I don’t like settling for other prey. It’s particularly risky with some of them carrying disease.’

  ‘I understand your motives,’ the vixen said. ‘But what are we to do? If you can no longer catch a rabbit, then you must look elsewhere.’

  ‘I’ve done so,’ he replied. ‘Would you want me to bring you beetles and moths?’

  ‘Well, I must eat,’ Stout Vixen said. ‘Fasting at a time like this is unacceptable.’ She stood up. ‘Is the Wood quiet?’

  ‘Quiet and still.’

  ‘I’ll find something, I’ve no doubt,’ she declared with confidence.

  Stout Fox followed her through the exit hole. A shower of rain pattered through the leafy trees.

  ‘I’ll go alone,’ Stout Vixen told him. ‘Perhaps I’ll find something.’

  Stout Fox said admiringly, ‘If anyone can, you will do so.’

  Stout Vixen trotted beneath the trees towards the stream. She had a feeling that some kind of quarry might be sheltering there, enjoying a period of prosperity in the otters’ absence. ‘How many have hunted here’ she wondered to herself, ‘since those animals left?’ Almost at once she flushed a water-vole from the bank. It plopped into the water, but the vixen’s eager jaws snatched it and crushed it in one swift lunge.

  ‘There are more of you around somewhere,’ she said after she had eaten. She paddled into the stream, nosing her way amongst the reeds. A pair of coots scuttled out of her reach, calling in alarm and leaving their neat nest exposed with four unhatched eggs just waiting to be devoured.

  ‘Haven’t tasted eggs in an age,’ Stout Vixen murmured to herself. She cracked one open with her strong teeth and licked at the succulent contents. She chuckled to herself. ‘It doesn’t seem right, all this for me while my mate goes hungry.’ She smacked her lips and broke another egg. ‘They really are delicious.’ When there was only one left, her conscience smote her. ‘I’ll carry this back for the fox,’ she murmured. ‘He’s faithfully tried his best on my behalf.’ She picked it up carefully and set off.

  On the edge of the woodland she surprised a bank vole. Instinct got the better of her. She dropped the egg, which broke, and pursued the rodent. She was keen to prove to herself she had lost none of her speed. She cornered the vole, killed it, then checked herself.

  ‘Do I eat it?’ she wondered. She sniffed at the body. ‘Hm. Nothing wrong with that. Can’t afford to waste anything.’ She gobbled it down, then noticed the broken egg. ‘Ah well, as I said …’

  ‘Stop!’

  She turned, startled. Stout Fox, who had been searching for her, had seen the kill and was anxious no vole should be eaten in that quarter.

  ‘You?’ Stout Vixen said. ‘Why did you cry out? It’s only an egg.’

  ‘You can eat that and welcome to it. Where’s your kill?’

  Stout Vixen was puzzled. ‘Kill?’

  ‘The vole!’

  ‘You saw me? Was I fast?’

  ‘Yes, as fast as ever. Where is it?’

  ‘Well, I’ve eaten it, of course.’

  Stout Fox slumped. ‘How could you? After all I’ve said? I’ve been so careful, taken such pains …’

  ‘All right, all right,’ she told him, but now a little worried. ‘There was nothing wrong with it. It smelt good.’

  ‘Smelt?’ he repeated faintly. ‘How on earth did you think it would smell? You can’t tell by their odour.’

  Stout Vixen gaped. Her stomach lurched. ‘It looked healthy.’

  ‘How can we be sure?’ Stout Fox demanded. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to avoid this kind of prey until we know it’s safe?’

  The vixen felt some relief. ‘So you’re not sure either,’ she retorted. ‘Why do you try to scare me?’

  ‘I don’t wish to. I’m only concerned for your well-being. And for your litter.’

  Stout Vixen softened. ‘You’re a good partner. I’ve grown used to you and I like your company. Look – I was carrying this egg for you. Won’t you try it?’

  ‘Of course I’ll try it,’ Stout Fox grunted. ‘I’ve eaten nothing at all!’ He quickly demolished the egg’s contents. ‘Are there more?’ He looked at her with hungry eyes.

  ‘Er – no. I don’t think so,’ the vixen answered evasively. ‘Are you going to hunt again?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can pick up for myself.’

  ‘Good. I shall return to the den. And I feel perfectly all right, so don’t vex yourself about that vole.’

  Far away from Farthing Wood, Sleek Otter was feeling very alone. From the drainage ditch she had travelled swiftly and always directly away from the place where she had dived for cover from the humans. She knew that wherever she found to rest at the end of that day, for the first time she would have no company. It was a chilling thought, but she had made her choice and there was no going back.

  The dark hours were kind to her. There were no further alarms. When daylight came she looked around in amazement. The entire countryside seemed to have been swallowed up by forbidding patterns of brick, stone, metal and asphalt. These spread before her in a bewildering mosaic which puzzled and frightened her. Behind her was the countryside through which she had just run. She knew she had to go forward, but where? And how?

  ‘This can be no home,’ she acknowledged to herself. ‘I can’t hide in there.’ A sudden noise made her jump. An aeroplane droned across the sky, high up, like a monstrous silver bee. A starling flitted over the house-tops and perched on a television aerial. Sleek Otter was impressed by the bird’s adaptibility. ‘Perhaps there is some shelter somewhere for me after all,’ she sighed.

  She crossed an empty road and padded along a pavement, looking for an opening between the looming buildings. A cat sitting on a wall arched its back and hissed at the strange beast. The cat was just as strange to the otter and she scampered away. In the distance a milk-float approached with a rattle of milk-crates and clinking of bottles. Sleek Otter was bombarded by new sounds and crushed by an unyielding environment. There were no trees, no streams, no rushes, no reeds. And no food. The town was a nightmare for a vulnerable, solitary and ravenous wild creature.

  ‘I’ve no chance here,’ Sleek Otter told herself. ‘I might as well have been taken by the humans.’ Then suddenly she saw a gap. As the milkman came nearer she bolted down an alley between two blocks of flats. There was no greenery, no plant growth to hide in. It was a cul de sac, leading to a row of garages. Sleek Otter found she was in a dead end. One garage, however, had been opened. The door had been pushed up and the garage’s dark interior seemed her only refuge. She ran inside. It was dusty and dry, but in one corner a clutter of cartons offered some protection. She tried to hide herself amongst them and, thoroughly weary, fell
asleep.

  Later in the morning there was much activity. Many people were collecting their cars to drive to work or to take children to school. Sleek Otter awoke to the din of revving engines, slamming doors and loud human voices. She dared not move. Yet as car after car rumbled past her place of concealment, she caught the acrid smell of petrol fumes which steadily threatened to choke her. At last she couldn’t remain still. She dashed from the garage, almost colliding with some schoolchildren.

  ‘Look, Daddy! What’s that? It’s … it’s …’

  ‘An otter!’ cried the father. ‘How on earth …?’

  The children rushed at the animal, eager to save it from danger. But Sleek Otter slipped past them and, in sheer terror, bolted for the alley. As she neared it a car, reversing from the first garage in the block, hit her and rolled backwards over her. The children screamed out but it was too late. Their father grabbed them as they tried to run forward.

  ‘It’s no good, children. We can’t do anything,’ he told them regretfully. ‘Poor creature. Wherever could it have come from? It must have been someone’s pet.’

  The driver of the vehicle had felt a bump and got out to investigate. It was a young woman who was really distressed by what she found.

  ‘Oh no, not another one,’ she wailed. ‘They seem to be bent on destroying themselves.’

  The father asked her to explain.

  ‘Haven’t you heard? There has been a spate of accidents recently involving otters. They’ve been run over, drowned, killed by dogs. It’s all very strange and very upsetting. Such lovely animals too …’

  ‘How sad,’ the man commented. ‘They must be rarities in these parts.’

  Stout Vixen was certain she had suffered no ill effects from eating the vole. She felt no different.

  ‘You were lucky,’ her mate told her.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Probably all the voles with disease have perished or been accounted for by now.’

  ‘Maybe. But don’t forget – it only takes one.’

  Stout Vixen thought her mate was being over-cautious. She determined that, if he couldn’t feed her properly in these last crucial days, she would supplement her diet from the banned area where now no fox nor other predator hunted. ‘But I shan’t tell him,’ she chuckled to herself. ‘He gets in such a stew about it.’