In the Path of the Storm Page 9

  There was no answer. Fox waited. But the heron failed to appear.

  ‘He must be planning to return at dark,’ Fox said to himself. He looked again at the stag and his anger began to kindle. ‘Whatever’s the matter with that creature?’ he muttered. ‘Will he never give up? What does he intend to do? He can’t slaughter us all. I refuse to allow ourselves to be holed up like this for as long as he chooses. We can do better than this! We’ll soon test his resolve.’ He hurried back to the others.

  ‘Badger, are you sure you’ll be all right now?’ he asked first.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think so, Fox. If I could only eat something.’

  ‘That’s just it. We’re not going to stay here. We’ve all got to eat. What are we thinking of, letting this deer dictate to us?’ He was trying to rouse them.

  ‘Oh-ho, this is more like the Farthing Wood Fox,’ Friendly remarked to Charmer, his sister.

  ‘We ought to be able to deal with this customer,’ said Fox. ‘After what we’ve been through in the past.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Weasel. ‘I’m with you, Fox.’

  ‘Me too. Goes without saying,’ said Friendly.

  ‘I’ll back you up,’ said Toad, ‘though my contribution may be a bit limited.’

  Adder brought him down to earth. ‘Contribution to what exactly?’

  ‘I – I’m not sure,’ Toad admitted. ‘What had you in mind, Fox?’

  ‘Oh, only that we’re going to leave this little refuge now. We’ll go together. We’re going to live our normal lives. If Trey has been injured by some of us he brought it on himself. There’s every reason to defend oneself in an awkward situation. He must understand that. So – what are we waiting for?’

  ‘I – I don’t feel quite ready for a scrap just yet,’ Badger said. ‘I’ve got no strength to rely on.’

  ‘Of course not. We weren’t intending you to join in,’ said Friendly. ‘You must stay here and we’ll bring you back something to sustain you for a while.’

  ‘I’m so glad I was able to get you all together,’ said Badger. ‘What a joy it is to have such friends. Now I know we’re all safe. There’s only one thing I’m unhappy about: Tawny Owl’s absence. He won’t know about the dangers of the stream and if he should take it into his head to steal back some time without our knowledge we couldn’t warn him about it.’

  ‘No good worrying about him, Badger. He’s out of reach,’ said Weasel.

  ‘If I know Tawny Owl,’ said Charmer, ‘the first thing he’d do on his return is to find a comfortable spot for a nap! And we all know his favoured places, don’t we?’

  ‘All right,’ said Fox. ‘Enough of talking. Let’s face the foe and see just what that supercilious deer is made of!’

  He led the way up the tunnel. Friendly, Vixen and Charmer followed directly behind. Weasel went next with Leveret and Toad and Adder brought up the rear. Outside the set it was now almost dark. The first animal they saw, sitting by the water with the utmost composure, was Plucky.

  He leapt up. ‘Is Badger –’ he began anxiously.

  ‘He’s blossoming,’ Adder drawled sarcastically. ‘He simply loves all this attention.’

  Plucky was quickly acquainted with Badger’s recovery. He was tremendously relieved. ‘What wonderful news,’ he said. ‘And now I’ve some for you. I’ve persuaded Trey to quit.’

  ‘What? How? How could you –’ Fox floundered.

  ‘I told him the other stags were rejoicing in his absence,’ he answered, ‘and that they were becoming extremely friendly with the hinds. I didn’t need to say more. You should have seen him gallop. I don’t think the dust has settled yet.’

  ‘Well!’ exclaimed Vixen.

  ‘Very well,’ said Friendly. ‘Plucky, you’re a chip off the old block.’

  12

  A Royal Stag

  THE ANIMALS DISPERSED to follow their own immediate concerns. Chief among these was food. Plucky carried the good news of Badger to Mossy who had been racked by misery ever since he had believed he would never see Badger again. The little mole was so excited he could scarcely wait for the old animal to return to his own home.

  ‘He’s got to lie low for a bit,’ Plucky told him. ‘Get his strength back. Fox and Vixen are collecting food for him.’

  Badger lay for a while in the deserted set without moving. The aches in his body were subsiding and the dominant discomfort he felt was still his sore, parched throat. In the end he had no recourse but to stir himself. He lumbered slowly out of the underground chamber and into the tunnel, and from there very, very slowly towards the set entrance. He knew nothing about Plucky’s clever trick on Trey but he was so desperate for water he no longer cared whether the stag was waiting in ambush for him or not. He sniffed at the night air. He could detect no deer odours. Painfully Badger forced his weak, quivering legs over the short stretch of ground to the Pond. He fell on his face in the cool water and gratefully let it wash over him, gulping it down in great draughts. He lay still for a while. It was bliss in the refreshing water. There was no sound nor sight of the stag and Badger was in no hurry to move. What a lucky escape he had had! If he hadn’t come across the rabbit he would surely be dead by now. As it was, he had come pretty close to it.

  He wondered what Whistler had managed to find out about the stream’s danger. Whatever it was, it would be something beyond the scope of mere beasts and birds to rectify. He hauled himself out of the Pond, deliciously wet, and tottered back to his temporary base. Moments later Fox and Vixen returned, carrying roots, tubers and a variety of carrion in their jaws.

  ‘Eat, my friend, eat,’ said Fox when he had deposited his load on the hard-trodden earth. ‘We want you back with us in our corner of the Park. And your path is clear.’ He told him about Trey’s abrupt departure.

  Badger began eagerly to eat. Fox was amused and approving. ‘Badger – the great survivor,’ he joked. He and Vixen were supremely happy at their old friend’s good fortune.

  Badger despatched a succulent root with relish. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ he said suddenly as if he had surprised himself. ‘There may be a way we can rid ourselves of the stag’s threat permanently.’

  ‘We’re all ears,’ Fox told him interestedly.

  ‘We could make the stream our ally.’

  Fox wasn’t sure if he understood Badger’s suggestion correctly. ‘You’re not thinking we should persuade Trey to drink from it, are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course that’s what I’m thinking. He’s not aware of its danger as far as I know.’

  Vixen wouldn’t hear of it. ‘That’s not like you, Badger. It would be an act of betrayal. We’ve never acted treacherously towards another creature.’

  ‘He’s made himself everyone’s enemy,’ Badger pointed out. ‘We had no quarrel with him.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Fox. ‘But, my dearest Vixen, your heart’s in the right place. Trey has no wish to kill any of us; only to dominate the entire Park. So how could we plot his death?’

  Badger relented. ‘You always were a wise counsellor, Vixen. I bow to your better nature. But I think you’re wrong about the stag. After our recent tussles with him I’m sure he’d do anything within his power to avenge himself and it may be some creature will lose its life. I’m not known as a belligerent animal, but if it’s a choice between Trey’s life and one of my friend’s – well, I’d adopt any means to save a friend.’

  ‘It hasn’t come to that yet, Badger, thankfully,’ Vixen said. ‘He’s preoccupied with watching the other stags at present. Perhaps we’ll have no further brushes with him.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Badger bluntly. And there the subject was left.

  Fox wanted to know more about the stream’s mystery and so he sought out Whistler.

  ‘I’ve been trying to locate some of you,’ the heron said petulantly. ‘Adder was little help, though I asked him to be. I’m afraid I’m not as stealthy as he and I alarmed him. I wanted you all to know that I’ve found a clue to the
stream’s impurity.’

  ‘What is it?’ Fox barked. Whistler’s long-winded manner could sometimes be infuriating.

  ‘Outside the Park where the stream is joined by a ditch, humans have left their debris. We all have good cause to know how careless humans are about tainting the land. No doubt they’re as mindless about water. The rubbish, whatever it is, has contaminated the ditch and the water from the ditch flows into the stream. So it seems very likely to me that –’

  ‘Yes, Whistler,’ Fox cut in. ‘I understand your drift, and it all sounds very feasible. What made you investigate this?’

  ‘The stream was my chief source of food,’ the heron explained. ‘Naturally I’ve wondered why there have been no fish. Now I have to fly a distance to feed. It’s very inconvenient. But I think the damage to the stream must be irreparable. It’s completely devoid of life.’

  Fox pondered the cruel thoughtlessness of humans. ‘They poisoned the Great Stag,’ he murmured. ‘Thanks to them, we have Trey in his place.’

  ‘Countless smaller animals have died there too,’ Whistler remarked. ‘The entire surroundings have become barren.’

  ‘Even Badger was nearly killed,’ Fox growled.

  ‘Wildlife is helpless in these situations,’ Whistler said. ‘We’re at their mercy.’

  ‘I wonder the Warden isn’t suspicious, with all these deaths occurring,’ Fox mused. ‘The carcasses are removed, aren’t they?’

  ‘I believe so,’ Whistler said. ‘The larger ones, certainly.’

  ‘Then he must know something is wrong. He’ll come to our aid. He cares for us.’

  ‘A heartening notion,’ Whistler commented. ‘But what of the smaller carrion, such as mice and voles? And songbirds?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t think the Warden would gather them up. They’d be less detectable. So they may be taken by predators such as yourself.’

  ‘I don’t hunt or scavenge anywhere in that vicinity,’ Fox told him. ‘Nor do any of my relatives. But I see what you’re driving at. If the little animals are poisoned they in turn may poison those that feed off them?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Whistler intoned solemnly. ‘So the deaths could become more widespread.’

  Fox shuddered. ‘All because of one act of carelessness,’ he said angrily. ‘Will they never learn?’

  ‘Learn?’ Whistler echoed. ‘You said it yourself, Fox. They don’t care.’

  The animals became more discerning than ever in their eating habits. The time of the rut was approaching and Trey’s main concern continued to be potential rivals amongst the other stags. This allowed the hunting animals a breathing space which enabled them to range across the safer parts of the Reserve without fear of hindrance.

  Badger recovered sufficiently during this time to be able to return to his old set. Mossy was so delighted to have him back as neighbour that he made Badger a present of a large heap of the plumpest worms and then they celebrated together.

  The animals’ enjoyment of complete freedom of movement again was to be short-lived. By September Trey’s challenging bellows began to boom through the length and breadth of the Nature Reserve. The Farthing Wood community, like all the other inhabitants, listened and marvelled at their power. And they wondered. They wondered if there would be any answering challenges. They recalled the other stags’ responses to their suggestions that Trey wanted to drive them out and most of the animals were not very hopeful.

  However, as autumn advanced, there were other calls and challenges. Other stags roared because it was in their nature to do so at this time. If a challenge was offered them, they had to take it up. Now Trey came into his own. His calls were defiant, scathing, dismissive of any competitor. His were roars of confidence and supremacy. And, pretty soon, the crash of tangling antlers marked the beginning – and end – of the stags’ rivalries. Those bold enough to respond to Trey’s taunts became acquainted with his massive strength and force. None fought for long. Even as they locked antlers they were pressed backwards, pushed aside, tumbled, glad to wrench themselves free and be chased far away from the proximity of the hinds. The dominance that Trey had threatened and of which he had long boasted was confirmed. The hinds were his for the taking. He was a royal stag.

  The Park fell quiet again. The mists of early autumn rose in the evening and in the still air the Reserve was shrouded secretively. An atmosphere of expectancy pervaded the whole area as if it were on edge, waiting for something to happen . . .

  Trey paced his domain in lordly manner. White Deer Park was his kingdom and the inhabitants his subjects. He really believed all were under his rule and he meant to have none stepping out of line. He hadn’t the sense to realize that the birds who nested in the Park were as free of his decrees as the air they flew in. As for the animals of Farthing Wood, they were free in another sense. They had freedom of spirit and no creature, not the Great Cat who had terrorized the Reserve, nor even Man himself, had ever managed to break that. And, as White Deer Park held its breath, it was to be Nature who would demonstrate to all her creatures the real meaning of dominion.

  13

  The Hurricane

  TAWNY OWL WAS trapped in Farthinghurst. He was unable to stir from the protection of the Great Beech that had, through force of circumstances, become his permanent home. His movements were restricted to an awkward shuffle along the branch he used as a perch. Weighed down by his cement shackles he couldn’t fly and it was as much as he dared do to put one foot in front of the other as he waddled miserably along the branch and back again. Even those exercises had to be rationed as he was constantly afraid of toppling over and plunging to the ground. And that really would have been the end of him. But there was one blessing for poor Owl and her name was Holly. The female owl may have led him a bit of a dance at the outset, and indeed had unwittingly brought about his present dreadful situation, but since then she had more than made up for it. All through the remainder of that summer she hunted and caught food for both of them. She never questioned the necessity for this, nor did she complain about the labour of it. Tawny Owl in his misery was not always as appreciative as he might have been. And this was because in his heart of hearts he blamed her for his misfortune.

  ‘I don’t feel like a bird any longer,’ he would complain to her. ‘A bird who can’t use his wings is no more than a – a freak!’

  Holly tried to comfort him. He was always most miserable when the weather had been dry for a long spell. Since he couldn’t leave the tree to drink from a pool or puddle, he had to rely on catching raindrops or dew as it dripped from the leaves of the beech. His thirst was rarely satisfied adequately and he suffered a great deal.

  ‘My body’s drying up,’ he would moan. ‘I should be stuffed and put in a glass box.’

  ‘There will be more rain in the autumn,’ Holly would say soothingly. Sometimes she gathered earthworms for him as the moistness of their bodies helped to keep him lubricated.

  Tawny Owl had given up all hope of ever seeing White Deer Park again. The ironic situation might have amused a more cheerful creature than he. For he had found his mate, yet was unable to return home with her in triumph. To Owl the bitterest irony of all was that he alone of all the Farthing Wood party who had travelled to the Nature Reserve had actually found a mate from Farthing Wood itself. All the others who had paired long before had found theirs in White Deer Park. Even Fox had found his Vixen during the journey. And Tawny Owl, after the taunts he had received, was beside himself with exasperation that he wasn’t able to boast about this to his friends. He longed to triumph over them.

  Holly had tried to remove some of the cement from his wings by pecking and tearing at it, but this had proved very painful for him and when he had attempted to do this to his feet the discomfort was so intense he had to give up. Filled with anguish, Tawny Owl had eked out his existence from day to day and week to week with only Holly’s companionship to comfort him.

  By early autumn one problem at least was allevi
ated. There were frequent outbursts of heavy rain allowing plenty of water to drip from the tree. There was so much water in fact, that Tawny Owl was often unpleasantly wet. There was nowhere he could take shelter and he yearned for a hollow oak and wings that could carry him there. As time went on he became more and more disconsolate.

  ‘Why bother to bring food for me?’ he said to Holly one evening. ‘You’re only prolonging the agony. I might as well starve and get it over with.’

  ‘That’s no way to talk,’ she told him. ‘Things are bound to get better eventually.’

  ‘Oh yes? And how will they?’ he demanded. ‘Am I suddenly going to shed these old wings and grow some new ones, like Adder sloughing off his skin?’

  Holly had no answer. She simply wished to cheer him up. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.

  While she was hunting, Tawny Owl used to shuffle up and down the branch that had become his prison. He ceased to be so careful with the way he placed his feet. ‘What difference would it make if I did fall?’ he would mutter to himself. ‘It would be an end to this misery.’ But somehow he never did tumble off and, despite his words, he still preserved deep inside a faint hope that one day, some way, he and Holly would enter White Deer Park together.

  The periods of rain increased in length and intensity, exceeding even those during the wet spring. Underneath the beech the ground was sodden. Pools of water appeared in the gardens nearby. The soil couldn’t absorb them. The pavements and roads of the Farthinghurst estate streamed with water. Tawny Owl, hunched and shivering, wondered how much more he would have to bear. Holly found the mice were thin on the ground.

  ‘Better try your luck at fishing,’ Tawny Owl joked feebly. ‘It would be more suitable.’

  Holly began to catch more small birds and sometimes insects. She was very adaptable. During the day she sheltered elsewhere from the incessant rain. But at dusk she faithfully returned to Tawny Owl, and during the dark hours she kept him supplied with a share of her catch.