The Farthing Wood Collection 1 (15 page)

Stout Fox was in a dilemma. He greatly wished to make recompense for the tragedy he had brought about. On the other hand time was running out for his vixen and he was desperate to get back to her. The otter bitch looked as if she couldn’t last much longer. He tried to be patient. ‘I’ll wait with you,’ he said softly.

Some of the other animals who were searching – the swiftest runners – had covered a lot of ground in very little time. Lightning Weasel was the fastest of these. He detected the musky odour of fox. He looked around. He saw Stout Fox lying, nose to tail, a little way ahead. Was he asleep? The weasel crept forward. He saw that there was another animal by the fox’s side.

Stout Fox opened one eye. ‘You have nothing to fear from me,’ he said. ‘I’m not hunting, although
you
clearly are. Why have you come so far?’

‘To look for the otters,’ Lightning Weasel squeaked.

Stout Fox’s ears pricked. ‘Then your search is at an end,’ he said.

The weasel began to understand. ‘You – you have found one?’

‘Come nearer.’

Lightning Weasel trotted up. ‘Is the otter dead?’

‘Not quite. And why are you searching now? You didn’t want to come with me when I asked you.’

The weasel explained about the hole in Farthing Wood, the dead foxes and the rabbits.

Stout Fox sat bolt upright. ‘Which foxes were killed?’ he demanded.

The weasel told him. Stout Fox sank back. ‘Well, you and the other beasts and myself, too – we’re all too late. The otters have been wiped out. I tried to save
this one here, but failed. She told me she’s the last. When she dies perhaps Farthing Wood will begin to die too.’

Lightning Weasel sniffed at Long-Whiskers. She was quite still and, seeing this, the weasel for once became still too. He and Stout Fox waited together quietly and, later, other animals found their way to the spot. Sly Stoat and Kindly Badger were among them. Together they waited in silence as though doing penance for the demise of the Farthing Wood otters.

Before dawn all the animals were on their way home. Subdued and down-hearted, they drifted back in ones and twos to their dens and burrows. The significance of Long-Whiskers’ death weighed heavily on all of them.

As light began to fill the sky, Stout Fox headed for the stream in a last effort to unlock the secret of the otters’ knowledge. He felt that somewhere along the water’s edge where they had chosen their holts, there might be a clue waiting to be discovered. He cast his eyes along the bank and around the territory. Then he swam the stream and did the same on the side bordering the Wood. He stared at each plant, trying to assess its value and hoping for enlightenment. Nothing struck him as being unusual.

‘Oh, those otters,’ he moaned to himself. ‘Even now they’re dead and gone they still haunt me. How was it they were able to do things we other animals can’t? What made them so different?’ He ran along the bank, shaking his head. All at once an idea came into his mind. ‘There was one thing that made them different from us,’ he murmured. ‘Their love of water, their wonderful skill in diving and swimming. Perhaps
there’s something in the water that’s beneficial …’ He bent and lapped experimentally, but there was nothing to taste then, any more than the hundreds of other times he had drunk from it.

‘I hate to return to the vixen with no hope,’ he muttered. ‘But I mustn’t leave her any longer. I’ve tried to find the cure. I’ve done all I can.’

He ran on into the Wood, eager to see Stout Vixen again, yet dreading to find her worse than before. He came upon her asleep in their earth. He was loth to wake her, but she sensed his company.

‘You’re back then,’ she whispered. ‘I – I managed to hold on.’

‘You look so weak …’

‘Did you learn anything?’ she asked with a glimmer of hope.

Stout Fox looked down. ‘The otters are all dead. Their secret died with them.’

The vixen heaved a long sigh as if finally she was letting go. But Stout Fox said quickly, ‘Listen. Can you walk? I want you to come to the stream. Try to drink some water. It may do some good.’

‘What’s the point?’ she asked him hoarsely. ‘I might as well die here as there.’

‘There’s just a chance. Please – for me and our cubs.’

‘Our cubs will never be born.’

‘You mustn’t say that! You
must
try.’

Wearily, painfully, the vixen got to her feet. Stout Fox nuzzled her and nudged her to the entrance hole. She swayed, unused to any kind of exertion. Patiently and with sympathy he encouraged her to walk. For the vixen, it seemed each step was more difficult than the last.

The edge of the Wood was a long way off. They paused often to allow her to rest. The noise of machinery echoed through the woodland, emphasizing the peril that each creature now recognized was its inheritance. Even Jay’s screeches of alarm were drowned by the brutality of the bulldozers. Stout Fox had no need to explain the state of affairs to his mate. She knew enough to realize that, if ever their cubs were born, they would be born into a hostile world.

Somehow Stout Vixen got herself to the fringes of Farthing Wood. By then it was growing dark again. She gasped, ‘Where is the nearest water? My legs won’t take me any farther.’

‘Here. Just over here,’ the fox called. The rain at last had ceased and the pale moon was reflected in the dark swollen stream.

The vixen crawled on her belly to the bank and let her muzzle drop into the water.

‘There’s a lot of growth there.’ Stout Fox pointed out a mass of cressy plants tangled underwater. ‘Come to where I’m standing. The stream runs clearer here.’

Stout Vixen raised her head. Strands of the plants were draped over her muzzle. ‘Growth or no growth,’ she panted, ‘this is where I stop.’ She bent and drank greedily. The water was cold and, while drinking it, she swallowed some cress. She sucked in a good mouthful of the plant and chewed it, relishing its clean peppery taste. Then she lay her head on her paws and fell asleep where she was.

Later the vixen awoke and noticed at once that the dull ache in the pit of her stomach which had troubled her for so long had disappeared. She felt less listless
than she had done for many days. She looked up. Stout Fox was absent. She scrambled to her feet, still weak but tremendously hungry. As she savoured her new feeling of well-being her mate came trotting from the Wood. A dead rabbit dangled from his jaws. He had scarcely dropped it before Stout Vixen seized it ravenously and began to tear off mouthfuls.

‘Well, this is a transformation,’ the fox commented delightedly. ‘The water, then, has been of some help.’

‘I think it was the plant,’ Stout Vixen mumbled, her mouth full. ‘It’s purged me.’

‘The plant?’ Stout Fox whispered, recalling Long-Whiskers’ words. ‘So that’s it! Yes,’ he cried, ‘of course. That’s how the otters were healed. Waterplants!’ He peered into the stream. ‘Will you take some more?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Certainly,’ the vixen replied. ‘I intend to make a full recovery. I shall need to build up my strength again quickly.’

‘The cubs!’

‘Yes. You have been a good mate. You made me struggle here almost against my will. The stream did hold the clue and you were right to insist.’

Stout Fox was jubilant. He had saved his vixen and, in that joyful knowledge, the fate of Farthing Wood was for a while forgotten.

Two days later Stout Vixen gave birth to four cubs. The poison that had infected her caused three of them to be still-born. The fourth, a male cub, by way of compensation looked to be robust. Stout Vixen removed the rest of her litter from the earth with resignation.

‘One little cub to face an uncertain future,’ Stout Fox murmured sadly.

‘But a future with some hope if he has your wits,’ Stout Vixen remarked.

Epilogue

As the little animal grew, the building works took shape. Most of the grassland was swallowed up. Life in Farthing Wood continued as always. There were births and deaths, fights and quarrels. Prey was hunted, homes were excavated. There was nowhere else for the inhabitants of the Wood to go.

One day a large tree was felled. It toppled with a terrifying crash that seemed to shake the Wood to its foundations. In the eerie stillness that followed one creature, the old hedgehog, thought he heard again the mocking taunts of the otters.

‘Well, Farthing Wood, we hope you like your neighbours! You didn’t want us here, but look who came instead. We were your surety. Without us you are lost. Who will save you now?’

Sage Hedgehog stared into the distance as though looking beyond his surroundings and the present time to something that was yet to happen. ‘A leader will come along,’ he said, answering those ghostly voices with a sudden conviction. ‘Everyone will unite to follow him. And
that’s
how we shall be saved.’

In the Grip of Winter

For Kathy

It was soon time for the animals and birds to face their first winter in White Deer Park. They had moved in a group from their old homes in Farthing Wood when it was destroyed by Man, and the strong links of friendship and the spirit of community forged during their long journey had caused them to build their new homes close to one another. So a certain corner of the White Deer Park Nature Reserve became almost a new Farthing Wood for them, and every creature found conditions exactly right for his particular requirements.

In the centre of this area lay the Hollow which, from their earliest arrival in the Park, had formed their meeting-place. In the autumn months they met less often and, eventually, as the evenings grew colder, both Adder
and Toad knew it was time for them to go underground for the winter.

It was late October when Adder ceased to lie in wait at the edge of the Edible Frogs’ pond, a feat of patience that had not brought him its hoped-for reward. ‘This cool weather makes me feel so sleepy,’ he remarked to Toad, whom he sometimes saw going for a swim.

‘Me too,’ replied Toad. ‘I’ve been busy fattening up while food is still available. I must confess that now I really feel ready for a nice long snooze.’

‘Where will you go?’ Adder enquired.

‘Oh, hereabouts. The earth is soft in this bank and I’ve noticed quite a few holes remaining that must have been dug in earlier years.’

‘Mmm,’ Adder mused. ‘That would suit me admirably. Those frogs would then have the benefit of my presence in spirit throughout the winter.’

Toad chuckled. ‘I’m sure they won’t be aware of it,’ he said. ‘They’re digging themselves into the mud on the pond bottom. Once they’ve settled, they’ll be quite oblivious of everything.’

‘I shall, too,’ admitted the snake. ‘My only interest at the moment is in sleep.’

‘Er – have you made your farewells?’ Toad asked him hesitantly.

‘Farewells? Stuff and nonsense!’ Adder rasped. ‘No-one cares to seek me out when I’m around, so they’ll hardly miss me when I’m not.’

Toad felt embarrassed. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I think it’s just that most of us feel you prefer to be alone.’

‘I
do
’, said Adder a little too quickly, as if trying to dispel any doubts at all about the matter. ‘However, Toad, I’ve no objection to your company,’ he added not uncourteously.

‘Thank you, Adder. Er – when do you plan to begin hibernation?’

‘Straight away, of course. No point in hanging around above ground in these sort of temperatures.’

‘If you can wait until tomorrow I’ll join you,’ Toad suggested. ‘Just leave me time to call on Fox and Badger, and Owl, perhaps.’

‘Oh, I can’t sit here waiting for the frost to bite me while you go making social visits,’ said Adder impatiently. ‘I’m going underground tonight.’

‘Very well,’ said Toad. ‘As you wish. But I really don’t see what difference one more day would make.’

Adder made a gesture. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he offered. ‘Let’s choose a comfortable hole now, and then you’ll know where to find me.’

Toad considered this was about the closest Adder was ever likely to come to being companionable, so he accepted readily.

Having chosen the best site, Adder promptly disappeared into the earth with a hastily lisped, ‘Try not to wake me.’ Toad wryly shook his head and set off to find his friends.