Wiping moisture from her eyes, Dotti saw the mole more clearly. He was a stout, dapper-looking creature, wearing a green smock embroidered with daisies and buttercups, and sporting a bright orange kingfisher feather in his tall mushroom-shaped cap. Clutched in his paw was a ladle, almost as long as a traveling staff. He had the friendliest of smiles, exposing lots of milky white teeth.
Ruff evidently knew the mole. He waved his tail at him as he steered the log to shore. "Sink me rudder, 'tis Rogg Longladle. How's yore snout twitchin', mate? It must be four seasons since I clapped eyes on ye. Well, this is an 'appy day!" Bounding ashore, Ruff embraced Rogg's stout form heartily.
Still smiling, the mole protested. "Hurr, let oi go, ee gurt lump, you'm creasin' moi smock!"
The otter called his friends onto the bank. "Brock, Dotti, come 'ere, mates. I want ye t'meet my pal Rogg, the best cook on this or any other stream an' the smartest turned-out mole on or under the earth!"
Rogg doffed his hat gallantly, bowing his velvety head. "Gudd day to ee, zurr an' miz, noice t'meet ee oi'm sure!"
Dotti leapt lightly ashore and curtsied nicely. "Bo urr, gudd day to ee, zurr Rogg. Stan' on moi tunnel, but you'm an 'ansome gurt beast, hurr aye!"
Rogg threw up his big digging claws in surprise. "Burr! You'm spake ee molespeak vurry gudd, miz. Whurr did ee lurn et?"
Dotti answered in the quaint mole dialect. "Moi ole mum's molechum, Blossum Bunn, she'm taughten et to oi when oi wurr a h'infant, bo urr aye."
Ruff shrugged helplessly at Brocktree. "Just lissen to those two goin' at it! I could always unnerstand mole-speak, though I never learned t'speak it."
"Me neither," Brocktree said as they followed in the wake of the chattering haremaid and mole.
"Urr, Blossum Bunn, do ee say, miz? She'm be's moi h'auntie, twoice removed on moi granmum's soide. 'Ow she'm a-doin'?"
"Burr, ole Blossum be's brisker'n a bumblybee an' loively as ee bukkit o' froggers, zurr!"
Rogg Longladle's dwelling was a marvelous cavern beneath the roots of a great beech. Lord Brocktree gazed about wistfully.
"This place puts me in mind of my old home Brockhall, very much so. Hmm, don't suppose I'll ever see it again."
Ruff patted the badger's broad back. "Same as me'n'Dotti. Don't be sad, mate, we're good friends an' both with ye!"
Amid the alcoves of thick downgrowing roots, Dotti sat herself in a comfortable old armchair. Moles kept scurrying by to introduce themselves to the hare who could speak their dialect.
"Oi be Granfer Clubb, miz, an' thiz yurr's moi ole dearie Granma Dumbrel. Ee'll stay an' take vittles with us'n's, oi 'opes, miz?"
Dotti shook all the outstretched paws as more came by. "Thankee, zurr Clubb, oi'dbe gurtly pleased to, hurr aye!"
Ruff and Brocktree seated themselves on a thickly mossgrown ledge, where they were inspected by some tiny young moles. The smallest of them had a voice like a bass foghorn.
"Gudd day to ee, zurrs. Moi name be's Trubble."
"I can see thatyou look like trouble!"
"Hurr hurr, moi mum alius sez that. Wot sort o' mole be's you, zurr? Oi bain't never see'd one wi' a gurt stroipy 'ead loik yourn."
"Oh, I'm called a badgermole and Ruff's an ottermole."
"Humm, ee must be h'eatin' gurt bowlfuls o' pudden t'grow oop big loik ee are. 'Ow did ee get so gurt?"
Ruff winked at the badger and replied, "Keepin' clean, me liddle mate, that's 'ow. We gets scrubbed five times every day, an' that's why we growed big."
Trubble wrinkled his baby snout at the other small moles. "Whurrrgh! Reckerns oi'll stay likkle then!"
Rogg appeared, dabbing at his brow with a dock leaf which he used to shoo the moles off with. "Gurr, be off'n with ee, Trubble. Gurlo, Burkle, Plugg, you 'uns leave ee gennelbeasts t'rest awhoile. Cumm an' 'elp oi in ee kitchun if'n ee wants vittles t'be ready sooner. Hurr, an' be washen ee paws furst!"
Left to themselves, the three travelers took their ease, Brocktree and Ruff stretching out on the mossy ledge. Dotti sprawled comfortably in the armchair, letting tempting aromas from the kitchen hover about her. Through half-closed eyes she took in the homely cavern. Lanterns of varying hues hung everywhere, shelves and cupboards were carved neatly into the rocks and heavy tree roots, the floors were strewn with woven rush mats, and two black-and-orange-banded sexton beetles dozed close to the embers on the hearthhousehold pets, used by the moles to keep the cavern free of crumbs and other morsels which the babes left about. Before Dotti's eyes finally closed, she sighed. What a pleasant place. A real home.
Chapter 9
It was sometime in the late evening when Fleetscut collapsed. A combination of overwhelming fatigue, thirst and hours of strong sunlight, together with the fact that the old hare had run without stopping for almost two days, brought him down. Head hanging, paws dragging, he tottered about on the open flatlands like a beast driven crazy. He did not realize he had fallen at first. Fleetscut lay on the rough ground, the tongue hanging dry from his mouth, footpaws still moving in a running action, kicking up small dustclouds. In his delirium he squinted at a rock, imagining it was Lord Stonepaw gazing sternly at him.
"Sire, there ain't a hare nowheres t'be found," he croaked feebly. "I tried, I did my best for you, but alas, lord, the young hares are gone from the land ..."
Fleetscut's eyes glazed over and he fell back senseless.
From a rocky outcrop a crow had been watching the old hare, waiting. Now it flew forward, cautiously at first, using rocks as cover. On reaching the fallen hare, it pecked lightly at his ear; he did not stir. Emboldened by this, the crow swaggered and strutted around Fleetscut, weighing up its prey. At the very moment the crow decided to start pecking at the hare's eyes, a slingstone knocked the talons from under it. Squawking angrily, the hefty black bird took awkwardly to the air and flapped off, sent on its way by another stone narrowly missing its wingtip.
The young squirrel Beddle and five companions hurried to Fleetscut's side and ministered to him.
"Just drip the water on his tongue, not too fast."
"Poor fool, Jukka said he'd not get far. Look at his paws!"
"Aye, they be torn badly. Hast any herbs in thy bag, Ruro?"
The squirrel Ruro emptied out the bag. "Sanicle, dock leaves and moss. Here, let me attend him." Pouring water on the ingredients, she made compresses. "He be lucky Jukka sent us after him. Beddle, can thee make up a stretcher?"
Beddle set about removing his tunic. He slotted two spears down the sleeves, calling out to the youngest of the party, "Grood, I'll need thy tunic, give it here!"
Reluctantly Grood removed the garment. Beddle eyed him fiercely. "Watch thy tongue, young 'un, or thine ears'll get boxed twice, once by me an' once by Jukka Sling!"
Moonlight shafted pale through the pines; a small fire encased within a rock oven sent out a welcome ruddy glow. Fleetscut became aware of creatures hovering over himsquirrels. One of them called out softly, "Ye be right, Jukka, he lives!"
Jukka the Sling's tough features hove into view. "Most creatures of long seasons would be dead after putting themselves through such a trial."
Fleetscut's tongue moistened his lips, his voice when it came sounding cracked and hoarse. "When I go it'll be with a weapon in me paw, fightin'. 'Til then I'll just hang about and annoy you, friend."
Jukka chuckled. "What's that they say on yon mountain: thou art a perilous creature. Rest now, longears, drink some soup an' sleep. We'll talk on the morrow."
Rest was the last thought on Fleetscut's mind, but no sooner had he drunk half a beaker of mushroom soup than the vessel slipped from his paws and he went into a deep slumber.
Morning and noontide came and passed, and it was evening when Fleetscut wakened.
"How do thy paws feel? Sore, I'll wager?"
The old hare struggled to a sitting position, allowing Ruro to change the dressings.