"Just bandage 'em tight, so I can run on 'em, marm!"
Ruro shook her head at the defiant old hare. "Nay, thou art going nowhere. Jukka Sling would have words with thee. Rest and eat something."
Fleetscut tried to get up onto his paws, but collapsed wincing from the pain. "Where is Jukka?"
Beddle brought food and placed it before the hare. "She'll be back by dark o' night. You must wait. Jukka will have news of thy mountain, what has taken place there. Come, be not foolish, ye must eat to live."
Fleetscut picked up a potato and hazelnut pasty. "So be it, old lad, but 'tis you who are foolish, inviting a hare to eat. Is that a carrot flan I see?"
When he had satisfied his hunger and thirst, Fleetscut lay back and fell into a doze. Beddle sat wide-eyed. "Strewth! Did ye ever see a creature eat like that in all thy born days?"
Ruro removed the empty platters, shaking her head. "And still he be skinny as a willow withe. Would that I could pack away vittles like that an' stay lean as he!"
Midnight had long gone when Jukka the Sling arrived back at the pines. She sat panting and sipping at a flask of elderberry wine. "Our hare sleeps yet, eh?"
Ruro fed the fire with a dead pine log. "He wakened earlier, ate like a madbeast and fell asleep again. Shall I wake him?"
The squirrel leader put aside her wine. "Nay, let him sleep on. There's nought but bad news to hear when he wakens."
"The mountain of Salamandastron has fallen, then?"
Jukka warmed her paws by the fire; a chill breeze was blowing in from the seas. "Aye, 'tis conquered by the Blue Ones. I could not get too near, but I saw from a distance some vermin scaling the slopes. They carried large new banners to put up there. 'Tis a sad day for these western coasts, Ruro."
Beddle crouched nearby, preparing Jukka's meal. "Mayhap we should have helped the old one, Jukka."
"Thou art a fool if that's what thee think, Beddle. We'd be nought but slain carcasses rolling in the tide shallows now, had we gone up against such a force. Yon Badger Lord an' his hares were brave, mad beasts, they did what they had to. But 'twas a foregone conclusion."
Spots of rain that had found their way through the pine canopy roused Fleetscut in the dawn hour. Jukka was awake also, sitting watching him, cloaked in a blanket. Turning her back on the old hare, she raked ash from the fire embers and brought it to crackling life by feeding broken pine branches into the rock oven. Fleetscut's voice hit her back like a whip.
"Tell me what has happened at my mountain. Speak!"
Jukka did not turn, but she gave him his answer.
By the time the entire squirrel camp was up and about, Fleetscut had hauled himself upright and stood supporting himself against a pine trunk, a plate of food lying at his footpaw, untouched. Jukka still sat watching him.
"There was nought anybeast could have done, Fleetscut. Come now, eat. I hear tell that thou art a beast with great appetite."
A kick from the hare's footpaw sent the plate flying. His eyes were like stone, his voice dripping contempt. "I don't eat with cowards!"
Jukka sprang up, a loaded sling automatically in her paw. "Nobeast calls Jukka the Sling a coward!"
The old hare tore his tunic open, exposing his scrawny chest. "Then kill me, Jukka, go on, kill me! One old hare shouldn't be too difficult for a warrior like you, wot? Slay me an' see how long you an' your band can hide out in this pine grove until Ungatt Trunn's Blue Hordes find you all. Then you'll wish you'd helped t'fight against him an' save Salamandastron!"
Thrrrakk!
Jukka's slingstone clipped off a branch a hair's breadth from Fleetscut's head and whirred off among the trees. The squirrel stood before him, her wild eyes blazing. "Any other beast would have been dead by now, hare. But I'll prove to thee that me and mine aren't cowards. We'll go with thee on thy searchaye, an' carry ye if needs be. I'll help ye build an armyhares, or any creature crazy enough to go against the hordes on yonder mountain. Then we'll fight them, us for the taking of weapons which we value so highly, an' thou for thy vengeance on the foes who slew thy brothers. I, Jukka the Sling, do not do this out of comradeship for ye. War is a business. I do it for profit, for all the weapons my tribe may plunder if victory is ours!"
Hare and squirrel stood face-to-face, their wrathful eyes searing one another. Fleetscut curled his lip scornfully. "Do it for whatever reason y'like, brushtail. But do it!"
Jukka was trembling all over with rage. "Oho, I'll do it, never fret about that, longears," she growled. "Once Jukka the Sling gives her word, thou canst stake thy life on it!"
Fleetscut turned his back on the squirrel and began hobbling off, calling back over his shoulder, "Well, y'won't get it done standin' 'round makin' bloomin' speeches all day. Actions speak louder'n words, doncha know!"
In total, Jukka's tribe numbered fifty able-bodied creatures and a dozen who were either too young or too old to serve her purpose. She left eight of the warriors with these twelve, and the other forty-three, counting herself, were ready to march within the hour, each of them armed and provisioned.
Ruro caught up with Fleetscut, who was limping ahead near the pine grove's edge. "Hold up, friend, my tribe will be with thee shortly. Here, take these. 'Twill make the going easier."
Fleetscut allowed her to loop a small bag over his shoulder. Then he took the short, thick-handled spear and hefted it. The weapon had a sharp double-edged blade, shaped like a grey willow leaf, with a crosstree where it joined the shaft.
"Strange, spear, wot? Wouldn't be very accurate to throw. Rations in this bag, I s'pose, though by the feel of it there's not more'n a couple o' days' supply."
Ruro showed him her spear, which was the same type as his. "Useful things, these. Jukka designed them for close combat, not for throwing. See, the blade is as good as a sword, the crosstree can ward off blade thrusts and the thick shaft makes a fine long club. Our food is good for long treks. 'Tis made of dried fruit an' berries stuffed into a f arl of oat an' rye bread which has been well soaked in honey. A creature can march all day on just a few mouthfuls, providing there's water to drink. Here come the others now. Lean down on thy spear, Fleetscut, grasp the cross hilt, but keep thy paw clear o' the blade. Makes a good walking stick, eh?"
The old hare was forced to agree: the going was much easier with the spear to aid him. Jukka strode by them in high bad humor, remarking to Ruro as she passed, "Tell me if the ancient one falls behind. We can carry him trussed to a long pike like a carcass!"
Fleetscut's voice rang out after her. "You've got a good fast stride there, marm, stap me but y'have! Must be with havin' to retreat from all your foes, wot?"
Jukka kept marching, but her ears and tail shot up rigid with anger at the insult. Ruro shook her head sadly. "Do not provoke Jukka Sling overmuch, my friend. She has never been bested in a fight. No matter how much thou thinkest she hath wronged thee, remember, she was only doing what was best for her tribe. I would have done the same in her place."
Fleetscut had come to like Ruro a lot, so he did not argue with her, but changed the subject. "I wonder where she's takin' us?"
His friend pointed to the northeast. "To the Rockwood. We should be there by nightfall, methinks. Jukka will want words with Udara Groundslay."
"An' who in the name o' seasons is Udara Groundslay?"
Ruro quickened her pace as other squirrels went by. "Enough talk now, friend, we're starting to lag behind. Save thy breath for traveling, or mayhap Jukka will carry out her threat an' have ye slung on a pike."
Fleetscut stumped along faster on his makeshift stick. "Huh, if she ever tries it she'll find out what the term perilous hare really means!"
Jukka marched them ruthlessly all through that day, taking it out on Fleetscut for his ill-chosen remarks to her. Out on the flatlands there was no water. The sun beat down without respite, and not a breeze stirred the brownish scrub grass, which would be withered before the advent of summer. Grasshoppers chirruped dryly, larks could be heard high overhead. Like the squirrels, the old hare sucked on a flat pebble to retain the moisture in his mouth. His paw ached abominably from holding and leaning upon the metal crosstree of the spear, even though he had tried to cushion it with clumps of grass. Jukka remained silent and angry, but her tribe sang a marching song to keep up their spirits. The old hare had never heard the tune before, so he too kept quiet as they tramped wearily across the scorched acres of open land, though like any old soldier he kept pace with the beat.