Thrugg took a careful look at the wing. Rocangus stood still, bravely bearing up under the otter's searching paw. "You're got a fractured bone there, shipmate. Still, I don't
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suppose one more passenger will break me old back. Come along with us. We're bound for the mountains of the north in search of the Flowers of lector."
Rocangus looked incredulously at him. "Ach, ye mean Ah'm stuck wi' two landbound dunderheads lookin' for the Flowers of lector an' Ah cannae fly?"
Dumble stroked the falcon's back. "Come wiv us, 'Ocan-gus. Mista Thugg is a good carrier, y'know."
Thrugg searched out bindweed, motherwort and pine resin. He made a compound and bound the injured wing, using a willow twig and wild rhubarb fibers to secure the dressing.
"There, that'll do the trick! Once that pine resin sets firm, the wort 'n' weed will do their work. Don't try to move that there wing, mate. The more you keep it still the quicker it'll heal up. Now, young Rocangus, you can be our navigator. Which way is it to the north mountains?"
The young falcon held the wing stiffly at his side as he pointed into the woodlands to the northeast. "Yonder, though Ah'm no certain sure. 'Tis different when a bird's no up in the sky, ye ken. Still, dinna fash yersel'. We'll get there all right."
Dumble refused to ride in the haversack. He trotted along at Thrugg's side. Despite his pleas, Rocangus was made to perch on top of the haversack on Thrugg's back. Latching his powerful talons into the straps, he hung on gamely.
"If mah faither could see me now he'd kick mah tailfeath-ers. Intae the woods wi* ye, Thrugg, ya great bonnie river-dog!"
The curious-looking trio struck northeast into the far tip of the Mossflower woodlands.
The trees were beginning to thin out into flat bush-strewn country, and by midafternoon they had covered a fair distance. Dumble found ripe blackberries and a tree thick with small soft pears, so they stocked up on both. Thrugg rested awhile, watching both the young creatures feeding each other the choicest berries; their faces, both whisker and beak, were heavily stained with the purple juice.
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The otter hefted the pack up onto his back, calling to Rocangus, "Up on yore perch, matey. There's plenty o' daylight left yet."
The falcon nodded toward a thick grove of pine and spruce ahead. "Keep your wits aboot ye, Thrugg. That's crow territory!"
The afternoon was hot and still. Thrugg cast a glance at the grove. Placing Dumble on his left side, he slipped loose his sling, testing the thongs as he loaded a flat pebble into it. There was no sign of crows circling in the air above the trees, but the trio took no chances. They traveled cautiously, keeping hidden among the low brush, fern clumps and any cover the land could afford. Giving the pine grove a wide berth, they went in a curving line, moving at a moderate pace, not too slowly or too quickly, knowing the crows would be down upon them if they betrayed their presence by unnecessary noise. Even Dumble was aware of their precarious position. Every now and then he would give his friends a wink and hold a paw up to his lips as they trekked along in silence.
Everything went well, until the little dormouse stepped on a thistle.
"Wowhoo! I stood onna fissle, Mista Thrugg. Ouch!"
The pine- and sprucetops rustled, loud cawing cut the still air, and ragged black shapes came flapping out of the grove.
Rocangus gave a shrill cry. "Ach! It's crows. We're for it, laddies!"
The sandy bed of a dried stream formed a depression in the land ahead of them. Thrugg grabbed Dumble by his smock and made a dash for it. The running otter was soon spotted by the crows. Winging swiftly, they came after him as he ran heavy-laden for the streambed. Calling harshly to each other, the crows zoomed down at Thrugg's back. Rocangus dealt the first one a savage rip with his curved beak as it tried to latch its claws into the back of Thrugg's neck. Whisker over tail, the otter threw himself into the shallow bottom. Throwing off the haversack, he brained a low-flying crow with his loaded sling. Loosing off he stone, he watched another crow fall cra-zily amid a jumble of tailfeathers as the pebble struck it.
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Thrugg's fighting blood was up now. Standing tall, he whirled the sling, roaring out the Abbey warcry:
"Redwaaaaill! Come on, you lousy-feathered fleabags. I'm Thrugg, the Warrior of the Waterways! Redwaaaaalllll!"
Little Dumble tugged the thistle from his footpad, seized a long stick which lay nearby and stood alongside the haversack where Rocangus was perched, ready with beak and talon. Together they sang out their battle calls.
"I'm Dumble from Reedddwwaaaaallll!"
"Ah'm Rocangus, son o' the great Laird Mactalon! Kreee-gaaarr!"
Two crows landed and came hopskipping fiercely toward Dumble, their vicious beaks like dirty yellow daggers. Dumble thwacked out hard, cracking the spindly legs of the first one. Rocangus bowled the other one over, tearing madly at it with his hooked beak. Thrugg took several sharp pecks in his back. Laying one crow senseless with a hefty smack of his rudder-like tail, he whirled about, kicking one high in a cloud of black feathers as he thudded the loaded sling into the chest of another. Rocangus was scrabbling in the sand against three more crows, ripping with his talons and stabbing with his beak. He did not see the crow that pecked Dumble's paw. The little dormouse squeaked with pain and dropped his stick. Immediately two huge crows seized him and began bearing him aloft. He hovered in the air, shrieking.
"Mista Thuuuuuggg!"
With a bellow of rage, the brawny otter grabbed the haversack by its straps. Swinging it round, he threw the laden pack and smashed the two crows out of the air.
Dumble fell, did a tumble and snatched up his stick. Falling on the two crows, he beat them mercilessly, pounding beaks, tails, legs and wings furiously. "Ya nasty ol' crones, takin' Dumble up inna sky!"
The three friends fought so fiercely that they drove off the crows. The birds cawed angrily, perching on low bushes and performing a curious hopskip dance on the ground as they chanted, "Krak krak, yah yah, killa beast, eata mouse, killa 'ookbeak!"
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From the slight cover of the streambed Rocangus stood with Thrugg and Dumble, watching the performance.
"Have ye ever seen sich a bunch o' cowards?" The falcon clacked his beak contemptuously. "If man wing was better Ah'd go o'er there an' send 'em weepin' tae their mammies!"
Thrugg wrapped a hasty dressing round Dumble's pecked paw. "They'll be back, mate. You can bet on it. They're just gettin' their nerve up agin. Look, there's more o' the villains comin' out o' the pines."
Dumble brandished his stick in a warlike manner. "Let them come, Mista Thugg. Dumble'll smack thejr bottoms wiv this big stick!"
Rocangus set his beak in a grim line. "Ah've nae doubt ye will, laddie, but they crows can come doon like leaves in autumn wind. Yon's only a few of 'em!"
"Stand by, mates. Here they come agin!"
"Aye, an' there's more o' the blaggards circlin' in from behind!"
"Come on, crones. Dumble's ready. RedwaaaaalllH!"
Skimming low over the grass, the crows came winging in to the attack. Thrugg blinded the first four with double pawfuls of dry sand. A crow was about to land on top of his head with beak open ready to bite, when Dumble thrust the stick straight down its throat. Four crows flung themselves upon Rocangus; all that could be seen was an explosion of black feathers mottled with the brown ones of the falcon as they fought with mad savagery. Two more landed and attacked Thrugg from behind. Again his ruddered tail came into heavy action, breaking the neck of one bird. The other shot backwards, stunned by a kick from his backpaw. Dumble's stick broke across an enemy head. He snatched up both halves and went at the landing crows like a miniature thunderstorm. The crows were beginning to win by sheer weight of numbers. They swooped in and landed in gangs upon the three friends until none of them could be seen under the mass of black feathers, beaks and scratching claws. Dumble screamed in