The mouse kicked and squirmed. "All right? I'm near drowned by this rain! Get me ashore!"
As soon as he spotted a rock, sticking sideways out of a fern patch a few lengths from the bank, Tagg abandoned the stream and set Nimbalo down. Slithering and sliding, they made their way up the bankside and stumbled to the welcome cover beneath the large stone chunk. Rolling thunder sounded more distant now; lightning flashed far off. Tagg wiped mud from his paws onto a fern and lay back.
"Storm's moving away now. The rain should slack off before dawn. Well, mate, we've lost our supplies and the cloak, but we're lucky. We could've lost our lives to those serpents back there."
Using his tail as a probe, Nimbalo dug mud from his left ear. "Gave me a good ride, didn't ye, big feller? I was foolin', y'know; I'm a champion swimmer really. Faster'n a fish, that's me!"
Tagg went along with the joke, knowing his friend was lying. "Well, you scoundrel, I never knew you could swim, and me carrying you all that way, swimming with three paws an' a rudder. Rascal!"
Nimbalo tweaked Tagg's ear affectionately. "Never mind, pal. Next time I'll swim an' hold you up over the water, I promise!"
Tagg chuckled. "I'll keep you to that promise, you rogue."
Sleep was out of the question. They sat watching the rain. It had slackened somewhat, but was still quite heavy, with a light breeze beginning to drive it sideways. Tagg sat Nimbalo on the lee side, taking most of the wetness on his right side. Nimbalo peered out onto the rainswept plain. "Can you see a light out there?"
Tagg saw the dimly flickering glow. "Aye, and it's coming this way."
They sat still and silent, the otter gripping his blade, as the light got closer. Nimbalo screwed his eyes up against the rain. "It's some ole beast carryin' a lantern!"
Tagg slid the blade back into his belt and moved over a bit, to make room for the newcomer. It was an ancient shrew, bent almost double, covered in a blanket cloak and hobbling along with the aid of a blackthorn stick, Groaning faintly, he put the lantern down and sat between them. Throwing back his cloak hood, the shrew dug a spotted kerchief from it and wiped his whiskers.
"Filfy night 'tis, plain filfy. Yew nearly fell into me den as youse climbed the bank back there. Hoho, that woulda been wot y'call droppin' in fer a visit, wouldn't it, me ole cullies?"
He tapped the side of his lantern, and about six fireflies flared their tiny lights in response. The ancient shrew cackled. "Heeheehee! I'd got 'ere sooner, but I 'ad to feed me pals. A liddle 'oney'n'water, that's all they needs. Sparky bugs, they are. Now, wot are youse two doin' out 'ere on a night like this?"
Tagg allowed Nimbalo to act as spokesbeast. "We was about to ask you the same, me ole greysnout."
The shrew tapped Nimbalo's paw with his stick. "Yore an 'ardfaced liddle 'arvest mousey. Wot's yore name, eh?"
"Nimbalo the Slayer. Everybeast 'round 'ere knows me!"
The shrew sucked his toothless gums, looking Nimbalo up and down. "Well, I don't, but I'll tell ye why I'm 'ere, Lamino, I come t'see if'n youbeasts was needin' shelter in me den. 'Tain't much, but it's all mine, an' 'tis dry too. So, wot d'ye say, Limbow? Does you an' yore big silent brudder want a night's lodgin', eh?"
Tagg touched his paw to his nose politely. "Thankee, that'd be very nice. My name's Tagg, sir."
The old one arose creakily and picked up his lantern. "Well, my name's, er, er, Ruskem. Hah, 'tis so long since anybeast spoke it I'd almost forgotten. Come on, then, Tugg, foller me. Come on, Minaglo, you can carry the lantern."
As they made their way back to the bank, Nimbalo whispered, "Wish he'd get me name right!"
Tagg wiped rainwater from his eyes. "Don't get too upset, mate; Ruskem has trouble remembering his own name, poor old beast. He must live all alone."
Ruskem's den entrance was near the banktop above the waterline. He ushered them in with his stick. "In 'ere, Togg an' Ninnybo, this is me ole den."
It was tiny inside. Tagg had to bend his head to avoid the ceiling. However, it was homely and comfortable, with a turf fire glowing in a stone hearth, an armchair, a bed, and thick rugs of woven moss and reeds carpeting the floor. Ruskem produced a ladle and two polished elm bowls, which he proceeded to fill from a big cauldron hanging over the fire.
"Shrewburgoo, that's wot 'tis, an' don't ask me wot's in it. That pot ain't been empty since I don't know when. I just adds to it aught I c'n find, berries, fruit, roots an' all manner o' things. One fer you, Numbowl, an' the big bowl fer Tigg. There's a kettle o' mint'n'comfrey tea on the 'earth, so 'elp yoreselves."
The shrewburgoo tasted wholesome and filling, though some parts of it tasted sweet and other bits were definitely savory. Ruskem poured them tea, and saw Nimbalo's eyelids start to droop.
"Yore in need o' slumbertime, Binflow. I'll sleep in me chair, you take the bed. Fogg, yore too big fer either. You kin sleep on the rugs, they're nice an' soft."
Nimbalo swigged his tea off, flopped on the bed and fell asleep without further ado. Ruskem sat in his chair and sighed. "Don't tell me yore story, Wagg. It'll tire me ole brain out."
Tagg was gazing around the walls, which were filled with pieces of slate. Each one had a skillfully executed portrait of a shrew's face on it, some male, others female. The otter smiled. "Oh, I won't tell you my story, Ruskem, it bores me listening to it. These are good pictures. Who did them?"
The shrew pointed to a lot of flint shards on the mantelpiece. " 'Twas me. I like makin' pitchers, got a good eye fer it. Those are my kin, ma, pa, grandma an' grandpa. That 'un's my ole missus, seasons rest 'er pore 'eart, the rest are me sons an' daughters. Gone, all gone now. Those that ain't died 'ave packed up an' left. There's on'y me now. But 'tis my 'ome an' I likes it enough ter live wot seasons I got left right 'ere. You get some rest now, Flagg. Big feller like you needs plenty o' shuteye. Nighty night!"
Sometime during the night, Tagg woke up. Ruskem was snoring gently in his chair, but Nimbalo was talking in his sleep, sobbing too. In the dim glow of the turf fire, Tagg watched his friend tossing about on the bed, and listened to the harvest mouse's disjointed ramblings.
"But Papa, I've done all the work. I'm hungry. Ow! Ow! Please don't beat me, Papa, I've done all the work. Where's Mama? I want my mama! What . . . Oh, Mama, please come back..."
Nimbalo sobbed heartbreakingly. Tagg rose quietly and stroked his friend's head as gently as he could, murmuring, "Hush, matey, sleep easy now. Hush, hush."
Nimbalo's eyes opened wide, and he sat up with his paws clenched. Tagg could tell he was still sleeping. Nimbalo's voice grew hard. "Put that belt down, Papa! I said put it down, you ain't goin' to beat me with it no more. No more, I say!"
Tagg pushed him back down and passed a paw over his eyes. "Sleep, now. Tagg's here, mate. Sleeeeeep."
Nimbalo uttered a single word. "Tagg." His eyes closed and he slept peacefully for the remainder of the night. Tagg dozed off sitting by the fire. So Nimbalo was a runaway who had received a hard upbringing from a cruel father. Now Tagg knew why his friend presented a tough exterior to all. He wanted to show he could not be bullied or beaten anymore.
Tagg woke late next morning. Nimbalo was still asleep, but Ruskem was up and about. He added mixed oats and barley and some strawberries to the shrewburgoo. Stirring in a chunk of honeycomb, he nodded to Tagg.
"G'mornin', Trogg. Wot d'ye think? Shall I toss in some wild celery an' onions to this lot?"
The otter wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No, I think the strawberries an' honey should be enough, sir. What's the weather like outside, I wonder?"
The ancient shrew poured tea from the kettle for his guest. "Fresh as a daisy an' prettier'n a rosebud. Rain's all gone, stream's runnin' muddy but full. What more could a beast want?"
Tagg went to the bed and shook the snoring harvest mouse. "A traveling partner who's awake, that's what I want."