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pain as a beak pecked him hard between his ears.
Suddenly Thrugg could stand it no more. The sound of the infant dormouse being tormented by the crows drove him into a towering rage. Kicking, butting and punching birds, he arose from the tangle with blood dripping from his bared teeth. Fighting his way across the dry streambed, he grabbed hold of Dumble and Rocangus. Standing in front of them, he hefted the laden haversack in both paws and began swinging it like some terrible engine of destruction. Crows exploded into the air, wing over beak over tail over tip. Dark feathers showered the air, together with beak fragments and broken claws. The haversack was a thudding, banging, swishing blur of destruction as Thrugg's head went back and his mouth opened like a scarlet cavern.
"RedwaaaaaaaaallUll!!"
The crows fled, some hopping, others flapping as they fought each other to get away from Thrugg's mighty retaliation.
As late afternoon faded into evening, the three companions sat tending to each other's wounds.
Thrugg winced as Rocangus dug a beak fragment from his back. "Ouch! Go easy there, you feathered fiend!"
"Hah, stop grievin', planktail. Ye'll live. Haud still while Ah get this crowclaw out o' yer thick heid."
Baby Dumble was counting his war wounds. "Two, free, six, nine, twennyfifteen. Wow, that's a lot!"
"Aye, an' that's a lot out there, matey. Look!"
They followed the direction of Thrugg's pointing paw. Halfway between the pinegrove and the streambed the land was black with crows. They crowded together b'ke beetles in a cellar.
Thrugg sat down with his back against the sun-dried bank. "Nobeast could fight off that many, Rocangus. We're done for."
The falcon preened his tattered breastfeathers. "Aye, but by the crag we'll go oot a-fightin'!"
Dumble searched in the sand of the streambed. "I wanna
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new stick to fight more crones wiv!"
Slowly the sun began sinking in the west. The sky was a warm peach color with dove-gray pennants of cloud showing silver underbellies. Heatwaves still shimmered in the distance.
Thrugg sat awhile, gazing sadly at the beauty of it all. "Hmm, it ain't too bad for an' old streamdog like me. I've had a good innin's an' enjoyed meself. But you two young uns, I wish you could've seen more seasons to yore string afore you 'ave to go. Still an* all, we're all good mateys, so we'll take a load of 'em with us an' go out in the good company of each other."
Dumble had found a stick. He peered over the bank, wrinkling his nose, fearless in his babyish innocence. "Why are all the crones quiet, 'Ocangus?"
The young falcon winced as he settled his fractured wing right. "Ye'd best hope those birds stay quiet, laddie. When the beasties start up their chantin' again, that's when they'll come for us."
"Can Dumble have some squashy blackb'rries an' pears, MistaThugg?"
Thrugg undid the haversack that he had used as a flail upon the bodies of many crows. The once tasty contents were squashed flat. "Bless yer 'eart, liddle un, 'course you can. 'EIp yourself." The otter sat with a sad smile on his face, watching Dumble eat.
Rocangus touched his paw with the uninjured wing. "Dinna worry, streamdog, we'll give yon birds a battle tae remember and sing abootthose that are left alive."
The last gleam of twilight was showing on the horizon when the massed army of crows began to chant themselves into a frenzy. It echoed dirgelike across the deserted countryside.
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22
A half-moon hung in a sky of aquamarine. Paddles dipped noiselessly into the high-banked waters as two logboats threaded their way down a tributary far from the Great South Stream. Both craft were loaded to the gunwales with Guoss-som shrews. Mara and Pikkle traveled in the front vessel. They had been going since dawn, sailing along an intricate network of backwaters. Beside them Log-a-log and Nordo checked the barkcloth charts showing the route.
"How much farther before we're there, Nordo?" Mara murmured sleepily.
"We should get there by dawn, with any luck. Get some sleep, you two. We're running downstreamput your paddles up."
Pikkle looked around. Save for the watch shrews, all the others had settled down to catch some rest. He patted his stomach. "Bit of tucker wouldn't go amiss, wot! How's a chap supposed to sleep when the old turn starts growlin' an' keepin' him awake, that's what I'd like t' know!"
Reaching into a sack that was stowed in the bows, Log-a-log passed two large round flat objects to the hare.' 'Try these, Pikkle. They're shrews' long-voyage hardtack biscuits. They might have been baked quite a few seasons ago but they're
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full of nourishment. You should enjoy them."
"Oof!" Pikkle attempted to bite into one and came away nursing his mouth. "Nearly bust all me molars. What're these things made ofstone? I'll bet even old Tubbyguts couldn't get his jaws around one of these things. I say, Mara, try bitin' one of these. Go on!"
The badger maid pushed away the proffered hardtack biscuit. "Not me. I value my teethsave 'em to sling at the ghost badger."
Pikkle shuddered and dropped the biscuit. It landed with a clatter in the bottom of the boat. "Oh, thanks a lot, big-mouthed badger. First I can't eat these bally biscuits and now you've gone an' put me off sleepin' for the night with your talk of ghosts. Bit of a bad show all round, I'd say, robbin' a chap of appetite an' sleep!"
Mara fell asleep to the sounds of Pikkle chuntering away indignantly to himself.
She woke in the early dawn light. The logboats were traveling rapidly downstream, bumping and speeding over small rapids as. the Guosssom shrew steerbeasts maneuvered them skillfully along the risky waterway. The high steep banks on both sides flashed by. Now and then Nordo would call out for everybeast to duck an overhanging tree. Pikkle was wide awake and ashenfaced as he gripped the sides of the boat, pleading for a reduced speed.
"I say, chaps. Be good eggs an' tell the jolly old Cap'n to slow down a bit, will you? Whoooo! All this uppin' an' downin', speedin' an' bumpin'I feel quite queasy."
The shrews who were fending the banks off with their paddles made the most of Pikkle's discomfort by ribbing him aloud.
"Try some cold custard and cabbage for breakfast, mate. Haha!"
"Or some warm oatmeal mixed with black treacle an' carrots!"
"How about a stale vegetable pastie with sour cream over Jl!"
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Pikkle lay in the bottom of the boat, clasping his stomach. "Mercy, chaps! Shut up, you shameful shrews. Take pity on a feller, please! Cold custard 'n' cabbage.. . . Bloouurrpp!"
"Hold tight, all paws! It's the lake!"