And so they settled down, and with dark closing fast, the two quail fell asleep. Gomor lay there listening only for a moment, then began to rummage through the surrounding leaves looking for something to eat.
“W
AKE UP
!” T
HERE
came a voice to Cormo like one within a dream, and he fought the web of sleep to reply.
“What is it, Gomor?” said Cormo, his mind tangled within a night’s dreams.
“There is something near!” whispered Gomor.
Then he heard it. The undeniable rush of great wings. His heart seized in his chest at that sound as only the prey can. He spun around to Gomor, who was staring into the black, his eyes attuned to darkness.
Gomor looked over to Harlequin, who had awoken also. She had lowered her head to the ground, her eyes wide and frightened. The rush of wings within the descending dark of night could mean only one thing: an owl.
They all huddled still. Had the bird heard them talking? It could have been nesting in a nearby tree and they would never have known. Then the rush sounded again and they knew the bird was falling down toward them. With a great final flurry of wings, the great bird settled upon the fallen tree inches above their nest.
“Who?” called a voice deep and grand. “Who, my little morsels, are you?”
“I
THINK WE
are far enough away now to bed down,” said Monroth.
“We should go farther,” said Ysil. “With the chaos of the day, some crows may have ventured out of the field to make nest. May even be some nesting across the ridge we just descended.” He trudged on through the relative darkness. Monroth huffed but followed.
Then from ahead they heard the unquestionable sound of voices.
“Wake up!” came a familiar voice from the wooded brushy area just beyond the bend. Gomor! Ysil wanted to call out but was nervous in the dark. Instinct kept them quiet.
Then, “What is it, Gomor?” Ysil’s heart leaped. It was Cormo!
They moved on silently for a few paces then heard the swoop of wings. There was not even a thought of what it might be. It was the owl.
Ysil saw it beat its wings and dive to the ground. Close, dreadfully close. Then he heard the voice of the owl, sounding dark and hungry. “Who? Who, my little morsels, are you?”
A stark terror settled in Ysil’s belly like an eagle’s talon. But it was not a terror that froze him in place. Ysil was suddenly thinking of nothing but the fact his dearest friends were certainly beneath the talons of the owl. He thrashed his wings and flew at the sound of the voice with all he had.
“Scatter!” Ysil screamed with all his might, flushing feverously toward the sound of the voices.
Two birds flew at his command. The second was Harlequin. The rabbit jumped also. They instinctively went in three different directions. Ysil felt relief in the fact that his friends had fled, but the owl was still sitting there. It had hardly moved a feather when Ysil screamed. Then he saw two great orbs that were the eyes of the owl staring directly at him, watching the fast-approaching form of a small quail dive-bombing him in crazed suicidal flight. Looking up to an easy meal. It was only then that Ysil realized the folly in his flight of rescue. He had not thought; he had just reacted.
Ysil swerved drastically in his approach, to alter his perceived attack to an escape. Below, the owl raised its great wings and made preparations, opening its pointed beak, the red tongue extending to taste the air. When the owl perceived that Ysil was off course from his original approach, it took to wing in pursuit. Ysil heard a flurry to his tail and realized that Monroth was behind. The other bird must have reacted quickly when Ysil flew.
Perhaps he saw Harlequin
, thought Ysil. He had barely enough time to feel a slight surprise before they both crashed noisily into the brush. Then the great form of the owl was at the brush right behind them. Ysil and Monroth froze still on the ground. The owl poked its beak in and glared into the dark of the brush, staring directly at the quail. But it did not try to push its huge body within the thorny brambles. Ysil and Monroth were motionless.
There was a flutter of great wings and then the owl was gone. As it flew, it let out a great laugh. Ysil would have thought the laugh to say,
I will get you soon
, but there was something different in it. There was something that said,
What a joy!
Or even,
That was fantastically funny!
This tone of the owl’s laughter confused and bewildered Ysil, who realized this was entertaining to the owl.
Beside him, Monroth huddled in fear. They were as still as possible. In a few minutes the excitement abated and the night took over, both around them and within their bodies. And within the hovel of the bush the quail closed their eyes, exhaustion overtaking them. Before long the two were asleep. Mere feet away, Cormo and Harlequin slept also.
Only Gomor was awake, afraid and shivering.
Quail
, he thought.
No matter what the day holds, the quail sleep. How can a quail sleep when the owl was just so close?
But when dark fell, quail slept.
Y
SIL AWOKE TO
the sound of laughter. He knew the voice. He would not normally say that a voice like that would make him feel better, but it was a playful sound, a fun-loving laugh. His mind cleared a bit, and then he knew who it was: Drac.
“So, my little quail!” sneered the fox. “You were under attack last night, eh? We were close and heard the bird fly. What a show you put on! I would have thought he would have eaten at least one of your tender bodies! He could have, you know. He must not have been very hungry. What luck! The next time you will not find such luck, eh? You need someone to watch over you. Little quailsies and a tiny rabbit have no place in these big woods alone, no place at all.”
Ysil was lying still. Early morning light was sifting through the leaves and an easy wind blew the willow above. From their brambly bed it was Monroth who spoke first: “We don’t need taken care of! If you were close and you wanted to help, why didn’t you jump to our aid when the owl attacked? And besides, we can fend for ourselves!” Monroth moved out of the brush and walked up to the foxes, face-to-face.
“I do not believe you, little bird!” said Drac. “We would have come to your aid if that owl had gotten hold of you. But when we saw that you made it to the copse, we said to each other, ‘Let them sleep.’ And we could hardly keep our laughter.”
Ysil moved out of the thicket and joined Monroth. “Monroth, we shouldn’t even be talking to them. Remember what Cotur Ada said? Please, let’s go on.”
Monroth opened his beak to speak, but before he could, a voice came from behind: “And how can we trust that you will not eat us yourselves when we sleep?” It was Harlequin.
“Well, well,” said Puk. “What a pretty thing you are!”
“Now, Puk, be polite,” said Drac. “Let’s make them feel more comfortable. Now, are you not hungry? We have, um, already eaten this morning.”
“What exactly did you eat?” asked Ysil. “Our cousin’s eggs, maybe?”
“Ysil!” hushed Monroth.
Drac gave a toothy smile in response.
Harlequin demanded to be heard. “As I said, how can we be sure you will not eat us, if we allow you to come with us and protect us?”
Come with us?
thought Ysil. Then he realized she was thinking of the short journey back to the Vulture Field. She did not know that he and Monroth must be off for a much longer journey.
“You have my word as a fox!” said Drac.
Harlequin smiled. “What kind of word is that? I would prefer the word of a weasel!”
“Surely you must jest, chick. A fox’s word is as good as the earth, eh, Drac?” said Puk.
“The best I can do for now, my lovely one, is to point the way to a patch of berries we just chanced upon where you can feed.” Drac pulled up tall. “’Twas the berries we ate, yes it was. I can promise you this: Stay close to us when you travel the woods, and you need not fear. We will always lead you to food. Now, go down that small path there”— he pointed an outstretched claw to a break in the tree line—“and once you reach a dead hickory, walk just ten paces into the forest behind it. There you will find the berry bush. You go there and talk, make your decision, and we will be on in just a bit.”
The foxes romped off into the woods, leaving the others no time to respond.
“Well,” said Gomor, “I for one am hungry enough to steal honey from a bear this morning.” And with that he jumped off down the trail.
The others stared at one another for a moment, and when none of them spoke, they took off in pursuit of the rabbit.
A
ND SO, AS
they walked, Ysil and Monroth told Harlequin, Gomor, and Cormo what had happened to Cotur Ada. Harlequin cried, for she loved the old quail especially.
“He was extraordinarily brave,” said Ysil.
Monroth flushed. “We should have gone to his aid, Ysil. You should have listened to me.”
“Oh? And what could we have done?” Ysil asked. “And I don’t remember you saying a word about going to his aid. You know very well if we had, we would be dead now also.”
Harlequin looked up at Monroth in tears. “I could not stand to lose you both also! Don’t mention it.”
Monroth looked down at the forest floor.
They continued on a bit until they saw the dead hickory, just as the foxes had promised. They padded silently behind it, not knowing what to expect (except for Monroth, who insisted the foxes were not lying. “Why would they?” he asked. Ysil shivered at the thought), but there it was—a gigantic blackberry bush, laden with late season berries, some dried up, but mostly sweet and tasty—and not many turned sour.
Monroth hopped over to the bush and began eating. “What did I tell you? They will be fine guardians. I do not intend on telling them this, but I will feel quite a bit safer at night with them close.”
“Why would we need them to guard us back to the vultures’ field, Monroth?” asked Harlequin.
Gomor and Cormo only listened thus far. They watched Monroth intently. The bird gave up nothing, just kept eating.
“Well, Cotur Ada gave us a command,” said Ysil. “We aren’t going to meet up with the others. Not just yet.”
“What do you mean?” questioned Gomor. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Well,” began Ysil, though he did not know just how to finish.
“Ysil’s grandfather commanded that we should go and find his son.” It was Monroth who said this, his beak dark purple and thick with the gore of berries.
Cormo responded: “You are speaking nonsense. Cotur Ada has no surviving sons that I know of, only grandchicks.”
“Apparently, there is one . . . ” said Ysil, trailing off.
“And the one is a hawk, it seems,” said Monroth.
Harlequin, Gomor, and Cormo looked at the two birds as if they had lost their minds.
And so Ysil related Cotur Ada’s song to the others, or at least the tale within it, and when he finished, Monroth was sitting against a small hackberry, his belly full. “So now you can see why we should take on the guardianship of the foxes. Surely they already know of our destination,” said Monroth. “They must know of whom we seek and that if he returns to the field, they should be in his favor. As our friends, they would find this.”
“What in earth are you talking about?” said Cormo. “The damned foxes don’t think we will befriend the hawk. More than likely they think we will be eaten by it, and that maybe they can gather our bones for spoils.”
“If that is true, then why don’t they eat us now?” said Ysil.
The others stared at Ysil. This was the first sign he had made of accepting the foxes’ guardianship.
“Are you suggesting that we allow them to protect us?” asked Harlequin.
“Perhaps there is some wisdom in it,” said Ysil. “I must allow, if they wanted to kill us, they likely would have done so by now.”
“Wait a moment. You are not going with us, Harlequin,” said Monroth.
“Why, yes, I am,” she answered.
“This journey is not for you,” said Ysil.
“And why not, Ysil?” answered Harlequin. “Did I not love him also? Was he not my grandfather’s best friend? I will let you and Monroth be the ones to speak with the hawk, that is certain, but I will go with you on your journey.”
“Well, I for one have been hoping for a true adventure since we left for Olffey!” It was Gomor. “It seems this will be just that!”
Ysil paid no mind to the rabbit but kept his attentions upon Harlequin. “But you cannot go!” he said. “You would not be safe.”
“Let her come if she pleases,” said Monroth. “I will care for her.”
“Well, we can all care for her,” said Ysil, stammering.
“Wait a moment,” said Harlequin. “I don’t need anyone caring for me. I’ll take care of myself!”
“Oh, we will care for you all,” came the voice from the other side of the berry bush. “We will care for you as if you were our own cubs.” And with that, Drac and Puk came out from the brambles with an easy and silent gait, almost as if they had been listening there all along. And when Ysil thought on it for a moment, he decided that they had.
A
ND SO IT
was decided that the two foxes would accompany the group as far as the Great River.
“What will we owe you in return?” asked Ysil.
“We will ask of you nothing, young one,” said Drac. “Only that you allow us your favor in days to come.”
“Exactly what does that mean?” asked Gomor. He had noticed that Puk would on occasion look down at his muscled legs with an awkward and strange look in his eye. He didn’t like it.
“It means, my rabbit friend, that you will not be a party to the crows’ way of keeping us from the field once the new order is established, see?” Drac kept his teeth exposed as he talked. “That if things should change and the crows lose power, we be allowed to rid the area of wasps and hornets, that we be allowed to keep the population of mice at bay. That you four, at least, will hold closer allegiance to our kind, and not hinder our hunting. Of course, we will leave your eggs alone.”
Ysil was having trouble believing the fox, but he did not voice this. “So you know of our journey,” said Ysil. “You know of our plans to ask Pitrin to return to the field?”