The Farthing Wood Collection 1 (17 page)

Badger smiled. ‘That must be a great comfort,’ he remarked. He looked around. ‘Well, I feel like a bit of a ramble. Coming, Fox?’

‘With pleasure. Er – see you later, Mole?’

‘No, I’ll go back to my nest,’ said the little animal. ‘I’m sure to feel peckish again soon – you know what I’m like.’

‘We do indeed,’ laughed Fox. ‘Shall we go, Badger?’

The two friends ambled off through the snowy wood. For some time neither spoke. Badger felt that Fox had something on his mind, so he remained quiet until his friend should be ready to talk. He watched the snow-flakes
settle on Fox’s lithe chestnut body, grizzling his fur and making him appear prematurely aged.

At length Fox said, ‘If we do have a long spell of snow, I shall have to start making plans for a food supply.’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary just yet,’ Badger said calmly. ‘We can see how things develop. The animals will make shift for themselves.’

‘Of course they will,’ said Fox hurriedly. ‘They’ll have to. But I have a feeling in my bones about this winter and – well, quite frankly, Badger, I’m more than a little concerned.’

Badger felt he should allay his companion’s fears if he could. ‘Don’t go worrying yourself,’ he told him. ‘After all, to begin with Toad and Adder and the hedgehogs are not involved. I can look after myself and so can Weasel, Tawny Owl and Kestrel. Of the smaller creatures, the squirrels have only to dig up a fraction of their buried treasure to survive, and Mole has never been so well supplied. So who does that leave? Hare and his family, the rabbits, the voles and the fieldmice. All of
them
eat seeds and vegetation. You’re a carnivore. You couldn’t begin to be as proficient at finding stores of their food as they are themselves.’

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Fox agreed. ‘It’s just that if any of them do get into difficulties I shall feel responsible for getting them out.’

‘It’s early days yet,’ said Badger. ‘You just think about Vixen for the time being. The others will manage, you’ll see.’

‘You’re always a comforting chap,’ Fox said warmly, ‘and I’m truly grateful, Badger.’

They reached the Hollow together and Fox’s next words made it clear that Badger had not succeeded in putting his mind at rest.

‘This is where our new life began last summer,’ he said, looking down at the familiar meeting-place of the Farthing Wood community. ‘Let’s hope the next few months won’t see the end of it for some of us.’

The first signs were not good for wild creatures as the old year drew to a close. December came in with a blizzard, and over the next few weeks a cruel, bitter frost held the Park in its grip night after night. During the daylight hours the sun gleamed fitfully but snow clouds blotted it out for most of the day, and so very little of the frost disappeared. The ground became as hard as iron, and ice coated the Edible Frogs’ pond to a thickness of two inches.

A stream ran through most of the Reserve and, some distance from where the Farthing Wood animals had set up home, Whistler the heron could be found. He had chosen an area under some overhanging alder trees where fish abounded in the shallow reaches. Now each
day he and his mate watched the slower-moving water by the stream’s banks gather more ice. Soon only the centre of the stream, where it rippled swiftly over the tinkling pebbles, continued to flow. Whistler had to step on to the ice to be able to continue his hunting, but the fish were less plentiful further out in the water and the heron and his mate began to notice their diet suffering.

‘It looks, my dear, as if we shall have to be rather less choosy in our fare,’ Whistler observed in his slow, precise manner. ‘From your greater knowledge of the Park, can you suggest any fresh avenues of approach?’

The female heron nodded. ‘I told you long ago of a place upstream, where the water runs very fast, and which abounds in crayfish. But you told me you had no liking for shellfish.’

Whistler shrugged his great wings. ‘Obviously I shall have to overcome my aversion, at least temporarily. Show me the way, if you please.’

The two water birds rose into the air together, their long, thin legs trailing beneath them like pairs of stilts. From the air, the Park was one vast expanse of rolling white, pierced by clumps of bare, snowclad trees. Whistler’s damaged wing shrilled musically with its every beat, and his eyes began to water in the freezing temperature.

They landed after a brief flight, and Whistler’s mate began to search the stream-bed. Here the water was completely free of ice. Suddenly her pointed beak stabbed downwards, and then re-emerged firmly clenching a feebly moving crayfish, which she swallowed at a gulp. Whistler joined the hunt and was soon successful. His mate watched for his reaction. ‘Hm,’ he murmured, swallowing hard. ‘Not at all bad. It’s surprising how an empty stomach may overcome the most rooted prejudice.’

As there were fish also to be had in this stretch of water, the two birds made an excellent meal. His satisfaction made Whistler call his friends from Farthing Wood to mind. He wondered what difficulties they might be experiencing.

‘We mustn’t be selfish,’ he told his mate. ‘This food source might well be of benefit to others. While you return to the roost, my clever one, I think I’ll search out Fox and see if I can be of use to him.’

Accordingly he flew off in the direction of Fox’s earth. As it was daylight he did not expect to find his friend above ground, and was surprised to see a very lean Vixen sitting by one of the entrance holes when he arrived. She appeared to be very disconsolate, but bravely tried to look cheerful as she greeted the heron.

‘Is Fox below?’ Whistler asked her.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Things have been getting rather hard, and he decided to go and see for himself how everyone else is coping.’

‘The very reason I came to see you,’ Whistler explained, and went on to describe his earlier success in the stream.

Despite her efforts at control, Vixen’s mouth began to water freely as she heard of the fish Whistler and his mate had enjoyed.

‘It would be more than a pleasure for me to help you catch some,’ Whistler offered.

‘I’m sure Fox would be most grateful,’ Vixen said appreciatively. ‘I think I should wait for him to return before we go. There might be one or two other animals who would like to join us.’

‘I wonder how long he will be?’ Whistler asked.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ answered Vixen, ‘but he’s already been gone some hours.’

While they waited, she explained how their hunting
trips had become steadily less fruitful and how their diet had become one of carrion, insects and even snails when they had discovered a hibernating colony. ‘But they tasted so good,’ she added.

‘Oh yes,’ agreed the heron. ‘I myself have made some adjustments in my eating pattern,’ and he went on to tell her of the crayfish he had eaten.

Presently they saw the familiar figure of Fox approaching them, accompanied by a smaller one they could not at first distinguish. It turned out to be Weasel.

Whistler and the two animals greeted each other with pleasure. But Fox’s expression returned to one of deep concern when Vixen questioned him on his discoveries.

‘It’s even worse than I’d expected,’ he informed her miserably. ‘The voles and fieldmice have already lost a considerable number of their party, and some of the older rabbits have died of the severe cold. If this weather continues for a long spell the mice, in particular, are going to be decimated.’

Whistler expressed his sympathy but, privately, was more alarmed at Fox’s own appearance. Gone was the vigorous, supple body of the resourceful leader the animals had come to rely on during their long trek to the Nature Reserve. Gone was the bright-eyed, healthful expression of his face. And gone was the rich lustre of his coat, that had marked Fox as a creature in his prime. Now his eyes were downcast, his fur dull and staring, his movements slow and hesitant, while his body was not so much lean as distinctly bony. By comparison Weasel’s much smaller form, always as slim as a sapling, looked in much better shape.

Whistler hurriedly told Fox about the proposed fishing. Without a great deal of interest, Fox agreed. Then he said, ‘But of what use are fish to voles and fieldmice? They are hungry too.’

‘Of course they are,’ said Vixen. ‘But you must keep your strength up if you wish to help them, even though that is going to be difficult.’

‘Rabbits and fieldmice soon replace their numbers,’ Whistler pointed out in an attempt to ease Fox’s mind.

‘Yes, but there may be no stock of fieldmice to replace numbers from,’ Fox muttered. ‘Their community has lost more in the last week than during the whole of our journey across the countryside. And the voles haven’t fared much better.’

‘Did you see Hare?’ Vixen asked him.

‘Yes. His family are all reasonably well though, like everyone else, they’ve taken on a lean look. The leverets are almost up to his size now, and quite independent.’

‘How is Badger?’ Whistler wanted to know.

‘He wasn’t at home,’ replied Fox. ‘But I’ve no fears on his account. He has more experience of life than any of us. He’ll survive.’

‘I’m sure we’ll see a thaw soon,’ said Weasel optimistically. ‘The winter has a long way to go yet, and a cold spell like this rarely lasts for more than a few weeks.’

Fox did not reply, but they all knew he was wondering what could be done if it lasted through to the spring.

Whistler gave them directions to the fishing area and told them he would meet them there. When they arrived, they found he had wasted no time. Four reasonably sized fish and a couple of crayfish awaited them. The three animals fell to at once and made short work of the meal. Whistler enquired if they had had enough.

‘Better to save some for another day,’ remarked Vixen, ‘than to feast now and starve tomorrow.’

Whistler acknowledged her wisdom. Then he said, ‘I’ve seen nothing of the other birds. Has anyone encountered them recently?’

‘Oh, Tawny Owl can always be found in his beech
coppice,’ Weasel answered. ‘He was dozing when we came past just now. He’s found himself a snug hollow trunk out of this biting air. As to Kestrel, he flies so far afield you would be lucky to catch a glimpse of him.’

The animals enquired after the health of Whistler’s mate. As she was the favourite topic of the heron’s conversation, he answered enthusiastically. ‘Oh, she is such a wonderful creature,’ he told them. ‘It was she, of course, who knew where to find the crayfish and showed me the spot. I’m sure I never shall be able to express sufficient gratitude to you all for allowing me to accompany you on your journey to the Park. Had I not met you, I should still be patrolling the waterside in that quarry, with no more company than a lot of raucous mallards and coots. Now I’m living in that perfect contentment of a paired wild creature which I’m sure you, Fox, also enjoy.’

Fox and Vixen smiled at each other and Weasel chuckled. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Some of us still opt for the single state, you know.’

‘Ah, not for long, Weasel, if you are a wise beast,’ Whistler admonished him. ‘There is no comparison, I assure you.’

Weasel laughed again. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘But, on the other hand, “better the devil you know” and so forth.’

This little exchange served to lighten their mood, and provided a welcome relief from their troubles. The animals thanked Whistler heartily for his generosity and, telling him to keep in touch, began to make their way back along the bank of the stream towards their homes. Dusk fell early at that time of year, and the cloud-covered sky hastened the darkness. Weasel left the fox couple for his den, and as Fox and Vixen approached the earth, they could see an agitated Mole waiting for them.

‘Whatever is the matter?’ Fox asked at once.

‘Badger’s disappeared,’ said the distraught little creature, and broke into a sob.

‘Now, now, calm down, Mole,’ Fox said soothingly. ‘He always leaves his set at this time in the evening. You know that.’

‘Yes, but he hasn’t been in it all day either,’ wailed Mole. ‘I’ve been along my connecting tunnel half a dozen times today to see him, and the set has been empty all along.’

Fox looked at Vixen. ‘Hm,’ he mused. ‘That does seem strange.’

‘I’m sure there’s some simple explanation for his absence,’ said Vixen. ‘He may be on a visit or –’

‘He wouldn’t be likely to go visiting in this weather,’ interrupted Mole. ‘I’m so worried. Badger’s habits never change. He sleeps during the day, and only wakes up in the evening.’

‘When did you last see him?’ Fox asked.

‘Yesterday. We talked about the shortage of food, and I offered him some of my worms because he said
I
was looking plumper than usual. Then he started to talk about you, Fox, saying that it wasn’t fair for you alone to feel responsible for all the animals’ welfare, and that he was sure you were getting thinner and thinner because of it, and you needed some help.’

‘That’s Badger all over, the dear kind creature,’ Vixen observed.

‘Yes, and it makes the picture much clearer,’ announced Fox. ‘He’s obviously gone off on some venture of his own with the idea of helping us in one way or another, though Heaven knows what he can possibly do. Don’t be too alarmed, Mole. I think we shall see him back by the morning, and I’ll ask Tawny Owl to keep an eye open for him tonight.’