Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

At midnoon the big stripedog halted by a rippling brook in a mossy sward. Resting awhile, he ate sparingly from the sea otter’s food pack—a crust of nutbread, some fine ripe cheese and a few scallions he found growing nearby—and drank deeply from the brook. Still sitting with his footpaws in the water, Lonna washed his head and face, then, leaning forward, immersed his face and head for several long intervals. The cold, clear brookwater refreshed him greatly. He stood up to leave, rubbing the small of his back and swaying from side to side, testing the limp in his footpaw, to judge how it was feeling.

A sense that he was being watched came over Lonna. Continuing his exercises, he spoke out in a voice loud enough for any eavesdropper to hear.

“ ’Tis not good manners to spy on a beast. Come out and show yourself. Don’t be afraid, you can see I’m no Searat!”

An elderly female squirrel, clad in a russet and yellow tunic, dropped out of the trees, landing right in front of him. She was a perky, cheerful-looking creature, but he could see by the way she toted a small javelin she was ready for anything.

Looking him up and down, she chattered boldly away. “Chahah! Me could tell ya wasn’t Searatta. Warramarrer bigbeast, ya back be hurted?”

Completely disarmed, Lonna smiled ruefully. “Just a bit, marm, but ’tis getting better by the day, thank ye. My name is Lonna Bowstripe.”

The squirrel bobbed him a neat curtsy. “Me’s Figalok Twigbenda, pleasin’ t’meetcha. I fix ya back, Lonna, folla me!”

Lonna took an immediate liking to Figalok, following her without question. She was so very swift that he had to hurry to keep up. Figalok halted alongside a big, ancient hornbeam tree and began giving rapid orders.

“See da branch stickin’ out up above? Me wancha t’jump up an’ grab it tight. Chakahoo! Berra take offa dat bigbow an’ arrers. Cheeh! Howcha make dat—cut a yewtree down an’ purra string on it? Dat a big bow, sure ’nuff!”

Lonna smiled at her observation. When he took off his bow, it stood near three times the height of Figalok. Placing his quiver of arrows to one side, he leaped up, grabbed the hornbeam limb and hung there, dangling. The branch was quite stout enough to hold his weight.

“Is this alright, marm? What do I do now?”

Figalok walked around him. “Ya jus’ hang there like a h’apple. Are ya plenny strong, Lonna?”

He stared down at her. “Aye, strong enough.”

Figalok jumped up and sat on Lonna’s footpaws, facing him. She grabbed his legs to steady herself. “Keep ya paws still now, bigbeast, don’t ya kick me off!”

Figalok began jerking Lonna back and forth, using him like a swing. “Chahah, dis do ya good, keep tight hold!”

For what seemed like an eternity she continued the swinging motion, back and forth, forward and back. Lonna’s own bodyweight, with the added burden of the squirrel, began to tell after awhile. She stared up at his clenched jaws.

“Ya wanna leggo now? Dat was a good ride.”

Lonna gasped. “Aye, I’d best come down before I drop!”

Figalok leapt to the ground, skipping to one side. “Rightee, ya can leggo, Lonna!”

He dropped gingerly, expecting the fall to jolt his back. Surprisingly, it did not.

The squirrel gave his back a thump. “Wassamarra witcha? Walk round, jump ’bout! Chahah, ya back be good as new now. Me fixed lotsa backs!”

Lonna’s back felt easy and relaxed, he was not getting a single twinge from the footpaw, which had been bothering him. He walked, then trotted, jumping up and down forcefully, putting all his weight on back and footpaw. Revelling in the newfound freedom of movement, Lonna dashed at Figalok, meaning to embrace her.

“I’m better, there’s no more pain! Figalok, you marvellous creature, how can I thank you?”

She shot up the trunk of the hornbeam, protesting, “Keep ya big paws offa me, or I be crushed flat! Betcha hungry, eh? Bigbeasts must get plenty hungry. Folla me!”

Figalok scuttled through the woodlands, with Lonna hard on her tail. She halted at the base of a three-topped oak, which grew in close proximity to a beech, an elm and a sycamore. The upper limbs of all three trees intertwined with the oak, forming a wide platform.

The squirrel twitched her tail at Lonna. “Ya wait der, me send ya rope down!” She shot lightly up the oak trunk, vanishing into the foliage.

A moment later Figalok reappeared, surrounded by a crowd of tiny squirrelbabes. They squeaked and squealed at the size of Lonna, pointing and giggling.

“Cheehow, nanny, wherecha find dat ’un?”

“Weehoo, must be da biggest beast in alla lands!”

“Choowhee, never see’d not’ink like ’im in me life!”

Shoving them out of her way, Figalok pushed a thick rope down. It was knotted at close intervals to make climbing easy. Shouldering his bow and quiver, Lonna began scaling the rope. Figalok was hard put to keep back the press of little squirrels.

“Chahah, gerra ya back an’ make way for me friend. Take no notice a dese likka pesters, Lonna, up ya come!”

Lonna found the climb quite easy. The squirrelbabes shrieked and scurried off as he joined Figalok on the bough. She nodded approvingly.

“Not’ink wrong wirra dat back now. Me make a squirrel outta ya, bigbeast. Berra get vikkles quick, afore they alla gone!”

The squirrels’ dray was an amazing sight. Branches were cunningly woven twixt the network of bows and limbs between the four trees. Lonna found it safe to walk upon, though he trod carefully. At the oak’s centre was a wide platform with a charcoal oven set on slabs of slate. Upward of a dozen older squirrels were preparing a meal there. Literally scores of babes and young ones festooned the place, hanging by their tails or balancing nimbly on the slenderest of twigs.

Figalok proudly introduced her newfound friend to the assemblage. “Ya see this ’un, he be Lonna bigbeast. Figalok finded ’im. Lonna be hungry, berra give ’im lotsa vikkles!”

Four older squirrels hurried to serve the big badger, plying him with huge portions of a thick, sweet porridge. It was a mixture of wild oats, fruit and nuts boiled in honey and rhubarb juice. Lonna was given a full flagon of elderflower and pennycress cordial. Both the food and drink tasted delicious. Figalok sat beside him, watching in awe as he satisfied his considerable appetite.

“Cheehoo! Betcha mamma was glad when ya leaved home!”

Lonna chuckled. “Who knows, maybe she might have been, but I don’t ever remember having a mother.”

Gradually the squirrelbabes had been inching closer to the big badger. When he mentioned that he had never known a mother, their sympathy was instantly aroused. They surrounded Lonna, sitting on his lap and shoulders, climbing on his back and paws. He was totally engulfed by the babes, one of them even perched upon his head.

Their tiny paws patted him as they squeaked sorrowfully. “Aaaaah, never haved no mamma, pore bigbeast!”

“Must bee’d tebbirle, not ’avin’ no mamma!”

“Didya cried an’ weeped alla time for ya mamma?”

Figalok waved her paws at them. “Chachafah! Shooshoo! Gerroffa ’im, leave Lonna alone!”

But the badger defended them. “Let them be, marm. I like the little ’uns, they’re so small and friendly. Besides, they’re not at all afraid of my face, the scars and stitching.”

Figalok shrugged. “Chaaaah, why be they ’fraid? Likkle ’uns never see’d a bigbeast afore. They know ya be a goodbeast, me see dat, too. Not matter what ya lookin’ like.”

Before he could express his gratitude for the kind words, a tubby squirrel mother, with a fine bush of tail, took the empty bowl from Lonna and called to the little ones. “Hachowa! Sing for a bigbeast, sing ’im Twing Twing.”