Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

The elders stood by, smiling fondly as the squirrelbabes sang their simple song for Lonna. What they lacked in melody, they made up in raucous enthusiasm, some of them performing dancing leaps and hops in time to the tune.

“Twing twing up inna trees,

twirlin’ me tail around,

lighter’n fevvers onna breeze,

never not fall to a ground!”

These were the only words they seemed to know, but they carried on singing the verse again and again, with the renewed gusto of babes enjoying themselves. Lonna held both paws wide, his face wreathed in a happy grin. The little ones swung on him, squeaking away lustily.

They were well into the seventh repetition of their song when one of the elders gave forth a piercing whistle. Like lightning, both infants and elders vanished into the foliage. A massive black shadow flew low overhead.

Lonna looked around, but not a squirrel could be seen anywhere. He called out into the densely leafed treetops. “Figalok, where are you, what’s going on?”

The elderly squirrel popped her head out from behind a branch, her eyes wide with fright as she chattered. “Bad, bad! Rakkaw Ravin badbird! Look ya uppina sky!”

Glancing upward, Lonna beheld a raven of startling wingspread, circling high in the bright afternoon sky. Reaching for his bow, he picked an arrow from the quiver and laid it on the string, keeping his eyes on the raven.

“Don’t worry, marm, that bird won’t harm you while I’m here.”

Figalok stayed under cover, shaking her head sadly. “Rakkaw Ravin after babes, ya watch ’im, he soon be down. Steal likkle ’un, take what he want. Badbird, bigga strong an’ fast. Nobeast stoppa Ravin!”

As Figalok spoke, a tiny squirrel panicked. Squealing shrilly, she hopped out on a long branch. There she stood, covering her face, rigid with terror, and in clear sight of the foe. Sensing a quick kill, the raven folded its wings and dropped down like a thunderbolt.

Instinctively, Lonna stretched the bowstring tight against his clenched jaw. Closing one eye, he aimed at the bird and loosed his shaft. With a sound like an angry wasp, the arrow zipped upward, taking the raven through its glossy, plumed body. Instantly slain, its huge wings spread wide open, the raven cartwheeled through the air like a dark, tattered cloak, landing with a thud on the woodland floor beneath the oak, transfixed by the badger’s well-aimed arrow.

Chattering madly, the squirrels started pounding the body. The older ones used small slings, from which they hurled small pebbles. Emerging from cover, the babes tossed down pawfuls of leaves and pieces of twig, all the while screeching insults at their slain enemy.

“Yaa yaa, not eat us no more, Rakkaw!”

“Yeeheeee, eata dis twig if ya be hungry, bigbird!”

“Hahaaay, Rakkaw, we burn ya, burn ya, burn ya!”

Some of the older squirrels threw down glowing charcoal from their oven. The smell of charring feathers reached Lonna’s nostrils. Shocked by the frenzy of hatred the squirrels were working themselves into, he called out in a stern voice.

“Here now, stop that, you’ll cause a woodland fire!”

Sensing the danger, Figalok joined Lonna. “Chahah, ye heara bigbeast, stoppa throwin’ fires!”

They obeyed reluctantly. Figalok sent some older squirrels down to fetch water and quench the smoking embers. She touched the big badger’s taut bowstring.

“Dat a good bigbow, me thank ya, Lonna. Rakkaw Ravin gone’d forever now, thank ya!”

Hanging up his bow and quiver on a nearby branch, Lonna sighed. “I wish that had been a Searat!”

Figalok pointed west and slightly south. “Searatters over data way.”

The badger became immediately alert. “Where, over that way, have you seen them?”

Smiling slyly, the elderly squirrel nodded. “Ho, me see ’em, awright! Lotsa Searatters marchin’ through. Chahah, they no see us, though. Squirrel know how ta hide.” She tapped her paw four times against the oak tree. “Me see dat many Searatters a-comin’ back thisaway though.”

Lonna grabbed up his bow and quiver. “Where, when?”

Figalok explained. “Yistaday. Me was far from this place, lookin’ for a h’almind nuts. See dem, one bigbeast.”

She tapped her paw on the oak three times. “Dis a many smalla Searatters comin’ disaway. No worry, Lonna, dey not see ya, we hide up here plenny good, eh? Asides, dey still more’n a day ’way, not travel fast like squirrel.”

Lonna seized the thick, knotted rope and began clambering down to the woodland floor. “Searats at last! I’ve got a score to settle with those murdering scum. Figalok, will you show me where they are?”

The squirrel made it down to the ground before him. “A course me will—least I can do for ya, bigbeast. We go now, catch ’em around at dawn, travel alla night, eh?”

Lonna shook her small paw gratefully. “Thank you, my friend!”

The squirrels appeared much upset at Lonna leaving, particularly the little ones. “Don’t go bigbeast, ya stay here wid us for longa time!”

One bold little maid thought she knew the reason for the badger’s departure. She shook her head at the others. “Gorra let Lonna go, he gotta find ’is mamma.”

Lonna ruffled her downy little brush. “That’s right, miss. Now take care of your mammas, and watch out for ravens.”

Figalok kicked the dead bird’s carcass scornfully. “No more Rakkaw Ravin come here. We hangin’ dis one up inna tree, dat scare ’em off. Chahaah, you betcha!”

Following the agile Figalok, Lonna trotted off south and west into the thickness of Mossflower. As they went, he envisioned the evil face of Raga Bol—concentrating hard on it, as only a creature of fate and destiny like a badger can.

“I’m coming, Raga Bol! I am Lonna Bowstripe, and I’m coming!”

18

After marching all night on what he had fondly imagined was a southeast course, Horty was totally fatigued. In dawn’s pale light, he slumped down in a fern grove, grumbling.

“It’s no blinkin’ use, you chaps, I’ve got to take a jolly old snooze. Ahah! But first we must deal with the inner hare. Brekkers beckons the poor lad’s slim stomach, wot?”

Furious, Springald grabbed the provision sack from his paw, ranting on at him. “Food, food, food, don’t you ever think of anything else? Here we are, in the middle of nowhere, and you’re yowling about brekkers after eating all night as we marched! We’re lost, you lop-eared oaf, lost!”

Horty tried unsuccessfully to tug the sack back from her. “Lost? Don’t talk piffle’n’woffle, m’dear gel, we’re merely restin’. Now don’t be so flippin’ moody, an’ pass the scoff!”

Springald dealt him a wallop with the soggy ration sack. “You’ve no idea where we’re going. You’ve completely lost Bragoon’s and Saro’s tracks, and we could have been walking in circles for all you know! You’re an idiot, d’you hear me?”

Horty twiddled his ears and smiled at Fenna. “Rather pretty when she’s angry, ain’t she? Spring, me old beauty, why don’t y’give your face a rest. We’ll find the right track sooner or later. Or would you prefer to toodle back to the Abbey an’ face the blinkin’ music, wot wot?”

Fenna sat down wearily beside Horty, then closed her eyes. “Good grief, I’m bone worn-out. He’s right y’know, Spring, arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. Let’s have a bite to eat and a rest. Give him the bag.”

Springald threw herself moodily down amid the ferns. “Here, take your confounded food. I wish I’d never left Redwall in the first place.”