Quest for the Faradawn

CHAPTER XIX

It was a perfect evening as they made their way up the green bank alongside the stream towards the Scyttel in the distance. The air was warm and scented with bluebells which covered the ground under the giant trees in a blue haze, and further down, near the stream, there were splashes of vivid orange from the marigolds that sprang up in clusters wherever there was a marshy piece of ground. The sun was almost down behind the far hills but it seemed to shine with a particular fierceness as if hoping that its light would last after it had gone so that its warm, magic glow flooded the little valley along which they were walking and sent shafts of gold through the huge green leafy tree canopies overhead. Then, suddenly, it was gone and the shadows of dusk filled the valley and soon the dew fell everywhere and their feet became wet as they walked through the long grass. The dampness on the ground filled the air with the smell of wet green leaves and grass: the unmistakable smell of a spring evening, and the animals drank it in as if it were elvenwine and indeed it had the same effect, filling their tired bodies with fresh energy and vigour so that they felt they could have walked for ever. The air stayed warm late into the night and a little breeze came up, blowing gently against their faces as if it was trying to cleanse their memories of that last morning on Elgol. The agony of walking without Sam was almost more than they could endure. They would keep forgetting he was not there and then, on turning to speak to him or look for him, would once again be hit by the shock of realizing what had happened. If it was worse for any of them, then it was worse for Brock, because he had known the dog the longest and had walked alongside him for the whole of the journey. Nab had asked Perryfoot to walk with him and the hare had willingly obliged but it did not seem to have helped much; the badger would walk along with his head down and then suddenly look up and stare at Perryfoot with blank, uncomprehending eyes until he remembered and then his head would once again slump down and he would urge his tired body to resume its shuffling gait over the grass. First Bruin, then Tara and now Sam; they had all felt the losses terribly, particularly Nab, whose life had been so intertwined with Brock’s, but it was undeniably hardest on the badger, for two of them had been his family and one his best friend and Nab now had Beth to live for so that he was able to look forward: for Brock the past had died and the future was uncertain and lonely.

They reached the mound that night and slept under the shade of a huge sycamore until the following evening when they awoke feeling refreshed after a deep dreamless sleep. Even Brock felt a bit better as they started out once again towards a range of mountains in the far distance. They were quite high now and they walked through green fields cropped short by grazing sheep which were criss-crossed by white stone walls. High up in the clear blue sky larks sang while lower down plovers dipped and swooped over the ground and curlews sent out their liquid warbling cries into the still evening air. Behind them, from the valleys through which they had walked the previous night, they heard the occasional screech of an owl or the bark of a fox or else a cuckoo calling out his spring song. The daisies and dandelions which in the heat of the day had sprinkled the meadows with whites and oranges were now closing up and drawing their petals in for the night.

On they walked throughout the remainder of the spring; then summer came, and the hot sun beat down on them, making their throats dry and parching their mouths so that they walked from stream to stream, but as the days wore on and rain refused to fall the ponds and streams got low and the water that was left in them was brackish and musty. They were still making for the far mountains, which appeared hazy and bluish in the distance, but they had dropped down again now into the lowlands where there was little if any breeze to relieve the unrelenting heat which poured down from the blue sky into the lanes and between the hedges along which they cautiously made their way. They slept only in the afternoons now for Nab was anxious that they should move as quickly as possible and he and Beth each carried a share of her winter clothes: the brown cape and the jerseys which had helped her to survive the cold. Nab had wanted her to bury them under a hedge somewhere but she had been adamant in her refusal.

‘They’re all I have left of my old life,’ she had said, ‘and of my home. I could no more part with these than you could throw away your bark from Silver Wood.’

So, because he loved her, he reluctantly agreed and had ended up carrying her heavy cape and two jerseys while she took the remaining one and thanked him for being so thoughtful and kind.

It was in the height of summer, one hot morning when they were trudging along a dry dusty cattle track through a field, that they saw for the first time a thick black column of smoke rising in the distance. It went straight up in the humid windless air and the animals could smell the acrid stench of its fumes from where they were standing. They stopped still and looked at it; they had all seen smoke before from the chimneys of the Urkku but this was somehow different. The smoke was blacker, thicker and more dense, and the smell was sickly-sweet and nauseating; it reminded Beth of the smell caused when people put chicken carcasses on fires to burn them after the Sunday dinner.

‘Look, there’s another,’ Brock said, and he pointed to a thicker column round to their right and as they looked around they saw more and more until there must have been a dozen fires, all with their black plumes drifting up into the sky. There was something ominous and evil about them and Nab felt a chill go down his back as he watched.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we can't stay here all day.’

‘What are they, Nab?’ said Beth.

‘I don’t know but there’s something about them which makes me afraid. We must move on.’

‘It’s almost Sun-High,’ said Perryfoot. ‘Couldn’t we stay here for the afternoon by the hedge? It seems as good a place as any.’

Nab looked at Warrigal and the owl spoke.

‘It may be our last opportunity to rest for quite some time. I think we should stay here and move on in the early evening.’

So the animals walked over the field towards a thick hedge which ran along one side. Growing in the hedge were a number of large oak trees and they settled down in the shade of one of these, huddled around the trunk with Warrigal perching on one of the high branches to keep a watch for any signs of danger. It was beautifully cool in the green shade of the oak and they were soon asleep.

When evening came and the dusk began to fall they awoke and moved on. In the darkness they could not see the black smoke fromthe fires but they could smell them and occasionally they caught sight of red flickering flames in the distance and heard noises of shouting and crying coming from the direction of the fires.

As dawn arose they were walking along a little grassy ridge with wooded heathland on one side and meadows on the other. The ground was blackened and scorched so that there was very little grass left in the field and all that remained of the heath was an expanse of charred black scrub and bushes. The smell of burnt wood was everywhere and their feet became sooty as they walked. They could see now that the countryside all about was the same and the air was full of black smuts.

It was mid-morning when they saw the Urkku. They had been making their way up the scorched slope of a little hill when suddenly they froze at the sound of two shots from the far side followed by ferocious guttural shouts as if an argument was going on. They crawled through the blackened grass until they could just see over the top. There was quite a deep valley the other side and halfway up the far slope stood a number of Urkku, all with guns, yelling at one another. On the ground were some dead rabbits and the Urkku seemed to be in two groups, one on each side. Beth looked in amazement at the men, for she had never before seen any like them. Their clothes, if that is what they had once been, hung off them like strips of dirty rag and their bodies were so emaciated that the ribs stuck through their puny barrel chests and the skin hung in loose folds. They were wearing what appeared to be trousers and out of the bottom of these protruded thin bony ankles like matchsticks, and bare feet. She looked in mounting horror at their faces and was transfixed by what she saw. The hair was long, dirty and matted so that it hung down in tangled knots or else stuck out in greasy spikes, and beneath this filthy thatch, deep-set sunken eyes stared out of a face so covered in grime and dirt that as they shouted their teeth seemed to flash silver in the sunlight. Their cheeks were sunken and hollow and the cheekbones appeared to be all that held the covering of skin from falling away. Beth held her nose and had to stop herself from retching when the stench from their bodies, exaggerated by the heat, was carried over in the breeze.

The cause of the argument seemed to be the rabbits for each group was pointing at them and then gesticulating wildly and shouting. Suddenly an Urkku from one group ran forward and, flinging himself on one of his adversaries, began wrestling with him on the ground. They rolled around spitting and biting and kicking and a cloud of dust rose up around them. The others transferred their attention from the rabbits to their mauling companions, each side yelling encouragement to its own until finally one of them, whose hair under the grime was a ginger colour and who looked the bigger and stronger of the two, grabbed hold of a rock on the ground and brought it smashing down on his opponent’s head. There was silence while the one who had been hit went still and rolled back on to the grass with blood pouring from his head. The ginger one was just disentangling himself from his grip when one of the other group shouted at him and, raising his gun to his shoulder, shot the victor in the chest and sent him flying back to end up lying on top of his opponent. The friends then looked on in amazement as the two groups began blasting away at each other from where they were standing. It was over in seconds and the crashing noise of the guns seemed to have only just started when it had already finished, the echoes dying away in the still silent air and the smell of gunpowder clogging up their nostrils for a fleeting instant before it blew away in a little cloud of light brown smoke. Eight Urkku lay dead on the grass and the survivors from the winning group were running away across the field carrying the rabbits by the back legs so that as they ran the heads jerked crazily up and down as if they were rag dolls. They were laughing in a high-pitched, hysterical way.

The animals remained where they were for a long time, in silence. The sun beat down on their backs and the smell of burning was heavy in the air. Finally Warrigal broke the silence.

‘Most odd. Most peculiar, ’ he said. ‘Something is happening in the world of the Urkku. I’ve never seen them look or behave like that before. Beth, what do you think?’

‘I don’t know. Those men. They seemed so — I don’t know — so strange. And that fight; all that shooting. It was horrible. I don’t like it. Let’s move on quickly; get away from here.’

The girl felt a cold chill all over despite the heat of the sun. She was horribly afraid; more so than she had ever been before, and she, who had lived nearly all her life with humans, had felt it more than the animals. Something was going terribly wrong. She turned to Nab. ‘Hold me,’ she said, and he put his arms around her and she closed her eyes for a second and with her head snuggled against his shoulder she felt better.

On they walked but they could not escape the ghastly black columns of smoke nor get out of the scorched blackened landscape which seemed to stretch for mile upon mile around them in every direction. The sickly stench from the fires grew steadily more unbearable until even the act of breathing became something which they dreaded. Their hands, faces and feet were ingrained with black from the soot and the charred ground, and nowhere was there enough clean water to wash it off properly. When they came to a pond now it was almost certain to be dried up, its bed split open and cracked in great mud fissures, and they would search for a little corner somewhere where there might be a remaining puddle of foul-smelling brackish liquid with which they would attempt to slake their ravening thirst.

Every day now they saw two or three bands of Urkku like the first, wandering ragged and aimless on the burnt ground, guns under their arms and eyes constantly moving as if they were afraid of being seen. This made it harder for the animals to avoid them as they were far quieter and less easily spotted than they used to be and the travellers were only able to move slowly with Warrigal flying ahead to make sure everything was clear to go on. Often now he would come back and report Urkku in front and they would have to wait for agonizing hours until they had moved on and it was safe to go ahead. They slept during these waiting periods and travelled when they could rather than sleeping every afternoon, and they found that they made better progress after Sun-High because the heat was so intense then that there were fewer Urkku around. The sound of shooting was also common, either a single crack or a battery of shots such as they had heard that first time, and then they would come across the casualties of these random fights and be careful to avoid going too close to them for fear of disturbing the flies and because of the smell. There was very little shade from the searing heat of those afternoons because all the green foliage from the hedges and trees had been burnt off. Giant oaks and sycamores, whose leaves had once cast a fragrant cool green shade on the grass, now stood gaunt, black and naked, their charred limbs standing out starkly against the clear blue sky.

One afternoon they saw a city in the distance. No smoke came from its factory chimneys and no hum of traffic from its roads and streets. Instead it lay like a huge slumbering giant and sizzled under the heat; the sun baking the concrete and sending out dazzling reflections from the empty office block windows. A shimmering heat haze hung over it and the unearthly silence was only very occasionally shattered by the wailing of a siren.

While the animals stood on the brow of a little hill from which they could see the sprawl of concrete stretching away into the far horizon, they suddenly became aware of a column of smoke just beginning to claw its way up into the sky on their right.

‘I’ll fly over and try and see what’s happening,’ said Warrigal. ‘It’d be quicker and safer for me than any of you and I think we ought to find out.’

‘Yes, that’s a good idea. But take care,’ Nab replied. ‘We’ll wait for you back in that little hollow.’

The owl flew off slowly and quietly and the others went back down the hill. It did not take Warrigal long to come within sight of the fire and he went as close as he could, perching on the branch of one of a number of what had once been sycamores situated around the outside of a clearing. Inside the clearing a large number of Urkku were milling around and shouting and in the middle a fire was crackling and spitting fiercely. The flames were hard to see in the bright glare of the sun but he could feel its heat even from where he was perched and there was no mistaking the sickening smell of the thick black smoke as it billowed its way up from the fire. Through the smoke Wsirrigal could see two large mounds from which the Urkku kept feeding the fire but it was too thick for him to make out what they were so, very cautiously, he flew round to the other side of the clearing. The sight that met his eyes filled him with horror. The mound furthest away from him was composed of dead Urkku and the other of dead animals; but it was when he forced himself to look more closely that the full impact of what he was seeing made itself felt. Warrigal was the least emotional of any of the animals but even he was unable to contain a flood of terror as he realized that the dead animals on the second pile were all either badgers, hares, fawn-coloured dogs or owls. They had been thrown together carelessly on to the pile as if they were pieces of wood and their heads and limbs stuck out at odd angles.

Suddenly the owl’s trance-like state, caused by the horror in front of him, was shattered by a piercing shout from an Urkku who had come over to the pile to collect some more carcasses for the fire.

‘There’s one. Quick. Kill it.’ There was a roar from the other Urkku who all began to rush forward to the tree where he was perching and then the crack of a gun sounded above the noise of the fire and Warrigal heard the thud of a bullet as it hit the branch above him. He flew quickly back through the belt of trees that surrounded the clearing while behind him the mob of yelling Urkku crashed their way through the undergrowth below and the air around him hummed and whistled with the sound of bullets. Swiftly he sped through the branches, using every trick he knew to gain extra speed and keeping an eye on the ground below to lead his pursuers through the thickest undergrowth. Eventually, to his intense relief, the sounds of pursuit began to fade away into the distance and the cracking of the guns stopped. Nevertheless he did not slacken his speed until he arrived back in sight of the little hollow where the others were waiting. He did not fly straight back to them but perched for a time on a tree at the edge of the field they were in, in case he was still being followed. There was no sight of Urkku anywhere and the smoke from the fire was getting thicker so he assumed they had returned and were continuing to feed it with its grisly fuel. He put his head on one side and listened intently but, apart from the shouting in the distance, everywhere was still and quiet. Then, certain that he was not being followed, he rejoined the others.

Ever since they had heard the commotion and the shooting from the direction of the fire the others had been frantic with worry and when the owl’s familiar silhouette glided gracefully over the edge of the hollow, they were overjoyed with relief. Perryfoot jumped up and down and standing on his hind legs danced about, tapping the others with his front paws and chanting ‘Warrigal’s safe, Warrigal’s safe,’ over and over again.

The owl looked at the hare with affection and then said sadly, ‘I’m afraid I don’t bring good news. ’ Slowly he recounted every detail of what he had seen and when he had finished his tale Perryfoot was sitting slumped against the bank with his ears drooping along his back and Brock, Nab and Beth sat quietly staring at the ground. They did not understand the meaning of the dead Urkku but they slowly began to realize the awful significance of the pile of animals by the fire. Finally Warrigal spoke again.

‘Until they’re certain they have found us they will kill every badger, every owl, every hare and every dog like Sam that they can find. The longer we delay, the more will die.’

Silently they got up and climbed to the top of the hollow. The mountains, towards which they were heading and where they would find Malcoff and the mountain elves, were shimmering in the haze and appeared soft and grey in the late summer afternoon.

‘How long will it take to get there?’ Beth asked Nab.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps two days.’

They made their way, as quickly as they dared, in the direction of the mountains, but they saw nothing. No Urkku, no animals, no birds; the countryside was empty and desolate. When darkness fell they welcomed the coolness that came with the night although there was still not a breath of wind and the air was heavy and thick with heat. From the earth beneath their feet they could feel the day’s sunshine coming back up at them and their mouths became dry and parched. By Moon-High their exhausted sweating bodies were demanding a rest but in the animals’ minds was a vision of the pile of dead bodies which Warrigal had seen and it haunted them, spurring them on and on. Any delay now was unthinkable.

It was in the deepest hours of the night, between midnight and dawn, that they first heard the noise. It came from a long way behind them and at first they paid no attention to it, their minds being so intently fixed on the path ahead, but soon it grew louder and the blur of sound became distinguishable. They could make out the yelping and barking of dogs and mingled with them the shouts of the Urkku. They had all heard the sound before when Rufus and the other foxes of Silver Wood had been chased by packs of hounds and Urkku riding on horseback, whooping and cheering. But it had always been in the daytime; never at night. What were they doing out now?

They tried to ignore the noise in the hope that it would go away, and they tried also to quell the chill of fear that was fluttering in their stomachs. Dawn finally broke and a vivid gash of orange appeared over the mountains ahead of them but the barks and yelps, far from disappearing had grown louder and eventually Warrigal voiced their unspoken dread.

‘I fear we are being followed,’ he said.

‘They’re bound to find us with the dogs,’ said Perryfoot. ‘They never fail. How far behind us are they, do you think, Brock?’

‘I used to hear them starting out from the village for Silver Wood and they were louder than this so we still have some time.’

Then Nab spoke. ‘We shall have to hope that we can find Malcoff as soon as we get to the mountains. Otherwise they’ll be upon us. We must move quicker.’

Beth shrank inwardly. She was already utterly exhausted and had been hoping that they could take a little break some time soon. Now they were going to have to move faster, perhaps even to run. The sun had now appeared in the clear blue sky and it looked as if it was going to be another scorching day. She could not go on, yet if she insisted on a rest or on taking the pace more slowly she would be holding them up and once again becoming a burden to them. No; she would not give up! She would go with them until she dropped.

‘Come on, Beth. We shall have to run.’ Nab smiled down at her where she sat on the ground. Her long hair was tangled and streaked with soot from the smuts that floated everywhere and there were smudges of black on her nose and her cheeks and forehead. Her arms and legs were red and blistered from the sun and her face was flushed with the heat. She still wore her black Wellington boots but she had torn her jeans off above the knee. He thought back to the first time he had seen her, looking crisp and clean and fresh in the red gingham dress she had worn that wonderful spring afternoon down by the stream so many seasons ago. He stooped down, put both his arms around her and gently lifted her to her feet.

‘We’ll soon be safe in the mountains,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.’

She clung on to him as if trying to draw some of his energy and strength to her own worn-out body. Then suddenly she straightened up and looking deep into his dark eyes she said, laughing, ‘Come on then, slowcoach,’ and began to trot away over the fields.

All that day they ran at a steady loping pace over the flat burnt out meadows and all that day the yelps and barks and shouts behind them grew louder and clearer. By late afternoon they had reached the foothills of the mountains. As they climbed the gradually sloping fields they noticed that the grass became greener and soon they left the charred and blackened landscape of the lowlands behind them. Mercifully also the air became cooler and a little breeze began to blow against them, lifting their hair from their faces and blowing through Brock’s and Perryfoot’s fur. The fragrance of the long summer grass and the coolness of the breeze went to their heads like wine and their spirits lifted as they ran through little green valleys and up alongside gaily tinkling streams. After the desolation they had been through everywhere seemed so fresh and the greenness all around seemed to envelop them with its lush protection so that they felt safe and comforted. The sound of the pack was muffled by the trees and when they stopped to listen it seemed as if the barking was receding into the distance so they went more slowly, often stopping to drink from one of the cool clear streams or to nibble at something tasty. It was late summer now and some of the early autumn toadstools were beginning to appear in the dark and shady places.

It was just before dawn when they emerged from the trees and valleys of the foothills into the beginning of the mountains. Before them stretched a vast sea of purple heather interspersed with clumps of cotton grass waving their white heads gently in the breeze. It wasvery hard travelling over the heather and at first they kept to the little narrow sheep tracks, but Nab was afraid that if they strayed too far from the Roosdyche they would never find it again so they had to strike up and leave the paths.

They had not travelled far when suddenly they heard the sounds of the pack again, only this time it seemed as if it was just behind them. It had emerged from the trees and, now that there was nothing to smother the noise, the closeness of their pursuers was revealed to the animals with a shock of horror. They could not see them but the frantic baying was so near that it could only be a matter of minutes before they were spotted.

Desperately they ran over the heather urging their tired worn-out bodies to go faster until the breath rasped in their throats and their legs went numb with pain. Then suddenly Beth’s knees buckled under her and she fell face down on to a large clump of heather. For a second or two, with her eyes closed, she luxuriated in the wonderful feeling of lying there and giving in to the demands of her body but then she dragged herself back to reality as she felt herself being shaken and heard Nab’s frantic voice calling to her. She looked at him and his face seemed far away. She forced herself to speak.

‘I can’t go any further. Leave me here. You go on. I’ll be all right.’ Then she closed her eyes again and a haze of swirling blackness engulfed her.

‘Beth, Beth,’ shouted Nab but it was no use; her eyelids did not even flicker. He looked at the others; they were all stretched out panting on the heather, their bodies heaving with the effort of drawing breath. It was useless to think about going on but where could they hide? Suddenly Warrigal swooped down and landed beside him.

‘Where’ve you been? I didn’t even know you’d gone,’ said Nab.

‘I’ve been scouting around the hillside. There’s an Urkku dwelling nearby; just a little way down the hill and across. We shall have to take a chance that they are of the Eldron and will help us; I saw smoke coming out of a chimney so it is definitely occupied.’

‘We’ve got no choice, have we? We either stay here and get torn apart by the dogs for certain or else we take the risk of being handed over to them. I can carry Beth but I can’t carry these clothes as well. Brock’ll have to take them in his mouth.’

They cut off across the side of the hill with the sound of the dogs growing louder all the time. Then just below them they saw the dwelling. It was a croft. The walls were of rough white stone and they supported a roof of turf out of which grew a green haze of moss. There was a hole for a window and a hole for a door and out of the little chimney came the sweet smell of burning peat. The long low dwelling seemed to have grown out of the earth and this impression was confirmed by the heaps of peat squares piled up against the two end walls and the fact that the building itself was in a little hollow. There was a stone wall around it enclosing a garden and at the back the animals could see a small vegetable patch while at the front were a few pink and white flowers. The ground immediately outside the wall was dotted with troughs and squares from which the peat had been cut and a few sheep grazed around the outside of these while others lay inside hoping for some shade from the sun. Two white goats munched away vigorously just outside a little gate in the stone wall through which the garden was entered. There was something about the croft, and the scene below them, that was so peaceful that for a second they forgot their danger; it seemed impossible that anything bad could happen there. The place filled them with a feeling of trust and calm so that they felt no fear or doubt as they made their way down the slope. The latch on the gate made a loud click as Nab lifted it and the goats looked up and bleated, staring at them curiously for a second or two before resuming their grazing. Brock and Perryfoot walked quietly across the little garden and sat down against the wall of the croft to wait and see what happened while Warrigal flew up and perched on the roof. Still carrying Beth, Nab slowly walked up to the front door. As he got nearer he heard low voices and the clink and clatter of cups and plates. Finally he reached the door, which was open, and stood wondering what to do next. Gently he laid Beth down on the ground. What was the human word for greeting which she had taught him? Then he remembered.

‘Hello,’ he said quietly, but the sounds and voices in the kitchen carried on unchanged. They haven’t heard me, he thought, and repeated it again more loudly. This time the sounds stopped and the voices took on a different tone.

‘See who that is, Jim. I can’t think who it might be. It’s very early. Look! It’s only half past seven.’

Nab heard the sound of a chair being scraped back across the floor and then the pad of footsteps came towards the door. It was so dark inside that he could see nothing until suddenly a man stood in front of him. He was old and his hair was white and sparse but out of his wrinkled brown face shone two blue eyes that danced with light. He wore a collarless shirt with a blue pin-stripe waistcoat and on his legs a pair of baggy blue serge trousers tied around the waist by a piece of string. He stood with one hand on the door and in the other he held an old briar pipe.

‘Hello, young feller. What can I do for you? You’re a long way from the road.’ Then he spotted Beth on the grass. ‘Oh, I see. Your friend’s ill. Well, fetch her in then and we’ll see what we can do. Probably the heat.’

‘Danger. Hide,’ said Nab and lifted three fingers of one hand.

‘What? There are three more of you? What danger?’

Frantic with frustration at not being able to find the words he wanted, Nab called to the others.

‘Well, blow me down. Ivy,’ Jim called into the kitchen. ‘Here a minute!’

The owl, the badger and the hare stood in a line outside the front door while the old couple looked at them in amazement. Then Ivy spoke. She was small with grey hair and wore a navy blue dress with a faint white flowered pattern on it. When she spoke her hands shook a little with age, but her eyes, like Jim’s, were bright and merry.

‘You know who they are, don’t you, Jim?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well let’s get them inside quickly and hide them. Listen!’ She paused and waited while the barking and shouting got louder. ‘Come on, young man. Hurry up, and bring your friends in with you. Jim; put them in the bedroom.’

The old man led the animals through the front room and the kitchen until they came to an old wooden door which he opened. In the middle of the room was a large bed and around the whitewashed walls were a few pieces of furniture; an old wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a beautiful carved dressing table with photographs of Jim and of Ivy’s parents on it along with her brush and comb and one or two bottles of lavender water and scent.

‘Now, don’t worry. Get behind the bed and keep very quiet. We’ll see to them.’ He closed the door and there was silence except for muffled voices from the front room and the barking of the dogs. Nab lay Beth down gently on a piece of matting which was on the floor and sat beside her. Perryfoot and Brock squeezed under the bed and Warrigal perched on top of one of the brass bed-posts. It seemed to the animals as if they had only just settled in their places when the little house was suddenly filled with the sound of a loud thumping and banging on the door. They held their breath and their hearts quickened. It had all happened so fast that they had not had time to think whether or not they could trust the old couple; yet as soon as the seed of doubt entered their heads they dismissed it with a certainty that they could not explain. The old couple were of the Eldron; of that there could be no question. The animals had felt the goodness and warmth which flowed out towards them.

The knocking came again, only louder this time. Then a voice shouted out harshly. ‘Anyone in?’ Nab felt a tingle of fear rush up and down his spine and lodge, prickling, at the back of his neck. He instantly recognized the voice, it came to him as a terrible ghost from the past. The voice belonged unmistakably to the Urkku called Jeff; the one who, with his brother, had captured him from Silver Wood and taken him back to be locked up in the little room and, worst of all, the one who had shot Bruin. There were now voices at the door; the old man had finally answered it and his deep gentle lilting voice contrasted sharply with the jagged staccato tones of the other. ‘I must hear what they are saying,’ thought Nab, and he crawled forward very slowly and quietly until he was up against the bedroom door with his ear pressed to it. He could not understand all the words but the sense of their conversation came across to him. The old man was speaking.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t hear; I’m a bit deaf. What do you want?’

The Urkku Jeff replied harshly. ‘We’re looking for the animals. They were seen a while back; at least the owl was, and the dogs have been following them ever since. Right up here to your front door. They must have gone past. Did you not see them?’

The old man replied steadily.

‘What animals? We’ve seen nothing other than the occasional rabbit all morning.’

There was a silence which was almost menacing in its stillness. Even the dogs stopped their barking and growling.

‘Don’t play games with me, old man. You live a long way out but don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on. If you had seen them, you would tell us, wouldn’t you?’

‘You mean the little group of animals who are rumoured to have a boy and a girl with them. The ones who are supposed to have started the plague. I have heard something of it on the wireless when they have been able to broadcast. No, I haven’t seen them. I didn’t know they were in this area.’

‘They were seen and followed here. To your house.’

‘Well, I shall look out for them; though myself, I don’t believe the stories that have been put round. There’s no proof that the plague began with them.’

Again there was a silence. When the Urkku spoke his voice was low and guttural.

‘Take care, old man. That kind of talk is dangerous. You had best forget it. Have you not had the government circulars? They must be found and destroyed, as must all their kind, for they too may be carriers and only in that way will we be sure we have got rid of it. The boy and the girl must be found and questioned as to all they know. Then they will be cleansed and educated; at least the boy will, for it appears that the girl may have led a normal life until she left her home. Apparently the disease does not affect them though they are the carriers. Now, old man; let’s not hear any more of this foolish talk. Your attitude has been noted. If you see them you will have to walk down to the village and contact the police who will inform the authorities. As you must know, very few phones are still working.’

Then the dogs began barking loudly again as the Urkku moved off down the hill. It was only when the noise had faded into the distance that the door opened and Ivy came in. ‘Well, they’ve gone for now,’ she said, half to herself and half to Nab. ‘Let’s see how your friend is, shall we?’ She knelt down beside Beth and raised her so that the girl was sitting up. She moaned and her eyelids fluttered but still she did not come round.

‘Thank you,’ Nab said and pointed outside to the door to show what he meant. Ivy looked at him and smiled gently.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Here, you hold her up while I go and get some cold water to bathe her face.’ Nab was longing to ask her and Jim what the Urkku had said exactly but his command of human language was not yet such that he could put his questions into words. He would have to wait until Beth was better.

Ivy came back with a white enamel basin full of water and began splashing the girl’s face. Perryfoot and Brock came out from under the bed and watched anxiously while Warrigal surveyed the proceedings curiously from his vantage point on the bed-post. Outside, through the window, he could see dark banks of cloud beginning to gather in the distance beyond the far peaks and he smelt rain in the air. The atmosphere was heavy and close and there was not a breath of wind.

Soon Beth was showing signs of regaining consciousness and Ivy called out, ‘Jim, bring in a cup of tea for the poor girl.’ He fetched the kettle off the range where it always sat and poured hot water from it into their little brown tea pot to warm it. Then he refilled the kettle and put it back on the hot plate to boil. The tea was in a caddy in the sideboard and as he went across to it he looked outside through the open front door and noticed that a sudden wind was getting up. ‘Storm won’t be long now,’ he muttered. ‘About time it broke. Should clear the air a bit.’ He put four spoonfuls in the pot and then called out. ‘I’ll just go and fetch the goats in, Ivy; before it rains. Kettle will have boiled when I get back.’ He went quickly out of the front gate and called the two goats over. They came running across when they heard him and he led them back through the garden to a little stone shed at one end of the house. ‘Keep your eyes off those,’ he said as the goats strayed over to the little flower bed under the wall. ‘Come on, you rascals. Let’s get you in before it rains.’ He had just put some fresh straw down ready for the coming winter and the shed smelt sweet and clean. ‘Stop chewing my trousers. Go on, get in.’ They looked at him quizzically as he began to shut the door and he laughed and gave them a friendly pat.

Great spots of rain were just beginning to fall as he went back in through the door and he heard the distant rumble of thunder. The kettle was boiling fit to burst so he quickly made the tea and took it into the bedroom. Beth was just regaining consciousness and was trying very hard to understand what they were doing in this beautiful little croft with a kindly white-haired old lady who fussed over her and now this lovely old man who had brought in a cup of tea. Tea! How she had longed for a cup of tea. Ivy poured it into a delicate little cup with a pale blue, yellow and red flower pattern on it and handed it to her. She took a sip and closed her eyes. It was like nectar. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, and Jim and Ivy chuckled.

‘How about your friend?’ said Jim.

‘He’s never had it before. I’m sure he’d love to try some though. Nab,’ she changed to the language of the wild, ‘try this drink. It’s a little hot but I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s very common among the Urkku and the Eldron. I used to drink it a lot. And try one of these to eat,’ she said, pointing to a plate of chocolate digestives.

Between mouthfuls of biscuit and sips of tea, Nab explained to her all that had happened since she had passed out, and told her of the way Jim had kept their presence secret to the Urkku whom he had recognized at the door. Beth was amazed. ‘Jeff Stanhope. Here. But he’s miles from his home. As we are.’ Then Warrigal spoke.

‘Remember what Saurélon said about goblins taking Urkku form. This may well be one such case. I remembered his voice as soon as he spoke.’

‘And I did,’ said Brock. ‘He killed Bruin. How could I forget?’

Jim and Ivy listened unbelievingly as the animals and the humans talked away together in this strange language.

‘I’m sure you’ve a lot to tell us,’ said Ivy, whose curiosity was growing by the second. ‘Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a good old chat. What do the animals want to eat?’

‘Well, I’m sure the badger, Brock, would love one of those biscuits if you don’t mind too much.’ Ivy nodded and Beth told Brock to try one. The badger was delighted, and wolfed down two or three, whole, in quick succession. Perryfoot and Warrigal decided to wait until later when they would go out and forage amongst the heather and made do with a bowl of water each, which they drank greedily for they were very thirsty.

In the kitchen Jim pulled up two easy chairs for Nab and Beth; Ivy sat in her high backed chair opposite him on the other side of the range and he sat down in his old wooden rocking chair on a cushion, the cover of which had been crocheted by his mother years ago. He took out his pipe and, cutting a plug of twist, began rubbing it in between his palms. He had pulled the front of the range down and the red glow of the ashes cast shadows on the low beams of the ceiling for it had gone very dark outside now although it was only mid-morning. The rain was coming down in torrents, spattering against the window-panes and running down them, and through the window they could see the wind driving great sheets of rain across the heather-covered moors. The sky was black and occasionally they saw a flash of lightning or heard thunder rolling around high above them in the clouds. Nab felt that same secure feeling of cosiness that he remembered from the times he’d watched the rain while in the shelter of the rhododendron bush in Silver Wood. He looked all around him at the kitchen; the pictures on the walls, the stove, the pots and pans, the great dark oak chest in the comer and the carved oak dresser with plates on it. Everything fascinated him; from the taps over the sink to the brass ornaments on the mantelpiece over the range. Warrigal perched on the back of his chair looking round at everything slowly; his huge round eyes resting first on one object, then another. Perryfoot and Brock were sitting in front of the range on the maroon and black rag rug that Ivy had made three winters ago and the heat of the fire with the exhausted state of their bodies had sent them both to sleep.

Jim lit his pipe and the smoke drifted languidly up and disappeared into the room. ‘Now,’ he said to Beth. ‘Tell us your tale,’ and Beth started, from the beginning; at first telling what Nab had told her and occasionally breaking off to ask him a question and then, with more confidence, talking about the time since she had left home and joined the animals. Nab understood most of what she was saying and sometimes he broke in to add something which she had forgotten or perhaps to correct her. This happened particularly over the part where she was trying to relate what the Lord Wychnor had told them and Nab felt instinctively that it was very important to Jim and Ivy that they properly understand it. They listened intently without once interrupting and the only sounds apart from Beth’s voice were the crackling of the logs in the fire, the rain outside and the quiet popping noise Jim made with his lips as he puffed steadily on his pipe while rocking slowly to and fro in the chair.

It was halfway through the afternoon when she had finished and it was still raining. No one spoke for a long while and no questions were asked. The old couple were thinking deeply and quietly about this strange story which they had just heard while Nab and Beth stared at the dancing flames in the fire and the animals dozed. Jim and Ivy were quite startled to find that they were not really surprised by what Beth had told them. Rather they felt fulfilled and in some strange way, gratified by it in that it seemed to be the inescapable, logical conclusion to the beliefs they had held all their lives and a warm glow of satisfaction spread slowly through them. The dark sky outside was still heavy with the promise of more rain and the heather was dripping with the wet. Ivy looked across at Nab and Beth and she smiled at them with such warmth and love that Beth got up and went across to her and, kneeling down, laid her head on the old lady’s lap, the way she used to with her grandmother. Jim looked at them and saw a little tear come out of the corner of Ivy’s eye and trickle slowly down her cheek. Nab also felt the love in the old lady’s smile and for him it was a strange experience. The only ones of his own race that he had known before, apart from Beth, had been figures of fear or hatred, to be avoided and despised. He had never known any Eldron and so had not experienced the goodness and warmth they were capable of. Now here he was with two of them, in their peculiar dwelling and sitting on their seats, and yet he had rarely felt more secure and safe and contented. He looked down at the rug in front of the range and chuckled to himself. Brock was curled round in a tight little ball, snoring loudly and wheezing in his sleep while Perryfoot was sitting snuggled up against him with his eyes closed, his head down and his ears pressed flat along his back. Turning his head he looked up at Warrigal who was still perched on the back of his chair and saw that he too was sleeping; his great round eyelids closed like shutters over his eyes.

Eventually Ivy broke the silence. ‘You must be starving,’ she said, and then, after gently lifting Beth’s head off her lap, she got up and began opening drawers and getting out pots and pans.

‘Can I help?’ said Beth.

‘Well, you can peel some potatoes if you don’t mind while I get on with the beans,’ replied Ivy. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? I’m sure you would. Jim,’ she called, ‘get out the elderflower and some glasses.’

The old man got up and, opening the doors of a small oak corner cupboard, fetched four glasses and a decanter cut with pictures of barley stalks and wheat around its bowl. He poured the clear light golden wine into the glasses, took one over to Nab and then two across to Beth and Ivy where they were standing by the sink. When he had picked up his own he turned round and said, ‘Let’s drink a toast.’ They all turned to face each other and then when they had lifted their glasses and Beth had explained to Nab what to do, Jim said in a quiet steady voice, ‘Let us drink to every creature, whether human or animal, that has ever suffered at the hands of any other creature.’

They were simple words but they were all deeply affected by them and as they drank the wine and considered them they each became lost in their own thoughts. For Nab, the pain of thinking was almost too much to bear. He thought of all the animals he had seen mutilated and ripped apart because of the Urkku and then into his mind, slowly and clearly, appeared pictures of Rufus, Bruin, Tara and lastly Sam. He saw them as if they were there beside him and he felt a flood of tears begin to well up inside. But then his sorrow turned to anger and his anger into resolve and an iron certainty such as he had never felt before. He lifted his glass again and said quietly to himself:

‘For you. We shall succeed for you,’ and took another mouthful of the wine.

Jim and Ivy thought not only of all the animals they had seen abused and tortured by man but also of all the hungry and the poor and the oppressed of their own race. They thought of those who were dying of illnesses which could be cured but were not and they thought of the stupidity of war and the misery and suffering of its casualties. They thought until they could think no more and then suddenly Jim spoke and his voice trembled slightly with emotion.

‘Nab. Come and give me a hand to milk the goats and get the eggs if in.’

The boy was glad of the opportunity to break free of the cloud of depression which had filled his mind and he got up and followed Jim through the front door and into the dark wet evening.

‘Here; put this over your shoulders,’ said the old man and handed Nab a big blue tattered greatcoat. ‘And put these on your feet,’ he said, handing him a pair of wellingtons. The rain spotted against their faces as they walked along the path at the front of the house until they came to the door into the goats’ shed. Inside it was warm and smelt of hay and Jessie and Amy came rushing across and began nibbling and snuffling at Jim’s hands.

‘Give these to them,’ Jim said to Nab and handed him three thick crusts of bread. The goats immediately turned their attention to him and Nab broke the crusts up and tried to share them equally between the two as they pushed against him and jostled him in their anxiety to get more than their fair share. The bread was gone in an instant, wolfed down greedily, but still they nuzzled and pulled at the pockets of the coat which Jim usually wore.

‘Show them your hands; like this,’ he said, and opened his hands so that the palms were flat to indicate to Nab what he meant. The goats sniffed disconsolately at Nab’s empty hands and then, with a look of crushing disappointment, they turned away and went over to the buckets of bran which Jim had ready for them. As they ate, he milked them and Nab watched fascinated as the old man squeezed the frothy white liquid rhythmically out of the two teats; first one, then the other, then back to the first and so on, and the jets of milk splashed into the bucket underneath. Amy was milked first and then, as Jim moved round to Jessie, he beckoned to Nab to come over and tried to show him how to milk her. It took a little while and a lot of fumbling but eventually the boy succeeded in getting a thin stream of milk out of one of the teats into the bucket. Jim shouted ‘Hooray’ and clapped his hands in applause while Nab laughed.

The old man then took over as it would have taken too long if Nab had carried on and soon he had finished.

‘We’ll take this back to the house,’ he said, picking up the buckets of milk, ‘and then we’ll go and get the eggs in and feed the hens. Goodnight, you two,’ he said to the goats and Nab gave them a stroke and a pat but they were too concerned with finishing off the bran in the bottom of their buckets to pay much attention and they only looked up when the door closed, whereupon they gave a little bleat of farewell and carried on eating.

They dropped the milk off at the house, leaving it just inside the front door, and then, pausing only to get some corn out of a little stone lean-to, they made their way around to the back and walked over to a large hencote which nestled at the side of a stone wall. The rain was still pouring down and the high craggy mountains behind them were shrouded in low cloud. It was too wet for any of the hens to be out and as they opened the door of the shed and went in there was much squawking and fluttering.

‘They’re not used to strangers. That’s why they’re making more noise than usual,’ said Jim as he went round the boxes, carefully picking up the eggs and putting them in a little brown wicker basket which he had brought from the house. ‘Put the corn in the bucket into that trough in the middle, could you,’ he said to Nab and, as he did so, the hens all flew down off their perches around the shed and began pecking away furiously. The rain pelting down on the roof sounded very loud in contrast to the muffled quietness inside as the hens concentrated on eating and Jim looked for eggs.

‘Well,’ he said, when he had walked all round and come back to the door where Nab was standing, ‘I don’t think I’m going to find any more. They’ve done well though; we’ve got plenty. I’ll just fill up their water trough and then we’ll go.’

They walked back round the other end of the house and Nab looked at the neat little vegetable patch around which Jim had put a tall fence to keep the goats and the sheep out. It was a mass of green; the fern-like tops of the potatoes, not yet dug up for the winter, rows of broccoli and sprouts and curly kale to see them through the long cold days ahead; smaller rows of autumn and winter cabbage and then at the end the high stakes on which the runner beans climbed. Jim had taken the onions in only yesterday and they were.drying in one of the outbuildings.

When they got back in through the front door Nab took off his dripping coat and passed it to J im who shook it outside and then hung it on a peg alongside his own on the back of the door. They left their muddy wellingtons on a mat at the side.

‘You’re just in time,’ Ivy called out. ‘I’m putting the soup on the table.’

‘Come on,’ Jim said to Nab. ‘I’ll bet you’re starving.’

Four steaming bowls of vegetable soup had been laid out on the kitchen table and Beth and Ivy were just about to start. Nab sat down on the chair next to Beth and she showed him how to use a spoon to drink his soup. He remembered, with a shiver of fear, the last time he had done this, so long ago. They all laughed as the soup dripped from his spoon over the table or else dribbled down his chin but he soon learnt the knack of it and began to enjoy the delicious flavour. On a plate beside the bowl, Ivy had given him a thick slice of freshly made brown bread which was still warm and he copied the others who were breaking chunks'of it off and eating it between spoonfuls of soup. Soon he had reached the bottom of the bowl and was spooning up all the pieces of vegetable that were left; cubes of tender young carrot and potatoes and turnip, peas and beans and barley. He and Beth had another bowlful and then Ivy went over to the range and fetched out of the oven four plates, on each of which stood a golden yellow green pea omelette garnished with sprigs of parsley and tomatoes.

‘Jim,’ she said. ‘Can you get the fried potatoes and the vegetables.’ The old man got up and brought across a huge bowl full of crinkly fried potatoes and another bowl, in one half of which was a heap of french beans and in the other a little mound of green sprouting broccoli spears.

‘Help yourselves,’ said Ivy. ‘I hope I’ve done enough. Anyway, have as much as you want. I’m sure you’d like some more wine. I’ll go and get the glasses and fill them up.’

Nab found handling a knife and fork a lot more difficult than a spoon so after a few awkward attempts Ivy fetched another spoon and he used that. He savoured and enjoyed every single mouthful, as did Beth, who could never remember a meal tasting so wonderful before. Jim kept topping up their wine glasses as they became empty until by the time they had finished eating they not only felt gloriously satisfied but also rather lightheaded so that they found themselves laughing with each other and with Jim and Ivy at all sorts of little things which they found inexplicably and hilariously funny. For that short magic spell of time they forgot the horrors of the past and the frightening uncertainty of the future and were suspended in the present; totally carefree and living only for the joy and happiness of those moments of laughter.

When they’d finished the omelette they had gooseberry pie and then finally cream crackers and cheese; a lovely soft goat’s-milk cheese which Ivy had made early that morning.

‘Now, to finish off, have a piece of cake,’ she said, and although Nab and Beth were full to bursting they were unable to resist the rich dark chocolate cake that Ivy pushed towards them.

‘Just a little slice,’ said Beth. ‘We’re really only being greedy.’ ‘No. You mustn’t say that. It may be a long time before you’re able to eat properly again. This will have to last you.’

‘Well, it was delicious,’said the girl, taking a bite of the cake. How she had enjoyed the evening! She wished with all her heart that they could stay here with these two warm and gentle old people in this beautiful little house. It had been like a dream from which she never wanted to wake. She looked at Nab sitting next to her with a smile all over his face and his big dark eyes twinkling with laughter in the candlelight and knew that he too would have liked to stay. Then Jim asked the question she had been afraid to ask herself all night.

‘When will you have to be leaving, Beth? You know that you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want but we don’t want to hold you or keep you.’

She turned and spoke to Nab.

‘How do you feel now?’ he said.

‘A lot better,’ she answered reluctantly.

‘Well, I think we should leave in the morning. We’ll get a good night’s sleep and then leave at first light. We don’t know how far away the Urkku are and anyway I have a feeling that time is running out.’ He reached out and put his hand over hers. ‘I want to stay as well,’ he said, ‘but you know we can’t.’ He smiled at her tenderly, wishing that he could promise her that some day they would have a little home like this. ‘Perhaps…’ he started to say, but then stopped.

Beth turned back to the old couple.

‘We’ll have to go in the morning,’ she said.

‘Well, if you’re sure you’re up to it. You know best. I’ll make you some sandwiches.’

Beth laughed. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said. ‘That would be lovely.’ Now suddenly, the wine, the food and the warmth hit the exhausted bodies of Nab and Beth all at once and a great wave of tiredness engulfed them. The animals were still fast asleep around the fire and it was all Nab could do not to join them then and there, although he was unable to stifle a huge yawn.

Jim saw it and smiled. ‘You’re worn out,’ he said. ‘You must get to sleep now. We’ll be in here for a bit washing up and so on so you two had better sleep in our room at the back, where you hid this morning. We won’t disturb the animals. If they wake up we’ll see what we can find for them to eat. Otherwise we’ll leave something out.’

Wearily Nab and Beth pushed back their chairs and got up from the table. Then Beth, moved by a sudden impulse of affection, went round the table to where Ivy was sitting and, putting her arms around her neck, kissed her on the forehead.

‘Goodnight,’ she said, ‘and thank you, for a lovely day.’

Ivy looked up and her eyes were misty with tears.

‘Goodnight, dear,’ she said. ‘Sleep well.’

Then Jim got up and led them through into the bedroom. To her delight Beth saw a washbasin and towel in one corner of the room.

‘Can I have a wash?’ she said. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve used soap. Oh, and talcum powder. Do you think I could borrow some?’

‘Of course,’ Jim replied, chuckling. ‘Have a good sleep and I’ll see you in the morning. You must have some breakfast with us before you go.’

He went out and shut the door, leaving a candle on the chest of drawers next to the bed.

‘Come on,’ Beth said. ‘I’m going to teach you how to use soap and water.’

It felt strange washing in a basin instead of a stream or a pond; turning on taps for water and getting the strange foamy lather from the white block of soap. For Nab it was a series of new and exciting experiences and for Beth a poignant reminder of all that she had left behind; the smell of the soap, the feel of the towel on her face, the gurgle of the water as she pulled the plug out of the basin and the scent of the talcum powder. When she had finished washing, she went over to Ivy’s dressing table and, bracing herself, sat down on the little stool and looked in the mirror. What she saw surprised her. She had expected to be shocked and a little dismayed but instead she was strangely fascinated. Her hair hung in a great shock of curls down to her shoulders and looked fairer than she remembered it because it had been bleached by all the sun that summer, and her face was brown and weatherbeaten. But it was her eyes that really surprised her. They seemed much bigger and rounder than before and she saw in them what she had seen in Nab’s that very first time they had met, so long ago, down by the stream. They were indescribably clear and deep and she had the uncanny feeling that when she looked at them in the mirror, she was looking straight down into her own soul. But she saw more than that. Her eyes were those of a wild animal; full of energy, constantly alert, and with an innocence and purity that made them shine back at her from the mirror with such intensity that she sat riveted for so long that eventually Nab came over to her and put his face next to hers so that, to his delight, it too was reflected. They looked at their reflections in the mirror and smiled at them and then Nab pulled a funny face and Beth stuck out her tongue and they began to laugh.

There was a wooden-handled hairbrush on the dressing table top and Beth began brushing out all the tangles and curls and tousles in her hair while Nab watched entranced. It felt lovely to be using a brush again and she spent a long time running it slowly down her head from the top of the crown right down to the very ends of her hair. When she had finished she got up from the little stool and told Nab to sit on it.

‘It’s about time you had a brush through yours, ’ she said, laughing. 'You look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

Nab marvelled at the confident way she handled all these hundreds of different human instruments and at all their many uses, taps, knives, forks, plates, towels, brushes: the list went on for ever and he tried to go through them all in his head while Beth brushed his hair but he soon became muddled and confused. It was all very complicated, he thought with amusement.

Finally she finished and, going over to the bed, Beth pulled back the sheets. Ivy had put them clean on that day and they were white and crisp and smelt of lavender. Slowly she got between them until, at last, she lay full length on the big soft bed and savoured to the full that delicious first moment of utter relaxation when the whole weight of her body was supported by the bed and she was able to let go of it completely. She closed her eyes and sighed; a long blissful sigh of happiness and contentment. Nab stood looking down at her. It had been a long time since they were able to relax together and he was enjoying the sight of her golden hair spread out on the white pillow and the look of perfect peace on her face.

When she opened her eyes and saw him still standing, she patted the bed beside her. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘get in; it’s lovely.’

Carefully he copied what Beth had done and pulling back the sheets, gingerly climbed into the bed. At first as he sank into it he felt terribly unsafe and insecure as if he were lying on a bed of air and he lay tense and stiff, but after a minute or two he began to relax and by the time Beth leant over to blow the candle out he was fast asleep. She smiled to herself and gently kissed him on both his closed eyelids.

‘Goodnight, Nab,’ she said softly. ‘Sleep well,’ and, snuggling up with her arms around him, was soon lost in a deep and peaceful sleep.