incomprehensible.
Bold’s only thought now was to get as far away from the area as he could before disaster should overtake him again. Fear lent him a new strength and, by late afternoon, he felt he had come a long way. He was in country he had not seen before and now he knew he must rest. His whole body trembled as a result of his exertions, while his legs ached abominably. He staggered into a stand of young holly on the edge of a spinney and fell, rather than lay down, on the carpet of dead leaves underneath, quite oblivious of their spines.
Unknown to Bold, a familiar, black shape was coasting on air currents in the winter sky, occasionally flapping its wings as it lost height. Satisfied that the exhausted fox would be unable to stir for some hours, it flew away over the tree-tops uttering its harsh cries in a sleepy manner as the daylight failed.
Bold was roused at sun-up by a chill wind ruffling his fur. The ground all around the spinney was stiff with frost. Even the edges of the holly leaves had a coating of white. Bold shivered and peered out at a world made silent by thick eddies of mist. Then he blinked in disbelief as he saw a large black bird stepping out of the fog, its bill stuffed with pieces of dark meat.
The Carrion Crow dropped his burden by the fox and croaked a welcome. ‘On the move again, I see?’ he added, ‘then you’ll be needing this.’
Bold saw the pieces of stale, raw meat more closely. ‘Timely indeed,’ he remarked. ‘I haven’t eaten for two days, and so I appreciate it more than you know.’ He took a gulp. ‘This is good,’ he said. ‘But where did you find it?’
‘Oh-ho! There’s plenty more of that if you know where to look,’ chortled the crow.
‘And where would that be?’ Bold asked eagerly.
‘In the town.’
‘Town?’ Bold ate another piece of meat.
‘Yes – not far from here. Full of humans and their buildings – and their food!’
Bold’s ears pricked up. ‘What sort of cover is there?’ he wanted to know.
‘Oh, plenty round about. You’d have to stay on the fringe, of course, and make raids at night.’
‘That’s rather what I had in mind,’ Bold said wryly.
‘Sorry. Don’t need to teach you your craft, I’m sure,’ the crow answered quickly.
‘How long would it take me to get there?’ Bold asked next.
The crow said: ‘I don’t know. I can only judge distances as a bird flies. It may be a whole night’s travelling time on four legs.’
‘Or, in my case, three,’ Bold reminded him sardonically. ‘Then I’d better start at nightfall.’ He finished the meat the crow had brought him. ‘What direction must I take?’
‘Watch me,’ said the crow and took to the air. Bold followed his flight until he became a mere dot in the sky. The bird did not return but Bold knew all he wanted to know. He got up and stretched his three sound limbs. He felt stiff, sore and chilled to the marrow. He needed to get some warmth back into his body, and the only way to do that was to keep on the move. The freezing mist set his weak eye watering, but its enveloping coils were also his friend. No prying observer could see the hobbling fox’s feeble attempts to run, and for that Bold was very glad.
A thin sun touched the shrouded countryside but failed to penetrate. Only the wind succeeded in tossing the swirling vapour about like patches of damp fleece. The young fox’s blood ran more quickly through his veins as he pattered here and there, whiling away the time to when the sun should finally surrender its fight.
Darkness came early and Bold set his course for his new objective, following the bearing of the crow’s flight. He travelled warily and at an easy pace. The wind had dropped and the air was very still. Scarcely a murmur reached Bold’s ears from the creatures of the night. After some time he became aware of a faint gleam which seemed to lie on the distant horizon. It grew steadily more bright as he drew nearer. Though he did not know
Bold’s only thought now was to get as far away from the area as he could before disaster should overtake him again. Fear lent him a new strength and, by late afternoon, he felt he had come a long way. He was in country he had not seen before and now he knew he must rest. His whole body trembled as a result of his exertions, while his legs ached abominably. He staggered into a stand of young holly on the edge of a spinney and fell, rather than lay down, on the carpet of dead leaves underneath, quite oblivious of their spines.
Unknown to Bold, a familiar, black shape was coasting on air currents in the winter sky, occasionally flapping its wings as it lost height. Satisfied that the exhausted fox would be unable to stir for some hours, it flew away over the tree-tops uttering its harsh cries in a sleepy manner as the daylight failed.
Bold was roused at sun-up by a chill wind ruffling his fur. The ground all around the spinney was stiff with frost. Even the edges of the holly leaves had a coating of white. Bold shivered and peered out at a world made silent by thick eddies of mist. Then he blinked in disbelief as he saw a large black bird stepping out of the fog, its bill stuffed with pieces of dark meat.
The Carrion Crow dropped his burden by the fox and croaked a welcome. ‘On the move again, I see?’ he added, ‘then you’ll be needing this.’
Bold saw the pieces of stale, raw meat more closely. ‘Timely indeed,’ he remarked. ‘I haven’t eaten for two days, and so I appreciate it more than you know.’ He took a gulp. ‘This is good,’ he said. ‘But where did you find it?’
‘Oh-ho! There’s plenty more of that if you know where to look,’ chortled the crow.
‘And where would that be?’ Bold asked eagerly.
‘In the town.’
‘Town?’ Bold ate another piece of meat.
‘Yes – not far from here. Full of humans and their buildings – and their food!’
Bold’s ears pricked up. ‘What sort of cover is there?’ he wanted to know.
‘Oh, plenty round about. You’d have to stay on the fringe, of course, and make raids at night.’
‘That’s rather what I had in mind,’ Bold said wryly.
‘Sorry. Don’t need to teach you your craft, I’m sure,’ the crow answered quickly.
‘How long would it take me to get there?’ Bold asked next.
The crow said: ‘I don’t know. I can only judge distances as a bird flies. It may be a whole night’s travelling time on four legs.’
‘Or, in my case, three,’ Bold reminded him sardonically. ‘Then I’d better start at nightfall.’ He finished the meat the crow had brought him. ‘What direction must I take?’
‘Watch me,’ said the crow and took to the air. Bold followed his flight until he became a mere dot in the sky. The bird did not return but Bold knew all he wanted to know. He got up and stretched his three sound limbs. He felt stiff, sore and chilled to the marrow. He needed to get some warmth back into his body, and the only way to do that was to keep on the move. The freezing mist set his weak eye watering, but its enveloping coils were also his friend. No prying observer could see the hobbling fox’s feeble attempts to run, and for that Bold was very glad.
A thin sun touched the shrouded countryside but failed to penetrate. Only the wind succeeded in tossing the swirling vapour about like patches of damp fleece. The young fox’s blood ran more quickly through his veins as he pattered here and there, whiling away the time to when the sun should finally surrender its fight.
Darkness came early and Bold set his course for his new objective, following the bearing of the crow’s flight. He travelled warily and at an easy pace. The wind had dropped and the air was very still. Scarcely a murmur reached Bold’s ears from the creatures of the night. After some time he became aware of a faint gleam which seemed to lie on the distant horizon. It grew steadily more bright as he drew nearer. Though he did not know
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