it, it was the lights of the town.
Eventually Bold began to look for shelter. He did not know how far he had come but, as usual, his legs told him it was time to rest. He hid himself away in the nearest piece of woodland, content with his progress for that night. The next evening he was off again in the direction of that illumined piece of sky. The mist had disappeared and presently he heard quite plainly the muffled sounds of the town. They were, as yet, too distant to be alarming. He had no experience of the terrifying noises that humans can make in their daily lives. Motor traffic and the blare of machinery were beyond his knowledge. The crow had not warned him what to expect and, at the end of his second night’s travelling, he rested quite unprepared for the shock that was to come with the morning.
He had arrived on the edges of some playing fields where a litter basket had provided him with some miscellaneous pickings. It had been easy to overturn it to get at the contents and, after he had eaten, Bold laid himself down at the bottom of a privet hedge. When dawn broke, the first noises of a wakening town were carried to the sleeping fox, dispelling his slumbers. Wrapped in his thick, winter brush he lay without moving, but now wide awake. The early morning din was as nothing to what would happen when the town’s pulse really began to beat. Bold was uneasy. He moved from the hedge to find thicker cover. There wasn’t any. He began to panic. The noise was growing steadily louder. He couldn’t keep still. Every fresh roar made him turn in fright, but he was limping around in circles. Suddenly he saw what looked like a dark hole and made straight for it. It was a small hut, containing some tools belonging to the groundsman of the playing fields. The door had been left ajar and Bold blundered in, upsetting the stacked implements and sending them crashing to the wooden floor. Now quite terrified, he tottered out again, casting about wildly for anything that might shelter him. He saw some people walking nearby with their dogs and slunk back to the privet hedge. But the din seemed to fill the air, blotting out his ability to employ even his most basic instincts. At last he heard a muttered croak close at hand.
‘Come with me. I’ll show you where.’ The Carrion Crow was waiting for him, perched very conspicuously in a rowan tree. He took off and flew low, directly across the playing fields. Bold stumbled after him mindlessly. On the other side the bird waited for him to catch up and then flew straight to a patch of waste ground, which was choked with bramble, elm-scrub and thick banks of rusty-leaved weeds. Bold needed no bidding to dive into this mass of vegetation until he was quite invisible. The crow sat on the top of a sycamore sapling and spied out the land.
‘You’re quite safe now,’ he said.
Bold refrained from answering. The last half hour, particularly the crossing of the playing fields in full view, had quite unnerved him.
‘You took longer to get here than I was expecting,’ the crow went on.
Now Bold said: ‘I wish I hadn’t come. That dreadful noise! I’ve never heard anything like it before. I’d have been better off staying where I was.’
‘Nonsense!’ scoffed the crow. ‘No good being safe and secure elsewhere if you can’t find anything to eat.’
‘I was doing all right,’ Bold muttered from the undergrowth.
‘You’ll do better here,’ the crow told him, ‘when you’ve adjusted yourself.’
‘That I shall never do.’
‘You know, noise itself can’t harm you. It is town noise made by humans, and no danger whatsoever to you or any other creature. You simply have to get used to it. It’s the same every day. At night, when you’ll be around, it’s quieter. All you’ve got to watch out for are the makers of the noise.’
Bold had calmed down a little by now. The din had not increased and there was no sign of it approaching nearer to him. It would be worth waiting
Eventually Bold began to look for shelter. He did not know how far he had come but, as usual, his legs told him it was time to rest. He hid himself away in the nearest piece of woodland, content with his progress for that night. The next evening he was off again in the direction of that illumined piece of sky. The mist had disappeared and presently he heard quite plainly the muffled sounds of the town. They were, as yet, too distant to be alarming. He had no experience of the terrifying noises that humans can make in their daily lives. Motor traffic and the blare of machinery were beyond his knowledge. The crow had not warned him what to expect and, at the end of his second night’s travelling, he rested quite unprepared for the shock that was to come with the morning.
He had arrived on the edges of some playing fields where a litter basket had provided him with some miscellaneous pickings. It had been easy to overturn it to get at the contents and, after he had eaten, Bold laid himself down at the bottom of a privet hedge. When dawn broke, the first noises of a wakening town were carried to the sleeping fox, dispelling his slumbers. Wrapped in his thick, winter brush he lay without moving, but now wide awake. The early morning din was as nothing to what would happen when the town’s pulse really began to beat. Bold was uneasy. He moved from the hedge to find thicker cover. There wasn’t any. He began to panic. The noise was growing steadily louder. He couldn’t keep still. Every fresh roar made him turn in fright, but he was limping around in circles. Suddenly he saw what looked like a dark hole and made straight for it. It was a small hut, containing some tools belonging to the groundsman of the playing fields. The door had been left ajar and Bold blundered in, upsetting the stacked implements and sending them crashing to the wooden floor. Now quite terrified, he tottered out again, casting about wildly for anything that might shelter him. He saw some people walking nearby with their dogs and slunk back to the privet hedge. But the din seemed to fill the air, blotting out his ability to employ even his most basic instincts. At last he heard a muttered croak close at hand.
‘Come with me. I’ll show you where.’ The Carrion Crow was waiting for him, perched very conspicuously in a rowan tree. He took off and flew low, directly across the playing fields. Bold stumbled after him mindlessly. On the other side the bird waited for him to catch up and then flew straight to a patch of waste ground, which was choked with bramble, elm-scrub and thick banks of rusty-leaved weeds. Bold needed no bidding to dive into this mass of vegetation until he was quite invisible. The crow sat on the top of a sycamore sapling and spied out the land.
‘You’re quite safe now,’ he said.
Bold refrained from answering. The last half hour, particularly the crossing of the playing fields in full view, had quite unnerved him.
‘You took longer to get here than I was expecting,’ the crow went on.
Now Bold said: ‘I wish I hadn’t come. That dreadful noise! I’ve never heard anything like it before. I’d have been better off staying where I was.’
‘Nonsense!’ scoffed the crow. ‘No good being safe and secure elsewhere if you can’t find anything to eat.’
‘I was doing all right,’ Bold muttered from the undergrowth.
‘You’ll do better here,’ the crow told him, ‘when you’ve adjusted yourself.’
‘That I shall never do.’
‘You know, noise itself can’t harm you. It is town noise made by humans, and no danger whatsoever to you or any other creature. You simply have to get used to it. It’s the same every day. At night, when you’ll be around, it’s quieter. All you’ve got to watch out for are the makers of the noise.’
Bold had calmed down a little by now. The din had not increased and there was no sign of it approaching nearer to him. It would be worth waiting
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