opened and cold air rushed in. A man’s dark eyes peered through the wire at her as he bent down to look into the cage.
‘Come on, my lovely,’ he said, the words meaningless to Tansy. ‘I’ve brought you some special food.’
In his hand was a paper bag containing a variety of Christmas nuts bought from a stall in Wareham market. He opened the cage door slightly and tossed in a handful, then closed it quickly. Tansy hid her head under her paws until he had gone out of the stable, leaving her once again in the cold darkness.
The nuts smelt strange and foreign. She felt for them in the sawdust of the cage floor and was puzzled by the waxy feel of the shells. The hazelnuts she knew, and the walnuts, but the strange three-cornered ones were new to her. She gnawed at the end of one until she could taste the oily kernel inside. She ate only a little of it then opened a walnut, the flavour immediately bringing back memories of the celebration of the passing of the Longest Night, and the feasting the squirrels enjoyed when they knew the Sun would soon return with the warmth of spring.
Her spirits lifted by the man’s gift, she tried every side of the cage for a way out, then crouched in a corner and recited to herself the Kernel for Encouragement –
‘When all is darkness
Squirrels need not fear for long,
The Sun will come soon.’
She searched again for a way to escape.
Blood was getting restless. He had finished eating the peahen that he had most recently killed in the church, had played with the feathers, slept for a full day and night and had then awakened with the squirrel-lust on him. He came down the bell-rope, passed the rows of dozing birds on the pew-backs and padded out into a grey winter day. He sprang up on to the gravestone of an earlier, human, inhabitant of the island and peered about, sniffing. The air was clear of squirrel-scent, so he made off towards the leaf-pile in the swamp. All hunters hope to find new quarry where they have successfully killed before.
Only the tails of his two previous victims were there. He sniffed at these until his mouth watered and his mind was filled with nothing but the urge to taste the blood of a squirrel. He ran up the trunk of an aspen tree and started his search.
Blood picked up the recent squirrel-signs in Beech Valley. There were newly gnawed cones under the pine trees, fresh scratch-marks on the beech trunks and the tantalising smell was everywhere.
The pickets, though, had seen him coming and quickly spread the word. The females, the youngsters and the older squirrels had hurried off towards Woodstock Bay, whilst the fit males had watched Blood’s movements from a safe distance. Soon they put their plans into operation. One, Just Poplar, showed himself and tempted Blood to follow as he led him from tree to tree and up the valley, keeping just far enough ahead of the pine marten to be safe, but near enough to keep Blood bounding through the branches at his fastest rate. Just Poplar knew that neither of them could keep up this pace and this knowledge was part of the plan.
When he tired, he slipped behind a tree-trunk and the role of ‘tempter’ was taken over by one of the ex-zervantz, Maple, previously called Maggot.
Maple was strong, fit and fresh, and set a merry pace to keep the marten from realising that he had been duped. The plan was progressing well, the chase curving round and back towards the church. Even the last leap had been judge to perfection. Maple sailed over the gap between two trees that he had estimated was too wide for the heavier marten.
Blood, angry and breathing hard, glared after the departing high-tailed squirrel, gave up the chase, came down the trunk, went into the church and slaughtered a peahen. It was tame stuff, this, the stupid bird putting up little resistance as his teeth bit deeply through the feathers of her neck, the squawk of protest cut off in mid-call.
He
‘Come on, my lovely,’ he said, the words meaningless to Tansy. ‘I’ve brought you some special food.’
In his hand was a paper bag containing a variety of Christmas nuts bought from a stall in Wareham market. He opened the cage door slightly and tossed in a handful, then closed it quickly. Tansy hid her head under her paws until he had gone out of the stable, leaving her once again in the cold darkness.
The nuts smelt strange and foreign. She felt for them in the sawdust of the cage floor and was puzzled by the waxy feel of the shells. The hazelnuts she knew, and the walnuts, but the strange three-cornered ones were new to her. She gnawed at the end of one until she could taste the oily kernel inside. She ate only a little of it then opened a walnut, the flavour immediately bringing back memories of the celebration of the passing of the Longest Night, and the feasting the squirrels enjoyed when they knew the Sun would soon return with the warmth of spring.
Her spirits lifted by the man’s gift, she tried every side of the cage for a way out, then crouched in a corner and recited to herself the Kernel for Encouragement –
‘When all is darkness
Squirrels need not fear for long,
The Sun will come soon.’
She searched again for a way to escape.
Blood was getting restless. He had finished eating the peahen that he had most recently killed in the church, had played with the feathers, slept for a full day and night and had then awakened with the squirrel-lust on him. He came down the bell-rope, passed the rows of dozing birds on the pew-backs and padded out into a grey winter day. He sprang up on to the gravestone of an earlier, human, inhabitant of the island and peered about, sniffing. The air was clear of squirrel-scent, so he made off towards the leaf-pile in the swamp. All hunters hope to find new quarry where they have successfully killed before.
Only the tails of his two previous victims were there. He sniffed at these until his mouth watered and his mind was filled with nothing but the urge to taste the blood of a squirrel. He ran up the trunk of an aspen tree and started his search.
Blood picked up the recent squirrel-signs in Beech Valley. There were newly gnawed cones under the pine trees, fresh scratch-marks on the beech trunks and the tantalising smell was everywhere.
The pickets, though, had seen him coming and quickly spread the word. The females, the youngsters and the older squirrels had hurried off towards Woodstock Bay, whilst the fit males had watched Blood’s movements from a safe distance. Soon they put their plans into operation. One, Just Poplar, showed himself and tempted Blood to follow as he led him from tree to tree and up the valley, keeping just far enough ahead of the pine marten to be safe, but near enough to keep Blood bounding through the branches at his fastest rate. Just Poplar knew that neither of them could keep up this pace and this knowledge was part of the plan.
When he tired, he slipped behind a tree-trunk and the role of ‘tempter’ was taken over by one of the ex-zervantz, Maple, previously called Maggot.
Maple was strong, fit and fresh, and set a merry pace to keep the marten from realising that he had been duped. The plan was progressing well, the chase curving round and back towards the church. Even the last leap had been judge to perfection. Maple sailed over the gap between two trees that he had estimated was too wide for the heavier marten.
Blood, angry and breathing hard, glared after the departing high-tailed squirrel, gave up the chase, came down the trunk, went into the church and slaughtered a peahen. It was tame stuff, this, the stupid bird putting up little resistance as his teeth bit deeply through the feathers of her neck, the squawk of protest cut off in mid-call.
He
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