'You'd better stay where you are,' said Hazel at length. 'If you try to interfere with us it will be the worse for you. Silver and Blackberry, take the does and go on. The rest of us will join you.'
'Hazel-rah,' whispered Blackavar, 'the patrol must be killed - all of them. They mustn't report back to the General.'
This had also occurred to Hazel. But as he thought of the dreadful fight and the four Efrafans actually torn to pieces - for that was what it would mean - he could not find it in his heart to do it. Like Bigwig, he felt a reluctant liking for Campion. Besides, it would take some doing. Quite probably some of his own rabbits would be killed - certainly wounded. They would not reach the Honeycomb that night and they would leave a fresh blood trail wherever they went. Apart from his dislike of the whole idea, there were disadvantages that might be fatal.
'No, we'll let them alone,' he replied firmly.
Blackavar was silent and they sat watching Campion as the last of the does disappeared through the bushes.
'Now,' said Hazel, 'take your patrol and go the same way that you saw us come. Don't speak - go.'
Campion and the patrol made off downhill and Hazel, relieved to be rid of them so easily, hurried after Silver, with the others close behind.
Once through the Belt they made excellent progress. After the rest of a day and a half the does were in good shape. The promise of an end to the journey that night and the thought that they had escaped both the fox and the patrol made them eager and responsive. The only cause of delay was Blackavar, who seemed uneasy and kept hanging about in the rear. At last, in the late afternoon, Hazel sent for him and told him to go ahead, on the line of the path they were following, and look out for the long strip of the beech hanger in the dip on the morning side. Blackavar had not been gone very long before he came racing back.
'Hazel-rah, I've been quite close to that wood you spoke of,' he said, 'and there are two rabbits playing about on a patch of short grass just outside it.'
'I'll come and see,' said Hazel. 'Dandelion, you come too, will you?'
As they ran down the hill to the right of the track, Hazel fairly skipped to recognize the beech hanger. He noticed one or two yellow leaves and a faint touch of bronze here and there in the green boughs. Then he caught sight of Buckthorn and Strawberry running towards them across the grass.
'Hazel-rah!' cried Buckthorn. 'Dandelion! What happened? Where are the others? Did you get any does? Is everyone all right?'
'They'll be here very soon,' said Hazel. 'Yes, we've got a lot of does and everyone who went has come back. This is Blackavar, who's come out of Efrafa.'
'Good for him,' said Strawberry. 'Oh, Hazel-rah, we've watched at the end of the wood every evening since you went. Holly and Boxwood are all right - they're back at the warren: and what do you think? Clover's going to kindle. That's fine, isn't it?'
'Splendid,' said Hazel. 'She'll be the first. My goodness, we've had a time, I can tell you. And so I will - what a story! - but it must wait a bit. Come on - let's go and bring the others in.'
By sunset the whole party - twenty rabbits all told - had made their way up the length of the beech hanger and reached the warren. They fed among the dew and the long shadows, with twilight already fallen in the fields below. Then they crowded down into the Honeycomb to hear Hazel and Bigwig tell the story of their adventures to those who had waited so eagerly and so long to hear it.
As the last rabbits disappeared underground the Wide Patrol, which had followed them from Caesar's Belt with superlative skill and discipline, veered away in a half-circle to the east and then turned for Efrafa. Campion was expert at finding a night's refuge in the open. He planned to rest until dawn and then cover the three miles back by evening of the following day.
41. The Story of Rowsby Woof and the Fairy Wogdog
Be not merciful unto them that offend of malicious wickedness. They grin like a dog and run about through the city. But thou, O Lord, shalt have them in derision. Thou shalt laugh all the heathen to scorn.
Psalm 59
Now came the dog days - day after day of hot, still summer, when for hours at a time light seemed the only thing that moved; the sky - sun, clouds and breeze - awake above the drowsing downs. The beech leaves grew darker on the boughs and fresh grass grew where the old had been nibbled close. The warren was thriving at last and Hazel could sit basking on the bank and count their blessings. Above and under ground, the rabbits fell naturally into a quiet, undisturbed rhythm of feeding, digging and sleeping. Several fresh runs and burrows were made. The does, who had never dug in their lives before, enjoyed the work. Both Hyzenthlay and Thethuthinnang told Hazel that they had had no idea how much of their frustration and unhappiness in Efrafa had been due simply to not being allowed to dig. Even Clover and Haystack found that they could manage pretty well and boasted that they would bear the warren's first litters in burrows that they had dug for themselves. Blackavar and Holly became close friends. They talked a great deal about their different ideas of scouting and tracking, and made some patrols together, more for their own satisfaction than because there was any real need. One early morning they persuaded Silver to come with them and travelled over a mile to the outskirts of Kingsclere, returning with a tale of mischief and feasting in a cottage garden. Blackavar's hearing had weakened since the mutilation of his ears: but Holly found that his power of noticing and drawing conclusions from anything unusual was almost uncanny and that he seemed to be able to become invisible at will.
Sixteen bucks and ten does made a happy enough society for a warren. There was some bickering here and there, but nothing serious. As Bluebell said, any rabbits who felt discontented could always go back to Efrafa: and the thought of all that they had faced together was enough to take the sting out of anything that might have made a real quarrel. The contentment of the does spread to everyone else, until one evening Hazel remarked that he felt a perfect fraud as Chief Rabbit, for there were no problems and hardly a dispute to be settled.
'Have you thought about the winter yet?' asked Holly.
Four or five of the bucks, with Clover, Hyzenthlay and Vilthuril, were feeding along the sunny west side of the hanger about an hour before sunset. It was still hot and the down was so quiet that they could hear the horses tearing the grass in the paddock of Cannon Heath Farm, more than half a mile away. It certainly did not seem a time to think of winter.
'It'll probably be colder up here than any of us have been used to,' said Hazel. 'But the soil's so light and the roots break it up so much that we can dig a lot deeper before the cold weather comes. I think we ought to be able to get below the frost. As for the wind, we can block some of the holes and sleep warm. Grass is poor in winter, I know: but anyone who wants a change can always go out with Holly here and try his luck at pinching some green-stuff or cattle-roots. It's a time of year to be careful of the elil, though. Myself, I shall be quite happy to sleep underground, play bob-stones and hear a few stories from time to time.'
'What about a story now?' said Bluebell. 'Come on, Dandelion. "How I nearly missed the boat." What about that?'
'Oh, you mean "Woundwort Dismayed," ' said Dandelion. 'That's Bigwig's story - I wouldn't presume to tell it. But it makes a change to be thinking about winter on an evening like this. It reminds me of a story I've listened to but never tried to tell myself. So some of you may know it and perhaps some won't. It's the story of Rowsby Woof and the Fairy Wogdog.'
'Off you go,' said Fiver, 'and lay it on thick.'
'There was a big rabbit,' said Dandelion. 'There was a small rabbit. There was El-ahrairah; and he had the frost in his fine new whiskers. The earth up and down the runs of the warren was so hard that you could cut your paws on it and the robins answered each other across the bare, still copses, "This is my bit here. You go and starve in your own."
'One evening, when Frith was sinking huge and red in a green sky, El-ahrairah and Rabscuttle limped trembling through the frozen grass, picking a bite here and there to carry them on for another long night underground. The grass was as brittle and tasteless as hay and although they were hungry, they had been making the best of the miserable stuff so long that it was as much as they could do to get it down. At last Rabscuttle suggested that they might take a risk for once in a way and slip across the fields to the edge of the village, where there was a big vegetable garden.