When it came to fighting, Woundwort was not given to careful calculation. Men, and larger animals such as wolves, usually have an idea of their own numbers and those of the enemy and this affects their readiness to fight and how they go about it. Woundwort had never had any need to think like this. What he had learned from all his experience of fighting was that nearly always there are those who want to fight and those who do not but feel they cannot avoid it. More than once he had fought alone and imposed his will on crowds of other rabbits. He held down a great warren with the help of a handful of devoted officers. It did not occur to him now - and if it had, he would not have thought it mattered - that most of his rabbits were still outside; that those who were with him were fewer than those on the other side of the wall and that until Groundsel had got the runs open they could not get out even if they wanted to. This sort of thing does not count among fighting rabbits. Ferocity and aggression are everything. What Woundwort knew was that those beyond the wall were afraid of him and that on this account he had the advantage.
'Groundsel,' he said, 'as soon as you've got those runs open, tell Campion to send everyone down here. The rest of you, follow me. We'll have this business finished by the time the others get in to join us.'
Woundwort waited only for Groundsel to bring back the two rabbits who had been sent to search among the tree roots at the north end of the burrow. Then, with Vervain behind him, he climbed the pile of fallen earth and thrust his way into the narrow run. In the dark he could hear and smell the rustling and crowding of rabbits - both bucks and does - ahead of him. There were two bucks directly in his path but they fell back as he ploughed through the loose soil. He plunged forward and felt the ground suddenly turn beneath him. The next moment a rabbit started up from the earth at his feet and sank his teeth in the pit of his near foreleg, just where it joined the body.
Woundwort had won almost every fight of his life by using his weight. Other rabbits could not stop him and once they went down they seldom got up. He tried to push now, but his back legs could get no purchase in the pile of loose, yielding soil behind him. He reared up, and as he did so realized that the enemy beneath him was crouching in a scooped-out trench the size of his own body. He struck out and felt his claws score deeply along the back and haunch. Then the other rabbit, still keeping his grip under Woundwort's shoulder, thrust upwards with his hind legs braced against the floor of the trench. Woundwort, with both forefeet off the ground, was thrown over on his back on the earth pile. He lashed out, but the enemy had already loosed his hold and was beyond his reach.
Woundwort stood up. He could feel the blood running down the inside of his near foreleg. The muscle was wounded. He could not put his full weight on it. But his own claws, too, were bloody and this blood was not his.
'Are you all right, sir?' asked Vervain, behind him.
'Of course I'm all right, you f
ool,' said Woundwort. 'Follow me close.'
The other rabbit spoke from in front of him.
'You told me once to start by impressing you, General. I hope I have.'
'I told you once that I would kill you myself,' replied Woundwort. 'There is no white bird here, Thlayli.' He advanced for the second time.
Bigwig's taunt had been deliberate. He hoped that Woundwort would fly at him and so give him a chance to bite him again. But as he waited, pressed to the ground, he realized that Woundwort was too clever to be drawn. Always quick to size up any new situation, he was coming forward slowly, keeping close to the ground himself. He meant to use his claws. Afraid, listening to Woundwort's approach, Bigwig could hear the uneven movement of his forepaws, almost within striking distance. Instinctively he drew back and as he did so the thought came with the sound. 'The near forepaw's dragging. He can't use it properly.' Leaving his right flank exposed, he struck out on his near side.
His claws found Woundwort's leg, ripping sideways; but before he could draw back, Woundwort's whole weight came down on him and the next moment his teeth had met in his right ear. Bigwig squealed, pressed down and thrashing from side to side. Woundwort, feeling his enemy's fear and helplessness, loosed his hold of the ear and rose above him, ready to bite and tear him across the back of the neck. For an instant he stood above the helpless Bigwig, his shoulders filling the run. Then his injured foreleg gave way and he lurched sideways against the wall. Bigwig cuffed him twice across the face and felt the third blow pass through his whiskers as he sprang back. The sound of his heavy breathing came plainly from the top of the earth pile. Bigwig, the blood oozing from his back and ear, stood his ground and waited. Suddenly he realized that he could see the dark shape of General Woundwort faintly outlined, where he crouched above him. The first traces of daylight were glimmering through the broken roof of the Honeycomb behind.
47. The Sky Suspended
Ole bull he comes for me, wi's head down. But I didn't flinch ... I went for 'e. 'Twas him as did th' flinchin'.
Flora Thompson Lark Rise
When Hazel stamped, Dandelion leapt instinctively from the grass verge. If there had been a hole he would have made for it. For the briefest instant he looked up and down the gravel. Then the dog was rushing upon him and he turned and made for the raised barn. But before he reached it he realized that he must not take refuge under the floor. If he did the dog would check: very likely a man would call it back. He had to get it out of the farmyard and down to the road. He altered direction and raced up the lane towards the elms.
He had not expected the dog to be so close behind him. He could hear its breath and the loose gravel flying under its paws.
'It's too fast for me!' he thought. 'It's going to catch me!' In another moment it would be on him and then it would roll him over, snapping his back and biting out his life. He knew that hares, when overtaken, dodge by turning more quickly and neatly than the pursuing dog and doubling back on their track. 'I shall have to double,' he thought desperately. 'But if I do it will hunt me up and down the lane and the man will call it off, or else I shall have to lose it by going through the hedge: then the whole plan will fail.'
He tore over the crest and down towards the cattle-shed. When Hazel had told him what he was to do it had seemed to him that his task would consist of leading the dog on and persuading it to follow him. Now he was running simply to save his life, and that at a speed he had never touched before, a speed he knew he could not keep up.
In actual fact Dandelion covered three hundred yards to the cattle-shed in a good deal less than half a minute. But as he reached the straw at the entrance it seemed to him that he had run for ever. Hazel and the farmyard were long, long ago. He had never done anything in his life but run in terror down the the lane, feeling the dog's breath at his haunches. Inside the gate a big rat ran across in front of him and the dog checked at it for a moment. Dandelion gained the nearest shed and went headlong between two bales of straw at the foot of a pile. It was a narrow place and he turned round only with some difficulty. The dog was immediately outside, scratching eagerly, whining and throwing up loose straw as it sniffed along the foot of the bales.
'Sit tight,' said a young rat, from the straw close beside him. 'It'll be off in a minute. They're not like cats, you know.'
'That's the trouble,' said Dandelion, panting and rolling the whites of his eyes. 'It mustn't lose me; and time's everything.'
'What?' said the rat, puzzled. 'What you say?'
Without answering, Dandelion slipped along to another crack, gathered himself a moment and then broke cover, running across the yard to the opposite shed. It was open-fronted and he went straight through to the boarding along the back. There was a gap under the broken end of a board and here he crept into the field beyond. The dog, following, thrust its head into the gap and pushed, barking with excitement. Gradually the loose board levered open like a trap-door until it was able to force its way through.
Now that he had a better start, Dandelion kept in the open and ran down the field to the hedge beside the road. He knew he was slower but the dog seemed slower too. Choosing a thick part, he went through the hedge and crossed the road. Blackberry came to meet him, scuttering down the further bank. Dandelion dropped exhausted in the ditch. The dog was not twenty feet away on the other side of the hedge. It could not find a big enough gap.
'It's faster than ever I thought,' gasped Dandelion, 'but I've taken the edge off it. I can't do any more. I must go to ground. I'm finished.'
It was plain that Blackberry was frightened.
'Frith help me!' he whispered. 'I'll never do it!'
'Go on, quick,' said Dandelion, 'before it loses interest. I'll overtake you and help if I can.'