Let's see...yes, I did keep a journal of my travels, I think I have it here...Ah, yes. Windsong Farrunner. What a pleasure it was to meet her...
�a young female hare with honey-brown fur looked up as I approached. Her tunic was sky blue, the same shade as her dancing eyes. "'ello, ol' chap!" she said brightly. "I'm Windsong Farrunner; pleased ta make yer 'quaintance, an' all that rot. D'you want to meet some of my friends? Jolly! Asobloomin'lutly top hole, wot? Come along this way then�" she continued, leading me along the stream, until it widened and split around a small island. "That's Marooner's Rock," Windsong said, "it's ours. And this," she said, pulling me towards a massive tree, " is our house." I looked around; there was no house to be seen. I glanced at Windsong to find her laughing and shaking her head. "You have to look UP," she told me, and tilted my chin back. Up there, in the trees, was a network of rope bridges that link platforms of different sizes; some higher up than others, some enclosed, and an especially large enclosed one just above me. Windsong laughed at my astonishment, and called up to the tree house. "Rosie! Rosie luv, drop tha bally ol' ladder, we've got comp'ny!" Down tumbled a rope ladder, bringing with it a fast moving streak of red fur in a green tunic, which turned into a squirrel dibbun who threw herself into Windsong's arms.
"Mummy!" she shrieked, "mummy, Auntie Star said she's gonna put me inna pot an' cook me fer dinner!"
Windsong grinned. "This is me 'dopted daughter, Firrose. Say hello, Rosie."
"Hello!" the dibbun cried, pouncing on me. "I'sa Rosie! Who's you? Wot's yer name? Where you from? Would you eatses a dibbuns squirrel fer dinners?" Before I could answer any of the barrage of questions a laughing hare face appeared over the edge of the tree platform.
"Star!" Windsong called up, "wot's this I hear 'bout you eaten my Rosie fer dinner? 'aven't ye got enough tuck up there wit' out addin' baby squirrels ta the mix?" The hare above grinned widely.
"Plen'y o' tuck all right, an' far t'many naughty dibbuns. I was jus' tellin' Rosie 'bought how I once put a dibbun mole in a pot an' stewed 'im up fer bein' smart wit' me. Tasted mighty good too, so I guess a squirrel's gotta be even better." Rosie shrieked and hid behind me.
"I's thin an' skinny!" she yelled around my leg. "I being tougher 'n a log, dat I is." Windsong laughed, and gestured me to follow her up the ladder to the platform. The room I stepped into was clean, if rather cluttered; one wall was taken up with a bookshelf, which was quite full, and more shelves encircled the tree trunk in the middle. A huge, overstuffed chair with a sleeping badger babe in it was tucked into a corner beside a largish window that had shutters, which were thrown wide open. Two rugs partially covered the floor, and papers were scattered over a small table on wheels, which had been shoved into a corner opposite the chair.
"This ugly mug," Windsong said, pointing to the other hare-who was bending to scoop up the badger dibbun- "is Stargazer Swiftpaw, more commonly known as Star, and her 'dopted son, Luke." I only managed a quick introduction because Rosie was dragging me through the room to a door on the opposite side, Windsong and Star following after . We crossed a swaying rope bridge - which was mercifully short - to an open air platform suspended between two trees, to make space for a brazier of glowing coals. Over it was hung a pot which gave off a delicious smell. Another hare was bending over it, and straightened as we came up. "The chubby one," she pointed to the hare by the pot, "is Echo Gladerunner, the only one out of the lot of us who can cook a decent meal." I introduced myself, shook paws all around, and was swept across another bridge -thankfully not a rope one- by Rosie into an enclosed platform that contained a clean-but-worn table and several mismatched chairs. Star got plates, bowls, and cups from a cupboard against the wall and I helped her and Luke (who was now fully awake) set the table as Windsong and Echo brought the pot in between them. Rosie carried in a tray of bread twists, and then we all sat down for Echo's grace before getting down to business. Thick stew-"ol' otter recipe, matey!" Echo told me-and wood salad, followed by blueberry and apple pies with meadow cream spooned over the top-"Echo's specialty," Star informed me. After none of us-not even the hares-could eat another bite, Rosie begged for a song. Echo and Star sang a nonsense song that sent the rest of us tumbling to the floor, rolling with laughter. Then Windsong was persuaded to belt out a sea chanty, Rosie and Luke joining in on the chorus, to more hilarity. The two dibbuns sang a sung they had apparently made up themselves, and then the three hares sang an old, mellow song of the Long Patrol, in parts, blending perfectly. I was then coerced into singing a riddle song that stumped everyone but Rosie, before I was escorted to yet another enclosed platform and ensconced in a hammock, to doze off listening to the wind in the leaves, and Windsong singing a lullaby to the night. |
