to see another animal running after him.
‘It’s a fox,’ whispered Owl.
‘And I know which one,’ Fox answered grimly.
‘Well, Hare’s in no danger, anyway,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘There’s no catching him.’
‘Not if he runs in a straight line,’ said Fox. ‘But he’s veering all over the place. In this mood, as you say, he’s quite unaware of anything. He’s just as capable of running himself into that creature’s jaws as anything else.’
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do,’ said Tawny Owl with a shrug, ‘if he won’t see or hear us.’
But Fox’s fears proved to be groundless, for Hare hadevidently decided to finish capering for the time. He saw the alien fox as he stopped and lay down at a distance. Then he was up and bounding away at his matchless speed to complete safety.
Fox heaved a sigh of relief as Scarface, his enemy, consoled himself by lapping from a puddle in a hollow in the ground. His eyes looked straight ahead as he drank and, presently, he spotted his adversaries. With a muffled growl and a glare he slunk aside, eventually breaking into a slow trot.
‘A nasty piece of animal flesh if ever I saw one,’ remarked Tawny Owl. ‘There’ll be no hope of taking our ease as long as he’s loose in the Park.’
‘H’m. I’m afraid his occupation here is likely to be a lengthy one,’ mused Fox. ‘As he’s told us, he’d been here a long time before we arrived. The Park is his home and must remain so, despite our wishes.’
‘He must be of a great age?’ wondered Owl.
‘Who can say? But a hardier, tougher creature you’d find it difficult to meet. If there were any weakness in him from old age, he couldn’t have survived that last terrible winter.’
‘Pity!’ ejaculated Tawny Owl. ‘I know I’m pessimistic, but I’ve got the feeling that that character won’t rest until he’s done us some real harm.’
Fox looked at him sadly. ‘You seem to forget, Owl,’ he said quietly, without a hint of bitterness, ‘that Scarface has already done that as far as Vixen and myself are concerned.’
‘Oh! No, I . . .’ stammered the bird, who had momentarily forgotten. ‘I – I – didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry, Fox,’ he finished weakly.
‘It’s all right,’ said his friend. ‘Even we try not to think too much about her.’
The wind continued to howl horribly through the tree-tops.Weasel and Badger were the next to brave the elements, unable to rest. They came, complaining, up to the other two.
‘I’m surprised you notice anything,’ Tawny Owl said to Weasel. ‘You’re so slight and close to the ground.’
‘Obviously, then, it hasn’t occurred to you, that the frailer the body, the greater the damage,’ Weasel answered sourly.
‘Well, there are a lot of bad tempers being aired today,’ said Fox.
‘Wind creates bad temper,’ said Weasel. ‘A breeze is one thing, but this . . .’
He broke off as, just discernible through the wind’s roar, the steady whistling beat of their friend the heron’s wing could be detected. Presently his long body and thin trailing legs were seen approaching. He alighted and bowed to them in his old-world manner. ‘A wild sort of day,’ he commented.
‘Very pleasant to see you about,’ smiled Fox, as Whistler carefully arranged his one sound and one bullet-scarred wing across his back.
‘I am glad to have seen you so soon,’ the heron replied. ‘I’ve been looking for you. I’ve just seen the scarred fox on the prowl and, from the look of him, he’s up to no good.’
‘He never is,’ said Weasel. ‘That’s nothing new.’
‘He was here,’ Fox told them. ‘Stalking Hare – quite uselessly, as it turned out. But thanks for coming anyway, Whistler.’
‘He had an air about him,’ said Whistler. ‘An air of – er – how should I describe it? I think the word “wickedness” would suit as well as any other.’
‘I believe you are right about that,’ Tawny Owl agreed. ‘That was the same
‘It’s a fox,’ whispered Owl.
‘And I know which one,’ Fox answered grimly.
‘Well, Hare’s in no danger, anyway,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘There’s no catching him.’
‘Not if he runs in a straight line,’ said Fox. ‘But he’s veering all over the place. In this mood, as you say, he’s quite unaware of anything. He’s just as capable of running himself into that creature’s jaws as anything else.’
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do,’ said Tawny Owl with a shrug, ‘if he won’t see or hear us.’
But Fox’s fears proved to be groundless, for Hare hadevidently decided to finish capering for the time. He saw the alien fox as he stopped and lay down at a distance. Then he was up and bounding away at his matchless speed to complete safety.
Fox heaved a sigh of relief as Scarface, his enemy, consoled himself by lapping from a puddle in a hollow in the ground. His eyes looked straight ahead as he drank and, presently, he spotted his adversaries. With a muffled growl and a glare he slunk aside, eventually breaking into a slow trot.
‘A nasty piece of animal flesh if ever I saw one,’ remarked Tawny Owl. ‘There’ll be no hope of taking our ease as long as he’s loose in the Park.’
‘H’m. I’m afraid his occupation here is likely to be a lengthy one,’ mused Fox. ‘As he’s told us, he’d been here a long time before we arrived. The Park is his home and must remain so, despite our wishes.’
‘He must be of a great age?’ wondered Owl.
‘Who can say? But a hardier, tougher creature you’d find it difficult to meet. If there were any weakness in him from old age, he couldn’t have survived that last terrible winter.’
‘Pity!’ ejaculated Tawny Owl. ‘I know I’m pessimistic, but I’ve got the feeling that that character won’t rest until he’s done us some real harm.’
Fox looked at him sadly. ‘You seem to forget, Owl,’ he said quietly, without a hint of bitterness, ‘that Scarface has already done that as far as Vixen and myself are concerned.’
‘Oh! No, I . . .’ stammered the bird, who had momentarily forgotten. ‘I – I – didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry, Fox,’ he finished weakly.
‘It’s all right,’ said his friend. ‘Even we try not to think too much about her.’
The wind continued to howl horribly through the tree-tops.Weasel and Badger were the next to brave the elements, unable to rest. They came, complaining, up to the other two.
‘I’m surprised you notice anything,’ Tawny Owl said to Weasel. ‘You’re so slight and close to the ground.’
‘Obviously, then, it hasn’t occurred to you, that the frailer the body, the greater the damage,’ Weasel answered sourly.
‘Well, there are a lot of bad tempers being aired today,’ said Fox.
‘Wind creates bad temper,’ said Weasel. ‘A breeze is one thing, but this . . .’
He broke off as, just discernible through the wind’s roar, the steady whistling beat of their friend the heron’s wing could be detected. Presently his long body and thin trailing legs were seen approaching. He alighted and bowed to them in his old-world manner. ‘A wild sort of day,’ he commented.
‘Very pleasant to see you about,’ smiled Fox, as Whistler carefully arranged his one sound and one bullet-scarred wing across his back.
‘I am glad to have seen you so soon,’ the heron replied. ‘I’ve been looking for you. I’ve just seen the scarred fox on the prowl and, from the look of him, he’s up to no good.’
‘He never is,’ said Weasel. ‘That’s nothing new.’
‘He was here,’ Fox told them. ‘Stalking Hare – quite uselessly, as it turned out. But thanks for coming anyway, Whistler.’
‘He had an air about him,’ said Whistler. ‘An air of – er – how should I describe it? I think the word “wickedness” would suit as well as any other.’
‘I believe you are right about that,’ Tawny Owl agreed. ‘That was the same
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