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the strawberry patch where every August sleepy baby creatures could be seen, their stomachs full after eating the pick of the crop.
It was then that Constance did something that creatures would speak of in years to come. Exerting the full strength of a female badger, she lifted the massive Cavern Hole dining table. It was a huge solid oaken thing that no dozen mice could even move.
“Oi I think we can get yon ’edgepig back, sur. You’m get us outen the gate and stan’ watch.”
discussing tunnel width, coupled with reverse prickle drag, forward traction and all the other specialist details that are routine to the average qualified tunnel-mole.
Now and again there would be barely stifled giggles as they watched the performance of Silent Sam. He stood behind Basil, pantomiming the hare’s every movement, puffing up his tiny chest and strutting about importantly.
Whatever Jess was planning had Sam’s complete approval, simply because his mother could do no wrong as far as he was concerned.
“War wound,” Basil muttered as he demolished a plateful of quince and elderberry pie. “Got to keep the old strength up, y’know. Lashings of nourishment; only way to heal an honorable injury. Feed it, what, what!” Silent Sam hopped upon the table. He showed Basil a tiny scratch on his unsucked paw. The kindly hare inspected it gravely. “Egad, looks like another serious war wound! Better sit here by me, little warrior. Feed it well, that’s the ticket.” They both tucked in voraciously.
by the fierce scowl on Foremole’s face, she was certain that the rats would not find it a pleasant experience being given “owd ’arry.”
Last night’s heroine. This morning’s cook!
“Who knows, my friend? Maybe the sword does possess some magic. Personally, I think it’s the warrior who wields it.”
“Leave her alone, you cowards!” Mr. Squirrel shouted as he struggled to hold back Silent Sam. “You’re very brave in a gang, but you wouldn’t face my Jess if her paws were free, you scum, not if there were twice as many of you!”
“Good grief, shouldn’t think a blaggard like you ever had a mother,” Basil sniffed disdainfully.
Down below, Ambrose Spike was rolling about like a whirling ball of needles. Silent Sam acted as his eyes, propelling him into each fresh bunch of rats with a long stick.
Only yesterday the young one known as Silent Sam was heard to speak. He was heard conversing with the son of Matthias and Cornflower. The young squirrel suddenly began to relate the saga of the Late Rose Summer Wars to the baby mouse. I fear that we will not be able to stop him from talking, or his parents from laughing with delight. The son of our warrior is a strong chubby little fellow. Everyone calls him Mattimeo because ‘Matthias Methuselah Mortimer’ is too big a mouthful, but that was what his parents wished his name to be.
The Guerilla Shrews are out collecting honey from the bee folk; they have struck up a great friendship with the bees, even learning their language so that they can argue with them.
