“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.
