The sun was at its zenith in the woodlands. Young bees droned fuzzily around the flowers in anticipation of their first summer. A venerable oak of massive girth and height towered above the surrounding trees. Beneath its spring foliage of small green leaves and below its aged trunk was Brockhall, the ancestral home of badgers. The solid, intricate root structure of the oak provided ceiling beams, wall columns, shelves and in some places flooring for the beautiful old dwelling. A door was set between the fork of two roots at ground level. From there a long passage ran downward with rooms leading off it—Bella’s private study, small sitting rooms, a nursery and small infirmary. At the other end the passage opened out into the main hall. This was large and well-appointed, with a hearth, fireplace, full dining board and small seated alcoves around its walls. Several doors led off the main hall; to the left was the master bedroom and dormitories, while off to the right was the larder, kitchens and storerooms, behind which lay the bolt hole or escape door, constructed with typical woodland common sense.

Brockhall had been built by badgers in the dim past, and they had taken great pains that everything should be just the way woodland badgers like it to be. Great care and the skill of many craftbeasts had provided every conceivable comfort in the underground mansion; there were elaborate wall torches and beautifully carved furniture (again, much of this cut into the living root to blend with the surroundings). The walls were lined with fawn-and pink-colored clay, baked to give it a fine rustic atmosphere. Here and there throughout the chambers were large overstuffed armchairs of the type badgers prefer, each with a fuzzy old velveteen pawstool, often used by young ones in preference to the small polished maple chairs made specially for them. Overall it was an admirable country seat which could easily accommodate the entire Corim membership.

All the woodlanders were gathered to meet the mice who had journeyed from Loamhedge; it was an occasion for feasting. The Council of Resistance in Mossflower leaders sat in the main hall, infants were taken to the nursery, and friends went to help with the cooking and preparation of food in Bella’s much admired kitchen. Though the badger was not short of provisions, she always welcomed the addition of otter, squirrel and mole food. All had arrived well burdened. Bella liked tasting other dishes, after cooking for herself all the time.

Gonff introduced her to Martin. She greeted him warmly.

“Martin, welcome, friend. We have heard of you already from Ben Stickle. I believe you gave a Kotir patrol a taste of your warrior skills single-pawed, before they managed to capture you. We shall be grateful if you would share your talents with us in the times that lie ahead. Tell me, did you come from the northlands?”

Martin nodded as he shook Bella’s big paw. The badger smiled knowingly. “Ah, I thought so. You probably cut your eyeteeth on rats and foxes. I’ve heard all about the warrior mice from up north. Come and meet some friends of mine from the south.”

Bella took them to the kitchen, where they were introduced to Abbess Germaine, who was presiding over the preparations. From there Gonff took Martin to be introduced to Ben and Goody Stickle.

The two hedgehogs were overjoyed to see Gonff back safe. They patted him furiously on the head, as their spines prevented them hugging anyone other than fellow hedgehogs.

Goody patted and scolded Gonff at the same time. “Oh, my goodness, thank mice you’re back, you liddle rip. Don’t go ever gettin’ yourself locked up like that again. Me ’n’ Ben was plain worried for you, Gonff.”

Ben was patting Martin’s head enthusiastically. “Heed what Goody tells you, Gonff. ’Tis for your own good. Be more like young Martin here—only get yourself caught when there’s nought else for it.”

Goody nodded in agreement, trying to look severe, but Gonff caught her by the paws and danced her about.

“Get on with you, you thievin’ liddle fibber!” Goody shooed Gonff off, wiping her eyes on her old flowery apron.

Gonff flung a paw across Martin’s shoulder. As they strolled away smiling. Ben sniffed loudly. “Can’t fail to like that little rogue, some’ow.”

“Silence, woodlanders, please.” Bella called out, “Could you all find a seat? The food will be served after the talking has been done.”

The hall was full, creatures occupying seats, shelves, hearth and floor. Skipper banged his tail. The hubbub subsided, and he nodded for Bella to continue.

“Thank you. Welcome, one and all. As you can see, there are many new friends in our midst, not the least of whom is Martin the Warrior. He and Gonff recently escaped from Kotir prison in a very brave and daring manner.”

Heads turned to look at Martin. There were winks, nods and pawshakes.

“Also I have great pleasure in introducing some mice that you may not know of yet,” Bella continued, “Abbess Germaine with her Brothers and Sisters of Loamhedge. I am sure the Abbess would like to say a word.”

There was general applause as the old mouse stood up.

“My mice and I wish to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for allowing us to settle in your beautiful Mossflower country. We are a peaceful order of builders and healers; in our own tradition we are wise in the ways of mother nature. Please feel free to come to us with your families, the sick, injured, or just fretful little ones. We will do all we can to help. The only price we ask is the gift of your friendship. Perhaps one day when this land is free of the tyranny which shadows it, we can work together to raise a mighty building, giving settlement and security to all who wish to dwell peacefully within its walls.”

The Abbess sat down amid loud cheering and many offers of help from decent, hardworking family creatures. Order was nearly restored when a young squirrel voice piped up, “Caw, is that roast chestnut with cream and honey I can smell?”

“Indeed it is, made to an old Loamhedge recipe, too.” Abbess Germaine called back, “Is the talking finished, Bella?”

“It certainly is, Abbess. I haven’t had Loamhedge roasted chestnuts in many a season. Stay where you are, everyone. The food is ready.”

Suddenly a fat dormouse leaped up with a squeak of fright. “Ooh, the floor’s moving!”

“Don’t be afeared, matey,” Skipper laughed. “That’ll be Foremole arrivin.” He’s smelled the vittles, too.”

Willing paws united to lift a floorstone. There was a moment’s silence, the earth trembled slightly, then a huge pair of paws with powerful digging claws broke through. Seconds later they were followed by a dark velvety head with tiny bright black eyes, a moist snout, and a gruff whiskery mouth.

“Boy urr, a mornin’ to ’ee, do be sorry bouten tunnel. Cooken smells roight noice.” Foremole popped out like a black furry cannonball, followed by a score and a half of grinning moles. Like their leader they all spoke in heavy rural molespeech.

“Ho urr, ’lo Bella stroip’ead.”

“Yurr, be that chesknutters oi smell?”

“Hoo arr, oi gets powerful ’ungered a-tunellen.”

“Harr, morrow to ’ee, Skip. ’Ow do ’ee do.”

The industrious moles were loved by all the woodlanders. Infants shrieked with laughter at their quaint speech, and the moles would smile, speaking more broadly, if that were possible.

Exclamations of admiration and delight greeted the food as it was served. After all, who could resist roast chestnuts served in cream and honey, or clover oatcakes dipped in hot redcurrant sauce, celery and herb cheese on acorn bread with chopped radishes, or a huge home-baked seed and sweet barley cake with mint icing, all washed down with either October ale, pear cordial, strawberry juice or good fresh milk.

Martin muttered through a mouthful of cake and milk, “In the name of mice, I’d have been a cook and not a warrior if I knew food could taste this good.”

Gonff grinned, trying to answer through a face crammed with chestnut, honey and strawberry juice. “Mmmfff, shoulden talk wiff y’mouff full.”

Bella sat with the Corim leaders. As they ate they talked. “I think for the future we should all live together here in Brockhall—at least all those that can’t climb trees and swim rivers. They’d be caught by Tsarmina and her army sooner or later.”

“Aye, marm, good idea.” Skipper agreed. “They can’t be found out here; the cat knows nothing of Brockhall. But that doesn’t mean my crew and Lady Amber’s band. We don’t strike our colors and run at the first sign of trouble.”

“Nobody doubts your courage, Skipper,” Abbess Germaine interrupted. “But maybe we’re jumping ahead a bit. With all the woodlanders hiding out here, the cat will have little to do except sit on her tail. Why not form a good spy network and see what she is up to? Maybe then we can form a plan of action. What do you think, Martin? You’re a seasoned warrior?”

Martin had been listening. He cleared his mouth. “I think all your ideas are good and sensible. Let’s try them. But peace is not found like a pawful of nuts or an apple. The wildcat is here, and Kotir won’t go away if we close our eyes. Sooner or later we will have to fight to rid the land of them. Only then can we talk of building and peace.”

Skipper and Amber both clapped him on the back.

“Let us attend to one thing at a time,” Bella advised. “First, we need a good spy to keep us informed. If we know our enemies, we will know their weaknesses.”

Ferdy and Coggs marched up, trying to look warlike yet secretive at the same time. “We’ve heard you’re looking for two good spies, Miss Bella.”

Before any laughter could start, Skipper was up and marching around inspecting them. They stood stiffly to attention, knowing a good officer when they saw one. Skipper eyed them up and down.

“Ho yes, I remember you coves—two of the fiercest fellers as ever stood guard at the Stickle place. I heard weasels and ferrets was a-shakin’ in their skins at the thought you might attack Kotir. Shall we let ’em be spies, Lady Amber?”

The squirrel looked serious, shaking her head. “Spying is too tame for these old wardogs. I think that with the good job they did at Stickle’s we should promote them to Captains of the Home Guard at Brockhall.”

The two little hedgehogs nearly burst with pride. They set off to make themselves badges of office.

Gonff threw in a suggestion. “The best spy I know is Chibb.”

Objections flooded in.

“Chibb’s not one of us.”

“He’s a bird.”

“He’ll want payment.”

“I wouldn’t trust a robin.”

“Why not one of our own?”

Bella pounded her chair until a heavy dust cloud arose and silence was restored.

“Gonff is right. No one could get closer to Kotir than Chibb. If he wants payment, then so be it, we’ll pay him. I think it’s a good idea.”

“Hurr, a burd ’tis, we’ns say let Chebb be a spoiy. Save us’ns doin’ the job. Asoides, we doant ’ave wingers to floiy wi’.”

The Foremole’s logic was irrefutable. Unanimous agreement was given by a show of paws.

Chibb it was to be.

Ben Stickle had the final word. Being one of the last to leave the shadow of Kotir, he received a sympathetic hearing.

“I don’t know much about fightin’ and spyin’ but I still think it’s a good idea. One thing I do know, me an my missus an our liddle family won’t be goin’ back to slave for no cat and her soldiers. We’d be as well off dead as havin’ to do that again. But we’d all best listen to the good Abbess here. Let’s not jump too hasty; war means creatures gettin’ theyselves killed. If it must come to that, then so be it, but meanwhiles let’s keep level heads about us, concentrate on safety for now. Aye, that an keepin’ ourselves an’ our families safe. I want to see my little ones grow to farm their own food and not have soldiers comin’ around to tell us that our land is theirs an’ takin’ toll and tax of over half the vittles we have. That ain’t fair nor right. Mind, though, we’ve got time on our side. I know that Kotir larders must be run down considerable since we all left. Huh, the cat and her soldiers can march about all season, but there’s no one left to order about and they ain’t no farmers, that’s sure. They’ll starve without others to do their labor.”