it.”
“I didn’t mean that,” snapped Fell coldly, but very much liking the sunlight on his back. “I meant …”
“Zee darkness of zee world,” said Ottol, “I know. Zee darkness of zee wild Putnar and zee fighter. Zee darkness of dreams and nightmares.”
“Yes,” growled Fell.
“I too know zee darkness, I know zee warm, zafe darkness of an earthy hide and zee misty, curling darkness of zee endless flowing vorters, and a vorld of strangling veeds beneath. I know zee darkness of leaves and zee musty, zecret places of zee forest.”
“But that’s not …”
“Not?” snapped the beaver, “not zee zunlight, no. Not vot you zink is black in your nature either. But it is zee darkness, as zee zun on your back, or zee glitter of corn in a field, is zee light. But is one any better zan zee other?”
“What do you mean?” growled Fell.
“Look at mushrooms of zee forest,” said Ottol thoughtfully. “Beds of fungus and lichen. Fields of gorse and bracken, vere a million living zings breed and grow in zecret. Do not zee other Lera feed on zem to live? Has darkness not a power too?”
Fell was silent.
“But if you zink it zee only power, you’re wrong,” said the philosophical beaver, “for it is zunlight zat draws zee dark power from zee earth, and zo makes zee trees grow tall. Zo from vere doo you draw your power, voolf, zee darkness or zee light? And can’t you hear it, Fell?”
“Hear it?”
“Zomething is happening, as you zaid. Zee voice of zee Great One, my kind call it. Talking through all nature.”
Fell blinked. Was that what the squirrels had meant? Did a mysterious Guardian really exist, to give him an answer to this madness?
“Zee miracle comes again, as does zee spring. And if you zink darkness your only power, vill you not stay in zee shadows like a guilty zing, hiding away forever?”
“I …”
“Zere,” said the beaver smugly, “perhaps you have been too long in zee dark, Fell ShadowTail. Look to zee light.”
Fell took a step forwards.
“You don’t understand,” he growled again. “Besides, you build your dam, and hunt for your mate and cubs, but you do not have what I have. The freedom of the untamed wolf.”
The beaver cocked his head questioningly.
“Freedom without responsibility? What freedom is zat? None at all.”
With that there was the most extraordinary sound, a kind of barking and then a swishing and two tiny heads popped out of the water, followed by a third, as large and handsome as Ottol’s. It was his mate and her kits.
“What’s zee racket, Ottol?” the female beaver snapped irritably.
“Stay back, children,” cried Ottol to his kits, for the little baby beavers were scrabbling up the bank towards their father, and thus closer to the wolf.
Ottol suddenly wished with all his heart that they had waited till early summer to have children, but the journey to this strange land had disrupted their natural rhythms. The look of terror from Ottol’s mate was evident too, as she rose from the water and saw the black wolf on the riverbank. She started to slap her huge tail on the surface of the water in desperate warning.
“It is all right, Ottol,” growled Fell softly, feeling rather amused. “I’ll not harm you, or your family. I swear it.”
The female beaver blinked in astonishment that she understood Fell, then stopped slapping the water, for she realised there was no one else to warn anyway. Fell was suddenly surprised at himself for making so many promises.
“Zen I zank you indeed,” said Ottol graciously, dipping his head politely.
“And now I must be gone,” cried Fell, startling the little ones with the power of his growling voice, “for if I do not hunt soon, it is I that’ll be dead. And I am a wolf.”
“Ah yes, your freedom,” said Ottol, his eyes twinkling like dewdrops. “Zen perhaps you should go zat vay, to zee clearing beyond. I zaw deer tracks zere, zis morning.”
“And have you no sadness for a deer?”
“I didn’t mean that,” snapped Fell coldly, but very much liking the sunlight on his back. “I meant …”
“Zee darkness of zee world,” said Ottol, “I know. Zee darkness of zee wild Putnar and zee fighter. Zee darkness of dreams and nightmares.”
“Yes,” growled Fell.
“I too know zee darkness, I know zee warm, zafe darkness of an earthy hide and zee misty, curling darkness of zee endless flowing vorters, and a vorld of strangling veeds beneath. I know zee darkness of leaves and zee musty, zecret places of zee forest.”
“But that’s not …”
“Not?” snapped the beaver, “not zee zunlight, no. Not vot you zink is black in your nature either. But it is zee darkness, as zee zun on your back, or zee glitter of corn in a field, is zee light. But is one any better zan zee other?”
“What do you mean?” growled Fell.
“Look at mushrooms of zee forest,” said Ottol thoughtfully. “Beds of fungus and lichen. Fields of gorse and bracken, vere a million living zings breed and grow in zecret. Do not zee other Lera feed on zem to live? Has darkness not a power too?”
Fell was silent.
“But if you zink it zee only power, you’re wrong,” said the philosophical beaver, “for it is zunlight zat draws zee dark power from zee earth, and zo makes zee trees grow tall. Zo from vere doo you draw your power, voolf, zee darkness or zee light? And can’t you hear it, Fell?”
“Hear it?”
“Zomething is happening, as you zaid. Zee voice of zee Great One, my kind call it. Talking through all nature.”
Fell blinked. Was that what the squirrels had meant? Did a mysterious Guardian really exist, to give him an answer to this madness?
“Zee miracle comes again, as does zee spring. And if you zink darkness your only power, vill you not stay in zee shadows like a guilty zing, hiding away forever?”
“I …”
“Zere,” said the beaver smugly, “perhaps you have been too long in zee dark, Fell ShadowTail. Look to zee light.”
Fell took a step forwards.
“You don’t understand,” he growled again. “Besides, you build your dam, and hunt for your mate and cubs, but you do not have what I have. The freedom of the untamed wolf.”
The beaver cocked his head questioningly.
“Freedom without responsibility? What freedom is zat? None at all.”
With that there was the most extraordinary sound, a kind of barking and then a swishing and two tiny heads popped out of the water, followed by a third, as large and handsome as Ottol’s. It was his mate and her kits.
“What’s zee racket, Ottol?” the female beaver snapped irritably.
“Stay back, children,” cried Ottol to his kits, for the little baby beavers were scrabbling up the bank towards their father, and thus closer to the wolf.
Ottol suddenly wished with all his heart that they had waited till early summer to have children, but the journey to this strange land had disrupted their natural rhythms. The look of terror from Ottol’s mate was evident too, as she rose from the water and saw the black wolf on the riverbank. She started to slap her huge tail on the surface of the water in desperate warning.
“It is all right, Ottol,” growled Fell softly, feeling rather amused. “I’ll not harm you, or your family. I swear it.”
The female beaver blinked in astonishment that she understood Fell, then stopped slapping the water, for she realised there was no one else to warn anyway. Fell was suddenly surprised at himself for making so many promises.
“Zen I zank you indeed,” said Ottol graciously, dipping his head politely.
“And now I must be gone,” cried Fell, startling the little ones with the power of his growling voice, “for if I do not hunt soon, it is I that’ll be dead. And I am a wolf.”
“Ah yes, your freedom,” said Ottol, his eyes twinkling like dewdrops. “Zen perhaps you should go zat vay, to zee clearing beyond. I zaw deer tracks zere, zis morning.”
“And have you no sadness for a deer?”