The shouts died away on the still air as the Riverhead tribe paddled downstream. Dann sat up and began slapping at the winged pests that assailed him. “Gerroff! Leave me alone, you rotten villains!”

A big insect flew right into Song’s eye, so hard that it caused her to see colored stars. Dippler was tearing at his fur, moaning, “We musta been mad comin’ in ’ere to ’ide!”

The boat rocked as Burble performed a little dance. “Ouchouch! I’m bein’ et alive! Back out onto the river!”

Song squinched her eye, rubbing hard with a sweaty paw. “No, we can’t go out there. ’Twouldn’t be long before we’d be running right into the back of them. Let’s go a bit farther up this creek. Maybe it won’t be as bad farther along.”

Swatting and slapping at the insect hordes, they dug paddles into the muddy creekbed and poled the Swallow south up the vile-smelling inlet.

At midmorning they called a halt. Though there were still a few insects about, most of the myriad from the creek mouth had given up following the four friends. Shipping the paddles, they looked around. Fungus bedecked and pulp-soft, dead trees lay across the creek, preventing them from going any farther. The water was black and peaty, with odd bubbles rising here and there, leaving a foul odor hovering in the air. In the bank shallows on one side there was a riot of blue flowers, bit scabious, brooklime, butterwort and skullcap sprouting thick. Dippler moored the Swallow midships to a slender sessile oak on the shaded side of the creek. Song and Burble unpacked apples, some scones and a flagon of cold dandelion and burdock cordial that had been stowed deep in her haversack. Wearily they hauled themselves onto the mossy bank and began eating, groaning as they stretched aching backs.

“Ooh, me paws’ll never be the same again after grippin’ that paddle so tight, mates. I can ’ardly pick me beaker up!”

Dippler winked at the watervole. “Leave it there then, Burb, an’ I’ll drink it for ye!”

Dann polished an apple on his tunic. “Whew! That was a narrow escape earlier. Those Riverheads wouldn’t ’ave accepted any excuses. We’d be deadbeasts now if they’d caught us!”

Burble lifted the beaker in his cramped paws. “Oh yiss yiss, that’s true, pal. Ole Gray One’s missin’ both the Swallow an’ ’is Leafwood. There’ll be no mercy in that’n’s ’eart!”

Song bathed her eye with a drop of the cool cordial. “No, I don’t imagine there would be. Why did you do it, Burble?”