Go down green tunnel, bounden south,

Through trees with blossoms in their hair.”

Dann poured them the last of the dandelion and burdock cordial. “So, what does that tell us, Song?”

“Think on a bit, Dann. While we were following that river, did we see any streams or creeks running south before this one?”

“No, I’m sure we didn’t. There wasn’t a break in the bank until I saw this sidestream when they were chasing us. What are you getting at, Song?”

“Well, ’tis just an idea, but I think this is the speechless hidden mouth we were looking for. Dippler, you know about waterways, what’s your opinion?”

The Guosim shrew scratched his whiskers. “Mebbe so. The inlet does look a touch like a mouth, an’ all that foliage makes it a proper green tunnel. So if yore poem says that’s where our ways part, it must mean that is the spot where we part company with the river. Aye, I think yore right, Song!”

But Burble scoffed at the idea. “Ah, will y’lissen t’the wisdom of ’em! ’Ow can words on an ole scrap o’ parchment be right? This is a dead end, or is it meself is the only one can see it?”

Song shook the scroll beneath Burble’s nose. “Remember, though, this was written many many seasons ago. Couldn’t this have been a proper stream before that? Mightn’t it only have become a creek after those trees fell and blocked it?”

Dippler butted in. “Ha! But y’forgot sumthin’, missie. Aren’t we supposed to be chasin’ the Marlfox an’ his crew?”

Song stood up and stamped about on the bank. She was fast losing patience with the whole affair. “Look, I don’t care which way the fox has gone, we can’t follow on the open river with Gray One on our tails. Another thing, we know the Marlfox is bound for the secret island on the lost lake. This way we’re sure to meet up with him. Burble, where d’you think you’re off to?”

The watervole was already climbing over the fallen treetrunks that blocked the creek off.

“Don’t git yore paws in a tizzy, bossytail, I’m just goin’ to see if yore idea is right, yiss yiss. Well, are you comin’?”

They climbed over the trunks and inspected the ground. Among the clumps of agrimony, sawwort and saxifrage the old streambed was still identifiable by the narrow trickle of water filtering through the logs that had dammed it off. Song splashed about in it triumphantly.

“You see? I told you, this is the sidestream we’re supposed to take. Look, it’s running south just like the rhyme said it would. What d’you say to that, fatty volenose?”

Burble had only one word to say. “Porterage!”

They stared at him, repeating the word together. “Porterage?”