“Aye, but not half so pretty as you, Ellayo. You’ve not changed a single hair. Wait, is that our son Janglur?”

“You could wager on it, Gawjo. That apple never fell far from the tree! He’s the breath out o’ yore mouth. Go to him!”

“Thank ye, I will. Oh, Torrab, bring yore crew over here. Ellayo, I want you t’meet yore other sons an’ daughters.”

The old squirrelwife looked up at the big hedgehogs surrounding her and shook her head in amazement. “My sons an’ daughters? Great seasons! You there, you look too big to be anybeast’s son.”

The giant hedgehog bowed, his face wreathed in smiles. “Hoho, marm, I ain’t yore son, I’m just a visitor. My name’s Sollertree an’ this is my daughter Nettlebud an’ our friend Goodwife Brimm. She’s a fine cook, I can assure ye, marm.”

Dippler found himself chatting to many Guosim friends. “Poor ole Bargle. That’s another Log a Log we lost, mates. Who’s Chieftain o’ the tribe now? You, Mayon? Or Splikker maybe? I’m sure you’ve chosen another Log a Log since I’ve been gone?”

Mayon shook his head ruefully. “No, mate, Bargle was only actin’ Log a Log. We can’t make a new Chief until we catch up with that murderin’ Fenno.”

Dippler looked puzzled. “Fenno? Surely ye weren’t thinkin’ o’ makin’ that blackguard into a Log a Log?”

“Oh no. But Guosim law states clear that a new Chieftain can’t be appointed until the old one is avenged,” Splikker explained. “The Guerrilla Union rule is that when a Log a Log dies by the paw of a Guosim shrew—”

Dippler interrupted him, as shrews invariably do when debating. “Lissen, matey, you’ve no need to go huntin’ Fenno. I caught up with that murderin’ scum an’ slew him with my own sword, even though it was snapped in half. He’s deader’n last season’s grass an’ good riddance to the villain!”

Everybeast turned as the shrews threw up their paws and pointed their snouts toward Dippler, setting up a shout.

“Logalogalogalogalogalooooooog!”

The young Guosim shrew stood totally embarrassed. “Ahoy, mates, steady on there. Wot’s all the shoutin’ about?”

A venerable old shrew named Marglo came forward, carrying something wound in barkcloth.

“Yore only a young ’un. Stands t’reason y’not expected to know all of the Guosim law, so I’ll quote some to ye.

“The paw of the shrew that slays the beast,

Who made our Chieftain fall,

Will wield the sword of Guosim,

And be Log a Log over all!”

Marglo unwrapped the barkcloth from a short rapier. Dippler recognized his dead leader’s blade straightaway. The oldster presented it to him ceremoniously. “From this day forth yore name is forgotten in our tribe. Take the Chieftain’s blade. Hail, Log a Log of all Guosim!”