“One winter, when Janglur was still only a liddle ’un, we were camped in a hole on a streambank, with nought to eat but a few roots an’ late berries an’ a fire to warm ourselves by. Then one night a young kingfisher, half alive an’ freezin’, crawls out o’ the stream an’ up the bank to our dugout hole. Pore liddle bird, I took him in an’ shared our fire an’ wot vittles we had. This kingfisher told me he’d come from the great lake. He lived on the island an’ was fishin’ off it when he was set on by a bunch o’ magpies. They chased him far, an’ left the liddle bird fer dead in the lake shallows. But he wasn’t dead, y’see, an’ one way or t’other he managed to get away an’ survive. I tell ye true, I owed me’n’Janglur’s life to that kingfisher. When he got well an’ could fly again, he brought food to us all winter long. At night we’d all three of us sit together by the fire to keep warm, an’ he told me wot he knew of the island, said it was ruled by one Marlfox now, a murderous vixen callin’ ’erself Queen Silth. The kingfisher said that she had a brood of seven cubs, all Marlfoxes, an’ she slew her mate ’cos he wanted to call ’imself king. So then, wot d’yer think o’ that?”

Old Friar Butty shook his head to think that such wickedness existed. Song crept down off the sofa arm to sit beside Ellayo. “What happened to the little kingfisher, Grandma?”

Ellayo stared into the dust motes swirling in a shaft of golden sunlight from the window, remembering that winter, long seasons ago. “I recall one mornin’, ’twas spring, me’n’liddle Janglur woke up an’ the kingfisher was gone. I never set eyes on ’im again, but I always hoped that good bird had a happy life, ’cos we owed ’im a lot.”

Dippler breezed in with Roop, the mole from the troupe, pushing a trolley laden with food between them. The Guosim shrew bowed. “Lunch is served. Summer veggible soup, leek an’ mushroom turnover, an’ apple an’ blackcurrant flan, with a nice flagon o’ rosehip tea to wash it all down. I ’ope you ain’t started tellin’ the story yet, marm. Nothin’ better’n eatin’ lunch an’ lissenin’ to a good yarn!”

Ellayo heaved herself up with a groan and began dishing out the food. “Started? I’ve done all the tale-tellin’ I’m doing for today, young feller m’shrew. Yore too late!”

Friar Butty put aside his quill. “So that’s all you know about Marlfoxes, marm, you can’t tell us more?”

Ellayo passed him a plate of food. “Aye, right enough, ’tis all. You’d best wash those inky paws afore you eat lunch, Friar.”