As they were herded away through the trees, Mattimeo allowed himself one last backward glance at the far shore beyond the river shimmering in the morning sunlight. Though he could not see his father, he murmured under his breath, “Martin keep him safe!”

*   *   *

The sounds of axe and sword had been ringing through the pine fringe since dawn. Many of the trees at the edge had not been able to take proper root in the loose sandy soil of the banks, and some were only half grown. Orlando swung his mighty axe with long, powerful strokes, often felling a tree so that it took one of its weaker neighbors down with it. Matthias had cast his habit aside. He slashed and hacked at the branches of each felled tree, trimming it so that Cheek, Basil, Jess and Jabez could roll it down to where Log-a-Log was in charge of raft construction.

“Flugg, bring those ropes over here,” Log-a-Log ordered. “Gurn, soak that moss well and mix it with soil; I want good caulking that won’t leak. Garr, I need that trunk over here. You others, help him.”

There was little the Guosim leader did not know about watercraft. Log-a-Log was a ferry shrew, the son of ferry shrews. He watched the flow of the river, pointing out his course to Basil.

“We’ll take a wide sweep upriver, then I’ll bring about in midwater and land us on the other shore somewhere about there, see? That way we’ll be going due south again.”

Basil dipped one ear. “Aye, aye, Cap’n, as you say. Bear in mind, old feller, that I wasn’t cut out for a nautical career. I’ll have to have a substantial meal first. No use bein’ watersick on an empty tummy, wot?”

*   *   *

It was early noontide before the raft lay completed in the shallows. Log-a-Log folded his paws and shook his head.

“Bit rough, Matthias. Best I could do at short notice.”

Matthias passed him apples and shrewcake. “She’s a stout raft, Log-a-Log. I couldn’t ask for better. I know you’ll use all your skills to get us safely across. What are you so worried about, young Cheek?”

The otter stroked his dry nose. “It’s er, well, er, d’you see. . . . Well, it’s the water, Matthias. I’ve always been a bit frightened of it. Oh, the odd stream and woodland pool aren’t too bad, but look at the size of that old river. I never saw anything so big and fast-flowing in Mossflower.”

Basil flung an apple core into the river. “Haw haw! Well I’ve heard every thin’ now, a bally otter who’s frightened of rivers. Curl my whiskers, that’s a good un.”

“Now, now, Basil,” Jess chided the scoffing hare, “you’re not too fond of the water yourself. It’s bad form to make fun of another creature who feels the same.”