“Gurr, baint no gudd diggen in this sloidy sarnd. Moight as well try diggen ’oles in a river.”

Gonff wiped a dry paw across his mouth. “I’m thirsty more than anything, mateys. What I wouldn’t give for a good old beaker of cold cider right now.”

Martin trekked on doggedly. “Look, it’s no good going on about what we haven’t got. We’ll just have to keep our eyes peeled until food comes along. Here, let me show you an old warrior trick my father taught me.” He rummaged some smooth pebbles from his sling pouch. “Try sucking one of these. I know it isn’t as good as a drink, but a pebble will keep your mouth moist and stop you drying up.”

Being woodlanders, they were not used to traveling through soft sand. Even Log-a-Log, who had made such a journey before, found the constant sinking of paws into dry shifting grit very tiring. All four soon sat exhausted on top of a dune. Martin picked up some sand. Letting it run through his paws, he scanned the distance to where the mass of rock stood, but there was no light issuing from it in daytime.

Gonff spoke his thoughts aloud. “There stands Salamandastron, mateys. And here we sit, as far away from it as ever. Not a crust nor a drink between us, and sand all round. It’s certainly hard going.”

Log-a-Log stood up, brushing his fur free of sand.

“Wait here. I’ve traveled in sand before, I may be able to help.”

He scrambled off among the dunes.

Dinny scooped a small hole. He watched it fill up again. “Moi ol’ granfer Dinny’d never b’lieve thiz, stan’ on moi tunnel.”

Martin stretched out upon the dune. “Well, at least we’ve come this far. Don’t worry, mates. We’ll make it somehow.”

Log-a-Log returned carrying four thick pieces of wood—branches he had found at the edge of the dunes.

“Here, trim these up,” he told them. “They’ll make good walking staves to help us through the sand.”

They set about trimming the branches with teeth, claws and knives.

Then they set off again. With the staves, the going was slightly better. Every once in a while they spotted a small toad or a frilled newt from a distance, but the creatures would either ignore them or scuttle off among the sandhills. There was also the odd small bird, which had to be shooed off with staves when it became too inquisitive.

Log-a-Log found some soft grass with a milky sap, and they chewed it as he conjectured what lay ahead.

“Pretty soon we’ll be out of these dunes and onto the firm sand. Maybe then I’ll find something to eat. No water, though. Trouble is that most things on the shore taste salty, and that makes you want water even more. Oh, test the sand with your staves as we go. Here and there you may find sinking sands. Watch out for those big seabirds too—gulls and such. They’ll gobble up anything at all. Show them you’re not afraid; whack out at them with your staves, then they’ll leave you alone. Now, if you see any pools of water, don’t drink from them—it’s all seawater, full of salt, tastes very nasty. One last thing, stick together and don’t wander off.”