Martin’s response rang back at her. “Until sunset tonight. We will wait outside for your answer.”

Brogg popped his head out. “Don’t forget to close the gates after you, huhuhuh!”

As the gates closed, Bella’s voice was loud and clear. “These gates are being shut, not to stop us getting in, but to keep you from getting out.”

Tsarmina dashed inside. “Get those nets and ropes out of my way. I want everybody up to the top of Kotir, the very top. Hurry!” she urged.

* * *

Gonff stood in the shadow of a sycamore with Martin.

“Well, matey, it’s done now. We’re all in it, win or lose. No second chances. You heard the cat—this is only the start.”

“She’s planning something, Martin,” Lady Amber said from up in the branches. “It’s gone too quiet in there for my liking.”

Martin looked up. “Mine, too. Tell the leaders to draw their companies back under cover. Let us wait and see what move she’ll make.”

Whispered orders went out, and the woodlanders moved back, blending into the green shade and mottled shadow. The outside wall was deserted; not a whisker, paw or weapon showed anywhere. Eerie silence fell upon the soft morning warmth, broken only by a faint rustle of breeze through the treetops.

Filing silently up a wooden loft staircase, Tsarmina led her forces out onto the flat, square, battlemented roof of Kotir. Signaling them to lie low, she peered over the top of the wall.

“Quietly now. Archers come forward. Keep your heads down and station yourselves around these battlements. Be ready to fire at my command.”

The archers deployed stealthily. They lay waiting.

Tsarmina nodded to them.

“Fire!”

A deadly hail of arrows flew earthward. She watched as they vanished into the treetop foliage. There were no screams or cries from below; silence reigned.

“Fire again!”

A second volley of shafts plunged down into the green fastness.

Still nothing.

* * *

Further back in the woodland, Skipper munched an oatcake. “I wonder if the cat’s allowing her troops an early snack?”

Timballisto polished an apple on his fur. “Shouldn’t think so. Look at those arrows peppering the trees where we stood a moment ago.”

The woodlanders sat eating, watching scores of arrows striking the branches and soft earth, just out of range of where they sat. A Loamhedge mouse was sharing a bowl of milk with Gonff.

“Shouldn’t we be firing a few arrows back, sir?” he asked boldly.

“No, matey. Waste of time. Too high. Besides, we’d give our position away to them. Let ’em waste more shafts awhile yet.”

“Unless we could get high up in those trees on the north side,” Barklad said as he nibbled a stick of celery.

“Could you hit them from there?”

“What! Good squirrel archers! Of course we could, Martin.”

The warrior mouse pondered. “Hmm, possible I suppose. But we’d need something to decoy them into concentrating their fire over this way. Any ideas, Amber?”

* * *