Martin turned away. “Come on, Gonff. I can’t bear to watch her any more.”

A pale silver moon dappled the forest floor as they made their way back to the camp outside Kotir. Bella, with Martin on her back, lumbered through the calm summer night, flanked by Gonff and Bula.

“Don’t fret. It was a great act of sacrifice, a brave thing. Boar would have been proud of you both,” she consoled them in her gruff, gentle voice.

Bula was a little more cheerful. “I’ll bet you when this is all over that Skipper will find a way to refloat your Wuddshipp.“

Gonff looked across at the otter. “D’you really think so? You’re not just saying it to make us feel better?”

Bula winked. “Of course not. We never stoved her in, just opened the inlets. She’s not damaged. Don’t you worry, matey. Skipper’ll sort it out. He’s got other things in his head beside water in his ears, that’s for sure.”

* * *

Back at the river, only the tops of stem, stern and masts were showing. The bilges had settled deep into the river bed under the steady pressure and weight of inflowing water.

Now the River Moss was blocked. It began overflowing its banks, backing up and pressing against the sunken ship that barred its course. In less than an hour there were only three points where the dammed-up river could find escape.

Straight down the flood tunnels!

The swirling waters gushed in with a thunderous rumble. A creamy brown deluge poured underground, sweeping earth, loam, twigs and rocks along in its mad rush. It ripped through the tunnels, tearing and battering at the walls until the shorings were swept away and the whole thing was welded into one great torrential underground bore, hurtling toward the lowlands where Kotir stood.

* * *

Foremole and Old Dinny were dozing over the crusts of a deeper ’n’ ever pie when they felt the ground reverberate under them. Foremole pressed his snout into the loam.

“Thurr she goes, Owd Din. Doant need no diggen claws to tell ’ee wot be ’appenen unnerground.”

“Ho urr, they varments soon be getten a gurt barth o’ thurr loives, oi do b’leeve.”

“Harr, stan’ on moi tunnel, oi’d ’ate t’be they!”

Mossflower slept on through the night, which was still and calm.

But only on the surface.

* * *

Whegg the rat yawned and shivered. He tugged the old grain sack which served as a cloak tighter about his skinny body against the afterdawn freshness. The morning had started cloudy, with little sunlight to provide warmth up on the flat roof where he was stationed on watch. Brogg came stamping up. Rubbing his paws together, he glanced over the battlements at the still woodland.

“Quiet night, eh, Whegg?”

“Aye, bit chilly though, and they’re still out there,” Whegg reported.

“Those squirrels been shooting again?”

“Nah. They don’t if we don’t. But I think there’s something going on down there.”

Brogg squatted down beside Whegg.