From somewhere along the river came the deep, barking laugh of an otter.

The wildcat’s cloak swirled about her as she tore the spear from the tree and ran to the water’s edge brandishing it.

“Laugh, yes laugh all you like, but stay hidden while you value your miserable lives. I am Tsarmina, Queen of the Thousand Eyes. Before I am finished with Mossflower, every creature who defies me will wish that its mother had never given birth to it. The crying and the dying will be loud and long. Now let me hear you laugh at that!”

As Tsarmina finished her speech, Fortunata leaped forward. The vixen was thinking of ingratiating herself with her Queen by adding a few words to the speech.

“Thus speaks the mighty Tsarmina, ruler of all Mossfl—”

As Brogg turned from the river’s edge he collided with the leaping fox. Their heads clashed painfully. The weasel staggered back a step and trod on the hem of the vixen’s cloak. They tripped, landing ungraciously in the mud of the shallows.

The otters’ laughter was mingled with the chuckling of squirrels.

The sun was at its zenith in the woodlands. Young bees droned fuzzily around the flowers in anticipation of their first summer. A venerable oak of massive girth and height towered above the surrounding trees. Beneath its spring foliage of small green leaves and below its aged trunk was Brockhall, the ancestral home of badgers. The solid, intricate root structure of the oak provided ceiling beams, wall columns, shelves and in some places flooring for the beautiful old dwelling. A door was set between the fork of two roots at ground level. From there a long passage ran downward with rooms leading off it—Bella’s private study, small sitting rooms, a nursery and small infirmary. At the other end the passage opened out into the main hall. This was large and well-appointed, with a hearth, fireplace, full dining board and small seated alcoves around its walls. Several doors led off the main hall; to the left was the master bedroom and dormitories, while off to the right was the larder, kitchens and storerooms, behind which lay the bolt hole or escape door, constructed with typical woodland common sense.

Brockhall had been built by badgers in the dim past, and they had taken great pains that everything should be just the way woodland badgers like it to be. Great care and the skill of many craftbeasts had provided every conceivable comfort in the underground mansion; there were elaborate wall torches and beautifully carved furniture (again, much of this cut into the living root to blend with the surroundings). The walls were lined with fawn-and pink-colored clay, baked to give it a fine rustic atmosphere. Here and there throughout the chambers were large overstuffed armchairs of the type badgers prefer, each with a fuzzy old velveteen pawstool, often used by young ones in preference to the small polished maple chairs made specially for them. Overall it was an admirable country seat which could easily accommodate the entire Corim membership.