Scratch ignored their arguing. Pulling himself from the ditch, he took a chunk of bread from his pack and began munching it.

Splitnose and Blacktooth stopped fighting to complain.

“Oi, that’s not fair. You’re supposed to be the leader. It’s up to you to see we’re properly fed.”

“That’s right. I’ve only got a stingy little bit of crust and it’s sopping wet from that stinking ditch water.”

Contemptuously Scratch threw a crust on the bank edge. “There you are. First out gets it.”

The ferret and the stoat fought tooth and claw. They kicked each other down in an effort to be first out of the ditch. Blacktooth won. He grabbed the crust as Splitnose wailed piteously, “Give me some, Blackie. Go on. I’d give you half if I had bread.”

“No you wouldn’t, stoatface.”

“Yes I would.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

Blacktooth relented with bad grace. “Oh, here, scringetail. Don’t pig it all down in one gobful.”

“Aaahh, that’s not fair. You’ve got the biggest half.”

Scratch had wandered further up the bank. He chewed on a young dandelion, pulled a face, spat it out and shouted, “Hoi, you two, stop bellyaching and look at this.”

They ambled up, chewing the last of the crust. “What is it?”

Scratch shook his head in despair. “What do you think it is, loafbrains? Look, it’s the track of those two mice and the mole. See, here and here, the pawprints are as clear as day. They’re traveling west.”

Splitnose found the pole and held it up triumphantly. “Aha, another clue. They must have used this to climb out of the ditch on.”

“Oh chuck it away, bouldernose,” Scratch sneered. “Huh, you’ll be telling me next that they used it to fly through the air on. Come on, you two. At least we’re on their trail.”

* * *

From the topmost branches of a beech on the south side of Kotir, Chibb checked the straps on his pack before flying off to the cells. Brush and Birch watched him flying into the thin dawn light, then Brush readied the next pack.

“Shouldn’t take too long, then we can nip back and see how the battle’s going.”

Birch looked to his quiver. “I’m nearly out of arrows. Bet the others are, too. Tell you what—you stay here and see to the robin while I swing back to base. I’ll gather all the arrows I can lay my paws on from the stores and take them to our archers.”

“Good idea. See you later, mate.”

* * *

Around the back of the elm, it was only a short distance from the heavy loam of the woodlands. Foremole led the little party, Columbine and Ben bringing up the rear with Soilflyer, a champion young digging mole. “Hurr on’y a liddleways, now gaffers,” he chuckled secretively. ’Uz diggers do ’ave a foin tunnel awaiten fer ’ee to excape thru.”

Gratefully they were helped into the broad tunnel dug by the moles. As they progressed along it, Columbine could hear Soilflyer filling in behind them. Up ahead, Foremole said comfortingly to some mice, “Never ’ee fear, liddle guddbeasts. We’m a goen’ to Moledeep. None may foind ’ee thurr.”