An’ then I’ll be enor-mouse!”

“Ahoy up there, don’t yer know no songs about otters, matey?”

*   *   *

By noon the weather had cleared. White clouds scudded across a sunny blue sky on the light breeze. Dumble was freed from the haversack. He skipped along at Thrugg’s side, enjoying the freedom of the open road. The otter slowed down, placing a restraining paw on his small friend.

“Whoa there, shipmate. What’s that sittin’ in the road up ahead?”

The shapeless mass lying on the path some distance ahead started moving awkwardly to one side, making for the thinning forest on the right. Dumble skipped round Thrugg and began racing toward the object.

“Dumble, come back ’ere, you liddle thick ’ead!” Thrugg roared out as the infant dashed toward the thing.

But Dumble had a good head start and plunged onward, ignoring his friend’s shouts. Thrugg stamped his paws down hard several times; but then, deciding it was useless, he gave chase.

It was a falcon, a season fledged and of no great size. The bird flopped about with its right wing hanging awkwardly as it struggled to seek shelter in the thinning woodlands at the path’s east side. Dumble cut off its escape and squatted in front of it, holding out a friendly paw.

“Aaahhh, poor birdie, is your wing ’urted?”

The falcon halted, its fierce golden eyes distending as it hissed a warning through its dangerous hooked beak:

“Kaarrhzz! Stan’ oot o’ mah way, bairn, or I’ll mak’ dead meat o’ ye.”

The little dormouse chuckled and tossed a piece of candied chestnut in front of the savage creature. “Dumble won’t ’urt you. ’Ave some food. It’s nice . . .”

The bird hopped to the nut and devoured it hungrily. Thrugg arrived just then. He decided Dumble and the falcon were too close to each other for him to intervene. Holding his breath anxiously, the otter stood to one side. The bird cocked its head and squinted at him through one eye.

“Hauld yer wheesht, riverdog! Hey, canna this wee bairn no onnerstand me? Does he not know he’s in peril? Ah’m no a sparrow, ye ken. Ah’m a falcon!”

When Thrugg had got the meaning of the bird’s high northland accent he replied, “Oh, I can see you’re a falcon all right, matey. Lookit me, I’m an otter. An’ I hopes you don’t mean my liddle pal any harm, ’cos I’d hate to ’ave ter slay you with this ’ere sling!” The big otter twirled his loaded sling meaningfully.

Dumble held out his paw, offering the falcon more bits of candied chestnut. The bird ate them gently, keeping a wary eye on Thrugg and talking conversationally.