Skimming low over the grass, the crows came winging in to the attack. Thrugg blinded the first four with double pawfuls of dry sand. A crow was about to land on top of his head with beak open ready to bite, when Dumble thrust the stick straight down its throat. Four crows flung themselves upon Rocangus; all that could be seen was an explosion of black feathers mottled with the brown ones of the falcon as they fought with mad savagery. Two more landed and attacked Thrugg from behind. Again his ruddered tail came into heavy action, breaking the neck of one bird. The other shot backwards, stunned by a kick from his backpaw. Dumble’s stick broke across an enemy head. He snatched up both halves and went at the landing crows like a miniature thunderstorm. The crows were beginning to win by sheer weight of numbers. They swooped in and landed in gangs upon the three friends until none of them could be seen under the mass of black feathers, beaks and scratching claws. Dumble screamed in pain as a beak pecked him hard between his ears.

Suddenly Thrugg could stand it no more. The sound of the infant dormouse being tormented by the crows drove him into a towering rage. Kicking, butting and punching birds, he arose from the tangle with blood dripping from his bared teeth. Fighting his way across the dry streambed, he grabbed hold of Dumble and Rocangus. Standing in front of them, he hefted the laden haversack in both paws and began swinging it like some terrible engine of destruction. Crows exploded into the air, wing over beak over tail over tip. Dark feathers showered the air, together with beak fragments and broken claws. The haversack was a thudding, banging, swishing blur of destruction as Thrugg’s head went back and his mouth opened like a scarlet cavern.

“Redwaaaaaaaaallllll!!!”

The crows fled, some hopping, others flapping as they fought each other to get away from Thrugg’s mighty retaliation.

*   *   *

As late afternoon faded into evening, the three companions sat tending to each other’s wounds.

Thrugg winced as Rocangus dug a beak fragment from his back. “Ouch! Go easy there, you feathered fiend!”

“Hah, stop grievin’, planktail. Ye’ll live. Haud still while Ah get this crowclaw out o’ yer thick heid.”

Baby Dumble was counting his war wounds. “Two, free, six, nine, twennyfifteen. Wow, that’s a lot!”

“Aye, an’ that’s a lot out there, matey. Look!”

They followed the direction of Thrugg’s pointing paw. Halfway between the pinegrove and the streambed the land was black with crows. They crowded together like beetles in a cellar.

Thrugg sat down with his back against the sun-dried bank. “Nobeast could fight off that many, Rocangus. We’re done for.”

The falcon preened his tattered breastfeathers. “Aye, but by the crag we’ll go oot a-fightin’!”

Dumble searched in the sand of the streambed. “I wanna new stick to fight more crones wiv!”