Goffa scowled nastily, testing his spearpoint. “You mind your mouth, you great overgrown rabbit . . .”

“Here, here, what’s all this, friends fighting already?” As Klitch brushed past Goffa he dug an open claw in his back and shot him an angry glance. Turning to Mara and Pikkle, his eyes switched to open blue wonderment. “Now then, pals, what’s all the quarreling about?”

“No quarrel really.” Pikkle laughed. “I merely made inquiries about breakfast. Old Goffa must’ve got out the wrong side of the sandhill this mornin’—he accused me of scoffin’ all the rations last night. Blinkin’ cheek! Do I look like a scoffer, Klitch? Go on, be honest, don’t spare m’ feelin’s.”

The blue-eyed weasel upended the empty haversacks. “Actually you do, Pikkle, but it’s no use falling out over it. The point is that we’ve run out of food.”

Mara licked sand grains from her dry lips. “Not even an apple and I’ve got a dreadful thirst!”

She thought for a fleeting moment of the cool dark dining room inside the mountain, the tables laid with plain wholesome food and flagons of cold cider, greensap milk and mint tea. Thrusting the memory from her mind, she looked around. “Well, I only know the country north and west of here. It’s much the same as this: mountains, foothills, dunes and sandhills running to the shores. We won’t find much food in that direction. What about that way, down south?”

Klitch shook his head. “That’s the way we came up here. There’s a broad stream in the far south, but between that and here there’s a big area of swampland that we had to skirt. The place is overrun with big toads, and it’s a pretty bad bet, I’d say.”

Pikkle’s stomach made a loud audible growl. He patted it. “Yes I know, old lad, but you’ll just have ter wait until we find some tucker. Come on, chaps. Anybeast got an idea which way we should go to relieve the jolly old pangs?”

Klitch winked at Goffa. “I suggest we carry on into the foothills over to the east, what do you think, Goffa?”

“Foothills, yeh, good idea!” the ferret agreed readily.

Mara looked east to the distant foothills, with the mountain range rising green and grayish blue behind them. “Do you think we’ll find food there, Klitch?”

The weasel patted her shoulder and started walking east. “It’s a good chance. Streams usually run down from mountains and stuff always grows by them—plants, roots, berry bushes.”

Goffa followed Klitch. “He’s good at findin’ food.”

Pikkle gave Mara a shove in their direction. “Then what’re we waitin’ for? Lead us t’ the berrybushes, chums.”

*   *   *