Doomwyte

Spingo interrupted eagerly, “It’d cave the whole lot in, a tree that size!”

Bosie’s head tilted back as he stared up at the massive height of the sycamore. “Skin mah scut, d’ye want me tae chop that thing doon wi’ mah sword?”

Zaran faced him impassively. “We have two swords, you and I, we will work together.” Without further ado, she went to the sycamore and began chopping.

Bosie sighed in resignation. “Och, this is no task for a Laird who hasnae been properly fed, but Ah’ll do mah best!” Drawing the legendary sword of Martin, he stood opposite Zaran and swung the blade. Then Frubb walked in the way of the swinging blades. Both beasts had to bring their swords up sharply, to avoid slicing through the mole.

Zaran spoke through clenched jaws. “Please, friend, stay out of our way!”

Frubb did not seem at all put out by his close shave. Leaning against the tree, he shook his head with disapproval. “Nay, nay, marm’n’zurr, you’m going abowt et all wrong-wise. The way you’m a-goin’, you gurt tree’ll prob’ly fall back’ard an’ flatten ee both. Ho urr aye, take et frum Oi!”

Spingo liked Frubb, so she backed him up stoutly. “I’d lissen to that good mole if’n I was you. Moles saved my life, they’re very sensible beasts!”

Frubb bowed, tugging his snout, a sure molesign of respect to another. “Whoi thankee, likkle mizzy!”

Zaran shrugged impatiently. “Then tell us what to do.”

Frubb held up a paw for silence. He paced around the sycamore, sniffing, scratching the earth and tapping on the trunk with his powerful digging claws. Whilst he performed this curious ritual, he could be heard muttering odd calculations to himself.

“Hummm, wind’ard drift…soil spillage, ho urr aye, must a-member that…taken into ’count ee lay of land…h’angle of ’illside…fallen west’ard an’ ’arf point north, Oi’d say. Burr aye, that should do urr noicely, Oi reckern!”

Moving to a point on the trunk directly opposite the hole, he measured two pawspans slightly left. “Cudd Oi burrow ee wepping, zurr?”

Wordlessly, Bosie passed him the sword. At about the height of his snout, Frubb notched a mark in the bark. “Start choppen yurr if’n you’m please!”

They began hewing with both blades at the sycamore. Initially their strokes were a bit disjointed, until Spingo made a suggestion. “Mayhaps if I sing a Gonfelin dancin’ song it’ll keep ye both in time. Right!”

Bosie spat on his paws, gripping the sword tight. “Sing out then, bonny lass, Ah’m game tae try it.”

Frubb clapped his paws in time to the tune as Spingo sang; Bosie’s and Zaran’s bladestrokes matched the rhythm.

“Can I come a-courtin’, sir,

an’ can I woo yore daughter?

Aye ye can try as others have,

but nobeast’s ever caught her.

Dance around an’ tap tap tap,

d’ye think ye stand a chance?

Many a swain has lost his heart,

to a pretty maid at the dance.

Round the floor now hop hop hop,

whirl her round just like a top!

Swing her high but hold her light,

an’ don’t ye try to kiss her,

four big beasts are watchin’ you,

an’ she’s their little sister.

Keep on dancin’ don’t dare stop,

wot a fix yore in, sir.

Yonder stands her stout ole ma,

a-twirlin’ a rollin’ pin, sir.

Skip’n’jump now one two three,

through the window an’ yore free!”

Bosie was blowing like a bellows with the pace. “D’ye not know any slower songs, bonny lass, mebbe a soft lullaby, or an auld funeral march!”

Spingo giggled. “Oh, come on, Mister Bosie, a big, strong beast like yourself shouldn’t be bothered by an overgrown twig like that. Let’s see wot ye can really do, with those muscles an’ that blade! Or are ye goin’ t’be beaten by an otter lady, eh?”

The lanky hare went back to his task like a creature possessed. Bark, wood chips, leafsprouts and twigs scattered widespread as he plied the sword blade.

Frubb caught on to what Spingo was doing. He called to Zaran, “Hurr, ee’ll take summ catchin’ marm, boi okey ee’m will!”

The black otter also knew what was going on, but she winked at the mole, and twirled her twin blades. “Do you think so…then watch this!” With muscle and sinew toughened by gruelling seasons of work on the hillside, Zaran was unstoppable. She hewed at the great tree with awesome energy. Soon there was no need of encouraging work songs, Bosie and Zaran were hacking at the tree in swift unison. Chack! Thock! Chack! Thock!

Frubb watched until he judged the moment right, then called a sudden halt to the task. “Stoppee naow, guddbeasts, stopp Oi says!” After listening with his ear to the sycamore trunk, the mole nodded sagely and made his report. “Hoo arr, she’m ready t’go naow!”

Bosie leant wearily on his sword pommel. “Och, pray tell, sirrah, how d’ye know that?”

Frubb wrinkled his snout, lowering his tone confidentially. “A ’coz ee’m tree told Oi, zurr, stan’ asoide naow. Mizzy, will ee untie ee rope frumm t’uther tree?”

Spingo hurriedly loosed the rope from the oak on the left, as Frubb undid the other rope, which the molecrew had tied during the rescue attempt. He gave Bosie and Zaran a rope each.