Rebecca moved first. She turned with what was meant to be a mock-snarl, but came out more as a gay laugh, and started for the wood, but seeing the dewy shadows there, twisted and turned in a circle back into the sun; Cairn followed, with deep growls that delighted Rebecca and finally made her turn to face him, talons out, watching him come towards her with exaggerated care, first one paw, then another, snout quivering. He was magnificent; each move he made had a muscular grace that made her want to run forward and push and tumble him, to see him spring up and mock-fight with her.
‘My name’s Cairn,’ he said, and snout to snout they looked at each other, Rebecca’s head very slightly to one side, her back warmed by the morning sun and her talons shiny with dew.
The other mole came towards her from her right and looked at them both crouched opposite each other, and then, settling down, said, ‘And I’m Stonecrop, just in case you’re interested.’
Rebecca laughed, and sighed, and looked at him. He was heavier than Cairn and if anything more powerful and his coat was a little darker. Then she looked back at Cairn.
‘What mole are you, and where are you from?’ Cairn asked. It was the ritual question but one that Rebecca had not been asked before, except in fun or mockery.
‘I’m Rebecca, of Duncton Wood.’ As she said her name it seemed that nothing had ever been so real to her before and that, suddenly, she was out of the shadows in which she had lived and fully herself. And playing in the light, without waiting for more questions, she ran between them and away, and she heard Cairn say ‘Rebecca!’ and heard him chase after her. Then Stonecrop laughed, deep and strong as she liked to hear a male laugh, and suddenly they were all chasing and running and mock-fighting in the sun, paw on face, face on flank, flank on paw, paw entwined with paw again. And the laughter of one seemed to go into and come out of another, Rebecca’s higher, female laughter mixing a gay silver lightness into their deeper laughs and growls of content.
Until, when the morning was fat with the September sun and the shadows of the trees by the wood had narrowed down to a sliver of dark, they were all still again, crouching under the protection of some faded common thistle, well out on the pastures and quite near one of the entrances to a tunnel the two males had used on their way up towards the wood.
‘So you’re Pasture moles! They said you were all vicious and dangerous!’ exclaimed Rebecca, content and safe in their company.
‘And they said you were all dark and broody and lived in shadows weaving spells,’ said Cairn.
Then they talked and asked so many questions of her that she couldn’t find time to answer them all. They were fascinated by the fact that Duncton Wood had a central place for moles in Barrow Vale because, according to Stonecrop, ‘We don’t have such a place at all, except where a couple of communal tunnels meet and you can have a chat down there, if you feel like it.’
But they knew more about Duncton than she had expected, given that there was so little contact between the two systems, and that she, herself, had learned nothing about the pastures. They knew of the Stone, ‘though it’s very dangerous and is protected by dangerous Duncton Wood spirit moles who could turn a Pasture mole into the root of a tree by a glance and imprison him there for ever until the tree dies and his spirit is released,’ explained Cairn.
‘What happens then?’ asked Rebecca, thinking that roots had never seemed sinister before to her but wondering if now she could ever look at one again without wondering if a mole was imprisoned inside.
‘Nomole is sure,’ continued Stonecrop. ‘And I personally don’t believe it. Have you been to the Stone?’ he asked Rebecca.
‘No, it’s a long way from where I live. I was going to it, well, sort of heading in that direction, when I stopped by the pastures. But it’s not an evil place. Well, it can’t be, because the Stone’s there and the Stone protects us.’
‘Is it true you’ve got scribemoles living in Duncton Wood?’ asked Cairn.
‘Scribemoles?’ Rebecca wasn’t sure what he meant. She had heard of them in stories Sarah had told her, but they didn’t exist anymore. ‘No, we haven’t any of them. That was long ago and they only ever came here for a short time.
‘What lies beyond the pastures?’ asked Rebecca. Even asking the question made her nervous.
‘Never been down there, have we, Stonecrop?’
‘Nope. Too dangerous. But I’ve always said I would go—it’s no good living in fear of things, is it?’
‘Does Rose live in the Pasture system?’ asked Rebecca. ‘Rose the Healer?’
‘Down near the marshes, isn’t she, Cairn?’
‘That’s right,’ said Cairn, ‘though you never know where she’s going to pop up next.’
Rebecca laughed—at least there was one thing in common between the two systems.
