Also, Cairn sensed that Rune was not truly beaten anyway and probably had some trick prepared. And then again, this Rune might bring other Duncton moles to attack him, and Cairn had no inflated sense of his own prowess. He could have beaten Rune, he knew that, but not two Runes, or three. So, finally, Cairn gave up the chase and turned back to try to find his mate.
Out on the pastures this would have been easy for him, but here in the wood with so many strange smells and sounds, and with the heavy rain half obscuring everything, Cairn found it impossible, and he was lost in the wood for hours trying to find his way back to the pastures. Eventually, when the rain lightened and a breeze returned, fortunately from the west, he got a scent of the pastures and was able to head directly for them and from there to the temporary burrow where he had left Rebecca.
He called out her name as he went down, but he could sense without waiting for the silence that greeted him that she was gone. Probably to look for him.
But how wet and forlorn the place looked bereft of her. How dank and desolate the wet wood about seemed, just as it always had when he had come near it from the pastures. How cold their burrow was with only the fresh wood scent of Rebecca there to give it a feeling of life and love.
He waited in the burrow, tending the scratches and wounds he had received in his fight with Rune and feeling lost. He wanted to see her again, if only to confirm that she had not been a dream—though, he thought ruefully, his wounds from Rune were evidence enough that she was not.
Rebecca, too, was miserable throughout that same night, for though she was tired, she could not sleep with fretting for her Cairn. When dawn came, and it came very slowly, she made her way back to the surface near the pastures, where the air was cool and clear from yesterday’s storm and the sun was beginning to shine. The wood gave her the feeling that it had shaken off the trial of the storm and was there again for moles to enjoy, sliding into autumn it was true, but with enough green leaf about to catch the morning sun and make a mole feel that he, or she, was back in summer again.
As soon as Rebecca came to the little clearing where her temporary burrow was, she knew that he was there waiting for her. Oh, she could smell again the strong young scent of the open pastures, where the wind blew and shadows seemed few and far between. She sighed for happiness and crept as quietly as she could into the tunnel, hoping to surprise Cairn, but he was ready for her. She heard him stir and laugh as he delighted in her scent coming to him, and there he was, waiting in the burrow, her Cairn! Her love! His love, Rebecca!
How quiet they both were, and how content. She tended for a while to his scratches and wounds, especially the one he had received on his face as he had run out of the tunnel after Rune. What special attention she gave to that one! What sighings and caresses, what entwinings and delights, what peaceful rest and waking dreams! How close they were!
‘Rebecca, Rebecca!’
‘Cairn, my love, my wildflower.’
They smiled and laughed and giggled to be so near, fur once more mingling with fur, and haunch soft against haunch. For a while they even mock-fought, until Cairn’s wound got scratched again and he surrendered in defeat to his Rebecca, and she licked and tended him once more. Then they slept again, the sweet sleep of love satisfied.
‘Been in a fight, have you, Rune?’ Mandrake asked the question with good humour, for after the confrontation with the owl face in Hulver’s tunnels he had felt weary, and in no mood to deal with the sycophantic mumblings of the henchmoles, so was glad to see Rune back again from wherever he had been.
When he entered the elder burrow where Mandrake was crouched, Rune had placed himself carefully out of the shadows where his wounds and scratches might be clearly seen. He had done so wearily and in seeming pain, his snout low but making a consciously brave effort to look cheerful.
‘Not exactly a fight, Mandrake, but it is of no matter. I hope.’
‘Mmm?’ Mandrake’s growl indicated that he wanted to know more.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Rune. ‘At least, I hope it’s nothing.’
He paused to give time for the doubt to sink into Mandrake’s mind and then said lightly, ‘Well! Everything’s quiet in Barrow Vale. That’s something!’
‘Where have you been, Rune?’ asked Mandrake, his curiosity now successfully aroused.
Rune sighed, licked his wounds, scratched, twisted and turned, coughed, put a brave smile on to his shadowy face, sighed again, and finally said: ‘Do you know where Rebecca is at the moment?’
‘No. Where?’ asked Mandrake, puzzlement taking over from curiosity.
‘Ah! I thought… nothing. I must be wrong.’
Mandrake got up and came closer to Rune. ‘What did you think?’ he asked more intensely.
