Eight

For years the herons had built their nests in the reeds along Penny River. Early each spring they’d fly into Blossom Valley to pick up the twigs that the creatures had saved for them. They’d become good friends with everyone and were only too happy to build as many nests as were needed.

Everyone came out and watched with great admiration as the herons, flapping their massive wings in stately slow motion, flew in. They landed on the tall grass, and without much ado started work.

To speed the build and save the herons from flying to and fro from the twig-heap to the trees, it was arranged that the big birds, rabbits, Conti and a few squirrels, would transport the twigs to the bottom of each tree where the squirrels would clamp them with their teeth, race up the trees, hand them to the herons and race down again.

So it was not long before a large number of nests were ready for the crows and their babies to move in. Slowly they got used to their new home, felt secure and happy and life in Blossom Valley went on as before.

***

Then one evening, Speedo the snail wasn’t at the gathering.

“Search in the strawberry garden. He often goes there to have a rest or a nap,” shouted some ants.

“Take a look in the lettuce patch,” said a rabbit.

“No need for any of that,” Conti croaked loudly. “He’s gone. He left me a message. Sorry it went out of my mind. My brain refuses to store sad messages. It lets them slip out. Only it’s gradually coming to me now. He said he had been feeling lonely, yearning to find his fellow snails. He said he was sorry he didn’t announce it at the last gathering, cause he couldn’t bring himself to tell his crowd. Besides, they would have tried to talk him out of it. You can’t blame him, can you? A creature wants to be with his own kind. That’s how nature has made us.” Conti burst into loud sobs, took a huge leap and dived into his pond.

Speedo had only crawled a short distance away from Blossom Valley when George found him the next day.

“Conti told us. Your audience are sad you’ve left them. They miss you we all miss you, Speedo. We are all one family.”

“I’ve felt lonely for a long time, George,” sobbed Speedo. “I’ve been bored of life. I desperately yearn to see my friends, my own kind.” Tears gathered in his tiny eyes as he continued.

“I lost my family long ago. They were caught under the tractor’s wheels. It wasn’t the farmer’s fault. He was reversing out of the barn. They shouldn’t have been there. But I was left among friends, my own kind. We were a happy bunch.

Sometime back, there was a severe storm. A horrific gust of wind blew through the farm, lifted sheds, uprooted plants and bushes and tossed them long distances away. I was tossed up on the edge of Blossom Valley. I’d been beaten on all sides and I stayed in my shell, waiting to die.

It was Bond, the red squirrel and his team, the kindest of creatures, who brought me back to life. They kept talking to me, urging me to come out, telling me about the beauty of Blossom Valley, the butterflies, the frog. I have been happy in Blossom Valley, I’m not complaining. But I can’t help thinking about my fellow snails. I dream of Dyke Farm. I need to know what happened to my friends. It will take me ages. I don’t care if it’s forever, but one day I shall reach Dyke Farm. I long, to hear the yew tell her young lambs, stories. That’s how I became a storyteller myself. She told them a new story every day. I asked her how come she knew so many different stories. You know what she said? I make them up as I go along. So I started doing the same with my family and friends and I was successful.”

George had gone quiet, carried into deep thought. Then he spoke. “What would you say if I offered to make your journey shorter than ages, shorter than forever, and get you to Dyke Farm in a few short hours from now?”

“How do you mean?” Speedo huffed, his antenna bobbing and his eyes glistening.

“I will fly you there. Get on my back and hold tight. I’ll take it easy. I’ll try to make the flight as smooth as possible.”

“Are you alright up there, Speedo? You’re too quiet,” George called some few minutes after the take-off.

“I’m still in my shell, George,” Speedo replied in a trembling voice.

“Has it not been safe so far? Don’t you trust me, Speedo?” George sounded disappointed.

“Oh, my dear friend, of course I trust you. But from crawling to being in the air is scary and I’m such a coward.”

Speedo decided it was time he confronted his fear, and scooted out of his shell. He was glad he did. It was a breath-taking spectacle as he watched fields, meadows and the hedgerows rolling away beneath him.

“George!” he screamed in his tiny little voice, “look down! Yelping hounds, some beautiful horses and their posh riders. Why are they running like a pack of demented wolves?”

“It is the Fox Hunt, Speedo, the privileged humans’ game,” George explained. “The hounds are following a poor fox’s scent, aiming to ambush him somewhere in the undergrowth and I can’t even bear to think what the savage hounds will do to him.”

“You mean they’ll kill him - tear him apart?” Speedo’s voice wobbled.

“They will,” said George, his voice cracking with emotion. “It is the game of the elite humans. It gives them pleasure to see a creature being killed, blood being spilled. They do it for fun.”

“No creature should die just for the sake of fun,” Speedo cried, his eyes filling with tears.

“But they do, Speedo. Humans can be very cruel to creatures. They think that we can’t feel pain, the loss of a dear parent, or friend. My parents were killed just for the sake of fun. I saw it happen in front of my very eyes.” George choked and tears clouded his eyes. He had to come down.

“George, I think we’re here. Take a look at that faded writing on the old gate. Does it say Dyke Farm? Are we here?”

“We are, Speedo. I hope you find your friends soon.”

“You made my dream come true, George, I’ll always remember the thrill of flying but most of all your kindness. Leave me here. I’m at home now.”

“I’ll be back in two days to see how you got on,” said George. “Be by the barn so I don’t miss you. Good luck, my friend!” he called flapping his wings and rising into the sky.

Two days later George was at the farm. The place was deserted. The roofs of the barns had been blown away, doors and windows were hanging from rusted hinges. There was no sign of any farm animals and no sign of Speedo. He paid several visits to the farm and in the end he gave up.

It was on a wet morning months later that George spotted two snails crawling on the ground and landed close to them.

“I’m very sorry if I stood you up,” said Speedo, “but I had wandered too far. This is Sally, the sister of my best friend, Derek. Most of our fellow snails have vanished, blown to god knows where. I found Sally by chance. She was also searching for them.

“I’m glad for you, Speedo. At least you have Sally now. Would you like a lift to the valley?”

“Thank you, George,” said Sally. “You’ve already done enough. Besides, we’d rather get there by ourselves. There’s still so much more to catch up with.”

Everyone was happy to see Speedo back on the white rock, this time with Sally by his side. His audience had grown bigger. They were all keen to hear about his flight on George’s back, his desperate search for his fellow snails, and how he bumped into Sally.