Tammo had never been so tired in all his young life. It was three hours after dawn and they were still running. His footpaws felt heavy as two millstones, and the weight of the haversack on his back, which had been fairly light at first, was now like carrying another beast.

Those open plains that had always looked smooth and slightly undulating from a distance, what had happened to them? Suddenly they had become a series of steep hills and deep valleys, with small sharp rocks hidden by the grass, areas of thorny thistle and slopes of treacherous gravelly scree. The welcome sunlight of dawn was now a burning eye that blinded him and added to the discomfort of his already overheated body.

Staggering and gasping for breath, Tammo slumped down on the summit of a hill, unable to go another pace forward. Russa Nodrey was already there, still upright, breathing calmly as she viewed the prospect to the south. From the corner of her eye she watched the young hare with a tinge of admiration, which she kept well hidden from him.

“Nothin’ like a brisk trot, eh, Tamm? How d’you feel?”

Tammo was on all fours, head bent as he tried to regulate his breath. He spoke still facing the ground, unable to look up. “Not too blinkin’ chipper, marm. Need water, somethin’ to eat, and sleep. Give anythin’ for a jolly good snooze, marm!”

Russa crouched down beside him. “Lissen, young ’un, call me Russa, pal, matey, anythin’ you like. But stop callin’ me marm. It makes me feel like some fat ole mother duck!”

Tammo glanced sideways at her, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I’ll do that, matey, but you stop callin’ me young ’un or I’ll start callin’ you mother duck!”

Standing behind him, Russa smiled as she pulled the haversack from his back. Despite her initial reluctance, she was beginning, if a little grudgingly, to enjoy Tammo’s company.

“Let’s have this thing off ye, Tamm. We can’t stop here, got to press on a bit afore we make camp.”

Tammo flexed his shoulders and moved to a sitting position. “Why’s that? This looks like a jolly good spot, wot?”

The squirrel pointed south, indicating another two hilly tors. “We’ve got to land up across there by midday. Right, here’s where yore eddication starts, young ’un . . . er, pal. Tell me, why should we make camp there instead o’ here?”

Tammo pondered the question a moment. “Haven’t a bally clue, old pal. Tell me.”

Russa began shouldering the haversack. “Well, for a start, ’tis too open up here, we c’n be seen for miles. A good camp should be sheltered for two reasons: one, in case o’ the weather; two, t’stay hidden. Doesn’t do t’let everybeast know where ye are in open country.”

The young hare stood up slowly. “Hmm, makes sense I suppose.”

“You can bet yore life it does.” The squirrel winked at him. “But afore y’go harin’ off, let me tell you the rest. At midday it’ll be hottest, that’s when we should sleep a few hours an’ save energy. We can eat’n’drink too afore we nap, sleep’s good fer the digestion. If we ate an’ drank now, we’d be travelin’ on full bellies. It’d take us twice as long to get there in that state. All right, matey, let’s be on our way. I’ll carry this ’avvysack fer a while—’tis only fair.”

Tammo started down into the valley, digging his paws in against a shale drift. He felt much lighter and better for the brief rest. “Indeed ’tis only fair, considerin’ the weight of your pancakes, old pal!” he called back.

Russa caught up and quickly took the lead. “Less of the old, young scallywag, or I’ll put on a turn of speed that’ll have ye eatin’ me dust fer a full day!”

Tammo pulled a wry face at the squirrel’s back. “What ho, young Russa, point taken. Lead on, but not too fast.”

Russa shook her head as she skirted a patch of mossy grass, still wet and slippery with morning dew. “Rest yore jaws an’ let the paws do the work, Tamm, seasons o’ gabble! I never did so much talkin’ in all me life. Save yore breath fer travelin’, that’s another lesson y’ve got to learn.”

“Right you are, O wise one, the jolly old lips are sealed!”

“Good! Then shut up an’ keep up!”

“To hear is to obey, O sagacious squirrel!”

“You’ve gotta have the last word, haven’t yer?”

“Only because you’re the strong silent type, great leader.”

“I’ll great leader you, y’cheeky-faced rogue!”

“Bad form f’r a Commander to insult the other ranks, y’know. Whoops! Yowch!”

Not looking where he was going, Tammo trotted into the area of mossy grass and slipped, landing flat on his back. Because of the steep incline, he rolled a good way downhill, until he was halted by a boulder.

Russa went by him, looking straight ahead, a smile playing ’round her lips. “Tut tut, I’ve already told ye, matey, y’can’t lie down fer a nap until we make camp!”

*

Tammo learned a lot that first morning. By midday they were standing on top of the hill overlooking the spot Russa had chosen for a campsite. Down in the valley a little stream tumbled over a rock ledge, forming a tiny waterfall. There were wild privets and dogwood to one side, making a shady bower.

Hot and dusty, Tammo wiped a paw across his mouth at the sight of fresh water. He saluted smartly at Russa and said, “Permission t’go down an’ chuck m’self in yonder cool water!”

The canny squirrel shrugged. “Suit y’self, matey, if’n that’s what y’feel like doin’.”

The young hare let out a joyful whoop and sped off downhill.

Russa backed off and, dropping out of sight, cut off at a tangent, approaching the glade from a different angle.

Ducking out of his shoulder belt and dirk, Tammo cast both aside and leapt into the water. It was ice cold and crystal clear. The sudden shock robbed him of his breath for a moment; then he gave vent to a yell of sheer delight. It was good to be alive on such a day. Gulping down the sweet fresh water, Tammo stood beneath the cascade with his mouth wide open, falling backward and splashing playfully with all four paws.

“Yerrah! Now dat’s wot I likes ter see, Skulka, a young critter fulla the joys o’ spring!”

Rubbing both eyes and snorting water from his nostrils, Tammo floundered upright to see who had spoken.

Two ferrets, big and lean and clad in tattered rags, stood on the bank, one with an arrow half drawn on her bowstring, the other with a spear stuck in the ground as he tried on Tammo’s belt and dirk for size.

The young hare knew he was in deep trouble. Glancing around to see if he could spot Russa, Tammo pointed at his property. “Good day, friends! I say, that’s my belt an’ dirk you’re jolly well tryin’ on, y’know!”

The female kept her arrow centered on Tammo. Turning to her partner, she revealed a row of snaggled, discolored teeth in a grin. “Lah de dah, Gromal, ain’t ’e got nice manners? Didyer know that’s ’is jolly ole dirk’n’ belt yore tryin’ on?”

Gromal had fastened the belt around his waist, and now he was stroking the dirk handle and admiring the fine blade. “Ho, is it now? Well ’ere’s the way I sees it, Skulka. That beast flung ’isself in our water widout so much as a by yer leave. Lookat ’im there, drinkin’ away an’ sportin’ about as if it belonged to ’im!”

Tammo stood quite still in the stream and managed to force a friendly smile at the evil pair. “Accept my apologies, you chaps. Sorry, I didn’t know the stream belonged to you. I’ll just hop right out.”

Gromal pulled his spear from the ground. “Aye, that’s the ticket, me young bucko. You jus’ ’op right up ’ere on the bank so’s we kin search yer. Yore gonna pay fer the use of our water. Keep that shaft aimed at ’im, Skulka. If’n ’e makes one false move, shoot ’im atween the eyes an’ slay ’im!”

Skulka drew her bowstring tight, sniggering. “If ’e don’t ’ave no more val’ables, then mebbe we c’n use ’im as a slave fer a few seasons.”

A hardwood stick came whirling in a blur from the tree cover and struck the arrow, snapping it clean in two pieces. Russa hurtled out like a lightning bolt, shoving Skulka into the water and launching herself at Gromal. She caught him a terrific headbutt to the stomach, and he crumpled to the ground, mouth open as he fought for air. Tammo waded swiftly to the shallows, and as Skulka staggered upright, he dealt her a powerful kick with both footpaws. She fell back in the water, and he sat upon her, applying all his weight.

Russa had relieved Gromal of the dirk; now she grabbed her hardwood stick and stood waiting for him to rise. He came up fast, seizing his spear and charging her. Almost casually she stepped to one side, dealing him three quick hard blows to the back of his head as he rushed by her. The ferret dropped like a log.

Ignoring him, she turned to Tammo and said, “Best let that’n up afore ye drown her, mate.”

Tammo hauled Skulka dripping and spluttering from the stream. He shook water from his eyes, peering indignantly at Russa. “I say, y’might’ve told me about these two before you let me flippin’ well dash down here an’ dive in the water, wot?”

The squirrel kicked Skulka flat, trapping her across the throat with the hardwood stick. Then she shrugged indifferently. “I didn’t know they were down there. Besides, you couldn’t wait to dash into the water. I never approach a campsite without checkin’ it out first, mate, and so should you.”

Tammo heaved a sigh as he took his belt from the fallen ferret. “Another jolly old lesson learned, I suppose?”

Russa patted his back heartily. “You jolly well suppose right, me ol’ pal!”

While the two ferrets sat on the bank recovering from their drubbing, Russa paced around them. She glanced across at Tammo, who was carrying the haversack out of the shrubbery where she had left it. “What d’you think we should do with these vermin, Tamm, kill ’em, or let ’em go?”

The young hare was shocked at the suggestion of cold-blooded slaying. “Russa Nodrey!” he cried, his voice almost shrill with outrage. “You can’t just kill them! You wouldn’t!”

The squirrel’s face was impassive. “D’you know why I’m alive today? ’Cos my enemies are all dead. Make no mistake about it, Tamm, these two scum would’ve slain you just fer fun if I hadn’t been here.”

The ferrets began to wail imploringly.

“No no, we was just sportin’ wid yer, young sir!”

“We ain’t killers, we’re pore beasts fallen on ’ard times!”

Russa curled her lip scornfully. “Aye, an’ I’m a bluebird wid a frog for an uncle!”

Tammo placed himself between Russa and the ferrets. “You’re not goin’ to slay them. I’ll stop you, Russa!”

The squirrel sat down and, unfastening the haversack, began selecting a few of Mem Divinia’s pancakes. “Huh! No need t’fall out over a pair of nogoods like them. Please yoreself, mate, do what y’like with ’em.”

Tammo flung Skulka and Gromal’s weapons into the water, then he drew his dirk and pointed it at the cringing duo. “Get up an’ get goin’, you chaps. I never want to see your ugly faces again. Quick now, or I’ll let Russa loose on you!”

Without a backward glance, the pair sped off as if pursued by a flight of eagles. Tammo put up his dirk. “There, that’s settled!”

Russa filled a beaker with water from the stream. “So you say, me ole mate.”

“What d’you mean, so I say?”

“Ah, you’ll learn one day. I thought you were starvin’. Come an’ get some o’ these vittles down yer face.”

They dined on pancakes spread with honey, beakers of stream water, and a wedge of cold turnip and carrot pie apiece. The sun was unusually hot for early spring, and Tammo felt rather giddy after their adventure. Finding a soft shady spot beneath the hedgerow, he was asleep in a trice. Russa sat with her back against a dogwood trunk and napped with one eye open.