High noontide sun beat down on Orlando the Axe. The mighty badger strode the far reaches of the western plains, blind to the beauty of the flower-carpeted grassland which had turned green to gold.

Orlando the Axe was following the fox.

The badger wiped a huge dusty paw across his eyes. Sun glinted off the massive double-headed battleaxe slung over his shoulder. His home lay plundered behind him; there was nothing left there except desolation and loneliness.

Orlando the Axe was following the fox.

Two sunrises ago he had passed the strange fox and his band. They had given him a wide berth as he trudged to the foothills of the mountains, seeking food and the small rock plants which his little daughter Auma loved so much. Orlando feared no living creature. He had passed by the fox, not thinking that he had left a clear trail back to his den. The following morning he had returned home, laden with food and rock flowers. Auma was gone, his home was smashed and broken.

Orlando the Axe was following the fox.

Three winters ago his wife Brockrose had died, leaving him to rear their little badger cub. Auma was the most precious thing in Orlando’s life. He taught her of the seasons, the plains and the mountains. Now he had turned his back on those same mountains and plains with only one thing in his mind: to find his daughter and the creature who had taken her.

Orlando the Axe was following the fox.

Striding the wide spaces, the badger let a fearsome rumble start to build deep within his cavernous chest, a terrible sound that grew into a howling roar of pent-up rage and anger. It rebounded to the mountains across the sunlit plain as he shook the battleaxe aloft with one paw, his eyes narrowed to red bloodshot slits which changed the whole world crimson in front of him.

Orlando the Axe was following the fox!