Mother did the only thing she could, grabbed my sister and I and shoved us into the relative safety of a nearby hedge while pandemonium ruled around us. The three of us then watched with horror as our entire family was slaughtered. The gang of bandits ate our feast, made use of our den and destroyed the whole place. The weasel that Mother had hit on the head revived and joined in the fun. I watched, my hatred for him growing as he finished off in just a few mouthfuls all the strawberry flans we had so lovingly baked.
We didn’t run; I don’t know why. I guess my mother was frozen with fear, or didn’t want to abandon her home, or was waiting to be rescued. So we crouched in that hedge, all day, and just watched. By the time night fell, it was very clear to us that help – my father – was not coming. We saw the scouts returning with news of our male relatives, dead, all of them. Mother and Arbara cried silently, but I was young and didn’t understand the full implications of what I was hearing.
Eventually, of course, we were found. They dragged us from the bush with rough hands; Strawberry Eater recognised me immediately. “Well, lookit here! It’s da young missy what tried ter brain me wid her stick. Not so brave now, eh young’un?”
He shoved his dirty face right into mine. I cringed away and tried to hide behind my mother’s skirts, but he grabbed my by my collar and hoisted me into the air. I could see a slight bruise on his forehead from where I’d hit him, it made me bold. “Put me down, nasty mister fathead!” I protested, wriggling in his grasp.
His friends found that laughable, but I wasn’t finished. I’d seen my whole family killed, but to a someone of my young age what counted more was that he’d stolen our food, made me and Mother and Arbara hide in bush all day and that now he was holding me in a most uncomfortable position. I was tired, hungry, and just plain fed up. I had some spirit left, and I unleashed it on him.
“You stupid weasely, dumb head!” I cried and laid about with my spoon, which I had managed to keep hold of. Had I the chance now, I would use something much worse than a little spoon. But it did the damage then, and he dropped me after a few hits like a hot coal. “You little…”
I never found out what he thought I was. I hit the ground with a bounce and ran towards what was left of my family. Strawberry Eater lunged at me, and Arbara very bravely stood in his way. “You keep your hands off my sister!” she defied him. He gave her a whack across the face that sent her sprawling.
With a sob, Mother also stood up and tried to stop them getting to me. She and my sister were grabbed and dragged away. I did what I could to stop them being taken, but managed only a few good spoon-hits before it was taken off me. Strawberry Eater took me in a firm hold as my sister and mother were dragged away.
Oh Arbara, on the eve of your new glorious future, why were so suddenly shoved into the past? Oh Mother, why did I not do better to defend you, you who had always tried to keep me safe?
“This un’s mine,” said my captor giving me a shake, “But you can do what you want with them two!”
There is no nice way to say to this, so I will just put it bluntly. My mother and sister were tied up, strung up from trees and used for target practice. I tried to look away, but the Strawberry Eater held my head in place so I could not look anywhere else. In my dreams, I can still hear their screams and pleas. I will never forget that sight; it is the one way I can see my mother’s face clearly, contorted with pain.
The moles who rescued me later took what arrows they could from the bodies before burial, and I made up the rest of the number – 28 in all – with ones I fletched myself. Those arrows lie in a quiver by my bed, and when that weasel and I next meet, he will look like a hedgehog before I am through.
I have said before I was a determined little thing, and I wasn’t lying. They may have taken my spoon away, but I still had teeth, strong hind legs and, now, a burning anger and hatred that needed an outlet. I twisted and writhed in his grasp, soon freeing myself by literally falling out of my dress.
For the second time that day I hit the ground hard, and ran for my life with a speed that would qualify me to be a Salamandastron runner in later years. For now, my mission was freedom; I wasn’t thinking of my long gone family – that would come later – nor was I thinking what would happen next. I just ran.
They chased me for a while, then gave up. It was then that practical thought, or as much of it a five-season old has, returned to me. I stopped running and let recent events catch up with me. My whole family was gone, I had no home to go to, I was hungry, I was alone. My world, little and insignificant though it was, had been destroyed in the space of a day. I sat down right where I was and cried as I had never cried before or since.
“Burr aye, what’s that noise oi ‘ear?”
I had never met a mole before, and was startled by her sudden appearance. I stopped crying for a second, but my red eyes and hiccups remained. As I choked for breath, she smiled down upon me. “Hullo, missus! What’s a little’un loike ‘e doin’ doawn there on the ground?”
Mummy had said never talk to strangers, but mummy was dead. Besides, the mole looked friendly and smelt of biscuits. I wondered if she had any. “S’cuse me, but do you have any biscuits, wot?” I asked. To my young and innocent heart it was an important question, far belying the usual courtesies.
“Boi burlioh! Ah should’ve known, you hares are always hungerin! Coom with me, an we’ll soon ‘have ye full up!”
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