Poppy and Ereth (10 page)

S
PRUCE GAZED
down the trail.
I never thought Glitter Creek was so far
. All the same, he was positive, or mostly positive, that he was on the right path. And if it did lead to the creek and if he could find Grandma Poppy, it would be such a great thing. When he brought her home, he'd be a hero to everyone.

So Spruce pushed on, making frequent stops, sniffing the air, constantly shifting his ears. But the farther he went, the more he began to sense something odd in the air.

He stopped. Someone was coming along the path very quickly. Next moment a rabbit bounded up. Small and brown, the rabbit moved in jerks: three hops and a pause, three hops and a pause.

Spruce leaped to the side of the path to get out of his way. “Hey, Rabbit,” he called. “Stop!”

The rabbit skidded to a halt and looked around. He used a paw to push a floppy ear away from his frightened eyes. “What?” he said. “What's that? Who called me?”

“It's me, Spruce. Is this the right path to Glitter Creek?”

The rabbit stared at Spruce. His nose twitched. He shoved his ear away from his eye again. “The creek?” said the rabbit. “Did you say creek? What creek?”

“Glitter Creek,” repeated Spruce. “Am I on the right path?”

“The path?” echoed the rabbit. “To the creek? It certainly
is. But don't go there. You don't want to. Not at all!” With that he bounced away down the trail.

“Why?” Spruce called after him. “Why don't I want to?”

The rabbit stopped barely long enough to shout back, “Because it's bad. Very bad. As bad as it gets.”

Spruce peered down the path and then turned back to the rabbit. “But…what's so bad?” he called.

The rabbit had gone.

Spruce shrugged, glad at least to know the path would take him to the creek.
That'll show Dogbane,
he thought with pleasure.
That'll show everybody!

Confidence bolstered, Spruce moved along a little faster. What could be so bad?

B
OUNDER SHOVED HIS WET NOSE
against Poppy's small, furry chest. His grinning lips curled back so that all of his sharp white teeth were visible. His breath, heavy with the stench of whatever animal he most recently had eaten, washed over her like a rancid rag.

Terrified, Poppy shrank back against the tunnel wall, her heart beating furiously.

“Well, now,” said Bounder, “it's been quite a while since you and I have met, hasn't it?”

Poppy was too frightened to reply.

“Actually,” the fox went on, “I've been watching you for some time. Ever since you stuck your cute pink nose 'round that bend in the tunnel. What were you doing back there? How'd you ever get past me to get in here?”

“I…I flew,” Poppy stammered.

“
Flew?
” said the fox as he settled himself, while putting his other paw down. He now had a paw to either side of Poppy, trapping her.

“A bat brought me,” said Poppy, struggling to keep herself calm. The more she and the fox talked, the better her chances were for escape.

“A bat?” said the fox. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“No, really, it's true,” said Poppy, stealing looks about in search of some means of getting away.

Bounder grimaced. “Bats are horrid,” he said.

“Actually,” said Poppy, “I found them to be very pleasant.”

“They seem to have caught you, didn't they?” said the fox.

“That's because a young one thought I was a moth,” Poppy explained.

“A moth!” The fox laughed, again showing all his teeth.

“They only eat insects,” Poppy explained.

“No worry about
me
confusing you with a moth,” said Bounder. “I know you're a mouse, and I like eating mice. Small, but exceedingly tasty.”

“I'm old and probably tough,” said Poppy. If she could manage to leap over Bounder's front paw, and execute a really fast dash behind that slanting stone, she was convinced she had a chance to get away. That would require doing two things well: she'd have to take the fox by surprise,
and she'd have to quickly squeeze into that space between the wall and the rock—a tight fit.

“I suppose you might be old,” Bounder said. “But I've no intention of making a complete meal of you. More like a between-the-meals snack.” He lifted his right paw and held it as if he were about to smack it down on Poppy.

“Where was it we met before?” Poppy said in haste. “I'm
not even sure of your name.” She knew the answers, of course, but asked in hopes the fox would talk some more—anything to give herself more time.

The fox lowered his paw. “I can't believe you've forgotten,” he said. “My name is Bounder. Your name is Poppy. I met you a long time ago and gave chase. You managed to get away by running into a log.”

“I was younger and faster then,” said Poppy.

Bounder grinned. “We all were.”

“But what caused you to so kindly let me go?” asked Poppy.

“Actually, there was an ugly porcupine in that log,” said the fox with a frown. “You sure you don't remember any of this?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Bounder, I don't,” said Poppy. “But what happened? You know, when I ran into the log?”

“I really do have a good heart,” said the fox, summoning what looked like a forced smile. “I decided to let you go. Anyway, I really don't like porcupines.” His lips curled back in disgust. His pink tongue drooled.

“Is this your main den?” Poppy asked quickly. “It's quite nice.”

“Too large for one fox,” said Bounder.

“Then you live alone?” Poppy was calculating the length
of the jump that would clear Bounder's paw and get her behind that rock.

“I'm afraid so,” said Bounder. “I did have a wife. Good old vixen. Named Leaper. I'm sorry to say she died. Caught in a human's trap.”

“How awful!” cried Poppy. All the while she watched the fox intently, knowing that she would have only one chance to escape.

“It was sad,” agreed Bounder, not sounding very miserable. “But we all have to go sometime, don't we?” He grinned again.

“What about children?” Poppy asked. Sensing that Bounder was getting bored with the conversation, she knew she would have to make her move soon. “Do you have any?”

Bounder lowered his paw. “Three, actually. Grown up now. Moved away. Live in Dimwood Forest. A pretty ungrateful bunch, actually. I did a lot for them, but I don't see them much. I suppose that's what happens to every parent. How many children do you have?”

“Eleven,” said Poppy. “Lots of grandchildren. Even great-grandchildren.”

The fox shook his head. “All ignoring you, I suppose.”

“Oh no, they're still very much around,” said Poppy,
gathering her strength in her rear legs. “We're quite close.”

“What a nuisance,” said Bounder. He began to open his mouth wide in a great yawn. “I like children, but…” As he yawned, he involuntarily closed his eyes.

Poppy made her move. She leaped straight up in the air, twisted sharply about, and came down on the other side of Bounder's paw. No sooner did her toes touch the earth than she dived toward the leaning rock, squirming and kicking to get safely behind it.

Bounder, meanwhile, finished his yawn and opened his eyes. Poppy was no longer sitting between his paws. “Where the…!” he exclaimed, and looked around wildly, just in time to see her squirm behind the rock.

Down came his paw!

As Poppy squeezed under the cover of the rock, she felt Bounder's paw squash the tip of her tail. It took all her strength to yank it away—not without a little pain. Once free, she crouched down behind the rock, trembling.

She was safe—for the moment.

A
CHEERFUL
S
PRUCE
continued to amble along, reassured that he was truly heading toward Glitter Creek. Hadn't the rabbit said so? Besides, it felt good being out in the forest on his own. None of his brothers or sisters would have done so. Yes, the rabbit's warning puzzled him, but everybody knew rabbits were skittish. What could possibly be so bad? Well, yes, the heat was awful, but still….
Maybe it's a fox,
thought Spruce.
Maybe it's an owl. Maybe it's a human. Maybe it's…nothing. Bet the rabbit was just being timid. Not like me
, Spruce told himself with pride.

A little farther on, the trees thinned enough so that Spruce could see a good deal of the sky. The more he saw of it, the hazier the sky appeared—rather like a fog. Was
that
what the rabbit was thinking of as bad: some
fog
? Spruce snorted with scorn.

But as the young mouse continued to stroll along the path, he became increasingly aware of a strange smell in the air. It tickled his nose. Made it itch.
What is that?
he wondered. Was
that
what the rabbit was referring to as something bad: a
stink
?

As Spruce pressed on, the strange smell grew stronger. His eyes began to smart. Then his throat became irritated. He coughed a few times.

There was a break in the trees just ahead. A tired Spruce hoped it would be the creek. When he got there, he would take a quick look about for Grandma Poppy. If he did not find her, he would go home.

A few minutes later, he stepped out of the woods and onto the bank of Glitter Creek. The path he'd been following had led him to the old wooden bridge that crossed the creek. On the Dimwood Forest side of the bridge—not far from where Spruce emerged from the forest—stood an old, dead, and charred tree. It looked as if it had been struck by lightning a long time ago.

As for the bridge, it was nothing more than decaying wooden planks placed side by side and thrown across the creek bed. But on the far side of the bridge—on a hill—was a steady boil of what looked like a cloud. But it was a cloud that puffed, billowed, and churned with fierce energy.

The cloud was quite dark in some spots. In other places
it was white. Swirling above it were big and small white specks, some that drifted up, while others floated aimlessly over the land. As Spruce gazed at it, he saw that within the cloud were red-and-gold bits, glowing and winking. He heard noises, too, snapping, crackling, and crinkling sounds, as well as a steady whoosh of wind.

The young mouse stood transfixed. He began to see red, orange, and blue fingers poking out of the cloud, as if pointing everywhere, trying to tear things apart. At the same time waves of heat washed over him, heat far greater than the summer's high temperatures. The heat seared his ears and nose, singed his whisker tips, and made his eyes blink and tear, forcing him to step back again and again.

What is this?
Spruce wondered.

He began to remember talk from older mice, descriptions and hazy images of smoke, heat, and flames, all of it in tones that suggested something altogether dreadful, something they called
fire.
Gradually Spruce began to grasp that what he was seeing must be—had to be—that thing, that…
fire
.

Even after Spruce had named what lay before him, he continued to stare, terrified and fascinated at the same time.

As Spruce watched, the fire edged toward the far side of the wooden bridge. Bright sparks fell on the old planks.
The planks began to smolder, smoke, and then burst into flames. As the young mouse watched, the fire began to cross over the creek.

Suddenly Spruce understood:
That fire could catch me!

Turning, he dashed back along the path toward home. He had not gone very far when he spied a hole partially hidden beneath a rock. He stopped, went to the hole, and sniffed to make sure no one was in it, that it was safe. He darted a look back. The fire was still there, advancing slowly. He dived down into the hole. Once inside, he turned around and peeked out, watching with a terrified fascination as the fire crept slowly in his direction.