‘But, Mamma, the other fawns are allowed to play on their own. Why must I always stay so close? It’s not fair. Besides, I can look after myself better than most.’
‘I’m sure you can, Rannoch. But not today. Do as I ask, my little one, and if you are good I will come down to the tree stump with you tomorrow. Now, why don’t you come and suckle?’
‘But, Mamma,’ protested Rannoch.
But the young deer could see that his mother had made up her mind. He sat down sulkily by her side, thinking all the time of Tain and Thistle playing in the meadow.
A calf will stop suckling between four and nine months old and Rannoch still drank from his mother’s milk. He looked at her side now and suddenly felt hungry. But Rannoch was cross and instead of nuzzling in to feed, he laid his head on the ground. After a while Rannoch looked so miserable that Bracken licked his nose.
‘Rannoch,’ said Bracken, ‘you know it’s only because I love you.’
‘I know, Mother,’ answered Rannoch, ‘but it’s not fair. All the fawns laugh at me because I have to stay at home when they go out to play.’
Bracken gazed down lovingly into Rannoch’s eyes and her heart melted.
‘Laugh at you, do they? We can’t have that, can we? Go on then, but be back before Larn.’
‘Oh yes, yes. Thank you. I promise I will,’ cried Rannoch and he was about to race away when his mother stopped him again.
‘What, Mamma?’
‘Before you go, let me look at you.’
Rannoch knew what was coming. He raised his head obediently.
‘I thought so,’ said Bracken. ‘Come over here.’
‘Oh, Mother, do I have to?’ grumbled Rannoch as he followed her to the trees.
He watched Bracken warily as she plucked some blackberries from a branch in her lips and dropped them onto a small pile of leaves on the ground. Then she squashed them in the cleft of her foot until the berries and the moist leaves had turned to a ruddy brown dye.
‘Come here, Rannoch,’ said Bracken, scooping some of the mixture onto her tongue.
‘But why do you always do this?’ said Rannoch as Bracken rubbed the mixture on his forehead, making the fur darker again.
‘It’s good for you, my little one. It will make you all the more handsome.’
Rannoch shook himself.
‘I don’t care. I don’t like it.’
‘You will learn in life, my little one,’ said Bracken, ‘that grown-ups do things you sometimes may not like. But more often than not it’s for your own good. Now run along. Be back before Larn, mind,’ she cried as Rannoch tossed his head and raced away.
Rannoch was delighted that his mother had let him go. But he was still furious that he among all the fawns had to put up with the ritual of the berries and so much trouble when he wanted to play. By the time he got halfway down the meadow, though, he had forgotten all his resentment and was so excited he felt his heart would burst. The sun was glittering in the field and in the distance Tain and Thistle were playing by the old tree stump, taking turns to run at it and throw themselves into the air.
‘Look out there,’ shouted Rannoch as he launched himself across the log and landed right next to the two young friends.
‘Rannoch!’ cried Tain delightedly. ‘We thought you weren’t coming.’
‘Your mother let you go then,’ said Thistle a little unkindly. Thistle was jealous of Rannoch’s friendship with Tain. But before long the three fawns were running and skipping across the log and playing happily in the meadow as they felt the wind on their faces and the strength growing in their young legs. It was a good while before Rannoch began to tire of the game and wandered away from the log in the direction of the trees. He stood there gazing into the distance and was soon lost in thought.
‘Rannoch,’ called Tain, who had just executed what seemed to him a particularly spectacular leap, ‘aren’t you playing any more? What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, leave him. He’s always dreaming,’ said Thistle as he too launched himself over the stump. But Tain was already padding off towards his friend.
‘I’m tired of that game,’ said Rannoch as the fawns reached him. ‘I want to do something else.’
‘What?’ said Thistle, aimlessly nosing a beetle that he had just seen lumbering through the grass. He turned it over with his muzzle and watched it kick its legs helplessly in the air.
‘Don’t really know.’ Rannoch shrugged. ‘Something more adventurous.’
‘We could go down to the stream,’ suggested Tain.
‘And tease the fishes,’ added Thistle more enthusiastically. He had just upended the beetle again.
‘Boring,’ said Rannoch.
‘I could make up a story,’ suggested Tain.
‘No,’ said Rannoch. ‘I want to do something really fun, like. . . like. . .’ Rannoch lowered his voice and looked hard at his two friends. ‘Like going into the forest.’
‘Rannoch!’ said Thistle disapprovingly, losing interest in the beetle which, much relieved, scuttled away under a branch. ‘You know we’re not allowed into the forest alone. We’re still too young.’
‘I know, I know. But just think what an adventure it would be.’
Thistle looked nervously at Tain.
‘What do you say, Tain?’ asked Rannoch, his bright eyes twinkling. The thought of the forest and all its dark places made Tain shudder.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Rannoch,’ he said quietly. ‘We really shouldn’t. My mother told be never to. . .’
‘And mine,’ agreed Thistle.
‘Yes. Yes. But we could just go into the edge of the trees. Down at the stream by that big oak. I was listening to some bucks the other day and one said he had seen an owl’s nest.’
Tain’s eyes opened wide.
‘Well,’ said Rannoch, who had already made up his mind, ‘are you coming?’
‘But we’ll get into trouble,’ said Thistle.
But Rannoch was already gone, running back up the hill. Tain and Thistle looked at each other doubtfully.
‘Come on then.’ Tain shrugged. ‘Just to the edge of the trees.’
The three fawns ran as fast as their legs could carry them with Rannoch leading the way, skirting the home valley and the grazing herd. When they came to the edge of the western hill they paused and looked down. Below them was the stream and beyond it the big oak that marked the edge of the forest. They stopped and then raced down towards it. But before they had even reached the stream Rannoch pulled up suddenly and looked around him, startled, his ears standing up and his tail twitching.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Tain, coming up to his side.
‘I don’t know,’ said Rannoch. ‘I feel funny.’
‘What you mean,’ said Thistle, ‘is you’ve changed your mind.’
‘No. I just . . . I don’t know what it is. I’ve never felt like this before.’
‘Felt like what?’ said Thistle irritably.
‘It’s a sort of tingling feeling. I can’t describe it. It’s as though it’s inside me and yet it isn’t. But I feel, I feel. . .’
‘What?’ asked Tain, more kindly.
‘I feel as if something bad is happening. Something wrong.’
‘You’re just frightened.’ Thistle’s thin face looked rather unkind.
With that they heard a sound from beyond the trees to the right, where the stream curled round out of sight. The three fawns walked slowly forward until they caught sight of three more deer by the edge of the water. One of them had his back to the stream. It was a fat little fawn named Bankfoot, who everyone laughed at in the herd because he was so slow and had a stutter. The other two were prickets, young deer with their first heads; single spiked antlers that rose straight above them.
‘Oh, it’s only Bankfoot,’ said Thistle. ‘They’re just teasing him.’
‘Hush,’ said Rannoch. ’Listen.’
The two youngsters facing Bankfoot were a year older and considerably bigger. They were pushing forw
ard, nudging Bankfoot with their noses.
‘L-l-l-leave me alone,’ stammered the terrified little fawn, digging in with his feet and trying to stop them edging him into the water.
‘Don’t you want to go for a swim?’ sneered the oldest. His name was Braggle and he had a reputation for picking on the younger, weaker deer. His friend, whose name was Raggling, grinned stupidly at him.
‘N-n-n-no,’ said Bankfoot, ‘I don’t. Go away.’
‘N-n-n-no?’ mocked Braggle, imitating his stutter. ‘But we want to see you float.’
Braggle gave Bankfoot another shove.
‘Ow. Stop it, you bully.’
‘Bully, eh?’
Braggle pushed Bankfoot again. His hind hoofs were almost in the water now.
‘I’ll teach you to wander away from your mother,’ Braggle continued. ‘You’re lucky a Draila hasn’t caught you. But now I want to see a little ball of fur go bobbing down the stream.’
Braggle was about to bash Bankfoot again when he got the shock of his life. He felt the breath leave his lungs and he found himself sailing through the air. He landed with a great splash right in the middle of the stream and a draught of water went straight up his nose. The stream wasn’t deep so he could stand easily, but when Braggle picked himself up, coughing and spluttering, he was drenched and very startled. Raggling watched nervously from the bank. Without his friend he wasn’t very brave.
‘Pick on someone your own size,’ cried Rannoch furiously. Bankfoot was also startled but Rannoch’s eyes were blazing with anger. When Braggle saw the fawn who had just knocked him into the water, he was as furious as he was amazed. Rannoch was nearly half Braggle’s size, antlerless and considerably weaker. Braggle walked slowly towards him through the water, trying to look as menacing as possible. But although Rannoch hated fighting, he held his ground.
‘Very brave,’ said Braggle, ‘sneaking up behind me like that. Well, if you don’t like me picking on fatty here, perhaps you’d like to go for a swim instead?’
‘No, thank you,’ answered Rannoch coldly.
‘It’s Rannoch, isn’t it?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Nothing. Just that I’d expect a selach to run with a weakling like Bankfoot.’
‘And I’d expect a bully like you to pick on a smaller fawn,’ said Rannoch, furious and deeply stung by the insult. Selach is the name deer give both to fawns who have no known father and to hinds with no living mate. Even though stags and hinds usually live apart and the hinds have the sole responsibility for rearing the calves, for a fawn not to have a father is a great misfortune and the other fawns were always joking about it. Tain and Thistle were in the same boat in this regard for their fathers had also died that night on the hills. Though Rannoch knew nothing of what had really befallen Brechin, he felt the lack of a father deeply.
‘Don’t worry,’ sneered Braggle, ‘I wouldn’t dream of bullying Bankfoot now you’re here.’
Rannoch gulped. Braggle really was much bigger than him. But suddenly Braggle hesitated. Then he snorted and turned away.
‘Oh come on, Raggling,’ he said, ‘let’s get back. I’m bored with all these selach. Let’s leave them to talk about their mothers.’
Rannoch looked round and was relieved to see that Tain and Thistle had come up behind him. Braggle and Raggling could probably have beaten all four of them in a fight but the new arrivals had tipped the odds uncomfortably. Besides, apart from being cold and wet, Braggle really was a coward at heart.
‘See you again,’ called Braggle in the distance. ‘Count on it.’
‘C-c-c-coward,’ piped Bankfoot after him, but the older deer were gone.
The four fawns stood on the bank for a while, deeply shaken. At last Bankfoot trotted up to Rannoch.
‘Th-th-thank you, Rannoch,’ he said.
‘It’s nothing,’ answered Rannoch a little coldly. ‘But you shouldn’t wander off on your own like that. Come on, you two.’
‘Rannoch, I don’t think we should,’ said Tain sheepishly.
‘Not today. It’s getting late and your mother will be angry. So will mine, for that matter.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Thistle, ‘I should get back too.’
‘Fine,’ said Rannoch angrily. ‘If you’re frightened I’ll go myself.’
Rannoch turned and trotted off in the direction of the wood.
‘I’ll g-g-g-go with you, Rannoch,’ called Bankfoot.
‘You? You should get back to your mother’s milk.’
As Rannoch ran he was sorry he had snapped at Bankfoot and he could have done with the company. But he was disappointed with Tain and Thistle, and the business of the berries and Braggle’s insult had suddenly made him smart with shame. He was an adventurous little deer but his instincts were always being held in check by Bracken.
At least now I can go exploring, Rannoch thought to himself, and his spirits perked up a little as he stopped by a big oak. The great twisted tree stood just in front of the main line of the forest and its bowl was heavily furred with moss. It branches stretched wide above him and were thickly decked with yellowing oak leaves with their distinctive florid shape. Rannoch looked about him. Behind him the meadow was emptying of deer as the animals returned to the home herd to feed again before Larn. The sunlight was just beginning to fade and Rannoch could smell the evening on the breeze. He looked back past the oak tree and gulped.
The line of the forest stretched right and left as far as Rannoch could see; a wall of mystery. But here the trees were set forward a little and, being mainly oak and elm, they were spaced wider than elsewhere, so that Rannoch could see quite a way back into the gloom. Through the dark webbing of wood and brier the great trunks glinted here and there in the streams of sunlight breaking through the canopy and the pools of colour on the forest floor made the darkness around seem all the more mysterious.
The forest is a place that all young fawns dream about, especially when their herd, like this one, is a not a woodland herd and is used to grazing in the open. Rannoch was powerfully drawn to it as a place of enchantment, of danger and of wonder. The forest is said to be Herne’s home. With small fawns like Rannoch the hinds are careful not to let them wander in the forest on their own, for they know the dangers to a very young fawn if he should get lost in the treacherous shadows of the trees.
But Rannoch was thinking of none of this now as he edged closer to a trail of trodden leaves that cut through a blackberry bush and swung into the wood. He had forgotten his mother’s strict prohibition and was thinking only of finding an owl’s nest. As his nose edged into shadow he paused again. His legs were trembling violently. Plucking up his courage, the little fawn disappeared into the gloom.
Rannoch would remember that moment for ever. He had been into the trees before, but that was with Bracken. Now, all alone, he felt like he was stepping to the edge of the adult world. Suddenly the air was thick around him and the great tree trunks reared up like giant antlers. The fawn’s senses came alive as he drank in the strange scents of decaying wood, leaves and moist earth. He felt the ground damp and springy under his hoofs and the air rich and warm around him.
He walked very slowly, knowing instinctively that he had to stay on the path and peering about him as his eyes adjusted to the dappled light. Around him he heard new and wonderful sounds and flinched nervously as a bird fluttered in its nest or a squirrel that had been watching him from under a branch shot round the top of it and darted up a trunk. It seemed as if the leaves on the forest floor were alive as the ground rustled and crackled with insects and animals.
Then Rannoch froze as he heard it for the first time. The hollow, melancholy hoot of an owl high up in the branches ahead. The other fawns would be green with envy, thought Rannoch eagerly to himself as he pressed on down the path. He kept looking down as he went, to make sure that he stayed on the trail. Luckily the owl’s call was taking the fawn in the right direction.
It got darker as he padded along, for the canopy
was getting heavier now and the dying sunlight could no longer penetrate the tangle of leaves that festooned the boughs. Rannoch blinked in the gathering gloom but he was too caught up in his quest to notice that the ground under him was beginning to change as the trail veered away to the left. His eyes were locked on the tree trunks above as he was drawn on by the sound of the owl, hooting loudly to welcome in the evening.
Rannoch’s heart jumped as he spotted a shape on a branch above. It was a young tawny owl perched far out on the end of a branch, hallooing to himself as his huge, imperial eyes guarded his secret bower.’Hoo Hoo, what’s this?’ said the owl to himself as he spied Rannoch below. But even if the owl had been able to speak Rannoch’s language, the tawny was hungry and in no mood to talk, so instead he opened his wings and lifted himself off his branch. He swooped down right over Rannoch’s head and circled him three times before disappearing into the trees beyond.
‘Hello there,’ shouted Rannoch delightedly as he ducked and span round. ‘Come back.’
But the owl was gone. Rannoch shrugged. Although they’d probably never believe him, at least he’d be able to tell the others he had seen a real owl. And in the middle of the forest too. Rannoch suddenly realized that it must be close to Larn. He should have been home long ago. He turned to retrace his steps but when he looked down, the track had vanished. Instead he was surrounded by trees, tall and dark and all looking very much the same.
Rannoch was filled with the desire to run, run as fast as his legs could carry him, back to Bracken and the home herd. He felt fear bubbling up inside his stomach and his tail quivered as he peered around him.
‘I recognize that branch,’ said Rannoch out loud, and he started as his voice echoed round the trees. He looked around him and then, convincing himself that he did indeed recognize a tree, he set off in the wrong direction.
As Rannoch walked the trees seemed to get thicker. He was scratched by thorns and very soon he wanted to give up. But he kept going. At one point he came to a tiny clearing in the canopy above and his spirits fell even further as he looked up to see that the blue was turning inky and the stars were pricking through the sky. Later on he started and bolted when he stumbled on a grass snake uncurling its smooth body in the brown undergrowth.