Josie must have blacked out. When he came round Potkin was leaning against a tree. He had been sick. They were both still panting open mouthed, and quivering.
“Some dream that!” laughed Potkin, with only a hint of hysterics.
“I think it was real.” replied Josie.
Potkin became subdued. "I know."
As Josie looked about, they were on the edge of gentle woodland, something in the air felt welcoming. Perhaps, he thought, he could lighten the moment.
“Last night I dreamed about our fridge at home. It was full of roast chicken, coley fillets, crispy bacon and Wensleydale cheese.”
“And crunchy fishy snacks?” asked Potkin.
“In the biscuit barrel.” Josie replied, “I don’t think we can have eaten for about twenty-four hours and I’m starving. Can we try and find breakfast?”
“I’m a bit peckish myself.” said Potkin, “Can’t hang around all day.”
The trotted merrily down the sun-dappled path.
They had not gone far into the wood when they started to notice holes between the roots of some of the trees. A jay flew low overhead and then before them chattering a warning to anyone who would listen. They followed the bird and after a short distance a loud chatting sounded out, high in one of the trees. A conker thudded into the ground at Josie’s feet, a second bounced off Potkin’s head.
“That hurt!”
A grey squirrel peered angrily round the tree trunk and bobbed up and down in a coded threat, but the cats continued along the path, their peace destroyed by the noisy escort. Despite the distractions it became apparent to them that they were in a minor paradise. The artistically spaced trees curved and twisted in soothing harmony, gentle banks were carpeted in daisies and, they realised, the holes were tunnels. Many had fresh soil and neat piles of nugget-like spoor around the entrance.
“Who do you reckon lives in there?” asked Josie.
“I do!” replied one of the holes.
Talking holes were definitely unnerving and Josie was beginning to wonder how much more he could take, when it, the hole, began to grow ears. It sprouted six ears in all and then three noses. Potkin had never seen a hole like it. He was staring, fascinated when the rabbits emerged and lined up.
I’m Blackberry Coney and this is Bilberry Coney and Strawberry Coney. We’re part of the Coney family, we’re all named after berries.”
“I was starting to get that,” replied Potkin.
“Are you a large family?” asked Josie.
“Huge! There’s two, three… f… lots of us.”
“So what happens when you run out of berry names?”
“Oh we just start again. My Dad is Young Blackberry, ‘cos his dad was Old Blackberry and then my sister’s kid is Tiny Blackberry. He’s still quite small. We’re all pretty hard to tell apart anyway, except for Digby. He’s a big black and white rabbit with floppy ears and lives on his own.”
“Have you ever noticed,” said Potkin to Josie, “how potential lunch animals can be really annoying while they're still uncooked?”
Strawberry Coney was jumping up and down. “Welcome to The Rainbow Woods!”
“Oh my God,” Potkin again, “they’ll sing us a song next.”
“Can we?” asked Bilberry, excitedly.
“No!”
Another conker whizzed past Potkin’s right ear. “Can you do anything about your perimeter guards? And is there anything but rabbit to eat in this warren?”
Blackberry answered, “Don’t mind Nutkin, he’s a terrible shot. This isn’t just a warren, Rainbow Woods is neutral ground, a sort of peace commune for all the furry woodland creatures. We live together under an armistice, though we vegetarians do tend to eat separately from the carnivores, just to be on the safe side. They’ll probably sort you out some grub, there’s the Brock family, have a posh set just up the hill, or you could try the Todds. They’re friendly and live under that lightning- tree over there.”
“This all seems very nice.” said Josie, “Can we go and see the Todds straight away?”
“Bit gooey, I thought.” Potkin replied, “Lightning-tree sounds exciting though.”
“Haven’t we had enough exciting for a bit?” Josie was looking tired and a little drawn.
“Don’t worry,” Potkin enthused, “lightning never strikes in the same place twice, so a lightning-tree must be really, really safe.”
They set off across a cropped grass clearing towards a mossy hummock, criss-crossed with roots and topped by the dead, white trunk of a blasted oak. Behind them an ever-growing crowd of brown bunnies bounced and waved. Even the jay had stopped complaining.
As they approached a tidy entrance, framed by gnarled roots, carved in low relief and painted in earth colours, a sharp featured fox came out to meet them, fussing with her red-brown fur and somewhat distracted by the noise of cubs in the den behind her.
“Word is you two are hungry. Daddy Todd is out looking for a nice free-range chicken, but he’s not due back till teatime. Luckily for you I’m just serving up a tasty fruits de mère for the kids.”
“Seafood, my favourite!” gushed Josie.
Mummy Todd looked slightly puzzled, but ushered them into a large chamber. There was straw on the floor and rush torches in brackets on the walls. A scrubbed, farmhouse table was dominated by an immense, steaming crock-pot and the room whirled with tumbling, squeaking, fluffy, red bundles.
“The kids?” queried Potkin rhetorically.
“Sit to the table nicely. We have guests.” the fox barked sharply, but without conviction. Most of the cubs squeezed onto a bench alongside Josie and Potkin. Their host passed round wooden bowls, plunged a large ladle into the pot and began to spoon out her ‘Mum's Stew’. A huge dollop of maggots, mixed with earwigs, beetles and millipedes all floating in a greenish broth arrived in Josie’s bowl.
“Pass the worm dressing to our guests.”
“Your favourite?” Potkin gave Josie one of his best quizzical looks.
Josie picked at his lunch without enthusiasm. “I suppose we’ll have to be polite.”
Potkin waited till Mummy Todd was looking the other way, grabbed one of the cubs and stuffed as much of his portion into it as he could. It looked grateful.
“My, that was wonderful. I am completely stuffed. Couldn’t manage another thing.”
“There’s seconds.”
“What a shame.” Josie joined in. “It’s our vet. We have to control our cholesterol levels and he’s got us on a low slug diet. Such a lovely spread. If only we could stay longer.”
“You’ve been very kind,” from Potkin, “but I’m afraid we must press on. We still have a long way to go.”
After exchanging best wishes and saying their goodbyes Potkin and Josie were again on the move. Josie was carrying a small brown paper bag of spiders that had been pressed on him as he departed. It was discarded as soon as they were out of sight.
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