Dedication
For cousin Amy
Contents
Dedication
MAP: The Dimwood Region
CHAPTER 1 Mr. Ocax
CHAPTER 2 Poppy Remembers
CHAPTER 3 Poppy Alone
CHAPTER 4 The Emergency Meeting
CHAPTER 5 Leaving Gray House
CHAPTER 6 Standing Before Mr. Ocax
CHAPTER 7 Home Again
CHAPTER 8 Poppy and Papa
CHAPTER 9 On Her Way
CHAPTER 10 Dimwood Forest
CHAPTER 11 Erethizon Dorsatum
CHAPTER 12 What Poppy Learns
CHAPTER 13 Early Morning
CHAPTER 14 On the Way to New House
CHAPTER 15 Alone Again
CHAPTER 16 The Truth at Last
CHAPTER 17 A Surprising Conversation
CHAPTER 18 The Battle
CHAPTER 19 The Return
CHAPTER 20 A New Beginning
Excerpt from Poppy and Rye
Chapter 1: Clover and Valerian
Chapter 2: Poppy and Ereth
About the Author and Illustrator
Books by Avi
Praise
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
MAP: The Dimwood Region
CHAPTER 1
Mr. Ocax
A THIN CRESCENT MOON, high in the sky, shed faint white light over Dimwood Forest. Stars glowed. Breezes full of ripe summer fragrance floated over nearby meadow and hill. Dimwood itself, veiled in darkness, lay utterly still.
At the very edge of this forest stood an old charred oak on which sat a great horned owl. The owl’s name was Mr. Ocax, and he looked like death himself.
Mr. Ocax’s eyes—flat upon his face—were round and yellow with large ebony pupils that enabled him to see as few other creatures could. Moonlight—even faint moonlight—was as good as daylight for him.
With his piercing gaze, Mr. Ocax surveyed the lands he called his own, watching for the comings and goings of the creatures he considered his subjects—and his dinners. He looked at Glitter Creek, home to the fish he found so appetizing; the Tar Road, across which tasty rabbits were known to hop; Jayswood, where meaty chipmunks sometimes skittered before dawn. By swiveling his head he searched the Marsh for a savory frog, then New Field, where, usually, he could count on a delicious vole or two. He looked at Gray House, where Farmer Lamout used to live, then upon the Old Orchard. He even looked, nervously, toward New House. But nowhere did he see a thing to eat. Profoundly annoyed, Mr. Ocax was beginning to think he would have no dinner that night.
But finally, there—near the top of Bannock Hill, where the ponderosa pines had all been cut, where only a few struggling saplings and bushes grew—he saw movement. Just the glimmer of food was enough to cause his owl’s heart to pound, his curved black beak to clack, his feathered horns to stand up tall.
Mr. Ocax shifted his head from right to left, forward and back. When he did so, he beheld . . . two mice! Of all the creatures the owl hunted, he enjoyed mice the most. They were the best eating, to be sure, but better still, they were the most fearful, and Mr. Ocax found deep satisfaction in having others afraid of him. And here, after a wait of nearly the whole night, were two savory subjects to terrify before he ate them.
One of the two, a deer mouse, crouched cautiously beneath a length of rotten bark. The other, a golden mouse, stood in the open on his hind legs, his short tail sticking straight out behind for balance. From his left ear an earring dangled. In his paws he held a hazelnut.
“It’s not as if I haven’t warned these mice,” Mr. Ocax murmured to himself. “If they will move about without my permission, they have only themselves to blame for the consequences.” As he leaned forward to listen, his sharp-as-needles talons, four to each large claw and jet-black at their tips, cut deeply into the branch he was perched on. “Catching these two mice,” he mused, “is going to be fun.”
On Bannock Hill, the golden mouse turned to his timid companion and said, “Poppy, girl, this hazelnut is bad-to-the-bone. Bet you seed to sap there’s more where it came from. Come on out and dig.”
“Ragweed,” Poppy replied as she sniffed tensely in all directions, “you promised we’d dance when we got here. We can’t do it in the open. Besides, I want to answer your question. So will you please get under here with me.”
Ragweed laughed. “Dude, you must think I’m as dull as a dormouse. You just want to get some of this nut.”
“I don’t want any of your precious nut,” Poppy insisted. “I want to give you my answer. And I want to dance! Isn’t that the reason we came up the hill? Only it’s not safe out there.”
“Oh, tell me about it.”
“You heard my father’s warnings,” Poppy went on. “It’s Mr. Ocax. He might be watching and listening.”
“Get off,” Ragweed sneered. “Your pop talks about that Ocax dude just to scare you and keep you under control.”
“Ragweed,” Poppy cried, “that’s ridiculous. Mr. Ocax does rule Dimwood. So we have to ask his permission to be here. And you know perfectly well we never did.”
“Dude, I’m not going to spend my life asking an old owl’s okay every time I want to have fun. Know what I’m saying? This is our moment, girl, right? And now that I’ve dug this nut up, I’m going to enjoy it. Besides,” he said, “it’s too dark for an old owl to see me.”
“Poppy,” Mr. Ocax scoffed under his breath. “Ragweed. What stupid names mice have. Now, if only that deer mouse will move just a little farther out from under cover, I’ll be able to snare both mice at once.”
The mere thought of such a double catch made Mr. Ocax hiss with pleasure. Then he clacked his beak, spread his wings, and rose into the night air. Up he circled, his fluted flight feathers beating the air silently.
High above Bannock Hill, he looked down. The golden mouse—the one eating the nut—was still in the open. So brazen. So foolish. Nevertheless, Mr. Ocax decided to hold back another moment to see if the deer mouse might budge.
“Ragweed,” Poppy pleaded, “please get under here.”
“Girl,” Ragweed said, “do you know what your problem is? You let your tail lead the way.”
Poppy, hurt and wanting to show she was not a coward, poked her nose and whiskers out from under the bark. “Ragweed,” she persisted even as she began to creep into the open, “being careless is stupid.”
Her friend took another scrape of the nut and sighed with pleasure. “Poppy,” he said, “you
