Trying to stay calm, she reminded herself that by pressing on, she at least had a chance to make a difference for her family. Now, if only she knew which direction would lead her to New House.
Mr. Ocax concluded that the mouse he had seen in the water was gone, washed away. At least, there was no evidence of its existence—dead or alive. In any case, he was still so upset by what he had seen at New House that he found it hard to concentrate on searching. His head ached. All he could think about was getting some sleep. He would go home.
He flew deep into Dimwood Forest, moving in a northerly direction.
Poppy peered nervously out from beneath the boulder. “If this is midday,” she said to herself, “I’d hate to be in the forest at night.”
She considered staying and sleeping for a while. But the distinct smell of the other animal made her too nervous. It certainly seemed not to be about. But what if it came back while she slept? Too risky. If she wanted to sleep—and she did—she’d have to find a better place.
Checking in all directions, paying particular attention to the angle of the slanting rays of sunlight, and knowing that moss grew on the north side of trees, Poppy made up her mind that she could make a rough determination as to which way east was, the direction from which she had come.
As she recalled the lay of the land, New House was to the north. She would go north, then, hoping for the best.
Mr. Ocax came to rest on the gray, lifeless tree—a snag—that was his nest. With its top broken off, the snag rose twice as high as a blackberry bush from the ground. A high hole served as an entrance to its hollowness.
For a while the owl sat at the edge of his nest and stared moodily before him, thinking only about what he had seen at New House. Just to think about it made him tense. He felt he was in grave danger. The question was, What kind of danger? Was he about to lose his food? Would he have to fight? If he did, he knew he might be defeated. If he was defeated, would he have to move to another territory? Was there anything he could do about the situation? It was all so painful to contemplate!
Fretful, the owl scanned his neighborhood, paying special attention to a very large hollow log on the ground not far from his snag. Its ancient thick bark was rust-colored and encrusted with yellow fungus that looked like stubby angel wings. A clutch of pale mushrooms grew from the rotting soil around it. Just the thought of the creature who had recently come to live in the log made Mr. Ocax angry. It was as if the whole world were ganging up on him.
Too tired to think about that now, Mr. Ocax dropped down into his nest. Feeling safe there, he did not take long to fall into a restless sleep.
Poppy made her way northward through the forest in short runs. She could only hope she’d chosen the right direction. Sometimes she paused to eat, but she felt too insecure to stop for long. Her toes ached with tension.
An hour later, Poppy stopped to nibble on some pine seeds. As she ate, she noticed a huge log partly embedded in the earth. Covered with yellow fungus, it seemed very old. And it appeared to be hollow.
Poppy considered it. If the log was unoccupied, it might be the perfect place for her to rest with safety.
Then she noticed the remains of a large gray tree. Its top was gone and it had a hole in its side. It might be safer than the log. But after studying it, Poppy decided the hole was too high for her to climb to. The log would be better.
Wary, she crept forward. The closer she came to the log, the stronger grew a scent unfamiliar to her. She sensed trouble. She was still sniffing when she heard the sound of a twig snapping behind her. She spun about and gasped.
A red fox, long bushy tail swishing back and forth, was trotting in her direction, its sharp nose to the ground. Poppy understood immediately. The fox was following her scent.
Turning back, Poppy took a flying leap that landed her right at the log’s open end. The fox, hearing and then seeing her, barked sharply and closed in, its lips drawn back from its sharp teeth.
Poppy stood trembling before the log. Every instinct in her body warned her not to enter. When she looked back, however, the fox was almost upon her. There was no time to waste. She dived into the log.
The fox stuck its nose in after her, its barking booming about Poppy like a cannonade. Trying to get away, she moved deeper into the musky dark. Suddenly she stopped. At the far end of the log she heard the distinct sound of heavy breathing. It was exactly what she had feared: Another creature was already in the log.
Hastily she turned toward the log opening. She never reached it. The fox’s lolling red tongue and sharp white teeth barricaded the way.
Poppy stared back into the log’s darkness. The breathing and rattling were drawing nearer. She was trapped.
CHAPTER 11
Erethizon Dorsatum
IN THE OBSCURE MURK of the log’s interior, Poppy crouched tensely. Slouching slowly out of the dark came a flat-faced beast with a blunt black snout and fierce grizzled whiskers. Its eyes were heavily lidded as though it had just awakened. The creature moved ponderously, with a waddle and rattle. Its stench was powerful enough to make Poppy clamp a paw over her nose.
The moment the animal caught sight of her, it came to a clumsy stop and blinked. “What the bee’s butt are you doing here, fur ball?” it
