But Bambi soon stopped being pleased with the snow. For it grew harder and harder to find food. He had to paw the snow away with endless labor before he could find one withered little blade of grass. The snow crust cut his legs and he was afraid of cutting his feet. Gobo had already cut his. Of course Gobo was the kind who couldn’t stand anything and was a constant source of trouble to his mother.
The deer were always together now and were much more friendly than before. Ena brought her children constantly. Lately Marena, a half-grown doe, had joined the circle. But old Nettla really contributed most to their entertainment. She was quite a self-sufficient person and had her own ideas about everything. “No,” she would say, “I don’t bother with children any more. I’ve had enough of that particular joke.”
Faline asked, “What difference does it make, if they’re a joke?” And Nettla would act as if she were angry, and say, “They’re a bad joke, though, and I’ve had enough of them.”
They got along perfectly together. They would sit side by side gossiping. The young ones had never had a chance to hear so much.
Even one or another of the Princes would join them now. At first things went somewhat stiffly, especially since the children were a little shy. But that soon changed, and they got along very well together. Bambi admired Prince Ronno, who was a stately lord, and he passionately loved the handsome young Karus. They had dropped their horns and Bambi often looked at the two slate-gray round spots that showed smooth and shimmering with many delicate points on the Princes’ heads. They looked very noble.
It was terribly interesting whenever one of the Princes talked about Him. Ronno had a thick hide-covered swelling on his left forefoot. He limped on that foot and used to ask sometimes, “Can you really see that I limp?” Everyone would hasten to assure him that there was not the trace of a limp. That was what Ronno wanted. And it really was hardly noticeable.
“Yes,” he would go on. “I saved myself from a tight corner that time.” And then Ronno would tell how He had surprised him and hurled His fire at him. But it had only struck his leg. It had driven him nearly mad with pain, and no wonder, since the bone was shattered. But Ronno did not lose his head. He was up and away on three legs. He pressed on in spite of his weakness for he saw that he was being pursued. He ran without stopping until night came. Then he gave himself a rest. But he went on the next morning until he felt he was in safety. Then he took care of himself, living alone in hiding, waiting for his wound to heal. At last he came out again and was a hero. He limped, but he thought no one noticed it.
They were often together now for long periods and told many stories. Bambi heard more about Him than ever before. They told how terrible He was to look at. No one could bear to look at His pale face. Bambi knew that already from his own experience. They spoke too about His smell, and again Bambi could have spoken if he had not been too well brought up to mix in his elders’ conversation. They said that His smell differed each time in a hundred subtle ways and yet you could tell it in an instant, for it was always exciting, unfathomable, mysterious and terrible.
They told how He used only two legs to walk with and they spoke of the amazing strength of His two hands. Some of them did not know what hands were. But when it was explained, old Nettla said, “I don’t see anything so surprising in that. A squirrel can do everything you tell about just as well, and every little mouse can perform the same wonders.” She turned away her head disdainfully.
“O no,” cried the others, and they gave her to understand that those were not the same things at all. But old Nettla was not to be cowed. “What about the falcon?” she exclaimed. “And the buzzard? And the owl? They’ve got only two legs and when they want to catch something they simply stand on one leg and grab with the other. That’s much harder and He certainly can’t do that.”
Old Nettla was not at all inclined to admire anything connected with Him. She hated Him with all her heart. “He is loathsome!” she said, and she stuck to that. Besides, nobody contradicted her, since nobody liked Him.
But the talk grew more complicated when they told how He had a third hand, not two hands merely, but a third hand.
“That’s an old story,” Nettla said curtly. “I don’t believe it.”
“Is that so?” Ronno broke in. “Then what did He shatter my leg with? Can you tell me that?”
Old Nettla answered carelessly, “That’s your affair, my dear, He’s never shattered any of mine.”
Aunt Ena said, “I’ve seen a good deal in my time, and I think there’s something in the story that He has a third hand.”
“I agree with you,” young Karus said politely. “I have a friend, a crow …” He paused, embarrassed for a moment, and looked around at them, one after the other, as though he were afraid of being laughed at. But when he saw that they were listening attentively to him he went on. “This crow is unusually well informed, I must say that. Surprisingly well informed. And she says that He really has three hands, but not always. The third hand is the bad one, the crow says. It isn’t attached like the other two, but He
