Duncton Wood by William Horwood Page A

out of these thoughts by Hulver, who asked him in a gentle voice, “Why have you come over to the slopes, can you tell me that?” Bracken started to tell him, explaining how he was interested in the system, liked exploring and... and soon he was telling Hulver everything.
    Talking on and on into the night, telling Hulver things he hardly knew about himself, complaining bitterly about his life, criticizing Burrhead, saying finally that he hated him, expressing his contempt for Root, telling about Aspen’s stories, admitting his fear about leaving the home burrow to find his own territory. Now and again Hulver would nod encouragingly, but never said more than two or three words or passed a judgment, making Bracken freer to say what he felt.
    He was stopped finally by an ominous owl hoot somewhere high above and the sudden realization, as he looked up and saw the shining crescent of a moon dimmed by clouds, that it was late, and getting later. He was tired, and felt he had never talked so much in his life. Hulver yawned, looked about him, and said “Time for the burrow, my lad, time for sleep.”
    “Now you are welcome to use this tunnel, though perhaps I should say continue to use it. But I’m going down to my burrow, which is a little way off, because it’s so much quieter.” And with that he ran off into the night.
    Bracken following his course by sound until he went down an entrance and his sound was lost.
    For a while Bracken crouched in the night alone, wondering about Hulver and enjoying the unusual calm and peace he felt. A snatch of the grace Hulver had spoken came back to him and he let its words run through his tired mind like the sound of the breeze in the long grass by the edge of the wood:
     
Let no mole adown our bodies
That may hurt our sorrowing souls.
     
    He changed the “our” to “my” the second time round, not knowing that Hulver, in his graciousness, had himself modified the words to take account of Bracken’s presence, for it was a prayer he often said for himself over his solitary meals. Bracken couldn’t remember all the words and promised himself that he would ask Hulver to repeat them so he could learn it; then he climbed down into the tunnel, carefully reblocked it again, and fell into a deep sleep.
    But Hulver, resting his old snout on his graying paws, did not fall asleep immediately, thinking about the strange young mole now sleeping in one of his tunnels. For all the youngster’s confusion and bitterness, and his youthful carping at the westside ways, there was something about him that pleased Hulver. He had a nice quick way with words; his damning criticism of some of the westside moles, including Burrhead, was on target, while his obvious courage in exploring the system so far was impressive in one so young.
    Hulver was excited, too, that he seemed to have a curiosity about the old system and something of the spirit for exploration that too few moles had. He paused in his thoughts, scratching his forehead with his left paw, trying to catch the words to express the effect Bracken had on him. “Never was much good with words,” he muttered to himself, shifting into something nearer a sleep position. “But I like the youngster, there’s something about him, even if he doesn’t look as if he could fight a flea.”
    He thought about the impulse that had taken him to the part of his tunnels where he had found Bracken. The same warm impulse he had felt in recent weeks lifting him out of the long moleyears of pain and desolation that had followed the preceding Midsummer Night when he had been sure Rune had been listening in the shadows. Only with the new spring had the load lightened and something of his old love of life returned. And now, this Bracken had turned up on his territory, bold as a brash young pup.
    “Well,” he told himself, drifting into a happy sleep, “I’ll teach him something about the Ancient System and its ways. What I know of them. I might even mention