The Golden Flight by Michael Tod Page A

News-squirrels?’
    ‘Squirrels who tell the others what is going on. No one hears anything much now. Any news that does get told is by old Post-squirrels with no imagination.’
    ‘Surely News-squirrels shouldn’t have imagination. They should just report what they see. Accurately,’ Oak said.
    ‘Boring, boring, boring,’ said Burdock. ‘News should be exciting, fun, entertaining – like Dandelion’s stories.’
    ‘But news often isn’t exciting,’ protested Oak, warily.
    ‘It could be if it’s told right,’ replied Burdock. ‘Come on. Let’s be News-squirrels.’
    ‘Don’t we need permission or something?’
    ‘I don’t think so. We’ll soon find out if we just do it. Let’s find something happening.’
    They called at the drey of Tansy Stout Heart and the one-eyed Tamarisk Great Leap. They were foraging together with their three dreylings. Greetings were exchanged but it was obvious that nothing newsworthy was going on here. These two, who had lived such dramatic lives on the mainland, were now happily domesticated.
    ‘We’re News-squirrels,’ said Burdock, ‘seeking a story. What’s new?’
    ‘Nothing much,’ said Tamarisk, after a moment’s hesitation, remembering how, when he was young, he had been prone to blurting out whatever came into his head. As Tamarisk the Tactless he had hurt many feelings and given away secrets which it would have been better to have left unsaid. ‘What sort of things do you want to know?’
    ‘Anything unusual.’
    ‘Chip the Ruddled has got something odd down in the Zwamp.’ Tamarisk said, looking at Tansy with his one good eye. He knew that Chip still carried a catkin for her and wasn’t sure if she didn’t do the same for him. ‘There might be a story there for you.’
     
    Chip, absorbed with the Bark-rush, did not see Oak and Burdock until they were close to him.
    ‘It’s a good job we’re not predators,’ said Oak.
    ‘Yes,’ said Chip crossly. ‘Were you looking for someone?’
    ‘You,’ said Burdock. ‘Tamarisk said you have something odd here. We’re News-squirrels,’ she added.
    Chip was trying to hide the Bark-rush behind his back. There was a big difference in Marguerite seeing it and these two prying about. They might be her son and daughter and of his age, but they had never been close, despite journeying together the previous year.
    ‘Come on,’ said Oak to Burdock. ‘He doesn’t want us to see it, whatever it is.’
    ‘Not so fast,’ Burdock replied. ‘I’m sure that Chip would rather tell all about it, than have us guess and tell wrong things to other squirrels. Wouldn’t you, Chip?’
    ‘Well,’ said Chip, hesitantly, ‘I call it a Bark-rush. You can count on it and work things out.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Like how many squirrels there will be on the island if everybody keeps on having dreylings at the rate they are.’
    ‘Neither of us have got any,’ said Oak defensively.
    ‘Hush,’ said Burdock. ‘Chip is going to tell us about his bark-rush thing. Why do you call it that?’
    ‘Because it is made from bark and rushes,’ Chip replied.
    ‘But that’s a silly name – how does it work?’
    Chip slid the rings back and forth but neither Oak nor Burdock could see what made Chip so proud of it.
    ‘That’ll have to be our story,’ said Burdock. ‘Chip the Ruddled invents a Bark-rush.’
    ‘Do you have to use my tag?’ asked Chip.
    ‘Not if you tell us everything,’ Burdock replied. ‘Now what were you going to tell us about all those dreylings?’
     
    Marguerite heard the story second or even third paw.
    ‘Chip’s Bark-rush invention is going to make all the squirrels have lots of dreylings and soon the island will sink under the weight of them all.’
    ‘Chip said that?’ Marguerite asked her informer.
    ‘Well, something like that. The News-squirrel – your daughter Burdock – told my friend only this afternoon and she told me. What should we do?’
    ‘Leave it to me,’ said