As soon as Cerri is out of sight Louarn flops down in the cool of the stream, letting its’ flow wash around him. With a wave of exhaustion comes a burning thirst, he laps at the refreshing water hoping that it will help him to ground a little after his surreal journey. His head feels thick and his body heavy, he lets his mind drop into the water’s flow for a moment for it to rest. His fur, flesh and bone connects with the stream becoming fluid and more relaxed. Released from thought his mind brightens, loose and liquid it floats. A slight tingling through his fur into his flesh whispers in his mind and his eyes open. Looking up through ripples he finds himself peering into the eyes of a crow sitting on a rock under a false sun. Before his mind can muster a meaning or a question a current whips him up from nowhere and carries him away. Swift and strong and urgent, it carries him over stone and under bough, through meadow and moor he tumbles back to the forest, under rock he plunges into darkness. A darkness that burbles and slaps and echoes it back, then rattles and laps like the deep breath of a sleeping giant that reverberates around its cavernous hollow. Urgency dwindles, swiftness abates whilst strength softens and stillness takes its place. A quite thunder rumbles in the distance.
Broc pounds laboriously through the undergrowth laden with a fully grown cock pheasant. Having left Louarn on the stream bank, looking rather dazed and drawn from his trip with the Agar, Broc had gone off in search of fresh meat to help his old friend come back to ground in his flesh and bone and to bring life back to his fur. Seeing Louarn lying in the middle of the stream, fur soaking wet with no heat left in the sun, the bird falls from his mouth and lands with a thud.
‘Idiot fox get out of there. There is no sun left and the nights are cold fool!’
Louarn makes no response, not even a twitch of his ear nor a tremor in his tail.
‘Louarn! Brother! I’ve brought you fresh meat and feathers.’
Still no response.
‘VULPES DO NOT MAKE ME GET MYSELF WET OR I WILL RIP THAT FUR FROM YOUR FLESH AND BONE.’
Broc’s bellowing bark breaks the lapping bind. Louarn stands up and shakes a long rolling shake, water droplets fly off of his coat and cascade down, like a shower of rain, upon the surface of the little stream. Each drop exquisitely tuned, a ringing song of joyful return to the water’s flow, that only Louarn’s ears can hear. He casts his eyes to the bank and quips.
‘Ah Brother Broc, it’s you. And I thought it was thunder I heard approaching.’
‘You cheeky mange dog!’
‘Well at least you have more stealth than an upwind man stalking, unless of course that pheasant was already dead when you found it.’
‘I thought that we’d cleared the ground between us of such folly.’
The stabbing pain in Broc’s heart makes it’s mark upon his face.
‘I am so sorry Brother, forgive me, that was not my thinking. Simply humour with no more intent than that.’
‘Not thinking? Well this is usual I suppose.’
With a silent sigh of relief Broc grasps the pheasant’s head in his mouth, places a clawed paw on it’s back and with one expert yank sideways of his head the pheasant is freed of it’s own, trailing with it a spinal cord, gizzard and vital entrails. Isolating the liver he deftly spikes it with his digging claw and tosses it at Louarn.
‘Here eat this first, it will aid your recovery from the Agar’s medicine. Then eat only of the breast, the rest will be too rich and your belly will not be thankful.’
Louarn has not felt the slightest hunger but now having slated his thirst from the stream he can feel the water sloshing around an empty belly. The warm, blood filled flesh slides easily down his gullet. Neither fox nor badger raise their heads until there is nothing left but a scattering of feathers and tooth scarred bones. Feeling more solid again, with a tangible sense of where his fur, flesh and bone ends and everything else beings, Louarn suddenly notices the absence of incessant magpie chatter.
‘Where’s Breac and Bredda? They didn’t go with the human did they?’
‘No brother. They flew ahead to see how much further and where best to rest. You were more detached than you looked then, what do you last remember?’
‘I watched her disappear and then I fell into the water.’
‘Where did it take you?’
‘Far and deep, to a shore within the body of the earth, where thunder rolled in the distance. Unless of course that was just badger feet.’
‘Ever the wag, I’m surprised you don’t trip over your own tail.’
‘Louarn can you hear me?’
‘Yes brother.’
‘It’s Breac brother, hold a moment whilst I gather his news.’
‘What news have you friend? Do we wait or do we need to find you?’
‘Follow the stream over the rocks until she finds her doorway down through the ground. We’re roosting in the tree that masks her cave, you will find shelter in there.’
‘Fine, friend, then we shall see each other soon.’
‘We are to follow the stream at your canter, so you should lead brother.’
‘Follow the water as it flows, at Broc’s canter you should gain us by last light. We have found a place but you ground dwellers can tell better than we. Then it should be half a day to the fall, as we have paced so far.’
‘For how long?’
‘Until we lose light or find friends.’
It seems counterintuitive to be following the flow of this stream, surely they need to be gaining height as the forest climbs up onto the mountain from who’s side the Towering Fall cascades. There are times as they run that the stream leaves the cover of the trees altogether and breaks out into purple heath dotted with occasional spires of bright yellow gorse. How can this be the right direction? Both badger and fox fight back their urge to stop and vent their questioning, trusting instead to the far sightedness of their corvid brothers. As the stream takes another sharp turn snaking its way around an ever growing number of large granite slabs to head back under the cover of the tree canopy, Broc and Louarn are drawn to an abrupt halt. The little stream disappears momentarily as it tumbles over a stack of rocks, they can hear it falling somewhere out of sight. With what little light is left the ancient forest is lain out below them under a cacophony of twilight song that settles the day dwellers to their night time nests. Their vantage is a curving spine of precipitous granite ending in the magnificent mountainous mother Breo, who cradles the verdant arboreal sea at her feet. They are in fact looking down upon their destination as the Fall spews from a mouth in the mountain below the line of the ridge no more than a morning’s lope away. Louarn reaches out with his mind to find Breac.
‘Brother, I am speechless. How beautiful the forest is cradled in the arms of the Mother Breo.’
‘You are here? Good. Even with your night vision this unknown territory will be treacherous with out light.’
‘Where are you? We do not see you.’
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