Bear
woke up the next morning and stretched stiffly, wondering what had become of
his comfortable bed and pillows. Then he
was wide awake, full of the wretched knowledge of having lain on a slate floor
all night and having no prospect of a good breakfast. He got up, stretched again, and ambled over
to the open door, where the elf stood looking outside.
"Good morning," Bear began, then
stopped in wonder. All about them, as
far as the eye could see, stretched a broad expanse of roiling, muddy water:
churning along branches and debris.
The hill on which the shepherd's hut stood was an island in the middle
of an angry river.
"Hello, Bear," said Thornbriar glumly. "I've been watching the water for an
hour now, and it hasn't got any lower or
slower." He pointed to a line of
sticks protruding from the water's edge in a progressive row. "In fact, it's risen by almost
half-a-foot."
"Gosh," said the bruin. "I guess that means we're stuck here for
awhile."
"Yes," said the elf. He stared brooding out at the waters for a
few moments, then shrugged. "We'll just have to make the best of a
bad situation."
"At least we have all these dewberries
to eat," said Bear.
"To tell you the truth," the elf said ruefully, as he turned to go back into the hut. "I'm sick to death of them already. To think that just yesterday I was looking
forward to baking some of them into a cobbler.
I'd give my bag of marbles to have a jug of tea and a plate of butter
bread right now."
The friends ate a few sad handfuls of
berries and returned to the water's edge.
Overhead, the sky was still iron-gray with storm clouds. They paced up and down, watching the wrack and ruin floating by, for
about ten minutes before the bear snorted in disgust.
"Bah," he said. "We need to think of something to do
until this flood subsides. I can't just
pace and twiddle my paws."
"Yes," said Thornbriar. "We might do something
useful." He thought for a
moment. "Well, we've used up all
the wood inside. Maybe we could salvage
some of the timber that floats by. We
can replace the wood supply for whoever owns this hut, and we might need it ourselves."
"That sounds good," said Bear.
They found a couple of long poles near the
side of the hut and spent several hours hooking flotsam and stacking it against
a sheltered, far wall. After they
collected a sizable pile of wood,
Thornbriar put down his pole and quit,
but the bear continued to snag floating junk for sport and to pass the
time, usually picking out man-made
objects. He had a pile that included a
couple of chairs, a henhouse, and a wicker birdcage.
"Why are you bothering with that
stuff?" asked the elf nervously.
"It's of no possible use, you know."
"I need to do something," said the bear. "Besides, I find it interesting. Don't you wonder where all this came
from?"
"What?"
"I mean, someone must have made it and
used it, and now it's far from
home. It'd be gone if I hadn't fished it
out. I know it's just like a game, but I feel like I've saved them."
Thornbriar smiled, then nodded. "Yes,
I think I can understand what you mean.
We elves try not to become attached to things, because we usually outlast them all. But we remember what we know for thousands of
years after they are gone, and it's like
saving them from being forgotten, or had
never existed at all."
"I never thought of that," said Bear.
"I sometimes wonder how you elves can stand living such a long
time."
Thornbriar laughed. "Like anyone lives their life--one day
at a time."
At that moment, a loud, harsh croaking came
from above their heads.
"Haugh! Haugh!
Haugh! Thornbriar! Bear!
Haugh -Haugh -Hello!"
Tilting up their faces, they saw a large, black raven flapping in a
wide slow circle above them. The elf
waved his hand.
"Hello! Hello!
Come on down for a minute!"
he called. He turned to Bear. "It's the Old Raven of Ravenhome, from
the other end of the valley. Maybe we
can get some news from him."
The old bird landed with a flurry of black
feathers, and perched precariously on
one of the salvaged chairs. With its
heavy beak, bald head, and wide ruff of
dark feathers around its neck, he looked
like an old parson standing at his pulpit.
"Damp weather for flying," he croaked.
"Dash it, what are you
fellows doing out here? Dangerous, I'd
say."
"We didn't mean to be here," said Bear.
"We were out berrying and the rain caught us."
"Yes,
we've been waiting for the water to go down," said the worried elf. "It stopped raining hours ago, but there's no sign of the flood slacking, is
there?"
"None as I can see," said the raven, ruffling his wet feathers. "In all the eighty-eight years I've
lived in this valley, there's not been a
flood like this. And I know why,
too."
"You do?" asked Bear. "Well, what's the story then?"
"It's that greedy old fool,
Grimfold," said the bird. "He's got a farm up the valley
side, where Rushwash Stream comes out of
the hills. Last year he gets the bright
idea to dam the water and charge the folks to let it flow again. He made a parcel of money, too
"Well, along comes the rain, and he
waits, see, 'cause he doesn't want to give out the water. And he waits and waits until finally, when he sees it's too dangerous, he can't let it out. There's nothing of the farm to be seen
now, and no Grimfold, either. I suspect me and my kinfolk might have a
little business with Master Grimfold when the waters go down and he comes to
light again," he added, with a dry chuckle.
Thornbriar and Bear suppressed a small
shudder. They had no illusions what a
raven, as a carrion bird, did to get its food.
"Anyway, the dam's still holding, but it's leaking and letting out enough water
to feed the flood. And over the winter,
the farmer dug channels and re-directed rivulets to get more water, so runoff
from the higher reaches is spilling into the flooded farm like a cauldron into
a kettle. I suspect the dam could fail
at any second."
"Good heavens!" yelped
Thornbriar. "If it does, we'll be
washed away! We're only about two feet
above the water line right now!"
"It's no so much a matter of if, as
when," said the raven calmly.
"If I were you two, I would start thinking about a way to leave
this place."
"We could think about it all we
want, but we won't be leaving unless we
can find a boat," growled the bear.
"Or at least a ... hey!" he said, suddenly inspired. "How about a raft, Thornbriar? Look!
We could use all this stuff I've salvaged!"
"I don't know," said the elf,
looking critically over the pile of wooden junk. "Even if we've got enough, how do we
hold it together? I don't keep a hammer
and nails in my coat pockets, you know."
"We could lash them together,"
said Bear, suddenly on fire with his idea.
"How about your fishing line?"
Thornbriar shook his head. "Not strong enough, I'm afraid. One bump into something, and anything we'd tied together would burst
apart."
"I say," croaked the raven. "Could you fellows use some rope? I saw a length of it snagged on a stump. I dare say that if I grab one end, I could
tow it through the water easily enough."
"That would be very
helpful," said the eager bear.
"Very well," said the old bird, and, with a flurry of
flapping, he spread his black wings and headed back up the valley.
The two friends began sorting through the
pile of wooden rubbish, trying to find
lengths and cuts useful for their purpose.
They had a stroke of luck when a huge barn door came floating by. It was so heavy they couldn't pole it out of
the water, and the bear had to plunge
into the sweeping stream and guide it to their little island. The door was about twelve feet square, and
the elf declared that it was just the thing to use as the base for their
craft. The elf and the bear had a plan
of action by the time the old raven returned with the thick, wet end of the
rope clenched in his beak and the rest of the rope trailing in the water behind
him. He landed and spat it out
distastefully.
"Ugh," he said. "There you are."
"Thank you very much," said Thornbriar, pulling the rope out and beginning to coil it
around his arm. "Excellent. There must be almost twenty-five feet
here." He turned to the old bird
and nodded his head in grateful acknowledgement. "You may very well have saved our
lives."
"Think nothing of it," said the raven, flapping his wing back and
forth, as if to brush the elf's thanks
away. "You lads have always been
good neighbors to me and mine."
"Do you think," asked Bear anxiously, "That you could fly over to the dam and
see how it's holding up, then come tell
us? It's giving me a creepy feeling
knowing that it's going to happen, but not knowing when."
"Certainly." the raven said,
spreading his wings. "I meant to go
have another look myself. But don't wait
for me. I'd get started right away if I
were you."
"True," said the bear, but spoke to empty air, as the old black bird was already away, and flapping heavily up the valley. The big bruin turned to where the elf was
measuring out lengths of rope to cut.
They worked fast and furiously, lashing larger logs beneath the barn door so
it would ride high over the water level.
The bear broke off one of the walls of the henhouse, and the elf, using
the nails he pried from the boards with his knife and a rock to hammer them in
with, fastened the remaining three walls and roof to the craft.
"If it rains again we'll need
shelter," he pointed out, "Plus it will be somewhere to hide from
curious eyes."
With the remaining nails, they pounded the
logs and the door more firmly together.
They formed a crude rudder using a short length of rope, a board, and a
pole, and reserved two more poles to help steer the raft and to fend off
floating objects which might ram into them.
Not wanting to lose the remaining
dewberries or their pottles, Thornbriar
lashed them together with his fishing line, then tied them securely to the
roost in the makeshift cabin.
The elf was making the last adjustment to
the rudder and the bear (with his usual exuberance) had placed the chairs
inside the henhouse cabin and hung the old birdcage from the roof, when they
heard a deep crash and rumble followed by a low roar that echoed off the sides
of the valley.
"Thunder?" asked Bear
uncertainly. But the next instant all
doubt was banished when the hurtling black form of the raven dropped out of the
sky and frantically circled them.
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