The Flood (Part Three)

 

"Blast!  We've got to move quick! yelled Thornbriar.  "Help me push it into the water!  We've got to get away!"

     "Why?" said Bear,  doing what he was told.  The heavy craft slowly inched into the flood.  "Why don't we simply get aboard and let the water carry us as it comes?"

     "Because, you ninny, it'll take us smack into that stone house and we'll be smashed to flinders!"

     Bear gasped as he realized the situation.  They had built their craft on the head of the island so that it wouldn't be swept away.  But if the flood should catch them now...

     He put his back into it and the makeshift vessel wallowed its way into the raging stream, the elf and bear climbing out of the water and scrabbling aboard just as it began to pick up speed.

     Thornbriar grabbed the rudder and Bear a pole, frantically trying to steer clear now of their former island of safety as the rumble of the rushing water grew louder and louder.  The raven landed,  perching on top of the henhouse cabin,  and squawked encouragement and warnings to the two rafters.

     Suddenly his croakings became more urgent.  "It's coming!  It's coming!  Look!"

     The elf and bear turned and looked fearfully over their shoulders.  A ten foot wave of black water with a foaming crest was sweeping down the valley,  roaring and smashing whatever was in its path.  Trees that had withstood the flood so far splintered with thunderous cracks as the sheer weight of the water lay them flat.

     "Hit the deck!" yelled the elf.  "Hang on to the lashings!"  We'll have to try to ride out the wave!"

     He threw himself to the deck of the raft.  The bear did the same, twisting his claws deep into the tough fibers of the ropes that held the logs and door together.  With teeth clenched and eyes shut, for what seemed like a long moment they lay waiting for the raging torrent to overtake them.

     With a crash that tore the breath from their bodies,  the wave hit, and for another suspended moment the world was all the rushing of many waters,: the sting of the water as it struck them, the singing of water in their ears, and the headlong push of it thrusting them forward.

     The bear opened his eyes,  but could see only the swirl of muddy water all around him.  He felt the tug of the current trying to snatch him away,  and his suddenly emptied lungs felt as if they would explode for want of air.

     After several panicky, eternal seconds, he felt he could stand it no more and would have to breath in even if it drowned him;  then suddenly the raft broke the surface in an eruption of light and sound, and he found himself gasping, both lungs full of blessed air.

     As the water streamed out of his ears,  he could hear Thornbriar coughing and wheezing beside him.

     The bear staggered to his paws and moved shakily over to the elf.  The big animal helped the little man to stand up,  and pounded his back to force the water out.

     "Good to see you fellows made it," croaked the raven, neatly landing back on the roof of the cabin.  "But there's still a rough ride ahead, I'll warrant.  You'd better man the boat."

     "That's true," said Thornbriar, walking unsteadily over to the makeshift rudder.  The raft was pitching and bucking on the wild water like an unbroken horse.  "You should take a pole in front, Bear, to fend off anything dangerous."

     "Aye, aye," said Bear, promptly moving to take up his position.

     For the next half-hour, they rode the waves, the bear pushing off logs and branches, the raven calling out directions, and the elf doing his best to steer the clumsy craft along the safest course.  Twice they scraped bottom over some submerged stumps or stones which they were unable to avoid, and the timbers of the raft strained and creaked along its joints and beams.  It was still holding together, however, and Thornbriar was just beginning to think that they were over the worst, when the raven gave a startled cry.

     "Look!" he said, pointing to the left with a gnarled claw.  "Off the starboard bow!  Castaways!"

     Bear peered over, trying to make out what the old bird was so excited about, and then he saw them.  Revolving around and around in the floodwaters, in danger of being overwhelmed at any moment, was a snarled clump of brush.  Huddled on top of it was a very wet and frightened mother rabbit, who, with staring eyes, sat protectively over four, bedraggled young rabbits.

     "By the Great Bee Tree!" roared Bear.  "Left, Thornbriar!  Turn hard left!"

     "Right!" answered the elf, and leaned into the rudder.  Slowly the raft turned towards the endangered rabbits,  and the bear watched tensely with pole in paw,  ready to bring them in as soon as the clump was in reach.

     After a few moments,  Bear snagged the clump and was able to carefully draw it closer to the raft.  As soon as he had hooked it,  however, the opposing force of the water's pull had begun to tear the tangled branches apart.  Just before the clump disintegrated,  Bear reached out and snatched the little family up,  pulling them to safety.

     He carried them quickly but carefully into the cabin,  and lay them gently down in one corner.  The mother was shaking and could hardly speak,  and her little ones huddled close to her.  But when the bear said "There, there...you're safe now," she was able to stammer out a "Thank you."

     Bear had hardly left the cabin,  when he heard another shout.  It came up from ahead.  He rushed forward in time to see a pair of hedgehogs jumping up and down on a spar of rock, waving and crying, "Help!  Help!"

     As the raft passed them, the bear held out his pole,  and the two spiny creatures climbed onto it like burrs on a sticker bush.  He hauled them aboard amidst their profuse thanks.

     It went on like that for at least two hours,  with one or another of them first sighting,  then rescuing some sodden creature in trouble;  eventually winding up with the rabbits, the hedgehogs, a badger, three ferrets, a mole, a dozen lizards, a small knot of toads, and a fox.

     There might have been trouble in such a small space with so various a bunch,  if Thornbriar hadn't promised that he'd have Bear chuck off the first animal that tried to eat another.

     They drifted along,  eventually passing out of the low mouth of the valley and nearer to their home fields.  Thornbriar began to recognize familiar landmarks,  as strange and different as they looked jutting out of the now surrounding waters.

     One of the hedgehogs scrambled over the deck to him.  "Excuse me, sir," he said.  "But the bear told me to tell you that for the last few minutes he's been able to touch bottom with his pole.  It's getting shallower,  and he'd like to know what you think about landing soon."

     Thornbriar looked around,  considering the terrain and the distance they still were from home.  "Tell him 'not yet',"  he announced.  "We'll wait until we get a little closer to home in order to spare us as much slog as we can.  I'll give him the word when I think the time is right."

     "Yes, sir," said the hedgehog,  then hesitated.  "Excuse me, if you please,  but where is 'home'?"

     "Why, it's a snug little house inside a hill only a couple of miles from here.  I'll be glad to see it again,  I can tell you."

     "That sounds wonderful,  sir," said the hedgehog forlornly.  "My own little place was washed away.  I don't know where me and Bertie'll go, now."

     "Yes,"  said Thornbriar thoughtfully.  "What's your name,  anyway?"

     "Hodges,  sir."

     "Well,  Hodges, you needn't mind the 'sir' bit so much.  And you needn't worry where you'll go,  because you and your friend will just have to stay with us until the waters go down.  Yes,  and that goes for all the other castaways as well."

     "Oh,  really,  sir?  Oh, hooray!"  yelled Hodges happily,  and danced a little jig.

     "Yes, really,"  said the elf.  "Now go tell Bear what I've said,  then tell the others.  You can give those berries in the pottles out to those who'll eat them,  because we'll need our strength,  I think.  Off with you,  and see you share them out fairly."

     The hedgehog scuttled off happily,  leaving Thornbriar to muse upon the immediate future.

     Of course it's possible that the Hill itself might be flooded,  he thought.  It's never done it before,  but we've never had a flood this bad before either.  The house is set rather low in the hill.  There might have been a mudslide as well.  What would we do then?

     Thornbriar spent the last miles with such anxious thoughts.  The line of hills of which his hill was a part seemed to grow steadily nearer,  and the water more and more shallow.  When it was only a foot deep,  Thornbriar called a halt,  turning the makeshift raft until it ran aground in a marshy field.  Bear came to the rear and stuck his pole deep in the mud by the rudder,  so that the water would no longer move the raft along.  The sun was setting low in the sky as the elf and the bear assembled their passengers before them,  to get ready to disembark.

     The old raven glided off his perch,  and landed on Bear's back.

     "Well,"  he said.  "I've got to be headed home now,  so I'll bid you all 'farewell'."

     "But I was hoping that you'd fly ahead and see if everything was okay!"  said Thornbriar unhappily.  "Do you have to go right now?"

     "I'm not much of a flier in the dark,"  said the raven.  "I've got to get home before the sun sets."  He spread his wings and was airborne in an instant.  "Goodbye!"  he croaked.  "Come and tell me how it all turned out someday.  Goodbye!"  In a moment he was no more than a black speck flying northwest into the darkening sky.

     "That's a little disappointing,"  said Thornbriar.  "But he was a good help while he was here,  and I wish I could have thanked him before he left.  Now then!  Are we all ready to go?"

     "I think we may have to carry the little ones,"  said Bear.  "There's bound to be puddles and bogs of mud,  and they'd have a hard time keeping up.  Fox and Badger can take care of themselves,  I think.  But what about the others?"

     "Let's see,"  mused the elf.  "The rabbit and her babies can ride in one of my coat pockets,  and the mole in the other.  Perhaps the toads can ride with him,  if you don't object?"

     "Not in the least," squeaked the mole.  "Very happy to be along at all."

     "Indeed," burped the toads.  "Our cousins the frogs might find water delightful,  but we prefer a little damp to a soaking."

     "The ferrets, lizards, and hedgehogs can ride on Bear's back.  You don't mind,  do you,  old fellow?"

     "Not at all,"  grinned Bear.  "Plenty of room.  No running races,  mind,"  he said to the ferrets.  "And if you hedgehogs will be careful not to be on the posterior end when I sit down,  I believe we can get along fine."

     "Very good,"  smiled Thornbriar.  "One last item of business.  Are there any dewberries left,  Hodges?"

     "Just one of those whatchamacallits full, sir," the spiny creature reported, saluting with one of his pudgy little hands.

     "I'll just carry that along, then,"  said the elf.  "Let's get set to disembark."

     In a moment all was arranged as they had discussed,  and they stepped off into the sodden, squelching field and began on their way.  As they slogged and slithered through the growing darkness,  drawing closer to the Hill,  the elf's anxiety mounted,  as he imagined a dozen catastrophes that could await them.  If Bear was worried about anything at all,  he showed no sign of it,  but sang a jolly marching song with the badger joining in on the chorus in a slightly off-key tenor.

     At last they came around the final turn of the road,  and their door was soon in sight.  Thornbriar heaved a sigh of relief.  The flood had indeed surged up the side of the hill,  but he could see from the waterline that it had stopped a good six feet before it reached the house.  The only thing that kept the two friends from running happily to their door was their care for their homeless charges.

     Once inside,  a fire was soon lit and meals cooked for all and sundry.  And then fitting beds were found for the tired refugees.  The bear saw to the needs of the last guests (the lizards, who wanted nothing better than to sleep in the potted arbutus plant in the parlor), then came into the kitchen and collapsed next to Thornbriar,  who was still busy with something in the oven.

     "That,"  said the bear.  "Was certainly the longest and most unusual berry picking adventure I have ever been on."

     "Indeed," said the elf,  peeking into the oven.  He reached over and got two big oven mitts and put them on.

     "What in the world are you still working on?"  wondered the bear.

     "I meant to do this,  and I thought I'd better before I changed my mind."  Thornbriar opened the oven and reached in.  A rich, familiar aroma filled the room.

     "Dewberry cobbler,"  announced the elf,  bringing it out and putting the steaming pastry onto the table.  "Care for a piece?"

     The bear groaned in mock dismay and rolled his eyes.  "Tomorrow,"  he said.  "Cold,  for breakfast,  maybe.  Right now,  I think I could sleep for a week.  As it is,  there will probably be visions of dewberries dancing in my head all night!"

     The elf laughed and placed a tin lid over the cobbler,  then banked the fire.

     Both went to bed,  and as each lay and dreamed,  it seemed that they could still feel the tug and flow of the water in their sleep.

The Flood (Part Two)

 

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.

     "Hurry!  Hurry!  The dam's burst!  I was on my way back when I heard it!"

Friday Fiction: The Flood (Part One)

 

Chapter Seven: The Flood

 

     "Have you filled up your pottles?" asked Thornbriar.

"Just about," the bear called back to his friend from where he crouched half-hidden in the undergrowth of thick, tangled bushes with only the big brown hump of his back showing.

     A pottle is a kind of thick round leather bottle with a cork lid.  A pottle will hold about two quarts of whatever you put into it, and what the elf and the bear had been putting in their pottles all morning were dewberries.  They had started out before five o'clock that morning and tramped far afield to get to where the dewberries grew, and now, at almost eleven, Thornbriar was topping off the last of his pottles with a final handful of the delicious, raspberry-like fruit.

     He picked a few last leaves and a bug or two out of the berries, then plugged the cork. 

     "That's the last of mine,” he announced.  "Meet me at the tree when you're done."

     "Almost finished," said Bear.

     Thornbriar walked to the spreading oak tree where they had set their loads of berries.  With satisfaction, he plunked down his last jar where all the other pottles sat like a clutch of brown eggs in the shade of the tree.  He rubbed his hands together in glee as he thought of the dewberry jelly, wine, and hot dewberry cobbler that they would prepare in the next few days.  He sat back in a comfortable corner between two spreading tree roots and pulled nearer to him the picnic basket they had packed that morning.  He began to rummage around in it.

     Outside the shade of the tree, it was blazingly hot.  As far as the eye could see were fallow fields, divided by hedges, with gigantic trees dotted here and there like oases in the desert.  Grasshoppers ticked through the high grass and bees tumbled from flower to flower.  At the bottom of the field, with a quiet chuckle and murmur of water over stone, flowed a large stream which was almost a young river.

     Bear came panting into the shady shelter of the tree's wide limbs, dust shaking out of his fur with every ponderous step.  He collapsed next to his friend, fanning himself and puffing and blowing as if he had just escaped some great danger.  He flung his last pottle down with the others as if abandoning an anchor that had almost dragged him down.

     "Woof, it's hot," he panted, tongue lolling.  "Did you save any food for me?"

     "I haven't even started," replied the elf, pretending to be offended.  "I think that we both need first is a cold glass of lemonade."

     "Then hurry up and pour us some before I die of thirst," said Bear, in a mock piteous tone.  "Just a drop and I'll get back to work.  I promise I will, governor."

     "Don't be such an ass, you lazy old thing," laughed the elf, pouring out a huge glass from a sweating gallon jar.  He passed it to the bear.  "Here."

     Bear took it in both paws and greedily stuck his nose in, gulping the tart, yellow lemonade in large drafts, until the glass was empty.  He sighed with satisfaction.  "That hit the spot," he said, licking his whiskers and holding his glass out for more.  "I may live yet."

     The next half-hour was devoted to the emptying of the picnic basket.  There were sandwiches of many kinds, from simple butter and jelly to deliciously squashy bacon, lettuce, and tomato.  There were pickles and salted nuts, deviled eggs and oatmeal cookies, and more cold lemonade and root beer in a tinny jug to wash it all down.  When the last crumb and drop had been devoured, the two friends sat back stuffed, feeling less inclined than ever to heft their load of berries and leave the shelter of the friendly tree.

     "I guess," said Thornbriar, stifling a yawn.  "I guess we'd better get going soon."

     "Yes, I suppose so," said Bear drowsily, a moment later.  "What time do you think it is?"

     There was no answer.  Thornbriar was asleep beneath the wide brim of his blue hat; his breath whistling in and out of his long, pointed nose.  Bear waited idly for an answer, not noticing that his friend slumbered.  In a moment, he too nodded off; softly rumbling several tones deeper than the drone of the busy honeybees that still moved dreamily through the heavy, hot air.

                   ***********

     Bear was deep in a dream about chasing a butter-and-honey sandwich as big as a barn door.  He had caught the sandwich and was beginning to eat it, when it seemed he was surrounded by a gentle whisper of soft applause, like many hands clapping.  He looked around but could see nothing.  The applause grew louder and louder, and suddenly he felt something cold and wet plunk directly onto his nose.

     With a snort and a jerk, he was awake.  But the clapping sound was still all around him.  It was a muddled second before he realized that the sound was rain, pattering on the myriad leaves above him.  The old tree was so high and thick that only the occasional drop found its way to the ground beneath.

     The bear reached over and nudged Thornbriar.  "Hey, wake up," he said.  "Wake up!  It's starting to rain."

     The elf started up in alarm, rubbing his eyes.  "What the--" he cried, springing to his feet.  "Oh, great," he said.  "Just great."

     The two friends looked at the rain.  It was falling in a silver curtain all outside the perimeter of the tree and was so thick that the nearest trees and hedges were only blurry shapes.  The sky was uniformly dark grey, as if an iron bowl had been clapped down over the earth.  From far away, came the deep, warning brool of summer thunder.

     "We'll never get the berries home through this,” said Thornbriar.  "We'll just have to wait here until it lets up."

     "I don't know,” said Bear thoughtfully.  "It looks like its setting in to stay for a while."

     The elf hauled out his pocket watch and popped the lid.

     "It's a quarter past three," he announced.  "If it hasn't let up by five, we’ll head for home and do our best, rain or no rain."

     "Agreed,” said Bear.

     The next hour or so was spent in little scraps of conversation; the elf tidying up the picnic basket over and over again while Bear hummed the same three tunes, both of them cautiously keeping an eye on the endlessly falling rain.  As it grew later and later, it got darker and darker, and the clouds showed no sign of moving on.

     At almost five o’clock, there was finally a lull in the rain.  It didn't actually stop, but it was reduced to a few drops driven by a high, freshening wind.

     "I guess it's now or never,” said Thornbriar.  "We'll have to make a dash for home."

     "Right," said Bear resolutely, hitching up his pottles.  "Are you ready?"

     The elf grabbed his own load of berries.  "Let's go."

     They started at a fast pace and struck out for the valley pass.  It was hard going, because the paths had all been churned into squelching mud by the pounding rain, and the extra burden of the heavy pottles slowed them down.  As they hurried along as best they could, they saw ahead of them a frowning wall of black clouds rushing inexorably over the low hills, quivering with lightning and sweeping the country beneath it with a torrent of falling water.

     "We'll never make it,” gasped Bear.  "When that hits us, we won't be able to see.  And there are streams flooding all around us.  One false step..."

     "I know, I know," said Thornbriar.  He desperately looked around, then pointed.  "Look!  Isn't that a house over there?"

     Far off to their left, they could just see the wet glint of a slate roof on one of the low foothills.

     "Looks like an old shepherd's hut,” said the bear.  "It ought to be abandoned at this time of year."

     "I think we can just make it,” said the elf, turning from the muddy path and setting out towards the hut.  "We can wait out the storm there, if we must."

     The pair hurried through the wet, whipping weeds and tall grasses, running with determination and fear.  Every now and then, Thornbriar cast an anxious glance up at the lowering storm front to gauge its progress.

     They had reached the foot of the hill and started to climb when the rain struck, as suddenly and fiercely as a wave.  They groped blindly uphill the last few yards.

     Thornbriar had nearly run into the hut before he finally saw it; its gray, rough stones almost invisible in the slanting rain.  He dashed the water out of his eyes and located a door.

     "This way!" he yelled, and Bear nodded blindly, following his friend's voice.  The elf felt his way along the wall until he reached the door, then, finding it by feel alone, he grabbed and turned the latch.

     The door burst open, and Thornbriar lurched inside.  The bear followed a few seconds later; water streaming from his fur onto the bare slate floor almost as if he were a small rain cloud himself.  He threw his pottles down and shut the door against the howling wind.

     "Brrr," he shivered, automatically shaking himself like a dog and scattering water everywhere, including onto the elf, who had just removed his hat and cleared the water from his eyes.

     "Hey!" he said.

     "Sorry,” said Bear, thumping down onto a dry spot on the floor.

     "It doesn't matter, I guess," said the elf.  "I can't really get any wetter, I suppose."

     "It sure is dark in here,” said Bear, straining his eyes around the hut.  "Can you see anything?"

     "Hang on," said Thornbriar.  Elves have good darksight, but in the last, dying light of the heavily overcast sky which glinted feebly through the window,  even Thornbriar had a difficult time making anything out.  After a moment, he managed to get a match and candle stub from his tinderbox (which, mercifully, was still dry) and struck a light.

     By its slowly growing glow, the two friends could make out the interior of the little hut.  It was only one room, maybe twenty feet by twenty feet.  The walls were mortared stone, with one window covered with a semi-transparent, horn board.  The roof and floor were fitted slate, and opposite the door was a rough chimney, a pile of wood, and little else, except for a few hooks on the wall. 

     "At least we can get a fire going and dry out,” said Thornbriar cheerfully.

     He walked over and stuck the candle on the mantlepiece and began piling the wood onto the grate.  After a few touchy moments, he got a fire going, and its rosy glow soon filled the little room.  The elf took from one of his pockets a reel of fishing line and strung it from hook to hook on the wall, so that it hung near the fire.  Then he placed his wet clothes along it to dry them out.

     Outside the rain still fell steadily, and the wind howled down the chimney.  Blasts of lightning shattered the air and sent rumbles of thunder that the two friends could feel even in the stones of their temporary shelter.

     Eventually, as clothes and fur dried, they began to relax and feel that they had well escaped the ferocity of the storm.  They began to talk and tell stories and reminisce about old times.  Thornbriar lit his pipe, and Bear consumed one of the pottles of berries.

     It was past three in the morning before the worst of the thunder finally seemed to be over, and they lay down to sleep.  Bear instantly dropped off, but Thornbriar lay a long time with his head propped against the warm, furry flank of his gently snoring friend, gazing up at the roof, while outside the rain fell on, quietly but steadily.

Notes

This chapter of Elf & Bear has a long and storied history. It began as a playing when John and I were on the swings and was originally a story about Charlie Brown and Linus at camp and the flood which they escaped. Looking back, it may have been (unconsciously)influenced by the climactic flood in Baked Beans for Breakfast, though I could swear I had forgotten it at the time. The more conscious influence was our epic escape from camping and the rain and tornado that trapped us down by the river. The idea of 'The Flood' was also the inspiration for an entire proposed book in the Fellowfeel series, The Sundering Flood (shades of William Morris!).  

That country area where we camped was also the inspiration for the dewberry picking. Dewberries are " ... closely related to the blackberries. They are small trailing (rather than upright or high-arching) brambles with aggregate fruits, reminiscent of the raspberry, but are usually purple to black instead of red. The plants do not have upright canes like some other species, but have stems that trail along the ground, putting forth new roots along the length of the stem. The stems are covered with fine spines or stickers. Around March and April, the plants start to grow white flowers that develop into small green berries. The tiny green berries grow red and then a deep purple-blue as they ripen. When the berries are ripe, they are tender and difficult to pick in any quantity without squashing them. The berries are sweet and often less seedy than blackberries." - Wikipedia. They are a seasonal and regional delight, and the fruit is usually gone by May. They are gathered with many a bramble sting and with stained fingers, so they tend to be a hard-won, ephemeral pleasure. Dewberry jelly is the preferred method of preservation.