So lost were they all in the happiness of that walk that they did not realize how far they had come until suddenly they were by the gate near the pond and with a thrill of anticipation saw in the distance the tops of the trees of Silver Wood. The thought of home put a new lightness and urgency into their step and they were soon going under the fence into the flat field at the front of the wood. It was at that point that they first began to realize that something was wrong. The wood was too quiet; not a sound was to be heard and not a movement was to be seen, neither the hooting of Wythen nor the scurrying of rabbits around the front of the wood as they played and ate as they always did in the evening. But it was not just the absence of any signs of life that caused the hearts of the animals to start beating faster; the appearance of the wood seemed different as well. Even at this distance they would normally have been able to make out the large looming shapes of the belts of rhododendron and the familiar sight of the Old Beech standing at the centre of the front of the wood, but with a growing sense of panic and horror they could not find them. The nearer they got the more they lost their bearings so that they did not know which part of the wood to make for. They were running now, fast, blindly, and the silver moonlight which had before seemed magical now shone down coldly and cruelly to expose the dreadful sight before them. Now they were at the old fence which surrounded the wood and before them they could clearly see the remains of their home. With the blood pounding in their ears and their stomachs heavy and knotted with the sickness of despair they looked at the tracks left by the tractors in the soft ground as they had pulled the rhododendrons up and left them in a pile on one side, and they saw the stumps of the trees where the saws had cut through them sending them crashing down to the ground where the ones that had not yet been sawn remained lying uselessly amongst the debris which had once been the floor of the wood. Not all the trees had been felled yet; the men had started at the front and were working back so that the trees they had seen in the distance were those which had been in the back part of the wood beyond the little stream. Everywhere the smell of the Urkku lingered on the air; the fumes from the tractors and the cloying smell of cigarettes, and pieces of paper littered the ground, either frozen to the earth or floating on the gusts of wind that blew across from the hills in the distance. And then Nab saw the first of the familiar red tubes which he dreaded; cartridges were strewn everywhere and as the animals picked their way over the great ruts left by the diggers they found dark streaks of blood on the black earth and tufts of hair and fur lying on the floor.

Slowly now, for they were numb with horror, they walked amongst the mess that had been their home. When an area had been cleared of trees the diggers had moved in to grub up the bracken and any remaining shrubs or saplings and in these areas there was no trace left of the wood for them to recognize, just a churned up expanse of muddy earth, but where this had not yet been done they could just about get their bearings and so eventually they came to the Old Beech, lying half sawn up on the earth. The freshly cut flat top of the stump was a very light pink colour and showed up clearly in the moonlight. They stood staring at it for a long while, unable to believe their eyes. Beth stood behind them, realizing that the wood had been their home and understanding their grief at what had happened. She herself had often looked at the wood from afar and thought how beautiful it was, and when she had heard in the village that it was to be cleared she had felt deeply sad for the animals that lived there.

Brock, Nab and Warrigal looked at the entrance to the sett, open now and exposed for all to see and the thought of Tara drove itself through the numbness of their minds until finally Brock slowly dragged himself across the unfamiliar ground at the front of the sett, scarred and cut by the tractor that had pulled at Nab’s rhododendron bush. He was just about to go down the hole when a movement caught his eye amongst the heap of bushes piled up just beyond the sett. The others had also seen it and they looked round as Sam slowly emerged from cover. His head was bent low and his tail was tucked round under his back legs so that as he walked he appeared to be hunched up. His tan coat, which normally shone with life, was now all matted with mud and the front of his shoulder on the right was covered in a dark red cake of dried blood. There was also a graze across his nose which showed up as a red stripe running from the black tip and ending up on his forehead in a deep gash. He limped heavily towards them without even raising his head, stopping when he got to where Brock was standing. Warrigal and Nab went forward but Beth stayed where she was, shocked by the transformation of this night from one of the greatest joy to the misery she now saw before I her.

Sam’s voice was low and unsteady as he spoke and the others edged closer to catch what he was saying.

‘They came soon after you’d gone,’ he said. ‘First with the guns; hundreds of them, killing everything that moved. It was terrible; the cries of the wounded as they tried to escape, and the noise; hundreds of explosions, deafening until I couldn’t think. Everywhere there was terror, panic, blood, the smell of death, the smell of their guns. No one could escape; they were all around the wood; beaters at one end and guns at the other. Rabbits with their legs blown off twitching, bleeding into the snow, pheasants thudding down like rain. The smell of blood.’ He stopped, unable to continue – the nightmare was more than he could recount. Finally, after a silence which no one broke, he went on.

‘Then when the guns had gone they came with the long white tube; round all the holes, earths, setts, warrens. And the silence that hung over everything was broken only by the muffled cries and thumpings underground. Finally they came with the machines and began to tear up the wood. All day, clanking, grinding and banging and shouting. I got out of your bush just before they dragged it away, Nab; it’s over there somewhere amongst that heap.’

There was another silence and then Brock said quietly, ‘Tara?’

Sam looked up for the first time and the misery in his deep brown eyes told Brock the worst. He turned away slowly and walked off into the field. Nab followed him and they both walked until they got to the fence at the far side, when they stopped and began to walk back. There was nothing to say; grief burned in both of them, and the shock of the final loss which death brings held them in a state of trance. As if in a dream they walked unbelievingly up and down the field trying to grasp the fact that she had gone and that they would never see her again. Pictures of her flashed into their minds but when they tried to focus on one and keep it there it began to fade away. Memories flooded back; for Brock the early days, setting up home, having the cubs, life with Bruin, the way she would scold him after one of his escapades, the warmth of the love in her eyes. And then the arrival of Nab, the excitements and anticipation of those first days; the joy in her face when she suckled him, the laying out of the fresh beds of meadowsweet that first night. Nab thought of winter evenings with her in the sett when he was young, snuggled warm into her deep soft fur, and summer evenings when they would sit together outside the sett under the Great Beech and talk while the pigeons cooed and Brock was out foraging. Then, when he was older, the warmth and understanding of pure love which was always there whenever he was worried or had a problem. Now she was gone and it was as if the sun had gone for ever and there would be no more summers. He thought he had got used to coping with sudden and violent death after losing Rufus and Bruin but, he realized now, it was impossible to ever get used to that sickening sense of absolute loss that burns through every part of the body at the death of someone you love. Tears misted his eyes as he tried to focus on the ground while they walked together, he and Brock, up and down the field. They would never see her again; the thought churned itself around in their minds, over and over until it became a mere form of words, and then suddenly the sense of loss would surge back to hit them physically in the stomach and a wave of grief would once again engulf them, forcing burning tears down Nab’s face and sending him once more into sobbing convulsions of despair which hurt his throat and turned his stomach sour.