Captain Heron and the Storm River

CHAPTER ONE: The Crossing Must Be Made

For three days it had not stopped raining.

The river that ran through the middle of the valley had been a quiet, friendly river — the kind you could hop across on stepping stones in summer. Now it was a wide, fast, churning thing, brown and swollen, carrying branches and leaves and everything that wasn't tied down.

On the near bank, five animals sat under a broad sycamore tree and looked at it unhappily.

There was Rook the rabbit, who had been visiting her sister on the wrong side of the river when the rains began. There was Edwin the tortoise, who moved slowly at the best of times and had not moved anywhere for three days. There was Vole, who was very small and said very little but had sharp eyes and an excellent sense of direction. And there were the Hedgehog twins, Prick and Thorn, who were arguing, as they usually were, about whose idea it had been to get stuck in the first place.

"We can't stay here," said Rook. "The rain isn't stopping and the bank is going to flood."

"We can't cross that," said Edwin.

"We need someone who knows the river," said Vole, very quietly.

As if in answer, a large grey heron landed on a rock in the middle of the water, stood perfectly still in the rushing current, and looked at them.

"Captain Heron," said Rook. "Do you know a way across?"

Captain Heron studied the river for a long, silent moment. Then she looked at the five animals on the bank — one large and slow, one very small, two prickly and noisy, and one who looked as though she had been holding herself together with some difficulty for three days.

"There is a path through," she said. "But we will have to go together, and we will have to trust each other completely."

"How dangerous is it?" asked Edwin.

"Less dangerous than staying," said Heron.

Rook stood up. "When do we start?"

"Now," said Heron. "Before the water rises any further."

CHAPTER TWO: One Step at a Time

The path that Heron had chosen was not a straight line across the river. It wound between three large flat rocks, then along a gravel bank no wider than a garden path, then through a stretch of shallower water near the bend where the current was slower.

Heron went first, stepping with her long legs and turning back at every rock to show the others where to place their feet.

Edwin was the slowest. He climbed each rock with tremendous care, and twice had to be encouraged from behind by Prick and Thorn, who had stopped arguing completely now that there was something more important to focus on.

Rook made it to the second rock quickly, then stopped and waited. This was not easy for Rook, who was a rabbit and therefore quite good at rushing — but she waited, because that was what Captain Heron had told her to do.

They were nearly at the gravel bank when Vole slipped.

It was a small rock, slick with rain, and one paw went out and then Vole was in the water — carried sideways into the current before anyone could react.

"Vole!" cried Rook.

Heron turned, assessed the situation in one second, and called out clearly: "The bend — the gravel bank curves around below — Vole will be swept there. Go straight."

She was right. Vole washed around the bend and waded out onto the gravel bank, gasping and shivering, and looked up to find five very relieved faces looking back at her.

"I'm alright," Vole said, in a small but certain voice.

They continued more slowly after that.

The last stretch — the shallow section near the far bank — was cold and swift, but Heron waded across with Vole on her back, and the others linked together in a line, and they came out onto the far bank wet and breathless and together.

For a moment, no one said anything.

Then Prick sat down in the mud and laughed, and Thorn sat down beside him and laughed too, and Rook looked at the river they had just crossed and felt her legs go a bit trembly with relief.

But Heron was looking ahead.

There, where the tall pine tree had always stood at the bend in the path — the tree where she had roosted for seven years — the water had undercut its roots, and it had fallen.

Her roost was gone.

She stood very still, looking at it.

CHAPTER THREE: Something Better

The others had not noticed at first. They were still gathering themselves — Edwin shaking river water from his shell, Prick and Thorn examining their spines for damage, Vole wringing out her tail.

But Rook noticed.

She came to stand beside Heron, who was still looking at the fallen tree without saying a word.

"Is that where you lived?" Rook asked.

"Seven years," said Heron.

The others came to stand with them, one by one, and they all looked at the fallen pine together.

"We'll build you something," said Thorn.

"You can't build a pine tree," said Heron.

"No," said Prick. "But we can build a roost. A proper one. On that big oak over there — look, the branch is exactly right."

Heron looked at the oak. Then she looked at the five bedraggled, soggy animals looking back at her with complete determination in their eyes.

"You should go home," she said. "You're all wet and cold."

"We're going home after," said Rook firmly.

It took the rest of the afternoon. Edwin was surprisingly good at testing which branches were sturdy enough. Prick and Thorn turned out to be excellent at collecting and weaving dry reeds — their spines were useful for threading things together. Vole, who was small and light, could climb to the highest parts without the branch swaying. And Rook held things steady.

Heron watched them work.

No one asked her to help and no one expected her to — she had already guided five animals across a flooded river that morning. But she found herself offering advice on height and wind direction, and at some point she began weaving reeds herself, and somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, she stopped thinking about the pine tree she had lost.

When the roost was finished, it was not as high as her old one, and it smelled of green oak and fresh reeds rather than old pine. But it was solid. And when she stepped onto it and settled her wings, it held perfectly still.

"How is it?" asked Rook.

Heron looked out across the valley — at the river, still running fast below, and the rain finally beginning to thin, and the five small animals standing below her looking up.

"It's very good," she said.

And she meant it.