Frost Dancers: A Story of Hares

by Garry Kilworth

  A jill called out, ‘Why not let him stay, Followme? Please? I don’t want to lose my feet.’

  The moonhare looked distracted, glanced back at the author of this statement, then shook her head. ‘Can’t you see we’re not in any state to take you in. You’re better off on your own …’

  Another hare had approached them now: a jack almost as large as the moonhare. He hopped up alongside the jill and sat up on his hindquarters, studying Skelter’s face. Finally he spoke.

  ‘Not very big, is he?’

  ‘I was just explaining,’ said Followme, ‘that we can’t take him in, much as we’d like to. We have our own problems at the moment.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ said the jack.

  ‘Are you a moonhare too?’ asked Skelter.

  The jack looked puzzled, then said, ‘I’m Reacher, the sunhare. Only females can be moonhares, and there is only one of those to every colony.’

  ‘I see – moonhare and sunhare. Is there a starhare?’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’ snapped Followme.

  Skelter hastily assured her he wasn’t.

  ‘No, no, I’m just interested in your culture. Why do you call yourselves a colony? Why not a clan? Or a husk? That’s what we’re usually called – a husk of hares.’

  ‘Because,’ replied Reacher, ‘we’re not a husk, not in the true sense. Unlike you mountain hares, we only get together during the mating season, from mid-winter to early summer, then we break up. So we call ourselves a colony.’

  ‘Well, I really would like to stay and join your colony. I have nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Followme replied, but Reacher’s expression had softened. ‘Oh, I don’t know, where’s the harm, moonhare?’ he asked. ‘I mean, this hare is homeless and we’ve lost so many lately he could fill one of the empty areas, stop them being taken over by the northern colony. You know they’re always trying to extend their territory. If we’re not careful, they’ll have the whole island to themselves before long.’

  This made sense to Skelter, and he could see that the sunhare’s words had had an impact on the moonhare. She looked at her jack thoughtfully, while twitching her nose.

  ‘You do have a point there, though we may have more leverets next spring than we have land to give them.’

  Reacher nodded.

  ‘But that’s next spring. We could all be dead by then.’

  ‘We probably shall be,’ she sighed. ‘Oh, all right then, come on. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the colony. I hope you learn our ways quickly, because I’m not at all a patient or very tolerant leader. You must understand that, before we start.’

  Skelter was ecstatic. At last he had found a home. It wasn’t what he was used to, nor what he would have preferred, but it was better than being a stray, a maverick with no place to call his own, and no hares with whom to share his life. The field they were in was large, a sea of light green, and bordered by well-clipped hedges with trees locking them together. There was a five-barred gate like a window in the longest hedge, behind which a tractor could be heard chugging away. Beyond those borders were more fields and more hedges, in dreary succession, but if he closed one eye and studied it with a certain part of his brain, he could come to accept his new environment without too much heartache.

  ‘What do you do about eagles?’ asked Skelter, hopping alongside the moonhare, as they went to join the others.

  ‘Eagles?’

  Skelter looked up at the marbled louring sky. A high sheet wind was playing havoc amongst the grey swirling clouds. He could see crows being thrown around up there, but no eagles.

  ‘Yes, you know – eagles.’

  Followme shook her head as if it contained a wasp which she wanted to get out by way of her ear.

  ‘I told you we shouldn’t have him,’ she complained to Reacher. ‘Already he’s prattling on about silly things.’

  ‘What’s silly about eagles?’ asked Skelter.

  Reacher replied, ‘We don’t know. What are they?’

  Skelter was astonished.

  ‘Why, they’re – they’re eagles, golden eagles. Like falcons only a lot bigger. Like buzzards, only more streamlined, larger, and swifter. They come out of the sky like lightning, and snatch a hare from the ground quick as quick. They circle, stoop, and wham, no hare.’

  ‘Only one thing around here can take a fully-grown hare,’ said Reacher, ‘and that’s a fox. He’s the only creature, apart from the flogre of course, big enough and fast enough to catch us.’

  ‘What about badgers?’

  ‘Not quick enough.’

  ‘No wildcats?’

  ‘Wildcats,’ said Reacher in flat tones.

  ‘Yes, cryptic creatures with banded tails, bigger than a domestic, savage as anything. If you had wildcats, you’d know about it. They claw the bark off trees.’

  The moonhare stopped in her tracks and said, ‘Let’s get this over with all at once. Are there any more animals or birds you want to talk about?’

  ‘Pine martens?’

  ‘Heard about them, but never seen one,’ replied Reacher.

  ‘Weasels and stoats?’

  ‘Got them,’ cried Reacher, almost triumphantly.

  ‘So,’ the moonhare said, ‘we have established that there are no eagles or wildcats around here, that pine martens are scarce, that weasels and stoats have to be watched for, especially with regard to the leverets, and that foxes are the main enemy. In the meantime, our numbers are being depleted by a monster against which we have no defence, and who is far more important at the moment than any fox, stoat, wildcat, marten, weasel, or …’ She paused, then said, ‘This eagle bird. It snatches hares from the ground like a hawk takes mice?’

  ‘Correct,’ said Skelter.

  ‘What time of day does it hunt?’

  ‘Anytime, so long as the weather is clear. It has to be able to see us, before it can catch us.’

  ‘Not at dusk and dawn?’

  Skelter shook his head.

  ‘Doubtful. I mean, maybe early evening when the light’s still good, or once the sun is well on its way up the sky, but mostly they need good light.’

  ‘You wouldn’t get one of these eagles who only hunted at dusk and dawn?’

  ‘Not in the history of the mountain hare.’

  Followme sighed.

  ‘Ah well, it was just a thought. If we knew what it was, perhaps we could have found a way of dealing with it, but it seems the flogre is destined to remain a mystery.’

  ‘I heard a silly story from the rabbits. Something about it being some kind of mythical creature, a badger that could fly, with a weasel for a tail,’ said Skelter.

  Reacher corrected him.

  ‘Stoat for a tail. Well, that’s what they say, though I’ve never seen it properly. No one has. It comes out of nowhere at dusk and dawn, and snatches hares away as if they were mice. It’s slowly depleting the colony. We’re not equipped to deal with this magical creature, whatever it is.’

  Skelter did not feel this was the time for him to start pooh-poohing mysticism and magic, so he kept his scepticism to himself.

  When they reached the tree stump, Reacher explained, ‘This is our totem, Skelter, it helps protect us from predators.’

  ‘How?’ asked Skelter.

  Several heads turned in his direction, but there was no immediate answer forthcoming. Finally, a hare called Fleetofoot, a yearling jill, answered him.

  ‘Why, it’s a good luck charm of course. It protects us with unseen magic. Have you never heard of a totem before? What did your colony protect itself with?’

  She sounded defensive, but there was a lot of aggression and resentment in her tone too, which made Skelter feel uneasy.

  ‘Actually, no, we don’t have totems where I come from. There are lucky sights, like beetles on particular plants, but they’re not taken all that seriously. They’re more for the entertainment of leverets than anything else. Well …’ he was getting some peculiar looks ‘�
� the young have imaginations, which we feed with games and things, like lucky beetles. If you see what I mean?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Fleetofoot. ‘Are you trying to tell us that lucky charms don’t really work? That they’re for the amusement of simpletons?’

  At that moment, the moonhare came up to him, saying, ‘Our augur, Headinthemist, has been looking at the omens, and it appears that all is well.’

  ‘The omens?’ asked Skelter.

  ‘Yes, Headinthemist can divine the future from wych elm twigs, their position and direction when blown from the tree, and her prophecy is that your presence amongst us is acceptable.’

  ‘I’m glad about that,’ said Skelter, ‘the trees like me, eh? Isn’t this all a bit, well, you know, daft?’

  Skelter saw that he was not making a good impression on his hosts, and he tried to retrieve the situation before it got any worse. The trouble was, he was unused to meeting other hares and couldn’t seem to control his tongue. Up in the highlands you said what you meant, and you meant what you said. There was no need for diplomacy of any kind. In the highlands it was best to be blunt and forthright, not dance around the heather using flowery phrases.

  ‘No, no, I don’t mean daft, exactly. It’s just that mountain hares tend to be a bit more pragmatic. We’re suspicious of mystical things. I mean, I have dreams like everyone else, about ghost-hares. But I’ve never seen one in real life. The hare clans of the highlands tend to be a bit more down to earth, that’s all.’

  ‘The hare clans of the highlands,’ repeated Fleetofoot in a sing-song voice. ‘How quaint.’

  The moonhare stepped in and rescued him. ‘This is Skelter, everyone. Sunhare and I have decided that he may stay on a trial basis …’ There had been nothing mentioned about a trial, but Skelter let it go ‘… and we want to make him as welcome as possible. Of course, he is a mountain hare, and there will be cultural differences to overcome, but I’m sure you will help to educate him in our ways. He seems a reasonably intelligent hare, so he should learn quite quickly.’

  So, there it was, no question that he had anything to offer them. He was going to be civilised, whether he liked it or not, and they were going to civilise him. Skelter did not argue. He was the newcomer and as had been seen already, it would be best to keep his silence until he got to know them better.

  ‘Thank you everyone,’ he said, ‘for letting me into your, urn, colony, on um, a trial basis. I’ll do my best to fit in. I expect you know my story, and where I come from, since news travels fast over the flatlands, but perhaps I’d better fill you in on some details. I lived in the mountains, of course, amongst the crags and heather …’

  But the other hares had turned away now and were chattering to each other, not paying attention to a word he was saying. Skelter thought this was the height of rudeness, but he realised something now that hadn’t occurred to him before.

  This community of animals, on the almost-island, had remained quite remote from the landmass over the centuries. Only the birds of the air, who rarely spoke with the beasts of the field, would have any links with those on the mainland. The mammals here were highly suspicious of strangers, and a long way behind the rest of the modern world in their ways. Everyone knew there was a certain amount of magic in the world, for who could explain a soul or account for dreams of ghost-hares, but to overlay the whole of one’s lifestyle with such dark forces was going too far.

  These hares were highly superstitious creatures, with minds that shot out in the direction of fantastical thoughts. All very well for the art of storytelling, but not much good for practical purposes.

  So, Skelter forgave them their rudeness.

  Dusk began to move across the land, the shadows melting into greyness. Skelter noticed a marked change coming over the hares. They began to get nervous, nestling down in their forms, speaking in whispers. Frightened eyes glanced up at the sky. Some of the young were whimpering. The atmosphere was pensive and intense.

  Skelter quickly dug himself a short tunnel form and slipped down inside it. He was quite tired, so he dozed for a while, unaware of the increased agitation that was going on amongst the colony. Some of them were staring at the spot where he had dug his form with horrified expressions, looking at one another as if to say, can you believe this?

  Eventually, Skelter was woken by the moonhare.

  It was dark, and he crawled out of his form and stretched himself before saying, ‘Yes, what is it?’

  ‘You have to leave,’ said Followme, firmly.

  Skelter felt utterly at a loss.

  ‘Leave, what on earth for? What have I done wrong?’

  Followme glanced down at his form.

  Skelter followed her eyes, and then something occurred to him. ‘Is this someone else’s spot? I didn’t know. I’ll dig my form over there, if you like. Anywhere. I wish you would let me stay, that’s all.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ said another hare. ‘We don’t want you, because you’ve got rabbity ways. Headinthemist has studied the wych elms twigs again and they point to you as being a bad influence. You could be a spy for someone, maybe the flogre. Why didn’t it come tonight? Because you were here? To give you a chance to settle in, before you began spying on us?’

  ‘Why should I be a spy? You don’t make any sense.’

  ‘Look, no one’s ever heard of a hare that burrows in the ground like a rabbit, and how do we know you’re a hare anyway? You look a bit like one, but there’s marked differences …’

  ‘Because I’m a mountain hare, you fool!’ cried Skelter, getting angry.

  ‘So you say, but we’ve only got your word for that. And even mountain hares don’t dig tunnels, I’m sure. They would be too ashamed to copy those manmade creatures who call themselves rabbits – the upstarts, the newcomers. Why would you want to copy them, when hares have always had the sky over their heads, the field for a bed?’

  ‘Because mountain hares don’t live in fields, and because there are golden eagles up in the highlands – massive birds with huge talons and a beak that can tear the heart out of deer.’

  ‘So you say,’ said Reacher, maddeningly, and to which there was no real answer.

  ‘Yes,’ snapped Skelter, ‘you only have my word for that. If you had let me talk about where I come from and what kind of community I lived in, you would have heard all this before I dug the form, but you got bored and refused to listen, because you’re an ignorant bunch of backward fools, who are so bigoted that you’ll never learn anything new. No wonder you’ve never heard of mountain hare forms: you never listen to anything. I give up!’ he finished in disgust.

  They all turned their backs on him, a shocked look in their eyes, while Reacher mumbled, ‘Best be on your way, before we do something we might regret later. That wasn’t a very pretty speech and you’re lucky we don’t kick you where you stand. Go on, be off with you.’

  ‘Gladly,’ said Skelter. ‘I’ll go back to Jittie. At least she isn’t living in the Dark Ages, like you lot. You deserve this flogre, whatever it is. You probably conjured it up, with those strange minds of yours … all right, all right, I’m going. No need for any more threats, I’m quite sure you’re capable of carrying them out.’

  He turned and left them, making his way back across the fields, his eyes hot with anger, and his heart too full of rage to feel despair. What nonsense. What utter nonsense. To accuse him of being a rabbit. Why, he’d rather be a rabbit than a field hare, if that’s what they were like. He was ashamed to be called a cousin of such idiot creatures.

  It was not easy finding his way back to Jittie in the darkness, with the owls sweeping the skies with their wings, and the stoats peering at him from the blackness of hedges. Once, he came across a couple of humans, a man and a woman, who startled him. They had been so quiet, the man leaning his back against an oak tree, while the woman pressed herself against him. As Skelter passed them they were whimpering softly to one another, as if the rest of the world had ears.

  Ske
lter was glad when he had passed them, for the woman’s aroma made him feel uneasy, and the whole scene was a little bizarre. What were two humans doing out at this time of night, in the middle of the fields? It was too unusual not to make a hare feel apprehensive. Skelter sensed something sinister about it, which made him worry.

  He passed on by, and was soon concerned with his immediate troubles once more.

  Shortly afterwards he heard a noise behind him, and whirled around to find he was being chased. He was about to bolt, when he scented his pursuer. It smelled like a jill, from that colony back there.

  It was indeed a jill who came out of the darkness.

  ‘It’s no good you trying to persuade me to come back now,’ said Skelter firmly. ‘The damage has been done.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ said the jill, trying to talk and catch her breath at the same time, ‘I just wanted to make sure you tell the hedgehog that you were first accepted, then later you were asked to leave. I mean, I did try to help. I got you in – it was your own stupid fault you got thrown out again. You be sure to tell the hedgehog that, won’t you?’

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Skelter, angrily.

  ‘Speedwell. Now, don’t forget …’

  With that, the jill was gone, back into the night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘The reason field hares don’t burrow like rabbits, nor use cover like the creatures of the woodland, is because their only real defence is their speed,’ said Jittie. ‘Next to the deer, they are probably the fastest animal in the countryside. Since they do rely on their speed, they don’t like to be surprised by predators, and of course prefer a head start on any fox that comes creeping up towards their form. This is the reason,’ she explained, ‘why they live in shallow depressions in the middle of flat fields – so they can see what’s coming from all directions.’ Skelter was still feeling sorry for himself.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ he said, ‘but I’m not a field hare, am I?’

  ‘No, but you want to live with them, and these hares, they haven’t been to the mainland like I have. They’re island born and bred. They’re suspicious of anything new, any behaviour different from what they’re used to. I’m not making excuses for them, mind – they’re a narrow crowd of bigots – I’m just trying to explain to you why this has happened.’