sense of love for those they see as weaker than themselves.”
She paused for a time, and a slight mist drifted upslope from the Thames valley below, which they would have to cross on the morrow.
“Now, Stour,” she whispered, “he has such love for mole. So many years others thought him severe and cold and yet... he has love for us. As the Stone Mole had. I have begun to pray for Stour in his dark and lonely struggle every day, and will until the day comes I see him alive again, or know for sure that he is safe and secure at last in the Stone’s Silence.”
How hunched and small she seemed, and yet how strong the sense of thought and concern she gave out, the embodiment perhaps of something of the spirit she had talked to them about.
“My dear,” said Fieldfare, going to her in her motherly way, “grand ideas are all very well, but as well as loving others a mole must be loved. Without my Chater here to live and strive for, to worry over, to hold through the dark nights, why, I’m not sure that I’d be able to love others at all. Love begins in the home burrow.”
“Yes, yes, of course it does, Fieldfare, and always will,” replied Privet. “Some moles are blessed with a love as you and Chater are, whilst others... our opportunity comes and goes, as mine has gone...”
The others fell silent when she said this, hushed indeed, for they hoped she would continue to speak more personally. She did not disappoint them.
“I told you enough of Rooster, and of my time up in the High Peak with him, for you to know that I grew to love him, with a passion too great for one as innocent as I was then, and as shy, to know what to do with! Often have been the times when I wished I had behaved differently, and given myself up to that passion, in body, as well as heart and spirit. Don’t look so surprised, Whillan! I’m not quite as inexperienced in such matters as my reluctance to talk about them, or my failure to mate in Duncton Wood, might lead you to think!”
“Er...” began Whillan, as embarrassed as he was surprised at this sudden revelation, “um, yes!”
Privet laughed, and almost seemed to wink at Fieldfare, who of all of them seemed least surprised. But the moment passed, and to their general regret Privet revealed no more then about her “experience”. Instead she thought a little and continued, “I loved Rooster far more than I knew at the time, far more perhaps than I care to admit even now. It was as if he was my whole life, a part of me; and I know that despite all I was part of him. But love was not a word we knew or understood, and the dark winds that blew in our youth across the High Peak, which are part of the same winds that blow across moledom today, caught us up, and scattered us apart, like fruit that have grown together on the same high, forgotten branch and tumble in the autumn winds, and roll far asunder, their seeds dispersing to make new life which, perhaps, one distant day, will grow near once more...
“Yet we can still feed our love for others from the memory of what we once knew, and hope that our pups and wards – our seed – might fare better than we did in the search for individual love. Meanwhile, we must strive to learn that greater love for moles the Stone leads us towards... we must!”
This strange metaphor of love and quiet declaration of intent moved Whillan greatly, and increased his sense that he had been lucky indeed to have been cared for by such a mole as Privet; even if she only showed him love in undemonstrative ways which used words too often, and touch too little, the example she gave would be with him always, as he hoped would Chater’s guidance in journeying.
“I’m tired,” he declared suddenly, daring to acknowledge what others felt, and winning nods of recognition that they should preserve their strength for the journeys yet to come, and get some sleep.
“I’ll take the watch, Chater,” said Maple quietly, “for I’m not tired yet, and want