Young Fredle - Louise Yates [43]
Fredle was hungry and he did need food of some kind. Rilf pulled up several more of the tall things and then took one himself. He reached down to put it into the water and rub it between his paws. Then he lifted the long, dripping thing up into the air to cram it—white bottom, long stem, leaves and all—into his mouth.
Fredle didn’t see any other choice. He bit into the white end. It was crisp like apple peel but fresher than any apple peel or core from the compost. It was not sweet, not really; its flavor was sharp and it tasted good in a way Fredle had never tasted before. He took another bite.
“Ramps,” said Rilf, taking up another and once again washing it in the water that flowed so quickly by them. “The stream grows watercress, too, but that’s too bitter for me.” He reached a paw down into the water to pull out something limp and dark green and leafy. “A mouse might like it.”
“Should I wash this ramp before I eat it?” Fredle was trying on the new word, to be sure he’d gotten it right. He wasn’t interested in watercress, whatever that was. “Should I be washing it in the stream, like you do?”
“It’s too late now. Besides, I don’t know why I do. A little dirt never hurt anyone, but if there’s water and I’ve got something to eat, I wash it. Go figure. Finished with that one? Good, have one more and I will, too, and the rest I’ll take back to the boys. I like to surprise them every now and then. It’s one of the things a good captain does, if he wants to stay on top.”
“But won’t they be off foraging by now?”
“Maybe. Could be. Depending. But I bet we find them waiting.”
“Where do they think you’ve gone?”
“Woo-Hah,” Rilf laughed. “My guess is they think I’m off eating you on my own. That’s a captain’s privilege. Of course, a smart captain never takes advantage of his privileges, I can tell you that, my mouse. But as captain, I can eat what I want when I want it. As long as they’re not hungry. And we all know they have that chicken carcass.”
“If they don’t forage, will they eat me instead?”
“They’ll think about it. They’ll want to. But all a raccoon needs to start him off at night is enough food to get him going. The chicken will do that. We’ll have fresh ramps for after, if we want. Hop back on, young Fredle. We know your name,” he said as Fredle made his careful way up the long snout and between the dark eyes. “So unless we haven’t had anything to eat for a while, I’d say you’re safe enough. For the time being. If the weather holds.”
Fredle gripped an ear and thought about all this. He reminded himself of the appearance and the taste of the food Rilf had shown him, ramps, and the watercress the captain had pulled out of the stream. You never knew when you might need to know something. Rilf gathered up a mouthful of the long stalks and then he and Fredle were off again, heading through grainy darkness toward the burrow.
Rilf was proved correct. Three raccoons were waiting in the clearing when he came loping back. “We saved you the backbone, Cap’n.”
Rilf lowered his head and let Fredle scramble off to retreat to the shelter of the wall. Then he emptied his mouth of its burden. “Ramps,” he announced. “Dig in, boys. Or save them for tomorrow night. Whatever.”
“I could use another mouthful,” said Rec, but the others shouted him down: “Paws off! You’re always trying to eat more. Give it a rest, Rec.”
“What about the mouse, Cap’n?” asked Rad. “You want to kill him before we go? We don’t want him running off on us.”
Rilf waited too long for Fredle’s comfort, as if he was thinking this over, but at last he said, “Fredle won’t run off. He knows he can’t find his way. Don’t you, young Fredle?”
“Yes,” Fredle answered, because it was true. He’d tried to run away, and failed.
“You don’t believe that inedible stuff, do you, Cap’n?” asked Rec.
“What do you think?” Rilf answered.
“But what’ll he eat? Because we don’t want him starved and skinny. There’s little enough meat on a mouse when he’s fat,” Rimble pointed out.
“He’ll eat whatever we bring him.” Rilf turned to Fredle. “Anything you want