The dormouse was so surprised, he fell onto the leaves.
‘Ouch!’ he squealed. ‘Ooh!’
Pitamus scampered over to him and helped him up. The dormouse danced around in pain, rubbing at his arms and legs, his whiskers twitching madly.
‘Sorry!’ said Pitamus, trying not to laugh. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you!’
The dormouse bit his lip to stop himself from squealing.
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ asked the vole, between giggles.
‘Yes, thank-you!’ said the dormouse, even though he didn’t.
‘You’re a nettle, aren’t you?’ he said, and the plant shook its leaves in reply. ‘Would you spare me a few of your leaves, please?’
The nettle shook itself, and several leaves broke free and floated to the ground. Carefully, the dormouse gathered them up by the stem, being careful not to touch the fine hairs on the underside of the leaves.
The dormouse looked at Pitamus, who was staring with his tiny eyes wide open in astonishment. The dormouse winked at him, and Pitamus scurried back into the tunnel entrance.
When the dormouse had finished gathering the plants he needed, he brought them back into the burrow and arranged them neatly in piles on the table.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Pitamus.
‘I am going to make a nostrum for your family,’ replied the dormouse. ‘It will cure them of their illness in no time.’
The dormouse picked up a tall, slender plant with a deep green stem and bright yellow flowers. He picked some of the larger leaves from it. He glanced at Pitamus, who was watching him intensely, and said, ‘Would you like to help?’
Pitamus answered, ‘Me? Help? Oh, I… Well, of course…’
The dormouse instructed him to collect some water and boil it in a pan. Pitamus frowned, his confusion deepening, but did as he was asked. He collected a copper pan and scurried off down a tunnel. He came out beside a river bank and quickly dipped the pan into the water. As he brought it back out, he heard a splash to his left and dropped the pan in fright. A large head came towards him, bobbing up and down in the river.
‘Who goes there?’ it said.
‘Cousin?’ exclaimed the vole, ‘Is that you?’
‘Why, hello!’ came the reply. ‘Of course it’s me! I live here!’
Pitamus’s cousin climbed out of the water onto the bank. He towered over his smaller relative, but Pitamus was no longer afraid. His cousin was a stout friend, and would do him no harm.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
Pitamus quickly explained his predicament.
‘I see,’ said the larger vole, ‘and you say this stranger is the mouse prophet we’ve all been hearing about?’
‘I think so,’ said Pitamus, picking up the now empty pan and re-filling it with water. ‘At least, he seems to know what he’s doing, and my family are so ill.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Pitamus’s cousin, ‘so he’s making you a… what?’
‘A nostrum,’ said Pitamus, turning to make his way back. ‘I’m not sure what it means, but that’s what he’s making.’
With a swish of his tail, Pitamus Vole disappeared back into his tunnel.
‘Always in a rush,’ mused his cousin, slipping back into the water.
When Pitamus Vole arrived back in his Burrow, he discovered that the stranger had been very busy in his absence. All the plants he’d collected were now chopped, ground and neatly arranged in small heaps.
The dormouse was beside the bed, checking his patients. He looked up when Pitamus came in, and smiled warmly. ‘Ah, you’re back,’ he whispered, ‘and you’ve got the water. Splendid! Now make sure it’s heated in double quick time.’
Pitamus looked at his wife and children, and for a moment feared that it was already too late, but the dormouse reassured him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘they are in a deep, restful sleep. They will remain like this until such time as the nostrum is ready.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Pitamus. ‘Have you cast a spell over them? Are you a cunning mouse?’
The dormouse realised that Pitamus needed reassuring. So, even though he needed some reassurance himself, he knew that he had to appear to be confident.
‘I do not make magic,’ he said. ‘Everything I do is purely natural. Look.’
He beckoned Pitamus to come forward, and lifted a corner of one of the pillows. Beneath them lay several of the long, slender plants from which he had earlier been picking the leaves. Pitamus looked up at him, surprised, and for the first time saw his eyes. They seemed to change. At first, they were kind and quite young. Then, they shifted, and somehow gained wisdom.
The dormouse let go of the pillow and said;
Pitamus seemed satisfied by this explanation, as if the rhyme somehow made things make some sort of sense. He busied himself at the stove, boiling the pan of water. The young dormouse watched him, waiting patiently until the water was of a sufficient temperature to add his herbs.
Presently, Pitamus proclaimed that the water was boiling, and the dormouse asked him to remove it from the heat. He then brought the herbs over to the pan and placed them into the water.
‘Would you fetch something to stir this with, please, Pitamus?’ he asked.
Pitamus scurried away quickly, and hurried back with a spoon. The stranger asked Pitamus to blend the mixture, and so the vole stirred until the dormouse put a hand on his arm and said, ‘Rest now, Pitamus. You’ve earned a break!’
Pitamus sat down at the foot of the bed and almost immediately fell asleep. The dormouse smiled, as if he had known Pitamus would do so all along.
T
Pitamus Vole awoke a good many hours later, feeling refreshed despite having slept in an awkward position. It took him a few moments to recall who it was stirring his best copper pan on the stove, and when he did remember he cursed himself for allowing sleep to overtake him.
He rose to his feet and checked on the sleeping forms of his wife and two children. They looked so peaceful, snuggled up in bed together. How he missed their excitable chatter. The place seemed un-naturally quiet without it.
‘They’re on the mend,’ a soft voice said from behind him. Pitamus turned to the young dormouse; he was standing just behind his left shoulder, hands behind his back.
‘They are?’ he asked. The dormouse just smiled and nodded, then brought his hands out from behind his back. He held up a bunch of the long, slim plants that he had previously put under their pillows to keep them asleep. With his other hand, he pressed one finger to his mouth.
‘Let’s just say they won’t need these any more,’ he said.
The Vole’s mouth trembled and tears welled up in his eyes. Smiling, he let out a sigh of relief. ‘How can I thank-you?’ he said.
‘No need,’ said the dormouse, ‘Just take good care of them and make sure you give them regular doses of my nostrum. You’ll have to coax the elder of the two; he’s not partial to the taste.’
Pitamus chuckled and held out a hand. The dormouse shook it warmly. ‘You have a good family,’ he said, with a tinge of sadness edging his voice, ‘They are lucky to have a father like you.’
‘But I did nothing!’ exclaimed Pitamus, guiltily, ‘and I seem to have slept through their entire treatment!’
‘Ah… I may have had something to do with that,’ said the dormouse, and nodded his head briefly towards the foot of the bed. Pitamus followed the stranger’s gaze and his eyes fell upon a bunch of the same herbs that his new friend still held in his hand. He looked back at the dormouse, who had an awkward look on his face.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I had to do something, otherwise you would have succumbed to nervous exhaustion, and then where would we be?’
A sigh from the bed interrupted their conversation, and Pitamus went over and sat on the edge, unable to disguise his happiness and relief. His wife opened her eyes and smiled.
‘Hello, sleepy-head,’ he said, stroking her face tenderly.
‘I could say the same to you!’ she answered, chuckling to herself. ‘Fancy falling asleep at the foot of the bed, leaving a complete stranger to nurse-maid us!’
Pitamus went a deep shade of scarlet, which for a dark grey vole is quite an achievement. He began to stammer an excuse, but then saw that his wife was stifling her laughter. He grinned, and turned to wag his finger at the dormouse, but he was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where did he go?’ he said. ‘I didn’t get a chance to apologise!’
‘Apologise for what?’ asked his wife.
‘For not trusting him.’
‘I already did that, so don’t worry. Anyway, he said he would slip away when he wasn’t needed any more. I don’t think he likes saying goodbye.’
A big yawn came from beside her, and the eldest of the two young voles awoke. His Mum gave him a kiss on the forehead, but when he saw his Dad, he summoned up the strength to clamber from his bedclothes and climbed into his arms.
‘Where’s Nostra, Daddy?’ he asked.
‘Where’s who?’ said Pitamus.
‘You know!’ said the young vole, ‘The Dormouse!’
His wife chuckled again. ‘During your forty winks,’ she explained to the puzzled Pitamus, ‘Our friend tried telling our curious son here what he was giving him to drink. Didn’t he, Piney?’
The youngster nodded. ‘But I was half asleep…’
‘You certainly were,’ she said, ‘and so, bless him; he thought that “Nostra” was his name! I think our friend rather liked that idea.’
‘Well, it definitely suits him,’ said Pitamus, putting his son back on the bed. ‘And I suppose “Nostra” named our son “Piney”, did he?’
His wife looked slightly guilty. ‘He might have,’ she said.
Pitamus looked sternly at her. ‘And what did he name you?’ he said.
‘Lina,’ answered his wife, fearing her husband would be angry.
‘Lina,’ repeated Pitamus.
He paced the floor for a few moments. Lina watched him anxiously. Eventually he smiled and Lina relaxed.
‘I suppose there’s a sort of symmetry to it all,’ he said, then went over to the stove and looked at the contents of the pan. He took a sniff and his eyes immediately began to water. He blinked in surprise and looked back at the bed. Piney pointed at him, giggling.
‘Does it taste as… lovely as it smells?’ he asked, wincing.
Piney mimed throwing up. His Mum grinned, shaking her head. ‘Oh, it’s not that bad!’ she said, ‘Once you get used to it.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Pitamus, and then frowned.
‘What is it, dear?’ asked his wife.
‘Just something he said to me when we met. He said, “I have yet to earn my name.” Almost as if he knew what Piney would say…’
‘Maybe he did,’ she replied. ‘Maybe he really can tell the future!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Pitamus, stirring the pan, ‘I think he probably can.’
Outside, the young dormouse reached the river bank. He stopped to have a drink, and caught the reflection of the moon in the water. He began to follow the winding trail of the river through the woods, when he became aware of someone or something swimming alongside him in the darkness. He could hear the quiet lapping of the water. Panic took hold of him. What if it were some creature that wanted to eat him? He shivered involuntarily, and was about to run, when Find’s voice sent a wave of calm through him and he knew who it was.
‘What can I do for you, Arvic?’ he asked, without stopping.
There was a splash from behind him and a spluttering sound. He turned towards a large vole, who was struggling out of the water, an astounded look on his face.
‘What did you call me?’ he said.
‘Arvic,’ replied the dormouse. ‘It’s your name.’
‘It is?’ said the vole. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. Say it to yourself and see.’
Arvic considered this for a while; he felt a warm glow whenever he thought the name.
‘How did you know?’ he asked, and added, a little sheepishly, ‘…when I didn’t?’
‘I know many things, Arvic. I know, for instance, that you will meet a lovely young Vole called Clethrion, fall madly in love and have a large family. I know that you will soon need the help of your cousin, Pitamus, and that your debt to him will lead to you travelling a long way. I know, also, that this will not be our last meeting.’
‘Oh,’ said Arvic, thoughtfully, ‘Well, that told me, didn’t it?’
The dormouse smiled.
he thought, and turned back to continue his journey.
‘So how come this Clethrion already has a name?’ asked Arvic.
The dormouse continued walking, but raised an eyebrow, and said, ‘because I just named her.’
‘But,’ said Arvic, determined to catch him out, ‘she won’t
‘So, what’s your name, then?’ asked Arvic, ‘So I may greet you properly when we meet again?’
‘My name?’ said the dormouse, halting in his tracks. He turned his head and looked the Vole in the eye. ‘My name… is Nostra.’
‘And what manner of creature are you?’ continued Arvic.
‘I am a dormouse,’ he replied, ‘the first of my kind.’
‘I see,’ said Arvic. ‘Well, then, Nostra Dormouse, I bid you farewell until we meet again.’ And with a quick flick of his tail, Arvic Vole slipped silently back into the river, leaving his new acquaintance to continue his solitary path.