RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

                     Who Is Hiding In The Reeds

 Before they reached the reeds, our friends noticed wide, succulent leaves rising green and glossy above the still water that covered much of the swamp. They grew so thick that they spread out like a great mantle across the surface. Here and there, pale and delicate white blossoms lifted their faces to the dim sky.

“These are water lilies,” said Sly, answering the hedgehog’s curious question.“On this green carpet the green-footed moorhens take their hiding places. If our luck holds, we shall soon glimpse one.”

 And indeed, our travelers soon marked a small bird with long, spindle-thin legs running deftly across the broad leaves of the water lilies. It passed over them as lightly as if it trod a sunlit meadow, leaving scarcely a tremble in its wake. Its olive-green plumage blended so well with the mats of floating leaves—whose roots swayed in the dim water below—that for a moment it seemed a fleeting shadow rather than a creature of flesh. Upon its little head the water hen bore an orange crest, bright as a young rooster’s comb.
Thumbelina called out to the bird; but at the sound it started, and with a frightened chirr fled into the sheltering reeds, springing from leaf to leaf as though the very water had lent it wings.

“She fears me,” said Sly in a low, gravelled voice.“And yet, she is reclusive, shunning the company of others. Her sister, the Black Coot, shows more courage, though I find both lacking in sense.”

 The closer they drew to the reeds, the more restless the plants seemed, swaying and whispering as if alive. From the dense green, a black head would emerge now and then, and strange, discordant voices echoed through the stalks, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. The air itself seemed thick with murmurs and shadow, and the adventurers could not help but feel the reeds watching, almost as if the forest had a will of its own.

“The guards have noticed us,” Sly said sharply, lifting his head and narrowing his eyes at the two birds circling above.

“Ah, you traitors!” he hissed, voice quivering with anger.

The birds twisted and tumbled through the air in peculiar, almost comical patterns, rolling from one side to the other. Their anxious cries seemed to question the world itself:
“Who are you? Who are you?”

Their wings gleamed black as night, their bellies shining white like moonlit snow. Upon their heads, delicate hoods curled with elegant precision, like tiny crowns in the morning light.

“Fear not, my dears,” Yellow-Shelly called softly to them.“We mean no harm.” The birds paused mid-flight, as if considering her words, their feathers ruffling in the still air.

 But still they wailed their anxious cries, shrill and persistent, echoing faintly through the marsh.
“It is of no use to soothe them,” said Sly.“They are scouts of the fen, and their cries will surely summon some gluttonous buzzard. Yet, fear not; I shall have my revenge when I hold their precious eggs in my claws.”

“What are their names?”asked Yoshi, his voice tinged with wonder at the sudden flight of the birds.

“Northern Lapwing,” replied Sly.“I call them black traitors. They are watchers of the swamp: at the faintest stir of danger, they cry out and alert all the creatures of the fen. The ducks and gentle folk hold them in regard, yet I… I cannot bear them.”

 A sharp movement caught his eye. “Here comes a rascal,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as the bird swooped low, its wings cutting the air like dark banners over the marsh.
A bird of prey, golden-breasted and edged with black, sailed overhead like a shadow cast by the sun itself. Its wings spread wide, slicing through the air with a faint whisper, and the travelers below felt a shiver of unease.

“My friend, the marsh harrier,” the rat murmured with a sniff of disdain, vanishing at once into the thick reeds.

 The harrier dived, a streak of color and claws, almost seizing Yoshi in his talons. With a startled grunt, the hedgehog leapt into the dark water from the back of Thumbelina, the current tugging at him like invisible fingers. He clawed his way back, breath ragged, heart hammering, only to be flung once more into the rippling stream as the bird circled and swooped again.
A squawk rang out, merry and teasing, echoing across the waters, while the hedgehog grunted indignantly. The reeds rustled in the wind as if laughing in chorus, and the travelers could only watch, uneasy, as the harrier danced in the sky above them.
 To escape the impudent assaults of the harrier, all hurried into the reeds. There their swimming became laborious, for the stalks of the reeds clutched at them, hindering free passage. The water-rat, alarmed by the harrier’s boldness, broke away from them, leaving the others uncertain whether to linger for his return or to press onward without him. Deeper they waded into the golden forest of reeds, and with each step the shadows seemed to thicken, weaving doubt and unease into their hearts, until even the sun above felt far away and the journey stretched endless before them.
 It soon became clear that the aunt knew nothing of the winding way that led down to the distant shore, and so they were forced to await Sly’s return. The three of them searched about for some dry patch of earth where they might rest their weary feet. As they wandered, the reeds opened into a quiet hollow filled with birds of every kind, and from all sides there rose soft calls and murmurs, as if the place itself whispered.
Between the tall stems many watchful eyes glimmered—some curious, others unfriendly, all intent upon the strangers in their midst.

“Quack, quack!” cried a duck, sharp and clear.

“Bzzzz, bzzzz!” sounded the drake in reply. It seemed the pair were giving warning, bidding their little ducklings keep close and beware the wandering folk who had strayed into their hidden marsh.

 Almost at once the voice of another mother drifted across the water, soft yet urgent. Then the old ducks began to draw nearer and nearer to the travelers. Only now did the three companions understand how many birds had been hiding in this quiet place.
 There were great ducks, broad and heavy-bodied, much like the homely barnyard birds of men, their heads gleaming green and circled with white bands like little collars. There were smaller ones as well, bright and curious, their red-rusted crowns catching what little light filtered through the reeds. And lastly there were those whose tails were long and sharp, tapering behind them like narrow blades glinting in the sun.
She greeted them with a friendly nod of her head, and the aunt—long known to them—called each by name.

“They are afraid of Yoshi,” murmured the water-turtle.“Distrustful and cautious they have grown, for their enemies have long plagued them.”

“Ho there, Lighthead! Come closer—come and look upon me,” the aunt called to a duck whose eyes were circled with a bright yellow patch like sunlight caught in feathers.“I will tell you where the fattest snails lie hidden at the bottom of our swamp.”

“I do not believe you,” the duck answered sharply.“And what sort of creature is this that walks beside you?” She meant the hedgehog.

“A friend,” said the aunt.

“You speak falsehoods!” cried the duck.“You would lure us into some trick. I cannot trust your words, as your friends are all cut from the same cloth as the water-rat.”

“That’s right,” quacked the other ducks, though a shadow of fear passed among them.“But we shall drown him!”

“Come, friends!” cried one of their boldest, and at once the wild ducks surged forward in a flurry of wings, smiting the water until it leapt and shivered like a storm-tossed pond.

 By now the two turtles had wandered into a bare stretch of shallows where no reeds rose to hide them. Yellow-Shelly, sharp-eyed and wary, understood at once what the ducks intended. She called out to her young niece—upon whose broad shell Yoshi still perched—to turn back and seek the sheltering reeds. But the call came a heartbeat too late, for the open water lay around them, wide and unguarded, and the ducks were already upon their swift approach.
 The water boiled and churned beneath the furious beating of the ducks’ wings, until real waves rose and spray fell upon the hedgehog like sudden rain. In a breath he found himself adrift upon a small and treacherous sea, far wilder than any he had expected. Though she was a stout swimmer, Thumbelina rocked perilously, tilting so sharply that it nearly flung her prickled rider into the foaming water.
 The ducks’ angry quacking swelled, echoing like a storm gathering its voice. From every side new birds came hustling in, their wings flashing, their webbed feet slapping the water. The matter was no joke now. The turtles, sturdy and untroubled, were in no real danger; but the poor hedgehog—small and weary as he was—would surely be lost beneath the waves if this tempest of feathers did not soon abate.

 At that very moment Sly suddenly arrived, and the mere sight of the water-rat sent the ducks scattering in a flurry of wings and indignant quacks.

 Weary from all the commotion and the strain of their narrow escape, the four of them swam toward a great mound of sticks and packed mud that rose near the sheltering reeds, a humble refuge glimmering in the shallow light. There they settled, seeking a little peace to steady their hearts and catch their breath, though they were sorely offended by the ducks, who had greeted them with such poor manners and open disdain.