RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

                        A Bad Tribe

 Indeed, when they came closer, their eyes fell upon birds quite like ducks, yet stranger than any they had seen before. The creatures fished with astonishing skill, diving one by one into the rippling waters and gliding beneath the surface with wings spread wide, so swift and silent that Thumbelina and Yoshi stood agape at their artful dexterity.
Drawing closer, they discerned two kinds among them. Some were black and rugged, with eyes like polished emeralds and beaks curved at the tip; others, smaller and almost as grim, clung to the shallows with an unsettling quiet.

“These,” said Sly,“are the black devils also known as great cormorant, the finest fishermen in all the lands. Cunning and bold, they spare nobody. But here, look upon their companions perched upon the willow, silent and watchful.”

 The willow bent under their weight, leaves trembling as if whispering secrets to the forest. A silince fell over the reeds, broken only by the splash of a bird diving once more, and the distant rustle of unseen wings. It was a place alive with shadows and glimmering hints of life, a place where even the wind seemed wary of disturbing its inhabitants.

 Not far away, where a low and crooked willow drooped toward the riverbank, a dozen or so imps had perched, their throats swollen with the fish they had caught.

“Hey, Sly!” a voice called, sharp and mischievous.“Where have you carried off these friends of ours?”

The water-rat turned, and from the misty ripple of the stream rose a bird, its black-and-green head crowned with feathers long and wild, like a boy who had just tumbled out of a tree.“Be calm, Shaggy,”said the rat, voice soft yet firm.“We won’t eat your fish. We are only passing though.”

The bird tilted its head, eyeing him suspiciously, and the reeds whispered in the wind, as though even the river was listening.

“It is not the fish that matter,” replied Shaggy, his voice low as if the reeds themselves might be listening.“Here lie our nests, and you are fond of eggs. Tread carefully — for we do not forgive.”

“What creature is that?” asked Yoshi, squinting ahead.“It seems to bear thorns upon its brow.”

“A dipper,” the aunt answered, as though naming a familiar wanderer of the riverbanks.

“He means no harm,” said Sly.“It is the herons I fear. I should have warned you to keep your eyes wide, for they are creatures of ill habit.”

“And where these might herons can be found?” asked Thumbelina, glancing toward the dim marshes as though expecting tall shadows to rise at once.

 Sly did not answer. His gaze had been snared by another head rising from the dark water. Two tufts of black feathers jutted from its sides like bristling horns, and its cheeks puffed out in whiskered ridges that made the creature seem almost serpent-like. A cry burst from it—harsh and high, like the squeal of a frightened pig. The long red beak, and above it the red eyes burning with a queer inner fire, lent the bird a strange and sinister cast.
 All stood silent, watching. Their wonder deepened when the creature’s back heaved up through the water, and upon it stood two of its young, steady as if on a small raft. The rest paddled close by, bobbing on the ripples.
The sight of Yoshi roused the bird’s ire. Its shrill squealing rose and echoed beneath the reeds.
The water-rat grew uneasy, shifting where it stood, as though some ancient instinct stirred inside him.

“This is the female of the old grebe, Hornblade,” he whispered, unease tightening his voice.“And mark my words—they are not alone. They have strayed from their colony, which lies not far from here. We must encircle them.”

“What colony?” asked Yoshi.

“To shield themselves from foes, they build their nests close as stones in a wall. They dwell in tight-knit settlements—a grim folk, and ill-tempered.”

 Even as he spoke, the thin squealing of pigs rose from several directions, echoing strangely across the water. One by one, terrible heads broke the surface, glaring with a cold intent.

“If this continues, we shall have to cut our way through,” murmured Sly.“These water-devils will not grant us peaceful passage through their shadowed settlement.”

“But if they sought a quarrel, then a quarrel they would have.”

“My teeth are sharpened,” growled the water-rat, baring his mouth to show the slim, cruel weapons within. His small eyes glinted cold as winter water.

“Can we not make some understanding with them?” murmured Thumbelina, ever the one to keep the peace if peace could be kept.

“We shall try,” said the rat, though a faint tremor of impatience ran through his whiskers.

Raising his voice he called out,“Listen, Hornblade!” —for that was the name of one of the birds circling above.

“Know this: we have not come to bring you harm. We wish only to pass from this place to the shore. So calm yourselves, stop that shrill clamoring, and let reason guide you rather than fear!”

 But the bird did not so much as glance at him. It only loosed its harsh and jangling cries, as if to warn all the sky of some ill-omened intrusion. Plain it was that it held no trust in our travelers. At its call more and more divers swept in, wheeling down upon them, their keen eyes glinting with open hostility
 Sly at once set his mind to the business of battle. If victory was to favor them, he thought, they must strike first and swiftly. He did not fear for the turtles; the divers knew well enough that those ancient, patient creatures would never stir themselves to harm. But the flock would surely fall upon him and Yoshi without hesitation.
 And Yoshi—poor fellow—was no master of the water. A hedgehog’s spines and stout courage availed little against foes who darted through the depths like shadowy submarines, rising from below with sudden, treacherous speed. It would be no easy thing for him to fend them off.
 He ordered Yoshi not to plunge into the water under any circumstances, but to cling to the turtle’s broad back as though it were the last safe rock in a stormy sea. The aunt, too, offered the same counsel, and sought to soothe poor Thumbelina, assuring her that no true peril threatened them yet.

“Whatever comes, don’t forget that we must press onward,” said Sly, with his voice firm as an oaken beam.

“Our chief purpose is to win through this devilish settlement. Should we try to skirt it, we would lay ourselves open to the pikes—fierce hunters, a hundredfold more perilous than the sharp beaks of these devils. Come now, forward with bold hearts!” he cried.“Let us go on before all divers are gathered.”

 And so the four pressed straight toward the birds, cutting through the water with quiet resolve, as though some unseen hand urged them on into the shadowed way ahead.
 As soon as they saw that the intruders were steering toward their nests, the grebes drew themselves into a tight line, one beside the other, forming a living barrier across the water. They waited, tense and still, as though some ancient instinct had roused them to battle.

“Spare them no pity,” warned Sly.“Whomever your teeth find, hold fast by the neck—and mind their beaks, sharp as thorns in spring!”

 With a cry that rang like a challenge across the reeds, the water-rat hurled himself straight into the heart of the chain. There before him stood an old grebe, grey of feather and grim of eye.
 Frightened by the sudden onslaught, he faltered; and, seeking only to spare himself from Sly’s snapping teeth, he made to dive beneath the darkling water. Yet in that same heartbeat the rat sprang upon his back, swift as a shadow loosed from its tether, and sank his teeth into the long curve of his neck. Then, with a vicious leap, the creature hurled itself toward the nearest diver—but that one vanished beneath the surface like an arrow shot into a deep pool, rising beneath Sly and driving upward in a bold surprise.
 This cunning ploy was quickly taken up by all the divers. One after another they slipped beneath the water, gliding silently through the gloom, then striking from below with sudden, bright ferocity. Sly wheeled wildly about, circling in frantic loops as he sought to seize even one of his tormentors. But they were swift—damnably swift—and the water itself seemed to lend them speed, while he thrashed and snapped in growing fury, unable to catch even a single shadow of his foes.

 Yoshi, keen of heart, grasped at once the poor rat’s peril, and cried out for him to leap upon Yellow-Shelly’s broad back. It was a simple tactic, yet it proved their salvation. For the turtle bore her shell like ancient armor, untroubled by spear or stone; and no sooner had Sly scrambled upon her than the divers lost all sight of him. Long they searched, peering through the troubled water and beneath its dim surface.
 But after a minute’s wandering they found their foe again, and with a wordless howl they rushed together, striking at the hedgehog and the weary water-rat.
 Yoshi discovered, much to his dismay, that all his spines, long cherished as shields against foes, were utterly powerless against the sharp beaks of the angry birds. So he defended himself, nimble and wary, without striking a single blow. Meanwhile, Sly avenged the divers with swift and daring attacks, his movements bold as the wind over a mountain ridge. From Yellow-Shelly’s broad back, he would spring upon an adversary, sink his teeth deep, and retreat to his floating island, leaving the startled foe to ponder the swiftness of his coming and going. The air itself seemed to tremble as they danced this strange, dangerous ballet of survival.
 The two turtles pressed onward, swimming with stubborn resolve, heedless of the squabbles above. They had already reached the grebe settlements, where delicate nests lay scattered upon the water, and within them gleamed the large, white eggs, pale as moonlight. At last, the four companions left the settlement behind. Only when they perceived that no feathered warrior was guarding their treasures did the warlike birds drift away, though their cries lingered, echoing over wounded comrades huddled together.

“We have saved our skins,” said Sly with a cheerful note.“But before we venture past the heron nests—twice as fierce as these wasps—let us rest awhile.”

 They paused at a mound of dried mud, strewn with straw and the brittle stalks of reeds, a modest vantage from which the swamp’s distant shore glimmered.