“Quick! They’re going to attack!” cried Mimi. “Run!”
“No, wait,” whispered Little Dream. “They’re not after us. Look!”
With a grunt, the papa stood the tree upright by jamming it into the sand, and with many a tick with his tongue, and a clock and a tock, and with many a shriek of delight, the family gathered round it and did something very strange indeed. They began to make a dress for the tree, which dazzled and danced in the breeze, and to hang strange fruit of all shapes and sizes on it!
When they had finished dressing the tree, the adults went away. But then the kits saw another strange sight. The Blah-blah cubs began building a sort of tower out of sand!
“What is it? A nest for termites?” whispered Skeema.
But no. Gradually it became clear that what they were actually making… was some sort of tall Blah-blah like themselves! They dipped their hands into a bucket and began to smooth his skin with water. They made him eyes out of berries and a long red nose out of a pepper. They wound a scarf round his neck, as long and colourful as a rainbow. Finally they popped a bush-hat on his head.
“Look at that!” breathed Skeema, astonished. “We’d better go and tell the others about this!”
The race back to tell the rest of the Really Mads what they had just seen was won by Little Dream. Mimi and Skeema were so keen to be first with the news that they kept charging into each other and tripping each other up.
“Uncle… Uncle!” panted Little Dream, scattering the babies in all directions as he rushed among them.
“By all the paws that drum in the dust…! What is it, Dreamie?” cried Fearless, twisting his head from side to side to make best use of his one good eye. “Is there a rival mob on the rampage?”
“Tick-tocks!” gasped Little Dream. “Bonkers!”
“Tick-tocks?” repeated Uncle.
“Poor little chap. He’s got the jolly old hiccups!” suggested Radiant.
Mimi and Skeema arrived, bickering and rolling over and over.
“Steady! Untangle yourselves!” commanded Uncle. “You’re alarming the babies!” He could see now that there was no danger, but he wasn’t prepared to put up with a lot of nonsense from kits who ought to know better. “Now stop this argy-bargy and tell me what’s going on, or you’ll feel my royal teeth in your tails!”
“Sorry, Uncle Fearless,” panted Skeema. “But the Tick-tocks have gone daft.”
“You won’t believe what they’ve been up to!” gasped Little Dream. “… A tree… wearing sunshine!”
“I beg your pardon? Don’t you mean it was wearing leaves?” asked Radiant.
“They knocked over a tree,” Mimi explained. “Then they made it wear a beautiful dress like the Blah-blah females wear… only all bright and dazzling!”
“Who did, dear?” asked Radiant.
“The Tick-tocks!” said Skeema. “The Blah-blahs-by-the-water! And they weren’t eating leaves off the tree; they were hanging bright things on it!”
“Well, I never!” said Radiant.
“You’ve got no business to go wandering over there!” cried Uncle. He tried to sound stern, but he couldn’t quite keep the admiration out of his voice. “Why, you might have been pounced on!”
“There was a star on top!” said Little Dream.
“So bright!” said Mimi, her voice full of wonder. “It must have fallen from the sky in the darktime.”
“And there was a little Vroom-vroom, smaller than me hanging down from it like a fruit,” said Skeema. “And they hung other things on the branches… like… sort of…” Poor Skeema, he couldn’t think how to explain a dolly and a whistle and lollipops and a plastic water pistol, so he settled for… “a baby-Blah-blah!”
“A tree in a dress, dear? Growing fruit shaped like a little Vroom-vroom and a baby-Blah-blah? I don’t think so,” came the soft voice of Fragrant, his mama, bounding up to them. “I think you’ve been in the sun too long.” She raised her voice a little to reassure her anxious mate who was on sentry duty on top of the dune behind them.
Just as she did so there was a stuttering roar and a vroom-vroom! from that direction. A moment later, a cloud of red dust floated above the trees.
“Stay put! No danger!” came Broad Shoulders’ instant call. “It’s the Tick-tocks’ mobile escape tunnel – but it’s heading away from us.” He kept up a comforting All-clear call while the others remained in the open.
“What do you make of the Blah-blahs strange behaviour, Fearless?” Radiant asked her husband.
“Well, now! Come to think of it. Just one moment…!” cried Uncle Fearless, puffing up his fur and standing tall. “Aha! I have it! Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before, by all that fogs my royal brain? Now, did I ever tell you about my early adventures among the Blah-blahs, long ago in the old days, when I was King of the Sharpeyes?”
“Very often,” muttered Skeema quietly to himself.
“Do you mean before your accident, Uncle?” asked Little Dream, who was more polite.
“Harrrumph!” said Uncle, clearing his throat. “Let’s not go into that just now.” It was painful for him to remember the moment in his prime when he suffered so badly. He had dropped his guard for one moment. That was all it took. The Silent Enemy, the eagle owl, had seized his chance, swooping down, grabbing him in his talons and whooshing him high into the air! That was the terrible time when he had lost his eye, his queen and command of his first mob, the Sharpeyes.
Fearless gave himself a shake-up that made his fur snap with electric sparks. Pull yourself together, old boy! he told himself. And then he was in command again.
“Wup-wup! Attention, the Really Mads!” he ordered, dashing about and marking the place as his with some well-aimed and wonderfully whiffy squirts. “The sun is at its height,” he announced. “The babies are tired. You kits are hot and need rest. Leave off foraging, everyone. Take your positions in the shade. Make yourself ready for Recovery Time, what-what! I have a tale to tell.”
Radiant gave him an adoring look and a lick and gathered the babies under a shrub where they flattened their tummies on to the cool sand. Fearless’s sister, Fragrant, took her place in the deep shadow of the driedoring bush that Broad Shoulders had chosen as his sentry post.
Uncle made a sign for the kits to move in close to him under the broad leaves of a patch of tsama melons. It was soothing to roll among the firm, cool fruits and to listen to the bees humming drowsily among the yellow flowers. The kits closed their eyes and stretched out, waiting to hear another one of Uncle’s tales about his glory-days.
“As I was saying,” he murmured, half whispering, “your strange experience reminds