The Thorn Bear: Chapter II, Part 2
Days pass. Days in which Teddy wanders through the woods, always searching for clues to the whereabouts of the songbirds.
But what kind of birds are they? Perhaps woodpeckers? Probably not, since they drill holes into trees with their beaks and build their nests there.
Or storks? Probably not them either, since those birds build their nests on chimneys.
Crows? Hawks? Parakeets?
Lost in thought, he eventually hears a whistling sound coming from a hole in the ground. Unusual for a bird, and the melody is so shrill and jagged that it would hurt his ears if he were not a toy.
Following the tunnel, Teddy takes one turn and then another until the faint glow of a candle illuminates the creature before him.
But it is neither a magpie nor a sparrow.
Not even a bird.
It is a lady mole wearing a woolen hat and a green sweater. She holds a flute pressed to her mouth, and when Teddy clears his throat, she startles and hides behind a rock.
“Hello,” the bear says in greeting, raising one paw. “I’m Teddy, Tom’s favorite toy. Sorry if I scared you, but I thought you were a bird.”
“That’s ridiculous,” the lady mole replies as she cautiously peers out from behind the rock and wiggles her stubby tail. “I don’t have a beak.” She brushes dust from her green sweater. “And neither wings nor feathers.” After adjusting her woolen hat, she narrows her eyes as though she cannot quite see the bear properly. “I am quite unmistakably Marta, the lady mole.”
“But you play the flute, and that’s why I thought you were a songbird. I rescued an egg and now I’m looking for its parents.”
Marta blows through the instrument, sending a little dust trickling out, then steps closer to the bear, her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Is it really so strange to play the flute? I don’t think so. What kind of egg is it? Let me see.”
“It’s safe in its nest inside my belly. If you take off the barbed wire, you can have a look.”
Marta examines the wire and its sharp thorns through a magnifying glass and says, “Those look dangerous. Better keep them away from me.”
“You have to help me,” Teddy replies desperately. “I don’t know where the parents are, what they look like, or even what kind of animals they are. All I know is that I need help because the marten is still following us.”
“The marten?” Marta squeaks, dropping both magnifying glass and flute.
“Yes. He raided the nest and wants the last egg!”
“Out!” The lady mole puts all her strength into the word and leaps behind the very same rock she had used for cover before.
Teddy tries to calm her, speaking gently to her, but it is no use. She crouches behind the rock, trembling in silence and twitching her stubby tail in agitation.
He is no wiser than before. He has learned nothing new.
Crack.
Teddy perks up. Somewhere, the marten is raiding another nest. Very close.
Crack.
It is … inside him!
The egg is hatching!
It survived the cold and now it will want to spread its wings. Teddy fumbles with the wire, eager to see what kind of bird is inside him. But the steel will not come loose.
It is twisted and jammed too tightly.
Crack.
A beak feels its way through the tear in his chest. Hardly anything else can be seen, held back by the wire mesh. But it has an unusual shape.
Not sharp and delicate like a sparrow’s. Rather long, flat and gray, with two nostrils.
“Then it must be a duck,” Teddy reasons. “Or a goose. A wonderful animal.”
Surely the little one must be hungry after all that exhausting work. Holding out a blade of grass, Teddy watches as the beak sniffs at the food and nibbles on it.
Then spits it out.
The bear scratches his head.
Wrong.
Berries, pinecones, leaves. The chick rejects everything, until the wriggling head of a worm pokes out of the soil.
Could it be?
Again the beak sniffs at the food being offered.
Scents it.
Smells it.
With one bite, the little worm is swallowed, and the chick demands more. Teddy pauses, because geese are herbivores.
But ducks sometimes eat insects as well, and as long as it makes his little one happy, he is already holding out the next worm.