Pest Control

The Badgers were gathering. It was time. The weasels had been terrorising all the ground nesting birds that the Badgers had taken to rely on as their daytime guardians. Looking out for them and alerting them of any goings on that they thought would be useful. Often reporting foxes making use of the daylight to make a quick venture across the Badger’s territories.

Their chief informant was standing bravely at the entrance to their set. The Badgers could see her trembling at the knees but she chirped the news clearly. Trent had been listening with half an ear until the weasels came to his attention. He bombled back to his part of the set peering over his half moon glasses in the darkness to find his waistcoat. Tonight there would be a great need for this. The rain was just starting to fall overhead.

He heaved over some older clothes to reveal an expertly crafted badger war hammer. Finding its sling he shrugged it over a shoulder onto his back. Nibbling on an earthworm he returned to listen to the rest of the report.

The rain was heavier now. The informant was glancing around nervously. She would have a tough time making it home to her young ones before much longer. Trent’s voice barked as softly as he could so as not to startle the brave mother. “Rest assured little one, we will see these beings do not trouble you again after tonight”. She fluttered her wings in reply, or seemingly so; it was raining after all. “Thank-you” she tweeted. “Now go! See your little ones are safe. It is overdue we show you our gratitude for your service.”

With a flap and scuffle she took off and flitted elegantly over the hedge to speed to her nest.

He looked around to see the older Badgers muttering together. They were too old to help with this. But saw that it was the right thing to do. Trent was their nominated scout and exploration leader. He’d earned their respect after he’d carried a mother’s cubs back to safety one by one after they had a mishap at the river. Despite the rain having been torrential and the run to the river being a torrent all of its own.

“To arms lads!” He barked. He saw some of the younger ones ears flick backwards and glance at each other nervously. Tiff had immediately scuttled off to fetch her flail. She’d been itching to use it after her fourth name day. It was customary to make a weapon that would be your tool in times of battle then. Trent’s father had shown him how to make many before this. He still remembered hunting and testing the strongest handle. She was back with a determined look on her face before any of the others had moved.

“Come on! The night is young and these ruffians will cower at the thought of stepping foot in the meadow before the sun is up!” This seemed to get the desired response. A few slipped in their haste to arm themselves. Reappearing with ill-fitting slings. Not that it mattered. The sight of this many Badgers out together should be enough to get the job done. Trent was a softie at heart. He had to play pretend with aggression. But violence was a last resort. He believed words could resolve even the worst conflicts.

The rain was beating down much more heavily now. Making a change from their blazed trail the birds saviours matched nose to tail beside the hedgerow to shelter from the squall. This was going to hinder even Trent’s master tracking ability, but still be continued on the agreed route, upwind of the weasels last known location.

Some of the younglings were quick to complain of being wet. Trent reminisced his younger times and allowed himself a quiet chuckle at the sheer number of complaints from one female in particular, who one of his rising stars was quick to ease the torrent of complaints by offering to carry her weapon.

Tiff marched on in near silence. She was even controlling her breathing. Despite the other commotion she was determined with her discipline and kept her eyes scanning the push ahead. Occasionally slowing to sniff at the air, or roots for the start of the weasels scent. Trent had just started to pick it up now. She’ll notice it soon he thought to himself. He had a real fondness for her. Sure enough but a moment later he heard her soft patter as she ran up beside him. “Got it!” She whispered. He beamed at her with his yellowing aged teeth. She dropped back into her slot in some semblance of a formation that they’d become.

The group let out a collective sigh of relief when they broke through the undergrowth for the wood at the top of a particular steep hill. They all shook themselves dry. The chief complainer was the happiest now and insistent that she should have her weapon back. The whole group had to wait for the transfer while she adjusted her sling again and again.
“Okay, we need to be quiet from here on in. One peep from us and they’ll scarper! We can’t let that happen, those poor bits are gearing for their lives out there after everything they do for us we need to show them it’s worth it.” He looked around to see the boss of agreement. Tiff again was listening in all directions, sniffing the air and peering where her eyesight allowed.
“We’ll surround them and I’ll stop out to speak with them. Tiff, you’ll head up the left side. It’s go time, you’ll need your weapons at the ready. Though we must hope this does not come to blows.” And with that Tiff was off to the left and rounding up her half. Much less quickly now they approached the clearing the weasels were in.

The leaves had turned a deep chestnut brown underfoot. Still a little shiny from the downpour. But far drier than outside the woodland canopy. Some red and white toadstools grew scattered across the base of one tree. The rain overhead helped mask the sound of the leaves being pushed aside and trodden on by the small force of badgers.
Tiff’s ears were poised, ready for any signs of weasel sentries. Trent continued along his side of the clearing. He lowered his nose to sniff what he could about their goal.

There were far more distinct smells than he had hoped for. Despite the size difference the Weasels were known to be ferocious fighters when cornered, which, it dawned on him, was what he’d just set up. A couple of small weasels were playing a game up and down the trunk of a fallen tree. It seemed to be a game of balance and strength as they tried to topple one another off the trunk. Regularly succeeding, which resulted in some frantic limb and tail wiggling and squeaking. It was nice to see. Which made Trent all the more determined that this would be resolved without blood being spilled.

He saw her through the clearing as he rounded a particularly wide tree trunk. Lucinda. The Weasel queen. Basking in her a crude leaf crown, dotted somewhat tastefully with vibrant red berries. Her fur dry as her lackies stood, dripping, holding up her leaf awning above her throne. She yapped orders at another, who dashed off. Returning a moment later with a hazelnut. She plucked it out of the weasels grasp and nibbled with the elegance of a bull charging through a field. But shell flying everywhere. She patted her belly and let out a loud belch, dusting off a few of the crumbs.

Tiff cringed at the site across the other side of the clearing. Though even knowing she was there Trent had struggled to see her or smell her — the more reliable way, his eyes worked best in the dark. She couldn’t stand just how much they worshipped her when she treated them so awfully. She’d often snuck up on unsuspecting weasels she’d found wandering with their heads down and kicking their paws along the road. She gently spoke to them, they weren’t the enemy. Not then. They’d all been kicked out of the tribe by Lucinda. They wriggled their way back into the ranks eventually. But not without several days of scavenging for food and hunting for shelter.

Here she was. In the fur. Every bit as horrible as she’d imagined, and more. She allowed herself a silent snarl. To which one of ‘her lot’ took a timid step backwards from in fear. She stayed unaware of this. The others exchanged worried glances and fumbled at their weapons again, just in case. It wasn’t long before she was half her way around her side when she spotted, almost too late, a guard leaning on a tree. Ill discipline was her friend here. If she’s trained a guard there would be no chance of this number of badgers sneaking behind unnoticed!

She signalled to the others her sightings. They all made extra special care not to make noise while edging slowly past. Ready to bolt and close the circle at a moment’s notice. Trent was up to the meeting point at the other side turning his head around looking for her. To her relief she was able to round the last bit of the circle and meet with him. “Well done girl!” He whispered. “That was a close one. We had to bonk ours on the noggin to make sure we could get past. He’ll be a bit sore in the morning but he’s snoring well now!”
“Right. I’m going to go in alone, so we don’t scare them off. Try not to let that queen of theirs escape. The others don’t matter. But her they’ll listen to and come back for.”
He didn’t turn to look back as he stepped slowly towards the clearing.

Screeches of alarm were soon ringing throughout the clearing. He’d been spotted. Lucinda froze as she put her fresh feast to her mouth. Her eyes widened in fear. Her servant, “Mite”, crouched and shaking chanced a glance from his bowed stance. Lucinda noticed this and tried to pull on a brave face. It came across as a strange grimace. Mite would’ve allowed himself a snigger at something like this under normal circumstances — despite the punishment; a swift clip around the ears by her guards. But it did feel that some justice was due at the hardships she’d put him through. He stayed a moment before scurrying off amongst the commotion as the weasels scattered.

Lucinda’s body guards dropped the awning and stood alert at her side. Visibly scared at the sight of Trent. “What…” Squeaked Lucinda as the words clogged her throat. She cleared it with another disgusting sound before trying again.
“What is the m-meaning of th-this!” She stammered. Inwardly relieved that she’d managed to say anything at all.
Her small army were starting to circle behind Trent. Teeth bared and sabres drawn. Badgers were so much larger than her weasels. Trent, focused on his goal, was unaware of what was happening behind. Several of the weasels had been let through the Badger’s ring, letting out little yelps when they saw just how many Badgers there were. Their make-shift leafy clothes suffering significantly as they flung themselves through the undergrowth.

Trent slowly and carefully began to speak. “Greetings, little ones. We do not wish to harm you.”
“We!?” blurted Lucinda. “Th-there’s m-more!?”
This frustrated Trent a little. He was used to respect, and not being interrupted. Burying this, he continued.
“As you know, we have a friendship with the birds to keep aware of the day’s goings on. We take pride in our patch, and it’s been peaceful and prosperous for us.”
The weasels, previously rooted to the spot, started to look a little less frozen.
“PAH!” Scoffed Lucinda. “Peaceful. Peaceful ain’t no fun at all you bag of fluff!” She was met by jeers from behind Trent. Who gave a backwards glance and saw the misfit gang that had formed behind him. He felt the fur on his back bristle. She was just as rude as ever.

He let out a grunt of frustration. Causing one of the gang to falter and drop his saber with a loud clang. Other more battle scarred members sniggered to themselves.
“Yes, it seems you can’t leave our poor friends to enjoy their peace. We come with our honour at stake. We kindly request that you cease this terror.” He continued.
“Or what? I’ve had some briiilliant ‘ickle eggs en’ I you lot!?” She yelled with gusto. She’d evidently started to feel more at ease now. “You can’t stop us doin’ nuffink!”
Trent sighed.

He looked back to see Tiff. Who was fighting against her urge to burst into the clearing and dispatch some justice for the birds and the disrespect she’d just seen. Trent spotted the anger, red in her eyes. “It seems we are at an impasse. I beg you to reconsider!” He pleaded.
“‘e begs! Ha!” Lucinda yelled triumphantly.

“Get ‘em! Learn ’em a lesson not to mess wiv Ker-ween Lucinda!” She screeched.
Trent lowered his head he felt as though he’d failed. Needless blood would be spilled this day. With a cry and a crash the first Weasel came flying with his sabre swinging in wild arcs above his head. “Aruulg!” Escaped his mouth as he collided, which Trent quickly matched with a firm paw, a claw alone near the size of the weasel. This would not be an even fight. Which played on Trent’s mind so much.

He roared with anguish. “Please, stop this madness! Can you not see how futile this is?” He looked about him. Focusing on the crowd that had gathered behind him. Another foolish weasel tore towards him, mouth foaming with rage. “For Willum!” He called. Again he was flung away, left sprawling. He gathered up his tail in his arms and wailed. “Ow! No fair! Guys, do something!?” He demanded. Glaring at the gang.
It started with a soft tapping. Which soon grew to a sound like clattering teeth. One weasel was shaking so much his weapon was knocking on another’s. He failed to stifle a whimper before turning tail and dashing away from the clearing, dropping his weapon as he went. “She’s not wurf this guys!” He called out, getting fainter as he went.

One of the bravest weasels took a step forward. Trent glanced at Tiff, who had had enough. She was puffed up with her hackles raised. She roared with bestial vigour. A guttural sound that stopped the bravest weasel in her tracks. She froze. Mouth agasp. “‘e’s right! Save yerselfs!” And off with a blur of fur she went. The remaining gang member scattered in a panic. Tripping over each other to escape the fastest. Trent let out a quiet sigh of relief at the sight. She’s done it! He thought to himself. She’s done me proud. No blood was spilled!

She bounded up to him, spoiling for a fight. He put a paw on her back and calmly spoke. “You’ve done well little one. There needn’t be any more fighting today.” She almost looked disappointed. But he saw her hackles begin to drop again. Lucinda looked furious. “Cowards!” She yelled. “I wun forget what yu’ve all done today!”. Tiff glared at her. Her bravado had been exhausted. Defeated she scampered off into the undergrowth.

“Wheeeey” yelled the badger circle. An awesome sound in the centre. It made Trent’s chest burst with pride at their discipline and the outcome. Our honor is saved. The birds are safe again!
“Come, troops. You’ve all earned yourselves a good feast tonight! Back to the set and we’ll get a fire going. No-one will be going hungry to bed tonight!” He bellowed. With that he turned and began to bomble back home. The Badgers continued cheering to each other. Recounting hurried tales of the weasels scuttering past them in the circle. His young ones had been an honour to command. Smiling to himself he clambered through the dry leaves at the edge of the clearing.