‘It will. I’m sure of that,’ said Firedrake. ‘And once the foals don’t need you any more, you can come and help me teach young dragons how to fly.’
That sounded almost too good to be true.
Ben flung his arms around Firedrake’s neck, while Twigleg crept into his pocket.
‘Hey, dragon rider! Time for us to leave!’ called Lola from the top of Tattoo’s head. ‘Do you want us to arrive too late, after all the trouble we’ve been taking?’
She was right.
Ben let go of Firedrake, and looked up at Sorrel.
‘See you soon,’ he said.
‘And when you do I hope you’ll have a few chanterelles in your backpack!’ replied Sorrel. ‘And some porcini. And one or two…’
‘Ben!’ shouted Lola in a high-pitched squeal. ‘If you’re going to hang around waiting to hear Sorrel’s entire wish list of mushrooms, pretty soon there won’t be any Pegasi left on
this planet, that’s for sure!’
Firedrake gently pushed him over towards the other dragon.
‘Tattoo!’ he called as Ben buckled himself on behind Winston. ‘You have a dragon rider of your own now, so don’t go thinking you can steal mine as well. I want him back.’
‘I promise!’ cried Tattoo, as Ben hauled himself up by his tail. The wings that the young dragon spread looked as if the surrounding trees had sprinkled flowers over them.
‘Dragonmail for MÍMAMEIÐR!’ cried Winston, while Berulu scrambled into safety under his jacket.
Tattoo took off from Kraa’s throne platform, and soared into the sultry morning air.
Ben turned back to look at Firedrake until the jungle hid the griffins’ tree from his eyes. It hurt. But not as badly as usual, because every one of Tattoo’s wing-beats was a promise that he would soon see Firedrake again.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
At Last
To come to the end of a time of anxiety and fear!
To feel the cloud that hung over us lift and disperse –
the cloud that dulled the heart and made happiness no
more than a memory! This at least is one joy that must
have been known by almost every living creature.
Richard Adams, Watership Down
Guinevere was having breakfast with Vita and a few nisses when Gilbert Greytail suddenly appeared in the doorway. His whiskers were quivering, a very unusual sight in the always self-controlled rat, and Guinevere almost forgot to breathe. Gilbert had undertaken to keep an eye on the radio equipment.
‘They’re bringing it!’ he cried. ‘They’re bringing the feather!’
Vita spilled coffee on her bread and marmalade, and Guinevere jumped up so quickly that two of the nisses fell off their chairs.
‘But… but, Gilbert!’ she said. ‘There’s no more than a day left! And the flight in itself…’
‘Guinevere Greenbloom!’ the rat interrupted her impatiently. ‘I hadn’t finished my message! The feather will be arriving by dragonmail!’
Guinevere and Vita exchanged a perplexed glance. ‘Dragonmail? But Firedrake…’