Clive flew across the fields after the owl, his broad hooves kicking up snow like dust behind him. Danforth yelped excitedly from inside Violet’s coat, his ears flying back along with Violet’s red hair and the gelding’s white mane. When the owl vanished into the west wood, Clive slowed without Violet even pulling on the reins, picking his way cautiously around trees, over logs, around boulders. The owl had slowed, too, was plainly waiting for them to catch up before flying to the next branch, and the next. At last he stopped at the gash the train track had torn through the forest, raw and black as a wound in the falling light.
He hooted and flew a ways down the track. Clive followed as if beckoned. The owl stopped first on a branch above a caved-in burrow. A badger was sitting there; Violet recognized the badger that Danforth had ratted out the other day. The dachshund recognized him too and barked a greeting. The badger just stood on its hind legs saying nothing, staring at Violet, but she didn’t need him to say anything: this had been his home, and he had nearly been killed by the men working on the track and had had to flee for his life to the north wood.
The owl flew on: here was the little red squirrel! “Hello!” Violet called to her, happy to see her whole and hearty. But the little squirrel just sat with her tasseled ears drooping on a stump, and Violet felt her throat tighten. This is why she had been down on the ground where Codger could get her; her home tree had been cut down.
The owl hooted again, and Clive stepped on obediently. Violet wanted to pull on his reins, wanted to stop him. But here of all things was a falcon, perched on a felled snag, as beautiful and regal as a painting in a museum. Below it was a nest, and in the nest was…Violet looked away. But still the falcon watched her with burning golden eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Violet whispered finally. “I’m sorry they did this. I’m sorry we did this.” She wiped her eyes on the back of mitten. “But…” she looked around, at the track torn through the woods, the bed laid for the ties and rails. She couldn’t wind back the clock, erase this scar from the forest, give the falcon back her young, and the squirrel and badger their homes. She shook her head. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”
The falcon released her from its fiery gaze at last, spread its wings, and flew silently over the darkening fields to wherever it had found a safe place to sleep. For now. Violet turned Clive off the track and rode back toward the village.
The Rookery 