"You ought to be able to see to these things yourself," said Woundwort to Groundsel. "Stoats aren't dangerous. Come on."

Shortly after ni-Frith, Woundwort went back to pick up stragglers. He found three, one injured by a piece of glass. He stopped the bleeding, brought the three up to rejoin their groups and then called a halt to rest and feed, himself keeping a watch round about. It was very hot and some of the rabbits were showing signs of exhaustion. Woundwort formed these into a separate group and took charge of it himself.

By the early evening-about the same time as Dandelion was beginning the story of Rowsby Woof-the Efrafans had skirted an enclosure of pigs east of Cannon Heath Farm and were slipping into the combe south of Cannon Heath Down. Many were tired and, in spite of their tremendous respect for Woundwort, there was a certain feeling that they had come a long way from home. They were ordered to take cover, feed, rest and wait for sunset.

The place was deserted, except for yellowhammers and a few mice pattering about in the sun. Some of the rabbits went to sleep in the long grass. The slope was already in shadow when Campion came running down with the news that he had come face to face with Blackavar and Holly in the upper part of the combe.

Woundwort was annoyed. "What made them come traipsing over here, I wonder?" he said. "Couldn't you have killed them? Now we've lost surprise."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Campion. "I wasn't really alert at the time and I'm afraid they were a bit too quick for me. I didn't pursue them because I wasn't sure whether you'd want me to."

"Well, it may not make much difference," said Woundwort. "I don't see what they can do. But they'll try to do something, I suppose, now they know we're here."

As he went among his rabbits, looking them over and encouraging them, Woundwort considered the situation. One thing was clear-there was no longer the chance of catching Thlayli and the rest off their guard. But perhaps they were already so much frightened that they would not fight at all? The bucks might give up the does to save their own lives. Or they might already be on the run, in which case they must be followed and caught at once, for they were fresh and his own rabbits were tired and could not pursue them far. He ought to find out quickly. He turned to a young rabbit of the Neck Mark who was feeding close at hand.

"Your name's Thistle, isn't it?" he asked.

"Thistle, sir," answered the rabbit.

"Well, you're the very fellow I want," said Woundwort. "Go and find Captain Campion and tell him to meet me up there by that juniper-do you see where I mean? — at once. You'd better come there, too. Be quick: there's no time to lose."

As soon as Campion and Thistle had joined him, Woundwort took them up to the ridge. He meant to see what was happening over at the beech hanger. If the enemy were already in flight, Thistle could be sent back with a message to Groundsel and Vervain to bring everyone up immediately. If they were not, he would see what threats could do.

They reached the track above the combe and began to make their way along it with some caution, since the sunset was in their eyes. The light west wind carried a fresh smell of rabbits.

"If they are running, they haven't gone far," said Woundwort. "But I don't think they are running. I think they're still in their warren."

At that moment a rabbit came out of the grass and sat up in the middle of the track. He paused for a few moments and then moved toward them. He was limping and had a strained, resolute look.

"You're General Woundwort, aren't you?" said the rabbit. "I've come to talk to you."

"Did Thlayli send you?" asked Woundwort.

"I'm a friend of Thlayli," replied the rabbit. "I've come to ask why you're here and what it is you want."

"Were you on the riverbank in the rain?" said Woundwort.

"Yes, I was."

"What was left unfinished there will be finished now," said Woundwort. "We are going to destroy you."

"You won't find it easy," replied the other. "You'll take fewer rabbits home than you brought. We should both do better to come to terms."

"Very well," said Woundwort. "These are the terms. You will give back all the does who ran from Efrafa and you will hand over the deserters Thlayli and Blackavar to my Owsla."

"No, we can't agree to that. I've come to suggest something altogether different and better for us both. A rabbit has two ears; a rabbit has two eyes, two nostrils. Our two warrens ought to be like that. They ought to be together-not fighting. We ought to make other warrens between us-start one between here and Efrafa, with rabbits from both sides. You wouldn't lose by that, you'd gain. We both would. A lot of your rabbits are unhappy now and it's all you can do to control them, but with this plan you'd soon see a difference. Rabbits have enough enemies as it is. They ought not to make more among themselves. A mating between free, independent warrens-what do you say?"

At that moment, in the sunset on Watership Down, there was offered to General Woundwort the opportunity to show whether he was really the leader of vision and genius which he believed himself to be, or whether he was no more than a tyrant with the courage and cunning of a pirate. For one beat of his pulse the lame rabbit's idea shone clearly before him. He grasped it and realized what it meant. The next, he had pushed it away from him. The sun dipped into the cloud bank and now he could see clearly the track along the ridge, leading to the beech hanger and the bloodshed for which he had prepared with so much energy and care.

"I haven't time to sit here talking nonsense," said Woundwort. "You're in no position to bargain with us. There's nothing more to be said. Thistle, go back and tell Captain Vervain I want everyone up here at once."

"And this rabbit, sir," asked Campion. "Shall I kill him?"

"No," replied Woundwort. "Since they've sent him to ask our terms, he'd better take them back.-Go and tell Thlayli that if the does aren't waiting outside your warren, with him and Blackavar, by the time I get down there, I'll tear the throat out of every buck in the place by ni-Frith tomorrow."

The lame rabbit seemed about to reply, but Woundwort had already turned away and was explaining to Campion what he was to do. Neither of them bothered to watch the lame rabbit as he limped back by the way he had come.

"They've stopped digging, Hazel-rah," said Speedwell. "As far as I can tell, there's no one in the hole."

In the close darkness of the Honeycomb, Hazel pushed past three or four of his rabbits crouching among the tree roots and reached the higher shelf where Speedwell lay listening for sounds from above. The Efrafans had reached the hanger at early twilight and at once begun a search along the banks and among the trees to find out how big the warren was and where its holes were. They had been surprised to find so many holes in such a small area, for not many of them had had experience of any warren but Efrafa, where very few holes served the needs of many rabbits. At first they had supposed that there must be a large number of rabbits underground. The silence and emptiness of the open beechwood made them suspicious, and most kept outside, nervous of an ambush. Woundwort had to reassure them. Their enemies, he explained, were fools who made more runs than any properly organized warren needed. They would soon discover their mistake, for every one would be opened, until the place became impossible to defend. As for the droppings of the white bird, scattered in the wood, it was plain that they were old. There were no signs whatever that the bird was anywhere near. Nevertheless, many of the rank and file continued to look cautiously about them. At the sudden cry of a peewit on the down, one or two bolted and had to be brought back by their officers. The story of the bird which had fought for Thlayli in the storm had lost nothing in the telling up and down the burrows of Efrafa.