Hans straightened – and twisted back down again right away. His ankle was three times bigger than the other one. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a time.
He scrabbled at the hay. He dug and he burrowed and squeezed himself inside the haystack.
At last Hans had hollowed out a good-sized hole inside the haystack and blocked the way out with straw.
He huddled in the warm darkness, breathing softly, listening for the soldiers.
For a long time he heard nothing but his own breath and the little rustling sound the hay made against his chest.
Hans leaned his head upon the hay. In the dark warm hole he felt his weariness stealing over him. It was robbing him of fear and the sharpness of his wits. His ankle eased a little. His fists unclenched. His neck softened and let go.
His eyes closed, and he dreamed about the trees springing up and crushing his home.
‘Hello, little rabbit,’ said a voice.
Hans started. How long had he been sleeping?
‘Are you nice and safe in there, rabbit? Of course you are. We tracked you here, little rabbit. We’re out here all around your little straw house.’
The voice was low and gruff. The words were coarse. The tongue was the one used by the Charcoal Burners.
They had found him.
‘Come out, little rabbit, come out. Come out and play with us.’ A chortle sounded from another throat.
Hans lay quite still. He hardly breathed.
He thought to himself, they couldn’t know he was there. They couldn’t be sure. Maybe they had followed his tracks, but if they knew for sure he was still here in the haystack they wouldn’t be talking now. They would be poking their pikes into the pile and digging at it with knife and sword. So they were only guessing. Maybe if he were very quiet, they would make up their minds they had guessed wrong. Maybe they would give up and move on.
‘Did you hear me, little rabbit? Come out. Come out now!’
Outside the haystack Hans heard whispers and feet shifting and a growl from a big, hungry belly.
‘No? Won’t you come out and play with us, little rabbit? Well, now. It seems you’ve made yourself a little home here. It seems you like your little home. Is it warm enough for you, little rabbit? Is there a hearth to warm your hands? Of course there is, every good home has its hearth. But I don’t see any smoke from your roof. Did your fire go out on you? Oh then we’ll help you, little rabbit, seeing you made us such a good sneak when you came to pay us a call. We’ll light your hearth for you, you little sneaking rabbit!’
The words ended in a bark of mean laughter. Then Hans heard a new sound. It was soft and dry and rustling, almost hissing. It grew louder and crackling sounds joined in. A gleam shone through the hay and Hans smelled smoke.
They had set fire to the haystack.
Smoke swarmed about Hans. Flames lit up the hay. He turned about and about like a dog going to bed. He dug deeper and scratched higher. But the flames were roaring now and the smoke stung his throat and tears were blinding him. He could find no way out.
‘Very good!’ he shouted, coughing smoke. ‘I’m coming!’
No one answered him. Beyond the flame-roar he couldn’t hear a thing.
‘I said, I’m coming out!’ he shouted.
Still the quiet lingered out there. Then a voice answered,
‘Come out, then.’
