Mole hurried along the path back to the wooden gate and his job as the gatekeeper near the south end of the woods. Owl, the woodland mayor, had asked him to pick up some poultice from Squirrel for his aching bones and joints – he’d been in terrible pain recently, the result of age and wounds received in The Great War.

Mole was a good gatekeeper, and dearly loved his job. His father had been the gatekeeper before him, and his father before him. Mole greeted everyone who came to the gate as though they were family, whether they asked entrance, or passage through to the meadows beyond on the north side. He welcomed princes with their host of regal attendants, he welcomed those who came daily to peddle their wares in the market place, and greeted strangers on journeys to distant places just passing through.

The woods were a place that anyone could visit, or come to stay, or seek passage through, and for each it was always a gentle journey and a pleasant pastime because of Mole’s manner.

Mole was a quiet and thoughtful creature, one given to spells of daydreaming, which he mainly considered creative thinking; and writing poetry, usually capturing views of the woods from a low perspective. Mole was quite short, you see. He also wore very thick glasses, as his eyesight was severely limited, a trait inherited over time from ancestors who spent significant amounts of time underground in dark tunnels.

He had taken an apprentice on the first quarter moon after the summer solstice, young Sparrow, who had come to him from the lowland meadows on the far side of the woods. Sparrow was energetic, keen of eye and mind, with an unrelenting quest to understand everything. Mole was patient and answered each of Sparrow’s questions, and gave as much time in training as was needed. Mole was pleased that Sparrow took to the job so excitedly.

One day, a long-haired Rabbit in a flowing velvet cloak came knocking at the gate and requested entrance. He wore a broad-brimmed hat rakishly to one side, and wore a velvet patch over one eye. Mole looked him up and down, hesitated the briefest of moments, and then invited Rabbit in. Mole asked Rabbit if he weren’t the Rabbit of the glen Rabbits across the river.

“Yes, my family lives across the river, down by the glen,” Rabbit answered softly. Mole asked Rabbit how his parents were. Rabbit looked at Mole with one steel-grey eye, and said, “They are well. Thank you for asking.” Mole asked if there was anything he could do for him, but Rabbit said, “No, I’ll be fine.” This just a whisper.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.” Rabbit then excused himself, saying he had business, and he was off in a hop. Sparrow chirped behind Mole, and asked what that was all about. Mole explained that he has known Rabbit since he was just knee-high to a bunny and lived here in the woods. “His parents are fine folks,” smiled Mole. “He’s such a quiet fellow,” said Sparrow. “What do you suppose he wants here in the woods?” Sparrow chirped again. “I don’t know,” said Mole.

On the Thursday just before the full moon, Owl came rushing to the gatekeeper’s station with exciting news. Word had come by drum telegraph that Peacock the Magnificent was coming to the woods from the region beyond the Forbidden Mountains. Peacock had been summoned by the woodland fathers to organize the cleanup of the incredible devastation to the singing woods caused by the worst winter storm in all of known history. Major sections had been damaged when groves of trees were uprooted by high winds, destroying numerous woodland homes. Lightning had shattered other trees, and the ensuing fires blackened huge sections of the western reaches. Many lives were lost, and there was great sorrow still in all the woods.

Local communications were down for nearly two weeks, and many of the birds of the woods volunteered to carry messages throughout the realm until telegraph drums could be restored. Owl, because of lingering pains in his shoulders, couldn’t fly these missions with the younger birds, but because of his war experiences was asked to organize the fledgling flocks. In spite of severe hardships, none complained, and everywhere everyone was determined to help their neighbor creatures as best each could. The firestorm caused more damage than just the burnt trees, however. The creatures living in the vicinity remembered stories told by grandparents of the killer fires in ancient times that engulfed entire woods on both sides of the river, and all shuddered at the memory traces stirred by the most recent devastation. So it was with eager hearts that the woodland creatures awaited the arrival of Peacock and his assistants.

Peacock was said to be a most elegant and beautiful bird, with magnificent iridescent plumage. It was said his voice was mellow and flowed like honey syrup, easy and smooth off the tongue. And, he was coming with most impressive credentials for administering public works, organizing communities, and managing creature relations. He brings with him his own select committee to help in the clean up of the woods: his second in command is one Badger by name, a stout-hearted warrior, brave and fierce, a decorated veteran of the Highland Wars. Young Weasel is his secretary/treasurer, who, while reportedly anemic and sickly, is nonetheless reputed to be a tough and tenacious manager of the public trust.

Finally the day came that Peacock and his entourage were to arrive, and the creatures gathered from all corners of the singing woods. Banners and multi-colored flags were strung from the trees surrounding the wooden gate, and around the top of the gatekeeper’s station. A number of chrysanthemum plants were also placed near the bridge over the talking stream.

Sparrow ran errands for Owl, who was still ailing, and although Squirrel also offered to help, Owl said he would be fine, and thanked squirrel for his support. Just after high noon, Mole sat up and cocked his head to one side, sniffed the air, and bent down and put his ear to the ground. He squinted his eyes in order to hear better. Sparrow watched the expression on Mole’s face as he hugged the earth. Suddenly Mole rose and shouted that the Peacock delegation was on its way, and from the sound would be here in approximately 20 minutes. Everyone began to scurry around, and their excitement grew.

As the creatures gathered, Rabbit stood near the periphery of the Village Square, and watched from beneath his broad-brimmed hat and dark velvet cloak. Standing in the shadows he was all but invisible, and because attention was focused on the growing excitement around the gatekeeper’s station, he could watch unobserved. Then, there was a commotion at the gate, and the crowd hushed as into the midst raising a swirling cloud of dust came a huge black stallion with a magnificent bird riding high on its shoulders, and the bird’s tail feathers caught the breeze and flared open into an iridescent blaze of color. Peacock was here.

Owl welcomed Peacock with a flourish of his wingspan, and the village folk cheered heartily. Peacock beamed, and strutted before the gathered crowds. Badger grumbled at the surging creatures who pushed much too close for his comfort, and Weasel, who hated such goings on, moved off and stood near the edge of the village square in the shadows of a large oak. “Don’t like crowds,” came a whisper, a statement. Startled, Weasel shot a quick glance to his left. A figure in a dark velvet cloak under a broad-brimmed hat looked out at the crowds. Weasel muttered in agreement. Silence. “Who are you?” Weasel asked, his voice high-pitched and sharp-edged.

The dark figure was silent for a moment, but a moment too long, and Weasel squirmed a little. “A friend of the woods,” came the soft-spoken reply. “What do you do?” wheezed Weasel. Again a pause, and a trickle of perspiration snaked its way down the back of Weasel’s neck. “I’m a raconteur.” Still the soft whisper. “I recount tales of the battles between good and evil.” Weasel frowned, and looking out of the corners of his eyes, looked straight into the eyes of the stranger. Well, into one steel-grey eye; the other was covered by a black velvet patch.

The stranger smiled, but the one steel-grey eye sent chills down Weasel’s spine, and he chose at that moment to move to the other side of the square. The welcoming ceremonies were winding down, and Weasel, alert to Badger’s signal, was ready as Peacock prepared to leave for his suite at the Meadowland Hyatt. On their way, Weasel told Badger of his curious conversation with the dark stranger, whom he could only identify by description: a longhaired rabbit in a flowing velvet cloak, and wearing a single eye-patch. “Don’t worry,” growled Badger, “He won’t be a bother.”

The next morning Sparrow was up with the early birds, and by the time Mole awoke had cleaned up his desk and made a pot of evergreen tea, his favorite. Sparrow found a plain brown envelope on Mole’s desk, which curiously had Mole’s name on it, but no return address. When Mole opened it he found a paw-written manuscript. At Sparrow’s urging Mole read it aloud. It spoke of a land far away in a time long ago, and of one woodland creature who had courageously done battle, albeit a losing one, with the dark forces of Peabird the Terrible and his two fire-breathing dragons.

Sparrow’s eyes widened. The manuscript told of how Peabird, in a move designed to deceive, had taken the name of Solomon the Good, and through the powerful persuasion of his words, cast a spell over the minds of the creatures of the land. Legend told that Peabird derived his powers from the lavender hues of the setting sun, mixed with the scent of the Rose of Sharon, and enlivened by the brush of a maiden’s lips.

All creatures were powerless in the face of Peabird’s spell, and his golden tongue drew them away from the land of their ancestors and into the wilderness. There they lost their way, and there they wandered for two generations. Sparrow was chirpless, as Mole continued. Peabird’s two dragons scorched the land of the departed creatures and laid it waste, and Peabird prospered mightily while the creatures of the realm lost everything. When two generations had passed and their descendants returned to the places of their forefathers, they found the land barren and inhospitable. In deep sorrow they departed yet again, this time traveling to the regions beyond the endless desert.

Mole frowned. Sparrow chirped, and asked Mole the meaning of the story. Mole said it seemed a warning, one of danger and of caution. “It seems to be speaking of Peacock and his select committee, thank you kindly,” Sparrow quipped. Mole nodded in agreement, and was deep in thought when Owl poked his head in the open doorway. Owl chose the chair near the window of the gatekeeper’s station and sat down. He said his heart was heavy because of this morning’s news, which was news to Mole and Sparrow.

During the night, someone had left brief and mysterious messages around the woods, causing great anxiety amongst the woodland creatures. Mole and Sparrow listened intently. The messages told of bad things wrought by one Peabird in other and far away lands. They told of meanness, of wickedness, and of harm being done, and Peabird and his cronies were at the center of all these terrible deeds. “Who left these messages?” asked Mole. Owl said no one knew, because there were no names on any of the messages. Mole told Owl about the manuscript he’d found on his desk, and Owl quickly read the pages. “What do we do now?” asked Owl. “I don’t know,” said Mole.

Just then Squirrel popped his head in the doorway, and tossed a small burlap bag on Mole’s desk. “Here’s your answer,” said Squirrel in a high raspy voice, “the magic elixir from the spirits of the mighty oak!” Mole looked at Squirrel with a puzzled look on his face, while Owl turned his head all the way around, and Sparrow chirped twice. Mole opened the sack, and inside recognized clumps of the delicate mossy lichen often found on the north side of oak trees.

“How is this our answer?” asked Mole. Squirrel apologized for listening in on their conversation, but he, too, had received one of the mysterious notes, and had recalled his grandfather telling of a Peabird the Terrible who visited the lands beyond the Forbidden Mountains. “The description fit our friend Peacock to a tee,” said Squirrel. Squirrel’s grandfather had said the only way that the creatures in the land escaped doom was to warm the lichen and stuff balls of it into their ears.

The warmed oils of the oak lichen seeped into the ear cavity, and so softened the words of Peabird the Terrible, that the creatures could hear the marvelous words spoken and not be swayed. Peabird left that part of the wilderness in anger and never returned, and the creatures of the land lived long and prospered. Thus it was that Mole and his friends gathered large amounts of the oak lichen, and with the magic elixir of the mighty oak, set out to deliver the singing woods from the hands of Peacock and his select committee.