The Color of Darkness by Ruth Hatfield Read Free Book Online

woodpecker sighed and stuffed a few ants into its beak.
    â€œMummy! I only like fat ants, and these are thin! Get me fat ants!”
    â€œStick your beak in the ground, you useless bunch of fluff,” said the mother woodpecker tartly. “It’s not the science of flight, for tweeting out loud. Just stick your beak in and get the fat ants yourself.”
    Tom grinned to himself. Not every sound was a cry of pain, then. And his grin broadened as he thought about it: he, Tom Fletcher, could understand the woodpeckers, the owls, the badgers, the starlings, and the sparrows—every single thing they said. He had spent the past year learning the calls of hundreds of birds and animals. Last week, after days of struggle, he had come to understand the endless poetry of the skylarks, who sang for hours as they soared over the wide fields. Yesterday, he had pretty much got to grips with the crows.
    One day soon, he would understand every creature that shared his land, or flew in the skies above him.
    He was thinking about this so strongly that he didn’t notice how the woodpeckers froze and shrank into the shade of the tree trunks when the man stepped out of Hangman’s Wood. All Tom noticed was that Sammael was back—Sammael, whom he’d met a year ago, and who’d given him the book of bird and animal calls that had led him to this happiness.
    His heart leapt with joy as he saw the tall figure in the white shirt.
    â€œHello!” he called out. “You’ve found me again! Welcome to my farm!”
    Sammael came forward with an open, smiling face. He shook Tom’s hand in a vigorous way.
    â€œHello! How’s it going? You still having fun with that book?”
    Tom grinned. “Never put it down. I’m almost at the end, would you believe it? A handful of pages left. How lucky you came up here today! What brings you?”
    â€œAh.” Sammael cocked his head back toward the woods. “Please excuse my trespass. I’m looking for badger setts. I think there’s some baiters around—I found a new sett earthed up, down in that little copse on the other side of the valley. Thought I’d check up here.”
    Tom realized that his hand had clenched around Sammael’s and he pulled it away quickly.
    â€œThey’ve been here,” he said, and the sunshine seemed to fade.
    â€œAlready?”
    â€œLast night. I saw them. They killed a pregnant sow by the sett at the top of the wood. Evil men.”
    Sammael’s face, too, lost its cheerful air and became pinched.
    â€œEvil is one word for it. I could think of a few others.”
    â€œSo could I,” said Tom. “But what’s the use? People like that—”
    â€œOh, come now.” Sammael raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be thinking of letting them get away with it?”
    Tom reached out to the fence post, more just to touch something solid than because he really needed to lean on it.
    â€œNo!” he said. “Of course not! I just … I don’t know what to do. I knew they were coming last night. My mate told me. I tried calling the police, but they wouldn’t do anything. So we went up there and waited. I even took my shotgun, but I couldn’t shoot at the fight in case I hit the badger, so I went for the guys but I missed, and then they turned one of the dogs on me. I had to run away. Stupid!”
    Tom bit back a pointless curse and made himself loosen his grip on the fence post, trying to remember the feeling of listening to the woodpeckers. But it was right to be angry about cruelty. Maybe if he did shoot one of the men next time, he’d get away with arguing it was in self-defense.
    As if he’d seen into Tom’s thoughts, Sammael gave a bitter laugh. “A shotgun? That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? There’s not much point in trying to fight angry men with dangerous dogs. You’re bound to end up getting hurt yourself. I