[This pad contains the intro and chapters 1 till 4]
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https://pad.constantvzw.org/p/mother_oak_16-20
https://pad.constantvzw.org/p/mother_oak_21-25


The Guardian
Independent Newspaper since 1821

Madrid, 11 October 2037
Be the change! A striking revelation at COP 42 in Madrid

About fifty members of the movement Be the Change organised a historic event yesterday, during the first day of COP42. More than half of the members of Be the Change hold influential positions at the negotiating table. Their unexpected warning: ‘Plants are bent on exterminating humans, and this will not stop until we change our attitudes.’

Belgian scientist Alis Vandenbossche, who was joined on stage by a large group of her colleagues, acted as the spokeswoman for the movement.
‘A year ago I obtained my PhD,’ she began, ‘it was a great moment after years of focused work. For many, a PhD is a lonely journey through a dense jungle. Not so for me. I literally went into that jungle and was accompanied by hundreds of trees, thanks to my special gift of being able to communicate with them.’ Some sceptical laughter was heard from the audience.
‘Those trees told me what scientists had already discovered in the 1990s: that certain plants had by then started to produce the human female hormones, oestrogen and progesterone, which they then released into the environment in doses comparable to the contraceptive pill.’ It seems that the potato and the date palm were the first: by producing such hormones, they were fighting back against the genetic manipulation of their species at the end of the last century in the hope, asserted Vandenbossche, that people would change their destructively aggressive attitude towards Nature. Vandenbossche studied trees and shrubs whose consumable leaves, fruits and seeds contain similar doses of hormones.
‘As long as we humans continue to prioritize growth economies and excessive profits,’ she continued, ‘and allow for abuse and exploitation to achieve these goals, the plants will defend themselves against these aggressive techniques and eventually render our species sterile. It is already happening. The message is clear. Only if we succeed in changing our attitude will they stop threatening our reproduction. It is time to start collaborating. That is what I learned during my research.’
That recent research was only the beginning of the revelation at COP. Vandenbossche has also written a book, Mother Oak, which is already in its third edition. It tells the story of six young people who were kidnapped by a Mother Tree who brought them to the primeval forest to understand the nature of their special talents and how to use them. They also learned the basic principles underlying respect for all things natural: to take only what is needed, not more; and to dignify nature by showing gratitude to plants, trees, animals and insects when they take and use something from them. This book, marketed as a novel, is found in the fiction category on many book sites and in the few bookstores that still exist.
Then came the second surprise that Vandenbossche had in store for her audience.
‘This book is not a novel,’ she revealed. ‘It is a true story. It is what actually happened to me and my companions of Be the Change - however unlikely it may seem. Fifteen years ago, Mother trees in primeval forests all over the world started to recruit young people.’ The survivors of this extraordinary experience have waited fifteen years to reveal the story to their parents and closest friends.
‘No one would have believed us back then,’ Vandenbossche admitted, ‘and we probably would have been packed off to a psychiatric hospital. Now, the world is beginning to understand the powers and the significance of nature and has made some progress towards assigning many rivers and forests, mountains and lakes legal personality; now it is no longer unusual to collaborate with the millions of bacteria in our stomachs and intestines, nor with the dust mites in our bedrooms; now, governments in a number of powerful countries invite shamans to sit with them; and now my colleagues and I, the graduates of Nature’s uncompromising school, are ready to offer our insights to the world. Now is the time to make our unique story known.’
Vandenbossche took it upon herself to reconstruct in the book the story of her own kidnapping. She did it with the help of the same tree that had taken her and five other city children to live for a time as helpless, tiny creatures in the woods.
Be the Change has grown out of that experience and become a planet-wide network, sponsored by donations, that takes people all over the world into the forests, on a journey of survival but also of self-discovery and discovery of their talents. The movement is led by Louise Buisson, one of the group of teenagers kidnapped with Vandenbossche fifteen years ago.
At COP 46, the author claimed she wrote her book to encourage people all over the world to join the movement and radically change their attitude towards our natural resources.
‘It is, as all of you here know, a matter of life and death for the continuation of the human race on this planet earth,’ were her closing words. Her speech, which was received with great astonishment, was met with prolonged applause and followed by a rising surge of voices and excited movement as the members of Be the Change were overwhelmed by journalists.


REPORTS FROM THE FOREST


I just got back to my nest, and sat down to clean my whiskers. Something was bothering me. I realized I was the only one of all my brothers and cousins who didn’t receive a human guest, and I wondered why. After all, my burrow is certainly very cosy, and cleaner than some. Every corner is filled with stores of moss and beech seeds and their comforting smell. But then again, I am just a simple member, without any special status in the clan. After taking part in the great gathering that I just came from, called by Mother Oak, it felt strange to be all alone again.
I am grateful to be able to log on to the Net via the Milk-cap mushroom. What would we be without this fungus whose extensive underground branching allows Mother Oak's network to quickly transmit our messages? It makes me feel connected.
My wife and I separated earlier than usual this year because of the heat. Now she lives further away, looking after our young. It's better for our offspring that way. It's the same pattern for my cousins. But being alone does cause a bit of turmoil. Feeling restless, I took a nibble at the body of a butterfly I had stashed away this morning. It has soothed me down wonderfully. So I was totally unprepared when four Ants suddenly barged into my nest uninvited, hauling a beech leaf between them with one of those minuscule human children. It was the one that arrived late and for whom my oldest brother had laid down his life. That could have been reason to hate him.
'Your chief Cousin won't take him, he says that one human in his den is more than enough,' panted the eldest Ant. 'So it's up to you. His name is Renzo.' They put the leaf down. It looked like I had no choice. I had, after all, promised to support the plan. And suddenly I felt relieved. I had wanted to be part of it. So I hurried out to scavenge some Bracken to make a bed, like I knew my cousin had done. The Ants dumped the creature onto it. He must have been tired, because he fell asleep immediately.
Well, dear Mother Oak, dear all of you in the Network, he’s still lying on that mound of green, Renzo, the little human that my cousin didn’t want to host. He's snuffling softly and occasionally kicking his feet. I sniff his hair and skin every now and then. I circle around his bed. A wildly interesting guest, I find. The boy is a combination of unusual scents, textures, and colours. I trip to the entrance to be able to watch over him from afar. But when I turn around to look, something otherworldly happens. Extraordinary. Unbelievable. You, enormous Mother Oak, a great tree, you are suddenly here in my den, and completely fill the hole! How is that possible? You, ancient Oak, benefactor and protector of all creatures living in your shadow! It is an honour! But walking towards you across the burrow I don't feel your presence. It is as if I can walk through you. The fact that I can even see you without having set a paw outside my den is impossible. But you’re here before me, large and green and centuries old. I can hear the rustle of your leaves; I can even hear how you are effortlessly soaking up your daily ration of 800 litres of water.
Around you appear all the other trees and plants that you keep alive, all packed into my burrow! The much younger oaks, the beeches and birches that thanks to your network are still strong and green; the Woodland Clover and Ferns that are standing here perfectly straight. Everyone is beaming gratitude. Even the smallest of them, the baby oaks, maples and beeches, proudly stretch their two tiny leaves towards the distant sky. They’re ready to shoot upwards.
Oh holy Moss and Maggots, let it not be true! Now the animals, or their copies, are appearing too, just like that! Only one hour ago we were all together at the welcome ceremony under the spreading branches of Mother Oak. It may sound outrageous but I believe the source of the images must be this Renzo. Maybe humans have a special organ for recalling memories, or does the whole world hide in their subconscious and trickle out during their sleep? Into my den you all step, hop or slink, one by one, all my friends and allies who on this summer night of the full Moon came together under Mother Oak in respectful silence. Holy Maggots, look! There I am myself! Or a perfect copy of me! This is extraordinary!
Dear Mother Oak, I know your wish is to save the planet and that you believe that it begins by enlightening the humans. You chose a special astral moment to launch your emergency plan. All the wandering stars, you told us, would be visible in the sky at once, which means that a universal cleansing is taking place. All the negative energy of the past six months will dissolve. That's why you activated the emergency plan today. And it began by bringing six young humans into the forest where, reduced by your magic to the size of a ladybird, they will learn to respect every living organism. And, of course, I was there too, only one hour ago, in the company of the whole of our Network, including those who in other circumstances would be my arch-enemies.
Among other things, we were informed of the disturbing capacity of these little humans to project their thoughts, consciously or otherwise, into the air around them. So it's not as though I wasn't warned, but hearing about it is one thing, coming face to face with it is another. It's rather overwhelming, and I feel the need to describe it all, now, while the images fly by like lightning. I know they are mere illusions, but they seem so real. The flow of images pulsing at me banishes the soft shadows of my den. Somehow the whole scene I lived through is being repeated here, and it's washing over me.
Before my unbelieving eyes I see Crow landing on a branch in front of me with his outstretched claws. I catch a glimpse of Slowworm keeping out of sight under the ferns. And Blackbird, Finch, Nuthatch and Great Tit, fluttering about merrily. How I envy you, birds: I can climb and swim - a bit - but you birds can get to the pond in a few wing beats and drink your fill. Just the thought makes me thirsty. Now the sleeping boy's head conjures up Deer with her beautiful, dark, round eyes that cannot see very far. I watch how carefully she walks to and fro in my den, as if her body was far too big for her. She takes a few delicate steps, then pauses, registering every young nettle, bramble, fern and tree root close to her to make sure she doesn’t trample on anyone. At any other time she might have nibbled a leaf; but not there, and not then.
Despite the fact that this show cannot be real, I feel once again how Mother Oak begins to increase the strength of the electromagnetic field between the width of her crown and her root system. Until this lunar night, anyone entering her raised zone automatically connected to her frequency and it had always been safe for everyone there. But tonight, it all changed.
Now Heron comes flying into my den! He lands carefully on a low, wide-spreading branch of Mother Oak, folding his huge wings into a comfortable jacket. This, too, comes out of the human's head. How pleasant it would be to spend the long, dark months of winter in the company of such a little person. He would entertain me with life-sized images, free from any danger. Oh, and here comes Squirrel. She snuggles against Mother Oak’s thickest side branch, probably the coolest place during this hot summer. Crow sits one branch higher, his jet-black tail twitching above her head. Oddly, my brothers and my three younger cousins are missing from the picture. Well, naturally! They had already left by the time this boy, the very last, arrived. Every one of them had set off home, accompanied by a human guest. Here, in the vision the boy is projecting in my nest, all of you seem unusually calm, though I well remember in what state of alarm we were. This little human had of course missed the fly-by of Egyptian Goose. In hindsight, it was pure provocation, wasn't it? Just before the first human had been brought by the Ants to Mother Oak, the Geese came barrelling by, out of a clear blue sky, honking out what should have been a secret to all but our network.
“They are arriving. Six in all! Six! Can you believe it? Mad Oak has done it! She's brought six damned Big Heads into the forest to wreak havoc! We, the Warriors of Mighty Beech, are going to attack them!”
Once again I feel the sudden fear that gripped us. We all felt it. There must be a traitor in the Network! But you, Mother Oak, you continued to radiate harmonious waves across your crown and roots. You shone with love, even for the Egyptian Geese. Who are the Warriors of Mighty Beech? How do we find out? None of us have ever heard of them. Mighty Beech, yes, we know him, he is the biggest of the beeches, oaks, maples and lime trees that grow along the forest paths and who are down to their last resources in this heat. But a warrior gang? Declaring war? This is totally unexpected.
The dream images of the tiny Renzo are now accelerating and merging into one another. Yes, look here! Great Tit is sounding the alarm. An enemy is near. The tit flies up, falls fast, lightly swooping through the air as only Great Tits can. Oh, I feel again the tension of the moment. My body trembles and I clench my pointed teeth. I remember how I began to support Mother Oak to strengthen her protective field. And so did all of us. We focused all our life energy on you, Mother Oak. We completely surrendered to our task, for with your ancient roots and far-reaching networks, you are our eternal source, our mother lode. To you we owe our lusty lives. You are the one we want to serve, through thick and thin.
I would never have believed that Mother Oak’s raised energy field could falter, but we had all felt that slight wobble. Something bad was coming. Look! It's Hawk, now flying threateningly, angrily towards me in my own den. I shudder at the sight of his scaly yellow feet and the razor-sharp, steely talons that I know have already killed many a family member. Panic! My den fills with the twittering, squawking and crying of all of you who are present in the little human's head. Hawk comes so close that all I can see is the wrinkled skin around his crooked claws. What horror! Just when I think I’m going to be devoured, the images all disappear. I’m startled by the cry of the little human waking up.
“Help! Help!' he shouts from his bed of ferns, 'What a bloody mess!' Then he turns over and falls asleep again. Maybe Hawk belongs to the Warriors of Mighty Beech? It makes sense. What is clear to me now is that the bird was after this Renzo, who was pushed violently aside just in time by my oldest brother, that most noble wood mouse, who sacrificed his life for the little human he should have taken home. I remember looking up, horrified, at the stubby body of my brother in the bird's implacable grasp as they rose in the air, his legs dangling from Hawk’s talons in a forlorn final salute. I am not a sentimental fellow but the loss of a family member under such circumstances distresses me greatly. I myself had not wanted to receive a human being, but fate has decreed otherwise. I am at your service, Mother Oak, and at the service of your plan. That’s why Renzo is with me. And the Warriors are after him!



Please, Mighty Beech, never forget that I was the first to tell you about the arrival of the young Big Heads in the forest. That scoop makes me very proud to be a burying beetle. My partner and I are, without a doubt, by far the most beautiful carrion beetles around: no other is so big and shiny, or has black wing-covers emblazoned like ours with two striking, jagged, orange stripes. Our antennae sport impressive clubs with which we venture fearlessly into the most dangerous of situations. Our bodies far exceed the measly three centimetres of other burying beetles. But you know all this. You also know that we are industrious; we are discreet; and our fierce and frequent copulations ensure that there is never a break in our capacity to give service. Know that in less than two weeks I and my mate will be welcoming another new brood. And that, of course, is good, because there can never be enough Sexton-beetles with our genes living in the forest. In the constant cycle of life and death, who is more important than the undertaker?
Despite the sneers of others, I know how to enjoy the happy coincidences that life continually throws at me. Take, for example, the mouse corpse that is serving as a nursery for our current young family. I had tracked it down two weeks ago. I immediately signalled my partner. It was recently demised, and the irresistible odour of a fresh corpse almost made us lose our minds. But discipline ruled, and together we set to work. We make a good team, my partner and I. The soil under the dead mouse was age-old humus, dried by this terrible prolonged drought and easy to dig out, so we quickly managed to lower the body to a safer level underground. We didn’t realize, at that moment, the extent of our luck. It was only when we rested from the task and took our bearings that we discovered that, quite by chance, we had buried the corpse at the same level as the den of a mouse. And not just any mouse! Chief Mouse, head of an entire clan.
Perhaps you had led us there, Mighty Beech. The powers of old, wise beings such as yourself are mysterious to us. Because that was exactly where I was supposed to be: right next to my goal. I had already accepted the assignment to become a secret agent in this new battle facing the forest.
Over the next few days, we tunnelled out a small but safe passage across to the house of the enemy, as we now call the mouse hole. We knew from your briefing that this Upper Mouse forms part of the network of old Mad Oak, whose crazy ideas include making a pact with the human race - as if those bipeds hadn't already brought the planet to its knees with their ignorance! You, Mighty Beech, have rightly declared war on Mad Oak and all her tribe. And so I'm a real spy now, and proud of it. Although the job is not without its dangers. Spying is not for the faint-hearted. One must get uncomfortably close to the enemy. Wood mice are particularly keen of smell and hearing, are very fond of crunchy insects, and are always hungry. So, as you can imagine, I had to take precautions. Once the passage to Mouse's burrow was ready, I persuaded the friendly fungi of the Chanterelle family, who are passing on this report to you, to populate the far end of the tunnel with their most fragrant underground extensions, to disguise my rather special smell.
Five Suns ago my daily spying trip was crowned with success. At first I was puzzled as I watched Upper Mouse drag in one frond of Bracken after another. As far as I know, mice don't eat Bracken. Then I realised that his fussy and painstaking work had created a thick bed as though for a special guest. I watched as he stockpiled some Blackberries while squeaking happily and singing his heart out. After the Blackberries, he came up with Golden Saxifrage, young Nettles and a dead Earthworm. I wondered why he hadn’t eaten it. He was definitely saving it for something, or somebody. He worked fast, looking neither up or down, left nor right.
The delicately perfumed Chanterelle threads were doing their work. Hidden behind this living curtain, delighted by my cunning, I felt sure I had seen something important, although I was not yet able to interpret it. Other odours began to tickle my senses, however, and I was drawn back to the carcass where my partner was waiting for me. We mated again, and still quivering with the thrill of it, I promptly laid my eggs in the corpse’s left groin. Abandoning all thought of the scene in the nearby den, habit ruled and together we set about tearing the hair and the skin off the corpse and scraping the rotting flesh into little meatballs, each of which we stored separately, protected in a layer of mucus. Only a few Suns later, the new larvae hatched, and from then on we have taken turns chewing the pickled meat and feeding our young. Sometimes we’re overcome by pride in our fruitful cooperation and hit a few high fives with the thick clubs of our antennae. Of course, I kept an eye on the mouse hole in the meantime. I noticed that Upper Mouse was eating and replacing his stockpiled food.

Yesterday, on the night of the full Moon, while chewing one of the last meatballs, I suddenly felt for the first time in my life an unusually powerful energy wave which seemed to be coming from behind Chanterelle’s curtain. Could it be the energy of a human, a Big Head, as you call them? I’ve often heard about Big Heads, but since I live underground most of the time, I’ve never bumped into one. Which is just as well, given the damage they’re said to cause. They are known in the forest for sending out disturbing vibrations with their anxious thoughts. These vibrations are hurtful and different from the softer frequencies we’re used to, that animals, plants and trees emit when they’re dying. In those cases, I and my mate follow these exquisite waves of anguish to the source and wait patiently until the creature breathes its last. That little wait often provides enough food for a few weeks. But this was different; a thousand storms more intense, and I gave in to it. I left the larvae to my partner's care and walked straight towards the strange undulations through the long corridor that led to Upper Mouse's den. The waves were irresistible. Blissful. I was sure they meant a good meal.
I peered through the Chanterelle curtain. The den was remarkably crowded. Upper Mouse had four Ants in there! What were live Ants doing with a living wood mouse? Why weren't they devoured immediately? The Ants were carrying a leaf with something on it. That something was the source of the strong vibrations. As Mouse moved aside, I saw the Ants deposit their load on the thick bed of dried Bracken. The load was alive. I recognised arms, legs and long red head-hair I’ve so often heard about. I guessed it was a female Big Head, but I was taken aback at its minute dimensions: it was a Big Head even smaller than myself! You, Mighty Beech are right after all: Mad Oak had been planning to integrate Big Heads into the forest community, and although this creature was inexplicably tiny, it must clearly be part of the project.
The small creature was shivering and sobbing. I was completely intoxicated by the vibrations I was receiving. I sat motionless at the spy hole, one of my feelers pointing at Mouse, when for the first time in my life I was introduced to those horrible projections with which the Big-Heads can so spoil the atmosphere in the forest. A giant snake appeared in the air in front of me, unfolding like a flower in slow motion, born from the bed of Bracken. The snake hissed, opened its mouth and a red forked tongue shot out. Even as I jumped backwards, it disappeared and was replaced by a rather delicious-looking rotting creature. My instinct pulled me forward, but there was something peculiar about it. I felt it pulling all the life out of me, until all I wanted to do was die. But that monster, too, disappeared and I saw a huge old willow, its branches thrashing and whipping wildly. I retreated a few steps until it sank in: I was not being attacked at all. All those images were figments of imagination, coming out of the little human's head. And I experience those images as lifelike. So I can read their minds! That is what Big Head vibrations do to us. They make us travel in dimensions that are nothing but an insane distraction. With that insight, my fear subsided. A huge black dog ran towards me, but it disappeared immediately. They kept coming, the most gruesome and terrifying creatures, but they no longer overwhelmed me.
I was impressed. The energy waves which produced the images are indeed a powerful weapon. No wonder these vibe-emitters are able to wreak so much havoc. It took me a lot of effort to remain calm while a giant rat with razor-sharp teeth approached, quickly replaced by a hairy spider crawling from the corner where the little human still lay. Then a bat flew at me. The little Big Head screamed a string of unintelligible words. It meant nothing to me, but it seemed that it meant something to Upper Mouse.
‘Alis with an S? Yes, that’s your name, I know. Mother Oak introduced you like that,’ squeaked Upper Mouse hopefully. But the Big Head didn’t seem to understand anything he said. She looked around fearfully, moved cautiously, and her skin, which was colourful and seemed to hang loose in parts, made an unusual rustling sound when she turned on her bed. Her hair was long and thick. Fascinated, I stayed put.
I noticed Upper Mouse leave the den, but he was back inside at once and his glands were breathing stress. Something had made him agitated. I reacted immediately with a new fighting stance behind the curtain of Chanterelle tendrils. Four other Ants were bringing in a second Big Head and from its thoughts, new images bloomed forth. Now not only glowing creatures with horns filled the burrow, but also large, elongated metal objects shooting fire, horses running and people falling dead and getting up again. I also smelled the presence of plastic, the misery of all Sexton beetles. Plastic is unbreakable, hard to chew, and indigestible. More than one burying beetle has already lost several litters to it and even their own lives. Upper Mouse clearly didn’t want to receive the second tiny, snotty human. He squealed and shrieked, planting himself in front of the Bracken bed so that the little creature behind him could see nothing. The dark-grey hairs on his back stood upright until the Ants retreated with the second little creature.
I decided to call my partner via the underground fungal network of the Chanterelle. I didn't want him to miss the spectacle. He came running. He stood there petrified for a while as more images streamed from the first Big Head’s mind, and then he lovingly put his feelers against mine.
'Don't worry, my dear. Mighty Beech sees everything. The Big Heads have arrived, exactly as he predicted. If he can figure out Mad Oak's plan with our help, he will be able to put an end to it quickly. However rapturous their waves may be to us burying beetles, these Big Heads bring nothing but poison and destruction to the forest. You must keep calm, and report all.'
So that's what I’m doing, Mighty Beech. You can count on me!



Back home at last, and a chance to snatch a bite of this delicious woodlice. Boy, that was some trip, with Alis! Of course I brought her back safe and sound. Upper Mouse couldn't have done it. He is a timorous creature, and with this special assignment from Mother Oak, his normal fears have only increased. Sure, Mice mumble some excuse about needing time to go hunting for insects and other food at night. But the real reason for backing out is that they'd rather not walk through the forest with such a conspicuous human being! A keen-eyed Nightjar or a Snake with its infra-red vision would spot them quickly with such a creature on their back. That’s why I offered my services for the Night Programme thought up by Mother Oak. Yes, it was I who took Alis on a tour.
By doing so, I ran a great risk, because whoever accompanied Alis would be in danger. None of you present at the ceremony will ever forget the fright that the girl's arrival provoked. And not only because she arrived first at Mother Oak. The four Ants carrying her were certainly aware of their special cargo. Carefully they trekked through the undergrowth, a beech leaf between them with that first youngster on it. Only you, Mother Oak, knew who she was. We could only guess. Different hypotheses had flown back and forth between the members of Mother Oak's network before the first arrival. What kind of humans would Mother Oak have chosen? Perhaps the usual walkers of these woods, like the pot-bellied man who snarls at his dog on the path and spits gobs of disgusting slime? Or the lady in the floral dress who once squashed a small toad with her gold sandal? She had been chattering so much she was completely unaware of her gruesome act, thoughtlessly dispatching a particularly useful animal. Or the old woman who uses a stick as a third leg? It soon became clear Mother Oak had only singled out young humans. They can still learn fast, she said.
When the Ants appeared from behind Silver Birch, we all marvelled that Alis was so very small. It would make our task easier, though. The group was accompanied by Nuthatch, who hoped that her tweets, which Mother Oak believed to be the most like human language, might reassure the unusual visitor. But Alis was not at all reassured. She was cringing in fear, shivering on the beech leaf, while the rest of us were all panting under the oppressive heat that has lasted for weeks now. The Ants bowed to Mother Oak, and laid the leaf at her huge mossy roots.
Mother Oak introduced her to us: a female, an adolescent, and Alis was her name. All we could see of Alis was her long, curly ginger hair. Her face was clamped tightly between her knees. In her tiny head there was a big storm going on, the storm that we and the whole forest has been longing for, with thunder, lightning, strong gusts of wind and pouring rain. Oh, how we all yearned for that splashing water. We watched silently and turned our hearts to the little girl. We sent her all the light and sunshine and the joyous jumps and falls we experienced today. We all gave the best of ourselves to her. Only when all the energy was firmly bundled tight around her did she calm down and dare to raise her gaze. It was reassuring. Once calm, she could look around and take in the trees, branches and leaves. But then Slowworm moved forward through the grasses to get a better view of her, and the stress came back. Poor girl. It was clear she was not happy, but she was still very interesting to look at. Like the other humans we’ve spotted in the forest, she was wearing a kind of 'over-skin' that covered her body, her limbs and her feet. But she was wearing something else too, and it was that which rang alarm bells for all of us: hardly had she raised her head when Deer sent an anguished cry running through the ceremonial circle. For timid Deer, as we were all aware, that was a highly unusual reaction.
‘Get a sniff of what she's got around her waist!’ she wailed. All snouts turned to the tiny human body. She was wearing a kind of pouch of grey fur which indeed gave off a strong smell of dead rabbit! It bulged with unknown things inside it.
For a moment it seemed as if Deer had turned to stone. The fear she radiated paralysed all of us. It won't be easy for Alis here, with that animal pelt around her belly. Or for anyone who accompanies her. Her pouch gives the Warriors of Mighty Beech every reason to want to skin her.

But fear calls forth courage in some of us. You all know that I can run very fast on my long legs and that I’m much more confident than all the Mice clan put together. I thought I would be perfectly able to take the girl to visit the plants and animals who helped with the preparations for her arrival. Blackberry, for example, who provided the pile of juicy fruits beside her bed, or Beech, whose fluffy flowers made her bedding, or Bracken, who provided the mattress. Moreover, I’m very fit. I've only just reached adulthood. I hatched last February, and after ten rather stressful moults I can finally live an independent adult life.
That’s why I went to Upper Mouse’s lair. The entrance was bathed in the soft glow of the Moon that shone generously on Young Beech's roots. When Upper Mouse saw me, he approached the girl lying on her Bracken bed, who was curled away from the entrance. I watched Upper Mouse touch Alis gently with his paw to draw her attention. She shrank back.
‘Daddy Longlegs has arrived, especially for you,' he squeaked. ‘It's time for a ride through the forest. He is your steed and your companion. Our plant friends can’t wait to get to know you.’ To his great surprise, Alis did not get up. Upper Mouse laid a paw on her leg to encourage her. Alis screamed. I’m glad that Upper Mouse translated her words.
‘Where am I? What am I doing here? Why am I so small? Why does my phone not work? Who brought me here? What are you doing to me? Who are you? What right do you have to keep me here? I'm going to keep screaming as long as I don't get any answers!’ Her voice trembled at a high frequency creating a frighteningly unpleasant vibration. Upper Mouse took a few breaths and then sniffed at the head of her bed with his pointed snout.
He squeaked out his answers as clearly as he could, but soon realized that he was just squeaking, not speaking human language at all. Mother Oak, you must have been wrong again. You chose the Mice to host the humans precisely because, according to you, they have a common history. In the fourteenth century their ancestors were co-habitants of the old Priory. For a hundred winters they lived side by side with human beings, and in particular with the mystic Herbert Lightning, who is even said to have mentioned them in his writings. A huge fire made them flee into the forest. And over the centuries they moved metre by metre deeper into the woodlands. But in their genes they still carried that long history and all the knowledge they gained in the company of the monks. You too, Mother Oak, lived through the great heyday of the priory. Dig deep inside yourselves, you signalled to the Mice clan, listen to your cells so that you can remember the lore of your predecessors. And yes, it's true, Upper Mouse does manage to understand quite a lot of the human's language. And that is much needed, because none of us do. However, according to you, Mother Oak, a human’s speech does not always reflect what they think. And as for humans understanding the language of Mice … well, that is clearly just a pipe dream.
The girl clamped her lips shut and a stubborn look came over her face. Meanwhile her eyes darted here, there and everywhere around the den, like a captive animal desperate to escape. Startling images rolled out of her head. And the fact that I’m being bombarded with an endless stream of incomprehensible images is terribly tiring, causing my delicate body to tremble constantly. The images appear and disappear just as quickly. If we want to get anywhere with the human beings, I think, we have to develop a way of filtering out these distractions. I moved closer to Alis. With my eight very long legs, two of which serve as my feelers, I must have impressed Alis, because she started screaming again.
Suddenly images of spiders poured into the den, from the smallest garden spider to the most dangerous tarantula. But I’m no spider! I twitched my legs in irritation. I was outraged that the little human didn’t know I'm related to scorpions. It was about time she learnt such things. And we don't sting, or inject poison! Our torso is in one piece, not two. We do not make webs. We have only one pair of eyes and therefore cannot see very well. And what's more, we, the males, have penises! And we can even have erections!
Alis continued to scream from her corner. I realised only too well that it was going be difficult for me to elegantly touch the flesh on one of her arms. I've been dreaming of that since the first time I saw her. Clearly, it was not going to happen yet. But I wasn't born yesterday, and I'll find a way to realize my wish, even if I have to wait a long time. Our species is over 400 million years old. And in all those centuries we have had to change nothing at all, develop no extra tail, no shield or thicker legs. We are the only animal species that has been able to adapt to all possible circumstances on earth from the very beginning. Perfect, right from the start! You can't go wrong with a Daddy Longlegs! Not even if you are a human being!
So I communicated my plan to Upper Mouse, who nodded. I lay down and let my legs relax. Upper Mouse decided to call on the fungus that runs beneath his den, the Milk-cap, for help. Perhaps the girl, like all of us, could also communicate through the fungi? After all, energy is energy, and are not all creatures on earth able to feel it?
‘Just get out of bed, and maybe eat a piece of Golden Saxifrage. It's our delicacy.’ Upper Mouse squeaked and pushed a greenish-yellow leaf towards Alis' bed while sending her velvet vibrations. 'Our ancestors thought that Golden Saxifrage was boringly common. It had no taste, they said, and it was everywhere. But not any more. When we see Golden Saxifrage now, we rejoice. Because then we know that the brook or pond along whose banks it lives has clean water. And then we not only eat, but we also drink our fill.’ Upper Mouse went on like this for a long time. I felt a slight cramp starting in my fourth leg. When I almost couldn’t take it anymore and was about to signal Upper Mouse that I was going to leave, the message must have reached the girl. Alis started producing images of eating humans surrounded by steaming food, and she took the leaf. She munched it all at breakneck speed. Upper Mouse gestured that there was more on the other side of the den and that she should come with him. Miraculously, Alis stood up and followed Upper Mouse.
And that was the trap! Do you get it? Alis didn’t realise that she had stepped on one of my legs. And of course, I didn’t waste any time. I sprang up and straightened my pins. Alis had to grab onto my leg or she would have fallen. Before the girl could do anything, I slipped out between the Beech roots, and we were gone!



Mighty Beech, we almost had them last night, that wretched Daddy Longlegs with his skinned-rabbit human! But Blackberry put a stop to it, and suddenly the duo disappeared. And our whole family gave up and just went on with their lives. I will give you all the facts, so that you and all your subjects are completely up to date. And I’m going to try and make my report as precise as I can.
The full Moon was in the sky and not a cloud blocked its light. Its rays fell gracefully onto the majestic beeches and oaks. In the dancing patches of light under the gently swaying trees, it seemed to be day again. We had been tipped off that Daddy Longlegs planned to take the Big Head with the rabbit-skin bag to eat at Blackberry’s. There were a lot of us, and as you know, our clan communicate easily with each other with those chirping hind legs of ours. We had spread ourselves out so that we could easily keep track of Daddy Longlegs. However, our clumsy bodies are not that agile. So we thought we should attack him en masse if he stopped somewhere. It seemed almost as if he suspected pursuit, because he was diving under thorn bushes, pushing through dense grasses and into dark hollows where withered beech leaves block every single ray of light. That wonderful darkness is our habitat, full of the most delicious smells, textures and flavours. But the little Big Head, hanging on Daddy Longlegs’ back, clearly did not feel at ease. We noticed a moist skin odour, which we recognize from humans who go running in the forest. Daddy Longlegs must have noticed it too, because he started to vary his route. My brother flew above him, while Daddy Longlegs chose the harder path along the swaying grassy ridges. We were lucky that the little Big Head did not notice us. But then she didn’t see anything, even though the whole Mad Oak fan club was strung out to greet her along the way. She didn’t signal them back, she didn’t notice the dancing fireflies that guided them to Blackberry. She didn’t hear the crickets that greeted them. She didn’t feel the presence of the old beeches who, together with the south wind, gave them a rustling welcome. She didn’t even notice the brown owl who accompanied them. She stared blankly ahead. Like my siblings, I did my utmost to stay focused on their route, while being swamped by the Big Head’s blue, green, yellow, and red visions. They were insisten
t and they went on for so long that I had to take a break. To our great surprise, even the Sun appeared in the Big Head’s thoughts.
‘Such a creature longs for daylight and colours!’ A good observation by my clever sister. It never occurred to me that humans are not comfortable in the grey-black of the night. How lucky for us! Otherwise they would come and bother us at night too. Imagine! I do occasionally smell a Big Head being abroad at night, wandering about in the darkness, and who usually emits very soft waves. Completely different from the hordes of cyclists and runners with their ears blocked by music during the day, who crush us en masse under their heavy shoes.
They were passing a well-matured, putrid Tinder Fungus, where some of my family members, in the company of quite a few other insects, were having a small feast. Daddy Longlegs must have smelled the delicacy too. The fungus was enormous and lay there just like that, between the bone-dry leaves.
‘Get ready,’ my brother signalled. “That Daddy Longlegs is considering his chances. I don’t think he’s found such a delicious snack in days. He probably assumes that the Carrion flies, Ants and other small scum that feed on a rotting mushroom would not be interested in human flesh anyway. That for a short stop he doesn’t have to worry. At best, the teenager would hear some rustling.’ So we signalled to the family and took up our positions.
Daddy Longlegs crawled up along the hardened, fleshy walls of the big fungus. First disappointment: our relatives were too intoxicated to react quickly. And even ten of us are not able to attack him. I immediately signalled to all the others who were keeping watch further away.
'Come here, everyone, to Tinder Fungus!' The curiosity of woodland creatures is never satisfied. Everyone wanted to get close to see the Big Head. The little girl panicked. When a human comes face to face with an angry red forest Ant, whose head is as big as her own, it is not a reassuring sight. She screamed all sorts of ugly sounds. The Ant was pushed aside by a Beetle who wanted to touch the Big Head’s hair. Waves of fear rolled out of the girl. To top it all, a tiny Spider dared to land on her arm. I tried everything in the world to squeeze myself in, but there was no way. Together with my brother we tried to get on top of the other insects so we could surround them. Then the attacking cry of a Nightjar cut through the tangle and jerked us back to reality. The bird was swooping down between the beeches. He was after us!
Daddy Longlegs also came to his senses and ran as fast as he could to get himself and the girl to safety. We fervently hoped that the girl would loosen her grip! And that he would lose her in the darkness as he dived under the beech leaves.
They got to Blackberry’s via a shortcut. Great! It would give us another chance, because in the meantime, a large number of dung beetles had settled there. Exhausted, Daddy Long Legs greeted the bush, but Blackberry, who is also clearly being manipulated by Mad Oak, was cuttingly brief in her reply.
‘Leave as soon as possible,' the Blackberry bush signalled curtly. I could see that we wouldn't have much time. But Grandfather went ahead and gave the signal to attack.
‘But you're on our side, aren't you?’ Daddy Longlegs pleaded with the bush. ‘You gave your word and your fruits to Mother Oak, didn’t you?' In formation we flew to the lowest leaves of Blackberry. By now there were hundreds of us. We all wheeled round and flew straight at Daddy Longlegs and the Big Head. But Blackberry screamed.
‘Run! Now!' Why does everyone cooperate so submissively with Mad Oak? Daddy Longlegs reacted like lightning. With giant steps he leapt away from Blackberry, taking care to keep under cover. Our attack had failed. I flew up to follow him, but the others had given up in the meantime. They had found dry rabbit droppings under Bramble, which they could not resist.
So it was a rout. Still, I do not want to end this report on such a down note. Let me pass on something unusual, that could turn out to be important. They had only just left when I noticed how the Big Head was producing mineral smells. Metal! I stopped and focused my senses. By all the Holy Fungi, it couldn’t be true! I watched as she chopped through Daddy Longlegs’ right hind leg with something sharp! I didn’t understand a thing. Was this a human attempt at suicide? The metallic smell disappeared again. Do Big Heads carry murder weapons with them? Does this mean that we are in even greater danger than we thought?
Daddy Longlegs bid his lost leg goodbye, knowing it would go on moving vainly for quite a while, but it didn’t stop him running. He deliberately scampered up and down the thorniest plants, probably so that the little Big Head would need both hands to hold on. He longed to get her back to the safety of Upper Mouse's warm nest.
So. Mighty Beech, we did our best, but luck was not on our side this time. The tide will turn, you’ll see. We still have a lot of time. And even though the slaves of Mad Oak are many, so are we. And the Big Heads, even though they are dangerous, are conspicuous targets, and we reckon we can easily get the better of them. It requires some training, insight and strategy. We will get there. And if you ask me, Daddy Longlegs and many of his colleagues will soon change sides and convert to our gang. Because, let's face it, who wants to risk their life for such a ridiculous Big Head?
Well for now, I’m ready for a break, before we launch another attack.