Anaïs Berck

The Guardian

Independent daily newspaper since 1821

Madrid, October 11, 2037

‘Plants take revenge on predatory humanity’

Be the Change!, a global network of young people, has hijacked the COP42 climate conference on its opening day. Their spokesperson, Alis de Vos, revealed that edible plants are now systematically threatening human fertility through their hormone production. She can communicate with plants, she claims, and she implied that they are turning against humanity.

‘We’re killing nature, and nature is hitting back,’ said De Vos, a Belgian scientist and one of the leaders of Be the Change!, in a speech that’s already a sensation at COP42. De Vos and her team discovered that hormone production in plants is much more widespread than previously assumed. In large-scale fruit plantations, plants produce the human female hormones estrogen and progesterone in doses comparable to those of the contraceptive pill. De Vos studied five mega-plantations on different continents. Everywhere, plants are producing much higher levels of the hormones than was thought.

It has been known since the 1990s that intensively cultivated potato varieties and date palms produce ever-higher levels of estrogen and progesterone. At the time, scientists viewed this growing threat to human fertility as a result of genetic engineering and the use of a new class of chemical pesticide. Alis De Vos points to a much broader phenomenon: ‘We have strong evidence that the leaves, fruits, and seeds of all the plants we studied contain ever-higher doses of hormones. Even those without genetic engineering, and even in crops that are not sprayed with chemicals: there is no other possible interpretation: plants are setting limits to human fertility.’

That’s a collective plant-based action, concludes Be the Change!. ‘As long as we humans continue to prioritize growth economies and excessive profits, and allow for abuse and exploitation of nature to achieve these goals, plants will fight back.’

Since its founding in 2032, Be the Change! has grown into a global network of environmentally engaged young adults. De Vos stunned the COP42 audience with a second revelation. Her novel Reports from the Forest, made famous by the successful animated series, is not fiction, she claimed. The book relates the story of six young people kidnapped by a Mother Tree who brought them to the forest to learn how to interact respectfully with nature.

‘I didn’t make that story up,’ De Vos revealed. ‘it’s exactly what happened to me and my companions — however unlikely that may seem. Our adventure gave birth to Be the Change!’

According to De Vos, fifteen years ago, Mother Trees in forests around the world began to recruit young people in order to radically change their attitude toward nature. The participants underwent an overwhelming experience, which forged the Be the Change! network. They’ve waited all these years to tell their story.

‘No one would have believed us then,’ De Vos explained to a speechless room full of officials and diplomats. ‘You might have packed us off to a psychiatric hospital. Yet things are changing. You’re finally beginning to understand the powers and significance of nature. Rivers, forests, mountains, and lakes are gaining legal personality; your governments are inviting shamans for consultations. It’s only logical. Now, more-than-human beings are beginning to play a central role in series and stories.’

Be the Change! learned from the Mother Trees that there is only one solution to avert impending mass infertility: humanity must radically change its attitude. On all continents, towards all natural resources and all other living beings.

‘It is a matter of life and death for the continuation of the human race on this planet,’ were De Vos’ closing words, before paying tribute to the trees, and plunging the audience into a charged, meditative silence.

1

Wood Mouse

Apodemus sylvaticus

Dear friends of the Mother Oak Network, something incredible is happening here. I’m glad I can log in to report it live. I wouldn’t know what I’d do right now without Milk -cap’s extensive underground network which quickly relays our messages. What I’m experiencing is indescribable. Perhaps other mice in our clan are going through the same thing? I wonder.

But first, some context, because after our meeting at Mother Oak’s earlier, I came home alone. I was the only one of all my brothers and cousins who hadn’t received a human guest, and I wondered why. My den, after all, is cosy and neat, and cleaner than some. Every corner is filled with stores of moss and beech seeds and their comforting smell. 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 Red Ants suddenly barged into my nest uninvited, hauling a beech leaf between them with one of the six minuscule human children we had seen at Mother Oak’s meeting. It was the last one to arrive and the one for whom my oldest brother, Mighty Mouse, had laid down his life.

‘Your Cousin, Upper Mouse, 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. I hurried out to scavenge some Bracken to make a bed, like I knew my cousin had done. The Red Ants dumped the creature onto it. He must have been tired, because he fell asleep immediately, snuffling softly and occasionally kicking his feet. I sniffed his hair and skin and circled around his bed. A wildly interesting guest, I thought. The boy is a combination of unusual scents, textures, and colours.

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. But since those first few minutes, something unearthly has begun here. Unbelievable. Extraordinary. You, Mother Oak, in all your majesty, you’re here with us too… you fill my tiny hole with your enormous presence! How is that possible? You, old Oak, protector of all creatures that dwell in your shadow, you are a guest in my burrow. What an honour!

I’m walking towards you but I don’t feel you. 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, 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! Now the animals – or their copies – are arriving. Just like that. An hour ago, I saw you all at the welcome ceremony. Could Renzo be the source of the images? Do other mice housing the human children experience this too? Do humans possess a special organ for broadcasting their memories during sleep?

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 stay awhile with us.

You told us about 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. 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.

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. Now the sleeping boy’s head conjures up Deer with her beautiful, dark, round eyes that can’t 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 again the moment when Mother Oak began to increase the strength of the electromagnetic field between the width of her crown and her root system. Until this lunar night, anyone entering this raised zone automatically connected to her frequency and it had always been safe for everyone there. But tonight, things 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, is coming 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 up 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. But, of course, the boy can’t know that, he didn’t see the Egyptian Goose fly over us. It was pure provocation, wasn’t it? Just before the first human had been brought by the Red Ants to Mother Oak, the Goose came barrelling by, out of a clear blue sky, honking out what should have been a secret to all but our network: ‘They’re 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 soothing 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, drops 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 still in shock. The loss of a family member distresses me greatly. He gave his life for the boy he had planned to look after. 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.

2

Sexton Beetle

Nicrophorus vespilloides

Please, Mighty Beech, I hope you will never forget that I, your humble servant, 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 corpse of a robin 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 had not been dead long, 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 deceased robin 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 set about tearing the feathers and skin off the corpse and scraping the rotting flesh into little meatballs, protected in a layer of mucus, stacked in a pile. We didn’t realise, 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! Upper 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 the enemy. 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 mouse’s burrow. 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 mask my typical corpse 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. After a while I realised that he was making a bed. 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 full charge of little oval eggs in the birthing room we had chewed out of the bird’s belly. Abandoning all thought of the scene in the nearby den, habit ruled and we set about preparing the meatballs for our brood. The new larvae hatched out only a few Suns later, and from then on, we have taken turns chewing maggots and the pickled meat and feeding the juice to our young. Sometimes we’re overcome by pride in our fruitful cooperation and celebrate by clapping the thick clubs of our antennae together. 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. Leaving the larvae to dig themselves into the ground where they will go through the pupal stage, I 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 Red Ants in there! What were live Red Ants doing with a living wood mouse? Why weren’t they devoured immediately? The Ants were carrying a leaf with something on it. 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 ginger head-hair. 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 of the Big-Heads. 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 them as lifelike. I can read their minds! That is what Big Head vibrations do to us. They make us travel in other dimensions. 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 was screaming a string of unintelligible words. It meant nothing to me, but it seemed to mean 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. The small female looked around fearfully, moved cautiously, and her dusty overskin, 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 squealed and shrieked. The dark-grey hairs on his back stood upright until the Ants retreated with the 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!

3

Daddy Longlegs

Phalangium opilio

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 timorous by nature and with this special assignment from Mother Oak his normal fears have only increased. Sure, those 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 was the first to arrive at Mother Oak. The four Ants carrying her were certainly aware of their special cargo as they trekked carefully through the undergrowth with that first youngster on a beech leaf. Only you, Mother Oak, knew who she was. We could only guess. Many 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? Young ones, of course, they can learn faster!

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 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 as we panted in the heat. 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’. But she was wearing something else too, and it was that which rang alarm bells for all of us. She had barely raised her head when a scream of terror ripped through the ceremonial circle. It was Deer.

‘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 us all. This human girl is making things difficult for herself and us, I thought, with that dead skin around her belly. How are we supposed to protect her? She’s giving 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 whole Mice clan put together. I thought I would be perfectly able to carry out the Night Programme and 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? Why am I so small? What are you planning to do with me? And why is my phone out of service? Answer me, or I’ll keep screaming!’

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 realised that he was just squeaking, not speaking human language at all. Mother Oak, you must have been wrong. 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. An endless stream of incomprehensible images rolled out of her head. They shook my delicate body. It was exhausting. As quickly as they arose, they were gone again.

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 her, 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. 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!

As 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 realise 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 anymore. 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. 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 off we went, completely unaware of what the night would bring.

4

Dung Beetle

Geotrupes stercorarius

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, who had loyally been preparing the attack, gave up and just went on with their lives. I will give you all the facts, Mighty Beech, so that you and all your soldiers are completely up to date.

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. 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 back to them, 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 poplars 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 blue, green, yellow, and red vision pouring out of the Big Head. The images went on for so long and were so aggressive 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 thoughtlessly 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 and 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.’

So we signalled to the family and took up our positions.

As we anticipated, Daddy Longlegs crawled up along the hardened, fleshy walls of the big fungus. My first disappointment: our relatives that had all been snacking on it were too intoxicated to react quickly. I immediately signalled to the others who were keeping watch further away.

‘Come here, everyone, to Tinder Fungus!’

Everyone wanted to get close to see the Big Head. The curiosity of woodland creatures is never satisfied. The little girl panicked. She screamed all sorts of ugly sounds. Waves of fear rolled out of her. A tiny spider dared to land on her arm. I tried everything in the world to squeeze myself in between the mass of crawling creatures, but there was no way. My brother and I attempted to get on top of the other insects so we could surround them, when the attacking cry of an eagle owl cut through the tangle and jerked us back to reality. The bird was swooping down between the beeches. Like us, he was after the Big Head!

Daddy Longlegs 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 be scraped off and that he would lose her in the darkness as he dived into the undergrowth. They got to Blackberry’s via a shortcut. Great! It would give us another chance, because in the meantime the rest of our beetle gang had settled there. Exhausted, Daddy Long Legs greeted the bush.

‘Leave as soon as possible,’ was Blackberry’s only response. She is also clearly being manipulated by Mad Oak.

Grandfather went ahead and gave the signal to attack. I could see that we wouldn’t have much time. We flew in formation to the lowest leaves of Blackberry. By now there were hundreds of us. We all wheeled round and aimed 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 some dry rabbit droppings under Bramble, which they could not resist.

So it was a rout. Still, I don’t 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. I focused my senses. By all the Holy Fungi, it couldn’t be true! It was metal. Flying closer, I watched as the tiny human 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?

We saw the lost leg wriggling vainly and alone. It didn’t stop Daddy Longlegs running. He scampered up and down the thorniest plants, the little Big Head hanging on with both hands. I lost sight of them as they dived into the deeper undergrowth.

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 more 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 join our gang. Because, let’s face it, who wants to risk their life for a ridiculous Big Head?

Well, that’s it for now, I’m ready for a break, before we launch another attack.