(no subject)

Finally there came a night when the gale was so violent that the farm buildings rocked on their foundations and several tiles were blown off the roof of the barn.

Snowball peers through the hedge. It is dark, and cold. The weather is appalling.

Home! I'm home!

He looks around and finds the bar gone. He isn't that surprised now. He turns and makes his way along the hedge, putting his plan into action. Even in the dark, he knows the layout.
And he knows what he has to do.
He knows he has to face Napoleon.

Quietly, he pushes the door of the stall open. It is quiet, perhaps too quiet. At the end of the room he sees a metallic reflection of light. He looks around. There is nobody in sight. He remembers Ray's words of warning.

No, this is too easy, it's a trap. Why isn't Napoleon here?

He turns and goes around the back of the stall, lifting a loose board and sliding the medal out underneath it. Rejoicing, he slips it over his neck.

"Snowball?"

He turns in shock. He knows the voice. Someone beautiful.

"Marigold"

She comes towards him, gently touching his snout with hers. At this moment he feels a sharp hot pain in both ears.

"I'm sorry. I love you"

Snowball hangs his head in seeming defeat. Then, in a lightening quick twist, he turns and strikes the dog on his left with one trotter. The dog on his right feels the ear ripped out of its mouth and sinks its teeth into Snowball's side. Marigold squeals as only a pig can.
Snowball rolls and strikes the second dog between the eyes.

And then he runs. He lets his ears be torn in the process. There is no choice. Ears, or life. Blood pours down his face as he breaks free and runs at top speed across the farm.

He can't see. There is blood in his eyes and it is pitch black. But he knows the farm like the back of his hand. The yard, the buildings, the grassy hill over which he planned to make his escape. The dogs close upon his tail, he races blindly up the hill.
The hill that should have been empty.
Something very solid hits his head and crumbles around him. Huge lumps of rock fall on his head and back. He stumbles through it, then collapses the other side, bleeding and exhausted. He tries desperately to get back up, but the dogs are getting closer. He lies his head down and awaits his death.

His death doesn't come. Instead, a voice he knows all too well.
"You stupid creatures!"
Squealer?
"I told you he is not to die here. He's the enemy. He has to stay the enemy."
He feels the dogs grip his mangled ears and trotters and drag him into the nearby hedges, through to the other side.
"They will smell it if he dies here. Further."
Snowball lies motionless, listening. Why doesn't Squealer want him to die there? He hears one more command.
"Right. Get the gun. We must finish him."
Snowball's heart skips a beat.
The words missing in his vocabulary are 'oh shit'. 'Bother' and 'Dash' do not seem to cover it. He waits until he hears one of the dogs depart, then leaps to his feet and runs for it. The second dog races after him, but it is also limping. He heads for the next hedge, hearing the dog's footsteps falling further and further behind.

The hens woke up squawking in terror because they had all dreamed simultaneously of hearing a gun go off in the distance.
In the morning the animals came out of their stalls to find that the flagstaff had blown down and an elm at the foot of the orchard had been plucked up like a radish. They had just noticed when a cry of despair broke from every animal's throat. A terrible sight met their eyes. The windmill was in ruins.
With one accord they dashed down to the spot. Napoleon, who seldom moved out of a walk, raced ahead of them all.
He carefully knocks a couple of rocks over the dog prints.
Yes, there it lay, the fruit of their struggles, levelled to its foundations, the stones they had broken and carried so laboriously scattered all around. Unable at first to speak, they stood gazing mournfully at the litter of fallen stone. Napoleon paced to and fro in silence, ocassionally snuffing at the ground. His tail had grown rigid and twitched sharply from side to side, a sign in him of intense mental activity. Suddenly he halted as though his mind was made up.
"Comrades." he said quietly. "Do you know who is responsible for this? DO you know the enemy who has come in the night and overthrown our windmill? SNOWBALL!" He suddenly roared in a voice of thunder. "Snowball has done this thing! In sheer malignity, thinking to set back our plans and avenge himself for his ignominious expulsion, this traitor has crept here under cover of night and destroyed our work of nearly a year. Comrades, here and now I pronounce the death sentence upon Snowball. 'Animal Hero, second class', and half a bushel of apples to any animal who brings him to justice. A full bushel to anyone who captures him alive!"
The animals were shocked beyond measure to learn that even Snowball could be guilty of such an action. There was a cry of indignation, and everyone began thinking out ways of catching Snowball if he should ever come back. Almost immediately the footprints of a pig were discovered in the grass a little distance from the knoll. They could only be traced a few yards, but appeared to lead to a hole in the hedge. Napoleon snuffed deeply at them and proclaimed them to be Snowball's. He gave it as his opinion that Snowball had probably come from the direction of Foxwood farm.
"No more delays, comrades!" said Napoleon when the footprints had been examined. "There is work to be done."