“Now, come with me!” said Bambi’s mother. Bambi looked up. Ronno and Karus had already gone. Mrs. Nettla had also disappeared. Only Marena was still with them. Bambi went with his mother. Marena demurely followed them. All around them there was upheaval, loud cracks, bellowing and thunderclaps. Bambi’s mother stayed calm. She was trembling, just slightly, but she kept her thoughts together. “Bambi, my child” she said, “always stay right behind me. We’ve got to get out of here and across the clearing. But here inside we need to go slowly.”
The bellowing became more hurried. The thunderclaps came ten, twelve times, thrown out from the hands of Him.
“Stop that” said Bambi’s mother. “Don’t run! Once we’ve gone past the clearing then run, run as fast as you can. And Bambi, my child, don’t forget, you shouldn’t pay me any attention once we’ve reached the outside. Even if I fall, pay me no attention ... just keep going, keep going! Do you understand, Bambi?”
His mother made deliberate steps through the booming noise. The pheasants ran in all directions, pressed themselves into the snow, jumped out again, started to run once more. The whole family of the hare jumped here and there, sat down, ran again. No-one spoke a word. There were all exhausted with their fear, crippled by all the bellowing and by the thunderclaps.
Ahead of Bambi and his mother it was getting lighter. Through the cage-work of the bushes shone the clearing. Behind them, getting closer and closer, there were startling bangs that rattled on the tree trunks, the cracking of twigs as they broke, the yells of haha, and hoho!
Now their friend the hare with his two young rushed past close beside them and into the clearing. Bang! Ping! Bam! the thunder crashed. Bambi saw the hare did a somersault as he ran, and fell with his pale belly facing upwards and then just lay there. He twitched a few times, and then he was still. Bambi stood there as if made of stone.
But from behind he heard shouts of, “They’re there! Everyone, just get out!”
A widespread rustling of wings as they hurriedly unfurled, whistling, sobbing, swoosh of foliage, flapping. The pheasants rose up, lifted themselves up almost all at the same time like the straw in a sheaf. The air burst with many thunderclaps, and the muffled impact of the fallen could be heard as they hit the ground, the fine whistling of the survivors rang out as they flew away.
Bambi stopped and looked back. There He was. He was coming out from the undergrowth, here and there and there again. He was appearing everywhere, striking everywhere, damaging the bushes, drumming on the tree trunks and shouting terrifying cries.
“Now!” said his mother. “Straight ahead. And don’t come too close behind me!” With one leap she was out of the woods, so that the snow merely threw up a few flakes. Bambi hurried after her. They were attacked by the sound of thunder from every side. It was as if the Earth had been ripped in half. Bambi saw nothing. He ran. The urge to get away from this tumult had been accumulating, away from the steam of the storm that whipped everything up, from the gathering urgency to flee, the wish to save himself, all these were now unleashed. He ran. It seemed to him that he saw his mother fall, although he did not know whether she really had done. He felt a veil around his eyes. It had been thrown over him by the fear of the thunderclaps, booming all around him, which had now broken out. He was unable to think, unable to see, he ran.