It sometimes happened, too, that she got a wood-pigeon, or a peewit, or a snipe; and once she took an old, full-grown heron. She seized it by the leg and backed with it, drawing it out into deep water, where it drowned.
But the heron tried repeatedly to spit her upon his beak, and in this way she lost one of her eyes.
[XI: TERROR]
In the largest of the old peat-holes with their dark brown water, a single large fish could be seen, in bright sunshine, lying motionless among the rushes under the bank.
From time immemorial it had lived in this bog-pool, and seldom left its waters. A wild duck, carrying pike’s roe among its feathers, had planted it there long ago.
Terror was not quite so big as Grim, but was longer and leaner, with the head and teeth of a shark.
Many a time had she and Grim fallen out with one another, and fought viciously in their struggle for food. The scars left by their bites lay in deep furrows down their flanks, and were covered with colourless scales arranged in spirals and circles.
Of late, however, they had wisely avoided one another, keeping each to her own large pool.
During her first year in the bog, Grim had been followed by several powerful male fish, and a number of younger males swam round about. The second year there were only a few of them left, and in the spring, when the heavens again began to give light and warmth, both she and Terror had been obliged to finish their spawning alone.
Many a happy bridegroom had slipped down their throats; and now, between them, they had cleared the whole bog.