Hearing a roe deer barking in the wood, I waited for it to show. Still standing there as motionless as possible, something red and bold flickered through the dead grass like a flame. The flame became a dancer. It was a weasel. The tiny predator’s sinewy steps brought it within a few yards of me. Our eyes met.As I stared into its midnight gaze, the little animal’s paws kneaded the ground like a pianist his keys. Wide, pinned-back ears listening to the soundworld beyond my human hear-ken, those clever whiskers sifted the space between us. Smaller than close cousin the stoat, and without the signature black-tipped tail, it’s the weasel’s stunning “couple-colour” that catches the heart, that white throat and underparts contrasting with the rest of its rich