He slammed on the door of the Great Burrow.
Actually, it was not so much a door as a large sheet of aluminum foil the dilloes found years ago. They tugged and pulled together, night after night, until they got it just in lace. Well, actually, it finally stuck and they could not move it anymore, neither in nor out, and they actually had to dig another way out around it, but it looked good, it kept the worst of the rain out of the Burrow and it addition is what made the Great Burrow great, so they were all mostly happy after they added it.
Now, the aluminum sheet was tightly pulled down to the ground and someone, or several someones, held it tight from the inside.
"Let me in, let me in, let me in," the Grand Master hissed in great vain.
"We all appreciate your leadership," a voice hissed back to him.
"Yes, all of us, every one of us," a second voice hissed.
"You lead by example," a third voice came.
"Yes, by example, by word and deed," added yet a final voice.
"Let me back in to my Great Burrow," the Grand Master insisted.
"Not a chance," the first answered.
"It is kind of our Great Burrow now," the second said.
"Go, lead by example," the third told him.
"Just go, ok?" the fourth intoned.
"I see. So, this is the way you want to play it out?" Grand Master asked.
"You have been here too long for any good you are doing. Go, and let us have done with you. Go, for the love of God, go," one of them said. He could not be sure which one was quoting Cromwell, though he recognized Cromwell's benediction to the Long Parliament.
"I see. What if I refuse to go?"
The answer was obvious. He would not be readmitted to the Great Burrow without actual accomplishment. If he could not win the day, he would be doomed to walk the long nights alone.
"I see," he said, but he did not see, and trembled.
He wandered about for awhile, in the gloomy half-dark. He had not expected to face the night again alone, not ever. After awhile, he ended up back at the opening of the Great Burrow, as was the habit of dilloes, and he tried the door again.
Vicious talons ripped at him. Angry voices hissed.
"What did I ever do to you fellows?" he demanded.
"Well, you did make half my family disappear."
"You sent us out to grub for you and yours."
"You increased the grub tax every year for ten straight years."
"You demanded all the nice places in the Great Burrow."
"OK. OK. Let it go," he answered their shouts through the sheet.
"The organization is larger than any one dilloe," he told them. "You have to believe in the organization, the clan. Forgive and forget. Move on."
"We have decided the organization is bigger than any one dilloe," the answered. "We agree with you completely. The organization will survive without you. You have sacrificed your last dilloe-young."
He was unaccustomed to hearing his words thrown back at him. In fact, he was unaccustomed to any response at all. He talked, dilloes listened and tried to determine his latest, oddest directions. Sometimes, he gave oddball directions so they would think him mad and fear him. Sometimes he gave weird instructions, countermanding in the evening what he ordered in the morning so he could watch his subordinates hop about, first one way, then another.
Serious dilloes soon tired of him. He had only the clowns and the job holders left to him. They were, or had been, easier to command.
"Go, deal with the Finity woman," a voice told him.
"Yes, that is your way back into the burrow," another said.
"Good night, I am going to sleep now," said the third.
"I am tired, too," the fourth added. "I have my talons buried in the covering. Even if I fall asleep you are not big enough to get back in here through me. Go away."
He left, not sure where to go.