The Unlikeliest

[The Skarzs]

  Welcome to the fanfiction, The Unlikeliest. This was written by a long-time member, Faiyloe, and myself. It started out as a private roleplay, but we expanded the story so much that it became almost a book in itself.
  In it we are putting forth some arguments against some of the things we had not agreed with in the series, subtly and not so subtly. I am not going to explain them outright, but it is in this way that we have created a bit of a headcanon wherein the world, as it goes on in time, will improve and change with the events in this story helping to spark that change.
  If you have any theories or comments, please feel free to leave them here. (I would accept criticism as well, but the story is already complete, and other than small edits we aren't going to change a whole lot. Just don't make it a focus in your replies.)
  Enjoy.

Chapter One

Chapter one

    The trees were bathed in the silver light of the full moon. However, under the thick  cover of the forest, shadows rested across the grass and underbrush, while a single shadow suddenly moved, independent of the others.
    It darted from tree to tree, trying to stay out of the prying light of a small fire lit not far off. Near the crackling wood was a lumpy shape, moving with a slow rhythm: a creature sleeping. A pack of supplies was beneath his head, acting as a pillow, and sticking out of the straps was the handle of a very peculiarly-shaped knife.
    The shadow slowly approached the sleeping creature from behind, crouched low and ready to flee if they stirred. As they got closer the yellow light of the low fire revealed a young ferret girl, dressed in a red tunic and brown vest. She leaned over the sleeping figure. He was an otter, not very old, despite the mature look his strangely deep-set eyes gave him. She noted his slow, even breathing and reached towards the pack beneath his head. She gripped the hilt of the knife and pulled it gently, testing it. There was a soft shif sound as the metal was moved. He didn't stir. She pulled the knife the rest of the way and held it up in the light. It gleamed across the bent curvature of the heavy blade.
     She looked from the blade to the sleeping otter, and then back to the pack which looked full and well stocked. She hesitated for a moment, crouching by the otter's head when the he started to snore. She took a deep breath and tried to reach into the pack. She felt around to see if she could feel any food when the otter shifted, and his snoring became irregular. Quickly withdrawing her paw, she bolted. She stumbled and tripped over a branch and there was a resounding crack as she fell on top of it, snapping it in two.
    The otter awoke with a start, hopping up to his feet almost immediately. "Wot the. . . Hey!" Though his vision was still blurry and his mind muddled with sleep, he managed to notice the ferret and leapt at her, grabbing her by the leg as she tried to scramble up from the ground.  "What're you doing?" he shouted, struggling to get a better hold on her.
    She dropped the big knife and reached out to brace her fall as she hit the earth. She started to writhe and kick to get free as she reached for her own dagger, but she was quickly overpowered by the larger creature and pinned down. He swiftly removed the dagger from her belt, and she went deadly still, squeezing her eyes shut as they filled with tears. 
    Holding the dagger poised to strike, the otter crouched looking down at the ferret. He was about to bring it down on the back of her neck but he faltered. He noticed how scared, how helpless she looked. Pitiful. He lowered the weapon with a sigh.
    "Stop crying, I won't kill you just fer tryin' t' steal somethin'. Mind you, I'm keepin' this, though,"  He stuck the dagger into his belt and patted it meaningfully.
    The ferret raised herself to her elbows, her fright hidden behind a mask of anger, but he could still feel her trembling, "Now what? Yew 'old meh 'ostage or something?" She spoke with a thick northern accent. "Ah've heard what you otters do to vermin like meh. Ah've been everywhere, seen everything."
    "Everywhere, eh?" The larger creature rubbed his chin as he got up. "Have you ever been to the South Stream?"
    "Maybe, maybe not," the ferret said tersely as she sat up. "What's it t' yew?"
    "I'm tryin' to get there," The otter said.
    "And ah should care, why?" She pointed out.
    "Because if you don't. . ." he put his paw on the dagger again, "You aren't getting this back."
    She narrowed her eyes at him and laid her ears back. Then, she bolted. She ran into the trees and disappeared. 
    The otter looked after where she had gone in bewilderment, and rubbed his chin as he looked into the gloom. "Weirdest thing," he mumbled, sitting down and stoking the fire. She may have run off, but that didn't mean she wouldn't come back. So he slouched down and prepared for a restless night.

    The following day, the otter continued his march. As the evening was setting in, he decided it was time to stop once again. He had been travelling for many days, and though he had covered a decent amount of ground, he really had no real idea where he was going other than "south", nor what exactly he was looking for.
    He sat down and grabbed his rudder-like tail, pulling it to his front, and looking at a design tattooed on it. He then took a brass bracelet from his belt, the design on it matching his tattoo perfectly. He stared at both of them for some time, his dark eyes glinting from beneath a set of eyebrows that loomed over them like a canopy. His already intense face went even more grave as he frowned; the markings made no more sense now than they did ten days ago.
    The ferret skulked in the shadows nearby, watching him. She had followed him all day.  Tightening her belt, she looked at the otter's pack woefully; her own was horribly light. She watched him stand up and put his pack down as he began to set up camp. He started a small fire and ate something from his full pack. She stared at it longingly again and licked her dry lips. There was more where that came from. She wondered what he was doing all the way out here.
    Not that it mattered. All she needed was for him to sleep, and she would be able to get some of his food. He was alone, which meant that he had to sleep at some point.
It took nearly an hour, but finally, he was asleep. Even then, she waited for a good half hour just to be sure.
    When she was certain he was properly asleep she approached the camp. Picking up a large rock in both paws, she knelt over the sleeping otter; she wasn't about to take any chances this time. She lifted the rock above her head, about to bring it down on his skull. Her paws shook. She looked down at his peaceful face, completely unaware of the danger. He started to snore again.
    The ferret wavered, then went limp and threw the rock aside. She couldn't do it. Instead, she went over to the other side of the fire and sat down to wait until he woke up. Wringing her paws over and over again she watched him with searching weary eyes until she nodded off to sleep.
    It wasn't until morning that the otter awoke, after the fire was out and the sun was once again brightening the day. He rose and stretched, then nearly jumped out of his fur as he saw the ferret, on the other side of the dead fire, sound asleep.
    He realized that she could have easily tried to pull another stunt like the night before, or even kill him, and he hated himself for being so careless. What should he do? He wondered. Wake her up and shove her on her way again? Force her to show him where the south stream was? He recalled several shrews who would do something like that, or even just kill her outright. Though as he looked at her, curled into a ball, fast asleep, the otter relaxed. She was young, and alone. He remembered the fear in her eyes from the night before. Maybe she could be talked to.
    The otter sighed, and looked to starting his fire again.

    The ferret felt the warm sun on her back and stirred. Then she remembered last night and where she was. She sat bolt upright and looked around frantically. The otter was sitting in front of her across the fire, and was looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite place. Her heart began to race. It took everything in her to keep herself from bolting off again. "He didn't kill yew before, he won't do it now," she told herself. She looked at the ground to keep him from seeing the panic in her eyes. She began talking very quickly.
    "Please do no' 'urt meh. Ah didno' touch any of yewr stuff... least no' this time," she sighed, scratching her head with a dirty paw. She looked up. "Ah want to make a deal. Ah take yew to the South Stream and ah get mah dagger back and yew share yewr food till we get there."
    "That's it, huh?" the otter asked, watching the ferret nod. "Seems a bit loose fer a beast like you. C'mon, what're you hidin'? You didn't agree before."
    The ferret scowled, she glanced at the treeline then at his pack as if trying to decide.
Sighing, the otter reached into his pack and pulled out a somewhat stale biscuit glazed with honey wrapped in cloth, flicking off a couple sugar ants before tossing it to the ferret, who caught it out of the air in a blur of cloth and fur and immediately ate almost the whole thing in one bite.
    "Fl'ppn antsh, s'mine," she mumbled, her mouth full, not sparing any crumbs to drop on the ground and fall prey to the tiny insects.
    The otter watched her with some sympathy. Ferret or no, he could still help a creature in need. Especially if she helped him in return.
    She licked the crumbs and honey from her claws and then looked up at the otter. She cocked her head to the side as she examined him. He was easily two heads taller than her, though not much older. He wore a gray tunic with a belt, including a sword sheathed at his hip. She scratched her ear nervously with a claw as she eyed the other weapon.
    "So. . . why yew, headed to the stream exactly?" she asked.
    "I'm. . . looking for somebeast. I think that's where I'll find them."
    She narrowed her eyes at him but she wasn't about to question him. He had food. She needed that food, one way or another. He was also armed. She was not about to risk him chasing her off if she started asking too many questions. She clambered to her feet, starting off in a southward direction. She paused and looked back at him.
    "Yew just gonna stare at meh? Or do yew no' want meh to show yew where the stream is?" she said.
    "Just like that, huh?" mumbled the otter as he hastily packed up his supplies. "Must really want food." He turned to the ferret. "Alright, hold on, I'm comin'."
    Whether or not the ferret knew where she was taking him, they were at least going south, which was progress. The otter followed her without talking, not feeling at all trusting of his new companion. He had hidden her dagger at the bottom of his pack, and he had both a sword and his big knife, but it wasn't much consolation.
    After a while, they stopped to take lunch, the otter once again having to share his food. When they had finished, they sat for a little while several feet away from each other in silence, looking at nothing in particular but making it a point not to make eye contact. Finally, the otter got tired of the brittle tension and spoke up.
    "Name's Burian." The ferret looked up in surprise. "Well, I don't think you were gonna ask," said Burian. "So. Your turn."
    The ferret stared at him. She had never met a woodlander who bothered to ask her name.
    "Look, do ya want t' be called 'ferret' the whole time we're travellin', or are you gonna give me somethin' t' call you?"
    "Ravax," she said slowly, "Call meh Ravax."
    "Alright, Ravax," said Burian. "That wasn't too hard, was it?" He attempted to avoid any awkward silence by standing up. "We've rested long enough. Let's get goin'."
    Ravax got to her feet, stretched, and then started south again. They walked in silence, Ravax several feet ahead of Burian, though every once in a while she would look back at him. She wasn't sure what to think. He hadn't killed her, and he had had plenty of opportunity to, but it was obvious that he didn't trust her.
    They travelled in this way for some time, not making any more attempts to communicate. At around mid afternoon, they came to a thickly-wooded part of the forest, where the sun's light was was almost blocked off by the thick canopy, only coming down in small patches.
    Burian began noticing some brambles growing around the bases of trees, getting thicker and thicker as they pressed on. Finally, the brambles rose up in front of them like some great living wall, reaching out and clawing at the forest as if it wanted to swallow all the earth. It stretched out as far as they could see on either side, blocking their way and glaring at them menacingly.
    Ravax led Burian parallel with the spiky, inhospitable mess looking for something. Finally, she stopped and went straight to the brambles, pulling away some of them to reveal a small hole into the dark mass.
    "Stick close to meh, and watch out for the brambles," she said, ducking down and crawling in.
    "Hey. . . Ow!" Burian rubbed his arm where a bramble had scratched him as he crouched to follow Ravax. "What're you doin'-Ow!"
    Ravax rolled her eyes. "Ah told you to watch out, yew stupid rudderbum! Now shut yewr trap."
    About ten feet into the brambles it cleared out a little, and there was enough room for Burian to stand up. The brambles rose up high on all sides, curling overhead and choking the sunlight. A few brave trees stood midst the encroaching brambles, trying to reach the light.
    "Once 'id 'ere fer a week," said Ravax, looking around. "Ah know all the paths through this place."
    "How? Look at this place," grumbled Burian, kicking a thorn-covered branch away from his feet. "Why couldn't we go around this?"
    "If we go around it'll take twice as long."
    Burian grimaced. "Fine. Lead on."
    The otter followed the ferret through the winding and overgrown path. All the while, they had to stop to pull thorns from their paws and pick their way around the incessant tendrils that grew across the ground. They were scratched, poked, stabbed, and generally harassed for the next few hours.
    The light suddenly grew very dim within the bramble path, and the darkness surrounded them on all sides. Burian sighed wearily, and took out his big knife to start clearing away some of the brambles on the ground.
    Ravax shifted nervously and glanced behind them as she picked her way around a fallen log that had been overtaken by brambles. She let out a shriek as a fox sprung up from behind a thick knot of thorns and clobbered her to the ground. She fell onto a mat of brambles and screamed.
    Burian was so surprised that he didn't notice a stoat come swiftly up behind him and jump on him, knocking him down. The otter rolled over, giving the stoat a strong kick to his jaw which sent him sprawling. Both got up quickly, the stoat wobbling on his feet from Burian's attack as he held a long, curved knife. The two sized each other up for a moment, the stoat nervously looking at Burian's drawn weapon. With a desperate lunge, he threw himself at the otter once again, but was swiftly cut down with a slash through the neck by the cold, keen edge of Burian's knife.
    Ravax thrashed and kicked as she reached for her dagger. A string of curses erupted from her mouth when she remembered that she didn't have it. The fox grabbed her by the shoulders and smashed her head into the thorn-covered ground. A sharp pain erupted in the back of her head as her vision flashed white for a moment, and she stopped flailing.
    "I see ye added some new werd's t' yer vocabulary," The fox said his lips parting in a large sneer.  Ravax blinked and looked at him in dazed confused.
    "Yew?" She muttered. Then her vision cleared, the sharp pain in her back bringing her to her senses. She ripped at his face with outstretched claws. He let out a howl and let go of her to cover his face. Ravax kneed him hard in the stomach before he had a chance to recover and scrambled out from under him, her back covered in scratches.
    Burian looked up from the dead stoat just in time to see Ravax scrambling away from the fox.  The fox stood up, holding his face and his stomach, looking with one eye at the two creatures.
    Burian drew his sword and pointed it at head level, looking gravely at him.
    "You'll leave if you don't want t' end up like yer friend," he said. "I've killed enough creatures today."
    Call glared at Ravax and then spat on the ground. "Why ya 'elpin' 'im?" He asked. Ravax looked back at him wide eyed, and her knees felt weak.   
    "Why were you attacking us?" interrupted Burian. Call glanced at Burian and then looked back a Ravax a smirk on his face.
    "Look at ya, Sunk so low as t' be working wit' 'is kind I-,"
    "Shut up, shut up Call!" Ravax snapped, clenching her fists against her head. "Last time ah saw yew yew left meh for dead in a ditch, so do as he says and get out of here or ah'll no' stop him if he tries to kill yew," She cried, tears running down her face.
    "You got three seconds, fox!" warned Burian, drawing back his sword. "One. . . Two. . ."
    Call growled and dashed off through the brambles before Burian could get to "three", leaving the other two alone in the deathly silence, staring off after where the fox disappeared.
    After a little while, Burian wiped his sword on the dead stoat's clothes before sheathing it again.  Then he turned to Ravax. "You knew that fox."
    Ravax was still shaking. She took a deep breath."We. . . Ah traveled with him before... till he tried to kill meh..." She said. She gingerly touched the back of her head and wince as her paw came away with blood. She glanced over at Burian and the dead stoat and shuddered.
    "Come on, I do no' wan't t' stay 'ere no more," She said starting off again down the path. Her stomach was beginning to tell her it was high time they stop to eat, but she wanted to get as far away from that place as she could. She kept moving with a dogged persistence, peering into the dark as she recklessly pressed on.
    "Hey, ferr- Ravax!" Burian caught up to her and caught her by the shoulder. "C'mon, yer gonna wear yourself ragged. Besides, it's too dark t' keep goin'."
    Ravax jumped and whirled around. She could barely make him out in the dim light.
". . . Yer right. . ." She said and slumped back against a tree.
    Burian tried looking at his paw, which felt wet, but he couldn't see anything. He licked his paw, and drew back in surprise. "You're bleeding."
    Ravax winced as the bark of the tree rubbed against the scratches on her back from the thorns. "Ah've had worse."
    Burian took off his pack and felt through it for a clean cloth. "Here."
    Ravax hesitantly took the cloth, and put it behind her head for padding.
    ". . . Yew got anything t' eat left?" She asked.
    "Some. . . But with both of us eatin', it's gonna go fast." The otter gave Ravax some food, then took an equally small portion out for himself. "We'll have to ration."
    "Great," Ravax muttered under her breath as she took her food. "Ah go along with this otter for food and he doesn't want to share."
    "What was that?" asked Burian.
    "Nuthing,"
    The otter shrugged, closing up his pack again. He cleared away as much brambles as he could and used his pack as a pillow He gazed up through the tangled mass of brambles above them which covered the small, empty patch they were resting in.
    Ravax curled up on the ground but she watched Burian warily. She couldn't get the image of the weasles dead corpse out of her head, the weasles blood coating Burians blade. She shuddered and hugged her tail to her chest. It was a long time until she could finally sleep, and when she did it was restless and disjointed.
    The next morning, they were both up a short time before the sun rose. They ate a frugal breakfast.
    "When'll we be out o' this mess?" asked Burian. "Seems like it goes on forever."
    "Today," Ravax said, gingerly climbing over some low brambles and unhooking her tunic from the thorns.
    They continued walking along the thin path for a few hours more, the thorny foliage treating them no kinder than the day before. As they went on, it seemed like the plants were newer, and growing strong, and thicker. The path got thinner, more and more constricted, until they came upon a spot where there where brambles left no room to move on all sides, with no apparent way forward. Ravax stood looking around her with a concerned look on her face.
    "What's wrong?" asked Burian, trying to remove the branches clinging to him. He couldn't even stand up straight. "Where do we go now?"
    "Ah . . . don't know," said the ferret, biting her lip. "Ah was sure it was this way . . . It must've grown over since ah was here last."
    Burian broke away some brambles angrily. "So we're stuck here? We have to go all the way back through the hell we've already gone through? Good job, ferret."
    Ravax shrunk back but the thorns stopped her. "It's no' mah fault. They grew. Ah can no' control that,"
    Burian pushed Ravax aside and drew his sword. "I ain't stayin' in here any more! So shut up and stay back!"
    The otter started hacking ferociously at the brambles, debris flying everywhere. He followed the almost nonexistent path, cutting an opening for them through the dark plants, while sweat dripped off his nose. His breath came ragged from his throat, and the sword grew heavier. Finally, when he thought he could go no further, Burian saw through the branches some clear ground, and the green light of grass, and he redoubled his efforts with a roar, hacking, cutting, slicing, and chopping until they popped through their thorny prison like an arrow from a bow.
    Burian sheathed his sword and fell face first on the ground, finally free of the brambles. "I don't wanna go back in there. . ." he mumbled.
    Ravax gingerly climbed out of the brambles, the light shining through trees as the foliage began to thin out. She looked at Burian's exhausted form on the ground as she carefully stepped around him.
    Burian rolled over and sat up, looking around him. They had come out near the edge of a forest, where tall grass grew between the dark brambles behind them and the expanse of trees.
    He opened his pack and took a swig of water from his canteen before digging around for some food.
    ". . . Great" he muttered.
    "Hey? What's the matter, rudderbum?"
    Burian ignored the name and showed her his open sack. "We're almost out of food. But now that we're out of that. . . that. . . hell, we can look for some more food."
    Ravax sighed and then shrugged, "Fine, we can split up. Meet yew back 'ere in a few." She headed off into to the trees in search of some food. She considered running and leaving Burrian, but she didn't like the idea of being in the same forest as Call without a knife to defend herself.
    She stopped walking when she noticed something moving in the tall grass. Ravax's face lit up when she recognized it. She ran at it yelling and waving her arms, and a mass of panicked feathers and squawking flew off into the air and perched in a tree. Ravax went over to where the bird had been and found its nest snuggled in the tall grass, with three large eggs nestled close together in the down. A big grin spread across her face as she took one in each paw. The bird shrieked and called from its place in the tree, still too afraid to return to its nest.
    Ravax quickly made her way back to the meeting place before the mother could build up the courage to come after her.
    Meanwhile, Burian had been walking around the edge of the forest until he came upon a patch of raspberries. What luck! he thought as he gathered them up into a burlap sack he had. From there, he found some mushrooms and a couple wild onions, but after that, nothing. He wasn't completely disappointed, but he did wish he could have found more. When they got to the stream he would be sure to fish.
    He made his way back to where he started, finding Ravax already there with a little fire and a wide flat rock atop it. "Hey, what did you . . ." He stopped when he saw what she was cooking.  "You . . .  Whaddya think yer doin'? Those're eggs!"
    Ravax tensed. "Course they're eggs," she said. "They're good food."
    "Wh . . . You . . . You can't eat eggs! Birds laid 'em! It's like eating a bird. Can't you 'ave somethin' else?"
    Ravax gave him a perplexed look. "Yew eat fish, fish lay eggs, what's tha difference?"
    Burian opened his mouth, then closed it; he could say nothing to that. To think his morals just got turned upside down by a ferret. "I ain't sharin' my food if yer so set on eatin' those things," he said.
    Ravax pouted. "But eggs are good. Only thin' better than eggs es wine," she said.
    "Since when've you made wine?" grunted Burian. Then he slapped a paw to his face. "Ohh, wait, don't tell me. . . You haven't needed to make it yourself. . ."
    Ravax rolled her eyes.  "Do no' need to make it when yew can just borrow it. . . So are yew still no' sharing?"
    "Well, I don't want none o' your food." He sighed. "Fine. I've got some berries, mushrooms, an' onions. What d'you want?"
    Ravax looked at what he had and then back at her eggs. "Nah," she said finally "I have enough." She wasn't even sure why she said it. She was always hungry and had never turned down free food before, but for some strange reason, which she couldn't understand, he was refusing to eat the eggs.
    The two ate the rest of their meals in silence before putting the fire out and setting out again. Ravax lead on and finally broke the silence.
    "What do yew call that big knife? Never seen anything like it before."
    "'Not yours'."
    Ravax gave Burian a withering look. The otter grinned. "It's called a kukri. It's from somewhere in the southern lands. Traded it for a cloak and small knife from an old searat."
    "Kukri." Ravax sounded the word out. "So. . . Why 'zactly yew lookin' fer this person? An' how d' yew know yew'll find 'em at the South Stream?" she asked.
    "I. . . don't know," he said.
    "Yew what?"
    Burian couldn't help but laugh in spite of himself. "See, I'm not even sure myself. Some time back I came across a rat who 'ad this bracelet." He indicated the brass band which was slipped around his belt. "See that mark? It matches a tattoo on my tail. I, uhh. . . asked him where he got it, and he said from 'round the south stream. That's all I've got t' go on."
    She looked apprehensively at Burian then at the bracelet with interest. "There is an' 'olt near 'ere. They might be able t' elp yew. . . but yew're no' gettin me t' go there, no matter 'ow much food yew offer me," she said. She hesitated a moment then added "But Ah kin take yew close if yew give meh that bracelet with mah knife."
    Burian shook a claw at her. "Not until I see this holt. Then we c'n talk about bargaining. You've gotten me this far, but we ain't friends."
    "I'm no' taken yew any farther till Ah get a deal. I am willin' to bet yew do no' know where yew are, and ah doubt yew kin find yer way back tha way we came without meh." Ravax smirked, folding her arms. "Now, ef yew do no' want t' be stranded and lost out 'ere ah would rethink yer offer."
    "I'm never lost," grunted Burian. "I've been wanderin' for seasons, so a few more days lookin' up and down the stream ain't gonna hurt me."
    Ravax scowled. "We still made a deal," she huffed.
    "The deal was you take me to th' stream. I don't see any stream, so you ain't seein' a knife."
    "Fine," she muttered.
    They continued on through the forest. Soon a dull roaring could be heard, and Burian stopped to listen. With a laugh, he rushed past Ravax and broke through the bushes to see. The Great South Stream flowed before him, rushing by with unstoppable force.
    The otter pulled off his pack and tunic, jumping in the water as Ravax came out of the forest.
    Ravax stopped by the bank and scowled at him. "What are yew doing?"
    Burian drank some of the stream. "Swimming!"
    Ravax jumped back with a howl that sounded like some pitiful wounded thing as Burian sent a wave of water in her direction, drenching her. She held her arms out and stood there cringing and dripping, her fur clinging to her in wet patches.
    "Why'd yew do that?" she yelled.
    Burian leaned back in the water. "Come on, don't be such a wimp, it's just water," he said with a kick, splashing in her direction. Ravax coughed and sputtered, and scampered back to the edge of the trees where she stood glowering at him.
    Burian was glad to be back in the water; it had been a very long time. He laid down on the stream bank and let the sun's rays dry him.
    He looked over at Ravax who was looking very miserable under the shade of trees. "Come on, you'll dry off faster in the sun. I ain't gonna splash you no more."
    Ravax inched out from under the tree just enough so that the sun shone on her. "Flippin' rudderbum," she grumbled. "'Tain't nat'ral for a beast t' get wet."
    They both dried off in the slowly fading sunlight, Burian putting his clothes back on. He stood up straight and asked, "How far?"
    Ravax scowled at him. "Ah'm no' telling till ah get mah dagger back, that was the deal"
    ". . . Alright. Guess there ain't much need for me to keep it no more." He found the dagger and held it out to her. Ravax scooted closer and snatched the dagger from him before he could change his mind. She tucked it in its sheath and then looked back at him questioningly. For some reason she had been expecting more resistance. She quickly looked at the ground "Thank yew," she muttered. Finally she added "The holt's two miles that way," and pointed upstream.
    Burian looked where Ravax had pointed, then back at her. "You not coming?"
    "If yew were meh, would yew want to go near a bunch of bloodthirsty pike-throwin' rudderbums 'o like ta use movin' targets t' practice on?"
    "I suppose not," Burian said with a smile. His smile faded as he looked back upstream. "Guess this is it." He undid his belt and slipped the bronze bracelet off of it. He handed it to Ravax, dropping it in her paws as she looked at him dumbly. "What?" he asked. "I'm goin' home. I don't need it. Suppose it's a gift for helpin' me."
    Why was he being so nice to a ferret? He asked himself.
    Ravax looked the bracelet over with confusion. "No one's ever given meh a gift before," she said softly.
    "Yer makin' this awkward. Maybe don't think of it as a gift. How about payment?"
    She nodded and slipped it on her wrist.
    "There." Burian picked up his belongings and shouldered the pack. Turning to Ravax, he extended a formal paw. "Guess we won't be seein' each other no more. Hope th' path ahead o' ye is sunny an' quiet."
    Ravax shook the offered paw, saying nothing in return, then watched as Burian turned about and walked upstream, not looking back. Ravax watched until he disappeared. She was about to turn and head in the other direction when a paw clamped over her mouth and a foul smelling rag was pressed to her nose. She struggled and kicked but her mind was beginning to fill with fog. She soon stopped thrashing. It was all she could do to stay standing. She was turned around and through her blurred vision she saw a familiar fox. . .

[close]

[The Grey Coincidence]

Yay! I've been waiting for this! Or at least the concept of this that you mentioned a couple of times before.
And you did not disappoint! I know a lot happened in this one chapter- but somehow it felt slow. Not in a bad way per say, it's just elegant in a relaxing way? That probably makes no sense.
I like Ravax already, and you (I suppose I ought to say that this is plural) gave her a convincing accent too. Burian also seems decently interesting (or at least, as decent as this only being the first chapter would allow him to be). And you've left us on a cliffhanger. Very nice.
I also like the scene with the eggses. Underlines the cultural differences rather well methinks.
Looking forwards to more.

[The Skarzs]

Thanks!
That tends to be the way I write, leading up to the climax rather than getting a whole bunch of action at once. Draw the reader in with soothing words then hit them in the face. (At least, that's what I hope.)

You may be able to tell the different writing styles. It shows sometimes.

[The Grey Coincidence]

Yeah, pretty effective (although a part of me also wants to say "I'd like to see you *try* and hit me!")
To be fair I haven't read either of your writing before now so I'm probably not going to be the best at playing 'spot the difference'. Perhaps I'll try though...

[Cornflower MM]

This is a really cool opening chapter, nice! I can definitely see some parts Faiy wrote and some parts that you did. I forget where it is, but somewhere in there one of you referred to weasels as "weasle" twice in a row. Other than that, it looks good. I'm looking forward to reading the rest!

[The Skarzs]

I saw that.

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

     Burian walked along the river, all the while wondering what could lay ahead of him. He didn't like getting excited, but the young otter couldn't help but feel energetic about finding the holt. For the first time in his life, he would be around other otters, his family! Maybe he would miss roaming; maybe he would have chances to do so in the future, but the difference was he would have a place to come back to.
     Eventually, he could hear sounds that weren't forest sounds, like birds or wind. It was splashing . . . and voices. Burian stopped dead in his tracks for a moment before hesitantly moving forward again. Where had his original excitement gone? As he moved even closer, and the sounds became clearer, he was creeping along as quietly as he could.
     He came across one last rise of rocks and roots, and he climbed up as silently as a spider did on its own web. At the top, Burian peeked over, and saw the source of the sounds.
     Several young otters were playing with a ball in the water, many of them very small, with others, fully grown, on the bank watching them and engaging in other activities. Burian had never seen so many otters in one place before, and he raised himself over to get a better look. As he did so, however, one of the otter kits kicked the ball out of the water, and it landed at the base of the rise Burian was on. Two of them ran after it, and he stayed perfectly still lest they see him move.
     "Betcha I can run fasta dan you!" said a tiny otter kit.
     "No fair! No fair! You always faster than me!" cried the other, a much chubbier one.
     The small one reached the ball first, and held it above her head. "Hee hee! Got it! Race you back to tha rivva!"
     "Don' wanna! You always win." The chubby one sat down on a river stone. "Besides, I'm tired."
     Burian tried to slowly lower himself back out of sight, but couldn't help but smile at the two babies as they went back and forth. Sticking out her tongue at him, the small female one danced around the other. "I'm fasta dan you, I'm fasta dan you! I'm gonna climb dis fast fast!"
     She shot up the rocky lump like an arrow, and Burian ducked down as quickly as he could, but from the shriek she made, he could tell it wasn't fast enough for her to miss him.
     "What is it? What's wrong?" an older voice called out to her.
     She peeked timidly over the small hill at Burian, who looked back at her with a nervous smile. "Iz a funny otter wiv hats on his eyes!" she yelled back.
     "What do you mean? Kelece, get over here! Rurron, go look to see who's there. If it's vermin . . ."
     "Ha harr, no need to worry! Been a while since I've 'ad a fight."
     The little otter Kelece moved out of sight, and Burian raised his head just in time to see a lithe male otter coming towards him with a javelin in paw, and he ducked as he vaulted over the rise and landed at Burian's side. Burian drew his sword and held it poised to strike, looking at Rurron from under his eyebrows, unsure if it would really come to blows.
     Rurron stood up straight and raised his paws. "Ho ho, put up that carver, matey! Ain't no reason fer a fight; we're all otters 'ere!"
     "You would have fought me if I were a vermin," said Burian, relaxing only slightly.
     The other nodded. "Oh, sure, probably, but vermin is vermin and otters is otters!" He moved the tip of Burian's sword out of the way with a claw and placed his paw on his shoulder. "Whatcha doin' scarin' little ones like that? That ain't the way mateys introduce themselves. This is how:" He offered his paw. "I'm Rurron."
     Burian gripped the paw. "Burian. Sorry about that. . . I-I wasn't sure if I should just walk up or somethin'."
     "I'll introduce you." Rurron started walking around the lump of ground straight through the water, cupping a paw to his mouth. "It's alright, it's a friend!"
     Burian followed behind the taller otter, watching as others began to come towards them, all friendly-faced and welcoming. The surrounding reception made Burian's head spin, and he found himself shaking paws without realizing it, saying hello to one creature as he was turned to another. Little ones clung to his legs, including the tiny Kelece, and he couldn't move at all.
     Finally he was saved from suffocating in the crowd of otters by a voice which called out over the others. "Leave th' poor beast alone, or ye might be sayin' goodbye to 'im instead o' hallo!"
   A very large otter moved the others aside, finding his way to Burian and clasping his shoulders. "Welcome to Holt Riverdale!" he boomed. "I'm Rurrock, skipper o' this holt. What's yer name, matey?"
   "Burian, Rurrock, sir," said the other as he released his shoulders to grip Burian's paw. "Good to meet you."
   "Same here, matey!" He turned his head and called out to a female otter. "Tallia, dear! What do you think of our new friend?"
   "'E looks a bit thin t' me," said the other.
   Several otters burst out laughing, and Rurrock put a paw around Burian's shoulders, bringing him towards the holt opening. "Can't argue with the missus; you look famished! It's gettin' late, and we've got some shrimp 'n 'otroot soup heatin' up inside. C'mon and eat and tell yer story!"
   Burian was ushered into the cozy holt, answering many questions and comments pointed at him, and somehow finding his way into a side room where his supplies were put in a corner and he was sat down with a bowl of steaming soup in one paw and a pair of biscuits in the other.
   Rurrock and his wife Tallia pushed the other curious otters away and sat down on stools opposite his. "'Bout time ye got some room. Well, Burian, if ya want I c'n tell a bit about us 'n then you can tell us about you."
   "Yes please," said Burian. "Go ahead."
   Rurrock smiled cheerily. "Well, to start off, I've lived at this holt my entire life. Son 'o the skipper, born t' be the next skipper, just like my son Rurron, who ye've met. Allus been the tradition o' Riverdale. Anyways, Tallia 'ere is from a different holt that moved to join us when I first started as skipper, and we've helped each other so much we're all one big holt now, though every now and then we lose a soul to vermin, or sickness. Overall, though, I've been able to lead a pretty peaceful life."
   Burian nodded, raising a spoonful of soup to his mouth. His eyes bulged under his brows after he swallowed. "Whooo!"
   "Wot's the matter, matey?" laughed Rurrock. "Ain't never tried 'otroot before?"
   "No, I haven't. But I think I like it." He grinned.
   Rurrock threw his head back for another uproarious round of laugher. "So ye are an otter after all!"
   "If nothing else, we know you haven't been around otters very much," said Tallia, pulling a pawful of hotroot pepper out of her apron pocket and eating it. "Ain't no 'otter to an otter, matey."
   "Well, I plan on sticking around," said Burian after another mouthful of soup and biscuit. "I'm thinking this might be where my parents are from."
   "Why d'you say that?" asked Tallia. "Recognize anyone?"
   ". . . No, but I came across a rat who had a bracelet-" he suddenly remembered he gave it to Ravax as he patted where it was supposed to be. ". . . Which had an engraving which matches a tattoo on my tail I've had for as long as I can remember. The rat said 'e got it from the South Stream, here. So I travelled until I found a holt along the stream. I was startin' to believe the rat was lying for a little while, until my guide said it was true."
   The two other otters looked at each other, then Rurrock stood up. "Let's see the tattoo, then, Burian. We might be able to 'elp ya."
   Burian stood up and pulled his tail around to his front, showing the tattoo to the skipper and his wife, a mark of lines halfway up his rudder. They both studied it for a short time before leaning back.
   "Not sure what to tell you, mate, but I ain't never seen that before." Rurrock held up his paws as Burian's face fell. "But there's somebeast 'o might've! Oi, Marissa!" he called to a pretty female otter who was walking past the door. "Go find ol' Torev and bring 'im 'ere."
   A little while after Marissa ran off, she came back supporting a much older otter with her arm. He walked slowly into the room, peering at Burian through a pair of tiny glasses perched on his snout.
   "'O's the serious lookin' one, eh, Rurrock? Young 'un 'as eyebrows that'd make a willow tree jealous."
   Marissa covered her mouth as she giggled, and Tallia shot her a glance as she scolded the old otter. "Torev, yew fogey, what kind o' hospitality is that, insultin' a guest?"
   "Aah, 'e looks like 'e c'n take a jab or two," said the other, pulling up a stool from the side of the room and sitting right in front of Burian, studying his face closely. "So, why d'ya need an ol' fogey like Torev, eh?"
   "'E has this mark on 'is tail." Rurrock pointed at the tattoo. "Sez 'e thinks it has somethin' to do with where he was born from . . . what was it, a bracelet?"
   Burian showed Torev the tattoo. "Do you recognize it, sir?"
   The old otter rubbed his scraggly chin as he looked at the mark, then back up at his face. "You look a lot like your father," he said softly. "Aye, I recognize the mark; same mark that your father bore on his tail."
   Burian's jaw dropped, but he didn't say anything.
   "Hold on, Torev, what're you goin' on about?" said Rurrock, leaning forward.
   "If ye'll be quiet an' listen I'll tell yew," said Torev. "Many years ago, we 'ad a small group of otters from a different holt happen upon Riverdale, 'ere. The skipper o' that holt was named Harrana of house Mortec, if my memory serves me right, an' 'e asked if'n he could stay here for a short while. That was when your father was still Skipper, Rurrock.
   "They stayed nearly a season, and in that time Harrana fell in love with one of th' otters o' this holt, named Margaret. When he left, Harrana took her with him, and they travelled downstream. For a few seasons, we had some communication between th' two holts, and it sounded like they were doin' well in their new home. But suddenly. . . there was silence. For a long time there weren't neither hide nor tail o' any otter from house Mortec, and several of us went to find 'em."
   Torev leaned his chin on his cane and closed his eyes. "The Mortec holt was no more. They were all dead, lyin' about in the holt, wherever they stopped movin'. Unless they were all choked to death, we figure they died o' some plague or sickness. Not much we could do if they still 'ad sickness in 'em, unless we wanted to get it too. So we blocked up the entrance again and never went back. For all the summers since then, I thought the Mortec line was ended."
   "So. . . My whole family is. . . dead?"
   Torev looked over his glasses at the apprehensive Burian. "Maybe not all of 'em. You're here, an' that means somebeast saved you from whatever fate took the rest of 'em. So it's possible they're still alive as well."
   Burian searched the floor for answers he couldn't find. "But then, where did they go afterwards? I was raised by water voles, and don't remember anything before then."
   The other shrugged. "I don't have all the answers, young 'un."
   There was a time of silence, with a couple of sniffles from Marissa, who was still standing near the door. Burian pressed his forehead into his paws, staring blankly between his feet, the bowl of hotroot and river shrimp soup forgotten on the sandy floor of the holt cave, as Torev's story whizzed through his mind like a leaf caught in a storm. This wasn't his home; it wasn't where he came from. His family was dead, and he was saved from sharing their demise by a beast he wasn't sure was even alive anymore, and left in a place far north of where he came from.
   "How far south was the Mortec holt?" Burian asked finally.
"Several miles, but like I said, we blocked up the entrance."
   "Then I'll open it up."
   "What use would it be?" Marissa said. "It was seasons upon seasons ago! There's nothing left, Burian. I'm sorry. Why don't you stay here, with us? You can make friends. . ."
   What she said was true, but something in Burian's mind wouldn't let him rest. "Perhaps. But I can't. I might come back, but for now. . . I just need to see for myself."
   Rurrock grunted. "I'm sorry to hear about what happened to yore kin, Burian. 'Fraid I don't remember yer father, but I do remember 'is wife's sisters, an' one of 'em's still here! C'mon."
   Burian followed Rurrock out of the room, mumbling a thank you to Marissa, who said something sympathetic about his loss. They went down the hall until the holt cave opened up into a larger room with dozens of otters about, lying on ledges sleeping, sitting and talking, wrestling, and doing any number of activities.
     One otter was playing a game with sticks and stones with four otter kits on the floor, one of them being Kelece, who looked up at him and pointed.
     "Look, mummy, it's da new otter wiv funny eyebrows!"
     "Yeh, his mummy pulled them over his eyes when he was naughty," said the little male beside her.
     "No, it's because he made mean faces too many times, and his face got stuck!"
     "Phoo! Where'd you hear that?"
     "Mum tol' me!"
     "No she diddent!"
     "Did!"
     "Didn't!"
     "Enough!" barked their mother, and they all looked dutifully back to their game. She stood up and shook her head with a rueful smile. "Kits! So thoughtless sometimes. Anyhow, nice to meet you! What's your name?"
     "Anisa, this is your nephew Burian," said Rurrock. "Margaret's son."
     Anisa put a paw over her mouth, her eyes very wide as she looked at Burian's face. "M-Margaret's son? But how. . . ?" She touched his brows. "Your father had brows like that too. . . Margaret always joked that it's what made him handsome. But then they both. . ."
There were tears in her eyes, and so Burian turned away. "I'm sorry . . . I must be bringing up some bad memories."
     "No, you've made me happy!" said Anisa, wiping at her eyes. "It's like I have a part of her back again. Something to remind me there's always hope."
     There was some time of silence, then Kelece popped up, as if from nowhere, to grab Burian's paw. "I haf a cousin!"
     "Cuzzin?"
     "Boreein is our cousin!"
     Anisa's four children scrambled about Burian, two of them hanging on his paws, while the other two clung to his legs. Rurrock roared with laughter as Burian walked around toting the four giggling kits, who held on doggedly. Finally, Anisa held up a pawful of candied chestnuts, and the group quickly forgot about their play-thing with the promise of sweets as they chased after their mother.
Burian sat down. "Whoo! Wouldn'ta thought little tikes like them'd tire out a beast like that."
     "Aye, that they do," said Rurrock with a grunt as he too sat down. "I remember Rurron and Marissa bein' like that."
     "Still wantin' t' go back t' th' Mortec Holt, Burian?" asked Tallia. "I'm sure your cousins would like you to stay. We all would."
     Burian sighed. "Aye, I know. And it's not like I don't wanna stay, but like I said, I just need to see for myself. But I won't be leavin' till tomorrow."
     "C'mon then, I'll show yew where ye'll sleep," said the skipper.

***

     When Ravax's head finally cleared she found herself being half-dragged, half-marched through the forest, her paws bound in front of her as she stumbled along. Then she remembered what happened. She bucked and tried to wriggle free but the fox grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, turned her around, and slammed her against a tree. She let out a painful gasp as the wind was partially knocked out of her, and her wounds were opened again.
     "Cal!" she croaked as she fought to regain her breath.
     "Shudup," Cal snapped and yanked Ravax back up and dragged her forwards, stumbling through the brush as branches of bushes and vines slapped at her arms and legs.
     "Why?" she finally managed to say.
     "You know tha drill, 'is lordship wants more fighters. Now be good an ye might get some food and a warm place t'sleep outta thes," Cal growled. By this point Ravax could hear the muted sound of talking with the occasional shout or insult of an irritated creature followed by a scuffle or more insults. They came out of the trees into a large clearing with tents and campfires set up all throughout, and vermin of all kinds milling around. A group sitting with a large stoat glanced up at Ravax as she passed and they began to jeer at Cal.
     "Ehy, izzat all ye could find, she looks a bit small. Doubt Jarral 'll be pleased with ya," the stoat taunted. Cal spat in the stoats directed.
     "Stuff et Urgat, yew ain't done no better," Cal said before doubling his pace, pushing Ravax ahead of him, "Come on yew," he said giving her another shove, but she wasn't listening anymore. She had gone stiff at the name Jarral, and her stomach felt as if it had filled with holes as she tried to halt her forward motion.
     "No, no, no, no," she protested desperately.
     "Stop squirming yew," Cal snarled as he clamped down on the back of her neck and practically knocked her off her feet as he dragged her towards the large tent in the middle of the camp. Somebeast walked out of the tent, and she was dumped at his feet. Ravax froze, staring at the creature's boots, too afraid to look up.
     "Found this un in tha woods, my lord. Might need a bit of a beating ta convince 'er but she'll come 'round," snickered Cal.
     "Get her up, and let me look at her," the other said. Ravax was dragged to her feet. She found herself face to face with a stunted weasel, no taller than Ravax, though somehow this only made him more intimidating. A look of recognition lit up his dark, intelligent eyes and his face contorted into a snarl. "It's you! You came back."
     "Jarral!" Ravax tried to pull away but she felt Cal's paws clamp down on her shoulders
     "You have no idea how much I've wanted to wring your traitorous little neck. Though I suppose a quick death is too good for you." Jarral grabbed her by the muzzle and forced her to look at him. "What do you think? Should I have your tattling mouth sewn shut before I have you tied to a stone and thrown in the river? Did you ever get over that fear of water you have?" Ravax looked back at him, eyes wide with terror. Then Jarral let go with a look of contempt and turned back to his tent. "Cal, tie her up somewhere until I decide."
     Cal began to drag her off as she kicked and struggled.
     "Please, Cal, we were mates, yew can't do this," she begged as he tied her to a tree.
     "We ain't never been mates," Cal snapped as he roughly knotted the rope tight and left her alone to think about her fate. Ravax struggled in her bonds, the rope rubbing against her skin, but it was no use. There was no escape.

***

   Jarral's tent was the largest in the camp; it was also the only tent that afforded furniture. A lantern hung from a hook and illuminated the space. A lavish rug graced the floor making the bare ground seem almost civilized. A bed of pillows and blankets stood off to one side, while near the back of the tent stood a table with a map spread out on top of it. One corner of the map was held down by a stack of books and the other three by the hilt of a knife, a candle holder, and an inkwell.
     Jarral went over to this and sat down, leaning over the map and running a claw along the fresh lines that had been drawn on it. He traced his claw along the path to a black "x" in the middle of Mossflower, and then to the red dot on the edge of the forest.
   The tent flap opened and light filtered in from outside. Jarral tensed and placed a paw on the dagger that rested on the table, but he did not turn around.
   "I came t' report, m' lord," Cal said. Jarral turned around to look at the fox as he stood rigidly just inside the tent.
   "Well, report."
   "Ravax 'as been restrained, I know 'ow important she is t' ya and I wanted t' make sure et was t' yer aproval," Cal said. Jarral pursed his lips and looked at the fox hard before nodding.
   "I will take a look. I have decided what to do with her, and she should know what her actions have brought upon her," Jarral said, brushing past Cal as he strode out into the afternoon sunlight. He crossed the clearing with Cal scuttling along behind and came to loom over the trussed-up Ravax.
   "Come to gloat?" Ravax spat.
   Jarral looked down his nose at her. "Listen carefully, ferret. I have decided to give you a choice: You can continue to defy me, in which case you will die in the most horrible way imaginable, or you can swear loyalty to me and all you will lose is your paw." He leaned down to meet her horrified gaze, and she drew back and looked away. "I will give you some time to think it over." He righted himself and then turned away. "I will expect an answer by sundown." 
   As Jarral said this, a scout came running up. "Lord Jarral! I have news." Jarral looked up as the scout approached.
   "Speak."
   "I found an otter holt, a big 'un, a ways up the river. I watched 'em fer a while, but they didn't see me none. You wanted to know of any creatures we found, so I came back t' report."
   Jarral looked back at Ravax but she looked away. He then pulled the scout aside. "How far would you say this holt is from our present location?"
   "'Bout 'alf a day's journey, if the whole army goes. I was able t' do it in half that time, though."
   "Good. You're relieved," Jarral said, waving the scout off. He then began to walk back towards his tent, gesturing for Cal to follow. "Cal. I would like you to. . ."

     Ravax shifted uncomfortably in her bonds as the two walked out of earshot. They had mentioned a holt, Burian was at a holt. Not that she could do anything about it now.
   "Got yerself into another fine mess, Ravax," said a voice to her left. "Never could stay outta trouble, coulja?"
   Ravax started and turned her head, seeing an older ferret appear in the fading light from behind a tree. He was a grizzled fellow, with gray fur and sunken eyes, but what caught Ravax's eye was his missing right arm, the stub hidden under a loose sleeve.
   "Why'd ye come back?"
   Ravax looked at him as if she was seeing a ghost. "Mank? Y-yewr no' dead?" was all she managed to say. 
   "Not sure whether t' thank you or curse you for it, but yes," Mank said.
   "Well ah wish ah had never warned yew of that damned coup," Ravax said, her shock turning to anger.
   "If ya hadn't, Jarral might not've just taken my arm. Looks like 'e'll take yer paw now. Hah, he's got a new thing fer takin' limbs now, 'specially ones that ya really need! How'm I supposed t' fight with my right arm gone!" He held up the stub.
   "Yew asking meh? Ah won't be good for anything if ah can't steal anymore, an' ah can't do that without mah paws. Now are yew going to just sit there an moap, or are yew going to do somthing useful?"
   Mank wrapped his one arm around his middle. "An' what could I do, eh? I ain't leader no more. Got the lowest place in th' horde, and gettin' too old t' keep goin' on like this."
   "Well ah don't wan't yewr problems, ah got enough of mah own. Don't yew have anything better to do?" Ravax snapped. 
   The older ferret hung his head slightly and turned around, but stopped. "Don't have nothin' better t'do with my life no more. Got away with murderin', stealin' an' all manner o' bad things. Now lookit me."
   "What are yew getting at, yew old. . ."
   "Now I don't care what happens t' ye. But I'm sick o' that stupid weasel pushin' 'is weight everywhere on everybeast." Mank walked back to Ravax and untied the ropes that bound her, and she stared at him dumbfounded as he walked back in front of her. "Don't think there's any love lost between us, ye thievin' brat, so I want to make it clear this ain't about you; it's about me gettin' back at Jarral. Now get outta here."
   Ravax didn't waste any time. She scrambled to her feet and ran into the forest, only glancing back at Mank once.

[close]

[The Grey Coincidence]

Nice update. Most of this chapter was focused on Burian (spelling?) and I liked that you're expanding his role a little. A bit of a mystery going on with how he managed to survive what I'm guessing is a plague (though it could be something else but so far that seems like the most plausible explanation. It probably *is* the explanation but I must make some theories... So maybe they were poisoned?)
The last bit with Ravax is also quite good. I like that you can argue that the one-armed ferret probably does have a soft spot for her and that's why he does what he does- but at the same time I also like the idea that he's bitter. It can be both (it can also be inconsequential).
I have a feeling our heroine will have a bit of a conundrum on her paws. I can see her going to help the hilt(or at least warning them, perhaps not being believed which then leads to tragedy) but I can also see that being a bit too... 'early'?
Ignore my speculation if it bothers you, I really just can't help myself.

[The Skarzs]

Glad you enjoyed it!
Your guesses are pretty good, but I can neither confirm nor deny the speculations without the consent of the secretary of secrecy.

We put stuff in that isn't explained until later. Why people act a certain way, how someone ended up where they did, and so on.

[BlueRose]

I love it!

Gosh, now I'm super curious about what happened to Burian's family! Don't s'pose I could get a hint?

JK, I don't mind waiting to find out.

[Faiyloe]

Hey yo! The other author here. I am not on the forums much anymore but I am glad you are all enjoying the story. We put a lot of love into this. I might pop in from time to time to see how this is going.

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

        Ravax didn't know where to go. She just kept running, branches and underbrush striking her painfully across the arms and face, her lungs burning till they felt like they would burst. She kept this up until she couldn't run anymore. She slowed to a walk, breathing hard. Night was coming on fast, and without even trying she found herself heading in the direction of the otter holt, and Burian. The moon was high in the sky when she reached the river, casting its silver rays on the rippling water, reflecting it back like flecks of crystal glass. She crouched among the foliage and looked across the river to where a soft light shown from the mouth of a cave. She could see the silhouettes of two figures near the entrance, slumped in sitting positions. She waited for a long moment but neither of them moved. They must have been asleep.
        She slowly made her way over to the water's edge where she lingered with uncertainty. She had no way of knowing how deep it was, but she knew there was only one way across it. She clenched her fists, shut her eyes, and put one foot in the water.  The cold, rushing water enveloped her foot instantly. It took everything in the ferret not to pull back. She pressed on, wading in until the water was up to her knees. Her eyes were still closed and her breathing kept coming in rapid, labored breaths.
        "Ah can do this, Ah can do this," she whispered to herself under her breath. "Ah can't do this!" she squeaked as the water came up to her middle. Her eyes popped open and she was about to retreat back to the safety of dry land when her foot caught on a submerged branch and she slipped on the loose stones of the river bottom. She let out a terrified scream which was quickly cut short as her head went under. Ravax was filled with panic as she felt water enter her mouth, ears, and nose. She tried to find her footing but it wasn't there. It wasn't there, the ground was gone.
        Then suddenly her feet came in contact with something, but it wasn't the ground. Something grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her upright. As her head came out of the water, Ravax was taken by the back of her tunic dragged out of the water to be thrown in the shallows, where she lay coughing and spluttering. She rubbed the water from her eyes and looked up to see a tall lean otter standing over her.
        "Wot the devil're you doin' 'ere, ferret?" the otter growled. Ravax coughed up more water before sitting up and glaring at the otter.
        "Tryin' no' t' die," she spluttered as she tried to get to her feet.
        "No you don't!" he said, pushing her back into the shallows with a splash. "You ain't going anywhere near our holt, filthy vermin!"
        "Ah need t' talk t' Burian," she said through clenched teeth to hide the shaking in her voice. She scrambled up and back out of the otters reach, driving her deeper into the water.
        The other stopped and looked at her strangely. "How do you know Burian?"
        "Who's there, Rurron?" A much thicker otter came out of the holt, followed by the other guard.
        "It's a ferret, pa. Says she's lookin' fer. . . fer Burian."
        "A ferret?" Rurrock stepped up beside his son and looked hard at Ravax. "Go on, get outta here, b'fore I change my mind about lettin' you live."
        "It's yew lot who'll be dead if yew don't listen to meh," she snapped, a thread of frustration coming into her voice as she brushed dripping fur out of her eyes with her paw.
        "There's no way of knowing how many friends she's got with 'er, Skip." The other guard and Rurron lifted their javelins. "Last warning, vermin! Start swimmin' or start dyin'!"
        "Wait!" she cried, holding her paws in front of her. She took her bracelet off her wrist and held it out for them to see, her paw visibly trembling. "Burian gave this to meh, just let meh talk to him," she begged.
        Rurrock reached out and snatched the brass band from Ravax's paw, turning it over and looking at it. He looked up at Ravax, then back at the bracelet, then back at her again. "How the hell did you get this?" he mumbled.
        "Burian gave it to meh, believe meh."
        The other didn't take his eyes off her, holding out his paw to Rurron. "Son, give me yer javelin, and go get Burian," Rurrock said. Rurron opened his mouth to argue. "Just go!" Rurock snapped. Rurron closed his mouth and dutifully passed his weapon over to his father before running off into the holt.
        Burian was jostled awake from his slumber by a pair of hurried paws, and he rubbed his face as he looked at Rurron. "Huh? What is it?"
        "C'mon, there's a vermin outside who's askin' for you. Don't know how she knows you, mate, but she's makin' a scene an' Skipper said to get you."
        A vermin? She?  "Hold on, what's her name?"
        "Dunno, probably Stinko or somethin'."
        Burian hurried out in front of Rurron, stumbling out of the holt onto the dim, fire-lit riverbank. There was Ravax, dripping wet, standing knee-deep in the flowing water, and when she saw him a look of relief came to her face.
        "Burian, get these rudderbums off mah tail, will yew!" she shouted.
        "Ravax, what're you doin' 'ere?" he cried. "You didn't wanna come anywhere near the holt!"
        "You know her?" Rurron and Skipper Rurrock asked in unison, looking at Burian.
        "Well, let meh out of the water and Ah'll explain," Ravax said. "And give meh back mah gift will you?" she added, pointing at the bracelet that Rurrock was still holding.
        Burian held out his paw to Rurrock, who drew back slightly. "Skipper, that's hers."
        "What's goin' on, now, Burian? I trust you, but I ain't lettin' no vermin near our holt. Do you have any idea how dangerous her kind is?"
        "Do Ah really look all that dangerous! Ah'm half drowned, Ah've got no weapons and yew lot are at least a head taller than meh, outnumber meh, an' are all pointing pointy sticks at meh, so who's really the dangerous one here?" Ravax snapped.
        Rurrock looked with disbelief at the ferret before turning back to Burian. "And how do you know her?"
        "If she hadn't been my guide, I'd 've never gotten here," Burian said, motioning to her to come out of the water. "You trust me, an' I trust her, so you can trust her."
        "What a lark!" piped Rurron. "Burian, are you mad?"
        "No I'm not."
        Ravax looked at Burian and then at Rurrock and the javelins. She slowly circled round them till she was standing on the bank shivering. She clutched her arms to her chest and turned to Burian.
        "There's a horde, they're headin' in this direction and are planning to come here tomorrow," she said in a low voice.
        "Wot's she sayin', Burian?" asked Rurrock.
        Burian ignored the skipper, and looked at Ravax intensely. "How'd you find this out?"
        "Ah kinda got caught. The fox we ran into, he ambushed meh after yew left and tried to get meh to join the horde. While Ah was there Ah heard them talking about coming here, then Ah escaped and came to warn yew," she said.
        "What time tomorrow?" asked Burian urgently.
        Ravax shook her head. "Don't know, but it'll take them at least half a day."
        Skipper Rurrock walked up behind Ravax and grabbed her wrist, turning her around to face him. She met his eyes, her own wide and terrified. "Look here, if yew got somethin' t'say, say it out loud!"
        "Cut it out," said Burian, stepping up to the skipper. "She came to warn us about an army that's gonna march here tomorrow."
        "Le' go o' meh," Ravax grunted, pulling at her arm. She brought her heel down hard on Rurrock's foot. The otter howled and hopped back, holding his injured foot, spouting off a string of gibberish.
        "Do you feel like drowning for real, this time?" he shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth, and Rurron pointed his javelin at Ravax again.
        "Ravax!" yelled Burian as she ducked behind him.
   "They're trying to kill meh!" she snapped.
   Burian frowned, trying to hold back his temper. "Shut up, all of you!" Everyone stopped and looked at him, and no one said a word. Now that he had their attention, he continued, glaring at each of them in turn as he spoke. "If you would all stop antagonizing each other, maybe we can actually figure out something! Ravax, don't move. Rurron, put your javelin up!"
   The riverbank grew quiet, though some of the otters from the holt had woken up, and were coming out of the entrance to look at the scene.
   "Alright, pull the cloth out o' your ears and listen t' me. Ravax wouldn't have come here if she wasn't tellin' the truth, and if she says there's a horde coming, then everyone's in danger!" He looked at the growing crowd, and then at Ravax, who was fidgeting nervously as she looked at them. "Rurrock, please. Can we discuss this. . . alone?"
   The skipper stood with a paw covering his mouth, gazing pensively from face to face for some time before shaking his head. "Alright, you lot, go back to sleep," he said to the group of otters. He pulled Burian to the side and spoke quietly, but firmly, his breath damp in his ear. "If my holt's in danger, then fine. But I ain't doin' this fer you or because I trust that vermin."
   They walked towards the lookout fire, Ravax coming along apprehensively, taking the place next to Burian on the opposite side of the fire from the skipper and his son.
   "So how big is the horde?" asked Burian. Ravax was silent for a moment, never taking her eyes off Rurrock.
   "'Bout three hundred," she finally said.
   "Three hundred!" said Rurrock, rocking back in disbelief. "That's more than three times the size of my holt, including the children!"
   Burian breathed out heavily. "So what do you think we should do?"
   "I don't want to trust a ferret," Rurrock grunted, and Burian wondered if he would pass off Ravax's warning. "But I can't ignore a warning like that. We'll have to move somewhere else." He turned to Rurron. "Go inside and get them all started packing."
   "But why can't we fight them off?" asked Rurron. "Since when d'we run?"
        "Are yew crazy, yew're all going to die if yew try to fight Jarral!" Ravax scoffed.
   Rurrock jabbed a claw firmly into Rurron's chest. "We ain't riskin' lives, Rurron. Now go."
   His son ran off into the holt, and the Skipper was left with Burian and Ravax. He looked at Burian gravely, and the young otter had a feeling he was being judged.
   "Didn't think you'd be so foolish as to have dealin's with the likes o' her, Burian," Rurrock said. "Ain't fitting fer a good beast like you."
   "I make my own choices."
   "Got a lot to learn." Rurrock shook his head. "Alright, you two, we're going in to help pack up."
        "Ah'm no' going in there," Ravax growled, taking a step back away from the cave entrance.
        "Oh yes you are, I'm not about t' let you go runnin' off with what you know," Rurrock said, turning on her.
        "Like yew said. No one wants to do dealings with the likes of meh. If Ah go in there Ah'm liable to get shanked," she snapped back.
        Burian intervened. "I'll watch her, Rurrock."
        He watched the Skipper's jaw muscles tic, and it was like he was imagining biting off both their heads. Finally he threw his arms up in the air. "Fine! I can see you're too stubborn t' listen t'me, so have it your way. But mind you, if I only find one of you here when I come out. . ." He looked meaningfully at Ravax. "Then the other one will never see me be kind again." Ravax watched him leave. As soon as he was gone her trembling became apparent again and she started to back away.
        "Ah'm no' stayin' 'ere," she said as she began to turn, but Burian grabbed her by the arm. She whirled back around and looked at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.
        "I made a promise," Burian said. Ravax yanked her arm away and slumped to the ground, curling her knees up to her damp chest and hiding her face.
   "So that's 'ow et es," she muttered.
   "Do you think it's any better for you out there than right here?" Burian asked. "Doesn't seem like the horde likes you any better than the otters do." Ravax looked back at him and scowled.
   "Can yew promise they won't change their mind and kill meh?" she asked.
   Burian breathed in. "No, but . . . if things go bad, we're both leavin'." Ravax looked at him for a long moment before looking back at the ground.
   "Fine."

***
   After about an hour of vigorous packing and loading, the otters were all out of the holt, standing on the river bank, waiting for Skipper Rurrock. The last few items were secured on a small cargo raft, and several otters waded into the water to grab tow ropes.
   Burian and Ravax stood apart from the rest of the group, and could catch whispers and glances in their direction from the otters.
   Rurrock climbed onto the raft and addressed them. "I know yer all confused, but we think we may be in danger from a vermin 'orde, and we can't take that risk. Hopefully we'll be able t'come back home, but for now, let's swim fast an' hard an' hope we'll be safe."
   Ravax took a step back, standing closer to Burian. She continued to open and shut her paws, licking her lips nervously and glaring at the otters as they continued to stare at her. She heard a large splash from the river and she jumped, her ears pinning back.
   Burian looked at her, then at the rushing waters. "The water make you nervous?" Ravax squinted at him side on.
   "Ya think?"
   Burian thought for a moment as the otters began going into the water. "Well, if you're not gonna swim. . . Follow me." Burian led Ravax up to Rurrock, who looked at them down his nose.
   "What? We're leaving."
   "She's gotta go on the cargo raft," Burian said. "She can't swim as fast as we can."
   "You gotta be flippin' my rudder," said Rurrock.
   "What?" Ravax screeched.
   Burian threw up his arms. "You have a better idea?"
   "No, but Ah'm no' gettin' on that thing."
   "Sure you are," said Rurrock cheerfully, and Burian's head nearly spun completely around as he looked at the skipper. "Alright, Burian, if you want her on the raft, then she's goin' on the raft." He swiftly reached out and caught Ravax around the stomach and threw her onto his shoulder. Wading out a couple feet into the water, he all but threw the ferret onto the raft. Ravax scrambled desperately over the pile trying to get to the middle of the raft as the it rocked beneath her.
        "Yew crazy rudderbum, yewr tryin' ta kill meh!" she shouted.
        Rurrock cupped his paws to his mouth. "Cast off, mateys!" he yelled, and then dived under the water with a gushing splash. The raft rocked violently and Ravax let out a shriek as she was covered in spray. She grabbed hold of a rope and clung on for dear life as the raft shifted and began to move.
        Burian popped up beside her, swimming along with the raft. "They said it'll take a few hours to get there. Might as well get some. . ." He could only barely see the murderous look Ravax was giving him through the moonlight, but it was enough. " . . . Sleep," he said.
        "Go an' boil yewr 'ead."
        Burian held back, letting the raft slip away from him before starting to swim again, on the downstream current towards the other holt.

***

   As dawn started to creep up on the forest shouts and a commotion could be heard as the camp got ready to depart. Jarral stood atop a boulder watching as tents came down and fires were put out. Packs were donned as captains harassed lesser beasts to pick up the pace. Ravax had been found missing just under an hour ago, and he had sent scouts out to comb the area, but they had found no sign of her. He was not about to waste any more time here. With any luck they would catch up to her. The horde assembled in front of him, the new recruits getting pushed to the front of the crowd.
   "Today we taste blood!" Jarral shouted. "An otter holt lies less than half a day's march from here. We will take what we can before heading on to Mossflower and the Abbey."
        He continued. "We have been living in fear of its shadow for far too long. Woodlanders get to live in safety while we are force to flee our homes, and our families are slaughtered. We are forced to live on the run, separated from family and loved ones, but no more. Once the abbey is ours it will be a safe place for all of our kind to grow rich. Your families will be protected and you can stop running." There was an eruption of cheers from the gathered horde. Jarral climbed down from the rock and took the sword Cal held out to him. "We head out, now."

***
   Burian felt his feet hit rocks as he and the convoy directed themselves and the luggage raft towards the river bank. Even though they had been swimming with the current, he was still sore from hours of swimming. The otter took hold of a tow rope and helped to drag the raft in, watching Ravax leap from it before it was even pulled onto the bank. She splashed through the shallows and then collapsed onto the dry land, rolling onto her back and letting out a low moan.
        "Why's everythin' still movin'?" she groaned, closing her eyes.
        "Ain't been on the water b'fore, ferret?" chortled Skipper Rurrock. "Good thing you didn't eat nothin'."
        "Where's the holt, Rurrock?" asked Burian, looking around at the stony bank.
        The skipper jabbed a claw at Old Torev, who was sitting, resting on a rock. "Ask him."
        "You're looking at it." Torev pointed his cane at a pile of rocks stacked against the steep side of the bank where the river had eroded it away. "We blocked the entrance there."
        While Burian was inspecting the blockage, little Kelece hopped from the luggage raft where she had been napping, and skipped up to Ravax, who was still on the ground. She looked over the ferret with a huge grin. "Are you hungry? I saved haffa dis biscuit for you so you don't wither up an' die of starving." Ravax sat bolt upright and looked at the little otter in shock. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, just staring at the little thing in confusion.
        Just as Kelece held out the piece of bread, her mother scooped her up and walked swiftly away as it fell from her paw next to the ferret. "Don't ever go near that creature again, Kelece!"
        "But momma, I fink she's hungry!"
        "Did she say she was hungry?"
        ". . . No. But. . ."
        "Not another word!"
        Ravax watched them as they walked away and snatched up the bread before clambering to her feet, and going over to sit on the rise in the bank where she began to pick at the bread. She looked at some of the otters unloading the cargo raft of their belongings and food, while others rested or watched children. One was nearby with a javelin, watching her. Burian, however, was starting to dig away at the pile of rocks, starting at the top.
        Torev pushed a fallen rock out of the way with his cane. "Mind you don't hit nobeast, young 'un," he cried up to Burian. "Hah, you'll be diggin' fer hours. Rurron, help Burian."
        Rurron folded his arms. "Got enough work unloadin' the raft."
        "You wanna sleep on the rocks tonight or in a dry holt?"
        The younger otter's eyes immediately grew, and he threw his paws up in the air. "By my rudder, you don't give me a choice, old one!"
        Torev cackled unsympathetically as Rurron climbed up with several more otters to dig out the holt entrance, and then he waddled away.
        A short while later, Ravax was still sitting down as the old otter suddenly appeared and plopped down on the ground beside her. Ravax leaned away from him and gave him a skeptical look.
        "What d'yah want, frog face? I ain't 'ere t' be a punchin' bag fer yer ego ##:1066 that's what ya want," she snapped.
        "Frog face ye'self," retorted Torev, completely unaffected by the insult. "I reckon you ain't too happy bein' around a bunch o' rudderbums like me. Well, I wouldn't be either if I were in your place." Ravax stared at him in surprise and confusion. She then looked down at the ground and sighed.
        "Yeah," she whispered.
        "So it doesn't make sense why you'd come back to warn Burian, or why you ain't tried to run away yet."
        "Ah was. . . 'e was. . . 'e. . . Ah d'know, et's no' like Ah thought thes through," she stammered.
        "Huh," the otter grunted. "Yer an unlikely pair." They both sat quietly for a little while, and Torev rested his chin on his cane and watched the river slide by. Ravax looked at him for a long moment.
        "Ah changed my mind, yer no' a frog, frogs just sit there. Yer a bumble bee, stickin yer nose where et aint supposed t'be." The corner of her mouth turned up as she suppressed a smile.
        Torev raised his graying head. "Am I now? Hee, guess that's what us ol' fogeys do. Keeps us entertained. Hee hee, I think I was an old fogey when I was born. Probably why I never married!" He stood up stiffly and started walking away. "Well, I might be able to talk Rurrock into lettin' you leave."
        "Ah. . . guess yew aint too bad fer an otter," she said with a half smile.
        Torev stopped, but didn't turn around. "I guess we're all not too bad. Suppose we just don't let creatures like you have the chance to find that out. Seen it a lot in my long life." With that, he left, and was soon out of earshot.

        Though he hadn't slept but an hour or two the night before, Burian was working hard to dig out the old holt. After some time, and the sun was fully risen, a gap was opened up into the dark hole which was the holt cave, and soon it was large enough for a creature to fit into.
        He called out for a light, and was quickly handed a lit lantern. Clambering down through the opening, Burian peered around, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light and trying to make out what was there.
        The cave walls went out about twenty feet wide, packed dirt and rock supported by live roots and constructed wood supports, though he couldn't see how far back it went. A small cloud of dust hung low in the air from their digging, covering the already-filthy ground with an even thicker layer of silt.
        As Burian looked at the floor he noticed strangely-shaped lumps lined up along both sides of the cave, and when he looked closer, he could tell they were something wrapped in cloth. A sickening feeling rose up inside him, and the otter reached with a timid paw for the corner of the cloth, and pulled it back.
        Illuminated by the lantern light, a skull stared sightless back up at him, the grinning jaw slack and hanging by the thinnest and most stretched skin covering the whole thing. Burian drew back and stared at the ghastly sight, intrigued but saddened by it. The desiccated paws were folded on the chest, and a dead flower was stuck lightly between the claws.
        There was no way of knowing who it could have been, or even whether it was male or female. And to think the lost life could have even been one of his parents. . .
        Burian was thankful that after so many years of decomposition, there was no smell, because he feared if there were he would certainly throw up. Trying to push the thoughts out of his mind, he covered the body once again, and climbed out of the cave.
        Rurron looked into the darkness behind Burian as he emerged. "Well? What's in there?"
        "Dead otters," Burian said. "Been dead a long time. . . Other than that, not much else but dust and rock."
        "I could've told you that," said a creaky voice, and they turned to Torev, who was looking up at them from the bottom of the rubble pile. "Wish we couldn't given 'em a proper burial, but if they died o' plague, we didn't want t' disturb 'em."
        "Looks like you did the best you could. At least you wrapped them up."
        Torev's wrinkled face furrowed into a thoughtful frown. "But we didn't wrap . . . Did we? No, we didn't touch 'em."
        "What're you goin' on about, old one?" asked Rurron.
        "Burian!" Torev took a few steps up the mound, as if he would be able to hear more clearly. "You said the bodies were wrapped up?"
        Burian looked back into the holt. ". . . Aye, that's what I said. All lined up along the sides and covered in cloth." He turned back to the old otter. "Are you saying. . .?
        Torev didn't answer, but leaned on his cane for a several moments before turning away, rubbing his chin. "Well, if the hat fits. . . yes, I suppose it does make sense."
        Rurron huffed and waved his paw at him, mumbling something about Torev going senile, but Burian scrambled down the rubble pile. "Somebeast must've come back! Probably the same creature 'o saved me! Who else would dig up the entrance and tend t' the bodies?"
        "That's what I'm thinkin'," said Torev, sitting down on a sunbleached log. "Though we have no idea where they went from here. Could've followed the stream t'the ocean, gone far south, or even gone to Redwall."
        "The abbey castle?" Burian raised his eyebrows. "D'you think so?"
        "Best place to start as any." Torev looked into Burian's eyes, and smiled sadly. "You won't be staying with us, methinks. You young rips are always goin' about without worryin' about what yer leavin' behind."
        Burian straightened. "I can stay for a little while longer. It'll take you a few days t' get fully settled in. I got you into this mess, so I'm gonna see that you can get out of it." With that, he went back to help the rest finish opening the holt.

****
        A cloud of dust rose over the forest as the sun neared its summit. Jarral marched at the head of the horde. They had been marching nonstop since morning and a murmur of discomfort was beginning to make its way through the ranks. Jarral looked back over his shoulder and glared at a pair of whispering rats. They went silent and quickened their pace.
        "How much further?" Jarral asked the scout who was marching along beside him.
        "Almost there, it's just over this ridge an' across the river. There was a cave with two guards outside."
        Jarral nodded in approval and drew his sword. As he reached the crest of the ridge he was about to give the order for a charge when he noticed something amiss. There were no guards at the cave entrance. His eyes darted around to the surrounding tree cover for any sign of a trap. But the place seemed quiet.
        Cal came panting up the hill behind him and stopped. "Somethin' wrong?" he asked.
        Jarral touched his chin lightly and looked at Cal side on. "It is too quiet, they have been warned. . . Ravax." He turned on his heel and looked back at the horde which had stopped, and was now watching him in confused silence. He looked over them as if he was trying to decide. Then finally he spoke.
        "Where is that ferret, Mank?"
        The ferret in question was pushed forward from somewhere in the rear of the army, and he stood staring up at Jarral. "I'm here," he finally said.
        Jarral narrowed his eyes at him. "You and Ravax had a bit of a history. Actually, you owe a debt to her. . . Now, I never knew you to have a conscience. However, it can't be denied that the moment she shows up she somehow manages to escape without a trace. How do you explain this?" he asked as he slowly walked back down the hill until he was standing directly in front of Mank.
        "Hah, she must've done somethin' t' upset ya." Mank grinned defiantly at the weasel. "I might have a history with 'er, but so d'you, and it ain't pleasant memories for either of us."
        Jarral looked the ferret in the eyes. "You could also say the same about us; we don't have the best history either, and you are the only person here who is stupid enough to let her go. However, since I have no proof, I will give you a chance to prove your loyalty." He then clasped his paws behind his back and climbed back up the hill. "Come here," 
        Mank had looked away from Jarral's direct gaze, knowing how dangerous a creature he was, and he was beginning to feel uneasy. He took a slow step after the horde leader, then stopped, but was quickly pushed by the vermin behind him. He scrambled unceremoniously up the hill. Jarral glanced sideways at him and then back at the holt.
        "See that? That is the holt we have come to loot. Your job is simple. I need you to go down there, cross the river, and search the holt to see if it is actually deserted."
        Mank stared at the cave, then glanced back at Jarral, who was looking at him intensely. With a quiet swallow, the old ferret stepped down towards the river until he was at the water's edge, and hesitantly searched for anything to help him across more easily. He flinched as Cal shouted down at him.
        "Oh hurry up, you dried-up tripod, or we'll shoot ya now!"
        "Damn you, Jarral," hissed Mank from clenched teeth, and he waded into the water.
        The cold current tugged on him, and he almost lost balance and fell, and his missing arm didn't help. Thankfully he didn't fall, and took a few more steps. Once he was up to his belly, he decided to try to swim. Hoots and jeers greeted this attempt as he floundered in the water and was rushed downstream a ways, desperately paddling to reach the other side. Finally he could reach the bottom with his feet once again, and waded his way out as quickly as he could to flop down on the bank, breathing heavily.
        After he had caught his breath, Mank looked at the other side of the bank, where the horde was watching him, urging him on and shouting rudely.
        He slowly approached the holt and drew his knife, his heart beating fast. He didn't feel like fighting an otter, even if Jarral probably had arrows pointed at the back of his head. Still, he approached the cave entrance, and peered in hesitantly before stepping inside the darkness.
        Jarral watched him disappear before waving the archers over. Five archers mounted the hill and nocked an arrow to their strings.
        "Fire at the first thing that comes out," Jarral said.
        "But what if it's Mank?" Cal asked
        Jarral glanced at Cal. "That is the point."
        Meanwhile, Mank explored the dark cave, knife held at ready in his left paw. Further into the cave it was pitch black, and completely silent save for his shallow breathing. What he found odd was there were items lying about all over the place with no rhyme or reason, some blankets, furniture, and even a fabric-wrapped ball. The otters must have left in a hurry in order to leave a mess like this, Mank thought.
        And the only creature who could have warned them about the horde coming was Ravax. Mank wasn't sure whether to laugh or swear. He wasn't sure how she managed to get them to believe her, but whatever the case, the little sneak probably got herself killed by the infernal waterdogs.
        "Now what?" he mumbled as he looked around. "Too dark t'see, an' if Jarral's Jarral, comin' back too early'll git me killed."
        The ferret took a few more steps, feeling the wall to guide his way. His paw hit something extending from the wall, and he felt it to try to figure out what it was. After a few moments, he found it to be a candle, much to his surprise. Taking it from the holder, he backed up a few feet until he could see better, and (after much grueling effort), lit a spark onto some tattered cloth, and lit the wick.
        Mank breathed a sigh of relief as he held up the candle and saw the holt was as empty as it seemed. He trudged further back into the cave, checking around corners and picking up bits and pieces that caught his eye. After entering a larger room, he found a small, peculiar door that opened to a tunnel, and he decided to follow along it.
        This passage was different, much narrower and lower than the other ones he had walked through, and it sloped upwards steadily. Finally, it stopped at a set of stairs that led up to. . . nowhere.
        ". . . The hell?" said Mank aloud. He raised his candle to inspect the ceiling further, and found it to be several planks of wood, with a rusted iron handle. Propping the candle gently against the wall, the ferret climbed the stairs and set his back against the planks. With as strong a push as his old body could do, he felt the hatch move, and he quickly gave another push.
        Dirt showered down onto him, and he blinked in the leaf-hued sunlight. After a moment of wonderment, he shook his fist in the air. "Hah, you clever, good-fer-nuthin' streamdogs! Left me a way out, ye did." He blew out the candle and climbed out. The rushing noise of the river reached his ears, and he remembered Jarral, and headed in that direction. As he got close to the edge of the trees, Mank crouched down low and cautiously moved forward until he was at the last cover of bushes. From there, he went down on his belly and peeked across the stream to where the rest of the horde was.
        "Sure as a toad's wart, 'e's got archers," grumbled Mank with a slight smile. "You were gonna kill me, weren'tcha, Jarral? Well, not t'day, ye limb-stealing 'alf-pint." The ferret backed up carefully until he was sure he was far enough out of sight, then stood up and ran away, heading north with renewed hopes of good fortune.

****

        "He ain't coming back," Cal said as he flopped down by a tree. Jarral glanced down at him.
        "You. . . are probably right, Get up. You lot, search the cave, kill whomever you find and take what you can," he said before moving to the side as the first wave of the horde surged forward and came to a staggering halt at the bank of the river.
        Jarral sighed, as if from weariness of carrying a heavy burden. "If you are not across that river in five minutes, you will be taking Mank's place as target practice," he said without raising his voice. There was a murmur of discontent and a collective yelp followed by a splash as the vermin in the back shoved the ones in the front into the water. There was a clamor of curses and splashing as the ones still on the bank started laughing. However, they were quickly silenced by some more words of encouragement from Jarral. There was a cascade of splashing as they made their way across with only a few grumbled complaints.
        Jarral snapped his claws and waved to a large stoat standing nearby.  "Urgat, help me across." Urgat came up to the weasel quickly and bent down. Jarral stepped up and sat on Urgat's shoulders.
   The stoat carried him down the hill and to the water, grabbing a spear from a nearby rat and using it as a walking staff. Going as steadily as he could so as not to make Jarral lose balance, Urgat gradually made his way across the river and deposited his leader on the opposite bank.
   Several hordebeasts had entered the cave already, and Jarral could see them moving about on the inside with lit torches and lanterns. At length, a good number of them came back out, and one went to Jarral directly.
   "It's empty, my lord, and Mank ain't in there. We found a tunnel that leads out into th' forest, so 'e must've escaped that way. Do you want us to catch 'im?"
   "Take an archer and a tracker and go after him. When you find him, kill him. If he is not found within twenty minutes, return. There are far more important things to do." Jarral said this with his back to them as he stared contemplatively at the running water. "Now, which way did you go?" he whispered to himself.

[close]

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

   It had taken all day, but the otters had finally cleaned out the old holt and were settled in. Burian was sitting against the wall of the cave with his head back, resting after all the hard labor he had done, waiting a moment before eating the meal he had beside him.
   The rubble was all spread out over the river bank, the dead bodies had been moved from the cave and buried, and everything from the raft was now inside the holt. Despite the sudden relocation, the Riverdale otters seemed to be doing pretty well, and even the kits were enjoying their new surroundings. Still, it wasn't hard to tell how sad they were over losing their home.
   Several otters had been fishing and foraging, and managed to bring back a decent amount of food to help sustain their stores, and Burian was now eating some freshly-caught bream.
   He looked about for Ravax and saw her a little ways off, with Rurron nearby watching her. Standing up stiffly, he made his way towards her.
Ravax sat with her knees pulled up to her chin as she glared at Rurron from a distance. When she saw Burian she let her legs fall and leaned back against the hill, "'E's drivin' me crazy," she said nodding in Rurron's direction. "'E won't stop starin' at meh." 
   Burian looked at Rurron. "Oi! D'ya want some food or are you waitin' till it's all cold?"
   Rurron folded his arms and looked away for a little while, then walked off towards the cave. Burian was beginning to get peeved at the otters' insistence on watching Ravax at all times. He turned back to the ferret. "Hungry?"
        Ravaxes stared at him. "Yes," she blurted. She quickly looked away. "Ah mean, thanks, Ah guess."
        Burian gave her the plate. "It's my second helping anyways." He sat down next to her and stared at the river for a few moments before speaking again. "I'm going to travel back north. There's nothing left for me here."
        Ravax put her plate down abruptly, her fur on end and ears pinned back as she turned on him. "Ye are no' leavin' meh alone with them!" she cried.
        "Oi, I never said that," said Burian, furrowing his brows. They stared at each other for a little while before he spoke again. "Well?"
        "Well what?"
        "You coming with?"
        Her eyes went wide, and after a pause she just nodded and shrugged. "Sure Ah guess," she said as she picked up her food and leaned back again.
        "Good." Burian rested his chin on his palm. Was he glad Ravax would be travelling with him? Relieved? Peculiar, he thought. Maybe it just felt familiar.
        Huh, what an unlikely pair they made, he thought.
        "So why did you come to warn us?" he asked.
        Ravax furrowed her brows and looked at that ground. After a moment she said: "Yer no' 'alf bad. . . 'sides, Jarral 'ates woodlanders with a passion. Ah once saw 'im mutilate a mouse beyond recognition. . . yew don't deserve that. . . no one does." She shuddered at the memory.
        Burian stared at her, watching her reaction to her memories with surprise. "Well. . . even if the other otters don't understand. . . for what it's worth, thanks." He looked up at the sky. "It's getting late."
        Ravax nodded and tried to hide a yawn.
        Her companion stood up. "You look tired. We should get some sleep before we leave, anyways." The ferret nodded and followed him toward the holt.
   
   Ravax woke up to the sound of Burian snoring heavily. She rolled over and looked at the dim morning light seeping through the entrance. Her stomach growled, and she stood up, looking about her. She gingerly picked her way over dozens of sleeping otters, moving as quietly as possible so as not to wake them. One shifted in his slumber just as she began to step over him, and she froze like a statue, holding her breath until he was silent and still once again. She let out a sigh and skirted the sleeping otter to avoid disturbing him.
        Once past him she looked up at the pile of crates and sacks of food that were piled against the back wall. Taking the nearest sack, she opened it and looked inside. Two potatoes almost rolled out. She peered into a crate of assorted vegetables, shrugged and then dumped the potatoes in the crate while keeping four for herself and adding some carrots, radishes, and onions to her sack. She rummaged through the other sacks and crates, and, finding a bag of walnuts, she dumped a bunch of of them in the sack and grabbed two loaves of bread from another sack before making her way back to Burian.
        Halfway back, she stopped. She saw Rurrock sleeping near the fire, her bracelet looped through his belt. She looked from him to Burian, and then towards the entrance with the thin streak of light coming from the rising sun. She bit her lip and then turned to make her way carefully around the sleeping otters toward the low-burning fire. Leaning over Rurrock she gingerly grasped the metal ring and slipped it off his belt. He stirred and she froze mid action. Then his breathing evened out and she let out a soft sigh of relief. She slipped the bracelet on her wrist and took a step back. A wail rang through the cavern as she stepped on a kit's tail, and her heart jumped into her throat.
        Most of the holt awoke at the sudden cry, and Rurrock flailed about wildly in surprise as he too jolted awake and stood up. "Wot in seasons' name is goin' on?" he bellowed, rubbing his eyes with one paw. He squinted in the brightening sunlight, seeing Ravax looking rather dismayed in front of him, with an otter kit crying beside her. "What did you do to him, ferret?" he yelled. Ravax hugged the sack of food close to her chest, her breathing quickening, as her eyes darted about the space.
        "Ah'm sorry, Ah'm sorry, Ah didn't mean to-"
        "Sorry my left eye! What're you doin' up before everyone else, eh? Sneakin' around, an'. . ." His eyes caught the glimmer of the brass band about Ravax's wrist, and he looked at his belt in disbelief. "Stealing! Stuffin' yer face full o' our food, too, I imagine!"
        She looked at him with terror in her eyes. She wanted to run and fight and curl up in a ball all at once, and then something just snapped inside her.
        "T' 'ell wit all of yew!" she yelled. "Ah ain't no thief! Et was mah gift an' yew took et from meh. Ay came t' warn yew, an en return Ah get kindnapped an' 'eld against mah will! Even mah own kind are better than yew, at least they would give meh a decent meal. Yew want yer food back, then 'ere! Take et! Et's all there." She threw the sack on the ground, and its contents spilled out onto the floor.
        Rurrock was taken aback by Ravax's outburst, and he stared at her in astonishment. After a moment, his eye twitched, and his hackles rose. "You. . . vermin!" he said from between clenched teeth, but as he raised his arm to strike her with the back of his paw, it was caught at the wrist in Burian's grasp. Ravax flinched and raised her arms to protect her face.
        "We're leaving, Rurrock," the young otter said sternly, looking at him from beneath his dark brows.
        Ravax opened her eyes and looked up at Burian in bewilderment. The skipper turned to him, and pulled his paw out of his grip. There was a short period of time where they just stared at each other. "Leave," he ordered, and then pointed to the food on the ground. "And you can take those scraps with ye; I don't want anythin' that's been touched by a vermin." He turned his back to Burian. "You are not welcome here again."
Ravax hung her head to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She could feel everyone's eyes watching her as she bent down and hurriedly pushed the food back into the sack. She hung close to Burian as the crowd parted to get out of their way.
        Burian quickly grabbed his pack and other items, and continued walking out of the holt. He noticed Torev off to one side, and he looked to the old otter, but he did nothing but lean on his cane and stare back at him sadly. Finally they were out, and as they began walking on the river bank, Burian took one last look back. He saw little Kelece waving a tiny paw at him.
        "Bye bye cuzzin Boreein. . ."
        Burian gritted his teeth and blinked against tears which threatened to flow, and turned away from the river and into the forest.
        Ravax clutched the bag tightly to hide her trembling paws. They walked in determined silence for a long time until it was broken by a whisper.
        "Why did you help me?" Ravax said.
        Burian looked at Ravax, and then back to the ground in front of him. ". . . They don't know you."
        "But yew don't really know meh either. Yew don't know what Ah've done, an' 'es right, Ah am a thief, an' Ah won't deny that. Why would yew give up a place like that fer meh?"
        "Because it's not my home," the otter said. "We were gonna leave anyways, and they'd never look at me the same because I trusted you. . . They lost their 'ome because of us. And I don't think they'd have believed they were in danger if I didn't back you up."
        There was a long silence then Ravax said, "So where es 'ome, then?"
        Once again, Burian was caught off-guard by the ferret's question. After a moment of thought, he couldn't help but laugh mirthlessly. "Guess I won't know 'til I find it."

***

        Mank trudged through the forest, not entirely caring which direction he was going. He rubbed his growling stomach, and looked around for something he might be able to eat. He plucked a piece of grass and chewed on it.
   "Out of the pan into the fire," he muttered, spitting out the greenery. He was sitting down to take a rest when he heard the sounds of shouting. He jumped up and listened carefully for the direction they were coming from, then hurried off toward them. The sounds became clearer, and he could hear words distinctly. He peered through the bushes at the scene.
   Five vermin were mugging two others, a short female weasel and. . . something else. Mank drew back, appalled at the ugly creature.
   Large, fleshy lumps rested on his brow, and he had almost no ears nor neck to speak of. He was very tall, towering a full head over a fox, who desperately tried to get out of his grasp, the bulging muscles holding him strongly.
   He tossed the fox to the side and pulled a rat off the small weasel, but another jumped on his back and hit him soundly in the head, and he fell to the earth like a rock.
   The fox stood up and pulled out a billhook, putting his foot on the creature's back as he wiped blood from his mouth. "Yew monster, Ah'll lay yer gizzerd out to dry like jerky!" But as he raised the weapon, Mank rushed from cover and swiftly stabbed him in the back.
   The four other vermin stared as he fell, their jaws slack.
   "Wot th- Oi! Whaddya think yer doin'?" yelled one of the rats, and a stoat rushed at him. Mank jumped back as the vermin swung sloppily, and he stabbed him in the throat. Just as the other rat charged him, the fallen ugly creature grabbed his foot, and he had barely a moment to scream as he grabbed him by the snout and snapped his neck.
   The last two let go of the small weasel, and they backed up as they now faced three opponents.
   The female weasel stumbled up and pointed at them. "Get them, Amerun! Get them!"
   As the creature Amerun charged, the two vermin turned and fled into the trees like they were trying to escape hellfire.
   Then the weasel turned to Mank and crossed her arms. "So, who are you?"
   "Name's Mank. Looks like you two needed 'elp."
   She squinted at him. "Jessela," she finally said. Amerun came up behind her and crossed his arms. 
   "D' you wand me d' make 'im leave ma?" he asked as he evaluated Mank, and noticed his missing arm.
   "No, leave him. I'm sure he knows better than to bother us," she said turning to look up at her son. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"
   "I'm fine, don' worry."
   "Ma?" Mank's eyes grew wide. "Yer a wearet, aren'tcha?"
   "Yes, d' you 'ave a problem wid dad?" Amerun said, leaning forward. His nostrils seemed to be all but closed up by some flesh that grew within his nose.
   The ferret shook his head, though he didn't meet the wearet's gaze. "Just ain't never seen one before. . ."
   Jessela went over to where she had dropped her satchel and gathered up the spilled mushrooms and herbs. She then turned back to Mank. "If you are just going to stand there and stare at us you might as well make yourself useful." Without asking, she hooked the strap of the satchel over his good arm. "Come on," she said, and headed into the woods. Amerun gave Mank a crooked grin and picked up a bundle of wood the size of his mother and slung it onto his back with ease. 
   Mank raised an eyebrow at the odd pair, but he put the strap of the satchel over his head and followed the small gutsy weasel. "'Ow'd you two get mixed up with that lot, eh?" he asked after a period of silence.
   Jessela sighed and rolled her eyes. "They have been trying to get me to pay them 'protection fees'. Oh, I tried to be civil, but they got tired of me saying no."
   "What d'ye need protection for? Amerun seems t'be pretty capable."
   "They say it is from Redwall, but what they really mean is if we pay them they will leave us alone. So I said no, we will not pay you, and you will not ransack our house, and then Amerun made them leave. They didn't like that so they came back with more, and that is when you came in."
   Mank stopped short. "Redwall?" he whispered. The ferret caught up with Jessela.  "'Old on, 'ow close're we to that. . . place? 'Tis the death of any vermin what steps near those walls!"
She sighed. "I know that better than anyone. The abbey is about a day's walk from here if you don't stop. But we stay away from the woodlanders and the abbey, and they leave us alone for the most part. They have not bothered us in years, and I have lived here a long time. So long as you keep your distance and your numbers small they tend not to notice you."
        "I. . . guess that's a relief," grunted Mank, looking at Jessela sideways. They continued walking, Mank surprised that a female weasel of Jessela's size could keep up such a pace. "So where're we goin'?"
        "Home," she said simply
        Amerun looked sideways at Mank "If you dell anyone w'ere we live I will be 'appy d' snap your neck."
        "Let him be Amerun," Jessela called back to them.
   Mank eased himself away from Amerun, not feeling comfortable around the large wearet. Why was he even going with them? He had the satchel full of. . . whatever it had in it. He could take it and run. But if he did that, the ferret didn't fancy the idea of Amerun catching up to him.
   Besides, maybe they would feed him for saving their lives.
   "'Ow did you lose your arm?" Mank looked at Amerun, who was staring at the useless stump of a right arm that he had.
   "What?" he asked.
   "You 'eard me."
   Mank furrowed his brows. "Lost it to a creature 'o took all what I 'ad. . . said it were punishment. Can't lead no more without it."
   Jessela glanced back at him and looked him over as if she was reevaluating him. Finally she sighed and said "I used to know someone like that. They took everything from me, and I learned that day that you can not let your fear stop you. The difference between the leaders and the losers is confidence. That is why the winners try to break you. I resolved that day never to let anyone take the things I care about from me ever again."
        As she spoke they came into a clearing the soft green shade of the forest canopy casting gently moving silhouettes  across the scene. A small cabin stood in the clearing with a thatched roof hanging lazily over the trim. Green shutters framed the window, the paint faded and chipped from years of weather. The door was the same and across the top could still dimly be seen traces of painted white flowers, while on the bottom of the door the paint was completely worn away with time and use. Wild flowers grew along the side of the house and vines climbed their way up to the roof, laden with flowers that hung in tendrils of green and white and purple that swayed in the breeze. A garden patch grew off to one side and the smell of growing things and warm, tilled earth hung in the air. A fat bumble bee buzzed past Mank's ear and landed in the mouth of a lavender blossom that was growing near the tomato plants which were heavy with the bright red fruit. Rows of carrots and basil grew alongside them with onions and radishes, while a patch of camomile seemed to have taken over the far end of the clearing.
        "'Tain't normal fer a weasel," mumbled Mank. "Unnat'ral!'
        Amerun chuckled good naturedly and leaned over "I would nod let 'er 'ear you say dat if I was you," he whispered.
        "Too late," she said as she opened the door. "I will have you know that the both of you will be doing the washing up after breakfast."
        Mank groaned and Amerun chuckled. The inside of the cabin was a single room with two pallets along one wall and a fireplace set in the other. Between them stood a table and two chairs. There was also a rocking chair in front of the fire, and a stool in the corner. The walls by the fireplace were lined with shelves covered in jars of colored jams, bundles of dried herbs, bottles of things big and small and bundles wrapped in cloth. A cauldron lay on its side under a shelf and a kettle hung over the dull fire.
        Amerun took the bundle of wood he had been carrying and set it down just outside the door before he took an extra log and tossed it on the fire to give it new life. Jessela went over to the shelf and took down a loaf of bread and a jar of jam. "Mank, put those over there," she said, nodding in the direction of the shelves. ". . . And once you have done that, could you fill the kettle and put it on to boil? There is a barrel of water just outside the door," she added as she put her things on the table and began cutting the bread with a large knife.
        Mank set down the satchel and put his paw on his hip. "I ain't no servant. Do it y'self. Don't ye remember I jus' saved yer lives?"
        "Yes, and I am grateful for that, but if you want any breakfast you are going to have to help," she said without looking up. "And Amerun, could you get the plates off the top shelf?"
Mank considered his growling stomach, then rolled his eyes. "Fine! Yer a slave driver an' no mistake." He picked up the kettle and went out the door, finding the water barrel with the lid loose. He lifted it off and dunked the kettle under the water until it was mostly full, then pulled it out and went back inside to Jessela.
        "'Ere. Fer whatever you were gonna make."
        "It is for tea. Do you not know what a kettle is for?" she said taking the kettle from him and hanging it over the fire to boil. Amerun put a set of three plates out on the table with a cup by each of them. None of the cups matched. There was a tin cup with a handle, a clay cup, and a small painted teacup with a matching saucer. Jessela took a bowl filled with peaches and wild pears and placed it in the middle of the table along with a jar of honey to go with the bread.
        Mank sat down in a chair, but Amerun reached over and pulled him up. "What now?" grumbled the ferret.
        "Waid." He pointed to his mother, who was still standing. Eventually, she sat down, and Amerun did as well. Mank eased himself into the chair, hoping he wasn't disobeying some other unspoken rule. What did he walk into?

***

        Burian scowled as he pulled out his last small loaf of bread: Moldy. Tossing it away, he dug through his pack for anything left of his supplies, and came up with one bruised apple and a pawful of nuts.
        "Why can't I ever keep enough food around?" he sighed as he leaned back against a tree trunk. They were deep in Mossflower woods, and the gray skies above made the forest seem all the darker.
        The otter looked over to Ravax. "You got anything?"
        Ravax jumped, "What? Oh... 'ere,"  She said tossing her half empty sack at him.
Burian opened it up and took out what was left of her food, spreading it out on a cloth. He picked out a few nuts and a carrot and ate them. He looked over at her and noticed she was wringing her tail in her paws.
        "Something wrong?" he asked.
        She stopped wringing her tail and looked at him "We ain't gonna be gettin' any closer t' the. . . abbey are we?"
        Burian looked at her, surprised. "To Redwall? You don't know that's where we're going?"
        Ravax frowned. "Ah ain't goin' there!" she snapped.
        "Why not?"
        Ravax jumped to her feet. "Don't yew know anythin'? Goin' there would be a death sentence, they say that place is painted red with the blood of all the vermin who've died there. Ef tha otters didn't give meh a chance, why d' yew think Redwall would?" Her voice rose to a shout by the end.
        Burian stared at Ravax, then furrowed his brows. "Redwall has been a place o' peace for longer than anybeast can remember. An' the only reason fer that is because they're good creatures who fight against evil. It's where creatures can go to stay safe from-" Burian stopped short and stared off into space, realizing who he was talking to.
        "So that's what you think of meh," she growled. "Just another evil vermin t' be exterminated."
        "Is that what I said?" Burian asked, standing up and folding his arms. "What about you? Do you think I'm just another otter that wants t' kill ya for the fun of it? Or maybe you're just like all the other vermin that think we're all just a bunch o' murdering machines like them?"
        "You!" Ravax jumped on the otter, knocking him to the ground as she hit wildy at his face, screaming. Burian blocked his face from the blows, desperately trying to catch hold of the flailing fists. Finally he grabbed one, but she bit his paw and he yelped in pain, roughly throwing Ravax off him. As quickly as he could get to one knee, however, the ferret was upon him again, and she caught a good blow to the otter's eye, and stars danced in his vision.
        Burian was once again tackled to the ground, and the best he could do was cover his face against Ravax's onslaught.
        "Cheat! Liar!" Ravax screamed. "I shoulda stayed with Jarral! I should never 've trusted you!"
        Suddenly Ravax was yanked off of Burian by two pairs of unfamiliar paws, and she turned on the newcomers, but froze as she was met by two tall hares in green uniforms.
        "What's all this, eh, wot?" said the one on the right. "Stand still, missy, and we might let you go!"
        Ravax glared at them but didn't move. She looked back at Burian who was being helped to his feet by a sand-colored hare with an officer's insignia on his breast.
        "Up you come! Oof, that ferret did a number on your jolly ol' peeper, wot wot!"
        "I'll be fine," grumbled Burian, gingerly touching his swollen eye and wiping blood from his nose as he looked around. There were seven hares in total, most of them wearing the same green uniform, but armed with varying weaponry.
        "What d'we do with this one, Lieutenant?" asked the hare holding Ravax's left arm.
        "I say we kill her, sah," said the larger hare to her right, and Ravax jerked her head to look at him. "She did look like she wanted t'do our otter friend in."
        "No! Stop! Don't!" Burian cried.
        All seven hares looked at him.
        "What d'you mean?" asked the lieutenant. "She's a ferret. She was attacking you!"
        "I know, that's my fault. Listen, I need her alive."
        The hare who wanted to kill Ravax scoffed. "Since when has an otter wanted t' keep a vermin alive, wot?"
        "Silence in the ranks, Perthem!" snapped the lieutenant. "I'm sure the young beast has his reasons."
        Ravax glared at Perthem "Glad t' 'ear yew care," she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she slowly tried to worm her way out of his grip.
        The young hare tightened his hold on the ferret. "Oh no you don't! The h'otter may want t'keep you alive, but we aren't letting you out of our sight, wot!"
        "I'll be able to handle her," said Burian, giving Ravax a meaningful look. "We're going to Redwall, so-"
        "Ah! So you're going t'the jolly ol' abbey too, eh?" interrupted the lieutenant with a wink. "Makes sense, dontcha know, it being the only place with good food anywhere close t'here, wot wot!" He bowed dramatically, his long ears flopping down over his face when he stood up only to straighten out like twin masts over his head. "My name's Tebian, Lieutanant Tebian. Your friend is acquainted with Perthem there, good strong beast, but not the most angel-tongued chap." He prattled off the names of the other Long Patrol hares before turning back to Burian, who introduced himself. Tebian spoke again after they had shaken paws. "You should travel with us! We know the fastest way to the h'abbey, and you won't have to keep both eyes on our ferrety friend here. 'Specially useful since you only have one, wot?"
        Burian was almost going to decline, but he looked at Tebian closely, seeing in the otherwise very friendly eyes a touch of. . . something perilous. He remembered Rurrock and the otters, and how they treated him when they found the connection he and Ravax had. And if otters would do that to one of their own, then hares- hares from the fire mountain, Salamandastron itself- would be no better.
        "We-I'd be. . . happy to."
        Ravax glared him, her previous look of annoyance turning into a snarl "So Ah see yer showin' yer true colors. Ah should 'ave killed you when Ah first 'ad the chance," she hissed, surging forwards, but the hares held her back. "Yew just need meh alive t' ease yer conscience, t' keep yer perfect paws clean, so when Ah die yew can point an' say she 'ad et comin to 'er! 'Goodbeasts'," she said, and spat on the ground as if to get rid of the vile taste the word left in her mouth. "Self-appointed guardians o' tha world. Alus thinkin' yew're so right. What gave yew the right!" By the last phrase her voice rose to a scream, hot tears welling up in her eyes. She fell limp and stopped struggling, her body shaking with ragged, constrained breaths as she tried to fight the tears.
        "What in seasons' name is with her?" asked Tebian, drawing back at the ferret's outburst.
        Burian looked away from Ravax, ashamed and silent. He was no better than she said he was, and he knew it. "Let's get moving before it starts raining."

[close]

[The Grey Coincidence]

Regarding Chapter Three (I have yet to read Chapter Four, but shall get to that shortly!)
So Ravax took the (somewhat predicted) route and warned the otter's
And they believed her! (Or at least, Burian did and they believed him).  Some culture clashing and species tension "Did she say she was hungry?" But aside from a few deaththreats and a bumpy boat-ride Ravax is in good shape.
Burian's parentage continues to intrigue- honestly no idea what's going on with him, but the bodies have been covered up you say... Martin's work perhaps? No idea who else to pin the blame on (but it's likely I'm wrong -.-)
I'm rooting for Mank's survival to say the least. One armed former warlord... Hell yeah! Although having read some of your previous posts I have a feeling I ought to be wary of who I grow attached to...
Fun note: Your character (s) all seem to have one 'aspect' that can describe them. Ie Jarral's height, Burian s eyebrows, Mank's one arm and I suppose Ravax's accent (rather thick but very well done- I'm not sure if you guys were going for Irish or not?)

[The Skarzs]

Indeed. We tried to emphasize the distrust, while at the same time we didn't want to be completely inaccurate from the books. So the otters didn't want to chance it.

Hm. Never really thought about them being descriptive aspects, but it just kind of ended up that way. Everyone has something unique to them, and I hope that means that our characters are believable.
Also, Ravax's accent is supposed to be Scottish. In the first chapter we say she had a "thick northern accent." But it's not the easiest thing to do.