Iceclaw! A Tale of Redwall

[Corporal Firalay]

Hello! I'm currently writing a Redwall story called Iceclaw!. Here's the synopsis:

Viskata Tatt has one thing on her mind - finding Redwall! Nothing stands in the way of her mighty horde and the glory of completing what her ancestors set out to do. Kafta Tiltertree finds her self caught up in the desperate race to save the Abbey. The only way to stop the last descendant of Cluny the Scourge is to find the Iceclaw!

I will post the first chapter right away - soon to come: a map!

I hope you enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it! All comments welcome on the discussion thread: http://redwallabbey.com/forum/index.php?topic=3712.0

[Tam and Martin]

Awesome!

[Corporal Firalay]

Awesome!

Thankyou!! :DD

[Corporal Firalay]

Book One

The Queen and the Fool

Chapter One


The deep blanket of dusk had fallen over the forest south of Mossflower, cloaking sea and land in a state of quiet peace. A small bird twittered its song to the dusk air, dancing through the air, heading south. It perched in an old oak at a sound in the distance. It cocked its little head, a deep rumble becoming clear. It flew to investigate.
'Viskata! Viskata! Tatt! Tatt! Tatt!'
A huge horde, comprising mostly of rats, jumped up and down, chanting and dancing. In the centre of the mass of bodies there was a makeshift platform where a fire burned fiercely. A struggling figure was hung above it, and beside the flames stood a hulking rat. Her tail was thick and heavy, her body two and a half times the size of a larger hordebeast. Her body was riddled with scars. She wore metal gloves with small, wicked scythes on the end of each finger. Her eyes burned with a deadly hunger. On her chest was a simple breastplate made of hardened silver, and a curved blade hung at her waist.
'What do we do to those who oppose?' she roared to her Horde.
'We kill, kill, kill!'
She turned to the figure hanging above the fire, fighting with the ropes. 'You have one last chance, worm! Where is Redwall?'
The figure stopped struggling. It wore a brightly coloured headband and a kilt, both soiled with dirt and blood. It had short spiky fur, and a fire in its eyes unmatched by that which burned beneath it. It stared the rat in the eyes and yelled, 'Burn at Hellgates, vermin!'
'The same to you!' cried the rat, and with a swipe of her gloved paw she severed the rope and the shrew fell to the flames.
'Viskata! Viskata! Tatt! Tatt! Tatt!' The roar boomed across the dark night, making sturdy trees shudder and flocks of birds flee to the sky.
'Kill! Kill! Kill!'





A grey haze lay over Mossflower wood, the sweet final moments of night. Slowly, the sun broke over the horizon, spilling orange light over the forest. The trilling of a bluebird floated with the wind, and soon a whole chorus of birdsong filled the air. Kafta Tiltertree closed her eyes as the cool red stone of the battlement began to glow with morning light.
The soft pink light seeping through her eyelids, combined with the warmth of the morning and the smell of fresh scones lulled Kafta into a semi-conscious state of bliss. She felt the stone beneath her paws but she felt light as a feather.
Suddenly, a white mist clouded her mind. An armoured mouse stepped through the whorls of fog. He carried a shining blade and a fierce power in his eyes. Martin!
The great warrior extended a paw, and in a soft and commanding voice he spoke. 'Stop, Kafta the squirrel. Your silence is not due.'
Kafta felt the drowsiness lift as Martin and the fog disappeared. Her eyes opened and she gasped.
She teetered on the brink of the battlement wall, standing on tip-toe, her footpaws curling over the drop! She didn't remember climbing up onto the edge. Below her, the emerald green foliage of Mossflower rippled in the wind. Kafta dropped to all-fours and shuffled backwards before the same wind knocked her off her feet.
When she finally placed her paws on the grass of the Abbey lawns, Kafta let out a whoop of excitement. Martin had visited her! None of the other young Abbey creatures had experienced that!

* * *

Brother Sottriel watched as Kafta Tiltertree bounced into Great Hall and flopped down onto a bench. The very tip of her bushy tail was quivering with energy, her eyes were lit up with excitement. She whispered something to Rufus Rumspickle, the young hedgehog beside her, and he nodded and turned to the molemaid next to him. Brother Sottriel watched as a ripple of excitement passed through the young ones.
Kafta barely touched her apple oatmeal, and as soon as Rufus had finished his, she shot out of Great Hall with the hedgehog trailing behind her. Brother Sottriel set down his own bowl and quietly caught up with the two youngsters. One of the otters had mentioned he had spotted a red-furred squirrel outside of the Abbey this morning. They were up to no good, he was sure of it!
'You seem bright and chirpy this morning, Miss Tiltertree.'
Kafta spun around to come face to face with Brother Sottriel. He was an elderly mouse with grey streaks in his fur. He carried a knobbly stick to help him walk, and he clutched it tightly in his paws in front of him. He peered down at her, frowning over his spectacles. She gulped, shuffling her feet.
'Good morning, Brother,' she said politely, not quite looking him in the eye. 'You look well-rested.'
'I am thank you,' he replied, falling in step beside Kafta. She was blinking a lot and kept yawning widely, despite her bubbly mood. 'You, on the other paw, look like a youngbeast who woke up before the sun.'
Kafta laughed nervously. Brother Sottriel was not a tall mouse, but he was just as imposing as a ten-foot badger. 'R-really? I haven't been sleeping very well lately, Brother.'
'I see. By any chance, when you are restless, do you stretch your paws for a walk? This morning Gunfa Rippledog noticed a young squirrel sprinting across the lawns.'
'What a silly thing to do!'
'Indeed,' said Brother Sottriel, nodding gravely. 'I should hope that silly squirrel won't make a habit of it. Oh, and Kafta? Could you tell Sir Amnem I found his spectacles? He seemed to have left them in the library.'
Brother Sottriel left for the gatehouse, leaving Kafta feeling much less exhilarated than before. That nasty old mouse, she thought, scowling. Playing games with otherbeasts like that. What a lousy place the Abbey would be if HE was Father Abbot.
Kafta had Rufus drag a stump over to the pond and she sat on it, waiting for her audience. Soon enough a score of youngbeasts were seated before, waiting for her tale to begin.
'Welcome,' said Kafta, trying to bring an air of mystery to her voice. 'Today-'
'Gerron wiv it!' cried Junphy, a small mousebabe with a voice more suited to a hedgehog.
Kafta shot him an icy glare. 'Last night, I was troubled in my sleep. Something haunted me. My paws wandered to the northern walltop. I stood, inhaling the morning air, when suddenly, everything went dark.' She gazed imperiously over her crowd. She sat with her back straight, footpaws crossed beneath her, her tail curled curiously over her shoulder. 'A mysterious figure appeared from the darkness. It glowed.'
'Junpy don't 'ave awl day!'
Kafta scowled at the mousebabe. She stuck her nose in the air and cleared her throat. 'Where was I? Oh, yes, it was glowing. The figure raised its head and I saw its face. It was Martin the Warrior!'
A ripple of excited muttering swept through the crowd. Kafta smiled smugly. 'Martin reached for my paw, and at his touch a gold chest plate appeared on me. It was decorated in emeralds and rubies and a big crystal!' Kafta lent forward. 'Then Martin said to me, "Warrior you are! Spirit of fire, spirit of fighter! Protect your Abbey, evil comes forth! Death to vermin, death by your sword!"' Her voice rose dramatically. '"Many shall die, but you shall live to slay!"'
Several young Dibbun maids squealed in fright and ran back to the Abbey, their little smocks held over their faces. Kafta's chest rose and fell from yelling. Uneasy mutters flew through the air.
'What evil is coming?'
'Do yurr thoink us'ns will doi?'
'Can Kafta defend us all by herself?'
'There ain't a way, matey! The Abbey is doomed!'
'Oh, this is all too frightening!'
A molemaid grabbed the paws of her two friends and they hurried across the lawns. A young mole grabbed some wailing Dibbuns and ran to the Abbey, crying out, 'Save'm the likkle ones, burr aye!' Junphy, who appeared to be the ringleader of the babes started yelling out lustily, 'Find the muvvers!'
Kafta sat completely still, pleased with the chaos. There was a bunch of Dibbuns running amok across the lawns. A tiny hedgehog collided with a squirrelbabe head-on and they bounced onto their backs crying, 'Go on wiv out us! Wun for your loife!'
Very soon everybeast had left their spot by the pond. When Kafta saw some shushing mothers appear to scoop up their crying babes, she decided it was time to disappear. She sped around the pond and dived under a bush, curling her tail in and wriggling deeper under the foliage.
It was not long before she saw Brother Sottriel and Sir Amnem, a large, old and forgetful owl who insisted on being addressed as Sir, walk past her hiding spot. They hurried past her without a glance, and when they were gone Kafta giggled in delight. She had outsmarted all of them!
'Gotcha!'
Kafta felt herself wrenched out of the bush by a powerful paw. She lay sprawled on the ground with Gunfa Rippledog looming over her. He had a grim look set into his face.
'Your in very deep mud, matey. Mother Tinnileaf has put you on Abbess Report.' Gunfa was a strong young otter, only just having reached adulthood. He had huge wiry muscles all over his body, and a thin scar reached from the back of his left paw, twisting around up to his shoulder. 'Come on, they're waitin' in Cavern Hole.'
Kafta attempted to struggle free, but Gunfa did not release his grip on her habit and she was no match for his raw otter strength. The otter let Kafta down outside Cavern Hole, and he gently nudged her back when she didn't move. She stumbled forwards, her tail low.
'Kafta Tiltertree.'
Kafta shrunk under the disappointment that hung in the room. She stood, looking at her paws.
Mother Abbess Tinnileaf sat on a small stool with Brother Sottriel, Sister Amelio, Skipper of Otters and Foremole standing beside her.
'I'm very upset, Kafta. I thought you would be a good little Abbeybeast. But here you are, on the first Abbess report for thirteen seasons,' said Abbess Tinnileaf, sadness deep in her voice. She was a brown-and-white furred mouse, and she did everything with slow authority. Kafta wished she would yell at her and let her go, but Abbess Tinnileaf was firm and careful. 'You've been spreading nasty rumours and lies, scaring little Dibbuns and youngbeasts.'
'And she was out of bed before the bells.'
Tinnileaf nodded. 'It is atrocious behaviour, predicting evil and vermin. We have not had trouble with vermin for seasons on seasons, so why should you be allowed to tell tales about death and destruction?'
'Hurr, if'n yurr doan't moind me sayin', marmee, varmint could be 'round any corner,' Foremole rumbled, his simple mole logic making the Abbess bit her lip.
'The days of war and siege are over,' she said emphatically. 'We've no need for Abbey Champions any more.'
'But, Mother-' Kafta said, raising her head.
'Shush,' said Brother Sottriel, glaring at her. Kafta lowered her eyes.
'Mother Abbess, there are always rotten vermin and beasts out there, and cut off my rudder if they aren't going to come for the Abbey one day.' Skipper thwacked the stone floor for emphasise.
Abbess Tinnileaf shook her head. 'I refuse to think about such horrible prospects. The past warriors destroyed the vermin and scared them away.'
Sister Amelio sighed. 'Abbess Tinnileaf, it may not happen today, or tomorrow, or this season, but there are rats and badbeasts out in Mossflower and beyond,' she said. Amelio was a quiet and soft vole, but she moved quickly in her Infirmary, and she feared no blood or wound. She clasped her paws together in front of her.
'Mother Abbess-'
Brother Sottriel fixed Kafta with another frown. Abbess Tinnileaf brushed some dust from her habit, adjusting her glasses and sniffing haughtily.
'Now, are we not here to discuss Kafta's behaviour? Good.' Mother Tinnileaf relaxed a bit. 'Kafta, we cannot have babes and children frightened this way. It was a very dirty trick to play.'
'But-'
'And all of your other tales and stories too, some of them holding false information about our Abbey's past. It soils the name of Redwall to say Martin the Warrior visited you like that-'
'Mother Abbess!' Kafta burst out, squaring her shoulders and looking Tinnileaf right in the eye. 'I did have a vision of Martin! He saved me from falling off the north wall!'
Abbess Tinnileaf stared at Kafta, appalled at her outburst. But Skipper Daso looked at Kafta with interest.
'Really, matey? What did he say?' asked Skipper.
'H-he said...' Kafta racked her mind. 'Oh yes. Martin said, "Stop, Kafta the squirrel. Your silence is not due."'
A thick silence lay over Cavern Hole. Brother Sottriel and Skipper shared a glance. Sister Amelio looked down at the ground and Foremole shook his head sadly. Mother Abbess recovered herself and rubbed a paw across her eyes, her shoulders slumped tiredly.
'Thank you, Kafta. A message from Martin is a very serious business. I'm ashamed you didn't come straight to me.' Kafta hung her head. 'As a result of your foolish behaviour today, and in the past, I think two seasons exiled from Redwall should mature you up.'
Kafta scowled at the ground, her paws clenched in fists. She didn't need the Abbey anyway. Skipper sighed. The judgement was fair, but he had always had a soft spot for youngbeasts.
'It's alright, matey,' he said consolingly, mistaking Kafta's silence for sadness. 'You'll be fine!'
Kafta glared at him. 'I've never liked the Abbey anyway!' She stuck her nose in the air. 'When can I leave?'
'As soon as possible, as your sour mood will leave with you!' snapped Brother Sottriel.
Abbess Tinnileaf stomped a paw against the stone floor. 'Enough! I won't have these bitter squabbles in my Abbey! Good. Foremole Dupper, please go and ask Friar Pier to make a travelling pack for Kafta.' Foremole nodded his velvety head and went off to the kitchens. 'Kafta, wait here for midday, and we'll see you off. We have other business.'
Abbess Tinnileaf hurried out of Cavern Hole, disappearing with a swish of her habit. She was rather disturbed at all the talk of fighting and vermin, and she wished to console herself by going through her personal library before noon. Brother Sottriel and Sister Amelio followed after her. Skipper Daso left with a shake of his head, and Kafta was alone.

* * *

The high summer sun burned in the sky, beating the ground with a relentless tirade of heat. The cool Cavern Hole felt stuffy to Kafta, and she longed to be outside in the glorious sunshine. She rested her head on her paws, gazing longingly at the rolling green lawns, filled with happy Abbey creatures.
She shook her head, berating herself for thinking such perilous thoughts. The Abbey was her enemy now, the Cavern Hole her jail. She leapt up and paced around the comfortable space, as dark a scowl as she could muster plastered on her whiskers.
It was not long before Skipper Daso opened the doors, standing tall and straight with a regretful expression in his eyes. 'Come on, you little treewalloper. Time to go.'
Kafta stormed past him, her paws clenched in fists. She marched out onto the lawns with Daso trailing behind her. Crossing her arms, Kafta stood boldly beside the main gates facing the company of Abbeybeasts and Abbess Tinnileaf.
Friar Pier held out a travelling pack, and Kafta snatched it from him. Brother Sottriel shook his head slightly.
'Your punishment is thus - two seasons out in Mossflower country. You are not permitted inside these gates until the first day of winter.' Mother Tinnileaf folded her paws inside her habit sleeves. 'You need not wear the green Abbey habit.'
Kafta shed her robes and pulled on a worn old jacket that Daso handed her. Sticking her tail high in the air, she stomped out through the gates.
As she reached the path, her footpaw snagged on a sharp stone, and she tumbled forward, landing snout-first in the dust. Kafta scrabbled up to see if anyone noticed, but the great strong doors of the Abbey were already firmly closed.
The young squirrelmaid picked herself up from the dust and straightened her pack, rubbing her sore paw.
A pair of glittering eyes watched the squirrel from the depths of an elm as she trudged down the snaking path, away from the protective Abbey. They blinked once, then with a faint rustle they disappeared.

[Corporal Firalay]

Chapter Two

Viskata was in a good mood. The surrounding woodlands were lush and full of easy prey for her Hordebeasts to catch. The midmorning sunlight poured into her tent, the leaves she was using as a makeshift entrance swayed lazily on the breeze. She felt her mind being lulled into a dozing state, her claws loosening their grip on the simply carved throne on which she dozed. She was wrenched from the hazy mists of sleep by the rustling of the leaf-door and the clank of weapons.
Stretching her coiled muscles idly, Viskata watched as the rat Captain dumped the unconscious weasel in front of her. It was a well-fed creature, stomach round and fingers thick, and it had probably lived in the woodlands all its life. The rat tossed a simple dagger and a purse filled with trinkets in front of her and saluted.
'Couple o' troops found him, this is what 'e had on 'im at the time.'
Viskata nodded slowly, nudging the bag with her footpaw. Three gold rings and a dirty shell rolled from the purse, the sun dancing and glittering attractively. Flicking the treasures around with her paw, she lounged back in her chair and gave the Captain a friendly smile. 'Very good, Scartooth. Tell me though, why is the beast unconscious?'
The rat shrugged. 'It's a pretty annoyin' beast, marm.'
Viskata rolled her eyes and let the false smile slide from her face. 'Now I have to wait for it to wake up, Scartooth. That's annoying me. Shall I hit you over the head?'
She leapt up from her throne and grabbed the weasel's limp form, throwing him at Scartooth and snarling, 'Tie him up and leave him outside. Go!'
The rat hastened to do so, knowing full well the power of Viskata's unpredictable rage.

* * *

Kafta had been walking for a few hours, and her paws were weary. Night began to fall around the young lone squirrel, and she decided it was time to leave the path. There was a deep, scraggly ditch to her left, and it still had some mud in the bottom of it from the just passed spring. To her right was deep woodland, the cloak of mid-evening shrouding the cheery woodlands in a blanket of eerie silence.
Hitching her pack further up her shoulders, Kafta branched away from the dusty stone path. The feeling of soft earth and loam beneath her paws was quite a relief, and she immediately felt better. She choose a solid looking oak and flopped down at the bottom of it.
Nasty thoughts had been circulating the squirrels mind as she trekked along slowly and as she reclined backwards she began voicing them in a low mutter.
'Nasty old elders, keeping young ones locked up in that tiny Abbey. We ought to be free, out in the wilderness. Hah, kicking me out of that dusty relic was the best punishment ever!'
Kafta stretched, patting her stomach and pawing for her bag. Inside was two cloth-wrapped bundles of scones, a loaf of bread, some chestnut oatcakes, two flagons of raspberry cordial and a parcel of apple turnovers sitting daintily on top. Kafta took a few scones and settled in between two big roots, curling her tail over herself. Sleep came slowly, and Kafta found herself longing for a warm blanket, perhaps a dormitory.

* * *

Weak sunshine filtered through the foliage above the squirrelmaid, mild and warm. The beauty was lost on Kafta, who had spent an uncomfortable night with a rock pressing into her back.
What eluded to being a comfortable spot turned out to be riddled with dead roots and stones. Kafta rubbed her eyes wearily, her bones stiff and sore, freezing drops of dew soaking her fur. She gobbled up five scones and washed them down with most of one of her flagons of cordial.
Yawning widely, Kafta stuffed her supplies carelessly back inside the pack and stood, gazing around at the morning forest. The path just at her back, Kafta lifted her pack onto her shoulders and head off into the forest, tail and nose held high. This was truly the life for a wandering vagabond!
The noon sun let down the beginnings of its summer heat, pulling the moisture from Kafta's back and mouth as she trekked aimlessly through the sparse leafy woodlands. Soon the trees began to thicken and the interlacing bows of their foliage relieved the young squirrel of the full force of the heat. Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her paw, Kafta poured the remainder of her first flagon of raspberry cordial into her mouth, licking the last drips from the rim hungrily.
She swung the empty flask in her paw as she kicked up dead pine needles into piles, chewing her lip. She hadn't a clue where she was, and dizzying amount of greenery held no sign of a path or river. What was it that Brother Meritus had taught her in Abbey School? West, old west, way of sunray's... rest or early breath? She scowled, kicking a nearby tree with all her might. She slipped on the undergrowth and landed flat on her pack, gaining a sore paw for her effort.
'Accursed abbey, full of blundering blindwits!' she howled, clutching her paw. She wailed and whined for awhile, throwing sticks and rocks and anything that came to paw in her anger. Sniffling and muttering darkly, she pulled open her pack and ate a gluttonous lunch, before setting up camp where she sat. She spent her afternoon attempting a leaf and branch lean-to and eating scones. Using her fast-emptying pack as a pillow, the squirrel settled into sleep as the oppressive summer night fell thick around her.  
Kafta woke to an intense feeling of itchiness. From the outside she resembled a trampled bush, the branches and leaves of the collapsed lean-to resting atop the groggy squirrel. Scrambling out of the mess, Kafta lifted a paw to her head and felt the sticky substance that clung to her fur. Never before had she wished more for a bath! The sauce-filled turnovers had burst in the night, soaking the already crumbling loaf of bread and the remaining scones. Few of the chestnut oatcakes had survived the night, and Kafta quickly rescued them from the mess in her pack. She wiped the mix of turnover, scone and bread from the outside of her last flagon and drank deeply, the sweet tang of strawberries waking her from her sleepy fog. She emptied the soiled bag of its mucky contents, stuffed the last oatcakes into her mouth and abandoned her camp, leaving the area littered with spoiled food and trampled leaves.
By noon Kafta's flagon was only half-full, and her fur was matted together in sticky clumps. The leaves and twigs she slept under had left her with a prickly itch across her body and she had been furiously scratching at her skin all morning. As she wiped a paw across her mouth she heard several voices, far in the distance. Kafta picked herself up and shouldered her rather light pack, heading towards the noise. She soon reached a tiny clearing in the trees surrounded by blackberry bushes. From behind a bush she watched two baby moles play and roll in the grass. Leaving her pack in the bush, the squirrel stepped into the clearing and gave the two moles a friendly smile.
'Hello, little ones, who are you?'
The moles scrambled up and gazed at her with tiny eyes filled with curiosity at the dishevelled creature. The larger one piped up, 'Hurr, we'm be Roomble an' Toomble!'
Kafta bowed graciously. 'Pleased to meet you, Rumble and Tumble. You look like two big strong beasts. Do you have any food that makes you stronger?'
The small mole, Tumble, puffed out his chest and flexed his arms, nodding wisely. "We'm get ee gurt muscals from water!'
Kafta worked to keep the silly grin on her face, hunkering down to the mole's height. 'What about food, Tumble? Maybe a sweet scone?'
Rumble waved a paw dismissively. 'Nah, muscals coom from ee watery baffs.'
The squirrelmaid hit the ground with her paw impatiently and the little moles quickly lost interest in her. She stomped back to her spot in the blackberry bushes, out of sight. As soon as she had left the clearing, a small wooden door inset into an oak tree trunk opened to reveal an molewife, laden with a tray of steaming tea and fresh biscuits. Kafta watched in longing as the enticing scents of the afternoon tea wafted over to her on the light breeze, and she quickly formulated a plan in her head. Settling down, she waited for nightfall.

* * *

By the time the two youngsters had bathed, eaten supper and disappeared into the oak door tunnel, Kafta was sore and fed up. The sun had sunk through the afternoon, making her hot and sticky and feeding her thirst. She shifted her paws restlessly, unripe berries staining her fur and brush a deep pink-purple. The relentless itch had refused to leave, tormenting her as she was forced to remain still in the bushes. Finally the moles home was silent and it was safe to come out.
Kafta crept up to the door and tugged gently on the handle - it was loosely locked. With a bit of jigging, the simple catch skipped and the door swung slowly open, soft light from a small lantern dimmed with ash-darkened glass spilling into the clearing. There was a tunnel leading down into the earth, precise stairs cut into the soft dirt. Kafta, walking on tip-paw, padded quietly down the stair case until it opened into a comfortable living room and kitchen. Roots snaked along the packed dirt walls, in some places they had been used to make shelves or benches. Straw mats were placed on the floor and a few simple paintings decorated the walls. Kafta weaved around the wicker chairs and dining table, making a beeline for the well-stocked kitchen. A tray of fresh blackberry muffins sat cooling on a stone slab above a dying fire. Kafta's eyes lit up and she began sweeping the still-warm treats into her bag.
She spotted a jar of blackberry flatcakes and, laughing quietly, tipped them in with the muffins. Popping a purloined candied chestnut into her mouth, Kafta spun back around toward the tunnel.
Crash!
Kafta froze, the tinkling of broken glass slowing dying down. The flatcake jar had been knocked by her bushy tail as she turned!
Heavy footsteps thudded from behind a door and Kafta sprung forwards, knocking over chairs and vases as she made a bolt for the exit. A large mole hastened after her, making a spectacular dive across the room to grab for her brush-
Kafta felt herself being yanked backwards by the roots of her tail, her pack skidding under the table. She yelped and tried to turn to face her attacker, but the determined mole had his powerful digging claws gripping her fur tightly.
'Yurr best be'm still, marmee, Oi doan't woant t'be knocking ee sensiluss!'
Gritting her teeth, Kafta obliged and stood still as the mole came to face her, holding a heavy looking candleholder in his claws. The molewife hurried out looking alarmed. She quickly recovered herself and retrieved the pack from under the table, sorting its stolen contents back into their places. The two babes Rumble and Tumble peeked at the scene from around the bedroom door, button noses wrinkled as they shook their tiny heads disapprovingly. After having a quiet conversation with his wife, the big mole turned back to the sullen Kafta.
'Naow,' he said sternly. 'You'm 'ave not be a noicebeast to us'n, but we'm let yurr go, anyhow. We'm will give'n yurr a bath'n'food, then you'm be on yurr way.' He waggled a paw under her nose. 'Doan't ever be let'n moi see yurr here agin!'
Kafta scowled at him, wriggling free of his grip. 'I don't want your bath and food, anyway!' Her stomach gave a traitorous growl.
'Hurr, hurr, Oi s'pose you'm joost maggik all o' yurr food, then?' The good molewife handed Kafta her bag, packed with a few muffins and flatcakes. 'Yurr do'm well t'loisten to us'n's. If'n ee doan't be want'n a bath, yurr best be off and leave us'n guddbeasts alone, burr aye!'