Mala-Kotar - something I just seem compelled to write...

[Para the Mite]

For not too long now I've been writing a fan-piece set in the Redwall world. For me this is a bit odd since I've spent most of my life inventing worlds, not taking from others. xD, But the Redwall world is so vast, deep and interesting, I find I'm often drawn to its themes via role-play; but I had never once tried crafting my own story with my own fan-made, original characters.

Then I started brainstorming with a couple concepts and before long (as per usual...) I had three books planned and ready to start. xD lol, I have pages and pages of notes now and nothing but frustration.

Because after all, what am I going to do with a fan-fiction novel, let alone three, set in Brian Jacques' world? At first I thought to publish it for a charity of Jacques' family's choice, but I haven't had the will to publish since the deal with my first book. I'm still halfway through that process going on...pffft...4-5 years, who knows. lol, All I know is all these things lost their allure when I became seriously ill last year.

But now I digress. xD lol

After a lot of brainstorming and random inspirations I realized this story, Mala-Kotar, will actually be the middle book in the trilogy. Which is unfortunate, I don't want to write the other ones yet 'til I'm done with this one. But I may write all three in tandem, taking and transferring scenes as I need them.

In any case, as I've been sitting on this project wondering why the hell I'm even writing it, I couldn't help but be partially saddened by the thought. Because what's the point of a writer writing if no one ever reads his work? It's kind of like...yeah, writing it fulfills the need, but having another person read, understand and appreciate it is the other half. And without that half, I'm just floundering in a sea of text with no one to talk to about it.

And I guess, as a writer...that can be a little painful. At least for me. I can't speak for every writer or artist. This has just been my experience.

But anyway...point being... xD

I figured...why not let you guys have it? Where else would I put it, and why? I've never liked FanFiction.net, in fact I never really enjoyed posting literature because I always felt it was widely over-looked online, and vastly under-appreciated by people at large, even offline.

Redwall fans seem to be different though...we seem to truly hunger for well thought out stories and characters and also the beautiful writing which accompanies them. Without the elegance of Jacques all you have is a forest and a bunch of animals. But in his words...it was like being a part of something far grander than yourself, and that I loved.

Anyway, without further ado I guess I should just get on with it...lol

You're the only beasts who will read this, so, hopefully it will amuse someone.

Can a vixen dispel the distrust of her ancestry to lead the woodlanders to victory as a wild war brews in the west?

And in the gale of a wintertide storm, Captain Halfgrin Flynn and has vile crew of bloodthirsty Sea Raiders are shipwrecked, but undeterred. With the aid of an ancient, foreign chart, the Raider captain has plotted a course straight to Redwall, which he intends to take for himself!

But with something on the wind telling of battles to come, images of burning eyes and mouse warriors continue to haunt the vixen...will she be able to decipher its message? And even then...we'll she be able to make the ultimate sacrifice to fulfill its prophecy?

******************************
******************************
******************************

Mala-Kotar
By: P.M. aka C.M.M

'Gather ye round as I tell a sad tale,
The Ballad of Mala-Kotar.
A warrior whose paws dealt justice and death,
As she followed the Redfox star.
Fate would decree that it would be she,
Who answered the Warrior's Call.
But not all could agree that this one thing should be,
Having naught but distrust or appall.
For what right-minded creature could bear such a feature,
Was it not them we'd always abhor?
For who in right-mind would turn back to their kind,
To follow a vermin to war?'
The Ballad of Mala-Kotar ~

~ Chapter 1

   Sunlight shone with a bright opalescence over turquoise waters on a morning so warm it heralded the coming of summer. Sparkling ocean waves, crystal clear and rife with sea life, chuckled cheerfully against a shoreline pock-marked with round stones and pebbles. Out over the seemingly endless waters black-marked gulls and tern called in voices which carried on a friendly zephyr. Sea spray lit the sky with dazzling color and vibrant rainbows as heavy rollers, crashing toward shore, split themselves on a long jetty of salt-slick boulders which stood out like a beacon on the gravelly sand.

Out on that lone stretch of the sloping beach trudged a figure, barely discernible against the dry scrubland at the creature's back. Heat shimmered off the southern desert horizon, the red of sun-baked clay visible in the dancing vastness where even cacti longed for moisture. A lonely set of pawtracks led the creature away from the harsh Deadlands to more supple land up north.

Already the land had become less agonizing with the introduction of a hearty breeze, despite its definite warmth. The creature, who clung to a long flowing cloak tattered with age and wear and coated thoroughly in red-brown with dust, finally chanced slinging away the cumbersome hood. She even went so far as to remove the article altogether, freeing her limbs and slender form.

For a she the creature was, an athletic if not slightly small vixen, fur a mottled red and brown with a sleek, feminine muzzle and eyes a pale shade of hazel. Her fur alone made it clear from whence she came, trudging doggedly on along the shore, meandering slowly in the direction of the water.

Her movements were smooth and fluid as she picked her way carefully to the lapping waves, a youthful spring to her motions, each pawstep calculated and exact as she steadied the end of a bow slung across her back. She carried an array of other weaponry, a handsomely curving sword at her side tucked in a snake-skin belt, some form of javelin-like spear across her back opposite the bow with the tell-tale thong of a sling hanging from where it was wrapped round the fox's paw. In all rights she looked armed to the teeth.

And perhaps that was why a distant set of eyes watched her with such burning scrutiny.

Or one eye, as it were.

A sly shadow slipped back along the jetty in the distance as the vixen tread slowly closer, taking her ease in the shallows of the calm shore, eyes flickering observantly through the cool depths.

Quickly readying her bow, the vixen had arrow to string in the blink of an eye, letting a shaft loose with just as much ease and swiftness. Soon the fox was happily padding along the shore towards the stone jetty, a sizeable young barracuda, scales dazzling like silver diamonds, dangling from the end of her bow which she carried effortlessly over her shoulder like a sack of goods. It had been unstrung for the task, the string tucked away in a greased leather pouch to protect it from weather and wear, one of several on the vixen's patterned snake-hide belt.
Mid-morning saw the vixen happily camped not a sling stone's throw from the jetty, slightly north and east, taking shelter in a tiny copse of dried out oak. Keeping clear of dead trees and thick brush, the fox consciously built her fire away from anywhere it might erringly spread, using only fallen bark and tree litter for fuel. Spitting the cleaned out fish on a sizeable withe of oak, it was soon sizzling cheerfully over the greedy flames, oils escaping to spark the embers, offering a pleasant aroma from herbs the vixen stuffed into the predatory fish.

As she chopped away at a foraged onion and small potatoes with the aid of a hidden dagger, the vixen sang an eerie lullaby she'd never forget in a voice which was soft and fore-boding:

'Paws of wrong meet paws of right,
As autumn leaves would turn.
Fates entangled in dawn's cruel light,
Where the lizard fires once burned.
The shadows of evil walk with thee, thy babe,
Dare ye wish it not to be true?
Wouldst thou seek the path of right,
If it brought only pain to you?
Within thy paws, all fate could hang,
Even the Warrior knows it to be.
So will thee prove a woodland proverb true,
Or seek the garnet which shines by the sea?
Mala-Kotar, the Fated Star,
In thy path lies but sorrow and dread.
But if the wish of thee, is for this not to be,
Seek the fortress where walls stand blood-red.'

"Stap me rudder! That's a 'aunting tune! Ahoy there, mizzie, wot smells so delightful, eh?"

Surprised at the sudden sound of a deep voice (and especially since it sounded as though it were right behind her), the vixen stood and whirled, dagger at ready, but found herself frozen in place by what she saw. Before her stood the tallest, burliest sea otter she'd ever seen in all her seasons! He was probably somewhere in his late-middle seasons and stood towering over her with a frame that certainly belied his brawn. His fur shone a deep, dark mahogany which could seem black in the shadows, his one good eye dark and beady. The other (the creature's right), along with the corresponding ear, seemed to be missing, hidden under the folds of a cleverly wrapped make-shift eye-patch that also covered most of the right side of his skull.

Traces of a nasty gray-pink scar were barely visible from beneath the cloth wrap, it seemed to trail along the creature's muzzle and back along his head and neck. Not that the vixen would have asked or pointed it out, as it was she could only stand, mouth agape, trying to will some form of words to come.

Nothing would, her tongue dry and swollen in her terrified mouth at the sight of so frightening a beast.

Taking notice of the vixen's apparent trepidation and sudden paralysis, the burly otter saw fit to pat her shoulder none-too-gently and step past her towards the fire with a smile. "Harrharrhar, liddle mizzie, don't ye fret, I kin check for meself. Mmm, ye got one o' them 'ook-toothed sharkfish, young'n too. Right tasty. Wot's this ye was cuttin', onions and taters? My my, nice liddle spread ye've got, right enough!"

It was the sudden realization that the otter was pleasantly helping himself to her rations (paired with the hearty clap to her shoulder which nearly knocked all wind from her lungs) that brought the vixen back to the world of the conscious and living. Whirling quickly, she stopped and watched as the otter drew his own curved knife to finish cutting the vegetables, depositing them into the small pot the fox had ready and waiting, boiling a broth of water and herbs.

"Liddle garlic an' onion, black pepper an', ooh! Where'd ye come across limes, me beauty? They'll go wunnerful with the ol' sharkfish, slice 'em up and toast 'em near the fire! Sweetens 'em right up!" The sea otter continued chortling happily, almost to himself, freely picking through the vixen's haversack of supplies.

For a moment the fox was absolutely flabbergasted in disbelief, but then her nature and confidence returned to her once she realized the beast was far less threatening than he at first seemed. After all, he seemed to only be armed with the dagger.

"Pardon me," she stated solidly, her voice deeper of timbre than one would expect from such a petite-looking vixen. She tugged at her long, sand-colored jerkin and tunic, straightening them in an annoyed fashion. "...but, generally it's polite to introduce oneself before going through their belongings or..." she paused as she watched the otter take a long, drawn out sip from a wooden spoon, seeming as though he purposely slurped long and loud as he turned to gaze towards her with a distant smirk. "Eating their food..." Her voice trailed off as she offered a very obvious frown of discontent.

The stranger smacked his lips and gave a long sigh of satisfaction. "Ahhh! Now that's a nice tastin' broth. But...stripe me if ye ain't right there, mizzie!" Suddenly the sea otter was up and offering what he thought was a fanciful bow, but due to his size and height it just seemed like a great, clumsy shuffling. "Shelldog Wunifer the Wunnerful Wanderer, at y'service Mizz Foxychops!"

It took a great effort not to laugh at the giant otter's comical shuffling, forced to stifle her chuckling and beat down the smile working its way across her lips. The playful jib didn't even seem to register as the vixen offered a sagacious nod and seemed to consider the title with quite enormous care. "Oh, I see, of course, well, Master Shelldog, seeing as you've already gone and invited yourself...would you care to join me for a bite of brunch?" The vixen cooed gently as she moved to seat herself opposite the otter, on the other side of the small cooking fire.
The sea otter seemed greatly pleased by the offer, issuing a bright, beaming smile which bared fearsome fangs as he gave a respectful tug of his remaining left ear. "Seasons o' storm an' weather, mizzie, I thought ye'd never ask!"



The clay-furred vixen watched on in astonishment as her guest did full justice to the spread she begrudgingly laid out for them both. The grilled barracuda came out succulent and slightly sweet, garnished with Shelldog's toasted lime slices which turned out far tastier than the fox could have imagined. An onion broth accompanied by the young potatoes and herbs made a fine accompaniment, especially when the vixen produced a small bark-wrapped ball of soft, pasty white cheese which she split evenly between them. She advised the otter let it melt in the hot soup. Shelldog took his stranger host's advice and was not disappointed.

The fair was nearly all decimated by the burly otter as the fox picked sparingly, dumb-founded by the waterbeast's ability to pack food away. "Streuth! I'd wager your mother was glad to be rid of you! You eat as though you've seen a seven season famine!"

The dark-furred otter wiggled his one ear appreciatively as he paused from sucking the last of the meat from the fish's carcass. "Bless yer 'eart, mizzie, I reckon she would 'ave indeed! Harr! But Shelldog never 'ad no mudder, and all for the better like as not." He offered the vixen a wink that seemed like a blink given the fact the beast possessed only one eye. "But hark, mizz, where's me manners, harrharrer...hur... I told ye my name but I never waited to hear yours! Ye must think me a fiendish brute all a'thievin' yer vittles an' the like..."

As she watched the aging otter fiddle with his paws, drawing in the sandy-earth sheepishly, she couldn't help but smile. It lit up her features and outlined a distant gentleness as she tried hard to disguise a chuckle by clearing her throat. "Ahah...uh...well...no, I don't actually." Quietly she set aside her cup of broth and swept her long tunic, along with her slender tail, to her side. Adjusting into a more comfortable sitting position with her back to an oak, she continued, "I don't think you a brute, Master Shelldog. My name is Mala-Kotar, some call me Mala the Mercenary."
"Oh?" Shelldog inquired curiously. "An' why for?" He mimicked his host's demeanor and shifted himself into a more comfortable position with his back against a smooth chunk of granite.

Mala shrugged as she responded, busying herself with brewing a pot of mint tea, pulling out several small biscuits wrapped in thin bark parchment to warm by the fire. "Oh...nothing all that interesting, really. Truth is I never set out with the intention of doing anybeast's work for them, I was just trying to get out of the Deadlands far to the south. I don't know if you've any knowledge of that region, but, it's terrible country. Dry, craggy, and littered with beasts looking out only for themselves."

"So ye took mercenary work t'get out, is that it?"

"That's about the gist of it, yes." The vixen confirmed with a curt nod as her expression became flat and less easy-to-read. She didn't seem to gain any great pleasure from the topic at paw. Shelldog noted the expression but let her continue. "There are several roving vermin bands in the far south, it's pretty stiff competition for water and supplies. It's not uncommon for them to wage war and hire assassins or mercenaries to help end conflicts more swiftly. As barbaric as it sounds, it was the best way to end a war and conserve rations."

'Huh, like wavescum." The otter snorted as he folded his paws upon his broad stomach. "It's all about conservin' rations on th'sea, that's why they raids the coastal seddlements or even each uhdder, puh, no 'onor among thieves. How far've ye come? I've never trekked that longaways south."

While the fox served them both a steaming cup of tea in the rinsed out broth mugs – producing a jar of honey with comb from her haversack to accompany both drink and warmed biscuits which turned out to have a sweet, sticky, dark-colored fruit baked into them – she answered Shelldog's inquiry. "It's been three seasons since I left my home, and there hasn't been one day since doing so that I've looked back."

Mala buried her muzzle in the rim of her driftwood mug and fell silent, eyes downcast as she seemed to simply savor the liquid.

That wasn't what Shelldog saw, though he decided he'd leave it be for the time being as he gingerly blew steam from his mug and replied. "Well good for ye, Mizz Mala-Kotar the Mercenary. Say...that's a bit dry, why not liven that title up a bit, hm...lesse'... Mala the Merciless Mercenary. Mala the Miraculous Mercenary of Mal-intent! Oh well that one sounds a liddle too vile for such a priddy foxyvixen, hm...maybe...Mala the Melancholy Mercenary...no! The Magnificent! The Marvelous! The Majestic~ooof!" He was silenced suddenly by a warm, sticky mess slapping him right smack dab on his fat nose.

He rubbed at it as Mala threatened playfully, "You'll be Shelldog the Shaven Shellfish if you call me anything other than Mala, you great plank-tailed stomach!" The vixen began breaking camp hastily while Shelldog issued a soft chuckle as he licked at honey and biscuit crumbs left by the previously thrown (makeshift as it was) projectile.
"Huh, don't 'ave t'raise yer voice, Mizz Mala foxybritches, a nod's as good as a wink to this ol' wavedog, sure enough!"

***

Try though as she might Mala could find no way to politely rid herself of her newfound and quite garrulous traveling companion. The massive sea otter seemed to just follow in her shadow, chattering at her animatedly as she broke camp and continued on her northward path.

Noontide brought with it the height of the day's heat, and all the better that the pair had wiled it away brunching, not getting underway 'til well after. Now the air was cool and the breeze pleasant as tern fished for sardine in watery shallows which were shifting slowly to a cooler, sapphire blue.

As the day neared evening the colors blossomed from bright, fiery yellow and powder to a much more rosy pink and orange, clouds smattering the distant west like a thick coat of marmalade. The eastern horizon, which was becoming dotted with more and more trees as they slipped over a rise that led to sloping dune lands, started to darken; turning from azure, to cobalt, to navy, to eventual indigo as the first of the stars dared outshine the setting sun.

Throughout the course of the day Mala had listened with pointed ears cocked and a lingering smile as her new otter friend seemed perfectly happy ceaselessly chattering, the vixen only interjecting with questions now and again.
"So, y'see..." Shelldog continued, "...it was right lucky I wound up goin' over those falls, not only did it keep me from bein' pike bait but wuddn't ye know it...there was some funny, spiky-'eaded shrews livin' downstream! I tell ye...t'were a lucky day for Shelldog Wunifer, believe you me, mizzie. Definitely count me blessings every day since that little mis'ap."

"Shrews?" Mala wrinkled her muzzle curiously and scratched at her whiskers. "Not certain I've ever seen a shrew. What sort of beast are they?

"Oh, snippy liddle things. Kinda' like angry mice with bristly fur." Shelldog explained as he collected a spar of driftwood from the tide line. It would be almost perfect for a walking staff with a bit of shaping. He rested the wood against his burly shoulder as he fiddled with a cord belt round his waist. "They wears liddle bandanas, all brightly colored like dragonflies. Most of 'em carry rapiers an' slings an' they ride the rivers what run through Mossflower country." The otter paused, halting his steps suddenly as he blinked and considered something before asking, "Mizz Mala, what was that song ye was singin' afore? When I first found ye. The one with the strange words."

As the vixen halted and turned to respond she realized it was the first time she'd observed her companion fully. She'd noticed the tattered sailor's shorts he wore, it seemed to be the only real piece of clothing he possessed what with no tunic or armor. All he carried seemed to be the curved dagger which was belted at his waist and a length of cord tied over it.

She hadn't even realized he had a real knife belt underneath, it was obscured by the odd length of cord which seemed to be weighted at two ends with heavy stones.

Her pale eyes remained on the odd rock-tied cord as she finally answered, "You mean the lullaby? It's just an old seer's song really, my mother told me an old, blind rat spoke those words over me when I was naught but a babe. For some reason I just can't ever forget them...Shelldog...I hope you don't mind me asking but, what is that device round your waist?

The otter gave a devious smile and began unlooping the hefty cord. "Harrharr, 'tis me bolas, never seen ought like it, eh? Neither had I 'til I met an oddbeast several seasons back. A fox like y'self actually, though not near as gen'rous, nice spoken or priddy, if y'don't mind me sayin' so, mizzie. If ye'd be kind enough to chuck yon spear o' your'n outaways so's I kin 'ave a target, I kin show ye 'ow it works."

Curiosity piqued, Mala slowly withdrew her spear from its tanned carrier at her back and, setting her feetpaws apart, gave the javelin a mighty heave.

Shelldog issued an impressed whistle through his teeth as he watched the shaped and weighted wood fly in a deadly arc, thudding fire-hardened point first into the soft sand several yards away. "Blow me, ye've got an arm on yer, that's sure enough! Right! Now watch me, mizzie." With another one-eyed wink the burly otter took hold of the center of the length of waxed cord, evening out the two stones so that their lengths were equal. It was only one piece of seasoned rope, Mala could finally see, with the ends knotted smartly round the heavy stones.

Shelldog issued a grunt as he hefted the weapon, whirling them into a deadly arc above his head. The two stones and the cord which carried them became like a blur. Mala could only watch in amazement as Shelldog released the device and watched it hurtle in a deadly spin, stones spiraling round the taut cord which thundered its way across the sand and wrapped swiftly and with a deafening clatter about the vixen's thrown spear.

It toppled to the sand in a great flourish as the hurtling projectile struck, wrapped tightly round several rotations before finally falling to the beach.

It took the vixen a moment to register just how useful such a weapon could be in battle as the pair of them trotted up to the fallen spear and bolas. Shelldog untangled his weapon's cord from the fox's spear and then, with a smile, handed the stout piece of hardwood back to its owner.

"Ain't seen nothin' like it, I'll wager?" The otter asked friendlily.

"That I haven't, friend." Mala replied, accepting her spear.

Shelldog kept his gaze on her and smiled slowly with some form of distant amusement, managing to make the vixen slightly uncomfortable as he remained quite silent and unmoving.

She cleared her throat and tried to ignore it, "Er...we should probably find a suitable place to camp, t'will be dark soon."

"Good idea." The otter chirped cheerfully as he shouldered his bolas and waited for the vixen to lead the way. "Maybe then ye could sing me that song agin, y'know, that lullyby."

Mala paused halfway through starting on a path towards what looked to be a suitable campsite in the lee of a grassy dune to half look back at the otter. "The lullaby? You want to hear it again?"

"Aye."

The lack of any further explanation caused the fox to turn and face Shelldog fully with a brow quirked. "Why?"
The burly otter scuffed a footpaw sheepishly as he mumbled, "T'were just a nice, soft sorta' song with strange words..."

Mala couldn't help but smile at the otter's obvious embarrassment as she looked down and shook her head slowly, leaning upon her spear. She held back her chuckling so as not to shame him further. "Alright, Shelldog, how about this? You go catch us a nice fat fish for dinner, I'll get a campfire going on the protected side of yon dune and if you can manage to catch something for us both I'll sing it for you while it cooks..." But as she lifted her gaze to catch his response she could see he was already running at a fair clip towards the receding tide waters, a fiery crown of setting sunfire cutting his burly silhouette as he called back to her.

"Ye got a deal, matey! One fat, fish, comin' right up!"

Chuckling at her newfound companion, the vixen could only turn and make for the camp she'd pointed out.
No use standing around while there was cooking to be done, after all.



Shelldog returned a lot sooner than the vixen would have figured, dripping with seawater as dusk settled in about them both. He shook his pelt near the small fire Mala had built, showering both the flame and the fox.

"Seasons of drought and brushfire! Ye great lump-headed seadog!" Mala cursed as she was coated in icy spray from his pelt. The fire guttered and spluttered in response, issuing high pitched hissing at the introduction of moisture.

But it did no great real harm despite Mala's displeasure which melted away swiftly at the sight of a madly grinning Shelldog holding a very plump sea bass. "Methinks ye owes me a song, Mizz Mala."

Offering a rueful smile, the vixen sheepishly scratched at her neck scruff. "So it seems I certainly do, friend Shelldog, indeed, indeed..." The vixen nodded as she accepted the fish from her companion and went about spitting the cleaned bass before rubbing it with a collection of herbs and spices and setting it over the fire. She immediately went about chopping up some long, green onions, celery and carrots to go in a simple vegetable soup, doing her best to avoid the otter's eyes.

Shelldog sat down not far to Mala's right, watching her intently.

There came a long silence as he waited for her to make good on her half of the bargain. But it slowly became clear to the other that the fox had no intention of doing so, especially since the silence kept drawing on and on and on...
Slowly his smile started to fade until he saw the vixen cast him a swift glance before quickly averting her eyes. Her ears slowly swiveled back against her sleek head as she tried desperately to make chopping vegetables look difficult and interesting.

Slowly Shelldog began to smile again, until it became an amused grin.
"Harrharrharr...yer afeared t'sing when somebeast's listenin'!"

Mala immediately offered an indignant and most un-lady-like snort, "Puh, that's nonsense."

"Harrharrharr! Shy liddle foxybritches! Too afeared to sing her priddy song!"

"I am not!" The fox declared suddenly, ears perking with indignation as she flushed with awkwardness.

"Then sing it, liddle mizz, priddy liddle foxy song!" Shelldog was having an immeasurable amount of fun poking at his newfound friend's embarrassment, watching as she flushed right to her eartips and attempted to go back to cutting vegetables heatedly. But when she nicked her paw pad in frustration and suckled irately at the injured digit, the seasoned otter felt a tinge of guilt. "Garr, priddy liddle mizz, don't ye fret. What if'n ole Shelldog sings an otter song for ye? Then mebbe ye'll sing yer priddy foxy lullyby?"

Mala's pale hazel eyes turned to gaze at the otter who was doing his best to look sorely sorry and eager. Finally she withdrew her paw and checked her pad for more bleeding. Squinting one eye, she gave the otter a thoughtful gaze with a lop-sided scowl. The otter just did his best to look even sorrier, his head and shoulders bowing slowly down in pure crestfall.

The vixen finally issued an exasperated sigh, "Oh...fine! Sing me a fun otter shanty, something you'd sing at sea, and then I'll sing."

Shelldog gave a loud bark of delight and did a somersaulting back flip he was so pleased. He then paused and tapped one of his large, intimidating canine fangs with a webbed claw, doing his best to think up the best song for the request. He finally snapped his fingers in epiphany and began thwacking his rudder-like tail on an old driftwood log until he had a sturdy beat:

'Ooooh...! There was an old otter, with mudder an' daughter,
Who roved far and wide on th'sea,
In a bright bluebell hornshell with bees in the shellwells,
They'd buzz far an' wide happy, careless and free!

Oh rum tiddleedum, put rudder to drum!
Breathe in an' beat back, boys, put rudder to drum!

Well seasons o' sailin' an' weather a'wailin,'
Beset them a 'ailstorm o' coal,
But no warning or word could've told of th'bird,
Which would sink in its talons an' bear it off whole!

Oh rum tiddleedum, put rudder to drum!
Show 'em ye ain't soft, boys, put rudder to drum!

Away the bird flew, up, under and through,
Away 'til the sea was no more,
Up inter the sky, those otters did fly,
Tradin' water for wind as their hornshell did soar!

Oh rum tiddleedum, put rudder to drum!
Dig deep an' row well, boys, put rudder to drum!'

Shelldog did much of his awkward, shuffling bowing which he felt was all quite elegant. Mala couldn't help laughing at the silly, nonsensical lyrics as she clapped along and then showered the otter with much applause at the finale.
"Bravo, waterwalloper! Well sung!"

Shelldog sat down with a huff, his chest heaving from his enthusiastic rudder beating and energetic bowing. He smiled at the vixen as the pleasant aromas of the cooking fish and soup tempted his nostrils, but he ignored his hunger to say, "Awright, mizzie, yer turn!"

Mala immediately spluttered as she drank from a flask of water and did her best to regain her dignity as she coughed and wiped moisture from her muzzle, passing the flask towards Shelldog who accepted it gratefully. "I uh...I suppose I do, well..." The vixen fiddled awhile with her tail, running her claws through the fur as foxes often did when they felt nervous or shy. Shelldog just watched her intently with a grin until she finally plucked up her courage and, closing her eyes, sang the lullaby a second time for her new friend.

Shelldog watched Mala as she sang, and as he did he could see a somber look of knowing on the vixen's face. It was as if the words themselves stirred something within her, their tone heavy and foreboding, causing the fur on the otter's neck to prickle and rise. All the while did the fox's eyes remain sadly closed, her voice almost autonomous and yet, at the same time, eerily harmonious.

For the second time the otter felt something within him burn with purpose and he knew, without a doubt, that he and this vixen had been destined to meet.

When Mala opened her eyes her friend's features had become grave and serious, his one eye reflecting the flickering light of the fire with a distant sense of purpose. Mala felt as though she were looking at a different creature when her eyes met his, struck, momentarily, into silence by his intense staring.

For the second time she felt herself becoming uncomfortable under his gaze, and she shifted nervously, betraying it.

After the long, unnerving silence, Shelldog finally spoke, though he cast his gaze down at the sand by his feetpaws as he did so. "I know this may sound strange, but, I've been waitin' for ye, Mizz Mala-Kotar... Now don't ask me 'ow I knows it, I just does. Has to do with a feverdream I had when I was drifting on the ocean, wonderin' if I'd live or die, many seasons ago... Now don't start barking out questions just yet, let me finish, durn young'ns all in a hurry..." He chuckled and raised his eyes, offering the vixen a softer, kinder gaze. "Yer meant t'do great things, mizzie, or at least, ye could be." The otter's eye sparkled with some faraway greatness and glory. It caused Mala to simply remain quiet and listen, something in that gaze told her he was not lying. Her ears perked forward as his explanation continued. "Yer liddle song, that lullyby, 'tis more n' just pretty words and sounds, mizz, if'n ye don't mind my sayin' so. I've heard tale of an' old white rat, aye, that's right. A blind old seer what can see beyond inter Dark Forest gates, inter the winding paths o' fate. If she spoke these words for ye, young mizz, then rest assured, they hold great importance an' meanin'." Slowly he smiled as he came to his point. "In fact, I kin already tell ye where yer supposed t'be bound. Ye ain't never heard tale o' Redwall Abbey, have ye?"

Mala blinked, almost overwhelmed by the otter's explanation. She had to pause a moment and think. "Hold a moment, friend, let me get this straight... This silly lullaby...you think it means something?"

The old sea otter's eye twinkled with knowing, "Aye, mizzie. I don't just think, I knows!"

"And you think it has something to do with Redwall?" The fox seemed unimpressed and half snorted, half laughed at the prospect. "Redwall Abbey...I only heard tale of it once from an old dormouse who moved into our settlement some seasons ago, when I was a kit. I could never forget about it though...stories of healer mice and woodland guardians...I always thought it was an old mousewife's tale."

Shelldog chuckled and slapped his rudder down onto the sand with amusement. "Bless yer 'eart, me beauty, 'tis as real as my missin' 'lug an' peeper' as a Long Patrol hare once put it."

"You have hares in Mossflower country?" Mala questioned quietly as she saw to dishing up their supper.
Shelldog chortled again as he accepted a bowl of the hearty, savory soup and helped himself to the steaming fish which Mala set on a bed of beach lichen and roasted herbs. "Aye, we do, though if'n we didn't I'd wager there'd be a lot more vittles lyin' about for pore starvin' seadogs like me!"

Mala laughed softly as she watched her friend fully apply himself to the new spread, wondering at how much worse a hare's appetite could be in comparison to her burly companion.

The vixen was a fine cook, able to make something from nearly nothing after a life lived on survival rations. She'd managed to brew up a tasty vegetable soup from potatoes, carrots, onions and some salty kelp weed the otter had seen and eaten several times before (which the fish accompanied perfectly). The bass she had seasoned with salt and lemon and then rubbed thoroughly with cracked red and black pepper. She also was able to bake some flat biscuits from the last of her wheat flour which she sweetened with honey, mixing in almonds and filberts that toasted as they baked on a flat stone near the fire.

All in all both Mala and Shelldog enjoyed the food immensely, the large otter ready and eager to polish off anything the fox could not.

As he readily watched the biscuits bake, Mala upended her haversack, spilling out her final rations. A few crabapples, a pawful of raisins, another pawful of oats, some foraged dandelion tubers and shoots and a peculiar, bumpy-shelled green fruit which almost resembled a pear. She sighed and sat back, tossing the fruit back into the meager pile. Shelldog looked her way when she spoke, "That's the last of my rations, hope there's better foraging in the territory ahead." Shelldog tittered amusedly to himself and lay back to get comfortable by the fire, causing the vixen to chicken an ear and cast her gaze his way. "What's so funny, seadog? You've been eating from the same pack, if I go hungry so do you."

The large otter just smiled knowingly as he toyed with his tailtip, "Oh I wuddn't be worryin' 'bout vittles if I was ye, where yer 'eaded there be vittles aplenty!"

Mala paused from brewing a fresh pot of tea as she plucked the first of the finished biscuits from the hot rock with careful claws. "Oh really? You sound as though you could read my mind and tell me where I'm bound." She commented wryly as she went on crushing mint leaves to brew in her pot.

"That's because I can, mizzie!" Came the swift, confident response.

Mala issued the otter a doubtful glare but he just kept smiling like a fool with paws folded neatly over his stomach. She finally sighed and rolled her eyes, "Alright, I'll bite. Where is it I'm headed then, smartywhiskers?"

The old sea otter's eye twinkled in a very familiar, mischievous fashion as he tapped the side of his snout in the way woodlanders did when they were privy to something their friends were not. "Wot's that last line o' yer priddy lullyby, foxybritches? Tell me agin."

Mala was quickly losing her patience, but repeated the final verse to make a point, "'Mala-Kotar, the Fated Star | In thy path lies but sorrow and dread | But if the wish of thee, is for this not to be | Seek the fortress where walls stand blood-red.' Okay, and?"

The otter's smile widened into a grin. "Bless yer 'eart, mizz Mala, ye ain't usin' yer ol' head! Don't look at me like a puffed up toad. Think about it, lass. Yer enterin' Mossflower country, though they ain't painted with blood, those walls will still allays be red, me beauty!"

The vixen paused, realization dawning on her fair features. She fell silent as she gave it more serious thought and then narrowed her eyes as she gazed towards the otter. "That can't mean what I think it means. It wouldn't make sense."

"Why not, foxybritches?" Shelldog chuckled as he swiftly swiped a still-hot biscuit from the cooling stone Mala had set them upon. He liberally coated the small treat with honey and downed the thing in a single bite.
Mala didn't even take notice as he stole a second and third, the fox's eyes downcast on the sand by her feetpaws. "Because only woodlanders go to Redwall..."

The vixen soon became such a figure of solemn silence that Shelldog couldn't help but take notice. It halted his gluttony in its tracks as he suddenly couldn't help but feel sorry for his companion. But he was half puzzled at the vixen's words. "What makes ye say that, mizz? And even so, ain't ye a woodlander, too? I seen the way ye took care when ye made yer camp back at the jetty, aye, better than any vermin band woulda' done, huh. They'd 'ave chopped livin' trees down fer firewood an' killed birds t'eat, not fishes." The middle-seasoned seadog seemed to take on an extreme air of disdain when he spoke of vermin, his lip curling in scorn. "Huh! Filthy raiders! Not even fit ter bleed!"

The vixen's ears slicked back against her head as she gazed towards Shelldog, quieted by his visible show of hatred. She turned away to gaze into the fire, the licking flames casting wild shadows about her face. At times they could make her seem wicked and sinister. The otter could only pause and watch the reflection of the flames in his companion's eyes, troubled by her stillness.

And then she spoke, her voice subdued and quiet. "In a way I am vermin, Shelldog, the blood of Sand Marauders runs in my veins. My mother tried hard to keep us from that life but we were poor, and it was easy... My brother fled before I was grown, he and his wife seeking a better life, away from the ravaged settlements. I was often forced to fight for what little I had, and after awhile I just couldn't understand why...why a beast would fight so hard for so little, cutting the throats of would-be allies over a drop of water or a scrap of food..." The vixen took a long breath and, reaching forward, snatched an escaped twig and threw it back into the fire. Resting her chin on her bent knee, she sighed. "Like it or not, I am what I am, and whether or not I act the part, that's always what beasts will think on first seeing me. It doesn't trouble me anymore, I just...don't go out of my way to attract that sort of scorn or disdain. If me moving quietly through is what keeps me from trouble, then that's what these paws will keep doing, moving. Besides...the further away I am from the southlands, the happier I'll be."

Shelldog couldn't help but feel pity sneak over him at the distant sorrow in the vixen's eyes. Though her words were not completely untrue, neither were they fully honest. "I can't deny it, Mizz Mala, foxes ain't well liked in Mossflower country. That part ye 'ave right, but here's the part ye got wrong... The hide ye wear don't make ye who ye are, Mala-Kotar, an' I've done enough travelin' t'know that what sorta' folk y'are or was borned as don't bear in a lick as to the sorta' beast ye'll grow t'be." The large otter leaned forward and, shifting closer, reached forward so he could catch the vixen by her chin to steal her gaze. He gave her a one-eyed wink and a broad smile as her somber eyes met his. "Hark, mizzie, Shelldog knows this t'be true. 'Sides, I know just wot can be done to dispel any fears a Mossflower woodlander might 'ave of ye."

Mala's trouble, though not forgotten, was somewhat set aside as her ears and curiosity perked. She couldn't fathom a plan which would somehow erase the stigma of her vermin ancestry. "How?"

Shelldog smiled with visible mischief, a confident twinkle in his eye. "Listen close, Mala the Mercenary, and I'll tell ye..."



As the newfound friends made plans in hushed voices, a calm silence fell over the distant, southeastern stretches of what was indeed the start of Mossflower country. A slender, crescent moon hung lazily over the vast dune lands, the shadow of great behemoth trees visible only as a shadowy green sward to the east. The friendly zephyr from earlier that day blew on, over the heads of the travelers, carrying it east along those dunes where the woodlands loomed and the distant hum of night birdsong trilled on faint, distant breezes; heavy with destiny.

*******************************
*******************************
*******************************





I guess all I want to know is if it "feels" like Redwall. I know my style is different from Jacques' despite how I do my best to imitate him when I write in his setting.

I guess, as I write this I'll post it up, chapter by chapter. Might help make sure I finish it as well. Though for what reason I'm still not sure. lol

Besides. Least now someone will get to read it. Who knows. Maybe someone will like it... *shrugs*

[KitrallStreamrippler]

Wow. Your style might not be exactly like Mr. Jacques', but you can still paint a vivid picture the same way he could. It definitely felt like Redwall, and I am eager for the next chapter. If you really wanted to, I know you could get something published (whether it was written in this style and/or world or not). As to whether there is a purpose or a reason for you to write this, there most definitely is, and it's the same reason Jacques had: to put it out there for others to read and enjoy.

[Para the Mite]

Wow. Your style might not be exactly like Mr. Jacques', but you can still paint a vivid picture the same way he could. It definitely felt like Redwall, and I am eager for the next chapter. If you really wanted to, I know you could get something published (whether it was written in this style and/or world or not). As to whether there is a purpose or a reason for you to write this, there most definitely is, and it's the same reason Jacques had: to put it out there for others to read and enjoy.

All I can hope for is for someone else to read and enjoy, even if it's only one person. ^^

I forgot to mention in my previous post that I'd been reading over some of the fan-fiction here and was quite surprised at the outstanding quality. It's sort of what urged me to post. lol, I've yet to comment on anyone's work because I've yet to fully read everything in detail. Once I do though, I imagine I'll be gabbing at other writers about their pieces. xD

I'll see what I have for Chapter 2 when I get home later today. If I'm not mistaken...it's not far from being done.

[Romsca]

It looks interesting!

*prints story into PDF*

I'll tell you how I like it once I'm done

[Free Thought]

Very interesting so far!  I'll look out for the next chapter for sure!!!

[Romsca]

Wow, I just finished that, and I think it's now my favorite fanfic on here! I can't wait for more chapters!

[Para the Mite]

Wow, I just finished that, and I think it's now my favorite fanfic on here! I can't wait for more chapters!

Well I'm certainly glad you enjoyed it. =)

I've been pretty sick unfortunately, so I haven't been able to write or draw the last few days. Hopefully I'll get better soon so I can get my trades done and add the next two chapters here. Dx