Dusktail - A Tale of Redwall (Winner of Three RAFF Awards!)

[Darkenmal]

Edit: 7/6/2015

Since this has been first published, I have edited the story of Dusktail significantly. As a result, I strongly recommend for you to go here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9528816/1/Dusktail-A-Tale-of-Redwall

Cheers!


A long time ago I posted that I would start writing Dusktail. Well, I finally did this past Sunday, and every day of the week I have been working, trying to get the story that has been in my head for close to a year and turn it into the best story it can be. So without further ado, here is the prologue. I hope you enjoy it, and honest reviews and criticism is very much appreciated.

Book 1 : Warriors and Runaways

Two sons,
Of a hated foe.
One story is nearly done,
But another has only just begun.
A final choice to be made,
As the warrior's son finally sees his day.
A debt long forgotten,
Will finally be paid.

This for you, Mr. Jacques.

Prologue

The field in which he strode lay wrought with death. Shrouded and concealed within the mist lay the horrors of war. How he knew this, the Fox was uncertain.

A great battle had been fought here, but when or for what reason, the Fox did not know. Moving quickly, he jogged to the top of a hill that appeared in front of him.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, the mists parted and what the Fox saw disturbed him. Piles upon piles of dead bodies were everywhere, the cause of each of their deaths gruesome beyond belief. All of whom he recognized, but none of which he had met... yet.

Almost at the edge of his vision, a figure appeared. Immediately an intense hatred washed over the Fox. He knew for certain that all of this was the fault of the figure before him.

Suddenly, he felt a weight upon his shoulders. Paying no heed to this, the Fox started running down the hill. As if on cue, his quarry started to run towards him as well.

The field began to fill with mist once again, but the Fox kept his target within his sights, his rage enveloping him like an old friend, while his vision grew red.

Through the chilled air, trumpets blared, and the Fox began to run faster. The shape in the mists picked up his pace also, running with such speed it was as if Hellgates itself was opening up behind him.

Abruptly, war-cries burst forth through the air, and the Fox noticed through the red haze of his rage that a large army had appeared behind him, and had also began to charge at his foe. The bodies had vanished from the field, and the once dead now ran with such passion that the Fox let himself ride it like a wave, a wave of death.

Soon, war-cries sounded from behind the Fox's foe as well, and they too charged with raw, animalistic hatred. The Fox's enemy reacted to this by incredibly running faster than before. The Fox could almost see the figure's face, now only forty paces away.

As the two armies closed in, the Fox reached over his shoulder and reverently pulled forth the sword of Martin and raised it over his head, his bellow out-rivaling any on the battlefield, minus his foe.

The foe never had to reach for his weapon, because it was already in his paws. His yell was full of anger and pain. Pain for what he had lost, and what he was about to lose.

The two armies smashed into one another as Dusktail swung his sword as hard as he could, using his speed and rage to further help the blade's momentum.

The blade collided into the axe's handle with such force that the Badger Lord and Dusktail were pushed backwards, stumbling as the first of both their armies died all around them.

The Badger Lord snarled, and as he pivoted and swung a skull-shattering blow, Dusktails sword vanished, and Dusktail began to scream as he realized what was happening.

His scream was still reverberating off the cavern's walls as he awoke, the last image of the dream still before his eyes as his whole body shook from relief, but also from utter dread at what he had seen.

"It seemed so real," Dusktail whispered.

[Blazemane]

This prologue is really enticing! I like how, for all of the emotions you write the fox having, there's still a ton of ambiguity about what kind of character he is until that pivotal moment where you say that he took the sword of Martin the Warrior reverently.

Even then, there's a huge amount of mystery here. What kind of army does he have at his back? If he respects Martin's sword, what's he doing confronting a badger lord? I want to know more!

So, great writing.

[Darkenmal]

Thanks a lot for the kind response! I will definitely try to live up to your expectations in the near future.

[Maudie]

That was AWESOME! I hope you'll write/post more!

[Darkenmal]

That was AWESOME! I hope you'll write/post more!

Thank you very much!

And yes I am definitely writing more, next chapter should be out by Monday, possibly tomorrow if I can get the pieces to behave properly.

[Darkenmal]

But why; the Badger Lord cried,
Does it have to be so?
Just as the wind blows and the rivers flows,
My agony is unceasing with its lack of control.

Just as the moment came; the moment passed,
The dagger fell, a gasp, so profound.
The body in his arms, so light, so smooth,
But the true weight he carries cannot be removed.


Chapter 1

Dusktail was now wide awake, with neither his brother Nightshade or his mother having been awakened by his now nightly screams. He stared into the cave's ceiling as he contemplated his thoughts.

His earlier whisper seemed to reverberate in his mind. What was happening to him? Dreams such as the one he had just witnessed seemed to be appearing more frequently, and had also become more and more disturbing.

He noticed that his right paw was clenched around his knife's hilt, and he unclenched it tepidly. He liked his life as it was now. He did not want anything to change, but change seemed to be heading his way, just as the River Moss always flowed south in its unceasing current.

He had thought no one had noticed at first, but he knew in the way his mother had looked at him after the first night, or how his younger brother unknowingly tensed when he spoke that they both knew. He could not remember anything afterward usually... except this most recent dream, which still shone in front of his eyes as if it was still happening.

The more tightly he closed his eyes, the more clear it seemed. What was the sword that he had held, the creatures he had fought for? A name for the sword appeared in his mind, but he could not remember it. Why did it seem so familiar? Both questions weighed heavily as he forced himself to think of something else, something more cheerful.

Later when he would go to do a few allotted tasks, such as gathering some firewood or picking some fresh berries for breakfast, Dusktail began to notice that he had usually been left alone to do these tasks. It had been the first time that he had never had his brother with him when he went to do his chores. His first reaction was a knee-jerk reaction of anger, but it quickly shifted to a sense of relief.

He had needed to think, to try and clear his distressed mind.

He and his brother had been inseparable from the beginning. As the elder brother by a few seasons, Dusktail found himself relegated to the role of a brother and a teacher, teaching his brother how to track and hunt, how to start and maintain a fire, where and when to collect moss, and other things that Dusktail dimly remembered his father teaching him when he was his brother's age.

A lump in Dusktail's throat appeared at the thought of his father, but he shook himself and tried to think of anything but his father. He still remembered the promise his father Barkclaw had made, and how he had later broken it. It had nearly destroyed their family, and Dusktail tried desperately to not think of how it could not have been avoided, and how it really wasn't his fault. He blamed him anyway.

Soon, the bright rays of dawn shone through the cave that Dusktail and his family called home, the sunlight piercing through the hanging moss that protected the family from most of the elements. As his sibling and mother started to stir from their slumber, Dusktail carefully packed some food and left the cave to go to the River Moss.

It was his favorite place as of late to try and puzzle out what these dreams meant for him, and what they meant for the remainder of his family.

---------------------------------------

The smell of the sea was heavy in the air as Lord Swiftpaw leaned back in his oak chair and stretched. It was shortly before dawn, but the Badger Lord was still wide awake.

He had been writing far into the night, writing to the best of his recollection about the war that had almost claimed the mountain, and by default the Western Shores, a few years previously. It helped to avoid his dreams and his errant son, Melator.

Swiftpaw reflected sadly that he was doing his best to avoid both these days. The time was swiftly approaching when he would have to deal with his son, and soon he would no longer be able to avoid the issue.

Pushing thoughts of his son aside, the Badger Lord stood up and unconsciously started to pace, his silver fur gleaming in the dying twilight as he thought of the most painful experience of his life.

The main reason for which he had not completed his writings as of yet.

Every time the aging badger had begun to write down the event, he had stopped, and quickly begun to write something else. At first he did not even notice himself doing this, but later it was becoming obvious. He could not blame himself too much; the memories were painful enough already to live with, without forcing himself to relive them fully to record them down.

Lord Swiftpaw sat back down in his chair slowly, his tired frame leaning heavily on the desk. Slowly with a shaking paw the badger picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink, dipping many more times than necessary as he stared at the blank page with apprehension.

With gritted teeth, the silver badger began to write a brief summary, to refer back to later. Relief poured through the badger as he finally began to tell his story, as his mind took him back to a place he had sealed shut in his mind for nearly sixteen seasons.

---------------------------------------

Melator stood with his paws behind his back, silently watching dawn approach Salamandastron. Beside him was his lifelong friend Buck, and for once he too was silent as they both watched the sunrise.

Melator and Buck were both camped outside of Salamandastron, and for once Melator did not even care for what his father thought after the last words they had exchanged.

"We both have different ways to grieve," Melator said softly, as he watched the glow of his father's office finally reside, a sign that another day was about to begin.

Buck, astonishingly, again said nothing. Surprised, he turned around and saw the hare was asleep, sleeping as close to the dying embers of their fire as possible.

Grumbling, Melator turned to his left and lifted a pitcher of water that was behind him, and without further delay dumped it entirely on the unassuming hare.

Caught completely by surprise, the hare accidentally rolled onto the embers of the fire while trying to escape the torrent of water. For his trouble the hare received some minor burns on his side.

In pain, the lanky hare leapt up on his foot paws and began running in circles, blissfully unaware of the spectacle he was probably providing the hares back at the mountain on guard duty.

"Melator how could you!" Buck cried in betrayal, trying desperately at once to stop the burning and to dry himself at the same time.

The young badger roared with laughter as his friend began rolling in the sand, and almost fell down laughing as the hare almost rolled in the fire again in a blind frenzy.
When the hare recovered sufficiently to stop rolling, he tottered over to the badger and plopped himself down beside him.

Melator smiled as the sand-covered hare began spluttering his accusations at him; which Melator barely listened to.

"Some friend you are, wakening a chap in his sleep by dumping a whole river onto him and causing grievous injuries. Bally ungrateful for a friend who stayed up with you all night, wot."

"Just one more 'war wound' to add to the tally," the young badger said with a smirk, remembering when he hare had tried to push a minor cut on his forepaw as a 'war wound' in the mess.

The hare looked at the minor burns at his sides and brightened.

"What a good idea! Now I know for sure how to get the attention of that pretty lieutenant." Picking up a mock severity, the hare started to speak slowly, as if beginning a tale of great importance. "Surrounded by dozens of the rogues, I heroically picked up my spoon-"

"You are about to miss the best part," Melator interrupted, as the last rays of dawn disappeared and the sun began to shine more and more brightly, as if happy to be free after a night of darkness.

"A new day," Buck supplied.

"Very perceptive," the badger replied.

The hare noticeably winced as Melator grinned, and after a brief moment the hare grinned as well, his pain from his 'injuries' momentarily forgotten as they both looked onward to the new day.

[Blazemane]

With the way you're writing Dusktail, I feel like I can really empathize with him. It's interesting--both he and Lord Swiftpaw seem to have a certain feeling of tiredness here, almost as if they're going through their troubles together. And... well, I'm guessing that the things they're going through probably are connected with each other; they're stories are probably going to intertwine at some point.

The clarity of your writing helps with that, I think. You're very descriptive, but without your voice sounding overwrought. I guess there's a sort of... efficiency and smoothness to it. I could be of much better help to you if I could actually put my finger on it in exact words, and maybe I'll figure it out in later chapters, but whatever it is, it works for me.

I also wanted to point out:

"Pushing thoughts of his son aside, the Badger Lord stood up and unconsciously started to pace, his silver fur gleaming in the dying twilight as he thought of the most painful experience of his life."

Great imagery there! We not only get to learn more about Swiftpaw's age, but we get to see part of what he looks in literal detail, and somehow, the thought of his fur gleaming in the light just seems really cool. And for me, personally, it makes it seem like there is still a significant deal of strength or heroic capacity left within him.

Now, if I can offer a bit of critique, I think that you may tend to repeat words or ideas unnecessarily from time to time. For example:

"His first reaction was a knee-jerk reaction of anger..." (reaction)

"Dusktail found himself relegated to the role as a brother and as a teacher, teaching his brother..." (This one actually may have been deliberate. You say what Dusktail's two roles are, and then you describe him fulfilling those two roles, so it almost seems like the repetition is an intentional stressing of those concepts. In that case, this repetition does have a nice sort of rhythm to it, if that makes any sense: "As a brother and as a teacher, teaching his brother..."

"A lump in Dusktails throat appeared at the thought of his father, but he shook himself and tried to think of anything but his father. He still remembered the promise his father Barkclaw..." (father)

"Relief poured through the badger as he finally began to tell his story, as his mind took him back to a place he had sealed shut in his mind for nearly sixteen seasons." (mind)

Repeated ideas:

"Soon, the bright rays of dawn shone through the cave that Dusktail and his family called home, the sunlight piercing through the hanging moss that protected the family from most of the elements." (I guess, for my own part, the images my mind comes up with for "bright rays of dawn" and "sunlight" are close enough to one another that the significance of their differentiation would have to explained somehow within the narration. I feel kind of the same way about "the cave that Dusktail and his family called home," and "the hanging moss that protected the family from most of the elements." The latter seems like a descriptive way of saying the former, so it may read like you're trying to introduce the reader to the idea of Dusktail's home two times in quick succession. Of course, "hanging moss" is different from "cave," so it's not like these are exact restatements of the same idea. But maybe it has something to do with the repetition of the idea of sunlight. The mind begins to think that since one idea may have been repeated (sunlight), the form of the sentence would demand a repetition of the second? So all of a sudden the mind wants to interpret "hanging moss" as synechdoche for "cave?" I don't know for sure. I'll stop rambling now.)

"The time was swiftly approaching when he would have to deal with his son, and soon he would no longer be able to avoid the issue." (Maybe I'm reading this wrong. But it reads to me like "the issue" Swiftpaw would no longer be able to avoid is his son, of whom it has been written just before that the time is swiftly approaching when Swiftpaw will have to deal with him.)

On the note of repeated ideas, I think your transition between Dusktail's scene and Swiftpaw's is really interesting, because the sentence you open with in Swiftpaw's scene fits exactly with what you'd just ended with in Dusktail's. In fact, the sentence reads like it belongs to both scenes. I admit that does confuse me, because I wonder if you had meant to include that sentence at the end of Dusktail's scene instead of at the beginning of Swiftpaw's (as you have it now). And yet, I think that's really, really cool. You can transition between scenes by offering it as something to be understood in two entirely separate contexts.

I also think this stresses how Dusktail and Swiftpaw are going through something very similar.

I really want to find out what's going on with Melator. Why is he an errant son? In what kind of a way does Swiftpaw have to confront him? It seems like Melator is something of a villain. I think, for example, that the detail you wrote about Buck wincing the time when Melator smiles is really unnerving. And intriguing. Great work, here!

[Darkenmal]

Wow! Thank you Blazemane for the response!

I love honest critique, and you found lots of things to criticize.  

Also, on the note of the transition between the two scenes... your first thought is entirely correct. The first sentence for Swiftpaw is actually supposed to end Dusktails POV. However reading it now, it actually makes sense and does seem kind of cool. Sorry if I ruined it for you.

Thanks again, and keep on reading! It's about to get more serious.  

Edit:

I re-read the last of your post, and your interpretation was very... interesting in account with Melator and Buck. You are very perceptive, but perhaps not in the way you realize. I wasn't intending for the smile to be creepy, but rather byplay between two life-long friends.

New chapter should be up for tomorrow! Longest one yet by far.

[Darkenmal]

Hello everyone!

Writing is still ongoing, and I still have a few surprises in-store for anyone who has been reading this.

It should be out by the end of this week, and on a final note I would also like to welcome Blazemane and Sauron Gorthaur http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1842162/ to the editing ranks as they help me edit Dusktail's story. Their efforts so far have been very much appreciated.

Cheers!

[Darkenmal]

The knowledge I have gained, so hard to explain.

Makes it difficult, to continue living with such pain.

Soon it will be time to leave, to end, to extinguish;

The work I have begun... I must soon finish.

Chapter 2

The mouse walked slowly but with great purpose. Despite never having been here before, she somehow still knew where to go, as she walked amongst all of the dead. The tombstones numbered beyond counting while they stretched into the far horizon, their slab surfaces dully gleaming as names suddenly appeared on them. Her heart fell as she saw the names. Every name she saw, she recognized. Desperately, she started running, her brown habit flowing in the wind as she ran to the very end of the graves.

A figure appeared, kneeling on the ground in front of the last grave. Cautiously, she walked forward, not recognizing the creature. What she saw startled her.

A fox, kneeling in front of the graves, was weeping. Gore and mud stained his clothes, but he did not seem to notice, or care. In his right paw was a sword, a sword that seemed oddly familiar. Walking closer, she recognized it and she felt dread, as it was the sword of Martin the Warrior. The words 'I Am That Is' seemed to grow large in her vision as she put a quivering paw onto a nearby grave to steady herself.

She continued watching the fox, watching his weeping that seemingly continued to grow louder and louder. She jumped as he screamed, raw emotion and anger bringing tears to her eyes as she listened to the pain in his cry. Moving forward unconsciously, the young mouse put a paw on his shoulder as the fox shook. Abruptly the weeping stilled as the fox turned his head slowly, gazing at everything around himself, but when he saw nothing he turned back around, back to the death.

"Its all my fault," The fox whispered, his tear-filled eyes staring into nothing as he spoke.

For some reason this made the mouse feel extremely guilty as he continued to stare at the grave. "There was nothing that could have been done," she said quietly, desperate to break the monotony.

The fox stilled at this, and the mouse wondered if she had done the right thing. The fox slowly stood up, the many blood stains in his clothes made the mouse wonder how it was possible the fox could still be alive, much less moving. An aura of malevolence seemed to surround them as the fox looked in her direction for the first time. The fox stared directly through her and she stared back, and started at the red glow that seemed to emanate from his eyes. The Bloodwrath. What had happened to him?

"No," he said quietly, his voice filled with regret. "This-" he turned around and gestured at the countless rows of tombstones, full of creatures that she had come to love and respect. He looked into her eyes the first time, and she felt fear at the rage within his.

"You did." The fox's face turned into an ugly sneer as he hefted his sword and swung the sword directly at her chest.

She watched numbly as he swung the sword of Martin the Warrior. She was frozen as she tried to duck, to scream, to do anything, but she felt rooted to the spot as the sword rammed into her. At this she finally fell, fell into nothing, and then continued to fall as the fox's eyes always seemed to follow her, promising vengeance and death.

As she fell, she wondered at what she had done to deserve the fox's hatred, but for some reason she thought it was not directed at her, but at somebeast else. As she pondered this, the darkness parted and she saw her beloved Redwall. Her heart leapt as the familiar red sandstone came into view, but fell as she saw the condition of it.

Redwall was a burnt-out husk, the ancient walls all but fallen over and the grounds full of colored specks that she knew as bodies, as none of them were moving. As she continued to fall, only one figure stood out amongst all of the death, and she knew who it was.

"I don't mean to capture Redwall," a voice whispered. The mouse looked around wildly, but saw no one as she her descent continued.

As the impact grew closer and closer, she saw the full extent of the destruction and she cried out, reaching out her paw as if to wipe it away. Tears started to fall, and she knew it wasn't just from the wind.

Suddenly, far below, she saw the fox begin to fight in a duel, fighting for his life against an ancient foe, one far more strong and powerful in the ways of war. The badger's silver fur glistened as he slammed his axehead into the sword, and the force of it shattered the ancient blade as the fox fell to his knees.

The voice spoke up again, and despite herself she almost knew what it was about to say.

"Capture is meaningless if you mean to kill," the voice finished. At the sword's breaking, the badger paused, his head lowered as he spoke a few words to the fox briefly. When he received his reply, the badger looked up in her direction, but looked down just as quickly as he raised his weapon.

The voice started to laugh insanely, never pausing to draw breath as the axe fell and separated the fox's head from his shoulders.

The voice continued laughing as the young mouse hit the forest floor.

---------------------------------------

It was just after dawn with the sun rising over her beloved Redwall when Sylvaticus woke up, shivering. She thought she should remember something, but she couldn't. This made her more angry than it should have. She had always prided herself on her memory, so why couldn't she remember now, when she needed it most? It could have been a message from Martin the Warrior, Redwall's guiding spirit, for all she knew!

Quickly dressing in a plain brown habit and sandals, Sylvaticus walked out of her room and briskly down the ancient stairs and into the Cavern Hole. Everything was already set up for the big day, and Sylvaticus knew that the whole Abbey was abuzz with excitement over the feast. With the horrible winter they'd had, Sylvaticus couldn't blame them, as there had been precious little joy and excitement for far too long.

With all the games set up with the (always) excellent Redwall food, the one thing that Sylvaticus was most looking forward to was the fellowship of the wonderful creatures that made Redwall what it was. Like a chef watching people eat her creation, Sylvaticus liked nothing more than to just watch her Redwallers happy and satisfied.

As Sylvaticus continued through the Cavern Hole, she remembered when she had first become the Abbess of Redwall, learning to always think of what best to do for everybeast. Abbot Albus, the longest serving Abbot in living memory had just died, and Redwall was torn with indecision with the death of the beloved old mouse.

Of all the Abbeybeasts, she had been hit hardest by his loss, and with summer ending and winter approaching quickly, it was clear that a leader was needed, and quickly. When she had been chosen, her first reaction had not been of delight or happiness, but fear.

After she had accepted the position of Abbess three seasons previously, the Dryditch Fever had returned to terrible effect. It had been the worst time for the Fever to strike as the worst winter in living memory had been rapidly approaching, although nobeast yet knew this at the time.

Fortunately, thanks to adventurers in Redwall's distant past, the Flowers of Icetor now grew wild in Redwall and across Mossflower. Although this time Redwall was better prepared, Sylvaticus could not fathom how severe the Fever would be, even after reading an old dusty journal written by Abbess Vale.

When the Fever had struck, it struck quickly, and without mercy. Many of the elders and Dibbuns had succumbed to the Fever before the symptoms were recognized. Due to word circulating throughout Mossflower that the Fever was spreading, Redwall was soon packed full, which lead to more severe outbreaks throughout the winter, even with the discovery of the disease and the quick countermeasures made to stop it.

Sylvaticus shuddered at the amount of graves there were from the last two seasons, how many wonderful creatures that she'd had to bury. It was almost too much. It was for a while, until Skipper came with his entire Holt and demanded a feast. When she asked him why he merely grinned and said to her, "We're bone-weary, 'ungry travelers, Mother Abbess. You really wouldn't deny starvin' otters our last meal, now would ye?

She had been thankful for his arrival, as things had been looking very bleak. Before Skipper had arrived, only a few other creatures in the Abbey were in any shape to go and gather Flowers of Icetor, especially considering the amount of snow that had begun to fall. After the otters had arrived, Redwall had at last begun to recover, the otters doing most of the work while most of the Abbeybeasts recuperated. Sylvaticus and Redwall owed Skipper and his otters a great debt, and she would never forget it.

Smiling, she rounded a corner and starting walking to the kitchen, where she knew Skipper would be, trying to master his latest effort of Hotroot Soup. As she wandered in she heard a voice shouting at Skipper and she smiled. Their 'arguments' were the stuff of legend around the Abbey.

"You must leave immediately, sir! Your presence violates the sanctity of my kitchen!"

The smell of pastries and soup was overpowering as Sylvaticus stepped into the kitchen. Flour and other cooking ingredients were everywhere as she saw a brief glimpse of the cause of all the commotion. Avoiding a moving trolley full of candied nuts, she moved closer to center of the chaos.

Whilst she was moving towards the arguing pair, she saw a helper moving towards a few untouched pastries. She smiled as she realized the reason for Roch's annoyance. Skipper was well known for his love of pastries and cooking soup, which frequently overlapped as he did his best to annoy and disturb Redwall's cook.

The cook, who was a very fat hare with a huge gut and a massive chef's hat that drooped over the sides of his face, was still yelling at the otter chief, who grinned as he spotted Sylvaticus.

"Here I am, trying to cook a decent meal for myself and the Abbey, and then you blunder in and start to steal important ingredients and begin cooking a meal for yourself!"

Roch started as he saw the Abbess and he saluted briskly, possibly the only thing he could do with any sort of speed nowadays besides cooking up one of his legendary feasts.

"Mother Abbess, could you please escort the Skipper from the kitchens? This wretched otter is interrupting my art form."

Any seriousness the hare wanted to convey was lost entirely as his chef's hat slowly drooped over his eyes and face. The chef then pushed it upwards slowly, and when his eyes reappeared, they were still unblinking as they owlishly stared at the Abbess.

Skipper snorted at this, but allowed himself to be led away. "Uppity rabbit," he whispered loudly as he left.

Sylvaticus chortled but immediately forced herself to seriousness.

"You always have to get a rise of him, don't you?"

Skipper's face was impassive ashe walked, but an anguished roar erupted from the kitchen as they turned the corner.

Where it once was impassive, Skipper's features quickly became the model of thoughtfulness as he listened intently to the cries.

"I wonder what he's lookin' for," Skipper said as he began to chew on something.

Sylvaticus couldn't keep the grin off her face as they left Cavern Hole and opened the main doors.

Sylvaticus reflected on what else she had left to do in the lead up to the feast as she and Skipper walked outside. The air beyond the Abbey doors was sweet and the sky was perfectly blue as she marveled at the beautiful day that awaited her.

Sylvaticus remembered with a jolt that she had to collect some more Flowers of Icetor, as there were still a few creatures inflicted with the Fever, and their supply had almost run out. In the excitement of organizing the feast, she had completely forgotten.

She would have to go by the River Moss and gather some. It was strange how far the Flowers of Icetor had spread since the last outbreak of the Fever, but she was grateful. Without the flowers, Redwall would have only been a shadow of what it once was. Even with the cure, it had been a hard thing to stop, let alone contain to specific sections of the Abbey.

Skipper shook Sylvaticus softly, and he smiled as she snapped back to the present.

"Are you alright there, Abbess?" Skipper asked brightly, the only sign of his concern being the slight narrowing of his eyes. For some reason she did feel tired, even more so than usual.

Furious at herself for her wandering mind, she told Skipper what she had to do and was relieved when he nodded.

"I'll go and fetch me spear then," he said with a smile.

Sylvaticus' smile faltered as she regarded the young Skipper, who had displayed anything but a violent side in his stay at Redwall.

"Is that really necessary?" Sylvaticus spoke softly.

If anything, Skipper's grin turned bigger as he started to walk towards the pond.

Turning around and walking backwards, he called back to the Abbess, "Walkin' with a pretty young slip of a mouse like you through Mossflower at this time o' year? At the very least, I'll 'ave a walkin' stick an' a pack o' vittles."

Sylvaticus smiled vaguely as Skipper rounded the corner and disappeared, but the smile quickly turned into a frown as a knot of worry appeared in her chest. Why that was, however, was beyond her.

Skipper reappeared almost as quickly as he came, with his huge bundle of food hanging over his shoulder and his trusted spear in his right paw. Sylvaticus rolled her eyes at the size of the package. It was enough to feed both of them for a week!

Skipper continued walking forward, and to Sylvaticus' surprise, walked right past her and continued onward to the Abbey gate.

"Last one to the gate goes 'ungry," Skipper called back as he broke out into an awkward trot.

Smiling despite herself, Sylvaticus hitched up her habit and ran to him, and the food.

"I will not go hungry on account of that rogue," the Abbess muttered, as Skipper laughed and ran faster, out into Mossflower Woods.

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Dusktail sat by the river sharpening his knife, as he listened to the stream gurgle and move in its steady pace.

The air was cool and crisp, while the vegetation was blooming and beautiful. Spring had arrived, and he was glad it had, with the winter that they had all gone through.

He glanced at his reflection in the water. The young fox that stared back at him was very different from the Dusktail of two seasons ago. Experienced was a good word for it. Before winter had come, he had been as green as grass.

That had changed quickly as winter began to settle in.

Dusktail still remembered the first day that he had been attacked-remembered with a type of relish that both scared him and confused him. They had been lucky to fight them off, considering their numbers.

Their attackers had been other vermin, like themselves. Simple rats and weasels, a few stoats and foxes. They claimed to have needed shelter from an oncoming storm, and Dusktail had wanted to give it to them. His mother on the other hand, had been reluctant.

"Do you not have your own home?" The white fox had asked them as they stood silently, idly scratching themselves in their ragged clothes.

The vermin had huddled together then, as if to deliberate amongst themselves. Dusktail had frowned at this, but later realized they had taken the opportunity to pull hidden weapons from around themselves and attack.

They had charged, then. All five of them. Dusktail remembered lunging for his knife, but little else.

A red haze had descended upon him then... A lust for death that had to be quenched. His younger brother Nightshade had been worse, nearly frothing at the mouth as they attacked, so lost in his rage he had been.

Dusktail's next memory had been pulling his knife from another fox's throat and pushing the corpse roughly to the snowy floor. As it toppled, he glanced up and saw two others fleeing. It had been just over twenty heartbeats after they had begun. How he knew this, he was uncertain.

His brother had required restraining, as he had wanted to go after the ones that had tried to take his home from him.

"Let me kill 'em all, Dusk!" Nightshade screamed as Dusktail held him back desperately. Ignoring his brothers pleas, the black fox tried to move forward, his right paw still clenched around their father's bloodied sword. Dusktail had found the entire situation saddening, as the eyes that had once been filled with such joy and intelligence had now been filled by something darker, something that would never be completely filled again.

Their innocence was lost. Forever.

The dark-coated fox had continued struggling with Dusktail, and Dusktail himself was desperate to end the situation before it got out of hand. He never had a chance to, since the word, "stop," had been snapped out by their mother.

The one-word command stopped them both.

They both whirled around to see their mother, a bolt in her shoulder as she leaned against a oak tree, watching them with a mournful look. Dusktail was taken aback at the intensity of the stare, but he realized that he was feeling the same. They could never go back to what they had once been.

Dropping their weapons, the brothers had leapt to help their mother, who had given up everything to protect them. Now they tried their best to pay back the debt owed.

She talked to them quietly with instructions as Dusktail pulled the bolt from her shoulder. He marveled at her strength of will, but shuddered at the possibility of losing their mother, something he did not want to face after Barkclaw had abandoned them.

His left paw, which had been holding the sharpening stone, clenched for a moment as he thought of his father, and the promise that had been broken. For a few minutes he dropped his stone and his knife, as thinking of his father had always made him want to stab something.

Forcing himself to think of happier things, he picked up one of the blue flowers that always seemed to grow on this side of the stream. He would make a bouquet for his mother, he decided with a smile. Something nice and pretty to make their lives brighter.

As he began to pick some flowers, his thoughts continued unabated.

He had wished the dreams would go away, but they seemed to follow him, growing worse with each passing day. He had never liked them, but they had been bearable. This latest dream cut too close to home. It had seem too prophetic, a sign of darker things to come.

Looking down at his half-sharpened knife, Dusktail smiled. "A dull blade will turn into a bad day," his father had often told him. After the first incident, and along with a few others, he would never allow himself to dull again, both in mind and in weaponry.

When Dusktail heard footsteps behind him, he assumed it was his brother coming to help him.

It wasn't.

[Romsca]

That's really good!!!!

Could you write more?

[Darkenmal]

That's really good!!!!

Could you write more?

For sure I will write more.

Keep an eye out for chapter three in the next week or so, and thanks for reading!

[Maudie]

I love this story so far! I really feel close to Dusktail, I like him a lot. He's a character that I want to know what happens to. This is a great story.

[Darkenmal]

I love this story so far! I really feel close to Dusktail, I like him a lot. He's a character that I want to know what happens to. This is a great story.

Thanks for the kind praise!

You will definitely be seeing more of him in the future.

[Blazemane]

I'm also enjoying Dusktail's character, and I'm intrigued by what might become of his mother and his brother as the story goes on. With Nightshade being so protective (and so harshly affected by his own anger) and their mother having a legitimate, noticeable bond with her two sons, she and Nightshade seem like characters the reader could root for in the future.

And I'm beginning to appreciate the air of slight uncertainty you've given to Sylvaticus. It makes it seem like she's a leader by necessity more than by some sort of commanding stature. Even though the Fever hit the Abbey after she was appointed, she still seems fitting to this story. She doesn't necessarily feel all that strong or confident, but she's going to lead because the Abbey needs her to. On the other hand, I'm glad Skipper's there to give her hope with his upbeat, incorrigible personality.

So, there's two things I feel like offering for the future, which obviously you can do whatever you want to with. And maybe you've already thought of them in a lot of detail, anyways:

1.) Seeing as Dusktail and his family seem like protagonists for the moment (although I could be wrong about that), I'd be interested to see your story get into *why* they're good characters. Brian Jacques often had his "grey" vermin struggle with their own natures. In The Pearls of Lutra, Romsca was hesitant about the way of life that Abbot Durral showed her, and then when it became clear that he was in danger, she finally showed what side she'd chosen by defending him to the death. In The Bellmaker, Blaggut wanted to live the way that he saw the Redwallers living, and maybe he would have gradually gone that way if Mellus hadn't been killed. But either way, his understanding of just how absolutely wrong it was for Mellus to die changed him within a day. And then there's Veil, who spends about half of the The Outcast of Redwall being evil and trying to get away with it, or being asked to change and flat-out refusing. And then near the end of the book, he, like Romsca, dies protecting someone he cares about.

I'm not at all saying that Dusktail and his family have to act like vermin for a while before changing and becoming good. I think they've been good characters since the beginning of your story. But it could still be interesting to see them--just like so many of Jacques' characters--prove who they are to themselves, in a sense. So maybe it doesn't even become as much about the Redwallers being distrustful of these foxes and giving them a hard time (although I think logic might demand a little bit of that, given the Redwaller's history with vermin in the Redwall universe) as it becomes these three characters doubting themselves. It'd be interesting to see them wrestle with why they choose to defend the woodlanders, or with why their enemies are set on killing while they aren't. And I also think that if they came to Redwall with that sort of inner struggle going on, or with that inner struggle having happened already and been resolved, their good intentions might seem a lot more authentic to the Redwallers who have to decide whether or not to trust them. Because if they just come in without ever having struggled over what it is to be good and what it is to be bad, they're goodness--as authentic as might be--could seem a little too smooth, and, ironically, untrustworthy. And if they have had to wrestle, then they can explain themselves on some level, too--they can really get into what it is to be good with the Redwallers, just as they've gone into what it is to be good with themselves.

Of course, for all of what I've said, it isn't totally necessary. Slagar the Cruel talked a good talk to get into the Abbey, but one thing he would have had a very hard time doing, for all of his cunning, would have been to keep his intentions hidden if he'd had to stay at the Abbey for any extended period of time. I believe this would be true because a person can generally come to be known by their actions. Since Slagar wouldn't have been able to act genuinely good, I doubt he would have been able to pretend to be good for weeks and weeks, either. Something would give him up eventually. And if not him, then one of the other vermin working with him would have showed their true colors eventually. If your characters come to the Abbey being genuinely good, even if they've never had to think about it much, I think they could eventually prove themselves by the way they would act; it just might take a while.

I've already become really long-winded, so I'll say just one more thing. I'm not saying that you have to write a ton of internal thinking for them, either. The questions and doubts, if you should choose for them to have any, can be almost exclusively conveyed by the action of the story that happens outside of their minds if that's the way you want to write for them.

Anyways...

2.) I would love to see Sylvaticus remain a central character to the story. As much as she is going to end up relying on the help of unexpected characters, she is still the leader of Redwall, and I'm guessing that a lot of the uniqueness of the plot you're creating here will come across really, really well if you keep running the idea of these allied foxes up against the fact that there is still, indeed, an Abbey of good creatures who they are fighting alongside of. How do I say this... It's like... if Redwall and its creatures sort of diminish to be support for the idea of the other characters in the story, I feel that it won't seem like "Redwall story, and these foxes are being awesome because they're helping out the Redwallers." It could instead become something like "These foxes are being awesome."

If I'm making any sense at all, then I say keep using Sylvaticus prominently in the story because she is a huge representation of what Redwall is. The presence of an Abbess or Abbot is a key part of the feeling of so many of the Redwall books. As is the presence of a Skipper (keep bringing him up!) As is the presence of a warrior (I doubt you need any encouragement!) As is the presence of the food, and the songs and any other presentations of the Redwallers' zest for life/contentment/camaraderie, etc.

But the fact that Sylvaticus has that partial lack of confidence to her is part of the reason she's foremost in my mind right now. The reader can watch her develop, and make mistakes, and keep trying in spite of all of her self-doubts because she knows it's right to keep going.

As a final note, I am really, really interested in seeing how the story of Dusktail and/or Nightshade and/or their mother ends up intersecting with the story of Redwall. The plot you have going is keenly interesting, even though (or perhaps, in part because) there's so much we don't know yet.