Redwall Abbey

Abbot Cuthbert had always had a dislike for the darker hours of the day. It could be attributed to many things. A sudden decrease in sleep quality. A drop in temperature that crept into the Abbey. A mountain of paperwork that can only be sorted out after the sun has fled from the sky.

But strangely enough, this one managed to be worse than all the others.

It all started when one of the Redwall guests started coughing just after supper. Kiormund Streambattle, being a Southerner, was not used to the cold, dry air of Mossflower. He stood no chance against his first asthmatic attack.

Cuthbert's first response was to give the otter a bit of air, after ordering him to calm down. Five minutes had passed before the Redwallers were able to escort him to the infirmary, and he was able to a warm room, a warm drink and some warm rest.

The infirmary steps seemed to be infinite as Cuthbert made his way up. By Martin, the pup's parents will skin me alive if anything happens to him! The otter took a deep breath, then opened the door to the sick hall.

"Good evenin', Kiormun'," said the abbot. "I trust yore feelin' better, right?"

The otter in the sickbed perked up at the sight of Cuthbert, as did the vixen beside him. Being a former member of a vermin horde, Graha did not start out as a welcome addition to the Abbey. Still, Kiormund liked and accepted her, and persuaded most of the Abbey to do the latter, if not the former.

"Yes, Father Abbot." Kiormund smiled and nodded, coaxing a smile from Cuthbert. "I'm feeling much better. Thank you for caring for me."

"Aww, it's nothing, matey!" Cuthbert grabbed a chair and sat down at Kiormund's left. "You almost gave us all a 'eart attack there, but I'm glad everything's alright now."

"Maybe you shuddn't - should not have gone for cold drinks on a cold day?" asked Graha, leading to an awkward chuckle from Kiormund. The vixen was quick to shed her accent, ignoring Cuthbert's reminder that it would not be necessary for her to do so.

The young otter rubbed his head. "In hindsight, that probably wasn't my best decision."

"Well, I'm very glad t' see that yore fine," said Cuthbert. "When it snows again, just be sure t' stay indoors, an' beside a warm fire. Oh, and Graha?"

"Yes?" The fox's ears perked up.

"Come with me. I've got somethin' t' tell ye."

The abbot and the vixen bade Kiormund farewell, and they traversed the halls of Redwall together. Red sandstone paved the way to their destination, and snow covered the Lawns. It took around a minute until woodlander and vermin stopped at the door of the dormitories.

"Now, Graha, why did you apply to be a novice here at Redwall?" asked Cuthbert.

"Oh. Er, I just..." The vixen's voice trailed off. "I just wanted ter belong here."

"Belong?" It seemed to Cuthbert that it was one of those moments that he wished Redwall had a badgermum. "Yore working towards there. Yeve been 'ere for nine months, and yore not just 'the vermin' to everybeast. Yore Graha the vixen!"

"I just want to be 'Graha'." The fox frowned. "Maybe 'Sister Graha'. But I want to be something more than just 'the first vermin to stay in Redwall for the better part of a season without ruining everything'. I am simply a fox who wants to learn more."

"I understan'," said Cuthbert. "I'm just worried."

"Why?" asked Graha. "Scared of vermin 'ruining everything'? I know that you got your position by generously not slaughtering all of us, but deep down-"

"The only woodlander who's scared of ye was Kiormun', and he's scared of everyone." Cuthbert crouched down to look the vixen in the eyes. "I'm simply worried that your family won't let you stay here forever."

"I'll think they'll understand."

"It would be a good idea for ye to visit them then." Cuthbert smiled. "They'll love havin' their dearest Graha back, won't they?"

"Yeah." Graha nodded. "I had better go to bed."

Cuthbert sighed. It would take quite a while before he would talk to her again. "Sleep well."

He turned to the lawn and watched the snow fall as the vixen shut the door to the dormitories. Flake by flake descended onto the blanched lawn, and they swallowed the grass below them. It hurt Cuthbert that he had never known how beautiful Redwall Abbey could be on a winter night.

The Abbot thought of the otterpup he had failed to care for, the vixen who he had failed to understand, and the faces of those who had forced the position of Abbot on him, just for doing what any goodbeast would do. Oh Martin, forgive them for what they've done.

Then, gently and silently, Cuthbert wept. 

"The poem?"
  Dengor rolled his eyes at the question, grinning at his dad and reciting the rather obvious saying that he'd been brought up with his entire life.
  "Left without water, a beast will go mad.
  "Thirst must be quenched for the mind to be sane.
  "Beast has been made, both the good and the bad,
  "to help and to love. Let us do the same."
  The warrior nodded, holding his son's gaze seriously.
  "Good. Have you figured it out yet?"
  Dengor shrugged the matter aside and gestured at the oiled canvas package, still smiling.
  "Of course I have! You and Memee have drilled it into me since before I could speak! What's in the packet?"
  The father shook his head, his mind going back to his own seasons as a young badger, full of energy and empty of wisdom. Dengor would learn, just as he had done. His heart was in the right place and his paws would surely follow. Nudging himself a little before he had a chance to wander past days, the badger thrust the carefully crafted package into his son's waiting paws, chuckling at the younger beast's excitement.
  "If you remember what you've been taught, it will be useful to you. If you go astray, it will be a rod to your own back. Keep your mind clean and your heart cleaner and, above all, love. If you love deep enough, you'll never lack strength."
  Dengor looked up briefly from his work on the string holding the wrappings on.
  "Yeah dad. You've told me a hundred times already."
  Then the canvas finally fell away and Dengor's eyes widened, hesitating in their enthusiasm. Before him lay a sword. Unadorned with jewels or finery, but no doubt razor sharp and perfectly balanced beneath the leather sheath. It was just as he'd always wanted! He could be a warrior now, like his father! It would be his job to look after the family! He would keep everybeast safe and be a true guardian! Because...
  Dengor looked up at his father. Strong, faithful, forgiving, loving. His mind went back to the previous day, when he'd yelled at him and told him that he didn't need him anymore, that he should go away and mind his own business. His father was giving him a sword of his own because he'd need it. Before, he had always trained with his father's sword. His father always said he could use his sword if he needed a weapon. Now...
  "You're going away, aren't you?"
  The older badger regarded his son quietly, solemnly. They had all known the time would come. Before he had a time to respond, Dengor's paws were around him and he was sobbing.
  "I'm sorry! I didn't mean what I said! I was angry and it was wrong! Don't go! I'm- I'm not ready to have a sword! I don't want it! Your one is better!"
  The two badgers held each other, father and son embracing for perhaps the last time. Neither knew their fate, but they both knew they wouldn't see each other for a very long while.
  "It is time. The thirst is too much and I must leave. One day you will also have this thirst and then you will come. It may be after I die, or it may be we can spend a few seasons together. If not, my spirit will always be there to guide you. My teachings will stay in your heart and lead you."
  Dengor nodded understanding as he quickly wiped away his tears, ashamed now that he had been crying like a hogwife. He chanced a peek at his father, afraid to see the disapproval at his weakness. The young badger's vision blurred again as he saw the old warrior's face creased, not with disappointment or judgement, but with tears of his own.
  In all his seventeen seasons, Dengor had never seen his father cry. The sight broke his heart and warmed his soul. The love his father had for him was seared into his memory and he knew, instinctively, that he'd never forget it.

Ailwin gulped as the hut came into view. The stoat's cloak was filthy and tattered, as was the rest of him. His steps grew slower and slower as he neared his destination. The vermin stopped dead in his tracks, glancing back at the path behind him. Would his family want him back? How had things changed in the two seasons that he'd been gone? Why hadn't they visited him in prison? The questions battered his mind, refusing to go away.

He shook himself. He could do this. Forcing his footpaws forward, he walked up to the door of the dwelling.

The stoat lifted his paw to knock, but stopped midair as he heard the sound of playful squeaks from inside the hut. On second thought... Ailwin scurried over to one of the windows, peeking through it. A pair of young stoat children were running around a table, playing a game of tag. Fates, they've grown! Ailwin's fangs drew up in a smile. They looked so happy. Seeing his children's faces again gave him the courage he needed to dart back over to the door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

He winced as the sound of the children's squealing cut off, replaced with calls.

"Mama! Somebeast is at th' door!"

A few moments later, and the door handle began to turn, slowly opening to reveal a stoatwife wiping her paws on her apron. She squinted her eyes for a moment at Ailwin, then recognition dawned on her. Her eyes widened and she gasped. "A-Ailwin? Is that really ye?"

"Aye, it's me." Joy fluttered in his chest. "I'm 'ome."

Her mouth abruptly drew into a frown. "Ye?" she scowled, eyes narrowing, "What are ye doing back 'ere?"
Ailwin winced at her cold words. "Naira , please, let me explain..."

"No," Naira  said flatly, stepping back. "Ye're nothin' but a thief."

It was all Ailwin could do to stop her from slamming the door on his face as he took a step forward. "I can explain! Please wait! I only tried stealin' th' gold 'cause I wanted t' give ye 'n' th' children a better life." He wrung his paws. "I was put in Elm Bark prison all this time. There wasn't a day I wasn't thinkin' about ye all. I traveled 'ere th' moment they released me."

Naira  looked past him. "I knew ye were in Elm Bark Prison."

Ailwin stared at his wife blankly. "Ye... knew? Why... Why didn't y' ever visit? I thought--"

"--Ye were a fool t' 'ave done what y' did. What did y' expect th' city officials t' do? Ye knew they'd be forced t' clap ye in irons fer such a crime! Our children would've starved because o' yer stupidity if it wasn't fer me! I worked t' th' bone t' keep my children fed."

"B-but I did it all fer ye!" Tears welled up in Ailwin's eyes. "We needed th' money. Y-ye know that."

"Well no wonder! Y' were a drunkard, Ailwin! A filthy drunkard!" Naira  spat. "We wouldn't have been so in debt in th' first place if y' hadn't--"

"--But I've changed! I... I will change. Please..." He touched her arm. "Please give me another chance."

Naira  looked torn for a brief moment, gazing at Ailwin. He thought he saw a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. But then just like that, the moment was gone. She blinked, fiercely wiping her eyes. "No. I won't ever let y' hurt us again." Before the shocked stoat could reply, she pushed him back and slammed the door, locking it.
The stoat stood there silently, simply staring at the door.

"Mama, who wa' dat?" a small voice asked faintly from the other side.

"Was tha' really our father?" another asked, "I thought y' said he was deaded... W-why didn't y' let 'im in?"

Naira  sounded close to tears as she replied, "I told ye, yer father is dead. That stoat... He was just a wicked liar."

Ailwin slumped to the ground as Naira  continued on, telling the two young ones to get away from the door and to try their best to forget about the incident.

She's right, Ailwin thought, Maybe that's who I had been. He couldn't blame her for not trusting him. But yet, the stoat wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. As a beast had once told him - ages ago, it seemed like - that it was never too late to change. He would wait right outside this door, come rain or wind, and wait until he had a chance to prove himself to his family.

Dengor:       I feel like I'm looking at a prologue for a story. It's wonderful and I really enjoy it, no doubt about that, but as I'm reading this I feel like it's just setting up this character for something else. Instead of fully going in and creating Dengor now,  it's like laying building blocks to really flesh him out and explore him later  if that makes sense.

Cuthbert:          I actually really like this look into Abbot Cuthbert. The first time reading it through I was a little confused on where the focus was but that cleared up by the end. THE ANNONYMOUS AUTHOR does a really good job at showing Cuthbert's thoughts and struggles in such a short time - I feel like I know Cuthbert much better than I would normally know a character from a piece this short.

Ailwin:        Same thing as Dengor for me, really, just a bit less so. It seems more like a backstory than really fleshing Ailwin out. It's explaining the reasoning behind future Ailwin, but not that great of a look into Ailwin as he is at the time of the story, although there is tidbits that sneak through. It definitely gets better in that regard towards the end.

Dengor, I think from a technical standpoint (which is funny because I know very little about technical writings) is the best. Or at least, the prose flows smoother and the whole thing feels more like what you'd find in an actual novel of sorts. I think it suffers a little by dividing the audience's attention between Dengor and his father- who is the main character? Dengor? His father? What Corn said about this working as more of a backstory rather than as a character introduction holds truth. We do get to see his worries and bits of his personality, and his relationship with his father and I find the concept of leaving for Salamandastron very interesting and definetly something I don't see enough of, and it is ten out of ten writing- it just doesn't fit the prompt as well as the other two do.


I'm going to say hands down that Ailwin is my favourite of the three character-wise. His is a story I want to read. How will he prove that he's changed to his wife? Has he in fact changed at all, or is he only trying to fool himself? It's a very good character introduction that, as Corn sort of said, suffers from being too focused on what happened and what he hopes to happen and too little on who he is now. We understand he left and wants to rejoin his family- but we don't really have all the whys of that. He's a more interesting character than Dengor and more of him is fleshed out, but yes, this is prologue/backstory stuff. Which isn't bad, just not what I was looking for. Also this was a late submission -.-

Cuthbert... In a way this piece fit the prompt the best. I'm just going to be nitpicky and disqualify it entirely because, shock and horror, Abbot Cuthbert isn't an original character and I've already read him some. I note needed someone new! NEVER BEFORE SEEN! (Waycaster wrote this!!!!)

Jokes aside, I agree with Corn's rankings. At the end of each short we know more about Cuthbert than the other two. Ailwin has the more interesting story, and more potential, Dengor has got better prose and a more interesting concept, but Cuthbert as otherwise simple a character as he is, goes through a lot in here- nothing happens happens and it's mostly dialogue, but we know him by the end of it and that was the whole point of the character creation excercise.

"'Everybeast before us fell short," Harlapple unrolled a map of Redwall for all to see.
"Every brainy, brawny, burly warlord,
Every stinky, slinky, slimy horde," he pinched his nose as he passed Skunksnot, twisted Meadowblossum into a pretzel and did not dare lay a paw on the oozing Footface.

"All FAILED!" Chorused the assembled hordebeasts.


"We will do it differently,
"Not too harsh," his voice even, fair, considerate.
"Far from gently," a wicked grin spread across his face and promised pain.
"Please listen intently," he snapped, pulling Dung and Durge by the ears.
Whoever was providing the music increased the tempo.
"We've been beaten, stomped and thrashed," Harlapple abruptly released the rats, letting their head bang against each other's.
"Now they think of us as trash," a small growl escaped the warlord.
"They've burnt down all our soap," Harlapple fell to his knees, filling his paws with ashes.
"Tried to give themselves some hope," the ashes were raised to his chest, and placed over his heart.
"But that won't change a thing," the villainous grin returned as Harlapple threw the ashes into the wind.
"Coz we're vermin!" Lackfoot cried, getting to his footpaw.
"Vermin, vermin, vermin!" the rest of the horde agreed, standing up to cast a shadow over their minuscule leader.
"Soon as they sees us they'll go a'runnin'!" Dung exclaimed, grinning brightly.
"We'll throw stones, sticks and boulders," Durge hefted a massive rock above his head.
"Till we're aching from the shoulders," Skunksnot wheezed, trying to do the same.
"An' their wall's nothin' but smoulders!" The horde chorused.
Harlapple shook his head from side to side in disbelief. Idiots...
"To conquer, the unconquerable," he explained, his tone even, controlled, gentle.
"To surpass, the insurmountable," philosophical, intellectual, decisive.
"To bring Redwall to the ground," a sweep of his tail scattered the rest of the ashes.
"And avenge our comrades drowned," a moment of silence, in honor of the deceased.
"We must think outside the box," he tapped Lackfoot hard on the side of the head.
"Not just pelter it with rocks," a hard jab to Durge's prominent gut sent the rat and his boulder stumbling backwards into a cloud of dust.


"Coz we're vermin!" Lackfoot agreed, rubbing the side of his head.
"Vermin, vermin, vermin," the horde chorused.
"We'll build big ladders!" Skunksnot cried, as he Meadowblossum and Footface bent and twisted to form one.
"That'll get us in!" Dung cried, climbing their impromptu creation.
"We'll empty their bladders," Slopgut cackled, holding Milo at arm's length.
"Not to mention their larders!" the vermin all shouted.
"Tried, tested, FAILED!" Harlapple exhaled.
"I'll only say this once," the mouse held up a single claw.
"Do not play the dunce," he trod harshly on the tail of a nose-picking stoat.
"Redwall won't go down," A flick of his finger sent the 'ladder' and all on top of it tumbling into the dust to join Durge.
"When faced with a clown," he frowned in disappointment at the doggy-piled doofusses.
"Unless we play this smart," he tapped a claw against the side of his head.
"We'll be broken, ruined, vanquished," he pulled Meadowblossum out of the pile.
"Ripped limb from limb and torn apart," he growled, thankfully not providing the weasel with a visual explanation.
"Coz we're vermin!" Lackfoot cried.
"Vermin, vermin..." the stoat shrunk under the force of Harlapple's narrowed eyes. "Er- sorry boss."
"Our foe is mighty," the mouse went on, unceremoniously dumping Meadowblossum.
"They scare even me!"

"Slightly?" Slopgut swallowed audibly.



"Not at all!" Harlapple grinned.
"I was born to be a warlord," he struck an impressive pose, his cape billowing in the perfectly-timed breeze.
"Wasn't my first choice," the mouse shrunk, his ears drooping, his tail slumping to the ground, his shoulders sagging.
"Wasn't my last," he grinned and posed again.
"But times are changing," one by one he began to pull his hordebeasts to their feetpaws.
"That was all long past," a flick of his tail-spike waved away the memories.
"Now there's nothing left but forwards!"

"We will crush Redwall!" The hordebeasts cried, picking up their leader and tossing him into the air.
"Coz we're vermin!" Lackfoot cried.
"Vermin, vermin, vermin," the vermin chorused, jumping around and tumbling like the trained acrobats they were born to be.


"All I ask, beloved horde," Harlapple snapped, landing safely in Dung's outstretched paws and once more drawing their undivided attention.
"Do not waver," he shot Lackfoot a glare.
"Do not turn traitor," his fiery gaze fell upon the impassive Bill.
"Do not hesitate," he poked Dung on the snout, as the big rat let him down.
"Soon we'll have those abbeybeasts in checkmate!" Harlapple grinned, a sweep of his tail sending  the King of a conveniently placed chess-set skidding off the board.