Black and White

[The Grey Coincidence]

"Straighten that silk one more time." Clogg was hissing to the fake Whimper. "And I'll strangle ye with it. Now, straighten up, chest out, like that, yes. Struuut. Good!" The rat rubbed his paws. "Now remember, both of ye." His one eye darted from Bork to the new Whimper with frightening speed. "Speak only when spoken te, do not mention the other Whimper-" He fixed his eyes upon Bork. "Do not get drunk and don't puke either. Be respectful te the other Captains but don't be a pushover neither. Nobeast respects a pushover."

"So if somebeast hits me." Klis began slowly, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "I'm supposed te hit them back, right?"

"Yes." Clogg allowed, after a moment of hesitation. "Just as hard unless they outrank ye."

The ferret continued thinking outloud. "But I'm in charge, aren't I? Don't I outrank all of ye?"

"Not me ye don't." Clogg said, flattening his chest fur and swapping his sea-beaten cape for a newer, shinier one. "An' we ain't in the Snowlands no more. Ye outrank nobeast ye can't throw around."

"I could throw ye around pretty easily." Bork chuckled as he played with the rat's tail. The wolverine's seasickness had subsided enough for him to be allowed at a feast. Which delighted the wolverine. He loved food and had loved it since infancy.

"Me an' almost everybeast else Bork." The rat growled, pulling his tail free of the larger beast's footpaw and once more straightening his chest fur. "But ye can't take down a whole crew by yerself."

"I'm big." Bork pointed out, trying once more to pin the rat tail. The faux Whimper looked on, adjusting his silken wrappings.

This time Clogg was ready for it, and sidestepped the paw. "Ye are. Well noticed. But I've seen bigger wildcats. Give or take ten seasons Bork and there won't be a beast alive that could push ye around. But ye have ten seasons left te wait. So, be patient. Anybeast important hits ye, watch an' wait. They'll grow old, ye'll grow strong, ye'll snap 'em like a twig. Clear?"

Bork grinned and nodded in comprehension, his mind filled with the glorious thoughts of a full stomach and victory. His father might even be proud of him! Snapping beasts like twigs was certainly a very Kingly thing to do.

Clogg turned back to the faux Whimper. The rat smacked his ear with prejudice.

"Forget the silk! It looks fine! Anyhow yer a warlord's son not a princess."

"I know that." The ferret muttered grumpily. "But..." He stared around the ship to make sure nobeast was within earshot, and leaned in close to whisper. "What if they notice?"

Clogg's expression did not change. "Notice what?"

"That..." The ferret was hesitant, and now the reason for all the silk-shifting became apparent. Much like the first Whimper, this beast was scared. Unlike the first, he pretended otherwise to be confident. "That I... ain't... him."

"Who's 'him'? Never heard of this beast before. What are they doing on my ship? Hey you!" He pointed a claw at one of the mute rats Longclaw had lent to him for the journey. "There's a beast called 'him' somewhere on this ship! A stowaway! I want them in my cabin before I return. Oh, and tie 'him' up, will ye?"

The rat nodded, not showing any kind of confusion at the Captain's command, and left to do Clogg's bidding.

"There, we'll have this 'him' dealt with by tomorrow." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Ye don't need te act like anybeast, just be yerself but quieter." Coughing slightly, the rat went back to his normal volume. "Whimper, Bork, follow me. It's time for a feast."

"One more question." Bork stood up and smacked his ever-impressive belly to disguise the underlying tone of nervousness present in his voice. "Since we don't have a large food supply and all..." He'd heard some grown rats complaining about it once at breakfast. Apparently if he kept eating at the pace he did, they'd have to ration the whole ship. And there was no prospect more terrifying for Bork then going on a diet. "How much are we supposed te eat?"

The faux-Whimper facepawed. "An' for a second I thought it might be somethin' important."

Bork felt his ears droop and a growl build up within him. It was an important question! Eating was an art form like no other. But then again, what should he have expected? His father had never been fond of his eating tendencies.

"Aren't you fat enough?" He'd said, more than once. It didn't help that Flayface and Spitteeth always told on him. His father's cronies. Stupid foxes. Telling everybeast how he was stealing from the kitchens... Perhaps that was why he preferred the first Whimper... The smaller ferret had never minded sharing in his stolen food, and Bork (despite the fact that it meant less cupcakes and he loved cupcakes) had enjoyed sharing. Plus, it was a convenient way of getting rid of flavors he didn't like. Whimper hadn't had many preferences.

Bork was not surprised that Clogg had replaced him so swiftly, the rat had an important job to do on the orders of his father and those orders required a Whimper. But if he had been King he'd have waited for the real one to turn up again.

"Ye look scared? What's scary Whimper? Do I scare ye?" His head had hurt much at the time but he remembered the words clearly. He'd remembered the horrible sinking feeling in his gut. His only mate... scared of him... Well he was big. And he had made a snowbeast out of him once. But fear was unjustified! Whimper had no reason to be scared! He had picked the ferret up, determined to reassure him that there was nothing to be scared of. He would never hurt his only friend (of course he wouldn't have said that, or called Whimper his only friend- that was bad King ettiwhatsit- but he'd have meant it).

Then all his drinking had caught up to him and knocked him to the ground. By the time he woke up, Whimper was gone. Likely hiding somewhere.

Hiding from me... Nobeast beforepaw had ever given him a reason to care enough to make up for something, so he wasn't exactly experienced in it. But Bork would make it up to him! He would bring the ferret back something shiny- and something small enough for his little paws. The ferret had in one winter been a better mate to him than his father had in ten. When he became King of the Lands of Ice and Snow, he'd make him his Right Paw. Then they could rule forever and ever, making snowbeasts and eating cupcakes.

Clogg's reply to his question dragged him out of his happy thoughts.

"As much ye can. The Dreaded is hostin' us all, coz his ship's the biggest, an' frankly I don't care much if his crewbeasts wind up starvin'." He winked up at the grinning wolverine. "Eat 'em out of house and home."

Bork grinned, his tail wagging behind him like an over-excited dibbun's. Oh how he hoped there were cupcakes... Pity the real Whimper wasn't here to share them with...

"Wait, yer serious?" Klis looked surprised. "But aren't they our allies?"

Clogg rolled his eye. "Yer ally one day Whimper, is yer enemy the next. I'd rather fight his beasts when they're starvin'. Now enough time wastin'!"

The rat spun on his heel and barked out a few orders. Bork was too busy dreaming of a luscious strawberry cupcake to pay attention properly and the next thing he knew, the Dreaded's ship was sailing besides them.

The Black Plague, or Dark Plague or whatever Clogg's ship was called, was large. The Dreaded's vast ship (appropriately styled 'The Beaded Death' was big enough in Bork's mind, to be a small island.

A fat wooden plank was placed between the ships to form a ramp. Clogg scrambled up it with ease, and upon reaching the top, was met with cheers, applauds and various greetings. Klis followed swiftly, and was met with similar greetings, though less enthusiastic. By the time Bork got to the top, nobeast but Clogg and Klis noticed. The pair helped him with the last couple of inches, and shakily he placed both feetpaw on the boat.

"Ye alright?" The rat asked. He glanced back to make sure the other captains weren't looking. "Stick yer head over the side if there's any emergencies."

Bork nodded, his face already pale green. And he hadn't even eaten anything yet...

Clogg opened his mouth to say something else, but then Scringewhiskers joined them. "Darkhide said I should tag along, that okay with you Captain?"

Clogg waved him away. "No! Go and have some grog or somethin'." The ferret looked mildly disappointed. The rat turned back to Bork and whispered. "If ye prefer ye can go and rest up a bi-"

"Clogg," Klis interrupted, tugging at the rat's cloak. "What is that?" The ferret pointed a claw at a very large advancing rat.

Before any reply could be given, the beast was upon them. Nearly as large as Bork (which was impressive for a rat), and covered from whiskertip to tail in beads of red and green, this was the Captain known to all as The Dreaded One.

"Ye finally showed up I see! Bin waitin' Clogg. Long time no see."

"Yes." Was all the smaller rat said in reply. Then a small, sly smile spread across his face. "I didn't see ye at Longclaw's feast. Busy raidin' someplace?"

"Only the slavepits, hur hur. Ye should see wot some of 'em kin do in bed."

Bork gave Clogg a quizzical look, but the one-eyed rat payed him no mind. And probably wouldn't have answered the question anyways...

"New beads as well. A yeller one, eh? Someplace far south?"

"Far west!" The other corrected, smacking his well-built chest. "I take it ye are Marik's son." He added, nodding in Klis' direction.

The ferret, who had been wrinkling his nose in disgust (the Dreaded smelled foul even by vermin standards), smiled awkwardly when he noticed (which just so happened to be when Clogg trod on his tail). "I-I see my reputation precedes me." He bowed and was nearly sick at the sight of he rat's toenails. "It ain't much compared t-te yers of course, but then again, wh-who's is?"

Turning back to Clogg the beaded rat jabbed a finger at him. "I likes this one. And aha! Longclaw's latest whelp. Fatter than the other two, I see."

Bork's mood soured instantly. If this rat thought he could call him fat and get away with it...

"Smarter too." Interrupted the Black Plague's Captain. "An' hungrier. Now where's this feast ye invited me to?"

Not on to be outdone, the humongous vermin spun round and shouted at the surrounding decks.

Clogg turned to Bork as an array of delicacies (well, as far as pirate cooking was concerned) were brought up from the lower decks and the Dreaded stomped off to greet somebeast else.

"He's a beast ye don't want te mess with."

"But he called me fat!" Bork growled, sharp claws stretching out from his chubby fingers. They were not too long but each was as sharp as a razor.

"An' he can get away with it. Ye know what he'd do te ye if ye picked a fight with him?"

"What?" Asked Klis, sticking his head over the boat in case he was sick. "Kiss his toenails? I can't imagine anythin' worse."

"He can do worse." Was all Clogg said. "Claws down Bork. Yer here te eat, remember? But if we ever wind up fightin' the Dreaded, ye have my permission te send him to Hellgates."

Bork nodded, and sheathed his claws. "One day-"

"Ye'll snap him like a twig." Clogg said grinning. "Cheer up Bork. There's muffins."

The wolverine's eyes drifted to a platter of muffins, his jaw fell open and his mouth watered.

"Bork!" Klis snapped, wiping drool off his headfur. But the wolverine hadn't heard him and barged past the ferret, determined to get his paws on the sweets.

The faux-Whimper was not the only ferret he barged past. Although the second one, a rather tall ferret, pressed a cutlass to his throat."Watch where yer goin' welp! Step on my tail again and I'll gut ye!"

Instead of being scared off, as most beasts and especially vermin would be, Bork brushed the blade aside with his claws and glared down at the ferret. A big beast, no doubt, but smaller than the young wolverine. He opened his mouth to retort, but found that Clogg had a habit of interrupting him.

"Ripple! Nice te see ye matey! Bork, this is Captain Ripple Sharkbreath. Sharkbreath, this is-"

"Bork, son of Longclaw, Prince of the Lands of Ice and Snow and a clumsy fool." The ferret spat, sheathing his cutlass.

The young wolverine turned to his de-facto chaperone, a pleading look in his eyes. "Can I hit him?"

Clogg considered this question for a moment before shrugging.

Before Klis could even ask what had happened (having been too preoccupied with the drool-wiping to notice), Ripple Sharkbreath was stumbling about, clutching at his head. Bork looked extremely satisfied.

Clogg went on, as if nothing had happened. "That weasel over there with the short sword goes by Bloodface. He's yer typical grunt really. See the fat fox over there?" He pointed at an evil-looking (and indeed fat) vulpine with blades attached to his tail. "Clawtail. He's nasty. Best be careful around him. There' a wildcat here too. Goes by One-Eye. Quite young an' I don't know him too well, but ye best stay out of his way jus' in case. I heard that whoever half-blinded him-"

"You are forgetting somebeast Cloggo!" Came a small, high-pitched voice behind the three.

The rat, who had been smiling, frowned immediately. "I was wonderin' why everythin' was so peaceful..." As one they turned to this new voice.

It was a cat. But not a cat or type of cat Bork had ever seen before. Barely taller than Clogg (who was small to begin with, at least, when next to the young wolverine). At least a hundred whiskers stretched out from his nose in what easily could have been an impressive mustache, were they not as stiff and sharp as wires and spread all over his face like a spider's web.

He had an air of mischievous joy about him and a constant smirk plastered to his scarred face.

"Bork, Wimper. The Manywhispers. Or Manywhiskers. Depends on his mood." Clogg said, his voice dry and joyless.

"That's me!" The skinny little feline jabbed a thumbclaw towards himself. "I take it this handsome ferret is no other than Mad-Eye Marik's fabled son and heir?"

Klis stepped forwards, his ears ever-so-slightly red and his chest puffed up like a frog's throat. "I see my reputation precedes me-"

"It ain't much compared to mine of course, but then again, who's is?" The burly ferret blinked, and the Manywhiskers shot him a wink. "No need to get flustered Marik-son! Give or take a season and you'll be more famous than anybeast here!"

Klis went so red with pride that for a second Bork thought he wasn't breathing.

"And what have we here? My, my, my!" The Manywhiskers bowed low enough for his whiskers to touch the deck of the ship. "It is an honour my Prince."

Bork went so red with pride that for a second he wasn't breathing!

Clogg merely looked on, disgruntled. "Thank ye for yer kind words. We're sure ye meant 'em. Bork, Whimper, if ye'd like-"

"I could give the two of you a tour of the ship!" The cat interrupted. "What a splendid idea Cloggo!"

Before the rat could interrupt, the Manywhiskers was besides him and he was in a side hug. "Swallowtail!" The miniature wildcat beckoned over a ferret. "Show these boys the ship while I catch up with my old buddy, old pal-"

"Ye have three seconds te let go of me!"

The cat did so immediately. "Swallow, I'm sure they'd love to see-"

"I don't want a tour." Bork said bluntly. "I'm here for the feast." Brushing past them he stomped over to where the muffin basket was, sat down and began to chew without another thought.

"Aye an'd Whimper here would like me te give him the tour." Clogg added pointedly. "Right? Whimper?"

But Whimper was already out of earshot. Swallowtail had a paw around his shoulder and was talking in the sickly-sweet voice only one of Manywhiskers goons could manage. Klis however, judging from the way he was staring at her, had been caught, hook, line and sinker.

"Ah, young love!" Said the Manywhiskers, wiping away nonexistent tears from his eyes. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Clogg growled. "What do ye want?" He had never warmed up to the Manywhiskers. Well he had at first, it was easy for an inexperienced young rat to fall for the words of a flatterer, but it had not taken him long to realize that the supposed wildcat was the 'old matey, old pal' of everybeast. Including sworn enemies. He knew worryingly little about the black-pawed feline. He looked nothing like any wildcat Clogg had ever seen, and was small even for a runt of one.

The flatterer had the audacity to look hurt by the question. "Isn't it perfectly normal for somebeast to want the company of an old friend?"

"We ain't friends. Now answer the question." Clogg demanded, his eye narrowing.

"Fiiine. I just wanted to let you know that..." He leaned in close and whispered. "Somebeast's trying to do a mutiny against you."

Clogg's eye narrowed further. "Who?"

The Manywhispers drew back and shrugged. "Somebeast. I just know that you're in danger and thought you might like a warning."

"Ye know somebeast's plottin'. But ye don't know who it is." Came the rat's voice, dripping with skepticism. "Ye just so happened te be sittin' somewhere ye couldn't see, eh?"

"Couldn't have said it any better myself." Clogg was sorely tempted to break his obnoxious teeth. "Anywho, nice catching up to you Cloggo. Enjoy the feast. Oh, and avoid the gravy- Bloodface spat in it."

Swallowtail was an exceptionally pretty ferret maid. Quite tall, and with eyelashes as long as her (admittedly short) claws. She walked with a certain sway that worried and excited Klis in equal measure. On the one paw it was rather appealing. On the other it probably meant she had a malformed hip, or a battle wound. Perhaps somebeast had trod on her footpaw causing her to limp?

"An' this is ma cabin." She purred, and the tone of her voice made his fur stand on end. "A may be par' of the Manywhisker's crew, but 'e told me te stay aboard the Dreaded's boat. Not a bad captain, the beaded rat, but he sure as Hellgates stinks!"

Klis chuckled. "You're right about that. Have ye seen his toenails?"

She tittered, and it made him blush. Why did it feel so hot all of a sudden?

Brushing past him she gently shut the door. "Yer a son of Mad-Eye Marik."

"I'm the son of Mad-Eye Marik." He purred confidently, for Clogg was not here to tell him otherwise.

She smiled. "I've heard so much about ye. How yer jus' like yer dad- better with a sword though." She pointed at a cutlass hanging off the wall. "I bet ye could beat anybeast with somethin' like that."

"I- I could." He agreed, too busy staring at the cutlass in awe to notice that she was inching closer.

"That sword right there, is yers. It's Marik's sword." She said, coming uncomfortably close.

The younger ferret whistled. "It's mine now ye mean! I- I mean... it's in yer cabin an' all-" Klis finally noticed what she was doing when she shoved him backward. He raised an eyebrow and fell into a conveniently-placed seat.. "What are ye doin'?"

"I've heard so much about ye Marik-son." She said, coming uncomfortably close. It was a different kind of hot now.

"I-I- what are ye-" Came his garbled voice, filled with nervous tension as she leaned in closer. His heart began to beat in worry.

"What's yer name Marik-son?" She purred, her paws beginning to unwind his precious silk.

"It's Kliiiiiiis." He purred as one of her paws reached behind him and stroked the back of his neck.

"Klis, eh?" She said, with a sly smile on her face. The stroking stopped abruptly. "Well let's see what ye can do." She grabbed at his silk, but looked surprised when he smacked her paw away. Momentarily she glared, and he looked away.

"S-sorry. It's j-just. N-nobeast touches me silk. A-an' I'd appreciate it if ye got off-

"Shhhh." She whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "Let a gal have some-"

The door burst open abruptly, and in stomped Captain Clogg. It was hard to say which ferret looked more surprised. Klis swallowed audibly at the sight of the rat's narrowed eye. Swallowtail scowled.

"Can't ye see we're in the middle of-"

"Out." Was all the rat said in response. As soon as she left (pretty quickly, all things considered- his tone left no room for argument) he clapped. Slowly, with a smile on his face that could only be described as patronizing. "Well done Whimper. Well done Marik-son."

Klis had the grace to go a darker shade of red as he raised himself back into a normal sitting position.

"Ye are an idjit."

"I-I- w-when I sai-"

"I can impress the Captains! Ye said. Show 'em I'm exactly like Marik! Ye said-"

"I only ever said that te impress ye." He mumbled, staring at his feetpaws.

Clogg smacked himself and dragged a paw over his face. "Ye have got te be the biggest idjit on this ship. What do ye think she wanted, eh?"

Klis considered this for a great deal of time. "Er- not sure."

The rat laughed. "Lemme tell ye. She could've wanted ye dead. Pretty easy te kill a beast as stupid as yew, don'tcha think? Alone. In a cabin. Unarmed."

"I've got me claws."

Clogg ignored him. "She could've wanted ye te give her somethin'. Maybe even marry her. Except marryin' some random ferret coz she knows where te find yer sweet-spot is exactly how ye loose the respect of everybeast around ye."

"I don't have a sweet-"

The rat did a rather excellent impression of Klis' purring. The ferret felt likely to spontaneously combust. Such was the heat of his shame.

"Ye have a lot te learn Whimper." He shook his head despairingly. Then he sighed and motioned for the ferret to budge up. It was a surprisingly large chair and the two of them could sit in it with ease. "Ye said ye wanted te impress me. Why?"

"Well... yer Marik's right-paw. Or at least ye were."

"An'?"

"Yer- well, ye knew what he was like an' all. An' I know I ain't really Whimper- but I am Marik's-"

"Not this again."

"Son! A-an' well, ye were his matey an-"

"Aye. I was. Ye wanna impress me?"

Klis nodded.

"Keep yer mouth shut an' don't go off by yerself, an' especially not with anybeast that isn't Bork or me. Ye got that?"

Once more, the burly ferret nodded. He was surprised when the rat ruffled the fur between his ears (annoyed of course, but if that was the extent of his punishment he considered himself lucky). "Good. Now let's head te the feast, Marik-son."

"I thought I wasn't related te him in any way, shape or form." He grumbled, rising to his feet.

Clogg scratched at his chin. "Yer not Whimper. That's all I know. But remember, te everybeast else-"

"I'm the runt. Yes." Klis said with a roll of his eyes. "Where'd he even go? An' ye know me an' him are half-brothers, right? Coz he's Marik's son an' I'm Marik's son an'"

Clogg tuned him out and rolled his eye. Where on earth had Darkhide found this one?

Fret regretted his bravery the second Butch let go. In truth, a small part of him had been hoping the baby beaver would be disobedient and cling to him. Perhaps it had been a large part of him. In any case he was sliding through the ice now. It was cold and wet, like the throat of a serpent (and he had far too memorable an experience with one of those) and offered no traction. Down and down he went, his ears ringing with the word 'three'.

SPLASH!

Fret felt himself sink several feet, before splashing back to the surface with a gasp. The water was near-frozen and bit at his fur like a thousand shards of glass.

"Fretch?" Came the distant echo of Butch's voice.

"I'm f-f-fine!" The ferret shivered, desperately kicking at the water to keep his head above the surface. His eyes began to adjust to the near-darkness of the subterranean pit.

"Fretch?" Butch's voice came again, terrified.

The water was so cold and he was so intent upon his paddling that his voice, barely a squeak, had gone unheard.

"Misder Fretch? Fretch? Fretch!?"

It broke his heart to hear the beaver babe's voice, but the ferret had other priorities, chief amongst them was getting out of the water.

He kicked and paddled against the icy surface, searching for land, or at least anything that would help him remain afloat. It was just his luck to land in a lake. Or a well. Or whatever this was.

Why did I have to be a hero? His paws found no purchase on the icy walls, there was no ground beneath his feetpaws and it was cold. Risking my life for strangers. In hindsight he should have waited for Clogg's potential rescue... Drowning was probably better than whatever the toads had planned for him, but now he was needlessly throwing his life away.

Desperately he paddled in the opposite direction. He needed a bank, a riverbed. Shallow waters, anything!

"The Gloomer lived in a deep, dark cavern beneath Kotir." Came Abbot Martin's voice from the back of Fret's own head. "An eel." He went on with a different lesson. "An eel is like a snake Matiya, but more aquatic."

So many monsters... Fret felt his heart sink and patter as his numb paws met another cold wall with nothing to cling to. Not even a ledge for him to get his bearings from. The Gloomer had been killed by the Stormfin pike, but if such a greatrat lived in this darkness Fret was doomed, for he had no pike to come to his rescue. Eels were trickier. Martin the Warrior had met one, and it had of course tried to eat him. But the mouse had been clever and bargained with the beast, turning it on the frogs that had sacrificed him to begin with. Pity I'm not Martin the Warrior... Any eel he encountered would skip the needless chatter and just fill up on ferret.

The third wall he found was as empty as the others and Fret let out a whine. His limbs were beginning to ache. He was not a good swimmer and the water sent shivers down his spine. "This- this isn't fair! I'm good! I'm doing good!" He was not sure who he was talking to, Butch likely couldn't hear him anyways. But it was unfair. The goodbeasts got away with everything. Any monster they faced was easily slain. Any vermin they fought, defeated. And Fret, who had struggled so hard to get so far, found in the darkness that he was not a goodbeast. No matter what he did, life would always drag him down.

He felt like crying again. He was going to die! Panic came with the realization. It was the snake incident all over again. He was going to die, in the middle of nowhere, alone. He would be forgotten, not even a footnote in history. Constance would never cradle him again, his Nuncle would never give him another gift... Momchillo and Snakeskin would never find him. After a hundred seasons the ice would freeze around his skeleton, and he'd remain forever trapped. Alone, friendless, miserable.

He was so lost in thoughts of his demise, that he only realized he had dragged himself out of the lake when a small gust of wind set his fur on end.

Shivering, he was dragged back into reality. A tunnel lay before him, as dark as the lake. Fret shook himself as dry as he could and wringed his tail free of water.

"No time to mope around." He growled to himself, loathing his own petty weakness. "Find Snakeskin and Momchillo, rescue Butch, go home."

He set off at a run, guided by thoughts of some terrible monster ready to rise from the lake. On all fours he slunk along the darkness, sniffing desperately at the air to try and get a bearing. He could not hear anything beyond the splash of his paws against the wet ice and the frantic beating of his heart. He could not smell anything but his own stink- returning with force after his impromptu bath. Sweat slipped from his brow to the edge of his muzzle and dripped onto the ground as he ran.

I'm lost. He thought to himself, and that thought was frightening enough to make him stop. The lake had just been the beginning. There were monsters within these walls too, and the frogs he was so desperately trying to evade. It would all be forfeit if he ran into them now. And then they'd store him in a tiny cage over a fire...

Shivering, the ferret continued at a more natural pace, trying to get his heartbeat steady. He would be fine. He would survive. Butch would be fine. And Snakeskin and Momchillo would be fine. If they had abandoned him they were already far out of harm's way...

"If. They're probably just tomorrow's sacrifice. Stupid bats." If only Butch hadn't pulled him off the grey one. Fret had a lot of inner anger to let loose and he could not think of a better target. Except maybe Slimegut... "Stupid frog. Marik's son. Just because I can write..." Mumbling seemed to give him strength, or at least, the familiar sound of his echo, once more around him, helped soothe his nerves. The sound of his pattering heart, did not!

[The Grey Coincidence]

Fret's dejected feetpaw continued to hit the ground. Well, they dragged along the ground at a slow, sluggish pace that would have made even a snail laugh, but when was he not the laughing stock? The going was not hard exactly- but he was shivering and there seemed to be no end to the ceaseless tunnels. They sloped at an angle, so that it was not entirely obvious that he was going up. But after Longclaw's similarly-built castle it was easy to spot here, where the tunnels before him were visibly at an angle.

After what felt like (and most likely was) a few hours of endless walking he came upon a fork. The tunnel split into two, identical and neat, paths. Indistinguishable form one another, save and except that one was on his left, and the other was on his right.

"What was it Momchillo said?" He demanded crossly of the walls around him. Then his mind began to whirl around and think. "Martin said that every turn from now on should be to the... left..." Well that advice had lead him directly into a snake (literally). Without another thought, Fret went right.

No amount of seasickness could have stopped Bork from eating to his heart's (if not his stomach's) content. The young wolverine was big enough to scare off anybeast that dared approach his muffin basket. Captain Ripple Sharkbreath had stomped over as soon as he'd recovered from the first smack, only to be sent away with another. Being a ridiculously strong, if overweight, princeling sure was fun! Nothing could ruin his mood, not even the thought of his father's disapproval.

"The son of a King." Longclaw would narrate. "The son of an Emperor!" He would add. "Must be strong, and fit and obedient. He must rule over all the lands his father conquered for him and conquer some more. He cannot spend his days eating and playing, or else he is at most a puppet ruler, and at worse, likely to be overthrown."

Rot in Hellgates, ye dumb old beast. Bork thought, as his sharp teeth tore apart an innocent strawberry-laced muffin. He was not particularly fond of them but they, along with hazelnuts (another flavour Bork was not too keen on) had been a favourite of the first Whimper's. He wondered what the Castle was like now. Most of it was empty, and Whimper was more or less on his own now. He doubted his father would do anything to a son of Mad-Eye Marik... Although he had made Clogg replace the littler Whimper. And killing his only friend and serving him in a pie- perhaps as a way to scare him away from pies forever- was just the sort of cruel thing his father might do.

Bork was nearly sick at the thought, but shook his head determinedly. No. Clogg would never let that happen. And if it did happen he and the rat would flay his father alive. Which meant his father wouldn't do it. Whimper would be alone and miserable, no doubt, but he'd be alive. The young wolverine selected the last remaining muffin- blueberry flavoured- when he heard a voice.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't little Stumpclaw!"

Oh no. Thought Bork. It's the Muffinbeast!

Bork had first met said Muffinbeast on his fifth nameday. It had been a small celebration, which his father had of course not attended. In truth it had been an excuse to summon a few of the Lords of the Frozen North and execute them. Naturally the fact that it had been his birthday made no difference to his father, who had on that day cemented his strength in the Northlands irrevocably.

The Muffinbeast had been one of said Lord's guards or something- Bork had never bothered asking. The wildcat, older than him by perhaps five or so seasons, had been lucky enough to be spared from the massacre ensuing in an adjacent room, having been too preoccupied with a sumptuous feast to hear his master's pleas for help or mercy. To be fair Bork hadn't heard the lords either.

Between the two of them they had finished the meal of ten lesser beasts. It had even seemed like a sort of alliance! Until there was only one muffin- incidentally, blueberry flavoured- left.

Bork had refused to give up his claim to the muffin. "I am the Prince." He had said. "This is my feast."

The wildcat had laughed. "Prince of what? Prince of Flab?"

The young wolverine had growled, and unsheathed his claws. "I ain't flabby and nobeast calls me flabby!" Except his father of course- but that was different.

The wildcat had gone a step further however, and drawn his sword. In one swift motion the wolverine's claws were reduced to tiny little stumps. The feline howled with laughter. "Stumpy! Stumpclaw! Hahahaha! Stumpclaw the Fat!"

Bork had stood up in rage, his young face red with rage and shame. Claws were the pride and joy of any sane wolverine. Much moreso a wolverine prince. Standing on his chair so that the shortness (and plumpness) of his age did not hamper him, the princeling bared his fangs. "Ye'll pay fer that ye kitten! I'll make ye-"

The wildcat's curved sword next sliced through the first two chair legs of his seat. The young wolverine hit the table face-first with a might CRASH!The muffinebeast had offered him no further mercy after that, and pinning him to the table, had brought the flat of his blade sharply against his rump as if he were nothing more than a naughty dibbun.

The feline had stopped as soon as Longclaw entered. The King of the Lands of Ice and Snow had had claws and teeth covered in the blood of former lords. Bork had almost smiled. His father was here! Now the wildcat was in for it!

To the young wolverine's horror, he had been the one dragged out the hall by the ear and locked in his room for a week. It had been the worst birthday present of his entire life.

The wildcat had recieved no punishment, and had in fact been given a brand new ship. "Anybeast who can humiliate my son the way you did. " Longclaw had said, within earshot of Bork. "Must look like a king."

Bork snarled at the memory and the reappearance of his nemesis.

The Muffinbeast looked different now. He was older, obviously, as many seasons had passed. He wore a thick plate of black Southwardian Armour he had no doubt gotten off of a large otter. Though the spiked shoulderpads were most likely an addition of his own. He was tall for even a wildcat- and although Bork would no doubt outgrow him, the feline still overtopped the young prince. A thick layer of golden brown fur clung to him, blowing slightly in the breeze of the sea. His face was decorated with many a whisker and a scar that had not been there last time. A wicked slice across the feline's face, that took with it his right eye- now a marble white- leaving the other icy blue.

"Nice scar." Bork's paw held on to the muffin with an iron determination. "Couldn't duck in time could ye?"

The wildcat let out a barking laugh. "That's the best ye could come up with? Pathetic." He pointed at the eye. "A hatchet took this eye. I took the Hatchet-throwers life."

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. The words rung inside his head like a bell. "It's better than Stumpclaw!" He pushed himself shakily to his feet, the ship did his balance no favours. "What do ye want anyways?" Bork glanced down at the muffin in his paw. "Because if it's vittles go an' get yer own!"

The wildcat regarded the wolverine critically. "Muffin. Now."

Revenge is sweet. Thought the Prince, taking a deep bite out of the blueberry goodness. "Mmmmmmmm! Thish ish shooooo good! Mmmmm! Pity there'sh none left." He wasn't even exaggerating. The muffin was sweet too!

The wildcat drew closer so that they were face to face. Bork stood his ground, unafraid and still determinedly chewing. "Chew on this!" The feline drew his head back and spat.

Bork was momentarily blinded by the glob of spit, growled and slashed wildly. His claws found nothing. By the time he'd wiped away the saliva, his opponent had seemingly lost interest and had his back turned.

I'm not five seasons old anymore, you ugly kitten. Nobeast pushes me around! Bork snarled and pounced with avengeance, his claws unsheathed.

Because fate loathed him and refused to ever, no matter what, throw him a bone so to speak, he found himself at the foot of an immense cliff. It was so tall that Fret was tempted to just go back and turn left- but he's already come this far and the ice here seemed to have a few good footholds.

For Butch! He thought, snatching at the first icicle. For Momchillo! He brought his other paw into the wall and clung on. For Snakeskin! He brought his right footpaw against the icy walls- his claws giving him some semblance of purchase. For my momma! His last footpaw found a foothold and he heaved himself above the ground and against the cliff.

He was already exhausted from the climbing (and he was only about a foot or so off the ground to begin with), and he couldn't even see the end of the cliff-face!

Just as he was beginning to reconsider, there came a distant CRACK! and he held onto the ice with even greater vigor. Another CRACK! came, this one closer, followed by a third tremendous one. The cliff-face seemed to be splitting in half.

Fret swallowed as a multitude of tiny crack!s could be heard all over the frozen wall, and before he could even whimper, the whole thing burst into life. Fret screamed as water exploded from the ice around him, which was in fact, not a cliff, but a frozen waterfall!

And of course, it washed him all the way back to the frozen lake.

"Poison-blade." Clogg pointed at a rat sitting somewhat comfortably on the ropes above. "She may not look like much, but she knows more about poisons then me an' ye put together. Ye'll stay out of her way if ye know what's good for ye. She don't like crowds much so ye should be fine, but be careful. She gives ye so much as a scratch an' ye'll be in more pain then a slave in a cave."

"Obviously because I make sure my slaves are in good workin' conditions." Klis nodded, completely missing the point.

Clogg had the self-control (albeit not the desire) to stop himself from facepawing. "Jus' give her a few good yards an' ye'll be fine."

Klis nodded. "Anybeast else I should know abo-"

There came a loud splash from somewhere else on the boat, followed by a cacophony of laughter and another- almost equally loud- splash. When Clogg stomped over it became clear why. Sitting on the deck, now sporting a black eye and sniffling into his wet fur- was Bork. His rescuer, a mink called Toothclaw (named for the teeth he wore over his claws... for... reasons...) was looking slightly out of breath.

The Dreaded was laughing, as was a wildcat Klis did not recognise, and all their lackey were joining in.

"OI!" Shouted Clogg, banging his footpaw against the deck. He was smaller than most of the beasts around him, but wasn't called Captain for nothing after all. The laughing corsairs stopped. Turning to the mink (now wringing seawater out of his tail) the rat swiftly demanded an explanation.

"I'm not entirely sure what happened." Toothclaw shrugged and pointed in Bork's general direction. "He hit the water an' I pulled him out. Min' yew, I think I pulled a muscle draggin' him back on the ship."

"I'll tell ye!" Said the one-eyed wildcat. "The lil' princess here decided he wanted te swim, an' I bein' a true gentlebeast, helped him te the water."

Bork snarled, but Clogg stepped firmly between them before the wolverine could hurt himself more. "Anythin' else ye wanna help the 'lil Princess' with?"

Several of the corsairs went 'ooooh' to the challenge (it wasn't worded like one of course- but that was the point), as if this was a dramatic piece of theater rather than a staredown between two grizzled and half-blind pirates.

After a few tense minutes the wildcat spat upon the ground and turned away. His supporters went with him and soon the crowd dispersed. As soon as they were out of earshot, Clogg put a paw on the wolverine's shoulder.

"Ye hurt bad?"

Bork sniffed loudly but shook his head. It was just a big bruise. That was hardly something to complain about. Once he'd scraped his knee on one of his father's stupid secret staircases, and as soon as he brought this complaint to Longclaw, the older wolverine had dismissed it as a small cut and that crying over such aches and pains did not befit the son of a King. Even if it hurts like Hellgates.

Clogg patted the wolverine's lower back. "Had enough te eat yet?"

Bork stared miserably at the table in the distance, now occupied by the wildcat and his crew.

"C'mon. Let's get back on my boat. Vittles are better there anyways." Clogg helped the wolverine up (well, he made a valiant effort to push Bork onto his feetpaws).

As they left, Klis could not help sighing in minor relief. Nobeast had any idea that he wasn't really Whimper.

Fret was now dripping wet when he turned left- because the right tunnel was definitely not taking him anywhere he wanted to go. It had taken him almost twice as long to get to the fork (because he had to wade through tunnels now) and this had not improved his mood.

And to make matters worst, he was faced with stairs- something that would have delighted him if they were small enough for him. But no, it was as if they had been built for badger feetpaw alone and he had to pull himself onto each individual step.

"I just." He growled, his claws digging into the ice he next had to climb. "Want. To. Go. Home!" That was all there was to it. Sure he'd save Butch along the way, but only to get back at the toads. "Why! Is everything I do! Difficult!"

At long last he reached the top. The ferret lay flat on his back, panting from the effort of the climb. He was tired, extremely tired... Perhaps this was a safe place to rest?

Turning his head to the side Fret nearly screamed at the sight of a dozen, giant, pearly-white eggs. The ferret shot to his feetpaws, his eyes and ears darting about in panic. How typical of Martin the Warrior, to lead him right into a snake! Safe? Safe!? He could think of noplace less safe than this!

Refusing to breathe, lest it give away his location, the ferret tried his hardest to calm his beating heart. Panic was telling him to turn and run back into the tunnels below, logic told him that snakes would find him there anyways.

Why is it always snakes? W-why can it never be snails? He tip-pawed round the shiny eggs. He was sweating of course, but anybeast in his feetpaw would have been! The last thing he wanted right now was to be eaten again.

Find Momchillo and Snakeskin. Save Butch. Save bats. Hurt toads. Go ho- The minor movements of a nearby egg made his heart drop into his stomach. "Go home." He squeaked to himself, searching left and right for an exit. Anything that could take him away from the unborn predators!

To his left he spotted a narrow tunnel and he allowed himself the smallest of relieved sighs. Which quickly turned into a panicked squeak, for now all the eggs seemed to be stirring, as if the creatures within had sensed the presence of frightened prey.

Fret did not waste any more time. Abandoning stealth he scrambled over to the tunnel as fast as all four of his paws could carry him. Save the beaver. Go home. And hopefully, there would be no snakes awaiting him there.

"You know I did think there was something fishy going on. Obviously, nobeast got too good a look at Whimper- Longclaw's doing I heard- but quite a few beasts have mentioned the words 'small', 'skinny' and 'runt' in connection to him. And then there's the name of course... So you can imagine my confusion when this big burly ferret comes aboard my ship. Did everybeast just lie to me? How could this be? Didn't we all have a deep bond of camaraderie and trust?"

The worst part about working for the Manywhiskers wasn't that he could kill you at a moment's notice and not care about it, that was standard amongst vermin leaders. The worst part was that he talked... a lot.

"But then it all makes sense now! Somebeast must have killed the first fake- or maybe he just went and died, runts you know? So Clogg finds a new one! Genius!"

Swallowtail reminded him of her presence with a small cough. The miniature wildcat looked at her, his eyes wide with hurt.

"But I was just getting to the good bit."

"Ye've already told it te me three times!" She snapped. "I did what ye asked, I got the truth outta that idjit. Now cough up! We had a deal me an' ye!"

"I haven't forgotten." The Manywhispers said with his usual flare. Reaching under his desk he withdrew several sacks- each jingling with coinage. "Three hundred gold coins, yes?"

"I'm countin' them jus' so ye know." The female ferret said, her eyes glazed over with greed.

"Well it's yours!" He made to shove them towards her, but suddenly hesitated. "Although... I do think you owe me some gold too..."

"Fer what?"

"Well..." The wildcat frowned slightly. "I didn't tell anybeast about what you did with Termitetooth." He withdrew one of the bags completely. "Or how much he payed you for it. And then there was that business with the Dreaded. Not to mention where you stabbed poor Lack-nose. There was also the incident with the oars, and I never did get around to telling Clogg you stole one or two of his rats... or Longclaw that you stole about six... this season. And don't even get me started on that juicy rumour about you and-"

There was only one bag on the desk now. Noticing this, the Manywhiskers made a sort of 'hmmm' noise. "You do deserve some sort of reward for all that hard work... luring a total oaf into a chamber after I already separated him from his captain. And making said oaf tell you the truth. Yes... not many beasts could do that." He stroked a particularly long whisker, before nodding. "I've decided to pay you." He seized the final bag and Swallowtail reached out to receive it... only to find a single gold coin in her paws.

She turned to him, appalled, and found him waving her away with his paws.

"Hush now! No need to say 'thank ye'! And remember, any more juicy rumors come straight to me!"

The tunnel had been a tight squeeze at times, but Fret was relieved when he found himself amidst familiar caverns once more. Or at least, familiar in that they looked very much like the ones Snakeskin had taken them through. Which meant that he could be anywhere! Every tunnel in the Lands of Ice and Snow looked exactly the same! He was also physically drained, soggy-furred and freezing. Not once in his life, had any of his decisions caused him this much suffering!

"I just had to be the hero." He growled to himself as he lay flat on the ice. "Couldn't just wait for Clogg. Couldn't wait for Snakeskin and Momchillo. No! I had to do it myself!"

The ferret froze when he heard a voice. Ironically, it was one that said 'I think I heard a voice Chief.' Unfortunately it was Longtongue's, a scheming high-pitched ribbit that sent shivers down Fret's spine.

Scrambling to his feetpaws, his heart missed another beat when Slimegut's deeper croak- albeit laced with rage rather than smugness now- met his ears. "Then go find out what it is! And if it's that sneaking warlord brat I'll- I'll-" He growled, and Fret assumed he was hopping up and down in rage. "Longtongue! Wormbreath! Swamphide! Follow that noise!"

Panic of course, was the first thing that set in. No no no no no! This couldn't be happening! He had just escaped the toads! H-he couldn't just- It wasn't fair! He could hear their approaching footsteps, and could see their shadows growing taller as they approached. He needed a deep breath, but that would give him away. He wanted to run-, but that too would give him away. Fret shook his head and forced himself to think as he bit back on a whimper.

They were coming from one tunnel, and there was another that lay opposite it. Next to this tunnel there was a third, but he couldn't get to either of them without the toads noticing him- and in his present condition he doubted he'd do much outrunning...

"Do you smeel dat?" Came the voice of a toad he hadn't heard before.

"Aye. The little stinkball's here somewhere!" Longtongue growled. "We're gonna get him now, the ugly sneak."

Fret had to force himself to think of escaping, rather than irony of being called ugly by a toad. He couldn't escape without either going back to the snake-nest (not an option) or somehow making all three of them walk right past him! But how was he supposed to do that?

The ferret stiffled a whimper and his eyes began to water. This was not fair! Not fair! Not fair! He had been good! An-and he'd tried to help the others and... He was doomed. The toads would turn the corner any minute now, and then any hopes of seeing Redwall and Constance again would be squashed like a bug. His paw squeezed tightly around his yoyo, the strange metal bob that had followed him for so long and through so much. It was then that inspiration struck.

Swiftly, he unwound it from his neck. The amphibian fools were dumber than Grollo... there was a chance it could work...

He hesitated. His Nuncle had given him the toy... a lifetime ago. Of course he'd dismissed it- Connington's gifts had never appealed to him much. But this one... The yoyo was Constance and Connington and Redwall. It was the happy days where his only worries had been dish duty and getting a scolding. And despite the fact that he'd called it a stupid toy half-a-hundred times over, his paw refused to relinquish it. Even if it was his only chance at escape.

"Do you think Chief'll kill him?" He heard the third toad snicker.

"If he doesn't." Said Longtongue. "I will."

Stiffling a whimper, Fret raised his paw and hurled the yoyo into the furthest tunnel. He had no choice... there was nothing else at paw to throw. It clattered and bounced along the walls- not particularly loud, but a cacophony in the tense silence of the moment.

"I definitely heard him!" The same third toad cried.

"Aye! He's down that tunnel!"

"Quick! Afore he gets away or the chief will have our hides!"

If the trick hadn't cost him his most precious possession, Fret would have laughed. He went unnoticed as all three of them raced past and into the tunnel. Oblivious to his quivering form and it's shadow.

The ferret wasted no time and scampered away as soon as their sprinting receded, down the tunnel they hadn't taken (though one they might have under different circumstances). The strength of his beating heart and the close call he'd just had gave his paws the strength they needed to carry him away. But as soon as the panic subsided, Fret slowed his pace.

"Find Snakeskin and Momchillo." He whimpered to himself, so quietly the words didn't even echo. "Save Butch. Get my yoyo back." He blinked and wiped at the coming tears. "Go home."

As soon as the ferret slammed the door shut, the Manywhiskers gave a giggle. "So Cloggo is playing puppetmaster now? Hehehehe, well. Klis sounds like an interesting fellow." He rubbed his paws in glee. Things were going to be very fun now. "Brownfeather!" He called, tapping at the floorboards beneath him.

A moment later a small, muddy-brown crow slunk into the room and gave a sweeping bow. "Your bidding, master."

"Yes, yes. My bidding." He giggled again. "Send word to my informant's informant's informants! I want to know as much as possible about a ferret named Klis! One copper coin for a rumour, one silver coin for a fact, one gold coin for a fact they can prove!" He clapped his paws impatiently, the bird bowed and made his exit and the little cat sat in his chair and gave a contended sigh. "Ahhhhh Whimper... It really will be a pleasure getting to know you."

Momchillo's hopes of finding Fret dwindled with every footstep. Any and every tunnel they passed though had no trace of his fur, or pawprints, or even his scent. The ferret was nowhere to be found.

"We'll find 'im." Snakeskin continued to reassure him every time they turned into a new cavern, but that comforting was as stale as his bread, and even the stoat sounded glum after repeating it fifty times. Saying the words seemed to be a monumental effort now. It sapped away at his inner resolve and outer strength. The two had started off at a brisk pace, but had since devolved into dragging themselves across the ice.

"I think 'e's dead." Said Snakeskin, as they came upon another empty cavern. His voice was empty and broken, and even his hypnotized eye seemed to be mourning.

Momchillo felt the harsh sting of tears against his eyes. No. No that was not possible. "H-he can't be!" The mouse insisted, almost fanatically. "M-Martin the Warrior would protect him. O-or his mother would. Somebeast had to save him! H-he can't be d-d-d-" He couldn't say it. The thought was too frightening. "I-I wo-"

"Shhhh." The stoat had an arm round his shoulder as quick as a flash. "Everythin'll be alrigh'. Ye just got te-"

"This is all my fault!" The mouse's voice, hysteric to begin with, echoed around the cavern as if a demented bat were speaking. "H-he told me not to drag him through the tunnels but I didn't listen! A-and then a snake nearly g-got him. And n-now he's missing. And if I hadn't b-b-been- if I hadn't..." He pulled free of Snakeskin's arm. He did not deserve comfort. "I called him vermin! I made him miserable! I-I-I was a bully!"

"It's ok-"

"None of it is okay! Fret is g-gone because of me! He left Redwall b-b-because of me! B-because I thought it was funny t-to hang him off the walls o-or b-because I couldn't, I couldn't..." He trailed off and stomped over to the wall of ice. Snakeskin winced as the mouse brought his own face into it without mercy. "I'm stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" The mouse slammed his head into the wall with each 'stupid', but Snakeskin did not let him finish a fourth one.

"Ye ain' stewpid." The stoat said, grabbing him under the armpits and pulling him away from the wall entirely. In his paws the mouse was as droopy as a wet towel. Gone were the protests of being cradled, the attempts to pull free from his unwanted grip. All there was, was a shudder and a hollow response.

"Yes I am."

"Yer not. An' trus' me, beatin' yerself over thin's ye did ain' helpin' anybeas'."

"It makes me feel better." Momchillo mumbled, wiping at his eyes. "I deserve worse."

The white stoat placed him gently on the ice, before sitting down opposite him. "Ye don'. I know it can feel that way, but it's not righ' te blame yerself."

"Even if it's your fault?"

Snakeskin sighed and dragged his paws over his face. "We shouldn' 'ave gone to visit the bats. That was my faul'. No' yers."

"But I-"

"I used me own sons as bait." Snakeskin interrupted. "Nothin' ye ever did te Fret comes close te that." The stoat sighed once more, his ears drooping. "I'm an 'orrible father."

"I don't think you're horrible." Momchillo mumbled quietly, but did not know what else to say. There was silence now between them. No noise penetrated the air, until Snakeskin sniffed. The young mouse watched as the stoat stood up, marched determinedly over to where he had been hitting himself, and brought his head into the ice.

"An' if I 'adn' been so stewpid they'd still be 'ere! Slimeball! Flicker! Fret!"

It was comparatively harder for Momchillo to pull the stronger beast away from the wall, but the mouse managed after Snakeskin hit himself no less than thirteen times. With a shudder the stoat went limp, and slid to the ground with a whimper.

There was a very awkward silence, wherein they both attempted to breathe as quietly as possible lest it set off anything.

"We'll rest up a bit, maybe eat somethin' if we're 'ungry." Although it went unspoken, both knew neither would be able to eat anything. "Then we can try lookin' someplace else maybe. Maybe ask Snap fur some 'elp findin' 'im. An'... if we don'..." The older beast trailed off.

Momchillo felt the tears return and his stomach twist. He could not bear to imagine what it would be like to arrive at Redwall and be the beast that had to tell them all about Fret's demise. He would never be able to look Constance, or Abbot Martin, or any of his peers in the face again.

Snakeskin sighed, stood up, and stretched his paw out towards the mouse. "C'mon. We can skip the meal an' 'ead straight te the bats. The more eyes an' ears we 'ave the easier it'll be te fin' the lil' stinkball."

Momchillo took the paw in his own shaking one, and the white-furred stoat easily pulled him to his feetpaws.

"We'll find 'im." The stoat said, with renewed confidence- one that Momchillo knew was put-on but was grateful for anyways. "I can already smell 'im!"

Momchillo sniffed at the air, and sure enough there it was. A singularly unpleasant smell. Yet one that brought life back to the mouse's face. "I-I can too."

They shared a look of surprise, turned back the way they came and to their surprise and delight, there he was. Dripping in half-dried fur, with a singularly filthy chest and a head that looked like it had been dumped in slobber, the ferret was only a short distance away. His head was bowed. He had noticed neither of them, and from the way he was walking, looked exhausted.

"Find Momchillo. Find Snakeskin." Momchillo could hear him repeating in desperation, as the mouse ran closer. "Save Butch. Hurt the frogs."

"FREEEEEEEET!" The ferret was startled, and looked up just in time to see Momchillo jumping at him.

For one horrible second the mouse thought he'd just dive right through him, the way he'd flown right through Martin the Warrior in his dream. But the next thing he knew, he'd brought the ferret to the ground.

"Momchillo?" The ferret asked, his head spinning as four, five, six mice swam before his eyes.

"You're alive!" The rodent cried, his paws glued to the ferret's chest. It was impossible to put into words the relief that flooded through him. "We were so worried!"

"Maybe no' worried." Snakeskin gave a casual shrug as he drew closer. "But we did wonder where in 'ellgates ye've bin all this time."

"I..." Began Fret as Momchillo got off him and helped him sit up. "I don't even know." There was a strange, haunted look in his eyes, as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Ye alrigh'?"

"I- no." The ferret shook his head weakly. "I-I-" He was hungry and cold and tired and wet and dirty and his feetpaw were sore, and his eyelids were droopy and his arms ached from climbing, and he wanted his yoyo back and he needed to rescue Butch and the other bats, but maybe not Bartok and Momchillo was staring into his face, the mouse's eyes full of worry.

The ferret was taken aback when he noticed they were sore and red- had he been crying? It was most unlike Momchillo to cry. "Are you- are those tears?"

"I told you I was worried." Momchillo could not help looking sheepish as once more he rubbed at his eyes.

Fret did not know what to say, but felt some sort of warmth stir within him. He quickly squashed it aside however. Now was no time for warmth!

"So. Did ye really jus' wonder off an' ge' los'?" Snakeskin wore a smirk on his muzzle as he posed the question, but it vanished instantly when the ferret began explaining.

"No. I was sleeping- I don't know where you two were." For a moment he glared at them both- where had they been? He'd needed them! "But then this big ugly bat dropped me into a waterfall!"

He did not notice the look of shock and horror that passed between Momchillo and Snakeskin.

"Said some bear needed to eat! The grey flapping fiend! I'll- I'll-" He wasn't sure when he had started pacing, but it was what he did now. "I'd have clawed him to pieces but then the other bats pulled me off him! And Butch! And then he sat on me! Well not really, but it felt like it!"

"Butch?" Momchillo asked.

"Some beaver." Fret waved the question away. Then he growled. "You know there isn't even a bear! It's just a bunch of toads dressed as one. One tried to eat me!"

Both mouse and stoat winced.

"B-but then I said I was a warlord's son and he said he was gonna ransom me." Fret kicked at the ice. "Then I escaped! But do things go well for me? Of course not! I land in some frozen lake fifty- I don't even know how much more underground than this! And I can't see anything! It's cold and scary an-and- Grrr! When I get out I have to walk and walk and walk, and then what happens? I have to climb a cliff that turns into a waterfull and drags me all the way back to the beginning! Then I find a snake-nest! Hundreds of eggs! But no snakes." He shivered in relief. "Hurrah!" He said sarcastically. "And then I have to climb a tunnel and that leads me right past the frogs and then I have to throw away my yoyo-" His voice broke here and Momchillo felt his heart well up with sympathy. "And then I got lost and after I don't even know how long, you come along!" He spun round to face them, his voice accusatory and heartbroken. "So where were you?"

"We er-" Momchillo glanced up at Snakeskin. "We..."

"We wen' te see the bats." Came the stoat's voice, filled to the brim with the awkwardness of this subject.

Fret's arms fell limp at his side, his shock replacing the fury. "You... what?"

Standing up the white-furred snake hunter gave a nervous chuckle. "I- er 'e'e'e'e, ye see. Their chief is an ol' frien' of mine."

Fret blinked, then felt rage swell up within his chest. "So while I nearly died six times." He growled through gritted teeth. "You were visiting an 'old friend'?"

"We were looking for you too." Momchillo stared miserably at his feetpaws. "We were-"

"Worried, I know." Fret said coldly. He wanted to hit Momchillo for being an idiot. He wanted to hit Snakeskin for laughing. He wanted to hit the Chief for being involved. Most of all he wanted to hit the bog-dweller of a bat that had thrown him off a waterfall!

"Well sorry Fret. Bu' we 'ad no idea any of this would 'appe-"

"We were very worried!"

"An' when we couldn' fin' ye anywhere-"

"I'm sorry I-"

"Anyhow we don't have time for this!" Fret snapped, silencing their apologies and excuses. "When the toads realize I'm missing they-they'll..." He was not sure what exactly they would do, but it was no doubt something horrible, and they still had the frightened Butch.. "We have to get the others out too." The ferret said with a conviction Momchillo had never before heard from him. "W-we could-" Here the ferret trailed off. He had been so intent upon saving himself that he had not thought of any plan of rescue. His ears drooped and his muzzle twisted into an expression as miserable as Momchillo's. "We..."

Snakeskin, however, was suddenly grinning. "So these 'ere toadies dress up as a bear, eh?" The white-furred stoat cackled and rubbed at his paws. "I think it's time we- 'ow do woodlanders pu' it again?- 'oist 'em by their tails!"

"What do you mean?" Momchillo asked after a moment's pause.

The stoat however had not heard him, too intent upon his diabolical laughter. "A'a'a'a'a'a'aA'A''A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A!"

[The Grey Coincidence]

"I'm only going to ask this once." Sneered Chief Slimegut of the Yellowbellies, his face bubbling with rage (or perhaps it was just his numerous warts that gave that impression.) "Where. Is. The. Princeling?"

The bats before him were all stony-faced and silent. Serious, cold, calculating. One even looked smug! It was this grey bat that Slimegut stomped over to. Siezing Bartok by the throat, the toad glared down at him. "How did he escape? Where did he go?"

"I-I-I-" The bat's stuttering grew intolerable, and Slimegut punched him. Turning away from the groaning mammal, the amphibian hopped up and down in rage. "Swampbreath, you idiot! I told you to guard the door!"

"I-I did Chief- l-like you told me t-"

"SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!" If he had fur, Slimegut would have been tearing it off his head. "I was gonna be rich! You have any idea what warlords do for their heirs? Well? Do you? I'd have been bathing in worms if it weren't for you stinking, useless- SHUT UP!" This last shout was addressed to Butch, who had been inconsolable since dropping 'Fretch' down the tunnel.

The bats had tried to comfort him of course, the smallest had even tried to squeeze down the tunnel himself, but to no avail (although he had claimed- outside of Butch's earshot- to have heard screaming). The Yellowbellies, on the other paw, had not offered any sort of comfort beyond a kick or two meant to silence him.

"Why're you even crying you big, stupid water-rat? Not like you lost anything! Me? I lost a lifetime's supply of vittles!"

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Slimegut turned. A flicker of hope came and went as Longtongue, Wormbreath and Swamphide returned. Without the stinking furbody. Once more rage came boiling to the surface.

Before his tirade could continue (it had already gone on for quite some time...), Longtongue tossed over something small and shiny. Instinctively the Chief's tongue shot out and snatched it from the air.

"What's this?" Slimegut croaked, his voice dangerously low.

"The warlord's necklace or something." Longtongue said with a shrug. "We couldn't find the ferret."

Slimegut turned away from him and marched determinedly towards a nearby table (their camp was rather disorganized). "Must have found a different tunnel. Or maybe a snake got hi-"

The tall toad narrowly dodged a viciously-thrown goblet.

"IF A SNAKE GOT HIM THEN I CAN'T VERY WELL USE HIM FOR RANSOM NOW CAN I!?" He was once more hopping up and down in rage. "Did you think about that? Eh? You're so smart Longtongue! You're so clever! WARTHOG ALREADY LEFT! And he's got the fur! And now that we don't have the little runt, what's stopping Mad-Eye Marik from killing all of us!?"

A deathly silence filled the swamp-like cavern, punctuated by an especially loud sob from Butch.

Slimegut rounded on him. "I've had it with you!" He stomped towards the unprotected beaver and lashed out with unparalleled fury. "You and your whining! And your crying! You wanna go back to mama? Eh? DO YOU?" The toad punched and kicked without mercy, and Butch sobbed all the louder. Yet again he struck.

One of the bats, a particularly old and shrivelled-up beast, pushed himself to his talons. "Stop! You're hurting the poor-"

Slimegut was not the only toad who hit him.

"And who asked for your opinion?"

"Quiet bat! The Chief's teaching the brat a lesson!"

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!" Slimegut screeched, shoving them all aside. "You're all useless! Useless! You let the ferret escape! One, tiny, wimpy little runt and you couldn't catch him! You- you- yo-" The toad screamed- not any word or anything, he just screamed.

"This right 'ere boys," Snakeskin waved a small waterjug, the contents within sloshing, "is venom. No' a lo' of snakes 'ave 'em in this par' of the worl'- but I killed one or two that did. An' I've seen wha' this can do te a creature. Nas'y stuff, bu' I say the toads deserve worse! Nobeas' harms me an' my own." He thumped his chest proudly, before gingerly pouring some of the venom onto a piece of snake-flesh. "One bi'e of this an' they won' be botherin' anybeas' no more."

Momchillo and Fret were staring at the jug- and by extension him- with nothing short of horror and revulsion. "What? Issa quick death! Better than wha' they'd do te ye."

Fret shook his head. "We're not doing that. I-i- j-just no. What if they feed it to the bats? O-or Butch?" The beaver babe had nearly eaten him the first time they'd met, Fret liked to think a snake was more appealing.

"Well do ye 'ave a better idea?"

"We could scare them off." Momchillo suggested. "Maybe if we made our shadows all big and scary..." The mouse trailed off.

"May'aps we should tell Snap. I know what the bats did te ye was wrong Fret but I've known 'im fer a while. 'E ain' a bad fellow-"

Fret hurriedly pointed a claw at Momchillo. "Y-your idea could work." Well it wouldn't, but it was better than Snakeskin's...

The mouse shook his head ruefully. "But if they realize the shadow isn't-"

"We'll scare them off." The ferret decided. Suddenly, his claws were out and sketching upon the ice. "And I think I have an idea..."

"How did he even escape?" Asked the Chief toad, his voice hoarse and hollow. The bats and the toads shared nervous glances. The last thing anybeast wanted was to set off another explosion, many still wore bruises from the last slapping spree. Suddenly he snarled, sounding nothing at all like a toad, but very much like a bear. "He must have walked right past you Swampbreath! Lazing on the job, were you?"

"N-n-"

Slimegut seemed determined to hit as many of the creatures present as possible. "You know some beasts kill their dozing watchbeasts! Some flay them alive! You had one job you filthy son of a-"

"He couldn't have gone past Swampbreath." Longtongue butted in. "The room was sealed, he could not have moved the boulder by himself."

"Then how do you explain his- why isn't he here?"

The tall toad put a webbed hand to his chin and pondered the question before him.

Slimegut's eyes drifted to Butch (who had been unable to contain a sniff) and a firefly set off within his mind. It then became a raging fire because he was quite convinced his new theory was correct.

"You... ate him..."

Every bat gave their most deadpanned stare, but Slimegut was oblivious to it.

"You big, stupid, crybaby! You ate my warlord!"

"W-whatch?"

Slimegut hopped up and smacked him hard across the face. The stinging blow filled Butch's eyes with tears, but the beaver did his best to hold them in. "Thought he was your dinner, eh? Thought you could get away with it, did you?" The detestable toad punched him in the stomach. "You've already digested him you little monster! I'll kill you for that! He was my worm-bait! My hostage! My lunch! My-"

"Er Chief! I think I know how he escaped!"

"I've already figured it out Swamphide you idiot! The beaver ate him!"

"Er- right. So there was a hole here before, right?"

"What hole? There was never any hole! Are you-" Slimegut, and most of the other toads, turned to find Swamphide buried up till his neck in a new tunnel.

"I've got it!" Cried Slimegut, racing towards the toad. "The little sneak dug an escape tunnel! Quick Swamphide! Before he gets too far!"

Swamphide, who had been expecting some help being pulled out, was disappointed to find the fat toad hopping on his head in an attempt to push him down the tunnel. "Ow! Chief that hurts! Chief! Chief!"

"Grrrrr! Shuddup, why don't you? Go get the ferret!"

"I won't fit! Send someone smaller! Longtongue's thin enough!"

Slimegut growled and kicked Swamphide's unprotected face. "Fine! You lot, pull him out! Longtongue, get ready to drag that slinky stinkball here!"

After much trial and effort, Swamphide came free of the tunnel with a small pop. But the tall toad had no desire whatsoever to jump into the darkness.

"It is dark! And it is cold! And we don't even know if the ferret's down there! You just said the beaver at-"

Slimegut pointed a webbed finger at Butch. "Would you rather crawl down his throat?"

"Why do I have to crawl through anything?"

Slimegut went crimson with rage. "Because I am the Chief and I told you t-"

A distant echo, almost like hissing, silenced him.

"Did you hear that?" One toad asked another.

"Shhh!" Insisted Longtongue, before anybeast could reply. "Quiet if you want to live."

Yet the hissing grew louder, and drew closer- until a name as cold and as venomous as a serpent was heard.

"Asssssmodeusssssssssssssss!"

In the silence of the caverns, the voice was like a thunderclap.

"If we stay quiet." Slimegut insisted in a harsh whisper, as he stepped away from the equally-frightened (but chained) captives. "Maybe it won't find us."

Yet the voice drew closer- and was soon joined by a second one- equally as frightening if not moreso.

"Asssssssssmodeusssssssssssss!"

"Mister Deassssssssssssssssth!"

The amphibians, suddenly terrified, huddled closer.

Then three voices, all at once, yet all different, made their blood run cold.

"Balisssssssssssss!"

"Asssssssmodeusssssssssss!"

"Mister DEATHSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

A shadow, cruel, dark and curling- like something from deep within the pits of Hellgates, reared up from a tunnel. Three heads, a wall of scales, all teeth and claws and shimmering poison. A monster. An abomination. A nightmare come to life.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

"It's a gruffalo!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"RUUUUUN!"

The toads turned to flee. Yet from another tunnel, an equally frightening terror appeared. A snake! Large and scaled in black and white and yellow and brown, with fangs dripping in blood and venom. When it hissed, it hissed death.

"RUN!" Shouted Slimegut, who was pulling the rear. The Yellowbellies fled, like dibbuns from bedtime. Running, however, was not the best way to put their escape into motion. Or into words. What the less-frightened (but still terrified) toads did was more akin to ceaseless hopping, those with less bravery (this included the Chief) scrambled along the ice, sometimes slipping, sometimes sliding, sometimes hopping.

"It's getting closer!"

"Move faster!"

"Come on Wormbreath! Hurry up!"

The captives huddled closer to one another, and Butch swallowed audibly. Yet none of the monsters moved for what seemed like an eternity.

"D-did it just work?" Said a voice, from somewhere within the serpent, that was vaguely familiar.

A moment later, the cavern rung with laughter. Momchillo, who had been standing on top of Fret, toppled over and brought the ferret and 'snake' down with him. A large skull slid across ice from them, and found itself at Butch's feetpaw. The three headed monster became a tangle of stoat and scales as Snakeskin's white-furred head came free of the disguise.

"'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A'A! D-did ye see the-the-'a'a'a'a'a'a- look on 'is face?"

Fret, dazed from both the success of his plan, and the fall, had to be dragged out of costume by Momchillo. "That was absolutely brilliant, Fret! Genius! Wait till everybeast at Redwall-"

"Fretch?" Interrupted Butch. The ferret raised a tired paw and tried to smile, but alas his eyelids were too heavy for such a motion.

"FREEEEETCH!" He, and Momchillo by extension, were instantly wrapped in a hug. "You came back! Y-you came!"

"Well." Wheezed Fret, uncomfortably familiar with the beaver's bone-crushing hugs. "I wasn't going to leave you behind."

"You must be Butch." Momchillo added, his face turning a light shade of red.

"Dat's me!" The beaver replied, hugging them all the tighter- oblivious to their lack of air and comfort. "Pleased to meetcha!"

"Awww, isn't that swee'? Lurvely te make yer acquain'ance Butcher." Snakeskin waved up at the beaver. He leaned in conspiratorially and hid his muzzle behind the back of his paw. "Ye migh' wanna go easy on the 'ugs, though. Jus' a lil'."

Butch looked down, and noticed to his surprise, that neither of his rescuers were breathing. He placed them gently upon the ice and picked awkwardly at his buckteeth. "Sawwy about dat.."

"No problem." Momchillo gasped, taking in as much air as his lungs could hold.

"W-wait!" Said Bartok. "You three were the snake?"

"All Fret's plan." Snakeskin said with a wide grin. Casually, the stoat turned away from the captives and fished for his spear within the folds of his costume. He pulled free a spear. The shaft was gnarled and yellow, and the head, a deadly-looking fang, carved into a blade. Snakeskin smiled dangerously. "Now before I untie the lo' of ye, which one of ye was i' tha' dropped 'im off a waterfall?"

"Um." The grey bat tugged awkwardly at his neck-fur. "I-In m-my defense-"

The butt of the spear spun round and caught the bat hard on the muzzle. Stars flashed painfully around his head. But Snakeskin was far from finished. Tossing aside said spear, he raised a paw, curled it into a fist and kissed it.

Before delivering the beatdown of the century.

"So ye think it's jus' fine an' dandy te walk into my cave of all places, steal a kit, nevermind 'oo 'e migh' be, an' feed 'im te a bear?"

"I-I n-n-never said that!" Bartok whimpered.

Snakeskin kicked him once more for good measure, before dusting off his paws. "Now that that's sor'ed, 'oo wants te be free?"

The toads only came to a halt as soon as they were sure the snakes were far behind them. The majority collapsed upon the ice, huffing and puffing and panting- for none of them had run as fast and as much in a long time.

And as soon as they had recovered from the sudden bout of exercise, Slimegut began to rant.

"Why didn't you try and kill it?" He demanded of Wormbreath. "You could have strangled it or something! Now we've lost all of our captives! Snakefood!" He kicked a wall of ice with extreme prejudice (which was not a good idea, he learned). "We should've turned them to grub-fodder while we had the chance." Rubbing his webbed toes, Slimegut continued to lament. "We were going to be set for life..."

"We still can be Chief." Longtongue decided. The tall toad smirked. "Even a snake will fear a bear."

It hadn't really been Fret's plan, the ferret thought after the eighteenth congratulation. Momchillo had suggested scaring the toads away, all Fret had done was suggest they pretend to be snakes. Then Snakeskin had the brilliant idea of having him carry Momchillo around to look taller (he could still smell the mouse's feetpaws...) If the toads could play dress-up like a bunch of dibbuns, well so could... actual dibbuns!

Not that he was a dibbun of course, that was silly. He was a kit.

But it was nice to be congratulated for a change. Fret could not remember the last time he had been praised for anything. Clogg had only known him as Whimper. Abbot Martin had only started doing it after the disastrous otter trip, and then only in private. Constance... had done it a lot. There was no denying that.

But now, to be hoisted upon Butch's shoulders and treated as the hero of the hour... it was a euphoria he'd always dreamed of but could never imagine. A part of him wanted to laugh and cheer with the others. But he also was in desperate need of a blanket. Ever since his sudden bath earlier that morning, he'd been in various stages of exhaustion and slowly, it was beginning to catch up to him.

He barely registered the twenty-fifth "You were such a brave kit, kit, kit." The ferret was too busy yawning.

"There isn't a snake!" Slimegut snarled, as his toads poked apart an empty snakeskin. "No monster either! Fools! You let the prisoners escape! Scared of shadows now, are you?" He unwisely chose to kick an empty skull. The bone crashed against a wall of ice, but his webbed toes were in greater pain. "There wasn't a snake! There wasn't a monster!" He roared, hopping up and down on his uninjured foot. "Monsters and snakes aren't real you imbeciles! You ran away for no reason!"

None of his cronies bothered to mention that he himself had given the order to run... or that he himself had been terrified out of his wits.

Longtongue (who wasn't listening), drew a single strand of black fur from the ground. "Chief... I think I found the ferret."

"Well what good is he? The bats are free! The beaver's free! Soon every bat and beaver is gonna come after us, and we can't live off of one scrawny ferret forever!"

"Chief..." Longtongue spoke with the burning desire to be smug and proud, but with the caution and restraint to barely conceal it. "The scrawny ferret is the snake."

Momchillo could not remember the last time he'd seen Fret so happy. It had certainly not been after leaving Redwall, but he could not remember the exact time. Perhaps when he'd been told he could visit the otters with them? Or that time he'd been so excited about his nameday he'd cartwheeled into the pond? Definitely not that one...

"Hey Fret!" The mouse beckoned him down from Butch's shoulders, and grudgingly the ferret allowed himself to be lowered.

"What is it?" He asked, sounding not at all interested.

"Just thought I'd let you know that when we get back to Redwall I'm going to bully Recorder Montague into writing all this down." Momchillo punched him lightly on the shoulder. "And I'm going to bully Hawthorn into making a tapestry of you." The young mouse spread his arms wide. "Just picture it- you, leaning on a snake skull, looking all grumpy and stuff, surrounded by fleeing toads!"

Fret frowned. "You're making fun of me."

"No I'm not!" He protested. "I'm serious! I- I'm proud of you."

The ferret scoffed skeptically. "Sure you are."

Momchillo began to scowl. "I'm going to hit you, you know that? You're unbearable sometimes! I was just trying to be nice-"

"I know." Fret snickered, and he was hard-pressed to remember the last time Fret had laughed, genuinely laughed. "I'm just pulling your tail." A smile so shy, and so afraid of it's own existence, Momchillo had never known.

The mouse's's muzzle split into a smirk. "Oh, are you now? Well you had best be careful, I might pull yours."

"I find that unlikely." And grinning? Since when did Fret grin?

"Doubt not Frogsbane!" Momchillo cried, pouncing upon the ferret with an over-exaggerated war cry.

Snakeskin watched the two tumble on the ice with a sigh, shaking his head at the nicknames they gave one another (as if he were above giving somebeast a title like 'Fret of the Foul Air'). In so many ways they reminded him of his own precious kits. The squabbling was there, albeit of a more serious nature, the aversion to his cooking was there, although he had yet to meet a beast that wasn't fearful of 'Ellgates stew', and one had even been inside a snake!

It was mostly the age, the stoat decided. Two little boys, constantly at each other's throats, it was bound to remind him of his own little fuzzbutts. Watching the two roll around on the ice both filled his chest with warmth, and weighed down his heart. If he had been a better father...

But that didn't change anything. It was Marick that stole his kits... And here he was, with Marik's son. The resemblance was scant, but Snakeskin was convinced this was one of them. The ferret had had quite a few children, it did not surprise him that Fret was one of many. Even if, thank Vulpuz, 'e's nothin' like 'is dad.

"Fret the Snake-snack!" Momchillo giggled, as he put the ferret in a (very weak because he wasn't actually fighting) headlock.

"M-momchillo the- N-no, Butch don't!"

The beaver, eager to join in the fun, had thrown himself into the fray- or rather directly on top of the two. Snakeskin laughed at what was undoubtedly Fret's muffled shouting, and moved over to help with the extrication process. "Ye go a'ead." He said, waving off the bats. "Tell Snap te prepare a feas'! Somethin' these three will eat as well- so no' jus' bugs."

"Thank you again, again, again." The bats chorused. Save for Bartok, who was still dazed from his earlier beating and had to be carried away in the talons of his fellow clansbeasts.

Butch was standing now, both sheepish and giggling, while Fret picked beaver fur out of his head and Momchillo tugged at his muzzle for fear it had been flattened on impact. It hadn't, of course, but Snakeskin was nothing if not a tease.

"Momchillo the pancake." He snickered, ruffling the fur between their ears. "All's well wha' en's well, eh? 'Ey, Fret! Tha' remin's me." From out of his cloak the stoat extracted a familiar looking tome. "This's yers."

Fret's eyes, suddenly fearful, darted towards Momchillo. Yet the mouse, smiling rather awkwardly, waved away his worries. "I'm sorry I beat you up over it. I-I'm sure you have your reasons. And I- I never should have- I'm sorry."

Fret blinked. "S-so you d-don't care?"

"Well... I am curious." The mouse admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

"Aren' we all?"

Momchillo did not give Fret the chance to interrupt and pressed the tome further into the ferret's paws."But it's yours. None of my business unless you want it to be."

"Whatches in de book?" Butch interrupted, and hastily Fret hid it from view.

"Er- l-lots of er- really, really boring stuff with plenty of big, big c-complicated words."

The beaver's look of horror made them all laugh (even Butch joined in).

"You know Fret." Began Momchillo. "You should-"

The mouse was interrupted by a deafening roar that sent all their ears flat against their heads.

"W-whatch was dat?" Butch whimpered.

Snakeskin placed a finger against his paw in the universal gesture for silence. It was too much for the young beaver, to be in danger immediately after escaping, and he whimpered again.

"Shhhh Butch." Fret put a paw on his shoulder (or as high along the babe's arm as he could reach). "It's going to be fine."

Momchillo's eyes darted around the cavern, in search of the roaring's source. When he saw it, he froze. A tremendous beast, as large as three badgers stacked atop one another, emerged from a nearby cavern. It was a great living mountain of shaggy black fur, and it shook the mouse to the bone. His guess had been closer than Snakeskin's. The beast resembled a wolverine, broad shouldered and sharp-clawed, yet lacked the colouring of one and seemed to possess no tail.

"I-I thought you said there wasn't a bear?"

Fret could not reply. His eyes were wide and wet in terror, and his jaw hung open as if screaming in silence.

"Wha're ye waitin' fur? Run fer i'!"

Butch did as he was bid, his webbed feetpaws furiously slapping the cold ice. Snakeskin followed his own advice and raced like the wind. Momchillo turned to flee and was scrambling on all fours a fair distance away, when he realized that Fret hadn't moved. Instantly, he slid to a halt and spun around to see.

No. Was all he could think. "Fret! Fret! Fret you have to run!"

The ferret was three shades whiter than Snakeskin, unable to hear him and quivering on the spot. He could not even squeak in terror as the bear lifted him into the air. Escape was not possible.

Momchillo could not pry his eyes away. He had seen this. He had seen this all before. Fret was tossed like a grape, and he flew through the air. Throwing common sense aside, the mouse raced back towards the bear. Nonononononono! This couldn't be happening! Not now! Everything had been going so- so well!

The bear's jaws opened wide and swallowed the falling ferret whole. Momchillo stopped running. He was certain he stopped breathing and quite sure his heart stopped too.

We were... we were getting along.

[The Grey Coincidence]

Fret expected to land on anything from sharp teeth to stomach acids, luckily he hit a wooden platform instead. Headfirst. Stars danced before his eyes. What was happening? What was going on? Had he drifted off? Was he dreaming? Perhaps he'd fallen asleep on Butch's shoulders?

The pain told him otherwise, it felt like his skull had nearly split in two. The ferret could not see anything, it was rather hard to see when it looked like the heavens themeselves had decided to fall on him. But his nose still worked, and an earthy acid, eerily familiar, became known to him. It was not the same kind of slime as slobber (and he knew far too much about slobber from prior experiences), it was Slimegut!

"Gotcha warlord! Ha! Thought you could escape me, did you?" Webbed fingers grabbed him by the scruff and lifted him into the air. "Think again, stinkball!" The fat toad kicked the platform repeatedly. "Get going boys! Before those bats turn up!"

Fret's vision adjusted, and he found himself face to face with the leering toad.

"Ohohoho! The things I'm going to do to you boy! You almost ruined me! Ha!" Slimegut pulled him closer, so that there was no space between them, their noses squished against one another. "Wanna know what getting eaten actually feels like? What about flying? Ever wanted to fly? A shave? All that fur must be itchy! Maybe you'd like to swim too, but I have to warn you, I get very competitive in the water. Shall we start with lunch?"

The ferret doubted the toad would actually eat him, at least, not until he'd been proven valueless. At the same time, he wouldn't put it past the great brute and had no desire whatsoever to see anybeast's insides!

As a child his claws had been a subject of much contention. Bella wanted them blunted, Montague the Recorder wanted them clipped, but Constance had had her way and his claws had stayed sharp (or rather, as sharp as ferret claws were). It was yet another thing he was grateful to her for.

Slimegut appreciated it less, but it was rather hard to appreciate getting clawed in the face.

"Aaaaaaaah! It's blinded me! It's blinded me!" Fret had gone for the eyes with his first slash. A kind of frenzied panic pumped through the ferret, who's claws seemed to be everywhere at once now. His legs were kicking, his jaws snapping, and his paws scratching. It looked rather ridiculous, and such uncontrolled scrambling was more befitting a dibbun about to be bathed. But Slimegut did not have much experience dealing with those...

"Swamphide! Swampbreath! Get over he-aaaaaaaowowowowow! Not the finger, not the finger!"

Fret had made his choice back when he'd jumped down the hole. He was not going to let this toad win. Not now when he'd just been so happy!

"B-but Chief! Who's gonna move the arms then?"

"Forget the arms and pull this vermin off! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Fret felt a pair of strong arms rip him free of Slimegut. The fat toad fell on his rump, continuing to holler and scream about the numerous scratches all over his face.

"Hold still!" Cried the toad that was Swamp-something. Fret was not sure which one it was and frankly didn't care. He twisted his head around and made to bite the toad's neck. The amphibian was faster and stepped backwards. The amphibian was also an idiot and stepped off the platform.

"Aaaaaaaaaaah-oof!"They hit a platform below the first and Fret was glad such a flabby toad had cushioned his fall. The pressure round his chest now weakened, the ferret shot to his feetpaws. His heart was beating fast, far faster than he was used to.

A pair of dumbstruck toads were staring at him in shock. After all, nobeast was supposed to drop in from a platform above. They turned swiftly to anger and both pounced simultaneously, with battlecries that filled Fret's heart with fear. Instinctively, the young ferret curled in on himself with a whimper.

For once fortune seemed to be on his side, however, and the two, as if oblivious to one another, collided mid-air.

Fret had no time to even breathe a sigh of relief, for Slimegut had hopped down from the upper parts of the 'bear', livid with rage. A webbed fist slammed into his muzzle. He was quite sure he'd lost a tooth...

"I'll kill you." The toad growled, his hands tightening around the ferret's neck. "I'll kill you for thi-aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Fret's claws dug into the appendages holding him. He was not much of a fighter, and never had been. Matiya could have, and had, knocked him to the ground in half a heartbeat. A beast like Bork needed far less time (and far less effort...) But he had claws, the toad did not. He had teeth, the toad did not. And his fangs were sharp. He kicked Slimegut's slimy gut as much as he could, the claws on his feetpaws raking cut after cut into his opponent's unprotected flab. They weren't particularly deep or anything, but it was all he could do.

And for once, it was enough.

The chief toad, still screaming, teetered off this second platform, and burst through the bear skin- still clinging to Fret's neck. Slimegut hit the ice with a thud and a groan. Fret pulled himself free of the webbed fingers, glad that the fat creature had not landed on top of him. He was rather less glad when the bear did.

Momchillo could hardly believe his eyes. One moment the bear had eaten Fret, then it's arms had gone limp, it's belly had wobbled; as if somebeast had landed within; and apparently it had suffered a bout of indigestion so bad it had come crashing onto the ice! The mouse knew from experience that Fret stunk worse than Hellgates, but to take down a bear with flavor alone...

Confusion and surprise turned to delight when the ferret's black and white form scrambled back up the humongous beast's jaws. "Fret!"

Fret padded past the sharp teeth as fast as his paws would carry him. He scrambled along the ice, slipping and tripping in his panic.

"Oh no you don't!" A long, sticky tongue caught him by the leg and brought him to the ground. The ferret's claws stabbed into the frozen water in an attempt to pull away, but all he succeeded in doing was drawing long gashes along the frozen water. Slowly, but surely he was being dragged back in.

"Oh no ye don'!" Fret had, in his panic, forgotten about Snakeskin, Momchillo and Butch, yet he doubted he'd ever been happier to see anybeast. They came running to him now, the latter far behind, huffing and puffing.

Momchillo was the first to seize him, the stoat following right after. Each held him by a wrist and pulled with all their might.

"We've got you Fret!" The mouse grunted, his teeth gritted in determination.

"Don't let him get away! Pull you idiots! Pull!" Shouted Slimegut.

Several more toads must have joined the tug of war, for now both Snakeskin and Momchillo were swiftly loosing ground.

"L-let go!" Fret stammered. He was panicking again. "G-get the bats. G-get out of-"

"I've los' two kits too many!" Snakeskin snapped. "I ain' loosin' any more no thank ye!"

"B-but they'l hurt y-"

"Oh shut up, will you?" Momchillo growled. "Now is not the time to start being noble! We're not letting go! And we're not leaving you! And we are not-"

"PULL!" Came a deep croak from within the bear.

Snakeskin's grip failed and the stoat landed on his rump. Momchillo lost balance, but refused to let go. Both mouse and ferret were pulled swiftly along the ice. Fret whimpered. They were doomed... and Momchillo, stupid as always, refused to save himself! Butch was the one that did the saving. Having finally caught up to the others, the beaver babe grabbed hold of the mouse's tail.

Dibbun or not, the beaver was big and heavy. What his feetpaw lacked in claws, they made up for in size and traction. What he lacked in strength, he made up for in flab. It was not enough to win the pulling match of course, but it did give Snakeskin time to free his spear. It also gave the stoat enough time to realize that the tongue they were wrestling with, was far too thin to belong to a bear.

"Toads..." He snarled to himself. Then, louder, he spoke again. "Ye 'ave got te the coun' of three afore I cut this tongue in'o stew! One! Two! Three!"

The tug of war ended abruptly. The de-fact rope shot back into the bear. Butch fell flat on his back and Fret and Momchillo toppled over him. The stoat grinned and leaned casually on his spear.

"Alright, everybody out! Out!" Slimegut was the first to leave the bear-costume, followed swiftly by his dozen or so lackeys. "I don't know who you are, or who you think you are but that ferret is mine!" He snapped, stomping closer to the snake hunter.

Snakeskin was unimpressed. "I don' know 'oo ye are, or 'oo ye think ye are, bu' I don' care. That ferre' over there is me gues'. In other words 'e's mine, now be a good frog an' 'op along now, why don' ye?"

"I am a toad!" The toad shrieked, sending spittle everywhere.

"I am a toadie!" The stoat repeated, his voice high-pitched and giggly.

"That doesn't sound anything like me!"

"That doesn' soun' anythin' like me!"

Slimegut swung for the stoat, but snakes were faster and Snakeskin was faster still. He sidestepped the blow with ease, before casually bringing the flat of his spear-blade into the side of his opponent's head.

"Alrigh', I'll do the talkin' ye can do the repeatin'." The white-furred stoat turned to the remaining toads. "'Ere's the deal. Ye all scramble away now, afore the 'ole flock-a-bats show up. Ye loose yer prisoners, yer digni'ee an' yer bear suit 'coz I wan' it. Bu' ye keep yer worthless lives."

Slimegut pushed himself back up, yet drew swiftly out of the stoat's striking distance. "You're one to make threats! No-one here even knows who you are! There are thirty of us-"

"Actually Chief we only have about two doz-"

"Apparently there are fifty of us!" Slimegut shrugged. "Either way there are only three of you, so no matter how many of us there are, we outnumber you!"

"I 'ave a spear." Snakeskin pointed out.

"We all have spears! Flyspit! Get us our spears!" A small toad slunk back into the bear to do the chieftain's bidding. He emerged a moment later, with a dozen or so polearms and several sets of knives, daggers and swords. All of a sudden Snakeskin looked a little less confident. "So. We have more toads and more spears. We win, you loose."

"Aye, ye win agains' the four of us." The stoat admitted with a careless shrug (filled with nervous tension). "But Snap'll be 'ere any minute now. An' 'e's no' gonna give ye any chances te turn away. So ye ough' te surrender now. Oh, an' that cloak is Fre'ie's. I made it fur 'im, so I wan' it back." He pointed at the round metal bob wrapped around Slimegut's neck. "An' 'e wants 'is yo-yo back too, so 'and over that necklace-thing."

Slimegut's eyes darted from Fret, who was standing now- threatening at any moment to have a panic attack, to Snakeskin. He caught sight of the stoat's hypnotized eye and everything seemed to make sense. "You're Mad-Eye Marik!"

Fret facepawed, Butch gasped dramatically, Momchillo said 'um' and Snakeskin scowled.

"I ain' a thin' like tha' kitnapper."

The fat toad pointed at the ferret. "But he said his father gave him the cloak! So you're clearly his father, which would make you the world-famous warlord Mad-Eye Marik."

Butch giggled. "You actually fell for itch! Hihihihihi!"

Momchillo tried to keep a straight face, but it was hard to when Slimegut looked so.. betrayed! He snickered, then he coughed and soon the mouse was bent double with laughter.

He wasn't the only beast either, Snakeskin had to lean on his spear for support, elsewise he'd have slipped to the floor.

"Y-y-you lied to me!"

"I knew he was lying!" Longtongue butted in.

"S-so you're valueless?"

"No!" Fret snapped. Well, he was to them- but he wasn't valueless!

"Should've eaten him while we had the chance." Swamphide growled.

"You shouldn't have." Momchillo shook his head, still laughing. "Fur everywhere, indigestion, have you smelled the guy?" Lightly he punched Fret on the shoulder. "This beast is entirely inedible."

"He'd have tasted good with honey!"

Momchillo continued to snicker. "N-no he wouldn't have."

Butch tapped the mouse on the shoulder and bent down to whisper into his ear. "He kinda did."

"I heard that." Fret muttered, disgruntled to say the least by the current conversation.

Snakeskin heard it too. "So that's why the snake liked ye! I'm curious Butcher, what did 'e taste like?"

"Is this really important!?" The ferret rubbed his chest fur in frustrated awkwardness. It was an entirely new sensation. And not one he liked much...

The young beaver wriggled his paw up and down to mean 'so-so'. "Nice and sweetch butch wid un-pleasant undewtones. Also, fur."

"Butch!"

The beaver grinned sheepishly at Fret's look of annoyance. "Sawwy."

"Shut up!" Slimegut shouted before anybeast could continue. "This changes nothing- we are going to tan your hides, and now that we know you're all useless- we will kill every last one of you!"

There was a long, drawn-out silence, wherein all the good humour of the party of four vanished instantly.

The fat toad grew impatient. "Well? What are you waiting for!? Get the hairbeasts!"

"Instead of thinking of a plan," Fret growled, as the toads slowly encircled them. "You thought it was a good idea to talk about what I taste like..."

"We were stallin' fer time!" Snakeskin and Momchillo growled in unison.

"We were?" Butch asked. The beaver babe noticed Snakeskin's twitching head and gave his affirmation. "We were!"

"Brilliant idea." Fret muttered through gritted teeth. His ears flattened themselves against the top of his head. "And what do we do now?"

"Get be'in' me. An' when I say 'charge' run like the win'." Snakeskin lowered the spear, his good eye darting from one opponent to another, searching for weaknesses.

"Hey!" Momchillo suddenly shouted, pointing behind Chief Slimegut. "Look it's a snake!"

"I'm not falling for that, rat." The fat toad shook his head, his chins wobbling like a sack of pudding. "You think I'm stupid, don't you? Well I'm not! I'm smart! I am very, very smart!"

Even some of the toads were looking at him with skepticism, to say nothing of the mismatched quartet.

"It's true! I am very smart! So smart that I-"

Butch raised a large paw, deliberately widened his eyes and pointed behind the amphibian. "Itches a giant, free-legged dwagon fly!"

Slimegut growled, and hopped on the spot in rage. "Stop underestimating my-"

"Chaaaaaaaarge!" Snakeskin barreled into the Chief mid-air. Slimegut fell on his rump with a soft thud and a groan. Fret, Momchillo and Butch followed swiftly, and raced past the stunned toads before they could react.

"In'o the bear! In'o the bear!" The white furred stoat cried, lifting the muzzle. Fret, who was in the lead, hesitated. That didn't stop him from going inside of course- Butch pushed him in whether he liked it or not and Momchillo followed suite.

A dozen, slimy, pink tongues shot towards them like a volley of slobbery arrows. Unfortunately for the toads, all they latched onto were the closed jaws of their bear skull.

"Alrigh' kids... we'll si' tight till Snap comes an'-" A spear burst through the fur next to Snakeskin's head. The toads followed it up with a second that narrowly missed Momchillo's tail. "Outta the bear! Outta the bear!"

Longtongue was unfortunate enough to have opened the jaw-gate when Snakeskin said this. He was smacked aside first by Snakeskin's spear, and then (more powerfully) by Butch's tail.

The toads were armed of course, but they were used to 'fighting' a single scared beast. Beating somebeast with a club was much easier when said beast did not fight back. It also had to be mentioned, that the toads were not particularly used to armed combat.

A pair charged half-heartedly, but stopped abruptly when Snakeskin waved a spear in their path. The stoat promptly swept them off their feet with another wave of his weapon. This was little encouragement for the other amphibians.

Swamphide fly-kicking Snakeskin (in a display of acrobatics never seen before or since) was more of a morale boost, though now the toads charged without cumbersome things like polearms. A dozen swarmed upon Butch and beat the beaver babe with their fists. Snakeskin, too, was swiftly surrounded and beaten. Fret watched in horror as Swamphide attempted to strangle the flailing Momchillo. It was a relief that none of them had been stabbed yet, but Butch was crying and Snakeskin was unable to do much now and if Momchillo ended up frog-food...

He was torn away from his thoughts when Slimegut's slimy fingers closed over his shoulder, and spun him around to meet the toad's fist. "Guess where you're going 'warlord'!" The toad didn't actually give Fret a chance to guess, he stomped on the ferret's chest with enough force to wind him. "I will do every horrible thing I can think of to you." He leered, lifting the ferret back up to face him.

It was a mistake he should never have made. Instinct was driving him now, and his instincts told him to bite. At this proximity their was no stopping Fret from chomping down on Slimegut's face. The ferret clung on determinedly and the fat toad hollered.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Getitoff! Getitoff!" A pair of toads grabbed the ferret by the tail and made to yank him away, but all Fret did was sink his teeth deeper into the chieftain's slimy flab. Fret's paws found and clung to the yoyo Slimegut had so unwisely decided to keep around his neck. It was his toy! His Nuncle had given it to him and the last of Connington's gifts would not end up decorating a fat fool!

It was not the physical clinging on that was difficult, his teeth did all the work for him. He could taste the toad's blood in his mouth, and threatened to gag at any moment. His tail, not often used as a rope, was also under strain. The ferret's heart was beating swiftly and demanded more and more air. But it was hard to breathe with his nose all squished up against flab. The smell also made his job more unpleasant. Slimegut's very flesh seemed to reek something rotten and Fret had already been taken out by his breath once before...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Slimegut screamed louder than ever. Flyspit and Swampbreath had succeeded in tearing the ferret off of their Chief. They had also succeeded in tearing off a chunk of his nose.

Fret was slammed hard against the ice and the yoyo he'd just managed to get back rolled out of his tired paws. Weakly he spat out a piece of the toad's snout and any blood still in his mouth. He felt sick just looking at it, and searched desperately along the ice for his toy. Connington's gift. The last piece of Redwall he had left...

"You'll die for that!" Slimegut yelled, slamming a fist in between his eyes. The chieftain snatched Fret's head off the ground only to bring it down again. "Stupid! Fake! Warlord!" The ferret was dizzy after the first blow, too dazed and too tired to fight any more. He could hear Momchillo snarling and a toad screaming, Butch crying and Snakeskin shrieking.

Well.

It had sounded like Snakeskin at first, but the second time he heard it more clearly. The pitch was higher than the stoat's and seemed to echo through the air.

"What was that?" A particularly small toad was lifted off the ground by a winged shadow. Two more tore Slimegut off of Fret and a fourth rescued Momchillo.

Panic spread through the Yellowbellies, who began to shout amongst themselves.

"Who'sit?"

"What's going on?"

There came the echo of a scream, and a soft whistling as Slimegut hit the ice a short distance away.

"Chief! Chief are you alright?"

"I'm... fine!" The fat toad groaned and growled. He made to push himself to his feet, but was swiftly slammed back onto the ice by the shadows from before.

"G-geroff me-"

"Silence toad, toad!"

"Be quiet while father speaks, speaks."

The toad tribe watched in horror as dark clouds seemed to pour out of the caves above them. A swarm of bats, dozens and dozens of them came flapping out in a rustle of flapping wings. They were the ones outnumbered now, and they knew it! The beatings stopped abruptly, and as if scared of the evidence, the toads backed away from their victims.

Momchillo, too exhausted to fight any longer, slid to the ground. Palour was returning to his features as relief washed through him. Slimegut was shaking like a leaf, almost pitifully, as the familiar form of Chief Snap landed before him.

The bat chieftain was beaming with pride. "Sap, Tree Fang, good work, work, work." His smile vanished instantly as he turned his gaze towards the pinned toad. Slimegut swallowed audibly. "So this is the bear, bear, bear..." Snap hurled a gob of spittle upon the unfortunate amphibian, before turning to glare at the other toads.

The Yellowbellies screamed in unison, and scattered in panic. Quite a few crashed into each other, even more ran into waiting bats. It was their turn to be afraid now and afeared they were. Helter skelter they scattered, like leaves on a breeze.

"Oh no you don't, don't, don't!" Snap roared. "Round up the toadies! Round them up, up, up!"

Fret couldn't care less about the inevitable capture and brutal punishment of the toads. His friends were surprisingly well-off. Butch was sniffling but seemed unhurt, Snakeskin was sporting a black eye and gently stroking the beaver babe's back. Momchillo was grinning and only seemed to be short a tooth. The same relieved euphoria that had filled the young ferret before the 'bear's' appearance returned with force- as did the exhaustion.

They had won! They were alive! They could still go home!

He was no doubt a mess, and no doubt looked stupid, but Fret smiled the goofiest smile in the world. Everything seemed to be worth it now, the waterfall, getting eaten by Butch, the tunnel, the lake, the other waterfall... even the snakenest! Home felt so tantalizingly close...

The sound of the toads' panicked screaming seemed distant. Gradually it faded away, replaced by his own soft snoring. Not that he could hear it of course, he was far too busy getting some well-deserved rest!

[The Grey Coincidence]

A distant whirring penetrated the walls of Fret's slumber, and a nearby growl summoned him forth from the sweet realm of sleep. The ferret did not open his eyes, letting his other senses discover his environment. A distinct itching along his front told him he was laying on one of Snakeskin's furry blankets. Which meant that he was safe- the toads would never have been able to get one of their slimy fingers on the stoat's precious bedcloths.

Yawning awake, he stretched out his limbs. The ferret rolled onto his back and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with another yawn.

Blinking into reality he found, to his surprise, that he was in a new cavern. The walls here were made of stone, not ice and the only light seemed to be coming from a tiny firefly.

The whirring stopped. "You're awake!" It was Momchillo's voice, but the ferret couldn't see where he was yet. Just as his vision began to adjust, and just as a vague outline of the mouse was coming into view, a candle flickered to life and illuminated Momchillo's grin.

Fret sat up suddenly and had to momentarily shield his eyes from the sudden lighting. "Careful with that!" He snapped, and Momchillo, in his haste to obey, nearly put it out. "Sorry." Fret added immediately after, as usual he'd snapped too quickly.

"Nah, should've warned you." The mouse placed the candle on a bedside table. "So, how are you feeling? Not hurt?"

The ferret flopped back onto the blanket with a third yawn. "Arms are sore, feetpaws are tired and I can still taste toad... I've been better." While his energy was replenished- what he still sorely missed was optimism, the uplifting feeling of rescuing Butch and the bats had all been dreamed away leaving Fret in his usual state of glumness.

"I know what'll cheer you up!" Suddenly, a round metal bob shot out from the mouse's paw and caught the startled Fret right on the nose.

"What was that for!?" The ferret howled, rubbing his sore sniffer.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Momchillo hastily unwound the yo-yo's rope from around his paw. "I- I was just trying to give it to you!"

"Well try handing it over next time!" Fret snapped, snatching the yo-yo from his grip.

Momchillo's ears drooped, and all of a sudden the mouse was unable to maintain eye contact. "I got your the cloak back too. " He added half-heartedly. "And Snakeskin wanted me to give you the helmet..."

Fret felt the twinges of guilt begin to toy with his heart. He looked away and fixed his gaze determinedly on his Nuncle's toy. It meant more to him than he'd ever verbally admit, and if Momchillo wasn't looking he'd have been nuzzling it with the care and affection he very rarely showed a living thing. "Thank you." There was a brief pause and then Fret continued, finding that the back of his yo-yo was a very interesting thing to stare at- especially when one did not want to stare at Momchillo. "F-for the yo-yo. A-and the cloak and- an- and n-not leaving me." He made a strange sound that was almost like a cough but sounded more like a... squeal?

"So er- what happened?" Fret began idly flicking the yo-yo. "Last I remember was all the toads panicking an-and that bat showing up."

Momchillo shrugged. "Not much really." The mouse frowned. "Well, the bats are throwing a party and there's a feast going on but I've been up here with you the whole time so I'm not too sure."

Fret blinked and stopped flicking. "You missed out on a feast to watch me sleep?"

The brownish-yellow mouse rolled his eyes. "Well when you put it like that it just sounds weird. Somebeast had to watch over you to make sure you were okay and didn't get lost when you woke up."

"And you volunteered?"

"Well... yes... I er- wanted to give you back your toy."

The awkwardness of the silence that followed was tangible and the ferret was almost glad when his stomach interrupted it.

Momchillo grinned. "Sounds like you're hungry. Come on, there should still be some food left." The mouse helped Fret to his feetpaws before picking up the candle. "I think it's fair to warn you though that..." He made sure nobeast was looking or within earshot, before whispering. "Bat food isn't really... well... they eat grubs."

"Yuck!" Said Fret, far too loudly. Luckily nobat seemed to have heard. Well... there was nobat there... The ferret's stomach gave another impatient gurgle. "I-is there nothing edible?"

"There's you." Momchillo snickered, before shrugging. "Like I said, I haven't really been to the feast. But that's what Snakeskin said. Also, do not, under any circumstances play Bat Catch."

"What's that?"

"Well... it's catch." The mouse explained. "Only er- you'd be the ball."

Fret's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're pulling my tail."

Momchillo shook his head. "Nope, not this time. Trust me Fret, you really wouldn't like this game."

"Hmmm..." The ferret mused, once more beginning to flick his yo-yo. "So how do you know about it?"

"Let's just say..." Momchillo scratched his chest-fur. "I have some er- personal experience."

Fret could not help snorting in laughter. "So you were the ball?" He could not help snickering either.

The mouse gave the ferret's tail a warning tug. "You'd make a better one if it came to it, Bearfood."

"Bat-toy!"

"Luncheon!"

"Plaything!"

And so, giving one another all sorts of ridiculous names and titles, the pair made their way down the tunnels and towards a large, open cavern where the feast was being held.

The party was still in full-swing by the time they arrived. Several bats were clumped together, singing a rendition of 'Maggy May' that made Snakeskin and Momchillo's appalling music desirable. A set of tables had been taken out, stacked high with all sorts of 'delicacies'. Fried beetle eggs, scewered spiders, a soup of boiled worms and snake flesh, large centipedes roasting over a spit, honeyed fireflies, all these and more made Fret go as green as a spring leaf. Friar Gord would not have allowed any of these things into the Redwall kitchens and the Badgermum wouldn't have allowed them into Redwall!

And yet, it was so hard to ignore his hunger. The last thing he'd eaten had been the previous day's revolting Hellgates Stew- and Fret was quite sure he'd go to Hellgates if he ate another bite of that.

"There ye are!" A pair of white paws, Snakeskin's, clamped down upon the shoulders of mouse and ferret. "Bin waitin' fer ye to show up! 'Ow ye feelin' Fret?"

"I'm fine." He replied, prizing his eyes away from the 'feast' in an attempt to not puke. Which was rather difficult. He could still taste toad...

"'Ungry?" The stoat smiled knowingly. "C'mon, I made sure Snap got the pair of ye some real food. An' I made sure Youn' Butcher didn' scoff it all."

Gently, he guided them towards a corner of the cavern, one that was almost entirely devoid of bats. Probably because Butch took up most of the space. The beaver babe waved as they approached.

"Hello Fretch!"

"Hello." The ferret replied, more interested in getting his paws on the goodies before him. It wasn't much; small pot of barely-spiced hotroot, several loaves of bread (as usual, older than anybeast present), something that could've been meadowcream but smelled more like a bog and three rotten fruit, and some (ice) cold pancakes with honey; but it was much better than anything else available.

"Sleep well?" Snakeskin asked, nonchallantly sipping a bowl of hotroot.

"I did." Fret selected a pancake, but found that not even his sharp teeth could tear it apart.

"Whatch did you dweam aboutch?"

And now his teeth were stuck to the frozen honey!

"Fretch?"

"Lemme 'elp with that." Before Fret could refuse him, Snakeskin snapped the pancake in two, and pulled it free of the ferret's jaws. "Try a loaf."

Fret chewed on one sullenly, noting with bitterness, that it tasted faintly of toad. He was quite sure he'd have indigestion...

"So whatch did you dweam aboutch?" Butch asked again, apparently very interested in this subject.

Fret swallowed, gagged (why had he bitten the stupid chieftain!?), and turned to answer the question with a simple 'nothing'.

"Oh." Butch shrugged and went on for several minutes about his very sweet and childish dream of rolling (and sometimes swimming) through a flower-field, by which time Fret had worked up the courage to take a few more bites of the bread.

"And den you popped out of a flower Fretch!"

"All sneezy and covered in pollen." The ferret muttered. The beaver babe hadn't heard him, but Momchillo almost snorted into the bowl of hotroot.

"I know I keep you amused, mused, mused, but I feel I'm being used, used, used!" Came the bat chorus. The music was so horrendously painful that Fret was relieved when Momchillo struck up some more conversation.

"So what happened to the toads? Last I saw them they were still trying to run away, but the bats caught them all, didn't they?"

Snakeskin chuckled and shook his head. "Finish yer- this ough'a be brekkfis' I suppose- an' I'll show ye what Snap's come up with."

Fret was not sure if he wanted to see, Clogg had flayed a paw for far less of a crime. As much as they deserved it, the ferret doubted he would be able to stomach whatever horrendous fate had befallen them.

As if reading his mind (or the look of frightened horror on his face) Snakeskin shook his head. "Whatever yer thinkin' it ain' what 'appened te 'em."

Fret had been thinking of mangled corpses.

"Ladies and gentlebats, bats, bats!" Boomed the voice of Chief Snap, dragging the young ferret away from his imaginary cadavers. "I hope you're enjoying the feast, feast, feast!"

A tremendous cheer of 'hip-hip-hip-hoo-hoo-hoo-ray-ray-ray' made Fret dizzy.

"As you all know, we have recently been terrorised by a tribe of frogs, frogs, frogs, posing as a bear, bear, bear!"

Momchillo frowned in contemplation. "I thought they were toads."

"Were it not for the efforts of one beast, beast, beast it would still be so, so, so!" The well-built chieftain's eyes seemed to dart towards Fret.

The ferret in question felt Momchillo clap him on the back. His own heart had missed a beat.

"This one, one, one, has waited a long time for recognition, recognition, recognition!"

Snakeskin ruffled the fur between his ears with a chuckle. Butch began whistling through his fingers. Fret, who had never known but always wondered what it was like to face a cheering crowd, who had daydreamed of a moment like this back in Abbot Martin's history lessons, flushed with pride and stood a little straighter.

"BARTOK! BARTOK! BARTOK!"

Snakeskin choked on his drink, Momchillo did the spit-take of the century, Butch's whistling turned into a raspberry and Fret felt like somebeast had punched him in the lungs.

Yet, all their reactions were lost in the sea of cheering. Bartok, who had been standing a short distance behind them all, flapped over towards the chieftain amidst the gales of celebration.

"B-b-but he didn't do anything!" Momchillo complained, loud enough to be heard by a generous amount of bats (they had excellent hearing after all).

"Yeah!" Butch agreed. "Fretch is de one dat killed de bear! And de one dat escaped fiwst! And de one dat-"

Quite a lot of the bats were staring now, the cheering noticeably quieter.

"Forget it Butch." The ferret said quietly, silencing the beaver. "Shouldn't have gotten my hopes up anyways." With rather less cheer than most of the bats present, Fret slunk away.

"Now jus' a minute Fret." Snakeskin called after him, but his drooping ears did not seem to do much listening. The stoat growled. "Can I 'ave some privacy fur 'Ellgates sake! What is this a talen' show?"

The onlookers coughed awkwardly in many cases, and almost as one shifted their gaze to the chieftain- who was going on and one about how Bartok had been 'brave, brave, brave'.

"Dat's not true." Butch crossed his paws crossly. "All he did was get slapped by Snakie-skin!"

"It ain' importan'." Snakeskin reassured him. "Now where did Fret go?"

"Had he not, not, not volunteered as sacrifice." Bartok hadn't, but Snap hardly felt compelled to share that now. "The bear, bear, bear would never have been defeated! I know, know, know that I was wrong, wrong, wrong to give you all up, up, up." Theatrically, the chieftain turned towards the other captives. "Can you ever forgive me, me, me?"

Amidst cheers of 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' Snakeskin narrowed his one good eye. "So that's what 'e's doin'." The stoat shook his head, only noticing now that Momchillo had also disappeared. Then he growled, and stomped after the faint scent of mouse.

He should have known. How many times had he thought it? How many times had he said it? No matter what he did, he was vermin and fate would treat him as such. Fate and everybeast else. Fret had been stupid enough to forget, his hopes had soared. A hero was always welcome at Redwall, even if nobeast liked them. But now bitter, painful disappointment was rushing through him, making a mockery of all his efforts. He had tried, he had succeeded. He had been good! It didn't matter. Bartok was the hero. The bat that had laughed while he went off a waterfall. Who had thrown him down a waterfall! The one that had tried to talk him out of his attempt to rescue everybeast.

He was the hero, and Fret was nobeast important. The ferret wasn't even sure what he was. Angry? Well, anybeast would be. Sad? Of course! After all he'd gone through he was blatantly ignored in favor of the beast that had put him through hellgates.

Perhaps he was being ridiculous, Snap had saved him in the end. Nevermind that Snap wouldn't have been there had Fret not gotten away... But it was not like the burly chief even knew him. Perhaps it was Bartok that was behind all this? The ferret kicked a stray pebble. The grey bat wasn't smart enough for anything of the sort anyways. He was stupid.

"For the record I think that chieftain's not right in the head." Fret was not sure how Momchillo had found him, but the mouse was here now and looked as grumpy as he did. "But it doesn't matter Fret, let the idiots celebrate. When we get to Redwall Grollo's dad is going to make you a cake shaped like a toad."

This was undoubtedly a pitiful attempt to cheer him up, but Fret was grateful for it anyways. "As long as it doesn't taste like one." Almost instinctively he began flicking the yo-yo.

"I reckon they taste worst that you." Momchillo sat down and lay back on the ice. "This has been quite the adventure hasn't it."

"Nobeast will believe it." Fret said sullenly. "A bunch of toads in a bear suit? Snakeskin? A beaver? The Badgermum'll just tell me to stop lying."

"Let's not forget the time we took out a wolverine." Momchillo grinned.

Fret's face fell even lower. Bork, for all his faults, would never have let Bartok throw him off a waterfall.

"That, that, that is very impressive!" It was the jubilant voice of Chief Snap, the last beast Fret wanted to hear from right now. "Wolverines are big, big, big!"

"I know that." The ferret snapped, scowling.

"Of course, course, course." The bat sounded less cheerful as he landed on the ice before them. He glanced at Momchillo. "I don't suppose you could leave us alone, lone, lone?"

The brownish yellow mouse turned to Fret, who shrugged, not meeting his gaze.

"I'll be with Butch and Snakeskin if you need me for anything." The mouse said quietly.

As soon as his pawsteps had faded away, Snap turned towards the ferret before him. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry."

Fret made an indistinct noise somewhere between a growl and affirmation.

"But I need, need, need Bartok and the others happy, happy, happy so they can forget that I sent them to a bear, bear, bear. I know, know, know you three did most, most, most of the rescuing but I can't have my clan, clan, clan angry with me, me, me."

The ferret idly fixed his gaze onto his still-bouncing yo-yo.

"I just sent these bats, bats, bats to their death. You know, important for the clan, clan, clan can't have them hating me now. What you did was good, good, good! But if everybat thinks you're the hero, hero, hero then they'll still resent me."

"Well maybe they should." Fret's voice was barely more than a whisper, but Snap heard it all the same.

Awkwardly, the burly bat flapped into a more comfortable perch. "If you want, want, want I could-"

"It's fine." Fret snapped. "I don't care." He was lying of course, he cared very much, but Snap did not need to know that. The ferret didn't want, want, want his stupid apologies and he most certainly didn't want to hear his incessant verbal repetition.

Snap grinned, oblivious to the ferret's lack of honesty. "The name is-"

"Chief Snap, I know!" Fret snapped. Why was this beast still talking to him?

Contrary to expectations the chieftain grinned even more widely, most beasts Fret snapped at did not. "And you are Fret, Fret, Fret." Then he hugged him.

The ferret looked momentarily startled, and was also momentarily glad his ribs were bendy- the Chieftain had the grip of a bear!

"Your mates, mates, mates told me."Snap explained, releasing him. "Interesting for vermin, vermin, vermin to live in the Great Abbey, Abbey, Abbey."

He went back to scowling. "Yes. Very interesting."

"You have a very interesting tale, too, too, too! It reminds me of a story I once heard, heard, heard." The bat went on, wrapping what was probably meant to be a reassuring wing around his shoulder. "There was a ferret raised in Redwall, wall, wall, just like you, you, you! And he left, left, left to find his warlord father, father, father! You don't look much like Marik I'm sure you've been told, told, told." He winked at the ferret, who had been startled by the sudden mention of his deepest darkest secret. "It was a good, good, story! Heard it from a traveller. Now, what was his name, name, name? He was banished for being vermin, vermin or something like that, that, that? You know this? His name was, was... Veil! Yes! Veil, Veil, Veil!"

Fret felt a sudden jolt run through him- as if he'd been struck by lightning. Veil... Veil... Veil...

It had started with a strange class. Abbot Martin's lesson made less sense than usual- and even Momchillo seemed confused by some bits! It was a story about Sunflash the Mace, another boring Badgerlord that could singlepawedly smite a vermin horde into dust. The same stupid songs were there, the same battles, the same feasting- all recorded by somebeast Fret did not remember the name of.

But it felt like something was missing. The Abbot had skipped several pages and Fret was not sure who Bryrony even was- some angelic mousemaid sent by the Spirit of Martin to save the Badgerlord from death by warlord? It was even more contrived than all the other lessons!

As if to prove his point Grollo asked (for the eighth time that hour) "What was Bryrony doing there?"

Abbot Martin's bespectacled eyes flickered over to Fret, who hastily stopped chewing his quill. "Well she was a mousemaid from Redwall-"

"But what was she doing so far away?" Momchillo interrupted, his burning curiosity tearing apart any manners he had.

"Don't interrupt beasts Momchillo. This is a classroom, not a mess-hall." The Abbot said sternly.

"Sorry." The young mouse, fixed his gaze towards the floor.

Wordlessly Martin tossed him a candied chestnut. He never seemed to toss Fret any...

"Now, what she was doing so far from Redwall is er- heavily disputed. Lots of false recordings." The Abbot waved his paw away. "There's far too much studying involved to cover it er- now. Perhaps later-"

There was a small clamour as Fret, Grollo and Matiya, all averse to studying for various reasons, agreed that it was not important and that it was most likely Martin the Warrior sending her on a quest or something anyways.

The Abbot seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, before smiling. "Very well then. We may skip over the whole Bryrony debate for now and move onto more important things!" The old mouse, who hadn't been as old back then, opened the door to the classroom. "It is a beautiful, sunny day and you should not waste it reading in a corner! Er- if you don't mind I'd also like your copies of a History of Mossflower."

Fret did not care much for the Bryrony debate, and was content to spend much of his afternoon not snoring over a dumb book. It was hot and sunny, and for once Matiya decided not to beat his tail blue. Indeed, the whole history lesson had been forgotten by lunchtime. He had just been about to enter Cavern Hole when Momchillo came charging into him.

The two were brought to the floor, the ferret was scowling and the mouse was apologizing. "I'm sorry Fret, didn't see you dere!" And then, as if forgetting that he was still pinning his classmate to the ground, the mouse clapped his paws excitedly. "Oooh Fret, guess what? You know dat story we read in class?"

Fret scowled deeper. Trust Momchillo to go and do unnecessary studying. "What about it? Just another badger lord."

The mouse shook his head vigorously, his ears flapping around him like the wings of a bird. "No no no. Dis one has a ferret!"

"Another so called warlord brutally killed by the badger. Yes, I know." For once he hadn't been snoring in the back of the classroom!

"No! Dis one was in de abbey!"

He was a bit taller than the young mouse, and both had the healthy chub of any abbey child- but Fret lacked the strength to push him off. "An' probably more ferrets in his horde- wait, what?"

"Dey found a baby ferret and brought it to de abbey." Momchillo grinned. "It sounds like you!"

"They did?" Fret was suddenly very interested, and no longer annoyed.

"Yes, yes. De Recorder let me borrow a book! Wanna see?"

"Yes!" Fret squealed, he couldn't quite contain his excitement. Another ferret in Redwall? Maybe he wasn't so alone after all! It was all he could do to stop himself from instinctively twisting and flipping, as ferrets were wont to do sometimes.

The brownish-yellow mouse got off of him, held out his paw, which Fret took, and together they skipped the way to the mouse's room. "I'm at de bit where dis mouse called Byrony names him Veil."

Fret nodded eagerly and followed. What might have happened to Veil? He was dead now of course, that was what history was about. But before that?

About an hour or so later- because Momchillo was a quick reader and Fret liked to skip over the boring bits, the pair closed the book as if trying to contain some horrible monster.

"Dat story wasn't very fun." The mouse's voice was as hollow as a drum.

Fret nodded mutely, trying to hide the wetness in his eyes. It had been a bad story by all accounts. Veil Sixclaw had been banished for poisoning somebeast, gone to find his father- a warlord, and died saving his mother. And then, the final, most painful twist, was how little the mousemaid seemed to care! He'd saved her life... b-but was still evil!? It did not help matters that he imagined Veil looking a lot like him...

"Fret? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" The ferret snapped, scampering away as swiftly as he had come, barely holding back his tears.

Constance had found him sobbing helplessly into a pillow a few hours later. He had missed lunch, and of course she was worried. He'd told her everything, and all his worries. How Veil looked and sounded a lot like him, how Abbot Martin hadn't told him about it- because clearly everybeast was worried he'd end up just like Veil and didn't trust him, how he could just imagine being banished!

The big mouse of course, did as she always did, and hugged him tightly. "Fret, sweetling, you're nothing at all like Veil."

Oh how wrong you were momma...

Two ferrets raised in Redwall, each fathered by a warlord and a cutthroat... Rejected by the beasts of the abbey- save and except their adoptive mouse mothers... Constance's words had been a great comfort back then, when he hadn't known all he did now... Back when he'd been too young and too stupid to know how the world worked...

"Fret? You okay, okay, okay?"

"Fine." The ferret lied, blinking back into reality. Chief Snap was still there, still holding him. They hadn't moved an inch. "So, what happened to the toads?" He asked, determined to change the subject. His mind was still reeling from the flashback, and now more than ever, he needed a distraction.

The burly bat provided it with hysterical laughter. "Oh you'll want to see, see, see this!"

"Mercy!" Cried the toads, but the bats gave none.

"Spare us!" Cried the toads, but the bats ignored them

"If you think you can get away with this!" Slimegut hollered as one laughing (and especially large) bat tossed him through the air and into the waiting talons of another. "I- I'll gut all of you!" The fat toad's threats would probably have been taken more seriously if he wasn't tied up and greener-than-usual in the face. As it was his loud complaining was barely noticed by his torturers.

"This Fret." Said Momchillo, reappearing at the ferret's side. "Is Bat Catch."

"Drop me!" Slimegut roared.

"If you say so, so, so!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" SPLASH!

"W-whahat do you mean I wouldn't like this game?" Fret was reduced to laughter in a matter of seconds, all thoughts of Veil vanishing.

"Watching it is a lot more fun." Momchillo agreed.

"Put them down, down, down!" Chief Snap ordered. "Ready the bear, bear, bear and gather the others!"

Slimegut was dragged from the waters and dumped unceremoniously on the ice. His little gang were then dumped on top of him.

"We should never have swallowed that ferret!" The fat chief spat, wriggling his head free of the pile.

"I think we should have! If we'd eaten him properly-"

"I meant as the bear stupid! You numpties were all so surprised when he dropped on the platform!"

"Well I didn't expect him to start clawing me!" Came a muffled (and indignant) voice from the bottom of the pile.

"You idiots! What did you THINK would happen! Where ELSE would he have landed?!"

"Uhhh..."

"We thought you'd take care of him, boss."

"Yeah."

"MUST I DO EVERYTHING!? I tried to handle the slimeball! But by foul treachery the lying sneak-"

"Bit off your nose." Fret cut in, slinking in just out of reach of the toad. He wore a smirk more befitting the son of a warlord than someone desperate to wash the taste of said nose out of his mouth. "And escaped. Twice? Thrice?"

Slimegut sneered. "And so what? You got your tail saved in the end. Weren't you what beat-"

Fret smacked him across the face, laughing gleefully. "Oh but you're right! I didn't! I didn't do anything. You tied yourselves up then, didn't you?"

"My tongue ain't tied-"

"You're not threatening." He continued cackling.

"Longtongue got away!" The chieftain seemed desperate to save face. "He'll get you! He'll avenge me! He-he'll-"

"Wanna know what getting eaten feels like?" The ferret interrupted. "What about flying? Ever wanted to fly? A shave? All that skin must get itchy!" Fret turned away, shaking with mirth. "Should've killed me when you had the chance toad!"

"Maybe I will! One day ferret! One day!"

Fret ignored him and slunk back to Momchillo, who had watched it all with a small frown on his face. "I hope the bats don't kill them." The mouse began awkwardly as the ferret sat down besides him.

His companion harrumphed. "I suppose yeah."

"They didn't kill anybeast." The mouse pointed out.

"They would have." Fret said stubbornly. Clogg would have flayed their slimy fingers red, and Veil Sixclaw would have poisoned them and Fret swallowed abruptly. "B-but you're right." He was not Clogg and he was not Veil and as much as Slimegut deserved it Fret did not want the fat toad slain or flayed or poisoned. The ferret stared at his paw, would it one day go red? "I shouldn't have slapped him."

"He deserved that. And I thought it was funny." The mouse now knew to always keep track of Fret's ears during their conversations. Emotion was easily betrayed by the small movements they made. And now, flat as they were, it was obvious his companion was upset. "Although, you are pretty funny in general."

"Yes." There was the hint of a growl in his voice now. "I'm sure it's all very funny to you."

"That's not what I meant. Sometimes you make these really good jokes or you just do something that's so... so..." Momchillo trailed off and rubbed his wrists. "I was just trying to be nice."

"There ye are!" Snakeskin seemed to come out of nowhere. "Ye alrigh' Fret? Seemed kinda down after the 'ole Bartok thin'."

"I'm fine." The ferret lied.

Butch didn't come out of nowhere, but that was mostly because a beast his size was... rather hard to miss. "Don'tch wawy- when we getch to my place de food will be much bedder!"

Several bats seemed offended by this declaration, but ignored their large guest. Fret was confused about what he meant by 'get to my place' and was about to ask when a sudden commotion distracted him.

"Put me down!"

"Lemme go!"

"I'm innocent!"

One by one, the toads were hurled into the 'bear', kicking and screaming futilely. The overly large costume had been rather lavishly desecrated. Propped up on a few logs, dripping in some foul-smelling white substance (Fret did not know, nor want to know what it was) and spotted with random pieces of garbage, it looked like another example of the bat's horrendous cooking.

Slimegut was the last to go. His tongue tried and failed to find purchase on the ice and he sobbed helplessly as slowly but surely he was reeled into his brainchild. Fret almost pitied him. But it was rather hard to pity someone that would have done worse to him were their roles reversed.

As soon as the fat toad was safely tossed in, the 'bear's' jaws were shut and tied together.

"Let this be a lesson to any and all who see our clan, clan, clan as easy pickings!" Chief Snap shouted over the din of cheering and laughing bats. "We are merciful now Slimy ones but, but, but if you ever disturb our peace again we will not be so kind, kind, kind!"

The blubbering of the toads was lost amidst the uproar. The burly bat had done well to secure his position. He'd turned what might've been disaster into his greatest success. Not a single bat would hold a grudge and he'd made himself more popular than ever.

The bear suit, filled to the brim with toads both sobbing helplessly and spewing curses, was pushed onto the stream. Slowly, but surely, it sped away and Fret hoped dearly this would be his last, as Momchillo would put it, 'adventure'.

[Corporal Rubbadub]

i only just started it, but it's really good. How many chapters are there?

[The Grey Coincidence]

75 and counting XD

[Corporal Rubbadub]

*mouth falls open*

[The Grey Coincidence]

I mean... I've been writing this for nearly three years now. The word count is nearing 300, 000 as well.

[Corporal Rubbadub]

*eyes fall out*

[The Grey Coincidence]

Yeaaaaaaaaah I didn't expect the story to get this big. Not that I'm complaaaaaining XD

[The Grey Coincidence]

"What were you thinking?" Groaned one Jon Connington. Deep in the bowels of Chillgrave, the filthy little mouse sat up against an empty barrel.

The one-eyed hare pacing before him harrumphed with a note of great displeasure. "Well you didn't leave me a bally choice. It was either ally with the vermin or rot in an underused pothole of a cellar listening to your bally drunken singing!"

The small rodent groaned again. He was not sure what was worse, the sharp emptiness of his stomach or the pair of bells ringing in his skull. It was probably the throbbing headache come to think of it. Or the stiffness of his joints, the soreness of his tail, the weakness of his paws... It was a miracle he was alive, or so the elderly marten had said.

"Yer friend is an idjit an' lucky te be alive."

Connington had not liked being called an idiot, but he'd been too hungover to truly retort. By the time his mind had pieced together a suitable comeback Sick-Eyes had shoved a vile and foul-tasting potion down his throat. He'd been too busy coughing and spluttering to verbally duel, after that.

The alchohol had been sealed up, and now the only thing he drunk was whatever the vermin put into her 'medicine'.

"My singing... can't have been that... bally bad..." The mouse groaned a third time. All he did was groan, or rather, all he said came out as a groan. It was likely the medicine's fault.

"It was abominable." Said One-Eye Fleetfoot, as blunt as a hammer.

Connington coughed weakly and stopped trying to argue. He'd failed everybeast in every possible manner. He was not even strong enough to drink himself to death. Pathetic... pathetic... pathetic...

And with those dreary thoughts he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

The hare continued to pace in silence for some time before his companion's soft snoring interrupted his thoughts. Muttering foul words unsuitable for the ears of a cadet, the grizzled old Long Patrol Captain stomped over and with as much gentleness as his impatience could muster, dragged the rodent into a more comfortable position.

Pity made it's presence known to him, as it always did. The mouse had volunteered so many weeks ago, to help find the children. He'd been determined then, and made of strong stuff. Something had happened to him on the pirate ship. Connington had not been the same after that. He'd been weak, and not just from nearly drowning. Hiding in the wine cellars had been a necessity- it was the least-visited part of a castle- but it had allowed the mouse to drown himself over and over again in liquid courage.

And I was too weak to stop him... To be fair, Captain Fleetfoot had been under extreme stress. They were leagues away from home in the heart of enemy territory and unable to find a single one of the children. His only companion had suddenly lost all hope and any determination. The current situation was still stressful of course. The wolverine king was not a beast he'd like to face in battle, and no amount of kitchen slaves could hope to overthrow the garrison. It was getting harder and harder to deal with the newly-promoted vermin- most of whom were on the cautious side knowing what had befallen their predecessors, and with the newfound watchfulness of the castle at large it was more difficult than ever to get word and supplies to the 'dead' slaves working on the boats.

A ridiculously large galley had been selected as their method of escape. It was the only ship that could possibly fit them all, that was true, but it was old and in sore need of repairs. The sail had been replaced overnight a week before, and oars had been taken from the other ships. The last the slave rebellion had heard, a new rudder was being built.

In and of itself that was not hard to do, but the quantity they were dealing with made things difficult. When the rudder was ready and fitted, Sick-Eyes would lead the kitchen slaves and supplies onto the boats after sun down, it was up to One-Eye to get the mining slaves on board before morning. The pine marten was very clear on the fact that they would leave without him if they had to.

"The wolverine king'll want our heads. We ain't stickin' aroun' if yer late so make sure yer on board on time with anybeast ye wanna take with ye."

Connington wheezed weakly, and turned in his sleep. Something had happened to him on the pirate ship... and One-Eye had his suspicions. The ferret was here after all, and was not a slave. Connington had probably encountered his 'beloved nephew', and seeing what he was had broken him.

According to Silvertongue, "He's some pampered, prissy little princeling. Watched me paw get flayed an' everythin' the ungrateful runt! Ye know it's his fault too! Nobeast would've touched me if he didn't act all frightened."

If all that was true, and the weasel's paw was proof alone, then the ferret was beyond hope.

The hare was not sure how he felt about that. He had had very few interactions with the kit, none of them particularly memorable or pleasant, so perhaps it had been inevitable. Many had said so... yet Connington had (in imitation of his elder sister most likely) stubbornly refused to listen. Even when they had found the molemaid.

Captain Fleetfoot shook his head free of the ferret. Whatever he was now made no difference. He was no longer in the castle, Silvertongue had informed him.

"Left with all his pirate pals." The weasel snorted with contempt. "Funny, ain't it, how quickly he changes mates?"

And therefore he was... for the time being at least... of no concern.

Shaking his head free of the vermin youth, the hare once more made sure Connington would not be going anywhere before making his way towards the heart of their little rebellion. The kitchens.

"Yer late hare!" Sick-Eyes growled at the sight of him. The elderly marten pointed a claw at a small group of miniature weasels. "Yew! Flitchaye! Get this beast inter costume sharpish! Flayface is gonna be late te work at this rate an' the las' thin' we need is a suspicious highness stompin' into our kitchens!"

Perhaps it was age that made her so snappy. Although being the ringleader of an undercover rebellion/escape mission was bound to make anybeast 'snappy', after all they were the ones that would suffer the most if it all went south.

Getting into costume was a familiar pain now. The fox tail was wound and tied firmly around his comparatively tiny one, his ears pulled and flattened against his back. The skull went on. The mask went on. The fancy tunic went on. The belt with the whip went on. And after only a few moments Flayface the Slavemaster was standing where One-Eye Fleetfoot had once been.

"I assume the mouse delayed you." Came the sullen voice of Deathglare. The pine marten looked healthier than ever before- but that was hardly saying much. Before he'd been a slave and the victim of horrendous torture. Neither of those were likely to look healthy. The swelling around his eye had vanished though, only to be replaced by long bags of darkened flesh.

"He gets nightmares of waking up in a barrel." Sickletail told him, matter-of-factedly. "Heard him muttering in his sleep an' everythin'. 'Not the paw pads! Anythin' but the paw pads.'" She snickered, leaving the hare uncertain on the truth of the matter. Deathglare himself had not said anything.

One-Eye shrugged. "I'm not that late."

"Humph, tell that to the King." The dark-furred vermin slunk towards him and continued in a lower voice so as not to be overheard by the other kitchen workers. "We have not received any news from the ships, but there is much talk amidst the slaves. There are threescore more vermin to worry about- all called in from some Northern tribe. One is said to be a seer, and believes the murders are the responsibility of some ghost or spirit."

"Doesn't sound too bad, wot. Nothing we can't manage." The hare pointed out. His optimism was false though, he knew from seasons of experience that the worst news was yet to come.

"Two others have already searched the slavepits." Deathglare whispered harshly. "They wanted to search the kitchens too..." The pine marten sighed. "They will want some words with you after what Sick-Eyes said..."

"An' if ye think ye can come bargin' into my superior's kitchens without me superior's say-so ye've got another thin' comin' don't ye? Flayface was right about ye he was, a pair a' up-jumped, flea-bottomed ole rags! I should take ye out an' beat ye agains' the windows he said! Now if ye'll excuse me I've got slaves te rally an' breakfas' te make!"

The hare groaned. "Did she have to slam the door into their faces?"

"They were persistent little rags, I will give them that." Deathglare crossed his paws against his chest. "It's lucky we locked the doors, else they'd have found us in the middle of one of her cursed stories, nibbling on her cursed biscuits."

"I assume you did the good ole locking?"

"And I made sure I have the only key." A hint of a smile came and went, replaced with the sullen seriousness of one who knew their life was very much at risk.

Silence descended upon the two, but the kitchens were never a silent place. The slaves still had a castle to feed, and so chopped and rolled and stirred the vittles with the usual speed and dexterity of one under a whip. Sick-Eyes barked out all kinds of orders over the low chattering.

Briefly One-Eye considered broaching the topic of Fret, but decided against it. The marten was unlikely to give him any new information. It was abundantly clear the ferret was not in the castle. There was nothing to discuss. Except perhaps...

"Is the mouse getting better?" Deathglare asked, with a tone of general disinterest.

"He sings less and takes his medicine." The hare replied, non-comitally. "His health should improve yes. Although..." He hesitated, and made sure Silvertongue was nowhere in ear-shot. "It might be best not to mention any of the business with his nephew."

The pine marten raised an eyebrow. "The ferret?"

"Yes." The hare scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "At least... not until he's out of this place and better. I fear he would-"

"Do something stupid. I can't imagine why." Deathglare nodded briskly. "I will tell the others. The last thing we need now is that drunk up to mischief.

"I'm glad you agree, wot wot." One-Eye cleared his throat. "Anyways... I suppose I have some slavemastering to do."

"That too, we can agree on."

"The nerve o' those beasties!" Growled a pale white ermine. "Flea-bottomed rag! Pah! I'll turn her into one! See how much she talks then!"

Hopefully less than you... Spitteeth, Longclaw's personal bodyguard and a fox whose fur rivaled the ermine's in palour, was not pleased by the constant need of new beasts. Clogg had taken the better ones south, leaving the castle practically defenseless. The slaves had grown so bold and the murders so bad that the wolverine king had had to resort to calling in external support.

The beasts standing before Spitteeth now had come with threescore vermin behind their backs to bolster the diminished garrison. They were not as loyal as the mute rats, but made up for that in ferocity and initiative. The self-appointed leaders had already searched the slavepits, determined to avoid the grim fates of their predecessors and squash out any potential uprisings. As he was now endlessly being reminded, they had also wanted to search the kitchens.

"Who does he even thin' he is!" The ermine continued ranting. She was tall and lithe, with a fierceness as sharp as her teeth.

"Who?" Croaked an old grey rat. Rumor had it they were a seer. Spitteeth knew not whether it was true, but the elder vermin was as superstitious as they came.

"Flayface." Spat the ermine, as if the very word was intolerable.

The rat furrowed their brow. "I sense no Flayface here..."

"Coz he ain't here." The new Captain of the Gate, an overweight weasel, butted in. "We don' like te talk about beasts where they can see us, do we?"

Spitteeth remained silent. The fox had one paw on the hilt of his sword, as he always did, if ever the need arose he could have it drawn and sticking through somebeast in half a heartbeat. He was not sure what to make of the beasts before him. Seers were often frauds and never rats. The weasel had an air of arrogance around him as strong and foul as an odour. The ermine's idea of leadership was being loud and bossy and talking too much.

On second thought... were he not under orders Spitteeth knew exactly what he'd make of them.

Mincemeat.

But Longclaw had ordered him to watch them, and it was unwise (and often fatal) to act without a king's consent.

"Ye know... speakin' o' Flayface actually." The weasel turned about to make sure they were not being watched. "I have half a min' te stick him somethin' sharp and shove him off a cliff."

"You have no sense of caution Zabal." The rat warned in a low voice. "And lower your voice Chorba, my ears are old and-"

"Yer too cautious Far-Eyes!" Chorba, the ermine snapped. "Mark me word ye'll be the firs' te go."

"Are you threatening me?" Far-Eyes growled dangerously, her thin old hairs rising dangerously.

"Warnin'." Zabal interjected. "She's jus' warnin' ye. While we're here I suggest ye keep yer eyes close by- ye'll need 'em."

"I have no intention of parting with my eyes." The rat retorted. Turning on the spot she now chose to address Spitteeth. "I will require certain herbs, a cauldron and some means of lighting a fire. I must search for spirits... this is an old place and more than ghosts roam these halls at night. Never has a place been so touched by death. The walls reek of it, the wind whispers it-"

Spitteeth chose to tune her out at this point. Any idiot could tell him Chillgrave was touched with death. After some time she finished, and with a curt nod towards the other two, left. Spitteeth followed half-heartedly, his paw still on the handle of his blade.

Zabal turned towards the ermine as soon as they were out of earshot. "I will want words with this Flayface first... but it never hurt to plan ahead..."

[The Grey Coincidence]

"Plan ahead?" Chorba had known Zabal for many seasons now. The two rarely thought of the other amicably, but they worked well together. She cocked her head to the side, her voice lowering considerably. "This ain't anything about 'stickin' Flayface where it hurts' now is it?"

"That, me dear ole matey, is exactly what this is about." The fat weasel turned round. "I would prefer we spoke private-like. I ain' a big fan of all the smilin' beasts around us."

"I know a place." The ermine brushed past him with soft, almost silent pawsteps. "Follow me an' try an' be quiet about it."

To his credit, Zabal tried, but to an expert like Chorba his own pawsteps were as loud and as obvious as a thunderbolt. Down one corridor the two crept, before going through another. A left turn. A right turn. And through a doorway.

Little did either of them know they were being followed.

Zabal found himself in a small, dimly lit room. There were windows, and the door refused to close, but it would do. The fat weasel drew up a chair from a particularly dark corner and Chorba did likewise.

"So..." The ermine's eyes flickered to the doorway, before turning her full attention to her fellow tribesbeast. "About this Flayface then... what would we gain fur stickin' him?"

Zabal smiled. He'd been expecting the question, and as such, had a response ready. "Everythin'! One a' us'd be the new slavemaster fer starters, an' we'd be doin' ourselves a favour in the lon' run. When I was questionin' the slaves earlier this mornin'." He grinned cruelly at the memory. "Nobeas' seemed te know nothin' about no murders. 'Twas some other slave they said. They was not involved they said. An' they was tellin' the truth! Flayface is behin' all the killin's!" His grin faltered at the sight of Chorba's apparent unimpression.

"That be obvious, he comes in new slavemaster, starts killin' everybeas' else so he can have more power an' more control." She said after an awkward pause. "Anybeas' could tell ye that an' I'm pretty sure everybeast knows it." The ermine smirked and crossed her paws over her chest. "So, what do we do abouts it? The foxbeas' was sayin' Flayface be one a' the King's oldes' mateys."

There was another pause, wherein Zabal scratched at his neck in search of an answer. "Methinks that won' make a difference. Longclaw'll see we're doin' a better job an' Flayface was betrayin' him anyways so no harm done, eh?"

"Yer gonna hafta prove it te him, an' that ain' gonna be easy. Longclaw migh' decide yer the beas' betrayin' him. Methink he'd like settin' an example fur everybeas' an' kill ye all gory-like. Hang yer skull on the wall an' everythin'."

Zabal swallowed audibly and had to physically shake away the icy grip of fear threatening to hold him still forever. "Ye got any ideas yerself then?"

"I do matey." Chorba grinned widely and leaned in to whisper into the fat weasel's ear.

"Get a slave te do it?" Zabal repeated, at full volume.

Chorba growled and once more glanced suspiciously at the empty doorway. Nobeast had heard, but still she smacked the weasel's ear. "Hush ye idjit! Why'd ye thin' I leaned in te tell ye the plan!? What if somebeas' had heard!"

"Keep yer fur on." Zabal snapped, rubbing said ear. His own eyes darted from doorway to the ermine before him. "Usin' a slave ain' a bad idea... but how're ye gonna do that?"

"I'll order 'em do it, an' promise they'll be free an' get extra vittles an' the like. An' then I'll kill 'em as soon as the deed's good an' done." The ermine's sharp fangs gleamed with all the cold of an avalanche. "Ye'll fin' I can be very persuasive."

Zabal cackled with glee and smacked his paws together. "Soun's like a plan then! Whatcha thin' about goin' an' sayin' hello to the soon-to-be deadbeast?"

"Soun's like a plan." The two stood up, and not bothering to replace the chairs, left.

Blendfur breathed a small sigh of relief as soon as the fat weasel's footsteps were out of earshot. He had not been caught, and neither seemed to have suspected his presence, but sneaking in behind them and remaining still and silent- protected only by the darkness of his hiding place- was nerve-wracking. A small, thin beast of unusual coloring lingered in the dark of the corner for a while longer to make sure they were truly gone, before emerging.

His fur was dappled grey and brown, with small flecks of red here and there. He might been a stoat or a weasel, and the dark patches of fur around his eyes made 'ferret' an option too. His tunic was plain, the same colour and pattern as the walls of Chillgrave. It made sneaking around much easier, and as a spy he did lots of sneaking around. "Sometimes I even hide inside the skulls." He mused, stretching his tail free of the sores and cramps that came with crouching into the smallest amount of space possible. Blendfur clicked his spine with a sigh of contentment.

The weasel, Zabal, was an oaf who fancied himself cunning. The ermine was made of stronger stuff. She was smarter, and had the sense to glance at the doorway. But Blendfur had spied on shrewder. "Master will want to know." He reminded himself, in a voice as small as a child's. Peering through the doorway he found the corridor outside empty. Just as he liked it. With pawsteps and footfalls so silent they put tip-pawing to shame, Blendfur scurried through the cold halls of the castle.

Longclaw was not hard to find. When the king was not seated on the Throne of Chillgrave he was either dozing in his chambers or watching the slaves and slavemasters toiling in the quarry. Tunnels ran throughout the whole castle, and one of Longclaw's first acts as king had been to expand them. The previous owners of the castle had not been wolverines and as such there were plenty of cracks and crevices only smaller creatures could squeeze through and watch from.

"Yer Majesty." Came the voice of Blendfur.

Longclaw was startled. He did not jump up and he did not growl, but Blendfur had learned to read the subtle clues creatures gave out before he had learned to read. The wolverine's fur bristled and his tail stopped twitching abruptly. "Blendfur."

The smaller creature crept out of the shadows. Pride did not go well on spies, but he was one of the few beasts who could sneak past the King of Ice and Snow's frosty glare. Longclaw had expected him of course, this was a scheduled meeting. But-

"I thought you'd turn up later." His signature glare turned to a frown. "Well, what do you think? Can I trust these... reinforcements?"

Blendfur waited a while before answering. "I'm not sure about the seer, but Spitteeth seems loyal as ye already know of course. I have doubts about the other two though. The weasel thinks Flayface is behind the murders."

Longclaw raised an eyebrow. It was not a possibility he'd considered... But what did Flayface gain from slaying guardsbeasts and fellow captains? "And?"

"The ermine and he have conspired to... deal with him."

The wolverine's gaze hardened once more. It took all the discipline of a spy to not step away from the larger beast. Blendfur did not need to look at his paws to know that the King's famed claws were coming out. "Have they ever met him?"

"Not to my knowledge." Blendfur replied, his eyes fixed on Longclaw's feetpaws. "The ermine wanted to use a slave to do it. And then kill 'em afterwards so ye wouldn't find out."

The wolverine made a 'humph' kind of noise. "Do they truly think me so blind? That I would not notice the murder of one of my Captains taking place right under my nose?"

Blendfur decided mentioning that several captains had already needed replacing was a health and safety hazard.

"They plot to kill Flayface, within hours of setting footpaw within my halls. How long do you think it will be before they come for me?" Longclaw took a deep breath, and to the spy's immense (but well-hidden) relief, his claws slid back out of sight. "Still... it would not be good to antagonize them just yet. I have heard tell that Far-Eyes is indeed a gifted beast and we do not know where the loyalties of their threescore tribesbeasts lie, or how easy they will be to convert to my side. They may even be right about Flayface..."

"The murders did only start when he was promoted." Blendfur had spoken the words to himself countless times over. "But ye shouldn't discount the possibility that the slaves are responsible. The murders are probably in- in" He coughed awkwardly, trying to remember the next words. They came to him quickly. "Retaliation to the fact that his first act as slavemaster was to cook somebeast into stew."

Longclaw nodded. "Indeed. Neither can be discounted at this point... It is also possible that Flayface is using the slaves to murder the captains. If Chorba of all beasts can think of a plot like that... I am sure he could too." The wolverine king shrugged his massive shoulders. "In any case we should not act yet. Warn Flayface of these newcomers and the threat they pose towards him, but make sure he knows not your intent nor who you work for. It would also be wise to watch him from now on. If he is indeed responsible for these killings then he has overstepped his boundaries and outlived his usefulness."

Blendfur nodded.

"I have my doubts though. When I passed him by and made that foolish, brown-eyed stoat Slavemaster, Flayface made no attempt on my life, nor on the stoat's. And rest assured he could have split Brown-Eye in half a heartbeat had he the mind to do it. I wouldn't even have punished him for that. He knew it. I knew it. Yet the opportunity came and went and he did nothing. Why risk my wrath now? He has grown no younger and no fitter."

"Your wisdom never ceases to amaze me." The spy bowed before the King. It was always wise to bow in front of a King. "I shall do as you bid, and warn Flayface of Zabal and Chorba's plottings."

"And keep an eye on him." Longclaw added, with a dismissive wave of his paw.

Blendfur slunk back into the shadows of the tunnels, and left without another sound.

Longclaw was not a fan of the little spy, but he did his job well. Spies were rarely a threat anyways, and his many dealings with the Manywhispers had only strengthened his power of secrecy.

Slavemasters though... His gaze turned back to the secret window. Through it he could see Flayface in all his masked glory. They were nearly always a problem...

The kitchens were filled with the sound of chopping. A cacophony of blades hitting boards. The voice of an elderly marten, so shriveled up and wrinkled they resembled a piece of crumpled paper, cut through the din to bark out orders. "Roll the dough flatter, rudderbutt, afore I flatten yer hide!"

The addressed otter, a young beast with less fingers than he should've had, smiled.

Immediately Blendfur could tell something was amiss. The smile was the first clue, but there were many others.

A small group of particularly small weasels were snickering and poking one another with butter knives. From the way they behaved he knew them to be Flitchaye- members of rather primitive weasel tribes famous for their knock-out smoke and barkcloth camouflage. It was not so much the knife-playing that threw him off, but the playfulness of it... the giggling did not belong among forced labour.

A doddery old mouse who's large ears drooped like laundry on a washing line was snoozing in a corner. Somebeast had even tucked in the blankets! While older slaves were sometimes treated less harshly (depending on the slavemaster) to allow one to sleep in broad daylight was the kind of babying no sensible vermin would allow!

Blendfur watched one of the Flitchaye hurl their knife at another. The weasel ducked in time and the blunted blade soared through the air and into an innocent stack of dishes which promptly shattered into little pieces. A female weasel had been piling them up. Besides her another weasel, small compared to anybeast but the Flitchaye, turned and snarled.

"OI! That's me wife yer aimin' at! Throw another knife an' I'll toss ye and yer little pack of savages into the puddin'!" He waved a thickly-bandaged paw in their direction. Another clue that something was amiss- no slavemaster as sadistic as Flayface would treat a wounded slave.

The pack of weasels snarled back. "It norra Flitchaye fault d'potterclay smashacrash!"

"Pokieknife slipaslip!"

"It norra Flitchaye fault!"

"Blame d'pokieknife!"

The shorter weasel made to stomp over, but was grabbed by what Blendfur assumed to be his wife. "It doesn't matter." She said flatly.

"Doesn't matter? The idjit's could've hit ye! They'll be sorry when I'm done with 'em!"

"Worraworra!" Cried one of the savage little weasels. This cry was soon picked up by the other ones. "Worraworra! Worrraworra! Killyer d' bigbeast!"

"I said it doesn't matter." The female weasel hissed, the grip on her mate's shoulder tightening. "Now get back to work afore I pummel ye."

The male weasel flared up with rage, before abruptly deflating. Without another word he turned his back on the Flitchaye, who continued their little chant of 'worraworra'.

And the pine marten, who seemed to be in charge from the way she was shouting... had done nothing. His suspicions growing by the minute, Blendfur slunk closer towards the pair of weasels, who now seemed deep in conversation.

"But it does matter!" The male one was insisting. "An' we ought te tell the others about it 'coz I don't-"

"I told ye already!" The female one hissed, wiping the remains of the dishes into a small bin. "We ain't tellin' the others because it ain't important an' they've all got enough te deal with without ye bringin' up pointless arguments."

"Pointless? Pointless! This is anythin' but pointless!" Either Blendfur was missing some key information or the male weasel had a big ego. Both were equally likely at this point. Yet before either weasel could say another word there was a cry of pain and the clatter of a falling pan.

A hedgehog was now sucking a sore paw, at their feetpaws lay an upturned pastry.

"Now look what ye've done! Ye've gone an' dropped the pie!" The elderly pine marten 'tsked' loudly and stomped over towards the slave. "Shame on yer hedgepig! What did I tell ye about wearin' the oven glove, eh?" Instead of causing further pain towards the helpless slave, as was the common practice amongst slavemasters everywhere, the elderly marten took their paw in hers and gently massaged it. "Dip it in some cold water an' ye'll be fine. OI! Somebeas' clean up this mess!"

A shrew scurried over and gingerly flipped the pie back over. This slave had the audacity to dip a finger into the stuffing and plop it into their mouth! The usual punishment for such a deed was to starve the insolent slave. Somebeast like Flayface would have thrown in a few lashes too and a good kick was never amiss. The marten playfully tugged the base of their tail, almost tripping the shrew in the process.

"Best be careful greedyguts, elsewise the next pie might have bits of shrew in it. I'm rather partial te yer kind."

"Ye'll find I don't cook well." Blendfur's jaw went slack at the audacity of the slave. "I burn easily an' have this horrible habit of chewin' off me own crust. Now if ye'll excuse me, I've got a pie to devour!"

The marten chuckled as the slave mock-stomped away. She turned and her old eyes found his own watchful ones. There was a moment of pause. The air seemed to chill, their surroundings blurred over and in the stillness nothing seemed to exist or make a sound besides the pair of them.

Then just as suddenly as it had come, the moment was over. Blendfur's eyes darted to the open doorway, the only way in and out of the kitchens. The marten seemed to know what he was thinking. Or maybe it was a very accurate guess. In any case she pointed a claw at him. "Lock the door an' catch that beast! We've got an intruder!"

Before anybeast could properly register the order, Blendfur was off. Like a cork from a bottle he shot over a tabletop and sprinted as fast as his paws could carry him. The slaves however, seemed quick on the uptake. A well-built mole and the lack-fingered otter came charging at him too fast to stop. But Blendfur had been pursued by swifter, and did not need to glance backwards to know that the thump! he heard was the pair of them running into each other.

A dark furred marten dived for his feetpaws. Blendfur hopped over the beast in the nick of time- some of the slaves pursuing him were less lucky and came tripped onto the floor. The vermin spy hit the ground running. A knife flew past his ears and buried itself into a tabletop before him.

"The door! The door!" The old marten was screeching.

Blendfur felt his pace quicken, but it was too late. The weasel pair he'd been observing before slammed the door shut.

"Haha! Gotcha!" Cried the shorter one as the taller of the two came rushing forwards.

Blendfur sidestepped the thrust of her kitchen knife but was dealt a heavy blow on the muzzle. Sickletail swung again, but this time the spy was prepared and managed to duck under it. She stabbed forwards forcing Blendfur backwards. He soon found himself pressed against a tabletop. Diving to the side he dodged another slash of the knife and then he was off again.

Hopping onto the tabletop, he darted out of reach. Sickletail's knife narrowly missed. The door was not an option. He would not be able to get past the weasel guarding it. Blendfur did not know of any tunnels leading into the kitchens. Presumably whoever had built Chillgrave saw no reason to put them there. Although he had heard a rumour that Longclaw had sealed all the tunnels off as soon as Prince Bork was old enough to crawl.

"Flitchayeeeeee! Flitchayeeeeeee!" The Flitchaye pounced as one and became a snarling pile of fists and feetpaws. Unbeknownst to them they had completely missed their target.

The spy abruptly changed directions to avoid a hare with a frying pan (said hare went on to accidentally strike down an unfortunate rat with said frying pan).

"Most sincerest apologies honored Slinktail, wot. It was not at all my intention to dent this lovely little pan with your bally face."

Blendfur was of the opinion that the apology above sounded, somehow, unapologetic. Perhaps he could turn all the slaves against each other at this rate. Such a strategy however was a gamble and not one he'd like to bet his life against.

Then he saw it! A small window amidst a stack of barrels. He veered suddenly in it's direction, rushing helter skelter past a pair of shrews. A third knife grazed his shoulder and a fourth neatly removed some fur from between his ears. Whoever was throwing them (and he was sure it wasn't the Flitchaye) was a good shot. But he'd almost made it. The window was within reach!

Before he could jump out of it however he was tackled to the side by a burly mole.

"Oi's gort 'im marm!" Cried the kitchen slave maintaining a firm grip on the spy's tunic.

Whoever the mole was, they seemed to underestimate just how much Blendfur wanted to stay alive. Slipping free of the cloth the vermin sprung onto a smaller barrel and shot out the window without a sound. The mole was left dumbstruck, the cloth still in his claws.

"You fool! You let him get away!" Deathglare rushed past so quickly he himself nearly left the kitchens. The marten's head glared down at the sea below.

"Stupid moles." Silvertongue spat, hopping onto the barrel himself to better see what was going on. Standing on tip-paw he poked his head out and glanced briefly at the sharp rocks snarling up at them from around manes of frosted waves.

Both weasel and marten were dumbstruck.

"I think the mole may have killed him actually."

"Killed, eh? Wot wot."

"Lemme see!"

"Is it really dead?"

"Yerrherraherrherr! Go flapperfly outta d'wallhole! Watchybeast go splatsplat!"

"Yerrherr! Mushacrush a bigbit!"

The slaves clamored over, many wanted to see it for themselves. Head after head popped out to take a glance at the waters below. Deathglare and Silvertongue were soon smothered by the pushing, shoving bodies of overly-curious creatures.

"There's nothing to see here!" The pine marten wheezed, now sandwiched between a pair of Flitchaye. Silvertongue said something too, but the words were more muffled and harder to hear.

"Alright everybeast! Back te work!" Came the voice of Sick-Eyes. "Well done, yer intruder has been dealt with. Now clean up the mess ye all made catchin' him!"

One by one the slaves crowded out the window and back to their work stations, leaving a disgruntled Silvertongue to stare at the sea below. "That was too close fer comfort." He muttered, before heading back towards his wife.

Blendfur's arms were beginning to strain. The howling winds would probably have torn him clear off the cliff-side if they were any stronger. The stone he clung to now was old and damp, and his grip weak. It took all his strength of will not to look down, for he knew that would be the death of him. It was not the first time he'd used the window to access the kitchens, but he had never had cause to leave with such... haste. He'd had far too many brushes with death to count, but somehow they never seemed to get more bearable.

Longclaw would want to know of course, and Blendfur would have to do a lot of thinking and rehearsing to figure out what exactly he was supposed to say... His Master would want all the details.

Slowly but surely the small form of a mustelid edged along the cliffside.

[The Grey Coincidence]

The vermin watched him from the wall-tops. Tiny specks of brown and white and grey. The distant furbodies so greatly resembled ants that the toad felt his tummy rumble. Soon, he thought. Soon we shall all be feasting.

Warthog was small as far as toads went, yet still larger than the average mouse. He had traveled swiftly through the tunnels, avoiding danger at every step. Guided by the hunger in his stomach and the promise of beetlejuice he had crossed tunnels and pits and valleys of snow so deep a smaller creature might have drowned in it. Warthog was lucky enough to know how to swim.

He was named for the innumerable little warts all over his form and the general sluggishness of his appearance (it was commonly thought among toads and frogs alike that a hog was a rare kind of snail), and now armed with the small black and white hairs of their captive ferret, the amphibian stomped towards the high walls of dark stone.

"I bear a message!" He called up to the ants above. "A message for your King!"

Standing on the chilly walls high above, a pair of rats were frowning down at him from where they stood at their posts. From so high above the creature below could've been anything from a worm to a bear. Granted, it would have to be a very big worm to even be visible from afar.

One guardsbeast leaned towards the other and whispered.

"Did ye hear what he said?"

The other leaned back and covered the side of his muzzle with a paw. "Nah mate. Wind go' in the way diddenit?"

The toad below stomped the ground impatiently. He had not expected a warm welcome. The Lands of Ice and Snow were rarely warm, and the King of said lands had to be colder. But to be ignored at the gates after days of traveling? It was more irritating than chilling and set the amphibious blood within him boiling. Were it not for this rage he would probably have frozen to death on the spot. It might have been spring-time but the weather was always cold. He lacked fur and was dressed in nothing more than a loincloth. Wrapping his arms about him, the toad began to shiver violently. "I said open these gates! I bear a message for your King!"

Between the whistling of the ever present wind and the height of the walls, the two rats still could not make out a word the toad was saying.

"Ye think we ought te tell somebeast?"

"Migh' be impor'ant."

"Aye, we'd better tell somebeast impor'ant."

The toad below was growing impatient. The ants had left the walltops, presumably to open the gate. It had better be to open the gate. Or else Warthog would make sure they suffered... somehow.

A few minutes later the toad lost all patience and threw himself against the gate. His fists slammed into the cold iron with the fury of a badger in bloodwrath and the mad strength of a fly. "Let me in! Let me in you foul furbodies!"

A particularly vicious kick, delivered to the base of the door, set him hopping on one webbed foot. The snow was not exactly melting, but the warmer temperatures made it slicker than usual. Within moments the toad had slipped and fallen on his rump. He howled in pain and his cries punched through the chilly air, penetrating everything in it's path.

It was then that the gates swung open.

"State yer business frog!" Demanded a weasel with a stomach to rival Slimegut's. He was unarmed, unarmoured and wrapped in a thick cloak. The beast besides him seemed ready to kill at a moment's notice; there was a coldness in her eyes Warthog only ever saw in corpses.

Still the toad was nothing if not smug. After all, he, Warthog the Mighty, had been selected to act as the envoy of his tribe. Surely Slimegut had chosen him for a reason? His skill in battle, his courage, his craftiness, his intellect, his ability to solve problems easily, and of course- his powers of intimidation and complex manipulation. "And who are you?" The toad sneered. "Don't yew furbodies know how to treat an envoy?"

The weasel's fur bristled with barely-suppressed rage. The ermine besides him gave a little snicker. "Yer talkin' te Zabal, newly promoted Captain of the Guard, an' I be Chorba. Now state yer business quick-like an' scram."

Pulling himself out of the snow Warthog spoke in a thunderous voice- the kind one did to impress dibbuns. "I bear a message for the Warlord Mad-Eye Marik, or else the King of Ice and Snow himself, Longclaw! 'Tis for their ears alone I will speak." He patted a small pouch hanging from his belt. "There is something I must show them as well, they will want to see it."

The weasel looked to the ermine, who seemed even more amused. "Ye really wan' te talk te the king? Don't ye have any idea what Longclaw does te false envoys? Firs' off ye haven't got a letter, ye haven't got proper winterwear either so whoever sent ye's as dumb as ye are an' Mad-Eye Marik's been dead fur about ten seasons."

He should've known some unimportant vermin lackey would cause problems for this important mission. Who did this furbody think she was anyways? "Then take me before the King. I bear an important message that he will want to hear, from none other than Chief Slimegut of the Yellowbellies!" He spoke with such vigor and fervour that, were it a thunderstorm, lightning would have flashed behind him.

If the Lands of Ice and Snow had enough grass to house grasshoppers, crickets would have chirped at the silence. As it was the icy air was still for five full minutes, before laughter shattered it.

Chorba was rolling on the snow and clutching her stomach. She shook and rolled and cackled from the deepest part of her lungs. Zabal was making a conscious effort to stay upright but shook with such severity that it seemed like he was constantly on the verge of collapse. Warthog's green face reddened and the toad balled his webbed fingers into fists.

"Chief whoohoohoohoo o-o-of the whahahahahat?" The weasel asked between his snickers.

"SLIMEGUT OF THE YELLOWBELLIES!" Hollered the infuriated messenger.

"Told ye it was impor'ant." Came the thin, wispy voice of a rat.

"Too impor'ant fer us." Came the other, equally small voice.

Besides the pair of rodents stood a creature so utterly terrifying that, were Warthog not blessed with courage (or, alternatively, were he blessed with common sense) the toad would have hopped back to the valleys of snow and the tunnels beneath. The fox was masked, but walked stiffly, as if always in extreme pain. It's tail dragged along the snow besides him, lifeless and rotten-smelling. Any good healer would have amputated it. Flayface seemed at once half-dead and half-alive.

"Yes, ye did well te call me here, wot." The pair of rats frowned up at the taller beast.

"Wot wot sir?" One ventured to ask.

"Wooot're ye still doin' out of yer posts!" The fox cracked his whip with newfound fury. "Back te yer stations, the pair of ye afore I decide ye ought te be chucked inter the sea!"

The rats scampered away as fast as a pair of flying arrows.

Warthog would have admired the command this furbody held over his minions had he not seen Slimegut do the same on multiple occasions. As it was he was simply annoyed that another vermin was here- he had a message fit for a King and nothing else!

Still, at least the other two vermin had stopped laughing.

"So yer the one causin' all the ruckus, are ye?" The fox demanded of the toad he now towered above. "State yer business rapidly or suffer the wrath of me whip!"

Warthog was getting tired of repeating the same sentence over and over again. Were vermin truly so thick-skulled and weak-eared? "I, Warthog, Envoy of the Great Yellowbelly Tribe, bear a message for-"

"Well, well, well if it ain't Dungface!" Ignoring Warthog completely now, the ermine turned towards the slavemaster. "I've been meanin' te have words with ye fox."

"Take as many as ye like." The slaver retorted, his good eye narrowing.

"Allow us te introduce ourselves first." The weasel too turned his back on Warthog. "I'm Zabal and this is Chorba. Longclaw called us over te deal with some problems he's been havin'. Rebellious slaves an' the like."

"I bear an important message!" Warthog called loudly. None of them seemed to hear him.

"Pleasure te meet ye then, my fine foul-odoured friend." Was Flayface's cool reply. "I take it the pair of ye are the soggy-bottomed idjits who tried te tamper with breakfast this mornin'?"

"Soggy-bottomed what now?" Chorba demanded, her sharp teeth bared.

"Idjits."

"I bear a mess-"

"We weren't tamperin' with nothin'." Zabal hissed. "We were simply makin' sure everythin' was goin' smooth-like."

"Before I was present? A likely story. I'm sure Longclaw will believe it." Flayface cracked his whip over the weasel's head to quell any further talk on the matter. "Nobeast enters the kitchen without me express written consent! An' if I find out ye were snoopin' around again I'll report the pair of ye."

"Is that a threat?" Chorba asked, her paws resting on the hilts of a pair of daggers.

"Are ye plannin' on snoopin' around again?"

"Only if I think yer up to somethin'!" The ermine shot back. By now Warthog had given up trying to bring the attention back to himself.

Flayface harrumphed. "Accusing me, eh? Keep up yer good work an' ye'll wind up a skull on this here fortress. Now, onto important matters. Toad follow me, I'll take ye te the King."

"Finally!" Warthog exclaimed, shoving past Chorba and the fat weasel. "A furbody what knows how to do their job correctly!"

Zabal gritted his teeth, clenched his paws into fists and glared at the fox's retreating back. Chorba punched him.

"What was that fer?" He hissed, rubbing a bruised shoulder.

"Needed te hit somethin'." She replied dismissively. The ermine signaled for the gates to be shut before motioning for Zabal to follow. "Let's see wot the King has te say about this."

"A message?" Longclaw's claws were on full display now, each the size of a small sword. Idly he waved away a strange, small, dripping wet creature who had been whispering in his hear moments before. The filthy furbody, whatever it was, gave the group a wary look before scurrying from the halls.

The castle temperature had failed to impress Warthog, the skulls had sent nary a shiver down his spine, the pained footsteps of his guide and the muttering of the vermin behind them had failed to instill in him a sense of dread. The King was yet another disappointment. There were many beasts that happily lived their lives never having seen something larger than a hare. Badgers were rare creatures and wolverines rarer still. To the average beast being in the presence of such an animal would have incited awe, horror and a sense of wonder. As it was wolverines looked quite small next to a bear.

The King sat up straight, clearly lacking the confidence of one who could lounge about on a throne. He was not paying attention to an envoy of another, more powerful creature. His claws, while indeed long, seemed to lack purpose. Longclaw was more like a thug than a true King. A thuggish child playing a game reserved for the wise. Slimegut could've made short work of him.

"A message." Warthog repeated, chest puffed out and inflated. He glanced over the vermin in the hall. The two idiots he'd met at the gate were there,having followed him and his escorter; the masked fox that went by Flayface. A bored-looking old rat entered from a side-door, and stood scowling next to a pale white fox armed with a sword the colour of snowflakes. "From Slimegut, Chief of the Great Yellowbelly Tribe, who sends you his regards."

The wolverine snorted. "I wasn't aware a Great Yellowbelly Tribe even existed." He waved a massive paw. "Please, do tell what this Slimegut has to say."

Warthog smiled. Oh how he'd waited for this moment... "He demands ransom!"

"Ransom?" Longclaw repeated, suddenly puzzled.

"We have your warlord's heir!" The toad said wickedly, relishing the way everybeast present seemed to glance at the King with worry. "Fufret! The son of Mad-Eye Marik! I have his fur here in this pouch." Plucking said pouch off his belt, Warthog hurled it at the wolverine's feet. There it burst open and scattered small furs of black and white all over the floor.

"Warlord's hair more like." Muttered Flayface. Longclaw snorted again, to Warthog's delight. He was no doubt at a loss for words or coherent language.

"Hair indeed! We will treat the boy well, but you must understand that if there is any delay in carrying out our demands." The toad's lips parted into a sinister, toothless smile. "He shall loose more than fur." The wolverine was going red in the face, no doubt suppressed rage. Warthog went on, loving the attention. "We do not ask for much... just... twenty times his weight in bugs and beetles!"

There was silence, a stunned silence Warthog liked to think. He had no doubt his name would go down in toad history. The Bog-dweller who brought down a King!

Any and all visions of glory and power vanished the moment Longclaw burst into laughter.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Boomed the voice of the wolverine. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" His great clawed paw slapped his knee with enough strength to kill a lesser beast. "Y-you- w-wait hahahahaha! Let me cahahahatch my breaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Warthog felt his confidence waning and his chest deflating. The masked fox gazed at him with pity in his eye, the fat weasel was smiling gleefully (which could not be a good thing) and Longclaw still had his head thrown up at the ceiling. The air was growing colder and Warthog could not help noting the size of the wolverine's fangs. He swallowed audibly and shivered, waiting for what could only be called diabolical laughter to end.

At last it did and the wolverine composed himself, his broad chest shaking with suppressed giggles. "You are... quite the tribe."

"Th-thank you." Warthog stuttered out, now truly frightened.

"But please do tell me why I should care about this... Fufret. Last I heard Marik had many sons and daughters but left no heir. How could he? He had nothing to leave behind. He was nothing. Any child of his would be heir to nothing but misery and misfortune." He flicked a speck of dust off his throne, the tip of his claw making a loud scratching sound. "You call Marick my warlord? He has been dead for about ten seasons and whatever that beast was he was not mine. Oh yes, he grovelled at my feetpaws when he needed something and everything he ever had, he had because of me." Longclaw smiled down at the shivering toad. "Yet I would not raise a claw to help him were it not to my benefit. Tell me, why should I do anything for one of his kits?"

"B-b-because..." Warthog swallowed again. He was well and truly at a loss for words. "B-b-because the little beast said- he said to tell his father about it o-or you. An-and he said there would be a ransom. Offered to write a l-letter an-and everything."

Longclaw shook his head, on the verge of uncontrollable laughter again. "The Great Yellowbelly Tribe... outsmarted by a child. Of course he'd tell you he was important, that way you're sure to keep him alive. It would not surprise me if he has already slipped through your webbed little fingers. A clever little beast no doubt. And what was your plan again? To remove body parts and bring them to me for inspection until I decided, from the goodness of my heart, to pay a ransom of insects to you?"

"I-i-it wasn't m-my plan y-your m-majesty Kingbeast f-furbody. 'Twas Slimegut's our Chief's. I-I said the boy was lying. I-I thought it m-might be a-"

"Spitteeth, if our guest lies again I would like you to behead him and add his skull to the walls." Longclaw waited for the white fox to give a small nod of understanding, before turning back to Warthog. "I find your stupidity amusing, but do not insult my intelligence. You toads have long tongues, but they're not all made of silver." The wolverine paused, idly drawing circles on the arms of his throne. "I could send you back to your tribe now, you would inform them of the ferret's duplicity and the kit will meet a grisly end if he has not already escaped."

Warthog nodded feverishly. "Y-yes. I-I'll tell them the l-little rat was lying! W-we'll make the brat suffer! L-lots of painful things!"

"Indeed." Longclaw steepled his fingers. "But I'm not going to do that. To allow your tribe to murder a helpless vermin... is not the act of a Vermin King. Instead I will lock you up in the coldest and darkest of my dungeons. Flayface can decide whether or not he wants to feed you. When the next toad comes, with presumably the next piece of ferret, I will bring you out. Whichever part is missing from the kit, I will remove from you. Pray they remove his tail and not his head."

Warthog's eyes went as wide as a pair of saucepans. He saw pity flash across the eyes of the dead-fox, but a moment later it was gone. "B-b-but I-I'm j-just the m-m-mess-"

"Yes, yes." The large vermin sounded bored. "Don't kill the messenger and all that rubbish. Never fear frog-" The fact that Warthog did not immediately respond with 'I am a toad' spoke volumes of the depth of his fear. "I am sure once your Chief hears of your plight he will swiftly release the captive ferret. We will in turn release whatever's left of you."

The sound of loud whimpering pierced the chilly air of the throne room, followed swiftly by the cackles of Zabal and Chorba.

"Shoulda run when ye had the chance tadpole!" Hooted the fat weasel. Swaggering over he delivered a sharp kick to the once-proud amphibian's nose. This only increased the volume of the whimpers.

"Take him away." Longclaw commanded. "Put him somewhere dark and cold and..." He paused on the verge of saying 'damp'. Weren't frogs partial to swamps? "And dry. "

Zabal nodded and placed a firm paw on the toad's shoulder. "Don't worry yer majesty, I'll take good care of him."

Chorba slunk over and placed a paw on the toad's other shoulder. "Aye, yer Kingliness. Make sure he feels right at home!" With identical, sadistic cackles the two dragged the terrified toad away.

One-Eye Fleetfoot felt a stab of pity for the poor toad. Neither vermin nor bog-dwellers were known for their mercy, the arrangement at paw would mean suffering for everybeast involved and the captives especially. He felt a stab of pity too, for the ferret... even if they were Mad-Eye Marik's son. The wolverine king had sounded dismissive of it. What kind of a name was Fufret anyways? The poor beast was undoubtedly terrified. Strangely enough the name sounded familiar... He had no more time to ponder for Longclaw was speaking again.

"Spitteeth, please escort Far-Eyes to her chambers. Something has come to my attention that I must have a discussion with Flayface." The wolverine smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. His fangs gleamed and his claws motioned the disguised hare closer.

One-Eye Fleetfoot could only guess what he wanted.

[The Grey Coincidence]

The door closed behind the seer and the bodyguard, leaving Flayface (or rather, Fleetfoot) alone with the Wolverine King. Longclaw pushed himself off his throne and once more motioned for the masked 'fox' to draw closer.

One-Eye had been in Longclaw's presence enough times by now to not immediately be put off by the fangs and claws, but he had yet to master the feeling of complete terror that gripped him by the chest whenever they were alone. The King of Ice and Snow was a humongous creature, easily capable of tearing his limbs apart if he so willed.

And what did he want now? The hare doubted it was anything to do with meals. The wording was odd too, what had come to his attention? His heart racing One-Eye had to force his feetpaws forwards. They yearned to turn and run and flee and hide, but many seasons in the Long Patrol had given him full control of his mind and body. If he ran now it would either give the game away completely or draw unnecessary suspicion. If the matter was trivial fleeing could only lead to an investigation... and he doubted his disguise would hold under scrutiny.

So he marched forwards, till he and Longclaw stood face to face. Or as close as face to face as they could be, when one was so much taller than the other.

"You seem to have grown shorter." The wolverine mused, inspecting his claws. "Age getting to you?"

"No sah! Just in me knees."

Longclaw seemed amused by the comment, but did not make any further reply. He placed a strong arm over the fox's shoulders and guided him to another, smaller room. One-Eye was forced to follow. He was surprised, in this close proximity, to find that Longclaw smelled... strange. There was a hint of the usual vermin musk the Captain had been forced to get used to, buried under some strong herbs and the eerily familiar scent of blood. It, like everything else about the Vermin King, sent shivers down his spine.

"I have known you for a long time Flayface, since we were children. I would be lying to you if I did not admit here and now that replacing you would bring great pain."

One-Eye had his doubts about this, but Flayface knew better than to say so. "Good thing that ain't part of yer plan, eh yer Clawliness?" It was surprisingly easy to do a vermin accent in the presence of Longclaw. The wolverine scared all the 'wot's out of him.

"I have heard troubling news... the kitchen slaves... they grow unruly. Something will have to be done about them..."

Fleetfoot dearly hoped the wolverine had not heard him swallow. He opened his mouth to say something, yet found his throat as dry as dusty tome. His heart began to race and his one good eye searched the hallway for escape routes. How carefully planned was this? Had Longclaw perhaps positioned guardbeasts behind the door? Was Spitteeth waiting for him instead?

"But disciplining slaves is not what I wanted to talk about." One-Eye had barely enough time to breathe a silent sigh of relief; they had come to a halt in front of a window. "There they are... Zabal and Chorba..."

Down in the courtyard the fat weasel and slender ermine came into view, dragging a helpless and loudly sobbing (the hare and wolverine could hear his wailing quite clearly from several floors above) Warthog through the wet snow.

"You are not a beast prone to action, which is why I tell you this. These two plot your murder."

One-Eye, who had only a few moments before been terrified of facing an arranged murder, snorted derisively. "Not good at keepin' secrets are they yer Majesty?"

Longclaw smirked. "I am good at finding out things I want to know. My agent informs me that their current plan involves hiring a slave to do you in. Said slave would be under the impression that they'd be freed by their new and noble masters, rather than slain in what Zabal would call 'an act of revenge'." Longclaw sighed. "This is not the first assassination you have faced but be careful. Do not openly antagonize them but keep your wits always about you."

"With all due respect I can handle a slave, yer Clawliness." One-Eye did not bother hiding the amusement in his voice.

"I do not doubt that. But like I said, replacing you will be hard. These other beasts on the other paw... I will need time to find a replacement though. And maybe they will uncover something we have missed. Or our resident Captain-killer might do us a favor and start with the weasel." He waved a paw dismissively, ending the conversation. "I will not steal you from your duties any longer. You are dismissed."

"Aye yer Majesty." 'Flayface' bowed awkwardly and turned away, eager to leave the wolverine's presence. Longclaw called out to him just before he turned the corner.

"Oh and Flayface." The disguised hare and the King each half-turned to face the other. "Do something about that tail." Longclaw wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It looks ghastly."

"And he jumped out the window?" Between his frightening experience in close proximity to the wolverine king, the news of a planned attempt on 'his' life, the strange familiarity of the name Fufret and the arrival of one rather unintelligent toad, One-eye Fleetfoot had arrived at the kitchens exhausted, worn-out and ready for rest. He had promptly been bombarded by slaves both traumatized and excited about a very close run in with some strange vermin.

"Yuzz zuree! Oi've even gotten moiself this 'ere fancy tuney-ic!" A burly mole gestured to the tunic he was wearing- easily the finest piece of clothing in the kitchens.

One-Eye was not entirely even sure what exactly had happened. A shrew had been going on about how he'd been licking a pie or something and the Flitchaye (brought to the kitchens solely for their alleged experience with cutting beasts into something edible) were for some reason chanting in tribal verminspeak. A hedgehog's poor paw had been burnt... somehow... and one of the rats had dented a hare's frying pan with their face. Or had the frying pan dented the rat's face?

"It was a close call." Deathglare spoke in his usual whisper, drawing the attention back to himself in an attempt to quell the excitement. He was one of the few beasts present who liked to look at a glass half-empty. "If Silvertongue had not gotten to the door in time-"

"Ye can thank me later." The weasel said with a grin.

"I don't intend to." The pine marten snapped. He had been finding it harder and harder as of late to maintain his air of calm, quiet confidence. "That beast should not have gotten as close as he did. Imagine if he'd brought Longclaw down upon us." Deathglare's eyes glazed over and gave him the look of a beast half-mad. He resembled a deranged lunatic so much that most of the kitchen slaves began backing off. Silvertongue would have too, but the marten held him firmly by the front. The weasel could not seem to take his eyes away from Deathglare's own. "Imagine the horrible, terrible things he'd do to us all before he put us to death." The pine marten ranted, his voice growing to a steady hiss. "We have killed and cooked almost a dozen of his creatures and fed them to him. We are tearing his boats apart. We are planning to escape and take all his slaves. Do you have any idea how precarious our situation is? We were lucky this time, next time we won't be and if you all-"

"An' if ye talk any louder Deathglare the whole damn castle'll hear ye!" Sick-Eyes snapped loudly. Her voice was like a crack of thunder and at once the spell was broken. The kitchen slaves turned away from the scene and went back to their work stations.

Silvertongue, who had been shrinking into himself and away from the terrible thoughts penetrating his mind, straightened up and roughly pushed Deathglare away. He waved his bandaged paw threateningly. "An' no need te worry yerself Death, nobeast's gonna get in again." He spun on his heel and picked out the first slave he lay eyes on. "Moler Mole, yer in charge of the door. Anybeast strange so much as sticks their nose in I want ye to slam it over all their toes!"

Said 'moler mole', who preferred to go by Dawnsnout (he had a strange yellow mark near the tip of his muzzle) scratched the top of his head with a digging claw."Zlam... wutt zurr?"

"I want ye te slam the door on their face an' crush every toe in their footpaws if they so much as peep inte the kitchens, ye hear me?"

The mole was still confused and frowned deeply. "Purrdon oi zurr, but iffen 'ee could tell oi 'oo 'they'-"

Sick-Eyes rolled her eyes, snatched up a nearby stool, stomped over to the door with all the exxagerated loud stomping an old beast could muster and slammed the same stool upon the ground with enough strength (of will) to behead a badger. "Hey mole, why don't ye sit by this here door, on this here stool?"

Dawnsnout must have thought this a great idea, for he eagerly trotted forwards with a 'thank 'ee marm' followed by a comment about how his knees were tired... or something like that. Sometime molespeech was hard even for hare ears.

The doorway now sufficiently guarded, Silvertongue made his way over to Sickletail without a backwards glance.

Deathglare 'harrumphed' and turned his attention to Fleetfoot. "So how was your day hare?"

"Bally eventful." One-Eye replied, pulling the fox skull off with a loud pop! He sighed in contentment, his ears shooting up to their usual positions. Raising a paw to stroke them, he began listing off the day's events. "A toad showed up at the gates demanding some sort of ransom. Their tribe of Yellowballies or whatsits captured some poor beast called... Fufret I think, wot. Sounds jolly familiar, don't it?"

"Not particularly." In any case Deathglare seemed more interested in his claws.

"Well anyways..." One-Eye wriggled free of the slaver tunic and pulled on the dirty and ragged remains of his Long Patrol uniform. "I met the new Captains, Zibal and Charba or something like that and I am frankly not impressed wot wot. Very rude and demanding, foul of tongue and foul of scent and they have already made plans to dispose of me." He managed to stop himself from saying 'typical vermin'. Somehow he doubted his present company would appreciate the comment.

Now Deathglare seemed interested. He raised an eyebrow. "Truly?"

"Legitimately ole chap, wot wot. Longclaw told me himself don'tcha know? Said they were thinking of using a slave to do me in."

The pine marten snorted and could not hide the smirk that crossed his lips. "Their deceptive ability is one thing we won't have to worry about."

A cry of pain brought the pair's attention (and indeed, nearly every eye in the kitchen) to Silvertongue. The weasel was clutching his bandaged paw and trying desperately to hide the stream of tears slipping down his face. Sickletail was holding a rolling pin in one paw, the other tentatively reaching towards her mate's.

"Nothin' te see here!" Sick-Eyes barked, once more reminding everybeast that she was in charge. "Silver's just broke a claw or somethin'. Back te work!"

You did not need to be a Long Patrol Captain to piece together what had happened. One-Eye frowned as he turned back to Deathglare. "They've been quite argumentative as of late, those two."

Deathglare shrugged. "They're married, it comes with the territory."

Fleetfoot had been married, and did not recall much in the way of argumentativeness. When he said so, the pine marten merely shrugged.

"Woodlanders must be different, but I have not seen a single vermin couple that has not bickered at some point."

One-Eye glanced back to make sure neither weasel was paying attention to them. "Bickered? She nearly flattened his bad paw-"

"And it's hardly the first time." Deathglare rolled his eyes. "Only a few seasons ago she gave him a pair of black eyes. And the season before that she broke his leg. Sickletail is a warrior, hare. She may not mean to hurt him but she does and Silvertongue puts up with it because he knows she would never truly hurt him. Or at least... she never means to. I sometimes feel she does not know her own strength, especially when her judgement is clouded. The stress is likely getting to her... I won't lie it is starting to get to me too."

"Me as well ole chap. Me as well... but I guess we don't really have a choi-"

The black-furred vermin raised a paw for silence. "Please do not comfort me with something I already know. I am keenly aware that nobeast has got a better idea."

The hare rolled his eyes and decided he had had enough of the marten. It had been a long day and he was barely holding back the yawns as it was. "I had better be off then. Wouldn't want to keep Connington w-waaaaaaaaaiting."

"Your bed must not wait too long either." Deathglare remarked, his paws waving Fleetfoot away. "Sleep well hare."