Round 4: (BloodSpine) Lost Dreams

[BrookSkimmer]

Mist rose from the churning sea as the remaining boats of the former BloodSpine crew made for the shores of the isle. It was long past morning and the sun's rays pierced the remaining storm clouds with fierce intensity. The air had become humid, cloying to fur and damp to breath. Five long boats remained of Visefang's once proud crew.

Captain Visefang, Lord of all Seas was dead. His body, broken in battle had been cast into the depths by creatures from the dwellings he had sought to conquer. Who would have thought that a ragged band of country mice and squirrels would have the resolve to bring down the Tyrant of the Oceans? Even now the swelling waters that he had claimed mastery over bore his body further into their murky depths.

Hooktail gasped as salt water again ravaged the wounds to his body. He had fought viciously against the squirrel maid and lost. It was a wonder that he had survived the encounter. He torn body shuddered from blood lose as he pulled away from the boat and heaved himself onto the dry sand. It stuck to his fur and sand gnats immediately began to gather around his wounds. The now pitiful creature began to moan for death to take him.

Blasted squirrel! Hmmmm, no. We were forced on each other. We both had no choice.

He found himself fervently hoping the squirrel he had faced would live.

Why? She almost took your life. And you will die, soon now...

He grunted and removed a canteen from his belt. He had taken it from the supplies on the boat before coming to shore. There was enough water inside to last him maybe a day if more water was not found by whatever beasts were well enough to forage.

Death. What will it be like I wonder?

He brought the canteen to his lips and let water trickle down his throat. It tasted sweet and for one moment he felt ease come over him. But it only lasted a moment. His wounds ached terribly. They were most likely life threatening.

I've seen worse on beasts that have lived. Gates! I don't want to die. There's so much I've yet to see.

He crawled further, into the shade of one of the many palm trees that dotted the sandy island. No hills nor mountains, just a spot of sand with a few trees floating in a vast sea.

Ah! See, there's plenty worse than you.

He watched as other creatures made landfall. Some were badly injured, far worse than Hooktail. Others looked fit enough. One thing was for sure, if they did not help each other, they would all die.

[Tam and Martin]

* Crickets chirruped in the humidity as it reigned over the land with fierce heat. The small salt marsh near the tideline was still as a millpond with not even the slightest breeze stirring it. The peaceful scene was disturbed by a parting in the muddy water and then a bony paw flailing around wildly on top of the surface. A low branch, hanging down off of a thin tree, was grabbed onto by the paw. An object started hauling itself out of the marsh with great struggle. A round lump,  the head, appeared out of the marsh followed by a body and limbs. It was Sculrig. The fox had managed to save himself from dying by pushing up from the bottom of the marsh floor and grabbing on to the branch with grim fierceness. Sculrig laid himself down on the bankside with great difficulty, vomiting water and mud to extract the mucky sludge from his lungs and stomach. Fresh Air! That was what Sculrig most loved now! Cool, fresh, life-giving air! A few minutes past while the muddy figure lay there thinking of the previous battle between him and the mouse.

How was it possible that he had been beaten? He had defeated others much stronger but there was something much different about his latest opponent. She had been stronger, maybe not physically but stronger inwardly. She wasn't overconfident but still he could tell she was strong in mind, never missing a single thing he did. It almost seemed like her eyes could burn into his and tell what he was thinking. She wasn't like any other he had fought. Hate, madness and the feeling that he had failed coursed through his body. Most of all hate for the young mouse that had beaten him. Hoarse laughter echoed in his mind as he thought of himself telling his Captain, Visefang, about his defeat. A little mousey beat me Captain! Me, Sculrig, First mate of the ship Bloodspine!

Anger gave Sculrig the energy to stand feebly and limp along the tideline. Clutching his bloody wounds in anguish, he stumbled along up the shore. He looked back at his pawprits he had left in the sand. I will never let myself be beaten again, He thought. Sculrig continued his slow pace forward, not knowing where he was going. It was then that he tripped and fell on the beach and hit his head on a log. His body went limp and his head went light as stars exploded in his eyes. He lifted his head feebly then dropped it as the world went black upon him....

One hour later.

Sculrig opened his eyes but the sandy beach did not meet his gaze, Only endless bluey-green. Next he felt cold and wet. Then it dawned on him; he was floating in the ocean! Sculrig couldn't remember much of how he had got into the ocean but he remembered that he fell onto a log. Yes, that might be how he had gotten here. He had fallen on the log and when the tide came in he had floated out in the ocean. The fox came fully awake when his log was overturned in the waves and he was flung into the water! Sculrig never was afraid of water and he was a great swimmer but with his last ordeal, he was terrified of it! He thrashed helplessly in the water for awhile but then a refreshing feeling swept over him. His battle wounds felt better in the water and the fox's body was invigorated! He shuddered with delight and started swimming towards a small blodge on the horizon that he hoped was land.

Now he could think clearer. He had been beaten and guilt from his failure was ominous. Then a stricken fear shot through him. He couldn't tell anyone about his defeat! What would he say then? Maybe he could say that he had to fight with a burly otter and... the otter pushed him under the water and then he was left there to die. That explanation satisfied him enough. Then a devious idea formed in Sculrig's crafty brain. What if Visefang never lived through the battle? Then he would be leader of the Bloodspine! He was after all Second-in-Command. Captain Sculrig! He liked the sound of that! The fox would rule the crew and come back to the tribe that had so cruelly beaten him in battle and take revenge. That mouse will suffer long and slow when I get to her. He hoped fervently that Visefang would be dead!

Sculrig soon reached the the blodge which turned out to be an island. An island! He swam as hard as he could to the beach. THe tired fox scanned the coast ahead of him. A wide edged fin came crashing forward through the water! Shark! Sculrig recognized the animal right away and kicked wildly in the water! The wild beast came closer while the fox hoped he could make it to land before he met with the shark. Once Sculrig felt sand underpaw he stood up and waded as fast as he could to the shore. The shark was only a few feet away when Sculrig took a bounding leap! The massive shark, with teeth still opened wide, was left bewildered that Sculrig had gotten away from him. Panting, Sculrig fell gratefully upon the sand! Dry, precious land! He would never leave it again! Sculrig lay down for a rest on the sand for a few minutes, not a care in the world bothering him as he slumped down on the sand.

A burn in his back caused him to roll over on his stomach. Then the same burning feeling came again in his stomach! The sand, it was burning his wounds! He stood up immediately and scratched at where the sand was burning! His grazes, which were scabbed over, were broken open with his digging claws. Blood flowed openly on his body turning his stomach fur from a white to a red! The sight of blood running down his chest triggered the fox to feel light again then sway. Then he fell and blacked out on the beach.

[Redwaller]

The waves swished softly against the longboat, as it made its way towards an island of sand and rocks. Gavin-Asher sat in the boat, looking into empty space. His wounds hurt him unbearably, making it hard for him to think clearly.

'What had happened again? Ah, yes, the mouse swung her sword at me, and hit me on the side of the head; I must have fallen unconscious, for I do not remember a thing that happened after that. The mouse probably thought I was dead, or took pity over me, for when I woke up, I was alone amongst the slain.' As much as he hated it, he had to admit that the mouse was a pretty good swordmaid. 'I must have stumbled foolishly while I fought, or she wouldn't have beat me so easily.' He gave a wicked snicker. 'Though I did give her some pretty dreadful injuries.

He shook his head softly, and looked down into the sea, at the sharks lurking around the boat, waiting for an unfortunate paw to fall into the water.

A few hours later, the boat ground to shore. They had come upon a small creek, a proper place to land. Gasher slowly stood up, holding on to the side of the boat for support. The salty water made his leg wound burn even more intolerably, almost making him fall into the icy depths lying below him. He hopped on shore, taking care not to put any weight on his injured leg; he made his way towards a tree, where he could lean on, and rest until either help or death came to get him.

He sat down carefully, and licked a wound on his front paw. Sand had infiltrated his numerous wounds, threatening to infect them. He tried to lick the sand away, but it only made him hurt more as the sand dug deeper. He shifted his position, and gave a yelp of pain. Feeling around in his back, his hand suddenly stumbled across a piece of driftwood deeply embedded in his back. He tried tugging it free, but only managed to increase the pain. He left off trying to get it out and sought a comfortable position.

Hours passed like years, with the pain increasing every passing second. He had previously tried to put some herbs on his wounds, but, being poorly versed in plantlore, he had rubbed pepperwort onto his wounds, making them hurt as if they were on fire. He had quickly run to the sea, to cool down the pain in the seawater, but as he was about to jump into the water, a fox had cannoned out of the water, bulling him aside. Following quickly behind, a shark with huge white teeth and blood-red eyes that prowled near the shore, waiting for a poor victim to plunge into the sea's icy depth.

Retreating quickly, he had turned again to the cover of the tree. 'Where's that mad fox, I wonder. Maybe he could help me get that confounded spike out o' me back. But he probably went to hide somewhere in the rocks.' He absently feeled the piece of wood protruding painfully out of his back. 'How did I get that piece o' driftwood there? Probably when I fell down and blacked out. However it got there, it needs to get out, and fast.' He again tried to find a comfortable position to sleep away what few hours were left to him before he would fall into the depths of the neverwaking slumber.

[Romsca]

*When she had finished fighting Vannøyne, Navarre had passed out because of loss of blood. Now, with the tide coming in, she started to wake up as the water threatened to drown her. It hurt to move, but she had to or she would die. She slowly got up limped a few yards inland before passing out again.

Later that night, she dimly and half-consciously noticed that she was being put on a stretcher and carried into a boat and sailing by her crew. After a few hours, she sat up and looked around. Where were they? She hardly cared. She was still alive; that was more than she expected. She felt light-headed, thirsty, and tired, and her wounds ached. She looked at her injuries and saw that they had already been sewn and bandaged. She was exhausted from fighting the tough mouse, and decided she needed sleep. She tried her best to get comfortable despite the hard, wooden deck of the longboat and her painful injuries.

By the time dawn came, the island was in sight. Navarre climbed out of the boat and onto the island. She had momentarily forgotten what had happened. She stretched, and immediately regretted it. The pain in her side was sharp, and she gasped. Her wound had started bleeding again. The bandage over it had fresh blood on it. She hoped the stitches were still in place. She sighed. She would have to be careful from then on.

Navarre looked around the small, rocky island. It appeared as if she and the two rats who rowed her here were the only living creatures on the entire island. She would have to check thoroughly to make sure, though. She wandered the perimeter of the island while the rats stayed behind to set up camp. She did not expect to find anyone. The island was mostly rocks and coarse sand, with the occasional patch of grass or a palm tree. However, there was a miniature, dense rainforest at its center. There was also a narrow river that cut across the island.

Even though she did not think she would find anyone, she soon saw a dark shape in the distance; it was near the mouth of the stream on the opposite side of the island from where they landed. As she got closer, she saw it was one of the longboats that the crew of the Bloodspine had used. She called out to see if anyone was there. "HEY! YOU ONE O' THE CREW OF THE BLOODSPINE?" There was no response. She walked closer (she could not run or jog, due to her injuries) and saw Gavin-Asher, or as the crew had nicknamed him, Gasher. At first she was surprised and even excited to see one of her crew on this desert island, but then she remembered that Gasher had murdered her brother. She went to pull out her sword, but then realized for the first time that day that she did not have it with her. She cursed, and decided she would just leave Gasher where he was. He was either dead or sleeping, and he was not a threat to her.

Further along the beach, after she had almost gone all the way around the island, she saw someone else. She knew immediately it was Sculrig, because of his bright red fur. Despite her typical dislike of foxes, Sculrig was a welcome sight. Like Gasher, he was either dead or sleeping. She hoped he was just sleeping. She walked up to him and saw that he was wounded. She knew she had to get help; the rats who rowed her here would do a good job helping him.

[Tam and Martin]

* Sculrig did not have a restful sleep. Dreams of the vengeful members of Luke's tribe haunted the realms of slumber. First they surrounded him and drew their their weapons. Sculrig lay helpless on the beach watching the tribe of Luke prepare themselves to fire! Lancing pain shot through his sinewy frame as lances, swords, arrows, appears and every manner of weapons thudded into his body. The fox stood up and screeched in pain!

There was no one on the beach though. Waves swished softly on the tideline while Sculrig panted hardly. Was it all a dream or was it a warning for something? The beach was deserted except for a few seagulls picking at remains of fish or crabs. He then noticed the pain again. His wounds! That's what it was that was burning him. He now remembered how he had been here again. He had blacked out on the beach and how long he had been lying there he didn't know. Sculrig glanced up to the sun. It was nearly at it's highest which means it's about noon. His gazed moved down and met the ocean. Shining blue in it's splendorous magnificence, sun shining off of it gloriously.

A small rumble from his stomach reminded him he needed to eat. The last time he had eaten was before he boarded shore for battle against the cave.
I wonder whats on this island? He thought to himself, Hopefully there's food. With his back still aching and his clothing ripped he hobbled off inland towards a clump of trees which, he hoped, had some food in store.

Sculrig was upon the trees very quickly but it felt like years had passed to the weary fox. His one eye, the good one, was closing slowly due to the tiredness from swimming. His other eye, the milky white orb, was sightless. Not watching where he was going, Sculrig blundered into a palm tree. Falling backwards with stars dancing in front of his eyes, Sculrig was hit on the head with a heavy, round, object. A coconut! Quickly, He pulled his dirk from his sheath and plunged it into the hard frame of the coconut. Pulling the knife out was a bit more difficult due to the fact that his strength was not that good, but after a few minutes of pulling and shoving, it came free.

Immediately, Sculrig put the coconut to his lips and sucked the liquid gratefully! It was sweet and warm from the sun and nourishing! Once the liquid was out, Sculrig tended to his wounds. First he grabbed a glob of mud and slung it over his back and stomach to cool down the cuts and stop the bleeding. He found a long palm leaf and tied it around his body to hold the mud in place.

If Sculrig was to find someone that could help him, his most likely option would be to walk back to the beach and wait for some more of the crew there. He set of on his trek across the island.

[Kitsune]

*Farril paused to catch his breath. This squirrel was tough! He prepared to strike her again when he heard a triumphant shout somewhere. He saw that the battle had ended, and Visefang was dead! And serves him right, too. He was mad! Farril thought. He sheathed his saber.

"Very well then. The battle is over, and slaying you would only get a mob of your angry friends on my heels. You are an exceptional dueler, and have earned my respect, even though you don't fight with a sword. If fate wills it, we will meet again. But for now, farewell!" He turned and strode off, lucky to have minimal wounds compared to the many beasts lying dead on the ground around him.


He continued to walk down the beach. He had not chosen Visefang as his captain, nor would he ever have. Visefang went crazy over an injury and the want for revenge. But, Farril would still miss being on a ship with a crew. It was not like he would never get back on a ship, but it seemed that it would be a while before he back on one. The rolling waves, the smell of the sea, and the sense of flying and freedom would have to wait. For now he would have to find the rest of the crew.


After more walking with no luck, he settled down and built a small fire. He still had some dry rations, but most were smashed since he fell on his satchel when Xbalientie tripped him with her bolas. They were still edible, at least. He ate what little he had and gazed into the setting sun. He shifted and instantly regretted it, feeling a twinge of pain in his side.
I had better treat that, Farril thought. He got up and walked down to the water and splashed some sea water on  his side where Xbalientie had cut him. It stung, but he knew it would help his wound. He ripped part of his shirt off and soaked it in the sea. Wrapping it around his abdomen to keep his wound clean (OOC), he walked back to his fire which had died because of the faint breeze.


Since there was nothing else to do, he began to ponder the course of his life. He had run away to seek adventure, not necessarily be a pirate. But because he had the choice to be a pirate or to die, he chose to be a deckhand. His first battle unnerved him, since all the fighting he had done, no matter how skilled he was, was never a fight to the death.

How things have changed, Farril thought. He now had no feelings over killing, unless it was the regret that it had been an excellent dueler or an innocent beast.

And even that might've changed. Maybe it's good I'm not a pirate anymore. He finished the last of his crumbs and stood up. He noticed two rats carrying a stretcher with Navarre on it. He decided to follow them and see where they were going. He kicked sand over the fire, just in case, and started down the beach towards them. He was several hundred feet from them when they cast off in a little boat, in the direction of a small island on the horizon. When Farril got to the shore, he noticed another small boat half submerged in the water.

After dragging it onto the beach, he noticed that it was only a small hole which had sunk it. He looked around for something to plug it with. He noticed a charred cork, likely from one of the crew taking a drink before battle, washed up from the tide. Thankfully, it blocked the hole with little leakage. He found and oar which had broken in two, and tossed it in the boat. "Well, at least it's better than nothing!" Farril said out loud. It will take a while to row to the island with an oar like this. Farril sighed. He had a long night ahead.

[Romsca]

*After she saw Sculrig, Navarre rushed to the camp as fast as her injuries would allow her. Sculrig needed to get help as quickly as possible. She knew the rats were probably the only way he could get immediate medical attention. However, when she came to the camp, she only saw one of the rats. He was busy tending a fire and cooking a meal for the three of them. She asked him where the other rat was; he said he was in the tent, probably sleeping. She went over, and she didn't even need to look inside to tell he was sleeping. She could hear him snoring from several yards away. She sighed, and returned to the rat who was cooking. Even though he was busy, she told him all about how Gasher, and especially Sculrig, needed help. The rat shook his head and explained that he couldn't help the fox because he was busy. She continued to beg for his assistance but he never relented. After a little while, he left to forage for more ingredients for the meal. She would need to find someone else.

Navarre suddenly remembered the rat who was sleeping inside the tent. She could tell he was still fast asleep, so she took a wooden bucket and filled it with ocean water. Then, she snuck inside the tent and drenched him with the water she had gotten from the ocean. The rat woke up, shocked and enraged that anyone would do this to him. When he had gotten over his initial surprise at being soaked, he was able to focus enough to ask her why she was here and why she had woken him up so rudely. She then explained the situation that some of their crew was in. He started to fall asleep again, but the ferret kicked him roughly. He whined that he needed his sleep. After a while of arguing, Navarre finally convinced him to help Sculrig. He said it would take him a while to find all of his medical supplies, though. Whenever he would find two essential tools, he would lose one of them in the sand or under a blanket or he would accidentally put it back. Navarre quickly got tired of this, and told him she would simply bring Sculrig back to their camp.

That's funny, she thought as she walked along the beach, I could've sworn he was right here when I left him! Oh well, I'll just wait here for about an hour, and if I don't see him I'll go back and check tomorrow.

[Tam and Martin]

* Sculrig's origional pain swept over him again while walking back to the shore. Feeling Dizzy and Light-headed, The fox blundered his way blindly through the small patch of trees ahead of the beach. Many things swirled in front of the fox's almost blind eyes. A band of otters, all carrying javelins were running at him wildly, waving their weapons high. Could they be the same bunch that had so hardly fought them on the northern coast? He wouldn't stay to find out. Sculrig made as to run but he couldn't move! They came closer and faster, yelling warcries left and right, shouting as though death was the only thing they were thinking about! Sculrig screamed out in pain! Then he fell on his back and rolled down to the shore, stunned but still alive. Was it all another dream? Sculrig lay, stunned cold on the shore.

[321tumbler]

  Vela head swirled around as she slowly opened her eyes. Tall red-barked trees with dark green leaves surrounded her and the sun golden rays filtered through onto her face. "Where am I?" she thought. Then, she remembered the crazy mouse and his sword slicing into her flesh. She decided that she had died and now she was awaiting her judgment. However, there was very familiar about this place and decided to look around to see if she could learn more. When she stood up and walked a few steps, she just had to lean back against a tree. The forest moved arøund and around for three minutes and then everything became clear. She had lived in this place as a child before her parents died. What she hadn't seen before is a little cottage built next to a tree. Ever since the rat had given her the scar, she couldn't remember much about herself.

  She went around to the window of the house and peeked in; there was a little fox standing next to a bed. Vela noticed that there were two foxes in the bed. She thought to herself "Those foxes must be my parents and the little one me!" The little fox put a wet cloth on the female foxes forehead. "Please mommy, please wake up! Oh daddy! Why won't she wake up?" the fox cried. Her father slowly said, "She can't wake up Vela. She's gone to the land of sunny slopes and quiet streams. I'll be joining her in a few minutes."
"Don't daddy, don't!"
"Everyone does some day my little star. Some people just do sooner than others. There is just one thing I want you to know."
"What daddy? Tell me."
"Never, ever, let the fact that most of our species is bad change you. You know that your mother and I decided that we would change our ways because what happened to my father and you know that "
"Bye daddy. I love you."
"Bye Vela."
Then the father breathed his last breath and went to join Vela's mother.

  The older Vela felt something wet on her cheek and noticed it was a tear. she turned and sat down against the wall of her old house. Now she knew what happened, but why does it matter. She had been so bad that she probably wouldn't be allowed to see her parents. She would die and never correct the wrongs she had done. "Vela, my daughter." a voice said. She looked up and there was her father. The forest had disappeared; she was floating around in emptiness. "Vela," he said again, "don't give up hold on, hold on."


She woke up with water splashing up into her mouth. Spluttering she dragged herself farther up the shore and hoped someone would find her.

[Romsca]

Navarre saw Sculrig roll down to the shore and stop near her footpaws. She was shocked by the amount of dried blood on his fur. She knelt down and tried to wake him up by gently shaking him. She waited a while, and by evening, she had fallen asleep.

Sometime around midnight, the ferret had a dream of a mouse wanting to kill her. She woke up, afraid. After a few minutes, she realized it was just a dream. She suddenly remembered Sculrig. Quietly, she got up and shook him gently again. This time he woke up. She had not expected him to; she almost jumped when he opened his eyes.

[Redwaller]

* Gasher woke up, feeling stiffer than before, but his wounds didn't hurt as bad. In fact, the pain was almost gone, then he noticed he wasn't on the shore anymore: He was lying on a soft hay mattress, in a dimly lit cave, with a fire at one end. An old rocking chair stood near the fire, with a rug lying in front of it. A few earthenware jugs stood in a recess of the cave, among sacks of food and hooks full of fish dangling from the ceiling. A musty but pleasant odour of leaves hung around the place.

Gavin-Asher sat up carefully, but found that he was able to move without the searing pain of the day before, he assumed it had been a day since, but possibly more. He got up and looked around for his weapons, which he had firmly tied to his body so as not to lose them, but only his baselard could be found, standing on a shelf. He retrieved it and put it back in its sheath, than proceeded to explore the cave. He went first to the pantry, and ate some dried fish, with a few swigs of freshwater. As he was about to spill the contents of a sack onto the neatly swept floor, a shine caught his eye. Turning swiftly around, he found himself against the wall, with a sword at his throat. "Don't you dare touch my food!" The owner of the voice was a full grown female otter. "I've done enough already in taking you in and caring for you, and you want to spoil my food! You ungrateful fool!" She roughly pushed him to the ground, still holding the sword in a defensive way. "Get up and clean up the mess!" He looked at her with his eyes full of hatred, but did not attempt to attack her, instead, he got up and swept up the floor with the broom she had handed him. "I should throw you back into the sea, but instead I'll let you go find your friends. But don't you try go get help, or you'll be in for a surprise." With a swift movement, she knocked him out cold

When he woke up, the world around him was dark. It must be night already. He thought to himself. He felt the lump on his head which the otter had dealt him. Savage creature. All I did was eat some of her food and spill some foul tasting spices which she called hotroot. Standing up, he found his weapons lying along with a haversack full of provisions, and a map to his mates camp. He picked everything up and went on his way, following the map's instructions.

The night passed slowly, as the lonesome creature made his way through the sparse vegetation and rocks. Gasher had strapped back all of his weapons tightly on his back, even if they rubbed against his bandages, making his wounds sting slightly at every step, it did not hurt much, but it was annoying. In the haversack, a dozen fish lay among starfish and jellyfish. There was also two canteens full to the brim, one with freshwater, and the other with some sort of cordial. He had eaten one of the fishes, and nibbled cautiously on a starfish, which he found to be quite tasty, if you ate it slowly.

The map had led him through torturous ways, and along narrow paths, with dizzying height on one side, and a rock wall full of sharp spikes protruding from all sides. When he had finally passed through these dangerous ways, he came across a stretch of water, narrow but very deep. He tried swimming across, but a swift current groped at him, trying to drag him under the icy sheet of water. Making his way back, he looked around for anything that might help him, and noticed a palm tree lying close to the water. He pushed it down into the water, revealing under a swarming life. Bugs of all sizes crawled around in panic. He let go of the trunk and took his baselard. For the next half hour, he amused himself by chopping insects into little pieces, as he used to when he was little.

When all of the insects had either been killed, wounded mortally, or fled, he got up and proceeded to push the log into the water. He hopped nimbly onto it, and paddled his way across. As he came halfway to the other side, sharp little teeth grabbed his left foot, searing pain shooting through his leg. He felt his foot, and the thing grabbed onto his paw. He shot his paw around wildly, trying to free himself from the tiny fish with sharp teeth. He paddled wildly on, the log flying through the water like an arrow. He jumped on shore and slapped his paw hardly on a tree. His paw came in brutal contact with the trunk of the tree, smashing the fish cruelly. He freed his paw from the razor sharp teeth, and dropped the fish in his haversack. Then went on his route.

A few hours later...

Gavin-Asher walked wearily on. The sun had gone up, but the freezing cold still hung around the place. As he walked around a pillar of rock, his eyes fell upon a tent, with a campfire next to it. An hungering smell wafted up to his nostrils, making his mouth water. He walked on, hope filling his heart. A few moments later, he was running down the slope towards the tent. As he was about to come into the camp, a rat came from behind the tree and knocked Gasher out with an iron ladle.

[Tam and Martin]

Sculrig felt himself being shaken slightly then shot his eyes open quickly. He was very surprised to see Navarre standing above him. He stood up but then fell back. Pain in his back was aching him all over. Thirst and Pain. Sculrig felt those first. He nodded to Navarre, standing over him, and said huskily, "Water!"
Sculrig couldn't keep his head up or his eyes open. He lay back and hoped fervently Navarre would bring some water. Just one drop of cool clean water would be welcome. Water...

[Redwaller]

* Light suddenly came, filling out the darkness that surrounded everything. Gavin-Asher opened his eyes slowly, and found himself looking straight into the eyes of a rat. "Sorry mate. I thought ye were an emeny*." The rat had a look of repentance on his ugly features. "I hopes ye don't mind." Gasher's fist shot up, delivering a neat uppercut. "Don't yew try knocking me out again!" He snarled viciously as he got up painfully. The rat had given him another bump on his head, disfiguring him slightly. His injured pride hurt him more than the pain throbbing through his head, and the constant noise of rushing blood in his ears. He got out of the tent, and took a deep breath. 'At last! Civilized creatures at last! Even though this one isn't much. But that rat tending the fire seems like a decent chap' He walked over to the figure hunched over the pot, putting twigs and dry grass on the fire below. "Hi, mate! What are ye doin'?" The rat looked at him with a somewhat hostile expression. "Don't yew touch me food! Or I'll gut ya!" At this statement, Gasher's foul temperament came back. "Oh? And who's gonna stop me?" He dealt the rat a swift punch in the guts. He took a ladle and dipped it in the mixture. He sneered at the rat mockingly. "Hm, smells good, I wonders if it tastes good?" He took a mouthful, and gave the rat a kick. "It's good enough that I thinks I'll take it!" He unhooked the pot from the wooden pole and started walking away with it. But the rat got to his paws and took a scimitar out of his belt. "Ye'll pay for touching me food!" He charged forward, but Gavin was faster. He whirled around, crossbow in paw, and let fly. At such a distance, the missile could not miss. The rat fell flat on his face, with the arrow protruding from his head. "It's a good thing I always carry my crossbow charged".

Gavin-Asher picked up the fallen pot, with what remained of the concoction, and went to sit down under a palm tree. His wounds did not hurt him much anymore, so he was able to sit down without too much pain. He took a spoon from his haversack and ate the fiery broth. “It’d put hair on your chest if ye ate this every day!” He told himself contentedly. “Too bad I had to kill the cook, but maybe his companion knows as much as the other one did.” Happy with the thought, he gulped down the rest of his soup and let the pot slip down from his paws, as he listened to the sounds of the wild. Crickets chirruped and birds sang loudly, as the wind rustled the leaves of the big palm trees, which populated most of the island. The sounds that crowded the island cheered him up somewhat. Was he going soft? He felt a little sorry at killing the cook, but he thought it was only because of the loss of a good cook. Suddenly, a thought came into his mind. ‘What if killing is not the only thing that matters in life?’ His thirst for blood was finally quenched it seemed, for all desire to see death had left him. Instead, an urge for beauty filled him, leaving no space for anything. ‘What if I dedicated my life to beauty and joy? I could bring happiness to those who needed. Be a light in the darkest of times. I could help build this world to be a better place, a place of peace and love, where evil and fear have no room to strive.’ But then the evil of his heart, deeply encrusted, came back with a rush, drowning all his feelings for happiness. He got up and kicked the pot, as his foul mood came back. But though he tried to forget his sudden passion, all the hope, love, joy and happiness had finally found a place in his heart, a tiny space, barely enough to fit all of this in, but a space nonetheless. Now beauty was living and breathing in him, striving slowly to a magnificent outburst; but the time for that was not coming now, and it might take years for it to be strong enough to chase the evil out of his heart.

Still in a sulky mood, Gasher walked back to the camp, and threw the dead rat’s carcass onto the fire, piling dried palm leaves on top. An acrid smell of burning fur and flesh soon filled the air, drowning every pleasant smell that drifted into the camp from the environing forests and shores. Gavin walked into the tent, where the rat was still lying unconscious, and looked around the cramped space. A piece of sail lay in a corner, with some lengths of rope. He bent down and picked up the bundle, shooing a small crab trying to attack him with his tiny little pincers. He went some way out of the camp, walking for a few minutes, until he was sure he was away enough from the other rat. Once he was satisfied with the location, he threw the bundle on the ground and went to search for a few stakes. He found a few good long stakes, and some short ones, and went back to his camp location. He drove two of the longest stakes into the ground, and stretched the piece of sail on them, then nailed it to the ground with the short stakes. The result was shabby but satisfying: it would stand against the sudden weather changes that swept this island. A moment it could be sunny, and the next huge black clouds suddenly flew over and poured down their icy tears. Once his camp was finished, and the campfire established, he went to search for any palm leaves to cover his tent, for extra protection.

He had already gathered a few big ones when the sun disappeared behind the sea. The darkness caught him by surprise, leaving him confused on which way he should go to get back to his camp. ‘Fool! You forgot to mark the way, and now you’ve gotten yourself lost!’ He cursed himself some more before he finally looked up. The sky was clear, and the stars shone brightly in the firmament, making tracking position quite easy. He remembered that his camp was located on the side where the wind blew colder, but he was clueless to how he could know where the North was. ‘I should have paid attention when the navigator talked about position and stars! But I was too shoopid to do it!’ The night passed on slowly, as Gasher fumbled around, trying to find his way back. Little did he know that he would come across some old acquaintances which he did not particularly want to meet again…


*Misspelling intended.

[Romsca]

Hearing Sculrig's plea for water, Navarre told him, "I'll get some water fast as I can, mate!" She left Sculrig and hurried back to camp. The pain in her side had lessened, and she was able to run slowly.

She ran to the camp and found that one of the rats had been killed. Not wanting to wait to meet who killed him, she took some water and ran back to where Sculrig was.

[Tam and Martin]

Sculrig had not heard clearly what Navarre had said and thought she had said, "I won't get any water for you, snake!". The Red fox couldn't believe what he had just heard! Navarre wouldn't help him!Slowly and painingly, Sculrig tried pulling himself forward but to no avail. He was so weak from lack of water that he stopped struggling and lay still on the sand. Now I'm left here to die, Sculrig thought. If Navarre won't help me who will?