Redwall Abbey

OOC: Alright, chaps! Let's get started. I've left a bit of room for interaction if anything seems interesting, but I'm mostly trying to set the scene. (Trying, because the writing part of my brain has been dormant for... a while. *brushes away a few conspicuous cobwebs*)
SIGN-UPS ARE STILL OPEN! If you want to join, post your character sheet in the OOC topic. Go ham.


BIC:
  It was a lazy sort of morning. The wind blew brisk and strong, and the sun beamed down cheerfully, reflecting off the water and dancing in the waves caused by the wide hull of Soarsaga. It was ideal conditions for the crew to kick back and relax, and they took full advantage of it after almost a moon of voyaging. Torgen grinned at the islands before him. They'd been sighted the day before, but now they were close enough to see the houses and the huge temple he'd grown up calling home.
  The weasel closed an eye and adjusted the ship's angle slightly, navigating through the hidden reefs with the ease of one who'd done it a hundred times. Two of the crew kept an eye on the speed, easing the sheets to allow the ship to slow, making constant adjustments that they knew by heart. Sailing was a dangerous and often unpredictable business, but these waters were home, and most of the crew had cut their teeth on the hidden rocks and other obstructions.
  As they drew closer to port, Torgen glanced over the green fields and tidy village, grinning at the captives as they took it all in for the first time. To him, these islands meant safety and comfort. The organised fields, divided by stone fences, the towering white temple, and the armed and ready weasels on the dock were all a relief. To the beasts in the wooden pens, it meant toil and fear and death. Somehow, that fact didn't seem to bother him.
  The ship came alive with activity as it swung smoothly into port, sails being furled and the lines tossed out to beasts waiting on the wooden jetty. Torgen sat back and watched the chaos, calling orders wherever needed, but his crew knew what they were doing for the most part, and so he indulged in a small amount teasing. Several of the captives had voiced angry threats since being captured, and he winked at them now, spreading a paw to indicate the island behind him.
  "Welcome to Baldoshi. I'm sure somebeast'll be around to give you a tour as soon as they're available. What would you like to see first? There are fields to till, or hay to be made at this time of year, or perhaps some of you would like to skip all that, and go straight to the butcher's block. It's quite a sight. Most who see it leave a little part of themselves behind."
  His announcement was rewarded by a few snarls of anger, and a couple of the younger beasts cowering back in fear, and Torgen laughed, slinging his pack over his shoulder as he turned towards the docks, feeling satisfied with the past two seasons. He'd been on three voyages over the summer and spring, and he had brought in half again what the other two ships had made, when you combined money and captives.
  It was a good climb to get to Baldoshi's largest building, and the stone walls provided welcome relief from the hot breeze. Bypassing the temple area, the weasel made for the offices, touching the coin pouch on his belt to make sure he was ready. He had a report to make, and he looked forward to it, for once. He deserved a bit of recognition for his latest accomplishment. He was fairly sure the net profit he'd made on this voyage had broken at least one record, and he wouldn't be surprised if it did more than that. His destination reached, he stopped and knocked.


~~~~~


  Morgyn paused and stretched, glancing down at the docks curiously. It flew a blue flag, and he shook his head, grinding his teeth. That was the ship he'd been taken in. He wasn't sure of the captain's name, but he hated him with a special passion. He couldn't see a lot from this distance, but judging by the guards waiting on the pier, the ship had brought in some new comrades.
  "Looks like Soarsaga's found us some friends. Goody. Wonder if any of them know how to fight?"
  The hedgehog grunted, then shook his head at the squirrel and sighed.
  "You always wonder that. So far no good's come from it. If they do know how, they'll soon learn not to regardless, like you did."
  Morgyn chuckled at the response, shaking a claw at his friend.
  "Tsk, tsk, way to look at the bright side, Abe. I can still fight, I'm just waiting for the right moment. No sense in getting killed while it won't do any good."
  The spikedog sighed as he straightened his back, then picked up his bucket and headed for the larger bin at the end of their row.
  "The right moment will never come, Morgyn."
  The squirrel shrugged, following the beast with his own bucket and glancing towards the path. The first of the new arrivals were being led up the hill, and he caught the eye of one of them and threw a quick salute, looking them over. Some of them looked like fighters, and one or two looked like they'd been in a fight recently. He winced sympathetically at some of the scars a fellow squirrel was sporting and shook his head, his attention returning to his work as Abe called his name, and he grinned, unable to resist, despite the fact he knew his friend was unenthusiastic. There was a new bounce to his step as he went back into the field where he'd left off.
  "They looked fairly strong. I'm hopeful."

Sallow perked, watching his fellow farmbeasts stand tall and glancing towards the the docks. For a moment, the otter considered paying it no mind and focusing on his work. He never liked it when the ships returned, bringing with them new creatures doomed to suffer under the watchful eyes of their weasel captors. So many new faces, and many of them would soon disappear as soon as they arrived, gone to fill their bloodthirsty bellies. Sallow knew this, and still, after some consideration, he looked to the docks anyway. He needed a break from tilling, anyway. A paw rested on his back as he straightened up, groaning at his aching muscles. An interesting assortment of woodlanders; the otter hoped to learn a few names, at least. Even if they were to die, knowing their names kept them alive in his heart. Sallow shook his head, not wanting to think of such things. Instead, he offered a small wave in their direction. His eyes darted, hoping that there were no guards watching. Such cruel things, many of them were...

Some beasts were talking, he noticed. The otter glanced towards a squirrel and a hedgehog. They seemed to be talking about fighting. Sallow could not help a small, humorless laugh.

"It's pointless," he muttered. "Won't do any good, tryin' t'fight..."


---


Cuffa watched, gleefully, as the new arrivals were marched up the hill. Turning her back to the workers (and giving them a much-needed respite from her hostility), she flashed them a wild and toothy grin, eyes glinting with malicious intent and her paw firmly grasping the handle of her whip. She took a few steps towards the meatbeasts, relishing in the wide-eyed stares the more fearful ones gave her.

"Oh, yer a nice, FAT one, ain't ya?" she snickered, pointing her whip at a trembling volemaid. "I'd love t'get a bite o' ya when yer on the chop!"

CRACK!

Cuffa cackled at the resulting yelps and sobs as she lashed out with the whip. She was not close enough to hit anyone, but the threat was made very clear. Licking her chops, she turned to the farmers, and cracked the whip again, this time, catching a poor mouse across the back.

"Back t'work!" she demanded. "Who told ya t'stop!? Ain't nothin' fer ya t'be lookin' 'round at!"

      Ticking, the echo's of an unassuming marvel of tinkering declared the passage of otherwise quiet moments within the record halls, this one, small disruption being the only thing to keep Praff company aside from the silent records themselves. Knowing at least two ships were supposed to be returning as early as two weeks ago, he had been brushing up on and crunching several of the intake numbers alongside the various orders that had been filled in recent months, or were to be in short order. The calm start to his morning was then interrupted by the familiar din of sighted sails, the Soarsaga's name eventually being dropped by a passing guard, allowing the industrious weasel to pull already prepared sheets to get a head start on the record. Pages ready, he awaited the inevitable call of the captain, perusing various treatise's and other external works when the knocking landed on his door, "You may enter, Torgen."

*****

       One especially small mouse's ears and nape twitched unwillingly at the sound of Cuffa's second strike, the distant sound of pain that followed being the exact reason he kept his distance from that particular weasel. Nibble, small as he was, managed to be equal parts easy to bully but difficult to find, having long practiced escaping the eyes of the especially cruel whilst still being productive enough to not prompt the ire of weasels who had nothing better to do than find a place to nap. Poking his head up for a peek, the dwarfish rodent first noticed the hedgehog and squirrel pair that, even this late, he could clearly tell had been sizing up the new arrivals. Truth be told, Morgyn had caused a definably greater ruckus than was normal, even for larger, more aggressive beasts. This in turn caused Nibble to keep something of an eye on the potential troublemaker, worrying over what kind of havoc he might cause if fanciful ideas set light to desperate slaves. Fortunately, the squirrel had seemingly kept his head low and out of trouble, so the mouse passed his gaze over to the approach of their new cohorts, mentally checking each one over as best he could should there be need of particular herbs or grasses that he might nab before departing the fields.

  Torgen pushed the door opened and smiled at the weasel within. They weren't particular friends, but they were well acquainted and he was in a good mood. Praff was ready, as always.
  The captain claimed the other seat in the room and relaxed, rocking onto the back legs of the chair as he folded his arms in front of his chest.
  "How's it going, Praff?"

~~~~~

  Morgyn glanced at the otter, revealing sharp teeth as he grinned in reply and shook his head. A guard was passing a bit close for him to answer verbally, so he merely caught Sallow's eye and winked at him. He wasn't expecting agreement, but maybe that would change. Maybe the new arrivals would help him encourage everybeast. Maybe... There were countless possibilities. He chuckled, and then ducked as he caught the attention of one of the weasels, who lashed out with the butt of his spear. He managed to still catch a glancing blow to the head, though, as the weasel snarled at him.
  "Get back t'work."
  Morgyn glared at the beast, but did as he ordered, his mood dampened. Maybe the new arrivals would help, or maybe they'd be discouraged like everybeast else, and the Meat Traders would continue their business uninterrupted.

Sallow had not returned the grin, instead, flinching at the distant wail of the whipped mouse, and flinching again when Morgyn was struck. He turned away, paws trembling and gasping tightly onto the wooden rake he had been provided with. He waited a bit, and before long, he aimed a cautious, yet sympathetic, glance at the squirrel.

"Y'alright, matey...?" he asked in a gentle whisper.


---


Cuffa could not shake the feeling that somebeast had been watching her. She turned back towards the new meat, her black eyes searching the group of woodlanders. For a moment, she thought she spotted one of them looking back. Cuffa furrowed her brow. It was difficult to make them out, and she was sure that the beast had looked away once they made eye-contact. A low growl rumbled in the she-weasel's throat, before she stalked off, returning the whip to her belt.


---


Indeed, someone had been watching Cuffa just now, one of the newest arrivals to the island, a haremaid with eyes of amber. She met Cuffa's gaze for only a moment, before turning to the volemaid weeping nearby. The hare, Damsey, frowned, before pushing a bit closer to the vole.

"Chin up, wot?" she said in a firm, yet hushed voice. "Sobbin' like that won't do you any good; just lets 'em know you're an easy target. May even send you to the block to shut you up."

Damsey's words did not seem to help the volemaid to calm down. Instead, she began hyperventilating. Some attempted to console her, while others flashed Damsey glares of disapproval. The haremaid's ears fell back. She was only being honest...

Nearby guards, irritated at the noise, began approaching the vole, one raising his spear to wack the poor thing. Damsey acted quickly, smacking the hysterical volemaid across the head.

"I said to be quiet, wot?"

It did the trick, and the volemaid silenced herself. The guards backed off, but the glares from Damsey's fellow prisoners remained.

"Hmph..." she grunted, ears rolling back. "Glare all you want. I did her a favor, don'tcha know...?"

      Praff's examination of the books lining the back wall slowed, "You know darn well you needn't knock when entering the Record hall during my operating hours." A lazy, but attentive eye slid over the captain as the weasel turned to face him, "One might even be convinced you do such to grate on my ears, aye?" Praff himself wasn't quite sure if his own words were supposed to be jest, or a proper complaint, but his observations had told him that results were often better when he made at least one comment that wasn't directly on task. With social mandate now met, he raised pen to paper, "Any loss of personnel, excess expenditures, damage to the ship or cargo to report?" He closed his watch, muffling the mechanical clicks as the two got down to business.

  Torgen's grin broadened at the other weasel's reprimand. It was good to be home.
  He sobered some at the beast's question, a touch of regret flitting over his face. Smuggling was a dangerous business. It was rare he didn't come across some sort of trouble on a voyage, and this time, though comparatively minor, would still leave families grieving.
  "Aye, young Vint got herself captured in Haymund's Crossing. Finished herself off before I had to do it, good beast. Then Dryger finally found something harder than his thick skull when we came across an otter crew just before we got home. No damage to ship or cargo, and we spent less than expected at the ports."
  Vint's death was a shame. She'd had potential and was a fun beast to work with. Dryger had it coming for a long time. The rat's ears seemed to be painted on most of the time, and although the captain wasn't glad of his demise, he took it in stride and was slightly relieved he wouldn't have to worry about the beast disobeying his orders and forcing emergency changes to plan. The beast had caused more than one minor disaster, and he wasn't a weasel anyway, so he was somewhat expendable.
  "Vint's family will be told as soon as we're done here."

~~~~~

  Morgyn got back to work with a will, turning to take a particularly stubborn weed at a different angle as a ruse to wink at the otter, his good mood returning at the beast's question. His comrades were somewhat subdued, but none of them were cowards and they looked out for each other. That had to count for something.
  "I'll be fine. Little bit of bruising maybe, but nothing I haven't encountered before."
  Some of the meat traders were more vicious than others, but they all knew that pelts were as valuable as meat, and were fairly careful not to reduce the value of anybeast's hide. Bruising was fairly common, but punishment rarely broke the skin. Even the whips that were used were thick enough not to cut, though they still hurt like blazes.
  Morgyn's weed came loose suddenly, and he tumbled a bit, knocking Abe's bucket over and spilling the vegetables the hedgehog had harvested. He picked himself up quickly, but still managed to draw the unwanted attention of more than one guard. He sighed and plucked a spike from his fur, setting Abe's bucket to rights as he faced the oncoming punishment.
  Goody. Must be my lucky day. Wonder what kind of mood they're in today?


OOC: One of the guards can be Cuffa if you want, Jazz. Feel free to beat the living daylights out of Morgyn. Could be a fun way to get the ball rolling.

       A moment passed before Praff realized what Torgen had said after reading his own, recording scrawls. Usually dull eyes sharpened, if only a touch at the realization of the loss, "Vint? They got Vint? The other one makes sense, but we lost her too?" This event was no small deal, Vint's side of the family wasn't necessarily powerful enough to raise too big a stink over the matter, but Vint herself was productive, and blossoming well into the roles she was assigned. He looked up, eyes narrowing, though not accusingly so much as unsure, "She had light feet, how did she get snagged? And at Haymund's?-Wait..." He leaned back in contemplation, as the location sparked concerns that lingered from other problems he saw cropping up in the ledgers, "Was Vint nabbed by Southswardian military or another group? Were you entrapped in any way, and did they give any indication of knowing who and what we are?" Even Praff's often even-keeled, spindly voice took a note akin to urgency.

Sallow flinched again, dread gripping his heart like the talons of some great eagle. All around them, he could see weasels approaching, brows furrowed, whips drawn, and paws ready to deliver blows. He backed away from Morgyn, still gripping the rake the way a Dibbun might have hung on to their favorite blanket. The otter knew what was to come, and he could not bare to watch it. Closing his eyes, he turned away from the squirrel, shivering as he felt a guard push past him.

"Move it, otter," the guard spat. "'Less y'want a taste o' the whip as well?"

Sallow did not need to be told twice, moving further away and occupying himself with some fresh, untilled soil. Dread quickly became guilt.

"I'm so sorry..." he murmured under his breath.


---


Cuffa's discomfort was quickly pushed aside when the opportunity to punish arose again. A squirrel was to blame for the ruckus, it seemed, and Cuffa recognized him. She did not care to learn the names of slaves, but those green eyes of his were quite the distinctive feature. The scarred she-weasel was one of the first to arrive at the scene, and wasted no time in drawing her cutlass and thwacking Morgyn's face with the flat side of the blade. A sudden anger had flared within Cuffa; in truth, she despised these brawnier sorts. Not only did they look less appetizing, but they often times had more fortitude. She hated those who would not tremble in her shadow. She hit Morgyn again, adding a kick for good measure.

"Y'think tha's funny, squirrel?" Cuffa seethed. "Makin' noise? Causin' a scene? I outta run y'through!"

       Nibble hoped against hope that the weasels would just ignore the overturned bucket like the incredibly minor inconvenience it was, but truthfully there wasn't a soul in the fields that didn't foresee the inevitable results. Sniffing anxiously, the mouse's mind raced for a way to safely intervene, and as his memory would have it, not all of the fences in the fields were well-kept. Darting eyes quickly perused the nearby supports, searching for an ideal candidate, eventually coming to a stop on a post surrounded by tall grasses that he knew was rotten through. With guard's backs turned away wholesale, it was an easy matter of brisk patience to navigate himself near enough his target. With Cuffa being kind enough to raise more noise, Nibble made his move, ducking low as he ran up on the fencepost to crash his minute body against the fragile structure. The wooden post shattered in response, collapsing and dropping all of the connected spars in a short, but loud enough report to command attention. The mouse himself stayed low, weaving through the grasses on all fours, making no greater a ripple across the green tips than the passing wind as he made his escape around a rocky outcropping. The distraction would by no means spare Morgyn, but perhaps it would draw just enough attention to shift the weasels' focus such that they would be less interested in prolonging his beating.

  Morgyn screwed his nose up as he saw Cuffa draw her cutlass.
  Apparently a worse mood than usual. This'll be... exciting.
  He only flinched at the first blow, but when the second hit he whimpered, turning his back to the weasel to present the easiest target. A whip hurt like crazy, but when a beast started using the flat of a blade, it was best to make things easy for them, lest they accidentally chop you in half.
  Thankfully the other guards didn't deem it necessary to join in. Everybeast knew Cuffa was perfectly capable of dolling out punishment on her own. The weasel was rather infamous.
  The squirrel glanced up at a sudden noise, frowning as he spied wooden fragments flying into the air and half the far fence come toppling down. It was due for replacement anyway. He wasn't sure if he should be quiet and fade into the shadows, or maybe try and bribe the guards with an offer to fix the broken fence.

~~~~~

  Torgen sighed. He'd been sad to see the young weasel die, but also very proud of her.
  "Smuggling is more about subterfuge than stealth, once you get into port. Light feet don't make too much of a difference once the town watch have started suspecting something. She did well to dispose of the evidence before they caught her. I sent for some reinforcements to break her out of the guardhouse once it got dark, but the beast in charge there had his head screwed on and ordered her taken to Irongate for questioning. When we were close enough to the palace for there to be no hope of rescue, she took matters into her own paws and threw herself back onto a guard's spear. She laughed in the shocked guard's face before she died. I wasn't accosted or questioned, nor was anybeast in the crew, and we left cleanly. Vint had nothing on her person to give away who she was, and she answered no questions. Even if they figured out what she was up to, there was nothing to link her to either the ship or Vodon Hardhammer's business. She will be missed, but I have no reason to believe her capture and death could lead to further problems."
  Torgen frowned as he considered the details, making sure he hadn't missed anything before he gave a firm nod. He'd reported accurately. If Praff needed more details, he'd ask for them specifically. He shook his head to clear it. This was the easy part. The rest of the Baldoshi would be harder to tell, and they would only be practice for when Frann got back. Reporting losses was the least pleasant part of his job, and sometimes it also had an element of danger.

      Nibble's ears twitched to and fro, picking up various complaints from the weasels about the fence. Having put sufficient distance between himself and the damage to avert suspicion, he meandered out of the grass and onto one of the paths, eyes snapping about in search of any item that might assist any excuse he could conjure upon returning. It was always best to have a backup reason for why the overseer's shouldn't spend time tanning one's hide in this place.

*****

       Returning to his recording, Praff noted Torgen's words with careful precision, passing over once again to affirm his accuracy before looking back up to the other weasel, "About as good as can be expected, I'll be confirming witness accounts as well you know, the crew can catch me up to speed on Dryger, though I'm sure it's nothing of consequence. I take it you already distributed the remaining budget amongst the crewbeasts? Was there any notable dissension?"

  Dartur was having a good day. He had just finished a hearty meal and was feeling full, and he heard a ship had brought in some more morsels. The big weasel was meandering down a path when not far in front of him a little mouse hardly more than a bite, scurried out of the long grass. Crouching down in a manner he figured was sneaky, he shambled toward the tiny figure in hopes of catching him unaware. In his mind, he imagined frightening the morsel to death and bringing him to kitchen for his dinner. Dartur stifled a gutteral snicker as he got closer. This would be fun.

       Unnerving sensations started to roll up Nibbles spine, a moment passing before he started to put together just what they were. Those who consumed meat often carried a particular scent around them, the smell intensifying the nearer one was to the time of eating, and the current whiff this little mouse was catching was concernedly strong. With this, the occasional sound of a softly placed foot and an errant breath caused him to turn around before he could brace himself, especially for Dartur's stature and uncomfortable proximity, "EEEE! Ha-HaaAiIIi!" His voice wavered tensely in a pitiful response whilst almost tripping over himself when he instinctively jumped backwards, "Ah-ah-I 'eard the fence collapse o-o'er yonder n' thought I might, ya know, find some'in's that could fix-er-eeer up sees!" Scrambling for words, Nibble did his best to reduce the shaking, looking innocent, harmless, and useful were some of the best defenses to punishments, or potentially in this case, far worse. Trying his best, the mouse pryed his gaze up enough to almost look at the guard, though never quite able to meet the beasts' eyes, "Tha-... That's a'right.... r-right? Sir?"

The noise stilled Cuffa's paw, the black-eyed guard turning to glare at the wooden post. For a moment, she thought it had finally decided to give way and collapse on itself; it was, after all, an old, rotted post. It might've needed removing, lest some slave decided to throw themselves on it and ruin a perfectly good pelt to spite their captors. Her wrath fading as quickly as it arrived, Cuffa aimed one last look of contempt at Morgyn before shoving his roughly at some other weasel to deal with. He would not show her the fear she craved, anyway.

  Torgen nodded, placing the small bag on Praff's desk that contained the rest of their cash profits, after the crew had been paid.
  "No dissent. I keep my crew happy. Is that everything you need, then?"
  The captain didn't move to rise from his seat just yet. He was in no rush, and the other weasel's company wasn't so bad that he was desperate to escape from it. He'd let Praff dismiss him before heading off.

~~~~~

  Morgyn stretched his back as Cuffa's attention turned away from him. He'd have to thank whoever had created the distraction later. He had a fair idea who it might be, but he wouldn't mention any names.
  The squirrel froze as the weasel's eyes returned to him, but relaxed as she shoved him aside and strode off to deal with the new offender. The other weasel looked him up and down, decided he'd had enough punishment, and shoved him back to weeding the garden.
  Morgyn offered an apologetic smile to the hedgehog, who had been unable to rescue his vegetables from the angry paws of the guards.
  "Sorry about that, Abe. Clumsy me."

  Dartur laughed a laugh as ugly as his smudged face. "Huh huh guh huh huh! Almost got ya, li'l thing! Whatchu doin' 'way from d' others, eh?"
  He scratched his lumpy chin as the mouse stammered something hardly understandable, though Dartur was hardly listening. Reaching out a grubby claw, he poked Nibbles in the ribs, checking his vitality. Small, very small, he thought.
  "C'mere, les'go back an' getchu somethin' to fat you up, you ain't grown yet." He attempted to pick up Nibbles and carry him away toward Cuffa, who would surely get this choice cut up to the big weasel's standards.

       Praff nodded along as Torgen spoke, one paw pulling the bag closer and loosening it so he could take a peak inside, an eyebrow raising momentarily as he appraised the contents. Looking back to the captain, he closed his eyes to concentrate on his calculations, letting Torgen's question hang in the air briefly before speaking, "Excluding the payout, how much stock did you bring back this go around?"

*****

       No more than a timid squeak issued from Nibble's mouth as Dartur hoisted him helplessly into the air, panic setting in more severely as the weasel expounded on his intentions, "HIiieek! Uh-buh-bu-but I's notta foods! Ah swear its!" Mouse legs and paws swung loosely as he instinctually resisted, if only half-heartedly, in knowing futility. It wasn't long at all before the odd pair turned the corner back towards everybeast else, an opportunity Nibble took to survey the surroundings once more, now from his significantly greater height. The chance was quickly stifled as his blood ran like ice and his eyes carefully dropped downwards, Cuffa and one or two other problem weasels were still here, a fact the mouse had promptly forgot upon being snatched up by the brute who's paw he still hung from.

  Torgen grinned, easing back in his chair. He'd wondered if the other weasel was going to ask, or had gotten distracted with his bad news, but Praff was a reliable beast and didn't let details like that slip.
  "Thirty-five beasts. Most of them are fairly strong and healthy, though a few could do with fattening up. The cages were a little crowded coming in. Had to secure a couple of beasts on deck."
  The weasel had been more than pleased with his haul of thirty, but the attacking otter crew had provided an unmissable opportunity, even if it meant holding some of the less fiesty beasts outside the cages for a while. There was no need to brag. The bare facts were impressive enough.

As Cuffa was contemplating which of the other guards she would bully into overseeing the post removal, she perked, seeing the approaching Dartur and some small, unimpressive-looking mouse. She could recall overhearing about the existence of a little mouse among the meat. Not fat enough for the chop, by the look of him. Cuffa approached, paws on her hips and sneering at Dartur.

"Didn't think y'had the brains t'catch a beast tha' small, Dartur," she scoffed, venom in her voice as she spoke the male weasel's name. She did not get too close, however; she was no fool, and Dartur, much to her chagrin, was dangerous. "Must be sick an' dyin'. Only way you had any real chance, hehe."

  Dartur lowered Nibble to the ground, though he did not release him. Scratching his stomach contemplatively, he squinted his eyes at Cuffa.He had never eaten weasel before. Of course, the female guard might taste as sour and grizzled as she was on the outside.
  "Dis un ain't full-growed yet. Give it some better food, I wanna see how big it'll get. If it's sick, fix it! Dat's what you're 'apposed to do. My job is ta keep 'em all 'ere for you, huh, an' I'm good at it."

"Bah!" Cuffa waved her paw. "Y'got lucky, is all. I could've caught the mouse twice as fast if it weren't fer these noisy, good-fer-nothin' slavebeasts distractin' me. Anyway, y'best be givin' that'un t'me. Why don't y'make yerself useful and get rid o'tha' post? Can an oaf like you accomplish tha'?"

Glancing Nibble over, Cuffa couldn't help agreeing that the mouse needed fattening up. Not that she would give Dartur credit for his observation at all. He was already stronger than her; she did not need him feeling smarter, as well.


---


Things seemed calmer now, Sallow noticed. He snapped out of his self-induced trance and looked up from his work. Aside from Cuffa and Dartur's distant back and forth, the guards did not appear to be as hostile as they once were. The otter sighed in relief, before stealing another glance towards Morgyn. A great shame clutched at his heart, and his ears fell as he turned away. He was happy that the squirrel seemed relatively unharmed, but hated himself for simply standing by and unable to help. It was nothing new, but it stung all the same.

  Dartur hid Nibbles behind his back like a child hiding a candied chestnut from a reprimanding parent. "No, s'mine! I found the mouse. Any'ow, why should I? An' why should I do the dirty work, that's what the slaves is for! Mama says I gotta keep this shirt clean or she'll make me eat my own tail, an' I don't wanna eat my own tail! Why don't you dig up the post?"


  Back with the new arrivals, a young male otter stared hard at Damsey. Kurlan was his name, and he was not fond of bullies. There seemed to be enough of those among the vermin surrounding the group, so they didn't need more from within. Sidling up beside the volemaid, he put a protective paw around her quivering shoulders and spoke to the haremaid.
  "Ain't no reason to 'ave hit her, longears, even if she was puttin' up a racket. We ain't gonna last long here if'n we don't stick together, so next time lend a paw instead o' layin' about with one."

Cuffa's nose wrinkled with indignation at the suggestion that she should stoop as low as to do slave work. She spoke again through gritted teeth.

"You an' yer ma afraid o' dirt, aye? Hmph. By the scent o' ye, I'd say you'd be right at home in the filth." A sly smirk then formed on Cuffa's scarred face. She glanced down at the soft earth beneath her footpaws. "Heh, mayhaps I can help with yer fears." She bent down to scoop up a pawful of grass and soil, and her smirk widened into a mad grin as she flung it towards Dartur. "Try some o' this on fer size! Hahaha!"


---


Damsey met the otter's stare and folded her arms across her chest.

"Spare me the lecture, waterdog," she huffed, her nose twitching with annoyance. "Like I said, I did her a favor. Those vermin would have beaten her black an' blue. Might have even killed her, wot? She should be thanking me." The haremaid then sighed, shaking her head and speaking in a somewhat calmer tone. "It's not as if I wanted to. Desperate times call for desperate measures and whatnot..."

  Morgyn was feeling a trifle too stiff and sore to cause much of a scene, but he watched with interest as the two weasels squabbled. Nibbles was... well, one of the subjects of their argument now, but the little mouse seemed largely forgotten, from what he could tell. He shook his head sympathetically and pulled out another weed.

       "THIR-!?" Praff leaned forward suddenly in response to Torgen's words before he managed to cut himself off and stand up. The generally blank weasel was more than clearly steamed by the offered information as he performed a handful of tight circuits around his now abandoned chair. Somewhat composing himself, he turned back to the sea beast, frustrated indignation laced through his words, "Thirty five!? How many more times am I going to have to call for cutbacks before yer listen!?" Every so often, when the highly professional record keeper was ruffled enough, his excellent grasp of common would slip into a more traditionally vermin drawl, and now was one such time, "Frann n' Vildor've been list'nen juss' fine, 'ow much feedin' does yer bloody pride require!?" Punctuating his final word with an uncharacteristic slam on the prized desk, Praff rather literally attempted to unwind himself by repeating his circling, counterclockwise this time. Truth be told, he really did respect Torgen's work, and in some fashion, perhaps even envied the gusto his compatriot put behind everything he did, it was a sensation the unmotivated recorder simply did not understand. Completing his second round of pacing, he looked the captain square in the eyes, arms crossed as he did his best to explain his problem as to a valued resource as opposed to an unruly babe, "Your ability has never been in question Torgen, and come such a time when we need to drastically increase our stock, I'll gladly inform you before you leave." He looked down and away, contemplating a new thought that had come to mind. Stepping around his workstation and making way to the door, Praff offered an alternative olive branch, "Come brother, walk with me, mayhaps my reasoning will stick better if you stop to see for yourself. You are quite busy abroad after all, perhaps you've nay looked about your home recently enough to grasp my concerns."

  Torgen grinned at the beast's initial response, lifting a curious eyebrow as he watched Praff circle his chair like some sort of predator. He couldn't imagine the furniture tasting too nice. The beast would be better off taking out one of his prisoners. Torgen was rather partial to hare, and he'd found a few of the longeared creatures.
  His grin faltered as the weasel turned to talk to him, his usually refined handle on the language dropping to slang. The beast must be serious. He drew breath to answer a few times, but wasn't given a chance, and then the beast was back to pacing, though this time he didn't look quite so ready to attack his seat, and Torgen decided to take advantage of the silence.
  "We can always just send 'em to the chopping block if we don't need 'em for breeding."
  Butchering usually happened closer to the full moon, but he was sure exceptions could be made.
  Torgen relaxed slightly as his companion stopped pacing and talked in a more reasonable, though still slightly frazzled, tone. He did remember the record-keeper telling him they didn't need any supplies, and that there was plenty of stock too, but most of the beasts he'd brought home had been opportunities too good to miss, and a few had been far too suspicious of his operations to leave alone. The offer for a walk was unexpected, but welcome, and he rose to his paws.
  "It has been a while. Last time I was home I only stopped for two days to pick up more supplies. It would be nice to have a look around again."

       Praff threw on his cloak, hanging next to the door which he promptly opened, waiting for Torgen to pass before crossing the threshold and gently shutting it behind himself. Then proceeding to lead the captain for a comfortable but thorough jaunt through the premises whilst the recorder made his case, "Although convenient, if we harvest too many of the woodlanders in too short a time, that same fear and apprehension that we use to keep them inline can quickly turn into a desperation so fierce they are pushed to fight. Bad for us, and even worse for business- Ah, first stop." The pair had arrived at the primary holding pen for those deemed not-food, Praff slowing their pace as he spoke again, "Take your time and look, seeing as you're a captain, I presume you noticed already, but pay special attention to just how many bodies we have down here since the last time you really took it in."

  Torgen nodded at the weasel's words. What he said made sense. Ruling by fear was always a fine line. It was one of the reasons he always made a point of being as bloodthirsty and handy with a blade as he claimed he was. On board ship, the tactic worked splendidly, but he could see how it wouldn't really work on land, and how being forced to kill all your stock to put down an uprising would be bad for business.
  He stopped as they arrived at one of the main holding pens. There were another dozen in this 'street', each being the home to the female breeding population of a different species. They typically held between forty and fifty adult beasts, as well as their babes, but it only took a glance to recognize they were well over that number. The pens weren't packed, but they were much more crowded than they should be.
  "I can definitely see the problem, but I should think narrowing numbers down shouldn't cause too much of a fuss. An extra batch every ten or so days would be more than manageable. I'm planning to stick around for a little while, so I can help out if the butcher gets overwhelmed."

       "I have it on quite good authority that tensions are already stretched, but we've more than head count to consider, come, I don't like to tarry around this place." Praff continued the walk, ascending once more the rolling island, espying the line of captives on the way, and even having a brief overview of the happenings in the field a couple terraces down from the pair of weasels. Mentally cataloging names and events below quickly, he turned back to his companion to offer another leading question, "Let us set aside the matter of insurrection and suppose we did increase our turnover at the butcher," he turned his head more directly to Torgen, attempting to engage with him a bit more intentionally on his proposed hypothetical, "Who then, do we sell it to? Being as the law does not stand between those of Baldoshi and our own prized meats, it is easy to forget just how novel our product is on the mainland, novelty wrought from the difficulties of transportation and sale. With that in mind, we're already ahead on orders, even as we search for new and replacement vendors, our ability to preserve and store is at its' limit, I'm sure you of all beasts knows just how short lived our quality cuts are. So, I ask again, who do we sell to?" Praff slowed himself down, allowing Torgen to take the lead both in their walk and conversation, they were almost to the watcher's rise anyway.

  Torgen paused, considering the question as he took the initiative in route to the lookout. It was a tricky business, especially with Vint gone. It would've been helpful to have another smuggler on the job.
  "A couple of the merchants mentioned increasing their order, so that would help, though not enough. The pirates are always willing to buy more meat, and we can ship to them in larger quantities with less risk. I usually just take them the leftovers, and they'll buy as much as I have, but I do see your point."
  The pirates didn't pay as well as those in Southsward, but they still offered a decent price. The captain reached the top of the hill and looked out, resting a paw on the railing. He could see his ship on the docks, and the line of captives winding their way toward the temple. On the other side of the island, the flour mill was turning lazily, and a tree fell to an axe, while another was being stripped of bark and branches. Beasts, weasels and stock alike, were busy everywhere.
  Torgen glanced at his companion. Operations looked to be going ahead smoothly, but he was a seabeast, unused to the ways of land. No doubt the other weasel would be able to point out several problems.

  Dartur dropped Nibbles, instinctively throwing up his hands to ward off the debris Cuffa had aimed at him. Letting out a roar of outrage, the big weasel lurched forward and reached out to grab the offending party, but he tripped on Nibbles' form and fell heavily to the ground, still hoping to catch Cuffa by her footpaw.



  Kurlan winced as whips were cracked to push the new slaves forward to the processing, and the whole grouped moved up inland. While they walked, he still kept his attention on Damsey. He didn't much care for the haremaid's attitude, but they were all in a precarious position, so he changed his tactic.
  "My Pa always said that if there's only one way to do somethin', then there's always another. Bit daft, really, but it makes sense if'n y' think about it. 'S too late now, but they're the enemies, remember that."

       "Ugh, I'll spare you another thorough explanation on how much I hate dealing with pirates." Praff liked to work with professionals, and his experiences with the rough sea-goers told him they were anything but. He did not trust them, and worse yet, knew the islands own naval power to be lesser than some of the 'local' pirate alliances. They were yet another threat to be balanced, and far more difficult to hide themselves from than Southsward.

       The pair soon mounted the ridge, a frankly beautiful overlook of the otherwise dreary land. Praff passed his other slowly, allowing him a moment to take in the island before tapping him on the shoulder and motioning towards the seaward side. He crossed the small space, it was oddly quiet up here, a sparse few stone furnishings lay about the flat paving, with a tree sprouted up in the middle, making for one of his preferred escapes. Reaching the other side, he pointed out into the ocean beyond, seemingly at nothing at all, "That's Southsward, a startling few horizons away, and the greater concern. We can cut down more woodlanders, we can deal with a coup, we can even stomach wasted product, but the Southswardian navy?" He tilted his head to look at Torgen while still facing the water, dead sincerity in his eyes, "Never on this side of hellgates can we take them." He turned to fully face the captain, lean-sitting nonchalantly against a stone half wall, "And so we hide... yet they know of us, our location and secrecy are our only protection... but for how long? Every captive we take brings a weeping beast or family to the king's feet, and the resulting outrage brings more eyes to the search, each one longer and wider ranging than the last... At what point do they say enough is enough and do something bold, drastic... stealthy perhaps?" Praff intensified his gaze, clearly looking to see if Torgen was piecing together the breadcrumbs he'd laid out.

*****

       Squeaking quietly as he fell, Nibble landed quickly, though he was not swift enough to evade the charging weasel and got somewhat bowled over by Dartur. Hardly worse for wear, he hopped back to his feet and scurried away from the pair, neither bold enough to run, nor patient enough to walk as he forced himself to stand upright, staying clearly visible above the same tall grasses he'd hid in previously so as not to risk tipping his hand to the otherwise preoccupied vermin.

While the voyage had been relatively short for Bryant Albrush, having been one of the last captives to be taken, it had been extraordinarily hard for him to stomach. He despised Captain Torgen and everything he and his crew stood for on professional, personal, and moral levels - Idly standing by and keeping his head down compliantly made the albino squirrel want to scream instead of turning a blind eye to the abuse and fear spread by the traders. . . And it was only going to get much, much worse now that they were on the island. Still, Bryant had argued for this mission and volunteered for it, despite his superiors deeming it too risky, and he was determined not to blow it prematurely.

      Disembarking the ship proved more eventful than he'd anticipated, however, and while Bryant was too far back in the line to intervene he'd watched the entire situation go down. An ear twitched as he studied Damsey's actions. They were supposed to be staying low and under the radar, not calling attention to themselves like that...

      Turning his attention back to scanning his surroundings as the line continued along, it was easy to note the fenced in fields, the sheds and buildings scattered about and concentrating in what Bryant could only assume to be whatever could be considered a "living area" here- "Hold on now, is that-? Are they fighting?" The squirrel couldn't help a smirk crossing his features as he observed what looked like a budding tussle between two guards. If the traders had high tension within themselves that he could exploit, that would only make Bryant's job easier going forward. Catching the eye of a different weasel walking the line, Bryant quickly schooled his features and dropped his head, making sure his brush dragged on the ground to appear the picture perfect, broken, obedient soul.

A panicked chirp escaped Cuffa's lips as she dove back, her footpaw just narrowly avoiding Dartur's grasping paw. She tumbled over onto her back in a rather embarrassing display, earning laughter from some of the onlooking guards and even a few slaves. While normally, the she-weasel would lash out insults at such mockery, her fear of Dartur's iron grip far outweighed her pride. She scrambled onto her footpaws, reaching for her whip.

"Stay back!" Cuffa shouted, trying her best to stop her voice from trembling. "Y'great brute...it was a joke! Surely y'know what a joke is, y'overgrown babe!?"


---


"You think I don't know that?" Damsey snorted. "I know what vermin are like, waterdog, and I know how ruthless they can jolly well be." She sighed again, and threw up her paws in defeat. "But...seeing the way everybeast's looking at me, perhaps I was a bit rash."

The hare gazed at the watervole she had struck.

"Apologies, lass. I only wanted you to settle down, wot? Just be grateful I didn't get you with my good paw. You'd really have something to cry about then."

It seemed to be something of a joke, although Damsey's delivery was quite off. The bankvole only nodded, seemingly ready to put the incident behind her. Damsey frowned.

  Torgen cracked a smile at his friend's distaste of pirates. They certainly weren't the nicest creatures to deal with, but he found them quite helpful from time to time, mostly for selling excess goods and, occasionally, livening up his crew when they got too bored. The shabby crews in their barely floating piles of junk didn't worry him.
  The captain wanted to wave away Praff's concerns about Southsward, but the beast was right. It wasn't a large navy, but the ships Southsward had were crewed by experts, both at sailing and fighting. He'd been lucky enough to not encounter the wrong side of many of them, but he shuddered at the memory of a pirate ship taken down by one. They didn't take prisoners.
  All the same, they weren't sitting ducks, and Torgen pointed out the fact.
  "The Navy are powerful, but slower and more awkward than our ships. We can lose them with little effort, and even if they did manage to find us, it'd be next to impossible to get one of their square rigged craft through the maze of underwater traps, and we'd have ample warning to prepare a welcome for them. We're basically untouchable from outside. What are they going to do that's stealthy? Try to navigate the way to our shores in the dark?"
  Torgen had been worried initially by Praff's concerns, but the recorder was not a seabeast, nor a warrior.
  "Poor innocent beasts can cry to the king all they want. We've been avoiding the Ironkin's efforts to stop us for three generations. Nothing is going to touch us here."

  Dartur clambered to his footpaws, brushing dirt from his head as he took a couple slow steps toward Cuffa. His eyes wandered aimlessly as he thought hard.
  "Uhh, huh, uhh. . . a joke?" A slow and confused smile spread across his face. "Uhhahahaa. . . I get it! Sometimes you're alright, Cuffa. Why you gotta be me mean, huh?"



  Kurlan nodded at Damsey, and took a look around at the other prisoners. The flash of Bryant's white fur caught the otter's eye, and he had to blink and look again to make sure it was real. Was that squirrel on the ship with them the whole voyage? Well, he had been unconscious for a good portion of it, and with them all crammed together he easily could have missed him. He smiled and waved at Bryant. He would have to talk with him.

Cuffa did not answer at first, her nostrils flaring and her heart still racing from the scare. For a moment, the suspicion passed through her mind that Dartur might have been trying to bait her into a false sense of security. This thought did not linger very long, however, when the brute's face settled. Fear became embarrassment as Cuffa felt eyes on her. No doubt, the other guards would speak of her panic over grog during off-time. She squinted, trying to spot that fat little mouse from before, but to no avail. If he had not tripped Dartur, she might not have been put in such a position. The she-weasel bared her teeth and spat at the ground.

"Tha's soft talk," she snorted, her paw still remaining on her whip, but her head high in an air of self-importance. "Only beasts who can't fend for themselves call beasts like me "mean". Heh, that's why I'm walkin' free while they..." Here, she gestured to the slaves. "...'Ave t'sleep in pens like the lumps o' flesh they are."

       "Every great empire that has ever preceded our little business began their own annihilation with that same belief of immortality. Do not conflate us for the weavers of fate lest you tempt their paws... and obsession with irony." Praff spoke with his eyes leveled at Torgen, but turned afterword to resume his contemplations by enjoying the ocean crashing below. Water, their grand, ocean-spanning mote, but one that could drown them just as easily if the conditions were flipped on them, a concept the weasel desperately needed one of his kin to understand, "You ask me of stealth, brother? Earlier I pointed out their count, but now I would highlight another concerning number amongst our 'stock', their average age." He paused a moment, motioning for Torgen to come nearer, his voice dropping lower as he continued, "To be more specific, the number of military age woodlanders alone outnumbers the total count of weasels on the island, something that has never happened before..... and I'm starting to wonder if it's happenstance, or a sign of something more dangerous. I showed you to the pens to see their numbers and their age, I mentioned distraught families because every outcry of desperation allows for a more drastic measure to be taken, I brought up the navy because their power is uncontestably greater than ours. With that in mind, tell me this, Torgen, how long will it be, not until they find us, but until their collective hatred for us becomes so great that they would be rash enough to send their own to our island." Anybeast posed such a ludicrous question, or to even let on the idea that anybeast would willingly condemn themselves to Baldoshi capture would almost certainly be met with raucous laughter. But the one speaking was Praff, not exactly known for his jokes, and he turned to look his companion in the eyes with deadly resolve. Prideful or not, this was the beast he had chosen to confide in, choosing rather to believe in Torgen's skill, intelligence, and resourcefulness over other members of their society.

*****

       Fortunately for Nibble, Dartur had held Cuffa's attention long enough to disappear again amidst the other slaves. Even so, he had more tracks to cover, the burly weasel was known to be... especially dull amongst the enforcers, but that didn't remove the chance he'd remember the mouse saying he was going to fix the fence. For the time being, he contented himself with acquiring a shovel, saving the rest for after the two weasels were done mucking about in the field.

  Torgen considered the weasel's words, following his example of gazing towards the ocean as he thought on them. Overconfidence was not a good quality for a smuggler, and the captain had long ago learned to take threats seriously. He knew better than most Baldoshi his own mortality, and that of his crew. Even so, he found it difficult to think of his home as being vulnerable. At sea, he was ever cautious, but here on the Island, it felt safe. He knew what defenses they had in place, and he made it a point to inspect them whenever he returned and replace whatever was shabby or old. He definitely agreed with the bookkeeper about the fruits of arrogance, but when he really thought about it, he considered his confidence justified.
  The captain turned his attention back to his companion as Praff spoke, connecting the dots of all the little things he'd shown him. Torgen frowned at the beast's conclusion. From anybeast else, he would've considered it a joke, but Praff didn't make jokes. Not only that, but everything else he said made sense. This wasn't some fever dream. The weasel had obviously thought long and hard, and had chosen to speak with him about it, despite its seemingly insane implications.
  The weasel chose his words carefully. He didn't want to dismiss the concerns presented to him, but they did seem rather... unlikely.
  "I see your point, but I don't think it terribly likely. We have not had too much of a problem crushing the spirits of new arrivals, and I should think that anybeast crazy enough to get themselves turned into meat would not pose much of a threat to us."
  The captain frowned again, pausing. He was a beast of action, and liked to come up with a solution to problems, rather than simply putting them off.
  "I hear you, though, and I won't take so many captives on my next voyage. If you really think it's a problem, I can dispose of the ones I just brought in. It shouldn't stir up too much trouble to get rid of them before they've had a chance to talk with any of our current stock."
  Torgen didn't like the thought of wasting good product, but it was better than an uprising, and if Praff thought one was likely, it was best to trust the weasel. He had a habit of knowing details other beasts missed.

      Praff faced the island once more, glancing at Torgen with a wry, unnatural smile, one missing the soft nuances of genuine happiness. Lazily lifting his left paw, he patted the captain's shoulder in a gesture he was confident represented reassurance, his tone and pitch relaxing almost jovially as he addressed the other weasel in turn, "You're right, of course! I speak to you not of certain demise, but a hushed possibility hidden behind vagrant numbers, and it seems to me you now understand enough, so concern yourself no longer with my absent ramblings." Praff strode back towards the steps, his goals accomplished well enough. It was no understatement to say that Torgen was a potent piece to have on the board in every regard, be they physical, strategic, or political in nature. The more closely aligned the two could keep to one another and their associated 'goals', the better off any serving under the same banner would be. Taking the first couple steps down, he remembered himself, "Ah, as for the fresh cuts you brought in-" he turned to answer the almost-forgotten question, "Let them be processed by the temple's accordance's as usual, if a single shipload were to be our downfall, then the fates have clearly already cast our lot!" Resuming his descent, Praff raised his voice to be heard as their distance slowly increased, "Congratulations on your record Torgen, you beat if by a headcount of four." He raised his arms, motioning to the island as a whole, "So relax and enjoy yourself, pleasure is just as great a sustenance as food after all!" His expression and body language returned to normal, having gained sufficient space from his kin, "Or so I've heard, anyway."

       Amidst all that ever was, and was to be, this day might be counted amongst the exceptional few where one might catch the snicker of these mischievous fates, after all, they did love their irony.

  Dartur scratched an ear. What Cuffa said did not make much sense to him. . . That didn't matter. Ignoring the philosophy, the big weasel looked at his dirty tunic, and shrugged. He was hungry again. Turning around, his heart filled with sadness as the mouse he had chosen was now nowhere to be seen.
  "Aww. . . Where's da new ones we gonna eat? Are there any we ain't tasted yet?"

"Scum-fer-brains," Cuffa hissed, glaring at Dartur out of the corner of her eye. "Don't ye remember that the new meat goes up for processin'? Bunch o' paperwork. Borin' stuff, really." She then scoffed. "Not sure why I'm explainin' it; you'll jus' forget by the hour's end." She paused, gazing after the new arrivals as they grew smaller and smaller the further they got. "Tasty lookin' things, though."

Her belly rumbled, and she slapped a paw over it. She now had a craving for bankvole.

      Terrace after terrace passed the recorder on his way to the field with the incident he had witnessed earlier, woodlander backs bent, and voices hushed in his wake until he arrived. Chaos reigned over the scene that Praff bore witness to, a stark comparison to the orderly work being done elsewhere. Perhaps mildly disgruntled, he drew in a sharp breath before addressing the beasts around, "PAWS STILL, BACKS STRAIGHT YOU LAGGARDS!" His gaze locked on each vermin, weasel or otherwise with intent, lest they confuse his words as being directed only to the mere stock, "That goes for all of you." Calculating eyes shifted from the guards to overlook the workers, Morgyn being the first to slip and meet him stare for stare, "Always the guilty one that can't help it hmm?" The weasel approached his target, casually surveying the grounds and their state on the way, bored eyes only observing the squirrel again upon arrival. The specimen in front of him was a memorable one, a former rowdy troublemaker, but one that had eventually been subdued like the rest, "Hmmm, Morgyn, yes? Paws please." Turning the proffered hands over to look at the pads, Praff found nothing unusual, just the simple, soiled hands of a field beast, exactly what was expected. Dropping the paws back into squirrel ownership, the weasel shifted around Morgyn, the obviously most recent recipient of their 'hospitality' by any reasonable measure. In so doing, he caught sight of the mushed up vegetables brazenly surrounded by vermin tracks, prompting one of his own paws to rise and massage his forehead after indulging in a luxurious eyeroll, "Uuugh, rot take these blasted fields! Let me guess, our squirrel here, by some means, overturned produce into the dirt, yes? The least you lot could do is avoid causing more damage than the woodlander when you come over to beat the stuffing out of them." Spying a radish that been kicked out of the way, and thus, spared being turned to squash, Praff stepped his way over to the vegetable, pointedly demonstrating the simplicity of his request by daintily avoiding any of the other plants in his path. Stooping to seize the item, he began brushing it off, "A little dirt isn't so bad after all..." He popped it into his mouth, rolling the root around with his teeth in thought as he continued dryly, "...Part of me wonders whether some of you wouldn't benefit from having a bit more of it in your diet-*CRUNCH*" Chewing his radish, Dartur's messy shirt was the next thing to catch the recorder's eye, "Speaking of dirt..."

      On his way to the hulking weasel, Praff passed by a skid mark and impact zone that matched Cuffa's feet and the soiling on her back, "The oafish brute and the whip happy torturess huh? Must be Tuesday." Dartur's pure size was truly incredible, a potential so sadly wasted on a dullard that required too much effort and micromanagement to be an effective piece in his game. Cuffa, on the other hand, was decently capable, and by no means stupid, but her preoccupation with simply bullying the stock held her back from greater, more useful station. Reaching Dartur, he put on a sweeter tone, "Now now you big lug, what'd ya go n' fall over for eh? Yeh know 'ow mother Edurva gets when you go mussin' up yer clothes! Oooh, but let me worry about tha' for now ay?" While he spoke, Praff laid a brotherly right paw on the other weasel's shoulder, tilting his head the same way so Dartur would naturally look to the left. His left paw then rose to wipe and smear the clod that Cuffa had thrown into the rest of the mess on Dartur's shirt, best to make it look like the big weasel had just been clumsy in case his other idea didn't pan out, "Why don't you head on down ter tha docks hey? Ah thinks they could use sum 'elp from a great big son o' Baldoshi like yerself!" Waiting a moment, he then whispered instructions to the next nearest guard, "Follow him, and when he gets distracted by the fish, wait for him to lean over before pushing him in the water. With any luck, the dirt'll wash out, and with it, any problems his parents might try and raise over 'sabotage of the family' or whatever it is the pair of 'em conjure up this time. Just make sure he doesn't drown okay? He'll forget what he's doing by then, so get back to the field after."

      Two problems dealt with, the next thing on his checklist lay in splinters nearby, "Now what's the story with the fence?-"

"ERM, ah-ah-I was juss' on me way ta fixin' it sir!" Praff turned to the speaker, though he was already acquainted with the voice, a look of surprise on his face before he even caught sight of the small mouse, "Oh?" The remains of the victimized post lay scattered a bit too explosively to have likely been an accident, though the other guards clearly hadn't noticed or somebeast would've been getting beat half to death by the time he had arrived. Fitting Nibble into the equation clicked the last piece into place, leaving him with a good envisioning of what had occurred in the field, "Well, not quite a story, but fine enough. Hmmmm, Morgyn, why don't you help the wee mouse aye? The pair of you can pick a couple more hands to hold spars in place while you fit the post again, Braak, acquire a new post and bring it here please. In the meantime, everybeast back to work! That's enough slacking, and mind your footpaws! Cuffa! You'll accompany me to the temple, let's get a move on." Praff departed, as did Braak the ferret, though the latter did so in a more cantankerous manner.

*****

      Nibble had spoken more instinctively than intentionally, turning rather white in the aftermath of his own absentmindedness, supported more by his shovel than his legs. Taking a moment after everybeast started milling about again to settle himself, the mouse approached Morgyn, "H-howdy do friend? Are you well?-Er, well, are you able?"

Cuffa, at first, had been watching Praff's assessment with mild amusement. After all, what bully turned their gaze away as other, lesser beasts were lashed with a scolding tongue? Of course, the entertainment came to an end when the recorder neared her and Dartur. A sharp-eyed thing, that Praff was, and feeling his gaze on her footpaws and back, she, in an awkward attempt at subtlety, tried brushing herself down, wanting no lectures for her involvement in the situation. With Praff's focus on the big brute, Cuffa thought she might have avoided trouble. At the order to accompany Praff to the temple, however, her ear splayed a bit.

"The temple?" she repeated. Admittedly, as much as she could not stand Dartur, their bickering always made the day go by a little faster, and anything that made suppertime arrive sooner was always welcome. Going to the temple would rob her of that enjoyment. "Wha' for?"

  The argument between the two weasels had provided plenty of time for the stock to stop and stretch, chat for a bit, and then return to their work at leisure, which of course meant that they did an excellent job of looking busy, without actually getting anything done since their attention was subtly focused on the entertainment going on with the guards. It was just beginning to become enjoyable when one of the stock spied Praff's rather distinctive purple scarf, and quick whispers and groans were passed around the field. One would think a recorder wouldn't be such a feared beast, but Praff had earned both his position and his reputation, and he was to be obeyed without question.
  Morgyn stood still with the rest of his comrades in response to the command, eyes downcast and head lowered to avoid undue attention, but he couldn't help glancing up just once to see what the weasel was going to do, and the one look sealed his fate as his eyes met Praff's. The squirrel froze at the look of recognition in the recorder's eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat as his gaze was dropped like the unimportant scrap it was, and the weasel moved towards him. The request for his paws was met without protest and Morgyn watched as he was inspected and then seemingly forgotten in favor of the much more interesting dirt he'd been working on. From anybeast else on the island, to be glanced over and then forgotten would be a relief, but somehow, when Praff did it, it made him feel all the more small and vulnerable, especially because he knew the weasel had not forgotten.
  Morgyn brushed himself off and quietly regained his composure while Praff dealt with the other problems he'd caused, glancing up as his name was mentioned in relation to the job of fixing the fence. He grinned. Carpentry was a task he'd always enjoyed, and even something as basic as this was a welcome change to bending over in the dirt. Best of all, they wouldn't have Cuffa standing over them while they did it.
  The squirrel grinned at Nibble and rolled his shoulders a few times before he nodded.
  "Perfectly. What about you? Sustained any injuries from Dartur's handling?" Morgyn's smile grew slightly wider and he lowered his voice so only the mouse could hear. "Or from the post?"
  A quick wink and an appreciative nudge, then the beast turned to the rest of the field and selected a few helpers from among the stock.
  "Abe, Elm, come give us a paw. Let's get the old stump out while we wait for the new post."

       Praff answered without breaking stride, tilting his head to grin wryly at the deflated Cuffa, "Why marm, is company so despisable you would shun even your own kind? Come, we have new stock to account for and... whip into shape, as it were." Truth be told, he just wanted to avoid back to back incidents while the woodlanders replaced the fence. Spreading the she-weasel's particular brand of subjugation around had seemed to work better than past records of her more static placements and activities by the leadership that preceded him. He theorized that this was due, both to the reduction in burden on fieldworkers when Cuffa moved away from their field, along with the threat of her arriving in less productive fields prompting the woodlanders to work harder in an attempt to prevent being 'targeted'. As it turned out, now was as good a time as any to shift her out of position, and so he carried on towards the temple expectantly.

*****

       Nibble ducked for a second, as if to dodge glances from vermin that clearly couldn't have heard the squirrel's words anyway. Placing a paw over his chest, the little mouse looked up at Morgyn with a look somewhere between incredulous and abashed, "No need ter bloomin' scare tha socks off'a beast like tha' ya big.... big!-fluffy... tail..." Nibble was not especially good at being even mildly perturbed by his fellows, and the wind slackened from his bluster almost immediately, "T-tis' nothin', really." Following the more assertive of the pair, he found himself examining the squirrel's back with a light paw, soon giving his clothing a gentle tug. Waiting for the beast to turn, he held up some faded yellow-orange flowers, "I'm almost outta arnica, but she got ya pretty good, n' if my cycles are right, sum'ore should be budding soon. Remember, mash tha flowers, mix with a lil' fresh mud, an' keep those layers thiiin. Don't want those wee, dirt saucers rippin' out ya fur when they cracks tomorrow." Remembering himself after speaking for such an abnormally long time while on duty, Nibble's eyes darted around, making sure the guards hadn't found some new peeve to take out before finishing his comment, even quieter than before, "Ah'll try ter get aroun' to do it for ya later tonight, but I 'ave a feeling that may nay be so easy." He buried the shovel tip into the side of the already existing hole alongside his final words, starting the process of loosening the broken wood still in the ground.

Cuffa's shoulders relaxed. In all honesty, she was unsure what else she had been expecting aside from some sort of punishment for causing a stir. It was all too natural for a beast as cruel as Cuffa to expect such treatment back. Praff was soft, she thought. All the bookish sorts were, in her mind. And yet, it was their brains that saw the island's success against that Southsward place, much to her chagrin.

In a rather bold display, her way of establishing a bit of dominance over the younger male, Cuffa clasped him roughly on the back as they left the other guards and slaves behind.

"Well, ain't I a lucky beast, eh?" she snickered. "Say, Praff, ye ol' scribbler, when's the next time I get t'give a beast the chop? Been a while, and me blade's a bit parched, heh."


---


Sallow also found himself calming down now that one of the madder beasts on the island had gone. He glanced over at Morgyn and his growing group of helpers. Wanting to make up for his cowardice, he slowly shuffled over, clearing his throat.

"...Need an extra set o' paws?"

  Morgyn took the offered flowers gratefully, quickly slipping them into a pocket before one of the guards noticed the exchange. He dug his own spade into the ground, hiding a wince behind words of thanks.
  "I don't know how you manage to get stuff like that, Nibble. I'd be skinned alive if I was ever caught harvesting herbs, or anything, for my own use."
  The clearing of a throat behind him gave Morgyn a good excuse to wait before he used his spade again, and he turned to the otter behind him as the beast offered to help. Morgyn nodded, offering his spade to the beast.
  "That would be great, actually. Here, if you and Nibble can get under the post and lever up, then I'll pull and it should come out without too much trouble."

The otter grinned, nodding and making his way over the post. He looked around for the one called Nibble. Sallow's gaze fell upon the tiny mouse, and he could not help a slight chuckle.

"Well, there's a beast tha' looks like a Nibble," Sallow said, joining the digging mouse. A mole Sallow was not, but his claws were as good a tool as any for tearing up loose soil. He knelt down, tossing back pawfuls of earth, clearing the way for Nibble whenever he could. Every once in a while, Sallow would test to see if the wood was loose enough.

"Sturdy thing..." the otter commented. "Nearly there, though."

OOC: So sorry for the wait. The holiday celebrations are over now.

BIC: Dartur poked disinterestedly at the smear on his tunic, listening to the little weasel who had come upon them. An icy dagger of fear pierced his heart. Would his ma and pa be mad if he got dirty again? Maybe. . . But he wasn't that dirty, was he?
  The mention of the docks drew his attention. Yes! They would need help there, lots of supplies and food and stories. With a wide grin on his face, he turned to the direction of the docks. "You're a good un, Mister Praffer, er, yeah. . . I'm gonna go see if'n I can help there!" He stumped off, with the guard following behind him a few paces back.



  Kurlan watched the temple as they drew near, stone walls scarred by seaborn storms and bleached by the sun. In the crevices where the light did not touch, a green scum grew along the paths where rainwater naturally flowed. Slaves had placed those stones seasons upon seasons in the past, and it was obvious it has not been built with love.
  As the group nearest the foreboding structure, his vantage point grew higher, and he could see the whole side of the island, and, across a short straight, another rocky spit with some buildings dotted upon it like the nests of seabirds on a barren coast. Judging by the position of the sun, Kurlan figured where east was, and he looked for what could be seen. Out across the open waters, however, there was nothing, no sign of the mainland, no sails to mark the horizon, and in the blue sky there hardly seemed to be a single bird.
  The young sea beast nearly fell on top of a mouse who had tripped in front of him, and he swiftly dragged him back into his footpaws to avoid being trampled or targeted by waiting guards. Once he was certain the mouse would be fine, Kurlan turned his attention back to the sea. Somewhere, out there, his ship had been attacked. Somewhere, his father was either laying dead on the bottom of the ocean, or scouring the waves looking for him. He would need to hold out and escape, even if all hopes for outside aid were for naught.

       Praff caught himself, rescuing his dignity from the half-stumble thrown into his gait by his more muscled companion. He sighed quietly, all too familiar with this silly game of power and hierarchy, though, the sigh was punctuated with a note of amusement. Trudging on, he replied without turning to face the other weasel once again, "So you'd like to 'give a beast the chop' as you say hmm? Well, such is more than easy enough to arrange, though-" he turned himself, walking backwards to maintain their pace as he addressed Cuffa with great intention, "-Whether you next wet your blade under the fur of a woodlander or the scales of a fish will be a result of your behavior." The penpusher grinned, a soulless, uncaring smile of abject honesty matched with his indifferent, if only mildly entertained gaze, the modest quill with which he was so often associated now transformed into a threatening gavel. Fish on the island were handled on the dock and piers, a very wet location to work, and on this island, wet meant cold. Worse yet, there were few slaves to order around, the only expectable companionship available down by the water being the stench of the fish, and the former pirate sea rats that oversaw the gathering and cleaning of this alternative food source, a station utterly unfit for any proud weasel of Baldoshi. The facade slipped back into place just as quickly as it had dropped, the paltry, fickle light of false altruism casting its' familiar shadow over his expression as the weasel returned to 'normal'. Offering a longer, more sociable smile of alleged appreciation, he turned the same way as before, completing a full rotation as he faced frontwards again, his voice practically dripping with sarcastic pleasantry, "I look forward to assigning you a block to blooden this next cull miss Cuffa!" The little back and forth between the pair had proved an adequate passer of time, the temple looming up before the both of them.

*****

       "Nice thing abou' flowers, grasses n' the like is most a' tha guards don't know they do anything valuable." Acting as requested, Nibble drove his shovel deep, soon rewarded with the feeling of the taper in the post, meaning he had purchase. Leveraging all of his mild weight, he leaned back as best he could, shifting from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the stubborn wood from its' static position. He couldn't help a soft chuckle at Sallow's words, "Heh, yea, pretty sure 'twas a joke from one o' the vermi's way back when, 'ad that name too long to know fer sure meself, n' 'ey, a laugh from one ah them is a blister off one o' us aye?"

Sallow frowned. He had not meant to remind the poor mouse of such things, even inadvertently.

"Oh, erm, apologies, matey," said Sallow, his cheeks burning. "...You've...really been 'ere that long?" He felt the wood start to give way, and he aided the mouse in lifting it out. Still, the though of living on the island for seasons on end was, arguably, more terrifying to the young otter than being slaughtered and eaten. To see so many disappear and die was a horror Sallow wished on no beast, not even the weasels.


---


Cuffa was pleased with herself as she watched Praff fight to keep his up-right stance. He was quick to recover; she had to give him that. Still, she could not resist a devilish smirk revealing her yellowed teeth. As Praff looked at her again, she brought up a claw and pretended to be picking out old bits of food, a good excuse as any for her to be exposing her fangs the way she was. But then he threatened her with dock work...

Cold, damp air, fish that did not scream as they were gutted, the stench of sea rats and no slaves? The bridge of Cuffa's nose wrinkled. Behave? Did he think of her as one of the woodlanders? Her paw twitched, wanting to become a fist. She managed to resist it. The last thing she wanted was for him to see how badly his words affected her.

"...Right," she said in a low voice, feeling the heat of the sun disappear as she entered the temple's shadow. "Somebeast loud, aye? I want the whole island to hear it."

It was not a threat, simply another attempt at control. She expected him to keep his cool, as any "bookie" would. Still, her pride would not allow her to remain silent, not to some younger beast.


---


Perhaps this is where they're keeping us? At least until they decide what to do with us... Damsey stared up at the temple with a furrowed brow. If only she had someone around to bounce ideas off of. Her first impression with the others had not gone well, and the regret was starting to hit her. She could not help her outbursts. She was a haremaid of action, not fluffy conversation.

Absentmindedly, she brought a paw to the kerchief belonging to her dear mother, Purslane. Though she had no business being on a vile island such as this, Damsey wished that she were by her side, doing the job of rapport while she led the charge during the escape. Now that Damsey thought of the harewidow, she could not help but wonder how she was doing. Had she eaten yet? It might have been lunchtime back in Loamwell. Damsey could picture it now: delicious brown nutbread with a spread of damson jam, fresh, crispy salad, greensap cheese and onion pasties...

Groooowl...

Damsey blushed, slapping a paw over her stomach, her eyes darting.