Juskanock - A Tale Of Redwall

[JazzOfRedwall98]

Hello! I've been working on this fanfiction for a few weeks now and since I've joined this forum, I'll post it here as well as FF.net. I'd like to preface this by saying that I do have a tendency to start fics and not finish them, but I plan to write as much as I can! Please enjoy! Note: this takes place long after the series has ended.

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Prologue

Slate-colored smoke danced its way into the nighttime sky, carrying with it the scent of burning wood and salty broth. The heat of a Juska campfire was in deep combat with the chill of late autumn. Taggerung Rangum Nock, fox leader of the Juskanock band, stared contemplatively at the flames. He was a lean beast, muscular beneath his ginger fur. Across from him stood a large, black rat, dark-eyed and scarred from past battles. Black Alder Club was the name he went by, Club for short, and he stirred the contents of a large, iron cauldron. The evening's supper was a shrimp and seaweed soup seasoned with herbs from the woodlands: wild garlic, sorrel, and lemon balm. Club looked at Rangum and waved his free hand, trying to gain his attention. The fox didn't seem to notice. Removing the wooden ladle he was stirring with, Club tapped the side of the cauldron, forcing Rangum's head to shoot up. One of his paws reached for the dagger strapped to his leg.

   "What's the matter?" Rangum Nock asked. His bronze eyes scanned the surrounding area. "D'you hear somethin'?"

   "Mmm-mmm," grunted Club, shaking his head for good measure. Grunts, huffs, snorts, and other noises were Club's preferred method of "talking"; his tongue had been cut out when he was much younger. Despite that fact, Rangum had little trouble understanding him most of the time. It was a testament to their seasons-long companionship. Club dipped the ladle into the soup, gathered a sample of it, and held it out for the fox to try.

   "Ah, right," said Rangum. He stood up, approached the cauldron, and carefully sipped at the concoction. The shrimp and seaweed were cooked well, and the herbs added flavor to what would normally be a simple brine. Rangum Nock nodded his head in approval. "Pretty good. I think it's ready for Lans." Pausing, the fox then sighed. "If she'd just let me into our tent..."

Rangum and Club looked towards one of the three tents surrounding the campfire. A lantern had been lit inside, and the silhouette of a fox was moving about. It was Moggs, the band's seer and the mother of the second vixen lying inside the tent: Lansah. Lansah was Rangum's mate. A few hours ago, she had given birth, but Rangum had yet to see his cub. Lansah would not allow it; her mind was clouded with the instinctual desire to protect her newborn, something many a Juska she-beast experienced after bearing young. For his own safety, and for Lansah's peace of mind, Rangum stayed away. It was frustrating, but the Taggerung knew that it wouldn't last.

Moggs' silhouette moved again, and she emerged from the tent, her golden eyes dull from exhaustion. This had not been the Seer's first time delivering Juska babes, but it never got any easier.

"Oooh..." she sighed, her nostrils quivering at the smell of food. "Soup's done?"

"Mmm," Club grunted again, nodding. Leaning down, the rat reached for one of the wooden bowls that were placed just far enough that the campfire couldn't reach them. He filled it with soup, and held it out as Moggs joined them.

"Didn't add t'much wild garlic again, did ye?" asked Moggs as she eyed the bowl. Club sucked his teeth, a noise indicating his annoyance at the question.

"He didn't," Rangum answered for Club. "I 'ad some just now. It's good." He nodded towards the tent. "How's Lans?"

"Fine," replied Moggs as she took the bowl of soup and began blowing at it. "She's nursin' right now, and not t'be disturbed. Hmph. Snapped at me, she did. Her own mam!" She pointed at Rangum. "It's yore fault, o'course."

The Taggerung's shoulders bounced as he laughed.

"It's not all my fault." He took a bowl of soup that was offered to him by Club. "Lans and I agreed on it together. What's the point in startin' our own band if we have no one to pass it down to when we're gone? Besides, we could use an extra set of paws."

"Mmph. Still don't like bein' growled an' fussed at." Moggs took a sip from her soup bowl and smacked her lips at the various flavors. "Hmm. Not bad, Black Alder. Yore learnin'."

Black Alder Club dipped his head in response to the praise.

"Anyway," continued Moggs. "I'll bring some soup to Lansah in a bit. I just needed some fresh air. She might settle down once she's got some good vittles in 'er."

   Rangum sighed.

   "I want to see 'er..." he lamented. "And the cub. At least tell me if I've gotten a son or daughter?"

   "A daughter," answered the Seer. Rangum's ear flicked curiously. "Not the biggest cub I've seen, but a good appetite. Think she smelt the soup; she stopped nursin' fer a second t'get a good whiff."

   Rangum could not help but chuckle at the thought. He was pleased at the news. He had a legacy now, and  he was determined to shape his daughter into a proud Juskabeast.

   Club had served himself his own bowl of shrimp and seaweed soup as the conversation had gone on. He listened quietly, sipping at the broth and carefully chewing the solid bits. He could not taste his meal at all, but it did not bother him much. He was alive, and that was what mattered to him. Club's eyes darted between Rangum and Moggs as he waited for one of them to speak again. The Taggerung had begun to eat, but Moggs was sitting still, the bowl tightly gripped in her hands, and her eyes staring straight ahead. Curious, Club watched her. The Seer's body began to tremble.

   "Hah..." an exhale escaped Moggs' lips. "Hah...hah...hah..."

   At that sound, Rangum was paying attention to the vixen as well. He and Club exchanged a glance before they both set down their soup bowls and approached her.

   "Moggs?" called Rangum. "Y'alright, silver-whiskers?"

   Moggs did not reply. Instead, her breathing quickened, as did her trembling. The soup threatened to spill out over her paws. Club took it from her. Rounding the vixen, Rangum rested his paws on Moggs' shoulders, steadying her. He then brought a paw to her forehead. She was warm to the touch. A fever was kicking in at an unnaturally fast pace. The Taggerung knew exactly what this meant. With serious eyes, Rangum Nock looked to his rat comrade.

   "We need t'bring her inside," he said. "Quickly."

   Club nodded. With one of Moggs' arms wrapped around one of their shoulders, Club and Rangum carried the old vixen into her own tent. Lansah, hearing the commotion, called out to her mate.

   "Rangum? What's happenin'!? Is it Mam? What's goin' on with Mam!?"

   Rangum gritted his teeth. He had no choice but to ignore his mate's shouts as he and Club laid Moggs down on a "bed" of barkcloth blankets. Club stepped out again and returned seconds later with an earthenware jug filled with fresh water. Rangum lifted her head, allowing Club to carefully tilt the cooling liquid into Moggs' open mouth. The vixen drank it, smacked her lips, and peered at the Rangum and Club through squinted eyes.

   "Hah..." she breathed again. She struggled to form words. "Sm...smo..."

   "Easy," said Rangum gently. "Take yer time."

   "Smoke..." Moggs choked out. "White...fox...white smoke..."

   Rangum listened carefully. This was an omen. Whenever Moggs received one, she was struck with a sudden fever.

   "Hare...badger..." continued Moggs. "Juska...death...death...death...!"

   Rangum's fur bristled. Again, he and Club looked at each other. Club's eyes were wide with alarm.

   "Winters...two...two winters...red...stone..." Moggs' eyes began to close, and her trembling lessened. As she slipped out of consciousness, one final word left her lips: "Barabell..."

   Moggs went limp. Rangum checked for a pulse. The Seer was alive. Right now, she needed rest. In the silence, Rangum and Club sat near the recovering Moggs, both beasts repeating the words in their heads. One thing was painfully clear: something bad was going to happen, and they had two winters to prepare for it.

   "Rangum!" called Lansah again. "Answer me! I know ye can 'ear me!"

   Club nudged Rangum's shoulder, a signal for him to go to his mate. The Taggerung nodded, stood, and left for his and Lansah's tent in a hurry. When he arrived, he was met with Lansah staring intensely at him from her corner of the tent, their cub dozing in her arms. She was a pretty thing, her coat being an unusual shade of gold that only foxes of the Ruggan Bor bloodline could inherit. For a brief moment, Rangum's attention was stolen by his sleeping daughter.

   "Answer, damn it!" snapped Lansah irritably. "What's 'appened? I 'eard Mam talkin', but she was goin' too fast. What'd she say!?"

   "It's not good news..." admitted the fox. "I don't think I should tell you now, not after the day you've 'ad..."

   "I'm fine," insisted the vixen. "Go on. 'urry up an' tell me."

   Rangum sighed. There was no other choice; Lansah would only work herself up if he kept quiet. He sat down a good, safe distance from his mate and repeated the words to her.

   "White smoke, white fox, hare, badger, Juska, death, two winters, redstone, and..." Rangum was still a bit puzzled as to the last word and its meaning. Nevertheless, he said it. "Barabell."

   Lansah took the words in. Her brow furrowed.

   "...It sounds like another war's comin'," she muttered in a somewhat calmer voice. "And so soon after the Taggerung Truce, too..."

   The Taggerung Truce was an event that occurred seasons prior, during the spring. After the humiliation of Ruggan Bor by Russano the Wise, the Juska clans fell into a generations-long war over the title of Taggerung. The bloodshed seemed endless until the more sensible Juskabeasts introduced the Taggerung Truce. Any Chieftain, whether they ruled a large clan or a small band, would be known as s Taggerung. Something resembling peace finally fell over the Western Coast.

   "It could be," said Rangum Nock. "And it won't only be us Juska involved. Badgers an' hares? I'm sure you know what that's referrin' to..."

   "The Salamandastron lot..." growled Lansah. She held her cub tighter to her chest. "An' redstone? Tha's referrin' to those Abbeybeasts from the old tales. What'n Hellgates do either of 'em want with us!?"

"I really don't know, Lans." Rangum let out a heavy sigh. "An' then there's this talk o' white foxes and smoke. It's a lot t'figure out right now, but the one thing we do know is that we 'ave time t'prepare, two winters. We're lucky ol' Moggs had her omen now an' not later, when it's too late. We need t'be well-trained, all of us."

Lansah was quiet for a moment. She stared down at her cub, and after a few seconds, looked at Rangum.

"Barabell..." she began. "That was the name of me gran'mammy. Mam tol' me about her when I was a wee 'un. She died in the wars when Mam was barely old enough t'get her clan markin's."

"Aye?"

"Aye." Lansah looked at the cub again. The foxbabe yawned, exposing her pink tongue. "I wonder if that's meant t'be this 'un's name."

"It's a good name," commented Rangum as he stood up. Lansah seemed calmer now than before. Perhaps this was his chance to come closer. Cautiously, he took a step forward. The vixen's golden stare burned into him almost immediately. Rangum paused. "...I'm not gonna 'urt her. You know I'm not."

Lansah glanced her mate over. Rangum waited, not daring to breathe as the vixen made up her mind. Lansah's gaze softened somewhat; the brief conversation made Rangum's presence more palatable.

"Slowly," was all she said in response. Ears perked, Rangum carefully approached. He lowered himself onto all fours and took his place beside Lansah. The vixen held Barabell out so that Rangum could properly see her. Even with her eyes closed, something told Rangum that she would have the same vibrant eyes of her mother and grandmother.

"Heh..." laughed Rangum. "Amazin' how even the vilest Juskabeasts start out small like this, hmm?"

"Hmm..." Lansah halfheartedly attempted to laugh. Frowning, Rangum nudged her head with his own. She flashed her teeth at him as a warning.

"Sorry," the Taggerung winced. "Y'know, you really shouldn't stress so much. Moggs is fine. After a day or two, she'll be back on her feet. You know that."

"And what about the omen?" Lansah stared hard at Rangum. "What are we meant t'do when it 'appens? Fight an entire army ourselves?"

"O'course not. We survive by any means necessary, even if that means..." Here, Rangum exhaled wearily through his nostrils. "We have to flee the Western Coast."

"Flee?" growled Lansah. "Tch. I'm tired o' fleein'. We did our fleein' when the Juskalaith fell apart."

Rangum frowned as he remembered the clan he, Lansah and Moggs once called home. Life in the Juskalaith had been rough, especially under the rule of the weasel Chieftain, Sloangra Laith. She had not lived long enough to see the Taggerung Truce, not that Rangum believed she would have agreed to it. Her daughter, Verratta Laith, led a mutiny that took Sloangra's life, and in the chaos, Rangum, Lansah and Moggs took their leave. After the Truce, Rangum did not concern himself with the Juskalaith. It was a bad memory he would rather forget.

"If runnin' means our band survives," the fox responded after a long pause. "Then so be it. I didn't leave Juskalaith just so I could die. Did you?"

Lansah's silence was all the answer Rangum needed. After a moment's hesitation, he brushed her arm with his own.

"We shouldn't think about that now..." In a bold move, the Taggerung reached out with his paws. "Lemme see 'er."

"...What?" Lansah gave Rangum an odd look.

"I want t'hold 'er. See 'ow little she is."

"Hmm..."

"I'll be gentle with 'er. Honest, I will. Swear on me longbow."

"Right." Lansah eyed her mate a bit, her mind still a bit clouded by her maternal instincts. Slowly, she raised the infant and began passing her over. "Careful. Not one 'air outta place, or I'll break that longbow."

"Of course," snickered Rangum. He took Barabell, and held her out in front of him. Moggs had not been lying; Barabell was a tiny thing. The cub stirred, her nose quivering, taking in the scent of her father. Rangum could not resist a grin as he brought Barabell closer. "Barabell. D'you like that name, lass?"

"She can't 'ear ye," scoffed Lansah, the slightest hint of amusement on her weary face. "Mam says cubs can't 'ear when they're first born."

"Oh." Rangum blinked. His fur bristled with embarrassment. "Well, in my defense, I 'aven't 'andled too many cubs in my lifetime."

"I know." Lansah leaned a bit closer to her mate and rested her head on his shoulder. "Can't wait 'til she's old enough to handle a spear. Just imagine, me and 'er, downin' enemies left an' right. Not t'mention how much fish we'll be bringin' back from the sea, hehe."

Rangum held little Barabell in his arms the way he had seen Lansah do it. As the vixen spoke, he gently poked the cub's belly with a claw.

The Taggerung grinned as his own imagination took flight. "An' I'll teach 'er to use a bow. Strikin' fear into the 'earts of intruders with 'er ol' sire. I tell ya, Lans, the Juskanock's gonna be in good paws when we're done with 'er."

Lansah smiled. By now, she was used to Rangum being in the tent with her. The maternal cloud had become a ghostly mist, allowing her to see Rangum as the fox she knew and loved. The feelings were not completely gone, however. She reached for Barabell again.

"Give 'er back," she ordered. Rangum chuckled.

"Yes, marm," the Taggerung joked. He rested Barabell back into her mother's arms, and the cub began whining. She was hungry again. Lansah laid on her side, closed her eyes and began nursing Barabell. Watching her and the babe for a moment, Rangum spoke again. "You should eat, too. Moggs was gonna bring some soup, but..."

"Mmm..." Lansah opened an eye to look at her mate. "Soup would be nice. Get me some, would ye? And make sure there's a lot o' shrimp."

"Aye, Chieftain," snickered Rangum. His laughter grew louder when Lansah looked at him in annoyance. He got up and started for the entrance of the tent. "Alright, alright, I'm goin'.

Just before the Taggerung stepped out into the night, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. He watched his mate and cub once more and began to frown as Moggs' words repeated in his mind. Despite what he told Lansah, not even he could fight off the worry in his heart. Rangum Nock closed his eyes, shook his head, and left the tent in silence.

[JazzOfRedwall98]

Chapter One

Beams of warm, yellow sunlight bathed the forest floor that morning. Gentle breezes plucked the last amber-red leaves from their branches, carrying them down to the exposed roots of the trees that once nourished them. Autumn had visited the woods again, two autumns since the birth of Barabell. At eight seasons old, the vixen was well past her infancy, not an adult, but no longer reliant on her mother's milk. Her face had yet to be marked with the symbol of the Juskanock: a green arrow that stretched along the length of the muzzle. Barabell could only earn this marking after succeeding her father's test. Today was not her first attempt, but she hoped it would be her last.

Barabell sat on one of the high, naked branches of a rowan tree. She sat with her back against the truck, one paw clutching the strap of a traveling pouch, and the other holding onto a longbow, one suited for a fox as young as she. Her golden eyes scanned the forest below her, searching for any signs of her father and Black Alder Club. In the traveling pouch was a wood pigeon slain by one of Rangum's arrows. Her test was simple; Barabell was to take the pouch and make her way back to the Juskanock camp, alone, and without being caught by Rangum and Club, who were tracking her.

The forest was quiet save the occasional warbling of songbirds and the drumming of a woodpecker's beak. Barabell wondered how far away Rangum and Club were from her location. She was given a thirty second head-start and took off running in the direction of camp. The first time Barabell had done this test, she simply ran until she was exhausted, and was found easily thanks to the trail she left. The next attempt, she had tried hiding, but the spots she chose were painfully obvious. Now, Barabell had a bit more sense. Her father's eyes would be on the forest floor, so what better place to lie in wait than up in a tree? Barabell chuckled to herself. It was a clever trick, and Rangum would never suspect it. It would have been nice to have some extra leaves for cover, but as long as she stayed still and quiet, Barabell felt certain that she would not be spotted.

Minutes passed and Barabell eventually heard the rustling of leaves. Some beast was kicking them up with their footpaws, most likely the big brute that was Club. With a cheeky grin, Barabell peered down at the forest floor, expecting to see the rat wandering past her hiding place. What she actually saw, however, made her blood run cold. One by one, five strangers came into view, armed and scanning the area as they walked. They were Juskabeasts, as evident by their tattoos: two swirling, black lines that started on the right brow, looped the eye, and ended at the cheek, with another line of small, white dots between them. Barabell's parents and grandmother bore the same markings, the symbols of their old clan: the Juskalaith. What were they doing in the Juskanock's hunting ground? Why were they armed? Who were they looking for? These questions, and more, buzzed around in Barabell's head. Her heart pounded in her chest and her grip tightened on her longbow.
"What do I do...?" she asked herself in a trembling voice, quietly, so that the trespassers could not hear her. This was a situation Barabell had never found herself in before. This was the first time she had seen trespassers on Juskanock land, and if they were unfriendly, her father and Club would be outnumbered.

"'Old it," commanded the scruffy, brown rat taking the lead. He held up his free paw, the hilt of a cutlass firmly grasped in the other one. His allies obeyed, a stoat, two ferrets, and another rat. Barabell watched the brown rat's ears twitch. "Let's 'ave a lissen fer arrows. Rangum might be 'untin'."

Barabell did not dare to breathe as the five Juskalaith listened to the sounds of the woods. Seconds passed. The birds never ceased their singing, nor did the woodpecker cease his quest for a meal. Agitated by the noise, one of the ferrets, armed with a sling, pulled a stone from a pouch on his belt and aimed randomly.

"Shuddup already!" he snapped as the stone went flying. Barabell flinched at the loud thud. Wings fluttered as the birds took flight. The drumming of the woodpecker's beak also halted. A silence followed, and the Juskalaith beasts listened again. A few more seconds went by before the stoat snorted.

"Not 'round here, I reckon," said the stoat. "Must be further along. Just wish 'e 'ad a trail we could follow."

"Mushbrain," hissed the brown rat. "Rangum ain't no fool. Our best bet is t'search this forest top t'bottom. Even if 'e spots us first, we can easily swarm 'im and bring 'im down."

They were going to kill Rangum, and Barabell was clueless as to why. She had to do something, but what? How could she...?

The vixen's eyes brightened as an idea formed in her head.

"C'mon, move it," ordered the brown rat as he started off. "The sooner this is done, the sooner we can grab Lansah and 'ead back. Remember, we're gettin' a good meal if we do this right."

"Good," huffed the other rat, a female. "I'm tired of chokin' down roasted seaweed every night while Crabcull and the other brown-nosers get the best vittles."

While the group continued in the direction they were going, grumbling and complaining about the one they called Crabcull, Barabell pulled an arrow from the quiver she carried on her back. She loaded the arrow, drew the bowstring back as far as she could, and aimed to the east. She watched the group move further and further away from the tree, and when Barabell felt that the time was right, she released the arrow.

THWANG!

The arrow took off like a shooting star, disappearing from Barabell's view in a matter of seconds. Wherever it landed, birds took flight and Barabell could hear their panicked calls. As she hoped, the Juskalaith beasts stopped and glanced towards the east.

"Just as I thought..." The brown rat took a few steps in that direction. "'E's shootin' birds."

"Why in the Dark Forest would 'e be 'untin' there?" questioned the sling-wielding ferret. "Ain't that where the Stone Border is?"

"Aye," agreed the brown rat. He then scoffed. "Just our luck. But, again, Rangum ain't stupid. 'E wouldn't get too close to it. We 'ave nothin' to worry about. Heh, if we're lucky, we can trap 'im there and he'll be forced to surrender."

A chorus of agreements and snickers arose from the Juskalaith beasts as they continued their hunt for Rangum. As they disappeared into the undergrowth, Barabell, who's heartbeat rivaled the beat of a hummingbird's wings, began climbing down after looping her bow around her body. Fortunately, going down was easier than going up. Digging her claws into the wood, Barabell allowed gravity to do most of the work. She tried distracting herself with some interesting facts from her grandmother.

Apparently there were creatures that were born with some natural ability to climb trees, and much faster than Barabell ever could. Squirrels, they were called, bushy-tailed and red-furred, much like her. The concept of such a creature fascinated Barabell so much that she had crafted a doll based on the mental image she had conjured in her head. The toy squirrel was named Lunger Longtail, and was back at camp, awaiting her return. The thought of her only friend steadied her shaking limbs somewhat.


Among the Juskalaith group, however, the sling-wielding ferret, who was named Chummer, stopped and looked over his shoulder. Noticing his hesitation, the rat leader shot Chummer a glare.

"What? Why've ye stopped?"

"Somethin's off..." muttered Chummer.

"Off?" echoed the rat. Chummer's clanmates stopped to look at him questioningly. "What d'ye mean "off"?"

Chummer shrugged. "Dunno. Call it a 'unch. Think I might patrol 'round 'ere some more. Rangum might be clever, but all it takes is one stone to his skull."

"Sounds more like yer scared o' goin' to the Stone Border to me," mocked the stoat with a wide, toothy smile.

"Stow yer gab, Hollowgill," Chummer shot back roughly. He then turned and began walking back to the path the group had originally been taking. "I'm goin'. If I'm right, ye all'll be lookin' mighty stupid."

"An' if yer wrong," laughed Hollowgill as she brandished a dagger and followed Chummer. "The look on yer face'll be 'ilarious."

"Ye both can find yer own way back to t'camp," the brown rat called after them. He nodded for his remaining comrades to follow him. "C'mon. Let the idiots wander. More of a reward for us when we bring back Rangum's 'ead."


Barabell had nearly reached the bottom of the tree when she heard the returning pawsteps of Chummer and Hollowgill. Her heart skipped a beat, and in her moment of fear, her hind paw lost its grip. A cry escaped her maw as she fell downwards, her back hitting the rowan's protruding roots.

"Ow...!" winced Barabell. Not far from where she lay, Chummer's ears perked.

"Didja 'ear that?" he asked Hollowgill. "That was a voice. A brat, by the sounds of it. Now, din' Crabcull say Rangum an' Lansah might've settled down an 'ad one by now?"

It took Hollowgill a second to respond. She was surprised, and a bit peeved, that Chummer had not been a fool like she had previously thought.

"Ain't 'eard no voice," lied Hollowgill. Chummer squinted at her, before loading his slingshot with another stone and starting off in Barabell's direction.

"Stay 'ere, then," Chummer snarled. "I'll get the brat meself."

"Not without me, ye don't..." hissed Hollowgill. Barabell had recovered by this time, and hearing the Juskalaith pair grow closer, she ignored the dull pain in her back and took off on all fours. Her cover was blown, but that was not Barabell's concern. She needed to find her father. Chummer and Hollowgill looked after her.

"Oi!" Chummer shouted as he began running, twirling the sling. "Stop! I said stop, brat!"

Barabell, of course, did not listen. Chummer launched the stone. It cut through the air, its whistling growing louder and louder in Barabell's ears. She tried running faster, hoping and praying that it would miss.

THWACK!

"Ahh!" Barabell cried in pain as the stone caught her left footpaw. She fell flat on her belly with a groan. Chummer and Hollowgill rushed to close the distance. They would not kill the young vixen, not yet. The one ordering them about, Crabcull, would find young Barabell to be very interesting.

Barabell's paw was throbbing. Even the smallest flexing of her toes sent pain all throughout it. This was bad. They were going to catch her! Fear began to take over despite the weapon she carried. Although she could have attempted to load her bow, there was no guarantee that she could land a good blow, and the other Juskalaith would deal with her immediately after. Her golden eyes glistened with tears and she slammed them tight as she lay amid the leaf litter. Barabell had always hoped that her first fight against enemy Juska would be at her parents' side, Club providing aid and Moggs ready to tend to their wounds after their victory. The fantasy had excited her before, but she felt no such excitement now. The young vixen was terrified.

"Papa!" Barabell screamed as hot tears ran down her cheeks. "Papa, help!"

The shadows of her pursuers fell over her. Barabell looked up to see the wicked sneers of the ferret and stoat.

"Aww..." cooed Hollowgill, malice dripping from her words. "Poor baby's callin' for 'er Daddy. Not t'worry, lass. We ain't gonna 'urt ye, hehe..."

"'Ey, 'ow's about ye tell us where yer Ma is, and we'll all go on a nice trip to the Juskalaith camp?" Chummer hummed. "Our friend Crabcull would love to see the two o' ye. C'mon. Speak up."

Barabell couldn't speak, instead, silently shivering as she looked up at the Juskalaith beasts. Hollowgill gained an evil glint in her eye and allowed sunlight to glint off her dagger.

"Answer the question!" she roared. "Stupid brat. Talk, or I'll bleed ye! Talk!"

"Just leave me alone!" sobbed Barabell. "I don't wanna go wi' ye!"

Chummer put away his sling and raised his paw in preparation for a strike. "Tsk. Stan' back. The brat won't talk. I'll just knock 'er out an' we can--"

Chummer never finished his sentence. Before the ferret even knew what happened, an arrow shot him through the back of his head. The lifeless Chummer crumbled to the ground. Hollowgill's previous aggression left her as fear took over. Frantically, the stoat ran to the trees for cover, only a large figure to appear in front of her and bash in her skull with a heavy club. She fell onto her back, dead. A silent Barabell stared at the two slain Juskalaith, and then at her approaching saviors: Rangum Nock and Black Alder Club.

"Barabell!" gasped Rangum as he came to his daughter's side. He knelt down and helped her into a sitting position. Barabell groaned at the pain from her injuries, but they were nothing compared to the amount of shame she felt in her heart. "Oh, lass! 'Ell's teeth, I thought we wouldn't make it 'ere in time. Me an' Club 'eard you screaming..."

"I..." Barabell's voice was barely above a whisper. Her mouth stayed open, but no other words would come out. She wanted to say that she was alright, but that was a blatant lie. Her paw stung, her body ached, and her pride was wounded. Her ears fell as she turned away from her father's concerned face. With a gentle paw, Rangum made her look at him.

"'Ey..." said the Taggerung softly. "Yer safe now, Barabell. I'm 'ere, alright?"

Barabell's eyes turned away. She said nothing. Rangum was about to speak again when a low growl from Club stole his attention. Rangum turned to see Club lifting Chummer's head and pointing to the tattoos. Rangum's eyes narrowed.

"Juskalaith," hissed the Taggerung. With a serious look in his eyes, he focused on Barabell again. "Tell me, lass, was it just these two? Or were there others?"

"...There were five of 'em," Barabell whispered. "I saw 'em from where I was 'idin', up in the trees..." She pointed up to her hiding place. With wide eyes, Rangum and Club glanced at where she was pointing and then stared at each other. A moment later, Rangum managed a small laugh.

"So this is 'ow I find out my cub's a tree-walloper, eh?" It was an attempt at lightening the mood, but Barabell's look of embarrassment never changed. Rangum cleared his throat. "Right, so, which way did they go, Barabell?"

"To the east," replied the vixen. She pointed again. "I shot an arrow that way, where the Stone Border is. I tricked 'em an' made 'em think you were shootin' birds. The five of 'em left before, but those two came back..." She paused for a moment. "They want t'kill you, and take me and Mama away."

Rangum felt the fangs of rage grip his heart. His fur bristled, and his eyes darkened and he pulled another arrow from his quiver. A startled Barabell looked up at him.

"Did they mention Crabcull?" asked the Taggerung in a low voice. Barabell nodded quickly. Rangum fit the arrow to his bow and looked to Club. "I figured that black-'earted cur wouldn't leave us be."

"Who is he, Papa?" asked Barabell. "Who's Crabcull?"

"We'll talk about that later," answered Rangum Nock. "Right now, y'need to get t'camp and get those wounds taken care of. Club."

"I'm fine, Papa, really!" protested Barabell as she tried to stand. She yelped as she stepped on her injured paw. Club approached her, holstering his weapon on his back and scooping the vixen up in his arms.

"Take 'er to Moggs," ordered Rangum as he began to track where the remaining Juskalaith had gone. "I'll be back."

Club nodded and obeyed, taking Barabell in another direction. Barabell squirmed, ignoring the pain in her body as she called after her father.

"Papa! I can 'elp! Please! I'm fine! Papa!"

The youngster's voice faded the farther away Rangum got. He frowned deeply. Barabell's humiliation had not been lost on him. She wanted to impress him so badly and earn her Juskanock markings. Perhaps, had the Juskalaith not interfered, she might have bested him. Such a strange concept, a fox hiding in a tree. In hindsight, Lunger Longtail should have been a clue. Rangum shook his head, and focused on his current task. Clumsy walkers, these Juskalaith were. They had kicked up leaf litter without a care in the world.

"Should've come 'ere an' faced me yerself, Crabcull," muttered Rangum under his breath. "Then again, you always did like makin' others do yer dirty work for ye. Coward."

Falling silent, Rangum pressed on, sticking close to the trees and shrubs to hide himself. His fur fluffed at a sudden breeze. A bit of down drifted from a roosting bird; for a moment, Rangum thought it to be snow. The first day of winter would be upon the Juskanock soon. The fox gritted his teeth as he recalled Moggs' words that night two autumn's prior. What a fine time for Crabcull to make trouble when he had other things to worry about.