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.

___

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.

[JazzOfRedwall98]

Chapter Two

It did not take Barabell long to cease her pleading. Certain that her father was well out of earshot, the foxlass could only sulk in silence. Black Alder Club had begun a light jog westward, climbing over exposed roots, boulders and logs, and rounding trees with as much nimbleness as was possible for a rat of his size. Barabell lay in his arms, tight-lipped, and her ears flattened. Her back still stung, as did her footpaw, which she glared at contemptuously. On a better day, one where Barabell found herself victorious against her Juskalaith adversaries, she might have enjoyed being carried home like this. Barabell inhaled sharply as she fought off tears. How she longed to return to that moment when she fell, so that she could have shaken off the fear that paralyzed her. Alas, the past could not be changed, and that fact surged the anger in the young Juska's heart.

"Stupid..." Barabell seethed, breaking the silence. She felt Club's gaze fall upon her, and Barabell turned her face away to hide her tears as they fell. "Stupid Juskalaith, an' stupid Crabcull, whoever 'e is. It's not fair! Why'd they 'ave t'come 'ere today!? I was gonna pass fer sure this time! I know I was!"

More tears fell as Barabell's anger quickly shifted into dejection. She rested her head against Club's chest and heaved a sigh. The rat, still watching her, gained a glimmer of pity in his black eyes. He had been young once, green behind the ears and desperate to earn the markings that would prove his worth. A hopeful fool, he had been, something he paid dearly for. Club scowled at the reminder of his past. Barabell's eyes suddenly bore into him, and Club's face hastily shifted back to his usual expression of indifference.

"Were y'able to do it, Club?" the foxlass asked. "When y'were littler, like me? Kill, I mean?"

"Mmm-hmm," answered Club without hesitation.

"Oh." Barabell's whiskers bristled in frustration. Still, she found herself curious. "Wha' was it like?"

Black Alder Club silently stared at the young vixen. Barabell's eyes widened, and her ears grew warm in embarrassment as she realized her blunder.

"Oh, right. Ye can't speak. Sorry, Club." Barabell paused for a moment. "I wish ye could, though. Would be nice."

Club only shrugged. Admittedly, there were times where he saw his muteness as a blessing of sorts. After all, what was he, a thuggish slayer, meant to say to a whimpering youth? No, comfort was not something the rat was good at. Rangum could handle that, assuming he lived to see the day's end. At the thought of his Chieftain, Club suddenly quickened his pace, now sprinting to the forest's edge. A tiny gasp left Barabell's maw. She held tightly onto Club's fur, fearing that he might drop her in his rush. In time, the trees grew sparse, and the flatlands, painted gold by autumn's brush, were now visible. Black Alder Club spotted a dark billow of smoke in the near distance. Kicking his footpaws free of dead foliage, the rat entered the flatlands and approached the Juskanock camp.

The Juskanock's campsite was a humble thing, consisting of five tents surrounding a small cooking area. To its north flowed the River Moss, supplying fresh water, fish and a border from northern trespassers. Mossflower Woods loomed in the east, and to the west was a watermeadow, another source of food and fresh herbs. The Juskanock settled into this area at the end of the summer months, having traveled from the sandy beaches of the coast. The forest would make for a good hiding place, Rangum had explained, should the winter threat find them. Standing at the cooking fire was Lansah, her arms crossed as she watched her morning catch of trout roast over the open flame. Ol' Moggs sat nearby, sipping the last remnants of brandy from a bowl. When she pulled the bowl from her lips, she sighed in content and eyed the jug sitting beside her. After a moment's consideration, Moggs grabbed the jug, uncorked it, and filled the bowl again. Lansah glared over her shoulder at her mother.

"Drink, drink, drink," spat the spearvixen. "Is tha' all y'can do these days?"

Moggs did not reply at first, locking eyes with Lansah as she took a slow, deliberate sip. "Not quite. I eat a bit, as well. Which reminds me, y'best leave the fish be; watched meat won't cook."

"Spare me yore jokes," Lansah snapped. She turned to face Moggs, her paws moving to her hips. "Tha' brandy's s'posed t'be fer Barabell's ceremony. Don't go gluggin' it all."

"Still ignorin' my vision, are ye?"

"Y'saw wrong. Ever since we've settled 'ere, ye've been seein' wrong."

"Bah..." Moggs waved her hand dismissively. "Yore jus' too stubborn t'listen. Stubborn an' afraid."

"I ain't afraid."

Moggs ignored Lansah's interjection. "Rangum's no better. Sometimes, I wish 'e'd think more as a Taggerung than a mate. Campin' 'ere ain't gonna save us, only—"

"Be quiet." Lansah stepped closer and swiped the bowl of brandy from Moggs' paw. "An' give me tha'. I think ye've 'ad enough."

Shrugging, Moggs stood and prepared to go into her tent. "Fine. Finish it for me; might 'elp wi' yore nerves."

Glowering at the remaining brandy, Lansah huffed and flung it out into the grass. She then chucked the bowl away to deal with later. Moggs, having watched Lansah out of the corner of her eye, shook her head and pulled back the folds of her tent, muttering under her breath:

"Wasteful brat..."
   
Just then, Moggs' ear flicked. She could hear the faintest sound of pawsteps. She looked to her right and could see a dark mass approaching. Though her eyes were not the best, the scent on the wind told Moggs all she needed to know.

"Seems they're back," Moggs commented. Ears perked, Lansah searched around and quickly spotted Black Alder Club and Barabell. For a split second, a grin was stretched across the spearvixen's face, hopeful that Moggs had been wrong. That hope was dashed to pieces upon seeing Barabell in Club's arms, eyes cast downward. She did not see Rangum, either. Lansah's fur bristled as she felt a stare from Ol' Moggs.

"Black Alder," said Moggs as the rat brute entered the campsite. "Barabell. Did somethin' 'appen?"

"...I was," Barabell struggled to begin, but the shame from before caught her tongue. Lansah approached Club, standing over Barabell.

"Go on," ordered Lansah. She seemed calm, calmer than what Barabell had been expecting. The foxlass began shuddering. "Speak up. Somethin' went wrong, didn't it?"

"I-It wasn't me fault!" exclaimed Barabell suddenly. She looked up at Lansah as a fresh set of tears began to fall. "I swear it wasn't, Mammy! It...! It was...! They...! I...!"

Barabell's chest rose and fell at an alarming speed; panic was setting in, and it made it difficult to breathe. Moggs stepped in, nudging Lansah out of the way and pointing at the ground.

"There, Black Alder. Set 'er there. Her footpaw looks swollen. She's been 'urt?"

"Mmm-hmm," replied Club.

"'Urt?" Lansah echoed. Her heart sank; no longer could she deny Moggs' truth. But it was not only Barabell's failure that had her worried. "Where's yore Pa? Why ain't 'e 'ere?"

Barabell hissed as Club set her down. Moggs sat beside her and felt the swollen footpaw for signs of broken bones.

"Ow...!" yelped Barabell. "I...! Pa, 'e's...! 'E's trackin' the Juskalaith! They attacked, an'...! Ow, Nanny!"

Lansah paled beneath her fur. "Juskalaith!?"

"As if things couldn't get any worse..." grumbled Moggs. She turned to Lansah. "Wha' are ye waitin' for? Go. Take Club with ye and find Rangum before they do."

"But wha' if Crabcull--!?"

"Then this'll be yore only chance t'kill 'im. Now, go."

Barabell had never seen her mother in such a state. She watched as Lansah took a deep breath, her brow furrowing as fright became anger. Without another word, the golden vixen made for her and Rangum's tent and returned with a set of spears. She nodded to Black Alder Club, who pulled out his namesake weapon, his eyes dark with the intent to kill. Together, rat and vixen raced towards the woods, leaving Barabell and Moggs alone. The old Seer stepped away to retrieve some items from her tent while Barabell wiped her face on her arm. The silence was uncomfortable, and the cold air did not help. Moggs returned to see Barabell holding herself.

"Tch. If ye were cold, I would've grabbed a blanket while I was in there."

"I'll be okay, Nan..." Barabell assured her.

"Y'sure?" Moggs sat, placing down what she had gathered: a mortar and pestle, a waterskin, and some cloth bandages.  "I don't wanna 'ear any whingin' while I work, aye?"

"Aye, Nan," replied Barabell gloomily.

Moggs got to work. From her long, baggy robes, she pulled out some dried yarrow petals from one of the herb pouches tied to her waist. Crushing them in the mortar and adding some water, Ol' Moggs created a poultice for Barabell's footpaw.

"C'mere," Moggs ordered. "An' don't do all that cringin' an' jumpin'. Sit still."

"Aye, Nan..."

Moggs applied the poultice with as much gentleness as a grumpy, old vixen could muster--which was to say, not very much. Barabell gritted her teeth, but did her best not to cry. A Juskabeast did not cry, that was what she tried to remind herself.

"Stay off it, if y'can," instructed the Seer. "This poultice'll 'elp with the swellin'. Yore lucky nothin's broken. The beast tha' got ye must've 'ad a weak arm. Not one of the Juskalaith's best, clearly."

"D'ye know who Crabcull is, Nanny?" Barabell suddenly asked.

Moggs paused, meeting the foxlass' gaze. "I know 'im, aye."

"Who is 'e? 'E wants t'take me and Mama away, and kill Papa. Why?"

"Hmm, now tha's a long story, lass. T'make it as short as I can, 'e's a nasty, ol' beast, with an even nastier mother. Grew up alongside yore parents back in the Juskalaith territory. 'E 'ad an eye fer Lansah."

Barabell tilted her head. "An eye?"

"I'll put it this way," said Moggs. "If 'e 'ad 'is way, 'e'd be yore Pa and Rangum would be lyin' facedown in the sea fer the gulls t'peck at."

Barabell's ears drooped. "Oh."

"Aye," Moggs sighed. She began tying the strips of cloth onto Barabell's footpaw. "An' 'is Mam 'ad it out fer me, so we all 'ad to leave. Seems 'e didn't want t'give up Lansah so easily. Hmph! Always the entitled one, even when he was a cub."

"Wha' if 'e comes 'ere...?" asked Barabell nervously. "I mean...we're jus' a small band. Wha' if 'e tries t'send more beasts?"

"Winter's almost 'ere," Moggs answered as she looked to the sky. Far to the east, she could see a blanket of steely-grey clouds drawing near. If she had to guess, the first snow of winter would begin around nightfall. "The danger from my vision'll keep the Juskalaith busy, I can guarantee that. Now, don't start askin' me a thousand questions about tha', aye? I can already see 'em formin' in yore 'ead. So long as yore parents lead the way to Redwall Abbey, we'll be safe."

"Can I ask jus' one more question?" begged Barabell. Moggs raised a brow at her. "...After this one, I mean?"

"One more, noisy thing. Go on."

Barabell hesitated. She did not want to waste her question. There were so many things she wanted to know about Redwall Abbey. She did not like to bring it up in fear of Lansah shutting down the conversation. Now, there was nothing to hold her back. Barabell sat up as she chose her question:

"Will there be any other Juska in Redwall Abbey?"

"Interestin' question. Hold on." Moggs stepped away, fetching the bowl Lansah had discarded before and the jug of brandy. Barabell's eyes widened as her grandmother brought it over, poured a bit into the bowl and handed it to her. "Just a bit. Don't tell yore Mam, or she'll chew me 'ead off."

Barabell nodded, took the bowl, and had a quick sip. It was sweet, and incredibly so, with subtle hints of berries and honey. She could not make out the main flavor, however. It left a warm sensation in her throat and belly; Barabell liked it. She grinned and gazed up at her grandmother as she awaited the answer to her question.

"Right," Moggs started, shuffling about and getting comfortable. "I can't speak on the future, least, not yet. But there's an old story of one Juska who lived there, although t'was only for a short while, durin' 'is infancy. Now, this was a long time ago, before the Taggerung Wars began. In fact, some say tha' Juska's the reason the wars even began. Wasn't yore common Juskabeast, either. Not a fox, not a rat, not a...well, y'ain't seen t'many other beasts yet, 'ave ye? Think of a long, brown creature, big and muscly, with extra skin 'tween the paws t'swim."

Barabell tried to picture such a creature in her mind. She was vaguely reminded of Chummer and Hollowgill, mainly due to the body shape. There were so many odd creatures in Mossflower Country, tree-climbers, river-swimmers... What would she learn of next?

"Otters, they're called," Moggs continued, stealing Barabell's attention. "This one's name was Tagg. Funnily enough, 'e was named Taggerung of 'is clan. Juskarath, I think. Nobeast really knows wha' 'appened to 'im. The lad disappeared one day, said t'be killed by some madbeast. Who knows. Anyway, that's yore question answered. Sit still; I'll check on the vittles."

Barabell sighed and set down her bowl. She enjoyed her grandmother's tales. It was a welcome respite from the constant talk of the winter threat. The foxlass watched her grandmother amble off before readjusting herself and staring at Mossflower Woods. She could only wonder how her parents and Club were doing...



The Stone Border was a massive thing, stretching for miles from North Mossflower to the south. It took many seasons and many paws to construct it, all for one purpose: keeping vermin from entering Mossflower Woods and terrorizing its denizens. There was nothing to stop a beast from climbing it, but death awaited them on the other side if they lingered for too long. Merely gazing upon the wall of boulders was enough to ruffle the pelts of the three remaining Juskalaith. They were happy to see that Barabell's arrow had landed several yards away from the border, so that they did not have to come any closer.

The ferret, named Vishur, was the first to break the silence between them. "Fool must get some kinda thrill 'untin' 'round 'ere, eh?"

"Mmm." The leader rat, who was called Driftwood, bent down to examine the arrow closer. "Not the sort t'miss birds, that Rangum. An' if 'e was 'untin', 'e would've come fer this arrer by now."

"Y'think 'e spotted us an' played some trick?" asked Gnaw, the she-rat. "If 'e did, tha's bad news for Chummer an' 'Ollowgill."

Driftwood spat on the ground carelessly. "Serves 'em right for wanderin' off. The worms can 'ave 'em. If Rangum thinks 'e'll split us up any further, 'e's got another thing comin'. I've got a plan. Look."

The rat turned, pointing to the trail left by their footpaws.

"'E'll be usin' tha' t'follow us, I know it. Let's leave 'im a nice, little trail near the Stone Border. We'll corner 'im there, aye?"

Vishur and Gnaw snickered in full agreement. The trio continued, now purposefully kicking up leaves and branches with bloodthirsty gusto. As the Border's shadow fell over them, Driftwood began veering to the right.

"I'll go this way," he told his companions. "Y'two go off in that direction. Wrap around an' hide, but make sure t'cover your trail. Vishur, use yer spear f'tha'. When Rangum turns up, 'e'll think we've gone down one path, and y'two can catch him from behind. Even if y'miss, I can use the distraction t'my advantage."

"I 'ope findin' their camp won't be this tedious," Gnaw complained. "An' tha' Lansah won't make things difficult. Crabcull wants 'er unharmed, but y'know wha' she's like."

Vishur scratched at an unwashed ear. "Don't see why we don't just kill 'er an' say she ran off'r somethin'. It's wha' a traitor like 'er deserves. Moggs too, if she's still breathin'."

"Sounds like a great way t'end up as target practice." Gnaw cuffed the ferret's arm. "Addlebrain."

"Shaddup, the two of ye!" A now agitated Driftwood aimed blows at his clanmates with the flat of his cutlass. "Quit standin' 'ere talkin' an' do as I say! What? Are ye waitin' t'be shot down or somethin'? Y'can do tha' on yer own."

Without waiting for a response, Driftwood stormed off. Vishur and Gnaw obeyed him, but not without complaint.

"Who does 'e think 'e is?" Gnaw rubbed at the tender spot between her ears where the blade had smacked her.  "Hittin' us? Bossin' us around?"

"Thinks 'e's a Taggerdara, that one," Vishur grumbled. Using the shaft of his spear, he nudged the leaf litter back into place as he and Gnaw walked. "Tell ye wha', Gnaw. After we kill Rangum, I'll run 'im through wit' me spear. We'll get all the glory, jus' the two of us."

Gnaw's lips curled back to reveal sharp, yellow teeth. She sniggered. "Deal."

The she-rat did not see the dark look in Vishur's eyes. In his mind's eye, he could see a future where, after slaying Driftwood, he turned and plunged his bloody speartip into Gnaw's neck, payback for hitting him before. He held back from smirking; the she-rat would become suspicious.


Rangum slowed a bit as the Stone Border became visible through the trees. The Juskalaiths' trail went further, but the Taggerung was unsure he wanted to keep going. Admittedly, he felt some pride at just how much distance Barabell's arrow had gone. Rangum was tempted to reward Barabell the Juskanock mark just for that alone, though he knew that she would not accept it. He would be lying to himself if he pretended not to understand. After all, a Juska who could not kill was a Juska the enemy could take advantage of, and he could not always be there to save her. Rangum gritted his teeth. That knowledge only fueled his desire for vengeance against the intruders.

    Ducking behind the trunk of an alder tree, Rangum peered out and scanned the area. He could not see any Juskalaith, only the still forest, which was now darkening as the clouds rolled in. Rangum pulled his jerkin tighter against himself and crept on. Minutes passed, and Rangum eventually neared the shift in the trail, in front of the Stone Border. Barabell's arrow was half-buried in the leaves. Rangum took it, hid himself, and listened. His ears were given no new information. An exasperated exhale left his nostrils. Rangum did not want to go any closer to the Stone Border, even if the trail headed in that direction. The trap was painfully obvious, as well; Rangum could not help feeling the tiniest bit insulted. Still, this made things easy. All that Rangum needed to do was find where the Juskalaith were hiding.

    Driftwood chose a thicket of dying shrubs to serve as his hiding place. He got down on one knee and squinted through the thin branches, swaying slowly to glimpse around the trees. As he licked his lips, his mind would conjure up delectable delights he would be entitled to once the job was done: fresh soups packed with prawns, mussels and crabs, cuts of meat dripping with fat, and spiced mead normally reserved for Taggerung Verratta and her underlings. Saliva dribbled from the rat's maw, which he did not bother wiping away. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Driftwood caught sight of Rangum's ginger coat. However, something was off. Rangum was not walking along the trail as expected.

    "What's 'e doin'...?" Driftwood asked himself. He began to growl. "If those two got themselves spotted..."

    He trailed off, standing up and creeping in the direction of the fox, his cutlass raised for a strike. Thinking about it, Driftwood realized that he had no reason to get upset. Gnaw and Vishur could keep Rangum busy while he got closer. It was not exactly what Driftwood had planned, but it could work.

Rangum Nock, unaware that Driftwood was stalking him, searched the area to the left of the trail. It took little time for him to spot Vishur and Gnaw in the distance, crouching behind trees and weapons drawn. They had not noticed him yet. Rangum drew back the string of his longbow, took aim at Vishur, the larger target, and fired.

"Hrrrk!"

Gnaw turned to watch her clanmate fall against the tree he was hiding behind, Rangum's arrow lodged in his throat. With wide eyes, Gnaw looked up to see Rangum reaching for another arrow. The she-rat wasted no time in running for cover, leaving Vishur to bleed out.

"Damn...!" she hissed. "'E didn't follow the trail!? An' Driftwood made it out like tha' plan was foolproof! Oooh! I'll get 'im fer this!"

Of course, that would not be possible if Rangum was not slain first. In Gnaw's paws were throwing daggers, a third still sheathed on her belt. She just needed Rangum to come closer...

Thwang!

Another arrow was fired, hitting the tree Gnaw currently hid behind. Cursing again, she chose the brief window in which Rangum was reloading to move to another tree, one that was a bit closer.

Fwip!

    Gnaw watched the arrow that would have been her death fly past her. She heard paws kicking the leaf litter. Was Rangum coming for her? She could not be sure. And where was Driftwood!?

    With another arrow ready, Rangum began moving to the side so that he could see his prey clearly. Doing so, however, allowed him to see Driftwood, crouched and slinking towards him. Rangum's heart skipped a beat when their eyes met. He recognized the rat. Driftwood gritted his teeth and dove to the side, shouting aloud:

"Gnaw! Kill 'im!"

Fearing an attack from the side, Rangum turned back in the direction Gnaw had been in. His blood ran cold when he did not see her. Rangum's ear flicked at the rustling of pawsteps. He dropped the bow and arrow and tumbled forward, narrowly missing a swing from Driftwood's cutlass.

"'Ell's teeth!" Driftwood cursed. Baring his fangs, the rat watched as Rangum stood and faced him, now armed with the dagger from his leg sheath.

"Got some nerve comin' 'ere," Rangum panted. "Come any closer, an' yer a dead beast. This blade'll go right in that big gut o' yers."

The black-hearted Driftwood began smirking. "Don't act brave, Rangum. I can see it in yer eyes, tha' same fear I saw all those seasons ago."

Rangum jabbed at the air as Driftwood took a taunting step forward. "One rat doesn't scare me."

"Two might," growled Driftwood, his tongue running along his jagged fangs. As much as Rangum wanted to hide it, the bobbing of his throat gave away his terror. He had not killed Gnaw yet, and she was still somewhere behind him. Rangum could not remember how far she had been, not did he have any idea of how good of a throwing arm she had. Driftwood's eyes gleamed with twisted amusement. "The way I see it, ye 'ave two choices: either y'turn t'deal with Gnaw and lose yer 'ead, or y'keep yer sights on me and take a dagger to the back. Heh, glad I ain't in yer position."

Gnaw took this as her signal to try and approach. Gingerly, she stepped out into the open, raising a dagger to throw as she crept into range. Rangum could hear the soft rustling of leaves and twigs not too far behind him. His eyes burned with hatred for the rat in front of him.

Then, to Driftwood's confusion, Rangum's expression calmed as he glanced off to the side, looking behind him. A trick?

"What're y'lookin' at?" Driftwood demanded.

"My mate," Rangum responded. Driftwood now turned, and though he did not see Lansah herself, he did see one of her spears flying towards his chest. Rangum jumped to the side as Driftwood was impaled through his heart. At the same time, Gnaw's dagger shot past him. If there had been even a second of delay...
"What!?" exclaimed Gnaw in dismay. The she-rat stared in disbelief at the uninjured Rangum and the now-lifeless Driftwood, the latter of which was now sprawled atop the leaf litter. Lansah joined her mate's side, the upper part of her left ear sliced into and dripping blood. The dagger had gotten her, not that the spearvixen seemed to care. Heart racing, Gnaw raised her second dagger, but felt a strong paw clutch her wrist. A club was placed beneath her chin as a warning. Swallowing, Gnaw let the dagger go.

"Mmph!" Black Alder Club grunted as he pushed Gnaw down, onto her knees. He raised his club, ready to bash in her skull, when Rangum held up a paw.

"Wait, Club."

Club halted. Rangum and Lansah made their way to the pair of rats. Gnaw trembled, looking between the mated pair and the rat brute, eyes glistening in the hopes of gaining pity. To her dismay, she was only looked at with contempt and, in Club's case, apathy.

"L-Look..." Gnaw's voice trembled. "B-Before y'do anythin' rash, heh, I jus' wanna say--"

"Save it," Lansah barked. She pointed at Gnaw with her spear, its stone tip, inches from Gnaw's twitching nose. "I already know it was Crabcull who sent ye. Where is 'e?"

Gnaw licked her lips. "...B-Back in Juskalaith territory. Ahh! Wait!" She through up her paws as Lansah brought the spear back to stab her. "Please! I'm only one rat, aye? 'Armless! An' C-Crabcull needs t'know yer a band not worth messin' with, heh...!"

Club rolled his eyes and made a gesture with a claw over his neck. Lansah nodded and raised her spear again.

"No! Mercy!"

"Lans," said Rangum as he reached out and grabbed Lansah's spear. She raised a brow at him.

"What?"

Rangum's eyes darkened as he pointed his dagger at Gnaw. "After what her clanmates did to our Barabell, d'ye think she deserves a quick death?"

Gnaw's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull. Her maw opened, wanting to scream and beg for her life, but in her heart, she knew that it was futile. Her fate was sealed. Soon, whatever birds still remained in the area took to the skies, fleeing the blood-curdling screams of the tortured Juskalaith.