Mossflower Falls

[chaos_Leader]

Interesting.

So far it seems to follow the pattern of the Redwall stories pretty well: major foe attacks, with a central antagonist figure at the head of raid. It just so happens that this guy is a wolf. The addition of non-evil vermin creatures is of interest, but something that seems pretty common among Redwall fanfics as far as I can tell.

As far as some kind of helpful critique. I can say the story pacing feels... a little compressed. What I mean by that is that everything feels like it's happening very quickly: the invader cracks into Redwall almost right off the bat. The cougar and his crew wash ashore and agree to help, to risk their lives, almost immediately, and for people they haven't met, in a fight they have no real stake in. It's not a bad idea, it's a plot development that works very well, it's just the nature of the compression of the storytelling that makes things feel rushed, that make good ideas seem really awkward.

Well, that's what I got. I hope it helps!

[The Skarzs]

Thank you; I realize the first chapters were compressed as you put it, and have been trying to lengthen it.  I may end up editing the first chapters and re-uploading them; then again, I may just put more effort into the following chapters as I still have a long way to go until I am finished. As to the immediate fall of Redwall, I am considering putting in a chapter before Coalpaw was introduced and everything. This chapter will explain things and put some much-needed story length and development in.
Thank you for your review.

[The Skarzs]

I am double posting to announce that I have made a prologue, and you can read it at the beginning of the first chapter.

[Captain Tammo]

Just went back and read the prologue. I gotta say it was a very nice touch to the story and a great way to kick it off! It's a great hook for new readers of the fanfic

[The Skarzs]

Thank you!

A heads up to everyone: I will be going on a month-long trip shortly, so unfortunately, I will be unable to upload any chapters for a while.

[Captain Tammo]

Dang! Where are you going?

[The Skarzs]

Michigan; it's going to be a road trip.

[The Skarzs]

Worked on the chapter on the trip! I have a little time with internet, so I can upload it!
Enjoy, and if you have any comments or criticism, feel free to post!


Chapter Nine

   "Eulalia!"
   Even in the dark of night, Lord Coalpaw was a fearsome sight, charging headlong into the enemy. He was bleeding in dozens of places, and his chest plate was battered and dented. His beleaguered hares fought gallantly, crying out with the ages-old war cry of Salamandastron. Commander Gemal called a tactical retreat, getting through to the raging badger.
   "There's too many of them to face like this; we've got to fall back and regroup!"
   The word was passed along swiftly, each hare giving the order to the next. "Fall back! Regroup!
Fall back! Regroup!"
   Gradually they fought their way backwards into a more compressed group. The creatures of the Barkhills cut their way to the hares, beating a path through. When they were together, Gemal asked, "How many have you lost?"
   "Only five so far, with three seriously wounded," replied a mouse. "We'll be fine; just worry about your own troups."
   "We've lost well over three score, haven't bothered counting wounded. One good thing, though: the vermin have been dropped a third of their number, wot? Good show, chaps."
   "Sah!" Thaze came running up to the commander and saluted; the was flustered and excited about something. The commanding officer returned the salute, and let the scout continue.
   "What is it, soldier?"
   The hare was quick. "We've managed to keep two of their crossbows as well as a catapult; permission to give them blood and vinegar with the bally machines? They piled up plenty of ammunition for us, so. . ."
   "A taste of their own medicine, eh?" Coal paw stumped in and patted the runner on the back heartily, an action that nearly sent Thaze sprawling. "Good lad; we'll make a prime officer out of you. Go!" The young hare went off like a spark, setting into motion the hares by the war machines. "This might give us the edge we need," the Badger Lord mused.
   They heard rather than saw a chunk of stone scream overhead, crashing with devastating force into the remaining vermin crossbow. Cries of victory sounded from the delighted hares, and crossbow bolts struck into the enemy. Coalpaw shouted out a new order.
"Alright, the crossbows and catapults will be fired at the same time, and as soon as they hit, we charge! Form the line! You machine workers: aim high after we charge to thin their ranks! Ready?" The line of hard-faced hares tensed up.
"Charge!"
   The projectile and missiles flew overhead, killing over a score of creatures between them. The entire force charged at the distracted enemy, cutting down countless vermin as they surged forward with renewed hope and zeal. The courageous hares of Salamandastron fought with renewed hope and valor. Coalpaw crushed foes right and left with his war hammer, and Gemal effectively slashed his mark into their numbers.
   Soon the vermin were beginning to waver to the fearsome onslaught, slowly being pushed backwards by the fighting hares. They fought desperately against the perilous force, knowing they outnumbered their enemies but also knowing they were going up against hares that possessed great skill and would show no quarter. Some groups began to break off and run, having no creature to lead them since Hurra fled the battle. Eventually large numbers started to flee from the battle, and those left could not stand against the unmovable Salamandastron hares.
   As the first light of dawn began to show, the last of the army from the North that would fight had been routed. Gemal wiped blood from a stinging cut on his forehead. Seeing a survivor, a rat that was wheezing horribly and trying to crawl away. The officer pressed a footpaw on the back of the dying rat, turning him over to see his chest nearly completely blasted, presumably by Coalpaw's war hammer.
        "Where are you from?" he demanded, whipping out his sword and placing the tip at the rat's throat.
   The rat coughed, choking up blood and spittle. "Grungath Deathcaller and the northern mountains," he rasped out. "This was only a taste of what he can do; you shall all die!" He gave one last gravelly chuckle, then choked, shuddered, and lay still.
   "I say, dreadfully rude chap, wot?"
   "Gemal, take a closer look at their weapons." Gemal did as his lord Coalpaw bid him to do, inspecting an axe. There was nothing too different or special about it: a one-bladed head, curving downward at the bottom edge and a hickory handle wrapped with leather at the last foot.
   "I don't see anything of importance in them, sah, though I can say that some of the bally vermin wielded them with skill far beyond any we've faced before. (Odd, that, wot?)What's so special about their jolly old weapons, eh, wot?"
   The badger lord pointed at the metal head of the axe; except for the sharpened edge, which gleamed metallically, the entire head was a dull gray, still showing hammer marks and pieces of scale. "They've all been forged in the last two seasons; it's not often we find vermin so well equipped. Now that we better know what we're up against, I think we should be more careful as to how we battle these foes."
   "Careful? There's nothing careful about war, sah, especially the way you fight, wot!"
   Coalpaw chuckled. "The Bloodwrath is not merciful, my friend." He looked out over the tops of the ears of his hares, and he began to grow concerned, and he searched harder for something, or somebeast. "Gemal. . ."

". . . Where's Rhonhuk?"
   It was mid-morning when the exhausted creatures carrying the still-unconscious form of Rhonhuk found their way back to Brockhall. Limbjumper knocked on the door with his javelin while the others rested and peeled their eyes for vermin intruders. The cautious snout of Cellarhog Derffy poked out from the opening crack, and then the rest of his spiky body came into view as he opened the door wider.
   "'Ello, I wondered where you lot went; it's been. . . !" The hedgehog's eyes grew as big as dinner plates when he saw the cougar they had in their custody. "Great seasons! Wot in the name o' spikes is that?" he exclaimed in surprise and fear.
   "Don't worry, he's unconscious," Spruceclimber reassured him. "He's been seriously wounded, and we should try to treat him for his injuries. Can you help us get him inside?"
   The hedgehog nodded like a jittery woodpecker, then walked around the body in a wide arc. The other creatures picked up the canvas again, and slowly squeezed in through the door. Spruce noticed Limbjumper having to stifle a chuckle as he saw Derffy pick up only the cat's tail, and carry it fearfully behind the group. The cougar moaned, and his mouth opened slightly, exposing teeth sharp and long like spears and daggers. That was enough for the frightened cellarhog, and he let the tail drop as he scurried away.
   As soon as they popped through the door, Spruce led them to the large chamber that he was told had enough open space to hold the huge cat, and allow moving space around him. It took a while for them to maneuver their unconscious package around the turning tunnels of Brockhall, and they gratefully set him down as soon as they reached the wide area. Cavaer and the others went off to collapse in rest; it had been a difficult journey and they had missed much sleep. Many went off to the kitchens for some food, while a few, Cavaer included, stayed to watch Rhonhuk. The young mouse noticed something that had been overlooked in the dark.
   "What's that?"
   "Hmm?" Limb mumbled tiredly.
   "That splintered thing, sticking out of his chest."
   The veteran squirrel took a look, seeing the glint of metal mixed with nearly dried blood. "Hey, Spruce! There's a great spear tip driven into his chest; it's no wonder we took him down so easily." Spruceclimber saw it as well.
   "Aye, it looks like he's lost quite a bit of blood; we'd better get the infirmary keepers to tend to him."
   "I'll go; I'll let Father Abbot know about it as well!" Cavaer ran off without another word, leaving the two squirrels alone with the cougar.
   "I don't like this too much, Limb. We've got a cat more than three times as big as any of us, he should be healed as much as we are able, though we have not way of knowing if we're going to have him wake up and kill us all, or become our new best friend. Either way, we're going to find out." The squirrel sighed.
   "Time will tell. I'll stand ready with my javelin here just in case big, scary and sleepy wakes up and causes trouble."
   Spruceclimber had no time to respond before Abbot Nart and the infirmary sisters came bustling in bearing healing supplies aplenty. Both the abbot and the sisters stopped in their tracks and gaped at the huge size of the titan that lay before them. Nart snapped out of his shock and went immediately to Rhonhuk's side. "Sister Veshley, please tend to that bump on his head; Misant, would you clean the gashes in his side and leg? I'm going to see what we can do with the spear head."
   They worked quickly, gently unbuckling and removing the stiff leather armor that seemed to encase the entirety of the cougar's body. They set it aside in an out-of-the-way corner; it would get in the way far too easily for it to be left more in the open.  The sisters tended the lesser wounds, while Abbot Nart delicately inspected the protruding crossbow bolt.
   "It looks like it just narrowly missed his heart," he announced, wiping his paws on a damp towel. "It hit above it by about a paw's length." He held up his own paw as a way to show the length. "We'll need somebeast strong to pull it out, though I don't know any here in Brockhall who would be able to do the task. For now, we'll leave it."
   It took another hour until the abbot and the others were satisfied with the other wounds. Rhonhuk was such a large beast that it was more difficult for them to maneuver about his body and bind his wounds, having to go completely around his body to get to the other side.
        Limbjumber had become curious about the side pack they had taken from the belt around Rhonhuk's waist. Opening it up, the squirrel began to take out the items he found in it: a piece of string, a dagger (nearly a sword in Limb's paws), a small round thing wrapped in supple leather, and something that smelled like. . .
        "Animal flesh!" The squirrel hastily tossed the piece of venison Splinck had given the cougar the day they had left from Salamandastron. He rubbed his paws on his tunic as it landed, trying to wipe away the feeling and knowledge that he had touched something that had had once been a living, breathing, full-blooded creature. Nart hopped up, dropping a roll of bandaging in the process.
        "What? What do you mean by 'animal flesh'?"
Spruce poked the piece of meat with fascination. "He means that our guest here eats animal meat; do you remember the tale of Rakkety Tam and Gulo the Savage? The wolverine literally ate his enemies." The mouse stepped back from the sleeping cat, his eyes showing great fear. He looked over at the tough squirrel.
        "What should we do?" he whispered.
        "Kill him."
        Both Spruceclimber and Abbot Nart turned to look at Limbjumper, who held his javelin above Rhonhuk's chest, poised for the fatal downward strike. "We should kill him."

Grungath Deathcaller smiled. His remaining captains stood to the side, nervous about their master's almost cheerful gaze. The wolf looked down at a little family of squirrels who had been captured that morning. They shivered in a fearful huddle as Grungath stood and walked around them in his wide strides. He bent his handsome head down to them. "Tell me, did you know that my forces now inhabit Mossflower?"
   A young male squirrel stood from the group. "We did, and we weren't about to act like cowards and let others die if they needed help! The Redwallers are all gone, and we knew we should make sure they were safe."
   "But you knew what danger you might be putting those close to you in, didn't you?"
   The squirrel hesitated, the fire in his eyes beginning to wane.
   "And when my soldiers began to track you, you inevitably led them straight back to the rest of your family."
   Shame now replaced the fiery rebellious gaze, and the young one's face was downcast. Hot tears sprang unbidden into his eyes as the Deathcaller continued.
   "You cannot help your friends now; the only ones you can help are your family members. I'll tell you how." He stood. "You're going to aid me in finding the Redwallers, as well as be valuable hostages to turn their peace-living hearts toward your plight."
   The squirrel jumped up, crying helplessly. "No! I'll never help you with anything, not finding the Redwallers, not being your hostage, nothing! I'll, I'll. . . !" Here he hit Grungath as hard as he could in his stomach, his paw crumpling on the wolf's chain mail. He fell to the his knees, holding his broken paw. The wolf grabbed the squirrel; the young one's mother cried out, trying to rush forward. She was stopped by Farag the wolverine, who drove a spear into the sandstone floor in front of her.
   Grungath regarded the squirrel family with disdain. "Lock them upstairs and have them fed bread and water; we will have use for them later." As they were dragged away, the wolf put his paw over the young squirrel's head. "You're right; you won't help me in any way. In fact, you will never help anybeast again. Take one last lookd at your family; you will never see them or be seen by them again." He twisted the squirrel's head toward his sobbing mother and family, then, as the young beast gave a muffled cry of pain, the Deathcaller broke his neck with a hard, swift, twist of his wrist.
   He let the body slump to the floor for a horde member to clean up amidst the screams of horror and sorrow from the dead squirrel's family. They would get over him; grief was only temporary.  Grungath sat down in his throne with a regal swish of his cloak and a dull clinking of his chainmail.
He beckoned to one of the cat captains, Hishgr, he gave an order. "Go scouting in the forest again; the Redwallers will be found eventually, and they will have no other choice but to surrender. Besides. . ." he glanced at the dead body, "Distressed and sorrowful hostages will plague their minds." The captain bowed, and ran off to do his master's bidding.
After about five minutes, Grungath stood and left Cavern Hole, going out onto the lawns and up onto the battlements. Looking out over Mossflower, he smiled in triumph. It was his land now: his. No one would defy him; he was supreme, he was deadly.
   He was Deathcaller.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You may have noticed the ferret Splinck's name getting switched to Slincka: this was an accident. I have another character with the name of Slincka, and the names are close. You may see why I made the mistake.
(Tammo, I'm shamelessly stealing your way of putting notes at the end of the chapter because I think it's a good idea. Please don't sue.)
If you have any questions, ask away! What are you excited for? Are you worried for anything? Have any ideas you would like to share? What is the small round packet Limbjumper found in Rhonhuk's pack? Please tell.

[Captain Tammo]

I only found one (very minor) spelling mistake. You said "the" instead of "he" towards the beginning. But hey, if that's the kind of stuff we're critiquing, i'd say that's a really good thing! haha

Glad to see you like the notes section I do! I'm a bit concerned that the squirrel family at Redwall is going to be a bit of a nuisance when it comes to possible attacks. And speaking of possible attacks, are the woodlanders going to actually have to invade Redwall to get it back? That could make quite a battle.
I also like how the battle between the Long Patrol and opposing forces lasted a long time instead of just a paragraph or two. It gave me a better idea as to how long this thing was really going on for. As for the round thing in Rhonhuk's bag, I'm going to have to do some re-reading on that one to figure it out. Though I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that it is of great importance and from his homeland. I say this because of the reference you made from Rakkety Tam in the chapter and showed where you got some of your inspiration from and it reminded me of the Walking Stone. Also, since you're asking about it, I'm guessing it plays some role! lol

[The Skarzs]

Thank you for your review!
I'm glad you took the time to answer what I said in the notes section. I hate giving spoilers, but yes, the woodlanders will fight back.
Usually the battles between the Long Patrol and vermin are short and end up with the hares winning quickly/semi-quickly. I tried to show how more formidable a force Grungath had raised up, as well as their strange loyalty to their master.
The round thing will be explained a little more in the next chapter, though it might not be quite what you expect. I'll just say this: those of the Barkhills stay true to those they honor, love, and respect as long as they live.

P.S: Have you read Ashes? http://redwallabbey.com/forum/index.php?topic=6444.0

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Ten

   Just as Limbjumper was about to plunge his javelin deep into Ronhuk's heart and end the wounded cougar's life, a militaristic voice halted the tip of the weapon.
   "I say, that's a bit harsh, wot?"
   The two squirrels and the abbot looked up in surprise at the source of the voice: A tall, lanky hare in a battle-worn officer's uniform stepped further into the room, a sabre sheathed at his side. "Good mouse, young Cavaer; smart and quick, wot? If he was a hare I'd recruit him to see his potential." After a moment of inspection, Spruceclimber suddenly recognized who the hare was, and met him with spread arms.
   "Captain Gemal! I thought you had passed on to the Dark Forest seasons ago!" The two old friends embraced, then shook paws.
   "I was thinking the same thing about you, you old treewalloper. Although, it's Commander Gemal, now, wot! Rise in ranks, y'know." The hare winked, then turned more serious. "I haven't come to chat, though. " He looked at Limb and the unconscious Ronhuk, the splintered remains of the crossbow bolt still sticking out of him.
   Limbumper saluted. "Sir; it's been too long since we were all last together. I assume you're wondering about this huge cat: we found him in the forest not far from the great battle taking place on the western plains. It seems he and a wolverine got into a fight, this one winning, but taking a large spear to the chest. Also. . ." The squirrel pointed with his javelin at the hunk of venison. ". . . Whatever and whoever he is, he's a meat eater."
   Gemal was startled at the last statement, but recovered his composure quickly. "Yes; we found the wolverine's body (Never seen a beast's own sword kill them in quite that manner before, wot?), and we also followed your trail back here, despite your efforts to cover it up. This giant we have before our eyes is a cougar; his name is Ronhuk, and I must forbid that you kill him."
   Spruce raised a brow, Abbot Nart blinked several times, and Limb stepped back a pace. "You know this. . . this savage?" The squirrel asked incredulously; it was difficult for him to believe that his old friend, a battle-hardened, intelligent creature who fought vermin without quarter, would ally himself with such a beast as this.
   There was not a hint of shame or regret in Gemal's voice as he answered the squirrel. "I do know Ronhuk; as you can tell, he is not from around here, but from far over the western ocean. He came two days ago, his ship having wrecked in a storm on the shore of Salamandastron. Besides having a good heart, he saved Lord Coalpaw's life." Suddenly, there was a groan from the wounded cougar as the hare finished speaking, and the abbot quickly went to his side.
   "He's waking up," the mouse murmured, then turned to the other three creatures. "We need a creature strong enough to pull this. . . thing out of his chest before he fully regains consciousness. Would any of you. . .?"
   "Will I do?"
   The thunderous voice rumbled through the cavernous room, and Gemal stepped aside from the entrance, unsheathing his sword in a salute. Still wearing his armor, though his great war hammer was somewhere else, Lord Coalpaw strode in. The badger was followed closely by several hares, and, still further behind trailed the young mouse Cavaer and the runner Thaze. Coalpaw went to the other side of Ronhuk, asking as to what he could do to help.
   Even though the Badger Lord was used to giving orders rather than following them, Abbot Nart was the one in charge now. "Place one paw on his chest at the side of the shaft, and take the shaft itself with your other paw. Press down firmly with your paw on his chest." The mouse did the same as he instructed the other creature to do, and continued. "Now, pull out the shaft." Whilst stemming the flow of blood that began to seep steadily from the wound, Coalpaw grunted as he pulled at the crossbow bolt. A sickening sucking sound made some who were looking on, like Cavaer and Thaze, to turn away from the spectacle.
        Since Ronhuk had been brought into Brockhall, most of the creatures who now inhabited the twisting halls had awoken. Between whispered rumors and open gossip, many heard of the strange beast that had been brought from outside Brockhall. One said he was a Star Giant, and fell from the sky onto a tree that pierced him through; another said he was a pet to the creature who took their home, and he was there as a hostage.
        None of the rumors were seriously looked into until the Salamandastron hares and the huge Lord Coalpaw knocked on their door and asked for the abbot and a large cat. Now the curious Redwallers crowded the doorway of the large room, gaping, gasping, and looking with fear and wonder at Ronhuk.
        The infirmary sisters were hard pressed to keep the throng back, and Nart looked beseechingly at Commander Gemal to help stop the distracting din they were making. The hare nodded in understanding, going right up to the gathering, beginning to talk in his field voice.
        "Right; if you lot want to see the giant for yourselves, you're going to listen to every word I say! He has been wounded, and your Abbot is doing everything he can to help him, but he needs you all to do something for him: your everyday jobs. You all need to do exactly what you would do every day, wot! Do you understand?" Some mumbled answers were heard, and Gemal squinted with one eye and cocked one ear at them. "Did you say something eh, wot?" He smiled thinly as there was a chorus of "Yes sir"s from the crowd. "Good; now go along."
        As the Redwallers dispersed, Nart could concentrate better; the shaft was halfway out now, the glint of metal from the steel tip showing through the blood. Both Nart and Coalpaw were sweating, and the abbot told the badger he could pull more quickly. Tightening his grip with a sweaty paw, the Badger Lord pulled firmly upwards, his paw suddenly flinging upwards as the broken crossbow bolt, steel head and all, was wrenched from Ronhuk's chest. Abbot Nart quickly put pressure on the wound and called the sisters to help him.
        Gently pushing Lord Coalpaw aside, they pressed a cloth to stem the bleeding while Nart readied a needle and thread to sew it up. Ronhuk's head turned, and the mouse hurried to finish before the cougar awoke.
        Meanwhile, Spruce and Limb were taking another look at Ronhuk's belongings. The piece of string was nothing more than that: just a tough length of twine about ten feet long coiled up in a tight bundle. The knife, a simple, one-edged blade two-thirds the length of Limbjumper's arm, was sheathed in tough leather and held a surprisingly sharp edge for what they expected; they admired it's craftsmanship even though it was too large for them to handle. The lump of 'animal flesh' was still lying on the floor, so only one item was left: the small leather-wrapped bundle. Spruce undid the layers until he held a round copper. . . thing the size of his paw with all his claws extended. The squirrel turned it over, with Limb looking at it closely.
        "What's this?" he asked, reaching to press a small switch. There was a metallic click, and the face opened up to reveal a small painting. Both veteran squirrels stared at it: the likeness of a female cougar looked out and to the left of them, her eyes a piercing blue and her fur a light gray-gold color. Had they been of the same species, they would have found her beautiful, but Spruce and Limb had to admit that she definitely was far from ugly.
        "A. . . locket?" Limb looked at his friend, then at Ronhuk who was being bandaged after the stitching.
        Spruce chuckled slightly. "Well, it looks like Huge and Fearsome here does have a heart." As he spoke, Ronhuk groaned, moving more than just his head now, and he lifted his great paw to his head, slowly opening his eyes. What he saw was not tree branches and leaves, but the dark dirt of the ceiling.
        "What the. . ." The cougar sat up slowly, his eyes adjusting to his surroundings as he searched the room. His eyes fell on the relieved but battered face of Coalpaw. "Where are we?" he asked, wondering if he was back in another chamber of Salamandastron.
        A small, friendly voice to his right caused Ronhuk to turn to look at a mouse in a peculiar green outfit. "You are in the place known as Brockhall, deep in the borders of Mossflower Woods. You were brought here by those two squirrels over there, who found you wounded a ways from here. We have taken care of your wounds; don't try to move two much or too quickly." The mouse stood; he had been crouching next to Ronhuk's side. "My name is Abbot Nart," he said, extending a small paw.
        The cougar shook the preferred paw, his own paw more than eight times Nart's. "I am Ronhuk, from the far western mountains." He stood shakily, looking down at his bandages. "You have done well; thank you." One of the infirmary sisters pressed a cup of water to his paw, backing off swiftly from the huge cat. Ronhuk thanked the sister, drinking the water quickly.
        He turned to Coalpaw, asking a bugging question. "Coalpaw, what happened back on the plains?" The Badger Lord sat down, looking up at his friend.
        "In short: we won. It took us all day and into the night, but we did it. I lost sight of you not long after you. . . took the crossbow bolt for me; I'm forever in your debt."
        Cavaer, in his surprise, forgot that it was a badger lord that he was interrupting. "That was a crossbow bolt? That must have been huge!"
        A warning glare from Commander Gemal and a small nudge from Thaze silenced the mouse, and allowed Coalpaw to continue. "Most of the enemy was destroyed," he said, "Though a large part fled the battle, some going back to Redwall; Grungath Deathcaller has taken it, which would explain the presence of its creatures in the legendary home of my ancient badger ancestors." He rubbed his tired face. "I'm afraid I have no idea if your friend Splinck is alive or not; we were unable to find him."
        Ronhuk was silent, looking down, then across at the two squirrels. "Are the two little ones alright?"
        Limb answered for them both. "They're fine. Now, 'Ronhuk'; I've got something to ask you." He stabbed the piece of meat with his javelin and held it in front of him. "Why do you carry the flesh of other creatures? Do you eat meat?" Coalpaw looked hard at Ronhuk; there must be some reason the cougar had the venison.
        The cat hesitated, unsure of how they would react to what he had to say. He spoke slowly. "It's meat, yes, and I do eat it." Fearful looks were plastered on the infirmary sisters' faces, and they blanched. A low growl from Limb led Ronhuk to continue. "Things are different where I am from; harsh lands call for harsh measures. But we do not eat those creatures who speak with us and work with us. There are those animals who neither have speech nor intellect, walking on four legs rather than two."
        Coalpaw spoke. "How is it that the mice and similar creatures you travel with have no problems with your. . . habits?"
        "They understand our need for the nourishment that meat provides for beasts like I; we cannot live solely on grains and greens. They also know the difference between creatures like deer and elk from themselves. Imagine it like fish: they don't talk or think as we do, and I have seen many mice and squirrels eat fish. But, if you wish, I will not consume any meat while I reside here for your peace of mind."
        "You would do that?" Abbot Nart said.
        "I would."
        The mouse saw no lie in the cougar's eyes; only a firmness that showed he would not change his mind.
        "Then consider the topic moot." He looked meaningfully at Spruceclimber and Limbjumper, who turned away. Spruce decided to change the subject.
        "May I ask what this is?" The squirrel held up the copper locket containing the picture of the female cougar.
        Ronhuk blushed slightly, the red color showing a little through his fur. "It's something very special to me." He held out his paw for Spruce to deposit the item, but the squirrel held it back, opening it mischievously and turning the picture to face the cat.
        "And she is. . . ?"
        "Someone. . . very special to me." He took the locket, closing the face. "Her name is Jvealla¹, and she waits for me back home. We are to be wed upon my return." At this he smiled, opening the copper front and gazing at the picture. Ronhuk suddenly realized he wasn't the only one smiling, and shut the cover back as he enclosed the locket in his paw. The cougar furrowed his brows at the smiling faces around him, and Lord Coalpaw coughed politely as he hid his own grin behind a paw.
        "Well, Abbot Nart," he grumbled as he rose from his seat. "I would like to get some rest. Is there a bed available without pushing a beast out of one?" The mouse led the badger out of the room, directing him toward a vacant room, complete with bed.
        "Oh yes, Lord Coalpaw. Follow me," he said as they walked.
        "Thank you. By the way, how is my sister, Retha? I haven't seen her here and . . ." The pained look on Nart's face told Coalpaw all he needed to know. He sniffed a little, blinking against a threatening tear. Clearing his throat, he said gruffly, "My hares need a place to stay as well; how much more room do you have?"
        The mouse raised an eyebrow. "How many hares are we talking about?"
        "Eight hundred strong."
        Nart breathed in sharply, and then let it out as a sigh. "We have only amount for three or four score; more than that, I'm afraid we don't . . ." He was cut off by a movement under his feet, and the dirt floor began to crumble. Coalpaw grabbed the abbot and hauled him out of the way as large digging claws broke through the surface, followed by a velvety snout and small dark eyes that disappeared in the creases of his face as the mole smiled at them.
        "Oh, hello, zurrs. Moind if'n we come oop?" Several other moles popped out of the hole opening, including one that Nart recognized.
        "Why Foremole! Wherever did you come from?"
        The mole in question grinned widely, wiggling his digging claws. "Hurr, 'ave you heard o' Molerdeep? It's noice an' safe from the gurt narsty varmins; me 'n moi crew dug this 'ere tunnel right to eht. Oi hope eht will be helpful."
        "You mean, Moledeep is real? And you just dug a tunnel from there to here?" Nart asked, surprised.
        "Burr, eht be's us moles' secret; we bain't tol' none 'bout eht 'til noo. Oi heard you'm be a-needen space fer some hares when oi were under you'm. We got room back in Molerdeep."
        "Lovely! Top hole, jolly good and all that!" Commander Gemal strode toward them. "Good mole chap! Er, you wouldn't happen to have much scoff in your grand old mole hole, would you?" A grumbling noise from the hare's stomach indicated what had given rise to the question.
        Foremole winced, answering the question. "We do 'ave vikkles. Bo hurr, I forgot 'bout 'ow much haresbeasts eat, burr!"

Splinck and Presel crouched in the bushes on the southwest side of Redwall, looking at the tall sandstone wall that stood in front of them. There had been many vermin who returned through the four gates, and the two ferrets guessed that the hares had won the battle.
        The pair had come to know much of each other, Splinck telling of his homeland and his companions he travelled with, and Presel sharing her wish to wander and travel, not kill and conquer. After several groups of Grungath's army began flowing back to Redwall, she had insisted that they also go back, though Splinck was having serious doubts. "Are you out of your mind?" he hissed. "We're going right into the mouth of the beast; it sounds like something only I would do!"
        Presel sighed, turning to him. "Do you have a better plan? Neither of us know where your friends are, and even if we did find them after hours of searching these woods, they might think we're the enemy and attack us!"
        The other rubbed his eyes with one paw. "Alright; we're going in and scouting out any weaknesses and strengths that would be useful against wolf whatever his name is-"
        "Grungath Deathcaller."
        ". . . And report it back to Lord Coalpaw and Ronhuk as soon as we can. It's likely the baddies inside will recognize us or something, or that we possibly get killed because we do something really foolish finding out information." He smiled crookedly. "What could possibly go wrong, gnyuk gnyuk?"
        "Stop it; how can you joke around with this? Yes, this is very serious, and could turn out very badly, but at least we're doing something against the Deathcaller: he's evil. As much as I don't want to fight, I don't want to see innocent creatures get killed because I did nothing." After a moment of silence, she furrowed her brows at Splinck. "I can't believe you would really do something like that to me back there; I swear, if you do that again . . . !"
        "What?" said Splinck, holding up his paws. "They would've begun asking questions as soon as I opened my mouth, so I decided to leave you to your thing. Besides, I came in when you needed my help, and I don't think he'll be waking up anytime soon." This only brought a growl from Presel. "You're cute when you're angry, you know," the male ferret said.
        "What?!"
        Splinck grinned mischievously, and Presel turned away, blushing slightly, though she smiled in spite of herself. Splinck was . . . interesting, as well as being handsome and funny. She didn't want to admit it, but she really did like his foreign accent, and his peculiar chuckle made her want to laugh. Tearing her thoughts away, she motioned toward the gate. "Shall we then?"
        "Right; I'll be sure to stay quiet when we're in there."
        They walked toward the gate, both tense and nervous; they were heading into the center of Grungath's command, which was not what either would call a good adventure. Presel pounded on the oak door, calling out. "Hey! Open up!"
        The ugly head of a rat poked out over the battlements. "Oi! 'O're you?"
        "We're two little birds coming home to mommy. We're survivors from that slaughter on the plains you idiot!" Presel yelled gruffly, trying to sound tough and very much in charge.
        "A'right, a'right; don't get yer tail in a knot. I have to ask questions; it's orders!" They heard him walk down the steps, and the bolt to the gate was shoved aside as he opened it. The rat tickled Presel under the chin as she walked by. "My, aren't you a pretty one!"
        "Get off, freak," she muttered, hitting his paw aside. She didn't notice the toothy smile that Splinck gave the rat for no other reason than to send him cowering back. The ferret stared at him insanely for a moment, and then walked away after Presel.
        They spent hours looking for things that might be useful for them to know, starting at the main gate. Grungath had broken the original wooden bar that had lain across the two doors, and it had been replaced by a thick iron rod about two inches in diameter. Well, that rules out a battering ram, Splinck thought, and they moved on. The well-growing orchards were being tended to by some vermin, weeding and watering the whole thing. This surprised Presel, as vermin were not known for being farmers; serving under the wolf had done strange things to the way they acted.
        It was on the southwest corner that they discovered their first soft spot in Redwall's defenses: several huge trees had branches long enough that a well-trained squirrel could jump onto the wall from them. Presel and Splinck made a mental note of this, and continued making their way through the grounds. The two ferrets decided to split up to cover more ground, meeting back up in front of the abbey doors when it began to get dark. Splinck went upstairs, while Presel went back outside. Not really expecting to find much of anything, Splinck wandered the rooms aimlessly, until he came to the attic where two weasels stood guard by a locked door.
        He was about to ask what was so important in the room that it needed guards when he remembered his accent. Jabbing a claw at the door, he shrugged his question. One of the weasels cocked his head to one side, wondering what he meant. Pointing to his mouth and throat, Splinck made a cutting motion.
        "Oh, 'e can't speak," said the one on the right, and he leaned on his spear. "Well, mute, whadya want?" More jabbing motions toward the closed door and more shrugging. Looking over his shoulder at the door, the weasel regarded it. "Inside? Just a family o' squirrels what got themselves captured; Grungath wants to keep 'em as hostages for those Redwallers. Squeamish fools can't abide the sight of helpless creatures being threatened to death."
        This information was definitely important, and Splinck nodded his thanks. Going back down hurriedly, he slowed his pace and hunted out Presel. When he found her, she was inspecting the east wall gate, and he placed a paw on her shoulder. The female ferret spun around, fear and stubbornness showing in her eyes as she went into a fighting stance.
        "Whoa, whoa; it's just me, gnyuk gnyuk!"
        Presel breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing. "Splinck! Thank goodness. Did you find anything?"
        "Yes," Splinck said softy. "We've got a problem."

[Captain Tammo]

Great chapter, loved the ending with the cliff-hanger! I see you've introduced a couple of romantic sub-plots, too. Those are always a lot of fun to follow

[The Skarzs]

Thanks for the review! I'm going to have to put this on hold for a bit, as I have not been able to work on it much. Expect a chapter maybe within the next couple of weeks.

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Eleven
   
    Abbot Nart sat with Lord Coalpaw in the badger's accommodations, talking about what they had both experienced over the last few days. "How many of Grungath's army did you kill?" the mouse asked. "More importantly, how many do you think he has left?"
   "From what I can guess, we destroyed a good portion of his command; perhaps even half! But I don't think we could last another battle like that. Too many of my hares have been lost or wounded." The badger lord sat silent, staring into the empty space behind Nart. "Have you heard anything from the otters?"
   "No," Nart said sadly. "I fear the worst for them; they've been gone since the end of summer and we have no idea if they even know about the wolf or that they might be . . ."
   "Don't think about it, Father Abbot. Those otters are a tough bunch of creatures, and I can't see them being defeated easily."
   The mouse clenched his fists. "I couldn't see us being defeated, either. For untold seasons Redwall has been defended by those who cared for it, fighting to their very last to keep their home safe. And what do we do? Leave it behind like an old cloak! I shouldn't have been so hasty in my decisions; I'm the reason we've lost Redwall, and . . ."
   "Stop this foolishness!"
        The abbot shut his mouth with a clack as his jaws hit together. Coalpaw was frowning at him disapprovingly. "This is not the way an Abbot of Redwall should talk. Think for a moment! Look at what you lost: a home that kept you warm and dry and held your food. Where are you now? Is it so different? You have friends here; nay, you have family! By trying to defend Redwall, you would have more deaths than you could hope to live down, and lost more than just your home."
        After a moment of silence, Nart spoke in a wavering voice. "You're right." He took a deep breath. "We saved lives by leaving Redwall. Besides that, it's far too late to change what has been done. But I still can't believe that Martin . . ." The mouse suddenly remembered something that his mind had been struggling to resurface. "'One will come seeking your aid . . .'" he murmured, then spoke out loud. "For a while I questioned if Martin would help us in our time of need, but he already has! He spoke to me in my sleep, telling me of Rhonhuk."
        Coalpaw smiled. "You see? Don't be so quick to condemn your actions. Let's go see how my hares are doing getting into Moledeep."
        As they two walked the tunnels of Brockhall, Coalpaw ran his paw along the smooth dirt walls, the dust of ages flaking off and falling to the ground like snow. So, this was the fabled house of the badgers of old, the tree it sat under still growing, the giant oak being an ancient totem of a time long lost, before Redwall, before Kotir, and quite even before the halls of Salamandastron were first walked. He breathed in the air and closed his eyes, imagining his predecessor Lord Brocktree walking the same path beside him. Perhaps, someday, he would walk with the ancient badger between the trees of the Dark Forest.
        As they walked by a room, they heard a yelp and the scolding of a sister. "That's what you get for being foolish and playing with something that should only be handled by those who know how, Master Cavaer. Great seasons, what were you thinking, trying to use that thing!"
        "Well, I just figured. . ."
        "Ah! That question was rhetorical, for land sakes! Now go on, off with you before you hurt yourself even worse."
        Nart and Coalpaw were still chuckling as a shrew pushed the young mouse Cavaer (whose left paw was nearly covered in a bandage) out of the room, and she stood with her paws on her hips while she shook her head at his slowly retreating figure. "What possessed him to think that was alright, I don't know. . ." The infirmary keeper suddenly noticed the pair standing by the door, and curtsied politely. "Father Abbot, Lord Coalpaw! Please excuse me."
        The badger lord nodded toward Cavaer. "What did he do?"
        "Oh, that young rip just gone and tried cutting his paw off with Martin the Warrior's sword. He insists it was an accident." She pursed her lips and furrowed her brows. "But I think he was swinging it and it bounced off something or he tried something equally stupid like seeing how sharp it is. I mean, what is it with young ones these days? If you ask me-"
        "Young Cavaer!" Lord Coalpaw called the mouse, who came scampering back as quickly as he could.
        "Y-yes sir?" he stammered.
        "Going to give him a stern lecture, are ye, my lord? It'll do him a whole lot of good," the shrew said, but was silence by a gaze from Abbot Nart.
        Coalpaw turned back toward Cavaer. "Tell me, did you try wielding the sword of Martin the Warrior?"
        After a moment of hesitation, he answered. "Yes sir."
        "Did you realize that you weren't supposed to be using it?"
        Another affirmation.
        Coalpaw nodded. "Very good; honesty is an admirable trait. I think I know what you did, and, don't worry, it's a mistake that is often done when one is being trained how to use a sword. When making a strike, always keep your paw close to your body, like tucked to your chest or held behind your back. Not only will it prevent injuries like your own, but it will be no longer a distraction."
        The shrew nearly choked when she realized that Lord Coalpaw was actually encouraging the use of the sword Cavaer had just cut himself on. "But. . . He can't. . . Father Abbot!" she cried frantically.
        "Hush now; I think we can all assume that young Cavaer has learned his lesson." Nart winked at Coalpaw. "Isn't that right, young one?"
        The mouse nodded energetically. "Oh, yes sirs! I will be sure to always keep what you said in mind, Lord Coalpaw. And . . . I'm very sorry I held the sword without permission; it won't happen again. Am I . . . to be punished?"
        Coalpaw put a large paw around the young mouse's shoulders and led him away down the hall. "Nothing of the sort! Since you showed such an interest in the sword, you will be in charge of keeping it clean, keep it from being a source of accidents, and learning to wield it. Every day, you will come train with my hares. In fact, go bring your friends as well; this will be healthy for them. Also, if you think this mishap was bad, this is what I did when I was just a young whippersnapper." He dropped to a whisper, and Nart couldn't make out what he said, but Cavaer burst into laughter.
        "Well, hopefully I won't do anything as bad as that! I'll be in the tunnel to Moledeep as soon as I can, sir!"
        The Father Abbot of Redwall walked after Coalpaw, leaving the infirmary sister still standing aghast at the doorway. The old mouse could see something in Cavaer that had not been there before, or, at least he had not noticed. It was as if the spirit of Martin was showing, if in only a small way, through the young mouse. The will to use Martin's sword could only grow, and perhaps someday . . . Who knew?

Grungath Deathcaller sat on his throne, holding his paws with the tips of the claws against each other. A sweating weasel stood in front of him; the highest ranking officer of those who had escaped from the battle with the hares. The wolf closed his eyes. "Tell me again what happened."
    The weasel swallowed in fear but answered dutifully. "We faced the force from Salamandastron, killing a good portion of their force, but they got the upper paw. There was another force, besides the hares; they were . . . foreign, and fought like devils! One of them was a huge cat; looked like he hopped straight out of hell's mouth, he did! Nobody could stand against him or even dared try; he was frightening to all of us! He mowed a path straight through us and chased after Captain Hurra into the forest."
   "And where is Hurra, now?"
   "As far as I know, he's dead, my lord."
   "It no longer matters; even if he wasn't killed, I would have slayed him for failing. Continue."
   "Yes, my lord. After the cat left, it seemed like we might have won, for a while, but the tides turned. They developed a strategy, taking some of our war machines, and launched everything they had at us while the rest of their force charged. Some of the army began to break off, and then it became apparent there was no winning. I took a portion and came back here so we can continue to serve you, my lord." He stood blinking sweat out of his eyes as Grungath stepped toward him. The wolf could see the weasel's legs shaking; it was obvious he feared the worst.
   Walking around the officer, the Deathcaller suddenly hit the weasel, knocking him to the ground. The shaky breaths of the weasel could be heard through Cavern Hole as Grungath bent down to him. "Come now . . . you don't think I'm going to kill you?"
   "I . . . failed as an officer, m-my lord."
   The wolf nodded, as if considering this new evidence. "Yes; you did. But you came back; your loyalty to your master is honorable. I'm not going to kill you, but I will never allow you to hold any authority again. Do you understand?"
   "Yes, my lord!" the weasel gasped in relief, nearly sobbing.
   "Now leave, soldier." Grungath walked back to his throne as the weasel stood up and backed out, bowing the whole way and thanking him for his kindness. Leaning his head back on his throne, the wolf looked up at the ceiling as he thought. Killing one vermin is no great loss, but sparing the life of one . . . Now that was a more valuable action.
        Grungath nurtured his troops' loyalty to him; letting the weasel live would only bolster that loyalty. No doubt many of his soldiers thought the officer would die as soon as he sent for him. Coming back alive, he would tell them of their master's mercy; this would inevitably make them bond even more firmly to his command.
        Now the wolf bent his thoughts toward these 'foreigners' the weasel had spoken of. Who were they, some strange creatures from a land far off, called upon for aid by the badger? For that matter, who, and what, was the supposed devil cat that so installed fear into the hearts of his vermin? Perhaps it was some mutated wildcat of large size that was turned over to his enemies' side. How many did they number? One, two score?
        The Deathcaller pushed those questions aside; he was confident they would be of no more consequence to his large force. Speaking of such . . . "Zil!" The wildcat captain bowed, coming forward.
        "What do you command, my lord?" he hissed.
        "Take fourscore of our forces and seek out vermin in the forest to help bolster our numbers. Make sure they are all marked; we wouldn't want our own to be mixed with them, would we?"
        "No, my lord. I shall do as you say."
        He began heading out, when Grungath spoke again.
        "And Zil? No foxes."
        "They shall be slain on sight," the wildcat purred, and he walked out. The Deathcaller watched him go, noticing the regal way the cat walked. Cats were like that, looking (or trying to look) like they were ever in charge, with an almost practiced grace.
        Foxes, on the other hand, he would never allow in his service. The wolf resented the similarities between his species and foxes. They were far inferior in size and strength, though they were one of the few 'vermin' to be more commonly cunning and untrustworthy. He had dealt with foxes; it was like pulling the teeth from a pike. They would dodge around questions, attempt to sooth you or otherwise bend you to their own wily ideas. A sneer blemished Grungath's handsome face for a moment as he brooded on the thought of foxes.
        Tearing his mind away, the wolf decided to take a walk along the ramparts. Looking out over his land made his mood brighten. As he walked on the lawns, he passed by a couple of ferrets on the lawns, who bowed as he passed by. The male one looked like he was a little hesitant and Grungath stopped. "You, how long have you been here?"
        He looked a little frightened, or something, but before he could think about it, the female spoke up. "He's my brother, lord; he's a mute. Also, he's a little . . ." she made a twirling motion around the side of her head with a claw.
        The Deathcaller raised a brow at this. "Very well. But if he does anything stupid, you will both be punished."

"THAT was way too close," Presel breathed as soon as Grungath was out of hearing range. She looked at Splinck, who looked like he was about to explode.
   "I'm crazy?" he hissed. "Are you kidding me? My senile grandpa could make up a better alibi than that!"
   "Well, it got the Deathcaller from any suspicions, didn't it?" Presel pouted. "If anything, you should thank me; there's a reason he's called a 'Deathcaller'."
   Splinck only grumbled in reply.
   "Come on," Presel sighed, dragging him along by the paw. "Lunch should be served soon."

On the banks of the River Moss, a young otter popped his head out of the swift waters, taking in a gulp of air. He looked behind him; far off, he could make out the shape of Holt Widetail. He turned back upstream and started swimming hard; he had to get as far as he could; the survival of his holt depended on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yay! I got time to write!
Well, you may or may not notice, but in this chapter the main focus was for the development of characters. If you wish to tell me what you noticed that was explained here, go ahead! If there were any parts you liked or disliked, let me know. Also, any criticism is welcome.
Thank you for reading!

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Twelve

   Rhonhuk sat with his elbows resting on his knees as an infirmary keeper checked on his wounds. It had been two days since he had been brought to Brockhall, and he was getting anxious to be back on his feet. "Marm, I would appreciate it if you could be a little quicker."
   By now, most creatures were a little more used to the big cat, knowing that he had shown no hostility and did not speak unkindly, though with his accent was a little hard to tell his emotions sometimes. The creatures from the Barkhills also spoke well of him, which eased the minds of the Redwallers as many of them were of the same species.
        The sister, a mouse, rebound the last bandage. "Now, Mister Rhonhuk, you should know that this kind of work mustn't be rushed, or else there might be infections, or more bleeding, or pus in the wound, or . . ."
   "I get it; thank you for your help."
   The mouse nodded politely, then left the room just as Spruceclimber walked in. He greeted the sister, and went over to sit near Rhonhuk.
   "Feel better?"
   Rhonhuk smiled.  "Thanks to your nagging nurses, yes. But I doubt you came only to ask of my health."
   Spruze sat with his paws folded, then stood up and wandered around. Without facing the cougar, the squirrel asked a question that had been bugging him. "Why did you and your companions help us? From what I gather, you had almost literally just met Lord Coalpaw when you decided to aid him in our fight. Did you just make a gamble, or . . . ?"
   So that was what it was. "I saw the good in the badger's eyes, and could tell he was just. He was serious when he told me of the troubles your land had. My conscience would never let me sleep if I did not take the steps I did, and let more creatures die than necessary. Also, there is a slight . . . weakness, shall we say, that we of the Barkhills all share: we never give up on those we call our friends." He remembered Splinck, his old friend, and vowed to find out what had happened to that ferret.
   There was another reason Rhonhuk had looked to find out what manner of creature Coalpaw was, whether he was good or bad, so he could know if he should help him. He remembered the reason why, the memory passing through his mind as if he were still there, speaking to them . . .

Jvealla held paws with Rhonhuk, both creatures standing silently facing each other. The female cougar's blue eyes searched his face. "Will you miss me?" she asked.
   Rhonhuk was earnest, knowing full well that it would be a long time before they could see each other again. "Missing you won't be enough. I will think of you every day, and every day I will wish that we can see each other, safely, as soon as my journeys are over."
   Jvealla looked downward. "I'll wait for you, Rhon. At the end of every season, I'll wait here for your return. Please . . . promise you'll come back to me."
   The male cougar breathed in, making a promise he could not truthfully make, for that which lay ahead held dangers and trials that would test his mettle. But for now, it did not matter. "I promise," he breathed, and pressed his lips against her cheek. They embraced, and Jvealla rested her head upon his tough leather chest plate.
        "Goodbye," she whispered, and they parted after Rhonhuk kissed her soft paw once more.
        As he walked slowly away toward the gently swaying timbers of the Clawrudder, he heard his sweetheart call him. As he turned, he could hear her say: "Remember this, Rhonhuk, son of Nigel, that, wherever you go, you help the righteous who are in need, in memory of your family and your land!"
        "Not only in memory my family and land, but of you, dearest Jvealla! May the night sky and the light of day see you safe for as long as I'm gone!"
        There was a sharp call from the ship, and the cougar bounded aboard. As the sails billowed with wind, pushing the craft along, Rhonhuk strode to the stern, hearing Jvealla's last farewell, both beasts waving to the other until they were lost from sight . . .

". . . So, you consider us your friends?"
   Spruceclimber's question shook Rhonhuk from his memories, and he blinked a couple of times before answering. "Well, you cared enough to bring me here to be healed, and you all have been kind to me. So, yes; I do consider you a friend, but it is up to you to think likewise."
   The squirrel nodded his head, getting up. "Oh, if your companions haven't already told you, Lord Coalpaw dragged your sword from where we left it, and it's being kept near the doorway. If you want, I can bring you to it; we'll make sure you get some proper food while we're out of here." Rhonhuk also stood, bowing slightly and putting his paw forward.
   "Thank you; please, lead on."
   As Spruce led Rhonhuk through the halls, the giant cat ducking due to the ceiling, he pointed out a few things. "If you need permission for something, you can ask Abbot Nart; for food, just ask somebeast for the kitchens, and for something related to the beasts from Salamandastron, they've been moved to a place called 'Moledeep'."
   "So I heard.  And, I believe your name was Spruceclimber, if I heard correctly."
   "Yes, but just call me Spruce; everyone else does. Er, may I call you Rhon?"
   "No." Rhonhuk growled, checking himself. "I mean . . . no; very few call me that, and I would appreciate if that number stayed few. Let's just say it's one of my pet peeves."
   Spruce grinned. "And the face of a pretty female that you have hidden in a locket wouldn't happen to be one of them, perhaps?"
   "You're walking a thin line, Spruce." The squirrel chuckled, only pointing to the massive longsword leaning by the doorway to Brockhall. Cellarhog Derffy sat snoring in a chair beside it, the only apparent guard. As Rhonhuk retrieved his weapon, Spruce patted the hedgehog none too gently on the cheek.
   "Wake up, Derffy! How the blazes do you expect to effectively guard this door when you're snoring away like you haven't slept for two days?"
   Derffy blinked several times before yawning and stretching. "Ah, come on, Spruce; it was just five minutes o' shuteye! Give a hog a rest once in a while, eh? 'Sides, there ain't nobeast gonna find this place! Why, even that big cat couldn't-" His eyes grew wide as he noticed Rhonhuk standing off to the side looking at him. "You!" he cried, stumbling backwards on the chair, falling with an ungainly thump.
   The cougar lifted him up by the apron he constantly wore, setting him back down. "Hello. What kind of creature are you, some kind of stunted porcupine with short spines?"
   Both Sprucelimber and Derffy raised their brows, but the cellarhog's rose to a near-impossible height. "A stunted whaaa . . . ?" He snapped from his confusion and began bristling up, his cheeks bulging in indignation. "W-why I've never heard of such a thing! I'm a self-respecting hedgehog, not some mutated form of a porcawhatever you called it. I've never been so insulted in my life! Why I'll-!"
   Spruce held him back. "Easy now, Derffy; he's not from around here, and the creatures he has where he comes from are also not from around here, so it shouldn't come to a surprise that he wasn't sure what you were. But hey, at least he didn't call you a bloated spiny frog!"
   Rhonhuk burst out laughing, startling both creatures. "Hah hah hah! Be glad I've at least seen something like you, or you would have been described as Spruce said!"
   All indignation was washed from Derffy as he too began chuckling. "Or, even worse, at least you didn't think I was an overgrown apple that had changed into some other form of life!" Soon all three were roaring with laughter as Spruce did an impersonation of what he imagined a live, moldy apple to look like.
   "Blagh, guhhh, my name is DERFFY! Bluaagh!"
   Limbjumber suddenly appeared from an intersecting hallway, interrupting the trio in their antics. He looked at them incredulously, shaking his head despairingly before turning down the hallway. "Lunch is being served; might want to get some before you pass out from laughing."
   Derffy glared at the retreating squirrel. "Bah; that veteran can make a daisy feel depressed. Well, I'm not about to let food go to waste. Come on!"

Skipper Widetail paced around restlessly inside Holt Widetail. He was worried not only for his own otters but for Salamandastron and Redwall. He had watched days ago as the war machines had been unloaded and assembled before they set off in a southerly direction; the only place they could use them in that direction was the mountain stronghold, unless they were planning on cutting east into Mossflower for use against Redwall.
        Either way, they were a huge danger to his allies. What made him so frustrated was how little they cared about him and his otters. The fact that the vermin considered him as such a small threat to them was strange; if it was otherwise, surely they would have used the war machines against the holt, and would have easily won. For some reason, they were content with waiting out the otters.
        The skipper stopped pacing in front of an empty shelf-bed; it had once been occupied with his own son, but he had disappeared. Was he killed on the battlements or even worse, taken prisoner by the cruel-hearted vermin? They would probably keep him as a hostage to pry the otters into submission.
But then, he had been missing for a while; why hadn't they done anything to let them know of his capture? The only logical explanation was that he was killed. Skipper slammed his paw against the wall, venting his frustration.
        Some heavy footfalls behind him caused him to turn around, and he looked at the bulky form of a sea otter. "Skipper?" the sea otter asked.
        "How many more creatures do we need to lose before this is over, Rudderpaw?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. "We've lost too many already, and now my own son is gone missing. What are we to do?"
        There was no answer from the other, who only put a paw on Skipper's shoulder.
        "We found this, Skip. You should probably take a look at it, because it's from your son."
        At this, Skipper turned around, looking down at a piece of bark Rudderpaw held in his grasp. Taking it, he read the crude writing, merely a hasty scratching of a knife on the soft bark. 'Gtting help. Don't wory bout me.' Skipper lowered the piece of bark, and sniffed slightly.
        "So; he's gone to get help, that young walloper."
        "Can't say I blame him, Skip; getting cooped up under pressure in a place like this takes its toll on creatures, especially the young 'uns."
        Skipper Widetail sighed. "No, I can't blame him either, though I wish he would have told me before. We can only hope that whatever he does helps, because by the seasons we need help." He furrowed his brows and closed his eyes, thinking about a dream he had that was still a bit of a blur. "We almost need a miracle."

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Okay, I hope this chapter isn't too bad.
Also, you might have noticed that Rhonhuk's sword was changed from a broadsword to a longsword; this was intentional. I only recently discovered my mistake of what the differences between the two were. A longsword was the typical two-handed sword used in the times, while broadswords were the basket-hilted swords used by the Scots. This is just for clarification. Also, I may or may not end up fixing this mistake in the earlier chapters.