We Happy Few: A Ferret's Tale

[Captain Tammo]

It's coming out great!

EDIT: also, I just realized - We Happy Few is an upcoming computer game (a first-person survival, to be more specific)! Seeing the box art the other day made me think of this story. I'm going to guess that there's no relationship/inspiration between the two?

[Groddil]

Nope. The idea for the title came from the St Crispin's Day Speech.

[Groddil]

Chapter 3 - The Plan

Night had come and gone, with Malumgula forsaking sleep. Watching. Waiting. The sun began to rise amidst the soft snores of the vermin band, almost all of whom were still dozing. Grubslug shivered himself awake, coughing slightly and trying to pull the tattered rag of a blanket further over himself. When sleep failed him again, the rat reached over and tapped Turnob.
"'Ey, Turnob. Wake up, we need t'get vittles."
The ferret groaned and rolled over into the scattered coals of the fire. Yelping, he jumped upright, still brushing the ash from his fur.
"Vittles? Sounds good t'me, mate."
The two creatures stole away towards the river as Malumgula stumbled out of his tent. Still muttering about his plans, the wildcat began to kick the hordebeasts awake.
"Get up, you lazy mud-crawlers. We've got a big day ahead of us! And you, Vinarya. You'd best start visioning...ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP! You got 'til the sun is halfway to the middle of the sky. Get food, then pack up your belongings and gear up for marching."

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

At Malumgula's deadline, the group, all threescore, had formed up in the clearing, weapons bristling. Turnob spat a fish bone and looked expectantly at Malumgula. The wildcat cleared his throat and addressed his ragtag band.
"Listen up. Some of you have been whispering in the dark about my plans. You wonder: "How can we POSSIBLY go back and attack the fire mountain? I'll tell you how! We get a fort of our own. An impenetrable castle, as secure as Salamandastron itself! I'm speaking, of course, about Redwall Abbey. Many hordes have tried to take the place. Some have succeeded, briefly, but others have failed. Why? They were INFERIOR! With me at our front, we'll take that place before they even know our band is within a mile. I've seen it myself; they completely disregard the gates in the side walls. We're going to sneak in. We're going to slaughter them all. Then, we base our raids on the mountain out of Redwall. If they chase us, we retreat to our fort. We'll never have to worry about food again, either! We don't even have to take over the mountain. We can live like kings until we have the power of a king. Then, we massacre ever single hare, that damned badger, and leave the mountain as a timeless monument to our victory! Forward march, to Redwall Abbey!"

~~~~~~~~~

The marching was tough work, and by noon the vermin had made a quick campsite. A huge bonfire raged at the banks of the River Moss, where several creatures were filling buckets of water. Sharplips the weasel sat to one side with his cronies, another weasel and a lanky fox. The fox was quite fond of grumbling about Malumgula; particularly about how easily it would have been for him to take over the horde, were Malumgula not a wildcat. Today was no exception.
"Who does 'ee think 'ee is? Better warriors than 'is craziness, that's fer sure."
Sharplips kicked the fox roughly.
"Don't be surprised. 'Ee ain't exactly the sanest beast, but 'ee's still a wildcat, an' they're the best warriors I've ever seen. short o' those badgers that seem t'come straight outta Hellgates, o' course."
The fox shrugged.
"Mmm, maybe 'ee just needs a sharp prod t'wake 'im up from 'is madness. I volunteer..."
Sharplips spat into the river.
"Save yer sword fer th'fish, will yer? All in good time, mate. All in good time..."

[Skyblade]

Your style differs greatly from mine (Namely: you're a lot more succinct ), but the writing is still rather nice. Malumgula's idea (and implementation of it) is rather interesting. Perhaps I haven't read enough Redwall books, but I haven't heard of such a thing as taking the Abbey first, then using it to defeat Salamandastron. So, well done on that. I like the plot progression and the concept of the fanfic itself, and I encourage you to keep writing.

[Groddil]

Chapter 4 - Fire

It was nearly noon when Malumgula's army had reformed near the river. The vermin looked as professional as they would ever be, armor fitted and spears raised. Malumgula stood out front with Vinarya, crowded around a huge bonfire. The vixen launched into a strange, otherwordly chant, throwing numerous powders into the fire. Finally, she turned to two large stoats that stood off to the side, a squirming watervole held between them.
"Bring the local, his flesh will give the visions!"
The two stoats dragged the watervole towards the flames, ignoring his pleas. Malumgula slipped a thick noose around the vole's neck, and tied the other end to a large log that was still untouched by the flames. The stoats drew their blades as the wildcat kicked the log into the bonfire. The poor creature squirmed and struggled unable to escape the heat. Soon, as the vole stopped moving, Vinarya stepped into the fire. With not a patch of soot on her, she pulled the vole from the fire and stared deep into his eyes.
"This one has seen Vulpuz. He has been to the Gates of Hell, and learnt the final truths of unlife. The reflections and visions tell me as thus. I see a great, red abbey. Its bells toll in panic, then in victory. I see a massive fire in the grounds, as you burn the corpses of your enemies. You have taken Redwall. Then, my visions cloud. I see the mountain, and once more, I see fire. But this time, the bodies are of vermin. I see horde meet horde in a flurry of blood. I see a badger, and countless hares, pour from the peak of the stone fortress. I see you lying aside the badger, blood pouring from both your wounds. And I see another. He is vermin, but the species I cannot see. He stands alone on the beach, surrounded by corpses. Then, all I see is Vulpuz laughing at us, and my visions fade."
Malumgula drew his sword, the blade flicking at Vinarya's neck.
"What trickery is this? You mean to say that after I win Redwall, I die? The badger wins?"
Vinarya gulped.
"No lord. All I see is death. The only living creature is the vermin on the sands."
"Then find him! Keep looking into your visions. Find out his species, and find out who he is!"
"It will be done, lord of fire and death. I am yours to command."
Malumgula sheathed his sword and turned to his army.
"You may be soldiers today. But tomorrow, you shall all be conquerors. You shall live like kings in the Abbey of Redwall. We will keep some of the woodlanders as slaves, and burn the rest! You will all be captains in my army, for when the local beasts see our power, they will flock to join us. Then, we will crush the Fire Mountain. All who oppose us will burn! I am Malumgula, I am the conqueror. Together, we will watch the world fall apart under our heels!"
The horde gave a hearty cheer. Turnob glanced aside at Grubslug, who was coughing horribly. The wildcat lifted his paw, and a small rat began to strike a little marching drum.
"Horde! Forward march to the Abbey of Redwall!"
Turnob handed his spear to Grubslug, allowing the rat to lean on it as he hobbled along. After exchanging weapons, the ferret gazed in awe at his friend's blade. A cutlass, with a dirty golden handle and an engraved blade. It had been deliberately rusted and coated in filth, probably to prevent it from being stolen. What was Grubslug hiding? Who was he? Turnob pondered these questions as much as his small brain could handle, while the sun beat down on the marchers.

[Ashleg]

*gasp*
Nooooooot Redwall!

Aha, good job here, mate.

[Groddil]

Chapter 5 - Redwall

At high noon, a tall, lanky stoat scurried down from a treetop. He saluted with his blade as Malumgula shot him an inquisitive glance.
"Well? Get on with it."
"Sire, I saw th' Red place from th' top o' th' trees."
"Good. Scout ahead, find a clearing where our forces can camp until Redwall is ours."
The stoat saluted once more, shooting off into the underbrush. Malumgula strode back to the front of the army.
"Listen up, all of you. There is no room for error here. We will rest in the nearest clearing, gather strength. Then, I shall take my best warriors to the Abbey. You will be in the fringes of the trees. When you see the flames above the wall, charge. The gates shall open, and you will slaughter everybeast you see. Sharplips, Frond. Both of you, to me."
The weasel and fox both advanced to the front.
"You two are my finest warriors. But I don't trust you. Sharplips, you will join me. Frond, you will lead the charge."
The two creatures nodded.
"Sharplips, bring me the rat known as Grubslug, then meet me at the treeline. Vinarya, take the horde to the clearing."

~~~~~~~~~~~

High noon had long since departed by the time Malumgula had finished the conversation with his two troops. Grubslug had once attempted a similar action at the Fire Mountain, but the sharp hares had attacked on sight. Maybe this time would be different. The wildcat made the rat and weasel throw away their weapons, himself only keeping a rusty dagger thrust through his belt. The three vermin slipped into rough cloaks and emerged from the trees. The beauty of the fresh sunset was lost upon the hard eyes of the wildcat and his fellow assassins. They plodded roughly up to the main gate of the Abbey, and Malumgula kicked it roughly. Shortly thereafter, the small head of a mouse popped over the battlements.
"What do ye want, vermin?"
Malumgula bowed slightly, hiding his grin.
"Forgive me, sire. We are three outcasts, fleeing from the great horde of Malumgula the Conqueror."
"Malumgula? Wasn't he defeated by the Long Patrol last Winter?"
"Autumn, actually. But he's gotten bitter. He reformed his army, and he plans on going back for more. I am his brother, and I knew when to leave. I took my two most trusted followers and fled. All I ask is that you may break bread with us, for we have not eaten in several sunsets."
"Are you armed?"
"We were not able to flee with much, sire. The only weapon between us is this dagger I carry."
"Drop it in the dirt. Then we will let you in, but we will be watching you."
Malumgula drew the small blade and tossed it over his shoulder. Almost immediately, the large gate swung open. Two otters, brandishing javelins, glared at the three vermin. The mouse from the wall had also descended, where he welcomed them.
"Welcome to Redwall, friends. We are always glad to have friendly visitors. Come, follow me. I will take you to the kitchens."
Malumgula smiled and nodded.
"Thank you, sir."
The mouse chuckled.
"You really don't have to call me sir. I am just the Abbot."
"The Abbot? You are the one in charge, correct?"
"I am not in charge, not really. I am the Abbot, and I try to help the Abbeydwellers go through their lives. However, they are free creatures, and I have no control over them."
Further conversation was not required. As the group of creatures passed by a set of wallstairs, the three vermin stopped. Grubslug and Sharplips both whirled around, swiftly disarming the otters. Malumgula, while weaponless, still had his teeth and claws. He dug his powerful paw deep into the Abbot's shoulder, the mouse's shriek of pain deterring the otters.
"Don't try anything, riverdogs. You move a step, and your Abbot dies."
Grubslug and Sharplips flanked the wildcat as he backed up the stairs onto the battlements. The wildcat shoved the Abbot to the ground and pulled a piece of flint and a torch from under his cloak. The wildcat struck the flint against the rampart stone, lighting the torch. He waved it several times in the air, calling back over his shoulder.
"Grubslug, stay here and guard the mouse. Sharplips, open the gate."
The weasel cackled and dashed down the wallstairs.

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

Sharplips had reached the gate, javelin in hand. One otter tried to charge him, but met a swift end at the tip of the javelin. The weasel set it aside and wrenched off the gate bar. He took up his weapon again and kicked the gates roughly, opening them slightly. Just enough. The charge of vermin, led by Frond, poured through the gate. Any and all Redwallers in the grounds were slaughtered brutally, the vermin suffering only minimal losses from the occasional otter guard. Before they could go any further; however, the last of the Abbey dwellers rushed into the building and slammed the door. It was a siege! Malumgula stood on the walltop, in full view of the Abbey windows. The bodies of the slain had been heaped onto a bonfire, along with the Abbot.
"Listen to me, you bumpkins! I have your Abbot! Open the door, and only some of you will die! Refuse to comply, and you will all burn with him!"
No reply came but a hail of stone, that miserably fell short.
"So be it, then."
The wildcat took a torch from Vinarya and threw it into the bonfire. It began to crackle slightly as Malumgula began his interrogation.
"Now then, Abbot mouse. You tell me what I want, and I cut you free."
"Never. I would rather die than betray Redwall."
"All beasts repent in the fire, old one. You shall, too."
It did not take long before the Abbot began to shake in pain.
"Again. How many creatures are there in the Abbey?"
"I...won't...tell you."
Malumgula drew his blade and slid it roughly through the mouse's shoulder.
"Again! How many creatures?"
"Gaaaah! I...I...Threescore. Threescore, not counting dibbuns."
"And how many of them are warriors?"
"Ten. We have ten otters."
"Good. How do we get inside?"
The Abbot shook his head. The flames were starting to roar around him. Malumgula withdrew from the fire, shouting.
"HOW DO WE GET IN?"
The mouse struggled as the fire began to engulf him.
"There's no way in. Just the doors. You'll never win. Yo-"
He was cut short as the flames licked at his fur. As the mouse started to burn, all that came from his mouth was screams. Malumgula watched with grim satisfaction. The door. He would breach it with what he knew best. FIRE!

[Groddil]

Chapter 6 - The Battle of the Abbey

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Burn the enemy, make their blades rust!"
Vinarya the vixen stood at the tightly-locked doors of Redwall Abbey, holding her torch high. Behind her, ten vermin had arrows on their bowstring, training the windows for any would-be attackers. The vermin force had not even bothered to make camp yet, for they knew if the wildcat's plan succeeded, the Abbey would be theirs. Malumgula stood next to his vixen, also holding a flaming piece of wood. He motioned to two of his creatures, who lugged a heavy pot towards the door. In the ranks, Turnob prodded Grubslug.
"Ey, Grubby. Whaddaya reckon's in th' pot?"
The rat shrugged.
"We'll find out soon enough, I s'pose. I reckons that it be's somethin' t'help burn th' door, though."
Grubslug was correct. Once the two vermin had reached the door, they tipped its contents onto the stout timbers of the door. The Abbey's entrance was now completely lathered in fat-filled, greasy tallow. Malumgula chuckled as Vinarya began chanting again.
"Lord of flames, behold our pleas. Burn the enemy, make us appeased!"
More vermin approached the door, carrying mounds of timber. They piled it at the base of the door and smeared the last of the tallow over it. Malumgula nodded to Vinarya, and she threw her torch into the pile. The fire raged into existence almost immediately, engulfing the door. Its timbers crackled and spit, weakened with age. Turnob drew Grubslug's cutlass; the fight was about to begin. The wooden door into the Abbey had begun to turn black. Several missiles rained on the vermin from above. Rocks, kitchen pans, anything the desperate Redwallers got their paws on. As the flames that surrounded the door began burning low, Vinarya stepped into them, giving the door a rough kick. It gave one last crackle and groan, before swinging straight off its hinges and slamming to the ground. She wrenched the second, barely intact half of the door open and scattered the fire. Malumgula drew his sword and led the vermin charge into the Abbey. The otters the Abbot had mentioned were waiting, with javelins and slings. One of them whirled a stone that bounced off Turnob's leg. The ferret winced, holding onto a large table for support. The rest of the vermin charged past him, leaving the ferret open to attacks. Fortunately, the otters were more preoccupied with the invaders to worry about him. As Turnob felt like he could walk again, a mole charged him with a broom handle. The fool. Turnob slashed with the cutlass, taking the mole's paw, and the broom handle with it. The poor Redwaller crashed to the ground, screaming. The ferret caught up with the rest of the vermin, who were starting to spread out. Half of the force stayed in great hall to finish the otters, while the rest split themselves between cavern hole, the kitchens, and the second floor. While enroute to the kitchens, Turnob gazed at the otters. Only four remained. One survivor took a spear to the shoulder and fell, where he was instantly silenced by half a dozen sword blades. Another, while whirling her sling, had a vermin paw shoot out and snatch the leather of the weapon. It was wrapped around her neck, before she vanished into the crowd. The last two stood back to back, shouting over the din.
"This is it, Skip. We're done for."
"I am, young 'un. But you aren't. Fin' the dibbuns, get 'em outta here. Don't let our Abbeybabes be slaughtered."
The bigger of the two, obviously the Skipper, shoved his companion away and brandished his javelin. He lept into the fray, making a path for the other otter to escape the vermin.
"Reeeeeeeedwaaaaaaa-urk."
Malumgula withdrew his blade from where it had come to rest in the Skipper's throat. He wiped it on the otter's corpse and pointed at the escapist, running up the stairs.
"KILL THE OTTER! DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"
The force from great hall thundered up the stairs after him. Turnob shivered, following part of the vermin band into the kitchens. A young squirrel had been cornered, a knife in his shaky grip. Sharplips the weasel advanced on him menacingly, holding a large club. The squirrel slashed out in fear. Sharplips took a cut to his side, but it was too late. The weasel was close enough to use his club. He swung it heftily at the squirrel's paw, shattering it and sending the knife spinning through the air. He held the squirrel's throat with one paw, holding him against the wall, and hammered at his face with the club. When the squirrel stopped struggling, Sharplips dropped the bloodied corpse. Turnob, thankfully, was not as gruesome. He had managed to capture the Friar, a very large hedgehog. He had curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, as Turnob kept the cutlass pointed at him. Sharplips made to smash the cook with his club, but Turnob stopped him.
"'Ang on, Sharpy. 'Ee's the cook. Chief'll want 'im ta cook fer us, too."
"Hmph, fine. But no more 'ostages."
Sharplips led the rest of the vermin into the cellar.

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

Grubslug had followed Malumgula to the second floor, in pursuit of the surviving otter. While Malumgula and a few others chased after him, the rest of the band swept the rooms. Grubslug and a stoat entered the Infirmary, greeted by a shrieking mouse and several wounded beasts. The Infirmary Sister noticed a window pole nearby and snatched it, backing away.
"Please...Leave me alone."
The stoat chuckled and advanced on her, holding a rusty sickle. The Sister thrashed out with the pole.
"I told you to stay away!"
The metal hook on the end of the window pole thudded into the stoat's eye. He stepped backwards, clawing at his face, but the pole would not budge. In his thrashing, the vermin ran the pole straight into a wall. It sunk deeper through his skull, protruding out both ends of the stoat's head. Grubslug and the sister both stared at each other in shock. She glanced at the stoat, then back at Grubslug. The sister leapt towards the corpse, her paw landing on the pole. She never got to wield it again. Grubslug's spear flashed forwards, straight into the mouse's neck. She gurgled briefly and crashed to the floor. Grubslug pulled the spear from her body, talking to himself.
"Wot a pity. Such a place o' peace, turnin' inta such a slaughter'ouse."

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

Poor Redwall, huh? Is this poor enough for you, Prezzers?

[Skyblade]

I really like the concept behind this; I find it very interesting and original. Firstly, a fanfic told in a vermin (and not a good one's) POV. And the vermin leader's idea is seriously one that I've never heard of, and sounds both viable and engaging. I like how the plot is going (for example, the fox seer's vision is one of my favorite elements). And call me cruel, but it's nice to see the good guys lose sometimes

[Captain Tammo]

Great stuff, Groddil

[Groddil]

Chapter 7 - A Vermin Victory

"And what, is the problem with woodlanders?"
The battle had been a huge success on vermin's part. The Redwall survivors, not counting several Dibbuns that had been barricaded in the attic, numbered three all up. The fat hedgehog Friar, a stout mole, and the otter who had run. The vermin formed a circle around their prisoners, weapons drawn, as Malumgula stood out front twirling a dagger.
"I said, what is the problem with woodlanders?"
Turnob raised his paw, wondering what was to come.
"Er, they's too trustin', Chief."
"Precisely, Turnob! Too trusting. O' course, even with their trust, they could have easily avoided this if they knew how to fight. Two otters, they had to guard us. Two otters, with a couple o' javelins. Y'see, there's a glaring problem with javelins..."
The wildcat gave a nod, a signal to the vermin. They all drew their blades, forming a circle around the otter and the wildcat. Grubslug sliced through the otter's bonds, while Sharplips tossed a javelin to the floor in front of him. Immediately, the otter seized the weapon and rushed Malumgula. The wildcat easily sidestepped the charge, gripping the javelin in one paw and stopping the otter in his tracks. The unfortunate riverdog stared down at his thigh, where the wildcat's dagger had sunk deep into his flesh.
"They only have two, tiny sharp bits. All the rest can't hurt ye!"
"You...Monst-"
Malumgula kicked the otter's corpse aside and pointed to the two survivors.
"You two! You will be our servants. The hedgepig will make our food, and the mole will gather whatever the hedgepig needs to cook it. Sharplips!"
"Y-yes, boss?"
"Take one otherbeast with you, and watch the attic door where those babes are hiding. They'll starve to death unless they get out. Don't let them out. A relief watch will arrive at dawn."
The weasel immediately sought out Frond, and the two gave a chuckle.
"Not Frond. You two stay away from each other. Turnob, go with Sharplips."
Both the weasel and the ferret looked crestfallen, but knew better than to disobey their leader. Sharplips plodded up the nearby stairs, Turnob on his heels."
"Frond, you and half a score of soldiers are to mount a wallguard. There may be woodlanders who were not here during the attack. If you see anybeast that isn't one of us, kill them."
Frond saluted with his spearpoint, secretly seething inside to have to sit on the wall all night.
"Grubslug, take the prisoners to the kitchen. The rest of you, there is a dormitory on the second floor, with real beds. Rest, and remember who it was that gave you such luxury."
The vermin all let out a cheer that shook the very Abbey.
"MALUMGULAAAAAAAAA!!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Grubslug slammed the door to the kitchen, sliding a heavy chain through the door handle, before locking it with an evil grin.
"Heh heh. Let's see ya try'n get out o' dere!"
The Friar sat forlornly on a pile of sacks.
"This is it, Duggor. We're stuck as prisoners in our own home, and everybeast we knew is gone. We're doomed, my old friend. Doomed."
Duggor shook a heavy digging claw.
"Burr, we'm ain't deaded yet, no zurr! Oi'll never give up whoile them vermints are dirtin' up moi 'ome."
"I suppose you're right, Duggor. Sitin' around 'ere mopin' won't help anybeast. We need a plan, one that'll free us from these filthy vermin. Duggor, find me some charcoal. We need to think of ideas..."

[Skyblade]

Ooh, I like the idea of the two prisoners! You can do a lot with that.

[Groddil]

@Prezzers: Read chapter 6 already!

[Ashleg]

@Prezzers: Read chapter 6 already!

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

Chapter 8 - Foraging

...

I did and forgot to comment. 

[Groddil]

Chapter 8 - Foraging

The next day, Malumgula's forces were relishing in their new palace. Vermin dozed on the sun-lit lawns, or scarfed down food like there was no tomorrow. Frond and Sharplips (having finally been relieved from guarding the attic); however, were among the unlucky group dealing with the dead. Vermin and woodlander alike, all corpses were trundled to the North-East corner of the wall. The weasel and fox tossed the slain over the wall into the woods, muttering darkly about their predicament.
"So, let's git this straight. Ye leaded da charge on da h'Abbey, an' den ya got on da Corpse Duty? Pah, ye shudd 'ave been rewarded or somet'ing!"
Frond shrugged, kicking a squirrel's body off the battlements and watching as it slammed into the woodland floor with a sickening thud.
"Who knows, mate. Da wildcat 'as somet'in' ag'inst me, an' I dunno why!"
Sharplips giggled.
"Oh, I does! It's cause ya wants ta see 'im deaded, an' 'ee probly knows dat."
Frond shrugged, agreeing with the weasel.
"Aye, yer probly right, mate. Mebbe I shudd get 'im afore 'ee gets me."
Nearby, the other creature on the disgusting job, a rat, edged his way over.
"I wuddn't let anybeast 'ere ye say dat agin, Frond. Malumgula 'as eyes everywhere. Dere's too many spies wot wudd tell 'im yer true feelins."
Frond drew his dagger and licked it.
"Oh, let 'em tell. 'Specially yew, whats-yer-face. I've seen ye afore, sneakin' around da cat. Yer one o' da spies, ain't ya?"
The rat backed away, groping for his blade.
"Nah mate, I isn't like dat. Yer'll see..."
Frond leapt forward, plunging his dagger into the rat's throat. He gurgled briefly before the fox resheathed his weapon.
"Ah no, not ole whats-'is-face! Cruelly slain in da battle, who wudda fort? O' all da bodies in dis pile, I fink ole whats-'is-face is dee only one I'll shed a tear fer. I knew 'im, I did!"
Dropping the act, Frond kicked the rat's body over the wall in disgust. Together, the two vermin heaved the last body over the battlements; an old badgermother who was hardly able to fight back.
"Whoo, dat took us a while. I fink we shudd go get some vittles."
Sharplips nodded.
"Aye, mate. Dat sounds like a gudd idea!"

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

Sharplips and Frond were not the only vermin who had to work. Grubslug and Turnob had been ordered to accompany the captured mole, Duggor, into the woods. Admittedly, it was not difficult work. Sitting on a fallen log, they watched as the mole tore up roots with his powerful digging claws, and sniffed out the numerous berries amongst the bushes. Grubslug shook his head at the sorry sight.
"Yuck, too many o' dem natural fings. Berries an' plants an' filth. Gimme a gudd fish any day!"
Duggor turned to face them.
"Burr, thurr be's plenty o' fishes in 'ee h'Abbey pond, zurr."
Grubslug seized a thin branch and leapt up. He swatted the mole several times with the stick, until the screams turned to whimpers. Satisfied, Grubslug threw himself back onto the log.
"Did I say ya cudd speak, filth digger? No? Well don't say anyfing! If I hears one more word outta yew, I'll cut yer snout off!"
As Duggor went back to his duties, Turnob reached for the weapon they had brought along; a bow and several arrows.
"Fishes is gudd an' all, but dere's too many thin bones an' skins. Wiff a gudd bird, all ya has ta do is burn im, an' da feathers falls off. Plus, da bird bones is bigger'n' da fish bones, an' dey doesn't get stuck in yer teeth!"
Turnob notched an arrow to the bowstring and fired it at a wood pigeon that had just landed on a nearby tree branch. The poor bird did not even notice the arrow sticking in its side, until it fell to the ground near the mole's footpaw.
"Yew, diggin' mouse-thing. Bring me dat bird!"
Shakily, Duggor picked up the woodpigeon and bore it over to Turnob.
"Do ya fink da spikepig cudd make one o' dem "pastie" fings, but wif one o' dose luverly birdies in it?"
The mole, not daring to speak, nodded once. Turnob flung his weapons aside and grinned.
"Dat's gudd. Now, yer gonna stop findin' dem roots, an' yer gonna sit o'er dere. Tell me if ya sees any birdies land on any o' dese branches!"

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

After a short while, the foraging party emerged from the woodlands, carrying several dead birds each. Turnob led them towards the gate triumphantly, the bow slung over his shoulder. Grubslug chuckled, shoving the mole ahead.
"Y'know, Turnob, I never figured ya fer a bowbeast."
The ferret shrugged.
"An' I never figured ye'd recover from yer sickness."
"Well, mebbe it wuzz da thrill o' da victory wot made me feel gudd again. I'll tell yer, stickin' me spear t'rough dat mousemaid made me feel very gudd indeed!"
"An' mebbe all da chaos o' sword fightin' made me wanna jus' kill me enemies from afar. Less risk that way."
"Call it smart, call it cowardly. Yer good wiff dat fing, much better'n wiff me cutlass. Say, do ye still 'ave it?"
Turnob shrugged.
"Yeah, it's under me bed in da dormitory. I'll trade it fer yer dagger, jus' in case I needs ta get in close again."
Grubslug unsheathed his dagger and tossed it to Turnob.
"Done. I'll go get me blade back once we 'ead inside."
As they were about to go through the gate, Duggor shivered. Strung up above it were two corpses; the charred body of the Abbot, and the mangled head of the Skipper of Otters. In his head, he vowed to avenge Redwall in any way he could...