User blog:Riverrune, The Rogue Bard/The Tale of Flinn Furrit

Prologue
Autumn leaves swirled and danced on the stone steps outside the gatehouse of Redwall Abbey. Rittlesby the hedgehog babe toddled over to the door, and firmly pushed it shut. “Der we go, Mem Flinn! Did oi do et roit this here toime?” Rittlesby said, tucking his chin in and swaggering about, as he tried out his imitation mole speech. The aged shrew, Flinn Furrit, chuckled gently as she leaned back in her old oak rocking chair and continued her knitting. A warm glow from the crackling fireplace lit her dark furred face. “Of course you did, little one,” she said, kindly. “Of course you’m did notter!” a husky voice piped up from the back of the room. A rather round mole came trundling over to the gatehouse door, and swept up the little dibbun in one large paw, careful not to let his digging claws scratch the little infant. He gave the door a light shove, to ensure it was properly latched, then turned his full attention to the dibbun. “Yew cheeky young rascaller!” the mole chided, waving a claw at the giggling babe. “Now what’d I tell you’m ‘bout impersicatin’ this here moler? Doant you’m know et be roight disrespectufuller?” The little hedgehog shook his head, with wide innocent eyes. His spike tips drooped in dismay. He hadn’t meant to disobey. It was well-known that the little hedgehog greatly admired the mole. “Oh, now, Tumbley, you behave yourself!” Mem Flinn suddenly said, clacking her knitting needles on the arm of her rocking chair. “And, put that young hedgebabe down, before you poke yourself! He's don't no more wrong than you ever have. Or, do you forget what a handful YOU were as a dibbun? Eh?” There was a sharp gleam in her eye as she glared at the mole over the top of her glasses. “Oh, well, yes’m, iffen you’m says so,” the mole mumbled, shuffling his paws as his cheeks darkened in embarrassment. The little dibbun squirmed in Tumbley’s arms, and quickly leaped away as the mole bent over to set him down. The little babe curled up in a ball and rolled across the room to the shrew mum. He jumped up on his paws, and tried to quickly scramble up into her lap. The shrew objected at once. “Hold up a moment there, young ‘un!” Flinn said, quickly gathering up her knitting so it wasn’t crushed by the over-enthusiastic youngster. “I don’t recall inviting you up here, little spike-face.” Rittlesby doubled up with laughter, and snuggled up in the shrew mum’s long white apron. As grumpy as she tried to sound, the shrew’s heart was immediately softened by the innocent trust and love of the little babe. Despite his sharp stubby spikes, she wrapped both arms around the little hedgehog and squeezed him tightly. “Oooh! You little rogue!” she said, with a laugh. “You know, some days I think you might be worse than old Tumbley here!” “Woah naow!” Tumbley said, stepping forward onto the braided rug, and placing both paws on his hips, while trying to make an offended expression. “Oi warn’t half so bad as you’m claim oi was, an’ you;m knows et!” Flinn Furrit rolled her eyes and shook her head, as she gingerly patted the back of the spiky baby hedgehog. She looked up at her old friend, and sighed. “Oh, Tumbley, you old fraud. We both know you were a right terror, the wildest molebabe ever to set paw in Mossflower Woods and the lands beyond! It’s a wonder they even let you come back here, after all you did.” “After all oi did, eh?” Tumbley said, raising a furry eyebrow. “How about, after all you’m did, eh? Burr hurr, you think oi already forgottered wot a trubblemakin' shrewer you’m was, back en the day? Oi surely does a' 'member!” Flinn waved a paw dismissively. “Oh, yes, well, I was a very different shrew back then…” Her mind wandered into realms of memory for a moment. “Yes, I most certainly was...” A slow grin spread across Tumbley’s face. Rittlesby noticed his smile. The mole gave him a quick wink, then pulled up a little stool and sat down across from them, on the other side of the fireplace. In the fire’s warm glow, Flinn Furret began to rock to and fro, as her thoughts traveled back to her younger days, to wild times, mysterious quests, and daring deeds. For a time there was only the crackling of the wood fire, the smell of sweet smoke, and the gentle creaking of the rocking chair. The warm air nearly lulled Flinn Furrit to sleep, but then she remembered she had a captive audience. No storyteller could pass up so great an opportunity. She began to sing slowly, with a distant look in her eyes.

“It wasn’t the quest we set out on, It wasn’t the battle we sought, But, when we were faced with the darkness and dread, We stood by our friends, and we fought!

It wasn’t the journey we planned for, It wasn’t the foe that we knew, But, when the night fell, and the fires arose, We knew, every beast, what to do.

Deep in the mountain, the story is told, Of allies and friends, with courage so bold, We rallied our forces, and laid out our plans, To challenge that creature of legends so old. Homeward we journeyed, though dark was the way, Knowing our fight was not o’er! For, deep in the forest of Mossflower wood, The hordes of our foe grew once more...”

Tumbley nodded his head, lost in his own set of memories. Little Rittlesby, however, was spurred into action by the epic ballad. He jumped up and down on Mem Flinn’s lap and shouted, “More a’ more a’ more! Tell us a storee, Mum! Please, oh, please!! Tell us about the ratter baddie an’ his gang o’ master thieves. Oi loik that storee a lot, Mem Flinn!” Flinn Furrit narrowed her eyes, and stole a look at her mole friend. Tumbley nodded his head sagely. “Well, then, Rittlesby, you little scamp,” Flinn said, with a sigh and huff. “Heh! I suppose you’re old enough to hear the full storee as you’m call it.” The dibbun’s eyes went wide with surprise, and he clapped his eyes in anticipation. “Oh, goodee! Oi allus knew ‘tere was more ta the storee!” “Yes, yes,” Flinn said, patting his footpaws. “Now, sit yourself down, calm down, and pay close attention. There is much that can be learned from the tale I’m about to tell you, and much that ought to have been learned a lot sooner! This tale is not for the faint of heart! It tells of dangers, deceptions, and dragons!” “Dragons?!” the babe piped up, excitedly. “Oh, yes,” Flinn said, nodding. “Only, that’s just we call them nowadays. For time out of mind, they were known only as fire lizards. Most beasts thought they were nothing but a myth, and so did I, until the day I came face-to-face with… well… I ought to start at the beginning, shouldn’t I? It all began, on a long-ago day, when a grumpy ole shrew met a tiny dibbun mole…”