User blog:Hollyfire53/The Ultimate War

Prologue- Captains and Leaders
With a loud bang!, thunder shoved it's way through the skies, and released itself as lightning, which lit up the barren world below. A large, black fortress stood below, with it's grisly flags waving. A shape sat; it was dark and mysterious. The shape sighed, content. “The storm rages, Captain Rakepaw. Cannot you understand the power of it?” A short, grey-furred rat shook his head. He had dark, cunning eyes, and wore a tattered cloak and a belt that held his dagger and cutlass. “On'ee yew unnerstand th'igher things, Lord Shadowbane.” Bang! Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and Rakepaw saw his master, although he didn't need to. He had faithfully served his master for a while now, and had long-since memorized every detail of the dark fox. Shadowbane was a ferocious sight. He was a pitch-black fox, with a tattered traveling cloak, and a belt that held his scimitar and a satchel with his reading glasses (Shadowbane had issued a penalty- whoever broke his reading glasses would be strung up by their hind paws and dangled into a lightning storm). He wore a gauntlet on his left forepaw that shot arrows or a grappling hook from it, and his large axe was lying next to him. Shadowbane never went anywhere without his axe; he'd gotten it from a Marlfox that he had killed long ago; the Marlfox had been a fool named Marccan. He'd even had a family and a wife. Hah! It made Shadowbane spit to think of it. His own mate, another fox named Antga, was his mate only because he was sure of her loyalty. “Good, good, Captain. You learn quickly.” Shadowbane smiled coldly. Rakepaw smiled back, a little too quickly. Shadowbane's smile grew larger. “You're not afraid of me, are you, Captain?” ''Oh, darn! If I say yes, I am, he'll ask why, and if I tell him why, he'll kill me for being a coward. If I say no, I'm not, he'll torture me to prove to me why I should be afraid of him!'' Rakepaw thought desperately. He opened his mouth, “Lord, I-” Shhhhhhh! With a sound that greatly resembled a sigh, the clouds opened up. Rain fell in torrents. Shadowbane spluttered as rain splashed around him. He pulled his cloak up, but a huge blow of wind blew it off again. “My lord!” Rakepaw yowled. “Are you there?” “Yes.” The rat jumped as Shadowbane's voice sounded close to his ear. “My lord!” A snarl sounded in the fox's voice. “Meet me in the Gathering Chamber. Bring my whole Horde. I want everybeast present for my announcement.”

Chapter One- “You Know The Dangers.”
“Pinedance! Come on! Oakfur has an announcement to make!” A tannish-colored squirrel with brilliant blue eyes stood on a tall branch, calling to her friend. The squirrel wore a faded, once-sky-blue tunic and her sword belt; from her sword belt, a dark hilt protruded. An empty quiver hung over her shoulder, with the tip of the bow pointing outward, towards the sky. Her name was Hollyfire Thornblade. Another squirrel popped her head out of the tree next to the tannish-squirrel's tree. “Oh, come on, Holly. Oakfur always has an announcement to make.” This squirrel, Pinedance Coneslinger, was a darker brown color; she had dark blue eyes with hazel highlights. Her throat and paws were reddish-colored, and a long, black scar ran from the tip of her nose to her chin. Her eyebrows slanted upward ever-so-slightly, and she was indeed beautiful- in a sad and dangerous way. Pinedance wore a blue tunic with green edging, a baldric, black leggings, and brown boots. Her tunic was divided by a belt, which held Pinedance's choice weapon- a hack dagger- and a pouch of sharp stones, for the sling wrapped around the squirrel's right paw. Her mature face was hardened by years of work, war, and heartache. Holly shook her head, making the branches around her quiver. “He says it's real, this time.” Pinedance groaned. ''That Oakfur, he thinks he's so great! Maybe a demotion?'' As soon as the thought entered Pinedance's head, the leader of the Coneslingers banished it. ''It's not that he's bad at his job; he's great at it. It's just that he likes to be the bearer of news, both good and bad.'' Holly shrugged. “You wanna miss his news, go right ahead, Pinedance.” She scampered off, heading for the Coneslinger camp. She didn't look back once; she knew her best friend would be hot on her heels. When she did turn around, she was surprised to see that Pinedance wasn't there at all. Holly slowed down, and whirled to a stop. “Pine?” “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehawww! Race ya back to camp!” With a loud yell, Holly looked up to see Pinedance flying over her. Holly grinned. She loved Pinedance's competition; striving to be the best they could be was what made them such good friends. “Oh, yeah. It's own!” Holly pelted after Pinedance, passing her quickly. Holly stopped. Pinedance never let her pass without a fight. Once again, Holly turned back around to look for her friend. “Oh, dearie, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to simply land on ye like that! Are you okay?” That's not Pinedance's voice! Holly thought in anguish. ''Who has my friend? Who landed on her? I'm gonna rip them apart if Pine's not perfectly... Oh.'' The aggressive thoughts ceased as Holly gazed at a young squirrelmaid, not unlike herself. The squirrel was a dark, grayish-brown with deep green eyes. She wore a dark green cloak with a broad black belt around her skinny waist, and a dark grey cloak. Her belt held five throwing daggers, but Holly could see the rest of her weapons. As the squirrel knelt by Pinedance, her back to Holly, Holly could see the two sabers, in a crisscross on her back, with a handle above each shoulder so she could easily reach her weapons. Four more daggers were under her tunic, Holly could see the straps attached to the hidden weapons, and she suspected that the squirrel probably had a few daggers in the satchel she held. The squirrel looked up at Holly. She smiled, a little uncertainly. No need to worry; I'm never gonna attack a creature that heavily guarded, Holly thought, as she smiled back. “I'm Sister Armel MacBurl, the Infirmary Sister of Redwall Abbey.” Sister Armel smiled again. Holly could see that she wore a braided band on her left paw, and that she had a white scar running diagonally through her face. It ran from the right side of her forehead; over her left eye and cheek down to her chin. Mrs. MacBurl has seen some action! “I'm Hollyfire Thornblade, I prefer Holly.” “As I prefer Armel, or Sister. As we are not in Redwall Abbey, I'd like Armel.” Armel turned back to Pinedance, who was groaning a bit. “Wh-where am I?” Pinedance asked groggily.  “Hush, now dear, I just landed on you, took the wind out. Whereever were you going, so quickly?” Armel reached down into her satchel and Holly saw the flash of daggers. Why does she need to be so heavily armed? She wondered. She spoke her thoughts. Armel gave her a look. “Dangerous beasts roam these woods. You roamed, yourself, before settling with your friend. You know the dangers.” Pinedance pulled herself up from the branch, and swayed a bit. “I'm Pinedance Coneslinger, leader of the Coneslingers. A squirrel back at camp has 'important news'.” Armel smiled. “Do you mind if I return with you? I've a mind to see the famous Coneslingers' camp. By the way, would you like a scone?” “Why, thank you. But our camp isn't much, it's just a grouping of trees...” Pinedance and Armel walked together, but Holly lagged behind. Armel's words had unnerved her. Hated being reminded of her past, the words, ''You roamed yourself, before settling down with your friend. You know the dangers,'' frightened her, in a way. What's out there, that a Redwall citizen comes with twelve blades?



An ottermaid sat on the edge of the cliff, looking down into the dark, rushing river below. She was a half river, half sea otter with tannish fur and blue eyes. She was about fifty-two seasons old, thirteen years, and wore a grey tunic, complimented by a black swordbelt. Following its name, her swordbelt held a large sword, and a red strap, holding a quiver-full of red-fletched arrows and her longbow, looped over her shoulder. She was a dead-shot with arrows; her name was Segalia Riverstorm, leader of Holt Waveflow. ''It's no use, Segalia. She's gone.'' The ottermaid thought to herself. Segalia stumbled to her feet, lurching forward, but catching herself before she fell over the edge. No beast could survive that fall. Narrowing her eyes, fighting off tears, Segalia reached down for a stone. She threw it into the gorge, and listened. After about fifteen minutes of patient waiting, she heard a faint, so faint that she could almost have imagined it, plink! No. No one could survive that. Segalia turned back towards the hill which led you off the clifftop. She saw the sea roaring on the other side of the cliff, and nodded once when she saw her boat, the Silver Falcon, was still there. As she climbed aboard, a squirrel, with light brown fur, green eyes, and a scar down one cheek, wearing a grey tunic as well, a black dagger-belt, and a light blue cloak, crawled over to her. “No sign of Laria, Segalia?” The ottermaid shook her head. “Not at all, Ampanna. Are you sure you saw her go over the cliff edge?” “I did not. Lijel and Nightpaw said they did.” Ampanna, shaking her head sadly, untied Silver Falcon and began to row it towards an island in the distance. “Then we shall have to ask them.” Segalia settled back, watching the clouds. “If she did, there's no use searching, is there?” Ampanna asked gently. “No. It took fifteen minutes for a pebble to hit the river, and it was so faint... it might not've even hit anythin'. Although we will search.” Segalia said forcefully. “Of course. As Laria would do the same for us.” The squirrel shipped oars as they coasted into the island. Both Segalia and Ampanna just sat there for a few minutes after Silver Falcon had been tied to the dock. Then the ottermaid sighed. “Well...” “Let's go ask Nightpaw or Lijel; she's not gone yet!” Ampanna, always optimistic, hopped overboard. She spluttered as she hit the water- although she lived with otters, the squirrel still did not feel at home in the water- and waded to the shore. Segalia followed, lost in memories of her friend Laria Wavedeep.



“Uhhhh...” Feeling black and blue all over, Laria Wavedeep rolled over out of the river onto a patch of rocks. “Ouch!” she groaned, and rolled back into the shallows. The water was cold, and bit into the wounds and bruises that she'd gained from her fall from the gorge, but it felt good, and the ottermaid lay there. She was a normally-pretty young sea otter with sky blue eyes, dark brown fur with lighter chest fur and a white spot on her left forepaw. She was lean and tall, which her tattered green tunic complimented. Her brown belt lay next to her, on the patch of rocks, with her dirk and her sling hanging limp and wet from it. Her yellow bracelet, which belonged on her left paw, lay next to her belt. Her body was covered with bruises and cuts, and her right forepaw was bleeding into the water. Laria vaguely wondered what had happened to her. ''All I remember is his face- aye, a leering, dark brown face, with green eyes; he was a pine marten, I think, or a stoat- then his sapphire-pommeled dagger at my throat... what did he say? Oh, “Jump, mon cheri, or zis dagger goez into ze thedoat.” And I'd thought he was so kind... then I'd reached for my spear and was aiming, and then I felt a shove, and I was flying... I remember the face of a tall, female rat with pale eyes and dark grey fur with black stripes, she was so worried, I remember her pushing the pine marten or the stoat after me... then I was falling and falling, then I was in the river...'' Hey, if he fell, that he'd be here too! Laria sat up quickly, and her head spun. She felt her whole body throb, and she fell back into the water, letting her sight adjust. She groaned, and, very slowly, she sat up. She gasped at the sight of the dark green-cloaked heap. Well, he's certainly a pine marten, Laria decided. But not just any'' pine marten. I had to have been pushed by Razgath the Mercenary!'' As if the thought had awakened him, Razgath began to stir. He turned his dark brown face to the ottermaid, his green eyes staring coldly at her, and a passing breeze made his green beret and cloak stir around him, with his brown jerkin and belt, both sopping, hung on him, while his bola, whip, and sapphire-pommeled dagger limply stood from Razgath's belt. He smiled icily when he saw Laria staring at him. “Remembeh me, mon cheri?” Laria growled, “How dare you push me off of Death Cliff? And then have the nerve to follow me down here to torture me, or to spit on my dead body?” Razgath's smile faded. “Zat fool Waynalay, ze pushed me afteh you, mon cheri. A merzenary 'as t'do what a merzenary 'as t'do. I gets paid do keel beaztz, I wuz paid do keel yew, mon cheri. I haz failed, but I can suczeed in one mizzion.” The pine marten clapped his paws together. “Get hers.” Three rats, swiftly moving from the shadows made from the sides of the gorge, approached the weakened ottermaid. “You are now the prisoner of Lord Macbeth Ravencliff.” One of the rats, although Laria couldn't see any of the them, spoke mechanically, and a distant voice in her head said, You've seen him before, haven't you, Laria? Have I? She wondered, before she was blindfolded and handcuffed. “I hate you, Razgath! I swear I will kill you! I swear before all three of your cronies! I... umph!” The ottermaid was gagged roughly, as a musty rag was stuffed in her mouth. Laria could hear Razgath sniggering. “No beazt can keel me, mon cheri. Enjoy yer stay wiv Macbeth.” With that, Laria was dragged off, blindfolded, gagged, and locked in place by heavy chains, her thoughts cursing Razgath the Mercenary, her oath to kill him was fresh and burning in her mind.



A tannish, reddish-colored female fox stood in a sunny glade in the middle of Mossflower Woods. She had large, green eyes that were always alert (some even said that she slept with her eyes open), and was missing a right ear. She wore a light brown tunic and a dark brown belt, which held her rapier and sword; both were durable, yet flexible. Her name was Windflin Wildbrush, although she prefered Windy, and she was the well-known leader of her Horde, the Darkbringers. Windy sucked in fresh air, and let it out slowly. “It's so nice, just strolling in Mossflower, without the troubles of bringing your Horde,” She sighed.  “So don' bother,” A voice from the bushes told her coldly. “You'll save all o'us the noise an'eadache o'yer visit.” Windy looked around suspiciously. “Who's there!? Show yerself!” A tall and skinny squirrelmaid stepped daintily out of the underbrush. She had a long scar running from the tip of her ear, across the middle of her cheek, and ending in the middle of her cheek, and a long quiver was strung across her back, full of finely-fletched arrows and her strong longbow. “Hi.” She said, glaring coldly at the fox. “Who are you?” The contempt was obvious in Windy's sneer. “I am Lady Yunzhi, that's Lady Yuni to you, scum.” Windy growled, “Scum, hah! You name yourself, Loony. I am Windflin Wildbrush, that's Lady Windy to you.” “Rather be Loony than scum, vermin. You have until the count of five to get out of my glen.” Lady Yuni took her bow and an arrow out, fitting the arrow to the bow. She aimed the arrow at Windy. “It's not your glen, Loony. Mossflower belongs to nobeast.” Windy stretched as a cloud covered the sun. “One. And I think you have the right to be warned- I never miss.” Lady Yuni blinked slowly and seriously at the fox. Windy sat down with a bump. She plastered a grin on her face to mask the fear. “You can't hurt me, Loony.” “Two.” “You can't be serious!” “Three.” Yuni certainly looked serious. “You wouldn't kill me.” “You. Are. Testing. My. Patience. I. Have. Warned. You. Get. Out. Now.” Yuni gritted her teeth. “I'm at Four. You don't want to see what happens at Five.” “Fine.” Windy melted back into the background. Yuni nodded once, and lowered her bow. “Yarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!” Startled, Yuni turned around in time to see Windy flying at her, with claws outstretched. Eyes wide with fear, the squirrelmaid jumped backward, and shot an arrow at a stunned foxmaid. It missed, whistling by Windy's ear. The fox jumped up, growling. “You don't shoot at Windflin Wildbrush!” “I just did, scum.” Yuni snarled. She grabbed at the bush that she had first appeared from, and reappeared with a sword. Shock flared in Windy's eyes briefly, but it was soon appeared with pure anger. She unsheathed her sword, and, calculatingly, she circled Lady Yuni. Suddenly, smiling inwardly, Windy gasped and fell over, making it look as though she'd fallen on her sword. Yuni, grinning triumphantly, approached the fox, sword out. Windy's eyes flickered, and, before Lady Yuni knew what'd happened, she found herself against a tree, Windy's sword at her throat. “Admit it- I can use your glade.” The fox's eyes gleamed evilly. “Never!” One giant heave, and Yuni had Windy in a very awkward position. “Now, leave, before I kill you!” The fox stood up, Lady Yuni slid off of her. Windy, who was cut in a few places, nothing very serious, but she knew she was weakened, snarled, “I'll be back, squirrel.” She began to fade into the trees, as the sun re-appeared. “And I'll be ready.” Yuni snarled back. Although the squirrel waited a little longer, Windflin Wildbrush did not return. At least, not that night.

Chapter Two- The Dark Soul of the Rangers
A black-haired, female ferret stalked around the old, burned-out camp of the Rangers. She had dull black eyes and wore a black dress with a grey cloak. She clutched her bow tightly in one paw, and her other was clenched tightly on an emeraldlike-shade-of-green-fletched arrowshaft. “You left me, Thorn! You broke your promise!” She cried out to the clouded sky. Only silence answered her. “You broke yours, I break mine!” Screaming in anger, the ferret snapped the arrow, and tore off her grey cloak. She tore it apart. “I renounce my vows as a Ranger! I am no longer known as Stormcloud!” With each word, she ripped her cloak apart, until a pile of grey threads lay on the ground. In anger, the previously-named-Stormcloud stomped on them. “I'm sick of being a goodbeast! I'm a caged murderer! I tried to be good, Thorn! But no longer! Call me Darksoul, and I hereby swear an oath to destroy all goodbeasts! Do you here me, Thornclaw Braveheart, leader of the fools known as Rangers? More like Scavengers! Hah! You will be known as “dead” when I'm done with you! You abandoned me! I was never a member of your foolish band! I, Darksoul, swear I will destroy all of the Rangers, and Thornclaw Cowardheart, or die trying!” The ferret sneered, and her black eyes gleamed with a new, insane light. “You hear me, Thornclaw Braveheart? You have unleashed a terror on the world! Beasts will follow your name with a sob, you fool! Hero? Hah! You only wish! You are a mindless idiot! Call yourself a stoat? You are a disgrace to your family and species!” Darksoul cackled happily as it began to storm. “And you're gonna be cowering with your band, won't you, Thorny? Does the widdle baby need his botwel? You are a coward, you hear me, Thornclaw? Go cower- there's no place in the world for you, you idiot, fool, you belong nowhere, nobeast'll trust you, you'll be an outcast everywhere you go, you'll rue the day you abandoned Darksoul! You'll beg to be killed! But I'll string out your guts and your organs, throwing your treasures to my followers and your remains to the crows! You hear me? You're dead, Thornclaw Braveheart!”



A tall female fox stood on the deck of her ship, Wintertide. She wore a red and black tattered leather jacket, the mark of a corsair captain, and a golden earring hung from one ear; the other had a ripped earring hole, as if someone had grabbed the earring and yanked it out fiercely. Her cutlass was visible under the leather jacket, in an easily accessible place, and a rapier was also visible, just to make her look fierce, although the fox tried not to ever use her rapier. The fox looked around, straining her eyes. No land was anywhere in sight, although there was a ship off to starboard. She sighed. More plunder? The corsair wondered. “Captain Merlot?” A wheezy voice from behind the fox made her turn around. The speaker was a short rat, who wore a black tunic and a red cloak. He also had an earring, but not a tattered ear, and he had a dagger belt, which did its job by holding all manner of hilts. The rat held The Chest, which was a large and heavy, symbolic, empty oak-wood chest that Merlot used for raids. The crafty pirate fox would “trade” with the other party, by giving them the chest in return for a full chest. Naturally, the other party would be quite mad when they found out how Merlot had cheated them, and her corsairs, loyal to a “T”, would return later go gather more plunder, and rub in the defeat. They would also recover The Chest. “Yes, Maran?” Merlot had a bit of a masculine voice, but enough feminine lilt was in it to define her gender, if one had never met her before. “Ship off to starboard of Wintertide. Trading ship from Guosim headquarters. Cwyru gave orders to prepare The Chest. We go to trade tonight.” Maran did his best to salute, but, as The Chest slipped from his paws, he steadied it in alarm and contented himself and his captain with a mere bow. “Who's on Steering Duty?” Merlot asked. “Cwyru, Captain.” Cwyru was Merlot's second mate, a sly, handsome corsair fox. He and Merlot shared the power on the ship, although, since it was Merlot's ship, she was the Captain. “Tell him that I approve. Fill The Chest with anything rubbishy you'd like- this is our chance to be rid of it all. Those Guosim will throw it all around, and, when we regain The Chest, I'll be willing to bet that it'll all be gone.” The fox nodded. “You may set The Chest in the Mess Hall, open, where all of our loyal crewbeast can place the items they wish to be rid of. And send Cwyru to me. You are dismissed, Maran.” The rat nodded, and steadied The Chest again in his short paws. “As you wish, Captain Merlot.” Swaying as he walked, Maran thought, We are lucky we're not the Guosim!



Extracted from the writings of Sister Kailee Windscutt, recorder and hare-guardian of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower: ''It's a lovely evening at Redwall, wot! As the sun sets and the fireflies began to twinkle, as the moon and stars rise and the sky is painted pastel-like, it makes me so proud to know I live at Redwall; and it makes me proud to be free. ''Anyway, enough of my flippin' foolish reviews, wot! Sister Armel Macburl, the brave Infirmary Sister, left the Abbey the other day, returnin' a bit later with the news that danger is abroad. “Which danger?” Abbot Crondyk asked. But Armel wouldn't tell. She left a few days ago, and hasn't come back yet. She was to scout around the area, and maybe even pay a visit to good Lord Trawnbull Thickstripe, the current Lord of Salamandastron. ''Speak of badgers, we were paid a visit by one only last week! A large fellow, with scars, tattoos, and a blue stripe down his back! He begged to be pointed the direction to Salamandastron, which we happily showed him. Said he was Bluestripe the Wild, and he needed to get to the mountain before another badger fellow named Kytrae Wingblade did. Kytrae himself stopped for a breather the same night after Bluestripe had left. Kytrae was a big, silver, rough fellow. He demanded that we hand Bluestripe over, and it took all of good Abbot Crondyk's patience to tell him that Bluestripe had gone. He growled loudly when he heard this, and demanded provisions for his journey. Friar Muno, the cook, had to explain that we were in the middle of a famine, and we have no more food to spare; especially after Major Peony Laminar's regiment and Bluestripe both came through, Peony's regiment a few days before Bluestripe. I don't know who Kytrae thinks he is, but he flippin' well threatened good ol'Friar Muno! ''“Give me good, you fat ole excuse for a mouse!” He snarled. Then faithful Skipper Riverstreak came in with Log-a-log Tarno, and Kytrae finally left. But, as he left, he said something that made all of us listening, that would be Skipper Riverstreak, Log-a-log Tarno, Abbot Crondyk, Friar Muno, and I, freeze. “I have powerful allies!” He roared like a beast demented. “I will wreck havoc on your foolish Abbey, and we'll see who experiences a famine then!” ''Oh, well, demented badgers will be demented badgers, I suppose. Bluestripe beat Kytrae to Salamandastron anyway, so good Bluestripe the Wild shall rule after Lord Trawnbull Thickstripe. But it leads me to wonder where Kytrae Wingblade will go off to... ''Well, pardon my leave, I must go and help Brother Hethro with the harvest; that squirrel cannot handle the whole orchard on his own. Besides, there's nothing like fresh fruit, straight out of the orchard... er, in a pie, that is! Well, farewell until next time! -Written by Sister Kailee Windscutt, recorder and hare-guardian of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.

Kailee Windscutt got up from her Recorder's bench and stretched. She was a light grey hare, with blue eyes rimmed with glasses. She wore a mid-length, light blue dress with a yellow sash from shoulder to hip. She also wore a black belt with her knife, a kitchen knife called the Carrot Chopper, thrust into it. It really is too nice of a day to spend indoors, she thought, as she looked out the window into the bright sunshine. She stretched again, and headed out the door, towards the Redwall Abbey orchard.<Br>



A weasel and a fox stood side by side, gazing up at Redwall Abbey from the shelter of Mossflower Woods. Both were thieves; both had their eyes on the prize of all of the riches in the Abbey. The weasel was obviously in charge. He had pitch black fur and glinting black eyes. He wore a dark cloak and his head with hooded with that cloak. He had his knives and daggers hidden inside his cloak; he knew how to use them. The fox was white, with black eyes and a long black stripe down his back, like an arrow, that widened as it neared his tail, which was pure black. He also had black paws, and a black stripe down his muzzle. He, too, wore a black cloak and hood, even though it was really too warm for a black cloak, and his weapons, a large axe, were hidden under his cloak as well, although strapped on his back. “Were waiting fer night.” The weasel growled in an undertone. You never can trust those Mossflower bumpkins.<Br> “But Umbar,” the fox began. “Silence!” Umbar, the weasel, commanded. “I'm in charge, yew have no right t'question me orders, Sarren!” Sarren bared razor sharp fangs. “An'oo put yew in charge, weasel?” “Me brawn an'muscool, foxy.” Umbar growled, but then pumped his arm to show his muscles. “I'll give yew brawn and muscool, ye ole weasel!” Sarren snarled, jumping at Umbar. With one whomp!, the fox's axe was out, and swinging for the weasel-thief. Clank! The impact sent them both flying apart, as Sarren's arm vibrated and the dagger went flying out of Umbar's paws. They crashed into trees, and lay still for a few minutes. Stirring groggily, Sarren, very blurry, saw Umbar standing and regaining his dagger. Muscles screaming, the fox did the same with his axe. Both swaying, they turned to face each other. Suddenly Umbar dropped his dagger. “Were fightin' stoopidlike, Sarren. Wotsay we call it a draw?” “Aye. But yew not my orderer!” Sarren dropped his axe. “Now, tis nearly noontide. We got a while 'fore night. I'm sleepin'.” “Aye, me too.” The fox crawled over to a shady tree, and lay down. Within moments, he was snoring loudly. Grr... Umbar thought, as he found sleep next to impossible because of Sarren's snores. Silently, Umbar drew his dagger, stood up, and tiptoed over to Sarren. The weasel threw the knife into the fox's chest- while he wasn't sure if it hit his heart, it would surely kill him eventually, for he couldn't move- and crawled back over to his place. He still couldn't sleep, for all of Sarren's labored breathing. ''Fine! I'll attack Redwall now!'' The weasel packed his stuff- not much- and headed in the direction of the Abbey... leaving the fox behind.



Abbot Crondyk, a tall, thin, old mouse with grey fur and spectacles that framed wise green eyes, let out a loud sigh. His silver tunic flapped in the breeze, and he was throughly enjoying his walk. Redwall is fine, but sometimes you need to get out and experience the world. He thought. “Huh, ha. Huh, ha.” The Abbot was shocked at the strange breathing noise he heard. “Huh, ha. Huh, ha.” Intrigued, the mouse turned off the path into the trees. He found a strangely-marked fox laying there, a knife very near his heart. ''He is vermin- doubtlessly he's killed somebeast. But I have a duty as Abbot of Redwall. I must return him to the Abbey. Sister Armel returned this morning... surely she'll fix him, then we can send him back.'' The Abbot rushed a bit to return to the Abbey, and met Kailee Windscutt, the Abbey recorder and hare-guardian, at the gates. “Kai! Fetch Sister-Armel.” He panted. “Yes, sir.” Kailee, after propping the Abbot against the gate, returned a few minutes later with Sister Armel, the infirmary sister, and Dopple, a mole babe that had insisted upon coming too. Dopple was grey with blue eyes and he wore a sticky yellow habit. “What's wrong, Father Abbot? Coughing? Sprained paw?” Armel asked, after sweeping Dopple off of her. “Not me. There's a fox in the woods, with a knife near his heart.” “Burr, hurr comes ze weasely, hurr hurr!” Dopple suddenly exclaimed. “It's our duty as Redwall Citizens to protect the hurt and the injured.” Abbot Crondyk whispered to Armel, and Kailee called to the weasel below, “Ahoy! What do you wish at our great Abbey?” “Kai, it's-” Armel began. “Shush!” Kailee snapped. “Sorry, Sister, but-”<Br> “Please!” Abbot Crondyk muttered, as he strained his ears to listen to Umbar's response. “Thar's a yondeh fox in the woods, bewarr of him! He is dangerous!” The weasel warned, barely keeping from laughing. “With a knife in his heart?” Kailee called back. “Then you have seen him?” Kailee gestured to Abbot Crondyk and Sister Armel. “Go, out the back way. Dopple an' I'll keep this fella busy.” She patted the molebabe on the head. “Mayhaps we have, mayhaps we haven't. What did you do with him?” “He tried to kill me!” Umbar replied, not noticing the mouse and the squirrel coming around behind him. A few minutes later, Abbot Crondyk and Sister Armel had returned with Sarren to find that Kailee and Umbar were still conferring, although much less politely. “Have a good evening, vermin. You'll never breach our Abbey walls!” With those final words, Kailee entered the Abbey again. “Oh, yeah? We'll see about that, rabbet.”<Br>



A tannish-colored field mouse with caramel eyes sat down among the reeds in the marsh. He wore a green tunic for camouflage and a brown cloak. His dagger and other weapon, a tube and darts, were hidden on the field mouse, where only he knew. He yawned. Suddenly he heard a little squeak, “Help me, sir! Or I shall surely die.” The field mouse stood up and looked around. “Where are you?” “Over here!” The squeaks grew fainter. The mouse searched harder, looking all over the marshes. “Put something up! A stick or something!” The reply was faint. “I'm... gonna... try...” Suddenly a big branch swayed in front of the mouse. “See it?” “Yes.” The mouse began to half-jog over to where the voice was. Suddenly it commanded, “Stop! I don't wanna you to fall in too!” The mouse stopped, and noticed the squelching mud. In the center of it was a dark colored squirrel, but the mouse didn't know if that was mud or true coloring. <Br> “What's your name?” The mouse called. The squirrel was silent for a while, then called back, “I don't have one! Do you?” “I'm Gonff the Thief, Prince of Awesomeness.” The squirrel grinned.<Br> “Can you get that stick again, and hand me one end?” Gonff asked the squirrel.<Br> He leaned over, and Gonff knew that half his waist was submerged in the mud, and sinking fast. Struggling, he finally lifted the stick in triumph. Gonff grinned.<bR> The mouse grabbed the end of the stick, and ran backward with it. Soon, though, Gonff himself was slipping back into the swamp. This won't do, old buckler. Gonff told himself. He strained harder. There was suddenly a pop! noise and the end of the stick went limp, lying in the muddy water. Bubbles rose where the squirrel had been a few seconds ago. Gonff let go of the stick, letting it sink back into the swamp, and collapsed on the ground in exhaustion. Suddenly he jumped back up again. “Where are you?”<Br> “Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” splash! The squirrel sailed overhead and out of sight with a splash. Gonff, cautiously, ran over to where the squirrel had disappeared in time to see him splashing around in a clear pool of water. The mouse jumped in and wallowed a bit too, before he and the squirrel turned to each other. The squirrel was indeed a dark brown shade, and he had deep, black eyes, and a soaking-wet green tunic lay, drying in the sun, on a rock nearby. He had only a small dagger belt there, and it had one dagger and one knife, but Gonff had no doubt that the squirrel knew how to use them. “I need to name you.” The mousethief said. “I owe you thanks for my life, mouse thief.” The squirrel nodded, then kicked water into his face. Spluttering, Gonff thought happily, This is my kinda fellow! “How about... Dusk?” “Dusk?” The squirrel froze, mid-waterkick. “As-as a name?” “Yeah. It suits you.” “Uh, alright...” Dusk frowned, and looked both ways quickly. Ignoring him, Gonff played a bit longer, then crawled out of the bank of the left side, the opposite one that he'd jumped in on. “Wait!” Dusk cried, jumping out of the pool and running to push Gonff back into the water, but it was too late. The adders already had them trapped.

Chapter Three- The Prophecy
“Arka Wavetide, get over here. Segalia'll be back soon, an' I'd 'ate fer 'er t'see ye like this, darlin'.” A sleek, dark brown otter called. His eyes gleamed a goodnaturedly-green, and his tunic, wet and sopping as he knelt in his small fishing boat, hung limply, although it was a dark blue. The air was smooth and clear; there were clouds, but they were just a fluffy white-silver color. The sky, a deep blue, was reflected in the lake, and the otter could even see his reflection as he knelt in his friend Arka's fishing boat. A creamy brown ottermaid with a long wavy grey stripe down her back, a scar on her left forepaw and her left cheek, and shining green eyes popped her head out of the smooth lake water. “I can' really get out now, can I, Meira? You have my tunic and belt!”<Br> Meira looked down into the boat. “I do?” He grinned as he saw his friend's carefully folded white tunic, with the fringe of the green cloak beneath showing, and a dagger belt folded on top. “Ah. I do. Why don't you just get out?” Arka gave him a belittling look. “Because, fishbrain, you're not my mate, you're a friend, and I have too much pride to get dressed in front of you. Throw the cloak and the tunic in. I'll get the dagger belt after I crawl into the ship.” “But darlin'! If I throw them in, they'll get wet.” Meira gasped, picking up her tunic and surprised by how warm it felt. “Oh, never mind then. I'll melt if I get wet.” Arka rolled her eyes. “Please, hon, just throw them in. I'll dry soon enough in this sun.” She glared up at the sun, and noticed that a few more clouds had formed. She frowned. “You speak the truth, darlin'.” Meira threw them at his lifelong friend. “Here ya go. Shore ye don' want the belt?”<Br> “No one's gonna capture me between here and the Darkfire, honey. Don't worry.” Arka didn't splash much as she dove underwater and appeared next to her clothes. Within minutes, she was dressed. “Coming, Meira. I'll be there in a sec.” She splashed again and appeared in front of Darkfire.<Br> “Darlin', what'er ya doin'?” Meira's voice had evident worry in it. “We don' know these waters.” The ottermaid's voice sounded a bit annoyed, although she didn't show it. “Don't worry, please. I'll be fine.” A few moments later, Arka pulled herself out of the water, letting out a cascade of clear water from her tunic, and sat down next to Meira. “Go! Go!” she ordered, quickly setting down a bulging, tan-colored sack. “What's that?” He nodded at the sack, but obediently picked up the oars. Arka let out a sigh, and picked up her oars. After a few strokes, she sighed again. “Meira Lakesplash, you've known me ever since we were babes. You remember your family? I don't.” Meira and Arka had lived in an old Holt, Holt Lutra. Arka's grandfather, Inbar Trueflight, and grandmother, Grath Longfletch, had revived it, and Arka's father had been the Skipper. Meira's father had been the second-in-command, and the two families had had a healthy friendship. But, a little after Arka's and Meira's births, a group of mercenary squirrels, led by Irzin the Fierce, had come, and, acting on another beast's will, had come and destroyed the entire Holt. All but the two babes and their mothers, Sayope Wavetide and Jurnpi Lakesplash. They had hidden the two babes, then they died together. The last memory Arka had of her mother was the last night they had all spent together. ''Oh, Jurnpi, the Holt survived everything through Grath. Can it stand with Ark an' Meir?'' Arka felt it could, and she was nearly sure that Meira felt the same. Meira shook his head slowly. “I don't remember anything but blood, darlin'.” Arka groaned. “Yes, me too.” She shipped her oars for a bit and gazed up at the somewhat-clouded sky. “But remember the legend in Holt Lutra- that a stoat would come to deliver us in our darkest hour? I think that it is finally time for an ancient prophecy to come true. Surely there is no darker time that this?” Meira shipped his oars too, and let them glide along a bit. “Grath felt the same, I am sure.” “Aye. But Grath made the prophecy.” Arka turned to gaze at Meira with wide green eyes. “What was his name?” Meira's green eyes gazed back just as intently. “Thornclaw Braveheart, I believe. Ah, here we go. Home at last!” “Wait a minute. This isn't Holt Lakewander!” Arka frowned. “Yes it is!” Meira exclaimed. “Don't you remember? Segalia moved it!” “No. This isn't the new Holt Lakewander, either.” Arka shook her head, as she gazed at the trees and barren rocks. The sun went behind a cloud, giving a strange shine to everything, especially the Holt cave.<Br> Meira, starting to get a bit aggravated because he was beginning to feel that Arka was right, growled, “Prove it, then.” He sat back down in the boat. “Segallllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllia!” Arka called. If she's here, she'll answer. No answer. “Anybody?” Arka called again. Still, no answer. “I'm going in there.” She stood up, worry clouding her eyes and her judgment. “No!” Meira attempted to pull her back down again, to no avail. “Arka, darlin', I was kidding. I'm sure they're just out for a bit...” “Then there's no danger, is there, honey? Just let me, please. Come with me if you don't want me to go alone.” Arka Wavetide gazed clearly into her best friend's eyes. “I shall, then.” Stepping out of the boat and into the swamps, the two otters headed, side by side, towards the Holt Cave. When they got there, Arka entered first. She gasped. In front of them was a dead otter, with fifteen words written above the dead otter on the wall, in blood, reading:
 * 'Help us! Macbeth Ravencliff has us for prisoners. Silverfalcon Pikehawk will help you. -Segalia Riverstorm

Arka gasped, and clung to Meira. “It's happened!” she choked out, hoarsely. He wrapped her in his arms. “What has?” She buried her face in his neckfur and sobbed. “The-the other half-of... the...the prophecy.” She coughed. “You know, One Will Be Destroyed, The Other Dismantled; Then Thorn Claws Will Save Both, Aided With The Ark, The Mirror, and The Falcon.” “That would be you two, Thornclaw Braveheart, and I,” said a cold voice from behind them. Arka and Meira whirled, still holding each other, to see an older otter standing there. He had falcon-brown fur, was tall and lean, and gold eyes gleamed from his face. He wore a white outfit, and, this is what really amazed Meira, he was so heavily armed, that both otters were shocked that he could even walk, let alone swim. He had eight long swords hanging from a sagging black belt at his waist, although the blades nearly dragged on the ground, multiple daggers, dirks, knives, stilettos and many throwing implements also hung alongside the daggers. Another sword also hung from the belt, and another was in the otter's hand. A quiver of grey-fletched arrows were slung on his back, along with a longbow. A five-and-a-half-foot claymore was also poking up past the otter's shoulder. “I am Silverfalcon Pikehawk, veteran of the Mossflower War. Excuse me for eavesdropping, but I must ask, are you two really from Holt Lutra?”<bR> “Yes, sir, we are.” Meira looked both ways before bowing to Silverfalcon, releasing Arka at the same time. “I am Meira Lakesplash.”<Br> “And I am Arka Wavetide. I must ask, sir, how you snuck up on us. I thought my protector was protecting me.” She shot Meira an accusing look. The otter chucked. “Darlin', Silverfalcon cannot be heard. He appears when he wants, where he wants.” He tsked. “If you'd payed attention at school, you would've known that.” Arka shrugged. “School's for misbehaving in. Had I known that I would one day meet the great Silverfalcon Pikehawk, well... I'd've payed more attention that I did.” Silverfalcon grinned. “You can all call me Silver. Thank you, Meira, he's quite right, you know. And I must say thank you to you too, Arka. I can see your grandparents in you.” “You knew my grandparents?” She asked eagerly.<bR> “Heck no. But I heard enough about them... Skipper Frenpur was my father, you know.” Silver looked at them, a little sadly, a little distantly. Arka gaped at him. “Th-then, you're my... my brother.” Her voice was low and quiet.



A tall, lean brown half-sea, half-river otter popped out of the bushes, the moonlight gleaming on his sleek fur. He glanced around the vermin camp he had been watching, and, seeing no sign of a sentry, he continued to search. The otter was fierce looking, with his sharp eyes and Juska markings. There were blue lightning bolts down each cheek, an orange stripe from his forehead to his chin, and two black dots above his eyes. He wore green shorts that ended above his knees, held up by a black belt, which also held his twin assassin's daggers- one had an amber hilt with a sapphire, the other had a black hilt with an emerald. The otter held his sapphire-pommeled one and idly twirled it in his right paw as he scanned the camp.<Br> “Rorc!”A voice hissed from behind. The otter ignored it, believing it to be a figment of his imagination. “Rorc Nightblade!” It was a bit louder now. Hellsteeth, be quiet! thought Rorc angrily. He whirled around, dagger pointed at the bushes where an otter's head popped out. “What?” he barked roughly. The otter looked taken aback. It was only then that Rorc noticed the falcon-brown fur and the golden eyes. “I have the Two.” “Good. And Silverfalcon?” Silver, who was turning away, turned back, and saw Rorc looking at the ground. He guessed what was coming next. “It's okay, buddy. I shouldn't've snuck up on ye like I did.” He turned back around and vanished into the bushes, returning a few moments later with Arka and Meira. “This is Arka Wavetide and Meira Lakesplash; survivors of Holt Lutra and the offspring of the Holt's two best warriors. They are the ones in the prophecy; they will save Holt Lakewander and Holt Lutra, with the help of myself and Thornclaw.” Silver nodded at each otter as he introduced it. “Little 'uns, this is Rorc Nightblade, he is the protector of Holt Lakewander. You will go with him in your first mission, to save Laria Wavedeep.” “Lar-what?” Meira asked, as if in a daze. “Mission? I don't get this whole 'prophecy' idea. So we revive our Holt, and regather your dismantled one. Why do we need a mission?” Rorc groaned. “Hellsteeth, Silverfalcon! Why didn't you tell them? We can't waste time; Macbeth is just inconsistent enough with the guards to make me nervous.” Silver smiled calmly. “Take a chill pill, Rorc. You see, Meira, it will be no easy task saving Holt Lakewander.” He began to back into the undergrowth. “It won't? Why not?” The otter's eyes were huge. Silver's grin faded a bit. “Because there's a curse on the Holt. Good luck, little one. You will need it.” With those cheerful parting words, Silverfalcon Pikehawk was gone. “A...a curse?” Arka's voice shook a bit. Rorc was staring, a bit disgustedly, at the spot where the otter warrior had vanished. He shook his head to clear his vision, then turned back to the frightened young otters. “Don't pay him any mind.” Rorc established a brisk pace, and Arka and Meira followed, doing their best to keep up with him as silently as they could, as the three weaved their way through the sleeping vermin camp towards a flickering light. “Rorc?” Arka ventured. There was no answer from the impassive otter, but the ottermaid pressed onward tentatively. “Will we ever see Silver again?” “He'll show up again somewhere, somehow, when we least want him.” Arka wasn't sure if Rorc was joking or not; his face revealed nothing. “Oh, okay.” She fell silent again, straining her senses for a sound or a movement. Suddenly, she and Meira were both pushed into a bush. “Shhhh!” Rorc hissed. “Just be quiet, and come when I say, 'I have the prisoners, you fool!' Oh, and be nice to the rat. She's on our side. Got it?” “Yes.” Meira said as he helped Arka into a sitting position. Unable to see anything, the two otters, Arka with her head on Meira's shoulder, listened to Rorc as he confronted the guards. There was no doubt about it, the prisoners were in there. Meira thought, as figured that there was probably some tent behind the bright light. “Wot de yer want, streamdawg?” A suspicious vermin voice asked. Rorc's voice was pitched a tone higher than normal, and sounded almost like Meira's. “I has de prizonerz!” Arka tensed up, but no 'you fool' followed. She relaxed against Meira again, and the argument outside continued. “How can we trust yew, riverdog?” That was a second guard. “Yeah, yew bein'un yerself.” Good gosh, three guards? Meira thought in surprise. “I haz ze prisoners, yew fool!” Rorc snapped. “Arrrrrr,” Meira cried, Arka following, and did their best to look like they were prisoners. “Eh, now, where'd these beauties come from?” The third guard asked. He was a big, brown fox with gleaming black eyes. He held a huge axe and wore a black cloak; the only part of his body visible was the tip of his brown tail, his brown muzzle, and his eyes. The second guard was a tall, dark gray rat with pale eyes and black stripes. She wore a silver necklace with a purple stone, a grey outfit, and the required black cloak, along with a black belt, which held her twin long, silver knives; each had a hole in the middle and dark-colored hilts. <bR> The first guard was a dumb-looking fellow, another rat, but this one had no sharpness at all about him. He was a dull grey with black eyes and a pink tail; he had a black streak down his neck. He wore all black, and only the end of a short dagger showed out of his belt. He looks pitiful. Meira decided, and it was obvious that the leader- ''What was his name? Oh, right. Macbeth Ravencliff.''- thought the same. “I told you; they were the escaped prisoners.” Rorc rolled his eyes, the picture of annoyance. The fox narrowed his eyes. “Escaped prisoners? We didn'ear no such thing, did we, Blakstreek?” He nudged the dull rat. “Eh, wotsit? No, no we didn'!” Blakstreek shook himself as if he had just woken up. “Mapo, go find Lord Macbeth. Tell him that we need rope.” The second guard called to the fox.<Br> Mapo stared stupidly at her. “Wot?” “That's what, Commander! Now get some rope and find Lord Macbeth!” She ordered, turning to Blakstreek. “And you... go to sleep.” “But... Commander! I'm on guard duteh!” Blakstreek blinked a few times. “Well, I'm your better, and I'm issuing orders! Are you disobeying orders?” The rat blinked to find a dagger blade tickling his neck fur. <Br> “N-no, Commander.” The rat backed away, and soon was gone. The other rat turned to the three, and was stunned to find Mapo still there. “Go!” She snapped, and he blinked as well, and soon was gone. Something's up. Mapo thought. He hid in the surrounding bushes, and watched. As soon as the rat was sure that everyone was gone, she smiled. “I'm Commander Waynalay Dragoon, the Commander of the Prisoners in Lord Macbeth Ravencliff's Horde.” She leaned in closer, and whispered, “But I'm on your side of the war. The prisoners always escape, and poor ole me gets blamed.” She winked at Arka and Meira, who were picking themselves up and dusting each other off. “Rorc. You know your job?” Waynalay asked, staring straight at the otter as she straightened up. “Aye. Find Segalia and free the rest of the Holt.” Rorc nodded. “And Segalia's...” “Right here.” Rorc, Arka, Meira, and Waynalay whirled around to see a semi-shadowed, tall half-sea, half-river ottermaid standing there. She had tannish-fur and blue eyes, and she wore a black cloak and a black belt, for camouflage. Her belt held something that looked to Meira, the self-pronounced “weapon expert”, like a sword, and she had a quiver of red-fletched arrows and her longbow slung over her shoulder. “Ready, Commander.” Arka gasped. “B-but, I thought you-you were... captured?” Segalia Riverstorm grinned at her. “I was. You can't stop Waynalay when she's 'ad 'er mind stuck on summat.” Arka frowned, and, seeing her confusion, Segalia rephrased, “She freed me.” “Ah.” The ottermaid nodded, and stepped a little bit closer to her friend. Meira squeezed her paw, but his eyes never left Rorc, who was talking. “And you two know what you're doing?” He asked Arka and Meira. The two exchanged looks, then admitted, “No. Not really.” Segalia nodded, and shifted position so she was next to Rorc, and next to the two younger otters. “Laria Wavedeep, I'm sure you've heard of her, legend that she is?” They nodded mutely. “Well, Rorc and I have our hands full with freeing the rest of my Holt, that's Holt Lakewander. And Waynalay here has to continue to play the part of being Macbeth's pawn. So we need you two to go find Laria. We have no idea where she is, but, very likely, she'll be with a pine marten named Razgath the Mercenary. He's very inconsistent, like Macbeth, and is known to sometimes not sleep. So beware.” “Actually.” Waynalay stated, edging a bit closer to the two. “Laria is in the woods, surrounded by Ganal's henchmen. Her execution is set for tomorrow- so go swiftly and quietly, for if they find you... well... I'd hate to have to get Silver to come in.” Out of the corner of her eye, the pale rat saw Rorc roll his eyes. She grinned inwardly. ''They won't fail. I can feel it.'' “Rorc would be devastated if he had to call on Silverfalcon Pikehawk for help.” The otter froze. “W-what? I didn't say anythin' o'the sort! Where'd ye ever get that idea, eh?” Waynalay grinned, but didn't reply. “Laria is a tall and lean ottermaid, with brown fur and white patches on various parts of her, like her chest, namely. She's wearing green, I think, and she won't be asleep. You have weapons?” Arka patted her dagger belt. She had one or two throwing daggers in it. Meira pulled back his cloak, revealing a few hundred knives. Arka's eyes went wide. He... was protecting me. She felt light-headed, for some strange reason. “Y-yes.” She muttered, as she recovered her mentality. Waynalay nodded. “Good. Laria's belt is here.” The rat passed them a belt with a dirk and a sling attacked to it. “Give it to her, and she'll do the rest. Comprehend?” “Yes ma'am.” Meira took the belt. The rat nodded, smiling. “Good. Best of luck to you both. Rorc, Segalia, follow me.” In the bushes, Mapo smiled. I must inform Lord Macbeth! The thought roared in his mind as he rushed away, towards his Lord's tent.



A big rat leaned over and spat into the dying fire. “Arrr, night in Mossfler! Ain't nuttin' lack it.” He was tall and lean, dark grey with black eyes, and he wore a huge black tunic that extended to the ends of both of his paws. He wore a black cloak as well, and carried a huge axe. “'Specially when ye got a prisner t'guard, arrr!” “My Lord Ganal.” A tall, skinny white fox with dark black eyes came over and bowed to him. The fox wore black as well, but the rat, Ganal, knew that there was a long black arrow down his back, getting wider as it went down his spine until his tail was fully black. He also wore a black cloak, and had all manner of suspicious vials on his belt. “We have a visitor.” “Arrr, so we do, do we, Whiteblaze? Who is it?” Ganal straightened up and stared into Whiteblaze's eyes.<Br> “Her name is Shayra Darkblaze, raccoon lady with a score to settle with Thornclaw as well, my Lord. Shall I allow her to come see you?” Whiteblaze's eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Warr is she now?”<bR> “Torturing the prisner, my Lord, with Bloodthirsty and Freng.” Whiteblaze dipped his head again. Ganal pulled up his black hood, and looked much like the grim reaper. “She's torturin' mah prisner? Prepare the Rope!” The Rope, a long-dead mamba snake, had some of the most deadly poison in the world in her fangs. Ganal used her for the most painful deaths. Whiteblaze's white fangs glinted in the dying firelight. “Yes, my Lord.” With another bow, he headed off towards the Rope's chest, then carried it to his master.<Br> Shayra Darkblaze was a tall, beautiful warlady raccoon, with the typical mask and glittering green eyes. She wore a dark green tunic and a royal blue cloak, and, in her left paw, she carried a long spear with a barbed head and she also wore a black belt with a short sword in it- The Executioner. Ganal found her near Laria, the beautiful ottermaid that Lord Macbeth had given to him to keep. She was tethered to an oak tree, and Shayra was doing her best to provoke the ottermaid. “You fool!” she hissed. “Call yourself a legend, letting yourself get captured by that brainless rat, Ganal, and that idiot Macbeth?” Gagged, Laria couldn't reply. “Oh, I'm an idiot, am I?” Shayra whirled as Ganal stood there, axe in one paw, the Rope in the other, and Whiteblaze standing beside him, twirling a poisoned dagger aimlessly. “Whiteblaze!” Shayra called. Ganal turned, frowning, to his accomplice. “How does she know you?” The fox smirked at Ganal, and marched over to Shayra's right paw. “You fool; I am Shayra's right paw! And you thought I was yours.” Ganal felt his eyes glaze over with a black fire, and he became deadly calm. “Come now, Whiteblaze, surely you don't want to be on that end of the deal? You know that I never lose.” “Shore you do, an'I dun'wanna lose.” “You already have.” With one lunge, the Rope's fangs were in Whiteblaze's heart. He blinked a few times, then grinned. “I'll be back, Ganal, with my kin. They will hunt you forever, grasping for your blood and flesh. You'll never rest. Gah!” With one, last, strangled sound, the fox keeled over, pain and torture all over his face as his eyes glazed with death.<Br> Ganal kicked his carcass to one side. “Fool. I told him, I never lose. What do I care if a bunch of foolish white fox cubs are chasing me? Hah! I'll bet he doesn't even have kin.” <Br> “He wouldn't have said it if he hadn't meant it.” The light voice came from behind. Ganal whirled around to see Shayra standing there. “Deathbed words aren't to be taken lightly.” “Oh, so now you have infinite wisdom, eh? You want me to bow to you, “m'lady”? If we're gonna talk, we're gonna do it my way. We're gonna go to my tent, aye, I have a tent, I'm the right paw of my Lord Macbeth Ravencliff, and we're gonna talk civilized-like.” As they prepared to go, Shayra said softly, “I'm sorry about your accomplice. Had I known that would happen... well, when I recruited him, he said he was a wandering mercenary. I'm sorry, truly I am.”<bR> Ganal gave her a long look, then growled gruffly, “S'alright. He needed to die anyway. Seen an'eard too much.” With that, the two marched off into the woods. Laria, who had seen it all, suddenly nodded, and Arka and Meira sprang out of the bushes. “You were right!” Arka exclaimed, as they untied Laria. “They are teaming up.” “Good, because Macbeth is planning a mass-slaughter tomorrow- his horde as well as the prisoners. He dudn't like th'hole 'Horde' idea. Prefers himself.” Laria stated, rubbing her sore, blood-lacking paws together. She is pretty... Meira thought. ''But too old for me. I'll stick with Arka.'' He looked for a long time at his friend. But she doesn't like me back. As they dove into the bushes, Arka in turn looked for a while at Meira. ''He really is handsome. Rorc is too old for me, and I'd stay with Meira anyway... but he doesn't like me back.''<Br>

Chapter Four- Warning or Ambush?
“Corporal March! Find me Private Dawnsorrow!” A tall, lean lieutenant haremaid ordered. She had a long scar running across her face, from her right eye to the left side of her jaw, making her look fierce, and, quiet frankly, scary. She also had a scar on the bottom of her footpad, making her limp sometimes. Her green eyes were bright, never missing anything, and she wore a long-sleeved, green-and-brown tunic. She wore a leather belt around her waist with a satchel on the side for provisions, and she wore another belt that went over her right shoulder and around her left hip, like a sash. A scabbard was attached to it, hanging down her back, and a huge scimitar was thrust in it. She was Lieutenant Perrylane Rigglejaw Mugsworthy, and she was as fierce a warrior as the next hare in line; probably more. Another, smaller hare saluted her. “Yes ma'am, Lieutenant Perry, ma'am!” He was Corporal March Stutterin Usagi Bosworth Ejecutar, or Corporal March. He was a young hare with brown fur and hazel-colored eyes; he wore a baby-blue tunic with a leather belt that he had stolen from some vermin a few years ago; his belt held his dirk, and he carried his staff with him most of the time, however, he didn't have it on him now. “Wot shall I tell her?” “That the new badger lord is approaching.” Perry turned back to the window she had been looking out. March's eyes widened. “Then... shouldn't we fetch Major Peony as well?” “No.” The automatic answer surprised them both, even though it was well known that Peony Laminar and Perrylane did not get along very well. “Actually... yes. Tell her that three o'clock is correct, and send Hemrut to me as well.” “Yes ma'am, Lieutenant ma'am.” Automated as well, the corporal saluted again, and marched out of the chamber. A few moments later, he reappeared in the doorway with three hares. One, Private Dawnsorrow Whopplescoffer, was a tannish-hair with a white tail and a white underbelly. She gripped a long javelin in her left paw, and the point grazed the end of her long silver tunic. The second, Major Peony Laminar, was a petite hare. She was dark brown with sharp grey eyes, and she wore a light green tunic. She also had a black belt, with her rapier in it. The third hare, Hemrut Braeblade, was in his upper “middle-seasons”, although most called him old, and he had white fur and dark blue eyes. He wore a clean blue uniform, and a monocle was in his right chest pocket, along with a few hidden knives and daggers.<Br> Corporal March saluted Perry. “I have them, Lieutenant, ma'am.” “Thank you. You may go.” She dismissed him, and he saluted and left. “Now,” Perrylane began. “You may be wondering why I called you-” she glanced distastefully at the Major- “Of all hares to come here. Well, I don't know if March told you, but the new badger lord is swiftly approaching.” “What is wrong with our current lord, Lord Trawnbull Thickstripe?” Hemrut asked stiffly. He was known for his loyalty to anyone in higher ranks than him- which wasn't many. He didn't even have a rank, his rank was so high! “Nothing is wrong with Lord Trawnbull.” Perry replied. “But, we have to face it, Hem, he's getting older. Not that there's a thing wrong with getting older, but, as history proves, Lord Trawnbull needs to train a young badger while he can.” “But why tell us?” Dawnsorrow, or Dawn, as she preferred, asked. Perry sighed, glanced out the window at the lumbering shapes in the distance, and looked back. “Lord Bluestripe is, or soon will be, our master. We owe it to him to protect him.” “Yes.” Dawn agreed. “But a fine badger lord he'll make if he cannot even make it 'ere, wot!” Peony Laminar nodded. “He can take care of himself.” Perry shook her head, a half-smile on her lips. “Ah, but he can't if he gets attacked in his sleep.” “A fine badger lord he'll make if he leads the enemies to our doorstep.” Dawn replied hotly. She was known for pressing a point, if given the leverage to press it. Perry gritted her teeth, reaching into her stock of Lieutenant-patience which she often was forced to use. “He. Does. Not. Know. That. He. Is. Being. Followed. He. Does. Not. Know. That. He. Will. Be. Ambushed. He. Does. Not. Know. That. He. Has. An. Enemy.” Dawn looked taken aback. “Th-then, how do you?” Perry smiled. “Because I look. And I see Bluestripe, heading for our mountain, and I see another badger, Kytrae Wingblade, following close behind. And I know, because I have fought against Ky a few times, that he knows he can't fight Blue outright.” “So he'll take the cowardly approach. He'll ambush Bluestripe!” Peony crowed angrily, her eyes shining fiercely. “Exactly.” Perry nodded coldly at Peony without looking at her, keeping her gaze firm on Dawn. “So we need to either warn Bluestripe, or, if your leader so wishes, you could ambush Ky yourselves. I would not recommend ambushing him, as he is a full-grown badger hell-bent on beating Bluestripe to the throne, but your leader is not known for making smart decisions.” Peony. The name hung in the air. Peony will be our leader. “I'm sure you all have guessed, but Major Peony Laminar will be your leader. You will leave later after an early supper. Hem... I'm sorry, old buck. You can go, or stay, it doesn't bloomin' well matter to me.” She lowered her voice as she watched Dawn and Peony packing up. “I think it would be wise if you did not go.”<bR> “They need me, Perrylane. I will be their advisor. They need an advisor. Admit it. They are quite unruly.” Hemrut gave her a meaningful look. “I shall be the first to admit it, Hem; but, much as it kills me to admit it, Peony has the guts to succeed in this mission. And, if she picks the “attack Kytrae” option, as I feel she will, then... well... you are too valuable an advisor and warrior to lose. Lord Trawnbull is not feeble yet.” “Then why not send him out? Why send some fresh hares out to do the job of a seasoned warrior?” Hemrut asked, his voice icy. “If the mission means enough to you for you to send out a crew, then it needs to succeed. But if you do not wish me to go, I shall stay here.” He dipped his head to the Lieutenant. “But Hem! You can make your own decisions, don't forget.”<bR> “Oh, that is something I shall never forget.” Hemrut winked at her. “I will stay here... but I will be on guard duty, and, if the slightest thing goes wrong, my dear, I will be out there fighting. You cannot stop me twice.” With that, he nodded in recognition to the high-ranking officer, then exited the chamber. Outside the window, Kytrae had stopped for a minute, it looked like. But she was so high up, and they were so far away, that it was hard to tell, sometimes, if it was even Kytrae Wingblade at all.



Rorc Nightblade and Segalia Riverstorm, stealth in the night, slipped through Macbeth's camp. They knew, from Waynalay's direction, where everyone was kept, and she said that the guards were probably drunk anyway. Good. The pale rat herself was staying back there, Rorc and Segalia had tied her up and gagged her, and, when Mapo and Blakstreek returned, she was to tell them that the two otters had tied her up, taken after Laria (who they knew was free by now), taken the other two prisoners, which weren't ever really prisoners, and that she didn't know where they were. Segalia elbowed Rorc in the stomach, interrupting his silent reflection of their full-of-holes plan, and pointed. Ahead, the light, which Waynalay had said was a bonfire for burning dead bodies because Macbeth was planning a mass slaughter tomorrow, but that the prisoners would be close by, giving them the feeling that they would be burned alive, was getting brighter. Rorc nodded, and the two dove into a bush, but continued their approach. Waynalay was right- there was one guard, and he was severely drunk. Segalia stepped out of the bush, while Rorc crept around so he was behind the prisoners, and began to free them. “Excuse me, sir, but I have direct orders from Lord Macbeth Ravencliff to relieve you. You may go to bed.” The guard was a skinny rat with dull black eyes and grey underfur and paws. He wore a grey tunic, with a daggerbelt chock-full of thorny leaves and with only one dagger, and a green cloak. He grinned, but it looked more like a very-toothy grimace. “Arrgh, pretty, I shaell in a momen'. Tell me, when's ol'Cap'n Maira sailing, eh?” Segalia kept a straight face with an enormous amount of effort. “I am sorry, sir. I do not know. I am a Hordesbeast, not a corsair. And I am a low-ranking Hordesbeast. I am dreadfully sorry, sir.” “S'fine. I'ma no'corsair, iver. I'ma goin't'bed now, ma'am.” The rat bowed to her. “G'night, m'lady.” Segalia waved at him, then nodded to the bush. Rorc popped out. The two crawled over to where Holt Lakewander sat in a tight circle. “Nightpaw, Dargen, Zora! Are you there?” Segalia hissed. Three heads popped up. A male otter called, “Segalia? Is that really Segalia Riverstorm?” “Aye, Nightpaw Streamspliter. Where's yer bonds? This is Rorc Nightblade, he's with me, he's gonna help me break ya out. Where is everyone?” Nightpaw tried to stand up, and fell over. “I'm 'ere, Segalia.” “Rorc, you get Dargen Seadiver, over there, then Zora Foxtail.” Segalia nodded to two otters, side by side, who were bound tighter than normal together. “Then get anyone else ya can find. I'm gonna release Nightpaw, and we two can work much faster. Reminder- Go as fast as ya can, because once Mapo and Blakstreek return to Waynalay, game's up. Plus Macbeth or Razgath could be up at any time, so go silently too. The sea is that way, beyond the bushes.” Segalia nodded at to the right of the camp. “Unless you're Nightpaw, go as soon as you're released. Once we're done, Night, you follow Rorc. I want to make sure that Laria, Arka, and Meira got away.” “Yore a fool if yew think that yore gonna do that alone,” Rorc said flatly. “Nightpaw can go, and I'll go with you.”<bR> “No. We all go.” Nightpaw replied. “Free Dargen, Zora, and Nema first; they know where the longboats that Log-a-log let us borrow are hidden.” “You heard him, Rorc. Get them, and, to everyone else, meet those three about five boatlengths from the shore. If, by some twist of fate, we get caught, go anyway. Don't worry about us. Get back to the Holt, and find Arka Wavetide, Meira Lakesplash, Laria Wavedeep, and Silverfalcon Pikehawk. They know what's goin' on. ''But it's important that you don't return fer us if'n we get caught. Do. You. Understand?” “Yes, we do.” It was a soft chorus, led by the feisty Zora Foxtail. “Good.” Segalia strode over to Nightpaw. Nightpaw Streamspliter was a strong, swift river otter. He had a black paw, which he gained his name from, and he wore a vest, which held his daggers and sling, as well as a few pebbles for the sling. His paws were bound together, and he was tied to a tree next to Menga Streamspliter, his brother. Menga was a guard at Holt Lakewander alongside Zora. He was a tall and sleek half-sea, half-river otter, and he was very muscular. Menga had a black stripe running down his back to his rudder, and he wore a long tunic, almost like a dress, but he would NEVER call it a dress, which held Menga's daggers and throwing knives. After a few moments of hard sawing, Nightpaw broke free. “Catch!” Segalia threw a knife at him. “Go free!” Nightpaw caught it, surprised, then grinned. “Where're our weapons? Send Menga after them.” “M'kay.” Within moments, Menga Faerudder was free as well. “The weapons are in Razgath the Mercenary's tent, but go verrrrry carefully. After you get them, we'll probably still be here, so you can give them to us. Also...” Segalia, thinking hard, added as an afterthought. “If you can get in and get out with the weapons, and if you think that you can do so again without getting killed, then... well, by all means...” “Kaell Raezgaeth?” Menga asked. “Yep. Good boy.” Segalia turned back to freeing the otters.



Menga slipped into Razgath the Mercenary's tent, scouting around. It was a rather small tent, with the pine marten's cot in one corner. In the other, tunics and belts lay on the floor, and the only thing tidy about the room was the little chest in the left corner. Dodging strange-looking things, Menga weaved his way over to the chest. Razgath, sprawled on the cot, was snoring loudly. Hellsteeth, how he snores! The otter sneered silently. Opening the chest, it was like opening the gates to an armourer's heaven. There were all of the captured Holt's knives, daggers, slings, swords, javelins, spears... it all. He hoisted the chest up on his shoulders, and silently thanked his brother Nightpaw for all of the boats he had had to move for him. Slipping out again, like a shadow, the otter hurried, as fast as he could with a chestful of blades on his shoulder. He arrived, panting hard, back to the spot where there was only three otters left tied; Nightpaw, Rorc, and Segalia were untying them. Menga dragged the chest into the clearing. “Here!” he snapped, his patience at wits end. He was ready to wreck the revenge on that Razgath the Mercenary. “Everything went alright?” Segalia questioned, as she dove into the chest and came up with Menga's daggers, which she handed to him. “Yes.” He placed the daggers into the empty sheathes. Segalia handed Nightpaw his sling. “So... could you get at him?” Menga smiled in a bloodthirsty way. “Yes. I go now. And... if I don't return... give Laria my love.” Nightpaw smiled sadly. “I shall give it to her, although I know that you will give it to her yourself.”



A huge, scarred, tattooed badger with a blue stripe down his back let out a low growl. ''Storms! Just what I needed! Especially with that idiot Kytrae breathing down my neck, racing me to Salamandastron like he is.'' Bluestripe turned and checked behind himself. While he could here the huge silver badger, Ky wasn't in sight yet. Good. Bluestripe knew that he couldn't fight and beat Kytrae, unless it was in a battle of wits. “I say, old chap, quite the fellow, ain't ye?”<Br> Bluestripe glanced around himself, surprised. “Who's there?” “It's me, Major Peony Laminar assisted by Private Dawnsorrow Whopplescoffer and Corporal March... er, Ejecutar. We're Salamandastron hares, sent by Lieutenant Perrylane.” Bluestripe cocked an eyebrow. “Sent by a Lieutenant, Major? Aren't you a higher rank than her, and could therefore make your own calls?” Peony scuffed her paw on the ground. “Yeah, I guess. But Perry's older, and I'm used to her bossing me around... I've not been a Major very long, m'Lord.” “Hmm, I see.” Bluestripe did not see, but he didn't wish to argue with the hare anymore. “So, ol'Ky's gonna play a fast 'un on me?”<bR> “Yessir.” Corporal March spoke for the first time. “You can come into the fortress with us, or we can fight.” “I would prefer not to fight,” Dawnsorrow said, just as Peony said, “I would really prefer to fight.” The two glanced at each other, then looked back at Bluestripe. “Wot she said.” March smiled. “If we attack, and are losing, Hemrut Braeblade is watching.” Bluestripe's eyes went wide. “Hemrut Braeblade? The legend?” “Aye, the very same. So it's really up to you, m'lord. Although if we attack, we must win.” Peony replied, shrugging off Hemrut's name as nothing more than... a name. “Why do you call me that? M'lord? Isn't Lord Trawnbull Thickstripe still living?” “Of course. But whichever of you, Kytrae or Bluestripe, gets to Salamandastron first will be the next badger lord.” Dawnsorrow's eyes were wide with anxiety at his choice. Bluestripe's eyes widened too. “Then we must beat Ky there! Imagine, him as Lord.” He shook his head in disgust, then raised it again. “We must chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarge!” With that, Bluestripe took off running for the mountain, which was a blob in the distance. March took off running after Blue, without a backwards glance. After both of them were gone, Peony nodded at Dawnsorrow. Dawn winked in return, and the two took off in the opposite direction of the badger and the Corporal. After a while, Peony put a paw to her lips. Dawn nodded to show she understood. In front of them, there was labored breathing. Hiding in the trees that hugged the path, Dawn and Peony looked out at Kytrae Wingblade, who looked more insane that anything. He was a huge silver badger with a grey stripe down his back. His silver eyes were bloodshot, but there was nothing deranged about the giant broadsword on his waist. He was leaning over a log, blowing like he was trying to set it on fire.<Br> Suddenly, it roared to life. Kytrae smiled, his teeth long and bloodstained. “Finally!” he growled. “I will have my revenge on those stupid Guosim shrews!” Peony felt Dawn shrink beside her and winced. But she motioned to Dawn to be still, and, reluctantly, she obeyed. The badger suddenly straightened up and snarled, “Come out, harelings. I can see and hear you in there.” Eyes wide with fear, Dawn looked at Peony, who nodded. The two stepped out. Kytrae smiled in satisfaction, although it was tinged with something else... something that neither hare could place. “Ah, I am never wrong. You were sent by Major Perrylane, were you not?” Dawn whimpered, “Y-yes. H-how did you know?”<bR> Kytrae grinned broadly, showing bloody teeth. “You did not know? I have spies everywhere... in your mountain which you think is safe.” “It is safe!” Peony shouted, anger clouding her judgment. “You are lying to just to frighten us into playing your game!” Kytrae smiled again. “Am I? Then how did I know that?” Peony couldn't answer that. The grin grew larger, red and deadly. “Aha. Then crawl, scamper, and anything yew need to do, but go back to yore likkle mountain. The fool Bluestripe can have my rightful position. Leave me alone,” and his smile faded. “But I shalln't leave yew alone forever. Yew will regret calling me a liar. Now scram!” “You don't order me around!” Peony spat. Kytrae drew his broadsword. “Are you shore about that, rabbit?” “I'm a hare!” The badger swung his sword at the two hares. “Go away!” Fear in their eyes, Dawn and Peony left... right before the whole forest erupted into flames.



An arrow flew out of the Mossflower underbrush and soared over Fiona Fox's head. She was a carrot-orange-colored vixen with a bushy tail and sky blue eyes. Her right ear flopped down on her head, she was deaf in that ear, and she wore a forest-green tunic held up by a rope belt. A necklace with a gem on it hung from her neck; it was a secret weapon of Fiona's. When it was twisted, the gem produced a poisoned spike. There was a dagger in her tunic pocket, and its hilt protruded just a bit. The vixen grimaced, flexing her wickedly sharp claws, and her teeth were as sharp as a dagger blade. “Crowley, you idjit! You nearly 'it me there!” Fiona hissed. Crowley was a tall stoat with hazel eyes and dark fur. He wore a mud-streaked tunic, so mud-streaked, in fact, that it was hard to tell what color it originally had been. He had a few daggers in his small belt, and a few knives hidden in various places on himself, although the impressive thing was the longsword in his belt, mostly because Crowley was well-known for his ability with it. But it was nothing compared to his leader and best friend, Thornclaw Braveheart, who was so deadly with his Zweihander that he was one of the most dangerous stoats in Mossflower. He was also good friends with Fiona, since they were both “good vermin;” they were of a “vermin” species, but they were certainly good fighters. “Sorry, Fiona. Thought you were some other manner o'vermin tha'roam around 'ere.” Crowley shrugged. “So. Ya come t'join Thorny and 'is merry liddle band o'roamers?” Thornclaw Braveheart's band, the Rangers, were well known as outcasts and even as outlaws. They were fierce and strong, brave and cunning, yet they could also be quiet, sensitive, caring, and even merciful. They were a good ally; Fiona counted herself lucky to know them as well as she did. “Not today, ol'chap. Simply came t'talk t'ol'Thorny 'imself.” Fiona shook herself off, and gave the stoat a wicked look. “Hey, Crow?” “Don'look at me like that, Fiona Fox!” Crowley led the vixen into the underbrush, towards Thornclaw's current camp, and he collected his arrows as they went. “An'wot der ye want, eh?” “Did y'start that fire up, near Log-a-log's place?” The stoat looked stricken. “Tarno's on fire?” “Aye. But they said 'e was at Red'all instead. Takin'ye didn'?” Crowley still looked upset. “Thorny an'I owe 'im a favor... have ye any idea who set it alight?” “Aye. I jus'left Salamannastron, an'Major Peony an'Private Dawnsorrow said twas Kytrae Wingblade th'mennally messed-up badger tha'did it. Said 'e wann-ed revenge on Guosim, an'tried t'burn 'em out, while 'e waited outside, wi'daggers an'knives. But no, they was all gone, an'nobeast's seen Ky since.” “No fire'll kill 'im.” Crowley shrugged. “Like yew.” “Nope. Fire'll kill meh, for shore.” Fiona Fox was well known for her fear of both fire and water, although she'd mostly gotten over her fear of water. “True.” Crowley shrugged again. “We're al'ost 'ere, now. Remember, Thorny ain't take kind'y t'bossin' an'roughin'! Yore 'is guest, don'forget, an'...” “Crowley. I. Haven't. Been. Here. Before.” Fiona rolled her beautiful blue eyes. The stoat blushed and quit talking. “Sorry.” The vixen shrugged. “Yah.” Crowley suddenly straightened. “Thornclaw, sir, this is Fiona Fox, here to speak wi'yew.” Fiona turned to see a tall, dark-brown stoat wearing a hooded camo cloak and a metal-plate jerkin. He also had a right-paw gauntlet with a crossed-sword emblem on it, and he wore a huge swordbelt. Well, it had to be huge, thought the vixen. Thornclaw Braveheart had Mossflower's largest sword, a Zweihander, and also a few more knives, daggers, and a longbow which he didn't have on him at the moment. “So, still the hero of the day, I see.” Fiona said dryly. She and Thornclaw had grown up together, telling stories of great warriors like Silverfalcon Pikehawk and Meeka Swiftblade while they hid on the side of Salamandastron from the vermin hordes that had exiled them for being fair and caring. Fiona (and Crowley) was the only one who could sass Thornclaw and get out alive- not because they were good friends, the best, in fact, but because they simply understood and accepted each other like that; Thornclaw knew that Fiona was born with a sassy tongue, and he couldn't do a thing about it.<Br> “Aye. And yore still roamin', lookin' fer a mate, eh? Couldn't leave me for long, could'cha?” Thorn teased. Fiona and Thorn had both sworn that they would be a warrior, and not let family come into the way; besides, Thorn had his band, which was family enough for him, and Fiona enjoyed being alone. And, even had they wanted to mate, they would've had a hard time finding someone else to accept them as “good vermin”. “Nah.” Fiona shrugged, taking in the camp. Hooded stoats bustled around, appearing in one tent, then popping out and heading into another. One stoat had a fire going in the center of the shady glade, and another two were dragging a huge pot towards the fire. Fiona watched as yet another stoat carried in about five huge fish, hoisting them high over his shoulder in a silent way of showing off his muscular build, and then heard someone shout to him. The stoat with the fish lowered them quickly, shouted back at the first shouter, then went over and threw the fish into the pot, which was now on top of the fire. “Got a nice likkle place here, Thorny. Just askin'fer an attack.” Thornclaw turned around and surveyed the camp quickly, then shrugged in reply. “So I do. But there's nobeast who'll attack me, Foxy, dear.” Fiona grinned. “'Erd o'Windy Wildbrush? She was 'ere earlier!” “How der ye know? You was up near Salamannastron where Log-a-log Tarno's place usually is.” Thorn winked at her. “I know yer tricks.” “Oh, do yer? Then do yer know me sis?” Fiona winked at Thornclaw, then watched Crowley hurry over to the fire, and say something to the cook, which agitated him, because he started waving his arms. The fish-stoat, as Fiona was mentally calling him, said something, which calmed the cook, then Crowley went off into another tent. A few seconds later, there was a bang! noise, and about ten stoats tumbled head-over-heels out of the tent. The cook and the fish-stoat fell in heaps of laughter. “Sis? Yew have a sis?” Thorn asked. Fiona turned back to him. “Yep. See, you didn't even know me sis! She don't look like me, though.” The stoat leader fingered his Zweihander's hilt. “An'wot's'er name, eh? Wait, der I wanna know?” The vixen shrugged. “She ain't a mass-murderer, er somethin'. She a corsair.” Thorn held up his paw. “I-” Fiona cut him off. “Her name's Merlot,” she announced.<Br>