Excerpt from the journal of Brelyna the squirrelmaid, Abbey recorder, grand-niece of Lady Amber the squirrelqueen.
It's been many seasons since the Great Mossflower War that my grand-aunt Amber battled in. Peace has reigned over Redwall Abbey and Mossflower, peace that our ancestors strove to form. Mossflower is now a golden place, full of laughing, singing creatures. Redwall is as great as ever. Our Abbot is very young for a typical Abbot. He's a mouse and his name is Drew. Abbot Drew is friendly and kind, but an unusual Abbot. He helps in the fields, tends the Abbey pond, and even helps our Friar, George, with the kitchenwork. I can smell the scones that they baked this morning from here. I'm not really used to writing so much, so I'm going to end this chronicle here.
Brelyna the squirrelmaid got up from her chair and headed to the kitchen. "Hello Friar!" she said, waving to the tubby hedgehog. "Want a scone?" the kindly creature asked, holding out a fresh-baked hazelnut scone. "Sure!" Brelyna replied, taking the scone and spreading it with honey. The squirrel gobbled it up. Abbot Drew looked up from where he was making a pot of soup. "Brelyna!" he said. "You're needed out in the fields. Sara needs you to bring her some pumpkin seeds." "Sure, I'll be right there," Brelyna replied. With that she scampered off to find the pumpkin seeds.
Blackclaw the weasel looked out at his army. Six seasons ago they had been almost nothing compared to the numbers he had now. A thousand weasels, ferrets, stoats, rats, and foxes, all armed to the fangs with spears, axes, bows, daggers, swords and maces, were assembled in front of him. Six painstaking seasons of journeying all over the land had led to this. Slyfang, Blackclaw's faithful second-in-command blew five blasts on his horn. Immediately the horde was quiet. Blackclaw spoke. "Hear ye! Hear ye. I am Blackclaw your Warlord. I will lead you to victory! I will keep you, my army, satisfied. Nobeast will lack plunder whilst I am your Warlord. D'ye hear?" Slyfang said,"Raise yer weapons if yew want booty aplenty!" There was a roar from the army and all the weapons raised. Except one. Agra the stoat stepped in front of Blackclaw. "Yer a fool, weasel," he said, sneering. "I don't think you could slay a fly or loot a full chest, blunderer," he said.
"Well if you think you kin lead this horde, try me." The weasel drew his scimitar and thudded it point down in the dirt.
Seeing Blackclaw unguarded, Agra swung his battle-axe through the air. Like lightning, Blackclaw whipped his scimitar up and disarmed Agra. The stoat had no time to see what was coming next. Blackclaw gripped the blade in both hands and slashed Agra's legs, bringing the stoat down. The merciless weasel swung the scimitar once. Agra fell face first into the dirt, slain. Ignoring the dead stoat, the pitiless warlord turned to his horde. "Anyone else want to try their luck against me?" Silence. "I thought so. Now get yer fat lugs moving an' lets go! Grab whatever stuff you've got. I'm not gonna wait forever you know." Blackclaw was back in business. Five minutes later, a cloud of dust flew up the road.