Dachlan was lost, lonely, and miserable. In a panicked, headlong run he'd fled into the woods without a thought in his head, trying to escape from the hares who'd killed everyone he knew or cared about. There was, at the time, no thought given to direction or course, just the absolute certainty that if he did not get as far away from the hares as possible then he would be killed as horribly as his parents.
That was six days ago.
In that six day span, any hope of finding his way to the town his family was heading towards had fled. He would even have gone back to the village that they'd left if he could find the way. But all the trees looked the same now, and the way back to the road was impossible to rediscover. Besides, part of Dachlan would rather wander around in the woods for the rest of his short life than stumble upon the rotting corpses of his parents and his friends.
The only reason that Dachlan had yet to collapse was because at the end of the third day he'd found a small stream of dirty water and drank his fill of the stuff. But as to the matter of food, Dachlan had no luck. He did not yet have his mother's skill at recognizing plants or foraging, and so he couldn't find anything to eat, nor could he trap woodpidgeons. The one time he'd thought he was lucky enough to stumble upon some berries, he'd found out too late that they weren't fit for eating. Half a day spent doubled over in cramping, vomiting agony ensured that the experiment would not be repeated a second time.
By the end of the first day, the full impact of what happened hit Dachlan like a hammer stroke, and he'd wept and screamed until he exhausted himself into slumber. And as he trudged on, periodically he would tumble through another unstoppable fit of grief.
But by the end of the sixth day, as the last few inches of sun were slipping beneath the horizon, the outright bawling had stopped, giving way to a different kind of sorrow. This grief took on a different form, one of bitter, hot, but quiet tears; and dark, hateful thoughts made razor sharp by the feeling of being utterly alone.
It was because of those tears that Dachlan almost missed the faint glow of a campfire shining through the dense trees. Once it caught his eye, he staggered towards it, not caring who it belonged to; not caring whether they were hordebeasts or travelers. Dachlan's only hope was that they would have it in their hearts, however shriveled, to feed him and point him towards sanctuary. Surely even a hordebeast would see it fit to give a scrap to a starving kit! They were both vermin, after all. Too young and too hungry to be of a worldly mind, Dachlan didn't give a moment's thought to the possible danger he was putting himself in.
In a particularly ungraceful maneuver for a fox, Dachlan didn't step from the bushes into the small clearing, instead tumbling into the camp when a stray branch caught his footpaw. The young fox lay sprawled on the ground, unable to see exactly what manner of beasts he'd stumbled into the midst of. All he could hear were a small handful of gruff voices clamoring and arguing with each other about their new uninvited guest.
"What's that then?!"
"It's a fox, that's what! Run him through!"
"No! Don't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Why not? Can't you see he's only a dibbun?"
"I don't see how that matters! He'll grow up to be a foul little rotter like all the rest of them!"
"You can't kill a dibbun!"
"She's right, matey. You can't do that. It just doesn't bear thinking about."
"Fine! You two can be the little vermin's keepers! Just leave me out of it!"
"Right! Now stand up, son. Let's get a look at you."
A firm paw took hold of Dachlan's tunic and pulled him up, the young fox scrabbling to his footpaws and getting his first look at his saviors. Or were they captors?
Belligerant, pointy little faces in rugged tunics and a dress, all three wearing bandanas and carrying rapiers at their hips. Shrews! Dachlan felt as though his luck couldn't have been any worse unless he'd run straight into the hares who'd slaughtered the caravan after they'd started to head home. At the very least the female looked as though she might be sympathetic, though like the other two, she still looked suspicious of him, merely to a lesser degree. At least she didn't have the anger of the stocky male whose tunic was paired with a dull red vest. No doubt he was the one who just wanted to stab Dachlan and be done with the whole affair.
"Grubby looking runt, isn't he?" grumbled the male in the vest.
"Shush, Lodo! You wouldn't look much better if you were lost and all alone at his age!" The female shrew leaned in a bit, giving a slight smile and asking, "That's it, ain't it? You're lost?"
Dachlan said nothing, a scowl on his face as he stared up at the woodlander adults. His past experiences with shrews weren't exactly wonderful, and he didn't trust this "Lodo" character one bit.
The shrew who was still holding him by the tunic to prevent him from escaping gave the kit a bit of a shake, reprimanding him. "Now now, lad. Don't be rude. Answer Farla."
In a sulk-laden voice, Dachlan muttered, "Yes…"
"And where are your parents?"
The fox kit's eyes fell to the ground and he muttered something rendered unintelligible by the sniffling that accompanied it.
Farla quirked an eyebrow. "Did you make that out, Droddy?"
"No, not a word. A little louder, lad, if you please."
Dachlan started to weep in front of the shrews as the words caught in his throat, and he hated himself for it. Woodlanders killed his parents, and now he was going to start crying in front of them like a whipped pup just because of a few questions? It was completely unacceptable, and Dachlan knew it even at that age. Furthermore, he hated himself for showing that kind of weakness.
Still, he muttered out an answer, his voice trailing off after offering the bare minimum explanation. "M'parents were killed…"
"Oh, you poor thing!" blurted out Farla in an upwelling of pity. She reached out and gently patted Dachlan's headfur, her pity apparently still not extending to allow her to embrace a filthy, skinny little vermin.
Droddy's paw didn't loosen much around Dachlan's tunic, though he did make a noise that could only be described as a sympathetic huff. Meanwhile, Lodo wasn't about to stand for any of it. He couldn't understand why his two friends were so willing to take the word of a fox kit at face value. Were they really so unfamiliar with how sneaky foxes were that they'd be won over by a few tears and a sad story? It would only be a matter of time before the little vermin reminded them why the old adage of "crying foxes' tears" meant that somebeast was only acting pathetic so they could get what they wanted.
Lodo leaned down face to face with the young vulpine, the woodland garlic of his last meal assaulting Dachlan's nose as he interrogated him. Lodo's voice carried little sympathy for Dachlan, and bore the sort of risk-spurning firmness that would make a capable, if merciless, leader. Of course, Dachlan heard none of that. He only heard the voice of somebeast new to hate, somebeast who was intent on making him relive the worst moment of his life.
"How'd they die, boy? Are you a horde brat? Or were your ma and pa bandits who finally got what was coming to them?"
Droddy reached forwards and gave Lodo a bit of a shove, pushing him out of Dachlan's face. "The dibbun's parents just died. Have some mercy."
"That's not a dibbun, Droddy, that's a vermin! He's just a small one, and eventually he's going to grow up to be a big vermin! If I were log-a-log, I wouldn't let any of the Gousim have a single thing to do with the little blighter!"
Farla shot back, snapping her fingers at Lodo, "Well you aren't log-a-log yet! We can't just leave a little one out in the woods to starve!"
"Oh? So what's your solution then? Are we going to haul him back to the Guosim and teach him how to row with that big brush of his?" sneered Lodo.
This time Farla couldn't think of a thing to say. Lodo was right; they couldn't very well bring a vermin back home with them, but at the same time he she was unwilling to abandon a cub to the wilds. Such a thing was positively un-woodlander! No good solutions at all…
Meanwhile, Dachlan could only listen to the pair debate what should be done with him, the kit staying silent despite the dread that welled up inside. He was certain that eventually the good will would run out, and that he would be killed on the spot, just like those hares killed his parents. As he thought about how everything in his life changed, all within the course of an event that couldn't have lasted longer than a half hour, things far more grim than most would consider a cub of Dachlan's age capable of ran through his mind. They were the thoughts that ran through the minds of horde brats whose parents never came home from raids, and the thoughts of beasts who were pressed into servitude against their will.
Dachlan hated them. All of them. The hares, the shrews, even Farla who defended him. Dachlan hated them all and wanted them to feel the same kind of pain he felt; and then he wanted them to die.
Before Farla could cover her fluster with a stream of shrewish insults and fist-based negotiation, Droddy spoke up, ever the level head of the trio, playing now as he had in the past the role of the one sane beast amongst frothing hotheads. "Why don't we just take him to the abbey?"
Lodo threw up his paws, just as displeased with this suggestion as any of the previous ones. "So we try to put a vermin inside a place that his kind have been trying to steal for themselves for seasons upon seasons? Are you daft?"
Seeing a way out of the quandary, Farla leapt to agree with Droddy. "It's a good idea! Redwall takes in wayward dibbuns all the time."
"Oh aye! They do that all the time… with decent woodlander dibbuns, not vermin mongrels!" interjected Lodo.
"That's enough of that, Lodo," muttered Droddy levelly before the situation could devolve into another argument. "We'll take the fox to Redwall and he'll be out of our fur. If they need to deal with him, well… Redwall's dealt with enough vermin in the past to remember how."
Redwall! Dachlan's eyes went wide at the prospect of having to go there. When his mother and father were still alive, both of them made it quite clear that he should never go there, no matter what! They imparted into Dachlan the knowledge that vermin who go to Redwall, no matter whether they deserve it or not, would die. Often horribly. Even disregarding his parents, enough vermin he knew treated the place with a sort of reverent awe. It was at the same time mythic and real, a place that they could never hope to reach, where bounty was guaranteed, and where death was kind for the most part.
And though the stories were a bit muddled by time and overly-sympathetic retelling, Dachlan knew them and their message well. He could remember being told about Dingeye and Thura, hapless idiots who met their death after seeking refuge; Globby the stoat, abused by a cruel otter; Sela the healer, thrown to the wolves; the metamorphosis of Chickenhound from a harmless and sniggering brat to a vicious slaver. In all these retellings the vermin were cast into perhaps a kinder light than they deserved, but such a thing never crossed Dachlan's mind, and he had no reason to doubt the stories as truth.
Globby's story seemed awfully relevant right then. Dachlan wondered if he would be paddled by some oversized otter for every little thing, then attacked and killed when he tried to escape. The thought made him shudder and squirm in Droddy's firm grasp. Even if the shrew wasn't holding on to him so tightly –and he was- Dachlan was too tired and hungry to make even the attempt to wriggle away and flee back into the woods. He saw that he had no choice in the matter other than to let himself be led by the nose.
Droddy let go of Dachlan at last only to then grab onto him again by his wrists, pinning them together, the skinny fox kit staring up at him as he took out a length of rope and started to twine it around Dachlan's wrists.
"What are you doing?" asked Farla.
"Making a compromise," Droddy replied as he worked, finishing the improvised shackles with a tight sailor's knot. "We're taking him to Redwall as you wanted, but we're not trusting him, like Lodo wanted."
Now that the fox's wrists were tied, another length of rope was wrapped about Dachlan's neck, tight enough that he couldn't unwind it, but not quite enough to start choking him. Another knot, and beyond it a lead to make sure that Dachlan couldn't tear off into the woods half-trussed up.
Amongst most other species, the compromise would bring some sort of satisfaction to both sides of the argument, but for the pair of shrews, being of the mentality that anyone who wasn't for their side of the argument was wholly against them, the compromise failed to appease. For Lodo it didn't go far enough, and for Farla it was unnecessary and cruel; and furthermore made them look like a trio of slavers.
For Dachlan, it was both humiliating and frightening. He'd seen slavers before, and he couldn't keep himself from worrying that he may have wondered into the midst of the first shrews to take up the trade. For all he knew, Redwall would be the place where he would toil for the rest of his life. Did woodlanders drop all pretense and start taking vermin slaves as revenge? He could remember his mother talking about how some of the jobs she was forced to take in the more hostile woodlander towns paid so little and had such surly overseers that the difference between their situation and that of a slave was only a matter of a couple coins. At his age, Dachlan took those statements more literally than he should have.
Frightened, fatigued, and full of grief, Dachlan was in no fit state to think clearly about where he was being taken. Slavery or death would be his future for sure!
"We'll leave at first light tomorrow then," said Droddy.
There came muffled grunts of agreement from the other two shrews, and they began to bed down around the fire. Lodo kept facing Dachlan, his beady little eyes staring at the fox to make sure that he wouldn't do anything verminous. Under that watchful eye, he daren't try to escape. Dachlan was certain that even when Lodo slept, he would wake up at the first suspicious sound that the fox kit made. All that could be done was to wait and hope that the place he was being taken wouldn't be as horrible as he feared.
Dachlan lay down on the grass, as far away from the shrew he was tied to as possible, leaving the rope almost taut. Being able to lay down near a fire, even under these conditions, was a privilege after the exhausting romp through the woods. Hunger made finding sleep difficult though, and Dachlan curled up and tried to force his stomach to stop churning. Grass nearby crinkled as somebeast approached Dachlan, and his eyes snapped open again, beholding Farla walking towards him.
She crouched down and pressed a small shrewcake, some edible roots, and a water canteen into Dachlan's bound paws. Farla offered him a smile that faded in short order when it wasn't returned and thanks went ungiven. Instead, Dachlan stared up at her, his paws full of things to satisfy his stomach, yet they remained uneaten. It was only when Farla went back to her place by the fire and laid down that Dachlan tucked in, shoving food into his mouth and taking hefty gulps from the water canteen. In short order, there wasn't a crumb left, and Dachlan was licking dried honey from his paws.
With his stomach full, more full than it had been for days, sleep at last came easily for Dachlan.
"Wake up!"
Dachlan received a none-too-gentle kick to his flank from Lodo, the kit popping up and thrashing about at the unseen attacker with his bound paws. But he hit nothing, as Lodo was already pulled to the side to argue some more with Farla.
"There's no reason to do something like that!" she shouted.
"My eye there wasn't!" Lodo shouted back. "Those gentle little love taps you were giving the vermin weren't working at all, so I handled it!"
"Handled it?" Farla sputtered. "Then I hope you're never a father, or your way of rocking a dibbun to sleep could very well be shouting sea otter curses at it and then kicking it into a river!"
Droddy sighed and slipped up besides Dachlan, giving the lead tied to the rope about his neck a gentle tug. "Come on then, fox. We'll start on to Redwall. Those other two will catch up once they realize they've been left behind."
Lodo scoffed. "That wouldn't be as bad as what would happen to your dibbuns. You'd let them run off to play in fox dens and with sea rats, then be terribly shocked when some slavers offer to sell you your own babes!"
Dachlan didn't have time to hear Farla's retort, as soon Droddy had led him far enough through the trees that all that could be discerned was that somebeast was yelling at somebeast else who was then yelling back again. Dachlan had to admit that he was quite glad to be away from the pair. Their wit wasn't as cutting as some of the vulpine insults he'd heard before, nor was the fighting half as entertaining as a particularly rowdy vermin brawl.
At least, it wasn't until Lodo shouted out loud enough for his voice to carry through the trees. "Ouch! You hit me in the nose!" Now it was interesting again.
Suddenly Dachlan was terribly tempted to go back and see if Farla got hit back. He'd never gotten to see shrews beat each other up before! He liked to imagine that it was a great deal like a puppet show he'd seen in the street once where two bad-tempered puppets spent the entire show beating the absolute tar out of each other…
But Droddy grunted and gave the rope another tug as Dachlan slowed his pace to try and look over his shoulder. "Come along now. We don't want to take all day getting to Redwall. Ain't far."
Dachlan shot Droddy's back a dirty look and stuck out his tongue, but kept up the pace of the march. The rope around his neck was starting to chafe a bit, and it was humiliating to be restrained in such a manner. He dreaded being seen. Furthermore, with his paws bound, Dachlan couldn't be sure that he would be able to catch himself if he tripped over some of the brush or roots that littered the ground in the woods. He spent most of the walk with his eyes to the ground looking out for things that might trip him up, keeping as close to Droddy's shadow as possible so he didn't bump into any trees.
It was an hour or so later when Farla and Lodo finally caught up with Dachlan and Droddy. Both of them were wearing rumbled and dirt stained clothes now, and while Lodo was busy nursing a bleeding nose, Farla was cupping a paw over a black eye. It seemed that the argument had turned just as interesting as Dachlan thought it might have.
Bad tempers prevailed for a time, and the group continued towards Redwall Abbey in silence. Droddy was naturally more silent than either of his companions, and the latter two were still too miffed from the fight to be interested in chatting. Clearly neither of them had actually managed to win it, and the result was bitterness that was worse than if there was a clear victor and a loser. As for Dachlan, he tried his hardest not to talk with his woodlanders when they'd first met. Why should he start now?
A bit past midday, the tension finally broke when Droddy started singing a shrew marching song and left off in the middle, refusing to continue until his two friends took up the chorus. Soon enough all three were singing as though they were the best of friends again. Dachlan put up with it the best he could, being unable to cover his ears with his bound paws. Farla's pitch was too high, Lodo was too off-key, and Droddy was so monotone that he was half-speaking the lyrics.
The lyrics were the typical woodlander tripe: how nice the day was, how wonderful it was to live in Mossflower, or about the virtues of being a shrew. It wasn't like a lusty vermin song about adventure, looting, killing, or tragedy… Nor was it like the song a drunken searat taught Dachlan that had something to do with a tough captain of a pirate ship and his crew being on their knees to do something or another. Dachlan didn't fully understand it, but it must have been a great song, because his mother had whacked him on the tail and given him a thorough dressing-down when he'd sung it within hearing distance of her.
Dachlan's ears and tail drooped at the memory, and suddenly it was a little harder to keep pace as he dragged his footpaws along. He missed his parents to such an extent that even being told off was something to pine for. Harsh or gentle, he'd never hear the voices of his mother and father again for as long as he lived. He struggled to avoid turning on the waterworks, not wanting any of the woodlanders to see him weep. As it was, the three shrews were too caught up in their songs to notice Dachlan's glumness, and for that he was all too thankful.
Abruptly the singing stopped and the three shrews and the fox they had in tow stepped out onto a dirt road.
"It's amazing every time I see it!" gasped out Lodo, to which both Droddy and Farla gave out murmurs of agreement to.
Dachlan finally took his eyes off his footpaws and looked up. What he beheld was truly something worth gawping over, an image of stunning majesty that could slacken the jaw of even the most difficult to impress vole. By far Redwall Abbey -for it could be nothing else- was the largest building Dachlan had ever seen, something he was certain of even from a considerable distance away. Red sandstone walls that looked so robust as to be timeless enclosed the massive building, and Dachlan reflected on the fact that Redwall was even more vast than he first thought if one considered the land between the great structure and the walls themselves. With that in mind, Dachlan was certain that with a little bit of stacking, many of the villages he'd been to could be comfortably fit inside Redwall.
Now he knew why so many vermin referred to it as a fortress or a castle, and just why it would be such a boon for an ambitious warlord. What rival army could hope to topple that?
Farla looked over at Dachlan, catching the young fox with his mouth agape, and chuckled at him. "Can't stand around gaping all day. Come on fox. With any luck you'll end up living there and you can stare all you want."
The walk to Redwall wasn't terribly far, but the distance was deceptive all the same. The building was of such size that judging distance was made difficult, and Dachlan had to crane his neck back to try and see the top of the building once he was standing in front of the front gate with his three shrew guardians. He was so busy staring that he nearly jumped out of his fur when Lodo cupped his paws to his muzzle and bellowed out, "Logalogalogalogalog!"
A mouse leaned over the edge of the walltop, looking down at the strange little party below. He cupped his paws around to his muzzle and called back down, his voice far softer than Lodo's, even though they both had to shout to be heard. "Ho there, Guosim friends! What brings you to Redwall?"
Lodo called back, taking the lead. "Ahoy Redwallers! We have a bit of a… unique problem. Can we speak with the abbess?"
"I'll find her. Wait there for a tick, then I'll let you in."
The mouse's head vanished, and it soon enough there were several clicks and the heavy creak of wood from the front gate. It swung open, and Dachlan got his first look inside Redwall. He was right in guessing that it was massive. The courtyard that led to the building itself would be considerable even if it didn't give way to orchards, gardens, and a pond that likely had fish in it. Already this was more plenty than he'd ever seen in his life, and he doubted there was anything that Redwall couldn't provide its denizens.
Though he thought little of it at the time, the idea that he and those in his caravan spent so many years of his life without access to this privilege brought a twinge to his gut. In the back of his mind, he was jealous that while there were some stretches of time when he and his parents went hungry, these Redwallers were likely stuffing their faces full of all manner of delicacies. It brought on more memories of his parents, and how during a particularly harsh winter they were reduced to scraping by through eating a portion of their herbal stock. Anything that wasn't poison was cooked up into a thin, if highly spiced, soup. And whenever they were fortunate enough to come upon real food, Dachlan could remember that his parents would feed him the larges portion and make do with the scraps for themselves.
When the mouse who opened the door set eyes on Dachlan, puzzlement and shock covered his face, and as soon as the shrews and Dachlan were within the abbey and the gate closed tight behind them, the mouse ran off. Calling out over his shoulder in a slightly panicked voice, he seemed to have realized that he was responsible for letting a vermin into the abbey for the first time since before he was born.
"I'll get the abbess! Just wait there!"
He scampered off, only to return with a second mouse in tow, though the other was far older and greyer than the first. For her age, the abbess was doing an admirable job in keeping up with the younger mouse's hurried steps.
"Yes yes, Brother Samnel. I understand that something is amiss, but you've still yet to tell me what it is!" puffed the Abbess.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as her eyes alit upon the four new guests, and she gave Dachlan an especially long look. "Yes, I can see why this required my attention now. You may take the ropes off him, if you please."
It was a gently said, but there was little doubt to be had that the abbess was giving an order. Not even Lodo, who made belligerence his daily bread was willing to argue with her. Needing no additional prompting, Droddy untied Dachlan's lead from himself and the kit before freeing Dachlan's bound paws.
Dachlan was glad that the ropes were off at last. Standing in front of others while trussed up with nothing short of humiliating, and his cheeks were still burning as he rubbed life back into his numbed wrists. Still, he couldn't elude the feeling of being imprisoned, surrounded as he was by woodlanders on all sides and a locked gate behind him. Escape was not a luxury he'd be afforded.
His warden, however, was at least a beneficent one. She gave him a kindly smile and crouched down in front of him so she could meet his eyes, her old bones creaking in the process.
"Hello there, little kit. My name is Abbess Plenny. That's short for Plennigreen. What's your name?" asked the abbess.
Her voice was soft, her sentences simple, and her face serene, all to ensure that Dachlan felt welcome and unthreatened. Ordinarily such babying would have elicited a rather rude response from Dachlan, or at least a dismissive one, but the abbess seemed to be hedging her bets that Dachlan had just been through some manner of great ordeal. It was evident in his muddy clothes and the black ash streaks in his fur. Just this once he was willing to be talked down to for the sake of being comforted.
At first, Dachlan found it hard to meet the abbess' eyes, and so instead he stared everywhere else. She wore a habit of green and that covered her neck and the top of her head, with only her wrinkled face peering out from beneath the flowing hood. Unassuming sandals protected her feet, and she'd become so thin in her old age that it didn't look as though it would take much more than a slight push to send her toppling head over heels.
Why then did he feel so cowed in front of her? She wasn't the first aged mouse he'd met, and in fact he remembered that many elder woodlanders were prime targets for various tricks and pranks, as they were too long in the tooth to give chase and do much more than shout.
It was not until Dachlan's eyes at last traveled up the paw the abbess extended to him, up to the abbess' face. For a moment he looked past the half-moon spectacles perched on her muzzle and into her eyes, and suddenly he knew why he felt as he did.
Warrior eyes! thought Dachlan. She's got a warrior's eyes!
Certainly they were kind, wise eyes, but they were also unwavering and alert, strong even in the face of advancing age and ceding no ground to the years. They were the eyes of a guardian and a protector, somebeast who'd looked upon a foe without backing down an inch. When death finally came to this mouse's bedroom, he would knock first and then tiptoe in under the watchful gaze of the abbess' spirit.
Dachlan looked away and let out an intimidated whine, chewing on his lower lip. His parents had warned him about attracting attention from woodlanders, and now he was doing just that, and with a woodlander who'd clearly taken on her fair share of tribulations for the sake of her abbey. What would his parents say if they knew that he'd gotten himself caught under the eyes of the abbess?
Thinking that Dachlan was being rude, Droddy gave him a firm nudge from behind. "Come on now. Shake paws with the abbess and tell her your name. Don't be rude, fox."
Abbess Plennigreen had dealt with shy dibbuns before, and she assumed that this fox kit was having a similar problem.
"Whenever you're ready, my son," she said. "You're safe here."
More from the nudging than from the assurance, Dachlan extended his small paw and took hold of the abbess', mumbling almost inaudibly, "M'name's Dachlan…"
Abbess Plennigreen had to struggle to hear him speak, leaning in close. "Dachlan? That's a nice name," she said. Her paw tightened around his, holding it with fingers stronger than Dachlan would expect a mouse of her age to have.
He tried to squirm his paw out of hers, but a firm shake of her head followed by a reassuring smile told him not to. Dachlan did as she wished and stopped trying to free his paw. Where did he think he was about to go anyhow?
"Now, just follow me to my rectory and we'll get you all nice and settled then."
Dachlan had little choice whether he wanted to follow the abbess or not, as he was more or less dragged behind her as she walked towards the abbey proper. Certainly Dachlan could have struggled and dug his heels into the soft abbey grass, but he had little doubt that Abbess Plennigreen would have doggedly hauled him along regardless. She'd loosened her grasp to a more comforting one now; it would do no good to give her a reason to tighten it again.
The walk towards the abbey building gave Dachlan ample time to gawk at the miniature Elysium the mice of Redwall had built and maintained. Woodlanders were everywhere, whether working or relaxing, and at once Dachlan could see beasts tending to the trees and crops while others lounged about in the shade. Young beasts ran from tree to tree stuffing their faces with windfallen fruits, and Elderly beasts lounged in the shade, half-watching the young ones while either chatting amongst each other or outright dozing off.
But once the abbess dragged Dachlan into the light all activity and lounging ceased and turned instead to staring. Dachlan withered under so many eyes that had never seen a vermin of any variety within the walls of the abbey before, and indeed some who had yet to ever see a vermin at all outside of drawings. As he looked back at them, he could see a variety of emotions painted across their faces: curiosity, anger, fears, disgust. They felt like strong and intimidating reactions over nothing more than a young fox, and Dachlan had trouble understanding them.
Murmuring began almost immediately. Vermin hadn't set foot in the abbey for a great many years, and every last story that involved them doing so resulted in either tragedy or disaster for the Redwallers. None of the Redwallers watching Dachlan had any desire to become part of such a story themselves.
Once Dachlan entered the abbey, he was hidden from the curious eyes, something that he was very grateful for indeed. The abbey's main building was just as sturdy as the walls that encircled it, and he had little doubt that the woodlanders would be able to lock the entire place up so tight that an ant wouldn't be able to find a crack to squeeze through.
The procession, on the way to the rectory, passed by a great tapestry hanging in the great hall, Dachlan's eye drawn to the mouse who dominated the image. He couldn't help but stare, forming an instant opinion of the mouse as he took in the tapestry. The smirk, to him, seemed haughty, his posture elitist, and the manner in which he held his sword seemed to be almost one of callous disregard for the thwarted beasts he used it on. And all those other vermin fleeing or laying slain behind him! This mouse was a warrior, and a hostile one at that; at least towards vermin anyhow.
Why did this mouse have a tapestry in the abbey anyhow? Something about it seemed familiar, as though he'd heard a story or two about this mouse, but Dachlan couldn't put his paw on it. He couldn't understand the purpose of the tapestry, but he did understand that if he should ever meet this warrior, that he was not someone Dachlan would be keen to trust.
Dachlan realized that Abbess Plennigreen stopped tugging him along, and that he'd been permitted to cause the small group to grind to a halt in front of the tapestry. For some reason, he was being allowed to stare at the tapestry as long as he wanted in silence, and she only spoke once he looked up at her. She seemed pleased at his contemplation of the tapestry, though Dachlan was in no mood to speak and ask for what reason.
However, the abbess took care of that for him, want it or not. "Do you like our tapestry? That mouse's name is Martin the Warrior. He's the patron of our abbey."
Abbess Plennigreen kept up a calm and almost deliberately prattling tone, one that she found useful for teaching the newly arrived dibbuns some small lessons without overwhelming them with the grand history of the abbey.
"Doesn't he look peaceful? You'll get to learn all about him while you're here."
Peaceful?! Most certainly not! Nobeast with a weapon like that and with their footpaws on top of that many vanquished beasts could possibly be peaceful, could he? This Martin looked more like some manner of warlord, and his father made it quite clear to him that there wasn't a single decent beast who'd take that title.
Perhaps before the death of his parents, Dachlan would have been more interested in arguing with the abbess about the point, in acting juvenile, snippy, or defiant, but witnessing the gruesome slaughter of everyone he knew had shut his lips tight. He had no fire in him to argue or to resist being led about by the nose.
And so all it took was a gentle tug from the abbess' paw, and the brief rest was at an end. From there it was a short walk through the hall, up some stairs, and down another hall to the abbess' rectory. It was a small office adjoining a bedroom; austere and official looking, filled with bookshelves upon which sat a variety of thick tomes, no doubt the record-keeping books required to keep the abbey functioning on a day to day basis. Dachlan felt very short in this room, and something about it gave the impression that it was the sort of place that cubs were expected to stand in absolute calm and quiet when they were brought in.
Abbess Plennigreen took her place behind the desk, letting herself down into the chair behind with the sigh of an aged beast. Clasping her paws in front of her, she prepared to begin the proceedings.
"Perhaps, so I may fully understand the situation, you might explain what happened, my shrew friends."
Farla did most of the explaining, her sympathies being best suited for the task, though Lodo would sometimes interject. Droddy folded his arms and remained silent, content to let the others carry on until he needed to step in and rapidly defuse a blossoming argument before it could get out of paw and become something embarrassing.
Paws clasped in front of her, the abbess waited for the story to conclude, though often her gaze would flick downwards to Dachlan, whose eyes in turn were more focused on his footpaws than anything else. They watched how his footpaws wriggled with nervous impatience as he waited for Abbess Plennigreen to decide his fate.
He had little desire to live amongst woodlanders. Even though he hadn't seen a single hare so far in Redwall, he was reluctant to trust anybeast who counted the hares amongst their own. But although he would likely have fled he would have liked to flee the first chance that was afforded to him, Dachlan knew that he hated the idea of starving to death alone in the woods even more so than being under the watchful eyes of the woodlanders.
The story came to a close, and the abbess leaned a bit forwards in her chair to regard Dachlan himself, looking down upon him from her position behind the desk. She asked him, "Dachlan, do you understand what's happening? Do you understand that, as you are now an orphan, that Redwall will be pleased to care for you and count you amongst our own?"
Shocked by the sudden reprieve, Dachlan's head snapped upwards. After the story he'd expected more arguing, debate, and questioning from everybeast present, but most especially from that warrior-eyed abbess. Indeed, Dachlan's mouth wasn't the only one that hung agape. The shrews and the young brother in attendance were all likewise surprised by what seemed a very bold snap decision. How could the abbess invite a vermin to live inside Redwall so quickly when such a thing was unheard of in hundreds of years of the abbey's history, save for a single, nearly disastrous moment?
"Brother Samnel, kindly fetch Mother Cinnarae, so that we might get our new son settled in," said the abbess.
At first she wasn't heard, as Samnel was still attempting to wrap his mind around the prospect that a vermin cub would now be one of the many young ones in the abbey's care.
"Brother Samnel?" repeated Abbess Plennigreen, a little of a firm edge to her voice this time, getting the younger mouse's attention at last. "Mother Cinnarae, if you please?"
"Yes, abbess!" sputtered Brother Samnel, tripping over his own sandals as he sprang for the door out of the study, only to turn and take one more look at the strange scene as he prevented himself from chipping a tooth on the doorknob, which he hung onto and turned all at the same time. He shouted a final, "Yes abbess!" as he finally made his way out of the room.
The abbess tsk-tsked fondly as Samnel left, addressing nobeast in particular. "Oh, Samnel! He's really quite a good mouse, even if he is a wee bit high strung."
"Anyhow," continued the abbess. "If you're to be one of us, Dachlan, you're going to have to learn to live like us, though that should not be terribly difficult for you if you're a decent beast."
Abbess Plennigreen smiled down at the fox kit, who was just barely chin-level with the edge of the desk. "I think you already are though, aren't you?"
Dumbly, Dachlan nodded his head. What else could he do? Certainly he couldn't tell the abbess that he got into trouble with woodlanders before, that the Long Patrol once tried to burn him to a crip, or that the last thing he did before his life changed forever was that he stole a bottle of very pricey damson wine. No, there would be many secrets from those he now dwelt with; from the time he and some other cubs threw rocks through an angry customer's window on behalf of their parents, to the time he set a bale of hay on fire just to see what it looked like.
"Good," said Abbess Plennigreen. "I know that you'll be very happy here, Dachlan. My three shrew friends, I cannot thank you enough for this good deed that you have done, but I think it only fair that the abbey reward you in the best way that it can. If you care to go to the kitchens, we'll be happy to feed you and give you provisions for your journey home tomorrow. I insist that you at least spend the night with us, if you're able."
"Right kindly of you, marm!"
"We'd love to!"
"Yes, please!"
And with that the shrews were gone, trotting to the kitchens for some of the abbey's famous fare, and leaving Dachlan and Abbess Plennigreen alone.
Dachlan's eyes went back to his footpaws, staring at them as silence spread between the abbess and himself. It bothered him, and he felt as though he were being scrutinized, despite the fact that the abbess wasn't even looking at him. Instead she was standing at a bookshelf and poring over the titled etched into the spines. At last she pulled one down and laid it upon the desk, opening it and seeking out a specific page.
"Dachlan, would you come to me, please?"
At first, Dachlan considered shaking his head and staying where he was, but the abbess clearly expected him to obey, and if he was to live under her watchful eye, he may as well avoid antagonizing her from the start. He didn't know that she wouldn't bear a grudge. He padded to her side only to be grabbed under the arms and hoisted up onto her lap, squirming in the air at the rather unexpected contact, cheeks flushing red under his fur. Were Dachlan's life still in the same order as before his own personal catastrophe, he would have fussed and swore at the indignity of being lifted like a babe, already considering himself too old to ride upon his father's shoulders. But now all that he could muster the willpower to do was to shift and refuse to settle in, near constant movement with a rigid spine attempting to convey his displeasure.
The meager display did little to ruffle the abbess, and she indicated the book that she opened on the desk. Regardless of how little he liked being held on somebeast's lap, Dachlan couldn't help but take interest in the book, the colors of a drawing on one of the pages catching his eye, and the illuminated manuscript below drawing him in with tantalizing flashes of gold and red. His parents couldn't read, much less afford books, and neither could Dachlan, but he could certainly understand when detail was given to something valuable or important, and between the tapestry and this book, this Martin mouse must have been somebeast held in the very highest regard.
"You may turn the pages, just as long as you are careful with them," said Abbess Plennigreen, watching the small paws wander over the pages from over Dachlan's shoulder.
Settling in, Dachlan found another beautiful drawing on the next page, also depicting Martin, this time tending to an ill beast. Another turn, and it was of Martin tending the fields peaceably; then one of Martin defending young, helpless beasts from shadowy vermin invaders; and then yet another of Martin kneeling in prayer.
Tearing his eyes away from the pictures, Dachlan looked up at the abbess, who gave an answer to his silent question, "This is a book a beast made a long time ago to help those who live in our abbey learn Martin's and the mice of his time's teachings. For years and years beasts of Redwall have been using Martin's lessons to live good and peaceful lives. If you take these lessons to heart, I'm certain that you'll be happy here."
This was an ethos that Dachlan didn't quite understand what to make of. A healthy handful of the lessons seemed to revolve around getting involved in the problems of others, something that very much went against the common sense fox logic that Dachlan was reared on.
"Care for yourself and your kin first" was their vulpine mantra, and it was already far kinder than many of the ones other, less decent foxes would live by.
Standing in front of the swords of bloodthirsty beasts for the sake of those who may only care for him because of pure desperation for help didn't sit well with Dachlan. He could still remember the more malignant stares that a few of the beasts in the open grounds gave him, as well as the attitude of Lodo the shrew. Why should Dachlan put his life in danger for beasts like that? Would beasts like that remember to be thankful to him in the months and years after the danger passed?
The door to the rectory opened again, and Brother Samnel entered, but not alone. Behind him… a badger! An enormous white and black beast of murderous strength and driven by a Bloodwrath-filled loathing for everything vermin!
Confusion reigned as Dachlan screamed, not a cubbish outcry, but a genuine scream of unmistakable terror. He fell off the abbess' lap in an effort to run away, spraining his ankle in the process by knocking against the desk during the fall. He scrambled backwards, calling for help the whole time and managing to wedge himself into a corner between bookshelves.
A few back and forth glances and the abbess realized the cause of the problem, raising her voice to be heard above Dachlan's panic. "Mother Cinnarae, please leave now! Brother, Samnel, get Sister Marialla!"
Bewildered, badger and mouse stumbled backwards out of the room, the shrieking losing some of its volume the moment that Mother Cinnarae departed.
Sighing, the abbess made herself a mental reminder to apologize to the pair of beasts once this issue was resolved. She didn't much care for raising her voice, particularly when it came to giving orders. For the moment though, she had to tend to the young fox, who it seemed would require a great deal of patience in some areas. That he would show such genuine fear at merely being in the same room as a badger was unexpected, and a work-around for that was an absolute necessity. Hopefully the name of that work-around would be Marialla.
Old bones creaking, Abbess Plennigreen settled down onto her haunches and reached into the crevasse between the bookshelves, silently hoping that Dachlan was not so panicked that he would bite her. Fortunately, all he did was twitch, and then settle into shivering as her paw made contact with the kit's furred head. If nothing else, at the very least the screaming had stopped.
Putting on her most soothing voice, the abbess tried to coax Dachlan out of his hiding spot, "Come on out, Dachlan. Everything is alright. The badger is gone, but she would never have done anything to hurt you anyway."
It took a good five minutes of coaxing before the abbess was able to get Dachlan to come out into the open again, and even once she did, he clung to her habit with one paw in silence.
Not long after he was extricated from the nook, the door to the rectory opened once more, and Brother Samnel led another beast inside. This time though it was not a badger, but instead an otter; a female otter, chubby in her middle age with rosy cheeks just barely visible beneath her fur, and who bore with her an air that could instill the young beasts she cared for with the undeniable urge to run and bury their muzzles in her apron while calling her their mother.
Indeed as she came towards Dachlan, a similar desire came over him, and despite having gotten quite the scare, the only thing which kept him from seeking comfort from her was a natural distrust of woodlanders and a sort of pride that particularly obstinate cubs fell prey to. Marialla, being quite used to dealing with cubs of many backgrounds, was undeterred, though the presence of a vermin in Redwall puzzled her to no end. To her though, all cubs were cubs, and Dachlan's wide eyes indicated quite clearly that he needed some of the care that Marialla possessed in abundance.
With a gentle puff of breath she crouched down so she could be a little closer to eye level with Dachlan. "Well, hello there little one! My my, it's been ages upon ages since I've seen a fox! Are you here to raid our kitchen?"
Baffled as to why the otter would ask him such a thing, he shook his head, though at the mention of the kitchen his stomach rumbled. It was a considerable amount of time since his last meal, which itself was taken on a stomach many days empty.
"Oh no?" said Marialla. "In that case, I think that we should go conquer it together. What do you say?"
She held her paw out towards Dachlan, webbed fingers wiggling in warm invitation, though the young fox stared at it for a moment before allowing his eyes to drift upwards towards Abbess Plennigreen's face, asking for permission in silence. A nod from the abbess, her face radiating calming reassurance, and Dachlan took hold of Marialla's paw, only to be swept up into her arms as if he were a little kit, or at least a littler kit than he saw himself as.
"The kitchens it is! But first a good scrubbing to shake all the dust from the road off."
Dachlan let out a squall of dismay as he realized that he wasn't going to be fed without being soaked down to his skin, the beginning of a great deal more washing than had been mandated by his parents. When he was still in the care of his parents, they'd only made him wash when he'd been truly filthy; after all, wasting water on bathing instead of drinking it was unheard of in a traveling group of vermin, and was only to be done when there was a river to camp next to.
As Marialla carried him out of the rectory, Dachlan squirmed and tried to push away from the tightening grip the motherly otter had on him. Just before Dachlan could start protesting with his voice in addition to his paws, likely starting up the most talking he'd done all day, Marialla said something that made Dachlan freeze.
"I'll tell you what, my little kit. If you're good for me and don't fuss, I'll show you the boat that I made with my own two paws. Have you ever seen a boat?"
Having spent all his short life away from the coasts, and for that matter away from rivers as much as possible to avoid groups of river faring shrews, Dachlan shook his head. Not knowing that Marialla whittled small, floating boats for dibbuns to distract themselves with in the bath, Dachlan couldn't help but wonder at exactly where her boat would be launched from. The pond he'd passed by on the way inside certainly didn't have any that he could see, and surely, though the abbey was large, it wasn't large enough to hold anything like a searat galley. Those were the only boats he knew anything about, and that was from stories his parents told him. His curiosity kept him quiet, and Marialla hauled him down the corridors far more easily, the abbess hearing her voice fading into the distance.
"I think that your'e going to like my boat, especially because I want you to be the captain. But a good captain doesn't make a fuss and startle the crew when he's around water, does he, skipper?"
A serene smile spread over the abbess' muzzle as she plucked a few ledgers from her bookshelf, beginning to make the proper notations so that the new guest could be properly accounted for as the seasons rolled on. It was always important to know precisely who was and was not a permanent resident of the abbey. After all, the history of the abbey would be nothing worth speaking of if it weren't for the beasts within it. She tried not to think about the other vermin name that might very well be hidden in the books from many seasons past… did the recordkeeping go back that far? The abbess didn't have much time to dwell on the abbey's record keeping, as Mother Cinnarae's snout poked around the corner of the door.
"He's gone. You can come in now," called Abbess Plennigreen. "I'm sorry for shouting earlier, but for whatever reason the fox did seem genuinely scared half to death."
Mother Cinnarae lollopped into the rectory and gave a snort and a chuckle, "No worries, abbess. I've got quite the set of lungs myself, and I'm not much afraid to use them. You've heard me dressing down some of our more unruly members before."
Mother Cinnarae's voice grew graver as she got to the subject that necessitated her return. "But I really do have to ask: what's that fox doing here anyhow, and what disturbed him so about me?"
The abbess returned to her desk, placing her Sparra feather quill atop the stack of ledgers, then clasped her paws together in a rather premeditated pose of authority. "He was alone and starving, and apparently his parents are dead. Clearly one so young requires the care our abbey can give. As for the… display he put on, I think that, for whatever reason, he's simply terrified of badgers."
Mother Cinnarae quirked an eyebrow, repeating, "Terrified of badgers? For what possible reason? Hmph, I think that we badgers are quite the decent beasts!"
Attempting to soothe the badger's ruffled feathers, the abbess replied, "Amongst the best, I'm sure. But for whatever reason, that's the case."
"Abbess, if you don't mind me saying, I think that we should find another home for the fox. As soon as possible."
"Why do you say that? Certainly you're not so upset by his response as to not want him here? He'll grow used to you in time."
"No, it's not that. It's only that he's vermin, and a fox no less! In all the stories I've heard of vermin coming to Redwall, they've always ended in death and tragedy. Why should this one be any different?"
"He's only a cub," stated the abbess with a frown.
"But he won't be forever. He's going to grow into a sneaky, conniving, vicious male fox someday!" said Mother Cinnarae, unknowingly a good deal more firmly than she'd intended.
"Foxes often do…" replied Abbess Plennigreen. "But it's unjust to determine his future for him before the time even comes to pass. The very possibility that he might grow up to be a decent beast is well worth the risk."
"Like Veil did? You remember that story, don't you?" with stern determination Mother Cinnarae placed her paws on her hips. "Abbess Bryony had the highest of hopes for him and all she was left with in the end were regrets for ever taking him in to begin with."
A sad sigh escaped the abbess' lips, her eyes dropping down away from the badger across from her for the first time. "I think there were plenty of other regrets concerning Veil. Even all these years later."
Misunderstanding the abbess' point, Mother Cinnarae barreled onwards with her own. "Indeed! He's a black mark on the abbey to this very day."
"Sometimes I wonder about him. As often as his name pops up when the subject of vermin arises, I have to wonder if he and Martin have ever bumped into each other while walking the abbey halls." The abbess followed this thought up with a soft tsk and a shake of her head.
A single huff of mirthless laughter leapt past Mother Cinnarae's lips. "You'll have to excuse me, abbess, but that's nonsense. Even his body isn't within the abbey, and his grave has been lost since before either of us were born. Frankly, I'd say his banishment was so complete that he couldn't set foot in here even in death."
"Forever an outcast," Abbess Plennigreen murmured. "I can't imagine it. I truly hope we don't have a repeat of that with Dachlan."
"To the matter at paw, do you truly think it wise to create another Veil for our generation?"
"Do you truly think that he'll do something as wicked as Veil?" asked the abbess before she lifted her eyes back to the badger, changing tacks rather abruptly. "Do you remember how little faith Bella of Brockhall had in even a tiny ferretbabe? Are you intent on filling her shoes and naming someone so young as evil?"
Ever stern, Mother Cinnarae nodded with slow determination. "Bella was correct about Veil, and unfortunately, in this case too, I think that it's prudent."
"I must encourage you to give Dachlan a chance all the same. There's nothing in him that says he must turn out the same way that Veil did."
"I don't like it. I just don't like it. How many decent beasts do you know who fear badgers?"
Finally, Abbess Plennigreen decided to end the argument with a simple truth, one that was indisputable. She squared her aged shoulders and sat up as straight as she could in her chair, looking straight down her muzzle at Mother Cinnarae. "Caring for an orphaned dibbun is the right thing to do."
The badgermum bit her lip. Her own personal vows ensured that she had no desire to argue such a point. Eventually, she found her voice. "That's true, of course. But we should keep our eyes on him all the same."
The abbess nodded in assent. "That's more than fair. I only pray that Dachlan grows up to be a good vermin."
Mother Cinnarae couldn't help but let out a scoff. "I'll pray for the same. And I'll pray for us all as well in case he doesn't."
