Just something I came up with after reading Outcast of Redwall and doing a bit of research.
Bella stood at the window and stared unseeingly out from Brockhall into the dank, dim woods of Mossflower. It was nearing winter, and the world seemed cold and painful. The daily meeting of Corrim had finished a few hours ago and without the distraction, her mind had turned to two male badgers whose absence was never far from her thoughts.
Her beloved, gentle husband Barkstripe, dead at the hands of those foul wildcats. She still wondered - still begged him in her dreams - why had he fought? The peaceful farmer was no match for Verdauga Greeneyes; no Bloodwrath had come to his aid and he, alongside most of the trained fighters of Mossflower, had been killed - wiped out.
Her son, Sunflash, the blood of Badger Lords hot in his veins, rendered beautifully conspicuous by the golden stripe down his muzzle. Only nine seasons old, sorrow and rage over the murder of his father had driven him to run away from Brockhall one day when Bella was still incapacitated by her own grief, to seek revenge. There had been not a hide nor hair of him seen since, but it was only now, five seasons on, that Bella was slowly beginning to believe that there was a chance he would never return.
A tear made its slow, stately way down her muzzle as she dwelt on her loss and let the weight of grief, always heavy, roll over her. For the time being she was helpless. Foremole peered round the door and retreated again as silently as he could, leaving the granddaughter of Boar the Fighter alone to mourn.
"No marm, 'ee b'aint be a-coming back," the mole muttered sadly.
--
"What's that?" A young ferret named Swartt Sixclaw dropped from the ranks of marching vermin to investigate a large, slumped form in the snow-coloured foliage a few feet away from the path. He touched out to touch it with his six-clawed paw, only to draw back with a gasp. The leader of the band, a burly stoat named Fured the Vicious, turned to berate the insolent youngster but stopped when he saw what Swartt had found.
"A badger! Is it dead, brat?"
Swartt ground his teeth together at the name and grudgingly replied,
"Nah, think it's alive," as he watched the badger's sides rise and fall slowly.
A horrible grin crept across Fured's scarred face, baring his wicked teeth as he pondered the possiblity that had just occured to him.
"Arsen, Nightshade!" he called. "Get over 'ere!" An elderly oddly yellow-coloured vixen and her grown daughter hurried over to the leader's side. "See this stripedog 'ere? Can you get 'im to walk?" After a rushed consultation, the two healers informed Fured that what he asked was possible, given a day or two's delay here. The badger was unharmed, simply struck down by starvation and dehydration. To everyone's suprise, Fured consented to this, still with a wide grin on his face. Seconds later, he turned and struck Swartt a violent blow with the handle of his spear, knocking the young ferret to the ground with a bleeding jaw. "An' that's for deserting your position, stupid brat!" Swartt rose to his feet with murder in his eyes but knew not to challenge the leader ... yet.
Two days later, a smirking Fured led the wary Swartt to Arsen's tent. Tethered, muzzled and hobbled just outside the tent, the young badger swayed on all fours, dark brown eyes glazed and imploring the two creatures that it towered over.
"You like 'him?" the stoat asked with mock curiosity. Swartt kept silent, wondering where on earth the leader was taking this. "This li'l find of yours'll do us well. A tame, pretty badger, eh, whoever heard the like?"
"That's stupid!" Swartt burst out before he could stop himself. "Nobeast can control a stripedog!" Fured's smile disappeared.
"That so?" he snarled. Bending down, he picked up the end of the cord that tied the badger to a tree and placed it in Swartt's six-clawed paw. "Do it by the end o' two seasons or I'll kill the both of you myself."
--
Indeed, Swartt managed to control the badger, who he named Scumtripe one hot summer's night; if constant druggings, beatings and relentless restraints qualified as control. At the end of the two seasons, now a tall, sinewy figure whose six-clawed paw wielded a sword with ease and skill, he killed Fured while he slept a drunken sleep in his tent then Arsen, several older members; anyone who wouldn't admit to his right to lead.
Aided by the vixen Nightshade, head of over twoscore vermin and driving the huge form of Scumtripe before him with the flat of his sword, Swartt Sixclaw headed out of the plains to the forests, promising his gang plunder beyond their wildest dreams.
Opinions much appreciated. :)
Maz