AN: It's been a long time since I've picked up a Redwall novel. Just recently, I decided to start rereading what I had once loved so dearly. There is so much you can do with the world Brian Jacques has created and hopefully I won't totally destroy his universe with my own musings and ideas. :P

Chapter 1

The condensation in the air was thick. A thin sheet of water seemed to envelope every available surface, be it grass, tree, flower or fur. Each droplet clung gravely on until shaken off, only to be replaced by another. All day the humidity had be unrelenting and now, deep in the sanctum of Mossflower Wood, noon was fading quickly to dusk, and hopefully with it would come relief.

However, for one creature, relief would not come so easily. Laurel Ebonfeather lay ailing within his ornate tent. Beneath layers of woven-cloth blankets, he tossed and turned, periodic moans of pain escaping his prematurely grayed muzzle. The previous seasons had not been so kind to Laurel. He seemed constantly plagued with illness and aches.

For many seasons beforehand, Laurel had been a wise and mighty chieftain to the clan of Ebonfeather. At one time, the clan of foxes had been heavily superstitious and revered the crow as an almost God-like figure for his cunning and daring. Thus the name Ebonfeather had been coined. Hundreds of moons had since passed that time and now all the remained of the once wild reverence of the crow lay in the alliance of the two species. The clan had also once been populous with its numbers reaching into the hundreds. Now the figure was far less. Laurel was in command of two-score vermin. Mostly foxes with a smattering of ferrets and rats.

Some traditions had yet to die within the clan. Each of the clansbeast were marred with numerous black tattoos. The more marked a creature was, the higher his status. Lowly ranked vermin had just facial tattoos while witchdoctors and healers were covered to the chest with them. The leader and his wife and kin we're covered from forepaw to footpaw. They also wore headbands strewn with black feathers to distinguish them from the rest of the clan.

Laurel's mate and only daughter now sat alongside his death bed, each clutching one paw tightly. His mate wept softly as Laurel went into a small series of convulsions, foam bubbling from his lips. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, turning her head to block the images of her dying husband from her mind.

The grip on the two she-foxes paw's tightened. His daughter's eyes widened as she whispered urgently, "Mother!"

Laurel's eyes had rolled back in his head and his breathing became harsh. Slowly his muzzle opened and his tongue rasped against his parched lips. "Be…Bella…" He croaked feebly, trying to gain the attention of his wife.

Belladonna whimpered, placing her ear close to the dog fox's maw, "My love…?"

Laurel drew another shuddering breath, "When I die…you will assume my position over the clan. Lead them as I would." He paused as though no more could be spoken before turning his head to face his daughter.

"My daughter, my only blood…" He whispered faintly, "Watch over your mother and the clan. Let nothing befall you. You must live on."

His eyes misted over with tears as he let his head fall back on to his pillows. With a last rattling sigh, Laurel Ebonfeather breathed his final breath. His paws grew slack and gently the two vixens lay his arms alongside his body. Belladonna reached over the body with shaky paws and shut her mate's eyes.

"Shall I go, mother?"

Belladonna's head swiveled, his voice full of grief, "Inform them Amber. Let their music be heard for miles. We must mourn him now."

Amber bowed her head once before pushing aside the tent flaps and stepping out. Before her sat a semi-circle of foxes around a fire, their paws clasped and mouths working furiously in an endless chant.

At her appearance, a brutish male looked up, curiosity burning in his eyes.

"My father, Laurel, is dead." She said softly, fearing if she raised her voice it might crack. She had to be strong for the time being. Her mother was in no shape to lead and for now it was her duty.

The male stood wordlessly and gestured toward another collection of creatures. A thin rattling cry started from the lips of a ferret, followed by the beating of a drum. The ferret raised its paws to the sky as the wail turned into a slow mournful dirge. Innumerable flutes and drums sounded now, the noise swelling and falling with the rhythmic chanting of the musical ferret's voice.

Out of the chieftains tent came two male foxes wearing ceremonial death masks, painted red and black. Bourne between them swathed in his blankets, on a stretcher, lay the dead clan leader. Slowly they carried him down a worn trail, toward the tribal burial grounds with the musical precession following closely behind.

Amber watched them go, silent and brooding. She hardly noticed when two fat droplets of water shattered on her nose, dribbling down her face. The fire guttered and hissed as the rain picked up and soon died out completely. She kicked at the embers as they glowed angrily red in the fading light. Finally she threw back her head and cried out, the loud hiss of the rain drowning out most of the sound. Laurel was dead. Laurel was dead. She knew change was to come.