A/N: They're baaaaaaack! Here it is, everyone, the long-awaited sequel to "Four Orphaned Flowers". I titled this one "Four Lost Flowers" for reasons that you'll find out eventually. Now just a little warning, unlike last time, I won't be updating almost everyday, so new chapters will come a little slower. But hopefully not too much slower, and hopefully I won't disappoint any of you.

Well, that's all! Take care, and God bless! :)

Chapter 1

"...and that is the princess story!" finished Markas the Warrior to his adopted niece, Petunia.

The haremaid's brown eyes were wide with awe. "Whoa . . . so that's why Merola never wanted you to tell us! . . . She may have been right."

Markas laughed.

"And to think," Petunia went on. "Primrose and Pansy weren't here to hear all this! Pansy was always the most curious about what went on with you two."

"Just think of it like this," the old mouse said with a crafty grin. "You know something that they don't."

Petunia giggled. Then she leaned back with a sigh, gazing first into the fire they had built, and then out into the shadowy wilderness.

Markas watched her for a minute before saying, "You miss them, don't you?"

The haremaid sighed again. "Yes, I do. I miss them. Terribly."

"That's only natural," Uncle Markas comforted. "You gave up more than they ever did, a very big step for somebeast who's lived such a life as yours'."

". . . Uncle Markas?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I can do it?"

"Do what?"

"Be a Long Patroller. I mean, it's like you said, I've not had the upbringing for such a life–"

"Now hold on. Who says you have to have led a life of war to be a Long Patroller? I've known plenty of creatures who were peace-loving beasts before they became the greatest warriors of all time! Why, some of the most peaceable creatures I've known have shown the toughest grit in time of need. And you, you saved me from a band of vermin who were about to cook me! And you were sorely out-numbered, with only one comrade at your side. And yet you won that battle! You saved me, kept your partner from dying, and didn't lose any one of your limbs! If I know any maiden who's born to be in the Long Patrol, it's you, Petunia! Now don't you let me hear you doubting yourself again, eh?"

"Thanks, Uncle," the haremaid smiled.

"You're welcome. Now, why don't we start to get some sleep? I'll take the first watch, and then I'll wake you for the second watch, alright? We'll start walking again in the morning."

The Roaming Whimsical Troupe consisted of twenty-five members.

First, there was their leader, Ferdinand the Terrific, though his troupe would've called him by a different name ("Ferdinand the Furious" was probably the politist one of all). He was a very temperamental hare, quick to anger or indignation, whichever suited him best. He was also a bit of a pompous creature, and it was for these very reasons why his troupe enjoyed antagonizing him so much. But let it not be said that they didn't respect him. They all knew of his great talent as an actor and of his accomplishments as an acrobat - despite having a few clumsy moments. Ferdinand was also a genius at putting on acts, or picking out beasts that had a talent for show-business, a trait that was passed down to him from his late mother, Madam Breeze.

"You there, moles!" the green-and-gold-clad hare called, strutting by a group of five moles, all clad in red-and-gold jester costumes. "Try standin' on some blinkin' different stacks of crates or something as you juggle. It'll make things more interesting: is anybeast going to fall?"

The Juggling Moleteam, which consisted of brothers and cousins, obeyed the orders, eager for a challenge to their skill.

"And you there, clown-mice! Don't be usin' any more pies; they're all we've got on this trip–! Oh, very funny!" the hare yelled as one of the clowns splattered his face with one of the pies. Then Ferdinand's face became a smile as he began licking the cream, berries, and crust off his face. "Actually, thanks old thing, wot wot!"

The Miceclowns were made up a group of six mice, divided evenly concerning gender. All were either plump or wiry, but all had ways of screwing up their faces comically or pulling off feats that left their audience dying of laughter.

"Mm! And you there, Spiketipp, whacha doin'?" Ferdinand demanded, scooping more pie into his mouth. "Is that more plays you're writing or that just doodle-duddling?"

"Actually, it's neither," the hedgehog replied with dignity. "I am coming up with some new tricks for my magic act."

"There, that's the spirit!" Ferdinand cried, clapping Spiketipp on the back – and ended up hopping about the camp, holding his paw, squealing in pain.

"YEEEOOOOWWWWCCCHHHH! Ooh! Aah! Ouch! Ooh! Ah! Ouch! Yowch, a bally-ouch!"

The entire encampment doubled up with laughter.

"Stop chortling and get me some bandages for me poor flippin' paw, you confounded idiots!" Ferdinand roared, stilling jumping around in agony.

"We would if you'd stop hopping around and hold still!" Vanna shouted, tears of mirth streaming down her face. "Here, Rogak, grab him!"

Rogak, a large, burly otter who served as the troupe's strongbeast, leapt on Ferdinand, hoisting him up in the air and holding him still.

"Thank you!" Vanna said, taking hold of the hare's paw and squeezing the offending spine out.

"OOOOWWWWW! Have a care, miss!" whined Ferdinand. "I can't afford to be maimed for the rest of my life!"

"Oh, please," Vanna scoffed, putting some remedy on the wound. She then wrapped up the paw in clean white bandages. "There! Good as new! Now can we please stop all this caterwauling about, please?"

"As soon as this waterdog releases me!" growled Ferdinand, glaring over his shoulder at Rogak.

The otter winked roguishly. "As soon as yon pretty squirrelmaid gives the orders to."

Ferdinand scowled. Vanna giggled. "Alright, Rogak, you can put him down now."

Rogak complied, and Ferdinand walked, off, muttering darkly under his breath.

Suddenly another squirrelmaid came up, only this one was much younger than Vanna, and colored a very bright red. "Goodness, I've never seen Ferdinand yell that loud!"

"You haven't heard anything yet, Pansy!" Vanna replied with a laugh. She then put her arm around the younger squirrelmaid's shoulder and led her back over to where the other Dancing Squirrels were stretching.

The Dancing Squirrels consisted of eight (including Vanna and Pansy) beautiful squirrelmaidens, all of whom could dance like a pink blossom floating on a gentle spring wind. Vanna was their lead dancer, but Pansy was their best one. She had been given private lessons from Madam Breeze herself for a season before the old hare-lady passed away. Pansy now received instruction from Ferdinand, who alone knew all of his mother's dancing secrets.

Sitting near the squirrel group was a large, old badger, who shook her head and sighed. "I do wonder sometimes if I made the right choice in coming along with this troupe. All this walking and rehearsing and yelling . . . but then I realize that if I weren't here, who'd be keeping an eye on Primrose and Pansy?"

"Oh, does that mean you don't think we're very suitable parent figures, Merola?" Vanna inquired with a smile as she went to go sit down with her lover, a handsome, but shy, male squirrel named Acorn.

"You know what I mean," the old badger explained. "You're all very good and kind creatures, but with youngbeasts, they can pick up on any bad habit, and, well, you have to admit, I certainly don't want any maiden I raised to start getting a temper like Ferdinand's."

"You've got me there," smiled Vanna. Actually, the squirrelmaid was glad that the old badger had decided to come along with the troupe, because Merola managed to keep not only her charges under control, but also Ferdinand.

The troupe had to put up with Ferdinand just as much as he had to put up with them, but it had been Madam Breeze who kept anything from boiling over. But with the old hare-lady gone, many of the troupe became worried that Ferdinand's temper might get the better of him, but that didn't seem to be happening any time soon with Merola to keep a firm paw over things.

"Oh dear, it's getting late," the old badgermum said. "Pansy, I think it's time you went off to bed."

"Ooh, but I want to stay up!" whined Pansy, even though she knew that she was fighting a lost battle.

"I don't care if you want to stay up, you need your rest for the morrow! How do you expect to dance if you're tired in the mornings?"

Things like that always got Pansy to be agreeable. She muttered a few "good nights" to the other squirrels and Merola before climbing into the squirrels' sleeping cart.

Merola leaned back with a sigh. "Oh, dear. If I'd have known this was how I was going to be spending my winter seasons . . . but at least I'm helping my maidens achieve their dreams."

"You certainly are," a voice said as a beautiful ferretmaid came in from the shadows. "You're also doing a good job of making it seem like home to us, what with you insisting that we still eat with proper table manners and the like."

"I'll not be having any maiden I've raised lose all her good manners while out in the wilderness!" the old badger replied, though she smiled fondly at the ferret, Primrose.

Merola had always been secretly proud of Primrose's beauty. Never before had the badgermum seen any creature with such well-formed, even, delicate features. The ferret's fur was like the cream topping off a pie, and her eyes were deep brown and glittering. Not only that, but out of all her sisters, Primrose had been the best at ladylike behavior, a feat that neither Petunia nor Pansy could master. But Merola wouldn't go on about it, not wanting Primrose to become vain.

"Well, in any case," the old badger went on, "it's getting late, so you'd better be getting to bed."

"Alright," Primrose sighed. "Good-night, Merola. Good-night Vanna. Good-night everybeast!"

After climbing into the cart where Pansy was slumbering, Primrose pulled out some blankets and a pillow, placing them next to her adoptive sister. As she got under the covers, though, the ferretmaid wondered what her other adoptive sister, Petunia, was doing at this very moment.

Petunia was awoken by a firm paw pressing against her mouth.

The haremaid's eyes snapped open – only to see that it was only Uncle Markas. He was probably done with his watch. Funny. It didn't like he'd been on it for long. . . .

"Shh," the old mouse whispered, and Petunia suddenly became aware that he was lying down beside her.

"Don't make a noise. We're being surrounded. Just keep your sword close and get ready to fight."