A/N: Eh I dunno I had something more thought out in mind but I'm too tired now.

Maybe after I start writing my OC Redwall fic, The North, I may do one about Loamhedge. I always wanted to know about it.


Drrrrring, drrrrring, drrrrring, drrrrring. . .

The Great Bell tolled, slowly, mournfully, as skies appropriately were hazed in late autumnal clouds. Loamhedge's darker, greenish-gray stones were cast in a dismal pallor of sickness and death that hung around the Abbey.

Nearly two seasons, Abbess Germaine thought. Nearly two seasons of this blight that has plagued us and not once has it relented; not a single life it touches can escape.

She lets out a weary sigh. She is not so old that the years have left her weary, but the trials of this plague has taken more out of her than expected. She feels gray-furred and old.

Germaine lets her eyes drift down to the Abbey grounds; watches as two mice bear a body draped in off-white cloth down to the graveyard, where another Abbey dweller stands next to a freshly dug grave.

Both the covered body and the grave are far too small.

Germaine tears her eyes away, leaning into her paws and weeps without tears, because they are all gone, as the horrible realization strikes her:

They must leave, or they will all die.

Behind her the bell continues to echo, distantly, permeating the air around them.