Shock, pain, then... darkness. Beautiful darkness, devoid of feeling... Vitch basked in this nothingness, cherishing it.
Then the pain began to return. At first it throbbed faintly, then grew, widened, as if his head were bursting inside, tinnitus growing louder, like the surf, like thunder. He tried to doze off, to escape to the peace of unconsciousness once more, but the pain overtook him, growing ever more unbearable, until...
Vitch grabbed his temples by both paws and shot upright. "Oh Hellsteeth, my head!"
"If I were you, I would not touch those bandages," said an unfamiliar voice. "You are seriously injured."
The little rat opened his screwed-up eyelids a fraction, and slowly leaned back into the bed on which he was lying. Dizzying images danced before his eyes; everything was cloudy and indistinct. Vitch could just barely distinguish the shape of a little mouse sitting next to him.
"Where am I?" the little rat asked below his breath. It was not so much a question of the location where he now lay; the question could have just as well been "Who am I?" or "How did I get here?"
"We are currently on the edge of the Great Southern Cliffs; we've already passed the gorge and the Painted Ones' wood."
Vitch blinked a few times. He didn't understand a word of what the mouse had said; those names and places meant nothing to him.
"We are returning to Redwall," added the mouse. He gave Vitch a concerned look, and the undersized rat began to worry. There was not a single memory in his head. Nothing remained but noise and throbbing pain.
A more pressing concern grabbed his attention. "I'm thirsty."
The mouse continued staring curiously at him, hesitating as if he wanted to say something. But then, without another word, he stood up and walked away.
The little rat turned his head cautiously, trying to look around. Tents and bonfires had been constructed a few paces from the cliff's edge, as a temporary encampment. Mice, otters, squirrels, and strange little mouse-like creatures with long muzzles and colorful headbands sat around the bonfires, chatting and enjoying themselves. In the distance, a huge badger sat separate from the camp, sharpening a mighty axe.
"We are returning to Redwall," the mouse had said. Damn, why did that name mean nothing to him? Vitch struggled to remember what had happened to him, but only came to the frightening conclusion that he simply could not do so. He didn't remember anything; nothing at all. Not even a few memories came to his mind. Only the blackness, and the piercing pain.
"Here." Vitch looked up to find that the mouse had returned and was holding out a bowl of water.
"Thanks, buddy," the rat said mechanically. He didn't know where the friendly nickname came from, but it just felt right.
Surprise flashed in the mouse's eyes, but Vitch dismissed it. In one gulp, he drained the entire bowl, then he handed it back. He began to feel better; as it turned out, the pain he felt was nothing more than severe thirst. Strange, how all pains seem the same when one has such a terrible headache. The little rat sat back, fading from consciousness once more. The last thing he said was:
"And what's your name, friend?"