First of all, special thanks to LittlePsychoWolf for her support and encouragement. Read her fic, Eye of the Beholder, it's good. :)

Second of all, special thanks to SnuffSnuff for all her help in editing the chapters thus far. So, here I am now, revising things a bit here and there.

Disclaimer: All characters (except for Martin) are owned by me. Redwall and its surroundings are owned by Brian Jacques.

Brink

Many stories have a starting place. And slowly, these tales weave themselves, straying from their origins (where ever they may be), crawling in some other direction.

For us, our tale begins in the Northlands, where the mountains tower and pierce the clouds, and the ocean waves are fierce and unforgiving. There, on a grey day just like any other, a slaveship rested near shore. It was a nameless ship, to the slaves anyway, as it didn't matter where they were as long as they had no freedom- and as far as their masters concerned, no minds either.

There were twenty-nine of them total, two to each oar, chained to a bench. Each one had a miserable look in his face as they drank in the watered-down stew and crunched on the hardened bread that they were given twice a day. They gobbled up the rations and tried to make the best of their time off while their masters scouted the land. The slavers seldom found any items of wealth in this barren, chilled desert, but they still did manage to scrounge up some food and, now and again, another slave to take the oars.

In the far back of the slavehold, sitting all by himself, a young sea otter had already finished the sad excuse of a meal. He had once had a name and identification besides "slave." While he was free, he was called Brink, but that was some time ago, and the name now felt lost to him. He carved another line on the rough surface of the bench. Sixty-seven lines for the sixty-seven days of servitude and misery.

He would've made the marks on the wall of the ship, except the entire stretch of wood had already been marked. He guessed that some poor slave before him probably spent his entire life on this ship, keeping count of the days as his life passed him by. The thought always depressed him, so he tried his best to focus his mind on something more productive- like escape.

Making sure that nobeast was watching, he bent down a little and started peeling and scratching at the bench leg that held his chain. He had been working on this since his first day, slowly picking though the imprisoning wood with his fingers, tracking his progress and keeping it a secret from everyone- including his fellow slaves. You never know how desperate anybeast can be for a morsel or two of food, after all.

He was now just almost there, almost to the point where he could tug at the chain and the moldy wood would give way. The thought of finally getting out of this accursed ship excited him so much that he almost failed to notice the pounding on the stairs that indicated a slaver's arrival. He sat up quickly and looked away, averting his gaze from the slaver, thus, avoiding attention. He recognized the vermin immediately. It was the weasel, Flayhide, whose name was suitable for his dangerous temper and cruel methods of punishment. Of all of them, Brink hated him the most, except for the captain, of course.

The captain, a tall and muscular ferret called Skeel, was just as cruel as Flayhide, often ordering the slaves to work even harder, and when they didn't satisfy his enormous expectations, they were whipped. Brink had the pleasure of being severely punished for his "laziness" once before and he would never forget it.

The otter relished the idea of fighting back, snatching the whip out of their hands and striking back at them at full force, laughing as they cringed and cowered back in fear. The other slaves would applaud him and once he was finished, he would be captain and the vermin would be the slaves. He would be twice as demanding and twice as cruel. He would have the loyal support of a crew and they would be successful in attacking other slaveships and- Crack! With a jolt, he snapped out of his daydreaming and back to reality.

"Pay attention, you miserable scraps of fur!" Flayhide struck his whip again with a frightening effect. "Break's over! Back to work!" The slaves grumbled as they grabbed their oars and braced themselves for the tiring work ahead of them.

Glancing back at the bench leg, the otter smiled inwardly. Any day now... any day and he'd be free.

After some time, possibly about two days (though it was difficult to tell time in the slave hold), Brink woke to the sound of scuffling paws and muffled shouts overhead. He couldn't discern any of the voices and wondered what was happening. Another slave was captured, perhaps. Or maybe the vermin found treasure? He strained his ears and caught a fragment of whatever was going on.

"... slave or... it's your choice, fox." It was Skeel's voice. The otter gave an inward moan at the prospect of another slaver. After all, all they did was make things worse? Didn't they?

Okay, it's my first story in like, a year and I hope you liked the chapter. It'll get more interesting, I promise. Thanks for reading and please review. Any criticisms or suggestions are welcome. :)