It was a dreary morning on the western coast, with strong winds blowing in from over the ocean. At Salamandastron, the hares were on parade under the gloomy grey expanse of the sky.
The flag party was having a particularly hard time with the weather. Many of the young hares were new to this duty, having never participated in such a parade outside of practice. One young leveret had an exceptionally nice flag; it was a bright red with patterns of black. Everything seemed to be going well for the creature until, without so much as a warning, a sudden gust of wind tugged the flag right from its pole!
The leveret moaned in despair, but kept marching. As the flag fluttered past, many hares, and even the Badger Lord himself, tried to grab it. The silken standard eluded all their grasps, and sailed off inland.
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The flag flew onward. Eventually, it reached Mossflower woods. It settled in the high branches of a tree, right over a Guosim camp.
The Guosim, at that moment, were having a ceremony for a fallen comrade. One not felled by vermin nor old age or even sickness, he had drowned. They retrieved his body from the water, and prepared a resting place for their comrade.
The flag, atop its tree, stood watch over the funeral. Many shrews said kind words for the deadbeast. Many more could not do so, for their uncontrollable sobbing- among them his wife, and a son so young he did not yet own a blade.
They solemnly lowered his limp, lifeless body into its well-marked riverside grave. The Log-a-Log said many caring words as well. He had been a well-liked beast. More than once, he'd led a charge into vermin ranks, and more than once had he suffered a wound, or healed those of his comrades. Furthermore, he'd always been good to his friends and family. What more could be asked of a Guosim shrew? His loss was a great tragedy to the tribe.
The flag, unbeknownst to the Guosim, stood a silent vigil throughout the proceedings. Shortly after the grave was filled back in, the flag was carried away by another strong gust, and flew off someplace else.
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Two days afterwards, the flag blew into Redwall Abbey and got stuck on the ramparts. Here they were having a completely different ceremony from the one the flag had seen before. The Redwallers were hosting the wedding of two mice, and again the flag watched over.
The two had loved one another for a long time, and the malebeast had proposed just the week before. Needless to say, the Redwallers were all delighted.
The couple walked down the aisle created by the crowd in the Abbey grounds. Some words were said, and the Abbot gave his blessing. The two kissed, and the crowd cheered.
The feast proceeded shortly after, and the flag stood watch over that as well. Eventually, after much merriment and hearty food and drink the feast ended. As the content creatures headed in for bed the flag drifted away unnoticed.
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A few nights following the wedding, the flag landed in another tree in Mossflower, this one over a vermin camp. Two vermin, a rat and a stoat, sat over the fire eating some roast woodpigeon.
"'Ere mucker," said the rat, "pass th' wine."
"Yeah, I'm jus' abou' done wiv it, don' you fret, you'll not die o' thirst," the stoat replied. True to his word, he was quickly done with the wine and passed it over to his rat companion.
"Thankee, mucker."
"Eh, gimme summa dat bird."
The rat grumbled something and tossed a wing, which hit the stoat, who punched him in the arm affectionately.
The two had known each other since they were but babes. They were oddly close friends for a pair of vermin, practically brothers, and they worked well together. Their Chief always put them together for everything: missions, watches, or any other task requiring two beasts. Thus, they were together on fire watch tonight.
The night wore on, filled with good natured banter and equal shares of vittles. When two foxes can to relieve them of duty, the flag fluttered on.
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It took a week and a half, but the flag blew all the way up to the Northlands. It was a bit tattered now, and sported a few deep rips, but it was still recognizable.
It landed in some of the sparse bushes, near a happy little cottage owned by an equally happy little hermit of a squirrel. The squirrel didn't like violence, and he didn't own any weapons as such.
This was unfortunate for him, but made easy pickings for a family of ferrets who stumbled across his home one night.
They knocked down the door and dragged him out, kicking and screaming. He was made to kneel before the leader, and without ceremony, promptly beheaded. The cottage was looted and burned, and in a final act of brutish violence, the peaceful beast's head stuck on a pike left in the wreckage of the once happy home, forever to cast a haunting gaze over the scene.
Caring to witness no more, the flag hastily departed on the breeze.
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The flag blew down the coastline, many weeks later. The once vibrant colours had faded, and the crisp edges tattered and frayed from the long journey.
Yet despite it having been flying around for nearly a season, the young hare instantly recognized it as the one he lost.
When the flag at long last returned to the shores of Salamandastron, the young hare reached out and caught it as it floated on the wind. He brought it back to the barracks and studied the worn state of it. When he was finished he folded it up, and put it in his little box of personal belongings, not even bothering with repairs.
The hare didn't know it, but the flag had witnessed much on the journey. It had seen: grief, joy, love, friendship and brutal, angry, senseless murder. The young hare didn't know about any of this, so he folded it up and stuffed it in his little box. Entirely unaware of exactly where it had been. He didn't care; he had his flag back.
A/N: Wow, 1048 words! Beats out "The Troll" for my longest fic, but only by 25 words! Well, you know the drill! *flag lands on the review button*