A/N: This is mainly for the contest that one of the fanfic authors has sent around. But other than that, this is for the readers of fanfiction- I doubt that I will be able to finish this in time, though.
The mouse sat on the grass by a small sapling, emerging from a few tangled roots of a once-great giant of a tree, dreaming. His mouth was set in a sad smile.
Neither young nor old, he had the powerful feel of a healer and leader about him. To prove one of these, a basket sat nearby, with a few herbs within it, used for healing matters.
He mumbled a bit, and dreamed on.
He was in front of a large pair of gates, conversing with a pretty mousemaid, pleading with her.
"Please, I need you! He needs you! Come back!"
Sadly, the mousemaid shook her head. "I may not unless I have a task to complete. And even then, I must not let anyone know my name."
"I know that you're 'dead', but he isn't where I am now! He felt as though it was his fault for………you know."
"He's not? I have watched him a few times, and seen him with others. I assumed…" She trailed off. "Here comes Boar. He came five seasons ago, come from a fight with the vermin."
The badger approached, a great sword still by his side. He glanced to the side and saw the mouse.
"Who's he?"
Silently, the mousemaid the mousemaid whispered something in the badger lord's ear. He nodded.
"I see. He wants you to come back?" Biting her lip, perhaps in hopefulness, she nodded her reply.
"But you can only go back if……" His eyes lit up, and he turned towards the mouse at the Gates.
"There is danger coming to both your home and a place a little northwest from here, where your friend is. You must get ready for war." The mouse nodded, a little shadow of fear passing through his eyes. He knew that war meant death.
He turned back towards the mousemaid. "You must warn that place. I can give you few directions- you will appear in a place called Mossflower Forest. You must wander eastwards. Climb up hills at any opportunity. If you find a road, follow it," He pondered a little. "South. When you climb up the hills, look for a bit of red on the horizon. That is the place of you destiny.
"You may not, unless, perhaps, about to die, tell any of your identity. Only one there will know it, and even then, he has almost forgotten." He paused, again. "You will need a name. Do you have any suggestions?" Boar directed this at the mouse, who thought a little, and then spoke.
"An anagram-the mixing up of letters in a word-of her name. I am not sure what though. Or the name of a flower."
The mousemaid spoke up. "I would like to be called Teralose."
"Teralose it is. You will know of the danger, in a few days time, but must not tell the others at the place.
"I send you upon your journey."
"Farewell, Brome." She smiled, and vanished.
"Farewell, Rose." He whispered, and woke.
Brome looked around, and, picking up the basket, ran back, calling on the way.
"War is to come! We must soon fight for our lives, and for those of a place called Redwall Abbey!
""Prepare for war!"