Disclaimer: I am not Brian Jacques, mind you. So I don't own Redwall. I do own Stormpaw, Painttail, Lunkin, Maybell, Niklur and other characters one hasn't heard of yet in the Redwall series. Oh, and I read Mariel of Redwall after I started writing this and found out Runn is actually one of the characters, but the Runn in the story is different, okay?

Author's Note: For those who have read this already—I changed it. It's not so bloody and Stormpaw's not a freakish Bloodwrathy (is that a word?) otter anymore. But I'll stop there—I don't want to spoil the surprise for anyone who has not read this story yet :)

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Chapter One

Stormpaw Swiftwater was a quaint young otter. She had grown up on Ruddaring Isle, where she was born, before a pirate stoat came and slew her whole family. Her mother, the infamous Grath Longfletch, threw her into the ocean. Her mother was a fine warrior, and so was her father, Inbar Trueflight, Chieftain of Ruddaring Isle. They had given her a bow and a quiver of arrows for her third birthday, and shortly after that, her father had made her a sword of a mysterious metal that had washed up on the shore. The handle was carved out of whalebone, and engraved in its side was the phrase, "Stormpaw's Deadly Rage."

            Unfortunately, this sword was no match for the hordes of vermin attacking the isle eight seasons after Stormpaw was out of infancy. Grath and Inbar had to save their daughter's life in any possible way, and their last hope was the most dangerous: they placed her in a water-tight basket and sent her southeast, towards the mainland—but not before placing a few things in it that they knew their daughter would need. In the basket along with Stormpaw, they placed her sword, with was as long as her body, her bow, her quiver of arrows, some food and fresh water to last her a few days, and the traditional otter sling and stone pouch.

            The young otter had awakened after some sleep on the morn of the second day in the basket. She knew she had landed on the mainland shore, or somewhere like it, close to a mountain, taller than the others of its range, at the edge of a dense forest.

            Stormpaw lifted the lid of the large basket, sword sheathed across her back. Her sling and stone pouch were secure at her belt.

            Stormpaw dragged the basket safely above the tide line, then shouldered her quiver and took up her bow. Covering the basket with shore plants, Stormpaw listened to anything unusual from her surroundings.

            Satisfied that her transport was safe and her weapons were loaded, Stormpaw gathered her food and placed it in a haversack. Shouldering the haversack, the young female otter ventured past the tall mountain and started northwards, an arrow notched in her bow.

Redwall Abbey was alive and busy. Abbess Songbreeze had grown five seasons older since the Marlfox incident, and she and Dannflor Reguba had married and had born a son, Niklur. The young squirrel was now Champion of Redwall, and he was a responsible young beast, too. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't have fun…

            "Yahoo! Sail her, Skip, sail!" Niklur, more commonly called Nik, exclaimed. He watched as Skipper of Otters let go of a small handmade raft with a single square sail. Nik clung tightly to the main mast as the breeze tauted the canvas sail.

            "'Old on tight, Nik! Yeh never know what'll 'appen if'n the breeze changes course!" Skipper called to the young male squirrel. "Steady there, mate…that's it! Now bring the line 'ere! Turn nice an' easy…there yeh are…yore doin' great there, liddle mate!"

            Nik turned the sail as the breeze shifted a bit, giving the canvas full wind. Nik was a seafaring squirrel, but couldn't leave the Abbey in case something happened. Still, he and his friend could always work at the river.

            "Yore back's t'the wind, Nik! That's good! Now keep at it…whoa! Steady there, Nik…that's the stuff…an' bring 'er 'ere…"

            Nik pulled on the sail line and tightened it around the mast wheel. Then, listening to Skipper's directions used a long pole to push of the left bank. The breeze had changed again, and Nik turned the sail with the line.

            "Hoho! You're doin' great!" Skip acknowledged.

            "All thanks to your advice, Skip," Nik called to his otter friend. "I bet nobeast could sail half as better than you do!"

            Skipper chuckled. "Nah. I ain't that sort o' creature."

            Bing! Bong! Bing! Bong!

            Nik steered his craft to the shore and dragged it away from the river's edge. Then he and Skipper entered the red stone Abbey. Today was a joyous day, really. It was Skipper's promotion to otter Chieftain after the previous Skipper had died, and it was also Nik's birthday. Nik was now nine seasons after infancy, and today he'd be considered a fully-grown adult.

            "It's great to have any day your birthday, right, Skip?" Nik asked as the two entered Great Hall.

            "Aye, 'tis! And 'tis not only yore birthday, but yore promotion, too! Lookit me, I'm shakin' all over wi' joy! I'm a Chieftain, Nik, an' I'm proud o' meself," Skipper replied.

            "Hah! I'm proud of meself too: I'm Redwall Champion, you see."

            "I know that. Still, even if yore Champion, that doesn't mean I don't 'ave two weeks of seniority o'er yeh!"

            "Just coz you're two weeks older than me doesn't mean you can bully me around, though! Hahahaha!"

            "Like I would?"

            "Sure you would!"

            Skipper gave Nik a playful shove, almost knocking the squirrel off his footpaws. Both are the best of friends, ever since they were born. The two have grown together at Redwall Abbey, and nothing can stop the friends when their warrior blood gets roused!

            A mole Dibbun ran up to the two friends as they neared Cavern Hole.

            "Zurr Skip an' zurr Nik, ev'rybeast waitin' furr ee!" the molebabe exclaimed, tugging on Nik's tunic.

            "Oh, all right then, Guddle! Hold your whiskers, we're making progress," the squirrel warrior replied.

            The mole Guddle dashed off towards Cavern Hole.

            Skipper shook his head, laughing. "Hahaha! That liddle Guddle, always tellin' otherbeasts wot they got ter do! Wi' luck, he might be the nex' Foremole!"

            "That is, when he's old enough. I'm sure his leadership skills'll be at its highest…that is, if Guddle can stand heights that high!"

            The two friends laughed. They both knew moles were afraid of heights, and Nik's remark was meant to be a joke about it.

            Blind old Cregga Badgermum sat next to Abbess Songbreeze, or Song, for short. The big badger mother of Redwall waited patiently as the door creaked open, and a silence hung upon Cavern Hole. Everybeast seated turned their heads to the door.

            Skipper and Nik poked their heads out of the doorway. They gazed around the silenced room, and then walked in. Skipper fidgeted with the end of his jerkin, and Nik busied himself with making sure the door was closed.

            "Er, hehe, we're here," Skip said, breaking the silence.

            Cregga's stern face creased into a smile. "We can see that. Or, at least everyone else can. Now, sit yourselves down, and let's get started."

            Nik and Skipper sat themselves at the table. Abbess Song said grace, and the food was laid out. Shrimp and hotroot soup, wild onion and leek stew, and vegetable and fruit salads surrounded two large cakes topped with meadowcream, one for Skipper and one for Nik, were in turn surrounded by warm Redwall Abbeyscones—pink scones shaped into miniature sandstone blocks—filled with meadowcream, assorted breads and cheeses, flans, redcurrant and blackberry tarts, and oatfarls covered with comb honey. Truffles and pudding, along with skilly 'n' duff and deeper 'n' ever turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot pie, were placed round those, accompanied by casks of mint tea, October ale, redcurrant cordial, horse-chestnut beer, dandelion and burdock cordial, and strawberry and cowslip cordial.

            The whole of Redwall Abbey congratulated Skip for his promotion and Nik for being a season older. Skipper and Nik winked at each other, and when everyone had started eating, the two were bolting down their food quicker than a hungry hare.

*                      *                      *

Stormpaw had made a suitable craft and was sailing close to the shores. She was heading who-knows-where, but she had an instinct that said to follow the shore until she reached a river. And reach one she did, but it was getting late already.

            As Stormpaw breached her raft next to a quiet spot near the river's edge, she listened for any trouble. Once or twice she'd heard a commotion around some bushes, and she wasn't sure whether it was a friend or foebeast.

            A fire was built and dandelion and onion broth was cooked. The young otter munched calmly on some wild strawberries with her bone-handled sword next to her right paw in the sand. Her bow and arrows were safe under some foliage next to her pack. She knew she couldn't waste her arrows: she might need them later.

            Another rustle in the nearby bushes caught Stormpaw's attention. The female otter watched with keen darting eyes and dark figures paced at the opposite end of the bushes. Stormpaw pretended not to notice.

            As the sun finally set and the fire became embers, the figures behind the bushes grew more restless. Stormpaw knew there's no way she could sleep with them lurking amongst the shadows. So she waited, eyes half-closed and back against a tree trunk close to the fire, sword lying by her paw. In this position she could seem as if she were asleep.

            Out of the bushes came a small band of vermin—a fox and three rats. The four crept towards Stormpaw's relaxed form. A rat and the fox moved for the fire while another rat searched for Stormpaw's haversack. The last rat crouched next to the pretending otter, totally unaware that Stormpaw had gripped her sword handle. The rat drew a dagger.

            "Phawhawhaw!" he chuckled evilly. "Dis be yore last night, ruddertail! Phawhawhaw!"

            The rat was ready to slit Stormpaw's throat when he let out a squeal of dismay. He slumped forward, unconscious, having had the wind knocked out of him.

            The fox and remaining two rats faced Stormpaw, who was shoving the rat aside as she stood up, grasping the hilt of her sword. She muttered about the rude sneakings by vermin as she did so.

            "Humph. Worthless scum, can't give an otter 'er, sleep! Well, afore dawn strikes, I'll teach 'em wot's good fer 'em, I will."
            "You! Streamdog!" the fox snarled. "Aren't yore supposed ter be sleepin'?"

            "Nah, not wi' fools like yoreselves tryin' t'sneak upon me camp."

            With those words, Stormpaw hurled her powerful self at the fox. She thwacked the fox over his head with her sword hilt, and then turned her back upon the motionless creature. She faced the two cringing rats as they backed away from her camp.

            "All right, scum," Stormpaw growled. "I'm givin' yeh twelve seconds t'run, draggin' yore comrades along wi' yeh. Yeh two better git a move on, coz if'n I still see yeh after twelve seconds, my sword'll run through the both o' yeh. One…"

            The rats squealed unhappily and ran as fast as they could while dragging the other rat and the fox along with them.

            "Well, I 'ope that's the last o' them," Stormpaw muttered. "Hopefully they didn't gobble up all o' my vittles…"

            "Nah, them jolly blighters wouldn't dare lay a paw on yon vittles, missie," a cheerful-sounding voice replied. "An' I know I wouldn't even dream of touchin' yore vittles, wot wot."

            "You flopearred mangyfurred yahooligan, 'course y'would, Paint!" another voice countered. "'Tis likely fer an 'are like y'self gittin caught tryin' ter snatch a bit o' that otter's food."

            "That's right, and 'tis only good that you'd stay away from her. She's a feisty one, she is," a third voice squeaked. "She attacked those rats and fox, poor vermin!"

            "Tchah! Since when d'you care for verminfolk, wot? I say, I'd absoballylutely want t'make an alliance wi' that sorto otter chap."

            Stormpaw waited silently as the debate continued from behind a row of trees. She casually sat by her fire, tending to it. The young otter then dug up her half-buried haversack and uncovered her bow and arrows.

            "All right, 'nough gab, come out where I can see yeh three," Stormpaw ordered, reheating two oat scones. "Yore makin' me bored wi' yore talk."

            A lanky hare, a young mousemaid, and a sturdy hedgehog appeared from the underbrush. The hare wore a faded brown tunic and a woven straw hat upon his head, holes cut out so his ears could poke through. The mousemaid was plainly prissy—she wore a billowy blue dress and a bow at the end of her tail. Her face shown of beauty, and was shaded with a small blue bonnet. The hedgehog, on the other hand, looked a lot like the hare. He wore a simple jerkin and had a haversack slung over his shoulder.

            "Well now, wot 'ave I got 'ere?" Stormpaw asked with mock malice, testing the straightness of one of her arrows. "A plump 'edge'og, a lean 'are, an' a small mousey. Hmm…would any o' you'd like somethin' t'eat?"

            The mousemaid gasped audibly. She ran and hid behind the hedgehog, tugging on his jerkin. "Mister Lunkin, she's going to eat us!"

            "'Ow many times 'ave I got ter tell yeh, call me Lunkin, not mister Lunkin!" the hedgehog exclaimed. "An' no, she's not gonna eat us…are yeh, mate?"

            Stormpaw dropped her arrow and took the hot scones from the fire. She placed them on a rock to cool, then sat back on her powerful rudder-like tail and pretended to think.

            "Hmm. Now, if'n I ate you three, then I'd git a stummick ache o' me life. 'Sides, 'tis ain't fair that I git ter live an' a jolly 'edge'og an' a gluttonous 'are can't. Dunno 'bout you, though, mousey. Tell me, d'you taste well? Smells good 'nough fer me."

            "Oh, I hope not, miss—"

            Stormpaw's nose twitched, interrupting the mouse, who was unused to being deterred.

            "Well, how rude, otter! If I could, I'd—"

            Stormpaw lifted her bow and notched an arrow in it. She pointed it straight at the mousemaid. The otter's three visitors stood frozen in shock.

            "Everybeast 'round the camp, 'it the dirt!" Stormpaw roared.

            Instinctively, Lunkin the hedgehog pushed the mouse down onto the sandy river shore, falling flat at the same time. The hare lay down flat as a river pebble whizzed by where his head was a moment before.

            "All right, scum, stop sneakin' about an' git out 'ere!" the young female otter challenged, her arrow still pointed at the unseen enemy.

            A whole gang of water rats—about half a score—emerged from the undergrowth. Stormpaw recognized two of them from just earlier.

            The lead water rat, a big male, stepped forward. He brandished a double-bitted ax. "Yew! Riverdog! Yore on ar terriry now, planktail! Git off'n ar riverbank now!" he demanded.

            "A tad commanding, ain't he?" the hare remarked, picking himself up from the sand. Lunkin and the mousemaid stood up, too.

            Stormpaw tightened her hold on the bow and arrow. "Hah, speak fer y'self, rat. This 'ere riverbank ain't yores t'ave, an' there's nothin' y'can do t'stop me from campin' on it. Move one step for'ard an' I'll show yeh wot I mean."

            The water rat ignored her warning and took a defiant step towards the otter. Quick as lightning, Stormpaw released the arrow. The rat fell with a dull thud.

            "See wot I mean?" Stormpaw spat at the other rats. She glared at the group of vermin. "Now, I'm sure yeh all don't want t'die that same death, right?"

            The other rats nodded.

            "Then begone, or I'll chuck you inter the river wi' me bladepoint!"

            In a matter of moments, the nine rats fled, tripping over each other in an attempt to escape the otter. Stormpaw had proven her point—nobeast could stop her. The young otter kicked the carcass of the slain rat into the river without removing the black-fletched arrow, ignoring the horror-struck face of the mousemaid and the grim features of Lunkin and the hare.