This is my new story, my second and I definitely stink at Redwall. Please, no flames!
Disclaimer: Why must I say this? Everyone knows I cannot and never will be able to write like Brian Jacques!
Hi, chaps! My name is Whitewood Hoppit. I have good Streamist as my wife and little Sprinkles and Frostbun, our two little uns. This a tale about me, my family, my friends, and some jolly blighters. But I say, is that vittles I smell? Streamist, I say, top hole! Cherry scones for tea!
Well nice ole tea, wot wot? But let's get on with the bally show. I live in Old Mossflower Country, as you prob'ly know. I am a descendant from that Rosie Woodsorrel, known as the Hon Rosie- famed for her bloomin' laughter. Steady in the ranks there! That's wot ole Tarquin would always say to her afore she'd burst in her giggles. And so, now today, I be charmed with her wild laughter, yes sah! So does m' little uns, Sprink an' Frosty there. Just think, the little uns, gigglin' off their pore little ears. Whoohahahahooh! By the way, I'll be calling my wife Stream instead and my young uns Sprink and Frosty. Just a scar in the names.
So, you all know what became of Kotir, after that Tsarmina cat was finished for. Well lack a season! Now that old crumble of a castle is deep asleepin' in bubbles. Well I have two good friends called Fizzy and Twixt, they're ermine. I call 'em Fizz and Twix. I know wot you're thinking. Ermines are evil creatures, but my little spies are trained and safe. How do I know this? It's cause they been trained by the greatest scholar and experimenter I've known in my days. Glacierr. She'd be my good honest friend if I ever had one, but course I do. I don't have her an I don't have got no nothing. Even better than Stream. Stream is just a pretty hare that came walking down my path. After that... it's a long blinkin' story. Glacie, my pal, she's an mole an she ain't no diggin' mole. She lives in a bally tree, bless her, but I don't know how that came t' be. And this is how I came to meet Glacie, Fizz and Twix, Empression the otter, and trouble by the name of Divory. Divory was a ferret. Scum.
I was having tea with my wife and leverets. "Great seasons!" Stream was saying, "You've had enough of that twinklin' October ale! Don't even think about reaching for a trifle!" She slapped my paw.
"Figh! Figh! Figh! Figh!" Sprink and Frosty started chanting. I sneaked myself a beaker of elderberry wine as Stream made a successful effort to calm them down with the common trick. "Wash the dishes if you ain't sleepy, while we peek off to the beds." she said.
"Give 'em blood an vinegar," I drifted drowsily to the stairs. Stream grabbed me by my ears and hissed,
"Not you, you butterbrained rascal. You're gonna help me wash the dishes. Tired?" She shoved a beaker of dandelion cordial in my face as I peered down my nose at the bubbling drink. "This'll stand your ears up fer ya!"
"Stream, darl. Let go of my pore ears, my whiskers are growing pale." That's when the ferret barged in. Except right then, I didn't tell she was a ferret. She was all dressied right up to the tip of her tail so she looked different. Her outfit was bright, with a lime green hat, fitted with a gold red feather. She had a lime green tunic, with a gold red sash and indigo belt. She wore a pink cloak with lavender ruffles. A purple dagger protruded from a specially made pocket on the belt. The tunic edge was lined in pink cloth, and she looked brilliant. Her fur was sleek down with a light luster and her green eyes made flaming golden illusions dance across the floor in the sunlight.
"Hello Streamist, Whitewood. I am Ivory, owner of all Mossflower Country. I have come to collect what is in debt, because you are on my land. Also, you here have a warrior, and it means you have weapons. He and this cottage must be checked, then you may be set go." Stream's jaw dropped slack and my ears slid from her loosened paws. I rubbed them gratefully.
"My stones! Mossflower is a free country. Nobeast has the right to say they owns it. My handsome warrior here will punch off your tails. We owe you no debt, for never will." Stream twitched her ears and a vixen stepped in. "This is Treasura Locket, descendant of Fortunata the healer, who was serving during the time of Tsarmina and Kotir. We call her Treasura the seer." Ivory's eyes shone with interest.
"Mrs. Hoppit, I can lend you two moon cycles. I will meet you at T'Nuah Island. If you have not prepared, you will get your share of killing. I must collect up this vixen Treasura for investigation of her past ancestors and abilities. Your wealthy delivery is appreciated." Her green eyes flashed, and with the sweep of her cloak, she was gone.
"Eve, you're wobblin' like a frog. Honey, easy with that flying! Risen, that kind of jump would even make me proud. Cloud, keep up the work," Hawkrest called out. Empression trotted over to him.
"Hawkrest, you need a break, you old riverdog," she encouraged.
"Oh, I'm up like a crow, Empress. Just teaching these young rascals 'ere to skid rivers." He stifled a yawn.
"Fioral! Oero! Come take your father to bed, he's yawnin' like an owl up all day." Fioral and Oero scampered up to him.
"We gonna take you to bed! Afta you took us t' bed long time! Now we takes you!" they shouted in unison. Hawkrest let the two young otters lead him away.
"Lead on, mateys." Empress smiled as Hawkrest was dragged to his bed. She turned to the four ottermaids.
"Now this is how you really skid the waters," she said. She backed up to a willow tree about five fox-lengths away from the river, then took off. She appeared to trip over the edge of the river, but cartwheeled over it, her paws skimming the edges of the ripples. Empress, a river expert, landed perfectly firm, paws together, on the other side of the river. Eve, Honey, Risen, and Cloud stared at her in awe, jaws slack.
"Why I need warriors like you for my troups." A mysterious voice floated around them. It's echoes could be heard as the voice bounced off the side of the nearby Ripple Mountain.
"Appear true to your voice," Empress snarled. A strangely dressed ferret appeared.
"I am Ivory. I need warriors like you, Empression. Please join me. I see you are a warrior. Your Hawkrest may stay, as may your ottermaids. I can grant you all the rivers of Mossflower, if you come with me. Meet me in two moon cycles at T' Nuah Island." The ferret slowly began to dissolve into the mist.
"Speak up, scum! Why need you must me? I do not trust the odd ferret!" Empression screeched.
The ferret spoke no reply.
"Ha! Such a blighter, wot wot?" I tried lightening the mood.
"More 'en a blighter, Whitewood. Scum! Evil, you rotten eared chum! Scum!" Stream roared. I flinched.
"Sorta liked the handsome warrior sound bettah than rotten eared chum," I mumbled.
"You toad stabbin lugger," Stream sighed.
"So, uh, wot's a chap to do to get his scoff round here?" I asked nervously. Stream's rarely tempered. When she is, a chap's gotta know how to lighten the load, change the mood, blow away the storm clouds. Problem is, I don't get a lot of practice.
Stream looked at me and twitched her ears. I saw the corners of her mouth tickle upwards. Then...
"Whoohahahahooh! Whitewood you bally hogster! I'll give you scoff, you stomach on paws! Whoohahahahooh! Such a potato with ears. Whoohahahahooh!" Did I never mention that Stream's adopted worse laughter than mine?
"What a laughin' thingummy you are," I murmured to the harewife, rolling and giggling on the floor. I munched on a carrot.
"Dodge and weave!" I suddenly hollered. I jumped wildly into the air and landed on the floor.
"Whoohahahahoohahahahoohahahahahahoohoohoohahooh!"
