A/N: All characters are (c) me. Redwall is (c) Brian Jacques. Blah blah blah....This story is actually 70+ pages long, and I'm not done yet! (that's why it's taking so long to type up...)
Skye; The Tale of an Ottermaid
Prologue
An old squirrel, bent with age, slowly lowered himself into the overstuffed armchair by the fireplace. Coughing through his grey whiskers, he opened up a thick, dusty book and ran a slightly unsteady paw over the yellowed pages. He gazed down at the eager faces of the Abbey Dibbuns.
"Now, I've traveled a long way, heard many tales and listened to many songs, both of joy and sorrow, pain an' victory. But perhaps none was as great as th' tale I will tell ye now. 'Tis th' tale o' an ottermaid, both savage and gentle. This is Typhoon Skye's story."
The young ottermaid, Typhoon Skye, quietly pushed open the great cedar doors of her holt's cave. She sniffed the air, ears perking slightly. All was not right. Placing a paw on the longknife hilt hanging from her belt, she crept inside. The only movement in the room was the flickering firelight. Just as she was about to leave, the room exploded with loud noise. Behind her, her whole tribe was smiling as they played every instrument in the Holt loudly. A heavy paw decended on her shoulder and she looked up into the kind, dark eyes of Aveno Skye, her father.
"Ye didn't think we'd ferget yore birthday, did ye? Go on, join 'em!" He bellowed, grinning.
Typhoon's holt was not very big, and furniture was scarce. most of the floor was covered in rush mats and cushions, and in the middle of it all was a large bonfire. Pots of steaming hotroot soup were passed around, bread, cheese and platters of fish cooked in every possible way were all laid out in the midst of them, and drinks were set in the corner.
Now, the party went on into the dark night, and its participants were oblivious to the horde of vermin which had silently surrounded the small cave. At a signal from their tall, lithe leader, they advanced. None of the holt noticed the fire arrows which had thudded into the main doors until it was too late. Vermin soldiers, each heavily armed and trained carefully in the way of battle, entered the holt. On each vermin face was a smirk, on each goodbeast face a horrified expression.
The one who had given the signal stepped in, her features lit by firelight. The weasel, her fur a light tone of brown, gazed over at the surprised otters and gave a malicious grin. Her green eyes glinted dangerously as she spoke.
"Give us yore treasure, an' you might go unharmed. Decide to keep it, an' we'll have it anyway!" Her voice was unnaturally gruff.
"You know that there are no riches here, Flaire Icefang." Aveno stood up, brandishing his javelin.
"Liar! You shall fall with your wretched holt." Flaire snarled, grasping he light metal shaft of her pike.
Aveno roared out just as Flaire bellowed. "ATAAAAAAAAACK!"
Fourscore vermin, armed to the teeth, launched themselves at the twoscore otters, who fought valiantly. Typhoon saw her own father go down at the point of Flaire's pike. The rest were either slain or knocked unconcious. Those still breathing were loaded into the slaver cart. Flaire grabbed a passing rat. "Search the Holt, bring anything of value to me."
Soon, a small pile of gold and silver was at her footpaws. She snarled, showing the diamond embedded in her left fang. "Nobeast keeps anything from Flaire Icefang."
Skye; The Tale of an Ottermaid
Prologue
An old squirrel, bent with age, slowly lowered himself into the overstuffed armchair by the fireplace. Coughing through his grey whiskers, he opened up a thick, dusty book and ran a slightly unsteady paw over the yellowed pages. He gazed down at the eager faces of the Abbey Dibbuns.
"Now, I've traveled a long way, heard many tales and listened to many songs, both of joy and sorrow, pain an' victory. But perhaps none was as great as th' tale I will tell ye now. 'Tis th' tale o' an ottermaid, both savage and gentle. This is Typhoon Skye's story."
The young ottermaid, Typhoon Skye, quietly pushed open the great cedar doors of her holt's cave. She sniffed the air, ears perking slightly. All was not right. Placing a paw on the longknife hilt hanging from her belt, she crept inside. The only movement in the room was the flickering firelight. Just as she was about to leave, the room exploded with loud noise. Behind her, her whole tribe was smiling as they played every instrument in the Holt loudly. A heavy paw decended on her shoulder and she looked up into the kind, dark eyes of Aveno Skye, her father.
"Ye didn't think we'd ferget yore birthday, did ye? Go on, join 'em!" He bellowed, grinning.
Typhoon's holt was not very big, and furniture was scarce. most of the floor was covered in rush mats and cushions, and in the middle of it all was a large bonfire. Pots of steaming hotroot soup were passed around, bread, cheese and platters of fish cooked in every possible way were all laid out in the midst of them, and drinks were set in the corner.
Now, the party went on into the dark night, and its participants were oblivious to the horde of vermin which had silently surrounded the small cave. At a signal from their tall, lithe leader, they advanced. None of the holt noticed the fire arrows which had thudded into the main doors until it was too late. Vermin soldiers, each heavily armed and trained carefully in the way of battle, entered the holt. On each vermin face was a smirk, on each goodbeast face a horrified expression.
The one who had given the signal stepped in, her features lit by firelight. The weasel, her fur a light tone of brown, gazed over at the surprised otters and gave a malicious grin. Her green eyes glinted dangerously as she spoke.
"Give us yore treasure, an' you might go unharmed. Decide to keep it, an' we'll have it anyway!" Her voice was unnaturally gruff.
"You know that there are no riches here, Flaire Icefang." Aveno stood up, brandishing his javelin.
"Liar! You shall fall with your wretched holt." Flaire snarled, grasping he light metal shaft of her pike.
Aveno roared out just as Flaire bellowed. "ATAAAAAAAAACK!"
Fourscore vermin, armed to the teeth, launched themselves at the twoscore otters, who fought valiantly. Typhoon saw her own father go down at the point of Flaire's pike. The rest were either slain or knocked unconcious. Those still breathing were loaded into the slaver cart. Flaire grabbed a passing rat. "Search the Holt, bring anything of value to me."
Soon, a small pile of gold and silver was at her footpaws. She snarled, showing the diamond embedded in her left fang. "Nobeast keeps anything from Flaire Icefang."