The clouds of thick fog floated over the realms of Mossflower Woods. The breeze moved it along in its path between damp trees and across grass sprinkled with dewdrops. The sun already had reached the height of its midday arch, even though its shape couldn't be seen in this weather, only the dispersed beams filtered through the fog, setting the hue of everything in strange, almost gloomy setting.

Some beasts only see the gloomy, when a few others see something else.

Zephyr was one of those few. This weather, the warm humid mists of the flowing fog, was perfection to all senses. He opened his wings to the air to have the sensation embrace his body, perspiration forming on his fur and skin. He loved it up here on the ramparts of the Abbey, away from the bustle indoors and in the quiet, except for these warms winds for which he was named, the zephyr, the western breeze from the ocean that came here, to the western wall of Redwall Abbey where he, a bat stood, wings still outstretched, his eyes closed.

"How are you doing, my son?"

Swiftly, Zephyr folded his wings about him and opened his eyes, "Abbot Reamus, I should ask the same of you, for you are all damp on account of me if that is the reason you are here."

"Think nothing of it, I enjoy this weather as much as you do, my damp fur aside. I find the strangeness of Mossflower on days such as this are oddly satisfying to the soul." The squirrel Abbot removed his hood, sighing.

"I know."

The Abbot threw a surprised glance at the bat, who still stared out over Mossflower, "Yes, I always underestimate your powers of observation Zephyr."

"It's most likely the ears."

"So you know about Marcus."

"I know very well what he is saying and there is nothing to be said against it. To fight would to instigate and whom do you think would end up on the losing side?" Zephyr caught himself from his anger, that fire that grew inside and he calmed the flames. "I'm sorry Abbot. I shouldn't speak of doubting the Abbey Warrior..."

"It would never be accepted it I said this elsewhere," Abbot said, scarcely above a whisper, "But I do not believe a word of what he says."

For the first time since the Abbot arrived, the bat looked at the squirrel's face in a light of admiration and soon saw that the Abbot's face was not only damp from the humid air; tears dripped from his eyes. "I just cannot believe that he could hold so much hate..."

"It is the way of a warrior."

"You know what I mean."

They stood in silence for a long time, watching the thick blankets of wisping white continue to flow over the forest, thinking about the seasons past...

• • •

"Take on that crazy mouse near the main building, I'll organize a force to take on those otters."

Zephyr heard the order pasts the mists of red. He would obey. He had been trained to obey, to fight, to kill.

There was something different about him, not like the rest. In the dark of the caves of their usual dwelling lands, the quiet, he hung there awake, thinking.

Their tribe wasn't supposed to think; they were supposed to act for blood.

He couldn't shake the thought that something was wrong, that he was sinking himself in a muck that was not his, a bloody pool drowning him.

He pushed it away further and further as the seasons past but every time he tasted blood, it returned.

The mouse killed with every swing of his great sword, cutting down Zephyr's fellow tribemembers with ease. Zephyr took in the situation and acted he came down low and hard, under the predictable paths of that sword. He teeth sunk into the mouse's footpaw. The mouse screamed, fell backwards, the sword falling from his grasp. The orders repeated in Zephyr's mind, Itake care of the crazy mouse/I. He would take care to rip out his throat. There were no prisoners taken by vampire bats, only carcasses left behind.

As focused as he was, he didn't see the mousemaid coming at him until the last moment and in that last moment his orders departed him as he saw that mousemaid's face.

The pot she swung came down hard on his head.

• • •

"You are not a vampire bat," he was told, where he lie, tied to one of the infirmary beds.

"Why should that matter? We should have gotten rid of him right away. I don't see why we should bother with this obviously evil creature," Markus fumed, the Abbey Warrior, the creature that Zephyr had attacked. He still limped from the injury as he stalked to the bedside.

The bat decided to ignore him and he refocused on Lily, the mouse infirmary keeper, and the Abbot, "I'm not?"

"No, you must have been taken in by them and made to think you were. The resources in the Gatehouse confirm you are not one of them," the Abbot explained.

Lily, the mouse that had dwelt him a blow with that pot, kindly rubbed his head, "Which means you are not a monster."

"It is! That thing is a monster! If we release him it will kill all of us! Just like it's kind! I will not..."

"Markus," the Abbot cut the mouse off, "There is no need for this and since has been here there has been no signs of his former tendencies, I do not think he is a danger."

Markus pointed his paw in the squirrel's face, "Go ahead, and unbind him. If blood flows because of him it will flow onto your hands, Father." He hissed that last word like a frigid spike directed at the Abbot's heart yet the squirrel didn't waver as Markus limped out of the room.

The bat watched, not in anger, but in regret and pity for the soul that he had marred. He knew he was changed. That mouse was reminder of his mistakes. "I'm sorry," he called after the mouse, unsure if the words reached the warrior's ears.

• • •