Chapter 2
There were several carts in The Roaming Whimsical Troupe, all with the purpose of bearing the members along with the tents, props, and other provisions needed for a group of traveling beasts. They were built to accommodate both its passengers and their gear, and right now, under the night sky, they were grouped together in a circle.
Most of the Troupe were snuggled inside the carts, dozing away, but there were some who were still awake, keeping watch for any night-time attackers.
Primrose couldn't sleep that night. For some reason she felt restless, and rather lonesome among the sleeping squirrelmaids. Still lying down, the ferret tilted her head to look out the cart's doorway, and saw a huddled figure silhouetted against the dying bonfire.
Crawling out of her blankets, Primrose stuck her head out and saw that the huddled figure was Rogak.
"Rogak?" she whispered.
The otter gave a slight start and turned around. "What are you still doing up, Primrose?" he inquired.
"Couldn't sleep," the ferret answered, laying her chin down on her paws. "How about you?"
"Well," Rogak replied, grinning a little. "It is my turn to be the look-out, hence why I'm still up."
Primrose half-stifled a giggle. "Sorry. Maybe we can talk for a bit, though? I'm feeling pretty lonely in here."
"Alright, but get a blanket around ye. Merola'll have my hide if she knows I let you stay up late."
Primrose retrieved one of her blankets and, wrapping it around her shoulders, went and sat by the large otter. "So? Have you seen anything?"
"Not much. No suspicious activity, no strange noises. Which is good, meaning we won't have to deal with any vermin attacks."
Primrose felt an involuntary shudder pass through her. She suddenly prayed very much that nothing like that would happen.
Petunia was certain she couldn't fake being asleep. The vermin would see right through her – or rather, they'd hear right through her. Her heartbeat was pounding mercilessly against her rib-cage, making it very hard for the haremaid to hear any approaching footpaws.
Uncle Markas was still laying beside her, one paw holding onto his sword while his other held hers'. Petunia was keeping her eyes closed, as he commanded, so she couldn't look into the old mouse's eyes for comfort during this very scarey moment.
Markas actually had his eyes closed as well, but his ears were keenly alert. Judging from the sound of light pawsteps, the attackers were probably small, and numerous. He and Petunia would have to be very fast, and the old mouse hoped that his niece would be able to keep her head straight during the next few minutes.
The footsteps were coming closer . . . and closer . . . and closer. . . .
"Yaaaaaaaaahhhh!!"
Petunia, and the vermin, gave a start as Markas suddenly leapt to his feet and swung his blade at the rat standing over the haremaid. The vermin fell dead to the ground, and the rest charged.
Her heart still pounding within her burning chest, Petunia jumped up as well, tearing her own sword from its sheath and warding off any foes coming towards her. Though she had been in a skirmish before, the haremaid was no less terrified of what was going on or what could happen. And yet she found herself moving without really thinking about it. Her arms and legs seemed to have taken on a life of their own, remembering all the right moves to block and attack.
Markas hurled himself behind her so that they were fighting back-to-back. Petunia recalled that that was a lesson Dakar always taught her: Make certain that your foes can't get you from behind; force them to meet your sword head-on.
The rats, all armed with rusty knives and spikes, either jumped forward or back, trying to rid their intended prey of their weapons. They were all very surprised; at first it looked as though they wouldn't be getting any trouble. After all, their prey had been an oldbeast and a young maiden. The rats hadn't even noticed the blades both hare and mouse had kept hidden beneath them as they slept.
Markas surprised the rats further (and even Petunia) by giving a wild cry that sounded like he was enjoying himself."Yeeeoooowwwww!! Let's make short work of this, Petunia! Noonvaaaalllleeee!"
The haremaid found herself answering her uncle's war-cry with her own: "Euuuulllllaaaallllia!"
Primrose leaned her head against Rogak's shoulder and sighed. The big, kindly otter smiled down at her.
"You miss your sister, eh?"
"Yes, I do. I suppose this sounds a bit mean, but I always felt closer to Petunia than do Pansy. But I suppose that's just because she and I are closer in age, and spent more time together growing up."
"I can see what you mean," Rogak sympathized. "Pansy always seemed so much more independent. Plus there's the fact that Petunia's leading a life that demands a lot of fighting."
Primrose bit her lip. The otter suddenly felt he could've kicked himself.
"Er, listen, I'm sure she's safe. She's got your Uncle Markas with her, doesn't she? And she'll have a whole regiment of hares surrounding her once she reaches Salamandastron. I'll bet Petunia's safe as berries in a pie right now!"
Petunia slashed and stabbed, blood spilling all over her blade, her arms beginning to ache with exhaustion. Even Uncle Markas was beginning to huff and puff a little.
Fortunately, there were not many rats left, only five, and none of them looked very big. They were the cowards of their gang, preferring to stay behind and let the others do the fighting.
Markas and Petunia stood before them, surrounded by the rats' fallen comrades.
"Well, what're you all going to do?" wheezed the old mouse, his sword still at the ready. "I'm not getting any younger, y'know."
One of the rats, who was bolder than the others, said, "They're gettin' tired, mates! We c'n take 'em! Charge!"
And with that, the rat dove at Markas–
–only to be cut down.
The remaining vermin watched, even more unsure of what to do. True, Markas and Petunia did look pretty tired, but they kept on chopping down any rat that went near them. They could've charged, but that would only leave two of them each to fight either the mouse or hare.
"If y'don't fancy death," Markas breathed. "Then I suggest you take off. And don't try bothering us again, or else you'll end up like all your friends."
The rats finally decided it was hopeless and took off, never wanting to see either woodlander again.
Petunia gave a long gasp and placed both paws on her knees. She felt shaky all over . . . and yet very relieved! They were alive! They weren't harmed, she had prevailed in her second skirmish, and this time she hadn't vomited!
Suddenly a groan behind her caused Petunia to whip around. Uncle Markas sank rather heavily to the ground, his paw holding his shoulder. The haremaid saw that there was blood seeping its way past his fingers.
"Are you sure she'd be safe?" Primrose asked Rogak.
"Certainly! I mean, Dakar expressed a lot of confidence in her, and he's a seasoned warrior, isn't he? And Markas, he's an even more seasoned warrior! I'd hate to be the vermin that tried to mess with those two!"
Primrose blew out her nose and smiled. "Thanks, Rogak."
"No problem," the otter replied, putting his arm around her.
"Don't try to talk," Petunia ordered as she set about for some herbs and bandages in her pack. "Just breathe. Save your strength. Come on, breathe."
Somewhat surprisingly, Markas made no fight, but actually allowed his niece to fuss over him. She cleansed his wound and applied some poultice before wrapping it up in some clean rags. The haremaid then went on to check her uncle for any more wounds, wiping blood from him and from his blade, remembering that Dakar told her a warrior must always clean their sword.
As soon as she was finished, Markas was breathing much easier, and smiling proudly. "Thank you, Petunia. But don't forget to check yourself."
"I'm fine–"
"Balderdash. We've just been in a fight. It'll do you no good to let any wounds get infected. Come on now, be sensible, just like how you were just now."
And so, Petunia checked herself for any injuries, and to her surprise found many cuts on her arms and legs. They weren't deep, but as soon as she took notice of them, the haremaid suddenly felt pain from them. It was strange how often an unnoticed wound didn't hurt at all.
Markas watched his niece as she cleaned herself, applying healing herbs and bandages. He was certainly proud of her; this was his first time seeing her in action. Well, technically it was the second time, but that other time didn't really count. He'd been barely conscious then, and she had only looked like a blur.
It had happened not very long ago, when the old warrior finally returned to Noonvale. But he had only just made it to the border when he had been set upon by a group of rats and weasels. They demanded to know where his treasure was, something which greatly annoyed Markas, as he possessed no such thing.
He told them just that, but it was pointless to do so, because, like many incompetent vermin, they were convinced he was a prince or some lordly beast. They even made fun of Markas's weight, suggesting that he got to have great feasts every day. The old warrior hadn't had a decent meal since the otter's island, or a good sleep for that matter.
Markas warned the vermin to shove off, only to have one of them slam his spear-butt into the old mouse's belly. Moments afterwards they had disarmed him, wacked him upside the head, and tied him up. Markas was still a bit in shock at how quickly the vermin had overpowered him. It could only show that he was getting older, and that didn't suit him at all after a lifetime as a warrior. Even now he was more out of breath than usual, causing Markas to be even more glad to have Petunia by his side.
"No matter how many times I've been in a fight," the haremaid was saying as she wrapped a cloth around her leg. "It's still very scary."
"You think I wasn't scared, young missy?" the old mouse grinned. "I felt like a bowl full of jelly, just like how I always do before a battle! There's nothing wrong with being a little scared, Petunia. Don't ever forget that."
The old mouse had also been scared that other night, though he knew it was good never to show fear in front of your enemies. That night, however, he had been scared not because he was probably going to die, but because he was so close, so close to getting back to Noonvale. Back to all his nieces. And he could've died just outside their cottage before getting to see them all again. And after a whole lifetime of wars and daring rescues, Markas didn't think that being easily beaten and then devoured by a rabble of vermin was the sort of death he deserved.
Markas remembered lying on the ground, bound and gagged, watching as the rats and weasels went about creating a bonfire for their intended meal. The old mouse was barely conscious from the blow to the head he had received. He recalled the vermin arguing over which of them was going to get the portion of his belly, when two loud war-cries ripped through the night air, followed by two figures who threw themselves at the vermin. Markas just lost conscious when the vermin leader came running towards him, but not before he saw a blurry shape whose war-cry had a feminine sound to it.
Afterwards the old mousewarrior found out that the blur could have only been Petunia. His little niece had saved him that night, and never before had Markas felt any better about taking those baby orphans in.
Petunia smiled at the old warrior. "Thanks, Uncle."
After awhile, Rogak realized that Primrose had nodded off. Carefully, the big otter slipped his arms around her so that he could carry her back into the cart and lay her back down next to her sister. He didn't want Merola to know he'd let Primrose stay up late.
