A/N: Chapter two is up! Yaaay... Thanks to Nashog, ifeelmad, WildlifeWarriorness (who I will now be calling Wilfie) and Jade Tealeaf for reviewing! I really appreciate it, guys! ^^

Disclaimer: Does anyone REALLY want to admit they don't own the story they're writing? No. And besides, everyone knows I'm not Brian Jacques so please don't-

Spitepaw: Just say it.

Me: What? Um, I'M COMING, YES! BE RIGHT THERE! ...Um, sorry but my mom's nachos burned so, um, I gotta throw them out for her! What a waste of nachos, right? Heh heh heh...

Spitepaw: *glares* We all know that's an alibi. A pretty stupid one, too, at that.

Me: *sighs* idon'townRedwallBrianJacquesdoes.

Spitepaw: *raises eyebrow* Seriously? Idon Town Redwa Llbria Njacqu Esdoes? What's that even mean? LOUDER AND SLOWER PLEASE!

Me: *sniffles* Why do you torture me so?

Spitepaw: *grins* Because it's fun.

Me: Fine... I. Don't. Own. Redwall. Brian Jacques does. *bursts into tears* That was so HARD!

Chapter Two

I opened my eyes, my vision blurry from sleep. I stared absentmindedly at the cracked wooden ceiling above me, wondering why I felt more tired than usual. Oh. Realization hit me like a bucket of rocks. Priscilla. The locket. Also, I was hungry and wanted breakfast. I rubbed my eyes, hopped out of bed, stretched, and then made my way to the rectangular hole in the wall of my room that served as a doorway to the hall. A door had used to reside there, but there had been an... accident. An accident involving a doll, Mad Priscilla, a kitchen knife, and me. Long story, don't want to talk about it.

Ahem. Right. I walked through the doorway and into the hall, then down the stairs, which creaked horribly beneath my feet.

A real thief would have-

"Shut up, me," I muttered. I didn't really feel like getting criticized at the moment. I hopped off the last step. I know, I know, it was really childish of me, but I'd been doing it ever since I was little and had discovered how. What do they say? Old habits die hard, and this particular habit was no exception.

Oh ho, so you're going to grow up to be some fully-grown ferret hopping off stair steps, hm? And what about when you become a real thief and you steal for a living? You gonna go hoppin' off stairs and givin' away your position then too? Ha, some lousy thief of a ferret you turned out to be.

I swear there's someone in my head, taking up valuable space. Either that, or my brain has a mind of its own and had grown highly cynical of me. Shaking these these ridiculous thoughts from my head, I made my way into the small kitchen with the wood-burning stove, where my mother was cooking breakfast. I sniffed the air, getting a whiff of the delicious-smelling stuff.

"Mm, smells scrumptious," I commented, licking my lips.

All my mother did was say a sharp, "Hm" and give me a tense nod. She walked stiffly over to the sink and began washing her forepaws.

I raised an eyebrow, unsure of what was going on. "What," I asked, "did the food burn or something?"

"Oh, no, nothing of the sort," she said flatly, wiping her forepaws dry on her for-the-most-part-clean apron. She strode quickly over to a cutting board placed upon the counter and began chopping a carrot as she spoke. "Why do you ask?"

I shuffled my paws nervously. Something was wrong. "Oh, no reason. So what's for breakfast?"

My mother didn't answer and appeared to suddenly have trouble cutting the carrot. What was going on? Did something happen while I was still asleep?

"Go into the other room," she said, her voice quivering. At first fear overwhelmed me and I thought someone had been killed and the body was in the dining room, but those fears were quickly quenched out of existence when my mother added, "Breakfast's almost done."

"Ah," I said, visibly relaxing. It had been a pretty stupid thought, anyway. "Okay. See you, mum!" I raced into the dining room and seated myself in a beaten-down wooden chair at a table that looked like it had been made centuries ago. Everything in this house was either old, wooden or both. My family couldn't really afford any better. Eh, it was home and nobody really minded anyway. We'd lived in worse before... Ever live in a cave in the winter with only your clothes to warm you? Didn't think so.

My dad and Priscilla were already sitting at the table. My dad was glancing at me every now and then with this weird look on his face. I couldn't really tell what it meant or why he was giving me what appeared to be some version of the evil eye in the first place. Huh. What was up with everyone today?

Then my mother came in with some steaming hot porridge. Not exactly my favorite; the mushy stuff was always bland, but I was too hungry to care right now. My mother placed a bowl before everyone present, spoons already dipped in the light golden glop. She sat down and placed the last bowl in front of herself. I immediately began shoving my food into my mouth, feverishly scooping up porridge with my spoon. I looked up, just for a few heartbeats, and noticed everyone was staring at me, their porridge untouched and their faces stern.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and said, "What? Why are you guys all looking at me? Did I do something wrong?"

My mother laughed, but it was more of a scoffing laugh than a happy one. "Wrong? Did you do something wrong? No, of course not! We all know you did absolutely nothing wrong." That last part was sarcasm. I would know. I hear it every time Priscilla opens her mouth.

But now was not the time for jokes. I knew what they were talking about. Stupid Priscilla. She ratted on me! Why had I ever trusted her?

"Sorry," I mumbled looking down at my bowl and twirling my spoon around in my porridge. It made a satisfying slurping noise.

Now it was my dad's turn to yell at me. "Sorry? Sorry?! You lie to us and sneak off every night without our knowledge and all you can give us is one lousy sorry? What did you think would happen if you got caught? The beast you just stole from would just let you go 'cause you're a kid? The beasts these days don't care what age you are: a thief is a thief. Do you know what I would have to do to bail you out of jail, then? I would have to pay quite a lot of money, and I don't have that kind of money. You know that! We need you here to help out as well, what with your mother recovering from that sickness and all." My dad stopped and kneaded his forehead with a forepaw. "I thought we already talked about this, Jonathan."

"I'm sorry," was all I could say. I knew that now was not the time to fuss and fidget over the little things, but I didn't like how he referred to me as a kid. I was thirteen seasons old! I had stopped thinking people would forgive me for my wrongs immediately long ago. I already knew what was at risk. That's what made me love thieving; all the risks. It added some low level of adventure into my dull life. 'Course, if I told my dad that, I would just be asking for another lecture.

My dad shook his head. I could tell he wanted to say more, but he was too ashamed and disappointed in me that he was struck speechless. I kept my head lowered and my face downcast. I was feeling pretty ashamed of myself as well.

As I continued to pick at my food, my mom spoke up, her lips pursed, attempting to break the uneasiness and tenseness in the air. "Well, I made a double-layered carrot cake this morning."

Carrot cake. My mouth watered. So that had been the good-smelling something in the kitchen earlier. Because we only had one cake pan, my mother must've had one half of the double-layered cake in the oven and had begun to make the other one at the same time. It figures; porridge never smells good.

My dad raised an eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

We almost never had all the ingredients for a cake and if we happened to we then didn't have enough of the ingredients. Only on the holidays would my mother take out the time to make a cake, as well as making sure she had all the necessary ingredients and the right amount of so-said ingredients.

"Oh," my mother replied: On a normal day, she would've given a shrug. "No reason, really. I just thought we should do something nice for Priscilla's tenth birthday, don't you think?"

Ah. They were shoving it into my face that they were mad at me for betraying their trust by rewarding Priscilla for being such a "good girl". My mom made cake on the holidays, but never on birthdays. Getting the needed ingredients was usually decently expensive. Over on the other end of the table, I saw Priscilla stick her tongue out at me.

I felt like returning the gesture, but I could tell I was at the end of my rope here and shouldn't risk angering my parents more than they already were. It would be the straw that broke the camel's back; the push that made me fall off the mountain. ...Yeah, sorry about all the metaphors. I can get a little carried away sometimes.

My dad nodded his head. "Yes, I'm very proud of my girl. Telling the truth may be difficult, but it's worth more than all the trouble lies can cause." He glared at me when he said the last part. I shrunk into my baggy clothes.

"When's your birthday?" my dad asked Priscilla. "Three days from now, right?"

"No dad," Priscilla corrected, "it's tomorrow."

"Oh, er, right," my dad said, looking a little embarrassed.

My mom clapped her hands sharply, sending all eyes to fix on her. "Well! I believe we have more difficult matters to tend to than birthday dates, no? What are we going to do with Jonathan?"

I didn't like how my mother was acting as if I wasn't in the room at all. It made me feel frustrated and annoyed inside.

Oh stop your whining, the cynical voice said.

I was too upset to yell at it.

My dad cleared his throat and stood up. "I think it would be best if Jonathan is never allowed outside again. If we let him go outside and simply banned him from thieving, like we did, who's to say he won't take up pick-pocketing random strangers? No, we must pull this weed up from its roots. We'll have to take Jonathan's thieving things and burn them, maybe. Hide them, in the least. He can't thieve without that cloak Priscilla so kindly told us about."

Priscilla earned a quick glare from me right then and there.

"Jonathan!" my mother scolded.

My dad feigned clearing his throat again just to get our attention. "Anyway, as I was saying, Jonathan can't thieve without his cloak. His fur is a lighter color and he'd stand out too much, even in dim moonlight."

This was my dad's way of discouraging me from stealing any more after he got around to getting rid of my stuff. My whole family had lighter colored fur, actually. Most ferrets have very dark brown fur, but my dad had light brown fur and my mother had white, but she wasn't an albino. Priscilla and I had silver-colored fur for some reason. A lot of the time other beasts mistook us as twins because Priscilla was about my height, regardless of her younger age. I probably should've told you all this earlier, but I'm pretty forgetful. Oh well.

"So, is this agreed?" My dad continued.

My mother bit her lip. "Don't you think you're acting a bit rash, love? Jonathan hasn't really done anything to harm the family..."

My dad remained firm to his opinion. "Jonathan hasn't, admittedly, harmed us in any direct way, but he's endangering our whole family, Lillian, just by going out every night to steal who-knows-what! I can't just let him do his own thing because that obviously didn't work out very well last time, now did it?"

"Well." My mother said it more like a statement than the beginning of a sentence.

"So," my dad said, gazing at every person seated. "Is it agreed?"

"Yes," my mother said, looking down. It kind of made me feel better to know that she didn't want me to lose my thieving equipment. Then those happy feeling molted into guilt. She still trusted me, even after I had lied. I felt terrible inside.

"Yes!" Priscilla said instantly. She was feeling no regrets there.

"Three to one," my father concluded. I began to feel worse; I really liked my thieving kit and cloak and the thought of my dad destroying them one way or another made me sick to my stomach. I heard my father say one last thing: "Jonathan, go collect your thieving things and bring them to me. And don't even consider hiding some! Priscilla did a little... inventory count while you were sleeping."

I frowned. Priscilla was in my bedroom? That's just... weird. Weird and very, very disturbing. I sighed, pushing myself and my chair away from the table. I got up slowly and shuffled my way over to the stairs. I trudged up them, barely believing how fast my world had come crashing down on me.

The rest of my family just sat there, the porridge now cold.

A/N: So. Tell me what you think! Review and order from the snack bar, which now offers EVERYTHING because I'm just too lazy to write all available foods down! :D

Sadly, the next chapter will be short due to my plot. *shakes fist* DARN YOUUUUU!