Hey there, everyone! Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, I just got back from a hunting trip to WI not too long ago, and I needed to catch up on my sleep. (BTW, getting up at 4 every morning to go sit in the snowy, windy forest is only fun if you see a deer) But here we are, so I hope this makes up for my absence.

Also, I want to mention again: DoF and WWC will be returning soon, I'm wrapping up some story concepts and will hopefully be implementing them within the near future.

So enjoy this chapter, read, and as always REVIEW!

He was awakened the next morning by a strange, almost alien sound. Groaning and trying his best to avoid the sunlight streaming in through the panes above, Shiloh finally realized what it was: The laughter of children.

Looking over, he could see a small crowd of habit-clad youngsters gathering around the bed on the other end of the room. Its occupant, the same young mouse who Shiloh had been intending to slay not two days prior, was sitting up and laughing along with them, clearly overjoyed by the presence of his friends.

Shiloh snapped his head in the other direction when the infirmary door opened, Michael and Roebak both carrying a tray of food. The otter spared him a venomous gaze before moving down the rows of cots, joining the crowd of young beasts. He smiled and played along with them, genuinely happy to be in their presence.

"Sometimes I wonder why I accepted this position," Michael said, sitting down next to the fox and pouring two cups of tea. "With all its stress and work and constant worrying. Being Abbot has undoubtedly caused me quite a bit of gray fur, and enough excitement to last anybeast their whole lives. But," He said, looking towards the small congregation of joyful children. "Every time I feel that way, all I have to do is look at those smiles, and all of it seems to melt away. They make it all worth it." He said, a grin beginning to spread across his face.

Downing the tea in one massive gulp, Shiloh tore into a piece of nutbread. "Excuse me if I don't break down into tears of sympathy, Father," he said, not bothering with the cloth napkin at his side. "But frankly, it's not in me."

"And why is that?"

He was taken aback by the question, stopping mid-bite. After a moment, he continued on anyway. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you find it so hard to care for others?" The mouse asked, genuinely intrigued. "Even you must have a shred of compassion for somebeast. Your fellow soldiers, for example. You seemed more concerned for their safety than I would have guessed."

In a rare circumstance, Shiloh spoke without thinking for the briefest of seconds. "We're not soldiers." Immediately, he shut his mouth and ground his jaw.

Michael seemed confused for a moment, but then realization dawned on him just as quickly. "If you're not soldiers, then," He said quietly, "that leaves only one option."

"That's not what I meant," The fox said, desperate to save the situation. "I was just saying that..."

"You're mercenaries, swords-for-hire." Michael was starting to understand. "I could have guessed eventually. No uniforms, not a standard or flag to speak of. And," He said knowingly. "That's why we haven't seen a list of demands. Your employer must have put us under siege without telling you why. Obviously they wouldn't want the job themselves, but for whatever reason I can't..."

"Shut UP!"

Everybeast in the room froze at the sudden outburst. Michael jumped slightly, and Roebak turned towards the sound and began to reach for his dagger, but other than that everything went still.

Shiloh took a few deep, shuddering breaths before continuing, clearly forcing himself to remain calm. "Father Abbot, I think it would be best for me to be moved down to the cellars with my fellow troops. This conversation can be continued later if you see fit."

After a moment of awkward, strained silence, Michael nodded to Roebak. The otter stood, drawing his dagger.

Moments later, with his bonds cut and a blindfold fastened over his eyes, Shiloh was led out of the infirmary by the brawny otter. Completely blind, he was led down a flight of steps and prodded around for what seemed like forever. After a while, though, he felt Roebak reach in front of him and open a door, shoving the fox into the room before he had a chance to make a move.

Within seconds of the door slamming shut behind him, Shiloh felt two forms nearly slam into him and wrap his body in a tight embrace.

"Harr harr, I knew ye'd still be alive an' kickin'!"

"No way they could get rid of ol' Shiloh, eh?"

"What's this bandage fer? Here, lemme take a look..."

Shiloh slapped Harsk's paw away, already wincing from the rough treatment to his wound. "Easy, mate, that's still tender. Now, will you two please let go of me before I suffocate?"

The squirrel and ferret reluctantly backed off, overjoyed at seeing their friend relatively unharmed. "What happened to ye?" Thorben asked, gesturing to the bandage. "Torture? Knew we wouldn't've gotten off so..."

Shiloh smiled sheepishly. "Actually, I...well, fell on my own knife."

Ignoring their snickers, he began to survey their improvised prison cell. It immediately became clear that this abbey was not built with the intent of holding prisoners. There were still numerous crates and barrels situated about the room, most pushed against the walls. The only light came from a few candles arrayed about in wall fixtures, the pale yellow light flickering and dancing slowly in the still air.

"Have either of you been interrogated yet?" He asked, sitting down on one of the many boxes.

Harsk spoke hesitantly, almost like he wasn't sure of the answer. "Well, sorta..."

Shiloh cocked his head slightly. "'Sorta'? What's that supposed to mean?"

The ferret shrugged. "It ain't like any other sort of interrogatin' I ever seen, mate. No beatin's, no torture, not even a couple wood splinters unner the claws! Just a couple o' harsh words. Just askin' us who we are, what we're doin' here, who 's our leader, the usual bullocks. It don't make no sense."

"No, it makes perfect sense." He said, leaning back against the wall. "This is an abbey. They're all peaceable beasts; never raise a paw in anger unless their home's threatened, like it is now. Unfortunately, we happen to be the ones doing the threatening."

Thorben rubbed his chin pensively. "Mayhap we could use that, get 'em fooled into thinking we're more than just a score of paw-loose mercenaries. If they believe there's half a thousand blood-thirsty savages outside their gates, waitin' to slaughter 'em down to a single beast, they might be more willin' to negotiate."

Shiloh shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think that'll work. I spoke with their Abbot not too long ago. He's not to be underestimated. Never said it himself, but that mouse was a soldier once. I don't have any idea who or what he fought for, but he's far from some pacifist monk ready to lay down arms in exchange for his life. He's already got us figured. Our job is to do the same, just without him knowing that we did it."

Harsk slumped down onto the floor. "Won't do us much good, if'n we can't get outta this place."

The trio fell silent, each of them realizing the truth in those words. Plotting and scheming a way into victory would do them no good if they were still imprisoned down in the cellars of a besieged abbey.

It had been almost a solid hour, with nothing but the sound of their own thoughts to keep them company, when Shiloh got up suddenly. He walked from one wall to the other, murmuring quietly under his breath. Harsk and Thorben looked at each other worriedly as their fox comrade continued his pacing, placing his paws on the stone wall; one at the top, the other at the bottom, still talking to himself.

Thorben cleared his throat. "Uh, mate, why don't ye sit down for a moment? Ye look a little...er, well, crazy."

Shiloh ignored the comment. "How many stairs did you count on your way down into here?"

This was one of the squirrel's strange quirks. Everywhere he went; Thorben would take stock of the number of steps in any given stairway or ladder. This strange ability was honed to such a degree that he had no need to consciously think of doing it; he just did. He had always chalked it up to being aware of his surroundings, knowing exactly how many steps he would need to take to leave somewhere in a hurry just in case things went south.

"Four in all, leadin' down from the first floor stones. Why, what're you thinkin' of, mate?"

Shiloh rapped his fist on the brick wall next to him, at a right angle to the door. "This wall is about six paw-widths high. If each step is about one width tall each, that means..."

Even Harsk could see where the thought was leading. "It means this 'ere room isn't completely unnerground, part of it's restin' above the lawn! But..." He said, the realization falling just as quickly as it had appeared on his face. "Why's that important?"

Shiloh was staring at the wall like it was a living creature. "It means that there could have been windows in this room before, to let air in. They could have changed it when or if this place became a storage room. If they did, the gap would have to have been filled in with stone and mortar. That part'll be weaker than the rest, since they couldn't position it like the others. If we can hack it out, that might leave us enough space to squeeze out."

The other two caught on immediately. They began scouring the walls, looking for the distinct cracks or bubbles in the mortar that might mean a less solid joint, which might lead them to freedom.

As time wore on, their spirits dwindled. Shiloh was almost ready to give up and resign himself to whatever fate he was destined for when Thorben whooped. "Hey, I got somethin' over here!"

They crowded around the squirrel, desperate to see his discovery. He grabbed a nearby candle, ignoring the hot wax dripping onto his paw and holding it up to the joint. "There, see it?"

Shiloh couldn't stop himself from grinning broadly. Right there, along the top-most row of bricks, was a distinctly thinner strip of mortar. It ran for two full brick lengths, just enough for them to squeeze through if it came loose, and if their hurried calculations were correct. "Look through these crates," he said, "Try to find anything we can use to chip this stuff out."

They set about it with a will; digging through the containers in search of anything they could use as a tool. A jubilant cry rang out as Harsk discovered a box filled with gardening implements, including small hand-trowels and other assorted utensils. Passing out their discoveries, the three set themselves to the task of laboriously hacking away the mortar as dust and chunks of the stuff fell into their faces.

They all stopped in unison as the sound of pawsteps drawing close to the door broke through the sound of metal on stone. Whispering harshly among themselves, they tried to clean away as much of the dust as they could from the floor, shoving it into one corner and trying to clean themselves off as much as possible before the door swung open.

A rotund hedgehog stepped inside, followed closely by Roebak. The hog bore a large tray, which held three beakers and some assorted food. He glared at the three figures on the opposite end of the room, who lounged against the wall on the other side of the room. There was pitifully little light in the small chamber, but both of the Redwallers would be hard-pressed to find any sympathy for their captives.

"Dinner's 'ere, you lot," The hog growled, setting the plate down on the floor. "Can't believe we're lettin' the likes of you draw another breath inside this abbey, much less give ya any scoff. T'aint right, no siree."

After a few nudges from Roebak, the hedgehog made his way out of the room, still grumbling under his breath as the door closed.

Shiloh let out a massive sigh of relief as the pawsteps grew fainter. "That was close," he whispered, taking a chunk from one of the coarse loaves resting on the plate. "Far too close. We've got to do this quickly if we want any hope of escaping. Any more accidents like that could cost us everything."

Thorben sat down on the stone floor, chewing absentmindedly on the end of a carrot. "Ya know," He said quietly, not talking to anybeast in particular. "I been thinkin'."

Harsk sniggered quietly. "There's a first." But his jibes stopped abruptly after a sharp poke in the ribs from Shiloh doubled him over.

The squirrel continued as if he hadn't heard. "Something's tellin' me that Krieger isn't going to be too happy that we managed to get ourselves snared up like that. I can't quite figure it, but I got this feelin' in my gut that maybe...maybe returning to the company ain't the best of ideas."

Shiloh was taken aback. "What? Listen, mate, I know you're no fan of that weasel. Hellsteeth, neither am I, and you know it! But that's no reason to go running off into the woods just because of some twinge in your belly. We'll probably get an earful from him or somebeast else, maybe a lashing or two for letting ourselves get captured, but nothing serious. By the seasons, if you're that worried I'll take the whip for both of you. It's not like I haven't before." It was all too true. On more than one occasion, Shiloh had gotten on Macepaw's bad side and done something to warrant a punishment. Nobeast was foolish enough to say anything against the weasel's fallacious charges. All he could do was bear the stinging whip like a true soldier, not the sniveling coward that Krieger had proven himself to be time and again.

Thorben shook his head. "No, it ain't that 'tall. I can't really explain it, other than it feels like summat's changed while we've been gone. Haven't ye noticed, there ain't any arrows or slingstones comin' in from the outside? We'd hear 'em if they was, and the Redwallers would be in all sorts o' panic."

Slightly surprised by the realization, Shiloh mulled it over. Thorben was right; during his days in the infirmary, he hadn't seen a single arrow, slingstone, or spear fly over the walls. No attempts to burn the main gates down, not even a few harsh words yelled out from the trees! Any proper siege would have had these woodlanders scurrying for cover whenever they poked their heads out of the door, and made every possible attempt to gain entry.

"You're right, mate," He said after a moment. "But right now we can't do much about it. Maybe this 'client' of ours changed the mission, or maybe we're waiting for something or somebeast to arrive. Right now, all we can do is try our damndest to escape and get back to the troupe. We'll worry about the rest later."

"Yeowch! Will ye stop stabbin' me in the paw with that bloody trowel?"

"Shuddup, will ya? I can't see for naught down here anyways, don't go blamin' me!"

"Would you two kindly shut up and keep chipping?"

Shiloh's hissed remark silenced any further conversation, but there were a few muttered curses as sharp flecks of stone and mortar cut into Thorben and Harsk's paws. They had been at it for two solid hours, and already their sweat-matted fur was covered in the powdery dust, turning them into eerie specter-like creatures. Ignoring the small droplets of blood oozing from their paws and the stinging in their eyes, the trio continued hacking away at the thin mortar. Already they had bored in a significant way, but Shiloh had a nagging feeling that their time was running out.

Thorben yelped suddenly, drawing his fingers back and waving them in pain. "Damn stone fell and crushed my..." His eyes widened suddenly. "It moved! The stone moved, mates!"

They went back at it with gusto. Bits of rock flew and the dust grew almost unbearably thick, but none of them cared. And as the heavy stone block suddenly slipped out of place, it fell to the ground with a dull thunk. Shiloh blinked rapidly, trying to allow his eyes time to adjust as the rays of late afternoon sunlight flooded in. He gathered the latter bit of information from the direction of the building's shadows, along with the booming of evening's bell.

He cast a scrutinizing glance about. Thankfully, his rudimentary calculations had been correct. Their small window, and hopeful escape route, rested not more than a finger's width above the level of the main grounds. His snout was mere inches from the fresh grass, and he couldn't resist taking in a few breaths of sweet, cool air before getting down to business.

From what little knowledge he had of the Abbey's layout, they were somewhere on the southern edge of the building. He could make out the impressive walls and ramparts, with at least two sentries posted along the top. The treetops of Mossflower seemed to taunt Shiloh not far beyond, egging him to run, run and escape to his freedom. But common sense won out. Escaping would take more than just a mad rush and desperate hope. More than anything, it demanded precision timing and cunning.

"What'dya see, mate?" Harsk was practically jumping from one paw to the other, desperate to know the full extent of their situation.

Shiloh's mind was already going at full speed as he stepped away from their small gateway to freedom. "The southern wall gate isn't too far from here, that'll be our best bet. But we've got two big problems; the sentries on the wall, and our gear."

Like most archers, Shiloh felt a special connection with his bow. He had crafted it by paw, after countless hours of work and scrutiny. It had kept him alive in the heat of battle and helped him earn his way towards a respectable position, even if that same career was in question at the moment. He had taken an unofficial oath the day that the weapon had loosed its first arrow; it was a part of him, and not something to be left behind.

Thorben jerked his head towards the door. "I think I saw where those abbeybeasts stowed the arms, when they were draggin' us in here. There's a small locker just on the other side of the hallway."

Shiloh nodded. "Good, if we move quickly enough we should be able to get them before anything happens. But that still leaves the problem of the sentries. And no, killing them isn't an option."

Harsk sneered a bit. "Goin' soft, eh Shiloh? Not like ye to spare the life of an enemy."

The fox just shot him an irritated glance. "It's not their lives I'm worried about, it's ours. Think of it this way, addlebrain: Let's say our plan doesn't work and we get caught again. Would you want to be that otter's prisoner after slaying half a score of Redwallers?"

Having seemed to gotten his point across, he went on despite the fearful expression on Harsk's face. "So where does that leave us? Even if those guards are just simple abbey-dwellers, it wouldn't be hard to catch all three of us trying to open a locked wall gate."

Silence reigned for a few moments as each of them wracked their brains for any plausible schemes. Harsk was about to throw up his paws and admit defeat when he noticed the malicious smile on Thorben's face. "Wot are you so happy about, cully?"

The squirrel got up and cracked his knuckles. "Watch close, Shiloh," He said, winking at his friend. "I'll show ye that foxes ain't the only sly, cunnin' beasts around here."

The sound of Abbot Michael's footsteps, along with those of another echoed in the confines of the stairway. Strolling alongside the aging mouse was a brawny hedgehog, Redwall's own Friar Drubble. The two were conversing in hushed tones, as the morning was still young and many of the abbeybeasts had yet to rise from bed.

"Are you sure there won't be any problems, friend?" Michael asked, folding his paws inside the long sleeves of his habit.

Drubble grunted, shaking his head. "Naw, I don't see anythin' coming of it, Father. That treejumper seems like a good enuff sort. Turrible story, though. Gettin' captured by them vermin, forced to serve as one o' their soldiers! Can't imagine such a thing, no sir."

Michael couldn't hide the furrow in his brow. "That's what concerns me, brother. It seems to me that our squirrel friend went from vermin fighter to poor, defenseless prisoner on very short notice."

The hedgehog friar didn't seem unduly concerned. "Pah, he's just a confused ol' soul. Tell ya what; I'll keep an extra-special eye on the lad, make sure he stays in line. Deal?"

Unable to say no to the cheery hog, Abbot Michael smiled and nodded his consent. "Very well, Friar. The situation is in your very capable paws. Now, how about I help you with breakfast? I can't stand lazing about. These old paws have to keep themselves busy somehow, after all."

Down in the cellars, Shiloh and Harks couldn't believe that their comrade had managed to finagle his way into such a position. They were still slack-jawed after the abbot had opened the door and agreed to allowing Thorben a position as kitchen helper, after the squirrel's desperate pleas to be free from "These horrible, filthy, deranged vermin murderers!" as he had so eloquently put it. His two friends had been too dumbstruck to say anything in retort.

At the moment, they were finalizing their escape plan for that night. Using some mortar dust from their previous escapade and some small wood chips, Shiloh laid out a basic schematic of the Abbey on the floor. The two sat about discussing their plans, looking up worriedly every time a door closed or somebeast walked past the door of their soon-to-be-vacated cell.

"I still say we just kill 'em," Harsk murmured, staring at a small pebble which they were using to symbolize one of the guards. "Easier, that way."

Shiloh growled lowly. "I'm telling you for the last time, I'm not going to be strung up and tortured just because you think it's 'easier'. These Redwallers might have played the generous, caring type before, but I don't know of anybeast who'd keep up that charade after we murdered two of their friends. No, there's got to be a better way."

It was a long while of strained, thoughtful silence before the ferret's voice spoke up again. "How'd yoo get caught up in all o' this, mate? Bein' a mercenary, I mean. T'weren't like ye were born to it."

Shiloh grinned mirthlessly. "That's a story long enough to fill volumes. Let's suffice to say that I fell on...hard times and it was the only way I could see to get out. Never thought I'd stay in this long, though. My plan was to go campaigning for a few seasons, get the coin I needed to head home."

Harsk picked at a corner of his ruddy tunic. "So why didn't ya?"

"I fell in love with it, the mercenary's life I mean." The fox leant back against the wall, exhaling slowly. "Lots of drink, more money than I knew what to do with, plenty of fighting, everything we'd come to enjoy on the Northeastern coasts, before-" He visibly caught himself, clamping his jaw shut for a moment. "Well, never mind. That's another story for another day." One of his ears suddenly twitched, and he sat up quickly. "And it looks like that day might be closer than we thought. Come on, get up."

They both waited apprehensively, poised for whatever might come through the now opening door. But the distinctive shape of Thorben's slightly gnarled tail relieved them both. The squirrel waved a paw hurriedly, hissing between his teeth. "Come on, we don't have much time! It's almost dawn, we gotta move now!"

The trio rushed through the open door, letting Thorben usher them along the empty, silent hallways. Echoes of their pawsteps on the stone floor were dampened by their hushed conversation.

"Where are the weapons? We need to get them before anything else."

"Down here, in a hallway closet. Come on, move yore fat tails!"

Shiloh reached into the cupboard, bringing out his bow and quiver and stringing the weapon in a flash. Worry was etched onto his features as Thorben and Harsk fished out their own arms. "Do you even have a way out?" He asked, the concern starting to show in his voice. "Or was this all just an attempt to get us all killed?"

Their rescuer, so to speak, ignored the acerbic comment. "I heard some o' the mice talking about a tunnel the moles had dug, tryin' to find some way out inta the woodlands. It's over by the east wall gate, near their little plot o' fruit trees. We should be able to sneak in without trouble."

Although he kept pace with the others, Harsk was visibly dissatisfied with their proposed method of escape. "Wait, did you say a tunnel? Uh-uh, I ain't goin' through no bloody tunnel, not a chance in 'ellgates!"

Shiloh spat back over his shoulder. "Fine, stay here and get captured again. But if you want any chance at getting home, you'll suck it up and crawl through that hole like the devil himself was chasing you!"

They slipped out of the abbey through an open window, slinking about in the pre-dawn shadows, using every scrap of darkness to hide themselves. Shiloh felt a twinge of exhilaration at the feeling of cool, damp grass beneath his footpaws and the smell of a fresh autumn morning flowing through him. Even as they made the short jaunt between the Abbey and the orchard, he was almost able to forget their situation. For a brief moment, he was back at camp, waiting on a kettle of pine tea to brew up and a kabob of roasted woodpigeon over the flames.

He was brought back to the present by the sting of a branch, whipped back into his face. Thorben was on all fours, clawing away a loose pile of dirt and loam that covered the tunnel entrance from prying eyes. The squirrel paused for only a second, making sure the bow was secure across his back before leaping into the hole. Harsk followed behind, albeit with much more hesitation.

"Do I really have ta..." He wasn't able to finish the sentence, as Shiloh's footpaw connected with the small of his back, sending the ferret head-first into the depression. Shiloh followed close behind, trying to spur his friend on. "If you don't move yourself, mate, I'm going to do it for you. And believe me, that won't be an enjoyable experience."

And then they were underground, crawling forward through a space not much bigger than themselves. Dirt clods rained down on their heads anytime one of them bumped the ceiling, and submersed tree roots tugged and clawed at their clothes. The air had already become heavy and warm, making every breath seem less satisfying than the last. The only sounds were paws scraping along the dirt and their heavy, labored breathing.

Harsk had simply closed his eyes, trembling in fear and pushed onwards only by Shiloh's occasional push. The fox could feel the dregs of terror start to rise up inside his chest, pounding at the inside of his head.

You're going to die down here! The voices screeched at him. There's no air, no light, no nothing! Turn around, run, do anything, just GET OUT!

Shiloh forced the panic down, down into the deepest parts of his mind that held such thoughts. They would fester and roil about like the demons they were, but stay locked up tight. Yet another skill he had been forced to learn since becoming a hunter of other beasts.

The darkness was more than a simple absence of light. The shadows had become a tangible force, pressing against his eyelids like a sheet of opaque cloth, dyed in the murkiest, most suffocating black that only the devil could envision. Shiloh relied simply on touch and sound, moving inch after terrifying inch along the tortuous passageway. He could hear Harsk's breathing suddenly fluctuate, like he was about to lose himself to fear.

Before he could say anything to calm his friend, Harsk began hissing excitedly, relief flooding into his voice. "I can see it! The exit, it's right there!"

Shiloh could almost feel the weight lifted off his back. They scrambled onward, pressing towards the rapidly growing light.

Light, however, was somewhat of a misnomer. It was still dark out, but to the three dirt and sweat-covered, wide-eyed beasts crawling out of a depressingly small hole in the ground, the meager starlight was brighter than any candle, almost better than daylight itself. Harsk, almost shaking with elation, took a deep breath of the cool night air. "Ahhh. smell that, mates? 's the smell o' freedom, tha's what it is! I tell ya, I never thought-"

His jubilation was cut short as Shiloh's paw wrapped itself around his snout, tugging sharply. The fox shot him a glare. "Shut up! Hell's teeth, what are you trying to do? There're at least five archers covering this spot, and there's no way they'd be able to recognize us at this range. Come on, let's find some cover."

They disappeared into a nearby thicket of underbrush, hiding in the dense clumps of clover. Shiloh glanced about, trying to find his bearings. "Alright," he whispered after a moment of silent deliberation. "As far as I can tell, we're only about four hundred paces or so from camp, due southeast. If we keep to the woodline, we'll get there soon enough without getting spotted. Let's go."

It was an easy enough task to slip between the thick stands of trees, as what little light the moon would have provided was being restrained by a heavy cloud bank sweeping in across the otherwise clear autumn night sky. The earliest fingers of dawn were just beginning to creep over the eastern horizon when Shiloh called a halt in their slow, methodical movement through the woodlands. The fox was swiveling his head left and right, actually sniffing the air.

Thorben appeared beside him, flicking his eyes between every stump or patch of shrubbery, alert for any unnatural movement. "What is it, mate?" He asked quietly. "Somethin' you don't like?"

Shiloh kept his vigil up as he replied. "We haven't seen any archers on our entire loop around these woods, and we're almost at the camp. Not even one sentry. There is definitely something I don't like." He thought for a moment, and then turned to the squirrel. "Stay here with Harsk. I'm going ahead to see what's going on. Best case scenario is they're just changing out the guard and we happened upon them at a bad time, but I want to be sure."

Thorben was about to protest at leaving him to fend for himself, but the fox had already slipped away into the pre-dawn forest.

Shiloh's hackles were already raised by the time he stole in close enough to camp to smell the cooking fires and hear the sounds of conversation. He was still too far away to make out any details, but the voices didn't sound altogether happy. He was sitting in the shadow of a large oak, trying to catch a small bit of whatever might be going on, when the clatter of chains nearby caught his immediate attention.

Not far off, chained roughly to another tree, was a rat. The figure was slouched limply against the tree, as if it were dead. But Shiloh nearly jumped out of his skin when the creature gasped for air, almost choking in the process. As he squinted to get a better look, it was clear enough to see what had happened to the poor beast.

He had been beaten savagely, to the point of missing fur and torn flesh. Blood leaked from one corner of his mouth and there were already flies starting to buzz about his head. The creature's chest was oddly disfigured, like part of it had been caved in. A rasping, wheezing noise came whenever he tried to draw breath.

Shiloh was immediately on the move, appearing at the tortured beast's side like a wraith. The rat gazed quizzically at him, as if not sure whether he was real or not. A few strangled words left his feeble lips. "Please, kill me."

Trying to keep his paws steady, Shiloh unbuckled the half-empty flask at his waist and held it up to the rat's lips. He shook his head slowly. "Not...long for the world...get away, get...away while you...while you still can!"

"Who did this to you?" He asked quietly, knowing that he had mere moments before this beast slipped away forever.

The rat was already beginning to fade. "I...I said we should...should leave, it weren't...weren't good enough fer...fer us...He...he didn't let me go, hit me...cut up me...me insides, won't let...save us, save...we..."

Shiloh grasped his shoulders, trying to pierce through the growing haze of death beginning to darken the victim's mind. "Who did this? Tell me, please!"

The rat coughed violently, speckling the fox with blood. He started to double over, gasping fruitlessly for breath. With one last burst of energy, he opened an already clouding eye. "Macepaw!" And then he died, unblinking eyes staring into space.

The sounds of the forest returned to his ringing ears as Shiloh stood up, a whipping fury staring to boil up inside him. "I'm going to kill that son of a whore," He said quietly through clenched teeth, "If it takes me twenty seasons, I'll cut him down like the worm he is."

He was too absorbed in his anger to notice the dull snapping of a wet pine branch behind him. When he turned around, all he spotted was a large, brutish figure raising something over its head. Then there was a crushing, searing pain in his skull and a burst of bright lights, and then the merciful darkness took him in its wonderful embrace.