Chapter Four - A River Runs Red

Mariel watched quietly as the lonely form paced along the shoreline and stared out to sea. After what seemed like ages, she picked her way across the rocky beach to the beast's side.

"You love the sea," she murmured; a statement, not a question.

The other beast was silent for another long moment.

"I do," Keyba replied.

The former oarslave turned to face the pretty mousemaid at his side and was entranced by the moonlight shining in her eyes.

"I want to slay Darkgor and vanquish his hordes from these lands of my ancestors," he told her softly, "and then I want to sail on with you and Dandin and Bowly."

Mariel allowed herself a little smile. There was something about Keyba that spoke to her heart. She felt as if she might be the only one who could see him as he really was.

"Nothing would make me happier," she assured him.

They turned as one to silently gaze out to sea once more. A few yards inland Dandin stood atop a low dune watching the pair. Bowly panted his way up to Dandin's side and took in the scene as well.

"Let them be, Dandin," he told his friend before turning away. "Mariel knows what she's doing."

Dandin's eyes were downcast now. Emotions battled for a foothold in a heart that had simultaneously dropped into his gut and risen like a lump in his throat.

"That's what I'm afraid of, old friend," he whispered - more to himself than to Bowly.

Rawbuck the Mad opened his eyes... and blinked. He was either dreaming or there was an otter with a head-dress of reeds standing over him. Behind the strange beast's head Rawbuck could see a canopy of misty treetops. He closed his eyes, opened them again. The otter was still there.

"The name's Quinn."

"If you mean to slay me just get on with it, riverdog," Rawbuck rasped wearily - all he could muster as a snarl at the moment. "If not, would you kindly fetch me some water. My throat is parched."

The otter chuckled, a rumbling sound rolling deep from his ample belly. He passed a flask of water carefully to Rawbuck's scarred and trembling paws.

"I dug an arrow out of yore insides not too long ago, friend," Quinn told Rawbuck, eyeing the squirrel as he thirstily drank his fill. " 'Tis a miracle that you're drawing breath at all."

Rawbuck set the flask aside soon enough and turned a pair of cold, hard eyes on the otter. He ignored the friendly beast's words.

"Those vermin murdered my daughter Holly," he spat. "I will have my vengeance. The River Krash will run red with the blood of Darkgor the Wicked and his horde. This I swear on my daughter's name."

Quinn nodded solemnly in the heavy silence that followed this.

"Two of ours were murdered as well that day," he told Rawbuck, "along with countless others in the seasons since those savages first came to this land. We will have our debt paid in blood, too. That day will come.. but it is not this day."

He laid a careful paw on Rawbuck's shoulder. That shoulder was quaking with restrained sobs.

"We must marshal our forces," he continued softly, "and you must recover, friend."

Rawbuck finally nodded, the madness in his wide eyes briefly fading even as they glittered with unshed tears. Quinn squeezed the squirrel's shoulder once respectfully before turning to leave him.

"Soon, Holly," Rawbuck the Mad murmured.