Author's note: I know, I know, two chapters in one day, I have way to much time on my hands.

Oh and thank you to all the people who have reviewed, I have tried to keep all your comments in mind.

Disclaimer: I don't own Redwall and never will do, you should know that.

Sleep, grief and information

A drop of water fell onto Rose's ear and she looked up into the menacing sky. Huge black clouds were rolling in, masking the dark red and pink of the sunset. A huge rumble sounded nearby, with the quick dart of lightening following immediately after. Rose spun around to face her friend.

"A storm! Quick get the tent out!"

In a few moments a square of grey material was stretched between the branches of a young elder and the strong limbs of an oak. The flapping edges were weighted down with heavy stones found in the nearby stream and they both crouched underneath it, just as the rain came.

There was little or no warning before the torrent of water cascaded down into the woodlands. Flattening grass and plants, turning soil into mud and swelling streams, it thundered down, as if a mighty waterfall had been let loose.

The two maids huddled beneath their makeshift tent. Luckily, due to a plant juice that had been soaked into the material, it held strong, keeping the worst of the rain off them.

They gazed despondently out at the trees. Miserable weather has the power of making all others miserable too, so Rose took out a small wooden flute and began to blow into it, causing the instrument to hum a low, soothing melody. She nudged Ayila.

"What do you say to a song, eh? Something to cheer us up. What about 'As I strolled along the Riverbank'? It was always your favourite.

But Ayila did not seem in the mood for music or songs. In fact, she did not seem in the mood for anything apart from sleeping. She stretched and rolled over, murmuring a sleepy 'G'night Rose,' before falling into slumber.

A faint perfume stole into Rose's nostrils and her eyelids began to droop. The flute slipped from her grip and her head nodded. The scent grew stronger and she slumped to the ground, not noticing the dark shapes that loomed around them, or the roughness of rope as it was tied around their paws. She made no sound as they were carried away by the figures, clothed in robes of mottled brown, green and grey-ish black, deep into the woodlands.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Hares cannot last more than a day without complaining at least ten times that they are hungry. It is a well known fact.

The remaining hares of the Long Patrol, however, are an exception to this rule.

They had not eaten for days and their hunger showed in their eyes. Many had open wounds that they made no effort to staunch. The fatally wounded were stretched out on the grass, a score of them, waiting to die. All was lost. Salamandastron had fallen.

Theirs had been a magnificent last stand. Standing on the very summit of the mountain, raining fire and arrows upon the sea of vermin. And then, when all had been used up, charging from the top of the mountain and into the mass. They had done mighty damage, considering their small number.

But, it did not change the stark truth. They had been defeated. They had lost. The Long Patrol, were famed throughout the land as the upholders of justice and good. Even without a Badger Ruler, they were a formidable force. The tales went back through seasons of their mighty victories against overwhelming odds. When Lord Stonepaw had fallen, when the mountain had been attacked by Farahgo the Assassin, when they had accompanied Tiria Wildlough to the Green Isle.

But this time, there were simply too many for them to fight.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Honeysuckle Daisybine gazed at the rain that fell about her. She knew that it was soaking her fur and flattening her ears, but she somehow could not feel it. It was as if she had floated out of her mind as she sat, gazing at nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing and thinking nothing.

It was all lost. All that she had ever hoped and dreamed of. The mountain fortress of Salamandastron had been taken by vermin, and she and her fellow warriors had been running ever since.

The vague sounds of orders being shouted and beasts moving drifted back to her and she remembered how to move. She turned her head, taking in the scene with dull eyes.

They had found an old cave, situated in a large pine grove, close to Salamandastron. The fatally wounded had been laid at the back, where there was a natural carpet of soft sand and pine needles. The front entrance was guarded by the few hares who were able to fight. The rest lay exhausted, hungry and empty, trying to fall asleep.

Honeysuckle became aware of the old hare standing in front of her and automatically shot upright and snapped her eyes to the front. The hare smiled sadly and raised his paws. "At ease. Honeysuckle, help the others inside the cave. It's lashing down with rain," he smiled humourlessly "Or hadn't you noticed?"

Honeysuckle jerked herself awake and blinked, as if coming out of a deep sleep. She threw up a salute. "Yes sir."

"Good gal, dismissed."

She ran off and began to help the wounded into the relative dryness of the cave. Sergeant Flax looked after her and nodded approvingly. "Chin up," he murmured "Chin up, wot."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Tula Whitethorn did not sleep. She did not need to. Her senses were always razor sharp. Her eyes as keen a hawk's, ears that could hear the sound of a feather touching the ground and a nose that, it was said, could smell a scent that was three days old.

She wandered her new fortress, whilst others slept. Every time she passed a guard or hordebeast, they would avert their eyes and stop, dead-still, until she had passed by.

It was on one of her night-time wanderings, that a strange mood possessed her. Tula always kept her feelings to herself; she never showed temper or pleasure, unlike her sister, but now, a thin smile crossed her lips and she hummed the tune to a song as she strode purposefully along corridors and through still, dark rooms.

She had just received some very good news from Chubb, a robin she kept in her employ. It seemed that her sister had not been very thorough in capturing Redwall Abbey. Some beasts had escaped and formed a resistance with some silly name like Carum or Charal. No wait, she had it, Corim. Her smile widened. It seemed that the…Corim was sending messages to their little friends inside Redwall. News of her sister's movements and their own plans for setting the slaves free. She was so pleased with herself that she rubbed her hands together, gloating.

Her sister would be very pleased with this information. It just had to come at the right price.

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