A/N: In case anyone's confused about Castus and Raya's age, I'd place them in the 15-17 seasons bracket. Or years, whichever you prefer. I just imagined they'd be called youngsters and children in terms of their experience with the wider world rather than to imply they're only ten years old or something. And if I still need a disclaimer... Redwall belongs to Brian Jacques. Not I.

WARNING: Long chapter full of character development, violence, and win. Actually I'm not too happy with this one. But I figured, if I've been gone so long, come back with a bang, yes?

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Every instinct told him to run. Every breath of air that ripped through his lungs with the power of a thousand icy knives only spurred him on, pumping his aching legs and his heaving chest to get as much distance out of them as fast as possible. They couldn't stop. Couldn't slow down. They'd die if they did.

Castus and Raya had been running for quite some time now. The moon had moved through the sky, coming near the horizon, showing that dawn was just under an hour away. But Castus would not feel any better when the sun started shining. It would only make them and their tracks easier to spot. The only thing to do was run, and keep running, and never, ever stop. He didn't know where they were going, only that their legs were taking them south. He had never been to the south before. He had never even been out of Greymarch before. The farthest he'd ever gone was the borders of Birchshire, and that was all. He and Raya were at a total loss as what to do. It wasn't as though Castus had gone nosing about in the archives and memorized all the maps, as much as he had fantasized about faraway lands.

He rather wished he had now.

Though they'd been on the run for, he was certain, over three hours, he didn't quite feel the strain as much as Raya. He had been trying to pace their movement, alternating between leaping through the trees and hustling along the ground, giving only the slightest of breaks and giving Raya a shove when he needed it. The poor mouse was not built for distance, just speed, and he kept stumbling, barely able to talk through his gasping, heaving breaths. Both of them had slowed down considerably, down to a jog for Castus and a staggering limp for Raya, but even that felt far too fast. Though they were both fit youngsters in their prime, they had just suffered over a week of malnutrition and stress. Castus did not feel like he was stretching muscles that had burned for freedom. He felt like he was ripping up muscles that would rather not go anywhere at all. Behind him, Raya at last began to flag, dropping down on all fours. His limbs were trembling and his tongue hung limply out of his gaping, gasping mouth.

"Can't... can't go..." he managed to whisper through shivering, exhaustion, and a parched throat.

"Can't go, Castus... you... you go..."

"Shut up," Castus demanded as he returned to retrieve his friend. He bent down, grabbed him round the shoulders, and began half carrying, half dragging him across the forest floor. His legs complained severely at the extra burden they had to lug along, but he ignored it, squinting his eyes. He just had to put one paw in front of another.

"Not gonna... not gonna leave... just be quiet... let me do the walking."

Raya did not argue with him, nor did he even seem able to. He did manage to throw a limp arm up over Castus' shoulder, grabbing his fur with a weak grip. Castus wished they hadn't used their tunics as a flimsy disguise for their escape. Now he was down to a kilt and Raya to his breeches, and they had only their fur to protect against the cold nights (though fur was much better than nothing). What next, they'd use their undergarments as fuel for a fire?

At least the fog was starting to gather, which might help to confound whatever pursuit Kaltag would send after them. If they were coming after the escapees, Castus had a feeling they wouldn't last very long, and distance was their only defense. And that was why they had to keep moving, had to keep running. Except, he wasn't really running now so much as plodding. With the added weight of carrying Raya, he felt his legs finally begin to feel the strain, and he became slower and slower as they went along, until he was barely even walking.

"No..." he whispered in defiance of his body's needs, knowing in his heart of hearts they hadn't gone far enough yet. Something told him they had to keep moving, to just take one more step, drag themselves over one more hillock.

"No," he said again, his voice more resolute. He put on an extra burst of speed, and his head exploded with stars for some reason, and a cold chill went over his body. He realized he was coming close to passing out. He forced himself, forced his body to obey him and keep moving. There was no choice. It was either move, or die under Kaltag's whip come this time tomorrow.

Once more. Left, right, left, right, ignore the pain, just breathe and breathe deeply. Take strength from the air of the North, remember your lineage and your pride. Would those heroes you read about stop walking? With a friend's life at stake?

Through the haze of unfeeling, there came from a distance a familiar, comforting noise: running water. Quite a lot, by the sound of it. Emboldened by a chance to put a real obstacle in the way of their pursuers, he continued on, slowly losing touch with just how much he needed rest. It didn't seem important anymore. Nothing did, except taking one more step, never ceasing, never slowing. He felt like his body had long since stopped actually moving, and was simply floating along now. He wasn't going to last much longer, no matter how much he inspired himself. His body was simply reaching his limit. He couldn't see it, but the moon had dipped below the horizon. Morning was coming. The chase would begin, and if he didn't put a good safe few miles between him and the slavers, escape would be impossible.

The water itself was not as voluminous as he'd expected, but it would do. It was more a stream than anything else, wide enough for four or five shrew logboats to go side-by-side with relative ease, and the sight of water foaming over the crest of rocks below said that it wasn't too deep. But Raya pointed out the real problem.

"Run-off from the mountains," he said in a hushed voice. "It's too early to forge. It's freezing cold, Castus."

The squirrel stared blankly at the waters, looking to the left, and then to the right. There was no easy way across. He could see cresting foam here and there... he estimated it was no more than waist deep. He could do it. All he had to do was walk across it, and then he could rest. He couldn't stop here, though it was what he wanted to do more than anything else. He was about to keel over from exhaustion, his legs still hadn't worked out all the cramps in them, he was dehydrated and felt he could drink up the whole river. But if he did stop here, he'd never wake up, and this river was the only thing that might throw off or deter their pursuers. And he couldn't take the chance they weren't going to be chased for a little while at least.

All he had to do was get across.

"Hold on," he said to Raya. The mouse started shaking his head.

"No, no!" he gasped. "I can't, Castus! I'm so tired... we'll drown!"

"It's just water, Raya. Won't even reach my waist."

"Freezing cold water... you only need to step in it and you're gone!"

"That's not true, Raya... and you'll ride through it."

"You'll fall."

"I won't. If we don't cross now we might not get a chance in the morning."

Raya hung his head in dejection.

"I... I hate water."

"You go boating in the lake all the time..."

"Well I hate drowning then!" Raya snapped impatiently. "Even if we make it across our legs'll fall off from the cold! Can we not wait for morning? My ribs still hurt from that pummeling Scutnose gave me..."

"No. Morning's not far off anyhow, and then we'll really need to move," Castus said, feeling himself start to come down from the excitement, start to really feel the ache and lead weight of his limbs to the point where he didn't want to stand any more. They were wasting too much time here.

"Here," the squirrel said, and without a word grabbed Raya and pulled him onto his back. His legs cried out in complaint; Raya was short, but that didn't mean he was light. His breathing could barely adjust for the stocky weight. But it was only a little farther now. Only a little farther.

"I'm going... I'm going to do it," Castus said. "Hold up my tail, Raya."

"No no no no no..." Raya replied with a shake of his head, gripping Castus so tightly around the chest that he was suffocating the poor squirrel.

Castus knew he could not think. He couldn't hesitate, not even for a moment. If he stopped in the middle for even a second it would have been a second too long. So much could go wrong. He could step on a rock the wrong way and get a cut that would grow infected, or make him bleed to death. He could fall right over and plunge them both into freezing cold water, where they'd die before the sun even got to peek up over the trees. He could get across and then be too debilitated to go farther into cover and they'd be seen from the opposite bank.

Every moment he wasn't moving, he could imagine the crash of slavers running through the woods, getting ever closer. A thought occurred to him. What if all this running was for nothing? Were the slavers really going to chase them? What was the point of going after two slaves when they had a whole boatload already? Couldn't they just stop here and rest, maybe find a way across further downstream? If the slavers weren't chasing them, this was all a big waste of time and there'd be nothing to worry about.

But if Castus was wrong they were dead. There was no way they could outrun professional slavers, who could easily track the stumbling, haggard trail they had left behind them, and on top of that this was area of the woods they knew nothing about. And there was the real reason they had been brought out here to consider. There was a war on. His town probably leveled, his family killed or on the run. He had to find them. Even if they weren't being pursued, these were dangerous woods, with wolves and soldiers and slavers all about. Wasn't it worth it to get through them as fast as possible?

He looked desperately up and downstream once more, hoping a solution would reveal itself. Nothing. Only the river and his own legs, and the way forward.

This is it, he thought. Great seasons, I hope somebeast is looking out for me up there...

He plunged into the water and cried out as a thousand icy needles slashed into his flesh, nearly making him stumble right then and there. The cold was terrible, smacking into his body like a falling sycamore, almost stunning him into immobility then and there. Immediately it began sapping his energy as quickly as the running had. The young squirrel kept his tail high and struggled as the water got deeper, up to his thighs, then his hips, and then to his stomach. He cried out as the bottom of his tail dipped into the water, and Raya shivered, closing his eyes tight as his footpaws were submerged, flooding his mind with thoughts of some happier days to try and drown out the freeze that was quickly working its way up his legs. He was honestly wondering where Castus was getting all this energy; he knew he was ready to just drop down and sleep for days. But somehow, his friend was powering on.

Since he wasn't doing anything except clinging to Castus for dear life, Raya found himself admiring his friend in the back of his mind. The squirrel always looked like a soft dreamer who would turn tail at the first sign of danger. But Raya knew him better. He would never call Castus a coward... foolishly naive and overly sensitive sometimes, certainly, but a coward? He'd lay out flat the first beast who called his friend that. Of course, since his legs were slowly freezing, it was hard to give the squirrel compliments of any kind. He had an instinctive fear of drowning, stemming from childhood nightmares following the death of his uncle in a frozen lake. It was easy enough to hide it behind his tough demeanor back home, but out here, where they really could die, and there was no mother to run to after a nightmare, the fear was much more palpable.

But Castus, for all his spirited determination, could not keep up the pace. His legs felt like they had been severed, and his vision was blurred. He knew he was going to drop eventually. All at once, like the shock of the cold water, the realization that this hadn't been a very good idea crashed in on him. Still, if he could just make it to where they weren't going to be washed away by the current, he just might be able to last until the sun started to warm things up again. He powered on as best he could, shaking his head furiously. He wouldn't give up. He couldn't! Not here, not now! He wasn't going to drown in just three feet of cold water. He would make it. He would, just like his heroes. He'd push himself across and then give himself a rest, and his body could take its complaints down to Hellgates for all he cared. He stomped one footpaw down, then the other, determined to reach the shore that was so tantalizingly close...

He didn't make it. With the water still up to his thighs, he suddenly, simply collapsed. It was almost petulant, the way his legs simply dropped out from under him, now nothing but leaden weights that would not move no matter how much he tried to tug and pull. He had a fleeting sensation of his stomach going up to his throat, heard Raya yell something angry and sarcastic, and then cold water splashed up and over his head.

The first and last thing he thought was how surprisingly painless blacking out was.

And then, suddenly, he was on dry ground. Everything seemed mixed together though. He knew he was awake, but he didn't feel like it, and everything was moving fast and slow at the same time, slow enough that the smallest movement took an eternity, faster than his mind could register and remember later. He was being dragged over the ground, and somebeast was saying something in a warbling, mumbled voice. Or was it his hearing was just shot? Had his ears frozen solid before dawn and snapped off? His eyes went blank again.

When conscious thought returned once more, he was still, with his back on the ground. Or maybe he was just floating. Nothing really felt as it should, except for the fact that he was warm. This struck him as quite odd, since he was quite sure that just a moment ago he was submerged under freezing cold water, about to die a slow and painful death by hypothermia or drowning. But instead, he felt very much alive and well. He tried to open his eyes, but they refused. An agonizing brightness was in them, making him squint them shut again. Still the brightness persisted. Was this a dream, he wondered? Was he before Dark Forest Gates already, waiting to receive entrance? Through the foggy haze his mind was still wandering in, he wondered for a moment if his family was there. It was enough to send a stab of misery through his heart. The family line ended here, did it? At least they'd be together, away from war and destruction. Saved by death from a lifetime of hardship. From wanting to be a hero.

Castus tried to raise his paw to block out the brightness, finding humor in the fact that Dark Forest was actually quite bright.

He didn't so much as twitch before a cramping pain shot up his arm. The squirrel was jerked rudely into wakefulness, but that didn't help matters because he was finally realizing how terribly tired he was. That made him just want to go back to sleep, but he could not. He remembered, vaguely, why he was here. They were supposed to still be running. The slavers would be upon them any moment!

He wanted to get up, he wanted to, but his limbs wouldn't let him. He did manage to get his arms under him, but pushing up was another matter entirely. It was a laborious, heaving effort that made him shove himself up even the barest of distances. He wasn't exhausted, he told himself. Just stiff from the cold. As soon as he started moving again, he would be better. He felt the dirt under his paws, and gripped it tightly, crunching the bits of decayed wood and plant matter between his claws.

"So," a brittle, elderly voice said to his right, "you're waking up?"

Castus collapsed back onto his chest with a whoosh of released breath, and twisted onto his side rather than expend the energy to rise.

Slowly, his vision was starting to clear. The brightness was flickering and dancing around in his eyes. He blinked, and the dancing lights coalesced into a large flame. It was, he soon discovered, a comfortable fire dug into a shallow pit, blazing merrily and offering up a heat more relaxing than any Castus had ever known, the soothing kind that blanketed stiff, frigid bodies like his. The sky was of course grey with clouds, which would probably start another torrent of spring rain any day now. And all around was mist. Dark Forest, Castus wondered? No, he was still in pain, still tired and still so disappointed that he had not achieved a goal as simple as forging a river. Dark Forest, it was said, took away worries and anxieties like that.

"I hope the fire's big enough," the frail voice said again. "Couldn't get much firewood out of the house. Little Darcy always complains if the air isn't to 'er likin', bless her liddle 'eart."

Castus focused in on the source of the voice. It was a skinny, grey-furred mouse very advanced in age, stoking the fire with a short stick. His only garment was a dirty, plain tunic that reached down past his knees. He looked unwashed and slumped over; all of his movements were slow and purposeful. Age had long ago caught up with this one. Castus found he could only stare before he remembered how to use his mouth again.

"R... Raya," he rasped.

"Right behind you," was the answer. Castus spun his head so hard it hurt, eager to get a glimpse of his friend. And there he was, right at Castus' outstretched footpaws, a blanket now covering his bare chest and back, and something like an affectionate scowl on his face. Some of his fur was still damp, and he was sitting very, very close to the fire. Castus' heart leaped, unlike the rest of him.

"We're... we're alive," he murmured, trying to heave himself upright. Raya snorted, which seemed to use a lot of energy as he bowed his head and seemed to fall asleep, though he still talked.

"Aye, no thanks to you, mate... luckily... this here old one was there to pick us up. I've... been awake about an hour now."

Castus blinked rapidly as he somehow managed to get one leg under him, letting him collapse back against a tree. He lay there, paws in the air like a grasping babe, before speaking again.

"The slavers..."

"No sign of 'em," Raya answered dully. "Yet, anyway."

"If you were bein' pursued," the old mouse said, "you're likely safe on this side of the river. So many... so many troubles these days, even slavers will stick to themselves," he exclaimed, wheezing as he did so. He seemed to bow under a great weight from those words. "So much trouble. Little Darcy still finds time to cry, though, bless her 'eart."

Castus stared at Raya, who shrugged. Apparently he hadn't had the privilege of meeting Darcy yet.

"Where... where are we?"

"Just a little ways south o' the river you were forgin', a bit north o' the village of Stillglade," the mouse replied. "A right mess I found you two in. Luckily me an' Darcy were out for a... a little stroll. Same as you. We live in Stillglade, you know. Cheerful little place it is, always bein' visited by squirrels an' moles."

"Stroll?" Raya asked incredulously. "Sir, don't you know? These woods are fair teeming with wolves and slavers! Isn't there a war on?"

The old mouse pinched his eyes shut and a pained look flashed over his features. "Oh, I know about that, lad," he said in a hushed, tight voice that was so strained it sounded like his throat was cracking. "I, I know... I know. But that doesn't mean we can't have a meal, does it?"

Castus and Raya sprang up like they had forgotten all about the frigid river.

The mouse had collected a good assortment of nuts, berries, roots, and other woodland plants and herbs. Nothing that said he had just come out for a picnic from his village, the youngsters noted, but also nothing they would turn down after weeks of gruel. They ate at the meager provisions as though a famine were about to strike, while the old mouse chewed thoughtfully on a tuber.

Castus's paws were still stiff, and he sat as close to the fire as he dared. The heat felt so good on his bare chest. Surely, they would have frozen to death or stayed lost had this old mouse not come along. Either they were very lucky, or they had somebeast in Dark Forest watching out for them! And if the slavers had not caught up with the now, perhaps they really were safe.

He glanced over at Raya, who seemed to be having similar thoughts. There was a small smile on his face and berry juice on his chin as he gnawed on a parsnip. They had been through so much, yet just a simple meal given in kindness was enough for them both. It was strange how quickly a full stomach could change one's mood. And yet, Castus could not help but feel a pang of guilt for what had happened. What if that old mouse hadn't come along just then? Would he have really drowned? Would they have gone the wrong way, gotten themselves caught or killed? Castus had fallen. That was plain enough. He had failed in a way, or so he felt.

"I'm going to collect little Darcy," the old mouse said. "You two stay here and eat."

He walked into the woods a ways, and Castus took the opportunity to turn to his friend. Now that things were, at last, somewhat quiet and peaceful, he had to get the growing ache out of his chest. He needed absolution.

"Raya," he said quietly, struggling to keep his jaws moving, "about... about the river." The mouse looked up at Castus, apparently bemused. "And about... about everything," the squirrel continued, making Raya raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"Everything?" he asked. Castus held up a paw and spoke right over him.

"Yes, everything. I... I wanted to go into that stupid hall and figure out what those vermin were up to. I wanted to stay behind, get involved, I... I wanted to try and figure things out, Raya! I'm the one who got us into this in the first place, it's my fault we were separated from our parents and lost in the woods!"

He suddenly felt he couldn't stop himself. For days he had been brimming with guilt over what had happened, and seeing the still fresh bruises on Raya's body only spurred him on. He couldn't stop himself once he had started.

"Raya, all this time I've been such a fool, just a young, stupid, irresponsible fool. I wanted to be a hero and I got us almost killed, got us chained up, got you beaten when it should have been me to take all that punishment! It was me who crawled onto the roof of that hall and got us caught. It was me who forced you into that fight, me who tried to cross that river and almost drowned us, it was... it was all me, Raya!"

He collapsed back against a tree, breathing hard and looking at his paws. They were shaking. Raya stared in silence, a root halfway to his mouth.

"Ever... everything that we've been through, and I could have just... could have just stayed at home and helped mother with the chores. We could be with them now, with our families, dead or alive, we'd be together. And now all we can do is run for our lives and hope that somewhere they're all right. I... I don't even know if we're going to be all right. I tried to do something for us, for the town, for... for myself. We still don't know anything and we're being hunted. Nothing good came of it. Nothing at all..."

He didn't move, and neither did Raya, it seemed. Silence fell over the small campsite. It was then Castus felt a paw on his shoulder. Raya was next to him, smiling.

"Don't worry about it," was all he said, and patted Castus' shoulder. When the squirrel only stared dumbly at him, Raya shook his head.

"Look, Castus, sometimes you are a fool, all right? You never speak up except when you shouldn't, you never said a word to Theresa when you should have, you were always far too obedient and respectful for your own good, you're more sensitive than a newborn babe, and you listen to too many ruddy stories. But I do know that it took both of us to get out of that camp. I don't care that I got a little roughed up, that happens all the time. Maybe I kind of care we almost drowned, forging that river was still a dumb idea, in my opinion. But you wanted to push on when I was ready to give up. You wanted to stand up for that poor hedgehog. You wanted to try and stop the slavers. I was ready to just sit back and get angry at everything like I usually do."

He leaned back and spread his paws.

"We're here, Castus. We're alive. I should take some of the blame, I didn't snap at you enough to think sensibly. But listen. Some bad things have happened, right? But that's just... how things turned out. You and me aren't heroes, we never were meant to be. But you tried, and you helped us get out alive. If we had stayed on that side of the river, we'd have probably been caught. That mouse never would have found us and this meal wouldn't be in our stomachs. Look, I... I only know that we shouldn't be accusing ourselves of things that sometimes just... happen. Leave it to the storytellers to figure out who's to blame. I'm alive, you're alive, and we're on the move to wherever our families are. I'm not happy with how things are. But feeling guilty isn't something I do, and I'm not going to let you do it either. You showed some brave stuff back there, Castus. Stuff that I'd never do myself. And if that spirit holds, I'm fairly certain we can handle anything."

It didn't make Castus smile, nor did it make him feel any better. But it did make him nod, and see the sense of not wasting time crying over bygones. Perhaps he hadn't done as much as he had thought he would. But maybe that wasn't the point. Maybe all that really did matter was that they were still able to carry on.

"Thanks, Raya," he said. The mouse smiled, somewhat half-heartedly, and the meal progressed awkwardly onward. Castus wondered vaguely how old little Darcy was, and why such an old beast was caring for her in the woods. A babe should have parents to do that, right? Rather like how he should have his parents now.

The old mouse came shambling back after that, holding a small bundle to his chest.

"Finished, have we?" he asked, grinning. Several of his teeth were missing.

"Well, come on lads," he said, kicking dirt over the fire. "We need to get moving. Stillglade isn't far from here, and, um... well. We should get back afore nightfall."

"You mean it hasn't been attacked? You're certain?" Raya asked. The old mouse nodded tremulously.

"Oh, well, it has, but... it's not in that bad a shape," he said, smiling weakly. Castus and Raya shared a glance. Both of them were starting to think this kindly creature wasn't as stable as they'd hoped.

It was then they both caught the smell. It hit their noses like a maiden's slap, making them recoil instinctively. It was a rank, bitter, coppery odor that made them think of many horrid possibilities. Covering their noses didn't help. The old mouse finished putting out the fire and hefted his bundle, smiling obliviously.

"Little Darcy didn't want anythin'. I keep tryin' ta' feed her, but she doesn't want to get fat like her old Da, nope. She's too young for that. So... so young..."

He licked his lips and bent down to pick up what was left of the food. The bundle in his arms was very, very still for a presumed babe. A terrible, crawling, nasty feeling began to slither up Castus and Raya's spines.

The old mouse pulled back the folds of the cloth bundle.

Large, hauntingly empty eyes stared at them out of a small, broken head. The little mouse was completely still. The old one shushed her mindlessly and began cooing to the long dead babe. Inside the folds of cloth, dry blood was everywhere and having it exposed to the air only made the smell worse. Castus thought for the barest of horrible moments that he could see little white flecks of bone.

The stench of blood was thick in the air. Castus thought for just the barest of moments that it really was just a bad smell, but there was only one place that it could be coming from, in the babe's bundle, and then his head was spinning and Raya was coughing to cover up his dry heaves and suddenly, things just didn't seem as hopeful anymore. Castus collapsed to his paws and knees, staring at the ground as the gravity of their situation collapsed on him. They were stuck with a madbeast. The prospects of meeting anything living in Stillglade had just been stabbed through the heart.

He dropped his forehead against the ground and gagged as bile crept into the back of his throat. He shut his eyes, trying to forget the awful, awful emptiness he had seen in that pitiable, rotting carcass. It didn't work. Not in the slightest.

The old mouse rambled on to the dead babe in his arms.

"She just... needs to be washed up, that's all. She just needs takin' care of... she's still so young... so young..."

------

The trip to Stillglade did not take very long at all. It had actually not taken very long for Castus and Raya to recover from their shock, both of them knowing that it was pointless to try and reason with the poor old mouse. He looked so absolutely pathetic clutching that poor, still body that neither of them had the heart to try and convince him that it was a fruitless endeavor. But nevertheless, despite his lack of many other senses, he stuck with them until they were done whispering in hushed voices about him, pointing at each other and at him as they walked along.

"I'm telling you it's madness to stay with him!" Raya had snapped. "What use is it going to a village that's probably not there anymore? If he thinks that poor little thing is alive, I'm willing to bet that village is a smoking wreck!"

"Nevertheless," Castus had replied evenly, "it'd be unfair to just leave him to fend for himself! And besides, even if the villagers aren't there there has to be something! Shelter, maybe clothes. I'm not going to walk around in a kilt all the way to the borders of Greymarch!"

"Be that as it may," Raya said harshly, "what are you going to do after we get there? We can't let him tag along!"

"And why not?" Castus retorted. "Are we just going to leave him to die in the woods?"

Raya didn't have an answer for that. He just knew, he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea for the old mouse to stick around. Their luck had held so far, but it wouldn't last. It couldn't, not when Castus was trying to pick up a charity case... no, a basket case. The way the old mouse kept grinning and speaking to the wretched, dead babe was putting him off to no end. He just wanted to be away from that terrible sight. Those eyes that didn't see anything anymore, and the awful, unforgettable smell of blood and slowly decomposing flesh, on a child... it made him shudder inside, made him want to forget everything and just start running again, run like he never had before, and not look back. Nevertheless, he followed Castus faithfully, more to keep him out of more trouble than anything else.

Neither of them could have anticipated what awaited them.

At first, it was a smell, like that of dead Darcy, that alerted them to the true fate of the village. It was the acrid scent of smoke and ash that permeated the air long before they even reached the place, making Castus and Raya bow their heads and squint their eyes, and the old mouse muttered to his deceased charge, "Cover your nose, little Darcy."

Stillglade was an apt description for the place. Not a sound was heard, not a bird in the air, not a rustle in the trees. Castus and Raya could see some wisps of smoke still threading through the air. The smell got worse, and for some inexplicable reason, Castus quickened his pace. A crawling, slimy feeling was working its way up from his stomach, like when he had seen poor Darcy, only this time, it was a hundred times worse. He had to look. He had to see. He knew, he knew with more and more certainty in each step what had happened, but still his mind was in denial.

In his and Raya's minds, Stillglade kept getting replaced by Birchtown.

Raya, behind the squirrel, called out for him to slow down, that it was useless now, but Castus did not heed him. The mouse sighed and sped up to a jog, leaving the old mouse waddling along behind them.

Castus' eyes began to burn from the stench. It wasn't just burning wood. It was flesh he could smell now. He had never smelt it before, but in the black corners of his mind, where fear and instinct ruled, he knew. Those same dark recesses screamed at him to turn back while he still could. But he didn't. He had to find them, to at least let them know that somebeast had witnessed their death and would carry it to others.

Raya was not so sensitive. He wanted away from this place, from that doddering old mouse, he wanted out of here and now. But his friend kept moving, and he was yanked along with him, as though an invisible tether bound them. Perhaps it had always been there, but he had never felt it so keenly, never wanted their bond broken so much as now.

Castus sped up again. Trees and bushes whacked him in the face, and then he was leaping over a large stone, crashing through a tangle of saplings, passing by an abandoned woodcutter's lodge, and then up a small hill... and then there he was.

The first clue he got that he had arrived was the palisade around the village. It had been necessary to construct such defenses for many towns, especially those looking to expand. But this was no longer a wall. It just a pile of shattered wood. All around the perimeter, it had been pulled down to remove traces of the village, and to allow the forest to reclaim the area.

Inside the former circle of protection was a pit of horror.

Stillglade had once held at least three dozen small homes and buildings. None were untouched. None were able to be lived in again. All had been burned. Inside the palisade circle, the ground was charred and ashen, a place where nothing would grow for some time. There was nothing green left inside it. Whatever vegetation the former inhabitants had allowed to grow inside their walls had joined the pyre. The former dwellings were just piles of blackened, charred wood. The skeletons and walls of some former homes were still standing, even if they were nothing but black lines scored into an already dead landscape, a mute and ghastly testament to the lives that had once flourished under their watch.

Castus took a step forward, his mouth dropping open in shock, his paws hanging limply at his sides. He was unable to think. Unable to comprehend that so many lives had been snuffed out here. That a place big enough to need a wall, loved enough to be given a name, safe enough to be lived in, could be so utterly and thoroughly smashed into the dirt. That in the space of a single night of destruction and carnage, it could simply cease to exist, that a home, a home that he could have loved and cherished and grown up in, could be blasted out of sight and mind by one impulse of hatred.

Raya was right behind him, and his paws were clasped over his chest, his eyes wide and his whiskers twitching wildly. Other than that he seemed a good deal more composed than Castus. More alert, more aloof. But unable to avoid the horror of this devastation. The same thought was on both of their minds.

Is this what happened to us?

Castus began moving forward yet again. Raya grabbed his arm

"Castus, no," he pleaded hoarsely, but the squirrel didn't listen. Raya groaned and pulled his whiskers as his friend adamantly stepped beyond the palisade and into the village. Back home it had been Raya making all the stupid decisions. Now, here, where things were a matter of life and death, his overly sensitive friend was the one never listening to common sense!

The old mouse tottered after Castus like a limp duckling following its mother. Left alone on the perimeter, Raya trudged in soon afterward, wanting to vomit every time his footpaw touched the dead ground beneath. Castus would probably need a shoulder to cry on after all this, so it might as well be his.

Castus walked past the desolate corpses of former dwellings. The fire had come through quick and dirty, leaving many buildings gutted but mostly still standing. They were dangerously unstable, but he walked amongst them anyway. He licked his lips, but his tongue was dry. His eyes felt puffy and tender all of a sudden, but there were no tears behind them. There was nothing. Nothing but dull, incomprehensible fear and sadness. When a vagrant breeze blew through, he imagined he could still hear the crackle of flames, the screams of the dying.

How?

He knelt down in front of a hut that had had the good fortune to keep the skeleton of its roof at least. Remains of a home were still inside. He could see a broken, sad little table there, a chair here, remains of bed cloth on the ground there.

"How?" he repeated in a whisper, as one who was dying.

"War," was the answer behind him. The old mouse was staring blankly at the young squirrel, watching as his mind battled between pragmatism and despair, between hope and misery.

Castus knew it was probably disrespectful, but he crossed the threshold and went inside. He was stepping on ash, and the thought would have disgusted him if he could actually think.

Children had run on the same floor, had slept in the same beds, had run inside to the same parents. Little ones. And growing ones like him. Lives had been here, now gone, all gone. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

And he had survived by pure chance?

"Where are all the villagers?" he murmured, and ironically stumbled on an actual skeleton in that same instance.

Raya watched as Castus' footpaw dragged up somebeast's arm, or what was left of it. A grasping, skeletal paw soon followed, black like the rest of the village.

Castus recoiled in horror and fell on his backside, crab-walking back into the street. His breathing was shallow and wheezy. All at once it was plain to him. Everywhere he looked now he could see the bodies; he had seen one and now he recognized them all where they fell, and it was impossible to avoid. Here was the body of a mole, his twisted, mangled corpse still sizzling. There were the bodies of two otters, side by side against a wall. A hedgehog's quills stuck up from under a pile of ruins. Death was everywhere. Raya knelt next to him, wondering if he was about to snap.

"I... I was the one who decided to leave," Castus said in a quivering voice. "I was the one who wanted to go. I was the one who got us captured."

"Yes," Raya said quietly.

"I... our home... we left, and we survived, and we avoided... this..." Castus began shaking visibly.

"Oh, Raya!" he cried. "It just... it just isn't fair! How... our home... it's... it's gone. Like this. But we survived because we... because I wanted to be..."

He put his paws over his face and began crying.

"What if... what if Birchtown is... I think it really is..."

"Don't say that," Raya said quickly. "Don't."

"I'm scared, Raya."

"Me too."

Raya had no further answer except to put his arms around Castus and let him rest against him. Both of them cried, but quietly, each supporting the other. There was no sobbing. Tears simply flowed in silence. Tears for the home they had lost, in both mind and heart now, for the beasts who had died. For the fear and uncertainty that they could be wrong, that Birchtown's inhabitants and their families could have escaped, but that hope would only make it so much worse to uncover the truth. They cried for the poor beasts who they had left behind, both in Birchtown and that awful slave train, who would never even be able to return home and cry for their loved ones. They cried for little Darcy and the others, young and old, who had died and would die before this was over. And they cried for each other. For the loneliness they suddenly felt, realizing that this was a bigger, meaner world than they could ever have imagined. That they were on their own in the middle of a disaster.

When it was over, they had only one thing to cheer themselves with. The hope that at least their families had escaped. If they didn't have that, there was nothing left and all this had been for nothing. They weren't ready to be on their own, but they had been dropped out here anyway.

They pulled each other up. That was all that mattered to them, now that the world had gone mad. Each other, and what they each cared for.

The moment was abruptly shattered by a fearful cry from the old mouse.

"Enemies!" he whimpered, but didn't run. He just stood there, fretting. Raya jumped upright.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I hear them... listen! I can smell them! They're coming back!"

"Who is? What?!" Raya demanded, grabbing the old one by the shoulder. He turned around, and his eyes were wild with fear.

On the wind came a howl.

"Wolves."

Raya stood dumb, as one struck by an arrow. The old one babbled on, sinking slowly to his knees.

Castus raised his eyes and stared straight ahead, blank and quiet. He heard the fear in the mouse's voice. And now the wolves were coming back? After all the pain they had caused, they had the audacity to come back? It wasn't fair. It wasn't just. It wasn't right.

He was tired of being a captive to fear.

"The wolves did this! I remember now! They came... but they were just the first! I heard them... a whole army... I heard them talking..."

"How?" Raya heard someone ask, but it wasn't him. He turned to see Castus standing up. His shoulders weren't hunched and his tail was a little higher, but Raya didn't notice the sudden change that had come over his friend. The old mouse was still talking.

"They came in the night," he said, his voice cracking. "We had no idea... no warning. The council had called together everybeast we could. We were going to leave, oh! We were going to leave! But they got here first!"

He put his paws in the ashes of a house and curled his fists. Darcy hung under his chest, bobbing like a macabre pendulum.

"There were over fivescore of us... and only a score of them. But they... we weren't warriors. They didn't care. They just... they just came in and... and...!"

He looked down at the dead mousebabe, and with a cry of disgust, he unlatched it and let it drop.

"They killed them all! All of them! I... I tried to help... I tried to save Darcy... I did! But it wasn't... I just wasn't fast enough... oh seasons, I still hear them screaming!"

Raya felt Castus brush him aside. The squirrel seemed to have made an abrupt turn about. His gaze was now a little more determined, his stance a little stronger. The squirrel knelt down and put his paw around the mouse's shoulder.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Come on. I'm not going to leave you. This place is dead. It's time to go."

"And they..." The mouse shuddered. "They ate them!"

Castus paused.

"What?"

"The wolves... after they were done killing... they took some of the stronger ones... and even the live ones... oh Fates I can still hear them!"

He tried to vomit, but nothing came out. Castus' face was set in stone. Raya was watching the surrounding woods wildly, watching for any sign of movement. Castus dragged the old mouse up this time.

"We're going," he said firmly. Raya nodded and hurried alongside.

"It's too late," the mouse moaned. "They're here... once you've heard them you're dead..."

"Shut up," Castus snapped, and another howl came. This one much, much closer. Just outside the village.

Castus looked over his shoulder, and for the first time in his life, cursed aloud.

He and Raya scrambled into the husk of a destroyed house, hiding further inside, behind a doorway that led to a former bedroom, but still had a vantage point due to the fact that much of the walls were missing. He could see the woods from there. From there, he could see the enemy.

Castus had heard many legends about the wolves. He had heard they were feral, beastly things, powerful, tall, dark and murderous. They wore the skins of their dead foes, bore wicked, foreign weapons but often were deadly enough to simply use their claws and teeth in battle. Every story told had been fearful, every word spoken about them said in a hushed whisper.

Castus could see now that all of it was true.

There were six of them, stalking out of the trees. Dressed in skins and rough tunics, only three of them had helmets, and only one had armor. It was a lamellar chest piece, probably scavenged from the bodies in the village. Though he was largest, all of them looked more than deadly to Castus and Raya. All but the leader equaled the height of any Skipper of Otters they had seen, and were certainly just as muscular; the lead wolf was of such size to be equal to a wildcat warlord, and then some. Even the shortest one, the only one armed with a bow and arrowss, had a buff, immovable appearance. All of them were adorned with fearsome tattoos of a design Castus had never seen, not even in the most wild woodland tribes. They walked with a slow, steady gait, strikingly confident. Their gaze slashed back and forth over the dead village, as if expecting some arch-enemy to leap up out of the ruins. Their paws did indeed hold foreign, cruel looking blades more akin to cleavers than anything else. No question could remain after that first, fearful glance that these creatures were warriors worthy of the legends that had surrounded them.

Both Castus and Raya marveled at their sheer size. Even the smallest among them could snap his neck like a twig, the way his paw engulfed the shaft of an arrow he checked, and then nocked onto the string. They seemed to have noticed something.

The party had seemed to halt. The leader spoke over his shoulder to the next in line, and they shared something in a voice that Castus could not hear. The lead wolf raised his paw, pointed to the one with the bow, and waved him into the ruins. Though at first he went without complaint, Castus could see a look of long-suffering cross his features when his back was to the group, who fanned out and stuck to the perimeter, rooting through the remains for anything of value. They picked up trinkets and weapons that were still intact, though the original raiding party had left little for them.

The old mouse was quivering on the floor next to Raya, paws over his ears. Fortunately, he was silent.

Castus bit his lip as he dug in the ash for something to defend himself with, his mind racing. Raya watched him in silence, his throat too tight to speak. He knew that they were in extreme danger. If the wolves found them, they wouldn't be given the mercy of being enslaved. They'd just be slaughtered on sight. Death was literally right outside, hunting for them. The young male wolf was crouched low, nose to the air as he moved through the center of the village, closer to their hiding place. No doubt the fresh scent of live prey was in his nose. Castus knew that if they were discovered, they had no chance. Once again they were hard pressed for survival. If they tried to run, they were dead. Nothing could outrun wolves on the hunt, and they were already tired. Neither Castus nor Raya had any fighting skill. Their backs were against the wall.

The young wolf came closer, following their scent trail through the ashes. They hadn't exactly been subtle coming in, disturbing the graveyard and walking around like they owned the place. And now they would pay for it. There was nothing either of them could do. Once the wolf found his way in, and he would, there would be nothing to stop him from killing them all. Closer and closer his pawsteps came. Closer and closer to the edge Castus was being pushed.

The young squirrel began breathing harder, quicker. All of a sudden it seemed like their story was going to end, like their lives would just be snuffed in the middle of a ghost town. It was ironic, and it was surreal. To think that they were walking, talking, reconciliating, and believing things would get better. And now in a few moments they'd be dead. Raya didn't seem ready to come up with anything. He was listening to their doom approach, perhaps thinking that if they were still enough, they'd escape. Castus was not willing to take that chance. He hadn't dragged his friend over a freezing river and seen him nearly get beaten to death just for it all to end here.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't just, it was all wrong, all this death and killing and he was not going to let it go on with him as a victim. Nobeast else would die here today. It was his fault they were in this mess in the first place. He had to try and make it all right again. These wolves had to pay. They were not going to make a meal out of them tonight!

Castus began casting about for a weapon. Raya wanted to know what the squirrel was up to, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Castus chanced upon a sharp stake of wood. As he gripped it, a strange, iron-fisted strength grasped his heart and squeezed. He had picked that wood up with the intent to kill, and his mind and body had agreed with him. It was done. Either the wolf would die, or he would. There was no other choice. No other option. He didn't think about the insanity of trying to take on a full grown wolf with just a bit of charred wood. It was sheer insanity, ludicrous to even think about. Wolves were fairy tale monsters, and what was he? Just a young male with delusions of grandeur. But none of that entered his mind, as he tested the rather dull point. Just one thought flashed through his head.

I'll have to get him in the soft bits, before he can alert the others.

There was no time to think about where that bloodthirsty reasoning had come from. The enemy was almost on them. Raya watched him with a panicky, pleading stare.

What are you thinking?! his eyes asked.

Castus stared at the old mouse.

--

Cadogan prowled through the empty streets of the dead village, his bow in paw and arrow ready to fire. He had an idea why Guthrin had told him to go hunt down the stragglers. It was because he was smallest, youngest, and least experienced. Young wolves were always pushed to the limit so they could be considered equals and run with the pack. He already was part of Guthrin's pack though; he had even seized some trophies on the last hunt, so he was forced to believe that it wasn't that he was inexperienced, it was just easier to push him around because he was young. Just because Guthrin had the ear of the tribe leader, he expected everybeast else to just fall in line with him. Admittedly, Guthrin was not stupid, nor was he harsh. But he had quite an ego.

Cadogan shook his head as he approached the broken down house. Perhaps all he'd find were some weakling villagers, half-starved and not even worth killing. These pathetic woodlanders had been no trouble so far. How had their ancestors even been pushed out in the first place?

He dared to let his paw rest against the blackened wall, wondering for a moment what manner of beast had lived here. The strange and terrible hares he had heard so much about in old stories? No. These were mere dwellings. Probably more of those smaller creatures that skittered about during an attack. Mice, and hedgehogs, and the like.

But why even bother with these places? Were these terror tactics really necessary? He had heard that honor came from the battlefield, not in wanton slaughter. Some of the eldest in his village had even said that they should be proud to have been defeated by such strong foes as the hares. The only beasts Cadogan had had trouble contending with were the mountain ferrets, and the wild squirrel tribes that inhabited the borders of their lands, so he didn't know. They had always had trouble with wild squirrels. In any case, it was known that theirs and other homes, woodlander and vermin alike, had been razed to the ground. This was not slaughter. It was retribution.

He heard a scuffling noise inside, and wiped all extraneous thought from his mind. This was his chance. He'd rush in, kill the first beast to raise a paw against him, and get this silly chore over with. Guthrin had no interest in prisoners, them being a foraging party, so he'd have to make it quick for whoever was inside. Death was a better fate than most any a live prisoner would face.

He sucked in his breath, and whirled around the broken doorway, arrow at the ready.

What he found was an old, terrified mouse. Cadogan kept his ears perked. He had smelt others... he knew it. The ash here was disturbed. Had the others already run and hid in the wreckage, leaving this elder to meet his doom? Cowards! He'd slit their throats for such black-hearted treachery!

He stood up slowly and carefully nevertheless, wary of a trap. Putting away his arrow and drawing a long dagger, he entered the building. The old mouse scrambled backwards. Cadogan passed the doorway Castus and Raya had hid in, but found nothing. Here the scent of others was strongest.

"Did they run?" he asked in his lilting, harsh tongue, before remembering nobeast here would understand him. He sighed and turned his back on the old mouse, figuring there was no threat to be had here if only elders and cowards awaited them.

It was the last mistake he would ever make.

As he turned, he opened his mouth to call out to his fellows. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red fur, gritted teeth, and a long sharp something hurtling at him.

He didn't even have time to blink. As his neck was punctured all the way through, he could see a long bushy tail. Of course, he realized with the last of his rational thought. A squirrel.

They had always had trouble with squirrels.

--

Castus was surprised at how easy it was to stab the monster in the throat, considering how thick the muscles were there. His aim had been dead on, though, striking right into the adam's apple and cutting off the airway. The wolf instantly began to suffocate, drowning in his own blood that dribbled down the inside of his throat.

Castus stared harshly into the wide, pained eyes of his victim, still holding the stake in with both paws. Blood flowed out copiously, coating his paws and wrists. Yet still he did not relent. The wolf gurgled for a moment, and then suddenly grasped Castus' arm with an iron grip as he sank to his knees. His other paw came up, and Castus could see the dagger come at him.

Raya was there in an instant, tackling the wolf and grabbing the paw that held the dagger, preventing him from striking into Castus' stomach. They all fell to the floor. The wolf tried to whine, but it didn't work, and in a last effort of strength, rolled mightily, throwing his enemies off but losing the dagger as his grip slackened. He staggered towards the door, trying desperately to pull out the stake, even though it was obvious it was a fatal injury. He was going to warn his fellows.

Castus knew what he had to do. Snatching up the fallen dagger, he lunged forward, weapon slashing wildly, hamstringing the wolf and making him collapse to the ground again, falling onto his back. The wolf made no sound that the others could hear, and held an open paw up to their indifferent backs, a childish, pleading maneuver. Castus leaped on him and stabbed him viciously. Once. Twice. Three times, and then four, into the spot where he thought the heart was. The first three didn't get far. The fourth slid in with surprising ease. The wolf shuddered violently, and then went still. His suffering was over.

Silence once again filled the dead village.

Castus pulled out the long dagger and fell backwards, breathing slowly. He didn't even really know what he had just done. Raya, in shock, reached out and touched his friend's shoulder.

"We need to go," he whispered. Castus turned his head and stared at the mouse. His gaze made his friend retract his paw. This was not the Castus he knew. Not the quiet, vulnerable squirrel he had grown up. Something else was inhabiting him. Possessing him almost. His eyes, those eyes that always held calm and sensitivity, were ablaze with an inner fire.

"You're right," he said in a voice that wasn't his own. He turned to the old mouse, who was kneeling on the floor.

"Come on," he said, grabbing his shoulder.

"No," said the mouse. There was a moment of consternation.

"... What?"

"If I stay here, they'll think I killed him. It'll give you time."

Castus blinked, and some of the fire left him.

"N... no, we can't just... I'm not going to-"

"You risked your life for mine enough. I must return the favor. I will only slow you down out there."

"But you'll die," Raya said a little redundantly.

The mouse stared at them both with a sad, empty smile.

"I died with this village," he said quietly. "It is time I went to them. Hurry! They'll be here any second."

They both hesitated only a moment before scurrying out the back of the place to the woodlands.

The old mouse tottered over the wolf's body. He reflected on all that had happened so far. His life lived here in Stillglade. His name had been Warwick. He remembered the creatures he had known. Loves he had had. He washed his paws in the wolf's blood and took out another dagger, listening to one of the wolf's comrades stalk towards the house, demanding to know where his younger charge had gotten off to.

This was how his days ended. A sacrifice. It was fitting, he supposed, as he had little to live for. Those two were the only ones likely to make it. He closed his eyes as the larger wolf took in the scene before him, and his eyes went from shocked, to angered, to enraged. If he was smart, he'd soon realize there were still others to chase. But hopefully Warwick had bought some time.

Darcy had been dead for days before those two found him. He was tired of living for the dead.

Now, he would die for those who still lived.

--

Deep into the woods of Greymarch, following the trail of two desperate, dirty, and shirtless young males, a blood-chilling howl echoed. They didn't stop running, only increased their pace.

They knew they were really being hunted now.