Chapter 10

"Let's see, there's Porter over there," Foghill said, pointing out his fellow hares to Petunia. "And that's Quincy, Tarker, Thyme, Rosemary, Willow, Borquin, Ballaw, Clary, and this one is called Fatbelly!"

"Is not!" the tubby male hare sitting next to Foghill shouted. "My name is Frebaly, miss," he said with dignity to Petunia, who couldn't suppress a smile.

"Not much of a difference," Foghill commented airily, taking a sip from his cup.

"Shut up!" Frebaly snapped, elbowing Foghill in the gut, causing the other hare to gag.

"Augh! Cough, hey! I say! You made me spill some perfectly good cordial there, you rotter! Oh, that does it! As soon as the rest of this tucker is gone, I challenge you to a good boxing match, wot!"

"You're on, skinny one!"

Petunia could tell it was just playful banter between the two: it was like that all the time with her sisters. She was slowly beginning to feel like she was home. Everybeast was friendly and rambunctious, teasing but not cruel, much like how it was in Noonvale. Although she was still a little taken aback by the others challenging each other to duels and matches - not even The Roaming Whimsical Troupe had been like that.

"So that's all of us," Foghill said, turning back to Petunia, who wasn't certain if she could recall half of the names she had been given. "So what about y'self, eh? We've heard lots of tales about you, you're something of a legendary warrior to us."

"I am?" Petunia asked, even more taken aback.

"Well, yes," Foghill answered, laughing. "Life here can get pretty dull after awhile, what with marches and parades and regimental balls and whatnot; and when a mysterious maid is brought here in the dead of night with a wounded companion who tells of nothing except all of her marvelous exploits, she's bound to become the talk of the mountain."

"Oh, that's my uncle," Petunia began, but was interrupted by another hare.

"Uncle? He looked like a mouse to me."

"He's my adoptive uncle," Petunia explained (what was his name? She couldn't recall for now). "My parents died when I was a baby, and Uncle Markas was the only creature around, so he took me and my sisters in. Er, my sisters are adoptive, too," she added quickly.

"So you grew in an orphanage, eh?" Foghill asked, raising his eyebrows. "A lot of the greatest warriors have backstories like that!"

"Well, it really wasn't an orphanage," Petunia said, blushing a little. "I mean, it was really just a house with all of us. Nothing really interesting happened to me while I was growing up, except in the past few seasons."

"Well then tell us about that, then," smiled Foghill.

The haremaid looked around at all the eager young faces peering at her. "I hardly know where to begin."

"Try starting at the beginning, me gel."

Petunia laughed. "Alright, fine! Well, I guess it all started when a troupe called The Roaming Whimsical Troupe came to our village. They were led by this old hare-lady by the name of Madam Breeze, and–"

"I say! You met Madam Breeze?" Foghill cried.

Several of the hares at the table suddenly leaned forward, looking far more intrigued.

"Why – yes," Petunia stammered.

"Well I'll be boggled!"

"We all grew up hearing about her, but we all figured she was just a legend!"

"Tell me, what was she like?"

"Was she as good a dancer as they say she was?"

"Er, I suppose," the haremaid said to the last question. "I can't really be sure, because I never saw her dance. But she did give me and my sisters dancing lessons though – though they were wasted on me. I was a terrible student. Never had much to do with the stage anyway. But my sisters excelled better than me, especially Pansy. She was always the dancer of the family."

"Was she?" asked one of the other hares. "Why didn't she come here with you?"

"Because she's not a hare," Petunia explained. "I said my sisters were adoptive, didn't I? Pansy's a squirrel."

"Oh I see."

"Well, but I say!" said another hare. "Being able to stand on the same ground as the legendary Madam Breeze!"

A third hare piped up. "They say she was once a Long Patrol hare, but ended up leaving the mountain because she preferred performing to fighting."

"Well, I was the opposite," said Petunia. "I preferred fighting to performing, and that's when Dakar came into the picture."

"Who's Dakar?"

"He's a warrior-mouse. He ended up marrying Uncle Markas's niece, Lily. She took care of us while Uncle Markas was away. Anyway, Dakar was a bit of a retired warrior, and decided to give me private lessons in sword-fighting, even though Lily and Merola (she's a badger) didn't really like the idea at first. But it came in handy when Uncle Markas came home from his travelings, because just before he came into the village, he was captured by a group of vermin. Me and Dakar happened to be looking for Pansy that one night, and we happened on the scene."

"I say! Did you beat up the confounded blighters up for nabbing yer nunky?" one of the hares inquired, looking excited by the tale.

Petunia began to realize her life was more exciting than she gave it credit for. "You bet I did! Of course Dakar helped, and there weren't very many of them, but we defeated the vermin soundly! Heh, I recall vomiting afterwards."

The hares laughed. "That's a pretty common occurrence after such a feat. Don't feel bad about it!"

"I don't. But after we brought Markas home, Pansy, who had already made it home, announced that she was leaving the village with the Troupe. The Troupe wanted to leave because Madam Breeze had . . . well, passed away."

"What?" gasped the young hares. "How did she die?"

"She was old," Petunia shrugged. "But Pansy told us that she died happy and fulfilled, and her son Ferdinand took over the Troupe."

"Whoa, she had a son?"

"Yes," replied the haremaid.

"I never knew she had any children! Who was her husband?"

"I – don't know," Petunia said, realizing that she had never before wondered who Ferdinand's father was. "Nobeast ever said anything about that, and I guess it never occurred to me to ask."

"But your sister went off the Troupe?" asked another hare.

"Yes," Petunia nodded. "She and my other sister, Primrose, went off with the Troupe because they were so talented in dancing and acting, and, since they were leaving, I decided to leave as well and head here to become a Long Patroller."

"Well!" said Foghill. "Certainly a glorious tale! Full of adventure and drama, I must say! Imagine, growing up in a family where nobeast is the same species as you! Oh, by the way, that other sister of your's, uh, Primrose was it? Is she a mouse? Or a mole?"

"Neither. She's a ferret."

"A ferret? You grew up in a house with vermin?"

Petunia turned and looked at the speaker: a tall, broad-shouldered male hare.

"I'll thank you not to refer to my sister as 'vermin', sir," the haremaid replied coolly.

The male, however, snorted. "Why not? That's what she is. That's what they all are. Vermin, seascum, bounders, whatever you call 'em. And here you are, thinking you could actually be one of us when you've grown up in the same sludge as some stinking ferret. Huh, some warrior!"

Foghill and some of the other hares began to speak out against the large male hare, but they were silenced when Petunia stood up.

A strange feeling had passed over the haremaid. She had felt anger before, but not anger of this kind. It seemed like there was a strange sort of fog or smoke in her chest, while her stomach writhed and squashed itself. A very slight trembling had come over her shoulders, and her jaw tightened.

Never before had anybeast denounced a member of Petunia's family, nor expressed contempt for the haremaid's skill or her dream to be a Long Patroller. Of all things dearest to her, it was those three things that the male hare had verbally attacked.

Her paws curled into fists, and she spoke, staring straight into his dark arrogant eyes. "I challenge you to a duel. After lunch. No, right now. I want to get this over with and . . . and . . . show you a thing or two!"

All hares watching stared with wide eyes and open mouths, and they turned to the male hare, who smirked and leaned back in his seat.

"Show me a thing or two? A wounded beast who's had scant training in her life? I wouldn't waste my time."

"I'm afraid you'll have to."

The hare gave a jump, realizing that Brigadier Crumworthy was standing right behind him. The old hare looked down at the younger one with a face that was both solemn and frightening.

"To insult a creature in such a way and then refuse to allow them to defend themselves is a most dishonorable thing, not to mention very unfitting for a Long Patroller. Accept the haremaid's challenge, or you'll have me to deal with."

Now everybeast in the hall was watching.

The male hare eyed the brigadier warily, glanced at Petunia, then back at Crumworthy . . . and finally nodded.

"Go on, Petunia! Show the blaggard what ya've got!"

"Show 'er what yer made of, Koric!"

"Don't let the big brute talk like that to you, missy! Show 'im who's boss!"

Already part of Petunia was beginning to regret challenging the male hare, Koric. He was huge, broad-shouldered and muscular, long-limbed and agile-looking. He also seemed more than able to wield a sword. As for Petunia. . . .

The haremaid was not the tallest of creatures, giving her a shorter reach, and there was her wounded leg to take into account. She still had to lean on her cane as she saluted Koric with her own sword. Petunia noticed that the male was eyeing her support scornfully. Obviously he thought she'd be easy game – and Petunia supposed he was right.

"Don't let him talk that way about you and your sister! Remember how much Primrose loves you!"

Petunia glanced in the last voice's direction: Uncle Markas was watching from the crowds, his fist raised in the air, and the haremaid felt a great wave of affection for him. She couldn't let him down, not now . . . not ever. She had to win this for him. And for Primrose, who, as Markas pointed out, had loved Petunia all her life as though they were really sisters, with whom Petunia had shared her fondest memories with, who had never done any harm to anybeast. . . .

. . . and she had to win this for Brigadier Crumworthy, who had clearly expressed his faith in her abilities in getting Koric to accept her challenge. . . .

"Euuulllaaalaiaaa!"

Petunia hardly had time limp out of the way as Koric came charging at her. She stuck out her cane, tripping the male hare so that he went scut over ears onto the floor.

The crowd laughed, and Koric jumped to his feet, red in the face. "And who taught you that?" he sneered, pointing his sword-point at her. "Your vermin-sister, eh?"

That strange anger overtaking her, Petunia raised her sword in her one paw and struck out, only to be skillfully blocked. Swift as lighting, the haremaid raised her cane and drove it into Koric's belly.

"Oof!" The male stepped back, clutching his gut.

Petunia swung her sword again, trying to disarm him, but Koric dodged and parried once again. Grunting in anger, Petunia stabbed and swung again, yet the male hare somehow found it easy to repel her.

Never be too eager to attack your opponent, came Dakar's calming instructions.

Keeping that in mind, Petunia left off, backing away, realizing she could tire herself out – which she was already doing.

Koric slumped his broad shoulders, giving that infuriatingly contemptuous smile despite his heavy breathing. "What's the matter, vermin-lover? You give up?"

"No," Petunia replied, trying to think of a stinging insult to throw back. "I'm tired of being the one doing all the attacks. Why don't you try attacking again?"

Koric shook his head. "I don't think you really want me to do that."

The haremaid actually considered his words, and realized she really wouldn't want that bulk to come boring down on her. She'd have to think of another way to defeat him.

Every creature has a weakness. You just have to find it.

Petunia's quick mind went about seeking this... and had some difficulty. She knew that she couldn't go on attacking, he was too good at defending; and she'd only end up exhausting herself. She then realized that only chance she had was to have him come at her. As much as she didn't want to, she would have to have him charge her.

"What's the matter?" she called in a taunting manner that she thought reminiscent of Pansy. "You afraid of a little vermin-lover?"

"I warned you."

And with that, Koric's large bulk was zooming towards her, wielding his blade like lightning.

Without thinking, Petunia dropped to the floor and kicked out with her non-wounded leg, her wounded one stinging with pain.

Fortunately, she managed to kick Koric in a very painful area, causing the male hare to drop his sword and collapse in a fetal position on the floor.

Knowing she had little time before he could recover, Petunia, ignoring her protesting leg, drove her elbow into the male's belly, winding him. Scrambling on the floor, the haremaid seized Koric's fallen sword with one paw while her other jerked his head backwards by his ears.

"How'd you like that . . . vermin?" she spat, loathing everything about him. He glared back up, equally loathing. But he made no move to fight back, being too . . . injured.

The crowd went wild with applause, and Petunia found herself being carefully brought back to her feet. She was surrounded by Uncle Markas ("You did it, Petunia! You did it! I knew you would, I just knew you would! Oh, if only Primrose had been here to see that!"), Foghill ("I say, you certainly lived up to your reputation, missy! Defeating a chap who's way bigger'n you, and you with only one good leg to stand on! Good show, wotwot!"), Dewfleck ("Honestly, if I'd known this was going to happen, I never would've allowed you out of the sickbay in the first place! Well, that does it! You're going back to the sickbay this instant, and you're not coming out until you're fully healed, you hear me? No arguments!"), and Brigadier Crumworthy – who smiled and said the most wonderful words the young haremaid had ever heard: "We're so lucky to have such a talented new recruit."