A/N: Thank you, all of my reviewers. Thank you, Clouded Horizon, Sabrepaw, and Lord Brocktree for reviewing CONSTANTLY.
Chapter 10:
SPLAT!
Sandunal woke with a start, feeling something-probably a liquid of some sort- trickled down her arm.
The dibbuns. It must be the dibbuns, she thought, still half-asleep. A rotten smell wafted up to her nose.
Sandunal was jerked back into reality as she looked down at her upper-arm, where the whites from a seagull egg carried the yolk down to her elbow, leaving behind a clear, sticky trail on her sand-fur
Harsh laughter made her look up. What she saw surprised her.
A young mouse, that of about three seasons leered at her maliciously, grinning from ear to ear.
"Well, look a' wha' we go' 'ere, mates! A liddle slave!"
Mice emerged from shabby looking tents, cheering, all talking in a verminy talk, like those who are born and raised wildly.
"A liddle slave!"
"Goo' thinkin', Luker!"
"She'll b' fun to le' loo' a bun' o' eggs a'!"
"I'll get 'm!"
They spoke with many letters missing, speaking in a drawl. One poked his rat-like nose in.
"An' it's a burm burm!"
"Wha's a 'burm burm?'"
"A 'emale, or thomthin' like et."
The first mouse that she had seen was obviously the leader, who gave out orders, of which his fellow villains obeyed.
"Tumblguts! Get 'ome blun' arrers t'poke 'er wi'."
"Yep!"
"Narropaw, knives! Cu' 'er fur off!"
"Gla'ly!"
Thurntoo'! Eggies!"
"Go' 'em!"
He turned around to Sandunal. "I lo' a 'emale. S' 'elp'ess, 'ey are."
His words were scornful, and made sense. Females were obviously a lesser creature, unless they were a warrior, in this camp. Raging fire swept over her body, and she tried to control it. Better see if anything was holding her back.
There was a short rope tied to one of her back paws, restraining her from getting away.
She was almost unable to lease her anger, and shook with fury. This, though, the rude mouse took at a different meaning.
"S' scared! Ooooo- I likey scared on's."
Approaching footpaws forced Sandunal to not lunge at him and bite.
"Go' th' eggies!"
"No navs!"
"No arrrers e'er!"
The leader grinned. "Oh, we' 'e c'n 'ave a trowin' 'contes'."
Two dibbun mice eagerly stepped up, each one with an egg in their paws.
"STOP!" a voice yelled.
The mouse cursed under his breath, and whispered so only the group and Sandunal could hear.
"'Idee 'oles." He hissed. Immediately, the young mice dove into holes, big enough for one small dibbun each. The leader looked around, but his hard, black eyes rested on where Sandunal lay.
"LUKER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOUNG MOUSE!" a semi-pretty mousemaiden walked down the hill, clothed in a long skirt and a tunic, both yellow so that they brought out her rich brown fur and black eyes.
"w's on'y trowin' eggies a' th' slavie." He mumbled, eyes looking at the sand.
For the first time, the mousemaiden's eyes swept over to Sandunal, who was sitting cross-legged in the sand.
"Oh." She murmured quietly. "So you're the slave for my wedding?"
Sandunal had recognized her. She had known it once she had hear her voice. But- something was in there, a carefulness, something that wouldn't be in a beast's eyes that enjoyed torturing somebeast.
"Hello, sister." She replied, nearly spitting out the words. She looked almost like her mother.
The mousemaid looked dumbstruck. "Sister?" she asked hoarsly.
"Mama, wazza goin' awn?" Luker tugged at the mousemaiden's tunic.
---
Rosilla was surprised. Her mother had said that her half-sister was ugly, ate bugs every day, was named Lilia, and had run away at three seasons. But this wasn't true. Surly not. She had always pictured her sister like this, though perhaps with black eyes like hers, instead of the blazing gray.
She knew that somehow, she had caused misery in her sister's life. Somehow. Sometime. Rosilla didn't know when.
"How did I hurt you?" she whispered. Her sister looked at her, glaring accusingly, but then the expression softened.
" It wasn't you- it was our mother." Came the soft reply. She clearly didn't want to talk, though Rosilla wanted to find her name out, and what her history was.
Her son continued to tug at her skirt. "Mama, Mama, wha' goin' on?"
"Quiet, Luker, I need to talk with this so-called 'slave'" she gently pried Lukers paws off of her skirt, and shoed him playfully away. "Go play with those friends of yours who are hiding in those holes you dug a week ago."
Luker's eyes widened, and began to call out anxiously. "Noo 'ideout! Nee' t' fine noo 'ideout!"
His gang poured out of the holes and followed their leader across the shifting sands of the dunes, seeking a new place to carry out their villainous deeds.
"I'm sorry." Rosilla apologized. "He was partially brought up by Mother, so I have little rein on his actions."
"It's okay."
"I was wondering," Rosilla ventured. "if you could tell me your past." She sat patiently, and hopefully.
The sand-colored mousemaid's expression darkened. "Too many times, too, too many times have I told this. Twice too many."
"Please? I want to know my sister."
"As I do mine."
Rosilla threw up her paws in defeat. "Fine, fine. Alright now! Now I have to warn you, I can only tell you later, and when anybeast, especially Mother," Rosilla lowered her voice. "I will have to act rough and unkind, even though I don't want to." The chocolate-colored mouse stood, and winked heartily. "Right now, I have to track a certain mouse's pawsteps, so that I can foil his plans to become the most obnoxious mouse in the camp." Catching herself, she asked one last question.
"What is your name?"
The reply came smooth, swift and short. "Sandunal."
---
A/N: Shall I end it? Right here? Now? Darn- (remembers telling a clouded horizon that she would include- can't say)-sigh- keep reading.
---
A shadow edged across a tattered tent, where in front, vermin sat around a small, flickering fire.
"Eh-lookit wot I got, mates." A rat held up a bunch of dried-up stalks. "Food!"
The shadow decided that this was the time to move in.
"I wouldn't eat that if I were you." The shadow whispered in one weasel's ear.
"Huh? Wazzat?"
But the shadow was already at the other side of the camp. It now rubbed it's paws in anticipation.
"Awoooooooooooooooooooooo!" the shadow moaned. The vermin looked up, and the rat's paws began to shake, dropping the black stems near the edge of camp.
"A-a-a-a-a-a-a g-g-g-g-g-host-t-t-t-t." one of them whispered.
"H-h-hauntin' sp-p-p-p-pirits."
A clamor borke out, as the frightened beasts began to run around their dirty camp fightenedly.
Nobeast saw the shadow.
They didn't see the missing stems, either.
---
Emerald staggered in, panting. She held up the eight dried stems triumphantly, but then the grin that had been growing on her face evaporated as she saw the scene laid out before her.
Garren lay still, showing no signs of breathing. Nightsnow and Nauru bent over him, heads bowed in grief.
---
"……possibly can be." Merrick finished, re-rolling the scroll up as he repeated the last lines. A shocked silence filled the Hall as the last words that had emitted from the Abbot's mouth rang out.
Merrick took this silence in. Even he had been shocked to find this. He understood now. She had been quiet because of her past, and a while after Ffindle arrived, a bit more loud, but on the inside resisting the urge to run around, to act like a dibbun and regain the sense of youth that she had lost at so young of an age. Merrick regretted reprimanding her for writing that recording. It had caused her to run away for awhile and get captured. He felt as if were all his fault. He hated it.
A voice rang out.
"We should look for her at once." The voice belonged to Thune, his face red with crying.
"No! Don't!" Ffindle called out. All beasts turned to look at him.
His eyes were glassy, clouded. His voice sounded strange, almost half asleep, but boomed out.
"Martin speaks." Whispered a hedgehog beside Merrick. The Abbot, though his face was faced forward, heard the rustle of parchment being pulled out.
Ffindle, Martin speaking through him, started to speak again.
"Do not catch the Sand,
Do not go a-searching,
Untill the fast talker comes.
The Perilous and the Leader
Must follow the instructions,
While others look for the blue.
Perilous, Leader, Sand, and others,
Will arrive after the sky,
Preperations made,
Warriors on parade,
To defend the Red, Red walls.
So Abbot, tell them now,
Of riddle I have sent you."
---
Martin ran up the steep steps, panting all the way. Gonff, though, maintained a cheeky grin all of the way, panting ever-so-slightly.
The Prince of Mousethieves flashed a smile at his exhausted buddie, who, of course, was panting with effort.
"Too old, huh?"
Martin aimed a paw at Gonff's ear.
"Are you sure? I thought it was you who was getting old. Besides, we're almost there, and I've been here longer than you." The warrior put on a burst of speed, and disappeared around one of the many curving corners of the spiraled stairs.
Gonff didn't bother to catch up. He was only going to do that if Columbine found the-
"GONFF! YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Gonff sighed, and completed his thought out loud. "Candied chesnuts." He hollered back to his wife.
"Getting business done, my charming mouselet!"
"You get down here, right now, or I'll come and get you!" paws echoed up the stairs.
"Got to run." Gonff muttered, and quickly ascended the stairs. He had to find a hiding spot- and a brilliant idea came to him.
---
Martin sat down in his spot, overlooking the long, wide strip of sand, like that near the mountain Salamandastron, which was surrounded by the lava.
On the strip of land, a scared, cautious-looking, tubby mouse glanced at either side of him. He was wearing a dirty smock covering his upper body, with an apron tied around his waist. His fur was a light brown color, mixed with the grey hairs of an elder.
A booming voice next to Martin rang out. "What is your name?"
The lord of Salamandastron, or the one who had founded the Long Patrol, Lord Brocktree, spoke.
A timid answer came from the frightened mouse. "My name is-" the voice trailed off, as the quaking mouse stood there.
"Let me try." Martin ventured at Brocktree. The Badger Lord nodded his approval.
"Please tell us your name, and where you came from." Martin spoke gently, soothing the elder.
"My-" the mouse coughed, and tried again. "My name is Garren, and I come from" he faltered.
"Go on." Martin prodded gently.
"From the camp of Oveline."
Martin couldn't believe his ears. Thoughts whirled in his head, and he desperately wanted to ask the beast questions, but he knew that he wasn't allowed to. Until, that was, he was, if, anyhow, inside of the Dark Forest.
"And you died of the fever, I assume."
"Yes."
Martin pondered what to do, and then asked quietly permission from Brocktree."May I?"
The Badger Lord knew that this was the only way, and grunted his approval.
"Garren, I need to-" his words were cut off as the Lord of Vermin rised up out of the lava. Trentilis, the white Wolverine.
---
A/N: I know, 'tis confusing. Well, Okay? Nokay? Inbetweenkay? TELL ME! And the Brocktree thing in this-I just though of the name, and this story-it constantly changes, it being from the back of my head. I didn't even plan Sandunal getting captured- Really and- never mind, I'm babbling. Just REVIEW, YOU- (cut off from microphone)