A/N: I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

Long time no see.

Long time no read, either.

WELCOME BACK, READ, AND REVIEW!

Chapter 12:

A heaping pile of small, bloodied bodies of young mice were placed in the middle of the clearing, making Rosilla feel nauseas. She ran at the heap, an unbidden feeling rose in her throat.

On the top of the mound lay the body of her son-unmoving.

A cry of pain escaped from her mouth, long and mournful. As bad as her son was, Luker was still her kin and, of course, her son. Such a small child, a wasted life. She lay there, crying, grief wracking her body. Why? She wailed in her mind. Why HIM? Why not ME? Why? Why?

This continued for a long time, and after about five minutes, she wiped the tears from her face, eyes red and puffy. She looked forlornly at the pile of youngsters. Why all of them? Wasted lives. That's all that they were now-wasted lives. Her paw clenched, she shook it at the sky, where the sun blazed there, mockingly, refusing to let out any secrets.

"I'll make you pay! By my own blood, I will. I will DESTROY those who killed my kin, my son, his friends. Those beasts will never be safe again. NEVER! My wrath will guide me, and, if I am killed while avenging him, my spirit will haunt them. But I WILL kill at least one. Or ALL. I will. I Will. I WILL!"

She heard footpaws approaching, and swerved around, away from the heap of wasted lives. Footpaws that were very unfamiliar to her memory, those pawsteps were, quick and rapid. Yet somehow they were familiar.

A sand-colored mousemaid rounded the corner, panting lightly. She looked surprised to see Rosilla, but covered it well.

The Juskablitht maid blurted out in astonish. "Why are you here? How did you get loose? Did somebeast let you loose? Who-"

Sandunal quickly silenced Rosilla with a quick movement to her muzzle. "Shhhh!" she whispered urgently. "There is no time. Your tribe will be after me, very, very soon. Now, where is Salamandastron?"

The mousemaid pointed in the direction of the great fire mountain. Sandunal nodded in agreement.

"As I thought. Come on, we'd better go now, before they catch up. That is," she shot a questioning look at her half-sister. "If you want to go with me. And you don't enslave me."

Rosilla looked horrified at the very thought. "Enslave you? No, thank you. I am no longer a Juskablitht, so I do not have to follow the rules."

Sandunal smiled, and beckoned with a paw to her sister. "Let's go find a boat, as well as some provisions. We need to eat, don't we?"

---

Mariel ducked as the keen, hellfire-heated blade swung, aiming at her neck. In one movement, she swung her Gullwhacker quickly, still bent, though Trentilis jumped back in time to avoid any injury from the heavy knot.

The two experienced warriors kept this up, striking, whirling, dodging, and lunging with all of their might. There was some paw-play, but little of it, as each opponent had no want for a wounded paw. They broke up after a while, and circled each other.

The mousemaid's eyes were slightly tinted red with the light of battle as they darted left and right with every movement that the wolverine made. Nothing escaped her hawk-like vision.

"So, micey, stopped to take a rest? Go back to your nursery!" Trentilis deliberately mispronounced the word 'mouse', intending to taunt the mousemaid warrior into recklessly attacking him.

Mariel, though, knew at least most of the tricks in the book.

Even though fire blazed in her veins with anger, she held beck, and retored. "Really? Go back to your death-bed, stinkbug!" She knew that it was a weak insult, but she was saving her best for last.

The wolverine growled, and the battle of insults rang on.

---

As the two warriors spat stinging sparks at each other, never letting their guard down all of the while, the onlookers looked on in amazement.

Methuselah, the old gatekeeper when Matthias wasn't yet a warrior, looked earnestly through huge scrolls of the Dark Forest's history, and, while all of the others were absorbed in the battle, remarked pointlessly.

"Never before, mark my words, never before has this happened. An insult tournament, strange indeed! And to think that Trentilis started this-quite unusual, you know. After he does one insult, he always stops. Especially when he was defeated by Fairon, the mousebabe."

Martin had caught the last bit. "What did you say, Methuselah?"

The old mouse began again. "Never before…."

"No, Methuselah, not the beginning, the end please." Martin begged. His thoughts, once again, whirled. Did Methuselah say mousebabe, or was he going deaf?

"….defeated by Fairon, the mousebabe." Methuselah ended. He crossed his arms, and good-naturedly glared at the legendary warrior. "Is that fine?"

"Yes, yes. Does it really say 'mousebabe' in there? Everybeast told me that he was a young mouse, like me."

Methuselah shrugged, and handed a yellowing scroll to Martin. "Check for yourself."

Martin began to read.

Excerpt from the Recordings of Bluebrook, Otter of the Dark Forest:

Oh, what a wonderful day! Now we are free of Trentilis, the White Tyrant. The council has banished him to the Ever-Burning Fires, after he recited the oath that now binds him, and there is a feast taking place. Unluckily, he shall only stay there for thirty-two moons, as the oath was not made before Fairon defeated him.

Fairon, the winner, is a babe. Too bad that the Oath wasn't made before he defeated that Wolverine, else Trentilis would have stayed in there for a long time.

For those reading this, the Dark Forest was only recently made, and we have not yet explored all of its' regions. The council will change over the moons, and will have different opinions of who goes into our realm, who goes to Trentilis, and who goes into the in-between regions. Sadly, Trentilis has poisoned the council member's minds about what they now call 'vermin', the stoats, weasels, ferrets, foxes, rats, and most of all, wolverines. The ones in the Dark Forest were sent with Trentilis into the Fires, and only a few of us were sad. I could not believe this! True, Trentilis was born evil, but that doesn't mean that all of the others were horrid. Especially Thairsil, my friend, who was a beautiful silver ferret. Just because she was considered 'bad' or of the other kind, doesn't' mean that her intentions were evil! Hopfully, in the future, I may persuade the Council Members to let all good creature, not these so-called vermin, to be let in.

That is why I take this time to write, not take part in this feast as many would wish me to. No other feast that celebrates the banishment of those forced out with Trentilis will I attend.

For now,

Goodbye.

"So, Fairon was younger than me?"

"Yes, Martin. Many beasts want to believe that Fairon was a full-fledged warrior, not a small mousebabe, so from the beginning, after Fairon grew to the age that all beasts stay at, and became a hermit, somebeast thought up a rumor, and spread the word: Fairon was a young mouse, but an adult, when he defeated Trentilis. The nerve of somebeasts."

"Who was it, Methuselah?"

"Martin, I feel very strange talking to you in a way that an elder talks to a dibbun, if you know what I mean."

"Oh."

"Well, that beast, in my opinion, was a bad sort of hiding vermin. He, I think, was a rat, under the name 'Menith'."

"Mentih? Wait- was that?"

"Yes Martin. It was."

---

"Lilly livered lard bucket!"

"Mousebabe!"

"Newly naughty newt!"

"Weakling!"

"Slitherin' snake!"

"Grungy Ashflower!"

"Cursed corrupt cavebeast!"

"Thinling!"

"Ash-White!"

"Shrivled Jutin!"

"Poisonbones!"

Mariel was running out of ideas. Fast. Her insults were having no success on the wolverine, and didn't know half of his insults. Right then, she thought of the Traveling Noonvale thingamabob group. And the insult performance. Sorry. She thought.

"You're running out of ideas, aren't you?" Trentilis smirked. Mariel fumed with anger, and vented her fury out of her mouth.

"Lopsided lettuce leaf!"

"Huh?"

"Bucket bellied barrel bottomed beatle brained beast! Disgusting dirty dishwater! Greasy gullable grime! Rancid rat! Foul ferret! Stinkin' stoat! Furmenting Fox! Wringin' weasel! Hooligan! Wet Wolverine!"

That had only just come out of the blue.

But, Mariel didn't know a certain fact that would make Trentilis very, very angry. Quite angry, in fact.

---

A nervous looking stoat edged into the tent where the slaves were sleeping. The special ones, and the cooks, anyhow.

He cleared his throat. "Khmm khmmm." One of the slaves got out of their cot, and stared at him. It was that white mouse. The pretty singer.

"What do you want?"

---

Nightsmow hated making her voice all light and floaty, but this was one of those times. To gain time, anyhow.

"What do you want?" she twittered lightly, and winced on the inside. Oooooh, could she just hurry up?

The stoat smiled. "Nothing, dearie."

Nightsnow felt an unbidden felling rise, and desperately wanted her to come back. No, No NO!

"I have a message from his Lordness, though. For one of the slaves." He continued, and kept up his luring smile. "But if you-" Suddenly, a small kitchen knife was at his throat.

"What business have you here?" The low tone was menacing, and the stoat looked scared.

"A-a m-m-message f-f-" He stuttered.

"Never mind, I heard that part. For whom?"

"I-I am not allowed to say."

The figure lightly jumped down from the shelf where it had been perched. "Tell me," it silently drew another knife from the tray on a small table, "or else."

The stoat probably paled under his brown, blotchy fur. "Th-th-the sq-squirrel m-must go t-to his l-l-lordn-ness."

"Why didn't you say before in the first place?" The voice sounded agitated, and Nightsnow was on the verge of laughter. "Now go."

The stoat made a natural walk to the tent flap, and once he was out, Nightsnow heard quick-paced, pounding pawsteps.

"Did he hurt you?" The figure sounded concerned. Nightsnow replied in a teasing tone.

"Yes, I am, you great lump. So please, Emerald, take off the cloak and go to wherever you need to go. Without," the mousemaid's eyes glanced at the kitchen knives held tightly in her friends' paws. "the blades."

"Fine." Emerald sighed and took off the cloak, after releasing the kitchen blades onto the earthy ground. "Off I go, then."

With a leap and a bound, she leapt out of the tent

---

Emerald walked into the elaborately decorated tent, once again taking in her surroundings. There was quite a bit of gold, red and black, many dyed feathers hanging from the tent ceiling, and it looked as if he had changed his décor. Or the slaves did, anyhow.

Slave. How she hated that word, the one that held so much misery, hurt, and death in it's short embrace. A word that caused grief, anguish, and despair. Slave.

"Good, good. You are here." The voice, coming from the shadows sounded sinister, but only for the fact that its' creator was cloaked in a natural black embrace.

"Yes. A messenger came to tell me that you requested my presence."

"Please sit down. But the what he said was true, miss." The night-black fox clapped a few times, and, as if by magic, a group of many slaves appeared.

Two were hauling in a table, and Emerald recognized her fellow marching slaves. A fury rose within her, one that was well recognized. An old companion. Not yet, she whispered. Not just yet.

The rest of the company came laden with a large, roasted pike, of which many vermin had died to catch, sitting on a plate of an assortment of herbs, dishes, and a bottle of pure wine.

The warlord gestured something to a very old mouse, one that Emerald did not recognize, and at that, the slaves left with the exception of the grey-haired elder.

He was obviously a server, and was absolutely silent throughout the entire event. When the fish was placed at the vermin's place-setting, he daintily picked up a fork forged out of silver, and cut into the tender meat of the fish.

He has good table manners, the squirrelmaid admitted in her head, for a vermin, anyhow.

"Squirrel, I have a proposition to make to you."

"My name is Emerald."

"Fine. But, listen to me."

"Listening." Emerald was telling that she was aggravating Oveline, and smiled. On the inside of course; even she didn't want to go too far.

He continued while she was silent.

"I want you to be my-"he stopped, searching for a good word. "guard."

"WHAT!"

---

Sandunal became aware of footpaws stalking them, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw glimpses of matted, dirty brown fur ducking behind hills of sand. After a while of hide-and-seek, she whispered to her half sister.

"Somebeast following us. One at the least." Rosilla gave a slight nod, barely noticeable. She looked scared.

They continued to walk over miles and miles of endless desert, getting thirstier by the minute.

But then a welcoming sight appeared.

"Salamandastron!" cried Rosilla. Sandunal began to run alongside her sister. She felt free, like a falcon coasting the thermals in the humid air.

And then darkness came upon them, causing the image of the fire mountain to quiver and fall. Hope seemed lost.

---

A/N: Short chapter, I know. Very, VERY short, but I had a burst! I had a wave pass over me, and, this chapter is also short because I felt that my readers deserved something after about a month.