THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Fifty-Five

Winokur had never seen or even imagined anything so vast as the ocean.

Urthblood's army had spent the last day rounding the foothills at the southernmost limit of the mountain range that separated the Western Plains from the coastlands. Their course took them up and over many rises; the inclines here were slight enough that they barely slowed the marchers, and the procession made good time over hill and dale. The evening after their encounter with Fitkin the ferry shrew had seen them draw abreast of the mountains that reared to the north on their right. Now another half day's travel had put those peaks clearly behind them, and, cresting one last grassy ridge, the long rolling slopes down to the sandy coastlands and then to the sea lay open before them.

The slight elevation of their position gave them a panoramic vista. Miles of flat, unbroken coastal plain stretched away in every direction, and straight ahead on the horizon shimmered the sunlit waters of the open sea, a band of gleaming silver between the end of the land and the end of the world where sea and sky merged into one.

Winokur scanned to his left, then to his right. North and south, the edge of the sea extended to the limits of his vision. Nothing he had ever seen in his life - not the expanses of the Western Plains, or the vastness of Mossflower Woods - could compare to the enormity of this. The young otter suddenly realized that the world truly was split into two parts, land and sea. But whereas the lands were broken into regions of forest and plains, mountains and valleys, rivers and creeks, the sea was all one: big as all the lands put together, but all water, covering such huge areas that boats could sail for days without sight of dry land.

The idea of something so big scared Winokur a little. He was a woodlands otter, raised at Redwall, accustomed to the Abbey pond and occasional forays to the River Moss. Coming face to face with the sea was very different from hearing stories about it. Very different indeed.

Captain Saybrook noticed the peculiar expression on Winokur's face. "You awright, Wink laddie?"

Winokur shook himself out of it and grinned. "Just a bit dazzled by the view. Takes some getting used to, after seeing nothing but forest and grasslands this whole march. Just how far are we from the sea now? In one sense it looks almost close enough to reach out and touch, but in my head I know it must still be a long way off."

Urthblood answered. "We would have to march due west until sundown to reach the shoreline."

"That far?" Warnokur declared. "These coastlands're a lot roomier than I'd reckoned."

"Yes, it is a large territory to cover," Urthblood agreed. "That is why the hares of the Long Patrol have always been so important to the Lords of Salamandastron. No other creatures could cover such distances as completely as they do."

Waronkur gazed northward, raising himself up on the tips of his flipper footpaws. "Can we spy that mountain from 'ere, M'Lord?"

Urthblood narrowed his eyes in the direction of Warnokur's gaze. "No ... the horizon still hides it. If we were somewhat higher in these foothills, we might just be able to see its flat top. But not here."

Some of Urthblood's tracker weasels had scouted ahead, following the tracks of Urthfist and his hares from when they had passed this way in the other direction a few days earlier. Ever since their encounter with Fitkin, the signs of Urthfist's passage had been very obvious, and they'd used the marked trail as a signpost showing the most direct route to Salamandastron. Now the weasels came hurrying back to report their latest findings.

"Just ahead, down the slope a bit, the tracks turn north, M'Lord," the senior tracker said. "We'll be runnin' parallel to th' mountains from now on ... um, assumin' we're still gonna follow their trail, sir."

"We will. For awhile yet, anyway." Urthblood turned to Saybrook. "We'll proceed to the point where the tracks veer north, then stop for midday meal and rest break."

As the column pushed forward with renewed purpose, Saybrook glanced aside at the two Redwall otters. "Ah, look at it, will you! The summer sea! Ain't nothin' like it. Can't hardly wait t' waggle me flippers offshore ... s'pose it'll hafta wait 'til we get to Salamandastron, tho'. Hey, either of you riverdogs ever been fer a paddle in the main?"

"Uh, no," Warnokur replied, while his son merely shook his head, daunted anew by the idea of immersing himself in those boundless waters. "You mean, actually go swimmin' in that thing?"

"Why, shore! I'm no sea otter m'self, those old salts're the true masters of ocean swimmin', but I been to the sea a couple o' times, an' lemme tell you, there ain't naught else like it! A soul can get lost down there ... no matter how deep you dive, there's always further down you can go, an' no matter how far you swim, there's always still more ahead."

Winokur blanched. "Lost is right. I like the water as much as any otter, but it sounds like too much for me ... "

"Oh, but it's freedom!" Saybrook swept his paw grandly before him. "The most you'll ever know. Ain't any river or lake anywheres compares. You can swim fer as long as you like, with no barriers sayin' you gotta stop. When you get tired, you just head back to shore. Or, you can just lie on yer back an' stare at the sky, if it's calm enough. That's another great thing about the sea: the salt in the water gives you extra bouyancy - more'n you'll get in any freshwater puddle or trickle. Practically like a soft, bobbin' couch. Why, I even fell asleep once, floatin' on me back offshore. By th' time I woke up, I'd drifted so far south of our beach camp that I had quite a swim just to get back to it. Didn't mind, tho' - I was well 'nuff rested fer it, harr harr!"

"Yes, well, perhaps I'll give it a try," Winokur said without much enthusiasm. "Once we get where we're going ... "

"Oh, you'll have a blast, I guarantee it!" Saybrook assured him. "If ye're not comfortable 'bout goin' out alone, I'll tag along at yer side. But I promise you, once ye're out there, you'll feel like you've found home! An' this is the best time o' year fer it, too. Late summer's when the sea gets warmest. You'll love it, Wink lad, or I don't know me otters!"

"Well ... we'll see." Winokur looked to his father. "What do you say, Dad? Up for a swim where the water never ends?"

"Um ... course I am!" Warnokur pounded his son on the back. "We both are, ain't we? It'll be th' best flippin' adventure I've had in seasons! An' I'll finally be able to show you the meanin' of real swimmin'! Right, Cap'n?"

"That's the spirit, Warny mate!" Saybrook laughed.

Little did any of them know, their opportunity for an ocean swim would come much sooner than they would have guessed.

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While his army took its meal break under the unblinking midday sun, Urthblood went off alone to have another conference with his eyes in the sky.

Klystra the falcon and Halpryn the kite were both there. Urthblood talked with them a long time, at one point even drawing pictures in the sandy dirt with a stick. When the conference was over, the Badger Lord removed the heavy protective tunics from both birds, and the two raptors took flight and winged their way north.

"What word, M'Lord?" Saybrook inquired when Urthblood rejoined his troops, curiously eyeing the avian garments in his master's paws.

"Captains Halpryn and Klystra will fly ahead to make a survelliance of the land around Salamandastron. They will observe the mountain as closely as they can, and may even be able to tell us how the entrances are guarded. This will help us plan our approach."

"How long you reckon 'til we reach it?" Warnokur queried.

"That will depend on what my birds report, and what course we follow then."

Saybrook stared after the retreating scoutbirds, now mere specks in the distant sky, then back at the birds' armor that Urthblood was holding. "If y' don't mind me askin', M'Lord, why'd you send 'em off without their vests? Seems t' me they might need those."

"If the Long Patrol spotted birds wearing protective garments of any kind, those hares would rightly assume that they are in my service, and would be alerted that I am near. Now, Halpryn and Klystra may pass for wild birds, not allied with any army."

Warnokur looked to his son. "See, Wink? It's like I told you back in Mossflower - Lord Urthblood thinks of ev'rything!"

When the lunch break was over, they resumed their march along the trail made by Urthfist and the Long Patrol, following the tracks north across sandy seaward-sloped plains dotted by clumps of coarse grass and broken by the occasional rising dune. The path veered gradually westward as it went north, taking the marchers away from the mountains on their right and toward the ocean on their left. Soon they were almost perfectly centered along the coastal plain, halfway between the mountain foothills and the shoreline. The distant shushing sound of gentle breakers could now be faintly heard, a continuous curtain of background noise punctuated by the intermittent plaintive cries of seagulls wheeling against the blue sky overhead, and the air smelled heavily of brine. Even a blind beast would have been able to tell they were now near the gates of the open sea.

Mid-afternoon brought them to the banks of a wide and lazily-flowing river that ran directly across their path. The rippling broadstream emerged from some unseen source away in the foothills, snaking its way across the wide coastland to where it eventually poured itself into the sea.

Warnokur scratched at his chin, saying to Urthblood, "Looks like you were right, M'Lord. This must be the other half o' that stream spanned by Lorr's Bridge back in Mossflower, the one that drops under the mountains then comes back out on this side. Not much left of it by the time it gets this far ... hardly looks deep enuff fer dippin' a flipper, much less a proper swim."

"Which is fortunate," the badger replied, "since we will now have to cross it again, this time without benefit of bridge or boat." Urthblood gazed northward, to where the wide band of coastland dwindled into the shimmery distance. "This stream is not visible from Salamandastron, so we are still safe from discovery. Once we have crossed to the other side, however, we may give ourselves away at any time. From the top of the mountain a sharp-eyed hare can see very far along the shores indeed."

"So, whatta we do now, M'Lord?" Saybrook asked.

Urthblood pointed at the stream. "This should still be fresh water, even this close to the sea. Please verify this, Captain."

Saybrook went over to the stream's edge and scooped up a pawful of the water, testing it with his tongue. "Bit of a mineral tang to it, M'Lord. Prob'ly picked up from goin' under the mountains. But I'd still call it fresh."

"Suitable for topped off our drinking supplies?"

"I'd reckon so. Guess it's the last fresh water 'tween here an' Salamandastron that we'll come across, huh?"

Urthblood nodded. "I want everybeast to refill its canteen, and then we will see about getting across this stream. We have marched hard, under the hot sun across unshaded terrain. No sense in dirtying the water with our own filth before we've taken what we need for our thirst."

"Aye, makes sense." Saybrook regarded the watercourse. "Looks like it's pretty shallow all the way across. Warny's right: this river's sure lost its punch since Mossflower."

"I assure you, Captain, it is still deep enough in the middle to drown a mouse or a mole. The smaller beasts will need assistance in making the crossing. Once all the drinking pouches are replenished, I want you and Mattoon to line up all the otters, weasels, stoats and ferrets along the shore. We'll pair each one with a mouse, mole, shrew or hedgehog that they can ferry across on their shoulders. The shrews you should be able to take two at a time, so you otters might want to see to them first. I want to have everybeast on the north bank by sundown. Then we'll set up camp there for the night."

"Right. But, uh ... "

"Yes, Captain?"

"Are you sure you wanna set camp soon as we're across? Strikes me you'd wanna keep us marchin', so's we can approach Salamandastron under cover o' dark. You said we could be seen at any time once we're past this stream."

"That is true. But before we can consider proceeding, we must wait to hear from Halpryn and Klystra. We must know what awaits us at Salamandastron."

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Saybrook's otters were able to get all the shrews across in one trip, while the mice, moles, hedgehogs and a few of the shorter rats paired up with weasels, ferrets and stoats on whose shoulders they would be able to ride. Most of the shrews and otters came from the Broadstream region south of Noonvale, and were accustomed to working together; the otters were on their way back to the south shore before any of the others had started the crossing.

Even Winokur lent himself to the endeavor. Removing his habit so that it wouldn't get wet unnecessarily, he rolled up the revered garment and gave it to his shrew passenger to hold up out of the water, then waded across with the rodent straddling his neck. The deepest part of the stream came up to Winokur's chin, and he had to tip his head back to keep from getting a noseful of water.

When he saw that all the otters, having delivered the entire shrew brigade to the north bank, were heading back to help ferry others, Wink volunteered too. It felt good to be able to swim on the return trip, rather than balancing on tippaws with a creature perched on his shoulders.

He emerged, along with Saybrook and Warnokur, directly in front of the spot where Abellon's mouse brigade was matching itself up with a squad of Mattoon's weasels. When he saw the otters rising from the stream, the mouse captain yelled out, "Dibs on Saybrook!"

"Why, shore, matey," the otter beamed at his old mouse friend, "these shoulders're good fer givin' you a ride whenever you need it!"

Winokur and Warnokur looked around to see what mice might ask them for a lift. Wink's eye went to the chained duo of Jans and Broggen, who already stood at the water's edge, away from the competition for rides. The young otter had grown fond of the mouse and stoat while they'd been at Redwall, but he'd barely seen them at all during this journey, since the mouse platoon marched about two-thirds of the way back in the column and Winokur had been marching at the head of it with Urthblood. He and his father strolled over to them.

"Guess you won't be worryin' 'bout catchin' a ride, eh, Jansy mate?" Warnokur grinned.

"Nope," the mouse laughed back, "times like these, havin' this oaf chained to me comes in handy." Jans slapped Broggen playfully on the back. "C'mon, Broggs, you know the drill."

"Righto, Jansy," the stoat nodded agreeably, and lowered himself to his knees, holding his right paw up to ear level so that his companion would have some slack in the chain that linked them. With an agility that came from seasons of practice, Jans hopped adroitly up onto Broggen's shoulders, not the least bit encumbered by the fact that they were manacled together. It was just another illustration of how mouse and stoat had trained themselves to work together like a single creature.

"Nice," Warnokur said admiringly, then had his attention diverted by another mouse soldier tugging at his tail in request of a ride.

"Hey, mind if I catch a crossing with you, friend?" The mouse threw a glance over his shoulder toward the weasels, and added in a low voice, "I want a clean beast to ride."

"Reckon we'll all of us be clean beasts by the time we reach the other side," Jans joked, then patted Broggen on the beret. "Onward, my good steed! There's a stream to be crossed, a stoat to be washed, and time's a-wastin'!"

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Urthfist had fortified Salamandastron to withstand an assault from a mighty horde, going so far as to seal the main entrance to the mountain with a thick wall of rocks and boulders fused tightly together by a mortar of limestone cement. This wall stood concealed behind the giant wooden gates that had for generations protected the fortress's primary egress. Any foe thinking to breach them with a mere battering ram would be in for a rude surprise.

In fact, only three of Salamandastron's many entrances had been left unblocked, and those were guarded day and night by the score of Long Patrol hares who remained in charge of the mountain. The stairway that let out onto the flat bowl of the mountaintop was the most easily defended opening; an enemy would have to gain the summit and then fight its way down a steep flight of steps that the hare defenders could grease up at a moment's notice, and then along a narrow passage where any intruder would be an easy target for Long Patrol slingstones and arrows.

For now, this way gave the lookout hares easy access to the mountaintop, from where an enemy horde could be spotted while it was still a day or more away.

Colonel Clewiston spent a good portion of each day up here, scanning the horizons to the north and south, the mountains and foothills to the east, and the sea to the west. He knew that if Urthblood came, it would undoubtedly be along the coast from one direction or the other, but there was also Tratton to worry about. Searat sails had not been in evidence since Lord Urthfist's departure, but that could easily change at any moment, and a fleet of sea vessels could be upon them with far less warning than a horde travelling on foot.

The seasoned veteran hare held out a childlike hope in his heart every time he came up to the roof of Salamandastron, the hope that one day soon he would spy Lord Urthfist and all fourscore of the Long Patrol who'd gone with him tramping their way back toward the mountain, safe and sound and every one present and accounted for. Clewiston knew he was being childish, that he ought not to even be wishing for such a thing. For if Urthfist and his force returned without casualties, that could only mean they had not seen battle, and that seemed impossible. Either the goodbeasts of Mossflower were truly being terrorized by Urthblood, or else Urthfist had been lured out for some reason. Either way, it looked highly unlikely that things would ever be completely all right again.

On this afternoon, Clewiston stood with his Lieutenant, Gallatin, and the other two hares of Gallatin's Patrol group. The Lieutenant was currently second-in-command at Salamandastron under Clewiston, and his field trio had drawn the day's mountaintop lookout duty. This left the plateau watch in very capable paws ... but it wasn't enough to keep the Colonel from coming up to lend his own eyes to the lookout.

Gallatin gazed eastward. "I say, Colonel, looks like we might have a spot of rain comin' before nightfall."

"P'raps, Galt. Tho', those clouds look a mite thin. Might not be any water in 'em - not enough to drop, anyway."

"Wouldn't mind it m'self. Hasn't rained a drop since 'is Lordship left us, an' the gardens're gettin' a bit withery, wot?"

Clewiston smiled to himself. Gallatin was a born gardener, a beast who could coax crops to grow out of sand and rock. The Colonel had ordered him to cut back on the watering of the gardens, since they might need more drinking supplies than Salamandastron's interior spring could provide, if they had to wait out a prolonged siege. Right now, the runoff was being funnelled into water barrels so they'd have plenty on paw, and that left less for the gardens. He'd hesitated to remind Gallatin that his beloved gardens would be uprooted, plundered and trampled flat by any invading horde anyway, but that was hardly the kind of thing to keep up morale, so he'd let Gallatin keep watering the crops just a little. After all, if he could nurse his secret hope for Lord Urthfist's safe return, who was he to deny another hare's hope in matters that lifted the spirits?

The cries of gulls overhead made both hares look up. Gallatin started to say, "Pesky featherbottoms, those ... egads, wot's that?"

The reason for the seagulls' sudden discordant squawking was now apparent. A much larger bird was diving through their flock like a brown thunderbolt, scattering the seabirds as if they were fledgelings only just learning to fly. It looked to the hares as if some of the gulls, responding with their typical hostility toward other creatures, were trying to rally a counterattack against their antagonizer by ganging up on it in numbers. But the falcon was massive and powerful, and performed midair moves so unexpectedly adroit for a bird of its size that it only left the gull flock in even greater chaos. For its part it seemed wholly unconcerned by the smaller birds, plowing through them with detachment as if they were a minor nuisance, hardly worth ruffling a feather about. No beak or talon ever touched the mighty skyhunter as it dropped out of sight below the rim of the plateau.

"Blimy!" Gallatin exclaimed. "That's an air show like I've never seen!"

Clewiston shook his head in disbelief. "That was a bally falcon, unless I'm mightily mistaken. Don't get those types 'round here too much - usually those no-good gull rotters drive away all other birdfolk."

"Didn't have much luck keepin' this one away," Gallatin laughed. "Showed those blighters wot's wot, an' good fer it, I say! Never could stand 'em myself, always harassin' our Patrols, an' raidin' our trees 'n' gardens fer free scoff that we work hard to grow. Hope that falcon chappie get a chance to knock 'em about some more 'fore it gets on its way."

"Wonder wot it was doin' here?" Clewiston muttered, ambling over to the crater's edge below which the falcon had vanished. "Sure as summer salads wasn't injured, not the way it was flyin'. Insane, mebbe, but not hurt." He scanned the north face of the mountain below him, but there was no sign of the falcon. It had disappeared without a trace.

A fifth hare popped its head up from the stairwell leading down into the mountain. "Colonel! Something down here you oughtta see, sir!"

"Oh, hullo, Melanie gel! Wot's the bother?"

"There's some big bird out in the gardens, gobblin' up every blinkin' berry in sight! Makin' enough of a glutton of itself to put a hare to shame!"

Gallatin went white. "My gardens!"

"Yes, we just saw it ourselves, Mel," said Clewiston. "Big brown falcon, swooped right past us a moment ago."

Melanie frowned. "Don't think so, sir. This one's red, an' I'm pretty sure it's a kite. An' it took me a fair piece to run up here to tell you about it, so I don't think we're talkin' about the same bird."

"Wot in the name of Finagle's goin' on here?" Clewiston did a quick full-circle scan of the countryside; there was no sign of any enemy, or of any other large birds, so this couldn't be an attack. Could it?

"Right!" he said decisively. "All hares, down to the gardens! We'll get this sorted out right 'n' proper!"

Gallatin was already pushing past Melanie in his haste to rush to the rescue of his beloved gardens. Melanie followed, with Clewiston and the other two hot on their heels, leaving the mountaintop momentarily deserted.

Even as their echoing voices receded down the passage into the heart of the mountain, a brown-feathered head stuck itself down from the sunlit plateau above. It took a good long look at the stairs and the narrow corridor beyond. Then, seemingly satisfied, it clacked its curved beak and withdrew.

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By the time Clewiston and the others had raced down through the mountain to arrive on the scene, the brown falcon had joined the red kite in the raid upon Salamandastron's outdoor food supplies.

Gallatin's horrified gaze went from the plum tree in whose branches the falcon perched, devouring the purple summer-ripened fruits in rapid succession, to the berry patch, where the kite had already picked clean a bilberry bush and was now starting in on a heavily-laden raspberry plant.

"Yikes! Now there's two of the blinkin' thieves!" The Lieutenant ran from the tunnel opening in the side of the mountain, frantically waving his paws at the two birds of prey. "Out! Shoo! G'way!"

Melanie's daughters Givadon and Mizagelle, who'd been guarding this entrance along with their mother, stood by with their bow and sling dangling from uncertain paws. They'd been on the lookout for enemy vermin; the surprise arrival of first one giant bird and then another had caught them quite off guard, and they'd had no idea how they ought to respond to the situation. Neither had Melanie, which was why the seasoned Patrol leader had run up to alert Colonel Clewiston.

Givadon, the older sister, turned to Clewiston. "Wasn't sure wot we should do, Colonel sir. Those winged brutes look big 'nuff t' carry off three hares apiece ... 'specially that red monster. Didn't think we oughtta start a fight without your say so."

"You did right, missy. Don't wanna injure any goodbirds by mistake."

"Goodbirds!" Gallatin croaked in rage. "They're plunderers! Villains! Miscreants and no-accounts! Out with you! Outta my trees an' gardens, I say!"

The kite and falcon threw the apoplectic hare lieutenant an occasional glance, but otherwise went on with their eating quite calmly, totally unperturbed by the fuss they were causing.

"Cool pair o' customers, must say," Mizagelle observed. "But I thought their type only hunted 'n' fed on small creatures, not fruit."

"Guess if a bird or beast's hungry enuff, it'll eat wot it has to," Clewiston said.

Gallatin stooped and grabbed up a good-sized rock with rough edges and hurled it at the kite with the full force of his anger. The projectile struck the bird on its breast, causing it to cry out with a piercing shriek that made the watching hares cover their ears. The kite flapped its wings in agitation, but neither bird made any move to attack their tormentor.

Clewiston strode forward and lay a restraining paw on Gallatin's shoulder. "Steady on, Lieutenant! Always try talkin' first. You can always chuck stones if words don't work."

"But, Colonel - "

"Stand back, an' that's an order!"

Obediently, Gallatin stepped back behind his commander, although his eyes still shot fire at kite and falcon. Clewiston addressed the two birds. "Right, now, wot's the meanin' of this? We don't mind sharin' our grub with journeybeasts who ask politely, but you're trespassin' on our mountain without our leave, an' gulpin' up enuff to choke ten hares, if such a thing's possible. We happen to be on a war footing jus' now. We coulda mistaken you for enemies an' slain you!"

The falcon gave a caw of laughter. "Yeaghaha! Groundbunnies gonna slay us! That verra funny. Haha!"

"We hungry," the kite put in. "Food grow on mountain, belong to nobeast, there for all. So we come down to eat. After we eat, we fly away again. Go where we will. No creature stop us!"

"Oh, yeah? Watch me!" Gallatin started casting about for another rock to throw, but Clewiston stopped him.

"Let 'em have their fill," he commanded. "They're big enuff to do us some serious damage if they put their birdbrains to it, and it wouldn't be worth the fight. We'll lose the gardens anyway if Urthblood or Tratton show up, and we haven't the water or harepower to look after them properly. After these two fly off, I'll have a detachment gather all the ripe fruit that's left an' store it in the kitchens. It's late summer; we've gotten a good growing season's worth outta these crops 'n' trees. Time to let 'em go fer now. If things turn out all right, you'll have next spring to get it all back in shape. Okay, chum?"

"Well ... if you say so, sir, I guess ... "

Clewiston turned back to the kite. "So, tell us, have you come far?"

"We fly to ends of world," it declared triumphantly. "Then we fly back again. We go everywhere, kreeeagh!"

"Yes, I'm sure. But I meant where have you come from just now?"

"From mountains to east. Small mountains. Seen much bigger ones other places."

"Quite. Still, you must've been flyin' pretty high, wot?"

"No bird fly higher than us!" the falcon cawed boastfully.

"Then you must've had a good view of the coastlands north an' south of here. Tell me, did you happen to notice any large groups of creatures marching our way? Very large, I mean; fivescore, or tenscore, or even bigger."

Both birds shook their heads, scattering plum juice and raspberry seeds as they did. "No big groups," the kite replied. "Lotsa gulls, nasty gulls, but nothing else. Not for far as we see, and we see far, far!"

"I'm sure you do." Clewiston stepped backed, taking Gallatin and Melanie aside. "Call me bonkers," he said to them in a low voice, "but I'm gettin' a notion on how these featherbags might be able to earn this scoff they're stealin' from us!"

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A short time later, Halpryn and Klystra were winging away from Salamandastron. Colonel Clewiston had made them a proposition: the two birds would be welcome to help themselves to all that they wanted from the mountain's gardens and trees, in exchange for scouting out the coastlands to let the hares know whether any enemy horde was in the vicinity. Halpryn had told the Colonel that they would consider his offer.

Kite and falcon flew straight east to the mountain range, to put off any hares who might be watching them, and sailed effortlessly over the line of craggy peaks. Then, when they were on the other side of the mountains and skirting the edge of the Western Plains, they dropped low and turned south. Had they thought to look, they might have noticed the ragged line of half a hundred hurried marchers, led by a fox and two squirrels, pushing their way across the Plains to the north. But this was not a scouting mission, and so Halpryn and Klystra flapped southward, wasting no time in reporting back to Lord Urthblood.