A/N: Sorry Mouserat fans, but this is the last chapter of Greyclaw you'll have in a while. I know I said there would be four but I decided to make this one a bit extra-long instead of stretching it out further than needed. Noone needs an Electric Bugaloo. It's time to head back North to Deathglare. We can't leave him in a barrel forever you know. Though we will be heading back south soon enough to rejoin these guys.

Dear Abrahem,

I'd say yes the Redwall books are pretty enjoyable at 17. Food porn is pretty prevelant but I avoid it generally since after twenty or so feasts it can get pretty repetitive and draggy. It's decently funny especially the little kids and some of the dialogue is pretty good too (I read them mostly for the character interactions to be honest) I am (eventually) going to read all the books (just so I can say I have done so) but I am a Redwall fanatic (sometimes). I reccomend you start with a 'good' book and a 'bad' book (generally those later in the publishing order) just so you know how… inconsistent the books can be in quality. Though I think they're all good some are just 'good' and some are 'great'.

I like Martin the Warrior a lot, but found Outcast of Redwall somewhat lackluster, so I'd reccomend those two to get an overall feel of the franchise. Since this story is a deconstruction you don't necessarily get the same vibe I think and I'd say that's because Redwall as a whole is very clear cut with it's good vs evil and lacks my depth of moral ambiguity (not to toot my own horn or anything).

Of course just because there isn't much moral ambiguity doesn't mean it's bad. On the contrary I think it gives them a very unique feel. It's very different from most novels published nowadays.

Now onto the chapter …

A week had passed since Greyclaw's arrival in the pit of hares. So far he was still Berty, but tension was mounting around him and threatened to squash him flat. And he had enough difficulty avoiding the Badgerlord's feetpaws already!

Sleep had not yet embraced him and it was starting to show in large bags around his eyes. Angus and Andrew had advised a tonic- but he had decided against following their advice. From what he'd heard them talking they had once slain a stupid ferret (they had even claimed that if one looked closely enough you could find the last claw marks of their dreadful opponent on one of their cheeks), he did not doubt their willingness to use poison on a rat. And even if they did think he was a mouse (unlikely) wasn't poison-in-the-soup a classic prank?

To compensate for the extreme pressure building up around him he ate twice as much as usual- and usually he ate more than Sharpfur. Of course this only further ostracized him, hares loved their food and with a whole holt to feed there was less to go around- it did not help that the wonderful fare- their breakfast's alone would be called a feast by sane vermin everywhere- mesmerized him. Tibbers had taken to sitting a considerable distance away from him ever since their arrival for fear of the rat's tongue.

Of course, the shrew only abandoned him at mealtimes- Jack had done so altogether. Not out of spite or because (like Sharpfur) he was dead, but because he was still a hare of the Long Patrol determined to earn his badges. And for that he had to do extensive training.

Grey had watched him at it, and while the young hares did not have the experience and discipline of their seniors (creatures Greyclaw was determined to avoid as much as possible) they were just as determined and almost as talented, if not moreso.

This was not the casual afternoon dueling Threeclaw had done with all of his older brothers, this was training. The stoat had never instilled in them different battle stances though he knew many himself. He had never taught them teamwork, or formation-fighting and probably didn't know half the weapons the hares used. He had never explained the importance of trust, and what could be achieved by standing united. He had taught them how to survive, and now the only beast he hadn't taught was the only one not dead.

Life was ironic like that. Of all the Honest Bunch he had stuck out the most. He was not a rat like Gulash, big and brawny and bad-tempered. He was not good at insults, nor was he good at fighting. He had always been soft and sensitive, and remembered painfully all the times he had broken into tears over something that was not meant the way he'd heard it.

Perhaps that was why he'd been dumped into the river. Somebeast had gotten tired of his crying.

He had never given them much thought. After all he'd had Sharpfur to cling to ever since. But Sharpfur was gone, and his mind raced back to them.

Had they known he could swim? Had they just abandoned him or tried to drown him too? Both were horrible, but one was unforgivable. Or had it been an accident? Had they just dropped their baby and watched it get swept into the paws of a loving mother?

They couldn't have been watching if it was an accident. They'd have asked for him back... Unless they hadn't wanted him…

"Hey Berty."

Greyclaw was brought back to reality by Victoria. She was the sole mouse of the volcano, having been adopted many seasons prior. No older than him, and reaching no higher than his neck, yet she was a force to be reckoned with. He'd seen her on the practice yard obliterating waves of potatoe sack dummies painted to have snarling fangs and bloodshot eyes. Vermin. He'd watched her stab and slice and rip eyeballs (little pins) off her opponents with speed and swiftness that would have promoted the three W's had he still been Greyclaw.

But he was Berty. And Berty was a mouse and although he did not share her passion for dead vermin, and smelled awful and was plain weird… he was her friend.

"Hullo." He replied, swallowing. Tibbers was nowhere in sight and Jack was probably training. He would have no back-up for this conversation.

"Another nightmare?" She asked knowingly, noting the bags on his eyes.

He nodded, rubbing at them awkwardly untill they began to wetten.

"Happens a lot after trauma." The mouse said knowingly. "I used to have them all the time after… when I got here."

"Is this place haunted?" He asked cautiously. He wasn't entirely sure whether or not mice believed in ghosts, Fret hadn't and he was raised by mice. But didn't everybeast know it was ghosts that haunted and stole sweet sleep away?

Victoria shook her head. "Honestly Berty do you hear yourself? You say the silliest things sometimes. Course it's not haunted or else we wouldn't live here. Anyhow ghosts aren't real."

Ah, so mice didn't believe in ghosts. But hadn't there been-

"Martin the Warrior's just a fairy tale before you bring that up." She said sharply. "Wars weren't won by ghosts. It was real, hard-working soldiers what won our battles with vermin."

The way she said that last word, a mix between a hiss and a snap and full to the brim with loathing, made Grey flinch.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up." She added. Tibbers had spread the rumour that vermin had tortured Grey (or rather Berty) in unspeakable ways, this was to avoid lengthy conversations on the topic and also to cover-up on his mishaps.

"It's fine. I don't really mind. I mean…" He trailed off. Victoria would have killed him had he still been Greyclaw. Three W's be damned. "Not all vermin are bad though, are they? I mean, it wouldn't be so bad to have a vermin as a friend, would it?"

Her face hardened- it was like watching water turn to ice. "They are and it would. And you should know better than anybeast else."

"But… have you ever met a vermin?"

She frowned at him for a second then broke into a smile. For all her harshness and dummy disemboweling she did have a very nice smile. And her teeth were very white. And were exactly the same size. It made him feel distinctly unmouse-like. He looked stupid when he smiled- Sharpfur had always said that.

"You're too good Berty. Or maybe you're just mad. After all those monsters did to you you still try and find some good in them." She put a paw around his neck and the proximity as well as the compliment made him blush. Despite the fact that he was a monster. "I know these things are complicated sometimes. But for me trusting vermin is stupid and risky. They… well they're the reason I'm an orphan and you're an orphan. And from one orphan to another, stay away from vermin. They'll act nice and sweet to get close to you, but one day they'll rise up all big and ugly like the monsters they are, and you had best have your wits about you then, lest you want a knife in your back."

Grey Claw swallowed.

"Don't worry though. I'll be there for you. When the monsters come for your chubby belly just run to Vicky and she'll send them running."

Or to Hellgates. "Did that happen to you then? Did the vermin that killed your parents come in all sweet-like?" It was probably what they would think of him, if he was ousted. That it had all been an act. Every kind favour. Every compliment. Discomfort grew inside him and he found himself scanning the beaches for Tibbers.

"Well… no." She was frowning now. "I just know that one day my mother told me to hide and I did. And I heard lots of screaming but she told me not to come out for anything. And when I did come out… there was blood on the floor and lots of it. And pawprints leading to the beach. And I followed them and I found a ship and there were vermin on board. And they… well they were eating my mum and dad."

Greyclaw felt dizzy, disgusted, sick and guilty all at once. Victoria was gazing into the sea, watching the waves as if under a spell.

"I'm sorry." He said in a very small voice. He should never have opened his fat mouth.

"You didn't do it, did you?" She asked with a small, sad smile.

Grey shook his head in earnestness. The Honest Bunch had never stooped so low. "Of course not! I would never- it's not-"

Victoria was laughing now, and pinched his cheek. "I know it wasn't you silly. You're not a rat. Anyhow those monsters are all dead. Not long after I found them the Long Patrol did, and they didn't just cry in the sand."

Greyclaw shivered as he imagined the hares coming down upon the pack of pirates with bloody retribution.

"Say Berty, I've got the day off, but if you want we could do some training together. Just me and you. I could teach you how to fight."

Grey swallowed. "Fight?"

"Yeah! Here come on, it'll be fun." Without waiting for his garbled reply she seized his paw and half-lead, half-dragged him towards the training dummies. Angus and Andrew were failing marvelously at hitting a particularly fat one. The face painted on it slightly resembled Gulash that one time Silvertongue had made him drink hotroot.

"Berty, come to test your worth, eh?" Andrew started, mostly to cover up a particularly bad shot on Angus' part.

"I guess." He said, tracing little circles in the ground with his feetpaw.

"Don't worry, we'll make a soldier of you yet." Angus said with an encouraging whack of his tail.

"Humph. Learn it yourselves before you teach." Victoria snapped, hitting the great big target square on the nose with a gentle flick of her sling.

Both otters went red, but made no further comment.

Victoria frowned. "A strong throw but a bit off the mark. I'd need another to put it down for good. Alright you try." She passed the sling to Grey, who took it in a shaking paw. "Just swing it round and release when you're ready. We're aiming for the big one."

The rat nodded and spun it round half-heartedly. The projectile fell out and hit the sand half a foot away.

Angus snorted and even Victoria looked bemused.

"Come on, you can do better than that. Spin it a bit quicker next time."

Grey obeyed and spun the sling round as fast as he could. The rush of the wind next to his ear was strangely thrilling and for half a second he was sure that he'd hit the target, and it would come crashing down in a heap and then Victoria would give him another smile and-

"Yowch!" He had caught his own tail. Holding the writhing, throbbing appendage in his paws he bit down on a whimper. He did not want to start crying in front of everybeast.

Victoria patted his back soothingly. "There, there. I'm sure you're a lot more um… ferocious… in melee."

After he had recovered from his own devastating attack, Grey stood in front of the dummy, armed with a short wooden sword.

"Alright Berty, just hit him."

"Right." Grey repeated. He had hit things before, he could do this. Then he hesitated. What had the dummy ever done to him?

"Hit it." Andrew whispered.

Grey poked it lightly on the chest. "But it's a dummy."

Victoria facepawed. Andrew laughed.

"Okay. Imagine the ugliest, most frightening, mean little vermin you can think of- then hit him."

Grey focused hard. Gulash was probably the ugliest vermin he knew, but that was only by default. He was probably really good-looking to those interested in big, muscled and bad-tempered rats. Deathglare was the most frightening, but Grey was too scared to hit him. No two words described Sharpfur better than mean and little. He could just imagine the little weasel smirking up at him. 'Go on Grey, hit me. But I'll hit ye back twice as hard. Nah, make that eight times.'

"But-"

"Just hit it."

Grey, very gently, put the flat of the sword against the dummy's cheek. He turned to the others, wearing a nervous grin. One look at their faces was enough to make him hit it properly. And twice for good measure.

"Berty," began Victoria. But he never learned what she had meant to say. For at that moment a shadow fell upon them.

"Morning sir." Chorused the twins. Victoria had straightened into a full, very stiff, salute.

"Morning." Squeaked Grey.

"Good morning children." Said the massive badger, beaming down at them. "I'm sorry to interrupt your, ahem, very important training. But I just had to borrow Berty for a second."

Before the rat could even open his mouth he was lifted off his feet and into the badger's paws.

"I won't be long. Don't worry, you'll soon have your friend back."

Greyclaw went uncomfortably stiff within the grasp of the creature. Majestic or not, the rat would be dead if Umber squeezed even a little bit tighter. He was so lost in crippling fear that he didn't notice where he was being taken until he had arrived at the badger's office.

He had never been there before, but knew it based on the size of the chair alone. He was deposited gently on the table and Umber sat down so that they were almost eye to eye. Of course, that did not change the fact that the badger's head alone was probably bigger than him.

"So, you're probably wondering why I kidnapped you. Well to be honest Berty- or should I call you Greyclaw?"

Horror washed over every inch of Grey like a hot bath. He was momentarily torn between wetting himself, cowering for his life and making a run for it. The badgerlord must have seen the panic in his face and proceeded more gently.

"Whichever you prefer-"

"I never killed anybeast. I didn't cook any mice or eat 'em. I stole things sometimes but I didn't mean any harm I just wanted the things they had and-" his brain had come to a decision. The rat squeezed his eyes shut and raised his paws as if in prayer. "PLEASEDON'TKILLMEANDUSEMYSKULLASADRINKINGCUP!"

The badger paused for a moment, then exploded into a hearty chuckle. He clapped his paws together in applause. "When you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?" He chuckled again, but stopped upon noticing the rat's continued terror.

"I'm not going to hurt you. For all accounts and purposes you are still Berty."

Grey relaxed ever-so-slightly.

"And beyond these walls I'm guessing you still want to be called Berty?"

"Well… Greyclaws not a mouse name."

"And why are you pretending to be a mouse?" The tone was gentle, but made the rat shiver in panic. "B-b-because y-you kill rats. A-an-and it's the Skipper who said I'm a mouse. And then I got scared 'coz all the other otters were looking at me and I said I was a mouse b-b-bec-"

The badger held up his paw for silence. "Would you like a drink?"

The question took the rat by surprise. Either way he nodded.

A cup was pulled out of a drawer and something that smelled of strawberries was poured in.

The cup was slightly smaller than he was, and the bubbling, bright pink juice reminded him horribly of flesh. Poison perhaps?

"I don't want to frighten you. But I won't lie to you either. I have killed rats before. Many times, many ways, I'm an old beast. But, I do not kill children."

He noticed Grey's hesitancy and chuckled. "Do you really think I'd use poison if I wanted to kill you?"

The rat went as pink as the strawberry, his ears drooping in shame. More for something to do than actual thirst, Greyclaw drank.

"Besides, I like to fatten things up first."

Grey choked on the strawberry cordial and exploded into fits of violent coughing.

"That was a joke." The badger said, gently patting Greyclaw's back. "Ill-timed, ill-advised. The fault is mine. Now, aside from letting you know that I know your little secret I did want to ask you something. You see, our mutual friend the Skipper thinks you are a mouse. He also thinks you are the son of two very specific mice. A pair of old friends." He raised a large paw to keep Grey silent. "Please don't interrupt. Let me finish first. He believes that you are the son of one Rowland and Constance, of Redwall Abbey."

Greyclaw frowned. The Cursed Abbey… but that would mean that he really was a mouse and he was pretty sure he was a rat.

"Now, there is some resemblance, I'll give him that. The nose, the eyes, a bit of the ears. But nothing that quite leaps out at you. It doesn't help, I suppose, that Rowland lives on only in our memories. Moreover, their children are dead. Quite horrible, I know. Stabbed. Butchered. Cast into a river and washed away by the current."

Greyclaw blinked. "I-I-I-"

"Judging by your reaction you're familiar with this?"

"I-"

"Were you found on a riverbank?"

Here Greyclaw could only splutter out words and shallow excuses. "Dates and time and and and I-I-I- it's not- Sickletail-" It was too much for his feet, Greyclaw fell on his rump, his head spinning.

"Of course you're right, we won't get anywhere unless someone more involved comes forward. Perhaps Constance would recognize you? Or your mother could tell us. This… Sickletail."

"So I'm a mouse?" The apparently-not-a-rat asked abruptly. He felt like he was falling, but he wasn't falling. But his world was. If he wasn't a rat then he wasn't vermin. And if he wasn't vermin then… Grey forced himself to laugh. "You're pulling my tail, aren't you? I- you know- I- I can't be a mouse."

"Well, we cannot say for certain but it is a possibility. I am unfamiliar with rat biology so I cannot, unfortunately, tell the difference. I suppose I could say you are mouse-like based on your behaviour so far but you smell more like a rat." The badger chuckled at his own joke but stopped abruptly. "Are you alright?"

Greyclaw felt numb. He was lost, deep, deep in thought. Still he replied with 'I'm fine'.

The badger frowned. Perhaps he hadn't been prudent in pulling the trigger so fast. "I heard you were having nightmares. There is a tonic I generally brew for the Skipper but I am sure will work on you, for nightmares. I think you will find it most satisfactory."

Greyclaw accepted a large (for him anyways) phial of light green liquid, his mind still adrift in memories.

"A few drops before bed should do the trick." Said Umber with a wink, but the rat-mouse was still lost.

"Berty." Grey snapped back into reality, his eyes wide. "I think it's best you take the day off. Jack and Tibbers are listening in as we speak, they'll help you to your room. I advise you take the tonic." He adressed the door. "You can come in now!"

The hare opened the door, looking sheepish. "Sorry sah, just had to make sure you didn't skewer this one, wot. Now, we'll just be going now. Sorry for ratting you out Grey, wot. I held it in as long as I could but…" He deflated at the lost look on the alleged rat's face.

"Are you okay?" This was Tibbers, staring at the rat with nothing but worry.

"I'm… I'm… a mouse?"

It was too much for him. To have the last pillar of his old life torn from the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces… he was not a rat. The Honest Bunch and Sharpfur had all left him. And he was a mouse. Every day of his life so far had been built upon… nothing.

Of course he fainted.

Footnote: Hey guys… so, I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter.

The joke with Angus and Andrew in the beginning is a reference to the story they like to tell. I think it's something woodland teens would do for extra 'street cred' if you will, act like you've slain a vermin and everyone will think you're big and tough. Harmless bragging really which Grey is pretty sure is them telling the truth. Brightness isn't really his strong suite.

Victoria's backstory was fun, mainly because she's one of a few characters to have a personal and somewhat justified reason to vehemently hate vermin. Plus I love the irony in that scene. If it can be called irony…

Now, Grey Claw the rat-mouse… my first properly foreshadowed plot twist...

And I actually did do quite a bit for this. Fret's first meeting with Grey and Sharpfur waaaay back in… five I think? Well, Fret immediately notes that Greyclaw looks 'familiar'. He also deduces that he's a rat because he's holding a weasel and 'no mouse would hold a weasel', strange wording isn't it? A lot of his interactions with Grey after the Not-So-Great Redwall Feast turn into thoughts of Constance very quickly… this in particular probably flew over everyone's heads.

Speaking of the Feast, Constance's reaction to finding Greyclaw in the kitchens is? To faint. And what does she do when she wakes up/recovers (I don't remember the exact chapter) but starts dancing around and dragging Abbot Martin with her. She even talks about her son and says 'Skip's alive' (of course she then acts a little cuckoo to throw everyone off the scent by bringing up Fret promising her something when Fret never made any promises)

But… 'Skip' as we know from Connington (in particular his conversation with the Skipper after Fret is nearly skewered and the flashbacks there… chapter six?) was thrown into a river- and Greyclaw was found in a river as we know from Sharpfur way back in chapter… eight? The chapter after the Winter Feast.

So… yeah…

Grey Claw however cannot be *confirmed* as either rat or mouse since DNA testing doesn't exist in Redwall. So all this foreshadowing was really just to lead you to a… maybe. Maybe he's a rat. Maybe he's a mouse. We will never know for sure- it's what the *character's* think that's important and right now Greyclaw is one confused rat… or mouse…

As for Constance- well, Grey resembles her offspring enough to make her faint, but at the same time it could have just been the surprise of finding a rat in the pie? Plus when she wakes up she does go on about Fret promising her something… when there was no promise made in regards to returning home. She then hears that her beloved son has betrayed the abbey and hears voices in her head. Anything she says at this point should be taken with a heap of salt.

So really it can be read both ways. Grey is either a rat that resembles a very specific mouse or a mouse raised by vermin because his family was killed and his mother had no idea he was alive (and as a result adopted a ferret). Pick your… I don't want to call it poison… your favourite?

Well done Lord demon- you kinda called it just in the nick of time. I reiterate, I like the way you read.

And why did I do this?

Parralels, parallels, parallelograms…

Berserker88 noted the parallels between Sharpfur and Fret's arcs earlier on, well Greyclaw's arc is a bit more on the nose. His relationship with the Skipper is akin to Fret and Clogg's, in that both Skipper and Clogg believe that Grey and Fret are their deceased best friend's offspring. Neither Fret nor Grey can ever know for certain who their parents are, but their identity is nevertheless shaken up. Both Fret and Grey change names (Whimper, Berty) and are terrified by their new-found friends (Bork, Victoria, Angus, Andrew) both are also in a stronghold directly opposite the species alignment of their childhood. Fret was raised amongst woodlanders and ends up in a fortress of vermin. Greyclaw was raised amongst vermin and ends up in a fortress of woodlanders. Both are adopted to begin with.

You get the picture…

I could have made this clearer I think, if I had placed these chapters in conjunction with the ones with Whimper but hey, what can you do?

Please note that I will still refer to Grey Claw as 'the rat' in dialogue or actions (ie the rat walked away). Because to me, he's still a rat.

Personally though I like to think that he *is* Constance's son, but it's not something I wanted to delve into for fear of making this too complicated/loosing you all in a twist that came out of nowhere. Depending on the story versions he kept going from rat to mouse and so on so forth. So I left it kinda open that he can be both (but that was mostly only because I didn't know what I was aiming for). I think he was originally going to be Constance's son for sure, but then I kept loosing confidence in that twist and I thought it was silly- but then I kept liking it and then thinking it was a nice touch- which is why Greyclaw, Jack and Tibbers got a lot less screen time then Fret, Momchillo or Sharpfur- I wasn't sure what to go for with them. I'm still not entirely sure whether it's silly or not which is why it'll probably never be confirmed (since my opinion is just my opinion and foreshadowing or not it could all just be a coincidence) but I'm happy I went through with this, if only to have some semblance of pay-off with this it.

So… Good twist, bad twist? Is Grey a rat or a mouse? My foreshadowing? What do you think?