A/N: Abrahem, the development in this story may be slow, but it's there and after much bickering these three can call each other friends.

I'm pretty sure Connington didn't really do any talking there- and I think that line was Fleetfoot's (because Jack was one of the captives) I guess I'll look over to make sure it's clearer.

Friendship has been a bit of a theme for a while now-although the beginning stages can hardly be called true friendship. I think the earliest example is Matiya and Fret back in Book I.

I too learn loads on TV Tropes (one of my favourite websites). They will have an argument yes, and Sharpfur's involved but it's not entirely because of Sharpfur !it's also in the next chapter so stay tuned!)

Hmmm, I'm not sure what type of weasel he is (since BJ never really went into weasel subspecies) although he *is* the runt of the litter irrespective of it. He's smaller than the rest of his siblings- and while age gives him some leeway to argue that he's not a runt- the fact is he'd never outgrow any of them.

Hmmm, I tend to think of Silver as slightly shorter (and looking more like Sharpfur) while the others take a bit more after their taller mother. Funnily enough male weasels can be up to twice the size of females but... Guess not here XD That's just the way I imagine it though. You could visualize it differently.

Hmmm, I'll never tell (if only because it seems a certain theory hinges upon this information... I've said too much already...)

Now without further ado, the chapter.


There was no time left for regrets, but if there had been even a minute or two, Greyclaw would have regretted ever agreeing to patrol duty. The young hares training under the Junior Corporal's division were already several places ahead of him- not even breaking a sweat as they marched at a constant pace, singing some marching song Grey did not know the name of. The rat was huffing and puffing and practically running, yet still far behind.

"Keep up Berty!" Victoria insisted from far ahead of him.

"Come on Gr-Berty!" Jack doubled back from the back of the hares and hoisted the fat rat above the ground. "We don't leave anybeast behind, wot. But by golly, I wish you were lighter!"

Now patrolling was easy- well of course it was easy, he didn't have to walk. Only stir guiltily as Jack began to fall behind the others, huffing and puffing from the added weight. Not to mention the heat of the sun.

Another patrol passed by, and all hares saluted smartly- except Jack, but rats were not made for saluting with.

"Afraid you won't find anything, wot." Said the hare apparently in charge of this other patrol. "Not a vermin in sight, I'm afraid. Great seasons I can't remember the last time I saw a rat! You might not see much of lunch either at that pace. You've still got a lot of ground to cover, wot, and you know we don't leave any leftovers!"

As soon as they were out of earshot, the Junior Corporal (ignoring both common sense and the protests of all present) doubled their speed.

Jack collapsed onto the sand, and Greyclaw with him. "Bally hot isn't it? I'm starting to think Tibbers was right."

"Berty!" Came Victoria's insistent voice. "Jack! Keep up!"

"I'd like to see her try and carry you, wot." The hare grumbled, pushing himself to his feet and helping the rat to his.

"I think I'd squash her." Greyclaw pointed out, as the two now walked at a normal pace.

"Or she'd throw you into the sea."

"For the last time!" The mouse snapped.

"Not right in the jolly ole cranium, that one." Jack-is-Lucky shook his head.

"Keep up!"

"What does cranium mean?" Asked Greyclaw, as the two did their best at catching up.


Tibbers' too was walking. In the opposite direction. There was a rocky outcrop slightly south of the legendary mountain, which the shrew often visited. He'd been to the fire mountain before of course, the Guosim liked to winter in the warmth of the desert and his father knew the Skipper and the Badgerlord. He had liked to go exploring, and the set of jagged rocks piled to make a kind of pyramid had been his greatest discovery.

Frequently he would leave the fort, for he knew many ways in and out the mountain and travel to this place.

It was where he liked to think. And where he went to in times of boredom. Or when he was lonely.

Now he was both. Being a shrew was not normally a challenge, especially when you lived with other shrews. But when you were the sole shrew in a volcano full of hares even walking became a challenge.

If he had a muffin for every time he'd almost been stepped on he'd be too wide for the gates. And that was not counting all the times he'd been sat on, or had something thrown on him (usually a cloak of some sort, several times larger than himself). Once the cook had nearly baked him into the pie-purely because he hadn't noticed him in the kitchens (and Tibbers still thought it lucky the hare had heard him). Another time the old washer-hare had gotten to work on his blankets… with him still snoozing inside of them. That had been the most uncomfortable wake-up call he'd ever had…

It wouldn't have been so bad, if only he wasn't always by himself. But Greyclaw, or rather Berty, had Victoria and Jack had the other hares. Victoria frightened him- when he'd been younger she had tried to make him go through her 'training regime' and he'd only agreed because it seemed likely she might stab him if he said otherwise. It had been a nightmare to begin with and had ended with a crab chasing after him.

He wasn't too fond of the other hares- sure they were friendly enough, but they were also frivolous and energetic and forgetful and well… his size did him no favours.

That left the otter twins and that was out of the question. They didn't just pick on him, and indeed picked on everybeast when the opportunity for teasing came. But 'the opportunity' came often when you reached no higher than the knees of most beasts.

Still there were some advantages to being small, and his hideout was one of them. The shrew sniffed at the passageway to make sure it was empty, before sliding into the gap between three jagged rocks. A short slide down a tunnel slick with seawater later, and the shrew lay in a cool chamber- a perfectly square room. Gaps between rocks gave him a window to the sea bellow, where the waves beat the rocks. In time the sea would take his hideout to a watery grave. Hopefully without him inside it.

But not for several seasons anyways- besides, it was only a matter of time before he could no longer squeeze inside to begin with.

He closed his eyes and let the sound of crashing waves lull him to sleep- it was one of the few things he could do really.


Greyclaw was now several feet behind Jack, who was about a hundred metres behind everybeast else.

"Well I say!" Panted the hare, bending over to pant all the better. "I don't remember ever marching at this rather hurrisome pace. How're you doing over there Gre-Berty, wot?"

The rat gave a 'thumbclaw up' from where he lay upon the ground- having collapsed when the hare did.

Jack-is-Lucky's sensitive ears told him that the Junior Corporal had ordered a halt. Victoria turned, and even from this distance he could tell she was shaking her head in disapproval.

"Come on Berty. Not much further left to go. J-just catch up to the others, wot."

It took them another ten minutes to catch up with the others, yet nobeast seemed to notice them when they collapsed in a heap upon the sand.

"We… should have stayed with Tibbers… maybe had a shot at the kitchens… wot…"

"Really?" Asked Angus.

"And miss out on this discovery?"

Greyclaw looked up to see what everybeast was staring at- a small boat with no sail and no oars. A pair of water bags lay within, but there were no signs of life otherwise.

"This- this could be important, wot!" The Junior Corporal was saying. "Somebeast's lost their boat! Or worse, somebeast had their boat taken from them!"

"Or somebeast got taken from their boat." Victoria placed a paw upon her chin, deep in thought.

"It's just a boat." Said Greyclaw. Everybeast looked at him as if he was stupid. He realized why a moment later.

"We might have to take it back to lunch- er I mean Salamandastron, yes."

"The Badgerlord will want to see this, wot!"

"Weren't there somebeasts from Redwall still missing?"

The muttering grew, and it sounded almost rehearsed. Every voice present (save for Victoria who was still thinking up implications behind an empty boat) was desperate to call it a day and bring the boat back in time for lunch.

The Junior Corporal raised a paw for silence. "I've made my mind up. We'll take the boat with us!"

There was a great cheer and everybeast turned back towards the fire mountain.

"We'll take the boat with us while we finish the patrol!" The fat hare said sternly. "Come on, wot, only half a mile left to go!"

The collective groan was silenced by the look on his face, and everybeast went back to marching at… varied paces.


"Supposing we arrive in time for lunch." Grollo said, his voice brimming with hope, his paws patting his loudly-complaining belly.

Sharpfur growled, as did his stomach, but he ignored the latter and growled again. "It doesn't matter if it's lunch or not! Ye said we weren't stayin'!"

"We never said anything about staying." Hawthorn agreed. "But it wouldn't hurt to have a bite to eat, would it? And perhaps some… something sweet for the road, eh?"

Sharpfur was sorely tempted by the prospect, but was smart enough to know what was going on. And of course he was not going to just let it happen. "First it's a bite te eat, the next thing ye know ye'll want a nap! Then ye'll want a bath! Then ye'll want a towel! Then ye'll want a map! On an' on an' on until we're old and grey! No! We ain't stayin' and that's final!"

"But Sharpfuuuuur!" Grollo whined, leaning slightly on the weasel to emphasize how hard it was to walk on an empty stomach. "There'll be lots of good things to eat! This is a mountain of hares we're talking about. You know how much hares eat?"

"Ye keep forgettin'." The weasel grunted, pushing Grollo off of him. "That I'm a weasel! Hares kill weasels and weasels kill hares and badgers eat weasels and I don't care what's for lunch so long as it's not me!"

Grollo could not stop himself laughing- now genuinely in need of Sharpfur's support to remain upright. "Wait, wait, wait. Y-you think a badger's going to eat you?"

"It's what badgers do!" Sharpfur gave a valiant effort at pushing off the hedgehog- but failed this time.

"No they don't!" Hawthorn sounded aghast. She'd been raised by a badger and knew firstpaw that they were wise and gentle beasts.

"W-why would they want to eat you anyways?" Grollo pulled himself together. "You're all scrawny and-"

"I ain't small!" Sharpfur snapped.

"Even if you were big." Hawthorn said, her arms crossed across her chest. "Nobeast would eat you. We don't eat other beasts."

"Well ye ain't a badger." Sharpfur pointed out.

"I've lived with one all my life!" The vole protested hotly. "And she never ate Fret, now did she?"

"So I won't get eaten!" Sharpfur threw his paws in the air in mock-celebration. He hastily lowered them again. "There's still a hundred other ways a badger could kill me!"

"But why would they want to kill you?"

"Because I'm vermin!" The weasel shouted- and his voice echoed down the beach.

"So?" Said Grollo.

"And?" Came Hawthorn.

Facepalm, went Sharpfur. "I don't think ye understand how much my kind and yer kind have done te each other." He said, slowly dragging his paw down his face.

"I'm an orphan." Hawthorn pointed out. "All my life all I've ever known was Redwall Abbey. What do you think happened to my parents?"

Sharpfur did not reply. The albino continued regardless.

"I'm pretty sure I understand what you mean. Our kinds have fought for as long as anybeast can remember. That doesn't change the fact that you are a child-"

The little weasel scoffed.

"-With nowhere else to go and if they turn you away then they'll be turning us away too! Where you go, we go too."

The weasel froze, as stiff as a board- as if someone had struck him.

"Oh come on! You act like sentiment is a weakness." Grollo shook his head. "Can't we just be honest with each other?"

"Shut it hedgepig! I'm trying te concentrate." The weasel was sniffing the air, his nose twitching as it caught the familiar scents of salt and Hawthorn and Grollo- but there was something else in the breeze- something vaguely familiar.

"What is it?" Asked Hawthorn, her ears beginning to dart about in search of danger.

"I-it's- it's…" Sharpfur went on all fours, allowing his nose to guide him forwards through the rocks. "It's shrew!" He declared, scrambling into a tunnel. Hawthorn followed suite, but Grollo was left at the mouth- he was too big to squeeze inside.

He did not have to wait long, for soon Hawthorn came out- looking just as confused as he was, followed by Sharpfur, who was dragging a very small, sleeping shrew by the tail.

The weasel clambered back to his feet and spat out the tail. "Is it just me or does he look familiar?" He asked, wrists on hips.

"It's Tibbers!" Grollo said suddenly, recognising a loose green bandage around the young beast's shoulder. "You remember, the one from the feast! He was with us when you, well, when you-"

"Ah that's right! We kidnapped him." Sharpfur sounded rather delighted, eerily so. "And Threeclaw stabbed his shoulder. Now I remember!"

Hawthorn tried to shake the shrew awake.

"Five more seasons…" He grumbled, curling back into a ball.

He didn't get five more seasons as a second later Sharpfur had deposited a large amount of water onto him.

"Ack! Ah! Do you mind?" Tibbers shot to his feet- expecting anything from the washerhare, to Angus and Andrew... Trust the twins to ruin his nap… His glare of annoyance turned to confusion when he noticed that the beasts that had actually woken him up were a vole and a hedgehog. "D-do I- I'm sorry why did you just do that?"

"To wake ye up ." Sharpfur replied, placing a paw on the shrew's head and feeling rather delighted that there was somebeast considerably smaller than him now.

Tibbers widened his eyes in wonder- a weasel in abnormally large glasses with abnormally large eyes… yet he'd heard the voice before. Perhaps he was dreaming?

Grollo did an awkward little wave. "I'm Grollo, remember? And this is Hawthorn. From Redwall, remember?" The hedgehog smiled as recognition became apparent in the shrew's eyes.

"I remember! By the seaso- you're alive? An-and what're you doing here? And- wait- what are you doing with him?" He pointed at Sharpfur, who batted the paw away. "And- are you wearing spectacles?"

"I am." The weasel replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Got a problem with that?"

"It's a long story." Hawthorn shook her head. "But the gist of it is we trust Sharpfur now and we were on our way to Salamandastron."

"And then Redwall." Grollo added, sounding very excited. "We fought cannibals and- and, well... mostly each other."

"We had to deal with cannibals too!" There was a dangerous level of excitement in his voice. "Well, we got caught by them but then the Skipper freed us. Only we thought he was a cannibal so... Yeah I don't think he was too happy about that." The shrew motioned for them to follow and then began scampering through the rocky beach. "I'm staying at Salamandastron too and Jack's here as well and Gr-"

"We ain't stayin'." Sharpfur was quick to point out. "We're just goin' to ask for directions and go on our way." He shot his companions a glare. "Or at least, that's what ye said."

Both were quick to reassure him (very vaguely) that that was what they intended to do.

"Er… right…" Tibbers began feeling a little out of place again, as if he were intruding on something personal. Awkwardly be scratched at his chest fur. "Well it's soon time for lunch. And the others should be back from patrol duty soon. So I guess you had better follow me."


"Remember, we're just askin' for directions." Sharpfur reminded them for the eighth time as Tibbers tried valiantly to get somebeast's attention with numerous knocks and 'um hello's. Unfortunately, the gatekeeper must have been dismissed for lunch.

"Just directions." Sharpfur repeated, hiding his inner-panic rather impressively.

"Hello." Tibbers pawed at the gate. "Anybeast there?"

"One second." Came a great booming voice, and Tibbers only just managed to get out of the way of the vast doors. A humongous shadow fell upon the unlikely quartet- the shadow of a badger.

It was a good thing he hadn't had anything to drink in a while- Sharpfur probably would have pissed himself. It was just as Hawthorn and Grollo had warned him, vast gnashing teeth as big as swords, claws as long as spears, fur as white as milk and as black as night. The vermin bogeyman. The monster under every weasel's bed, cot or hammock.

For his part Umber was surprised. He'd been expecting the patrol to return, hadn't known Tibbers was outdoors and had most certainly not expected the missing abbey children… and a… bespectacled weasel? "Well hello."

Sharpfur, ever the expert on self-preservation, shrieked, spun on his heel and darted away as fast as his feetpaw could carry him. He probably would have gotten a fair distance away too, had there not been a rock hidden amongst the sand. The weasel tripped, rolled forwards a short distance and ended up on his front.

Before another attempt at escape could be made he was picked up in surprisingly gentle paws.

"I admit, that was my first instinct." The badger's voice shook with strength- yet there was a softness to it. "I am glad though. My shriek is rather unbecoming of a Badgerlord- it would have done nobeast a favour to hear it."

He placed the softly-shaking Sharpfur back on his feet, now inside the great fort. Hawthorn, Grollo and Tibbers followed them inside and the young weasel watched in horror as the badger shut the gates behind them.

"Sorry about the timing sir." Tibbers' paw instinctively went to his chest fur. "I know I wasn't meant to be out and all-"

The badger waved away the apology with a paw-swipe that sent a small gust of wind at the shrew. Addressing the newcomers he folded his paws behind his back. "I take it you're from Redwall?"

"Yes." Hawthorn managed to reply- Grollo was too busy staring at the vast figure before him.

Umber nodded. "Yes, I heard about what happened. Dreadful thing. Still, I have never had any doubt that you would all find your way home." He placed a paw several times larger than Tibbers on his chest. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Umber, at present Badgerlord of Salamandastron, although I prefer to think of my job as 'smile, but look intimidating from a distance'".

"Ye look in-timitating from up close too." Sharpfur piped up. He regretted it a moment later when the badger turned to him expectantly. He seemed to stare for an uncomfortably long time and Sharpfur soon broke into a cold sweat- the shaking returning with avengeance. "I-I- I didn't do nothin'!" The weasel said, slowly backing away- his eyes desperately searching for escape routes.

"Well, I was waiting for a name. But I suppose a proclamation of innocence is good too."

"It's Sharpfur." The weasel squeaked, before clearing his throat and repeating in a more dignified tone. "Sharpfur."

"I'm Hawthorn and this is Grollo." The vole introduced, while the hedgehog gave a tiny wave.

Umber nodded in satisfaction. "Now that we're all acquainted I think it would be best if I sent word to the abbey of your arrival. They will want to know. Transport can be arranged and you can expect to be home before Summer at the latest. Until then you have my full hospitality."

Sharpfur once again piped up. "We're f-flattered mister Badgerlord sir, b-but we were kind of hoping- um planning te not stay. Er- leave immediately." The weasel was scooped effortlessly off the ground, along with Hawthorn and Tibbers. Grollo stood on tip-paw to reach the tip of the badger's outstretched paw and was promptly hoisted onto his shoulders.

"I understand that you must be eager to leave, but I simply cannot in good conscience, allow you to go on your own. Roads are perilous places. Besides, I am sure you will have changed your mind after lunch.

Sharpfur remained silent, but Grollo and Hawthorn both knew that the second Umber left this would become the badger in the room.


A short while later the four found themselves seated upon an immense desk. With a quill that must have been plucked from an eagle, and a pot of ink that dwarfed Tibbers (like most things), the badger got to work.

"What is the name of your abbot?" He inquired politely, his quill scratching against thick parchment.

"Martin." Hawthorn replied, for Sharpfur was too busy containing consecutive panic attacks, Grollo was admiring a suit of armour and Tibbers was admiring… well… the fact that everything was bigger than him!

"And what does he look like?"

"He's small. And old. Gray-furred. Bespectacled." Hawthorn frowned- in search of something that really stood out about the old abbot.

"Used to be Recorder?"

"Yes."

The badger smiled. "I know the one. Now, Sharpfur. I understand that you were part of the band of kidnappers behind this?"

The weasel's eyes widened in horror. How had he known that?

"It may have started out like that sir." Grollo interjected. "But Sharpfur's a good fellow. He- well we would likely not be alive if not for him."

The badger leaned back in his chair, and smirked slightly. "Now this is a story I very much would like to hear." Umber glanced out the window. "Ah, Tibbers, the Junior Corporal has returned. I'm afraid I'm going to have to deprive you of storytime. Please inform the Corporal that I have need of him. And I think it would be best if you set the stage for our new arrivals here."

Tibbers glanced quickly at Sharpfur, and remembered Greyclaw… and how he and Jack had convinced the rat that the weasel was dead… unintentionally of course… and it would be best if he warned Victoria too… "Yeah. Right. I'll… I'll go do that then." The shrew walked to the edge of the desk and clambered off. He then stared up at the immense door and the knob on it that most hares struggled to reach. "Er- could you open the door?"