OK, here's the next chapter. Special thanks to all who reviewed: Adder of the Pit, Siran 774, Fwirl of Redwall, DgShadowChocolate, DarthCraftus, Quavera Tava, Sanfrasm, Icefox425, Jarrtail, Shards-of-Airan, SgtHolton, ClashofFire, and Red Squirrel Writer.

There is violence and fighting in this chapter. People with weak stomachs, *cough*Airan*cough* please beware. :P

Warning: I am about to enter the Realm of College, so expect delays, since school should be the priority of my life instead of internet stuffs.


Heroic (because I still suck at naming things :P)



The meadow was alight under the full moon as the white blossoms swayed in the breeze. The stars were ablaze, shining beautifully against the cloudless dark-blue sky while the little orbs of fireflies flashed in the air. She had never seen anything so beautifully perfect.

"Look Keetch!" Clove squealed with delight. "The firebugs are so pretty!" She dashed off, the long grass tickling her ankles as she flailed her arms over her head, spinning in circles as she giggled.

"Keetch! Look at Clove! Look at what Clove can do!" She whooped and flopped on her back, laughing as flower petals fluttered against her face. Clove stared up at the sky, watching as the fireflies danced just above her, the stars shining just behind them and out of her reach. Still enjoying the cooling grass, she got up and dusted the grass bits from her dress before chasing after the insects, her arms reaching upwards and cupping around the glowing speck.

"Look Keetch! Clove caught another firebug!" she shouted, turning back to where she came from. Her guardian was sitting against a tree stump, staring contemplatively ahead as he always did.

"Look Keetch!" She parted her fingers slightly so that he could see the flash of light. "Clove caught more firebugs. Can Clove have a jar? Clove's going to catch so many!" She stamped her footpaws in excitement. "So many that it would be so bright, we won't need a campfire anymore! So many that-"

"Clove."

She fell silent. There was something sad and hollow about his voice- a tone that seemed so familiar to her.

"Yes?" she asked, unease making its way into her consciousness.

"You have to let it go," Keetch said, placing a gentle paw on her wrist.

"Why?"

"Because it will die if it stays with you too long."

"But..."

"Clove." The fox sighed and shook his head. "You must understand that if you do care for it, you must do whatever it takes to make it happy. Even if it hurts, you have to do what's best for the firefly. You have to let it go."

"Clove understands," she said somberly, uncupping her paws. "Oh..." There was a little smear on her palm. She sniffled quietly, staring at the insect that she'd smothered. "Oh no... Did Clove kill it?" She felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Clove didn't mean to."

"Clove, please wake up."

---

"Clove, wake up." She groaned as she blinked her eyes.

"Keetch?"

"We need to ask you a few questions." The Dibbun rubbed her eyes sleepily, trying to reclaim her memories. She herself being gathered up in powerful arms and carried away briskly. "Huh?" A face looked down at her. Tiny ears, blunt muzzle, brown fur. An otter?

The little rabbit felt herself being hauled up steps and for some reason, all she could think about was her dream. She turned her paws over, staring at her palms, scrutinizing for any black smudges. It was all just a dream?

"I've got her," the otter announced. Clove jerked her head up, staring at her new surroundings. It was a small room with a large table in the middle and solemn-faced creatures. There was a couple of squirrels that kept crying and she wanted to ask what happened, only a part of her told her it was best not to know.

"Hello Clove," a floppy-eared creature said as she was carefully lowered to a seat. "I'm Abbess Linette and I'd like to ask a few questions."

"Q-questions?" the child asked nervously, her eyes flitting between her audience. Most of all, she stared at the weeping squirrels.

"Clove," the abbess said in a serious voice. "We need to know about Keetch."

"Keetch?"

"Yes," she nodded. "See..." the hare paused, glancing at the squirrels before she continued. "There are three members of the abbey that are missing today: the otter Brink Rufeshodd, Sarrow Longshot, and... Keetch."

Her heart froze and all she could do was stare at her.

"I'm sorry Clove, but we've talked to Jolin and she confirmed that he's left and that Brink followed shortly."

"Keetch... left?" At that moment she felt as if she were under water, a faint roaring in her ears and her mind floating while blurry memories came to her vision. Keetch was very worried and strange that day. He said he was going, and he paused when she'd insisted that she come too. He hadn't even originally included her, and he still didn't want her.

"Keetch didn't want Clove to come?" Her lip quivered as her vision watered. "Keetch didn't want Clove."

"I'm sorry, but he has left," the abbess said gently, patting her back as she held the tiny paw in her own. "But the point now is that there is one other missing abbey member and her parents are worried sick about her."

"But... Keetch?" she sniffled, just at the edge of a sobbing. She looked to the elderly hare, her eyes confused, hopeless, and desperate. "B-but Keetch said he would leave tonight. Keetch said he'd bring Cl-ove." She hiccuped as she cried into her paws.

"There, there," Linette soothed. "Is there anything you can tell me about this? Anything at all? Did he mention taking anyone with him?"

"Keetch was s'posed to take Clove," she whimpered. "But Keetch doesn't want Clove. Clove's useless."

"I'm sure he wasn't thinking that? Anything else besides you?" The little rabbit just shook her head, her shoulders shuddering.

"I don't think she knows anything," the abbess said to the squirrel pair. "I'm sorry, but I don't know about Sarrow."

"But she wouldn't just run off without saying good-bye!" Arroway objected. "She just left a note saying that Martin ordered her to go as quickly as possible?! How could she?"

"Now, now," her husband comforted, though he didn't look much better. "I'm sure she had her reasons. She'll come back all safe and sound." He draped his arms around the squirrelwife's shoulders.

"But she's my baby."

"She's grown," he reassured. "She's strong. I've taught her everything I know, di'nt I?"

Suddenly the door burst open and a large figure strode in. "Searched everywhere, but we couldn't find 'em." Clove looked up from the floor and at the newcomer, curling her paws into a fist as she recognized him. Everything fit together now.

"Skipper," she growled, though she went unnoticed.

"I'm sorry marm," Raller sighed. "I saw 'er pawprints, but not a whisker. We tried."

"Skipper!" He turned around only to feel something pummel his side.

"Skipper hurt Keetch!" Clove screamed, beating him with her harmless fists. "Skipper hurted Keetch and killed him!"

"Whoa there." He caught her wrists and she tried to twist away, even attempting to bite at him.

"Skipper killed Keetch!" she shrieked, tears falling down her cheeks. "Clove wasn't a slave! Keetch came back to free Clove! The cuts didn't hurt! They didn't hurt!"

"Careful! I've got her!" Strong arms latched onto her and tugged her away as she kicked and screamed. "Calm down, shush now." She was placed on a cushioned chair, pressed against the back so that she couldn't move. "Calm down," the abbess commanded, smoothing her forehead with a gentle paw.

"No," the Dibbun sobbed. "Skipper killed Keetch. Skipper killed... Where is...." Whatever fury that had possessed her was gone, and all that was left was a broken child. She relaxed, curling her knees so that she could hug them against her chest.

"I didn't kill him," the otter said firmly, inspecting the claw marks on his arm. "He just decided to run off with his tail between his legs. I didn't do anythin'."

Abbess Linette was the first to sense the rabbit's stress. "Skipper, that's enough."

"But Skipper did," Clove insisted. "Keetch warned Clove not to tell and Skipper found out. Clove must've said something. Bad Clove!" She pummelled the side of her head with a fist. "Bad!" She trailed off at that, her gaze sliding back down to the floor.

"Find out?" the abbess asked, giving the otter a look that told him not to say a word. "Well what would that be?"

"Skipper knows," she sniffled, her breaths coming out shallow. "Skipper knows all about Keetch now."

"And what about Keetch?" the squirrelwife questioned, brushing the tears away.

Clove shrugged her skinny shoulders. "Cannot say."

"You can tell us," the hare encouraged. "He's not here right now."

"But Keetch said Abbeybeasts would kill him if they find out."

"You don't have to be frightened," the abbess soothed, picking her up and placing the child on her lap.

"But Skipper knows," she said weakly. "Skipper always said that Clove was Keetch's slave." There was a pause.

"Slave?" the elderly hare intoned.

"Skipper knew," the rabbit nodded, glaring at the otter. "Skipper knew that Clove was Keetch's slave once. It wasn't bad. Keetch never hit or beat Clove, but Old Grack was horrible. Keetch saved Clove, but only needed a little blood." Her breathing rose, and she erupted into another sob. "Please," she begged, pressing her face against the abbess's habit. "Please save Keetch! Keetch didn't do anything bad! Skipper's wrong about Keetch. Please!"

Each of the beasts exchanged looks with the other and sighed.

For the first time, Skipper finally got to speak. "What do you mean-"

"Raller," Linette interrupted. "Please, just look at her. She thinks she's been abandoned or that he's been killed. Interrogating her roughly isn't going to help us know what happened. She'd only panic." The otter sighed, not sure of what to say. "We have to talk to her slowly and gently," the hare said in a soft voice, stroking the girl's headfur lovingly. "Poor thing."

"I know just the thing," Raller announced.

---

Clove lay in her bed, curled up tight as a seashell. It was so quiet here compared to the nursery where the other children were. She didn't mind, though. If anything, she didn't want them to know what happened to the fox she'd boasted so much about.

Knock-knock

The door opened a crack to reveal a young otter. "Can I come in?" Clove said nothing, did nothing. The guest opened the door wider, stepping in to approach her.

"I'm sorry," he began. "He meant a lot to you. He didn't really tell us either..." He trailed off, waiting for her to say something, or at least elicit a response. Instead, the little rabbit kept herself curled and faced away from him. He supposed it was time for a different approach. "Um... I think I forgot to introduce myself earlier. I'm Tarka, and I hear that you're Clove? That's a nice name." That at least earned him an ear-twitch. He opened his mouth to speak again, though a tiny little voice beat him to it.

"Keetch gave Clove that name."

"How old were you then?" Again, it seemed that she was unwilling to speak. The otter sighed and put the candle holder down on the table.

"I know this is tough on you," Tarka said slowly. "But you know, you have to eat. You haven't done anything all day." No response.

"Don't you want to eat? We have some tomato soup today with some tasty mushroom-watercress pasties. Mmmmm." The otter rubbed his stomach and licked his lips in an exaggerated manner, but it was of no use. It seemed that nothing but time could possibly break her out of this melancholy spell.

"You know," he said. "I came to this abbey as an orphan too. When I first came I was so little and scared. I couldn't speak and I didn't feel like eating either."

"Otter lies," the child mumbled as she dug her head further into the pillow.

"I only wish," Tarka sighed, the memories and emotions flooding back. "I don't remember where we came from or why we traveled, but I remember me mum and daddy. I don't remember their faces, or their voices. But I do remember them... it's hard to explain."

"Clove can't remember her parents either. Clove tried. Keetch said that Clove's mommy and daddy must be dead."

"Mine are too." The otter hung his head. "At least you don't know for sure that they've died. I saw my..." He shut his eyes, as if he could block the image out of his head. Clove rolled in her bed and felt a bit of pity well in her heart. He looked so sad, she wanted to hug him.

"Poor Otter," she said, pulling her arm from under the covers and patting his paw. "Is it hurting somewhere?" He looked up and smiled at her.

"But I'm the one that was supposed to comfort you," Tarka replied. "And I'm Tarka, not Otter. There are too many otters here."

"Oh. Didn't Tarka have a Keetch?"

"A Keetch?"

"Somebeast that saves Tarka and takes good good care of him."

"You mean a guardian?" the otter asked, contemplating his answer. "Um... if I were to choose any one beast that's my 'Keetch,' it would be Skipper." Clove wrinkled her nose at that.

"But Skipper's mean. Clove doesn't like Skipper."

"He's not mean," he said defensively. "He was nice to you. He was nice to me too when they found me in the rain. I was crying and hungry and he carried me to his house and gave me food. He spent time with me every day to show me things at the holt and abbey. Some days, he would take me fishing and teach me how to read'n'write... I don't think I would've ever thought of being recorder if I didn't like those lessons."

"Clove wants to be a healer," she piped up, but then the sparkle in her eyes dimmed. "But..."

"But what?"

"Clove doesn't know how to heal it." She sat up, the blanket still draped about her tiny frame. And then she pressed her palm against her chest. "It hurts here," she whispered in a frail voice. "Clove's not bleeding, but it hurts... like a big cut."

"Oh?"

"Clove used to have it all the time," she explained. "But it went away. Keetch made it all better. And now it's here again... and it's not going to go away." She started sniffling as she pressed the linens to her face.

"Hey, hey," he comforted, picking her up and placing her on his lap. "It's going to be fine. It's normal to feel grief for things we love and worry 'bout. Don't you worry. You'll see him again."

"No Clove won't," she whimpered. "They're going to kill Keetch because Skipper knows."

"Skipper knows? What does he know? Something about cuts, right?"

The rabbit squirmed a little before the otter continued. "These cuts?" He pointed at the scars on her arms and she gave the faintest of nods.

"What happened there? Who cut you? Did Keetch?"

"No." She shook her head with force.

"Are you sure?"

She didn't say anything, though her eyes glimmered fearfully against the candle light.

"Well why would anybeast cut you?"

"Innocent blood," she whispered. That answer piqued the otter's interests.

"Why do they want your blood?"

"Clove cannot say," she replied. "Skipper knows."

"But if Skipper knows, he'd tell me anyways," Tarka reasoned, putting an arm around her. "It's alright. You don't have to be scared anymore." Still no response, though she did open her mouth and close it again, as if she had a second thought on speaking the truth. There was a part of him that didn't want to know- the part of him that didn't want to delve into the darkness of whatever horrors she'd been subjected to. But then again, as Skipper once said, "If there is to be any justice in the world there has to be truth and knowledge."

"Does he drink the blood?"

"No," she gasped, her mouth a perfect little circle.

"I think he drinks your blood," Tarka pressed, trying to sound convinced. "I hear that vermin do all sorts of nasty things."

"Keetch doesn't do that," she objected, all of a sudden looking furious. "Keetch just needs a little of it. For the bones." More cryptic answers.

"What bones?"

Clove shook her head indignantly. "Clove made an oaf not to tell."

Tarka had to chuckle at that. "You mean 'oath?'"

"That's what Clove said."

"Well, your word is something that's bound in honor, but the truth is something a little more important, wouldn't ye say?"

"Clove doesn't know what Tarka is talking about." The otter sighed. Her bond with the fox was much stronger than he thought. Perhaps Skipper was wrong and nothing really happened? But then was that troubling talk of blood and bones. Childish lies or not, it was disturbing.

But perhaps another time, he thought. There is no use questioning her now. If anything, she only seems to get agitated or depressed if I ask too much of it. Perhaps later, when she's learned to trust others, she'd be more comfortable telling her story.

"Keetch doesn't want Clove anymore, Clove thinks."

"Huh?"

"Keetch promised to take Clove along. Keetch wouldn't leave Clove, would he?"

"It's hard for me to say..." Tarka began, but Clove cut him off.

"Keetch keeps his promises. That's why Skipper must have taken him." The rabbit frowned deeply at that, scowling as she crossed her arms.

"Listen," Tarka sighed. "I know it's hard, but don't you think that Keetch might've left you here because he knows it's safe?"

"No," she said sulkily.

"But it's true," he replied, resting his chin in a palm. "Believe me, I don't want to believe it, but one of my best friends is missing now and we think he went with him. There's no way that Sarrow would go missing if Keetch didn't."

"But why would Keetch leave Clove behind? Keetch promised." She pressed the linens to her face, a sure sign that she was about to cry.

"I don't know why he left, but he didn't want you to come because he didn't want you to get hurt," Tarka said hastily. She blinked at him, silently urging him to continue.

"Errrrr..." he scratched his head as he dug for answers. "For example, you have a brand new dress and you love it very much but you won't take it with you to play? You do that because you don't want it to get dirty, not because you don't like it."

"But clothes get dirty all the time. Clove doesn't mind."

"Uh, I know, but that's not the point. The point is, he was thinking like that. He didn't want you to be in more danger, so he left you here so you don't get hurt. Understand?"

"... Like firebugs?" she squeaked.

"Firebugs? You mean fireflies, right?"

The child nodded in a somewhat sage manner before she broke out in an excited storytelling. "One time Clove saw lots and lots and lots of firebugs and Keetch gave Clove a big big big jar to put them all in. Clove caught so many and it was so pretty- more than ten! And then, Keetch told Clove to let them go but Clove wanted to keep them forever and ever and they could be with Keetch and Clove all the time. But Keetch said Firebugs would die and that... uhm..." She slowed down and licked her lips in thought. "Keetch said that if Clove loves them, Clove has to let them go because they like the Outside. Firebugs like to be with their mommies and daddies and Keetches, Clove thinks."

"I think that's the idea," Tarka agreed. "And that is a very good lesson." But then her face fell apart.

"So is Clove 'Clove' or is Clove the firebugs?"

"Hm?"

"Keetch went away, so is Keetch happier to be Outside? Does Clove have to let Keetch go because he's happier without her?" she asked, curling herself within the protection of the blanket.

"No no no," Tarka assured, hugging her gently as he tried to grasp the analogy. "I saw you with him, and I think he loves you very much. If he didn't love you, he wouldn't free you or let you follow him or feed you or let you collect fireflies. He loves you. He does." He paused wiping a stray tear from her cheek before he continued. "I think that of all things, he had to let you go, because he knows that all the fighting will stop someday and that you'll grow up to be happier here in Redwall."

"Really?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? You're the firefly and he's... er... not you, but he is the one that lets you go. He wants you to be happy, see?"

"Oh," she nodded, gripping his sleeve tight.

"Do you feel better now?" the otter asked, finally feeling that his job was done. "Will you eat anything? It's night time and supper's over, but I'm sure we can sneak you a little something," he winked.

"No," she said. "Maybe breakfast tomorrow."

"Well, at least that's something." He gently picked her up and placed her on the bed, tucking her neatly under the sheets before standing up. "It's bedtime for you and it's bedtime for me too," he said, feigning a yawn. "Good night."

"No!" she shouted. "No! Tarka stays here. He has to stay with Clove."

"But I have to go outside now," he reasoned. "I'll visit you in the morning when-"

"No!" she said stubbornly, leaping out of bed and stumbling towards him. "Clove stays with Tarka."

"But-"

"Clove wants to be with Tarka." She grabbed the front of his tunic, looking up at him pleadingly. "Please?" He was snared in a net now.

"Oh fine," he groaned, grabbing the candle holder and taking her tiny wrist in paw. "But only if you promise to behave?"

"Yes."

"Alright then," he said, trying to sound as stern as possible. "But it's just because you would've been transferred to our wing anyways."

She tilted her head. "Transfer? Wing?"

"It means that we would've made you move to the other side of the abbey," he explained. "And a wing, it isn't like a bird's wing. It's just a name for another place in the abbey."

"Ooh. Then where's the beak?"

"There is no beak," he said, closing the door behind them.

"Then why does Clove have to be moved to the wing?" she giggled at the word. "Clove goes to a wing!"

"Because," he explained, "we needed to use the Nursery to make room for the injured. Just today we moved all the Dibbuns so that they stay near our holt. It's a little louder, but it's still a nice place. We would've moved you back with the rest of the children when you were ready."

"Oh." She hugged his arm, skipping down the hall. "Clove loves Tarka very muchly!"

"Uh, thanks," he said, grinning at her cheerful antics. "I like you too."

"Tarka can be a good Keetch," she announced. "But Tarka isn't is good as Keetch."

---

Even though the abbey was filled with the moaning of injured beasts or grieving families, it was at least quiet outside- too quiet. No crickets meant danger. Melo gripped his spear, glaring at the shapeless shadows beyond the tree line. What were they waiting for? It bothered him that the fight wasn't too strong today. It wasn't like they were beginning to lose confidence or that dissension was occurring in their squalid ranks. No. No matter what some of the others said, it didn't feel like victory was just on the horizon.

Why would Martin ask Sarrow to leave if the war was ending soon anyways? Speaking of which, why did Martin tell Sarrow at all? Why did the warrior mouse tell her these things and not him? And that fox Keetch? Even if he was on their side, why did Martin choose a vermin over a potential warrior like himself? Why? Didn't he know that he was a better fighter than Sarrow? She could get hurt out there and he wouldn't even be able to help her all because he wasn't some "chosen beast?"

"Guard duty, eh Melo?"

"Yessir!" The mouse whirled around to give his salute, his spearhead nearly clipping Skipper in the ear.

"Easy there, mate," he chuckled.

"Right. Sorry Skip. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Well," the youngster began, "you think I'm a great warrior, right?"

"Hm," the otter chieftain scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Yer a good warrior, but not great. Not yet, anyhow. You still need a bit more experience under your belt, Melo."

"I suppose..."

"Thinking about Sarrow?" Skip guessed.

"Well of course."

"Yeah," the chieftain sighed. "It worries me, those three. They're out of our paws and we don't even know what's gonna happen to them- Brink especially."

"Really?" Melo asked. "I thought you would care a bit more about Sarrow."

"I do care about her, but the thing is..." Skip paused, leaning on the wall, though he was far from relaxed. "I think I was a bit too hard with Brink lately. I never thought he'd just run off, y'know? It just makes me wonder what would happen to him. Uh, not like anything too bad can happen to him and Sarrow, I mean," he said quickly. "They'll probably be okay. I bet Sarrow's all caught up with him and they're both safe and sound right now, eh?"

"I guess," Melo mumbled, propping his elbows on the wall. "Though she's not as good a warrior as me. She could be hurt out there. Why didn't she at least tell me she was going instead of just leaving a note? I would've gone on Martin's quest."

"Hm. Listen mate, you're a great fighter and you've got some fire in ye, but it sounds t'me like you're more about all this 'warrior' business rather than her."

"No," he insisted. "I do care about Sarrow. It's just that when I said that, I was just wondering..." he faltered, his reason leaving him with no excuse. "It's not like I don't care or anything!" The otter put a paw on the mouse's shoulder.

"You sure can put up a good fight, Melo, but you have to realize that that's not all Martin looks for. A warrior and a fighter are two completely different things. A fighter is like a mercenary- only fights for the helluva it or for some reward. A warrior fights to protect and uphold his beliefs. A warrior is strong but gentle, and is always willing to risk his life for those that he cherish. Those warlords out in the past, never once in our books have they been called 'warriors.' Warlords, yes, but never warriors. Get it?"

"Well I don't fight all the time for nothing," Melo replied. "But I get your point. What should I do, though?"

"I don't think that anybeast cares if you're chosen by Martin to wield his blade or not," Skipper answered. "Instead of worrying 'bout something like that, you should work hard to do your best for the abbey. If you've got the guts to fight and the heart to sacrifice all, I bet you'll do Martin proud."

Melo sighed, resting his chin on his arms. "But I do care."

"Aye, you do, but you're young Melo," Skip smiled. "You've still got time to grow."

Plenty of time to grow, huh? All the legends tell of natural-born warriors, that they had this courageous fighting spirit instilled within them from the first moments in their lives. If Matthias was already my age when Cluny attacked, but he seemed to 'grow' overnight. He had never picked up a sword in his life and yet Martin still guided him. Martin was so sure of his choice that he chiseled it in wall ages before the time came.

Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!

Skipper and Melo whirled around, all-too familiar with the frantic pounding of pans.

"The South Wall!" Skipper announced, grabbing his staff and blazing through the ramparts. Melo was close behind, trying his hardest to keep up to the otter's pounding footsteps; and besides the roaring in his ears, he heard the the screams of battle and the clash of metal. Up ahead, more woodlanders were running to the battlements, unsheathing their swords or drawing their bows on the way.

Melo blinked past the darkness, gasping as he noticed the trickle of vermin climbing from over the wall. How did they do that?! He realized that he was already a good distance away from Skip and sped on, clutching his javelin with all his might. Skip yelled something and jumped into the chaos, whipping his javelin this way and that. Melo pushed his way through the crowd, spear pointed to the sky lest he jab one of the Redwallers.

There. The trickle of vermin had grown into steady waves, and now they had spread to all areas of the ramparts. Melo shoved his way to the front, nearly crashing into a ferret with a menacing battle axe. The vermin practically jumped over the wall, roaring with madness before heaving the blade over his shoulder and cleaving sideways, crushing the sides of skulls. Melo stepped backwards slightly as several other Redwallers surged forward, spears at the ready only to fall with a blinkless expression as blood trickled from their wound. The ferret was ready for death, though, and practically leapt right into the next group, swinging his axe and pummeling away at them.

Melo charged, rotating his shoulders and wrenching his spear into the vermin's spine with full force. There was a terrible shudder before the body went stiff. He dropped, and Melo could've sworn that somebeast was screaming elsewhere. He whipped his head around, eyes widening as a sword flew down to his neck. For an instant, he couldn't move. It was all as if he was watching everything from under water while his mind screamed at him to do something. Run. Dodge. Fight. Anything.

He ducked down just in time, practically stumbling backwards, right over the ferret's carcass, and rolled to the side, again evading another blow. He struggled to his feet in this crowd only to be knocked back down as a woodlander crashed into his side. This was different from firing arrows at a distance. If anything, he could be pushed right off the ramparts. The mouse looked around him, shielding himself from the clumsy paws staggering about. His back pressed against the wall, he got a clear view of the vermin overcoming their wall. But how?

It was almost too dark to see, but he could just make something out. The mouse pressed a palm against the wall, pushing his legs under him as he tried to stand. There. There were things latched to the wall. He stood up, staring down at the oncoming vermin as they climbed the rungs, grisly weapons strapped to their bodies. Already Melo could see the rough ladders being rushed from the woods and towards the abbey walls. He grabbed onto one of the metal hooks that held the ladder to the wall, mustering all his strength. The hook moved just an inch, but that was all he could accomplish before a mangy paw reached out and gripped the last rung. Melo growled, whipping his sword out of his sheath, heaving it over his head to cleave the rat's head in two. However, the vermin conquered the top, not even pausing before barreling towards him.

"Redwaaaall!" Melo yelled, trying his best not to close his eyes. The rat raised his own sword, bringing the weapon crashing down only to be parried. Melo grunted, the vibration of the clashing steel throttling his arm. Another swing again. The young warrior gasped, angling his sword and barely catching the blow aimed for his hip. Their swords grated, and Melo felt his legs bracing as he was being pushed backwards.

"No!" He shouted, his arms beginning to cave in. He staggered sideways, his shoulder colliding with the wall, his arms still held out to his side as his sword continued to defend him. He could swear he heard the rat snicker as his weapon slid up the metal.

Melo groaned, shifting his footing as if he could root his feet to the ground. His heel connected with the wall and he winced, pressing his sole against the bricks and leaning forward, still concentrating on his defense. His sword was wobbling now and the vermin was grinning ear to ear. His heart was pounding, the corners of his vision were blackening. The mouse clenched his teeth, bending his legs and pushing his footpaw against the wall.

He yelled, and like a spring, his leg uncoiled, launching him from the wall and into the rat. The metals hissed as they scraped against each other and he saw the surprise on the enemy's face before he collided into him. The mouse shut his eyes, though he felt his body tumble in the panic. Something buffeted him between the ears and he opened his eyes, his head throbbing as he forced himself to get up. He blinked, the battlecries and screams ringing in his ears. There, just an arm's length away from him, a mouse was staring blankly at the sky, his lips parted in a gasp at the arrow protruding out of his chest. Melo grabbed his sword and bolted upright, looking for anybeast to take on.

There were plenty.

The ladders were spreading over the walls, coming at them all too quickly. The mouse cringed, grabbing those cruel hooks again, the blood on his paws slicking his grip as he tried to pry the ladder away. Quickly, more came to help, grunting in effort as other warriors guarded their backs.

"Almost there," Melo encouraged himself. Suddenly, the hook gave way with a lurch. The ladder stood straight up in the air at first, vermin cringing and shouting in alarm, and then momentum caught it, bringing it down backwards. Melo screamed, letting go just before he was pulled to the other side of the wall.

Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!

Melo gasped. That alarm sounded like it was from the Northern wall. Were they planning to swarm the abbey in this mass invasion? He chanced a glance behind him, witnessing the downfall of several other ladders. Whatever was happening, the Northern wall might need his help more. He ran out of the battle, nearly falling down the stairs as more of Redwall's reinforcements charged up to the cloud of turmoil. He raced through the courtyard, his lungs about to explode right before he felt his heart skip a beat.

The ground was already littered with dead, tripping up the combatants as they struggled for victory.

"Look out!" somebeast shouted from above. Melo instinctively let his legs crumple beneath him, throwing his arms over his head in the process. He heard the air whistle above him and then there were a few sickening thuds and cries of agony. He looked up, his eyes switching between the archers at the windows and at their line of defense. The Redwallers were holding themselves well, but they were struggling to keep the line of vermin away at the gates.

And just beyond that line battle was something even worse: vermin racing to and fro on their lawns, some carrying bundles on their shoulders or dragging burdens along.

They're stealing our weapons and supplies! was the first thought buzzing through Melo's mind. But the the next revelation struck him like a hammer blow to the head- the 'stolen goods' were struggling and crying out in fear as the hordebeasts carried them up to the battlements.

It was a diversion! Everything on the South wall was a diversion to get their abduction set up! His mind boiled. But what to do? Our defenses can't let the vermin open the gates for the rest or all of us are doomed. But... but we can't let them take hostages. There are Dibbuns in that wing!

Melo made his mind, dashing straight for the abbey's main doors. If the vermin managed to get through the main gates, how long would the abbey hold? What if the vermin causing the diversion were forcing their way through abbey doors right as he spoke? He shoved it open, knocking a few panicked woodlanders aside as he ran for the North Wing.

"Stop!" a vole grabbed him by the collar, dragging him back.

"NO!" Melo shouted, elbowing him roughly in the side. "Let me go! They've got them!"

"Too late. We've barricaded the door," the vole replied, the timbre of his voice rattling in the mouse's ears. "The vermin got in through the North Entrance and we're trying to stop them from going anywhere else. Can't you see? We have to stop them here. There's nothing more we can do!"

"I said let go!" the warrior struggled, unsheathing his weapon. That got the creature to release him immediately.

"I didn't want to!" he said in defense. "None of us wanted to, but we can't let them take any more!"

"Then fight!" Melo growled, throwing aside the wooden planks that blocked the door. A few other woodlanders ran up and restrained him as he kicked and screamed, not caring if he kicked or punched any of them.

"We can't borrow any more forces from anywhere! If we do, they'll open the gates or invade another part of the abbey. We're stretched too thin!"

"But Tarka's in there!" Melo spat, trying to pry them off of him. "They'll take him away! We can't abandon them, you idiots! Cowards!"

"I'm sorry, but we can't afford to lose anymore!"

"MOVE!" Melo felt one of those restraining arms slacken and the room went quiet for a moment.

"Let him go," Skipper snapped. "NOW!" Blood drizzled down the chieftain's snarled face and one eye was swelled shut. The score of otters behind him didn't seem to be faring much better.

"We're going in," he boomed. He didn't give the other Redwallers a chance to sputter an argument before he and the rest of the otters tossed the debris aside.

"B-b-but-" the vole stuttered.

"My family's in there!" Skipper bellowed. "Our families are in there." He shoved the rest of the planks and furniture away. "We're going in there and we're prepared to die trying. When we go, close the door behind us and barricade it. I don't care!" He barely tried to unstuck the door before it shuddered open. He turned around, facing the willing warriors with a stern and worried face. "Everyone stick together. We're going to save as my as we can."

He passed through the entrance, sword at the ready as the others followed his example. Melo gulped, lingering at the entrance as he waited for the last otter to leave. It seemed like a good idea before, but now the doorway was bigger and the other side looked dark and forbidding. He swore he saw something shift about in the darkness there. Just when the vole and the other meek woodlanders had scooped up their materials, Melo made his mind. He entered, closing the door behind him. Clunk! That was the sound of the first plank being laid.

Melo kept his eyes forward, waiting for his vision to adjust as he shuffled his paws over the blankets and upturned tables. He followed the otters in the distance, glancing at the shadowy silhouettes propped against the walls or lying under heaps of wood and furniture. Glass were strewn on the floor and beds were tossed upside-down.

Thump!

The mouse jumped at the noise, holding his sword out at the direction it came from. "W-who's there?" he demanded, glancing at where the otters had left. They weren't in sight. Perhaps they didn't hear him? Whatever it was, he couldn't find the voice to speak any louder.

"Who are you? Show yourself, vermin." Those words barely came out as a whisper.

It was quiet, and then a stifled whimpering sounded from one of the cabinets. Melo relaxed a little, though still kept his weapon at paw. "Don't worry," he said gently. "I'm a Redwaller. I'm a friend." He bent down and pulled the door open cautiously, anticipating the worst. A tiny Dibbun vole was curled in the corner, crouched behind a large garden basket. He held out a paw. "Come here. I'm here to help." The child sniffled, grabbing the offered paw eagerly.

"Shhh. I'm here to help, but it's still not quite safe yet." Melo pulled her out, carrying her in one arm as he maneuvered past the obstructions. Why was it so quiet? Perhaps it was that they were still on the first floor and the vermin were attacking the upper levels? The vole buried her head on his shoulder, clenching his clothes in her fists. Melo glanced warily, just waiting for an enemy to jump out at him.

Bang! It sounded muffled and far away. The Dibbun whimpered some more and Melo hushed her. His mouth felt dry and his whiskers were twitching with anticipation. The room was pitch and he kept stumbling over books and bodies. Where was everybeast? It was a mistake to come here. He shuffled through, wandering about this labyrinth that was once home. He was easy pickings. Somewhere, someone, sometime, something was going to jump out at him and slit his throat. Sure Skip and the rest had passed through here, but he was a lone mouse with a babe. All one would have to do is step lightly and be quick with a rusty knife. He couldn't stand it anymore. Melo rushed forward, running as fast as he could in hopes that he would catch up to the others.

Something jumped out of the shadows, leaping right in front of them with a spear. The backed away, holding his sword out defensively.

"Melo? What are you doing runnin' like a maniac?" An otter lowered his weapon as Melo breathed a sigh of relief.

"I got one," the mouse said, nodding at the child.

"Good," Skipper replied somewhere up ahead. "And don't scare us like that. Now hurry up! We have to save as many as we can." The otter chieftain waded through the remnants of the room's old inhabitants before turning back. "Oh, and put her somewhere safe for now. We'll come back and save her once all of this is over." The mouse nodded numbly, picking a out a disheveled closet space.

"We'll come back for you," Melo reassured her, pulling her off of him and nestling her between a mop and a bucket. "Stay hidden and we'll come." The little vole whimpered again as Melo closed the door so that it was open just a crack- just in case she needed some air.

"C'mon! They're at the stairway," the otter urged. Melo followed as close as he could, wincing as he stubbed his toes a few times and stepped on some stray shards of glass. There were sounds of struggling somewhere, and his grip on his hilt tightened. Melo drew a mental map from his memories. All they had to do was enter a high-ceilinged room and turn right to get to the stairway; and opposite of that set of steps would be the Northern Entrance. There were shouting sounds and groans and high-pitched shrieking somewhere up there.

The otters stopped suddenly, pressing their backs to the wall as the shrieking got louder. Melo hastily did the same, watching as large, brutish silhouettes crossed the hall further ahead, carrying wailing bundles on their shoulders.

"NOOOOO!" a familiar voice screeched as it was bundled out of the building.

"Jolin," Skipper gasped before stowing his caution and racing outside. There was a cry of alarm and a squeal of pain before the otters charged, screaming their battlecries as they joined their leader in rescuing the captives. Some charged upstairs while some ran out to the open lawns to finish the battle. Melo followed Skipper, running outside and into more chaos. Otters clashed with the vermin, the helpless captives scooting away as they tried their hardest to recover from their shock. Meanwhile, the vermin guarding their kidnapping route joined the fray, coming at the otters with studded clubs. Melo stood in the middle of it, his knees shaking uncontrollably. As much a warrior he wanted to be, there was a small part of him that wanted to run back to the closet and hide with the vole.

"Uncle Raller!" the ottermaid shrieked, struggling with her captor as he bustled her, hauling her up the flights of steps and onto the ramparts. The otter surged forward, skillfully gutting one hordebeast before whirling around to behead another that attacked from his blind spot. Two more of his otters caught up with him. "Uncle Raller, help me please!"

"Jolin!" he called as he started up the steps, neatly slicing the throats of two attacking vermin and kicking another off the stairs. "Jolin, I'm coming!" But there were already vermin guarding the ramparts. How's he going to make it?

Melo heard something stomping up behind him and he whirled around to see a stoat carrying an unconscious otter on his shoulders. Melo growled and gripped his sword with both paws. Now this fight had better odds- and enough space to move freely, for that matter. They weren't outnumbered this time and the just like the woodlanders, the vermin were too busy with other battles to spare any help. The vermin stopped and recognized the danger, dropping his load unceremoniously on the ground. Melo was the first to charge.

"Redwaaaaall!" Their swords clashed and Melo felt the vermin's blade nick his arm. He bit back the pain, blocking yet another blow that practically swatted him to the side. The mouse held fast, skidding on his knees and springing towards the enemy upon landing. He saw his chance the moment the stupid creature was hoisting his weapon over his head for a powerful, blood-splattering blow to the neck. Melo leaped forward, arms bent and sword pointed straight ahead.

The vermin cried out in pain, dropping to his sliced knee as blood began oozing out.

"I'll get you! I'll get you for this, mouse!"

Melo, kneeling on the ground, wrenched his sword free from the wound, renewing the agony as he dodged the beast's mindless swing. "I'll get you for this!" His eyes were red and spittle was spraying out of his mouth. Before Melo could get off his knees, the vermin swung aimlessly again. This time, he caught the mouse's head with the hilt of his blade, knocking the woodlander down. Melo groaned, clenching his fists only to know that his weapon wasn't there. His sword arm felt heavy and everything felt numb. He blinked, the black colors swirling around as fire erupted somewhere in the distance. Fire?

Melo got his arms underneath him, trying to get up despite the harsh ringing in his ears. He had to.

"I've got'cha now, mousie."

"No..." Melo strained himself, but the fire up ahead burned his retinas. Was it him? Was the fire moving?

"Melo!" Something thudded beside him. The mouse's eyes widened at the glazed eyes and the stream of blood pooling out of the stoat's foul mouth. "Melo! Melo! You alright?" He felt a pair of arms turn him over, cradling his head.

"Tarka?" The otter's face looked battered and there was some blood splattered on his cheek. "But the vermin..." He raised his head a little, looking at the sword stabbed into the vermin's back.

"I woke up and I saw you fighting..." Melo could feel Tarka's paws shaking. "...Couldn't stand t'see you killed." The otter rubbed the back of his head, wincing at a sore spot. "They took them. They took a lot of us." He shook his head, his eyes tearing up. "I grabbed as many Dibbuns as I could and tried to get to the top floor. I tried to fight them but they knocked me out... for a while." Tarka blinked at his surroundings and at the battle further up. "No," he gasped, nearly dropping his friend's head onto the ground. "Fire. We used fire arrows on the vermin."

"Tarka, Melo!" Powerful arms grabbed them. The panicked, struggling and kicking, before he realized that otters were pulling them out of the way. Fur was smeared all over their fur and their faces had cuts and welts all over. Is that what I look like? That was the last thought that crossed his mind before he blacked out.


Again, I'm not too happy with this chapter, but it's the best I could do in the short notice (about to get my ass grounded here). So, thanks for reading and everything. What happened to Jolin and Skipper and all the other captives? You're just going to have to wait for next time to find out. ;)

And yes, it was a bit rushed I think, but I have to hurry to get this out of the way before college engulfs every free time I used to have. I tried my best with the action scenes and describing things, but I can't linger on battle strategies too long for some reason. Anyways, if you are lost about what the heck is happening (since I don't feel that I described the situations perfectly) then please shoot me a PM and I'll try to piece things together. Please review. :)