Redwall
Griv Beastcrusher picked poor Friar Durglo up by the tail, hanging him upside down.
"Hmmm... You're that foolish dormouse that threw a fruit at me..."
Durglo shrugged and gave a nervous giggle. "Heheh. Well..."
Griv growled. One of his captains, a stoat called Weaseltail, realized that Griv would almost surely kill the cook. Looking at his fantastic lunch, he interrupted the wolverine, always something dangerous to do.
"Err, sire, don't you think 'tis a little harsh to kill 'im? I mean, 'is food tastes as good as ole Rurjy's."
The wolverine growled again, then dropped the dormouse and returned to his meal, a huge roast fish that could feed half the horde. "Yer right, Weaseltail. Food is good."
He sat a table with his ten captains, each eating the finest of food. Roast fish, October ale, and more. Meanwhile, the rest of the horde sat outside, chewing roots or other plants, a few lucky ones with a fish or sparrow they caught.
"Ahem, sire," said the burly stoat Firak, looking through an abbey window. "Err, don't you think that the rest of the horde should get some of this food? We 'ave enough. I mean, Silvertu-"
Griv leaned over the table in front of his captain-in-chief. "Wot? Ye think Silvertung was a better leader than me?"
"Ah, no, no, no," cried the stoat, half-lying. "I just mean to say that we could earn sum loyalty, I heard sum mutinous talk goin' around."
"I don't need loyalty! I can make them fear me! Now, who are the mutineers?"
"Err, umm, that rat, Fourclaws. And there was just sum general mutter."
Griv growled for the third time this meal. "Hmm... I'll get 'im..." The wolverine got up and stalked out the door. The captains looked at each other, then leaped for the remainder of his fish.
oooooooooooooo
Fourclaws the rat was with the fox Darkfang, trying to convince him to take out Griv Beastcrusher. "Come on, d'ye see how 'e feeds us? I mean..."
"Gaw, I like bein' a live! Who in their right mind attacks a wolverine!"
Fourclaws looked over his shoulder. "Run! Ye have to, he's cummin' after us, must've found out! 'E'll think yer wit me!"
Darkfang gave a yelp of fear and they both bolted across the lawns, followed by Griv, who shouted, "Stop those mutineers!"
Two rats jumped in front of them. Darkfang was an expert fighter, and dispatched both of them with ease.
Fourclaws pointed at some white boxes in front of them. "Hide behind those!"
ooooooooooooo
Up in the infirmary room where the slaves were kept, Brother Ruford, the abbey beekeeper, was looking out the window. The usually quiet and calm mouse was cheering to the outside. "Ayyyy! Get those vermin! Come on! Make yer owner proud!"
A squirrel, Sister Tennyl wondered what could make Ruford so excited. "Brother, what is-"
"Just look, sister! They're making me so proud!"
The mouse had a few tears of joy running down his face. Tennyl looked at the window to see what was going on. The white boxes where the bees were kept were knocked over, and hundreds of furious bees were hovering over a rat, fox, and a huge, monstrous beast the size of badger. The vermin were screaming in pain as the horde of bees attacked them. Tennyl let out a laugh as well.
The fox was the first to run. Darkfang bolted away, the angry bees hot on his tail. He hurriedly climbed up the wall. He couldn't stay here, Griv would surely kill him and Fourclaws. Biting his lip, he leaped over the wall, his last chance.
What would have been a long and painful death was broken by the carcass of a rotting weasel. The fox immediately recognized as a talented fighter called Bluddfang. Not giving it too much thought, he ran off into Mossflower Woods.
Fourclaws was not as lucky. He was right in the middle of the bees, and his whole body was swelling up. Griv Beastcrusher had finally reached him when he realized the rat had died.
Giving a snort of disgust, he made an undignified retreat from the bees. Covered in stings, the Redwallers laughed with mirth, along with the vermin, once they were sure Griv couldn't here them.
Out in the woods, Darkfang muttered, "Huh. Mebbe Fourclaws was right. That wolverine is a terrible leader."
Saint Ninian's ruins
Throwing an old blanket somebody had grabbed before they left over the ruins of the church (along with the otter's adding some logs to heighten the walls around Saint Ninian's), the Redwallers hurried inside.
"'Tis not much," said Abbess Fern, comforting some worried Dibbuns. "But 'tis home. And we have to live with it."
The squirrelbabe Ruggle asked, "Why can't we go 'ome?"
Fern bit her lip. "'Tis because there are some bad creatures in there."
Ruggle laughed. "Haharr! I'm no' scared o' bad cweatchers!"
Abbess Fern pulled Ruggle close to her. "Of course you aren't. Now, go to sleep."
The Dibbun laughed. "But 'tis no' bed time yet!"
Fern sighed. "Well, then, I don't know what to do! Go bug your parents!"
Ruggle laughed and ran off to "bug his parents", bugging his sister as well. Fern looked around. "Can I have some volunteers to go foraging? We need some food."
Borgy walked up to her, crouching, followed by another hedgehogs, and said, "Look no further! Us Wiltuds are champion foragers!"
The Abbess smiled. "Thank you, Borgy. Do be good."
Borgy and the hedgehogs saluted, then removed themselves from the church-tent-shelter. Walking through the forest chuckling, Borgy said, "'Ere, Mudgell. This'll be easy. 'Ow much is there we 'ave to feed? Half a score and six? Yeah, I think that's it, coz nine went down that weird tunnel thing! Odd fellows, they were. And that's countin' us. 'Ere, there's some berries right away!"
The plump hedgehogs started picking the blue berries, snacking as they picked. The ones they didn't eat went into a leather bag each one was carrying. "Let's see. The Abbess, o' course, and that 'ogwife Mallow, wit dat young un 'Olly. Then the seven Dibbuns, who don't eat as much. And dose three older uns. Wid de four moles, an' those nine dat ran, and a score o' slaves fer those vermin. Harrumph! One-hundred-seventy five dead! Terrible, 'tis!"
"Shut yer gob, Mudgell! I know dat!" replied Mudgell.
"Huh. Well let's just- 'old on there!" called Borgy, as he thrust his paw into a bush and yanked out a lanky and mean-looking fox with a long, black fang by the scruff of his neck. The fox was covered in bee stings.
"Wot 'ave we 'ere?" asked Borgy.
Darkfang shrugged. "I'm a fox. Ran, I did. Boss at the Redplace thought I was plottin' against 'im."
Borgy sighed. Looking towards where the abbey would be. "Vermin scum, ye deserted yer ranks! Though I guess that isn't exactly a sin where yer cummin' from, but yer no' a good beastie, either."
Darkfang shrugged, the fox just grateful he hadn't been caught by Griv, who'd had killed him already. Maybe he could survive this somehow. "Well, wot if I just left? I promise I won't harm no beast again."
"Throw out yer weapons," growled Mudgell.
The fox hurriedly emptied his pockets, getting rid of a dagger and a sword. Mudgell hurriedly picked them up, and said, "'Ow many did ye kill when ye attacked the abbey?"
"Err, one or two mice."
"So wot if we killed ye, one or two times?" asked Borgy.
The color drained from Darkfang's face. "Wait! No! I can git ye in the abbey!"
Borgy held the fox up to his face. "Ye better no' be lyin', or I'll make sure ye die, long and slow."
The Tunnels Deep Under Ground (Actually this is almost directly under Saint Ninian's)
Mervo sat on the rock floor, tears streaming down his face. His exit caved in, he was trapped. Calling out the names of those in the tunnels, his parents, the Wiltuds, Sister Chamomile, Bungle the mole, Ilia the squirrel, Rivertunnel the otter. Anybody. They were undoubtedly on the other side of the rock wall, hearing the rocks falling.
What would he do? Curse that feeling to go down the right path! He should have followed Darrow and the others. Then he would be stuck in this a-cursed tunnel! The air was stuffy and damp, the rocks hard. He'd been crying for hours to no avail.
His mother had always been there when he'd cry. She'd make him feel better. But she wasn't here now. He'd have to do this himself.
He shakily stood up. Wiping away some tears. He took a few shaky steps forward. He pushed against the crumbled wall, to no avail. Sighing, he leaned against it as more tears came.
That feeling came back. Every part of his body urged him to run forward, as he did. For the first few steps. After all, that feeling was the reason he was here, why should he trust it again.
"Because we brought you here for a reason," whispered a voice in his ear.
The young fox gave a yelp of fear and jumped, looking back to see no one. Shaking his head, he muttered, "No, that was just my imagination." Still though, he listened and walked forward. Slowly at first, but gradually faster, and faster, and faster.
Walking through ancient passageways carved in stone, a maze of dead ends and traps, Mervo never made one wrong turn. He was bolting through the tunnels, faster than he'd ever ran, until he came to a dead end.
But his instincts did not tell him it was a dead, nor did his eyes. He was in a circular room, with a seven decimeter staff in the exact center. Burning from the staff was an ice-blue fire.
The sacred flame, thought the young fox. Like of what Arbor spoke of.
Feeling anxious, Mervo slowly crept toward the fire, then did what his ancestor, Zêrin, did long ago. He placed his paw on the fire.
The fire did not do what it had done to Zêrin. Instead of lighting him on fire, there was a great ice-blue blast that knocked Mervo to the edge of the room.
Then the fire rose up into the shape of a massive, ice-blue badger.
The fire badger looked down at him. In a strong, powerful voice he said, "Hello, Mervo. My name is Arbor Brock."
