7. Redwall: Claws and Blood.
Twenty eight seasons ago
Once again, the Redwall Abbey and the rest of Mossflower were covered by a thick blanket of snow. The winter was neither particularly harsh, nor mild, but just about normal. Creatures who found themselves well-prepared for the deadliest season of the year spent much of these days fighting boredom through whatever means their imagination could conjure, from making whatever they were skilled at making, to telling tales and listening to them. Brothers and sisters of the Redwall Abbey prepared well, but their work was rarely ever done – bound to provide help and succor for anybeast in need, they had to deal with creatures suffering from sickness or hunger throughout most of the winter. Still, they had more leisure than usual, and any good storyteller was extra popular this season.
Snowpaw was not in the mood to tell stories, however. His friend Ewalt was lost somewhere, in the white-painted vastness of Mossflower forests, and six other creatures with him. Not that Ewalt promised explicitly to return before the winter snow this time, but doing so was just common sense. Day after day Snowpaw came to the outer wall and circled the rampart in hopes of seeing Ewalt and the rest returning, and day after day he saw no one, except for the usual woodlander visitors. He was not the only one to worry. Three days ago Leriann the Abbey Champion went out of the Abbey, with several otters as companions, "to check if everything was quiet in Mossflower", something he had never done before in winter. Other beasts sometimes joined Snowpaw in his vigil. Some of them were always welcome: Reed, Weitla, Ewalt's sister – and now one of the Abbeysisters – or Selvathy, the otter who once travelled with them, and married one of the Skipper of Otters' sons three seasons ago. Certain others… not always. Including the young rogue who was running towards Snowpaw now.
"Hey, Snowpaw! Still nobeast on the road?"
The ermine shook his head. "No, Wilfrid. And you should put on something warmer."
"Nope!" Wilfrid was a young squirrel with bright red fur, barely above the dibbun age, and he had enough energy for a whole brood of youngsters. "How can I jump like this in heavy clothes?"
And with these words, he leapt to the top of the nearest crenel in a single bound.
Snowpaw froze in fear. Parapet forming crenellation on the walls of Redwall was thick, but not thick enough for a beast of average size to stand on it without fear of falling, and Wilfrid stood on top of the crenel to his full height, paws spread wide to show off before Snowpaw. Snowpaw knew that the young squirrel is faster than him, so catching Wilfrid was out of the question – and the little pest was never going to agree that he may possibly kill himself by making a wrong step and falling. Snowpaw knew he has to use guile:
"If any Abbeybeast, perchance, sees you like this, forget about any tales or stories for today, because your mother would be scolding me for not stopping you till the midnight hour."
"That's stupid," Wilfrid pulled a long face. "As if I'm not a squirrel!"
But much to Snowpaw relief, he hopped back down. To be honest, his mother, Myrtle, was not the creature Snowpaw feared. Wilfrid was grandson of Belk and son of Leriann, heir to two generations of Abbey Champions. The ermine did not want to find out how Leriann would react if something bad happens to his only son in circumstances which could be construed as Snowpaw's fault. Unfortunately, the little pest loved Snowpaw's company, because he loved listening to heroic stories, and apparently considered the usual tales told and retold by inhabitants of the Redwall Abbey to be insufficiently bloody and violent for his taste.
Before Wilfrid thought of a new way to be an annoyance, they both heard snow crunching under much heavier steps than theirs, and the creature who must have been running after Wildfrid from the doors of the main Abbey building appeared on the walltop. Foxfur the mute wildcat had reached her full growth or nearly full growth by now. At least Snowpaw – who had seen such creatures, as another cat, and a Badger Lady in his life – had hard time imagining Foxfur growing even larger. Now she towered head and half a neck over him, and with seasons her build became more robust. Her size and strength has their drawbacks, though. Where Wilfrid easily ran across parts of the courtyard which the Abbeydwellers did not clear from the snow, Foxfur sank nearly to the waist, judging by where that snow stuck to her clothes. Now she was panting, and the look on her face, as she glared at Wilfrid, was accusatory.
The young squirrel looked back at her, and moved to brush off snow from her back and tail. "See, didn't I tell you, you can't catch me, not even on the ground. Stupid Foxfur!"
Foxfur could not say anything, so she looked to the sky and waved her paws in a gesture of pretend exasperation – she was already smiling. Maybe Wilfrid was seeking her company over the last few moons because his parents disapproved of it, or maybe because he thought that such a mighty and dangerous creature as a wildcat is totally awesome, but either way, he seemed to not fear her at all. Snowpaw could not honestly say the same about himself – Foxfur became like a sister to him, yet sometimes, when she yawned, or casually moved loads with which two normal beasts would have struggled, or sharpened her claws, he still felt shivers. Was the place in the squirrel brat's head, where other creatures had stored their fears, just totally empty? In any case, Foxfur loved Wilfrid's company, even though by now she should have been mentally older than him. The ermine watched with a mixture of adoration and apprehension as brushing off the snow turned into a play, Foxfur whirling to keep her tail away from Wilfrid, and the small squirrel circling her, fast as greased lightning, both laughing. One accidental swipe of the wildcat's paw or a playful shove could have laid the young squirrel flat – at best – but before Snowpaw decided that no matter how happy they were, he has to intervene, Wilfrid ended the game, leaping on Foxfur's back, and in an instant climbing to sit on her shoulders.
"Caaaaan't catch me! Alright, Foxfur, Foxfur, we're not here just to play, let's look if Father or Ewalt and the rest are returning, let's show Snowpaw how far away I can look from here!"
Snowpaw shook his head, looked towards the forest, predictably saw nothing – for that matter, in his usual round of the walltop, he now reached the place opposite the road, where old trees cast their shadows upon the wall, and their snow-laden branches obscured the view – then turned to the Abbey's main building. Smoke was coming from the kitchen chimney and he wondered what will be for dinner today.
Then everything started happening very fast.
"Snowpaw!" he heard a shrill cry in a voice that was unfamiliar and yet somehow familiar at the same time. He turned towards it, but before he could comprehend anything, Foxfur tackled him in a flying leap that would have honored any squirrel – and nearly at the same moment something huge and winged struck from the above, deadly hook-like claws sweeping the space occupied by Snowpaw's head and neck half a second before. The wildcat and the ermine hit snow-cowered stones, and slid for a couple steps, before stopping. Briefly Snowpaw was too busy counting stars in his eyes. Then he heard piteous whine and saw Foxfur lying right next to him, clasping the place where her neck connected to the shoulder. And dirty red spots of blood on the white snow.
Time slowed down for Snowpaw in a way that never before happened to him in fights and battles. His mind processed everything at almost unhurried pace. The Abbey building so far away that it, with its shelter and help, might as well have been on the other side of Mossflower. The enormous bird, eagle owl, or some other equally huge breed, flapping his wings, turning for another pass. Wilfrid, whom Foxfur must have thrown off, sitting on his tail, shaking his little fist at the bird, the closest of them to the flying attacker. Snowpaw heard many times that Redwall Abbey had a long history of peace and alliance with great predatory birds. Maybe stories lied. Or maybe the owl spotted him, an ermine, and thought that this obviously non-woodlander creature must be fair game. Snowpaw also heard, in the seasons of his youth, far away from Redwall, that among flying predators big owls were especially evil and prideful, seeking to slay anybeast who witnessed them committing a mishap.
The ermine leapt to his paws like an uncoiling spring. "Run, fool," he snarled at Wilfrid, as he rushed past the little squirrel. Snowpaw had no weapon, nothing to protect himself with. Even if he had one, his dominant paw could not hold it. And even if he wasn't a cripple, even if he had the best spear or sword in the world, against this monstrous owl he wouldn't have a chance for survival – only for selling his life dearly. Regardless, he rushed towards the winged foe, as the owl started gliding back down towards the walltop. If he could at least put some distance between himself and others, prevent the owl from switching to another target at the last moment…
"I'm right here, you featherbag! C'mon, try to get me this time! Or are you too cowardly to attack a beast face to face, you flying sneak!"
The owl clearly heard him, and swooped down sharply, spreading out the mighty wings right before contact with the walltop, as the wicked claws grasped for the ermine. Snowpaw, however, was not suicidal enough to leap straight into these claws. Instead, he lunged to dive under them at the last moment. He felt dull sensation of a glancing hit on his neck and back – but the claws failed to close on any part on him, and the owl struck the rocks, sending snow flying in all directions, and screeching out an indignant curse. Then the screech turned into that of pain. As Snowpaw rose back to his paws once again, he saw that through some reason-defying leap, perhaps from the top of one of the wall's crenels, Wilfrid managed to land on the owl from the above, sinking claws and teeth at the base of the left wing. The bird whirled and beat his wings in a fury, trying to shake off the impudent creature. The squirrel held fast, but Snowpaw got buffeted in the face, and knocked on his back, hitting the snow-crusted rocks again.
The world shook and spun around him, and the sensation of slowed time was gone. He barely saw what happened next – there was a shrill yowl even more ear-rending than the owl's screeching, and when Snowpaw's vision normalized there was only Foxfur on the walltop, bloodied and snarling, while the owl fell through the air like an ungainly bundle of feathers, turning head over tail, and flailing his wings.
Horror squeezed Snowpaw's heart when he realized that Wilfrid too must be falling with the bird. Just as he pulled himself to the edge of the walltop and looked down, the owl managed to level, right before hitting the ground. The great bird's wings flapped frantically, as he slowly regained altitude, his flight wobbly and ungraceful now. Several brown feathers were floating down slowly.
"Come back, you villain! We're not done with you yet!" Wilfrid tore himself from snow-covered bushes right below the wall, seemingly unharmed. Immense relief washed over Snowpaw, and then immense dizziness. The wall beneath him swayed unsteadily. The hit in the head must have been harder than it seemed. Snowpaw dully wondered from whom all the blood on the snow around came.
Then Foxfur was hugging him, and crying. "Snowpaw, Snowpaw," she repeated.
"Oh," the ermine smiled. "You can talk, after all. That's good. But you're wounded. You need to get help. They'll patch you…"
Snowpaw himself hardly felt any pain, but he was suddenly very tired and weak. He gritted his teeth, realizing that this was not good, not good at all, and tried to get his suddenly sluggish thoughts in order. "Hurry, Foxfur. You need to get help for me, too."