9. Southsward: Aldwin's Wisdom.

Twenty five seasons ago

It was mid-autumn again, and in the lush and warm lands of Southsward cold and gloom hadn't set in yet, though nights already were frosty. This day in particular was good for travel, as long as you had some clothes on top of your fur and enough vittles in your bag, which fully applied to the trio of travelers, who broke camp in a small hollow after marching until well into the afternoon.

"All right," Aldwin said, when they set up a small bonfire, and finished their simple lunch. The old warrior got visible grey in his fur now, but still remained fit and lively. "Time for a bit of practice."

Clovis looked at him. The young fox grew tall, taller even that his father, a bit on the slimmer side of being well-proportioned, with thick, rich fur. Aldwin thought, however, that his face did not improve with seasons, sharp, predatory features in combination with pale eyes producing an unsettling impression, particularly when the fox was sulking. Like right now. "Don't you think we deserve a bit of rest, instead? We've covered a lot of ground today."

"That's why it's the jolly time for practice," Aldwin retorted. "A real warrior must be able to put a fight after walkin' all day. So, get into position, you two."

"Oh, poor us," Rondel made an expression of mock despair. The young hare matched Clovis' height – before counting the ears – and was built more robustly, with wide shoulders, large paws and frightening amounts of sheer strength. Most unlike the fox, he smiled easily, and there almost always was a twinkling of merriment in his rich brown eyes. "C'mon, Clovis, let's put a jolly performance for Uncle Aldwin."

The two young creatures, pulled off their jerkins, picked their walking sticks, which they used for practice fights in absence of specially made wooden swords, and moved a bit aside from the bonfire, where there was some flat earth. Aldwin kept sitting, watching them, but still keeping one eye open for any dangers. They were around the ill-defined southern border of Southsward, if not past it, and an encounter with one sort of predatory creatures or another was not an exceptional occurrence in these parts.

Clack! The two sticks met. Aldwin watched these two practice hundreds of times, and right now it was going along the usual route. Rondel and Clovis assumed the same fencing stance, both sprightly and light on their paws, despite fatigue from the long march – Aldwin could only nod approvingly here. As usual, Rondel moved to attack first, testing the waters with light, quick thrusts. Clovis parried and deflected methodically. Speed of the strike and counterstrike increased, now Clovis was on the attack, trying to push back his opponent. But Rondel was just as quick as he was big. Clack! Clack! Clack! The sticks moved faster, ever faster, Clovis going for rapid slashing moves, trying to overwhelm his opponent with sheer speed, and Rondel meeting the fox blow for blow. For a moment it seemed that Clovis' strikes were simply too fast, after all. Rondel stepped back under the onslaught, Clovis followed in a rush, raising his stick again… and nearly ran at the point of Rondel's stick now suddenly pointing right at the middle of his chest.

"Stop!" Aldwin cried out. "A round for Rondel. Take a deep breath, calm themselves and start anew."

The sparring resumed, and Aldwin could see that Clovis was trying his best to follow the advice given. But this time his moves remained too slow and stilted, while Rondel had already warmed up. Before long, Clovis staggered back, unsuccessfully trying to avoid a hit on his shoulder – no, just a light tap, indicating the possibility of a hit, not really painful, but thrice as humiliating. Clovis' face twisted in a snarl for a moment, as he swung his stick wildly… and predictably found himself looking at the tip of Rondel's stick placed against his chest again immediately afterwards. The young hare smiled half-apologetically, half-mockingly, and shrugged with one shoulder.

"A round for Rondel. Clovis, remember, that's supposed to be a saber in your paw, not a flippin' flail. Count to twenty and start again."

But the results remained the same. As always. Clovis should have had an advantage after a long march, his endurance was above that of any hare Aldwin ever knew, yet with each clash the sparring only grew more one-sided.

"Enough!" Aldwin commanded, when it seemed like Clovis is about to fly into a complete foaming rage. The young fox raised his stick, as if intending to hurl it into the bonfire, then shuddered, before putting it down normally.

Rondel shook his head. "Look, I can show you, where you moved wrong, you just jolly well have to stop getting…"

"Go, add more twigs and branches to the bonfire, Rondel," Aldwin interrupted him. "And you, Clovis… Not sure if fishin' is good in the lake down there, but dusk absolutely is the prime time for it, so that's where we'll go. Pick your bow too, we're not on the safe land, ain't we, wot? You, Rondel, keep your ears perked up and your saber at paw too, and cry for us if you see any danger."

As the hare and the fox walked down the slope towards the small lake at the bottom of the sleepy, forested valley, Clovis remained silent and pouting. Aldwin spoke to him first, once they were far enough from the camp: "You did well today, Clovis. Better than could be expected from most creatures."

Clovis just grimaced scornfully. The kit's face was amazingly expressive when emotions of this sort were concerned. Still, Aldwin continued in the same tone: "Most creatures would have tried a lot harder to avoid fights that they cannot win, even mock fights, wot. You have some jolly good courage…"

"Save this feel-good claptrap for somebeast else! What good "courage" is for a beast who got run through five times, had his paws laid open six times, his knee cut from undernearth him, and his neck slashed once or twice? Pah!"

Clovis' ability to count the "wounds" he got during the sparring almost correctly impressed Aldwin, unlike his tone. "Tosh and nonsense, young chap! Without your courage I would be dead seasons ago. And I dare say, in real battle courage is more important than fancy skills, courage and strength of paw, and endurance. But if you want to be a sulkin', ill-mannered kit, instead of listenin' to good advice like a beast of your seasons, I cannot stop you anymore, can't I, wot?"

As was not uncommon, Clovis simply clammed up and went silent. The young fox was not an easy creature to like. Good thing that Aldwin had experience of dealing with the worst headcases among the hares of Salamandastron. He often was strict, but never treated Clovis unfairly in anything. He hoped Clovis sees that. Can see that. But a hope was not a certainty.

So he was relieved, when later, as they sat on the overhanging grassy bank, and watched their floats, Clovis spoke quietly: "I'm sorry. For raising my voice at you, I mean."

Aldwin nodded: "Apology accepted."

Clovis stared into nowhere for another minute, before continuing: "Can I ask you something, Captain Aldwin?"

"Captain, eh?" thought Aldwin. As many creatures, Clovis used Aldwin's old Long Patrol rank when he wanted to address the old hare with respect, which happened less and less often recently. "Ask away."

"Why in the… why can't catch up with Rondel? Is it because I'm a fox?"

Aldwin did not expect an question of this sort today, but long had an answer at the ready: "Because you are you. You had the blinkin' bad luck of not being born the greatest warrior who ever walked under sun and moon, and so you can't easily surpass the most talented fightin' hare I've known, myself included. What a grievous misfortune, wot."

Aldwin watched the reaction more carefully than he was letting on, and to his great relief, Clovis did not seem to grow angry, indeed, Aldwin could swear that the fox almost smiled for a moment. The old hare waited for a bit, and continued: "Look, you know what Sovna says about your problem."

Clovis snorted slightly, and recited, imitating the voice of Sovna, mother of Rondel, and a former Long Patrol hare, who was teaching the two of them the art of fencing on sabers and rapiers: "If you slow down to think about your strikes in battle, the next thing going through your brain would be a few inches of steel. To be a great warrior, you have to move on reflex, instinct, training, but when, you, fox, stop thinking, you are guided by rage and blind savagery alone."

"I don't believe she ever said these exact words, Clovis."

"Maybe, but she sure thought just like that!"

"Don't be so loud, we're supposed to be fishin' here. Anyway, let me tell you a jolly little secret. Well, not really a secret, just something' Sovna doesn't much like to remember. She may be such a cool-headed gal right now, in friendly flippin' fencin' matches, but back then, when she was a hare of the Long Patrol, she was possessed of such wrath in battle that she broke more than one blade upon our foes."

Clovis looked at Aldwin with an expression that probably meant disbelief, forgetting about his float, while Aldwin continued: "She had a knack, a talent, if not as much as you. But when it counted, she was just a good warrior, not a great one. And she gives you the best blinkin' advice she can, because she doesn't want you to end up "just good"."

Then Aldwin prodded Clovis lightly with two fingers, and spoke even quieter than before. "And what sort of gratitude are you givin' her in return, wot? Thinkin' that she despises you for being a fox?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Maybe, but you bally well thought just like that. And keep your voice down."

For a time they remained silent, Clovis trying not to look at Aldwin. Then the old hare continued. "You're a big beast already, Clovis, a bit too brawny to spank some sense into you, wot. Better yourself, or blame and resent others because you did not get absoballylutely everythin' you ever wanted, the choice is yours alone now. That's all I can say. Now, keep your eyes to your float, and maybe we'd fish out somethin' in time to have one final bit of trainin' today.

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Meanwhile, Rondel got bored quickly. Tending to the bonfire was not exactly the most demanding task. The twilight forest under darkening deep blue sky was peaceful, scarcely a sound anywhere. The young hare was supposed to remain wholly alert, but found his patience tested sorely. Eventually, he started whistling and murmuring under his nose whatever hare songs he remembered, to pass time.

He started "As I marched on a sunny day…" for the second time, when he, by the sixth sense to which creatures refer when they are not sure which of the normal five warned them, felt some quiet presence behind him, on the edge of the hollow. Not even his ears flinched, and he kept murmuring, until his right paw found the nearest weapon-like object, and he leapt up, turning towards whomever was at his back.

Rondel found himself staring at Clovis, who stood above him, the bow – unstrung – in paw. Then Aldwin appeared out of deepening gloom, a small pike impaled on the spear he carried over the shoulder. "Better reaction this time, Rondel, but I just don't think this," he pointed at the walking stick that was the "weapon" which the young hare grabbed, "is going to protect you from a real confoundin' arrow or spear from this distance. A round for Clovis."

Rondel looked at the piece of wood, and laughed helplessly. "Oh well. Looks like my mind is not in the right place for a warrior yet. Good job, Clovis, but I swear by all the seasons, the next time you won't get a drop on me so easily!"

Author's comments.

To Guest: I might consider posting on other sites, after I finally find time to reread Weaves from start to end and check for minor errors and consistency problems.

To Sebias: Thanks for your reviews! The prologue was dedicated largely to introducing new characters, and I'm glad that this was done successfully.