Deserters

by keldor314

When the stoats Thura and Dingeye died, they took with them much in the way of potential character development. But what if things had gone differently? What if the arrow which took Brother Hal's life had missed? This is the story of a pair o' pore unedicated vermin, told from the beginning. What lessons would they learn (if any)? How can a small change affect times to come?

1. Prologue

Prologue

Grey clouds hung low over the trees of Mossflower, bringing with them rain, a slow grey drizzle that soaked through one's fur, leaving it as cold and damp as the rest of the dreary, grey landscape. The day before, birds had sung and the sun had shone upon the bright colours of spring, the bright green leaves, beneath which bloomed vibrant bluebells, spiky looking ramsons, delicate anemones, rich violets, and a myriad of others. But now the heads of the wildflowers drooped, their colors muted in the dull grey light, and all around was silent but for the soft yet steady patter of water falling from the grey sky.

There stood the great abbey of Redwall, its wettened stonework dark and slippery. Within the great sandstone walls, the blooms of the gardens and the orchard hung just as sodden as the woods without, yet the sturdy sloped roof of the great structure was fast against the weather, keeping the inhabitants cozy and dry. Tendrils of smoke rose gently up from a chimney, accompanied by the scent of cooking from the kitchens. Fresh nutbread farls, fragrant apple bakes, and savory barley soup with leek and ramson!

The abbey dibbuns were restless. They had been cooped up indoors all morning, but still there was no indication of the weather breaking. Mother Mara's patience had finally snapped when an arrow shot from the toy bow of the squirrelmaid Rosemary had overturned her dandelion and mint tea. Brother Dumble had interceded on the little squirrelmaid's behalf before the big badgermum could set her to sweeping the dormitory hall, and now the old dormouse sat in the comfy chair next to the warm fireplace in the infirmary, with Rosemary and a second dibbun, the mole Burrem, sitting on the rug before him. They shared blackcurrant tarts between them and sipped sweet rosehip tea.

"Didn' you say you were gonna tell us a story, Bruvver Dumble?" Rosemary looked expectantly at the elderly dormouse.

"Why yes, so I did. So I did," the old dormouse laughed. "Yesterday I told you about Ferahgo the Assassin and how he tried to conquer the great mountain fortress of Salamandastron, only to be stopped at the last moment by brave woodlanders."

"I didn' hear it!" the little squirrel protested.

"Hurr hurr, Oi 'amembers alroight! You'm be'd a'spendin' 'ee 'ole day uppen 'ee gurt tree in 'ee orchard! Boi 'okey, Oi think 'ee was 'idin' from Motha 'Ara givin' 'ee yon barth!" Burrem chuckled.

"But I want to hear it! Tell it again, Bruvver Dumble!" Rosemary pleaded.

The dormouse shook his head firmly. "I refuse to tell the same story twice in a row. Besides, I happen to know your grandfather has told you it before, young Rosemary. Old Samkim does so love to tell it. But don't you worry your pretty head, the story I'm about to tell you is a good one. It all happened right around the same time and is the tale of two of the most unusual beasts to grace our abbey in many a season…"