4

The whoops and hollers of hares bounced off the walls of the inside of Salamandastron. A considerable portion of the young hares had volunteered their seating up to guests, leaving a number of them free to whoop and dance to mandolins and hardee gurdees (A type of accordion favored by a bright young haremaiden before the Long Patrol existed). Overall, it was a fine show for those eating, many a crumb flying when a dancer would slip and fall or tickle the whiskers of babes and sweep them up into the flurry.

The hearty clapping of Pinebuck's paws were the most audible of any, shaking silverware around with every heavy smack against each other. A good-sized bowl of vegetable soup sat in front of the badger, edged by golden-crusted soft bread for soaking broth, small grilled fish, and raspberry turnovers that dribbled with their red filling.

The hares of Salamandastron moved serving plates like clockwork, never letting one rest for long. Hares were known for large appetites, though no beast knew if it was the active Long Patrol lifestyle or a simple, pure enjoyment of food. It was all simple fare, food that would fill someone's stomach for a good long while!

Flaky crusted breads, crunchy green salads, stews that smelled of spices, carrot, radish, cabbage, and seafood caught that morning, fish grilled to perfection just before burning, mint teas that soothe the stomach, and the turnovers! Well baked crust that hid the delicacies of leek n' onion, potato n' leek, and, of course, raspberry. The turnovers of Reagan had become a favorite of every beast, especially Pinebuck who believed turnovers to be the most perfect creation. Perhaps they were.

Major Meadowcream sat near the head of the table, amongst the other high ranked Long Patrol hares and Badgerlord Pinebuck. He twirled his whiskers between his coarse paws. The mountain only had about twenty hares, this season they would have thirty as wandering parties returned from summer festivities and traditions. The general of the Long Patrol sat directly next to the badger. General Gerarm Ceannard, an old brown-furred highlander hare nearing the end of his days. The old hare served as an advisor more than anything to Pinebuck, old wisdom for the new age. The two of them held a quiet conversation between eachother.

The hare watched his daughter as she linked arms with another runner, prancing and hopping around in circles, with each rotation the partner changed. It was becoming a whirlwind of movement. The Long Patrol hares had created many a dance over numerous seasons of peacetime, it was just a joyful part of life to Maggery who knew not of vermin hordes and corsairs.

A voice spoke sweetly to Marder, "Maggery seems to be a good dancer, it's rather shockin' considerin' the gel tends to fumble, wot!" Dogwood Duckfontein Meadowcream said from her husband's other side, she smelled of baking. Her fur was a light brown, her paws standing out as white. The hares whiskers were twirled similar to Maxwell's, though shorter and more feminine. "Do you want another ladle of soup?"

"Ack, no me doe, can't have another sip!" He dabbed his mouth edges with his napkin. "Of course, the hare's a jolly good dancer, wot, you're her mother, after all!" The hare clicked his tongue, "She needs to be more patient, that's what it is. Maggery can go along as she wants to a ditty, but not much else. She singed her whiskers in the forge! And you remember when she helped Reagan in the kitchens and all the bread was full of her fur?"

Several nearby hares chuckled, including Dogwood. At the time it had been a frustrating situation, but seasons had made it silly to remember. "Oh hoh, you ol' charmer!" Dogwood tweaked her husband's mustache with a spare paw, "The poor gel was shedding her winter fluff and barely noticing! I could barely stay mad at the youngin'!"

Sergeant Clifftop scoffed, "I'd say it was 3 winters worth of hair, wot! It stuffed a fair amount of beds though."

"Bah! I can certainly, oh yes, right certainly stay mad at her! Ruined a whole day of baking to feed it tah seagulls!" Atmore said around a mouth of lettuce. She had been the one to throw it to the relentless vultures.

Marder tapped his fist on the table's surface. "It's maddening, while she may be a young beast, the lot of them are impatient!" This went forgiven by Pinebuck, who barely was an adult by badger standards.

"Maxwell! You once were young ya'self and had a fire underneath under yah, me buck!" Dogwood scolded. The male hare scowled in response. "I remember when ye' boxed ol' Weaseltin because they said my frown looked like a toad!"

Marder's nose scrunched in chagrin. He cleared his throat, ceasing the snickering of old hares acting like school children. "That was because it was right rude to say so, marm! Besides, shes nothing like me! The lass barely listens when she's learning the elegant tradition of boxin'."

Pinebuck tapped his claws on his goblet. The simple gesture lulled the older hares to silence, all of them ceasing eating and turning to the badgerlord. He had been listening the entire time, his attention split between the dancing and the gallery of hares in front of him. He hummed to the melody of footpaws thumping on stone floors.

"Don't be so hard on the maiden, not every beast is on the same trail, wot! Perhaps not, not at all. She'll come out on the hilltop; believe me my friend they all do." Pinebuck turned his head to Clifftop, who's plate had begun to look like Salamandastron itself. "Clifftop slide that platter over here for me! I won't let you hares scoff everything again!"

"Oh, allow me, my lord. It is my job tonight. Maxwell, peacetime is the young ones, so they don't know such grief and can wander from home." Dogwood said, moving around the table and relocating, refilling, and saving serving dishes. The tucker moves fast in Salamandastron.

Marder snout wrinkled, his ears pinning back. "Perhaps my lord, perhaps. Still, the gel can be roight frustrating, sah! Stubborn as a hedgehog covered in honey stuck to a log!" He stuffed his face with salad, crunching it aggressively.

Pinebuck sniggered, his eyes glittering as he sampled turnovers. "Major Marder, I never knew tah' be a hare to complain! Certainly not my ears off, wot. Do cheer up, it is a lovely night." The badgerlord said simply. He picked a turnover, delicately placing the delectable morsel into the paws of a hogbabe, one named Thumble, in his lap before choosing his own. The little creature bit into it, smearing leek gravy on his face.

The hare huffed, his mustache twitching. "Yes, my lord. Do forgive me, sah. I don't mean to be fumin' at the table."

"Nothin' to forgive, sah!" Atmore said.

"Nothin' to forgive, at all." Pinebuck agreed. "Let it roll out like the waves."

"Nathin' tah fagive!" Thumble repeated, through mouthfuls of potato.

Marder nodded, getting up. "Aye. I fear I've scoffed myself to exhaustion now, a good night to yah all." Agreements and returns followed, after which the old hare hopped up the stairs with heaviness to his steps.

Dogwood cleaned the babies face with a rag, his little snout trying to dodge. "Do excuse Maxwell, my lord. The hare's been a tad wrung lately."

Gerarm Ceannard shifted, his bones weary and tired. His voice was guttural, as if he were speaking from his very heart. "Es the storm, lass. Makes anybeast tense. Indeed, 'e does." The old hare widened his eyes, "Just lissen to it, lass, ye' can still 'ear it!"

Behind the music, the stamping of paws, the jolly guffaws, and noise Dogwood could barely hear the curtain of rain on the outside of the mountain. It sounded like an entire ocean falling from the sky.

"Do the Mountain Guardian's Spring!" Pinebuck bellowed, as the dancers song began to end. The request boomed throughout the room; the badger had been a little too enthused. Dogwood jumped! She had been drawn in by Gerarm's tone. The haremaid barely kept her paws on the platter before it fell to the ground!

Gerarm chuckled, his face lighting up with hare delight as his shaggy old fur shook. He laughed until he began to cough throughout his entire frame.

"A- ah'm very sorry bairn, Ah couldn't help mahself, wot!"

Pinebuck blinked, his large head moving from Gerarm to Dogwood, "…Did I scare the gel?"

"You shouldn't try to scare maids like that, ye old crust! Ye' had me all pulled in on your little hook!" The haremaid prodded the old hares chest. She huffed. "Ye' can forget having seconds now!"

"Oh come on! Ai'll starve!" Gerarm whined. It fell on deaf ears as Dogwood sauntered off.

"Yeh! Do da Muntoin Goodeean's Sproing!" repeated the hogbabe in Pinebuck's lap. Thimble, another hogbabe, was too busy listening to the hares converse to repeat after his brother. Their accents were humorous to the little hedgehog, he'd surely be repeating "Wot!" for days to come.


The request of Pinebuck was quickly fulfilled, the jaunty tune of the mandolin being followed by the stamping of footpaws as hares jumped. The steps were heavy to mimic the paws of a badgerlord. Big steps to make fun of the badgers, large creatures with bountiful weight!

Maggery grinned, following suite with the others as the hares circled and spun and made a ring with their footpaws stamping on the floor. As the tune got quicker, they grabbed other creatures and they joined in the heavy bouncing. Hares, mice, hedgehogs, and squirrels spun together in the banquet hall of Salamandastron, faster and faster as the mandolin strings were plucked!

The haremaid tightly held the paw of a little mousebabe, who giggled as his footpaws left the ground everytime all the dancers bounced. Fearful the little dibbun was going to tumble and go rolling across the stone floor, she forgot about her own paws! One slipped under the other, catching Maggery's ankles in a sweep! She tumbled, nearly dragging the mousebabe and the unlucky creatures near her to the ground. The haremaid rolled on the cool stone until she was paws over head! Fortune seemed to favor her as her bottom struck the soft stomach of a hedgehog instead of the prickly back of another.

Maggery kicked the air out of the hedgehog upon impact. The weight of a full-grown hare throwing itself into anybody would do the same. It took both a moment to gather themselves.

"Excuse me, are ye, um, are ye' okay, miss?" He pushed the hares paws, forcing Maggery to roll backward onto her behind. The mousebabe had decided to follow suit, bumping into Maggery 's backside after tumbling across the floor to his own entertainment. The instruments had started back up again, the dancers resuming minus a hare and a tiny mouse.

"What a flippin' tumble, wot! Some villun must have tripped me!" Maggery puttered, dizziness blurring her vision. Her pair of long ears were grabbed a large striped paw, pulling her upright on her paws. Pinebuck held the mousebabe in the other, being crawled on by other dibbuns.

"'Fraid not, young Maggery. The villun would be you! Better to not box yourself over such things." The badger guffawed, releasing her ears as she shot a paw out at him.

"Ah, bully! Come on, put yore paws up! I won't have no beast making me look the fool!" The haremaid jumped from paw to paw, still in time to the music, shadowboxing at the badger. The babes hanging onto him watched her with wonderment, despite her lackluster boxing form. It had far too many openings plainly seen by the other hares, but small babes would not know that, only that there was a ripe young boxing hare in front of them in eager fighting stance.

The hedgehog spoke up, "Is true! You tripped yourself', I watched ye do it then fumble over here." He looked down at his footpaws, "I would of tried to catch ye but…oh dear, I was worried about trippin' myself round all those folk! Would have been roight silly if I did and … you got, well, pricked."

Pinebuck barely noticed as the haremaid pelted his large paw with swift, light jabs to the center pad. The badger knew the hare was playing afterall. No Long Patrol hare of Salamandastron would dare truthfully harm the standing badgerlord. "Listen to St. John, Maggery, when a saint whispers in your ear you best listen, wot! That's fine thinking, young hedge. A hare can take a tumble or two, 'pecially when it's their own doing."

St. John looked surprised, a badgerlord knowing a simple farmer's sons name? How unexpected! His spikes bristled with shock and delight! A strange pride filled the hedgehog. "Y-yah' know my name, Pinelord, oh my, I mean Pinebuck… My lord?"

Pinebuck smiled at the young hedgehog. It contained the warmest of the summer season, creasing his eyes small. What an honest, practical hedgehog, as most hedgehogs were. St. John spoke what he saw simply, with a plain sense to his words.

"Of course, I do." The badger said "What kind of badgerlord would I be if I didn't know the creatures around my simple mountain? Your father did give me a lovely wreath as well last season, morning glory and wild dandelion! It does look lovely above my little hearth."

St. John beamed, from snout to tail, acting like one of the babes on Pinebuck's back. He did a shuffle of excitement. "My father's making yah a new one, though this storm is certainly going to…upset him for a bit."

Maggery sidled in front of the hedgehog, speaking to him directly. Pinebuck's paw was soon filled by another young babe wishing to be held. The badger leveled his face at the haremaid's back. "If yore a saint, wot, can you fix my whiskers? Somebeast burnt them off in the bally forge!"

"You burnt them off in the forge, gel." Pinebuck replied simply behind her.

The hedgehog's ears twitched, "No, no! My mother just…liked the sound of it after she visited Saint Ninian's!" He tweaked his own whiskers. "You could cut the other side, tah' make it even."

The haremaid threw her paws up, "And trounce around with barely a whisker to my lip, I think not! I'd look like a fool, I might as well get a belled hat, and pointed shoes at that point! Roam the countryside as a minstrel! Waste my days away singing and bellowing about soups and scones and how I lost my whiskers to a pike! I bally think not!"

"You would look rather nice in a belled hat, Maggery." Pinebuck said. Maggery shot a glare at the badger.

"What even is a saint?" St. John asked. He really did not know, as much as someone named John would know what exactly a John is.

Thunk, Thunk, Thunk. Maggery thumped her footpaw in thought. She handled the brass Long Patrol medallion draped around her neck. "I…thought it was a protective spirit, that guards the hallowed halls with a ghostly blade."

Pinebuck spoke, a dibbun hanging from his snout. "I thought it was a type of cabbage or a flower, wot?"

St. John lifted the babe from Pinebuck's nose, worried over the possible fall. It would be a good 5 or 6 feet to the ground. This received a hearty thank you from the badger. "I don't have a blade, or hallowed halls I'm afraid. I'm not a plant either, I'd be in my father's garden if I were. I'm Saint John, Saint John Spurrspike the hedgehog."

Maggery took the creatures paw, shaking it heartedly, as he held onto the mousebabe in the other. The simple hedgehog had not meant as an introduction, but it served as one to the leveret who had little to no idea who he was. "A pleasure to be met, chap! I'm Maggery, Maggery McHathery Meadowcream, Runner of the 2nd troop… squad…what ever it is blazin' called!"

His spines shook and rattled as she gripped his paw. The hare was easily a head taller than him, not to mention the strength she had despite her lean upper body. His paw felt like it was being broken! St. John wiggled it out of her grip, but not before returning the handshake as was polite.

"Oh, yes, of course. I've seen yah' running outside the mountain, I don't know how yah' go over those dunes, I rolled down every single one! I've only been here one other time I'm afraid, when I was just a little pin cushion."

Pinebuck chuckled, "Yes, I remember you. I was young myself. Your father helped us plant the orchard in the south that day. A good favor it was, considering most of my hares don't know which end of the sprout goes into the ground." The badger began to wonder, "Hmm…we best check on that grove next sunrise, I'll tell Clifftop in the morn."

The haremaidens nose twitched eagerly, "I'll tell him right now, Pinebuck. Besides, I want some of that scoff before it's disappeared again! You blink and the victuals have walked off into some rotters mouth!"

The badger looked at her, "You better jog then, bound over before it goes missing!"

"Aye, sah!" she replied, several babes following her coat tails as she prattled off.

Pinebuck and St. John continued to talk, about the forest around them, as the badger was always curious about his surrounding creatures, along with the rivers, the produce John's father was growing, and what the coming season would bring. The warm days of Summer would soon turn to chilly Autumn afternoons when crops grow heavy and fruitful.

St. John peered up at the badger, "May I ask you a favor, my lord?"

Pinebuck was curious, his eyebrows raising excitedly. "Of course, anything for a Spurrspike! Mostly anything. Now whisper it in my ear, makes it more exciting, wot."

The badgerlords eyes widened as the hedgehog spoke into his ear, under the bouncing strings of the music and the thumping feet of dancers. The two discussed further over plates of walnut cheese, and cordials that dared not compare to those of the hedgehog's uncle. Talking, along with eating, dancing, and listening to Maggery try to remember legend, soon enough turned to napping for most beasts.

As the night deepened, the storm shortened. It bore way to the dark blue sky that would turn to the golden rays of dawn, exposing the countryside to the early mentions of Fall.