5

Rowan Spurrspike had always been an anxious hedgehog. He was always overreacting. His wife told him so plainly, though she called it "overly cautious" to make him feel better. The chubby hedgehog wrapped in a cloth tunic once believed that some Virginia Creeper on a tree was a giant snake, readying to strike at his children! Another night, he believed that vermin were outside waving swords and axes about, only to be told it was rain dripping onto a metal pot left out. Stormy clouds made his spikes shutter and strange noises made his teeth chatter. Last night's storm had made the hedgehog so worried his spines wouldn't go down.

It was why the hedgehog was a farmer, soil and seeds were nothing to worry about. The worst they did was wilt. He grew vegetables next to his little home in Mossflower, along with fruit trees that would soon grow heavy with autumn's gifts. Flowers he nurtured like celandine, trefoil, pansy, daffodil, and especially dandelion made his face glow with pride when his wife smiled. Afterall, she was his Dandylion.

Mossflower Woods twinkled in the morning sunrise, coated with a fresh coat of dew from the night storm that dripped off every leaf and edge. The ground was coated with mud, mixed with twigs, branches, leaves, and all other sorts of debris. Birdsong of sparrows and thrush wafted on the young breeze.

The woodland relished in the calm after the storm, however Rowan could not. The hedgehog nearly fainted from shock upon seeing his fields! Stalks and vines were thrown onto the ground broken, produce flown from its stem, bruised, sad. The only things that survived were the roots and tubers, that sat snugly in the wet soil.

A thrush watched curiously from a branch as the hedgehog got to work cleaning his field. Rowan dabbed his eyes, his prideful garden tarnished, before he got his paws dirty.

"Is a pity that storm did this, but you lot will make good food for the new seasons harvest. Cycle it back into the ground, that's the way!" Rowan said, kindly placing the favorable produce in a bucket. The rest were left to compost and depress into the ground. Nothing wasted, any vegetable can be put into a nice soup. The hedgehog sighed wearily, "I'll just have to ready the seeds now."

Dandylion spoke from the windowsill. A branch had shattered the glass, but nothing that could not be fixed quickly. "They're in the cellar, dear. I stuffed them in there so they wouldn't get wet." The sounds of two hogbabes running loose around the house could be heard behind her, followed by St. John.

Rowan grinned, proud of his hogwife. "Aren't you a clever one! Better you, I'm sure not!" The hedgehog had not even considered the possibility. He handed off the bucket to her. "Be back before ya' blink, my love."

The Spurrspikes cellar was dug under a large oak tree, with a heavy door nestled under the roots at the base of a short ramp. It was full of preserves, old furniture, and, now, seeds that Rowan had dried and sorted for the new season. Typically, the door was shut tight and held itself closed due to its weight with fastening on the outside. However, today it stood open as an empty field. The latch lay broken off the wood on the muddy ground.

Creeeaaakkk

It opened wider as the wind blew against it, after flowing between the hedgehogs spines. The inside of it was dark, even as the sunlight filtered shyly in. Rowan stood at the peak of the ramp looking down. He felt his spines shaking, which moved to his whiskers, then his paws that refused to take a step forward! Oh no, no, no. What if some vermin had gotten in there? A lizard, a wildcat ready to strike. Most certainly!

The hedgehog jumped as a shadow moved within! Though, it may just have been his entire body shaking. Rowan's spines shot up and he turned on his heel, his heart pounding with fear. He screamed, and yelled, and panicked, jumping from paw to paw across the woodland. "Help! Somebeast! Help! Help! Vermin, Wildcats in my cellar!"

Maggery Meadowcream stamped through the woods, followed behind by the hedgehog. He had come running out of woodland, howling about wildcats and vermin and lizards hiding beneath!

The haremaid had been sent out that dawnlight, along with other runners, to scout the beach and forest surrounding Salamandastron for any beast in need of help or assistance. Rowan shook fearfully, as if he had seen a ghost rather than a simple shadow.

"You say there's bally vermin hiding in yore cellar, Rowan?" Maggery asked. The hare knew Rowan had a tendency to over-exaggerate and panic, it was plain enough to see once you met the hedgehog.

He stuttered, "Y-y..yes, I saw them! Moving a-around in there, b-b-barely escaped with me life!" The thrush watching Rowan before was tickled, chirping mockingly before flying off to look for worms coming up to the nice, moist surface. Yes, the bird would find most decadent a feast indeed.

Maggery punched the air, boxing imaginary vermin! "Don't you worry your spines, I'll drag the rotter out! I'll press 'im and pull 'im and flounce him good!"

"Well, you don't have to do all that, Miss"

Dandylion was waiting for them. It was fair, considering she simply heard her husband shriek then watched him run off into the woodland like a mad beast! She tapped him snugly on the snout. "What was I supposed to think, Rowan? You go running off into the woods, screaming about vermin, and leave your poor wife alone!"

Rowan anxiously shuffled his footpaws, "S-sorry dear…I didn't mean to…"

The hogwife sighed, wiping the sweat from his face with her apron corners. "Then you go and drag poor, sweet, Maggery into this! I swear Rowan, sometimes your just another babe! Tch. Could you check the cellar for him? If you don't mind, of course." Dandylion delicately kissed Rowan's forehead, "Come on, dear, calm down, let your spines fall. The latch just fell off, the nails were rusty!"

Maggery stood straight, her ears included. Her copper medallion let daylight dance over it and the long patrol symbol engraved into the metal. "Of course, Marm!"

The haremaid marched down and threw the cellar door open! Dust flew up from the sudden movement, the doorframe not being properly dusted in nearly a season. She dove in without hesitation, ready to fight. "Come on out! You flippin' vermin! Thieving Scum!" The darkness swallowed the hare, but only for a moment.

Maggery came stuttering out, nearly tumbling backward on her haunches! She was followed by a squirrel, who looked quite annoyed. Her red fur, dusky as the last leaves of autumn, was dirty and her tail was full of leaves. Her clothes were torn and stained with spots and dregs of black. Her ears poked from under a hat of straw tied to her head by a patterned cloth. The squirrelmaid huffed, pointing accursedly at the hare. She spat out words like a salamander breathing fire!

"Whom are thou calling vermin?! Listen, I am nay vermin, nor any other creature thou subject me as! Thou are a scurvy poltroon to call a gentle maid such things!" She prodded Maggery's chest with every other word, "Thou come in, stomp on my tail, and have the gall to call me vermin!"

Maggery sputtered, quickly turning to the offensive and pushed the squirrel away from her. "Then who, wot, and why are you!"

The squirrel huffed and poked her chin into the air, as if Maggery was nothing more than a crumb. She had the long eyelashes of a true lass. "Hmph! I am Tressa. Lady Tressa of the Summer."

Maggery twirled the half of her whiskers that remained. "…It's Autumn now though."

Tressa creased her eyes, "Then I'm Lady Tressa of the Autumn."

"What about in Winter? Or Spring, wot?"

The squirrelmaid ignored the hare. Maggery grumbled.

Dandylion had stopped comforting her husband, for the moment. "Oh, you poor dear, you must have gotten lost in the storm!" She gave a kind pat to the squirrel's paw, "Bless barley that you don't look hurt."

Tressa latched onto the hedgehog's paws. "The storm was a frightful gale; I tripped over yonder root and fell into the cellar. I swear I'm not a common thief, like the longears says!"

Longears! Maggery was blustered! Thunk! Her footpaw smacked the ground gruffly.

Dandylion had to stop herself from chuckling, seeing Tressa use the same tactics as a child trying to avoid blame. The hedgehog spoke gently. "Of course, you aren't dear, You just needed some place dry for the night. If you made your way up a bit further and earlier, we would have let you in!"

Rowan had calmed down a fair bit. "Of course, we would of! You just gave me a…bit of a fright is all."

Maggery said, under her breath, "Full blown panic, wot."

Dandylion said, "You come up to the house and we'll make you some tea and get you cleaned up, Tressa."

Maggery's ear perked at the mention. Tressa allowed the hedgehogs to lead her away, soothing with reassurances like a babe. The hare followed behind them all, her face rigid with annoyance.


The tree edges of Mossflower wood shone with the gentle light of morning, the dew dripping off the leaves onto the damp ground below. Even if the storm had left, the remnants of it still hung and remained. Skipper Barklen pushed through the brush; his fur sprinkled with water. Roottail following closely behind.

"Come on, It's just up ahead, mostly mate. You remember Holt Riverford? The one nestle' in between a pair of trees that twisted themselves around eachother." Skipper asked, knowing full well the answer.

"Aye, course I do." Roottail replied, "I know every holt from Salamandastron to… whateva's east of Mossflower."

"What's east of Mossflower is of no use to us, even if you knew. Nothing but coast until you get in the northlands."

"Bah, The northlands is no place for me. Don't know why any beast would choose the cold mountains, of all places."

Skipper shrugged, "Ye' get used to it. I know some creatures can't stand Mossflower in the summer, so they move northwar' until the leaves start to fall. Then they move again in the winter."

"Far too much movin' for me, mate" Roottail scoffed.

As any good old otter knows, a well-placed holt is always near a river. The pair of them had been following the stream the entire morning from the old holt of Roottail's. With a simple nod from Skipper, the pair of them slipped silently into the water. They swam with the current, agile as any fish might be. The tranquility and coolness of the waters, not yet heated by the warm sunlight, was a wonderful respite for Roottail. Finding his mind wandering, he allowed the current to carry him along. The shadows of the emerald brush moved across the water surface, swaying with the water.

Roottail allowed himself to drift, a song rolling off his mind and tongue.

"The waters of the river carry me homebound,

They've carried me across tah' sea.

Every wave to me is a brudder,

Every tide a sistah' to thee.

For while I may be far from home now,

The water's another house for me,

And It'll carry me home to thee-"

BUNK!

Roottail was carried headfast into wood! The otter reeled to the surface. A barrel teetered and bobbed in the water, stirred by the collision. He scowled, "What's it, doing 'ere?"

Barklen's head peeked out of the water, "Must have washed off a ship durin' the storm."

"Blasted thing nearly gave me a lump!" Roottail flipped in the water onto his backside and kicked it with both paws roughly. It moved through water into another current and was carried away out of sight.

Barklen grimaced, "Weren't you curious what was inside?"

"Not really, I'm not one to be lookin' where my snout isn't born." His brother replied,

"What if there were some beast trappe' in there?" Barklen said.

"Well, suppose there is" Roottail offered, "I suppose they want to be in there, as any beast who gets in a barrel perfectly knows what they're getting into. Then it's awful rude of me to not suppose they want to be in there and wake them up when they perfectly want to be insoide it. I'd rather let them sleep an' be left to wonder than wake them up then."

Barklen simply stared at Roottail, before splashing water onto the bigger otter with a swift slap of his rudder. He hauled himself onto shore.

"Come on yah' barnacle, It's just over that hill." He said. Roottail grumbled in response, dragging himself onto the bank before tottering off after his Skipper. The moment the big otter bounded over the hill, the entire grove lit up with noise.

"Roottail!"

From beneath a pair of trees twisted around each other until the canopies became one, a surge of otters came out each gathering around Skipper Barklen. The otter leader looked proud, able to show his brother such a welcome.

Roottail nearly rolled down the hill as he bounded down it. "My, isn't this a nice welcome for some old seadog?" He chuckled, slapping the ground with his rudder. The otters around him felt the rumble from it shoot up through their footpaws!

Skipper put his paw on his back, "Ye aren't any ol' seadog you lump! Yore a Dawntide!"

The younger otters, especially the little ones, were amazed by his size, while some of the older ones seemed simply happy in his presence after many seasons of him gone, even if it was just for an afternoon or season. Roottail couldn't deny it felt nice to be in ottercrew company again. There is a simple joy in being remembered.


From the moment Dandylion sat Tressa and Maggery down at her table, she had been talking to them about whatever came to her mind as she made Elderyberry tea. She had started talking about the storm, especially how big it was as what happens when things are big, then made it to the shrews that live down the road, and somehow had found her way to discussing the finer points of home design.

"Really. Moles must get tired of living underground at some point, I would get bored looking at a dirt ceiling and walls all day. Nothing to do but sweep until you don't have a house no more because you've swept it all up." Dandylion clicked her tongue, "Though I suppose I'm not a mole."

Maggery was utterly bored by this. She entertained herself by letting the little hogbabes whisper in her ears, their voices mimicking the elders of the Long Patrol. The young creatures were utterly delighted a hare appeared to agree with their mock accents. The hare found their sentences odd.

Tressa seemed unbothered, "'Em are right snug and warm in Winter. The dust makes it easy for thou to catch a cold, though." Behind the squirrel, Saint John Spurrspike combed through her tail, with a carved wooden comb, picking out leaves and branches from the mass of fur. He didn't mind, the squirrel smelled faintly of rain.

The hedgemother clicked her tongue again, "I suppose, I suppose."

Saint John spoke up, "How do you know Tressa? Yore a squirrel, not a mole or a badger. I thought squirrels preferred above ground." He chose not to tell the maiden he had found a rather large beetle in her fur, nor did he say he ate it. It would simply upset her.

The squirrelmaid replied simply, "It's not tha' hard to find a mole 'ole when you're traveling. I roamed the entire Northland border. Thy mole enjoys the rocky cregs."

"Why only the border?" Saint John asked, innocently.

"The wolves, fearsome beast they are. Warlords, and slavers, and vermin hordes rule the land up there, not a place to go hither."

"W-wolves?"

The squirrelmaid didn't honor his question with an answer, "Of course, there's patches of life, there always is. Small hovels, shrew camps, otter holts, and fox dens. Badger trees and squirrel eves, and mole 'oles, like I said."

Maggery raised her head, only to ask, "Wot's a squirrel eve?"

Tressa fluttered her eyelashes, "I needed a rhyme, longears."

"Stop callin' me that, wot!".

"Hush, Maggery! Yore supposed to be a long patrol hare." Dandylion placed a cup of steaming tea in front of the hare, then in front of the squirrelmaid. It smelled of elderberries, and honey. Maggery grumbled in response, her ears flattening.

The squirrelmaid leaned closer to the hare, her long eyelashes fluttering again. "Tell me, longears, about yonder mountain of fire. Does it really house salamanders and dragons?" She held her chin up in her paw, "Does Sal-ah-mon-doon-stroon hold up to legend?"

Maggery looked proud talking about the mountain, "Its pronounced Sal-ah-mon-day-stron. Did that storm rattle yore brain? Salamandastron has a badgerlord and the Long Patrol, not a dragon or sally-manders, wot!"

Saint John spoke, apprehensively, as Maggery had returned to listening to the eager talking of his younger siblings. The haremaid seemed more annoyed now. "W-Would you take her with you when you go back to Salamandastron? The badgerlord will know what to do with her, I think…"

A moment passed, before Maggery thumped the floor with her foot paw and stood straight up. John's spikes spurred upright! "Absolutely! I need to talk to my father right now, come on!" Perhaps the hogbabes had mimicked the hares too much.