Chapter 2
Extracts from the writings of Samkim, Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.
Ah, what a beautiful autumn day. I can truly say that this my favorite season and so I've named it; The Autumn of the Abbot's Delight. The sound of leaves crunching below you paws. The beautiful colors the leaves turn. The autumn air even seems to make the food taste better. Speaking of food, our Autumn Feast has been going on for two days so far and there seems to be no end in sight! I'm sure we've eaten enough food to run out twice, but Friar Dumble says that the stocks are still near full. Right now I sit under a tree in the orchard, my belt slackened, paws ink-stained, watching the going-on about me. Many of my old friends are here. Arula Foremole and Thrugg the otter are digging a pit for tonight's bonfire. Droony the Cellarmole and Mara, our Badgermother, are playing with a group of Dibbuns. I can see three of our young ones playing up on the battlements. They are Fernbank, daughter of Thrugg, Riverdip, Skipper's son and Methuselah, a young orphaned mouse we took in a few seasons ago. Alas, a few old friends are gone. Old Abbess Vale passed on to Dark Forest last summer. The Spinneys went within two days of each other during the winter. Those two always said that they couldn't live without each other. All three lived longer than their seasons should have allowed: this feast is a tribute to their memory. But enough of this writing; you feast at a feast, not scribble some dusty old book.
Samkin closed the book and slowly stood up. He ambled over to the tables covered in dishes worthy of Redwall fame. Cheeses, ranging in color from dark yellow to pale white and studded with nuts and celery, sat, several large wedges cut out. Hotroot soup, a favorite of otters, sat next to the moles' famous deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie. Friar Dumble had prepared a huge loaf nicknamed Vale Bread that he studded with chestnuts. All kind of drink was present as well: dandelion fizz, chestnut brown beer, the famous Redwall October Ale, raspberry cordial, greensap milk, scupperjuice. Despite the two days of feasting, most of the food was still on the table. Samkin grabbed a cherry tart as Arula, the Foremole, waddled over from the fire pit.
"Hullo, Father H'abbot, zurr," she said, tugging her snout. " Still fillin' yourn tum, oi see. Soon youm be bigger than thoi Abbey Oi be thinkin', hurr hurr."
Samkin laughed as he bit into the tart. "Arula, my old friend, you can be a pitiless creature sometimes. Perhaps I should have named this season the Autumn of the Mole's Torment," he added in mock sorrow. "Why, if I had a tum half the size of Thrugg's here, I could survive a seven season famine!"
"Actually," remarked Thrugg, who had just walked up, "it looks like you could survive a few season's longer than that, Abbot." He patted the Abbot's stomach playfully.
Samkin glared at the otter, a look of indignation on his face. "You young rip! I should skelp the fur right off ye!"
"Considerin' the size o'me tum, it'd be a long skelping, sir," laughed Thrugg.
Arula put her paws through the arms of Thrugg and Samkin. "Oi cudd sklep 'ee tails offen both of youm with both moi diggin' claws ahind moi back!"
"Hee hee," giggled Samkin. "It'd take me and Thrugg four full seasons t'skelp the fur off you, Arula."
The three friends walked arm in arm through the fallen leaves of red towards Great Hall, unaware of the oncoming threat that would soon visit their abbey. The threat from a fox and his vermin horde. The threat from a traitor to Redwall. The threat that would turn the Abbey's ground red, not with leaves, but with blood.
Thrugger the otter, although smaller and younger than his brother Thrugg, looked very similar to him. He shook the dew off his damp brown fur and looked up at the Redwall Abbey. His brown eyes scanned the battlements looking for someone to let him in. "H'lo! Is anybody home?" he shouted.
A young otter popped her head over the wall. "Hi, uncle Thrugger," she hollered down.
Thrugger squinted in the mid-afternoon sunlight. "Well, if it ain't me favorite niece in the whole world!
Fernbank giggled, "I'm your only niece, uncle Thrugger!"
"Aye, mebbe so, but you're still my favorite. Think ye could let me in, missie?"
"Sure thing. I'll go get daddy!" She turned to the mouse and otter sitting next to her. "C'mon, you two!" She grabbed their paw and pulled him up. They raced along the battlements and down the stairs. They scanned the tables looking for Thrugg. Methuselah pointed.
"Dere he be! With Fatha H'abbot an' 'Rula." They ran over and greeted their elders in unison, "Hello, Father Abbot! Hello, missus Foremole!"
Thrugg swept Fernbank into his arms. "Wot's the matter, missie?"
"Uncle Thrugger's at th'gate and wants let in."
"Well then, we better go an' let him in, eh?" Thrugg placed his daughter on his shoulders and began strolling towards the gatehouse. He turned back. "You two coming with us?" he asked Riverdip and Methuselah.
Riverdip ran to catch up, but Methuselah stayed back. "I needa tell Fatha H'abbot 'bout sumpting. I sees you later."
"Very well then, young'n," said Thrugg. He turned to Samkin, "See you later, Father Abbot. You too, Foremole, marm." He, Fernbank and Riverdip walked off, chattering amongst themselves.
"Hurr, Oi, must be agoing too, zurr. Moi molers and Oi gotta finish up thee foirepitter furr tonoight." Arula tugged her snout and left.
Samkin looked down at the mouse beside him. "So, Methuselah, you have something to tell me?" He smiled at the Dibbun's enthusiastic nod. "Well then, let's go sit at a table and have some raspberry cordial while we're at it, eh?"
Extracts from the writings of Samkim, Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.
Ah, what a beautiful autumn day. I can truly say that this my favorite season and so I've named it; The Autumn of the Abbot's Delight. The sound of leaves crunching below you paws. The beautiful colors the leaves turn. The autumn air even seems to make the food taste better. Speaking of food, our Autumn Feast has been going on for two days so far and there seems to be no end in sight! I'm sure we've eaten enough food to run out twice, but Friar Dumble says that the stocks are still near full. Right now I sit under a tree in the orchard, my belt slackened, paws ink-stained, watching the going-on about me. Many of my old friends are here. Arula Foremole and Thrugg the otter are digging a pit for tonight's bonfire. Droony the Cellarmole and Mara, our Badgermother, are playing with a group of Dibbuns. I can see three of our young ones playing up on the battlements. They are Fernbank, daughter of Thrugg, Riverdip, Skipper's son and Methuselah, a young orphaned mouse we took in a few seasons ago. Alas, a few old friends are gone. Old Abbess Vale passed on to Dark Forest last summer. The Spinneys went within two days of each other during the winter. Those two always said that they couldn't live without each other. All three lived longer than their seasons should have allowed: this feast is a tribute to their memory. But enough of this writing; you feast at a feast, not scribble some dusty old book.
Samkin closed the book and slowly stood up. He ambled over to the tables covered in dishes worthy of Redwall fame. Cheeses, ranging in color from dark yellow to pale white and studded with nuts and celery, sat, several large wedges cut out. Hotroot soup, a favorite of otters, sat next to the moles' famous deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie. Friar Dumble had prepared a huge loaf nicknamed Vale Bread that he studded with chestnuts. All kind of drink was present as well: dandelion fizz, chestnut brown beer, the famous Redwall October Ale, raspberry cordial, greensap milk, scupperjuice. Despite the two days of feasting, most of the food was still on the table. Samkin grabbed a cherry tart as Arula, the Foremole, waddled over from the fire pit.
"Hullo, Father H'abbot, zurr," she said, tugging her snout. " Still fillin' yourn tum, oi see. Soon youm be bigger than thoi Abbey Oi be thinkin', hurr hurr."
Samkin laughed as he bit into the tart. "Arula, my old friend, you can be a pitiless creature sometimes. Perhaps I should have named this season the Autumn of the Mole's Torment," he added in mock sorrow. "Why, if I had a tum half the size of Thrugg's here, I could survive a seven season famine!"
"Actually," remarked Thrugg, who had just walked up, "it looks like you could survive a few season's longer than that, Abbot." He patted the Abbot's stomach playfully.
Samkin glared at the otter, a look of indignation on his face. "You young rip! I should skelp the fur right off ye!"
"Considerin' the size o'me tum, it'd be a long skelping, sir," laughed Thrugg.
Arula put her paws through the arms of Thrugg and Samkin. "Oi cudd sklep 'ee tails offen both of youm with both moi diggin' claws ahind moi back!"
"Hee hee," giggled Samkin. "It'd take me and Thrugg four full seasons t'skelp the fur off you, Arula."
The three friends walked arm in arm through the fallen leaves of red towards Great Hall, unaware of the oncoming threat that would soon visit their abbey. The threat from a fox and his vermin horde. The threat from a traitor to Redwall. The threat that would turn the Abbey's ground red, not with leaves, but with blood.
Thrugger the otter, although smaller and younger than his brother Thrugg, looked very similar to him. He shook the dew off his damp brown fur and looked up at the Redwall Abbey. His brown eyes scanned the battlements looking for someone to let him in. "H'lo! Is anybody home?" he shouted.
A young otter popped her head over the wall. "Hi, uncle Thrugger," she hollered down.
Thrugger squinted in the mid-afternoon sunlight. "Well, if it ain't me favorite niece in the whole world!
Fernbank giggled, "I'm your only niece, uncle Thrugger!"
"Aye, mebbe so, but you're still my favorite. Think ye could let me in, missie?"
"Sure thing. I'll go get daddy!" She turned to the mouse and otter sitting next to her. "C'mon, you two!" She grabbed their paw and pulled him up. They raced along the battlements and down the stairs. They scanned the tables looking for Thrugg. Methuselah pointed.
"Dere he be! With Fatha H'abbot an' 'Rula." They ran over and greeted their elders in unison, "Hello, Father Abbot! Hello, missus Foremole!"
Thrugg swept Fernbank into his arms. "Wot's the matter, missie?"
"Uncle Thrugger's at th'gate and wants let in."
"Well then, we better go an' let him in, eh?" Thrugg placed his daughter on his shoulders and began strolling towards the gatehouse. He turned back. "You two coming with us?" he asked Riverdip and Methuselah.
Riverdip ran to catch up, but Methuselah stayed back. "I needa tell Fatha H'abbot 'bout sumpting. I sees you later."
"Very well then, young'n," said Thrugg. He turned to Samkin, "See you later, Father Abbot. You too, Foremole, marm." He, Fernbank and Riverdip walked off, chattering amongst themselves.
"Hurr, Oi, must be agoing too, zurr. Moi molers and Oi gotta finish up thee foirepitter furr tonoight." Arula tugged her snout and left.
Samkin looked down at the mouse beside him. "So, Methuselah, you have something to tell me?" He smiled at the Dibbun's enthusiastic nod. "Well then, let's go sit at a table and have some raspberry cordial while we're at it, eh?"