Sister Joan pursed her lips as she looked over the peaceful body, breathing a bit unevenly.

"She still doesn't look too good: see here, she's been fighting, and was obviously overpowered and torn up." She pointed to the cruel, long slashes along her side; the fur on top, matted together by blood, had been washed and finally had had to be cut off. A small gathering of the Abbot, Michael, Dolores, Brother Neil, Joan the Infirmary Sister, and another young mousemaid named Sheryl, a visiting apprentice healer from another abbey far to the East, stood around the four mattresses that had had to be put together to accommodate the creature. "She also looks like she took a pretty big fall, into water, judging by how tender her side seems to be." Joan leaned forward, and began washing the wounds. The wolf flinched, and seemed to stiffen. "I know, it hurts, it stings, but it's for the best," she whispered.

"Aaauuughhh....Please, no more..." Sheryl jumped to attention from a corner, having been washing linens.

"What?! Who said that? Joan, was that you?"

The good sister furrowed her brow, confused. "No, certainly not."

"Water...I beg you please, give me water..."

"There it is again. It must be her." Sheryl nodded toward the wolf. She walked over, drying her paws on her apron, and knelt down toward her head. The stranger's eyes were half-opened and crusted at the edges. "Water? Did you say you wanted water?" The wolf nodded and pleaded in what seemed to be a mix of exhaustion and delirium.

"Yes, yes...please..." Sister Joan had hurried over with a pitcher. The wolf achily pulled herself up and gulped the water with desperate greed. They watched in amazement. When she had twice emptied the jar, she smacked her lips a little and sighed contentedly. She leaned back against some pillows piled against the head of the bed, wiping her eyes with a partially bandaged paw. She gazed in wonder around the infirmary. "W-where am I?" Dolores leaned down.

"You're in the infirmary of Redwall Abbey: you're perfectly safe. We found you over by the creek yesterday. I'm Dolores, the Abbey Mother." The wolf's head craned up and in more astonishment gazed around the room.

"How good my fortune is to be found by the good creatures of Redwall," she whispered in awe. She turned her head back to the silent crowd. "I am Tori Fairskye Rubyhaer, daughter of Colvin and Derynai of the Tundralake Trybe." She fell silent. In a choked voice, she continued, "I am alone now in my claim to the Trybe of Tundralake, it seems." The Abbot shuffled forward and placed a paw on hers.

"Tori, my child, we are here to help you with whatever needs you have. If you wish, we will listen to your story." She looked up at him with bright eyes.

"You must be the Father Abbot." He nodded modestly.

"I am." Tori put her paw on top of his in a grasp of an almost handshake.

"Seasons back, a friend of ours from Holt Farnell-On-The-Sea, a young otter called Waterback Streamfleet must have visited you on her way to Southsward. Did she ever speak of the Songdreamers over the plains?" Brother Neil, as always, had the answer. He ventured from the background.

"I remember her: young Wynnstream was determined to go with her before she left, but he was but a few seasons out of infancy," he chuckled. Then the brother grew serious. "I remember her speaking of them, and tried to describe what they were, but never could. Was that your family, Tori?" She looked at the floor. She shook at some inner feeling, and spoke softly, almost in a whisper.

"It was not only my family, but a huge city full of us. In the Northlands, we have built vast towns, beautiful cities made of stone. My family lived in Leedsdown. The other large city is called Manchester." She stopped, and drooped. "Now it is all lost.

"We lived for our music: everyone had their own song. That's the way wolves are. You see, nothing was more important to us than our music.

"My family was of the ruling power, but they were wise and kind: they never oppressed or took over the Trybe. We had many families of us wolves." Her voice began to tremble slightly. "There were many bands of foxes that lived in a part east of our chartered city territory, called the Badlands, which are stark, barren, and poor. Their leader is a huge vixen, called Shang Widowmaker: she and her two daughters command that huge horde of vermin." Her eyes grew fierce with an unnamed and unbridled fury. "Half a season ago it must have been--no, it cannot have been that long...." She coughed feebly, but went on. "They attacked our city, and massacred us all. I know not of anyone other than myself who may have survived.

"After they killed everything and everyone I ever loved, my father, my mother, my two sisters Paula and Leah, my brother Peter, they burned everything that stood for my life. Our whole city, seven hundred summers old, in flames, kissing the sky like trees, full of death--" Tori let out a strangled sob, and could not continue. Her whole body shook with tears: Dolores could not stand seeing a creature so tortured, and bent down and hugged her with all her being.

"Tori, come back! It's all right, you're here, you're alright..." Tori's two burning emeralds stared back at her as she shook her head and stiffened in blind anger.

"I'm not all right. It's not all right. Things will not be right until I have slain Shang Widowmaker and her daughters and her whole band of vermin. Not until then will I be able to rest with the thought that innocent creatures aren't being persecuted by such merciless villains, such-such--" Something stopped her from continuing. "Please leave me be alone for a while," she finally said after heaving and gasping several deep, heavy gulps of air. The Abbot bowed.

"As you wish, my child." He and the crowd of Abbeybeasts left the room. Sheryl glanced back at Tori as she left: the poor dear was sobbing her life out. She gently closed the door behind her and softly walked down toward the orchard. She had not heard of the great invasion. She desperately hoped that these foxes stayed far from the northeastern cliffs... As she walked, she fell onto a conversation the Abbot and Brother Neil.

"So that is what a Songdreamer is. Funny, I always just assumed they were mice like us." Sheryl smiled and chuckled at the Abbot's naivete.

* * *

Paul Braunhayr leaned against a tree. "Y'know, it's gettin' late. Think we should find a place t'pack inta?"

John O'Lennain yawned and put away his guitar. "Nah, th'sun's still pretty high. We could get a little further today."

"No! Wait, don't go!" called a third voice from the woods. Paul's ears perked up and his already huge eyes widened.

"Ringo, that you, mate?" Another wolf, much smaller than Paul and John, dragged a nearly unconscious fourth one into the clearing.

"I'd guess so. C'mon, let's 'elp George, they really beat th'drums out've 'im."

* * *

"Sheryl?" Tori moved over to the edge of her bed in the infirmary as the mousemaid entered.

"Oh, Tori, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Tori was a little excited.

"Oh no, I've been awake for quite a while. In fact, I just wanted to tell you, I feel all better and everything. I think I can check myself out." A week had passed quickly. The wolfmaid had spent most of it sleeping.

Sheryl walked over and examined her. "You're right!" she said, her eyes wide in amazement. "You're all healed up." Her eyes darted around the room: it was empty. "I think I can run away from my duties here for once to give you a tour of our abbey." Tori jumped off the bed and stood up. No one had ever seen her at her full height: she was a little taller than an average male otter.

"Fabulous! I've been wanting to see your abbey since I was little!" Sheryl laughed a little as she led her out into a corridor.

"Actually, it's not mine at all. I'm just an apprentice." Tori seemed interested.

"Really? Where are you from?"

"Mohaercrest Abbey, on the Cliffs on the northeastern coast," she explained. "It was founded not twenty seasons ago. I was sent here to Redwall to learn medicine from their Sisters and Brothers. They're absolutely the best."

"I'm testament to that," Tori smiled toothily. As they walked down a winding staircase, Tori's bright green eyes caught something in a corner. Leaving the mouse, she wordlessly raced down the stairs toward it. Her face lit up like nothing Sheryl had ever seen. "A piano!" she breathed. "They have a piano!" Sheryl had never even noticed the run-down old thing. Tori lifted up a lid in the front, where she was sitting on a bench she'd pulled up: inside was a boggling number of dusty black and white keys. The wolf closed her eyes momentarily, as if at some buried, traumatic memory. But she shook it off, and spread her paws. She began playing a lovely, complex melody. "This is so out of tune it hurts," she murmured, frowning, and, scampering around the odd wooden chest, opened the back. Sheryl stood in a stupor, watching.

"Hold on a minute," she stuttered. "I'm going to go ask something." Tori nodded, and continued her strange behavior. Sheryl ran to find the Abbot. When she did, she led him up to the secluded corridor. He watched, amazed, as the wolf looked up from the back of the huge mystery box, what she'd called a piano.

"Good morning, Father Abbot," Tori said cheerfully, a new life seemingly having entered her. She smiled and straightened up. He returned her greeting, looking at her fur that had suddenly grayed to one ten times her seasons with dust. "I have a question," she continued. "Do you have any idea where you got this piano? It's one of the best kinds that are made, but it's been a little, ah, unnoticed." The Abbot adjusted his glasses.

"A piano! So that's what it is. It's been here for seasons, I don't know, probably since Abbot Saxtus's time." Sheryl whistled. "I'll go ask Brother Neil to look it up in the records: we'll probably find something out there."

"Thanks, Father Abbot!" Tori said gratefully, and went back to her work.

* * *

"What's that?" Brother Neil asked, his eyes wide. He nearly dropped the huge volumes he was hefting up the stairs with the Abbot and Sheryl. The sound that was drifting down the stairwell was like nothing they'd ever heard. They heard Tori's voice, softly singing something.

"...They say that, your demons, can't go there. So I got me, some horses, to ride on, to ride on, as long as your army, keeps perfectly still..." Such a beautiful interlude followed as they almost didn't dare to venture up and see what was going on, lest they shatter the spell. Tori was sitting on the bench, her paws suddenly long, nimble dancers. She saw them, though, and stopped and stood up, her face flushing. Before she had a chance to blubber, though, they heard shouts below.

"Hey, let us in! Let us in, please! We've got an injured beast with us!" Tori looked out the window and gasped. Wordlessly, she jumped away from the piano and ran down the winding staircase. As she leapt out into the bright sunshine, followed by the three panting Abbeydwellers, she stood in the middle of the thawing orchard, watching Michael and Skipper talk from the walls. As she listened, her jaw dropped, and she scampered up next to them.

"I know that accent!" she told them without explaining, and leaned over the edge to have a look. "Hey, guys! Tell me, where d'you hail from?" The leader, an average sized beast, looked fiercely up at her. He ceased pounding on the gates and yelled,

"Come on, what d'we look like, bloody vermin?" His voice rose angrily. "Leedsdown Tundralake, woman! We're from TUNDRALAKE!!" he howled. Tori turned to the amazed Warrior.

"Open the gates, these are survivors." They obeyed, and soon three wolves hustled in, supporting another, who looked quite worse for wear. Skipper explained the delay.

"We couldn't tell what they where," he said bashfully. "From the looks of it, they could've been foxes or anything: they're all different colors an' all, see." By then, most of the Abbey had curiously gathered around. They stood, listening to the energetic quartet speaking in an almost indecipherable accent.

"What are they saying?" the Abbot whispered to Brother Neil.

"I've never heard it before," the Recorder said, shaking his head in amazement. "But I may know what it is. I think this is what is called Scouse. It's a far Northern dialect, seacoast rather than mountain, though." Tori had been talking with them, asking about her home. The biggest one was shaking his head sadly. Tori seemed to shrink miserably at the news he was obviously bringing her. Dolores, Fiona, and Merrill rushed up.

"Here, let us help you," Dolores implored of the injured wolf.

"I'm not goin' anywhere without me mates," he said with determination. The one who'd yelled up from the gates punched him lightly.

"Don't be stupid, George. They're good docs 'ere. Fix y'up real nice." He looked up at the badger, his face radiating concern. "You will get 'im better, won't yeh?" Fiona patted him on the back to reassure him and chuckled.

"Don't worry, matey, we'll 'ave yore friend up an' dancin' about afore you know it." The wolf nodded, a little skeptical, and stepped back and let the trio escort his friend up to the infirmary. After he'd gone, Tori turned to the remaining three.

"So, at least I know I'm not alone. What are your names?" The big one winked and introduced his pals.

"I'm Paul Braunhayr, that talkative lad over there is the famous Ringo Starr, and me shy retirin' friend with th'crossed eyes is John O'Lennain. Th'lad y'took in is George, George Flantyr. We know who you are, though, miss," he said respectfully, with a courtly nod of his head. "You're Tori Rubyhaer, who woulda been th'next ruler had that scum not destroyed everythin'."

"What district were you guys in?" she inquired, curious. "I don't know if I've even seen you, and I didn't exactly live trapped inside that gilded prison." She shook her head. John replied, a little bitterly,

"I'm not surprised. We're just workin' class heroes from th'streets, missus. It doesn't take a genius like me," here he winked roguishly, "t'reckon that one out." She giggled and pushed him a little.

As the crowds eventually drifted away, and as the Abbot announced that a great meal, the best that could be made on such short notice, would be prepared, Paul and Ringo wandered off to explore the fabled abbey. Tori almost hadn't noticed John lingering tentatively behind her until he slid up next to her and smiled.

"Well, it'll be a good three hours or so b'fore the tuck's dished out, I guess. D'you, ah, wanna do somethin'? You c'n surely show me 'round better than I could." He chuckled. "I'd get lost in th'great bloody place. Wouldn't find me f'weeks!" She was immediately hooked by his infectious charm. Her paws were still itching, though, after having discovered that piano.

"I do, in fact, have something I've been contemplating for quite a while. Come with me," she commanded lightly, and bounded toward the stairway. John bowed, impressed with her character, before catching up with her.

"Your wish is my command, Your Most Beautiful and Serene Majesty." he whispered to himself.

* * *

The two wolves sat closely together, constricted by the small amount of space the bench Tori had found offered. She set her paws on the keys, and took a breath. John watched, transfixed, as she began singing a sweet melody.

"Baker, baker, bake me a cake. Make me a day, make me whole again..." She hummed a little bit, warming up. She made him jump, as her tempo changed rapidly. "I don't believe I went tooooo, faar." She went into a well-known song she'd written, called "Past The Mission". John knew it, and added his backing vocals to the chorus. She looked at him, pleasantly surprised that he had a good voice. She came to her favorite part, though, and entered her own world.

"Heeey. They found a body. Not sure it was his, still they're using his name and she, gave him shelter. Somewhere, I know she knows. Somewhere, I know she knows. Some things, only she knows...."

* * *

Poe was an inconspicuous figure among the more brawny of the ferrets, but she was nonetheless Widowmaker's top officer. She was deceptively scrawny; tall, but seemingly too thin to inflict any real damage to anyone. She slithered over to Divvilsbain, one of her spies, who was guffawing with some of his mates around a skimpy campfire just behind the boundaries of the forest they'd entered.

"Come with me. Shang's givin' us a new assignment." The fox's face fell slightly, disappointed to be pulled away from his friends, but reluctantly stood up and collected his fighting knives.

Anastasia greeted the pair at the door. "Mother has been expecting you for quite some time," she sniffed nastily.

"Aw, shut it, you double-eyed brat," Poe snapped. "It's colder'n' a body out there. While you three were sitting on your royal derrieres we've been trudgin' through this mess for months." The Widowmaker's younger daughter pursed her lips, and huffily led them to Shang's ornate headquarters. At the curtains that were draped across the door, ransacked from the Trybe's palace before they burned it, with all its court inside, the white fox signaled for them to wait there.

"I'll see if she's in a negotiable mood," she announced pertly.

"Just hurry up," Divvilsbain muttered impatiently, eager to return to his buddies.

Passing Tatyanna said smugly, "I wouldn't be in such a hurry."

"What I wouldn't give for an hour with those two nuisances," Poe growled. "I'd show 'em who'd be in a negotiable mood..."

"Get your filthy hinds in here and stop shedding on my carpets, you swine!" came a scream from behind the drapery. Tatyanna scampered out, yelling curses at her mother.

"Powerhungry wench! Tawdry dictator!"

"As if you aren't!" Shang shrieked in reply. "I'm your mother, don't you talk to me that way!" she simpered and chuckled as her two confederates stumbled in.

The Widowmaker was decked out in all her cruel lavishness. She lay on layers of pillows and rugs, watching smoky incense curl around the bedposts of the canopied bed of Colvin Wolflord and his wife, Derynai Fioraja. She closed her green eyes luxuriously and breathed deeply in content. She then opened her emeralds and stared right into Poe and through Divvilsbain.

"The spring thaw is close, is it not?"

"It is already well underway, Widowmaker. The birds are singing away the ice and snow and the snowdrops are battling with the streams of melted water."

Shang smiled slightly. "Very poetic." She sighed contemplatively. "Hmm, well. This southern weather, it is very strange here." Shang stood up: she had no need for ornamental weaponry. The wolves fought with their teeth and claws, she now with her deceit and silver tongue. She didn't fight for herself with the horde, but she was ruthless when need be. There were rumors she didn't bother to stop of her defeating an adult male polar bear once. Its skin lay sprawled on the floor, and she stepped unnoticing on its head as she made her way over to a chair.

"We are not moving, though, yes?" she purred, her slight accent like chunks of hard icebergs.

"You had not decided to give us that order, Shang," Poe told her, her contempt for the fox well concealed.

"Ahhh, yes, well...I think it is time that we head toward this southland that your deceased prisoner yearned so for. We are going no closer by sitting here." Divvilsbain became edgy. He knew that the prisoner she spoke of, a mouse with a strange, muddled accent, had died over the past few days while in his keeping.

Shang chuckled, playing with her claws, sensing the fox's fear. "There is no need to fear for your life and wellbeing, fox. You are too valuable an asset to me." She turned to the ferret. "We have remained inert for much too long. Poe, I want you to fetch my daughters. Tell them to sound the southward Call."

"Will that be all, Shang?" Shang waved her off unceremoniously.

"Yes, thank you for your concern, Poe. Leave now." The ferret bowed, and exited. The vixen turned back to Divvilsbain. "I asked you to remain because there is a favor I wish to ask of you." The stout knifethrower stood to attention, surprised by Shang's casualness and trust.

"Anything you ask of me, Widowmaker." Shang arose, her eyes wild like a storm. She smiled glowingly.

"I want you to take Silverweed, that wolf we took prisoner, with you. Keep her on a leash, so the little wretch won't try and run away to Manchester. I want to have her scout the area for runaways and Journeyers. Make her smell them out like a hound."

"And what shall I do when I find them?" he asked thickly. Shang's eyes roared with a primitive, unleashed glee. Her slick voice echoed around the room like water dripping from an icicle in a cave.

"Kill them. Kill them all. I want no trace of them in this area, and I want it to last!"

* * *

The two brothers were singing to keep their spirits up. They were strong, sleek young wolves, fresh on their way to Redwall Abbey from their native home of the great city of Manchester.

"So now what this time?" the smaller wolf, the elder, asked his brother. His lithe sibling, his heavily-lidded, unearthly blue eyes considering, broke out into a raucous,

"Maybe I don't really wanna know how your garden grows,
'cause I just wanna fly.
Lately did you ever feel the pain of the morning rain
that soaks you to the bone?

Maybe I just wanna fly, wanna live don't wanna die.
Maybe I just wanna breathe, maybe I just don't believe.
Maybe you're the same as me, we see things they'll never see."

His brother joined him on the last line. "You and I, we gonna live forever...."

The smaller one nodded. "That's a good one." His little brother beamed.

"That song's a work of genius! Better than most of yer others."

"You sayin' th'rest of my songs're shite?"

"Yeah, if yer in the spirit t'admit that they are!" he fired back, his eyes gleaming. The older wolf leapt at him, snarling, and they engaged in a tremendous struggle. Suddenly, from a nearby grove of trees, they heard a feeble yelp,

"RUN!" Another, painful one followed it, after which a huge, molting fox charged out of the underbrush and sprang on the two. The younger wolf let out a cry of surprise. Unlike them, this fox wasn't jesting.