Tryffen plopped down on a sand dune. "I'll tell yeh, sah, I c'n jolly well see Salamandastron, but I'm a weasel's auntie if I can make it any further t'day!"

Quinn sat down next to him, gazing at the looming mountain before them.

"Well, if we have t'carry yeh, then I'm sure y'dotin' cousin would be more'n happy t'encourage Harry t'tell 'er jokes t'get y'runnin', wot! Antisle's expectin' some jolly important information from yeh, y'know."

Tryffen's ears shot up. "Information?! I didn't know I was bally well spyin' on Redwall!"

Quinn shrugged. "I dunno, laddie. As far as I can guess, 'e might just have wanted t'know 'ow 'is sister's doin'."

The younger hare massaged his feet, and groaning, finally rose to them. "Unlikely, old chap, 'e can just pop one of us over t'Redwall any day without sendin' bloomin' crypticated messages and such. Well, guess we can't disappoint ol' Fire Ant. Homeward bound, lads an' lass!"

Quinn cuffed him lightly. "Fire Ant? Where'd you come up with that one? Have a liddle respect, bucko!"

Behind them, Cass whispered to Harry, "Actually, I think it's jolly clever!"

* * *

Quinn accompanied Tryffen to Antisle's room, as the nervous young hare had little reporting experience, especially to such an intimidating figure.

"Lord Antisle, sah, Quinn Meadowclary an' Tryffen Alneday reportin' back from Long Patrol an' Redwall, respectively, sah!" Quinn belted out at the door.

The badger's formidable voice boomed back. "Enter!"

"Remember, now, unless m'lord Antisle tells yeh t'ease up, keep a stiff upper lip, eyes t'front, all that. Nothin' to it after a bit," the kindly hare whispered to the leveret. They marched in together, and both threw smart salutes. Tryffen was having difficulty taking his eyes off the strange white hare sitting in the corner.

Antisle immediately barked, "At ease, gentlemen." Quinn and Tryffen sighed relief, and the badger offered them seats. He leaned forward eagerly to the junior hare. "So, tell me, young Tryffen. How are things at Redwall faring?"

Taken aback by this casual question, he began stuttering. "Uh-o-ohh, um, fine, just fine, I guess...." He gathered confidence and some order when Quinn glared at him. "Well, actually, towards about th'middle of spring all these strange creatures began showin' up, y'know. This bloomin' wolfgel was washed up on Wuddshipp Creek just near the abbey, great huge red singin' thing she is. Name's Tori. Guess then a couple of 'er mates showed up, afterwards. Six more wolves, can you believe it! Never seen so many o'the blinkin' blighters in all me born days!" He hardly noticed the sigh of relief given by Caxton. Antisle smiled, and pressed,

"What're these wolves' names, pray tell?"

Lured by the Badger Lord's friendliness, Tryffen jumped into a detailed account of the events after John, Liam, Noel, Ringo, George, and Paul arrived, through the revealing of the first of the scrolls, and their announcement to leave by the next full moon. "They've probably left by now, or soon, surely," he added carelessly.

Antisle had his eyes closed contentedly, smiling, and Caxton, the Arctic hare, was mumbling "thank the seasons!" over and over again. The badger looked at Tryffen and asked, "Tell me one more thing, Tryffen. How's my sister, Dolores?"

"Oh, spiffin', Lord! She told me t'give you this when we left." He drew a scroll, much like the ones he'd carried to Redwall, from his tunic pocket, and handed it over to him. Antisle opened it, scanned it briefly, and nodded.

"Thanks, Tryffen. You're free to go your mother now." He smiled wryly, and chuckled as the irrepressible leveret saluted, and raced out of the room, yelling "Mmmmmmummyyyyyy!!!! Y'darlin's here!" Quinn sighed in fake exasperation, and with a casual salute he followed his charge's scampering footsteps.

Caxton leaned on a paw. "So, Antisle, what does your sister say?"

The big badger leaned back in his chair and read aloud Dolores's message.

"The wolves have left as you read this
Departed for battle far to the north.
They'd return before winter, they promised,
But not all will survive the course.

We bade our goodbyes, keeping one here.
He defended Tori from Gaels' mistake.
We'll wait for three, past warriors' come, without fear,
And comrades' story will live throughout and after all age."

* * *

George stood apart from the rest, his intense black eyes in deep pain. He was still in no condition to even walk too much. Regardless, just before the four were to depart, he hobbled up to John. Behind them, the Gaels waited just outside the gate, along with Michael and Sheryl. He thought of Jakob, still lying in Sister Joan's care, deep in the grip of pneumonia. He wondered how Michael had found it in himself to leave. But then, how again could the rest of his mates go also? It would always be hard. No bantering or jesting here: there was not a dry eye in the orchard as they watched their friends go.

He stood there, gazing at them sadly. He thought of begging his friends to go instead with Sheryl, one last time, but there was no convincing them. They knew not of what would happen. Maybe better that way...

John's eyes were bright with tears. "We'll give th'bastards hell for yeh, George." George reached out with a bandaged paw and hugged John fiercely. John tried a smile. "We'll be fine: we'll come back before the winter arrives." George said nothing for a long time. He drew back painfully, and looked into John's eyes. Shaking his head, he tried to speak without his voice trembling too much.

"John, I will miss you."

(I will be seeing you much sooner than you or I wish.)

He sighed: a tremor shuddered through his body. "Goodbye." He smiled slightly, and quoted one of their songs: "Remember, the movement you need is on your shoulder." The Gallagher brothers stood respectfully to the side. John hugged him again and replied softly,

"I'll see ya soon, George." George bowed his head solemnly, and limped over to Tori. He stood in front of her, and made a courtly salute.

"Threads that are golden don't break easily, Majesty," he whispered, and embraced her. "I'll be thinking of you when you restore your throne."

(Tuna, rubber, little blubber in my igloo. And I knew you, pigtails and all, girls when they fall... And they said Marianne killed herself, and I said, Not a chance.)

She smiled, and thanked him, her voice heavy with the wish that he could come with her.

(don't want me to come with you nope you'll never see me again though I will you)

The courtyard soon became empty, save for the few nurses lingering behind him to help him back inside again. George sat alone, watching them disappear. He cried as he said to the winds, "I won't see you ever again. I wish I could, but fate's pushed us apart from here. So think of me, but y'won't see me again, mates. At least not in this life."

* * *

The sights of late spring did nothing to lift the heavy, depressed atmosphere from the expedition, numbering about twenty sad creatures. Above the silence, Paul could hear sniffles and moans. There were plenty of 'if only George could be here's.

Frustrated, he finally broke the silence from the middle of the column. "Aw, c'mon, y'sour milk spoilsports! Just b'cause we're on a grave mission doesn't mean we 'ave t'show it the whole way t'Leedsdown! Let's sing somethin'!" He looked at the blank faces. "C'mon, mates, y'with me? Aye? All right, how about, umm...'From Me To You'? 'She Loves You'?" He grew comically desperate. " 'A Hard Day's Night'?!" He was greeted with nothing, at which he grinned. "Ah! Should've known. 'Course y've never heard of 'em, John wrote 'em all!" Paul cleared his throat and began singing gustily.

"I was alone, I took a ride,
I didn't know what I would find theeeeeeerre!
Another road, well maybe I
Could find another kind of mind theeeeeeerre!

Ooooo! And I suddenly see you,
Ooooo! Did I tell you I need you
Every single day of my life?"

Ringo smiled toothily, and tapped a footpaw as Paul hummed and then suddenly burst out, "Got to get you into my life! Somehow, some way!"

The song had struck at such a down-cast moment that even stolid Aelfwald was joining in the giggles. The singer drew himself up grandly and announced "modestly",

"Need a bit 'o work, some good guitars an' drums. But all and all it's no so bad for an improv." He turned to rest of the laughing company. "Well, what about any o' you? Care to have a go after my spectacular performance?"

The deluge of laughter were a welcome accompaniment to the sounds of Mossflower Woods. Some of the Gaels were cracking smiles and nudging a large purple-black female. Paul noticed it, and issued a challenge.

"How 'bout you? You look a likely contender."

"Aye, city boy, so I might be!" the wolf threw back, a playful sparkle dancing in her blue eyes.

"Well then," said Paul expectantly, "let's hear yeh!"

Her voice rang out like perfectly tuned wind chimes. The Gael's singing, it seemed, could lure any bird from the trees.

"It doesn't mean much.
It doesn't mean anything at all.
The life I've left behind me, is a cold one.
Cross at this time, where I cannot bear to fall,
Where every step I took in faith betrayed me.

"And Iiiiiiiii'm reeeaady for my hoooome.
Sweeeeeeeeeeeet surrender
Is all that I have to give."

The wolf was greeted with hearty clapping and unashamed whistles. She smiled, relishing the attention.

"My word," Michael commented, "I've heard many a blackbird that doesn't sing a fraction as well as you do, miss!"

"Well, isn't it ironic that you should say that then, eh?" she replied, her rich Aiyar accent as pleasant to listen to as her voice. "That's my name, Rivenna Dyfedfinne. Means 'blackbirdberry.' Th'first name, that it."

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night," John teased, warbling one of Paul's most recent compositions. "Take my common sense an', throw it away! All my life, I've been droolin' to fiiiiiind someone as fair as yoou!"

"That's true, John, you should be talking!" Ringo wryly called from the front. "What about you, Tori? Got anythin' happy for us?"

"Well, sure, Ringo, maybe somewhere..." Tori smiled. "I've got a sort of a nonsense song I really like. Here, lemme see if I can remember it all." The group waited to hear their leader. The wolf grinned crookedly and began airily. "Coooon-gradulate you. Said you, had, a double tongue. Balancing, cake and bread, say good-bye to, a glitter giiiiiirrrlllll......

"Talula, Talula, you don't want to lose him,
she must be worth losing if it is worth something.
Talula, Talula, she's brand new now to ya.
Wrapped in your papoose, your little Fig Newton.

"Say good-by-hi-hi-hi-hi to normal, baby, gotta go.
Say good-by-hi-hi-hi-hi, my baby, to the old wooorrrrrrllllldddd, yes.

"Ran into the henchman that severed Anne Bolelyn.
He did it right quickly, a merciful man.
She said 'one plus one is two' but Henry said
that it was three, so it was, here I am...

"Talula, Talula, you don't want to lose it,
it must be worth losing if it is worth something.
Talula, Talula, she's brand new now to ya.
Wrapped in your papoose, your little Fig Newton.

"And Jamaaaaaaaaaiiica,
Do you know, do you know what I have done?
Marrryyyyyyyy M, weaving on,
said 'what you want, is in her blood, Senators.'
Said 'what you want, is in her blood, Senatooooooorrss, yes...

I got Big Bird on the fishing line, a
bit of a shout, a bit of a shout,
A bit of an, angry snout, he's my favorite hooker of the whole bunch.
But I know about his only bride and how the
Russians die on the ice, I got my rape hat on, honey but I
always could accessorize, and I never cared too much
for the money but I know right now
Honey that it's in God's hands, oooohhh
but I don't know who the Father is.

"Talula, Talula, I don't want to lose it,
it must be worth losing if it is worth something.
Talula, Talula, he's brand new now to ya.
Wrapped in your papoose, your little Fig Newton.
Your little Fig Newton.

"Your little Fig Neeeewwwwtoooooonnn......" She trailed off, took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply, with a soft and smug "hey." "Phwew!" she gasped amid the clapping, "I've forgotten how much hot air it takes t'sing songs other than something melancholy!"

"Y'do too much of that, then, I'd guess. We've got to'condition you t'joy, luv," John remarked. "How 'bout a lovey-dovey song? Too bad we've already heard from Paul," he retaliated, "he specializes in those!"

"Somethin' really sappy, y'say? I've written just the piece!"

Sheryl stared in mock amazement. "Noel? You? I don't believe you!"

"Hey Noel, though, which one?" Liam jibed. "Y've got 'Wonderwall,' 'Don't Go Away,' on th'contradictory note 'Slide Away'..."

"Aw, definitely 'Wonderwall.' I love that 'un. Hold on a sec, lemme dig out th'guitar..."

"No-no-no-no! C'mon, let's wait for a campfire b'fore we get t'the sappy stuff. Hey you wolves, you sing anythin'?"

"Ach, do we ever!" Aelfwald replied cheerfully. "Owen, or Samhain per'aps? Give these innocents a bit of Aiyar t'remember!"

The Gael called Owen obliged. "Sure thing, Chief, What'll be, d'you suppose? 'The Best of What's Around'?"

The huge chieftain considered, then said, "No, let's have somethin' more traditional-like, lad."

The young wolf shook his head ruefully. "Someone else'll have t'do et, then. I'm no good at the old songs. Don't 'ave no voice when it comes to that."

Cries immediately went up. " 'Dreams'! 'Dreams'! Samhain! Aye, let the squirrel sing!" The russet-colored wolf blushed, and bashfully agreed to the challenging vocal. And so the rabble of wolves, mice, and four stalkers who had yet to reveal themselves, progressed north through the sunlit glades of Mossflower, journeying ever closer to destiny.

The evening was high and warm, the pleasant drone of insects a relaxing lull. As the evening meal was dwindling to the slowest eaters licking their bowls, John noticed something.

"What's that?" he asked a Gael called Bocton, who was seated next to him on the thick pine log. The wolf was pulling out what looked like a collapsed sculpture of pipes and tubes, connected to a tightly woven bag. Bocton stopped blowing into one of the tubes, which was inflating the sack, and looked curiously at him.

"Haven't y'ever seen one o' these? 'Tis a set of uillean pipes. Dead lovely music so it makes."

The Leedsdowner shook his head. "Never. What's it sound like?"

Bocton nodded toward some friends of his. "Dyfed, Gowran, Kirkroan," he called across the roaring campfire, "yon wolf here's never 'eard our dancin' music."

The three wolves feigned overwhelming shock.

"Never in 'is life?! He ain't bin livin' atall!"

"We'll 'ave t'fix that, friends! C'mon, out with y'noise makers!"

"Aye, let's have some o'the fair ladies and gents up! Not you, Tamga, ye'd fall an' crush some poor body!" The trio removed a fiddle, a large drum, and a worn pair of spoons from their supplies, calling out names of comrades and egging them on to dance.

"Rampek Aelfwald and Gnodfe Adia! Show 'em what Aiyar's made of! Elfgiva, Grensade, Eirann, Craig! Up an' at 'em, lads!"

Michael, Liam, Sheryl, Paul, John, Noel, and Ringo sat amazed at they watched the makeshift band talk speedily among themselves in their Gaelic tongue. One of the dancers grabbed Tori's paws unexpectedly and heaved from the log.

"C'mon, miss, 'ave some joy in yeh tonight!" he grinned, eyes sparkling.

"How?" she asked, surprised. "We'll let everyone for miles know we're here!"

The Gael shrugged. "No matter. 'Tis easy enough t'fight off a foe. Concentrate on movin' y'footpaws in somethin' else than marchin' and fleein'!"

"B-but, I don't know how!" she protested. "What should I--?"

"Y'don't know how t'have fun?" the wolf questioned as the musicians began a thumping, intoxicating harmony. "Dear me, this is quite serious. C'mon, follow me: Ellis Underwood knows all 'bout that!" He whirled her around as the pounding war drum and steady clacking of the spoon filled her head: the wild and haunting sounds of the uillean pipes and the frantic violin combined for an un-held back, soaring sense of joy. Forgetting the need to know steps, she suddenly laughed and began making up her own taps and jigs. Ellis smiled approvingly, challenging her to a contest of fleetness of foot. Calls for old favorite songs were shouted out, and Bocton, Kirkroan, Dyfed, and Gowran switched to a blurringly fast reel.

Tori could never remember having so much fun in all the nights she'd snuck away from Tyne Palace and joined the dance halls and clubs in the city. Time became meaningless as the impromptu celebration quickened her heartbeat and shed her ever-present thoughts of grief.

When the music ceased, the small crowd set up cheers and, panting heavily, began to sit down once again. Bocton turned to John.

"So, lad, what d'ye think?"

John nodded neutrally, trying to conceal his heaving chest and deep respect for the players. "Fine. I suppose it's alright for amateurs."

A competitive light shone in Bocton's eyes. "Have somethin' ye'd like t'share with us, then?"

The city wolf answered the challenge. "Aye, sure do! C'mon, guys. Noel, can you do a lead for us? How 'bout 'Long Tall Sally,' y'oughta know it."

Ringo slid his drumsticks from a pack and asked Kirkroan if he could borrow the war drum. John glanced at Paul. "Y'up to th'vocal?"

"Guess I'll have t'be, you're no good at it," he replied laconically, unshouldering his bass.

" 'Long Tall Sally'?! No no no! A request! A request, old boy!" a strange voice called from behind the treeline. "I'm quite partial to 'Twist And Shout', men!"

"Shhhh! Nora, you untactical flea-bitten loudmouth! Don't blow it!" a worried voice hushed from the same direction.

Another chuckled. "Well, we might as well make ourselves known, we've been watchin' 'em long enough."

"Off with yeh, Ronin! We're only jolly stalkin' 'em f'Wy--ooof! Sorry old buddy, won't give th'bally game away. We're stalkin' 'em, can't give ourselves away, can we?"

Paul, with a confused look on his face, called out unsurely, "Hello?"

"Hi lads! Nice t'be makin' bally verbal contact you an' all, wot!" the first voice answered. Tori stood up.

"Who's there?"

A hare emerged from behind a thick pine tree. She was clad in a knee-length pink skirt and a dirty yellow sleeveless top. They were slightly tattered, but notwithstanding of her clothes, she curtsied grandly and announced, "Natalie Ophelia Ronette Angeline Snapdragon, alias Nora to her friends and acquaintances. Nice t'be talkin' t'somebody else rather than those three for once in much too long!"

A sigh of resignation arrived from behind her. "Well, blabberbottom here's already given us away, we might as well jolly well join 'em." Another hare, more modestly dressed, stepped forward. Behind him was a small, fat squirrel and, just barely discernible through the flickering shadows, an otter. "Chester Halifax," the hare said simply, touching the brim of his large, floppy hat. He pointed to the squirrel over his shoulder and monotoned, "That's Ronin Birchglen, who found you chaps."

"Wasn't too hard, with all the racket you've been puttin' up," he grinned. "My compliments to th'performers." The four Gaels, a bit embarrassed, shuffled about and nodded slightly. Nora stepped backwards for a better look at the bunch.

Right onto the otter's foot.

"Whooaaaaaaahhh!! Y'hooternosed tree beetle! I need that footpaw!" he cursed at the hare in between jumping up and down, clutching the limb. He hopped forward into the firelight. Michael leapt up.

"Wynnstream? What are you doing here?"

The Skipper's brawny son sat down on one of the logs, still rubbing and nursing his paw. He smiled through his pained expression. "Michael! Nice t'see yeh. Dad says hello. Well," he continued on the subject, "I've been at Camp Willow fer the past couple o' days. Discussed it over with a few maties o' mine, an' we all decided it would be for th'best if I went you with guys. There ain't gonna be any other way for me to prove meself worthy t'be the Skip one day, I suppose."

"Wynn, what does your father have to say about this?" Sheryl questioned sternly, forgetting that the otter was only a little younger than she was.

Wynn chuckled. "My ole dad? Was his idea, b'lieve it or not. Says he's getting long in th'seasons, even though he ain't, and of course he wants me t'carry on after 'im. But 'cordin' t'tribal law I gotta make somethin' of m'self sometime sooner or later. Now I know this whole crusadin' business won't be a complete lark, 'specially toward the end and all, but I'm ready and willin' t'help. I'm a top shot at slings and otter javelins're easy as pie."

Michael was nodding slowly as he thought it over. The crack of the firewood was the only sound for a few moments. Nora pouted, thinking her voice was only loud enough for the otter to hear. "Sure, thwackytail, leave y'buds who made your whole wotsy possible out of it! Such ingratuity, I won't bally stand for it!"

"Stow it a sec, rabbit," Ronin interceded. "Spotlightin' and upstaging might be for you, but not all the time!"

Wynnstream waved the squirrel off. "Nah, nah, it's okay. Never ye mind her." He turned to his audience of wolves. "Well, hearties, I'll let the masterful mister Halifax tell you how I came upon the misfortune to land upon these three bandits!"

The unobtrusive hare shrugged. "We were passin' through, eventually hopin' t'get somewhere nearabouts Salamandastron someday. Stopped at Camp Willow, and the Skipper asked us to find you lot. 'Fraid old Wynnie here was jolly well jammed with us. 'Tis a sad fate when the only ones t'talk to for three days is either a treejumper who's fallen on his head one too many times or a bloomin' aspirin' actress. I'm just along for th'scenery."

Nora was indignant, among many of the other words she sputtered and mispronounced. "The nerve of him! I'm insulated! I-I mean insultanated! Outrangered! Piffin' angryish!"

"Here's hopin' ye've eaten, then, hare!" Rivenna called out. "I've heard many a legend 'bout your kind a-hoppin' mad and empty-tummed t'boot!" Snickers quickly exploded into laughter as the foursome was invited to some of their victuals. They, of course, graciously accepted.

* * *

Brother Andrew had been assigned gatekeeper duty as a replacement for the derelict Wynnstream. The fieldmouse had leaned back in the voluminous armchair and felt his eyelids droop further than he meant them to. The soothing sounds of lulling crickets and the occasional bird call tucked a blanket of sleep around the brother, and the main gate was absented of mind for quite a few hours.

A sturdy knock jolted dozy Andrew from a very pleasant dream. Grumbling and yelling "Hold on! Hold on! I'm coming!" above his stumbling around the small, cluttered room, he trod on the edge his olive green habit and stumbled out the door. Opening the small gate for individual travelers, he muttered to himself, "What decent, sane creature is larkin' about the woodlands at this crazy hour? Why they picked me for this job I'll never know..."

A sturdy-looking hedgehog stepped back from the door, his paw still clenched in a fist from knocking. A small, weathered otter, leaning on a staff, looked at him, a playful scowl on her middle-aged face.

"Mouse heard yeh th'first time, thunderpaws. But what y'really need t'get their attention is a good hard whack, like this."

She swung the staff at the unopened wooden door. A resounding thud filled Andrew's pounding head. Biting his lips to avoid both howling and smacking the otter himself, he bowed slightly and curtly asked, "Greetings, strangers. Welcome to Redwall Abbey. What's your purpose of visit?"

The otter dug her staff into the well-worn earth. "Me? I'm here t'visit me friend Tori Rubyhaer. Heard she was stayin' on here. Sorry about the time, but we figgered we'd partake of yer gen'rous hospitality rather than campin' out in the woodlands at yer gate 'till tomorrer."

The hedgehog chuckled. "There's another friend she ain't tellin' you about. C'mon, Waterback, out with the real reason."

Waterback looked the epitome of innocence. "Me? I have told th'good brother here my real reason. Tori and I are old mateys."

"Well, you're about three days too late," Andrew told her. "She left for what remains of Leedsdown with about twenty others."

The otter's expression fell. "What-what remains, of Leedsdown? Are you sure? What 'appened?" she whispered.

"I regret to say I could not fully explain what went on," the mouse answered truthfully. "If you wish, I can wake somebody. Badgermum Dolores perhaps, or the Father Abbot--"

Waterback briefly wiped tears with the back of her paw, and regained her composure. "Nah, let's surprise 'em in th'mornin'. I can wait. Like ye said," she winked, "no decent, sane creature would be a-traipsin' about at this hour. Fivespike, go find Leith, will you? He's keepin' th'supplies." The burly hedgehog winked, and walked out the gate into the forest.

The otter shuffled her feet slightly, then looked at the Redwall curmudgeon again. "Er, is there any chance that Skip's here? 'Cause I've got a son, 'bout his son's age, they might get on well..." she added quickly.

"Nope, he went away couple days ago to Camp Willow, then disappeared. If it weren't for him, I'd be asleep right now," Andrew groaned.

Waterback laughed. "So, he's givin' ye his gatekeepin' job t'go out questin', eh? How kind and generous of 'im!" She smirked slightly. "Certainly don't blame th'young pup. Drop everythin' and run somewhere new when y'can, as I say!" She slapped the mouse on the back heartily, and strode off into the grounds. Brother Andrew, rubbing his eyes, briefly held the gate for an overridden otter to rush in, frantically balancing gear, followed by Fivespike the hedgehog. He then shook his numb head, and retired back into the gatehouse. He had valuable sleep to reclaim.